 Meditations on First Philosophy Letter of Dedication 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 Translation, John Feisch Letter of Dedication To the very sage and illustrious, the Dean and Doctors of the Sacred Faculty of Theology of Paris Gentlemen, the motive which impels me to present this treatise to you is so reasonable, and when you shall learn its design, I am confident that you also will consider that there is ground so valid for your taking it under your protection that I can in no way better recommend it to you than by briefly stating the end which I propose to myself in it. I have always been of opinion that the two questions respecting God and the soul were the chief of those that ought to be determined by help of philosophy rather than of theology. For, although to us the faithful, it be sufficient to hold as matters of faith that the human soul does not perish with the body and that God exists. It yet assuredly seems impossible ever to persuade infidels of the reality of any religion or almost even any moral virtue unless, first of all, those two things be proved to them by natural reason. And since in this life there are frequently greater rewards held out to vice than to virtue, few would prefer the right to the useful if they were restrained neither by the fear of God nor the expectation of another life. And although it is quite true that the existence of God is to be believed since it is taught in the Sacred Scriptures and that, on the other hand, the Sacred Scriptures are to be believed because they come from God, for since faith is a gift of God, the same being who bestows grace to enable us to believe other things, can likewise impart of it to enable us to believe his own existence. Nevertheless, this cannot be submitted to infidels who would consider that the reasoning proceeded in a circle. And indeed, I have observed that you, with all the other theologians, not only affirmed the sufficiency of natural reason for the proof of the existence of God but also that it may be inferred from Sacred Scripture that the knowledge of God is much clearer than of many created things and that it is really so easy of acquisition as to leave those who do not possess it blameworthy. This is manifest from these words of the Book of Wisdom, Chapter 8, where it is said, How be it they are not to be excused for if their understanding was so great that they could discern the world and the creatures, why did they not rather find out the Lord thereof? And in Romans Chapter 1 it is said that they are without excuse, and again in the same place, by these words, That which may be known of God is manifest in them. We seem to be admonished that all which can be known of God may be made manifest by reasons obtained from no other source than the inspection of our own minds. I have, therefore, thought that it would not be unbecoming in me to inquire how and by what way, without going out of ourselves, God may be more easily and certainly known than the things of the world. And as regards the soul, although many have judged that its nature could not be easily discovered, and some have even ventured to say that human reason led to the conclusion that it perished with the body and that the contrary opinion could be held through faith alone, Nevertheless, since the Lateran Council held under Leo X in Session 8 condemns these and expressly enjoins Christian philosophers to refute their arguments and establish the truth according to their ability, I have ventured to attempt it in this work. Moreover, I am aware that most of the irreligious deny the existence of God, and the distinctness of the human soul from the body, for no other reason than because these points as they allege, have never as yet been demonstrated. Now, although I am by no means of their opinion, but on the contrary hold that almost all the proofs which have been adduced on these questions by great man possess, when rightly understood, the force of demonstrations, and that it is next to impossible to discover new, yet there is, I apprehend. No more useful service to be performed in philosophy than if someone were, once and for all, carefully to seek out the best of these reasons, and expound them so accurately and clearly that, for the future, it might be manifest to all that they are real demonstrations. And finally, since many persons were greatly desirous of this, who knew that I had cultivated a certain method of resolving all kinds of difficulty in the sciences, which is not indeed new, there being nothing older than truth, but of which they were aware I had made successful use in other instances, I judged it to be my duty to make trial of it also on the present matter. Now the sum of what I have been able to accomplish on the subject is contained in this treatise. Not that I hear a said to collect all the diverse reasons which might be adduced as proofs on this subject, for this does not seem to be necessary unless, on matters where no one proof of adequate certainty is to be had, but I treated the first and chief alone in such a manner that I should venture now to propose them as demonstrations of the highest certainty and evidence. And I will also add that they are such as to lead me to think that there is no way open to the mind of man by which proofs superior to them can ever be discovered, for the importance of the subject and the glory of God to which all this relates constrain me to speak here somewhat more freely of myself than I have been accustomed to do. Nevertheless, whatever certitude and evidence I may find in these demonstrations I cannot therefore persuade myself that they are leveled to the comprehension of all. But just as in geometry there are many of the demonstrations of our comedies, Apollonius, Pappus, and others which, though received by all as evident, even and certain. Because indeed they manifestly contain nothing which, considered by itself, it is not very easy to understand and no consequence that are inaccurately related to their antecedents are, nevertheless, understood by a very limited number because they are somewhat long and