Meditation III by Ren Descartes Lyrics
Meditation III.
Of God: that He exists.
I shall now close my eyes, I shall stop my ears, I shall
call away all my senses, I shall efface even from my thoughts
all the images of corporeal things, or at least (for that is
hardly possible) I shall esteem them as vain and false; and
thus holding converse only with myself and considering my own
nature, I shall try little by little to reach a better
knowledge of and a more familiar acquaintanceship with myself.
I am a thing that thinks, that is to say, that doubts,
affirms, denies, that knows a few things, that is ignorant of
many [that loves, that hates], that wills, that desires, that
also imagines and perceives; for as I remarked before,
although the things which I perceive and imagine are perhaps
nothing at all apart from me and in themselves, I am
nevertheless assured that these modes of thought that I call
perceptions and imaginations, inasmuch only as they are modes
of thought, certainly reside [and are met with] in me.
And in the little that I have just said, I think I have
summed up all that I really know, or at least all that
hitherto I was aware that I knew. In order to try to extend
my knowledge further, I shall now look around more carefully
and see whether I cannot still discover in myself some other
things which I have not hitherto perceived. I am certain that
I am a thing which thinks; but do I not then likewise know
what is requisite to render me certain of a truth? Certainly
in this first knowledge there is nothing that assures me of
its truth, excepting the clear and distinct perception of that
which I state, which would not indeed suffice to assure me
that what I say is true, if it could ever happen that a thing
which I conceived so clearly and distinctly could be false;
and accordingly it seems to me that already I can establish as
a general rule that all things which I perceive1 very clearly
and very distinctly are true.
At the same time I have before received and admitted many
things to be very certain and manifest, which yet I afterwards
recognised as being dubious. What then were these things?
They were the earth, sky, stars and all other objects which I
apprehended by means of the senses. But what did I clearly
[and distinctly] perceive in them? Nothing more than that the
ideas or thoughts of these things were presented to my mind.
And not even now do I deny that these ideas are met with in
me. But there was yet another thing which I affirmed, and
which, owing to the habit which I had formed of believing it,
I thought I perceived very clearly, although in truth I did
not perceive it at all, to wit, that there were objects
outside of me from which these ideas proceeded, and to which
they were entirely similar. And it was in this that I erred,
or, if perchance my judgment was correct, this was not due to
any knowledge arising from my perception.
But when I took anything very simple and easy in the
sphere of arithmetic or geometry into consideration, e.g. that
two and three together made five, and other things of the
sort, were not these present to my mind so clearly as to
enable me to affirm that they were true? Certainly if I
judged that since such matters could be doubted, this would
not have been so for any other reason than that it came into
my mind that perhaps a God might have endowed me with such a
nature that I may have been deceived even concerning things
which seemed to me most manifest. But every time that this
preconceived opinion of the sovereign power of a God presents
itself to my thought, I am constrained to confess that it is
easy to Him, if He wishes it, to cause me to err, even in
matters in which I believe myself to have the best evidence.
And, on the other hand, always when I direct my attention to
things which I believe myself to perceive very clearly, I am
so persuaded of their truth that I let myself break out into
words such as these: Let who will deceive me, He can never
cause me to be nothing while I think that I am, or some day
cause it to be true to say that I have never been, it being
true now to say that I am, or that two and three make more or
less than five, or any such thing in which I see a manifest
contradiction. And, certainly, since I have no reason to
believe that there is a God who is a deceiver, and as I have
not yet satisfied myself that there is a God at all, the
reason for doubt which depends on this opinion alone is very
slight, and so to speak metaphysical. But in order to be able
altogether to remove it, I must inquire whether there is a God
as soon as the occasion presents itself; and if I find that
there is a God, I must also inquire whether He may be a
deceiver; for without a knowledge of these two truths I do not
see that I can ever be certain of anything.
And in order that I may have an opportunity of inquiring
into this in an orderly way [without interrupting the order of
meditation which I have proposed to myself, and which is
little by little to pass from the notions which I find first
of all in my mind to those which I shall later on discover in
it] it is requisite that I should here divide my thoughts into
certain kinds, and that I should consider in which of these
kinds there is, properly speaking, truth or error to be found.
Of my thoughts some are, so to speak, images of the things,
and to these alone is the title "idea" properly applied;
examples are my thought of a man or of a chimera, of heaven,
of an angel, or [even] of God. But other thoughts possess
other forms as well. For example in willing, fearing,
approving, denying, though I always perceive something as the
subject of the action of my mind,2 yet by this action I
always add something else to the idea3 which I have of that
thing; and of the thoughts of this kind some are called
volitions or affections, and others judgments.
Now as to what concerns ideas, if we consider them only
in themselves and do not relate them to anything else beyond
themselves, they cannot properly speaking be false; for
whether I imagine a goat or a chimera, it is not less true
that I imagine the one that the other. We must not fear
likewise that falsity can enter into will and into affections,
for although I may desire evil things, or even things that
never existed, it is not the less true that I desire them.
Thus there remains no more than the judgments which we make,
in which I must take the greatest care not o deceive myself.
But the principal error and the commonest which we may meet
with in them, consists in my judging that the ideas which are
in me are similar or conformable to the things which are
outside me; for without doubt if I considered the ideas only
as certain modes of my thoughts, without trying to relate them
to anything beyond, they could scarcely give me material for
error.
But among these ideas, some appear to me to be innate,
some adventitious, and others to be formed [or invented] by
myself; for, as I have the power of understanding what is
called a thing, or a truth, or a thought, it appears to me
that I hold this power from no other source than my own
nature. But if I now hear some sound, if I see the sun, or
feel heat, I have hitherto judged that these sensations
proceeded from certain things that exist outside of me; and
finally it appears to me that sirens, hippogryphs, and the
like, are formed out of my own mind. But again I may possibly
persuade myself that all these ideas are of the nature of
those which I term adventitious, or else that they are all
innate, or all fictitious: for I have not yet clearly
discovered their true origin.
And my principal task in this place is to consider, in
respect to those ideas which appear to me to proceed from
certain objects that are outside me, what are the reasons
which cause me to think them similar to these objects. It
seems indeed in the first place that I am taught this lesson
by nature; and, secondly, I experience in myself that these
ideas do not depend on my will nor therefore on myself¥for
they often present themselves to my mind in spite of my will.
Just now, for instance, whether I will or whether I do not
will, I feel heat, and thus I persuade myself that this
feeling, or at least this idea of heat, is produced in me by
something which is different from me, i.e. by the heat of the
fire near which I sit. And nothing seems to me more obvious
than to judge that this object imprints its likeness rather
than anything else upon me.
Now I must discover whether these proofs are sufficiently
strong and convincing. When I say that I am so instructed by
nature, I merely mean a certain spontaneous inclination which
impels me to believe in this connection, and not a natural
light which makes me recognise that it is true. But these two
things are very different; for I cannot doubt that which the
natural light causes me to believe to be true, as, for
example, it has shown me that I am from the fact that I doubt,
or other facts of the same kind. And I possess no other
faculty whereby to distinguish truth from falsehood, which can
teach me that what this light shows me to be true is not
really true, and no other faculty that is equally trustworthy.
