therefore be certainly concluded they are not lying, for there are
those who lie simply for lying's sake.
Men are of necessity so mad, that not to be mad were madness in
another form.
We cannot think of Plato and Aristotle, save in professorial robes.
They were honest men like others, laughing with their friends,
and when they amused themselves with writing the _Laws_ or the
_Politics_, they did it as a pastime. That part of their life was
the least philosophic and the least serious; the most philosophic
was to live simply and quietly. If they wrote on politics it was as
though they were laying down rules for a madhouse, and if they made
as though they were speaking of a great matter, it was because they
knew that the madmen to whom they spoke fancied themselves kings and
emperors. They entered into their views in order to make their folly
as little harmful as possible.
The most important affair in life is the choice of a trade, yet
chance decides it. Custom makes men masons, soldiers, tilers. "He is
a good tiler," says one, "and soldiers are fools." But others: "There
is nothing great but war, all but soldiers are rogues." We choose our
professions according as we hear this or that praised or despised
in our childhood, for we naturally love truth and hate folly. These
words move us, the only fault is in their application. So great is
the force of custom that out of those who by nature are only men,
are made all conditions of men. For some countries are full of
masons, others of soldiers, etc. Nature is certainly not so uniform.
Custom then produces this effect and gains ascendency over nature,
yet sometimes nature gets the upper hand, and obliges man to act by
instinct in spite of all custom, whether good or bad.
Men by nature are tilers and of all callings, except in their own
closets.
We never teach men to be gentlemen, but we teach them everything
else, and they never pique themselves so much on all the rest as on
knowing how to be gentlemen. They pique themselves only on knowing
the one thing they have not learnt.
People should not be able to say of a man, he is a mathematician,
or a preacher, or eloquent, but he is a gentleman; that universal
quality alone pleases me.--When you think of a man's book as soon as
you see himself, it is a bad sign. I would rather that none of his
qualities should be recognised till you meet them, or have occasion
to avail yourself of them. _Ne quid nimis_, for fear some one quality
gain the mastery and stamp the man. Let not people think of him as an
orator, unless oratory be in question, then let them think of it.
No man passes in the world as an expert in verse unless he hang
out the sign of a poet, a mathematician, etc. But people who are
generally accomplished need no sign and scarce recognise any
difference between the trade of a poet and that of an embroiderer.
People of general accomplishment are not called poets or
geometricians, etc., though they are so, and judges of all these. You
do not guess what they are. When they enter a society they join in
the general conversation. They do not exhibit one quality rather than
another, except when they have to make use of it. Then we remember
it, for it is natural to such characters that we do not say of them
that they are fine speakers when it is not a question of oratory, and
that we give them the praise of eloquence if occasion call for it.
It is false praise then to say of a man as soon as he enters a
society that he is a clever poet, and it is a bad sign when a man is
never called on to give his opinion on such a subject as verse.
_Inconstancy._--Things have different qualities, and the soul
different inclinations; for nothing is simple which presents itself
to the soul, and the soul never presents itself simply to any
subject. Hence it comes that men laugh and weep at the same thing.
Greatness of establishment, respect for establishment.
The pleasure of the great is to be able to make people happy.
The property of riches is to be given liberally.
The property of each thing should be sought out. The property of
power is to protect.
Saint Augustine saw that we labour for an uncertainty, at sea,
in a battle, etc.; he did not see the doctrine of chances, which
demonstrates that we must do so. Montaigne saw that we are disgusted
at a distorted mind, and that custom can do all things, but he did
not see the reason of that effect.
All these men saw the effects, but did not see the causes; in
relation to those who have discovered the causes they are as those
who have only eyes are in regard to those who have intellect. For the
effects are as it were sensible, and the causes are visible only to
the intellect. And though these effects too are apprehended through
reason, yet is it in relation to the reason which apprehends causes,
as the bodily senses are to the intellect.
