shows me nothing but confusion and disorder.
The elements agree together; men are in a state of chaos. The
beasts are happy; their king alone is wretched. O Wisdom, where
are thy laws? O Providence, is this thy rule over the world? Merciful
God, where is thy Power? I behold the earth, and there is evil
upon it.
Would you believe it, dear friend, from these gloomy thoughts
and apparent contradictions, there was shaped in my mind the sublime
idea of the soul, which all my seeking had hitherto failed to
discover? While I meditated upon man's nature, I seemed to discover
two distinct principles in it; one of them raised him to the study
of the eternal truths, to the love of justice, and of true morality,
to the regions of the world of thought, which the wise delight
to contemplate; the other led him downwards to himself, made him
the slave of his senses, of the passions which are their instruments,
and thus opposed everything suggested to him by the former principle.
When I felt myself carried away, distracted by these conflicting
motives, I said, No; man is not one; I will and I will not; I
feel myself at once a slave and a free man; I perceive what is
right, I love it, and I do what is wrong; I am active when I listen
to the voice of reason; I am passive when I am carried away by
my passions; and when I yield, my worst suffering is the knowledge
that I might have resisted.
Young man, hear me with confidence. I will always be honest with
you. If conscience is the creature of prejudice, I am certainly
wrong, and there is no such thing as a proof of morality; but
if to put oneself first is an inclination natural to man, and
if the first sentiment of justice is moreover inborn in the human
heart, let those who say man is a simple creature remove these
contradictions and I will grant that there is but one substance.
You will note that by this term 'substance' I understand generally
the being endowed with some primitive quality, apart from all
special and secondary modifications. If then all the primitive
qualities which are known to us can be united in one and the same
being, we should only acknowledge one substance; but if there
are qualities which are mutually exclusive, there are as many
different substances as there are such exclusions. You will think
this over; for my own part, whatever Locke may say, it is enough
for me to recognise matter as having merely extension and divisibility
to convince myself that it cannot think, and if a philosopher
tells me that trees feel and rocks think [Footnote: It seems to
me that modern philosophy, far from saying that rocks think, has
discovered that men do not think. It perceives nothing more in
nature than sensitive beings; and the only difference it finds
between a man and a stone is that a man is a sensitive being which
experiences sensations, and a stone is a sensitive being which
does not experience sensations. But if it is true that all matter
feels, where shall I find the sensitive unit, the individual ego?
Shall it be in each molecule of matter or in bodies as aggregates
of molecules? Shall I place this unity in fluids and solids alike,
in compounds and in elements? You tell me nature consists of individuals.
But what are these individuals? Is that stone an individual or
an aggregate of individuals? Is it a single sensitive being, or
are there as many beings in it as there are grains of sand? If
every elementary atom is a sensitive being, how shall I conceive
of that intimate communication by which one feels within the other,
so that their two egos are blended in one? Attraction may be a
law of nature whose mystery is unknown to us; but at least we
conceive that there is nothing in attraction acting in proportion
to mass which is contrary to extension and divisibility. Can you
conceive of sensation in the same way? The sensitive parts have
extension, but the sensitive being is one and indivisible; he
cannot be cut in two, he is a whole or he is nothing; therefore
the sensitive being is not a material body. I know not how our
materialists understand it, but it seems to me that the same difficulties
which have led them to reject thought, should have made them also
reject feeling; and I see no reason why, when the first step has
been taken, they should not take the second too; what more would
it cost them? Since they are certain they do not think, why do
they dare to affirm that they feel?] in vain will he perplex me
with his cunning arguments; I merely regard him as a dishonest
sophist, who prefers to say that stones have feeling rather than
that men have souls.
Suppose a deaf man denies the existence of sounds because he has
never heard them. I put before his eyes a stringed instrument
and cause it to sound in unison by means of another instrument
concealed from him; the deaf man sees the chord vibrate. I tell
him, "The sound makes it do that." "Not at all,"
says he, "the string itself is the cause of the vibration;
to vibrate in that way is a quality common to all bodies."
"Then show me this vibration in other bodies," I answer,
"or at least show me its cause in this string." "I
cannot," replies the deaf man; "but because I do not
understand how that string vibrates why should I try to explain
it by means of your sounds, of which I have not the least idea?
It is explaining one obscure fact by means of a cause still more
obscure. Make me perceive your sounds; or I say there are no such
things."
The more I consider thought and the nature of the human mind,
the more likeness I find between the arguments of the materialists
and those of the deaf man. Indeed, they are deaf to the inner
voice which cries aloud to them, in a tone which can hardly be
mistaken. A machine does not think, there is neither movement
nor form which can produce reflection; something within thee tries
to break the bands which confine it; space is not thy measure,
the whole universe does not suffice to contain thee; thy sentiments,
thy desires, thy anxiety, thy pride itself, have another origin
than this small body in which thou art imprisoned.
No material creature is in itself active, and I am active. In
vain do you argue this point with me; I feel it, and it is this
feeling which speaks to me more forcibly than the reason which
disputes it. I have a body which is acted upon by other bodies,
and it acts in turn upon them; there is no doubt about this reciprocal
action; but my will is independent of my senses; I consent or
I resist; I yield or I win the victory, and I know very well in
myself when I have done what I wanted and when I have merely given
way to my passions. I have always the power to will, but not always
the strength to do what I will. When I yield to temptation I surrender
myself to the action of external objects. When I blame myself
for this weakness, I listen to my own will alone; I am a slave
in my vices, a free man in my remorse; the feeling of freedom
is never effaced in me but when I myself do wrong, and when I
at length prevent the voice of the soul from protesting against
the authority of the body.
I am only aware of will through the consciousness of my own will,
and intelligence is no better known to me. When you ask me what
is the cause which determines my will, it is my turn to ask what
cause determines my judgment; for it is plain that these two causes
are but one; and if you understand clearly that man is active
in his judgments, that his intelligence is only the power to compare
and judge, you will see that his freedom is only a similar power
or one derived from this; he chooses between good and evil as
he judges between truth and falsehood; if his judgment is at fault,
he chooses amiss. What then is the cause that determines his will?
It is his judgment. And what is the cause that determines his
judgment? It is his intelligence, his power of judging; the determining
cause is in himself. Beyond that, I understand nothing.
No doubt I am not free not to desire my own welfare, I am not
free to desire my own hurt; but my freedom consists in this very
thing, that I can will what is for my own good, or what I esteem
as such, without any external compulsion. Does it follow that
I am not my own master because I cannot be other than myself?
The motive power of all action is in the will of a free creature;
we can go no farther. It is not the word freedom that is meaningless,
but the word necessity. To suppose some action which is not the
effect of an active motive power is indeed to suppose effects
without cause, to reason in a vicious circle. Either there is
no original impulse, or every original impulse has no antecedent
cause, and there is no will properly so-called without freedom.
Man is therefore free to act, and as such he is animated by an
immaterial substance; that is the third article of my creed. From
these three you will easily deduce the rest, so that I need not
enumerate them.
If man is at once active and free, he acts of his own accord;
what he does freely is no part of the system marked out by Providence
and it cannot be imputed to Providence. Providence does not will
the evil that man does when he misuses the freedom given to him;
neither does Providence prevent him doing it, either because the
wrong done by so feeble a creature is as nothing in its eyes,
or because it could not prevent it without doing a greater wrong
and degrading his nature. Providence has made him free that he
may choose the good and refuse the evil. It has made him capable
of this choice if he uses rightly the faculties bestowed upon
him, but it has so strictly limited his powers that the misuse
of his freedom cannot disturb the general order. The evil that
man does reacts upon himself without affecting the system of the
world, without preventing the preservation of the human species
in spite of itself. To complain that God does not prevent us from
doing wrong is to complain because he has made man of so excellent
a nature, that he has endowed his actions with that morality by
which they are ennobled, that he has made virtue man's birthright.
Supreme happiness consists in self-content; that we may gain this
self-content we are placed upon this earth and endowed with freedom,
we are tempted by our passions and restrained by conscience. What
more could divine power itself have done on our behalf? Could
it have made our nature a contradiction, and have given the prize
of well-doing to one who was incapable of evil? To prevent a man
from wickedness, should Providence have restricted him to instinct
and made him a fool? Not so, O God of my soul, I will never reproach
thee that thou hast created me in thine own image, that I may
be free and good and happy like my Maker!
It is the abuse of our powers that makes us unhappy and wicked.
Our cares, our sorrows, our sufferings are of our own making.
Moral ills are undoubtedly the work of man, and physical ills
would be nothing but for our vices which have made us liable to
them. Has not nature made us feel our needs as a means to our
preservation! Is not bodily suffering a sign that the machine
is out of order and needs attention? Death.... Do not the wicked
poison their own life and ours? Who would wish to live for ever?
