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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, LN Yaddanapudi and the Online | |
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net | |
A Discourse | |
_OF A_ | |
METHOD | |
For the well guiding of | |
REASON, | |
And the Discovery of _Truth_ | |
In the | |
SCIENCES. | |
[Illustration] | |
LONDON, | |
Printed by _Thomas Newcombe_. | |
MDCXLIX. | |
To the _Understanding READER_. | |
The Great DESCARTES (who may justly challenge the first place amongst | |
the Philosophers of this Age) is the Author of this Discourse; which in | |
the Originall was so well known, That it could be no mans but his own, | |
that his Name was not affix'd to it: I need say no more either of Him | |
or It; He is best made known by Himself, and his Writings want nothing | |
but thy reading to commend them. But as those who cannot compasse the | |
Originals of _Titian_ and _Van-Dyke_, are glad to adorne their Cabinets | |
with the Copies of them; So be pleased favourably to receive his Picture | |
from my hand, copied after his own Designe: You may therein observe the | |
lines of a well form'd Minde, The hightnings of Truth, The sweetnings | |
and shadowings of Probabilities, The falls and depths of Falshood; all | |
which serve to perfect this Masterpiece. Now although my after-draught | |
be rude and unpolished, and that perhaps I have touch'd it too boldly, | |
The thoughts of so clear a Minde, being so extremely fine, That as the | |
choisest words are too grosse, and fall short fully to expresse such | |
sublime Notions; So it cannot be, but being transvested, it must | |
necessarily lose very much of its native Lustre: Nay, although I am | |
conscious (notwithstanding the care I have taken neither to wrong the | |
Authours Sense, nor offend the Readers Ear) of many escapes which I have | |
made; yet I so little doubt of being excused, That I am confident, my | |
endeavour cannot but be gratefull to all Lovers of Learning; for whose | |
benefit I have Englished, and to whom I addresse this Essay, which | |
contains a Method, by the Rules whereof we may Shape our better part, | |
Rectifie our Reason, Form our Manners and Square our Actions, Adorn our | |
Mindes, and making a diligent Enquiry into Nature, wee may attain to the | |
Knowledge of the Truth, which is the most desirable union in the World. | |
Our Authour also invites all letterd men to his assistance in the | |
prosecution of this Search; That for the good of Mankinde, They would | |
practise and communicate Experiments, for the use of all those who | |
labour for the perfection of Arts and Sciences: Every man now being | |
obliged to the furtherance of so beneficiall an Undertaking, I could not | |
but lend my hand to open the Curtain, and discover this New Model of | |
Philosophy; which I now publish, neither to humour the present, nor | |
disgust former times; but rather that it may serve for an innocent | |
Divertisement to those, who would rather Reform themselves, then the | |
rest of the world; and who, having the same seeds and grounds, and | |
knowing That there is nothing New under the Sun; That Novelty is but | |
Oblivion, and that Knowledge is but Remembrance, will study to finde | |
out in themselves, and restore to Posterity those lost Arts, which | |
render Antiquity so venerable; and strive (if it be possible) to go | |
beyond them in other things, as well as Time: Who minde not those things | |
which are above, beyond, or without them; but would rather limit their | |
desires by their power, then change the Course of Nature; Who seek the | |
knowledge, and labour for the Conquest of themselves; Who have Vertue | |
enough to make their own Fortune; And who prefer the Culture of the | |
Minde before the Adorning of the Body; To such as these I present this | |
Discourse (whose pardon I beg, for having so long detain'd them from so | |
desirable a Conversation;) and conclude with this Advice of the Divine | |
_Plato_: | |
_Cogita in te, praeter Animum, nihil esse mirabile._ | |
A DISCOURSE OF A METHOD, For the wel-guiding of Reason; AND The | |
discovery of Truth in the SCIENCES. | |
_If this Discourse seem too long to be read at once, it may be divided | |
into six parts. In the first, are divers Considerations touching the | |
Sciences. In the second, the principall Rules of that Method which the | |
Author hath studyed. In the third, some of those in morality, which he | |
hath drawn from this Method. In the fourth, the reasons whereby the | |
existence of God and of the humane Soul is proved; which are the | |
grounds of his Metaphysicks. In the fift, the order of these Physicall | |
questions, which he hath examined, and particularly the explication of | |
the hearts motion; with some other difficulties relating to Physick; as | |
also the difference between our Souls and those of beasts. In the last, | |
what he conceives requisit to make a further inquiry into Nature, then | |
hath hitherto been made. And what reasons induc'd him to write._ | |
PART. I. | |
Right understanding is the most equally divided thing in the World; for | |
every one beleevs himself so well stor'd with it, that even those who in | |
all other things are the hardest to be pleas'd, seldom desire more of it | |
then they have; wherein it is not likely that all Men are deceived: But | |
it rather witnesseth, That the faculty of right-judging and | |
distinguishing truth from falshood (which is properly call'd, | |
Understanding or Reason) is naturally equal in all Men. And as the | |
diversity of our Opinions, is not, because some are more reasonable then | |
others; but only that we direct our thoughts several ways, neither do we | |
consider the same things. For 'tis not enough to have good faculties, | |
but the principal is, to apply them well. The greatest Souls are as | |
capable of the greatest Vices, as of the most eminent Vertues: And those | |
who move but very slowly, may advance much farther, if they always | |
follow the right way; then those who run and straggle from it. | |
For my part, I never presum'd that my Minde was more perfect in any | |
thing then an ordinary Mans; nay, I have often wish'd to have had my | |
thoughts as quick, my imagination as clear and distinct, and my memory | |
as large and as ready as some other Men have had. And I know no | |
Qualities which serve more then those to the perfection of the Minde; | |
for as for Reason or Understanding, forasmuch as it is the only thing | |
which makes us Men, and distinguisheth us from beasts, I will beleeve it | |
to be entire in every One, and follow herein the common opinion of the | |
Philosophers, who say, That there is only more or less among the | |
Accidents, and not amongst the Forms or nature of the Individuals of one | |
species. | |
But I shall not stick to say, That I beleeve my self very happy, in | |
having encountred from my youth with certain ways which have led me to | |
considerations and Maximes, from which I have found a Method; whereby | |
methinks, I have the means by degrees to augment my knowledg, and by | |
little and little to raise it up to the highest pitch, whereto the | |
meaness of my capacity, & the short course of my life can permit it to | |
attain. For I have already reaped such fruits from it, that although in | |
the judgment I make of my self, I endevour always rather to incline to | |
mistrust, then to presumption. And looking on the divers actions and | |
undertakings of all Men, with the eye of a Philosopher, there is almost | |
none which to me seems not vain and useless. Yet I am extremely | |
satisfied with the Progress, which (as it seems to me) I have already | |
made in the search of Truth, and do conceive such hopes for the future, | |
That if among the employments of Men, purely Men, there is any solidly | |
good, and of importance, I dare beleeve it is that which I have chosen: | |
Yet it may be that I deceive my self, and perhaps it is but a little | |
Copper and Glass which I take for Gold and Diamonds. I know how subject | |
we are to mistake in those things which concern us, and how jealous we | |
ought to be of the judgment of our friends, when it is in our favor. But | |
I should willingly in this Discourse, trace out unto you the ways which | |
I have followed, and represent therein my life, as in a Picture, to the | |
end, that every one may judge thereof; and that learning from common | |
Fame, what mens opinions are of it, I may finde a new means of | |
instructing my self; which I shall add to those which I customarily make | |
use of. | |
Neither is it my design to teach a Method which every Man ought to | |
follow, for the good conduct of his reason; but only to shew after what | |
manner I have endevoured to order mine own. Those who undertake to give | |
precepts, ought to esteem themselves more able, then those to whom they | |
give them, and are blame-worthy, if they fail in the least. But | |
proposing this but as a History, or if you will have it so, but as a | |
Fable; wherein amongst other examples, which may be imitated, we may | |
perhaps find divers others which we may have reason to decline: I hope | |
it will be profitable to some, without being hurtfull to any; and that | |
the liberty I take will be gratefull to all. | |
I have been bred up to Letters from mine infancy; & because I was | |
perswaded, that by their means a man might acquire a clear and certain | |
knowledg of all that's usefull for this life, I was extremely desirous | |
to learn them: But as soon as I had finish'd all the course of my | |
Studies, at the end whereof Men are usually receiv'd amongst the rank of | |
the learned. I wholly changed my opinion, for I found my self intangled | |
in so many doubts and errors, that me thought I had made no other profit | |
in seeking to instruct my self, but that I had the more discovered mine | |
own ignorance. Yet I was in one of the most famous Schools in _Europe_; | |
where I thought, if there were any on earth, there ought to have been | |
learned Men. I had learnt all what others had learnt; even unsatisfied | |
with the Sciences which were taught us, I had read over all Books | |
(which I could possibly procure) treating of such as are held to be the | |
rarest and the most curious. Withall, I knew the judgment others made of | |
me; and I perceiv'd that I was no less esteem'd then my fellow Students, | |
although there were some amongst them that were destin'd to fill our | |
Masters rooms. And in fine, our age seem'd to me as flourishing and as | |
fertile of good Wits, as any of the preceding, which made me take the | |
liberty to judg of all other men by my self, and to think, That there | |
was no such learning in the world, as formerly I had been made beleeve. | |
Yet did I continue the esteem I had of those exercises which are the | |
employments of the Schools: I knew that Languages which are there | |
learnt, are necessary for the understanding of ancient Writers, That the | |
quaintness of Fables awakens the Minde; That the memorable actions in | |
History raise it up, and that being read with discretion, they help to | |
form the judgment. That the reading of good books, is like the | |
conversation with the honestest persons of the past age, who were the | |
Authors of them, and even a studyed conversation, wherein they discover | |
to us the best only of their thoughts. That eloquence hath forces & | |
beauties which are incomparable. That Poetry hath delicacies and sweets | |
extremly ravishing; That the Mathematicks hath most subtile inventions, | |
which very much conduce aswel to content the curious, as to facilitate | |
all arts, and to lessen the labour of Men: That those writings which | |
treat of manners contain divers instructions, and exhortations to | |
vertue, which are very usefull. That Theology teacheth the way to | |
heaven; That Philosophy affords us the means to speake of all things | |
with probability, and makes her self admir'd, by the least knowing Men. | |
That Law, Physick and other sciences bring honor and riches to those who | |
practice them; Finally that its good to have examin'd them all even the | |
falsest and the most superstitious, that we may discover their just | |
value, and preserve our selves from their cheats. | |
But I thought I had spent time enough in the languages, and even also in | |
the lecture of ancient books, their histories and their fables. For 'tis | |
even the same thing to converse with those of former ages, as to travel. | |
Its good to know something of the manners of severall Nations, that we | |
may not think that all things against our _Mode_ are ridiculous or | |
unreasonable, as those are wont to do, who have seen Nothing. But when | |
we employ too long time in travell, we at last become strangers to our | |
own Country, and when we are too curious of those things, which we | |
practised in former times, we commonly remain ignorant of those which | |
are now in use. Besides, Fables make us imagine divers events possible, | |
which are not so: And that even the most faithfull Histories, if they | |
neither change or augment the value of things, to render them the more | |
worthy to be read, at least, they always omit the basest and less | |
remarkable circumstances; whence it is, that the rest seems not as it | |
is; and that those who form their Manners by the examples they thence | |
derive, are subject to fall into the extravagancies of the _Paladins_ of | |
our Romances, and to conceive designes beyond their abilities. | |
I highly priz'd Eloquence, and was in love with Poetry; but I esteem'd | |
both the one and the other, rather gifts of the Minde, then the fruits | |
of study. Those who have the strongest reasoning faculties, and who best | |
digest their thoughts, to render them the more clear and intelligible, | |
may always the better perswade what they propose, although they should | |
speak but a corrupt dialect, and had never learnt Rhetorick: And those | |
whose inventions are most pleasing, and can express them with most | |
ornament and sweetness, will still be the best Poets; although ignorant | |
of the Art of Poetry. | |
Beyond all, I was most pleas'd with the Mathematicks, for the certainty | |
and evidence of the reasons thereof; but I did not yet observe their | |
true use, and thinking that it served only for Mechanick Arts; I | |
wondred, that since the grounds thereof were so firm and solid, that | |
nothing more sublime had been built thereon. As on the contrary, I | |
compar'd the writings of the Ancient heathen which treated of Manner, to | |
most proud and stately Palaces which were built only on sand and mire, | |
they raise the vertues very high, and make them appear estimable above | |
all the things in the world; but they doe not sufficiently instruct us | |
in the knowledg of them, and often what they call by that fair Name, is | |
but a stupidness, or an act of pride, or of despair, or a paricide. | |
I reverenc'd our Theology, and pretended to heaven as much as any; But | |
having learnt as a most certain Truth, that the way to it, is no less | |
open to the most ignorant, then to the most learned; and that those | |
revealed truths which led thither, were beyond our understanding, I | |
durst not submit to the weakness of my ratiocination. And I thought, | |
that to undertake to examine them, and to succeed in it, requir'd some | |
extraordinary assistance from heaven, and somewhat more then Man. I | |
shall say nothing of Philosophy, but that seeing it hath been cultivated | |
by the most excellent wits, which have liv'd these many ages, and that | |
yet there is nothing which is undisputed, and by consequence, which is | |
not doubtfull. I could not presume so far, as to hope to succeed better | |
then others. And considering how many different opinions there may be on | |
the same thing, maintain'd by learned Men, and yet that there never can | |
