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Title: The philosophy of Gassendi
Author: George Sidney Brett
Release date: October 27, 2025 [eBook #77134]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Macmillan and Co. Limited, 1908
Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHY OF GASSENDI ***
THE PHILOSOPHY OF GASSENDI
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
GASSENDI
BY
G. S. BRETT
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ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1908
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PREFACE
Up to the present little attention has been paid to Gassendi. The want
of a reliable account of his philosophy has caused him to be neglected,
for the nature of his own writings is such as would naturally obscure the
value of his message. Hallam, in his _Introduction to the Literature of
Europe_ (Part IV. chap. iii.), indicates the extent to which Gassendi has
been neglected and also the reasons. He refers to Gassendi’s “prolixity
of statement,” “prodigality of learning,” and “display of erudition,”
characteristics which have all militated against recognition of his real
merits. In consequence he is little more than a name, or is known as
the original of Bernier’s work, and is either misunderstood or pushed
aside as one who challenged Descartes from an antiquated and untenable
standpoint.
To remedy this error and supply what is undoubtedly a page in the
history of philosophy I have tried in this book to express briefly the
main lines of Gassendi’s thought. It has been necessary to condense
the matter ruthlessly, but this could be done with all the less danger
because so much of the contents of the volumes is historical. None the
less it is natural that there should arise the feeling that a process
which condenses chapters into phrases and whole sections into sentences,
is an injustice to an author. The atmosphere of comprehensive learning
which gives a peculiar charm to these volumes cannot be reproduced
elsewhere: it is the breath of an age which every day puts further from
us. In compensation for this loss I can only plead the advantages of
conciseness. Time works toward the setting forth of the skeleton with the
destruction of all else, and in the world of books we take an optimistic
view of this unavoidable process and trust that it leaves us what is most
enduring and most essential.
That Gassendi deserves honourable mention in the history of philosophy
will hardly be doubted. How far he is able to help in the solution of
its problems is a point that the reader will estimate for himself. Now
that we are recovering somewhat from that disturbance of equilibrium
which characterised the development of Cartesianism, such work as that of
Gassendi has an opportunity of asserting itself more effectively. If we
pause to ask what is the true and abiding characteristic of a philosophic
mind we shall see that it is comprehensiveness of view, breadth of
vision, combined with a power to see, and not merely look at, the vast
array of the knowable. This comprehensiveness makes greatness: through
it a man may be the spectator of all times and places. But he must not
hope to gain this comprehensive outlook by occupying one solitary peak:
he must not flatter himself that there is an essence of all essences,
that he can condense all life and thought into one magic drop. On the
contrary he must keep the original wealth of material undiminished if he
would have a world in which ‘life’s garden blows’; if he abstracts and
simplifies the product is an ‘essence,’ a drop of scent in place of the
living flower.
This fact is gaining more recognition now than it did some time ago. We
do not always remember that the necessity for emphasising the point was
not formerly so great as it has been recently. A reading of Gassendi
brings home to us the fact that philosophy has not always considered
concentration its prime duty, and a return to the atmosphere of naïve
pluralism is a refreshing reminder that thought was once childishly
unsophisticated. With no intention of denying the value of the progress
that has been made, and no attempt to ignore crudities and fallacies,
we can still go back with profit to a view of the world that is not
obsessed with the tendencies of extreme idealism: we can even go back
to the pre-Kantian days with profit so long as we remember that they
are pre-Kantian. In some respects it is peculiarly profitable to see
what could be done with the material of knowledge before Hume was
sceptical or Kant awakened: in the case of Gassendi the moderation and
liberality of his views makes him frequently strike the line to which
thought was destined to return, and thus appear in close touch with later
developments. In reference to this I may add that the quotations from
the original have been limited as much as possible. As the whole account
is a mere summary the original can be easily consulted, the chapters
and divisions of my account indicate the parts of the author which are
being considered. But I have felt compelled to insert quotations and
phrases wherever there seemed a possibility of confusion or grounds
for suspecting that the language used by me was not justified by the
original. In the parts of this book which profess to contain the thoughts
and ideas of Gassendi I have aimed only at exhibiting those thoughts
and ideas with no more additions than were required to bridge over gaps
caused by omission and no interpretation beyond what was demanded to make
clear the underlying connexions of the original work. All references to
previous philosophers and interpretations of their meaning within that
part (_i.e._ Parts I. to III.) are to be credited to Gassendi. My own
remarks are only intended to set the essential elements of Gassendi’s
philosophy in what I conceive to be their true historical light.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY
THE WORKS OF GASSENDI xi
BIBLIOGRAPHY xv
INTRODUCTION xvii
PART I. LOGIC 1
PART II. PHYSICS
_SECTION A_
CHAP.
I. INTRODUCTORY 19
II. TIME AND SPACE 34
III. FIRST PRINCIPLES
(_a_) THE MATERIAL PRINCIPLE 49
(_b_) PRIMARY AND SECONDARY CAUSES 55
(_c_) MOTION AND MUTATION 59
(_d_) ON QUALITIES 65
(_e_) ON THE ORIGIN AND DECAY OF THINGS 82
_SECTION B_
I. THE INANIMATE WORLD 89
II. THE ANIMATE WORLD
(_a_) INTRODUCTORY 98
(_b_) ON DESIGN IN NATURE 100
(_c_) THE THEORY OF THE SOUL 106
(_d_) THE ANIMA HUMANA 111
(_e_) THE BASIS OF PSYCHIC LIFE 115
III. PSYCHIC LIFE
(_a_) SENSE AND SENSATION 121
(_b_) IMAGINATION 129
(_c_) INTELLECT AND ITS FUNCTIONS 139
(_d_) THE HABITS OF INTELLECT 150
(_e_) THE PASSIONS 153
IV. THE NATURE OF LIFE
(_a_) THE VIS MOTRIX 161
(_b_) LIFE AND DEATH 168
(_c_) THE CONSTITUTION OF ANIMALS 172
PART III. ETHICS
I. ON HAPPINESS 183
II. THE VIRTUES 196
III. ON LIBERTY, FATE, AND DIVINATION 218
IV. ON GOD 224
NOTE ON DECLINATION 230
PART IV. GENERAL REVIEW
I. GASSENDI 245
II. LATER VIEWS 270
INDEX 308
THE WORKS OF GASSENDI
The following is a complete list of the contents of the edition of 1658.
VOLUME I
Syntagma philosophicum.
Liber prooemialis.
Pars prima quae est logica.
I. De origine et varietate logica.
II. De logicae fine.
Institutio logica.
1. De simplice rerum imaginatione.
2. De propositione.
3. De syllogismo.
4. De methodo.
Pars secunda quae est physica.
Section 1.
Book 1. De universo et mundo.
” 2. De loco et tempore.
” 3. De materiali principio.
” 4. De principio efficiente.
” 5. De motu et mutatione rerum.
” 6. De qualitatibus rerum.
” 7. De ortu et interitu.
Section 2. De Rebus Caelestibus.
(End of Vol. I. pp. 752.)
VOLUME II
Syntagma philosophicum (_continued_).
Section 3. Part I. De rebus terrenis inanimis.
Book 1. De globo ipso telluris.
” 2. De vocatis vulgo meteoris (ventis, etc.).
” 3. De lapidibus ac metallis.
” 4. De plantis.
Section 3. Part II. De rebus terrenis viventibus.
Book 1. De varietate animalium.
” 2. De partibus animalium.
” 3. De anima.
” 4. De generatione animalium.
” 5. De nutritione.
” 6. De sensu universe.
” 7. De sensibus speciatim.
” 8. De phantasia.
” 9. De intellectu seu mente.
” 10. De appetitu et affectibus animae.
” 11. De vi motrice.
” 12. De temperie.
” 13. De vita et morte.
” 14. De animorum immortalitate.
Pars tertia quae est ethica.
Book 1. De felicitate.
” 2. De virtutibus.
” 3. De libertate, fortuna, etc.
(End of Vol. II. pp. 860.)
VOLUME III
1. Philosophiae Epicuri Syntagma.
2. Exercitationes paradoxicae adversus Aristoteleos.
3. Fluddanae philosophiae examen.
4. Disquisitio metaphysica adversus Cartesium.
5-9. Epistulae.
(End of Vol. III. pp. 662.)
VOLUME IV
Astronomica. Parts I.-V. pp. 536.
VOLUME V
1. Diogenis Laertii Liber X, cum nova interpretatione et notis.
2. Vita Epicuri, Peireskii, Tychonis Brahei, Copernici, Peurbachii, et
Regiomontani.
3. Abacus sestertialis seu de valore antiquae monetae ad nostram redactae.
4. Romanum Calendarium compendiose expositum.
5. Manuductio ad theoriam musices.
6. Notitia ecclesiae Diniensis.
(End of Vol. V. pp. 740.)
VOLUME VI
Epistulae et responsa. pp. 545.
The whole of Gassendi’s writings is thus contained in six Volumes folio,
with a total of 4095 double-columned pages.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
(I.) The edition of the works to which reference is always made in this
book is the edition of 1658 (Lyon). This contains all Gassendi’s works
(some slightly abridged), except some letters. On this point see Thomas,
p. 28: ‘Celles qui ont été recueillies par M. de Montmor forment le
sixième volume du _Syntagma_: mais leur nombre a été considerablement
augmenté depuis, bien que beaucoup restent encore à publier. (Voy.
“Documents inédits sur Gassendi,” par Tamizey de Larroque: _Revue des
questions historiques_, 1877, t. xxii. “Oraison funèbre de P. Gassendi,”
par Nicolas Taxil, publiée par le même, 1882. “Impressions de voyage
de Pierre Gassendi,” dans le _Bulletin de la Société scientifique et
littéraire des Basses-Alpes_, 1887.)’ I have no personal knowledge of
these documents.
(II.) Bernier, the traveller, a friend of Gassendi, compiled an _Abrégé
de la Philosophie de Gassendi_, 8 vols., 1678; 2nd ed., 7 vols., 1684.
This work is naturally far less cumbersome than Gassendi’s own volumes.
It is difficult to say quite what is wrong with it, but it is certainly
wholly misleading, and, having been read to avoid the trouble of studying
the original, has done much harm. I began with this work myself, but,
after once looking into Gassendi, abandoned it. There is a wholly
different atmosphere about Gassendi’s writing, and perhaps the kindest
criticism is to say that Bernier had more zeal as a friend than ability
as a philosopher.
(III.) The only book on Gassendi which I have read is _La Philosophie
de Gassendi_, par P.-Félix Thomas, Paris, 1889. I have read this
since completing my own account of Gassendi, and owe to it some useful
hints and references. Had it been other than it is, I should not have
been justified in publishing a second study on the same subject. But
the author seems to me to have done less than justice to Gassendi: he
does not seem to have considered him an integral part of philosophy
as a moving body of thought. Perhaps he is right, but to me Gassendi
appears to have done more than patch up Epicurus: he has tried to unite
the results, not only of philosophy in the narrower sense, but of all
previous and contemporary thought into one whole, as consistent as he
thought it could be. Hence we differ; but the student of Gassendi will
get more insight into Gassendi from Thomas than he will from Bernier, and
find this the conscientious work of one who has gone for his information
to the fountain-head.
(IV.) For the rest, I know of no other ‘literature of the subject.’ For
the Life, Sorbière’s _Sketch_ (vol. I.) is the chief authority. There is
also a _Vie de Gassendi_ by Bugerel (1737), and by Damiror (_Mémoire sur
Gassendi_, 1839). The best short account of Gassendi’s philosophy is that
of Ritter, to which I have referred elsewhere (p. 17).
(V.) The manuscripts of Gassendi have been preserved, the majority at
Tours, some in the Bibliothèque Nationale, and some in Provence (Thomas,
p. 28). The edition of 1658, though published after the author’s death,
represents his final corrections, and is acknowledged to be substantially
accurate.
INTRODUCTION
The line of thought which terminates in Gassendi began in Leucippus.
The principal names in the history of its exposition are unfortunately
little more than names, and in the case of both the main periods we are
dependent on what may be called the second strings for the majority of
our information. Thus of Leucippus we know but little, and he is usually
taken in conjunction with Democritus, in order that together they may
fill out a paragraph in the history of thought: similarly, while we
are better off in the case of Epicurus, we none the less find it most
convenient not to speak of Epicurus but of Epicureanism, and so give
ourselves the latitude of using all the matter that can be collected
from the whole school, in which the name of Lucretius stands forth
prominently. As we desire to show the development of the subject we shall
here try to keep the main points of the different epochs distinct: it
will then be apparent how the theory grew and changed in face of new
problems and changing conditions.
I.
Atomism and Epicureanism are very different things, but the beginnings
of the theory of Epicurus[1] are to be found in the atomic school,
and the differences will be best understood if the growth of that
doctrine is followed. The founder was Leucippus of Elea or Miletus. His
standpoint does not seem to have been properly understood by historians
of philosophy, but recent investigation has cleared our views on the
significance of his language. He was in the first instance an Eleatic,
and though the main principle of the Eleatic school, the unity and
immovability of the One, seems so entirely opposed to the atomistic
trend of thought that they could have nothing to do with each other, we
find that in fact the opposition is not so great as appears at first
sight, and the atomistic view is generated out of the Eleatic. In this
interpretation we are guided by Aristotle, who says, ‘Leucippus however
thought he had a theory which was in harmony with sense-perception and
did not do away with coming into being and passing away, nor motion
nor the multiplicity of things. He made this concession to experience,
while he conceded on the other hand to those who invented the One, that
motion was impossible without the void, that the void was not real, and
that nothing of what was real was not real! For,’ said he, ‘that which
is strictly speaking real is an absolute plenum; but the plenum is not
one. On the contrary, there are an infinite number of them, and they are
invisible owing to the smallness of their bulk. They move in the void
(for there is a void), and by their coming together they effect coming
into being: by their separation, passing away.’[2]
Atomism is thus at its birth the opposite which Eleaticism generates:
the principles of Parmenides are retained, but the One to which they are
applied is no longer the _only One_, not _the_ Whole, but _a_ whole:
‘to each of the atoms which he thus arrived at, he ascribed all the
predicates of the Eleatic One’ (Burnet, _op. cit._ 355). The result was a
pluralism which avoided the dialectic of Zeno of Elea: the attempts which
had been made to combine the two notions of a continuum and divisibility
had failed because they inevitably led to the abyss of endless division:
it was obvious that if the continuum could be divided anywhere it could
be divided everywhere and finally elude us altogether, and there was
no way out of the difficulty but to stand by common sense and declare
the ultimate indivisible. Two points are interesting in this connexion:
the first is the fact that the earliest form of Atomism is grounded in
the opposition of a common-sense view to its contemporary idealism, a
heritage of strife to be handed on from generation to generation: the
second is the very partial nature of the severance from idealistic modes
of thought. At this stage of thought no one blushes to make reality
a predicate, but the limitations of language bring us to a dilemma:
the void is declared real and not real, and the difficulty lies in the
substantive use of ‘is’: for the void _is_, but is not what is called
real: it must therefore belong to a class of existents which we shall
call the not-real: with all the sturdy common-sense of a reformer
Leucippus says the categories must be made for the things and not things
for the category. Henceforth the old reality was to be absorbed into a
new Reality which included both the real and the not-real of the former
category. The gist of all this argumentation can be expressed in the
phrase ‘the non-corporeal is as real as the corporeal.’ This was first
proclaimed by those who are usually regarded as materialists! For the
rest we know that creation was explained through the collision of the
atoms, in which atoms of _like_ shape and form became entangled, and from
these entanglements of atoms arose the heavenly bodies. Thus much we
may safely attribute to Leucippus, and if any one doubts the reality of
Leucippus, it is enough for our purpose that he should stand for Atomism
before Democritus. This stage must certainly be distinguished, else we
lose the significance of that form of the doctrine in which we have as
yet no subjective elements and no attempt to think of the atom as in any
sense analysable.
II.
With Democritus we find atomism has undergone a very important change, it
has developed from a mere sketch of a cosmogony to at least the rudiments
of a philosophy. By this we mean that it recognises a far wider range
of topics, and at least attempts to give explanations of phenomena not
touched by the theory in its original form. The two main influences to be
noticed in this connection are those denoted by the names of Protagoras
and Anaxagoras. From Protagoras comes the subjective tendency of the
doctrine, while the work of Anaxagoras has brought into prominence the
question of causality and its incidence. The idea of ‘homoiomerae’ has
also expressed a possible theory of the nature of the ultimate parts of
the material world which is sufficiently near to atomism to compel the
true atomist to define his position more exactly.
In opposition to Anaxagoras, Democritus expressly makes things themselves
the cause of motion: whatever else it may have meant, the ‘nous’ of
Anaxagoras implied a cause outside of the material thing. This dualism
is now rejected, and we get the explicit statement that the world is to
be regarded as a product of matter in motion. The atoms are now said to
differ in shape, order, and position: they have no cause, being eternal:
they possess motion from the beginning by virtue of their nature, and
this motion is in the abstract straight; but in fact, owing to collision,
it becomes rotatory. It is difficult to say whether Democritus ascribed
weight to the atoms or not: this was the sort of detail which was
only specifically settled when an opponent made it necessary to give
a deliverance ex cathedra. Wallace remarks on this point: ‘There are
passages from which it seems that Democritus regarded weight as not an
attribute of the atoms, but only of the aggregations which they compose.
But probably these statements are to be taken in a different sense. They
may mean that the atom in all cases, however it may vary in size (and
such variations are incalculably great), never reaches a size which can
be seen by the bodily eye, and therefore, inasmuch as the weight varies
directly with the size in the case of the atoms, the atom is never
ponderable except when it combines with other atoms to form a body.’ It
follows from this that the atom has weight but is not ponderable, and
this is, I think, correct for two reasons. In the first place, it would
be much more difficult to conceive the atoms as falling (which is the
first conception of their motion) if they had no weight in theory; and
secondly, it is always a principle of this school to work analogically
and infer from the presence of a quality in the compound its analogical
counterpart in the primary parts which enter into that compound.
The compounds are formed by the natural union of similar particles.
This was a point on which considerable stress was laid because it was
in direct opposition to the mythical tendencies of the Love and Hate
theories of affinity: it was a part of the polemic against all mysticism
which was to become characteristic of the spirit of this school.
With regard to the universe Democritus held that the Earth had now
come to rest: from the Earth there had arisen by natural processes
organised beings. The soul was composed of atoms of the nature of fire.
The individual is conceived as having specific organs each with its
appointed functions; but these are very crudely differentiated: the
soul is in the head, and its function is thought: eagerness is in the
heart and desire in the liver. Perception is caused by the effluxes
‘sloughed off’ from things: it is not wholly veracious and requires
to be corrected. Sense perception is indeed explicitly opposed to
the understanding, and the latter is said to give us truth while the
former deceives. But this is not to be taken as implying any very exact
theory of knowledge: it is very much the same to Democritus whether
the deception of the senses is due to physical conditions, such as the
distance of the object, or to what we should call subjective conditions.
In the same elementary fashion we are told that we know nothing,
though we can go beyond our senses, as we obviously do in arriving at
a knowledge of the atom; a going beyond which is probably most safely
taken to mean reaching quantitatively further, that is to say reaching to
subtler forms of matter than are given to the gross sense.
In his ethics Democritus is credited with having uttered or quoted much
that is sound; but it is too disjointed to be regarded as either system
or part of a system. We may note for further use that he considered the
soul the noblest part of man and knowledge the source of true happiness:
he also laid stress on the will as the test of true morality, and struck
the keynote of later cosmopolitanism in the saying that the country of
the wise man is the world.
III.
With Epicurus we come to a much more developed phase of the original
doctrine. At first we had only a slender vein of cosmological reasoning:
then the theory was extended to psychology of a sort, with an appendix on
ethics to give it the appearance of a full-grown theory: now ethics is
made the prime end and object of the philosophical treatment of the world
in which we live, and atomism is taken as the guiding principle. There is
considerable difference between a theory of atoms and an atomic theory
of the universe: we shall be concerned chiefly with the philosophical
aspects as opposed to what might be called the scientific elements, and
therefore for us it is especially important to notice this phase and
realise how the original aims and scope of atomism were changed with
time, so that it became an instrument for general use rather than a mere
statement of what was believed to be physical fact.
In order to understand the scope of a writer’s views we have to take some
account of the atmosphere in which he lived. In the case of the earliest
writers this is generally only possible in the sense that we can detect
some definite influence against which he works: thus Leucippus founds
himself on and opposes himself to Parmenides: Democritus takes up the
very problem Anaxagoras has striven to solve and finds in that opposite
his own definition. When we come to Epicurus, the same principle holds
good, but the stream of thought has widened, and it bears along with
it the sand of many shores, and therefore the influences we have to
consider are greater both in number and range.
The first influence to be considered is that of the political conditions
under which the doctrine arose and to which we trace the temper that
made its appeal so successful. At the time when Epicurus came to Athens
(307 B.C.), the prevailing characteristic of life was its uncertainty.
The city was a hotbed of intrigue, and no one could predict which party
would be in power next. Athens had lost her empire but still retained
enough vitality to struggle periodically into a semblance of independent
existence under such a leader as Demetrius Poliorcetes. At other times
the Macedonian power regained its supremacy and Athens lapsed into
vassalage. In either case the situation of the individual was much the
same, and from this point of view the days of Epicurus and of Seneca
are identical. In both the individual, finding no objective point of
attachment, falls back upon himself, and the attitude of the Epicurean
in Athens is that of the Stoic in Rome four hundred years later. With
the upbreak of a concentrated national life, the individual felt that he
belonged to nobody in the sense that he belonged to himself, and nothing
belonged to him in the sense that his self belonged to him. Hence the
thinker keeps aloof from politics: he says with Democritus, that the
world is the wise man’s home; but only in the negative sense, which
means abstraction from that immediate world of interests in which alone
is there a possibility of activity. The first phase of cosmopolitanism
is negative: it renounces the living unity for a One which is no more
than a concept, which, having nothing that can satisfy the heart, is for
all practical purposes nothing but a shroud for the burial of hopes that
have been sacrificed. Ignoring the Whole, man turns to the parts, and the
individual occupies the first place in his thoughts.
Philosophically we can trace the same development on different lines.
Plato had been concerned primarily with the scheme of the Whole as a
rational connected system. With Aristotle the material of the system had
emerged into prominence, and his successors had gone still further, and
‘the speculative, transcendental element was eliminated, and nothing left
but “positive” science.’[3] This trend became more and more pronounced,
and to it we may trace the revival of materialistic types of thought
which are exemplified in both Stoicism and Epicureanism. A third element
is the consequence of these influences, namely the importance attached to
ethics, ‘if by ethics we mean an attempt to discover what is the chief
end of man, and how it can be attained.’[4]
These three points, then, ‘their individualism in morals, their
subordination of all science to an ethical end, and their materialistic
realism,’ are the common characteristics of the great schools of this
period. We shall confine ourselves now to sketching the main points
of Epicureanism. The sources of information are scattered, and it is
difficult, if not impossible, to say in many cases what was actually
taught by Epicurus and what was incorporated into the body of the
doctrine by his disciples. For our purpose it is sufficient to give
a summary of the teaching ascribed to Epicurus, merely noting those
details which we know were added later. The chief source of information,
apart from reports of Epicurus’ own teaching, is, of course, Lucretius:
Gassendi’s version is not taken into consideration directly because of
the obvious danger of mixing his account of Epicurus with the views he
proposed to graft on the old stem. Epicurus divides the sphere of thought
into the three parts—Logic, Physics, and Ethics: these headings we may as
well preserve, though examination of the details will show that some of
the subject-matter would hardly be so classified now.
(_a_) The subjective sceptical element in the philosophy of the period
is reflected by the Logic of Epicurus in the demand for a doctrine
of criteria of truth. The criteria enumerated are perceptions and
representations in the theoretical sphere, and pleasure and pain in
the practical. These form the subject of the Canonica or doctrine of
norms. The idea in the mind of Epicurus is that we must build entirely
on the senses: these are in themselves true and final in the sense that
nothing can be found to give us certainty when they fail. But he also
recognises that the mental life of the individual goes beyond the exact
moment during which the sensation lasts; and the persistent residue of
the sensation has also its function in the life of thought. Hence he adds
to the immediate sense-perception the representations which are also
called anticipations. As criteria these must be regarded as bringing in
the elements of time and plurality. Epicurus does not say in so many
words that this is so, but a moment’s reflection on the use of these
representations proves it. They are stored in the mind and emerge into
consciousness when the name of the thing is uttered: moreover they
function in the strict capacity of norms in as much as they regulate
perceptions. ‘To enable us to affirm that what we see at a distance is a
horse or an ox, we must have some preconception in our minds which makes
us acquainted with the form of a horse and an ox’; from which it is clear
that the preconception or secondary mental activity forms a standard
of reference to which we may return for a judgment (criterium) on the
presentation. This does not upset the dogma that the perception as an
affair of the senses is always true: it merely tells us how we may find
out what the senses are, as it were, _trying_ to tell us.
From this stage we go a step further in the formation of Opinion which
results from the presence of the permanent residues in our minds. These
opinions may be true or false, and the natural test is a return to
experience. The opinion may refer to the future or to the occult: in the
former case the test of direct experience is merely held in abeyance. In
the latter we have a problem, for the opinion may be true but there is
no way of getting any collateral support: for this Epicurus provides a
negative justification in so far as we are allowed to hold the opinion as
true if no contradictory evidence is forthcoming.
This constitutes the gist of the pure canonic of Epicurus, but we may
add to this some notes on the method employed by the Epicureans and the
theory of knowledge implied in them. In the first place the criticism
which Ueberweg makes upon the idea that the immediate sensation is
reality, should be noticed. ‘The hallucinations of the insane, even, and
dreams are true: for they produce an impression, which the non-existing
could not do. It is obvious in connection with this latter argument,
that in Epicurus’ conception of truth, the latter, in the sense of
agreement of the psychical image with a real object, is confounded with
psychical reality.’ This is undoubtedly true as pointing out that the
Epicurean doctrine did not properly distinguish logical and psychological
certainty. The entire emphasis is thrown on the psychological groundwork
of knowledge, and in consequence the explanation of the attainment of
any knowledge beyond the sense-given is neglected to an extent which is
wholly unjustifiable in view of the fact that the atom itself is not a
sense-datum. This deficiency was apparently felt by such disciples as
Zeno and Philodemus, who attempted to give some theory of induction. But,
whether they could justify it or not, the Epicureans did get from the
known to the unknown: moreover they made no secret of it, but declared
that the true process of knowledge was from known to unknown. In addition
to induction they also made great use of analogy and, surreptitiously,
of deduction. We now have from the Herculanean manuscripts clear proof
that analogy was not only used by the Epicurean but itself a direct
object of analysis: Lucretius made use of it in a manner that has been
described as ‘violent’; and it remained in the school as one of the prime
instruments in the advancement of knowledge. In addition to this there
were one or two first principles which occasionally come into active
service and justify a deductive procedure. The most notable is the dogma
‘ex nihilo nihil,’ to which must be added the regulative principle that
nothing happens by chance. The former of these rules is most frequently
used to justify a regress from a compound to its parts: for, it is
said, if the whole has such and such qualities the parts must have
these qualities though they may not be directly observable in the parts
themselves. The most striking use of this principle is the passage where
Lucretius asserts that the atoms must have the power of free action,’[5]
since we find that power in that complex of atoms called the soul. The
use of analogy is best exhibited in the construction of the concept of
the gods and their mode of life.
(_b_) In dealing with the physics it will be convenient to divide it
into physics proper and psychology. The Epicurean would doubtless have
denied that psychology was not physics ‘proper,’ but the mixture is
rather confusing to the modern mind. First then, as to physics proper. We
have, the mise en scène of Democritus, a vast place boundless in every
direction, full of atoms too small to be visible, from whose conjunctions
will arise all the manifold life of this and other worlds. While agreeing
in the main with Democritus, Epicurus diverges from his teaching in
some details. With regard to the motion of the atoms he attributes the
abandonment of the original line of movement which was conceived as in a
straight line downward, to the voluntary swerving of the atoms. This is
the most striking example of the subordination of physics to ethics, for
the difference between Democritus and Epicurus consists in just this,
that Democritus tried to settle the question of the nature of the atomic
movements from what he knew of the mechanical laws: Epicurus directly
opposes himself to the mechanical laws of motion in order to get a basis
for the admission of free-agency. It is, in all probability, a mistake to
say that Epicurus gave his atoms anything like free-will or spontaneity
as we should understand it now: we have to keep in view the fact that the
mind to which that free-will has to be referred would be formulated in
terms of matter, and therefore all that is required is that the motion
of matter should not be regarded as fixed from all eternity: if it is so
fixed, my motion counts for nothing: if not, my motion is itself a real
factor; and if I am conscious that I move, I may also be sure that my
movement is the factor which produces the result that follows. This is
an extremely interesting phase of what was later to be the ‘free-will’
controversy: the difficulty of understanding it and the temptation to
misunderstand it, lies in the ideas of choice which we introduce: we ask,
‘Am I free to choose, am I free to be what I am?’ but before ideas of God
and the last judgment came in to produce these subjective problems, the
question of freedom was naturally limited to the simple problem, ‘Am I in
my activity a real agent?’ and it is for this real agency that Epicurus
makes room.[6]
A second point of difference is also of great interest. So far our
atom has been the ultimate: it is itself beyond the senses and reached
by thought, yet it is conceived as sensuous inasmuch as it might be
presented to a sense acute enough to detect it. Latent in the fact that
the atom is reached by an intellectual process, lies the possibility of
that development of the concept of the atom as a concept, which we get
in Leibnitz; and in Epicurus we do get so far as the acknowledgment that
the atom is logically divisible, this being considered necessary for the
explanation of variety in shape. It is significant of the character of
thought at this period that it could employ a principle that carried it
beyond its own ultimate unit, and yet never enquire whether the process
was a mere dividing of matter or a revelation of the nature of thought
and its categories.
In the construction of the world out of the atoms Epicurus does more
to tell us how it was _not_ done than how it was: his whole object is
to show that design has no share in the work, there is no awful Power
guiding and controlling things: nature manages its own affairs in perfect
contentment, and this spectre of a Providence is nothing but the creation
of the human imagination. Out of dead matter comes life, and out of
life when it is sufficiently advanced comes consciousness. Lucretius
thinks that the phenomena of deep sleep and swooning prove that life is
motion, and it must be allowed that he does not compromise his orthodoxy
by any truck with the subconscious; but regarding the motion of matter
as the substratum of conscious life, he consented when he lost hold on
consciousness to drop back into the region of moving matter. The soul and
the body form a unity, so that the dissolution of death is annihilation
of the Self. This dreary prospect seems to have been a comfort on the
whole, both to the Greek and the Roman philosopher, which seems to be a
sufficiently severe expression of their views on the charms of the life
they led on earth!
(_c_) On the border line, none too clearly defined, of the physics and
the psychology, comes the question of the constitution of the soul, which
we ascribe to the psychology because the chief interest centres on the
question of the thinking part. ‘According to the statements given both by
Diogenes Laertius and Lucretius, the soul is a complex of elements from
air, fire, and wind, and a fourth unnamed element. The last, which is the
differentiating constituent of the mind, suggests that it is postulated
by the feeling that there is more in the psychical than physical
analogies altogether explain. And further, the introduction of air, fire,
and wind suggests that Epicurus supplements the stricter atomic theory
of Democritus by additions from the early physicists who identify the
soul with air, or fire, or wind; and from Aristotle, in whose system the
combination of the four principles of cold, hot, wet, and dry played a
main part, as explaining the processes of nature.’ The first elements are
to be taken as composing the anima, the fourth constitutes the animus.
This animus is the seat of will and thought in Lucretius. The will we
know, on the evidence of direct experience, is free; but it should be
noticed in connection with what is said above, that its action begins
in the heart. Epicurus seems to have regarded the breast as the seat of
the rational soul, a distinctly retrograde movement after Democritus had
placed it in the head.
With regard to the psychological activities, these must be interpreted
in a materialistic sense. The secondary qualities have a material
counterpart in the existence of the finer particles which are the cause
of their perception: even the gods are known by effluxes. ‘This doctrine
of sense-perception is in a way only part of a larger doctrine which
has important and direct bearings on the moral theory. In the first
place, not merely do the skins shed by the objects around us meet the
eye now; but even long after the objects to which they may have belonged
have ceased to exist, these phantom husks float about the world. Thus
it happens that the forms of the departed may visit us long after their
decease.’ Thus Epicurus combined with his denial of spiritualism as a
theory of the existence of disembodied personalities a materialistic
spiritism to account for ghosts. This is another instance of the way
that physical theories may be dictated by extraneous ideas, and is
really an example of the practical application of the view that ethical
considerations come first. For the advantage of the view is that it
permits those visions of gods and divine beings which come to us in the
night seasons, and brighten our world with pictures of a blessedness
above and beyond our present attainments. How such ideas could be of use
to us as moral incentives if we realised that the beings so revealed were
not personal, is a question we naturally ask now, but get no answer from
Epicureanism.
On the whole we may characterise this as a theory of imagination. In it
the intellect gets little attention: even the ‘imaginative impressions
of the intellect’ are to be taken as literally impressions. If they are
real they are effects, and all effects have a cause which expresses
itself in motion and must therefore be in some sense material. The only
concession allowed to the intellectual impressions is that they point
to agents more subtle than those which appeal to the senses. In one
respect we have traces of a less materialistic view of mental processes.
A certain degree of mental activity is implied in the concession that we
can form for ourselves fresh ideas by ‘new syntheses of sensations’; but
the suggestion is worth very little so long as we are not expressly told
whether this is or is not more than a secondary movement of the particles
of the mind and purely mechanical. It avails nothing to say that they are
voluntary, for we have already seen that any talk about the will carries
us away from Epicureanism if we venture to think of it as other than
materialistic in its nature.
I will close this summary of the main features of Epicureanism with
a passage from the work to which I have already referred again and
again: it expresses what I take to be the truth about Epicurus in
words that cannot be bettered.[7] ‘If we have rightly understood
Epicurus, he has simply ignored the ego and consciousness and turned
solely to externality. He has adopted the attitude of science and not
of philosophy. He has fairly enough employed the ordinary conceptions
of matter to explain the processes of growth, nutrition, and sensation.
If not an adequate mode of conceiving these processes, it has, at least
for most minds, the merit of affording an easy and simple rationale of
them. But as a philosopher he should have gone further. His only answer,
however, to the question, “What are we?” is, that we are what we see,
and, if our vision were expanded, might see. Each of us is an object
of sensitive and intellectual vision: of the other fact that each is
a subject, he says nothing. And by a subject is not meant merely that
each of us is active as well as passive. For that matter the same may
be said of every piece of corporeal substance in the universe: activity
and passivity are the very characteristics of existence in its every
shape. But in each of us there is the further element of consciousness,
sentiment, feeling, will, and knowledge. Of this Epicurus has no other
explanation than to say that it is nothing separable from certain
combinations of molecules, and may even be treated as a mere aggregation
of ethereal atoms.’
IV.
Between the days of Lucretius and the age of Gassendi lie seventeen
hundred years filled with the strife of minds and marked by much real
progress. The historians of philosophy have linked together its different
epochs, and he who would comprehend how much was done in that time
to solve our human problems must turn to the pages of the professed
historian. He will find there two main influences controlling the whole
advance: on the one hand, the theological and speculative thinking of the
patristic and scholastic periods: on the other, the scientific trend of
thought which is most marked where Arabian influences predominate. These
lines tend to converge, but there are certain well-defined conditions
which make Faith and Science at present incapable of harmony. Under
these conditions, equally predominant in modern times, the two parties
present themselves as rival claimants for the different areas within the
Kingdom of Thought: tract after tract was claimed and lost or won by the
alien forces of reason, experience, or science. The real difficulty for
Dogma arose from the fact that it had assumed control over regions of
thought in which its forces could never hold their own: its losses were
rarely such as could endanger its final stronghold; but every proof of
decaying power was regarded as hastening the final catastrophe. In the
mean time the two claimants establish a right to two kinds of subjects:
science claims to rule on all that can be presented to the senses,
dogma on all the hyperphysical realities. With the main classes thus
determined, the discussion turns on the question as to what is to be
included under either head. Slowly but surely the content of dogmatic
philosophy is drained away until a daring spirit like Bruno openly
declares that the Bible is meant to teach morals only—not physics. The
growth of a non-dogmatic philosophy is followed by a growth of the spirit
of enquiry itself. At first the opposition to dogmatism takes the form
of confronting theory with fact; this especially affected the authority
which grounded itself on Aristotle as one who is above criticism, and
proved most damaging wherever the investigation of nature came into
collision with dogmatic deliverances on what ought to be or happen in
the physical world. As typical of this collision between observation
and groundless theorising Galileo may be cited. But while we speak of
this as an awakening and as the triumph of physics over metaphysics, it
is necessary to remember that the spirit of critical enquiry was not
yet freed from the matter to which it most naturally allied itself: it
was universally regarded as applicable to all matter alike. A vigorous
mind like that of Valla might carry critical principles from the sphere
of the sciences into history: a Montaigne might arise to suggest that
even Christianity was not beyond criticism; but it was still possible,
or rather natural, for men to feel that the hidden mysteries were a
thing apart, that the realities of faith must remain behind the veil
of the temple. For this reason it is incorrect to suppose that those
who still acknowledge the rights of Faith are necessarily insincere,
merely compromising their beliefs to avoid public censure. Much that is
commonplace now was boldly original in the sixteenth century; and the
boldness of originality is not to be measured only by the extent to
which physical safety is jeopardised: it must be measured also by the
mental strain which it involves and the feeling which comes to every
sincere mind that the opinion of the many may have more truth than
the individual perceives. The foolish can have the courage of their
convictions and rush in where the angels have feared to tread: the wise
find their courage more severely taxed in the attainment of convictions.
Where the struggle ends in some grand renunciation it gains our applause:
where it ends in the belief that neither extreme is right we feel that
it is less noble, less brilliant, and too often do injustice to the
temperate soul not knowing that its refinement is of fire.
Such was the age in which Gassendi appeared, tinged already with a
deeper scepticism, but on the whole not yet grappling with the final
questions. If we may judge from the face portrayed in the Frontispiece of
the edition of 1658, he was a genial kindly soul, not given to brawling
but yet filled with the temper that resists wrong. In the controversy
with Descartes he showed his qualities explicitly: at first he shuns the
arena: once engaged, he stiffens against the onset of the enemy; his
temper rises with the progress of the battle, yet never so as to confuse
hand or eye: the opponent grows impatient, speaks hastily and rashly, but
he sharpens the pen again and pursues without swerving the relentless
analysis. Such was the man when pitted against a worthy foe, yet it was
peace he loved, not war. His Epicureanism was of the lofty type: ease
and pleasure have their rights, but they exist only as parts in a life
that is unified by a great purpose: they are the condimentum vitae; not
the things on which we live, but the temper that leavens the whole. Such
a frame of mind is only distinguished from Stoicism by great liberality
in the interpretation of life and a greater ability to compromise. Some
spirits break rather than bend: his could bend in season, and when after
the strife Descartes came to him in days of sickness as a friend, he
thought it no shame to forgive and to forget.
The facts of Gassendi’s life are well known. Born on Jan. 22nd, 1592,
at Champtercier, near Digne, in Provence, he went to the College of
Digne at an early age, and, like many of the great thinkers of his day,
combined linguistic with mathematical studies, and was equally successful
in both. He must have been something of an infant prodigy, for in his
sixteenth year he was invited to lecture. From Digne he went to Aix and
studied philosophy under Fesaye, returning in 1612 to Digne as lecturer
in Theology. Four years later (1616) he became Doctor of Theology and was
ordained the following year.
Gassendi had now definitely entered the Church; but from this time his
interest in Theology seems to have waned. He returned to Aix for a short
time to lecture on philosophy, and though appointed to a canonry at
Grenoble, continued to devote himself to the reform of Philosophy. In
1624 he was persuaded to publish his criticisms of Aristotelianism, a
work which had its origin in the criticisms which he was in the habit
of appending to his formal expositions when lecturing at Aix. The
_Exercitationes Paradoxicae adversus Aristoteleos_ were never finished.
In this year (1624) Book I. was published, and a fragment of Book II.
was afterwards added in the collected works. A note appended to this
Fragment tells us that the author abandoned the work after reading the
_Peripatetica_ of Franciscus Patricius. The part that was published
aroused considerable animosity, and drew public attention at once to the
author’s abilities and mental attitude. Originality was not Gassendi’s
strong point, and he showed in this work that his strength lay in
combining the ideas of others so as to make them more effective. In one
respect the work marks an epoch in his life: henceforth his attitude
toward Aristotle is defined by the declaration that the Stagirite is to
be taken as guide but not worshipped as master and lord. In this, as in
other respects, his aim is not to be ‘aut nimium credulus aut parum pius’
(VI. 172). While the work of Patricius relieved him from the necessity of
pursuing these critical essays, he was also enlightened by their effect.
He now saw that a merely destructive criticism did little but raise the
dust. The true answer to existing systems could only be made in another
system which should include in itself the whole range of human activity
and compel the thoughts of men to look at the Universe as a whole. Thus
began the scheme of the _Syntagma_, on which at least twenty years of
labour were expended. With a training in mathematics supplemented by
considerable knowledge of the cognate sciences, of medicine also and such
biology as there was, Gassendi was naturally attracted to the idea of
developing the content of the universe as subject of thought.[8] He was
struck with the difference in value between an abstract and an applied
science; and theory abstracted from the living world seemed to him to
have all the inutility of numbers that are multiplied for the value of
multiplying, without application or objective reference. Such a science
as anatomy elicits his fervent admiration, demanding as it does the
highest development of method with a perpetual relation to the actual
thing.
The year 1624 then was one of great moment, but no results were to be
seen for many years. In 1628 Gassendi was travelling in Flanders and
Holland with his friend Luillier. In 1631, at the request of Mersenne,
he undertook the criticism of the mystical doctrine of Fludd. In 1633 he
became Provost of the Cathedral of Digne, and shortly after began his
travels in Provence with the Duke of Angoulême. In 1645 he was appointed
Professor of Mathematics at the Collège Royal, Paris, but had to resign
in 1648 through ill-health. The disease of the lungs from which he had
long suffered soon became acute, and he died at Paris in 1655. The
treatment of the disease seems to have been peculiarly perverse, and
Sorbière speaks with much bitterness of the persistent way in which the
medici continued to bleed the exhausted patient.
Between the years 1624 and the date of his death, Gassendi published
writings of three distinct types. First, the critical writings include
the examination of Fludd’s philosophy already noted (1631), and the
attack on the Cartesian doctrine in 1642. As a critic, Gassendi has a
keen eye for weak points, and a convincing style of attack: his natural
faults are less in evidence here than anywhere. ‘Il est difficile de
traiter les discussions philosophiques avec plus de clarté, d’agrément
et de naturel: la polemique de Gassendi, sauf peut-être un peu de
rhétorique, mérite encore aujourd’hui d’être proposée comme un modèle.’[9]
The second class is that of the Lives, which were famous in their day:
the _Vita Peireskii_ was translated in English, and had a considerable
vogue. The peculiar characteristic of Gassendi’s work in this direction
is the easy way in which the whole is seasoned with genial humanity.[10]
In the third class may be reckoned the strictly philosophical works.
Though the work _De Vita moribus et doctrina Epicuri_ is a Life, and
the notes to the tenth book of Diogenes Laertius are critical, they may
both be reckoned as part of the working out of an Epicurean Philosophy.
They stand in close relation to the _Syntagma_, which is the final
and all-embracing statement of his philosophy. As this is to be the
subject of the following pages, only a remark or two need be made here.
The recorded judgments of the value of Gassendi’s work vary largely.
Some think he has practically no place in the history of philosophy:
others regard him as the forerunner of such modern philosophy as
concerns itself with the empirical rather than the idealistic line of
development. In my opinion there is no fairer estimate of Gassendi than
that which Ritter gives in his _Geschichte der Philosophie_ (vol. X.
p. 544). He says: ‘Durch bedeutende Erfindungen glänzte er nicht: dem
neuem Entwicklungsgange der Wissenschaften hatte er sich doch nicht mit
Entschiedenheit angeschlossen; gegen das Copernikanische System hatte
er noch seine Zweifel: die theologischen Fragen will er zwar nicht der
Philosophie beimischen, weil wir in dieser nur dem Lichte der Natur zu
folgen haben’ (544). For some things the authority of the Church is
final: in the rest there is freedom: in philosophy as such there is no
one that must be taken as a final authority; his method of exposition
belongs to the earlier style in which all the authorities are reviewed
before a decision is made: he seeks a middle course between scepticism
and dogmatism. He might indeed be reckoned among those who had revived
ancient systems in the earlier period (this refers to Ritter’s ‘periods,’
of which the last brings the reader down to the reform of philosophy by
Bacon) but for the fact that his work is grounded on the reformed methods
of Bacon and ‘ein bedeutendes Glied für die systematische Entwicklung der
neuen Philosophie abgegeben hat’ (545). This is an accurate definition
of Gassendi’s position, and shows that Ritter knew the actual contents
of the _Syntagma_ at least. Its truth will be more apparent when the
summary of the _Syntagma_ has been read and the question of Gassendi’s
materialism can be discussed in the light of his own statements.
PART I. LOGIC
LOGIC
I.
Logic is defined by Gassendi as the science of intellect ‘qua veri
sequax.’[11] Its rules, being general, conduct to all knowledge, not
merely the knowledge of nature, but knowledge of every description.[12]
The term Logic Gassendi connects with Logos, which denotes the inner
conversation of the mind, of which Ratio is a species.
Logic, then, in the first instance is the science of all mental
operations that are in any sense organised. This science may be
Dialectic, Organic, or, thirdly, Logic in the narrower sense. Logic in
the widest sense is ars cogitandi; as Dialectic it is ars disserendi;
as Organic it is ars dirigendi actiones mentis: while the ars Logica in
the narrower sense is canonica or ars veri et falsi diiudicandi. This
second use of the term Logic is confined to the ars bene cogitandi, which
is held to be different from the ars cogitandi, and identical with the
ars ratiocinandi. This is the real Logic as usually understood, and the
branch that demands our serious attention. Bene cogitare comprises bene
imaginari, proponere, colligere et ordinare: and in accord with these our
Logic will comprise the subjects of Imagination, Proposition, Syllogism,
and Method.
The action denoted by the verb ‘imaginari’ is that of forming an idea,
also called species, notio, praenotio, anticipatio, or conceptus. The
ideas present themselves to the mind as soon as the object is named,
and we, as it were, see right into them.[13] This intuitive perception
we call simple imagination, because it is limited to the mere image of
the thing without affirmation or negation. The idea is identical with
the phantasma. The proposition is an enunciative judgment: colligere
denotes the illative judgment; while the correct treatment of a number of
judgments in related syllogisms constitutes the ars bene ordinandi.
II.
Logic is in the first instance Natural. Men had thoughts before they
evolved any method of thinking, and probably even in the earliest times
there was some method of thought even if there was no thought of method.
The serpent in the garden of Eden doubtless used subtle arguments;
but these primary forms of Logic are of no serious importance: we may
therefore pass them over, and confine our attention to Artificial Logic.
The earliest Logic in the proper sense is that of Epicurus. Zeno’s Logic
was purely eristic, and a non-syllogistic method. Epicurus has been
accused of despising Logic, but it was really only the Logic of the
Stoics which he rejected. When he dropped the term Logic for the name
‘canons’ it was only the name that he really changed: ‘nomen rejecit rem
retinuit’ [I. 52].
All questions, said Epicurus, are either about things or words. When the
question is about things a criterion of Judgment is required. Things
may be classified as (_a_) naturales and (_b_) morales. In the case of
res naturales, we require sense and mind: for res morales appetitus is
required. As there are three faculties, namely sense, mind, and feeling,
we have three criteria, namely sensation, anticipation, and passion.
The term sense denotes both the faculty and the function: as a criterion
it denotes the function primarily, for we judge by the perception of
the senses. The anticipatio is the image stored in the mind; the passio
is the pleasure or pain which controls choice. These will be better
understood if we quote the canons.
CANON i. Sensus nunquam fallitur: ac proinde est omnis sensio omnisque
Phantasiae seu apparentiae perceptio vera.
CANON ii. Opinio est consequens sensum sensionique superadjecta in quam
Veritas aut falsitas cadit.
CANON iii. Opinio illa vera est cui vel suffragatur vel non refragatur
sensus evidentia.
CANON iv. Opinio illa falsa est cui vel refragatur vel non suffragatur
sensus evidentia.
CANON v. Omnis quae in mente est anticipatio seu praenotio dependet a
sensibus: idque vel incursione, vel proportione, vel similitudine vel
compositione.
CANON vi. Anticipatio est ipsa rei notio sive definitio, sine qua
quidquam quaerere, dubitare, opinari, imo et nominari non licet.
CANON vii. Est anticipatio in omni Ratiocinatione principium, quasi nempe
id ad quod attendentes inferimus unum esse idem aut diversum, conjunctum
aut disjunctum.
CANON viii. Quod inevidens est ex rei evidentis anticipatione demonstrari
debet.
These eight canons are the basis of the theory of knowledge, in so far as
one is given us. We start with a blank mind capable of bare sensation:
the evidence of sense is one against which there is no appeal.[14] In the
fifth canon we have some new terms: ‘incursio’ denotes the entrance of an
idea as such: proportio is the creation of an idea, _e.g._ of a giant,
by extending the idea of a man; similitudo is construction of an object
not seen by analogy with one we know; lastly, compositio is the voluntary
union of ideas such as we perform in constructing the notion of the
centaur. In the sixth canon the phrase ‘notio sive definitio’ covers two
aspects of the anticipatio. As a mental image the anticipatio is that
visualizing of an object which we perform when we hear a name significant
to us. This not being the product of a present object, is producible
at will and is that which we recall and mentally survey in framing a
definition. A verbal definition is a secondary product and not necessary
except for one desiring to communicate his ideas. The essential thing is
a formal notion or a notion described and accurately delimited;[15] and
this is what Gassendi really wants.
III.
The remaining canons, ix. to xiv., are rules for practical choice and
clear speaking. Upon these there follow summaries of the works of Lully,
Ramus, and Bacon.
The second book opens with the question of the nature of that Truth which
is considered to be the end of Logic.
Truth is for Logic an end which is external to it. The internal end
for Logic is right thinking; but right thoughts are higher and better
than this: Logic prepares the mind, and the end of this preparation
is attained in applied thought. The common distinction made between
‘logica docens’ and ‘logica utens’ expresses this point. The former is
abjuncta a rebus, the latter conjuncta cum rebus. It is only the latter,
the concrete applied logic, that concerns us at present. The Truth
whose nature we are pursuing is truth of judgment. There is a truth of
existence expressed in the formula ‘everything is what it is’; Gassendi
recognises that reality must always be real, and a picture is not
primarily ‘falsus homo’ but ‘vera effigies’;[16] on the other hand, he
clearly does not suspect that the existence of which he predicates truth
is always a being for mind. To Being as it is for thought belongs another
kind of truth, truth of judgment, which is the agreement of judgment with
fact.
Gassendi is now grappling with a difficult subject, and allowance must
be made for the crudeness of the position on account of its novelty.