Death is the cure for the evils you bring upon yourself; nature
would not have you suffer perpetually. How few sufferings are
felt by man living in a state of primitive simplicity! His life
is almost entirely free from suffering and from passion; he neither
fears nor feels death; if he feels it, his sufferings make him
desire it; henceforth it is no evil in his eyes. If we were but
content to be ourselves we should have no cause to complain of
our lot; but in the search for an imaginary good we find a thousand
real ills. He who cannot bear a little pain must expect to suffer
greatly. If a man injures his constitution by dissipation, you
try to cure him with medicine; the ill he fears is added to the
ill he feels; the thought of death makes it horrible and hastens
its approach; the more we seek to escape from it, the more we
are aware of it; and we go through life in the fear of death,
blaming nature for the evils we have inflicted on ourselves by
our neglect of her laws.
O Man! seek no further for the author of evil; thou art he. There
is no evil but the evil you do or the evil you suffer, and both
come from yourself. Evil in general can only spring from disorder,
and in the order of the world I find a never failing system. Evil
in particular cases exists only in the mind of those who experience
it; and this feeling is not the gift of nature, but the work of
man himself. Pain has little power over those who, having thought
little, look neither before nor after. Take away our fatal progress,
take away our faults and our vices, take away man's handiwork,
and all is well.
Where all is well, there is no such thing as injustice. Justice
and goodness are inseparable; now goodness is the necessary result
of boundless power and of that self-love which is innate in all
sentient beings. The omnipotent projects himself, so to speak,
into the being of his creatures. Creation and preservation are
the everlasting work of power; it does not act on that which has
no existence; God is not the God of the dead; he could not harm
and destroy without injury to himself. The omnipotent can only
will what is good. [Footnote: The ancients were right when they
called the supreme God Optimus Maximus, but it would have been
better to say Maximus Optimus, for his goodness springs from his
power, he is good because he is great.] Therefore he who is supremely
good, because he is supremely powerful, must also be supremely
just, otherwise he would contradict himself; for that love of
order which creates order we call goodness and that love of order
which preserves order we call justice.
Men say God owes nothing to his creatures. I think he owes them
all he promised when he gave them their being. Now to give them
the idea of something good and to make them feel the need of it,
is to promise it to them. The more closely I study myself, the
more carefully I consider, the more plainly do I read these words,
"Be just and you will be happy." It is not so, however,
in the present condition of things, the wicked prospers and the
oppression of the righteous continues. Observe how angry we are
when this expectation is disappointed. Conscience revolts and
murmurs against her Creator; she exclaims with cries and groans,
"Thou hast deceived me."
"I have deceived thee, rash soul! Who told thee this? Is
thy soul destroyed? Hast thou ceased to exist? O Brutus! O my
son! let there be no stain upon the close of thy noble life; do
not abandon thy hope and thy glory with thy corpse upon the plains
of Philippi. Why dost thou say, 'Virtue is naught,' when thou
art about to enjoy the reward of virtue? Thou art about to die!
Nay, thou shalt live, and thus my promise is fulfilled."
One might judge from the complaints of impatient men that God
owes them the reward before they have deserved it, that he is
bound to pay for virtue in advance. Oh! let us first be good and
then we shall be happy. Let us not claim the prize before we have
won it, nor demand our wages before we have finished our work.
"It is not in the lists that we crown the victors in the
sacred games," says Plutarch, "it is when they have
finished their course."
If the soul is immaterial, it may survive the body; and if it
so survives, Providence is justified. Had I no other proof of
the immaterial nature of the soul, the triumph of the wicked and
the oppression of the righteous in this world would be enough
to convince me. I should seek to resolve so appalling a discord
in the universal harmony. I should say to myself, "All is
not over with life, everything finds its place at death."
I should still have to answer the question, "What becomes
of man when all we know of him through our senses has vanished?"
This question no longer presents any difficulty to me when I admit
the two substances. It is easy to understand that what is imperceptible
to those senses escapes me, during my bodily life, when I perceive
through my senses only. When the union of soul and body is destroyed,
I think one may be dissolved and the other may be preserved. Why
should the destruction of the one imply the destruction of the
other? On the contrary, so unlike in their nature, they were during
their union in a highly unstable condition, and when this union
comes to an end they both return to their natural state; the active
vital substance regains all the force which it expended to set
in motion the passive dead substance. Alas! my vices make me only
too well aware that man is but half alive during this life; the
life of the soul only begins with the death of the body.
But what is that life? Is the soul of man in its nature immortal?
I know not. My finite understanding cannot hold the infinite;
what is called eternity eludes my grasp. What can I assert or
deny, how can I reason with regard to what I cannot conceive?
I believe that the soul survives the body for the maintenance
of order; who knows if this is enough to make it eternal? However,
I know that the body is worn out and destroyed by the division
of its parts, but I cannot conceive a similar destruction of the
conscious nature, and as I cannot imagine how it can die, I presume
that it does not die. As this assumption is consoling and in itself
not unreasonable, why should I fear to accept it?
I am aware of my soul; it is known to me in feeling and in thought;
I know what it is without knowing its essence; I cannot reason
about ideas which are unknown to me. What I do know is this, that
my personal identity depends upon memory, and that to be indeed
the same self I must remember that I have existed. Now after death
I could not recall what I was when alive unless I also remembered
what I felt and therefore what I did; and I have no doubt that
this remembrance will one day form the happiness of the good and
the torment of the bad. In this world our inner consciousness
is absorbed by the crowd of eager passions which cheat remorse.
The humiliation and disgrace involved in the practice of virtue
do not permit us to realise its charm. But when, freed from the
illusions of the bodily senses, we behold with joy the supreme
Being and the eternal truths which flow from him; when all the
powers of our soul are alive to the beauty of order and we are
wholly occupied in comparing what we have done with what we ought
to have done, then it is that the voice of conscience will regain
its strength and sway; then it is that the pure delight which
springs from self-content, and the sharp regret for our own degradation
of that self, will decide by means of overpowering feeling what
shall be the fate which each has prepared for himself. My good
friend, do not ask me whether there are other sources of happiness
or suffering; I cannot tell; that which my fancy pictures is enough
to console me in this life and to bid me look for a life to come.
I do not say the good will be rewarded, for what greater good
can a truly good being expect than to exist in accordance with
his nature? But I do assert that the good will be happy, because
their maker, the author of all justice, who has made them capable
of feeling, has not made them that they may suffer; moreover,
they have not abused their freedom upon earth and they have not
changed their fate through any fault of their own; yet they have
suffered in this life and it will be made up to them in the life
to come. This feeling relies not so much on man's deserts as on
the idea of good which seems to me inseparable from the divine
essence. I only assume that the laws of order are constant and
that God is true to himself.
Do not ask me whether the torments of the wicked will endure for
ever, whether the goodness of their creator can condemn them to
the eternal suffering; again, I cannot tell, and I have no empty
curiosity for the investigation of useless problems. How does
the fate of the wicked concern me? I take little interest in it.
All the same I find it hard to believe that they will be condemned
to everlasting torments. If the supreme justice calls for vengeance,
it claims it in this life. The nations of the world with their
errors are its ministers. Justice uses self-inflicted ills to
punish the crimes which have deserved them. It is in your own
insatiable souls, devoured by envy, greed, and ambition, it is
in the midst of your false prosperity, that the avenging passions
find the due reward of your crimes. What need to seek a hell in
the future life? It is here in the breast of the wicked.
When our fleeting needs are over, and our mad desires are at rest,
there should also be an end of our passions and our crimes. Can
pure spirits be capable of any perversity? Having need of nothing,
why should they be wicked? If they are free from our gross senses,
if their happiness consists in the contemplation of other beings,
they can only desire what is good; and he who ceases to be bad
can never be miserable. This is what I am inclined to think though
I have not been at the pains to come to any decision. O God, merciful
and good, whatever thy decrees may be I adore them; if thou shouldst
commit the wicked to everlasting punishment, I abandon my feeble
reason to thy justice; but if the remorse of these wretched beings
should in the course of time be extinguished, if their sufferings
should come to an end, and if the same peace shall one day be
the lot of all mankind, I give thanks to thee for this. Is not
the wicked my brother? How often have I been tempted to be like
him? Let him be delivered from his misery and freed from the spirit
of hatred that accompanied it; let him be as happy as I myself;
his happiness, far from arousing my jealousy, will only increase
my own.
Thus it is that, in the contemplation of God in his works, and
in the study of such of his attributes as it concerned me to know,
I have slowly grasped and developed the idea, at first partial
and imperfect, which I have formed of this Infinite Being. But
if this idea has become nobler and greater it is also more suited
to the human reason. As I approach in spirit the eternal light,
I am confused and dazzled by its glory, and compelled to abandon
all the earthly notions which helped me to picture it to myself.
God is no longer corporeal and sensible; the supreme mind which
rules the world is no longer the world itself; in vain do I strive
to grasp his inconceivable essence. When I think that it is he
that gives life and movement to the living and moving substance
which controls all living bodies; when I hear it said that my
soul is spiritual and that God is a spirit, I revolt against this
abasement of the divine essence; as if God and my soul were of
one and the same nature! As if God were not the one and only absolute
being, the only really active, feeling, thinking, willing being,
from whom we derive our thought, feeling, motion, will, our freedom
and our very existence! We are free because he wills our freedom,
and his inexplicable substance is to our souls what our souls
are to our bodies. I know not whether he has created matter, body,
soul, the world itself. The idea of creation confounds me and
eludes my grasp; so far as I can conceive of it I believe it;
but I know that he has formed the universe and all that is, that
he has made and ordered all things. No doubt God is eternal; but
can my mind grasp the idea of eternity? Why should I cheat myself
with meaningless words? This is what I do understand; before things
were--God was; he will be when they are no more, and if all things
come to an end he will still endure. That a being beyond my comprehension
should give life to other beings, this is merely difficult and
beyond my understanding; but that Being and Nothing should be
convertible terms, this is indeed a palpable contradiction, an
evident absurdity.