be but one only Truth, I reputed almost all false, which had no more | |
then probability in it. | |
As for other Sciences, since they borrow their Principles from | |
Philosophy, I judg'd that nothing which was solid could be built upon | |
such unsound foundations; and neither honour nor wealth were sufficient | |
to invite me to the study of them. For (I thank God) I found not my self | |
in a condition which obliged me to make a Trade of Letters for the | |
relief of my fortune. And although I made it not my profession to | |
despise glory with the Cynick; yet did I little value that which I could | |
not acquire but by false pretences. And lastly, for unwarrantable | |
Studies, I thought I already too well understood what they were, to be | |
any more subject to be deceived, either by the promises of an Alchymist, | |
or by the predictions of an Astrologer, or by the impostures of a | |
Magician, or by the artifice or brags of those who profess to know more | |
then they do. | |
By reason whereof, as soon as my years freed me from the subjection of | |
my Tutors, I wholly gave over the study of Letters, and resolving to | |
seek no other knowledge but what I could finde in my self, or in the | |
great book of the World, I imployed the rest of my youth in Travell, to | |
see Courts and Armies, to frequent people of severall humors and | |
conditions, to gain experience, to hazard my self in those encounters of | |
fortune which should occurr; and every-where to make such a reflection | |
on those things which presented themselves to me, that I might draw | |
profit from them. For (me thought) I could meet with far more truth in | |
the discourses which every man makes touching those affairs which | |
concern him, whose event would quickly condemn him, if he had judg'd | |
amisse; then amongst those which letter'd Men make in their closets | |
touching speculations, which produce no effect, and are of no | |
consequence to them, but that perhaps they may gain so much the more | |
vanity, as they are farther different from the common understanding: | |
Forasmuch as he must have imployed the more wit and subtilty in | |
endeavouring to render them probable. And I had always an extreme desire | |
to learn to distinguish Truth from Falshood, that I might see cleerly | |
into my actions, and passe this life with assurance. | |
Its true, that whiles I did but consider the Manners of other men, I | |
found little or nothing wherein I might confirm my self: And I observ'd | |
in them even as much diversity as I had found before in the opinions of | |
the Philosophers: So that the greatest profit I could reap from them | |
was, that seeing divers things, which although they seem to us very | |
extravagant and ridiculous, are nevertheless commonly received and | |
approved by other great Nations, I learn'd to beleeve nothing too | |
firmly, of what had been onely perswaded me by example or by custom, and | |
so by little and little I freed my self from many errors, which might | |
eclipse our naturall light, and render us lesse able to comprehend | |
reason. But after I had imployed some years in thus studying the Book of | |
the World, and endeavouring to get experience, I took one day a | |
resolution to study also within my self, and to employ all the forces of | |
my minde in the choice of the way I was to follow: which (me thought) | |
succeeded much better, then if I had never estranged my self from my | |
Country, or from my Books. | |
PART. II. | |
I was then in _Germany_, whither the occasion of the Wars (which are not | |
yet finished) call'd me; and as I return'd from the Emperors Coronation | |
towards the Army, the beginning of Winter stopt me in a place, where | |
finding no conversation to divert me and on the other sides having by | |
good fortune no cares nor passions which troubled me, I stayd alone the | |
whole day, shut up in my Stove, where I had leasure enough to entertain | |
my self with my thoughts. Among which one of the first was that I betook | |
my self to consider, That oft times there is not so much perfection in | |
works compos'd of divers peeces, and made by the hands of severall | |
masters, as in those that were wrought by one only: So we may observe | |
that those buildings which were undertaken and finished by one onely, | |
are commonly fairer and better ordered then those which divers have | |
laboured to patch up, making use of old wals, which were built for other | |
purposes; So those ancient Cities which of boroughs, became in a | |
succession of time great Towns, are commonly so ill girt in comparison | |
of other regular Places, which were design'd on a flatt according to the | |
fancy of an Engeneer; and although considering their buildings | |
severally, we often find as much or more art, then in those of other | |
places; Yet to see how they are rank'd here a great one, there a little | |
one, and how they make the streets crooked and uneven, One would say, | |
That it was rather Fortune, then the will of Men indued with reason, | |
that had so disposed them. And if we consider, that there hath always | |
been certain Officers, whose charge it was, to take care of private | |
buildings, to make them serve for the publique ornament; We may well | |
perceive, that it's very difficult, working on the works of others, to | |
make things compleat. So also did I imagine, that those people who | |
formerly had been half wilde, and civiliz'd but by degrees, made their | |
laws but according to the incommodities which their crimes and their | |
quarrels constrain'd them to, could not be so wel pollic'd, as those who | |
from the beginning of their association, observ'd the constitutions of | |
some prudent Legislator. As it is very certain, that the state of the | |
true Religion, whose Ordinances God alone hath made, must be | |
incomparably better regulated then all others. And to speak of humane | |
things, I beleeve that if _Sparta_ hath formerly been most flourishing, | |
it was not by reason of the goodness of every of their laws in | |
particular, many of them being very strange, and even contrary to good | |
manners, but because they were invented by one only, They all tended to | |
One End. And so I thought the sciences in Books, at least those whose | |
reasons are but probable, and which have no demonstrations, having been | |
compos'd of, and by little and little enlarg'd with, the opinions of | |
divers persons, come not so near the Truth, as those simple reasonings | |
which an understanding Man can naturally make, touching those things | |
which occurr. And I thought besides also, That since we have all been | |
children, before we were Men; and that we must have been a long time | |
govern'd by our appetites, and by our Tutors, who were often contrary to | |
one another, and neither of which alwayes counsel'd us for the best; | |
It's almost impossible that our judgment could be so clear or so solid, | |
as it might have been, had we had the intire use of our reason from the | |
time of our birth, and been always guided by it alone. | |
Its true, we doe not see the houses of a whole Town pull'd down | |
purposely to re build them of another fashion; and to make the streets | |
the fairer; But we often see, that divers pull their own down to set | |
them up again, and that even sometimes they are forc'd thereunto, when | |
they are in danger to fall of themselves, and that their foundations are | |
not sure. By which example I perswaded my self, that there was no sense | |
for a particular person, to design the Reformation of a State, changing | |
all from the very foundations, and subverting all to redress it again: | |
Nor even also to reform the bodies of Sciences, or the Orders already | |
established in the Schools for teaching them. But as for all the | |
Opinions which I had till then receiv'd into my beleef, I could not doe | |
better then to undertake to expunge them once for all, that afterwards I | |
might place in their stead, either others which were better, or the same | |
again, as soon as I should have adjusted them to the rule of reason. And | |
I did confidently beleeve, that by that means I should succeed much | |
better in the conduct of my life, then if I built but on old | |
foundations, and only relyed on those principles, which I suffer'd my | |
self to be perswaded to in my youth, without ever examining the Truth of | |
them. For although I observ'd herein divers difficulties, yet were they | |
not without cure, nor comparable to those which occurr in the | |
reformation of the least things belonging to the publick: these great | |
bodies are too unweldy to be rais'd; being cast down, or to be held up | |
when they are shaken, neither can their falls be but the heavyest. | |
As for their imperfections, if they have any, as the only diversity | |
which is amongst them, is sufficient to assure us that many have. | |
Custome hath (without doubt) much sweetned them, and even it hath made | |
others wave, or insensibly correct a many, whereto we could not so well | |
by prudence have given a remedy. And in fine, They are alwayes more | |
supportable, then their change can be, Even, as the great Roads, which | |
winding by little and little betwixt mountains, become so plain and | |
commodious, with being often frequented, that it's much better to follow | |
them, then to undertake to goe in a strait line by climbing over the | |
rocks, and descending to the bottom of precipices. Wherefore I can by no | |
means approve of those turbulent and unquiet humors, who being neither | |
call'd by birth or fortune to the managing of publique affairs, yet are | |
alwayes forming in _Idea_, some new Reformation. And did I think there | |
were the least thing in this Discourse, which might render me suspected | |
of that folly, I should be extremely sorry to suffer it to be published; | |
I never had any designe which intended farther then to reform my own | |
thoughts and to build on a foundation which was wholly mine. But though | |
I present you here with a Modell of my work, because it hath | |
sufficiently pleased me; I would not therefore counsell any one to | |
imitate it. Those whom God hath better endued with his graces, may | |
perhaps have more elevated designes; but I fear me, lest already this be | |
too bold for some. The resolution only of quitting all those opinions | |
which we have formerly receiv'd into our belief, is not an example to be | |
followed by every One; and the world is almost compos'd but of two sorts | |
of Men, to whom it's no wayes convenient, to wit, of those, who | |
beleeving themselves more able then they are, cannot with-hold | |
themselves from precipitating their judgments, nor have patience enough | |
to steer all their thoughts in an orderly course. Whence it happens, | |
that if they should once take the liberty to doubt of those principles | |
which they have already received, and to stray from the common road, | |
they could never keep the path which leads strait forwards, and so, | |
would straggle all their lives. And of such who having reason and | |
modesty enough to judg that they are less able to distinguish truth from | |
falshood then others, from whom they may receive instruction, ought much | |
rather to be content to follow other Mens opinions, rather then to seek | |
after better themselves. | |
And for my part, I had undoubtedly been of the number of those latter, | |
had I never had but one Master, or had I not known the disputes which | |
have alwayes hapned amongst the most learned. For having learnt from | |
the very School, That one can imagin nothing so strange or incredible, | |
which had not been said by some one of the Philosophers; And having | |
since observ'd in my travails, That all those whose opinions are | |
contrary to ours, are not therefore barbarous or savage, but that many | |
use as much or more reason then we; and having consider'd how much one | |
Man with his own understanding, bred up from his childhood among the | |
French or the Dutch, becomes different from what he would be, had he | |
alwayes liv'd amongst the _Chineses_, or the _Cannibals_: And how even | |
in the fashion of our Clothes, the same thing which pleas'd ten years | |
since, and which perhaps wil please ten years hence, seems now to us | |
ridiculous and extravagant. So that it's much more Custome and Example | |
which perswades us, then any assured knowledg; and notwithstanding that | |
plurality of voices is a proof of no validity, in those truths which | |
are hard to be discovered; for that it's much more likely for one man | |
alone to have met with them, then a whole Nation; I could choose no Man | |
whose opinion was to be preferr'd before anothers: And I found my self | |
even constrain'd to undertake the conduct of my self. | |
But as a man that walks alone, and in the dark, I resolv'd to goe so | |
softly, and use so much circumspection in all things, that though I | |
advanc'd little, I would yet save my self from falling. Neither would I | |
begin quite to reject, some opinions, which formerly had crept into my | |
belief, without the consent of my reason, before I had employed time | |
enough to form the project of the work I undertook, and to seek the true | |
Method to bring me to the knowledg of all those things, of which my | |
understanding was capable. | |
I had a little studyed, being young, of the parts of Philosophy, Logick, | |
and of the Mathematicks, the Analysis of the Geometricians, and | |
_Algebra_: Three arts or sciences which seem'd to contribute somewhat | |
conducing to my designe: But examining them, I observ'd, That as for | |
Logick, its Sylogisms, and the greatest part of its other Rules, serve | |
rather to expound to another the things they know, or even as _Lullies_ | |
art, to speak with judgment of the things we are ignorant of, then to | |
learn them. And although in effect it contain divers most true and good | |
precepts, yet there are so many others mixed amongst them, either | |
hurtfull or superfluous, That it's even as difficult to extract them, as | |
'tis to draw a _Diana_ or a _Mercury_ out of a lump of Marble, which is | |
not yet rough-hewn; as for the Analysis of the Ancients, and the | |
_Algebra_ of the Moderns; besides that, they extend only to matters very | |
abstract, and which seem to be of no use; The first being alwayes so | |
tyed to the consideration of figures, That it cannot exercise the | |
understanding, without very much tiring the imagination. And in the | |
latter they have so subjected themselves to certain Rules and cyphers, | |
that they have made a confus'd and obscure art which perplexeth the | |
minde, in stead of a Science to instruct it. For this reason, I thought | |
I ought to seek some other Method, which comprehending the advantages of | |
these, they might be exempt from their defects. And as the multitude of | |
Laws often furnisheth excuses for vice; so a State is fair better | |
polic'd, when having but a few, they are very strictly observ'd therein: | |
So, instead of the great many precepts whereof Logick is compos'd, I | |
thought these four following would be sufficient for me, if I took but a | |
firm and constant resolution not once to fail in the observation of | |
them. | |
The first was, never to receive any thing for true, but what I evidently | |
knew to be so; that's to say, Carefully to avoid Precipitation and | |
Prevention, and to admit nothing more into my judgment, but what should | |
so clearly and distinctly present it self to my minde, that I could have | |
no reason to doubt of it. | |
The second, to divide every One of these difficulties, which I was to | |
examine into as many parcels as could be, and, as was requisite the | |
better to resolve them. | |
The third, to lead my thoughts in order, beginning by the most simple | |
objects, and the easiest to be known; to rise by little and little, as | |
