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PHILOSOPHY & THEOLOGY

A DISCOURSE ON METHOD, ETC. TRANSLATED BY JOHN VEITCH, LL.D. INTRODUCTION BY A. D. LINDSAY

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^DISCOURSE ON METHOD BY ^ RBNE DESCARTES

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INTRODUCTION

Ren^: Descartes was born on the 31st of March 1596 at La Haye in Touraine not far from Poitiers. His father was a gentleman of good family who had retired from military service and had become councillor of the Parlement of Brittany. Rene was the third son. He \

was sent at the age of eight to the^^^ewly established . J^ Jesuit college of La Fldche in MaineV He stayed there ^ ' for eight years, going through the full course. of stud^r;"" I ^ and showing in the last two years extraordinary prproci fyKP^'^-^^^^ in._ mathematics. Descartes all his life retained "the f/\ warmesFalfection f oriiisf old college and laid great -store on the approbationu-ol-4iis-~j6Suit teachers. Here, too, he made the acquaintance of his great friend, Mersenne. Mersenne later became a monk and eventually head of a convent in Paris. He was a man with a great gift of friendship, and his cell in Paris became the centre of philosophical and scientific discussion. Descartes* correspondence with him was constant and continuous, and ended only with Mersenne's death in 1648. Descartes not only found in him a loyal friend, but was through him enabled to get in touch with all the most important thought pf the time. jj- X ^>

In the first part of the Discourse on Method Descartes has related how after his studies were finished he came to the conclusion that for him further book-learning was unprofitable, and resolved " no longer to seek any otlxiyr science than the. knowledge of myself or of the ..great ;\

book of the world." Seeing the world meant enlisting in a foreign army, and the years till 1619 were spent by Descartes in the Low Countries, serving under Prince Maurice of Nassau. It seems to have been a curious existence: camp life with a certain amount of ''fighting, a good deal of leisure to study and write, and "discussion with the eminent mathematicians of the day who were

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Discourse on Method

serving as engineers. In 1619 Descartes, tired of a service in which as a Roman Catholic he had little sympathy, left the Low Countries and joined the army of MaximiUan, Duke of Bavaria, on the Danube. There, 4te-tolla u&4a-iW^-of-^5 tfagmerrtsr-he passed the most momentous day of his life, "being full of enthus^sm and having discovered the basis of true science.'^ -Hr ^Yas^jrobably thg same-day go io doccribed-ia-4be-beg«i--

events^.adjnirably IftiiBtrate that combination of simple C^THoTic piety aricJ'Suenlific zeal vvlii&h is chara.cteristic ' of DesGAftesLLUfe and writings. It was an experience of troubling dreams, of earnest prayers for light, ending in a vow to make a pilgrimage to our Lady of Loretto. Its outcome was a resolve, w^hich the Method describes, j;rto " sweep wholly away " all that he had learned, the 1 formulation of the Cartesian method of doubt, and the \ discovery, by the application of algebra to geometry, of \ the generality of mathematics. From this time forward Descartes)ievoted himself to working out his discovery. He quitted the army in 1621 and spent the next few years inr^-^ider travel, till finally in 1628 he settled in Holland as the country where he would be left most undisturbed to study and write. His investigations were by this time not confined to mathematics, but included chemistry and anatomy. The first statement^" of his philosophy, Rules for the Direction of the MindK though not published till after his death, was written at^ the beginning of his stay in Holland. It is an admirable*^ statement of Descartes' mathematical method. He was also busy about thh (tum^^riting a treatise, to be entitled " Le Monde, 'V^3fcTt^5%-3eecribod in PgnrV" j^tbQ Dtscourse nrt Method. Beginning with astronomy and showing how the world might have come into being according to physical laws', it passed oj^ to a description of " animals and particularly of man,'|p,nd proposed to give a mechanical explanation of the human body. The body is looked upon '' as a machine made by the hands of God, which is incomparably bet tei^ arranged and adequate to movements more admirable than is any machme of human invention. '-%» The treatise had

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Introduction ix

evidently much in common with Galileo's work and Harvey's treatise on The Circulation of the Blood, with both of which he became acquainted about this time. It was just going to be published when in 1633 the news came that Galileo had been condemned by the Holy Office, that his book had been burnt and he had been compelled to abjure. Descartes was much disturbed by the news. He had, as he says, perceived^^othing hereticalin Galileo's doctrines. His own treatise affirmed some otfthem. He withdrew it and gave up in the meantime all thought of publishing. Descartes was not of the stuff of which martyrs are made. Moreover, he had a deep and sincere devotion to the churchand respect f or "ite autTiofity 7 " Its "condemnation was, at the time at least, enough to shake his conviction of the truth of his_conclusions. Further, being martyred was not his business. He felt that what he wanted was to be left alone to discover the truth, and for that he must have tuneand quietT box his work's "sak^elt was not wortlftiis while To ge^ into trouble with the church. He turned to other studies, and in 1637 published the Discourse on Method\i^^Yki(jh. comoG first in thi'5 volumf'. Its full title was, A Discourse on the Method of rightly conducting the Reason and^eeking Truth in the Sciences, Further the Dioptric, Metebr^s and Geometry, Essays in this Method. The Dioptric hXd been made possible by the recent inventioiTol the tele^<;jope, and was a study of the natureof light, of ifefraction^ st-gd of optical delusion. The treatise upon Meteors was reall^,a general exposition of Descartes' Ijheory jpi matter whicnNvjbie identified with extension, andfan attempt to apply it t^the explanation of many natural phenomena. There i^\too little em- pirical knowledge of phenomena behind'^Hhe treatise, but the theory itself has been of great influence|l The Geometry^ the most famous and epoch-making part of

his SCienti£c m^k)\ was an f^vpogjltinn of hif^ npw analytir

geometiy^^he ^y^blication of the Discourse made Descartes famous, but it also, in spite of his previous behaviour, made him an object of suspicion to the more extreme ecclesiastics, Calvinist and Roman Catholic alike. It was partly to aUay such suspicions that he published

X Discourse on Method 7^

in 1641 his Meditations on the First PhilosophyS/J^^y were dedicated to the Deaif^nd Doctors of.tfe^ Sacred Faculty of Theology in Paris, and their^tirport was to show that the new method of philosophy, in spite of its fundamental difference from scholasticism, could produce irrefragable arguments fortlie most orthodox conclusions. Before publication M-ersenne had shown the manuscript of the Meditatiorcf to some of the leading thinkers of the day, amoijg-lhem Arnauld, Gassendi, and Hobbes, and from tk^mcollected a series of Objections to which in the seoelid edition of the Meditations Descartes wrote repUes. ^iSescartes' later writings were dedicated tcCjtwo noble ladies. In about 1642 he had been introduced to the Princess Elizabeth of Palatine, who was then resident at the Hague. With her he conducted a long corre- spondence on philosophical quest^ns^ andhe^^^ed^ted to her his Principles of Philosophy^ a^^ybm^eSdmm^ views on philosophical and scientific subjects. The selections translated in this volume are confined to the more philosophic part of this work^ These include a restatement . of his metaphysic^^views, a further elaboration of his doctrine of mcrfion — the most dif&cult and ambiguous pajt of hk^^liilosophy — and an account of the relation of^body^-^nd soul and of the senses and the understanding. /O'he more strictly scientific part contained an astronom^Nsomewhat on the lines of Galileo, but avoiding his unorthotiQxy, and an account of the physical structure of the earai^^In 1646 he was intro- duced to Queen Christine of Sweden, who was keenly interested in the new philosophy and science. He corresponded with her and wrote for her a spefcia^ _ psychological treatise on The Passions of the Soul, liis ij last published work. In 1649, at her earnest request, he • went to the Swedish Court at Stockholm. This change of residence, and even more the painful necessity of getting up at five o'clock in the morning to instruct his royal pupil, proved fatal to him. Descartes iJiad all his life been accustomed to lie in bed and study till late in the morning. He caught inflammation of the lungs, and died in February 1650. ^^^^

1 have given in some detail the chief events of

Introduction xi

Descartes' life, for it is hard tojinj^stajidthe combina- tion in his thought of elements apparently diverse unless we realise'" the circumstances "oT'lESFTSne" at " wEicH ' he lived and hjssittitude towards them. T)escartes Uved in the time that saw the beginnings of modern science, and himself contributed as much as any one to that beginning. Though without the experimental genius of Galileo or Torricelli, he far more than Lord Bacon had an insight into the theoretical basis on which the new discoveries res_ted. His great contribution^ to science ,/,/>, itself was mathematical) He was always more concerned with general principles of method~ttSnwi|h2SI32S5ed work_of observation" Hrs~'Tcience was essentially ^ rationalistic^. Just lor that reason his scientific work ^ was full of the most daring prophecies, which became the assumptions of nineteenth-century science. He had had a vision of ^Jlgw method of T^nowlecj^e. Refusing ^"t to let himself be hindered by lack of adequate informa- tion, he thought out what the constitution of the world '( and man must be if they were to be clearly understood. He lived at a time before the specialisation which is so characteristic of modern science had made its appear- ance. It was possible then for one man to master all that was known in all the sciences, physics, chemistry, astronomy, and anatomy. He looKed beHiiiSJjthe differences of ffiese'separate inquiries toTHeir common method and assumptions, and formulated for them a common ideal. He was the author and the prophet of the conception of mechanism, under the guidance of which modern science has made its greatest achievements. Long before anything could be done to work out such a conception in detail, he maintained that the universe as a whole^ and in its det;^.ils v{^,^ f.n be understood as a. mechanical system, and asserted this of the nature of S the~human body, and the whole nature of animals, as well as of the structure of the solar system. Of late years scientific thought is becoming conscious of the limitations of this ideal. It involves, as we shall see, certain theoretic impossibilities. But the services it has rendered to modern science can hardly be over- estimated.

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Xll

Discourse on Method

The boldness of Descartes' thought had, as we have seen, its Umitations. He Hved at a time when political freedom was unknown, and when that complete liberty of thought which modern science claims as its birthright was hardly dreamt of. He was himself a sincere and devout son of a church which claimed not only absolute authority within its own sphere, but the right to assert what was or was not included in that sphere. In the last paragraph of the Principles Descartes says, *' I submit all my opinions to the authority of the church. Lest I should presume too far, I afi&rm nothing, but submit all these my opinions to the authority of the church and the judgment of the more sage; and I desire no one to believe anything I may have said, unless he is constrained to admit it by the force and evidence of reason." The conflict is evident. Descartes believed that the force and evidence of reason was appreciable by every man. His test of truth, that which we clearly and distinctly conceive is true, was one which every individual could and must apply for himself. But over the authority of the church no individual had any control, and the fact that an argument had been approved by the reason of the individual man was no warrant that it would be approved by the church. Against this authority he had no thought of protesting, and his sincere acceptance of it is of the utmost importance to his philosophy. Had he cared only for science and its assumptions he might have had recourse to equivocation and evasion to escape ecclesiastical censure. He might, like the genuinely sceptical writers of the next century, like all freethinkers who live under an authority which they despise but dare not affront, have become a master in the art of knowing what to say and what to leave unsaid. In that case, though his language would have been influenced by authority, his thought would have been free of it. But with Descartes the conflict between reason and authority had to be fought out within him- self. He had somehow to find room for both in his philosophy if his own convictions were to be satisfied. At the same time no real reconciliation of the two spheres of science and religion was possible for him. For the.

Introduction xiii

truths of religion had found expression in the terms of a philosophy against which all his thinking was in revolt, and he had to take them as they were or not at all. As his more cynically-minded contemporary Thomas Hobbes remarked: '* It is with the mysteries of our Religion as with wholsome pills for the sick, which swallowed whole, have the virtue to cure; but chewed are for the most part cast up again without effect." _

Descartes had never any thought of " chewing *' or in any way analysing what his spiritual doctors prescribed. He was concerned to prove that such spiritual pre- scriptions were necessary, and to justify that view of the world upon which they were based. This is the source of Descartes' dualism. He had^to find room in his system for two entirely ^sparate worlds. He never really gave any explanation of theirconnection except to say that they were both thereaii3 thaFtheir inter- communication was miraculous. The sharp separation which he maintained between them was equally harmful to both. It produced on the one hand his conception of a purely mechanical world which is the basis of modern materialism, on the other the beginnings of that form of idealism which shuts the soul up in itself and tends to throw doubt upon and even to deny the existence of the external world of objects. For the soul conceived of as separate from' the body therexan be no object but itself, or a God separate from the world. The soul's knowledge of the world becomes a mystery which it is hard to go on believing.

With these considerations in mind we may proceed to examine Descartes* method and the outlines of his metaphysical conclusions. Descartes, as we have seen, thought of himself chiefly as the discoverer of a new method, and his first two works, the Rules and the Discourse, are chiefly an exposition of it. The beginning of the new method is implied in his review of his studies after leaving college. History, eloquence, and poetry are described as pleasing but hardly serious pursuits. Theology is notjo be ** submitted jtgJlifiJnipQteacy of our reason P^^philosophy andjogic " afford the means_of discoursing with an^p"peafan£^j^ in all matters/ '

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xiv Discourse on Method

The syllogism Descartes dismissed as a means of express- v.^ ing what was known already, not as an instrument of discovery. Mathematics alone is highly approved^' on account of the certitude and evidence of their reasoning." The only fault Descartes had to find with them was that the relations of the different branches of mathematics had not been thought out. This defect he was himself to remedy, and with the perception of the common mathematical method came the notion of this method being common to all the sciences.

Descartes' exposition of method has two sides. It is, in the first place, an account of the method which he had actually pursued in his mathematical discoveries. As such it is of great and permanent value, as a clear state- ment of the method of the mathematical sciences. But the scope of the exposition becomes enlarged when Descartes proceeds to apply this method to other spheres of inquiry than the mathematical, notably to metaphysics and also to enunciate the philosophical principles upon which it depends. These include the famous Cartesian method of doubt, the discovery of the ultimate principle, / thinky therefore I am, and the proofs of the existence of God. They involve, as we shall see, certain very serious difficulties. The simple exposition of method is pre- sented in its best form in the Rules for the Direction of the Mind, but it is also given in the four rules at the end of the second part of the Discourse. Its novelty consisted in the rejection of the syllogism and the af&rmation of the truth that the discoveries of reason are not made by deducing the particular froinlthe universal, but from perceiving the universal" in the individual instance. It asserts a clear distinction between reason and either perception "or imagination. Neither of the latter faculties give knowledge, although" they may help or hinder it. Knowledge is given only by the clear vision of the intellect. This Descartes calls "^intuition, and describes as follows: (''By intuition I understand, not the fluctuating testimony of the senses, nor the misleading judgment that proceeds from the blundering constructions of imagination, but the con- ception which an unclouded and attentive mind gives

Introduction xv

us so readily and distinctly that we are wholly freed from doubt about that which we understand. Or what comes to the same thing, intuition is the undoubting \ conception of an unclouded and attentive mind, and springs^qm the light of reason ajone; it is more certain j than^eduction itself, in that it is simpler, though / deduction cannot by us be erroneously conducted. / Thus each individual can mentally have intuition of the fact that he exists, and that he thinks ; that the triangle is bounded by three lines only, the sphere by a single superficies, and so on. Facts of such a kind are far more numerous than many people think, disdaining as they do to direct their attention upon such simple matters." ; Descartes* intuition carries its certaintyLmtlLit'. The truths which it grasps are self-evident, and could acquire no further certainty by being deduced from_or connected with anything-elsj^. Method is needed so to arrange the objects of our inquiry that we may be able thus to intuite them. It might seem at first sight as though we should thus reach only a large number of isolated propositions, but as Descartes says, insight into the connection of different self-evident propositions is itself the work of intuition. / " Method consists entirely in the order and disposition oTthe objects towards which our mental vision must be directed if we would find out any truth. We shall comply with it exactly if we reduce involved and obscure propositions step by step to those that are simpler, and then starting with the intuitive apprehension of all those that are absolutely simple, attempt to ascend to the knowledge of all others by precisely similar steps; ** and further, ''If we wish our science to be complete, those matters which promote the end we have in view must one and all be scrutinised by a movement of thought which is continuous and uninterrupted. 'J For this, Descartes says, it is necessary p' to run over the different propositions from time to time7 Tceeping the imagination moving continuously in such a way that while it is intuitively perceiving each fact it simultaneously passes on to the next; and thus I would do until I had learned to pass from the first to the last so quickly, that no stage in the process was left to the care

xvi Discourse on Method

of the memory, but / seemed to have the whole in intuition before me at the same time/*_\

Such is Descartes' mathematical method. It implies, as we have seen, a clear distinction between the under- standing and the senses or imagination, and if we are to i practise it we must realise for ourselves the essential difference between the clear and distinct apprehension., of the understanding and the obscure light of the senses. We must turn our backs on the vague and obscure and accustom ourselves to the apprehension of simple and self-evident truth. " We ought to give the whole of our attention to the most insignificant and most easily mastered facts, and remain a long tune in the contempla- tion of them until we are accustomed to behold the truth . clearly and distinctly. . . . Every one ought therefore ^^ to accustom himself to grasp in his thought at the same I time facts that are at once so few and so simple that he 1 shall never believe that he has knowledge of anything 1 which he does not mentally behold with a distinction \ equal to that of the objects which he knows most \ distinctly of all."

This advice naturally led to the Cartesian method of doubt. ^FoT when Descartes came to survey our beliefs and jtheories about the world he found in them none of that certainty which is so striking in mathematics. The only thing to be done was to reject everything that was merely probable, for between the probable and the ^ mathematically certain there is no relation, and to get back to the certain and self-evident. " Not that in this I imitated the sceptics, who doubt only that they may doubt and seek nothing beyond uncertainty itself; for on the contrary, my design was singly to find ground of assurance, and cast aside the loose earth and sand that I might reach the rock or the clay."

Now in mathematics this distinction so much insisted upon is essential, but when we come to our knowledge of the concrete world of existence, certain difficulties present themselves if we attempt to maintain it. Is it possible there so to dispense with the senses ? However mathematical we make our inquiries, must they not start with some basis of mere observation ? In other words

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Introduction xvii

mathematics, does not concern itself with the question of existence, but only with universal implications^ How is there any^'possibility'bf arrivirig~at~cOnclusions~^s'tb what actually exists wMch " shaTPKave mathematical certainty? Descartes in his metaphysics is concerned almost solely with this problem of existence, and with (the impossible attempt to disengage the question of what exists as distinguished from what is true from any dependence on the senses. If we are to have knowledge of the existing world, we must find something of whose existence we are certain, and then show that all other things whose existence we assert are dependent upon thisT" Descartes professes in this merely to be applying tiie mathematical method to other inquiries, but that that method is inapplicable to problems involving existence is evident when we come to examine the actual vT nature of his metaphysical arguments. In the mathe- matical method the mind apprehended various pro- positions, each of which was its own evidence. Further, intuition led to apprehension of the relation between ^ these propositions, but did nothing to make their truth *^ more certain. In the metaphysics a certain principle is reached, I Mnk, therefore I_am^^^ basis of all the rest, which are representedLj^jieducible from ijt. The test of truth is riolonger clear and distinct conception, but dependence on an ultimate proposition. This is not the mathematical method as originally described.

Further, we find in these arguments use made of certain conceptions, such as substance and its modes or cause and effect, which apply to existences, and not to truths or propositions, and yet the relation between substance and its modes, or between cause and effect, is conceived of as a mathematical relation. The distinction between" what is true and what exists, or knowledge and reality, is ignored till the concrete world of existence becomes a system of mathematical implications and nothing more, and the concrete individual self becomes merely that which thinks. '* Quantity and number,*' says Descartes finally, ** differ only in thought from that which has quantity and is numbered." Yet at the same time the

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XVlll

Discourse on Method

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crucial argument for existence— whether the existence of the self or of God or external reality— are arguments which could not apply to "quantity or number/' but only to "what has quantity and is numbered/' or to >vhat counts and numbers.

Further, the resolution to ignore the probable means the ignoring of the data of the senses, and that means that while we can get back to the certainty of existence in general, we can have no knowledge of the individual. For the real world is conceived as purely mathematical and without individuality. It becomes increasingly fdifi&cult to understand not simply what is the relation \ between knowledge and perception, but how there is J any room for the senses at all.

^^These difficulties are apparent in Descartes' account of the method of doubt, which is given at greatest length in the first and second meditations. He begins by noticing the illusions of the senses, the changing nature of their objects, and the difficulty caused by the existence of dreams. The general conclusion which these con- siderations support is that no individual judgment of the form: This or that thing, having such and such qualities, exists: can have perfect theoretic certainty. Any one of these may be doubted. Therefore, Descartes argues, they may all be doubted and for his purposes ignored. Nevertheless we still have the existence of doubt and hence of a doubter, and may conclude, I think, or I doubt, and therefore I am. Here Descartes finds his desired certain foundation on which all other V. knowledge is to rest.

Now it must be observed that this argument proves at once too little and too much. It proves too little, because thinking and doubting, being transitive verbs, must have some object. Each judgment we make about individual things may be doubted; we may also doubt whether things have the separateness which they seem to have; but we cannot doubt — to take the argu- ment on its lowest terms — that there is something there. Our thought may be and is independent of each separate object, but it cannot be independent of objects altogether. If no objects were presented to our senses, we should have

Introduction xix

nothing to think about, and there would be no thought. But Descartes wrongly uses the argument to conclude that mind is wholly independent of and exists entirely apart from body, j^' I thence concluded that I was a substance whose whole essence or nature consists only in thinking, and which, that it may exist, has need of no place, nor is dependent on any material thing: so that ■' I,' that is to say, the mind by which I am what I am, is wholly distinct from the body and 'is even more easily known than the latter, and is such, that although the latter were not, it would still continue to be all that it is."7

This is the foundation of the Cartesian idealism which has had such a fatal influence on modem theories of knowledge. It is based on the misconception that the mind knows itself more easily or more certainly than it knows objects. But while the existence of mind is a presupposition of our knowledge of objects, objects to be known are equally a presupposition of the existence of mind. Further, if the mind knowing itself is made our starting-point for deductions, there is no possibility of getting beyond the mind or explaining how we ever came to suppose that there is anything external to the mind to be known.

The argument also proves too much, as is seen when we consider what Descartes means by ** I." For what is really implied in the fact of doubting is a subject that doubts. Descartes assumes without proof that a subject that doubts must have personal identity, or must be what he calls a substance. He implies that what doubts at one moment must be the same as that which doubts at another. But the unity of the self which this implies, as Locke and Hume afterwards pointed out, depends upon memory, and memory, Descartes insists, gives only probability. The apparent force of the argument lies in the contrast between the consciousness of self-identity and the variety and mutability of the objects of thought. But as there would be no thinking if there were no objects, so there would be no unity of thought, and hence no personality, were there not unity and permanence in the objects of thought.

XX Discourse on Method

^--^^Descartes had reached an intuitive certainty of / existence at the price of entirely cutting off thought from / its objects. That sharp separation made, he has to "overcome the difficulty of getting back to the world of external objects again. Starting with the certainty of the existence of a mind independent of all non-mental reality, he examines the mind and shows that as mind it is not self-sufficient. This leads him to a statement, not of the existence of non-mental reality, but of the existence of a mind on which our mind is dependent, in other words, the existence of God. From the existence of God Descartes further argues the existence of external reality. His proofs of the existence of God, therefore, are important in his system not only in themselves, but as bridging over the gulf he has made between the self and its objects.

It is impossible in short space properly to examine Descartes' proofs of the existence of God. It is enough to notice that they depend upon the essential insufficiency of the individual mind if it is taken in isolation from the world, but that isolation, as we have seen, has only been determined by a fallacy. The force of the arguments really lies in the impossibility of the conclusion which Descartes had extracted from I think, therefore I am. The independent isolated self presupposed in that conclusion turns out to be limited and imperfect, to imply, therefore, a not-self; and in an argument which confuses the notion of theoretic self-sufficiency with moral perfection, the not-self is identified with God as He is conceived by religion. All that the ontological argument will prove is the existence of a reality inde- pendent and external to mind. But that can give no proof of the existence of God which is worth having, unless we can also show that that reality is moral, and that, as Kant pointed out, cannot be proved by any purely intellectual argument.

The argument by which Descartes from the existence of God infers the existence of the external world is superficially a glaring petitio principii. For he confuses the issue by supposing that we may be deceived in thinking that what we clearly and distinctly conceive

Introduction xxi

is true, and can only get rid of this supposition by argu- ing that it is incompatible with the goodness of God to suppose that He would so deceive us. But if what we clearly and distinctly conceive is not true, then Descartes cannot prove the existence of God, and there is no refuge from scepticism. This is an unfortunate de- clension from his fundamental and sound position that there are some truths which are their own evidence. But there is more in the argument than this. Descartes uses the existence and the trustworthiness of God to prove not the truth of mathematics, but the existence of mathematical objects. Thus we get back at last to the existence of the external world.

This return to the external world is possible only under conditions which determine Descartes' view of reahty. The trustworthiness of God cannot be called in to establish the existence of what our senses perceive. For obviously our senses often deceive us. Descartes, therefore, maintains that our senses do not give us truth at all. They are only meant to serve us for practical purposes, not to give us knowledge. They lead us into error only because we do not accept the limitations which God has put upon them. The trustworthiness of God warrants our believing in the existence of what we clearly and distinctly conceive, since here error is im- possible ; that is, it warrants the existence of our mathe- matical conceptions. This is the basis of Descartes' belief in that external reaUty is of a purely mathematical nature. /'*' I at least know with certainty that such things niay exist, in as far as they constitute the object of the pure mathematics, since, regarding them in this aspect, I can conceive them clearly and distinctly."

Descartes begins his account of external reality by distinguishing between the primary and secondary quahties of objects. The secondary qualities, being sense data and essentially vague and obscure, cannot have real existence. Reality then is described as pure extension and identified with space. '* Space or in- ternal place, and the corporeal substance which is com- prised in it, are not different in reality but merely in the mode in which they are wont to be conceived by us.

xxii Discourse on Method

Nothing remains m the idea of body, except that it is something extended in length, breadth, and depth; and this somethmg is comprised in our idea of space, not only of that which is full of body, but even of what is called void space."

Here we find the full consequences of Descartes separation of mind from its objects. As mind is regarded by him as pure thought, unextended and separate from body and all that pertains to the body, so matter, its counterpart, is pure extension devoid of any qualities except such as are involved in the nature of extension. The argument by which this conclusion has been reached assumes that because what is distinctly and clearly conceived is true, therefore nothing which is not clearly and distinctly conceived can exist, a conclusion which the premiss does not warrant. Descartes by reaching external existence through God has really identified the object of mathematical thought with reality.

The process of disentangling this confusion was begun by the English empiricists and completed by Kant. It would take too long to follow it out here. But some- thing must be said about the impossibilities of Descartes' identification of external reahty with extension.

If there is no distinction between space and objects in space, if the qualitative differences in objects revealed by the senses are unreal, and external reality is mere quantity, then it is impossible to distinguish between reality and blank nothing. Empty space separated from the objects in space is nothing, and if body and space are the same, empty space filled with empty space is no more real. Descartes to some extent sees this difficulty, and supposes that differences in extension are made possible by motion, anticipating the doctrine which has been the basis of much science, that all reaUty is nothing but extension and motion. But this makes it incumbent upon him to explain what motion is, and in his premisses he is bound to conceive motion in its turn as nothing but extension. For motion can only be clearly and distinctly conceived in terms of the space which it traverses. For the forms in which motion manifests itself as force, pressure, or weight are described

Introduction xxiii

by Descartes as secondary qualities, and therefore un- real. Descartes sometimes distinguishes between ex- tension and motion, thus saving the differences in reality at the expense of adding a third entity whose relation to either extension or mind is as mysterious as the relation of either of these to the other, and at other times asserts that motion is but a mode of extension, which leaves reality again incapable of differentiation.

One last point must be noticed. Reality being identified with extension, it becomes impossible for Descartes to explain the reaHty of time. He makes the existence of duration a proof of the existence of God {Principles, Part I. XXI.), because duration can only be explained by a continuous miracle. Duration is some- thing which cannot be clearly and distinctly conceived in Descartes' sense. This is of interest to-day in that the philosophy of Bergsen starts with the inadequacy of the scientific theory of reality to explain change, time, and motion, and the full force of the theories which he is criticising, and which he asserts to be the basis of much modem scientific thinking, can best be studied in Descartes, who was their first author.

A. D. LINDSAY.

January 1912.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Single Works. — Discours de la Methode, la Dioptrique, les Meteores, la Geometrie (Leyden), 1637; reprinted without la Geometrie, and with la Mecanique, la Musique (Paris), 1724; Latin edition (Amsterdam), 1644; Meditations Metaphysiques (published as Meditationes de Prima Philosophia in Paris), 1641; (Amster- dam), 1642; Objections contre les Meditations, avec les R6ponses (Paris), 1641; (Amsterdam) 1642; Lettre de Rene Descartes k Gisbert Voet (published as Epistola Renati Descartes ad Gisbertum Voeitum in Amsterdam), 1643; Les Principes de la Philosophic (pubUshed as Principia Philosophias in Amsterdam), 1644; Les Passions de TAme (Amsterdam), 1650; Le Monde, ou Traite de la Limiiere (Paris), 1664, 1677; L' Homme (translated into Latin, and first appeared as Renatus Descartes de Homine), 1662, 1664; re- printed 1677, 1729; De la Formation du Foetus, 1664; Lettres de 1629-1648, ed. by C. Clerselier (Paris), 1657, 1667; Regies pour la Direction de 1' Esprit, Recherche de la Verite par les Lumidres Naturelles (first appeared in Opera Posthuma Cartesii in Amster- dam), 1701.

xxiv Discourse on Method

Collected Editions. — Opera (Latin ed. in Amsterdam), 1650 8 vols., 1670-1683; OEuvres Completes, ed. by Victor Cousin, 11 vols. (Paris), 1824- 1826; CEuvres Philosophiques, ed. by A. Garnier, 4 vols. (Paris), 1834; CEuvres Completes, ed. by Chas. Adam and Paul Tannery (Paris), 1897; Philosophical Works of Descartes ed. by Eliz. S. Haldane and G. R. T. Ross, 1911, etc.

English Translations. — R. Descartes' Excellent Compendium of Musick, by Lord Brouncker, 1653 ; Discourses of the Mechanicks, by T. Salusbury, 1661 ; Discourse on Method, by Prof. John Veitch, 1850; Meditations, and Selections from the Principles of Philosophy, by Prof. John Veitch, 1853; Meditations, by R. Lowndes, 1878; Rules for the Direction of the Mind, The Meditations (in part), The World, Passions of the Soul, etc., by H. A. P. Torrey, 1892; Discourse on Method, and Metaphysical Meditations, by Gertrude B. Rawlings, 1901 ; Philosophical Works, by Eliz. S. Haldane and G. R. T. Ross, 1911, etc.

Life. — La Vie de M. Descartes, by V. A. Baillet, 1691; Eloge, by A. L. Thomas, 1765; Sa Vie et ses Travaux, by J. Millet, 1867; Descartes, by J. P. Mahaffy, 1880; Descartes and His School, b Kuno Fischer (English translation), 1887; Descartes, by A. Fouille 1893; Descartes, Spinoza, and the New Philosophy, by J. Iverach 1904; His Life and Times, by Eliz. S. Haldane, 1905.

CONTENTS

PAGE Discourse on the Method of Rightly Conducting the

Reason and Seeking Truth in the Sciences . . i

Meditations on the First Philosophy: —

Dedication .......

Preface ........

Synopsis of the Meditations ....