God is intelligent, but how? Man is intelligent when he reasons,
but the Supreme Intelligence does not need to reason; there is
neither premise nor conclusion for him, there is not even a proposition.
The Supreme Intelligence is wholly intuitive, it sees what is
and what shall be; all truths are one for it, as all places are
but one point and all time but one moment. Man's power makes use
of means, the divine power is self-active. God can because he
wills; his will is his power. God is good; this is certain; but
man finds his happiness in the welfare of his kind. God's happiness
consists in the love of order; for it is through order that he
maintains what is, and unites each part in the whole. God is just;
of this I am sure, it is a consequence of his goodness; man's
injustice is not God's work, but his own; that moral justice which
seems to the philosophers a presumption against Providence, is
to me a proof of its existence. But man's justice consists in
giving to each his due; God's justice consists in demanding from
each of us an account of that which he has given us.
If I have succeeded in discerning these attributes of which I
have no absolute idea, it is in the form of unavoidable deductions,
and by the right use of my reason; but I affirm them without understanding
them, and at bottom that is no affirmation at all. In vain do
I say, God is thus, I feel it, I experience it, none the more
do I understand how God can be thus.
In a word: the more I strive to envisage his infinite essence
the less do I comprehend it; but it is, and that is enough for
me; the less I understand, the more I adore. I abase myself, saying,
"Being of beings, I am because thou art; to fix my thoughts
on thee is to ascend to the source of my being. The best use I
can make of my reason is to resign it before thee; my mind delights,
my weakness rejoices, to feel myself overwhelmed by thy greatness."
Having thus deduced from the perception of objects of sense and
from my inner consciousness, which leads me to judge of causes
by my native reason, the principal truths which I require to know,
I must now seek such principles of conduct as I can draw from
them, and such rules as I must lay down for my guidance in the
fulfilment of my destiny in this world, according to the purpose
of my Maker. Still following the same method, I do not derive
these rules from the principles of the higher philosophy, I find
them in the depths of my heart, traced by nature in characters
which nothing can efface. I need only consult myself with regard
to what I wish to do; what I feel to be right is right, what I
feel to be wrong is wrong; conscience is the best casuist; and
it is only when we haggle with conscience that we have recourse
to the subtleties of argument. Our first duty is towards ourself;
yet how often does the voice of others tell us that in seeking
our good at the expense of others we are doing ill? We think we
are following the guidance of nature, and we are resisting it;
we listen to what she says to our senses, and we neglect what
she says to our heart; the active being obeys, the passive commands.
Conscience is the voice of the soul, the passions are the voice
of the body. It is strange that these voices often contradict
each other? And then to which should we give heed? Too often does
reason deceive us; we have only too good a right to doubt her;
but conscience never deceives us; she is the true guide of man;
it is to the soul what instinct is to the body, [Footnote: Modern
philosophy, which only admits what it can understand, is careful
not to admit this obscure power called instinct which seems to
guide the animals to some end without any acquired experience.
Instinct, according to some of our wise philosophers, is only
a secret habit of reflection, acquired by reflection; and from
the way in which they explain this development one ought to suppose
that children reflect more than grown-up people: a paradox strange
enough to be worth examining. Without entering upon this discussion
I must ask what name I shall give to the eagerness with which
my dog makes war on the moles he does not eat, or to the patience
with which he sometimes watches them for hours and the skill with
which he seizes them, throws them to a distance from their earth
as soon as they emerge, and then kills them and leaves them. Yet
no one has trained him to this sport, nor even told him there
were such things as moles. Again, I ask, and this is a more important
question, why, when I threatened this same dog for the first time,
why did he throw himself on the ground with his paws folded, in
such a suppliant attitude .....calculated to touch me, a position
which he would have maintained if, without being touched by it,
I had continued to beat him in that position? What! Had my dog,
little more than a puppy, acquired moral ideas? Did he know the
meaning of mercy and generosity? By what acquired knowledge did
he seek to appease my wrath by yielding to my discretion? Every
dog in the world does almost the same thing in similar circumstances,
and I am asserting nothing but what any one can verify for himself.
Will the philosophers, who so scornfully reject instinct, kindly
explain this fact by the mere play of sensations and experience
which they assume we have acquired? Let them give an account of
it which will satisfy any sensible man; in that case I have nothing
further to urge, and I will say no more of instinct.] he who obeys
his conscience is following nature and he need not fear that he
will go astray. This is a matter of great importance, continued
my benefactor, seeing that I was about to interrupt him; let me
stop awhile to explain it more fully.
The morality of our actions consists entirely in the judgments
we ourselves form with regard to them. If good is good, it must
be good in the depth of our heart as well as in our actions; and
the first reward of justice is the consciousness that we are acting
justly. If moral goodness is in accordance with our nature, man
can only be healthy in mind and body when he is good. If it is
not so, and if man is by nature evil, he cannot cease to be evil
without corrupting his nature, and goodness in him is a crime
against nature. If he is made to do harm to his fellow-creatures,
as the wolf is made to devour his prey, a humane man would be
as depraved a creature as a pitiful wolf; and virtue alone would
cause remorse.
My young friend, let us look within, let us set aside all personal
prejudices and see whither our inclinations lead us. Do we take
more pleasure in the sight of the sufferings of others or their
joys? Is it pleasanter to do a kind action or an unkind action,
and which leaves the more delightful memory behind it? Why do
you enjoy the theatre? Do you delight in the crimes you behold?
Do you weep over the punishment which overtakes the criminal?
They say we are indifferent to everything but self-interest; yet
we find our consolation in our sufferings in the charms of friendship
and humanity, and even in our pleasures we should be too lonely
and miserable if we had no one to share them with us. If there
is no such thing as morality in man's heart, what is the source
of his rapturous admiration of noble deeds, his passionate devotion
to great men? What connection is there between self-interest and
this enthusiasm for virtue? Why should I choose to be Cato dying
by his own hand, rather than Caesar in his triumphs? Take from
our hearts this love of what is noble and you rob us of the joy
of life. The mean-spirited man in whom these delicious feelings
have been stifled among vile passions, who by thinking of no one
but himself comes at last to love no one but himself, this man
feels no raptures, his cold heart no longer throbs with joy, and
his eyes no longer fill with the sweet tears of sympathy, he delights
in nothing; the wretch has neither life nor feeling, he is already
dead.
There are many bad men in this world, but there are few of these
dead souls, alive only to self-interest, and insensible to all
that is right and good. We only delight in injustice so long as
it is to our own advantage; in every other case we wish the innocent
to be protected. If we see some act of violence or injustice in
town or country, our hearts are at once stirred to their depths
by an instinctive anger and wrath, which bids us go to the help
of the oppressed; but we are restrained by a stronger duty, and
the law deprives us of our right to protect the innocent. On the
other hand, if some deed of mercy or generosity meets our eye,
what reverence and love does it inspire! Do we not say to ourselves,
"I should like to have done that myself"? What does
it matter to us that two thousand years ago a man was just or
unjust? and yet we take the same interest in ancient history as
if it happened yesterday. What are the crimes of Cataline to me?
I shall not be his victim. Why then have I the same horror of
his crimes as if he were living now? We do not hate the wicked
merely because of the harm they do to ourselves, but because they
are wicked. Not only do we wish to be happy ourselves, we wish
others to be happy too, and if this happiness does not interfere
with our own happiness, it increases it. In conclusion, whether
we will or not, we pity the unfortunate; when we see their suffering
we suffer too. Even the most depraved are not wholly without this
instinct, and it often leads them to self-contradiction. The highwayman
who robs the traveller, clothes the nakedness of the poor; the
fiercest murderer supports a fainting man.
Men speak of the voice of remorse, the secret punishment of hidden
crimes, by which such are often brought to light. Alas! who does
not know its unwelcome voice? We speak from experience, and we
would gladly stifle this imperious feeling which causes us such
agony. Let us obey the call of nature; we shall see that her yoke
is easy and that when we give heed to her voice we find a joy
in the answer of a good conscience. The wicked fears and flees
from her; he delights to escape from himself; his anxious eyes
look around him for some object of diversion; without bitter satire
and rude mockery he would always be sorrowful; the scornful laugh
is his one pleasure. Not so the just man, who finds his peace
within himself; there is joy not malice in his laughter, a joy
which springs from his own heart; he is as cheerful alone as in
company, his satisfaction does not depend on those who approach
him; it includes them.
