Section Five

Theory of the Origin of Ideas

Introduction

385. So far we have considered the principal systems concerning the origin of ideas, looking for the one system which might satisfactorily explain ideas. But the search has been fruitless: some theories have failed by defect (Section Three), others by excess (Section Four). Some grant in the mind too little that is innate, others too much. We must now delve more deeply into the difficult investigation and try to find the golden mean between these two extremes. Nothing innate must be granted without necessity; nor must we allow any preconceived antipathy, perhaps to the simple word 'innate', to cause us to reject the little that has been established as the necessary condition for the fact of our ideas (cf. 26-28).
But, to know how far we still need to go and the path we have to follow, let me summarise the journey so far.

I began by positing the difficulty, which I presented as clearly as I could in its most general form: 'In the system of those who consider all ideas man-made, we must establish an order among the actions necessary for forming ideas. In this order either a judgment precedes an idea or an idea precedes a judgment; there is no middle path. But both these processes are impossible. We cannot therefore suppose in any way that all our ideas are man-made' (cf. 41-45).

386. Sensists, and generally those who claim that all ideas without exception are formed by us, did not even glimpse this difficulty. This explains the tenacity of their opinion. Those who see and feel the force of the difficulty must inevitably renounce their belief that all our ideas are made by us. Consequently the disagreement between philosophical schools about the origin of knowledge originates solely from whether we see this difficulty or not.

However, even those who did not clearly see the problem sometimes caught a vague side-glimpse of it; if they did not see it at all, it still stood out (for the clear-sighted) at the heart of their argument, which it rendered inconclusive and ineffective.
As we saw, Locke, for example, in describing the development of sensitivity, continuously introduced judgments. Unaware of them, he did not think it necessary to explain their origin or possibility (cf. 112). Similarly, we saw him claim elsewhere that ideas were undoubtedly prior to judgments. Nevertheless, he did not investigate or even suspect that the act with which ideas are formed might be a judgment whose function as cause must precede ideas as effects (cf. 68-69).

But if Locke did not at this point see the difficulty I have explained, he did glimpse it in other places, although weakly. For example, he is aware that we cannot have knowledge without judgment (cf. 113-114). Again, when he comes across the idea of substance, the difficulty is so great for him that he confesses substance to be inexplicable in his system. However, his imperfect, partial understanding of the difficulty prevented him from feeling its importance. After stating that every cognition is preceded by a judgment, he drew no other conclusion and, finding the idea of substance very troublesome, swept it away as non-existent (cf. 48-62).

387. Sometimes philosophers noticed the difficulty (always under some particular form) in other people's arguments without noticing it in their own. Condillac, for example, rightly reproaches Locke for introducing unexplained judgments into his explanation of the actions of sensitivity (cf. 68-69). But Condillac himself, in order to sweep away this faculty of judgment, attributed it also to the senses and thus monstrously confused the principle that feels with the principle that judges what is felt (cf. 70-71).

On the other hand, Condillac does not see Locke's other error of supposing that ideas are first formed in us without judgments. He begins from ideas without noticing that he introduces an act of judgment into their formation. Nor does his system offer any suitable explanation for the origin of the universality of ideas, although universality is an essential characteristic of all ideas and no judgment could be formed without it (cf. 86-96).

388. Reid, seeing further than Condillac, clearly notes that Locke was introducing something impossible when he claimed that ideas were formed first and then judgments (with the help of ideas). In fact, no idea can be formed without a judgment. Reid therefore established that the first operation was a judgment, not an idea (cf. 115-117).

But how can we conceive the possibility of making judgments without having an idea? Reid replies that the judgments are made instinctively.
This is purely an hypothesis, or rather a gratuitous affirmation. Moreover, the statement does not in any way answer the difficulty. Indeed, instinct cannot undertake the impossible, which would be the case if someone without ideas undertook to make judgments; ideas are simply the means and elements of judgments. Instinct can of course explain why I undertake to use my power of judgment rather than leave it inactive, but it cannot constitute the power or explain its origin; it can only move it. Nor can the power of judgment set itself in motion unless it has something to judge and some means of judging. In other words, it must have ideas, the indispensable conditions of judgment itself (cf. 121-129).

Reid and his disciple Stewart, driven by the difficulty they saw, although imperfectly, went even further. Instinctive judgments, even granted the power attributed to them, could never produce truly universal ideas. Consequently these two philosophers took the shortest but most desperate route: they denied the existence of ideas (cf. 104-108, 160). Locke himself had taught them this kind of summary justice against defenceless ideas, whose only guilt lay in hiding the mystery of their origin from these philosophers. As we saw, Locke had decreed that the idea of substance, inimicable to his system, no longer existed.
Because the difficulty had so little effect on these ideologists, they failed to see that the actions of our spirit could not in any way explain the production of all ideas. They either did not see the difficulty, or saw it only partially and vaguely.