Suppose a man puts himself at a window to see the passers by. If I
pass I cannot say that he stood there to see me, for he does not
think of me in particular. Nor does any one who loves another on
account of beauty really love that person, for the small-pox, which
kills beauty without killing the person, will cause the loss of
love. Nor does one who loves me for my judgment, my memory, love me,
myself, for I may lose those qualities without losing my identity.
Where then is this 'I' if it reside not in the body nor in the soul,
and how love the body or the soul, except for the qualities which do
not make '_me_,' since they are perishable? For it is not possible
and it would be unjust to love the soul of a person in the abstract,
and whatever qualities might be therein. So then we do not love a
person, but only qualities. We should not then sneer at those who are
honoured on account of rank and office, for we love no one save for
borrowed qualities.
Time heals all pain and misunderstanding, because we change and are
no longer the same persons. Neither the offender nor the offended are
any more themselves. It is like a nation which we have angered and
meet again after two generations. They are Frenchmen still, but not
the same.
_Inconstancy and singularity._--To live only by labour, and to reign
over the most powerful state in the world, are very opposite things.
They are united in the person of the grand Sultan of the Turks.
It pleases us to say 'Prince' to a king, because it lessens his
quality.
_Epigrams of Martial._--Men like malice, but not against one-eyed
men, nor against the unfortunate, but against the fortunate and
proud. Those who think otherwise make a mistake.
For concupiscence is the source of all our movements, and humanity,
etc.
We must please those whose feelings are humane and tender.
That epigram about the two one-eyed people is valueless, for it
brings them no consolation, and only gives a point to the author's
glory. All that is merely for the sake of the author is valueless.
_Ambitiosa recidet ornamenta._
I put it down as a fact that if all men knew what each said of the
other, there would not be four friends in the world. This is evident
from the quarrels which arise from indiscreet reports made from time
to time.
Those who are always hopeful in adversity, and rejoice in good
luck, are suspected of being glad of failure should they not be
correspondingly depressed under bad luck; they are delighted to find
pretexts for hoping, in order to show that they are interested, and
to hide by the joy they pretend to feel that which they really feel
at the ill success of the affair.
Malignity when it has reason on its side becomes proud, and displays
reason in all its splendour.
If austerity or a rigid choice have not found the true good, and we
must needs return to follow nature, it becomes proud by reason of
this return.
A maker of epigrams,--a bad man.
Do you wish men to believe good of you? Then say none.
We ought to be much obliged to those who tell us of our faults, for
they mortify us, they teach us we have been despised, they do not
prevent our being so in the future, for we have many other faults
which are despicable. They prepare for us the exercise of correction,
and freedom from a fault.
If we would reprove with success, and show another his mistake, we
must see from what side he views the matter, for on that side it is
generally true, and admitting that truth, show him the side on which
it is false. He will be satisfied, for he will see that he was not
mistaken, only that he did not see all sides. Now, no one is vexed
at not seeing every thing. But we do not like to be mistaken, and
that perhaps arises from the fact that man by nature cannot see
everything, and that by nature he cannot be mistaken in the side he
looks at, since what we apprehend by our senses is always true.
I passed a long time in the study of the abstract sciences, and was
much discouraged at finding how few were my fellow-students. When I
began the study of man I saw that these abstract sciences were not
fit for him, and that I was wandering more from my true state in
investigating them, than others in ignoring them. I forgave their
scanty knowledge. But I thought at least to find many fellow-students
in the study of man, and that this was the real study which befits
us. I was deceived, for there are still fewer than those who study
mathematics. It is only for want of knowing how to pursue this
study that we seek others. But is it not that even here is not the
knowledge that man should have, and that it is better for him to be
ignorant of himself in order to be happy?
_The Vanity of Knowledge._--The knowledge of external things will not
console me for my ignorance of ethics in time of affliction, but the
science of morals will always console me for my ignorance of external
knowledge.
