A DISCOURSE OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF BEASTS, WHEREIN All that hath been said for, and against their RATIOCINATION, is Examined. By Monsieur de la CHAMBRE, Counsellor to the King of France in his Counsels, and his Physician in ordinary. Translated into English by a Person of Quality. LONDON ●rinted by Tho. Newcomb for Humphrey Mosele at the Prince's Arms in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1657. To the READER. THis Discourse is itself an Apology, and needs no other. It witnesseth the Author sufficiently learned to vindicate himself from the extravagancy of those who may think him guilty; neither do I doubt but those who read him with judgement, will rather submit then contest those Truths, which he advanceth, and cannot but yield even to the probability of his Paradoxes; for he treats of all, like the Counsellor and Doctor of a King (whereto his great deserts have raised him) or rather like a King amongst Philosophers, in a word like himself. He divides the orders of Nature; he counsels and instructs men, and makes even Beasts Reason. Look but upon his grand Design and he appears more eminent than any of our modern Philosophers. I mean that Art of his, To know Men, which he hath long since promised the world; In the first Part whereof he hath designed the characters of the Passions (of which two excellent Books are extant) of Virtues and of Vices; And in the second Part he intends a discovery of the nature of Animals, and from the resemblance betwixt Men and Beasts to teach us, that those whose parts are like theirs, have the same inclinations. Amongst his Preliminaries he hath brought to light a Discourse of the Knowledge of Beasts, which although it had the general approbation of the most learned, yet having met with the opposition of a bold Adversary, our Author thought himself obliged to vindicate by this discourse of his, which contains the sum of that, and by which he refutes all the cavils and objections of his Antagonist. So that if any man after the perusal thereof be startled or offended, that he hath granted Reason to Beasts, give me leave to believe it must be either out of ignorance or pride. That it destroys the immortality of the soul, and the essential difference of man, is what they object. I know how dangerous it is to speak physically of the nature of Souls; neither am I ignorant of the opinion of the Galenists, nor of the heresy of the Manichees; yet I know also that many great men have endeavoured by the light of Nature to prove the Soul of man immortal. Neither hath any of them a more peculiar Argument than our Author who from the immateriality of the not simply but intellectually reasonable soul, concludes that naturally having no principles of corruption, it must necessarily be immortal. So far is he from shaking, that he strongly confirms that immortal principle. As for those who apprehend the loss of that essential difference which they pretend betwixt themselves and Beasts, let them examine the matter, and the difference will appear, but still the more manifest. The reason he allows them is limited to corporeal objects, to the necessities of life, food and shelter; it's only direct; It's capable only of singulars, it's restrained to an opinative faculty; it's a mere shadow of ours, much like that of our fantasy when we sleep. So that they will have all the reason in the world to believe, that this opinion raiseth the Reason of Man to make the difference really essential to an Intellectual Faculty which tends to the nature of divine things, and declares the soul potentially to be a Spirit; so that what we call Intelligence in Angels, we may justly call Intellectual Reason in men; which as it is inferior to that, so it is superior to that of Beasts which is sensual and corporeal, whilst his is altogether spiritual. These two main objections being answered, it remains only, that we should by authority vindicate it from novelty. Tiresias, Melampus, and Apollonius are said to have understood their very language. Plato tells us that in the golden age men reaped all their knowledge from communication with them. And although the Scripture tell us of some Beasts that have no understanding, yet it sends us for instruction to others. And Philosophy acknowledgeth to have learned from them many of her Arts and Sciences; they have instructed us in Physic, even in morality, nay they have taught us piety. Porphyrius, Plutarch, Raymondus, Sebondus, for whom also Montaign in his Essays hath written an Apology, were all of the same opinion with our Author, and if you will have the reasons of these and other learned men, why they have allowed Reason to Beasts, take these in brief. That most Animals have organs fit, and faculties like ours; In Anatomy the very cells of their brain nothing different; that their industry not only equals but often surpasseth that of man; Essences and Properties are known but by effects: It is not more reasonable to conclude that Beasts doing reasonable things, have a reasonable Faculty, then to affirm that the effects are not reasonable, because Beasts have not a reasonable Faculty? the Effects appear, the Power is occult. That they seek necessaries without being instructed, and of themselves invent the means to acquire them, that they are capable of discipline even contrary to their own Nature, that most of them can discern things, and can accommodate themselves to time, place and other circumstances, and accordingly operate diversely; so that no man can deny but that they act formally for some end, and know both that as the end and the means to attain it as means; nay more, that they tend to a felicity proportionable to their Nature, Pleasure being their highest good, and Grief their extremity of ill. To conclude, the greatest difficulty seems to be in the terms; those who call it Instinct, cannot deny but it acts with Reason; and those that allow them Reason, deny it to be Intellectual. Now if you require examples out of History to confirm this opinion, If Pliny's Elephant repeating his Lesson in the Moonshine is not to be credited, nor Ptolemy's Stag who understood Greek, nor Plutarch's Dog who could counterfeit the very convulsions of death; nor that Goose which was Disciple to a Philosopher; what shall we say to an Ape that could play at Chess, or of another that had learned some touches upon the Guitar. But let who will judge of Francis the First's Dog; that King having lost his Gloves as he was hunting, and having sent him in search of it, and he after a tedious inquiry returning without it, being remanded by his Master, runs directly to Paris, and leaps up at a Stall where he had formerly observed Gloves hang out, and tears down a pair and carries them three leagues back again to the King. Let them I say judge whether this action were not from Discourse; sure I am it could not be from his scent. If you desire more fitting Examples, more pregnant Reasons, and more satisfying Answers to all the objections you can make, you shall find them in this following Discourse. So that after reflection and deliberation we can never deny Reason to Beasts, lest we condemn ourselves for want of common sense. Let us therefore rather improve our Intellectual Faculties by subduing the sensual, and thereby make that essential difference appear, whereby at last we may attain to that knowledge of ourselves, which as it is the Authors, so it ought to be our chief End. T. N. A DISCOURSE OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF ANIMALS. The Introduction. IT's strange, that Man, who believes himself Nature's masterpiece, and that it is his right to command all that is in the Universe, should not have informed himself of that Title which gives him these advantages; and that he knows not wherein the excellency consists wherewith he flatters himself, not whereon the Sovereignty he claims, is founded. And what is the more wonderful, is. That he who hath given himself the liberty to assign to every thing the rank and order which they ought to hold in the world, and to prescribe them the function they are to exercise, should have forgot himself in this general distribution which he hath made, having reserved for himself no employment worthy of his ambition, or of the quality he hath taken. For although he boasts, that he hath Reason for his portion, and that he believes it belongs to him in propriety, and that it gives him the sovereign command over all creatures; yet hath he so ill explained himself therein, and so weakly maintained the right which may be his, that in all Ages there hath lived very great Philosophers, who have assured that Beasts had Reason; so that even there hath been Times wherein it was hardly permitted to doubt it: And that since the contrary hath crept into the Schools, the most clear-sighted have held it as suspected, and the most moderate have ranked it amongst those Questions which might be maintained on either side. And certainly if we consider the wonderful industry wherewith Beasts perform the most part of their works; the ingenious foresight they use to shun evil, and seek what is useful for them; the sleights and niceties they practise the one against the other; the society and the communication they have together, and all those examples of prudence, of gratitude, and of generosity which they have given us, and which have convinced such Great persons: It's impossible but we must believe, or at least suspect that Actions which appear so reasonable, cannot but be managed by Reason. For if we would refer them to Instinct, the nature thereof is so hidden, that there is no likelihood to destroy such clear and strong conjectures, by so obscure and ill established a thing; And which perhaps, if it were well known, would be found nothing different or estranged from Reason. In effect, whatsoever may be said of the Instinct, it must either be an exterior cause which forceth Animals and works upon them, without their contributing any thing but obedience; or else it must be a faculty natural unto them, by reason whereof they agitate themselves, and are truly the cause and principle of their actions: now, as a man cannot maintain that it is a stranger power, without falling into great inconveniences, and particularly in this, That we should give an assault to the Almightiness and infinite wisdom of God, for having left his works imperfect, and having deprived them of the greatest part of those virtues, which are most necessary for their preservation. We must conclude, it is a faculty born with them, which ought to be of an order as elevated, as its effects are excellent, and which consequently acts with a great knowledge. If it be so, who will not have cause to believe, that actions whose successes are so well ordered, which have so well regulated a progress and a concatenation, which so justly ties together the means with their ends, must needs be enlightened by Reason. But, what renders these presumptions yet stronger, is the weakness of the proofs whereon the contrary opinion is grounded. For it is a thing which is hardly conceivable, that Ratiocination should be taken from Beasts, without knowing the nature of Ratiocination. For certainly, hitherto no man hath exactly discovered wherein it consists, nor what the soul doth when it reasons, not what difference there is betwixt this operation of the mind, and the two others. We are well assured, that in the first the Understanding forms the images of things; but when we come to examine the latter where Ratiocination consists, we fall short. And it is apparent, that Discourse, which like light makes known the most obscure things, remains itself unknown, and hides itself as that doth in darkness. Yet herein is the foundation whereon the decision of this famous Controversy ought to be established. And there had been no more subject to doubt, if after having shown how Ratiocination is form, it had been remonstrated that that action surpassed the forces of all those faculties which are in Beasts. So that a man need not be astonished, if for default of having well observed that fundamental Truth, a man is not sure of the party he ought to take; and if we doubt of those Conclusions, which are drawn from Principles which are without evidence and without proof. Let them oppose as long as they please, That Reasoning requires Propositions and universal Notions; and that it cannot be made without abstraction, and some reflection of the knowledge it hath of its self; which are things whereto it's certain the soul of Beasts can never attain: Yet some will still say, that it is not therein in which the reasoning of Beasts consists; that all these conditions are strange unto it; and that the Sillogism which is called expositive, is an evident sign thereof, since it cannot be form of terms purely singular without any abstraction, and there being no need for the spirit to reflect on itself. Whence it follows, the difficulty is not taken away so, but that the conjecture which we have of the Reason of Beasts, remain in full force, and that nothing is objected which destroys or weakens it. After which, who dares affirm that it is Reason which raiseth Men above Beasts, without rendering that Right doubtful which cannot be contested against him, and without putting a Soveraigncie in competition, to which all Nature hath subjected itself? No, no; There must be a more solid foundation which must maintain his dignity, he must draw his perfection and excellency from a higher source: In a word, he must have some virtue which must be so eminent, which must be above all those which are in Nature, and whereto the most perfect Animals can never attain. But we must yet confess, that he who should have discovered so important a matter, hath done no small service to all the society of Mankind; and that perhaps he hath little less obliged them, than those who invented the most profitable Arts and Sciences. Besides that he would have taught them the greatest and most precious things it hath, that it would have put the advantages and prerogatives it hath out of contest, and it would have justified the Empire it pretends, showing that it is not a Tyranny as it's reproached withal, but a just and legitimate dominion. It would without doubt withdraw them from the danger they are in at every moment, not only to commit an injustice against Beasts and against itself, but even also some kind of impiety towards God. For, in the doubt wherein we are, that Beasts have reason; if it be found that in effect they have any, as it is not perhaps impossible, would not the Man then be unjust to ravish a good from them, which belongs to them as well as to him? Would he not do himself wrong, to ground his excellency and his superiority on a thing which he hath only in common with them? And will he not thereby sensibly offend the Author, in seeking to suppress so glorious a badge of his power and of his wisdom? All these considerations had sometimes persuaded me, that every Man ought to contribute with all his power to the finding out of a thing, in which every Man had an interest, and since Truth is like those unknown Lands which from time to time are discovered, and often rather by hazard then by address, that it might happen, that the less intelligent might advance the discovery of those noble functions of the Soul which have hitherto been unknown, at least whereof the past Ages have left us but some imperfect relations. Upon this confidence I had, as they say, set sail; and neither the fear of shipwreck, nor an unprofitable voyage, could ever hinder me from hazarding myself in so high an enterprise. After having therefore carefully enquired the Nature of these Faculties, and having made (as I thought) some considerable Observations, and which had not been made before, I thought I was obliged to divulge them, and that I could not suppress them without betraying the common cause. So that the Treatise of the Characters of the Passions, wherein I have engaged myself, having given me way to acquit myself of that duty, I had added to the Second Volume of that Work, a particular Treatise of the Knowledge of Beasts; where all these Questions are examined, and wherein I pretended to show by new and very probable proofs, That Beasts reason, and their reasoning is form only of particular notions and propositions, wherein it is different from that of Men, who have the faculty of reasoning universally; and that this faculty is the true difference of Man, which marks the spirituality and immortality of his soul. This Discourse having appeared in the World with a very happy fate, and if I may so speak, with more approbation than I ever hoped; To that height, that some men persuaded themselves, that the Propositions I had therein established aught hereafter to be received for Truths which were not to be doubted; and that no body would venture to write against so plausible and so solidly proved a Doctrine. For mine own part, who could never have had so advantageous a sense of mine own work, and who believe besides, that it is impossible for the Mind of Man to penetrate these profound depths, and to take off those thick vails which hid the Nature of every thing; which withheld me from falling into that vanity. And I always thought, that an Opinion so far estranged from common belief, would never fail of Enemies, which would assault it as soon as it should appear in public. Indeed, a little while after, Monsieur Chanet published his Book of the Instinct and Knowledge of Beasts: The Title of which promiseth an Examen of all what I had written on that Subject; the main design whereof was to show, That Beasts cannot reason. As soon as his Discourse came to my hands, I fancied him to be some Hero of the Schools, and some new Hercules, whose Commission was to damn Paradoxes, and to maintain Vulgar opinions. And I ingenuously confess, that at that time fear and hope equally divided my mind: I was afraid to find such strong Reasons, that they would have obliged me to abandon those Opinions which had been so well received, and which had afforded me so much reputation. On the other side, the ardent love I have for the Truth, made me hope that I should therein learn divers things which were unknown unto me, and that my losses would be repaired by those fair instructions I should gather from thence. But in once reading of it, all those vain thoughts were taken away; and, far from making me change my opinion, it fortified me in my first sentiment, and made me believe, that those things which before I esteemed but probable, might now pass for demonstrative, since they had been disputed against with all the endeavours of a man of metal, who hath meditated and written so much on these things. For, this is worthy consideration, that M.C. hath deduced no proofs to destroy my Reasons, in which he hath not used some Sophism or Paralogism, as I shall make it appear in this Discourse: And that necessarily his cause must be ill, since that with all the Memory and all the Reading which they say he hath, they could furnish him with no lawful defence, he having made use of sleights and artifices only, which such men use who mistrust the soundness of their own right. Assuredly, if this manner of acting were to be permitted any man, it were to be allowed me, who have straggled out of the ordinary road, who have brought to light new Paradoxes, and whose proofs at worst may pass for the disports of the mind, as well as those of those men who have made Eulogies of Nero, and of the Quartan Ague. But that M.C. should make use of them to maintain an Opinion which is so generally approved by all the World, and which is held as an undoubted Maxim in Philosophy, is an unexcusable abuse, and which must charge him with so reproachful a shame amongst those of his own party, that he could not defend a good cause but by ill means, or that he should have prevaricated in his own cause: I fear even lest I should be entangled in his disgrace, and that those of the most judicious seeing my Writings, may not suspect an intelligence betwixt us two, and that he is an Adversary I have appointed to suffer himself to be overcome, and by his weakness to give credit to my party. But to justify myself from this suspicion, I have nothing to say, but that I had never heard any speak of M.C. till the Book he had written against me came to light: And that there is no likelihood, that under colour to give some lustre to my opinions by this artifice, I should engage a man of honour in so base a design, without the fear lest he should have doubly made against me, and lest he might quit himself of the faint, that in good earnest he might handle me the worse. I should indeed have been justly chastised for my imprudence, had I afterwards met with in his Book so many picquant and malicious words which he vented against me, and which he hath mixed with some praises, as those who infuse poison with sugar. When I saw those shameful reproaches he made me; sometimes, That my mind was distorted, and that I had not thought of what I had written, (p. 124) That there is not the least appearance of truth, and that it is a shame to stick at them, (p. 148.) And then. That I am ignorant of the Rules and terms of Philosophy, (p. 240.) That I every minute fall into contradictions; and, That he can hardly believe I am Author of the Work, (p. 242.) with a hundred such like, which he utters with scorn and reproach. No, no; this proceeding makes it evidently appear that he had no intelligence with me, that he hath defended his cause the best he was able; and that if he have brought ill reasons to maintain it, it is because he believed them good, and was ignorant of their defects. Neither would I absolutely condemn him for the incivility he hath treated me withal; and I should rather attribute it to heat of dispute, or the natural sharpness of a Critic, then to any ill will he could have against me. I know, that in combats of pleasure and divertisement, it is almost impossible but some angry touches must be given; and that blows cannot be handled so dexterously, but some will be ruder than they were intended. But what was to have been desired in those of M.C. 'tis, that he should have behaved himself pleasantly, and like a gallant Fellow, and not have accompanied them with a pedantic severity, which appears through all his Discourse, and which will oblige many men to believe, that Passion rather than Truth hath armed his pen against me. There are even some already who have made this judgement, having observed how he introduced my Name to the Title of his Book, and that he affected to repeat it in all the passages he was able. For, since it not at all concerned the question, and that he might have examined my reasons without nameing me, even as I had done those of other men. They did believe that it must needs have been some secret malignity, which moved him to place my Name for a Trophy in the front of his Work, and to lead it as it were in triumph through all the Pages of his Book. For my part, I durst not judge so sinisterly of his intentions: So far was I from complaining of him in that encounter, that I find I have reason to thank him for putting me in the rank of the Great men he hath assaulted; and I shall never be ashamed to have my Name appear with the Names of Mr. de Charron, and Mr. de Montagne, should he even reckon them amongst those he had conquered. It's true, if he had been well advised for his own glory, he should never have made mention of me, nor have discovered that I was the man with whom he was to combat: Some might have thought, after having seen him enter the lifts against such great persons, that I were of the same rank, and that he chose me as an Enemy worthy both of his strength and courage. But when it shall be known, that it is against me he hath made this stir to lift up his buckler, and that it will afterwards appear, that weak and fresh as I am in these kind of trials, I shall have so easily defeated a man who would pass for the Bravo of our Age, and who in his Writings presents all Comers with a Challenge; it is to be feared, it may much diminish the credit he may have, and lest he be accused for a weak and quarrelsome person, who seeks to gain reputation at the expense of another man's. Had he therefore followed the counsels which Prudence would have given him in this encounter, he had saved himself from these reproaches, and had saved me the pains to have answered him, without having interested myself in a Question, wherein all Opinions are free: I should not have disturbed the pleasure wherewith he flattered himself with an imaginary victory; and without envy I could have suffered him to have triumphed over an enemy which he had not overcome. But it had been a barrenness in me to have continued with mine arms across, after the public Defy he hath given me; and Honour obligeth me to the defence of the Truth, which I heard groaned under his censure, and which I perceived ready to fall into the ambushes he had laid for it. Behold, I am ready to defend it, I am here ready to maintain the Propositions which M. C: hath contested. The Reader shall afterwards judge which of us two hath the better right. But that he may be instructed of all what may lawfully be necessary in my defence, he must be informed of the order which I have observed, and of the motives which have obliged me to another course than that which hitherto hath been followed. Having considered, that the proof which hath been used to show, That Beasts reason, did not not convince those who hold the contrary opinion, and that they shifted off all the strength of it by the word Instinct; which how vain soever it be, forbears not to entangle the question, and render the decision the more doubtful; I imagined the Truth was to be sought in the source; and leaving Experiments which were contested, it might be found in Ratiocination itself. I therefore would examine the nature thereof, and see whether there were any thing which Beasts could not do, and which surpassed the force of the Imagination, and of the other faculties which all are agreed they are endowed withal. But as Reasoning is a Knowledge, and that there are three sorts of Knowledge, to wit, The first Conceptions, the Judgement, and the Discourse: I thought it was fit to be known, wherein all three of them consisted, and what action the soul performed in every of them. Having therefore found, That in the first she forms the images of objects; in the second, she unites or divides two of those images; and in the third, she collects together three, of which she composeth several Propositions which form Discourse: methought that all the difficulty was reduced to this point, to wit, To know whether the Imagination can unite or divide images? For if it have that power, it must of necessity be able to make Propositions, and in pursuance, Reasonings. This is the principal Subject of the Treatise which I have brought to light: The first Part whereof is wholly employed to show, that the Imagination can form and unite several images, and by consequence, that it may conceive, judge and discourse. The other Part contains the Answer which is to be made to the strongest Objections which may be proposed against these Truths, and principally to those which are drawn from Custom and from Instinct; where I have explicated the Nature of those Causes, and made it appear that they cannot act without the help of Reason. This order was not pleasing to M.C. and in the Examen he made, he hath not only begun his Book by a Discourse of Instinct, but he would also have it believed that I had done ill in not following that Method, seeing I held, that the Instinct supposeth a natural knowledge, and that natural knowledges ought to be treated before those which are acquired. But he ought to have considered, that all my design was to show, that Beasts reason; and that what was to be said of Instinct, aught to be but an incident to the question. So that if I had begun from thence, I should have placed the Accessary before the Principal, and the Objection before the Conclusion. On the other side, had not this consideration obliged me to follow this Method, could he not have remembered that there are two sorts of it; the one which gins by those things which in themselves, and naturally are most evident; the other which gins by those, which in respect of us and by the sense, are most evident. That both the one and the other is good; but that the latter hath this advantage, that it is more conformable to our ordinary way of knowing, which gins always by sensible things. So although without a fault I might have first spoken of Natural knowledges, which are first in the order of Nature, and consequently more evident in themselves then those which are acquired; still methought it was better to begin by those which were acquired, which are most sensible, and therefore in our own respect the first and most evident. In effect, since I was to show that Instinct supposeth a natural knowledge, and that before that I was to seek wherein Knowledge in general consisted; Can I have arrived by any surer way than by certain and indubitable Experiments which we have through acquired Knowledge, especially having none through the Natural. Let us trifle no longer therefore, neither he nor I, on the general Order we have observed in our Works: I think that his was not ill in that particular; and that mine was necessary for my design. Neither will I change it here, having observed the same disposition of Subjects, the same number of Reasons, and the same sequel of Consequences which are to be found in my Treatise of the Knowledge of Beasts. If there be any difference, it is, that there I have observed as much as I could a Rhetorical discourse; and here I treat of things in the ordinary way of the Schools, who divide the matters by Chapters, which relate the Reasons, and which do not seeek that exact concatenation of words which the Laws of Oratory require. For, I thought it was fit to make an abridgement of all what I employed in my first Treatise, and afterwards faithfully to produce the objections of M. C. without troubling the Reader to seek elsewhere to clear himself concerning the subject of our contest. I therefore divided my Discourse into four Parts. In the first I show, That the Imagination to know things, aught to form the images thereof. In the second, That the Imagination may unite those images it hath form, and consequently make Propositions. In the third, That it may unite several Propositions, and bind them together with common terms, wherein Ratiocination consists. The fourth contains the Answer which is to be made to those Objections which are commonly proposed against the Reason of Beasts. Now for as much as M.C. would not follow this order, I have been constrained to recollect the reasons he hath scattered here and there, and to reduce under every of these parts, where I have examined them with all possible moderation For although in some places there are some touches of censure and raillery, which he may resent; I believe he will consider, that besides that most commonly I do but defend myself with the same arms with which he hath assaulted me; the Critical part is in itself so severe and so crabbed, that if some divertisement were not insinuated, it would become loathsome both to the Author and to the Reader: And if it be lawful to say so, it's a food which easily disgusteth, unless it hath some relish and some sharpness. But I have not only sought for him this seasoning in the civility of my censure, and in the innocency of my raillery, I have endeavoured to slip in several Questions, which by their novelty may divert the mind of the Reader, and untire him from the troubles which our Contest may have given him; for without doubt he will take pleasure to know 1. Whether external Images enter into the Memory. 2. What the word Est (Is) signifies in Propositions. 3. How the Imagination may make negative Propositions. 4. Whether if a material power, such as the Imagination is, can form Universal Notions. 5. Whether Beasts doubt. 6. Whether they hope, and whether they fear. 7. How they know the time to come. 8. Whether they know the end and the means they use to attain it. 9 What Action the Soul performs in Reasoning. 10. Whether one may reason in an instant. 11. Whether Reasoning was given only to clear doubtful things. 12. What the Nature of speech is, and of such like, which I have insinuated into this Discourse; Wherein M. C. may if he please exercise himself, but whereof he is not to expect from me any reply; For if he produceth better reasons than mine, I from this very time consent unto them; and if they are as weak as those which he hath already brought, it may be lawful for me to continue in my opinions and to apply myself to better things then to prolong a Process where all the profit rather accrues to him who hath lost it; since he gains both the time and the truth. Let's quickly dispatch this therefore, and begin with the first Part. But first of all it is fit, That the Reader should be advertised, that the word of Imagination which is so frequent in this work may not be here taken for a distinct faculty of the common sense of the fancy and of the estimative, as they do commonly in the schools; But for a general Faculty which comprehends all the powers of the Sensitive Soul which serve for knowledge. In the same manner as the word understanding comprehends all the faculties of the intellectual Soul, which make things to be known. Such as is the Apprehensive, the Cogitative, the, Discursive the Agent and Patiented Intellect etc. In effect all these different faculties which are to be found in the Sensitive Soul, have in common amongst them That they know, and consequently there is a general Faculty which knows, which is afterwards divided into as many pieces as there are several sorts of Knowledges. Now this general faculty having no particular Name, may by the example of divers other genders take the Name of one of those species, and principally that of the Imagination which is the most considerable, and most known. This is practised also when in the distinction of the parts of the Soul, the Imagination is opposed to the Appetite, even as we oppose the Understanding to the Will. For its certain, that in this case the Imagination & the Understanding comprehend all the knowing faculties, as the Appetite and the Will express all the motive faculties, of the Soul. Howsoever it be, by the word Imagination, I here understand the Sensitive faculty which knows the things without specifying any of its differences, the examen whereof conduceth nothing to my design. I am also to add to this advertisement, that the division of the Chapters and Articles was made after the work was ended; for it interrupts not the sequel of my discourse, and requires not those great pawses which in other matters were requisite. The Critic also who is obliged in a continual combat, cannot regulare his quarters as an Army would do which hath no enemy before them. Without stopping it pursues its adversary, and gives him no release till it hath vanquished him: It's thus that I have behaved myself in the heat of my disputation, not minding the division of my work into so many Sections, but because a long Discourse without any, disturbs the mind and eyes of a Reader, I afterwards advised with myself to make some, and to place those things in the Title, which I esteemed most remarkable, that at first sight the Reader may choose those Subjects which might be most pleasing to him, without ingageing himself in others which were not according to his gust; But as this manner of reading will be more advantageous to him then to me, and may leave him some doubts which may make him have a ill opinion of my reasons, I shall beg thus far from him, that he will not condemn them until he hath read the whole work, and without having examined the principles & foundations which I have therein established And then if he cannot approve them, I shall condemn, them, myself, and employ their excuses which the weakness of humane minds and the difficulty there is to penetrate into secrets of nature furnish them withal who have recourse thereunto. For the rest what is printed in a great Italian Letter at the head of every Part, is the Abridgement of my first Discourse of the Knowledge of Beasts. The figures in the Margin design the pages of M. C's book out of which I have drawn those propositions which I examine. That the Imagination forms the Images of things. And that its there wherein the first Knowledge consists. THE FIRST PART. IN considering the order which God hath established through the whole Universe where the less noble thing; serve for the degrees whereby we rise to the most excellent, and all of them have some beginnings of that perfection which is more full and perfect in these; A man might easily persuade himself, that since the Sensitive Soul is subordinate to the Reasonable, such a progress ought to be made in their knowledge, that the first may be addresses to the latter, and that the actions of the understanding may have their beginning to be as it were roughcast in those of the Imagination. And to speak it in one word, since the understanding knows thing, that it judgeth of them and draweth consequences from them, there must needs be something done in the Sensitive Soul, which serves for the first draught of those actions, and in which some image, and some vestiges may be observed. In effect it conceives things, it judgeth whether they are good or ill, and concludes either to follow or to fly them: And to perform these actions, it useth the same way as the Understanding doth. For as it judgeth and reasoneth by uniting things which are divided, and by dividing those which are united, it doth nothing but unite and separate the images of objects, to judge of what is good or ill for the Animal. It is true, that she doth it very imperfectly, both because her power is of no great extent, and because her knowledges are as the first sights wherewith the Soul views things, and the first Essays she makes to discern them. But to understand this, it's necessary to see how the Imagination knows, That Knowledge is an Action. and how far its knowledge may arrive. Having therefore presupposed that Knowledge is the only function of the Reasonable and Sensitive Soul, forasmuch as to be sensible, to conceive, to judge, and to reason, is nothing else but to know, I have from thence inferred, That since all things which are below them have the virtue of operating, they also must needs have it; and consequently that Knowledge which is their only function is an Action. So that those who say that the Senses know not their objects but by receiving their images; and that sensation is a pure passion, place the sensitive Soul below all corporal things, and destroy ever the Nature of Knowledge which was even placed in the rank of vital actions. This action is a production of the Image. Now because Knowledge cannot be otherwise conceived but as a representation of the objects which are made in the mind; If the Sensitive Soul knows, and if to know is to operate; it of necessity must present itself with the objects; And because it cannot otherwise represent a thing but by forming its picture, it follows that in knowing things, it forms pictures and images of them, and that there is no other action which may be attributed unto it proportionable to the perfection and excellency of its Nature. To confirm this truth, we have in pursuit showed, Their images are different from the action. that these images ought to be different from those which come from without. 1. Reason. Because these are not capable to make the representation wherein the Knowledge consists, since they subsist only in the presence of the objects, and that the Soul forbears not to represent them although they be absent. 2 Reas. Because those which the Understanding useth are different from those which the Imagination and the Senses may furnish; and since it forms them to its self, the Imagination ought to do in the same manner. 3 Reas. Forasmuch as sensible images represent only the accidents, and that the Imagination must not only know the sensible Accidents but the sensible Body, and so the Images it forms represent both the Accidents and Subject once together. Their Images represent the Accidents and their Subject. This latter proposition, which ought to serve as a principle, to show the impotency which the Imagination hath to make abstracts and universal Notions, was maintained by four Reasons. The First, That the Imagination being a power buried in the matter, aught to have an object of the same Gender, and an action which terminates in a thing, which in some manner may be as that is composed. The Second, That being destined to represent sensible things, and having no other virtue but to make pictures and images thereof, it ought to represent them all whole, and such as they are; which it would not do, did it form the image of accidents only. The Third, That the images being to serve for a model to the Understanding to form its Ideas, in some manner they ought to represent the substance of the objects; otherwise they could not attain to the Knowledge of them, because that after having separated all the accidents, nothing would remain, that might make the representation of the substance. The Fourth, That at last Experience taught us, that sensible Accidents are only marks and signs which make the Imagination know those things which it ought to fear or desire; and that at the first sight which we might have of objects, we did not believe we saw only the visible accidents, but even the bodies themselves: The distinction which we make afterwards of them, being an effect of Reason which distinguisheth what the Imagination had confounded. So that we may from thence conclude, that to speak properly, the Imagination is not sensible, and knows not the colour nor the heat, but what is coloured and what is hot; and although it seem as if there were nothing but the colour which presents itself to the eye, and that the heat only strikes the sense; yet when the Imagination thereupon comes to form its Fantasme, it mixeth the image of those qualities with that of the body, and confounds the Accident with the Subject; Because it can operate only conformable to its nature which is composed, and to its end which is the knowledge of the sensible body; And therefore the phantasm it produceth must be in some manner composed, as it is, and as the sensible body also is. These are the Reasons which have made us believe that the Imagination itself forms its Images; That it forms them on the sensible species, which the objects conv●igh through the organs of the Senses. That in forming them it knows the things it represents. And last of all, That no created Nature can know otherwise then by producing in itself the Images of the things which come to its Knowledge. But as to what may be said, The Images which are in the Memory, do not make Knowledge. that Knowledge consists not in this production of Images, since we know those things which have preserved themselves in our Memories, and that it is not necessary that the Soul should form those Images, since she finds them already form; We did answer, That although the Image of an Object be in the Memory, yet it therefore makes not Knowledge, because the Imagination knows it not if it operate not on it. Now it hath no other operation but the representation which is the production of the image: And therefore although the image of that object be in the Memory, The Soul can have no knowledge of it, unless she form another in herself; and as often as she would know it, so often must she make new figures, which must be as new colours laid upon her first design: We must not also stick at the inconvenience which might happen from the mutiplicity of images which the Soul may form of the same thing: For as much as even as the two images which are received by the two eyes, or by the two ears, confound themselves in one, and represent but one only object; so also the phantasms which the Soul forms of the same thing, unite themselves in one only; and the multiplicity seems but to render it the more express; and that's the reason for which the Memory for 〈◊〉 itself by repetition, forasmuch as the images it keeps are refreshed and renewed by those which the Soul adds a fresh, and are as it were touched again with new touches and new colours. Yet they are serviceable to it. Now although the images which are in the Memory make not Knowledge, yet are they not unprofitable unto it, for that they seem to reproduce it another time; for as it is necessary to Beasts to remember past things, that they may provide for their preservation: its fit there should remain in the absence of the exterior objects, something which may bring them to the fight of the Soul again, which might supply the defect of exterior species, and which by consequence may seem to the same use whereto they were employed. That as these are nothing else but examples, on which the Soul forms its phantasms, that it may know things: So those phantasms which remain after in operation may serve it for new models, wereon she makes new representations, and new knowledges. From all these things thus established, we have reduced this other consequence; That since the Imagination is of the rank of material things, its incapable to form any universal Notions, for as much as what is material, is determinate and singular: And because its object is the sensible body, and that the image it forms to itself confounds the accidents with the matter, it cannot make such pure abstractions as the understanding doth, nor separate accidents from their Subject. It may very well make some of those abstractions which we call negatives, whereby we stop to consider one accident of a thing without minding others: for it may conceive and judge, that a thing is sweet without thinking its hot; because this kind of abstraction destroys not its object, as the others do which quite separate the accidents and the forms of the matter. So that we may say, That the Understanding doth in these encounters like the Mathematician who assembles all the simple figures: But the Imagination imitates the Architect, who assembles not the figures, but the stones of such a figure: for it knows neither the colour nor the heat, but it knows what is coloured, and what is hot; and when it judgeth that a thing is good, it is as much as if we had said It unites such a thing with such a good thing; for that it can form no image which is not composed; and that in assembling one image with another, it must unite two composed ones together. These are the principal points which we have employed in the first part of the Treatise of the Knowledge of Beasts: Now let us see what M. C. hath opposed against them. CHAP. I. That the Pefection of things is begun in those which are inferior to them. P. 41. of M. C's. Book. FIrst he condemns the order which I have observed in Nature, and will not have the perfection which is found in the most noble, to begin by those which are inferior to it, in those things which are subordinate the one to the other: In his first assault, the spirit that moves him may be discerned, and the design he had to spare nothing, when he should meet the occasion, since he troubles himself to destroy a thing which cannot hurt him, and whereof I pretend to take no advantage; and that he therein imitates those passionate Enemies, who beat down the ornaments of the Towns they besiege, although they can do them no hurt, nor serve for the defence of the besieged. For the Proposition which he would ruin, was placed at the entry of my Discourse but as a pleasant Avenue, or as a piece of Architecture, which makes no part of the Edifice which I would build: In a word, it is the Preface of my work which ought not to decide the question I was to discourse, but only to prepare the Readers mind, and to give him some suspicion, and some conjecture of that Truth which I would show him. Neither is it to be found in the rank of those proofs which I have employed to establish it, although I ought not to have forgotten it, had I made a fundamental reason of it, as M. C: imagineth. For although it be most certain, yet is not fit to persuade all kinds of minds, and I very evidently foresaw, that the Application I must have made thereof might have been contested: After all, if I should have used it, as a necessary principle to my design, I would not have proposed it naked and simple, as I did; I would have maintained it with Reasons, and with an Induction which might have convinced those who would have doubted of it. This had been nothing difficult for me to have done, since Philosophy teacheth us, that in all the order of things, there is ever one first which possesseth in perfection that Nature whereon the order is established; and that all those which are inferior to it, have only portions of it, which are greater or lesser, as they draw nearer or are estranged farther from it; So fire is the first amongst hot bodies, Heaven amongst the Diaphanous, the Sun amongst the Luminous, and so of all the rest: And every of them hath in the sovereign degree that quality which serves for the foundation of that order wherein they are. All that are under have it more or less weakened. It is not in the qualities only wherein this disposition is to be found; it's remarkable even in the essence, and in the very substance of things. For there is a first being which possesseth all the extent, and all the perfection of the essence, of which the rest are but little portions, which are still diminishing to the very matter, which is almost a nothing, and a Non ens. The Platonic Philosophy is full of these considerations, it acknowledgeth a first One, a first Good, and a first Fair, of which all the rest are but participations. Aristotle even wills that in the order of Substances, there are some more substances than the rest; that Form is more than Matter; That the first is more than that which is called the second. And to draw nearer to our Subject, There is no faculty in living and animated things which enter into order, wherein the same participation is not observable. There are plants which nourish, which increase and multiply some more than others; and those who know their Nature well, may see that the most perfect in every kind hath that virtue which is fit for it in a sovereign degree. What inequality will not be found in the distribution of the Senses, if we would measure the difference which there is amongst Animals? for the sight, from the Mole to the Eagle; for smell, from Infects to the Dogs; for touch, from Sponges, or if you will from the sensitive Plant to Man; and so of all other Animal Virtues. In fine, he who would consider all the genders of things, he will find some species which are as bonds which unite them together, and as steps which insensibly lead from the one to the other; for amongst Stones and Plants, there are Stone-plants found; amongst Plants and Animals there are the Zoophytes▪ amongst fish and Terrestrial Creatures we find the Amphibious, so far, that even to preserve this order, there must often have been species in some sort monstrous to place amongst those things which are most opposite; such is the Bat amongst Birds and fourfooted Beasts; for it's a monstrous Bird which hath neither feathers nor bill, which hath teeth and breasts, and which goes on four feet although it have but two. Such is the Triton amongst Aquatic Creatures and Man; such also betwixt him and terrestrial Animals is the Guinny Monkey called Banis, and a thousand such like, which may be observed running over all the species which are in the Universe. All which evidently make it appear, that it's a Law which Nature hath imposed to make an essay of her works in the meanest things, that she might complete them in the highest, and that in those she might put the beginning of that virtue which she intended perfect in these; Which being so, had not I reason to leave this suspicion in the Readers mind, That the same might be in that of Reasoning. And since the Sensitive Soul was subordinate to the Reasonable; and even therein there must be some vestiges and some roughcasts of reason which were perfect in this: At all adventures, it was a proposition which was to be made good by the proof I was to make of the reasoning of Beasts. And I should have been guilty to have suppressed it, since it may serve for a new example to confirm that fair disposition which the wisdom and providence of God hath established in the World. So that M. C. hath not only grossly abused himself when he did believe that I made it the foundation of my proof, but even also when he would accuse it of falseness, since he knew not the use I had destined it unto, and that he produceth no reason which might convince it of error. He says well, p 41. That there are a thousand most excellent Faculties in Minerals, the least tract of which appears not in the Elements; That nourishment and the other parts of Vegetation are complete in Plants, and are not begun in those things which are inferior to them; That Sight, Memory, and Imagination are only to be found in Animals. But all this makes nothing against the truth of this Proposition: when it assures that the lowest things have the beginnings of that perfection which is to be found in the highest; this aught to be understood of those which are in one and the same order, and which consequently have a Virtue or a Nature common amongst themselves. For all things are not in one and the same order; and as many different Virtues as there are, and several Natures which may be common, so many several orders of things there are, such as that is of Bodies Diaphanous, Luminous, &c, There are without doubt in the Minerals, qualities which are common with the Elements, and which consequently make an order amongst themselves, as is hardness, weight, and such like. But there are those also which are particular unto them; and the order which is found in them, is shut up in the gender of Minerals, but it's always according to the proportion we have observed: For Gold, for example, possesseth the Metallick Nature in perfection, and all other Metals have but their portions greater or lesser as they are nearer or farther estranged from that rich metal. We may say as much of Plants and Animals. So that M. C. objects, That the vegetative Faculties of Plants is not to be found in things inferior to them, and that the Sensitive are only in Animals. That excludes not the order and the disposition we speak of; on the contrary it supposeth and confirms ●t, since all the Faculties are diversely divided; and that there are subjects which have only the beginnings, and others which are entire and perfect, as we have showed. To weigh also M. C's. reasons, we may discover a pure Paralogism, who from a true Proposition draws a consequence contradictory to it, since it destroys the order which that supposeth. But perhaps the other which he adds may be more regular; For he says afterwards, that as God would have the specific Virtues to be those which are most perfect, he would also have them most incommunicable; whence it follows, that far from having established that order which I would persuade, he hath established one quite contrary. Many things might be said on this subject, were it for my purpose; but as I hold them indifferent, neither will I examine whether specific Virtues are the most perfect, and in what sense it may be true: I will content myself to say by the way, That properly they are not in order, because they are incommunicable and indivisible, and that there must be something which must communicate and divide itself, to form that order of which we speak, which is an order of dignity and perfection. They are then only by accident, that is to say, because they are joined to things which may truly be brought into order: It is just as if in transparent bodies, some were marked which were hot; for as hot it could not enter into this order but by accident, to wit, because it was found joined with that transparency. We might even assure that the Species and the specifik Virtues are in order but as the marks of the order; forasmuch as the species is as much as the numbers make, not the ordered but serve for marks to the order which is made: For as the numeral quantity (if it be permitted to substitute this word to that of the Schools) is that which divides itself, and that every division is marked by such a species of number which is indivisible, and which cannot be augmented not diminished, without losing its name and nature. So the Essence being severally divided to all beings, makes as many species, as it suffers divisions, and every species is the mark of such a division, and of such a share which is made in the Essence; Now the mark of the order is of the order but by accident. But this is not the place to deepen these things; let us content ourselves to conclude, That since specific Virtues are capable of no order, they being neither to be divided nor separated, M.C. hath ill taken his measure, when he opposed them to the propositions I made, which speak only of things which may be ordered and diversely divided. At last he concludes, That if this order be found in Knowledge, Beasts, Men and Angels would be of the same species, because they would not differ one from the other, but by the more or the less, whereupon no specific difference could be grounded. But as the things we now treat are not essential to our question for the reasons we have specified, and that this objection considers the grounds, this is not a place to examine it, and I shall answer it in the fourth part of this work, where I shall make it appear, that the more or the less marks, and often, causeth different species. In the mean time, that we may no longer be amused at the Incident which M. C. hath found whence he can draw no advantage: We must enter into the Examen of these pieces which are to be decided in the process which we have together. CHAP. II. That Knowledge is an Action and a Production of Images. FRom the beginning he will not have knowledge to be the only function of the sensitive Soul, Because (saith he) it hath also the Memory, the Appetite and the Motive Virtue which make it act actions different from Knowledge. But M.C. deals not fairy here, or else he minded not that the word Sensitive is a precise term which marks the particular reason in which the Soul ought here to be considered, and which for that cause is equivalent with those