I. Of the Things of which we may Doubt

II. Of the Nature of the Human Mind; and that it is more easily known than the Body

III. Of God: that he exists ....

IV. Of Truth and Error

V. Of the Essence of Material Things; and, again, of God: that he exists ....

65

n

75 79

85

95

III

lao

VI Of the Existence of Material Things, and of the Real Distinction between the Mind and Body of Man ..... . 127

The Principles of Philosophy: —

Preface ......... 147

Dedication . . . . . . . - 162

I. Of the Principles of Human Knowledge . .165

II. Of the Principles of Material Things. Sects, i.

to XXV. ....... 199

III. Of the Visible World. Sects, i. to iii. . . 212

IV Of the Earth. Sects, i. to xix. . .- . . 214

2(XV

XXVI

Contents

Appendix: —

PAGE

Demonstrations of the Existence of Deity . . .229

Notes by the Translator: —

I. Perception 239

II. Idea ....

. 241

III. Objective Reality .

• 249

IV. From or Through the Senses

. 249

V. Thought ....

. 250

VI. Innate Ideas .

. 250

VII. Formally and Eminently .

. 252

VIII. Pure Intellection

• 253

IX. Motion

• 253

X. Second Element

. 254

DISCOURSE

ON THE

METHOD OF RIGHTLY CONDUCTING THE

REASON, AND SEEKING TRUTH

IN THE SCIENCES

r, •v

PREFATORY NOTE

BY THE AUTHOR

If this Discourse appear too long to be read at once, it may be divided into six parts: and, in the first, will be found various considerations touching the Sciences; in the second, the principal rules of the Method which the Author has discovered; in the third, certain of the rules of Morals which he has deduced from this Method; in the fourth, the reasonings by which he establishes the existence of God and of the Human Soul, which are the foundations of his Metaphysic; in the fifth, the order of the Physical questions which he has investi- gated, and, in particular, the explication of the motion of the heart and of some other difficulties pertaining to Medicine, as also the difference between the soul of man and that of the brutes; and, in the last, what the Author believes to be required in order to greater ad- vancement in the investigation of Nature than has yet been made, with the reasons that have induced him to write.

DISCOURSE ON METHOD PART I

Good sense is, of all things among men^ tligjngiSLfiqugJly Jistribute3T for ^veiyp^^ thinks himself so abundantly provided^ with _ it, that those even who are the most difficult to satisfy in everything else, do not usually desire a larger measure of this quality than they already possess. And in this it is not likely that all are mistaken: ' the conviction is rather to be held as testifying that the power of judging: arig^ht and of distinguishinp; truth from exror^ which i.r pmppTtv wlm-l-^ts" railed P^^od sense or i:;easoru is by nature equal in all men; and that the -y^ diversity of our opinions, consequently_^Ldojes-not--arise from some being endowed with a larger ^^hare^qf^ reason than others, but solely from this, that we conduct" our thoughts along different ways^ and dojiot4ix~our_attention on the same objects. For to be possessed of a vigorous/ ^^ mind is not enough : the prime requisite is rightly to | / 3pp1y_jl^ The greatest minds, as they are capable ^f the highest excellences, are open likewise to the greatest aberrations; and those who travel very slowly may yet make far greater progress^ provided they keep always to the straight road, than those who, while they run, forsake it. -

For myself, I have never fancied my mind to be in any respect more perfect than those of the generality; on the contrary, I have often wished that I were equal to some others in promptitude of thought, or in clearness and distinctness of Tmagination, or in fulness anJ readiness otjaemoJ^I And besides these, I Icnow of no other qualities that contribute to the perfection of the mind: for as to the reason or sense, inasmuch as it is that alone which constitutes us men, and distinguishes us from

3

4 Discourse on Method

the brutes, I am disposed to believe that it is to be found complete in each individual; and on this point to adopt the common opinion of philosophers, who say that the difference of greater and less holds only among the accidents, and not among t\\Q forms or natures of individuals of the same species.

I will not hesitate, however, to avow my belief that it has been my singular good fortune to have very early in life fallen in with certain tracks which have conducted me to considerations and maxims, of which I have formed a method that gives me the means, as I think, of gradually augmenting my knowledge, and of raising it by little and httle to the highest point which the mediocrity of my talents and the brief duration of my life will permit me to reach. For I have already reaped from it such fruits that, although I have been accustomed to think lowly enough of myself, and although when I look with the eye of a philosopher at the varied courses and pursuits of mankind at large, I find scarcely one which does not appear vain and useless, I nevertheless derive the highest satisfaction from the progress I conceive myself to have already made in the search after truth, and cannot help entertaming such expectations of the future as to believe that if, among the occupations of men as men, there is any one really excellent and important, it is that which I I have chosen. I

/After all, it is possible I may be mistaken; and it is ' but a little copper and glass, perhaps, that I take for I gold and diamonds. I know how very hable we are to delusion m what relates to ourselves, and also how ' much the judgments of our friends are to be suspected when given m our favour. But I shall endeavour m this discourse to describe the paths I have followed, and to ^Imeate my life as in a picture, in order that each one may l)e able to judge of them for himself, and that in the general opmion entertained of them, as gathered from current report I myself may have a new help towaVd^

oTr;^^?: "* '^'^ "• '"""^ ' ""^ i^™ i" *' "'S

f wh?^h"S --^ ^j|!!:.^n^"- '' ^^^ to teach the method 1 wjncnjacli^ou^^ right conaS^f his

Discourse on Method

reason, but solely to describe the way in which I have 'i^ endeavoured tg QQ]|;\du(^'tr my nwn, I'hey who set them-f ' selves to give precepts must of course regard themselves as possessed of greater skill than those to whom they prescribe; and if they err in the slightest particular, they subject themselves to censure. But as this tract* is put forth merely as a history, or, if you will, as a tale, in which, amid some examples worthy of imitation, there will be found, perhaps, as many more which it were advisable not to follow, I hope it will prove useful to some without being hurtful to any, and that my openness will find some favour with all. --^From my childhood, I have been familiar with letters; and as I was given to believe that by their help a clear and certain fenaw|<?dg^ ^^ pH tr^^t ^'"^ useful iiTmelnight be acquired, I was ardently desirous of iagtmclSH^ fiut as soon as I had finished the entire course of study, at the close of which it is customary to be admitted into the order of the learned, I com.pletely changed my opinion. For I found[inyself involved in so many doubts and errors, that TVas convinci^^^H^IadySioS^o fa^ in all "^y_ fttf^mpt'^ ^^ l^a^y^nf i than t^^^^ discovery at every turn^ my own ignorance. And yet i" was studying^n one of the most celebrated schools in Europe, in which I thought there must be learned men, if such were any- where to be found. I had been taught all that others learned there; and not contented with the sciences actually taught us, I had, in addition, read all the books that had fallen into my hands, treating of such branches as are esteemed the most curious and rare. I knew the judgment which others had formed of me; and I did not find that I was considered inferior to my fellows, although there were among them some who were already marked out to fill the places of our instructors. And, in fine, our age appeared to me as flourishing, and as fertile in power- ful minds as any preceding one. I was thus led to take the liberty of judging of all other men by myself, and of concluding that there was no science^in existence that was of such„ajriature ^ 1 had previolisly^eenrgiven to ^e^^

I still continued, howeverTto nold in esteemTRe studies of the schools. I was aware that the languages taught

o

#

6 Discourse on Method

in them are necessary to the understanding of the writings of the ancients; that the grace of fable stirs the mind; that the memorable deeds of history elevate it; and, if read with discretion, aid in forming the judgment; Jthat the perusal of all excellent books is, as it were^Jojiiter- viewwitlTthenoblest men ot past ages, who nave written them, and even a studied Triterview, in which are dfs- cqyered to us only their choicest thoughts; that eloquence has incomparable force and beauty; that poesy has its ravishing graces and delights; that in the mathematics there are many refined discoveries eminently suited to gratify the inquisitive, as well as further all the arts and lessen the labour of man; that numerous highly useful precepts and exhortations to virtue are contained in treatises on morals; that theology points^out the path to heaven; that philosophy''~aSords the means of dis- courslft'g^with an appearance of truth on all matters, and commands the admiration of the more simple; that jurisprudence, medicine, and the other sciences, secure for their cultivators honours and riches; and, in fine, that it is useful to bestow some attention upon all, even upon those abounding the most in superstition and error, that we may be in a position to determine their real value, and guard against being deceivedy^

But I believed that I had already given sufficient time to languages, and likewise to the reading of the^^fficitings of the ancients, to their histories and fablesj For to / hold converse with those ofother ages and to travel, are almost the same thing. It is~ useful to know something of the manners of differejit" nMToftS, that we may be enaM|blO'''TU fUill'i djtnore correct judgment repcar^mg our own~{'an(l be prey^^nt^^ from thinKing that everything comrary to Qnr custoinsTs ridiculous and irrational, — a conclusion usually come to by those wKosc ex'perience has been limited to their own country. On the other hand, when too much time is occupied in ffiaiVelEng, "we ^5fffl"^^ /^^^^^5^^s to oiir^native country; and thfi .over carious in the customs oTthe past are generally ignorant oJ^Qse .pj tthfi r^^^nrit Besides, fictitious narratives ImTus to imagine the possibility of many events that are impossible; and even the most faithful histories, if they

s

Discourse on Method 7

do not wholly misrepresent matters, or exaggerate their importance to render the account of them more worthy of perusal, omit, at least, almost always the meanest and least striking of the attendant circumstances; hence it happens that the remainder does not represent the truth, and that such as regulate their conduct by examples drawn from this source, are apt to fall into the extrava- gances of the knight-errants of romance, and to enter- tain projects that exceed their powers.

I esteemed eloquence highly, and was in raptures with poesy; hiit J t>>nnght that hath wprf^ orift.g of nature raj:her than iruit&-^-^tiid:v. Those in whom the faculty of reason is predominant, and who most skilfully dispose their thoughts with a view to render them clear and intel- ligible, are always the best able to persuade others of the truth of what they lay down, though they should speak only in the language of Lower Brittany, and be wholly ignorant of the rules of rhetoric; and those whose minds are stored with the most agreeable fancies, and who can give expression to them with the greatest embellishment and harmony, are still the best poets, though unacquainted with the art of poetry.

> I was especially delighted with the mathematics, on account of the certitude and evidence of their reason- ings; but I had not as yet a precise knowledge of their true use; and thinking that they but contributed to the advancement of the mechanical arts, I was astonished that foundations, so strong and solid, should have had no loftier superstructure reared on them. On the other hand, I compared the disquisitions of the ancient moralists to very towering and magnificent palaces with no better foundation than sand and mud: they laud the virtues very highly, and exhibit them as estimable far above anything on earth; but they give us no adequate criterion of virtue, and frequently that which they designate with so fine a name is but apathy, or pride, or despair,jor_£arri£ide-

I revered our theology, and aspired as much as any one to reach heaven: but being given assuredly to under- stand that the way is not less open to the most ignorant than to the most learned, and that the revealed truths

8 Discourse on Method

which lead to heaven are above our comprehension, I did not presume to subject them to the impotency of jny reason; and I thought that in order competently to undertake their examination, there was need of some special help from heaven, and of being more than man.

Otjibilosophy I will say nothing, except that when I saw that it had been cultivated for many ages by the most distinguished men, and that yet there is not a single matter within its sphere which is not still in dis- pute, and nothing, therefore, which is above doubt, I did not presume to anticipate that my success would be greater in it than that of others; and further, wjien I considered the number of conflicting opinions touching a smgle^lnalte^^^^^^ Be uphela pvTeamed men,

while therie' can Be b^^^ true, I reckoned as well-nigh

falsr-afrtot^wUS^gg^^gro^

AS t6 IKe otEer sciences, inasmuch as these borrow their principles from philosophy, I judged that no solid superstructures could be reared on foundations so infirm; and neither the honour nor the gain held out by them was sufficient to determine me to their cultivation: for I was not, thank Heaven, in a condition which compelled me to make merchandise of science for the bettering of my fortune; and though I might not profess to scorn glory as a cynic, I yet made very slight account of that honour which I hoped to acquire only through fictitious titles. And, in fine, of false sciences I thought I knew the worth sufficiently to escape being deceived by the professions of an alchemist, the predictions of an astrologer, the impostures of a magician, or by the artifices and boasting of any of those who profess to ^ know things of which they are ignorant.

^For these reasons, as soon as my age permitted me to jmss from under the control of my instructors, I entirely abandoned the study of letters, and rPf;n1y^|^ ^r^ ]^^^^r to seek anv other science than the knowledp;e of myself.

or Qt the frresi^l hnn\r nf fh^ .yn^r-}A T .p^^^ ||^^ ^^^^^j^i^P^

of my youth in travelling, in visiting courts and armies, m holding intercourse with men of different dispositions and ranks, in collecting varied experience, in proving myself in the different situations into which fortune threw

Discourse on Method TfH^^^^T^i^

me, anH, ahnyp. a]\ in m^kinp; sncb j{^er±iQi]^ialIiejQ3atter

Ofjnv exp^rirnrf P^ ^^ ^PmrP ^^y ^'ijip^nvprnpnl- For it

occurred to me that I should find much more truth in ~^^ the reasonings of each individual with reference to the affairs in which he is personally interested, and the issue of which must presently punish him if he has judged amiss, than in those conducted by a man of letters in his study, , regarding speculative matters that are of no practical i moment, and followed by no consequences to himself, farther^ perhaps, than that they foster his vanity the better the more remote they are from common sense; requiring, as they must in this case, the exercise o£. greater ingenuity and art to render them probable. /in addition, I had always a most earnest desire tn knnw feygy I to disLiilUUllJBL the, true from t\?V^ ffll^^, m nrrier t,hftt, I \

mi^ttT'^e'able clearly to discriminate the right path in * life, and proceed in it wittl confldenceTT "^t is true that, while busied only^in considering the manners of other men, I found here, too, scarce any ground for settled conviction, and remarked hardly less contradiction among them than in the opinions of the philosophers. So that the greatest advantage I derived/ from the st^dy cQ3gtStgd^irrtl!ltertlial^ many

things which, however extravagant and ridiculous to ouF"appre'!i'eft5l6ti. are y^t by common consent received anjd approved by other great nations, i learnea to enter- tain toooecidecl a oeliei m regard to nothing ot the truth of which J Jif^fl been persnaaed merely by example and custom ; and tTius T"graclualiy extricated myself from many errors powerful enough to dairken our natural intelligence, and incapacitate us in great measure from listening to reason. But after I had been occupied several years in thus studying the book of the world, and in essaying to gather some experience, I at length resolved to make myself an object of study, and to employ all the powers of my mind in choosing the paths I ought to follow^ an undertaking which was accompanied with greater success than it would have been had I never quitted my country or my books.

PART II

I WAS then in Germany, attracted thither by the wars in that country, which have not yet been brought to a termination; and as I was returning to the army from the coronation of the emperor, the setting in of winter arrested me in a locaUty where, as I found no society to interest me, and was besides fortunately undisturbed by any cares or passions, I remained the whole day in seclusion,^ with full opportunity to occupy my attention with my own thoughts./Of these one of the very first that occurred to me was, that there j^ ^^^^^ri; ^^ Tnnrh perfection in works r^nipr^^^^ of ^^^y ?=pppyptp. parts, upon wiiich Qitterenriiflprls ha^ been empioved. ^s^in those completed by a ^jngle ^master. Thus it is observ- able thaTTKe" Buildings which a single architect has planned and executed, are generally more elegant and commodious than those which several have attempted to improve, by making old walls serve for purposes for which they were not originally built. Thus also, those ancient cities which, from being at first only villages, have become, in course of time, large towns, are usually but ill laid out compared with the regularly constructed towns which a professional architect has freely planned on an open plain; so that although the several buildings of the former may often equal or surpass in beauty those of the latter, yet when one observes their indiscriminate juxtaposition, there a large one and here a small, and the consequent crookedness and irregularity of the streets, one is disposed to allege that chance rather than any human will guided by reason must have led to such an arrangement. And if we consider that nevertheless there have been at all times certain officers whose duty it was to see that private buildings contributed to public orna- ment, the difficulty of reaching high perfection with but 1 Literally, in a room heated by means of a stove. — Tr.

10

Discourse on Method 1 1

the materials of others to operate on, will be readily acknowledged. In the same way I fancied that those na^iqnsjvvhich, starti a semi-barbarous state and ..

advancing to civilisation by slow degrees^ have had their laws successively determined, and, as it were, forced upon them simply by experience of the hurtfulness of particular crimes and disputes, would by this process ; come to be possessed of less perfect institutions than those which, from the commencement of their association ^ as communities, have followed the appointments of some wise legislator. It is thus quite certain that the constitu- tion of the true religion, the ordinances of which are derived from God, must be incomparably superior to that of every other. And, to speak of human affairs, IJDelieve til?:?. J^.?--P-^-3t pre-eminence of Sparta was dij.e not to"tHe goodness of each of its laws in particular, for many of these^were very strange, and even opposed to good morals! but to the circumstance that, originated by a single individual, Jjiigy, alj^ tended tp.^a In

fHe same way J thought that the sciences contained in books (such orthem at least as are m^aclellp ofprobaBle

rp'^t;nn i ngT ' ^nfKrn tT f] ptti nn ^ir^ rrnn qj ^mpnTc^p.^ .,as they

are of the opinions of many differentjndividual^,. massed togeHier, are ^ttfa^r r'pmnvec^ ^rom truth than the simple inferences which a man of good sense. usiQg..iiis„..Qaturgil and unprejiidiced judfflrnen clraws respecting the j^aJbtexs of his experience. And becausF'weTiave all to pass through a 'StactF of infancy to manhood, and have been of necessity, for a length of time, governed by our desires and preceptors (whose dictates were frequently con- flicting, while neither perhaps always counselled us for the best), I farther concluded that it is almost impossible that our judgments can be so correct or solid as they would have been, had our reason been mature from the moment of our birth, and had we always been guided by it alone.

It is true, however, that it is not customary to pull down all the houses of a town with the single design of rebuilding them differently, and thereby rendering the streets more handsome; but it often happens that a private individual takes down his own with the view of

12 Discourse on Method

erecting it anew, and that people are even sometimes constrained to this when their houses are in danger of falHng from age, or when the foundations are insecure. With this before me by way of example, I was persuaded that it would indeed be preposterous for a private indi- vidual to think of reforming a state by fundamentally changing it throughout, and overturning it in order to set it up amended; and the same I thought was true of any similar project for reforming the body of the sciences, or the order of teaching them established in the schools: but as for the opinions which up to that time I had embraced, I thought that I could not do better than ^ resolve at once to sweep them wholly away, that I might afterwards be in a position to admit either others more s^ correct, or even perhaps the s^me when they had under- ^ gone the scrutiny of reason. I firmly believed that in this way I should much better succeed in the conduct of my life, than if I built only upon old foundations, and leant upon principles which, in my youth, I had taken upon trust. For although I recognised various difficulties in this undertaking, these were not, however, without remedy, nor once to be compared with such as attend the slightest reformation in public affairs. T.firgp. t^^di^'^r ^^

once ovprthrnwn^ s\r^ ^i^h ffl-pf^j difficulty Sffjt ^^p ^f^^'^j orsjeveiTKepFerect when once seriously shaken, and the fall of siieh is always disastrous. Then if there are any imperfections in the constitutions of states (and that many such exist the diversity of constitutions is alone sufficient to assure us), custom has without doubt materially smoothed their inconveniences, and has even managed to steer altogether clear of, or insensibly corrected a number which sagacity could not have pro- vided against with equal effect; and^Jn^ne, the defects ""--^are almo^^lways more tolerable tha^^^F^HgTneces- sary for their removal; in th^ manner that highways

which isdndam£>ng- mountains, by beingjny^li fregnentpdj becoriiia...gradua%^SQ sijiogth and commiqdiflUSr-thatjt is muchbetter to follow them than to seek a straighter path ^™biii^ver the tops ^of rocks jndiJSgn^^ uottflms^otprecipiGes** ^

Hence it is that I cannot in any degree approve of

Discourse on Method 1 3

those restless and busy meddlers who, called neither by birth nor fortune to take part in the management of public affairs, are yet always projecting reforms; and if I thought that this tract contained aught which might justify the suspicion that I was a victim of such folly, I would by no means permit its publication. I have never contemplated anythmg higher than the reiorma- tiQii 61 my own opinions^, and basmg them on a^iounQa- tion wholly my own. And although my own satisfaction witlTmyworETias led me to present here a draft of it, I do not by any means therefore recommend to every oiie^lse to^make a similar attempt. Those whom God has endowed with a larger measure of genius will enter- tain, perhaps, designs still more exalted; but for the many I am much afraid lest even the present undertaking be more than they can safely venture to imitate. The smgle design to jtrip one^s self ofallpast belief sjs one that oupST'nof'tonbe Jt^^ of

mefi' Ts composed of two cIasses,~lor neither of which would this be at all a befitting resolution: in th^«ufrf4 place, of those who with more than a due confidence in their own powers, are precipitate in their judgments and want the patience requisite for orderly and circumspect thinking; whence it happens, that if men of this class once take the liberty to doubt of their accustomed opinions, and quit the beaten highway, they will never be able to thread the byway that would lead them by a shorter course, and will lose themselves and continue to wander for life ; in the y»M4id place, of those who, possessed of sufficient sense or modesty to determine that there are others who excel them in the power of discriminating between truth and error, and by whom they may be instructed, ought rather to content themselves with the opinions of such than trust for more correct to their own reason.

For my own part, I should doubtless have belonged to the latter class, had I received instruction from but one master, or had I never known the diversities of opinion that from time immemorial have prevailed among men of the greatest learning. But I hnd brromo aw.irc, even so early as during my college life, that no o^.Qi9iLut<^w-

14 Discourse on Method

pvpr ?^h.qiird and incredible, can be imagined, which has noi been maintained by someone^ot^tj^Il^ ;

and'afferwafds in the COllrse or'Tnytravels I remarked| that all those whose opinions are decidedly repugnant to\ ours are not on that account barbarians and savages, but! on the contrary that many of these nations make an; equally good, if not a better, use of their reason than we do. I took into account also the very different character which a person brought up from infancy in France or Germany exhibits, from that which, with the same mind originally, this individual would have possessed had he lived always among the Chinese or with savages, and the circumstance that in dress itself the fashion which pleased us ten years ago, and which may again, perhaps, be received into favour before ten years have gone, appears to us at this moment extravagant and ridiculous. I was thus led to infer that the ground of our opinions is far mjore custom and example than any_cf^<-^^" ff|nwleclge. And, hnaily,^IthougK such be the ground of our opinions, I remarked that a plurality of suffrages is no guarantee of truth where it is at all of difficult discovery, as in such cases it is much more likely that it will be found by one than by many. I could, however, select from the crowd no one whose opinions seemed worthy of preference, and thus I found myself constrained, as it were, to use my own reason in the conduct of my life. — ^yBut like one walking alone and in the dark, I resolved Xo proceed so slowly and with such circumspection, that if I did not advance far, I would at least guard against falling. I did not even choose to dismiss summarily any of the opinions that had crept into my belief without ^ having been introduced by reason, but first of all took '^ sufficient time carefully to satisfy myself of the general nature of the task I was setting myself, and ascertain the true method by which to arrive at the knowledge of whatever lay within the compass of my powers.

Among the branches of philosophy, I had, at an earlier period, given some attention to logic, and among those of the mathematics to geometrical analysis and algebra, — three arts or sciences which ought, as I con- ceived, to contribute something to my design. But, on

\

Discourse on Method 15

examination, I found that, as for logic, its syllogisms and the majority of its other precepts are of avail rather in the communication of what we already know, or even as the art of LuUy, in speaking without judgment of things of which we are ignorant, than in the investigation of the unknown; and although this science contains indeed a number of correct and very excellent precepts, there are, nevertheless, so many others, and these either injurious or superfluous, mingled with the former, that it is almost quite as difficult to effect a severance of the true from the false as it is to extract a Diana or a Minerva from a rough block of marble. Then as to the analysis of the ancients and the algebra of the moderns, besides that they embrace only matters highly abstract, and, to appearance, of no use, the former is so exclusively re- stricted to the consideration of figures, that it can exercise the understanding only on condition of greatly fatiguing the imagination; and, in the latter, there is so complete a subjection to certain rules and formulas, that there results an art full of confusion and obscurity calculated to embarrass, instead of a science fitted to cultivate the mind. By these considerations I was induced to seek some other method, which would comprise the advantages of the three and be exem^^pt from their defects. And as a multitude of laws often only hampers justice, so that a state is best governed when, with few lawf>, thf ?>p^re rigiQiy- lagXiStEterexaT m like^krmer, instead of the great number of precepts of whic^logicjs composed, I believed that the four following wouToprove perfectly sufficient for me, provided I took the firm and unwavering resolu- tion never in a single instance to fail in observing them. ^ The_^r^^ was never^o accept anything for true which I did not clearly kno^WTo'lE^stfCh ; matTs to sav. carefullv

, rTTiTTLl-umii-i'i I ' — I trill 11 I I iiiri. J_" 'I 1 T -

tp^Vgia' pfggipitancy and premdice, ana to comprise noTSng^more^^m''Hw^ -judgment ~TO pyp.5^pn tpfl

t(TnrnT'nyrr^^^ gfi^^^^^ and-distinctly-fts-to -exclude all

TIi"e*^^SS^5^-ta-dlvid£L..eacL,,D under ,,1

jexamihation Into as many parts as bossphle^ anff as '^'

m jgfi^ "^>f;^^^^^€€^s^^ry lor its a^eauate-sdutixm: — r~-

ThP fhjrd tn rnnfinrt my thoiigblgJiyg^i^h ordcr that, : .

1 6 Discourse on Method

by rnmmencing; with objects the simplest and easiest ynr^/J; T-r^ a;gSgq^^ and liule^^nd, as it ^gTTtgkrrsiqK lu llA(^Ki5wfeye of the more-complex; ^.3p^i=[ffr"fV.nii^l.t a rertain order even to those objects wTSegjOh^^Tov^ not stand in a relation of

antficeie.nce aridj5,equehce ~~

And the last, in every case to m,ak&.^nn^^^«1"^f^^^ so compfetc;~aiTdTevfe^l£r^ that I might be assured

that nothing wdS 6mWie^.

-f^imgchsiins df SIThple and easy reasonings by means of which geometers are accustomed to reach the con- clusions of their most difficult demonstrations, had led me to imagine that ^11 thingc;^ tn the knowledge of which man is competent, are mutually connectedin the same wayTgg; thai Jhere ^^^^ lai imTfTtr^redJroin us

I as toETbey^d'our reach, or so hidden that we_ cannot discover it J^royided nnjy we. gj^m irom accepting'^ the falselSTthe true, and always .preserve in ^iir th^"g^^° the^ggerTnecessary for the deduction of one truth from anotherr"'And 1 had little ditfaculty in determining the oGJl^ with which it was necessary to commence, for I was already persuaded that it must be with the simplest and easiest to know, and, considering that of all those who have hitherto sought truth in the sciences, the mathe- maticians alone have been able to find any demonstra- tions, that is, any certain and evident reasons, I did not doubt but that such must have been the rule of their investigations. I resolved to commence, therefore, with the expmination of the simplest objects, not anticipating, however, from this any other advantage than that to be found in accustoming my mind to the love and nourish- ment of truth, and to a distaste for all such reasonings as were unsound. But I had no intention on that account of attempting to master all the particular sciences com- monly denominated mathematics: but observing that, however different their objects, they all agree in consider- ing only the various relations or proportions subsisting among those objects, I thought it best for my purpose to consider these proportions in the most general form possible, without referring them to any objects in par- ticular, except such as would most facilitate the know-

Discourse on Method 17

ledge of them^ and without by any means restricting them to these, that afterwards I might thus be the better able to apply them to every other class of objects to which they are legitimately applicable. Perceiving further, that in order to understand these relations I should sometimes have to consider them one by one, and sometimes only to bear them in mind, or embrace them in the aggregate, I thought that, in order the better to consider them individually, I should view them as subsisting between straight lines, than which I could find no objects more simple, or capable of being more distinctly represented to my imagination and senses; and on the other hand, that in order to retain them in the memory, or embrace an aggregate of many, I should express them by certain characters the briefest possible. In this way I believed that I cQ^dJiQrip3¥.^]i :that,w^^ geometrical analysis and in alggbra, and .cgrx^ct alLthe

And, in point of fact, the accurate observance of these few precepts gave me, I take the liberty of saying, such ease in unravelling all the questions embraced in these two sciences, that in the two or three months I devoted to their examination, not only did I reach solutions of questions I had formerly deemed exceedingly difficult, but even as regards questions of the solution of which I continued ignorant, I was enabled, as it appeared to me, to determine the means whereby, and the extent to which, a solution was possible; results attributable to the circum- stance that I commenced with the simplest anfl mpst general truth?7 and lliat llicrSTgEclTtruth dScQ^ered was a rule av_ailable in the discoveng_jDf subsegueni^^^^Q Nor in this perhaps shall I appear too vain, if •it be con- sidered that, as the truth on any particular point is one, whoever apprehends the truth, knows all that on that point can be known. The child, for example, who has been instructed in the elements of arithmetic, and has made a particular addition, according to rule, may be assured that he has found, with respect to the sum of the numbers before him, all that in this instance is within the reach of human genius. Now, in conclusion, the method which teaches adherence to the true order, and

B

1 8 Discourse on Method

an exact enumeration of all the conditions of the thing sought includes all that gives certitude to the rules of arithmetic.

But the chief ground of my satisfaction with this method, was the assurance I had of thereby exercising my reason in all matters, if not with absolute perfection, at least with the greatest attainable by me: besides, I was conscious that by its use my mind was becoming gradually habituated to clearer and more distinct con- ceptions of its objects; and I hoped also, from not having restricted this method to any particular matter, to apply it to the difficulties of the other sciences, with not less success than to those of algebra. I should not, however, on this account have ventured at once on the examination of all the difficulties of the sciences which presented themselves to me, for this would have been contrary to the order prescribed in the method, but observing that the knowledge of such is dependent on principles borrowed from philosophy, in which I found nothing certain, I thought it necessary first of all to endeavour to establish its principles. And because I observed, besides, that an inquiry of this kind was of all others of the greatest moment, and one in which precipitancy and anticipation in judgment were most to be dreaded, I thought that I ought not to approach it till I had reached a more mature age (being at that time but twenty-three), and had first of all employed much of my time in preparation for the work, as well by emdicating from my niiiu] iill Mir egoneous^^opim^ to thflt .momrnt. ftorrpted,

as bjTarQassijQg^ variety of pvp^ppnrp fn ^ff^^fl rna^f^n-gic for my reasonmgs, and by continually exercisingr my.gplf injiijL£hosea^ethod witli a view to increased skiUJn its applicationT"*""'''^

PART III

And, finally^ as it is not enough, before commencing to rebuild the house in which we Hve, that it be pulled down, and materials and builders provided, or that we engage in the work ourselves, according to a plan which we have beforehand carefully drawn out, but as it is likewise necessary that v/e be furnished with some other house in which we may live commodiously during the operations, so that I might not remain irresolute in my actions, while my reason compelled me to suspend my judgment, and that I might not be prevented from living thenceforward in the greatest possible felicity, I formed a provisory code of morals, composed of three or four maxims, with which I am desirous to make you acquainted. The Jirst wa,s to obey the laws and customs of my country, adhering firmly to the faith in which, by the grace of God, I had been educated from my childhood, and regulating my conduct in every other matter accord- ing to the most moderate opinions, and the farthest rgmoved from .extremes, which should happen to be adopted in practice with general consent of the most judicious of those among whom I might be living. For, as I had from that time begun to hold my own opinions for nought because I wished to subject them all to exami- nation, I was convinced that I could not do better than igllow in the meantime the opinions of the most judicious ; and although there are some perhaps among the Persians and Chinese as judicious as among ourselves, expediency seemed to dictate that I should regulate my practice conformably to the opinions of those with whom I should have to live; and it appeared to me that, in order to ascertain the re.d p_piniqns of such^ J ought rather to take cognisance of what they practised than of wliar they said, not only because,' m T;£e conTjptTo^^ manners, there are few disposed to speak exactly as they

20

Discourse on Method

believe, but also because very many are not aware of what it is that they really believe; for, as the act of mind by which a thing is believed is different from that by which we know that we believe it, the one act is often found without the other. Also, amid many opinions held in equal repute, I chose always the most moderate, as much for the reason that these are always the most convenient for practice, and probably the best (for all excess is generally vicious), as that, in the event of my falling into error, I might be at less distance fromlibe truth than if, having chosen one of the extremes, it should turn out to be the other which I ought to have adopgd. And I placed in the class of extremes especially all promises by which somewhat of our freedom is abridged; not that I disapproved of the laws which, to provide against the instability of men of feeble resolution, when what is sought to be accomplished is some good, permit engage- ments by vows and contracts binding the parties to persevere in it, or even, for the security of commerce, sanction similar engagements where the purpose sought to be realised is indifferent: but because I did not find anything on earth which was wholly superior to change, and because, for myself in particular, I hoped gradually to perfect my judgments, and not to suffer them to deteriorate, I would have deemed it a grave sin against good sense, if, for the reason that I approved of something at a particular time, I therefore bound myself to hold it for good at a subsequent time, when perhaps it had ceased to be so, or I had ceased to esteem it such.

