The Limitations of the Mind — Its Consequences

The mind cannot apply itself for long to objects that have no relation to it, or that do not partake in some way of the infinite

The human mind is prone to error not only because it is not infinite, or because its scope is narrower than the objects it considers—as we have explained in the two preceding chapters—but also because it is unstable, lacks firmness in its activity, and cannot keep its attention fixed steadily upon a subject long enough to examine it fully.

To understand the cause of this restlessness and fickleness of the human mind, we must know that it is the will that directs its activity. The will applies the mind to whatever it loves, yet the will itself is in a state of constant change and unease, for the following reason.

There is no doubt that God is the author of all things, that He made everything for Himself, and that He turns the heart of man toward Himself through a natural and irresistible inclination which He continually impresses upon it. God cannot will that there should exist a will that does not love Him, or that loves Him less than some other good—if indeed any other good exists apart from Him. For He cannot will that a will should fail to love what is supremely lovable, or that it should love most what is least worthy of love.

Thus, our natural love must draw us toward God, since it comes from God; and nothing can check its movement except God Himself, who first sets it in motion. Therefore, there is no will that does not necessarily follow the impulse of this love. The righteous and the unrighteous, the blessed and the damned all love God with this natural love; for this love is identical to the inclination that draws us toward good in general, toward the infinite good, toward the supreme good. It is clear that all minds love God in this way, because He alone is the universal, infinite, and supreme good. Ultimately, all minds—even demons—ardently desire happiness and the possession of the supreme good. They desire this without choice, without deliberation, without freedom, and by the necessity of their nature. Since we are made for God, for an infinite good that contains all other goods within itself, the natural movement of our hearts will never cease until we possess that good.

The inconstancy of the will is the cause of this lack of focus, and consequently of error

Our will, therefore, is always consumed by a burning thirst, and constantly agitated by desires, longings, and restlessness for a good it does not yet possess. It cannot endure without great difficulty having the mind pause for any length of time upon abstract truths that do not touch it and which it judges incapable of bringing it happiness. Consequently, it continually drives the mind to seek other objects.

When, amid this agitation imposed by the will, the mind encounters something that bears the mark of goodness—that is, something that, as it draws near, brings a sense of sweetness and inner satisfaction to the soul—then the heart’s thirst is aroused anew; these desires and longings are rekindled, and the mind, compelled to obey, attaches itself entirely to the object that seems to produce this feeling. It draws this object close to the soul, which then tastes and feeds upon it for a time. But because finite created things cannot fill the infinite capacity of the human heart, these small pleasures do not quench our thirst—they only inflame it further, giving the soul a foolish and empty hope that it can find satisfaction in the multitude of earthly delights. This in turn produces an almost inconceivable instability and fickleness in the mind, which is tasked with revealing all these goods to us.

It is true that if the mind happens upon something that partakes of the infinite, or that contains something great within itself, its restlessness and agitation cease for a while. Recognizing that this object bears the character of what the soul truly desires, it lingers and fixes its attention upon it for a longer time. Yet this focus—this stubborn persistence in examining subjects that are infinite or far too vast—proves just as useless as the superficial way it considers subjects suited to its own capacity. The mind is too weak to complete such a difficult undertaking; its efforts are in vain. For what makes the soul happy is not, strictly speaking, the comprehension of an infinite object—something it is incapable of—but rather the love and enjoyment of that infinite good, which the will is made capable of through the impulse of love that God continually imparts.

After understanding this, we need not be surprised by human ignorance and blindness. Since the mind is subject to the inconstancy and fickleness of the heart, it is unable to apply itself seriously to anything and therefore cannot penetrate any matter of significant difficulty. The attention of the mind relates to intellectual objects just as steady vision relates to physical objects. Just as someone who cannot keep their eyes fixed upon surrounding bodies cannot see them clearly enough to distinguish their smallest parts or recognize all their relationships, so too someone who cannot fix their mental gaze upon what they wish to know will never understand it well enough to analyze its parts or grasp all its connections, whether internal or external.

Yet it is certain that all knowledge consists in a clear perception of the relationships between things. Therefore, when—as in difficult questions—the mind must grasp at once a great number of relations between two or more things, it is clear that if it has not examined these things with sufficient attention and knows them only vaguely, it will be unable to perceive their relationships distinctly, and thus cannot form a solid judgment.

Our sensations occupy us far more than the pure ideas of the intellect.

One of the main reasons the mind struggles to focus on abstract truths is that we perceive them as distant, while things that are much closer to us constantly present themselves to our awareness. Intense attention brings ideas, as it were, closer to the mind. But often, when we are deeply engaged in metaphysical reflection, we are distracted by feelings that arise within us and feel even closer to the soul than those ideas. It takes only a little pain or pleasure to do this. The reason is that pain, pleasure, and all sensations in general are experienced within the soul itself; they modify it and touch it far more intimately than the simple ideas of pure understanding. Although these ideas are present to the mind, they do not affect or alter the soul in a sensible way.

Since the soul is very limited in capacity, and cannot avoid feeling pain and other sensations, its capacity is easily filled. It cannot simultaneously feel something and freely think about other things that cannot be felt. The buzzing of a fly, or some other small noise—if it reaches the main part of the brain and is perceived by the soul—can, despite our best efforts, prevent us from considering the most elevated and abstract truths. This is because abstract ideas do not modify the soul in the same immediate and powerful way that sensations do.

