Second Meditation
Of the Nature
of the Human Mind; and that it is More Easily Known than the Body
Rene Descartes
1. The Meditation of yesterday has filled my mind with so many doubts,
that it is no longer in my power to forget them. Nor do I see, meanwhile, any
principle on which they can be resolved; and, just as if I had fallen all of
a sudden into very deep water, I am so greatly disconcerted as to be unable
either to plant my feet firmly on the bottom or sustain myself by swimming on
the surface. I will, nevertheless, make an effort, and try anew the same path
on which I had entered yesterday, that is, proceed by casting aside all that
admits of the slightest doubt, not less than if I had discovered it to be
absolutely false; and I will continue always in this track until I shall find
something that is certain, or at least, if I can do nothing more, until I
shall know with certainty that there is nothing certain. Archimedes, that he
might transport the entire globe from the place it occupied to another,
demanded only a point that was firm and immovable; so, also, I shall be
entitled to entertain the highest expectations, if I am fortunate enough to
discover only one thing that is certain and indubitable. 2. I suppose, accordingly, that all the things which I see are false
(fictitious); I believe that none of those objects which my fallacious memory
represents ever existed; I suppose that I possess no senses; I believe that
body, figure, extension, motion, and place are merely fictions of my mind.
What is there, then, that can be esteemed true? Perhaps this only, that there
is absolutely nothing certain. 3. But how do I know that there is not something different altogether
from the objects I have now enumerated, of which it is impossible to
entertain the slightest doubt? Is there not a God, or some being, by whatever
name I may designate him, who causes these thoughts to arise in my mind? But
why suppose such a being, for it may be I myself am capable of producing
them? Am 4. But I do not yet know with sufficient clearness what I am, though
assured that I am; and hence, in the next place, I must take care, lest
perchance I inconsiderately substitute some other object in room of what is
properly myself, and thus wander from truth, even in that knowledge (
cognition ) which I hold to be of all others the most certain and evident.
For this reason, I will now consider anew what I formerly believed myself to
be, before I entered on the present train of thought; and of my previous
opinion I will retrench all that can in the least be invalidated by the
grounds of doubt I have adduced, in order that there may at length remain nothing
but what is certain and indubitable. 5. What then did I formerly think I was? Undoubtedly I judged that I
was a man. But what is a man ? Shall I say a rational animal? Assuredly not;
for it would be necessary forthwith to inquire into what is meant by animal,
and what by rational, and thus, from a single question, I should insensibly
glide into others, and these more difficult than the first; nor do I now
possess enough of leisure to warrant me in wasting my time amid subtleties of
this sort. I prefer here to attend to the thoughts that sprung up of
themselves in my mind, and were inspired by my own nature alone, when I
applied myself to the consideration of what I was. In the first place, then,
I thought that I possessed a countenance, hands, arms, and all the fabric of
members that appears in a corpse, and which I called by the name of body. It
further occurred to me that I was nourished, that I walked, perceived, and
thought, and all those actions I referred to the soul; but what the soul
itself was I either did not stay to consider, or, if I did, I imagined that
it was something extremely rare and 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. 6. But [as to myself, what can I now say that I am], since I suppose
there exists an extremely powerful, and, if I may so speak, malignant being,
whose whole endeavors are directed toward deceiving me? Can I affirm that I
possess any one of all those attributes of which I have lately spoken as
belonging to the nature of body ? After attentively considering them in my
own mind, I find none of them that can properly be said to belong to myself.
To recount them were idle and tedious. Let us pass, then, to the attributes
of the soul. The first mentioned were the powers of nutrition and walking;
but, if it be true that I have no body, it is true likewise that I am capable
neither of walking nor of being nourished. Perception is another attribute of
the soul; but perception too is impossible without the body; besides, I have
frequently, during sleep, believed that I perceived objects which I afterward
observed I did not in reality perceive. Thinking is another attribute of the
soul; and here I discover what properly belongs to myself. This alone is
inseparable from me. I am--I exist: this is certain; but how often? As often
as I think; for perhaps it would even happen, if I should wholly cease to
think, that I should at the same time altogether cease to be. I now admit
nothing that is not necessarily true. I am therefore, precisely speaking,
only a thinking thing, that is, a mind (mens sive animus), understanding,
or reason, terms whose signification was before unknown to me. I am, however,
a real thing, and really existent; but what thing? The answer was, a thinking
thing.
