PART III

And finally, as it is not enough, before commencing to rebuild the house

in which we live, that it be pulled down, and materials and builders

provided, or that we engage in the work ourselves, according to a plan

which we have beforehand carefully drawn out, but as it is likewise

necessary that we be furnished with some other house in which we may live

commodiously during the operations, so that I might not remain irresolute

in my actions, while my reason compelled me to suspend my judgement, and

that I might not be prevented from living thenceforward in the greatest

possible felicity, I formed a provisory code of morals, composed of three

or four maxims, with which I am desirous to make you acquainted.

The first was to obey the laws and customs of my country, adhering firmly

to the faith in which, by the grace of God, I had been educated from my

childhood and regulating my conduct in every other matter according to the

most moderate opinions, and the farthest removed from extremes, which

should happen to be adopted in practice with general consent of the most

judicious of those among whom I might be living. For as I had from that

time begun to hold my own opinions for nought because I wished to subject

them all to examination, I was convinced that I could not do better than

follow in the meantime the opinions of the most judicious; and although

there are some perhaps among the Persians and Chinese as judicious as

among ourselves, expediency seemed to dictate that I should regulate my

practice conformably to the opinions of those with whom I should have to

live; and it appeared to me that, in order to ascertain the real opinions

of such, I ought rather to take cognizance of what they practised than of

what they said, not only because, in the corruption of our manners, there

are few disposed to speak exactly as they believe, but also because very

many are not aware of what it is that they really believe; for, as the act

of mind by which a thing is believed is different from that by which we

know that we believe it, the one act is often found without the other.

Also, amid many opinions held in equal repute, I chose always the most

moderate, as much for the reason that these are always the most convenient

for practice, and probably the best (for all excess is generally vicious),

as that, in the event of my falling into error, I might be at less

distance from the truth than if, having chosen one of the extremes, it

should turn out to be the other which I ought to have adopted. And I

placed in the class of extremes especially all promises by which somewhat

of our freedom is abridged; not that I disapproved of the laws which, to

provide against the instability of men of feeble resolution, when what is

sought to be accomplished is some good, permit engagements by vows and

contracts binding the parties to persevere in it, or even, for the

security of commerce, sanction similar engagements where the purpose

sought to be realized is indifferent: but because I did not find anything

on earth which was wholly superior to change, and because, for myself in

particular, I hoped gradually to perfect my judgments, and not to suffer

them to deteriorate, I would have deemed it a grave sin against good

sense, if, for the reason that I approved of something at a particular

time, I therefore bound myself to hold it for good at a subsequent time,

when perhaps it had ceased to be so, or I had ceased to esteem it such.

My second maxim was to be as firm and resolute in my actions as I was

able, and not to adhere less steadfastly to the most doubtful opinions,

when once adopted, than if they had been highly certain; imitating in this

the example of travelers who, when they have lost their way in a forest,

ought not to wander from side to side, far less remain in one place, but

proceed constantly towards the same side in as straight a line as

possible, without changing their direction for slight reasons, although

perhaps it might be chance alone which at first determined the selection;

for in this way, if they do not exactly reach the point they desire, they

will come at least in the end to some place that will probably be

preferable to the middle of a forest. In the same way, since in action it

frequently happens that no delay is permissible, it is very certain that,

when it is not in our power to determine what is true, we ought to act

according to what is most probable; and even although we should not remark

a greater probability in one opinion than in another, we ought

notwithstanding to choose one or the other, and afterwards consider it, in

so far as it relates to practice, as no longer dubious, but manifestly

true and certain, since the reason by which our choice has been

determined is itself possessed of these qualities. This principle was

sufficient thenceforward to rid me of all those repentings and pangs of

remorse that usually disturb the consciences of such feeble and uncertain

minds as, destitute of any clear and determinate principle of choice,

allow themselves one day to adopt a course of action as the best, which

they abandon the next, as the opposite.