389. But there were other, more incisive philosophers who fully saw how difficult, indeed how impossible, it was to admit that all ideas were formed by sensations and reflection, or more generally by some operations of our spirit. They understood that these actions, which should form ideas, cannot take place without ideas. I have listed the highest and most extreme intellects among these thinkers: Plato, Leibniz and Kant (cf. Section Four).
All these great men agreed unanimously that 'if we do not admit that the human spirit possesses of itself some innate, natural, intellective element, distinct from a pure, simple faculty, our spirit would never begin to think and therefore never form ideas. This opinion of the deepest, most learned thinkers of the nations is constant and very solid.(1)

390. The sharpest minds fully agreed about the negative part of the problem: it is impossible for all ideas, whole and entire, to be formed by us. But they have different opinions about the positive part, that is, about the definition of the nature of this necessary element, connected naturally to our spirit, and making it capable of intellective operations.

The reason is this. Some thought that the innate element necessary to our intellect should be greater; others, less. These great men were certainly not ignorant of the principle of method I posited at the start: 'In explaining facts of the human spirit, we must not assume more than necessary to explain them' (cf. 26-28). But the difficulty consisted in finding the minimum sufficient to explain ideas while avoiding superfluity. This innate element grew smaller as philosophy drew closer to the solution of the problem. At the same time, it was shown to be sufficient, because what I laid down was certain: 'Of all the complete explanations of the facts of the human spirit, the simplest and that requiring the fewest suppositions is to be preferred' (cf. 26-28).

Indeed there was progression among philosophers who agreed that something innate must be granted if we are to explain the origin of ideas. More recent philosophers have sought to remove what was superfluous from the earlier theories by demonstrating that ideas could originate even if we granted less that was innate than earlier thinkers had done (cf. 361-362).

391. Plato, for example, was convinced that all ideas are innate, although dormant. This was the only way he could explain why a child replies truthfully to questions on many things it has never heard of, but which apparently it sees intellectually as present to it. For Plato, those ideas had always been present to the child's spirit, although it had never paid any attention to them or thought about them. The child, when asked about these things, but without being instructed about them, is roused and motivated to look at truths which it does not know it possesses. In this way, the child discovers truths which no one has communicated to it.

392. Leibniz realised that this was too much; it was unnecessary to posit so much to explain the ideas which we gradually acquire by ourselves. According to him it was sufficient if there were only very light traces of ideas in the spirit, in the way that a statue can be outlined in a block of marble; the colour of the streaks in the marble would precisely outline the statue in the block (cf. 278-279).

393. Kant, who came next, added a more accurate, deeper analysis of cognitions and found that they result from two elements, one of which is traced back to what is sensible, while the other cannot in any way be traced back to what is sensible. According to him, the former need not be innate in any way, and the origin of the latter must be found in what we have within us. He correctly called the first element matter of knowledge, and the second, form. Hence, he did not posit innate ideas either in themselves, as Plato did, or in their traces, as Leibniz did. For him, the formal part of ideas is innate so that all ideas are man-made, but not totally. This was a notable step forward for philosophical science (cf. 324-325).

394. But there was still need for simplification: the formal part of knowledge, now known to be given necessarily by nature and not formed by ourselves, that is, the seed sown in our souls by the Creator, had to be reduced to a minimum so that the great tree of human knowledge might grow from it. Our predecessors had seen that this part, essential to the intellective spirit, could only be something very small. They expressed this beautifully by saying that 'God, in the act of creating our souls, allows them for a moment to catch a glimpse, so to speak, of the immense treasure of his eternal wisdom'.(2)

395. After Kant's efforts the problem was still 'to determine the minimum knowledge or light rendering the soul intelligent and therefore suitable for intellective actions'. This minimum is barely a heavenly spark snatched from the sun; it is what we can snatch of the truth by means of a slight, instantaneous glimpse of it.

Kant did not in fact find this minimum. He had extended the formal part much further than it extends in reality. Instead of moving from a single, simple principle, he divided the formal part into many independent forms, two of which he allotted to internal and external sense, four, each of which had three modes, to intellect, and three to reason (cf. 357-358). He did not see that sense has nothing pertaining to formal knowledge, and that all the forms he attributed to intellect and reason are reduced to one, very simple form, that is, possibility, or its equivalent, ideality. All other forms easily stem from this, as from a tiny seed. Consequently, positing many forms is superfluous; granted this one form in our spirit, it easily produces others, not equal to it but posterior and subordinate (cf. 363-380).

Lack of such simplification damaged Kant considerably. He remained ignorant of the nature of the one, true form, which is objective, sublime, independent of the soul itself, immune from every mode and therefore from all manipulation; anything incapable of undergoing a variety of modes cannot be manipulated. Consequently Kant could not give a solid basis to knowledge, to truth and to human certainty (cf. 327-329, 379).

