- Seventeenth-century materialism: Gassendi and Hobbes
- Seventeenth-century materialism: Gassendi and Hobbes T.Sorell In the English-speaking world Pierre Gassendi is probably best known as the author of a set of Objections to Descartes’s Meditations. These Objections, the fifth of seven sets collected by Mersenne, are relatively long and full, and suggestive of a number of distinctively Gassendist doctrines—for example his nominalism, his insistence on distinguishing mathematical objects from physical ones, and his doubt whether we can know the natures of things, even our selves. Perhaps more prominent than these doctrines, however, is a kind of materialism. Gassendi adopts the ironic form of address ‘O Mind’ in challenging Descartes’s claim that one’s nature has nothing to do with body. He insists that all ideas have their source in the senses, and he sketches an account of perception that dispenses with a role for a pure intellect but emphasizes the contribution of the brain. In physics he was partial to explanation in terms of the motions of matter, ultimately the motions of material atoms. These points suggest that Gassendi was a mechanistic materialist of some kind, and they link him in intellectual history with Hobbes, who proposed that physical as well as psychological phenomena were nothing more than motions in different kinds of body. The grounds for associating Gassendi and Hobbes are contextual as well as textual. They both lived in Paris in the 1640s. They were close friends and active in the circle of scientists, mathematicians and theologians round Mersenne. They were both at odds, intellectually and personally, with Descartes. They read one another’s manuscripts, apparently with approval. There are even supposed to be important similarities of phrasing in their writings about morals and politics. Gassendi wrote a tribute to Hobbes’s first published work, De Cive,and Hobbes was reported in a letter as saying that Gassendi’s system was as big as Aristotle’s but much truer. Whatever the extent of the mutual admiration and influence, it did not produce a particularly marked similarity of outlook except in psychology, where each developed strongly materialistic lines of thought, and even in psychology the match between their views is not perfect. Unlike Hobbes’s materialism, Gassendi’s cannot be said to be wholehearted. He held that there was an incorporeal as well as a corporeal or vegetative part of the soul, and he ascribed to the incorporeal part cognitive operations that in some respects duplicated, and in other respects surpassed, those of the corporeal part. Hobbes denied that there were such things as incorporeal souls, and he would have doubted the conceivability of an incorporeal part of the soul. His theory of knowledge invoked no purely psychological capacities and he recognized no purely spiritual entities. The different materialisms of Hobbes and Gassendi also fit into rather different systems of philosophy. Both systems were motivated by a repudiation of Aristotle and a desire to provide philosophical grounding for the new science of the seventeenth century, but Gassendi’s provides that grounding in the form of a theory attributed to, or at least inspired by, an ancient authority, while Hobbes’s does not. The ancient authority in question was Epicurus. Probably Gassendi revised Epicurean thought to a greater degree than he revived it; nevertheless, he took himself to be engaged in a humanist enterprise of bringing back to life a badly understood, unfairly maligned and long-discredited way of thinking. Hobbes’s system was in no sense intended to rehabilitate traditional thought. It was supposed to lay out the new elements of a new natural philosophy and an even newer and largely Hobbesian civil philosophy. INTRODUCTION The different intellectual development of the two writers makes it surprising that the philosophies of Gassendi and Hobbes converge as much as they do. Gassendi was the younger of the two by about four years, born in Provence in 1592. At Digne, Ruez and Aix he received a thorough scholastic education in mathematics, philosophy and theology during which, at the age of 12, he began to train for the priesthood. He was a very talented pupil, even something of a child prodigy. At the age of 16 he was a teacher of rhetoric at Digne. He received the doctorate in theology from Avignon six years later, and in 1616, when he was 24, he won competitions for two chairs at the university of Aix, one in theology and one in philosophy. He chose the chair in philosophy. Though his career as a teacher was cut short when the university was transferred to the control of the Jesuits in 1622, Gassendi was occupied for virtually the whole of his working life with theological, philosophical, historical and scientific studies. He conducted these to begin with as a member of the chapter, and eventually as provost, of the cathedral at Digne, and at intervals under the patronage of wealthy and powerful friends in Provence and Paris. By the time he came into regular contact with Hobbes in the early 1640s he had already lectured and written extensively about the whole of Aristotle’s philosophy, had carried out a number of astronomical observations, as well as investigations in biology and mechanics, had corresponded with and travelled to meet some eminent Copernicans, had read widely in natural philosophy and had engaged in numerous erudite researches concerning the lives and thought of Epicurus and other ancient authorities. He had also worked on reconciling the scientific theories that he admired with his Catholicism. Hobbes did not have a comparable grounding in the sciences or philosophy. Prior to 1629 or 1630 he is supposed to have been completely innocent of Euclid. When he took up residence in Paris in 1640 he had a respectable grounding in the classics but a still not very deep knowledge of the elements of geometry, or the new astronomy or mechanics. He was over 40 before he took a serious interest in natural science or its methods, and he was probably over 50 before he began to articulate a considered general philosophy of his own. He had published a translation of Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian Wars in 1628. He had completed a treatise on psychology, morals and politics shortly before leaving England for Paris in 1640. He may have composed a fairly substantial optical work in the late 1630s, and a socalled ‘short tract’ on first principles in natural philosophy as early as 1630: the date of the one and the authorship of the other are not entirely certain. But it was apparently after arriving in Paris rather than before that Hobbes engaged in any concentrated scientific research. That he developed an interest in natural philosophy at all was probably a kind of accident. For most of his life he was attached to the households of successive Earls of Devonshire as tutor, travelling companion, secretary, confidant, political adviser, keeper of accounts and, finally, elderly retainer. From 1608, when he first entered the service of the Devonshires, to 1629, when he temporarily took employment elsewhere, he seems not to have had scientific interests. At Oxford he had received an arts degree. As tutor he gave instruction in rhetoric, logic and morals. In his spare time he studied classical poetry and history. It was not until he left the Devonshires and was employed for two years as the travelling companion of a baronet’s son on the European Grand Tour that he happened to come upon an open copy of Euclid in a gentleman’s study. From then on, according to Aubrey’s biography, Hobbes was in love with geometry. On this journey to the Continent also he is supposed to have stopped for some months in Paris in 1629. It was then that he met Mersenne, according to the latter’s correspondence, probably becoming acquainted with some of the scientific researches of Mersenne’s circle.1 Another episode at about this time is supposed to have made him curious about natural science. Either during the Grand Tour or shortly afterwards Hobbes was present at a discussion of sense perception in which it emerged that no one present was able to say what sense perception was. His best scientific work—in optics—probably had its origins in thinking that was prompted by this discussion. After the Grand Tour Hobbes’s interest in science found outlets in England. When he returned to the service of the Devonshires in 1631, he started to come into frequent contact with a branch of his master’s family who lived at Welbeck, near the Devonshire family home of Hardwick Hall. For the Welbeck Cavendishes, who were headed by the Earl of Newcastle, he performed some of the duties that he had been discharging for the Earls of Devonshire. He became their adviser and agent and did other odd jobs. These Cavendishes had scientific interests. The Earl of Newcastle is known to have sent Hobbes to London in the early 1630s to find a copy of a book of Galileo’s. The Earl’s younger brother, Charles, had an even greater interest in science, and acted as a kind of patron and distributor of scientific writing, notably the writings of a scientist called Walter Warner. Hobbes was one of those who gave his opinion of the writings that Charles Cavendish circulated. Cavendish also had contacts with many Continental scientists, including Mersenne and Descartes. Hobbes accompanied the third Earl of Devonshire on another Grand Tour from 1634 to 1636. He probably met Galileo in Italy and once again saw Mersenne when he passed through Paris. His activities in the 1630s, however, did not provide him with a real scientific education, and it may seem surprising that when he renewed his contact with Mersenne in the 1640s he should have been treated as the equal of people whose knowledge of natural philosophy and mathematics was far greater than his own. Perhaps his knowledge mattered less than his enthusiasm. Hobbes shared with the intellectuals that he met in Paris a profound admiration for Galileo, and a belief that deductive methods could be applied to fields outside natural science. He was applying them himself in psychology, ethics and politics, subjects that Mersenne especially was keen to see placed on a scientific footing. Then, apart from what he had in common intellectually with members of Mersenne’s circle, many of them found him an agreeable personality. It was one thing for Hobbes to be accepted as a full member of Mersenne’s circle, however, and another for his views to be endorsed. His extreme materialism could not be reconciled with orthodox theology; his views about the necessity of subordinating the ecclesiastical to the secular power could not have been accepted by members of the circle who were subject to the Catholic authorities. Mersenne and Gassendi, who were both Catholic churchmen, needed to keep their distance in matters of doctrine. Mersenne managed to do this while at the same time acting as a publicist for Hobbes’s hypotheses in natural philosophy and a promoter of his political treatise, De Cive. His method was to be vague in identifying the author of the hypotheses, and discreet in his praise for Hobbes’s civil philosophy. When Mersenne published any of Hobbes’s work or reported it to correspondents, Hobbes was usually referred to merely as ‘l’Anglais’. At other times Mersenne exercised an influence from behind the scenes. He encouraged the publication in 1647 of a second edition of Hobbes’s political treatise, De Cive: the first, limited and anonymous printing had been a success in Paris five years earlier. However, Sorbière, who saw the work through the press, was instructed by Mersenne not to publish his own or Gassendi’s letters praising the book. In Gassendi’s case, the need to keep Hobbes at arm’s length was made urgent by the parallels between his and Hobbes’s responses to the Meditations. It is also possible that during the 1640s Gassendi saw in Hobbes’s writing precisely the combination of atheistic materialism and determinism that a too sympathetic treatment of Epicurus might have committed Gassendi himself to, and that, in order to avoid this, he strengthened the theological ‘corrections’ to the doctrine.2 Though they were friends, then, and though their views coincided up to a point, Hobbes and Gassendi also had some unsurprising doctrinal differences. We shall see more of the differences to do with theology and materialism later. But there were also