THE PRINCIPLE OF DESCARTES, CONTINUED.--HIS METHOD.
170. Descartes did not always express himself with, sufficient accuracy
when announcing and explaining his principle; and hence his words have
been misinterpreted. In the passage where he establishes consciousness
of our own thought and existence as the foundation whereon all our
cognitions must rest, he uses terms from which it can be inferred that
he not only means to declare a fact, but that he also intends to afford
a true argument. Nevertheless, if we read his words attentively, and
compare them with one another, it will be evident that such was not
his idea, although we should not sometimes be wrong in saying that he
did not make sufficient account of the difference, which we have just
pointed out, between an argument and the simple declaration of a fact;
and that, when concentrating himself on himself, he did not have a
sufficiently clear _reflex_ knowledge of the manner in which he rested
upon his fundamental principle. To convince ourselves of this, let us
examine his own words: "While we thus reject every thing of which we
can have the least doubt, and even _feign_ that it is false, we easily
suppose that there is no God, no heaven, no earth; that we have not
a body: but we cannot in like manner suppose that we are not whilst
we doubt the truth of all these things; for we experience so great
repugnance to conceive that what thinks is not at the same time that it
thinks, that notwithstanding all the most extravagant suppositions, we
cannot help believing this conclusion, _I think, therefore I am_, to be
true, and consequently the first and most certain to present itself to
him who orders well his thoughts."[10]
[10] Descartes. _Principes de la Philosophie_, 1^{ière} partie, N. 7.
In this passage we detect a true syllogism: whatever thinks, exists;
but I think; therefore I exist. "We have," says Descartes, "so great
repugnance to conceive that what thinks is not at the same time that
it thinks;" which is the same as to say, whatever thinks, exists; and
this, in scholastic terms, is to establish the major. He then says:
"notwithstanding all the most extravagant suppositions, we cannot help
believing this conclusion, _I think, therefore I am_, to be true;"
which is equivalent to proving the minor, and the conclusion of the
syllogism. We know that Descartes was somewhat taken up with the idea
of proving at the same time that he was engaged in declaring. This was
the general tendency of his age, and even the most ardent reformers
with difficulty preserved themselves from the surrounding atmosphere.
We encounter this same spirit throughout his meditations, admirably
joined, however, with the spirit of observation.
But through these obscure or ambiguous explanations, what thought do
we discover at the bottom of Descartes' system when we abstract his
having, or not having, rendered himself an exact account of what he
experienced? This thought: "By an effort of my mind I can doubt the
truth of everything; but this effort has a limit in myself. When I
turn my attention upon myself, upon the consciousness of my internal
acts, upon my existence, doubt is at an end; it cannot extend so far:
I find _so great repugnance_ that the most extravagant suppositions
cannot overcome it." This his very words show: besides declaring this
fact, he rises to a general and undoubtedly true proposition; he draws
a conclusion also very legitimate; but neither of these was at all
necessary to the present case; neither seemed to explain well his
opinion, but either served to confuse it.
171. Descartes did nothing more in this point than what all
philosophers do; and strange as it may seem, he did not differ from
the chiefs of the metaphysical school diametrically opposed to his
own, that of Locke and Condillac. That man, in seeking to examine the
origin of his cognitions, and the principles on which his certainty is
based, encounters the fact of consciousness of his internal acts, that
this consciousness produces a firm certainty, and that we can conceive
nothing more certain, is a fact on which all ideologists agree, and
which all establish, although not in the same words. The more we
reflect on these matters, the more we discover in them the realization
of a principle confirmed by reason and experience, that many truths are
not new, but only presented under a new form, and that many systems are
not new, but only expressed in new formulas.
172. Even the universal doubt of Descartes, rightly understood, is
practised by every philosopher; whence we see that the basis of his
system, opposed by many, is in fact adopted by all. In what does his
method consist? It may all be reduced to these two points: I. I wish to
doubt of everything: II. When I wish to doubt of myself, I cannot.