Cast your eyes over every nation of the world; peruse every volume
of its history; in the midst of all these strange and cruel forms
of worship, among this amazing variety of manners and customs,
you will everywhere find the same ideas of right and justice;
everywhere the same principles of morality, the same ideas of
good and evil. The old paganism gave birth to abominable gods
who would have been punished as scoundrels here below, gods who
merely offered, as a picture of supreme happiness, crimes to be
committed and lust to be gratified. But in vain did vice descend
from the abode of the gods armed with their sacred authority;
the moral instinct refused to admit it into the heart of man.
While the debaucheries of Jupiter were celebrated, the continence
of Xenocrates was revered; the chaste Lucrece adored the shameless
Venus; the bold Roman offered sacrifices to Fear; he invoked the
god who mutilated his father, and he died without a murmur at
the hand of his own father. The most unworthy gods were worshipped
by the noblest men. The sacred voice of nature was stronger than
the voice of the gods, and won reverence upon earth; it seemed
to relegate guilt and the guilty alike to heaven.
There is therefore at the bottom of our hearts an innate principle
of justice and virtue, by which, in spite of our maxims, we judge
our own actions or those of others to be good or evil; and it
is this principle that I call conscience.
But at this word I hear the murmurs of all the wise men so-called.
Childish errors, prejudices of our upbringing, they exclaim in
concert! There is nothing in the human mind but what it has gained
by experience; and we judge everything solely by means of the
ideas we have acquired. They go further; they even venture to
reject the clear and universal agreement of all peoples, and to
set against this striking unanimity in the judgment of mankind,
they seek out some obscure exception known to themselves alone;
as if the whole trend of nature were rendered null by the depravity
of a single nation, and as if the existence of monstrosities made
an end of species. But to what purpose does the sceptic Montaigne
strive himself to unearth in some obscure corner of the world
a custom which is contrary to the ideas of justice? To what purpose
does he credit the most untrustworthy travellers, while he refuses
to believe the greatest writers? A few strange and doubtful customs,
based on local causes, unknown to us; shall these destroy a general
inference based on the agreement of all the nations of the earth,
differing from each other in all else, but agreed in this? O Montaigne,
you pride yourself on your truth and honesty; be sincere and truthful,
if a philosopher can be so, and tell me if there is any country
upon earth where it is a crime to keep one's plighted word, to
be merciful, helpful, and generous, where the good man is scorned,
and the traitor is held in honour.
Self-interest, so they say, induces each of us to agree for the
common good. But bow is it that the good man consents to this
to his own hurt? Does a man go to death from self-interest? No
doubt each man acts for his own good, but if there is no such
thing as moral good to be taken into consideration, self-interest
will only enable you to account for the deeds of the wicked; possibly
you will not attempt to do more. A philosophy which could find
no place for good deeds would be too detestable; you would find
yourself compelled either to find some mean purpose, some wicked
motive, or to abuse Socrates and slander Regulus. If such doctrines
ever took root among us, the voice of nature, together with the
voice of reason, would constantly protest against them, till no
adherent of such teaching could plead an honest excuse for his
partisanship.
It is no part of my scheme to enter at present into metaphysical
discussions which neither you nor I can understand, discussions
which really lead nowhere. I have told you already that I do not
wish to philosophise with you, but to help you to consult your
own heart. If all the philosophers in the world should prove that
I am wrong, and you feel that I am right, that is all I ask.
For this purpose it is enough to lead you to distinguish between
our acquired ideas and our natural feelings; for feeling precedes
knowledge; and since we do not learn to seek what is good for
us and avoid what is bad for us, but get this desire from nature,
in the same way the love of good and the hatred of evil are as
natural to us as our self-love. The decrees of conscience are
not judgments but feelings. Although all our ideas come from without,
the feelings by which they are weighed are within us, and it is
by these feelings alone that we perceive fitness or unfitness
of things in relation to ourselves, which leads us to seek or
shun these things.
To exist is to feel; our feeling is undoubtedly earlier than our
intelligence, and we had feelings before we had ideas.[Footnote:
In some respects ideas are feelings and feelings are ideas. Both
terms are appropriate to any perception with which we are concerned,
appropriate both to the object of that perception and to ourselves
who are affected by it; it is merely the order in which we are
affected which decides the appropriate term. When we are chiefly
concerned with the object and only think of ourselves as it were
by reflection, that is an idea; when, on the other hand, the impression
received excites our chief attention and we only think in the
second place of the object which caused it, it is a feeling.]
Whatever may be the cause of our being, it has provided for our
preservation by giving us feelings suited to our nature; and no
one can deny that these at least are innate. These feelings, so
far as the individual is concerned, are self-love, fear, pain,
the dread of death, the desire for comfort. Again, if, as it is
impossible to doubt, man is by nature sociable, or at least fitted
to become sociable, he can only be so by means of other innate
feelings, relative to his kind; for if only physical well-being
were considered, men would certainly be scattered rather than
brought together. But the motive power of conscience is derived
from the moral system formed through this twofold relation to
himself and to his fellow-men. To know good is not to love it;
this knowledge is not innate in man; but as soon as his reason
leads him to perceive it, his conscience impels him to love it;
it is this feeling which is innate.
So I do not think, my young friend, that it is impossible to explain
the immediate force of conscience as a result of our own nature,
independent of reason itself. And even should it be impossible,
it is unnecessary; for those who deny this principle, admitted
and received by everybody else in the world, do not prove that
there is no such thing; they are content to affirm, and when we
affirm its existence we have quite as good grounds as they, while
we have moreover the witness within us, the voice of conscience,
which speaks on its own behalf. If the first beams of judgment
dazzle us and confuse the objects we behold, let us wait till
our feeble sight grows clear and strong, and in the light of reason
we shall soon behold these very objects as nature has already
showed them to us. Or rather let us be simpler and less pretentious;
let us be content with the first feelings we experience in ourselves,
since science always brings us back to these, unless it has led
us astray.
Conscience! Conscience! Divine instinct, immortal voice from heaven;
sure guide for a creature ignorant and finite indeed, yet intelligent
and free; infallible judge of good and evil, making man like to
God! In thee consists the excellence of man's nature and the morality
of his actions; apart from thee, I find nothing in myself to raise
me above the beasts--nothing but the sad privilege of wandering
from one error to another, by the help of an unbridled understanding
and a reason which knows no principle.
Thank heaven we have now got rid of all that alarming show of
philosophy; we may be men without being scholars; now that we
need not spend our life in the study of morality, we have found
a less costly and surer guide through this vast labyrinth of human
thought. But it is not enough to be aware that there is such a
guide; we must know her and follow her. If she speaks to all hearts,
how is it that so few give heed to her voice? She speaks to us
in the language of nature, and everything leads us to forget that
tongue. Conscience is timid, she loves peace and retirement; she
is startled by noise and numbers; the prejudices from which she
is said to arise are her worst enemies. She flees before them
or she is silent; their noisy voices drown her words, so that
she cannot get a hearing; fanaticism dares to counterfeit her
voice and to inspire crimes in her name. She is discouraged by
ill-treatment; she no longer speaks to us, no longer answers to
our call; when she has been scorned so long, it is as hard to
recall her as it was to banish her.
How often in the course of my inquiries have I grown weary of
my own coldness of heart! How often have grief and weariness poured
their poison into my first meditations and made them hateful to
me! My barren heart yielded nothing but a feeble zeal and a lukewarm
love of truth. I said to myself: Why should I strive to find what
does not exist? Moral good is a dream, the pleasures of sense
are the only real good. When once we have lost the taste for the
pleasures of the soul, how hard it is to recover it! How much
more difficult to acquire it if we have never possessed it! If
there were any man so wretched as never to have done anything
all his life long which he could remember with pleasure, and which
would make him glad to have lived, that man would be incapable
of self-knowledge, and for want of knowledge of goodness, of which
his nature is capable, he would be constrained to remain in his
wickedness and would be for ever miserable. But do you think there
is any one man upon earth so depraved that he has never yielded
to the temptation of well-doing? This temptation is so natural,
so pleasant, that it is impossible always to resist it; and the
thought of the pleasure it has once afforded is enough to recall
it constantly to our memory. Unluckily it is hard at first to
find satisfaction for it; we have any number of reasons for refusing
to follow the inclinations of our heart; prudence, so called,
restricts the heart within the limits of the self; a thousand
efforts are needed to break these bonds. The joy of well-doing
is the prize of having done well, and we must deserve the prize
before we win it. There is nothing sweeter than virtue; but we
do not know this till we have tried it. Like Proteus in the fable,
she first assumes a thousand terrible shapes when we would embrace
her, and only shows her true self to those who refuse to let her
go.
Ever at strife between my natural feelings, which spoke of the
common weal, and my reason, which spoke of self, I should have
drifted through life in perpetual uncertainty, hating evil, loving
good, and always at war with myself, if my heart had not received
further light, if that truth which determined my opinions had
not also settled my conduct, and set me at peace with myself.
Reason alone is not a sufficient foundation for virtue; what solid
ground can be found? Virtue we are told is love of order. But
can this love prevail over my love for my own well-being, and
ought it so to prevail? Let them give me clear and sufficient
reason for this preference. Their so-called principle is in truth
a mere playing with words; for I also say that vice is love of
order, differently understood. Wherever there is feeling and intelligence,
there is some sort of moral order. The difference is this: the
good man orders his life with regard to all men; the wicked orders
it for self alone. The latter centres all things round himself;
the other measures his radius and remains on the circumference.
