1.
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 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 something 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.
2.
I suppose, accordingly, that all the things which I see are false (fictitious);
I believe that none of those objects which my fallacious memory represents ever
existed; I suppose that I possess no senses; I believe 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.
3.
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 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, persuaded
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 carefully considered, that this
proposition (pronunciatum ) I am, I exist, is necessarily true each time
it is expressed by me, or conceived in my mind.
4.
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 knowledge ( 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.
5.
What then did I formerly 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 insensibly glide into
others, and these more difficult than the 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:
By body I understand 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.
6.
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
endeavors are directed toward 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, if it be true that I
have no body, it is true likewise that I am capable neither of walking nor of
being nourished. Perception is another attribute of the soul; but perception
too is impossible without the body; besides, I have frequently, during sleep,
believed that I perceived objects which I afterward observed I did not in
reality perceive. Thinking is another attribute of the soul; and here I
discover what properly belongs to myself. This alone is inseparable from me. I
am--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 therefore, 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.
7.
The question 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 vapor, 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 (efffingo), reminds me of my error; for
I should in truth frame one if I were to imagine myself to be anything, since
to imagine is nothing more than to contemplate 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 something 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.
8.
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.
9.
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 now 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 distinguished 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
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 thought. 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 presentations 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 (sentire),
which is nothing else than thinking.
10.
From this I begin to know what I am with somewhat greater clearness and
distinctness than heretofore. But, nevertheless, it still seems to me, and I
cannot help believing, 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 distinctness 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 the state of the
case. My mind is apt to wander, and will not yet submit to be restrained within
the limits of truth. Let us therefore leave the mind to itself once more, and,
according to it every kind of liberty [permit it to consider the objects that
appear to it from without], in order that, having afterward withdrawn it from
these gently and opportunely [ and fixed it on the consideration of its being
and the properties it finds in itself], it may then be the more easily controlled.
11.
Let us now accordingly consider the objects that are commonly thought to be
[the most easily, and likewise] the most distinctly known, viz, the bodies we
touch and see; not, indeed, bodies in general, for these general notions are
usually somewhat more confused, but one body in particular. Take, for example,
this piece of wax; 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 odor of the flowers from which it was gathered; its
color, 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 color 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.
12.
It was perhaps what I now think, viz, that this wax was neither the sweetness
of honey, the pleasant odor of flowers, the whiteness, the figure, nor the
sound, but only a body that a little before appeared to me conspicuous 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 attentively
considered, and, retrenching all that does not belong to the wax, let us see
what remains. There certainly 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 consequently 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 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 considering 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 perceived only by the [understanding or] mind? It is certainly
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 perception 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.
13.
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
color 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 comprehend, by the faculty of
judgment alone which is in the mind, what I believed I saw with my eyes.
14. 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
distinguish 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.
15.
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 distinct 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 imagination, or
any other cause, whatever it be, persuades me of the existence of the wax, I
will still draw the same conclusion. And what is here remarked of the piece of
wax, 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 illustration of its nature, that those dependent on the body,
to which I have here referred, scarcely merit to be taken into account.
16. 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 continued meditation, I may more deeply impress upon my memory this new knowledge.