which the School calls Reduplicatives, which if it be so, my Proposition admits of no difficulty: For it is certain, That the sensitive Soul as sensitive, hath no other function but Knowledge; because to be sensible is to know, and that Sensitive means the same thing as Knowledge. Now its true, that the soul, as a Knowledge, hath no other Function but Knowledge, and if it produceth other actions, it is no longer as sensitive and as knowing. But were it true, that as sensitive she had other powers; yet must that ever which knows things be more noble than all the rest, as M. C. confesseth himself, p. 42. So that we may always from thence conclude, that its an active power, since the rest which are inferior to it have the Virtue to act. So that the reason which we have established remains in full force, and necessarily proves, that Knowledge ought to be an Action; in effect it hath been drawn from the confession of M. C. which made him forsake Fracastors' part, although in his opinion no man hath so well spoken of Knowledge as himself. It is therefore agreed amongst us too, that Knowledge ●s an Action; but he consents not with me, that this Action is a representation; otherwise he would be forced to confess, that there is no other means of knowing, but by forming the images of objects, because no representation can be made but by making the picture of the thing which is represented. And truly there is a great likelihood that this reason hath convinced him, since he who pardons not even the least syllables, found nothing to say against this consequence, and contented himself to remit the decision thereof to Fracaster who is of opinion quite contrary to his: However it be, if he did certainly believe that Knowledge consisted not in this representation and production of images, he ought to have taught us what action it was the faculty performed in that encounter, and not to have imitated those ill pleaders who always reserve themselves to deduce their reasons in time and place; The Tribunal of Philosophy suffers not those delays and those escapes; it wills that every man clearly would contribute to the Knowledge of the Truth, and bring into society as into the public Treasure all those riches he thinks he hath discovered. Yet is not this M. C's. opinion, who in several places of his work highly protests, That he ought to establish nothing that he held the Negative, and that he is Defender only to such an instance. Whereto notwithstanding we may by the way say he was not called, neither was he more considerable than an infinite many, who are as much interessed in the question as himself. But we treat not here of forms; the ground must be examined, and we must see what other action besides what we have observed, may intervene to form Knowledge; for it is true, others as well as M. C. have thought that it was not sufficient to know things for the faculty to receive the images; that besides that, it ought to perceive, to consider, and to comprehend; but those who will well consider these terms, will find they leave the thing as doubtful as at first. For a man may ask what it is to perceive, consider or comprehend images; what the soul doth in considering them, in comprehending them, in perceiving them? Is it that she applies and unites herself to them? Besides, the application is no principal action, and is but a condition to act. There is no action appears therein which answers the nobility of so high a Faculty. Is it not that she enlighteneth and illuminates them? These are the Metaphorical terms which do not clearly express things, and all those brightnesses and lights produce nothing in these matters but obscurity. Not therefore to stick at the vain and unprofitable manners of speaking, and without being concerned in M.Cs. quality, who makes profession to destroy all, and to establish nothing; Let us conclude that there is no other means to know, but to form images, and that there is no action that can furnish us with the knowing Faculty, porportionable to the excellency of its nature as that is; since by that means, it in some manner makes the objects it knows; that it transforms itself into them, and as Aristotle says, That it makes itself all things. M. C. opposeth to these Truths, That the Senses know their objects without forming any images of them, having no others but those which they received from them. But this Objection being accompanied with no proof destroys not our Proposition. As we believe That the Sensitive soul knows in forming its images; we hold also, and everywhere where she knows she doth the same thing; and therefore when she knows in the organs of the Senses, she forms in herself the picture of the things, the species of which she hath received; so that when she is diverted elsewhere, and that she cannot make this production, she knows nothing of all their objects, although they have perfectly received the images thereof; but we will hereafter re-touch this subject The sensible Species enter not the Memory. Let us see whether it be true, That the sensible species enter the Memory, and whether they may preserve themselves there, as without proving it M: C. assures us. All those who have spoken of the visible species, have said that they had no permanent being, being in a continual flux, that their preservation depended on a continual influence of the cause which produced them, and that it communicated itself but in right lines: If this be so, as experience hinders us from doubting, I would willingly ask how those species which enter the Eyes may be conveyed into the Memory; and if this Faculty be placed in the bottom of the Brain, as all the world believes, what course can they hold to go straight thither, so many turns and obstacles being to be met withal in the nerves, and in those other channels through which they are to pass? For it's to no purpose to oppose unto us, that they render themselves there, by the several reflections they make, since the substance of the Nerves and of the Humours is too gross to give them a passage, and that the reflection so many times doubled, weakens the images, and represents the objects but confusedly; but if they could arrive at the Memory, could they subsist there, since they have no permanent being? This without doubt cannot be conceived without contradiction; for if it be their nature to be in a continual flux they can never be fixed and permanent, no more than the motion: And 'tis the reason they of themselves vanish as soon as the object disappears; forasmuch as losing themselves in the same instant that they are produced, they had need be renewed from one moment to another: And if the cause which produceth them absent itself, it can make no more of them. If it were then true, that the Memory might preserve them in the absence of the Objects, it must supply their defect, and it must with them have the virtue to produce them uncessantly. Now if she had that virtue, she might form them all alone without help of the Objects; it would not be needful to have seen Colours, to remember them; and blind men might judge of them as well as the clearer-sighted. On the other side, if the visible Species are nothing but the Rays of Colours, which (to speak properly) are but weakened and diminished lights, as we have showed elsewhere; the Memory to produce these species must have interior colours, and be truly coloured as well as the objects which produce them. M. C. hath too clear a spirit not to have seen these impossibilities; but he hath chosen to dissemble them, that he might have the more ample matter of contest, and not be obliged to conclude with me, That since the images of objects which the senses have perceived are preserved in the memory, they must be different from those which the objects send thither; and that otherwise they would not be proportionable to the nature of the Soul. The Images which the Imagination forms, are different from those which pass from the Objects, as those are of the Understanding. On what I have said, That the Imagination ought to form different images from those which come from without, since the Understanding forms those which are different from those wherewith the Imagination and the Senses furnish it: M. C. answers, That I prove not this consequence, and that I can say nothing which hinders him from denying it. For my part, I doubt not but he may deny whatever I may produce which is most certain and most evident: After having protested that he will stick to the Negative, if he acted otherwise, he would betray his cause and give himself the lie; however it be, any man but he without any doubt would find this Consequence good. The Understanding to know, forms images according to its nature; whence the Imagination to know, ought also to form images conformable to its nature. For since these two faculties have that in common. That they know; they must needs also have some action which must be common unto them to form Knowledge. Now it is certain, the Understanding forms its images because they are spiritual, and that the Understanding only can produce them. The Imagination must also produce hers; since there is no action which can be common to these two faculties, unless it be the production of images. M. C. adds, That it would from thence follow, That the Imagination ought to make universal and spiritual conceptions, since the Understanding makes them. But I shall desire him to tell me whether he of a truth believes this Consequence which he draws from thence to be good: The Understanding forms images; Therefore the Imagination forms spiritual images. For I did not say, The Understanding forms spiritual images; but I shown, That it forms its images because they are spiritual. This is called in the Schools. To argue from things called simply to those which are conditional; or from those which are divided, to those which are conjoined. But let us to another Subject, which perhaps may be more for his advantage. CHAP. III. The Imagination represents not only the Accident, but also their Subject. HAving a design to show, That the Imagination forms not the Accidents only, but she makes somewhat of their Subject also enter; and that its phantasm is not a Representation by the example of Colour, but of what is coloured; nor of Heat, but of what is hot; in a word, That all sensible Accidents are therein represented per modum concreti, as they speak in the Schools. The first Reason which I brought, is. That the Imagination is a power buried in the Matter, which ought to have an object of the same gender, and an action which terminates itself in something which in some manner is composed as that is. M. C. finds this reason very strange, and answers, That the Imagination is no more buried in the Matter than the Accidents which we give for its object, and that they are as composed as she is. But if he speaks this in earnest, we are both agreed; and he must with me confess, That the Imagination being a Faculty in the Matter, the Colour which is represented is also a Quality in the Matter: And I will have nothing else, but that what is hot, which is a heat in the Matter, is represented by the Imagination, and not the Heat by itself. Yet it doth not seem it is at that point he means to stick: For he opposeth against us, That a man cannot give the Imagination an object which is of the same gender, nor which is composed as she is, unless it be a pure Accident; since the Imagination is a Faculty, and that the Faculty is a pure Accident, as we have said in the Discourse of Instinct, pag. 9 This objection is captious; and I make an Appeal here to M.C. his sincerity, to know whether it be allowed in good Logic to change the sense of the Terms of which we were agreed. The question here is concerning Physical Accidents which cannot be separated from the Matter; and he gives us the change in Metaphysical Accidents, which subsist only in the Understanding. It's true, that when we examined what the essential difference of Man was, we said, That the Faculty of Reasoning could not be it, because it is a pure Accident, and that the difference of Man ought to be a Substance. Now he cannot disavow, but that the search of essential differences is from the securing of the Metaphysics, and that the Faculty ought to be no otherwise considered but in Physic. So that he unprofitably labours to ruin what we have now established for what we said in that place. We consider here the Imagination as a Faculty which operates: Now it cannot operate without Matter which serves for its organ. It cannot therefore be conceived but in the Matter, and by consequence it must have an Object which must be material, and an Action which terminates at something which must be as that is composed. But what says he? The Imagination is no more material than the external Senses, which nevertheless know the Accidents only. I could hereupon answer him, That he supposeth what is in question: For in no part of his Work hath he proved, that the external Senses know Accidents only. But as it is not his mind to establish any thing, I shall content myself to demand of him whether by the external senses he means the organs of the senses, or the faculty which is in those organs. For if they are only the organs, the external senses do not know; If it be the sensitive faculty, it must operate, and consequently form its image. Now this Image represents somewhat besides the Accidents, as we pretend to have showed. The Imagination represents things all entire. The second Reason I brought in confirmation of this truth, is grounded on that fair observation, which some have made on the same subject I now treat; to wit, that there are two orders of things in the Universe, the one of which in the first intention of Nature were made to be absolute, the others were destined to represent them. In this latter order are the knowing Faculties; for they have no other virtue but to know, and cannot know but by representing the things; it's what Aristotle said, speaking of the Understanding. That it had no other Nature but that of being potentially 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. That is, to be able to make and to be made all things wherein the representation consists. Hence we concluded, That if these Faculties are destined to represent things, they must represent them all entire, and such as they are; otherwise it were not to represent them: Even as a man would never say that a Painter had made the picture of a man, had he painted only the Eyes or the Mouth. In effect, as the Members of this division relate the one to the other, since the first compeehends all what is absolutely, the other must have the same extent, so that the knowing Faculties represent all things which are absolute; now thus to represent them, is to represent them all entire. So the Imagination which is destined to know sensible and corporeal things, aught to represent them such as they are; that is to say, as sensible and corporeal, and because they are not corporeal without matter, it necessarily aught to represent them to its self with its matter. And consequently, the Images it makes, represent not only the accidents, but even the subject which sustains them. It's true, that its representation is not exact, that it distinguisheth not the subject from the accidents, and that it represents them but confusedly; but it is sufficient to say, It knows it. And the order which Nature holds in all things; would that the knowledge of the Imagination should not be the most perfect, and that it should be but the beginning, and as it were, the first Essay to attain the perfection of that which the Understanding was to form. M. C. employs several Answers to invalidate the force of Raciocination; and although at first he seem only to sport and divert himself, yet that he might not be reproached, not to have been serious enough in so important a matter: I shall treat with him as if he had believed of a truth, That if the Imagination being the representative of things, aught to represent them all entire; it follows that the picture which is also the representative of things, aught to represent them all entire, and when she was to make the picture of a man, it must paint his Soul and his most hidden Faculties. I grant him not only, that the Picture represents the thing all entire, for that unless it were entire, it were not the thing it ought to represent. But it follows not from thence, that the picture ought to represent the Soul and the Faculties of man, forasmuch as that makes no part of what it ought to represent. If he had showed, that the picture ought truly to have represented man, certainly it were obliged to paint his soul and his body, since man is composed of them both. And if we say that it represents man, it is but by accident, and because the understanding supplies the deficiency; the Nature of Man representing to him that which Art furnisheth him withal only in figure. It is not so with the knowing Faculties, which are as the Natural pictures of all things; and which by an Art, if we may so say, more excellent than all those which Men have invented, have the power to represent the very substance of their objects. The defect then which is in M. C. his Consequence, comes from that he takes the word of Things in the general signification, although I have restrained it to a certain gender; and as the Logicians speak, he changeth the Supposition, and from a Term which is distributed, he makes a Distributive. But not to weigh too exactly what he spoke but in raillery, let us observe his other Answers which explicate his true sentiments. The Nature of the Imagination is altogether Representative. He says, That the Imagination moves the Appetite; and therefore that its Nature is not altogether Representative. And I deny this Consequence, although I agree with him in the Antecedent. For the Imagination moves not the Appetite, but by representing unto it those things to which it ought to bear itself. And to speak properly, it is not moved, it is rather that which moves itself in pursuit of the Judgement it makes. As for the virtues which M.C. gives it, by which he pretends That in Nature is not at all representative, we have already answered this objection, pag. 22. As well as to what he adds, That the Nature of the external Senses is as much or more representative as the Imagination: For if by the external Senses he understand the Sensitive faculty which is in the Organs, it is not more nor less representative than the Imagination, since its the same thing. He might remember that I had expressly marked, That by the word Imagination I comprehended all the powers of the Sensitive soul which form Knowledge. For although the sense of that word have not in common discourse so large an extent as I have given it, yet after I had explicated it clearly enough, there remained nothing of an Equivoke: And since the question is of things, and not of words, which serve only but as they are valued, M. C. aught rather to have comprehended the thing of which I spoke, then to have poposed his gainsayings. The Imagination is more representative than the sensible Species. 182. At last he objects against us, That the visible Species are more representative than the Imagination; and that she represents the Objects more perfectly than the Phantasm which is in the Memory: It is what he should have proved. For if he supposeth that the Imagination represents not the Subject of the Accidents, he supposeth what is in question: And if he will confess that she doth represent them, he must also confess that the Phantasm represents the things more imperfectly than the visible. Species, since they represent only the Accidents, and that represents the Accidents and the Subject together. On the other side, the word [To represent] is taken actively, when we employ it about the Imagination, and signifies the same with Making the picture. Now if this be so, the Species represent it not in that sense, since they make not the pictures, and that themselves are the pictures of things. And therefore M. C. deceives himself, when he would compare them with the Imagination which makes the pictures and images of things; That if he will compare them only with the Phantasm, he must abandon the one half of his Proposition; and for the rest, he must save himself from the Dilemma we have now made him. The third Reason we made use of to show that the Imagination represents somewhat besides the Accidents, is, Reas. 3. Because the Understanding cannot form the Idea of a Substance. That if in some manner it do not represent the substance of the objects, the Understanding would find no ground for those Knowledges in the Phantasm it represents. For, after having separated all Accidents from it, there would remain nothing whereupon it could form the Idea of its Substance. Whereupon M. C. says, That I should have added, That the Understanding could not know universal things, did not the Phantasm represent the Universality; neither would it know Man, did not the Imagination form a spiritual Image of his soul. I am much obliged to him for the advice he gives me: But the Laws of Logic defend me the use thereof, and teach me, That when a man changeth the Terms of a Proposition which he would bring to an Absurdity, he labours in vain, and can conclude nothing at all. Seeing I had said, that the Understanding would have nothing whereupon to form the Idea of its substance, did not the phantasm in some fort represent the substance; All what M. C. could legitimately infer, was, That the Understanding could have nothing on which it could form the Idea of universal things, did not the phantasm in some sort represent unto it universal things. And then, although the Consequences which are drawn from the first intentions to the second are commonly captious; yet I should freely have consented herein, without fearing any inconvenience; because that I can maintain, That universal Natures are all in every of their Individuals not formally and precisely, as they say, but nevertheless really. So that in this sense it being true, that the phantasm may represent such an Animal; it may also in some manner represent the universal Nature of that Animal. But I will not engage myself in the Combats which the Schools make on this subject: And that I may no longer contest with M. C. I shall grant, That the Understanding knows things which are not represented in the phantasms; The Understanding hath Knowledges direct and obliqne. and that by means of the Discourse he makes, and the Consequences he deduceth, he discovers in the objects of Natures and Virtues, whereof the Imagination gives him no notice. But it follows not from thence, that it knows all things after the same manner. Besides these Knowledges which are obliqne, there are those which are direct and intuitive, whereby it sees and knows things as they are represented by the Senses. And did not the phantasms express it, it could never attain to the knowledge of them by the way of Knowledge. If this be thus, as no man need doubt, M. C. can draw no advantage from what he hath opposed. For were it true, that the Understanding knew Universal and Spiritual things without the help of the Imagination, it will not from thence follow, That he did know the Substance; of which we have spoken in the same manner, since there is another kind of Knowledge whereby it may know it. In effect the Imagination conceiveth what is hot, what is animated: And there is no likelihood when a Beast sees another Animal, that it conceives only the colour, the figure, and the motion which it perceiveth therein; but it conceiveth somewhat which hath all those Accidents. And this cannot but be the Substance, which in Man serves for the Object to the direct knowledge of the Understanding. For in separating all the Accidents which the Imagination confounded, he at last discovers that thing which is void of those Accidents. So that a man cannot say he doth it afresh, no more than he who finds a Treasure, makes the Treasure by digging the earth and putting by what hide it. In pursuit of this discovery, the Understanding employs its obliqne knowledges, and by several relations and divers inductions which it makes, he adds to this Substance other Notions which were not truly represented in the phantasm, as Universality, Spirituality, and the like. But this is not the place where we are to examine this Subject: And without troubling ourselves to establish our Reasons, it will be sufficient to show that those which M. C. hath made use of to destroy them, hath been nothing to their prejudice. For as for what he adds, That he knows not why I will not have the Understanding know those things which are not represented in the Phantasm. since I will have the Imagination should know the Substance without the help of external Senses and sensible Species: He makes me speak there as he pleaseth himself: Had he taken notice of my words, he would have found them quite contrary to what he said: And that I will have, That the Understanding knows the things which are not represented in the Phantasm; And that I will not have the Imagination know the Substance without the help of the Senses, and of the Sensible species. For although I assured, That the Imagination forms itself its Phantasm; yet I have always said, that it formed it on the Model of those sensible Species which are received through the organs of the Senses; And therefore it is not without their aid, as he would have that I had said. Yet I know that this is not the meaning which he gives to my words, neither will I stick at it. And I would only observe this Equivoque to make it be remembered, That those who undertake the Censure of other men's Works, aught to keep themselves on their guard, and not to expose themselves to the danger to be reprehended by those they would correct. I see then well enough, the Reason which he would employ against me, is, That if the Imagination may represent the Substance, the picture of which the sensible Species are not to make; the Understanding, which is incomparably more knowing and more perfect, may also represent it without the Phantasms giving it any image thereof. But this objection is easily resolved, because we do not consider here the Understanding in itself and in its pure nature, which may have such a power; and perhaps Souls separated may thus know corporal things: But we respect it in the state it is in us, and in its ordinary manner of acting, which requires the help of the inferior Faculties: Otherwise we might prove, That we had no need of eyes to see things, since a man might see them without, as Spirits do. 'Tis the Law which Nature imposeth to this sublime faculty. That at often as it is linked to the Body, it ought to serve the Senses and the Imagination, and not anticipate that knowledge which they are to give it. And since they are destined to representation in corporal things, it ought to expect the report they are to make and take in for the ground of their first knowledges. Now it is certain, they give in an account of the very substance of things, for that they cannot do otherwise, for those reasons which we have before recited. And certainly Nature should have been deceitful to have reduced all the Knowledge of Animals to exterior Accidents, and to have denied them that which was the most important for their preservation. These are the greatest endeavours M. C. hath made against our First Part. For what he afterwards adds is so weak, that there is nothing which can excuse it, but that he was at an end of his work, and that in all likelihood his mind was tired with the long labour he had undertaken. In effect; On what we have said, That the Imagination confounded the Accidents with their Subject; The only Reason he objects, is, That it is not true. For if he pretends to have sufficiently proved it, Because the Imagination knows not the Subject, and that the Qualities serve not for marks to know them; It's what is in question, and consequently cannot pass for a proof. Reas. 4. Drawn from Experience. As for the Experience I proposed, which at the first sight we have of visible Accidents; We do not only believe we see the Accidents, but the Bodies themselves wherein they are. He answers, That this experience is false, because (says he) the first sights or single conceptions can precede the affirmations and the reasonings, without which one cannot conclude nor know a Substance by means of an Accident. But to what purpose doth he speak here of Affirmations and Reasonings? in this encounter we will not have the Imagination reason or affirm any thing, neither is it by means of the Accident that it knows the Substance; at one sight it sees both, as it sees the colour and the figure. And when I say, That it believes it sees the subject of accidents, it is not by the reflection it makes on its first knowledge, but it is in its common way of speaking of such things as they think they certainly know. For when any object presents itself to sight, it is true, we believe we see it, and we think we are not deceived in that knowledge which our eye affords us; and yet for all that, we cannot say we make any Affirmation, Conclusion or Reasoning. How ever it be, it imports me or the truth but very little, that M. C. denys the experience which shall be confessed by all other men, so as they be not blind. And if we would consult with the most ignorant, who commonly are the most certain and most sincere Judges we can choose, for what concern the senses; they will all say, that when they see a stone, they do not only see the colour and the figure, but the thing itself, which hath those qualities; it is not that at this first sight they distinguish it from its accidents, because the Imagination confounds them, and conceives the one with the other; and if they come afterwards to distinguish them, it is the effect of their Reason, which separates what the Imagination had confounded. But M. C. cannot comprehend That Reason separates what the Imagination hath confounded; For, says he, if the Imagination forms an Idea of a different substance from that of the accident, it must distinguish them. And I cannot also apprehend why he brings a proposition for a proof, which is contrary both to his sense and to mine. For he believes not that the Imagination can form an Idea of substance different from that of the Accidents, unless he would destroy all what he hath proposed. And for my part, I am so far from having had this thought, that I ever said, That the Imagination represented the accident and the substance confusedly, and therefore without any distinction. I confess that this representation is made on the model of the sensible species, which represent but the accidents only. But the sensitive Faculty makes none of this distinction, because it cannot make it without knowing, and that it cannot know without forming its phantasm. Now the phantasm ought necessarily to represent the accidents in concrete, that is to say, with the substance, as we have already proved and that therefore it cannot distinguish the Substance from the Accident. For the rest, the more easily to conceive this manner of operating, from which the Imagination cannot dispense itself, we must consider the art of casting of Statues; for although the Mould in which they are made be hollow, and that it can only give that figure which is imprinted on it; nevertheless, the Statue forbears not to come out massy, and on an empty pattern which hath but the superficies, the Founder makes a solid and flat work; the Imagination doth the same, since the sensible Species which bear the image of the Accidents only, it so forms its phantasm that with those accidents it comprehends the main and body it sustains. To return to M C. the Hypothesis whereupon he grounds his conclusion is imaginary, and he cannot save himself from the reproach which may be laid to him, to have imposed on me things I never said, or to have form to himself Chimera's to fight withal. In pursuit he demands How according to my principles, the Understanding can make this distinction, since the phantasm represents not the ground thereof, and that after having separated what was confounded, nothing remains to make him know the distinction. It were easy for me to Answer him, that the phantasm represented to the Understanding the ground of this distinction, since it represents two confused things, which might be separate, and that after it hath separated what was confused, the separated things which remain make it know the distinction; for the separation doth not really differ from the things which are separated, no more than the motion from the things which are moved. But to cut off these vain subtleties which are destroyed by themselves if we would have the terms they are conceived by, we in one word say, that this distinction is rank of those things which we have showed in the may be known by the Understanding without being represented in the phantasms, for whether it be proved for the action itself it doth, or for a general notion it forms on that action, it is certain it can have no direct knowledge of it, and that it must reflect and reply on itself to know it. These are the chief observations which M. C. hath made against the first part of my work, Observations on the censure of the first Part. and which he hath placed at the end of his Book, to crown his Labour, and only that he may have cause to tell me, That he hath examined all my Reasonings; but although there be nothing in all his work directly opposite to mine, having even sought to finish where he began, the whole is, to know whether he hath succeeded well or no, and whether he had reason to believe that his sixteenth Chapter should dispense him from stopping at those things which I have here treated. For nigh own part, after having seen the Title of his Book which promiseth to speak of the Knowledge of Animals, I think in some place he ought to have explicated what Knowledge was, and how it was to be made: And since he will not have them made Propositions nor Discourses, that at least he would satisfy these premises which obliged him to show how they knew things; that is to say, how how that simple conception is made, which he and all the world allows them; nevertheless, there is no one word of all that in his whole work; and that sixteenth Chapter which should have dispensed him from examining what I had said thereupon, speaks of nothing less than of that first Knowledge, and treats only of Ratiocination; we must needs afterwards say, that passion hath altogether blinded him, and taken from him the sight of those things which he ought most carefully to have examined. For this was the ground of all what both of us had to say, since both of us had a design to speak of the Knowledge of Beasts. And if I have well proved, that they know things by forming of their images. I have a great prejudge to conclude that they may both judge and reason. Since Judgement and Discourse are made by the union of images, which is not so difficult to make as their production. And if on the other side he had made it appear, that the first Knowledge was not form after that manner, he without doubt had much shaken all the body of his proofs, and he would have vaunted to have overthrown one of the strongest Arch batteries of my work. However it be, if he had had the true spirit of Philosophy, instead of seeking that little vanity which he had of saying, That there were none of my Reasons which he had not examined, and to speak in his sense, which he had not justled and combated; be should have helped me exactly to have acknowledged those Truths of which I had made the first discoveries: He should in earnest have approved those things which were conformable to reason, and have added afterwards his own light, which might have made me see what I did not perceive. Finally, he should with some restraint have come to the censure of my Propositions, which are so glorious to the sovereign matter of the Universe, and which are more capable of putting into spirits the admiration of his bounty and of his magnificence then any other thing which is in nature; for if the soul can produce the images of things, and that it hath no other means to know them but that; who would not admire the wonderful fecundity which God hath given it? since as many times as it knows, as many times at it remembers the things it hath known, it must as many times produce those images, and consequently make an infinite number of them, without being tired in their production, and without draining the source it is drawn from: But if it's also true, that it in such a manner produceth those Images that they not only represent the sensible Accidents, but also the bodies and substance of things, who cannot but be ravished with astonishment to find here below so perfect an Abridgement of the Divine almighty power, and to see that the soul in some manner created like a new world, and that it forms in itself all what God hath made in this visible world? After all this, if M.C. had not thought it fit, to have raised this Doctrine so high, he should at least have considered the splendour it was like to have given to all those difficulties which are encountered on the nature and operations of the soul. For besides that, it makes it evidenly appear why repetition fortifies the Memory, why the Imagination can make no abstraction nor reflection, nor consequently any Universal notion; it serves for a foundation, and a prejudge to show that the Understanding operates by shorter means and easier than those prescribed by the Schools, and that at Law it's a Faculty which is not tied to the Matter, and which consequently is in the order of spiritual things. If M.C. then had made any reflection thereupon, I doubt not but it would have obliged him to have weighed my reasons more justly than he hath done. And that the least favourable judgement I could have expected had been that, if my opinion were not true, yet it were very probable, and that it might have been placed in the rank of those new Systemes of the world which the Astronomers have invented, which perhaps are no more certain than the former, but yet which the more readily give a reason of all the Phenomena's. The End of the First Part. That the Imagination can unite or divide the Images it hath form. Wherein the Judgement consists. THE SECOND PART. THere are four principal Reasons which we have made use of to prove that the Imagination can unite Images. The first is drawn from the Dreams which Animals have in their sleep; for as their Imagination doth then figure other things. besides those which the senses have represented, even as it happens in those of Men; It must necessarily dispose the Images which it hath produced in the Memory, after another manner, and order them otherwise then they were; and consequently, that they must unite some which were separated, and separate others which were joined together The second is taken from the Diseases which trouble their Knowledge and their Judgement: For we cannot doubt but that in that estate they represent the things quite otherwise then the Senses and the Memory make them known, and that they mistake the little for great, and the good for evil things, etc. Which cannot be done but by the mixture which the Imagination makes of Images against the natural order which they ought to keep. The third is evident in Birds which learn to speak, which continually trouble the sequel of the words which they have learned: For there is no man but will infer from thence, but that the Images of the things which they keep in their Memory may mix themselves, and that their Imagination is able to unite them, and to to join them together at pleasure. The last is, That the presence of good or ill makes them remember what they formerly have had, and makes them fear or hope the like. Which would never happen, did not the Imagination unite the present things with those past and future. From this Truth thus established, we concluded, That the Imagination could make Affirmative propositions as well as the Understanding. For when it judgeth that an Aliment is good, it doth nothing but unite the Idea of Good with that of the Aliment. And therefore since the Imagination can form the same Images and unite them together, it may make, as it doth, Affirmative propositions. And indeed, since all the World is agreed, That Beasts judge whether things are good or ill for them: It is certain that they cannot make this Judgement, without uniting the Images which they had formed thereof. Now in uniting them, they must make Affirmative propositions even as they make Negatives, when they separate them the one from the other; it being true, That if they can unite, they can also divide them. CHAP. I. That the Imagination makes Affirmative Propositions. I Here expected the Examen of a Philosopher, and I do not so much as find the Artifice of an Orator, who dissembles those Reasons which solicit him, and passeth over them as if they did not deserve that he should stop at them and as if they were not worthy of him who propounded them; for these are the very words M. C. useth against me. After he had said, that I had strongly obliged myself to have proved the Proposition I had advanced, he would have wrought wonders in favour of the common opinion. But I would fain know what he would have done, had I well proved them; would he have confuted my reasons? Without doubt he ought not to have done it, unless he would have combated the Truth. This was the place wherein he ought to have exercised it, since he did believe my proofs were invalid: And not having done it, he gives me cause to believe that he thinks ill all what he would nor examine, and that all what he hath examined is not ill; and so that there are but few things in my Work but are good, since there are so few which have escaped his Censure. However it be, I think it's fit to see whether my proof be so bad as he speaks it to be: For I have not only thought it worthy of me, which were a very slight commendation, but I have believed its more solid and more evident than any he could produce. If indeed it be true, That to make Affirmative propositions, the images are but to be joined and united which are to compose them, as the Schools are of opinion; I thought it had been a necessary consequence, That the Imagination was able to make those propositions, if it could unite the images it formed. And I imagined, that without obliging myself any further to prove so certain and evident a Consequence, it had been sufficient to show, That the Imagination could unite its images. And so all the question may be reduced to this point, To know whether the Reasons I had propounded did well establish this Truth? M. C. who denies it, without doubt was never acquainted with the force thereof. For although at first it seem to prove nothing, but that the images unite themselves in the soul, without saying that they unite themselves by themselves, or whether it be the Imagination which unites them: yet if a man would but remember the foundation which I believe I have solidly laid, That the Imagination knows nothing, but it forms the image thereof; a man will be obliged to confess, That it represents nothing to it self in dreams, in sickness, and in the repetition of things which are taught Animals, but that it also forms the images thereof; because it's evident, that in these encounters it knows in the same manner as in the others. Now if it forms these images itself, and that disposeth them after another manner than they are in the Memory, it's certain that it assembles them together, and that consequently it makes Affirmative propositions. Whence the confusion of Thoughts comes in Dreams and in Sickness. M. C. says thereupon, That it conceives these things united; and that the confusion in them is not in the Imagination, but in as much as it is in the phantasms wherewith the Memory furnisheth it. But if this be true, how can it be possible that those images which are confounded in one's sleep, should so easily reduce themselves into their order after one awakes? How after the long agitation of a sickness, which hath embroiled and mixed them with so much disorder, could they reduce themselves again into their rank, and into the firm order wherein they were? If M. C. had taken care of this, he would have believed as we do, That the confusion comes not from the phantasms which are in the Memory, but from the Imagination only; which in the continual motion it is, casts itself on several images, the one separated from the other, without changing the sequel and natural disposition which they have together. It's just like a Ball, which by the several bounds it makes, falls on several squares; for its fall changeth not the order; and although it falls sooner upon the one then upon the other, yet they still remain in the same situation in which they were placed. So the Imagination which can never be at rest, and which is always agitated, falls on several images of the Memory, and forms thereupon the dreams and the chimaeras wherewith it entertains itself being asleep. But the natural order of the figures whereon she hath wrought, suffers no change; and when a man is awakened, the soul finds them in the same disposition they were before. The same thing happens in those sicknesses which offend the Judgement: and there is no difference, but that in dreams the Imagination commonly agitates itself without being solicited by any external cause; and here it is carried away by the tempest which is in the spirits and in the humours, the violence whereof is so great, that without being able to stop at what the senses represent it withal, it runs here and there towards those images which are in the Memory, and makes a confusion of all the images it encounters; but when the storm is over, all is found in the same condition it was, and the Images which are in the Memory have changed place no more than the Isles and Rocks in the sea suffer in a storm. If this be so, the Imagination which alone makes confusion in these encounters, assembles the images it hath found, and so unites them that they make a link and sequence together as is necessary to produce dreams and extravagancies, which are observed in diseases: And then there is no difference betwixt the union it makes, with that the Understanding makes, when it joins one Idea with another to make an Affirmative proposition. The Imagination can add an Est and a Non est to the Terms it unites. M.C. (p. 241.) oppugns us, That it is not in the power of the Imagination to add an Est or a Non est betwixt two Terms; so that it cannot deny, nor affirm any thing, nor consequently make any Proposition. But if it cannot make use of the Verb Est, it will not follow that it cannot make Propositions, because there are some wherein it is not used, as almost all those are which consist of two terms only, which the Schools call by Secundo Adjacente. For when we say, That an Animal runs, that he flies, etc. these are perfect Propositions, wherein the Verb Est is not to be found. And although they say that they are reduced to the form of others in putting the Participle in stead of a Verb; yet as this manner of speech is not natural, it's a sign that the phantasm represents not the thing naturally as it is. Indeed, of a thousand persons which will say, The creature runs, there will not be two but will believe that by those words they understand that the beast is running, And those Philosophers which Aristotle quotes in his Physics, who would not use the Verb Est in their discourse, could not but believe that these Propositions were equivalent. But it is not here where we would stick. We must observe what M.C. his thought is when he says, The Imagination cannot add the Verb Est to the Notions it makes. Doth he understand the word, or the thing which is signified by it? If it be the word, I grant that Beasts use it not, because their language is natural, and that that Verb is a Term of Institution agreed upon amongst Men. But it follows not from thence, That men's imagination cannot employ it, since the word explicates the thoughts of the Imagination, as well as those of the Understanding. If he understand the thing which is signified by the word, he must observe whether the Imagination is capable of forming it: For if it hath that power, it may then add the Verb Est: And if Beasts communicate their thoughts, they must have some Accent which must have the same force with that word of which we speak. All who have spoken of this Verb, What the Verb Est signifies in Propositions. not omitting Fracastor, who is M. C. his great Doctor for matter of Knowledge, say, That it's an exterior sign, whereby men observe the union or the division which the Understanding makes amongst Images. And certainly, since words are the signs of the thoughts, that word which enters into propositions cannot be useless, but must mark something which is in the thoughts. Now there is nothing in the interior proposition which the Understanding makes, to which the Verb Est is answerable, but the union or the division of the Images; And therefore it is true, That this union or division is the thing which is signified by it. If this be so, all the difficulty is reduced to this point, To know whether the Imagination is capable to unite images? For if she can unite them, she doth the thing which is signified by the Verb Est. And as the Understanding by uniting the Idea of Good with that of Aliment, doth all what is necessary to say, That the Aliment is good: If it be true, that the Imagination can make such like an Union which it would express by language, it would have the same foundation as that hath, to say, That the thing is such as it conceiveth it; since the word Est signifies nothing else but the union of images. Now in my opinion, whatsoever M. C. thinks, we have demonstrated, That the Imagination unites images, and therefore that it makes propositions. The Imagination may add Images to those of its Object. All what M.C. produceth to destroy this Truth, is, That a material Faculty cannot add any thing to its object; That the Verb Est is not amongst the species which come from without; and that to mix it with the Terms, it marks a doubling in the Knowledge, and somewhat which comes very near Reflection. For my part, I conceive not the sense he gives the last words; for according to the common way of speaking, a Doubling in the Knowledge is a Reflection. Neither can I apprehend how a Reflection comes very near a Reflection, since it must be a Reflection which were not a Reflection. But I should have too much to do, should I stick at the way of speech which he useth: Let's only say, That the word Thing which he useth, hath too floating a signification to induce us to what he pretends. It's true, that the Imagination cannot add any thing to its object, if by that word we understand any Nature; but it may add conditions and modifications thereunto. Union is not an absolute Nature, 'tis but a Modification, which is not really different from those things which unite themselves. And this surpasseth not the force of the Imagination, no more than the rest of the actions it doth; for Union is the action of the Imagination, as well as the first Conception. And if it were true, That Union were above its power, because it is not comprehended in those species which come from without: By the same reason, the first Conception and all other Knowledge would also be beyond its power, since it is no more comprised in the Species, than the Union. What he adds of Reflection, is to no purpose: For the Imagination ought not to be more obliged to make reflection, when it knows the images with the union which it gives them, than the Understanding which makes none in the like encounters. Otherwise it must needs be, That it could never form direct Judgements nor Affirmations without Reflections, which are unheard of things in the Schools. For although he says. That in all Affirmation there is a Reflection of the Mind made on the Knowledge of the Senses; forasmuch as if we did only know the Species, without knowing the Reception, we could never affirm any thing: It is certain, that this Reason combats Experience; most part of men affirming things, without knowing whether they have received the species thereof, having never heard speak of them, and knowing them not at all. For the rest, I dare not say that M.C. deceived himself herein, attributing to the Imagination all what the Understanding is able to do on the union of images; believing, that as the Understanding may make a reflection on its action, and form a notion of the Verb Est altogether distinct and separate from that of the terms, the Imagination ought also to do as much, if it can make propositions. No, I have too great an opinion of his sufficiency, to have that thought: But I imagine that he would try by those objections he hath made, whether I had any knowledge of the School-subtleties. And therein truly I shall ingenuously confess that I am but little versed, as in all other things; and that 'tis an unhappiness both for him and me, that I know no more of them: For that without doubt there are many places in his Work, wherein I have not observed the hidden artifice, and consequently whereunto I could not employ the subtiling of my spirit. CHAP. II. That the Imagination can make Negative Propositions. WHat follows, is perhaps of the same rank: For I understand neither the force, nor the address of the reasons he produceth to show, that the Imagination makes no Negative propositions; although that were a Subject which might furnish him with quantity of fair observations, and wherein he might exercise all the Niceties of his Logic. In the mean time he contents himself to say, That the Imagination makes no Negations, and knows them not, because in effect they are nothing; and that they cannot furnish images to make themselves known. Can he be ignorant, and did he think that I did not myself know, that Negation may be considered two ways: Directly, carrying our thoughts outright on the absence and the privation which is on the subject; and obliquely in considering the subject deprived of such a thing, and which is not such a thing. We are agreed, that the direct Negation is a Non ens, and is in effect Nothing; and the Understanding only can conceive it, because it requires a most subtle abstraction, and an exact reflection on the Knowledge. But we also hold, that the Subject which hath not any thing, is truly deprived of the thing which it hath not; and that after that manner the Imagination may make a Negation. For even as he who kills a man, makes that the Man is no more, although he doth not directly make the Negation of the Man: So the Imagination separating those images which make a whole, makes that that whole is no more. On the other side, as all these things are made of themselves, or accidentally, the Negation which the Knowing faculties form is made only by accident, because no action can be precisely terminated in a Non ens. For he that kills, gives the blow; and the loss of life comes by accident in pursuance of the blow: So the Imagination separates the images; and to this separation, which is a real and true action, happens the Negation. How the Negation may be represented by the Imagination. But M. C. says, (p. 142.) That the Negation, whatever it be, cannot furnish any Image to make itself known. We have already answered this objection: For if the word Image signifies only the representation of an absolute thing, it's true that the Negation furnisheth no image to make itself known: But if it comprehends the Modification of images, as is not to be doubted, it's certain that the Negation furnisheth an image at least to make itself known by Accident; forasmuch as the separation which is a modification of images, is represented in the images; and that by this separation the thing is no more what it was before in the thought. So that even as the Imagination makes Affirmative propositions when it unites the phantasms, it must also make Negatives, if it can separate them. And as it employs the word Est to mark the union of images, it hath also some exterior sign which designs the separation it makes of them, and then it expresseth them by the term Non est, or by some other which is equivalent. Nothing remains then, but for us to show M.C. That the Imagination separates Images. But what means is there to make a man see any thing, that shuts his eyes, and who would not so much as believe them when they should be made known? All the Reasons we have deduced have the same evidence for the separation of images, as they have for their union. And since it is certain, that in Dreams and Sicknesses the Imagination assembles phantasms which are not of the same order; To assemble them, she first of all must separate those with which there was a natural tye. Yet will not M.C. consent to this truth, as clear and evident as it is. And he says, That to persuade him, I must employ Reasons like those I use to prove, That the Imagination knows the substance of objects. I am very glad that M.C. who is so serious, would sport himself here. He must also give me leave to say, That he might do it more modestly than he hath done: For in stead of playing upon me, he offends me; and instead of using raillery, he wrongs me. Were I to revenge myself, I should only answer, That since he did not apprehend the Reasons he speaks of, it had been useless for me to have produced the like: But as there is a great appearance that he will be now better instructed than he was then, and that the confusion he will be in to have used me so unworthily, is revenge enough for me; I shall content myself to assure him, that I have not only taken the leisure, but also care to examine the Reasons he condemns, and that others as judicious as himself have approved them; And that for his reputation it had been to have been wished, that he himself had not had the leisure to have examined them. For, had he been contented with what he had said here, He could have made those believe which had net the commodity of reading them, that they were as strange as he imagined them. But the passion he hath to leave nothing uncontradicted, by which he had finished his work, hath in the Addition made it appear, that he understood them not. And I am confident that this happened through his fault, and none of mine. After all this, could I not have shown that the Imagination makes Negative propositions, it were indifferent for the design I had to prove, That Animals reason. It's sufficient that she makes Affirmatives to infer what I pretend, as we shall see