by steps, even to the knowledg of the most mixt; and even supposing an | |
Order among those which naturally doe not precede one the other. | |
And the last, to make every where such exact calculations, and such | |
generall reviews, That I might be confident to have omitted Nothing. | |
Those long chains of reasons, (though simple and easie) which the | |
Geometricians commonly use to lead us to their most difficult | |
demonstrations, gave me occasion to imagine, That all things which may | |
fall under the knowledg of Men, follow one the other in the same manner, | |
and so we doe only abstain from receiving any one for true, which is not | |
so, and observe alwayes the right order of deducing them one from the | |
other, there can be none so remote, to which at last we shall not | |
attain; nor so hid, which we shall not discover. Neither was I much | |
troubled to seek by which it behooved me to begin, for I already knew, | |
that it was by the most simple, and the easiest to be discern'd. But | |
considering, that amongst all those who formerly have sought the Truth | |
in Learning, none but the Mathematicians only could finde any | |
demonstrations, that's to say, any certain and evident reasons. I | |
doubted not, but that it was by the same that they have examin'd; | |
although I did hope for no other profit, but only that they would | |
accustome my Minde to nourish it self with Truths, and not content it | |
self with false Reasons. But for all this, I never intended to endevour | |
to learn all those particular Sciences which we commonly call'd | |
Mathematicall; And perceiving, that although their objects were | |
different, yet did they nevertheless agree altogether, in that they | |
consider no other thing, but the divers relations or proportions which | |
are found therein; I thought it therefore better to examine those | |
proportions in generall, and without supporting them but in those | |
subjects, which might the more easily serve to bring me to the knowledg | |
of them. But withall, without any wayes limiting them, That I might | |
afterwards the better sit them to all others whereto they might be | |
applyed. Having also observ'd, That to know them, it would be sometimes | |
needfull for me to consider every one in particular, or sometimes only | |
to restrain them, or comprehend many together; I thought, that to | |
consider them the better in particular I ought to suppose them in | |
lines, for as much as I find nothing more simple, nor which I could more | |
distinctly represent to my imagination, and to my sences; But to hold or | |
comprehend many in one, I was oblig'd to explain them by certain Cyphers | |
the shortest I possibly could, and that I should thereby borrow the best | |
of the Geometricall Analysis, and of Algebra, & so correct all the | |
defects of the one by the other. | |
As in effect I dare say, That the exact observation of those few | |
precepts I had chosen, gave me such a facility to resolve all the | |
questions whereto these two sciences extend; That in two or three months | |
space which I employed in the examination of them, having begun by the | |
most simple and most generall, and every Truth which I found being a | |
rule which afterwards served me to discover others; I did not only | |
compasse divers truths which I had formerly judged most difficult, But | |
me thought also that towards the end I could determin even in those | |
which I was ignorant of, by what means and how farr it was possible to | |
resolve them. Wherein perhaps I shall not appear to be very vain if you | |
consider, That there being but one truth of every thing, who ever finds | |
it, knows as much of it as one can know; And that for example a child | |
instructed in Arithmatick having made an addition according to his | |
rules, may be sure to have found, touching the sum he examined, all what | |
the wit of man could finde out. In a word the method which teacheth to | |
folow a right order, and exactly to enumerate all the circumstances of | |
what we seek, contains, whatsoever ascertains the rules of Arithmatick. | |
But that which pleas'd me most in this Method was the assurance I had, | |
wholly to use my reason, if not perfectly, at least as much as it was in | |
my power; Besides this, I perceived in the practice of it, my minde by | |
little and little accustom'd it self to conceive its objects more | |
clearly and distinctly; and having not subjected it to any particular | |
matter, I promised my self to apply it also as profitable to the | |
difficulties, of other sciences as I had to Algebra: Not that I | |
therefore durst at first undertake to examine all which might present | |
themselves, for that were contrary to the order it prescribes. But | |
having observ'd that all their principles were to be borrowed from | |
Philosophy, in which I had yet found none that were certain, I thought | |
it were needfull for me in the first place to endevor to establish some, | |
and that this being the most important thing in the world, wherein | |
precipitation and prevention were the most to be feared, I should not | |
undertake to performe it, till I had attain'd to a riper Age then XXIII. | |
which was then mine. Before I had formerly employed a long time in | |
preparing my self thereunto, aswel in rooting out of my minde all the | |
ill opinions I had before that time received, as in getting a stock of | |
experience to serve afterwards for the subject of my reasonings, and in | |
exercising my self always in the Method I had prescribed. That I might | |
the more and more confine my self therein. | |
PART. III. | |
But as it is not enough to pull down the house where we dwell, before we | |
begin to re-edify it, and to make provision of materials and architects, | |
or performe that office our selves; nor yet to have carefully laid the | |
design of it; but we must also have provided our selves of some other | |
place of abode during the time of the rebuilding: So that I might not | |
remain irresolute in my actions, while reason would oblige me to be so | |
in my judgments, and that I might continue to live the most happily I | |
could, I form'd for my own use in the interim a Moral, which consisted | |
but of three or four Maximes, which I shall communicate unto you. | |
The first was to obey the lawes and customes of my Country, constantly | |
adhaering to that Religion wherein by the grace of God I had from mine | |
infancy bin bred. And in all other things behaving my self according to | |
the most moderate opinions and those which were farthest from excesse, | |
which were commonly received in practice by the most judicious Men, | |
amongst whom I was to live: For beginning from that very time, to reckon | |
mine own for nothing, because I could bring them all to the test, I was | |
confident I could not do better then follow those of the deepest sense; | |
and although perhaps there are as understanding men amongst the Persians | |
or Chineses as amongst us, yet I thought it was more fit to regulate my | |
self by those with whom I was to live, and that I might truly know what | |
their opinions were, I was rather to observe what they practic'd, then | |
what they taught. Not only by reason of the corruption of our manners, | |
there are but few who will say, all they beleeve, but also because | |
divers are themselves ignorant of it; for the act of the thought by | |
which we beleeve a thing, being different from that whereby we know that | |
we believe it, the one often is without the other. And amongst divers | |
opinions equally receiv'd, I made choise of the most moderate only, as | |
well because they are always the most fit for practice, and probably the | |
best, all excess being commonly ill; As also that I might less err from | |
the right way, if I should perhaps miss it, then if having chosen one of | |
the extremes, it might prove to be the other, which I should have | |
followed. And particularly I plac'd amongst extremities, all those | |
promises by which we somwhat restrain our liberty. Not that I | |
disapproved the laws, which to cure the inconstancy of weak minds, | |
permit us when we have any good design, or else for the preservation of | |
Commerce, one that is but indifferent, to make vows or contracts, which | |
oblige us to persevere in them: But because I saw nothing in the world | |
remain always in the same state; and forming own particular, promised my | |
self to perfect more and more my judgment, and not to impair it, I | |
should have thought my self guilty of a great fault against right | |
understanding, if because I then approved any thing, I were also | |
afterwards oblig'd to take it for good, when perhaps it ceased to be so, | |
or that I had ceased to esteem it so. | |
My second Maxime was, To be the most constant and resolute in my actions | |
that I could; and to follow with no less perseverance the most doubtfull | |
opinions, when I had once determined them, then if they had been the | |
most certain. Imitating herein Travellers, who having lost their way in | |
a Forrest, ought not to wander, turning now this way, and then that, and | |
less to abide in one place; but stil advance straight forwards, towards | |
one way, and not to change on slight occasions, although perhaps at | |
first Chance only mov'd them to determine that choice: For by that | |
means, if they do not go directly whither they desire, they will at | |
least arrive somewhere where they will probably be better then in the | |
midst of a Forrest. So the actions of this life admitting often of no | |
delay, its a most certain Truth, That when it is not in our power to | |
discern the truest opinions, we are to follow the most probable: Yea, | |
although we finde no more probability in the one then in the other, we | |
yet ought to determine some way, considering them afterwards no more as | |
doubtful in what they relate to practice; but as most true and certain; | |
forasmuch as the reason was so, which made us determine it. And this was | |
sufficient for that time to free me from all the remorse and repentance | |
which useth to perplex the consciences of those weak and staggering | |
minds, which inconstantly suffer themselves to passe to the practice of | |
those things as good, which they afterwards judge evill. | |
My third Maxime was, To endevour always rather to conquer my self then | |
Fortune; and to change my desires, rather then the order of the world: | |
and generally to accustome my self to beleeve, That there is nothing | |
wholly in our power but our thoughts; so that after we have done our | |
best, touching things which are without us, all whats wanting of success | |
in respect of us is absolutely impossible. And this alone seem'd | |
sufficient to hinder me from desiring any thing which I could not | |
acquire, and so to render me content. For our will naturally moving us | |
to desire nothing, but those things which our understanding presents in | |
some manner as possible, certain it is, that if we consider all the good | |
which is without us, as equally distant from our power, we should have | |
no more regret for the want of those which seem due to our births, when | |
without any fault of ours we shall be deprived of them, then we have in | |
wanting the possessions of the Kingdoms of _China_ or _Mexico_. And | |
making (as we say) vertue of necessity, we should no more desire to be | |
in health being sick, or free being in prison, then we now do, to have | |
bodies of as incorruptible a matter as diamonds, or wings to fly like | |
birds. But I confess, that a long exercise, and an often reiterated | |
meditation, is necessary to accustom us to look on all things with that | |
byass: And I beleeve, in this principally consists, the secret of those | |
Philosophers who formerly could snatch themselves from the Empire of | |
Fortune, and in spight of pains and poverty, dispute felicity with their | |
Gods, for imploying themselves incessantly in considering the bounds | |
which Nature had prescribed them, they so perfectly perswaded | |
themselves, That nothing was in their power but their thoughts, that, | |
that onely was enough to hinder them from having any affection for other | |
things. And they disposed so absolutely of them, that therein they had | |
some reason to esteem themselves more rich and powerfull, more free and | |
happy then any other men; who wanting this _Philosophy_, though they | |
were never so much favoured by Nature and Fortune, could never dispose | |
of all things so well as they desired. | |
Lastly, To conclude these Morals, I thought fit to make a review of mens | |
severall imployments in this life, that I might endeavour to make choice | |
of the best, and without prejudice to other mens, I thought I could not | |
do better then to continue in the same wherein I was, that is, to imploy | |
all my life in cultivating my Reason, and advancing my self, as far as I | |
could in the knowledge of Truth, following the Method I had prescribed | |
myself. I was sensible of such extreme contentment since I began to use | |
this Method, that I thought none could in this life be capable of any | |
more sweet and innocent: and daily discovering by means thereof, some | |
Truths which seemed to me of importance, and commonly such as other men | |
were ignorant of, the satisfaction I thereby received did so possesse my | |
minde, as if all things else concern'd me not. Besides, that the three | |
preceding Maximes were grounded only on the designe I had, to continue | |
the instruction of my self. For God having given to every one of us a | |
light to discern truth from falsehood, I could not beleeve I ought to | |
content my self one moment with the opinions of others, unlesse I had | |
proposed to my self in due time to imploy my judgment in the examination | |
of them. Neither could I have exempted my self from scruple in following | |
them, had I not hoped to lose no occasion of finding out better, if | |
there were any. | |
But to conclude, I could not have bounded my desires, nor have been | |
content, had I not followed a way, whereby thinking my self assured to | |
acquire all the knowledge I could be capable of: I thought I might by | |
the same means attain to all that was truly good, which should ever be | |
within my power; forasmuch as our Will inclining it self to follow, or | |
fly nothing but what our Understanding proposeth good or ill, to judge | |
well is sufficient to do well, and to judge the best we can, to do also | |
what's best; to wit, to acquire all vertues, and with them all | |
acquirable goods: and whosoever is sure of that, he can never fail of | |
being content. | |
After I had thus confirmed my self with these Maximes, and laid them up | |
with the Articles of Faith, which always had the first place in my | |
Belief, I judg'd that I might freely undertake to expell all the rest of | |
my opinions. And forasmuch as I did hope to bring it the better to passe | |
by conversing with men, then by staying any longer in my stove, where I | |
had had all these thoughts: before the Winter was fully ended, I | |
returned to my travels; and in all the nine following yeers I did | |
nothing but rowl here and there about the world, endeavouring rather to | |
be a spectator, then an actor in all those Comedies which were acted | |
therein: and reflecting particularly on every subject which might render | |
it suspected, or afford any occasion mistake. In the mean time I rooted | |
out of my minde all those errours which formerly had crept in. Not that | |
I therein imitated the Scepticks, who doubt onely to the end they may | |
doubt, and affect to be always unresolved: For on the contrary, all my | |
designe tended onely to fix my self, and to avoid quick-mires and sands, | |
that I might finde rock and clay: which (me thought) succeeded well | |
enough; forasmuch as, seeking to discover the falshood or uncertainty of | |
