Descartes

A Beginner's Guide

Harry M. Bracken

• Publisher: Oneworld Publications
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781780741499
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Rationalism in Philosophy

A modern primer to the father of modern philosophy The father of modern philosophy, Descartes is still one of the most widely discussed philosophers today. Putting rationalism above all else, he sought to base all knowledge of the world on a single idea: 'I think, therefore I am'. This introduction expertly summarises his thoughts on the dualism of mind and body, his proofs' for God's existence, and his responses to scepticism. Explaining how his life informed his philosophy, Bracken explains the philosopher's enduring significance.

1

The intellectual world in Descartes’s age

Although Rene Descartes is often called the “father of modern philosophy,” he has been attacked, reviled, and condemned like no other thinker for most of the last 350 years. Even Pope John Paul II felt the need to criticize him. Refutations continue to pile up. European philosophy is haunted by Descartes and his ideas. One of his most important ideas is his rationalism, that is, that the human mind makes a major contribution to knowledge by means of innate ideas. The mind is understood to be structured by a range of principles which are not derived from sense experience. Sense experience may be required to “trigger” aspects of our mental structures, but sense experience alone cannot yield knowledge. That, in turn, generates an account of human nature. Rationalism is usually taken to stand in opposition to empiricism, the view that all our knowledge is derived from sense experience. Empiricism generates a very different theory of human nature. These two different doctrines about human nature generate considerable controversy, much of it both fierce and bitter. In the pages that follow I shall briefly provide some historical background. Then the core of Descartes’s philosophy will be formulated. Finally, some of the factors behind the controversy, and the primary reasons why Descartes became the primary target of criticism over the last three and a half centuries will be explored.

First, a few biographical words on Descartes’s background. He was born into a family of the minor aristocracy on 31 March 1596 at La Haye (now Descartes!) in Touraine, France. His mother died in May 1597 and he was raised in the home of his maternal grandmother (who died in 1610). He does not seem to have had a close relationship with his father.

His father had little sympathy with Descartes or with what he achieved, and is reported as having said, on the publication of Descartes’ first book, the Discours and accompanying essays, in 1637 “Only one of my children has displeased me. How can I have engendered a son stupid enough to have had himself bound in calf?”¹

He studied at La Flèche (founded in 1604), one of the schools which the Jesuits had recently established as part of their intellectual defense of Catholicism against the ideas generated by the Protestant Reformation. Scholarships were available for intelligent but financially poor boys, a practice which enhanced the intellectual level of the student body. It was under this rubric that Marin Mersenne (1588–1648), who would become Descartes’s best friend, attended La Flèche. Descartes’s father had money, so he was able to take advantage of the option of having a private room. A cousin, Etienne Charlet SJ, was on the staff and became rector in 1608 (later appointed an assistant to the General of the Jesuit order). Descartes entered La Flèche in 1606 and left in 1615 at the age of nineteen. After completing his studies, he qualified in law at the University of Poitiers, but did not work at it. Instead, he served in non-combatant roles in the army of Maurits of Nassau (1567–1625), spent some time traveling, and resided in Paris before moving to The Netherlands in 1628 where he remained for twenty years. Descartes, it should be noted, had the good fortune to have received a comfortable inheritance and hence was never pressed for funds.

In 1649 he accepted an invitation from Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89) to tutor her in his philosophy. Descartes had always been a very late riser (even at La Flèche), but the Queen nevertheless scheduled their discussions for five in the morning. He caught pneumonia and died on 11 February 1650, a cautionary tale philosophers have always taken seriously! Descartes was a traveler in life and his body was a restless traveler in death. It was first moved to France in 1666 and then transferred to several other locations in Paris. In due course it was reburied (1819) in the chapel of the Sacré Coeur in the church of St. Germain-des-Prés. Along the way, Descartes’s skull was removed and replaced with another! There were also problems with Descartes’s papers after his death. A friend shipped them from Sweden but the ship carrying the chest containing his manuscripts sank just outside of Paris. His good friend, Claude Clerselier, rescued the chest and then spent days drying out the pages and reassembling them. They included several volumes of correspondence plus the texts of Treatise on Man (1662), The World (1664), and the Treatise on the Formation of the Foetus (1664).