But as far as [apparently] natural impulses are concerned, I
have frequently remarked, when I had to make active choice
between virtue and vice, that they often enough led me to the
part that was worse; and this is why I do not see any reason
for following them in what regards truth and error.
And as to the other reason, which is that these ideas
must proceed from objects outside me, since they do not depend
on my will, I do not find it any the more convincing. For
just as these impulses of which I have spoken are found in me,
notwithstanding that they do not always concur with my will,
so perhaps there is in me some faculty fitted to produce these
ideas without the assistance of any external things, even
though it is not yet known by me; just as, apparently, they
have hitherto always been found in me during sleep without the
aid of any external objects.
And finally, though they did proceed from objects
different from myself, it is not a necessary consequence that
they should resemble these. On the contrary, I have noticed
that in many cases there was a great difference between the
object and its idea. I find, for example, two completely
diverse ideas of the sun in my mind; the one derives its
origin from the senses, and should be placed in the category
of adventitious ideas; according to this idea the sun seems to
be extremely small; but the other is derived from astronomical
reasonings, i.e. is elicited from certain notions that are
innate in me, or else it is formed by me in some other manner;
in accordance with it the sun appears to be several times
greater than the earth. These two ideas cannot, indeed, both
resemble the same sun, and reason makes me believe that the
one which seems to have originated directly from the sun
itself, is the one which is most dissimilar to it.
All this causes me to believe that until the present time
it has not been by a judgment that was certain [or
premeditated], but only by a sort of blind impulse that I
believed that things existed outside of, and different from
me, which, by the organs of my senses, or by some other method
whatever it might be, conveyed these ideas or images to me
[and imprinted on me their similitudes].
But there is yet another method of inquiring whether any
of the objects of which I have ideas within me exist outside
of me. If ideas are only taken as certain modes of thought, I
recognise amongst them no difference or inequality, and all
appear to proceed from me in the same manner; but when we
consider them as images, one representing one thing and the
other another, it is clear that they are very different one
from the other. There is no doubt that those which represent
to me substances are something more, and contain so to speak
more objective reality within them [that is to say, by
representation participate in a higher degree of being or
perfection] than those that simply represent modes or
accidents; and that idea again by which I understand a supreme
God, eternal, infinite, [immutable], omniscient, omnipotent,
and Creator of all things which are outside of Himself, has
certainly more objective reality in itself than those ideas by
which finite substances are represented.
Now it is manifest by the natural light that there must
at least be as much reality in the efficient and total cause
as in its effect. For, pray, whence can the effect derive its
reality, if not from its cause? And in what way can this
cause communicate this reality to it, unless it possessed it
in itself? And from this it follows, not only that something
cannot proceed from nothing, but likewise that what is more
perfect¥that is to say, which has more reality within
itself¥cannot proceed from the less perfect. And this is not
only evidently true of those effects which possess actual or
formal reality, but also of the ideas in which we consider
merely what is termed objective reality. To take an example,
the stone which has not yet existed not only cannot now
commence to be unless it has been produced by something which
possesses within itself, either formally or eminently, all
that enters into the composition of the stone [i.e. it must
possess the same things or other more excellent things than
those which exist in the stone] and heat can only be produced
in a subject in which it did not previously exist by a cause
that is of an order [degree or kind] at least as perfect as
heat, and so in all other cases. But further, the idea of
heat, or of a stone, cannot exist in me unless it has been
placed within me by some cause which possesses within it at
least as much reality as that which I conceive to exist in the
heat or the stone. For although this cause does not transmit
anything of its actual or formal reality to my idea, we must
not for that reason imagine that it is necessarily a less real
cause; we must remember that [since every idea is a work of
the mind] its nature is such that it demands of itself no
other formal reality than that which it borrows from my
thought, of which it is only a mode [i.e. a manner or way of
thinking]. But in order that an idea should contain some one
certain objective reality rather than another, it must without
doubt derive it from some cause in which there is at least as
much formal reality as this idea contains of objective
reality. For if we imagine that something is found in an idea
which is not found in the cause, it must then have been
derived from nought; but however imperfect may be this mode of
being by which a thing is objectively [or by representation]
in the understanding by its idea, we cannot certainly say that
this mode of being is nothing, nor consequently, that the idea
derives its origin from nothing.
Nor must I imagine that, since the reality that I
consider in these ideas is only objective, it is not essential
that this reality should be formally in the causes of my
ideas, but that it is sufficient that it should be found
objectively. For just as this mode of objective existence
pertains to ideas by their proper nature, so does the mode of
formal existence pertain tot he causes of those ideas (this is
at least true of the first and principal) by the nature
peculiar to them. And although it may be the case that one
idea gives birth to another idea, that cannot continue to be
so indefinitely; for in the end we must reach an idea whose
cause shall be so to speak an archetype, in which the whole
reality [or perfection] which is so to speak objectively [or
by representation] in these ideas is contained formally [and
really]. Thus the light of nature causes me to know clearly
that the ideas in me are like [pictures or] images which can,
in truth, easily fall short of the perfection of the objects
from which they have been derived, but which can never contain
anything greater or more perfect.
And the longer and the more carefully that I investigate
these matters, the more clearly and distinctly do I recognise
their truth. But what am I to conclude from it all in the
end? It is this, that if the objective reality of any one of
my ideas is of such a nature as clearly to make me recognise
that it is not in me either formally or eminently, and that
consequently I cannot myself be the cause of it, it follows of
necessity that I am not alone in the world, but that there is
another being which exists, or which is the cause of this
idea. On the other hand, had no such an idea existed in me, I
should have had no sufficient argument to convince me of the
existence of any being beyond myself; for I have made very
careful investigation everywhere and up to the present time
have been able to find no other ground.
But of my ideas, beyond that which represents me to
myself, as to which there can here be no difficulty, there is
another which represents a God, and there are others
representing corporeal and inanimate things, others angels,
others animals, and others again which represent to me men
similar to myself.
As regards the ideas which represent to me other men or
animals, or angels, I can however easily conceive that they
might be formed by an admixture of the other ideas which I
have of myself, of corporeal things, and of God, even although
there were apart from me neither men nor animals, nor angels,
in all the world.
And in regard to the ideas of corporeal objects, I do not
recognise in them anything so great or so excellent that they
might not have possibly proceeded from myself; for if I
consider them more closely, and examine them individually, as
I yesterday examined the idea of wax, I find that there is
very little in them which I perceive clearly and distinctly.