those propositions I examined, (not by weak conjectures, but by clear | |
and certain ratiocinations) I met with none so doubtfull, but I thence | |
drew some conclusion certain enough, were it but onely this, That it | |
contained nothing that was certain. And as in pulling down an old house, | |
commonly those materials are reserved which may serve to build a new | |
one; so in destroying all those my opinions which I judg'd ill grounded, | |
I made divers observations, and got severall experiences which served me | |
since to establish more certain ones. And besides I continued to | |
exercise my self in the Method I had prescribed. | |
For I was not only carefull to direct all my thoughts in generall | |
according to its rules, but I from time to time reserv'd some houres, | |
which I particularly employd to practice it in difficulties belonging to | |
the Mathematicks, loosening from all the principles of other Sciences, | |
which I found not stable enough, as you may see I have done in divers | |
explain'd in my other following discourses. And thus not living in | |
appearance otherwise then those who having no other business then to | |
lead a sweet and innocent life, study to separate pleasures from vices, | |
and use honest recreations to enjoy their ease without wearinesse; I did | |
not forbear to pursue my design, and advance in the knowledg of truth, | |
perhaps more, then if I had done nothing but read books or frequent | |
learned men. | |
Yet these nine years were vanished, before I had engaged my self in | |
those difficulties which use to be disputed amongst the learned; or | |
begun to seek the grounds of any more certain Philosophy then the | |
Vulgar: And the example of divers excellent Men who formerly having had | |
the same designe, seem'd not to me to have succeeded therein, made me | |
imagine so much difficulty, that I had not perhaps dar'd so quickly to | |
have undertaken it, had I not perceiv'd that some already had given it | |
out that I had already accomplished it. I know not whereupon they | |
grounded this opinion, and if I have contributed any thing thereto by my | |
discourse, it must have been by confessing more ingeniously what I was | |
ignorant of, then those are wont to do who have a little studyed, and | |
perhaps also by comunicating those reasons, I had to doubt of many | |
things which others esteem'd most eminent, rather then that I bragg'd of | |
any learning. But having integrity enough, not to desire to be taken for | |
what I was not, I thought that I ought to endeavour by all means to | |
render my self worthy of the reputation which was given me. And 'tis now | |
eight years since this desire made me resolve to estrange my self from | |
all places where I might have any acquaintance, and so retire my self | |
hither in a Country where the long continuance of the warre hath | |
established such orders, that the Armies which are intertain'd there, | |
seem to serve onely to make the inhabitants enjoy the fruits of peace | |
with so much the more security; and where amongst the croud of a great | |
people more active and solicitous for their own affaires, then curious | |
of other mens, not wanting any of those necessaries which are in the | |
most frequented Towns, I could live as solitary and retired as in the | |
most remote deserts. | |
Part. IIII. | |
I Know not whether I ought to entertain you with the first Meditations | |
which I had there, for they are so Metaphysicall and so little common, | |
that perhaps they will not be relished by all men: And yet that you may | |
judge whether the foundations I have laid are firm enough, I find my | |
self in a manner oblig'd to discourse them; I had long since observed | |
that as for manners, it was somtimes necessary to follow those opinions | |
which we know to be very uncertain, as much as if they were indubitable, | |
as is beforesaid: But because that then I desired onely to intend the | |
search of truth, I thought I ought to doe the contrary, and reject as | |
absolutely false all wherein I could imagine the least doubt, to the end | |
I might see if afterwards any thing might remain in my belief, not at | |
all subject to doubt. Thus because our senses sometimes deceive us, I | |
would suppose that there was nothing which was such as they represented | |
it to us. And because there are men who mistake themselves in reasoning, | |
even in the most simple matters of Geometry, and make therein | |
Paralogismes, judging that I was as subject to fail as any other Man, I | |
rejected as false all those reasons, which I had before taken for | |
Demonstrations. And considering, that the same thoughts which we have | |
waking, may also happen to us sleeping, when as not any one of them is | |
true. I resolv'd to faign, that all those things which ever entred into | |
my Minde, were no more true, then the illusions of my dreams. But | |
presently after I observ'd, that whilst I would think that all was | |
false, it must necessarily follow, that I who thought it, must be | |
something. And perceiving that this Truth, _I think_, therefore, _I am_, | |
was so firm and certain, that all the most extravagant suppositions of | |
the Scepticks was not able to shake it, I judg'd that I might receive it | |
without scruple for the first principle of the Philosophy I sought. | |
Examining carefully afterwards what I was; and seeing that I could | |
suppose that I had no _body_, and that there was no _World_, nor any | |
_place_ where I was: but for all this, I could not feign that I _was | |
not_; and that even contrary thereto, thinking to doubt the truth of | |
other things, it most evidently and certainly followed, That _I was_: | |
whereas, if I had ceas'd to _think_, although all the rest of what-ever | |
I had imagined were true, I had no reason to beleeve that _I had been_. | |
I knew then that I was a substance, whose whole essence or nature is, | |
but to _think_, and who to _be_, hath need of no place, nor depends on | |
any materiall thing. So that this _Me_, to wit, my Soul, by which I am | |
what I am, is wholly distinct from the Body, and more easie to be known | |
then _it_; and although _that_ were not, it would not therefore cease to | |
be what it is. | |
After this I considered in generall what is requisite in a Proposition | |
to make it true and certain: for since I had found out one which I knew | |
to be so, I thought I ought also to consider wherein that certainty | |
consisted: and having observed, That there is nothing at all in this, _I | |
think_, therefore _I am_, which assures me that I speak the truth, | |
except this, that I see most cleerly, That _to think_, one must have a | |
_being_; I judg'd that I might take for a generall rule, That those | |
things which we conceive cleerly and distinctly, are all true; and that | |
the onely difficulty is punctually to observe what those are which we | |
distinctly conceive. | |
In pursuance whereof, reflecting on what I doubted, and that | |
consequently my _being_ was not perfect; for I clearly perceived, that | |
it was a greater perfection to know, then to doubt, I advised in my | |
self to seek from whence I had learnt to think on something which was | |
more perfect then I; and I knew evidently that it must be of some nature | |
which was indeed more perfect. As for what concerns the thoughts I had | |
of divers other things without my self, as of heaven, earth, light, | |
heat, and a thousand more, I was not so much troubled to know whence | |
they came, for that I observed nothing in them which seemed to render | |
them superiour to me; I might beleeve, that if they were true, they were | |
dependancies from my nature, as far forth as it had any perfection; and | |
if they were not, I made no accompt of them; that is to say, That they | |
were in me, because I had something deficient. But it could not be the | |
same with the _Idea_ of a being more perfect then mine: For to esteem of | |
it as of nothing, was a thing manifestly impossible. And because there | |
is no lesse repugnancy that the more perfect should succeed from and | |
depend upon the less perfect, then for something to proceed from | |
nothing, I could no more hold it from my self: So as it followed, that | |
it must have bin put into me by a Nature which was truly more perfect | |
then _I_, and even which had in it all the perfections whereof I could | |
have an _Idea_; to wit, (to explain my self in one word) God. Whereto I | |
added, that since I knew some perfections which I had not, I was not the | |
onely _Being_ which had an existence, (I shall, under favour, use here | |
freely the terms of the Schools) but that of necessity there must be | |
some other more perfect whereon I depended, and from whom I had gotten | |
all what I had: For had I been alone, and depending upon no other thing, | |
so that I had had of my self all that little which I participated of a | |
perfect Being, I might have had by the same reason from my self, all the | |
remainder which I knew I wanted, and so have been my self infinite, | |
eternall, immutable, all-knowing, almighty; and lastly, have had all | |
those perfections which I have observed to be in God. For according to | |
the way of reasoning I have now followed, to know the nature of God, as | |
far as mine own was capable of it, I was onely to consider of those | |
things of which I found an _Idea_ in me, whether the possessing of them | |
were a perfection or no; and I was sure, that any of those which had any | |
imperfections were not in him, but that all others were. I saw that | |
doubtfulness, inconstancy, sorrow and the like, could not be in him, | |
seeing I could my self have wish'd to have been exempted from them. | |
Besides this, I had the _Ideas_ of divers sensible and corporeall | |
things; for although I supposed that I doted, and that all that I saw or | |
imagined was false; yet could I not deny but that these _Ideas_ were | |
truly in my thoughts. But because I had most evidently known in my self, | |
That the understanding Nature is distinct from the corporeall, | |
considering that all composition witnesseth a dependency, and that | |
dependency is manifestly a defect, I thence judged that it could not be | |
a perfection in God to be composed of those two Natures; and that by | |
consequence he was not so composed. But that if there were any Bodies in | |
the world, or els any intelligences, or other Natures which were not | |
wholly perfect, their being must depend from his power in such a manner, | |
that they could not subsist one moment without him. | |
Thence I went in search of other Truths; and having proposed _Geometry_ | |
for my object, which I conceived as a continued Body, or a space | |
indefinitely spred in length, bredth, height or depth, divisible into | |
divers parts, which might take severall figures and bignesses, and be | |
moved and transposed every way. For the Geometricians suppose all this | |
in their object. I past through some of their most simple | |
demonstrations; and having observed that this great certaintie, which | |
all the world grants them, is founded only on this, that men evidently | |
conceived them, following the rule I already mentioned. I observed also | |
that there was nothing at all in them which ascertain'd me of the | |
existence of their object. As for example, I well perceive, that | |
supposing a Triangle, three angles necessarily must be equall to two | |
right ones: but yet nevertheless I saw nothing which assured me that | |
there was a Triangle in the world. Whereas returning to examine the | |
_Idea_ which I had of a perfect Being, _I_ found its existence comprised | |
in it, in the same manner as it was comprised in that of a Triangle, | |
where the three angles are equall to two right ones; or in that of a | |
sphere, where all the parts are equally distant from the center. Or even | |
yet more evidently, and that by consequence, it is at least as certain | |
that God, who is that perfect Being, is, or exists, as any demonstration | |
in Geometry can be. | |
But that which makes many perswade themselves that there is difficulty | |
in knowing it, as also to know what their Soul is, 'tis that they never | |
raise their thoughts beyond sensible things, and that they are so | |
accustomed to consider nothing but by imagination, which is a particular | |
manner of thinking on materiall things, that whatsoever is not | |
imaginable seems to them not intelligible. Which is manifest enough from | |
this, that even the Philosophers hold for a Maxime in the Schools, That | |
there is nothing in the understanding which was not first in the sense; | |
where notwithstanding its certain, that the _Ideas_ of God and of the | |
Soul never were. And (me thinks) those who use their imagination to | |
comprehend them, are just as those, who to hear sounds, or smell odours, | |
would make use of their eys; save that there is yet this difference, | |
That the sense of seeing assures us no lesse of the truth of its | |
objects, then those of smelling or hearing do: whereas neither our | |
imagination, nor our senses, can ever assure us of any thing, if our | |
understanding intervenes not. | |
To be short, if there remain any who are not enough perswaded of the | |
existence of God, and of their soul, from the reasons I have produc'd, I | |
would have them know, that all other things, whereof perhaps they think | |
themselves more assured, as to have a body, and that there are Stars, | |
and an earth, and the like, are less certain. For although we had such a | |
morall assurance of these things, that without being extravagant we | |
could not doubt of them. However, unless we be unreasonable when a | |
metaphysicall certainty is in question, we cannot deny but we have cause | |
enough not to be wholly confirmed in them, when we consider that in the | |
same manner we may imagine being asleep, we have other bodies, and that | |
we see other Stars, and another earth, though there be no such thing. | |
For how doe we know that those thoughts which we have in our dreams, | |
are rather false then the others, seeing often they are no less lively | |
and significant, and let the ablest men study it as long as they please, | |
I beleeve they can give no sufficient reason to remove this doubt, | |
unless they presuppose the existence of God. For first of all, that | |
which I even now took for a rule, to wit, that those things which were | |
most clearly and distinctly conceived, are all true, is certain, only by | |
reason, that God is or exists, and that he is a perfect being, and that | |
all which we have comes from him. Whence it follows, that our Idea's or | |
notions, being reall things, and which come from God in all wherein they | |
are clear and distinct, cannot therein be but true. So that if we have | |
very often any which contain falshood, they cannot be but of such things | |
which are somewhat confus'd and obscure, because that therein they | |
signifie nothing to us, that's to say, that they are thus confus'd in us | |
only, because we are not wholly perfect. And it's evident that there is | |
no less contrariety that falshood and imperfection should proceed from | |
God, as such, then there is in this, that truth and falshood proceed | |
from nothing. But if we know not that whatsoever was true and reall in | |
us comes from a perfect and infinite being, how clear and distinct | |
soever our Idea's were, we should have no reason to assure us, that they | |
had the perfection to be true. | |
Now after that the knowledge of God, and of the Soul hath rendred us | |
thus certain of this rule, it's easie to know; that the extravaganceys | |
which we imagin in our sleep, ought no way to make us doubt of the truth | |
of those thoughts which we have being awake: For if it should happen, | |
that even sleeping we should have a very distinct Idea; as for example, | |
A Geometritian should invent some new demonstration, his sleeping would | |
