Delphi Collected Works of René Descartes

by René Descartes

  ARTICLE CXCVI.

  Why it is sometimes united to pity, and sometimes to scorn.

  It is likewise in some way receiving evil to do evil, from whence it comes that some unite pity to their indignation, and others scorn, according as they are disposed to good will or evil towards those whom they observe committing faults; and it is thus that the laughter of Democritus and the tears of Heraclitus have proceeded from the same cause.

  ARTICLE CXCVII.

  That it is often accompanied by wonder and is not incompatible with joy.

  Indignation is often likewise accompanied by wonder; for we usually suppose that all things will be done in the manner we judge they ought to be done, that is, in the way we esteem to be good; that is why, when it happens otherwise, it surprises us, and we wonder at it. It is also not incompatible with joy, although it is more usually united to sadness; for when the evil as to which we are indignant cannot hurt us, and we consider that we would not desire to do the same, that gives us some pleasure; and it is possibly one of the causes of the laughter which sometimes accompanies this passion.

  ARTICLE CXCVIII.

  Of its Use.

  For the rest, indignation is noticed much more in those who wish to appear virtuous than in those who really are so; for, although those who love virtue cannot without aversion see the vices of others, they do not become impassioned excepting against those that are greatest and most extraordinary. It is being ill-tempered and fretful to have much indignation for things of slight importance; it is being unjust, to have it for things not blameworthy at all; and it is being impertinent and absurd not to restrict this passion to the actions of men and to extend them to the works of God or nature, as do those who, never being content with their condition or fortune, dare to find subject for criticism in the conduct of the world and in the secrets of Providence.

  ARTICLE CXCIX.

  Of Anger.

  Anger is also a species of hatred or aversion which we have towards those who have done some evil to or have tried to injure not any chance person but more particularly ourselves. Thus it has the same content as indignation, and all the more so in that it is founded on an action which affects us, and for which we desire to avenge ourselves, for this desire almost always accompanies it; and it is directly opposed to gratitude, as indignation is to favour. But it is incomparably more violent than these three other passions, because the desire to repel harmful things and to revenge oneself, is the most persistent of all desires. It is desire, united to self-love, which furnishes to anger the agitation of the blood that courage and bravery can cause; and hatred brings it to pass that it is mainly the bilious blood coming from the spleen and the small veins of the liver that experiences this agitation and enters into the heart, where, because of its abundance and of the nature of the bile with which it is mingled, it excites a heat which is more severe and ardent than is that which may be excited by love or by joy.

  ARTICLE CC.

  Why those whom it makes flush are less to be feared than those whom it makes blanch.

  And the external signs of this passion are different according to the difference of personal temperaments and the diversity of the other passions which compose it or unite themselves with it. We thus see people who become pale or who tremble when they become angry, and we see others who become flushed or who even weep; and we usually judge that the anger of those who grow pale is more to be feared than the anger of those who become red. And the reason of this is that when we do not desire to, or are unable to revenge ourselves otherwise than by our expression and words, we employ all our heat and all our strength from the commencement of our emotion, and this is the reason that we become red; besides which sometimes the regret and self-pity that we have, since we cannot avenge ourselves otherwise, is the reason why we weep. And, on the other hand, those who hold themselves in and make up their minds to a greater vengeance, become sad from thinking themselves obliged to behave so by the action which angers them; and they are sometimes also afraid by reason of the evils which may follow on the resolution which they have taken, which renders them pale, cold and trembling to begin with. But when they afterwards come to execute their vengeance, they become warm again in proportion as they had been cold to begin with, just as we notice that fevers which commence with chill usually become the most severe.

  ARTICLE CCI.

  That there are two sorts of anger, and that those who have the most goodness are most subject to the former.

