CHAPTER XXVII. WHETHER EVERY THING MUST BE IN SOME PLACE.
CHAPTER XXVIII. CONTINGENCY OF CORPOREAL RELATIONS.
CHAPTER XXIX. SOLUTION OF TWO DIFFICULTIES.
CHAPTER XXX. PASSIVE SENSIBILITY.
CHAPTER XXXI. POSSIBILITY OF A GREATER SPHERE IN ACTIVE SENSIBILITY.
CHAPTER XXXII. POSSIBILITY OF THE PENETRATION OF BODIES.
CHAPTER XXXIII. A TRIUMPH OF RELIGION IN THE FIELD OF PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER XXXIV. CONCLUSION AND SUMMING UP.
BOOK FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
IMPORTANCE AND UTILITY OF THE QUESTION OF CERTAINTY.
1. We should begin the study of philosophy by examining the question of certainty; before raising the edifice, we must lay the foundation.
Ever since there has been philosophy, that is, ever since men first reflected on themselves and the beings around them, they have been engaged with those questions which have for their object the basis of human knowledge, and this shows that on this subject serious difficulties are encountered. Inquirers, however, have not been discouraged by the sterility of philosophical labors; and this shows that in the last term of the investigation an object of high importance is discovered.
Philosophers have cavilled in the most extravagant manner upon the questions of certainty; on few subjects has the history of the human mind presented such lamentable aberrations. This consideration may excite suspicion that such investigations offer nothing solid to the mind, and serve only to feed the vanity of the sophist. But here, as elsewhere, we attribute no exaggerated importance to the opinions of philosophers, and we are very far from believing that they ought to be regarded as the legitimate representatives of human reason. It cannot, however, be denied that they are in the intellectual order the most active portion of the human race. When the whole body of philosophers dispute, humanity itself may be said to dispute. Every fact affecting the human race merits a thorough examination; to undervalue it, on account of the sophisms which envelop it, is to fall into the worst of all sophisms. There should be no contradiction between reason and common sense; yet such a contradiction there would be, if we should, in the name of common sense, contemn what occupies the reason of the most enlightened minds. Oftentimes it happens that what is grave and significant, that which makes a thinking man meditate, is the result neither of a disputation, nor of the arguments therein adduced, but the simple existence of the dispute itself. In itself it is sometimes of little importance, but by reason of what it indicates, of great consequence.
2. All philosophical questions are in some manner involved in that of certainty. When we have completely unfolded this, we have examined under one aspect or another all that human reason can conceive of God, man, and the universe. At first sight it may perhaps seem to be the simple foundation of the scientific structure; but in this foundation, if we carefully examine it, we shall see the whole edifice represented: it is a plane whereon is projected, visibly and in fair perspective, the whole body it is to support.
3. However limited may be the direct and immediate result of these investigations, they are of incalculable advantage. It is highly important to acquire science, but not less important to know its limits. Near these limits there are shoals which the navigator ought to know. It is by examining the question of certainty that we ascertain the limits of human science.
In descending to the depths to which these questions lead us, the understanding grows dim, and the heart is awed with a religious fear. A moment ago we were contemplating the edifice of human knowledge, and grew proud to see it with its colossal dimensions, its beautiful forms, its fine and bold construction; we enter it, and are led through deep caverns, and, as if by enchantment, the foundation seems to be subtilized, to evaporate, and the superb edifice remains floating in the air.
4. It must be remarked that in entering on the examination of the question of certainty, we do not conceal from ourselves its difficulties. To conceal would not be to solve them; on the contrary, the first condition necessary to their complete solution, is to see them with perfect clearness, and to feel their full force. It is no humiliation to the human understanding to seek those limits beyond which it cannot pass, but it is to elevate and confirm it. Thus the intrepid naturalist, when in search of some object he has penetrated to the bowels of the earth, feels a mixture of terror and pride to be thus buried in subterranean caverns, with just light enough to see immense masses barely suspended above his head and unfathomable abysses beneath his feet. There is something sublime, something attractive and captivating in the obscurity of the mysteries of science, in uncertainty itself, in the very assaults of doubt, threatening to destroy in one instant the work accomplished by the human mind only in the space of long ages. The greatest men have at all times enjoyed the contemplation of these mysteries. The genius which spread its wings over the east, over Greece and Rome, over the schools of the Middle Ages, is the same we now behold in modern Europe. Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, Abelard, St. Anselm, St. Thomas of Aquin, Luis Vives, Bacon, Descartes, Malebranche, and Leibnitz, all, each in his own way, felt the sublime inspiration of philosophy.
Whatever tends to raise man to lofty contemplation in the sanctuary of his soul, contributes to his aggrandizement; for it separates him from natural objects, reminds him of his noble origin, and proclaims to him his high destiny. In a mechanical and sensual age, when every thing seems opposed to the activity of the powers of the soul, except when they administer to the wants of the body, it is well to renew those great questions in which the mind roams free and untrammelled over unbounden realms of space.
Only intellect can examine itself. The stone falls, but knows not that it falls; the ray calcines and pulverizes, ignorant of its power; the flower knows not that its beauty is enchanting; and the brute beast follows his instincts, but asks not the reason of them. Man alone, a fragile organization, appearing for a moment on earth again to return to the dust, harbors a spirit, which first inspects the external world, and then, anxious to ascertain its own nature, enters into itself as into a sanctuary, and becomes its own oracle. What am I? What do I do? What