Thus his place depends on the common centre, which is God, and
on all the concentric circles which are His creatures. If there
is no God, the wicked is right and the good man is nothing but
a fool.
My child! May you one day feel what a burden is removed when,
having fathomed the vanity of human thoughts and tasted the bitterness
of passion, you find at length near at hand the path of wisdom,
the prize of this life's labours, the source of that happiness
which you despaired of. Every duty of natural law, which man's
injustice had almost effaced from my heart, is engraven there,
for the second time in the name of that eternal justice which
lays these duties upon me and beholds my fulfilment of them. I
feel myself merely the instrument of the Omnipotent, who wills
what is good, who performs it, who will bring about my own good
through the co-operation of my will with his own, and by the right
use of my liberty. I acquiesce in the order he establishes, certain
that one day I shall enjoy that order and find my happiness in
it; for what sweeter joy is there than this, to feel oneself a
part of a system where all is good? A prey to pain, I bear it
in patience, remembering that it will soon be over, and that it
results from a body which is not mine. If I do a good deed in
secret, I know that it is seen, and my conduct in this life is
a pledge of the life to come. When I suffer injustice, I say to
myself, the Almighty who does all things well will reward me:
my bodily needs, my poverty, make the idea of death less intolerable.
There will be all the fewer bonds to be broken when my hour comes.
Why is my soul subjected to my senses, and imprisoned in this
body by which it is enslaved and thwarted? I know not; have I
entered into the counsels of the Almighty? But I may, without
rashness, venture on a modest conjecture. I say to myself: If
man's soul had remained in a state of freedom and innocence, what
merit would there have been in loving and obeying the order he
found established, an order which it would not have been to his
advantage to disturb? He would be happy, no doubt, but his happiness
would not attain to the highest point, the pride of virtue, and
the witness of a good conscience within him; he would be but as
the angels are, and no doubt the good man will be more than they.
Bound to a mortal body, by bonds as strange as they are powerful,
his care for the preservation of this body tempts the soul to
think only of self, and gives it an interest opposed to the general
order of things, which it is still capable of knowing and loving;
then it is that the right use of his freedom becomes at once the
merit and the reward; then it is that it prepares for itself unending
happiness, by resisting its earthly passions and following its
original direction.
If even in the lowly position in which we are placed during our
present life our first impulses are always good, if all our vices
are of our own making, why should we complain that they are our
masters? Why should we blame the Creator for the ills we have
ourselves created, and the enemies we ourselves have armed against
us? Oh, let us leave man unspoilt; he will always find it easy
to be good and he will always be happy without remorse. The guilty,
who assert that they are driven to crime, are liars as well as
evil-doers; how is it that they fail to perceive that the weakness
they bewail is of their own making; that their earliest depravity
was the result of their own will; that by dint of wishing to yield
to temptations, they at length yield to them whether they will
or no and make them irresistible? No doubt they can no longer
avoid being weak and wicked, but they need not have become weak
and wicked. Oh, how easy would it be to preserve control of ourselves
and of our passions, even in this life, if with habits still unformed,
with a mind beginning to expand, we were able to keep to such
things as we ought to know, in order to value rightly what is
unknown; if we really wished to learn, not that we might shine
before the eyes of others, but that we might be wise and good
in accordance with our nature, that we might be happy in the performance
of our duty. This study seems tedious and painful to us, for we
do not attempt it till we are already corrupted by vice and enslaved
by our passions. Our judgments and our standards of worth are
determined before we have the knowledge of good and evil; and
then we measure all things by this false standard, and give nothing
its true worth.
There is an age when the heart is still free, but eager, unquiet,
greedy of a happiness which is still unknown, a happiness which
it seeks in curiosity and doubt; deceived by the senses it settles
at length upon the empty show of happiness and thinks it has found
it where it is not. In my own case these illusions endured for
a long time. Alas! too late did I become aware of them, and I
have not succeeded in overcoming them altogether; they will last
as long as this mortal body from which they arise. If they lead
me astray, I am at least no longer deceived by them; I know them
for what they are, and even when I give way to them, I despise
myself; far from regarding them as the goal of my happiness, I
behold in them an obstacle to it. I long for the time when, freed
from the fetters of the body, I shall be myself, at one with myself,
no longer torn in two, when I myself shall suffice for my own
happiness. Meanwhile I am happy even in this life, for I make
small account of all its evils, in which I regard myself as having
little or no part, while all the real good that I can get out
of this life depends on myself alone.
To raise myself so far as may be even now to this state of happiness,
strength, and freedom, I exercise myself in lofty contemplation.
I consider the order of the universe, not to explain it by any
futile system, but to revere it without ceasing, to adore the
wise Author who reveals himself in it. I hold intercourse with
him; I immerse all my powers in his divine essence; I am overwhelmed
by his kindness, I bless him and his gifts, but I do not pray
to him. What should I ask of him--to change the order of nature,
to work miracles on my behalf? Should I, who am bound to love
above all things the order which he has established in his wisdom
and maintained by his providence, should I desire the disturbance
of that order on my own account? No, that rash prayer would deserve
to be punished rather than to be granted. Neither do I ask of
him the power to do right; why should I ask what he has given
me already? Has he not given me conscience that I may love the
right, reason that I may perceive it, and freedom that I may choose
it? If I do evil, I have no excuse; I do it of my own free will;
to ask him to change my will is to ask him to do what he asks
of me; it is to want him to do the work while I get the wages;
to be dissatisfied with my lot is to wish to be no longer a man,
to wish to be other than what I am, to wish for disorder and evil.
Thou source of justice and truth, merciful and gracious God, in
thee do I trust, and the desire of my heart is--Thy will be done.
When I unite my will with thine, I do what thou doest; I have
a share in thy goodness; I believe that I enjoy beforehand the
supreme happiness which is the reward of goodness.
In my well-founded self-distrust the only thing that I ask of
God, or rather expect from his justice, is to correct my error
if I go astray, if that error is dangerous to me. To be honest
I need not think myself infallible; my opinions, which seem to
me true, may be so many lies; for what man is there who does not
cling to his own beliefs; and how many men are agreed in everything?
The illusion which deceives me may indeed have its source in myself,
but it is God alone who can remove it. I have done all I can to
attain to truth; but its source is beyond my reach; is it my fault
if my strength fails me and I can go no further; it is for Truth
to draw near to me.
The good priest had spoken with passion; he and I were overcome
with emotion. It seemed to me as if I were listening to the divine
Orpheus when he sang the earliest hymns and taught men the worship
of the gods. I saw any number of objections which might be raised;
yet I raised none, for I perceived that they were more perplexing
than serious, and that my inclination took his part. When he spoke
to me according to his conscience, my own seemed to confirm what
he said.
"The novelty of the sentiments you have made known to me,"
said I, "strikes me all the more because of what you confess
you do not know, than because of what you say you believe. They
seem to be very like that theism or natural religion, which Christians
profess to confound with atheism or irreligion which is their
exact opposite. But in the present state of my faith I should
have to ascend rather than descend to accept your views, and I
find it difficult to remain just where you are unless I were as
wise as you. That I may be at least as honest, I want time to
take counsel with myself. By your own showing, the inner voice
must be my guide, and you have yourself told me that when it has
long been silenced it cannot be recalled in a moment. I take what
you have said to heart, and I must consider it. If after I have
thought things out, I am as convinced as you are, you will be
my final teacher, and I will be your disciple till death. Continue
your teaching however; you have only told me half what I must
know. Speak to me of revelation, of the Scriptures, of those difficult
doctrines among which I have strayed ever since I was a child,
incapable either of understanding or believing them, unable to
adopt or reject them."
"Yes, my child," said he, embracing me, "I will
tell you all I think; I will not open my heart to you by halves;
but the desire you express was necessary before I could cast aside
all reserve. So far I have told you nothing but what I thought
would be of service to you, nothing but what I was quite convinced
of. The inquiry which remains to be made is very difficult. It
seems to me full of perplexity, mystery, and darkness; I bring
to it only doubt and distrust. I make up my mind with trembling,
and I tell you my doubts rather than my convictions. If your own
opinions were more settled I should hesitate to show you mine;
but in your present condition, to think like me would be gain.
[Footnote: I think the worthy clergyman might say this at the
present time to the general public.] Moreover, give to my words
only the authority of reason; I know not whether I am mistaken.
It is difficult in discussion to avoid assuming sometimes a dogmatic
tone; but remember in this respect that all my assertions are
but reasons to doubt me. Seek truth for yourself, for my own part
I only promise you sincerity.
"In my exposition you find nothing but natural religion;
strange that we should need more! How shall I become aware of
this need? What guilt can be mine so long as I serve God according
to the knowledge he has given to my mind, and the feelings he
has put into my heart? What purity of morals, what dogma useful
to man and worthy of its author, can I derive from a positive
doctrine which cannot be derived without the aid of this doctrine
by the right use of my faculties? Show me what you can add to
the duties of the natural law, for the glory of God, for the good
of mankind, and for my own welfare; and what virtue you will get
from the new form of religion which does not result from mine.