My third maxim was to endeavor always to conquer myself rather than

fortune, and change my desires rather than the order of the world, and in

general, accustom myself to the persuasion that, except our own thoughts,

there is nothing absolutely in our power; so that when we have done our

best in things external to us, all wherein we fail of success is to be

held, as regards us, absolutely impossible: and this single principle

seemed to me sufficient to prevent me from desiring for the future

anything which I could not obtain, and thus render me contented; for since

our will naturally seeks those objects alone which the understanding

represents as in some way possible of attainment, it is plain, that if we

consider all external goods as equally beyond our power, we shall no more

regret the absence of such goods as seem due to our birth, when deprived

of them without any fault of ours, than our not possessing the kingdoms

of China or Mexico, and thus making, so to speak, a virtue of necessity,

we shall no more desire health in disease, or freedom in imprisonment,

than we now do bodies incorruptible as diamonds, or the wings of birds to

fly with. But I confess there is need of prolonged discipline and

frequently repeated meditation to accustom the mind to view all objects in

this light; and I believe that in this chiefly consisted the secret of the

power of such philosophers as in former times were enabled to rise

superior to the influence of fortune, and, amid suffering and poverty,

enjoy a happiness which their gods might have envied. For, occupied

incessantly with the consideration of the limits prescribed to their power

by nature, they became so entirely convinced that nothing was at their

disposal except their own thoughts, that this conviction was of itself

sufficient to prevent their entertaining any desire of other objects; and

over their thoughts they acquired a sway so absolute, that they had some

ground on this account for esteeming themselves more rich and more

powerful, more free and more happy, than other men who, whatever be the

favors heaped on them by nature and fortune, if destitute of this

philosophy, can never command the realization of all their desires.

In fine, to conclude this code of morals, I thought of reviewing the

different occupations of men in this life, with the view of making choice

of the best. And, without wishing to offer any remarks on the employments

of others, I may state that it was my conviction that I could not do

better than continue in that in which I was engaged, viz., in devoting my

whole life to the culture of my reason, and in making the greatest

progress I was able in the knowledge of truth, on the principles of the

method which I had prescribed to myself. This method, from the time I had

begun to apply it, had been to me the source of satisfaction so intense as

to lead me to, believe that more perfect or more innocent could not be

enjoyed in this life; and as by its means I daily discovered truths that

appeared to me of some importance, and of which other men were generally

ignorant, the gratification thence arising so occupied my mind that I was

wholly indifferent to every other object. Besides, the three preceding

maxims were founded singly on the design of continuing the work of self-

instruction. For since God has endowed each of us with some light of

reason by which to distinguish truth from error, I could not have believed

that I ought for a single moment to rest satisfied with the opinions of

another, unless I had resolved to exercise my own judgment in examining

these whenever I should be duly qualified for the task. Nor could I have

proceeded on such opinions without scruple, had I supposed that I should

thereby forfeit any advantage for attaining still more accurate, should

such exist. And, in fine, I could not have restrained my desires, nor

remained satisfied had I not followed a path in which I thought myself

certain of attaining all the knowledge to the acquisition of which I was

competent, as well as the largest amount of what is truly good which I

could ever hope to secure Inasmuch as we neither seek nor shun any object

except in so far as our understanding represents it as good or bad, all

that is necessary to right action is right judgment, and to the best

action the most correct judgment, that is, to the acquisition of all the

virtues with all else that is truly valuable and within our reach; and the

assurance of such an acquisition cannot fail to render us contented.

Having thus provided myself with these maxims, and having placed them in

reserve along with the truths of faith, which have ever occupied the

first place in my belief, I came to the conclusion that I might with

freedom set about ridding myself of what remained of my opinions. And,

inasmuch as I hoped to be better able successfully to accomplish this work

by holding intercourse with mankind, than by remaining longer shut up in

the retirement where these thoughts had occurred to me, I betook me again

to traveling before the winter was well ended. And, during the nine

subsequent years, I did nothing but roam from one place to another,

desirous of being a spectator rather than an actor in the plays exhibited

on the theater of the world; and, as I made it my business in each matter

to reflect particularly upon what might fairly be doubted and prove a

source of error, I gradually rooted out from my mind all the errors which

had hitherto crept into it. Not that in this I imitated the sceptics who

doubt only that they may doubt, and seek nothing beyond uncertainty

itself; for, on the contrary, my design was singly to find ground of

assurance, and cast aside the loose earth and sand, that I might reach

the rock or the clay. In this, as appears to me, I was successful enough;

for, since I endeavored to discover the falsehood or incertitude of the

propositions I examined, not by feeble conjectures, but by clear and

certain reasonings, I met with nothing so doubtful as not to yield some

conclusion of adequate certainty, although this were merely the inference,

that the matter in question contained nothing certain. And, just as in

pulling down an old house, we usually reserve the ruins to contribute

towards the erection, so, in destroying such of my opinions as I judged to

be Ill-founded, I made a variety of observations and acquired an amount of

experience of which I availed myself in the establishment of more certain.