demand the whole attention of the reader. So in the same way, although I consider the demonstrations of which I here make use to be equal or even superior to the geometrical in certitude and evidence, I am afraid, nevertheless, that they will not be adequately understood by many, as well because they are also somewhat long and involved, as chiefly because they require the mind to be entirely free from prejudice and able with ease to detach itself from the commerce of the senses. And, to speak the truth, the ability for metaphysical studies is less general than for those of geometry. And besides, there is still this difference that, as in geometry, all are persuaded that nothing is usually advanced of which there is not a certain demonstration. Those, but partially versed in it, err more frequently in assenting to what is false from a desire of seeming to understand it than in denying what is true. In philosophy, on the other hand, where it is believed that all is doubtful, few sincerely give themselves to the search after truth, and by far the greater number seek the reputation of bold thinkers by audaciously impugning such truths as are of the greatest moment. Hence it is that, whatever force my reasonings may possess, yet, because they belong to philosophy, I do not expect they will have much effect on the minds of men, unless you extend to them your patronage and approval. But since your faculty is held in so great esteem by all, and since the name of Sorbonne is of such authority that, not only in matters of faith, but even also in what regards human philosophy, has the judgment of no other society after the sacred councils received so great deference. It being the universal conviction that it is impossible elsewhere to find greater perspicacity and solidity, or greater wisdom and integrity in giving judgment. I doubt not if you but condescend to pay so much regard to this treatise as to be willing in the first place to correct it, for, mindful not only of my humanity but chiefly also of my ignorance, I do not affirm that it is free from errors. In the second place, to supply what is wanting in it, to perfect what is incomplete, and to give more ample illustration where it is demanded, or at least to indicate these defects to myself that I may endeavour to remedy them. And finally, when the reasonings contained in it by which the existence of God and the distinction of the human soul from the body are established, shall have been brought to such degree of perspicuity as to be esteemed exact demonstrations, of which I am assured they admit. If you condescend to accord them the authority of your approbation and render a public testimony of the truth and certainty, I doubt not, I say, but that henceforth all the errors which have ever been entertained on these questions will very soon be effaced from the minds of men. For truth itself will readily lead the remainder of the ingenious and the learned to subscribe to your judgment, and your authority will cause the atheists, who are in general, skillists rather than ingenious or learned, to lay aside the spirit of contradiction and lead them perhaps to do battle in their own persons for reasonings which they find considered demonstrations by all men of genius, lest they should seem not to understand them. And finally, the rest of mankind will readily trust to so many testimonies, and there will no longer be anyone who will venture to doubt either the existence of God or the real distinction of mind and body. It is for you in your singular wisdom to judge of the importance of the establishment of such beliefs, who are cognizant of the disorders which doubt of these truths produces. But it would not here become me to command at greater length the cause of God and of religion to you, who have always proved the strongest support of the Catholic Church. And letter of dedication. This recording is in the public domain. Preface to the reader. This is the 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. Preface to the reader. I have already slightly touched upon the questions respecting the existence of God and the nature of the human soul in the discourse on the method of rightly conducting the reason and seeking truth in the sciences, published in French in the year 1637. Not, however, with the design of their treating of them fully, but only as it were in passing, that I might learn from the judgment of my readers in what way I should afterward handle them. For these questions appeared to me to be of such moment as to be worthy of being considered more than once. And the path which I follow in discussing them is so little trodden and so remote from the ordinary route that I thought it would not be expedient to illustrate it at greater length in French. And in a discourse that might be read by all, lest even the more feeble minds should believe that this path might be entered upon by them. But, as in the discourse on method, I had requested all who might find ought-meriting censure on my writings to do me the favor of pointing it out to me. I may state that no objections worthy of remark have been alleged against what I then said on these questions except to. To which I will hear briefly reply before undertaking their more detailed discussion. The first objection is that, though while the human mind reflects on itself, it does not perceive that it is any other than a thinking thing, it does not follow that its nature or essence consists only in its being a thing which thinks, so that the word only shall exclude all other things which might also perhaps be said to pertain to the nature of the mind. To this objection I reply that it was not my intention in that place to exclude these according to the order of truth in the matter, of which I did not then treat, but only according to the order of thought, perception. So that my meaning was that I clearly apprehended nothing so far as I was conscious as belonging to my essence, except that I was a thinking thing, or a thing possessing in itself the faculty of thinking. But I will show hereafter how, from the consciousness that nothing besides