8. But what, then, am I? A thinking thing, it has been said. But what
is a thinking thing? It is a thing that doubts, understands, [conceives],
affirms, denies, wills, refuses; that imagines also, and perceives. 9. Assuredly it is not little, if all these properties belong to my
nature. But why should they not belong to it? Am I not that very being who
now doubts of almost everything; who, for all that, understands and conceives
certain things; who affirms one alone as true, and denies the others; who
desires to know more of them, and does not wish to be deceived; who imagines
many things, sometimes even despite his will; and is likewise percipient of many,
as if through the medium of the senses. Is there nothing of all this as true
as that I am, even although I should be always dreaming, and although he who
gave me being employed all his ingenuity to deceive me ? Is there also any
one of these attributes that can be properly distinguished from my thought,
or that can be said to be separate from myself? For it is of itself so
evident that it is I who doubt, I who understand, and I who desire, that it
is here unnecessary to add anything by way of rendering it more clear. And I
am as certainly the same being who imagines; for although it may be (as I
before supposed) that nothing I imagine is true, still the power of
imagination does not cease really to exist in me and to form part of my
thought. In fine, I am the same being who perceives, that is, who apprehends
certain objects as by the organs of sense, since, in truth, I see light, hear
a noise, and feel heat. But it will be said that these presentations are
false, and that I am dreaming. Let it be so. At all events it is certain that
I seem to see light, hear a noise, and feel heat; this cannot be false, and
this is what in me is properly called perceiving (sentire), which is
nothing else than thinking. 10. From this I begin to know what I am with somewhat greater
clearness and distinctness than heretofore. But, nevertheless, it still seems
to me, and I cannot help believing, that corporeal things, whose images are
formed by thought [which fall under the senses], and are examined by the
same, are known with much greater distinctness than that I know not what part
of myself which is not imaginable; although, in truth, it may seem strange to
say that I know and comprehend with greater distinctness things whose
existence appears to me doubtful, that are unknown, and do not belong to me,
than others of whose reality I am persuaded, that are known to me, and
appertain to my proper nature; in a word, than myself. But I see clearly what
is the state of the case. My mind is apt to wander, and will not yet submit
to be restrained within the limits of truth. Let us therefore leave the mind
to itself once more, and, according to it every kind of liberty [permit it to
consider the objects that appear to it from without], in order that, having
afterward withdrawn it from these gently and opportunely [and fixed it on the
consideration of its being and the properties it finds in itself], it may
then be the more easily controlled. 11. Let us now accordingly consider the objects that are commonly
thought to be [the most easily, and likewise] the most distinctly known, viz,
the bodies we touch and see; not, indeed, bodies in general, for these
general notions are usually somewhat more confused, but one body in
particular. Take, for example, this piece of wax; it is quite fresh, having
been but recently taken from the beehive; it has not yet lost the sweetness
of the honey it contained; it still retains somewhat of the odor of the
flowers from which it was gathered; its color, figure, size, are apparent (to
the sight ); it is hard, cold, easily handled; and sounds when struck upon
with the finger. In fine, all that contributes to make a body as distinctly
known as possible, is found in the one before us. But, while I am speaking,
let it be placed near the fire--what remained of the taste exhales, the smell
evaporates, the color changes, its figure is destroyed, its size increases,
it becomes liquid, it grows hot, it can hardly be handled, and, although
struck upon, it emits no sound. Does the same wax still remain after this
change? It must be admitted that it does remain; no one doubts it, or judges
otherwise. What, then, was it I knew with so much distinctness in the piece
of wax? Assuredly, it could be nothing of all that I observed by means of the
senses, since all the things that fell under taste, smell, sight, touch, and
hearing are changed, and yet the same wax remains. 12. It was perhaps what I now think, viz, that this wax was neither
the sweetness of honey, the pleasant odor of flowers, the whiteness, the
figure, nor the sound, but only a body that a little before appeared to me
conspicuous under these forms, and which is now perceived under others. But,
to speak precisely, what is it that I imagine when I think of it in this way?