Gassendi’s aim is to reach a common-sense position. It appears to him
that everything is what it is in itself: like all other defenders of
this point he goes upon the tacit assumption that the phrase ‘a thing is
what it is’ means a thing is for itself what it is for consciousness.
As yet the animistic vein is not quite explicitly eliminated from the
world of nature as we know it: the object is not properly conceived as
always relative to mind; still less is the object as related to mind
expressly distinguished from the thing as a further ultimate reality.
But with all its crudity the theory of Gassendi commands respect as a
straightforward treatment of the world of daily life. The primary dogma
that ‘everything is what it is’ is supplemented by the notion that sense
shows us everything as it is. There is therefore no thought of the
bodily medium being itself the destroyer of all knowledge: the immediate
relation is the psychic atom out of which the fabric of knowledge is
built, and is itself irresolvable and wholly real. Immediate relations
are, however, not always possible. Things are not all of the same kind.
Some are ‘manifestae,’ and with them we have no trouble; others are
‘occultae,’ either ‘penitus,’ ‘natura,’ or ‘ad tempus.’[17] The first
are hopeless: the last may be left for Time to reveal: the second form
the sphere which it pays us to further examine. It follows from this
division that there is an unknowable; but that which is unknown is so by
reason of its own nature, not by reason of any defect in us. The example
given is the knowledge that the stars are even in number: the unknown is
in this case the answer to a problem, and the knowledge that there is
an answer depends on a disjunctive judgment, ‘stars are either odd or
even.’ It would seem as though, if this is the type of the unknowable,
the unknowable ‘penitus’ is always a case of the ‘unknown ad tempus.’ The
‘res occultae natura’ are those which can be reached by inference: as,
for example, the existence of pores in an apparently continuous surface
deduced from the excretion of sweat. To reach these truths which lie
below the surface we require a criterion, or instrument.
Properly a criterion is a standard of judgment, as Gassendi recognises,
but it is also employed in the sense of instrument. He divides criteria
into (1) those by which we live, and (2) those by which we learn. The
former are standards, such as ‘lex patriae,’ ‘consuetudo,’ and the like,
together with the moral tests of Epicurus, pain and pleasure. These do
not really belong to Logic, which is concerned with the second class.
This is subdivided into (_a_) mechanical, and (_b_) natural criteria.
The former subdivision includes the foot-rule and instruments of that
kind; the latter contains ‘id per quod’ and ‘id secundum quod,’ namely
the faculty and the function of the faculty. Some add to these a third,
‘a quo,’ and define it as the mind. But while for ascertaining the weight
of a thing we require the scales, the poising of the scales, and the man
to record the result, and also for knowledge we require the sense, the
function of the sense, and the mind that knows the result, the third is
in both cases not a criterion, but a judge.[18]
IV.
Now that we have determined the nature of the world we confront and the
criteria available for its discovery, we must explore the question of the
possibility of knowledge, for that has been more than once denied.
The Sceptics assert that man knows nothing in the sense that he cannot
penetrate into the inner beings of things. The Dogmatists, on the other
hand, declare the criteria of sense and intellect to be absolute:
everything can be known through them. Both the schools err from excess,
and the truth lies in the golden mean: some things are known, and
truly known, while others are obscure and do not admit of more than
probability. Truth must be regarded as always possible, but not always
actual: what we do know is truth, but at the same time we cannot be said
to know all truth.
A difficulty arises here which Gassendi does not seem to suspect. If
we do not know all that might be known, how does the ignorance arise,
and how is the present knowledge affected by the absence of further
knowledge? Moreover, what do we require to make our knowledge more
complete? Is it more system or more senses? Clearly if the whole is
regarded as a growing system, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion
that no one stage is in itself finally true. On the other hand, if we
imagine that the world around us contains forces which appeal to us
in vain because we have no senses that can respond to them, knowledge
is bound to remain cramped and imperfect for all time. The atomism of
Gassendi’s standpoint now becomes obvious. He thinks that a piece of the
truth is at least truth. The system of truths, then, only differs from
the individual truths in respect of quantity. This point can be made
clearer when we have further considered the nature of knowledge.
In opposition to Gorgias, Gassendi asserts that there must be something
and some truth. Appearances are admitted to be true: it is the occult
truths which give rise to doubt. To penetrate into the occult truth we
must advance by means of the known to the unknown. A fact which is known
and used as the key to further knowledge is called ‘signum, medium,
seu argumentum.’ For example, in the sentence ‘if the sun shines it
is day,’ the signum is ‘if the sun shines.’ Following Aristotle and
Quintilian,[19] we divide the signa into (1) necessary and (2) probable.
The necessary signa are either (_a_) indicativa or (_b_) commonefactiva.
When the signa are indicativa they prove the existence of the occult
reality, as, for example, when sweat is taken as a proof that pores exist
in the skin. The commonefactiva belong to the class of ‘res ad tempus
occultae.’ In this case both the objects concerned are possible objects
of experience. When a man sees smoke he infers the presence of fire,
and can proceed to verify this by actual experience. It is not this but
the former case that the sceptics attack. The formula for this is, ‘If
_A_ is not, then _B_ is not’: hence given _B_, _A_ must be posited. The
question therefore amounts to this: can we have a perception that is
not a sense-perception, and none the less true? Gassendi thinks that
we can. The signum is a sense-datum, and must be given first; but it
has value only for a mind that perceives and grasps it, so much so that
the mind is justified in revising and correcting its sense-impressions.
The position of the Sceptics that experiences differ and there is no
universal truth is refuted by the facts. For the experiences may differ,
but in recognising the differences we practically admit that there are
two fixed points, namely, the cause and the disposition of the organism
which is affected. As knowledge is a relation the nature of the relation
may vary, and this may lead to partial and confusing statements. We say
‘the sun melts the wax’: we cannot say that the sun is in its own nature
‘melting,’ any more than that it is ‘hardening’ when it hardens the mud.
The underlying fact is that it radiates heat, which softens some bodies
and hardens others according to their dispositions. Our limits are given
at one end by the immediate certainty of sense, and at the other by the
‘indubitata principia’ of mind. It follows that single facts and true
propositions are alike self-evident. If the intellect makes errors it
also corrects them, and knows the pure truth of axioms.
The critical point of this logic is the determination of the relation of
reason to sense. At first it looks as though this was a theory purely
sensualistic, but the modifications introduced finally reverse that
judgment. Gassendi’s real meaning appears to be that experience gives us
all we know; we may get out of experience much that is not apparent to
the senses, but we must never suppose that we can by ourselves _make_
experience: knowledge is a relation, and therefore a pure creative
activity of mind is a sheer impossibility. Gassendi does not say that the
mind cannot know much that the senses never reveal, or that we cannot
confront experience with concepts derived from reflection: all he says
is that however far we travel from the sources, there can be no truth
or reality in thoughts that cannot be brought back to their contact
with experience. Psychologically this is expressed by saying that the
intellect is a supersensuous agent, which is in fact always allied to a
sensuous organism.[20]
Gassendi thought Bacon and Descartes were both extremists. Bacon confined
himself too much to the ars bene colligendi; his condemnation of the
syllogism was wrong, ‘cum in syllogismo sit re ipsa robur nervusque omnis
ratiocinii’: the syllogism is only a failure because our universal is
generally formed ‘ex propositionibus non satis perspectis.’ Descartes,
on the other hand, inclined to weave experience out of his inner
consciousness, to cultivate the ars bene imaginandi without due regard to
the material (auxilia ad habendum veram germanamque rerum notitiam, non
tam ab ipsismet per se ac in se explorandis rebus, quam a solo, ipsoque
a suis dumtaxat cogitatis pendente Intellectu procedendum existimat, I.
90). This definite expression of opinion makes it clear that Gassendi was
steering a middle course between contemporary forms of empiricism and
rationalism (_v._ p. 134).
Gassendi has now finished defining his position with regard to the
relation of the mind to its world. The position is obviously modelled
on Aristotle, and as was noticed above, is in a sense atomistic. A very
significant remark is to be found in the answer to the Sceptics, who
argued that, if a thing appears differently to different people, no one
appearance can be called the truth. Gassendi says that the truth lies not
in the appearance but in the appearing.
Suppose an object appears to me to be of a certain colour, I cannot
say that this is ‘ipsissima qualitas quae sit in objecto,’[21] but I
can say that this is the affection due to this object, or this is the
relation which this object realises with me. The statement that the
object is not red to you cannot make it cease to be red to me, while, on
the other hand, the fact that it is not to you what it is to me, proves
that it is what it is, for if there were no objective reality the fact
of difference could not be explained at all. This view logically implies
that the object is essentially what it does, or in other words, it is a
‘possibility of action.’
Atomism necessitates the recognition of the ‘thing’ as a solid unchanging
occupant of space. Whether it naturally leads to the rejection of
the category of substance for that of function, to the change of the
formula of the thing from what it is to what it does, is a question that
confronts us vaguely, but with promise of growing clearness.
V.
The Logic proper of Gassendi is divided into four parts, and exhibited in
the form of canons. The parts deal with the idea, the proposition, the
syllogism, and method respectively.
The primary activity of the conscious being is Imagination, or the
reception of an image also called idea. The idea is defined as the
object of the mind when it thinks (quae nobis rem quampiam cogitantibus
menti obversatur). All ideas come to us from the senses, and we must
endorse the saying: nihil in Intellectu quod non prius fuerit in sensu
(Canon iv.).[22] These ideas are supplemented by those which the mind
constructs by its own activities.[23] From the activity of the mind we
derive general ideas. Both singular and general ideas are ‘perfect’
in proportion as they accurately represent the object, and accuracy is
obtained by discriminating all the parts of the object, singular or
general. So Gassendi praises Anatomy, Chemistry, and all analytical
sciences as leading to accurate knowledge of particular objects. In the
case of the general idea, he says it is more perfect according as it
contains more distinct classes. The general idea of man, for example, is
more perfect if it contains not only Europeans, Africans, and Asiatics,
but also Americans. It is difficult, he says, to get the idea free from
particular distinctions, but it can be done. The reader of Canon viii.
will find it difficult to say whether Gassendi’s universal is to contain
all particular distinctions or be formed by neglecting them. Man, as a
general idea, must be ‘omnibus discriminibus absolutum,’ but at the same
time the universal concept cannot be gained by abstraction based on one
individual, but results from that process of explicating the essential,
which is grounded in the interaction of many particular ideas.
The Proposition is a union of ideas, and forms the second stage of
logical process. It is true when the union it affirms is in agreement
with objective reality. The objective relation is that of substance and
attributes, and the Proposition unites substance and attributes. As
the union objectively considered is sometimes necessary and sometimes
contingent, so the judgment contained in the proposition is sometimes
necessary (the opposite term being “impossible”), sometimes probable.
The syllogism is a nexus of propositions, and is treated by Gassendi
in the ordinary formal way. Method is three-fold: of invention, of
judgment, and of doctrine. The method of discovery is either analytic
or synthetic. It consists essentially in tracking down a middle term
or connecting link. Suppose one is required to prove that man is a
substance. Taking the subject man we may analyse it and show that it
contains the notion of substance: or taking substance we may qualify it
(synthetically) until we get that qualification which is identical with
man. The process is obviously a resolution of the equation, ‘Man = a
substance,’ in the form:
Man = rational living thing.
Some substance = rational living thing.
Man = some substance.
Gassendi’s preference for mathematical methods would have been quite
obvious without his particular reference to geometry.
The method of judgment is likened to proof in arithmetic when we
combine addition with subtraction, and use them alternately to prove a
result.[24] The final verification is found in the criteria of sense and
judgment in which we must finally fix our faith.
The method of doctrine or teaching ‘begins with resolution, and proceeds
by composition’ (Canon v.). This is the method of all sciences, physical,
mental, and moral. In addition to this simple rule Gassendi preaches
clearness of language, clearness of division, avoidance of useless
digressions, and the necessity of proceeding from the most common and
essential elements to the more obscure.
PART II. PHYSICS
_SECTION A_
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
By far the longest part of the _Syntagma_ of Gassendi is comprised
under the title ‘Physics.’ Of the general nature of this work and its
significance we must speak later; for the present we shall be content
to follow Gassendi’s order of treatment and reproduce his views on the
various topics.
The Introduction is intended to clear our minds as to the character and
range of the subject. The term nature is frequently used for two very
distinct things. If used with an active significance it denotes a ‘vis
agendi,’ a ‘natura divina’ which sustains and supports everything; if
used passively it denotes simply the ‘universitas rerum,’ the totality
of existing things. This distinction invites the use of two terms made
famous by Spinoza, naturans and naturata. But terms live by their
associations, and as Gassendi does not use either of these verbal forms,
it is better to avoid them. Natura naturans would indeed distort the
meaning of ‘vis agendi’ beyond recognition. In spite of the alternative
phrase, natura divina, this active aspect of nature is in no sense
God: the activity may be from God and in its nature divine, but nature
and God remain distinct realities without fusion of their being. The
manifestations of this activity are the ordinary processes of life,
including all that belongs neither to art nor chance, which are the
complementary categories.
Nature as the sum of existing things may be regarded in an abstract or
a concrete way. The true sphere of our Physics lies in this system of
things, and the true keynote of our method is concreteness. Thales was
the founder of the true method, because he first sought the explanation
of natural phenomena in natural causes. To be scientific we must be
immanent; our results will probably not be final, but none the less
our end will be attained. That end is, according to Gassendi, ethical:
he is never tired of pointing out that if we desire finality we labour
in vain. The greatest lesson of past ages is that we too are doomed to
be superseded. None the less we are not aimless or without an end: it
is meritorious to do what we may, and as it is a duty so it is also
a happiness to attain a knowledge of the world in which we live, and
through Nature come to God. Of the limitations of our powers Gassendi has
no doubt; with Bacon he finds in nature a subtlety we cannot compass. But
he has no scepticism by which hope is numbed or enterprise chilled. It is
the quantity not the quality of knowledge that suffers: what we can know
is in its way true and final, and if we pass beyond it, the lower stage
had its own reality in its own day.
To revert to detail, a scheme is given us in this introduction of the
whole work.[25] It is to deal with (_a_) nature in general, (_b_) things
celestial, (_c_) things earthly. The subdivisions of the programme run
thus:
(_a_) De rebus naturae universe:
(1) The world—its number, parts, disposition.
(2) Time and place.
(3) Matter, causal principles, qualities, origin and end.
(_b_) De rebus celestibus:
(1) The heavenly bodies, their motions and the like.
(2) Predictions based on these.
(_c_) De rebus terrenis:
(1) Plants.
(2) Animals.
(3) Man and especially the soul.
This programme we shall follow as Gassendi has followed it.
I.
The discussions of the first section are prolix and contain chiefly
refutations of views which are generally of theological import and belong
to an age of thought so entirely superseded that they are no longer
of any interest. We can therefore pass it over with a mere summary of
conclusions.
The first question of the plurality of worlds was generally treated in an
a priori and speculative manner for which it was peculiarly unfitted. One
prominent argument of the scholastic divines asserted that an infinite
God could not express himself in a finite world. The word here used is
mundus, and must be taken to mean a habited or habitable globe, as
there is no question of the plurality of the heavenly bodies. The answer
to such a ‘trifling proposition’ is easy but instructive. In the first
place, the infinity of worlds might be successive, which is the more
probable if we grant that the given world must perish. Again, it does not
follow that an effect must be identical with its cause, and therefore,
an infinite cause need not produce an infinite effect. Finally, the
whole argument suggests that we can judge the Divine Agent by human
standards, which Gassendi denies. Gassendi refuses to say that ‘Deus
propter excellentiam non immerito nihil vocatur’; the concept of God
has to be formed through our concepts of all that is highest on earth,
but the sublimation is carried far enough to justify the position that
when regarded as active and real, God cannot be brought under ordinary
categories of judgment.
Current opinion was divided between two views. Some upheld that each
star was a world and these worlds were related to each other:[26]
others maintained that there was a plurality of worlds, but each one
dwelt apart, dissociated from the rest. In the second case it follows
that we cannot know the others; while the former statement is a mere
assumption, since we do not in fact know those relations. The assumption
of relations was a pure deduction from the assumed unity of the whole,
and was made valueless by the fact that the relations asserted to be
actual were never revealed in experience. An entirely different proof
was based on the assumption that the number of atoms was infinite and
could only be exhausted by an infinity of worlds. These so-called proofs
Gassendi rejects: his attitude is one of provisional scepticism based on
common-sense. There is no proof either for or against, since the worlds
if existent are certainly unknown.[27] He pours scorn on Lucretius for
praising Epicurus as though a proclamation of endless worlds had broken
down the barriers of human knowledge. Lucretius exclaimed in vain
‘moenia mundi
discedunt: video totum per inane geri res.’
The one word ‘video’ reduced the whole sentiment to bathos: it expressed
exactly what could not be done; and there is no gain in widening the
realm of the unknown: it is not the number of possible objects that must
be increased, but the powers of sense and constructive imagination as
based on sense. To indulge an empty fancy in the ecstasy that the word
‘infinite’ too often inspires is harmful rather than advantageous: we
must confine ourselves to what we know, and curb the imagination within
the limits dictated by experience. In this reference at least Gassendi
seems to have been clear on the distinction of unknown from unknowable,
and to have felt the futility of asserting existences to which we have no
relation.
II.
The fifth chapter takes up the question of the World Soul, a subject
which has been discussed from time immemorable, and still retains
something more than a merely historical interest. Gassendi’s treatment
of it is systematic and much more interesting than some of his other
discussions.
The root of the question is the opinion that the world is an organised
whole; not a ‘totum inordinatum’ like a pile of stones, but ‘ordinatum’
or constituted of organised parts.[28] This position is definitely
though perhaps unconsciously advanced by the addition of the idea that
these parts stand to each other in some relation other than that of mere
co-existence in space: it is universally admitted that Earth, Sun, and
Moon are interrelated (inter se affectae relatione aliqua sint). This
advance in the doctrine really carries us over the crucial step from the
view of the world as organised to the declaration that it is organic,
from which an easy analogy brings us to the all-pervading soul.[29] It
is this step that we must defend or repudiate. In spite of the example
of the pile of stones, it may be possible to have an ordered Universe
without all the implications of a universal soul.
The greatest advocates of the world soul are Pythagoras and Plato,
supported by Aristotle to a certain extent, and the more recent
‘chymici.’ The outline of the doctrine shows that the Soul of the
world was conceived as a very subtle substance pervading the Universe.
Its nature is not simple but twofold, being composed of a purer and a
grosser part, the latter being however ‘purissima’ as compared with
the grossness of corporeal entities. This forms a spiritual body which
mediates the entrance of the higher part into the natural body.[30] These
parts are called respectively Mens and Anima (νοῦς, ψυχή). The term anima
then denotes νοῦς taken as conjoined to some material existent, and can
be used in this discussion without further reference to νοῦς or mens per
se.
The anima was defined by Pythagoras as a harmony, not of course in
a material sense as we speak of vocal harmony, but in the sense of
proportion of parts. We naturally ask what are the parts and what are
the proportions, and we look to Plato’s _Timaeus_ for the answer. That
exposition is taken by Gassendi to be the true statement of what the
Anima Mundi meant to the original authors of the doctrine. Are we to
accept this Anima or not? Such expositions as we have clearly indicate
that it is an entity whose being is not exhausted in these analogical
descriptions. To say it is a harmony is only to say that its nature can
be thus analogically described. What is it in reality? If we take it to
mean God there is no objection so long as we speak of him as assistens,
not pars, just as the pilot is in but not part of the ship. Similarly it
may be a fiery substance (calor) if taken as immanent, not like the sun’s
heat, irradiated. This interpretation requires a further modification,
inasmuch as the position is radically altered by using the term soul
for a substance like calor. To use the term soul in any intelligible
way is to imply certain functions such as generation and nutrition.
These are essential to life as we know it, either in animals or plants,
and without these the term becomes meaningless. But one world does not
beget another, and therefore has no claim to be recognised as an animal.
Neither has the world any functions of nutrition: Plato and the Stoics
have indeed spoken of the stars as being nourished by exhalations from
the earth, and the earth from the water of the moon, but these are idle
fables: a commutation of parts there may be, but that is not properly
speaking nutrition. Finally, the earth has no functions such as sight and
hearing; and if we speak of the ‘heart’ of the world, or make it like a
Cyclops with the Sun for an eye, these are pure metaphors! Why, then,
is the world said to have a soul at all? The reason is, that without
it we cannot explain how there should be individual souls. The only
argument for it is a regress from particular to universal. Lactantius
expresses this tersely: ‘sic enim argumentatur: fieri non posse ut sensu
careat quod sensibilia ex se generat. Mundus autem generat hominem,
qui est sensu praeditus. Ergo et ipsum sensibilem esse.’ This argument
breaks down by generating its own contradiction: for many things in
the world have no soul, and it is equally possible to argue from them
that the world has no soul. That which has soul derives its soul from
the particular antecedent to which it owes its production and not to a
universal entity. (Animam nimirum habet animal non ex totali anima mundi
sed ex speciali anima quae aut in parentibus praeest. This applies not to
anima as such only, but to any specific nature, _e.g._ of stone, I. 160.)
A second main argument is derived from the belief that the soul is the
architect of its own body. Granted then that the world is an animal, it
must have a Soul. As this argument assumes the World to be an animal, and
deduces from that the presence of a soul, we must attack the assumption.
This animal called the world must either be eternal or have had a
beginning. If it is eternal, in what sense did the soul make it?—and if
it was created, this must have been done by some agent other than itself.
If it began, but not by creation, it was born either spontaneously or of
parents, which means it was due either to chance or to definite purpose.
In any case its cause is outside itself, and therefore cannot be its own
anima. It appears then, that the theory has no support so long as we take
the term soul exactly. If we take it to mean either God or a substance
such as fire, we either go beyond the world for its soul, or we apply the
term soul to material forms of existence in a way that will make havoc of
our psychology.
III.
Some additional questions remain to be settled, but they are of minor
importance. They comprise a discussion on the leading theories of the
universe and their relative values, an enquiry into the beginning and end
of the world, and a description of the known parts of the world. Of these
the last requires no notice, being a mere description of the apparent
place of things, _e.g._ the place of the air, of the water, of the earth,
and of the heavenly bodies. This essay on physical geography applied to
the universe belongs, with its complementary disquisition on the figure
of the earth, to an age still near the times when the earth was thought
to be flat, and may be consigned to the limbo of forgotten problems.
The three main theories of the world were those evolved by Ptolemy,
Copernicus, and Tycho Brahe respectively. Of these Gassendi considers
that of Tycho Brahe to be the best for reasons worth noting. Ptolemy’s
system is dismissed for not explaining the movement of the heavenly
bodies in a satisfactory way: the Copernican system is most in accord
with facts, but the sacred texts attribute rest to the earth and movement
to the sun. Moreover, there is a decree bidding us take this to mean not
apparent but real rest. Those, therefore, who respect the decree must
approve and defend Tycho Brahe’s modifications of the Copernican system.
Here, as elsewhere, Gassendi’s language implies reluctant acquiescence.
He writes: ‘Ideo superest ut tale Decretum reverentibus Tychonicum potius
systema et probetur et defendetur’; and we can see through the veil of
orthodoxy that the author’s heart is with Copernicus and the system which
can so truthfully be called ‘planius et concinnius.’
In dealing with the question of the world’s beginning Gassendi is
supported by Epicurus and the Bible. The doctrine of atoms implies a
theory of creation, and therefore puts its adherents in opposition to
Aristotle and the supporters of an infinite and unproduced world. But
while support is thus gained for the theory of creation, the alleged
method cannot be accepted. A blind concursus of atoms is not a method
of creation that a good Churchman can advocate. Fortunately it can be
rejected on rational no less than religious grounds. The world gives us
obvious proof that it was made by design: this implies a cause, which
must be outside it; and therefore production in time, for the cause
existed before it produced the world, and the relation of before and
after constitutes Time. Again, every part of the world is corruptible
and perishing, and the whole must therefore be of the nature of the
corruptible and have its own creation and decease.
To understand this second argument, we must take it as an argument on
categories.[31] The assumed question is, ‘Does the world belong to the
category of the infinite or the finite?’ If any reason can be shown for
including it under one category rather than another, the consequences
follow without further argument. Gassendi’s argument against the eternity
of the world is based on cruder views than might be expected. He notes
that the sea and the rivers continually reduce the land and even wear
down the mountains:[32] none of this matter is carried up again, and
therefore, if an eternity of time had really elapsed, the whole earth
must by now have disappeared beneath the waters. This is a shamelessly
eristic procedure for one who has just defended the spherical form of the
world.
There arises from this proof of a finite world one problem which touches
so nearly our views on motion that it must not be left unsolved.
Aristotle had argued from the eternity of movement and the necessity of
God’s continual action. Gassendi’s argument is also based on movement,
for corruption and decay may be regarded as primarily movements and
only apparent changes. It must also be borne in mind that there are
three indestructibles, namely atoms, the void, and the universe. If
the world is composed of atoms, and atoms never perish, it follows
that the destruction of the world is neither more nor less than the
dissipation of its material. Movement, then, would be eternal, and if
the old material forms a new world with never a break in the history of
its parts, why should this second world be said to be created rather
than evolved, and why should not our present world be viewed as evolved
from a former world or even a former condition of its own elements? It
may finally be necessary to say that Gassendi never properly faced this
problem, but he seems to have been conscious that such a problem was
possible, and to have in some degree anticipated it. His first defence
is the denial that time is dependent on motion. If time and motion are
inseparable, they must be coeval, and motion is infinite, since it
occupies all time: to deny the dependence is to assert a time prior to
all motion, and thereby make motion a product in time. The second is
contained in the assertion that the first cause need not be physical;
in other words, a regress from motion to motion is not infinite, but
terminates in a First Cause, by whose creative action motion itself
first came into being. The fact that all motion is, as motion, one, and
the term ‘different motions’ must be taken to mean motions of different
aggregates of matter, does not compel us to regard the creation of motion
as the imparting of one impulse to the whole: it is possible, and even
more probable, that in the beginning many mobile bodies were created with
internal force of movement. As God’s relation to the world is purely
external, and its movement is for him a ‘pure relation,’ his essence is
not affected by either its becoming or its dissolution.
As we progress more and more with the Physics it will become more and
more apparent how empty and vain are these arguments. They perhaps
weighed heavily against those who taught that the world could never be
destroyed, but would be purified and adorned with flowers ‘ad puerulorum
non initiatorum neque in caelum translatorum oblectationem.’ But as
serious philosophy they cannot stand examination, because Gassendi never
makes it clear whether he is talking as a practical man of science or
a theorist. His position is in fact metaphysical, and relies on pure
reasoning. His real theorem, therefore, is whether the human mind can
think its world and its series of causes as truly infinite. He would
probably have decided that the infinite can only be thought by an
infinite mind. Speculation of this kind is however quite out of place,
for Gassendi never thinks of dividing mind and object in this way. The
consequence is that, in spite of the logical and metaphysical character
of the argument, the conclusions are purely physical. For Gassendi
there are no antinomies of pure reason, and the problems of infinity
never suggest a reconsideration of experience itself. So, in spite of
the encouraging way in which Gassendi takes up time and causation as
the fundamental points in the problem of infinitude, he gets no further
than a dogmatic assertion that what is logically possible is physically
actual. If we may say of any theory of reality that it regards the
actual as necessarily thinkable, it would still be false to regard the
thinkable as necessarily actual; and from Gassendi’s point of view
neither proposition is defensible.[33] The whole argument is therefore
irrelevant and useless: our world as a subject for scientific discussion
is not affected by the conclusion; and the reader finds himself, after
traversing a circle of argument, for all practical purposes exactly where
he was before. It is impossible to suppose that Gassendi was not aware of
this, or that these forensic disputes were left in such solemn isolation
by mere accident. The practical part of the treatise looks forward: the
theoretical serves a different purpose.
CHAPTER II
TIME AND SPACE
I.
The second book of the Physics on time and place is so involved and
subtle that its contents must be stated in Gassendi’s own way before any
attempt is made to formulate his views.
The title is peculiar and should be noticed. It runs ‘de loco et tempore
seu spatio et duratione’; and this duplication of terms persists
throughout, adding to the difficulty of interpretation. Gassendi seems
to have regarded the second pair as the universals corresponding to the
particular or specific terms locus and tempus. He considers these two
identical in nature, so that anything we say about space applies to time:
we can therefore confine ourselves to the more intelligible subject of
space.
The traditional philosophy divides all being into substance and accident,
and declares that what is neither of these is nothing. Space however is a
reality, and yet comes under neither of these heads. In face of the facts
authority must be disregarded and a new classification be evolved. We
must recognise as distinct classes
(1) Substances—quae per se sunt.
(2) Accidents—quae per aliud sunt.
(3) Time and Space.
This third class shares with the first the quality of being per se:
they are therefore properly called substances, but the term substance
always conveys the idea of corporeal existence, and is therefore
objectionable unless a qualification is added. It is not incorrect to
speak of an incorporeal substance, and this would meet the requirements
of the case: as Aristotle used it of the mind and Epicurus of the void,
it is not wholly without authority. Having settled this first step of
classification, Gassendi attacks the categories. Quantity is the category
that concerns us at present. Space falls under the category of continuous
quantity. The tyranny of matter gave rise to the opinion that quantity
was an ‘accidens corporeum,’ and as space came under the category of
quantity it was also asserted to be corporeal. Corporeal, when applied
to accidents, means ‘dependent on a body.’ Length, breadth, and weight
clearly require a material something to which they can be referred.
Space, according to Gassendi, does not: it is therefore more than a mere
quantity, more than so much room: it is not only the place of things, it
is a place for things, a difference that must be more fully discussed
later. Space, then, may be defined as a quantitative reality independent
of matter. The consequences and difficulties of this definition have now
to be considered.
(1) The most obvious objection is that a quantity of nothing is nothing;
but Gassendi replies that in this case the quantity is a quantity of
Space, and space is something. If a body be removed from a given place,
the space of that place remains. This argument is greatly assisted by the
traditional habit of obtaining a concept of matter per se by abstracting
all form: if this is possible why cannot form be abstracted from all
matter? It follows that the concept of the void is possible.
(2) As we may think of matter as reduced to nothing, we may also think of
it as infinitely great: worlds may be infinite, and therefore space must
be.
(3) As space has no faculties or actions, its adjectives must be purely
negative. It is infinite because it is not finite, and incorporeal
because it is not corporeal. It cannot be a substance in the sense that
God is, else there are three equal substances, and the being of God is
not superior to the being of space and time.
(4) The origin of space and time is an insoluble problem. Gassendi does
not say this in so many words, but leaves it to be inferred. He merely
remarks that to say some essences are not properly created by God is
worse than admitting time and space to be uncreated—a tortuous method of
escaping the dilemma.
(5) Space is imaginary, not in the sense of unreal or fictitious, but as
requiring to be constructed by analogy.
The discussion thus summarised is followed by a division of space
according as it is (1) outside the world, (2) dispersed among things, (3)
collective. The first is space left for new worlds, and is required in
order that God may not be limited in creating new worlds; the second is
space as it occurs among bodies which do not change; the third is space
as it is produced by loss of volume or contraction. This is technically
called ‘spatium coacervatum.’ These three kinds of space seem to be
really three kinds of vacua: they are rather asserted than proved, and
their assertion raises more problems than it solves.
II.
As Gassendi’s doctrine of time is a mere appendix to that of space, it
is necessary to form some idea of his views of space before venturing to
consider those of time.
Following the hint given by Bernier in the Abrégé, we may take space and
the universe to be complementary concepts. Space is infinite in three
dimensions, and is the place of all things, whether already produced or
existing only in the mind of God. The confusing element in Gassendi’s
treatment is its complexity. It is never quite clear whether we are
treating space as a given reality which can be directly known or a
reality which must be deduced. The statement that space is imaginary
is extremely obscure. By imagination Gassendi always means a power of
compounding elements given through the senses in such a way as to produce
a new representation of some object not actually presented. If space is
a pure quantity, its construction in imagination has no principle of
limitation, and it will be the subject of an infinite process. Here there
appear to be two errors which can only be explained through the tendency
of Gassendi’s philosophy to develope rationalistic features. The first
error is committed when from the ancient argument that if a vessel is
absolutely empty its sides must either collapse or preserve a distance
between them in which there is pure space, he infers that a pure space
can be given. Here there is a wholly indefensible transition from the
distinction of the concepts of space and matter to a distinction of their
actual existence. As with the infinity of motion, so here in the cognate
subject of space the logical conclusion is converted into a predicate of
reality in a way that implies a metaphysic unfortunately not supplied by
Gassendi.
The second error consists in supposing that we have any right to regard
as valid of reality a process which is subjectively possible.[34]
Gassendi undoubtedly commits this error because he uses the property
of numbers or mere quantity to enable him to assert that our concept
of space cannot stop at any given point but must advance indefinitely.
This, however, is true of everything if taken abstractly in relation
to quantity, and has no special application to space. The traditional
problems gave a wrong turn to this line of thought by putting it into a
form half concrete and half abstract. If a man going to the end of all
things hurls a spear before him, what are we to think? Common sense
replies that he was probably not at the end, but tradition says that it
follows that an end of space is unthinkable, and the concrete reality of
the spear gives the space, imagined as its place, a fictitious reality.
We have here, then, a complete confusion between the reality of our
thoughts about space and the reality of the space about which we think.
Gassendi does not know either how space originated in nature or how it
has become known. When he describes it as form he speaks metaphorically;
it is not a form either of sense or matter, but an independent reality;
it is an immovable whole, otherwise a thing might move and take its space
with it, and so not change its place even when moved. In a sense it must
be nothing, otherwise two things are in one place, namely the thing and
its space; on the other hand, it is a substance in relation to occupants
of space. In some cases, _e.g._ God and the angels, the occupant is
incorporeal. If a place is space occupied by a body, can an incorporeal
being have a space, and if not, can it be and yet not be anywhere? To
answer these questions Gassendi says space is ‘quod res locata occupat’;
hence the angels have their place where they are, and God is properly ‘in
se,’ which appears to mean that He is but does not exist, has being but
not spatial being.
This intricate maze of thought becomes entirely unintelligible unless we
accept it as the expression of two views in one. In one part we are being
told what Space is in itself, in the other what it is in experience. In
the former aspect it is real, and that is all we know; definition, if
any, must be negative, and its nature must be assumed to be all that
it is not irrational to suppose it.[35] Ultimate space is thus really a
hypothesis which is proved to be actual, because without it we cannot
understand the world of experience. The latter aspect concerns us when we
deal with reality as known in the senses. Space, having no activities,
cannot be known through the senses except ‘ex parte rei locatae.’ It is
combination with the thing that makes space an object of perception and
gives the required ground upon which imagination may work.[36]
III.
If Gassendi feels that space is an ultimate that defies exact analysis
and almost baffles description, he is still more diffident about time.
None the less he feels that his position ought to redeem him from blank
despair. The words of St. Augustine sum up the views of one class of
thinker;[37] to Gassendi they seem justified only as the conclusion of
a false method. For if the corporeal is regarded as primary, and our
category of substance is practically confined to the tangible, space and
time alike become displaced from reality and drift away through the pages
of speculation like homeless phantoms refusing burial. The rock on which
Gassendi builds is good foundation: come what may, these two are real,
and it is futile to try and explain away what we cannot escape.
The majority of what has been said about space can be transferred to
time. The main conception being the same, only one chapter is devoted to
a special discussion of time. Like space, it is a substance in its way,
incorporeal in its nature and not in itself dependent on its content.
The relation of space to time is to be understood by the analogy of
corporeal entities; for as the corporeal has a permanent aspect, its
extension, and also a successive aspect, its movement, so we have in
the incorporeal sphere a permanent and a successive entity, which are
respectively the place of all extensions and the place of all movements.
As Space is really the Place of all places, so Time is the Duration of
all durations; and as space has some unoccupied or potential places,
so Time overlaps the known durations and has its ‘void.’ In opposition
to the Epicurean view, which makes out that time would not be if there
were no minds or things,[38] Gassendi holds to a lapse of time before
the beginning of the world and between creations. He is really nearer
the modern view than at first appears; for the Epicurean view did not
make time a form of perception, but merely regarded it as dependent on
its contents. Gassendi, on the other hand, considers that events derive
their order from time, and considers that time must therefore precede
change. In the case of space it seemed an easy matter to say that the
annihilation of the thing placed was not identical with annihilation
of the part of space which formed the place. If we are to preserve the
analogy we must say that annihilation of change would not annihilate
time. This Gassendi is prepared to say, but it is a hard saying. It
would seem as though the assertion of time without change necessitated
our regarding time as a permanent entity, which would sacrifice its
essential distinction from space. Time moves without any doubt: it is
however hardly like a stream: a better simile is that of the flame of a
candle, which as it burns changes indeed, but in such a way as not to
lose its identity, and so gives us a better idea of continuity and the
retention of identity in difference.[39] The point which Gassendi wishes
to emphasise is that, if time and change are identical, there is no
background to define the movement. If a thing, when it moves, takes its
place with it, it moves without change of place, which is nothing at all:
similarly, if an event takes its time with it, the time-series is reduced
to nothing, a reduction to absurdity which makes it necessary to say
that the time is not the change, but the change is in the time. To this
point Gassendi clings, but if we seek further for some explanation of
the permanence implied in this we can find no answer that satisfies. It
is to be feared that, following the analogy of space, Gassendi thought of
time as ultimately the sum of all times, and so the time of the universe.
This comprehensive term substance was the shibboleth that reigned before
the absolute, and it swayed men’s minds to create concepts beyond
their grasp. If my life falls within the life of the world, and that
again within the life of the universe, it is not unnatural to picture
successively widening areas of time corresponding to the span of each
existence up to that last time of the Universe, and if we remember that
the Universe is indestructible, it will follow that ultimate time and
space are infinite indestructible realities. But what is the difference
between ultimate time and any other time, and do we get nearer reality by
getting further away from our experience? Gassendi seems to have omitted
to think over the relation of time to our experience, and that in spite
of the excellent hint in a passage quoted from Diogenes Laertius, where
we are exhorted to notice not only days and nights, but also ‘passionibus
et vacuitate ab ipsis.’ In the absence of definite information it
must be assumed that Gassendi did with time what he did with space:
he constructed a rational background to the data of sense, and thus
furnished himself with a double theory, one part concerned with time as
it is, the other with ultimate time as it might be if it were at all.
Gassendi proves puzzling to the thoughtful reader by his trick of
abandoning one method for another. It is natural to expect that a
rationalistic position will be developed by deduction. Gassendi on the
contrary makes no attempt to develope his theories at all, but simply
returns to experience for a fresh start. For all practical purposes he
has reduced time to a standstill, and the natural deduction is that
the present is illusion. Far from accepting this consequence, Gassendi
argues that as the present is real time cannot be nothing, and those who
consider it to be nothing do so because they erroneously seek in the
successive for that which is natural only to the permanent. This can only
have one meaning: in the permanent the given points co-exist, and are
capable of recurring in experience: in the successive there is no return.
Man lives _in_ Space, but he lives _through_ time, and if reason compels
us to think of both as wholes, that difference of our experience persists
and makes it necessary to form a different conception of each whole.
The analysis of different kinds of time gives us the so-called real
and imaginary times. This was the ancient distinction between the time
given in actual experience (real) and that which was before the world
(imaginary). This distinction Gassendi repudiates. His time is imaginary
in the sense that his space was, and the real time is only one section
of that. This shows the weakness of Gassendi’s position: for however
good his intentions he cannot avoid the conclusion that the time we
experience and the time we represent in constructive imagination are
identical: which amounts to saying that time is either not experienced at
all or is experienced as a whole; but this would most likely be beyond
Gassendi, though he would be quite capable of regarding All Time as one
object,[40] especially as he must have regarded the experience of time
as essentially a reflective consciousness of what a merely sensitive
organism could never comprehend.
A few more notes must close this summary. Gassendi praises Posidonius for
not taking the present as a mere point. He argues against Aristotle that
time is not the measure of movement existing only for the calculator,
time does not depend on movement, for plurality of movement does not
involve plurality of times, nor does a plurality of worlds. In a
subordinate sense movement may be said to be the measure of time, as the
movement of the sun marks out periods of time. All points of space have
one time, _i.e._ every moment is the same everywhere. On the other hand
every point of space has all the points of time, _i.e._ persists through
the whole series of moments.[41]
These remarks cannot be put in any connexion, for Gassendi gives none.
He does not properly distinguish the different views of time which they
imply. The most noticeable feature is his omission of any distinction
of the psychological aspect, an omission which compels us to take his
‘moment of time’ as an absolute quantity. While he is clear about
the artificial measurements of time, he does not oppose them to the
subjective measurement of time, as modern psychology does, but to real
parts: a proceeding which is certainly consistent with his view of time
as a whole in some sense substantive.[42]
The discussion of eternity which closes this chapter is really
concerned with the meaning of timeless, though somewhat indirectly and
perfunctorily treated. Eternity might be defined as the time of God,
which is to say that it was popularly conceived as the duration of God’s
life. The notion had passed into philosophical treatises with all its
crudities unanalysed. Gassendi furnishes an analysis which dissipates the
common notions. He has however a further interest which must be pointed
out. The popular idea dissolves into nothing if we examine the phrase,
‘duration of the life of God’: it at once becomes clear that the foremost
idea is that of life, and the understanding of the problem as it concerns
time is obscured by the other notions introduced. But over and above
this trifling proposition we find a real difficulty in reconciling the
concept of God with our concept of time. We must perforce think of God
as one to whom past, present, and future are always present: for whom
therefore All Time exists at all times, so that ultimately time must be
again reduced to a standstill and our distinctions of times to illusion.
This attack touches Gassendi very nearly because of the way in which he
is compelled to maintain that time is a totality: the nature of God seems
to turn the scale finally in favour of a static totality. His reply is
subtle, but not futile or perfunctory. He says, in brief, that God’s
being is purely qualitative, not quantitative, and he is only related to
time extrinsically, which practically means not at all. God’s being is in
fact not an experience at all in our sense of the term. It may therefore
be a timeless experience, but it is not an experience of the timeless.
The latter phrase would imply that the timeless was a possible object of
any experience: the former is one of those negative determinations which,
like inhuman, insensible, Gassendi delights to regard as positive. The
way in which this can be understood will be best explained if we recall
an example by which Gassendi explains how the nature of God is related
to space. After remarking as to the place of God, that ‘Deus in se est’
(I. 191), he quotes the statement ‘deum esse habendum prout est in se,’
and criticises it by saying God is unlimited, ‘sed haec illimitatio seu
infinitudo non est quam nomine proprio appellamus immensitatem.’ The
perfection of God, in short, must be conceived qualitatively: ‘ut in
lacte aliud est summe candidum esse, aliud esse valde copiosum’; and what
is thus explained in relation to space must be analogously applied to
time. The idea of substituting intensity for extensity was excellent: it
opens up wide possibilities for speculative minds. Gassendi, having made
it, leaves it alone, thereby showing much wisdom. It is much easier to
understand an intensity which does not involve quantity of space than to
comprehend an intensity which avoids quantity of time. It is true there
is not more whiteness in the milk when there is more of the milk: and
similarly we may say that God is not more wise because He is wise for a
greater time. This evades the real problem, which lies in the assertion
that if God were God for less time, He would be less a God. So long as
time pertains to the nature of God at all, it must pertain as a whole: to
answer that it pertains not wholly, but none the less completely by being
intensively perfect, is either to talk nonsense or to confuse time and
thought.[43]
CHAPTER III
FIRST PRINCIPLES
(_a_) THE MATERIAL PRINCIPLE
Leaving time and space we now descend the scale of Being, and come to
pure corporeal reality, the subject to which the term ‘physical science’
is usually restricted. A speculative element still remains in so far as
the nature of ultimate matter is reached by inference, and not given in
direct experience.
The science of ultimate matter carries us beyond the limits of our
sensible world; it takes us therefore deeper than the elements, which
are mutable compounds, to some thing which even the imagination cannot
further analyse. It is essential to the nature of ‘principia’ that they
should not be produced either from one another or from any foreign
bodies. Not only must our first matter be itself irreducible to any
lower terms, it must also be capable of explaining the solidity of
compounded bodies. Its limits are thus theoretically fixable: unity
and indivisibility form the maximum; the mathematical point and the
numerical zero form the minimum. These limits must be fixed else our
hypothetical material will be incapable of serving the ends for which it
was designed. As to the maximum, if it be divisible it is not ultimate.
As regards the minimum, if it be nothing its multiples remain nothing,
and the actual world cannot be generated from it. The danger in this
direction is exemplified by two current theories: some reduced the unit
of matter to a point which if taken mathematically amounts to nothing;
others arrived at the same practical result by going beyond the simplest
form of matter to pure form, which is equally destructive of all return
to the world of common things. With characteristic ingenuity, some
acknowledging the force of argument, compromised by giving matter the
‘forma corporeitatis’!
Our ultimate then preserves its physical reality and its ‘corpus.’ The
criterion of this is activity, which we further define as tangibility,
for the incorporeal beings act, but only matter is an object of touch.
By ‘touch’ Gassendi really means solidity or impenetrability, for this
may be a relation between two inanimate bodies; he thinks with his
contemporaries that matter may be taken as real apart from our thought,
and as maintaining in that absolute objectivity some of the qualities by
which we know it.
We may infer, from the multitude of forms, that matter in itself must be
indifferent to form. Its quantity must be regarded as constant, change
being change of form. The dogma ‘ex nihilo nihil’ is a category valid
for science, but it does not limit God. This assertion is interesting
as an example of the way in which Gassendi is capable of keeping to
one point at a time. He has no intention of regarding the doctrine ‘ex
nihilo nihil’ as anything but absolute; at the same time it is only a
law of thought for the sphere of material production: if we go beyond
that sphere to the nature of God or the human soul, its jurisdiction will
cease.[44]
So far we have dealt with a priori necessary determinations of matter:
we have now to define its nature somewhat more accurately. The history
of the subject presents several theories from which to choose. There are
(_a_) those who think matter has qualities and (_b_) those who regard it
as in itself unqualified. Under (_a_) we have (1) those who speak only
of primary qualities and (2) those who add secondary qualities. To begin
with (_a_) (1): this class includes the physiologists who took earth,
air, fire, water, these being the typical embodiments of the primary
qualities heat, cold, etc. Gassendi considers that the choice of one
element was really the choice of matter with one primary quality as the
unit and the ultimate unit. Under (_a_) (2) come those who take actual
complex substances as the ultimates. Among the ancients Anaxagoras is the
example: while the contemporary chymici revived his principles. The class
(_b_) also divides into (1) rationalist and (2) materialist thinkers.
Possibly ‘spiritualist and materialist’ would have been better terms.
Here the atomists are classed as materialist for want of a better term,
but the limits to the significance of the word must be remembered. For
Gassendi Plato and the Atomists are simply two species of one genus,
namely of those who make the matter (ὕλη) ἄποιον. Gassendi’s history
of the emergence of atomism is arranged so that the first solutions
of the problem of an ultimate seem most complex: refinement brings us
to an ultimate that is as simple as possible, and we have our choice
between making it ‘spiritual’ (Plato, Pythagoras, and the Stoics) or
non-spiritual (atomism). In _both_ cases the ultimate is supersensuous,
and therefore ‘metaphysical.’
It is unnecessary to recall all the details which Gassendi laboriously
records; but as it was certainly part of the scheme of his work to
furnish a history of human thought before his time, it would be an
omission not to allow some praise to the excellent way in which
these chapters are arranged, or the clever and, I believe, original
classification which enables the author to refine the doctrine down in
such a way that the mere history of the case seems an unanswerable proof
that the atomistic theory is simplest and best.
The principal characteristics of the atom as a material ultimate are
too well known to need mention here. The doctrine of the Atom does not
occupy so much space as might perhaps be expected: it is not the atom
but atomism that interests Gassendi. He notes that Democritus gave the
atom only Magnitude and Figure, while Epicurus added weight (I. 266, _v._
p. 3). Gassendi keeps the three. Resistance, he says, is not so much a
property as ‘ipsammet corporis tribus reliquis [proprietatibus] subjectam
naturam (τὸ ὑποκείμενον).’ It is, in fact, solidity. The atom has parts
(as with Epicurus), but is indivisible: it is not conjunct in the sense
that it might ever be disjunct; in other words, there is no Void in the
body of the Atom. The Atom is said to have parts, inasmuch as these are
required to account for differences of Figure: there is no mention of
motion within the atom, though there is nothing in the world of compound
bodies that is not full of motion. ‘Considera metallum v.c. plumbum in
carino fusum: cum ad speciem nihil quietius, immotiusque videri possit,
putasne intra ipsum motus, sive itus atque reditus brevissimis spatiis,
celeritate incomprehensibili non fiunt.’
In following Epicurus and Lucretius on this point, Gassendi does not seem
to have noticed that a perfectly hard body is not elastic, and therefore
would finally come to rest: which means the destruction of matter.
The chief point of dispute has always been how far the atom can be
conceived purely in terms of reason. The mediaeval thinker was familiar
with a ‘punctum physicum,’ a ‘punctum metaphysicum,’ and a ‘punctum
mathematicum.’ These are not infrequently confused, and Gassendi shapes
his arguments against writers who were already moving toward the view of
an atom as an immaterial point, a centre of force or some cognate form
of the doctrine. He resists this tendency because it appears to him to
be an excess of analysis, going so far as to preclude all possibility of
return.[45] He attributes to his atoms magnitude, figure, and weight.
They are ultimate so far as we are concerned with the world of things and
the category of quantity. In opposition to the average atomist, Gassendi
does not consider that our knowledge stops where the quantitative
analysis ends. He denies that the atom is eternal or unproduced or
infinite. God as creator is above and beyond the physical world. With
dependence in the way of creation there is combined independence of
action: atoms have not ‘a seipsis vim motricem,’ but they are self-moving
‘Dei gratia’: a distinction which leaves the man of science unhampered
and does not despoil the theologian. The theory of creation can be
sketched briefly. At first God created as many atoms as were necessary
to form this world: the atoms were not necessarily created separately,
but the created mass of matter was such as could be resolved into
‘corpuscula’: each of these minute bodies has its own affinities, and the
command that the earth and water should produce plants and animals, was
the act of uniting in one place those atoms suited to become one seed:
this process can be repeated wherever and whenever such atoms co-exist
as are fitted to cohere; from this we can elaborate the whole scheme of
generation and corruption, coherence and dissolution, which makes up the
history of the natural world.
This view clearly involves a possibility of free movement, and therefore
raises the question whether the Void is not a principle as much as atoms.
Gassendi acknowledges that both are primary parts of the universe; but
he considers that they differ inasmuch as the Void is of the nature
of a condition rather than a cause,[46] and only atoms are capable of
constituting ‘res generabiles.’ As matter is itself not a primary but a
secondary cause, the validity of this distinction might be disputed: as
Gassendi’s intentions are clear the point need not be raised.