not hinder it to be true. And for the most ordinary error of our | |
dreames, which consists in that they represent unto us severall objects | |
in the same manner as our exterior senses doe, it matters not though it | |
give us occasion to mistrust the truth of those Ideas, because that they | |
may also often enough cozen us when we doe not sleep; As when to those | |
who have the Jaundies, all they see seems yellow; or, as the Stars or | |
other bodies at a distance, appear much less then they are. For in fine, | |
whether we sleep or wake, we ought never to suffer our selves to be | |
perswaded but by the evidence of our Reason; I say, (which is | |
observable) Of our Reason, and not of our imagination, or of our senses. | |
As although we see the Sun most clearly, we are not therefore to judge | |
him to be of the bigness we see him of; and we may well distinctly | |
imagine the head of a Lion, set on the body of a Goat, but therefore we | |
ought not to conclude that there is a _Chimera_ in the world. For reason | |
doth not dictate to us, that what we see or imagine so, is true: But it | |
dictates, that all our Idea's or notions ought to have some grounds of | |
truth; For it were not possible, that God who is all perfect, and all | |
truth, should have put them in us without that: And because that our | |
reasonings are never so evident, nor so entire while we sleep, as when | |
we wake, although sometimes our imaginations be then as much or more | |
lively and express. It also dictates to us, that our thoughts, seeing | |
they cannot be all true by reason that we are not wholly perfect; what | |
they have of truth, ought infallibly to occur in those which we have | |
being awake, rather then in our dreams. | |
Part. V. | |
I should be glad to pursue this Discourse, and shew you the whole Series | |
of the following Truths, which I have drawn from the former: But because | |
for this purpose, it were now necessary for me to treat of severall | |
questions, which are controverted by the learned, with whom I have no | |
desire to imbroil my self, I beleeve it better for me to abstain from | |
it; and so in generall onely to discover what they are, that I may leave | |
the wisest to judge whether it were profitable to inform the publick | |
more particularly of them. I alwayes remained constant to my resolution, | |
to suppose no other Principle but that which I now made use of, for the | |
demonstration of the Existence of God, and of the Soul; and to receive | |
nothing for true, which did not seem to me more clear and more certain | |
then the demonstrations of Geometry had formerly done. And yet I dare | |
say, that I have not onely found out the means to satisfie my self, in a | |
short time, concerning all the principall difficulties which are usually | |
treated in Philosophy. But that also _I_ have observed certain Laws | |
which God hath so established in Nature, and of which he hath imprinted | |
such notions in our Souls, that when we shall have made sufficient | |
reflections upon them we cannot doubt but that they are exactly observed | |
in whatsoever either is, or is done in the World. Then considering the | |
connexion of these Laws, me thinks, I have discovercd divers Truths, | |
more usefull and important then whatever _I_ learn'd before, or ever | |
hop'd to learn. | |
But because _I_ have endeavoured to lay open the principall of them in a | |
Treatise, which some considerations hinder me from publishing; _I_ can | |
no way better make them known, then by relating summarily what it | |
contains. | |
I had a designe to comprehend all what I thought _I_ knew, before _I_ | |
would write it, touching the nature of material things. But even as | |
Painters, not being able equally well to represent upon a _flat_ all the | |
severall facies of a solid body, chuse the principall of them, which | |
they place towards the light; and shadowing the others, make them appear | |
no more then they do to our sight: So, fearing lest _I_ should not bring | |
into this Discourse all which was in my thoughts, _I_ onely undertook to | |
set forth at large my conceptions touching the light; and upon that | |
occasion to add somewhat of the Sun, and of the fix'd Stars, by reason | |
that it proceeds almost all from thence; of the Heavens, because they | |
transmit it; of the Planets, of the Comets, and of the Earth, because | |
they cause it to reflect; and in particular, of all Bodies which are on | |
the earth, whether for that they are either coloured, or transparent, or | |
luminous; and last of all, of Man, because he is the Spectator thereof. | |
As also, in some manner to shadow out all these things, and that _I_ | |
might the more freely speak what _I_ judg'd, without being obliged to | |
follow, or to refute the opinions which are received amongst the | |
Learned, _I_ resolved to leave all this world here to their disputes, | |
and to speak onely of what would happen in a new one, if God now created | |
some where in those imaginary spaces matter enough to compose it, and | |
that he diversly and without order agitated the severall parts of this | |
matter, so as to compose a Chaos of it as confused as the Poets could | |
feign one: and that afterwards he did nothing but lend his ordinary | |
concurrence to Nature, and leave her to work according to the Laws he | |
hath established. | |
Thus first of all _I_ described this Matter, and endevoured to | |
represent it such, that me thinks there is nothing in the world more | |
clear, or more intelligible, except what was beforesaid of God, and of | |
the Soul. For even _I_ expresly supposed that there was in it none of | |
those forms and qualities which are disputed in the Schools; nor | |
generally any thing but that the knowledge thereof was so naturall to | |
our understandings, that we could not even feigne to be ignorant of it. | |
Besides, I made known what the Laws of Nature were; and without | |
grounding my reasons on any other principles, but on the infinite | |
perfections of God, I did endeavour to demonstrate all those which might | |
be questioned, and to make them appear to be such, that although God had | |
created divers worlds, there could have been none where they were not | |
observed. Afterwards _I_ shewed how the greater part of the Matter of | |
this _Chaos_ ought, according to those Laws, to dispose and order it | |
self in a certain manner, which would make it like our Heavens: And how | |
some of these parts were to compose an Earth, and some Planets and | |
Commets, some others a Sun and fix'd Starrs. And here enlarging my self | |
on the subject of Light, _I_ at length explain'd what that light was, | |
which was to be in the Sun and Stars; and thence how it travers'd in an | |
instant the immense spaces of the Heavens, and how it reflected it self | |
from Planets and Commets towards the Earth. _I_ added also divers things | |
touching the substance, situation, the motions, and all the several | |
qualities of these heavens and these stars: So that _I_ thought _I_ had | |
said enough to make known, That there is nothing remarkable in those of | |
this world, which ought not, or at least could not appear altogether | |
like to these of that world which _I_ described. | |
Thence _I_ came to speak particularly of the Earth; how, although I had | |
expresly supposed, that God had placed no weight in the Matter whereof | |
it was composed; yet all its parts exactly tended towards its center: | |
How that there being water and air upon its superficies, the disposition | |
of the Heavens, and of the Starrs, and chiefly of the Moon, ought to | |
cause a floud and an ebb, which in all circumstances was like to that | |
which we observe in our Seas; And besides, a certain course aswel of the | |
water, as of the air, from East to West, as is also observed between the | |
Tropicks: How the Mountains, the Seas, the Springs and Rivers might | |
naturally be form'd therein, and Metals run in the mines, and Plants | |
grow in the Fields, and generally all bodies be therein engendered which | |
are call'd mixt or composed. | |
And amongst other things, because that next the Stars, I know nothing in | |
the world but Fire, which produceth light, I studied to make all clearly | |
understood which belongs to its nature; how it's made, how it's fed, | |
how sometimes it hath heat onely without light, and sometimes onely | |
light without heat; how it can introduce several colours into several | |
bodies, and divers other qualities; how it dissolves some, and hardens | |
others; how it can consume almost all, or convert them into ashes and | |
smoak: and last of all, how of those ashes, by the only violence of its | |
action, it forms glass. For this transmutation of ashes into glass, | |
seeming to me to be as admirable as any other operation in Nature, I | |
particularly took pleasure to describe it. | |
Yet would I not inferre from all these things, that this World was | |
created after the manner I had proposed. For it is more probable that | |
God made it such as it was to be, from the beginning. But it's certain, | |
and 'tis an opinion commonly received amongst the Divines, That the | |
action whereby he now preserveth it, is the same with that by which he | |
created it. So that, although at the beginning he had given it no other | |
form but that of a Chaos (provided, that having established the Laws of | |
Nature, he had afforded his concurrence to it, to work as it used to do) | |
we may beleeve (without doing wrong to the miracle of the Creation) that | |
by that alone all things which are purely material might in time have | |
rendred themselves such as we now see them: and their nature is far | |
easier to conceive, when by little and little we see them brought forth | |
so, then when we consider them quite form'd all at once. | |
From the description of inanimate Bodies and Plants, I pass'd to that of | |
Animals, and particularly to that of Men. But because I had not yet | |
knowledge enough to speak of them in the same stile as of the others; to | |
wit, in demonstrating effects by their causes, and shewing from what | |
seeds, and in what manner Nature ought to produce them; I contented my | |
self to suppose, That God form'd the body of a Man altogether like one | |
of ours; aswel the exteriour figure of its members, as in the interiour | |
conformity of its organs; without framing it of other matter then of | |
that which I had described; and without putting in it at the beginning | |
any reasonable soul, or any other thing to serve therein for a | |
vegetative or sensitive soul; unless he stirr'd up in his heart one of | |
those fires without light which I had already discovered; and that I | |
conceiv'd of no other nature but that which heats hay when its housed | |
before it be dry, or which causes new Wines to boyl when it works upon | |
the grape: For examining the functions which might be consequently in | |
this body, I exactly found all those which may be in us, without our | |
thinking of them; and to which our soul (that is to say, that distinct | |
part from our bodies, whose nature (as hath been said before) is onely | |
to think) consequently doth not contribute, and which are all the same | |
wherein we may say unreasonable creatures resemble us. Yet could I not | |
finde any, of those which depending from the thought, are the onely ones | |
which belong unto us as Men; whereas I found them all afterwards, having | |
supposed that God created a reasonable soul, and that he joyn'd it to | |
this body, after a certain manner which I describ'd. | |
But that you might see how I treated this matter, I shall here present | |
you with the explication of the motion of the heart, and of the | |
arteries, which being the first and most general (which is observed in | |
animals) we may thereby easily judge what we ought to think of all the | |
rest. And that we may have the less difficulty to understand what I | |
shall say thereof, I wish those who are not versed in Anatomy, would | |
take the pains, before they read this, to cause the heart of some great | |
animal which hath lungs, to be dissected; for in all of them its very | |
like that of a Man: and that they may have shewn them the two cels or | |
concavities which are there: First that on the right side, whereto two | |
large conduits answer, to wit, the _vena cava_, which is the principal | |
receptacle of bloud, and as the body of a tree, whereof all the other | |
veins of the body are branches; and the arterious vein, which was so | |
mis-call'd, because that in effect its an artery, which taking its | |
_origine_ from the heart, divides it self after being come forth, into | |
divers branches, which every way spred themselves through the lungs. | |
Then the other which is on the left side, whereunto in the same manner | |
two pipes answer, which are as large, or larger then the former; to wit, | |
the veinous artery, which was also il named, forasmuch as its nothing | |
else but a vein which comes from the lungs, where its divided into | |
several branches interlaid with those of the arterious vein, and those | |
of that pipe which is called the Whistle, by which the breath enters. | |
And the great artery, which proceeding from the heart, disperseth its | |
branches thorow all the body. I would also that they would carefully | |
observe the eleven little skins, which, as so many little doors, open | |
and shut the four openings which are in these two concavities; to wit, | |
three at the entry of the _vena cava_, where they are so disposed, that | |
they can no wayes hinder the bloud which it contains from running into | |
the right concavity of the heart; and yet altogether hinder it from | |
coming out. Three at the entry of the arterious vein; which being | |
disposed quite contrary, permit only the bloud which is in that | |
concavity to pass to the lungs; but not that which is in the lungs to | |
return thither. And then two others at the entry of the veinous artery, | |
which permits the bloud to run to the left concavity of the heart, but | |
opposeth its return. And three at the entry of the great artery, which | |
permit it to go from the heart, but hinder its return thither. Neither | |
need we seek any other reason for the number of these skins, save only | |
that the opening of the veinous artery, being oval-wise, by reason of | |
its situation, may be fitly shut with two; whereas the other, being | |
round, may the better be clos'd with three. Besides, I would have them | |
consider, that the great artery and the arterious vein are of a | |
composition much stronger then the veinous artery or the _vena cava_. | |
And that these two later grow larger before they enter into the heart, | |
and make (as it were) two purses, call'd the ears of the heart, which | |
are composed of a flesh like it; and that there is always more heat in | |
the heart then in any other part of the body. And in fine, that if any | |
drop of bloud enter into these concavities, this heat is able to make it | |
presently swell and dilate it self, as generally all liquors do, when | |
drop by drop we let them fall into a very hot vessel. | |
For after this I need say no more for to unfold the motion of the | |
heart, but that when these concavities are not full of bloud, | |
necessarily there runs some from the _vena cava_ into the right, and | |
from the veinous artery into the left; for that these two vessels are | |
always full of it, and that their openings which are towards the heart | |
cannot then be shut: But that assoon as there is thus but two drops of | |
bloud entred, one in either of these concavities, these drops, which | |
cannot but be very big, by reason that their openings whereby they enter | |
are very large, and the vessels whence they come very full of bloud, are | |
rarified and dilated because of the heat which they find therein. By | |