in the pursuit. I had made it appear in my first Discourse, That I built no foundation on the proof which I might draw from Negative propositions, speaking thereof but by the way, and with that briefness which the Examen of those things required, which are quite contrary to those of which hath been amply treated. So that without forsaking the opinion I have of these Propositions, I shall grant M.C. that I have not well established them, so as he will confess that he hath not sufficiently destroyed them; And should he have succeeded, that it would nothing prejudice the Right which I defend. How Beasts judge of Things. But let us conclude this troublesome Discourse by the address which he useth to show. That Beasts judge not whether things are good or ill unto them. For he will have it pass for an authentic proof, (p. 143.) The sense of most part of Philosophers, who believe they judge of nothing; and that they know the things which are good for them by simple conceptions, without affirming that they are good. And indeed, if he could oblige me to admit for the Judges of a Dispute, those who are my Adversaries, he would have found a good Expedient to have gained his Cause. I know that it is the common opinion, and that the School teacheth, That the Imagination is not said to compose, but in that it considers two images at once, as he says. But these are Judges or interessed Witnesses which I refuse in this cause. Were it to be decided by Authority, M. C's. would alone of itself have as much power over me, as that of all the Philosophers which he quotes. And where it is not necessary to produce Reasons, I shall as willingly follow his opinion, as that of all the Schools. But here we must of necessity: And 'tis not sufficient to say, That Beasts judge of nothing; It must be proved by some Reasons which at lest must be probable, and must not subject us to the tyranny of these Philosophers, who have no other motive to believe things, but that their Master said it. But M. C. would have us believe from his bare word, That Beasts judge not of the objects of their Appetite, but as the External senses judge, That an Odour is good or ill; that Fire burns; that Honey is sweet, and Wormwood bitter; without its being necessary to know those things, for the tongue to say, This is sweet, and this is bitter. First he confounds those Knowledges which are altogether different: For the Senses know after another manner, that Honey is sweet, and Wormwood bitter, than they do that Fire burns, and that a Smell doth good or ill. And I shall always grant, that Beasts judge not of the objects of their Appetite, but as the Senses know that Fire burns, or that an Odour is ill. But at the same time I shall deny, that they judge of the objects of their Appetite in the same manner, as the Taste judgeth of the sweetness of Honey, and bitterness of Wormwood. For the Sense may by a simple conception judge of the sweetness of Honey, for as much as it is the proper and immediate object of the Taste; and that it is not always necessary that the Imagination should make a progress from one thing to another: But when it judgeth that the Fire burns, it passeth not only from the cause to the effect, but it adds also one Image which is not sensible, to one which is; by judging that Burning is evil, which is an Image which the Senses furnish it not withal: since to be good or ill, useful or useless, are such things which know per species non sensatas, as the School saith, and which require, besides the judgement of the Senses, that of the Estimative faculty. But I say yet more; To make this Judgement, Reason is often employed therein: For when an Animal sees the Fire, and that he will not come near it for fear of being burnt by it, he must have proved that 'tis the effect of Fire to burn, and remember the evil which formerly it had done unto him; and consequently he must unite the image of the burning, and the ill which he received thereby, with that of the present object, and that of the ill which he apprehends therefrom: Which could not be done without discourse, as we shall show hereafter. Besides, what need had he to add, That to know things, it was not necessary for the tongue to say, This is sweet, and this is bitter? Doth he believe Propositions may not be made without speaking; and that the judgements which the soul makes in itself without expressing it by language, are not true judgements? If that were so, Dumb persons would be more unhappy than we think them to be, since they should not only have lost their speech, but even their judgement and their reason. However it be, it is not the Tongue which makes propositions, it's the Faculty of the Soul, and words are but their images and the copies of them. But perhaps M. C. would have said the same thing, but that his tongue (as they say) went before his thought: For it's very probable, that in stead of saying, That when the Sense judgeth of the sweetness of Honey, and bitterness of Wormwood, it is not necessary to know these things, that the Imagination should conceive that this is sweet, and that is bitter, since it knows those objects by a primary and simple conception; he hath also written unawares, That it's not necessary the Tongue should speak it. For my part, who intent to deal candidly with him, I shall quit the advantage those words have given me, and grant, That it's true, that when the Senses know their objects by a simple conception, the Imagination makes no propositions, because it then makes no union, and that the things present themselves unto it altogether united. But that is not to say, that it always represents them so, and that it often knows them not the one after the other: For an Animal may see Honey, without knowing that it's sweet; and after he knows the sweetness thereof, he may unite the image of Sweet with that of Honey, in which case without question a proposition is made. And truly it's impossible to conceive the active and moving nature of this Faculty, without observing how at the same time it passeth from one thing to another; and having the power to preserve the images, it at the same time at pleasure assembles and separates them. I add this word to undeceive M.C. who (p. 140) believed the Choice and Liberty was important; for our tongue commonly useth it as well as that of Will to mark the actions which Animals make of their own proper motions. So they say, that a Beast goes whither it will, that it eats what it pleaseth, etc. And in this sense there is no inconvenience, That the Imagination unites the images as it pleaseth. But it is the custom of M. C. Critically to amuse himself on words, What Negative Abstraction is. and to give them what explication he pleaseth, as he doth here, and as he once did on the word of a Negative Abstraction. For on what I had said, That the Imagination could conceive an Accident without taking heed of others, and that it was called a Negative Abstraction, he says, That that may be done without a Negation, and that 'tis not to speak according to the terms of Art to call it so. But besides that, after I had explicated myself what I understood by that word, and that it was lawful for me to call it what I would, I could answer him, That he makes me suspect that all terms of Art are not known to him, and that he hath never heard of certain things which the Schools say are every way Negatively. Or this term, as well as that of Negative Abstraction, although it imports not a direct Negation, yet it marks an obliqne and indirect one. In effect, when we say that the Imagination conceives one thing, without taking notice of another, we indirectly design the Negation of the things which we minded not. But let us forbear these Whimsies, and ask M.C. if after we have made the defects of the objections he hath produced appear, he will believe, That there was any temerity in me to maintain, That the Imagination of Beasts makes Propositions. And if he fears not left this reproach should justly fall on him, having made so much noise, and to so little purpose, when he would triumph after having so ill defended himself; Certainly if he succeed not better hereafter, I well perceive that he will have a great share of the glory I shall have to have showed, That Beasts reason; the weakness of his Discourse being at capable to persuade this Truth, as is the force of mine. The End of the Second Part. That the Imagination can unite divers Propositions, And out of them make Discourses. THE THIRD PART. AS the Proposition is gathering together of divers simple Conceptions; Discourse also is of divers Propositions which are tied together by common terms; so that if the Imagination can make Propositions, it is a great prejudication that it may also make Discourses; supposing that it may use common terms to link them together. After having therefore showed in the precedent Chapter, that she can make Propositions, we must now prove how she can use those common terms for from thence it will necessarily follow that she can reason and pass from a more known thing to that which is less, so that the knowledge of the first is the cause of that it acquires afterwards; wherein we will have the Nature of Ratiocination to consist. The images confound not themselves. To this purpose we have made it appear, that when divers images united themselves in the Soul, they do not so confound themselves but that they still keep their Natural distinction, and that therein they are like the visible Species, which unite themselves in the air without confusion, and gather themselves again, if we may so say, even to a point without breaking the order and the natural distinction which they have. So that to speak properly, the imagination rather joins the phantasms, then unites them; for she ranks and placeth them without mixing them, assembles them without confounding them, and making a whole of divers different parts, it leaves every one in its order, and in its particular determination; this being presupposed, since the Imagination, even by the consent of our advirsaries may consider one accident of a thing without heeding the rest, and may stop at what is sweet, without minding what is white. The imagination may take the one after the other, and unite them together. It may also consider what is white, without thinking on what is sweet. And consequently she may separately know all the Images which are united and joined together. Now if she can unite two different Images, as we have showed, she may resemble those she had separately conceived, and form as many several Propositions as she can make several unions, since the Proposition is nothing else but the union it makes of two simple conceptions: For having conceived a thing which is white, soft, sweet, and good to eat; she may stop at the white, at the soft, at the sweet, at the good to eat, without considering them all together; and in the power she hath to unite Images, she may also assemble the white with the soft, and the soft with the sweet, and the sweet with what is good to eat, and in pursuit join the former with the latter, there being no more reason why she should unite the white with the soft, than the white with that which is good to eat. In a word, she may make as many Propositions, and afterwards return on her first Notion, to unite it with the last, in which the Nature of Reasoning consists, as we shall more amply show hereafter. Now if she be capable of these actions, she without doubt forms a Discourse which we call Gradation, and even a perfect Syllogism▪ Example of the Syllogism which the Imagination makes. if we cut off one Proposition, as it often happens; For she makes three Propositions. The first of which is linked to the second by a common term; to wit, the sweet, and the last with the two others by that of white, and by that of good to eat, as may be here seen: This White is Sweet; This Sweet is good to eat, Then is this white good to eat. But besides the concatenation of these Propositions if it were belonging to the essence of Ratiocination to pass from a known thing to one unknown; The Imagination goes from a known thing to an unknown. it is certain, that the Imagination makes the same progress in these encounters, for it instantly knows not that this White is good to eat but only after it knows that it is sweet, and that what's Sweet is good to eat: In effect, when a Dog sees a white thing, although he may come to it to eat it yet he eats it not till he hath first smelled and tasted it, which is an evident sign that he doth not certainly know that this white thing is good to eat, until he pass over the other qualities which give him a perfect knowledge thereof; and certainly if a man would consider the different connection which sensible accidents have with the nature of the things, and that the savour for example hath more with the goodness of aliments, than the odor or the colour, he will be obliged to confess that of necessity the Imagination must often pass from a known thing to that which is less so, and consequently that she makes several judgements which have the same concatenation and progress which the true Syllogisms require, and which make her know these things she was unassured of by others, which are more evident. The Reason which we have here somewhat more extended than it was in our former Discourse hath been confined by the several Experiments which reign almost in all the actions of Animals. The first Experiment is this, A Dog would eat somewhat which is hung on high, he considers it barks for it, turns and leaps at it, without getting it; at last he observes a place raised up whereby he may rise to another, and thereby at last he may catch what he desires. I say this cannot be done, but he must join the phantasm of the place where he is with that of the first step, and that with the latter and in pursuit with the thing which he would have: And that all this would be useless unto him, did he not reassemble the first Notion with the last. Since it is by that latter action that he knows the thing which he had before judged to be impossible was no more so. And therefore as this gathering together could not be made without joining several Propositions with common terms, and without passing from a more known thing to one which was less, so there must necessarily therein be a true Ratiocination. The second Experiment consists in the wild beasts use in hunting which they make against one the other, where it is necessary their Imagination must figure itself means, without which they easily perceive they should catch nothing; for they must then needs make a design to follow their prey And the difficulties they encounter oblige them to form another to use that wile without which they cannot catch it; And last of all, they have Wile with the Prize, which can never be done without discourse, and any may easily judge. The last Experiment which the order of our former Treatise hath obliged us to unto from these, to show that Custom and Instruction are never acquired without Discourse, may here again take its place, as that which is decisive, and which receives no valuable answer. It is then true that when we teach or accustom Beasts to do any thing, by the caresses or by the menaces we use; and after that the remembrance they have thereof engageth them to do the same thing which they have been taught: the Imagination must needs reason thus, That since such a thing hath at some other times caused them good or ill, that which presents itself being alike, ought also to cause the same effect: For the images of the blows they received are different from those which the imagination forms at that time, since these are of past things, & those are of present and future; so that she must unite the image of the present thing, with that of the past, which is known to it, and that by this she must know that which is to come. And if this be not to reason, there is no reason in the world: And if it be a true Discourse, there are but few actions wherein beasts do not reason; all the difficulty which may be made, here is, To know whether the Imagination can know things past present, and to come. But if we consider that Beasts hope, that they fear, and that they desire, there will be no way left to doubt of this truth, since these passions suppose the knowledge of the good or evil to come: For if they are capable to know this difference of times, which is the most difficult to know; the others which are more easy cannot be unknown unto it, the Memory being destined for things past, and the Senses of those which are present. Proof 4. Of the reasoning of beasts. We may yet add hereunto the proof we drew, to show that instinct is ever accompanied with reason, since it confirms the truth which we establish: For as the motion of the Appetite ought to proceed all the actions of Beasts, and that this motion is always advanced by several propositions, which are terminated by the operation, which is as the Conclusion, as Aristotle will have it: All these propositions which are linked together by common terms, and which instruct the Soul in what she ought to do, must needs have the form of a true reasoning. In effect, before a Beast gins to do any thing, its necessary it should know whether it be good, and afterwards that its feasible. And last of all, That the practical judgement should intervene, whereby the Imagination judgeth it ought to be done; in pursuit whereof the appetite stirs its self, and causeth its organs to agitate; and to show that these several Propositions are necessary in these encounters; besides, what the common sense teacheth us, 'tis that Dogs and Hawks often see their prey without pursuing it, judging that they cannot take it, because it's too far from them; sometimes they seem to doubt, and are apparently troubled to resolve whether they should pursue it or no. Now its certain, that seeing the Game, they judge it good; and that not pursuing it, they judge the thing not to be feasible. So the conclusion which consists in operation, fails for want of one of the Propositions as it happens in all true Syllogisms. These than were the Reasons which we thought we ought to employ to show, That Animals reason. For although there be an infinite many more, one part of which several great persons have used, and which may be augmented by those which men of Judgement may deduce from so rich and fruitful a Subject; we neither judged they could accommodate themselves to the Principles we had established, nor to the shortness we sought, nor to the belief we had that ours alone might demonstrate this truth. We must now observe what hurts they have received from M.C. his Critics, and whether they have been weakened by his assaults. But in the first place I am obliged to say, That I have before me an Enemy very wise, and very advised, and who through the mistrust he hath of his own forces, useth all the address of great Commanders, who gain as much as they can the advantage of sun and wind, and amuse the Enemy with light skirmishes, without assaulting him in front, and deciding the business by an equal battle. For besides that M. C. thinks he hath Aristotle on his side, and that he hath opposed against us all the Laws of Syllogisms; as if himself had seen the Chief of my Reasons, he disposeth them as he pleaseth, and in a very strange order he confutes my Conclusions, before he hath examined the Grounds; and for all Objections he hath produced only imaginary Inconveniences or Paralogisms. In effect, in the 14 Chapter he treats the depth of the question of the Reason of Beasts: In the 16. he shows they make no Propositions: And at last he speaks of the Knowledge of the Senses, which is the first of all Knowledges. On the other side, he often unlinks a Reason from a Subject, or is affected to join it with another which is more useless. And the best I find, is, That as he imagined I should have followed the order he keeps, he in many places accuseth me of supposing things as not being proved, because he had then spoken of them without remembering that I had demonstrated them before. But against all these wiles, which lose their name and effect when they are not discovered, we may here speak in gross to M.C. till we have considered them by denial. The Rules of Logic destroy not the Reasoning of Beasts. First, That neither Aristotle, nor all the Rules of Logic which he hath given us, doth not destroy the Manner of Reasoning which Beasts use; because they are like two different States, which govern themselves by different Laws. And if Aristotle have made those which are necessary, whereby the Understanding forms its Discourss; it is not but that there may be others for those of the Imagination. I would have it granted as an indubitable Maxim, That no lawful Conclusion can be drawn from particular Propositions; and that the fourth Figure of Galen is useless, nay even faulty. But this takes place only in humane Ratiocination, which ever requires some universal Proposition; and not in that of Beasts, which can only be formed from particular Judgements. If M. C. would have upheld the Consequence he draws from what is said in the Schools, he should first have made it appear, That no Ratiocination can be made without some Universal Proposition. For though he hath endeavoured to prove it, besides that the Expositive Syllogism will always convince him he can never make but that this must be a true Syllogism: This White is sweet; This Sweet is good to eat; Then this White is good to eat. And it's to no purpose to oppose, That it is in the fourth Figure. For were it true, this Figure would not be faulty in the Reasonings of the Imagination, as we shall show hereafter: And were it so, it would be always true, That a vicious Syllogism is a Syllogism; and a man cannot say, That he that reasons ill, reasons not. In fine it's certain, That Ratiocination in itself, and without considering the differences thereof, is a Discourse which from two Propositions linked together by a common term, infers a third. And as this may be done by particular Propositions as well as by universal, it's indifferent to the Nature of Reasoning in general, for either the one or the other to be therein employed. For if in Reasoning there must be two things which convene in a third, and agree also amongst themselves; and on the contrary, this Agreeing is to be found as well in particular as in universal Propositions, as is to be seen in the proposed Example, where the [White] and the [Good to eat] agree with the [Sweet] which is common to them. In effect, as this Agreement is grounded on a Whole wherein divers things are comprehended, and that there are two sorts of them, to wit, the Particular and the Universal: There are also two sorts of Agreement; the one which is particular, which serves to the Ratiocination of particulars; and the other which is universal, which serves to the general. But we shall more amply explicate this in the Examen of M.C. his Reasons. In the second place I say, For what concerns the Order he hath disposed my Matters in, although he thought he had done much for his own Cause to have transposed my Reasons and my Proofs, and from the first start to go about to destroy the Reasoning of Beasts, without having examined the Principles wherein I thought I had established it; I fear he is to be reproved, that he hath proceeded neither with candour, nor with any good form. As these Reasons are the lights which lose or augment their splendour according to the situation they are given; It is certain, that having placed mine otherwise then they ought to be, he hath much weakened them; and that those who will not take the pains to consider them exactly, will not observe that vivacity and force they might have had in my discourse. But the question is, Whether he ought to have used this treachery? For although every man be Master of the Order of things he treats of, this in Critics hath its exception, and principally when we take in task all what an Author hath written on any Subject; for then sincerity and candour oblige us to preserve the legitimate advantages it hath acquired in the disposition of its Matters; and who makes him lose them, loseth also the quality of Faithful and sincere. Nevertheless I would have M. C. defend himself from all his defects; yet I believe he cannot excuse himself of that whereon he fell, falling upon my Conclusion without before having destroyed the foundations whereon it is sustained. For whatever he may say against it, if I have sufficiently proved, that the Imagination unites several terms, and several propositions, and that the bond which the Syllogism requires meets in this union; he must himself confess, that she discourseth in these encounters, and what reasons soever he brings to the contrary will never absolutely decide the question, so long as mine subsist. All they can do is to render them doubtful, and to reduce us to the advice of Aristotle who will not have a man abandon a wellestablished Opinion for some Objections although they were not to be answered. Certainly M.C: ought to follow the maxim of Conquerors, who never leave any place behind them which may hinder their progress or their return. And he who holds but the negative part, and who as he says himself is to this instant but a defender, he should rather have denied my principles, and so have rendered all my consequences vain, then amuse himself to establish uncertain things on ruinous foundations, and to propose inconveniency in those examples I have deduced, from whence he can draw no universal Conclusion. Again, if after all these great conquests which he believes he hath made, he had at last assaulted the Fort wherein I had entrenched myself, he might find some show of excuse; but when he presented himself before it, he passeth forward, and says That it was not worth stopping at. For my part I could say as much of his Answers, did I not know that in what Van soever it be there is nothing which ought to be despised, and that even false are not useless in discipline; those he hath given us here respect the examples only, which we have demonstrated that Beasts reason: So that in some sort we may say, that he had no mind to assault the body of our Army, and that his design only was to beat up a Quarter. CHAP. I. An Examen of the Reasons which M. C. hath produced against the Syllogism we used for an example of the Reasoning of Beasts. IN the first place he says thus, That when I suppose a Beast pressed with hunger sees a white thing, feels it soft and finds it savoury, and after that concludes that this white thing is good to eat, I make him speak a kind of Reasoning which the Schools call Sorites, which beasts are not at all capable of, since there are many men which cannot make them, having not breath enough to make so many Propositions, nor without confusion to take again so far estranged a term; and that on the other side this way of arguing is very uncertain and captious. I in a word shall answer this objection, That Beasts may form a gradation. that when this form of arguing is led by the senses as it is here, it's very easy to make, because the presence of the object hinders the confusion of the Imagination. In effect, there is no man so stupid, who cannot make an infinite many Propositions of this kind; for present him with but twenty things placed in order, he may say that the first is before the second, the second before the third: And after having thus run them over without any trouble, he may conclude the first is before the twentieth. On the other side, it is not uncertain in those things which are confounded together, and as it were identified. For if the same thing be all white, all soft, all sweet, and all good to eat; it is certain that one may assuredly say, that this thing is white, and that this white thing is good to eat. So that the Imagination going from one quality to another by means of the senses, it can never be decided when it joins the former with the latter. After all, as this form of Discourse is not uncertain and captious, M. C. can conclude nothing else but that some one may be found which is uncertain and captious; but it follows not that this or that must be it. At worst he should only prove, that Beasts should often deceive themselves, should they use this way of reasoning. Which we shall willingly grant him, since no body believes they are in their judgement infallible. He adds, That if one of the Propositions were cut off to make the Syllogism; This White is Sweet, This Sweet is good to eat, Then this White is good to eat; A man concludes nothing from hence because its in the fourth figure. But he should at the same time have told us what form he gives to this fourth figure, since all men do not form it after one manner; some contenting themselves with the disposing of the Medium; others would have the Conclusion thereof indirect; for if he believes it sufficient that the Medium should be placed quite contrary from what it is in the first figure, this figure is not faulty, since it proves and concludes on the same principle, and in the same manner as the former. It is only useless, since in effect, it's the same with the first, to which its indifferent for the force of the illation, whether the Medium be Subject or Attribute in the one of the two first Propositions. Now if this be so, the proposed Syllogism is not faulty, and concludes directly as the expositive Syllogism would do in the first figure. But if M.C. believes that the conclusion therein must be indirect, he deceived himself when he would have it that this Syllogism was in that figure; for to put it therein, the condition must be changed, and instead that it says, Then this white is good to eat, a man must say, Then this good to eat is white; I say yet more, had it been made so, yet were it not indirect, because that to be white, sweet, and good to eat, are here particular things, which are identified in one subject; and therefore one may say That this White is good to eat, and that this Good to eat is white, without being in danger to change the natural order which these things ought to keep amongst themselves; it is not so when there are general terms; for necessarily it must be that as they are superior to the rest, they keep the natural order which their superiority requires; and when they enter into a conclusion contrary to that order, the conclusion is then indirect; in effect the fault which is to be found in the fourth figure where the conclusion is indirect; comes but from that the general terms, which naturally ought to be drawn from their inferiors, are not so in the Conclusion; now this reason supposeth that there are general terms and universal Propositions, and therefore it concludes nothing, if Syllogisms are found in this figure, wherein there are only terms and particular propositions. So that we may conclude that the defect we have observed in this way of arguing respects only the Discourse of the Understanding, and not that of the Imagination, where rules are a part and which is not subject to all those Maxims which are drawn from Universal Notions. And indeed the Expositive Syllogism hath a place in all the figures, notwithstanding the laws they observe for the universality of propositions. That there is somewhat in the Conclusion of this Syllogism which is not in the Antecedent. But let us withdraw ourselves from these thorns whereto M. Cs inadvertency hath led us; and let's see whether it be true, That there is nothing in the Conclusion of our Syllogism which is not in the second Proposition, as he says, whence he infers That its useless, and therefore that therein there is no Syllogism; The reason he brings is, That since before the beast forms the Conclusion of the Syllogism he judgeth that the sweet which he holds betwixt his teeth is good to eat, he must of necessity eat it, because knowledge is given to beasts but to raise their Appetite, which is forced to move itself by the first pactical judgement they make, and which consequently gives them not the leisure to philosophise on useless Propositions. And I for my part say, that M. C. hath not given himself the leisure to philosophise on these useful and necessary propositions: for there is not one of the reasons he brings which witnesseth not its precipitation, some being found so contrary to what he says presently after, others being doubtful or false, and all of them wanting that strict connexion, which makes good consequences. In effect, after having objected against me, that there is nothing in the Conclusion of the proposed Syllogism, which is not in the second proposition, he says, That I had done better to have reduced it to this Enthymema, This White is sweet, than its good to eat. But I would willingly ask him, whether in this Enthymema there is any thing in the Conclusion which is not in the Antecedent; if he grants it, there must also necessarily be in the conclusion of our Syllogism somewhat which is not in the second proposition, since the antecedent it like 〈◊〉 to the second proposition: If he denies it, how will he have me make an Enthymema which ought to be composed of two propositions? For although in course he hath condemned it, it is not because there is nothing in the Conclusion which is not in the Antecedent. But because it must be as he says, that the beast must know that all what is sweet is good to eat. We shall examine this Reason hereafter. In the mean time, let M.C. if he can disentangle himself out of the puzzle this Answer hath put him in. To take the depth of the business we must see Whether truly there be nothing in the Conclusion of our Syllogism which is not in the second Proposition. Certainly if these propositions are different, for being composed of terms which signify different things, these two are also different the one from the other, as some others which may enter into a Syllogism; since Sweet is the subject of the Minor, and White is the subject of the Conclusion: And that 'tis not to be conceived, that to be Sweet is the same thing as to be White, M.C. cannot with reason contest this truth. But says he, That the Beast should stop at the Minor without going to the Conclusion, because that at the same time he knows that the white is sweet, he also knows that its good to eat, and that he must necessarily eat it without having time to form the Conclusion. And what! may he not be hindered from eating it? And in that case it is not true, that it's a necessary thing he must eat it, and that he may not have the leisure to conclude. Without doubt M. C. hath confounded the Action with the Desire; for it is certain that a Beast knows a thing sweet; it commonly at the same time knows it good to eat, and then he desires it at the same time: But it follows not from thence that he must eat it, and that he must not make as many different propositions as he unites different notions. Now the Notion of White and Sweet is different from that of Good to eat, and therefore the Beast makes as many several propositions of these three terms as it directly unites them. The strongest difficulty and objection of M.C. consists in this, that these propositions are made at the same time, and that discourse requires they should be made the one after the other. Whereupon we are to demonstrate two things; to wit, That they are not always done at one time, and that it is not necessary for Discourse that they should be done with time. For the first, It is certain that a beast may know that a thing is sweet without judging that its good to eat, because that if he judged it good to eat, he would desire to eat it, and in effect would eat it, if he were not hindered. Now a beast which is not hungry, desireth not to eat what he hath found sweet, and consequently judgeth not that it is good to eat; for since the sensitive Appetite is forced to move itself upon the first practical judgement which the Imagination makes as M. C. says, and as its true, if this Beast had judged that a thing was good to eat, it must necessarily follow that after this practical judgement he must desire to eat it, and by the same necessity that he must eat it, in effect, were there no hindrance; He may then know a sweet thing by the judgement of the taste, which cannot deceive him, and not judge it good to eat because he hath no need to eat. Thus these two notions are not made at the same time as M. C. will have it, and therefore they may enter into the form of a Syllogism. Perhaps he may object against us, that the example we have proposed, supposeth the Beast pressed with hunger that he had need to eat, and in that case that these two propositions must be made at the same time: But all he could infer from thence were that this example is not good, and that another must be produced, where these propositions must be made the one after the other, which would be very easy to do. Yet besides what we might say, that this Beast before it was pressed with hunger might have known the thing was sweet, and remember it afterwards when he was hungry without any new proof, and might then judge it to be good to eat, having before judged that it was sweet, and so these two notions would not have been made at the same time; without amusing ourselves to answer these vain objections, we must make M.C. see, That it is not necessary to discourse for the Propositions which compose it to be made at the same time. That one may Reason in a moment: First, Should a man judge by the nature of Knowledge he might well perceive that so excellent an action ought to be made with all the readiness observable in those which are less noble than it, since that way of agitating is one part of its perfection, and the more perfect the causes are, the more readily they agitate. In effect, there is nothing on the Faculties part which hinders it from knowing in an instant, and it's no less natural unto it so to agitate, then 'tis for light and colours who have no need of time to produce their Species. Experience evidently shows us this truth in the senses, who know their objects at the same instant they represent themselves unto them; for if to know things they must produce the images of them, it is necessary that knowing them in a moment, they also in a moment must form the images of them. But this appears not only in the first conceptions of the soul, we will experiment it in the propositions, and in those designs which it forms in an instant; and what we have said of dreams, sufficiently declares, that it needs not time to unite those things which are different, and which have no other natural connexion the one with other. So that all the doubt which may arise from hence seems to fall on the union of several propositions, and chief when they compose a perfect Ratiocination. But whosoever would but consult with himself, and mind but his own tboughts, he will easily believe that there are no things which follow one another with that swiftness, and that if there be any succession amongst them, it's a succession of order or of nature, and not of time. And if he will not trust to his own judgement, 2. Poster. 1 de motu anim. and that he would know what Aristotle's was, and he shall learn from him, that the Minor and the Conclusion of a Syllogism are known at the same time, since to know and to make a proposition is the same things; whence we may conclude that at least two propositions which have connexion together may be found in one moment. Now if this be true as the Schools assure us, it's a great likelihood that the two first propositions of a Syllogism may be known in the same manner; since it seems there is no reason why the Minor and the Conclusion are known at the same time more than the Major and the Minor; thus we shall be constrained to confess that the whole Syllogism may be made at the same time. But without making use of the force of authority, that of the following Reason may disannul all doubts, and entirely decide the question. Those who exercise themselves to discourse on any subject find so great a facility in it, that in a moment they see all the consequences which may be drawn from thence, and as they say, know the Conclusions in the principles. In these encounters they of necessity must reason; otherwise it would follow that through the strength of reasoning, they should cease to reason. And then the habit which they had acquired of it, jousted to perfect their Ratiocination should wholly destroy it, which would be a very strange thing, and very singular, since all other habits do not change the Nature and Essence of their actions, and tend only to render them more perfect and more accomplished: Now it would neither be to leave Ratiocination in its nature, nor to render it more accomplished to take it quite away, as it would undoubtedly happen if it changed to another kind of knowledge incompatible with itself. That the Understanding supposeth Ratiocination. It's to no purpose to say That the Understanding which is acquired in pursuit is a higher and more noble action then that of reasoning, and that for that cause the Angels reason not, having no other Knowledge than Understanding as that which is most perfect and most comformable to their nature; for from thence it cannot be inferred that the Understanding is not a true Ratiocination, but only that it is more exquisite, and that it hath not those defects which are met withal in ours. Of a truth, the time which we employ to form them is no essential thing; 'tis an imperfection which happens to them, from the weight and weakness of our spirit, which hinders it from being able at once to penetrate the nature of some things, and at one view to see the several relations they have amongst themselves; but as by exercise and habits these defects are to be corrected; so this imperfection is to be taken away from Raticionations, and they may be found with that swiftness, that there can be no interval betwixt the Antecedents and the conclusions which are drawn from it. To come back to the understanding; although it be made in an instant, it changeth neither the order nor the connexion which things have amongst themselves: Forasmuch as she makes known the first as first, the second as second, and so of the rest according to the natural order they observe. Now this necessarily carries the disposition and the kniting together which is in the Syllogism. Forasmuch as if we know the connextion which the first hath with the second, and that which the second hath with the third, we must at last of necessity come to know the connexion which the first hath with the third, since its the effect of the precedent, and that the effect is ever posterior to its cause in the order of nature, although it be not always in the order of time. Let a man not say, that these things present not themselves entire, and that its the same as with several objects which are seem at the same time; it being needless for the Soul to join them, and consequently to make any Judgement or Discourse upon them; besides that these several relations and different connexion's cannot be known without comparing of things, and that they cannot be compared, but that the mind must alternatively go from one to another to observe the mutual relations which they have together, which cannot be done without discourse. That Angel's Discourse. It is not to be believed, that this high knowledge which is attributed to Angels should be like the first notions of sense, neither is it a simple conception or apprehension of objects. The order of Nature will have it, that if there be in us any faculty or action which is to be communicated to such pure and perfect Spirits, it ought to be the most Noble, and the most Excellent: Now by consent of all the Philosophers the third operation of the Understanding is more Noble than the first; and therefore it must be that which is common to us with them, they must know all things by that: And I even durst say, that all their knowledge is but a perpetual Ratiocination, because they know not as we do, the things successively, and by parcels; but seeing all at once what is in them, and observing all the relations they have one with another, it's almost impossible but in so great a concourse of different objects, and in the several Returns which their Understanding is obliged to make on them, but they must uncessantly Reason; It seems even that this wonderful disposition which God hath put through all the Universe, requires, That since those things which hold the last degrees of Knowledge can never know their objects, but by simple and primary notions; those which are in the supreme degree, and which are most perfect of all, ought never to know theirs but by discourse. I know well, that in the Schools there are those which say, that Angels have no simple conceptions and apprehension, and that they know things by making Affirmations and Negations by a simple Judgement, which they call by Intelligence: But in this case they must either assemble or divide the Images of things, because Affirmation and Negation cannot be otherwise found, but by the union and separation of Images. Now if this be so, they must discourse, because that in the union of several Images which the relation and comparison of things requires, the form and contexture of discourse must therein necessarily be found. However it be, that Discourse which is thus made, is most perfect, and hath not those defects which are commonly found in others, because it's made in an instant, and that all at once it gives the Knowledge of all the propositions which compose it. But what! If this be so, A Syllogism which is made in an instant, goes from known to unknown things. the understanding cannot move from things more known, to known to those which are less known, as we say it's always done in Discourse; Certainly, if by the most known things, we understand that they are to be know some time before the rest; its certain this progress is not made here where all are known at the same time. But if we understand that these things are by Nature, and by Reason more known, because they are as it were the principles and sum of the rest, we must not doubt but that a progress is made from those things which by nature are more known, to those which are less: now universal things are by Nature and Reason more known than particulars, causes than effects; In a word, the first, than the last, although they may be all known at the same time. But this is no place to heighten the advantage of this matter. It's sufficient to say, that if in this opinion there be any thing contrary to the common sense of the Schools, it is that the Schools have not considered Ratiocination in its nature, but in its species; that it hath defined the gender by its differences, and that at last it stops at the most common way of discoursing which is observed amongst men, without taking notice of any other, and without observing that the conditions therein required were defects, and not things essential unto it. After all this, could not discourse be made in an instant, it's yet true that it's often made so fast, that its impossible to observe therein any sensible and manifest succession of time: And there is no mind so heavy and stupid, which cannot make proof in itself of the extreme swiftness it makes use of to draw certain consequences, and to discourse of those things which the Senses and the Memory present it withal. Now I will take no other advantage in the dispute I have with M. C. to stop his mouth, when he so often opposeth against me, (p. 137) The great number of propositions and Syllogisms which a beast must be obliged to make before it should carry itself towards any thing, had it the faculty of reasoning which we give it. (Page 139) That when it hath found any pleasing object, his appetite provokes him so strongly that he hath no leisure to discourse thereupon. And that at last the precipitation wherewith he agitates is incompatible with so many Propositions which we make him make. For if all this may be done in a moment, that is to say, in an imperceptible time, it is not to be feared but that the Imagination may have time to execute it; neither can it be contrary to the precipitation wherewith beasts are wont to agitate. Yet will I not that all Propositions which they make on the same object are made at the same instant; I know they may see a thing long before they taft it, and after having tasted it, at the same time they will not have a desire to eat it, although they find it good to the taste, forasmuch as having no need to eat, they conceive it not good to eat. But I pretend only to show by what hath been said, that there are some which follow one another very readily, it being nothing necessary for a sensible space of time to be betwixt them and others which are form the one after another in length of time, as it happens in those we make. Let's return to the Examen of that Syllogism which hath given so much trouble to M. C. and defend him from the rest of the assaults we give him. He therefore says, (page 126. The terms of this Syllogism are not Universal. ) That all the terms which compose it are universal, and therefore that its impossible for beasts to use it, since they are not capable of forming any universal notions. Truly I ought to believe that M. C. hath a very ill opinion of me, to make me such a boyish Objection, and to think to trouble me with a slight subtlety of the Schools, which is not able to stop the meanest Logician. There is none but know, that the terms are common and general two ways; either because they may be applied to several things, or because they signify a Nature which is conceived common to divers things; we may apply that of Sweet to all the particular objects, which the Senses judge Sweet, and yet for all that, without thinking that sweetness is a nature common to all those subjects; and that in this the Imagination useth it as all the rest which are in the proposed Syllogism. But in that sense there they represent no universal Idea, and therefore M.C. cannot infer what he pretends. In effect were his reason good, it could not be that a beast should know that a thing were sweet, forasmuch as the term of sweet, as he says, is an universal term, which supposeth an universal Idea, whereof beasts are not capable: If it be therefore true, that the Senses know what is sweet, and that sweet is not an universal term, since the Senses only know singular things, why should it rather be universal in this Syllogism, then in the Judgement the Sense makes of it! On the other side, when all the terms of Sweet, of Good, of Thing, should have a more general signification and more transcendent than they have, they would lose it by the restriction which the demonstrative Pronoune gives them: For when we say This Sweet, This Good, This Thing, we figure nothing which is general or transcendent. But the mind commonly stops at the singularity of the thing which is expressed by these terms. To conclude, it is not necessary to know the general connexion of terms. He adds, That this Syllogism concludes nothing, unless we know, That all what is sweet, is good to eat; and that if a beast doth not only know this universal Proposition, but also its universality, it cannot employ sweetness as a means to conclude the goodness of the Aliment. This reason was pleasing to M. C. for he repeats it in the 132 page, where he very much insists on the Knowledge which a beast ought to have of the universal connexion which is betwixt the sweetness and the goodness of the Aliment, to conclude such a thing good to eat. Before we enter into the Examen of our opinions, we must both of us agree in one Truth which cannot be contradicted; to wit, That when a beast eats any thing which he knows is sweet, its certain he will eat it; and that he would not eat it, did he not find it good to eat; forasmuch as nothing moves the appetite but what is good; and therefore he knows the connexion which sweetness hath with goodness, since he finds not the thing good, but because its sweet, and that if it were not sweet, he would not judge it good. The question than is to know, whether it be necessary for him to know the universal annexion of sweetness with goodness; or whether it be sufficient for him only to know that which is to be found betwixt these two particular qualities: And of necessity M. C. must take the one side or the other, unless he hath a design to commence a suit against Nature as well as against me; if he therefore believes that a beast knows the universal connexion of sweetness with goodness, there is nothing hinders but that a beast my deduce the proposed consequence, and conclude, after having known, That a thing is sweet, That the thing is good to eat, because he knows, that all what is sweet is good to eat. After this manner would M. C. fall into the opinion which we maintain, that Beasts reason, although by another way. For we believe it sufficient for them to know the particular connexion of sweetness with goodness, to conclude that such a thing is good to eat. In effect, if it be true that they know the connexion which those two qualities have with one another, as we have showed; and that they can conceive nothing that's universal, that being above the material faculty, it's necessary they should know the particular connexion which these two things have together: So that since they judge a thing good to eat, because they find it sweet, it follows that the knowledge of that particular connexion is sufficient to make them conclude that such a thing is good to eat, since that in effect they do so, neither are they deceived in their judgement. I must confess indeed that there is an universal connexion of sweetness with goodness, which serves for the foundation of that truth which beasts know; but it's in Nature, and not in the Imagination which is not obliged to know it that it may certainly infer that such a thing in particular is good to eat; it's like those who do things by rote; For what they do is conformable to the rules of Art, although they know it not, neither doth their ignorance hinder them from doing it as perfect as it could be done. So the Imagination knows not that all what is sweet is good to eat, but only that the sweet is good to eat; and with this particular knowledge it as certainly knows it ought to eat it, as if it had a general knowledge thereof. Last of all, since what it thus knows is found true, what need it seek it any other way? And since Syllogisms may be made of particular propositions which make a good conclusion, Why then may not that which it makes be good? M.C. hereupon says, That from that, any sweet thing is good to eat, it follows not that that is it. It's true, and I confess that beasts sometimes deceive themselves, neither did I say their Syllogisms were demonstrative. It is sufficient if they be probable, and that commonly they make them to know the particular connexion which Nature hath placed betwixt those two qualities; for by her they know that such a thing is good to eat, with as much certainty as all other sensible things may be known. It is certain, they do not know that they know it; for to know a thing, and to know that one knows it, are two different things, although M. C. it seems hath confounded them. To know that we know, we must consider the general Reasons, and the form of reasoning which we use; in a word, we must make a reflection on that knowledge which Beasts are not capable of. But to know, and to know a thing simply, this is not necessary, and its sufficient that the notion we have of it be like the nature of the thing which presents itself without examining the principles or the means whereby we know it. That sweetness cannot move the Appetite until the Imagination hath judged it good. After this M. C. makes me three great questions, and asks me, Who could have told me, That Beasts did not eat before they made all these fair Discourses; That sweetness was not sufficient to move the Appetite if the Imagination knew not that it were good to eat; and that it makes three different judgements from the two first of which it infers a third? But I shall answer in a word, It is reason told me so. And I wonder that having made him see it so clear and evident, it hath not persuaded him the same thing. I have much more reason to ask who told him, That sweetness is sufficient to move the Appetite without its being necessary for the imagination to judge that the sweet thing is good to eat? For no Philosopher could have taught him this Maxim, nor could any Reason have engaged him in a Proposition which destroys the first elements of Philosophy. All the world is agreed that the Appetite cannot be moved but by what is good; and that therefore sweetness as sweetness cannot move it, it must be known as good; but also as good to eat, if the Appetite will eat it. Now the sense knows not this goodness as M. C. confesseth presently after, and therefore it must be the Imagination, since the Appetite affords no kind of Knowledge. Certanly it will endanger those which will perceive how M. C. hath abused himself with such gross errors; to be scandalised with the reproach he makes me, That I only brought fair words to maintain my opinion, without having troubled myself to uphold them with solid Reasons. And perhaps some will say, that he hath used neither to destroy them; and as there is more trouble to build then to ruin, he hath done wisely to have established nothing, since he hath succeeded so ill in that which was most easy. For my part all that I can say in this encounter is, That he ought not to have contented himself to have learned from all the men he had conversed with, That Beasts did not reason. He ought also to have informed himself of the reasons which they had to believe in; and boldly to have produced them for the defence of the Truth, for the reputation of those with whom he had spoken, and perhaps for the instruction of those to whom he hath not spoken. But what? Can he have brought a better reason to prove that Beasts reason not, than the experience which he hath made thereof in himself? he hath as he saith examined the actions of his sensitive Appetite, and after having found them all like those of beasts, He concludes very strongly that in his opinion, That since his Appetite doth things without reason, and often against reason, that of Beasts ought to work after the same manner. I am ravished, that after having so often showed that M.C. reason's not where he thinks he reasons, well, he gives me occasion to make it appear, that he reasons well where he thinks not that he reasons And its there wherein I shall the more easily take the liberey to tell him that he deceives himself, and that the most part of actions