Letter 118

**TO MONSIEUR ***

LETTER CXVIII

Sir,

I am very glad that the liberty I have taken in writing to you what I think has not proved disagreeable to you, and I am obliged to you for showing that you intend to follow my advice, even though you have reasons to the contrary — reasons which I admit are very strong. For I have no doubt that your own mind can furnish you with far better ways to occupy yourself than the turmoil of the world. And although custom and example lead people to regard the profession of arms as the most noble of all, I, who look upon it as a philosopher, value it only for what it truly is. Indeed, I find it difficult even to rank it among honorable professions; for I see that idleness and the desire for an unrestrained life are the two main motives that draw most men into it today. This is why I would feel inconsolable regret if any misfortune were to befall you there.

In short, I acknowledge that a man troubled by illness should consider himself older than another, and that it is better to retire while one still has something to show for one’s efforts, rather than to wait until one has lost everything. Yet in the “game” we are speaking of here, I do not believe there is any risk of losing — only of gaining, or of not gaining. It therefore seems to me that the right time to withdraw is when one no longer finds any profit or advantage in it. Besides, I have often heard elderly men say that they were in worse health in their youth than many others who died sooner than they did. This leads me to think that, whatever weakness or bodily constitution we may have, we ought to live our lives and carry out our daily activities as if we were certain of reaching a very great age. Yet, on the other hand, no matter how strong or healthy we may be, we should also be prepared to meet death without regret whenever it comes; for it may arrive at any moment, and there is scarcely any action we can perform that could not, in some way, bring it about. If we eat a piece of bread, it might perhaps be poisoned; if we walk through a street, a tile may fall from a roof and crush us — and so it is with everything else.

This being so, since we live surrounded by so many unavoidable dangers, it seems to me that wisdom does not forbid us to face even the hazards of war when a worthy and just occasion calls for it — provided we do not act recklessly, and that we are willing to endure its hardships as far as is humanly possible.

Furthermore, I believe that no matter how agreeable the pastimes we choose for ourselves may be, they do not distract us from our ailments as much as duties and obligations do. The body also adapts so strongly to the way of life we follow that it is far more common for health to suffer when habits are changed abruptly, rather than to improve — especially if the change is too sudden. For this reason, I believe it is best to pass from one extreme to another only by gradual steps.

As for myself, before I came to this country to seek solitude, I spent a winter in the French countryside, where I first accustomed myself to this quieter way of living. If I were engaged in some course of life that my poor health would not allow me to continue for long, I would not hide my condition; on the contrary, I would make it appear more serious than it actually is, so that I might honorably be excused from any activity that could harm me. Then, by taking things easier little by little, I could gain full freedom in due time.

I know very well that you have no need for those large books I mentioned, but so that you do not blame me for spending too much time reading them, I have decided not to keep them any longer. It is true that I have not read every word in them, but I believe I have seen all that they contain. The author, N., makes many empty boasts and is more of a charlatan than a true scholar. Among other things, he speaks of a certain substance which he claims to have obtained from an Arab merchant — a substance that turns toward the sun day and night. If this were true, it would be a remarkable thing, but he never explains what this substance actually is. Father Mersenne once wrote to me that it was the seed of the heliotrope plant, but I do not believe this is correct — unless such seed has far greater power in Arabia than it does here. I had enough leisure to test it myself, but the experiment yielded no result.

As for the variation of the magnetic needle, I have always believed it arises only from inequalities in the earth’s composition; so that the needle turns toward the direction where there is the greatest amount of the matter suited to attract it. And since this matter may shift its location in the depths of the sea or in the hollows of the earth without people being aware of it, it seems to me that the observed changes in magnetic variation — noted in London and several other places, as your Kirkerus reports — are simply a matter of observation and fact, and that philosophy has little to add to the explanation.

You have done me a favor by pointing out the passage from Saint Augustine that bears some relation to my statement “I think, therefore I am.” I went to read it today in the library of this city, and I find it is true that he uses it to prove the certainty of our existence, and then goes on to show that there is in us a kind of image of the Trinity: in that we exist, we know that we exist, and we love both our existence and the knowledge we have of it. I, however, use the same starting point to demonstrate that this “I” which thinks is an immaterial substance, having nothing of a bodily nature — two very different conclusions. And this is an inference so simple and natural in itself — that anyone who doubts must also exist — that it could easily have occurred to anyone. Even so, I am glad to find myself in agreement with Saint Augustine, if only to silence those small-minded critics who have tried to raise objections to this principle.

The little I have written on metaphysics is already on its way to Paris, where I expect it will be printed. All I have left here is a rough draft so full of corrections and crossings-out that even I would have trouble reading it; this is why I cannot send it to you. But as soon as it is published, I shall take care to send you one of the first copies, since you have been kind enough to say you wish to read it — and I shall be very eager to hear your judgment upon it.

Although the main reason I troubled you for an address to send these metaphysical meditations was to have the opportunity to submit them to your judgment and ask for your opinion, I am well aware that you have countless matters to attend to — matters which, if they do not fully occupy you, will at least interrupt your thoughts. I greatly fear, therefore, that you may not find any interest or pleasure in reading them. Indeed, I would say that it is impossible to take pleasure in reflecting upon the same subjects I have treated, if I did not worry that saying so might only discourage you from looking at them at all. Instead, I will say only this: if you would at least take the trouble to read the first five Meditations straight through, together with my Reply at the end of the Sixth Objections, and briefly note down the main conclusions on a sheet of paper, you will follow the chain of reasoning far more easily.

I would be presumptuous to offer this as any kind of instruction, as if you could not form better judgments yourself. But since this “instruction” would otherwise require you to spend time and effort going over the work, and my only aim is to save you both, I trust you will not mind my asking you to begin reading these meditations only when you have two full hours of uninterrupted time to spare.

I remain, all my life, your devoted servant.

THE END