thinking belongs to the essence of the mind, it follows that nothing else does in truth belong to it. The second objection is that it does not follow from my possessing the idea of a thing more perfect than I am, that the idea itself is more perfect than myself, and much less that what is represented by the idea exists. But I reply that in the term idea there is here something equivocal, for it may be taken either materially for an act of the understanding, and in this sense it cannot be said to be more perfect than I, or objectively for the thing represented by that act which, although it be not supposed to exist out of my understanding, may nevertheless be more perfect than myself by reason of its essence. But in the sequel of this treatise I will show more amply how, from my possessing the idea of a thing more perfect than myself, it follows that this thing really exists. Besides these two objections, I have seen indeed two treatises of sufficient length relating to the present matter. In these, however, my conclusions much more than my premises were impugned, and that by arguments borrowed from the common places of the atheists. But as arguments of this sort can make no impression on the minds of those who shall rightly understand my reasonings, and as the judgments of many are so irrational and weak that they are persuaded rather by the opinions on a subject that are first presented to them, however false and opposed to reason they may be, then by a true and solid, but subsequently received, refutation of them, I am unwilling here to reply to these strictures from a dread of being in the first instance, obliged to state them. I will only say in general that all which the atheists commonly allege in favour of the non-existence of God arises continually from one or the other of these two things, namely either the description of human affections to deity or the undue attribution to our minds of so much vigor and wisdom that we may say to determine and comprehend both what God can and ought to do. Hence, all that is alleged by them will occasion us no difficulty, provided only we keep in remembrance that our minds must be considered finite, while deity is incomprehensible and infinite. Now that I have once, in some measure, made proof of the opinions of men regarding my work, I again undertake to treat of God and the human soul, and at the same time to discuss the principles of the entire first philosophy without, however, expecting any commendation from the crowd for my endeavours or a wide circle of readers. On the contrary, I would advise none to read this work unless such as are able and willing to meditate with me in earnest, to detach their minds from commerce with the senses, and likewise, to deliver themselves from all prejudice, and individuals of this character are, I well know, remarkably rare. But with regard to those who, without caring to comprehend the order and connection of the reasonings, shall study only detached clauses for the purpose of small but noisy criticism, as is the custom with many, I may say that such persons will not profit greatly by the reading of this treatise, and although perhaps they may find opportunity for cabling in several places, they will yet hardly start any pressing objections, or such as shall be deserving of reply. But, since indeed, I do not promise to satisfy others on all these subjects at first sight, nor irrigate so much to myself as to believe that I might have been able to foresee all that may be the source of difficulty to each one. I shall expound, first of all, in the meditations, those considerations by which I feel persuaded that I have arrived at a certain and evident knowledge of truth, in order that I may ascertain whether the reasonings which have prevailed with myself will also be effectual in convincing others. I will then reply to the objections of some men, illustrious for their genius and learning, to whom these meditations were sent for criticism before they were committed to the press, for these objections are so numerous and varied that I venture to anticipate that nothing, at least nothing, of any moment, will readily occur to any mind which has not been touched upon in them. Hence, it is that I earnestly entreat my readers not to come to any judgment on the questions raised in the meditations until they have taken care to read the whole of the objections, with the relative replies. End preface to the reader. This recording is in the public domain. Synopsis of the six following meditations. 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. Synopsis of the six following meditations. The first meditation I expound the grounds on which we may doubt in general of all things, and especially of material objects, so long at least as we have no other foundations for the sciences than those we have hitherto possessed. Now, although the utility of a doubt so general may not be manifest at first sight, it is nevertheless of the greatest, since it delivers us from all prejudice and towards the easiest pathway by which the mind may withdraw itself from the senses, and finally makes it impossible for us to doubt wherever we afterward discover truth. In the second, the mind which, in the exercise of the freedom peculiar to itself, supposes that no object is, of the existence of which it has even the slightest doubt, finds that, meanwhile, it must itself exist. And this point is likewise of the highest moment, for the mind is thus enabled easily to distinguish what pertains to itself, that is, to the intellectual nature from what is to be referred to the body. But since some, perhaps, will expect at this stage of our progress, a statement of the reasons which establish the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, I think it proper here to make such aware that it was my aim to write nothing of which I could not give exact demonstration, and that I therefore felt myself obliged to adopt an order similar to that in use among the geometers, namely, to premise all upon which the proposition in question depends before coming to any conclusion respecting it. Now, the