means whereof, causing all the heart to swel, they drive and shut the | |
five little doors which are at the entry of the two vessels whence they | |
come, hindering thereby any more bloud to fall down into the heart, and | |
continuing more and more to rarifie themselves, they drive and open the | |
six other little doors which are at the entry of the other two vessels | |
whence they issue, causing by that means all the branches of the | |
arterious vein, and of the great artery, to swel (as it were) at the | |
same time with the heart: which presently after fals, as those arteries | |
also do, by reason that the bloud which is entred therein grows colder, | |
and their six little doors shut up again, and those five of the _vena | |
cava_, and of the veinous artery open again, and give way to two other | |
drops of bloud, which again swell the heart and the arteries in the same | |
manner as the preceding did. And because the bloud which thus enters | |
into the heart, passeth thorow those two purses, which are call'd the | |
ears; thence it comes, that their motion is contrary to the heart's, and | |
that they fall when that swels. | |
Lastly, That they who know not the force of Mathematical demonstrations, | |
and are not accustomed to distinguish true reasons from probable ones, | |
may not venture to deny this without examining it, I shall advertise | |
them, that this motion which I have now discovered, as necessarily | |
follows from the onely disposition of the organs (which may plainly be | |
seen in the heart,) and from the heat (which we may feel with our | |
fingers,) and from the nature of the bloud (which we may know by | |
experience,) as the motions of a clock doth by the force, situation and | |
figure of its weight and wheels. | |
But if it be asked, how it comes that the bloud of the veins is not | |
exhausted, running so continually into the heart; and how that the | |
arteries are not too full, since all that which passeth thorow the heart | |
dischargeth it self into them: I need answer nothing thereto but what | |
hath been already writ by an English Physician, to whom this praise must | |
be given, to have broken the ice in this place, and to be the first who | |
taught us, That there are several little passages in the extremity of | |
the arteries whereby the bloud which they receive from the heart, | |
enters the little branches of the veins; whence again it sends it self | |
back towards the heart: so that its course is no other thing but a | |
perpetuall circulation. Which he very wel proves by the ordinary | |
experience of Chirurgians, who having bound the arm indifferently hard | |
above the the place where they open the vein, which causeth the bloud to | |
issue more abundantly, then if it had not been bound. And the contrary | |
would happen, were it bound underneath, between the hand and the | |
incision, or bound very hard above. For its manifest, that the band | |
indifferently tyed, being able to hinder the bloud which is already in | |
the arm to return towards the heart by the veins; yet it therefore | |
hinders not the new from coming always by the arteries, by reason they | |
are placed under the veins, and that their skin being thicker, are less | |
easie to be press'd, as also that the bloud which comes from the heart, | |
seeks more forcibly to passe by them towards the hand, then it doth to | |
return from thence towards the heart by the veins. And since this bloud | |
which issues from the arm by the incision made in one of the veins, must | |
necessarily have some passage under the bond, to wit, towards the | |
extremities of the arm, whereby it may come thither by the arteries, he | |
also proves very well what he sayes of the course of the bloud through | |
certain little skins, which are so disposed in divers places along the | |
veins, which permit it not to pass from the middle towards the | |
extremities, but onely to return from the extremities towards the heart. | |
And besides this, experience shews, That all the bloud which is in the | |
body may in a very little time run out by one onely artery's being cut, | |
although it were even bound very neer the heart, and cut betwixt it and | |
the ligature: So that we could have no reason to imagine that the bloud | |
which issued thence could come from any other part. | |
But there are divers other things which witness, that the true cause of | |
this motion of the bloud is that which I have related. As first, The | |
difference observed between that which issues out of the veins, and that | |
which comes out of the arteries, cannot proceed but from its being | |
rarified and (as it were) distilled by passing thorow the heart: its | |
more subtil, more lively, and more hot presently after it comes out; | |
that is to say, being in the arteries, then it is a little before it | |
enters them, that is to say, in the veins. And if you observe, you will | |
finde, that this difference appears not well but about the heart; and | |
not so much in those places which are farther off. Next, the hardnesse | |
of the skin of which the artery vein and the great artery are composed, | |
sheweth sufficiently, that the bloud beats against them more forcibly | |
then against the veins. And why should the left concavity of the heart, | |
and the great artery be more large and ample then the right concavity, | |
and the arterious vein; unless it were that the bloud of the veinous | |
artery, having bin but onely in the lungs since its passage thorow the | |
heart, is more subtil, and is rarified with more force and ease then the | |
bloud which immediately comes from the _vena cava_. And what can the | |
Physicians divine by feeling of the pulse, unlesse they know, that | |
according as the bloud changeth its nature, it may by the heat of the | |
heart be rarified to be more or lesse strong, and more or lesse quick | |
then before. And if we examine how this heat is communicated to the | |
other members, must we not avow that 'tis by means of the bloud, which | |
passing the heart, reheats it self there, and thence disperseth it self | |
thorow the whole body: whence it happens, that if you take away the | |
bloud from any part, the heat by the same means also is taken a way. And | |
although the heart were as burning as hot iron, it were not sufficient | |
to warm the feet and the hands so often as it doth, did it not continue | |
to furnish them with new bloud. | |
Besides, from thence we know also that the true use of respiration is to | |
bring fresh air enough to the lungs, to cause that bloud which comes | |
from the right concavity of the heart, where it was rarified, and (as it | |
were) chang'd into vapours, there to thicken, and convert it self into | |
bloud again, before it fall again into the left, without which it would | |
not be fit to serve for the nourishment of the fire which is there. | |
Which is confirm'd, for that its seen, that animals which have no lungs | |
have but one onely concavity in the heart; and that children, who can | |
make no use of them when they are in their mothers bellies, have an | |
opening, by which the bloud of the _vena cava_ runs to the left | |
concavity of the heart, and a conduit by which it comes from the | |
arterious vein into the great artery without passing the lungs. | |
Next, How would the concoction be made in the stomach, unlesse the heart | |
sent heat by the arteries, and therewithall some of the most fluid parts | |
of the bloud, which help to dissolve the meat receiv'd therein? and is | |
not the act which converts the juice of these meats into bloud easie to | |
be known, if we consider, that it is distill'd by passing and repassing | |
the heart, perhaps more then one or two hundred times a day? And what | |
need we ought else to explain the nutrition and the production of divers | |
humours which are in the body, but to say, that the force wherewith the | |
bloud in rarifying it self, passeth from the heart towards the | |
extremities or the arteries, causeth some of its parts to stay amongst | |
those of the members where they are, and there take the place of some | |
others, which they drive from thence? And that according to the | |
situation, or the figure, or the smalnesse of the pores which they | |
meet, some arrive sooner in one place then others. In the same manner | |
as we may have seen in severall sieves, which being diversly pierc'd, | |
serve to sever divers grains one from the other. And briefly, that which | |
is most remarkable herein, is the generation of the animal spirits, | |
which are as a most subtil wind, or rather, as a most pure and lively | |
flame, which continually rising in great abundance from the heart to the | |
brain, dischargeth it self thence by the nerves into the muscles, and | |
gives motion to all the members; without imagining any other reason | |
which might cause these parts of the bloud, which being most mov'd, and | |
the most penetrating, are the most fit to form these spirits, tend | |
rather towards the brain, then to any other part. Save onely that the | |
arteries which carry them thither, are those which come from the heart | |
in the most direct line of all: And that according to the rules of the | |
Mechanicks, which are the same with those of Nature, when divers things | |
together strive to move one way, where there is not room enough for all; | |
so those parts of bloud which issue from the left concavity of the heart | |
tend towards the brain, the weaker and less agitated are expell'd by the | |
stronger, who by that means arrive there alone. | |
I had particularly enough expounded all these things in a Treatise which | |
I formerly had design'd to publish: In pursuit whereof, I had therein | |
shewed what ought to be the fabrick of the nerves and muscles of an | |
humane body, to cause those animall spirits which were in them, to have | |
the power to move those members. As we see that heads a while after they | |
are cut off, yet move of themselves, and bite the ground, although they | |
are not then animated. What changes ought to be made in the brain to | |
cause waking, sleeping, and dreaming: how light, sounds, smels, tasts, | |
heat, and all other qualities of exteriour objects, might imprint | |
severall _Ideas_ by means of the senses. How hunger and thirst, and the | |
other interiour passions might also send theirs thither. What ought to | |
be taken therein for common sense, where these _Ideas_ are received; for | |
memory which preserves them; and for fancy, which can diversly change | |
them, and form new ones of them; and by the same means, distributing the | |
animal spirits into the muscles, make the members of the body move in so | |
many severall fashions, and as fitly to those objects which present | |
themselves to its senses; and to the interiour passions which are in | |
them, as ours may move themselves without the consent of the Wil. Which | |
wil seem nothing strange to those, who knowing how many _Automatas_ or | |
moving Machines the industry of men can make, imploying but very few | |
pieces, in comparison of the great abundance of bones, muscles, nerves, | |
arteries, veins, and all the other parts which are in the body of every | |
Animal, will consider this body as a fabrick, which having been made by | |
the hands of God, is incomparably better ordered, and hath more | |
admirable motions in it then any of those which can be invented by men. | |
And herein I particularly insisted, to make it appear, that if there | |
were such Machines which had organs, and the exteriour figure of an Ape, | |
or of any other unreasonable creature, we should finde no means of | |
knowing them not to be altogether of the same nature as those Animals: | |
whereas, if there were any which resembled our bodies, and imitated our | |
actions as much as morally it were possible, we should always have two | |
most certain ways to know, that for all that they were not reall men: | |
The first of which is, that they could never have the use of speech, nor | |
of other signes in framing it, as we have, to declare our thoughts to | |
others: for we may well conceive, that a Machine may be so made, that it | |
may utter words, and even some proper to the corporal actions, which | |
may cause some change in its organs; as if we touch it in some part, and | |
it should ask what we would say; or so as it might cry out that one | |
hurts it, and the like: but not that they can diversifie them to answer | |
sensibly to all what shall be spoken in its presence, as the dullest men | |
may do. And the second is, That although they did divers things aswel, | |
or perhaps better, then any of us, they must infallibly fail in some | |
others, whereby we might discover that they act not with knowledge, but | |
onely by the disposition of their organs: for whereas Reason is an | |
universal instrument which may serve in all kinde of encounters, these | |
organs have need of some particular disposition for every particular | |
action: whence it is, that its morally impossible for one Machine to | |
have severall organs enough to make it move in all the occurrences of | |
this life, in the same manner as our Reason makes us move. Now by these | |
two means we may also know the difference which is between Men and | |
Beasts: For 'tis a very remarkable thing, that there are no men so dull | |
and so stupid, without excepting those who are out of their wits, but | |
are capable to rank severall words together, and of them to compose a | |
Discourse, by which they make known their thoughts: and that on the | |
contrary, there is no other creature, how perfect or happily soever | |
brought forth, which can do the like. The which happens, not because | |
they want organs; for we know, that Pyes and Parrots can utter words | |
even as we can, and yet cannot speak like us; that is to say, with | |
evidence that they think what they say. Whereas Men, being born deaf and | |
dumb, and deprived of those organs which seem to make others speak, as | |
much or more then beasts, usually invent of themselves to be understood | |
by those, who commonly being with them, have the leisure to learn their | |
expressions. And this not onely witnesseth, that Beasts have lesse | |
reason than men, but that they have none at all. For we see there needs | |
not much to learn to speak: and forasmuch as we observe inequality | |
amongst Beasts of the same kind, aswell as amongst men, and that some | |
are more easily managed then others; 'tis not to be believed, but that | |
an Ape or a Parrot which were the most perfect of its kinde, should | |
therein equall the most stupid child, or at least a child of a | |
distracted brain, if their souls were not of a nature wholly different | |
from ours. And we ought not to confound words with naturall motions, | |
which witness passions, and may be imitated by Machines aswell as by | |
Animals; nor think (as some of the Ancients) that beasts speak, although | |
we do not understand their language: for if it were true, since they | |
have divers organs which relate to ours, they could aswell make | |
themselves understood by us, as by their like. Its likewise very | |
remarkable that although there are divers creatures which express more | |
industry then we in some one of their actions; yet we may well perceive, | |
that the same shew none at all in many others: So that what they do | |
better then we, proves not at all that they have reason; for by that | |
reckoning they would have more then any of us, and would do better in | |
all other things; but rather, that they have none at all, and that its | |
Nature onely which works in them according to the disposition of their | |
organs. As wee see a Clock, which is onely composed of wheels and | |
springs, can reckon the hours, and measure the times more exactly then | |
we can with all our prudence. | |
After this I had described the reasonable Soul, and made it appear, that | |
it could no way be drawn from the power of the Matter, as other things | |