(_b_) PRIMARY AND SECONDARY CAUSES
A doctrine of causes naturally begins in some way or other with
Aristotle. In this case it begins with criticism and selection. The word
causa is not quite identical with Aristotle’s αἰτία, the former implying
activity, the latter having a somewhat wider denotation and meaning
origin rather than producing force. Thus of the four causes Gassendi
says that Form is properly an effect, matter is not a cause at all, end
a wholly different subject, and only the efficient cause a cause in the
proper sense. Gassendi is certainly right in pointing out that ‘cause’
was a term generally used to denote ‘power,’ and therefore not identical
with the Greek idea expressed in αἰτία.
Confining the word cause to efficient causes, we find that these can
be divided into external and internal. An external cause is an object
capable of acting on another object, as the sun on wax. This is the field
of common observation, and requires no further comment. The question of
internal causality carries us beyond this threshold into the secret heart
of nature. We have to discover not merely the fact that an object can
produce an effect, but also the inner constitution which enables it to
act thus. This constitution is the temperament and the source of motion:
it might be called the form, since it is the essential part that is the
cause of motion. We can say, for example, ‘the man moves the stick’; and
the man is the external cause, but if we wish to speak accurately we
must assign the activity to the soul, which is the moving principle of
the body. There is also a sense in which the end is a cause, in so far
as the cause may act for an end, not only blindly, as in instinct, but
also consciously, with a knowledge imparted by God, making the agent
more than a mere instrument. Gassendi does well to distinguish this from
Aristotle’s meaning.
The classification of causes as external and internal is a superficial
separation of the popular from the philosophical aspect of causality. The
further distinction into primary and secondary is of a different nature
and affects the causes themselves.
We may dispose of the primary causes with the statement that God,
as creator and ruler, is the one first cause. The secondary causes
constitute the world of nature: their causality is derived from God, but
we have much to learn about them, and the acknowledgment of God’s power
in the world is not to be made an excuse for avoiding the labours of
research.
We must first enquire into the nature of the active principle in things.
Some have thought it incorporeal: the Stoics supported the claim of
spirits and Epicurus that of atoms. If we make it incorporeal or
spiritual, cause becomes separated from matter, and our difficulties
increase rather than diminish. It is better therefore to take atoms as
the principle and make our cause concrete, that is, call materia actuosa
the cause. If the cause be regarded as something immaterial, it becomes
unintelligible: it requires to be united to matter in order to be actual,
and has in short all the failings of an unjustifiable abstraction. If
matter is declared causal its activity must be its nature: it cannot be
said to be active by virtue of containing particles of the anima mundi,
for that again is the separation of the activity from the active body. As
the cause is matter, matter is active: the particles of heat appear to be
most active, so we may fix on corporeal heat (_i.e._ heat as a substance)
as the principle of motion, activity, and causation in things.
The causality at which we arrive is substantive in every sense of the
term. Specific causality may be a relation, but all the relations in
which one object can stand to another presuppose a state or condition of
the things related, and this state gives the relation its significance.
As Gassendi says, this treatment of causality is really an enquiry
into temperaments. Given an object _A_ which acts on another object
_B_ (external causality), we may call _A_ the cause of _B_ becoming
_b_. But this manifestation is as it were a form of the causality of
_A_, just as _A_ itself is a form of primary matter; and as from the
multiplicity of material forms we argue one indifferent matter, so from
the multiplicity of forms of causality we infer one general, indifferent
causality. The universality of this causal state is shown in its formula.
The composition of any one body is never purely homogeneous: there is
consequently ceaseless internal unrest, some atoms freeing themselves,
others struggling vainly in the toils, some striving upward, and others
sinking in dull inertia:[47] take any apparently inanimate object, and
see how it lives in every part of its complex substance: you will then
realise that causality is more than a relation, it is a reality in (and
perhaps for) every organic and inorganic body.
Gassendi is often clearer in his thought than in his language. His terms
are usually defined with scholastic accuracy; but the terms themselves
are not as yet properly differentiated: they had still to grow and add
to slight differences an accretion of argument and reference. It will
have become apparent long ago that causality in Gassendi means simply
activity. We cannot now speak of one thing being causal, having now
recognised that causality is a relation; but we do still speak as though
activity was the property of an isolated object, though usually with
an apology to nature and a confession of ignorance. The tendency of
Gassendi’s period is to take the object as a self-subsisting entity and
call it causal. If the analysis is pushed further a curious reaction
ensues. Deserting the standpoint of the object, we penetrate to that of
the atom: causality is left behind, for in the realm of the immutable
it can have no place: atom cannot change atom, and so no atom can be
causal: the universe viewed as a complex of atoms must equally be
void of causality, though replete with activity. In this way even a
thorough-going physical realism finds its universal and particular
points of view at least superficially contradictory. Gassendi is only
dimly aware of this possibility: he never dreams of opposing one part
of knowledge to another and dividing himself into the factions of
appearance and reality; but none the less he finds that secondary causes
ultimately slip through his fingers: the world of change becomes a
seething cauldron of endless changes coincident rather than correlated;
and causality driven to the boundaries of the universe is safe only among
the attributes of God.
(_c_) MOTION AND MUTATION
The subject of Causality led us finally to the question of internal
movement or activity in bodies.[48] It is now necessary to discuss the
possibility and nature of movement in general. Seeing that the action of
secondary causes is as Gassendi here admits, identical with this motion,
this book does not deal so much with another subject as with another
aspect of the same subject.
The motion to be discussed is neither the activity referred to before,
nor that called mutation: it is merely local motion, which is best
defined as ‘migratio de loco in locum,’ in spite of many objections, such
as his who said the axle of a wheel revolved without changing its place.
Gassendi finds it necessary to repel many such objections. These can be
passed over in favour of the really important question whether motion is
possible at all.
(1) A single body is always a priori capable of motion, because it is
never an abstract (mathematical) point. As motion is only attributed to
physical bodies, it is irrelevant to reduce a body to merely imaginary
unity and still discuss the possibility of motion. As every physical body
has parts, a change in the relations of these parts implies transference
from one place to another, and the whole body may be said to move, though
the place of the whole is not changed. The revolving globe is the example
intended.
(2) The more comprehensive question concerning motion in general carries
us back to the dialectic of Zeno. Zeno however was really concerned
to prove that motion was impossible if motion, time, and space were
all continua (ex insectilibus constarent):[49] as the atomist does not
support that position Zeno’s dilemmas may be dismissed. A problem arises
as to degree of motion. Suppose a body _A_ moves through a space _x_ in
half the time that _B_ takes, can we say the movement of _A_ differs from
that of _B_? Gassendi thinks not: movement as such he clearly takes in an
absolute sense; the minima of space and time are indivisible and cannot
be reduced: as the body, if it moves at all, must traverse a minimum of
space in a minimum of time, a given space as a multiple of such minima
must always be traversed in the same time. For example, a body _A_ which
passes through _y_, a minimum of space, in the minimum of time _x_, will
pass through any space _ny_ in any time _nx_.
It follows from this that there are really no degrees of motion: we must
therefore explain differences in rates of motion (tarditas et velocitas)
by supposing that the slower body has intervals of rest. This is in
harmony with the mixture of opposites observable in other directions:
for ‘hac ratione ex nivis lactisve candore ad corvi, carbonis pervenitur
nigritudinem.’
A final problem arises from the ancient declaration, ‘si quid movetur
aut ubi est movetur aut ubi non est.’ This is dismissed by pointing
out that ‘est’ is here used absolutely: the object ‘movetur ubi est
transeunter, movetur ubi non est permanenter’; and with this argument the
last obstacle to the recognition of local motion is removed. The proof,
in fact, consists in defending against time-worn problems the doctrine
of self-moving atoms and a void: the position as such depends on these
fundamental views which are to be taken as already proved.
The next four chapters are a fairly elementary treatise on motion,
including the subjects of acceleration, projection, and reflex motion.
Gassendi upholds the distinction of natural and violent motion which
Bacon condemns so scornfully. The natural motion is that which atoms
have by their own nature: the violent is secondary and due to some
application of force. If we take nature universally, nothing can be other
than natural: we have the right however to distinguish natura specialis
from universalis; and it is a correct scientific procedure to distinguish
motions according as they are inherent or impressed.
There are two main principles of motion—impulse and attraction.
Gravitation is a form of attraction, but not as some have thought
attraction to a place: place as such has no fitness to attract: it is
the earth that attracts. This attraction is not to be understood in
any vague or spiritual sense: there must be some real, which means
material, communication between the earth and the attracted object. How
is a stone, wandering in the void, to know where the earth is that it
may return to her? There can only be one answer: ‘Praeter id quod in
lapide est, transmissio sit quaedam ex terra in illum, unde ad ipsum
pelliciatur.’[50] The earth may best be likened to a huge magnet. This
position, it should be remembered, is evolved in opposition to the
view that a thing had a tendency to move to its ‘own place,’ or else a
tendency to ‘seek the earth.’ Gassendi rejects the idea of a _place_
having any attraction, and proposes to mend the second theory by making
both the terms participate in the attraction. Previously the attraction
was a ‘vis insita,’ a tendency inherent in the thing and wholly
independent of that to which the tendency related. By demanding that the
earth should attract the stone Gassendi converts the attraction from a
‘vis ab intrinseco pellens’ to a ‘vis ab extrinseco trahens,’ which is a
change for the better, even though it falls short of the best.
It will be apparent from this that action from a distance is not accepted
by Gassendi. In dealing with mutation he expressly denies it. Mutatio
he treats purely as a kind of motion, and the subject would be of no
interest were it not for its connection with the question, ‘qua ratione
per mutationem seu alterationem creari rerum concretarum qualitates
possint.’ After a long and arid tract of discussion on the simplest
problems of dynamics, we return to a question that revives our flagging
interest. Put briefly, it amounts to this: how can a collection of atoms,
having only magnitude, figure, and weight, combine so as to produce other
qualities, such as taste, heat, and colour? This is clearly a crucial
point for a thinker who is undertaking to build up a highly complex
system from simple substances and their movements.
There is a technical distinction between ‘conjuncta,’ or properties,
and ‘eventa.’ Magnitude, figure, and weight are conjuncta; the rest
are eventa.[51] The primary eventa are concretio, which subserves
generation; and secretio, which subserves corruption, with ordo and
situs, which are the foundation of alteratio. Generatio and corruptio
can however be viewed as alteratio, and we are left with five necessary
assumptions—magnitude, weight, figure, order, and position. The first
three belong to the atom as such; the last two are relations between
atoms. We are to conceive the variations of composite bodies of atoms as
analogous to the various possible combinations of letters (_e.g._ et, te,
roma, armo, etc.). As letters may be worked up into words, sentences, and
books; so endless atoms, in endless combinations, form the great book of
nature.
The starting point is given in the natural differences of atoms which
make some fit to enter one organ of sense, as the eye, and adapt others
to other organs, as the ear or the nose. The relation of sensible
qualities to the atoms is exemplified in the whiteness of sea-foam or the
yellowness of the decaying leaf: in both cases a colour results from a
colourless substratum by mere alteration in the disposition of the atoms.
The mere fact of change is taken to be a proof that the elements must be
neutral. If the atoms had any colour of their own, a complex of atoms
would always have the same colour; but natural changes, such as decay,
produce changes of quality; so the quality must be referred not to the
atoms but to their relations.
This position must be taken in conjunction with Gassendi’s views on the
senses. At present he leaves the vital question of the relation between
mind and object untouched. It cannot be said that he wholly ignores the
mind: his reference to words is meaningless unless the mind to which
they are presented is assumed as a factor. The letters _A_ and _B_,
he says, differ not only in shape but in sound; but in themselves they
have no sound, and only ‘sensui diversum sonum exhibent.’ He quotes
as his own opinion a passage from Galen containing the words ‘omnes
qualitates sensibiles ex atomorum concursu gigni, quatenus se habens ad
nos qui ipsarum sensum habemus.’ Here is the first transition from a
quantitative to a qualitative treatment of the world in which we live:
the task of producing complexity from simplicity is solved by introducing
a new factor and correlating a composition of simple elements with
qualitative experiences which are not, in that sense, composite at all.
The remark already referred to, that _A_ and _O_ differ in _sound_ as
well as _shape_, is itself a comment on this point not to be outdone in
significance!
(_d_) ON QUALITIES
To an empirical philosopher the doctrine of qualities is one of supreme
importance. As Gassendi puts it, all reason depends on the senses and on
sense-perception: only qualities are perceived, and they are therefore
the foundation of our objective world. Substance we only know through
induction: all direct knowledge is knowledge of qualities.
The impression which such a statement leaves on one’s mind is that
knowledge fails to penetrate into the inner reality of things and remains
conversant only with the outer, and possibly deceptive, surface. Gassendi
however does something to mitigate this superficiality of knowledge.
The quality, as he points out, is properly that which answers to the
question ‘qualis est?’ Practically qualities are accidents, or rather a
given state or condition attributed to a substance is an accident, but
taken by itself is a quality. It follows that quality in this sense goes
deeper than quality in the sense in which we oppose it to quantity: for
quantity will be a species of quality in some cases (_e.g._ tall man);
and quality will sometimes include relation (_e.g._ slave). In these
cases the determinations pass from the usual category of quantity or
relation into that of quality by virtue of being essential. The question
then arises whether the absolutely essential qualities of a thing are
really qualities or are the thing itself. From the point of view of
physics taken in the sense of natural science, the primary qualities must
clearly be the inner nucleus beyond which nothing is required: primary
qualities will then be only the plural aspect of what we call substance
when regarded as a unity. The same point can be looked at in another way.
The form of a thing must be a quality in every case in which it is not
identical with the spiritus: if the being of a Being is a quality, it
would seem that quality ultimately merges into essence and absorbs all
that is denoted by substance; but it must be remembered that we are here
speaking of things which are always composite and plural, and so may have
an existential form realised in the disposition of parts. Prior to such
‘things’ is the single unitary substance which they presuppose and which
may be regarded as lying deeper than the outward natures at present under
discussion.
The liberality of Gassendi’s interpretation of the term quality can be
seen from his inclusion of ‘animal esse, sentire, vegetari, vivere’
in the list of qualities. A quality must have an objective reality, it
must be a reality apart from mind. Hence a relation as such cannot be a
quality, and quantity will only be a quality when it is essential. If we
say ‘John is five feet in height’ the quantity indicated is a quality:
if we say ‘John is taller than James’ the quantity is relative and no
quality is indicated.[52] Gassendi very truly remarks that relations are
dialectical and not physical categories. Motion is denied a place among
qualities on the ground that it is properly a process to a quality.
Coming now to the nature of qualities in our world of things, it is
obvious that they must all be more or less simple ways of grouping the
primary non-qualitative elements of things: in short, the qualities
are deducible from the possible modes of combining atoms. For example,
density and rarity depend on the proportions of void and matter, or
the number of ‘vacua spatiola intercepta.’ Figure we may pass over in
silence, but weight calls for some comment. Upon weight depends all vis
motrix, for the atoms in one body struggle together, and motion follows
the striving of the majority, modified by mutual implications. The atoms
of spiritual natures are the freest and most mobile: hence they are
thought to be the seat of voluntary motion.
By nature all motion is straight. Divergence from the straight must
therefore be explained by percussion and repercussion. In order to
acquire as it were a fulcrum, one of the moving bodies must be regarded
as an immobile. The law is laid down that an immovable part in a whole
is essential to mobility. The objection at once arises that, when an
animal runs, no part of it is immovable. In reply to this Gassendi
apparently practises a double evasion. He first qualifies the law by
admitting that the immovable part only requires to be comparatively
such, and then makes it impossible to say what is a ‘whole’ in respect
of motion. In the case of the animal, for example, the modification of
‘immovable’ to ‘comparatively’ immovable makes it possible to regard
the body as giving the required ‘immovable’ for the motion of the legs.
If this did not satisfy the opponent, Gassendi would doubtless include
the earth in the ‘whole’ for purposes of motion. At present, however,
Gassendi’s purpose is purely analytical. He desires to say that motion is
innate[53] to atoms. This innate motion is the original element of all
motions: it is circular, the atoms whirling among themselves aimlessly.
By collision new directions are imparted to these atoms, but however much
appearances may seem to be against it the circular motion remains at the
root of everything. For the present, then, our interest in animal motions
may be summed up and left with one conclusion: they have no ‘motus rectus
qui non sit ex circularibus compositis.’
This view of motion as fundamentally one has the advantage of reducing to
one the various kinds of motion. Impulsive motion is now clearly only an
aspect of self-motion: it is self-motion in relation to some other body:
similarly ‘vis attractrix’ is self-motion in relation to some other body.
In opposition to many of his contemporaries, Gassendi requires actual
contact in attraction; whether immediate or mediate does not matter, but
it must be a literal laying hold of the object.
Faculty is vis motrix, for a faculty is just as much as it can do: it
is nothing if not active. To this the faculty of Resistance seems ipso
facto a contradiction. But, says Gassendi, resistance is not passivity;
immobility is self-centred force: in the case of the earth we have an
example of complete rest produced by complete tension of all the parts.
(This perfect equilibrium was called motus tonicus.) Having removed this
difficulty we may define faculty as ‘in unaquaque re ipsummet movendi seu
agendi principium, nisi primarium quod formam vocant, saltem Secundarium,
seu ex forma profluens eiusque velut instrumentum.’
The Faculties are not ‘a tota substantia’: they are dependent on the
spiritus, for it is the decay or destruction of these principles that
involves the loss of the faculties. Gassendi goes further, and says that
the faculties and the spiritus are one: for though the spirits might
appear to be a primary organ of the faculties running through the body
from the central faculty, yet this is a distinction that involves no
difference, just as the waters that run in the streams are distinct but
not different from the waters that run at the fountain. This simile does
not throw much light on the subject, but is apparently intended to convey
the idea that the faculty is only nominally centralised; in function
it is all-pervading. It also follows that all faculties are species of
faculty, since they are all reducible to motions of the spirits. As
faculty is the same as spirit, all faculties are innate. A faculty may
be acquired, but only in the sense of actually absorbing the matter to
which the power is innate. Iron, for example, only attains the faculty
of heat by acquiring the matter of fire, in which the faculty of heat
is inborn. We now see that a faculty is in some sense the nature of a
thing. It is, in fact, the nature of a thing looked at from the point of
view of active relations. It follows that there are as many faculties as
there are possible combinations of atoms and possible relations of these
combinations. Speaking of the great varieties of faculties, Gassendi
says: ‘id facit varietas tum multiformium corpusculorum, ex quibus
una tota res constat: tum specialium contexturarum quae varias partes
attinent: tum externarum facultatum quibus misceri ipsas contingit.’ In
the apple, for example, different combinations produce smell and taste.
If we take into consideration the organ of the sentient being we find
still more variations, _e.g._ pleasant smell, sweet taste, etc. This
gives us a division of absolute and relative: for smell is in the object
one (absolute), but to the sentient beings manifold (respective).
The classification of faculties is carried out thus: first, according as
the subjects are living or not living. In the case of living things they
are
(_a_) general (nutrition, procreation);
(_b_) special.
This method of classification applies to each class. If we take from
among animals, Quadrupeds, we may have general and special faculties
within these limits.
The second method of classification is quite different. Here we divide
into principal and subservient, the division being decided by the mutual
subordination of motions.
Though a faculty cannot be acquired it can be improved both ‘ut fortius
operetur et ut expeditius.’ For the attainment of greater strength
nutrition is required, which means in this connexion the attainment of
more spirits. The quantitative growth may be accompanied by increase
of efficiency attained by use. Habit is the name given to facility of
action: this facility may pertain to the spirits or to the organ which
they employ, and it is, if anything, more important that it should be
realised in the organ. The organ is a crass and rigid thing, against
whose unyielding disposition the volatile spirits exert themselves in
vain.
Matter is thus a hindrance to mind, and habit gives freedom in the
sense that when the organ is properly trained the spirits are no longer
baulked of their purposes. If, on the other hand, there is no use for
the organ it relapses into its original crude condition: for nutrition,
continually renewing the substance of the organ, removes by degrees all
the parts that had learned the law, and puts in their place an untrained
rabble.[54] This is a rather novel and poetical interpretation of what
is generally supposed to result in ‘atrophy.’ The principles of habit,
Gassendi adds, are applicable to all except inanimata, whose changes are
purely ab extra.
One more form of the vis motrix remains to be noticed—that which is
called Gravity or Levity. Levity is to be taken as in se nihil, so that
we are left with degrees of Gravity. As might be expected, the gradation
is due to admixture of vacua: the inane is a principle not as acting, but
as reducing the ratio of bulk to weight. It is important to notice that
Gassendi regards all the action of gravity as extrinsic, thus shaking
off once for all, any influences that his predecessors may have exerted
toward the acceptance of Love or Hate or any other mystic principles.
The next qualities may be passed over summarily. They are Heat, Cold,
Fluiditas, Mollities, Taste, Smell, Sound. A few points are of interest.
Heat may be used as a special term to denote felt heat, or generally
(objectively) to denote a condition of body. Calor is a word which
denotes, not a quality, but atoms of a certain kind. The atomi caloris
are not ex se calidi, but are called so ex effectu. That body is called
hot which sends out these atoms: the atoms themselves are not called hot:
their power of producing heat is ‘objective,’ dependent on special forms
and activities. We must distinguish then between that Heat which is a
real kind and that which is hot either (_a_) potestate or (_b_) actu. A
thing is hot ‘potestate’[55] when the atoms of heat are retained in it,
and hot ‘actu’ when the atoms are sent out. Retention of atomi caloris
explains the heat of pepper and similar bodies. If a substance contains
atoms of heat, motion increases that heat: motion however is not the
cause of heat, because substances such as water, which do not contain
atoms of heat, are not heated by motion. Gassendi distinguishes between
calescere, an internal increase of heat, which applies only to fats the
atoms of which are ‘hamatiores,’ and calefieri or the attainment of heat
from without.
Cold is the opposite or complementary of heat: it is not privation of
heat. This conclusion is based on the differences of the effects: the
effect of heat is ‘discutere et disgregare,’ that of cold ‘congregare
et compingere.’ Further, the atoms of cold differ from atoms of heat in
figure: what figure is to be assigned to atoms of cold is a point that
the ancients discussed elaborately. Gassendi accepts Lucretius’ view that
they are ‘dentata’: our senses can judge how _biting_ is the cold. It
should be noted that though Fire is an element, Cold is not: Earth, Air,
and Water are not bodies cold by nature, and therefore cannot be summed
up as the Primum Frigidum in opposition to Fire, the Primum Calidum.
In the case of Fluiditas and Mollities, with its two species Ductilitas
(as in gold) and Tractilitas (as in our muscles, contraction), we have
qualities whose opposites are privations. This will be evident if
we consider that mollities, _e.g._ depends on the degree of ‘inane’
contained in a body: the inane is not soft, but the real, which is hard,
can only give the appearance of softness by including void spaces.
The next set of qualities are ‘ad organum,’ or relative to the senses.
They all depend ultimately on Touch. In Taste we have particles that act
on the palate. Sound has been held incorporeal,[56] but its corporeality
is proved by the reflex motion required for echoes and the necessity of
different configurations to produce different sounds.
In Light we have a subject which, for many reasons, has been a
time-honoured field of strife. Gassendi begins with definitions: the
object of sight is colour; the organ of sight the retina; light is
the essence of colour, but is not itself visible. Lux is defined as
‘corpuscula tenuissima in corpore lucido’; a body is lucidum when it
is a fount and source of light; bodies that depend on others for light
are not lucida, but illustrata. To produce the required effect on the
organ of vision, Light must be a substantial effluence. Aristotle indeed
thought otherwise, but if we give up the substantiality of Light it will
be necessary to employ one of the acknowledged substances as vehicle
of light: this vehicle will however be unknown to the organ, for that
is only concerned with the visible, so that Light is either itself a
substance or involves the inference of a substance. The diaphanous or
‘perspicuum’ is the name given to the substance which is the substratum
to light. Aristotle conceived its activity as the vibration of a chord
and considered the activity was the light (ἐνέργειαν τοῦ διαφανοῦς).
Descartes adopted a very similar idea, but defined his ‘perspicuum’ as
a texture of the spherical corpuscles which fill up the interstices of
air, water, glass, etc.—a sort of atmosphere of the second degree of
refinement.
Whatever the origin of light may be, it is itself a corporeal substance
somewhat like a bundle of corpuscles or rays formed of corpuscles. This
physical reality is merely ‘existens’ without relation to the eye: it
is ‘completa’ when in relation with the eye it produces light as an
experience.
It is necessary to prove definitely that Light is a substance, because
this view is rarely accepted. The proof consists in pointing out that
Light has certain powers which only a substance can have. These are,
first, local motion by which the rays travel from the ‘lucidum’ to the
‘illustratum.’ Action at a distance is a fallacy, so that if the luminous
body acts on a distant object, there must be a transmission of the agent
or agents through the intervening space. The second and clearest proof is
that of Reflexion:[57] for if light were incorporeal it would not rebound
from but pass through the opposing body. A similar argument applies to
refraction, where the body does not entirely oppose the passage of light
but is in some degree ‘transpicuum.’ The similes which Gassendi uses in
this connexion are worth noting: speaking of reflexion he compares the
light to arrows or javelins striking on a shield and rebounding: with
reference to action at a distance he says, if a fountain wets your hand
from afar it is because it projects a stream of water on you: similarly a
fire warms by sending out a ray of heat, or as one might say a spray of
heat atoms, and light illuminates by showering on the object ‘streams of
light.’
The objection which naturally arose against this substantive view was
that the motion of light was too rapid to admit of any such corporeality.
Gassendi replies that if light is mere form it is everywhere at once and
has no motion: if it moves some vehicle is required, and it follows that
the vehicle does as a matter of fact move just as fast as light, in spite
of a priori objections. Gassendi here seems to be applying a doctrine
that was greatly needed—namely that notions of substance must conform to
experience, and our experience must not be distorted or even rejected to
preserve traditional views.
Colour is either light itself or something in things to which light is
the perfecting form. Light itself is white or that which appears white
(nihil esse aliud quam candor candicansve color videatur). This is the
fundamental colour, if it be a colour, of which all others are varieties,
according to degrees of mixture of darkness.
The last of the sensible qualities is the imago, or visible species.
This subject naturally follows the discussion of Light and Colour, and
is properly a question of the perception of forms. As a question of
perception it comes under Vision; but objectively considered the species
are qualities, and must therefore be considered in this place. The
simplest course is to say that the vision[58] of an object is the light
radiated from it and determined by its form and colour. Gassendi declines
to leave the matter there, but as the question of the nature of these
‘visions’ has attracted so much attention he reviews the whole history of
the subject.
As nothing is absolutely smooth, but has on closer inspection numerous
‘faces,’ the species can be projected in a straight line in any and every
direction. It follows that a thing can be viewed from any side, and no
two views will be exactly alike, though generically alike. The objects
in the field of vision can be accommodated in the eye, in spite of their
great number, because the area surveyed is hemispherical in shape, and
the species are propelled along lines which converge into a point.
The nature of the species has been differently conceived by different
schools of writers. The ‘nominaleis’ say they are accidents: if so, they
must be dependent for transmission on the air; but an accident is not
a reality unless it can be separated from the vehicle which it uses:
in this case no separation is possible, and therefore species are not
truly accidents. Again, from the analogy of sounds the idea arose that
the object as a whole produced movements in the surrounding atmosphere,
and so, as it were, sent forth pictures of itself. Against this Gassendi
argues that the theory involves a movement of the object which sends
forth the picture, whereas seen objects are frequently motionless.
These two phases of the doctrine that species are insubstantial are
rejected, as might be expected from what has been already said about
Light. Epicurus thought the species were corporeal and of two kinds,
namely (_a_) ‘coagmentationes’ or spontaneous groupings of atoms, such
as occurs in a mirage, and (_b_) ‘effluxiones.’ It is with the second of
these that we are really concerned. Any given body as an object of sight
is supposed to be continually giving off atoms. These form a picture
of the thing by purely natural means. As all atoms move in straight
lines unless deflected, and all have the same rate of speed, these
‘exhalations,’ as they may be called, retain the original disposition
of their parts and so produce an effect symbolic of their origin and of
nothing else. It is necessary to notice the difference between this and
the other view, that the object as a whole produces a picture of itself.
Upon that view Gassendi pours scorn: the rock we see would, he says, be
in that case a consummate painter, obviously meaning that the theory has
a mystical element. The second theory is mechanical: the motion required
is not of the whole as such: there is only the innate motion of the
atoms: the retention of the original form is due to the _mechanical_
properties of atoms moving in a medium too subtle to disturb them
normally: and, finally, the effect is not a picture in the sense of being
itself a representation of the thing: it is an effect upon the organ of
sight which by these means attains a picture of the object. In the former
case apparently a ‘picture’ was supposed to float in the air: in this
case the atoms are not the picture but the cause of the picture: just as
light was a reality but not a complete reality apart from the eye, so the
picture is only realised for a beholder, and apart from any eye is only
an agglomeration of atoms.
Gassendi defends the view that ‘effluxiones’ are substantial, not because
it is right but because it is less wrong than the other view. The real
difficulty is to explain how things can go on giving off matter and yet
never be exhausted. The usual plan of explaining that the ‘effluxiones’
are subtle beyond all comprehension (omnem modum excedentes) is, to say
the least of it, feeble. But Gassendi attempts no other, and appears to
satisfy himself that it is possible to have a substantial loss, which
being infinitely small only becomes perceptible in infinite time. The
real difference between an infinitely subtle ‘imago’ and an imago that
is an accident, is a question of terms and technicality rather than
common-sense. Gassendi apparently means us to understand that what we see
is the light from a thing as that light is affected by the thing: beyond
this there is nothing but tradition.
There remain now the so-called occult qualities. These constitute a
special class; for certain qualities are popularly regarded as peculiarly
‘occult’: in reality all qualities are occult in some degree, and the
difference between ‘occult’ and ‘manifest’ is one of degree only. What we
look for is some explanation of an effect: an occult cause is merely an
imperceptible quality which we attribute to an object in order to explain
the effects we believe to be derived from it. The most typical of all
these qualities are the two known as Sympathy and Antipathy. Now all the
effects produced exhibit the common forms of activity: we are therefore
led to assume that the cause can be interpreted in terms of motion,
though that motion may be too subtle for our senses to perceive.
The assumption that all relations of cause and effect are reducible
to motion and communicated motion, prepares us for a rationalistic
explanation of these miraculous qualities. When the chameleon puts forth
its tongue to catch the fly, we see the agent of attraction: when the
electrical body attracts other bodies, how can it draw them to itself if
not by ‘innumerable rays darted out like tongues’? Beyond the world of
our senses lies another, identical in kind but too minute for ordinary
perception: if our senses were magnified these invisible agents would
start into life: we should see the tiny thorns wherewith the nettle
stings us, and perceive the corpuscles whose unsuitable shape makes
the object painful to our sight. All sympathy and antipathy then is a
question of physical causation, of ‘corporea organula’: love and hate are
ultimately physical, and friend is literally like friend, for the essence
of affection is congruence of atoms! The ancient philosophy of Hate and
Love is now completely inverted: physical relations take the first place
and repulsion or attraction explains all: repulsion need not be hate, but
hate is always repulsion.
The general theory of occult causes is now disposed of: the discussion
of particular instances has only a secondary interest. The cases classed
as ‘general’ are (_a_) conspiratio partium universi and (_b_) influxus
coelestis. The former is identical with the dread of a vacuum attributed
to nature: the latter is a subject about which we know little so far as
astrology is concerned: the movement of the tides is not really a case of
‘influxus lunae.’
The special cases also need not detain the reader: why the sponge
attracts (sic) the water is a question hardly more scientific in form
and suggestion than the later query, Why does a cock frighten a lion?
Both these cases seem explicable in ways not particularly ‘occult.’
In dealing with the occult qualities of plants Gassendi shows a very
interesting phase of the development of thought: the love of the vine
for the elm might be pure poetry, but there were relations between
plants which were thought to be of real importance: the female palm, for
example, was said to be fertile only when sown near the male: the truth
which might underlie this observation was obscured by the notion of
subtle ‘effluviae’ transmitted from one to the other.[59]
Gassendi discusses very gravely the occult quality of hate as existing
between the sheep and the wolf: he says, ‘ovis quidem odit lupum, nec
immerito: ab illo enim dilaniatur’: the wolf however does not hate the
sheep, for he is good to eat: the apple may hate us, but we who eat it
say we like it. There is a subtle vein of animism in all these popular
fancies which the philosopher still finds himself compelled to treat
seriously. The evil eye, the power of incantations, the virtue some
plants possess of healing the wounded by being applied to the sword that
struck the blow: these and many others mark the flights of undisciplined
imagination. In the last case Gassendi makes an interesting remark: the
power of the drug applied to the sword was supposed to reach the wounded
man, however far away, because the soul of the world is one, and so what
affects one part must affect the whole and all parts: thus Unity received
an apotheosis almost before it was born!
(_e_) ON THE ORIGIN AND DECAY OF THINGS
Whatever our ultimate views may be on creation and annihilation, there
remains untouched by these the whole sphere of becoming. Becoming can be
regarded from two points of view, according as we consider that which
becomes or that which ceases in order that something may become. The
negative aspect of the becoming of any one thing is the ceasing of its
antecedent, so long as we allow that the antecedent is really and truly
such: if however we prefer to deny the antecedence and declare the whole
movement of Becoming illusory, change may be refined away to nothing more
than variation of qualities. In order to be clear as to the scope of this
discussion, the terms employed must be carefully distinguished. The first
is creation, which means the production of something out of nothing: the
second is mutation, which denotes a change from one state to another. Now
this change may affect only the quality of a thing or the thing itself:
in the former case it is called Alteratio, in the latter Generatio.
These extreme points of view are represented on the one hand by
Parmenides and all who deny motion, on the other by those who regard all
new forms as creations. The standpoint exemplified in Parmenides is that
of the monistic schools for which substance means the Whole rather than
the Thing. From this interpretation it naturally follows that all change
is change of the Whole, and since the Whole cannot become something other
than itself, the change is ultimately an illusion. If, on the other hand,
substance means Thing, change will mean that one thing becomes another
thing, at least in the sense that one thing gives place to another
thing. But even those who take substance in the pluralistic sense do
not agree in their explanation of change: to many the idea of one thing
becoming another thing is repugnant: the tendency then is to return to
the position of Parmenides, but apply his doctrine not to Substance but
to substances. To do this successfully we must establish our ultimate
substances. Common experiences can be appealed to as a proof that we
know what we mean by change. Every day there is some new thing under the
sun about which we feel that to-day it is and yesterday it was not.[60]
But if our ultimate substances are things each with a character of its
own, the alterations it can undergo must be limited by the necessity of
retaining the character. An acorn may become an oak, but the oak does not
become an elm, says the opponent: when pressed further he will explain
that the acorn is potentially an oak, and therefore its development is
determined. But either the acorn is or is not an oak: if it is an oak
the Becoming is pure illusion: if it is not, what is the principle of
becoming? The answer is combination of parts. As these parts precede
the whole, they are themselves neutral, _i.e._ fit to enter into any
combination.[61] Generation is now definable as mixture of parts: the
matter is given in plants and animals as much as in houses: the mixture
makes the thing!
It is clear that our neutral elements are the atoms. Creation is the act
that produces these primary elements: the atoms are created, not the
world: the world is the product of atoms endowed with a motion of their
own. One difficulty, however, remains. If the matter is always the same,
and the thing is a combination of parts differing from other things not
in the nature of the ultimate elements but in their combination, is it
not really the Form, and the Form only, that is generated? Gassendi
attacks this position with skilful dialectic. It is said that when a
combination is effected a form is educed: this form was not present
before actu but potentia: then how can it be educed any more than gold
can be educed from an empty purse?[62] If the form does not arise out
of the matter, we have not eductio but generatio: a form, that is, is
realised which did not exist before, and that is just what we mean by
generation. If the form is asserted to be something distinct from matter,
and yet no matter is lost in producing Form, the Form must be especially
created and we are committed to a constant miracle.
The result of our review of all previous doctrines is then the survival
as fittest of the common-sense standpoint: and the achievement is perhaps
greater than it appears at first sight. At one point Gassendi’s position
seems very much exposed, but the opponent is silenced in anticipation.
If mind is not matter, have we not here a case in which a combination of
elements of one kind produces or conditions the generation of a reality
of a different order? The point may be dealt with in two ways; the first
is to stolidly assert that mind is a form of matter generated by the
particular combinations of matter which it is found to accompany; the
second is to attribute it to the act of God, and so leave it. Gassendi
chooses the second course, perhaps wisely.
_SECTION B_
CHAPTER I
THE INANIMATE WORLD
The second part of the _Syntagma_ begins with a treatise de rebus
terrenis inanimis. The majority of its contents are not worth
reproduction in full or with any degree of exactness. The connexion of
these chapters with the scheme of the whole work may be gathered from the
summary of the subject matter already given (_v._ p. xii). A few points
of particular interest may be selected for special comment.
After dealing with the land and the water, including seas, rivers, and
the tides, we advance to the bodies that are found in the earth. These
are classified as ‘mista perfecta’ in order to distinguish them from
the ‘meteora’ (winds, clouds, rains), which are imperfecta: they are
also called compositiora, because they are compounded of more than one
element. This class includes Fossils, Plants, and Animals. The term
‘fossil’ is used in the bare sense of things which have to be dug up:
as a rule this is limited to stones, metals, and minerals; but there
are other treasures in the bosom of the earth which are omitted by this
limitation, and Gassendi proposes to include under this heading the
primary forms of matter which are ‘liquidiora.’ We are now dealing with
the very lowest forms of existence. Gassendi’s intention is to begin at
the bottom of the scale of existence and rise in orderly procession to
the highest. He is not content with starting from even such elementary
stages as are given in metals, but desires to get deeper still, to the
most formless conditions of matter, and begin with what he calls the
‘mean forms’ out of which nature constructs the comparatively developed
things called metals. These ‘mean forms’ or first conditions of matter
are the various kinds of earth, the ‘succi concreti’ and the ‘mista
mineralia.’ The kinds of earth are first enumerated and their relative
fertility is commented on; then the succi concreti are catalogued in the
two main classes macri et pingues (among the macri salt comes first,
among the pingues sulphur and bitumen are the most important), and
finally the mista mineralia are given in their order. Beyond being an
integral part of Gassendi’s universe these have no interest for us now,
but as part of that conception they demand attention. As we are now in
the realm of things inorganic the question of becoming is important.
Each class of things has its own semina and each thing is formed by the
cohesion of semina of one kind: that is to say, generation is a simple
process of cohesion of homogeneous parts, and as there is no question
of voluntary unions, the production of any specimen of this class is
dependent on the chance which collocates in one place the kindred
elements. Whatever we may have to say later on about alimentation and the
purposive union of parts, this is the sphere in which we can subscribe
unreservedly to the action of chance as it was primarily conceived by the
earlier atomists.
Passing over the intermediary discussion of volcanoes and earthquakes we
can take up at once the question of the formation of inorganic bodies
as it is described by Gassendi, with special reference to ‘lapides’
or stones in the sense in which we use that term when we speak of
precious stones. It is absurd to suppose that all these were created
at the beginning of things once and for all. Apart from the inherent
improbability of the idea, we can see for ourselves that the process is
going on around us every day. The matter is in this as in every case
given. The point which calls for explanation is the regularity with
which similar forms are constantly produced. For this we must postulate
a formative power, a vis interna, in this case a vis lapidifica: there
is no less reason for asserting the existence of this formative power
in the case of stones than there is in the case of the plant or the
chicken.[63] If any doubt remained it would be dispersed by the instance
of crystallisation in which the presence of such a causa constans is
indubitable. This vis lapidifica is a form of vis seminalis, that being
the more general term: in the case of some animals and in plants the
vis seminalis is obscurior; and in the case of stones it is still more
obscure, but not on that account to be denied altogether. We must not
however deduce from this too much: although gems and all other stones
are formed by the action of this vis seminalis they are not on that
account to be called living things: they have not life in the sense that
the plants have: they are solid compact bodies in which there is no
circulation and no alimentation, not even through that which they call
‘insensilem transpirationem’: they do not grow in the proper sense of the
term, and we certainly cannot infer from the fact that one gem is bigger
than another that it is therefore older, or ‘grown up’! The coral does
indeed grow, but then it is a plant!
The most important topic in this book is that of the magnet. Gassendi
has used the magnet frequently in the later parts of his work by way of
example, and, as it is one of those marginal topics which seem to have
a mystical affinity with higher forms of existence, it will be as well
to examine carefully what Gassendi has to say here, where he treats
the subject directly and in its proper connexion. The point about the
magnet is that it exercises attraction. When the iron comes within its
range it is drawn toward it by some invisible power, and the data thus
given to the ordinary senses of man are exactly fitted to encourage
idle speculation. In the first place Gassendi asserts that the action
of the magnet is purely physical: it must therefore be mediated action,
not action at a distance, and the mediation must be achieved by a
substantialis corporeusve effluxus: there is to be no shirking of the
question by introducing emanations of a doubtful order: if we had the
required keenness of sight we should see the hooks by which the magnet
lays hold of the iron. That is one question, and so far we seem on safe
ground; but a more critical point is raised by the two statements that
the magnet has something analogous to plants and to sense. The analogy
to plants turns out to be a similarity of habits such that, as a cutting
can only be grafted on to a tree in one way, so the magnet can only be
joined to another magnet or a part of itself according to the way the
fibres run. As regards the analogy of the magnet to that of the sensible
agent, the analogy consists in the following points of resemblance. (1)
As the animal is attracted by the object, so the iron is attracted by
the magnet. (2) The action is in both cases per immissas species that
is, a definite something is emitted by the one which passes over to the
other. (3) The species thus emitted enter into the soul of the object in
both cases and produce the disturbance which results in the consequent
movement. (4) The activity of motion in both cases begins from the soul.
This language looks on the face of it extremely animistic: none the less
Gassendi does not mean to imply that the magnet has a soul in the proper
sense of the term at all.[64] He carefully adds every time he mentions
the word anima the qualifying quasi: he distinguishes the other anima
to which this is analogous as anima sentiens, and assures us that the
magnet has only ‘something analogous to a soul.’ What we have in fact is
a type of motion; what we might call responsive motion; and Gassendi is
well aware that when he comes to sensibility he will not be able to tell
us much more about it than can be summed up in some such phrase as this
of responsive motion. The significance of this will be pointed out later
(p. 262): for the present it is enough to show that we cannot assert on
the basis of what Gassendi has to say for himself either that matter is
always endowed with soul, or that soul is always material: similarity
does not exclude difference, nor does difference destroy the possibility
of co-existing similarity: the eagle and the oyster are far enough apart,
and yet we find reason to put them on the same scale: can we not then
put the magnet and the animal in some relation of similarity, though the
magnet is no more an animal than the eagle is an oyster?
The subject of Plants, which occupies the second part of this section on
things inanimate, is important in one respect. We shall pass over all
that is said on the kinds and classification of plants, and confine
our attention to the consideration of their nature, and the place which
they are to occupy in our scheme of the universe. Gassendi begins with
the most important point, namely the question, have the plants a soul?
Many writers had held this theory: as a rule it was a deduction from
the doctrine of the world-soul, and there were great differences in the
extent to which the doctrine was pushed: the Manichaeans, for example,
‘sic dederunt plantis animam rationalem ut florem aut fructum decerpere
foret homocidium patrare’:[65] while Aristotle represents the other
extreme of moderation in attributing to them only a nutritive soul.
Epicurus is in direct opposition to these ideas, and declares that plants
have no soul at all, an opinion with which Gassendi finds himself in
perfect accord. He reviews the meanings attached to the word animatus:
its Greek counterpart ψυχή is from ψυχεἲν, which is to say, ‘flando
refrigerare,’ and this we all know is peculiar to animals; plants are
not even animals in the strict sense of ζῶα, much less animata corpora;
and finally, if we think of the derivation from ἄνεμος, _i.e._ spiritus,
this too excludes plants from the class of animata. But while he is thus
clear that a plant is not an animal Gassendi obviously feels that there
is some excuse for the general tendency to give plants a place in the
scale of nature much nearer to the animal than to the stone: he therefore
enumerates all the ‘wonders of plant life’ which were known in his day
and seem to have been as fruitful a source of credulous wonder then as
now. There is doubtless much that is to us extremely wonderful in the
apparently purposeful activities of plants, but, says Gassendi, however
wonderful they may be, the original question, are there any proofs of a
soul?, remains unanswered: anima is often used loosely, and we speak of
things as animated[66] to which we should not give a soul if required to
do so explicitly; in other words, there is much we call animate that we
should never call animal. We are in fact caught between the animal sphere
and the too comprehensive sphere of nature in general. Finally, Gassendi
defines the plant as corpus vegetabile sensu carens, admitting that it
would be more natural, if less exact, to say corpus animatum, _i.e._
‘vivens quod nutriri, crescere, sibi simile generare possit.’
This last point directs our attention to the question of the origin and
perpetuation of plant life. The first plant in the world’s history must
have arisen from a conjunction of like atoms, and this was in the usual
way fortuitous. But the tendency which united the first group of atoms
in the first plant works on a smaller scale in keeping together those
atoms which are the specific semen: hence the process of reproduction
is made easier, and the reason why plants are localised is apparent. In
this connection Gassendi returns to the question of the soul: the marvel
of the structure of the plant with all its adaptations and contrivances
rouses him to further comment on that formative power which is thus
shown to be innate to the plant. We must, in fact, allow that there is a
central principle, and we may even call it a soul if it be remembered
that by this term we denote only a definite principle, a substance most
like to a flame, which is indeed spread through all the plant, but is
especially concentrated in the parts which form the seed (II. 172).
CHAPTER II
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.
CHAPTER III
PSYCHIC LIFE
(_a_) SENSE AND SENSATION
Although we speak of the Soul as sensitive, there are many facts which
seem to prove that the seat of sensation can be more distinctly defined.
The Soul may be diverted and not notice an affection of the senses, or it
may carry on functions like those of nutrition in which no sense-elements
are consciously realised. The conclusion is that the sensitive ‘textura’
is a part and not the whole of the sentient Anima. This is the first
step toward regarding the mind as multiplex, and is in agreement with
the views of Epicurus. But a difficulty arises due to the difficulty
of keeping the unity of the soul while rejecting its ‘simplicity.’
Lucretius had said that the soul possessed a particular vis animäi,
which implied that it could maintain its existence independent of the
body.[75] Epicurus, on the other hand, declared that it had no such cause
of sentience (sentiendi causam) nisi quatenus corpus illam fovet. It
follows that so far as sentience is concerned, we must take as our unity
not Anima but Animal, not the soul alone but the totum compositum. In
either case the sense-organs need not be regarded as mere channels; but
while Lucretius might be so interpreted, Epicurus is quite definite. It
is true to say the mind sees or hears, but no less true to say the eye
sees or ear hears, just as we say the hand writes. It may seem irrelevant
to discuss at this point the question of the vis animae; but the
justification for so doing is the fact that at this point we are deeply
concerned with the question of the unity of the soul and its meaning. The
rejection of a specific and separate vis animae is one step toward the
destruction of the view that the soul is simple, in the technical sense.
Now, not only has it parts of which the sensitive part is one, but it may
be doubted whether this part is a unity without difference. Clearly we
have many sense-organs, yet some say ‘sense is one’; and of course it is
true that the senses are all sense and in that way one, but that is not
a useful contention. To say the one Sense uses the organs as a carpenter
uses his various tools for various purposes is to make a fallacious
comparison. It is the mind that is a unity relatively to the senses; and
the opposition of the unitary sense to the many kinds of sensation is a
mere confusion added to an assumption. Gassendi here seems to realise
the difficulty which attends the reduction of all sense-affection to
movement: whether we speak of afferent or efferent activities, we are
faced with the fact that motions of different kinds of tissue will not
necessarily be different kinds of motion. If differences of motion
make differences in sensation, since motions differ only in degree, we
are liable to drift on to the conclusion that sight is an acute form
of hearing, and thus be wrecked. Now we cannot give up the point that
senses are qualitatively different: we must therefore take that as a
proof that sense-organs differ in texture and that the recipient soul
is just as manifold as the currents conveyed to it or from it. This is
a decision but not a solution of the problem; and we are left with a
working hypothesis, not a demonstrated conclusion; but Gassendi seems to
realise that sensation as a physical fact belongs to a totally different
point of view from that which regards sensation as a psychic fact; and
the quantitative analysis of the one cannot be wholly identified with the
qualitative distinctions of the other.
The actual number of senses is five: they cannot be reduced to Touch, but
they might conceivably be increased in number, and we might even have
a sense for the inner nature of things. This is a characteristically
mediaeval notion. As it is, our senses only give us knowledge of
qualities; but it should be noted that our ignorance of the naturas rerum
intimas is not an inherent fault of our way of attaining knowledge, but a
question of mere limitation in the number of senses.
Perception is not in the organ, but in the brain, whose media are the
nerves. What then is the nature of the nerve? The sensitive part of
the organ must be animata, the other parts need only be ‘vegetative’:
it must also be in some way susceptible of touch: these qualities are
found in nerves. These nerves must be regarded (after Galen) as a sort
of diffused brain, and the brain as a kind of highly developed nerve:
every membrane consists of a sheath covering an inner membrane: the inner
part is a chain of soft particles with a hollow centre. The mechanism is
not sensitive in itself, for the sensation only arises when some shock
to the nerve is transmitted to the brain: this transmission requires a
state of tension, and is therefore only possible when the animal spirits
inflate these nerve channels sufficiently. This explains the possibility
of a physical affection of the nerves having no psychic effect. Gassendi
does not appear to consider the question of subconscious states. The
‘innervation’ caused by the animal spirits is the essential condition
of actual sensibility: consequently, physical shocks at the nerve
extremities are cut off from the brain altogether unless the innervation
occurs. This becomes more familiar as psychology if we describe this
tension of the nerve system as ‘attention’ and say that affections to
which we do not attend are not part of our experience. It is necessary
here to distinguish appulse as cause and tension as condition of
sensation.
Gassendi regards the nerves as not sufficiently straight or tense to be
the bearers of sensation (oblique divertuntur et remissiore tensione
sunt). He therefore says ‘id probabilius videtur peragi rem per spiritum
ob continuitatem mobilitatemque’: at the same time he anticipates the
possible misinterpretation of the phrase ‘bearers of sensation,’ and
points out that nothing is really carried into the brain:[76] it is the
motion itself when actually arrived in the brain that is the sensation.
The nature of the process called Sense-apprehension is thus described.
All objects are known through their ‘species’: not only in the case of
sight, but in the case of all the other sense-organs, the species are
the media of knowledge: these species are composed of small corpuscula
which enter the channels to which they are suitable. It follows from the
teaching above, where all sense-organs were asserted to have different
textures, that there will be a certain degree of selection, in so far as
unsuitableness may prevent some corpuscles from entering some channels.
These texturae of the various organs thus serve as selective sieves: the
species however have various degrees of difference: over and above the
differences which make them unfitted to enter some organs at all, they
have further differences which make them pleasurable or painful to an
organ which can admit them.
