freethinkers and hypocrites; the first gaily, openly, without art
or disguise, the second cunningly and by intrigue. These latter are
a hundred times more enamoured of fortune than the first, and are
excessively jealous of it; they wish to sway it, to be the sole
possessors of it, share it among themselves, and exclude everybody
else. Dignities, posts, offices, benefices, pensions, honours,
everything belongs to them and to none but them; the rest of mankind
are unworthy of these things, and they wonder how others, who are not
their creatures, can be so impudent as to expect them. A company of
persons in masks enter a ball-room; when it is their turn they dance,
they dance with each other, dance again and continue to dance, but only
among themselves and with no other person, however worthy of their
regard; people grow annoyed and tired with looking on whilst these
masked persons dance because they are not dancing themselves; some
among them murmur, but the wisest make up their mind and go home.[864]
(27.) There are two sorts of freethinkers; those who are really so, or
at least believe themselves so, and the hypocrites or pretended pious
people, who are unwilling to be thought freethinkers; the latter are
the best.
A man who pretends to be pious either does not believe there is a God,
or makes a jest of Him; let us say of him politely, that he does not
believe there is a God.
(28.) If every religion stands in respectful fear of God, what shall we
think of those persons who dare affront Him in His representative on
earth, the Prince?
(29.) Were we assured that the secret intention of the ambassadors
who came lately from Siam was to persuade the most Christian king
to renounce Christianity, and admit their Talapoins[865] into his
kingdom to creep into our houses to convert to their religion our
wives, our children, and ourselves, by their books as well as by their
conversations, to allow them to erect pagodas in the midst of our towns
to worship their brazen images, with what derision, what strange scorn,
should we hear such an absurd story told? And yet we sail six thousand
leagues to bring over to Christianity the Indies, the kingdoms of Siam,
China, and Japan, and seriously to make to all these nations certain
proposals, which, in their eyes, must appear as foolish and ridiculous.
Yet they tolerate our friars and priests, and sometimes listen to them,
allow them to build churches, and perform all their missionary duties.
From whence proceeds such a behaviour, so different in them and us? May
it not be caused by the force of truth?
(30.) It is not proper for all men to profess to give alms and to have
the common beggars of the parish daily crowding at their doors, and not
allow one to go home empty-handed. Who is not aware that there is a
more concealed wretchedness, which may be relieved, either immediately
and out of a manʼs own pocket, or at least by the intercession of
others? In the same manner all persons are not qualified for the
pulpit, nor fit to expound the Word of God in public, either as
missionaries, or teachers; but what man does not, some time or other,
meet a freethinker, whom he might attempt to reclaim and bring back to
the fold by gentle and insinuating converse about the submission due to
the teachings of the church? Should a man make but one convert in the
whole course of his life, he cannot be said to have lived in vain, or
to have been a useless burden on this earth.
(31.) There are two worlds: one we dwell in but a short time, and
which we must leave never to return; another, to which we must shortly
go, there to abide for ever. Interest, authority, friends, a great
reputation, and riches are most useful in the first; an indifference to
all these things is most useful for the next. It is a mere question of
choice.
(32.) A man who lives a day lives an age; always the same sun, the
same earth, the same world, the same sensations; to-day will precisely
be like to-morrow; we ought to feel some curiosity to die, for then
we are no longer a body, but only a spirit. However, man, though so
impatiently hunting after novelties, is not anxious to die; restless
and tired of everything, he is not tired of life, and would, perhaps,
be satisfied to live for ever. What he sees of death makes a deeper
impression on him than what he knows of it; sickness, pain, and the
grave, make him dislike the knowledge of another world; and the
strongest religious motives are needed to convert him.
(33.) If Providence had left it to our choice to die or to live for
ever, we should carefully consider how dismal it is for a man to see
no end to his poverty, servitude, annoyance, or sickness; or, at best
to enjoy riches, grandeur, pleasures, and health, only in time to
behold them invariably change to their opposite conditions; and thus
to be tossed to and fro between happiness and misery, and, therefore,
we should be greatly perplexed; but Nature has settled it for us, and
saves us the trouble of making a choice, as it has imposed on us the
necessity of dying, which is, moreover, alleviated by religion.
(34.) If my religion be false, it is a snare which I must own is as
well laid as can be imagined, so that it is impossible not to run into
it and be caught. What dignity! what splendour in its mysteries! what
a sequence and connection in all the several parts of its doctrine! how
superb are its reasonings! how pure and innocent is its morality! how
irresistible and overwhelming is the testimony of so many millions of
the wisest and most thoughtful men then in existence, who during three
centuries came one after another, and whom a feeling of the same truth
so constantly supported in exiles, dungeons, torture, and even in death
itself. Take any history, open it, and commence with the beginning of
the world, with its creation; was there ever anything like it? Could
the whole power of God Himself contrive anything better to deceive me?