Magnitude or extension in length, breadth, or depth, I do so
perceive; also figure which results from a termination of this
extension, the situation which bodies of different figure
preserve in relation to one another, and movement or change of
situation; to which we may also add substance, duration and
number. As to other things such as light, colours, sounds,
scents, tastes, heat, cold and the other tactile qualities,
they are thought by me with so much obscurity and confusion
that I do not even know if they are true or false, i.e.
whether the ideas which I form of these qualities are actually
the ideas of real objects or not [or whether they only
represent chimeras which cannot exist in fact]. For although
I have before remarked that it is only in judgments that
falsity, properly speaking, or formal falsity, can be met
with, a certain material falsity may nevertheless be found in
ideas, i.e. when these ideas represent what is nothing as
though it were something. For example, the ideas which I have
of cold and heat are so far from clear and distinct that by
their means I cannot tell whether cold is merely a privation
of heat, or heat a privation of cold, or whether both are real
qualities, or are not such. And inasmuch as [since ideas
resemble images] there cannot be any ideas which do not appear
to represent some things, if it is correct to say that cold is
merely a privation of heat, the idea which represents it to me
as something real and positive will not be improperly termed
false, and the same holds good of other similar ideas.
To these it is certainly not necessary that I should
attribute any author other than myself. For if they are
false, i.e. if they represent things which do not exist, the
light of nature shows me that they issue from nought, that is
to say, that they are only in me so far as something is
lacking to the perfection of my nature. But if they are true,
nevertheless because they exhibit so little reality to me that
I cannot even clearly distinguish the thing represented from
non-being, I do not see any reason why they should not be
produced by myself.
As to the clear and distinct idea which I have of
corporeal things, some of them seem as though I might have
derived them from the idea which I possess of myself, as those
which I have of substance, duration, number, and such like.
For [even] when I think that a stone is a substance, or at
least a thing capable of existing of itself, and that I am a
substance also, although I conceive that I am a thing that
thinks and not one that is extended, and that the stone on the
other hand is an extended thing which does not think, and that
thus there is a notable difference between the two
conceptions¥they seem, nevertheless, to agree in this, that
both represent substances. In the same way, when I perceive
that I now exist and further recollect that I have in former
times existed, and when I remember that I have various
thoughts of which I can recognise the number, I acquire ideas
of duration and number which I can afterwards transfer to any
object that I please. But as to all the other qualities of
which the ideas of corporeal things are composed, to wit,
extension, figure, situation and motion, it is true that they
are not formally in me, since I am only a thing that thinks;
but because they are merely certain modes of substance [and so
to speak the vestments under which corporeal substance appears
to us] and because I myself am also a substance, it would seem
that they might be contained in me eminently.
Hence there remains only the idea of God, concerning
which we must consider whether it is something which cannot
have proceeded from me myself. By the name God I understand a
substance that is infinite [eternal, immutable], independent,
all-knowing, all-powerful, and by which I myself and
everything else, if anything else does exist, have been
created. Now all these characteristics are such that the more
diligently I attend to them, the less do they appear capable
of proceeding from me alone; hence, from what has been already
said, we must conclude that God necessarily exists.
For although the idea of substance is within me owing to
the fact that I am substance, nevertheless I should not have
the idea of an infinite substance¥since I am finite¥if it had
not proceeded from some substance which was veritably
infinite.
Nor should I imagine that I do not perceive the infinite
by a true idea, but only by the negation of the finite, just
as I perceive repose and darkness by the negation of movement
and of light; for, on the contrary, I see that there is
manifestly more reality in infinite substance than in finite,
and therefore that in some way I have in me the notion of the
infinite earlier then the finite¥to wit, the notion of God
before that of myself. For how would it be possible that I
should know that I doubt and desire, that is to say, that
something is lacking to me, and that I am not quite perfect,
unless I had within me some idea of a Being more perfect than
myself, in comparison with which I should recognise the
deficiencies of my nature?
And we cannot say that this idea of God is perhaps
materially false and that consequently I can derive it from
nought [i.e. that possibly it exists in me because I am
imperfect], as I have just said is the case with ideas of
heat, cold and other such things; for, on the contrary, as
this idea is very clear and distinct and contains within it
more objective reality than any other, there can be none which
is of itself more true, nor any in which there can be less
suspicion of falsehood. The idea, I say, of this Being who is
absolutely perfect and infinite, is entirely true; for
although, perhaps, we can imagine that such a Being does not
exist, we cannot nevertheless imagine that His idea represents
nothing real to me, as I have said of the idea of cold. This
idea is also very clear and distinct; since all that I
conceive clearly and distinctly of the real and the true, and
of what conveys some perfection, is in its entirety contained
in this idea. And this does not cease to be true although I
do not comprehend the infinite, or though in God there is an
infinitude of things which I cannot comprehend, nor possibly
even reach in any way by thought; for it is of the nature of
the infinite that my nature, which is finite and limited,
should not comprehend it; and it is sufficient that I should
understand this, and that I should judge that all things which
I clearly perceive and in which I know that there is some
perfection, and possibly likewise an infinitude of properties
of which I am ignorant, are in God formally or eminently, so
that the idea which I have of Him may become the most true,
most clear, and most distinct of all the ideas that are in my
mind.
But possibly I am something more than I suppose myself to
be, and perhaps all those perfections which I attribute to God
are in some way potentially in me, although they do not yet
disclose themselves, or issue in action. As a matter of fact
I am already sensible that my knowledge increases [and
perfects itself] little by little, and I see nothing which can
prevent it from increasing more and more into infinitude; nor
do I see, after it has thus been increased [or perfected],
anything to prevent my being able to acquire by its means all
the other perfections of the Divine nature; nor finally why
the power I have of acquiring these perfections, if it really
exists in me, shall not suffice to produce the ideas of them.
At the same time I recognise that this cannot be. For,
in the first place, although it were true that every day my
knowledge acquired new degrees of perfection, and that there
were in my nature many things potentially which are not yet
there actually, nevertheless these excellences do not pertain
to [or make the smallest approach to] the idea which I have of
God in whom there is nothing merely potential [but in whom all
is present really and actually]; for it is an infallible token
of imperfection in my knowledge that it increases little by
little. and further, although my knowledge grows more and
more, nevertheless I do not for that reason believe that it
can ever be actually infinite, since it can never reach a
point so high that it will be unable to attain to any greater
increase. But I understand God to be actually infinite, so
that He can add nothing to His supreme perfection. And
finally I perceive that the objective being of an idea cannot
be produced by a being that exists potentially only, which
properly speaking is nothing, but only by a being which is
formal or actual.
To speak the truth, I see nothing in all that I have just
said which by the light of nature is not manifest to anyone
who desires to think attentively on the subject; but when I
slightly relax my attention, my mind, finding its vision
somewhat obscured and so to speak blinded by the images of
sensible objects, I do not easily recollect the reason why the
idea that I possess of a being more perfect then I, must
necessarily have been placed in me by a being which is really
more perfect; and this is why I wish here to go on to inquire
whether I, who have this idea, can exist if no such being
exists.
And I ask, from whom do I then derive my existence?
Perhaps from myself or from my parents, or from some other
source less perfect than God; for we can imagine nothing more
perfect than God, or even as perfect as He is.