others. They differed in important ways in their attitudes toward the ancients. Gassendi was a critic of Aristotle throughout his intellectual life and a critic also of the neo-Aristotelian doctrines of the scholastic curriculum. In the preface to his first published work, Exercitationes Paradoxicae Adversus Aristoteleos, he says that he was disappointed that the philosophy that he was taught brought him none of the freedom from vexation that writers such as Cicero promised the subject could provide. Still, Gassendi did not believe that a better overall philosophy was to be found in his own age, and those of his contemporaries whom he did admire, such as Pierre Charron, made use of ancient rather than modern doctrine to criticize Aristotle. In Charron’s case the ancient doctrine employed was pyrrhonism. Gassendi followed Charron’s lead in his lecture courses in the university of Aix. Pyrrhonist arguments were used in criticism of the whole range of Aristotle’s philosophy, and the material for these lectures was the basis in turn for the first volume of the Exercitationes, which appeared in 1624. Book II of this work contained arguments suggesting that science in Aristotle’s sense, that is, demonstrative knowledge of the necessity of observed effects based on knowledge of the natures or essences of substances, was beyond human capacities, while a more modest science, presupposing no essences of substances and no knowledge of essences and ending up only in probabilistic conclusions about effects, was possible. Books IIIV were devoted to would-be refutations, inspired by pyrrhonism, of Aristotelian doctrines in physics, astronomy and biology. Book VI was an attack on Aristotle’s metaphysics. Finally, Book VII expounded the non-Aristotelian moral philosophy of Epicurus. A second volume of the Exercitationes was planned, but it was suppressed by Gassendi for reasons that still are not well understood. He may have become dissatisfied with sceptical arguments, believing that they fuelled a potentially endless controversy about Aristotelian science without putting anything in its place. He may have come to the conclusion that others, such as Patrizi, had already criticized Aristotle so thoroughly as to make more of the Exercitationes redundant. He may have found in Mersenne’s writings a more sophisticated and satisfactory approach to the questioning of Aristotle.3 Or again, he may have taken his cue from the increasingly severe reaction of the educational establishment in Paris to challengers of the learned authorities: in 1624 the Sorbonne managed to prevent the public defence in Paris of a number of theses against Aristotle. Whatever his reasons for holding back the second volume, Gassendi did not cease to make use of the ancients in working out an anti- Aristotelian philosophy of science. Within a few years of the publication of the first volume, and perhaps on the advice of Mersenne, he was already studying Epicurus and contemplating the rehabilitation of his philosophy as a rival to Aristotle’s. He was confirmed in this plan by a journey he made in December 1628. He travelled to Holland to meet, among others, scientists sympathetic to the Copernican approach to astronomy. The one who most impressed him was the physician and savant Isaac Beeckman, who ten years earlier had been Descartes’s mentor. Beeckman discussed the physical problem of free fall with Gassendi and spoke with approval of Epicurus. It was apparently after this meeting4 that Gassendi began to think of publishing a treatise favourable to Epicurus. That this work on Epicurus was supposed to take further the anti- Aristotelianism of what he had already published is suggested by the fact that at first Gassendi planned to bring out a demythologized life of Epicurus and an apology for Epicureanism as an appendix to the Exercitationes. As early as 1630, however, this modest project had given way to the much more ambitious one of writing a perfectly comprehensive exposition and defence of Epicurus, something that could articulate a positive philosophy to rival Aristotle’s but without its pretensions to demonstrativeness or to acquaintance with essences that transcended appearance. Now a little later than Gassendi Hobbes also began to plan a large-scale work: an exposition of the ‘elements’ of a non-Aristotelian philosophy. Perhaps by the late 1630s he had completed an outline that divided the elements into three sections, on body, man and citizen. None of these, however, was derived from traditional philosophy. Indeed, when it came to the elements expounded in the first section, Hobbes claimed that they could be collected together by reflection on the mind’s contents in the abstract. In the Epistle Dedicatory of De Corpore, the book that opened the trilogy, Hobbes likened the process of deriving the concepts of first philosophy to the creation described in Genesis. From the inchoate and undifferentiated material of sense, distinction and order would be created in the form of a list of definitions of the most general concepts for understanding body. In arriving at the foundations of his philosophy de novo, Hobbes was closer to Descartes than to Gassendi. As in Descartes, an entirely ahistorical and abstract starting point is adopted and this proclaims the novelty of the philosophy subsequently developed, and its independence of the approved learned authors, Aristotle, Ptolemy and Galen. The intention of breaking with such authorities was underlined in Hobbes’s writings in his account of correct teaching or demonstration. ‘The infallible sign of teaching exactly, and without error’ Hobbes writes in The Elements of Law, ‘is this: that no man hath ever taught the contrary…’ (Pt 1, ch. 13, iii, 65). Or, as he goes on to put it, ‘the sign of [teaching] is no controversy’ (ibid., 66). Hobbes goes on to explain what it is about the content and format of exact teaching or demonstration that keeps controversy from breaking out. He considers the practice of successful teachers and observes that they proceed from most low and humble principles, evident even to the meanest capacity; going on slowly, and with most scrupulous ratiocination (viz.) from the imposition of names they infer the truth of their first proposition; and from two of the first, a third, and from two of the three a fourth, and so on. (ibid.) Practitioners of this method are called ‘the mathematici’, and of the two sorts of men commonly called learned, they alone really are learned. The other sort are they that take up maxims from their education, and from the authority of men, or of authors, and take the habitual discourse of the tongue for ratiocination; and these are called the dogmatici. (EL, Pt 1, ch. 13, iv, 67) These men are the breeders of controversy, according to Hobbes, breeders of controversy precisely because they take their opinions undigested from authorities and act as mouthpieces for views they have not worked out from ‘low, humble and evident’ principles. He seems to be referring to the same class of men at the beginning of De Corpore when he speaks of people ‘who, from opinions, though not vulgar, yet full of uncertainty and carelessly received, do nothing but dispute and wrangle, like men that are not well in their wits’ (ch. i, i, E I 2). And in the same spirit there is the remark in Leviathan that ‘he that takes up conclusions on the trust of authors, and doth not fetch them up from the first item in every reckoning, which are the significations of names settled by definitions, loses his labour, and does not know anything but merely believeth’ (ch. 5, E III 32). Hobbes blames the dogmatici for the backward state of moral and civil philosophy before De Cive, and he traces the then modest development of natural philosophy to a misconception that had prevailed for a long time about how far the methods of the mathematici could be applied. The misconception was due to the Romans and Greeks (cf. De corp. ch. 6, xvi, E I 86), who wrongly believed that demonstration or ratiocination was only applicable to geometrical figures, as if it were the figures that made the conclusions of geometrical demonstrations evident. What in fact made the geometrical conclusions of writers like Euclid so compelling was not the use of figures but the use of true principles as the starting-points of geometrical demonstrations. Were other doctrines to start from similar principles, they too would enjoy conclusiveness and truth. As Hobbes writes in De Corpore, ‘there is no reason but that if true definitions were premissed in all sorts of doctrines, the demonstrations also would be true’ (ibid., E I 87). The idea that ‘all sorts’ of doctrine might be true, that is, that doctrines on all sorts of topics might be true, if they were to begin from true principles, has an epistemological counterpart: demonstrative knowledge of all sorts of truth might be acquired, were the knowledge to be the result of reasoning from definitions known to be true. GASSENDI When Hobbes warns against relying on authors and insists on reaching conclusions from evident first principles, he may seem to reflect the intellectual style of early modern philosophy better than Gassendi does by his use of Epicurus. But this impression may have more to do with a certain kind of historiography than with the facts of intellectual life in the 1600s. The usual histories of this period of philosophy emphasize novelty, revolution and methodological principles that seem to prepare the way for nineteenth- and twentieth-century science. Bacon’s, Galileo’s and Descartes’s writings lend themselves particularly well to this conception of a time of decisive intellectual change, a time that ushered in modernity and saw out tradition, and these writings tend to be discussed to the exclusion of works of other seventeenthcentury figures—even figures whom the canonical moderns respected and took for allies, such as Gassendi. The standard histories may not only be criticized for overlooking the celebrity and influence that Gassendi enjoyed in his own day; they may not only be criticized for making this celebrity hard to understand once it is pointed out; they may also be criticized for missing the strengths of the traditional form of presentation used by Gassendi in the context of the early seventeenth century. Many of those who promoted the new science and attacked the old philosophy did so in books that they knew would meet hostility from the church and the schoolmen. By choosing for some of his works the literary form of the erudite rehabilitation of an ancient authority like Epicurus, Gassendi was employing the methods that the doctors of the church had used to appropriate Aristotle. Again, by being comprehensive in his treatment of Epicurus’s critics Gassendi gave the impression of being an even-handed exponent of his chosen author, in contrast with sycophantic followers of Aristotle. He discussed the views of Epicurus in the context of the antagonisms between the ancient Greek schools of philosophy, including the Peripatetics, and so he was able to revive a sense of Aristotle and his school as representing just one way of thinking among others during a period in which Greek philosophy was sectarian, and when no one sect had any special authority. Again, by showing that the genuine Epicurus had been completely lost in the lore about Epicurus, Gassendi was able to introduce to intellectual life a virtually new figure, not just a relatively familiar one who deserved a second hearing. Apart from the novelty of the Epicurus that Gassendi revived, there was the relevance of his views to the topical issues of the anomalies in Aristotle’s physics, and the significance of scepticism. In relation to scepticism, Epicureanism seemed to claim less, and so to be less vulnerable to sceptical criticism, than Aristotelianism. This was the lesson of Gassendi’s exposition of Epicurean canonics as a preferred logic. In relation to seventeenth-century physics, Epicurean explanations avoided some of the anomalies that Aristotelian explanations were increasingly embarrassed by.5 At the same time, it could be regarded as a comprehensive natural philosophy.Finally, Gassendi was able to give special prominence to views, for example about whether the world was eternal, that showed Epicurus in a better theological light than Aristotle. Of course Epicurus needed theological correction; but so did Aristotle. That it made sense for Gassendi to present