How can I avoid it? Whither should I run, or throw myself? I do not say
to find anything better, but anything to be compared to it? If I must
perish, it is in this way I will perish! I should feel more inclined to
deny the existence of a God than to connect Him with such a plausible
and complete deceit. But I have examined it thoroughly, and yet feel
I cannot be an atheist; I am, therefore, forced back and irresistibly
drawn to my religion, and this is my final resolution.
(35.) Religion is either true or false; if a fiction, a religious man,
a Carthusian friar or a hermit, only lose threescore years, but run
no other risk. But if based on truth itself, then a vicious man must
feel most wretched; and I tremble at the very thought of the evils he
prepares for himself; my mind cannot conceive them, and words fail me
to express my feelings. Even if the truth of religion could be proved
with less certainty than it can, man could not do better than be
virtuous.
(36.) Those persons who dare deny the existence of a Supreme Being
hardly deserve that a man should try and prove it to them; or, at
least, that he should argue more seriously with them than I have done
hitherto; they are so ignorant that they are unable to understand the
clearest principles, and the truest and most natural inferences; yet
I am willing to offer for their perusal the following lines, provided
they do not imagine that it is all that can be said upon a subject of
which the truth is so obvious.
Forty years ago I did not exist,[866] neither was it in my power ever
to exist, any more than it is in my power to cease from existing,
though I exist at present. My existence, therefore, had its beginning,
and is now continued through the influence of something which exists
without me, will subsist after me, and is better and more powerful than
I am. Now, if that something is not God, I should like to know what it
is.[867]
I exist; but perhaps this existence of mine proceeds from the power of
a universal nature, which has been ever the same, such as we behold it,
from all eternity.[868] But this nature is either only spiritual, and
then it is God, or it is material, and, consequently, could not create
that part of my being which is spiritual; or else it is composed of
spirit and matter; and then, that part of nature which people say is
spirit, is what I call God.
Again, perhaps you will add that what I call my spiritual being
is nothing but a part of matter, subsisting through the force of a
universal nature, which also is matter, which always was and ever will
be such as we see it now, and which is not God.[869] But, at least, you
must grant that what I call my spiritual being, let it be what it will,
is something which thinks, and that if it is matter, it is cogitative
matter; for no one will persuade me that, whilst I am thus arguing,
there is not something within me which thinks. Now if this something
owes its being and its preservation to a universal nature which always
was and ever will be, and which it acknowledges as its primary cause,
it necessarily follows that this universal nature either thinks, or is
more noble and perfect than that which thinks; and if such a nature
is matter, then we must come to the conclusion that it is a universal
thinking matter, or one which is nobler and more perfect than that
which does think.
I proceed further, and say, that such a supposed matter, if it be not
chimerical but real, may be perceived by some of our senses, and that,
if it cannot be discovered in itself, it may be known, at least, in
the multiple arrangement of its different parts, through which all
bodies are constituted, or differ. Therefore matter is itself all these
different bodies; now since, according to our supposition, matter is
a being which thinks, or is better than that which thinks, it follows
that it is such in some of these bodies at least, and, consequently,
that it thinks in stones, in minerals, in the earth, in the sea, in
myself, who am but a body, as well as in all its other component
parts; I am then beholden for this something, which thinks within me,
and which I call my spiritual being, to all these gross, earthly, and
corporeal parts, which all together make up this universal matter, or
this visible world, which is an absurdity.
If, on the contrary, this universal nature, let it be what it will,
is not all these bodies, nor any of these bodies, it follows that it
is not matter, and cannot be perceived by any of our senses; and if,
notwithstanding this, it possesses the faculty of thinking, or is more
perfect than that which does think, I still conclude it is spiritual,
or something better and more perfect than spiritual. Now if that which
thinks within me, and which I call my spiritual being, not finding its
principle within itself, and much less in matter, as has been just now
demonstrated, is forced to acknowledge this universal nature to be the
first cause, the only origin of its existence, then I will not dispute
about words; but this first cause, the origin of all spiritual beings,
which is itself spiritual, or better than spiritual, is what I call God.
In a word, I think, therefore, there is a God, for that which thinks
within me is not derived from myself, since it was no more in my power
to bestow it on myself at first as it is now to keep it for one single
moment. I did not receive it from a material being superior to me,
since it is impossible for matter to be superior to that which thinks;
I must, therefore, have received it from a being superior to me, and
consequently not material; and that superior being is God.
(37.) From the inconsistency of a cogitative universal nature with
anything that is material, must necessarily be inferred, that any
particular thinking being cannot admit within itself anything
material; for though a universal thinking being does in its idea
include infinitely more grandeur, power, independence, and capacity
than a particular thinking being, yet it does not imply a greater
inconsistency with matter, it being impossible for this inconsistency
to be greater in the one case than in the other, because it is, as
it were, infinite in both; and it is as impossible for the thinking
principle within me to be matter, as it is to conceive that God should
be matter; as God, therefore, is a spirit, so my soul is also a spirit.