which he believes to be without reason are made with a perfect Ratiocination. But he must observe that this Ratiocination is of his Imagination and not of Understanding. For it is certain, that in the most part of these actions which he finds in himself, and in all the Examples he brings of those who are gowry or paralytical; the Imagination always reasons after its own manner, and forms its ordinary Discourses before the Appetite is moved. So that we may employ for him and against him, The reason he objects against us and say, That since bis Appetite which is like that of Beasts, operates but in pursuit of the Imaginations reasoning, it must be the same with that of the Appetite of Beasts: And by an inversion of the same proof, since we have showed that the Imagination of Beasts reasons before the Appetite is moved; it must needs be that his reasons also before his Appetite moves itself to any thing. Let him not wonder at the shortness of the time he employs therein, he need none at all; and if he will consider what we have before said, he will know that the Mind is far more ready, and moves far more nimbly than he thinks. And afterwards without doubt he will see, that he used precipitation when he objected against us; That Reason opposeth itself to the motions of the Appetite, That this undertakes things which Reason would not undertake, and that Beasts must be more reasonable than Men, and their Appetite must be wholly subjected to Reason if they expected the Judgements and the Resolutions from thence, before they moved themselves to any thing. Certainly, before all these reasons were produced, he ought maturely to have examined whether they could serve to his cause. For my part who judge them useless, I willingly grant them without any prejudice to mine, since the word Reason which he useth is to be understood but of humane and intellectual reason, and not of the Imagination wherein all our difference consists. But it's to press a man too far who no longer defends himself; let us seek enemies elsewhere, and go to the relief of the first Experience, which we did produce to confirm our fundamental Reason. CHAP. II. Examination of the Objections M. C. hath made against the first of our Experiences. IT imports that a Dog which would take a thing hung up on high, Wherein Reason consists. whereto he cannot attain, after having observed an elevated place whereby he may rise on another, and from thence catch the thing he desires, ought necessarily assemble the phantasm of the place where he is with that of the first step, and and that with the latter, and the latter with the thing he would have: And that all this would be useless to him unless he reassembled the first notion which he had found with the last, since its that which makes him judge that the thing which he did believe impossible, was no longer so. I have almost a mind to grant M. C. all that he here objects against me; for besides some few lines, there is nothing in the three great pages which he employs to confute what I have said which staggers the opinion I hold; and I even believe that the greatest part of the inconveniences he finds therein cannot pass for new proofs to confirm it. In effect what absurdity Is there that a man who sees a Ladder raised to get up on the top of a house, concludes before he makes use of it, that otherwise he cannot get up? Why should he not assemble the image of the place where he is, with that of the first step, and that with the second, and so of the rest? And after having made as many Propositions as there are steps, why should he not join the first notion he had with the last, to conclude that he may climb to the top by the means of the Ladder? It's so far from any absurdity that it is impossible it should be otherwise done for the reasons we have deduced in the first Chapter of this work. M. C. hereupon says, That we every day go up and down, without thinking on what we do, our reason being then wholly employed about other things, and that therefore we must not figure to ourselves that a Dog reasons, when men who have a greater facility of reasoning then Beasts do not reason. But he is not awares that he confounds intellectual Reason with that of the Imagination, and consequently can from thence induce nothing against me. I with him confess that our reason at that time thinks not on the action which we do, but I deny that our Imagination thinks not of it. For neither sense nor Appetite can operate without it, and when we see the sequel of the degrees, and how we climb them one after another, it must both conduct our eyes and our steps; Now I pretend that this cannot be done without reasoning, but it is a reasoning which is proper to the Imagination wherein the Understanding hath no share. For the rest I shall not stop at what is pursuit he says, That the precipitation with which the Dog works in this encounter is incompatible with so many Propositions, and with the deliberation which Aristotle requires in these kinds of Discourse. For we have before showed, That all these Propositions may be made in a moment; and we shall have occasion hereafter to make it appear, that he did not understand Aristotle, and that deliberation is not absolutely necessary in these kinds of discourse. But I cannot suffer the consequence he draws from thence to part without an examen, That the Mason should make as many Syllogisms as there are steps in the Ladder did he assemble the images thereof, as I have affirmed, because it gives us occasion to show what the action is, by which the Soul makes the Syllogism and to speak it in a word. What the form and essence of Ratiocination is, of which Philosophy hath scarce spoken, and which M. C. seems to be ignorant of. In effect, if to assemble the image of the first step with that of the the second, and that with that of the third, we should make a Syllogism as M. C. supposeth he must needs believe, that a Syllogism consists in the union of two Propositions, and that as many progresses as a man can make from one proposition to another, there should be as many Syllogisms, or else he must have vainly proposed as an absurdity, that the Mason must make as many Syllogisms as there are steps of the Ladder. Wherein Ratiocination consists, and what the Action is which the Soul doth in reasoning. Certainly as two simple notions make not a proposition, and pass but for the fi●st operations of the Understanding which is redoubled, two propositions likewise make not a Syllogism, and cannot pass but for a second operation which is repeated; and as many Propositions as shall be added a fresh will be but so many repetitions of the same operation, and will never take the nature and the form of a Syllogism, if that which makes the difference of the third operation with the second do not encounter. Now since there is nothing in the Syllogism which distinguisheth it from all other, collecting together of several propositions but the term Then, it follows that the term is the mark of the essential difference of the Syllogism, and for the particular action which the Soul makes to discourse; For since the simple terms are the marks of the production of Images, wherein the first operation consists. And that the word Est designs the union which the soul makes of divers images, wherein the judgement consists, the word Then must also mark some action different from the two others, and wherein the form and essence of Ratiocination is contained. The question therefore is to know, what that action is which is designed by that term. And presently a man may imagine, that its the illation and induction which the Soul draws from precedent notions; But besides that in all hypothetick and conditional propositions there is illation without discourse; It must follow that the nature of Ratiocination is wholly shut up in the conclusion, because that that alone contains all this illation. Some say that this word designs the cause of the conjunction of terms, and that the third operation is different from the second, but because it shows the reason of the conjunction of terms which is not marked in the second: It being true, that when a man saith, Man's visible, it is not said, why he is visible, but when the word Then is added, we mark the cause why he is said to be visible, to wit because he is reasonable. Although all this is true, it is not therefore that wherein the precise and particular difference consists which we seek; for the same inconvenience which is found in the illation is herein to be encountered. Since conditional propositions as well mark the cause of the consequence, and of the conjunction of terms with the Syllogism. Since that in saying, if man be reasonable he must be visible, a man pretends to show that he is visible because he is reasonable. Now if it be true that one proposition hath that of common with Ratiocination to mark the cause of the conjunction of terms, its certain that it's not therein wherein we ought to find the difference which distinguisheth Ratiocination from the second operation of the Understanding, adding that if the word Then design the cause only, it will not make an action as we have said it was necessary, unless they would have us say, That he makes the designation which the Soul makes itself of this cause. But there is no likelihood that so noble and so great an operation wherein Discourse consists should be reduced to so slight a thing as this last designation, which would be to be found even in conditional Propositions, as we have now shown. To discover then the force and sense of a word, which how small soever it be comprehends all the extent of our reason; we must consider that when the Soul binds several Propositions together, it makes a progress from one term to another, and goes always forward without returning, if we may so say, on the same steps, and during its march it never makes a Syllogism, having no occasion to employ the word then: In effect, let a man make a gradation of as many Propositions as he pleaseth; and for example sake let it be of these five, as this is, 1. Peter is a Man: 2. Man is an Animal. 3. An Animal is a body. 4. The Body is a Substance. 5. Then Peter is a Substance. It's certain, that the four first have not the form of a Discourse, because the Soul goes outright, and passeth directly from the one to the other. But when it comes to return on its first Notion, and that it unites it with the last, than it makes the fift Proposition, wherein it employs the word Then, which would be useless in all the precedent, and give to all the gradation the form of Discourse. The same things made in all Caregorick Syllogisms, unless the Understanding join, as here it doth, the first with the last: But sometimes it joins the third with the second, or the second with the third, as in the first figure; sometimes the third with the first, as in the second figure; sometimes the fourth with the second, as in the third figure. For example in these two Propositions, Man is reasonable, Peter is a Man, There are four Notions and to draw a conclusion, the Understanding joins Peter which is the third Notion with Reasonable which is the second, and concludes, Then Peter is Reasonable. So in the third figure, All men are Reasonable, Some Men are Fools, the Understanding joins Fools which is the fourth Notion, with Reasonable which is the second, and concludes, than some Fools are reasonable, and so of the rest. But however this collection be made, it's always true, that the Soul makes a return on its first Notions, and this Return makes not only the last Proposition where the soul stops and reposeth itself, but also it binds together the terms which were scattered and divided in the precedent; so that we may say the soul makes a circle when she discourseth, and moves conformably to her nature, since the circular motion is most perfect of all, and which belongs to the most excellent things. This return therefore is the motion which properly makes discourse, and which distinguisheth it from all the other actions of the Soul, and therefore it is that which the Term Then ought to design. Let it not be objected against us, That Aristotle puts not the conclusion for any part of the Syllogism, and then to this return which is only found in the Conclusion, is not that which forms the discourse, for Aristotle considers the Syllogism as a Logician, as the Instrument whereby we attain Knowledge, in which case the conclusion is only the effect thereof; And not as a Physician, as an operation of the soul distinct from the two others, when he speaks of it also in his Physics, he expressly says, That the Major and the Minor serve for its Matter, and consequently the Conclusion of it ought to be the form and the principal part. And certainly, as the return of the soul principally appears in the Conclusion, for which reason it hath been called the form of the Syllogism, since the nature of Discourse consists in this Motion. But also as by this return, the soul retakes the terms of the first propositions, we may say that the form of the Syllogism is shed abroad through them, and that in that sense it must be considered as a whole, every Proposition whereof makes an integral part without which it cannot be entire and perfect. The return of the Imagination is not a reflection. Yet must we not abuse ourselves on the word Return, as I perceive most men have done, who take it for a Reflection; for this to speak properly, is made when the Faculty reflects on itself, and on its proper action considering them separated from their subject; and it's certain the Understanding only can make this kind of reflection, because it cannot be without abstraction, of which the Imagination is not capable, but when the soul retakes an image, which it hath already form, for to join it with another, it plights not on itself, nor on on its knowledge, but only on the effect of its action; thus there is no abstraction, nor consequently no true reflection. And the Imagination may as well make this return, as the Eye which having seen several objects one after the other may return to that which it first perceived; Whence we may draw this consequence, That there is nothing in Ratiocination which surpasseth the so●ce of the Imagination, which is above the Soul of Beasts. It is time to return to M. C. who says, That the Dog judgeth not of the possibility of what he undertakes: Because if it were so, he would not make so many leaps, and so many unprofitable endeavours, and would not strive to take what the most stupid reason would show him were too much elevated. And thence he concludes, that it is not reason which carries him to it, but it's the object which draws him, and which moves his spirits. As we shall hereafter have occasion to speak of this possibility, I shall only here say that Beasts as well as Men often deceive themselves in the judgement which they make, and that both the one and the other do figure to themselves things to be possible which are not so at all. But this hinders not but that before they are undertaken they make a judgement of it how false or deceitful soever it may be, as we shall show. So that this ought not to oblige M C. in so extravagant an opinion, contrary to all the Maxims of Philosophy, as that is which he seems to endeavour to defend, when he says, That the Object draws the Appetite and moves the spirits. For although this may be applied to a moral attraction, as we speak in the Schools, and such a one as the Good and the End are accustomed to make: Yet in other encounters he well observes that he understands a Physical attraction, since he assures that the objects have an adamantine quality which supposeth an action of that kind; I would not therefore insist thereupon: seeing he would not clearly make it appear what he thought thereupon. Let's therefore follow him another way, and see what endeavours he will make against the crafts which Beasts use in hunting, which we are assured were the effects of Ratiocination. CHAP. III. The Examen of what M. C. hath said against the second Experience which we proposed, Touching the wiles of Beasts. Of the slights of Beasts. CErtainly we may say of a truth, that here he opposeth slights to slights; and that he imitates those Fishes which cast abroad their ink to hid themselves from the eyes and snares of the Fishermen; for to lessen the splendour and evidence of a Reason, with which he ought to be convinced, he casts obscurity on my words and says, That all the difficulty to be found therein depends on the ambiguity of the terms of slights and of figuring. For my part, who use according to the common sense they bear amongst us, I believe unless a man were Dutch or Welsh he can find no equivoke in them, after all; if there were any M. C. should have put them by, and afterwards have discovered the weakness of the reason which I have hid, as he feigns, under the ambiguity of those two terms▪ It also belonged to him to propose some of those slights, even he ought to have chosen amongst them all that which to him seemed most advantageous to me, that demonstrating that discourse hath no share in it, he might render my reason useless. In the mean time he thinks himself sufficiently sheltered in saying, That if I had designed any one of these slights in particular, he would have endeavoured to have explicated them But what! since I designed them all, was it necessary for me to mark any in particular; and since I excepted none, ought he not to have judged that I did not believe there was any which did not serve for my cause, and that the first of them which he should have defeated would have rendered my objection vain and deficient? Truly this makes me remember those Fanfawors to whom the choice of the combat was offered, and which afterwards excuse themselves on this, that that of the sword they were not designed to, wherein they vaunt they would have wrought wonders. For my part I know not what there would have been which M. C. would have made in a particular examen; but I can say that in general he hath wrought no great ones, and that when he contents himself to assure us in gross, That of all those slights, some were the effects of instinct, and others of Memory and Custom. There is nothing therein wonderful, unless he forget some which are neither made by Instinct, Memory nor Custom. And that notwithstanding his Induction is not complete, yet he forbears not to draw an universal Conclusion; for setting aside that Instinct, Memory and Custom do not exclude Reason, as we shall show hereafter; It's certain that old Hares and Foxes are more wily than the young ones, and consequently they have particular wiles which they have learned from themselves, and which cannot come from Instinct, since Instinct is a thing which is natural and common to all the species. This being supposed, when they first of all use these wiles, it's neither by Custom nor Memory, seeing as yet they never have made use of them, and that we cannot accustom ourselves to actions which we never did. Neither can we remember those things which are quite new. We must then say that they come from elsewhere, and that they have no other form but reason, since its only she to whom it alone can be related. CHAP. IU. The Examen of what M. C. hath said against our third Experience drawn from the Custom and the Instruction of Beasts. Of the knowledge of time. AS the last of our Experiences which is drawn from the Instruction and from the Custom furnisheth us with a most powerful proof of the Reason of Beasts: It hath obliged M. C. to form, as it were a new body of an Army to combat it, and to afford it a whole Chapter for the pitched field; let's therefore a while observe these new enemies. And first of all, I see M.C. sends forth his Forlorn-hope; I call all that part so which he hath said concerning Custom in the pages 145, and 146. which nothing concerns the question in debate; and after several feigns which he makes to baffle what we have demonstrated concerning the production and union of Images, at last he comes to the assault and pretends to show, that the Imagination hath no knowledge at all of things past, present and to come, whereupon is grounded all the strength of his Reason. In effect he well foresaw, that if he granted that the presence of some objects made some Beasts remember past things, and made them expect the like from thence to come, he would be obliged to confess, that they reason as we may judge by what he hath said of Fear, p. 155. for which cause he boldly denies it to be true, and made all his endeavours to prove that the Imagination knows no difference of time. But to what purpose serve all these Reasons, if the Experience we have produced convince them of error. All the world knows, and all the world sees that Beasts Hope, that they Fear, that they Desire; and consequently it must needs be that they must know future things, since all these passions are moved only by the good or ill which is to come. Now if this be so, it's to no purpose to labour to show that they can know no difference of time. Wherefore before we examine what he hath produced to prove this Proposition, we must see what he opposeth to this experience, and what address he useth to withdraw himself from so ill a pass. Beasts hope for things to come. First he accuseth me, Not to speak wholesomely when I say that Beasts Hope, because I have elsewhere written that to speak wholesomely, there was none but Man did Hope, and that all other Animals had but a shadow of Hope, as well as of Reason; Whence he concludes, That since that time the actions of Beasts have not changed their Nature; And that it doth not become a Philosopher to make that pass for a Truth, which is so only in shadow and appearance. Certainly it's easy to judge by this Answer that M. C. was very much puzzled here, and having no reason to destroy the Hope of Beasts, he would charge his fables upon the Reader, and withdraw himself from the danger by making use of my words. But without reproaching him as he hath done me, that this kind of proceeding is not becoming a Man who seeks the truth, and that it smells more of the Sophister then of the Philosopher; He will give me leave to say, that what I have elsewhere written on the same subject, is not here to be brought in question, in which happily I may have been deceived; but to know whether it be true That Beasts Hope, for if it be so, they must hope for the good to come and know future things .. Were I he alone who held this opinion, perhaps the contradiction which M. C. observes in my words, might render it suspicious. But Aristotle, St Thomas, in a word, all the Schools are of that opinion, and there is no Philosopher of esteem who acknowledgeth not Hope to be in Beasts, & the knowledge of the future in Hope. Even M C. cannot but be of that opinion, 9 Hist. 1. 1. 2. q. 40. since he believes Beasts are capable of Desire; for Hope is only different from desire by the difficulty we figure of obtaining the good which we have not. Now Beasts may desire a good which they may judge difficult to obtain, and consequently may hope for it. M. C. must therefore confess the truth of this Experience, or prepare another Answer then what he hath produced, since it satisfies not the common opinion which hath no interest in the contradiction which he hath found in my writings. But should M. C. possibly have believed that true which I said in another place in the Elegy of Hope, were contrary to what I here affirm? Did he not observe that it was a Rhetorical Discourse, wherein we give more liberty to words, and wherein terms keep not to that severity which Dogmatical Discourses require? But what if he had said, that to speak soberly, true Philosophers only Reason, and the rest of men have but a shadow of Ratiocination, had he not made a Proposition which in some sense is most true? and would he not justly have derided those who from thence would have induced, That other men did not reason? Doth he believe that when Plato asserts that all what is here below is but the shadow of things which are in their Ideas, did he then bel●eve there was nothing real or true? They are ways of speaking which all languages have used to observe, how some things are estranged from the perfection of others; and it were to deprive them of their fairest ornaments, and of their most splendent lights, to take away from them their shadows and their figures. When I therefore affirmed, that Man only did Hope, and that Beasts had but a shadow of Hope, I meant nothing else but that Human Hope was more noble and more elevated then that of Beasts, and that in comparison of that the other was so base and imperfect that it did not seem to deserve the name of Hope, and had only the appearance and figure of it. But from thence to conclude that I was fallen into a contradiction, when I elsewhere said, that they did hope, he must either be a very ill Frenchman, or a very ill Logician. Beasts fear the evil to come. For what concerns fear, there is no great difficulty, as M C. says, there being two sorts of it; the one in effect is a Ratiocination, and a consideration of what is not present to our Senses, but which we infer aught to happen unto us; This is not to be found in Beasts: But there is another which we call properly Fear or Fright, of which all Beasts are capable; and must not therefore know what is to come; for we are frighted with present objects, and even with those which are past, so as the Images be present. I shall with M.C. acknowledge then two sorts of Fear, and I hope elsewhere to speak more fully of them then I can do here; but I did not mean to distinguish them as he doth, and to exclude the knowledge of the future from none of them, because it were to destroy them and confound several passions in one. In effect, were the evil present, there would be no Fear, it would be Grief, Consternation, or such like. And M. C. of necessity must take frightfulness for a kind or species of Fear, which it participates to all the nature of the Gender. Now Fear in general supposeth the knowledge of the evil to come, as all our Masters and all our Books teach us; and consequently frightfulness supposeth the same thing, since all what belongs to the Gender ought also to be in the species▪ Certainly M. C. is herein far from the sense of Aristotle and of his Sectaries who believe that to form this passion, the ill must not be to come, but even a man must not be certainly assured that it is to come, or that we have some hopes to eschew it. How we are frighted with present objects. But what says he? we are frighted with present objects. It's true, so as it be well understood; for this presence hinders not but that the ill we fear is to come; when we say, That the objects or the present evils cause frights, the words of Evil and of Object are taken for the cause of the ill, and not for the effect, which is the true evil. And in this sense it's true, that the ill is present, and that still the fright respects the ill to come; because it considers the effect which that cause is to produce, which is properly that which gives the fright. Since did we not think that it was to produce its effect, neither would it cause that apprehension; so an enemy who falls at once upon us, a flash of lightning, a phantasm, and all other things which fright and terrify us, are but the causes of the ill which we imagine is to befall us; for although we think it very near (and it is that which makes the difference of a fright from all other fear) yet it's certain, it is not then so; and were it so in effect, it would not move us to a fright, but to grief, consternation, or the like, as is already said. On the other side, the presence of the object is different according to the several powers to which it relates. That which is present to the eyes, is not always so to the touch; and so if it be true that a fright is moved by objects which are present, for as much as they are seen, yet it also hinders not, but that this fright considers the future, because those objects are not yet present to the sense of feeling, for the preservation whereof this passion is chief raised in the soul; for as Aristotle says, those things which are formidable and which cause terror, are those which may cause a corruptive grief. What shall we then say to the example which M. C. produceth? Of a Man on the top of a Steeple, and who will be sensible of a fright in looking down, although he be not in fear of falling, being fenced about with a rail or wall; for if there be any fear, it is not an effect of his Ratiocination, nor of the knowledge of future. I shall answer in few words; First, That M.C. seems to have forgot the subject of our question, for as much as I did not propose these passions to prove that the Imagination reasons, but to make it appear, that she knows the time to come; and therefore the consequence he draws, That this Fear is no effect of his Ratiocination, is to no purpose. Secondly, He confounds according to his practice the Knowledge of the Intellect with that of the Fancy. For the assurance which this man hath of not falling, seeing the rails and safeguards which environ him, is an effect of his Understanding, which hinders not his Imagination from figuring to itself that he might fall, & so consequently that she considers not the future; as she is surprised at the sight of a precipice, she minds not that which should reassure her; and the impression she hath received of it is so strong, that notwithstanding all the advice which the Understanding afterwards proposeth, she cannot contain herself, but suffers herself to be carried away with that Motion which she first gave herself. Even as it happens in others passions, which often raise some resistance in the mind, which the superior part affords it, although this fright therefore be vain and ill-grounded, yet the Imagination forbears not to do the same thing, which she doth in others which are just and reasonable, and consequently she considers the danger of the fall, as it were truly to happen. In a word, she here repects the evil which is to come, as in all other kinds of fear. How past dangers trouble the Mind. So much concerning the fright, which present objects use to incite. It remains now to make M. C. see, that when past dangers come back to the Memory, and produce all the very same effects which fear useth to cause, the Imagination respects even the ill to come; for although in effect it be past, yet it considers it in the condition it was when it moved that first fright; Now at that time it was to come, and consequently she still sees it as to come. That this may be well understood, we are to observe that the Images of things is preserved in the Memory with all the circumstances, and withal those modifications with which it's revested, when it enters into that faculty of the soul. So when we see an object a far off agitated with some motion, or situated in such or such a manner, How past things are preserved in the Memory, the image of this object remains in the Memory with the species of the distance of this motion, of the situation which the senses observed in it; and when we come to remember ourselves of it, it again represents itself revested with the same accidents. Now its certain that the differences of time are in the rank of these circumstances, and when a faculty knows a thing which is to come, it with the principal thing conceives the difference of the time to come wherewith it is accompanied; and consequently whether the Image of that object ought to be preserved in the Memory, it must needs be with the very same circumstance; and when it reenters the thought, it therein presents its self as future; otherwise the representation could not be just and faithful. It is not therefore to be wondered if those who escape a danger can never again think of it without being surprised with the same fright it had formerly given them; for as much as having the first time known the danger, as an evil to come, and whereinto they were ready to fall, the image which they have preserved therefore can represent it no otherwise than it then was; that is to say, as ready to come. And fancying it after that manner it ought to cause a fright, since its a passion which the evil which is ready to befall us is accustomed to provoke. But what! A man may say, the danger is really passed, and who hath escaped it is not ignorant of it, and therefore he ought to have added this circumstance of time to the image which he kept thereof. And if he remembers it again, he ought no more to consider it as a present evil, but as a past evil, since the image which represents it is modified by this difference of time, which is incompatible with that which is to come. To this it's to be answered. 1. That images have this privilege, that although they represent contrary and incompatible things, yet they have no opposition amongst themselves, and may be compatible together, as both Experience and the Schools teach us; so that, that of the past, and future time, what contrariety soever they may seem to have, do not destroy one the other, and the Memory may preserve them at the same time in one and the same subject. 2. That the circumstances and the modifications which the Mind adds to bodies of a principal figure, are as so many several beds and different surfaces which she applies the one upon the other. So that the latter altereth not that which was first applied, neither can any one corrupt the Mistress figure which is therewithal revested. So when we first see a man who is set, the image of that man enters into the Memory with that circumstance; and when afterwards we see him stand up, the Mind adds to the man's figure the latter modification without defacing the former; otherwise she could never remember she saw him fit; just so it is of the evil, which at first it judgeth is to befall it; for she preserves the image with the circumstance of the time to come, and when it's past it adds to the image of the ill, the latter difference of time, without defacing the former: Now as these circumstances do not confound themselves in the Memory, but keep their natural distinction therein, the Imagination which may consider the accident of a subject without minding others, may link itself to that of the future, without minding the past; for example, if the object have any thing which is able to surprise or astonish the mind, as without doubt a great danger is; for the first sight which the imagination hath, may trouble it so powerfully that it will stop at the first circumstance, wherewith she finds it revested, and may then see it but as it were to come, although she may know it as past, did she but afford herself the time to consider the latter representations which she form thereof. And it's in this sense what M. C. says is true, That she would not be disturbed with what is past, and was no more to happen, did she know it as past. But it from hence follows not, That she suffers the emotions of fear without having the knowledge of the future, as we have showed. I shall not stop at what he supposeth, Desire respects the good to come. That the Imagination acts alone in those examples which he produceth. Although I can show him the contrary, it makes nothing to the question. So that there remains almost nothing for me to say to maintain the proof we have drawn from the passions. For the distinction he placeth in the desires, and all what he says in pursuit thereof, is useless in the point in hand. Should I grant him, That a man of an amorous inclination needs no Ratiocination to kindle the desires wherewith he suffers himself to be taken at the sight of his Mistress, no more than he who is offended to stir up the appetite of vengeance which takes him at sight of his enemy; And so of the rest of the examples he produceth. And that at last all those desires are the first motions, which depend not on reason since they prevent it. Should I say I grant him all this, what prejudice would it do to the proposition I have made? I should prove that the Imagination may know things to come; and to that end I produce the experience we have, That Beasts desire, which is a passion which supposeth this knowledge. Is there a word in all this discourse of M. C. which destroys this proof: Instead that he ought to show that desire requires not the knowledge of the future, he witnesseth that he demands no Ratiocination. But it is not that which is in question; it's to change the Hypothesis, and M. C. cannot avoid the blame to have fallen into that error of Ratiocination, which the Logicians call Ignoratio Elenchi. And if he could defend himself from it, it is still true that he here confounds the Reason of the Understanding with that of the Imagination, since he cannot confess it, that when he says that the first motions do not depend from reason, and that they prevent it, that cannot be understood but of the superior and intellectual reason; And therefore it makes nothing against me, who in all this discourse only show, That the Imagination hath its proper and particular Ratiocination, in which the Understanding hath no share. But to go to the bottom of the question, what ever may be said, There is no desire which supposeth not the knowledge of what we desire, and it's impossible that it should not be known as a thing which we have not; for did we believe we had it, and possess't, it would not provoke Desire, but Love or Joy. Neither is this a Paradox, 'tis the common sense of all the learned. And it's fruitless to oppose against it, That we sometimes desire things present; for in seeing them, we enjoy them not, and they forbear not to be absent to that power for which we desire them, as we have already said of Fear. And therefore we may safely conclude, that since Animals Fear and Desire, as M.C. himself confesseth its necessary they should know the good and the evil to come; And if they did know the things in this difference of time, which is most difficult to know, we ought from thence to infer that they may know them in that of the past and of the present, namely being endued with Memory, which is destined for things past, and of the Senses which judge only of present objects. How Beasts know the differences of time. This being well established, all the reasons which which M. C. brings to prove that it's impossible Beasts should know any difference of time, are useless. The truth of this knowledge is not to be doubted; and if there be any difficulty it's to know how this knowledge may be acquired: But the impossibilities which are found in the manner in which we fancy the things to be done, cannot be sufficient to destroy the action and the effect, which by experience we are assured of. It were a strange way of philosophising to endeavour to prove that the Loadston doth not draw iron, because that the attraction of a body cannot be made by a simple quality. In the mean time M.C. useth herein no other means, and believes to have proved, That Animals know not the time, because, as he conceives, there is no image which can represent it. But what? doth he pretend to know all the secret of these images? doth he know what it is, how they are form, and how they represent the objects? What the most knowing have discovered herein, is but the least part of what Nature hath kept hid from them; and although they are sure that they are, and that they are serviceable to knowledge, they have reason to doubt of all the surplusage which concerns them. I would fain ask M. C. how he conceives that Motion is represented by the image which is preserved thereof in the Memory; and how a thing which is fixed and permanent, can express another which hath nothing that's stable, and is in a continual flux. For my part, I find it as difficult to comprehend how Time may be represented by any image. And if M. C. grants that there is one of Motion, although he knows not how it may be represented, he knows not why he says that there is none of time, because according to his opinion none can represent it; for there is an equal reason either to receive them for the one and for the other, on what we experiment, that the Imagination knows them both, or to refuse them on this, that we know not how to represent them. But we are more nearly to examine M. C. reasons; otherwise he would believe we meant to baffle him with these subtleties, and according to his custom he might brag we had not answered them, what cause soever we had not to stop there for the reason we have already given. The Imagination may know the Time past. M C's first Reason is, That the Imagination knows the absent ill without discerning that it is absent, because absence hath no images no more than other privations; and so the Memory being unable to represent them, the Imagination which is a material Faculty, cannot know it. There are several ways to answer this Objection. First, M. C confouds here the past ill with the absent ill, although they be two different things, seeing there are absent ills which are not past; and if we apply these words to Time, as M.C. doth, it is still certain, That to be absent makes not the difference essential of the Time past; Because the absence is a privation which cannot enter into the essence of a real thing, such as Time is. And therefore the time past is not past, in that it is absent, but its absent for that its past. Whence you may judge that the absence is but an accident which happens to Time; and that consequently, the Imagination may know the time past, without knowing it to be absent, since the time past is to be known by its true difference, which ought to be real and not privative. But it may be demanded what the difference is, which may come to the knowledge of the Imagination? Certainly, if Time is the successive durance of motion, or to observe the terms of the Schools, if it be the number and distinction of the parts of motion, as that some flow before and others afterwards, its certain that the number of the parts of motion which flow first makes the difference of the time past; Now there is nothing herein which the Imagination may not know; for the distinction and the effective number of things which are sensible may be known by the Senses; So the Senses may know three Men, three Horses, because Man and Horse are sensible things. If it be therefore true that motion is sensible, as M. C. avows, the number of motion ought to be so too; and if the Senses cannot know the motion without knowing the precedent parts, because Motion speaks Succession; and who speaks Succession supposeth something which preceded; of Necessity, the Senses must know the parts which have flown, and must therefore know the number of the parts of motion, which did flow before the rest. Now this is to know the Time past. Without doubt M.C. did not consider the wrong he did his own cause, when the truth forced him to confess that Sense knew Motion; neither did he foresee the reason and the consequence which we have now drawn from thence: But to give him satisfaction in some other thing, I shall grant him, that absence is a privation and a negation of a being, so as he will remember the distinction we produced, pag. 72. where we said there were direct and obliqne negations. For by this means we may both be satisfied, he to find the proposition which he hath produced to be true for direct negations which cannot be known by the Imagination; and I to have showed that obliqne Negations may at least by accident be thereby known. Thus we may together judge, that the Imagination knows not the absence and the privation which happens to Time past; But it knows the Time passed deprived of the absent thing, to wit of the Time present. And that by separating the image of the present, with that of the time which is run away, it by accident knows, that is to say by this separation, that the time past is distinct and separate from the present, and that consequently it is not present; That in fine it forms an image of that obliqne absence, for as much as the separation is a modification of the images, and that this modification passeth for an image, since it represents the thing separate, as we have more amply shown in the 73 and 74 pages: M. C's. second is, That the differences of time as abstracted or joined with the things have no material image which can represent them to the Imagination; and that as a Man can never say that the eyes see a soul, although joined with the body, because the soul hath no image to join with that of the body, it's the same with the differences of time. All this Discourse is but a Paralogism which supposeth what is in question, and compares things which are of several genders, and have nothing common amongst them: The differences of time are sensible, since motion is sensible, and that the number of things which are sensible is also sensible. Now the number of motion makes the differences of time, and therefore the differences of time are sensible; and consequently they have material images, since they cannot be sensible without having some kind of images; so that the Soul which is not sensible, ought not, nor cannot be compared with the differences of Time which are sensible. And M. C. could thereupon conclude nothing. The Imagination may know the Time to come. The third is particular for the time to come; for it imports That if the Imagination knows not the differences of time, but when then are conjunctive with the things, its impossible it should know the time to come, since it cannot know with what thing it is to be conjoined, for as much as it ought to be present; and if it were present, the time to be conjoined to it must also be present; Being not therefore present, it can furnish no image neither to the Memory nor to the Imagination. Observe this for another Paralogism, which is grounded on the word Thing which M. C. understands of the material & exterior object, instead that it ought to be understood of the formal object, that is to say of the image, or of the thing represented; for when we say we know the differences of time conjoined with the things, it's as much as if we had said with the images of the things; otherwise the Understanding itself could not know the time past, nor the future conjoined with the things, for as much in effect, the one are no more, and the others are not yet: It's therefore true that the Imagination cannot know the difference of the time to come, unless she have the image of the object, to which it adds this circumstance. Let not M.C. insist upon its being present, because it's present as to the actual existence, and not as to the manner of representing. It must be truly in the Imagination to represent the thing to come, even as that of past things ought to be there, to make us remember that they be passed. But how can it be in the Imagination, since the object it represents is not yet, and that the copy cannot be before the original? Certainly we are not to believe that a thing which never was, and which hath not passed through the Senses, could ever be in the Imagination, neither that it could be known as future; the Senses must formerly have made it known to make us judge that it's to come, and that to the image which the present, object furnisheth, the soul afterwards adds the circumstance of the future time. Had the Animal never resented blows, he would never fear to suffer those to come; and when that happens his Imagination doth only add the difference of the time to the image it form thereof when it received them; or to speak home, she forms an image like to that which she hath in the Memory, and adds thereunto the circumstance of the Time to come. There is more difficulty to say how she conceives this difference of time; for although the motion be sensible, and that the number of the parts ought to be so too; it is certain that there is great reason to doubt, whether those which are not yet run, and which consequently as yet are not, may beat the Sense which is only touched by objects which are actually present. Yet this doubt may be satisfied by saying, that the word sensible is not restrained to the exterior Senses, and that it also marks those things which are known by the interior Senses. Now the Imagination may raise itself above the exterior Senses, and form to itself Images, which these have not suggested. So it judgeth that food is good or ill, that a thing is a friend or an enemy, which are notions which the exterior Sense cannot furnish it withal, and which may be said to be sensible, since they are of the resort of the sensitive Faculty. As a man therefore is assured by experience, that Animals which fear and desire, know the future; It must needs be that if the external Senses cannot afford that knowledge which in their default the Imagination supplies, and that it adds this circumstance of time to the object which they represent unto it; Which is nothing difficult for it to do, if we consider that it may remember itself of a past motion, and that by consequence the image of that motion is preserved in the Memory. For it must then be that this image represents the flux and succession which was in this Motion, which being so, when she sees that a thing presently moves, it may figure to itself that it may continue to move; and in this continuation whereof it may form the image, since it hath the model thereof in the Memory are comprised those parts of motion, which are to succeed, and therefore it may know those parts, it may therefore know the parts to come. On the other side, if it be true, That time is nothing but the number of motion, as it hath parts, some whereof are before, and others after; it must of necessity be, that if the motion be sensible, as all the world agrees, Time must be so too: Since motion cannot be known but by the parts run out and to run; now to know them so, is to know the number of the motion, is to know Time past and Time to come, and consequently the Motion cannot be sensible, but the Time must be so also. In effect, it's the property of those things which are in a continual flux, that they have no part which is not past or to pass, otherwise there would be some one of them permanent, against the nature of successive things; Wherefore all the Schools constantly hold that there is nothing actually present in Time, nor in Motion, but a point or indivisible instant, which ties the past parts with those to come; and to speak exactly, there is no part of Time nor of Motion which is actually present. But how then can the Senses know them, for they can only be touched by what is actually present; and there is nothing present but an instant, which being indivisible cannot be the object of the Senses. The School answers this, That the instant is not truly sensible of itself, but that it is so by accident; and that in the same manner, as the points of a line are not sensible of themselves, because they are indivisible, and are so by accident; to wit, because they bind parts which are sensible of themselves; the instant must also be sensible because it binds sensible parts; otherwise if they were not sensible, that would be no ways sensible. Let's then say, since there is nothing in Motion which is actually present but an instant, and that the instant is sensible, but by the parts of motion those parts must be sensible: Now as they cannot be known but as successive, and that as the one goes before and the other follow after; it must necessarily be that the time past and the time to come must be sensible, since the parts of motion as they go before and after, make these differences of time; and because these parts are not actually present, and consequently cannot touch the exterior Senses, its necessary the Imagination should supply their defect, and that she alone should not only know the parts of Time, but even that of Motion also, since Motion is sensible, and that there is nothing which may touch the exterior Senses. Time is amongst sensible Objects. But it may be said, that I lose my time to use all these reasons against M. C. Let's therefore go no further, and content ourselves to take him from the astonishment wherein he is, p. 153. For that no body hath placed time amongst sensible objects, and that Aristotle was not advised to convince those by Sense who denied the existence of Time. For the first, he must therefore remember, that when the genders of things are observed, there is no need to specify in particular all what is comprehended under them. Philosophy hath placed Number and Motion amongst the genders of sensible objects, and consequently it was not necessary to place time in the same rank, since it's comprehended in those genders, and that in effect it's nothing but the number of Motion. So that we may say, that there is no body which hath not placed Time amongst sensible objects, although no body have placed it for a gender amongst sensible objects. As for the second, Aristotle needed not to convince those by sense who denied the existence of the time present, since he believed it no more than they did; and it's from him that we have learned, that in time there was nothing present, but an indivisible Moment, which is not truly Time: For as for the past Time and the Time to come, there never were any Philosophers which have not acknowledged them, and there was therefore no need to convince them by the sense of a Truth on which they were all agreed. And although Aristotle proposed at the beginning of the Discourse he makes Reasons to prove that Time is nothing; yet are they not so to be taken for proofs whereon some have grounded their belief, but for doubts which are usually made before the Truth of things be established, as his own proper terms witness, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. After all, had there been men extravagant enough to have had that thought, and that this great man had not by sense convinced them, it would not follow that Time were not sensible, and M. C. who is not ignorant of the Laws of Logic, knows well that these kind of consequences are not receiveable. That the Imagination hath Images, of which the Senses give it no Knowledge. We must here forget a fourth Reason produced by M.C. against the time past; although he hath unloosed it from the pursuit of the precedents. He than says, Page 154. That the Sensitive Memory hath no Images but those which it hath received by the Senses, when the Object was present. So that never having had any of the Time when it was present, it cannot get those of the future. It is pity this Reason should not be good, having so fair an appearance; but by mischance it happens that all its propositions are false. For, for the first, Animals may remember Dreams and Chimeras which they form in their sleep in the absence of objects. And as they are different from the things which the Senses have represented unto them, it follows that the Memory wherein they preserved themselves, hath other Images than those which it did receive by the Senses when the object was present. On the other side, the modification of Images which depends from the Actions of the Imagination, such as are Union, Separation, and the like, are not furnished for the exterior Senses, in the mean while they form themselves in the absence of exterior objects, and afterwards preserve themselves in the Memory. In fine, Beasts remember whether things are good or evil, friends or foes, although the Senses have not furnished them with the knowledge hereof, nor by consequence with the Images by means of which they should know them, and remember themselves. To rectify therefore M. C's. Proposition we must say, That the Memory hath no Images but those it hath received from the Senses, or from the Imagination which may form them in the absence of objects, the Sense contributing nothing thereunto. But in this case his second Proposition is absolutely false, and quite useless to our design; for the Memory may receive the Image of the present time, which the Imagination may have form, although even it were not true, that sense knows this difference of time; thus the Memory may have an image of the time past, since the Imagination furnisheth it with that of the present. Without doubt he will tell me, That Memory is only for past things, and therefore that the present hath no place in it, otherwise it must at once be present and past. But there is no inconvenience therein since it's passed as to the exterior object, and that it's present as to the Representation; Forasmuch as the images of the things which the Imagination hath known present enter into the Memory with that circumstance of time, and this now represents them as present, although in effect they are passed. And the soul must afterwards add the circumstance of the time past to remember itself that they are passed. By'r we have sufficiently cleared these difficulties in our precedent Discourses. How the knowledge of Time is reserved to the Understanding. There remains therefore nothing but the taking away of one scruple which he hath on what is said, That the knowledge of Time is one of the most subtle and most difficult that our soul is capable of, and which for that cause it was always reserved to the Understanding. This ought not to stop him quite, since he well knows that the Understanding subtiliseth on all the most sensible things, and that it considers them otherwise then the Imagination can. The entire and perfect knowledge of time comprehends many difficulties, which cannot be decided but by it; and after having learned of the Senses that time is somewhat, it's the only one that can explicate what it is, and how far it can know it: For you are not to imagine when we say that the Imagination knows the time to come, that it knows the future through all its extent, nor all kind of things which are to come. This ought not to be understood but of those which the present object bring back to the Memory, and which she figures to herself ought quickly to arrive; as we may judge by the passions in which Animals have need of this knowledge. So when we assure that time is sensible, we undertake not once the Office or Function of the Understanding; and to give to the Senses this small knowledge, we diminish neither the greatness nor the elevation it affords its own, which we confess with M. C. to be one of the most subtle and most difficult of which it is capable. After this M.C. concludes, p. 154. That Sense sufficiently knows the motion which is made in the present Time, but it knows not the Time wherein it's made; otherwise there would be a sensible knowledge, which could not be made by the entermixion of Images. 