The grandest ideas of the Divine nature come to us from reason
only. Behold the spectacle of nature; listen to the inner voice.
Has not God spoken it all to our eyes, to our conscience, to our
reason? What more can man tell us? Their revelations do but degrade
God, by investing him with passions like our own. Far from throwing
light upon the ideas of the Supreme Being, special doctrines seem
to me to confuse these ideas; far from ennobling them, they degrade
them; to the inconceivable mysteries which surround the Almighty,
they add absurd contradictions, they make man proud, intolerant,
and cruel; instead of bringing peace upon earth, they bring fire
and sword. I ask myself what is the use of it all, and I find
no answer. I see nothing but the crimes of men and the misery
of mankind.
"They tell me a revelation was required to teach men how
God would be served; as a proof of this they point to the many
strange rites which men have instituted, and they do not perceive
that this very diversity springs from the fanciful nature of the
revelations. As soon as the nations took to making God speak,
every one made him speak in his own fashion, and made him say
what he himself wanted. Had they listened only to what God says
in the heart of man, there would have been but one religion upon
earth.
"One form of worship was required; just so, but was this
a matter of such importance as to require all the power of the
Godhead to establish it? Do not let us confuse the outward forms
of religion with religion itself. The service God requires is
of the heart; and when the heart is sincere that is ever the same.
It is a strange sort of conceit which fancies that God takes such
an interest in the shape of the priest's vestments, the form of
words he utters, the gestures he makes before the altar and all
his genuflections. Oh, my friend, stand upright, you will still
be too near the earth. God desires to be worshipped in spirit
and in truth; this duty belongs to every religion, every country,
every individual. As to the form of worship, if order demands
uniformity, that is only a matter of discipline and needs no revelation.
"These thoughts did not come to me to begin with. Carried
away by the prejudices of my education, and by that dangerous
vanity which always strives to lift man out of his proper sphere,
when I could not raise my feeble thoughts up to the great Being,
I tried to bring him down to my own level. I tried to reduce the
distance he has placed between his nature and mine. I desired
more immediate relations, more individual instruction; not content
to make God in the image of man that I might be favoured above
my fellows, I desired supernatural knowledge; I required a special
form of worship; I wanted God to tell me what he had not told
others, or what others had not understood like myself.
"Considering the point I had now reached as the common centre
from which all believers set out on the quest for a more enlightened
form of religion, I merely found in natural religion the elements
of all religion. I beheld the multitude of diverse sects which
hold sway upon earth, each of which accuses the other of falsehood
and error; which of these, I asked, is the right? Every one replied,
'My own;' every one said, 'I alone and those who agree with me
think rightly, all the others are mistaken.' And how do you know
that your sect is in the right? Because God said so. And how do
you know God said so? [Footnote: "All men," said a wise
and good priest, "maintain that they hold and believe their
religion (and all use the same jargon), not of man, nor of any
creature, but of God. But to speak truly, without pretence or
flattery, none of them do so; whatever they may say, religions
are taught by human hands and means; take, for example, the way
in which religions have been received by the world, the way in
which they are still received every day by individuals; the nation,
the country, the locality gives the religion; we belong to the
religion of the place where we are born and brought up; we are
baptised or circumcised, we are Christians, Jews, Mohametans before
we know that we are men; we do not pick and choose our religion
for see how ill the life and conduct agree with the religion,
see for what slight and human causes men go against the teaching
of their religion."--Charron, De la Sagesse.--It seems clear
that the honest creed of the holy theologian of Condom would not
have differed greatly from that of the Savoyard priest.] And who
told you that God said it? My pastor, who knows all about it.
My pastor tells me what to believe and I believe it; he assures
me that any one who says anything else is mistaken, and I give
not heed to them.
"What! thought I, is not truth one; can that which is true
for me be false for you? If those who follow the right path and
those who go astray have the same method, what merit or what blame
can be assigned to one more than to the other? Their choice is
the result of chance; it is unjust to hold them responsible for
it, to reward or punish them for being born in one country or
another. To dare to say that God judges us in this manner is an
outrage on his justice.
"Either all religions are good and pleasing to God, or if
there is one which he prescribes for men, if they will be punished
for despising it, he will have distinguished it by plain and certain
signs by which it can be known as the only true religion; these
signs are alike in every time and place, equally plain to all
men, great or small, learned or unlearned, Europeans, Indians,
Africans, savages. If there were but one religion upon earth,
and if all beyond its pale were condemned to eternal punishment,
and if there were in any corner of the world one single honest
man who was not convinced by this evidence, the God of that religion
would be the most unjust and cruel of tyrants.
"Let us therefore seek honestly after truth; let us yield
nothing to the claims of birth, to the authority of parents and
pastors, but let us summon to the bar of conscience and of reason
all that they have taught us from our childhood. In vain do they
exclaim, 'Submit your reason;' a deceiver might say as much; I
must have reasons for submitting my reason.
"All the theology I can get for myself by observation of
the universe and by the use of my faculties is contained in what
I have already told you. To know more one must have recourse to
strange means. These means cannot be the authority of men, for
every man is of the same species as myself, and all that a man
knows by nature I am capable of knowing, and another may be deceived
as much as I; when I believe what he says, it is not because he
says it but because he proves its truth. The witness of man is
therefore nothing more than the witness of my own reason, and
it adds nothing to the natural means which God has given me for
the knowledge of truth.
"Apostle of truth, what have you to tell me of which I am
not the sole judge? God himself has spoken; give heed to his revelation.
That is another matter. God has spoken, these are indeed words
which demand attention. To whom has he spoken? He has spoken to
men. Why then have I heard nothing? He has instructed others to
make known his words to you. I understand; it is men who come
and tell me what God has said. I would rather have heard the words
of God himself; it would have been as easy for him and I should
have been secure from fraud. He protects you from fraud by showing
that his envoys come from him. How does he show this? By miracles.
Where are these miracles? In the books. And who wrote the books?
Men. And who saw the miracles? The men who bear witness to them.
What! Nothing but human testimony! Nothing but men who tell me
what others told them! How many men between God and me! Let us
see, however, let us examine, compare, and verify. Oh! if God
had but deigned to free me from all this labour, I would have
served him with all my heart.
"Consider, my friend, the terrible controversy in which I
am now engaged; what vast learning is required to go back to the
remotest antiquity, to examine, weigh, confront prophecies, revelations,
facts, all the monuments of faith set forth throughout the world,
to assign their date, place, authorship, and occasion. What exactness
of critical judgment is needed to distinguish genuine documents
from forgeries, to compare objections with their answers, translations
with their originals; to decide as to the impartiality of witnesses,
their common-sense, their knowledge; to make sure that nothing
has been omitted, nothing added, nothing transposed, altered,
or falsified; to point out any remaining contradictions, to determine
what weight should be given to the silence of our adversaries
with regard to the charges brought against them; how far were
they aware of those charges; did they think them sufficiently
serious to require an answer; were books sufficiently well known
for our books to reach them; have we been honest enough to allow
their books to circulate among ourselves and to leave their strongest
objections unaltered?
"When the authenticity of all these documents is accepted,
we must now pass to the evidence of their authors' mission; we
must know the laws of chance, and probability, to decide which
prophecy cannot be fulfilled without a miracle; we must know the
spirit of the original languages, to distinguish between prophecy
and figures of speech; we must know what facts are in accordance
with nature and what facts are not, so that we may say how far
a clever man may deceive the eyes of the simple and may even astonish
the learned; we must discover what are the characteristics of
a prodigy and how its authenticity may be established, not only
so far as to gain credence, but so that doubt may be deserving
of punishment; we must compare the evidence for true and false
miracles, and find sure tests to distinguish between them; lastly
we must say why God chose as a witness to his words means which
themselves require so much evidence on their behalf, as if he
were playing with human credulity, and avoiding of set purpose
the true means of persuasion.
"Assuming that the divine majesty condescends so far as to
make a man the channel of his sacred will, is it reasonable, is
it fair, to demand that the whole of mankind should obey the voice
of this minister without making him known as such? Is it just
to give him as his sole credentials certain private signs, performed
in the presence of a few obscure persons, signs which everybody
else can only know by hearsay? If one were to believe all the
miracles that the uneducated and credulous profess to have seen
in every country upon earth, every sect would be in the right;
there would be more miracles than ordinary events; and it would
be the greatest miracle if there were no miracles wherever there
were persecuted fanatics. The unchangeable order of nature is
the chief witness to the wise hand that guides it; if there were
many exceptions, I should hardly know what to think; for my own
part I have too great a faith in God to believe in so many miracles
which are so little worthy of him.