My second maxim was to be as firm and resolute in my actions as I was able, and not to adhere less steadfastly to the most doubtful opinions, when once adopted, than if they had been highly certain; imitating in this the example of travellers who, when they have lost their way in a forest, ought not to wander from side to side, far less remain in one place, but proceed constantly towards the same side in as straight a line as possible, without chang- ing their direction for slight reasons, although perhaps it might be chance alone which at first determined the selection; for in this way, if they do not exactly reach the point they desire, they will come at least in the end

Discourse on Method 21

to some place that will probably be preferable to the middle of a forest^/ln the same way, since in action it frequently happens that no delay is permissible, it is very certain that, when it is not in our power to determine what is true, we ought to act according to what is most probable; and even although we should not remark a greater probability in one opinion than in another, we ought notwithstanding to choose one or the other, and afterwards consider it, in so far as it relates to practice, as no longer dubious, but manifestly true and certain, since the reason by which our choice has been determined is itself possessed of these qualities. This principle was sufficient thenceforward to rid me of all those repentings and pangs of remorse that usually disturb the consciences of such feeble and uncertain minds as, destitute of any clear and determinate principle of choice, allow themselves one day to adopt a course of action as the best, which they abandon the next, as the opposite.

-<9 My third maxim was to^endeavpur always to conquer myself rather than fortune, and change my desires rather than the order of the world, and in general, accustom

■ myself to the persuasion that, except our own thoughts, there is nothing absolutely in our power; so that when we have done our best in respect of things external to us, all wherein we fail of success is to be held, as regards us, absolutely impossible :/and this single principle seemed to me sufficient to prevent me from desiring for the future anything which I could not obtain, and thus render me contented; for since our will naturally seeks those objects alone which the understanding represents as in some way possible of attainment, it is plain, that if we consider all external goods as equally beyond our power, we shall no more regret the absence of such goods as seem due to our birth, when deprived of them without any fault of ours, than our not possessing the kingdoms of China or Mexico; and thus making, so to speak, a virtue of necessity, we shall no more desire health in disease, or freedom in imprisonment, than we now do bodies incorruptible as diamonds, or the wings of birds to fly with. But I confess there is need of prolonged discipline and frequently repeated meditation to accustom the mind to view all

^

2 2 Discourse on Method

objects in this light; and I beheve that in this chiefly consisted the secret of the power of such philosophers as in former times were enabled to rise superior to the influence of fortune, and, amid suffering and poverty, enjoy a happiness which their gods might have envied. For, occupied incessantly with the consideration of the limits prescribed to their power by nature, they became so entirely convinced that nothing was at their disposal except their own thoughts, that this conviction was of itself sufficient to prevent their entertaining any desire of other objects; and over their thoughts they acquired a sway so absolute, that they had some ground on this account for esteeming themselves more rich and more powerful, more free and more happy, than other men who, whatever be the favours heaped on them by nature and fortune, if destitute of this philosophy, can never command the realisation of all their desires. cSin fine, to conclude this code of morals, 1 thought of reviewing the different occupations of men in this life, wath the view of making choice of the best. And, with- out wishing to offer any remarks on the employments of others, I may state that it was my conviction that I could not do better than continue in that in which I was engaged, viz., in devoting my whole life to the culture of my reason, and in making the greatest progress I was able in the knowledge of truth, on the principles of the method which I had prescribed to myself./This method, from the time I had begun to apply it, had been to me the source of satisfaction so intense as to lead me to believe that more perfect or more innocent could not be enjoyed in this life; and as by its means I daily discovered truths that appeared to me of some importance, and of which other men were generally ignorant, the gratification thence arising so occupied my mind that I was wholly indifferent to every other object. Besides, the three preceding maxims were founded singly on the design of continuing the work of self-instruction. For since God has endowed each of us with some light of reason by which to distin- guish truth from error, I could not have believed that I ought for a single moment to rest satisfied with the_ opinions of another, unless I had resolved to exercise my^

Discourse on Method 23

own judgment in examining these whenever I should be duly qualified for the task. Nor could I have proceeded on such opinions without scruple, had I supposed that I should thereby forfeit any advantage for attaining still more accurate, should such exist. And, in fine, I could not have restrained my desires, nor remained satisfied, had I not followed a path in which I thought myself certain of attaining all the knowledge to the acquisition of which I was competent, as well as the largest amount of what is truly good which I could ever hope to secure. Inasmuch as we neither seek nor shun any object except in so far as our understanding represents it as good or bad, all that is necessary to right action is right judgment, and to the best action the most correct judgment, — that is, to the acquisition of all the virtues with all else that is truly valuable and within our reach; and the assurance of such an acquisition cannot fail to render us contented, •-^laving thus provided myself with these maxims, and Fiaving placed them in reserve along with the truths of faith, which have ever occupied the first place in my belief, I came to the conclusion that I might with freedom set about ridding myself of what remained of my opinions. And, inasmuch as I hoped to be better able successfully to accomplish this work by holding intercourse with mankind, than by remaining longer shut up in the retire- ment where these thoughts had occurred to me, I betook me again to travelling before the winter was well ended. And, during the nine subsequent years, I did nothing but roam from one place to another, desirous of being a spectator rather than an actor in the plays exhibited on the theatre of the world; and, as I made it my business in each matter to reflect particularly upon what might fairly be doubted and prove a source of error, I gradually rooted out from my mind all the errors which had hitherto crept into it. /Not that in this I imitated the sceptics who doubt only that they may doubt, and seek nothing beyond uncertainty itself; for, on the contrary, my design was singly to find ground of a-ssurance, and cast aside the loose earth and sand, that I might reach the rock or the clay. In this, as appears to me, I was successful enough; for, since I endeavoured to discover the falsehood or

24 Discourse on Method

incertitude of the propositions I examined, not by feeble conjectures, but by clear and certain reasonings, I met with nothing so doubtful as not to yield some conclusion of adequate certainty, although this were merely the inference, that the matter in question contained nothing certain. And, just as in pulling down an old house, we usually reserve the ruins to contribute towards the erection, so, in destroying such of my opinions as I judged to be ill-founded, I made a variety of observa- tions and acquired an amount of experience of which I availed myself in the establishment of more certain. And further, I continued to exercise myself in the method I had prescribed; for, besides taking care in general to conduct all my thoughts according to its rules, I reserved some hours from time to time which I expressly devoted to the employment of the method in the solution of mathematical difficulties, or even in the solution like- wise of some questions belonging to other sciences, but which, by my having detached them from such prin- ciples of these sciences as were of inadequate certainty, were rendered almost mathematical: the truth of this will be manifest from the numerous examples contained in this volume.^ And thus, without in appearance living otherwise than those who, with no other occupa- tion than that of spending their lives agreeably and innocently, study to sever pleasure from vice, and who, that they may enjoy their leisure without ennui, have recourse to such pursuits as are honourable, I was never- theless prosecuting my design, and making greater pro- gress in the knowledge of truth, than I might, perhaps, have made had I been engaged in the perusal of books merely, or in holding converse with men of letters.

These nine years passed away, however, before I had come to any determinate judgment respecting the diffi- culties which form matter of dispute among the learned, or had commenced to seek the principles of any philo- sophy more certain than the vulgar. And the examples of many men of the highest genius, who had, in former times, engaged in this inquiry, but, as appeared to me,

'IJ^^ u Si^^^^F^® °^ Method " was originally published along with the Dioptrics," the " Meteorics," and the *' Geometry."— Tr.

Discourse on Method 25

without success, led me to imagine it to be a work of so much difficulty, that I would not perhaps have ventured on it so soon had I not heard it currently rumoured that I had already completed the inquiry. I know not what were the grounds of this opinion; and, if my conversa- tion contributed in any measure to its rise, this must have happened rather from my having confessed my rQ^ ignorance with greater freedom than those are accus-" tomed to do who have studied a little, and expounded^ perhaps, the reasons that led me to doubt of many of those things that by others are esteemed certain, than from my having boasted of any system of philosophy. But, as I am of a disposition that makes me unwilling ten be esteemed different from what I really am, I thought it necessary to endeavour by all means to render myself worthy of the reputation accorded to me; and it is now exactly eight years since this desire constrained me to remove from all those places where interruption from any of my acquaintances was possible, and betake myself to this country,^ in which the long duration of the war has led to the establishment of such discipline, that the armies maintained seem to be of use only in enabling the in- habitants to enjoy more securely the blessings of peace; and where, in the midst of a great crowd actively engaged in business, and more careful of their own affairs than curious about those of others, I have been enabled to hve without being deprived of any of the conveniences to be had in the most populous cities, and yet as solitary and as retired as in the midst of the most remote deserts.

^ Holland; to which country he withdrew in 1629. — 2"r.

PART IV

I AM in doubt as to the propriety of making my first meditations in the place above mentioned matter of dis- course; for these are so metaphysical, and so uncommon, as not, perhaps, to be acceptable to every one. And yet, that it may be determined whether the foundations that I have laid are sufficiently secure, I find myself in a measure constrained to advert to them/^I had long before remarked that, in relation to practice, it is some- times necessary to adopt, as if above doubt, opinions which we discern to be highly uncertain, as has been already said; but as I then desired to give my attention solely to the search after truth, I thought that a^Bio- cedure exactly the opposite was called for, and that I "oUirht to relecc as aT3soIuteIy^ false all opinions in regard 4:o>^yfaich I could suppose the least ground for doubt, in Of del to usrertaifl whether after thai Iheie ieiiiained^ aught in my beKeTtEat was whoITym3ubitable7 Accord- iiigi57 icemg UiaL uui" senses sometimes decSve us, I was willing to suppose that there existed nothing really such as they presented to us; and because some men err in reasoning, and fall into paralogisms, even on the simplest matters of geometry, 1^ convinced that I was as open^ to error as any other,, rejected as false all the reasonings i had hitherto taken far demonstrations; and finally, when I considered that t4ie very same- t4ioughts (pre- Jej^aS5ns)~whirh we oxpcriciiLC when awake -may^-ftlse- he experienced when wp arp af^l^^^P; m^HjI^ thpr^Jj^nt tVnt„ tima-nAt-one of thom t.rno.j T r.nppnnpH tVint^ll thp nhjprtq >-(p]£sentatiQiis)~that had ever cnter^djnto my mind when awake.^Jmd^in them^e-more -truth-^haftH:^ iHus iny__dreajns^ But immediately upon this I observed that/whilst f thus wished to think that all was false, it was absolutely necessary that I, who thus thought, should be somewhat; and as I observed that this truth,

26

Discourse on Method 27

7 XhinM^Jisnc^^ so certain and of such evidence,

lat no ground of doubt, however extravagant, could be alleged by the sceptics capable of shaking it, I concluded that I might, without scruple, accept it as the first prin- ciple of the philosophy of which I was in search.

In the next place, I attentively examined what I was, and as I observed that I could suppose that I had no body, and that there was no world nor any place in which I might be ; but that I could not therefore suppose that I was not; and that, on the contrary, from the very circumstance that I thought to doubt of the truth of other things, it most clearly and certainly followed that I was; while, on the other hand, if I had only ceased to think, although all the other objects which I had ever imagined had been in reality existent, I would have had no reason to believe that I existed; I thence concluded that I was a substance whose whole essence or nature consists only in thinking, and which, that it may exist, has need of no place, nor is dependent on any material thing; so that "I,'' that is to say, the mind by which I am what I am, is wholly distinct from the body, and is even more easily known than the latter, and is such, that although the latter were not, it would still continue to be all that it is.

After this I inquired in general into what is essential to the truth and certainty of a proposition; for since I had discovered one which I knew to be true, I thought that I must likewise be able to discover the ground of this certitude. And as I observed that in the words / think, hence I am, there is nothing at all which gives me assur- ance of their truth beyond this, that I see very clearly that in order to think it is necessary to exist,^I-Gaiidude^' thatXj»ight~take7-a^-ar-geneFa4-^:ule,4iie^ all

_5ie,J±dQgfr-whicli we v^fy^^learly and distinctly conceive are true, only observing, however, thatt. there is some difficulty ^q^ri^htlydetermi!ite^^ we

distoctly:xonceive.

In the next place, from reflecting on the circumstance that I doubted, and that consequently my being was not wholly perfect (for I clearly saw that it was a greater perfection to know than to doubt), I was led to inquire

28 Discourse on Method

whence I had learned to think of something more perfect than myself; and I clearly recognised that I must hold this notion from some nature which in reality was more perfect. As for the thoughts of many other objects external to me, as of the sky, the earth, light, heat, and a thousand more, I was less at a loss to know whence these came; for since I remarked in them nothing which seemed to render them superior to myself, I could believe that, if these were true, they were dependencies ..on my ^ own nature, in so far as it possessed a certain perfection, ( and, if they were false, that, I held them from nothing, ; that is to say, that they were in me because of a certain ; imperfection of my nature. But this could not be the case with the idea of a nature more perfect than niyself ; for to receive it from nothing was a thing manifestly impossible; and, because it is not less repugnant that the more perfect should be an effect of, and dependence ; on the less perfect, than that something should proceed I • from nothing, it was equally impossible that I could I hold it from myself: J accordingly, it but remained that ^ it had been placed in me by a nature which was in reality more perfect than mine, and which even possessed within itself all the perfections of which I could form any |r. idea; that is to say, in a single woid, which was GodLJ !'^-.^|And to this I added that, since I knew some perfections which I did not possess, I was not the only being in exist- ; ence)(I will here, with your permission, freely use the i tenris of the schools); but, on the contrary, that there I was of necessity some other more perfect Being upon I whom I was dependent, and from whom I had received I all that I possessed! ^^^ ^^ ^ ^^^ existed alone, and inde- j pendently of every other being,. so as to have had from I myself all the perfection, however little, which I actually possessed, I should have been able, for the same reason, to have had from myself the whole remainder of per- fection, of the want of which I was conscious, and thus could of myself have become infinite, eternal, immutable, I omniscient, all-powerful, and, in fine, have possessed all { the perfections which I could recognise in GodA For in I order to know the nature of God (whose existence has / been established by the preceding reasonings), as far as

Discourse on Method 29

my own nature permitted^ I had only to consider in refefence to all the properties of which I found in my mind some idea, whether their possession was a mark of perTectiprTI ^nd I was assured that no one which indicated any "Imperfection was in hini7an3 tKat hone of the rest was awanting. XbiiS._I_.perceiyed._...^^^^ stancy^ sadness, and such like, could not be found in " God, since I myself would have been happy to be free from them. Besides, I had ideas of many sensible and corporeal things; for although I might suppose that I was dreaming, and that all which I saw or imagined was false, I could not, nevertheless, deny that the ideas were in reality in my thoughts. But, because I had already very clearly recognised in myself that the intelligent nature is distinct from the corporeal, and as I observed that all composition is an evidence of dependency, and that a state of dependency is manifestly a state of imper- fection, I therefore determined that it could not be a per- fection in God to be compounded of these two natures, and that consequently he was not so compounded; but that if tliere were any bodies in the world, or even any ijitelligences, or other natures that were not wholly perfect, their existence depended on his power in such a way that they could not subsist without him for a single moment.

I was disposed straightway to search for other truths; and when I had represented to myself the object of the geometers, which I conceived to be a continuous body, or a space indefinitely extended in length, breadth, and height or depth, divisible into divers parts which admit of different figures and sizes, and of being moved or trans- posed in all manner of ways (for all this the geometers suppose to be in the object they contemplate), I went over some of their simplest demonstrations. And, in the first place, I observed, that the great certitude which by common consent is accorded to these demonstrations, is founded solely upon this, that they are clearly conceived in accordance with the rules I have already laid down. In the next place, I perceived that there was nothing at all in these demonstrations which could assure me of the existence of their object: thus, for example, supposing a

30 Discourse on Method

triangle to be given, I distinctly perceived that its three angles were necessarily equal to two right angles, but I did not on that account perceive anything which could assure me that any triangle existed: while, on the con- trary, recurring to the examination of the idea of a Perfect Being, I found that the existence of the Being was comprised in the idea in the same way that the equality of its three angles to two right angles is com- prised in the idea of a triangle, or as in the idea of a sphere, the equidistance of all points on its surface from the centre, or even still more clearly; and that conse- quently it is at least as certain that God, who is this Perfect Being, is, or exists, as any demonstration of geometry can be.

But the reason which leads many to persuade them- selves that there is a difficulty in knowing this truth, and even also in knowing what their mind really is, is that they never raise their thoughts above sensible objects, and are so accustomed to consider nothing except by way of imagination, which is a mode of thinking limited to material objects, that all that is not imaginable seems to them not intelligible. The truth of this is sufficiently manifest from the single circumstance, that the philosophers of the schools accent as a maxim that there is nothing in the understanding which was not previously in the senses, in which however it is certain that the ideas of God and of the soul hav^e never been; and it appears to me that they who make use of their imagination to comprehend these ideas do exactly the some thing as if, in order to hear sounds or smell odours, they strove to avail themselves of their eyes; unless indeed that there is this difference, that the sense of sight does not afford us an inferior assurance to those of smell or hearing; in place of which, neither our imagination nor our senses can give us assurance of anything unless our understanding intervene.

Finally, if there be still persons who are not sufficiently persuaded of the existence of God and of the soul, by the reasons I have adduced, I am desirous that they should know that all the other propositions, of the truth of which they deem themselves perhaps more assured, as that we

Discourse on Method 31

have a body, and that there exist stars and an earth, and such like, are less certain; for, although we have a moral assurance of these things, which is so strong that there is an appearance of extravagance in doubting of their existence, yet at the same time no one, unless his intellect is impaired, can deny, when the question relates to a metaphysical certitude, that there is sufficient reason to exclude entire assurance, in the observation that when asleep we can in the same way imagine ourselves possessed of another body and that we see other stars and another earth, when there is nothing of the kind. For how do we know that the thoughts which occur in dreaming are false rather than those other which we experience when awake, since the former are often not less vivid and distinct than the latter ? And though men of the highest genius study this question as long as they please, I do not believe that they will be able to give any reason which can be sufficient to remove this doubt, unless they presuppose the existence of God. For, in the first place, even the principle which I have already taken as a rule, viz., that all the things which we clearly and distinctly conceive are true, is certain only because God is or exists, ~and because he is a Perfect Being,.and because all that we possess is derived from him: whence it follows that our ideas or notions, which to the extent of their clearness and distinctness are real, and proceed from God, must to that extent be true. Accordingly, whereas we not unfrequently have ideas or notions in which some falsity is contained, this can only be the case with such as are to some extent confused and obscure, and in this proceed from nothing (participate of negation), that is, exist in us thus confused because we are not wholly perfect. And it is evident that it is not less repugnant that falsity or imperfection, in so far as it is imperfection, should proceed from God, than that truth or perfection should proceed from nothing. But if we did not know that ajl iiyhich >yc possess of real and true proceeds from a Perfect and Infinite Being, however clear and distinct our ideas might be, we should have no ground on that account for the assurance that they possessed the perfection of being true.

32 Discourse on Method

But after the knowledge of God and of the soul has rendered us certain of this rule, w£,£an easilY^nderstand thatthejtnrdiofth^^

7^ig^£nnivm THg^pfhtesTgegrg^^^o^ called m question olh^R^mTTyTof t he^jlusions oT"o^^ For ifit

li^pened thataiTmSivH when asleep, had some

very distinct idea, as, for example, if a geometer should discover some new demonstration, the circumstance of his being asleep would not militate against its truth; and as for the most ordinary error of our dreams, which consists in their representing to us various objects in the same way as our external senses, this is not prejudicial, since it leads us very properly to suspect the truth of the ideas of sense; for we are not unfrequently deceived in the same manner when awake; as when persons in the jaundice see all objects yellow, or when the stars or bodies at a great distance appear to us much smaller than they are. For, in fine, whether awake or asleep, we ought never to allow ourselves to be persuaded of the truth of anything unless on the evidence of pur reason. And it must be noted that I say of our reason, and not of our imagination or of our senses : thus, for example, although we very clearly see the sun, we ought not therefore to determine that it is only of the size which our sense of sight presents; and we may very distinctly imagine the head of a lion joined to the body of a goat, without being therefore shut up to the conclusion that a chimaera exists; for it is not a dictate of reason that what we thus see or imagine is in reality existent; but it plainly tells us that all our ideas or notions contain in them some truth; for otherwise it could not be that God, who is wholly perfect and veracious, should have placed them in us. And because our reasonings are never so clear or so complete during sleep as when we are awake, although sometimes the acts of our imagination are then as lively and distinct, if not more so than in our waking moments, reason further dictates that, since all our thoughts cannot be true because of our partial imperfection, those possessing truth must infallibly be found in the experience of our waking moments rather than in that of our dreams.

PART V

I WOULD here willingly have proceeded to exhibit the

whole chain of truths which I deduced from these primary;

but as with a view to this it would have been necessary

now to treat of many questions in dispute among the

learned, with whom I do not wish to be embroiled, I

believe that it will be better for me to refrain from this

exposition, and only mention in general what these truths

are, that the more judicious may be able to determine

whether a more special account of them would conduce

to the public advantage. I have ever remained firm

in my original resolution to suppose no other principle

than that of which I have recently availed myself in

demonstrating the existence of God and of the soul, and

to accept as true nothing that did not appear to me

more clear and certain than the demonstrations of the

geometers had formerly appeared; and yet I venture to

state that not only have I found means to satisfy myself

in a short time on all the principal difficulties which are

usually treated of in philosophy, but I have also observed

certain laws established in nature by God in such a

manner, and of which he has impressed on our minds

such notions, that after we have reflected sufficiently

upon these, we cannot doubt that they are accurately

observed in all that exists or takes place in the world:

and farther, by considering the concatenation of these

laws, it appears to me that I have discovered many truths

more useful and more important than all I had before

learned, or even had expected to learn.

But because I have essayed to expound the chief of these discoveries in a treatise which certain considera- tions prevent me from publishing, I cannot make the results known more conveniently than by here giving a summary of the contents of this treatise. It was my design to comprise in it all that, before I set myself to

33 c

34 Discourse on Method

write it, I thought I knew of the nature of material objects. But like the painters who, finding themselves unable to represent equally well on a plain surface all the different faces of a solid body, select one of the chief, on which alone they make the light fall, and throwing the rest into the shade, allow them to appear only in so far as they can be seen while looking at the principal one; so, fearing lest I should not be able to comprise in my discourse all that was in my mind, I resolved to ex- pound singly, though at considerable length, my opinions regarding light; then to take the opportunity of adding something on the sun and the fixed stars, since light almost wholly proceeds from them; on the heavens since they transmit it; on the planets, comets, and earth, since they reflect it; and particularly on all the bodies that are upon the earth, since they are either coloured, or trans- parent, or luminous; and finally on man, since he is the spectator of these objects. Further, to enable me to cast this variety of subjects somewhat into the shade, and to express my judgment regarding them with greater freedom, without being necessitated to adopt or refute the opinions of the learned, I resolved to leave all the people here to •their disputes, and to speak only of what would happen in a new world, if God were now to create somewhere in the imaginary spaces matter sufficient to compose one, and were to agitate variously and confusedly the different parts of this matter, so that there resulted a chaos as disordered as the poets ever feigned, and after that did nothing more than lend his ordinary concurrence to nature, and allow her to act in accordance with the laws which he had established. On this supposition, I, in the first place, described this matter, and essayed to represent it in such a manner that to my mind there can be nothing clearer and more intelligible, except what has been recently said regarding God and the soul; for I even expressly supposed that it possessed none of those forms or qualities which are so debated in the schools, nor in general anything the knowledge of which is not so natural to our minds that no one can so much as imagine himself ignorant of it. Besides, I have pointed out what are the laws of nature; and^ with no other principle upon which

Discourse on Method 35

tQ_found my reasonings exceptJLha infinite-fteriection- of God, I endeavoured tojdem^^^

there could^be any room for doubt, and to proye that the}7' are such, that even if God had created more worlds, there could have been none in which these laws were not obseryed. Thereafter, I showed how the greatest part of the matter of this chaos must, in accordance with these laws, dispose and arrange itself in such a way as to present the appearance of heavens; how in the meantime some of its parts must compose an earth and some planets and comets, and others a sun and fixed stars. And, making a digression at this stage on the subject of light, I ex- pounded at considerable length what the nature of that light must be which is found in the sun and the stars, and how thence in an instant of time it traverses the immense spaces of the heavens, and how from the planets and comets it is reflected towards the earth. To this I like- wise added much respecting the substance, the situation, the motions, and all the different qualities of these heavens and stars ; so that I thought I had said enough respecting them to show that there is nothing observable in the heavens or stars of our system that must not, or at least may not appear precisely alike in those of the system which I described. I came next to speak of the earth in particular, and to show how, even though I had expressly supposed that God had given no weight to the matter of which it is composed, this should not prevent all its parts from tending exactly to its centre; how with water and air on its surface, the disposition of the heavens and heavenly bodies, more especially of the moon, must cause a flow and ebb, like in all its circumstances to that observed in our seas, as also a certain current both of water and air from east to west, such as is likewise observed between the tropics; how the mountains, seas, fountains, and rivers might naturally be formed in it, and the metals produced in the mines, and the plants grow in the fields; and in general, how all the bodies which are commonly denominated mixed or composite might be generated: and, among other things in the discoveries alluded to, inasmuch as besides the stars, I knew nothing except fire which produces light, I spared no pains to set forth all

36 Discourse on Method

that pertains to its nature,— the manner of its production and support, and to explain how heat is sometimes found without light, and light without heat; to show how it can induce various colours upon different bodies and other diverse qualities; how it reduces some to a liquid state and hardens others; how it can consume almost all bodies, or convert them into ashes and smoke; and finally, how from these ashes, by the mere intensity of its action, it forms glass: for as this transmutation of ashes into glass appeared to me as wonderful as any other in nature, I took a special pleasure in describing it.

I was not, however, disposed, from these circumstances, to conclude that this world had been created in the manner I described; for it is much more likely that God made it at the first such as it was to be. But this is certain, and an opinion commonly received among theologians, that the action by which he now sustains it is the same with that by which he originally created it; so that even although he had from the beginning given it no other form than that of chaos, provided only he had established certain laws of nature, and had lent it his concurrence to enable it to act as it is wont to do, it may be believed, without discredit to the miracle of creation, that, in this way alone, things purely material might, in course of time, have become such as we observe them at present; and their nature is much more easily conceived when they are beheld coming in this manner gradually into existence, than when they are only considerecl as produced at once in a finished and perfect state.

From the description of inanimate bodies and plants, I passed to animals, and particularly to man. But since I had not as yet sufficient knowledge to enable me to treat of these in the same manner as of the rest, that is to say, by deducing effects from their causes, and by showing from what elements and in what manner nature must produce them, i remained satisfied with the sup- position that God formed the body of man wholly like to one of ours, as well in the external shape of the members as in the internal conformation of the organs, of the same matter with that I had described, and at first pkcedin it no rational soul, nor any other principle, in room of the

Discourse on Method 37

vegetative or sensitive soul, beyond kindling in the heart

one of thosFTrfes"~without light, such as I had already described, and which I thought was not different from the heat in hay that has been heaped together before it is dry, or that which causes fermentation in new wines before they are run clear of the fruit. For, when I examined the kind of functions which might, as conse- quences of this supposition, £xist in this body, I found precisely all those which may exist in us independently of all power^of thinking, and consequently without beijig in any measure owing to the soul ; in other words, to that part of us which is distinct from the body, and of which it has been said above that the nature distinctively consists in thinking, — functions in which the animals void of reason may be said wholly tolresemble us j T)iit "among which I could not discover any of those that, as dependent on thought alone, belong to us as men, while, on the other hand, I^did afterwards discover thesje.,.as \ soon as I supposed God to have created a rational soul, ! and to have annexed it to this body in a particular manner which I described.

But, in order to show how I there handled this matter, ; I mean here to give the explication of the motion of the j heart and arteries, which, as the first and most general I motion observed in animals, will afford the means of readily determining what should be thought of all the rest. And that there may be less difficulty in understand- ing what I am about to say on this subject, I advise those who are not versed in anatomy, before they commence the perusal of these observations, to take the trouble of getting dissected in their presence the heart of some large animal possessed of lungs (for this is throughout suffi- ciently like the human), and to have shown to them its two ventricles or cavities: in the first place, that in the right side, with which correspond two very ample tubes, viz., the hollow vein (vena cava), which is the principal jj receptacle of the blood, and the trunk of the tree, as it were, of which all the other veins in the body are branches ; and the arterial vein (vena arteriosa), inappropriately so denominated, since it is in truth only an artery, which, taking its rise in the heart, is divided, after passing out

^8 Discourse on Method

from it, into many branches which presently disperse them- selves all over the lungs; in the second place, the cavity in the left side, with which correspond in the same manner two canals in size equal to or larger than the preceding, viz., the venous artery (artena venosa\ likewise inap- propriately thus designated, because it is siniply a vein which comes from the lungs, where it is divided into many branches, interlaced with those of the arterial vein, and those of the tube called the windpipe, through which the air we breathe enters; and the great artery which, issuing from the heart, sends its branches all over the body. I should wish also that such persons were care- fully shown the eleven pellicles which, like so many small valves, open and shut the four orifices that are in these two cavities, viz., three at the entrance of the hollow vein, where they are disposed in such a manner as by no means to prevent the blood which it contains from flow- ing into the right ventricle of the heart, and yet exactly to prevent its flowing out; three at the entrance to the arterial vein, which, arranged in a manner exactly the opposite of the former, readily permit the blood con- tained in this cavity to pass into the lungs, but hinder that contained in the lungs from returning to this cavity; and, in like manner, two others at the mouth of the venous artery, which allow the blood from the lungs to flow into the left cavity of the heart, but preclude its return; and three at the mouth of the great artery, which suffer the blood to flow from the heart, but prevent its reflux. Nor do we need to seek any other reason for the number of these pellicles beyond this that the orifice of the venous artery being of an oval shape from the nature of its situation, can be adequately closed with two, whereas the others being round are more con- veniently closed with three. Besides, I wish such persons to observe that the grand artery and the arterial vein are of much harder and firmer texture than the venous artery and the hollow vein; and that the two last expand before entering the heart, and there form, as it were, two pouches denominated the auricles of the heart, which are composed of a substance similar to that of the heart itself; and that there is always more warmth

Discourse on Method 39

in the heart than in any other part of the body; and, finally, that this heat is capable of causing any drop of blood that passes into the cavities rapidly to expand and dilate, just as all liquors do when allowed to fall drop by drop into a highly heated vessel.