396. I think I have demonstrated all this, as I was obliged to do if I wished to continue the work of philosophers who had flourished up till now, and to take advantage of what they had done. It was right for me to make my own the two truths they had brought to light:

1. The necessary distinction between the formal and the material parts of knowledge.
2. The formal part alone is given by nature.

But because these philosophers had not found the unknown part of knowledge, that is, the formal part contained in the second proposition, I then had to make use of this rich heritage to attempt to determine this part, taking great care not to include in addition anything from the matter of knowledge. I had to isolate the formal part in its mode of primal, most simple being, leaving aside the modes which clothe it when it is applied. I carried out this investigation with the following result: 'In its primal, original state, the formal part of knowledge consists in a single, natural and, in us, permanent intuition of possible being (cf. 363-380, 52-54, 115-120).

397. This is what I attempted in the first volume. I must now indicate the purpose of the present volume.
My intention is to present in regular order my theory of the origin of ideas. I will begin by examining the intuition of possible being. This intuition, on the basis of what has been said, is the most solemn and important idea of all ideas; indeed, it alone merits the name of idea. The whole difficulty I have presented in so many different ways is reduced to this one idea.

None of the sensist philosophers could give a satisfactory explanation of the origin of this idea, which lay before them like a reef on which they would come to grief. The operations of the spirit, which according to these philosophers produce ideas, depend continually without exception on this idea. Despite the philosophers' claim that all ideas are produced by actions of the spirit, every idea without exception requires this idea. But given this idea, intellective activity can begin and carry through its work unhindered

It is impossible therefore to begin from any starting point other than this idea. If it is not explained, other ideas become impossible. To form other ideas we must act in an intellective way, and every intellective act, as I have said, presupposes and makes continual use of this idea.
If I succeed in taking this difficult step, the way will be open for discovering the origin of all the principles of human cognitions and of all other ideas, or rather, concepts, which are easily generated with the help of this idea.

Hence, I will first show that being shines naturally as light to our souls. I will then explain the first principles of reasoning. A careful analysis of them will indicate that they can be called only modes of the application of this single idea of being which adheres immovably to us. In doing this, I will have explained how we can reason, because the principles of knowledge and contradiction, and the other first principles, are instruments of reasoning, without which human understanding does not take a single step.

After seeing how human beings become intelligent and reasoning, it will be easy to show how they are authors of their many concepts, which can be formed easily with the use of reasoning.
Amongst the concepts, the first that come to hand are those closest to the source from which they derive; these are pure concepts, containing nothing of real feeling but stemming from the innate, primal idea alone.
I will descend from this sublime height by deducing non-pure concepts which receive matter in varying degree from feeling. I will then be able to show how the concepts of the two kinds of substance, corporeal and spiritual, are formed.

Next, I will discuss the origin of the concept of body. This presents itself to our intellect in two ways: as body animated by our spirit and as inanimate body. I will first analyse the concept of our body, but cannot deal with the concept of external body without investigating the three difficult concepts of time, movement and space. These concepts are necessary if we are to formulate completely the concept of external body. I will then conclude with an analysis of this concept. The whole of the present Section therefore is divided into the following parts:

Notes

(1) Until recently, France was known only through the thought of Condillac, but it was also the fatherland of Descartes and Malebranche, and today favourably welcomes many doctrines of the Alexandrian school. Germany, after hard work and deep thought, showed its unanimity in affirming as impossible that all ideas in all their elements are man-made. What shall we say of Italy? We must remember that Italy was laying the immovable basis of doctrine (called italic after her) before other nations could even stammer philosophically. The sole purpose of this doctrine was to explain the noble, hidden nature of ideas and show them to be so infinitely superior to the senses and to the human being that they could not proceed from either one or other. During the centuries, this national heritage has never been entirely forgotten. Let us hope that it is not forgotten.

(2) These words are found in a truly Italian, classical book available to everyone (Saggi di Naturali Esperienze fatte nell'Accademia del Cimento sotto la protezione del Serenissimo Principe Leopoldo di Toscana, e descritte dal Segretario di essa Accademia, Florence, 1691, at the new printing works of Giovanni Filippo Cecchi). To understand better how those people thought (in Europe they were masters of the art of experimentation and greatly helped the progress of the physical sciences), I will quote the entire piece from which I took the quotation: 'The sovereign beneficence of God, in the act of creating our souls, allows them to catch a fleeting glimpse, as it were, of the immense treasure of his eternal wisdom. Our souls then adore these first lights of truth, like precious jewels. We see that this is true because of the information these lights contain, information which we could not have gained here below. It must therefore be said that our souls have received it from elsewhere' (Proemio). Leaving aside the platonic imagery, introduced to make the statement more attractive, and keeping to the basic teaching, we see in these words of the Secretary of the Academy of Cimento that 1. we know we have some part of knowledge which cannot in any way be formed by us and which therefore must be given us by nature, and 2. this part must be only a very tiny particle, as much as we can absorb, as it were, in a rapid glimpse at eternal wisdom.