This seems written in a highly materialistic vein; but Gassendi’s
position is more physical than materialistic, which is to say he works
out these problems on mechanical lines without admitting that the result
is identical in kind with its original factors. He diverges here from the
common line by denying that the species either are or need to be conveyed
to the sensorium or central faculty. He says, ‘verisimilius tamen est non
penetrare corpuscula sensoriis externis allapsa in interiorem facultatem
residentem in cerebro sed fieri motionem nervorum spirituumque’: which at
least refines the material species down to a brain-movement before it is
finally transmuted into thought. This modification is important in one
respect. If the species were the actual thing, sense-affection would
be wholly and objectively true: if, on the other hand, the thing is not
itself transmitted but is represented by a movement, the quality of the
movement will be the ground of judgment and error will be possible, as
_e.g._ when a man’s leg has been cut off he still feels pain in it,
though this is clearly not an affection of the parts, but an affection
of the central faculty interpreted as coming from those extremities.
Gassendi considers that the ἄνευ ὕλης of Aristotle is to be thus
explained.[77]
The sensibles then are perceived intercedente motione: as to the nature
of these Sensibles but little is said, and most of it is Aristotle; but
it is noted that Aristotle’s distinction of essential and accidental
sensibles is a confusion as the ‘accidents’ are perceived by the aid
of Imagination and Memory. This account of sensation has two points of
particular interest. Firstly, the object of the senses is not itself
conveyed to the brain, but is symbolically represented by the motion it
creates: hence not only is it possible to misjudge the given, but also
that which is given may itself be incurably false: Aristotle’s saying,
‘non falli sensum circa ipsum,’ is right in so far as it means sense is
what it is, but that will not help us to decide whether it is what it
claims to be or whether being what it is as effect it guarantees what
we think it ought to guarantee as cause. But of this more later. A more
pressing question arises from the general position. As we have already
remarked, Gassendi is quite aware that his scale of the Universe is
in imminent danger of resolving itself into a series of disconnected
stages: he is continually making ‘synthetic assumptions,’ taking a stage
_A_, for example, and advancing to _A_ + _B_ with no explanation of the
right to speak of _A_ + _B_ as the next stage above _A_, when all we know
is that the addition of _B_ makes _A_ all that it was not before. Sense
is a case in point: for however much the common mind may feel certain
that plant, animal, and man form an indisputable scale of ascending
dignity, it is not philosophic to accept the dogma uncritically: on the
other hand, if the problem is squarely faced, it seems to present an
absolute dilemma. We might say Life is possible because all is animated
and so all is ‘sensible’; but this is chaos, a night of colourless
reality. Rather than this, Gassendi clings to the reality of distinctions
and strives to defend his position. Plants have ‘quasi adumbratio sensus’
inasmuch as in them too the vital fire burns and processes of absorption
and nutrition are carried on: the fact that they require their food makes
it ‘gratum.’ Thus the sophistry of Gassendi! for who authorises that
‘gratum’? Is it more than poetry to say the thirsty plant rejoices in the
rain? Can I argue that because my boot wants soling therefore it likes
it? But Gassendi knows that these scales of existence are artificial
constructions, and his own is built on that abstraction called Motion.
His second argument is an appeal to Analogy: in all natural development
there is an inexplicable element: the whole attains a nature such as was
found in none of the parts: when the tree ripens it passes from sour to
sweet (a passage from Non-Being to Being almost Hegelian!), and when
flint and steel can produce a spark, shall we doubt that object and
nerve may produce a sensation? In short, quantitatively we can keep our
scale, if we look to quality our world falls apart at every difference.
Gassendi appears well aware that the results will not seem very
satisfactory to those who desire greater continuity. He says:
‘Verumtamen, inquies, ex verbis tam multis neque explicatur neque
intelligitur qua ratione fiat ut cum neque ipsa caloris, flammulaeve
corpuscula seorsim sumpta, et dum in auras excedunt, sentiant: neque
sentiant item particulae corporis, quibus flammula inest, ac miscetur: et
ne ea quidem communi crassaque affectu, qua quippiam tactu percipitur:
quanam ratione, inquam, fiat, ut ex iis commistis exoriatur sensio
perceptiove explicita, quam non possumus lucidiore dicere voce, quam
cognitionis, ac res proinde sentiens creetur ex rebus insensilibus?’ We
have to confess our ignorance, but this is only a special case of an
ignorance which is manifest in many other directions, in fact, whenever
we deal with qualities. ‘Neque vero est quare putes posse rem planius et
agnosci et edisseri in qualitatibus ceteris: siquidem ubi dixeris fructum
ex acerbo, _e.g._ dulcem fieri, etc. ... ex quo fit ut cum idem dici
proportione possit de qualitatibus caeteris, mirum non sit, si cum ipsa
quoque Qualitas sentiendi difficilem adeo explicatum habeat ... explicare
non liceat, etc.’ This is a very clear statement of the position, and
shows beyond dispute that Gassendi admits a complete break, not only here
but everywhere between the analytic and synthetic aspects, our analysis
and nature’s synthesis. His defence of Epicurus is that he did not make
the atoms _incapable_ of being anything, and other theorists have not
succeeded any better than he did. As a matter of fact we can only go
back, in the case of sentient things, to the semen, not the atom, so that
‘non posse dici absolute res sensileis fieri ex insensilibus,’ that is to
say we can uphold that the sensile only comes from the sensile, but only
by refusing to go down to our ultimate, by stopping at a complex state
(secunda materies) which has attained sensation and declining to ask
where _that_ degree of sensation comes from[78] (II. 347).
(_b_) IMAGINATION
There is no subject more interesting or more critical for writers of the
class to which Gassendi belongs than that of Imagination. The peculiar
combination which the activity of this faculty presents in its union of
inner significance with outer form, places it in the perilous transition
from objective existence to subjective being, and makes it too often
the root of those wild extravagances, whose ultimate object is always
to confound with material figures of speech the problem of Reason. It
is necessary therefore to follow this discussion with care, and try to
define accurately the position of Gassendi. With the subject of Phantasia
we penetrate into the inner sanctuary of thought: ‘sequitur facultas
cognoscens interna,’ says Gassendi, ‘cuius nimirum tota functio sic
interius peragitur ut organum nullum exterius appareat.’ We now deal
with the Animus: for ‘ab anima quidem vegetatio et sensus, ab animo vero
cogitatio et ratiocinatio pendent.’
In the first place we must decide whether this faculty is one or many:
for although the dogma of the Fides Sacra is really all we can know, a
little additional enquiry will not be heterodox or useless! The division
of the Animus called Cogitatio has often been subdivided into Imaginatio,
Cogitatio, Opinio, Prudentia, Consilium, and so on. These faculties
are however all reducible to Phantasy, which thus comes to mean any
activity of thought carried on in terms of sense and its ‘imagines.’
This raises the question as to whether Imagination is not really the
culminating point of sensation, _i.e._ whether it could not be identified
with the sensus communis. It has been said, ‘What is sense but the
understanding of the sensible, or the understanding but a sense of the
intelligible?’ (cp. Aristotle’s phrase,[79] θιγγάνων καὶ νοῶν), but this
was error, and we can never admit that sense and thought are one.[80] The
identification of Imagination and the sensus communis may be rejected
then, for the following specific reasons: no sense can be made to judge,
therefore it is useless placing any faculty of the nature of sense at the
meeting-place of nerves to function thus: if there is any central point
it must be ascribed to Imagination: knowledge of the functions of sense
belongs to something beyond them—a phrase which recalls the phrase of a
later writer that sensations cannot sum themselves.
We conclude then that in men we have only two divisions of Animus, viz.
Reasoning and Imagination, though some would add Judgment. This addition
was due to a false analysis of Illusion. A certain Theophilus, Medicus,
though a man of good judgment in other respects, was afflicted with the
Imagination that he could hear flute players performing in some corner
of his house. It was argued from this case that his judgment was sound,
but his imagination unsound; and therefore these were distinct. Here
Gassendi shrewdly points out that the Doctor judged as he imagined, and
the imagination was not itself wrong, but was made wrong by the error of
the judgment of causation by which the internal state was attributed to a
wrong cause. Thus the case does not refute our position that imagination
and judgment are one: for an illusion is real as a subjective state, and
the state of imagination is not an object of judgment, but is itself
an affection combined with an activity of judgment, so that the cause
of imagination is normally also the object of judgment. This point is
by no means easy to comprehend: it involves the following analysis of
perception. An object _A_ is cause of an inner state _B_ of the nature
of an image; but as this is a conscious image it is itself, as an inner
state, a judgment and _not_ a judgment on itself but on _A_, its external
cause. If _B_ could be judged as an inner state and compared with _A_,
judgment and imagination could be distinguished: which we deny, since it
involves a double access to the object _A_, namely once by way of the
image and once immediately.
We are now fairly launched on the question of Perception, and must
follow Gassendi closely. To return to the question of reducing all
faculties to Phantasy—what becomes of Memory? This is really a defect of
‘species’; loss of memory means loss of the ‘species servatas,’ leaving
one with an inner world depleted of objects: hence, as failure of memory
is failure of relation among species, it seems to follow that memory is
only imagination regarded from the point of view of a system of species.
Now, what are the imagines or species which thus constitute a faculty
co-extensive with empirical knowledge? Perception, we have been told,
depends on excitement of the outer organ by a species or ‘qualitas
sensibilis’: the nerves filled with animal spirits are ‘spiritual radii,’
along which the vibrations travel to the brain. From this results (1)
that the faculty of feeling in the appropriate quarter at once knows the
object; (2) a vestigium is left behind. Once this function is ended,
the sense-faculty cannot know the object again without a second shock.
Phantasy however is a higher faculty, and can know the absent thing: this
is its final distinction from sense: also its capacity of acting without
the presence of the thing proves that its object or ground of activity is
in the brain: we must therefore be clear as to these ‘vestigia.’
Gassendi asserts emphatically that the cerebral residuum (species,
φάντασμα, visum) is in no sense a thing: we cannot construct any
inter-cranial thing which will give the qualities of the object of
thought. Colours, sounds, etc., have no typus in cerebro (as a thing
might have a typus in cera), but the process is such ‘ut per nervos
contractos resilitio quaedam spirituum in cerebrum fiat qua tam cerebrum
quam facultas in eo residens percellatur; ideo posse sufficere si id
quod remanet cuiusmodi sit ut talis perculsio eius interventu velut
iteretur.’[81] The impress must therefore be taken as some effect on
brain substance of the nature of a fold (quasi plicam quandam in cerebro
factam). This definite result becomes the cause of reflective thought,
as it gives its character to those spirits which for any reason move in
its tracks: the imago impressa determines what the thought shall be of,
but we actually envisage not the brain-fold, but the cause, _i.e._ the
original object now become a Phantasma: as we think of an object without
thinking of the sense-apparatus or the brain, so in reflection we pass
beyond the immediate conditions to what lies beyond. The impress belongs
to the brain and the phantasy regarded as a compound: that is to say—when
we say it is a brain-state, we do _not_ mean it is a state of the brain
purely as matter, but as a conscious agent. The materialistic difficulty
which might have arisen is thus anticipated by refusing to consider the
brain in abstraction from its conscious functions, as though a dead brain
were still a brain in the fullest sense. Gassendi cannot emphasise too
much or repeat too often his belief that the direct material of thought
is purely symbolic of the external reality: only the disposition of the
brain itself remains to testify to the action of an object on the senses,
and all the substantial nature of things is reduced to a mode of motion
of the brain-substance, out of which we may build again an insubstantial
pageant of reflection.
Memory is discussed in connection with Imagination, since it is really
only an aspect of the function which preserves ideas. By thus connecting
it with his theory of Imagination and folds, Gassendi breaks with those
who viewed Memory as a ‘storehouse’: he says, ‘non tamquam vas quoddam
concipienda,’ and rejects the simile of wax with equal clearness: he
admits however other metaphors: videtur ergo potius concipi non male
quasi charta munda seu papyri purissimae solium, but the paper is to
be considered as receiving folds, not marks. This is a remarkable
anticipation both of Locke and Leibnitz, while it savours of much later
psychological work. The analysis of the whole process is even more
remarkable. The folds, which are innumerable, can be repeated in their
order: the new co-exists with the old, and an excitement beginning
from any point in the series runs through them all (una plica arrepta
caeterae quae in eadem serie sunt, quasi sponte sequuntur). The act of
recollecting consists in voluntarily making many folds until by chance
we hit on the right one or one in the right series: thus the apparently
forgotten may be revived. Folds tend to become obliterated by the number
of later folds or by humidity of the brain in old age: memories are
good and bad according to the temperament, which here means the degree
to which the humid element preponderates. Total oblivion results from
material cerebral changes, by which the original folds become entirely
obliterated.
We may now survey the functions of Phantasy generally. They are three
in number, namely simple apprehension, composition or division, and
Ratiocinatio, a list which proves that the term Phantasy is not to be
taken in any narrow sense.
The proper function is simple apprehension without affirmation or denial,
the most elementary function of Imagination being naturally conceived as
the mere reception of imagines. This mere reception is however not a pure
passivity: it follows from the nature of the ‘plica’ that there is some
activity of the organ or faculty: also there is here a principle of unity
if not exactly a unifying activity, for Gassendi asks why we imagine one
object only when the spirits are agitated in many ‘folds,’ and bases his
answer on the unity of the faculty. This resolution of many movements
into a unity is not strictly intelligible so long as the relation between
the physical multiplicity and the psychical unity is left without proper
explanation. Gassendi also recognises a selective activity, and points
out that it is not possible to attend to more than one thing at a time
unless the things are in some sense capable of reduction to a unity: as
a rule attention, which is physically a movement of the spirits in one
particular direction, follows the greatest or dominant movement, though
a new movement may engage attention in face of an older and stronger
affection.
This treatment of attention looks better than it really is: it might
be good either physiologically or psychically, but as stated it is a
hopeless confusion. In the first place, many movements might be the
physical counterpart of one thought; but if the unity of thought is
described as a unity of movement the many movements must be one in
themselves and as movements; which is meaningless. Secondly, Gassendi
seems to think a unity comprehending the multiplicity is not distinct
from the unity gained by omission. For him attention must always be
attention to one thing because, being a movement, it can only be in one
place at one time. This is at least intelligible as an exposition in
terms of place and movement, but it makes the whole theory of attention
hopelessly crude, and by itself excludes the mental characteristics which
Gassendi is anxious to include in this stage of the psycho-physical life.
Although rooted in experience Phantasy can combine its elements in new
ways, _e.g._ the imagination of the Hippogriff. This brings us to the
second degree of Phantasy, which is called Compositio et divisio or
assensio et dissensio, or affirmatio et negatio. The combination of ideas
such as gives the centaur or the golden mountain is a combination of
separate ideas: the ‘compositio’ to which we now pass differs from this
in being an assimilation of one idea to a pre-existent group of ideas. It
follows that this function is secondary, in the sense that it presupposes
groups of ideas (aggeries) and that the process is of the nature of
subsumption under a universal. As Gassendi draws upon animal life for his
examples we might compare this with the ‘Logic of Recepts.’ The process
is assumed to be purely psychological, and consists in the assimilation
of a present idea with a group of ideas accompanied by definite
consciousness of the act, and therefore in some degree constituting a
‘judicium.’ The progress of experience results in various aggregates of
‘vestigia’ in the brain: no one of these can be called universal, but
the common elements in them all may be taken to give a sort of type of
the kind. Hence a new perception may be identified as man rather than
lion, because, though not identical with any existing man-image, it is
more like a man’s image than a lion’s image. The difficulty of defining
this stage of psychic life is felt by all who study the subject: it would
be rash to assert that Gassendi made it fully clear to himself. He is
however clear upon the point that if the activity is psychological it
must be positive. The emergence of the negative marks the fully conscious
proposition which is not found at this stage. Thus Comparison, as found
here, is mere assimilation: it may be said ‘this is sweet’ or ‘this is
bitter,’ but not ‘this is not sweet.’ If we are to refine to this degree,
probably the terms sweet and bitter would have to be ruled out, and the
psychic affirmative put in the form ‘this is such.’ Gassendi would say
that at this stage there is no proposition at all, and thus save himself
from the accusation of such mental atomism as is implied in the divorce
of a positive notion (sweet) from its correlative (not sweet). If the
second operation constitutes a perilous border region, how much more the
third, which is Ratiocinatio, argumentatio, or discursus? But, ne voce
ipsa statim offendamur, we distinguish Reason as either Sensitiva or
Intellectiva. This is a distinction of kind which once for all settles
the difficulty which the Church had found in putting beasts and men
on one graduated scale. The differentia of this stage of Phantasy is
found in the ability of animals to go beyond the given: they anticipate
results, as when the dog runs from the uplifted stick; or choose between
a present and a future pain, as when the ass endures the beating rather
than go forward over the precipice. If we admit that the hare can reason
that a leap breaks the scent and say with Gassendi ‘esse speciem quandam
rationis in Brutis’; if we further discover that an animal perceives
agreement and disagreement, which is the basis of propositions, where
shall we limit Phantasy? The specious answer is to say that we limit it
by the capacities of animals, and after all animals are not men. This
might have been Gassendi’s reply; but he seems satisfied with proving
that animals have some kind of Reason without troubling to define it too
accurately. The chapter ends with a description of human reasoning which
may have been intended to suggest a superiority, but seems more like a
closure put on a discussion that threatened to bring Faith into collision
with Reason. The discussion on Instinct begins with the definite
statement that the Brutes have common notions or general propositions,
which are rather innate to (ingenitae) than produced by the Senses. The
fundamental faculty is Touch, and the dominant passions are Pleasure and
Pain: these are related respectively to the good and the bad, and have as
their active aspects attraction and repulsion. The result is a sort of
innate proposition (notio sive habitus), such as Faciendum quod juvat,
non faciendum quod nocet. The bull moves before the goad _immediately_;
but where action is undertaken to avoid a _future_ pain, we must admit
argumentatio. The chapter adds nothing to the theory of phantasy, but
contains some interesting remarks on the ethics of animal life. Care
for the young is derived from the parent’s care for itself, the embryo
being a part of the parent: this is a provision which has a teleological
aspect, being intended to secure preservation of the species (ad generis
conservationem). The series of instinctive actions are expressions of
subjective conditions: the period of gestation is a state upon which
follows the presentiment to find a place for deposit and care of the
young: memory, imitation, and a natural sense of the useful are the
psychic elements of this state. Gassendi sums up his own doctrine thus:
Phantasy is a faculty whose first function is to know; then, secondly,
to arouse appetite and, thirdly, motive faculty, whose effects differ
according to the means used. These effects include:
(1) Excitation of desires and passions—love, hate, and the like.
(2) Motion of spirits through the body.
(3) Tension of the nerves and muscles.
(4) Agitation of humours as in palpitation and blushing.
(5) Impressio illa macularum similitudinisque et deformitatis in foetu.
(6) External effects of any kind. These are in fact usually myths:
external action (as _e.g._ that of the evil eye) is impossible, for the
activity of Imaginatio is essentially immanent.
(_c_) INTELLECT AND ITS FUNCTIONS
I.
The mind or the Intellect of man is no mere faculty: it is a ‘pars
essentialis substantialisve Hominis,’ and therefore is the same as the
Rational Soul looked at as rational without regard to vegetative or
sensitive parts. This view is the only one possible if we remember that
we must argue so as to prove the Soul’s immortality (‘viam sternere ad
astruendum eius Immortalitatem,’ II. 425): it would be simpler to take
mens and Phantasia as identical in kind and different only in degree; but
that is a priori impossible, as it leads to the admission that brutes
might win immortality. The theory that the human anima is a part of the
Anima Mundi must be rejected: it does not follow from the existence
of stones that there must be a ‘forma lapidis’ diffused through the
universe, nor that the universe has an anima because individual animae
are found on it: apart from this, if we admit the universal mind, there
is no sense in speaking of it as ‘divided’ or ‘distributed,’ since it
is not corporeal. The doctrine of Reminiscence, as taught by Plato, is
the stronghold of this position, but not impregnable. Why must we have
innate ideas? Is it not enough if we have the facultas intelligendi
comparandique ideas: we can then form ‘notiones anticipatas,’ and so
have all that is required for the more intellectual functions. Another
time-honoured fallacy is the duality of mind taught by those who
recognise a passive and a universal (active) part. If the universal part
is really other than our intellect, it is outside of our intellect,
and therefore an unknown: if it is justified as the condition of our
intelligence, it is not thereby proved an intelligence itself, any more
than light is proved to be sight by being posited as the condition of
sight. This is in fact regarded by Gassendi as a false attempt to go
beyond the intellectual sphere in order to explain its functions: it
ends in a hypostasis of mind to explain minds: he himself looks rather
to the unity of mind as the source of illumination: we have already
found, he says, that a sort of general phantasy arises in animals, which
is actually nothing but the co-existence and self-reflection of many
particular acts of phantasy: why then may not the light of reason be an
immanent light and a self-illumination? (quorsum intelligibiles species
non sua quaeque speciali luce perfundantur?).
II.
Gassendi, having rejected both Plato and Aristotle, proceeds to develope
his own view. A hint has already been given us in the argument that
the existence of a stone is not a proof of any universal form of stone
pervading the universe. This argument is somewhat obscure, but it seems
to mean that from the point of view of Being, a specific form implies not
a general form, but a general substance of which it is the form. Thus a
stone presupposes only matter-in-general, not stone-in-general, and the
matter is general not in esse suo, but in reference to a special form. By
analogy a specific mind will not imply a universal mind, but might imply
some entity capable of standing in such a relation to the particular
mind as matter does to the particular stone. This line of thought might
seem to be leading us onward and upward to a mind above, but the face of
Gassendi is toward the origins; and as matter is a name for all existing
atoms viewed as unity, so if we penetrate beyond the specious unity of
mind we come upon the ideas in their multiplicity. We must not suppose
that by calling the Anima Rationalis a substance Gassendi makes it a
thing; he means merely to exclude the views which make it a dependent
existence, such as an ‘inseparabilis perfectio’ or a ‘harmonia’ must
necessarily be.[82] He defines it as substantia incorporea, formam
tanquam informantem, and this combination of terms defines our problem:
we must first see from Gassendi’s statements how he conceives this entity
called mind.
Our philosophy has given us an exposition of Phantasy. The first
requisite is a distinction of mind from Phantasy. The points of
difference are these:
(1) Phantasy is not capable of reflection: the knowledge that we know
denotes an incorporeal agent, for it is a movement toward self, while the
movement of the corporeal is always toward another.
(2) Many objects of the mind are not imaginable: they are intelligible,
and the idea has significance, but no sense representation is possible,
_i.e._ we cannot actually picture the sun as having the size which we
know it to have.[83]
(3) Our knowledge of universality proves that we have a faculty higher
than phantasy: the object here is incorporeal, and therefore requires
an incorporeal Agent to know it. Gassendi distinguishes between having
universals and knowing universality: as in the case of animals, Phantasy
may attain to universals which Gassendi regards as purely psychological;
but man is distinguished by having this ‘knowledge of universality,’
which seems to be simply the existence of the universal at a reflective
stage of mind.
In these points the difference of mind and imagination are most marked;
but the existence and nature of a higher faculty is made certain by other
proofs. Knowledge of God, though not intuitive, demands a faculty that
grasps the incorporeal. Will aims at the good, and thereby indicates a
faculty capable of rising above the sense level, for which pleasure and
pain would be the only ends.
Having thus demonstrated the existence of Intellect as a non-sensuous
faculty, Gassendi proceeds to further define the nature of the human
mind. As incorporeal and a form, the mind is in a sense ex nihilo,
and the passage from nothing to something being an infinite process
requires God. This is a declaration of war against the physical dogmas:
the categories of science may be adequate if we are only concerned with
things whose origin is really only a fresh disposition of matter; but
what if our regress brings us to the whole? Can it be treated as we treat
the parts? Does not our physical system demand for its own explanation
something higher and greater? was not Daedalus greater than the machines
he made? Ex nihilo nihil is, then, a category which means that every
combination of elements postulates the existence of the elements thus
combined: it will not reach to substances themselves, for we cannot show
what elements or what combinations are required to produce a soul: it is
for us a limit, and as such has beyond it only chaos, the Not-Being which
is its only antecedent.
This production, though ex nihilo, is not unnatural: the propagation
of man is ordained in uno ordine, and the production of the soul is in
eodem ordine: so long as the phenomenal regularity is observed this
remains a natural event. Thus Gassendi’s treatment of the soul as an
original underived entity does not carry him into idle speculations: it
is a treatment which (as he well knows) does not change the nature of
the Anima, but serves to define the inadequacy of categories which were
in danger of encroaching: it is a treatment also which never admits that
quality can be generated out of mere quantity. This last point is most
important, and Gassendi never swerves from his position: at this crisis,
when we require to unite soul with body, and all the delicate gradations
of ‘very subtle movements’ offer themselves as intermediary links, he
sweeps them all away at a blow, declaring ‘seu crassum seu tenue sit
corpus,’ the difficulty remains untouched. The position is acute: mind
and matter having nothing in common, the sensitive soul will not serve as
a link, hybrid though it be: to ascribe the unity to God is to say less
than nothing: we stand before a unity for whose bond we find no ‘gluten,’
no grappling irons (ansis carentem), and no supreme force. We may well
pause to ask what it is we propose to unite, and what manner of union we
have to expound?
As to the nature of the soul confusion has arisen through trying to unite
entities which had previously been so defined as to admit of no union:
this difficulty can therefore be removed. It consists in supposing that
the pure Intelligences, _i.e._ the angels, represent the real nature of
our souls taken in abstraction from the body; but why should a human
soul cease to be human merely because it is free from the human body? No
change of kind is proved, only a change of condition. We have therefore
no right to suppose that our souls, like the angelic beings, have any
actus purus: on the contrary, the actus of souls is either mixtus or
nothing at all.
Gassendi introduces this point of view by simply asserting that there are
three natures of things, the purely spiritual, the purely corporeal, and
the mixed. This gives us what might be called a concrete as opposed to
the ordinary abstract view: for it is no longer possible to assert that
the condition of the soul is an imprisonment by which its functions are
impaired: its action is what it is, not because of its union with the
body, but because of its own nature: it is not forced into an unequal
yoke, but joined in a divine wedlock for which it was predestined
(ipsaque ad eas nuptias propendeat). The original difficulty was made
acute by the emphasis laid on the difference between soul and body: this
is dissolved by Gassendi’s view, which does not demand that the two
should be of one kind, but that they should be, like male and female,
complementary. This is a recognition of identity in difference which
promises much; but there is one point which qualifies our hopes. It is
after all to the sensitive soul that the Anima Rationalis is united; and
so ‘interventu sentientis corpori uniatur’: we might conjecture that
Gassendi foresaw a possible difficulty in the fact that there are many
forms of matter to which Intellect does not ally itself: it therefore
became necessary to resolve both terms and say, ‘it is the nature of
Intellect to unite itself to such matter as is of a nature to receive
it.’ We may not perhaps be able to get much further on the main issue,
but it is well to see clearly how much Gassendi really achieves. He is
clearly right in taking the unity as his standing point, and not the
absolute differences. He cannot be far wrong in asserting that if the
unity is (as it is) a fact, the elements must be by nature adapted for
the unity. The root of his difficulty is the fact that his terms do not
represent these distinctions, but are names for distinct beings, and,
much as he strives to get away from this, his factors, Soul and Body,
insist on starting into independent realities. Here again the problem is
confused by the terms, for corpus is a term which implies more than mere
matter, and the union of the Anima Rationalis is ultimately only a union
with a corpus in so far as that is previously Animatum (beseelt), though
it has a specious appearance of explaining the union of opposites. To me
this difficulty is made more serious by the metaphor of the marriage:
for that clearly implies a tendency to introduce conceptions of mutual
attraction which are confusing. Gassendi’s statement that the sensitive
soul is qualified to be the recipient of the Anima Rationalis, not
because of its tenuity, but because of its function in phantasy, shows
that he rejects the attempt to make ‘a very subtle motion’ identical with
a psychic activity, but equally clearly shows that he pushes back his
real problem of passing over from physical to psychical into the more
obscure regions of animal psychology.
We may now sum up Gassendi’s position. The Anima rationalis is so far
distinct from all other entities as to be underivable from them: it is
therefore a new creation: on the other hand, its creation is conditional,
for it is so united to the Body as to be not merely co-existent
(adsistans) but also coherent (informans): this union proves the factors
not wholly antagonistic, but it requires definite conditions, and as the
unity is also the birth of the Soul (for it is created by God in ordine
naturae) it will follow that these conditions enter into its very being.
At the risk of some repetition, which is not alien to the spirit of
Gassendi, we must further elucidate the nature of the Intellect by
stating what our author calls its functions. The spirit of Occam
inspires Gassendi to limit the machinery of thought: he identifies Anima
Rationalis and mens in opposition to those who regarded the Intellect as
a distinct faculty or an instrument: he rejects the distinction of active
and passive unless agens be used to mean direct thought and patiens,
indirect or reflective thought, where since the mind acts on itself,
there must be some right to speak of it as receiving action (nata est
recipere actum a se productum).
Ultimately Gassendi recognises only two faculties as required for the
function of understanding. The phantasmata are the only objects: these
are sensible species, but they can be understood, and there is therefore
no need to interpose the so-called ‘intelligible’ species. Whatever
the difficulties may be in the way of asserting that sensible species
are capable of being understood, it is clearly better to take up that
position than to assert that the understanding can have no objects
except such as have already been understood. This introduces a point
of considerable importance. The so-called ‘intelligible’ species were
a distinct class of species which, as opposed to the sensible, were
qualified to be the content of the mind; but how qualified? Apparently
by being in some way the world of mind; but if we take a functional view
of the mind, this reduces itself to absurdity, for the content of the
mind will be its own functions, its only inducement to action will be
the actions themselves, and knowledge will be impossible. This view of
intelligible species, therefore, must be rejected if we once give up the
idea of a mind which stores in itself pictures that are ‘intelligible’
before the mind understands them: we can only say species are
intelligible in the sense in which _all_ species must be intelligible,
_i.e._ capable of being understood.
The rejection of this bridge over the gulf necessitates further
explanations. If the notion of the mind as envisaging pictures of the
intellectual order is objectionable, the situation is made even worse
by substituting pictures of the sensuous order. Gassendi sees this
and proceeds consistently: he takes a functional view, inasmuch as he
regards ideas as actions rather than things; but his idea of function
can only be interpreted in terms of motion, and to these terms the
‘picturing’ of phantasy must be reduced. The image and the idea are now
no longer opposed entities; they are both motions, and seem ultimately
the same motion. In the case of sight we have a sense process ending in
a perception: by analogy we may have a process of phantasia ending in an
intellectual activity. Phantasy is subject to appulse, but intellect is
not: the phantasy is the end of the motion of spirits, but in addition to
the perception there arises a conception: in eodem momento intellectus
contuetur, says Gassendi,[84] and if we take this with what has been said
above of the self-illumination of ideas, it will be seen that contuetur
means perception from the point of view of a system: this action of mind
is a reaction, and by its nature cannot be explained as identical with
a motion ab extra: the passage from corporeal to incorporeal must come
somewhere, and in spite of long delay, it remains at the last an unique
process. The terms in which Gassendi states the relation of Intellect
to Imagination are so far from conveying any very definite idea that it
may be best to elaborate his position. He seems to mean that the agent,
whatever it be, of intellectual processes is so indivisibly one with the
nature of man as thinking being that any disturbance of any part must
imply its activity: a thrill runs through the whole mass if the appulse
once disturbs the equilibrium of the sense machinery (dum phantasia
percellitur, ipsi coagat intellectus). To this we may make a most
important addition, viz. the converse: for if the intellect acts, the
Imagination responds as best it may. The idea of God is not derived from
the senses, and yet cannot be presented in thought without a sensuous
form. Hence, from the point of view of physical analysis, Intellect
and Imagination are not distinguishable: Gassendi therefore adds the
proofs that they are not identical, the most important of which is the
direct consciousness that understanding goes beyond sensuous forms, that
we mean more than we can put into the sense forms: if we present God
in anthropomorphic fashion it is not the human form that is of prime
importance, but the concepts which we thus embody.
(_d_) THE HABITS OF INTELLECT
If any doubt remained as to the extent to which Gassendi regards man
as an organic unity, it would be dispelled at once by the tone of this
chapter. The so-called Habits of the understanding are really habits
of the brain: habit presupposes a substance with some rigidity; and we
must fall back on Phantasia and the doctrine of vestigia to supply this
want. It follows that in memory we may have what are really products of
Intellect, for the Intellect creates a symbolic phantasy to enable it to
recall non-sensuous facts through a sensuous train of ideas. All failure
of the understanding to receive its ideas are failures of this cerebral
machinery: if we suppose that there is a memory belonging to pure
Intellect, it would not be possible to explain defects of memory, which
are experienced quite as much in the non-sensuous as in the sensuous
sphere.
This polemic is really directed against some contemporary Platonism:
it is therefore introductory to the description of knowledge, and seems
to clear away all prejudices in favour of Reminiscence or innate ideas.
Three types of knowledge may be distinguished: God knows intuitively
by pure reason and ‘ideas innatas’: angels know by virtue of ‘ideas
concreatas,’ a limited form of intuition: man requires the discursive
reason which deals with ideas furnished in Phantasy, and ultimately
derived from sense.[85] Without Intellect Phantasy is blind (Phantasia ab
initio sit quasi caeca seu specierum omnino expers): it has ‘percepts’
in a sense, but its species represent only the ‘externos cortices’ of
things; the Intellect surveying these species and detecting the nature
of some (perspectis aliquibus possit vi sua suspicari et conjecturam
ducere de interna aliqua proprietate) proceeds to collect instances,
and so by induction arrives beyond the outer husk to the inner core.
The result of the Inductive process is a direct intuition: the ideal is
to make our Intellect absolutiorem, _i.e._ capable of seeing the whole
in the part: so that Plato may be said to have given us the right ideal
and Aristotle the right method. Gassendi here follows Descartes in
making the understanding move in intuitions; the form of the syllogism
is therefore only of use for teaching others: the conclusion is to the
reasoner consistent with the premisses, and forms with them a whole. As
this process ends in self-evident knowledge, Gassendi considers that all
the ‘self-evident first principles’ depend on processes: these truths are
products of experience, and all such products would be as self-evident
as the ‘axioms’ if we knew as much about them. The child from its birth
sees objects with magnitude, and therefore with parts: hence if the
general proposition ‘The whole is greater than its part’ is propounded
and the terms understood, the confused experiences of a life-time leap
into being and proclaim it true; it will be equally self-evident that
the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, when the mind
is as familiar with the nature of triangles. Gassendi objects to the
common use of the phrase ‘natura notiora’: as applied to universals it
must mean better known by those who know them, which is to say by us:
it is then false, for we know the particulars better: if it means known
to nature, it is wrong; and if it means in se nota it is nonsense, for
knowledge is a relation. In this last argument Gassendi strikes at a
position rooted in a substantive theory of ideas: the tendency to regard
thoughts as entities made it possible to speak of ideas as possessing
knowledge much as substance possessed its primary qualities, and by the
same kind of ‘inherence’: Gassendi’s functional view enables him to see
that the reality of the known is to be known, its use is intelligi, and
the universals can have no quality of knowableness, except such as our
intellectual experience verifies;[86] and by this criterion we may judge
the universal to be ‘better known’ in proportion as the particulars
are better known, or, in other words, in proportion as its content is
developed.
The reason why universals appear better known is that we tend to isolate
intellect, and it then appears to know its own work best. But the ideas
must come from the particulars: if not, they are created by the mind;
but why should the mind create universals rather than particulars? It
is only by allowing a knowledge of particulars that we can justify the
existence of universals, since the universality is essentially relative
to the plurality of particulars. In this way the universal idea obtains
its merits at the hand of Gassendi. It loses its character as an entity,
with universal being, and survives as an idea with more than a particular
significance: further than this we need not at present go.
(_e_) THE PASSIONS
In distinction from the Intellectual part of the Soul called Cognoscens,
the term Appetens denotes that faculty by which the Soul apprehends and
moves toward the good and bad. The pars appetens, or substantively the
Appetitus, denotes both faculty and function, being in fact the νοῦς
ὀρεκτικός of Aristotle, and comprising both ὄρεξις and ὁρμή. It might
well be called the pars affectiva of the Soul, for it is more than mere
cupiditas, and comprises all affections: it is also more than will,
for voluntas is the name of an action only, and not of a faculty. We
are now entering on the psychology of the practical life. As we shall
see (p. 162) the question of activity does not trouble Gassendi in this
connexion, for he believes that thought is always activity; consequently,
the real distinction comes in the nature of the objects toward which the
Soul’s activity is directed. In the case of the pars cognoscens this
object is truth, for the pars appetens it is the good or the bad which
the understanding comprehends, and the appetite seeks or avoids. In a
sense this faculty is secondary, for it implies knowledge, a cognoscente
excitatur et dirigitur. In accordance with the line of thought indicated
above, where it was shown that Phantasy was subject to action both
from without and from within, we may distinguish the affections which
come to the mind from without, and those which originate from within.
Understanding and Phantasy can act without Appetite (or appetency). It
follows therefore that the bodily affections due to appulse are not
identical with those called appetite. The point is this: an affection
ab extra ends in an idea: it is a motion that produces an image: an
appetency is a motion too, and at first sight seems to have no difference
except that it goes in the opposite direction (emotion). But there is
more than this, for all ideas do not continue into emotions, and the
phantasy, we are told, though closely bound up with sense, can act
without disturbing appetite. We can therefore think without emotional
feeling: when the intellectual ‘feeling’ does arouse appetite we have
the overflow of motion into the body (appetitus functio in corpus
redundet). For example, if I see an apple and do not want it, the motion
terminates in perception: if on the contrary I do want it, this want may
exhibit itself in the overflow of the spirits into the body: my mouth may
water or some other effect be produced.
The meaning of this is quite clear, but it is difficult to understand why
a sensuous faculty, such as phantasia, should have any functions that
were not in some degree emotional, why we should have imaginations wholly
free from any form of desire; and Gassendi seems here to have relied on
the distinction of motion inward and motion outward with the accompanying
idea that the reversal of the motion would require a definite act of the
central organism.
If we can have perceptions without emotions in the sphere of the
phantasy, it might be thought that the intellect would be self-contained,
and either have no emotions or only intellectual emotions. Gassendi
is however clear that an emotion is always a bodily reaction, and he
therefore expressly says that even our most intellectual objects, if made
objects of desire, must arouse bodily reactions: he is thus opposed to
such an idea as the amor intellectualis of Spinoza: quia Deus Rationalem
Animam corpori connectens ea conditione esse illam voluit ut non modo
res caeteras sed ipsum quoque gloriosum Deum corporeo modo seu corporea
aliqua specie quasi obvelatum intelligat, nihil mirum est si voluntas
affectu quodam corporeo non modo in alia sed in Deum quoque ipsum
feratur: ac Deus idcirco amari se ab homine ut ex tota mente totaque
anima, sic ex toto corde omnibusque viribus jubeat; quippe quasi mens
animave amare quidem debeat, sed amorem tamen suum nisi corde viribusque
etiam corporeis exprimere non possit.
It must be remembered in this connexion that if Gassendi asserts that
the affections of the mind (Animus) differ from those of the body, he is
not thereby proving that one is psychic and the other not: it may be a
question of the higher and lower parts of the Soul (Anima). Cp. II. 480,
‘esse unumquemque speciali quadam temperie ac non modo corpus sed Animam
quoque, hoc est inferiorem partem animae, quae corporea est, speciali
esse contextura ... ut in quam rem propendeat corpus, propendeat ipsa
anima.’ Our likes and dislikes are therefore always psychic: the obscure
point is what relation of Animus to Anima could unite the Animus to the
Anima without necessitating the reverse relation of the Anima to Animus
and a free pathway for motions in either direction. Gassendi says the
Soul moves the body: we ask why cannot the body move the Soul?
It is clear that in this point the doctrine of motion has not been
allowed to work itself out free from prejudice. The inconsistency, such
as it is, seems due to Gassendi’s tendency to give the non-corporeal
part of man its due position: he even asserts in so many words that
the affections of the mind must be wholly different from those of the
body, and inclines to over-assert his opposition to a materialistic
interpretation of emotions. The opinion ascribed to Epicurus was
fundamentally materialistic. The external stimuli, it was said,
penetrated to the senses and reached the Soul: if they were agreeable,
the Soul expanded, if disagreeable it contracted, and the Soul being
conscious of its own movements, these expansions and contractions
constituted emotions. The weak point of the theory was its naïve
assumption that the motions of the corpuscles could have any such
character as agreeableness or disagreeableness _in themselves_ while
still on the way to the Soul. It is in opposition to this that Gassendi
asserts that the mind must _understand_ the impulse before there can be
any affection in the proper sense of the term: if this be denied, only
expansion and contraction will be left to us, and these do not involve
any kind of feeling necessarily. Gassendi did well to steer away from
such a shoal, but he can hardly be said to establish an unambiguous
result. If we consider the theory further, it will be evident that the
rationalistic element which is generated by opposition to materialism,
is itself arrested by a distinctly biological vein of thought. Appetite
is moved by contact, and is therefore in a sense co-extensive with
the periphery of the body: all sense is touch and all touch is either
pleasant or painful. Pain is a breach of continuity (dolorem ex ipsa
continui solutione oriri): pleasure is the restitution of a normal
condition. This normal condition is Indolentia, a mental state of
complete equilibrium. Pleasure and pain are states: the active element
by which the transition from one state to another is mediated, is
called Cupiditas. This middle term causes movement out of the state
of equilibrium: it is therefore not necessary that every pleasure be
preceded by a pain, for it is possible to go from a state of pleasure
into one of pain. The primary affections, Pleasure and Pain, in their
lowest forms do not imply intellectual activity: hunger and sexual
desires are made unpleasant in order that they may excite actions
conducive to the maintenance of the species. In the natural condition
the pleasant is the good; but the memory is liable to retain the idea
of pleasure and seek the sensation when the conditions are wanting
(_e.g._ eating when already satisfied).[87] It follows from this that
the lowest stage of life to which we trace emotions, is capable of such
intellectual activities as are implied in Phantasia, which is consistent
with Gassendi’s denial that animals are automata. Those emotions which
differ from the primary affections are marked by the presence of opinion:
the mere universal is not enough: we must realise that the particular
is a good for us: this causes a movement of the heart and so leads to
action, whereas a speculative knowledge remains in the head. This seems
the high-road to ‘popular philosophy,’ and scarcely calls for further
attention.
We have already pointed out that the ‘pars affectiva’ can, like the
Phantasy, be considered both from the point of view of the activities
which it originates, and that of the activities originated in it.
Similarly, we can regard the ‘pars affectiva’ either from the point
of view of the feelings which it undergoes or that of the feelings it
originates. Pain and pleasure are the fundamental affections, and
these terms are consequently the most comprehensive. The primary ground
of feelings is the actual physical effect which a thing is capable of
producing in the organism; but if we are dealing, as we now are, with
complex organisms, there will be more than the mere physical reactions
which lower organisms exhibit. Hence we find when we come to classify the
affections, that pleasure and pain do not cover all the varieties of our
experience.
The classification runs thus. Appetitus divides into that which
belongs to the ‘anima rationalis’ and that which belongs to the
pars irrationalis. In the former case the appetitus is based on the
understanding, in the latter, on the phantasy. As to the former, Gassendi
declares that the soul (anima rationalis) has affection of its own such
as the pure love of the good, but the abstract nature of this affection,
though capable of distinction in theory, is not capable of very exact
definition because it is rarely found in isolation. The seat of this
affection is in the brain, and it is therefore so united with the general
organism that it almost always functions with some bodily reactions. The
only practicable distinction of these affections is that they imply a
rational activity prior to their own manifestation.
The second class, on the contrary, do not imply the antecedence of any
act of judgment: they depend on phantasy and are modified by the action
of Will. The species of this genus are very varied, but can be to some
extent classified if we take into consideration the elements of which
they are composed. The specific forms of pleasure and pain are joy and
sorrow, that is to say pleasure and pain are the states whose effects
are joy and sorrow: for it must be remembered that pleasure and pain
are terms which primarily denote states, whereas the affection is not
a state viewed as a cause of feeling, but the feeling itself. Gassendi
here takes into consideration the expression involved in an emotion, and
so distinguishes the emotion as an effect from the state or condition
which is its cause. If pleasure is directly connected with an object it
developes into love: if to this be added the condition of absence or
futurity we have the state of desire or hope, from which come confidence
and audacity. On the other side, taking pain as our basis, we get
corresponding to these, hate, aversion, fear, despair, and pusillanimity.
These are the elements which unite to form character.
On the contents of this chapter, which have not greatly impressed me,
I quote the judgment of another more in sympathy with the topic: ‘Nul
avant lui n’avait étudié avec autant de méthode et de profondeur les
passions de l’âme ... il est le premier qui ait ébauché la _science du
charactère_, qui a pris une si grande importance de nos jours. Sur ce
point, d’ailleurs, comme sur beaucoup d’autres, nul écrivain ne cite les
recherches de Gassendi.’[88] Is this true outside of France, or only in
it?
CHAPTER IV
THE NATURE OF LIFE
(_a_) THE VIS MOTRIX
The subject of motion naturally follows the discussions on the cognitive
and appetitive functions. Nature indeed added this power as the
complement of the others, that we might not only know and desire the
good, but also act for its attainment.
The functions which have been discussed hitherto have been motions,
but such as are usually called immanent: our present subject is local
motion, in so far as that is related to will, or, to put it more
comprehensively, in so far as it is traceable to an inner principle. The
line of distinction is not so easy to draw as might at first appear. We
are to speak of all changes of place, and these will include not only
movements of one body, but also movements of the parts of one body.
Among these movements of the parts are many which can only loosely be
called subordinate to the Will: for if we reject ‘motus cordis, cerebri,
intestinorum venarumque,’ and confine ourselves to ‘motus brachii,
capitis, linguae,’ we may still find a difficulty in bringing all their
movements under the head of voluntary movements. In fact what Gassendi
does is to make the Vis motrix from the first an instrument of Will,
and, without trying to make all movements of the parts actions of Will,
merely aims at showing how these motions, which we ascribe to Will, are
made possible in the economy of nature.
The power of motion is fundamentally one with life: it is ‘ex ipsa
natura contexturaque animae,’ for the soul is by nature a fire (cp. p.
111), and its very life is motion (insita mobilitate vigens).[89] We
thus annihilate at a stroke many threatening difficulties, strangling
them in the cradle. If the soul is an active principle, activity will
be the principle of the soul: we do not require to bridge the gulf
from psychical to physical activity, since they will be one in their
foundations: it may be that the deeper we go the more real the unity:
that the corpuscles rather than the contextura corpusculorum are the
real home of the mobilitas; but at any rate, in the spiritus ignei of
our organism (the complex referred to as corpore animato) we find a fit
starting point. Gassendi explicitly derives mobilitas from the natura
ignea, and therefore, since fire was chosen principally for its mobility,
commits himself to a circle: moreover, he considers that a body cannot
communicate motion to another unless it be itself mobile, which is
reasonable enough, except for the assumptions which it involves: for
there could be no motion at all on this theory unless we could find a
substance with innate mobility, and that mobility were communicable:
these two points therefore have to be assumed. These questions we must
leave for the present, and accept Gassendi’s position that the body is a
living and moving organism, of which a descriptive analysis (if not an
explanation) may be given.
The ‘vis’ is the inner fire in its form of spirits: its seat is decided
according to the place where the nerves arise, and therefore must be the
brain, not the heart: motion lags behind thought, because the spirits
must be moved through the whole area of the body, and then re-directed
to fresh courses. The organ of the vis motrix is the muscular system:
a muscle includes vein, artery and nerve, the channels respectively of
blood, vital spirits and animal spirits: anatomical experiments prove
that the nerve is the mediator or bearer of vis, and the medulla is a
subordinate centre or fountain of the virtus motrix from the brain. The
nature of the muscular movement has been misunderstood by those who
object that a fixed point is required for contraction: the muscle is not
drawn up to its head, it contracts in the middle. Now, what is it that
the nerve contributes to this action? Gassendi says it is an ‘imperium’:
the essential part of the muscle is the tendon, for that alone has an
innate power of contraction: the shock of the incoming current of spirits
awakens the dormant power and causes action. This point is apparently
considered to be highly important: its significance seems to lie in the
fact that it dispenses with the necessity of any power being conveyed
from the centre to the seat of action: there is no innervation in that
sense of the term: the Mind or Phantasy issues its orders, and nothing
more, which is a metaphorical way of denying _material_ activity to the
mind. How far this ‘imperium’ is immaterial when it equals ‘appulsus
spirituum’ is difficult to see, although technically the spiritus are
immaterial; but it is clear that Gassendi is content to relieve the brain
of the necessity of supplying the force that moves the mass.
All movement is for some end: it applies therefore an antecedent phantasy
giving the good as end. Will then may be said to initiate movement, and
the difficulties which normally surround that proposition are dispersed
if we remember that the Appetitus Rationalis is one with the sensitivus
and Phantasy mediates sense and intellect. None the less, ‘sunt in hac
re tria praesertim admiranda.’ They are (1) the choice of the nerves
required; (2) the speed of the action; (3) the amount of the mechanical
force. The first problem is shirked: it is said that the branching of
nerves is never a division of a nerve, but only a dispersion of several
nerves joined together: hence any one nerve is continuous, and the
spirits will never be perplexed like a traveller changing at a junction:
this however is only an explanation of the persistence of nerve-currents
in one channel: what we hoped to learn was how the current chooses the
right course at first. The second difficulty is settled by saying that a
fiery substance can of course act with the rapidity of light! As to the
third, the answer has already been given when it was pointed out that
the energy stored in the muscle is the immediate cause of the mechanical
motion.
The special treatment of the subject of motion contains very little
of interest to the modern reader: even contemporaries must have found
its elaborate details wearisome. It is divided into three parts dealing
with (_a_) movements of parts; (_b_) vocalisation; (_c_) movements of
the whole or modes of progression. The first and third divisions do
not require any notice: they are mainly concerned with very elementary
anatomy, relieved with the quaint, if unconscious humour, which
occasionally crops up in unpromising places. The chapter on the voice[90]
is too characteristic to be passed over in silence. In the first place
the definition is carefully elaborated: it runs thus: vox proprie est
sonus emissione spiritus in ore animalis aliquo affectu incitati creatus.
The word ‘proprie’ excludes the ‘voice’ of all instruments; ‘emissione’
dismisses the theories of all those who had not recognised that the
act of producing sound is that of expiration not inspiration: aliquo
affectu incitati is added to exclude coughing, sighing, and the like.
Sighing would seem to be one of the ways of expressing ‘affections’; but
Gassendi explains that he means ‘affectus _animi_’: in short, a sound to
be properly vocal must be significant and voluntary, following on some
definite act of imagination. The mental activity precedes the physical:
for this reason the ancients often spoke of the inner voice, but this is
not really a distinction of kinds of voices: the inner voice is nothing
more than thought itself which the outer or physical organ interprets.
There appear to have been some narrow-minded attempts at confining the
possession of a voice to man alone, and among other devices this voice
of the mind was invented that man might be distinguished from the animals
even in this detail: it would naturally follow that the human voice was
generically distinct from that of animals, and capable of surviving the
dissolution of the body. This is one more instructive example of the
way entities can be multiplied to serve irrelevant purposes. Gassendi’s
position is comparatively a strong one: as the voice is the servant of
the imagination it will be just as coherent in its expressions as the
imagination is in its images. Intelligibility is not an absolute quality,
and animals are probably intelligible to one another: their language is
foreign to us, but so is Chinese, and while it may be ‘impious’ to say
they speak in the human sense, each may be said to speak after its own
kind without offence. This correlation of the voice and the faculty of
images, puts Gassendi on a firm basis capable of considerable expansion.
