By Elie Pillet
La Croix: Your work focuses on women philosophers. Why did you choose to explore Teresa of Ávila in particular?
Léa Waterhouse: I’ve always been interested in her. Teresa was deeply devoted to her faith, but she was also a formidable intellectual. She fully embraced her role as a mystic thinker, and many of her writings were trailblazing. Numerous philosophers drew inspiration from her so much so, I believe, that they effectively erased her influence. Descartes, for example, who left an indelible mark on the history of ideas with his cogito ergo sum.
Before we return to the surprising link between Teresa and Descartes, could you remind us what the cogito actually means?
In his Meditations on First Philosophy, Descartes develops the idea encapsulated in the Latin phrase cogito ergo sum, which translates to “I think, therefore I am.” It’s a maxim most people have heard at least once.
To separate truth from falsehood, Descartes adopts what he calls “methodical doubt.” He systematically rejects everything he knows or perceives, until he arrives at something he cannot doubt: the undeniable existence of a thinking subject, and the primacy of consciousness over material reality. This marked a turning point in philosophy, laying the groundwork for modern rationalism and the philosophy of consciousness.
What makes you think Descartes may have drawn on Teresa of Ávila’s methods to develop his cogito?
For starters, Descartes uses the word “meditation,” which in his time had strong religious connotations. Meditation was a spiritual exercise obviously so for Teresa, who was a nun, but far less so for a philosopher like Descartes.
Then there’s the question of doubt. Descartes begins by doubting everything. Teresa, too, practiced a form of spiritual discipline that set aside the material world: what she called mental prayer. In both cases, we see a retreat from worldly reality. For Descartes, the negation of the world halts at the self, while for Teresa, it halts at God. Where Descartes’ God is subject to doubt, it is the self, the I that undergoes trial in Teresa’s writings.
Both thinkers also seem to wrestle with the idea of a deceptive force, don’t they?
Yes. In Descartes’ writings, an evil deceiver tricks him with illusions and false beliefs. Teresa, too, speaks of a demon who tries to lead her astray. Both fear being misled by a malevolent supernatural force. In the end, it’s the rejection of this deceiver that allows them to ground their respective truths. The path that leads Descartes to his “I think, therefore I am” is methodologically identical to Teresa’s spiritual journey.
How would Descartes have come across Teresa’s work?
He’s known for being secretive about his sources. But it’s highly likely he was guided in his readings by Marin Mersenne, a French religious scholar who held Teresa in high regard. Descartes also studied with the Jesuits, who taught her writings. Students at Jesuit schools regularly read mystical meditations the very kind that would later reappear in Descartes’ philosophy.
Why do you think this influence has gone unrecognized for so long?
My hypothesis is that when scholars examined Descartes’ influences, they asked: Which great man inspired him? They didn’t consider the possibility that a woman might have played that role so they never found what they weren’t looking for. – La Croix International
