the way for the investigation of truth. By his manner of expressing himself, he gave occasion to disputes, which greater clearness would have prevented.
As he did not express himself with sufficient clearness, so his adversaries did not press him with all the precision and energy possible. To settle this whole matter, it would have sufficed to ask him this question: Do you mean to say that, in commencing our philosophical investigations, there is a moment in which we really and actually doubt of every thing; or do you deem it sufficient to abstract certainty, and to suppose that we have it not, as is frequently done in other studies?
174. Descartes was like all reformers who are ruled by one idea, and express it so strongly as to seem to admit no other beside it. In their language every thing is absolute, exclusive. They anticipate the combat which they must sustain, perhaps already experience it, and so they concentrate all their strength on the idea whose triumph they propose, and lose sight of every thing else. It cannot be inferred from this that they have no others which notably modify the principal; but to oppose their adversaries, who say, "This is absolutely false," they assert that it is absolutely true. History and experience furnish innumerable examples of such exaggerations.
The dominant idea of Descartes was to demolish the philosophy which at that time reigned in the schools; and he gave it so rude a shock as to make the world tremble. See how he expressed his contempt for many called philosophers: "Experience shows that they who make profession of being philosophers are often less wise and less reasonable than they who never applied themselves to this study."[11]
175. The second part of Descartes' method consists in taking thought for the point of departure, and in declaring that in trying to doubt of every thing man finds a limit in the consciousness of his thought, his existence. This is evidently the phenomenon which remains in the mind of the observer after doubting of every thing else; at least he cannot doubt that he doubts, and consequently that he thinks; for it must be remarked that this is an argument which has always been used against skeptics, which is equivalent to Descartes' method, and establishes as an undeniable phenomenon a certainty superior to all sophisms, the consciousness of one's self.
When Descartes said, I think, he meant by this word every internal act, every phenomenon immediately present to the soul; he spoke not of thought taken in a purely intellectual sense, but included in it all that of which we have immediate consciousness. "By the word thought," he says, "I understand all that is done within us, in such a manner that we perceive it immediately by ourselves: this is why not only to understand, to will, to imagine, but also to feel, are here the same thing as to think. For if I say that I see, or that I walk, and thence I infer that I am; if I mean to speak of the action performed with my eyes or with my feet, this conclusion is not so infallible that I have no reason to doubt it; because it may be that I think I see, or walk, although I do not open my eyes or stir from my seat; for this sometimes happens when I am asleep, and the same might also happen even if I had no body; but if I mean to speak only of the action of my thought or of the feeling, that is to say, the knowledge that I possess, which makes it seem to me that I see, or that I walk, this same conclusion is so absolutely true that I cannot doubt it; because it relates to the soul, which alone has the faculty of feeling, or of thinking, in any other manner whatever."[12]
176. This passage shows very clearly Descartes' ideas; he destroyed every thing by doubt, excepting one thing which defied all his efforts, the consciousness of himself; and this consciousness he took for the basis, on which, with full certainty, he might build anew the edifice of science. Locke and Condillac did nothing else; they followed, indeed, a different path, but their point of departure was at all times the same. Locke says: "First, I shall inquire into the original of those ideas, notions, or whatever else you please to call them, which a man observes, and is conscious to himself he has in his mind; and the ways whereby the understanding comes to be furnished by them."[13] "Since the mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, hath no other immediate object but its own ideas, which it alone does or can contemplate, it is evident that our knowledge is only conversant about them."[14] "Whether, to speak metaphorically," says Condillac, "we ascend even to the heavens, or descend into the abysses, we do not go out of ourselves, and it is always our own thought that we perceive."[15]
177. All ideological labors commence then by establishing the fact of consciousness of our ideas; and it cannot be otherwise with respect to their certainty. Man, although he overthrow and destroy every thing, still encounters himself, the one who overthrows and destroys every thing. When he has gone so far as to doubt the existence of God, the world, his fellow-beings, his own body, he still, in the midst of this immense solitude, encounters himself. The effort to conceal himself from his own eyes serves only to render him more visible: he is a spirit to be killed by no blow, and rays of light flow from every wound inflicted on him. If he doubts that he feels, he at least feels that he doubts; if he doubts of this doubt, he feels that he doubts of doubt itself; thus, in doubting of direct acts, he enters into an interminable series of reflex acts, necessarily linked one with the other, and unrolled to the internal view like folds of a scarf which has no end.(18)
CHAPTER XIX.
VALUE OF THE PRINCIPLE. I THINK: ITS—ANALYSIS.
178. We have already seen that Descartes' principle, considered as an enthymema, cannot aspire to be fundamental. In every argument there are premises and a consequence; and to be conclusive, the premises must be true, and the consequence legitimate. To say that an argument may be a fundamental principle, is a manifest contradiction.
But if we take Descartes' principle in the sense above explained, that is, not as an argument but as the declaration of a fact, the contradiction ceases, and it is a question, worthy to be examined, whether it merits the title of fundamental principle or not, and in what sense. We have already somewhat illustrated this matter, but not yet sufficiently cleared it up; we have made some preliminary remarks in order to show the state of the question, but have not yet completely solved it.
179. The proposition, I think, as we have remarked, expresses something more than merely thought, strictly so called: it embraces acts of the will, sentiments, sensations, acts, and expressions of all kinds which are realized within us; it includes all phenomena immediately present to our mind, and attested by consciousness.
Nothing that distinguishes between various acts and impressions can be a fundamental principle: such a distinction supposes analysis, and analysis requires reflection. We do not reflect without rules and objects already known; consequently, to admit classifications in the first principle, is to divest it of its character and to contradict ourselves.
180. We must not confound what is expressed by the proposition I think with the proposition itself. The thing itself and the form are here very different: the nature of the form may make us conceive ambiguous ideas of the thing itself: the thing itself is a most simple fact; the form is a logical combination, and includes very heterogeneous elements. This demands explanation.
The fact of consciousness, in itself considered, abstracts all relations; it is nothing but itself, leads to nothing but itself; it is the presence of the act or impression, or rather it is the act, the impression itself, which is present to the mind. There is no combination of ideas, no analysis of conceptions; when it comes to this latter, it leaves the territory of pure consciousness, and enters the objective regions of intellectual activity. But as language is to express the products of this activity, and as it is cast, so to say, not in the mould of consciousness, but in that of the intellect, it is impossible for us to speak without some logical or ideal combination. Were we seeking an expression of pure consciousness, unmixed with intellectual elements, we should seek it not in language, but in the natural sign of grief, joy, or some other passion; in this alone is it expressed