When we come to deal with the specifically human voice we find the
evolutionary aspect tending to obliterate the hard and fast distinctions
more natural to this period of thought. The natural history of speech
must begin with a stage not so far removed from that of the animals:
infants make only vocal sounds: fari non possunt, as the name witnesses;
and it is only after time and experience that they reach the varied
articulations of developed speech. Gassendi notes that pronunciation is
directly related to physical structure: it cannot be learned from books,
and in some degree remains always a birth-right not to be won by labour.
This point was another blow at theorists who vaguely equated the power
of speech with human nature in general and ignored the facts. On the
question ‘sintne nomina natura vel instituto’ Gassendi takes the same
view as Epicurus, and avoids both extremes: the primary name is a sound
significant of pleasure or pain; but people even in the same place would
regard the same thing differently, and hence designate it by different
names: so that intercourse would be impossible if convention did not
supplement nature and carry out a natural selection of sounds until one
object had one name: for succeeding generations this would be a nomen ex
instituto acquired through the medium of society.
Gassendi quotes an example of the contemporary science of language which
shows that he knew where to stop. The doctrine of natural names had
been defended on the ground that the meaning and the motion were often
identical. Tu and ego, for example, necessitate movements of the lips
outward and inward respectively, that is to say toward you and toward
myself! The error which had most to be combated was the use of arbitrary
as the opposite of natural. There could be no question to an intelligent
mind of arbitrary names: though an arbitrium might be exercised in the
selection of words when a language was consolidated, in the early stages
such words as became ex instituto would be so from a natural process
rather than any direct activity of human choice.[91]
(_b_) LIFE AND DEATH
The definition of life is a task essayed by writers in generation after
generation. A broad distinction can at once be made according as the
writer takes life in the sense of a thing or a process. If he regards it
statically as a being or entity he is not likely to advance far: if he
regards it dynamically as a doing or function he will at least be on the
right track. In this respect a philosopher who inclines to use motion as
his common denominator is guided by his general attitude of mind into
paths that may reach the goal. At the same time vita and operatio are
not quite identical: it is truer to say vita per operationem patescit,
although it cannot be understood sine ordine ad operationem.
Gassendi proposes as his definition ‘quaedam quasi usura sive possessio
animae facultatisque operandi ipsius,’ obviously wishing to combine with
the notion of unintermittent function the idea of an agent. It is however
a fallacy to try and erect the means of life into Life itself. To define
life as mansionem caloris (or calidi innati) is to commit such a fallacy.
The calor is really fomentum vitae: it is necessary, but not more so than
the elements: though in fact it prevails and is the principium agens.
Its activity is directed to the absorption of the humours, which are
the pabulum vitae. All life is creation: the individual is no isolated
unit: the stream of becoming flows through him: as worlds, nations, and
generations arise and decay, so the individual moves along, dying daily
and daily regaining new life. Generatio is continuatio vitae and vita is
a continens generatio. Life abides as the flame of a candle, kindling
what it burns: its fuel is the humour, itself the flame, but only he can
distinguish the one from the other who can separate the burning from what
is burnt.
This position carries with it the doctrine that identity is continuity
of action: the original seed contains two forces, the heating and the
heated: calidum primigenium and humidum primigenium as opposed to such
heat as that of the sun or humours such as are obtained in food. From
the first then there is a duality which makes action possible. The
heat-corpuscles by virtue of their nature fly off and take with them
the humid: the consequent exhaustion is checked by alimentation, by
which the humid elements are multiplied and detain the heat-elements.
The action of the heat-elements is then employed in distributing the
new elements throughout the body and renewing its tissues. Life then
is the interaction of these two principles, a conclusion which derives
its importance from the fact that the current doctrines supported a
substantia immutabilis as the secret entity called life. This view was
dictated by the false view of identity. In place of a fixed identity
we can put the identity of equivalence: a part remains to connect the
changes, and the form is not lost in the flux of matter. From this
however Gassendi exempts the pars rationalis. Again, the stages of growth
are not reached per saltum: a proportion is maintained and identity
consists in this proportion. As the brain also grows, thought-identity
cannot be absolute or immutable: empirically at least it is partial:
particles vanish and with them parts of our experience: hence some things
are forgotten and some remembered confusedly. There is an unfortunate
crudeness in speaking, as though an experience could be attached to a
brain particle; but it is redeemed by the last trenchant remark that our
identity abides because we have never been separated from ourselves.
The processes of life as thus described would seem to be unending,
involving continual growth. There are however natural conditions which
prevent this. Growth is checked by the hardening of parts which do not
permit of accretion as they become closed to the influx of new material.
In the midst of life there is death, and it is an error to confine
the word death to the act of expiring: death is properly the whole
course of failure to assimilate, unless it be violent and due to some
extraneous cause. Gassendi discourses at large on all the legends of
long life in man and animals and also on all manner of violent deaths:
death by drowning was thought most awful, for the soul being a flame is
particularly averse to water.
By regarding death as no less natural than life Gassendi touches a
question of great importance in his day. His dictum, what has a natural
birth has also a natural death, was by no means generally accepted, and
his summary of the opposite teaching is an interesting commentary on
contemporary thought. It must be remembered that this discussion does not
affect the question of the immortality of the soul.
The common teaching was based on that antithesis of life and death which
regarded death as a purely negative term: the reality was life, death
an unreality, and some method ought therefore to be discoverable by
which life might be made infinitely continuous. At the bottom of this
doctrine lies the idea of the World Soul, which, as it is perpetually
taken up by us and lost again through the dispersion of particles, might
be retained if the nature of man was purified and made perfect. The
prescribed process was as follows; the Anima Mundi will remain in the
perfect substance: this is gold which can be relaxed so as to absorb
from the rays of the sun the principle of life: being thus enclosed in
one substance, a vital elixir may be formed from this substance, and the
Anima Mundi be conveyed into the body, which gradually becomes purified
and perfected, attaining all the qualities which belong to the spiritual
body mentioned in the Bible, and fulfilling the prophecy that men
should be almost angels, being ‘a little lower than the angels.’ ‘Sane
vero,’ says Gassendi, ‘haec sunt non tam refutanda quam diris omnibus
devovenda.’ Criticism is hardly necessary even to the extent of pointing
out that if gold admits the external principle so easily it might no
less easily part with it. The whole scheme is the work of ill-trained
imaginations urged on by the desires which are common to all races and
all times. The idea of reducing all things to one form was based on
the opinion that, if all things are forms of matter, the matter must be
some nature to which all other natures were reducible, and through which
they could be transformed into any other given nature. This fundamental
common nature x being a universal, its discovery would simplify all the
sciences, and especially that of medicine, making possible a medicina
catholica, for the unity of the universal nature would admit of a
medicine one and universal, apparently because it would make a plurality
of diseases impossible. The tyranny of the universal in the sciences has
been noted often enough: its power was at its highest when the minds
of men were dazzled by new discoveries, and vague generalisations were
suddenly quickened into a new indefinite possibility of life by rumours
of great discoveries and vague echoes of unearthly knowledge from the dim
and superstitious cell of the alchemist.
These two pages give an excellent account of the essence of Alchemy
as a magic science. Gassendi also gives us a hint of the way in which
Transubstantiation and Transmutation became confused: ‘gloriosum Christi
sanguinem ... edixerunt nihil aliud esse quam Catholicam suam Medicinam!’
(II. 615).
(_c_) THE CONSTITUTION OF ANIMALS
I.
The word temperament or temperies which is used by Gassendi to denote
the constitution of living bodies was ambiguous in his own time, and has
now diverged still further from its original meaning. The complexity of
meaning is however a true indication of the evolution of the ideas the
word denotes. The Latin ‘temperamentum’ originally meant no more or less
than the Κρᾶσις of the Greeks, and is convertible with ‘commistio’: it
looks therefore entirely to the physical composition of the body, and
is a name for the various ratios which may hold between the elements in
any ‘totum compositum.’ None the less the purely physical aspect never
excluded the idea of character, which again, though applicable to all
things, tended to become restricted to psychical character. In this way a
natural course of development carries us over from elements and atoms to
characters and dispositions.
The doctrine of Temperaments is a characteristic element of mediaeval
thought: its vagueness gives it a tinge of mysticism: it seems to unite
the two worlds of mind and matter in one comprehensive grasp, and
links the characters of our acquaintances with the day of creation and
the emergence of atoms from chaos. Looked at from one point of view,
mediaeval thought will be seen to have no lack of breadth: dogma was
indeed a constricting power, but it did not suppress the longing for
universal terms in which to state or solve problems, nor impose its
precision on minds that found much satisfaction in undefined thoughts and
over-defined diction.
Though the subject of temperament may now be said to have vanished from
what we usually call philosophical works, much of what the mediaeval
thinker collected under that title can be found in modern form in
works that deal with the concrete individual, with the natures and
dispositions of children, hygiene, adolescence, and the like, and we find
in books on these topics a growing tendency to vindicate the relation
of physical to psychical characteristics in that concrete way which the
theories called ‘psycho-physical’ rarely or never attempt.
If we now turn to Gassendi’s pages we find that he begins with a summary
of qualities, enumerating three different classes, and then states quite
generally that all qualities owe their origin to the ‘temperies,’ and as
the temperament is so will the qualities be. The chief reason however for
discussing the question of temperament is that we may be able to advance
to the questions of health and disease, which are only natural and
unnatural conditions of temperament. In a sense the temperament is life,
for it is that equilibrium which must be maintained, and which admits
only a limited degree of disturbance.
The history of the theory of Temperament divides naturally into two
periods. In the earlier the question is mainly of elements, and always
of some form or other of matter: in the latter chemical principles take
the place of primaeval elements. If any one finds this a distinction
without a difference, and complains that chemical principles are a form
of matter, he must recollect that such was not the attitude of the
fourteenth century, when men were most at home with ‘dead matter,’ and
felt a difficulty in classifying many of the chemist’s discoveries.
Those doctrines which take as their basis either atoms or elements,
go back to the earliest days of Greek thought. They have however many
difficulties. The nature of the combination is a fundamental problem:
the result has to be a mean of some kind; but if we deal with either
atoms or elements as irreducible ultimates, they must either (like
grains of corn) be simply co-existent, or they must interpenetrate.
Co-existence clearly is not what is wanted, and interpenetration implies
that two bodies occupy the same space. On the other hand, qualitative
difference is not obtainable if the elements are all homogeneous: water
added to water only gives a difference of more or less: our combinations
must be different in kind, analogous rather to the mixture of wine and
water. This is in fact our type, and we must explain the mixture as
we have done in discussing qualities, by introducing the concept of
intension. We have here really two questions. One is of the temperamentum
ex primis principiis: the other of temperamentum ex contrariis. The
former goes deeper than the latter, and is an ulterior question, the
decision of which hardly affects the second. Gassendi proceeds to deal
with the latter. As a theory it is really independent of the particular
given matter: it rests upon a category which may be taken formally.
Any combination _x_ + _y_ satisfies the conditions if _x_ and _y_ are
contrary. Hence there is no a priori reason for taking only those four,
earth, air, fire, and water, to which the discussion is usually confined.
That choice is dictated by irrelevant considerations of the physical
constitution of the universe: so far as our category goes, we might
employ such opposites as light, heavy, smooth, rough, and the like.
Avicenna indeed seems to have been confused, and perhaps others with him:
they took the four elements as typical of four qualities, and so were
led astray, speaking as though the qualities might change and mingle,
whereas the true view is that of Galen, who refused to divorce quality
from substance, and remained on firmer ground in trying to explain the
Temperament (Κρᾶσις) as an interrelation of substances (Galenus probandus
dum elementarum substantias misceri totas per totas dicit).[92] These
points we leave and simply admit four substances, a hot, a cold, a wet,
and a dry, which, wherever they have obtained their qualities, are
mingled and tempered. Their mingling results in some corpus (lapis,
planta, animal), and we may define a temperament as ‘congrua calidi et
frigidi, humidi et sicci mistura.’ This dogmatic solution of the question
seems dictated by the medical views of the time on humours and diseases,
which Gassendi was probably not in a position to criticise. According
to Galen, temperaments may be distinguished into nine kinds, one the
canon or norm, the rest abnormal, due either to excess of one quality
(which gives four kinds) or of two (giving four more). A temperament
may be too hot or too dry (siccum et calidum), but cannot be too hot
and too cold (calidum et frigidum): these eight are therefore the only
combinations possible. The mean temperature is itself twofold according
to Avicenna, namely universal and specific. The universal is ad pondus,
_i.e._ a typical form assumed as the nature of universal substance and
determined quantitatively, the mixture comprising mathematically equal
quantities of the four opposites. This however is condemned by Galen as
purely theoretical, and if it existed it would be a pure equilibrium
which could exhibit no action and no metabolism (neque si qualitates sic
temperatae existerent actio exseri ab illis ulla posset). The second or
specific kind is ad justitiam, a proportion which realises a mean, and
which, while being the same in the sense of always being a mean, is not
absolute quantity. This kind varies with the nature of the being and
the different ages of the same being, but in such a way as to maintain
its chief characteristics. There will be degrees of better and worse
in the types thus realised, and therefore we may derive from this a
true type without assuming the typical absolute type ad pondus. Every
animal is heterogeneous, and therefore its temperament is complex. Some
of its parts are fluent, some fixed: the fluent are called humours and
their excess gives the four types sanguine, phlegmatic, choleric, and
melancholic: the fixed comprise the ‘partes spermaticas semineasve et
sanguineas’: the spermatic or ex semine formatae are bone, cartilage,
ligament, tendon, nerve, artery, and membrane: those ex sanguine
procreatae are the softer parts, heart, kidneys, liver, and lungs. The
whole has a harmony of its own, and the whole animal is a well-ordered
republic.
II.
The progress of knowledge tended to relegate to the limbo of myths all
the ancients had said about elements. The Chemists substituted for
principles and primary elements their own chemical elements. Into the
details of this doctrine we need not penetrate: in the place of the four
elements five substances were recognised as the elements to which all
things could be reduced, and from which they must therefore have arisen.
Gassendi is not concerned with the value of this position as a scientific
doctrine, but with its philosophic import. He obviously regards it as
pretentious, and his criticism is an interesting composition of views on
the nature of things. There are four direct charges against the doctrine;
the authors of it cannot agree among themselves as to the number of
ultimate principles: special properties of natural objects, such as
the healing power of dictamum or the deadly cold of hemlock, remain
unexplained: no explanation is given of the form of organic and inorganic
products; and all the higher qualities such as sagacity are completely
overlooked.
Though these are details, they involve a principle of the highest
importance. The merely scientific mind takes its stand on analysis: the
chemist says ‘analysis gives such and such elements, and therefore,
unintelligible as it may be, these must be the source of all that we
see.’ But when is an analysis exhaustive? If the chemists laugh at the
ancient physiologists, what will future ages say to the chemists? The
assumption of finality is mocked by progress; and the progress we boast
is part of a movement to which we must succumb—a sentiment that recalls
the saying, ‘the evolution of thought is part of the whole evolution.’
When is an analysis exhaustive? Probably never, but at any rate only when
it admits of an adequate corresponding synthesis. Gassendi shows that he
clearly comprehended this great principle. The chemist, he says, would
laugh at a surgeon who declared that the living being was no more than
a sum of the parts which he could dissect and display. If we try to make
our analytic of constitution a complete explanation of life, failure must
necessarily ensue.[93] The reason is clear: we strive to exhaust in terms
of sense what is not given to the senses: we cannot reach the ultimate
because the torch that lights the intellect fails us on the road.[94]
For this reason it is useless to substitute for principia any imaginary
sensuous agents such as mechanical spirits: the complexity of life in
all its forms, with all its endless adaptations, cannot be explained by
mechanical agents unless we abuse the term and ascribe to such agents
properties which are foreign to mechanism. The construction of a palace
appears to us marvellous with its endless processes: the wood has to be
brought from the forest, the stone from the quarry, and all the parts
have to be shaped and fitted together; but in this case we see the
agents, architect, masons, and woodcutters, and if we still find cause of
wonder in this, how much more should we marvel at the construction of a
living body where all the agents are unseen and the structure has to be
maintained by incessant repair![95] We must not think that we can exhaust
nature: there is something that does not fall in the range of human
powers, and while we cannot completely explain Nature we must so far bow
before it as to acknowledge that the whole is more than the parts, the
synthesis greater than our analysis.
This criticism is strengthened by the restraint it shows: it ends in no
dogmatic introduction of a creator which science might require to have
demonstrated: it is intended only to define the limits of science.[96]
The question arises, are those limits necessary or contingent? No
distinct answer is here given, but Gassendi seems to consider that in
time (perhaps infinite time) the unknown might become revealed, not to
sense alone but to an intellect guided by sense. After this philosophic
digression, the treatise returns to the question of diseases and their
cure, medicine being the science to which the doctrine of temperaments is
properly ancillary. For our present purpose this part of the subject is
superfluous.
PART III. ETHICS
CHAPTER I
ON HAPPINESS
I.
The student who enters on the task of discovering Gassendi’s views on
ethics has before him a problem of considerable magnitude. The mass of
quotations is enormous: repetition is frequent: and the main line of
thought is obscured by the twofold purpose of defending and at the same
time modifying the views of Epicurus. The whole literature of the subject
is ransacked: the Greek philosophers are quoted in almost unreadable
type: passages from the Fathers and other authors innumerable occupy
whole pages: while the doctrine actually supported is obscured by endless
polemics against authors now for the most part deservedly forgotten.
To represent the learning of the original is almost impossible, while
omission of the quotations must necessarily deprive the reader of a true
idea of Gassendi’s method of treating the subject. The doctrine must
however be stripped of this robe of erudition, and perhaps a method that
leaves the truth naked will not be without its advantages.
Gassendi’s preface states his position. Moral philosophy is not
speculative or concerned only with theory: it is also a scientia activa,
a treatise de eligendis et fugiendis, a practical study. It is a theory
of Prudence rather than wisdom. As Gassendi notes, the word ‘morals’ does
not quite equal the Greek ‘ethics.’ The latter indicates more clearly the
element of individual habituation; and virtue, though innate, requires
education of the soul. Man is solitarius, familiaris, and civilis.
Morality is properly concerned with man as solitarius in the sense that
the self is the foundation of all, and thus this science is distinguished
from all others, such as Politics, which deal with man in his relations
to the society or the State.
We naturally expect from this a certain psychological and individual
trend in the rest of the treatment. The first book is on Felicity, the
second on the virtues, and the third on the kindred subjects of Liberty,
Fortune, Fate, and Divination.
II.
The discussion of Felicitas opens in a characteristic way with
twenty-seven pages of quotation. Felicity is the end of life, but in what
sense? It is really a confusion of terms to make Felicity the summum
bonum, for felicity is the possession of the highest good, which must
therefore be determined separately. The best of the many definitions of
the summum bonum is ‘tranquillitas animi,’ but we must conceive that
as an active state, a living, not a dead repose. It is a permanent
condition which must be reached by the mind through its self-discipline.
No external means or sensual indulgences can produce the desired state:
meditation must free the soul from all care, especially the meditation
of death, which enables men to see life steadily and see it whole. The
condition which results is a pleasant state, and therefore pleasure is
in a sense the end of life. This statement has unfortunately led to many
errors, and it must not be left unguarded: we must find out the real
meaning of pleasure before proceeding further.
The defence of pleasure as vitae beatae finem is really a defence of
Epicurus, and is put in the form of a discussion on what Epicurus meant
by pleasure. Some writers have represented Epicurus as taking pleasure
in a bad sense: among these Cicero and Athenaeus are most noteworthy:
Seneca, on the other hand, with Plutarch, can be quoted as defending
Epicurus. Cicero seems to have been led astray by considering the
objects which give pleasures (ludos et cantus et formas eas et quibus
oculi jucunde moveantur) and not the state of mind produced. Unless the
pleasure as a mental state is considered there can be no distinction of
good and bad: for the same outward object may affect different minds
differently. Plutarch points out this difference between Epicurus and
Aristippus: the pleasure which Epicurus means is of the mind, that which
Aristippus praises is of the body. Laertius points out other differences.
Aristippus confines the term to pleasure in motu, Epicurus lays more
stress on pleasure in statu or tranquillity. This distinction is the root
of further divergence. Aristippus considers pleasure of the body the only
true pleasure: Epicurus admits or rather emphasises pleasures of mind.
The real difference in these views is to be found quite apart from the
question of sensual or non-sensual pleasures, in the problems of Being
and Change. As Gassendi points out, Pleasure (ἡδονή) has never had a
bad significance in itself. The bad states were such as luxury (τρυφή,
mollities). To view the doctrines of either Epicurus or Aristippus from
the point of view of moral and immoral pleasures is to misunderstand
the whole position: such a procedure is indeed natural to us because we
have become used to the morals of the pulpit, which takes morality as
the presupposition of its ethics: before the religious dogmas became
thus fixed ethical enquiry was the means by which men hoped to attain a
concept of the good, not bolster up with theory what they had already
determined to support. Thus it is a hysteron proteron to condemn a
pleasure as immoral, for the pleasantness may prove the criterion of
moralness. It is true that the teaching both of Epicurus and of the
Cyrenaics was liable to be used as a justification of sensuality; but
originally these thinkers were more concerned with other problems, and
especially whether a pleasure could be anticipated, which Aristippus
denied and Epicurus affirmed. The kind of dialectic employed here can
easily be imagined. Is the pleasure of anticipation a future pleasure
or a pleasure referred to the future? What is the relation of time
involved in this? Is not all pleasure present pleasure, and will it not
therefore be advantageous to concentrate our powers upon the present?
Is not rest a ceasing from action, and therefore from the (active)
enjoyment of pleasure, a lapsing from life to nirvana? At this last point
the externality of Aristippus’ view shows itself only too plainly: the
quies or rest of contemplation is not a ceasing from all action: it is
the highest activity, though it may not go beyond the subject. In these
differences of opinion about becoming and movement we must look for the
roots of the more superficial divergences of Epicurean and Cyrenaic
doctrine. If we can get rid of those ideas of pleasure which attach
themselves exclusively to the senses, we shall see that in its broader
sense pleasure is the very essence of life. This broader sense Epicurus
must have taken: he considers pains of mind greater than pains of body,
and never ceases to insist on the place due to pleasures of mind. Taking
it in this comprehensive way, we may say virtue and pleasure are as
inseparable as the sun is from the day: true pleasure flows from virtue,
and they are by nature one (virtutem esse causam felicitatis effectricem).
We may pause here to ask what is meant by ‘true pleasure.’ It seems as
though vera felicitas was an ambiguous term in Gassendi. So far as we
concern ourselves with pleasure, true must either mean belonging to a
normal constitution or must carry with it suggestions of some criterion
other than pleasantness. We may of course take up the narrow position
of some critics of psychological hedonism and say that pleasure admits
of no modifications except in the way of quantity. But this criticism,
if relevant to later doctrines, would not touch Gassendi, whose whole
attitude of mind precludes the possibility of so abstract a view. He
would consider it a mockery of moral philosophy to set up pleasure in
the sense of pleasantness, felt pleasure, as end or criterion. It is not
enough that you as man find pleasure in the deed: you as moral subject
must first prove yourself a fit judge. This brings us in sight of an
old circle: we seem on the verge of being told that we ought to pursue
pleasure and that we ought to find pleasure only in that which we ought
(for other reasons) to pursue. We do in fact end in a dictum like that
of Aristotle: a true pleasure is such as a true man feels, and if this
avoids the difficulty of the man who finds happiness in evil, it none the
less gives us a concrete norm.
Gassendi’s solution, if such it be, of the problem exhibits some familiar
elements. To go back to the question of kinds of pleasure. Though some
say all pleasure is good, all pain bad, it is true that sometimes
pleasure is postponed to pain and vice versa. The fallacy is discovered
in the absolute use of the term pleasure: Epicurus recognised several
kinds, some in tranquillitate, some in motu, including profligatorum
voluptates. But this is not quite an accurate statement: pleasure is
not quite a motion, it is rather ‘condimentum actionis,’ a pervading
sweetness. Moreover the suggested distinction of motus animi and motus
corporis is false: if the mind moves there must also be corporeal
movement. Is pleasure essentially good (sua natura bonum). Epicurus
thought so: Antisthenes denied it: the Stoics classed it as indifferens:
some distinguish good and bad, and some say it is good, but not the
highest good.
The conclusion runs thus: all nature seeks what is natural to it, and
therefore seeks what is good and pleasant. Bad pleasures must then be
due to some taint and to the fault of the agent. As the good is per se
attractive, all pleasures must be desirable. The reason why a pleasure
is rejected is generally some anticipated evil consequence, _e.g._ when
we refuse to eat the honey because we suspect that it is poisoned.[97]
The proof that animals have connate desires for what is pleasant is taken
from Cicero. About this there are two points to be noticed: these connate
desires are apparently to be regarded as conscious purposes but without
proof of this consciousness: secondly, the passage in Cicero makes the
end self-love not pleasure. It is obvious that, do what we may to clarify
Gassendi’s statements, confusion must remain, for we have no clear
distinction between three very different ideas.
The Good may mean
(1) That which is good for the animal according to the divine plan, or in
the sight of God. This may be different for each being, but it is such
as fulfils that creature’s wants, if those wants be regarded from an
external point of view, such as might be ascribed to God.
(2) That which is good for the creature who regards himself as part
of a system and has a rational comprehension of ends higher than his
individual satisfaction.
(3) That which the creature thinks to be his good.
Of these three the first is not properly in the sphere of ethical
considerations at all, while the third is a question of illusion, since
it is always practically assumed that the agent chooses under some
conditions that warp his natural judgment. In trying to define the end
as both good and pleasant Gassendi errs (in good company, too) by not
seeing that he is arbitrarily modifying both terms, the chooser and the
chosen. Doubtless, given a man whose pleasure was in the good, the good
would be to him pleasant; but an ethic that modifies both terms ceases to
be practical: it becomes imaginary, speculative, and abstract. Love of
God, says Gassendi, is in the highest degree good and pleasant: he means
presumably that it ought to be if it is not. If we revert to man as he
is, can we still maintain these statements? Gassendi thinks we can, and
that is just one more instance of the latent universal. The keynote to
the whole position is to be found in the phrase, ‘omne animal e natura
sua sic comparatur ut natura duce nihil prius requirat’: where natura is
clearly taken in abstraction, as though there were a natura possessed by
all creatures and capable of being held over against the sum of desires.
Such a natura is a deduction from observation, and even if we allow that
man might oppose his idea of the nature of man to his actual nature, as
expressed in his desires, it is clearly absurd to read into the existence
of the animal a duality which reflective thought has constructed.
Gassendi has not properly comprehended the fact that he encroaches on the
metaphysic of ethics in taking the question in this universal way. There
is however another side to his argument, which must not be overlooked. He
is concerned to prove that a good is no less a good for being associated
with pleasure. In words that remind us of Locke’s well-known phrase,
he attributes the association of goodness with pleasure to the act of
God. This seems to be supported by such considerations as the union of
goodness and pleasantness in the acts of procreation or feeding; but it
is significant that the position finds most support from those forms of
life which are furthest removed from full consciousness as we know it,
and for which the goodness as such is presumably non-existent. If we
press the question we fall into paradox: self-sacrifice we find is made
for the pleasure it gives: if Brutus killed his sons it was because his
sons were such as Brutus disliked, and therefore it was a pleasure to
Brutus to kill them: a statement that shows that Gassendi was badly in
need of a distinction between what is pleasurable and what is preferable.
III.
We should almost expect from the position assigned to Pleasure that
it would be pronounced the end of all action. This is modified by a
distinction between goods which are classified as honestum, utile, and
jucundum. The third class is always chosen ob voluptatem: the others
may not be. Psychologically voluptas accompanies desire, and desire is
generated by want. The want comes first, and the object is chosen as
satisfying the want: pleasure ceases with attainment, which in turn
generates a new want. This third class, things jucunda, is meant to
include those that satisfy bodily wants. The first two classes generate
pleasure, because their absence is a want. Of these the class Utile
comprises objects which are not pleasant as acts, but are sought with
reference to the pleasure to be obtained from them. Cooking, building,
and singing are examples. The highest class honestum, including all
honores, causes some difficulty. It has been said that these must be
chosen ‘for themselves’: the honestum is per se dignum. But the worth is
not impaired by any addition of pleasantness; and the desire to divorce
the two is really due to a confusion between seeking a high position and
seeking the material advantages of position. The honestum must be at
least a permanent spiritual attainment: it is only a low mind that seeks
the material advantages by themselves.[98]
IV.
As we foresaw, the practical solution of the question What is the
highest good? has to be attained by taking a concrete example. Though
not explicitly stated, Gassendi clearly holds the opinion that you know
the good man when you see him. In the chapter headed ‘solum sapientem
virtutem moralem amplecti,’ we have an analysis of the good life from
which we may learn the nature of the highest good. This life is ‘maxime
naturalem, maxime obtentu facilem, maxime durabilem, maxime poenitentiae
expertem.’ It is based on tranquillitas animi, which is not a state of
death, but of sustained equilibrium:[99] in it all desires are regulated
and co-ordinated: its end is final, an end in itself, not creating a
condition which is self-destructive, but a persistent state. The good man
will prefer the contemplative life, but not in such a way as to prevent
him from sharing in the activities required of a citizen. In short, the
ideal is the familiar wise man of the Stoics; but there are certain
modifications which detract somewhat from the sternness of that ideal.
To suffer pain bravely is good; to escape suffering is better: goods
of mind are most excellent, but goods of body may be added. The key of
happiness is temperance, and the motto of life should be parvo contentus.
This is the tone of an uncertain age, adopting in its anxiety the lesser
evil. It suited the unstable conditions of life that inspired Stoicism:
it appeals to men still, and cannot lose its charm so long as fortune
remains fickle and life is a waiting for death. Yet would not wealth be
happiness if secure? is it not better to live on a higher level, having
more and spending more? The Roman Empire gave birth to a sick man’s
ideal: the sage was to want little because little was to be had, as the
dyspeptic[100] puts away his desire for the full meal of the healthy: of
mental pleasures he might take his fill, for the hand of the tyrant could
not rob him of his store, but the goods of this world he was to despise,
for they were insecure.
The conception of life which comes down to us from Epicurus is one of
extreme simplicity. It is easy, we are told, to get what is necessary,
and therefore life according to nature is always possible. A quotation
from Porphyry[101] shows how little there was of ‘Epicureanism’ about
Epicurus. Gassendi accepts the natural life of Epicurus as the model: he
is content to prove that his teacher meant by pleasure something more
than self-indulgence, something lofty, spiritual, and in the highest
sense moral. This is good as an apology; but if we are to accept Gassendi
as an independent teacher, it seems impossible to avoid condemning his
position as weak. Mere transference of an ideal from one age to another
must necessarily be weak and shallow: it implies an abstract attitude
of mind refusing to face the new conditions and new problems that time
unfolds: in spite of those elements of life that are always with us, and
those truths which have been uttered once for all, such antiquarian lore
as fills the pages of Gassendi can only be disappointing to a mind that
looks for a theory in touch at least with its own age, if not of value to
later generations.
In one respect perhaps this hardly does Gassendi justice. His insistence
on the point that Pleasure is not opposed to virtue, that we may be both
good and happy, was not merely the formal statement of the Epicurean
as opposed to the Stoic ideal. Asceticism was still an ideal, and in
general men were impressed with the idea that the phrase, ‘virtue
for its own sake,’ had a meaning. What it had come to mean was that
virtue was best by itself, best if you mixed it with nothing, best if
taken in abstraction from the world and all that is worldly. Against
this Gassendi preaches the right of all things in life to their due
recognition; he would have said, with much the same shade of meaning,
that it was ‘better to be worldly than other-worldly.’ Gassendi’s
biography shows that he drifted away from the Church: it was the Church
that had divorced virtue and the best life.
CHAPTER II
THE VIRTUES
The treatment of the special virtues, though containing much that is too
trite to need recording again, adds a few points that are necessary to
complete our view of the Ethics.
The word ‘virtue’ is not to be taken to denote manliness, as its
derivation might suggest, or a specific function, such as is meant in
phrases like ‘virtus equi.’ By virtue is meant a habit of the mind by
which we are rightly disposed toward our affections. It would have been
more accurate to have said organism instead of mind, and it is clearly
necessary to take animus here in a sense that includes reference to the
bodily conditions. A habit or condition must not be confounded either
with a faculty or an affection, says Gassendi, with obvious reference to
Aristotle.
The animus has two parts, and each has its virtue. A right disposition
of the intellectual part enables it to attain truth when affected by the
objects that appeal to the senses: similarly a right disposition of the
non-intellectual part enables it to attain truth in action, or goodness
when affected by anything that appeals to the passions. It is possible to
regard this second part abstractly and divorce it from the intellect. We
then have such habits and possibilities of right action as are shared by
the brutes, but not completely moral action. To constitute virtue a right
habit must be so based on a right mental state as to be constant and
intentional. This doctrine therefore recognises that goodness is possible
where there is only a low degree of intellect or none at all. At the same
time the degree of morality must be judged relatively to the degree of
intellectual power possessed by the agent. As Gassendi does not discuss
the question of merit it is not easy to determine the significance of
this point. The statement that virtue requires knowledge may have either
of two meanings: it may imply that the agent must be conscious of the
end aimed at, that is consciously adopt a course as good for him: it may
also imply that the agent must know how the end he adopts is related to
other ends, and ultimately to the universe of ends. It is in the second
sense that Gassendi seems to use the phrase, but only with the intention
of dividing the ethical from natural virtues or the ‘nativam in Appetitu
aptitudinem ad virtutem.’ Consciousness of the end adopted is naturally
connected with the subject of merit, because it is not infrequently
assumed that goodness is proportionate to the difficulty of choice, or
briefly, the greater the struggle the better the man. We are therefore
left in twofold darkness when neither merit nor the need of conscious
choice is fully treated. Some further light may be got from the following
discussion of the mean. The Stoics considered the mean was a pollution
of virtue, a compromise between extremes of vice, and in itself
nothing. Gassendi replying in support of the doctrine, emphasises the
distinction between qualitative and quantitative means. In Ethics we have
to deal with qualitative distinctions, and our mean is in se quid, not
a vanishing point between extremes but an extreme itself. This decision
enables our author to deal very sensibly with another question. As the
extreme states are due to excess of passion, ethical theory had tended
to associate with the mean state the absence of all passion. The Stoics,
considering that the passions were in the rational part of the soul,
saw no way short of complete eradication. Epicurus, on the other hand,
declared the principal part of the soul to be free from passion. This
puts the passions in the position of matter, upon which the moral agent
may work and makes possible their permanent retention. The wise man of
the Stoics was to be devoid of passion: the ideal of Epicurus found room
for pity and anger, tears and sighs. There is however nothing which could
lead us to suppose that Gassendi or his teachers attained to the idea of
passions as natural forces which could be employed for good: they are by
nature bad, without reference to the objects concerned: consequently the
only choice is between extermination and limitation. The former leaves
us with a purely intellectual state, and if this is not satisfactory we
must take the second, admitting that an immoral affection is moral if
sufficiently limited. But this is exactly what Gassendi repudiates as a
Stoic heresy when put in the form ‘virtue is a mean between vices,’ or a
mean vice. He points out that a curve ) passing into ( is not a curve at
all at the mean point [)|(]; and so with our vices, of which however he
gives no example. The fallacy of the position seems to lie in the failure
to distinguish the passion from its object, and so, for example, make
room for righteous indignation beside bad temper, or the sorrow of the
afflicted beside the self-abandonment of suicide.
One satisfaction remains: our ethic will at least deal with human nature
and leave us our natural material. More than that, it will assert the
unity of virtues, on the very sound principle that if we deny the
unity we make virtuous acts and not virtuous natures the ground of our
judgment. What has been said already on the necessity of virtue being
a habit helps us out here. We are not good for the sake of being good:
the pure love of virtue is nonsense: we are good to be happy. As all
virtue tends to happiness the virtues satisfy the scholastic condition
and are one both in origin and end, arising from Prudence and ending in
happiness. The sceptic sneers at the suggestion that virtue always makes
for happiness, and it can hardly be reckoned among the propositions
proved by Gassendi. There is none the less much truth in the corollary
that the good man finds happiness in virtue: if he does not, the
virtue must somehow be foreign to his nature: fear of the law must be
coercing him or even a guilty fear of God; and this is not that state of
tranquillity which is the crown of the man whose good actions flow from
the right disposition of his soul and body.
The special virtues are divided into four classes—Prudence, Temperance,
Fortitude, and Justice. In addition to these main heads there are other
subdivisions which are differently enumerated by different writers.
Aristotle himself speaks of several virtues not named in this first
general division. The scholastics desired to elaborate such general
heads as would include all the nameable virtues, and finally produced
the following scheme. First, there are the three parts called Subjectae,
seu species: ‘deinde Integrantes, seu quas instar partium totum integrum
componentium, necesse est concurrere ad actum perfectum cuiuspiam
virtutis: denique Potentialeis seu quae potentiarum ipsius animae instar
sunt virtutes quasi adjunctae.’ These divisions may be exemplified
by quoting the actual subdivisions of our main classes. ‘Sic parteis
Prudentiae Subjectas distinguunt Privatam Oeconomicam Politicam Militarem
Regiam: integranteis Memoriam Intellegentiam Docilitatem Solertiam
Rationem Providentiam Circumspectionem Cautionem: Potentialeis ...
Eubuliam, Synesin, Gnomen.’
The other virtues can be similarly divided, and the result is a list
which the scholastics at least thought exhaustive of all the known
virtues.
The first and greatest of the virtues is Prudence. This, as we have seen,
is of five kinds—privata, oeconomica, politica, regia, and militaria.
Gassendi deals with it under these heads. He begins with this virtue
because it is, as Epicurus said, ‘caput ac fontem, sic quasi Reginam
atque Principem caeterarum virtutum.’ We deal here with Prudence
‘quatenus est moralis virtus, quae omnes vitae actiones recte moderatur,’
and enables us to rightly distinguish good and evil: it has been well
defined by Cicero as ‘rerum expetendarum scientiam’: it is a habit of
mind ‘non certus (not, that is to say, concerned with necessary and
immutable truths) sed conjecturalis’: it is finally ‘ars vitae,’ and the
essential quality of the practical man who does not concern himself with
the end, but accepting the end without question devotes his energies
to the elaboration of means. The three great functions of Prudence are
bene consultare, intelligere, and finally imperare. The mental qualities
required are sollertia, sagacitas, and all that makes for clear and
prompt judgments on affairs.
We need hardly follow Gassendi through all the ramifications of the
subject: in justice to him be it said that he seems to have omitted
nothing that the good moralist and the conscientious preacher ought to
say. He conducts through all the aspects of life, including the choice
of a profession, the choice of a wife, the duties of man as father,
landowner, master of servants, and, in the wider sphere of the State,
controller of war and peace. It has been said that in these pages
Gassendi shows himself as judicious in his Ethics as he is profound
in his metaphysics; and this we need not deny, though the subject is
less abstruse, in fact somewhat commonplace, and the treatment even
more laborious, with very little that cannot be culled or deduced from
Aristotle.
An interesting discussion arises on the meaning to be attributed to the
phrase, ‘follow nature.’ Epicurus had advocated this course. Gassendi
takes it to mean ‘study your aptitudes’: choose the course of life
that is most suited to your tastes. Whether the doctrine of motion is
the implicit ground for this doctrine or not I cannot say, as Gassendi
gives us no hint; but it would be very natural for a philosopher imbued
with ideas of force and motion to adopt the idea of ‘the line of least
resistance.’ That this is the actual point of view cannot be doubted.
Every man has particular aptitudes: what then is more natural or better
than that he should choose that mode of life which is calculated to
employ and improve those aptitudes rather than limit or destroy them? If
we attempt tasks for which nature has not designed us we make life an
uphill struggle, and labour perpetually ‘Sisyphi instar nixandi.’ This
seems a sensible point of view, but Lactantius did not agree with it, and
made it a subject for censure. Epicurus, he said, aimed at popularity,
and made base concessions to the frailty of human nature. As he states
the opposite argument very fully the passage may be quoted at length:
‘Propterea ut ad se multitudinem contrahat (Epicurus), apposita singulis
quibusque moribus loquitur. Desidiosum vetat litteras discere: avarum
populari largitione liberat: ignavum prohibet accedere ad rempublicam,
pigrum exerceri, timidum militare. Irreligiosus audit deos nihil curare,
inhumanus et suis commodis serviens jubetur nihil cuiquam tribuere: omnia
enim sui causa facere sapientem.’ In these and other respects Lactantius
thinks that vice is encouraged: if you hate your wife it follows you
should leave her: if children dislike their parents it is right to
rebel against them: in short, life should be made easy, and private
inclinations indulged at any cost. Gassendi’s answer to this is that it
is an extreme and unfair interpretation. It was probably very typical of
the treatment which Epicurean philosophy received at the hands of extreme
churchmen. To take one point in illustration. According to Lactantius,
Epicurus says if a man is lazy he need not take exercise: according to
Gassendi the doctrine is, if nature has not intended you to be an athlete
do not try to become one. In other words, while every one may know
something about everything, we must each of us choose some one thing in
which we aim to excel, and the economy of the universe demands that the
occupation chosen should be in harmony with our nature. In this argument
Gassendi was on the winning side.
The second virtue is Courage, sometimes rather unnecessarily labelled
Fortitude, which is ‘quandam animi fortitudinem,’ a fixed mental state
rather than brute force (in ipso robore et viribus corporis). It differs
from Temeritas and Feritas (illa vocata Aristoteli) in being a fixed
disposition of mind, and requiring for its highest realisation a clear
knowledge of the danger which is faced. In reality the virtue is not
primarily concerned with dangers in the ordinary sense of the term:
its permanent function is the maintenance of a conviction once it has
been accepted, and the persistence which endures and overcomes all
difficulties in attaining an ideal. It combines therefore in itself
Constantia et Perseverantia, and its end may be expressed generally as
the maintenance of Justice: it is the spirit which neither does nor
suffers wrong. As a fixed habit it enables us to endure all evils:
these may be public or private: the greatest is exile, but there are
many others, such as infamy, imprisonment, and the loss of friends or
wealth.[102]
Temperance, the third virtue, is to be taken in the Greek sense. It
includes as partes subjectae abstinentia et sobrietas (illam respectu
cibi, hanc respectu potus, says Gassendi, without telling us why
abstinence as such should differ for food and for drink!): as castitas
et pudicitia: as integrantes, verecundia et honestas: as Potentialeis,
clementia, humilitas, modestia itemque mansuetudo, misericordia,
moderatio, decus, studiositas, eutrapelia seu festivitas, urbanitas. This
list certainly does not seem to fail in respect of comprehensiveness.
Justice, the third virtue, is not subjected to analysis under these
standard heads. After remarks based on Aristotle’s discussion of this
subject, we come to the question of the origin of laws. Epicurus had
found the origin of laws in utility (Epicurus omnem juris et aequi
originem ab utilitate repetiit), and had consequently been attacked by
the supporters of the opposite theory that laws are of natural origin.
Gassendi thinks the two theories should be combined if we are to attain
the truth. Man may be regarded either absolutely as ‘solitarius’ or in
his relations as ‘sociabilis.’ Man as ‘solitarius’ finds himself in a
world filled with the gifts of nature, and his instincts lead him to
appropriate them. In addition to these instincts he has the faculty
of self-preservation, with the implied right to retain all that is
necessary for this preservation: here then is the root of the ‘jus
naturale’ (facultas ista est in qua videtur dici posse consistere jus
naturae primarium). But the things so appropriated were originally
given by nature, and therefore the question arises why should one man
have them more than another and ‘inde enascantur rixae, rapinae, odia,
vulnera, caedes’? These somewhat violent relations bring us to the second
stage: quamobrem spectandus iam homo posteriore modo, sive quatenus
sociabilis est, ac in naturae quasi modificatae statu: man recognises
the need of mutual help, and a condition of harmony is brought about by
the aid of laws. Thus nature and utility as principles are reconciled:
Gassendi further recognises that the view of man as solitarius is not
only abstract, but also a pseudo-historical process of accounting for
the evolution of laws which has little probability: so far as we can
say, society is as old as man, and that too not in the sense in which
we speak of brutes as sociable, but in the full sense of a community of
intelligent human beings.[103]
The root then of all law is the natural impulse which drives men to form
societies: for as soon as we get beyond the individual as ‘solitarius,’
we find that life is impossible without mutual agreement or ‘pactiones.’
These first charters are between man and man, not contracts by which they
surrender their liberty to one ruler, but formal definitions of mutual
relations. Gassendi is not concerned to construct a theory in support
of the rights of kings, so that his ‘pactiones’ must be taken to be
agreements between all the individuals in any one society without as yet
any question of a ruler. The law is in fact the true ruler, so that there
is no need to deal with the existence of personal rulers except in so far
as their authority has a natural origin in the necessity of delegating
the task of making the laws of a community to those who are its wisest
and best. The head of the society then is he who has been chosen to
make, explain, and administer the laws: his claim to the position is
contained entirely in his personal character and ability: he rules as the
embodiment of law, not arbitrarily, but acting as the mouthpiece of laws
which are higher and greater than he, rooted in the earth and reaching to
the heavens, the object which all men worship, and in the cult of which
he is ordained high priest.
The jus to which we have been hitherto referring is that known as jus
civile, the recognition of the rights possessed by the member of a
civitas or society as such. This we have seen was based on utility, but
always on a utility which is itself natural: in other words, it supplies
wants which are rooted in the nature of man. There are however other
kinds of jus, such as the jus gentium and jus naturale. As a rule, the
jus gentium was regarded as e natura, even by those who thought the jus
civile owed its origin to utilitas. Gassendi declares that the difference
between the two is purely a question of numbers (discrimen ad magis et
minus): in nature the two are identical, and both are grounded in utility.
Now that we have expanded our view to include all the kinds of Jus, we
must discuss their relative characters. The least comprehensive term
is jus civile, which has already been interpreted to mean the rights
constituted by citizenship. The term jus gentium raises us to the higher
level and a wider outlook. It denotes the rights which men have without
reference to the particular society or state to which they belong, the
rights which they have simply as men. Gassendi here becomes conscious
of a difficulty. The original significance of the phrase jus gentium
has been lost, now that humanity can no longer be divided into Roman
and non-Roman. Consequently, jus gentium approaches very closely to jus
naturale, inasmuch as it indicates rights which men may have apart from
any definite citizenship or special code. To avoid the confusion which
threatens us, we must go further into the question of the scope of the
jus naturale and the limits of jus gentium.[104]
Jus is a term which covers both the facultas and the lex, says Gassendi:
we may therefore look at it from either point of view. Man possesses a
jus naturale in so far as he is an animal and has faculties such as the
faculty of feeling.[104] But the term naturale implies a jus grounded
in a natura and nothing more: since then the plants have a nature and
faculties (such as the facultas sugendi), they must have a jus naturale.
To exactly define what is usually included under jus naturale, we really
require a term ‘jus animale’—or better still, ‘jus humanum.’
I find it difficult to determine the exact meaning which Gassendi
attaches to the phrase, ‘jus is either facultas or lex.’ It seems most
probable that he thought of rights as primarily powers, the possession of
which constituted the individual’s ‘right’ to the advantages derived from
their free exercise. These rights become more extensive as we rise in the
scale of being: the plant has the least, the savage man has more, the
civilised man most. We therefore rise from jus naturale to jus civile:
at the same time the lower species are most comprehensive, and therefore
the jus naturale appears more fundamental in proportion as it is more
universal. This however is only in appearance: the jus naturale, though
applied over a wider area, is in itself more limited than the jus civile:
it is man as bare man that comes under its categories: as citizen man
enjoys laws which, if they are more limiting, are also refined to far
greater exactness. The facultas which constitutes jus must be taken to be
a natural or social endowment which fits a being for certain acts, and as
it implies that nature intended him to fulfil those functions for which
he is thus equipped, it also confers upon him a right to the free use of
those powers in the interests of the universe at large. The plant has
the power of absorbing water, and so has a right to a supply of water:
the animal has a power of feeling and motion entitling him to humane
treatment and freedom. Man as man has the distinctively human faculties,
and with them the privileges of the jus humanum, while the citizen has
the quality of civitas, which is his claim to the highest privileges of
life. Thus we see that rights are grounded in natures, and the nature
of the subject determines the character and limits of the rights. The
nature of a being is therefore best realised under laws that establish
these rights. At first the law seems a limitation of the nature, but a
little reflection shows a different side to the question: if my desire to
harm you is restrained, your freedom is enlarged: if I am not allowed to
take away your wife, at least I may expect to possess my own in safety.
So while the established law hedges me round about, it also provides a
barrier against hostile irruptions.
We now see that the jus gentium can be defined by reference to its
content. If we look for specifically human activities we find them in the
faculties of speech, writing, reasoning, forming societies, and the like.
These as common to all men, but not shared by man with the brutes, must
constitute the sphere of the jus gentium.
The term lex, as opposed to jus, implies a definite contract and an
executive power to enforce obedience. There is therefore no lex gentium
nor lex naturale in the proper sense. There may be such universal laws
as the lex spontanea[105] or law of instinctive action: there may also
be a law of rational action; but this is law in a different sense,
the hypothetical precept which dictates the means for fulfilling some
particular purpose. Though these are not laws in the full sense of the
term, they stand very close to law in the highest and noblest use of the
word. Man has reason: he can therefore see and understand the laws of his
nature in a way that animals cannot: he can identify himself with this
law so that the law of nature becomes _his_ law, the law of his reason,
and finally one with his reason.
Now, taking lex naturalis as the law of human nature and analysing it, we
get the elements of law in its ethical aspect, the elements that is to
say of the laws which are embedded in human nature. In order to ensure
our attaining the original simple laws we must aim at two qualities,
universality and freedom from prejudice; in other words, we must collect
our evidence from a sufficiently wide area and at the same time not allow
any pre-conceived ideas to bias our choice: we then get the following
rules of conduct:
1. The first law instructs us to aim always at the good, which is to be
interpreted as our own good or advantage (primo itaque communissimum,
innatumque adeo est omnibus hominibus, ut quod bonum, quod commodum, quod
gratum fuerit, prosequantur: quod vero malum, incommodum, ingratumque
refugiant). The collateral use of the terms denoting goodness and
pleasantness should be noticed: we shall have occasion to refer to them
later. It follows from this law that we are to love our benefactors and
hate our enemies: from this is derived love of our children, our friends,
and God, as the greatest of benefactors. Gassendi apparently assumes that
all men will regard God as a benefactor: the necessity of worshipping him
rests really on the attitude adopted by the individual, but Gassendi does
not face the problem of those who prefer to ‘curse God and die.’
2. The second law is simple, ‘ut quisque se amet, plusquam ceteros,
seu ut sibi bene quam alteri malit.’ Some writers whom Gassendi
contemptuously calls ‘popular’ have denied this law, but it is regarded
by our author as indisputably natural and original. Thus Egoism is the
point from which we must start: we love ourselves best and with ourselves
all that is peculiarly ours: we benefit our own families before those
of others, and, as the proverb rightly says, begin our charity at home!
