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The Meditation of yesterday filled my mind with so
many doubts that it is no longer in my power to
forget them. And yet I do not see in what manner I
can resolve them; and, just as if I had all of a
sudden fallen into very deep water, I am so
disconcerted that I can neither make certain of
setting my feet on the bottom, nor can I swim and
so support myself on the surface. I shall
nevertheless make an effort and follow anew the
same path as that on which I yesterday entered,
i.e. I shall proceed by
setting aside all that in which the least doubt
could be supposed to exist, just as if I had
discovered that it was absolutely false; and I
shall ever follow in this road until I have met
with something which is certain, or at least, if
I can do nothing else, until I have learned for
certain that there is nothing in the world that
is certain. Archimedes, in order that he might
draw the terrestrial globe out of its place, and
transport it elsewhere, demanded only that one
point should be fixed and immoveable; in the
same way I shall have the right to conceive high
hopes if I am happy enough to discover one thing
only which is certain and indubitable. (Note 1)
I suppose, then, that all the
things that I see are false; I persuade myself
that nothing has ever existed of all that my
fallacious memory represents to me. I consider
that I possess no senses; I imagine that body,
figure, extension, movement and place are but
the fictions of my mind. What, then, can be
esteemed as true? Perhaps nothing at all, unless
that there is nothing in the world that is
certain. (Note 2)
But how can I know
there is not something different from those things
that I have just considered, of which one cannot
have the slightest doubt? Is
there not some God, or some other being by
whatever name we call it, who puts these
reflections into my mind? That is not necessary,
for is it not possible that I am capable of
producing them myself? (Note 3) I myself, am I not at
least something? But I have already denied that I
had senses and body. Yet I hesitate, for what
follows from that? Am I so
dependent on body and senses that I cannot exist
without these? (Note 4) But I was persuaded
that there was nothing in all the world, that
there was no heaven, no earth, that there were no
minds, nor any bodies: was I not then likewise
persuaded that I did not exist? Not at all; of a surety I myself
did exist since I persuaded myself of something
[or merely because I thought of something]. But
there is some deceiver or other, very powerful
and very cunning, who ever employs his ingenuity
in deceiving me. Then without doubt I exist also
if he deceives me, and let him deceive me as
much as he will, he can never cause me to be
nothing so long as I think that I am something.
So that after having reflected well and
carefully examined all things, we must come to
the definite conclusion that this proposition: I
am, I exist, is necessarily true each time that
I pronounce it, or that I mentally conceive it.
(Note 5)
But I do not yet know clearly
enough what I am, I who am certain that I am (Note 6) ; and hence I must be
careful to see that I do not imprudently take some
other object in place of myself, and thus that I
do not go astray in respect of this knowledge that
I hold to be the most certain and most evident of
all that I have formerly learned. That is why I
shall now consider anew what I believed myself to
be before I embarked upon these last reflections;
and of my former opinions I
shall withdraw all that might even in a small
degree be invalidated by the reasons which I
have just brought forward, in order that there
may be nothing at all left beyond what is
absolutely certain and indubitable. (Note 7)
What then did I formerly believe
myself to be? Undoubtedly I believed myself to
be a man. But what is a man? Shall I say a
reasonable animal? Certainly not; for then I
should have to inquire what an animal is, and
what is reasonable; and thus from a single
question I should insensibly fall into an
infinitude of others more difficult; and I
should not wish to waste the little time and
leisure remaining to me in trying to unravel
subtleties like these. (Note 8) But I shall rather stop
here to consider the thoughts which of themselves
spring up in my mind, and which were not inspired
by anything beyond my own nature alone when I
applied myself to the consideration of my being. In the first place, the, I
considered myself as having a face, hands, arms,
and all that system of members composed on bones
and flesh as seen in a corpse which I designated
by the name of body. In addition to this I
considered that I was nourished, that I walked,
that I felt, and that I thought, and I referred
all these actions to the soul: but I did not
stop to consider what the soul was, or if I did
stop, I imagined that it was something extremely
rare and subtle like a wind, a flame, or an
ether, which was spread throughout my grosser
parts. As to body I had no manner of doubt about
its nature, but thought I had a very clear
knowledge of it; and if I had desired to explain
it according to the notions that I had then
formed of it, I should have described it thus:
By the body I understand all that which can be
defined by a certain figure: something which can
be confined in a certain place, and which can
fill a given space in such a way that every
other body will be excluded from it; which can
be perceived either by touch, or by sight, or by
hearing, or by taste, or by smell: which can be
moved in many ways not, in truth, by itself, but
by something which is foreign to it, by which it
is touched [and from which it receives
impressions]: for to have the power of
self-movement, as also of feeling or of
thinking, I did not consider to appertain to the
nature of body: on the contrary, I was rather
astonished to find that faculties similar to
them existed in some bodies. (Note 9)
But what am I, now that I
suppose that there is a certain genius which is
extremely powerful, and, if I may say so,
malicious, who employs all his powers in
deceiving me? Can I affirm that I possess the
least of all those things which I have just said
pertain to the nature of body? (Note 10) I pause to
consider, I revolve all these things in my mind,
and I find none of which I can say that it
pertains to me. It would be tedious to stop to
enumerate them. Let us pass to the attributes of
soul and see if there is any one which is in me?