Let us examine these points, and we shall see that they are common to
all philosophers with Descartes.
Why does Descartes wish to doubt of everything? Because he proposes
to examine the origin and certainty of his cognitions, his whole
knowledge; and therefore he cannot help supposing nothing to be true.
If then he supposes anything, he does not examine the origin and
motives of the certainty of everything, since he excepts that which
he supposes to be true. He must suppose nothing to be true, that he
knows nothing of anything; otherwise he cannot say that he examines
the foundation of everything. Either there is no such philosophical
question, although one is found in all books of philosophy, or else
Descartes' method must of necessity be followed.
But in what does this doubt consist? Can it, rationally speaking, be a
real and true doubt? No! that is absolutely impossible. Man does not,
because a philosopher, destroy his nature; and nature is invincibly
opposed to this doubt taken in a strict sense.
173. What then is this doubt? Nothing more than a _supposition_,
a _fiction_; a supposition and fiction such as we make at every
step in all science, and which, in reality, is only non-attention
to a conviction of our own. Use is made of this doubt in order to
discover the first truth on which our understanding rests; and this
only requires a fictitious doubt: there is no necessity of its being
positive, for it will evidently make no difference whether we really
doubt of everything, admit absolutely nothing, or say: I suppose that
I have nothing for certain, know nothing, admit nothing. An example
will make this explanation more evident. Whoever knows the rudiments
of geometry, knows that in a triangle, the greater angle is opposite
to the greater side, and he is absolutely certain of the truth of this
theorem; but if he propose to demonstrate it to another, or repeat the
demonstration to himself, he abstracts the said certainty, and proceeds
as though he had it not, in order to show that it is founded upon
something.
In all our studies, at every step, we do the same. Such expressions as
these are common: "This is so, it is evident; but _let us suppose_ that
it is not; what will be the result?" "This demonstration is conclusive,
but let us set it aside and suppose that we have it not; how shall we
demonstrate what we desire?" Arguments _ad absurdum_, so much in use
in every science, more especially in mathematics, consist not only in
abstracting what we know, but in supposing something directly contrary.
"If the line A," says continually the geometrician, "is not equal to B,
it is either greater or less: let us suppose it to be greater, etc."
Thus to investigate truth, we frequently abstract what we know, and
even suppose the contrary. Apply this system to the investigation of
the fundamental principle of our cognitions, and Descartes' universal
doubt will follow, in the only sense admissible at the tribunal of
reason, and possible to human nature.
It is probable that the illustrious philosopher understood it in the
same sense, although we must confess that his words are ambiguous.
We cannot conceive what object he could have had in understanding
it differently, supposing, as we do, that he had no other purpose
than to pave the way for the investigation of truth. By his manner
of expressing himself, he gave occasion to disputes, which greater
clearness would have prevented.
As he did not express himself with sufficient clearness, so his
adversaries did not press him with all the precision and energy
possible. To settle this whole matter, it would have sufficed to
ask him this question: Do you mean to say that, in commencing our
philosophical investigations, there is a moment in which we _really_
and _actually_ doubt of every thing; or do you deem it sufficient
to abstract certainty, and to suppose that we have it not, as is
frequently done in other studies?
174. Descartes was like all reformers who are ruled by one idea, and
express it so strongly as to seem to admit no other beside it. In
their language every thing is absolute, exclusive. They anticipate the
combat which they must sustain, perhaps already experience it, and so
they concentrate all their strength on the idea whose triumph they
propose, and lose sight of every thing else. It cannot be inferred
from this that they have no others which notably modify the principal;
but to oppose their adversaries, who say, "This is absolutely false,"
they assert that it is absolutely true. History and experience furnish
innumerable examples of such exaggerations.