From this egoism, if so simple and sensible a doctrine can be called by
that highly technical term, a mild and inoffensive altruism is naturally
derived: in brief, Gassendi says that if you have time and opportunity
there is no harm in doing good to another, provided it entails no loss
to yourself. For example, it is only nice and kind to put the lost
traveller on the right road, if otherwise convenient; and from this
comes profit, for the deed has its reward in that most inestimable sense
of self-satisfaction (conscientia benefacti inestimabilis).
3. The third law is love of life, from which comes the impulse to marry,
beget children, and rear them with all the advantages, such as education,
which one desires for oneself.
4. The fourth law is the love of society which has its root and
beginning in the union of the sexes. It is not unnatural for a man to
love the common good, for he considers that his own is bound up in it.
The concluding remarks are of particular interest, and to ensure their
correct understanding I shall quote the essential passages. As Gassendi
does not divorce the state and the individual, he does not raise the
question as to how an individual, intent on his own good, ever gets to
the point of considering the good of others. From the first the concrete
individual is sociable, and therefore thinks of the public good as only
another aspect of his own, as that in which his own is contained (quo
intelligit contineri suum). The end of society is not realised unless
the individuals enter into it in this whole-hearted way and take it up
into their very natures. They must realise the reciprocity which society
implies and which has been expressed in the fundamental law ‘quod tibi
fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris.’ (I do not know if Gassendi preferred
the negative form for any particular reason.)[106] In addition to this
the citizen must not only abide by the law but also be a law-abiding
creature, he must not only _do_ good but also _be_ good, as Leslie
Stephen has put it. The ideal condition is reached when no laws are
required but all are just by nature.
On these concluding remarks made by Gassendi, Thomas[107] comments thus:
‘Gassendi va même plus loin et ici sa doctrine s’écarte de plus en plus
de celle d’Epicure: Ajoutons-nous, dit-il, que les saints Écritures ont
excellemment dit que ce n’est pas au juste que la loi est imposée: parce
que celui qui est veritablement juste ne l’observe pas par la crainte des
peines que les lois ordonnent, mais pour l’amour même de la justice et
pour la vénération qu’il a pour elle, de façon que quand il n’y aurait ni
lois, ni magistrats, il l’observerait toujours de même.’ ‘On s’explique
mal en lisant ces textes les accusations sévères qu’on a si souvent
portées contre la morale de Gassendi.’ He adds in a note, ‘Cette règle de
Gassendi ne nous fait-elle pas songer à celle de Kant et aux commentaires
qui l’accompagnent? “Agis toujours,” nous dit Kant, “de telle sort que la
maxim de ton action puisse être érigée en loi universelle.”’
On these comments I wish to make a few remarks in order to further
elucidate the view I take of Gassendi’s position and show why I cannot
agree with the suggestion that this is Kantian. Nothing is easier than to
lay hold of the suggestive phrases so often found in Gassendi and make
them appear to anticipate some later doctrines. I do not mean to suggest
that this is a vice to which Thomas is addicted: on the contrary, he
often appears to me to have stinted rather than amplified his author’s
meaning; but this is exactly the sort of point in which two readers of
the same book arrive at different conclusions through holding different
opinions on the way the subject should be studied: it is thus an
excellent opportunity of showing how and why I venture to differ from my
predecessor in the task of expounding Gassendi.
The scope of Gassendi’s ethic is defined by the phrase an ethic of
prudence: however far Gassendi travels from that simple statement he
never pretends to rise above the sphere thus indicated. The very laws
given in detail show how Gassendi’s good man is far more concerned with a
concrete immediate welfare than is Kant’s.
I have not avoided speaking of hypothetical and categorical phases of
the law; but the transition from one to the other can be expressed thus:
the hypothetical law of reason says, ‘if you will to attain this, you
must act thus’: the categorical says, ‘if you are what you are, you must
act thus’; but the former half of the sentence is meaningless and can be
omitted, leaving the simple law, ‘act thus.’ But the being-what-you-are
means being a social creature and implies no transcendental Self, nor
even that semi-transcendental ‘dignity of man’ by which Mill so nearly
arrived at Kant’s position. On the contrary, it is pure common-sense,
as though one should say ‘being man and not angel, you must walk to get
there’: for the ‘must’ refers to the means and not the end which is given
to all, namely Pleasure.
Again, Gassendi’s law is formed by abstracting all special conditions:
it is in that sense a universal law belonging to universal man; but it
is empirical and objective, a solution of the problem of co-existence,
not transcendental or subjective, or one that must be obeyed ‘though the
heavens fall.’ It is true Gassendi says, ‘put yourself in his place’ and
‘do not do unto others what you will not have done to yourself,’ but that
much is in the Bible, and one sentence does not make a theory. Hobbes had
got as far as this without feeling the necessity of going any further;
and as this element in ethics has a very patent origin I prefer to judge
it from the point of view of its antecedents rather than speculate on
its relations to later theories. The point to which I would draw special
attention is the nature of the universality implied in Gassendi’s words.
Kant tells us the supreme principle of jurisprudence is, ‘act so that
the free use of thy elective will may not interfere with the freedom of
any man so far as it agrees with universal law,’ and this is surely what
Thomas should have quoted if anything was to be quoted out of Kant. This
I consider is exactly Gassendi’s meaning, and therefore, so far from
attaining the point of view which Kant would call ethical, he stops at
that which Kant expressly distinguishes as legal and external.
This question of the distinction of legal and ethical principles is
all the more interesting in view of what I consider the real root of
Gassendi’s opinions. If we say that according to Gassendi ethics is a
matter of relations between individuals and therefore always external,
the question is at once asked, ‘What of the clause about the pure love of
justice?’ In my opinion this must be explained by reference to what the
will to be good meant to the lawyer[108]? The influence of philosophy,
especially the Stoic, on Roman law, was to make the emphasis fall on
voluntas. ‘The desire to subordinate form to substance, the word spoken
to the will it was meant to manifest, the abstract rule to the individual
case to which it was prepared to apply it’ was, we are told, strong
in Cicero’s time.[109] Seeing that the pages of Gassendi are full to
overflowing with quotations from Cicero, and the terms used not only
follow a distinctly legal argument, but are themselves legal, we seem
justified in thinking that this juridical development is the source of
Gassendi’s inspiration, and he means no more than that it is better to
understand and acquiesce in the natural laws of society than be one of
the victims of the good men, _i.e._ those who have learned the secret of
successful living. Gassendi may well say ‘be good’ as well as ‘do good,’
since that course will bring most pleasure: the idea of virtue for its
own sake he has already dismissed. It would also be well if that phrase
were discarded by some other writers: it has the appearance of making
its advocate look more like a saint than his fellow-men: in reality it
means nothing, being a stupid abstraction, as though virtue could be cut
off from life, and the good, the beautiful, and the comfortable were not
ideas that reacted on each other.
But if we do not consider that Gassendi has reached the heights of Kant,
if he has most certainly retained much that is ‘pathological’ in his
ultimate, he certainly has, in the words of Lecky, ‘abundantly proved the
possibility of uniting Epicureanism with a high code of morals.’ The tone
throughout is that of the Prudens, the man of even balance and shrewd
foresight, not given to useless asceticism or wasting extravagances,
but withal full-blooded in his righteousness, and rejoicing in a
godliness that is profitable unto all things. If there is nothing of the
self-sacrificing strenuousness that makes Kant’s ethics so exacting and
tense, there is a lofty humanism which strikes the golden mean between
the brute that does not aspire and the god that does not struggle.
CHAPTER III
ON LIBERTY, FATE, AND DIVINATION
The discussion on Liberty, Fate, and Divination forms a metaphysic of
Ethic in so far as Gassendi recognises the necessity of supplying an
argument for the possibility of morality. Ethically, freedom must be
taken to mean responsibility on which depend praise and blame. The common
phrase refers freedom to the will; but the will follows the judgment,
and it is therefore more accurate to refer freedom to the reason. The
real crisis of choice as a psychological act comes when we have the
alternatives before us, and then it is upon the attention that the strain
falls: we feel that strain and recognise that the effort thus made seals
the action as ours.
We must admit then a ratio libera in the sense of a power to choose
under given circumstances one out of the many possibilities. The further
question as to whether we should have preferred other circumstances and
other alternatives is postponed. The essence of liberty is indifference:
some have said complete determination is the highest freedom; but this
Gassendi calls spontaneity or actio e natura, such as is exemplified
in cases of gravitation. There is however a correct use of the term
referring not to natura ipsa but natura informata, the ‘second nature.’
If the will for the good is such that evil is not possible we may say
voluntas sponte agit. As freedom has been assigned to ratio rather than
voluntas the use of voluntas here should be noticed. The spontaneity
of will is a formed habit which has reference only to some limited
sphere: it leaves the reason unfettered, and the whole man is not
completely determined. If we extend spontaneity so as to make all action
so completely determined that only one course is possible, we get the
concept of the Beatus Homo, who, like Aristotle’s perfect man, is not
on the moral scale at all. Freedom to be intelligible at all must be
confined to the region of those that struggle and can err.
Gassendi uses ‘indifference’ in two senses. When we used it above, it
meant freedom from prior determination or from a bias. We may take the
example of the balance: the scales must be equal in weight themselves
if they are to act truly: they must be ‘indifferent’ before receiving
any weights. They may become ‘indifferent’ again, namely when equally
weighted. So the will may be indifferent when the reason has equal
arguments on both sides. Here then the will is indifferent not _to_
but _with_ the arguments, and the indifference belongs properly to the
reason. Apparently will is to be regarded as suffused by intellect,
not intellect by will; and as we are told that Practical Reason and
Appetite are as inseparable as body and shadow, we seem committed to
an intellectualism which entirely overlooks the irrational elements
in human conduct. Here as everywhere we find the concept of the man
who deliberately chooses evil has not yet made a place for itself:
consequently an ethical theory never gets a broader view than that which
an analysis of the typical good man can give. In accordance with this
we get the feeble compromises common to all philosophy of this type:
evil is chosen only sub specie boni: the will is moved by the veri
species which may be germana or fucata. It is interesting to note that
Gassendi seems to throw the blame for wrong judgments not on the mind
but on the species. Human experience goes astray, but there is a lumen
supernaturale, and knowledge of absolute good is absolute knowledge,
which falls outside our sphere.
Having thus defined the nature and sphere of liberty and so dismissed
some errors which were really due to illegitimate use of the term,
we may revert to an ulterior question raised above. I may be free to
choose whether I shall stay on the burning ship or be thrown overboard,
but what if I say I did not choose the situation, and therefore my
freedom is a mockery? That question raises the general problem as to
whether all things are not determined from the beginning of creation,
my circumstances and my choice among them: whether, in short, physical
causation has not already swallowed up liberty. This universal causation
is called Fate or Fortune, and these terms must now be discussed.
The question whether liberty is not precluded by causation takes
two forms according as the causation is purely physical or regarded
as divine: according, that is, as we make it a question of Fate or
predestination. The former is the tenet of the atomic school, as we
have already seen, and Gassendi’s reply is identical in spirit with that
which we have already had from Lucretius: he relies on the immediate
testimony of the moment of conscious choice:[110] whether this is a
consciousness of freedom or only failure to detect determination we are
not told, but probably Gassendi meant more by it than Lucretius did. We
have seen already that Gassendi gives us a clear and accurate account of
the act of choice so far as the psychology is concerned; and his idea of
the difference between the freedom of the will and the freedom of the
reason justifies us in saying that he realised the fact that our mental
processes do not unwind themselves before the reason but are definitely
presented to and sanctioned or inhibited by the reason. There is no trace
of the ‘declination’ theory of Gassendi’s predecessors, which seems to
indicate that Gassendi abandons entirely the attempt to make freedom
consist in irregularity of action, which is all that the bare assumption
of declination could give us.[111] The close union between thought and
movement which Gassendi assumes throughout saves him the trouble of
connecting the freedom of the will with freedom of action: they are
assumed to be the same; but the difficulty of resolves which never result
in action would have been shelved by Gassendi by referring them to the
reason and not the will.
The second aspect of the question is due to theological influences. The
problem is simple, but it may be doubted whether it seemed so simple in
those days as it does now to more rationalistic minds. If, they said,
God foresees action, how can it be free? In order to understand the
problem we must connect it with the older form of the Peripatetics. For
the Peripatetic had already asked whether the truth of the disjunctive
judgment did not prove that freedom was impossible. If it is true that
to-morrow it either rains or it does not, and the one excludes the other,
it follows that the weather for to-morrow is fore-ordained, determined
or necessary, and freedom is illusion. To this the answer was easy:
thought does not determine existence and the necessity of the disjunctive
judgment is not a determination of ‘reality,’ as then conceived.[112]
But if we suppose the mind that judges to be the mind of the Almighty,
the question begins to look serious. To say that God can consider two
alternatives without the slightest idea which will be realised is pure
trifling: when the Thought in question is creative, it seems as though
the thought of the future must be the creation of the future, which
therefore would only await development in time. To this Gassendi’s answer
is that as God foresees the choice so He also foresees the freedom, a
rather subtle turn of dialectic which certainly seems calculated to
throw the ordinary opponent. It is to be assumed that God foresees that
there will be a necessity for choice, and also that choice will be in
accordance with the man’s nature: God’s omniscience therefore enables
him to foresee what the result will be, but that result is left entirely
dependent on the nature of the individual as a free agent. This sort of
argument is none too profitable, and there seems no need to pursue it
further. It might however be noticed that the argument seems to assume
that there is a distinction between the thought of God as knowing and
as creative, possibly due to the distinction in the case of man between
reason and will; and also that it puts indirectly but all the more
effectively the most complete bar to Pantheism that can be imagined in
thus severing the will of man from the will of God.
CHAPTER IV
ON GOD
A word or two may here be added on the nature and attributes of God. We
have already learnt that Gassendi is in direct opposition to Epicurus on
this point. He treats the subject as primarily a question of causality,
and discusses it as the first part of the subject of efficient causation.
The primary efficient cause is God: this is considered to be proved from
the character (as opposed to the nature) of the world. The order of the
universe naturally suggests to the mind the being of some Power that
can regulate and control the march of events. This action is not really
distinct from that of creation, for it was at creation that God gave
to matter certain determinations which it preserves.[113] It is not
enough, says Gassendi, to say that the atoms were created, we must also
allow that they were created in certain kinds. In this point Gassendi
is really enlarging the hint given by Lucretius, who had introduced the
idea of atoms as ‘semina rerum,’ which implies that certain lines of
development were prescribed. The common phrase that one atom unites with
another because it is like it, really involves the same introduction of a
pre-determination of the possible compositions of atoms. Before Gassendi
this argument was used to disprove the necessity of a God. But here
the purpose was really extraneous to the argument: it was the previous
intention of getting rid of that watchful providence which seemed to
Epicurus nothing but a source of fear, that dictated the conclusion.
Gassendi, setting out with the opposite purpose, finds these arguments
equally useful for the purpose of establishing the being of God, and
there is much to be said for his view. He quotes from Lucretius a passage
which shows that this opponent of the gods allows all the facts which he
himself uses in the defence of the one God. We must remember also that
as a believer in the Bible Gassendi would at least be glad to find room
for the idea of special creation: in spite of the obvious connection
between his views and a theory of development, the times were not yet
ripe for any doctrine of the origin of species, and it was tacitly
assumed that in some way or other the species found on the earth were
fixed and immutable. Now, the idea of semina rerum supplies the required
element: if we go right back to the atom as purely indeterminate it
should be possible to get any combinations at any time, and this was
held to be opposed to the laws of regular production. If we stop at
the semina rerum we have our actual elements given with a considerable
amount of determination, and Gassendi seems to have been willing to go a
step further and say that the atoms were not created at first in their
isolation, but in complex masses which were divisible into atomic parts.
He is at any rate quite clear that to begin with the atom is a purely
abstract and hypothetical result, which could only be asserted to be in
harmony with reality if it solved all our problems, which it does not.
We are compelled to deduce from the nature of the universe that there
is something beside the material cause, some Power which can supply the
elements of law and order, which moreover will explain the creation of
the atoms themselves. Thus nature brings us to God both as creator and
as rector of the universe. The concession which is made to science is
that this does not imply perpetual interference: once created with their
guiding determinations the world of matter is left to work out its own
laws.
The recognition of the reign of law, which was so strongly insisted
on by Lucretius, is now turned against the materialist. The one thing
that atoms in themselves could not produce would be laws; and as law
is, from the subjective point of view, intelligibility, we may say that
the atoms are not capable of evolving an intelligible world. But the
intelligibility of the world is above all things that which science
demonstrates in the observation of laws, and it is thus a means by which
the nature of the world as intelligible is unfolded before us. But while
it explains what the intelligible is, in reference to its content, it
does not explain how the intelligibility itself came to be there; and
that is where we require to supplement our science with Faith and Reason.
Having thus established the a priori need for a God, we turn to the
question of the ways by which we get our knowledge of God. The first
is Faith[114] and the second Reason; but the difference between these
is not very great: in both the reaction of our minds is the convincing
point. As to faith, it is the belief which arises in our minds when we
hear a description of God: we find that the idea has an inner response
which compels us to believe. The effect is much the same in the case of
reason: there is formed within us an ‘anticipatio’ as a sort of residual
impression produced by experience. This is in a sense a priori. It
is not derived from the senses, but exhibited on the occasion of the
sense-impressions calling it forth. Technically we have to distinguish
between an ‘anticipatio’ got directly by comprehension, and those which
are got indirectly by comparison. The latter are formed on the basis of
sense-impressions, but are rational, requiring an activity that goes
beyond the senses, and constructs what is never given to the senses. It
is by this latter faculty that we attain the idea of God, which is thus a
concept. If we ask whether this is innate, the answer is that the faculty
is innate, but its exercise is dependent on the occasion furnished by the
senses.
As to the relation of God to man, we are told that Epicurus erred in
denying a special providence watching over man. At the same time man is
a free agent, his freedom being the gift of God that he may work out
his own salvation.[115] Religion, as is natural, produces in Gassendi a
cheerful optimism: the good man does indeed suffer evils, and the sinners
seem to flourish unduly; but the good man himself acknowledges that his
sufferings are profitable, and all things work together for good, which
is at least a tribute to the goodness of the good man; but if he was
less good perhaps his opinion might have been less in accord with our
philosopher’s creed.
With regard to this theology, some have said that it is no part of
Gassendi’s real philosophy. This I think is wrong. Apart from the
question of religious training and fear of the Church, the principles
of Gassendi’s philosophy require that the idea of causality should carry
us beyond the physical world of things. If it be necessary to go beyond
at all there seems no particular objection to the acceptance of theism,
for pantheism is out of the question. It is as a metaphysical requirement
that Gassendi introduces God, not as an appendix to his philosophy, but
right in the middle, at the heart of the subject, when he is dealing
with causation. The idea is for his times considerably refined: it would
probably have been hailed at a later time as deism, and unconsciously
goes very near to that as it is, for the world manages its own affairs
(VI. 155), and even man is only watched from afar with paternal interest
and led on to his self-fulfilment indirectly; but in spirit there is
certainly no suggestion of such a conclusion, and God is theoretically
rector mundi in the fullest sense of the term. The question which
usually proves so great a stumbling block, that of personality, is not
raised by Gassendi. He seems to have found no difficulty in the idea of
human personality, and consequently none in that of God; though he is
careful to point out that anthropomorphism is not essential, he does not
reconcile that with the converse assertion he frequently makes, that man
is created in the likeness of God.
NOTE ON DECLINATION
Gassendi discusses this point of declination very fully. When I say (page
221) there is no trace of it I mean that Gassendi does not build his
own theory on it in any way. As this ‘declination’ has been the subject
of much dispute, it will be worth while comparing Gassendi’s view of it
with later opinions. The most important of these later opinions is that
of Guyau in _La Morale d’Epicure_ (2nd edition, Paris, 1881). The whole
position taken up by Guyau is criticised by Masson (_The Atomic Theory
of Lucretius_), and I shall first state that position and the criticisms
made by Masson:
‘M. Guyau’s explanation of the subject is in several respects a novel
one, and especially so in regard to one point, viz. his account of
Epicurus’ teaching as to Chance and the very important part which M.
Guyau supposes it to play in the Epicurean philosophy. According to him
Epicurus believed that the element of chance which we see at work in
the world every day is the manifestation and outcome of a principle of
“Spontaneity” existing in Nature. This “Spontaneity” is the consequence
of the power of Declination possessed by the Atoms. Thus Epicurus
believed both Free-will in man and the element of Chance in the world
around him to be the result of the same power of Atomic Declination in
its twofold working. Epicurus, says M. Guyau, after having combated the
religious idea of Providence or Divine caprice, found himself confronted
with the scientific idea of necessity. Thus his main philosophic aim
was to escape from the notion of gods interfering with nature on the
one hand and to steer clear of the doctrine of fate on the other. It is
well known that Epicurus solved the difficulty in a way satisfactory to
himself, by assigning to the atoms the power of declination. But for this
power the world could never have come into existence, for otherwise the
atoms could never have come into contact and produced the earth or the
life upon it. It is the same power of spontaneous movement in the atoms
of the soul which alone originates and renders possible the Free-will of
man.... It is commonly thought,’ M. Guyau continues, ‘that Contingency,
placed by Epicurus at the origin of things, existed, according to him, at
the origin alone, and then disappeared in order again to leave room for
necessity. The world once made, the machine once constructed, why should
it not go on by itself without any need of invoking any other force than
Necessity?’ (_Masson_, pp. 210-214).
Further quotation shows that M. Guyau thinks, in opposition to this
common view, that Spontaneity is always and everywhere active. The
objection that all production would then be of the nature of a miracle is
rebutted by saying that the idea of miracles implies an agent outside the
natural order; but here the agency is in the things whose sum is nature:
moreover the effect produced by this spontaneity would be very slight.
(Masson rightly points out that this is wrong: ‘the spontaneous movement
of a mass of matter, however slight, might still be able to give the
initial impulse required to let loose a mighty force.’)
The result of M. Guyau’s position is then that ‘the Free-will which man
possesses will exist everywhere in inferior degrees, but always ready to
awake and act.... The atoms which form our bodies must possess a power
of Free-will analogous to our own, more or less extensive, more or less
conscious, but real.’ The objections Masson makes to this, apart from
sundry obvious misinterpretations of Lucretius,[116] are that it destroys
the concept of Law in the universe which is so prominent a feature in
both Epicurus and Lucretius, and assumes, what could not be proved from
Epicurus, that masses of matter would have the same freedom that the
atoms have.
The root of M. Guyau’s view is his opinion that ‘in Epicureanism there
are no inconsistencies, but only a few false deductions.’ This cannot
be allowed if it means that Epicurus consciously recognised both the
fundamental difference of mind from matter and the necessity for a final
re-unification. The great error which it appears to me that M. Guyau has
committed is that he does not recognise the difference of the ancient
and modern methods: he looks at the question himself from the standpoint
of consciousness as most important, and so inverts the position of
Epicurus. To this he was doubtless led by the famous passage[117] of
Lucretius. If we now quote the remarks of Gassendi, we shall see how the
matter presented itself to one who was less biased by modern points of
view, and probably far nearer the truth.
‘Videtur itaque Epicurus ex eo saltem laudandus quod vel auctore ipso
Plutarcho, nullum non movit lapidem ut libertatem arbitrii intemeratam
tueretur: tametsi adversus Democritum non habuerit aliud paratius
effugium quam declinationem illam atomorum, dictam Plutarcho ...
_rem adeo exilem, ac tam vilis pretii_. Ecquonam porro modo potuit
hocce qualecunque commentum Libertati accomodare? Forte, quatenus cum
attenderet esse in animalibus et in hominibus praesertim, triplex genus
motus, nempe Naturalem Violentum et Voluntarium seu Liberum, existimavit
primariam causam petendam esse ex atomis, a quibus omnis motus
principium. Quare et velle potuit radicem motus naturalis esse ipsum
motum Primarium atomis ingenitum, eum scilicet qui dicitur gravitatis
et ponderis et quo Atomus dicitur ad lineam sive perpendiculum ferri.
Violenti vero motum Reflexionis seu illum qui est ex occursione, seu
plaga ictuque alterius. Denique Voluntarii ipsum motum declinationis
cui nulla regio determinata, nullum tempus praefixum est.... Verumtamen
videtur fuisse excepturus Democritus nullatenus posse Epicurum
commentatione hac adjuvari. Quoniam, cum hic declinationis motus tam
sit naturalis atomisve congeneus, quam qui ad perpendiculum est (quippe
quem non extrinsecus, sed a seipsis habeant) ideo tam fient omnia Fato,
tametsi ille concedatur, quam si admissus non fuerit: cum pari semper
necessitate ea quae eveniunt sint eventura pro varietate motuum, ictuum,
repulsuum, clinaminum, etc., aeterna quadam serie et quasi catena sese
consequentium: ac speciatim quidem quod ad cognitionem appetitionemque
attinet, ad quam referri libertas debet. Etenim ut mens, sive animus
eam libertatem explicet, qua appetit, v.c. Pomum, debet primo imago
seu species visibilis pomi ex ipso procedere, trajectaque per oculos
percellere mentem, ut illud cognoscat. Pomum autem, ut speciem in oculum
transmitteret, debuit tali loco reponi ab eo, qui ex arbore ipsum
collegisset, collectumve aliunde habuisset. Arbor vero praeter Solis
radios, humoremque et terram, unde adolesceret, etiam granum habuit,
unde nasceretur. Id granum fuit ex pomo alio, hocque ex alia arbore,
huic non alio loco nec alio tempore sata: atque ita retrogrediendo ad
usque mundi initium, quo et terra et terrena semina ortum habuere ex
concursionibus complexionibusque atomorum, quae ut iis locis iisque modis
convenirent, debuerunt exinde non aliunde accedere: et ut accederent,
debuerunt aut ex inani aut ex alio sive uno sive multiplici Mundo ita
advenire ut per illud sive in illo ac isto non alio modo fuerint: atque
ita porro per totam antecedentem aeternitatem. Deinde, si animus quoque
coaluit ex atomis, debuere necessario tales atomi contineri in parentum
seminibus, debuere eo confluere ex certis cibis, aere, sole. Debuere hi
cibi, non alii assumi: debuere ipsorum caeterae causae ex his illisque
non aliis esse atque ita rursus ab aeterno tempore quod idem pari modo
eveniet, quamcunque ex causis quasi lateralibus, et concomitantibus quae
in immensum pene excrescunt, quovis modo assumpseris adeo ut cuicunque
illarum ex tota serie te addixeris, deprehensus si retexendo, ipsam ea
concatenatione teneri cum aliis ut ex tota serie ad tale usque momentum
producta, necessum fuerit consequi huiusmodi appetitionem. Scilicet ex
aeterno usque causae causis sic cohaeserunt ut postremae istae denique
concurrerint, quibus positis mens non potuit non cognoscere et appetere
pomum. Quodque de causis dicitur, idem semper est intelligendum de
atomis, ex quibus conflantur et ex quarum motibus variis motiones
derivant, propter quas sunt causae. Praetereo autem, quod Cicero videatur
eodem respexisse.... Adhaec autem, ut aliquid ex ipsa Epicuri mente
probabiliter respondeatur: assumendum est eam esse animorum contexturam
ex atomis, ut quae in ea sunt declinantes, eam rigiditatem quae ex aliis
est, flectant, naturamque flexibilem in omnem partem faciant: in quo
sit radix libertatis. Quare et animum allectum cuiuspiam rei imagine,
abripi quidem versus illam: sed non ita tamen quin, si aliunde imago
alia occurrerit, allici ea rursus et abripi posset: adeo, ut a priore
deflectens, constituatur quasi in bivio et ad utramque partem indifferens
sit: quod sane est liberum esse. Quod animus autem, cum sit ita flexilis
ac indifferens, sese ad unam potius partem quam ad aliam determinet, id
oriri ex impressione unius imaginis vehementiore, quam alterius: sicque
electionem sequi ad apprehensionem eius rei quam imago sive bonum sive
meliorem exhibuerit. Denique animum, ubi quippiam elegit, aut voluit,
esse quasi principem machinam, ex cuius motione, intercedentibusque
spiritibus, qui per totum corpus discurrunt, facultates omnes, ac membra
exsequendo destinata, excitentur eoque feratur quo tendit ipse animus.
Facere huc possunt, quae canit Lucretius,
‘Declinamus item motus, nec tempore certo,
nec regione loci certa, sed ubi ipsa tulit mens.
Nam dubio procul his rebus sua quoique voluntas
principium dat: et heinc motus per membra vagantur.
‘Quo loco declinare est flectere ac dirigere motus: illudque nec tempore
certo, etc., notat cum ipsam animi indifferentiam seu libertatem,
quatenus animus ex se non ad ista potius quam ad illa fertur: tum
varietatem rerum occasionum, imaginum, quae neque semper, neque eaedem
neque eodem modo in eum incidunt ipsumque alliciunt.’
This is by no means an easy passage to comprehend, but if the mind of
the reader can be cleared of all presuppositions, he will see that the
following points are established:
(1) Epicurus is opposed to Democritus.
(2) His answer to Democritus is based on the idea of
Declination.
(3) His position would not be overthrown by any objection urged
by the supporter of Democritus to the effect that Declination
is an original force, and therefore only one more form of
determination.
(4) His own doctrine proves that the mind is capable of _any_
motion, and therefore up to the time it moves is wholly
undetermined: it moves entirely in accordance with the laws of
force, and is therefore free.
This last is the point at which it seems to me that our guides have
led us astray. M. Guyau’s spontaneity surely means that the Will can
and does act in wholly indeterminate ways, _i.e._ in ways which have
no relation at all to the other co-existent forces. Masson argues that
this is a breach of law, and therefore would not have been tolerated
throughout Nature (M. Guyau having thought it universal), but is none the
less valid of the mind: the ‘fatis avolsa potestas’ of Lucretius seems
to have made him think Lucretius exempted the Will from determination,
though surely Lucretius must have seen that one lawless element makes
the whole lawless. Masson’s assumption seems to be that Law holds in
Nature only: hence Guyau’s spontaneity in nature must be a fiction. But
the animus which we labour to make free is also in Nature; and therefore
its spontaneity is a fiction. Although Masson speaks of ‘the volition
of the dead atoms,’ I think he has not really succeeded in putting
himself entirely on the material side and looking at things in the way
Lucretius did. If we can once begin to discuss freedom without reference
to consciousness as the agent, if, that is, we can comprehend a freedom
revealed to consciousness but not dependent on consciousness, we shall be
on the right road.
Lucretius exactly formulates the position in the phrase ‘fatisque avolsa
potestas.’ The apparent meaning of that is ‘a power plucked from the
grip of Fate,’ _i.e._ saved from the inexorable laws. But that is just
what it does _not_ mean: on the contrary, it means ‘saved from the Fates
in order to be subject to law.’ The Fates denote here the power which
overrules physical laws, which is therefore, from the point of view of
Physics, an incommensurable quantity. Plato gives us this idea of Fate in
the _Republic_, Bk. X., for there we see that the will of the individual
is destined at one fell stroke to follow out the chosen course of a whole
life-time. Now, express this in terms of Force. Two forces act on the
body _A_: as a result it moves in direction _x_.
[Illustration:
_M_ _x_
↑ ↗
| /
| /
_f_ | /
| /
| /
↓/
--------------> _N_
_A_ _f′_
]
This is according to law: neither _f_ nor _f′_ produces the direction _x_
by itself—but both together produce a result which, given the factors
involved, is always calculable. Now if _A_ moved in the direction _M_ or
_N_, or any direction other than _x_, the reason for that movement could
only be found in some determinant other than the given forces, _i.e._ in
Fate. Fate, then, is the contrary of regular law-abiding action. Hence
Gassendi says, ‘Explodenda Democriti sententia est ... illa Epicuri
defendi quidem potest quatenus Fatum et Naturam naturaleisve causas res
esse synonymas ducit.’ It was then by making Fate the same as Nature that
Epicurus defended freedom! This seems paradoxical, but the difference
lies just in this, that Democritus said Nature is Fate, and in any case
we are bound hand and foot: Epicurus said Fate is nothing unless it is
law, and the law is my nature, not something ‘extrinsecus,’ overruling
me. So long, says Epicurus, as natural forces alone control action, I
am free, for I am a real agent, and when I say, _I_ do this, there is no
illusion: I take my place among the forces of the world and am content.
But if this is the opinion of Epicurus, what more do we want? Why does
not Gassendi accept it? The answer is, that after all for _us_, as we
now look at it, with God and the hereafter to keep in mind, this theory
is useless. In it the future counts for nothing: the forces all act a
tergo: the what-I-am-now alone counts: the future being, that which is
not, cannot have any place in a theory that aims to be purely physical.
As soon as Providence is assumed and its implications examined, as they
had been in the literature of Christian philosophy, we get the idea of
end, and the possibility of the consciousness of ends. Then the doctrine
of Epicurus must be relegated to the sphere of the animals, from which it
had been taken: the sphere that is of those beings that move and think,
but do not move because of the thought.
Such is Gassendi’s view and my conception of its meaning. I add one or
two remarks by way of elucidation for which Gassendi is not responsible.
It might easily be said that Epicurus admitted the influence of _future_
happiness as determining present choice, and therefore must have gone
beyond the sphere of physical action. To this there are two answers: (1)
The thought of the future is a present thought, and therefore belongs,
as active factor, to the forces which are now and here. This I think
Epicurus would not have used. (2) The real answer lies in the point that
it is Freedom of the Will we are discussing, not freedom of choice.
Locke has put this point very well. ‘This then is evident, that in all
proposals of present action, a man is not at liberty to will or not to
will, because he cannot forbear willing: liberty consisting in a power to
act, or to forbear acting, and in that only. For a man that sits still
is said yet to be at liberty, because he can walk if he wills it. But
if a man sitting still has not a power to remove himself, he is not at
liberty: so likewise a man falling down a precipice, though in motion,
is not at liberty, because he cannot stop that motion if he would’
(_Essay_, Bk. ii. ch. xxi. § 24). This latter clause exactly expresses
the idea which Gassendi attributes to Epicurus. It is not a question
of being free to choose, but of being able to do what one does choose.
Freedom of choice belongs to Ratio: would any Greek talk of freedom of
Reason? Certainly not an Epicurean: for him it is enough that the action
begins from the man, the ἀρχὴ τῆς πράξεως, the voluntas principium dat of
Lucretius.
At the close of Gassendi’s exposition quoted above, we see that he says
‘the more vehement image or impression determines action, _i.e._ we
always follow the better course.’ The words vehementior and melior come
so close together that it seems impossible to suppose that Gassendi
was not conscious of the transition. On the contrary, I think it is
an intentional juxtaposition expressing his opinion that for Epicurus
and Lucretius the better must always be the stronger: in which he was
probably right. For his own theory this is a difficulty, and perhaps
explains why he transfers the liberty from voluntas to Ratio, a
procedure which is on the whole retrograde, and theological rather than
philosophical. After the Pelagian controversy and the subtleties of posse
non peccare and non posse peccare, the moral quality of volitions was a
more important question than the efficiency of the will as a factor in a
world of motions.
PART IV. GENERAL REVIEW
CHAPTER I
GASSENDI
I.
We have now passed in review all the main features of Gassendi’s thought:
what are we to say of it as a whole?
Here and there in the literature of philosophy one finds references to
Gassendi. As a rule they are patently second hand, and often accompanied
by the remark that Gassendi has been unduly neglected, without however
any clear indications of what is to be expected from the study of his
works.[118] We are now in a position to consider the value of Gassendi’s
writings and show the reasons why he was neglected and also why he
deserves a better fate.
The first phase of modern philosophy as it is described by historians
was marked by the revival of ancient systems and a tendency to revert to
pre-Aristotelian doctrines, especially atomism. No one however attempted
to reconstruct atomism as a system: the atomistic principles only
affected certain phases of the teaching of contemporary philosophers:
until at last Gassendi published his work. Unfortunately, it came too
late to catch the general ear: already the keynote of modern thought had
been struck and a new point of view adopted by speculative thinkers.[119]
The direct objectivity of Gassendi could no longer find a responsive
audience when every mind was busily developing the new notions of a
subjective philosophy. Gassendi was ranked among the ancients, true
descendant of Democritus and Epicurus: the world wanted no more of the
ancients: we, they said, are the ancients, and in the history of thought
the last is ripest and best. Not only was Gassendi thus hampered by his
relations and discounted by being a disciple of Epicurus, he was also
regarded as materialistic, not in the sense in which we might use the
term now, but in opposition to the idealism which was daily gaining
ground. Descartes had at least succeeded in dividing mind from matter,
and so far laid the foundation of the subjective movement in philosophy;
and for those who cherished this position Gassendi’s view of the universe
could have no attractions. The all-absorbing question now was how to heal
the wound that thought had inflicted on itself, how to bridge the gulf
that these convulsions had made in the once solid world of Being. Given a
dualism of this kind the central problem must be that of re-unification,
and so, as a matter of history, it was, from Descartes down to Kant. On
the very edge of this era stands Gassendi, as it were the last of the old
school: after him comes the long period of restless searching, with its
slow growth, through many abstractions to a new concreteness and fresh
satisfaction in the discovery that after all _the_ world is _my_ world.
Across this sea of strife we look back to-day, and are surprised to see
how near to us that last beacon seems: the longer way takes much time,
and in the end we are further on, but not so far as we could wish, seeing
how many toilsome years have elapsed. We have still with us the old
problems, many of them not yet entirely obscured by the multiplicity of
solutions: we have still the old antagonisms, and philosophers strive in
vain to repudiate the titles with which the critics successfully label
them. I am far enough from suggesting that man has not progressed in
the sphere of thought just as undoubtedly as he has progressed in the
sciences and in adaptation to his world; but as one reads the pages of
Gassendi there grows the feeling that this was the ‘synthetic philosophy’
of its age: that Gassendi aimed to do what Herbert Spencer has aimed to
do: that the difference of their material is a significant comment on
what has been done; and their similarity an equally significant comment
on what has not been achieved: while between Gassendi and his opponent
lay just the kind of gulf that lies now between the Spencerian and the
non-Spencerian.[120]
II.
In the list given by Ueberweg of those who revived ancient doctrines we
find ‘Epicureanism by Gassendi.’ Further on we find a note on Gassendi
which runs thus: ‘Gassendi sought to defend Epicureanism against
unjustified attacks, and to show that it contained the best doctrine of
physics, and at the same time to combine it with Christian theology.
Gassendi’s atomism is less a doctrine of dead nature than is that of
Epicurus.... From its relation to the investigation of nature in modern
times, Gassendi’s revival of Epicureanism is of far greater historical
importance than the renewal of any other system: not unjustly does F. A.
Lange consider Gassendi as the one who may properly be styled the renewer
in modern times of systematic materialism.’ These are cautious words, and
obviously more of Lange than Gassendi: we may take them as our text, and
see how far they are true.
The passage quoted gives us two descriptions of Gassendi: his philosophy
is (1) Epicureanism modified and (2) systematic materialism. The former
definition does not help us much unless we know more accurately how far
the Epicureanism was modified, and in any case Epicureanism was never a
term of very exact significance. We can leave this and take up the second
title, materialist, a label generally affixed to the name of Gassendi
and usually justified by a reference to Lange, who seems to have been
more anxious to find a materialist in Gassendi than to find out whether
Gassendi was a materialist.
To define this term materialist we shall have to work backwards.
It means in common use a philosophy which starts from the object as
something distinct from and opposed to the subject. ‘No object without
subject’ is, according to Schopenhauer, the principle which for ever
makes materialism impossible: from which it seems to follow that object
without subject is the peculiar theme of the materialist. Certainly the
materialist does not start from ‘notion’ or ego, and so far forth he is
the antithesis of the idealist. But materialism implies far more than
this: it implies a view of the universe as altogether objective, as all
object and no subject, as a self-organising, self-subsisting whole, known
only as it is reflected in a consciousness which is a byproduct of its
activities. Whether we take materialist in the widest or the narrowest
sense in which it can be used, one point is essential: mind must be a
function of matter, and this alone justifies us in denying that Gassendi
is properly a materialist. At the same time he is certainly not an
idealist. But the necessity of dividing all philosophers into one or
other of these classes is what we are prepared to dispute; and, finally,
we may discover a more suitable title than materialist while clearing our
minds on this point.
To begin with the historical aspect, Gassendi as related to the ancients
might more suitably be called a physical than a materialist philosopher.
After Kant, idealism takes as its motto, ‘no object without subject.’
Before that era of criticism there was idealism of another kind that
retained many objects that were only partially, if at all, dependent
on a subject. The Cartesian doctrine is rightly called idealism in
so far as it laid stress on the mind as the centre of our universe of
knowledge; but that world of knowledge lay in an ocean of Being that
stretched beyond its limits, unknown and as yet unnamed. This idealism,
the idealism that tells us our world is known only through the mediation
of ideas, and so keeps asunder that world and the cosmos of ideas, is far
different from critical or transcendental idealism, and its opposite is
not materialism in the modern sense at all. How could it be, seeing that
the idealism in question kept its matter a solid ‘adverse occupant of
space’ and carried the reality of this matter up to the very threshold of
thought, even there trying to retain its being for thought as the thought
itself, and convert its grossness into thought by refining it to its
subtlest forms?
History has done justice to Descartes, but hardly to Gassendi. Even as
contemporaries they were mainly regarded as rival physicists, the one
for atoms and the other for vortices: yet one cannot help thinking that
if Gassendi had possessed the clearness and directness of Descartes’ or
Hobbes’ style he might have commanded as much recognition as either. If
we take Descartes as the typical figure of this period, and call his
doctrine material idealism,[121] we shall have a point which may enable
us to determine the bearings of Gassendi. The feature of that idealism
is that it makes extra-mental reality uncertain, or, to put it more
vigorously, draws the line of real and unreal at the boundary of one’s
own skin. This Gassendi does _not_ do, so that title does not include him.
It appeared promising for a moment, since the ground of that distinction
of inner and outer existents lies in the doctrine of representative
ideas. This doctrine we have also in Gassendi in the form of symbolic
brain movements, so that a similar result might have been expected: as it
is not forthcoming we cannot say more, but go back and start again.
If we look once more we see another common point. In a sense Descartes
and Gassendi both start from experience; both are in a way empirical.
But Descartes begins with a prejudice for rationalism: the ‘cogito ergo
sum’ may not have been the actual starting point of his system, but its
final emergence has been declared in the verdict of history to guarantee
rationalism as the tone of the system. As compared with this, Gassendi
works with a pure experience.
Once more we digress to wrestle with our terminology. What is experience
as a basis of philosophy? In the language of the philosophy of to-day
it is to be taken as the most comprehensive of all terms, the name
for reality as it lives and moves, not merely in us, or in thought,
but in itself. From it, as derivatives, spring subject and object
and all other antitheses, and the work of philosophy is the analysis
of this experience. This brings us back to idealism as Schopenhauer
defined it. This is the result of the Kantian standpoint and his
analysis of the object. Before Kant the _object_ was the same as the
_thing_, a given and not a product; and thought based on experience
was called empirical, now become an opprobrious epithet. Empiricism
then is the science of experience in this cruder form. But as a rule
‘empirical’ as a philosophical label means subjective in the sense
that Locke’s psychological method is empirical. Philosophy rapidly took
this psychological trend: it was the human understanding to which all
attention was directed, and with that the question arose, ‘how can I know
what I know?’ drawing the curiosity of man after it with irresistible
attraction.
Compared with these later enquirers (Berkeley and Hume) the position of
Locke, and still more of Descartes, appears crude and uncritical. Yet
there is an element of strength and comprehensiveness about them that
is reassuring. This is due to their fresh simplicity in believing that
what is actual must be possible, that what our experience gives us must
be accepted even if it cannot be explained. Experience is then taken
in the broadest possible way, and its truth accepted. Descartes, for
example, finds his theory divides mind from matter: yet in experience
they are one, and so they are again united: the critic pounces on the
‘inconsistency,’ but Descartes does better in bending theory to fact, as
he knew it, than in distorting fact to save the theory. Modern philosophy
has too much of the element that damned scholasticism when it casts the
theory first and fits in the facts after. The shibboleth of theory plays
in modern thought the part that authority played in scholasticism. We lay
down for ourselves laws of what we _must_ have, and in the seclusion of
the study we get it: outside the reality breaks loose, and we envy Hume,
who found the problems that seemed to mock his efforts vanish when he
stepped out into the sunshine.
Descartes stood for sincerity as well as he could. Gassendi too, barring
graceful concessions to the dogmas he neglects, strikes us as sincere.
For both, Experience was the last great fact, the first great synthesis
that no theoretical analysis could destroy. For Gassendi experience is
life, the life of thought and will and feeling, and the subject matter of
philosophy. Hence his philosophy is grounded in experience; but it is an
analysis of the experienced, not of experience itself: it is a mapping
out, so far as may be an organisation, of the known, the felt and the
willed: not a criticism of knowing or feeling or willing itself. As yet
criticism is far off, looming in the horizon of the future: the darkness
of the night is passing away, and in the day of freedom just beginning
men rejoice in sorting out, arranging and setting in order the realities
with which they feel themselves in living contact now that they no longer
need to see the world through the veil of traditions.
Gassendi’s basis is this experience, to him at least not known as crude,
and we may call him empirical, hoping that the term is sufficiently
explained. Empiricism includes empirical idealism and empirical realism.
The former ‘makes ideas into things,’ and gets rid of the world in the
sense that Berkeley did.[122] With this Gassendi has nothing to do:
he must therefore be classed as an empirical realist. But neither is
this quite satisfactory. It is true we have the atoms, but atomism has
more forms than one. It may be (1) pure physical atomism, such as we
associate with the name of Democritus; or (2) pure idealistic atomism,
such as Leibnitz attempted; or finally, (3) a mixed form combining the
atomistic theory of the world with a non-materialistic view of the
mind. This is the construction of things Gassendi gives us, and in this
lies the great difficulty of properly understanding him. The difficulty
can of course be overcome by saying that Gassendi was half-hearted or
allowed his theory to be ruined by his orthodoxy. But is there any proof
of this? None, I think, except that his construction does not work out
as some have thought it ought to; does not present the unity we demand
in modern works. But it is the prerogative of systems which start
from consciousness to attain unity to a degree we never find in other
systems; and the lack of unity is perhaps not so serious as appears at
first, for if _matter_ does not carry us to the end we may find that our
_principles_ do, and we at least remain faithful to our basis, experience.
The name atomism naturally allies itself with materialism. We are
accustomed to atomic theories which belong to physical science, and
therefore remain within the realm of matter. But if we reflect on atomism
as a philosophical principle we see that it is essentially a method
or principle, not a given matter, and therefore may be applied as a
principle to any given. I do not say that it can rightly be applied;
but only that it does not of itself necessitate matter being the only
constituent principle. Just as evolution is a way of looking at things
and does not tell us what that which evolves must be in other respects,
so atomism merely lays down the law that a complex total must be composed
of indivisible parts: whether the parts are material or spiritual is
of no concern to atomism as such. This is clear if we think of Locke’s
atomic psychology, of W. K. Clifford’s atomism, or of Leibnitz; and we
need not fear the accusation of reversing history, for Giordano Bruno had
grasped before Gassendi the significance for idealism of an atomistic
doctrine, and rightly seen that the speculative aspect of atomism is
simply the question of real minima.[123] The principle upon which atomism
works is that the ultimate is an individuum, and this is not in any way
touched by having a spiritual as well as a material order: whether there
are to be more orders than one is a question that must be decided on its
own merits, and Gassendi’s reason for having a soul that is not material
is that he finds in his own life grounds for belief in an immaterial
entity, in other words he takes it up from experience. For the present we
are content to point out that there is this spiritual reality, and that
it forms an integral part of the whole doctrine. We must therefore be
careful to take our title ‘empirical realism’ strictly to mean that our
ground is experience, and our world is real in the anti-idealistic sense
that it is not made by mind.
III.
Having defined the scope of this philosophy a few remarks may be added
on its main features: as our account of Gassendi is itself nothing but
a summary, there is no need to add summary to summary, and nothing will
be said here beyond what is necessary to indicate the view I take of the
philosophy as a whole.
Gassendi’s philosophy is an analysis of our universe, attained by
examining experience, and presented synthetically, or we might say
syntactically (in a syntagma). As synthetic the presentation has a
definite principle upon which it is worked out. This principle is the
idea of ascending degrees of complexity. The unit is the atom: things are
complexes of atoms: and each degree of complexity has its own peculiar
attributes. We thus get a scale of Being as follows:
(_a_) The atomic scale.
(1) Primary complexes of atoms (kinds of earth).
(2) Secondary complexes of atoms (metals, etc.).
(3) Primary organic complexes: plants.
(4) Secondary organic complexes: animals.
This does not by any means exhaust the content of reality: we have as
well as (_a_) the atomic scale also,
(_b_) Time and Space.
(_c_) The Soul.
(_d_) God.
About Time and Space Gassendi has little to tell us: they were just the
elements that could not be satisfactorily treated on the basis which he
had chosen. But the difficulties which might have made it impossible for
him to proceed were in a way solved by the method itself. If the world
of nature is resolvable into units that are ultimate, impenetrable and
irreducible, is there any objection to the universe also being regarded
as a sum of irreducibles? Gassendi often speaks of the universe as a
whole, and obviously thought of it as in some way one: the way that unity
is to be conceived is an interesting question.
Must the whole be one? In some form or other philosophy has always
answered yes. But there are three distinct phases to this answer. The
last is that which is made possible by the subjective character of modern
idealism, in which the unity is derived from the formative factor in
knowledge. The first was the naïve unity which appears possible to a
mind that can ask without qualification for a single material principle.
These extremes have one point in common: they both regard the unity as
necessarily belonging to the constitutive principle: they want to weave
the universe of one stuff and relegate all differences to the pattern.
The reason for this is the inequality of their categories: categories as
such should all be equal, but in fact they are not: substance in the one
case and spirit in the other have swallowed up all the other aspects of
reality, and ceasing to be aspects have become the stuff itself. Now,
when the crudeness of the primary standpoint has become clear, the
natural tendency is to move towards the second; and this movement being
as yet bound up with the progress of physical science, we find that the
first phase of a doctrine that gives its rights to mind is the emphasis
laid on law. To think of the law and the matter in such a way as to
separate them is half-way toward making them collateral realities, and
for a time produces satisfaction in minds that are dimly aware that all
matter and no mind makes a dull world. At this point, and while we are as
it were on tip-toe for the next development, the addition of a corollary
to the original suggestion makes it into a useful basis for thought of
one type, and then it is defended against progress as itself an ultimate
standpoint. This phenomenon we observe in the history of philosophy more
than once, namely the tendency for critical minds to fortify what was
originally nothing but a halting ground, and sturdily refusing to go
further, proclaim it the goal. The reason is not far to seek. Some minds
require to know what they can have, others require to have what they
desire: the latter are always too eager for the delicate poise of a mean
position: they must fall one way or the other; but their more critical
fellows fall neither way, and reserve their energies for rescuing their
comrades and restoring once again the mean position. Not indeed quite the
same, for the ardent souls ‘fall to rise, are baffled to fight better’;
and the rescuer himself never quite gets back to the old footing, but to
one sufficiently like it to be recognisable. The mean position has always
got one characteristic, it has no constitutive unity. Monism demands a
constitutive unity: whatever the stuff is, it must be one throughout.