But [were I independent of every other and] were I myself
the author of my being, I should doubt nothing and I should
desire nothing, and finally no perfection would be lacking to
me; for I should have bestowed on myself every perfection of
which I possessed any idea and should thus be God. And it
must not be imagined that those things that are lacking to me
are perhaps more difficult of attainment than those which I
already possess; for, on the contrary, it is quite evident
that it was a matter of much greater difficulty to bring to
pass that I, that is to say, a thing or a substance that
thinks, should emerge out of nothing, than it would be to
attain to the knowledge of many things of which I am ignorant,
and which are only the accidents of this thinking substance.
But it is clear that if I had of myself possessed this greater
perfection of which I have just spoken [that is to say, if I
had been the author of my own existence], I should not at
least have denied myself the things which are the more easy to
acquire [to wit, many branches of knowledge of which my nature
is destitute]; nor should I have deprived myself of any of the
things contained in the idea which I form of God, because
there are none of them which seem to me specially difficult to
acquire: and if there were any that were more difficult to
acquire, they would certainly appear to me to be such
(supposing I myself were the origin of the other things which
I possess) since I should discover in them that my powers were
limited.
But though I assume that perhaps I have always existed
just as I am at present, neither can I escape the force of
this reasoning, and imagine that the conclusion to be drawn
from this is, that I need not seek for any author of my
existence. For all the course of my life may be divided into
an infinite number of parts, none of which is in any way
dependent on the other; and thus from the fact that I was in
existence a short time ago it does not follow that I must be
in existence now, unless some cause at this instant, so to
speak, produces me anew, that is to say, conserves me. It is
as a matter of fact perfectly clear and evident to all those
who consider with attention the nature of time, that, in order
to be conserved in each moment in which it endures, a
substance has need of the same power and action as would be
necessary to produce and create it anew, supposing it did not
yet exist, so that the light of nature shows us clearly that
the distinction between creation and conservation is solely a
distinction of the reason.
All that I thus require here is that I should interrogate
myself, if I wish to know whether I possess a power which is
capable of bringing it to pass that I who now am shall still
be in the future; for since I am nothing but a thinking thing,
or at least since thus far it is only this portion of myself
which is precisely in question at present, if such a power did
reside in me, I should certainly be conscious of it. But I am
conscious of nothing of the kind, and by this I know clearly
that I depend on some being different from myself.
Possibly, however, this being on which I depend is not
that which I call God, and I am created either by my parents
or by some other cause less perfect than God. This cannot be,
because, as I have just said, it is perfectly evident that
there must be at least as much reality in the cause as in the
effect; and thus since I am a thinking thing, and possess an
idea of God within me, whatever in the end be the cause
assigned to my existence, it must be allowed that it is
likewise a thinking thing and that it possesses in itself the
idea of all the perfections which I attribute to God. We may
again inquire whether this cause derives its origin from
itself or from some other thing. For if from itself, it
follows by the reasons before brought forward, that this cause
must itself be God; for since it possesses the virtue of self-
existence, it must also without doubt have the power of
actually possessing all the perfections of which it has the
idea, that is, all those which I conceive as existing in God.
But if it derives its existence from some other cause than
itself, we shall again ask, for the same reason, whether this
second cause exists by itself or through another, until from
one step to another, we finally arrive at an ultimate cause,
which will be God.
And it is perfectly manifest that in this there can be no
regression into infinity, since what is in question is not so
much the cause which formerly created me, as that which
conserves me at the present time.
Nor can we suppose that several causes may have concurred
in my production, and that from one I have received the idea
of one of the perfections which I attribute to God, and from
another the idea of some other, so that all these perfections
indeed exist somewhere in the universe, but not as complete in
one unity which is God. On the contrary, the unity, the
simplicity or the inseparability of all things which are in
god is one of the principal perfections which I conceive to be
in Him. And certainly the idea of this unity of all Divine
perfections cannot have been placed in me by any cause from
which I have not likewise received the ideas of all the other
perfections; for this cause could not make me able to
comprehend them as joined together in an inseparable unity
without having at the same time caused me in some measure to
know what they are [and in some way to recognise each one of
them].
Finally, so far as my parents [from whom it appears I
have sprung] are concerned, although all that I have ever been
able to believe of them were true, that does not make it
follow that it is they who conserve me, nor are they even the
authors of my being in any sense, in so far as I am a thinking
being; since what they did was merely to implant certain
dispositions in that matter in which the self¥i.e. the mind,
which alone I at present identify with myself¥is by me deemed
to exist. And thus there can be no difficulty in their
regard, but we must of necessity conclude from the fact alone
that I exist, or that the idea of a Being supremely
perfect¥that is of God¥is in me, that the proof of God's
existence is grounded on the highest evidence.
It only remains to me to examine into the manner in which
I have acquired this idea from God; for I have not received it
through the senses, and it is never presented to me
unexpectedly, as is usual with the ideas of sensible things
when these things present themselves, or seem to present
themselves, to the external organs of my senses; nor is it
likewise a fiction of my mind, for it is not in my power to
take from or to add anything to it; and consequently the only
alternative is that it is innate in me, just as the idea of
myself is innate in me.
And one certainly ought not to find it strange that God,
in creating me, placed this idea within me to be like the mark
of the workman imprinted on his work; and it is likewise not
essential that the mark shall be something different from the
work itself. For from the sole fact that God created me it is
most probable that in some way he has placed his image and
similitude upon me, and that I perceive this similitude (in
which the idea of God is contained) by means of the same
faculty by which I perceive myself¥that is to say, when I
reflect on myself I not only know that I am something
[imperfect], incomplete and dependent on another, which
incessantly aspires after something which is better and
greater than myself, but I also know that He on whom I depend
possesses in Himself all the great things towards which I
aspire [and the ideas of which I find within myself], and that
not indefinitely or potentially alone, but really, actually
and infinitely; and that thus He is God. And the whole
strength of the argument which I have here made use of to
prove the existence of God consists in this, that I recognise
that it is not possible that my nature should be what it is,
and indeed that I should have in myself the idea of a God, if
God did not veritably exist¥a God, I say, whose idea is in me,
i.e. who possesses all those supreme perfections of which our
mind may indeed have some idea but without understanding them
all, who is liable to no errors or defect [and who has none of
all those marks which denote imperfection]. From this it is
manifest that He cannot be a deceiver, since the light of
nature teaches us that fraud and deception necessarily proceed
from some defect.
But before I examine this matter with more care, and pass
on to the consideration of other truths which may be derived
from it, it seems to me right to pause for a while in order to
contemplate God Himself, to ponder at leisure His marvellous
attributes, to consider, and admire, and adore, the beauty of
this light so resplendent, at least as far as the strength of
my mind, which is in some measure dazzled by the sight, will
allow me to do so. For just as faith teaches us that the
supreme felicity of the other life consists only in this
contemplation of the Divine Majesty, so we continue to learn
by experience that a similar meditation, though incomparably
less perfect, causes us to enjoy the greatest satisfaction of
which we are capable in this life.
FOOTNOTES
1. Percipio, F. nous concevons.
2. The French version is followed here as being more explicit.
In it "action de mon esprit" replaces "mea cogitatio."