For, after these things, it is not necessary for me to say anything more with a view to explain the motion of the heart, except that when its cavities are not full of blood, into these the blood of necessity flows, — from the hollow vein into the right, and from the venous artery into the left; because these two vessels are always full of blood, and their orifices, which are turned towards the heart, cannot then be closed. But as soon as two drops of blood have thus passed, one into each of the cavities, these drops which cannot but be very large, because the orifices through which they pass are wide, and the vessels from which they come full of blood, are immediately rarefied, and dilated by the heat they meet with. In this way they cause the whole heart to expand, and at the same time press home and shut the five small valves that are at the entrances of the two vessels from which they flow, and thus prevent any more blood from coming down into the heart, and becoming more and more rarefied, they push open the six small valves that are in the orifices of the other two vessels, through which they pass out, causing in this way all the branches of the arterial vein and of the grand artery to expand almost simultaneously with the heart — which immediately there- after begins to contract, as do also the arteries, because the blood that has entered them has cooled, and the six small valves close, and the five of the hollow vein and of the venous artery open anew and allow a passage to other two drops of blood, which cause the heart and the arteries again to expand as before. And, because the blood which thus enters into the heart passes through these two pouches called auricles, it thence happens that their motion is the contrary of that of the heart, and that when it expands they contract. But lest those who are ignorant of the force of mathematical demonstrations, and who are not accustomed to distinguish true reasons from mere verisimilitudes, should venture, without ex-

40 Discourse on Method

amination, to deny what has been said, I wish it to be considered that the motion which I have now explained follows as necessarily from the very arrangement of the parts, which may be observed in the heart by the eye alone, and from the heat which may be felt with the fingers, and from the nature of the blood as learned from experience, as does the motion of a clock from the power, the situation, and shape of its counterweights and wheels. ~~^ But if it be asked how it happens that the blood in the veins, flowing in this way continually into the heart, is not exhausted, and why the arteries do not become too full, since all the blood which passes through the heart flows into them, I need only mention in reply what has been written by a physician ^ of England, who has the honour of having broken the ice on this subject, and of having been the first to teach that there are many small passages at the extremities of the arteries, through which the blood received by them from the heart passes into the small branches of the veins, whence it again returns to the heart; so that its course amounts precisely to a perpetual circulation. Of this we have abundant proof in the ordinary experience of surgeons, who, by binding the arm with a tie of moderate straitness above the part where they open the vein, cause the blood to flow more copiously than it would have done without any ligature; whereas quite the contrary would happen were they to bind it below; that is, between the hand and the opening, or were to make the ligature above the opening very tight. For it is manifest that the tie, moderately straitened, while adequate to hinder the blood already in the arm from returning towards the heart by the veins, cannot on that account prevent new blood from coming forward through the arteries, because these are situated below the veins, and their coverings, from their greater consistency, are more difficult to compress; and also that the blood which comes from the heart tends to pass through them to the hand with greater force than it does to return from the hand to the heart through the veins. And since the latter current escapes from the arm by the opening made in one of the veins, there must ^Harvey— La/. Tr.

Discourse on Method 41

of necessity be certain passages below the ligature, that is, towards the extremities of the arm through which it can come thither from the arteries. This physician likewise abundantly establishes what he has advanced respecting the motion of the blood, from the existence of certain pellicles, so disposed in various places along the course of the veins, in the manner of small valves, as not to permit the blood to pass from the middle of the body towards the extremities, but only to return from the extremities to the heart; and farther, from experi- ence which shows that all the blood which is in the body may flow out of it in a very short time through a single artery that has been cut, even although this had been closely tied in the immediate neighbourhood of the heart, and cut between the heart and the ligature, so as to prevent the supposition that the blood flowing out of it could come from any other quarter than the heart.

But there are many other circumstances which evince that what I have alleged is the true cause of the motion of the blood: thus, in the first place, the difference that is observed between the blood which flows from the veins, and that from the arteries, can only arise from this, that being rarefied, and, as it were, distilled by passing through the heart, it is thinner, and more vivid, and warmer immediately after leaving the heart, in other words, when in the arteries, than it was a short time before passing into either, in other words, when it was in the veins ; and if attention be given, it will be found that this difference is very marked only in the neighbour- hood of the heart; and is not so evident in parts more remote from it. In the next place, the consistency of the coats of which the arterial vein and the great artery are composed, sufficiently shows that the blood is impelled against them with more force than against the veins. And why should the left cavity of the heart and the great artery be wider and larger than the right cavity and the arterial vein, were it not that the blood of the venous artery, having only been in the lungs after it has passed through the heart, is thinner, and rarefies more readily, and in a higher degree, than the blood which proceeds immediately from the hollow vein? And what

42 Discourse on Method

can physicians conjecture from feeling the pulse unless they know that according as the blood changes its nature it can be rarefied by the warmth of the heart, in a higher or lower degree, and more or less quickly than before? And if it be inquired how this heat is communicated to the other members, must it not be admitted that this is effected by means of the blood, which, passing through the heart, is there heated anew, and thence diffused over all the body? Whence it happens, that if the blood be withdrawn from any part, the heat is likewise withdrawn by the same means; and although the heart were as hot as glowing iron, it would not be capable of warming the feet and hands as at present, unless it continually sent thither new blood. We likewise perceive from this, that the true use of respiration is to bring sufficient fresh air into the lungs, to cause the blood which flows into them from the right ventricle of the heart, where it has been rarefied and, as it were, changed into vapours, to become thick, and to convert it anew into blood, before it flows into the left cavity, without which process it would be unfit for the nourishment of the fire that is there. This receives confirmation from the circumstance, that it is observed of animals destitute of lungs that they have also but one cavity in the he?,rt, and that in children who cannot use them while in the womb, there is a hole through which the blood flows from the hollow vein into the left cavity of the heart, and a tube through which it passes from the arterial vein into the grand artery with- out passing through the lung. In the next place, how could digestion be carried on in the stomach unless the heart communicated heat to it through the arteries, and along with this certain of the more fluid parts of the blood, which assist in the dissolution of the food that has been taken in? Is not also the operation which converts the juice of food into blood easily comprehended, when it is considered that it is distilled by passing and repassing through the heart perhaps more than one or two hundred times in a day? And what more need be adduced to explain nutrition, and the production of the different humours of the body, beyond saying, that the force with which the blood, in being rarefied, passes from the heart

Discourse on Method 43

towards the extremities of the arteries^ causes certain of its parts to remain in the members at which they arrive, and there occupy the place of some others expelled by them; and that according to the situation, shape, or smallness of the pores with which they meet, some rather than others flow into certain parts, in the same way that some sieves are observed to act, which, by being variously perforated, serve to separate different species of grain? And, in the last place, what above all is here worthy of observation, is the generation of the animal spirits, which are like a very subtle wind, or rather a very pure and vivid flame which, continually ascending in great abundance from the heart to the brain, thence pene- trates through the nerves into the muscles, and gives motion to all the members; so that to account for other parts of the blood which, as most agitated and penetrat- ing, are the fittest to compose these spirits, proceeding towards the brain, it is not necessary to suppose any other cause, than simply, that the arteries which carry them thither proceed from the heart in the most direct lines, and that, according to the rules of mechanics, which are the same with those of nature, when many objects tend at once to the same point where there is not sufficient room for all (as is the case with the parts of the blood which flow forth from the left cavity of the heart and tend towards the brain), the weaker and less agitated parts must necessarily be driven aside from that point by the stronger which alone in this way reach it.

I had expounded all these matters with sufficient minuteness in the treatise which I formerly thought of publishing. And after these, I had shown what must be the fabric of the nerves and muscles of the human body to give the animal spirits contained in it the power to move the members, as when we see heads shortly after they have been struck off still move and bite the earth, although no longer animated; what changes must take place in the brain to produce waking, sleep, and dreams; how light, sounds, odours, tastes, heat, and all the other qualities of external objects impress it with different ideas by means of the senses; how hunger, thirst, and the other internal affections can likewise

44 Discourse on Method

impress upon it divers ideas; what must be understood by the common sense {sensus communis) in which these ideas are received, by the memory which retains them, by the fantasy which can change them in various ways, and out of them compose new ideas, and which, by the same means, distributing the animal spirits through the muscles, can cause the members of such a body to move in as many different ways, and in a manner as suited, whether to the objects that are presented to its senses or to its internal affections, as can take place in our own case apart from the guidance of the will. Nor will this appear at all strange to those who are acquainted with the variety of movements performed by the different automata, or moving machines fabricated by human industry, and that with help of but few pieces compared with the great multitude of bones, muscles, nerves, arteries, veins, and other parts that are found in the body of each animal. Such persons will look upon this body as a machine made by the hands of God, which is in- comparably better arranged, and adequate to movements more admirable than is any machine of human invention. And here I specially stayed to show that, were there such machines exactly resembling in organs and outward form an ape or any other irrational animal, we could have no means of knowing that they were in any respect of a different nature from these animals; but if there were machines bearing the image of our bodies, and capable of imitating our actions as far as it is morally possible, there would still remain two most certain tests whereby to know that they were not therefore really men. Of these the first is that they could never use words or other signs arranged in such a manner as is competent to us in order to declare our thoughts to others: for we may easily conceive a machine to be so constructed that it emits vocables, and even that it emits some correspondent to the action upon it of external objects which cause a change in its organs; for example, if touched in a particular place it may demand what we wish to say to it; if in another it may cry out that it is hurt, and such like; but not that it should arrange them variously so as appositely to reply to what is said in its presence, as men of the lowest

Discourse on Method 45

grade of intellect can do. The second test is, that although such machines might execute many things with equal or perhaps greater perfection than any of us, they would, without doubt, fail in certain others from which it could be discovered that they did not act from knowledge, but solely from the disposition of their- organs: for while reason is an universal instrument that is alike available on every occasion, these organs, on the contrary, need a particular arrangement for each particular action; whence it must be morally impos- sible that there should exist in any machine a diversity of organs sufficient to enable it to act in all the occur- rences of life, in the way in which our reason enables us to act. Again, by means of these two tests we may likewise know the difference between men and brutes. For it is highly deserving of remark, that there are no men so dull and stupid, not even idiots, as to be incap- able of joining together different words, and thereby constructing a declaration by which to make their thoughts understood; and that on the other hand, there is no other animal, however perfect or happily circum- stanced, which can do the like. Nor does this inability arise from want of organs: for we observe that magpies and parrots can utter words like ourselves, and are yet unable to speak as we do, that is, so as to show that they understand what they say; in place of which men born deaf and dumb, and thus not less, but rather more than the brutes, destitute of the organs which others use in speaking, are in the habit of spontaneously inventing certain signs by which they discover their thoughts to those who, being usually in their company, have leisure to learn their language. And this proves not only that the brutes have less reason than man, but that they have none at all: for we see that very little is required to enable a person to speak; and since a certain inequality of capacity is observable among animals of the same species, as well as among men, and since some are more capable of being instructed than others, it is incredible that the most perfect ape or parrot of its species, should not in this be equal to the most stupid infant of its kind, or at least to one that was crack-brained, unless the soul

46 Discourse on Method

of brutes were of a nature wholly different from ours. And we ought not to confound speech with the natural movements which indicate the passions, and can be imitated by machines as well as manifested by animals; nor must it be thought with certain of the ancients, that the brutes speak, although we do not understand their language. For if such were the case, since they are endowed with many organs analogous to ours, they could as easily communicate their thoughts to us as to their fellows. It is also very worthy of remark, that, though there are many animals which manifest more industry than we in certain of their actions, the same animals are yet observed to show none at all in many others : so that the circumstance that they do better than we does not prove that they are endowed with mind, for it would thence follow that they possessed greater reason than any of us, and could surpass us in all things; on the contrary, it rather proves that they are destitute of reason, and that it is nature which acts in them accord- ing to the disposition of their organs: thus it is seen, that a clock composed only of wheels and weights can number the hours and measure time more exactly than we with all our skill.

I had after this described the reasonable soul, and shown that it could by no means be educed from the power of matter, as the other things of which I had spoken, but that it must be expressly created; and that it is not sufficient that it be lodged in the human body exactly like a pilot in a ship, unless perhaps to move its members, but that it is necessary for it to be joined and united more closely to the body, in order to have sensa- tions and appetites similar to ours, and thus constitute a real man. I here entered, in conclusion, upon the subject of the soul at considerable length, because it is of the greatest moment: for after the error of those who deny the existence of God, an error which I think I have already sufficiently refuted, there is none that is more powerful in leading feeble minds astray from the straight path of virtue than the supposition that the \ soul of the brutes is of the same nature with our own; .and consequently that after this life we have nothing to

Discourse on Method 47

hope for or fear, more than flies and ants; in place of which, when we know how far they differ we much better comprehend the reasons which establish that the soul is of a nature wholly independent of the body, and that consequently it is not liable to die with the latter; and, finally, because no other causes are observed capable of destroying it, we are naturally led thence to judge that it is immortal.

PART VI

Three years have now elapsed since I finished the treatise containing all these matters; and I was begin- ning to revise it^ with the view to put it into the hands of a printer^ when I learned that persons to whom I greatly defer, and whose authority over my actions is hardly less influential than is my own reason over my thoughts, had condemned a certain doctrine in physics, published a short time previously by another individual,^ to which I will not say that I adhered, but only that, previously to their censure, I had observed in it nothing which I could imagine to be prejudicial either to religion or to the state, and nothing therefore which would have prevented me from giving expression to it in writing, if reason had persuaded me of its truth; and this led me to fear lest among my own doctrines likewise some one might be found in which I had departed from the truth, notwithstanding the great Cctre I have always taken not to accord belief to new opinions of which I had not the most certain demonstrations, and not to give expression to aught that might tend to the hurt of any one. This has been sufficient to make me alter my purpose of pubhshing them; for although the reasons by which I had been induced to take this resolution were very strong, yet my inclination, which has always been hostile to writing books, enabled me immediately to discover other considerations sufficient to excuse me for not under- taking the task. And these reasons, on one side and the other, are such, that not only is it in some measure my interest here to state them, but that of the public, perhaps, to know them.

I have never made much account of what has pro- ceeded from my own mind; and so long as I gathered no other advantage from the method I employ beyond

» Galileo.— Tf. 48

Discourse on Method 49

satisfying myself on some difficulties belonging to the speculative sciences, or endeavouring to regulate my actions according to the principles it taught me, I never thought myself bound to publish anything respecting it. For in what regards manners, every one is so full ^ of his own wisdom, that there might be found as many reformers as heads, if any were allowed to take upon themselves the task of mending them, except those whom God has constituted the supreme rulers of his people, or to whom he has given sufficient grace and zeal to be prophets ; and although my speculations greatly pleased myself, I believed that others had theirs, which perhaps pleased them still more. But as soon as I had acquired some general notions respecting physics, and beginning to make trial of them in various particular difficulties, had observed how far they can carry us, and how much they differ from the principles that have been employed up to the present time, I believed that I could not keep them concealed without sinning grievously against the ^ law by which we are bound to promote, as far as in us lies, / the general good of mankind. For by them I perceived it to be possible to arrive at knowledge highly useful in life; and in room of the speculative philosophy usually taught in the schools, to discover a practical, by means of which, knowing the force and action of fire, water, air, the stars, the heavens, and all the other bodies that sur- round us, as distinctly as we know the various crafts of our artisans, we might also apply them in the same way to all the uses to which they are adapted, and thus render ourselves the lords and possessors of nature. And this is a result to be desired, not only in order to the invention of an infinity of arts, by which we might be enabled to enjoy without any trouble the fruits of the earth, and all its comforts, but also and especially Jgr the preservation of health, which is without doubt, of all the blessings of this life, the first and fundamental one; for the mind is so intimately dependent upon the condition and relation of the organs of the body, that if any means can ever be found to render men wiser and more ingenious than hitherto, I believe that it is in medicine they must be sought for. It is true that the

D

^^

ro Discourse on Method

science of medicine, as it now exists, contains few things whose utiHty is very remarkable: but without any wish to depreciate it, I am confident that there is no one, even among those whose profession it is, who does not admit that all at present known in it is almost nothing in comparison of what remains to be discovered; and that we could free ourselves from an infinity of maladies of body as well as of mind, and perhaps also even from the debility of age, if we had sufficiently ample know- ledge of their causes, and of all the remedies provided for us by nature. But since I designed to employ my whole life in the search after so necessary a science, and since I had fallen in with a path which seems to me such, that if any one follow it he must inevitably reach the end desired, unless he be hindered either by the shortness of life or the want of experiments, I judged that there could be no more effectual provision against these two im- pediments than if I were faithfully to communicate to the public all the little I might myself have found, and incite men of superior genius to strive to proceed farther, by contributing, each according to his inclination and ability, to the experiments which it would be necessary to make, and also by informing the public of all they jj might discover, so that, by the last beginning _where those before them had left off, and thus connecting^ the lives and labours of man}^, we might collectively proceed much farther than each by himself could do.

I remarked, moreover, with respect to experiments, that they become always more necessary the more one is advanced in knowledge; for, at the commencement, it is better to make use only of what is spontaneously presented to our senses, and of which we cannot remain ignorant, provided we bestow on it any reflection, how- ever slight, than to concern ourselves about more un- common and recondite phenomena: the reason of which is, that the more uncommon often only mislead us so long as the causes of the more ordinary are still unknown; and the circumstances upon which they depend are almost always so special and minute as to be highly difficult to detect. But in this I have adopted the following order: first, I have essayed to find in general

Discourse on Method 51

the principles^j^r^fLrsLcauses of all_that is or can be in the world, without taking mto "consideration for this end anything but God himself who has created it, and without educing them from any other source than from certain germs of truths naturally existing in our minds. In the second place, I examined what were the first and most ordinary effects that_cpuld be dediici^ -fr^ causes; and it appears to me that, in this way, I have found heavens, stars, an earth, and even on the earth, water, air, fire, minerals, and some other things of this kind, which of all others are the most common and simple, and hence the easiest to know. Afterwards, when I wished to des(::end to the more particular, so many diverse objects presented themselves to me, that I believed it to be impossible for the human mind to distinguish the forms or species of bodies that are upon the earth, from an infinity of others which might have been, if it had pleased God to place them there, or conse- quently to apply them to our use, unless we rise to causes through their effects, and avail ourselves of many parti- cular experiments. Thereupon, turning over in my mind all the objects that had ever been presented to my senses, I freely venture to state that I have never observed any which I could not satisfactorily explain by the principles I had discovered. But it is necessary also to confess that the power of nature is so ample and vast, and these principles so simple and general, that I have hardly observed a single particular effect which I cannot at once recognise as capable of being deduced in many different modes from the principles, and that my greatest diffi- culty usually is to discover in which of these modes the effect is dependent upon them; for out of this difficulty I cannot otherwise extricate myself than by again seek- ing certain experiments, which may be such that their result is not the same, if it is in the one of these modes that we must explain it, as it would be if it were to be explained in the other. As to what remains, I am now in a position to discern, as I think, with sufficient clear- ness what course must be taken to make the majority of those experiments which may conduce tp.. this end : but I perceive likewise that they are such and so

r2 Discourse on Method

numerous, that neither my hands nor my income, though it were a thousand times larger than it is, would be suffi- cient for them all; so that, according as henceforward I shall have the means of making more or fewer experi- ments, I shall in the same proportion make greater or less progress in the knowledge of nature. This was what I had hoped to make known by the treatise I had written, and so clearly to exhibit the advantage that would thence accrue to the public, as to induce all who have the common good of man at heart, that is, all who are virtuous in truth, and not merely in appearance, or according to opinion, as well to communicate to me the experiments they had already made, as to assist me in those that remain to be made.

But since that time other reasons have occurred to me, by which I have been led to change my opinion, and to think that I ought indeed to go on committing to writing all the results which I deemed of any moment, as soon as I should have tested their truth, and to bestow the same care upon them as I would have done had it been my design to publish them. This course com- mended itself to me, as well because I thus afforded myself more ample inducement to examine them thoroughly, for doubtless that is always more narrowly scrutinised which we believe will be read by many, than that which is written merely for our private use (and / frequently what has seemed to me true when I first \ conceived it, has appeared false when I have set about \committing it to writing), as because I thus lost no oppor- tunity of advancing the interests of the public, as far as in me lay, and since thus likewise, if my writings possess any value, those into whose hands they may fall after my death may be able to put them to what use they deem proper. But I resolved by no means to consent to their publication during my hfetime, lest either the oppositions or the controversies to which they might give rise, or even the reputation, such as it might be, which they would acquire for me, should be any occasion of my losing the time that I had set apart for my own improvement. For though it be true that every one is bound to promote to the extent of his ability the good of others, and that to be

Discourse on Method 53

useful to no one is really to be worthless, yet it is likewise true that our cares ought to extend beyond the present; and it is good to omit doing what might perhaps bring some profit to the living, when we have in view the accom- plishment of other ends that will be of much greater advantage to posterity. And in truth, I am quite willing It should be known that the little I have hitherto learned is almost nothing in comparison with that of which I am ignorant, and to the knowledge of which I do not despair of being able to attain; for it is much the same with those who gradually discover truth in the sciences, as with those who when growing rich find less difficulty in making great acquisitions, than they formerly experienced when poor in making acquisitions of much smaller amount. Or they may be compared to the commanders of armies, whose forces usually increase in proportion to their victories, and who need greater prudence to keep together the residue of their troops after a defeat than after a victory to take towns and provinces. For he truly engages in battle who endeavours to surmount all the difficulties and errors which prevent him from reaching the knowledge of truth, and he is overcome in fight who admits a false opinion touching a matter of any generality and importance, and he requires thereafter much more skill to recover his former position than to make great advances when once in possession of thoroughly ascer- tained principles. As for myself, if I have succeeded in discovering any truths in the sciences (and I trust that what is contained in this volume ^ will show that I have found some), I can declare that they are but the conse- quences and results of five or six principal difficulties which I have surmounted, and my encounters with which I reckoned as battles in which victory declared for me. I will not hesitate even to avow my belief that nothing further is wanting to enable me fully to realise my designs than to gain two or three similar victories; and that I am not so far advanced in years but that, according to the ordinary course of nature, I may still have sufficient leisure for this end. But I conceive myself the more bound to husband the time that remains the greater my

^ See p. 24.

r^ Discourse on Method

expectation of being able to employ it aright, and I should doubtless have much to rob me of it, were I to publish the principles of my physics: for although they are almost all so evident that to assent to them no more is needed than simply to understand them, and although there is not one of them of which I do not expect to be able to give demonstration, yet, as it is impossible that they can be in accordance with all the diverse opinions of others, I foresee that I should frequently be turned aside from my grand design, on occasion of the opposi- tion which they would be sure to awaken. It may be said, that these oppositions would be useful ' both in making me aware of my errors, and, if my speculations contain anything of value, in bringing others to a fuller understanding of it; and still farther, as many can see better than one, in leading others who

, are now beginning to avail themselves of my principles,

\to assist me in turn with their discoveries. But though '% recognise my extreme liability to error, and scarce ever trust to the first thoughts which occur to me, yet the experience I have had of possible objections to my views prevents me from anticipating any profit from them. For I have already had frequent proof of the judgments, as well of those I esteemed friends, as of some others to whom I thought I was an object of indifference, and even of some whose malignity and envy would, I knew, determine them to endeavour to discover what partiality concealed from the eyes of my friends. But it has rarely happened that anything has been objected to me which I had myself altogether overlooked, unless it were something far removed from the subject: so that I have never met with a single critic of my opinions who did not appear to me either less rigorous or less equitable than myself. And further, I have never observed that any truth before unknown has been brought to light by the disputations that are practised in the schools; for

^while each strives for the victory, each is much more / occupied in making the best of mere verisimilitude, than

\in weighing the reasons on both sides of the question; and those who have been long good advocates are not afterwards on that account the better judges.

Discourse on Method 55

As for the advantage that others would derive from the communication of my thoughts, it could not be very great; because I have not yet so far prosecuted them as that much does not remain to be added before they can be applied to practice. And I think I may say without vanity, that if there is any one who can carry them out that length, it must be myself rather than another: not that there may not be in the world many minds incomparably superior to mine, but because one cannot so well seize a thing and make it one's own, when it has been learned from another, as^ when onejias himself discovered it. And so true is this of the present subject that, though I have often explained some of my opinions to persons of much acuteness, who, whilst I was speaking, appeared to understand them very distinctly, yet, when they repeated them, I have observed that they almost always changed them to such an extent that I could no longer acknowledge them as mine. I am glad, by the way, to take this opportunity of requesting posterity never to believe on hearsay that anything has proceeded from me which has not been published by myself; and I am not at all astonished at the extrava- gances attributed to those ancient philosophers whose own writings we do not possess ; whose thoughts, however, I do not on that account suppose to have been really absurd, seeing they were among the ablest men of their times, but only that these have been falsely represented to us. It is observable, accordingly, that scarcelyTiTa sTngre^ instance has any one of their disciples surpassed them; and I am quite sure that the most devoted of the present followers of Aristotle would think themselves happy if they had as much knowledge of nature as he possessed, were it even under the condition that they should never afterwards attain to higher. In this respect they are like the ivy which never strives to rise a.b^^ tree that sustains it, and which frequently even returns downwards when it has reached the top; for it seems to me that they also sink, in other words, render them- selves less wise than they would be if they gave up study, who, not contented with knowing all that is intelligibly explained in their author, desire in addition to find in

56 Discourse on Method

him the solution of many difficulties of which he says not a word, and never perhaps so much as thought. Their fashion of philosophising, however, is well suited to persons whose abilities fall below mediocrity; for the obscurity of the distinctions and principles of which they make use enables them to speak of all things with as much confidence as if they really knew them, and to defend all that they say on any subject against the most subtle and skilful, without its being possible for any one to convict them of error. In this they seem to me to be like a blind man, who, in order to fight on equal terms with a person that sees, should have made him descend to the bottom of an intensely dark cave : and I may say that such persons have an interest in my refraining from publishing the principles of the philosophy of which I make use; for, since these are of a kind the simplest and most evident, I should, by publishing them, do much the same as if I were to throw open the windows, and allow the light of day to enter the cave into which the com- batants had descended. But even superior men have no reason for any great anxiety to know these principles, for if what they desire is to be able to speak of all things, and to acquire a reputation for learning, they will gain their end more easily by remaining satisfied with the appearance of truth, which can be found without much difficulty in all sorts of matters, than by seeking the truth itself which unfolds itself but slowly and that only in some departments, while it obliges us, when we have to speak of others, freely to confess our ignorance. If, however, they prefer the knowledge of some few truths to the vanity of appearing ignorant of none, as such knowledge is undoubtedly much to be preferred, and, if they choose to follow a course similar to mine, they do not require for this that I should say anything more than I have already said in this discourse. For if they are capable of making greater advancement than I have niade, they will much more be able of themselves to discover all that I believe myself to have found; since as I have never examined aught except in order, it is certain that what yet remains to be discovered is in itself more difficult and recondite, than that which I have

Discourse on Method ^y

already been enabled to find, and the gratification would"" be much less in learning it from me than in discovering it for themseives. Besides this, the habit which they will .. acquire, by seeking first what is easy, and then passing onward slowly and step by step to the more difficult, will benefit them more than all my instructions. Thus^Tir^v my own case, I am persuaded that if I had been taught j from my youth all the truths of which I have since sought ' out demonstrations, and had thus learned them without labour, I should never, perhaps, have known any beyond Ji these; at least, I should never have acquired the habit and the facility which I think I possess in always dis- covering new truths in proportion as I give myself to the search. And, in a single word, if there is any work in the world which cannot be so well finished by another as by him who has commenced it, it is that at which I labour.

It is true, indeed, as regards the experiments which may conduce to this end, that one man is not equal to the task of making them all ; but yet he can advantageously avail himself, in this work, of no hands besides his own, unless those of artisans, or parties of the same kind, whom he could pay, and whom the hope of gain (a means of great efficacy) might stimulate to accuracy in the performance of what was prescribed to them. For as to those who, through curiosity or a desire of learning, of their own accord, perhaps, offer him their services, besides that in general their promises exceed their performance, and that c they sketch out fine designs of which not one is ever realised, they will, without doubt, expect to be com- pensated for their trouble by the explication of some difficulties, or, at least, by compliments and useless speeches, in which he cannot spend any portion of his time without loss to himself. And as for the experiments that others have already made, even although these parties should be willing of themselves to communicate them to him (which is what those who esteem them secrets will never do), the experiments are, for the most part, accompanied with so many circumstances and superfluous elements, as to make it exceedingly difficult to disentangle the truth from its adjuncts; besides, he will find almost all of them so ill described, or even so

r8 Discourse on Method

/ false (because those who made them have v/ished to see in them only such facts as they deemed conformable to their principles), that, if in the entire number there should be some of a nature suited to his purpose, still their value could not compensate for the time what would be neces- sary to make the selection. So that if there existed any one whom we assuredly knew to be capable of making discoveries of the highest kind, and of the greatest possible utility to the public; and if all other men were therefore eager by all means to assist him in successfully prosecuting his designs, I do not see that they could do aught else for him beyond contributing to defray the expenses of the experiments that might be necessary; and for the rest, prevent his being deprived of his leisure by the unseason- able interruptions of any one. But besides that I neither have so high an opinion of myself as to be willing to make promise of anything extraordinary, nor feed on imagina- tions so vain as to fancy that the public must be much interested in my designs; I do not, on the other hand, own a soul so mean as to be capable of accepting from any one a favour of which it could be supposed that I was unworthy.

These considerations taken together were the reason why, for the last three years, I have been unwilling to publish the treatise I had on hand, and why I even resolved to give publicity during my life to no other that was so general, or by which the principles of my physics might be understood. But since then, two other reasons have come into operation that have determined me here to subjoin some particular specimens, and give the public some account of my doings and designs. Of these considerations, the first is, that if I failed to do so, many who were cognisant of my previous intention to publish some writings, might have imagined that the reasons which induced me to refrain from so doing, were less to my credit than they really are; for although I am not immoderately desirous of glory, or even, if I may venture so to say, although I am averse from it in so far as I deem it hostile to repose which I hold in greater account than aught else, yet, at the same time, I have never sought to conceal my actions as if they were crimes.

Discourse on Method 59

nor made use of many precautions that I might remain unknown; and this partly because I should have thought such a course of conduct a wrong against myself, and partly because it would have occasioned me some sort of uneasiness which would again have been contrary to the perfect mental tranquillity which I court. And foras- much as, while thus indifferent to the thought alike of fame or of forgetfulness, I have yet been unable to prevent myself from acquiring some sort of reputation, I have thought it incumbent on me to do my best to save myself at least from being ill-spoken of. The other reason that has determined me to commit to writing these specimens of philosophy is, that I am becoming daily more and more alive to the delay which my design of self-instruction suffers, for want of the infinity of experj- ments I require, and which it is impossible for me to make without the assistance of others: and, without flattering myself so much as to expect the public to take a large share in my interests, I am yet unwilling to be found so far wanting in the duty I owe to myself, as to give occasion to those who shall survive me to make it matter of reproach against me some day, that I might have left them many things in a much more perfect state than I have done, had I not too much neglected to make them aware of the ways in which they could have promoted the accomplishment of my designs.

And I thought that it was easy for me to select some matters which should neither be obnoxious to much controversy, nor should compel me to expound more of my principles than I desired, and which should yet be sufficient clearly to exhibit what I can or cannot accomplish in the sciences. Whether or not I have succeeded in this it is not for me to say; and I do not wish to forestall the judgments of others by speaking myself of my writings; but it will gratify me if they be examined, and, to afford the greater inducement to this, I request all who may have any objections to make to them, to take the trouble of forwarding these to my publisher, who will give me notice of them, that I may endeavour to subjoin at the same time my reply; and in this way readers seeing both at once will more easily

6o Discourse on Method

determine where the truth Hes; for I do not engage in any case to make prolix replies, but only with perfect frankness to avow my errors if I am convinced of them, or if I cannot perceive them, simply to state what I think is required for defence of the matters I have written, adding thereto no explication of any new matter that it may not be necessary to pass without end from one thing to another.