What of nutrition or walking [the first
mentioned]? But if it is so that I have no body it
is also true that I can neither walk nor take
nourishment. Another attribute is sensation. But
one cannot feel without body, and besides I have
thought I perceived many things during sleep that
I recognised in my waking moments as not having
been experienced at all. What
of thinking? I find here that thought is an
attribute that belongs to me; it alone cannot be
separated from me. I am, I exist, that is
certain. But how often? Just when I think; for
it might possibly be the case if I ceased
entirely to think, that I should likewise cease
altogether to exist. I do not now admit anything
which is not necessarily true: to speak
accurately I am not more than a thing which
thinks, that is to say a mind or a soul, or an
understanding, or a reason, which are terms
whose significance was formerly unknown to me. I
am, however, a real thing and really exist; but
what thing? I have answered: a thing which
thinks. (Note 11)
And what more? I
shall exercise my imagination [in order to see if
I am not something more]. I
am not a collection of members which we call the
human body: I am not a subtle air distributed
through these members, I am not a wind, a fire,
a vapour, a breath, nor anything at all which I
can imagine or conceive; because I have assumed
that all these were nothing. (Note 12) Without changing that
supposition I find that I
only leave myself certain of the fact that I am
somewhat. But perhaps it is true that these same
things which I supposed were non-existent
because they are unknown to me, are really not
different from the self which I know. (Note 13) I am not sure about
this, I shall not dispute about it now; I can only give judgment on
things that are known to me. I know that I
exist, and I inquire what I am, I whom I know to
exist. But it is very certain that the knowledge
of my existence taken in its precise
significance does not depend on things whose
existence is not yet known to me; consequently
it does not depend on those which I can feign in
imagination. (Note 14) And indeed the
very term feign in imagination10 proves
to me my error, for I really do this if I image
myself a something, since to imagine is nothing
else than to contemplate the figure or image of a
corporeal thing. But I
already know for certain that I am, and that it
may be that all these images, and, speaking
generally, all things that relate to the nature
of body are nothing but dreams [and chimeras].
(Note 15) For this reason I see
clearly that I have as little reason to say, I
shall stimulate my imagination in order to know
more distinctly what I am, than if I were to say,
I am now awake, and I perceive somewhat that is
real and true: but because I do not yet perceive
it distinctly enough, I shall go to sleep of
express purpose, so that my dreams may represent
the perception with greatest truth and evidence.
And, thus, I know for certain that nothing of all
that I can understand by means of my imagination
belongs to this knowledge which I have of myself,
and that it is necessary to recall the mind from
this mode of thought with the utmost diligence in
order that it may be able to know its own nature
with perfect distinctness.
But what then am I? A thing
which thinks. What is a thing which thinks? It
is a thing which doubts, understands,
[conceives], affirms, denies, wills, refuses,
which also imagines and feels. (Note 16)
Certainly it is no
small matter if all these things pertain to my
nature. But why should they not so pertain? Am I not that being who now
doubts nearly everything, who nevertheless
understands certain things, who affirms that one
only is true, who denies all the others, who
desires to know more, is averse from being
deceived, who imagines many things, sometimes
indeed despite his will, and who perceives many
likewise, as by the intervention of the bodily
organs? Is there nothing in all this which is as
true as it is certain that I exist, even though
I should always sleep and though he who has
given me being employed all his ingenuity in
deceiving me? Is there likewise any one of these
attributes which can be distinguished from my
thought, or which might be said to be separated
from myself? For it is so evident of itself that
it is I who doubts, who understands, and who
desires, that there is no reason here to add
anything to explain it. And I have certainly the
power of imagining likewise; for although it may
happen (as I formerly supposed) that none of the
things which I imagine are true, nevertheless
this power of imagining does not cease to be
really in use, and it forms part of my thought.