And further, I continued to exercise myself in the method I had

prescribed; for, besides taking care in general to conduct all my thoughts

according to its rules, I reserved some hours from time to time which I

expressly devoted to the employment of the method in the solution of

mathematical difficulties, or even in the solution likewise of some

questions belonging to other sciences, but which, by my having detached

them from such principles of these sciences as were of inadequate

certainty, were rendered almost mathematical: the truth of this will be

manifest from the numerous examples contained in this volume. And thus,

without in appearance living otherwise than those who, with no other

occupation than that of spending their lives agreeably and innocently,

study to sever pleasure from vice, and who, that they may enjoy their

leisure without ennui, have recourse to such pursuits as are honorable, I

was nevertheless prosecuting my design, and making greater progress in the

knowledge of truth, than I might, perhaps, have made had I been engaged in

the perusal of books merely, or in holding converse with men of letters.

These nine years passed away, however, before I had come to any

determinate judgment respecting the difficulties which form matter of

dispute among the learned, or had commenced to seek the principles of any

philosophy more certain than the vulgar. And the examples of many men of

the highest genius, who had, in former times, engaged in this inquiry,

but, as appeared to me, without success, led me to imagine it to be a work

of so much difficulty, that I would not perhaps have ventured on it so

soon had I not heard it currently rumored that I had already completed

the inquiry. I know not what were the grounds of this opinion; and, if my

conversation contributed in any measure to its rise, this must have

happened rather from my having confessed my Ignorance with greater freedom

than those are accustomed to do who have studied a little, and expounded

perhaps, the reasons that led me to doubt of many of those things that by

others are esteemed certain, than from my having boasted of any system of

philosophy. But, as I am of a disposition that makes me unwilling to be

esteemed different from what I really am, I thought it necessary to

endeavor by all means to render myself worthy of the reputation accorded

to me; and it is now exactly eight years since this desire constrained me

to remove from all those places where interruption from any of my

acquaintances was possible, and betake myself to this country, in which

the long duration of the war has led to the establishment of such

discipline, that the armies maintained seem to be of use only in enabling

the inhabitants to enjoy more securely the blessings of peace and where,

in the midst of a great crowd actively engaged in business, and more

careful of their own affairs than curious about those of others, I have

been enabled to live without being deprived of any of the conveniences to

be had in the most populous cities, and yet as solitary and as retired as

in the midst of the most remote deserts.

PART IV

I am in doubt as to the propriety of making my first meditations in the

place above mentioned matter of discourse; for these are so metaphysical,

and so uncommon, as not, perhaps, to be acceptable to every one. And yet,

that it may be determined whether the foundations that I have laid are

sufficiently secure, I find myself in a measure constrained to advert to

them. I had long before remarked that, in relation to practice, it is

sometimes necessary to adopt, as if above doubt, opinions which we discern

to be highly uncertain, as has been already said; but as I then desired to

give my attention solely to the search after truth, I thought that a

procedure exactly the opposite was called for, and that I ought to reject

as absolutely false all opinions in regard to which I could suppose the

least ground for doubt, in order to ascertain whether after that there

remained aught in my belief that was wholly indubitable. Accordingly,

seeing that our senses sometimes deceive us, I was willing to suppose that

there existed nothing really such as they presented to us; and because

some men err in reasoning, and fall into paralogisms, even on the simplest

matters of geometry, I, convinced that I was as open to error as any

other, rejected as false all the reasonings I had hitherto taken for

demonstrations; and finally, when I considered that the very same thoughts

(presentations) which we experience when awake may also be experienced

when we are asleep, while there is at that time not one of them true, I

supposed that all the objects (presentations) that had ever entered into

my mind when awake, had in them no more truth than the illusions of my

dreams. But immediately upon this I observed that, whilst I thus wished to

think that all was false, it was absolutely necessary that I, who thus

thought, should be somewhat; and as I observed that this truth, I think,

therefore I am (COGITO ERGO SUM), was so certain and of such evidence that

no ground of doubt, however extravagant, could be alleged by the sceptics

capable of shaking it, I concluded that I might, without scruple, accept

it as the first principle of the philosophy of which I was in search

In the next place, I attentively examined what I was and as I observed

that I could suppose that I had no body, and that there was no world nor

any place in which I might be; but that I could not therefore suppose that

I was not; and that, on the contrary, from the very circumstance that I

thought to doubt of the truth of other things, it most clearly and

certainly followed that I was; while, on the other hand, if I had only

ceased to think, although all the other objects which I had ever imagined

had been in reality existent, I would have had no reason to believe that I

existed; I thence concluded that I was a substance whose whole essence or

nature consists only in thinking, and which, that it may exist, has need

of no place, nor is dependent on any material thing; so that " I," that is

to say, the mind by which I am what I am, is wholly distinct from the

body, and is even more easily known than the latter, and is such, that

although the latter were not, it would still continue to be all that it is.