first and chief prerequisite for the knowledge of the immortality of the soul is our being able to form the clearest possible conception of the soul itself, and such as shall be absolutely distinct from all our notions of body, and how this is to be accomplished is there shown. There is required, besides this, the assurance that all objects which we clearly and distinctly think are true, really exist, in that very mode in which we think them, and this could not be established previously to the fourth meditation. Further, it is necessary, for the same purpose, that we possess a distinct conception of corporeal nature, which is given partly in the second and partly in the fifth and sixth meditations. And finally, on these grounds, we are necessitated to conclude that all those objects which are clearly and distinctly conceived to be diverse substances, as mind and body, are substances really reciprocally distinct, and this inference is made in the sixth meditation. The absolute distinction of mind and body is, besides, confirmed in this second meditation, by showing that we cannot conceive body unless as divisible. While, on the other hand, mind cannot be conceived unless as indivisible, for we are not able to conceive the half of a mind, as we can of any body, however small, so that the natures of these two substances are to be held not only as diverse, but even in some measure as contraries. I have not, however, pursued this discussion further in the present treatise, as well for the reason that these considerations are sufficient to show that the destruction of the mind does not follow from the corruption of the body, and thus to afford to mend the hope of a future life, as also because the premises from which it is competent for us to infer the immortality of the soul involve an explication of the whole principles of physics, in order to establish in the first place that generally all substances, that is, all things which can exist only in consequence of having been created by God, are in their own nature incorruptible and can never cease to be unless God himself, by refusing his concurrence to them, reduce them to nothing, and, in the second place, that body, taken generally, is a substance, and therefore can never perish, but that the human body, in as far as it differs from other bodies, is constituted only by a certain configuration of members, and by other accidents of this sort, while the human mind is not made up of accidents but is a pure substance. For although all the accidents of the mind be changed, although, for example, it think certain things will others and perceive others, the mind itself does not vary with these changes, while on the contrary the human body is no longer the same if a change take place in the form of any of its parts, from which it follows that the body may indeed without difficulty perish, but that the mind is in its own nature immortal. In the third meditation I have unfolded at sufficient length, as appears to me, my chief argument for the existence of God, but yet, since I was there desirous to avoid the use of comparisons taken from material objects that I might withdraw as far as possible the minds of my readers from the senses, numerous obscurities perhaps remain which, however, will, I trust, be afterward entirely removed in the replies to the objections. Thus, among other things, it may be difficult to understand how the idea of a being absolutely perfect, which is found in our minds, possesses so much objective reality, that is, participates by representation in so many degrees of being and perfection, that it must be held to arise from a cause absolutely perfect. This is illustrated in the replies by the comparison of a highly perfect machine, the idea of which exists in the mind of some workman, for as the objective, that is, representative, perfection of this idea must have some cause, namely, either the science of the workman, or of some other person from whom he has received the idea, in the same way the idea of God, which is found in us, demands God himself for its cause. In the fourth, it is shown that all which we clearly and distinctly perceive, apprehend, is true, and at the same time is explained where in consists the nature of error, points that require to be known as well for confirming the preceding truths as for the better understanding of those that are to follow. But, meanwhile, it must be observed that I do not at all their treat of sin, that is, of error committed in the pursuit of good and evil, but of that sort alone which arises in the determination of the true and the false. Nor do I refer to the matters of faith or to the conduct of life, but only to what regard speculative truths, and such as are known by means of the natural light alone. In the fifth, besides the illustration of corporeal nature, taken generically, a new demonstration is given of the existence of God, not free perhaps any more than the former from certain difficulties, but of these the solution will be found in the replies to the objections. I further show in what sense it is true that the certitude of geometrical demonstrations themselves is dependent on the knowledge of God. Finally, in the sixth, the act of the understanding is distinguished from that of the imagination. The marks of this distinction are described. The human mind is shown to be really distinct from the body and, nevertheless, to be so closely conjoined therewith as together to form, as it were, a unity. The whole of the errors which arise from the senses are brought under review, while the means of avoiding them are pointed out. And, finally, all the grounds are adduced from which the existence of material objects may be inferred. Not, however, because I deemed them a great utility in establishing what they prove, namely, that there is in reality a world that men are possessed of bodies and the like, the truth of which no one of sound mind ever seriously doubted. But, because from a close consideration of them, it is perceived that they are neither so strong nor clear as the reasonings which conduct us to the knowledge of