If some of the matters of which I have spoken in the be- ginning of the "Dioptrics" and ''Meteorics'' should offend at first sight, because I call them hypotheses and seem indifferent about giving proof of them, I request a patient and attentive reading of the whole, from which I hope those hesitating will derive satisfaction; for it appears to me that the reasonings are so mutually connected in these treatises, that, as the last are demonstrated by the first which are their causes, the first are in their turn demonstrated by the last which are their effects. Nor must it be imagined that I here commit the fallacy which the logicians call a circle; for since experience renders the majority of these effects most certain, the causes from which I deduce them do not serve so much to establish their reality as to explain their existence; but on the contrary, the reality of the causes is established by the reality of the effects. Nor have I called them hypotheses with any other end in view except that it may be known that I think I am able to deduce them from those first truths which I have already expounded; and yet that I have expressly determined not to do so, to prevent a certain class of minds from thence taking occasion to build some extravagant philosophy upon what they may take to be my principles, and my being blamed for it. I refer to those who imagine that they can master in a day all that another has taken twenty years to think out, as soon as he has spoken two or three words to them on the subject; or who are the more liable to error and the less capable of perceiving truth in very proportion as they are more subtle and lively. As to the opinions which are truly and wholly mine, I offer no apology for them as new,— persuaded as I am that if their reasons be well considered they will be found to be so simple and

Discourse on Method 6i

so conformed to common sense as to appear less extra- ordinary and less paradoxical than any others which can be held on the same subjects; nor do I even boast of being the earliest discoverer of any of them, but only of having adopted them, neither because they had nor because they had not been held by others, but solely because reason has convinced me of their truth.

Though artisans may not be able at once to execute the invention which is explained in the " Dioptrics/' I do not think that any one on that account is entitled to condemn it; for since address and practice are required in order so to make and adjust the machines described by me as not to overlook the smallest particular, I should not be less astonished if they succeeded on the first attempt than if a person were in one day to become an accomplished performer on the guitar, by merely having excellent sheets of music set up before him. And if I write in French, which is the language of my country, in preference to Latin, which is that of my preceptors, it is because I expect that those who make use of their un- prejudiced hatural reason" will "Fe~Bette^^^^^ my opinions than those who give heed to the writings of the ancients only ; and as for those who unite good sense with habits of study, whom alone I desire for judges, they will not, I feel assured, be so partial to Latin as to refuse to listen to my reasonings merely because I expound them in the vulgar tongue.

In conclusion, I am unwilling here to say anything very specific of the progress which I expect to make for the future in the sciences, or to bind myself to the public by any promise which I am not certain of being able to fulfil; but this only will I say, that I have resolved to devote what time I may still have to live to no other occupation than that of endeavouring to acquire some knowledge of Nature, which shall be of such a kind as to enable us therefrom to deduce rules in medicine of greater certainty than those at present in use; and that my inclination is so much opposed to all other pursuits, especially to such as cannot be useful to some without being hurtful to others, that if, by any circumstances, I had been constrained to engage in such, I do not believe

62 Discourse on Method

that I should have been able to succeed. Of this I here make a public declaration, though well aware that it cannot serve to procure for me any consideration in the world, which, however, I do not in the least affect; and I shall always hold myself more obliged to those through whose favour I am permitted to enjoy my retirement without interruption than to any who might offer me the highest earthly preferments.

MEDITATIONS

ON

THE FIRST PHILOSOPHY

TO

THE VERY SAGE AND ILLUSTRIOUS

THE

DEAN AND DOCTORS OF THE SACRED FACULTY OF THEOLOGY OF PARIS

Gentlemen^ — The motive which impels me to present this treatise to you is so reasonable^ and, when you shall learn its design, I am confident that you also will consider that there is ground so valid for your taking it under your protec- tion, that I can in no way better recommend it to you than by briefly stating the end which I proposed to myself in it. I have always been of opinion that the two questions respecting God and the soul were the chief of those that ought to be determined by help of philosophy rather than of theology; for although to us, the faithful, it be suffi- cient to hold as matters of faith, that the human soul does not perish with the body, and that God exists, it yet assuredly seems impossible ever to persuade infidels of the reality of any religion, or almost even any moral virtue, unless, first of all, those two things be proved to them by natural reason. And since in this life there are frequently greater rewards held out to vice than to virtue, few would prefer the right to the useful, if they were restrained neither by the fear of God nor the expectation of another life; and although it is quite true that the existence of God is to be believed since it is taught in the sacred Scriptures, and that, on the other hand, the sacred Scriptures are to be believed because they come from God (for since faith is a gift of God, the same Being who bestows grace to enable us to believe other things, can likewise impart of it to enable us to believe his own exist- ence), nevertheless, this cannot be submitted to infidels, who would consider that the reasoning proceeded in a circle. And, indeed, I have observed that you, with all

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the other theologians, not only affirmed the sufficiency of natural reason for the proof of the existence of God, but also that it may be inferred from sacred Scripture, that the 'knowledge of God is much clearer than of many created things, and that it is really so easy of acquisition as to leave those who do not possess it blame-worthy. This is manifest from these words of the Book of Wisdom, chap, xiii., where it is said, Howheit they are not to he excused ; Jor if their understanding was so great that they could discern the world and the creatures, why did they not rather find out the Lord thereof? And in Romans, chap, i., it is said that they are without excuse ; and again, in the same place, by these words, — That which may be known oj God is manifest in them — we seem to be admonished that all which can be known of God may be made manifest by reasons obtained from no other source than the inspection of our own minds. I have, therefore, thought that it would not be unbecoming in me to inquire how and by what way, without going out of ourselves, God may be more easily and certainly known than the things of the world.

And as regards the soul, although many have judged that its nature could not be easily discovered, and some have even ventured to say that human reason led to the conclusion that it perished with the body, and that the contrary opinion could be held through faith alone ; never- theless, since the Lateran Council, held under Leo X. (in session viii.), condemns these, and expressly enjoins ' Christian philosophers to refute their arguments, and establish the truth according to their ability, I have ventured to attempt it in this work. Moreover, I am aware that most of the irreligious deny the existence of God, and the distinctness of the human soul from the body, for no other reason than because these points, as they allege, have never as yet been demonstrated. Now, although I am by no means of their opinion, but, on the contrary, hold that almost all the proofs which have : been adduced on these questions by great men, possess, when rightly understood, the force of demonstrations, and that it is next to impossible to discover new, yet there is, I apprehend, no more useful service to be per-

Dedication 67

formed in philosophy^ than if some one were^ once for all, carefully to seek out the best of these reasons^ and ex- pound them so accurately and clearly that, for the future, it might be manifest to all that they are real demonstra- tions. And finally, since many persons were greatly desirous of this, who knew that I had cultivated a certain method of resolving all kinds of difficulties in the sciences, which is not indeed new (there being nothing older than truth), but of which they were aware I had made successful use in other instances, I judged it to be my duty to make trial of it also on the present matter.

Now the sum of what I have been able to accomplish on the subject is contained in this treatise. Not that I here essayed to collect all the diverse reasons which might be adduced as proofs on this subject, for this does not seem to be necessary, unless on matters where no one proof of adequate certainty is to be had; but I treated the first and chief alone in such a manner that I should venture now to propose them as demonstrations of the highest certainty and evidence. And I will also add that they are such as to lead me to think that there is no way open to the mind of man by which proofs superior to them can ever be discovered; for the importance of the subject, and the glory of God, to which all this relates, constrain me to speak here somewhat more freely of myself than I have been accustomed to do. Nevertheless, whatever certitude and evidence I may find in these demonstra- tions, I cannot therefore persuade myself that they are level to the comprehension of all. But just as in geometry there are many of the demonstrations of Archimedes, Apollonius, Pappus, and others, which, though received by all as evident even and certain (because indeed they manifestly contain nothing which, considered by itself, it is not very easy to understand, and no consequents that are inaccurately related to their antecedents), are nevertheless understood by a very limited number, because they are somewhat long, and demand the whole attention of the reader: so in the same way, although I consider the demonstrations of which I here make use, to be equal or even superior to the geo- metrical in certitude and evidence, I am afraid, neverthe-

68 Meditations

less, that they will not be adequately understood by many, as well because they also are somewhat long and involved, as chiefly because they require the mind to be entirely free from prejudice, and able with ease to detach itself from the commerce of the senses. And, to speak the truth, the ability for metaphysical studies is less general than for those of geometry. And, besides, there is still this difference that, as in geometry, all are per- suaded that nothing is usually advanced of which there is not a certain demonstration, those but partially versed in it err more frequently in assenting to what is false, from a desire of seeming to understand it, than in denying what is true. In philosophy, on the other hand, where it is believed that all is doubtful, few sincerely give them- selves to the search after truth, and by far the greater number seek the reputation of bold thinkers by audaciously impugning such truths as are of the greatest moment.

Hence it is that, whatever force my reasonings may possesr, yet because they belong to philosophy, I do not expect they will have much effect on the minds of men, unless you extend to them your patronage and approval. But since your faculty is held in so great esteem by all, and since the name of Sorbonne is of such authority, that not only in matters of faith, but even also in what regards human philosophy, has the judgment of no other society, after the sacred councils, received so great deference, it being the universal conviction that it is impossible elsewhere to find greater perspicacity and solidity, or greater wisdom and integrity in giving judg- ment, I doubt not, — if you but condescend to pay so much regard to this treatise as to be willing, in the first place, to correct it (for, mindful not only of my humanity, but chiefly also of my ignorance, I do not afhrm that it is free from errors); in the second place, to supply what is wanting in it, to perfect what is incomplete, and to give more ample illustration where it is demanded, or at least to indicate these defects to myself that I may endeavour to remedy them; and, finally, when the reasonings con- tained in it, by which the existence of God and the dis- tinction of the human soul from the body are established,

Dedication 69

shall have been brought to such degree of perspicuity as to be esteemed exact demonstrations^ of which I am assured they admit, if you condescend to accord them the authority of your approbation, and render a public testimony of their truth and certainty, — I doubt not, I say, but that henceforward all the errors which have ever been entertained on these questions will very soon be effaced from the minds of men. For truth itself will readily lead the remainder of the ingenious and the learned to subscribe to your judgment; and your authority will cause the atheists, who are in general sciolists rather than ingenious or learned, to lay aside the spirit of contradiction, and lead them, perhaps, to do battle in their own persons for reasonings which they find considered demonstrations by all men of genius, lest they should seem not to understand them; and, finally, the rest of mankind will readily trust to so many testimonies, and there will no longer be any one who will venture to doubt either the existence of God or the real distinction of mind and body. It is for you, in your singular wisdom, to judge of the importance of the establishment of such beliefs [who are cognisant of the disorders which doubt of these truths produces].^ But it would not here become me to commend at greater length the cause of God and religion to you, who have always proved the strongest support of the Catholic Church.

^ The square brackets, here and throughout the volume, are used to mark additions to the original of the revised French translation.

PREFACE TO THE READER

I HAVE already slightly touched upon the questions respecting the existence of God and the nature of the human soul, in the Discourse on the Method of rightly conducting the Reason, and seeking truth in the Sciences, published in French in the year 1637; not, however, with the design of there treating of them fully, but only, as it were, in passing, that I might learn from the judgments of my readers in what way I should afterwards handle them: for these questions appeared to me to be of such moment as to be worthy of being considered more than once, and the path which I follow in discussing them is so little trodden, and so remote from the ordinary route, that I thought it would not be expedient to illustrate it at greater length in French, and in a discourse that might be read by all, lest even the more feeble minds should believe that this path might be entered upon by them.

But, as in the discourse on Method, I had requested all who might find aught meriting censure in my writings, to do me the favour of pointing it out to me, I may state that no objections worthy of remark have been alleged against what I then said on these questions, except two, to which I will here briefly reply, before undertaking their more detailed discussion.

The first objection is that though, while the human mind reflects on itself, it does not perceive^* that it is any other than a thinking thing, it does not follow that its nature or essence consists only in its being a thing which thinks; so that the word only shall exclude all other things which might also perhaps be said to pertain to the nature of the mind.

To this objection I reply, that it was not my intention

* See Note I. The numbers refer to the Notes, in which will be found some notices of the various terms throughout the volume that appeared to require a word of comment.

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in that place to exclude these according to the order of truth in the matter (of which I did not then treat), but only according to the order of thought (perception); so that my meaning was, that I clearly apprehended nothing, so far as I was conscious, as belonging to my essence, except that I was a thinking thing, or a thing possessing in itself the faculty of thinking. But I will show here- after how, from the consciousness that nothing besides thinking belongs to the essence of the mind, it follows that nothing else does in truth belong to it.

The second objection is that it does not follow, from my possessing the idea of a thing more perfect than I am, that the idea itself is more perfect than myself, and much less that what is represented by the idea exists.

But I reply that in the term idea ^ there is here some- thing equivocal; for it may be taken either materially for an act of the understanding, and in this sense it cannot be said to be more perfect than I, or objectively, for the thing represented by that act, which, although it be not supposed to exist out of my understanding, may, never- theleGS, be more perfect than myself, by reason of its essence. But, in the sequel of this treatise I will show more amply how, from my possessing the idea of a thing more perfect than myself, it follows that this thing really exists.

Besides these two objections, I have seen, indeed, two treatises of sufficient length relating to the present matter. In these, however, my conclusions, much more than my premises, were impugned, and that by arguments borrowed from the common-places of the atheists. But, as argu- ments of this sort can make no impression on the minds of those who shall rightly understand my reasonings, and as the judgments of many are so irrational and weak that they are persuaded rather by the opinions on a subject that are first presented to them, however false and opposed to reason they may be, than by a true and solid, but sub- sequently received, refutation of them, I am unwilling here to reply to these strictures from a dread of being, in the first instance, obliged to state them.

I will only say, in general, that all which the atheists commonly allege in favour of the non-existence of God

Preface to the Reader 73

arises continually from one or other of these two things^ namely, either the ascription of human affections to deity, or the undue attribution to our minds of so much vigour j and wisdom that we may essay to determine and compre- hend both what God can and ought to do; hence all that is alleged by them will occasion us no difficulty, provided only we keep in remembrance that our minds must be considered finite, while Deity is incomprehensible and infinite.

Now that I have once, in some measure, made proof of the opinions of men regarding my work, I again undertake to treat of God and the human soul, and at the same time to discuss the principles of the entire first philosophy, without, however, expecting any commendation from the crowd for my endeavours, or a wide circle of readers. On the contrary, I would advise none to read this work, unless such as are able and willing to meditate with me in earnest, to detach their minds from commerce with the senses, and likewise to deliver themselves from all prejudice; and individuals of this character are, I well know, remarkably rare. But with regard to those who, without caring to comprehend the order and connection of the reasonings, shall study only detached clauses for the purpose of small but noisy criticism, as is the custom with many, I may say that such persons will not profit greatly by the reading of this treatise; and although perhaps they may find opportunity for cavilling in several places, they will yet hardly start any pressing objections, or such as shall be deserving of reply.

But since, indeed, I do not promise to satisfy others on all these subjects at first sight, nor arrogate so much to myself as to believe that I have been able to foresee all that may be the source of difficulty to each one, I shall expound, first of all, in the Meditations , those considera- tions by which I feel persuaded that I have arrived at a certain and evident knowledge of truth, in order that I may ascertain whether the reasonings which have pre- vailed with myself will also be effectual in convincing others. I will then reply to the objections of some men, illustrious for their genius and learning, to whom these meditations were sent for criticism before they were com-

74 Meditations

mitted to the press; for these objections are so numerous and varied that I venture to anticipate that nothing, at least nothing of any moment, will readily occur to any mind which has not been touched upon in them.

Hence it is that I earnestly entreat my readers not to come to any judgment on the questions raised in the meditations until they have taken care to read the whole of the objections, with the relative replies.

SYNOPSIS

OF THE

SIX FOLLOWING MEDITATIONS

In the First Meditation I expound the grounds on which we may doubt in general of all things, and especially of material objects, so long, at least, as we have no other foundations for the sciences than those we have hitherto possessed. \\ Now, although the utility of a doubt so general may not be manifest at first sight, it is neverthe- less of the greatest, since it delivers us from all prejudice, and affords the easiest pathway by which the mind may withdraw itself from the senses; and, finally, makes it impossible for us to doubt wherever we afterwards dis- cover truth. ]'^ ^

In the Second, the mind which, in the exercise of the freedom peculiar to itself, supposes that no object is, of the existence of which it has even the slightest doubt, finds that, meanwhile, it must itself exist. And this point is likewise of the highest moment, for the mind is thus enabled easily to distinguish what pertains to itself, that is, to the intellectual nature, from what is to be referred to the body. But since some, perhaps, will expect, at this stage of our progress, a statement of the reasons which establish the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, I think it proper here to make such aware, that it was my aim to write nothing of which I could not give exact demonstration, and that I therefore felt myself obliged to adopt an order similar to that in use among the geometers, viz., to premise all upon which the proposition in question depends, before coming to any conclusion respecting it. Now% the first and chief .pre-requisite for the knowledge of the immortality of the soul is our being able to form the clearest possible conception {conceptus —

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concept) of the soul itself^ and such as shall be absolutely distinct from all our notions of body; and how this is to be accomplished is there shown. There is required, besides this, the assurance that all objects which we clearly and distinctly think are true (really exist) in that very mode in which we think them: and this could not be established previously to the Fourth Meditation. Farther, it is necessary, for the same purpose, that we possess a distinct conception of corporeal nature, which is given partly in the Second and partly in the Fifth and Sixth Meditations. And, finally, on these grounds, we are necessitated to conclude, that all those objects which are clearly and distinctly conceived to be diverse sub- stances, as mind and body, are substances really recipro- cally distinct; and this inference is made in the Sixth Meditation. The absolute distinction of mind and body is, besides, confirmed in this Second Meditation, by show- ing that we cannot conceive body unless as divisible; while, on the other hand, mind cannot be conceived unless as indivisible. For we are not able to conceive the half of a mind, as we can of any body, however small, so that the natures of these two substances are to be held, not only as diverse, but even in some measure as con- traries. I have not, however, pursued this discussion further in the present treatise, as well for the reason that these considerations are sufficient to show that the destruction of the mind does not follow from the cor- ruption of the body, and thus to afford to men the hope of a future life, as also because the premises from which it is competent for us to infer the immortality of the soul, involve an explication of the whole principles of physics : in order to establish, in the first place, that generally all substances, that is, all things which can exist only in con- sequence of having been created by God, are in their own nature incorruptible, and can never cease to be, unless God himself, by refusing his concurrence to them, reduce them to nothing; and, in the second place, that body, taken generally, is a substance, and therefore can never perish, but that the human body, in as far as it differs from other bodies, is constituted only by a certain con- figuration of members, and by other accidents of this sort.

Synopsis 77

while the human mind is not made up of accidents, but is a pure substance. For although all the accidents of the mind be changed — although, for example, it think certain things, will others, and perceive others, the mind itself does not vary with these changes; while, on the contrary, the human body is no longer the same if a change take place in the form of any of its parts : from which it follows that the body may, indeed, without difficulty perish, but that the mind is in its own nature immortal.

In the Third Meditation, I have unfolded at sufficient length, as appears to me, my chief argument for the existence of God. But yet, since I was there desirous to avoid the use of comparisons taken from material objects, that I might withdraw, as far as possible, the minds of m}'' readers from the senses, numerous obscurities perhaps remain, which, however, will, I trust, be afterwards entirely removed in the replies to the objections: thus, among other things, it may be difficult to understand how the idea of a being absolutely perfect, which is found in our minds, possesses so much objective reality ^ [i.e., participates by representation in so many degrees of being and perfection] that it must be held to arise from a course absolutely perfect. This is illustrated in the replies by the comparison of a highly perfect machine, the idea of which exists in the mind of some workmen; for as the objective {i.e., representative) perfection of this idea must have some cause, viz., either the science of the workman, or of some other person from whom he has received the idea, in the same way the idea of God, which is found in us, demands God himself for its cause.

In the Fourth, it is shown that all which we clearly and distinctly perceive (apprehend) is true; and, at the same time, is explained wherein consists the nature of error; points that require to be known as well for confirming the preceding truths, as for the better understanding of those that are to follow. But, meanwhile, it must be observed, that I do not at all there treat of Sin, that is, of error committed in the pursuit of good and evil, but of that sort alone which arises in the determination of the true and the false. Nor do I refer to matters of faith, or to the conduct of life, but only to what regards speculative

yS Meditations ,

truths, and such as are known by means of the natural light aione.

In the Fifth, besides the illustration of corporeal nature, taken generically, a new demonstration is given of the existence of God, not free, perhaps, any more than the former, from certain difficulties, but of these the solution will be found in the replies to the objections. I further show in what sense it is true that the certitude of geo- metrical demonstrations themselves is dependent on the knowledge of God.

Finally, in the Sixth, the act of the understanding {intellectio) is distinguished from that of the imagination ' (tmaginatio); the marks of this distinction are described; the human mind is shown to be really distinct from the body, and, nevertheless, to be so closely conjoined there- with, as together to form, as it were, a unity. The whole of the errors which arise from the senses are brought under review, while the means of avoiding them are pointed out; and, finally, all the grounds are adduced from which the existence of material objects may be inferred; not, however, because I deemed them of great utility in establishing what they prove, viz., that there is in reality a world, that men are possessed of bodies, and the like, the truth of which no one of sound mind ever seriously doubted; but because, from a close considera- tion of them, it is perceived that they are neither so strong nor clear as the reasonings which conduct us to the knowledge of our mind and of God; so that the latter are, of all which come under human knowledge, the most certain and manifest — a conclusion which it was my single aim in these Meditations to establish; on which account I here omit mention of the various other ques- tions which, in the course of the discussion, I had occasion likewise to consider.

MEDITATIONS

ON

THE FIRST PHILOSOPHY

IN WHICH

THE EXISTENCE OF GOD, AND THE REAL DIS- TINCTION OF MIND AND BODY, ARE DEMON- STRATED

MEDITATION I

OF THE THINGS OF WHICH WE MAY DOUBT

Several years have now elapsed since I first became aware that I had accepted, even from my youth, many false opinions for true, and that consequently what I afterwards based on such principles was highly doubtful; and from that time I was convinced of the necessity of undertaking once in my life to rid myself of all the opinions I had adopted, and of commencing anew the work of building from the foundation, if I desired to establish a firm and abiding superstructure in the sciences. But as this enter- prise appeared to me to be one of great magnitude, I waited until I had attained an age so mature as to leave me no hope that at any stage of life more advanced I should be better able to execute my design. On this account, I have delayed so long that I should henceforth consider I was doing wrong were I still to consume in deliberation any of the time that now remains for action. To-day, then, since I have opportunely freed my mind from all cares [and am happily disturbed by no passions], and since I am in the secure possession of leisure in a peaceable retirement, I will at length apply myself earnestly and freely to the general overthrow of all my

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former opinions. But^ to this end, it will not be necessary for me to show that the whole of these are false — a point, perhaps, which I shall never reach; but as even now my reason convinces me that I ought not the less carefully to withhold belief from what is not entirely certain and indubitable, than from what is manifestly false, it will be sufficient to justify the rejection of the whole if I shall find in each some ground for doubt. Nor for this purpose will it be necessary even to deal with each belief individu- ally, which would be truly an endless labour; but, as the removal from below of the foundation necessarily involves the downfall of the whole edifice, I will at once approach the criticism of the principles on which all my former beliefs rested.

All that I have, up to this moment, accepted as pos- sessed of the highest truth and certainty, I received either from or through the senses.^ I observed, however, that these sometimes misled us ; and it is the part of prudence not to place absolute confidence in that by which we have even once been deceived.

But it may be said, perhaps, that, although the senses occasionally mislead us respecting minute objects, and such as are so far removed from us as to be beyond the reach of close observation, there are yet many other of their informations (presentations), of the truth of which it is manifestly impossible to doubt; as for example, that I am in this place, seated by the fire, clothed in a winter dress- ing-gown, that I hold in my hands this piece of paper, with other intimations cf the same nature. But how could I deny that I possess these hands and this body, and withal escape being classed with persons in a state of insanity, whose brains are so disordered and clouded by dark bilious vapours as to cause them pertinaciously to assert that they are monarchs when they are in the greatest poverty; or clothed [in gold] and purple when destitute of any covering; or that their head is made of clay, their body of glass, or that they are gourds? I should certainly be not less insane than they, were I to regulate my procedure according to examples so extra- vagant.

Though this be true, I must nevertheless here consider

Things We May Doubt 8 1

that I am a man^ and that, consequently, I am in the habit of sleeping, and representing to myself in dreams those same things, or even sometimes others less probable, which the insane think are presented to them in their waking moments. How often have I dreamt that I was in these familiar circumstances — that I was dressed, and occupied this place by the fire, when I was lying undressed in bed? At the present moment, however, I certainly look upon this paper with eyes wide awake; the head which I now move is not asleep; I extend this hand con- sciously and with express purpose, and I perceive it; the occurrences in sleep are not so distinct as all this. But I cannot forget that, at other times, I have been deceived in sleep by similar illusions; and, attentively considering those cases, I perceive so clearly that there exist no certain marks by which the state of waking can ever be distin- guished from sleep, that I feel greatly astonished; and in amazement I almost persuade myself that I am now dreaming.

Let us suppose, then, that we are dreaming, and that all these particulars — namely, the opening of the eyes, the motion of the head, the forth-putting of the hands — are merely illusions; and even that we really possess neither an entire body nor hands such as we see. Nevertheless, it must be admitted at least that the objects which appear to us in sleep are, as it were, painted representations which could not have been formed unless in the likeness of realities; and, therefore, that those general objects, at all events — namely, eyes, a head, hands, and an entire body — are not simply imaginary, but really existent. For, in truth, painters themselves, even when they study to represent sirens and satyrs by forms the most fantastic and extraordinary, cannot bestow upon them natures absolutely new, but can only make a certain medley of the members of different animals; or if they chance to imagine something so novel that nothing at all similar has ever been seen before, and such as is, therefore, purely fictitious and absolutely false, it is at least certain that the colours of which this is composed are real.

And on the same principle, although these general objects, viz. [a body], eyes, a head, hands, and the like,

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82 Meditations

be imaginary, we are nevertheless absolutely necessitated to admit the reality at least of some other objects still more simple and universal than these, of which, just as of certain real colours, all those images of things, whether true and real, or false and fantastic, that are found in our consciousness {cogitatio),^ are formed.

To this class of objects seem to belong corporeal nature in general and its extension; the figure of extended things, their quantity or magnitude, and their number, as also the place in, and the time during, which they exist, and other things of the same sort. We will not, therefore, perhaps reason illegitimately if we conclude from this that physics, astronomy, medicine, and all the other sciences that have for their end the consideration of com- posite objects, are indeed of a doubtful character; but that arithmetic, geometry, and the other sciences of the same class, which regard merely the simplest and most general objects, and scarcely inquire whether or not these are really existent, contain somewhat that is certain and indubitable: for whether I am awake or dreaming, it remains true that two and three make five, and that a square has but four sides; nor does it seem possible that truths so apparent can ever fall under a suspicion of falsity [or incertitude].

Nevertheless, the belief that there is a God who is all- powerful, and who created me, such as I am, has for a long time, obtained steady possession of my mind. How, then, do I know that he has not arranged that there should be neither earth, nor sky, nor any extended thing, nor figure, nor magnitude, nor place, providing at the same time, however, for [the rise in me of the perceptions of all these objects, and] the persuasion that these do not exist otherwise than as I perceive them? And further, as I sometimes think that others are in error respecting matters of which they believe themselves to possess a perfect knowledge, how do I know that I am not also deceived each time I add together two and three, or number the sides of a square, or form some judgment still more simple, if more simple indeed can be imagined.^ But perhaps Deity has not been willing that I should be thus deceived, for He is said to be supremely good. If,

Things We May Doubt 83

however, it were repugnant to the goodness of Deity to have created me subject to constant deception, it would seem Hkewise to be contrary to his goodness to allow me to be occasionally deceived; and yet it is clear that this is permitted. Some, indeed, might perhaps be found who would be disposed rather to deny the existence of a being so powerful than to believe that there is nothing certain. But let us for the present refrain from opposing this opinion, and grant that all which is here said of a Deity is fabulous: nevertheless, in whatever way it be supposed that I reached the state in which I exist, whether by fate, or chance, or by an endless series of antecedents and consequents, or by any other means, it is clear (since to be deceived and to err is a certain defect) that the pro- bability of my being so imperfect as to be the constant victim of deception, will be increased exactly in propor- tion as the power possessed by the cause, to which they assign my origin, is lessened. To these reasonings I have assuredly nothing to reply, but am constrained at last to avow that there is nothing at all that I formerly believed to be true of which it is impossible to doubt, and that not through thoughtlessness or levity, but from cogent and maturely considered reasons; so that henceforward, if I desire to discover anything certain, I ought not the less carefully to refrain from assenting to those same opinions than to what might be shown to be manifestly false.

But it is not sufficient to have made these observations ; care must be taken likewise to keep them in remembrance. For those old and customary opinions perpetually recur — long and familiar usage giving them the right of occupying my mind, even almost against my will, and subduing my belief; nor will I lose the habit of deferring to them and confiding in them so long as I shall consider them to be what in truth they are, viz., opinions to some extent doubtful, as I have already shown, but still highly pro- bable, and such as it is much more reasonable to believe than deny. It is for this reason I am persuaded that I shall not be doing wrong, if, taking an opposite judgment of deliberate design, I become my own deceiver, by sup- posing, for a time, that all those opinions are entirely false and imaginary, until at length, having thus balanced

84 Meditations

my old by my new prejudices, my judgment shall no longer be turned aside by perverted usage from the path that may conduct to the perception of truth. For I am assured that, meanwhile, there will arise neither peril nor error from this course, and that I cannot for the present yield too much to distrust, since the end I now seek is not action but knowledge.

I will suppose, then, not that Deity, who is sovereignly good and the fountain of truth, but that some malignant demon, who is at once exceedingly potent and deceitful, has employed all his artifice to deceive me; I will suppose that the sky, the air, the earth, colours, figures, sounds, and all external things, are nothing better than the illu- sions of dreams, by means of which this being has laid snares for my credulity; I will consider myself as without hands, eyes, flesh, blood, or any of the senses, and as falsely believing that I am possessed of these; I will continue resolutely fixed in this belief, and if indeed by this means it be not in my power to arrive at the know- ledge of truth, I shall at least do what is in my power, viz. [suspend my judgment], and guard with settled pur- pose against giving my assent to what is false, and being imposed upon by this deceiver, whatever be his power and artifice.

But this undertaking is arduous, and a certain indolence insensibly leads me back to my ordinary course of life; and just as the captive, who, perchance, was enjoying in his dreams an imaginary liberty, when he begins to suspect that it is but a vision, dreads awakening, and conspires with the agreeable illusions that the deception may be prolonged; so I, of my own accord, fall back into the train of my former beliefs, and fear to arouse myself from my slumber, lest the time of laborious wakefulness that would succeed this quiet rest, in place of bringing any light of day, should prove inadequate to dispel the dark- ness that will arise from the difficulties that have now been raised.