2. That the Images of what is passed are truly preserved in the Memory: but that that represents not that it is no more, because they cannot represent a negation of being. That in fine its a certain mark that the Imagination takes no consideration of the time, for that the images of a past ill produce the same effect upon it, as if it were present. Although all this Discourse be but a repetition of the Reasons which M. C. hath here before proposed, and that we have already fully answered them: Yet because he hath often taken my silence for a conviction, and that he hath believed in several places, wherein I would not amuse myself, for that they did not deserve an answer, he had reduced me to an inability of answering him; I must not stay here without a Reply, and I ought at least to make him remember cases already judged. For we have showed, 1. That the Imagination might form Images, which the exterior Senses could not furnish it withal; that the knowledge which followed those images was sensible, since it proceeded from a sensitive faculty, and therefore that there was no inconvenience, that there might be a sensible knowledge, which need not be from the intermission of species from without. 2. That the Imagination might represent to itself obliqne Negations, and that that was sufficient to know that the objects were no more. 3. That all the differences of Time were sensible, and that even the present was so at least by accident, whether this knowledge were proper to the internal Senses, or whether it were made by the exterior Senses. In fine, that the Images of several differences of time might be preserved together in the Memory, and that the Imagination might consider them the one after the other, that thus the past ill might be considered as present or as future; and that where it caused the same effects it had caused being present or to come, it was no longer as passed, but as present or as to come. Having taken away all these difficulties which stopped M.C. touching the knowledge which the Imagination hath of things present and to come: Its seems there is nothing more which can be opposed to the reason we have deduced from the Custom and instruction which we give to Beasts: For since present threats make them remember the blows they received with their first lessons, and that the remembrance of those blows which are passed makes them fear those to come, the Imagination must needs unite the Image of the threat with that of the blows which they have received, and in pursuit, that they join the image of those blows, with those others which they apprehend. And truly I expect from M. C. ingenuity, that after having maturely considered all these things, he will find some confusion in his Mind for having so lightly condemned me of error and artifice in the most part of my Reasons; for he saith at the entrance of the Examen which he makes of the precedent, That there is not in it the least appearance of Truth, and that whereas I do in some other reasonings insinuating errors by the means of some Truths; herein I have not used that artifice, but fight only with Arguments in which there is not one true Proposition to be found. What! Is it not true then, that Beasts remember the good and evil that's past? Is it not true, that they desire, and that they fear those which are to come? Is it not true, that the presence of certain objects, having replaced in their Memories those which they have formerly received, makes them afterwards fear the like? What will it be thought to conclude ill, that since they do all these things, their imagination must go from the one to the other, that it must unite images, and that it must form as many propositions as it makes unions? For my part, I must clearly confess to M. C. that if those who shall be Judges of our differences can be of his opinion, I will set myself to write as false against Philosophy, against Reason, and against Sense, and I will abandon them all as deceivers, which have abused us, and that instead of serving us as instruments for the knowledge of the Truth, they corrupt it and hid it from us. But without running to these extremities into which there is no likelihood I should ever fall, M.C. is to be excused of the ill opinion which he conceived against my first Work: I will indeed deal more civilly with him than he hath done with me; and that I may not altogether condemn him, I must confess that he may have found in my discourse such defects as may have engaged him to that sense, I having obliged myself to render them the shortest I could possibly; there are many places wherein I suppose certain knowledges which must be had from elsewhere, or my Ratiocinations would be must straightened; and in which I do but cast the seeds of a great many inductions, which may be drawn from them. And without doubt that briefness did hid from M. C's eyes the greatest part of the evidence and force of my reasons, and hath made Truths appear unto him as errors, and order as the subtleties of a Sophist. But I ought also to believe, that after having corrected myself for those defects, and having taken away all those obscurities which he met withal by long explications, he will no longer account, as they say, Truth for Injustice, but will ingeniously confess that he hath maintained an ill cause; at least, that I have not ill defended mine, and that my propositions are not so erroneous, nor extravagant, as he fancied them. To wit, whether without Ratiocination the Images of the Memory move the Imagination as if the objects were present. To continue therefore the design I have begun, I shall advertise him, That he should not abuse himself with the experiences he here produceth, since they are neither for him, nor against him. In effect, when he says that by them he will prove, That without reasoning the Images of the Memory move the Imagination in the same manner, as if the objects were present; What can he thence conclude to my prejudice? Should I grant all those experiences, they are but particular facts, which hinder not but that there may be others wherein the Imagination confers the present with the past, and from thence draws consequences for the future. Besides, that its easy to make it appear, that in most part of those, he produceth the Imagination makes the same progress. For when a Child cries seeing an object like to that which formerly had hurt it, it is fear doubtless which makes him cry. Now this passion supposeth an evil to come, and therefore the present object makes that Child remember the evil it suffered, and afterwards causeth it to fear the like: And when it rejoiceth at the sight of the Nurse's Breast, if it be from the desire and hope of sucking, his Imagination doth the self same thing. If there be only the remembrance of the past pleasure which rejoiceth it, it's a fact no more like ours, since it respects but the present and the past; and that in instruction the Mind considers not only present and past objects, but even those which are to come. It's even so when the remembrance of a good tale makes us laugh, or when the encounter of a person who hath done us ill, gives us a sense of aversion, because therein there is no express consideration of the future. Yet let not M.C. for this imagine, that I believe the Imagination reasons not in these passions, although it confers not the past with the future; it hath other means then that to reason; and if he will well consider the last of my Reasons which after this, I shall explicate, he will see That the Appetite is never moved but in pursuit of some Ratiocination. As for the example of Cassander, Who without shaking could not look upon the Statue of Alexander; It's certain, that this proceeded from the fear which the remembrance of that Prince's anger moved in his mind, and that he then represented to himself the danger he was in at that time when Alexander was angry with him. That's to say, he still considered it as ready to come. It therefore from thence follows not that the Ratiocination he made in these encounters was like that which is to be found in the instruction of Beasts. When these hear a threat like to that which they have formerly heard, and which was followed with blows, they ought rightly to think, that since such a thing formerly caused their ill, that which presents itself being like it, ought also to cause them the like ill. But there is nothing in the example of Cassander which relates to this. Alexander's Statue hath not that resemblance which was necessary to oblige him to conclude after that manner; it must have been that that must have been angry, that must have threatened, and that must have been capable to have done him harm; in this case he had had reason to think, that since Alexander had formerly done him ill, this Statue being like him ought also to cause the same ill. In fine, in the instruction of Beasts there is always two alike causes, that which is past, whose effect is also past; and that which is present, whose effect is to come; and both the one and the other enter into the discourse which the Imagination makes. But here there is only the past cause which comes back to the Memory; and although the Statue be present, it enters not into the Ratiocination of Cassander, it only awakens the Notions which compose it. M.C. hath therefore very ill taken his measures when he compares these two reasonings together, and very wrongfully endeavours to oblige us to believe, That that of Beasts is not made as we have said, because we do not believe that Cassander's was so made. What he adds of the Scythian slaves, who after having overcome their Masters in several battles, were at last routed at sight of the whips, which were showed unto them, when they were ready to re-ingage. It is so far from prejudicing my proposition, that it confirms it, and supposeth that beasts use the same form of reasoning when they are instructed: For it's certain that this surprise made them fear, and that this fear was grounded on the ill to come, by the remembrance which those rods gave them, that their Masters had formerly chastised them therewith. So that they judged it fit, that since those rods wherewith their Masters were armed, were like those with which they had formerly been beaten, they ought again to apprehend from them the like effect. And M. C. vainly labours to destroy this Discourse, when he says, That if they had had the leisure to reason and confer all these things, they had never been so frighted, and that the first reasonings they made was to condemn their first motions which are not submitted to reason. For besides that there needed but a moment for all this, he according to his custom confounds intellectual Reason with that of the Imagination, as we have showed him elsewhere. And there needed no other answer for those panic fears, since he says, That it is the same as of what happened to these Slaves. But I will add that since it's the same thing, it follows that they are the effects of a true Syllogism; And that as the Ratiocination which these slaves made was apparently good, and had no proposition which was evidenly false, it must of necessity be if what M. C. say be true, that it must be the same with that which devanceth all other panic terrors. Let him no more object the Syllogism he makes Cassander make, that man's fear will never strengthen his party, as we have now showed; and if he would believe me, he ought to ask help from some other Captain who is more bold than this. From all these rare experiences M.C. deduceth marvellous inductions, which having already satisfied, we will not stay much upon them. 1. He says, That in all these encounters its neither the present objects nor apprehensions of the future which moves the Fancy. But we have already shown the contrary. 2. That the Images of past objects residing in the Memory, the Imagination need form not others, since those are sufficient. All our second part is employed in confuting this proposition which destroys the nature of Knowledge. 3. That Images which can only come from present objects, can also only represent them but as present, and that they canaot be again communicated to the Imagination, but they must needs move it, as they had done formerly, the same cause ever producing the same effect. And that from thence it follows that the absent object works on the Appetite as if it were present; and that as being present it stirs up the Appetite without employing any discourse, it may being absent do the same thing. For this, we have made it appear that there are modifications which the soul adds to the images, which it receives from present objects. That the differences of time are of that kind, and that so a present object may be considered both as past and as to come; Whence it follows that one of these Images being again communicated to the Imagination may move the Appetite after another manner, then when at the first it entered into the Mind. And that afterwards it cannot pass for one and the same cause, since it's diversified by a new circumstance. As for his first Proposition which imports, That since the present object moves the Appetite without discourse the ascent may do the same thing. I shall willingly grant it him in the hypothesis of the time we are in, so as the object be only known as present or absent; For if the Imagination goes from the one to the other, and chief if it draws consequences from it for the future, we cannot doubt but the present and absent object must move the Appetite by means of the discortses which in these encounters the Imagination makes. Now it is certain that in all the examples which he hath proposed the Soul makes a progress from one difference of time to another and therefore she reasons; and therefore all M. C's. induction is vain. But wherefore do we so long insist on those things which we have elsewhere decided, and what can we do in repeating them so often, but as often we must afflict M.C. with the remembrance of his first defeat? Yet this is not generously to overcome him; we must spare shaming a vanquished enemy, and not use him ill when he hath given up his arms. Let us therefore pass to other matters, and without speaking any more of all these differences of time wherein M C. hath lost himself, let us see whether what he hath said of the Custom may repair his losses, and whether it destroys any of my propositions. Of Custom, and that it cannot be acquired without Reason. It is true that I have said, That if one could do such things which one were accustomed unto, without using reason; yet it's impossible to accustom one's self thereunto without the use of reason. And that those who say that Beasts do things out of custom, tacitly confess that they are reasonable. To prove this, I have supposed that Memory was necessary to accustom one's self to do any thing and that to reiterate the same actions one must remember one's self of them, otherwise they would not be like, or at least the first would leave no disposition for the others to do better. That in fine it was an assured thing that in the common and ordinary actions which beasts by custom do, they at first remember themselves of the good or ill which hath happened to them for having done them, and that without that they could not afterwards have accustomed themselves to have done them again; On these foundations I have concluded that on this occasion they have the same necessity of reasoning which they have when they are instructed, because they must needs unite the images of the present objects with that of past things, of which they remember themselves, and from thence they draw consequences for the future. Against all these Truths M. C. opposeth two things, the one at the end of his 17. Chapter, whereby he pretends to show, That Memory is not necessary for all kinds of habits; the other is at the head of the same Chapter, where he employs a many examples to prove, That we accustom ourselves to several things whereto Reason can no way serve. Had I to do with a man who were content with a few words, I would in two words tell him, that all this makes nothing against me, and is contrary to his own sense; That I speak of the Custom of Beasts which requires the assistance of Memory, and wherein M. C. confesseth himself that it is necessary. And that without stopping at the rest, its sufficient for me that there may be any one found which may be acquired without it; Since that alone may maintain the induction which I made, and prove that Beasts reason, at least on this occasion. But because its a man who loves contests, and seeks a noise, I shall sally out of my trenches, and enter the Lists with him, were it but as they say for the Ladies. Let us then see what the first assault will be: After having related what I have said concerning Custom; to wit, that it's form by several actions which leave in the powers a certain facility of operating. And that this facility consists either in a quality which resides in the organs, or in a more perfect knowledge which the soul may have acquired by more express images, which afterwards makes the stronger impression on the Appetite, and on the motive virtue of the parts: and that its indifferent to me how the thing be done, so as we know that the memory is necessary thereunto. He adds, That he finds almost nothing to gainsay in all that Discourse. And for my part, I also find nothing to gainsay but that he therein makes me speak barbarously; For although I do not h●ed his manner of speaking; yet I cannot suffer him to give himself the liberty to change mine; and as the purity of language is the only thing which he esteems in my Discourse, I shall have a very great care to preserve it, since it hath had the honour to merit his approbation. Howsoever I am not so well pleased with his discourse as he is with mine; for there is not one only proposition which I will not undertake to gainsay. 1. When he avers That it's as indifferent to him as to me what sense is had of Custom, for if it be swelled species, etc. He confounds the facility of operating with the Custom, without remembering th●t Custom makes Facility; and that the Question is not so much what that of Custom is, but to know what that of Facility is. On the other side how can he say That its indifferent to him, since presently after it's no longer indifferent to him, having sided with speculative and practical habits. 2. He adds, That if it be a Species swollen in the Memory with several knowledges, it may be acquired by simple conceptions without reasoning, etc. The Question here is not of Reasoning, but to know whether Memory be not necessary to Custom. Thus against all the Rules of Logic he anticipates his Answers, and so runs to the Conclusion, without satisfying the first Propositions. Besides that, if this thickened Species in the Memory may be acquired without discourse, all Speculative Habits which he placeth in that gender, must needs be acquired without discourse; on the other side, who can oblige to place the nature of speculative habits in their images; for after that he must maintain, That all Habits are only in the Memory, since these images are nowhere else preserved: I omit all other inconveniencies which follow this opinion, and what M. C. says in pursuit of the acts because it matters nothing to our dispute. To wit, whether Memory is necessary to all sorts of Habits. Let us now observe the examples he proposeth to show that Memory is not necessary for all kinds of Habits: The first is of Children whose hands are held to teach them to write; for using to conduct them thus the habit it imprinted in them to conform themselves to the characters they see, and this custom is acquired without the Memories contributing any thing thereunto. Its what he ought to prove, for in fine children have a Memory, and it is not so easy to persuade one's self that they should so often do the same action without remembering it. But what! says he, Children form themselves to certain customs, before they have the use of Memory. It's what I shall deny him; they have indeed a weak one, but yet it's true that they use it, and that when objects strongly touch it, they remember very well, as M C. himself hath made it appear, p. 148 The second is of Porters, whose Memory is useless to them to accustom them to carry heavy burdens, because, saith he, this strength which is but a habit would remain when even they had lost their Memories. M.C. confounds here the habit of bearing burdens with strength, although they be two very different things; such a man may have the one and want the other, Porters may well have them both, but they have them by several ways; strength comes to them from Nature, and habit comes from Custom; on the other side, strength is not in the rank of habits unless we should speak improperly, but it's a natural power which affords a man the virtue of acting, which habit doth not. But were it a habit, and that it might remain in a Porter after the loss of his Memory, what induction could he thence draw against me; for I never said that when a man had acquired a habit or a custom, he had need of Memory, but only that it was necessary for him to acquire it; and for that cause that Animals cannot acustom themselves to whatsoever it be without the help of Reason and of Memory, although it may be that they may afterwards without it do those things which they accustomed themselves unto. Yet for all this, I do not cease to believe but that all true habits have need of Memory; and that who ever should lose it, would also lose the use of all other habits he hath acquired, how perfect soever they were. But since I did not explicate myself thereupon, why will M. C. divine my thought and find inconveniences in things which I never yet said? Yet do I not insist hereupon, since he at last remits himself to Reason and confesseth, (pag 159) That this faculty is necessary for several actions which Beasts perform, and the good and ill which happens to them, remains in their Memory, and afterwards obligeth them to reject the same actions; for although he denies, that it is on the hope or fear that the same good or the same ill might happen unto them; It is very likely that after he hath seen the Reasons which we have used to maintain this truth, he will presently yield up the Cudgels. For my part, I find the proceed therein held very equitable, and I very much approve the prudence he had, to expect till I had evidently made him see that Beasts fear and hope, and that they confer the time passed with the future, before he oblige himself to believe it. I even maintain that in the quality which he here takes of a Defender, he might in conscience say, That there was no Ratiocination therein without being obliged to produce Reasons to the contrary. And that if he did so, it was as he says, Superabundance of right, and out of pure zeal which he had for the Truth; But also this same prudence and this same zeal engage him to change his opinion, now he hath wherewithal to satisfy his doubts, and those things which were obscure unto him now present themselves clear and evident. It's an advice which I give him for his own sake; for he may well think that it concerns not me, and that what part soever he takes, my cause will neither be better nor worse. To wit, Whether one may accustom one's self to some things without Reasoning. Let us examine the other point, where by new examples he would show, That we accustom ourselves to several things whereto reason is nothing serviceable. For it is here that he triumphs and flatters himself with the advantage he thinks he hath over me, for that I had not answered to those he had formerly proposed on the same subject; I confess I did not answer to them because I ought not to have done it. And M. C. wrongs himself to make use of it, since 'tis a mark wherein he believes the decisive point of the question we have in hand is, without perceiving that it's therein altogether useless. Nay I shall repeat it again. I pretend to speak only of custom and habits in which he himself says, that Memory is necessary; and it's sufficient for me if Animals have some one of that Nature, to conclude that they could not have acquired them without reasoning, since they must have conferred the present objects with those which were past and those which were to come, as we have said. So that if there were others in which this progress is not made, in good time be it; as I hinder him not, so it also hinders not my consequence from being good and true. But what, all these few Observations he hath made must they lie on his hands, without his drawing any advantage from them? no indeed, how slight soever they be, we must disburden him of them, and at the same time show him for what they may be good. Which I will not do as he doth out of superabundance of right, since it matters nothing to our question, but out of the only desire which I have to make him know the truth But we must first bring them to light that the Reader may know what we are upon, and that he may give judgement from the knowledge of the cause. The first is, Of Children, who accustom themselves to several things before they have the use of Reason. The second is, From the stomach which accustoms itself to certain means, and which regulates its hunger at certain hours. The third is, Of the Liver, which accustoms itself to make the more blood, the oftener we are let blood. The fourth is, Of the fluxious which accustom themselves to fall on certain parts. The fifth is, Of the external Senses which acquire habits, some persons having been found who have accustomed themselves to the taste of Woormwood, and to the smell of stinking things etc. The sixth is, From the common Sense which takes a custom of sleeping and waking at regulated hours. The seventh, the eighth and the ninth is, From the Memory. from the Appetite, and from the motive virtue which acquires habits; from all this he concludes, that it not necessary to accustom one's self to any thing, to make use of reason. Since there is not one of these things which he hath proposed, which is reasonable, nor any of their effects wherein reason appears. First when he says, That reason herein is not necessary he intends intellectual Reason, since he acknowledgeth none other; and in that sense I grant him all what he says; but our difference is not therein; it consists to know whether the Imagination reasons not in these encounters. In the second place, he employs the word Custom, without observing the several significations it hath, and indifferently applies it to several things, without telling us that it properly belongs to the one, and improperly to others, which yet were necessary to induce what he pretends; for I have reason to retort all his examples, in which this word hath not its true and proper signification. M C. should have remembered that Custom and Habit are active dispositions, and cannot be properly applied to passives, wherefore when they say, That a Man accustoms himself to heat and cold that the stomach accustoms itself to certain meats, that some have accustomed themselves to find the taste of Woormwood pleasant, etc. This word hath not therein its natural signification, because that in all these kinds of speaking we mean nothing else but that we accustom ourselves to suffer those objects, and that the facility we find therein is a pure, material and passive disposition, which the use of these things hath left in the organs. In effect, we accustom ourselves to heat, because the impression of heat remains in the parts, and makes that what comes afterwards operates not so powerfully on the body, which is already imbued with that quality. It's the same with odours, favours, and other sensible objects; which by means of striking the Senses, leave a certain character in them, which renders the organs most like the objects, and the objects more familiar to the organs; There is not therefore therein a true custom; No more then when we say, that a fluxion is accustomed to fall on some place; for 'tis but a passive disposition which comes from the weakness of the parts which cannot resist the overflowings of the humours which cast themselves on them. Add That it is not the flux which accustoms itself; for that which is fallen never falls again; But it is nature which commonly dischargeth itself on the weakest parts, or rather its those same parts which out of weakness are more capable to receive those superfluities wiich they receive from elsewhere. However it be, these are manners of speaking which are good for the people and not for Philosophers. And besides its in that rank you must place, The custom which the Liver takes to make the more blood in those who are often let blood. For the Liver hath no more facility in making of it then, then when a man is seldom let blood. But 'tis by this evacuation that the parts empty themselves, and that Nature labours to make the more blood to fill them. In fine, as we never say, that there is a true Custom or any Habit in the seasons, and in other inanimate things; although we say that the Winter is accustomed to be rainy, that the earth is accustomed to be fertile in such places, etc. We must believe, that when we use these kind of speeches for the natural actions of the body it's figuratively, or by an abuse; and that a man who cannot distinguish these things deserves not to enter into the secrets of Nature, nor to take place amongst Philosophers. After all this, if M.C. would opiniaster himself to maintain that there is a true custom in all those observations which he produceth; Can we not tell him, that as they are all taken from Animals, they leave the suspicion that the Imagination concurs thereunto; and that therefore they are not performed without the Ratiocination of that Faculty. Certainly to have taken away all cause of doubt, he should have made use of examples drawn from insensible things, as Stones, Plants, etc. Then there had been no more difficulty, & we should have been constrained to confess, that Custom needs not the help of the Memory and of Reason. But since all these parts which he says accustomed themselves to certain things, are endued with sense, and that everywhere, where there is sense the Imagination must agitate. Are we not to believe that they have accustomed themselves thereunto by Knowledge, and that the images which form this Knowledge preserve themselves in the Memory, and make the soul remember the first actions, that it may afterwards perform the like, whence at last comes facility and habit? No, let not M.C. deceive himself, the Imagination and the Memory agitate not alone in the Head. Although they reside there as in their Throne, and there perform their most considerable actions, they spread themselves through all the sensible parts, and perform often operations of which they give no knowledge to this principal organ, and therein imitate Princes, who act many things in the several parts of the State without communicating aught to their counsel. It's thus that so many sentiments are made in the Members without our preception: It's thus, that the Memories remains in the fingers of a Luthenest after he hath forgot all his pieces. It's thus that the virtue formatrix forms the images it hath received from the Imagination, when it imprints those wonderful marks on the bodies of children during the women's being with child, they neither knowing nor remembering themselves thereof. But we reserve to the third Volume of our Characters which we are about to publish, the full discovery of this truth. In the mean time let's conclude this unprofitable Examen of M: C's. examples, since we agree to what he intends to prove, to wit, That Custom may be acquired without the help of Intellectual Reason. And that its very likely, that having well considered the proofs we have produced to show that the Imagination reasons, he will also agree with us, That the custom he speaks of can never be acquired but by the Discourse of the Imagination. CHAP. V Examen of M. C. Objections against our last proof of the Reasoning of Beasts. THe last proof which we gave of the Reason of Beasts was, That the motion of their Appetite, which ought to preceded all the actions which they perform, is never made, without being devanced by three Propositions. The 1. That the thing is good. The Second, That it's feasible. The Third, That it must be done. And that these Propositions are linked together with common terms, and the one drawing its evidence from the other, they must form a perfect Ratiocination. This Reason which we employed to show, that the actions of the Instinct are all made with Ratiocination pleaseth not M.C. First in that I suppose that those actions are motions of the Appetite; and he says, That he is too knowing in these matters, and too hard to be persuaded to believe it, without its having been proved to him; Yet for compliance sake he will grant it, that he may make it appear, that the Appetite needs none of these Propositions. For my part, I would not have him lose the merit of such an extraordinary civility, I here accept of the favour he doth me, at least until we come to the Examen of the Instinct; for I then hope to make it evidently appear, not that these Actions are motions of the Appetite, having never proposed that Proposition, but that they were preceded by the motion of the Appetite. And how difficult soever it may be to persuade, I am sure to convince him by the first notions of Philosophy, or to reduce him to that point as to deny them, and to fight against common sense. This Article remaining then in suspense till that time; Let's now observe what he opposeth to the rest, It's sufficient, says he, if the object he known by the first operation of the spirit to move the Appetite; for when one that is hungerstarved sees bread, his Appetite without discourse is carried thereunto; and when we put our hands to the dish our Imagination discourseth not whether it be good. I cannot take it, I must therefore take it. It seems, saving the respect which I own M. C. he quits himself not well of his promise, for I therein see no proof which makes me know that the Appetite needs none of these propositions; and doth he think it enough to destroy a thing simply to contradict it without grounding it on any Reason, I said the Appetite hath need of propositions; and he answers, That it's enough if the object be known by the first operation of the spirit; He should therefore have proved it. For what he adds, That when one hungerstarved sees bread, he carries his Appetite thereto without discourse; cannot pass for a proof, since its the subject of our difference and contest. At furthest M. C. cannot disavow, that before the creature moves to any thing, it must be known unto it as good, and feasible and he must propose in himself to do it. Thus the question reduceth itself to this point to know whether it forms these Knowledges by Propositions or by simple Notions: Now it's resolved by us both, That the Senses do not know things as good and feasible, because they receive no image of the goodness, or of the possibility, and that that belongs properly to the Imagination which adds these Notions to that of the senses; which for that cause are called in the Schools Species non sensatae. If this be so, the imagination of necessity must have the image of the goodness, and of the possibility, and unite it with that of the object to know it to be good and feasible. And consequently she than makes affirmative Propositions, since to unite the Images, and make these Propositions is one and the same thing, as we have showed in the second Part. It's there where he may find the Reasons, which we had not inculcated in our first Work, thinking it the best way to treat with understanding persons. There, I say, he shall find them more enlarged, more clear, and in my opinion more forcible to persuade him That I did not seem to prove, that the Imagination makes affirmatives, but that in effect I have solidly proved it on the Principles and Maxims of the Schools. Whilst he is busied in consulting this Chapter we shall here observe, Whether he hath reason to be surprised, as he saith, That I should persuade myself that these three Propositions make a Ratiocination: And whether he doth wisely To defy all the Logicians to make of it a reasonable Syllogism. First, I might answer him in a word, that I never said that these three Propositions made a Syllogism, but that they made a Discourse, and a true Ratiocination. And as there are other reasonings beside the Syllogism; it's sufficient for my design if I prove that Beasts discourse, that they make a Ratiocination without making a Syllogism. But what! M. C. when he makes an Enthymema, when he makes a Sorites, doth he not reason? Yet he makes therein no Syllogism, at lest which hath all the conditions necessary thereunto. On the other side, although a man cannot form an only and simple Syllogism, of these three Propositions, yet a man may make a composed Syllogism, which is a true and perfect Syllogism. I confess that these three Propositions cannot assemble themselves but they must contain four terms, and that three can but enter into a simple Syllogism; but this forbids us not but we may make one of the two first Propositions, and that the last to be added need not pass for a new consequence, which joined with the precedent would make a composed discourse of a Syllogism and of an Enthymema: Thus an Animal that would eat any thing may first have discoursed after this manner, This Sweet is Good. This Good may be eaten. Then this Sweet may be eaten, Then it must be eaten. But I will not have this to be an entire Syllogism, and that he should assemble as M C. says, the two first propositions in one, This thing is good and feasible; and that he afterwards concludes Than it must be done. Will he not then make an Enthymema of three propositions; for it is certain that one proposition copulative as that is, is worth a double proposition, since therein is a double union; for so these three propositions would compose a true discourse. And in this case M. C. was much in the wrong, To defy all the Logicians to make any Syllogism thereof, and to render them incapable to form a Discourse which Beasts themselves may make. But (says he) to conclude the operation, there must be an universal Proposition made, which must affirm, That one must do all that is good and feasible. He is much mistaken; the particular connexion of goodness and possibility with the operation, is sufficient without having an universal, as we shown in speaking of that which was between the sweetness and goodness of an aliment; for at last we must always return thither; That the Animal knows the thing to be good, that he knows also that its possible as the Schools resolves, and that upon these two knowledges he undertakes to do it; so that if a connexion betwixt these antecedent notions and the operation be necessary, and that the Beasts must know it to act, it must also know it but as particular, since the Imagination cannot raise itself to the knowledge of universal things. It's therefore useless to add any general proposition to the Ratiocination which a Beast than hath, no more then in all the rest which M.C. pretends aught to follow that. For saith he, page 104. If we were obliged to perform this Ratiocination before we should resolve to eat any thing, we ought to make a second before we bring it to our mouths, and so a third chewing of it; and to chew it, one must make a fourth, to cause the motion of the Muscles; and a fifth to send spirits thereunto. And so every stroke of the teeth, and every motion of the Appetite would require as many Syllogisms and universal Propositions, of which the Imagination is altogether uncapable. Should I answer M. C. but out of universal Propositions, which I do not admit in all these Ratiocinations, there is nothing herein but might be done; Perhaps he would be troubled to maintain the contrary, and it were to no purpose for him to say, that it were contrary to experience; for we should easily grant him that it is indeed contrary to the experience of the vulgar, but not contrary to the experience of Philosophers. Or rather we should say, that it is not against experience, since there is none at all in it, for as much as they are things which few persons have exactly considered; and as he speaks in one place very judiciously, Books which have treated thereof furnish so little help for the Examen of these kind of actions, that he cannot believe that any Philosopher hath deighned seriously to think thereon: If this be so, how could any experience have been made hereof? and if there be no experience thereof, how can i● be against experience? But I will not amuse myself to maintain things which I do not believe. In two words I shall say, That it is not necessary the Imagination should here make so many Ratiocinations as it figures to itself, or at least as he figures to himself? Let it suffice, that commonly she makes a perfect one for the principal action, which is the last she proposeth to herself. For all the rest, which serve but as means to arrive thereto, the notions she hath thereof are but as many consequences and shortened Enthymema's, which are drawn from the first conclusion; such as those are which heat and precipitation of dispute often oblige us to make in our conversations; Thus when a Dog would catch a Hare, he ought to know that its a good thing, and believe at the same time that he would catch it, and last of all that he must catch it; but to execute this design he knows he must run after it, that he must follow it such a way, that he must cast himself upon it, etc. So that after the first reasoning which consists of the aforesaid three Propositions; every of the other which he adds is worth an Enthymema; and of necessity he reasons so, since if he must take it, he must run after it; then he must pass such a way, and then he must cast himself on it, etc. Yet we ought here to observe, that those actions which serve as means to attain to a principal end are of two kinds, for some are complete, others are imperfect; the complete are made by the Members, as when the arm moves, when the hand takes, when the foot goes, etc. The imperfect are made by those parts which compose the Members, such as are the Muscles, the Nerves and the Spirits, etc. all the former come to the knowledge of the Animal which knows before he move himself, whether he ought to extend or bow a member, whether to advance or retire his foot; whether he ought to run, or only to go, and so of the rest; But the latter are altogether unknown unto him. For the soul knows not the number of the Nerves, and of the Muscles, nor the particular use to which every of them is destined, although she never deceive herself in the choice she makes of those which are to be employed, which is one of the greatest marvels which is to be found in the Animal, as we shall show in the second part of this Work. This being supposed, we say that complete actions which serve as means to one principal end are made only by Enthymema's; but that the imperfect require none, because the Imagination hath no knowledge of them, and we must therefore r●ce out of the number of Syllogisms, which M.C: alleges, those which respect the motion of the Muscles and Spirits. On the contrary, whatever we have said, that the Imagination makes no perfect discourses, but for the principal action, 'tis to be understood when the means are easy, and that they have no difficulty or other circumstance which deserves to stop the soul from considering it; it otherwise makes the same discourses for them, as for the principal action, as it happens in three Experiences which we have produced at the beginning of this Chapter. Thus when the Dog sees that the course is not sufficient to catch the prey, he useth slight; if he finds a stop in the way he considers, and seeks the means to surmount it; and amongst all this, the remembrance of past things, and the expectation of those to come, occupy his Imagination, and make him make at every moment the discourses which we have before mentioned. In fine, We must judge of all this progress in proportion to what passeth in our Minds, when we form any design and endeavour to execute it. For besides abstractions and universal propositions which are proper to the Understanding, the Imagination operates even as that doth. And as there are entire Ratiocinations which we make to undertake a thing, as amongst the means which present themselves to attain it, there are some which stop us, and others which are so evident, and so easy that we make use of them without examination: And as all this is commonly done so readily that it seems there are but moments employed therein. We must also believe, for the Reasons which we have so often alleged, That Beasts act in the same manner in those designs which they undertake. And now I believe M.C. will be glad to have learned that he is twice more reasonable than he thought, and that his imagination makes a number of reasonings, of which he was not yet awares. For how ready soever the hand be to write, and the tongue to pronounce what it would express; His Imagination still goes as fast as that, and beyond all the leisure that is necessary for him by those Ratiocinations which we have mentioned, to go before the motion of these organs. We may say its like a Painter who in a moment forms the Idea of what he would paint; but when he sets his hand to the work, he must have days and whole weeks. Writing and Speech indeed ask not so much time, but still there is an infinite distance betwixt the swiftness of the Imagination, and that of the Hand and Tongue, since that is to be done without any time, and this is ever done with time. For the rest, I would willingly consolate M.C. Of the shame he had to stop at things so far from all appearance of Truth, were I certain of what things he intended to speak; for I know not whether they are Objections which he makes me, or the propositions which I proposed which have made him ashamed, the one and the other being able to lead him into confusion; in any case he ought to know that the shame to have failed is very good, but that which a man hath to learn is very bad; Let's therefore go on since this passion also hath that property that she will not be spoken of. To wit, Whether Animals doubt. In confirmation of what I have said, That it was necessary that three Propositions in question must precede the motions of the Appetite, I have produced the example of Dogs, and Birds of prey, which often pursue not the game they see, when they judge it to be too far off. I have also proposed that sometimes they seem to doubt, and are apparently in trouble to resolve whether they ought to pursue it or no; and that in these encounters although the thing appear unto them good, yet because they judge it not feasible they undertake it not; the operation which is the conclusion being not to be done without one of the propositions, as it happens in all true Syllogisms. To this M.C. opposeth first, That if their doubt be but in appearance, it's not just to make use of it against him; if it be true, it follows that Beasts deliberate. But I answer, That he here corrupts my words and gives them another sense than they ought to have; There is a great deal of difference to say that Beasts seem to doubt, or that apparently they have some doubt; and to say that their doubt is but in appearance; the first way of expression excludes not the doubt, but the second doth. And we may say of a man who is truly in wrath, that he seems to be in wrath, and that apparently he is angry. If it be then true, that Beasts are capable of doubting, as we shall make it appear, they may in effect doubt, without our being assured thereof, because we cannot clearly know their thought; but by actions they perform we conjecture that they doubt. And then we have reason to say that apparently they doubt, that is to say, That they appear to us to doubt: But not that their doubt is but in appearance, because it may happen they doubt in effect, and that a thing which is but in appearance is not really. But let us stick no longer in words, let us examine things, and see what the Nature of doubt is; for after that we may clearly perceive, whether Beasts are capable of forming it. Aristotle says very elegantly, that he who doubts is like to a man bound, because both the one and the other are restrained, and cannot go whether they will; this cannot advance forward in his way, and that cannot make any progress in his knowledge. In effect, when he finds that the objects are not clearly represented unto him, when he sees reasons and appearances contrary concerning the same thing; they are as many chains which stop him & hold him in suspense that he knows not which side to take; and whilst he remains in this neutrality, so long time he doubts, and is not assured of what he seeks. For which cause we may call Doubt a suspension of judgement which cannot determine on the things propesed unto it. Now because that to judge is to unite or divide images; this suspension cannot be conceived but as a restraint which the judicative faculty imposeth on itself in its function, the difficulty and uncertainty wherein she is, not permitting her to unite or separate those images which she hath form. Yet must we not figure to ourselves this restraint to be as a cessation or rest; otherwise whosoever would not know the things, and whose spirit were dull and without action, might pass for a man who were in doubt. But it is to be considered as a motion by which the Mind restrains itself, and suffers not itself to be born away whereto it had a design to go. This is to be judged of proportionably to what happens to bodies that are heavy; when they are in their centre their weight agitates not, and they truly are at rest; but when they are suspended in the air, although they are there retained, yet they have a secret motion, and make always some endeavour to fall. It is even so with the judgement; when it seeks not the truth, it's without action, it ceaseth to operate, it's at rest; but when it's suspended, that is to say, when it advanceth not, yet this marks also the motion it makes to attain to its end. However it be, this suspension of the judicative faculty comes from the incertainty wherein she is, whether she ought to unite or separate the Images. And this incertainty proceeds from that it knows not whether the things are or are not in effect, as she hath proposed them to herself; But whence is it that she knows it not? Certainly, there are many causes which contribute thereunto, and we need only consult the Epoches of the Sceptic to find out that this defect hath divers sources. Sometimes it happens from that the Senses do not well represent the objects; for he that hath a weak sight, or who looks on any thing through a thick air, or at too great a distance, hath reason to doubt whether what he perceives be such in effect as his eyes figure it to be; sometimes it happens from that we have not experienced the things, or that we know not the reason thereof: So a Mathematical proposition how certain soever it be, may leave a doubt to him who never saw the demonstration; and he who hath not proved the effect of a remedy, may doubt whether what was said be true or false. But the most evident, and perhaps the most ordinary cause of this defect is, when the Mind is divided betwixt two reasons, or two contrary appearances, or between two things altogether alike: for from thence come almost all the doubts of the Schools, and of the Politics, and the irresolution wherein we are at every moment in our common and private actions. In effect, the way presently to determine to know whether a business be good or ill, when one finds Reasons equally strong on both sides, and when two things appear equally good, how can a man so readily resolve to choose the most profitable or the most agreeable! But it is not necessary to produce all the causes which cause our doubts and irresolutions; it's in question here to know whether there be any of those which we have mentioned, which produceth in Animals the same effect it works in us, which restrains their Imagination, when it should either unite or separate images. In a word, which makes them doubt the things proposed unto them. Readily to decide this Question, those who hold the negative part, must go and be instructed by that Ass so famous in the Schools, finding himself betwixt two measures of Oats, without being able to resolve to which of them to go, both appearing unto him equally good. For they should learn from him that in that condition he could not determine, that his Judgement was then in suspense, and consequently that he was in doubt what to do. But if they will not believe him, let them have recourse to M.C. who in his considerations on Charron in many places hath showed, That the Imagination of Beasts is often restrained in these actions, and that the combat which hunger and fear of being beaten makes in their mind, is the cause that she remains unable of performance. For this restraint cannot be understood but of the impotency wherein she is to resolve and form the practical judgement, which is the principle of operation: Now this is nothing but a suspension of judgement, it's nothing but doubt, as we have before shown. But perhaps they require other Masters besides these, and that there is not authority enough to persuade them to this truth, should we even use that of Aristotle, who assures us that Goats are astonished when they see any of them taken by the beard. And certainly, could this be believed in this particular, they would be constrained to confess that upon this occasion Goats must doubt, for astonishment is ever accompanied with doubt, and with suspense, as in another place we shall make it appear. Since we must therefore treat with them by the only strength of Reason, I would have them presuppose what I have demonstrated in the second part of this Work; to wit, That Beasts judge of things; that is to say, That their imagination unites and separates the images she hath form of them. They must further agree with me, that she unites not all kind of Images, but these only which agree together; for she unites not the Notion of good with bitter, nor that of ill with sweet; no more than the design of pursuing with what is ill, or that of flying with what is good: But it joins Sweet with Good, and adds to this the design of the pursuit; as it unites the Bitter with Ill, joining afterwards thereunto the design of flight. She must therefore know sweet before she can judge whether it be good, and that its good before she forms the design of the pursuit. And if she be troubled to know them, she hath the same trouble to make these resolves or judgements; for if she cannot unite the images which appear unto it to have an agreement together, how can she know the agreement betwixt good that which is sweet, if she assuredly know not the sweet? How can she resolve to pursue the good, unless she certainly know what is good? In these encounters therefore she must suspend her judgement; that is to say, she must stay to unite the images she hath form until she be assured in her knowledge; for when an object is very far off, the Animal draws nearer, the better to discern it; he smells and tastes the food before he eats it, and although it appear good to him, the fear of being beaten restrains him: He is not therefore assured in any of these knowledges; otherwise he would not draw nearer the better to see the object; he would content himself with the sight to judge of its goodness, without making use of the smell or of the taste; And fear would not hinder his design of taking it; so that if he is not assured of these things, his imagination cannot unite the Images of them, and therefore she contains herself self and suspends her judgement; in a word, she doubts. Certainly there is no reasonable person who will not consent to all these truths, after having considered what Beasts do; when they see or when they hear any thing which they cannot well discern, they stay, they open their eyes and their ears, and are attentive to discover what in effect it is; for all these actions are assured marks that they doubt, and that they would assure themselves of what they do not clearly know. And of a truth, if they knew the thing to be good or ill, they would not at all stop at it, they would continue their way, did they think it good, and would fly from it if they thought it ill. But they retain themselves because their Imagination suspends its judgement and doubts whether the thing be good or ill, whether she ought to go forwards or backwards. Certainly when we see a Hare stop short at the least noise it hears, that it lifts up the head, pricks up the ears, and looks every way about it, we may assure ourselves that its in trouble to know who made the noise, and that until it perceives the Huntsman, it's still in doubt of what it was, and in an irresolution of what it ought to do. Whence is't fishes strike with their tails the bait which hangs on the hook, or strike their chaps against it without swallowing it? do they not doubt of the danger which is hid thereunder? For were they altogether certain that it were, they would not absolutely come near it; and if they did also believe that there were none, they would be taken by the bait without any precaution. Perhaps our adversaries will say, That these examples and an infinite of the like which may be added to these, are effects of Instinct. But were it so, it must still follow, that Beasts at least doubt by Instinct. Now it imports not here after what manner they doubt, so as in effect they do but doubt. For as the fear which Instinct gives them is a true fear; the doubt also which happens to them from that must be a true doubt. But take from them this poor pretext, I will convince them by an experience, which can have no relation to the Instinct. When a Dog sees his Master come afar off, he knows well 'tis a man, although he cannot discern what man it is, and then he looks fixedly upon him without moving; and as he draws nearer, and gins to come to some knowledge of him, he gins to wag his Tail and move his Ears, without as yet quitting his place, but as soon as he quite knows him, he suddenly gets up and runs away to caress him. For my part, I believe were all these circumstances rightly considered, they ought to persuade the most opinion after That the Dog suspends his judgement, before he hath a certain knowledge of his Master; and that he hath no way to have recourse to his Instinct, since Instinct is common to all the Species, and that none of the other Dogs will use those caresses which this accosts his Master withal. It follows