By any standard, Descartes was “present at the creation” of the new science, that mechanization of the world picture to which, among others, Copernicus (1473–1543), Johann Kepler (1571–1630), Galileo (1564–1642), Isaac Beeckman (1588–1637), Marin Mersenne (1588–1648), Robert Boyle (1627–91), Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716), and Isaac Newton (1643–1727) all contributed in major ways. As a young mathematician, Descartes was instrumental, at a very early age, in the development of analytic geometry. His success in developing an extremely abstract algebraic representation of geometry, thereby minimizing its apparent empirical basis, seems to have deeply affected his thinking about both science and philosophy. His work on inertia and motion contributed directly to the new mechanical physics whose explanatory power did so much to drive Aristotelian science from the scene, although within a generation, Cartesian physics, which did not allow action at a distance, was displaced by Newton’s own more powerful account. Descartes also wrote on optics, especially on the law of refraction, despite the fact that Willebrod Snell (1580–1626) had formulated, but not published, the law some years earlier. Descartes tried to discover how blood circulated before William Harvey (1578–1657) produced his own largely definitive solution (1628), at which point Descartes proceeded to defend Harvey’s account.

Descartes seems to have acquired his knowledge of science from his wide circle of friends, first in Paris and then in The Netherlands. He matriculated at the University of Franeker in 1629 and a year later in Leiden but we seem to know little about his studies. Franeker is located in Friesland and in Descartes’s day was a major university, but its university status was suppressed by Napoleon. Descartes took lodgings initially in the castle of a Catholic family. It provided him with easy access to where he could attend mass.² Over the years, Descartes lived in many parts of The Netherlands and established a wide circle of friends (and critics!). Many French people lived for extended periods in The Netherlands (often because of the persecution of the Huguenots) and, generally like English speakers, did not bother to learn the language. This was true even in the 1680s when large numbers of Huguenots were given refuge. Descartes, however, was an exception. Accompanied by a manservant, he was traveling (1621) in a small private craft from Emden en route to West Friesland. The crew, thinking he was a rich foreigner, plotted to rob him. Overhearing them, Descartes immediately drew his sword and told them, in Dutch, that he would kill them if they made any trouble. He thus passed a language test with high stakes!³ In the sixteenth, seventeenth, and for much of the eighteenth century, Latin was the universal language of philosophy, science, and theology. Descartes could read, write, and speak Latin, as could his English, French, and Dutch contemporaries.

The Netherlands was the center of European science in the seventeenth century, and not surprisingly was hence the birthplace of the Enlightenment.⁴ The decentralized nature of the Dutch government and the wide diversity in religious opinion made it difficult to suppress the printed or spoken expression of dissident views. Hence a variety of philosophical, scientific, and theological ideas, both orthodox and heterodox, were to be seen and heard. Democratic political ideas as well as arguments on behalf of religious toleration quickly took hold, side by side with the theocratic ideas found among the more orthodox Protestants. Comfortable as he may have been in The Netherlands, he returned to France in 1647 hoping for the recognition which he nevertheless felt had eluded him in The Netherlands. His affairs in Paris did not turn out to his satisfaction: “The innocence of the desert [The Netherlands] from which I came pleases me much more [than Paris] and I do not believe I shall be delayed from returning there in a short time” (letter to Chanut, May 1648). In August 1648 he returned to The Netherlands.

Turning now to more philosophical matters, we are told that Descartes met Isaac Beeckman in 1618 in Breda, The Netherlands. By that time Beeckman had for some years been working on topics which Descartes was beginning to explore. More to the point, they were both looking at the world as mathematical physicists. The sophistication which Beeckman brought to questions in algebra, and geometry, and his analyses of such notions in mechanics (physics) as motion, rest, and falling bodies greatly stimulated Descartes’s own thinking. This shift to the use of mathematical models was of course one of the hallmarks of the New Science. Beeckman was generous to a fault to Descartes. He provided ideas, he put his vast scientific knowledge at Descartes’s disposal, and corrected likely mistakes. He appreciated that Descartes was a difficult person, but even he may have been surprised to find Descartes, in later years, accusing him of plagiarism.

The strict separation of science from philosophy had not yet developed but the education that Descartes received at La Flèche was in some measure scholastic. That is, the texts and the arguments to which Descartes would have been exposed were in part rooted in the work of such medieval Christian thinkers as Duns Scotus (1265–1308), William of Ockham (1290–1349) and Thomas Aquinas (1225–74). Their theological and philosophical stands were grounded in various ways on Aristotle’s views, at least as Aristotle’s ideas had been filtered through several centuries of discussion. Islamic philosophers such as Averroes (1126–98) and Avicenna (980–1037) and Jewish thinkers like Moses Maimonides (1138–1204) were also major contributors to the mix.

