I do not see the first motive and intelligent principle of the animal
called man, when he demonstrates a geometrical proposition or lifts
a burden. Yet I feel irresistibly that there is one in him, however
subordinate. I cannot discover whether this first principle is in his
heart, or in his head, or in his blood, or in his whole body. In the
same way I have detected a first principle in nature, and have seen
that it must necessarily be eternal. But where is it?
If it animates all existence, it is in all existence: that seems to
be beyond doubt. It is in all that exists, just as movement is in the
whole body of an animal, if one may use so poor a comparison.
But while it is in what exists, can it be in what does not exist?
Is the universe infinite? I am told that it is; but who will prove
it? I regard it as eternal, because it cannot have been made from
nothing; because the great principle, “nothing comes from nothing,”
is as true as that two and two make four; because, as we saw
elsewhere, it is an absurd contradiction to say that the active being
has spent an eternity without acting, the formative being has been
eternal without forming anything, and the necessary being has been,
during an eternity, a useless being.
But I see no reason why this necessary being should be infinite. Its
nature seems to me to be wherever there is existence; but why, and
how, an infinite existence? Newton has demonstrated the void, which
had until his time been a matter of conjecture. If there is a void in
nature, there may be a void outside nature. What need is there that
beings should extend to infinity? What would an infinite extension
be? Nor can we have infinity in number. There is no number and no
extension to which I cannot add. It seems to me that in this matter
the conclusion of Cudworth is preferable to that of Clarke.
God is present everywhere, says Clarke. Yes, doubtless; but
everywhere where there is something, not where there is not. To
be present in nothing seems to me a contradiction in terms, an
absurdity. I am compelled to admit eternity, but I am not compelled
to admit an actual infinity.
In fine, what does it matter to me whether space is a reality or
merely an idea in my mind? What does it matter whether or no the
necessary, intelligent, powerful, eternal being, the former of all
being, is in this imaginary space? Am I less his work? Am I less
dependent on him? Is he the less my master? I see this master of the
world with the eyes of my mind, but I see him not beyond the world.
It is still disputed whether or no infinite space is a reality. I
will not base my judgment on so equivocal a point, a quarrel worthy
of the scholastics. I will not set up the throne of God in imaginary
spaces.
If it is allowable to compare once more the little things which seem
large to us to what is great in reality, let us imagine a gentleman
of Madrid trying to persuade a Castilian neighbour that the king
of Spain is master of the sea to the north of California, and that
whoever doubts it is guilty of high treason. The Castilian replies:
I do not even know whether there is a sea beyond California. It
matters little to me whether there is or not, provided that I have
the means of subsistence in Madrid. I do not need this sea to be
discovered to make me faithful to the king my master on the banks of
the Manzanares. Whether or no there are vessels beyond Hudson Bay, he
has none the less power to command me here; I feel my dependence on
him in Madrid, because I know that he is master of Madrid.
In the same way, our dependence on the great being is not due to the
fact that he is present outside the world, but to the fact that he
is present in the world. I do but ask pardon of the master of nature
for comparing him to a frail human being in order to make my meaning
clearer.
V