Let it be attentively considered, and, retrenching all that does not belong
to the wax, let us see what remains. There certainly remains nothing, except
something extended, flexible, and movable. But what is meant by flexible and
movable? Is it not that I imagine that the piece of wax, being round, is
capable of becoming square, or of passing from a square into a triangular
figure? Assuredly such is not the case, because I conceive that it admits of
an infinity of similar changes; and I am, moreover, unable to compass this
infinity 13. But, meanwhile, I feel greatly astonished when I observe [the
weakness of my mind, and] its proneness to error. For although, without at
all giving expression to what I think, I consider all this in my own mind,
words yet occasionally impede my progress, and I am almost led into error by
the terms of ordinary language. We say, for example, that we see the same wax
when it is before us, and not that we judge it to be the same from its
retaining the same color and figure: whence I should forthwith be disposed to
conclude that the wax is known by the act of sight, and not by the intuition
of the mind alone, were it not for the analogous instance of human beings
passing on in the street below, as observed from a window. In this case I do
not fail to say that I see the men themselves, just as I say that I see the
wax; and yet what do I see from the window beyond hats and cloaks that might
cover artificial machines, whose motions might be determined by springs? But
I judge that there are human beings from these appearances, and thus I
comprehend, by the faculty of judgment alone which is in the mind, what I
believed I saw with my eyes. 14. The man who makes it his aim to rise to knowledge superior to the
common, ought to be ashamed to seek occasions of doubting from the vulgar
forms of speech: instead, therefore, of doing this, I shall proceed with the
matter in hand, and inquire whether I had a clearer and more perfect
perception of the piece of wax when I first saw it, and when I thought I knew
it by means of the external sense itself, or, at all events, by the common
sense (sensus communis), as it is called, that is, by the imaginative
faculty; or whether I rather apprehend it more clearly at present, after
having examined with greater care, both what it is, and in what way it can be
known. It would certainly be ridiculous to entertain any doubt on this point.
For what, in that first perception, was there distinct? What did I perceive
which any animal might not have perceived? But when I distinguish the wax
from its exterior forms, and when, as if I had stripped it of its vestments,
I consider it quite naked, it is certain, although some error may still be
found in my judgment, that I cannot, nevertheless, thus apprehend it without
possessing a human mind. 15. But finally, what shall I say of the mind itself, that is, of
myself? For as yet I do not admit that I am anything but mind. What, then! I
who seem to possess so distinct an apprehension of the piece of wax, do I not
know myself, both with greater truth and certitude, and also much more
distinctly and clearly? For if I judge that the wax exists because I see it,
it assuredly follows, much more evidently, that I myself am or exist, for the
same reason: for it is possible that what I see may not in truth be wax, and
that I do not even possess eyes with which to see anything; but it cannot be
that when I see, or, which comes to the same thing, when I think I see, I
myself who think am nothing. So likewise, if I judge that the wax exists
because I touch it, it will still also follow that I am; and if I determine
that my imagination, or any other cause, whatever it be, persuades me of the
existence of the wax, I will still draw the same conclusion. And what is here
remarked of the piece of wax, is applicable to all the other things that are
external to me. And further, if the [notion or] perception of wax appeared to
me more precise and distinct, after that not only sight and touch, but many
other causes besides, rendered it manifest to my apprehension, with how much
greater distinctness must I now know myself, since all the reasons that
contribute to the knowledge of the nature of wax, or of any body whatever,
manifest still better the nature of my mind? And there are besides so many
other things in the mind itself that contribute to the illustration of its
nature, that those dependent on the body, to which I have here referred,
scarcely merit to be taken into account. 16. But, in conclusion, I find I have insensibly reverted to the point
I desired; for, since it is now manifest to me that bodies themselves are not
properly perceived by the senses nor by the faculty of imagination, but by
the intellect alone; and since they are not perceived because they are seen
and touched, but only because they are understood [ or rightly comprehended
by thought ], I readily discover that there is nothing more easily or clearly
apprehended than my own mind. But because it is difficult to rid one's self
so promptly of an opinion to which one has been long accustomed, it will be
desirable to tarry for some time at this stage, that, by long continued
meditation, I may more deeply impress upon my memory this new knowledge. Text from http://www.wright.edu/cola/descartes/meditation2.html#e16 |
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