"Let a man come and say to us: Mortals, I proclaim to you
the will of the Most Highest; accept my words as those of him
who has sent me; I bid the sun to change his course, the stars
to range themselves in a fresh order, the high places to become
smooth, the floods to rise up, the earth to change her face. By
these miracles who will not recognise the master of nature? She
does not obey impostors, their miracles are wrought in holes and
corners, in deserts, within closed doors, where they find easy
dupes among a small company of spectators already disposed to
believe them. Who will venture to tell me how many eye-witnesses
are required to make a miracle credible! What use are your miracles,
performed if proof of your doctrine, if they themselves require
so much proof! You might as well have let them alone.
"There still remains the most important inquiry of all with
regard to the doctrine proclaimed; for since those who tell us
God works miracles in this world, profess that the devil sometimes
imitates them, when we have found the best attested miracles we
have got very little further; and since the magicians of Pharaoh
dared in the presence of Moses to counterfeit the very signs he
wrought at God's command, why should they not, behind his back,
claim a like authority? So when we have proved our doctrine by
means of miracles, we must prove our miracles by means of doctrine,
[Footnote: This is expressly stated in many passages of Scripture,
among others in Deuteronomy xiii., where it is said that when
a prophet preaching strange gods confirms his words by means of
miracles and what he foretells comes to pass, far from giving
heed to him, this prophet must be put to death. If then the heathen
put the apostles to death when they preached a strange god and
confirmed their words by miracles which came to pass I cannot
see what grounds we have for complaint which they could not at
once turn against us. Now, what should be done in such a case?
There is only one course; to return to argument and let the miracles
alone. It would have been better not to have had recourse to them
at all. That is plain common-sense which can only be obscured
by great subtlety of distinction. Subtleties in Christianity!
So Jesus Christ was mistaken when he promised the kingdom of heaven
to the simple, he was mistaken when he began his finest discourse
with the praise of the poor in spirit, if so much wit is needed
to understand his teaching and to get others to believe in him.
When you have convinced me that submission is my duty, all will
be well; but to convince me of this, come down to my level; adapt
your arguments to a lowly mind, or I shall not recognise you as
a true disciple of your master, and it is not his doctrine that
you are teaching me.] for fear lest we should take the devil's
doings for the handiwork of God. What think you of this dilemma?
"This doctrine, if it comes from God, should bear the sacred
stamp of the godhead; not only should it illumine the troubled
thoughts which reason imprints on our minds, but it should also
offer us a form of worship, a morality, and rules of conduct in
accordance with the attributes by means of which we alone conceive
of God's essence. If then it teaches us what is absurd and unreasonable,
if it inspires us with feelings of aversion for our fellows and
terror for ourselves, if it paints us a God, angry, jealous, revengeful,
partial, hating men, a God of war and battles, ever ready to strike
and to destroy, ever speaking of punishment and torment, boasting
even of the punishment of the innocent, my heart would not be
drawn towards this terrible God, I would take good care not to
quit the realm of natural religion to embrace such a religion
as that; for you see plainly I must choose between them. Your
God is not ours. He who begins by selecting a chosen people, and
proscribing the rest of mankind, is not our common father; he
who consigns to eternal punishment the greater part of his creatures,
is not the merciful and gracious God revealed to me by my reason.
"Reason tells me that dogmas should be plain, clear, and
striking in their simplicity. If there is something lacking in
natural religion, it is with respect to the obscurity in which
it leaves the great truths it teaches; revelation should teach
us these truths in a way which the mind of man can understand;
it should bring them within his reach, make him comprehend them,
so that he may believe them. Faith is confirmed and strengthened
by understanding; the best religion is of necessity the simplest.
He who hides beneath mysteries and contradictions the religion
that he preaches to me, teaches me at the same time to distrust
that religion. The God whom I adore is not the God of darkness,
he has not given me understanding in order to forbid me to use
it; to tell me to submit my reason is to insult the giver of reason.
The minister of truth does not tyrannise over my reason, he enlightens
it.
"We have set aside all human authority, and without it I
do not see how any man can convince another by preaching a doctrine
contrary to reason. Let them fight it out, and let us see what
they have to say with that harshness of speech which is common
to both.
"INSPIRATION: Reason tells you that the whole is greater
than the part; but I tell you, in God's name, that the part is
greater than the whole.
"REASON: And who are you to dare to tell me that God contradicts
himself? And which shall I choose to believe. God who teaches
me, through my reason, the eternal truth, or you who, in his name,
proclaim an absurdity?
"INSPIRATION: Believe me, for my teaching is more positive;
and I will prove to you beyond all manner of doubt that he has
sent me.
"REASON: What! you will convince me that God has sent you
to bear witness against himself? What sort of proofs will you
adduce to convince me that God speaks more surely by your mouth
than through the understanding he has given me?
"INSPIRATION: The understanding he has given you! Petty,
conceited creature! As if you were the first impious person who
had been led astray through his reason corrupted by sin.
"REASON: Man of God, you would not be the first scoundrel
who asserts his arrogance as a proof of his mission.
"INSPIRATION: What! do even philosophers call names?
"REASON: Sometimes, when the saints set them the example.
"INSPIRATION: Oh, but I have a right to do it, for I am speaking
on God's behalf.
"REASON: You would do well to show your credentials before
you make use of your privileges.
"INSPIRATION: My credentials are authentic, earth and heaven
will bear witness on my behalf. Follow my arguments carefully,
if you please.
"REASON: Your arguments! You forget what you are saying.
When you teach me that my reason misleads me, do you not refute
what it might have said on your behalf? He who denies the right
of reason, must convince me without recourse to her aid. For suppose
you have convinced me by reason, how am I to know that it is not
my reason, corrupted by sin, which makes me accept what you say?
besides, what proof, what demonstration, can you advance, more
self-evident than the axiom it is to destroy? It is more credible
that a good syllogism is a lie, than that the part is greater
than the whole.
"INSPIRATION: What a difference! There is no answer to my
evidence; it is of a supernatural kind.
"REASON: Supernatural! What do you mean by the word? I do
not understand it.
"INSPIRATION: I mean changes in the order of nature, prophecies,
signs, and wonders of every kind.
"REASON: Signs and wonders! I have never seen anything of
the kind.
"INSPIRATION: Others have seen them for you. Clouds of witnesses--the
witness of whole nations....
"REASON: Is the witness of nations supernatural?
"INSPIRATION: No; but when it is unanimous, it is incontestable.
"REASON: There is nothing so incontestable as the principles
of reason, and one cannot accept an absurdity on human evidence.
Once more, let us see your supernatural evidence, for the consent
of mankind is not supernatural.
"INSPIRATION: Oh, hardened heart, grace does not speak to
you.
"REASON: That is not my fault; for by your own showing, one
must have already received grace before one is able to ask for
it. Begin by speaking to me in its stead.
"INSPIRATION: But that is just what I am doing, and you will
not listen. But what do you say to prophecy?
"REASON: In the first place, I say I have no more heard a
prophet than I have seen a miracle. In the next, I say that no
prophet could claim authority over me.
"INSPIRATION: Follower of the devil! Why should not the words
of the prophets have authority over you?
"REASON: Because three things are required, three things
which will never happen: firstly, I must have heard the prophecy;
secondly, I must have seen its fulfilment; and thirdly, it must
be clearly proved that the fulfilment of the prophecy could not
by any possibility have been a mere coincidence; for even if it
was as precise, as plain, and clear as an axiom of geometry, since
the clearness of a chance prediction does not make its fulfilment
impossible, this fulfilment when it does take place does not,
strictly speaking, prove what was foretold.
"See what your so-called supernatural proofs, your miracles,
your prophecies come to: believe all this upon the word of another,
Submit to the authority of men the authority of God which speaks
to my reason. If the eternal truths which my mind conceives of
could suffer any shock, there would be no sort of certainty for
me; and far from being sure that you speak to me on God's behalf,
I should not even be sure that there is a God.
"My child, here are difficulties enough, but these are not
all. Among so many religions, mutually excluding and proscribing
each other, one only is true, if indeed any one of them is true.
To recognise the true religion we must inquire into, not one,
but all; and in any question whatsoever we have no right to condemn
unheard. [Footnote: On the other hand, Plutarch relates that the
Stoics maintained, among other strange paradoxes, that it was
no use hearing both sides; for, said they, the first either proves
his point or he does not prove it; if he has proved it, there
is an end of it, and the other should be condemned: if he has
not proved it, he himself is in the wrong and judgment should
be given against him. I consider the method of those who accept
an exclusive revelation very much like that of these Stoics. When
each of them claims to be the sole guardian of truth, we must
hear them all before we can choose between them without injustice.]
The objections must be compared with the evidence; we must know
what accusation each brings against the other, and what answers
they receive. The plainer any feeling appears to us, the more
we must try to discover why so many other people refuse to accept
it. We should be simple, indeed, if we thought it enough to hear
the doctors on our own side, in order to acquaint ourselves with
the arguments of the other. Where can you find theologians who
pride themselves on their honesty? Where are those who, to refute
the arguments of their opponents, do not begin by making out that
they are of little importance? A man may make a good show among
his own friends, and be very proud of his arguments, who would
cut a very poor figure with those same arguments among those who
are on the other side. Would you find out for yourself from books?
