But, some centuries later in the history of man, it came to be
imagined that we have a soul which acts of itself; and the idea has
become so familiar that we take it for a reality.
We talk incessantly of “the soul,” though we have not the least idea
of the meaning of it.
To some the soul means the life; to others it is a small, frail
image of ourselves, which goes, when we die, to drink the waters of
Acheron; to others it is a harmony, a memory, an entelechy. In the
end it has been converted into a little being that is not body, a
breath that is not air; and of this word “breath,” which corresponds
to “spirit” in many tongues, a kind of thing has been made which is
nothing at all.
Who can fail to see that men uttered, and still utter, the word
“soul” vaguely and without understanding, as we utter the words
“movement,” “understanding,” “imagination,” “memory,” “desire,” and
“will”? There is no real being which we call will, desire, memory,
imagination, understanding, or movement; but the real being called
man understands, imagines, remembers, desires, wills, and moves.
They are abstract terms, invented for convenience of speech. I run,
I sleep, I awake; but there is no such physical reality as running,
sleep, or awakening. Neither sight, nor hearing, nor touch, nor
smell, nor taste, is a real being; I hear, I see, I smell, I taste, I
touch. And how could I do this if the great being had not so disposed
all things; if the principle of action, the universal cause--in one
word, God--had not given us these faculties?
We may be quite sure that there would be just as much reason to grant
the snail a hidden being called a “free soul” as to grant it to man.
The snail has a will, desires, tastes, sensations, ideas, and memory.
It wishes to move towards the material of its food or the object of
its love. It remembers it, has an idea of it, advances towards it
as quickly as it can; it knows pleasure and pain. Yet you are not
terrified when you are told that the animal has not a spiritual soul;
that God has bestowed on it these gifts for a little time; that he
who moves the stars moves also the insect. But when it comes to man
you change your mind. This poor animal seems to you so worthy of
your respect--that is to say, you are so proud--that you venture to
place in its frail body something that seems to share the nature of
God himself, yet something that seems to you at times diabolical
in the perversity of its thoughts; something wise and foolish,
good and execrable, heavenly and infernal, invisible, immortal,
incomprehensible. And you have familiarised yourself with this idea,
as you have grown accustomed to speak of movement, though there is no
such being as movement; as you use abstract words, though there are
no abstract beings.