3.In the Latin version "similitudinem.
Of God: that He exists.
I shall now close my eyes, I shall stop my ears, I shall
call away all my senses, I shall efface even from my thoughts
all the images of corporeal things, or at least (for that is
hardly possible) I shall esteem them as vain and false; and
thus holding converse only with myself and considering my own
nature, I shall try little by little to reach a better
knowledge of and a more familiar acquaintanceship with myself.
I am a thing that thinks, that is to say, that doubts,
affirms, denies, that knows a few things, that is ignorant of
many [that loves, that hates], that wills, that desires, that
also imagines and perceives; for as I remarked before,
although the things which I perceive and imagine are perhaps
nothing at all apart from me and in themselves, I am
nevertheless assured that these modes of thought that I call
perceptions and imaginations, inasmuch only as they are modes
of thought, certainly reside [and are met with] in me.
And in the little that I have just said, I think I have
summed up all that I really know, or at least all that
hitherto I was aware that I knew. In order to try to extend
my knowledge further, I shall now look around more carefully
and see whether I cannot still discover in myself some other
things which I have not hitherto perceived. I am certain that
I am a thing which thinks; but do I not then likewise know
what is requisite to render me certain of a truth? Certainly
in this first knowledge there is nothing that assures me of
its truth, excepting the clear and distinct perception of that
which I state, which would not indeed suffice to assure me
that what I say is true, if it could ever happen that a thing
which I conceived so clearly and distinctly could be false;
and accordingly it seems to me that already I can establish as
a general rule that all things which I perceive1 very clearly
and very distinctly are true.
At the same time I have before received and admitted many
things to be very certain and manifest, which yet I afterwards
recognised as being dubious. What then were these things?
They were the earth, sky, stars and all other objects which I
apprehended by means of the senses. But what did I clearly
[and distinctly] perceive in them? Nothing more than that the
ideas or thoughts of these things were presented to my mind.
And not even now do I deny that these ideas are met with in
me. But there was yet another thing which I affirmed, and
which, owing to the habit which I had formed of believing it,
I thought I perceived very clearly, although in truth I did
not perceive it at all, to wit, that there were objects
outside of me from which these ideas proceeded, and to which
they were entirely similar. And it was in this that I erred,
or, if perchance my judgment was correct, this was not due to
any knowledge arising from my perception.
But when I took anything very simple and easy in the
sphere of arithmetic or geometry into consideration, e.g. that
two and three together made five, and other things of the
sort, were not these present to my mind so clearly as to
enable me to affirm that they were true? Certainly if I
judged that since such matters could be doubted, this would
not have been so for any other reason than that it came into
my mind that perhaps a God might have endowed me with such a
nature that I may have been deceived even concerning things
which seemed to me most manifest. But every time that this
preconceived opinion of the sovereign power of a God presents
itself to my thought, I am constrained to confess that it is
easy to Him, if He wishes it, to cause me to err, even in
matters in which I believe myself to have the best evidence.
And, on the other hand, always when I direct my attention to
things which I believe myself to perceive very clearly, I am
so persuaded of their truth that I let myself break out into
words such as these: Let who will deceive me, He can never
cause me to be nothing while I think that I am, or some day
cause it to be true to say that I have never been, it being
true now to say that I am, or that two and three make more or
less than five, or any such thing in which I see a manifest
contradiction. And, certainly, since I have no reason to
believe that there is a God who is a deceiver, and as I have
not yet satisfied myself that there is a God at all, the
reason for doubt which depends on this opinion alone is very
slight, and so to speak metaphysical. But in order to be able
altogether to remove it, I must inquire whether there is a God
as soon as the occasion presents itself; and if I find that
there is a God, I must also inquire whether He may be a
deceiver; for without a knowledge of these two truths I do not
see that I can ever be certain of anything.
And in order that I may have an opportunity of inquiring
into this in an orderly way [without interrupting the order of
meditation which I have proposed to myself, and which is
little by little to pass from the notions which I find first
of all in my mind to those which I shall later on discover in
it] it is requisite that I should here divide my thoughts into
certain kinds, and that I should consider in which of these
kinds there is, properly speaking, truth or error to be found.
Of my thoughts some are, so to speak, images of the things,
and to these alone is the title "idea" properly applied;
examples are my thought of a man or of a chimera, of heaven,
of an angel, or [even] of God. But other thoughts possess
other forms as well. For example in willing, fearing,
approving, denying, though I always perceive something as the
subject of the action of my mind,2 yet by this action I
always add something else to the idea3 which I have of that
thing; and of the thoughts of this kind some are called
volitions or affections, and others judgments.
Now as to what concerns ideas, if we consider them only
in themselves and do not relate them to anything else beyond
themselves, they cannot properly speaking be false; for
whether I imagine a goat or a chimera, it is not less true
that I imagine the one that the other. We must not fear
likewise that falsity can enter into will and into affections,
for although I may desire evil things, or even things that
never existed, it is not the less true that I desire them.
Thus there remains no more than the judgments which we make,
in which I must take the greatest care not o deceive myself.
But the principal error and the commonest which we may meet
with in them, consists in my judging that the ideas which are
in me are similar or conformable to the things which are
outside me; for without doubt if I considered the ideas only
as certain modes of my thoughts, without trying to relate them
to anything beyond, they could scarcely give me material for
error.
But among these ideas, some appear to me to be innate,
some adventitious, and others to be formed [or invented] by
myself; for, as I have the power of understanding what is
called a thing, or a truth, or a thought, it appears to me
that I hold this power from no other source than my own
nature. But if I now hear some sound, if I see the sun, or
feel heat, I have hitherto judged that these sensations
proceeded from certain things that exist outside of me; and
finally it appears to me that sirens, hippogryphs, and the
like, are formed out of my own mind. But again I may possibly
persuade myself that all these ideas are of the nature of
those which I term adventitious, or else that they are all
innate, or all fictitious: for I have not yet clearly
discovered their true origin.
And my principal task in this place is to consider, in
respect to those ideas which appear to me to proceed from
certain objects that are outside me, what are the reasons
which cause me to think them similar to these objects. It
seems indeed in the first place that I am taught this lesson
by nature; and, secondly, I experience in myself that these
ideas do not depend on my will nor therefore on myself¥for
they often present themselves to my mind in spite of my will.
Just now, for instance, whether I will or whether I do not
will, I feel heat, and thus I persuade myself that this
feeling, or at least this idea of heat, is produced in me by
something which is different from me, i.e. by the heat of the
fire near which I sit. And nothing seems to me more obvious
than to judge that this object imprints its likeness rather
than anything else upon me.
Now I must discover whether these proofs are sufficiently
strong and convincing. When I say that I am so instructed by
nature, I merely mean a certain spontaneous inclination which
impels me to believe in this connection, and not a natural
light which makes me recognise that it is true. But these two
things are very different; for I cannot doubt that which the
natural light causes me to believe to be true, as, for
example, it has shown me that I am from the fact that I doubt,
or other facts of the same kind. And I possess no other
faculty whereby to distinguish truth from falsehood, which can
teach me that what this light shows me to be true is not
really true, and no other faculty that is equally trustworthy.
