A Brief Review of Descartes' Method

Over the Christmas break, I was finally able to finish Rene Descartes’ Discourse on Method. It’s a very short book and I have no excuse for taking half a semester to finish it, except that I usually tried to read it as I waited for my class to begin and was often interrupted or distracted.

It was Descartes who first sparked my interest in philosophy as a teenager, and I was excited to finally read his most famous work in its entirety. I read an excerpt of it several years ago but was never able to find the complete work in any bookstores and never bothered to order it. Early last year, my favorite used bookstore added a philosophy section and I eagerly snatched up the only copy of Rene Descartes’ Discourse on Method and Related Writings. True to form, it wasn’t until much later in the year that I actually sat down to read it. I remembered the fascination that Descartes had held for me in high school and I wondered if this book would live up to my expectations, or if, as I was prone to do, I had overromanticized an old memory.

But I read the first paragraph of Discourse and knew immediately that I would not be disappointed. The first and last paragraph of any book are the most critical and the most difficult to write, and there are few people who are able to begin a book as elegantly as Descartes did in Discourse on Method. Some of the credit, of course, must go to his translators, but the simplicity of the language, the logical arrangement of his thoughts, were consistent with the very method he discussed. Too many philosophers make their ideas inaccessible to the reader by using unnecessarily complicated language or, worse, by making assumptions and generalizations that cannot be followed by any logical process of thought. The reader’s natural reaction—as the philosophers are surely counting on—is to assume that the fault is their own, that they are not smart enough or educated enough to understand what they are reading. In truth, it is usually the philosopher’s fault, for failing to express their thoughts in a coherent way or failing to formulate a coherent thought in the first place. Descartes begins his discourse, rather, by giving his reader greater credit, by dispelling the myth of natural genius, and by stating that the ability to proceed logically from one point to another is relatively equal in all human beings. What distinguishes the wise from the foolish, or the one who makes sound decisions from the one who makes poor decisions, is not a difference in natural intelligence, but a difference in how they have directed, over the course of their lives, that common sense which, as the name implies, is common to all of us. “It is not enough to have a good mind,” he says, “it is more important to use it well.”

He discusses four simple rules for guiding one’s mind, for analyzing problems and making sound decisions (paraphrased slightly):

1)    Never accept anything as true without knowing clearly that it is so; that is, carefully avoid prejudice and jumping to conclusions.
2)    Subdivide each problem into as many parts as possible to resolve them better.
3)    Guide your thoughts in an orderly way by beginning with the objects that are the simplest and easiest to know and rise, gradually, to knowledge of the most complex.
4)  In all cases, make such comprehensive enumerations and reviews that you are certain not to omit anything.

These rules are still the standard in education today, especially in the sciences. But, while he may be best known for his contributions to modern science and mathematics, Descartes insists that the method he purports is applicable to any activity requiring human intelligence. Indeed, mathematics are only used as an example of the derivation of the method, as perhaps the only universally accepted application of pure logic. And while the stepwise, analytical approach to solving a mathematical problem is certainly applicable to the sciences, it can and should be carried over to other disciplines, and to any scenario requiring a sound decision or definitive assessment. This philosophy, of course, contributed to the modern ideas of critical thinking and metacognition. Returning to Descartes’ opening discussion, the development of a method for making sound decisions puts forth intelligence as something that can be learned and taught, rather than an innate gift. If the method is followed correctly, it is impossible to make a poor decision, and there is no reason that any mentally healthy person cannot follow the method correctly unless they are not paying attention. It becomes a question, then, not of natural ability but of training. This philosophy, I believe, was vital to the development of the ideals of equality and accessibility in education today. If we emphasize discipline rather than talent, we are, in fact, emphasizing the soul rather than the brain. We can be certain of the natural equality of souls, and to proceed from a point of certainty is the most logical path.

Descartes repeatedly ridiculed the habit of highly educated people for making uncertain assessments of complex things and concealing their uncertainty in vague and complicated explanations. What is needed is certainty, but certainty cannot be attained without first considering the simplest and most fundamental principles, which the intellectuals believe are too far beneath them to be considered. Rather than amongst the highly educated, Descartes noted that he saw the clearest logic and good sense amongst the people whose decisions had direct consequences on their lives and well-being. He reasoned that if we approached every question with the same clarity and with a view to educate rather than to impress, even the most complicated problems could be resolved, without any of the uncertainty of intellectualism.

But people are afraid of simplicity and of the idea of the absolute. To the engineer, for instance, it is both empowering and terrifying to know that a single numerical error could bring a building tumbling down on our heads. Empowering, because the error is perfectly avoidable if the job is done well, and terrifying, because, if it is missed, the building will fall, simply and absolutely.

The philosopher, all too often, prefers a complex universe; it is easier to manipulate and easier to hide behind. If it were too simple, who would be impressed? A simple universe robs them of the cloak of uncertainty, because a simple universe has absolute consequences. In science and mathematics, we accept that every observable effect is rooted in a fundamental cause, and we recognize a logical order from one to another. What Descartes and others have proposed is that this speaks to a universal order: that comprehension of the profound must always begin with acceptance of the fundamental, or of the self-evident. This is consistent with the experience of the engineer, the scientist, or any person who is compelled, by necessity, to make a sound decision. Uncertainty is the luxury of the theorist. I would like to see Nietzsche stand beneath a tumbling building and claim that there are no facts, only interpretations.

Because Descartes presented a universe that could be understood intuitively and because he wrote with a view to educate rather than to impress, I found myself able to relate to his text more than to any other philosophy I have read. I felt that he was in the room, speaking directly to me, and that if he were a young man today he would be the kind of person my friends and I would play soccer with or sit next to in class. As I remarked to my brother: “Descartes really was just some guy.” It is that kind of intelligence that I admire most: an alert and active mind that values practical truth and good sense above obscure, theoretical subtleties. I have seen it only rarely, and almost never in higher education. Once or twice, however, I have been fortunate enough to find it in a teacher.

Descartes’ method was validated when he applied it to the study of the natural universe in The World, as his ideas about the nature of fire, light, liquids, solids, and so forth were remarkably close to reality, given the limited information available at the time. Hundreds of years later, his teachings are still valuable across disciplines as well as in our everyday lives. I think that is why I will always prefer philosophers who are also scientists or mathematicians, because they do not waste time baffling us with the abstract. I am not interested in an interpretation of the universe that is not useful, that does not teach me, in some way, how to live a better life.