not that Beasts Deliberate because they Doubt. It's then resolved that Beasts doubt. But says M.C. if it be so, it follows that they deliberate. Not at all, there is no consequence from the one to the other: He should have remembered that Deliberation is only for practical things, and not for speculative, and that Doubt may meet in either of them. On the other side we never deliberate of the end, but only of the means we are to use to attain it; yet a man may doubt of the end as well as of the means. There is no necessity for Beasts to deliberate because they doubt, since those things may be doubted in which there is no deliberation to be made. I know that doubt often causeth men to deliberate, but had they not the liberty to choose, what doubts soever they had, they could deliberate no more than Beasts, because Deliberation is employed only to choose those means for it which seem best. Now in those things wherein the Soul is necessitated, and that it cannot do otherwise, there is no choice nor liberty, nor consequently no place for Deliberation. I would willingly ask M.C. when he was in doubt of some proposition, and that after he came to grant those principles, whence it's necessarily drawn, whether he deliberates to know whether he ought to approve it or no, whether he have the liberty to choose the affirmative or the negative? Certainly should he have abused himself so highly, all the Schools would side against him and tell him, That the Understanding is necessitated to approve a demonstrated conclusion, that it cannot do otherwise. And that should the Will itself with all the Empire it hath over it endeavour to hinder it, it would make as vain an effort, as if it would constrain the eyes not to see those objects which were before it; how ever it is, Beasts do doubt, being uncertain of the things proposed unto them, but the certainty and resolution which they afterwards take; comes from no choice, nor from any deliberation which they make, but from a more clear knowledge which the objects afford them, which necessitates and forceth them to unite or to separate the images conformably to their nature, to determine themselves on those points they were unresolved in: In a word, to assure themselves of the things which they were before in doubt of. But it's to stay too long on a difficulty, which at bottom is indifferent for the matter in question; for if Beasts were not capable of doubting, the Reason which M. C. examines here, would still remain in full force, and it would still be true that Dogs and Hawks do not pursue their Game, how good soever it appear unto them, if they judge it to be out of reach. It remains now for us to observe whether he hath weakened it by any other Objection more considerable than that. He for a second Reason adds, That Dogs often cease to pursue the Game, although it be not out of reach, their Imagination being diverted: That on the contrary they do not forbear to pursue what is too far off to be taken; and if they do stop, it's either out of weariness or out of distraction, but also most commonly because that an object a far off draws not at all. I shall grant him all what he here says, excepting that adamantine virtue wherewith he believes objects draw the powers of the Mind; for 'tis an extravagant opinion which cannot be maintained by any reason, and which destroys the nature of Knowledge, and the principles of Philosophy. Without lying, I wonder that so clear a spirit as is M. C's should not have perceived that all what he hath said makes nothing against what I have proposed. When I said that Dogs often do not pursue their prey because they judge it too far off; and that for his part he also assures, That often they do not pursue it because their Imagination is diverted. We are nothing contrary the one to the other, and both may have been in the right. Had I said that they never pursued their prey when it was too far off, and that the distance was the only cause they ceased to pursue it, he would have reason to object against me, That distraction often is the cause that they do not pursue it, and even that they sometimes pursue it when it's out of reach. For all this may be true, although I do not believe they judge it to be out of reach when they pursue it; for an Animal cannot undertake a thing without judging it possible; yet this hinders not that often also the only knowledge of the distance is cause of their forbearance. And M.C. having produced no proofs to the contrary, I see nothing that diminisheth the strength of mine, nor which obligeth me to change my opinion; in effect, why should not the distance hinder a Dog from pursuing his prey, since he well knows the height of a precipice, and that that only knowledge is able to retain and hinder him from throwing himself down it▪ I see no difference betwixt the one and the other. And if M. C. will grant the latter, I must also yield to the former, and at last confess, That my Reason is good, and that he hath produced nothing to destroy it. The End of the Third Part. Answers to those Objections made against the Reason of Beasts. THE FOURTH PART. CHAP. I. The First OBJECTION. Of the difference there is betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination. HAving showed you in my first Work, That the Imagination reasons, I would readily have taken away the suspicion which might have been bred in the Readers mind, lest I had rendered the Imagination equal with the Understanding; for I have made it appear, that there was a great difference between them two. First, for as much as the knowledge of the Imagination is bounded to corporal things, necessary unto life, and commonly restrained to those which are proper to the nature of every Species, and that that of the Understanding extends itself to all things whatsoever. Secondly, In that the Imagination forms no universal Notion, and consequently can make no Ratiocinations but particular ones. Instead that the Understanding hath the liberty to form general Notions of all things, and to draw from thence universal or particular consequences at its pleasure. Whence we concluded, That the Imagination is not only inferior to the Understanding in the manner of operating, but also in the order of Nature and Essence. For the power which judgeth of all things, and which maketh universal Notions cannot be tied to the matter, and aught to be spiritual, forasmuch as the matter determines and cannot admit of universality That so the Understanding, reasoning universally, aught to be in the order of spiritual things, whereto the Imagination cannot pretend being reduced to particular discourses. Whence it follows, that speaking generally, Reason is not the specific difference of Man, but such a species of Reason, to wit universal Reason; and because its the most noble and the most perfect of all, it retains the name of the whole gender, according to the example of several other Species, and hath part with this privilege in the definition of Man; yet it is not therefore that this word Reason, although it should signify the faculty or action of reasoning precisely makes the essential difference of Man, because, both the one and the other are pure Accidents, and that the difference of Man ought to be a substance. But as in the ignorance wherein we are of the last differences of things, we make use of proprieties and powers, which are nearest their essence to design their Nature; Philosophy which herein is no less enlightened than elsewhere, hath employed the faculty of reasoning to mark the essential difference of Man. But to follow his design, and to draw the nearer to the truth; we must conceive this universal faculty that it may mark the order of Nature, which distinguisheth him from all other creatures, to wit, Spirituality. And therefore when we define a Man by Reason, it ought to be understood of the Faculty of Reasoning universally, and not of the Faculty of Reasoning simply, which is common to him with Beasts. The first difference which there is betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination. I imagined in myself, That there was no reasonable man, who ought not to content himself with the share I had allotted him in the distribution of Knowledge and Reason Yet it seems M C. is not satisfied therewith, and that he will also have that which I have allowed Beasts, and would take from them that small portion of Ratiocination which God and Nature hath given them. First, He approves not that the Imagination is different from the Understanding, in that its knowledge is restrained to corporal things which are necessary to life, and proper to the Nature of every species, instead that that of the Understanding extends to all things whatsoever. For although at first he says, That he would not contest thereupon, if I would not make these knowledges pass by Ratiocinations. Yet without remembering this protestation, he presently after says, p. 129. That it is not true that the knowledges of the Imagination are restrained to things necessary for life, and proper to the nature of every species. If this is not true, why would he not contest it? Is it that he will contest only things which are true? Is it that he hath a right to maintain right and wrong, and to change his opinion from one line to another? But he says, pag. 128. I would make these knowledges pass for Ratiocinations; every shadow frights a man afraid, and to shun one danger he often falls into another; I speak not there of Ratiocination, I speak of Knowledge in general, and he to prevent my thought makes it appear that he knows not how to discern the things he is to remove; and he easily commits a sophism, who reprehends what ought not to be reprehended. He should have considered, that having propoposed an action which marked the essential difference betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination, it was sufficient for me to show, that this knows only corporal things, and that the Understanding knows generally all things, it being needless to say, whether this knowledge were made with Ratiocination or no. For Aristotle who would prove, that the Understanding was not tied to the matter, used the same reason, and contented himself to show that a power which knows and judgeth of all things, cannot be material without saying, whether knowledge was performed by simple or composed Notions, for that it was unnecessary to his proof, which were as strong, should the Understanding know things only by simple notions, as if it knew them by Ratiocinations. M. C. did therefore deceive himself when he thought I took here The Knowledges of the Imagination for Ratiocinations. And much more when he thinks to have overthrown my distinction, and all those which may be produced, in saying that the Imagination reasons not at all: For whether it reason or whether it do not reason, it still remains concluded, that since it judgeth but of corporal things, and that the Understanding judgeth of all things, there must needs be an essential difference betwixt the two; and consequently it can never be equal unto it, although she should have the faculty of reasoning; which is what I had to show. M. C. adds, page 128. That this difference is not essential, since it's grounded on more and on less. He here confounds the means whereby we know this difference: It's true, that more or less make us know it, but it follows not from thence that it consists in more or less; we judge of health and sickness by more or less heat, but that speaks not the essential difference which is found betwixt these two contrary qualities, to consist in more or less heat. In the same manner we know by the divers extent which the objects of those two faculties have, that they are essentially different, and yet we cannot thence infer, that the difference found betwixt them consists in the diversity of extent. For 'tis but en exterior mark whereby we discover that the Understanding is a power loosened from the matter, and which consequently is different from the Imagination not only in the species but in the gender. Now if they are different after this manner, it necessarily follows that there is an essential difference betwixt the one and the other, although we do not thereby precisely know wherein this difference consists; And in all what we can do in this redoubt of the last differences of things, Our mind being not capable to penetrate so far not exactly to see all the parts of which their Nature is composed. The third Reason which M. C. produceth, is, That the distinction of a faculty being rather to be drawn from the different manner of operating, then from the difference of objects; If the Imagination reasons on corporal things, the Understanding will have no way operating proper to itself, and consequently, there will be nothing to distinguish them the one from the other. If M. C. will take heed to what we have said, he will find the Answer which is to be made to this Objection. For we did not pretend to show that the essential difference which is betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination consists in the diversity of their objects, but only that by that diversity we might infer, that there was an essential difference betwixt these two powers. So that without engaging myself in those contests which are in the Schools on the distinction of powers; its sufficient for me that its a demonstrated truth, That the Understanding is a power separate from the matter, since it judgeth of all things. For it follows from thence, that its object makes us know its nature is spiritual, and therefore that its essentially different from that of the Imagination, which is in the order of material things. After this we shall see that all what he says in pursuit is vain, or out of purpose, and he might pass without a reply, or without any prejudice to my cause. But to satisfy him on all what he proposeth, I shall first tell him that although the Imagination reasons on corporal things, the Understanding forbears not to have an action proper to itself, and which distinguisheth it from the Imagination; for it reasons universally, which is not in the power of the Imagination, as she shall hereafter show. 2 When he saith, That the reasonings of children have no other objects but corporal things, and yet their reason is not of a different nature from that of the most speculative Philosophers. I fear some body will reproach him, that this indeed is the reasoning of a Child that knows not how to distinguish the act from the power, and s●es not that the consequences drawn from the one and the other are commonly captious. We confess that the reasonings of children have only corporal things for their object; but we also hold that the object of their reason, that is to say, of the Faculty which they have of reasoning extends to all things, as well as the object of the Reason of the most speculative Philosophers. And although in the age they are, the● cannot judge but of sensible things; yet it hinders not but they may have in themselves the Faculty to judge of all things which they may put in practice, when by their years the obstacles of their childhood shall be removed. But it is not so with the Imagination, which can never raise itself above corporal things, what help, or what perfection soever it may attain. For which cause we have had reason to say, that its object was different from that of the Understanding, and that that marked an essential difference betwixt the two Faculties, as we have already shown. In fine, he will prove, That the knowledges of the Imagination are not restrained to things necessary for life, and proper to the nature of every species; because that besides that the objects of ours are not easily to be limited; I have assured that Beasts reason on all what presents itself to their senses. That they reason on the things which they are taught, That they assemble all the images of the Memory, and from thence form consequences; That they know even the time to come, which is a very spiritual knowledge, and one of the most delicate which our Understanding can form. Had M.C. been faithful in repeating my sense, I should not have here one word to say; Besides that, he confounds Propositions which are distinct, and separate; those which are only particular, he renders universal, and thus imposeth things on me which I never thought of. The Reader may therefore observe, that when I say that the knowledge of the Imagination is bounded to corporal things, which are necessary to life, and that commonly she is restrained to those things which are proper to every Species. He suppresseth the word commonly which renders my Proposition particular, and makes me speak universally, as if I had said, that its equally restrained to those which are proper to the nature of every species, and to those which are necessary to life, which nevertheless is not true. 2. He will have it that I make Beasts reason on all what presents itself to their senses, and that I make them assemble all the images which they have in the Memory to draw from thence consequences. But there is a great deal of difference to say what I have said, That when Beasts reason, they reason on what presents its self to their Senses; or that they reason of sensible things which are necessary to life, and to speak as M C. doth, That they reason on all what presents itself to their senses. For I confess that there are some which present themselves to their senses, which are not necessary to life; whereon they do not reason, and even on those which are necessary to life, they do not always reason, being elsewhere diverted. To conclude, they assemble the Images of the Memory not all, as M.C. makes me speak, but only those which agree together, and on which they ought to reason. After this its easy to make it appear, That what he brings to show that the Knowledge of the Imagination is not bounded to things necessary to life, proveth quite the contrary. For when Beasts reason on what presents itself to their senses, and on the things they are taught; when they assemble the images of the Memory and thence draw consequences; In fine, when they know the time to come, all these knowledges are followed with pleasure or grief, with hope or fear, and they must therefore be necessary to life, since these passions respect their preservation, and are never raised in the mind unless to possess good or she from ill. For the rest, I stop not at the induction which he would draw from the knowledge of the time to come, which in his opinion is altogether spiritual. For I have made it fully appear before that it is sensible, and that therefore is within the extent of the object, which I have assigned to the Imagination. The second Difference which is betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination. The second difference which we have found betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination, is, That this forms no universal Notion, so that consequently I can none but particular Ratiocinations: Instead that the Understanding hath the liberty to form general notions of all things, and when it pleaseth to draw from thence universal or particular consequences. I had here given a fair field to M.C. td have exercised his spirit, and I did believe in the humour he was in to contradict whatever he encountered, he would not have let pass so important a Proposition without disputing it. Yet I perceive that notwithstanding it hath great Philosophers for its enemies, and several presumptions repugnant unto it, yet it hath escaped his hands and hath received no touch of his Critics. Certainly instead of amusing himself to mince upon words as he doth in this Chapter, and to puzzle the truth by petty School tricks, as he hath done every where else, he should have examined whether it is a necessity, That because a power is material, it cannot make universal notions, principally not going out of the resort or precinct of material things. In effect, when the sense hath known an object, doth there not remain in the soul a general notion, which makes it know all the rest which are of the same nature? And ●s the great Scaliger saith, The Chick, hath it not a universal image of the Kite, whereby it knows every Kite which comes to sight? And what? If the Imagination hath the faculty to judge, as we believe, can it not judge through all the extent of its object? and since it can know all the parts of the whole, may it not form a proposition which may comprehend all the objects it hath the knowledge of? For example, can it not judge that all what is sweet is good, or at least, That all the sweet things it knows are good? And when a Sheep shall see divers Wolves together, will it not judge that all the Beasts it sees are Wolves and enemies to attempt its life? Now these are universal propositions, and yet the Imagination how material soever she be, is capable to form general Notions. But all these Reasons are weak in comparison of those which establish the contrary opinion, and which show that a material Faculty can never form any universal Notion; for its certain, That we cannot conceive an universal thing, but by taking from it the singularity it hath; otherwise it would not be universal; now its singularity cannot be taken away but by separating it from those things which render it singular, as from the particular subject its in, and from the other conditions which determine it. Now there is no material faculty which can separate the forms from the matter, nor from their subject, because the Act and the Power must be of the same gender, and that the Power which is material and composed, must have an Action which terminates in somewhat which is material and composed, as we have showed in the first Part; And consequently the Imagination which is of that order, can form no universal Notion, since it cannot separate the forms from their subjects. Besides, an universal notion supposeth an universal power, and an universal power is nor determined, at least in respect of particular things over which its universality extends. Now so it is, that all what is material, is absolutely determined, because it's of the Maliciousness of the matter, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as Aristotle says, to restrain all things which participate of it to its nature. And therefore the matter being absolutely singular and determined, there is no material power which can raise itself above singularity, or produce any notions which are not absolutely singular and determined What shall we then say of those Images which represent so many several objects? Certainly they are not properly universal; for of three kind of things which are called so, to wit the causes which produce several effects, the signs which represent divers things, and the Natures which are in several particulars, there are only these latter which are essentially universal, because they are in no way singular, and that the unity which they have, hinders them not from being in effect in many particulars. Instead that the others are effectually singular, and altogether exterior to the things in respect of which they are called universal; So that the image of the Kite which is in the Imagination of the Chick, and all the rest of that gender are only universal, as signs, or as examples, which may represent several objects, but not as Ideas of a common nature, which the Imagination conceives to be in divers particulars. Because there is but one universal faculty such as the Understanding is which can tan take away the singularity of things, and conceive in them at once both unity and plurality. And to speak to the truth, the images which are in the imagination are no more universal than a name would be which were given to several persons, or then a character in cipher which may serve to mark several numbers of the same species. As for the Propositions she makes, neither are they properly universal; for to make them such, they must contain some notion which must be universal; now as this surpasseth the strength of the Imagination for the reasons before said, it follows, that it cannot also form any of these Propositions. And if it form any which seem to be of this nature, we may say according to the language of the Schools, that they are universal only materially and not formally. For its true, she may judge that all the objects she knows are good or ill, and this judgement contains the matter of an universal proposition, but the form is wanting thereto, to wit, the totality and the union of all these objects: For the Imagination must know a whole difference from all it parts, and consequently must make an abstract thereof, which is beyond its power. These kind of Propositions are nothing but a mass of as many different judgements as there are objects. And when we assure that the Imagination makes them, its as much as to say, that she judgeth this object to be good, that this also is so, and the other it is also etc. Yet without forming any general notion of all these objects, nor of the goodness she knows in them. And without doubt in these encounters she doth as when she knows a multitude, for she very well sees the first, the second, the third; in a word, all the parts which compose it, are by the senses known unto it. But she cannot form the notion of a number which contains them all. Not that she knows not the number all entire, but it is but as we have said materially. These are the illustrations which it was obliged to give, a Truth which I had so often presupposed, and which served as a Basis to the most important conclusions of my Discourse, I doubt not but it hath tired M. C. But he must think that I do not write this for his satisfaction, and that he is like to find far less in those things in which I shall not be of his opinion, then in these wherein we agree. That Reason in general is not the specific difference of Man. From these two differences which we have discovered betwixt the Understanding and the Imagination, we have concluded, that speaking generally, Reason is not the specific difference of Man, but such a species of Reason, to wit universal Reason, which is the most perfect, and which for its excellency is called simply Reason. M. C. produceth many Reasons to destroy this consequence. The first is, That were there to be found a greater perfection in human Ratiocination, it would not mark an essential difference in the faculty, because more or less changes not the species, and that the faculties change not their nature, and do not become specific in a subject, to perform in it more perfect actions then in another. One word will answer all this. There are two kinds of perfection, the one is essential, the other is accidental; this makes not really an essential difference, but the other makes, or at least supposeth it. When we say that the Angels are more noble and perfect then Man, or that Man is more perfect than Beasts, this perfection doth it not mark an essential difference betwixt them? M. C. who grounds himself on the maxim of the Schools, that more and less causeth no change in the species of things, should have taken heed to the restrictions given him; for its certain there are encounters in which this proposion is false. When Aristotle says that the first substances are more substances than the second, and that Form is more so then the Matter; when the Platonic Philosophy teacheth us that there is more or less of essence in things, and that the abundance of being is a cause why some are more perfect than others; M C believes not that this more and this less makes an essential difference: And if he doth believe it, as he is obliged to do, the more or less perfection which there is to be found in the reasonings of Men and of Beasts, may it not make the same difference? After all let him remember himself of what we have said before, that the essential difference which distinguisheth the faculty of the Understandings reasoning with that of the Imagination, consists not in more or less, but that it's thereby made known; and it's the reason for which we said, That if more or less do not make this difference, yet at least they suppose it. The second is, That were there a greater perfection than Ratiocination which were capable to establish a specific difference, it would not be the knowledge of universal things, because general notions are the most confused and most imperfect of our conceptions. I send back M.C. with this Article to our Logicitians, who will teach him that universals are to be considered two ways. First, as simple Natures separate from all particulars. Secondly, As Natures which comprehend all particulars. This imports confusion, because it distinguisheth nothing, and represents the universal as a whole which contains several parts; But the other is clear and distinct, and makes things known more clearly, and more perfectly, because it proposeth universal Natures, as degrees and parts whereof the essence of things is composed. So when we conceive the Animal as a gender, which embraceth all the species of Animals, this knowledge is in some manner confused, and like that which we have of the whole, without distinguishing the parts; But when we consider the Animal in Man, or in some other species, we conceive it as a degree and a part of his essence, and consequently the knowledge is more clear and exact then if we considered the species in gross. Certainly I cannot believe that M C. could be ignorant of a distinction so common in the Schools; But I wonder also that he did not foresee that I made use of it to destroy the reason which he produced; and if he did foresee it, it's yet a greater cause of astonishment that he should make use of things he knew were useless for his design. But, says he, those Men which reason best, and know things most perfectly, make fewer universal Notions, than grosser spirits which confusedly judge of all things. He deceives himself; he would without doubt say that they stay less on universal notions because they go to the particular difference of things, so that grosser spirits which cannot penetrate so far are forced to stop at universal Notions. But indeed a Man had need of less spirit to know commonalties and resemblances, then to discern differences. I confess it, if a man know not the differences, but he must also confess that he had need of more spirit to know communities with the differences, then if the communities were unknown. Now the differences cannot be known unless we know the communities. He adds besides, That every time that our reason makes a progress from a particular knowledge to an universal conclusion: The conclusion is more confused and more imperfect than the knowledge whence it's drawn: Here is a new rule of Logic which M. C. will introduce, which never any thought before; for 'tis an unknown thing in a Syllogism to draw an universal conclusion from a particular knowledge; and without doubt before he establish this Maxim, he must ruin that which teacheth that the conclusion ever follows the nature of the most imperfect of the antecedent propositions; and if there be any of these particular or negative, the conclusion ought to be so too. I know a Man may make Enthymema's where the antecedent shall be particular, and the conclusion universal. But besides that, this form is condemned as vicious; there is ever an universal proposition or an induction, which maintains the universality of the conclusion. Thus to say Peter is reasonable, Then every man is reasonable, this consequence must be grounded on the Induction which was made. That Peter, John, James, etc. are reasonable. Now this induction hath the force of an universal proposition, and therefore we need not wonder if the consequence is universal. Whether general Knowledges are more confused than the particular? But put the case that we may draw these kind of consequences, is it true that they are more confused and more imperfect than the particular Knowledges whence they are drawn? First, as for confusion, the distinction is here to be used, which we at first proposed, and we must say, That if we conceive in an universal conclusion the universality as a Degree of essence, which makes part of the Nature of particular things, it's so far from rendering the knowledge more confused, it renders it more precise and distinct. That if we conceive it as a whole, I confess that in respect of the parts it comprehends, it's more confused, but in respect of the particular thing whence it was drawn, I deny it to be confused, since it contains all the distinction and evidence which this can have. As for imperfection, I never heard say that a demonstration whose conclusion is ever universal, should be less perfect than a Topick Syllogism, whose conclusion is particular. Yes, but it's more confused. Were it true, the confusion that accompanies the extent of the knowledge, imports more perfection than the distinction which is restrained to a particular knowledge. Yes, but the conclusion is but the effect of precedent knowledges. What matters it? There are effects whose nature is as imperfect as that of their cause, and the evidence of a conclusion ought to be as perfect as that of its antecedents; otherwise Science would not be placed in the conclusion where it's commonly placed. After all, I will have this conclusion less perfect, the particular conclusion which is drawn from general propositions must be less perfect than they are. In this case M C. would be deficient, and I should even have an advantage over him for the particular conclusions which he makes upon me on universal ones. However it be, I leave the rest of this dispute to be decided betwixt our Divines and M.C. and would advise him to think seriously what he will answer them on the propositions they make, That Angels have Ideas and species more universal, according as their nature is more perfect, and that they are of a more elevated order. For as for what concerns Philosophers, which hold that universal knowledges are more excellent, more evident in themselves, and more conformable to the Understanding, and it is to profane them as Plato saith, to bring them down to particular things; I know that M. C. will not believe in them. The third Reason imports, That its impossible to reason without making use of general terms, and without forming universal Notions; and that therefore our reason hath no advantage over that of Beasts, and that in that point there could not be observed any essential difference. There is no proposition in all this Discourse but is false, as I have made it appear in the 99, 123, etc. pages, where I have showed that general terms lose their generality when they are accompanied with a Pronoun demonstrative, or with some such like restriction; and that when Logic requires universal notions or propositions to discourse, its intellectual Logic, and not that which is proper to the Imagination which hath its rules apart, which can form Syllogisms without employing any universal Notions, and which consequently may draw assured Knowledges from particular Propositions. And without doubt, had M. C. foreseen the truths which I demonstrated in these places, he would not have so lightly hazarded to have said here That my Mind was diverted when I wrote that a man might draw an assured knowledge of propositions which are not particular; That the maxims of Logic teach the nullity of these consequences, and that I would have said singulars, by reason of certain Syllogisms, which the Schools calls Expositories which from singular propositions infer a singular conclusion. Let him therefore know that I have most seriously thought on what I said of these propositions, and that I called them particulars in the sense they ought, and as they are commonly taken in the Schools; for when we oppose these propositions to those which are universal, we under that word comprehend all propositions which are not universal, whether particular or singular. In effect, Were this Syllogism proposed to M.C. Some Man is just. Peter is a Man. Then Peter is just. With reason a man might say, it were to blame, because its all composed of particular propositions, whence legitimately nothing can be concluded; yet at his reckoning it would be found, the first is only particular; the second being singular, it must also be that when we say, That to form an Argument in such a manner, such a proposition must be particular, it were not such as it ought to be, were singular, terms used, and that so this Syllogism would not be regular. Every Man is reasonable. Peter is a Man. Then Peter is reasonable. Because therein are no particular propositions as M.C. says; I shall therefore advise him to take a review of his Logic, to learn not only that this word of particular aught often to be taken for singular, but a so that the expositive Syllogism is more useful, and more easy to make then he imagines; for it's so necessary that it hath served for a model to Aristotle to form his third figure, That it's the first of all the reasonings which Nature teacheth us, and the only one which the Imagination useth. And thence it's easy to judge, that it is not so difficult to perform, as M. C imagineth; and that the Logicians are not so troubled, as he says, when they are questioned to produce examples thereof, since of themselves they have reckoned to the number of 1200 ways to make this kind of Syllogism. Yet I well perceive what made him fall into this error, is that he believed that the medium of this Syllogism which ought to be singular, could be so but after one manner, although it may be so divers ways; for it is not only so by the names which are proper to the things, but by those also which are common, so as they be restrained by the demonstrative pronouns, or other the like particles. So when we say this Man, this Thing, etc. they are terms which are as much singular as if they called them by their proper names. And some believe that the propositions which are composed of these terms are more exactly called singulars then the rest, because they carry with them a manifest sign of their sigularity, and that the proper name is used but for the deficiency of that mark, in the same manner as propositions which have the signs of universality are more properly called universals then the rest which want it, although in effect they equally are so to the sense; for when we say Man is reasonable, it's an universal proposition, and yet in the rigour of the Laws of Logic it's not so regular as if we should say, Every Man is reasonable, because the word all which is the mark of the universality is not expressed. We cannot say so much of singular propositions. But I leave this to the decision of Masters of Arts. I would only by the way advise M.C. That the Syllogisms in question are not called Expository, because they only explicate a thing in other terms, but rather because they expose to our eyes the naked truth, and leave no doubt, designing and pointing out the things which might be contested, and in this case they ought to be more useful then M. C. supposed. But he says, To speak properly, they are not Ratiocinations, since there is wanting to them what is essential. Because the foundation of all true Ratiocination is that two things which agree amongst themselves ought to agree in a third; and that those which have nothing common amongst them cannot agree. I have made him to see pag. 99 that this principle takes place in particular Ratiocinations as well as in universals, and that particular propositions hinder not this agreement, as may be judged by the expositive Syllogism: But from thence to infer, as he doth, That in every Syllogism there must be an universal thing which must be drawn from all what is contained in it: I am not of his opinion, and I hold that this illation cannot be maintained but in intellectual Ratiocinations, as I have showed in the third part, where he may again see page 123. after what manner those terms which enter into particular Syllogisms may be common. His Fourth Reason is, That since we have no other faculty to know universalities but the same by which we reason, it must needs be that this faculty to know universalities is proper to Man, that of reasoning must be so also, since it's the same thing. So as M. C. would add to the word Reasoning that of Universality, I shall grant all what he says; for the faculty of reasoning universally is the same by which we know universalities, That it's proper and particular to Man, and that it's incommunicable to Beasts; but without that one word all his Ratiocination is false; and speaking absolutely of the faculty of reasoning, is not the same by which we know Universalities, since Imagination reasons which cannot know them. He adds, That the Understanding ought to have some action proper unto it; it must therefore needs be that of the three operations it hath the third at least, which is most excellent, must be particular unto it, and that it cannot communicate itself to the Imagination. I should here have made the same Answer which I have so often made, to wit, that universal Ratiocination is the proper action of the Understanding; but he prevented me in saying, That this cannot be, because he hath shown that the conception of universality is the most imperfect of all the actions of the Understanding, and that all Ratiocination supposeth an universal knowledge. I know very well he hath laboured to show it; but his success hath very ill answered it, as himself may judge, by what we have said here before; So that I have nothing to add to this point, but that he deceives himself when he thinks, That Vniversalities form themselves by simple conceptions, and by the first operation of the Understanding. For it's impossible to form an universal Notion without considering the communities, without separating from them singular conditions, without conceiving unity and plurality in the same nature; finally without comparing one thing with another, and consequently without reasoning. I know very well that all this progress terminates at a simple notion of universal nature; but it's the effect of discourse, after the same manner as Science is the effect of demonstration; for as we cannot say that Science is acquired by the second operation only of the Understanding, although it consist in a simple notion, I durst even say, and that the proposition wherein Science consists, and that the universal notion shut up in them the Ratiocination by which they were form. For the Understanding is so prompt, it sees and doth so many things at once, that its Ideas which appear to us simple are commonly composed. But this is no place to fathom this matter; we must expect till M. C. hath explained himself thereupon, as he hath promised. It's enough for him now to know, that the Universal forms not itself by the first operation of the Understanding. The Fifth and last Reason he brings against the difference proposed p. 127. is, That the Imagination can no ways form discourse because it's a corporal faculty which depends absolutely on its organ, and that all Reasoning whatever it be requires a free and independent faculty, forasmuch as there is no Ratiocination without Deliberation, nor Deliberation without Liberty: 2. Because there is no Reasoning without some universal Notion, which supposeth an universal Power. 3. Because that in all Reasoning there is always something new done which is different from what is represented by the Phantasms. And that therefore that Faculty which reasons, must be independent of its organ; otherwise it can only know what is represented to it. We need not use many words to answer this long Reason, forasmuch as the principal proof it contains shall be fully confuted by the following Article, where we shall make it appear that there are many Ratiocinations which are made without deliberation, and that the other two have been examined here before, we having shown that we may Reason without making use of any universal Notion; and that the Imagination although it knows nothing without Phantasms, yet it forms Phantasms which are not expressed in those Images which the exterior Senses furnish it withal, such as is the Union or the Division, and those species which the Schools call non sensatas, as to be good or ill, friend or enemy, and other such like. For from thence it follows, That that faculty which reasons, doth always something anew by uniting or separating terms and things which she knew not before in that condition. Neither for all this can any infer, that the Imagination which doth all those things, is independent from its organ. Otherwise we must say that she knows neither what is good or ill, friend or foe; And that she judgeth not of things, if it be true that those actions are marked with independency. CHAP. II. The Second OBJECTION. Of the Deliberation which accompanies Ratiocination. HAving satisfied the precedent Objection, we have proposed what our adversaries say, That all the actions of Animals, which seem to be most reasonable, may proceed from somewhat else then Reason, and that Nature which doth not multiply causes without necessity, should not have made use of so noble a Faculty for the conduct of Beasts; since those which are more proper, and as it were domestic, may alone have satisfied thereunto. For all what appears most wonderful in their actions, may and aught to have reference either to Instinct, Memory, or Custom; whereunto we have answered, That with them we acknowledge all these causes, but that we believe that they do not exclude Reason, and that all actions which Beasts perform out of Custom, Instruction, or Instinct, are done with Ratiocination; Which we have demonstrated in pursuit of our first Book. But because M C. hath forced us to change this order, we have employed in the Third Part all what concerns Instruction and custom, and we reserve for the Second Book what belongs to Instinct: So that we have here no more considerable Objections to examine but only those which respect, the Deliberation and the language of Beasts. They say then that if Beasts were capable of Reason, they would also have power to deliberate, and consequently they must needs be free, indetermined, and therefore endued with an universal faculty, which always presupposeth a nature independent from the matter. To which we have answered, That it is not necessary, That to Reason one must Deliberate; since we often employ Reason where there is no place for Deliberation; forasmuch as we cannot deliberate but when there are several means found to attain some end, and that we have the liberty to choose which we please; that therefore there is no necessity that Beasts should deliberate, because that besides that most commonly they have but one way to attain their end, as that which their Instinct teacheth them; It's certain that then when they encounter several means, they presently determine on that which first presents its self, or on the most efficacious, and that they have not the liberty of choice, having not an indifferent and universal Faculty, but altogether limited and determined, as we have so often repeated it. Before M. C. began to Examine this Answer, he advertised the Reader, That in the design he had to speak of the nature of Ratiocination, none ought to apprehend that he went about to transcribe all what Logic teacheth concerning the three operations of the Understanding. And of a truth this advice was both very judicious and very necessary. For after having seen the first propositions he brought forth, it was very much to have been apprehended had he said more, but that he would have spoiled all what Logic teacheth us thereupon. In effect, all the divisions he here makes are imperfect, and do not contain all the members which ought to be admitted. He brings only for the cause of simple affirmations the agreement which appears evident, although there be another which produceth the same effect; for the agreement may be certain without being evident, as it is in propositions of faith. In the second place he restrains Ratiocination to a use, which being more manifest is not the more noble; for although it serve to clear doubtful things, yet is not that the only employment it hath, since it forms the Intelligence of Men and Angels where there is no place for doubt or suspension of judgement, this action being performed in an instant, as we have demonstrated in the third Part. To conclude, he shuts up all Ratiocination in two species; the one which serves to acquire the Science, whose object is alone Knowledge, and grounds itself only on unchangeable principles, and is called contemplation; the others principle is a practical end, and is called Deliberation. But this division is not exact, and leaves divers Ratiocinations which can neither be related to Contemplation nor to Deliberation. For if this be only to be found in morality, as Aristotle teacheth, what would become of all Topick and probable Syllogisms? What would become of the Counsels of War, Consultations in Physic, in a word, of of all Ratiocinations which are made in the Arts? For it would not belong to contemplation, since its principles are neither necessary nor unchangeable; nor to deliberation, since they have no practical end, as Aristotle understands it. But what says M.C? It's Aristotle himself hath proposed this Division; is there any appearance that he understood not what he best knew, and that he had not studied the nature and conditions of Ratiocination? We shall never be troubled with this thought, and we know that in his works, wherein he should have examined the nature of Ratiocination to the bottom, he hath very well made it appear that he had a perfect knowledge thereof. But we also know that he hath not equally everywhere treated of things, and that there are places where he hath examined them with all subtlety, and with all the delicacy of Science; and others wherein he hath spoken but superficially, and in most common Notions. It's what he says at the entry of his Morals, where he advertiseth the Reader, that in two sorts of discourse he must not require an exact perquisition of things, but only that which belongs to the subject we treat, and that his design was grossly and superficially to touch 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the matters which ought to enter into this work. After having so clearly explicated himself, was it handsome for M. C. in the dispute we have, where it was in question punctually to observe the nature and conditions of discourse, to use those passages of the work wherein the Author himself protests he ought not to speak exactly of things? Besides Aristotle made not this division, and was far from it, knowing so well the nature of Ratiocination as he did. He says in the place alleged by M. C. that the soul which is capable of reason, hath two parts; the one which contemplates those things whose principles are necessary and unchangeable; the other which considers contingent things, which he hath elsewhere expressed by the words of Speculative Understanding, or Practical Understanding, but he speaks not there of Ratiocination; neither ought he to have spoken, for besides that we may consider necessary or contingent things without reasoning, we may make probable and topical discourses on necessary things, as well as scientifical and demonstrative, as it hath often happened to M. C. and to myself. It's true it seems that Aristotle hath restrained contingent things to moral Actions, and Deliberation to that Ratiocination which is made for them. But M.C. minded not how that wonderful spirit, whom he believed in this occasion he was to follow, did all at once fall upon a subject, which he ought not to have handled without going to those things which were nothing to his purpose. Without this thought he would have said, That of contingent things which are in our power, and that we can do either good or ill, some respect manners, others arts; and that we may deliberate on either, since both give way to choice and to election, which is the principle of Deliberation. For an Artist may have several ways to attain his end, and to consult on them, that he may choose that which is most fit and useful for him. For which cause he said in his third Book, that there is a larger field for consultation in the Arts then in the Sciences, and commonly the examples he gives of Deliberation are drawn from Physic, Architecture, and such like. But without musing on this distinction, which no man was ignorant of, which he had already touched and served nothing to his Morals, he cuts short and says, That the contingent things he was to speak of, were moral actions, and that the Ratiocination employed therein was Deliberation; for deliberation says he, is the same with reasoning, and not as M. C. imposeth it. That Reasoning is the same with deliberating, for as much as reasoning is the gender, which ever ought to be distinguished from the species, as Logic teacheth; and it's true, that all Deliberation is Ratiocination, but not that all Ratiocination is a Deliberation; nor that all Deliberation is concerning Manners, as hath been said. I very well know that this latter is the more noble, and the more excellent by reason of its use, which respects the Sovereign good and principal end of a Man. But in itself, it is not more perfect than that which is employed in Arts, which as well as that of manners possesseth all the nature of Deliberation. Whether one can Deliberate when there is but one mean. Let's now see whether he will prove more happy in destroying then he hath been in establishing. On what we have proposed, that we often make use of reasoning, where there is but one only way to attain an end, and that consequently we may reason without deliberating, since we never deliberate but when there are several means, and that we have the liberty to choose which we please. Harken to what he opposeth. 1. That experience teacheth us that men forbear not to deliberate, although there be but one way to attain their end; for those who would go from Rochel to the Isle of the, although they very well know that there is no other way but to put themselves on the water, they forbear not to consult those who are expert, and to deliberate on what they should do. M. C. makes it here appear, that he is no more knowing in the nature of the means then in that of Ratiocination. For he heeds not that one only thing may serve for divers means. First, by several circumstances which follow it. For he who would pass over into the Isle of the consults not whether he should pass, it being supposed that he must necessarily pass, but he may whether he should pass at such a time and at such a hour, in such a ship with such a Sailor, and so of a hundred other things. Secondly, Were it diversified by any circumstance, were a man at liberty to leave or take it, it may afford two several means, and he may deliberate whether it be good to do it or not to do it. In effect, In his quae sunt penitus determinata ad unum electio locum non habet. d. Th. 1, 2. q. 13. ar. 2. Deliberation supposeth Election, and Election requires several things; for where there is but one there can be no choice. So that if we deliberate on one only mean, it of necessity must be diversified by circumstances or by different considerations, which may give place to choice and to election. But what says he? It often happens, that when we have but one means left to attain our end, we forbear not to consult in ourselves to know whether this means is proportionable to our end. He here confounds Speculative Knowledge with Practical Knowledge, and Ratiocination with Deliberation. When one would know whether a means is proportionable to one's end, one may reason but one cannot deliberate, because there is nothing there to do, etc. which is in our power, and that deliberation is but for things which are in our power, and which may be done several ways. M. C. did not consider that the speculative knowledge always precedes the practical; and that before we act for an end or by means, we must know there is an end, and that there are means, and so of the rest, which is not from a practical Knowledge. After all, if M. C. would ever continue in his error, yet must he needs confess, that seeking whether a mean is proportionable to its end, there are two parts to be taken, the Affirmative or the Negative, which may pass for two means and two things, whereof we may take our choice. We may say as much of him, who knows the Gangrene will soon run to his heart, unless he have his arm cut off, and that it's the only way to save his life. And of a guilty person condemned to be questioned, who knows that to shun death, there is no means left but for a time to suffer pain. But what ever M.C. say, Neither the one nor the other of them deliberates thereupon, I mean on the means to escape death, since neither of them hath but one, and of necessity they must make use of it, supposing they will absolutely shun death. They may well discourse on this means, examine whether it be proportionable to its end, consider the difficulty and a hundred other things which may enter his thought, but all this is not subject to Deliberation, unless you would say, That they may consult on the means they ought to use to practise patience in those encounters. But it's to change the Hypothesis, Patience would lose the quality of a mean, and of itself serve as an end to the means deliberated on. The second Reason M.C. produceth is, That we often find occasion to deliberate when the only mean is dangerous and difficult to execute. I have often sought in what this Reason was different from the former. And how it was impossible for me to divine it, I at last stopped at this opinion, That it was the Printers fault who had let pass a new example to confirm M. C's proposition for a second Reason. He should therefore have a care that so considerable an error in judgement may not be found in the next Edition. In the interim I have nothing to answer on this example, but what I have said for the rest; for if there be no other means to attain an end but what appears difficult and dangerous, if we must make use of it we do not deliberate. We may reason on the difficulty, and on other circumstances which accompany it, but that is no deliberation; unless on would seek means to take away the difficulty and the danger, in which case, what is difficult and dangerous, would in that respect pass for the end, and no more as the means. In pursuit of this example, here is what M.C. adds, pag. 113. But when the connexion of a means to an end is evident, etc. we fall to it without reasoning, that is to say, without consulting. Whereupon I might say first, That the But which gins this discourse, being but an adversative particle, as the Grammarians say, and which imports a sense contrary to the precedent proposition, is not in its place, and produceth not here the effect it ought, because the difficulty and the danger which is found in a means, hinders not the connexion of that means with its end, from being certain and evident. But as I will not make punctilios upon words, in imitation of M. C. the things he proposeth furnishing matter enough without enquiring into his manner of speaking; I answer, That when the connexion of a means, and its end hath all the conditions he allegeth, it carries one to it without consulting, so as it be an only Means. For if there were divers whose connexion were such as he says, as it may often happen, there would be a way to deliberate which were to be used. And in this case the evidence of the connexion would not hinder the deliberation. So that the Reason for which we consult not in the action proposed by M. C. happens not from this evidence, but from that there is but one way to attain the end, and that there must be divers others to give us cause to deliberate; so there is a great likelihood that M. C. is fallen into this Sophism, A non causa pro causa: But, says he, to what purpose is it to reason on a thing whose conclusion is more clear, and more conformable to our appetite then the Propositions you might draw from thence? To what end is it by a Middle to join an End and a Mean, whose sequel is immediate and evident? There are here many things to be said. 1. If he takes the word of Reasoning for Deliberating, as he lately did, the consequence he dedueth is vain for the reasons we have already given. And if he takes it in general for all kind of Discourse, he changeth the Hypothesis, and from Deliberation he makes us pass to simple Ratiocination. However it be, if he understands it in this latter way, let him if he please remember how we have said, That the means enter into Ratiocination; for they only commonly pass for Enthymema's shortened, and new consequences added to the conclusion of the Ratiocination which we made for a principal action; he may well see that the application of the means to its end, is not so clear nor so conformable to our appetite, as the propositions are whence it is inferred. For the design to obtain the good wherein the end consists, is the principle whence the necessity is drawn to employ the means for its search. Now the end is naturally better known and more conformable to the appetite than the means, because it is the cause of it, and that it enters knowledge before them. On the contrary M.C. imagines, that the Ratiocination which we put in practice of means consists only in the connexion they have with the end, without considering that this connexion makes but one part of it, and that it's the principle whence the practical judgement is drawn, which is the conclusion of all Ratiocination. Thus when we know a thing to be good, and that it may be done by such means, we conclude, that we must make use of such means to do it. And this conclusion is drawn from the connexion of means with the end, which is comprised in the second proposition of the Syllogism. Let not M. C. then ask us any more, To what purpose 'tis to join by a Middle, the End and the Means, whose sequel is immediate and evident. For we seek no a middle to join them together, but to join them with operation, and the connexion which is betwixt them is the Middle, by which we infer that we must use that means to arrive at that end. But besides, he must consider that the most part of the means which we use are known by the experience which we have formerly had of them, and that in that case we make the same Ratiocination, which is to be found from Instruction and from Custom. For we must unite the Image of the thing present which we would use to attain the end, with the image of that we have made experience of, and thence afterwards draw a consequence for the future. Whether Ratiocination be only to clear doubtful things. At last M. C. supposeth, page 113. 