After this I inquired in general into what is essential I to the truth and

certainty of a proposition; for since I had discovered one which I knew to

be true, I thought that I must likewise be able to discover the ground of

this certitude. And as I observed that in the words I think, therefore I

am, there is nothing at all which gives me assurance of their truth beyond

this, that I see very clearly that in order to think it is necessary to

exist, I concluded that I might take, as a general rule, the principle,

that all the things which we very clearly and distinctly conceive are

true, only observing, however, that there is some difficulty in rightly

determining the objects which we distinctly conceive.

In the next place, from reflecting on the circumstance that I doubted, and

that consequently my being was not wholly perfect (for I clearly saw that

it was a greater perfection to know than to doubt), I was led to inquire

whence I had learned to think of something more perfect than myself; and I

clearly recognized that I must hold this notion from some nature which in

reality was more perfect. As for the thoughts of many other objects

external to me, as of the sky, the earth, light, heat, and a thousand

more, I was less at a loss to know whence these came; for since I remarked

in them nothing which seemed to render them superior to myself, I could

believe that, if these were true, they were dependencies on my own nature,

in so far as it possessed a certain perfection, and, if they were false,

that I held them from nothing, that is to say, that they were in me

because of a certain imperfection of my nature. But this could not be the

case with-the idea of a nature more perfect than myself; for to receive it

from nothing was a thing manifestly impossible; and, because it is not

less repugnant that the more perfect should be an effect of, and

dependence on the less perfect, than that something should proceed from

nothing, it was equally impossible that I could hold it from myself:

accordingly, it but remained that it had been placed in me by a nature

which was in reality more perfect than mine, and which even possessed

within itself all the perfections of which I could form any idea; that is

to say, in a single word, which was God. And to this I added that, since I

knew some perfections which I did not possess, I was not the only being in

existence (I will here, with your permission, freely use the terms of the

schools); but, on the contrary, that there was of necessity some other

more perfect Being upon whom I was dependent, and from whom I had received

all that I possessed; for if I had existed alone, and independently of

every other being, so as to have had from myself all the perfection,

however little, which I actually possessed, I should have been able, for

the same reason, to have had from myself the whole remainder of

perfection, of the want of which I was conscious, and thus could of myself

have become infinite, eternal, immutable, omniscient, all-powerful, and,

in fine, have possessed all the perfections which I could recognize in

God. For in order to know the nature of God (whose existence has been

established by the preceding reasonings), as far as my own nature

permitted, I had only to consider in reference to all the properties of

which I found in my mind some idea, whether their possession was a mark

of perfection; and I was assured that no one which indicated any

imperfection was in him, and that none of the rest was awanting. Thus I

perceived that doubt, inconstancy, sadness, and such like, could not be

found in God, since I myself would have been happy to be free from them.

Besides, I had ideas of many sensible and corporeal things; for although I

might suppose that I was dreaming, and that all which I saw or imagined

was false, I could not, nevertheless, deny that the ideas were in reality

in my thoughts. But, because I had already very clearly recognized in

myself that the intelligent nature is distinct from the corporeal, and as

I observed that all composition is an evidence of dependency, and that a

state of dependency is manifestly a state of imperfection, I therefore

determined that it could not be a perfection in God to be compounded of

these two natures and that consequently he was not so compounded; but that

if there were any bodies in the world, or even any intelligences, or other

natures that were not wholly perfect, their existence depended on his power

in such a way that they could not subsist without him for a single moment.

I was disposed straightway to search for other truths and when I had

represented to myself the object of the geometers, which I conceived to be

a continuous body or a space indefinitely extended in length, breadth, and

height or depth, divisible into divers parts which admit of different

figures and sizes, and of being moved or transposed in all manner of ways

(for all this the geometers suppose to be in the object they contemplate),

I went over some of their simplest demonstrations. And, in the first

place, I observed, that the great certitude which by common consent is

accorded to these demonstrations, is founded solely upon this, that they

are clearly conceived in accordance with the rules I have already laid

down In the next place, I perceived that there was nothing at all in these

demonstrations which could assure me of the existence of their object:

thus, for example, supposing a triangle to be given, I distinctly

perceived that its three angles were necessarily equal to two right

angles, but I did not on that account perceive anything which could assure

me that any triangle existed: while, on the contrary, recurring to the

examination of the idea of a Perfect Being, I found that the existence of

the Being was comprised in the idea in the same way that the equality of

its three angles to two right angles is comprised in the idea of a

triangle, or as in the idea of a sphere, the equidistance of all points on

its surface from the center, or even still more clearly; and that

consequently it is at least as certain that God, who is this Perfect

Being, is, or exists, as any demonstration of geometry can be.