MEDITATION II

OP' THE NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND ; AND THAT IT IS MORE EASILY KNOWN THAN THE BODY

The Meditation of yesterday has filled my mind with so many doubts, that it is no longer in my power to forget them. Nor do I see, meanwhile, any principle on which they can be resolved; and, just as if I had fallen all of a sudden into very deep water, I am so greatly disconcerted as to be made unable either to plant my feet firmly on the bottom or sustain myself by swimming on the surface. I will, nevertheless, make an effort, and try anew the same path on which I had entered yesterday, that is, proceed by casting aside all that admits of the slightest doubt, not less than if I had discovered it to be absolutely false ; and I will continue always in this track until I shall find some- thing that is certain, or at least, if I can do nothing more, until I shall know with certainty that there is nothing certain. Archimedes, that he might transport the entire globe from the place it occupied to another, demanded only a point that was firm and immovable; so also, I shall be entitled to entertain the highest expectations, if I am fortunate enough to discover only one thing that is certain and indubitable.

I suppose, accordingly, that all the things which I see are false (fictitious); I beheve that none of those objects which my fallacious memory represents ever existed; I suppose that I possess no senses; I beheve that body, figure, extension, motion, and place are merely fictions of my mind. What is there, then, that can be esteemed true? Perhaps this only, that there is absolutely nothing certain.

But how do I know that there is not something different altogether from the objects I have now enumerated, of which it is impossible to entertain the slightest doubt? Is there not a God, or some being, by whatever name I

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may designate him, who causes these thoughts to arise in my mind? But why suppose such a being, for it may be I myself am capable of producing them? Am I, then, at least not something ? But I before denied that I possessed senses or a body; I hesitate, however, for what follows from that? Am I so dependent on the body and the senses that without these I cannot exist? But I had the persuasion that there was absolutely nothing in the world, that there was no sky and no earth, neither minds nor bodies; was I not, therefore, at the same time, per- suaded that I did not exist? Far from it; I assuredly existed, since I was persuaded. But there is I know not what being, who is possessed at once of the highest power and the deepest cunning, who is constantly employing all his ingenuity in deceiving me. Doubtless, then, I exist, since I am deceived ; and, let him deceive me as he may, he can never bring it about that I am nothing, so long as I shall be conscious that I am something. So that it must, in fine, be maintained, all things being maturely and care- fully considered, that this proposition (pronunctaium) 1 am,^ ^^t, is necessarily tjiie by me" or^conceived in my mind.

^ But I do not yet know with sufficient clearness what I am, though assured that I am; and hence, in the next place, I must take care, lest perchance I inconsiderately substitute some other object in room of what is properly myself, and thus wander from truth, even in that know- ledge (cognition) which I hold to be of all others the most certain and evident. For this reason, I will now consider anew what I formerly believed myself to be, before I entered on the present train of thought; and of my previous opinion I will retrench all that can in the least be invalidated by the grounds of doubt I have adduced, in order that there may at length remain nothing but what is certain and indubitable. What then did I for- merly think I was? Undoubtedly I judged that I was a man. But what is a man ? Shall I say a rational animal ? Assuredly not; for it would be necessary forthwith to inquire into what is meant by animal, and what by rational, and thus, from a single question, I should insen- sibly glide into others, and these more difficult than the

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first; nor do I now possess enough of leisure to warrant me in wasting my time amid subtleties of this sort. I prefer here to attend to the thoughts that sprung up of themselves in my mind, and were inspired by my own nature alone, when I applied myself to the consideration of what I was. In the first place, then, I thought that I possessed a countenance, hands, arms, and all the fabric of members that appears in a corpse, and which I called by the name of body. It further occurred to me that I was nourished, that I walked, perceived, and thought, and all those actions I referred to the soul; but what the soul itself was I either did not stay to consider, or, if I did, I imagined that it was something extremely rare and subtile, like wind, or flame, or ether, spread through my grosser parts. As regarded the body, I did not even doubt of its nature, but thought I distinctly knew it, and if I had wished to describe it according to the notions I then entertained, I should have explained myself in this manner: B^^JbQd^.Ijaiider§taiid all that can be terminated by a certain figure; that can be comprised in a certain place, and so fill a certain space as therefrom to exclude every other body; that can be perceived either by touch, sight, hearing, taste, or smell; that can be moved in different ways, not indeed of itself, but by something foreign to it by which it is touched [and from which it receives the impression] ; for the power of self-motion, as likewise that of perceiving and thinking, I held as by no means pertaining to the nature of body ; on the contrary, I was somewhat astonished to find such faculties existing in some bodies.

But [as to myself, what can I now say that I am], since I suppose there exists an extremely powerful, and, if I may so speak, malignant being, whose whole endeavours are directed towards deceiving me? Can I affirm that I possess any one of all those attributes of which I have lately spoken as belonging to the nature of body? After attentively considering them in my own mind, I find none of them that can properly be said to belong to myself. To recount them were idle and tedious. Let us pass, then, to the attributes of the soul. The first mentioned were the powers of nutrition and walking; but,

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if it be true that I have no body, it is true likewise that I am capable neither of walking nor of being nounshed. Perception is another attribute of the soul; but percep- tion too is impossible without the body: besides, I have frequently, during sleep, believed that I perceived objects which I afterwards observed I did not m reality perceive. Thinking is another attribute of the soul; and here I discover^'what properly belongs to myself. This alone is inseparable from me. lam— I exist: this is certain; but how often? As often as I think; for perhaps it would even happen, if I should wholly cease to think, that I should at the same time altogether cease to be. I now admit nothing that is not necessarily true: I am there- fore, precisely speaking, only a thinking thing, that is, a mind {mens sive animus), understanding, or reason, — terms whose signification was before unknown to me. I am, however, a real thing, and really existent; but what thing? The answer was, a thinking thing. The ques- tion now arises, am I aught besides? I will stimulate my imagination with a view to discover whether I am not still something more than a thinking being. Now it is plain I am not the assemblage of members called the human body; I am not a thin and penetrating air diffused through all these members, or wind, or flame, or vapour, or breath, or any of all the things I can imagine; for I supposed that all these were not, and, without changing the supposition, I find that I still feel assured of my existence.

But it is true, perhaps, that those very things which I suppose to be non-existent, because they are unknown to me, are not in truth different from myself whom I know. This is a point I cannot determine, and do not now enter into any dispute regarding it. I can only judge of things that are known to me : I am conscious that I exist, and I who know that I exist inquire into what I am. It is, however, perfectly certain that the knowledge of my existence, thus precisely taken, is not dependent on things, the existence of which is as yet unknown to me: and consequently it is not dependent on any of the things I can feign in imagination. Moreover, the phrase itself, I frame an image (effingo), reminds me of my error; for I

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should in truth frame one if I were to imagine myself to be anything^ since to imagine is nothing more than to con- template the figure or image of a corporeal thing; but I already know that I exist, and that it is possible at the same time that all those images, and in general all that relates to the nature of body, are merely dreams [or chimeras]. From this I discover that it is not more reasonable to say, I will excite my imagination that I may know more distinctly what I am, than to express myself as follows: I am now awake, and perceive some- thing real; but because my perception is not sufficiently clear, I will of express purpose go to sleep that my dreams may represent to me the object of my perception with more truth and clearness. And, therefore, I know that nothing of all that I can embrace in imagination belongs to the knowledge which I have of myself, and that there is need to recall with the utmost care the mind from this mode of thinking, that it may be able to know its own nature with perfect distinctness.

But what, then, am I ? A thinking thing, it has been said. But what is a thinking thing? It is a thing that doubts, understands [conceives], affirms, denies, wills, refuses, that imagines also, and perceives. Assuredly it is not little, if all these properties belong to my nature. But why should they not belong to it? Am I not that very being who no\^ doubts of almost everything; who, for all that, understands and conceives certain things, who affirms one alone as true, and denies the others ; who desires to know more of them, and does not wish to be deceived; who imagines many things, sometimes even despite his will; and is likewise percipient of many, as if through the medium of the senses. Is there nothing of all this as true as that I am, even although I should be always dreaming, and although he who gave me being employed all his ingenuity to deceive me? Is there also any one of these attributes that can be properly distin- guished from my thought, or that can be said to be separate from myself? For it is of itself so evident that it is I who doubt, I who understand, and I who desire, that it is here unnecessary to add anything by way of rendering it more clear. And I am as certainly the same

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being who imagines; for, although it may be (as I before supposed) that nothing I imagine is true, still the power of imagination does not cease really to exist in me and to form part of my thoughts. In fine, I am the same being who perceives, that is, who apprehends certain objects as by the organs of sense, since, in truth, I see light, hear a noise, and feel heat. But it will be said that these pre- sentations are false, and that I am dreaming. Let it be so. At all events it is certain that I seem to see light, hear a noise, and feel heat; this cannot be false, and this is what in me is properly called perceiving (senttre), which is nothing else than thinking. From this I begin to know what I am with somewhat greater clearness and distinct- ness than heretofore.

But, nevertheless, it still seems to me, and I cannot help beheving, that corporeal things, whose images are formed by thought [which fall under the senses], and are examined by the same, are known with much greater dis- tinctness than that I know not what part of myself which is not imaginable; although, in truth, it may seem strange to say that I know and comprehend with greater distinctness things whose existence appears to me doubtful, that are unknown, and do not belong to me, than others of whose reality I am persuaded, that are known to me, and appertain to my proper nature; in a word, than myself. But I see clearly what is t^e state of the case. My mind is apt jto-,wa^nder, and will not yet submit to be restrainea"''withinjbe limfts^ of ^truth7~~terus^ therefore leUve^he mirid^o itself once mDre^ and, according to it every kind of liberty [permit it to consider the objects that appear to it from without], in order that, having afterwards withdrawn it from these gently and oppor- tunely [and fixed it on the consideration of its being and the properties it finds in itself], it may then be the more easily controlled. )r" Let us now accordingly consider the objects that are /commonly thought to be [the most easily, and likewise] I J the most distinctly known, viz., the bodies we touch and I "see; not, indeed, bodies in general, for these general /notions are usually somewhat more confused, but one i body in particular. Take, for example, this piece of wax;

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it is quite fresh, having been but recently taken from the beehive; it has not yet lost the sweetness of the honey it contained; it still retains somewhat of the odour of the flowers from which it was gathered; its colour, figure, size, are apparent (to the sight); it is hard, cold, easily handled; and sounds when struck upon with the finger. In fine, all that contributes to make a body as distinctly known as possible, is found in the one before us. But, while I am speaking, let it be placed near the fire — what remained of the taste exhales, the smell evaporates, the colour changes, its figure is destroyed, its size increases, it becomes liquid, it grows hot, it can hardly be handled, and, although struck upon, it emits no sound. Does the same wax still remain after this change? It must be admitted that it does remain; no one doubts it, or judges otherwise. What, then, was it I knew with so much distinctness in the piece of wax? Assuredly, it could be nothing of all that I observed by means of the senses, since all the things that fell under taste, smell, sight, touch, and hearing are changed, and yet the same wax remains. It was perhaps what I now think, viz., that this wax was neither the sweetness of honey, the pleasant odour of flowers, the whiteness, the figure, nor the sound, but only a body that a little before appeared to me con- spicuous under these forms, and which is now perceived under others. But, to speak precisely, what is it that I imagine when I think of it in this way? Let it be atten- tively considered, and, retrenching all that does not belong to the wax, let us see what remains. There cer- tainly remains nothing, except something extended, flexible, and movable. But what is meant by flexible and movable? Is it not that I imagine that the piece of wax, being round, is capable of becoming square, or of passing from a square into a triangular figure ? Assuredly such is not the case, because I conceive that it admits of an infinity of similar changes; and I am, moreover, unable to compass this infinity by imagination, and con- sequently this conception which I have of the wax is not the product of the faculty of imagination. But what now is this extension? Is it not also unknown? for it becomes greater when the wax is melted, greater when it

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is boiled, and greater still when the heat increases; and I should not conceive [clearly and] according to truth, the wax as it is, if I did not suppose that the piece we are con- sidering admitted even of a wider variety of extension than I ever imagined. I must, therefore, admit that I cannot even comprehend by imagination what the piece of wax is, and that it is the mind alone {mens, Lat.; entendement, F.) which perceives it. I speak of one piece in particular; for, as to wax in general, this is still more evident. But what is the piece of wax that can be per- ceived only by the [understanding of] mind? It is cer- tainly the same which I see, touch, imagine; and, in fine, it is the same which, from the beginning, I believed it to be. But (and this it is of moment to observe) the per- ception of it is neither an act of sight, of touch, nor of imagination, and never was either of these, though it might formerly seem so, but is simply an intuition {inspectio) of the mind, which may be imperfect and confused, as it formerly was, or very clear and distinct, as it is at present, according as the attention is more or less directed to the elements which it contains, and of which it is composed.

But, meanwhile, I feel greatly astonished when I observe [the weakness of my mind, and] its proneness to error. For although, without at all giving expression to what I think, I consider all this in my own mind, words yet occasionally impede my progress, and I am almost led into error by the terms of ordinary language. We say, for example, that we see the same wax when it is before us, and not that we judge it to be the same from its retaining the same colour and figure: whence I should forthwith be disposed to conclude that the wax is known by the act of sight, and not by the intuition of the mind alone, were it not for the analogous instance of human beings passing on in the street below, as observed from a window. In this case I do not fail to say that I see the men themselves, just as I say that I see the wax; and yet what do I see from the window beyond hats and cloaks that might cover artificial machines, whose motions might be determined by springs ? But I judge that there are human beings from these appearances, and thus I

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comprehend, by the faculty of judgment alone which is in the mind, what I beheved I saw with my eyes.

The man who makes it his aim to rise to knowledge superior to the common, ought to be ashamed to seek occasions of doubting from the vulgar forms of speech: instead, therefore, of doing this, I shall proceed with the matter in hand, and inquire whether I had a clearer and more perfect perception of the piece of wax when I first saw it, and when I thought I knew it by means of the external sense itself, or, at all events, by the common sense (sensus communis), as it is called, that is, by the imaginative faculty; or whether I rather apprehend it more clearly at present, after having examined with greater care, both what it is, and in what way it can be known. It would certainly be ridiculous to entertain any doubt on this point. For what, in that first perception, was there distinct? What did I perceive which any animal might not have perceived.^ But when I distin- guish the wax from its exterior forms, and when, as if I had stripped it of its vestments, I consider it quite naked, it is certain, although some error may still be found in my judgment, that I cannot, nevertheless, thus apprehend it without possessing a human mind.

But, finally, what shall I say of the mind itself, that is, of myself.^ for as yet I do not admit that I am anything but mind. What, then! I who seem to possess so dis- tinct an apprehension of the piece of wax, — do I not know myself, both with greater truth and certitude, and also much more distinctly and clearly? For if I judge that the wax exists because I see it, it assuredly follows, much more evidently, that I myself am or exist, for the same reason: for it is possible that what I see may not in truth be wax, and that I do not even possess eyes with which to see anything; but it cannot be that when I see, or, which comes to the same thing, when I think I see, I myself who think am nothing. So likewise, if I judge that the wax exists because I touch it, it will still also follow that I am; and if I determine that my imagina- tion, or any other cause, whatever it be, persuades me of the existence of the wax, I will still draw the same con- clusion. And what is here remarked of the piece of wax

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is applicable to all the other things that are external to me. And further^ if the [notion or] perception of wax appeared to me more precise and distinct, after that not only sight and touch, but many other causes besides, rendered it manifest to my apprehension, with how much greater distinctness must I now know myself, since all the reasons that contribute to the knowledge of the nature of wax, or of any body whatever, manifest still better the nature of my mind ? And there are besides so many other things in the mind itself that contribute to the illus- tration of its nature, that those dependent on the body, to which I have here referred, scarcely merit to be taken into account.

But, in conclusion, I find I have insensibly reverted to the point I desired; for, since it is now manifest to me that bodies themselves are not properly perceived by the senses nor by the faculty of imagination, but by the intellect alone; and since they are not perceived because they are seen and touched, but only because they are understood [or rightly comprehended by thought], I readily discover that there is nothing more easily or clearly apprehended than my own mind. But because it is difficult to rid one's self so promptly of an opinion to which one has been long accustomed, it will be desirable to tarry for some time at this stage, that, by long con- tinued meditation, I may more deeply impress upon my memory this new knowledge.

MEDITATION III

OF god: that he exists

I WILL now close my eyes, I will stop my ears, I will turn away my senses from their objects, I will even efface from my consciousness all the images of corporeal things; or at least, because this can hardly be accomplished, I will consider them as empty and false; and thus, holding converse only with myself, and closely examining my nature, I will endeavour to obtain by degrees a more intimate and familiar knowledge of myself. I am a thinking (conscious) thing, that is, a being who doubts, affirms, denies, knows a few objects, and is ignorant of many, — [who loves, hates], wills, refuses, — who imagines likewise, and perceives; for, as I before remarked, although the things which I perceive or imagine are perhaps nothing at all apart from me [and in themselves], I am nevertheless assured that those modes of conscious- ness which I call perceptions and imaginations, in as far only as they are modes of consciousness, exist in me. And in the little I have said I think I have summed up all that I really know, or at least all that up to this time I was aware I knew. Now, as I am endeavouring to extend my knowledge more widely, I will use circum- spection, and consider with care whether I can still dis- cover in myself anything further which I have not yet hitherto observed. I am certain that I am a thinking thing; but do I not therefore likewise know what is required to render me certain of a truth? In this first knowledge, doubtless, there is nothing that gives me assurance of its truth except the clear and distinct per- ception of what I affirm, which would not indeed be sufficient to give me the assurance that what I say is true, if it could ever happen that anything I thus clearly and distinctly perceived should prove false; and accordingly it seems to me that I may now take as a general rule^ that

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all that is very clearly and distinctly apprehended (con- ceived) is true.

Nevertheless I before received and admitted many things as wholly certain and manifest, which yet I after- wards found to be doubtful. What, then, were those? They were the earth, the sky, the stars, and all the other objects which I was in the habit of perceiving by the senses. But what was it that I clearly [and distinctly] perceived in them? Nothing more than that the ideas and the thoughts of those objects were presented to my mind. And even now I do not deny that these ideas are found in my mind. But there was yet another thing which I affirmed, and which, from having been accustomed to believe it, I thought I clearly perceived, although, in truth, I did not perceive it at all; I mean the existence of objects external to me, from which those ideas pro- ceeded, and to which they had a perfect resemblance; and it was here I was mistaken, or if I judged correctly, this assuredly was not to be traced to any knowledge I possessed (the force of my perception, Lat.).

But when I considered any matter in arithmetic and geometry, that was very simple and easy, as, for example, that two and three added together make five, and things of this sort, did I not view them with at least sufficient clearness to warrant me in affirming their truth ? Indeed, if I afterwards judged that we ought to doubt of these things, it was for no other reason than because it occurred to me that a God might perhaps have given me such a nature as that I should be deceived, even respecting the matters that appeared to me the most evidently true. But as often as this preconceived opinion of the sovereign power of a God presents itself to my mind, I am con- strained to admit that it is easy for him, if he wishes it, to cause me to err, even in matters where I think I possess the highest evidence; and, on the other hand, as often as I direct my attention to things which I think I appre- hend with great clearness I am so persuaded of their truth that I naturally break out into expressions such as these: Deceive me who may, no one will yet ever be able to bring it about that I am not, so long as I shall be conscious that I am, or at any future time cause it to be true that

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I have never been, it being now true that I am, or make two and three more or less than five, in supposing which and other like absurdities, I discover a manifest contra- diction.

And in truth, as I have no ground for believing that Deity is deceitful, and as, indeed, I have not even con- sidered the reasons by which the existence of a Deity of any kind is established, the ground of doubt that rests only on this supposition is very slight, and, so to speak, metaphysical. But, that I may be able wholly to remove it, I must inquire whether there is a God, as soon as an opportunity of doing so shall present itself; and if I find that there is a God, I must examine likewise whether he can be a deceiver; for, without the knowledge of these I two truths, I do not see that I can ever be certain of any- 1 thing. And that I may be enabled to examine this I without interrupting the order of meditation I have proposed to myself [which is, to pass by degrees from the notions that I shall find first in my mind to those I shall afterwards discover in it], it is necessary at this stage to divide all my thoughts into certain classes, and to consider in which of these classes truth and error are, strictly speaking, to be found.

Of my thoughts some are, as it were, images of things, and to these alone properly belongs the name idea ; as when I think [represent to my mind] a man, a chimera, the sky, an angel, or God. Others, again, have certain other forms ; as when I will, fear, affirm, or deny, I always, indeed, apprehend something as the object of my thought, but I also embrace in thought something more than the representation of the object; and of this class of thoughts some are called volitions or affections, and others judg- ments.

Now, with respect to ideas, if these are considered only in themselves, and are not referred to any object beyond them, they cannot, properly speaking, be false; for whether I imagine a goat or a chimera, it is not less true that I imagine the one than the other. Nor need we fear that falsity may exist in the will or affections; for, al- though I may desire objects that are wrong, and even that never existed, it is still true that I desire them. There thus

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only remain our judgments, in which we must take diligent heed that we be not deceived. But the chief and most ordinary error that arises in them consists in judging that the ideas which are in us are like or conformed to the things that are external to us; for assuredly, if we but considered the ideas themselves as certain modes of our thought (consciousness), without referring them to anything beyond, they would hardly afford any occasion of error.

But, among these ideas, some appear to me to be innate,* others adventitious, and others to be made by myself (factitious); for, as I have the power of conceiving what is called a thing, or a truth, or a thought, it seems to me that I hold this power from no other source than my own nature; but if I now hear a noise, if I see the sun, or if I feel heat, I have all along judged that these sensations proceeded from certain objects existing out of myself; and, in fine, it appears to me that sirens, hippogryphs, and the like, are inventions of my own mind. But I may even perhaps come to be of opinion that all my ideas are of the class which I call adventitious, or that they are all innate, or that they are all factitious, for I have not yet clearly discovered their true origin; and what I have here principally to do is to consider, with reference to those that appear to come from certain objects without me, what grounds there are for thinking them like these objects.

The first of these grounds is that it seems to me I am so taught by nature; and the second that I am conscious that those ideas are not dependent on my will, and there- fore not on myself, for they are frequently presented to me against my will, — as at present, whether I will or not, I feel heat; and I am thus persuaded that this sensation or idea (sensum vel ideam) of heat is produced in me by something different from myself, viz., by the heat of the fire by which I sit. And it is very reasonable to suppose that this object impresses me with its own likeness rather than any other thing.

^ But I must consider whether these reasons are suffi- ciently strong and convincing. When I speak of being taught by nature in this matter, I understand by the word nature only a certain spontaneous impetus that impels

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me to believe in a resemblance between ideas and their objects, and not a natural light that affords a knowledge of its truth. But these two things are widely different; for what the natural light shows to be true can be in no degree doubtful, as, for example, that I am because I doubt, and other truths of the like kind : inasmuch as I possess no other faculty whereby to distinguish truth from error, which can teach me the falsity of what the natural light declares to be true, and which is equally trust- worthy; but with respect to [seemingly] natural impulses, I have observed, when the question related to the choice of right or wrong in action, that they frequently led me to take the worse part; nor do I see that I have any better ground for following them in what relates to truth and error. Then, with respect to the other reason, which is that because these ideas do not depend on my will, they must arise from objects existing without me, I do not find it more convincing than the former; for, just as those natural impulses, of which I have lately spoken, are found in me, notwithstanding that they are not always in harmony with my will, so likewise it may be that I possess some power not sufficiently known to myself capable of producing ideas without the aid of external objects, and, indeed, it has always hitherto appeared to me that they are formed during sleep, by some power of this nature, without the aid of aught external. And, in fine, although I should grant that they proceeded from those objects, it is not a necessary consequence that they must be like them. On the contrary, I have observed, in a number of instances, that there was a great difference between the object and its idea. Thus, for example, I find in my mind two wholly diverse ideas of the sun; the one, by which it appears to me extremely small, draws its origin from the senses, and should be placed in the class of adventitious ideas ; the other, by which it seem.s to be many times larger than the whole earth, is taken up on astronomical grounds, that is, elicited from certain notions bom with me, or is framed by myself in some other manner. These two ideas cannot certainly both resemble the same sun; and reason teaches me that the one which seems to have immediately emanated from it is the most

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unlike. And these things sufficiently prove that hitherto it has not been from a certain and deliberate judgment, but only from a sort of blind impulse, that I believed in the existence of certain things different from myself, which, by the organs of sense, or by whatever other means it might be, conveyed their ideas or images into my mind [and impressed it with their likenesses].

But there is still another way of inquinng whether, of the objects whose ideas are in my mind, there are any that exist out of me. If ideas are taken in so far only as they are certain modes of consciousness, I do not remark^any difTerence or inequality among them, and all seemfin the same manner, to proceed from myself ; but, considering them as images, of which one represents one thing and another a different, it is evident that a great diversity obtains among them. For, without doubt^ those that represent substances are something more, and contain in themselves, so to speak, more objective reality [that is, participate by representation in higher degrees of being or perfection] than those that represent only modes or accidents ; and again, the idea by which I conceive a God [sovereign], eternal, infinite [immutable], all -knowing, all-powerful, and the creator of all things that are out of himself, — this, I say, has certainly in it more objective reality than those ideas by which finite substances are represented.

Now, it is manifest by the natural light that there must at least be as much reality in the efficient and total cause as in its effect; for whence can. the-^ffect^dxaAvJit^^ if not from its cause? and how could.ttie cause .communi- cate to it this reality unless it possessed it in itself? And hence it follows, not only that what is cannot be produced by what is not, but likewise thaft!Te~more "perfect, — in other words, that which contains in itself more reality, — cannot be the effect of the less perfect: and this is not only evidently true of those effects, whose reality is actual or formal, but likewise of ideas, whose reality is only con- sidered as objective. Thus, for example, the stone that is not yet in existence, not only cannot now commence to be, unless it be produced by that which possesses in itself, formally or eminently,^ all that enters into its composi-

Of God: That He Exists loi

tion [in other words, by that which contains in itself the same properties that are in the stone, or others superior to them]; and heat can only be produced in a subject that was before devoid of it, by a cause that is of an order [degree or kind] at least as perfect as heat; and so of the others. But further, even the idea of the heat, or of the stone, cannot exist in me unless it be put there by a cause that contains, at least, as much reality as I conceive existent in the heat or in the stone: for, although that cause may not transmit into my idea anything of its actual or formal reality, we ought not on this account to imagine that it is less real; but we ought to consider that [as every idea is a work of the mind], its nature is such as of itself to demand no other formal reality than that which it borrows from our consciousness, of which it is but a mode [that is, a manner or way of thinking]. But in order that an idea may contain this objective reality rather than that, it m.ust doubtless derive it from some cause in which is found at least as much formal reality as the idea con- tains an objective; for, if we suppose that there is found in an idea anything which was not in its cause, it must of course derive this from nothing. But, however imperfect may be the mode of existence by which a thing is objec- tively [or by representation] in the understanding by its idea, we certainly cannot, for all that, allege that this mode of existence is nothing, nor, consequently, that the idea owes its origin to nothing. Nor must it be imagined that, since the reality which is considered in these ideas is only objective, the same reality need not be formally (actually) in the causes of these ideas, but only objec- tively; for, just as the mode of existing objectively belongs to ideas by their peculiar nature, so likewise the mode of existing formally appertains to the causes of these ideas (at least to the first and principal), by their peculiar nature. And although an idea may give rise to another idea, this regress cannot, nevertheless, be infinite ; we must in the end reach a first idea, the cause of which is, as it were, the archetype in which all the reality [or perfection] that is found objectively [or by representa- tion] in these ideas is contained formally [and in act], I am thus clearly taught by the natural light that ideas

I02 Meditations

exist in me as pictures or images, which may in truth readily fall short of the perfection of the objects from which they are taken, but can never contain anything greater or more perfect.

And in proportion to the time and care with which I examine all those matters, the conviction of their truth brightens and becomes distinct. But, to sum up, what ^ conclusion shall I draw from it all? it is this; — if the objective reality [or perfection] of any one of my ideas be such as clearly to convince me, that this same reality exists in me neither formally nor eminently, and if, as follows from this, I myself cannot be the cause of it, it is a necessary consequence that I am not alone in the world, but that there is besides myself some other being who exists as the cause of that idea; while, on the con- trary, if no such idea be found in my mind, I shall have no sufficient ground of assurance of the existence of any other being besides myself, for, after a most careful search, I have, up to this moment, been unable to discover any other ground. \

But, among these my ideas, besides that which repre- sents myself, respecting which there can be here no difficulty, there is one that represents a God; others that represent corporeal and inanimate things; others angels; others animals ; and, finally, there are some that represent men like myself. But with respect to the ideas that represent other men, or animals, or angels, I can easily suppose that they were formed by the mingling and com- position of the other ideas which I have of myself, of corporeal things, and of God, although there were, apart from myself, neither men, animals, nor angels. And with regard to the ideas of corporeal objects, I never dis- covered in them anything so great or excellent which I myself did not appear capable of originating; for, by considering these ideas closely and scrutinising them individually, in the same way that I yesterday examined the idea of wax, I find that there is but little in them that is clearly and distinctly perceived. As belonging to the class of things that are clearly apprehended, I recognise the following, viz., magnitude or extension in length, breadth, and depth; figure, which results from the

Of God: That He Exists 103

termination of extension; situation, which bodies of diverse figures preserve with reference to each other; and motion or the change of situation; to which may be added substance, duration, and number. But with regard to light, colours, sounds, odours, tastes, heat, cold and the other tactile qualities, they are thought with so much obscurity and confusion, that I cannot determine even whether they are true or false; in other words, whether or not the ideas I have of these qualities are in truth the ideas of real objects. For although I before remarked that it is only in judgments that formal falsity, or falsity properly so called, can be met with, there may neverthe- less be found in ideas a certain material falsity, which arises when they represent what is nothing as if it were something. Thus, for example, the ideas I have of cold and heat are so far from being clear and distinct, that I am unable from them to discover whether cold is only the privation of heat, or heat the privation of cold; or whether they are or are not real qualities: and since, ideas being as it were images, there can be none that does not seem to us to represent some object, the idea which represents cold as something real and positive will not improperly be called false, if it be correct to say that cold is nothing but a privation of heat; and so in other cases. To ideas of this kind, indeed, it is not necessary that I should assign any author besides myself: for if they are false, that is, represent objects that are unreal, the natural light teaches me that they proceed from nothing; in other words, that they are in me only because something is wanting to the perfection of my nature; but if these ideas are true, yet because they exhibit to me so little reality that I cannot even distinguish the object represented from non-being, I do not see why I should not be the author of them.

With reference to those ideas of corporeal things that are clear and distinct, there are some which, as appears to me, might have been taken from the idea I have of myself, as those of substance, duration, number, and the like. For when I think that a stone is a substance, or a thing capable of existing of itself, and that I am likewise a substance, although I conceive that I am a thinking and

I04 Meditations

non-extended thing, and that the stone, on the contrary, is extended and unconscious, there being thus the greatest diversity between the two concepts, — yet these two ideas seem to have this in common that they both represent substances. In the same way, when I think of myself as now existing, and recollect besides that I existed some time ago, and when I am conscious of various thoughts whose number I know, I then acquire the ideas of duration and number, which I can afterwards transfer to as many objects as I please. With respect to the other qualities that go to make up the ideas of corporeal objects, viz., extension, figure, situation, and motion, it is true that they are not formally in me, since I am merely a thinking being; but because they are only certain modes of sub- stance, and because I myself am a substance, it seems possible that they may be contained in me eminently.

There only remains, therefore, the idea of God, in which I must consider whether there is anything that cannot be supposed to originate with myself. By the name God, I understand a substance infinite [eternal, immutable], independent, all-knowing, all-powerful, and by which I myself, and every other thing that exists, if any such there be, were created. But these properties are so great and excellent, that the more attentively I consider them the less I feel persuaded that the idea I have of them owes its origin to myself alone. And thus it is absolutely necessary to conclude, from all that I have before said, that God exists : for though the idea of substance be in my mind owing to this, that I myself am a substance, I should not, however, have the idea of an infinite substance, seeing I am a finite being, unless it were given me by some substance in reality infinite.