This is the source of the corruption of morals

This explains why the mind remains dull and unresponsive to the greatest truths of Christian morality, and why, without the grace of Jesus Christ, we know them only in a theoretical and fruitless way. Everyone knows there is a God, and that we must worship and serve Him—but who actually serves and adores Him without grace, which alone makes us find sweetness and joy in these duties?

Few people fail to see the emptiness and instability of earthly goods; many are even convinced, through abstract reasoning, that these goods are unworthy of our time and effort. Yet how many truly despise them in practice and refuse to work for them? Only those who feel bitterness and dissatisfaction in their enjoyment, or those whom grace has made sensitive to spiritual goods through an inner delight that God has attached to them—only they can overcome the impressions of the senses and the impulses of desire.

Mere intellectual insight alone will never give us the strength to resist our passions as we ought. Along with understanding, we must also feel something in our hearts. This intellectual light by itself may be called sufficient grace, but it only serves to condemn us: it reveals our weakness and teaches us that we must turn in prayer to Him who is our strength. But the feeling of the heart is a living, active grace. It is this that touches us, fills us, and truly convinces us. Without it, no one believes with the heart: “There is no one who understands in his heart.”

The most certain truths of morality remain hidden and dormant in the recesses of the mind; as long as they stay there, they are sterile and powerless, because the soul does not taste their goodness. Sensory pleasures, by contrast, are closer to the soul; it is impossible not to feel them, and even more impossible not to love what brings us pleasure. Therefore, we cannot detach ourselves from earthly things or break free from the allure and illusions of the senses through our own natural strength.

I do not deny, however, that the righteous—whose hearts have already been turned toward God by the gift of prevenient delight—can perform good deeds and resist temptation even without special grace. Some remain courageous and steadfast in following God’s law through the strength of their faith, by denying themselves sensory pleasures, and by looking upon all temptation with contempt and distaste. There are those who act rightly without constantly feeling this spontaneous delight; the mere knowledge that they are acting according to God’s will is joy enough to sustain them and confirm their purpose. Because they love God and His law, they think of Him with joy—for we always think with pleasure of what we love—or, conversely, the thought of turning away fills them with dread. This is enough to help the righteous overcome at least ordinary temptations.

But those just beginning their conversion need this spontaneous, prevenient delight to draw them away from sensory goods, to which they are bound by similar feelings. Mere sorrow and remorse are not enough; they have not yet found true joy. Yet the righteous can live by faith even in the absence of such feelings—and indeed, they earn greater merit in this state. For since we are rational beings, God desires to be loved by us through a deliberate choice, rather than through instinct or spontaneous feeling—the same kind of feeling that makes us love sensory things without knowing their goodness except through the pleasure they bring. Most people, however, have only weak faith and are constantly exposed to opportunities for pleasure. Without the sustaining delight of grace, they cannot long maintain their deliberate love for God against the natural pull of sensory desires. Just as sensory pleasures fuel greed, the delight of grace produces, preserves, and strengthens love for God.

The ignorance of ordinary people

From all that has been said, it is clear that since human beings are never without some passion or sensation—whether pleasant or painful—much of their mental capacity is constantly occupied. When they try to use what remains to examine a truth, they are often distracted by new sensations, by the boredom that comes with such effort, and by the inconstancy of the will, which agitates the mind and makes it wander from object to object without settling anywhere. Unless one has formed the habit from youth onward of overcoming these obstacles—as we explained in the second part of this work—one eventually becomes incapable of understanding anything difficult or requiring sustained attention.

We must therefore conclude that all branches of knowledge, and especially those dealing with very complex questions, are filled with countless errors. We should view with suspicion all the large volumes produced daily on medicine, physics, ethics, and particularly on specific problems within these fields, which are far more complicated than general principles. Indeed, the more such works are praised by the general public—that is, by people who lack the ability to focus and do not know how to use their minds—the more contemptible they often are. Popular approval for an opinion on a difficult subject is a sure sign that it is false, supported only by misleading impressions of the senses or false flashes of imagination.

This does not mean, however, that it is impossible for one person to discover many truths hidden from past ages—provided that person has sufficient intellect, lives in solitude, avoids all distractions as much as possible, and applies themselves seriously to the search for truth. That is why those who dismiss the philosophy of Descartes without studying it, simply because it seems impossible that one man could uncover truths so deeply hidden in nature, are being unreasonable. If they understood the way he lived, the methods he used in his studies to ensure his mind was not divided between many subjects, the clarity of the ideas upon which he built his system, and all the advantages he had over the ancients through his new discoveries, they would surely regard him with a stronger and more reasonable respect than the mere habit of venerating Aristotle, Plato, and others.

Still, I would not advise them to stop there and accept Descartes as a great thinker or his philosophy as sound simply because of his reputation. Descartes was a man like any other, subject to error and illusion. There is no work of his—not even his geometry—that does not bear some mark of human weakness. We should not believe him on his word alone; as he himself advises, we must read him carefully, checking where he may have gone wrong, and accept nothing except what clear evidence and the inner voice of reason compel us to affirm. For in the end, the mind truly knows only what it sees with certainty.

We have shown in previous chapters that our minds are not infinite, but have only a limited capacity, which is usually filled with sensations. Furthermore, since the mind is directed by the will, it cannot fix its gaze upon any object for long without being distracted by the will’s own inconstancy and fickleness. These are undoubtedly the most general causes of our errors. We could go into far greater detail to demonstrate this, but what has been said is enough to help those capable of attention recognize the inherent weakness of the human intellect. We will examine more fully in Books Four and Five the errors arising from our natural inclinations and passions, which we have already touched upon in this chapter.