ideas favourable to the new science in the form of erudite commentary does not mean that he hit on the most satisfactory form for such a commentary, or even one that was adequate in his own eyes. His principal work on Epicurus, Animadversiones in Decimum Librum Diogenis Laertii (1649), was disorderly and ran to three volumes. Gassendi allowed it to appear with great reluctance. The posthumously edited Syntagma Philosophicum (1658), which is generally taken to be the culmination of his work on Epicurus, is a commentary in part and contains material from redactions intended to result in a commentary, but it is also and primarily a statement of the philosophy Gassendi himself arrived at from a starting point in Epicurus. It is known that he revised the manuscripts incorporated into the Syntagma many times over a period of decades and that he tried out many different ways of putting together his material, never finding one that was satisfactory.6 The point is that it was reasonable, even shrewd, to choose some form of erudite commentary as a medium for his ideas, given the hostile elements in the audience he was addressing. Descartes, who in the Discourse and the Meditations experimented with quite different and innovative literary styles for the presentation of his ideas, and who was either misunderstood or criticized for not being explicit enough as a result, himself turned to something like a scholastic presentation in the Principles of Philosophy, which was much more widely cited by his followers and critics in the second half of the seventeenth century than the other two works. And he toyed with the idea of writing an abrégé of a summa philosophiae by Eustachius a Sancto Paulo as a vehicle for some of his thought. What were the main Epicurean ideas that Gassendi expounded? In logic, the idea that ‘canons’ or precepts for conceiving the real and finding the true were an antidote to the complexities of Aristotelian dialectic, and the idea that we might have, through signs, some access to what otherwise are relatively unknowable things beyond sensory experience; in physics, the idea that the universe is composed of atoms of matter in the void, and that the substances composed of these atoms do not realize purposes intrinsic to those substances; in ethics, the idea that well-being is an unperturbed state, in particular a state of freedom from pain or of elevated pleasure. To see how these ideas were adapted to the requirements of a ‘modern’ philosophy, it is necessary to turn to Syntagma Philosophicum. Logic Logic occupies the First Part of the Syntagma, and Epicurus is mentioned in different connections in each of the two introductory books. In the first of the two, De origine et varietate logica, Epicurus’s canons for cognitive and practical judgement are listed as part of a survey of existing logical systems. The second book, De logicae fine, on the goal of logic, makes clear the significance of Epicurus’s canons for cognitive judgement. Gassendi says (ch. 4) that the canons reveal Epicurus to be one of those who held, contrary to the sceptics, that criteria of truth and falsity exist, and that they are provided by both sense and intellect. Chapter 5 of De logicae fine defends the anti-sceptical claim that, with the help of signs determined by the criteria of truth and falsehood, some knowledge is possible. Among the things that are supposed to be knowable by sense are the shapes of closely observed things, that is, things observed with allowances made for the distorting effects of media like water or the failings of sight at long distances. As for things knowable by signs determined by reason—indicative signs—Gassendi explains what he means with the help of examples: The indicative sign pertains to things naturally hidden, not because it indicates a thing in such a way that the thing can ever be perceived and the sign can be visibly linked to the thing itself, so that it could be argued that where the sign is the thing is too, but on the contrary, because it is of such a nature that it could not exist unless the thing exists, and therefore whenever it exists, the thing also exists. An illustration of this is sweat as it indicates the existence of pores in the skin, for pores cannot be seen; still sweat is of such a nature that it would not appear upon the skin unless pores existed through which it could pass from inside to outside. Such also is vital action as it indicates the existence of the soul, and motion as it indicates the existence of the void…. (Brush, 323) These signs, when properly made use of in reasoning, are supposed to make possible a kind of science, though not one with the pretensions of the science described by Aristotelian dogmatists. That this antisceptical view is seen by Gassendi as Epicurean is shown by the attribution to Epicurus of a virtually identical position in an earlier manuscript commentary (IL, 256–7). Though Gassendi seems to follow Epicurus in his views about the availability of criteria of truth, there are aspects of Epicurean logic that he finds unappealing. In Chapter 6 of De logicae fine he criticizes Epicurus for failing to state rules of deduction, and then blames some of Epicurus’s mistaken conjectures in natural philosophy on this omission. He also complains that ‘the rules for organizing thought clearly are…lacking’ (Brush, 360), and he seems to suggest that Epicurus was wrong to suppose that ethics had to make use of criteria other than those of sense and reason (ibid.). Sense has a bearing on ethical questions, he says, because pleasure and pain are among its objects (ibid.). Gassendi’s disagreements with Epicurus are reflected in the logic that he himself puts forward. He borrows only selectively from Epicurus, just as he picks and chooses from the other logics he has surveyed, logics ranging from Aristotle’s to, in his own day, those of Ramus, Bacon and Descartes. Gassendi’s positive logical doctrine is set out in the Institutio Logica, the part of the Syntagma that follows De logicae fine and that serves as transition from logic to physics. The Institutio is in four parts, corresponding to the four ways in which good thinking brings one closer to the truth and so to achieving the goal of logic. There are canons for (1) forming clear ideas, (2) forming propositions, (3) making sound inferences and (4) ordering or organizing correctly, by which Gassendi means methods of discovery and of instruction. Of the four sets of canons, it is the first and last that have the most philosophical interest. The third set consists almost entirely of rules for simplifying Aristotelian syllogistic. Gassendi has moved from the extreme hostility to syllogistic that he expressed in the Exercitationes to a guarded acceptance of its value in the last chapter of De logicae fine, and in the canons he suggests ways of improving Aristotelian logic rather than arguing that it should be scrapped altogether. The tedium of the rules for simplifying syllogistic is relieved by canon 16, which has some deflationary remarks about the strength and source of knowledge conferred by so-called ‘scientific syllogisms’. These remarks are in keeping with Gassendi’s adoption in De logicae fine of a via media between dogmatism and scepticism. The second set of canons—concerned with forming propositions—is once again mainly on Aristotelian lines. The remaining two sets of canons, on forming clear ideas and on method respectively, have closer connections with Gassendi’s physics than the other two sets, and also reflect more clearly the influence of Epicurean canons that Gassendi has discussed earlier in the logical books of the Syntagma. The first set is to do with ideas or images of things in abstraction from the operations of affirming or denying propositions about those things. Canons 1, 7, 8 and 18 tell us what we are to aim at in our ideas. Accuracy and vividness are desirable (canons 1 and 10); the greater the number of things of which we have ideas the better (canon 18); and, above all, ideas should be ‘complete’ (ibid.). Completeness in singular ideas or ideas of individuals is a matter of the comprehensiveness of parts and attributes registered: Since a particular thing…is also some kind of whole made up of its own parts, just as a man is made up of a head, trunk, arms, legs and the other smaller parts from which these are made, and is also some kind of subject endowed with its own attributes, adjuncts, properties or qualities, just as the same man is endowed with size, shape, colour, strength, wit, memory, virtue, wisdom and so on, it is quite clear that the idea of this man will be the more complete the more parts and attributes of him it represents. (IL, 91) Gassendi recommends ‘anatomy, chemistry and the other sciences’ as means of acquiring more perfect singular ideas. More perfect general ideas are acquired the more particulars are known to be covered by a given genus. An idea of mankind that is at first confined to Europeans, Africans and Asians becomes more perfect if it comes to extend to Americans. In the ideal case an idea of a kind of thing can serve as its definition (canon 15). Completeness in ideas can be achieved only within the limits allowed by our ways of forming ideas, which Gassendi stipulates in the first few canons of the logic. All our ideas come from the senses and are in the first place ideas of individual things. Mental operations rather than the external world are responsible for our general, analogical and chimerical ideas (canon 3). Finally, our ideas can only aspire to perfection or completeness if we are aware of the way in which the senses deceive us and keep in mind these sources of deception as we form ideas (canons 11–14). The fourth set of canons in Gassendi’s logic have a different relation to the physics. Instead of speaking of operations of the mind that physics illuminates, they prescribe methods of ordering thought that regulate physics and other sciences. Only the first four canons govern investigation in science; the remaining ten are to do with teaching what one learns. Canon 4 reintroduces the Epicurean criteria of truth: judgements are to be submitted to sense and reason (IL, 160). Canon 1 recommends the use of signs as a way of finding the key or middle term in the solution of questions. Canon 3 introduces the distinction between analysis or resolution and synthesis or composition, suggesting that whichever has been used to arrive at an answer, the other should be used to check it. When he comes to the precepts governing the presentation of one’s findings for the purposes of instruction Gassendi produces by way of illustration a description of how to teach physics that is hard not to take as a blueprint for the next major part of the Syntagma. He is making the point that in the sciences, as in the productive arts, it pays to teach as if you were explaining how something was made; in the case of natural science, how the universe is made up from its parts: Thus a physicist who is giving instruction in the natural sciences places as a model before our eyes, like the larger and smaller parts of a building, only on an extended scale, the structure of nature or the machine of the world, the sky, the earth, all that they contain, and analysing them into their smallest possible components takes these as the primary units which go to make up the whole. His next step is to inquire into the precise nature and pattern of the various combinations responsible for the formation of the sun, the moon and the other heavenly bodies, and in the same way the earth and all the many inanimate, animate and sentient beings…until he has unfolded the entire panoply of the world like a man who has explored and thoroughly inspected a house which someone else has built. (IL, 162–3) An order very similar to the one prescribed is apparent in the sections on physics in the Syntagma. Physics Gassendi’s physics begins with questions about the number of worlds, the existence of the world-soul and the known locations of the known parts of the world. This helps to define in a preliminary way the scheme of nature that physics is concerned with. He goes on to consider the metaphysical status of place and time. From Galileo’s results concerning falling bodies he knew that physical effects could be a function of elapsed time or space traversed, and yet none of the traditional categories for real things—substance, attribute, corporeal or incorporeal —seemed to classify place and time adequately: Gassendi opens his physics with reasons why the traditional categories are unsuitable and reasons why place and space and duration are real and similar in their incorporeal natures. He then tries to play down his evident departure from Aristotelian physics by saying that what he calls space is just the same as ‘that space which is generally called imaginary and which the majority of sacred doctors admit exists beyond the universe’ (Book II, ch. 1, Brush, 389). By ‘imaginary’ he does not mean fictional. Rather, as he explains, he means something that it takes imagination, and in particular the power the imagination has of constructing analogues of the space it senses, to conceive. The power of making analogues is mentioned in Part One of Institutio Logica (canon 3) and consists of forming a likeness to something borne in by the senses. Section One of the physics continues with the exposition of a number of competing theories of the nature of the matter of the universe, culminating in the acceptance of a revised Epicurean atomism in Book III, ch. 8. The chapter starts with a list of departures from Epicurus. Although Gassendi agrees that ‘the matter of the world and of all the things in it is made up of atoms’ (Brush, 398), he denies all of the following: that the atoms are eternal; that they are uncreated; that they are infinite in number, capable of being any shape, and self-moving (ibid., 399). He claims instead that ‘atoms are the primary form of matter, which God created finite from the beginning, which he formed into this visible world, which, finally, he ordained and permitted to undergo transformations out of which, in short, all the bodies which exist in the universe are composed’ (ibid., 399). He conceives matter not in Cartesian fashion as extension in three dimensions simply, but as solid or offering resistance. Atoms are indivisible particles of matter. To the question of whether a physical indivisible is conceivable, given that whatever is physical would seem to have parts, Gassendi generally replies by drawing an analogy between a physical minimum and minimum sensible. Something so small as to be at the limit of what the human eye can register— Gassendi’s example is the itch mite—can nevertheless be conceived to have a surface made up of indefinitely many physical parts—atoms, say. This does not take away its claim to be the smallest visible thing; similarly, the fact that it is possible to think of the atom’s extremities matched one to one with indefinitely many geometrical points does not take away its status as the smallest physical thing: though there is a way of dividing it into parts in thought, the atom cannot actually exist in parts (cf. Op. Omn. VI, 160; I, 268). Matter coexists with the void. The existence of motion is supposed to be a sign of this, as Gassendi has already been quoted as saying in a passage on the indicative sign. The existence of relatively soft bodies is another sign of the existence of a void, or, more specifically, of the existence of a void enclosed by compound bodies. In the void there are no privileged directions and positions, and in particular no central point toward which a body like a stone might move if it were put into the void. A stone would move in any direction it is propelled or attracted to move, in a straight line with uniform velocity. The Aristotelian doctrine that there are natural positions for different substances is rejected. So is the Epicurean idea that atoms naturally move ‘down’ in straight lines unless deflected by an arbitrary swerve. Gassendi has arrived at ‘the primary units’ of the material world. He thinks that the primary units are a very large number of atoms with a large number of different shapes. In Book IV of the Syntagma, on causation, he insists on viewing the primary units as active, rather in the way that the troops in an army are, once the general has given his orders (ch. 8, Brush, 418). All motion of matter is local (Op. Omn. I, 338), even gravitation, which is effected by a kind of hooking together of particles between bodies. Different atoms are endowed with different kinds of mobility, as well as different shapes, and these are capable of producing everything else observed in the physical world. Motion is at the root of effects rather than form; causation in nature is efficient rather than formal (Op. Omn. I, 283). Gassendi takes qualitative differences to be the joint effect of the primary qualities of atoms and their effects on our senses (Book 5, ch. 7). The variety in biological creation he traces to God’s production in the beginning of ‘the seeds, so to speak, of all things capable of generation, in other words, that from selected atoms he fashioned the first seeds of all things, from which later the propagation of species would occur by generation’ (Book 3, ch. 8, Brush, 401). Having discussed the nature of atoms and indicated in a general way how their possibilities of combination can explain the existence of big classes of substances, his next task, if we are to go by the passage about teaching physics that we quoted earlier from Part Four of Institutio Logica, is to ‘inquire into the precise nature and pattern of the various combinations responsible for the formation of the sun, the moon and the other heavenly bodies, and in the same way the earth and all the many inanimate, animate and sentient beings…’. This is indeed how he proceeds in the subsequent sections of the Syntagma. We can pass over the astronomy and his treatment of terrestrial inanimate objects and come at once to the area where the atomistic explanation is extended to psychology, only to be curtailed in the interest of theological orthodoxy. This occurs toward the beginning of Section III, Part 2, of the Syntagma, in the book De anima. Gassendi discusses the animating principle in non-human as well as human creatures. He thinks it is a highly mobile corporeal substance, a flame-like tissue of very subtle atoms (Op. Omn. II, 250) spread throughout the animal body. It accounts for body heat and provides the heat for digestion and nutrition; it is sustained by the circulation of the blood. This animating principle is present in humans as well as animals, but in humans it is present together with a rational soul. The rational soul is infused by God in each human being individually, presumably at the moment of conception; the non-rational soul is transmitted by the processes of biological generation themselves. A letter of 16297 suggests that it was only to reconcile his position with Scripture, not with biological evidence, that Gassendi departed from the simple hypothesis that a single soul was derived by each person from its parents (Op. Omn. VI, 19). Finally, in the Syntagma the relation of the rational soul to the human being in whom it is infused is said to be rather like that of a substantial form to the matter it informs, Gassendi suggests (Op. Omn. II, 466), lifting what is otherwise a total ban on the invocation of substantial forms in the rest of the physics. Gassendi’s account of the soul (Op. Omn. II, 237–59), and of its faculties of phantasy (II, 398–424) and intellect (II, 425–68), is for the most part an account of the biologically generated soul, not the divinely instilled one. It is the biological soul that is the seat of the faculty of imagination or phantasy, and most cognitive operations are varieties of operations on ideas in the imagination. This is true in particular of the operations regulated by the canons of Gassendi’s logic: forming ideas, reasoning, correcting for the deceptions of sense and so on. The logic says that all our ideas come from the senses and are in the first place ideas of individual things. The physics explains that corpuscles constituting the sensible species enter channels in the eye, ear and so on, and make impacts on tensed membranes, the vibrations from which are communicated to the brain by nerves filled with animal spirits. The brain then interprets the vibrations and they occur to the mind as conscious sensations. Episodes of the sensation leave traces or vestiges in the brain, and these are the physical substrate of ideas. As for operations on ideas, the physics relates each of these to vestiges of sense understood as brainfolds (Op. Omn. II, 405). Habits of mind also have a material basis. Finally, various forms of deception of the senses are possible because it is possible for the same pattern of vibration reaching the brain to be produced in different ways, or for it to be interpreted in different ways. So much for the biological soul. A rational soul is needed to account for capacities that surpass those of the imagination, such as the capacity of the soul to know itself, to know the universal independently of abstracting from particulars, and to know God. Not that it is incapable of forming, composing, analysing and ratiocination: it can do what the non-rational soul can do: but it can do more as well. On the other hand, it is dependent on the material of the imagination: when it apprehends things it apprehends the same sort of ideas that the imagination does, not intelligible species. In this sense intellection and imagination are not really distinct (as for example Descartes had claimed in Meditation VI). Apart from cognitive operations, the rational soul is called upon to make sense of some practical capacities, specifically the ability to will the Good rather than aim for pleasure. Ethics and politics In his physics Gassendi departs considerably from Epicurus but retains a version of atomism and a largely materialistic account of the biological soul.8 The effect of the departures is to make the Epicurean doctrine cohere with Christianity. God is brought in not only as creator but as a maintainer of order in material causation: the combination of atoms by chance is outlawed. God is also brought in as immediate source of a higher immaterial soul. Epicurean physics is corrected by theology, and it is the same with Epicurean ethics, which Gassendi takes up in the third and concluding part of the Syntagma.9 Epicurus is upheld in claiming that pleasure is to be pursued and pain avoided, but the pleasure of certain types of action is interpreted by Gassendi as a divinely appointed sign of the individual or communal preservation that such actions promote, while the pain of other types of action must be seen as a sign of their interfering with conservation (Op. Omn., 701). There are pleasures of motion and pleasures of rest, and Epicurus was right, according to Gassendi, to associate happiness with enjoyment of the pleasures of rest. He was right, in other words, to prefer the quiet pleasures of the mind to the pleasures of eating, drinking and sex. The fact that it does not come naturally to us to give the quiet pleasures their due; the fact that we are inclined to pursue the earthier pleasures to the exclusion of the others; these facts do not show that happiness is beyond us. They only show that happiness is not automatically attained. Fortunately, however, we are blessed by God with a freedom that, if properly used, enables us to judge that the earthier pleasures are not superior and are even at times merely apparent rather than real pleasures. This power of correcting valuations through judgement does not deprive the lower pleasures of their attraction, or bring it about that there is nothing to disturb us once we have chosen the higher goods. In other words, our freedom cannot bring about happiness in the form of perfect freedom from perturbation; on the other hand, it does make choices of the higher pleasures into genuine choices. Someone whose valuations of pleasure were completely correct morally speaking and who was incapable of making the wrong choices would in a certain sense resemble creatures who acted badly under the influence of impulse, for they, like the unfailingly right-acting, act in the absence of spontaneity (Op. Omn. II, 822–3). Going by the theological corrections one finds elsewhere in his system, one might expect Gassendi to make Epicurean tranquillity consist of the quiet contemplation of God in a place away from the distracting pressures of social life. This would fit in not only with the demands of piety but with Epicurus’s endorsement of the life in retirement. But in fact the pleasant life appears to be both more active and more social than this (Op. Omn. II, 717, 720). For