Descarte's Discourse on Method

PREFATORY

If this discourse asks for too much breath, let it be split
Through six, the first of which will treat diversities
Of star-mused eruditions; the second, of the regulations
That confined the author's researched ways; third,
The morals he extracted from his method – followed by
The rationale of God and God in man, upon which
Metaphysics rests; and then to physic inquiries,
The movements of the heart, and various
Complexities, and how man's soul might differ
From the beasts'; and sixth what he believes
Is requisite to fare a longer path, to drag these studies
Further than he thought, and finally (of course)
Why he hath wrought.

FIRST PART

Of all things on this earth, good sense is most equitably
Divided, since each man bethinks himself so well disposed
That even those who pick and whine at every other lack
Desire of this boon no greater share. And they're surely not
Mistaken, so that here we have a witness to the equal
Distribution of good sense, of reason to distinguish
Right and wrong in every man. Therefore if our opinions
Are diverse, we needn't think that common sense is proper
To the few, but simply that the many ponder many paths,
And rarely likewise muse; but it is not enough
To have a mind that's sound, if you should twist it into
Torturous cacophonies – you must apply it well:
The greatest minds conceive the greatest benefactions
And the greatest crimes alike, so those who scoot ahead
With care surpass the labors of the fools who greatly err
Down the wrong path.

Myself, I never thought my intellect was better wrought
Than other men's, I've even more than often hoped
For lightning insights, clear illuminations, distinct
Imagination flooded to the brim
With present memories, in short to see
As others see – I know no other quality
That renders knowledge right – because,
Concerning reason (rather, sense),
As it alone rends mankind from the beasts,
I would believe that it is all entirely in each
Man, and in this trail the regular opinion
Of philosophers who say nothing that is,
Is more or less, except with accidents, and hardly
Among forms and natures from a unique gens.

But I'm not afraid to say I've found a lot of time
Since youth to travel far enough down certain roads
Which led me to concatenations, maxims that I've used
To mold and hold a method, through which it seems
I have the means to penetrate the heights
Of my acquaintance, little by little to raise myself aloft
As far as mediocrity and mortal nature
Will allow. But even now I've harvested such fruits
That though I try, in self-considerations, for a lowly
Self-esteem as over arrogance and pride, and though,
Peeping with a wisdom loving eye at other men's
Performances and varied enterprise, it seems that none
Appears but futile, vain, still, among the occupations
That are man's and purely man's, there is this one
That seems – yes – worthy, good, and I dare believe
It is philosophy, the one I chose.

Of course, I could be wrong, could have, perhaps, mistaken
A little bit of brass and glass for diamonds, gold; I know
How often we are subject to misjudge ourselves
And everything we touch, how much we should mistrust
Our friends' opinions, since they're well disposed
To us. But I will nonetheless be pleased to open up
The passages I've kept in my discourse, and to represent
A painting like my life, so every reader might
Judge, and I can learn, through apprehension of the common
Din, what people think, and thus embark on novel explorations,
Which will supplement and augment those I've used 'til now.

Thus my design is not to here assign a way
Along which you should all conduct your minds,
But just to show how I have followed mine.
Those who don the precepts of a preceptor, a don
Must think themselves much better dressed
Than those they test, and if they miss the slightest mark
Are marked below the rest; but I, intending only
History, or, if you like, to stretch a yarn
In which you'll hear inimitable feats, but also,
Those you might, with better common sense, repeat,
Hope my story be, at very least, just usefully received
By some, but reprehensible to none, and everyone
Will praise what I have frankly done.

So since I was speechless, I have suckled letters, and, assured
Their darkened tracks could lead me to a clarity secured
By these black bars, a vantage with a view to utile life,
Conceived a boundless hope to read. But soon
As I'd achieved my studies' course, upon whose head
One climbs into the doctored ranks, my fickle passions
Changed. Hampered by new doubts, my thought
Began to stray, my only progress, that I knew
How little that I knew. But I was in the best of Europe's
Schools, and as I thought, if there were savant men on earth
They would be here. I'd learned all the others learned, and,
Discontent with what my teachers taught, had even rushed
Through every book that dealt with things occult
And rare which fell between my hands. I knew
How my companions judged me, professors both
And peers, and none had deemed me second class,
Even if it wasn't mine to someday take a chair
And teach. And such a vital age, more fertile in the intellect
Than ever yet! And so I felt at liberty to judge my times:
Nothing on this earth seemed worthy of my hopes.