In the "Ears of the Earl of Chesterfield," Voltaire jokes at the
expense of that immortal soul which resided, for nine months, in the
midst of excrement and urine. Voltaire, like all the slothful, hates
mystery.
(At least, he might have divined in that environment the malice or
satire of Providence against love, and, in the process of generation,
a sign of original sin. In fact, we can make love only with excretory
organs.)
Unable to suppress love, the Church wished at least to disinfect it,
and created marriage.