The dominant idea of Descartes was to demolish the philosophy which at
that time reigned in the schools; and he gave it so rude a shock as
to make the world tremble. See how he expressed his contempt for many
called philosophers: "Experience shows that they who make profession of
being philosophers are often less wise and less reasonable than they
who never applied themselves to this study."[11]
[11] _Les Principes de la Philosophie._ Preface, p. 13.
175. The second part of Descartes' method consists in taking thought
for the point of departure, and in declaring that in trying to doubt of
every thing man finds a limit in the consciousness of his thought, his
existence. This is evidently the phenomenon which remains in the mind
of the observer after doubting of every thing else; at least he cannot
doubt that he doubts, and consequently that he thinks; for it must be
remarked that this is an argument which has always been used against
skeptics, which is equivalent to Descartes' method, and establishes
as an undeniable phenomenon a certainty superior to all sophisms, the
consciousness of one's self.
When Descartes said, _I think_, he meant by this word every internal
act, every phenomenon immediately present to the soul; he spoke not of
thought taken in a purely intellectual sense, but included in it all
that of which we have immediate consciousness. "By the word _thought_,"
he says, "I understand all that is done within us, in such a manner
that we perceive it immediately by ourselves: this is why not only to
understand, to will, to imagine, but also to feel, are here the same
thing as to think. For if I say that I see, or that I walk, and thence
I infer that I am; if I mean to speak of the action performed with my
eyes or with my feet, this conclusion is not so infallible that I have
no reason to doubt it; because it may be that I think I see, or walk,
although I do not open my eyes or stir from my seat; for this sometimes
happens when I am asleep, and the same might also happen even if I had
no body; but if I mean to speak only of the action of my thought or of
the feeling, that is to say, the knowledge that I possess, which makes
it seem to me that I see, or that I walk, this same conclusion is so
absolutely true that I cannot doubt it; because it relates to the soul,
which alone has the faculty of feeling, or of thinking, in any other
manner whatever."[12]
[12] _Les Principes de la Philosophie._ 1^{ière.} partie, N. 9.
176. This passage shows very clearly Descartes' ideas; he destroyed
every thing by doubt, excepting one thing which defied all his
efforts, the consciousness of himself; and this consciousness he took
for the basis, on which, with full certainty, he might build anew
the edifice of science. Locke and Condillac did nothing else; they
followed, indeed, a different path, but their point of departure was
at all times the same. Locke says: "First, I shall inquire into the
_original_ of those _ideas_, notions, or whatever else you please to
call them, which a man observes, and is conscious to himself he has in
his mind; and the ways whereby the understanding comes to be furnished
by them."[13] "Since the mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, hath
no other immediate object but its own _ideas_, which it alone does or
can contemplate, it is evident that our knowledge is only conversant
about them."[14] "Whether, to speak metaphorically," says Condillac,
"we ascend even to the heavens, or descend into the abysses, we do
not go out of ourselves, and it is always our own thought that we
perceive."[15]
[13] _Essay on the Human Understanding._ Prologue.
[14] _Essay on the Human Understanding._ Book iv., Chap. I., § 1.
[15] _Essai sur l'Origine des Connaissances._ Première partie, C. 1., §
1.
177. All ideological labors commence then by establishing the fact of
consciousness of our ideas; and it cannot be otherwise with respect to
their certainty. Man, although he overthrow and destroy every thing,
still encounters himself, the one who overthrows and destroys every
thing. When he has gone so far as to doubt the existence of God, the
world, his fellow-beings, his own body, he still, in the midst of this
immense solitude, encounters himself. The effort to conceal himself
from his own eyes serves only to render him more visible: he is a
spirit to be killed by no blow, and rays of light flow from every
wound inflicted on him. If he doubts that he feels, he at least feels
that he doubts; if he doubts of this doubt, he feels that he doubts
of doubt itself; thus, in doubting of direct acts, he enters into an
interminable series of reflex acts, necessarily linked one with the
other, and unrolled to the internal view like folds of a scarf which
has no end.(18)