SYSTEMS OF RATIONALISM

§ 28. Descartes. The Cartesian School

1. The Method of Philosophy. It is with Descartes (1596-1650) that modern philosophy is generally regarded as beginning. There were several things which helped to give his philosophical doctrine this importance. In the first place, it was based upon a definite method, and this method -the mathematical - was a clear recognition of the scientific spirit. That a new method was needed in philosophy was generally recognized, and men stood ready to hail it when it should appear. Descartes, moreover, enjoyed the advantage of being himself a mathematician of the highest order, who came to his philosophy after a practical demonstration of the triumphs which he could win in a narrower field. Again, the modern principle of individuality and subjectivity was recognized by Descartes. The existence of the self forms the basis of all his constructive efforts; and the test of truth, again, is the clearness with which it justifies itself to the individual reason, by which all the authority of tradition has been rejected. Finally, Descartes' dualism, his clear distinction between mind and body, with their different and irreconcilable attributes of thought and extension, was the necessary starting-point for a fruitful development. By this separation, the purely mechanical nature of physical processes was vindicated; and at the same time the existence was shown of a wider problem than the merely scientific. By the fact of setting up an immaterial reality alongside the material world, the need for some means of connecting the two was forced into notice. It is true that the violence of the separation

itself gave rise to difficulties; but until the two distinct motives which are represented in matter, and in mind or spirit, were sharply set apart, the attitude toward the philosophical problem must necessarily be confused.

The interest of Descartes' life lies in the story of his mental history. He came from a well-to-do family, and possessed through life an independent fortune, so that he was able to devote himself to the things that appealed most strongly to him. Educated in the Jesuit school of La Flèche, and led to believe that a clear and certain knowledge of all that was useful in life might be acquired by education, he had an extreme desire for learning. But his course of study completed, he found himself compelled to change his opinion. "For I found myself involved in so many doubts and errors, that it seemed to me that I had derived no other advantage from my endeavors to instruct myself, but only to find out more and more how ignorant I was. And yet I was in one of the most celebrated schools in Europe, where I thought there must be learned men if there were any such in the world. Moreover, I knew what others thought about me, and I did not perceive that they considered me inferior to my fellow-students, albeit there were among them some who were destined to fill the places of our masters."

He began to doubt, therefore, whether there existed in the world any such wisdom as he had been led to hope for, although he did not cease to think well of some of the scholastic pursuits, if followed with discretion. Language and history, which bring us into contact with men of other times, are, like travelling, of great value. "It is well to know something of the manners of foreign peoples, in order that we may judge our own more wisely. But if one spends too much time in travelling in foreign countries, he becomes at last a stranger in his own; and when one is too curious to know what has been done in past ages, he is liable to remain ignorant of what is going on in his own time." Eloquence, again, and poetry he held in

high esteem, but he regarded both as the gifts of genius, rather than the fruit of study.

"Above all I was delighted with the mathematics, on account of the certainty and evidence of their demonstrations; but I had not as yet found out their true use, and although I supposed that they were of service only in the mechanic arts, I was surprised that upon foundations so solid and stable no loftier structure had been raised; while, on the other hand, I compared the writings of the ancient moralists to palaces very proud and very magnificent, but which are built on nothing but sand or mud. I revered our theology, and, as much as any one, I strove to gain heaven; but when I learned, as an assured fact, that the way is open no less to the most ignorant than to the most learned, and that the revealed truths which conduct us thither lie beyond the reach of our intelligence, I did not presume to submit them to the feebleness of my reasonings, and I thought that to undertake the examination of them, and succeed in the attempt, required extraordinary divine assistance, and more than human gifts. I had nothing to say of philosophy, save that, seeing it had been cultivated by the best minds for many ages, and still there was nothing in it which might not be brought into dispute, and which was, therefore, not free from doubt, I had not the presumption to hope for better success therein than others; and considering how many diverse opinions may be held upon the same subject and defended by the learned, while not more than one of them can be true, I regarded as pretty nearly false all that was merely probable. Then, as to the other sciences which derive their principles from philosophy, I judged that nothing solid could be built upon foundations so unstable. . . . And finally, as for the pseudo-sciences, I thought I was already sufficiently acquainted with their value to be proof against the promises of the alchemist, the predictions of the astrologer, the impostures of the magician, the artifices and vain boasting of those who profess to know more than they actually do know.

"For these reasons, so soon as I was old enough to be no longer subject to the control of my teachers, I abandoned literary pursuits altogether, and, being resolved to seek no other knowledge than that which I was able to find within myself, or in the great book of the world, I spent the remainder of my youth in travelling, in seeing courts and armies, in mingling with people of various dispositions and conditions in life, in collecting a variety of experiences, putting myself to the proof in the crises of fortune, and reflecting on all occasions on whatever might present itself, so as to derive from it what profit I might. . . . It is true that, while I was employed only in observing the manners of foreigners, I found very little to establish my mind, and saw as much diversity here as I had seen before in the opinions of philosophers. So that the principal benefit I derived from it was that, observing many things which, although they appear to us to be very extravagant and ridiculous, are yet commonly received and approved by other great peoples, I gradually became emancipated from many errors which tend to obscure the natural light within us, and make us less capable of listening to reason. But after I had spent some years thus in studying in the book of the world, and trying to gain some experience, I formed one day the resolution to study within myself, and to devote all the powers of my mind to choosing the paths which I must thereafter follow-a project attended with much greater success, as I think, than it would have been had I never left my country nor my books." 1

"I was then in Germany, whither the wars, which were not yet ended there, had summoned me; and when I was returning to the army, from the coronation of the emperor, the coming on of winter detained me in a quarter where, finding no one I wished to talk with, and fortunately having no cares nor passions to trouble me, I spent the whole day shut up in a room heated by a stove, where I had all the 1 Discourse upon Method, Part I. Torrey's translation. (Henry Holt & Co.)

leisure I desired to hold converse with my own thoughts. One of the first thoughts to occur to me was, that there is often less completeness in works made up of many parts and by the hands of different masters, than in those upon which only one has labored. . . . And so I thought that the sciences contained in books, at least those in which the proofs were merely probable and not demonstrations, being the gradual accumulation of opinions of many different persons, by no means come so near the truth as the plain reasoning of a man of good sense in regard to the matters which present themselves to him. And I thought still further that, because we have all been children before we were men, and for a long time of necessity were under the control of our inclinations and our tutors, who were often of different minds, and none of whom, perhaps, gave us the best of counsels, it is almost impossible that our judgments should be as free from error and as solid as they would have been if we had had the entire use of our reason from the moment of our birth, and had always been guided by that alone. . . As for all the opinions which I had accepted up to that time, I was persuaded that I could do no better than get rid of them at once, in order to replace them afterward with better ones, or, perhaps, with the same, if I should succeed in making them square with reason. And I firmly believed that in this way I should have much greater success in the conduct of my life, than if I should build only on the old foundations, and should rely only on the principles which I had allowed myself to be persuaded of in my youth, without ever having examined whether they were true."1

In a word, then, what Descartes resolved to do was to strip himself completely of all that he had formerly believed, and start de novo, with the intention of admitting only that which was absolutely certain, in order to see if on this basis a system of philosophy might not be erected which should escape the uncertainties of the old. To do

1 Discourse upon Method, Part II.