Finally, I am the same who feels, that is to
say, who perceives certain things, as by the
organs of sense, since in truth I see light, I
hear noise, I feel heat. But it will be said
that these phenomena are false and that I am
dreaming. Let it be so; still it is at least
quite certain that it seems to me that I see
light, that I hear noise and that I feel heat.
That cannot be false; properly speaking it is
what is in me called feeling;11 and
used in this precise sense that is no other
thing than thinking. (Note 17)
From this time I
begin to know what I am with a little more
clearness and distinction than before; but
nevertheless it still seems
to me, and I cannot prevent myself from
thinking, that corporeal things, whose images
are framed by thought, which are tested by the
senses, are much more distinctly known than that
obscure part of me which does not come under the
imagination. (Note 18) Although really it is very strange to say that I
know and understand more distinctly these things
whose existence seems to me dubious, which are
unknown to me, and which do not belong to me,
than others of the truth of which I am
convinced, which are known to me and which
pertain to my real nature, in a word, than
myself. (Note 19) But I see clearly how
the case stands: my mind loves to wander, and
cannot yet suffer itself to be retained within the
just limits of truth. Very good, let us once more
give it the freest rein, so that, when afterwards
we seize the proper occasion for pulling up, it
may the more easily be regulated and controlled.
Let us begin by considering the
commonest matters, those which we believe to be
the most distinctly comprehended, to wit, the
bodies which we touch and see; not indeed bodies
in general, for these general ideas are usually
a little more confused, but let us consider one
body in particular. Let us take, for example,
this piece of wax (Note 20) : it has been taken
quite freshly from the hive, and it has not yet
lost the sweetness of the honey which it contains;
it still retains somewhat of the odour of the
flowers from which it has been culled; its colour,
its figure, its size are apparent; it is hard,
cold, easily handled, and if you strike it with
the finger, it will emit a sound. Finally all the
things which are requisite to cause us distinctly
to recognise a body, are met with in it. But
notice that while I speak and approach the fire
what remained of the taste is exhaled, the smell
evaporates, the colour alters, the figure is
destroyed, the size increases, it becomes liquid,
it heats, scarcely can one handle it, and when one
strikes it, now no sound is emitted. Does the same wax remain after
this change? We must confess that it remains;
none would judge otherwise. What then did I know
so distinctly in this piece of wax? It could
certainly be nothing of all that the senses
brought to my notice, since all these things
which fall under taste, smell, sight, touch, and
hearing, are found to be changed, and yet the
same wax remains. (Note 21)
And
these passages seem to me clearly fallacious: That
apparently real things have changeable qualities
makes them neither more nor less real.
Perhaps it was what
I now think, viz. that this wax was not that
sweetness of honey, nor that agreeable scent of
flowers, nor that particular whiteness, nor that
figure, nor that sound, but simply a body which a
little while before appeared to me as perceptible
under these forms, and which is now perceptible
under others. But what,
precisely, is it that I imagine when I form such
conceptions? Let us attentively consider this,
and, abstracting from all that does nost belong
to the wax, let us see what remains. Certainly
nothing remains excepting a certain extended
thing which is flexible and movable. (Note 22)
But what is the meaning of flexible and movable?
Is it not that I imagine that this piece of wax
being round is capable of becoming square and of
passing from a square to a triangular figure? No,
certainly it is not that, since I imagine it
admits of an infinitude of similar changes, and I
nevertheless do not know how to compass the
infinitude by my imagination, and consequently
this conception which I have of the wax is not
brought about by the faculty of imagination. What now is this extension? Is
it not also unknown? For it becomes greater when
the wax is melted, greater when it is boiled,
and greater still when the heat increases; and I
should not conceive [clearly] according to truth
what wax is, if I did not think that even this
piece that we are considering is capable of
receiving more variations in extension than I
have ever imagined. We must then grant that I
could not even understand through the
imagination what this piece of wax is, and that
it is my mind12 alone which perceives
it. (Note 23)
I say this piece of wax in particular, for as to
wax in general it is yet clearer. But what is this piece of wax
which cannot be understood excepting by the
[understanding or] mind? It is certainly the
same that I see, touch, imagine, and finally it
is the same which I have always believed it to
be from the beginning. But what must
particularly be observed is that its perception
is neither an act of vision, nor of touch, nor
of imagination, and has never been such although
it may have appeared formerly to be so, but only
an intuition13 of the mind, (Note 24)
which may be imperfect and confused as it was
formerly, or clear and distinct as it is at
present, according as my attention is more or less
directed to the elements which are found in it,
and of which it is composed.