It is not clear how thoroughly Descartes was immersed in scholastic thought. In a technical sense, scholasticism simply means the “philosophy of the schools,” the philosophy which developed in the universities, primarily Paris but also Oxford, in the period from the twelfth through the fifteenth centuries. The philosophy was itself largely a set of variations on the philosophy of Aristotle. Presumably Descartes was acquainted with at least some of the writings of Augustine, Bishop of Hippo (354–430), Duns Scotus, William of Ockham and Thomas Aquinas. And he clearly was familiar with the writings of the Spanish Jesuit, Francisco Suárez (1548–1617), often described as the last of the scholastics.

The primary focus of Descartes’s philosophy was not scholastic in nature. Instead, he was influenced by scientific concerns of the New Science and the threats to that science posed by scepticism. The principle literary source for scepticism as a systematic philosophy is Sextus Empiricus. But before we turn to Sextus Empiricus and the arguments of the Pyrrhonians, a few other historical details are in order. Although manuscripts of Sextus’s writing must have been stored in one or another of the libraries in the Mediterranean area including those in Byzantium, his views made little impact on the major figures of the medieval period. They were interested in problems of knowledge and certitude, the nature of the world, and the processes whereby we acquire concepts. But they were not troubled by the sorts of doubts about knowledge which were later to haunt sixteenth-and seventeenth-century philosophers and theologians. However, half a millennium earlier, Augustine did deal explicitly with sceptical problems. Since he was one of the most important Fathers of the Latin Church, his discussions were read in the middle ages. And there is every reason to think that Descartes read portions of Augustine. He admits as much in some of his comments. Augustine, unlike the medievals, was well acquainted with one of the classical sources for scepticism, the Academica (45 BC) of Cicero (106–43 BC). While he was apparently not familiar with the much more rigorous arguments of Sextus, he was very concerned to provide some sort of refutation of Academic scepticism. To that end we find in a number of places passages which sound Cartesian, that is they sound a bit like Descartes’s famous cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am) – which will be discussed below. In his City of God, Augustine writes: “If the [sceptics] say ‘what if you are mistaken?’ well, if I am mistaken, I am. For if one does not exist, he can by no means be mistaken” (Bk XI, ch. 26). Somewhat similar points are made in, e.g., On the free will (Bk II, ch. iii, § 7), and in his Treatise on the holy trinity (Bk XV, ch. xii, § 23).

It was only, however, at the end of the medieval period and the emergence of the Renaissance that genuinely sceptical difficulties began to emerge. One reason may have been that during the high middle ages, a decision procedure was built into the Church. Councils plus the Pope could deal with problems. Perhaps as Jewish and Islamic questions began to occupy the minds of scholars, debates began which were not totally enclosed by Christian thinking. Throughout the middle ages, at the very least from the time of the First Crusade (1096), the Church increased its pressure on Jews, culminating in the activities of the Inquisition, especially in Spain, in the fifteenth century. If the suppression of Jews and Moslems was to succeed, knowledge of their doctrines had to be obtained. Yet knowledge of their ideas and customs could prove dangerous to Catholic orthodoxy. Those dangers were to materialize in subsequent years.

The decline in the role of the scholastics went hand in hand with the intellectual excitement of the Renaissance, the recovery of Greek and Latin learning thanks to such scholars as Erasmus of Rotterdam (1467–1536) and the development of the New Humanism by a range of scholars, such as Marsilio Ficino (1433–99), who, like many Florentines, much preferred Plato to Aristotle, and who were open to Arabic and Jewish (especially Kabbalistic) learning. There were other major figures such as Savonarola (1452–98), who was executed by the Church. He was in turn an influence on John Pico della Mirandola (1463–94) and his nephew John Francis Pico della Mirandola (1469–1533). All three took seriously the arguments of the Greek sceptic, Sextus Empiricus (fl. 2nd century AD). The goal of their reintroduction of Sextus Empiricus and his Pyrrhonism, as that form of scepticism was known, seems to have been primarily religious. If one used the arguments of Sextus properly, one could cleanse the mind of human pride and arrogance. Such a cleansed mind would then be open to God’s installation of the Christian faith without the many stumbling blocks which philosophical talk traditionally introduced. Their goal was thus to use scepticism to prepare one for the acceptance of the Christian faith, but a faith unsullied by philosophical considerations. Most philosophers and theologians who utilized Pyrrhonism in the centuries that followed were not interested in the goal Pyrrho (about 360–270 BC) set for his movement (that is putting things too dogmatically! He would not have agreed that he was founding anything!), namely, a way of life. Those who proposed fideism, that is the appeal to pure faith, took Pyrrhonism solely as a preparation for faith, not something that was good in itself, and certainly not as a way of life. Savonarola and the Picos were proposing a route via Pyrrhonism to the Christian way of life.