There are plants on the earth, we see them, but they could not be
seen from the moon. On these plants are hairs, and in these hairs
tiny animals, but beyond that, nothing more. O, presumption! Compound
bodies are made up of elements, but not the elementary bodies
themselves. O presumption! Here is a fine distinction. We must not
assert the existence of what we cannot see, we must then say what
others say, but not think with them.
The world's judgment is right, for it is in that condition of natural
ignorance which is man's best wisdom. The sciences have two extremes
which meet. The first is that pure natural ignorance in which every
man is born. The other extreme is that reached by great minds,
who having run through all that men can know, find that they know
nothing, and again come round to the same ignorance from which they
started; but this is a learned ignorance, conscious of itself. Those
between the two, who have left their natural ignorance and not been
able to reach the other, have some tincture of this vain knowledge,
and assume to be wise. These trouble the world, and judge all things
falsely. The people and the wise make up the world; these despise it,
and are despised; they judge ill of all things, and the world rightly
judges of them.
Nature has made all her truths self-contained. Our art encloses them
one within another, but that is not according to nature. Each holds
its own place.
_Spongia solis._--When we see the same effect invariably recur we
conclude there is in it a natural necessity, as that there will be
a to-morrow, etc. But nature often gives us the lie, and will not
subject herself to her own rules.
Nature always begins the same things again, years, days, and hours,
and in like manner spaces and numbers follow each other, end without
end. So is made a sort of infinity and eternity, not that any thing
of these is infinite and eternal, but these finite entities are
infinitely multiplied.
Thus as it seems to me the number which multiplies them alone is
infinite.
Nature imitates herself. A seed sown in good ground brings forth
fruit. A principle cast into a good mind brings forth fruit.
Numbers imitate space, which is of an wholly different nature.
All is made and guided by one and the same master, root, branch and
fruits; principles and consequences.
Nature works by progress, _itus et reditus_. It goes and returns,
then it goes further, then twice as much backwards, then more forward
than ever, etc.
So is it with the tide of the sea, and so apparently with the course
of the sun.
Every one is all in all to himself, for he being dead, all is dead to
him. Hence it comes that each man believes that he is all to all. We
ought not to judge of nature by ourselves, but by it.
Self is hateful. You Miton, conceal self, but do not thereby destroy
it, therefore you are still hateful.
--Not so, for in acting as we do, to oblige every body, we give no
reason for hating us.--True, if we only hated in self the vexation
which it causes us.
But if I hate it because it is unjust, and because it makes itself
the centre of all, I shall always hate it.
In one word Self has two qualities, it is unjust in its essence
because it makes itself the centre of all, it is inconvenient to
others, in that it would bring them into subjection, for each 'I' is
the enemy, and would fain be the tyrant of all others. You take away
the inconvenience, but not the injustice, and thus you do not render
it loveable to those who hate injustice; you render it loveable only
to the unjust, who find in it an enemy no longer. Thus you remain
unjust and can please none but the unjust.
_Of Self-love._--The nature of self-love and of this human 'I' is to
love self only, and consider self only. But what can it do? It cannot
prevent the object it loves from being full of faults and miseries;
man would fain be great and sees that he is little, would fain be
happy, and sees that he is miserable, would fain be perfect, and sees
that he is full of imperfections, would fain be the object of the
love and esteem of men, and sees that his faults merit only their
aversion and contempt. The embarrassment wherein he finds himself
produces in him the most unjust and criminal passion imaginable, for
he conceives a mortal hatred against that truth which blames him and
convinces him of his faults. Desiring to annihilate it, yet unable to
destroy it in its essence, he destroys it as much as he can in his
own knowledge, and in that of others; that is to say, he devotes all
his care to the concealment of his faults, both from others and from
himself, and he can neither bear that others should show them to him,
nor that they should see them.
It is no doubt an evil to be full of faults, but it is a greater evil
to be full of them, yet unwilling to recognise them, because that
is to add the further fault of a voluntary illusion. We do not like
others to deceive us, we do not think it just in them to require more
esteem from us than they deserve; it is therefore unjust that we
should deceive them, desiring more esteem from them than we deserve.