Gassendi, the preferred sort of tranquillity appears to be that of the man who quietly and calmly gets on with large undertakings (ibid., 717), rather than someone who withdraws into serene and solitary meditation. Of course, it is possible to get on quietly and calmly with purely self-interested projects, such as that of making oneself as wealthy as one can or as famous as one can, but Gassendi advocates stillness of mind in the pursuit of not just any personal project, still less any self-interested project. One is supposed to confine one’s desires to those that are natural and necessary (Op. Omn. II, 694): a dedication to wealth or luxury or fame is out of keeping with the pleasant life; and so is much else—even a strong desire to stay alive may be criticized as the product of a misplaced fear of death. Quiet determination in someone of modest desires, someone who has the pleasures of motion in proportion and under control—this comes close to the principle of a pleasant life. But it takes wisdom to aim at the right pleasures; and prudence to know how to get what one aims at. And the pleasant life calls for the exercise of other virtues, including justice. Justice is giving to each what is his right: it is the virtue that answers to the status of humans as social beings, and it is what keeps people from suffering the excesses of a natural struggle for human survival. Justice manifests itself in the existence of mutual agreements that limit the steps anyone can take to preserve himself. It is prudent to enter such agreements, since otherwise people have a natural right to do whatever they like and go to whatever extremes they like to improve their chances of staying alive. They can take anything or do anything, and they must be prepared to see others take the same liberties (Op. Omn. II, 751). The extreme unpleasantness of a situation in which no holds are barred and no one is secure in whatever he has motivates people who are rational to lay down the natural right. Or, instead of speaking of the way the unpleasantness of pre-social existence rationally motivates people to lay down rights, Gassendi is willing to speak of a ‘law of nature’ (ibid., 800), or universally acknowledged rational precept, that men will come together to live in society (ibid., 802). This they do by making pacts with one another. At first they make a pact laying down their unlimited right to do and take what they like. The effect of this pact is to leave each in rightful possession of whatever the pact does not say should be given up. The pact also leaves each protected by the combined forces of the other parties to the pact. A second pact creates laws specifying rights, and so creates conditions for justice, that is, conditions for recognizing infringements of rights and determining what belongs to each by right (Op. Omn. II, 786, 795). The two pacts already described are not by themselves sufficient for the smooth running of society, for it is impractical to have all the parties to the social contract involved in making and declaring laws. The authority to do these things must be delegated by the many to a single person or to a group of men (ibid., 755), and according to Gassendi this delegation of authority may be understood to originate in a third pact. It is by this third pact that people become subject to government. Is this third pact in their interest? It may seem not to be: the authority that the many vest in government may, Gassendi admits, be misused, as when a monarch or assembly makes too many laws or makes what laws there are too exacting. Nevertheless the interest of rulers themselves in a certain kind of pleasant life gives them a reason to refrain from making laws that overburden their subjects, while the predictable excess of pain over pleasure in rebellion or civil disobedience provides a reason for law-abidingness on the part of subjects. In Gassendi’s theory of politics the pleasure principle promotes the stability of states. HOBBS How far does Gassendi’s Epicurean system agree with Hobbes’s philosophy? Their politics appear to provide at least one point of agreement, for the respective treatments of the state of nature and the right of nature are similar. They diverge strikingly, however, in their theories of the social contract, the laws of nature, and the relations of subjects to rulers. Not three pacts but one take people from the Hobbesian state of nature into society. Hobbes’s laws of nature provide a more detailed analysis than Gassendi’s of what it is to come into society, and they rest on an account that implies that people’s personal judgements about the relative pleasantness of life within the state and out of it are unreliable. Accordingly, in the act by which a Hobbesian subject simultaneously contracts for protection and makes himself subject to a sovereign, he also gives up the right to let his own judgements about pleasure and pain rule his impression of his wellbeing. He delegates the judgements to someone—a sovereign—who has a wider and more detached view than he does. The disagreements between Hobbes and Gassendi do not stop there. It is crucial to Hobbes’s morals and politics that death be an evil and that it be rationally compulsory to avoid premature death (De cive, ch. 1, vii, E II, 8), while Gassendi’s account tends to minimize the disvalue of death and the importance of staving it off. Another disagreement, this time on the borderline between ethics and politics, is over whether man is by nature sociable. Gassendi, inclining uncharacteristically toward Aristotle, thinks that man is naturally sociable; Hobbes, in a political treatise that Gassendi admired, argues vigorously to the contrary. The divergences extend to other sectors of philosophy. In logic Gassendi puts forward precepts that reflect his sensitivity to scepticism; Hobbes does not. In metaphysics and physics Gassendi makes much of God’s activity; in comparable parts of Hobbes’s philosophy, on the other hand, a discussion of God’s nature and attributes is either omitted or is highly curtailed. In physics proper Hobbes doubts the existence of the vacuum (De corp., ch. 26, vi–xi, E I 426–44) and probably also, though not so explicitly, the divisibility of anything material (De corp., ch. 7, xiii). He is thus at odds twice over with Gassendi’s belief in the existence of atoms in the void. Where the theories of Hobbes and Gassendi do resemble one another is in the reductive and materialistic bent of their psychologies. After examining Hobbes’s doctrine in this connection I shall consider the relation of his materialism to the rest of his philosophy. Then I shall ask whether there is a way of comparing Hobbes and Gassendi that takes account of their shared materialism while accommodating other points of contact. Matter and motion Perhaps no passage in Hobbes’s writings declares his materialism with greater directness than the following one from Chapter 46 of Leviathan: The world, (I mean not the earth only, that denominates the lovers of it worldly men, but the universe, that is, the whole mass of things that are), is corporeal, that is to say, body; and hath the dimensions of magnitude, namely length, breadth, and depth: also every part of body, is likewise body, and hath the like dimensions; and consequently every part of the universe, is body, and that which is not body, is no part of the universe: and because the universe is all, that which is no part of it, is nothing; and consequently nowhere. Nor does it follow from hence, that spirits are nothing: for they have dimensions, and are therefore really bodies. (E III 381) Hobbes is claiming that to exist is to exist as a material thing. Even spirits are bodies. If spirits seem not to be bodies, he goes on to suggest, that is only because in common usage ‘body’ is a term for things that are palpable and visible as well as extended in three spatial dimensions (ibid.). Forthright as the passage just quoted is, Hobbes’s materialism is more often implied than asserted in his writings. The reason is not that Hobbes was particularly prudent or cautious outside Leviathan, but that he thought that motion rather than matter was the key concept for the explanation of natural difference and change. It is true that, as he defines it, cause is motion, and motion is the displacement of body, so that his frequent references to the varieties of motion, and his frequent attempts to reduce phenomena to motion, are at the same time expressions of materialism. Still, it is through a commitment to mechanical explanation in physics, rather than as a result of some argument or requirement in an entirely prior and independent metaphysics, that Hobbes is materialistic. An early example in Hobbes’s writings of the inclination to mechanistic, rather than materialistic, reduction comes from The Elements of Law (1640). Just as ‘conceptions or apparitions are nothing really, but motion in some internal substance of the head’ he says, so ‘…contentment or pleasure…is nothing really but motion about the heart…’ (Pt I, ch. 7, i, 28). In the same vein, but from the Introduction to Leviathan, written about eleven years later, there is the remark that ‘life is but a motion of the limbs’. And that there is a principled basis for the stress on motion can be seen from the chapter on the methodology of philosophy or science in De Corpore, the first volume of Hobbes’s three-part statement of the elements of philosophy. In that chapter, method in philosophy or science is related to the definition of philosophy as the working out of causes from effects or effects from causes. Method prescribes, as a stage in the search for causes, the identification of universal things in particulars, that is, the most general properties that can be inferred from the analysis of descriptions of specific phenomena. But to find the relevant universals is not yet to know the ultimate cause of the phenomena, for the universals themselves have a universal cause, which is motion. Finding causes is a matter of finding one of the many varieties of motion that is capable of generating a given effect. The varieties of motion that each of the main branches of science are concerned with are described in article 6 of Chapter 6 of De Corpore. Geometry studies motion in general—motion in the abstract—in body in general (E I 71). The rest of the sciences deal with differentiated motions in differentiated bodies. Thus pure mechanics deals with motions in bodies considered only as numerically distinct, and as having parts. It deals with the effects of motions of the parts of bodies on whole bodies, and also with the transmission of motion in collisions involving different numbers of bodies (E I 71–2). Physics deals with the sensory effects in animate bodies of motions transmitted by inanimate bodies. It deals also with the after-effects of sensory episodes and images compounded in imagination (E I 71; ch. 25, vii, E I 396–7; cf. L, ch. 1, E III 6). Moral philosophy, or, perhaps more accurately, moral psychology, deals with further after-effects of sensation in the form of passions. In this branch of science ‘we are to consider the emotions of the mind, namely, appetite, aversion, love, benevolence, hope, fear, anger, emulation, envy etc.’ (De corp. ch. 1, vi, E I 72). It should now be clear that for Hobbes physics and moral psychology are sciences of motion, and therefore branches of mechanics. Both sciences are supposed to be concerned with the motions of the mind, physics because it considers the nature of sensation, and moral psychology because it studies some of the psychological effects of sensation. It is clear also that the psychological parts of physics and moral psychology are at the same time, but secondarily, sciences of matter, and support the classification of Hobbes as a materialist. It is time to look at these sciences in more detail. The theory of sensation is not only a part of Hobbes’s physics, but the part that Hobbes thinks has to be expounded first. The reason is that the data explained by physics are appearances, and these appearances could not exist if there were no sensation to produce them. Sense being what provides the data of physics, how does it work? Hobbes’s answer is that it works by reaction, reaction to motion propagated through the parts of the sense organs. The process that culminates in sense experience affects the whole living creature, but it starts with pressure on some external and sensitive part of the living creature. This is the ‘uttermost’ part of the sense organ. When it is pressed, it no sooner yields, but the part next within it is pressed also; and, in this manner, the pressure or motion is propagated through all the parts of the sense organ to the innermost. (De corp. ch. 25, ii, E I 390) ‘Press’ and ‘pressure’ are terms from the theory of pure mechanics. Hobbes defines them in Part Three of De Corpore. One body presses another when ‘with its endeavour’ the first body displaces the other or displaces part of the other (De corp. ch. 15, ii, E I 211). In the case of sensation, the pressure on the outermost part of the sense organ is exened either by the body sensed, what Hobbes calls ‘the object of sense’, or by some part of the medium, like air, which is itself set in motion by the object of sense. The pressure on the outermost part of the organ of sense displaces the nearest internal parts, which in turn press the next adjoining, which in turn press the next. Sensation does not result simply from this communication of pressure, but from the resistance of pressed to pressing bodies. Each pressure inwards is met with resistance outwards by the parts of the sense organ, so that there is a chain of reactions to a chain of pressures in the parts of the organ. From the last of this chain of reactions and its effect on the brain ‘a phantasm or idea hath its being’ (ch. 25, ii, E I 391). Only the strongest of the endeavours outward from the innermost parts of the sense organ constitutes a sensory reaction, and there can only be one sensory reaction at a time. Moreover, a given sensory reaction at a time can be experience of no more than one object at a time (De corp. ch. 25, v, E I 395), if the various sense organs are applied at a single time to a single object. So sense experience is an orderly succession of images of discrete things. This much of the theory of sense is supposed to explain more than the existence of phantasms and their occurring in orderly sequences: it explains also some features of their content. For example, since a phantasm or idea results from the last of a chain of reactions outwards in the parts of the sense organ, to have a phantasm of a thing is to have an experience as of something outside the organ of sense (ibid.). Again, the theory as so far sketched makes some sense of the fact that ‘things when they are not the same seem not to be the same but changed’ (cf. De corp. ch. 6, vi, E I 72). Hobbes gives the example of things that appear to sight to be different sizes at different times. This is the effect of variations in the angle at which motion from the innermost part of the organ of sight is propagated outwards (De corp. ch. 25, xi, E I 405). Another phenomenon is variation in the number of stars visible in the heavens. This is the effect not of generation or destruction of stars, but of the state of the medium through which the motion of the stars is propagated. Cold air facilitates, and hot air hinders, stellar action on the eyes; so more stars appear on cold, calm nights, than on warm, windy ones (cf. De corp. ch. 25, xi, E I 406). Hobbes’s theory of sense is an account not only of the objects and causes of phantasms but also of the cognitive operations performed with them. To be endowed with sense, Hobbes believes, is not merely to be the momentary site of phantasms; it is to be able to recall ideas to mind, and to be able to compare and distinguish them. Indeed, judgement, which is the capacity to keep track of differences between objects presented to the senses (De corp. ch. 25, viii, E I 399; L, ch. 8, E III 57), is not really a capacity distinct from sense (De corp. ch. 25, viii, E I 399). Neither, apparently, is memory or imagination. Even the distinction between imagination and dreaming is not very firmly drawn (cf. EL, Pt 1, ch. 3, viii, 12; L, ch. 2, E III6f.; De corp. ch. 25, ix, E I 399f.)’ The reason is that Hobbes tries to mark differences between these psychological capacities with the same apparatus he has applied in the account of sense proper. To explain the variety of sense experience he appeals to the variety of the sense organs, the different ways in which the sense organs are linked up with the nervous and arterial systems, differences in the objects of sense, and differences in the motions they impart to the sense organs. But when it comes to accommodating the variety of ways in which sense information can be operated upon after transactions between the sense organ and external objects are completed, he no longer has available to him a wide enough array of distinct causes for the distinct operations. He must make the retention of motion in the sentient suffice as a basis for memory, imagination and many other apparently quite distinct mental capacities. Unsurprisingly, this basis proves too slight for explaining the range of effects proper to the individual capacities. By memory, for example, we are not only supposed to be able to compare and distinguish the individuals we observe; we are also supposed to be able to hit upon regularities involving them so as to be able to form expectations (EL, Pt 1, ch. 4, vii, 15). Can all of this be managed by short-lived reflection on qualitative similarity and difference in objects we have fleeting contact with? Can even qualitative comparison and discernment be accomplished by memory if it is no more than a device for storing and scanning the colours, shapes, smells etc. of unsorted bodies? Hobbes offers a sophisticated reconstruction of the mechanisms that make it possible for us to be affected with phantasms, but he lacks the resources for a substantial account of the various operations—memory is only one—that cognition involves. Hobbes’s account of the motions of the mind extends beyond sensation and cognition. There is also a theory of the passions. Passions are understood as aftereffects of sense. For example, when someone sees something, the thing imparts motion to the innermost part of the organ of sight. One effect of the motion is to set up an outward reaction to the brain that produces visual experience. But there can be an additional effect. The ‘motion and agitation of the brain which we call conception’ can be ‘continued to the heart, and there be called passion’ (EL, Pt 1, ch. 8, i, 31). The heart governs ‘vital motion’ in the body, that is, the circulation of the blood. In general, when motion derived from an act of sense encourages vital motion, the sentient creature experiences pleasure at the sight, smell or taste of the object of sense, and is disposed to move his body in such a way as to prolong or intensify the pleasure (De corp. ch. 25, xii, E I 407). If the object of sense is at some distance from the sentient creature, the creature will typically move toward it (ibid.). In De Corpore Hobbes describes the physiological processes that underlie the approach. Animal spirits impulse into the nerves and retract again, causing muscular swelling and relaxation and eventually full-scale movements (E I 408). The ‘first beginnings’ of this process, the small movements in the body below the threshold of consciousness that start the process off, constitute what Hobbes calls ‘appetite’ (E I 407). With appropriate adjustments aversion is treated in the same way. Aversion is connected with retreat from an object of sense whose effect on a creature is to retard vital motion. In roughly the way that he tries to conjure imagination, memory and other cognitive operations out of the basic capacity for sense, Hobbes tries to relate a long list of passions to the basic affections of appetite and aversion. There are many complexities, but the idea that the passions are kinds of motion involving the heart is never abandoned. The heart and its motion are also appealed to in Hobbes’s conception of biological life, and his conception of biological life is brought into deflationary interpretations of the ideas of spirit, soul, eternal life and resurrection. In a famous passage in Chapter 44 of Leviathan he says: The soul in Scripture signifieth always, either the life, or the living creature; and the body and soul jointly, the body alive. (E III 615) As for life itself, ‘it is but motion’ (L, ch. 6, E III 51). When God is said in Genesis to have ‘inspired into man the breath of life, no more is meant than that God gave him vital motion’ (L, ch. 34, E III 394). Death consists of the ceasing of this motion, but the ceasing of this motion at a time does not preclude an afterlife. If God created human life out of dust and clay, it is certainly not beyond Him to revive a carcass (E III 614–15). For the same reason, it is unnecessary to hold that a soul leaves the body at death in order to make sense of resurrection. One can say that life stops and then starts again at the resurrection, with no intervening incorporeal existence. Hobbes’s materialism and Hobbes’s system Hobbes identifies the ensouled human body with the living body, and he thinks that the living body is a body with vital motion, that is, a body with a heart pumping blood through the circulatory system. He identifies the passions with different effects of vital motion, and he identifies thought or cognitive operations with various effects on the sense organs, nerves and brain of impacts of external bodies. It is a thoroughgoing materialistic psychology, and it is in keeping with the method and first philosophy that Hobbes prescribes for natural philosophy in De Corpore and other writings. Effects or phenomena of all kinds are referred to bodily motion, the specific kinds of motion depending on the analysis of the descriptions of the phenomena as well as relevant experiments. This is the approach Hobbes follows for geometrical effects, pure mechanical effects, physical and psychological effects. In the teaching of the elements of philosophy as a whole, the assignment of causes to these effects is supposed to be preliminary to stating the rules of morality and polity. Are the rules of morality and politics supposed to be materialistic or mechanistic or based on a mechanical conception of nature? In some formulations Hobbes’s theory of politics does indeed draw on mechanistic psychology. But in others, notably that of the official statement of his politics in De Cive, the third volume of his trilogy, no properly scientific claims about the passions or about psychology are employed at all. The Preface to De Cive indeed insists on the independence of the principles of morals and politics from those of the sciences of body and man treated earlier in the trilogy (E II xx). And similar comments are made in Leviathan (ch. 31, E III 357) and De Corpore (De corp. ch. 6, vi, E I 74). Hobbes’s insistence on the autonomy of his morals and politics seems to go against the claim that his morals and politics are derived from, or a case of, mechanistic materialism. It is better to say that the morals and politics are consistent with, and sometimes worked out against the background of, mechanistic materialism, but not strictly deduced from mechanistic materialism. Let us consider how Hobbes’s mechanistic psychology contributes to Hobbes’s morals and politics when he does choose to make use of it, as in Leviathan. A crucial passage in this connection, which incidentally shows Hobbes in disagreement with Gassendi, concerns the son of happiness that man can aspire to while he is alive. Continual success in obtaining those things which a man from time to time desireth, that is to say, continual prospering, is that men call FELICITY; I mean the felicity of this life. For there is no such thing as perpetual tranquillity of mind, while we live here, because life itself is but motion, and we can never be without desire, nor without fear, no more than without sense. (E III 51) He is claiming that desire, fear and sense are permanent facts of life, and that life being motion, it cannot be tranquil. Desire is a fact of life because it is an inescapable effect of the vital functions of sense and vital motion; fear is a fact of life because it is a probable effect of sense and vital motion. We learn through trial and error what to avoid and pursue, and trial and error reveals that some things we might otherwise try and get can harm us. So long as our environment is not wholly hospitable there are bound to be fearful things. As for life being but motion, this is an assertion of Hobbes’s identification of life with vital motion. The