But as far as [apparently] natural impulses are concerned, I
have frequently remarked, when I had to make active choice
between virtue and vice, that they often enough led me to the
part that was worse; and this is why I do not see any reason
for following them in what regards truth and error.
And as to the other reason, which is that these ideas
must proceed from objects outside me, since they do not depend
on my will, I do not find it any the more convincing. For
just as these impulses of which I have spoken are found in me,
notwithstanding that they do not always concur with my will,
so perhaps there is in me some faculty fitted to produce these
ideas without the assistance of any external things, even
though it is not yet known by me; just as, apparently, they
have hitherto always been found in me during sleep without the
aid of any external objects.
And finally, though they did proceed from objects
different from myself, it is not a necessary consequence that
they should resemble these. On the contrary, I have noticed
that in many cases there was a great difference between the
object and its idea. I find, for example, two completely
diverse ideas of the sun in my mind; the one derives its
origin from the senses, and should be placed in the category
of adventitious ideas; according to this idea the sun seems to
be extremely small; but the other is derived from astronomical
reasonings, i.e. is elicited from certain notions that are
innate in me, or else it is formed by me in some other manner;
in accordance with it the sun appears to be several times
greater than the earth. These two ideas cannot, indeed, both
resemble the same sun, and reason makes me believe that the
one which seems to have originated directly from the sun
itself, is the one which is most dissimilar to it.
All this causes me to believe that until the present time
it has not been by a judgment that was certain [or
premeditated], but only by a sort of blind impulse that I
believed that things existed outside of, and different from
me, which, by the organs of my senses, or by some other method
whatever it might be, conveyed these ideas or images to me
[and imprinted on me their similitudes].
But there is yet another method of inquiring whether any
of the objects of which I have ideas within me exist outside
of me. If ideas are only taken as certain modes of thought, I
recognise amongst them no difference or inequality, and all
appear to proceed from me in the same manner; but when we
consider them as images, one representing one thing and the
other another, it is clear that they are very different one
from the other. There is no doubt that those which represent
to me substances are something more, and contain so to speak
more objective reality within them [that is to say, by
representation participate in a higher degree of being or
perfection] than those that simply represent modes or
accidents; and that idea again by which I understand a supreme
God, eternal, infinite, [immutable], omniscient, omnipotent,
and Creator of all things which are outside of Himself, has
certainly more objective reality in itself than those ideas by
which finite substances are represented.
Now it is manifest by the natural light that there must
at least be as much reality in the efficient and total cause
as in its effect. For, pray, whence can the effect derive its
reality, if not from its cause? And in what way can this
cause communicate this reality to it, unless it possessed it
in itself? And from this it follows, not only that something
cannot proceed from nothing, but likewise that what is more
perfect¥that is to say, which has more reality within
itself¥cannot proceed from the less perfect. And this is not
only evidently true of those effects which possess actual or
formal reality, but also of the ideas in which we consider
merely what is termed objective reality. To take an example,
the stone which has not yet existed not only cannot now
commence to be unless it has been produced by something which
possesses within itself, either formally or eminently, all
that enters into the composition of the stone [i.e. it must
possess the same things or other more excellent things than
those which exist in the stone] and heat can only be produced
in a subject in which it did not previously exist by a cause
that is of an order [degree or kind] at least as perfect as
heat, and so in all other cases. But further, the idea of
heat, or of a stone, cannot exist in me unless it has been
placed within me by some cause which possesses within it at
least as much reality as that which I conceive to exist in the
heat or the stone. For although this cause does not transmit
anything of its actual or formal reality to my idea, we must
not for that reason imagine that it is necessarily a less real
cause; we must remember that [since every idea is a work of
the mind] its nature is such that it demands of itself no
other formal reality than that which it borrows from my
thought, of which it is only a mode [i.e. a manner or way of
thinking]. But in order that an idea should contain some one
certain objective reality rather than another, it must without
doubt derive it from some cause in which there is at least as
much formal reality as this idea contains of objective
reality. For if we imagine that something is found in an idea
which is not found in the cause, it must then have been
derived from nought; but however imperfect may be this mode of
being by which a thing is objectively [or by representation]
in the understanding by its idea, we cannot certainly say that
this mode of being is nothing, nor consequently, that the idea
derives its origin from nothing.
Nor must I imagine that, since the reality that I
consider in these ideas is only objective, it is not essential
that this reality should be formally in the causes of my
ideas, but that it is sufficient that it should be found
objectively. For just as this mode of objective existence
pertains to ideas by their proper nature, so does the mode of
formal existence pertain tot he causes of those ideas (this is
at least true of the first and principal) by the nature
peculiar to them. And although it may be the case that one
idea gives birth to another idea, that cannot continue to be
so indefinitely; for in the end we must reach an idea whose
cause shall be so to speak an archetype, in which the whole
reality [or perfection] which is so to speak objectively [or
by representation] in these ideas is contained formally [and
really]. Thus the light of nature causes me to know clearly
that the ideas in me are like [pictures or] images which can,
in truth, easily fall short of the perfection of the objects
from which they have been derived, but which can never contain
anything greater or more perfect.
And the longer and the more carefully that I investigate
these matters, the more clearly and distinctly do I recognise
their truth. But what am I to conclude from it all in the
end? It is this, that if the objective reality of any one of
my ideas is of such a nature as clearly to make me recognise
that it is not in me either formally or eminently, and that
consequently I cannot myself be the cause of it, it follows of
necessity that I am not alone in the world, but that there is
another being which exists, or which is the cause of this
idea. On the other hand, had no such an idea existed in me, I
should have had no sufficient argument to convince me of the
existence of any being beyond myself; for I have made very
careful investigation everywhere and up to the present time
have been able to find no other ground.
But of my ideas, beyond that which represents me to
myself, as to which there can here be no difficulty, there is
another which represents a God, and there are others
representing corporeal and inanimate things, others angels,
others animals, and others again which represent to me men
similar to myself.
As regards the ideas which represent to me other men or
animals, or angels, I can however easily conceive that they
might be formed by an admixture of the other ideas which I
have of myself, of corporeal things, and of God, even although
there were apart from me neither men nor animals, nor angels,
in all the world.
And in regard to the ideas of corporeal objects, I do not
recognise in them anything so great or so excellent that they
might not have possibly proceeded from myself; for if I
consider them more closely, and examine them individually, as
I yesterday examined the idea of wax, I find that there is
very little in them which I perceive clearly and distinctly.