What learning you will need! What languages you must learn; what
libraries you must ransack; what an amount of reading must be
got through! Who will guide me in such a choice? It will be hard
to find the best books on the opposite side in any one country,
and all the harder to find those on all sides; when found they
would be easily answered. The absent are always in the wrong,
and bad arguments boldly asserted easily efface good arguments
put forward with scorn. Besides books are often very misleading,
and scarcely express the opinions of their authors. If you think
you can judge the Catholic faith from the writings of Bossuet,
you will find yourself greatly mistaken when you have lived among
us. You will see that the doctrines with which Protestants are
answered are quite different from those of the pulpit. To judge
a religion rightly, you must not study it in the books of its
partisans, you must learn it in their lives; this is quite another
matter. Each religion has its own traditions, meaning, customs,
prejudices, which form the spirit of its creed, and must be taken
in connection with it.
"How many great nations neither print books of their own
nor read ours! How shall they judge of our opinions, or we of
theirs? We laugh at them, they despise us; and if our travellers
turn them into ridicule, they need only travel among us to pay
us back in our own coin. Are there not, in every country, men
of common-sense, honesty, and good faith, lovers of truth, who
only seek to know what truth is that they may profess it? Yet
every one finds truth in his own religion, and thinks the religion
of other nations absurd; so all these foreign religions are not
so absurd as they seem to us, or else the reason we find for our
own proves nothing.
"We have three principal forms of religion in Europe. One
accepts one revelation, another two, and another three. Each hates
the others, showers curses on them, accuses them of blindness,
obstinacy, hardness of heart, and falsehood. What fair-minded
man will dare to decide between them without first carefully weighing
their evidence, without listening attentively to their arguments?
That which accepts only one revelation is the oldest and seems
the best established; that which accepts three is the newest and
seems the most consistent; that which accepts two revelations
and rejects the third may perhaps be the best, but prejudice is
certainly against it; its inconsistency is glaring.
"In all three revelations the sacred books are written in
languages unknown to the people who believe in them. The Jews
no longer understand Hebrew, the Christians understand neither
Hebrew nor Greek; the Turks and Persians do not understand Arabic,
and the Arabs of our time do not speak the language of Mahomet.
Is not it a very foolish way of teaching, to teach people in an
unknown tongue? These books are translated, you say. What an answer!
How am I to know that the translations are correct, or how am
I to make sure that such a thing as a correct translation is possible?
If God has gone so far as to speak to men, why should he require
an interpreter?
"I can never believe that every man is obliged to know what
is contained in books, and that he who is out of reach of these
books, and of those who understand them, will be punished for
an ignorance which is no fault of his. Books upon books! What
madness! As all Europe is full of books, Europeans regard them
as necessary, forgetting that they are unknown throughout three-quarters
of the globe. Were not all these books written by men? Why then
should a man need them to teach him his duty, and how did he learn
his duty before these books were in existence? Either he must
have learnt his duties for himself, or his ignorance must have
been excused.
"Our Catholics talk loudly of the authority of the Church;
but what is the use of it all, if they also need just as great
an array of proofs to establish that authority as the other seeks
to establish their doctrine? The Church decides that the Church
has a right to decide. What a well-founded authority! Go beyond
it, and you are back again in our discussions.
"Do you know many Christians who have taken the trouble to
inquire what the Jews allege against them? If any one knows anything
at all about it, it is from the writings of Christians. What a
way of ascertaining the arguments of our adversaries! But what
is to be done? If any one dared to publish in our day books which
were openly in favour of the Jewish religion, we should punish
the author, publisher, and bookseller. This regulation is a sure
and certain plan for always being in the right. It is easy to
refute those who dare not venture to speak.
"Those among us who have the opportunity of talking with
Jews are little better off. These unhappy people feel that they
are in our power; the tyranny they have suffered makes them timid;
they know that Christian charity thinks nothing of injustice and
cruelty; will they dare to run the risk of an outcry against blasphemy?
Our greed inspires us with zeal, and they are so rich that they
must be in the wrong. The more learned, the more enlightened they
are, the more cautious. You may convert some poor wretch whom
you have paid to slander his religion; you get some wretched old-clothes-man
to speak, and he says what you want; you may triumph over their
ignorance and cowardice, while all the time their men of learning
are laughing at your stupidity. But do you think you would get
off so easily in any place where they knew they were safe! At
the Sorbonne it is plain that the Messianic prophecies refer to
Jesus Christ. Among the rabbis of Amsterdam it is just as clear
that they have nothing to do with him. I do not think I have ever
heard the arguments of the Jews as to why they should not have
a free state, schools and universities, where they can speak and
argue without danger. Then alone can we know what they have to
say.
"At Constantinople the Turks state their arguments, but we
dare not give ours; then it is our turn to cringe. Can we blame
the Turks if they require us to show the same respect for Mahomet,
in whom we do not believe, as we demand from the Jews with regard
to Jesus Christ in whom they do not believe? Are we right? On
what grounds of justice can we answer this question?
"Two-thirds of mankind are neither Jews, Mahometans, nor
Christians; and how many millions of men have never heard the
name of Moses, Jesus Christ, or Mahomet? They deny it; they maintain
that our missionaries go everywhere. That is easily said. But
do they go into the heart of Africa, still undiscovered, where
as yet no European has ever ventured? Do they go to Eastern Tartary
to follow on horseback the wandering tribes, whom no stranger
approaches, who not only know nothing of the pope, but have scarcely
heard tell of the Grand Lama! Do they penetrate into the vast
continents of America, where there are still whole nations unaware
that the people of another world have set foot on their shores?
Do they go to Japan, where their intrigues have led to their perpetual
banishment, where their predecessors are only known to the rising
generation as skilful plotters who came with feigned zeal to take
possession in secret of the empire? Do they reach the harems of
the Asiatic princes to preach the gospel to those thousands of
poor slaves? What have the women of those countries done that
no missionary may preach the faith to them? Will they all go to
hell because of their seclusion?
"If it were true that the gospel is preached throughout the
world, what advantage would there be? The day before the first
missionary set foot in any country, no doubt somebody died who
could not hear him. Now tell me what we shall do with him? If
there were a single soul in the whole world, to whom Jesus Christ
had never been preached, this objection would be as strong for
that man as for a quarter of the human race.
"If the ministers of the gospel have made themselves heard
among far-off nations, what have they told them which might reasonably
be accepted on their word, without further and more exact verification?
You preach to me God, born and dying, two thousand years ago,
at the other end of the world, in some small town I know not where;
and you tell me that all who have not believed this mystery are
damned. These are strange things to be believed so quickly on
the authority of an unknown person. Why did your God make these
things happen so far off, if he would compel me to know about
them? Is it a crime to be unaware of what is happening half a
world away? Could I guess that in another hemisphere there was
a Hebrew nation and a town called Jerusalem? You might as well
expect me to know what was happening in the moon. You say you
have come to teach me; but why did you not come and teach my father,
or why do you consign that good old man to damnation because he
knew nothing of all this? Must he be punished everlastingly for
your laziness, he who was so kind and helpful, he who sought only
for truth? Be honest; put yourself in my place; see if I ought
to believe, on your word alone, all these incredible things which
you have told me, and reconcile all this injustice with the just
God you proclaim to me. At least allow me to go and see this distant
land where such wonders, unheard of in my own country, took place;
let me go and see why the inhabitants of Jerusalem put their God
to death as a robber. You tell me they did not know he was God.
What then shall I do, I who have only heard of him from you? You
say they have been punished, dispersed, oppressed, enslaved; that
none of them dare approach that town. Indeed they richly deserved
it; but what do its present inhabitants say of their crime in
slaying their God! They deny him; they too refuse to recognise
God as God. They are no better than the children of the original
inhabitants.
"What! In the very town where God was put to death, neither
the former nor the latter inhabitants knew him, and you expect
that I should know him, I who was born two thousand years after
his time, and two thousand leagues away? Do you not see that before
I can believe this book which you call sacred, but which I do
not in the least understand, I must know from others than yourself
when and by whom it was written, how it has been preserved, how
it came into your possession, what they say about it in those
lands where it is rejected, and what are their reasons for rejecting
it, though they know as well as you what you are telling me? You
perceive I must go to Europe, Asia, Palestine, to examine these
things for myself; it would be madness to listen to you before
that.
"Not only does this seem reasonable to me, but I maintain
that it is what every wise man ought to say in similar circumstances;
that he ought to banish to a great distance the missionary who
wants to instruct and baptise him all of a sudden before the evidence
is verified. Now I maintain that there is no revelation against
which these or similar objections cannot be made, and with more
force than against Christianity. Hence it follows that if there
is but one true religion and if every man is bound to follow it
under pain of damnation, he must spend his whole life in studying,
testing, comparing all these religions, in travelling through
the countries in which they are established. No man is free from
a man's first duty; no one has a right to depend on another's
judgment. The artisan who earns his bread by his daily toil, the
ploughboy who cannot read, the delicate and timid maiden, the
invalid who can scarcely leave his bed, all without exception
must study, consider, argue, travel over the whole world; there
will be no more fixed and settled nations; the whole earth will
swarm with pilgrims on their way, at great cost of time and trouble,
to verify, compare, ........Continua
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