claim that human life can never be without fear and desire has a natural scientific grounding, and it in turn helps to support a central thesis of Hobbes’s moral philosophy: that the prospects of felicity in human life in its natural condition are not very good. For one thing, the pursuit of felicity is unending, there always being a next desire to satisfy, and risky, there being things to fear. The unendingness of desire and the constant presence of fearful things both diminish the prospect of continual success in getting what one wants unless one has tremendous resources to put into the pursuit of felicity. The unendingness of desire and the permanence of fear are among the harsh natural conditions of life that the construction of a body politic is supposed to alleviate. So Hobbes’s mechanistic psychology does some of the stage-setting for Hobbes’s civil philosophy. It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that it is very extensive stagesetting. A state or commonwealth or body politic is an answer to the problem of war, and it takes more than continual desire and ever-present fear in the pursuit of felicity to create conditions of war. War involves competition, insecurity of possession and, crucially, what Hobbes calls ‘the right of nature’, that is, the right of each person to be able to take whatever steps he thinks are appropriate for his security and well-being (cf. L, ch. 14, E III 116). These additional conditions, and especially the last, do not belong to a description of the state of nature purely in terms of matter in motion. And while there may be analogies between the way that human beings come into conflict with one another, and what happens when inanimate bodies meet on a collision course, the explanation of war and the prescriptions for avoiding it are not for Hobbes primarily mechanistic. War and peace are primarily things that can be deliberated about and chosen or rejected.They are only secondarily the effects of blind impersonal forces within human beings. That is why Hobbes presents the causes of peace in the form of precepts it is rational to follow and the causes of war as seditious beliefs or illconceived policies of action that it is rational to abandon. At the heart of his case-both for following the precepts and abandoning the seditious beliefs is the fearfulness of death through war and (though less prominently) the desirability of commodious living in the commonwealth (EL, Pt 1, ch. 14; De cive ch. 1; L, ch. 13). War is what the pursuit of felicity degenerates into when each human being is the rightful judge of how to pursue felicity, that is, when no-one can be blamed by any one else for any choice of means to ends, and when it is common knowledge that this is so. In these circumstances, whatever one’s character or personality, it can make sense to injure or dispossess one’s neighbour. Vainglorious people will be disposed to pursue felicity ruthlessly anyway, and will not stop at fraud or theft or even, if there is nothing to stop them, killing to get what they want. Moderate people, concerned with safety before felicity, will have reason to act violently to preempt the attacks of the vainglorious. And in any case people will be set against one another by the mere fact of having to compete for goods everyone wants. Whether they are vicious, virtuous or morally indifferent, people who pursue felicity, and who have no common power to fear, must suffer from the general insecurity Hobbes calls ‘war’. By ‘war’ he does not mean only open fighting between large numbers of men. It is enough that most men show that they are willing to come to blows (EL, Pt 1, ch. 14, xi, 73; De cive ch. 1, xi, E II 11; L, ch. 13, E III 113). Hobbes recognizes what we would now call ‘cold war’, and he does not underestimate its costs. When most people show that they are willing to enter a fight that can be foreseen to be a fight to the death, most people are unlikely to channel their efforts into production. If people agree to work at all while under the threat of all-out war, then, according to Hobbes, they will tend to produce things on their own and for themselves. War, even cold war, threatens production by the division of labour, and indeed threatens to halt production of any kind (ibid.). And the effects of open as against latent war are of course much worse. Besides the loss of the good of society, open war brings the loss of reliable shelter, the loss of methods of distributing goods in general demand, the decline of learning, the good of assured survival, the probable loss of life and, what is worse, a probably painful death. The life of man is reduced to being ‘solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short’ (E III 113). The fearfulness of war is supposed to give people who are at war a reason for putting an end to it and people who are not at war a reason for continuing to live in peace. The goal of securing peace and the means of doing so are specified by the so-called laws of nature (L, chs 14 and 15), about eighteen such laws in all. The fundamental laws require one to seek peace if it is safe to do so; and to lay down rights that will enable peace to be made and kept. These two laws, as well as one requiring that one keep one’s agreements, are the laws of nature that enable the state to be established and war ended. Further laws of nature call for traditionally recognized virtues: equity, gratitude, a willingness to be accommodating and so on. Now anyone who sees that peace is good and sees that the behaviours enjoined by the laws of nature are means to peace has a reason for abiding by the laws of nature—even in the course of a war. Each person has a reason for abiding by the laws of nature, but not an utterly compelling or categorical reason. For in a state of war each person retains the right of conducting himself as he likes, and may judge that it is better to violate the laws of nature even while others obey them. Since those who obey the laws put themselves at risk by doing so, and since even the laws of nature do not have to be observed when it is unsafe to do so, the general uncertainty over how others will behave makes the laws of nature into ineffective instruments of peace. Hobbes’s solution to this problem is to make the right of private judgement one of the rights laid down for the sake of peace. He describes a covenant that transfers responsibility for the personal safety and well-being of individuals from those individuals themselves to a man or body of men who are empowered to act for the safety and well-being of them all. The covenanters become subjects of the responsible individual or assembly, and are obliged to obey his or their laws for as long as it is not life-threatening to do so. In other words, the parties to the covenant delegate the right to see to security and well-being to others, in return for more certainty about survival and well-being. The man or body of men to whom the decisions are delegated then declares, in the form of coercive civil laws, those things that must and must not be done if the peace is to be kept and security and well-being promoted. The laws can touch virtually any sphere of private or public life, though Hobbes counsels against a legal regime that is very intrusive and very exacting. The authority of the sovereign power extends in particular to declaring what forms of religious practice are lawful and who may or may not preach. This, in a nutshell, is Hobbes’s solution to the problem of war: the many are to agree to subject themselves absolutely to a sovereign with undivided and absolute power. Hobbes’s system and Gassendi’s How satisfactory is it to classify Hobbes’s system as a whole—the elements of natural and civil science taken together—as materialistic or mechanistic? Plainly the mechanical conception is prominent in all of Hobbes’s writings in natural science. In morals and politics, on the other hand, it is far less conspicuous, and in De Cive it virtually disappears. Commentators sometimes claim that, however different in content they are, Hobbes’s natural and civil sciences are nevertheless worked out according to the same methodological precepts, precepts calling for the resolution of bodies—either natural or artificial—into properties for which causes can be found, causes which, when put together, make the body from which one started fully intelligible.10 Though Hobbes himself encourages the idea that there is a close parallel between the methods of civil and natural philosophy, it is very difficult to read any of the political treatises as exercises in the resolution of a state or civil society into its parts.11 They are better seen as justifying precepts for the behaviour of subjects and sovereigns engaged in the common project of keeping the peace. Another interpretation of Hobbes’s system, which avoids the implication that Hobbes’s civil philosophy is mechanistic, or that natural and civil philosophy are methodologically unified, is to the effect that each of the two principal parts of Hobbes’s system are responses to the seventeenth-century pyrrhonist challenge to science: on this reading, the metaphysics and natural philosophy attempt what Descartes attempts in the Meditations, only without relying on doubtful proofs of God’s existence, while the civil philosophy meets a sceptical challenge to a science of morals along the lines of one that Grotius tried to meet.12 Putting these readings together, the whole system may be regarded as ‘post-sceptical’. If this interpretation were correct, it would have the considerable merit of linking not only the two parts of Hobbes’s system but the two systems of Hobbes and Gassendi; for it can hardly be doubted that Gassendi’s system has consciously antisceptical motivation. Unfortunately, the textual evidence for the claim that Hobbes directed his philosophy against pyrrhonism is very slight.13 The main proposer of the ‘postsceptical’ interpretation has mainly relied on Hobbes’s association with Gassendi and Mersenne. Though the interpretation seems uncompelling, its form seems to me to be right. That is, it seems sensible to look for a way of unifying the two parts of Hobbes’s philosophy and the two systems of Hobbes and Gassendi in something they were both reacting against. There is much stronger evidence for the claim that it was Aristotelianism than that it was scepticism about the possibility of science. We have already seen that Gassendi was attracted to Epicureanism partly because it could rival Aristotle’s philosophy, and because Gassendi was from early on dissatisfied with Aristotelianism. In Hobbes’s case equally the departures from Aristotle’s theory of causation and the categories, as well as the theory that man is naturally sociable and that one exercises the duties of citizenship by judging and legislating rather than obeying, are very clear and well documented. Hobbes does not believe, as people do who take scepticism seriously, that one can live long or well by appearances alone. He thinks that to live and live well in both nature and society one needs science, that is, some methodical way of finding the causes of appearances and the consequences of one’s actions. But he also thinks, this time very much as Gassendi does, that, except with regard to the appearances of things we make, appearances of artefacts, science does not reveal the necessary causes of appearances; and though he believes that science can be acquired by human beings he does not think that they have a natural aptitude for it. Similarly, though he thinks that virtue can be acquired, and even that there can be a science of virtue in the form of the system of the laws of nature, he does not think that the virtues can be learned by simple habituation, or that there is the relation of virtue to pleasure or virtue to personal judgement and experience that Aristotle insists upon. In all of these respects he is antiAristotelian. With Gassendi Hobbes is a mechanistic and-Aristotelian in natural philosophy. He is a different kind of anti-Aristotelian in civil philosophy. In civil philosophy he is anti-Aristotelian in redrawing the distinction between natural and artificial so that politics no longer falls on the ‘natural’ side of the divide; aptness for the polity is not written into human nature, according to Hobbes: man has to be made sociable and the order with the polity is not a natural one either, but one that is artificial and expressible in the terms of a contract. Gassendi, too, is a contract theorist, but apparently not one who invests the fact that contracts are made and states manufactured with anti-Aristotelian significance. For him entering into a contract can be the expression of natural sociableness, albeit understood in an Epicurean rather than Aristotelian way. ABBREVIATIONS The following abbreviations are used in references. Gassendi: Op. Omn.