Magnitude or extension in length, breadth, or depth, I do so
perceive; also figure which results from a termination of this
extension, the situation which bodies of different figure
preserve in relation to one another, and movement or change of
situation; to which we may also add substance, duration and
number. As to other things such as light, colours, sounds,
scents, tastes, heat, cold and the other tactile qualities,
they are thought by me with so much obscurity and confusion
that I do not even know if they are true or false, i.e.
whether the ideas which I form of these qualities are actually
the ideas of real objects or not [or whether they only
represent chimeras which cannot exist in fact]. For although
I have before remarked that it is only in judgments that
falsity, properly speaking, or formal falsity, can be met
with, a certain material falsity may nevertheless be found in
ideas, i.e. when these ideas represent what is nothing as
though it were something. For example, the ideas which I have
of cold and heat are so far from clear and distinct that by
their means I cannot tell whether cold is merely a privation
of heat, or heat a privation of cold, or whether both are real
qualities, or are not such. And inasmuch as [since ideas
resemble images] there cannot be any ideas which do not appear
to represent some things, if it is correct to say that cold is
merely a privation of heat, the idea which represents it to me
as something real and positive will not be improperly termed
false, and the same holds good of other similar ideas.
To these it is certainly not necessary that I should
attribute any author other than myself. For if they are
false, i.e. if they represent things which do not exist, the
light of nature shows me that they issue from nought, that is
to say, that they are only in me so far as something is
lacking to the perfection of my nature. But if they are true,
nevertheless because they exhibit so little reality to me that
I cannot even clearly distinguish the thing represented from
non-being, I do not see any reason why they should not be
produced by myself.
As to the clear and distinct idea which I have of
corporeal things, some of them seem as though I might have
derived them from the idea which I possess of myself, as those
which I have of substance, duration, number, and such like.
For [even] when I think that a stone is a substance, or at
least a thing capable of existing of itself, and that I am a
substance also, although I conceive that I am a thing that
thinks and not one that is extended, and that the stone on the
other hand is an extended thing which does not think, and that
thus there is a notable difference between the two
conceptions¥they seem, nevertheless, to agree in this, that
both represent substances. In the same way, when I perceive
that I now exist and further recollect that I have in former
times existed, and when I remember that I have various
thoughts of which I can recognise the number, I acquire ideas
of duration and number which I can afterwards transfer to any
object that I please. But as to all the other qualities of
which the ideas of corporeal things are composed, to wit,
extension, figure, situation and motion, it is true that they
are not formally in me, since I am only a thing that thinks;
but because they are merely certain modes of substance [and so
to speak the vestments under which corporeal substance appears
to us] and because I myself am also a substance, it would seem
that they might be contained in me eminently.
Hence there remains only the idea of God, concerning
which we must consider whether it is something which cannot
have proceeded from me myself. By the name God I understand a
substance that is infinite [eternal, immutable], independent,
all-knowing, all-powerful, and by which I myself and
everything else, if anything else does exist, have been
created. Now all these characteristics are such that the more
diligently I attend to them, the less do they appear capable
of proceeding from me alone; hence, from what has been already
said, we must conclude that God necessarily exists.
For although the idea of substance is within me owing to
the fact that I am substance, nevertheless I should not have
the idea of an infinite substance¥since I am finite¥if it had
not proceeded from some substance which was veritably
infinite.
Nor should I imagine that I do not perceive the infinite
by a true idea, but only by the negation of the finite, just
as I perceive repose and darkness by the negation of movement
and of light; for, on the contrary, I see that there is
manifestly more reality in infinite substance than in finite,
and therefore that in some way I have in me the notion of the
infinite earlier then the finite¥to wit, the notion of God
before that of myself. For how would it be possible that I
should know that I doubt and desire, that is to say, that
something is lacking to me, and that I am not quite perfect,
unless I had within me some idea of a Being more perfect than
myself, in comparison with which I should recognise the
deficiencies of my nature?
And we cannot say that this idea of God is perhaps
materially false and that consequently I can derive it from
nought [i.e. that possibly it exists in me because I am
imperfect], as I have just said is the case with ideas of
heat, cold and other such things; for, on the contrary, as
this idea is very clear and distinct and contains within it
more objective reality than any other, there can be none which
is of itself more true, nor any in which there can be less
suspicion of falsehood. The idea, I say, of this Being who is
absolutely perfect and infinite, is entirely true; for
although, perhaps, we can imagine that such a Being does not
exist, we cannot nevertheless imagine that His idea represents
nothing real to me, as I have said of the idea of cold. This
idea is also very clear and distinct; since all that I
conceive clearly and distinctly of the real and the true, and
of what conveys some perfection, is in its entirety contained
in this idea. And this does not cease to be true although I
do not comprehend the infinite, or though in God there is an
infinitude of things which I cannot comprehend, nor possibly
even reach in any way by thought; for it is of the nature of
the infinite that my nature, which is finite and limited,
should not comprehend it; and it is sufficient that I should
understand this, and that I should judge that all things which
I clearly perceive and in which I know that there is some
perfection, and possibly likewise an infinitude of properties
of which I am ignorant, are in God formally or eminently, so
that the idea which I have of Him may become the most true,
most clear, and most distinct of all the ideas that are in my
mind.
But possibly I am something more than I suppose myself to
be, and perhaps all those perfections which I attribute to God
are in some way potentially in me, although they do not yet
disclose themselves, or issue in action. As a matter of fact
I am already sensible that my knowledge increases [and
perfects itself] little by little, and I see nothing which can
prevent it from increasing more and more into infinitude; nor
do I see, after it has thus been increased [or perfected],
anything to prevent my being able to acquire by its means all
the other perfections of the Divine nature; nor finally why
the power I have of acquiring these perfections, if it really
exists in me, shall not suffice to produce the ideas of them.
At the same time I recognise that this cannot be. For,
in the first place, although it were true that every day my
knowledge acquired new degrees of perfection, and that there
were in my nature many things potentially which are not yet
there actually, nevertheless these excellences do not pertain
to [or make the smallest approach to] the idea which I have of
God in whom there is nothing merely potential [but in whom all
is present really and actually]; for it is an infallible token
of imperfection in my knowledge that it increases little by
little. and further, although my knowledge grows more and
more, nevertheless I do not for that reason believe that it
can ever be actually infinite, since it can never reach a
point so high that it will be unable to attain to any greater
increase. But I understand God to be actually infinite, so
that He can add nothing to His supreme perfection. And
finally I perceive that the objective being of an idea cannot
be produced by a being that exists potentially only, which
properly speaking is nothing, but only by a being which is
formal or actual.
To speak the truth, I see nothing in all that I have just
said which by the light of nature is not manifest to anyone
who desires to think attentively on the subject; but when I
slightly relax my attention, my mind, finding its vision
somewhat obscured and so to speak blinded by the images of
sensible objects, I do not easily recollect the reason why the
idea that I possess of a being more perfect then I, must
necessarily have been placed in me by a being which is really
more perfect; and this is why I wish here to go on to inquire
whether I, who have this idea, can exist if no such being
exists.
And I ask, from whom do I then derive my existence?
Perhaps from myself or from my parents, or from some other
source less perfect than God; for we can imagine nothing more
perfect than God, or even as perfect as He is.