As to the righteousness of this demand I have nothing to say. I content
myself with trying to make clear what the man in the mean position has to
say for himself, for Gassendi is a type of that class.
The constitutive unity, we can imagine him saying, is an ideal, and no
better than other ideals: if it will not work it must be given up. The
fact that it appears to be the best ideal cannot help it if we find that
it is useless in practice. Further, it may not be the best ideal if we
think again, for that the world should be One Being is no great advantage
to us, seeing that our interest does not lie in its being but in its
doing. What we want then is only a world that is not One Being but one in
its being, one in its doing, in all its dealings with me, single and not
double. Its being is its being related to me, and all I want is that the
entities should be capable of some sort of order, should be thinkable by
me as system.[124]
It is at this point that the ardent soul runs ahead of the man in the
mean position. He hears his cue in the word ‘thinkable,’ and at once
declares that the thinkable is Thought, and therefore the objective
is ‘ultimately’ Thought, and possibly even its objectivity is due to
our having cast it from us, ‘ejected’ it in that carelessness of youth
which can be retrieved only by again taking it back into ourselves. But
this was exactly what was not meant: we did not want this assimilation
of natures: on the contrary, we find it far easier to think of the
reciprocal action of things different in nature. We do not say that
the iron must really be a magnet or that the soul must be a body, but
only that they must have the required affinities. And what are those
affinities? Why, the affinities they have as a matter of fact got! Is
this philosophy? The ardent soul thinks not. Yet what is the difference?
The one wants to make the related factors one in nature, the other makes
them different; but both want a relation, and ultimately care nothing so
long as there is a relation and the possibility of relations.
We may by now seem to have rather wandered from Gassendi, but the object
of these more abstract remarks is to suggest the outline of a position
which is none too easy to grasp, and is indeed not so explicit in
Gassendi as the above comparisons might suggest. But a few data briefly
recalled will bring us back to our bearings. In Gassendi there are three
substances—corporeal, non-corporeal, and mixed. There are more than three
irreducibles, namely God, Time, Space, the atom, and the Soul.
This is therefore pluralism. Numerical plurality is not the point: else
we should have to say there were as many universes as there were atoms.
It is in qualitative plurality that we find the real irreducibleness of
the factors in our universe. But if quality is the ground of plurality,
where are we to stop? Everything that is different from anything else is
qualitatively different, and in respect of the quality is irreducible.
The universe is therefore a collection of irreducibles: it falls to
pieces in our hands: where is its unity? Just here, in the fact that,
before we meddled with it, it succeeded well enough: that if you give up
meddling with it now it will go on just as it did before:[125] its unity
is the bald and simple fact that it holds together, and the philosopher’s
business is simply to formulate the ways in which that unity is in fact
achieved.
The crudity of this is apparent, but we are not concerned at present with
the question is this a good kind of philosophy, but rather is this a good
specimen of the kind. To gain further light on this we shall examine
three other points in detail, namely (_a_) the place of motion in the
system, (_b_) the use of categories, and (_c_) the relation of quantity
to quality.
(_a_) Any view of the universe that starts with matter and mind as
separate, relies largely on motion to enable it to deal with the inert
mass. But the inertia of the matter is itself only a consequence of the
attempt to keep a bare entity as the type of all things external: it
is, in other words, a multiplication of entities which only leads us
into difficulties by driving us to separate in existence the things to
which we have given distinction. If we revert to experience we find
no such thing as motion in rerum natura, only moving things. We are
thus compelled to unite in the unity of common life that which thought
divided. For a philosophy like that of Gassendi motion is fundamental and
at the same time fraught with temptations. There is always the tendency
to use motion as a means of transition from one aspect of reality to
another. Taken abstractly, motion is a common denominator: it is one and
the same in all things, being nothing but change of place of atoms. But
in order to get this common denominator we must pursue the abstraction of
matter to such a degree as to make the motion a pure motion, a motion of
nothing, and finally nothing at all. If this reduction to non-entity is
recognised, motion remains distinct from the moving, and we get another
factor which by its ill-defined nature is able to work miracles for us.
Activity is then thrust forward as the essential quality of spirit: the
quality is thought of as a thing, activity, and material activity being
also a kind of activity, it seems clear that activity is the link between
mind and matter, and if we can refine the material activity sufficiently
we shall have got across the everlasting gulf. If we condemn this as mere
abstraction in the interests of either mind or matter, the ‘tu quoque’
is ready: for if the activity is neither the matter nor the mind, it is
yet no worse than matter which does not mentalise or mind that will not
materialise.
This pitfall Gassendi avoids by making motion, in the primary sense of
inner motion, one with matter. The formula is materia actuosa, not matter
et actio; and this is possible because he refuses to reduce the ultimate
to a mere imaginary entity.
There are three critical points of transition, namely from inorganic to
organic, from non-sentient to sentient, from unthinking to thinking.
Extremists say these are the same; but not so Gassendi, whose scale is
Inorganic, }
Organic, } non sentient, }
sentient, } non-intellectual,
intellectual.
Gassendi realises that there is some difficulty in this. He lays emphasis
on the distinctness of animus, but when he comes to it, the distinctness
is dissolved away. Is it any greater jump from non-intellectual to
intellectual than it was from insensile to sensile? Whatever we do with
our scale, it must fall to pieces if we try to look for _real_ bonds:
mind is not joined to body by any gluten or hooks:[126] it is a question
of the other aspect, the quality, the what-it-is in its actual being.
Through the material sphere we get our transitions mediated objectively
by the idea of movement and co-ordination. In the sphere of sensation
we have the non-sensile affinities (magnet and iron) leading up to the
sensile affinities, which again have endless degrees as we rise from
lowest (oyster, _e.g._) to highest. Complexity is the medium by which we
graduate this scale and ‘most complex’ is the formula for what we call
highest. But the fact of being graduated does not mar the reality of the
degrees: they remain realities which we graduate but do not fuse. For
Gassendi the real difficulty of dealing with mind comes in the fact
that it implies a kind of movement which is not in line with the others,
a movement which returns upon itself as no motion does in the physical
sphere; but that is not regarded as a reason for rejecting it, but as a
necessity compelling us to recognise that there is more than one kind of
motion in the universe, and a kind of reality which is not subject to
appulse: there is just the same reason why there _should_ be a reality
so superior to sense as is the mind, as there is for the eagle with its
superiority over the oyster. In both cases the ‘should be’ is the point
we cannot deal with: we have them as facts. The reality of the graduated
as actual things, in opposition to the graduation, we shall discuss in
section (_c_).
(_b_) Gassendi’s exposition of his philosophy is often made more
difficult for the reader by the fact that many of the discussions are
dialectical disputes about categories. The categories in question are
simply recognised headings, and when disputing with some scholastic
author or current theory, Gassendi employs the categories as rules of
formal disputation.
The prime category is that of substance. Under this fall all corporeal
entities without dispute; but trouble arises when a reality is given
which is not corporeal, and yet cannot be simply denied. The case then
stands exactly as it did with Leucippus. The reality being not-not-ens
must be ens, and therefore substance. But this seems to leave us with
no protection against hypostatising any concept into a substance. To a
certain extent this is guarded against by the use which Gassendi makes
of the idea of function. This idea enables us to retain as realities
much that cannot be accurately defined in regard to its being: for
we substitute for the being of the thing its doing. In spite of the
objective existence which Gassendi gives to things, he adopts the
somewhat idealistic method of defining them, and even formulating them
from the point of view of their relation to us. Believing that things
are what they seem, in all normal cases, we can consistently define the
ultimate reality from the experience of it, the manifestation of reality
being its own definition. Thus space and time are real, because in
experience things and events have spatial and temporal order. The atom,
the void, and the soul are real on the same principles. Taking substance
in this sense, it equals reality, and reality is for Gassendi a category.
Quantity and quality are also categories, of which more later. The other
category is that of relation. This is identical with place in the system,
and as such it is the final determination of the existent. When we have
shown _that_ a thing is, _what_ it is, and _where_ it is, we have done
all that man can toward the production of an ordered system of things.
It is a noticeable fact that Gassendi makes no use of potentiality as a
category, though it was commonly so used: he criticises the particular
applications of the idea, but does not state his reasons for rejecting
it. It may be surmised, but it is only a surmise, that he considered it
a confusion between the categories of relation and substance. In any
case it certainly amounted to that, for it made what was only a relation
between the parts of a process into an actual property, and left it
uncertain whether a thing was what it was or was what it was going to
be. Gassendi was quite scholastic enough to argue that the statement,
‘the acorn is the oak,’ involved a false use of the verb ‘to be,’ whether
you added ‘potentially’ or not: he was also philosopher enough to see
that it either meant nothing or it implied the unreality of all process,
or what he would call the unreality of degrees of being. This was in
direct opposition to his own ideas about quantity and quality and their
relations.
(_c_) As a rule the category of relation _was_ made substantive: that
is to say, the being in an order is made to be a reality for the thing
as well as for the ordering mind; and the _whole_ order is therefore
significant for the individual at any individual stage. Hence _A_ is said
to be potentially _B_. This means that _A_ to _B_ is a process which we
view as a series of states; but so is lowest to highest in any case:
relation is a category for all, and only per accidens a special category
for some. The relating as such being the same for all, why should it be
more easy to say that the acorn is potentially an oak, than to say mud is
potentially a man? Yet it is easier (for Gassendi and his contemporaries
at least), because there are real, and, as it were, closed circles.
Within the species we can understand growth, because it is nutrition
and assimilation of the like. Hence, in the closed circle relation is
expressible as potentiality. But the definition of the circles comes from
experience. Potentiality is therefore not a universal solvent. This seems
arbitrary, because the expansion of the given circles is not limited: why
should we stop short at any but the most universal terms, say matter,
and make everything potentially everything else? It seems, indeed,
that we ought not to stop anywhere short of the mutually exclusive
realities, mind and matter. But Gassendi is opposed to the whole frame
of mind implied in this, and so far from working up to this irrational
stop at the difference of mind from matter, he works down from it to a
totally different conclusion. He does not admit that the step from matter
to mind is unique: he does not admit that the difference between two
substances is really greater than the difference between radical forms of
one substance: in any composite there is an unanalysable addition, the
form, the being-what-it-is which is revealed only synthetically in the
function, the being of the whole as whole. Now mind, he says, is nothing
apart from matter: hence mind plus matter is a functional unit. Where is
the marvel? _This_ complex produces _this_ result, and why should there
not be this complex, and with it this result? If you say it is unique, so
is every other qualitative phenomenon qua qualitative.
This is, I think, the crucial point of Gassendi’s thought, and he cannot
be understood unless it is grasped. It is exemplified in his whole
treatment of the universe of things. It is, moreover, an idea capable of
much expansion, but the expansion is what it did not get at the hands of
Gassendi. He is doubtless right in keeping quantity and quality apart,
right in realising the limits of mechanism, and yet not suppressing
the quantitative aspect. It is this grasp of qualitative distinctions
that saves him from materialism, it saves him from trying to compromise
between mind and matter. But after all quantity and quality are only
categories, both alike objective, ways in which the world of objects can
be thought of, formulae for its analysis. There we find the weak point,
right at the heart of the whole scheme: so long as the object remains
unanalysed and mind and matter are equally objective, so long as the
categories are applied to a world of crude objects such that mind and
matter are both _equally_ objective, we reach the limit; and our opinion
on the value of this point decides our estimate of Gassendi. Criticism,
aided by the development of philosophy can find flaws only too easily, so
much so that it is not worth while to suggest any: yet there are still
many who will doubtless find that they can read Gassendi with sympathy
and, with all his faults, recognise that he combined, with a vast
knowledge of facts, a truly philosophical attempt to reach the truth that
is in them.
The philosophical writings of Gassendi perpetually recall to our minds
the works of Leibnitz and Lotze both in regard to matter and form. We
have already shown that Gassendi is not to be passed over lightly as a
mere materialist, a supporter of what Lotze calls ‘evil materialism’: we
now require to see how our author is related to the later Realists and
how far he may be regarded as anticipating their work.
Before entering into the details of this subject a word or two must be
said with regard to its dangers. A moment’s reflection will show that
Leibnitz and Lotze can hardly fail to differ one from the other in their
whole outlook with that difference which Kant brought into philosophical
work of every kind. If we speak of Realism as though it were a line of
thought maintaining itself through an unbroken succession of writers and
uninfluenced by other lines of thought, it will soon be apparent that the
terms we use are almost the only permanent elements; the letter abides
but the spirit changes, and the line of progress which thought follows
under one name is often the slow fulfilment of a circle that places it
at last adverse to its own starting point. Whole passages in Leibnitz
breathe the sentiments of Gassendi: the _Mikrokosmus_ is planned with
the same comprehensiveness and in the same spirit as the _Physics_ of
the _Syntagma_: the reader leaves them both with a strong sense of their
likeness to Gassendi. In following out the relations and the differences
of these writers I shall work with a view chiefly to elucidate Gassendi
and limit my remarks to that scope, diverging into some general remarks
on the character of the periods under consideration only so far as that
purpose requires.
CHAPTER II
LATER VIEWS
(_a_) LEIBNITZ
To minds of a certain type works such as those of Gassendi are
irritating. They continually arouse the question ‘Is this philosophy?’
and cause a vague unrest which it is difficult to assign to any one
feature or characteristic. It is in fact due to the way in which Gassendi
and men of his class stop short of the goal for which they seem bound,
stop short of the unity which is demanded by our aesthetic nature. Their
reason for so doing is a conscientious recognition that they have not
succeeded in making their universe truly a One. No unity of the type
required was possible until the objective sphere of experience was united
to the subjective by such recognition of unity as Kant was able to reach.
The influence of Kant will be considered when we come to Lotze: the
point is introduced here because we have in Leibnitz, as compared with
Gassendi, a most significant point of difference, the logical element.
Gassendi follows the tradition of his school. His logic is a book of
canons. We feel that when it is closed its power is at an end. In
Leibnitz, on the contrary, the logical principles are the essence of
a logical aspect of all things, and analysis and synthesis as applied
to things are so intimately related to the forms of judgment that it
would seem as though we might say of the world of Leibnitz that it is a
translation of logic into ontology.
There is still some doubt apparent in the literature of philosophy as
to whether Leibnitz is to be called an idealist or a realist. This is
due probably to the way in which the suppressed logic of Leibnitz gives
his realism an idealistic character. What Leibnitz actually does is to
talk of a world of real objects whose whole existence depends upon their
being given, as though that fact of being given were not in itself as
important a characteristic of things as any other. Leibnitz is therefore
clear on the point that there are realities and on the individual worth
of each separate reality; but in so far as he inadequately recognises the
point of contact between self and not-self, he naturally fails to give
sufficient consideration to its significance. The origin of this error
on the part of Leibnitz is to be found in the fact that he comes to his
world of objects with a conceptual attitude—a desire to analyse, and
consequently a tendency to say what a thing is without asking _how_ it is.
At this point the reader will perhaps pause, recalling the words of
Lotze: ‘_What_ things are is thus not incomprehensible to us, for that
which is in them they exhibit in their outer manifestation; _how_ they
can exist and can manifest themselves anyhow is the universal enigma.’
It would seem then that we ask too much in demanding from Leibnitz more
information as to _how_ the thing becomes. But it is not because Leibnitz
gives us no answer that we complain; it is because his answer is given
from a prejudicial standpoint. Spinoza had dissipated the individual: his
assertion ‘omnis determinatio est negatio’ left the logical activities of
the mind with no focus and deprived conception of its material. Leibnitz,
as compared with Spinoza, seems to restore to us our real world. It may
not be very hard, or very solid, or very matter of fact—it may indeed be
‘idealistic’ in a sense—but it is at any rate pluralistic and active.
Where then is the ground for complaint?
In his treatment of the doctrine of induction Leibnitz shows that he
wholly underrated the philosophic value of the moment of perception. The
consequence of this is that he is capable of treating as a subjective
construction what he has never shown to be subjective in its nature: he
invades the whole region of the not-self with an army of notions whose
success depends entirely on accurate information as to the character of
the opposing realities. In spite of the appearance of remaining within
the legitimate sphere of analysis, and evolving in the closed cell of
the monad a mental panorama of reflected Being, Leibnitz really does no
such thing; he goes forth into the world of syntheses, and absorbs the
advantages of experience without acknowledgment or appreciation.
If it is ever possible to keep two parallel lines of Reality and unite
them in a pre-established harmony, it must at least be done with the
clear recognition that all the predicates of reality are only predicates
of experiences, that the experiences may be real, but the reality may,
none the less, remain aloof, a thing-in-itself. This would only be
possible after an analytic of experience: it is _not_ possible if the
basis of the position is no more than analytic forms of judgment, because
the judgment and the mental machinery employed in it all presuppose a
given.
To justify Leibnitz in treating the world of physics as he did we require
from him some analysis of the given. We assert that he did not furnish
this, that in place of analysing the given he treated it as knowable
deductively, as an existence to which we can dictate what it must be.
He thus gets beyond Gassendi very rapidly, but not very securely. The
preponderance given to logic promises us a more penetrative insight into
experience as a subjective construction based upon real activities:
we hope for just that element which was lacking in Gassendi, a deeper
comprehension of the extent to which the understanding makes nature; but
in this we are disappointed, for the logical standpoint gives us nothing
but categories that we vainly and uncritically re-apply to a world of
objects already manufactured and passed without question.
Further attention must be given to this point, because it is the centre
of our discussion of the relations between Gassendi and Leibnitz. This
can be shown if we return to those categories of experience which are
implicit in Gassendi’s work.
The category of substance (_v._ p. 264) is used by Gassendi as a form for
the classification of what are commonly called ‘things’; it includes
also those objects to which experience testifies that they are ‘outer.’
Gassendi goes so far as to ignore anything that falls beyond the focus
of experience: that which the thing does is the actuality of it, and
therefore the same as that which the thing is. But it does not follow
that my limitations are limitations of the given: the more a writer
insists that the being of a thing is the same as its doing, the more
strictly is he compelled to admit that the existence of all things is
a matter of relations, and in a relation only those capacities can be
developed for which _both_ the terms are qualified.
In this connexion it is necessary to remember that the post-Kantian
philosopher usually works on a method the inverse of that which the
pre-Kantian naturally took. _Now_ it would be natural to regard the
whole _X_ as the given from which _A_ and _B_ might be analytically
eliminated. _Then_ it was more natural to start with _A_ and _B_ and
regard _X_ as the resultant of their relations. The consequence is that
the philosopher is compelled to work with terms never completely defined.
Spinoza provides for this incomplete exhaustion of the relatum in the
case of God: the infinite with infinite possibilities stands over against
the other term of the relation as something transcendent and overlapping.
If we have in place of a monism a pluralism of reals, every real entity
must have these same characteristics so long as it is presupposed as
a possibility of relations and not merely regarded as the explicit
recognition of what out of the relation is nothing.
Atomism is, on the face of it, a theory of real ultimates capable of
relation and composition. As objects they have no right to such qualities
as are regarded as peculiarly subjective. It will therefore not be
possible to assert that the atoms as such have any power of appreciating
the relations in which they stand: their ‘elective affinities’ must be
inner states, but not perceptions. Gassendi often speaks as though the
analogy between attraction in the magnet and the animal was a ground
for speculation: he does not use it as a proof that perception has
rudimentary forms below the level of animal life. In converting the atom
into the monad Leibnitz commits himself to a position he cannot defend,
for he asserts that powers or qualities found in aggregates are also
found in simple bodies, and thereby destroys at a blow the value of
organisation as the ground of functions.
The notion of ‘organism’ is used by Leibnitz in a purely occasionalistic
manner. He is obviously prepared to recognise degrees of organisation as
connected in some manner with degrees of functioning power, and graduates
his scale of real things in the form of a scale of substances in which
new and higher powers are correlated with complexity of structure. But
the fact of being organised was never given by Leibnitz due importance
and rank among the perceptual facts which make up the world of physics.
The reason for this is to be found in the work of Leibnitz as a whole.
Criticism of Leibnitz seems at present to be in vogue. A glance at
contemporary literature will show us science and philosophy are both in
arms against him. It will be sufficient if we note here a few salient
points.
We have already noted that the atomism of Leibnitz differs from that
of Gassendi in so far as the former suffuses his whole doctrine with a
logical tone and colours it with rationalism. The result is that facts
are ignored in the interests of forms of thought. Hence (1) the law
of continuity combined with the notion of substance enables Leibnitz
to pass from perceived perceptions out to unperceived perceptions,
without recognising that thought can thus overrun its material in _any_
direction and must curb its tendencies within the limits of the given.
(2) The monad is an atom qualified by irrelevant adjectives. The logical
process which begins in stripping off predicates from a subject leaves
the subject bare: it does not follow that there can be in nature a
substance stripped of qualities. The monad which we are thus wrongly led
to think of as simple, appears on reflection to require to be complex.
We are always tempted to think that our ultimate element must be capable
of entering into all relations, and therefore be itself simple and
indeterminate. On the contrary, the possibility of relations is, from the
point of view of the thing, not a negative but a positive quality, and
that which can enter into all relations, like a man capable of occupying
any post, must be ‘highly qualified.’ The intensive quality of the monad
may have appeared to Leibnitz to anticipate this difficulty. It is
however difficult to conceive how inner or outer qualities are of use to
beings whose actuality is not affected though all relations are destroyed.
The last word on Leibnitz must be a recognition of his genius with a
confession of his failure. If he could have reduced his thought to a
system it would have been chastened to its advantage. As it is, different
lines of thought perpetually open up, and no one of them is fully worked
out. For this reason we find flaws and chasms in the structure: matter
is one thing physically (prima materia) and another thing psychically:
continuity of kind as in the derivation of consciousness from petites
perceptions is linked with discontinuity of being in the real world:
subjective idealism is perpetually breached by that going-beyond-itself
which is the one thing their rationalistic author has denied the monads.
But if the whole fails to exhibit cohesion it has never lacked
inspiration and the power to inspire. This I attribute to one quality
which it exhibits,—the grasp of unity as required for the being and
the understanding of a world. This unity Leibnitz does not attain: his
pluralism produces want of unity both in the world as an objective
existent and in our thoughts as a reconstruction of it; but he never
loses sight of it as a guiding principle, and is only prevented from
working it out by the notions of substance and of concepts by which he
was incessantly hampered.
As the thought of a unity is the thought of a whole which implicitly
contains many parts capable of being themselves brought into prominence,
so the thought of the world as a unity has an implicit content whose
nature is irrelevant so far as the unity is concerned. There has for so
long been a rooted tendency to confine unity to material unity that it
may not be out of place to elaborate this point.
The unity of the individual is not affected by the diverse nature of its
parts. The possibility of self-unification may be grounded in one or more
characteristics. It may be asserted that I could not be a unity unless
I had a nervous organism so developed as to have one supreme centre. To
this the reply is that the genesis of a unitary being may thus lie in
a condition which must first be fulfilled, but the unity, when there
is unity, includes its plurality without reference to anything but the
possibility of co-operation. A human organism is a unity whose parts are
different: not only is a heart not a liver, but one corpuscle is not
another: yet the reality of the unity cannot be denied. The fact is that
when we speak of a unity we must hold it over against a plurality, and
all we require of the parts of a unity is that they should not be capable
of collapsing one into another: they must retain what we require of them,
namely the power to fill out the whole to which we refer the unity.
Thus ultimate identity of nature, if it meant identity of being, would
ruin both concepts, of unity and of plurality: if it does not mean
identity of being it means nothing, for two ‘identical’ natures must
always differ by one simple quality, that of not being each other.
Many of these points Leibnitz adumbrates. He seems, however, never to
have grasped the relation of conceptual unification to the unity of the
perceptually given world. In a word, the idea of unity ran away with
him in the form of continuity or persistence of identical natures: a
reference to experience as perceptual knowledge of the world around us
would have shown that unity is not translatable through substance into
being (giving an ultimate One in kind), but only through co-operation
into cohesion. It is useless to assert that unity of nature is
presupposed in unity of action: that heart and liver are not different
but only distinct, being really qualified to belong to the unity by
virtue of unity of nature. This is pure inversion: it is from the effects
that we must judge the nature: kinds are only subdivisions of the unity
which is not material but formal, which embraces all kinds in the unity
of co-operation constituting the organism of nature.
(_b_) LOTZE
The philosophy of Leibnitz appears both disjointed and distorted. Lotze
gives us a far more systematic view of things, and the advance he makes
is considerable.
Among the advantages which he enjoyed over his predecessors, that of
inheriting the results of Kant’s labours must necessarily be ranked high.
With Kant the opposing tendencies of rationalism and sensationalism were
to some extent reconciled: the perceptual order regained the importance
rationalism had striven to take from it, and the conceptual order lost
none of its significance as organisation of our inner conscious life.
Kant gave to his followers two main points: primarily, the necessity for
a point of contact between the knower and that which was destined to be
known: secondarily, the necessity of recognising that the origin of the
object is to be looked for in a relation. This second point implies that
henceforth the term ‘object’ must be taken in a new sense: it can no
longer denote that which is given for consciousness, but only that which
is given in consciousness as being outer.
This view of the object is however not satisfactory if we confuse the
idea of a reality capable of relations with the idea of qualities as
potential or germinal relations. So far as concerns the distinction of
substantia phenomenon from its ground, Kant seems to have allowed this
confusion to arise. He clearly thinks of our conscious life as a vessel
filled from the greater vessel of the Universe: our limitations are the
reason why there is a surplus of being over and above the known. The
distinction of Being (Beënt) from Existent does not save the situation:
for Being cannot be thought of as relationless being, and is therefore
either merely undiscovered existence or pure nothing.
It would not be necessary to labour this point if it were not that our
thought naturally inclines to regard development as an unfolding of a
unitary existence. Whether the thinker regards development as ultimately
timeless, or believes that all development is in a real time, he rarely
if ever gets to the idea that continuity of development is not the
same as unity of being. It is however not less a ‘rational’ dogma to
assert that the seed is the plant than to assert that all development is
timeless, more geometrico. The crux in either case is the regress to the
Whole. But in the case of the plant our statement does not really concern
the whole plant but the whole life-history of the plant, and obviously
omits for its own purposes the continuous natural synthesis involved in
the real development expressed in the perceptual order. But if we cannot
fix the plant as a Whole, on account of its _length_, so to speak, in
respect of time, we feel we can fix the Universe as a Whole because it
is always itself. To properly combat this view requires more digression
than is here justifiable. I merely state that there is primarily the
notorious difficulty of saying the Universe is at all (of course if it
is a _Universe_ we beg the question of its unity by naming it thus),
and secondly, that our right to omit the element of real time is very
dubious. If we do not omit it, we come to the other view, that all things
are a co-existent unity which maintains itself by perpetual re-adjustment
of its parts, and moves on from state to state through time. It would be
easy at this point to say progresses rather than moves, but there is no
need to beg the question as to whether the movement is for better or for
worse.
Kant’s analysis of the object, then, we regard as faulty in so far as
it implies that ‘we only know phenomena.’ We consider that the phrase
appearance of the real should be abolished, and our world should be
called not an appearance of reality but the real as it appears. None the
less the work of Kant leaves its abiding effect in the impossibility of
going back to naïve realism; and not acknowledging that the percipient
mind is a real factor in the process of appearing, is in fact the
complementary element which allows the real to express itself in the
terms of knowledge.
Lotze’s philosophy interests us in many ways: the form and matter of the
_Mikrokosmus_ in particular challenge comparison with the _Syntagma_ of
Gassendi. We now desire to see especially how the details are handled in
the light of the progress made between the days of Gassendi and Lotze.
For in a sense Lotze returns to the standpoint of Gassendi: he eliminates
in many ways the rationalistic elements which Leibnitz had introduced,
and his line of thought can in the main be regarded as continuing that
of Gassendi. Leibnitz had tried to ‘unite Democritus and Spinoza’:
subsequent workers had to eliminate the Spinozistic element, and thus
free from its encumbrances the Democritian line of development.
The atoms of Democritus were meant to be physical points. The elaboration
of the idea of ‘points’ into a theory of physical, metaphysical, and
mathematical points was retrograde. The mathematical points are not
points in any relevant sense, and the metaphysical points are physical
points interpreted through the concept of mathematical points. The idea
that they must be indivisible for thought is irrelevant, because they are
perceptual entities. We may think of any unit as twice its own half, but
it does not follow that the perceptual datum can be given as a plurality:
if, on the contrary, it is never so given we are right in declaring it to
be indivisible, _i.e._ a real unit.
Granted that the atom is a real unit, the question arises, How are
we to interpret this reality? Our reality as a whole will naturally
be regarded as the sum of its parts, allowing that it is not a mere
aggregation but rather an organic totality. Consequently we shall expect
the characteristics predicated of the totality to be predicated of the
parts. Now Lotze’s idea of the totality is coloured with the notion that
our aesthetic demands are a reality, and the necessity of regarding the
Universe as a whole is not to be divided from the necessity of regarding
it as a whole of a certain kind. He therefore finally concludes that the
atom is unextended, because this hypothesis alone enables us to regard
it as animated throughout.[127] This however, besides being highly
conjectural, seems also unnecessary. We have already been told that atoms
do not require to be homogeneous, but may enter into composition equally
well if they are heterogeneous.[128] From this it has been correctly
deduced that unity does not imply identity in the elements: unity is
the form in which we interpret the cohesion of heterogeneous elements
through elective affinity in any single apparent whole. It is therefore
clearly possible that different natures may so combine that the resultant
has a nature which belongs to none of its parts. The emergence of this
new functional value is dependent on the recognition of something more
than mechanical relations. The something more which is thus required is
provided by substituting chemical for mechanical laws.
The influence of chemistry upon constructive thought is extremely
important for this one reason, that it forces into recognition the
fact that, regarded as we must regard it from the point of view of its
_doing_, the whole is more than the sum of its parts. Man is thus no
more to be regarded as a machine. Lotze rightly recognises that vitality
is grounded in a synthesis of co-operating elements: it is not a separate
entity to be imported into a mechanical organism at birth and exported
at death. It is out of this aspect of functional activity as dependent
on organisation that Lotze gets the right to some of his most pregnant
assertions, such _e.g._ as the assertion that the soul _is_ where it
_acts_. He formulates it most definitely when he opposes the idea that
Life is something permanent, ‘a higher force’ controlling the changes
of the body. On the contrary, he says, life and death are not opposed
realities: ‘for why should we not from this phenomenon (_i.e._ of
corruption) rather draw the other conclusion, that the activity of life
can last only so long as the chemical composition of the body yields the
necessary conditions and that the corruption of death is nothing else
than a disturbance of that composition which has now become visible, but
by which perhaps long since, though less obviously, the conditions of
life have been affected?’[129]
The phraseology of this passage clearly indicates that we are to regard
the ‘composition’ as the ‘condition of life.’ On another page[130] Lotze
states this more definitely. He speaks of life as maintaining itself
through ‘motive shocks,’ which are ‘yielded by the processes of constant
forming and reforming’: it is like burning coal, developed ‘not through
what it was or through what it is to be, but through the motion of the
transition itself.’ There is therefore no longer any room for a ‘vital
force’: ‘in the living body every chemical change that takes place sets
to work forces not before in existence and brings others to a pause; thus
at each moment there is laid for subsequent development a new foundation,
such as gives occasion sometimes for a continuance of prior states,
sometimes for an evolution into new ones, sometimes by a combination of
both, for expansion into a far fuller manifestation of character and
activity.’[131]
These passages show clearly the view taken of life. We may now enquire
into its degrees and their relation. In the inorganic sphere we have
no development and no power of self-maintenance.[132] Plant and animal
life are of one kind in this respect: they exhibit reactions which
may be described as expressions of their natural conation toward
self-preservation. But animal life is distinguished by sentiency and
human life by the presence of mental powers. We might then expect a scale
of the form _a_, _a_ + _b_, _a_ + _b_ + _c_; but what we are actually
given is a scale of the form _a_, _x_(= _a_ + _b_), _y_(= _x_ + _c_).
This form of the scale implies that each stage is more than the lower
stage plus a quantitative addition: it is emphatically a _new_ stage.
Lotze denies that we can construct the scale upward: we cannot start
from the lower form and deduce the higher form from a consideration of
the possible combination of elements. On the contrary, mental life forms
a new datum: our culture ‘shows the interval between the two spheres of
existence [animal and human] to be so vast that apparently the addition
of a wholly new germ of development is absolutely necessary to explain
the superiority of human culture.’[133] Mind is thus set over against
soul, but ‘we cannot return to the naïveté of conception that sees in
psychic life and mind two different and separate entities.’[133] We
must not think of body, soul, and mind as three entities of independent
value: our only reason for distinguishing one from the other in the
highest unity, that of man, is the fact that they are given separately
in the universe, that animals have sentience without mind, and plants
have living bodies without either.[134] A real connexion for these must
therefore be found, ‘for, in whatever reason may consist, it is clear
that the soul cannot receive the gift of a new faculty, unless it be
so grounded in its constitution that it either must of necessity be
evolved from it, or else might be evolved should favourable conditions
supervene.’[135]
The ‘new faculty’ is not a new entity. A psychic substance Lotze
rejects: such a phrase implies the reification of what is only given as
a group of unique reactions, a living content that ‘by its own specific
nature directly acquires the capacity to act and be acted on,’ and so
masquerades as a substance for ‘the unwary thinker.’ But the idea of a
group of reactions has its dangers also. We may be led to ignore the
agent itself, whereas ‘we cannot make _mind_ equivalent to the infinitive
_to think_, but feel that it must be _that which thinks_; the essence
of things cannot be either existence or activity; it must be that which
exists and that which acts.’[136]
This doctrine of mind shows clearly the three phases of Lotze’s
philosophic thinking, namely the occasionalistic, the idealistic, and the
realistic. It will be necessary to make a few remarks on these separately.
(1) Crude occasionalism is self-condemned by its abstractness. Over
against a world in itself purely material stands the purely psychical:
their unity of action is a parallelism of simultaneous action: the
ground of the coincidences is in a third nature. This line of thought
may be regarded as wholly antiquated, and its many faults require
no resurrection. Among others, it overlooked the fact that a given
simultaneity of action is normally a proof of reciprocity unless we
have some a priori reasons for assuming reciprocity impossible. In that
case we modify our view in the direction of a pre-established harmony.
This gives us a certain degree of concreteness in so far as we reduce
our sphere of enquiry to the actually given agents: ultimate questions
however bring us to a third factor, the creative activity in whose Will
we ground all unity of action. But here still the whole necessity of
an explanation lies in the presuppositions with which we approach our
subject; and this presupposition is, in these cases, the belief that
substances are in themselves opposed to relations.
The occasionalism which Lotze offers us is still further modified by
continuing the process which makes the view concrete. To do this it is
necessary to merge the abstractions into a more and more comprehensive
unity. The differences in the given must first of all be modified so that
we no longer oppose one kind of being to another: then the unifying
agency must be vested in the totality thus formed, so that we are able to
account for all relatedness or reciprocity of action as possible when the
totality admits of it, and impossible when it does not so admit of it.
I consider that Lotze makes a great advance on the position of Leibnitz
in many respects, but principally in those directions in which his
scientific training made him a more judicious and comprehensive thinker.
The effect of scientific training is obvious in—(1) those elements of
thought which are due to biological and chemical studies; (2) in the
truly scientific unwillingness to blur distinctions, and call the higher
the same as the lower, or the lower itself ‘potentially’ a higher form;
and (3) in the concept of unity, as somehow requiring to be expressed
in terms of action and not substance. But while progress is manifest
in these points, the results cannot be of permanent value unless the
principles which are used bring us safely to the end.
(2) In occasionalism proper all action, looked at by itself, is
disjointed. In the doctrine of Leibnitz it is so connected as to form
chains of parallel activities. The series of actions start from points
that have a fixed amount of separation, and they maintain this separation
throughout. But we refuse to accept this parallelism as ultimate: we do
not want to think of one rail as merely accompanying another, but of two
rails as so accompanying each other that they form what we rightly call
_one_ railway line. The unity we require is not approximation, rather the
maintenance of the distance is essential to it. If our lines converge
when produced ‘ever so far,’ they cannot serve our purpose: they destroy
their own reality by destroying their significance. And as our rails
cease to be a railway line if they converge, so our self and our not-self
can only come to insignificance and unreality if they lose their distance
and merge.
This metaphor, though quite a legitimate adaptation of Leibnitz’s idea
of the two clocks, is not perhaps very clear. It is intended to make
thinkable the notion of a unity which holds together a plurality in such
a way as does not contradict the plurality, but rather insists on the
plurality as the one thing essential to the unity. This I take to be the
proper meaning of unity if taken concretely or in direct relation to a
content which it makes no attempt to annihilate.
It seems to me that in his advance from Occasionalism Lotze reached
an idealism which was not compatible with the fundamental idea of the
occasionalistic phase of thought. That fundamental idea is that activity
of one kind cannot become activity of another kind: lines of activity
do not cross: material activity is never mental activity. To this
fundamental idea Occasionalism was itself faithless more than once when
it tried to run the lines back to that ‘ever so far,’ in which they might
be thought to have met. To carry material actuality back to abstract
points and mental activity back to the point at which it is at least so
abstract as to have lost its conscious characteristics, is to yield up
our clear convictions to the illusions of an indefinite perspective. So
crude an error cannot rashly be attributed to Lotze: whatever his errors
are they cannot but be refined, subtle, and significant. Yet that his
occasionalism is modified by strong idealism cannot be denied, and it may
be that the idealism completes without improving the occasionalism.
As there is a danger that the following remarks may be due to
a misunderstanding of Lotze, I shall not attempt to pad out my
interpretation of his thought with selected quotations: if the general
impression is wrong the selection of definite phrases out of a book is
only the addition of insult to injury. I state my own view and leave it
to the reader to consult Lotze.
The vice of every system of philosophy is always some degree of
abstraction. From the multitude of abstract points of view we trust we
are slowly arriving at a concrete view which shall do justice to reality
as we live it. Usually the abstract view is patently an intrusion of
the influences of study: thought naturally occupies a predominant place
in a system which its author has had to think out: less frequently it
is an intrusion of temperament, or a mere reaction from the tyranny
of the abstract thinker to a full-blooded view of things. In Spinoza
we recognise the retiring thinker: in Leibnitz we see the effect of
mathematical and logical thought mixed with the busy life of the
man of affairs, and the influence of relations in which caution and
impenetrability are of first importance. In Lotze we have equally the
effects of scientific training, relieved however of any barrier to
frankness, and united with a strong ethical and aesthetical tendency.
The ethical temperament, if that term may be used, is on its
psychological side prone to believe: the aesthetical is prone to value
form: the combination of the two makes possible a transcendent point of
view which grasps at form with a strong psychological conviction that it
must have real active value. The remarkable passage in which Lotze pleads
for the animation of nature is a shock to the reader in its betrayal
of new and startling elements in the author’s idea of a constructive
philosophy. Apart from the particular point, which we do not intend to
discuss, the passage is the first awakening of antagonism in a critical
reader who will at once proceed to ask whether the whole construction is
built on this foundation. He will, I think, find that it is.
The crucial point in the idealism of Lotze is the possibility of
constructing and defending the unity of the Whole. The beginning is
made from the Kantian element, the phenomenal character of the matter
of thought. Kant’s view is modified in so far as the doing which we
know is related to the being, the that-which-does, in an intimate way,
such as does not hold of noumena and phenomena: from this it follows
that the appearance is the life of the real rather than its output, the
actual doing rather than the product of its work. It follows also from
the Kantian element that our construction of reality is itself reality,
real doing, though not creative activity. In this concrete point of view
is involved the idea that our feelings, cravings, and inspirations are
reality, which is the justification for demanding that reality should be
presented as satisfying that craving. As we have a craving for unity and
form we can assert that Reality is both one and formed. We see the force
of the argument: we ask, what is its value?
To begin with—what is this craving? Is it ever universal, and if not,
does the craving for unity in particular spheres justify an advance to
a universal unity? The personal element is so manifest here that if
consciousness cannot be shown to have that craving as part of its own
nature the whole position is endangered. And it must be granted that
consciousness has not got it quâ consciousness. To get it at all we
must take consciousness as intimately bound up with impulse, will, and
individual purpose, and each of these elements, while it enriches the
notion of consciousness, draws me further away from the concept of a
Whole. I cannot admit that impulse proceeds wholly from consciousness,
or that will is entirely guided by reason, or that the unity I desire is
capable of projection away from my individual scope to a hyper-individual
Whole.
Reflection on the history of thought confirms the belief that ultimate
unity is generally made acceptable by withdrawing oneself from the
immediate conditions of life. Tradition ascribes this character to the
philosopher, and the history of philosophy is a record of attempts to
reach the higher truth by climbing down. Lotze gives us a fruitful idea
in the notion of a whole whose parts are unified by reciprocal action.
But here again he seems to have overstrained his parallel, which I take
to be human society. In his war against abstractions he notes the
hypostatising tendency expressed in such phrases as ‘the mind of the
people,’ ‘the spirit of the times.’ He does not however seem to have
fully estimated the value of these indications or seen how far they
show that a generalisation expressed in a general term may be the sign
of a real conceptual unity which in spite of its reality is not capable
of action or reaction. Now, if unity lies in significance, does not
the unity of anything partake essentially of the nature of concepts or
ideas? And if so, is not the unity the one point about things of which
nothing can be said in respect of action or reaction? This, I think, must
be allowed, and the consequence follows that in a world of action and
reaction unity must be irrelevant.
The point can be stated more clearly and directly, but I have put it in
this form because that is the line of argument which Lotze suggests, and
which seems to me to apply to him most aptly because it is the inversion
of his own progress. The simpler and clearer way is to assert that the
unity of the Whole implies a consciousness for which the Whole is a
unity. This leads us to the idea of a God. But if God is outside our
whole there must conceivably be a ‘higher unity’ giving a whole which
comprises God. Either therefore the Whole is not truly the Whole or
there is an infinite progress of wholes constituted by presentation to
a unifying agency which is merged with them in ever higher and higher
wholes.
We now seem to have reached a reductio ad absurdum. As stated, it is
such a reductio; but the absurdity consists in the inner contradiction
due to calling that the Whole which we at the same time do not make
all inclusive. This contradiction indicates that the thought movement
has become involved in itself. At the same time there emerges an idea
which is fruitful and which was partially expressed in the doctrine of
monads. The monad is a unity: the ruling monad is also a unity: this
latter unity includes plurality, and is therefore properly a unity: the
mere monad as simple nature ought not to be called a unity at all. Now,
leaving out other implications of the term monad, we may say that the
idea of progressive wholes comprehending at each stage the lower wholes,
is justifiable. We associate with development range of adaptation, and
increased range of adaptation is the objective manifestation of increased
organisation of either physical or psychical powers. At each stage the
being comprehends a wider plurality, and the scale of being is capable of
gradation on this basis.
But is there _any_ unity which is not unity for a mind? If we say no,
there is no course open but to set over against our Whole a mind for
which it is one. This would be a finite God. Not being able to comprehend
a world that sums itself any more than a series of feelings that sum
themselves, I am unable to see how a pantheistic solution helps us. On
the contrary, if I conceived unity to be necessary to the existence of
the world, I should deduce from that unity the being of God, and admit
that the unity was not only known but also felt and willed, but I could
not admit that the world was the same as God, and therefore should not
admit that the will was omnipotent. Thus the mere assertion of unity
seems to lead us back into a transcendental dualism.
The conclusion of the whole matter is that unity is meaningless unless
that which is unified is unified by some mind. In the first instance the
unity will be that of _my_ mind, and we must start from that.
Now I take it that in my mind unity is the product of purpose. I do not
consciously unify, but I do consciously subordinate: the tendency is to
think in what respects the one is many rather than how the many can be
one. This is due to the primacy of our practical life, in which the end
is given with all its plurality implicit. In action this is obvious:
the end is first and the discovery of means subserves it. In the world
of things it may be less evident, but that which I call function is
ultimately the power to fulfil my end or purpose, and the object as I
know it is the manifestation in perception of the thing that has the
function. What it is to itself I cannot know and need not ask.
It seems to me futile to speak of all existence as animated, or talk of
the ‘experience of the atoms’ as Lotze does, if the nature of the whole
cannot be determined. It is only as parts of a whole that the parts have
any claim to these qualities, and if we fail to construct our whole so
as to get a new edition of the old doctrine of a world soul (which Lotze
confessedly aims to do) the consequences dependent on that proof must
fail also.
Human society, coming last, seems the culminating point of all
development, and a revelation of the significance of all lower forms of
life. In it we have the fullest exhibition of reciprocal activity. But
its unity is dependent on mind, and only a spurious analogy can enable
us to regard the universe as a society. If we are not tempted to think of
the material world as _associated_ atoms, we may yet feel an inclination
to regard it as teleologically designed; we should then have formal unity
of purpose among diverse actions. But here again it seems impossible to
show that there is one supreme end, unless the whole is a unity; or that
the whole is a unity, unless there is a supreme end. These ideas are so
far implicated that a plurality of being necessitates a plurality of
ends. It is equally wrong to reject or to accept teleology as usually
advocated. The ethical view is right in emphasising the fact that there
are ends in the world. But these ends arise with consciousness, are
brought by us into the world, and take their place as forces because our
mind directs our action. The hierarchy of ends is the ideal counterpart
of the hierarchy of wholes, and each whole which exists for a mind is
dominated by an end. But that there should be an end of ends seems
unnecessary: we do not seek to unify ends, we seek to multiply them in
their diversity: the progress of society is a perpetual production of
minds which become more concrete in every generation, each one more
capable of interpreting through itself the end for its society, and
thereby increasing the number of ends that are efficient factors in life.
Self-preservation is the root from which spring all ends, and if the
higher organism of society seems to have its need of preservation and its
end we must not forget that its existence depends largely on the extent
to which individuals realise themselves by negation. Is it conceivable
that for the end of ends negation is equally necessary? Leibnitz thought
so when he limited the existent to the compossible. We too may think
so if we admit that our totality has emerged from a crowd of possible
totalities by a species of selection. If we are not prepared to sublimate
our conceptions in this way but return to the world of unfulfilled
purposes and unsatisfied desires, let us bravely acknowledge that _all_
things need not work together for good, that for such adjustment as we do
achieve or help others to achieve we are grateful each to each, and each
to all; but at the same time
‘could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits, and then
Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?’
(3) In addition to these points of view we have in Lotze what may be
called a realistic element. To explain this is, I think, impossible:
to explain it away is unjustifiable. It is in opposition to Panlogism
that Lotze retains ‘nuclei,’ irreducible elements, in his system
of experience. This is the Leibnitzian factor retained against the
Spinozistic trend: it is also the Democritean element preserved through
Leibnitz for succeeding writers. No definition of these nuclei is
forthcoming: they are primarily reached from the standpoint that all
determination is not negation; that thought is a system of relations, but
reality includes over and above relations the relata.
To define these nuclei is impossible, because thought in its progress
moves away from the immediate point of contact given in sensation,
moves away from the stimulus in which they are revealed, and in working
up its material ignores existence in order to concentrate itself upon
significance. The nuclei are in this sense the irrational factors.
It is not necessary here to do more than draw attention to this point.
The preservation of these nuclei is of course one of the ways in which
Lotze defends the content of common consciousness against such idealistic
systems as seem to him to dissolve reality into the thin air of pure
thought. His general attitude toward this point must be understood by
reference to Kant’s views as expressed in the _Critique of Pure Reason_.
We must also bear in mind the fact that pluralism grounds itself in
some measure on the impenetrability of the individual consciousness, an
idea which leads us to think of individual minds as being to themselves
more than they can ever be to others. Hence the monad with its dual
existence, as it is in itself and as it is in other monads in which it
is represented. Hence, too, in more refined forms, the idea that to be
perfectly intelligible is not to be thought but to be thinkable, an idea
expressed by Lotze when he speaks of knowledge as a relation which would
be destroyed if the thinker could _be_ that which is thought, and wholly
absorbing into himself the object, exhaust not only the intelligibility
but also the being of that which is known.
Criticism of this view would lead us to consider the claims of a higher
unity. This criticism will not be attempted, for it is our immediate
purpose to accept Lotze as he is, and only indicate how he remains in
the mean position between the extremes of an idealism for which thought
seems to exhaust being and a realism for which thought seems to confront
an object only partly intelligible. The peculiar difficulty which Lotze
creates for us lies in the extent to which the idealism is carried. For
the nuclei certainly seem to be no more than nuclei of sensations, and it
is only in so far as these have a peculiar unity which is given to us by
the supersensible ground of objects, and not given by us to objects, that
they maintain the character of being more than phenomena. They cannot
be ‘matter’ in the crude sense, and if they are the matter of thought
they seem to be ultimately subjective affections in a sense that makes
it difficult to resist a progress toward pure idealism. Lotze’s refusal
to make the advance must be ascribed to his idea of the worth of the
individual, which is so bound up with the notion of consciousness that it
becomes necessary to re-interpret the idea of the nuclei on the analogy
of the individual consciousness as non-spatial units that maintain
themselves in a unity of co-operation without fusion.
The revulsion which invariably follows excessive systematisation seems
to indicate that if ever a ‘stable equilibrium’ is attained by thought,
it will have more of the character of the mean position than of either
extreme. For this reason a peculiar interest attaches to the line of
thought whose last great representative is Lotze. It may seem at first
sight paradoxical that realism should emerge finally as idealistic; but,
from the first, atomism combines with realism an idealistic element, and
the preponderance of idealism finally is a natural result due to the
character of our progress in the realm of thought.
Seeley has pointed out the way in which History has gradually refined
its content. At first it is a complicated mass such as we find it in the
times of Livy or Pliny: from this mass various elements detach themselves
and evolve into independence: natural history, for example, and political
economy are branches that have struck root and grow for themselves,
related to rather than dependent on the residuum which now takes the
place of the original whole. In a similar way the progress of the
sciences has slowly depleted philosophy of its original content and at
the same time defined its central elements and true scope. A comparison
between such a magnum opus as that of Gassendi and the worth of a modern
philosopher shows the effect of progressive specialisation. It suggests
also the question, What is to be ultimately the real matter of philosophy
in the strict sense?
The answer must be, in a sense, what it has always been, that philosophy
co-ordinates and systematises the results of the special sciences. There
is however a strong and not unjustifiable tendency to think that the
peculiar function of philosophy is the explanation of the possibility of
the objects with which the sciences deal: in other words, philosophy is
epistemology. In any case it seems clear that the duty of systematisation
which falls upon philosophy in no wise compels the philosopher to
unify his construction beyond the point which his material will admit.
That is to say, the emphasis must be on co-ordination rather than
systematisation, and philosophy mistakes its function if it in any
way undertakes to dictate results to the special sciences, as it has
notoriously done in some cases. We must, it seems, come back to the
view of philosophy as a dialectic of results, a sifting of ends. Above
all things, it must follow whithersoever the wind carries it, and not
pre-determine its haven in the face of all the forces upon which it
relies for progress.