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Yet in the meantime I
am greatly astonished when I consider [the great
feebleness of mind] and its proneness to fall
[insensibly] into error; for although without
giving expression to my thought I consider all
this in my own mind, words often impede me and I
am almost deceived by the terms of ordinary
language. (Note 25)
For we say that we see the same wax, if it is
present, and not that we simply judge that it is the
same from its having the same colour and figure. From this I should conclude that I
knew the wax by means of vision and not simply by
the intuition of the mind; unless by chance I
remember that, when looking from a window and
saying I see men who pass in the street, I really
do not see them, but infer that what I see is men,
just as I say that I see wax. And yet what do I
see from the window but hats and coats which may
cover automatic machines? Yet I judge these to be
men. And similarly solely by the faculty of
judgment which rests in my mind, I comprehend that
which I believed I saw with my eyes. (Note 26)
A man who makes it
his aim to raise his knowledge above the common
should be ashamed to derive the occasion for
doubting from the forms of speech invented by the
vulgar; I prefer to pass on and consider whether I
had a more evident and perfect conception of what
the wax was when I first perceived it, and when I believed I knew it by
means of the external senses or at least by the
common sense14 as it is called, that
is to say by the imaginative faculty (Note 27),
or whether my present conception is clearer now
that I have most carefully examined what it is,
and in what way it can be known. It would
certainly be absurd to doubt as to this. For what was there in this first
perception which was distinct? What was there
which might not as well have been perceived by
any of the animals? But when I distinguish the
wax from its external forms, and when, just as
if I had taken from it its vestments, I consider
it quite naked, it is certain that although some
error may still be found in my judgment, I can
nevertheless not perceive it thus without a
human mind. (Note 28)
But finally what shall I say of
this mind, that is, of myself, for up to this
point I do not admit in myself anything but
mind? What then, I who seem to perceive this
piece of wax so distinctly, do I not know
myself, not only with much more truth and
certainty, but also with much more distinctness
and clearness? For if I judge that the wax is or
exists from the fact that I see it, it certainly
follows much more clearly that I am or that I
exist myself from the fact that I see it. For it
may be that what I see is not really wax, it may
also be that I do not possess eyes with which to
see anything; but it cannot be that when I see,
or (for I no longer take account of the
distinction) when I think I see, that I myself
who think am nought. So if I judge that the wax
exists from the fact that I touch it, the same
thing will follow, to wit, that I am (Note 29);
and if I judge that my imagination, or some other
cause, whatever it is, persuades me that the wax
exists, I shall still conclude the same. And what
I have here remarked of wax may be applied to all
other things which are external to me [and which
are met with outside of me]. And further, if the
[notion or] perception of wax has seemed to me
clearer and more distinct, not only after the
sight or the touch, but also after many other
causes have rendered it quite manifest to me, with how much more [evidence]
and distinctness must it be said that I now know
myself, since all the reasons which contribute
to the knowledge of wax, or any other body
whatever, are yet better proofs of the nature of
my mind! (Note 30)
And there are so many other things in the mind
itself which may contribute to the elucidation of
its nature, that those which depend on body such
as these just mentioned, hardly merit being taken
into account.
But finally here I
am, having insensibly reverted to the point I
desired, for, since it is
now manifest to me that even bodies are not
properly speaking known by the senses or by the
faculty of imagination, but by the understanding
only (Note 31)
, and since they are not
known from the fact that they are seen or
touched, but only because they are understood, I
see clearly that there is nothing which is
easier for me to know than my mind. (Note 32)
But because it is difficult to rid oneself so
promptly of an opinion to which one was accustomed
for so long, it will be well that I should halt a
little at this point, so that by the length of my
meditation I may more deeply imprint on my memory
this new knowledge.
last update: Jun 19 2003
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