Six metaphysical meditations /

by René Descartes

And this very Word (feign) puts me in mind of my error, for I should feign in deed, if I should imagine my self any thing; for to imagine is nothing else but to think upon the shape or image of a corporeal thing; but now I certainly know that I am, and I know also that ’tis possible that all these images, and generally whatever belongs to the Nature of a Body are nothing but deluding Dreams. Which things Consider’d I should be no less Foolish in saying, I will imagine that I may more throughly understand what I am, then if I should say, at Present I am awake and perceive something true, but because it appears not evidently enough, I shall endeavour to sleep, that in a Dream I may perceive it more evidently and truely.

Wherefore I know that nothing that I can comprehend by my imagination, can belong to the Notion I have of my self, and that I must carefully withdraw my mind from those things that it may more distinctly perceive its own Nature.

Let me ask therefore What I am, A Thinking Thing, but What is That? That is a thing, doubting, understanding, affirming, denying, willing, nilling, imagining also, and sensitive. These truely are not a few Properties, if they all belong to Me. And Why should they Not belong to me? For am not I the very same who at present doubt almost of All things; yet understand something, which thing onely I affirm to be true, I deny all other things, I am willing to know more, I would not be deceived, I imagine many things unwillingly, and consider many things as coming to me by my senses. Which of all these faculties is it, which is not as true as that I Exist, tho I should sleep, or my Creatour should as much as in him lay, strive to deceive Me? which of them is it that is distinct from my thought? which of them is it that can be seperated from me? For that I am the same that doubt, understand, and will is so evident, that I know not how to explain it more manifestly, and that I also am the same that imagine, for tho perhaps (as I have supposed) no thing that can be imagined is true, yet the imaginative Power it self is really existent, and makes up a part of my Thought; and last of all that I am the same that am sensitive, or perceive corporeal things as by my senses, yet that I now see light, hear a noise, feel heat, these things are false, for I suppose my self asleep, but I know that I see, hear, and am heated, that cannot be false; and this it is that in me is properly called Sense, and this strictly taken is the same with thought.

By these Considerations I begin a little better to understand My self what I am; But yet it seems, and I cannot but think that Corporeal Things (whose Images are formed in my thought, and which by my senses, I perceive) are much more distinctly known, then that confused Notion of My Self which imagination cannot afford me. And yet ’tis strange that things doubtful, unknown, distinct from Me, should be apprehended more clearly by Me, then a Thing that is True, then a thing that is known, or then I my self; But the Reason is, that my Mind loves to wander, and suffers not it self to be bounded within the strict limits of Truth.

Let it therefore Wander, and once more let me give it the Free Reins, that hereafter being conveniently curbed, it may suffer it self to be more easily Govern’d.

Let me consider those things which of all Things I formerly conceived most evident, that is to say, Bodies which we touch, which we see, not bodies in General (for those General Conceptions are usually Confused) but some one Body in particular.

Let us chuse for example this piece of Bees-wax, it was lately taken from the Comb, it has not yet lost all the tast of the Honey, it retains something of the smell of the Flowers from whence ’twas gather’d, its colour, shape, and bigness are manifest, ’tis hard, ’tis cold, ’tis easily felt, and if you will knock it with your finger, ’twill make a noise: In fine, it hath all things requisite to the most perfect notion of a Body.

But behold whilst I am speaking, ’tis put to the Fire, its tast is purged away, the smell is vanish’d, the colour is changed, the shape is alter’d, its bulk is increased, its become soft, ’tis hot, it can scarce be felt, and now (though you strike it) it makes no noise. Does it yet continue the same Wax? surely it does, this all confess, no one denies it, no one doubts it. What therefore was there in it that was so evidently known? surely none of those things which I perceived by my senses; for what I smelt, tasted, have seen, felt, or heard, are all vanish’d, and yet the Wax remains. Perhaps ’twas this only that I now think on, viz. that the Wax it self was not that tast of Honey, that smell of Flowers, that whiteness, that shape, or that sound, but it was a Body which awhile before appear’d to me so and so modified, but now otherwise. But what is it strictly that I thus imagine? let me consider: And having rejected whatever belongs not to the Wax, let me see what will remain, viz. this only, a thing extended, flexible, and mutable. But what is this flexible, and mutable? is it that I imagine that this Wax from being round may be made square, or from being square can be made triangular? No, this is not it; for I conceive it capable of innumerable such changes, and yet I cannot by my imagination run over these Innumerables; Wherefore this notion of its mutability proceeds not from my imagination. What then is extended? is not its Extension also unknown? For when it melts ’tis greater, when it boils ’tis greater, and yet greater when the heat is increas’d; and I should not rightly judge of the Wax, did I not think it capable of more various Extensions than I can imagine. It remains therefore for me only to confess, that I cannot imagine what this Wax is, but that I perceive with my Mind what it is. I speak of this particular Wax, for of Wax in general the notion is more clear.

But what Wax is this that I only conceive by my mind? ’Tis the same which I see, which I touch, which I imagine, and in fine, the same which at first I judged it to be. But this is to be noted, that the perception thereof is not sight, the touch, or the imagination thereof; neither was it ever so, though at first it seem’d so. But the perception thereof is the inspection or beholding of the Mind only, which may be either imperfect and confused, as formerly it was; or clear and distinct, as now it is; the more or the less I consider the Composition of the Wax.

In the interim, I cannot but admire how prone my mind is to erre; for though I revolve these things with my self silently, and without speaking, yet am I intangled in meer words, and am almost deceived by the usual way of expression; for we commonly say, that we see the Wax it self if it be present, and not, that we judge it present by its colour or shape; from whence I should immediately thus conclude, therefore the Wax is known by the sight of the eye, and not by the inspection of the mind only. Thus I should have concluded, had not I by chance look’d out of my window, and seen men passing by in the Street; which men I as usually say that I see, as I do now, that I see this Wax; and yet I see nothing but their Hair and Garments, which perhaps may cover only artificial Machines and movements, but I judge them to be men; so that what I thought I only saw with my eyes, I comprehend by my Judicative Faculty, which is my Soul. But it becomes not one, who desires to be wiser than the Vulgar, to draw matter of doubt from those ways of expression, which the Vulgar have invented.