A relatively small number of philosophers had been acquainted with Sextus through manuscript sources in, e.g., the fifteenth century but, as Luciano Floridi has been establishing in his recent work, more than had previously been known. The difficulty in gauging Sextus’s influence in the (early) Renaissance is that while he affected religious concerns in a quiet way, there was a lack of interest in the anti-theory of knowledge function of Pyrrhonian arguments.⁵ The dramatic quality of Sextus’s influence came only in the second half of the sixteenth century when his arguments were directly applied to claims to knowledge in the context of scientific matters. Cicero’s Academica also gradually became better known. Sceptical ideas and arguments were much more widely disseminated with the publication of the writings of Sextus in Latin translation in 1562 and 1569. A less technical source – and one written in French – was Michel de Montaigne (1533–92). His father was Catholic but his mother was from a Jewish “New Christian” family, i.e. from a Jewish family which had been (usually forcibly) converted to Catholicism under the Inquisition. She, like a number of New Christians who managed to leave Spain or Portugal, became a Protestant. The author of scores of essays and still ranked as a world-class literary figure, the longest of Montaigne’s many essays was on sceptical themes. One theme was the application of sceptical arguments to perceptual and knowledge claims. Another was the use of Pyrrhonism in the context of religious faith, specifically on the use, already noted, of scepticism as both a bulwark against the role of reason in religion and also as a defense of pure faith, matters which increased in importance as the Reformation’s impact spread across Europe. This essay, The Apology for Raymond Sebond (1580 ff), wraps up the many technical arguments of Sextus in a delightful collection of extraordinarily lively and amusing tales. He culled many stories from classical sources about the intelligence and morality of animals, usually by way of contrast with human behavior. The animals generally come out ahead! Sextus Empiricus and Pyrrhonism appear in the text. And on the ceiling of his Library, some fifty-seven sayings or sentences are etched into the beams. Most (19) are from the Bible; the next largest number (12) are from Sextus Empiricus. And as noted, in the text of the Apology, Montaigne uses Pyrrhonism in support of religion:

[Pyrrhonism] presents man naked and empty, acknowledging his natural weakness, fit to receive from above some outside power; stripped of human knowledge, and all the more apt to lodge divine knowledge in himself, annihilating his judgment to make more room for faith … [One thus becomes] humble, obedient, teachable, zealous; a sworn enemy of heresy … He is a blank tablet prepared to take from the finger of God such forms as he shall be pleased to engrave on it.

About Aristotle, he says: “The god of scholastic knowledge is Aristotle; it is a religious matter to discuss any of his ordinances.” Nor is he happy about the Academic sceptics and their acceptance of probable judgments. He presents an objection which the ancient Pyrrhonians had made: “How can they [the Academic sceptics] let themselves be inclined toward the likeness of truth, if they know not the truth?” All of the sceptical arguments against claims to truth can, Montaigne believed, be revised to be directed against claims to be “probable.” But his favorite arguments are to notice conflict cases where a criterion is called for in order to decide between, say, one sense and another, or between sense and reason. Following Sextus (Outlines of Pyrrhonism, II, vii, 75), he also gives currency to a problem which not only carried forward to Descartes, but from Descartes on to Bayle and Berkeley. He poses a fundamental challenge to theories that speak of a resemblance between our perceptions and objects in the world.

The conception and semblance we form is not of the object, but only of the impression and effect made on the sense; which impression and the object are different things … As for saying that the impressions of the senses convey to the soul the quality of the foreign objects by resemblance, how can the soul and understanding make sure of this resemblance, having of itself no communication with foreign objects? Just as a man who does not know Socrates, seeing his portrait, cannot say that it resembles him.

Further, how does one decide such matters as which senses should have priority over others, what is the criterion in such cases, or who can then serve as the judge in disputes, etc. He rehearses the traditional Pyrrhonian questions about “deceptions” as when one has the report of one sense apparently in conflict with another. Although a stick in water appears bent when it crosses the surface, if our hand holds the stick at the same time, it feels straight. These and similar apparent anomalies suggest that given the existence of such so-called “variation...