whereof I had spoken; but that it ought to have been expresly created: | |
And how it suffiseth not for it to be lodg'd in our humane body as a | |
Pilot in his ship, to move its members onely; but also that its | |
necessary it be joyned and united more strongly therewith to have | |
thoughts and appetites like ours, and so make a reall man. | |
I have here dilated my self a little on the subject of the Soul, by | |
reason 'tis of most importance; for, next the errour of those who deny | |
God, which I think I have already sufficiently confuted, there is none | |
which sooner estrangeth feeble minds from the right way of vertue, then | |
to imagine that the soul of beasts is of the same nature as ours, and | |
that consequently we have nothing to fear nor hope after this life, no | |
more then flies or ants. Whereas, when we know how different they are, | |
we comprehend much better the reasons which prove that ours is of a | |
nature wholly independing from the body, and consequently that it is not | |
subject to die with it. And that when we see no other cause which | |
destroys it, we are naturally thence moved to judge that it's immortall. | |
PART. VI. | |
Its now three years since I ended the Treatise which contains all these | |
things, and that I began to review it, to send it afterwards to the | |
Presse, when I understood, that persons to whom I submit, and whose | |
authority can no lesse command my actions, then my own Reason doth my | |
thoughts, had disapproved an opinion in Physicks, published a little | |
before by another; of which I will not say that I was, but that indeed I | |
had observed nothing therein, before their censure, which I could have | |
imagined prejudiciall either to Religion or the State; or consequently, | |
which might have hindred me from writing the same, had my Reason | |
perswaded mee thereto. And this made me fear, lest in the same manner | |
there might be found some one amongst mine, in which I might have been | |
mistaken; notwithstanding the great care I always had to admit no new | |
ones into my belief, of which I had not most certain demonstrations; and | |
not to write such as might turn to the disadvantage of any body. Which | |
was sufficient to oblige me to change my resolution of publishing them. | |
For although the reasons for which I had first of all taken it, were | |
very strong; yet my inclination, which alwayes made me hate the trade of | |
Book-making, presently found me out others enough to excuse my self from | |
it. And these reasons on the one and other side are such, that I am not | |
only somewhat concern'd to speak them; but happily the Publick also to | |
know them. | |
I never did much esteem those things which proceeded from mine own | |
brain; and so long as I have gathered no other fruits from the Method I | |
use, but onely that I have satisfied my self in some difficulties which | |
belong to speculative Sciences, or at least endeavoured to regulate my | |
Manners by the reasons it taught me, I thought my self not obliged to | |
write any thing of them. For, as for what concerns Manners, every one | |
abounds so much in his own sense, That we may finde as many Reformers as | |
heads, were it permitted to others, besides those whom God hath | |
established as Soveraigns over his people, or at least, to whom he hath | |
dispensed grace and zeal enough to be Prophets, to undertake the change | |
of any thing therein. And although my Speculations did very much please | |
me, I did beleeve that other men also had some, which perhaps pleas'd | |
them more. But as soon as I had acquired some generall notions touching | |
naturall Philosophy, and beginning to prove them in divers particular | |
difficulties, I observed how far they might lead a man, and how far | |
different they were from the principles which to this day are in use; I | |
judg'd, that I could not keep them hid without highly sinning against | |
the Law, which obligeth us to procure, as much as in us lies, the | |
general good of all men. For they made it appear to me, that it was | |
possible to attain to points of knowledge, which may be very profitable | |
for this life: and that in stead of this speculative Philosophy which is | |
taught in the Schools, we might finde out a practicall one, by which | |
knowing the force and workings of Fire, Water, Air, of the Starrs, of | |
the Heavens, and of all other Bodies which environ us, distinctly, as we | |
know the several trades of our Handicrafts, we might in the same manner | |
employ them to all uses to which they are fit, and so become masters and | |
possessours of Nature. Which is not onely to be desired for the | |
invention of very many expedients of Arts, which without trouble might | |
make us enjoy the fruits of the earth, and all the conveniences which | |
are to be found therein: But chiefly also for the preservation of | |
health, which (without doubt) is the first good, and the foundation of | |
all other good things in this life. For even the minde depends so much | |
on the temper and disposition of the organs of the body, that if it be | |
possible to finde any way of making men in the generall wiser, and more | |
able then formerly they were, I beleeve it ought to be sought in | |
Physick. True it is, that which is now in use contains but few things, | |
whose benefit is very remarkable: But (without any designe of slighting | |
of it) I assure my self, there is none, even of their own profession, | |
but will consent, that whatsoever is known therein, is almost nothing in | |
companion of what remains to be known. And that we might be freed from | |
very many diseases, aswell of the body as of the mind, and even also | |
perhaps from the weaknesses of old age, had we but knowledge enough of | |
their Causes, and of all the Remedies wherewith Nature hath furnished | |
us. Now having a designe to employ all my life in the enquiry of so | |
necessary a Science; and having found a way, the following of which me | |
thinks might infallibly lead us to it, unless we be hindred by the | |
shortness of life, or by defect of experiments. I judg'd that there was | |
no better Remedie against those two impediments, but faithfully to | |
communicate to the publique, all that little I should discover, and to | |
invite all good Wits to endevour to advance farther in contributing | |
every one, according to his inclination and power, to those Experiments | |
which are to be made, and communicating also to the publique all the | |
things they should learn; so that the last, beginning where the | |
precedent ended, and so joyning the lives and labors of many in one, we | |
might all together advance further then any particular Man could do. | |
I also observ'd touching Experiments, that they are still so much the | |
more necessary, as we are more advanc'd in knowledg. For in the | |
beginning it's better to use those only which of themselves are | |
presented to our senses, and which we cannot be ignorant of, if we do | |
but make the least reflections upon them, then to seek out the rarest | |
and most studied ones. The reason whereof is, that those which are | |
rarest, doe often deceive, when we seldome know the same of the most | |
common ones, and that the circumstances on which they depend, are, as it | |
were, always so particular, and so small, that it's very uneasie to | |
finde them out. But the order I observed herein was this. First, I | |
endevoured to finde in generall the Principles or first Causes of | |
whatsoever is or may be in the world, without considering any thing for | |
this end, but God alone who created it, or drawing them elsewhere, then | |
from certain seeds of Truth which naturally are in our souls. After | |
this, I examined what were the first and most ordinary Effects which | |
might be deduced from these Causes: And me thinks that thereby I found | |
out Heavens, Starrs, an Earth; and even on the Earth, Water, Air and | |
Fire, Minerals, and some other such like things, which are the most | |
common, and the most simple of all, and consequently the most easie to | |
be understood. Afterwards, when I would descend to those which were more | |
particular, there were so many severall ones presented themselves to me, | |
that I did beleeve it impossible for a humane understanding to | |
distinguish the forms and species of Bodies which are on the earth, from | |
an infinite number of others which might be there, had it been the will | |
of God so to place them: Nor by consequence to apply them to our use, | |
unless we set the Effects before the Causes, and make use of divers | |
particular experiments; In relation to which, revolving in my minde all | |
those objects which ever were presented to my senses, I dare boldly say, | |
I observed nothing which I could not fitly enough explain by the | |
principles I had found. But I must also confesse that the power of | |
Nature is so ample and vast, and these principles are so simple and | |
generall, that I can observe almost no particular Effect, but that I | |
presently know it might be deduced from thence in many severall ways: | |
and that commonly my greatest difficulty is to finde in which of these | |
ways it depends thereon; for I know no other expedient for that, but | |
again to seek some experiments, which may be such, that their event may | |
not be the same, if it be in one of those ways which is to be exprest, | |
as if it were in another. In fine, I am gotten so far, That (me thinks) | |
I see well enough what course we ought to hold to make the most part of | |
those experiments which may tend to this effect. But I also see they | |
are such, and of so great a number, that neither my hands nor my estate | |
(though I had a thousand times more then I have) could ever suffice for | |
all. So that according as I shall hereafter have conveniency to make | |
more or fewer of them, I shall also advance more or lesse in the | |
knowledge of Nature, which I hop'd I should make known by the Treatise | |
which I had written; and therein so clearly shew the benefit which the | |
Publick may receive thereby, that I should oblige all those in general | |
who desire the good of Mankinde; that is to say, all those who are | |
indeed vertuous, (and not so seemingly, or by opinion only) aswell to | |
communicate such experiments as they have already made, as to help me in | |
the enquiry of those which are to be made. | |
But since that time, other reasons have made me alter my opinion, and | |
think that I truly ought to continue to write of all those things which | |
I judg'd of any importance, according as I should discover the truth of | |
them, and take the same care, as if I were to print them; as well that I | |
might have so much the more occasion throughly to examine them; as | |
without doubt, we always look more narrowly to what we offer to the | |
publick view, then to what we compose onely for our own use: and | |
oftentimes the same things which seemed true to me when I first | |
conceived them, appear'd afterwards false to me, when I was committing | |
them to paper: as also that I might lose no occasion of benefiting the | |
Publick, if I were able, and that if my Writings were of any value, | |
those to whose hands they should come after my death, might to make what | |
use of them they think fit. | |
But that I ought not any wayes to consent that they should be published | |
during my life; That neither the opposition and controversies, whereto | |
perhaps they might be obnoxious, nor even the reputation whatsoever it | |
were, which they might acquire me, might give me any occasion of | |
mispending the time I had design'd to employ for my instruction; for | |
although it be true that every Man is oblig'd to procure, as much as in | |
him lies, the good of others; and that to be profitable to no body, is | |
properly to be good for nothing: Yet it's as true, that our care ought | |
to reach beyond the present time; and that it were good to omit those | |
things which might perhaps conduce to the benefit of those who are | |
alive, when our designe is, to doe others which shall prove farr more | |
advantagious to our posterity; As indeed I desire it may be known that | |
the little I have learnt hitherto, is almost nothing in comparison of | |
what I am ignorant of; and I doe not despair to be able to learn: For | |
it's even the same with those, who by little and little discover the | |
truth in Learning; as with those who beginning to grow rich, are less | |
troubled to make great purchases, then they were before when they were | |
poorer, to make little ones. Or else one may compare them to Generals of | |
Armies, whose Forces usually encrease porportionably to their Victories; | |
and who have need of more conduct to maintain themselves after the loss | |
of a battail, then after the gaining one, to take Towns and Provinces. | |
For to endeavour to overcome all the difficulties and errours which | |
hinder us to come to the knowledg of the Truth, is truly to fight | |
battails. And to receive any false opinion touching a generall or | |
weighty matter, is as much as to lose one; there is far more dexterity | |
required to recover our former condition, then to make great progresses | |
where our Principles are already certain. For my part, if I formerly | |
have discovered some Truths in Learning, as I hope my Discourse will | |
make it appear I have, I may say, they are but the products and | |
dependances of five or six principall difficulties which I have | |
overcome, and which I reckon for so many won Battails on my side. | |
Neither will I forbear to say; That I think, It's only necessary for me | |
to win two or three more such, wholly to perfect my design. And that I | |
am not so old, but according to the ordinary course of Nature, I may | |
have time enough to effect it. But I beleeve I am so much the more | |
obliged to husband the rest of my time, as I have more hopes to employ | |
it well; without doubt, I should have divers occasions of impeding it, | |
should I publish the grounds of my Physicks. For although they are | |
almost all so evident, that to beleeve them, it's needfull onely to | |
understand them; and that there is none whereof I think my self unable | |
to give demonstration. Yet because it's impossible that they should | |
agree with all the severall opinions of other men, I foresee I should | |
often be diverted by the opposition they would occasion. | |
It may be objected, These oppositions might be profitable, as well to | |
make me know my faults, as if any thing of mine were good to make others | |
by that means come to a better understanding thereof; and as many may | |
see more then one man, beginning from this time to make use of my | |
grounds, they might also help me with their invention. But although I | |
know my self extremely subject to fail, and do never almost trust my | |
first thoughts; yet the experience I have of the objections which may be | |
made unto me, hinder me from hoping for any profit from them; For I have | |
often tried the judgments as well of those whom I esteem'd my friends, | |
as of others whom I thought indifferent, and even also of some, whose | |
malignity and envie did sufficiently discover what the affection of my | |
friends might hide. But it seldom happened that any thing was objected | |
against me, which I had not altogether foreseen, unless it were very | |
remote from my Subject: So that I never almost met with any Censurer of | |
my opinions, that seemed unto me either less rigorous, or less equitable | |
then my self. Neither did I ever observe, that by the disputations | |
practiced in the Schools any Truth which was formerly unknown, was ever | |
discovered. For whilest every one seeks to overcome, men strive more to | |
maintain probabilities, then to weigh the reasons on both sides; and | |
those who for a long time have been good Advocates, are not therefore | |