(38.) I am not aware whether a dog has the faculties of selection,
memory, love, fear, imagination, and thought. When, therefore, I am
told that those actions in a dog are not the effect of either passion
or sentiment, but proceed naturally and necessarily from a mechanical
disposition caused by the multiple organization of the material parts
of his body, I may, perhaps, acquiesce in this doctrine. But as for
me, I think, and certainly know that I think.[870] Now, if we consider
any organisation of material parts, namely, any space with all its
dimensions, length, breadth, and depth, and which can be divided in all
these directions, what proportion is there between such a space and
cogitation?
(39.) If all things are matter, and if thought within me, as well as in
other men, be no more than an effect of the arrangement of matter, how
came any other idea, but that of material things into this world? Is
matter able to produce so pure, so simple, so immaterial an idea as we
have of spirit? How can matter be the origin of that which rejects and
excludes such an idea from its very being? How can it be the cogitative
principle in man, that is, that principle which convinces man he is not
merely matter?
(40.) There are beings of short duration, because they are made up of
things varying much in their nature, and destructive to one another;
there are others more lasting, because they are simpler, but they
perish at last, being made up of several parts, into which they are
divisible. That which thinks within me must naturally be permanent, as
it is a pure being, free from all mixture and composition; there is no
reason why it should perish; for what can corrupt or divide a simple
being, in which are no parts?
(41.) The soul sees colour through the organ of the eye, and hears
sounds through the organ of the ear; but it may cease either from
seeing or hearing when those senses or those objects are absent, and
yet not cease from existing, because it is not exactly the soul that
sees or hears; it is only that which thinks. Now, how can it cease from
being such? Not for want of organs, since it has been proved it is not
matter; nor for want of objects, whilst there is a God and eternal
truths; it is therefore incorruptible.
(42.) I cannot conceive the annihilation of a soul which God has filled
with the idea of His infinite and all-perfect being.
(43.) Observe, Lucilius,[871] this spot of ground, which for neatness
and ornament exceeds all other neighbouring estates; here are plots
with the finest lakes and fountains, and endless hedge-rows of trees
which shelter you against the north winds; on this side is a thick
grove where the sun cannot penetrate; on the other side you have a
beautiful view; a little lower, the Yvette or the Lignon,[872] which
were running modestly between willows and poplars, have now become a
canal quite bricked in; elsewhere long and cool avenues lead to the
country, and foreshadow what the mansion will be, which is surrounded
by water. Will you say, “This is an effect of chance,” and suppose that
all these admirable things met together accidentally? No, certainly; on
the contrary, you observe that everything is well planned and arranged,
and displays good taste and much intelligence. I agree with you, and
take the liberty to add that I suppose it to be the residence of one of
those men, who from the very minute they get into office, send for a Le
Nôtre[873] to draw plans and take measurements. Yet what is this piece
of ground so exquisitely laid out, on which a most skilful artist has
employed all his science in order to embellish it, if the whole earth
is but an atom suspended in the air, and if you will but listen to what
I am going to say?
You are placed, Lucilius, on some part of this atom; you must needs
be very little, since you take up so little room on it; yet you have
eyes, like two imperceptible points; open them, however, and look up
to the heavens; what do you sometimes perceive there? Is it the moon
in its full? It is beautiful and very radiant at the time, though all
its light be but the reflection of the light of the sun; it appears
as large as the sun itself, larger than the other planets, than any
of the stars, but do not be deceived by outward appearances. Nothing
in the heavens is so small as the moon; its superficies exceeds not
the thirteenth part, and its volume not the eight and fortieth part of
the earth, whilst its diameter, which is two thousand two hundred and
fifty miles, is but a fourth of the diameter of the earth. What makes
it really appear so great is its proximity only; for its distance from
us is no more than thirty times the diameter of the earth, or three
hundred thousand miles.[874] Its motion is small in comparison to the
prodigious long career of the sun through the spacious firmament;[875]
for it is certain the moon does not move at the rate of above sixteen
hundred and twenty thousand miles a day,[876] which is not above
sixty-seven thousand five hundred miles per hour, or one thousand one
hundred and twenty-five in a minute. And yet, to complete this course
it must move five thousand six hundred times faster than a race-horse
running twelve miles an hour; it must be eighty times swifter than
sound—than the report, for example, of a gun or of thunder, which moves
at the rate of eight hundred and thirty-one miles an hour.[877]
But if you will oppose the moon to the sun with respect to its size,
its distance, and its course, you will find there is no comparison to
be made between them.