And I must not imagme that I do not apprehend the infinite by a true idea, but only by the negation of the finite, in the same way that I comprehend repose and darkness by the negation of motion and light: since, on the contrary, I clearly perceive that there is more reality in the infinite substance than in the finite, and therefore that in some way I possess the perception (notion) of the infinite before that of the finite, that is, the perception of God before that of myself, for how could I know that

Of God : That He Exists 105

I doubt, desire, or that something is wanting to me, and that I am not wholly perfect, if I possessed no idea of a being more perfect than myself, by comparison of which I knew the deficiencies of my nature ?

And it cannot be said this that idea of God is perhaps materially false, and consequently that it may have arisen from nothing [in other words, that it may exist in me from my imperfection], as I before said of the ideas of heat and cold, and the like: for, on the contrary, as this idea is very clear and distinct, and contains in itself more objective reality than any other, there can be no one of itself more true, or less open to the suspicion of falsity.

The idea, I say, of a being supremely perfect, and infinite, is in the highest degree true; for although, per- haps, we may imagine that such a being does not exist, we cannot, nevertheless, suppose that his idea represents nothing real, as I have already said of the idea of cold. It is likewise clear and distinct in the highest degree, since whatever the mind clearly and distinctly conceives as real or true, and as implying any perfection, is con- tained entire in this idea. And this is true, nevertheless, although I do not comprehend the infinite, and although there may be in God an infinity of things that I cannot comprehend, nor perhaps even compass by thought in any way ; for it is of the nature of the infinite that it should not be comprehended by the finite ; and it is enough that I rightly understand this, and judge that all which I clearly perceive, and in which I know there is some per- fection, and perhaps also an infinity of properties of which I am ignorant, are formally or eminently in God, in order that the idea I have of him may become the most true, clear, and distinct of all the ideas in my mind.

But perhaps I am sojoiething. more than I suppose myself to be, and it may be that all those perfections which I attribute to God, in sorhe way exist potentially in Hje, although they do not yet show themselves, and are not reduced to act. Indeed, I am already conscious that my knowledge is being increased [and perfected] by degrees ; and I see nothing to prevent it from thus gradu- ally increasing to infinity, nor any reason why, after such increase and perfection, I should not be able thereby to

io6 Meditations

acquire all the other perfections of the Divine nature; nor, in fine, why the power I possess of acquiring those perfections, if it really now exist in me, should not be V sufficient to produce the ideas of them. Yet, on looking more closely into the matter, I discover that this cannot be; for, in the first place, although it were true that my knowledge daily acquired new degrees of perfection, and although there were potentially in my nature much that was not as yet actually in it, still all these excellences make not the slightest approach to the idea I have of the Deity, in whom there is no perfection merely potentially [but • all actually] existent; for it is even an unmistakable token of imperfection in my knowledge, that it is aug- mented by degrees. Further, although my knowledge increase more and more, nevertheless I am not, therefore, ^ induced to think that it will ever be actually infinite, since it can never reach that point beyond which it shall be incapable of furcher increase. But I conceive God as actually infinite, so that nothing can be added to his perfection. And, in fine, I readily perceive that the objective being of an idea cannot be produced by a being that is merely potentially existent, which, properly speaking, is nothing, but only by a being existing form- ally or actually.

And, truly, I see nothing in all that I have now said which it is not easy for any one, who shall carefully con- sider it, to discern by the natural light ; but when I allow my attention in some degree to relax, the vision of my mind being obscured, and, as it were, blinded by the images of sensible objects, I do not readily remember the reason why the idea of a being more perfect than myself, must of necessity have proceeded from a being in reality more perfect. On this account I am here desirous to inquire further, whether I, who possess this idea of God, could exist supposing there were no God. And I ask, from whom could I, in that case, derive my existence? Perhaps from myself, or from my parents, or from some other causes less perfect than God; for anything more perfect, or even equal to God, cannot be thought or imagined. But if I [were independent of every other existence, and] were myself the author of my being, I

Of God: That He Exists 107

should doubt of nothing, I should desire nothing, and, in fine, no perfection would be awanting to me; for I should have bestowed upon myself every perfec- tion of which I possess the idea, and I should thus be God. And it must not be imagined that what is now wanting to me is perhaps of more difficult acquisition than that of which I am already possessed; for, on the contrary, it is quite manifest that it was a matter of much higher difficulty that I, a thinking being, should arise from nothing, than it would be for me to acquire the knowledge of many things of which I am ignorant, and which are merely the accidents of a thinking substance; and certainly, if I possessed of myself the greater per- fection of which I have now spoken [in other words, if I were the author of my own existence], I would not at least have denied to myself things that may be more easily obtained [as that infinite variety of knowledge of which I am at present destitute]. I could not, indeed, have denied to myself any property which I perceive is contained in the idea of God, because there is none of these that seems to me to be more difficult to make or acquire; and if there were any that should happen to be more difficult to acquire, they would certainly appear so to me (supposing that I myself were the source of the other things I possess), because I should discover in them a limit to my power. And though I were to suppose that I always was as I now am, I should not, on this ground, escape the force of these reasonings, since it would not follow, even on this supposition, that no author of my existence needed to be sought after. For the whole time of my life may be divided into an infinity of parts, each of which is in no way dependent on any other; and, accordingly, because I was in existence a short time ago, it does not follow that I must now exist, unless in this moment some cause create me anew, as it were, — that is, conserve me. In truth, it is perfectly clear and evident to all who will attentively consider the nature of duration that the conservation of a substance, in each moment of its duration, requires the same power and act that would be necessary to create it, supposing it were not yet in exist- ence; so that it is manifestly a dictate of the natural light

o8 Meditations

that conservation and creation differ merely in respect of our mode of thinking [and not in reahtyj. All that is here required, therefore, is that I interrogate myself to discover whether I possess any power by means of which I can bring it about that I, who now am, shall exist a moment afterwards: for, since I am merely a thinking thing (or since, at least, the precise question, in the mean- time, is only of that part of myself), if such a power resided in me^ I should, without doubt, be conscious of it; but I am conscious of no such power, and thereby I manifestly know that I am dependent upon some being different from myself.

But perhaps the being upon whom I am dependent is not God, and I have been produced either by my parents, or by some causes less perfect than Deity. This cannot be: for, as I before said, it is perfectly evident that there must at least be as much reality in the cause as in its effect; and accordingly, since I am a thinking thing, and possess in myself an idea of God, whatever in the end be the cause of my existence, it must of necessity be admitted that it is likewise a thinking being, and that it possesses in itself the idea and all the perfections I attri- bute to Deity. Then it may again be inquired whether this cause owes its origin and existence to itself, or to some other cause. For if it be self-existent, it follows, from what I have before laid down, that this cause is God; for, since it possesses the perfection of self-existence, it must likewise, without doubt, have the power of actually possessing every perfection of which it has the idea, — in other words, all the perfections I conceive to belong to God. But if it owe its existence to another cause than itself, we demand again, for a similar reason, whether this second cause exists of itself or through some other, until, from stage to stage, we at length arrive at an ultimate cause, which will be God. And it is quite manifest that in this matter there can be no infinite regress of causes, seeing that the question raised respects not so much the cause which once produced me, as that by which I am at this present moment conserved.

Nor can it be supposed that several causes concerned in my production, and that from one I received the idea

Of God: That He Exists 109

of one of the perfections I attribute to Deity, and from another the idea of some other, and thus that all those perfections are indeed found somewhere in the universe, but do not all exist together in a single being who is God; for, on the contrary, the unity, the simplicity or insepar- ability of all the properties of Deity, is one of the chief perfections I conceive him to possess; and the idea of this unity of all the perfections of Deity could certainly not be put into my mind by any cause from which I did not likewise receive the ideas of all the other perfections; for no power could enable me to embrace them in an inseparable unity, without at the same time giving me the knowledge of what they were [and of their existence in a particular mode].

Finally, with regard to my parents [from whom it appears I sprung], although all that I believed respecting them be true, it does not, nevertheless, follow that I am conserved by them, or even that I was produced by them, in so far as I am a thinking being. AUjiiaJt,^ thcLjuost, they c£>ntributed to my origin was'^the giving of certain dispositions (modifications) to the matter in which I have hitherto judged that I or my mind, which is what alone I now consider to be myself, is enclosed; and thus there can here be no difficulty with respect to them, and it is ab- solutely necessary to conclude from this alone that I am, and possess the idea of a being absolutely perfect, that is, of God, that his existence is most clearly demonstrated.

There remains only the inquiry as to the way in which I received this idea from God; for I have not drawn it from the senses, nor is it even presented to me unexpec- tedly, as is usual with the ideas of sensible objects, when these are presented or appear to be presented to the external organs of the senses; it is not even a pure pro- duction or fiction of my mind, for it is not in my power to take from or add to it; and consequently there but remains the alternative that it is innate, in the same way as is the idea of myself. And, in truth, it is not to be wondered at that God, at my creation, implanted this idea in me, that it might serve, as it were, for the mark of the workman impressed on his work; and it is not also necessary that the mark should be something different

no Meditations

from the work itself; but considering only that God is my creator, it is highly probable that he in some way fashioned me after his own image and likeness, and that 1 perceive this likeness, in which is contained the idea of God, by the same faculty by which I apprehend myself,— in other words, when I make myself the object of reflection, I not only find that I am an incomplete [imperfect] and depen- dent being, and one who unceasingly aspires after some- thing better and greater than he is; but, at the same time, I am assured likewise that he upon whom I am dependent possesses in himself all the goods after which I aspire [and the ideas of which I find in my mind], and that not merely indefinitely and potentially, but infinitely and actually, and that he is thus God. And the whole force of the argument of which I have here availed myself to establish the existence of God, consists in this, that I perceive I could not possibly be of such a nature as I am, and yet have in my mind the idea of a God, if God did not in reality exist, — this same God, I say, whose idea is in my mind — that is, a being who possesses all those lofty perfections, of which the mind may have some slight conception, without, however, being able fully to com- prehend them,— and who is wholly superior to all defect [and has nothing that marks imperfection] : whence it is sufficiently manifest that he cannot be a deceiver, since it is a dictate of the natural light that all fraud and deception spring from some defect.

But before I examine this with more attention, and pass on to the consideration of other truths that may be evolved out of it, I think it proper to remain here for some time in the contemplation of God himself — that I may ponder at leisure his marvellous attributes — and behold, admire, and adore the beauty of this light so unspeakably great, as far, at least, as the strength of my mind, which is to some degree dazzled by the sight, will permit. For just as we learn by faith that the supreme felicity of another Hfe consists in the contemplation of the Divine majesty alone, so even now we learn from experience that a like meditation, though incomparably less perfect, is the source of the highest satisfaction of which we are sus- ceptible in this life.

MEDITATION IV

OF TRUTH AND ERROR

I HAVE been habituated these bygone days to detach my mind from the senses, and I have accurately observed that there is exceedingly little which is known with certainty respecting corporeal objects, — that we know much more of the human mind, and still more of God himself. I am thus able now without difficulty to abstract my mind from the contemplation of [sensible or] imagin- able objects, and apply it to those which, as disengaged from all matter, are purely intelligible. And certainly the idea I have of the human mind in so far as it is a thinking thing, and not extended in length, breadth, and depth, and participating in none of the properties of body, is incomparably more distinct than the idea of any cor- poreal object; and when I consider that I doubt, in other words, that I am an incomplete and dependent being, the idea of a complete and independent being, that is to say of God, occurs to my mind with so much clearness and distinctness, — and from the fact alone that this idea is found in me, or that I who possess it exist, the conclu- sions that God exists, and that my own existence, each moment of its continuance, is absolutely dependent upon him, are so manifest, — as to lead me to believe it impos- sible that the human mind can know anything with more clearness and certitude. And now I seem to discover a path that will conduct us from the contemplation of the true God, in whom are contained all the treasures of science and wisdom, to the knowledge of the other things in the universe.

For, in the first place, I discover that it is impossible for him ever to deceive me, for in all fraud and deceit there is a certain imperfection: and although it may seem that the ability to deceive is a mark of subtlety or power, yet the will testifies without doubt of malice and weak-

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ness; and such, accordingly, can be found in God. In the next place, I am conscious that I possess a certain faculty of judging [or discerning truth from error], which I doubtless received from God, along with whatever else is mine; and since it is impossible that he should will to deceive me, it is likewise certain that he has not given me a faculty that will ever lead me into error, provided I use it aright.

And there would remain no doubt on this head, did it not seem to follow from this, that I can never therefore be deceived ; for if all I possess be from God, and if he planted in me no faculty that is deceitful, it seems to follow that I can never fall into error. Accordingly, it is true that when I think only of God (when I look upon myself as coming from God, Fr.), and turn wholly to him, I discover [in myself] no cause of error or falsity: but immediately thereafter, recurring to myself, experience assures me that I am nevertheless subject to innumerable errors. When I come to inquire into the cause of these, I observe that there is not only present to my consciousness a real and positive idea of God, or of a being supremely perfect, but also, so to speak, a certain negative idea of nothing, — in other words, of that which is at an infinite distance from every sort of perfection, and that I am, as it were, a mean between God and nothing, or placed in such a way between absolute existence and non-existence, that there is in truth nothing in me to lead me into error, in so far as an absolute being is my creator; but that, on the other hand, as I thus likewise participate in some degree of nothing or of non-being, in other words, as I am not myself the supreme Being, and as I am wanting in many perfections, it is not surprising I should fall into error. And I hence discern that error, so far as error is not something real, which depends for its existence on God, but is simply defect; and therefore that, in order to fall into it, it is not necessary God should have given me a faculty expressly for this end, but that my being deceived arises from the circumstance that the power which God has given me of discerning truth from error is not infinite.

Nevertheless this is not yet quite satisfactory; for error is not a pure negation [in other words, it is not the simple

Of Truth and Error 1 1 3

deficiency or want of some knowledge which is not due], but the privation or want of some knowledge which it would seem I ought to possess. But, on considering the nature of God, it seems impossible that he should have planted in his creature any faculty not perfect in its kind, that is, wanting in some perfection due to it: for if it be true, that in proportion to the skill of the maker the per- fection of his work is greater, what thing can have been produced by the supreme Creator of the universe that is not absolutely perfect in all its parts? And assuredly there is no doubt that God could have created me such as that I should never be deceived; it is certain, likewise, that he always wills what is best: is it better, then, that I should be capable of being deceived than that I should not?

Considering this more attentively, the first thing that occurs to me is the reflection that I must not be surprised if I am not always capable of comprehending the reasons why God acts as he does; nor must I doubt of his existence because I find, perhaps, that there are several other things, besides the present respecting which I understand neither why nor how they were created by him; for, knowing already that my nature is extremely weak and limited, and that the nature of God, on the other hand, is immense, incomprehensible, and infinite, I have no longer any difficulty in discerning that there is an infinity of things in his power whose causes transcend the grasp of my mind: and this consideration alone is sufficient to convince me, that the whole class of final causes is of no avail in physical [or natural] things; for it appears to me that I cannot, without exposing myself to the charge of temerity, seek to discover the [impenetrable] ends of Deity.

It further occurs to me that we must not consider only one creature apart'from the others, if we wish to determine the perfection of the works of Deity, but generally all his creatures together; for the same object that might per- haps, with some show of reason, be deemed highly imper- fect if it were alone in the world, may for all that be the most perfect possible, considered as forming part of the whole universe: and although, as it was my purpose to

H

1 14 Meditations

doubt of everything, I only as yet know with certainly my own existence and that of God, nevertheless, after having remarked the infinite power of Deity, I^ cannot deny that he may have produced many other objects, or at least that he is able to produce them, so that I may occupy a place in the relation of a part to the great whole of his creatures.

Whereupon, regarding myself more closely, and con- sidering what my errors are (which alone testify to the i existence of imperfection in me), I observe that these depend on the concurrence of two causes, viz., the faculty of cognition which I possess, and that of election or the power of free choice, — in other words, the understanding i and the will. For by the understanding alone, I [neither affirm nor deny anything, but] merely apprehend {per- cipio) the ideas regarding which I may form a judgment; nor is any error, properly so called, found in it thus accur- ately taken. And although there are perhaps innumer- able objects in the world of which I have no idea in my understanding, it cannot, on that account, be said that I am deprived of those ideas [as of something that is due to my nature], but simply that I do not possess them, because, in truth, there is no ground to prove that Deity ought to have endowed me with a larger faculty of cogni- tion than he has actually bestowed upon me; and how- ever skilful a workman I suppose him to be, I have no reason, on that account, to think that it was obligatory on him to give to each of his works all the perfections he is able to bestow upon some. Nor, moreover, can I complain that God has not given me freedom of choice, or a will sufficiently ample and perfect, since, in truth, I am conscious of will so ample and extended as to be superior to all limits. And what appears to me here to be highly remarkable is that, of all the other properties I possess, there is none so great and perfect as that I do not clearly discern it could be still greater and more perfect. For, to take an example, if I consider the faculty of under- standing which I possess, I find that it is of very small extent, and greatly limited, and at the same time I form the idea of another faculty of the same nature, much more ample and even infinite ; and seeing that I can frame

Of Truth and Error 1 15

the idea of it, I discover, from this circumstance alone, that it pertains to the nature of God. In the same way, if I examine the faculty of memory or imagination, or any other faculty I possess, I find none that is not small and circumscribed, and in God immense [and infinite]. It is the faculty of will only, or freedom of choice, which I experience to be so great that I am unable to conceive the idea of another that shall be more ample and ex- tended; so that it is chiefly my will which leads me to discern that I bear a certain image and similitude of Deity. For although the faculty of will is incomparably greater in God than in myself, as well in respect of the knowledge and power that are conjoined with it, and that render it stronger and more efficacious, as in respect of the object, since in him it extends to a greater number of things, it does not, nevertheless, appear to me greater, considered in itself formally and precisely: for the power of will consists only in this, that we are able to do or not to do the same thing (that is, to afhrm or deny, to pursue or shun it), or rather in this alone, that in affirming or denying, pursuing or shunning, what is proposed to us by the understanding, we so act that we are not conscious of being determined to a particular action by any external force. For, to the possession of freedom, it is not neces- sary that I be alike indifferent towards each of two con- traries; but, on the contrary, the more I am inclined towards the one, whether because I clearly know that in it there is the reason of truth and goodness, or because God thus internally disposes my thought, the more freely do I choose and embrace it; and assuredly divine grace and natural knowledge, very far from diminishing liberty, rather augment and fortify it. But the indifference of which I am conscious when I am not impelled to one side rather than to another for want of a reason, is the lowest grade of liberty, and manifests defect or negation of knowledge rather than perfection, of will; for if I always clearly knew what was true and good, I should never have any difficulty in determining what judgment I ought to come to, and what choice I ought to make, and I should thus be entirely free without ever being indifferent. From all this I discover, however, that neither the

1 1 6 Meditations

power of willing, which I have received from God, is of itself the source of my errors, for it is exceedingly ample and perfect in its kind; nor even the power of under- standing, for as I conceive no object unless by means of the faculty that God bestowed upon me, all that I con- ceive is doubtless rightly conceived by me, and it is impossible for me to be deceived in it.

Whence, then, spring my errors? They arise from this cause alone, that I do not restrain the will, which is of much wider range than the understanding, within the same limits, but extend it even to things I do not under- stand, and as the will is of itself indifferent to such, it readily falls into error and sin by choosing the false in room of the true, and evil instead of good.

For example, when I lately considered whether aught really existed in the world, and found that because I con- sidered this question, it very manifestly followed that I myself existed, I could not but judge that what I so clearly conceived was true, not that I was forced to this judgment by any external cause, but simply because great clearness of the understanding was succeeded by strong inclination in the will; and I believed this the more freely and spontaneously in proportion as I was less indifferent with respect to it. But now I not only know that J exist, in so far as I am a thinking being, but there is likewise presented to my mind a certain idea of corporeal nature; hence I am in doubt as to whether the thinking nature which is in me, or rather which I myself am, is different from that corporeal nature, or whether both are merely one and the same thing, and I here suppose that I am as yet ignorant of any reason that would deter- mine me to adopt the one belief in preference to the other: whence it happens that it is a matter of perfect indif- ference to me which of the two suppositions I affirm or deny, or whether I form any judgment at all in the matter.

This indifference, moreover, extends not only to things of which the understanding has no knowledge at all, but in general also to all those which it does not discover with perfect clearness at the moment the will is deliberating upon them; for, however probable the conjectures may be that dispose me to form a judgment in a particular

Of Truth and Error 1 1 7

matter, the simple knowledge that these are merely con- jectures, and not certain and indubitable reasons, is sufficient to lead me to form one that is directly the opposite. Of this I lately had abundant experience, when I laid aside as false all that I had before held for true, on the single ground that I could in some degree doubt of it. But if I abstain from judging of a thing when I do not conceive it with sufficient clearness and distinctness, it is plain that I act rightly, and am not deceived; but if I resolve to deny or affirm, I then do not make a right use of my free will; and if I affirm what is false, it is evident that I am deceived: moreover, even although I judge according to truth, I stumble upon it by chance, and do not therefore escape the imputation of a i wrong use of my freedom ; for it is a dictate of the natural light, that the knowledge of the understanding ought always to precede the determination of the will.

And it is this wrong use of freedom of the will in which is found the privation that constitutes the form of error. I Privation, I say, is found in the act, in so far as it pro- ceeds from myself, but it does not exist in the faculty which I received from God, nor even in the act, in so far ias it depends on him; for I have assuredly no reason to I complain that God has not given me a greater power of intelligence or more perfect natural light than he has actually bestowed, since it is of the nature of a finite understanding not to comprehend many things, and of the nature of a created understanding to be finite; on the contrary, I have every reason to render thanks to God, who owed me nothing, for having given me all the perfections I possess, and I should be far from thinking that he has unjustly deprived me of, or kept back, the other perfections which he has not bestowed upon me.

I have no reason, moreover, to complain because he has given me a will more ample than my understanding, since, as the will consists only of a single element, and that indivisible, it would appear that this faculty is of such a nature that nothing could be taken from it [without destroying it]; and certainly, the more extensive it is, the more cause I have to thank the goodness of him who bestowed it upon me.

1 1 8 Meditations

And, finally, I ought not also to complain that God concurs with me in forming the acts of this will, or the judgments in which I am deceived, because those acts are wholly true and good, in so far as they depend on God; and the ability to form them is a higher degree of perfec- tion in my nature than the want of it would be. With regard to privation, in which alone consists the formal reason of error and sin, this does not require the con- currence of Deity, because it is not a thing [or existence], and if it be referred to God as to its cause, it ought not to be called privation, but negation [according to the signification of these words in the schools]. For in truth it is no imperfection in Deity that he has accorded to me the power of giving or withholding my assent from cer- tain things of which he has not put a clear and distinct knowledge in my understanding; but it is doubtless an imperfection in me that I do not use my freedom aright, and readily give my judgment on matters which I only obscurely and confusedly conceive.

I perceive, nevertheless, that it was easy for Deity so to have constituted me as that I should never be deceived, although I still remained free and possessed of a limited knowledge, viz., by implanting in my understanding a clear and distinct knowledge of all the objects respecting which I should ever have to deliberate; or simply by so deeply engraving on my memory the resolution to judge of nothing without previously possessing a clear and distinct conception of it, that I should never forget it. And I easily understand that, in so far as I consider myself as a single whole, without reference to any other being in the universe, I should have been much more perfect than I now am, had Deity created me superior to error; but I cannot therefore deny that it is not somehow a greater perfection in the universe, that certain of its parts are not exempt from defect, as others are, than if- they were all perfectly alike.

And I have no right to complain because God, who placed me in the world, was not willing that I should sustain that character which of all others is the chief and most perfect; I have even good reason to remain satisfied on the ground that, if he has not given me the perfection

Of Truth and Error 1 1 9

of being superior to error by the first means I have pointed out above, which depends on a clear and evident know- ledge of all the matters regarding which I can deliberate, he has at least left in my power the other means, which is, firmly to retain the resolution never to judge where the truth is not clearly known to me: for, although I am con- scious of the weakness of not being able to keep my mind continually fixed on the same thought, I can nevertheless, by attentive and oft-repeated meditation, impress it so strongly on my memory that I shall never fail to recollect it as often as I require it, and I can acquire in this way the habitude of not erring; and since it is in being superior to error that the highest and chief perfection of man con- sists, I deem that I have not gained little by this day's meditation, in having discovered the source of error and falsity.

And certainly t;his can be no other than what I have now explained: /for as often as I so restrain my will within the limits of my knowledge, that it forms no judg- ment except regarding objects which are clearly and distinctly represented to it by the understanding, I can never be deceived ; because every clear and distinct con- ception Ts doubtless something, and as such cannot owe its origin to nothing, but must of necessity have God for its author — God, I say, who, as supremely perfect, cannot, without a contradiction, be the cause of any error; and consequently it is necessary to conclude that every such conception [or judgment] is true. Nor have I merely learned to-day what I must avoid to escape error, but also what I must do to arrive at the knowledge of truth; for I will assuredly reach truth if I only fix my attention sufficiently on all the things I conceive perfectly, and separate these from others which I conceive more con- fusedly and obscurely: to which for the future I shall give diligent heed. /

MEDITATION V

OF THE ESSENCE OF MATERIAL THINGS; AND, AGAIN, OF god; THAT HE EXISTS

Several other questions remain for consideration respect- ing the attributes of God and my own nature or mind. I will, however, on some other occasion perhaps resume the investigation of these. Meanwhile, as I have discovered what must be done, and what avoided to arrive at the knowledge of truth, what I have chiefly to do is to essay to emerge from the state of doubt in which I have for some time been, and to discover whether anything can be known with certainty regarding material objects. But before considering whether such objects as I conceive exist without me, I must examine their ideas in so far as these are to be found in my consciousness, and discover which of them are distinct and which confused.

In the first place, I distinctly imagine that quantity which the philosophers commonly call continuous, or the__ extension m length, breadth, and depth that is in this quantity,"or'rather in the object to which it is attributedT" Further, I can enumerate in it many diverse parts, and attribute to each of these all sorts of sizes, figures, situa- tions, and local motions; and, in fine, I can assign to each of these motions all degrees of duration. And I not only distinctly know these things when I thus consider them in general; but besides, by a little attention, I discover innumerable particulars respecting figures, numbers, motion, and the like, which are so evidently true, and so accordant with my nature, that when I now discover them I do not so much appear to learn anything new, as to call to remembrance what I before knew, or for the first time to remark what was before in my mind, but to which I had not hitherto directed my attention. And what I here find of most importance is, that I discover in my mind in- numerable ideas of certain objects, which cannot be

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The Essence of Material Things 1 2 1

esteemed pure negations, although perhaps they possess no reality beyond my thought, and which are not framed by me though it may be in my power to think, or not to think them, but possess true and immutable natures of their own. As, for example, when I imagine a triangle, although there is not perhaps and never was in any place in the universe apart from my thought one such figure, it remains true nevertheless that this figure possesses a certain determinate nature, form, or essence, which is immutable and eternal, and not framed by me, nor in any degree dependent on my thought; as appears from the circumstance, that diverse properties of the triangle may be demonstrated, viz., that its three angles are equal to two right, that its greatest side is subtended by its greatest angle, and the like, which, whether I will or not, I now clearly discern to belong to it, although before I did not at all think of them, when, for the first time, I imagined a triangle, and which accordingly cannot be said to have been invented by me. Nor is it a valid objection to allege, that perhaps this idea of a triangle came into my mind by the medium of the senses, through my having seen bodies of a triangular figure; for I am able to form in thought an innumerable variety of figures with regard to which it cannot be supposed that they were ever objects of sense, and I can nevertheless demonstrate diverse properties of their nature no less than of the triangle, all of which are assuredly true since I clearly conceive them; and they are therefore something, and not mere negations; for it is highly evident that all that is true is something [truth being identical with existence^; and I have already fully shown the truth of the principle, that whatever is clearly and distinctly known is true. And although this had not been demonstrated, yet the nature of my mind is such as to compel me to assent to what I clearly conceive while I so conceive it; and I recollect that even when I still strongly adhered to the objects of sense, I reckoned among the number of the most certain truths those I clearly conceived relating to figures, numbers, and other matters that pertain to arithmetic and geometry, and in general to the pure mathematics.

122 Meditations

But now if because I can draw from my thought the idea of an object, it follows that all I clearly and distinctly apprehend to pertain to this object, does in truth belong to it, may I not from this derive an argument for the exist- ence of God? It is certain that I no less find the idea of a God in my consciousness, that is, the idea of a being supremely perfect, than that of any figure or number whatever: and I know with not less clearness and dis- tinctness that an [actual and] eternal existence pertains to his nature than that all which is demonstrable of any figure or number really belongs to the nature of that figure or number; and, therefore, although all the conclusions of the preceding Meditations were false, the existence of God would pass with me for a truth at least as certain as I ever judged any truth of mathematics to be, although indeed such a doctrine may at first sight appear to contain more sophistry than truth. For, as I have been accus- tomed in every other matter to distinguish between existence and essence, I easily believe that the existence can be separated from the essence of God, and that thus God may be conceived as'^not actually' existing. But, nevertheless, when I think of it more attentively, it appears that the existence can no more be separated from the essence of God than the idea of a mountain from that of a valley, or the equality of its three angles to two right angles, from the essence of a [rectilineal] triangle; so that it is not less impossible to conceive a God, that is, a being supremely perfect, to whom existence is awanting, or who is devoid of a certain perfection, than to conceive a mountain without a valley.

But though, in truth, I cannot conceive a God unless as existing, any more than I can a mountain without a valley, yet, just as it does not follow that there is any mountain in the world merely because I conceive a moun- tain with a valley, so likewise, though I conceive God as existing, it does not seem to follow on that account that God exists; for my thought imposes no necessity on things; and as I may imagine a winged horse, though there be none such, so I could perhaps attribute existence to God, though no God existed. But the cases are not analogous, and a fallacy lurks under the semblance of this

The Essence of Material Things 123

objection: for because I cannot conceive a mountain without a valley, it does not follow that there is any mountain or valley in existence, but simply that the mountain or valley, whether they do or do not exist, are inseparable from each other; whereas, on the other hand, because I cannot conceive God unless as existing, it follows that existence is inseparable from him, and there- fore that he really exists: not that this is brought about by my thought, or that it imposes any necessity on things, but, on the contrary, the necessity which lies ii^ the thing itself, that is, the necessity of the existence of, God, determines me to think in this way, for it is not ii ' my power to conceive a God without existence, that is [ a being supremely perfect, and yet devoid of an absolute \ perfection, as I am free to imagine a horse with or without, wings.

Nor must it be alleged here as an objection, that it is in truth necessary to admit that God exists, after having supposed him to possess all perfections, since existence is one of them, but that my original supposition was not necessary; just as it is not necessary to think that all quadrilateral figures can be inscribed in the circle, since, if I supposed this, I should be constrained to admit that the rhombus, being a figure of four sides, can be therein inscribed, which, however, is manifestly false. This objection is, I say, incompetent; for although it may not be necessary that I shall at any time entertain the notion of Deity, yet each time I happen to think of a first and sovereign being, and to draw, so to speak, the idea of him from the store-house of the mind, I am necessitated to attribute to him all kinds of perfections, though I may not then enumerate them all, nor think of each of them in particular. And this necessity is sufficient, as soon as I discover that existence is a perfection, to cause me to infer the existence of this first and sovereign being; just as it is not necessary that I should ever imagine any triangle, but whenever I am desirous of considering a rectilineal figure composed of only three angles, it is absolutely necessary to attribute those properties to it from which it is correctly inferred that its three angles are not greater than two right angles, although perhaps I may not then

1 24 Meditations

advert to this relation in particular. But when I con- sider what figures are capable of being inscribed in the circle, it is by no means necessary to hold that all quadri- lateral figures are of this number; on the contrary, I cannot even imagine such to be the case, so long as I shall be unwilling to accept in thought aught that I do not clearly and distinctly conceive: and consequently there is a vast difference between false suppositions, as is the one in question, and the true ideas that were bom with me, the first and chief of which is the idea of God. For indeed I discern on many grounds that this idea is not factitious, depending simply on my thought, but that it is the representation of a true and immutable nature: in the first place, because I can conceive no other being, except God, to whose essence existence [necessarily] pertains; in the second, because it is impossible to con- ceive two or more gods of this kind; and it being supposed that one such God exists, I clearly see that he must have existed from all eternity, and will exist to all eternity; and finally, because I apprehend many other properties in God, none of which I can either diminish or change.