118: That we cannot reason but on things where there is doubt and obscurity, and that in those which are evident by themselves, or by the sense, there is no Ratiocination to be made. I know he is not the only Man of this opinion, and if we were to follow the plurality of votes, he would have a great advantage over us, who are of a contrary party. But besides, that in these matters the weight and force of Reason is to be preferred unto the number and authority of the persons. M. C. shall bear me witness, That those Philosophers who have treated of it, give us so little knowledge of it, that it is not likely that any of them daigned seriously to consider it. If this be so, it can never prevail with the multitude, which greatens the party; and neither he nor I ought to be overtaken by those prejudicated opinions which have been received, without having been seriously examined. That we may not therefore fall into that neglect which he hath justly taxed, and not suffer ourselves to be preoccupied by the sense of other Men, we must have recourse to the source of things, and see in the Nature itself of Ratiocination, to what use it may have been destined. The best foundation we can give to this enquiry is, That all faculties have a natural inclination to produce those actions which are in their power, that they tend thither as to their end, and to their perfection, and that they never forbear to act when all conditions necessary to action occur. From this principle which is as clear as the light, and which draws its proof from all things, which are in the Universe, it follows, that all the faculties of the soul have the same inclination, that they seek but to act, and that those which have no other action but knowledge cannot hinder themselves from knowing when their objects are present, and when they are not otherwise diverted. If there are then the principal actions which form knowledge, to wit, the first Conception, the Judgement, and the Discourse; It must needs be that the faculties which are capable to produce them, produce them in effect when the object of every of these actions are present unto them, and that they are neither diverted nor hindered. Now the object of the first are those which present themselves under one only Image: That of the second are those which present themselves under two images, which may unite or separate themselves. That of the third are the rest which are of a greater number, and which may be linked together by a middle which is common unto them. So that in the same manner, as at the presence of a simple object, that faculty which is not diverted is necessitated and cannot hinder itself from producing in itself that image in which the first and simple conceptions consists; And that it's constrained to unite or divide two different images wherein the judgement consists; as also when it finds more which link themselves together, it must of necessity bind them, and make this return and circular motion, in which the nature of Ratiocination consists, as we have showed. From hence we must necessarily conclude, that it's indifferent for this third operation, for the things to be evident or doubtful, forasmuch as supposing that there are three terms, or three images; which altenatively may join themselves together, and suffer this circular revolution we have spoken of; The faculty must necessarily assemble them, since it is not hindered, and that the object of its action is present. But yet it follows That Evidence and Certainty far from serving as an obstacle to Ratiocination, advance and favour it; and on the contrary, Doubt and Obscurity retard and hinder it. For it's certain that if the connexion of terms is evident and certain, the concatenation which discourse requires will the sooner be made, and more perfectly than if it be found obscure and doubtful: Forasmuch as time and pains is required to take away obscurity and doubt, and consequently to encounter this common concatenation, which ought to unite all the parts of Ratiocination. But this truth cannot be contested, if it be true That there are Ratiocinations made in an instant, as we have showed. For all the propositions which compose them being then at the same time known, there can be not one more doubtful and obscure then the other; and the conclusion which makes itself assoon known as the antecedents, aught to be as clear and evident as they can be. To conclude, Experience and the Schools teach us, That Science and opinion may be found together for one and the same thing as well as Faith and Science; and therefore since we cannot prove the conclusions of Science by topical Arguments, and Propositions of faith by demonstrations, we may reason on things which are not doubtful: The conclusions of Science, and the propositions of faith, leaving no doubt, and being most certain and most assured. Yet we may object two things (p. 113.) The first That the Soul ought then to go all at once to the conclusion, without making all this progress unprofitable to its self. But to this we answer, That this progress is natural to the Soul, that she cannot march otherwise, and that to make her move in another manner were to violence her nature and to destroy that action which is most proper and most convenient for us, as a circle which cannot otherwise be moved but by the turns and circumvolutions it makes about itself: The Soul which in some manner may be said to be of that gender cannot also move but by discourse, which is a circular motion. It gives itself some agitation in its first Knowledges, but if she is not hindered she never stops there, and ever makes its revolutions entire. Indeed without doubt, whoever would observe the manner whereby the Understanding knows things, will find that it makes but few motions or simple propositions, which are not accompanied with a complete discourse; and although speech makes but one part appear, it forbears not to make it in its self entire▪ and to join in secret to the notions, it expresseth the antecedents or the consequences it's composed of. This also is performed with that swiftness, that it's impossible the Voice and Tongue should follow it, nor that speech should mark all the thoughts it forms in these encounters. As much is to be said of the Imagination, and even with more right, because it's a Faculty which is not free, as is the Understanding, but which is absolutely determined by the objects, and which operates not but for the preservation of the Animal. So that we may be assured that she knows nothing but she makes a practical judgement of it, whether it be to follow or to forsake it, whether it be to do it, or not to do it; now if this be so, it forms no Action nor Proposition without reasoning, as hath been showed in the precedent discourse. However it be, the progress which the soul makes by reasoning thus, is not useless to it, as hath been said, for although the conclusion were as evident unto it as the propositions it makes use of to attain it; yet she fortifies herself in the certainty she hath of it by the knowledge which these propositions afford her, & she takes them as witnesses which do not discover to her the truth which she knew from elsewhere, but which confirm her in it. Neither is it a thing particular unto her on this occasion, she doth the same in all her other knowledges; for although she is assured by a sense of the object which it represents, yet she inquires the judgement of others, she will have those truths confirmed by experience, which reason holds indubitable and that reason shall hold up these experiences which she believes most certain. She will even reason on mysteries of Religion, and join Science with Faith, as she often joins Opinion with Science; and herein she follows the intention of Nature, which to assure Animals in the knowledge of things useful unto them, will that all the faculties and all the means given to that end shall concur thereunto together. This doctrine is not unknown in the Schools, who hold that the first principles how evident soever they are of themselves, which need no other knowledge but that of terms, and which natural light make us presently comprehend, yet aught to be known and proved by the Induction. Now it is not that the Induction gives in the evidence, but it is that it fortifies and confirms it, as hath been said. The second Objection is, That the Conclusion draws its evidence and its proof from the antecedent propositions, and consequently it ought of itself to be obscure and doubtful. But we should say, that the proof of the conclusion is ever in power in the antecedents, and not always in effect; that is to say, that were it necessary to prove the conclusion, it might be done by the Antecedents. But when the conclusion is certain or evident of itself, it needs none of this proof, unless for the reason before mentioned, to wit, to confirm the truth which she makes known. So that in this case the conclusion doth not effectively draw its evidence from the propositions which precede it; and this maxim is not true as to the effect, but for the conclusions which are obscure and doubtful. Whereto may be added what we have said in the Chapter of the Third Part, that things are known or unknown by the Senses or by Nature, and that a conclusion may be known by one, and unknown by another. And then the Antecedent will serve as a proof, not for sensible evidence, but for natural evidence. So this Proposition, Peter is risible, is evident of itself by sense and experience, and were it to be proved by a universal proposition, it is but to give in the natural evidence, which it hath not. After all this, being evident by the senses, the proof added thereunto, whatever it were, serves but to confirm the truth which is already known from elsewhere. We may therefore reason on things which are not obscure nor doubtful, and consequently the evidence of means, were it as great as that of the end, cannot hinder the soul from reasoning, not only to apply them to that end, but also to the operation which ought to follow this knowledge, as we have before said. That we cannot apply the Means to the End without Ratiocination. M. C. hath then much deceived himself when he assures (page 114.) That all the error of his adversaries comes but from that they imagine that its impossible to use means to attain an end without reasoning. For all what I have said makes it appear that there was no error therein; and all what he says afterwards to show that there is, proves nothing what he pretends. First, The example he brings of insensible things which use means to attain to their end without having any knowledge of it, is altogether impertinent. For, the question here is not to know whether the employment of means in general to attain an end. require Ratiocination; the question is restrained to things which operate with knowledge. Now it's certain that Animals know the end, to which they tend, as we shall show hereafter, and consequently, they also know the means to attain it. And by the reason before alleged, they ought to reason to apply the means to the end, and to the practical judgement which they make before they make use of it. It's true, if there were a knowledge to be found by which we could employ those means without making this judgement which devanceth all the motions of the appetite, and which is the principle of all animal operation: perhaps I might confess that Ratiocination would be nothing necessary. But where were this knowledge to be found, since of all the things which are in nature the Animals only are knowing; and that to operate they must judge that the things are good and possible, and that from the goodness and possibility they find in them, they conclude that they must do them, which cannot be without reasoning, as we have demonstrated. In the second place, the example he adds (pag. 114, 115.) of Children, of Fools, as those benumbed, of timorous persons, etc. who without reasoning, as he says, employ means to do a thing; All these examples I say are useless to our question, for they do exclude but the Ratiocination of the superior part, which is not here in question, and presuppose the Ratiocination of the Imagination, which is as much as to say, that they do not employ means without reasoning. Yes, I grant, That a Child which reasons not, yet brings its hands to its face, to take away what troubles it; that falling he opposeth them to save himself; that he casts himself on his Nurse's breasts; that he useth more strength in sucking her as he hath more need; and hides itself from one who hath frighted it, and useth a hundred several means for several ends. But although it be true, that this Child reasons not, yet it cannot yet be understood but of Intellectual Ratiocination, and not of that of the Imagination which goes before all these actions, as, we have showed in several places of this Work. It's the same with those benumbed, who how little sense soever they have remaining, shrink back those parts where they are grieved; for so long as they still feel, their Imagination must work and move the appetite to these motions, and consequently make that Ratiocination which we have so often spoken of. We may say as much of a Man whose appetite prevents all the conclusions which his reason can make, at the unexpected encounter of some spark of fire which burns him. Of timorous persons, who without reasoning fly from those things which appear frightful; and of those to whom the sight of a Serpent, of a Mouse, or of such like makes them out of countenance, by the antipathy they have together. For all this may well be without the intervention of the Superior Reason, but not without the reasoning of the Imagination. In the mean time M. C. confounds these two things as well as the design and intention, which are to be found in these two faculties, since he says, That all the actions of the Appetite are performed without design, that we often laugh without any intention, and that the apprehension of tickling causeth us often to make involuntary shrugs. Now it's certain that by this kind of speaking we can say nothing but that these actions are done without the Design and Intention of the Superior part. And it cannot fall into the thought of any reasonable person, that from thence one might infer that they were done without the design and intention of the sensitive soul, presupposing that it is capable of design and intention, as we have showed. So that I pity M.C. for having taken so much pains to accumulate reasons upon reasons, and heaping examples on examples to prove a thing which is besides the question, and to have forgotten the decisive point of our dispute. Truly had he fallen into the defect he reproacheth me to have done in some place, to have made principles according to my fancy, to draw from them conclusions according to my pleasure: Should he, I say, have here done the same thing, he would have been more excusable, to have ill proved what he should have proved, as not to have known what he should have proved; For the first, there is only want of sufficiency; But for the latter, there is want of judgement. Beasts know the End and the Means. I should here finish this long Examen, were it not for the understanding of what we have said. It's to the purpose to show, that Beasts know the End and the Means which they make use of to attain it. I have therefore made one Article apart for it in my first Discourse of the Knowledge of Animals in pursuit of an objection, whereby we would prove that if the Instinct were enlightened by reason, how small soever it were, Beasts would know wherefore they operated, and although the answer we gave belongs to Instinct, what we have added to the end respects the Knowledge of Beasts in general; wherefore in fine to examine it here, that there may be no difficulty left in the precedent Discourse: I have therefore said, That no body hath yet doubted, but that Beasts knew the principal end for which they operated. For even those who would take away Reason from them, have not deprived them of that advantage, and were constrained to confess, that as all things tend to their end, those that are insensible are born to it without knowing it, But that Beasts have the knowledge thereof, although it be not so perfect as that of Men; and certainly they know what is good and profitable for them, and consequently they have a knowledge of their end, since the good and the end are in effect the same thing. It's true, that they cannot know but under particular reasons, and that they never form general notions as Men do; But it's sufficient to say that they know the end they tend to, and consequently they also know the means which are necessary to attain it; For it were needless they should know the end, were they ignorant of what were to be done to obtain it. In effect, we cannot doubt but the Dog known the Hare as the prey which he would take, and that when he runs after it, and useth so many endeavours and so many slights to catch it, it is not likely but he knows they are means he must use to attain that end. Who ever would consider the artifice our domestic Linets use when their meat and drink is hung in two little Buckets, and when they will get them near they draw the cord which holds them, and with their foot hold them whilst they continue to use their Bill, he will without doubt be constrained to confess that they do all this with knowledge, that they know the thing which ought to be done first. In a word, that they ordain the means which they judge necessary to obtain the end proposed. Why should they not have that power, since they have, as we have showed the faculty of Reasoning to which it belongs, to put things in order, to compare them together, and to destiny them to what use we please. To all which M. C. first opposeth, That he is of Aristotle's opinion, and of those who followed him, who will have it, That Beasts sometimes have not more knowledge of the end whereto Instinct leads them, than his pen had of his writing. And that in other occasions they know the thing which is their end, but that they know it not as the end, nor as a cause of those means which they employ to obtain it. But without touching what respects Instinct, of which we shall elsewhere speak, I shall advise M.C. before he go on further on this subject, that he would bring Aristotle in play; for besides that he is a testy Author who will not be produced by all sorts of people, and who discovers but to few the secrets of his doctrine: he hath already so ill succeeded in reporting his opinions, that we may with reason doubt he will not prove more faithful to him here, than he hath been heretofore. For my part, I cannot remember that I have read what he makes that incomparable spirit say; All what I can answer to that pretended authority is, that whether he or his Sectators should say, That Beasts know not the thing which serves for their end as the end, and as cause of the means, which they employ to obtain it, they understood nothing else but that they make no abstraction of the end nor of the means; neither do they consider in the things, by a notion separate from the things themselves; and to speak according to the Schools, they know not the End nor the Good under the formal reason of the end and of good. However it be, they know the things are good and useful to them, they bear their desire unto it, and do all what they can to obtain them. Now if the end be the same, why, or to speak better, for love of which we act, and that beasts operate but for the love of the good they find in the things; it must needs be that in knowing this good, and what is necessary for the obtaining of it, they should also know the end and the means. So the Dog knows not only the prey when he sees it, but he also knows that it's good; otherwise he would not desire it. He also knows he must run after it to catch it, otherwise he would not run; and consequently, he knows the end and the means, since he knows the goodness of the prey, and that for that's sake he ought to make use of the course, and those subtleties he knows to catch it. These truths seem of themselves so clear to me, that I wonder M. C. should reprehend me when I said, That they were not to be doubted; and that he insists so strongly to demand of me a proof thereof, I should pardon him, had he had no tincture of Philosophy, or had he not had common sense; for there needs no more to judge of the evidence of these propositions. But says he, Beasts know what is good and useful for them, without knowing that it is useful. This proposition is false in one sense, and in the other there is a manifest contradiction in the terms it's composed of. For if he means, that Beasts know the thing without knowing it to be good and useful; this is absolutely false, it's necessary it should appear good unto it, since they desire it and pursue it, even as that for which they have an aversion, and which they fly, aught to seem ill and hurtful to them. Forasmuch as the Appetite which is the principle of these motions cannot be moved but by what appears good or ill to the Animal. In effect, since a good thing may sometimes be pleasing, and sometimes offensive to them; and that a Dog at one time flies his Master, whom before he caressed, the same object must be considered two different ways to cause these two contrary motions; and we cannot figure to ourselves any other considerations but those of being good or evil. M. C. says of a truth at the end of his fourteenth Chapter, pag. 117. That Dogs are sensible of the benefit of fire, without knowing that it's the fire that doth them that good. But thit requires a good proof, for since they fear to be burnt when we bring the fire too near them, they must needs know that fire may do them harm; they then fly it as ill; so that it must needs be that when they come near it they also know it as good and useful; why should they not have this knowledge since they well know that a man who threatens them and lifts up a stick against them, is a thing which may mischief them? For there is no reason why they should rather know what beings them an incommodity, then what may be useful to them. Yes, but if Dogs knew that it were fire which did them good, they would learn to make it. This is not necessary, and there is no consequence from the one to the other; for there are a thousand things which we judge useful without taking care to make them. M.C. knows well that pistols are profitable for him, and yet he takes no care to make them. And to stay on this example, Dogs certainly know that bread is good; and whoever would prove as M.C. doth, that they find it not good, because they never learn to make it, would render himself altogether ridiculous. In a word, when we say that Animals know things, we intent not that they have all the knowledge which may be had thereof; that which they are capable of hath its bounds and limits, and seldom goes to the practice of Arts, which were invented by reason of a many experiences and Ratiocinations. Let's return to M. C's former proposition; which may admit of another far worse sense than we have now examined. For if he means that Beasts know the good and the useful, without knowing that it's good and useful to them, therein is a contradiction: whether he confounds the good and useful, or distinguisheth the one from the other: Because that if they know not what is good and useful, as he says, they know it not to be good and useful; they then know that it is good and useful, and that it is not good and useful. If his thought be that they know good without knowing that it is useful to them: It's as much as if he should say, that they know that is good, and that it is not good, forasmuch as to be useful is to be good, and all that is known as good, is known as useful: And the reason of this is, that good is not good but as it's convenient, and all what is convenient perfects, and all what perfects is useful. It is not but that in knowing that a thing is good, we know all the utility can cause; but also, we do not know it then, in the extent of its goodness; for if it were so known, we should know all the utilities it could afford. Thus much for what concerns the Objection which M. C. made against our first Example of the Dog which knows the end and means of hunting. For I am not to stop at what he says, that he believes not That the Dog makes any reflection on the first knowledge he hath of his prey. Forasmuch as if he will speak of a true reflection, I shall believe it no more than he; but if he means that he doth not apply himself, and stay to consider it, or that he cannot make that return in which we have showed that Reasoning consists, he is in the wrong not to believe it, for the Reasons already said. Our second Example is of Linnets, who with their Bills draw up their meat and drink which is hung in small buckets, whence we inferred that they knew the end and the means. For first, they know the meat and the drink, which is the thing they need, and the first object which strikes the appetite. And afterwards they judge they ought to draw it near, it being far from them, and they therefore draw the string it's hung on, and stop with their foot what they have drawn, to get the rest in the same manner; and all this terminates itself in possessing meat and drink, which is the first thing which enters their knowledge, and for love of which they use all this Artifice. Now if this is not to know the end and the means, there are few amongst men which know them, since they do no more in their ordinary actions. To this M.C. answers, (page 91.) That since I give this for an example of the Instinct, he need not trouble himself to explicate it. Meaning to infer that he hath made it appear, That Instinct excludes all knowledge of the end and means; for its what is here in question. But without alimbecking the mind on this question, whereof we shall speak in the Treatise of Instinct, that on the contrary it's a general proposition which extends to all the actions which beasts do with knowledge; he would never have thought that I should have placed the artifice of Linnets for an example of Instinct. Besides that, having clearly enough explained myself on the nature of that cause which I found altogether shut up in the natural Images, he could not reasonably have believed that I related to the Instinct the proceed of Linnets, whereto so many artificial things concur, since there can be no natural images of those things which were invented by art. Neither did he insist thereupon, and part to an alternative, by which supposing, That I related this example to the Imagination, without interesting the Instinct, he sends me back to the explication he made of my other examples which I might apply unto this, and wherein I shall see that this action whether it be done by habit or by instinct, may be performed without reasoning. But I shall also send him back to the answers I have made to those explications, where he shall see that all things done by custom or by habit presuppose the help of reason. Besides that, the division which he brings is deficient: for the action of Lin●●ts may be performed otherwise then by habit and by instinct, it may be done by imitation and invention; and certainly the first time they draw the string to bring op their buckets, it's neither by habit nor by custom, neither is it as we have showed, by Instinct. It must needs therefore be that they must have seen it done, or invented it by themselves. Now in all this there is Ratiocination as well as in the actions of men, who draw water out of a Well, or Crane up any other thing by a rope. But I am not awares that following M. C. I straggle out of the way; the question here is not whether Linnets reason, but only whether they know the end and the means; and had M. C. but taken heed to prove that they have this knowledge I make use of the Reason with which they are endued, he might well have perceived that I intended not thereby to prove that they did reason; otherwise I should have brought for a proof what now is in question. But as it is a truth which I had demonstrated, before I might make use of it, to make it appear that they know the end and the means; because it's for Reason to know them, to compare things one with another, and to destiny them to what use it pleaseth. Let not M. C. be scandalised on the word, he takes not away liberty as hath been said already in the first part of this Discourse. For although beasts choose not the means, and that at first they are determined by what first presents itself, or is most efficatious, we may nevertheless say, that they will, that they desire, and that they are pleased to make use of such a means. Let's add to these two Objections what he says, 1. That men reason not to prove the first principles. 2. That by reason they cannot persuade themselves to what the Senses manifestly show them. 3. Because it's to overthrow the nature of Ratiocination to employ as a proof what is more obscure than the things which we would persuade. 4. And that they would laugh at a man who would discourse to know whether the first-step of a Staircase serves for a means to rise to the second. 5. That in fine, amongst all the things which are to be judged by sight only and report which is evident to the Senses, we only make use of simple conceptions. 6. And that if there be no doubt and obscurity, we need none of this Examen, nor of this Deliberation, whereby he defines Ratiocination. But how easily soever the answer which is to be made may be found to all these Reasons in the precedent Discourse: Yet for M. C's satisfaction I shall answer to every one in particular. First, What he says of the first principles is not absolutely true; for if they may be proved by induction, as Aristotle teacheth us, we must needs reason to prove them, since the Induction is a Ratiocination. On the other side, were it true, That we should not reason to prove them, I am very well assured that we could not know without reasoning. Because that besides that they are universal propositions, and that the Understanding can form no universal notion without discourse, as hath been shown. To conceive them it must needs compare the one with the other, and consequently it must reason, since without reasoning we cannot compare things. In effect, we cannot say nor comprehend that the whole is greater than its part, not even conceive what the whole or the part is, without comparing the one with the other; forasmuch as there is a mutual relation betwixt them, which enters into the essence of either; and that we cannot define the one, but the other must enter into the definition; it's the same with all the rest, for when we say that a thing is or is not, and that nothing is and is not at the same time, we must compare the being with the not being, and make a many reflections, wherein necessarily Ratiocination must be involved. It's true, this is done so swiftly, that it seems as if there were only simple notions; at least the mind contents itself to express by one only proposition all the progress it hath made therein, and will not any more explicate a thing which it well knows, that others with it conceive it after the same manner; Even as to witness that it consents or doth not consent to what is proposed, there needs but I or no; although in themselves they make an entire discourse, knowing well that these monosyllables will make it sufficiently known. As for the second proposition, besides that it is not every way true, and that there are a hundred encounters wherein reason persuades what experience and the senses manifestly make known, as we have showed; It's useless in the matter in question, if it be not restrained to operation; for I admit not that the Imagination should reason on the knowledge which the senses have of their objects, but on the application of this knowledge to operation. So when the Animal judgeth such a thing to be sweet or good to eat, I understand not that it reasons thereon, but only when it from thence concludes that it must be eaten. And when he says, That it's to overthrow the nature of Ratiocination to make use of for a proof what is more obscure than the thing we would persuade. This is true, when we employ it for an absolute and necessary proof, and not when 'tis but to confirm the evidence and certainty we have thereof. This again may be true when we use this proof by choice and by election, and not when 'tis by constraint, and that of necessity we must pass by this middle, to go to the conclusion, as it happens in most of our reasonings, and in all the reasonings of Beasts. So that there is no way left to laugh at a man who would reason to know whether the first step of a stair served for the means to get up to the second, p. 117. For besides that he cannot consider the first degree as a mean to arrive at the second, unless he compare them together; if he apply the knowledge he hath of it to the operation, he must necessarily reason; neither can he do otherwise. It's true, that if he expressed by speech the reasoning he made thereon, perhaps they might have occasion to mock him for speaking a useless thing, etc. which all the world knows. In the same manner a man might render himself ridiculous if he would prove to a man that he is a man, and such like things which he cannot be ignorant of; after all this I shall send back M.C. to the fifth Chapter of my Third Part, where he may find how the means enter into Ratiocination. But must we still stay at the last of M. C's Propositions which we have so fully refuted? All our second Part is employed to show, that the Imagination may make propositions of things which are evident to the senses. We every hour make the like, and every moment we say, That Snow is white, That the Sun is luminous, That Time is obscure, etc. In the mean time these are not simple conceptions, since they are true Propositions, and consequently it's false That in all things which are judged by sight only, and whose report is evident to the senses, we employ only simple conceptions. To conclude, we have made it appear in the Fourth Part, that Deliberation is not of the essence of Ratiocination, and that it ought not to be defined thereby, as M. C. hath done. And truly methinks for the love and respect which he owes the truth, he will not oppose himself to what I here present him withal; and that since he hath so freely granted That besides Contemplation and Deliberation, Beasts may do all what the mind of Man can do: He will also then confess with the same ingenuity that they perfectly reason, after we have showed him that Man may perfectly reason without any contemplation or deliberation. For although hitherto he hath had cause to rest in those vulgar opinions which have not precisely observed wherein the nature of discourse consists, and which have not considered it but in the conditions and in the qualities which are nothing essential to it; it's to be presumed, that having acknowledged the error in which they are, he will now forsake them, and join with me to make a more ample discovery of that truth, which I have encountered, and to give the last touches to perfect what perhaps I have only dead-coloured. Yes without doubt if he approve that all the action of Ratiocination consists in this circular revolution which the soul makes on these images, and that the Syllogism is not form but by the return she makes on these first notions to join them with the latter. Perhaps he will also consent not only that to reason she needs neither deliberate nor meditate, and that in this knowledge she may be the Senses slave, and suffer herself to be forced and necessitated to the first means which presents itself. But likewise there is nothing in this action which surpasseth the force of the Imagination, and that consequently Children and Animals may perfectly reason if he look on the perfection which is essential to Ratiocination, and not to that which is strange and accidental; for if there are perfect reasonings to be found in which the Soul makes no abstraction or reflection, no universal notion, nor any deliberation, as it appears in the most part of Expositive Syllogisms, all these conditions of necessity must not be essential to discourse, and that that which is made in things purely simple, wherein not one of these circumstances meet, must to speak properly and exactly, be a perfect Ratiocination. But we must give time to M. C. to resolve hereupon; in the mean time, let's see what he objects against the Language of Beasts. CHAP. III. The Third OBJECTION. Of the Language of Beasts. IF Beasts did Reason, they would reason not only together, but even also with men. They would speak with one another, and if they were deprived of speech, they would at least fancy to themselves as well as dumb persons, some signs, and significative gestures to make themselves understood; so that it's an evident token that they want Reason, since they cannot perform any of these things which are the effects and natural sequels of Ratiocination; but those who make this objection do not heed that they lend us arms to combat them, and that if we come to show that all these actions are common and ordinary to Beasts, they must of necessity confess that they have reason, since they are as they say the effects and natural consequences of Ratiocination. Now all the world agrees, That they communicate their thoughts, and without consulting the Books of the learned, every man of himself may make proof of this truth; for a man must be extremely stupid not to observe that all Beasts which have the use of Voice, use it to make their desires known, and that they have cries and different accents, according as the several designs which pleasure or grief, hope or fear inspire in them. Do they not intercal themselves when they are in love, when they want help, when they have found any food which they may impart to others? For it's certain, that if a Sparrow comes to a place where there is much corn, he will call the rest unto it; and that a Wolf having found a Carrion will bring his companions to it: Some even say that either of them diversifies its voice according to the nature of the thing they encounter, and that that marks by a particular accent whether it be Wheat, Barley or Buck which they have found. And this hath its different roar when 'tis the Carrion of a Horse, or when 'tis that of an Ass. But without examining the truth of so curious an observation; can we observe a Dog shut up in any place presently begin to make long sigh, and afterwards change them into redoubled barkings, and last of all howl out till he is out of breath, without fancying that he would make it appear by these different cries the several passions which his captivity causeth him? And whoever perceives little Chickens fly and hid themselves at the instant when they hear the Hen cry, and afterwards return again under her wings; when she useth another, follow and run to feed, according as she diversifies her voice, will doubtless judge that there is a communication of thoughts amongst them, and some kind of Language whereby they make themselves understand one another. And certainly whoever observes that of all Birds, would make no difficulty to believe that Tiresias, Melampus and Apollonius have formerly understood it, and if that any man would apply himself unto it, he might yet learn it. And that its even easy by imitating it to entertain one's self with them, since in some manner we daily do it, when we take them by the whistle, and that we bring them whether we please by counterfeiting their voice and accents. But it is not only by Voice that Beasts make themselves understood; the Look, the Mind and the Gesture also serve them for the same purpose; they know as well in one the others eyes the passions they have, and a Dog will see in the forehead of a Mastiff, whether he may with security approach him, and whether he be in sportful humour. Doth he not threaten when he shows his teeth, when his hair stands an end, and when he looks through him who assaults him? In fine, all his corvets and his carressing postures, all the flattering motions of his Tail and Ears which he makes when he accosts his Master, are but so many signs and very significative gestures of the desire he hath to please him. Now if Beasts communicate their thoughts together, of necessity they must entertain one the other, and even they must reason together, and that the Discourse must enter their thoughts, as we have declared. And had we brought no proofs of this truth, we could not conceive that they made their intentions known, to give or ask help, to or from one another, but we must believe that they form a perfect Ratiocination; for there are so many judgements to be made in these encounters, so many consequences to be deduced, so many progresses which the soul makes from causes to the effects, from signs to things signified, and from goods and ills present to those which are past and to come; that it's impossible but we must find the form and contexture of Discourse. I would willingly ask our Adversaries, if when a Hen having found some grains, calls her Chickens to impart it to them, when they come to her, and that they cackle together, and that afterwards she only takes the grains in her Bill, and so leaves them without eating; I would fain I say ask them whether they will acknowledge no discourse in all these proceed, and whether they do not believe that she calls her chickens with a a design to cause them to come, to show them their food, and to nourish them; and that they themselves understand the voice which summons them, that they comprehend the thing which she signifies unto them, and that they hope to find the good she tells them of. Can all this be done without Discourse, and a man who would do such like things, would he not be thought reasonable? they will without doubt say, that this may be true in the most perfect Animals, in whom its likely Nature hath given a voice for the communication of their thoughts; but that if it have deprived others, it's a sign they had no need of that communication, and consequently they have no Reason, since they cannot entertain themselves nor discourse together. We readily confess that there are many which are dumb, and which by the voice cannot make themselves understood; but if Nature could not give it them because they ought not to respire, she hath recompensed them in other things which may supply that defect. The most part of infects, and even some Fish, have they not a particular sound which they form by moving some parts of their bodies, whereby they make those passions appear, wherewith they are agitated? When the Grasshoppers sing in fair weather, do they not witness the pleasure they receive thereby? When Bees hum extraordinarily in their Hives, is it not a sign of the division which is amongst them? and that humming noise which they make being stopped, is it not an evident sign of their anger? On the contrary, whoever hath told them, that these Animals do not make themselves understood by their gesture, and by their motions? Certainly after the examples which we have of other Animals, which make use of the same means to discover their intentions, it were to be very bold to say, that these did not make use of it for the same design. But what? We are ignorant of the most part of those which are ordinary, not only in Beasts which live with us, but even in Men, amongst whom there are but few who hath not some particular sign to make himself understood, and that it's impossible to divine it, but after a long habit: And should we dare assure, That Animals whose nature and life is so far from estranged from ours, should have none at all? No, no, most part living together, and even some keeping some form of Policy and of a Republic, as the Aunts, they must communicate their designs, since it's the only bond which binds and preserves all societies. After all, were it true that Beasts performed all their actions by the only conduct of Instinct, without communicating their thoughts together, what necessity would there be that for that cause they should not reason? May they not reason in themselves, and a man who were all alone or deprived of the use of all the Organs, whereby he might make himself understood, would he be for that deprived of Reason? I know very well that there is no body who would censure without passion what I have here said of the Language of Beasts, but will approve it, and will not only wonder at the design M. C. hath made to confute it, but much more at those Reasons which he hath made use of to that purpose, page 160. For it's strange that a witty Man, as he is, should not have known that all those which he useth are useless to the matter in hand, and shake not any of my proofs, nor of my conclusions? In effect, all what he says is grounded on the definition of human speech, and on those designs which the Understanding forms, which are not here in question. So that all the consequences he draws from these two principles, must needs be vain and impertinent according to the terms of the Schools; And in defence it were sufficient for me to say, That he supposeth what he should prove, and toucheth not on the difficulty. But because he is not of so easy a composition, as I persuaded myself, as in this Chapter he assures us, and perhaps so short an Answer could not make him comprehend the defects of his censure; I shall explain myself along with him, and examine all his Propositions one after another. But I will not stop at these, at the beginning of his Chapter where he hath more laboured the gentility than the solidity of thoughts, and where he rather endeavoured to show the beauty of his mind rather than the truth of the things in dispute. For when he says that to persuade him, That a Beast Reasons, the Beast itself must tell him so, I find that to be as pleasantly and gallantly imagined, as he is weak to prove what he pretends. Neither is there any likelihood that he would believe a Beast upon its bare word; he particularly who is so hard to be persuaded, and would not suffer himself to be touched with so many important Truths as have been proposed to him. For my part were I of his opinion, should all Beasts together tell me, That they discoursed, I would not believe them; neither should they any more persuade it me, than all the Fools I know should, did they assure me they were wise. But if it were possible that M. C. in earnest thought to have thereby proved That Beasts did not reason; those also of China or Malabare, to persuade him that they were reasonable, must tell it him themselves, and he must needs fall into that inconvenience, that until he could understand their Language, he must still be obliged to doubt of it. For it were to no purpose to say, that the figure of man would sufficiently clear it, since there have been Beasts discovered which are so like men, that there is scarce any difference as to the outward form. After all, there would be but one only answer to make hereupon, That Animals have often told him that they had Reason, and if he understood them not, it was his fault, and none of theirs. But says he, they ought then to tell it him in the Language of Men, and learn to speak as we do. This is neither just nor necessary; why should they be more obliged to learn the Language of Men, than Men are to learn theirs. And ought not M. C. to have imagined, that they might say the same thing of him as he doth of them, and that they have reason to doubt whither he Reasons, until they have learned his Language, and that he hath assured them of it in the same terms, as they use amongst themselves. He adds, That if they cannot learn to speak, it comes from no indisposition which they have in their organs, as might be imagined; for their organs differ no more from ours, than ours do from theirs; and therefore since the most stupid amongst men may so easily imitate what we call the Speech of Beasts, there is nothing which can hinder them from learning of ours. All this Ratiocination confirms what I have said before, That this is but a pastime for M. C's spirit, to divert itself before it enter into a more serious Examen. For besides that he believes not that all Animals have proper organs to imitate the Language of Men, and that there are only Parrots and Pies, and some others, which have this privilege, for those Reasons which are known to all the world; It is not likely that he should approve the way of argument he here useth, since that if it were good in his way, we might prove things most false and most extravagant. On the model he makes, might we not say, that the Dog's paw differs no more from the hand, than the hand differs from the Dogs paw; and that therefore since the most stupid amongst Men may do with his hand whatsoever a Dog can do with his paw, nothing can hinder a Dog from doing with his paw, when men do with the hand; That is to say, that nothing hinders but that he may write, play upon instruments, and do what Art executes with the hands. By this wonderful way of reasoning we might also prove that a Fool is a very able Man; That an Ignorant is very knowing; That men are as intelligent as Angels; And even that they are as powerful as God, and a thousand such like extravagancies. At least, says he, p. 191. those Birds which learn our Language should make use of it to discourse with us, and to demand from us their necessities; and since they do it not, it's a sign that they do neither speak nor reason. It is to exact from them things we would not exact from M. C. had we taught him to speak as we do them. For when we teach them, we design only to make them learn the sound of the words, without minding to make them comprehend the sense. And in the way it is taught them, it's almost impossible that that they can conceive what is signified by them, because we never repeat a word but the circumstances and objects with which it was at first accompanied are changed, and that there is no place to fix their thought on one only signification, seeing so many different things whereto the word they learn might be applied. For my part it were nothing difficult for me to believe, that if in teaching a Parrot the word bread, were only presented to it principalement when it had need to eat, that at last it might comprehend that that word wherever it were would signify bread; and why might it not be capable of this knowledge, since Dogs not only do very well understand the names imposed on them, but all other words which use to make them do so many several things as they have been taught? For all the words we give them are signs by which we make them comprehend the intention we have that they should do what we require them; so that in doing them, they comprehend the sense we meant by these words. Yet because we will no longer insist hereupon; it's sufficient to say that M. C's Reason is not concluding, since children which we teach Latin, are not obliged to use it to entertain themselves with others, nor to demand their necessities. Birds which have been taught to speak, have as they have another Language, which they use for such things as that which is more familiar, and consequently more easy: And certainly we may be assured, that it is with Men and Beasts when they speak together as it is with two Strangers, which entertain themselves every one in its natural Language; for a Man speaks to them in his Language, and Beasts also speak in theirs; and it happens also to them as to those strangers, that they often understand one another, and that often they not at all understand, having not a full knowledge of the Language which either of them make use of. But it's to study too much on M. C's divertisement, which from sports of the mind, by a long examen might become the plays of children, and provoke the Readers wrath to see us so ill employ both ours and his time; it's sufficient for him to know that I have had a care of his honour, when in my first Discourse I discharged his Objection of all its weakness, and that I should never have thought to have spoken of them here, had he not reproduced to light, and ranked them at the entrance of his Chapter: Let us now go to more important things, and see how he hath weakened or baffled the Answer we made to this latter Objection. Beasts communicate Thoughts. On what I proposed, That we could not doubt but that Beasts communicated their thoughts not only by the voice, but also by the gesture, mind look. He ●ests agreed; But says he, page 162. that we cannot infer from thence that they speak together, all communication of thoughts being not speech, and speech being not all what the thought marks. Which he proves, 1. Because speech is not a natural sign, but a sign of institution, which hath no signification but that which is imposed on it by the agreement and consent made amongst those which use it. 2. For as much as to make use of speech, and to be able to say we speak, we must have a design to express our thoughts by it, and know that it's a sign to make ourselves understood. Whence he concludes, That Beasts do not speak, forasmuch as the diversity which is in their voices comes from Nature and not from Institution, and that they express their thoughts by this diversity, without having intention to express them, and without knowing that it's a means to make themselves understood. But not to foil M. C. at the beginning of the Examen we intent of all these propositions; and to let him know that I am a tractable man, who will not use him rigorously; I shall consent to two of his Reasons, so as he will give me leave to deny the consequences he draws from them. For as for the first, I hold with him that speech is a sign we make use of to make known our thoughts, which is not natural, and is introduced by the agreement and consentment made amongst those which use it; but I hold also, that this ought not to be understood but of human speech; so that all what he can infer from thence is, That Beasts do not speak the Language of Men, and use not humane speech to make their thoughts understood; which I will not contest with him, the point of our question consisting not therein: Ours is to know whether Beasts have a Speech different from that of Men; Now it's to reason ill, to say that Beasts have not a Speech different from that of Men, because they have not that of Men. To make this consequence good, he must first show that there is no other speech but that which Men use: Thus M. C. cannot here excuse himself from having fallen on a Sophism which supposeth what he should prove; and which Logic calls