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 which is extremely powerful; and; if I may say so; malicious; who employs all his powers in deceiving me?  Can I affirm that I possess the least of all those things which I have just said pertain to the nature of body?  I pause to consider; I revolve all these things in my mind; and I find none of which I can say that it pertains to me。  It would be tedious to stop to enumerate them。  Let us pass to the attributes of soul and see if there is any one which is in me? What of nutrition or walking 'the first mentioned'?  But if it is so that I have no body it is also true that I can neither walk nor take nourishment。  Another attribute is sensation。 But one cannot feel without body; and besides I have thought I perceived many things during sleep that I recognised in my waking moments as not having been experienced at all。  What of thinking?  I find here that thought is an attribute that belongs to me; it alone cannot be separated from me。  I am; I exist; that is certain。  But how often?  Just when I think; for it might possibly be the case if I ceased entirely to think; that I should likewise cease altogether to exist。  I do not now admit anything which is not necessarily true:  to speak accurately I am not more than a thing which thinks; that is to say a mind or a soul; or an understanding; or a reason; which are terms whose significance was formerly unknown to me。 I am; however; a real thing and really exist; but what thing? I have answered:  a thing which thinks。      And what more?  I shall exercise my imagination 'in order to see if I am not something more'。  I am not a collection of members which we call the human body:  I am not a subtle air distributed through these members; I am not a wind; a fire; a vapour; a breath; nor anything at all which I can imagine or conceive; because I have assumed that all these were nothing。 Without changing that supposition I find that I only leave myself certain of the fact that I am somewhat。  But perhaps it is true that these same things which I supposed were non… existent because they are unknown to me; are really not different from the self which I know。  I am not sure about this; I shall not dispute about it now; I can only give judgment on things that are known to me。  I know that I exist; and I inquire what I am; I whom I know to exist。  But it is very certain that the knowledge of my existence taken in its precise significance does not depend on things whose existence is not yet known to me; consequently it does not depend on those which I can feign in imagination。  And indeed the very term feign in imagination10 proves to me my error; for I really do this if I image myself a something; since to imagine is nothing else than to contemplate the figure or image of a corporeal thing。  But I already know for certain that I am; and that it may be that all these images; and; speaking generally; all things that relate to the nature of body are nothing but dreams 'and chimeras'。  For this reason I see clearly that I have as little reason to say; 〃I shall stimulate my imagination in order to know more distinctly what I am;〃 than if I were to say; 〃I am now awake; and I perceive somewhat that is real and true:  but because I do not yet perceive it distinctly enough; I shall go to sleep of express purpose; so that my dreams may represent the perception with greatest truth and evidence。〃  And; thus; I know for certain that nothing of all that I can understand by means of my imagination belongs to this knowledge which I have of myself; and that it is necessary to recall the mind from this mode of thought with the utmost diligence in order that it may be able to know its own nature with perfect distinctness。      But what then am I?  A thing which thinks。  What is a thing which thinks?  It is a thing which doubts; understands; 'conceives'; affirms; denies; wills; refuses; which also imagines and feels。      Certainly it is no small matter if all these things pertain to my nature。  But why should they not so pertain?  Am I not that being who now doubts nearly everything; who nevertheless understands certain things; who affirms that one only is true; who denies all the others; who desires to know more; is averse from being deceived; who imagines many things; sometimes indeed despite his will; and who perceives many likewise; as by the intervention of the bodily organs?  Is there nothing in all this which is as true as it is certain that I exist; even though I should always sleep and though  he who has given me being employed all his ingenuity in deceiving me?  Is there likewise any one of these attributes which can be distinguished from my thought; or which might be said to be separated from myself?  For it is so evident of itself that it is I who doubts; who understands; and who desires; that there is no reason here to add anything to explain it。  And I have certainly the power of imagining likewise; for although it may happen (as I formerly supposed) that none of the things which I imagine are true; nevertheless this power of imagining does not cease to be really in use; and it forms part of my thought。  Finally; I am the same who feels; that is to say; who perceives certain things; as by the organs of sense; since it truth I see light; I hear noise; I feel heat。  But it will be said that these phenomena are false and that I am dreaming。 Let it be so; still it is at least quite certain that it seems to me that I see light; that I hear noise and that I feel heat。  That cannot be false; properly speaking it is what is in me called feeling;11 and used in this precise sense that is no other thing than thinking。      From this time I begin to know what I am with a little more clearness and distinction than before; but nevertheless it still seems to me; and I cannot prevent myself from thinking; that corporeal things; whose images are framed by thought; which are tested by the senses; are much more distinctly known than that obscure part of me which does not come under the imagination。  Although really it is very strange to say that I know and understand more distinctly these things whose existence seems to me dubious; which are unknown to me; and which do not belong to me; than others of the truth of which I am convinced; which are known to me and which pertain to my real nature; in a word; than myself。  But I see clearly how the case stands:  my mind loves to wander; and cannot yet suffer itself to be retained within the just limits of truth。  Very good; let us once more give it the freest rein; so that; when afterwards we seize the proper occasion for pulling up; it may the more easily be regulated and controlled。      Let us begin by considering the commonest matters; those which we believe to be the most distinctly comprehended; to wit; the bodies which we touch and see; not indeed bodies in general; for these general ideas are usually a little more confused; but let us consider one body in particular。  Let us take; for example; this piece of wax:  it has been taken quite freshly from the hive; and it has not yet lost the sweetness of the honey which it contains; it still retains somewhat of the odour of the flowers from which it has been culled; its colour; its figure; its size are apparent; it is hard; cold; easily handled; and if you strike it with the finger; it will emit a sound。  Finally all the things which are requisite to cause us distinctly to recognise a body; are met with in it。 But notice that while I speak and approach the fire what remained of the taste is exhaled; the smell evaporates; the colour alters; the figure is destroyed; the size increases; it becomes liquid; it heats; scarcely can one handle it; and when one strikes it; now sound is emitted。  Does the same wax remain after this change?  We must confess that it remains; none would judge otherwise。  What then did I know so distinctly in this piece of wax?  It could certainly be nothing of all that the senses brought to my notice; since all these things which fall under taste; smell; sight; touch; and hearing; are found to be changed; and yet the same wax remains。      Perhaps it was what I now think; viz。 that this wax was not that sweetness of honey; nor that agreeable scent of flowers; nor that particular whiteness; nor that figure; nor that sound; but simply a body which a little while before appeared tome as perceptible under these forms; and which is now perceptible under others。  But what; precisely; is it that I imagine when I form such conceptions?  Let us attentively consider this; and; abstracting from all that does not belong to the wax; let us see what remains。  Certainly nothing remains excepting a certain extended thing which is flexible and movable。  But what is the meaning of flexible and movable? Is it not that I imagine that this piece of wax being round is capable of becoming square and of passing from a square to a triangular figure?  No; certainly it is not that; since I imagine it admits of an infinitude of similar changes; and I nevertheless do not know how to compass the infinitude by my imagination; and consequently this conception which I have of the wax is not brought about by the faculty of imagination。 What now is this extension?  Is it not also unknown?  For it becomes greater when the wax is melted; greate

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