But [were I independent of every other and] were I myself
the author of my being, I should doubt nothing and I should
desire nothing, and finally no perfection would be lacking to
me; for I should have bestowed on myself every perfection of
which I possessed any idea and should thus be God. And it
must not be imagined that those things that are lacking to me
are perhaps more difficult of attainment than those which I
already possess; for, on the contrary, it is quite evident
that it was a matter of much greater difficulty to bring to
pass that I, that is to say, a thing or a substance that
thinks, should emerge out of nothing, than it would be to
attain to the knowledge of many things of which I am ignorant,
and which are only the accidents of this thinking substance.
But it is clear that if I had of myself possessed this greater
perfection of which I have just spoken [that is to say, if I
had been the author of my own existence], I should not at
least have denied myself the things which are the more easy to
acquire [to wit, many branches of knowledge of which my nature
is destitute]; nor should I have deprived myself of any of the
things contained in the idea which I form of God, because
there are none of them which seem to me specially difficult to
acquire: and if there were any that were more difficult to
acquire, they would certainly appear to me to be such
(supposing I myself were the origin of the other things which
I possess) since I should discover in them that my powers were
limited.
But though I assume that perhaps I have always existed
just as I am at present, neither can I escape the force of
this reasoning, and imagine that the conclusion to be drawn
from this is, that I need not seek for any author of my
existence. For all the course of my life may be divided into
an infinite number of parts, none of which is in any way
dependent on the other; and thus from the fact that I was in
existence a short time ago it does not follow that I must be
in existence now, unless some cause at this instant, so to
speak, produces me anew, that is to say, conserves me. It is
as a matter of fact perfectly clear and evident to all those
who consider with attention the nature of time, that, in order
to be conserved in each moment in which it endures, a
substance has need of the same power and action as would be
necessary to produce and create it anew, supposing it did not
yet exist, so that the light of nature shows us clearly that
the distinction between creation and conservation is solely a
distinction of the reason.
All that I thus require here is that I should interrogate
myself, if I wish to know whether I possess a power which is
capable of bringing it to pass that I who now am shall still
be in the future; for since I am nothing but a thinking thing,
or at least since thus far it is only this portion of myself
which is precisely in question at present, if such a power did
reside in me, I should certainly be conscious of it. But I am
conscious of nothing of the kind, and by this I know clearly
that I depend on some being different from myself.
Possibly, however, this being on which I depend is not
that which I call God, and I am created either by my parents
or by some other cause less perfect than God. This cannot be,
because, as I have just said, it is perfectly evident that
there must be at least as much reality in the cause as in the
effect; and thus since I am a thinking thing, and possess an
idea of God within me, whatever in the end be the cause
assigned to my existence, it must be allowed that it is
likewise a thinking thing and that it possesses in itself the
idea of all the perfections which I attribute to God. We may
again inquire whether this cause derives its origin from
itself or from some other thing. For if from itself, it
follows by the reasons before brought forward, that this cause
must itself be God; for since it possesses the virtue of self-
existence, it must also without doubt have the power of
actually possessing all the perfections of which it has the
idea, that is, all those which I conceive as existing in God.
But if it derives its existence from some other cause than
itself, we shall again ask, for the same reason, whether this
second cause exists by itself or through another, until from
one step to another, we finally arrive at an ultimate cause,
which will be God.
And it is perfectly manifest that in this there can be no
regression into infinity, since what is in question is not so
much the cause which formerly created me, as that which
conserves me at the present time.
Nor can we suppose that several causes may have concurred
in my production, and that from one I have received the idea
of one of the perfections which I attribute to God, and from
another the idea of some other, so that all these perfections
indeed exist somewhere in the universe, but not as complete in
one unity which is God. On the contrary, the unity, the
simplicity or the inseparability of all things which are in
god is one of the principal perfections which I conceive to be
in Him. And certainly the idea of this unity of all Divine
perfections cannot have been placed in me by any cause from
which I have not likewise received the ideas of all the other
perfections; for this cause could not make me able to
comprehend them as joined together in an inseparable unity
without having at the same time caused me in some measure to
know what they are [and in some way to recognise each one of
them].
Finally, so far as my parents [from whom it appears I
have sprung] are concerned, although all that I have ever been
able to believe of them were true, that does not make it
follow that it is they who conserve me, nor are they even the
authors of my being in any sense, in so far as I am a thinking
being; since what they did was merely to implant certain
dispositions in that matter in which the self¥i.e. the mind,
which alone I at present identify with myself¥is by me deemed
to exist. And thus there can be no difficulty in their
regard, but we must of necessity conclude from the fact alone
that I exist, or that the idea of a Being supremely
perfect¥that is of God¥is in me, that the proof of God's
existence is grounded on the highest evidence.
It only remains to me to examine into the manner in which
I have acquired this idea from God; for I have not received it
through the senses, and it is never presented to me
unexpectedly, as is usual with the ideas of sensible things
when these things present themselves, or seem to present
themselves, to the external organs of my senses; nor is it
likewise a fiction of my mind, for it is not in my power to
take from or to add anything to it; and consequently the only
alternative is that it is innate in me, just as the idea of
myself is innate in me.
And one certainly ought not to find it strange that God,
in creating me, placed this idea within me to be like the mark
of the workman imprinted on his work; and it is likewise not
essential that the mark shall be something different from the
work itself. For from the sole fact that God created me it is
most probable that in some way he has placed his image and
similitude upon me, and that I perceive this similitude (in
which the idea of God is contained) by means of the same
faculty by which I perceive myself¥that is to say, when I
reflect on myself I not only know that I am something
[imperfect], incomplete and dependent on another, which
incessantly aspires after something which is better and
greater than myself, but I also know that He on whom I depend
possesses in Himself all the great things towards which I
aspire [and the ideas of which I find within myself], and that
not indefinitely or potentially alone, but really, actually
and infinitely; and that thus He is God. And the whole
strength of the argument which I have here made use of to
prove the existence of God consists in this, that I recognise
that it is not possible that my nature should be what it is,
and indeed that I should have in myself the idea of a God, if
God did not veritably exist¥a God, I say, whose idea is in me,
i.e. who possesses all those supreme perfections of which our
mind may indeed have some idea but without understanding them
all, who is liable to no errors or defect [and who has none of
all those marks which denote imperfection]. From this it is
manifest that He cannot be a deceiver, since the light of
nature teaches us that fraud and deception necessarily proceed
from some defect.
But before I examine this matter with more care, and pass
on to the consideration of other truths which may be derived
from it, it seems to me right to pause for a while in order to
contemplate God Himself, to ponder at leisure His marvellous
attributes, to consider, and admire, and adore, the beauty of
this light so resplendent, at least as far as the strength of
my mind, which is in some measure dazzled by the sight, will
allow me to do so. For just as faith teaches us that the
supreme felicity of the other life consists only in this
contemplation of the Divine Majesty, so we continue to learn
by experience that a similar meditation, though incomparably
less perfect, causes us to enjoy the greatest satisfaction of
which we are capable in this life.
FOOTNOTES
1. Percipio, F. nous concevons.
2. The French version is followed here as being more explicit.
In it "action de mon esprit" replaces "mea cogitatio."
3.In the Latin version "similitudinem.