 Third meditation, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Meditations on First Philosophy by Rene Descartes. Third meditation 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 endeavor 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 consciousness 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 endeavoring to extend my knowledge more widely, I will use circumspection and consider with care whether I can still discover 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 perception 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 all that is very clearly and distinctly apprehended or conceived is true. Nevertheless I before received and admitted many things as wholly certain and manifest, which yet I afterward 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 proceeded, 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. But when I considered any matter in arithmetic and geometry, that was very simple and easy, because, 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 that truth? Indeed, if I afterward 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 constrained 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 apprehend 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 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 contradiction, and in truth as I have no ground for believing that deity is deceitful, and as indeed I have not even considered 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, and 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 two truths I do not see that I can ever be certain of anything, and that I may be enabled to examine this 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 afterward 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 or 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 judgments. 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 the less true that I imagine the one than the other, nor need we fear that falsity may exist in the will or affections, for although I may desire objects that are wrong, and even that never existed, it is still true that I desire them. There thus 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, of our 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, being 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, hypocrites, 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 all are innate, or that they all are factitious. For I have not yet clearly discovered their true origin. 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 therefore 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 the sensation or idea of heat is produced in me by something different from myself, namely, 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 sufficiently 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 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. In as much 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 trustworthy, 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 worst part, nor do I see that I have any better ground for following them in what relates to truth and error, than 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 ought 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 seems to be many times larger than the whole earth is taken up on astronomical grounds, that is, elicited from certain notions born 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 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 existence of certain things different for 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 inquiring 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 difference or inequality among them and all seem in 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 object of 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 object of 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 effect draw its reality if not from its cause? And how could the cause communicate 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 that the 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 considered 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 composition, 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 object of reality rather than that, it must doubtless derive it from some cause in which is found at least as much formal reality as the idea contains of 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 objectively 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 considered in these ideas is only objective, the same reality need not be formally or actually in the causes of these ideas, but only objectively. For just as the mode of existing objectively belongs to ideas by their peculiar nature, so likewise the mode of existing formally apportains to the causes of these ideas, at least to the first and principle, 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 representation in these ideas is contained formally and in act. I am thus clearly taught by the natural light that ideas 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 contrary, 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 represents 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 composition of the other ideas which I have of myself, of corporeal things, and of God, although they were, apart from myself, neither men, animals, nor angels. And with regard to the ideas of corporeal objects, I never discovered in them anything so great or excellent which I myself did not appear capable of originating. For by considering these ideas closely and scrutinizing 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 recognize the following, namely magnitude or extension in length, breadth, and depth, figure, which results from the 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, colors, sounds, odors, 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 nevertheless 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 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 afterward transfer to as many objects as I please, with respect to the other qualities that go to make up the ideas of corporeal objects, namely 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 substance, 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 imagine that I do not apprehend the infinite by a true idea, but only by a 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 or 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 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 that this 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 imperfections 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 object of 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 perhaps 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 contained 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 perfection, 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 something more than I suppose myself to be, and it may be that all those perfections which I attribute to God in some way exist potentially in me, 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 gradually increasing to infinity, nor any reason why after such increase and perfection I should not be able thereby to 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 exists in me, should not be 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 augmented 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 further increase, but I conceive God is 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 formally, or actually, and truly I see nothing in all that I have now said which it is not easy for anyone who shall carefully consider 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 should doubt of nothing, I should desire nothing, and in fine no perfection would be a wanting to me, for I should have bestowed upon myself every perfection 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 perfection 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 as contained in the idea of God, because there is none of these that seems to me 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 existence, so that it is manifestly a dictate of the natural light that conservation and creation differ merely in respect of our mode of thinking, and not in reality. 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 afterward, for, since I am merely a thinking thing, or since at least, the precise question in the meantime 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 the 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 attribute 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 concurred in my production, and that from one I receive the idea 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 inseparability 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, insofar as I am a thinking being. All that, at the most, they contributed to my origin was the giving of certain dispositions or 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 absolutely 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, nor I have not drawn it from the senses, nor is it even presented to me unexpectedly, 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 production 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 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 I 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 dependent being, and one who unceasingly aspires after something 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 comprehend them, and who is wholly superior to all defect and has nothing that marks imperfection, once it is sufficiently manifest that he cannot be a deceiver. Once 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 marvelous 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 life 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 susceptible in this life, and third meditation. This recording is in the public domain. Fourth meditation. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Records on First Philosophy by Rene Descartes. Fourth meditation. 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 imaginable 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 insofar 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 corporeal 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 conclusions 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 impossible 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 weakness, and such accordingly cannot 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, and when I look upon myself as coming from God, 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 insofar 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 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 perfection 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 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, perhaps, with some show of reason be deemed highly imperfect 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 doubt of everything, I only as yet know with certainty 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 considering what my errors are, which alone testify to the existence of imperfection in me, I observe that these depend on the concurrence of two causes, namely, the faculty of cognition, which I possess, and that of election, or the power of free choice, in other words, the understanding and the will. For by the understanding alone I neither affirm nor deny anything, but merely apprehend the ideas regarding which I may form a judgment. Nor is any error, properly so called, found in it, thus accurately taken. And although there are perhaps innumerable 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 cognition than he has actually bestowed upon me, and, however skillful 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 understanding 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 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 extended, 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 affirm 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 necessary that I be alike indifferent toward each of two contraries, but on the contrary, the more I am inclined toward 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 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 understanding, for as I conceive no object unless by means of the faculty that God bestowed upon me, all that I conceive is doubtless rightly conceived by me, and it is impossible for me to be deceived in it. Wents, 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 understand, 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 ought really existed in the world and found that because I considered 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 I 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 determine me to adopt the one belief in preference to the other, once it happens that it is a matter of perfect indifference 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 disposed me to form a judgment in a particular matter, the simple knowledge that these are merely conjectures 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 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 the freedom of the will in which is found the privation that constitutes the form of error, privation, I say, is found in the act, insofar as it proceeds from myself, but it does not exist in the faculty which I received from God, nor even in the act insofar as it depends on him. For I have assuredly no reason to 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. And finally, I ought not also to complain that God concurs with me in forming the acts of this will, or the judgment in which I am deceived, because those acts are wholly true and good insofar as they depend on God, and the ability to form them is a higher degree of perfection in my nature than the want of it would be. In regard to privation, in which alone consists the formal reason of error and sin, this does not require the concurrence 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 certain things of which he has not put a clear and distinct knowledge in my understanding, but it is doubtless and 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, namely, 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 parts of it 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 being superior to error by the first means I have pointed out above, which depends on a clear and evident knowledge 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 conscious 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 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 consists, I deem that I have not gained little by this day's meditation in having discovered the source of error and falsity. And certainly, this 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 judgment except regarding objects which are clearly and distinctly represented to it by the understanding, I can never be deceived, because every clear and distinct conception is 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 today 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 confusedly and obscurely, to which for the future I shall give diligent heed. And fourth meditation. This recording is in the public domain. Fifth meditation. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Meditations on First Philosophy by Rene Descartes. Fifth meditation. Of the essence of material things, and again of God that He exists. Several other questions remain for consideration respecting 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 insofar 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 in length, breadth, and depth that is in this quantity, or rather in the object to which it is attributed. Further, I can enumerate in it many diverse parts, and attribute to each of these all sorts of sizes, figures, situations, 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 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 innumerable ideas of certain objects which cannot be 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 determinant 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, namely, 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 discerned 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 assert 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. 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 existence 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 distinctness 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. Indeed, such a doctrine may at first sight appear to contain more sophistry than truth, for as I have been accustomed 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 rectilinear triangle, so that it is not less impossible to conceive a God that is a being supremely perfect to whom existence is a wanting, 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 mountain 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 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 therefore 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 in the thing itself, that is, the necessity of the existence of God, determines me to think in this way, for it is not in 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 suppose 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 storehouse 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 rectilinear 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 advert to this relation in particular. But when I consider what figures are capable of being inscribed in the circle, it is by no means necessary to hold that all quadrilateral 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 ought 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 born 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 of no other being except God, to whose essence existence necessarily pertains, in the second, because it is impossible to conceive 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 I clearly and distinctly conceive which have the power of completely persuading me. And although, of the objects I conceive in this manner, some indeed are obvious to everyone, 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 thought be set 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, 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, nevertheless, at present, I feel not only as assured of it as of what I deem most certain, but I remark further that the certitude 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 rectilinear 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 comprehension 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 afterward 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 thus inferred, that all which I clearly and distinctly perceive is of necessity true, although I no longer attend to the grounds of a judgment, no opposite reason can be alleged sufficient to lead me to doubt of its truth, provided only I remember 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 formally 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 I may be frequently deceived? But I already know that I cannot be deceived in judgments of the ground of which I possess a clear knowledge. Will it be that I formerly deemed things to be true and certain which I afterward 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 afterward 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, in so much 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 perfect 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. And fifth meditation. This recording is in the public domain.