But the reason which leads many to persuade them selves that there is a

difficulty in knowing this truth, and even also in knowing what their mind

really is, is that they never raise their thoughts above sensible objects,

and are so accustomed to consider nothing except by way of imagination,

which is a mode of thinking limited to material objects, that all that is

not imaginable seems to them not intelligible. The truth of this is

sufficiently manifest from the single circumstance, that the philosophers

of the schools accept as a maxim that there is nothing in the

understanding which was not previously in the senses, in which however it

is certain that the ideas of God and of the soul have never been; and it

appears to me that they who make use of their imagination to comprehend

these ideas do exactly the some thing as if, in order to hear sounds or

smell odors, they strove to avail themselves of their eyes; unless indeed

that there is this difference, that the sense of sight does not afford us

an inferior assurance to those of smell or hearing; in place of which,

neither our imagination nor our senses can give us assurance of anything

unless our understanding intervene.

Finally, if there be still persons who are not sufficiently persuaded of

the existence of God and of the soul, by the reasons I have adduced, I am

desirous that they should know that all the other propositions, of the

truth of which they deem themselves perhaps more assured, as that we have

a body, and that there exist stars and an earth, and such like, are less

certain; for, although we have a moral assurance of these things, which is

so strong that there is an appearance of extravagance in doubting of their

existence, yet at the same time no one, unless his intellect is impaired,

can deny, when the question relates to a metaphysical certitude, that

there is sufficient reason to exclude entire assurance, in the observation

that when asleep we can in the same way imagine ourselves possessed of

another body and that we see other stars and another earth, when there is

nothing of the kind. For how do we know that the thoughts which occur in

dreaming are false rather than those other which we experience when awake,

since the former are often not less vivid and distinct than the latter?

And though men of the highest genius study this question as long as they

please, I do not believe that they will be able to give any reason which

can be sufficient to remove this doubt, unless they presuppose the

existence of God. For, in the first place even the principle which I have

already taken as a rule, viz., that all the things which we clearly and

distinctly conceive are true, is certain only because God is or exists and

because he is a Perfect Being, and because all that we possess is derived

from him: whence it follows that our ideas or notions, which to the extent

of their clearness and distinctness are real, and proceed from God, must

to that extent be true. Accordingly, whereas we not infrequently have ideas

or notions in which some falsity is contained, this can only be the case with

such as are to some extent confused and obscure, and in this proceed from

nothing (participate of negation), that is, exist in us thus confused because

we are not wholly perfect. And it is evident that it is not less repugnant

that falsity or imperfection, in so far as it is imperfection, should proceed

from God, than that truth or perfection should proceed from nothing. But if

we did not know that all which we possess of real and true proceeds from a

Perfect and Infinite Being, however clear and distinct our ideas might be,

we should have no ground on that account for the assurance that they possessed

the perfection of being true.

But after the knowledge of God and of the soul has rendered us certain of

this rule, we can easily understand that the truth of the thoughts we

experience when awake, ought not in the slightest degree to be called in

question on account of the illusions of our dreams. For if it happened

that an individual, even when asleep, had some very distinct idea, as, for

example, if a geometer should discover some new demonstration, the

circumstance of his being asleep would not militate against its truth; and

as for the most ordinary error of our dreams, which consists in their

representing to us various objects in the same way as our external senses,

this is not prejudicial, since it leads us very properly to suspect the

truth of the ideas of sense; for we are not infrequently deceived in the

same manner when awake; as when persons in the jaundice see all objects

yellow, or when the stars or bodies at a great distance appear to us much

smaller than they are. For, in fine, whether awake or asleep, we ought

never to allow ourselves to be persuaded of the truth of anything unless

on the evidence of our reason. And it must be noted that I say of our

reason, and not of our imagination or of our senses: thus, for example,

although we very clearly see the sun, we ought not therefore to determine

that it is only of the size which our sense of sight presents; and we may

very distinctly imagine the head of a lion joined to the body of a goat,

without being therefore shut up to the conclusion that a chimaera exists;

for it is not a dictate of reason that what we thus see or imagine is in

reality existent; but it plainly tells us that all our ideas or notions

contain in them some truth; for otherwise it could not be that God, who is

wholly perfect and veracious, should have placed them in us. And because

our reasonings are never so clear or so complete during sleep as when we

are awake, although sometimes the acts of our imagination are then as

lively and distinct, if not more so than in our waking moments, reason

further dictates that, since all our thoughts cannot be true because of

our partial imperfection, those possessing truth must infallibly be found

in the experience of our waking moments rather than in that of our dreams.