As a piece of storytelling, Nadler’s book is flat, but as an introduction to Descartes’ philosophy, it is excellent. Nadler follows recent scholars such as Desmond Clarke in emphasizing Descartes’ role as a philosopher of the scientific revolution. This helps explain why Descartes was so keen to establish the position for which he would be later ridiculed—that mind and body are distinct substances. Dualism was a weapon against obscurantism. Descartes wanted to cut away, in Nadler’s words, the “spiritual or mind-like elements (such as the immaterial forms and qualities of the Aristotelians)” that were commonly associated with the physical realm. Descartes replaced this spiritual understanding of matter with something simpler. As Nadler explains: “The exhaustive and exclusive division of mind and body—everything is either mental or physical—provides a metaphysical foundation for his new mechanistic picture of the world. Whatever takes place in the physical world is to be explained by material principles alone.” Out with the mysterious “accidental forms” and “occult qualities” of medieval philosophy; in with matter, motion and impact.
Nadler dedicates one of the book’s best chapters to Descartes’ masterpiece, the Meditations, a member of that elite philosophical club that, like Plato’s dialogues or Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil, also qualifies as great literature. Written in the first person, the six short meditations are constructed almost like a diary in which, over the course of six days, the narrator goes from doubting the certainty of even his most basic beliefs to, by the end, developing a deeper understanding of the nature of reality. (This story—loss of faith, introspection, subsequent reconnection with first principles—deliberately echoed classic works of devotional literature such as Augustine’s Confessions). The Meditations unfolds late at night, with Descartes sketching a picture of himself “sitting by the fireside, wearing a winter dressing-gown, holding this piece of paper in my hands, and so on.” He sets a familiar scene, one into which any reader could imagine himself.
In the first meditation he resolves to discard all his beliefs that can be subjected to even the slightest doubt. His aim is to discover an irrefutable truth upon which he can build the foundations of his new philosophy. Having thrown out his most basic beliefs (the testimony of his senses, the belief that he is not dreaming) and even those that seem harder to doubt (that all triangles are three-sided, that 2 plus 2 equals 4), Descartes despairs that there is nothing he can truly know for sure. It is “as if I had fallen suddenly into a deep whirlpool, that I can neither put my foot on the bottom nor swim to the surface.”
At the start of Meditation 2, however, Descartes arrives at a statement that he believes cannot be doubted. Even if all his other beliefs are completely false it must nevertheless be true that if he is able to think anything at all (that is, even think things which are false), then he must exist. In Nadler’s helpful formulation: “One cannot possibly doubt one’s own existence, no matter how hard one tries. In fact, the harder one tries, the more convinced one will be that one exists.” This is the idea behind Descartes’ bumper-sticker statement, cogito ergo sum. (In the Meditations it’s more carefully formulated as “ ‘I am, I exist’ is necessarily true whenever it is stated by me or conceived in my mind.”)
From this seemingly self-contained proposition, Descartes manages to spin out a series of arguments which take him from knowing nothing at all (in Meditation 1) to, by the end of Meditation 6, knowing a number of rather contentious things: the nature of mind (thinking) and body (extension in space), the distinctness of mind and body, the existence of God, and the method by which one can establish certain knowledge from mere belief (to do with what Descartes calls “clear and distinct” perception).
Set aside, for now, whether Descartes’ arguments are convincing or not. Philosophical contemporaries such as Thomas Hobbes and Antonie Arnauld responded to the Meditations with what appeared then, as now, like fatal objections. Consider instead the form of the Meditations. It is written in the first person, but it is not an account of a week in which Descartes actually sat down and worked out his philosophy. His use of the first person has almost nothing to do with autobiography or self-revelation and everything to do with argument and persuasion. By constructing the Meditations around a protagonist whose character or biography is never revealed, Descartes invites the reader to become the “I”, the meditator. And this is one key to the importance of Descartes, and the Meditations in particular. The first letter in the Cartesian alphabet is I.
In his epic intellectual history, The Sources of the Self, the Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor identifies Descartes as “a founder of modern individualism, because his theory throws the individual thinker back on his own responsibility, requires him to build an order of thought for himself, in the first person singular.” As Descartes writes in his preface to the reader, “I would not encourage anyone to read these pages unless they are willing and able to meditate with me seriously …” By daring us to think for ourselves, Descartes became one of the fathers of the Enlightenment and, in turn, one of the architects of our everyday assumptions and habits of thought, even today. (To take one tiny example, when Nate Silver writes, in the introduction to The Signal and the Noise, “My preference is for topics where you can check out the results for yourself rather than having to take my word for it.”— he is thinking in a way that echoes Taylor’s insight about Descartes.)
It is a shame, then, that though Nadler’s explanation of Descartes’ ideas is vivid, his portrait of Descartes as an individual human being is uninspired. Philosophy, even more than most academic disciplines in the humanities, always runs the risk of getting stuck in arid conversations with itself. If the subject is to reach out beyond the faculty corridors, it certainly needs more explainers of Nadler’s caliber. But, to really make an impact on a wider audience, we need philosophers who can spin a story too.
The Philosopher, the Priest, and the Painter: A Portrait of Descartes by Steven Nadler. Princeton University Press.
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