our mind and of God, so that the latter are, of all which come under human knowledge, the most certain and manifest. A conclusion which it was my single aim in these meditations to establish, on which account I hear omit mention of the various other questions which, in the course of the discussion, I had occasion likewise to consider. End Synopsis of the Six Following Meditations This recording is in the public domain. First Meditation This is the 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 First Meditation Of the Things Of Which We May Doubt Several years have now elapsed since I first became aware that I had accepted, even from my youth, many false opinions were true, and that consequently what I afterward based on such principles was highly doubtful. And from that time I was convinced of the necessity of undertaking once in my life to rid myself of all the opinions I had adopted, and of commencing anew the work of building from the foundation, if I desired to establish a firm and abiding superstructure in the sciences. But as this enterprise appeared to me to be one of great magnitude, I waited until I had attained an age so mature as to leave me no hope that at any stage of life more advanced I should be better able to execute my design. On this account, I have delayed so long that I should henceforth consider I was doing wrong where I still to consume in deliberation any of the time that now remains for action. Today, then, since I have opportunally freed my mind from all cares and am happily disturbed by no passions, and since I am in the secure possession of leisure in a peaceable retirement, I will at length apply myself earnestly and freely to the general overthrow of all my former opinions. But to this end it will not be necessary for me to show that the whole of these are false, a point perhaps which I shall never reach. But as even now my reason convinces me that I ought not the less carefully to withhold belief from what is not entirely certain and indubitable than from what is manifestly false, it will be sufficient to justify the rejection of the whole if I shall find in each some ground for doubt. Nor for this purpose will it be necessary even to deal with each belief individually, which would be truly an endless labor. But as the removal from below of the foundation necessarily involves the downfall of the whole edifice, I will at once approach the criticism of the principles on which all my former beliefs rested. All that I have up to this moment accepted as possessed of the highest truth uncertainty I received either from or through the senses. I observed, however, that these sometimes misled us, and it is the part of prudence not to place absolute confidence in that by which we have even once been deceived. But it may be said, perhaps, that although the senses occasionally mislead us respecting minute objects, and such as are so far removed from us as to be beyond the reach of close observation, there are yet many other of their informations, or presentations, of the truth which it is manifestly impossible to doubt. As, for example, that I am in this place, seated by the fire, clothed in a winter dressing gown, that I hold in my hand this piece of paper, with other intimations of the same nature. But how could I deny that I possess these hands and this body, and, with all, escape being classed with persons in a state of insanity, whose brains are so disordered and clouded by dark, billious vapours as to cause them pertinaciously, to assert that they are monarchs when they are in the greatest poverty, or clothed in gold and purple when destitute of any covering, or that their head is made of clay, their body of glass, or that they are gourds? I should certainly be not less insane than they were I to regulate my procedure according to examples so extravagant. Though this be true, I must nevertheless here consider that I am a man, and that consequently I am in the habit of sleeping, and representing to myself in dreams those same things, or even sometimes others less probable, which the insane think are presented to them in their waking moments. How often have I dreamt that I was in these familiar circumstances that I was dressed and occupied this place by the fire, when I was lying undressed in bed? At the present moment, however, I certainly look upon this paper with eyes wide awake. The head which I now move is not asleep. I extend this hand consciously and with express purpose and I perceive it. The occurrences in sleep are not so distinct as all this. But I cannot forget that, at other times, I have been deceived in sleep by similar illusions. And attentively considering those cases, I perceive so clearly that there exist no certain marks by which the state of waking can ever be distinguished from sleep, that I feel greatly astonished. And in amazement I almost persuade myself that I am now dreaming. Let us suppose then that we are dreaming, and that all these particulars, namely the opening of the eyes, the motion of the head, the fourth putting of the hands, are merely illusions. And even that we really possessed neither an entire body nor hands such as we see. Nevertheless, it must be admitted at least that the objects which appear to us in sleep are, as it were, painted representations which could not have been formed unless in the likeness of realities. And therefore, that those general objects at all events, namely eyes, a head, hands, and an entire body, are not simply imaginary, but really existent. For in truth, painters themselves, even when they study to represent sirens and satyrs by forms the most fantastic and extraordinary, cannot bestow upon them nature's absolutely new, but can only make a certain medley of the members of different animals. Or if they chance to imagine something so novel that nothing at all similar has ever been seen before, and such as is, therefore, purely fictitious and absolutely false. It is at least certain that the colors of which this is composed are real. And on the same principle, although these general objects, namely a body, eyes, a head, hands, and the