I am in doubt as to the propriety
of making my first meditations
in the place above mentioned
matter of discourse; 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 sometimes
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 procedure exactly
the opposite was called for,
and that I ought to reject as
absolutely false all opinions
in regard to which I could suppose
the least ground for doubt, in
order to ascertain whether after
that there remained aught in
my belief that was wholly indubitable.
Accordingly, seeing that our
senses sometimes deceive 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,
I, convinced that I was as open
to error as any other, rejected
as false all the reasonings I
had hitherto taken for demonstrations;
and finally, when I considered
that the very same thoughts (presentations)
which we experience when awake
may also be experienced when
we are asleep, while there is
at that time not one of them
true, I supposed that all the
objects (presentations) that
had ever entered into my mind
when awake, had in them no more
truth than the illusions of my
dreams. But immediately upon
this I observed that, whilst
I 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, I think,
therefore I am (COGITO ERGO SUM),
was so certain and of such evidence
that 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 principle 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 I 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 I think, therefore
I am, there is nothing at all
which gives me assurance of their
truth beyond this, that I see
very clearly that in order to
think it is necessary to exist,
I concluded that I might take,
as a general rule, the principle,
that all the things which we
very clearly and distinctly conceive
are true, only observing, however,
that there is some difficulty
in rightly determining the objects
which we distinctly conceive.
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 whence I
had learned to think of something
more perfect than myself; and
I clearly recognized 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
myself; 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
from nothing, it was equally
impossible that I could hold
it from myself: 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 idea;
that is to say, in a single word,
which was God. And to this I
added that, since I knew some
perfections which I did not possess,
I was not the only being in existence
(I will here, with your permission,
freely use the terms of the schools);
but, on the contrary, that there
was of necessity some other more
perfect Being upon whom I was
dependent, and from whom I had
received all that I possessed;
for if I had existed alone, and
independently of every other
being, so as to have had from
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 perfection, of the want of
which I was conscious, and thus
could of myself have become infinite,
eternal, immutable, omniscient,
all-powerful, and, in fine, have
possessed all the perfections
which I could recognize in God.
For in order to know the nature
of God (whose existence has been
established by the preceding
reasonings), as far as my own
nature permitted, I had only
to consider in reference to all
the properties of which I found
in my mind some idea, whether
their possession was a mark of
perfection; and I was assured
that no one which indicated any
imperfection was in him, and
that none of the rest was awanting.
Thus I perceived that doubt,
inconstancy, 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 recognized
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 imperfection,
I therefore determined that it
could not be a perfection in
God to be compounded of these
two natures and that consequently
he was not so compounded; but
that if there were any bodies
in the world, or even any intelligences,
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 transposed
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 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
contrary, 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 comprised
in the idea of a triangle, or
as in the idea of a sphere, the
equidistance of all points on
its surface from the center,
or even still more clearly; and
that consequently 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 accept 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 have 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
odors, 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 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 infrequently 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 all which
we 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.
But after the knowledge of
God and of the soul has rendered
us certain of this rule, we can
easily understand that the truth
of the thoughts we experience
when awake, ought not in the
slightest degree to be called
in question on account of the
illusions of our dreams. For
if it happened that an individual,
even 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 infrequently 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 our
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. |