Thus if they discover no more imperfections and vices in us than
we really have, it is plain they do us no wrong, since it is not
they who cause them; but rather they do us a service, since they
help us to deliver ourselves from an evil, the ignorance of these
imperfections. We ought not to be troubled that they know our faults
and despise us, since it is but just they should know us as we are,
and despise us if we are despicable.
Such are the sentiments which would arise in a heart full of equity
and justice. What should we say then of our own heart, finding in
it an wholly contrary disposition? For is it not true that we hate
truth, and those who tell it us, and that we would wish them to have
an erroneously favourable opinion of us, and to esteem us other than
indeed we are?
One proof of this fills me with dismay. The Catholic religion does
not oblige us to tell out our sins indiscriminately to all, it allows
us to remain hidden from men in general, but she excepts one alone,
to whom she commands us to open the very depths of our heart, and to
show ourselves to him as we are. There is but this one man in the
world whom she orders us to undeceive; she binds him to an inviolable
secrecy, so that this knowledge is to him as though it were not. We
can imagine nothing more charitable and more tender. Yet such is the
corruption of man, that he finds even this law harsh, and it is one
of the main reasons which has set a large portion of Europe in revolt
against the Church.
How unjust and unreasonable is the human heart which finds it hard
to be obliged to do in regard to one man what in some degree it were
just to do to all men. For is it just that we should deceive them?
There are different degrees in this dislike to the truth, but it may
be said that all have it in some degree, for it is inseparable from
self-love. This false delicacy causes those who must needs reprove
others to choose so many windings and modifications in order to avoid
shocking them. They must needs lessen our faults, seem to excuse
them, mix praises with their blame, give evidences of affection and
esteem. Yet this medicine is always bitter to self-love, which takes
as little as it can, always with disgust, often with a secret anger
against those who administer it.
Hence it happens, that if any desire our love, they avoid doing us a
service which they know to be disagreeable; they treat us as we would
wish to be treated: we hate the truth, and they hide it from us; we
wish to be flattered, they flatter us; we love to be deceived, they
deceive us.
Thus each degree of good fortune which raises us in the world removes
us further from truth, because we fear most to wound those whose
affection is most useful, and whose dislike is most dangerous. A
prince may be the by-word of all Europe, yet he alone know nothing
of it. I am not surprised; to speak the truth is useful to whom it
is spoken, but disadvantageous to those who speak it, since it makes
them hated. Now those who live with princes love their own interests
more than that of the prince they serve, and thus they take care not
to benefit him so as to do themselves a disservice.
This misfortune is, no doubt, greater and more common in the higher
classes, but lesser men are not exempt from it, since there is always
an interest in making men love us. Thus human life is but a perpetual
illusion, an interchange of deceit and flattery. No one speaks of us
in our presence as in our absence. The society of men is founded on
this universal deceit: few friendships would last if every man knew
what his friend said of him behind his back, though he then spoke in
sincerity and without passion.
Man is then only disguise, falsehood, and hypocrisy, both in himself
and with regard to others. He will not be told the truth, he avoids
telling it to others, and all these tendencies, so far removed from
justice and reason, have their natural roots in his heart.
_THE HAPPINESS OF MAN WITH GOD_;
_OR_,
_THAT THE SCRIPTURE SHOWS A
REDEEMER._
_PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART._
To speak of those who have treated of this subject.
I wonder at the boldness with which these persons undertake to speak
of God, in addressing their words to the irreligious. Their first
chapter is to prove Divinity by the works of nature. I should not be
astonished at their undertaking if they addressed their argument to
the faithful, for it is certain that those who have a lively faith
in their heart see at once that all that exists is none other than
the work of the God whom they adore. But for those in whom this light
is extinguished, and in whom we desire to revive it, men destitute
of faith and grace who, seeking with all their light whatever they
see in nature to lead them to this knowledge, find only clouds and
darkness,--to tell them they need only look at the smallest things
which surround them in order to see God unveiled, to give them as
the sole proof of this great and important subject, the course of
the moon and planets, and to say that with such an argument we have
accomplished the proof; is to give them ground for belief that the
proofs of our Religion are very feeble. Indeed I see by reason and
experience that nothing is more fitted to excite contempt.
