Meditations on First Philosophy

Still Here

Close your eyes. Close them tight.
What can you see now?
Nothing. The room is gone.
Your toys are gone.
Even your own hands are gone.

But you are still here.

Maybe you are asleep.
Maybe the room is a dream.
Even in a dream,
somebody is doing the dreaming.
Who is it?
It’s you.

You are still here.

Now think of something.
Think of a red ball.
Think of a big, fluffy dog.
Who is doing the thinking?
You are.

You are still here.

You can’t see yourself right now.
You can’t see your feet or your nose.
But you know there is a you.
The you who is thinking this.

Say it with me:
I am still here.
Even in the dark.
Even with my eyes shut tight.
I am still here.

Now open your eyes.
The room comes back.
Your toys come back.
The people who love you come back.

Wiggle your fingers.
Touch your nose.
There you are.
Still here.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: This is the one step in Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy (1641) that almost nobody disputes: even if you were dreaming, or being fooled, the one being fooled has to exist. His famous phrase for it, “I think, therefore I am,” comes from his earlier Discourse on Method; this book says “I am, I exist.” Philosophers still argue about how much more that one certainty proves, so the primer stops at the step itself. The room and the people come right back when the eyes open: the idea is that you can be sure of yourself, not that you are the only thing that’s real.

Does It Join Up?

Last night you had a dream.
You were at the beach.
Then, poof! You were at school.
Then a whale was in your bed.

In the dream, it all felt real.

So how do you know you’re awake now?
Here is a question to ask.

Does it join up?

Dreams jump around.
Things pop in.
Things pop out.
Where did the whale come from?
You can’t say.
Where did it go?
You can’t say.

Awake is different.
You woke up in your bed.
You ate your breakfast.
You walked to this room.
And here you are.
Each part joins to the part before.

Does it join up?
Yes. It joins up.

Sometimes a scary dream wakes you up.
Try the question then.
Did the monster join up?
No. It popped in.
It popped out.
It was a dream.

Say it with me:
Does it join up?
Yes. I’m awake.

Now look around your room.
Find three things you can see.
Touch one of them.
How did you get here?
Say it out loud, step by step.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Descartes opens the Meditations by saying he can find no sure sign that tells waking from dreaming, and he closes the book with an answer: memory joins waking life into one story, while dream images come and go with no before and after. This primer teaches that closing test, which can help after a nightmare. His full answer also leans on a God who doesn’t deceive, which philosophers still dispute, so treat the question as a way to settle a worry, not as a proof against every doubt.

Still the Same Water

Here is an ice cube.
It is cold.
It is hard.
It has corners.
Tap it on a cup. Clink, clink!

Now put it in the sun.
Wait.
Wait some more.

Look again.
It is not hard now.
It has no corners.
Tap it. No clink at all.
It is a little puddle.

Is it still the same water?
Yes! It’s still the same water.

Your eyes saw it change.
Your fingers felt it change.
Your ears heard the clink go away.
So how do you know it’s the same?

Your thinking put it together.
First it was ice.
Then it melted.
Now it’s here, in a puddle.
Your eyes help.
Your fingers help.
Your thinking tells you what it is.

Is it still the same water?
Yes! It’s still the same water.

Next time you have some ice,
put one cube on a plate.
Watch it melt.
Then tell someone
what it is.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: This is Descartes’ piece of wax (Meditation II). Fresh from the hive it has a smell, a color, a shape, and a sound when tapped; by the fire every one of those changes, yet we know it is the same wax. His point is that the mind, not the senses alone, grasps what a thing is. We swapped his wax for an ice cube because a child owns one, and the mechanism is the same. He goes on to claim this makes the mind easier to know than the body, a bigger step we left out.

I’m Not Sure Yet

Here is a box.
It is wrapped in paper.
What is inside?

Is it a ball?
Maybe.
Is it a book?
Maybe.
Is it a sock?
Maybe!

You can’t see inside.
So what can you say?

I’m not sure yet.

You can guess.
Guessing is fun.
But a guess is not the same as knowing.
If you shout, it’s a ball!
you might be wrong.

Lots of mistakes happen like that.
We say yes too fast,
before we can see.

Is that a spider on the wall?
Eek!
Look closer.
It’s only a bit of fluff.

So wait a little.
Open the paper.
Slowly, slowly.

Now you can see.
It’s a sock!
Now you know.

Say it with me:
When I can’t see,
I’m not sure yet.
When I can see,
now I know.

Next time someone asks you something,
and you can’t tell yet,
say, I’m not sure yet.
Then go and look.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: In Meditation IV, Descartes asks where his mistakes come from and answers: from saying yes or no to things before he understands them clearly. His fix is to hold back until he can see. We kept the fix and left out his larger theory, which ties it to a God who gave us a will with no limits; the plain habit of waiting until you can check needs no theory. Watch that it doesn’t turn into never answering. The point is to go and look.