like, be imaginary, we are nevertheless absolutely necessitated to admit the reality at least of some other objects still more simple and universal than these, of which, just as of certain real colors, all those images of things, whether true and real or false and fantastic, that are found in our consciousness, are formed. To this class of objects seem to belong corporeal nature in general and its extension, the figure of extended things, their quantity or magnitude, and their number, as also the place in and the time during which they exist, and other things of the same sort. We will not, therefore, perhaps reason illegitimately if we conclude from this that physics, astronomy, medicine, and all the other sciences that have for their end the consideration of composite objects are indeed of a doubtful character, but that arithmetic, geometry, and the other sciences of the same class, which regard merely the simplest and most general objects and scarcely inquire whether or not these are really existent, contains somewhat that is certain and indubitable. For whether I am awake or dreaming, it remains true that two and three make five, and that a square has but four sides, nor does it seem possible that truths so apparent can ever fall under a suspicion of falsity or insertitude. Nevertheless, the belief that there is a God who is all-powerful and who created me, such as I am, has for a long time obtained steady possession of my mind. How, then, do I know that he has not arranged that there should be neither earth nor sky nor any extended thing, nor figure nor magnitude nor place? Providing, at the same time, however, for the rise in me of the perceptions of all these objects and the persuasion that these do not exist otherwise than as I perceive them. And further, as I sometimes think that others are an error respecting matters of which they believe themselves to possess a perfect knowledge, how do I know that I am not also deceived each time I add together two and three, or number the sides of a square or form some judgment still more simple, if more simple indeed can be imagined? But perhaps Deity has not been willing that I should be thus deceived, for he has said to be supremely good. If, however, it were repugnant to the goodness of Deity to have created me subject to constant deception, it would seem likewise to be contrary to his goodness to allow me to be occasionally deceived, and yet it is clear that this is permitted. Some indeed might perhaps be found who would be disposed rather to deny the existence of a being so powerful than to believe that there is nothing certain. But let us for the present refrain from opposing this opinion and grant that all which is here said of a deity is fabulous. Nevertheless, in whatever way it be supposed that I reach the state in which I exist, whether by fate or chance, or by an endless series of antecedents and consequence, or by any other means, it is clear, to be deceived and to err is a certain defect, that the probability of my being so imperfect as to be the constant victim of deception will be increased exactly in proportion as the power possessed by the cause to which they assign my origin is lessened. To these reasonings I have assuredly nothing to reply, but I am constrained at last to avow that there is nothing of all that I formerly believed to be true of which it is impossible to doubt, and that, not through thoughtlessness or levity, but from cogent and maturely considered reasons, so that henceforth, if I desire to discover anything certain, I ought not the less carefully to refrain from assenting to those same opinions than to what might be shown to be manifestly false, but it is not sufficient to have made these observations. Care must be taken likewise to keep them in remembrance. For those old and customary opinions perpetually recur, long and familiar usage, giving them the right of occupying my mind, even almost against my will, and subduing my belief. Nor will I lose the habit of deferring to them and confiding in them so long as I shall consider them to be what in truth they are, namely, opinions to some extent doubtful, as I have already shown, but still highly probable and such as it is much more reasonable to believe than deny. It is for this reason I am persuaded that I shall not be doing wrong if, taking an opposite judgment of deliberate design, I become my own deceiver, by supposing, for a time, that all those opinions are entirely false and imaginary, until at length, having thus balanced my old by my new prejudices, my judgment shall no longer be turned aside by perverted usage from the path that may conduct to the perception of truth. For I am assured that, meanwhile, there will arise neither peril nor error from this course, and that I cannot, for the present, yield too much to distrust, since the end I now seek is not action, but knowledge. I will suppose, then, not that Deity, who is sovereignly good and the fountain of truth, but that some malignant demon, who is at once exceedingly potent and deceitful, has employed all his artifice to deceive me. I will suppose that the sky, the air, the earth, colours, figures, sounds, and all external things are nothing better than the illusions of dreams, by means of which this being has laid snares for my credulity. I will consider myself as without hands, eyes, flesh, blood, or any of the senses, and as falsely believing that I am possessed of these. I will continue resolutely fixed in this belief, and if indeed by this means it be not in my power to arrive at the knowledge of truth, I shall at least do what is in my power, namely, suspend my judgment, and guard with settled purpose against giving my assent to what is false, and being imposed upon by this deceiver whatever be his power and artifice. But this undertaking is arduous, and a certain indolence insensibly leads me back to my ordinary course of life. And, just as the captive, who perchance, was enjoying in his dreams an imaginary liberty, when he begins to suspect that it is but a vision, dreads awakening, and conspires with the agreeable illusions that the