  This shows us that we can distinguish two kinds of anger: the one which is very hasty and manifests itself very much on the surface, but which yet has little effect and can be easily appeased; the other which does not show itself so much to begin with, but which all the more powerfully gnaws the heart and has more dangerous effects. Those who have much goodness and much love are most subject to the first, for it does not proceed from a profound hatred, but from an instant aversion, which surprises them, because, being impelled to imagine that all things should go in the way which they judge to be best, so soon as it happens otherwise, they wonder and frequently are displeased, even although the matter does not affect them personally, because, having much affection, they interest themselves for those whom they love in the same way as for themselves. Thus what would only be cause for indignation in the case of another, is for them a cause of anger; and because the inclination which they have to love causes them to have much heat and much blood in their heart, the aversion which surprises them cannot send there bile in so small a quantity that it does not cause at first a great commotion in this blood. But this commotion does not last, because the strength of the surprise does not continue, and because, as soon as they perceive that the subject which has vexed them ought not to affect them so much, they repent of it.

  ARTICLE CCII.

  That it Is weak and base spirits which most permit themselves to give way to the latter.

  The other kind of anger in which hatred and sadness predominate, is not so apparent at first if it be not perhaps that it causes the face to grow pale; but its strength is little by little increased by the agitation of an ardent desire to avenge oneself excited in the blood, which, being mingled with the bile which is sent towards the heart from the lower part of the liver and spleen, excites there a very keen and ardent heat. And as it is the most generous souls who have most gratitude, it is those who have most pride, and who are most base and infirm, who most allow themselves to be carried away by this kind of anger; for the injuries appear so much the greater as pride causes us to esteem ourselves more, and likewise the more we esteem the good things which they remove; which last we value so much the more, as our soul is the more feeble and base, because they depend on others.

  ARTICLE CCIII.

  That noble-mindedness serves as a remedy against its excesses.

  For the rest, although this passion is useful in giving us strength in repelling injuries, there is yet no passion an excess of which we should more carefully avoid, because, in disturbing our judgment, they often cause us to commit faults of which we have afterwards to repent, and they even sometimes prevent our repelling these injuries as well as we might have done had we suffered less emotion. But as there is nothing which makes it excessive so much as pride, so I think that noble spirit is the best remedy which can be found against its excesses, because, causing us to esteem very little all the good things which may be taken away, and on the other hand to esteem highly the liberty and absolute dominion over self that we cease to have when we allow ourselves to be offended by some one, it brings it to pass that we have nothing but disdain, or at the most indignation, for those injuries which others are wont to resent angrily.

  ARTICLE CCIV.

  Of Glory.

  What I here call by the name glory is a species of joy founded on self-love, which proceeds from the belief or hope we have of being praised by certain others. It is thus different from the internal satisfaction that comes from our belief that we have performed some good action; for we are sometimes p
raised for things which we do not believe to be good, and blamed for those we believe to be better. But both are species of self-esteem as well as species of joy; for seeing that we are esteemed by others is a reason for esteeming ourselves.

  ARTICLE CCV.

  Of Shame.

  Shame, on the contrary, is a species of sadness, also founded on self-love, which proceeds from the apprehension or the fear which we possess of being blamed; besides that it is a species of modesty or humility and mistrust of self. For when we esteem ourselves so highly that we cannot imagine ourselves to be disdained by any, we cannot easily be ashamed.

  ARTICLE CCVI.

  Of the uses of these two passions.

  Glory and shame have the same functions in so far as they incite us to virtue, the one by hope, and the other by fear. It is only necessary to inform one’s judgment as to what is truly worthy of being blamed or praised in order that we may not be ashamed of doing well or make our vices a source of vanity, as happens in the case of many. But it is not good to rid oneself entirely of these passions as the Cynics used to do; for although common people judge very ill, yet because we cannot live without others and it is important to us to be esteemed by them, we ought frequently to follow their opinions rather than ours respecting the external aspect of our actions.

  ARTICLE CCVII.

  Of Impudence.

  Impudence or effrontery, which is a disdain of shame and frequently of glory also, is not a passion, because there is not in us any special movement of the spirits which excites it; but it is a vice opposed to shame and also to glory, inasmuch as both are good, just as ingratitude is opposed to gratitude and cruelty to pity. And the principal cause of effrontery proceeds from a man’s having frequently received great affronts; for there is no one who does not in his youth imagine that praise is a good, and infamy an evil, much more important to life than it is found by experience to be, when, on receiving some signal affronts, he sees himself to be entirely deprived of honour and disdained by all men. That is why such men become shameless who, only estimating good or evil by their bodily well-being, see that after these affronts they flourish just as much as before or even sometimes much more, because they are free from many trammels imposed upon them by honour, and because they discover that if the loss of their goods is united to their disgrace, charitable people are always found who give to them.