Petitio principii; But it is not sufficient to have told him, he hath straggled, we must also show him the right way, and make him see what the Nature and Essence of Speech is; for after that he himself may judge that he was in the wrong to take it away from Beasts. Speech is an Articulate Voice. Although Speech be an Accident which is not capable of any true essential composition, yet we forbear not to figure therein several parts, whose nature is in some manner composed; for we thereby do not only find out its gender and its difference, but we even find out its matter and its form. The Voice is the gender and the matter, as the Sound is that of the Voice, forasmuch as Speech is a Voice, but hath somewhat more than Voice, and in this more consists the difference and the form of the Voice. In effect, it's a sound as the Voice; it's form by the organs of respiration, as that is, and as that it also serves Beasts for a sign, and as the means to make known the motions of the Soul. But what it hath above it, 'tis that its production depends on a greater number of organs, and that it signifies more things than the Voice doth simply alone. And to speak it in a word, its Articulate. For the use of several organs is the cause of Articulation, and Articulation which diversifies the Voice, serves to express the more things by this diversity. All the Philosophers are also agreed, that exactly to define Speech, we must call it An Articulate Voice, and that all articulate Voice is Speech. But that we may well explain wherein this Articulation consists, we must first know what the Voices are we call articulate; for there are those who do not acknowledge it in the vowels and in the consonants, which are the first differences of the Voice, but even who maintain that divers vowels joined together, can form no articulation unless they are accompanied with consonants. And certainly there is reason to doubt for the vowels and consonants as they are simple, because the elements of a thing are not the thing itself, whereby they are elements; and therefore the vowels and consonants cannot be words since they are the elements of Speech, as all the world acknowledgeth. Now they were words, were they articulate, because they would be articulate voices. On the other side, cry and exclamations, wherein simple Vowels commonly do only enter, which grief or some other passion extends and lengthens, are not placed in the rank of articulate voices, no more than whistlings and all other voices which are made by semivowels all alone. And consequently it seems that articulation only belongs to a voice composed of vowels and of consonants. On another side, since all words which are parts of discourse, should be articulate, the Interjections, Adverbs and Prepositions, and even some Greek and Latin Verbs, which consist but of one vowel only, must be articulate Voices. Add that we have examples in Greek Poets of some verses which are made of one only continued vowel, even to the length the verse requires; and therefore these kind of vowels are articulate words, since they are only articulate words which may enter into the composition of verses. In the second place, as articulation requires some constraint in the voice which makes it bend, and hinders it from going forth in an even thread, and with freedom. It seems that several vowels entering into the composition of the voice without consonants, can make no articulation, because the voice finds no hindrance when it forms vowels, and runs all in one course along the tongue, instead of which, consonants in passing strike on their organs, and turning from the direct way which they would have taken without that obstacle. Whence it follows, that vowels whether they be all alone, or whether they follow one the other, render not an articulate voice, and it's the reason for which the most part of Beasts have not an articulate voice, forasmuch as they do not form consonants, and that all the diversity of their voices consists in the bringing together and in the sequel of different vowels. But also we may hereunto oppose, that in all Languages there are many words which have a perfect sense, and which are composed of several syllables whereunto none but vowels enter; as eo which signifies I go, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which signifies Eggs, and the like, which we dare not place in the number of voices which are not articulate. And that consequently articulation may be found in the bringing together of several vowels, and the precedent Reason is not capable to banish it from the voice of Animals. Wherein the Articulation of the Voice consists. To get out of these doubts, we must observe, that as the articulation of the voice hath taken its name and origine from the articulation of the bones, It's impossible exactly to know what it is, but by the relation it hath with this; and that we must necessarily suppose as a most certain foundation that both the one and the other are made proportionably in the same manner, and for the same end. So that the joints being destined to make the Members bend, and move, distinguishing them one from another, and yet uniting them together; the articulation of the voice must also serve to bend and turn it, and make the distinction of its parts appear, although it bind them the one with the other. This is manifestly seen in those words which are most perfectly articulated, where the syllables are as the joints which make all these several reflections of the voice, which are to be observed in words, and which consequently distinguish the parts, and bind one with another to make whole words of them. But we must yet observe that as there are several kinds of articulations in the bones, some where most is most apparent; others where it is less so; and some where it is altogether obscure: There are also several articulations of the voice, wherein it's more or less sensible; for in the Vowels all alone it almost appears not at all; when they are joined together it's more manifest; but it's most evident in the consonants; and the more there are, whether in one or in many syllables, the more the turn and inflection of the voice is therein remarkable. The better to comprehend this, we must consider that the nature of the voice, as of all other sensible qualities is to dispense itself on all sides in straight lines: And that when it finds any obstacle which bereaves it of the liberty of thus extending itself in length or breadth, it bends and bows itself several ways; and if we may so say, it in some sort complains of the constraint which it suffers. So that in general there are two inflexions, or different articulations of the voice, the one when it's hindered to enlarge itself, and the other when it cannot run in an even thread. The first is, when coming out of the throat, where its principal organ is, it comes to encounter the mouths cavity, which obligeth it to restrain itself, and in some manner to assume the figure it finds in that part; for according as the opening is great or small, round, square, or otherwise, the voice conforms itself to all these figures, and takes these different sounds, which are observable in the five Vowels, A, E, I, O, V Now we need not doubt but that there is therein a true articulation, since there is a right inflexion, the voice which seeks to extend itself being in that straight which it is to pass forced to lessen itself. Otherwise we must say that words composed of pure vowels are not articulate, because they are not form by any other kind of articulation, but that which we have here observed. The second is, when the parts of the mouth oppose themselves to the voice, and strike on it as they pass, interrupting the equality of its course, and forcing it to turn itself out of its right way: as it happens to waters which run through pebbles and other such like obstacles; and this interruption forms all the consonants; the voice rendering itself soft or dry, sweet or sharp, clear or obscure, quick or slow, according as the stroke is made, and according to the nature of the organs, which in some manner imprint on it the qualities it hath. But as there are parts which cause a greater hindrance to the voice, some than others, there are also Consonants wherein articulation is more or less sensible, which for this reason are divided into Mutes, Demy-Mutes, and Demy-Vowels. The greatest obstacle is to be found in the Mutes, because the Voice finds the passage quite stopped, and that endeavouring to get out, it's oppressed, and as it were stifled, it beating against the organs through which it passeth. Now there is nothing but the Tongue and the Lips which may cause this hindrance, because there are only those two parts of the Mouth which truly move, and whose motion serves to form Speech; and as they strike the other parts more strongly or more softly, they produce two sorts of Mutes; if it be by the Lips the passage is stopped, the voice issuing out forms P or B. If by the Tongue, either it is by its Basis which strikes the , and bring forth C and G. or 'tis by its point, which strikes against the Teeth, and makes T and D. Amongst the Demmutes, the passage is truly stopped, as in the Mutes, but the voice is not stifled as it is here, because it engageth not itself altogether betwixt the organs, which resist it so that it returns back, and seeks turns to fly out. Wherefore they are called liquids, because they make a reflux, and have a waveing recourse like the water, which returns back to its source, when it's stopped. When the voice is therefore hindered from going out of the lips which shut themselves, and that it returns towards the Nostrils it changeth itself into a kind of bellowing, which makes M. If the hindrance happens on the Tongue which with its end strikes on the roof, then either the voice takes the same tune back, and produceth N, or else escapes by the sides of the Tongue in the to cavity of the Cheeks, and forms L. To conclude, in the Demi-vowels, the passage is not absolutely shut, as in the rest of the Consonants, but it's very much streightened, so that the voice is constrained to fortify itself by a greater breath, the more easily to issue out of so straight a passage: Now the breath at its going out is pressed either by the teeth whence comes S, or by the Tongue whereby it makes R, or by the Lips which produce the consonant V, or by the Lips and Teeth together which make F, or by the Tongue and foreteeth which form the Z, or by it and the Teeth which we call dog or eye teeth, whence is the consonant J. Or again, by it and the great teeth whence comes the Shin of the Hebrews, and our Ch in French, to which we hitherto have given no simple Character. All this would require a longer Examen then we can here afford it; but it is sufficient for our design to know that the voice is therein articulate, because it suffers inflexion, and that it sensibly turns and binds itself. Yet we must confess that these two kinds of articulation which are in the vowels and consonants are simple, and that in comparison of those which are composed of them, they are neither so evident nor so perfect; and as commonly the most accomplished things carry away and reserve the name of all the gender, although in effect it appertain to all the rest; it also happens that the most composed voices, and where there is most articulations, are for their excellency called articulate, the simple and the less composed being not placed in that rank, although truly they ought to be so as well as the rest. And thence it comes that in comparison of humane speech, which is without doubt the most diversified in all kinds of inflexions and motions, there are none but that to whom the common use of Tongues would give the name of articulate, all the rest being so little to its proportion, that unto it they always seem as if they were not so at all. But Philosophy and Truth which do not subject themselves to so extravagant and unequitable a Judge, and which preserve the name to all things, which belongs to their nature, acknowledge that all voices which have an inflexion are articulate, and that they ought to be called so: So that on this ground, to take away those doubts which are proposed at the beginning of this Discourse: for the vowels and consonants are not called elements but in respect of the composed word, and not of speech in general; every one of them being a word which hath no elements, and is indivisible, even as when we exclude out of the rank of articulate voices, Groan, Exclamations, Whistlings, and the like, it's by comparison with speech which is diversified by divers syllables, and is used in the common commerce of men; for those are true articulate voices which are composed of several vowels, or redoubled or continued demi vowels; but which are not so much so, as the words which enter into our language, wherein the consonants and vowels are diversely mixed together, and make a many different articulations. From hence it's easy to judge, that all the essence of articulation consists in the only inflexion of the voice, and that all the rest is exterior and strange to it, for although it be destined to express the motions of the mind, it's its end and not its essence, the end nor the efficient cause never entering into the essence of things. So that the assembling together of divers vowels and consonants, which signify nothing, forbears not to form articulate words, as the Blictri of the Schools, and the words which our Parrots learn have all the smoothness and all the variety of pronunciation which we give them, although as to them they signify nothing, no more than those Latin discourses which are taught children; and as we may not say that these latter are not articulate voices, and true words; we must needs also confess that the words which birds learn are of the same nature. But I shall say more, holding to this restriction, the cries and accents of all Animals, which have the use of voice, must of necessity be articulate voices, although even it should not serve them to express the motions of their mind: Because there is not one wherein is not only some vowel which is continued and lengthened, as in the bellow of Bulls, and howl of Wolves, or cut and repeated, as in the barking of Dogs, or mixed with several others as in the Nightingales singing, as in the warbling of Birds; But even also wherein some consonants may be observed which makes the articulation thereof; which is particularly observed in the bleating of Sheep, in the crowing of Cocks, in the meawing of Cats, and in the hissing of Serpents, where the B, and the C, the M and the S, which are of the order of the consonants, are distinctly understood, as we have showed; and we are not to wonder if there are consonants which Beasts do not pronounce; for besides that, they have not all the organs which are necessary thereunto, there are even also whole Nations which cannot form some of them; the Arabians use not the P, nor the Greeks the I and V consonants, nor the Italians the V vowel: otherwise always employ the T for the D, the C for the G. and History observes that anciently the Alphabet was composed but of twelve Letters. The Voice of Animals is then articulate, but it's far less so than that of men, of which there are two principal reasons; the first is drawn from the end for which it was given them, and the other from the cause which affords the means to attain that end; for as the voice is destined to make our thoughts known, and that the diversity of articulation serves to express the diversity of thoughts; it was necessary that Man who is more fruitful in thoughts then Beasts, should also have a greater diversity of articulations in his voice. Besides, because it's Nature alone which gives to the voice of Animals the faculty to represent the thoughts, and that it's the Will and not Nature which hath given it to that of men: The means which are therein employed must be proportionable to these two causes, and that those which Nature furnisheth must be more simple, and in less number than those which part from the Will, because Nature ever determines herself to a few things, and that the Will is a power without bounds, and whose capacity is infinite. In effect it were not possible that the language of Man should be purely natural, as is that of Beasts; not only because he hath the liberty to form an infinity of thoughts, whose original is not to be found in Nature; and whose nature consequently cannot give him the marks and signs which are capable to represent them to him; But also because his knowledge being to be acquired but by little and little, and time ever adding something thereunto, he ought to have a language which might suffer the same changes, nor which needs either be fixed nor tied to its birth, as that which comes from Nature is: It remains then that he should form one himself, which depended on his choice, and which might be augmented, diminished and altered according to his pleasure. Such is that of all Nations who have tacitly agreed together, that they would use certain words to signify such and such things, which without this connexion and consent would signify nothing at all. To terminate therefore this long enquiry, since it's resolved that the voice of Beasts is articulate, and that it's significative of their thoughts, as that of Man's is, we must of necessity conclude, that its a true speech which beasts speak together, and that every species hath its particular language even as every Nation hath a proper one; it matters not that the causes which render it significative be different, because the diversity of causes and of means changeth not the essence nor the species of the effect which it produceth. And as there are Animals which engender by generation and by putrefaction, and things which Art and Nature produce, which forbear not to be of the same kind: So the articulate voice which is significative by nature, cannot be of a different species from that which is by the institution, and by the consent of Men; Or the interjections, and some other words which enter into our discourse, and which naturally signify the motions of the mind, of necessity must not be placed in the rank of the words. But I shall say more, whoever shall well consider the cries and several accents of Animals, he will find that they are by institution as well as the speech of Men. For they do not signify of themselves the passions they represent. Otherwise it must needs be that Beasts who have all the same passions, must also all have the same voices, and that that cry which signifies such a passion, must be a like in all the kinds of Animals, at least as much as the diversity of organs could suffer it, which is contrary to experience. But the difference found therein comes from the institution of Nature, or rather from God himself, who hath imposed to such and such accents such a signification as it pleased him, and which of themselves they could not have had. So that we may say and it's true, That the Language of Beasts is in that point like to that which man received from God at the birth of the world. For even that signified of itself nothing, no more than theirs: Neither did it come from the choice or institution which Man made of it, no more than that of Animals; but it was instituted by God, who gave to those words which were to compose it, the sense he pleased, even as he did in the other. So that as the first language of Man is not of a different species from that which Men have since invented, although the one is from divine institution, and the rest from humane; It necessarily follows, that the language of Beasts is not different from ours, in that it comes from the institution of God and of Nature, and that ours comes from the institution of Men. That the Voice of Beasts is made with design and intention to express their Thoughts. But we must return to M.C. who being of the humour I know him to be will not consent to all these truths, and who without doubt will maintain that all these Reasons cannot persuade him that Beasts speak; forasmuch as to say, that we speak, we must have an intention and a design to express our thoughts by the voice, and know that it is a sign and means to make us be understood; So that Beasts having no design nor intention to express their Thoughts by the Voice, and not knowing it to be a means to make them understood, although it were even articulate and significative, it would not be a speech, and we could not properly say they speak. This is the second Reason which I have already touched, having answered to one part of it already; for I hold with him that the Thesis of it is true, and that to speak we must have a design to make known our thoughts by the voice, and to know that it's a sign and a means to make us understand: But I also hold that the Hypothesis of it is false, and that the proofs he brings to maintain it are pure Paralogisms, and conclude nothing which may either hurt or serve me. For to show that Beasts have no intention or design to make known their thoughts by their cries and by their accents, he produceth only examples of voices, which passion makes some persons send forth without any design or intention of theirs. Now it's undoubted that in there encounters the words of design and of intention can only be applied to the Understanding and to the Will, and that this signifies no more, but that passion sends forth those voices without the Understanding or Wills contributing thereunto. And therefore he can from thence infer nothing but that Beasts have not a design and intention which proceed from the superior part. Now I consent, pag. 163. That a man that feels grief feels himself also forced to complain, although even he should have no design to make himself understood, That there are persons, who by their sighs and unvoluntary groan have discovered what they had a long time hid; That there are some who being alone break out into open laughter, and cannot even hinder themselves from it in company, what intention soever they have to fain themselves sad; That in fine, divers will cast forth cries in a surprise, who would not cry at all, had they but time afforded them to form some design. But I also hold, that this also concerns not our question, because these complaints and these sigh, these cries, and these laughters, which in truth devance all the motions of the Intellectual Reason, exclude no other resolutions nor other designs, but those of the Understanding, which is not the thing in question. To give some force to these examples, he should have proved, that the imagination concu●s not to all these actions, and that they are done without their having any design or invention of doing them; but truly to have performed it, he must have destroyed all the most assured Maxims of Philosophy, and the most certain order which the soul keeps in the ordinary operations. For it is undoubted that all those motions of Animals which we call voluntary, come from the emotions of the Appetite, which is the principle thereof; and that the Appetite never moves itself without the Judgement of the Imagination, which proposeth and ordaineth what it is to do. Now it doth not only order it to make it more in members, because it is but one means to attain its principal action; But itself proposeth the action itself, which is the end and aim the Animal tends to. If this be so, since the voice forms itself by means of the muscles, the judgement of the Imagination must needs precede their motion; and that this knows that the voice ought to form itself by their means, and that it order the Animal to cry; Now if she knows, and if she ordains, she hath a design and an intention to form a voice; because the design is nothing but the judgement and the proposition which the faculty makes to execute what she finds good. As the intention is nothing but the motion which forms itself in the appetite in pursuit of that judgement; And consequently in all the examples proposed by M.C. the grief non● he surprise excites no sighing, cries, or other voice, which the mind had not a design and an intention to form. Let no man object, That it's true, the Mind hath a design and intention to form the Voice, but none to make itself be thereby understood. For if she hath an intention to form the voice, she must have it as of a thing good and profitable to it; for as much as the intention always respects the end, and the end is ever considered as good. Now if from the voice we exclude communication and design of making itself thereby understood, there will therein be neither goodness nor profit, and consequently the mind would not have the same intention of forming it. And why should not an Animal have a design to make itself understood by its cries, and by its accents, since it very well comprehends the thoughts of others by those which they form; and if it sufficiently understands them when it calls for their help, when it imparts to them the posture it hath found, when they advertise them of the danger which threatens them, why should they not make use of the same voice to give them the same knowledge? Yes; but says M.C. page 164. These are the immediate effects of passions, and he could never have believed that any man would have made use of those effects to have inferred a Reason from them. Let him not wonder at this; there are infinite many other most true illations, which he as yet knows not, and which he believes may not be drawn from many propositions which he knows: And without seeking them further he minded not the consequences which I have drawn from the objection he made me; for I necessarily from thence conclude that he hath here forgot the Laws of Logic, and the Maxims of Philosophy: First, we dispute not here about Reason, neither will we infer from the diversity of the voices which Beasts have, that they reason, but only that they communicate their thoughts together, that they have a design and an intention to do it, and that consequently they speak together. So that it seems M.C. hath forgot the state of the question which himself stated, and that according to his custom he falls into the sophism, that he raiseth what he ought not to raise; For although in pursuit of this, we may conclude, That if Animals speak, they must needs have reason, yet we are not yet there; 'tis a consequence which supposeth we proved that Animals speak, and 'tis to pervert the order of Ratiocination, & precipitate matters to descend to this conclusion, without having cleared the preceding difficulty. In the second place, p. 164. when he wonders that from the immediate effects of passion, I should infer the design and intention of the mind; He knows not that those principally are the effects which are performed with design; for as there are two sorts of them, the one of which are made for the end which passion requires, and the rest which are done out of necessity; the first are only made by design, and pass immediately from passion, the rest necessarily follow those, without the souls having any intention to produce them. So when anger makes a man cry, run, and strike, when it raiseth a man's brows, look through and shake his head, which pass immediately from the passion, and which are also done with design, because they serve to the vengeance it proposeth to itself. But when it renders the voice hoarse, the eyes staring, the lips full and trembling, and such like, which we have elsewhere observed, these are effects which the soul hath no intention to produce, because they serve for nothing to that end, they of necessity follow the former, and proceed not immediately from choler. From thence it's easy to observe, that the cries and accents which Animals form in their passions are the immediate effects thereof; we have had reason to infer the design and intention which they had to do them. But we shall here observe another of M. C's errors hid under the word Passions; for if he is of the opinion of the Stoics, and that with them, he will reduce the nature of the passions to those vehement troubles which are made in the soul, and are called Perturbations, as the examples he produceth make it suspicious; it is not true, that all the cries and accents of Animals are effects of the Passions, since there are a hundred encounters wherein they form several sorts of them, without resenting those violent motions wherein the perturbation of the Mind consists. Doth he think that a Dog is very much angry every time he barks at any one; and that the transport in which he is constrains him to throw out all the cries he makes in the same manner as Grief lets sighs and complaints escape? and that the surprise, or anger, or grateful things, robs from the Soul those great endeavours of the Voice which it causeth? Doth he think that a Hen which calls her Chickens to eat the corn she hath found, is not moved to form all those several accents she employs for that purpose, but by the excess of the pleasure which transports her, and that it is but as many cries of joy and forced exclamations, wherewith we sometimes observe the violence of passion dischargeth itself. If this were so, we must imagine that a very vehement perturbation is necessary to furnish the Nightingale with so long and opinionated a warbling as it hath; not only in the Spring when they are in love, but also in the midst of Winter when they are kept tame, and that there is no thought of suspecting that love should be the cause thereof. But if he takes the word Passion, as doth the wholesomest Philosophy, for all kind of motion which the Appetite suffers; it's true that all the cries of Animals are the effects of passion, because the emotion of the appetite is principle of the action which the organs perform to form the Voice. But in this case the examples he produceth conclude nothing against me, since they only respect perturbations and vehement passions. And that there are of another kind which produce effects of which we speak, others then those. For I know that a man may say that complaints, and sighs, and laughings are done out of necessity, as is the voice moved by a cough: But were it so, it follows not that all other voices should perform it after the same manner; and M.C. hath no more reason to prove that Beasts form their voice without design, because there are men which make complaints and groans without any intention of doing so, than I have to show that they form them with design, because there are men which groan and complain with design and intention. For this proof would be equivalent with his; and should he have any thing to say against it, it would be that the men which groan and complain with design, do it out of Ratiocination, and that Beasts cannot use it; but it were to suppose what is in question. And therefore I see nothing hitherto in M. C's Examen which destroys those truths which I have established: Let's see how he hath succeeded in the rest. He saith then, That if to diversify the Voice were to speak according to the diversity of the passions, all dumb men would speak; for by their voice we know whether they are sad, merry, or angry. And yet they know not whether they have a voice or not, and by consequence cannot know that the express compare themselves thereby. This reason is like the former, and is but a particular fact which concludes nothing in general. For were it true, that dumb men should discover their passions by their voice without any design of theirs, would the consequence be good for all others which are not dumb? And this example were better applied to Beasts then all the contrary examples which we have from the rest of Men which make use of the voice, with design and intention by it to make their passions appear. On the other side, it's no way to judge of the manner with which an action ought to be done to produce by way of example those defects and irregularities which sometimes happen. We inquire how Animals make use of their voice and M. C. sends us to dumb persons, who are born deaf, and consequently know not whether they have a voice, nor the use of it; Should I then grant him the thing he proposeth, it would be neither to his advantage nor to my damage. I shall go yet further, and shall consent to the last consequence he draws from this Ratiocination, That since a dumb man makes his passions known without design, and without knowing the means he therein employs, Animals may also do so; But it therefore follows not that they effectually do it. There is a great difference that a thing may be done, and that in effect it is done; Perhaps Nature might have made in Animals, what according to his opinion she hath made in dumb persons; but we find that she hath not. Thus neither are we of a contrary opinion since he speaks but of the possibility of the thing, and that I consider it as it is truly. Whether dumb persons speak, and how. But without stopping at forms, and at M. C's manner of proceeding, we must make it appear that in conclusion all the propositions which comprehend Ratiocination are not absolutely true. First, When he supposeth That mute persons do not speak, That in some sense is false: Indeed they do not speak the common language of men, but they speak the language which Nature hath taught them as well as Beasts, and that's sufficient to say, that they are not absolutely mute; for to be mute, is in respect of the voice, and in respect of humane speech. Fish and all creatures which have not the use of the voice are called dumb in respect of the rest which have it, and not because they cannot speak the language of men. Even a Dog whose nerves, called the Recurrens, are cut which serve to form the voice, is after that manner dumb. So that for a man to be absolutely dumb, he ought not only to be deprived of Speech, but even of Voice; and if he makes use of this to express his passions, we may say that he speaks, since even all tongues will have it, that he speaks by signs. But what says he? These damn persons can have no design to express their passions by their voice, since they know not whether they have a voice Certainly, they know not distinctly that they have a voice, since they are deprived of hearing, which can only give them a clear and distinct knowledge thereof. But they know it confusedly; that's to say, that they know that the action of the organs they employ, terminates at something which may express their passions; and evidently, to show that that is sufficient to be able to say, that they speak. We need but consider the effects of that wonderful act, which teacheth dumb persons to speak, whereof we have proof in the person of a Prince, who is one of the most illustrious Families of Europe, and in that of a Spanish Lord, who spoke and writ intelligibly. For both of them being born deaf, they know not what Voice is, nor whether they have any; yet they speak the language of their Country; they make their thoughts understood by it, and have a design to express them by the words which they pronounce; 'tis not as we have said that they discern the sound of the words, but they know that there is I know not what, which forms itself by the motion of their tongue, and that by it, they make known their thoughts. So that they have the design and intention is to form the voice without distinctly knowing it, they make the organs move and know that from their action there will infallibly spring an effect, whose nature they are ignorant of, but whose utility is not unknown unto them. In the Arts there are a hundred examples, and in natural things, which may confirm this truth; but I shall give M. C. leave to divine them; and I shall content myself to ask him, if when he makes Theriacle, or such like an Antidote, his design is not by the mixture of the Drugs which compose it, to cause a secret and specific virtue to come in, which separately is not to be found in them; yet he knows not what it is, and knows it only by its effects. He therefore hath a design to do a thing which he knows but confusedly. It's the same with dumb persons, who have a design to form a voice without knowing it, and who know only that it's a thing which may express their passions. Now if dumb men have a design to form the voice which they know not; why should not Beasts who know it, and discern all the varieties thereof, have a design and intention to make use of it to express their thoughts? M.C. had therefore reason to have recourse to another example, which was more proper than all that to clear all the difficulties which in this matter are to be met withal. Let's see what it is. He says, p. 165. That a child at its birth cries without having any intention to communicate its thought; that a while after it laughs without any design of imparting to us its joy, and that consequently there are very different accents of the voice before we come to speech. This is that great example of a little child which ought to persuade us that Beasts speak after the same manner as he doth, and that they groan like him when they are sensible of ill, without thinking to cause any passions to come to their help. But truly we may rest assured that M. C's child is not strong enough to maintain the consequences he builds on this comparison; a man need but blow to cast it down, and after all, what we have before observed, it's sufficient to say, that indeed he hath not the design and intention which proceeds from the Understanding and from the Will. But that he hath those which are made by the imagination and by the Appetite. And that he also hath not the speech which is from the institution and common use of men; but that he hath a natural speech whereby he maketh known his passions. With this modification I shall consent that M. C. may compare the voice of Beasts with that of children. So as he will also be obliged to confess that this comparison is altogether useless to prove what he pretends. It matters not, Whether Beasts, Children, or dumb persons groan when any thing hurts them, without meaning to make any person come to their help. For besides that I have not said that Beasts groaned for that purpose, and that it's sufficient for me if they have an intention to groan, and by their complaints to make their grief known, there is a great deal of difference to think of doing of a thing, and to have a design to do it. A man in anger speaks all alone, striketh what he encounters, walks with large spaces, without thinking what he doth, yet he hath the design of doing so, since these actions cannot be done with the design and intention of so doing. But he makes no reflection hereon, or to speak better, his thought fixeth not on it, nor strongly applies itself elsewhere; and 'tis thereby that he thinks not of doing all those things, and that afterwards he doth not remember that he did them. So Beasts, Children and men which g●oan, have a design to make known the grief they resent, and the need they have to be succoured, but they think not of it, not only because the violence of the passion hinders them from staying their thoughts at aught else, besides the evil they feel, but also because the knowledge which they have of the end for which they groan, comes from Nature. And that this knowledge is so present, and so familiar to the soul, and forms itself so quickly, and so secretly, that it demands, nor respects no attention principally when there are other things which might employ it. Wherefore when we fall, or when we see a blow come, we sooner bring our hands before it then we are ware of it. It is not that the soul conducts not the hands, and consequently that it hath not the design to oppose them against it, to lessen the greatness of the fall or blow; but both the danger which so strongly possesseth her that she cannot apply herself to the things she doth but by stealth, and the knowledge she hath of the end for which she acts, are so natural to her that she is moved thereunto not without design, but even without any attention. However it be, we cannot set rules to the common voice of Beasts, according to the cries they make, when they are agitated with some vehement passion. M.C. is not ignorant that the trouble they cause precipitates all the designs of the soul, and often perverts and corrupts them. He knows that Speech which is destined for society, escapes those who are alone when they suffer any great motion of joy or displeasure; That a man in anger revengeth himself untimely, and strikes without cause whom he first meets; That violent desires cause the mouth to water, when notwithstanding it is unnecessary; and a hundred such like examples, which all the passions furnish. Without doubt there is a great difference betwixt the groan of a Dog when he is sensible of a strong grief, or when he would enter into a Chamber which is shut; in the first he scarce knows why he complains, but in the other he knows that it is to be let in, and undoubtedly he thinks to call some one to let him in. For we do not say as M.C. would have us believe, p. 166. That his design was to address his voice to other dogs to open it to him, because he hath no experience that dog's open doors, but that it is men which open them. To clear this truth, I would counsel him to come to Paris to consult with famous Montdory's Cat, which is so discreet that she never means to come into the Chamber when she finds it shut, she only draws a little bell which hangs at the door, and if at first sounding they come not, and open it, she redoubles it until she be let in. I doubt not but that after having known, that no body troubled themselves to teach her to draw the bell, and that of itself this wise Beast did learn to imitate those persons which she had seen do the same thing; I say I doubt not but he will judge either that the Cat itself would answer him, if he would interrogate her thereupon, that she had no design to call other Cats to open her the door, but those persons which were wont to do it. After all should a Dog or a Cat address its voice to other creatures, as in several encounters without doubt it may, and that they would not come to its aid, as M. C. says: what consequence could he draw from thence, but that it were deceived in its design, as it happens to many who unprofitably demand succour from those who either cannot or will not give it them? This is all what I had to say on what M.C. proposed concerning the language of Beasts, and which will also serve for an answer to what he objects against the other actions which they perform to make their thoughts known. For confessing that the gesture, the mind, and the look do it as well as the voice, he says as before, That it's without design, and that there are the effects of their passions, of which Reason and design do not participate. But it's easy thereby to see that he confounds the design of the Understanding with that of the Imagination, as he hath done before. Wherefore I shall send him back to what we have already answered. Since Beasts Speak, they must needs Reason. After all these proofs which evidently make it appear that Beasts communicate their thoughts, and speak together, had we not reason from thence to infer that they did reason? Not only because M. C. finds this consequence necessary, but also because they cannot make their intentions known to demand help the one of another, with out forming a perfect Ratiocination. Seeing that there are so many several judgements to be made in these encounters, so many progresses which the soul makes from causes to their effects, from signs to things signified, and from goods and evils present to those which are past and to come; that it's impossible but we must find it in the form and contexture of discourse. All what M. C. opposeth hereunto, is, That he hath shown how Beasts communicate their thoughts, and how this communication may be made without Ratiocination. But if my memory be good, all his proof reduceth itself into two Reasons which we have destroyed; the one that they have no speech; and the other, that they have no design or intention to make known their thoughts. In a word, we have proved the contrary, and consequently according to M. C's Maxim, had we no other marks of their Ratiocination, it must follow that they reason, since we have made it appear that they speak. As for the example which we produced of a Hen which calls her Chickens to impart unto them the grain she hath found, and that it must needs be that she had a design to make them come to show them their food, and to nourish them; And that they also must understand the voice which summons them, comprehend the thing which is signified by it, and hope for the good which it announceth. He answers only, That all this is done by instinct. But this is not to take away the difficulty; the question is to know whether all these actions are done with knowledge▪ For if it be so, we must also confess that there is a Ratiocination, since so many progresses of one knowledge to another, cannot be without discourse. And it matters not whether it be done by instinct; for as fear which comes from instinct is a true fear, and is of the same species as is that which comes from elsewhere; the Ratiocination which precedes the Instinct must needs be a true Ratiocination, and of the same nature with the other. Now it is not to be contested but that there is a knowledge in all the actions which the Hen and Chickens do in the example we brought, design and intention being therein, as hath been demonstrated. The Intention, forasmuch as it is the motion of the Appetite which tends toward good; & that the Hen and Chicken will do the things they do, and consequently form the design thereof, which is a motion of the Appetite tends toward the good. The design because it's a proposition which the faculty makes to execute what it finds useful, which ever goes before the intention, and which consequently precedes the desire of the Hen and of the Chicken; They agitate them with knowledge; that's to say, they conceive the things which they judge good, and that they from thence draw those consequences which we have observed; all the difference which the Instinct brings thereunto, is, that the senses furnish them not with all the things which they know, and the greatest part of the objects of their knowledge must come from elsewhere. But whence soever they come, they form images thereof, and afterwards unite them together, wherein all knowledge consists: And were there any exterior thing intervening amongst these actions, it would be as a help, and not as a principle, because they are vital actions, whose faculties which are born with the Animal, are the first and last causes. But we shall more carefully examine this in the Discourse of the Instinct. Let's then conclude and say with M. C. that as Reason is but an internal word, external Speech is inseparable from it; and if nature hath given to Animals internal speech, she must also have given them external speech. But yet since external speech is inseparable from the internal, it must needs be that if Nature hath given them external speech, she must also have given them internal speech, which is Reason. Now Animals have the thought as M.C. confesseth, and thought is nothing but internal Speech, as all our Master's consent, and therefore Animals have reason, since reason as M C. says, is but an internal speech, Besides, since we have demonstrated that they have external speech, it follows that if it be inseparable from internal speech, of necessity they must have Reason. Yet do not I ground on this all this ratiocination, and have only produced it to make it appear that M.C. hath as weakly established his own opinion, as he hath destroyed that of another man's. For to show you that Beasts do not speak, he makes use of a paralogism, which may be retorted against him, and proves quite the contrary to what he pretends. It's true, that Reason is an internal speech, but it is not true that all Internal speech is Reason. And had no Beasts Reason it would not follow they might not have external speech, because external speech expresseth as well simple as composed thoughts. But I shall say further, That although they have the internal speech, it's no consequence that they must have the external speech, since there are Animals which are dumb which forbear not to have internal speech. Thus internal speech is not inseparable from external, as he says; thus the consequence which he draws from so ill a Ratiocination cannot but be very ill. Beasts which run to the cry of others, know it to be a means to call them. The examples he produceth in pursuit to prove That when Beasts run to the cry of others, they know not that this cry is a means, or that it's used to call them; These examples I say, do not conclude better than the rest of his Reasons. For besides that they are drawn from another gender of things than those we speak of, and which consequently cannot decide the matter in question; some do suppose that Judgement and Ratiocination cannot be made without time; which we have already demonstrated, is not always necessary. And from the rest we can infer nothing but that the judgement and the discourse of the Understanding concur not to the actions of Beasts, which is a useless and ridiculous consequence, since all the world knows that they want Understanding. In effect, the first example is, of a man who going to see his friend, with an intention to laugh with him, finds his eyes in fire, and his face awry for this sight surpriseth and stops them, before he hath time to discourse and so much as to judge that he is in wrath. But he presupposeth, as we have said, That such a man must have time to judge and to reason, which is nothing necessary; for at the very moment he sees the marks of anger, he may judge and conclude that his friend is angry. Indeed he may doubt whether those marks proceed from that passion, and so may suspend his judgement; but it would still be true that he reasoned; forasmuch as to doubt, a man must reason, and have reasons on both sides which must hold the mind in suspense. The second is, Of those who knowing the sweetness of some persons minds, forbear not when they accost them to resent some straint which the severity of their countenance causeth. For says he, this constraint is not an effect of their judgement, no more than the respect which at first we have for a man of a good mind, or well apparelled, although we know that his inside is not answerable to his appearance, nor to his . It is not indeed the Understanding which judgeth and concludes upon the occasions; 'tis the imagination which lets itself be won by appearances, and thereby judgeth of things. For since that seeing a man of a good mind, we find ourselves as it were obliged to be civil to him; It's a consequence drawn from what appears to our eyes. Now 'tis not the Understanding which judgeth so, as M. C. will have it, it must needs therefore be the imagination. So that this example serves for nothing but to show that Beasts perform aims, which the Understanding doth not contribute unto, because it excludes not the judgement of the imagination, but only that of the superior part which is not here in question. The third is of a child which cries when the Nurse shows it a sour look, without judging thereby that she is in an ill humour, and threatens it; its sufficient that the gesture is extraordinary, and that all that is extraordinary astonisheth the imagination, and anger's it. But it is not sufficient thus crudely and indigently to advance things. He should prove that this Child makes no judgement; for I hold absolutely the contrary; For that he cannot cry without resenting the motion of some angry passion, and that passion never forms itself but the soul must have the knowledge of the object which excites it, whether it be true, or whether she imagine it to be so; and in pursuit that she doth not the actions with the circumstances, we have observed in several places of the third part of this Work, which she can never do without reasoning, as we have showed in those places; and therefore it must needs be that the child which cries must not only make judgement, but also must needs reason. For although M.C. says, That it's sufficient if the Nurse's gesture be extraordinary to this child, and that all what is extraordinary astonisheth the imagination, and anger's it; I shall confess although this require a restriction, there being many things which are extraordinary to children which anger them not. But this is to fall again on the same difficulty, because there extraordinary things anger not the imagination, but that she must make a Ratiocination, as elsewhere we have declared. And this Answer aught to serve to what he hath added, p. 171. That the Passions are contagious; than there need but one sad person in a company to make them all of the same humour; and that as joy makes a man sing and dance without design, so also singing and dancing makes a man rejoice. For says he, that all these things are done without discourse, and without Ratiocination that all troublesome or pleasing objects move the Appetite without the intention of Reason; and that it's so that we make little children laugh when they laugh; that sigh and groan, and even musical tunes make such an impression on our minds; that to conclude, we make children, and even men themselves turn their heads when they are called, before those have the use of reason, or those the time to reason, and often even against their intention. All this I say is only to be understood or the superior and intellectual Reason, and doth not include that which the imagination may and aught to form in these encounters. Wherefore all the consequences he draws from thence, & which he applies to the actions of Beasts, are vain, and concern not the difficulty in hand. I leave what he saith, pag. 173. That there is no likelihood that Beasts should not move themselves unless by the force of Syllogisms; and before they should be drawn by a voice, they must make at least twenty five Ratiocinations. For besides that his calculation is not very just, we have answered to these kind of objections in several places of this work, and principally in the third Chapter of the third Part. And as for what he maintains, That there follows no inconvenience to say, That this mutual intelligence which is to be found in Animals of the same Species, proceeds altogether from the Instinct: We consent thereunto, so as he will but be better instructed concerning the nature of the Instinct than he is, and remember himself of what we lately said. That Instinct hinders not but that actions might be done with knowledge, and that the Animal is not the principal and immediate cause thereof. Let's conclude with that fair Observation M.C. hath made p. 173. upon what I have said, That he that should well mind the language of Birds, would make no difficulty to believe that Tiresias, Melampus, and Apollonius hath formerly understood it. For he hath unlinked this observation out of its place, that he might take the liberty to make on it the longer a censure, and hath placed it at the end of his Chapter, as a Morrer-peece of his munition, and of his address. And truly I confess, that he is not ignorant in Fables, and that he very well knows the adventures of Tiresias, and the genealogy of Melampus. And I also profess he makes as ill use of the Artifice of an Orator, who seeks to render odious or ridiculous what is proposed by his Adversary. For who is there, who knowing that I speak of Tiresias and Melampus, which are names only to be found in the Fable, as M. C. assures us, would not with him say, That a cause hath very great need of help, when it makes use of such base authorities? But to defend myself from his Artifice, and to disabuse those he might have persuaded, I have nothing else to say, but that although I have spoken of Tiresias, of Melampus, and Apollonius, I have not made use of their authority, neither did I assure that what was spoken of them was false or true. It was also a thing which to me aught to be indifferent, and it were, I might reasonably say that who would well observe the language of Birds, would make no difficulty to believe that they had formerly understood it. There are but few things in Fables, whence as much may not be said, when a truth is discovered which hath relation to it. Why may we not say after the experiences we have seen in our time, some Girls that have changed Sex, that there were no difficulty to believe what the Poets have related of Iphis? Yet it's a name to be found only in the Fable, no more than that of Tiresias. And no man will say that in this encounter we use the authority of Poets, and the example of Iphis to prove that this change may be done naturally, since on the contrary it's the experience we bring which gives a likelihood to what they have said. So far from it is from it that my cause should need so idle an authority, and the example of Tiresias and Melampus which are only to be found in Poets, that its that which authoriseth them, and which of fabulous which they were, renders them credible; and any equitable person may judge, that its a consequence which I draw from the truths which I have established, and not as M. C. says, that its a proof and an authority with which I would maintain them. This is all I had to say on the third Objection which was made against the reason of Animals. There remains yet one of the Instinct, which should terminate this discourse; But indeed it deserves an entire Volume, and there are so many things to be examined, and there are so many things which rob me of the time I need; that being not able so readily to put my last hand to it, I thought that M C. might no longer languish in the expectation he had I ought to divide my answer, and give him that which concerns the Raciotination of Beasts, till I could end that of the Instinct. And indeed had it been ready, it would have troubled my conscience to have afflicted M C. with the sight of so great a Volume. Nay, even I should have had the same apprehension to have kept off our Judges by the length of our indifference, and with so great a number of pieces which were to be examined. After all, the retrenchment I make of that part of our contest will not wrong this which I now present. For were it true, that Beasts did not reason in those actions which they do by Instinct, there are several others enough in which Instinct hath no share, which evidently make it appear that they reason, as those acts which they do out of custom by instruction, and generally all those which they do with knowledge. So the proof of their Ratiocination remains all entire, although we speak not of the Instinct, and what ever might be said of it. FINIS.