Nevertheless, however admirable this work appears, it is not the individual that is the most wonderful; but it is in the succession, reproduction, and duration of species, that nature becomes inconceivable. This faculty of reproduction, which resides alone in animals and vegetables; this kind of unity always subsisting, and seemingly eternal; this procreative power, which perpetually exercises itself without being destroyed, is a mystery, the depth of which we are not enabled to fathom.
Inanimate bodies, even the stones and dirt under our feet, have some properties; their existence alone supposes a great number; and the least organic matter has an infinity of relations with the other parts of the universe. We shall not say, with some philosophers, that matter, under whatever form it may be, is sensible of its existence and relative faculties. This is a metaphysical question, and of which we do not here propose to treat, it will be sufficient to observe, that not having a perfect knowledge of our own relation with external objects, we cannot doubt that inanimate matters are still more ignorant; besides, as our sensations do not in the least resemble the objects which cause them, we must conclude, by analogy, that inanimate matter has neither sentiment, sensation, nor a consciousness of its existence; to attribute any of these faculties to it, would be giving it the power of thought, action, and perception, nearly in the same manner as we think, act, and feel, which is as much repugnant to reason as it is to religion.
Inanimate bodies being formed of earth and dust, we have, of course, some properties in common with them, but they are merely relative to what arises from general matter, such as extent, impenetrability, weight, &c. but as these properties, purely material, make no impression of themselves, as they exist entirely independent, and do not at all affect us, we cannot consider them as a part of our being; it is therefore the organization, the soul, and the life, which constitute our existence. Matter, considered in this light, is less the principal than the accessor. It is a foreign expansion, the union of which is unknown, and the presence hurtful to us; and thought, which is the constituent principle of our being, is very probably entirely independent.
We exist, therefore, without knowing how, and we think without knowing why; but whatever is the manner of our being or thinking, whether our sensations are true or false, the result of them are not less certain. This order of ideas, this train of thoughts, which internally exist from ourselves, although very different from the objects that cause them, give rise to the most real affections, and occasion relations with external objects, which we may consider as real affinities, since they are invariable, and always the same. The human species, therefore, may be said to hold the first rank in the order of nature, the brute creation the second, vegetables the third, and minerals the last; for although we cannot clearly distinguish between our animal and spiritual qualities, and although the brute creation are endowed with the same senses, possess the same principles of life and motion, and perform a number of actions like man, yet they have not the relation with external objects in the same extensive manner we have, and consequently the resemblance must fail in various respects. The distance is greater between man and vegetables, and still more so from minerals, as vegetables possess a degree of animation, while minerals are destitute of every principle that tends to organization.
To compose, therefore, the history of an animal, we must first nicely inspect into the general order of his particular relations, and afterwards distinguish those he has in common with vegetables and minerals. An animal has nothing in common with a mineral, excepting general properties of matter; his nature and œconomy are totally different: the mineral is a mere senseless and inactive matter, without organization, faculties, or power of reproduction; a dead mass, fit only to be trod under foot by man and animals; even the most precious metals are thus considered by the philosopher, as they possess but an arbitrary value, subordinate to the will, and dependent on the convention of men.
In an animal all the powers of nature are united; the properties by which it is animated are peculiar to it; by its senses it can will, act, determine, and communicate with the most distant objects: its body is a centre, to which every thing is connected; a point where the whole universe is reflected; a world in miniature. These are the properties which peculiarly belong to it; those which it possesses in common with vegetables are the faculties of growth, expansion, reproduction, and increase.
The most apparent difference between animals and vegetables seems to be the faculty of moving from place to place, which animals are endowed with and vegetables not. It is true we are not acquainted with any vegetable that has a single progressive motion; and there are many kinds of animals, as oysters, &c. to which this motion seems to have been denied; the distinction, therefore, is neither general nor necessary.
A more essential difference might be drawn from the faculty of sensation; but sensation includes such a variety of ideas, that we ought not to mention the word without giving some explication; for if by sensation we understand only a motion, occasioned by a check or resistance, we shall find the sensitive-plant is also possessed of it; if, on the contrary, we would have it signify to apprehend and compare ideas, we are not certain that brute animals possess it; if it is allowed to dogs, elephants, &c. whose actions seem to result from the same causes as those of men, it must be denied to an infinite number of others, especially to those which seem to be motionless. If we could give to oysters, for example, the same faculty of sensation as to dogs, though in an inferior degree, why should we not allow it to vegetables in a still lesser degree? This difference between animals and vegetables is not, therefore, general, nor well decided.
A third difference seems to arise from their method of feeding. Animals, by the means of certain external organs, seize those things which are agreeable to them: they seek their pasture and chuse their food. Plants are reduced to the necessity of receiving such nutriment as the earth furnishes: they have no diversity in the manner of procuring it; no choice in the kind, but the humidity of the earth is their only aliment; nevertheless, if we attend to the organization and action of roots and leaves, we shall presently discover that there are in those parts external organs, which vegetables make use of to obtain their food; that the root avoids and turns from an obstacle, or vein of bad earth, to seek for one that is better; that they divide their fibres, and even go so far as to change their form to procure nutriment for the plant. The difference between animals and vegetables cannot, therefore, be established on the manner in which they receive their nutriment.
This investigation induces us to conclude that there is no absolute essential and general difference between animals and vegetables, but that nature descends, by degrees imperceptibly from an animal which is the most perfect, to that which is the least, and from the latter to the vegetable. The water polypus may therefore be considered as the line where the animal creation ends and that of plants begin.