  ARTICLE CCVIII.

  Of Disgust.

  Disgust is a species of sadness which proceeds from the same cause as that from which joy earlier proceeded. For we are so constituted that the greater part of the things as to which we rejoice are only good in our regard for a time, and afterwards become tiresome. This is specially true in respect of eating and drinking which are useful only so long as we have an appetite, and are hurtful when we have it no longer; and because they then cease to be agreeable to the taste this passion is termed disgust.

  ARTICLE CCIX.

  Of Regret.

  Regret is also a kind of sadness which has a particular bitterness inasmuch as it is always united to a certain despair and to the memory of the pleasure which gave us joy, for we regret nothing but the good things regarding which we rejoiced and which are so lost that we have no hope of recovering them at the time and in the guise in which we regret them.

  ARTICLE CCX.

  Of Cheerfulness.

  Finally, what I call cheerfulness is a species of joy in which there is this peculiarity, that its sweetness is increased by the recollection of the evils which we have suffered, and of which we are relieved, in the same way as we feel freed of some heavy burden which we have for a long time borne on our shoulders. And I observe nothing very remarkable in these three passions, nor have I placed them here but in order to follow the enumeration which I made above; yet it seems to me that this enumeration has been useful in order to show that we have omitted none which were worthy of particular consideration.

  ARTICLE CCXI.

  A general remedy against the Passions.

  And now that we are acquainted with them all, we have much less reason to fear them than we formerly had. For we see that they are all good in their nature and that we have nothing to avoid but their evil uses or their excesses, against which the remedies which I explained might suffice, if each one of us took sufficient heed to practise them. But because I have placed amongst these remedies the forethought and diligence whereby we can correct our natural faults in exercising ourselves in separating within us the movements of the blood and spirits from the thoughts to which they are usually united. I confess that there are few people who are sufficiently prepared in this way to meet all the accidents of life, and that these movements excited in the blood by the objects of the passions follow so promptly from these single impressions that are made in the brain and from the disposition of the organs, although the soul contributes in no wise to them, that there is no human wisdom capable of resisting them when sufficient preparation is not made for doing so. Thus many people cannot prevent themselves from laughing on being tickled, even though they have no pleasure in it; for the impression of joy and surprise which caused them formerly to laugh for the same reason, being once more awakened in their imagination, causes their lung to be suddenly inflated in spite of themselves by the blood which the heart sends to it. In this way those who are naturally much carried away by their disposition towards emotions of joy or pity, or fear or anger, cannot prevent themselves from fainting, weeping, or trembling, or from having their blood agitated just as though they had a fever, when their imagination is violently affected by the object of some one of these passions. But what we can always do on such occasions, and what I think I can here put forward as the most general remedy and that most easy to practise against all excesses of the passions, is that, when we feel our blood to be thus agitated, we should be warned of the fact, and recollect that all that presents itself before the imagination tends to delude the soul and causes the reasons which serve to urge it to accomplish the object of its passion to appear much stronger than they are, and those which serve to dissuade it to be much weaker. And when the passions urge us only towards things the execution of which necessitates some delay, we ought to abstain from pronouncing any judgment on the spot, and to divert ourselves by other thoughts until time and rest shall have entirely calmed the emotion which is in the blood. And finally, when it incites us to actions regarding which it is requisite that an immediate resolution should be taken, the will must make it its main business to consider and follow up the reasons which are contrary to those set up by the passions, although they appear to be less strong; just as when we are suddenly attacked by some enemy, the occasion does not permit of our taking time to deliberate. But it seems to me that what those who are accustomed to reflect on their actions can always do when they feel themselves to be seized with fear, is to try to turn their thoughts away from the consideration of danger by representing to themselves the reasons which prove that there is much more certainty and honour in resistance than in flight. And on the other hand, when they feel that the desire of vengeance and anger incites them to run thoughtlessly towards those who attack them, they will recollect that it is imprudence to lose their lives when they can without dishonour save themselves, and that, if the match is very unequal, it is better to beat an honourable retreat or ask quarter, than to expose oneself doggedly to certain death.