Not after this fashion speaks the Scripture, which knows better than
we the things of God. It says, on the contrary, that God is a God who
hides himself, and that since nature became corrupt, he has left men
in a blindness from which they can only escape by Jesus Christ, and
except through him we are cut off from all communication with God.
_Nemo novit Patrem, nisi Filius, et cui voluerit Filius revelare._
This is what Scripture indicates when it says in so many places that
those who seek God find him. It is not of a light like the sun at
noonday that they thus speak. No one says that those who seek the
sun at noonday, or water in the sea shall find them, and thus it
follows that the evidence for God is not of that kind. Therefore it
says to us elsewhere: _Vere tu es Deus absconditus_.
The metaphysical proofs of God are so apart from man's reason, and so
complicated that they are but little striking, and if they are of use
to any, it is only during the moment that the demonstration is before
them, but an hour afterwards they fear they have been mistaken.
_Quod curiositate cognoverint, superbia amiserunt._
Such is the outcome of the knowledge of God gained without Jesus
Christ, for this is to communicate without a mediator with the God
whom they have known without a mediator.
Instead of which those who have known God by a mediator know their
own wretchedness.
Jesus Christ is the goal of all, and the centre to which all tends.
Who knows him knows the reason of all things.
Those who go astray only do so from failing to see one of these
two things. It is then possible to know God without knowing our
wretchedness, and to know our wretchedness without knowing God; but
we cannot know Jesus Christ without knowing at the same time God and
our wretchedness.
Therefore I do not here undertake to prove by natural reasons either
the existence of God or the Trinity, or the immortality of the soul,
nor anything of that sort, not only because I do not feel myself
strong enough to find in nature proofs to convince hardened atheists,
but also, because this knowledge without Jesus Christ is useless
and barren. Though a man should be persuaded that the proportions
of numbers are immaterial truths, eternal, and dependent on a first
truth in whom they subsist, and who is called God, I should not
consider him far advanced towards his salvation.
The God of Christians is not a God who is simply the author of
mathematical truths, or of the order of the elements, as is the
god of the heathen and of Epicureans. Nor is he merely a God who
providentially disposes the life and fortunes of men, to crown his
worshippers with length of happy years. Such was the portion of the
Jews. But the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob,
the God of Christians, is a God of love and consolation, a God who
fills the souls and hearts of his own, a God who makes them feel
their inward wretchedness, and his infinite mercy, who unites himself
to their inmost spirit, filling it with humility and joy, with
confidence and love, rendering them incapable of any end other than
himself.
All who seek God apart from Jesus Christ, and who rest in nature,
find no light to satisfy them, but form for themselves a means of
knowing God and serving him without a mediator. Thus they fall either
into atheism, or into deism, two things which the Christian religion
almost equally abhors.
The God of Christians is a God who makes the soul perceive that
he is her only good, that her only rest is in him, her only joy
in loving him; who makes her at the same time abhor the obstacles
which withhold her from loving him with all her strength. Her two
hindrances, self-love and lust, are insupportable to her. This God
makes her perceive that the root of self-love destroys her, and that
he alone can heal.
The knowledge of God without that of our wretchedness creates pride.
The knowledge of our wretchedness without that of God creates
despair. The knowledge of Jesus Christ is the middle way, because in
him we find both God and our wretchedness.
_OF THE NEED OF SEEKING TRUTH._
_Second Part. That man without faith cannot know the true good, nor
justice._
All men seek happiness. To this there is no exception, what different
means soever they employ, all tend to this goal. The reason that
some men go to the wars and others avoid them is but the same desire
attended in each with different views. Our will makes no step but
towards this object. This is the motive of every action of every man,
even of him who hangs himself.