But, indeed, whatever mode of probation I in the end adopt, it always returns to this, that it is only the things Ijclearly^nd distinctl;^Mconceive which have the power of completely persuadmg me. ^And although, of the objects I^'conceive in this manner, some, indeed, are obvious to every one, while others are only discovered after close and careful investigation; nevertheless, after they are once discovered, the latter are not esteemed less certain than the former. Thus, for example, to take the case of a right-angled triangle, although it is not so manifest at first that the square of the base is equal to the squares of the other two sides, as that the base is opposite to the greatest angle; nevertheless, after it is once apprehended, we are as firmly persuaded of the truth of the former as of the latter. And, with respect to God, if I were not preoccupied by prejudices, and my thoughts beset on all sides by the continual presence of the images of sensible objects, I should know nothing sooner or more easily than the fact of his being. For is there any truth more clear than the existence of a Supreme Being, or of God,

The Essence of Material Things 125

seeing it is to his essence alone that [necessary and eternal] existence pertains? And although the right conception of this truth has cost me much close thinking, neverthe- less at present I feel not only as assured of it as of what I deem most certain, but I remark further that the certi- tude of all other truths is so absolutely dependent on it, that without this knowledge it is impossible ever to know anything perfectly.

For although I am of such a nature as to be unable, while I possess a very clear and distinct apprehension of a matter, to resist the conviction of its truth, yet because my constitution is also such as to incapacitate me from keeping my mind continually fixed on the same object, and as I frequently recollect a past judgment without at the same time being able to recall the grounds of it, it may happen meanwhile that other reasons are presented to me which would readily cause me to change my opinion, if I did not know that God existed; and thus I should possess no true and certain knowledge, but merely vague and vacillating opinions. Thus, for example, when I consider the nature of the [rectilineal] triangle, it most clearly appears to me, who have been instructed in the principles of geometry, that its three angles are equal to two right angles, and I find it impossible to believe otherwise, while I apply my mind to the demonstration; but as soon as I cease from attending to the process of proof, although I still remember that I had a clear com- prehension of it, yet I may readily come to doubt of the truth demonstrated, if I do not know that there is a God : for I may persuade myself that I have been so constituted by nature as to be sometimes deceived, even in matters which I think I apprehend with the greatest evidence and certitude, especially when I recollect that I frequently considered many things to be true and certain which other reasons afterwards constrained me to reckon as wholly false.

But after I have discovered that God exists, seeing I also at the same time observed that all things depend on him, and that he is no deceiver, and thence inferred that all which I clearly and distinctly perceive is of necessity true: although I no longer attend to the grounds of a

126 Meditations

judgment, no opposite reason can be alleged sufficient to lead me to doubt of its truth, provided only Ixein&inbeJ* that I once possessed a clear and distinct comprehension of it. My knowledge of it thus becomes true and certain. And this same knowledge extends likewise to whatever I remember to have formerly demonstrated, as the truths of geometry and the like: for what can be alleged against them to lead me to doubt of them?) Will it be that my nature is such that 1 may be frequently deceived ? But I already know that I cannot be deceived in judgments of the grounds of which I possess a clear knowledge. Will it be that I formerly deemed things to be true and certain which I afterwards discovered to be false.? But I had no clear and distinct knowledge of any of those things, and, being as yet ignorant of the rule by which I am assured of the truth of a judgment, I was led to give my assent to them on grounds which I afterwards discovered were less strong than at the time I imagined them to be. What further objection, then, is there? Will it be said that perhaps I am dreaming (an objection I lately myself raised), or that all the thoughts of which I am now conscious have no more truth than the reveries of my dreams? But although, in truth, I should be dreaming, the rule still holds that all which is clearly presented to my intellect is indisputably true.

And thus I very clearly see that the certitude and truth of all science depends on the knowledge alone of the true God, insomuch that, before I knew him, I could have no perfect knowledge of any other thing. And now that I know him, I possess the means of acquiring a per- fect knowledge respecting innumerable matters, as well relative to God himself and other intellectual objects as to corporeal nature, in so far as it is the object of pure mathematics [which do not consider whether it exists or not].

MEDITATION VI

OF THE EXISTENCE OF MATERIAL THINGS, AND OF THE REAL DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE MIND AND BODY OF MAN

There now only remains the inquiry as to whether material things exist. With regard to this question, I at least know with certainty that such things may exist, in as far as they constitute the object of the pure mathe- matics, since, regarding them in this aspect, I can con- ceive them clearly and distinctly. For there can be no doubt that God possesses the power of producing all the objects I am able distinctly to conceive, and I never considered anything impossible to him, unless when I experienced a contradiction in the attempt to conceive it aright. Further, the faculty of imagination which I possess, and of which I am conscious that I make use when I apply myself to the consideration of material things, is sufficient to persuade me of their existence: for, when I atten_tively consider what in^^gina^n is^ I find that it is simply a certain application of the cognitive^

iaamy^lfacultas cognoscitivayto a body which is imm^di=- atelypresent to it, and which therefore exists. ^

IShd to render this quite clear, I remark, in the first place, the difference that subsists between imagination and pure intellection [or conception]. For example, when I imagine a triangle I not only conceive (intelligo) that it is a figure comprehended by three lines, but at the same time also I look upon (intueor) these three lines as present by the power and internal application of my mind (acie mentis), and this is what I call imagining. But if I desire to think of a chiliogon, I indeed rightly conceive that it is a figure composed of a thousand sides, as easily as I conceive that a triangle is a figure composed of only three sides; but I cannot imagine the thousand sides of a chiliogon as I do the three sides of a triangle, nor, so to speak, view them as present [with the eyes of

127

128 Meditations

my mind]. And although, in accordance with the habit I have of always imagining something when I think of corporeal things, it may happen that, in conceiving a chiliogon, I confusedly represent some figure to myself, yet it is quite evident that this is not a chiliogon, since it in no wise differs from that which I would represent to myself, if I were to think of a myriogon, or any other figure of many sides; nor would this representation be of any use in discovering and unfolding the properties that constitute the difference between a chiliogon and other polygons. But if the question turns on a pentagon, it is quite true that I can conceive its figure, as well as that of a chiliogon, without the aid of imagination; but I can likewise imagine it by applying the attention of my mind to its five sides, and at the same time to the area which they contain. Thus I observe that a special effort of mind is necessary to the act of imagination, which is not required to conceiving or understanding (ad intelligent dum); and this special exertion of mind clearly shows the difference between imagination and pure intellection (imaginatio et intellectio pura). I remark, besides, that this power of imagination which I possess, in as far as it differs from the power of conceiving, is in no way necessary to my [nature or] essence, that is, to the essence of my mind; for although I did not possess it, I should still remain the same that I now am, from which it seems ^ we may conclude that it depends on something different •0 from the mind. And I easily understand that, if somes " body exists, with which my mind is so conjoined and \ united as to be able, as it were, to consider it when it \ chooses, it may thus imagine corporeal objects; so that ■-, this mode of thinking differs from pure intellection onlyjn ; this respect, jhat the mind in conceiving turns in some way Uj^njtseffJaHd^nH some one^ the ideas iFpossesses within Itself ;~ but in imagining it turns towards the body, and contemplates in it some obTect conformed to the idea which 11 either ot itself conceived or apprehendedby s^ise^ 1 easily understand, I say, that imaginationlnay be thus formed, if it is true that there are bodies; and because I find no other obvious modr^ot explaining it, y I thence, with probability, conjecture that they exist.

Existence of Material Things 1 29

but J9nl5^..j«ith .probabilityj^ and although I carefully examine all things, nevertheless I do not find that, from the distinct idea of corporeal nature I have in my imagi- nation, I can necessarily infer the existence of any body. But I am accustomed to imagine many other objects besides that corporeal nature which is the object of the pure mathematics, as, for example, colours, sounds, tastes, pain, and the like, although with less distinctness; and, inasmuch as I perceive these objects much better by the senses, through the medium of which and of memory, they seem to have reached the imagination, I believe that, in order the more advantageously to examine them, it is proper I should at the same time examine what sense-perception is, and inquire whether from those ideas that are apprehended by this mode of thinking (consciousness), I cannot obtain a certain proof of the existence of corporeal objects. y And, in the first place, I will recall to my mind the \things I have hitherto held as true, because perceived by Jthe senses, and the foundations upon which my belief j in their truth rested ; I will, in the second place, examine the reasons that afterwards constrained me to doubt of them; and, finally, I will consider what of them I ought how to believe. _

-firstly, then, I perceived that I had a head, hands, fee?7^ and other members composing that body which I con- :l sidered as part, or perhaps even as the whole, of myself. I perceived further, that that body was placed among ' many "others, by which it was capable of being affected in diverse ways, both beneficial and hurtful; and what was beneficial I remarked by a certain sensation of plea- sure, and what was hurtful by a sensation of pain. And, besides this pleasure and pain, I was likewise conscious of hunger, thirst, and other appetites, as well as certain corporeal inclinations towards joy, sadness, anger, and similar passions. And, out of myself, besides the exten- sion, figure, and motions of bodies, I likewise perceived in them hardness, heat, and the other tactile qualities, and, in addition, light, colours, odours, tastes, and sounds, the variety of which gave me the means of distinguishing the sky, the earth, the sea, and generally all the other

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Meditations

bodies, from one another. And certainly, considering the ideas of all these qualities, which were presented to my mind, and which alone I properly and.imiaediatdyger- .' ceived, it was not without reason that I thought I per- i ceived certain objects wholly different from my thought, namely, bodies from which those ideas proceeded; for I was conscious that the ideas were presented to me without my consent being required, so that I could not perceive any object, however desirous I might be, unless it were present to the organ of sense; and it was wholly out of my power not to perceive it when it was thus present. And because the ideas I perceived by the senses were much more lively and clear, and even, in their own way, more distinct than any of those I could of myself frame by meditation, or which I found impressed on my memory, it seemed that they could not have proceeded from myself, and must therefore have been caused in me by some other objects: and as of those objects I had no knowledge beyond what the ideas themselves gave me, nothing was so likely to occur to my mind as the supposition that the objects were similar to the ideas which they caused. And because I recollected also that I had formerly trusted to the senses, rather than to reason, and that the ideas wRfch I niybelflbfmea"'w€re not so clear as those I per- ceived by sense, and that they were even for the most part composed of parts of the latter, I was readily per- suaded that I had no idea in my intellect which had not formerly passed through the senses. Nor was I alto- gether wrong in likewise believing that that body which, by a special right, I called my own, pertained to me more properly and strictly than any of the others; for in truth, I could never be separated from it as from other bodies: I felt in it and on account of it all my appetites and affections, and in fine I was affected in its parts by pain and the titillation of pleasure, and not in the parts of the other bodies that were separated from it. But w^hen I inquired into the reason why, from this I know not what sensation of pain, sadness of mind should follow, and why from the sensation of pleasure joy should arise, or why this indescribable twitching of the stomach, which I call hunger, should put me in mind of taking food, and the

Existence of Material Things i 3 1

parchedness of the throat of drink, and so in other cases I_ was unable to give any explanation, unless that I was so taught_by nature; for there is assuredly no affinity, at least none that I am able to comprehend, between this irritation of the stomach and the desire of food, any more than between the perception of an object that causes pain and the consciousness of sadness which sprinc^s from the perception. And in_the^ same way it seemed to me that all the other judgments I hadToYmed regarding the objects of sense, were dictates of nature; because I remarked that thoso- judgments were formed in me, before I had leisure to weigh and consider the reasons that might .constrain me to form them.

But, afterwards, a wide experience by degrees sapped the faith I had reposed in my senses; for I frequently observed that towers, which at a distance seemed round, appeared square when more closely viewed, and that colossal figures, raised on the summits of these towers, looked like small statues, when viewed from the bottom of them; and, in other instances without number, I also discovered error in judgments founded on the external senses; and not only in those founded on the external, but even in those that rested on the internal senses; for is there aught more internal than pain.? and yet I have sometimes been informed by parties whose arm or leg had been amputated, that they still occasionally seemed to feel pain in that part of the body which they had lost, — a circumstance that led me to think that I could not be quite certain even that any one of my members was affected when I felt pain in it. And to thesj grounds of doubt I shortly afterwards also added two others of very wide generality: the first of them was that I believed I never perceived anything when awake which I could not occasionally think I also perceived when asleep, and as I do not believe that the ideas I seem to perceive in my sleep proceed from objects external to me, I did not any more observe any ground for believing this of such as I seem to perceive when awake; the second was that since [ was as yet ignorant of the author of my being, or at least supposed myself to be so, I saw nothing to prevent my having been so constituted by nature as that I should

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Meditations

be deceived even in matters that appeared to me to possess the greatest truth. And, with respect to the grounds on which I had before been persuaded of the existence of sensible objects, I had no great difficulty in finding suitable answers to them; for as nature seemed to incline me to many things from which reason made me averse, I thought that I ought not to confide much in its teachings. And although the perceptions of the senses were not dependent on my will, I did not think that I ought on that ground to conclude that they proceeded from things different from myself, since perhaps there might be found in me , some faculty, though hitherto unknown to me, which produced them.

But now that I begin to know myself better, and to discover more clearly the author of my being, I do not, indeed, think that I ought rashly to admit all which the senses seem to teach, nor, on the other hand, is it my conviction that I ought to doubt in general of their teachings.

And, firstly, because I know that^alj which I_ clearly and distinctly conceive caii be produced by God exactly as T'conceive it. tfjs^lficienD£aLJ..a5L^ and i

distinctly to^bnceive one thing apart from another, in j OKfeFtobe certain that the one is different from the other, seeing they max-at_least be made to exist separately, ; by'tKjDimipotence of God; and it matters not by what power this separation is made, in order to be compelled to judge them different; and, therefore, merely because I , know with certitude that I exist, and because, in the meantime, I do not observe that aught necessarily belongs to my nature or essence beyond my being a thinking thing, "4Sj; rightly conclude that my essence consists only in my I being a thinking thing [or a substance whose whole l^ssence or nature is merely thinking]. And although I may, or rather, as I will shortly say, although I certainly do possess a body with which I am very closely conjoined; nevertheless, because, on the one hand, I have a clear and distinct idea of myself, in as far as I am only a thinking and unextended thing, and as, on the other hand, I possess a distinct idea of body, in as far as it is only^a* extended and unthinking thing, it is certain that I [thatj

Existence of Material Things 133

Js, my mind, by which I am what I am] is entirely anS truly distinct from my body, and may exist without it. if Moreover, I find in myself diverse faculties of thinking that have each their special mode: for example, I find I possess the faculties of imagining and perceiving, without which I can indeed clearly and distinctly conceive myself as entire, but I cannot reciprocally conceive them without conceiving myself, that is to say, without an intelligent substance in which they reside, for [in the notion we have of them, or to use the terms of the schools] in their formal concept, they comprise some sort of intellection; whence I perceive that they are distinct from myself as modes are from things. I remark likewise certain other faculties, as the power of changing place, of assuming diverse figures, and the like, that cannot be conceived and cannot there- fore exist, any more than the preceding, apart from a substance in which they inhere. It i2L3££ryLevident. how- ever ,Jhatthjse faculties, if they really exist, must belong to some corporeal or extended substance, since in their clear and HisHncf concept there is contained some sort of

jextension, but no intellection at alL Farther, I cannot doubt but that there is m me a certain passive faculty of perception, that is, of receiving and taking knowledge of the ideas of sensible things; but this would be useless to me, if there did not also exist in me, or in some other thing, another active faculty capable of forming and producing those ideas. But this active faculty cannot be in me [in

' as far as I am but a thinking thing], seeing that it does not presuppose thought, and also that those ideas are frequently produced in my mind without my contributing to it in any way, and even frequently contrary to my will. This faculty must therefore exist in some substance different from me, in which all the objective reality of the ideas that are produced by this faculty is contained formally or eminently, as I before remarked: and this substance is either a body, that is to say, a corporeal nature in which is contained formally [and in effect] all that is objectively [and by representation] in those ideas; or it is God himself, or some other creature, of a rank superior to body, in which the same is contained emi-

I ncntly. But as God is no deceiver, it is manifest that he

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Meditations

does not of himself and immediately communicate those ideas to me, nor even by the intervention of any creature in which their objective reality is not formally, but only eminently, contained. For as he has given me no faculty whereby I can discover this to be the case, but, on the contrary, a very strong inclination to believe that those ideas arise from corporeal objects, I do not see how he could be vindicated from the charge of deceit, if in truth they proceeded from any other source, or were produced by other causes than corporeal things: and accordingly it must be concluded, that^orporeal objects exist. Never- theless they are not perhaps exactly such as we perceive by the senses, for their comprehension by the senses is, in many instances, very obscure and confused; but it is at least necessary to admit that all which I clearly and dis- tinctly conceive as in them, that is, generally speaking, all that is comprehended in the object of speculative geometry, really exists external to me.

But with respect to other things which are either only particular, as, for example, that the sun is of such a size and figure, etc., or are conceived with less clearness and distinctness, as light, sound, pain, and the like, although they are highly dubious and uncertain, nevertheless on the ground alone that God is no deceiver, and that conse- quently he has permitted no falsity in my opinions which he has not likewise given me a faculty of correcting, I think I may with safety conclude that I possess in myself the_ means oJ[^rriying at the truth. And, in the first place, it cannoT"Be doubted that in each of the dictates of nature there is some truth: for by nature, considered in general, I now understand nothing more than God him- self, or the order and disposition established by God in created things; and by my nature in particular I under- stand the assemblage of all that God has given me. / But there is nothing which that nature teaches me more (expressly [or more sensibly] than that I have a body Vhich is ill affected when I feel pain, and stands in need <of food and drink when I experience the sensations of hunger and thirst, etc. And therefore I ought not to (/^ doubt but that there is some truth in these informations. \^ Nature likewise teaches me by these sensations of pain.

Existence of Material Things 135

hunger, thirst, etc., that I am not only lodged in my body as a pilot in a vessel, but that I am besides so intimately conjoined, and as it were intermixed with it, that my mind and body compose a ceflaih" unity. For if this were not the case, I should not feel pain when my body is hurt, seeing I am merely a thinking thing, but should perceive the wound by the understanding alone, just as a pilot perceives by sight when any part of his vessel is damaged ; and when my body has need of food or drink, I should have a clear knowledge of this, and not be made aware of it by the confused sensations of hunger and thirst: for, in truth, all these sensations of hunger, thirst, pain, etc., are nothing more than certain confused modes of thinking, arising from the union and apparent fusion of mind and body.

Besides this, nature teaches me that my own body is surrounded by many other bodies, some of which I have to seek after, and others to shun. And indeed, as I per- ceive different sorts of colours, sounds, odours, tastes, heat, hardness, etc., I safely conclude that there are in the bodies from which the diverse perceptions of the senses proceed, certain varieties corresponding to them, although, perhaps, not in reality like them; and since, among these diverse perceptions of the senses, some are agreeable, and others disagreeable, there can be no doubt that my body, or rather my entire self, in as far as I am coniposed of body and mind, may be variously affected, Igoth beneficially and hurtfully, by surrounding bodies.

But there are many other beliefs which, though seem- ingly the teaching of nature, are not in reality so, but which obtained a place in my mind through a habit of judging inconsiderately of things. It may thus easily happen that such judgments shall contain error: thus, for example, the opinion I have that all space in which there is nothing to affect [or make an impression on] my senses is void; that in a hot body there is something in every respect similar to the idea of heat in my mind ; that in a white or green body there is the same whiteness or greenness which I perceive ; that in a bitter or sweet body there is the same taste, and so in other instances; that the stars, towers, and all distant bodies, are of the same

136 Meditations

size and figure as they appear to our eyes, etc. But that I may avoid everything Hke indistinctness of conception, I must accurately define what I properly understand by being taught by nature. For nature is here taken in a narrower sense than when it signifies the sum of all the things which God has giv^n me; seeing that in that meaning the notion comprehends much that belongs only to the mind [to which I am not here to be understood as referring when I use the term nature]; as, for example, the notion I have of the truth, that what is done cannot be undone, and all the other truths I discern by the natural light [without the aid of the body]; and seeing that it comprehends likewise much besides that belongs only to body, and is not here any more contained under the name nature, as the quality of heaviness, and the like, of which I do not speak, — the term being reserved exclu- sively to designate the things which God has given to me as a being composed of mind and body. .But nature,, taking the term in the sense explained, teaches me to shun what causes in me the sensation of pain, and to pursue what affords me the sensation of pleasure, and^ other things of this sort; but I do not discover that it teaches me, in addition to this, from these diverse per- ceptions of the senses, to draw any conclusions respecting external objects without a previous [careful and mature] consideration of them by the mind: forit iSj^^s^agpears to me, the office of the mind alone, and not of the com- posite whole of mind and body, to discern the truth in those matters. Thus, although the impression a star malcerrrrr my eye is not larger than that from the flame of a candle, I do not, nevertheless, experience any real or positive impulse determining me to believe that the star is not greater than the flame; the true account of the matter being merely that I have so judged from my youth without any rational ground. And, though on approach- ing the fire I feel heat, and even pain on approaching it too closely, I have, however, from this no ground for holding that something resembling, the heat I feel is in the fire, any more than that there is something similar to the pain; all that I have ground for believing is, that there is something in it, whatever it may be, which excites

Existence of Material Things 1 37

in me those sensations of heat or pain. So also, although there are spaces in which I find nothing to excite and affect my senses, I must not therefore conclude that those spaces contain in them no body; for I see that in this, as in many other similar matters, I have been accustomed to pervert the order of nature, because these perceptions "of the senses, although given me by nature merely to ^ signify to my mind what things are beneficial and hurtful ""to the composite whole of which it is a part, and being sufficiently clear and distinct for that purpose, are never- theless used by me as infallible rules by which to deter- "mine immediately the essence of the bodies that exist out of me, of which they can of course afford me only the most obscure and confused knowledge.

But I have already sufficiently considered how it hap- pens that, notwithstanding the supreme goodness of God, there is falsity in my judgments. A difficulty, however, here presents itself, respecting the things which I am [ taught by nature must be pursued or avoided, and also respecting the internal sensations in which I seem to have occasionally detected error [and thus to be directly deceived by nature]: thus, for example, I may be so deceived by the agreeable taste of some viand with which I poison has been mixed, as to be induced to take the poison, ' In this case, however, nature may be excused, for it simply leads me to desire the viand for its agreeable taste, and } not the poison, which is unknown to it; and thus we can <ihfer nothing from this circumstance beyond that our fT/nat^^re is not^mniscicnt : at which there is assuredly no 'ground for surprise, smce, man being of a finite nature^ his knowledg^must-^likewise^e_.o£_ limited But

we also not unfrequently err in that to which we are directly impelled by nature, as is the case with invalids who desire drink or food that would be hurtful to them. It will here, perhaps, be alleged that the reason why such persons are deceived is that their nature is corrupted; but this leaves the difficulty untouched, for a sick man is not less really the creature of God than a man who is in full health; and therefore it is as repugnant to the good- ness of God that the nature of the former should be deceit- ful as it is for that of the latter to be so. And, as a clock,

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Meditations

composed of wheels and counter-weights, observes not the less accurately all the laws of nature when it is ill made, and points out the hours incorrectly, than when it satisfies the desire of the maker in every respect; so likewise if the body of man be considered as a kind of machine, so made up and composed of bones, nerves, muscles, veins, blood, and skin, tjiat although there werein it no mind, it would >^ / ^till exhibit the same motions~i^ich itatpresent manifests I involuntarily, and therefore without the aid of the mind \ [and simply by the dispositions of its organs], I easily '^ ■ discern that it would also be as natural for such a body, supposing it dropsical, for example, to experience the S parchedness of the throat that is usually accompanied in the mind by the sensation of thirst, and to be disposed by this parchedness to move its nerves and its other parts in the way required for drinking, and thus increase its malady and do itself harm, as it is natural for it, when it is not indisposed to be stimulated to drink for its good by a> similar cause ; and although looking to the use for which a clock was destined by its maker, I may say that it is deflected from its proper nature when it incorrectly indi- cates the hours, and on the same principle, considering the machine of the human body as having been fonned by God for the sake of the motions which it usually manifests, although I may likewise have ground for thinking that it does not follow the order of its nature when the throat is parched and drink does not tend to its preservation,^^ / nevertheless I yet plainly discern that this latter accepta- 1 tion of the term nature is very different from the other; \. for this is nothing more than a certain denomination, /depending entirely on my thought, and hence called 1 extrinsic, by which I compare a sick man and an imper- fectly constructed clock with the idea I have of a man in good health and a well-made clock; while by. tliejOLth^ acceptation of nature is understood something which is \ tni]jjrau]Q3".iDrTKhgv therefore possessed of some ^trutk

But certainly, although in respect of a dropsical body, it is only by way of exterior denomination that we say its nature is corrupted, when, without requiring drink, the throat is parched; yet, in respect of the composite whole,

I

Existence of Material Things 139

that is, of the mind in its union with the body, it is not a pure denomination, but really an error of nature, for it to feel thirst when drink would be hurtful to it: and, accord- ingly, it still remains to be considered why it is that the goodness of God does not prevent the nature of man thus taken from being fallacious.

To commence this examination accordingly, I here remark, in the first place, that there is a vast difference between mind^nd body^Jn respect that body, from its

nature^ is always^Jivisible, and that mind is entirely

ifidivisible. _Po£^^truth^^

is7Wh"enTconsidef myselt m so tar'only as I am a thinking thing, I can distinguish in myself no parts, but I very^^. clearly discern that I am somewhat absolutely one and entire; and although the whole mind seems to be united to the whole body, yet, when a foot, an arm, or any other part is cut off, I am conscious that nothing has been taken from my mind ; nor can the faculties of willing, perceiving,' conceiving, etc., properly be called its parts, for it is the same mind that is exercised [all entire] in willing, in per- ceiving, and in conceiving, etc. But quite the opposite holds in corporeal or extended things; for I cannot imagine any one of them [how small soever it may be], which I cannot easily sunder in thought, and which, therefore, I do not know to be divisible. This would be sufficient to teach me that the mind or soul of man is entirely different from the body, if I had not already been apprised of it on other grounds.

I remark, in the next place, that the mind does not immediately receive the impression from all the parts of the body, but only from the brain, or perhaps even from one small part of it, viz., that in which the common sense {sensiis communis) is said to be, which as often as it is affected in the same way, gives rise to the same perception in the mind, although meanwhile the other parts of the body may be diversely disposed, as is proved by innu- merable experiments, which it is unnecessary here to enumerate.

I remark, besides, that the nature of body is such that none of its parts can be moved by another part a little removed from the other, which cannot likewise be moved

140 Meditations

in the same way by any one of the parts that lie between those two, although the most remote part does not act at all. As, for example, in the cord a, b, c, d [which is in tension], if its last part d be pulled, the first part a will not be moved in a different way than it would be were one of the intermediate parts b or c to be pulled, and the last part d meanwhile to remain fixed. And in the same way, when I feel pain in the foot, the science of physics teaches me that this sensation is experienced by means of the nerves dispersed over the foot, which, extending like cords from it to the brain, when they are contracted in the foot, contract at the same time the inmost parts of the brain in which they have their origin, and excite in these parts a certain motion appointed by nature to cause in the mind a sensation of pain, as if existing in the foot: but as these ner/es must pass through the tibia, the leg, the loins, the back, and neck, in order to reach the brain, it may happen that although their extremities in the foot are not affected, but only certain of their parts that pass through the loins or neck, the same movements, neverthe- less, are excited in the brain by this motion as would have been caused there by a hurt received in the foot, and hence the mind will necessarily feel pain in the foot, just as if it had been hurt; and the same is true of all the other perceptions of our senses.

I remark^ finally^ that as each of the movements that are made in the part of the brain by which the mind is immediately..afEected, impresses it with but a single sensa- tion, the most likely supposition in the circumstances is, that this movement causes the mind to experience, among all the sensations which it is capable of impressing upon it, that one which is the best fitted, and generally the most useful for the preservation of the human body when it is in full health. But experience shows us that all the per- ceptions which nature has given us are of such a kind as I have mentioned; and accordingly, there is nothing found in them that does not manifest the power and good- ness of God. Thus, for example, when-the nerves of the foot are violently or more than usually shaken, the motion passing through the medulla of the spine to the innermost parts of the brain affords a sign tftjhe mind on which it

Existence of Material Things 141

experiences a sensation, viz., of pain, as if it were in the foot, by which the mind is admonished and excited to do ,its utmost to remove the cause of it as dangerous and hurtful to the foot. It is true that God could have so constituted the nature of man as that the same motion in the brain would have informed the mind of something altogether different: the motion might, for example, have been the occasion on which the mind became conscious of itself, in so far as it is in the brain, or in so far as it is in some place intermediate between the foot and the brain, or, finally, the occasion on which it perceived some other object quite different, whatever that might be; but nothing of all this would have so well contributed to the preservation of the body as that which the mind actually feels. In the same way, when we stand in need of drink,

^ there arises from this want a certain parchedness in the

f throat that moves its nerves, and by means of them the I internal parts of the brain, and this movement affects the mind with the sensation of thirst, because there is nothing on that occasion which is more useful for us than to be made aware that we have need of drink for the preserva-

i tion of our health; and so in other instances.

^ Whence it is quite manifest, that notwithstanding the sovereign goodness of God, the nature of man, in so far as it is composed of mind and body, cannot but be sometimes fallacious. For, if there is any cause which excites, not in the foot, but in some one of the parts of the nerves that stretch from the foot to the brain, or even in the brain itself, the same movement that is ordinarily created when the foot is ill affected, pain will be felt, as it were, in the foot, and the sense will thus be naturally deceived; for as the same movement in the brain can but impress the mind with the same sensation, and as this sensation is much more frequently excited by a cause which hurts the foot than by one acting in a different quarter, it is reason- able that it should lead the mind to feel pain in the foot

u rather than in any other part of the body. And if it sometimes happens that the parchedness of the throat

\ does not arise, as is usual, from drink being necessary for "the health of the body, but from quite the opposite cause, as-'is the ca§e with the dropsical, yet it is much better that

142 Meditations

rUghould be deceitful in that instance, than if, on the contrary, it were "c'ontTnuaTly TaTTacioiTs "^hen the body is well-disposed; and the same holds true in other cases. And certainly this consideration is of great service, not only in enabling me to recognise the errors to which my nature is liable, but likewise in rendering it more easy to avoid or correct them: for, knowing that all my senses more usually indicate to me what is true than what is false, in matters relating to the advantage of the body, and being able almost always to make use of more than a single sense in examining the same object, and besides this, being able to use my memory in connecting present with past knowledge, and my understanding which has already discovered all the causes of my errors, I ought, no longer to fear that falsity may be met with in what is daily presented to me by the senses. And I ought to reject all the doubts of those bygone days as hyperbolical and ridiculous, especially the general uncertainty respect- ing sleep, which I