—Opera Omnia (Lyon, 1658), 6 vols, references are by volume and page number; Brush— The Selected Writings of Pierre Gassendi, trans. C.Brush (New York, Johnson Reprint, 1972); IL—Institutio Logica, ed. and trans. Howard Jones (Assen, Van Gorcum, 1981). Hobbes: EL—The Elements of Law Natural and Politic, ed. F.Tönnies (London, Simpkin & Marshall, 1889), references are by part, chapter, section and Tönnies page number; L—Leviathan, or the Matter, Form and Power of Commonwealth, Ecclesiastical and Civil, references are by chapter and page number to the edition in vol. 3 of the English Works (E), ed. Sir W.Molesworth (London, 1869), 11 vols; De corp. —Elementorum Philosophiae, Sectio prima de corpore, references are by chapter, section and page number of the English translation in vol. 1 of Molesworth; De cive—Elementorum Philosophiae, Sectio tertia, de cive; I use ‘De cive’ to refer to the English translation, Philosophical Rudiments concerning Government and Society, in vol. 2 of Molesworth; DP—Decameron physiologicum or Ten Dialogues of Natural Philosophy, vol. 7 of Molesworth. NOTES 1 For more detail, see A.Beaulieu, ‘Les Relations de Hobbes et de Mersenne’, in Y.- C.Zarka and J.Bernhardt, Thomas Hobbes: Philosophie Première, Théorie de la science et politique (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1990), pp. 81–90. 2 See Sarasohn [7.32], 370–1. 3 See Joy [7.13]. 4 For more detail, see Clark [7.17], 353. 5 See Brundell [7.11], ch. 2. 6 See Brundell’s Introduction for more detail. 7 Quoted in Brett [7.10], 114n. 8 For a review of the textual evidence of Gassendi’s materialism which adds to the details given here, see Bloch [7.9], ch. 12. 9 I am indebted in my discussion of Gassendi’s ethics and politics to Sarasohn [7. 34]. 10 The originator of this interpretation is J.W.N.Watkins. See Watkins [7.61], 47–81. 11 See Sorell [7.50], ch. 2. 12 See Richard Tuck, ‘Sceptics and Optics’, in E.Leites (ed.) Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 235–63; ‘Hobbes and Descartes’, in G.A.J.Rogers and A.Ryan (eds) Perspectives on Thomas Hobbes (Oxford, Clarendon, 1988), pp. 11–42; Tuck [7.53]. 13 See my ‘Hobbes without Doubt’, forthcoming in M.Bell and N.Martin (eds) Scepticism and Modern Philosophy. BIBLIOGRAPHY GASSENDI Original language editions 7.1 Opera Omnia, Lyon, Anisson/Devenet, 6 vols, 1658; reprinted Olms, Hildesheim, 1964. 7.2 Animadversiones in Decimum Librum Diogenis Laertii, Lyon, Barbier, 1649. Translations and abridgements 7.3 Bernier, F. Abrégé de la philosophie de Gassendi, Lyon, 8 vols, 1678. 7.4 Dissertationes en forme de Paradoxes contre les Aristoteliciens (Exercitationes Paradoxicae adversus Aristoteleos), Books I and II, trans. B.Rochot, Paris, Vrin, 1959. 7.5 Disquisitio Metaphysica, seu Dubitationes et Instantiae adversus Renati Cartesii Metaphysicam et Responsa, trans. B.Rochot, Paris, Vrin, 1962. 7.6 Institutio Logica, trans. H.Jones, Assen, Van Gorcum, 1981. 7.7 The Selected Works of Pierre Gassendi, trans. C.Brush, New York, Johnson Reprint, 1972. Correspondence 7.8 Rochot, B. (ed.) Lettres familières à François Luillier pendant l’hiver 1632–1633, Paris, Vrin, 1944. Gassendi’s philosophy: general surveys 7.9 Bloch, O.R. La Philosophie de Gassendi: Nominalisme, Matérialisme et Métaphysique, La Hague, Nijhoff, 1971. 7.10 Brett, G.R. The Philosophy of Gassendi, London, Macmillan, 1908. 7.11 Brundell, B. Pierre Gassendi: From Aristotelianism to a New Natural Philosophy, Dordrecht, Reidel, 1987. 7.12 Gregory, T. Scetticismo ed empiricismo. Studio su Gassendi, Bari, Editori Laterza, 1961. 7.13 Joy, L. Gassendi the Atomist: Advocate of History in an Age of Science, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1987. 7.14 Rochot, B. Les Travaux de Gassendi sur Epicure et sur l’atomisme, Paris, Vrin, 1944. Gassendi’s metaphysics and physics 7.15 Bloch, O.R. ‘Un rationaliste de 176 siècle: Gassendi’, Cahiers rationalistes 160 (1957) 27–31. 7.16 Bloch, O.R. ‘Gassendi critique de Descartes’, Revue philosophique 156 (1966) 217–36. 7.17 Clark, J.T. ‘Pierre Gassendi and the Physics of Galileo’, Isis 54 (1963) 352–70. 7.18 Humbert, P. L’oeuvre astronomique de Gassendi, Paris, Hermann, 1936. 7.19 Kargon, R.H. ‘Walter Charleton, Robert Boyle and the acceptance of Epicurean atomism in England’, Isis 55 (1964) 184–92. 7.20 Kargon, R.H. Atomism in England from Harriot to Newton, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1966. 7.21 Lenoble, R. Mersenne ou la naissance du Mécanisme, Paris, Vrin, 1943. 7.22 Pintard, R. Le libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIle siècle, Paris, Boivin, 2 vols, 1943. 7.23 Popkin, R. The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes, New York, Harper Torch, 1964. 7.24 Popkin, R. ‘Scepticism and the Counter-reformation in France’, Archiv für Reformations-geschichte 51 (1960) 58–87. 7.25 Rochot, B. ‘Gassendi et la “logique” de Descartes’, Revue philosophique 145 (1955) 300–8. 7.26 Rochot, B. ‘Gassendi et l’expérience’, Mélanges Alexandre Koyré Collection Histoire de la Pensée, Paris, Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes, Sorbonne, 1965. 7.27 Rochot, B. ‘Gassendi et les mathématiques’, Revue d’histoire des sciences (1957) 69–78. 7.28 Rochot, B. ‘Beeckman, Gassendi et le principe d’inertie’, Archives internationales d’histoire des sciences 5 (1952) 282–9. Gassendi’s ethics and politics 7.29 Bloch, O.R. ‘Gassendi et la théorie politique de Hobbes’, in Y.-C.Zarka and J.Bernhardt (eds) Thomas Hobbes: Philosophie première, théorie de la science et politique, Paris, Presses Universitaires de France, 1990, 339–46. 7.30 Murr, S. ‘La science de l’homme chez Hobbes et Gassendi’, in Y.-C.Zarka and J.Bernhardt (eds) Thomas Hobbes: Philosophie première, théorie de la science et politique, Paris, Presses Universitaires de France, 1990, 193–208. 7.31 Sarasohn, L. ‘The Ethical and Political Philosophy of Pierre Gassendi’, Journal of the History of Philosophy 20 (1982) 239–60. 7.32 Sarasohn, L. ‘Motion and Morality: Pierre Gassendi, Thomas Hobbes, and the Mechanical World View’, Journal of the History of Ideas 46 (1985) 370–1. HOBBES Original language editions 7.33 Molesworth, Sir W. (ed.) The English Works, London, J.Bohn, 11 vols, 1839–45; reprinted, Aalen, Scientia Verlaag, 1962. 7.34 Molesworth, Sir W. (ed.) Thomase Hobbes Malmesburiensis Opera Philosophica quae Latine scripsit omnia, London, J.Bohn, 5 vols, 1839–45. 7.35 Tönnies, F. (ed.) The Elements of Law, London, Marshall & Simpkin, 1889. New editions are being published by the Clarendon Press under the direction of Noel Malcolm, and in French by Vrin under the direction of Y.-C.Zarka. 7.36 Texts of letters from Hobbes to the Earl of Newcastle in Manuscripts of his Grace the Duke of Portland Preserved at Welbeck Abbey, London, Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1893. English translations 7.37 Introduction and chapters 10–15 of De Homine, trans. Charles T.Wood, T. S.K.Scott- Craig and B.Gert, in Man and Citizen, Garden City, N.Y., Anchor-Doubleday, 1972. 7.38 Thomas White’s De M undo Examined, trans. H.Jones, Bradford, Bradford University Press, 1976. Bibliographies 7.39 Hinnant, C.H. Thomas Hobbes: A Reference Guide, Boston, Mass., G.K. Hall, 1980. 7.40 MacDonald, H. and Hargreaves, M. Thomas Hobbes: A Bibliography, London, Bibliographical Society, 1952. 7.41 Sacksteder, W. Hobbes Studies (1879–1979): A Bibliography, Bowling Green, Ohio, Philosophy Documentation Centre, 1982. Influences on Hobbes 7.42 Bernhardt, J. ‘L’apport de l’aristotélisme à la pensée de Hobbes’, in Thomas Hobbes. De la métaphysique à la politique, ed. M.Malherbe and M. Bertman, Paris, Vrin, 1989, 9–15. 7.43 Schuhmann, K. ‘Thomas Hobbes und Francesco Patrizi’, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 68 (1986) 254–79. 7.44 Schuhmann, K. ‘Hobbes and Telesio’, Hobbes Studies 1 (1988) 109–33. The philosophy of Hobbes: general surveys 7.45 Jessop, T.E. Thomas Hobbes, London, Longman, 1960. 7.46 Laird, J. Hobbes, London, Ernest Benn, 1934. 7.47 Peters, R. Hobbes, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1956. 7.48 Reik, M. The Golden Lands of Thomas Hobbes, Detroit, Mich., Wayne State University Press, 1977. 7.49 Robertson, G.C. Hobbes, Edinburgh, Blackwood, 1886. 7.50 Sorell, T. Hobbes, London, Routledge, 1986. 7.51 Spragens, T. The Politics of Motion: The World of Thomas Hobbes, Lexington, Ky., University Press of Kentucky, 1973. 7.52 Taylor, A.E. Hobbes, London, Constable, 1908. 7.53 Tuck, R. Hobbes, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1989. Hobbes: physics and metaphysics 7.54 Bernhardt, J. ‘Nominalisme et Mécanisme chez Hobbes’, Archives de philosophie 48 (1985) 235–49. 7.55 Brandt, F. Thomas Hobbes’s Mechanical Conception of Nature, London, Hachette, 1928. 7.56 Pacchi, A. Convenzione e ipotesi nela formazione della filosofia naturale di Thomas Hobbes, Florence, La Nuova Italia, 1964. 7.57 Panochia, D. ‘La science de la nature corporelle’, Studia Spinozana 3 (1987) 151–73. 7.58 Shapin, S. and Schaffer, S. Leviathan and the Air-pump, Princeton, N.J., Princeton University Press, 1985. 7.59 Shapiro, A. ‘Kinematic Optics: A Study of the Wave Theory of Light in the 17th Century’, Archive for the History of the Exact Sciences 11 (1973) 134–266. 7.60 Talaska, R. ‘Analytic and Synthetic Method according to Hobbes’, Journal of the History of Philosophy 26 (1988) 207–37. 7.61 Watkins, J.W.N. Hobbes’s System of Ideas, London, Hutchinson, 1965. 7.62 Zarka, Y.-C. La décision métaphysique de Hobbes. Conditions de la politique, Paris, Vrin, 1987. Hobbes: ethics and politics 7.63 Ashcraft, R. ‘Ideology and Class in Hobbes’ Political Theory’, Political Theory 6 (1978) 27–62. 7.64 Baumgold, D. Hobbes’s Political Theory, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1988. 7.65 Botwinick, A. Hobbes and Modernity: Five Exercises in Political Philosophical Exegesis, Lanham: University Press of America, 1983. 7.66 Copp, D. ‘Hobbes on Artificial Persons and Collective Actions’, Philosophical Review 89 (1980) 579–606. 7.67 Gauthier, D. The Logic of Leviathan: The Moral and Political Theory of Thomas Hobbes, Oxford, Clarendon, 1969. 7.68 Gauthier, D. ‘Taming Leviathan’, Philosophy and Public Affairs 16 (1987) 280–98. 7.69 Gert, B. ‘Hobbes and Psychological Egoism’, Journal of the History of Ideas 28 (1967) 503–20. 7.70 Goldsmith, M. Hobbes’s Science of Politics, New York, Columbia University Press, 1966. 7.71 Goyard-Fabre, S. Le droit et la loi dans la philosophie de Thomas Hobbes, Paris, Klincksieck, 1975. 7.72 Hampton, J. Hobbes and the Social Contract Tradition, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1986. 7.73 Hood, F.C. The Divine Politics of Thomas Hobbes: An Interpretation of Leviathan, Oxford, Clarendon, 1964. 7.74 Kavka, G. Hobbesian Moral and Political Theory, Princeton, N.J., Princeton University Press, 1986. 7.75 McNeilly, F.S. The Anatomy of Leviathan, London, Macmillan, 1968. 7.76 Mintz, S. The Hunting of Leviathan, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1962. 7.77 Oakeshott, M. Hobbes on Civil Association, Oxford, Blackwell, 1975. 7.78 Polin, R. Politique et philosophie chez Hobbes, Paris, Presses Universitaires de France, 1953. 7.79 Raphael, D.D. Hobbes: Morals and Politics, London, Allen & Unwin, 1977. 7.80 Rogers, G.A.J. and Ryan, A. Perspectives on Thomas Hobbes, Oxford, Clarendon, 1988. 7.81 Skinner, Q. ‘The Context of Hobbes’s Theory of Political Obligation’, The Historical Journal 9 (1966) 286–317. 7.82 Taylor, A.E. ‘The Ethical Doctrine of Hobbes’, Philosophy 13 (1938) 406–24. 7.83 Tuck, R. Natural Rights Theories, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1979. 7.84 Walton, C. and Johnson, P. (eds) Hobbes’s Science of Natural Justice, Dordrecht, Nijhoff, 1987. 7.85 Strauss, L. The Political Philosophy of Hobbes: Its Basis and Genesis, trans. E.Sinclair, Oxford, Clarendon, 1936. 7.86 Warrender, H. The Political Philosophy of Hobbes: His Theory of Obligation, Oxford, Clarendon, 1965.
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