the better Judges afterwards. | |
As for the benefit which others may receive from the communication of my | |
thoughts, it cannot also be very great, forasmuch as I have not yet | |
perfected them, but that it is necessary to add many things thereunto, | |
before a usefull application can be made of them. And I think I may say | |
without vanity, That if there be any one capable thereof, it must be my | |
self, rather then any other. Not but that there may be divers wits in | |
the world incomparably better then mine; but because men cannot so well | |
conceive a thing and make it their own, when they learn it of another, | |
as when they invent it themselves: which is so true in this Subject, | |
that although I have often explain'd some of my opinions to very | |
understanding men, and who, whilest I spake to them, seem'd very | |
distinctly to conceive them; yet when they repeated them, I observ'd, | |
that they chang'd them almost always in such a manner, that I could no | |
longer own them for mine. Upon which occasion, I shall gladly here | |
desire those who come after me, never to beleeve those things which may | |
be delivered to them for mine, when I have not published them my self. | |
And I do not at all wonder at the extravagancies which are attributed to | |
all those ancient Philosophers, whose Writings we have not; neither do I | |
thereby judge, that their thoughts were very irrationall, seeing they | |
were the best Wits of their time; but onely that they have been ill | |
convey'd to us: as it appears also, that never any of their followers | |
surpass'd them. And I assure my self, that the most passionate of those, | |
who now follow _Aristotle_, would beleeve himself happy, had he but as | |
much knowledge of Nature as he had, although it were on condition that | |
he never might have more: They are like the ivie, which seeks to climb | |
no higher then the trees which support it, and ever after tends | |
downwards again when it hath attain'd to the height thereof: for, me | |
thinks also, that such men sink downwards; that is to say, render | |
themselves in some manner lesse knowing, then if they did abstain from | |
studying; who being not content to know all which is intelligibly set | |
down in their Authour, will besides that, finde out the solution of | |
divers difficulties of which he says nothing, and perhaps never thought | |
of them: yet their way of Philosophy is very fit for those who have but | |
mean capacities: For the obscurity of the distinctions and principles | |
which they use causeth them to speak of all things as boldly, as if they | |
knew them, and maintain all which they say, against the most subtill and | |
most able; so that there is no means left to convince them. Wherein they | |
seem like to a blinde man, who, to fight without disadvantage against | |
one that sees, should challenge him down into the bottom of a very dark | |
cellar: And I may say, that it is these mens interest, that I should | |
abstain from publishing the principles of the Philosophy I use, for | |
being most simple and most evident, as they are, I should even do the | |
same in publishing of them, as if I opened some windows, to let the day | |
into this cellar, into which they go down to fight. But even the best | |
Wits have no reason to wish for the knowledge of them: for if they will | |
be able to speak of all things, and acquire the reputation of being | |
learned, they will easily attain to it by contenting themselves with | |
probability, which without much trouble may be found in all kinde of | |
matters; then in seeking the Truth, which discovers it self but by | |
little and little, in some few things; and which, when we are to speak | |
of others, oblige us freely to confesse our ignorance of them. But if | |
they prefer the knowledge of some few truths to the vanity of seeming to | |
be ignorant of nothing, as without doubt they ought to do, and will | |
undertake a designe like mine, I need not tell them any more for this | |
purpose, but what I have already said in this Discourse: For if they | |
have a capacity to advance farther then I have done, they may with | |
greater consequence finde out of themselves whatsoever I think I have | |
found; Forasmuch as having never examined any thing but by order, it's | |
certain, that what remains yet for me to discover, is in it self more | |
difficult and more hid, then what I have already here before met with; | |
and they would receive much less satisfaction in learning it from me, | |
then from themselves. Besides that, the habit which they would get by | |
seeking first of all the easie things, and passing by degrees to others | |
more difficult, will be more usefull to them, then all my instructions. | |
As I for my part am perswaded, that had I been taught from my youth all | |
the Truths whose demonstrations I have discovered since, and had taken | |
no pains to learn them, perhaps I should never have known any other, or | |
at least, I should never have acquired that habit, and that faculty | |
which I think I have, still to finde out new ones, as I apply my self to | |
the search of them. And in a word, if there be in the world any work | |
which cannot be so well ended by any other, as by the same who began it, | |
it's that which I am now about. | |
It's true, That one man will not be sufficient to make all the | |
experiments which may conduce thereunto: But withall, he cannot | |
profitably imploy other hands then his own, unlesse it be those of | |
Artists, or others whom he hires, and whom the hope of profit (which is | |
a very powerfull motive) might cause exactly to do all those things he | |
should appoint them: For as for voluntary persons, who by curiosity or a | |
desire to learn, would perhaps offer themselves to his help, besides | |
that commonly they promise more then they perform, and make onely fair | |
propositions, whereof none ever succeeds, they would infallibly be paid | |
by the solution of some difficulties, or at least by complements and | |
unprofitable entertainments, which could not cost him so little of his | |
time, but he would be a loser thereby. And for the Experiments which | |
others have already made, although they would even communicate them to | |
him (which those who call them Secrets would never do,) they are for | |
the most part composed of so many circumstances, or superfluous | |
ingredients, that it would be very hard for him to decypher the truth of | |
them: Besides, he would find them all so ill exprest, or else so false, | |
by reason that those who made them have laboured to make them appear | |
conformable to their principles; that if there were any which served | |
their turn, they could not at least be worth the while which must be | |
imployed in the choice of them. So that, if there were any in the world | |
that were certainly known to be capable of finding out the greatest | |
things, and the most profitable for the Publick which could be, and that | |
other men would therefore labour alwayes to assist him to accomplish his | |
Designes; I do not conceive that they could do more for him, then | |
furnish the expence of the experiments whereof he stood in need; and | |
besides, take care only that he may not be by any body hindred of his | |
time. But besides that, I do not presume so much of my Self, as to | |
promise any thing extraordinary, neither do I feed my self with such | |
vain hopes, as to imagine that the Publick should much interesse it self | |
in my designes; I have not so base a minde, as to accept of any favour | |
whatsoever, which might be thought I had not deserved. | |
All these considerations joyned together, were the cause three years | |
since why I would not divulge the Treatise I had in hand; and which is | |
more, that I resolved to publish none whilest I lived, which might be so | |
general, as that the Grounds of my Philosophy might be understood | |
thereby. But since, there hath been two other reasons have obliged me to | |
put forth some particular Essays, and to give the Publick some account | |
of my Actions and Designes. The first was, that if I failed therein, | |
divers who knew the intention I formerly had to print some of my | |
Writings, might imagine that the causes for which I forbore it, might | |
be more to my disadvantage then they are. For although I do not affect | |
glory in excess; or even, (if I may so speak) that I hate it, as far as | |
I judge it contrary to my rest, which I esteem above all things: Yet | |
also did I never seek to hide my actions as crimes, neither have I been | |
very wary to keep my self unknown; as well because I thought I might | |
wrong my self, as that it might in some manner disquiet me, which would | |
again have been contrary to the perfect repose of my minde which I seek. | |
And because having alwayes kept my self indifferent, caring not whether | |
I were known or no, I could not chuse but get some kinde of reputation, | |
I thought that I ought to do my best to hinder it at least from being | |
ill. The other reason which obliged me to write this, is, that observing | |
every day more and more the designe I have to instruct my self, retarded | |
by reason of an infinite number of experiments which are needful to me, | |
and which its impossible for me to make without the help of others; | |
although I do not so much flatter my self, as to hope that the Publick, | |
shares much in my concernments; yet will I not also be so much wanting | |
to my self, as to give any cause to those who shall survive me, to | |
reproach this, one day to me, That I could have left them divers things | |
far beyond what I have done, had I not too much neglected to make them | |
understand wherein they might contribute to my designe. | |
And I thought it easie for me to choose some matters, which being not | |
subject to many Controversies, nor obliging me to declare any more of my | |
Principles then I would willingly, would neverthelesse expresse clearly | |
enough, what my abilities or defects are in the Sciences. Wherein I | |
cannot say whether I have succeeded or no; neither will I prevent the | |
judgment of any man by speaking of my own Writings: but I should be | |
glad they might be examin'd; and to that end I beseech all those who | |
have any objections to make, to take the pains to send them to my | |
Stationer, that I being advertised by him, may endeavour at the same | |
time to adjoyn my Answer thereunto: and by that means, the Reader seeing | |
both the one and the other, may the more easily judge of the Truth. For | |
I promise, that I will never make any long Answers, but only very freely | |
confesse my own faults, if I find them; or if I cannot discover them, | |
plainly say what I shal think requisite in defence of what I have writ, | |
without adding the explanation of any new matter, that I may not | |
endlesly engage my self out of one into another. | |
Now if there be any whereof I have spoken in the beginning, of the | |
Opticks and of the Meteors, which at first jarr, by reason that I call | |
them Suppositions, and that I seem not willing to prove them; let a man | |
have but the patience to read the whole attentively, and I hope he will | |
rest satisfied: For (me thinks) the reasons follow each other so | |
closely, that as the later are demonstrated by the former, which are | |
their Causes; the former are reciprocally proved by the later, which are | |
their Effects. And no man can imagine that I herein commit the fault | |
which the Logicians call a _Circle_; for experience rendring the | |
greatest part of these effects most certain, the causes whence I deduce | |
them serve not so much to prove, as to explain them; but on the | |
contrary, they are those which are proved by them. Neither named I them | |
Suppositions, that it might be known that I conceive my self able to | |
deduce them from those first Truths which I have before discovered: But | |
that I would not expresly do it to crosse certain spirits, who imagine | |
that they know in a day al what another may have thought in twenty | |
yeers, as soon as he hath told them but two or three words; and who are | |
so much the more subject to erre, and less capable of the Truth, (as | |
they are more quick and penetrating) from taking occasion of erecting | |
some extravagant Philosophy on what they may beleeve to be my | |
Principles, and lest the fault should be attributed to me. For as for | |
those opinions which are wholly mine, I excuse them not as being new, | |
because that if the reasons of them be seriously considered, I assure my | |
self, they will be found so plain, and so agreeable to common sense, | |
that they will seem less extraordinary and strange then any other which | |
may be held on the same Subjects. Neither do I boast that I am the first | |
Inventor of any of them; but of this indeed, that I never admitted any | |
of them, neither because they had, or had not been said by others, but | |
only because Reason perswaded me to them. | |
If Mechanicks cannot so soon put in practise the Invention which is set | |
forth in the Opticks, I beleeve that therefore men ought not to condemn | |
it; forasmuch as skill and practice are necessary for the making and | |
compleating the Machines I have described; so that no circumstance | |
should be wanting. I should no less wonder if they should succeed at | |
first triall, then if a man should learn in a day to play excellently | |
well on a Lute, by having an exact piece set before him. And if I write | |
in French, which is the language of my Country, rather then in Latin, | |
which is that of my Tutors, 'tis because I hope such who use their meer | |
naturall reason, wil better judge of my opinions, then those who only | |
beleeve in old Books. And for those who joyn a right understanding with | |
study, (who I only wish for my Judges) I assure my self, they will not | |
be so partiall to the Latin, as to refuse to read my reasons because I | |
expresse them in a vulgar tongue. | |
To conclude, I will not speak here in particular of the progresse I | |
hoped to make hereafter in Learning; Nor engage my self by any promise | |
to the Publick, which I am not certain to perform. But I shall onely | |
say, That I am resolved to employ the remainder of my life in no other | |
thing but the study to acquire some such knowledge of Nature as may | |
furnish us with more certain rules in Physick then we hitherto have had: | |
And that my inclination drives me so strongly from all other kind of | |
designes, chiefly from those which cannot be profitable to any, but by | |
prejudicing others; that if any occasion obliged me to spend my time | |
therein, I should beleeve I should never succeed therein: which I here | |
declare, though I well know it conduceth not to make me considerable in | |
the world; neither is it my ambition to be so. And I shall esteem my | |
self always more obliged to those by whose favour I shal without | |
disturbance enjoy my ease, then to them who should proffer me the most | |
honourable imployment of the earth. | |
FINIS. | |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+ | |
| Transcriber's Notes and Errata | | |
| | | |
| One instance each of "what-ever" and "whatever" were found | | |
| in the orignal. | | |
| | | |
| The following typographical errors were corrected: | | |
| | | |
| |Error |Correction | | | |
| | | | | | |
| |or |our | | | |
| |Phpsick |Physick | | | |
| |moreworthy |more worthy | | | |
| |examinanation |examination | | | |
| |mnner |manner | | | |
| |propable |probable | | | |
| |rape |grape | | | |
| |veuture |venture | | | |
| |circumstrance |circumstance | | | |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+ | |
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Discourse of a Method for the Well | |
Guiding of Reason, by Rene Descartes | |
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