Philosophy is then more than mere epistemology. But the epistemological
problem is undoubtedly its own peculiar centre. Upon the decision of
the nature of reality it centres its vital energies, and on this point
we seem to-day to have arrived at a temporary decision that ‘idealism
based on realism’ is the position which must be accepted for the present,
though we may hope it is not the last standpoint.
The reason why no further progress is possible is that as yet the
‘nucleus,’ as Lotze understood it, remains unresolved. However much may
be done to show that objects are ideal, that the ultimate is a unit ideal
in its character, the fact remains that the unity characteristic of an
existent thing is always a unity whose actuality does not come from
the subjective side. It need not be disputed that a thing is a complex
of universals; but this cannot blind us to the fact that the reason
for any one object being _this particular_ complex is to be found in a
determination _of_ our activity which comes to us, in perception, and
does not go forth from us.
The realistic element then must not be overlooked or ignored. But to
advocate realism is not to advocate materialism in any form. This may
be taken as self-evident. The formula, ‘no object without a subject,’ is
the last word on that point. But neither is the advocacy of an idealism
based on realism any ground for reaching a monism on the idealistic side.
In one of its aspects, the formula quoted above means no unity without a
consciousness for which the unity exists. And while materialism generates
its peculiar monism by ignoring this, idealism advances to its monism
by an equal denial of the truth of the formula only obscured by greater
subtlety. For extreme idealism expresses the unity of the whole under
the form of thought unifying itself, which involves the presentation
of thought to thought, or a thought that thinks itself. It is only in
default of an attempt to work out this idea that it seems plausible. On
further consideration it becomes a regress to infinity just as much as
the constitution of a whole by presentation to the mind of God proved an
infinite process. The question of the reality of time is the inner point
which wrecks idealism of this type. For the assertion of timeless thought
is a deduction from the concept of what _such a totality_ would be _if
there were_ such a totality. In experience however we find a sequence
of events which is not a mere logical interdependence, but an actual
order. Time may, and I think we are safe in saying must, be regarded as
subjective; but order in time implies over and above the subjective form
an extra-subjective determination.
These subjects are large, and deserve further elaboration. For the
present I only desire to indicate some of the reasons which seem to
force one back from the extremes to a middle course of some kind. To
define that middle course properly, it would be necessary to write a
metaphysic. Gassendi would help but little, for two obvious reasons: he
has no epistemology, and his idealistic tendencies are too embryonic,
as they were bound to be so long as he could neither estimate the
significance of the possibility of objects nor make up his mind as to the
nature of time and space. As I have indicated above, criticism finds him
an easy victim from this point of attack. His weaknesses are apparent;
the interesting point about his work is the way in which it defines
problems still unsolved.
If we look in modern philosophy for a match to Gassendi, we shall
probably find the nearest approach to one in G. H. Lewes. His ‘Reasoned
Realism’ is very much akin to ‘Empirical Realism,’ as used above of
Gassendi (_v._ _Problems of Life and Mind_, I. 176). Spencer’s position
is defined by Lewes as ‘Transfigured Realism’ (p. 192), ‘for that
theory professes to be a theory of Perception, and declares Perception
to be symbolical; whereas, according to the Principles here expounded,
Perception being the resultant of two factors, internal and external, the
conclusion deduced is that the object thus felt exists precisely as it is
felt: existing for us only in Feeling, its reality is what we feel....
Perception, because it is a resultant, not a symbol, does not alter the
Real: on the contrary, the object only _is_ to us what we feel it to
be—it exists in that relation.’ Lewes’ language is somewhat inaccurate:
a few lines lower he says, ‘this particular thing in this particular
relation is what it is in this relation, _i.e._ what it is felt to be.’
Here ‘thing’ is put in place of ‘object,’ and which of the two terms
should be used I cannot say: if Lewes meant ‘thing,’ the position is very
like Gassendi’s; shall we say ‘no better than Gassendi’s’? If he means
that ‘thing’ and ‘object’ are identical (except in so far as the thing
has _more_ relations than it realises with us), the position is one that
Gassendi might have endorsed: for that the real is the existent which
reveals itself to the senses, and has more reality (in its unrelated
self) than our senses are adequate to, is just what he tries to say.
But we cannot extend to Lewes the consideration which Gassendi deserves
on account of his disadvantages. When Lewes says ‘the object thus felt
exists precisely as it is felt,’ he is simply refunding into both terms
of the relation the product of their relatedness: he might just as well
say that hydrogen and oxygen have each of them all the properties of
water. It may be true that perception does not, as a process, alter, that
is vitiate, reality; but that statement leaves it open to us to regard
the perception as a development of the real grounds of perception and, as
such, a process vital to the real. In trying to get away from the notion
that being phenomenal is being unreal, Lewes has fallen into the other
pit and proves that perception has no real ground: for if reality does
not develope in perception, its indifference amounts to nonexistence.
With Lewes perception seems to be a relation in which both terms are
indifferent, and that is not conceivable. If perception involves a
subjective advance from mere sensation to definite apprehension, it must
also involve an objective advance from the mere stimulus to the true
object.
Gassendi would be in principle nearer to Lewes than to Spencer on the
question of perception. It is interesting to think over the points
of resemblance between the _Synthetic_ Philosophy and the _Syntagma_
Philosophicum. The scheme is so similar: the matter so different. The
progress of two centuries is condensed in their differences. But the
critical question of the nature of the object-in-itself seems to receive
an answer from Spencer less acceptable than that of Gassendi. We are
however precluded from discussion upon details by a primary difference
which completely swamps all similarity. This consists in the deductive
character of Spencer’s synthetic philosophy. In contrast to this
Gassendi’s method is reductive. It is indeed true that Spencer gives away
his deduction by omitting that most important element, the transition
from inorganic to organic: on consideration however it will be clear that
the deduction has really failed to vitally connect _any_ higher stage
with a lower. If the deduction were really successful at any point the
evolutionary doctrine could have passed from a method to a theory, and
attained that intuitive insight which, as Leibnitz foresaw, would make
it _prophetic_. Spencer was overweighted with the possibilities of a
doctrine of Force: Gassendi was saved from that, possibly by absence of
temptation.
We cannot afford to overlook in modern philosophy the recognition which
scholasticism is receiving. The best scholastic philosophy was marked
by a firm grasp on certain ultimate points and by clear if somewhat
formal definitions. Its relation to religion put it in close contact
with the deepest thought of all ages, while it tended to keep aloof
the encroaching sciences. While therefore it erred in dogmatically
asserting itself as an authority in spheres over which its formulae had
no jurisdiction either by nature or origin, it at the same time retained
intact, by force of circumstances, what modern philosophy is striving to
redeem from the grasp of an apparently all-victorious science. The points
which it thus retained, uncritically but resolutely, were the reality of
the spiritual and the necessity of a creator.
The creative factor we still must have. The concept of God is one of
those concepts which successive ages refine. But however much we refine
the idea, it cannot be wholly refined away. The elimination of sensuous
and imaginative elements is only a purification: as culture advances,
the construction which we put upon the idea advances from the crudeness
of anthropomorphism to other forms which correspond to the higher mental
level of the race. And as at one extreme the concept of God, so at the
other the concept of matter is perpetually refined and re-edited. But
neither seems as yet to have reached the vanishing point, and however
comprehensive our scheme of development, it retains the three movements
of a given which developes, a form of development which implies more than
mere mechanism, and a mind without which the development cannot have come
to its recognition.
The first is the matter. The second is the possibility of being
intelligible, which must be reluctantly allowed. The third is mind. As
regards the second, it must not be over-emphasised at present. To assert
that the given is purely intelligible overlooks faults; to assert that
it is intelligence, leads to confusion. For while it might be called
‘intelligible’ through and through, if we had any knowledge of a mind for
which it was thus intelligible, in the absence of such knowledge we have
to confess that what is not given to our intelligence as intelligence is
as much an unintelligible as though there were no such mind. And this
limitation to which the absence of any omniscience which we can show
forces us, leaves an irrational element which is foreign to us, however
much we prophesy its final elimination.
The attempt to remove this from the ethical side is premature. The
ethical import of the whole is not a valid ground for universal
statements, so long as the whole is not given as such. A view which
makes the whole a self-revelation of a Divine mind moves in a circle,
constructing the concept of that mind to support its own correlative,
the Whole viewed as a One intelligible and ethical in character. It is
sounder to regard ethical characteristics as not ‘cosmic,’ else our
will and our thought must be regarded as identical with that which we
attribute to God, whereas Spinoza’s determination of the voluntas and
cognitio Dei as only negatively determinable, must be regarded as the
true logical position.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Gassendi says Epicurus was neither ‘Primus nec solus qui Atomos
defenderit.’ Others are Moschus—‘de quo Empiricus et Strabo etiam
ante bellum Troianum’—Leucippus, Democritus, Metrodorus, Ecphantus,
Pythagoreus, Empedocles, Heracleitus, Plato (qui Empedoclis instar,
elementa composuit ex particulis prae exilitate inconspicuis),
Xenocrates, Asclepiades, Heraclides, Diodorus, Artemidorus, Mnesitheus,
alii’ (VI. 160). Truly a cloud of witnesses.
[2] For Leucippus _v._ Burnet, _Early Greek Philosophy_.
[3] Wallace, _Epicureanism_, p. 6.
[4] _Ibid._ p. 16.
[5] Usually called ‘free-will,’ but see p. 230, Note on Declination.
[6] _v._ Note, p. 239.
[7] W. Wallace, _Epicureanism_.
[8] The following anecdote given by Sorbière illustrates Gassendi’s love
of first-hand evidence: ‘ut suspicionem autem prorsus amoliretur quam
de canali Cholidocho habuerat, quem Chylodochum dicere maluerat, equos,
in quibus omnino deficit, introspicere voluit. Et memini offendisse me
aliquando euntem cum Martello, saeviente admodum hieme, ad loca illa in
quae deportari solent viarum purgamenta et trahi equorum cadavera quae
plura, soluto pretio aperiri jussit’ (Gassendi, _Op. Omnia_, vol. I.,
Preface).
[9] F. Bouillier, _Histoire de la Philosophie Cartésienne_, quoted by
Thomas, p. 14. Thomas also quotes the following address to the ‘Lords
of Mount Parnassus,’ written by Boileau, which gives some interesting
sidelights on the opinions with which the _Exercitationes_ were received:
‘Supplient humblement les maîtres ès arts, proffesseurs régens de
l’Université de Paris; disant qu’il est de notorieté publique que c’est
le sublime et incomparable Aristote qui est sans conteste le premier
fondateur des quatre premiers éléments, le feu, l’air, l’eau et la terre
...; et quoique pendant plusieurs siècles il ait été maintenu d’un commun
consentement dans une paisible possession de tous ses droits, néanmoins
depuis quelques années en-çà, deux particulières, nommées la Raison et
l’Expérience, se sont liguées ensemble pour s’ériger un trône sur les
ruines de son autorité; et pour parvenir plus adroitement à leurs fins
ont excité certains esprits fâcheux, qui sous les noms de Cartistes et
de Gassendistes ont commencé à secouer le joug du seigneur Aristote....
Ce consideré, Nosseigneurs, il vous plaise ordonner ... que Gassendi,
Descartes, Rohant, etc., et leurs adhérents seront conduits à Athènes et
condamnés d’y faire amende honorable devant tout la Grèce....’ (p. 9.)
[10] Gassendi was one of the first after the revival of letters who
treated the literature of philosophy in a lively way. His writings
of this kind, though too laudatory and somewhat diffuse, have great
merit. They abound in those anecdotal details, natural yet not obvious
reflexions, and vivacious turns of thought which made Gibbon style
him, with some extravagance certainly, though it was true enough up to
Gassendi’s time: ‘Le meilleur philosophe des litterateurs et le meilleur
litterateur des philosophes’ (_Encycl. Britt._, ‘Gassendi,’ vol. X.).
Ritter (_Geschichte der Philosophie_, X. 544), speaking of Gassendi’s
encyclopaedic knowledge, says, ‘Nicht ohne Grund hat Bayle von ihm
gesagt, er sei unter den Philologen der grösste Philosoph, unter den
Philosophen der grösste Philolog gewesen,’ which looks like the prototype
of Gibbon’s remark.
[11] I. 31. ‘objectum, seu tanquam scopus Intellectui propositus sit
Verum: objectum, seu scopus Voluntati propositus sit Bonum.’
[12] I. 31. ‘Quanquam et quia Regulae huiusmodi generales sunt, ideo
inservire intellectui non modo ad scientiam naturae, sed etiam ad omnem
omnino cognitionem possunt.’
[13] I. 33. ‘nam simul ac res nominatur, obversari nobis in mente
experimur illarum imagines, in quas veluti intuamur.’
[14] ‘C’est en s’appuyant sur ces déclarations, d’ailleurs formelles,
que les logiciens de Port-Royal et beaucoup de critiques à leur suite,
ont rangé Gassendi parmi les sensualistes. Nous verrons bientôt ce qu’il
faut penser de ce jugement lorsque, nous plaçant non plus au point de
vue psychologique, nous étudierons de plus près la formation de nos
connaissons, et chercherons à déterminer avec plus de précision le rôle
exact des deux facteurs dont elles dépendent: l’expérience et la raison’
(P. Félix Thomas, _La Philosophie de Gassendi_ (Paris, 1889), p. 38).
_v._ p. 13, note.
[15] I. 54. ‘impressa quaedam animo rei definitio’: ‘nisi talem quampiam
_animo deformatam_ habeamus.’
[16] I. 67.
[17] I. 68.
[18] I. 69. ‘non criterium, est enim potius crites.’
[19] I. 81. This equals the distinction of τεκμήριον and σημεῖον.
[20] Cp. Ritter, _Geschichte der Philosophie_, X. 545-555.
[21] I. 84.
[22] How is this to be understood? In a letter to Valerius (VI. 151,
dated 1642) Gassendi says: ‘id ipsum est quod alii dicunt nihil esse
in Intellectu quod prius non fuerit in sensu; insinuaturque interim ut
in sensu praefuerint quae videntur nunquam transisse per sensum.’ In
respect of God he says: ‘quas habemus species huiusmodi rerum, non esse
absque analogia ad res, ut corporeas sic sensu perceptas.’ This seems to
interpret the formula as meaning ‘all human thought is sensuous,’ which
is hardly half-way to Condillac.
[23] _v._ p. 4.
[24] Gassendi uses this example to explain the distinction between
logica utens and docens. To learn to count is merely to learn a method,
good enough in itself but useless by itself, and only acquired in order
that it may be applied to things. To go on with thought-processes in
abstraction is like multiplying a number by itself ad infinitum; the
result is _true_ but _true of nothing_: hence he insists on the return to
experience as being a process of verification. The inner significance of
mathematical reasoning does not seem to have struck Gassendi; he merely
sees that the assertion ‘twice two is four’ means that if two things have
been given me twice I _ought_ to have four; whether I have or not is a
contingent fact that requires immediate experience for its verification.
In both cases, mathematics and logic, we seem primarily to work with
ideas divorced from things; but does this divorce extend to the ideas
which are intuitively guaranteed? Gassendi apparently thinks it does, for
even the idea of God is ‘verified’ in the content of experience.
[25] Cp. p. xi.
[26] I. 138.
[27] I. 141. ‘Nam fatendum est quidem convinci demonstrationi non posse,
non esse mundos praeter hunc alios: quando profitemur potuisse et posse
adhuc condere Deum alios innumerabileis.... At vero tueri aliunde plureis
mundos reipsa esse, praeter rationem omnino est.’
[28] I. 155.
[29] ‘Plerique ... fatentur esse vim quandam per totum mundum sic
diffusam parteisque eius continentem cuiusmodi in Animali est Anima.’
[30] This is Gassendi’s interpretation of Plato’s phrase, νοῦς
μὲν ἐν ψυχῇ, ψυχήν δὲ ἐν σώματι (_Timaeus_, 30 B). ‘Stallbaum,’
says Archer-Hind (_Timaeus_, p. 93), ‘following the misty light of
neo-platonic inspiration, says of ψυχή, media est inter corpora atque
mentem.’ In _Timaeus_, 36 E, we are told God constructed body within
soul: hence νοῦς, ψυχή, and σῶμα were conceived as each including the
other, like three concentric circles, with νοῦς comprehending ψυχή, ψυχή
comprehending σῶμα. The relation of this to the view that ‘νοῦς is simply
the activity of ψυχή according to her own proper nature’ (Archer-Hind),
is obvious if not orthodox: for νοῦς can think ψυχή but not vice versa,
includes but is not included by ψυχή.
[31] Cf. p. 226.
[32] ‘It might almost be supposed that the following lines were written
by one of our own contemporaries: they are, however, extracted from a
chapter of Avicenna on the origin of mountains. This author was born
in the tenth century. Mountains may be due to two causes. Either they
are effects of upheavals of the crust of the earth, such as might occur
during a violent earthquake, or they are the effect of water, which,
cutting for itself a new route, has denuded the valleys, the strata
being of different kinds, some soft, some hard. The winds and waters
disintegrate the one, but leave the other intact. Most of the eminences
of the earth have had this latter origin. It would require a long
period of time for all such changes to be accomplished, during which
the mountains themselves might be somewhat diminished in size. But that
water has been the main cause of these effects is proved by the existence
of fossil remains of aquatic and other animals on many mountains’ (_The
Intellectual Development of Europe_, Draper, I. 410). Gassendi at least
affects a knowledge of Avicenna, and frequently refers to him.
[33] Gassendi would allow both the assertions, namely—(1) Reality is
wider than Thought; (2) Thought is wider than Reality. The former is
correct, because knowledge is a relation, and there is no a priori reason
why all the existent should be in that relation. Since the relation
does not constitute the being of anything, that may be which is not
thus related; in other words, the knowable may include the unknown (not
unknowable) as well as the known. The latter is also correct, because we
may outrun our data and assert our subjective (imaginative) constructions
as real.
[34] It is perhaps necessary to point out that subjective does not
mean ‘mental’: there is no ‘mentalism’ at this stage of the history of
thought: the subjective is ‘the work of the mind,’ and is practically
always limited to the work of the _Imagination_. This is why we find so
much confusion in the interpretation of philosophies which belong to
this period of transition. It is frequently the case that the work of
the mind as reason is considered unimpeachable, while the work of the
mind as imagination is the source of constructions which may be, as we
still say, ‘put upon’ things. The phrase here means that an imaginative
construction is not necessarily _more_ than imaginative. It seems strange
that after his comprehension of the futility of abstract counting (p.
712) Gassendi should not have avoided this error. But Space, in spite of
being a substance, so combines plurality and unity (for many spaces are
one space) that Gassendi lost his way.
[35] This is a definite logical principle derived from Epicurus, _v._ p.
3, Canon iii.
[36] Space, then, is perceived by sense in so far as it is given with
body. The question might be asked, Would an animal, having sense only,
perceive space? I imagine Gassendi would have no answer to that: the a
priori objectivity of space and the possibility of a sensitive organism
that did not think would both be endangered by its discussion.
[37] I. 220. Gassendi quotes from the _Confessions_: ‘Si nemo ex me
quaerat quid sit Tempus, scio: si quaerenti explicare velim, nescio.’
[38] I. 223. ‘Jam vero neque Epicurus videtur posse dicere esse diem,
noctemque aut longam aut brevem ab eo tempore quod cogitatione ipsi
affingimus.’ The reference is to Diogenes Laertius, x. Cp. I. 222.
‘Videntur porro Stoici melius quam ipse Epicurus sensisse, reputantes
Tempus tale incorporeum, quod per se esse intelligatur, non tale quod
accidat rebus, eo sensu ut Tempus non foret, si res non essent, quae eo
durarent, aut nisi etiam nostra mens durare ipsas cogitaret.’
[39] I. 223. ‘Appositum est magis comparare Tempus cum Lucernae flamma,
cuius esse ita in fluxu consistit, ut quovis momento alia ac alia sit, et
nusquam sit amplius quaecumque ante fuit, nusquam adhuc sit, quaecumque
est futura.’
[40] I. 224. ‘Ut Locus secundum se totum est illimitatus, sic Tempus
secundum se totum nec principium nec finem habet.’
The syntax here shows that we must not call Time a Whole, but say, ‘time
regarded as a whole.’
[41] _Ibid._ ‘Ut quodlibet Temporis momentum idem est in omnibus
locis—ita quaelibet Loci portio omnibus temporibus subest.’
[42] His reference to Posidonius must therefore be read as meaning that
the present is a piece of real Time, a quantity of duration forming a
unit, not a ‘saddle-back’ of time; and the whole is therefore an infinite
multiplication of finite parts. In Time atomism finds a particularly
intractable item.
[43] If it were not so far from Gassendi’s general position, this
point would deserve further consideration. Modern psychology utilizes
this distinction of quality and quantity in order to correlate the
time-reference contained in an act of memory with the time-expanse of the
experience remembered. This line of thought is entirely useless for the
explanation of Gassendi, because it is not the nature of thought but the
nature of real time that he is trying to explain. His position therefore
leaves him with an existence that has a Time but no times, the whole
without the parts. Timeless thought may or may not be more intelligible,
but it is certainly not Gassendi’s present topic.
[44] I. 234.
[45] Atomi proinde non puncta sed tenuissima corpuscula sunt praeditique
adeo tantula magnitudine quae sit principium et quasi radix magnitudinis
omnium corporum.
[46] Inane vero solum locum discriminationemque ministrat.
[47] I. 335. ‘Atomi ob sui cuiusque figuram ac molem aut liberiores,
solutioresque sint et sese facilius ab irretientibus extricent
faciliusque vias inveniant quibus per corpus discurrentes inque
haerentiores partes impingentes motum imprimant.’
[48] I. 337. ‘Planius ergo dici videtur cum in unaquaque re principium
actionis et motus sit pars illa mobilissima, actuosissimaque et
quasi flos totius materiae quae et ipsa sit quam Formam solent
dicere, et haberi possit quasi tenuissima contextura subtilissimarum,
mobilissimarumque Atomorum; ideo primam causam moventem in Physicis rebus
esse Atomos: quod dum ipsae per se, et juxta vim a suo authore ab initio
usque acceptam moventur, motum omnibus rebus praebeant sintque adeo
omnium quae in Natura sunt motuum, origo, principium et causa.’
This quotation shows that Gassendi is confused. Motion in _bodies_
he attributes to the perpetual interaction of their parts, which is
possible, because some are finer than others. But the original motion
is in the Atom, which, as we have seen, being what it is cannot have
motion. To Gassendi this difficulty seems to be overcome by saying God
gave the motion to the Atoms. Gassendi’s atom is an ultimate, not only in
the sense of being the last in analysis, but also as the point at which
physical explanation collapses.
[49] I. 340.
[50] I. 346.
[51] Cp. I. 266. ‘Praeter hanc substantiam seu identitatem mavis seu
similitudinem dicere, attribuantur Atomis qualitates quaedam, sive
accidentia, quorum, ut jam ante insinuavimus, alia sunt Inseparabilia,
ἀχώριστα (sic enim Plutarchus), et Lucretio Conjuncta vulgo Propria
appellitentur; alia separabilia, et Lucretio Eventa, vulgo accidentia
communia dicantur: ideo sciendum est, agi heic non de separabilibus,
eventisve, qualia sunt concursus, connexio, positio, ordo, etc., sed de
inseparabilibus, conjunctisve, seu dicere malis, proprietatibus’ [_e.g._
magnitude, figure, weight].
[52] I. 374.
[53] _I.e._ implanted by God ab initio.
[54] I. 387.
[55] The difference between ‘potestate’ and ‘potentia’ should be noticed.
[56] ‘Pythagoras, Plato, Aristoteles apud Plutarchum fecere sonum
incorporeum.’ This was due to their considering the configuration of the
air the essence of sound: they took figure ‘profunditatis expertem,’ or
abstractly.
[57] I. 426.
[58] The English word ‘vision’ has exactly the double meaning (act
of seeing, thing seen) which expresses the problem that troubled the
ancients.
[59] Nehemiah Grew, whose investigations developed the idea of sex in
plants, was born in 1628, and did not publish his work until 1681. It is
improbable that Gassendi had an accurate knowledge of the subject, though
possibly it was ‘in the air.’
[60] ‘Perspicit abunde sagacitas tua, quo dicere sensu cum Sapiente
potuerim “nihil esse sub sole novum.” Quare et lubens tibi subscribo dum
argumentaris nova esse omnia, ob continentem, quae in rebus observitatur,
mutationem’ (_Ep. L. Valesio_, 1647, vi. 264).
[61] This must be taken with a limitation. The actual ultimate is not the
atom but the ‘semina rerum,’ _i.e._ atoms qualified to enter into any
combination of a given kind. The process of Generation is ‘assimilation,’
or reunion of like with like, a process of selection as well as
combination.
[62] I. 468. ‘Respondent potestatem materiae respectu Formae duplicem
esse, unam eductivam, quatenus forma potest vi agentis ex illa educi:
aliam receptivam quatenus potest eandem forman ex se eductam recipere:
sicque materiam utraque hac potentia formam continere. Ac primum
continere aliquid eductivâ potentiâ nihil aliud est quam habere actu in
se, quod possit exinde educi. Ita crumena, in qua sunt actu decem aurei,
dicetur illos continere eductivâ potentiâ, quatenus inde educi possint:
nam alioquin, nisi actu in se haberet, ii ex ea educi non possent, neque
crumena dici posset continere eductivâ potentiâ.’
[63] ‘Quamobrem calor quidem et frigus conferre interdum ad maturiorem
coitionem indurationemque possunt aliquid, at debet esse praeterea
vis quaedam lapidifica, quam et seminalem dicere nihil vetat ... est
praeterea vis seminalis quae ex preparata materia tam plantam quam pullum
delineet: ita quo lapides formentur debet omnino praeter calorem aliudve
agens extrinsecum esse interior quaedam vis quae conformationem moliatur
et seminalis censeri possit’ (II. 114).
[64] ‘videri esse in magnete ac ferro vim quandam analogam sensui: id
nempe propter attractionem haud absimilem Animali. Nam ut Animal specie
quadam objecti externi perculsum, ipsum statim appetit, et ad illud
rapitur: ita minor magnes ac ferrum quamprimum maioris sive potentioris
magnetis specie percellitur, appetitu quodam rapitur ad ipsum. Certe
ut sensibile objectum non.... Et ut objectum sensibile per immissam
speciem convertit trahitque ad se animam quae vi sua corpus quantumvis
crassum una versus objectum transfert: ita et magnes per transfusam
speciem videtur ad se convertere trahereque ipsam quasi animam (seu
florem substantiae) ferri, quae sua vi totam ferri massam versus magnetem
una abripiat.... Quare ut hoc modo subingressa speciei corpuscula in
substantiam animae (partisve sentientis ipsius) illam ita sollicitant
ut non sine quodam impetu in objectum feratur: ita videntur corpuscula
speciei magnetis subingressa ferri quasi animam, ipsius corpuscula sic
evolvere et in magnetem convertere ut hac ratione sollicitata impetum
vegetum in magnetem concipiat et quod amplius est etiam parem speciem
illico diffundat.’
[65] II. 144.
[66] We now speak of animated pictures as well as animated nature!
[67] II. 231.
[68] I say ‘in some degree intellectual’ without forgetting that the
tendency of much of our modern psychological writing is to go beyond what
we should ordinarily call intellectual phenomena. In spite of this, and
in spite of our ‘animal psychology’ (which is largely engaged in proving
its own possibility) and our treatment of subconscious phenomena, not to
mention our phrenology and our analysis of adolescence, we have not yet
got to the point at which we could speak of an active principle which did
nothing but control digestion, as a ‘soul.’
[69] This would not be admissible in all cases. Some thought that the
possession of Anima constituted a degree of dignity which could not be
attributed to all creatures, an opinion which was due to the tendency
to confuse the Anima Mundi with God, and a consequent repugnance to
including in the Anima Mundi beings not worthy of the heaven of the
elect. Hence the term Anima came to mean soul in the sense in which it is
used in the phrase, ‘the soul that sinneth it shall die.’ For that class
of thinker animals must be automata.
[70] Cp. with the account of Epicurus the following remarks by Gassendi
(II. 248-250): ‘Epicurus probably made the atoms of the soul round: he
does not seem to have said what they were so much as what they were
_not_: Lucretius says “fugiens nil corporis aufert,” which dematerialises
the concept: “ad haec memorant Plutarchus et alii Epicurum non fecisse
simplicem Animae naturam sed esse voluisse κρᾶμα ἐκ τεσσάρων, ἐκ ποιοῦ
πυρώδους, ἐκ ποιοῦ ἀερώδους, ἐκ ποιοῦ πνευματικοῦ, ἐκ τετάρτου τινὸς
ἀκατανομάστου ὃ ἦν αὐτῷ αἰσθητικόν[*] (Stob. _Ecl. Phys._ p. 798),
temperatum quid ex quibusdam quattuor nempe ex quodam igneo, ex quodam
aereo, ex quodam flatuoso, ex quarto quodam innominato quod ipsi est
sentiendi vis”: the four mix in such a way as to produce a one (inde fiat
una quaedam substantia). We see from this passage (1) that the matter
is defined so as to be practically immaterial; (2) that a substance
is introduced simply to explain that which the others do not explain,
sentience; (3) there is no suggestion of direct perception of a soul: it
is an inference, relying mainly on an induction from the data of a living
and a dead body by a method of differences. The Logic of the argument is
curious. It is said, a dead body is not lighter than a living body, hence
the soul has no weight: a dead body does not feel, hence the soul is that
which has feeling, etc. These two arguments alone would prove (1) that
there was no soul, or else that it stayed in the body, and (2) that death
is loss of feeling—not of a soul that feels. The assumption of the soul
made these “proofs” pass muster; but it is obvious that it would change
the position very little indeed if we left out the soul as it is and
confined ourselves to what it does.’
[*] Gass. sic. τοῦτο δ’ ἦν Ritter et Preller 384.
[71] II. 250. ‘Principio vero distinguendum inter Animam Hominis
Animaliumque aliorum est: et cum operosior res sit circa Animam
Hominis, ideo videtur prius dicendum de caeterorum Anima, ut de qua
Mentis immortalis experte et philosophari liberius, et falli minore cum
periculo liceat.’ It should be noted (1) that Gassendi expressly says he
will take for examination the Anima, ‘quae sit in perfecto, sanguineo,
respiranteque animali,’ and what is said of this will be true of all;
(2) that Gassendi obviously thinks that what is said about the Anima not
conjoined with Mens will be true of the composite Anima and mind. In both
cases therefore the difference is in the function, not the substance,
for, as nothing is subtracted in lower forms, so nothing is added in the
higher.
[72] II. 281. _I.e._ because if we could say at such and such a time that
the offspring is without the anima, and then afterwards that it now has
the Anima, the soul must be educed from nothing. The whole passage is
very interesting, but too long to quote. Writing in 1629 to ‘D. Thomae
Fieno, in Inclyta Louaniensi Academia, Professori Medico Primario,’
Gassendi speaks as though he had already made up his mind on the point.
At first, he says, I thought the child derived its Anima from the
parent, being only an offshoot, like the cutting from a tree (juvabat me
exemplum rami resecti ex salice). But this clashed with the testimony
of the Scriptures, while it was supported by the evidences of heredity;
so the only solution was to acknowledge that the Anima was twofold, and
say the Anima sensitiva is ex parente, the Anima rationalis was created
and ‘poured in’ by God, ‘statim atque decisione facta, seu foetus seu
seminis, rationalis Anima Parentis seu foetum seu semen informare
desineret’ (VI. 19). This statement is at once more orthodox and dogmatic
than that in the _Syntagma_. The real reason for distinguishing the being
of the Anima rationalis is the need for a position that will combine the
facts of heredity with the truth of immortality.
[73] Cp. with Gassendi’s words what Lotze says in his _Outlines of
Psychology_ (§ 81): ‘At the place where, and at the moment when, the germ
of an organic being is formed amid the coherent system of the physical
course of nature, this fact furnishes the incitement or moving reason
which induces the all-comprehending One to beget from himself, as a
supplement to such physical fact, the soul belonging to this organism.’
[74] Alteratio, cp. Stoic., ἑτεροίωσις.
[75] II. 330.
[76] non aliquid immitti, sed remitti potius repellive videtur: spiritus
nempe nervis contentus. Bernier translates this by ‘rebondissement.’
[77] περὶ ψυχῆς 424_a_: ἡ μὲν αἴσθησις ἐστι τὸ δεκτικὸν τῶν αἰσθητῶν
εἰδῶν ἄνευ τῆς ὕλης.
[78] This is the passage quoted by Masson (_v._ p. 117). Clearly it has
a different meaning in its context from that which Masson gives it by
taking it out of that context.
[79] _Met._ 1072. b. 20.
[80] II. 398.
[81] II. 405.
[82] II. 440.
[83] This is not the question of opposition between the sun as it is and
as it appears, but of the limits to imaginative reproduction.
[84] II. 450.
[85] II. 447. ‘videtur mens nostra, seu Rationalis anima donec degit
in corpore, non aliis uti speciebus quam iis quas corpus subministrat,
quaeque in Phantasia resident: ac tum dumtaxat pari cum Angelis
conditione evadere, cum excedenti a corpore, ac Angelorum instar futurae
separatae, Deus indit species eiusmodi rerum, quas nosse eius interest,
sive ignoratae in corpore fuerint, sive eae sint quarum cognitarum
meminisse sit opus.’ It is therefore a bare soul that arrives in Heaven,
and Gassendi at least means that only in Heaven can we have an actus
purus.
[86] Si notiora et manifestiora sunt, alicui ergo facultati cognoscenti
eiusmodi sunt, dici enim quid notum, dici manifestum nisi respectu eius
cui innotescat manifestaturque, non potest.
[87] Cp. Bradley, _Ethical Studies_, on Lust.
[88] Thomas: _Gassendi_, p. 194.
[89] II. 505.
[90] II. 520.
[91] Max Müller, _Science of Language_, II. 382: ‘And this, better
than anything else, will, I think, explain the strong objection which
comparative philologists feel to what I called the Bow-wow and the
Pooh-pooh theories, names which, I am sorry to see, have given great
offence, but in framing which, I can honestly say, I thought more of
Epicurus than of living writers, and meant no offence to either.’
_Ibid._ 398: ‘Even Epicurus, who is reported to have said that in the
first formation of language men acted unconsciously, moved by nature ...
admitted that this would only account for one half the language, and that
some agreement must have taken place before language really began.’ The
‘reported to have said’ refers us to Proclus ad Plat. _Crat._ p. 9: ὁ
γὰρ Ἐπίκουρος ἔλεγεν ὅτι οὐχι ἐπιστημόνως οὗτοι ἔθεντο τὰ ὀνόματα, ἀλλὰ
φυσικῶς κινούμενοι, ὡς οἱ βήσσοντες καὶ πταίροντες καὶ μυκώμενοι καὶ
ὑλακτοῦντες καὶ στενάζοντες.
[92] II. 551.
[93] This is one of the finest passages in Gassendi. The chemists, he
says, would laugh at a surgeon who said the body could only be divided
as far as anatomy divides it: they would say ‘_we_ can divide still
further’; but ‘quemadmodum sit tibi chirurgus ineptus ... sic ipse
videaris futurus ineptus ... ineptus, inquam, ipsi Naturae.’ Even this
more penetrating analysis cannot get to the bottom of things: ‘utcunque
ergo nactus sis huiuscemodi quod dissolvat agens, non magis tamen nactus
es agens quod ab eo secreta compingat, quam chirurgus ille organum quod
parteis scalpello secretas adunet. Atqui est praeterea in Natura agens
quod compingat coadunetque.’
(adunare is Gassendi’s technical term for the producing of unity by
composition: it really denotes more than compingere, indicating the view
of the result as a whole, while compingere remains at the point of view
of the parts as being welded together.)
[94] II. 558. ‘neque intellectus, tanquam praeeunte face destitutus
penetrare suo acumine potest in illorum substantiam.’
‘Sensibus destituimur quibus praeeuntibus Intellectus sua acutie
principia huiuscemodi deprehendat, assequatur, prolustret, introspiciat’
(559).
[95] II. 557.
[96] ‘nullo non sacculo Natura illud homini insusurret aut potius
inclamet,
‘Tecum habita et noris quam sit tibi curta suppellex.’
But ‘nihil sit desperandum de humani ingenii sagacitate,’ II. 560.
[97] II. 695.
[98] With this idea of the plebeian mind seeking praeter lucrum nihil
there is a close parallel in Ruskin, _Crown of Wild Olive_, § 32: ‘In
every nation there are a vast class who are ill-educated, cowardly, and
more or less stupid. And with these people just as certainly the fee is
first and the work second, as with brave people the work is first and the
fee second.’
[99] ‘non voluit Epicurus tranquillitatem esse quasi merum torporem, sed
voluit potius esse statum in quo omnes vitae actiones placide simul et
jucunde peragerentur’ (II. 716).
[100] This is meant purely metaphorically: it has however been suggested
that Epicurus’ mode of life was a ‘dietetic experiment.’
[101] II. 729-730.
[102] II. 770.
[103] II. 795. ‘Itaque quicquid sit de illa seu suppositione seu
fictione status, in quo seu Epicurus seu alii vixisse aliquando dicunt
primos homines, tam esse profecto videtur ipsa societas hominum, quam
illorum est origo antiqua: ac non eo quidem solum modo quo bruta generis
eiusdem sociabilia inter se sunt, verum illo etiam, quo quatenus sunt
et intelligentes et ratione praediti, agnoscunt non posse ullam inter
se societatem esse securam nisi ea conventionibus pactisque mutuis
constabiliatur.’
[104] Voigt (_Jus. Nat._ vol. ii. 661) distinguishes Jus civile, Jus
gentium, and Jus naturale as the systems which applied respectively to
the citizen, the freeman, and the man. In the earlier stages of its
recognition it was an independent international private law which, as
such, regulated intercourse between peregrins, or between peregrins and
citizens, on the basis of their common libertas.
[105] Ulpian speaks of a jus naturale common to man and lower animals,
which is substantially instinct. This is said to be a law of nature
not referred to by any other jurist. The idea of jus naturale was not
peculiar to Ulpian. Gaius and Justinian equate Jus naturale and jus
gentium; but while the jus gentium is more natural than the civile, it is
far from identical with the naturale. The jus naturale is essentially a
speculative element. Its most noticeable features are: ‘(1) its potential
universal applicability to all men; (2) among all peoples; (3) at all
times; and (4) its correspondence with the innate conviction of right.’
It included among its propositions (1) recognitions of claims of blood;
(2) duty and faithfulness to engagements; (3) apportionment according to
equity; (4) voluntatis ratio. (For these facts see Voigt, quoted in the
_Encycl. Brit._, _loc. cit._) It will be obvious from these notes on the
character of the jus naturale that it was eminently fitted for becoming
the basis of a universal ethic.
[106] Merito vero quasi prima secundum naturam habetur lex illa, quod
tibi fieri non vult, alteri ne feceris: quippe ea omneis leges societatis
sic continet ut nemo violet alienum jus, nisi quia legem hanc violat....
Manifestum quoque est finem societatis esse in eo, ut cuique suo jure
frui, absque impedimento liceat: ... debet in illis constans et perpetua
voluntas tribuendi (hoc est conservandi atque reponendi) suum cuique
jus, reperiri: ideo residere in ipsis Publicam, communemve justitiam
quasi tutricem ac vindicem juris cuiusque singularis. If this is fully
realised it follows supervacaneam publicam illam fore.... Finally, vir
vere justus non ob intentas a legibus poenas, quas exacturus magistratus
sit, sed ipsiusmet Justitiae amore reverentiaque colit, et legibus etiam
magistratibusque sublatis prorsus culturus est.
[107] _Op. cit._ 277.
[108] _v._ _Encycl. Britt._ vol. 20, p. 696 (tenth ed.).
[109] ‘neque enim est cur putemus solam justitiam esse constantem atque
perpetuam voluntatem, ut _Jurisconsulti_ definiunt’ (VI. 113).
[110] _v._ p. 237.
[111] II. 840. ‘illi naturae lumini quo nos liberos esse experimur.’
[112] ‘Cumque Aristoteles propterea admitteret solum, ut verum, complexum
eiusmodi duarum disjunctivarum enunciationum, aut erit cras bellum navale
aut non erit: Epicurus quoque hoc solum complexum admisit, ut verum,
aut vivet cras Hermarchus aut non vivet: pervidit enim, si alteram
disjunctionum veram esse admitteret, fore ut necesse esset vivere cras
Hermarchum, aut necesse non vivere: “nulla autem est,” inquit _in natura_
talis necessitas’ (II. 837).
[113] I. 316. ‘Sed demus fuisse talem materiam seu Atomorum temere
volitantium infinitatem, annon difficultas est semper quomodo in
tanta illa laxitate, et infinitate spatiorum tot Atomi convenerint
ut illico potuerint se tam valide revincire, tam concinne disponere,
absque revinciente et disponente causa? Nam quod animalia quidem adeo
exquisite formentur, id habent ex seminibus ad certas formas comparatis:
Atomi vero illa non se habuere ut semina: quatenus comparata magis ad
gignendum Mundum, quam ad quidvis aliud non fuere.’ This passage deserves
particular attention, because it shows how Gassendi sees that the
necessity for going below determinate to indeterminate matter is one with
the necessity for postulating a Creator: the Atom being nothing _may_ be
everything, but it _need_ not be anything: the necessity falls outside
the Atom as such.
[114] The justification of faith is somewhat over-subtle: ‘jam vero ista
quae per sensus comprehenduntur occasiones sunt quae nos ad formandum
de Deo Anticipationem inducunt. Cum sit autem duplex potissimum sensus,
auditus scilicet et visus,’ etc. (I. 292). To auditus pertains the
anticipatio which arises from hearing about God, _i.e._ from authority,
primarily the authority of the Bible. It should be noted that this
knowledge of God is an intuition, like that which grasps axiomatic
truths. In both cases belief is due to ‘seeing’ (intuiting) the necessity
of the conjunction of ideas expressed in the words: it is therefore
relative to the individual’s development. This argument is two-edged: for
we can either say ‘idiots do not comprehend God,’ or, ‘those who do not
comprehend God are idiots’ [ut quantumcunque aliqui hominum _mutili_ aut
nascantur aut fiunt, hoc non obstat quin homines dicantur habere ab ipsa
natura suorum membrorum integritatem ita quantumvis aliqui aut nascantur
aut fiant _Athei_, etc., I. 290.]
[115] I. 331. ‘Ad alia ut accedam, tametsi nos Deus sinit res nostras
agere: non minus idcirco illi curae sumus. Quippe qui naturâ sumus
liberi, idcirco nos, quae maxima ipsius benignitas est, frui patitur
libertate nostra, ac nos interea procul dubio versus meliora dirigit.
Etenim vices parentis gerit,’ etc.
[116] _E.g._ nec ratione loci for regione loci in the passage quoted, p.
236.
[117] Quoted below, p. 236.
[118] _v._ p. xliv.
[119] Thomas (_op. cit._ p. 24) gives two reasons for the neglect into
which Gassendi fell. The first, quoted from Brucker, is that Gassendi
was too modest: his manner was so hesitating that it failed to win the
confidence of the reader. The other is want of clearness and conciseness
in the exposition. I think the true reason is rather to be found in
the fact that the necessity of getting down to nature was not yet
fully recognised, and the ideas of system and subjectivity were more
akin to the spirit of the times than those of content and empirical
classification. Thomas is certainly right in saying that Gassendi was as
much damaged by his friends as his foes: Epicurus in one way, and Bernier
in another, combined to damage his prospects.
[120] See p. 305.
[121] I take the phrase from Kant.
[122] ‘I shall not therefore be surprised if some men imagine that I run
into the enthusiasm of Malebranche.... He asserts an absolute external
world, which I deny’ (the Second Dialogue between Hylas and Philonous).
[123] On this point Gassendi in his correspondence diverged into humour
with a translation of duo quaedam epigrammata ex Anthologia: I quote the
second:
‘Ex Atomis Epicurus ait consistere Mundum,
Alcime, quippe putans his nihil esse minus.
At si novisset Diophantum, constituisset
Ex ipso potius, qui minor est Atomis.
Aut alia ex Atomis texens, ipsas potuisset
Ex Diophanto Atomos composuisse prius.’
(VI. 160.)
[124] This question of the relations and comparative values of the
monistic and pluralistic ideals, of the One Being and the being at one,
is too big to be discussed incidentally. It has been touched upon by
Mr. F. C. S. Schiller in _The Riddles of the Sphinx_ (p. 353): ‘We may
reasonably conclude then that monism is a failure, that by assuming
_unity_ at the outset it incapacitates itself for the task of explaining
phenomenal _plurality_, and _a fortiori_ for the still higher task
of really _uniting_ the Many in a significant _union_’; p. 355: ‘And
Leibnitz might well take for granted that as the Many _do_ interact,
they must be _capable of interacting_, and that it was unnecessary to
demonstrate that what actually existed was also capable of existing.’
[125] In a letter to Valesius (VI. 111, dated 1641) Gassendi
distinguishes two kinds of philosophy, (1) quam appellare τῶν φαινομένων,
seu Historicam soleo, (2) qua intimae rerum naturae proprietatesque
cognoscantur: ... haec est quam Deo totam concedo.
[126] Cp. Lotze, _Mikrokosmus_, I. 237, ‘a constantly renewed cement.’
[127] _Mikrokosmus_, III. ch. iv. Engl. Tran. p. 360.
[128] _Ibid._ p. 35.
[129] _Mikrokosmus_, III. ch. iv. Engl. Tran. p. 52.
[130] _Ibid._ p. 74.
[131] _Ibid._ p. 83.
[132] _Ibid._ p. 79.
[133] _Mikrokosmus_, III. ch. iv. Engl. Tran. p. 532.
[134] _Ibid._ p. 535.
[135] _Ibid._ p. 536.
[136] _Ibid._ p. 548.
INDEX
Activity, 162.
Analysis, value of, 178.
Anima, 106 (_v._ Soul).
Rationalis, 142.
Animals, how classified, 99.
Appetitus, 153.
Atoms: as described by Democritus, xxi.
as hyper-sensuous, xxxii, 52.
how different, 64.
Atomism, xvii.
its origins, xix.
of Democritus, xx-xxii.
as philosophy, xxiv, 255, 274.
its revival, 245.
in Leibnitz, 276.
Attraction, 62, 119.
Avicenna, 30 n., 176.
Bacon, 11.
Causality, 57.
Cause, efficient, 55.
Chymici, 24, 51.
their elements, 177.
criticism of, 178.
Clifford, W. K., 117.
Compositio, 136.
Copernicus, 29.
Courage, 203.
Cupiditas, 157.
_Declination_, xxxi.
note on, 230.
_Democritus._
his doctrine, xx-xxiii.
referred to, 52.
Descartes, xxxix.
his logic, 11.
relation to Gassendi, 251.
Empiricism, Gassendi’s relation to, 12, 251.
Epicurus, xvii.
relation to atomism, xviii.
life and teaching, xxv-xxxvi.
Logic, xxvii, 3.
Physics, xxx.
Psychology, xxxiii, 109, 121.
on imagines, 77.
on origin of laws, 204.
referred to, 52, 56, 101, 104, 167 n., 185, 198, 225, 231.
Eternity, 46.
Experience: meaning of, 251, 253.
Faculties: nature of, 69, 115.
Gassendi: his times, xxxix, 246.
character, xxxix.
life, xl-xlv.
Logic, 1.
Physics, 19.
on plurality of worlds, 22.
on World Soul, 23, 140.
on theories of the Universe, 28.
use of categories, 29, 35, 257, 264.
on space, 34.
time, 40.
eternity, 46.
matter, 49.
the atom, 52-64.
efficient causes, 55.
pure causality, 57.
local motion, 60.
attraction, 62, 119.
qualities, 66.
nature of faculties, 69, 115.
gravity, 72.
light, 74.
visible species (imagines), 76.
Generation or Becoming, 83.
magnet, 92, 115, 119.
plants, 95.
classification of animals, 99.
teleology, 100.
de anima, 106.
the human soul, 111.
origin of soul, 113.
perception, 115, 123.
sensation, 116, 121.
mind-stuff theory, 118.
his scale of Being, 127, 263.
imagination, 129.
simple apprehension, 135.
compositio, 136.
Ratio Sensitiva, 137.
intellectus, 142.
appetitus, 153.
cupiditas, 157.
pleasure-pain, 157.
activity (vis motrix), 162.
vocal sounds, 165.
nature of life, 168.
identity and continuity, 169.
temperament, 174.
value of analysis, 178.
summum bonum, 184.
classes of goods, 191.
virtue defined, 196.
prudence, 200.
courage, 203.
temperance, 204.
justice, 204.
jus civile, 206.
jus naturale, 207.
jus gentium, 209.
natural laws, 210.
liberty, 218.
predestination, 221.
God, 224.
_Gassendi._
his position defined, 248.
character of his work, 256.
the concept of motion, 261.
Generation, 83.
God, 224.
relation to time, 47.
first cause, 56.
Guyau, quoted, 230.
Identity, 169.
Imagination, 13, 129.
Intellectus, 142.
Jus, civile, 206;
naturale, 207;
gentium, 209.
Justice, 204.
Kant: his ethics in relation to Gassendi, 214.
his influence, 274, 279.
Leibnitz: his logical standpoint, 271.
relation to Gassendi, 273.
defective idea of an organism, 275.
idea of unity, 277.
Leucippus, xvii.
development of his atomism, xviii-xx.
Liberty, 218.
Life, defined, 168.
Light: nature of, 74.
Logic.
of Epicurus, xxvii, 3.
of Gassendi, 1.
_Lotze._
his aesthetic standpoint, 283.
doing opposed to being, 284.
three moments of his philosophy, 287.
occasionalism, 287.
idealism, 288.
_Lucretius_, xvii.
on the soul, xxxiii, 121.
quoted, 23, 109 n., 226, 237.
Magnet, 92, 115, 119.
Masson, John, quoted, 117, 230.
Materialism, 249.
Matter, 49.
Mind-stuff, 118.
Motion.
as general principle, 261.
local motion, 60.
vis motrix, 162.
Natural laws, 210.
Nature, view of, 20.
Occasionalism, 288.
Perception, 115, 123.
Plants, 95.
Plato, Timaeus, quoted, 25.
Posidonius, quoted, 45, 46.
Potentiality, 266.
Potestas, 72.
Predestination, 221.
Prudence, 200.
Pythagoras, on the World Soul, 25.
Qualities, 66.
Quality: opposed to quantity, 267.
Quantity: category of, 268.
relation to quality, 66.
Ratio, kinds of, 137.
Relation, category of, 265.
Sensation, 116, 121.
Signa, 10.
Soul, 106.
human, 111.
origin of, 113.
and body, 263.
Space, 34.
Species (visible), 76.
Speech, 165.
Substance, category of, 264, 272.
Summum bonum, 184.
Teleology, 100.
Temperament, 174.
Temperance, 204.
Thomas, P. Felix, quoted, xv, xliii, 4, 160, 213.
Time, 40.
Timeless, meaning of, 46.
Ueberweg, quoted, 248.
Unity, 257, 277.
in Lotze, 291.
Virtue, 196.
Wallace, Epicureanism, quoted, xxvi, xxxv, 104.
World Soul, 23, 140.
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