Remember that the diameter of the earth is nine thousand miles, that
of the sun a hundred times more,[878] which gives nine hundred thousand
miles;[879] now, if this be its width in every direction, judge what
its superficies and volume must be. Can you comprehend the vastness
of this extent, and that a million of such globes as the earth, all
together, would not exceed the sun in size?[880] You will ask, then,
how far is the sun from the earth, if one can judge of it by its
apparent small size? You are quite right, the distance can hardly be
conceived; for it is proved that the sunʼs distance from the earth
can be no less than ten thousand times the diameter of the earth, or,
in other words, than ninety millions of miles; it may be four times,
perhaps six times, perhaps ten times as much, for ought we know; there
is no method discovered to determine this distance.[881]
Now, to assist you in understanding this, let us suppose a millstone
falling from the sun upon the earth; let it come down with all
swiftness imaginable, and even swifter than the heaviest bodies
descend, falling from a very great height; let us also suppose that it
always preserves the same swiftness, without increase or diminution;
that it advances thirty yards every second, which is half the height
of the highest steeple, and consequently, eighteen hundred yards in
a minute; but to facilitate our computation, let us allow it two
thousand six hundred and forty yards a minute, which is a mile and a
half; its fall will then be three miles in two minutes, ninety miles
in an hour, and two thousand one hundred and sixty miles in a day;
now, it must fall ninety millions of miles before it comes down to the
earth; so that it cannot be less than forty-one thousand six hundred
and sixty-six days, which is more than one hundred and fourteen years
before it can perform this journey. Let all this not frighten you,
Lucilius; I will tell you more. The distance of Saturn from the earth
is at least ten times as great as the sunʼs is; that is, no less than
nine hundred millions of miles, and the stone would be above eleven
hundred and forty years in falling down from Saturn to the earth.[882]
Now, by this altitude of Saturn, exert your imagination, if you can,
and conceive the immensity of its daily course; the circle which
Saturn describes is above eighteen hundred millions of miles diameter,
and consequently above fifty-four hundred millions of miles in
circumference; so that a race-horse, if supposed to run thirty miles
an hour, must be twenty thousand five hundred and forty-eight years in
going this round.
Lucilius, I have not said all that can be said on the miracles of
this visible world; or, to use the expression you sometimes use, on
the wonders of chance, which alone you affirm to be the primary cause
of all things, and which is still more wonderful in its operations
than you imagine. Learn what chance is, and allow yourself to become
acquainted with all the power of your God.
Do you know that the distance of the sun from the earth, which is
ninety millions of miles, and that of Saturn, which is nine hundred
millions of miles, if compared to that of the other stars, is so
inconsiderable, that comparison is an improper term when mentioning
such distances; for, indeed, what proportion is there between anything
that can be measured, whatever its extent may be, and that which is
beyond all mensuration? The height of a star cannot be known; it is,
if I may say so, immensurable;[883] all angles, sines, and paralaxes
are of no use for this problem.[884] Should a man observe a fixed star
at Paris, and another in Japan, the two lines which would reach from
their eyes to that star, would make no angle at all, but be confounded
together, and converge into one and the same line, so inconsiderable is
the space of the whole earth in comparison to that distance; but the
stars have this in common with Saturn and the sun; therefore I shall
say something more. If two astronomers should stand, the one on the
earth and the other on the sun, and from thence should observe a star
at the same time, the two visual rays of these two astronomers would
not form a sensible angle; but in order that you may conceive the same
thing another way, imagine a man to be placed on one of these stars,
and then this sun, this earth, and the ninety millions of miles that
are between them would seem to him but as a dot. This has been proved.
Nor is the distance known between any two stars, however close they
appear to one another. You would think, if you judge by mere ocular
demonstration, that the Pleiades almost touch one another. There is a
star which seems to rest on one of the stars forming the tail of the
Great Bear; you can hardly, with the mere eye, discern that part of
the heavens which divides them; they make together, as it were, but
one double star; yet, if the most skilful astronomers cannot, with all
their art, find out the distance between these stars, how far asunder
must two stars be which appear remote from each other, and how much
farther yet the two polar stars.[885] How prodigiously long must be
that line which reaches from one to another! How immense the circle
of which this line is the diameter! And how can we fathom what cannot
be fathomed, and represent to ourselves the volume of the globe, of
which this circle is but a section? Shall we still wonder that these
stars, of such immensurable size, seem no larger to us than so many
sparks? Shall we not rather admire that from such a height the least
appearance of them should reach our eye, and that they can be discerned
at all? And, indeed, the quantity of stars which escape our vision
is countless. It is true, we limit the number of the stars, but that
is only of stars visible to us, for how should we number those we
cannot see; those, for example, which constitute the Milky Way,—that
luminous tract, which, on a clear night, can be observed in the sky
from north to south,—and which, by their immensurable height, cannot
be distinguished individually by our optics, and at most produce but a
white mark in that part of the heavens where they are placed?[886]