  ARTICLE CCXII.

  That it is on them alone that all the good and evil of this life depends.

  For the rest, the soul may have pleasures of its own, but as to those which are common to it and the body, they depend entirely on the passions, so that the men whom they can most move are capable of partaking most of enjoyment in this life. It is true that such men may also find most bitterness when they do not know how to employ them well, or fortune is contrary to them. But the principal use of prudence or self-control is that it teaches us to be masters of our passions, and to so control and guide them that the evils which they cause are quite bearable, and that we eve
n derive joy from them all.

  The Biographies

  Engraving of the Prytanée, eighteenth century — in 1607, Descartes entered the Jesuit Collège Royal Henry-Le-Grand at La Flèche, where he was introduced to mathematics and physics, including Galileo’s work.

  Portrait of Descartes after Frans Hals, 1648

  RENÉ DESCARTES by William Wallace

  From 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica, Volume 8

  RENÉ DESCARTES (1596-1650), French philosopher, was born at La Haye, in Touraine, midway between Tours and Poitiers, on the 31st of March 1596, and died at Stockholm on the 11th of February 1650. The house where he was born is still shown, and a métairie about 3 m. off retains the name of Les Cartes. His family on both sides was of Poitevin descent. Joachim Descartes, his father, having purchased a commission as counsellor in the parlement of Rennes, introduced the family into that demi-noblesse of the robe which, between the bourgeoisie and the high nobility, maintained a lofty rank in French society. He had three children, a son who afterwards succeeded to his father in the parlement, a daughter who married a M. du Crevis, and René, after whose birth the mother died.

  Descartes, known as Du Perron, from a small estate destined for his inheritance, soon showed an inquisitive mind. From 1604 to 1612 he studied at the school of La Flêche, Early years. which Henry IV. had lately founded and endowed for the Jesuits. He enjoyed exceptional privileges; his feeble health excused him from the morning duties, and thus early he acquired the habit of reflection in bed, which clung to him throughout life. Even then he had begun to distrust the authority of tradition and his teachers. Two years before he left school he was selected as one of the twenty-four who went forth to receive the heart of Henry IV. as it was borne to its resting-place at La Flêche. At the age of sixteen he went home to his father, who was now settled at Rennes, and had married again. During the winter of 1612 he completed his preparations for the world by lessons in horsemanship and fencing; and then started as his own master to taste the pleasures of Parisian life. Fortunately he went to no perilous lengths; the worst we hear of is a passion for gaming. Here, too, he made the acquaintance of Claude Mydorge, one of the foremost mathematicians of France, and renewed an early intimacy with Marin Mersenne (q.v.), now Father Mersenne, of the order of Minim friars. The withdrawal of Mersenne in 1614 to a post in the provinces was the signal for Descartes to abandon social life and shut himself up for nearly two years in a secluded house of the faubourg St Germain. Accident betrayed the secret of his retirement; he was compelled to leave his mathematical investigations, and to take part in entertainments, where the only thing that chimed in with his theorizing reveries was the music. French politics were at that time characterized by violence and intrigue to such an extent that Paris was no fit place for a student, and there was little honourable prospect for a soldier. Accordingly, in May 1617, Descartes set out for the Netherlands and took service in the army of Prince Maurice of Orange. At Breda he enlisted as a volunteer, and the first and only pay which he accepted he kept as a curiosity through life. There was a lull in the war, and the Netherlands was distracted by the quarrels of Gomarists and Arminians. During the leisure thus arising, Descartes one day had his attention drawn to a placard in the Dutch tongue; as the language, of which he never became perfectly master, was then strange to him, he asked a bystander to interpret it into either French or Latin. The stranger, Isaac Beeckman, principal of the college of Dort, offered to do so into Latin, if the inquirer would bring him a solution of the problem, — for the advertisement was one of those challenges which the mathematicians of the age were accustomed to throw down to all comers, daring them to discover a geometrical mystery known as they fancied to themselves alone. Descartes promised and fulfilled; and a friendship grew up between him and Beeckman — broken only by the dishonesty of the latter, who in later years took credit for the novelty contained in a small essay on music (Compendium Musicae) which Descartes wrote at this period and entrusted to Beeckman.