deception may be prolonged, so I, of my own accord, fall back into the train of my former beliefs, and fear to arouse myself from my slumber, lest the time of laborious wakefulness that would succeed this quiet rest, in place of bringing any light of day, should prove inadequate to dispel the darkness that will arise from the difficulties that have now been raised. End First Meditation. This recording is in the public domain. Second Meditation. This is 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. Second Meditation. Of the nature of the human mind, and that it is more easily known than the body. The meditation of yesterday has filled my mind with so many doubts that it is no longer in my power to forget them. Nor do I see, meanwhile, any principle on which they can be resolved. And, just as if I had fallen all of a sudden into very deep water, I am so greatly disconcerted as to be 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. 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. 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, I am, I exist, is necessarily true each time it is expressed by me or conceived in my mind. But I do not yet know with sufficient clearness what I am, though assured that I am, and hence, in the next place, I must take care lest perchance I inconsiderately substitute some other object in room of what is properly myself, and thus, wander from truth, even in that 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. 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 accountants, 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 subtle, 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. 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 towards deceiving me? Can I affirm that I possess any one of all those attributes of which I have lately spoken as belonging to the nature of body? After attentively considering them in my own mind, I find none of them that can properly be said to belong to myself. To recount them were idle and tedious. Let us pass then to the attributes of the soul. The first mentioned were the powers of nutrition and walking. But 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. Mentsiwe animus, understanding or reason, terms whose signification was before unknown to me. I am, however, a real thing and really existent. But what thing? The answer was a thinking thing. The question now arises. Am I ought 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 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 supposed 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 and image a finger, 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. But what then am I? A thinking thing, it has been said. But what is a thinking thing? It is a thing that doubts, understands, conceives, affirms, denies, wills, refuses, that imagines also, and perceives. Assuredly, it is not little if all these properties belong to my nature. But why should they not belong to it? Am I not that very being who now doubts of almost everything who for all that understands and conceives certain things who affirms one alone is 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 recipient 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 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, sentiere, which is nothing else than thinking. From this I begin to know what I am with somewhat greater clearness and distinctness than here to fore. 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. Let us now accordingly consider the objects that are commonly thought to be the most easily and likewise the most distinctly known namely 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 of 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. It was, perhaps, what I now think. Namely, 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 be 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 emits 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. Now, as 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 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 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 formally seem so, but is simply an intuition, inspectio, of the mind, which may be imperfect and confused as it formerly was, or very clear and distinct as it is at present, according as the attention is more or less directed to the elements which it contains and of which it is composed. But meanwhile, I feel greatly astonished when I observe the weakness of my mind and its proneness to error. For although, without at all giving expression to what I think, I consider all this in my own mind. Words yet occasionally impede my progress and I am almost led into error by the terms of ordinary language. We say, for example, that we see the same wax when it is before us, and not that we judge it to be the same from its retaining the same color and figure, whence I should forthwith be disposed to conclude that the wax is known by the 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. 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 a matter in mind, 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, 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 distinguished 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, I cannot nevertheless thus apprehend it without possessing a human mind. But finally, what shall I save 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 than 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 to account. But in conclusion I find I have insensibly reverted to the point I desired for since it is now manifest to me that bodies themselves are not properly perceived by the senses nor by the faculty of imagination, but by the intellect alone, and since they are not perceived because they are seen and touched, but only because they are understood or rightly comprehended by thought I readily discover that there is nothing more easily or clearly apprehended than my own mind. But because it is difficult to rid oneself 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 and second meditation this recording is in the public domain