inertness of bodies, on the contrary inclines us to believe that they
are endowed with activity. Although the senses do not give us intuition
of any corporeal activity, they present a continuous series of changes
in a fixed order in the phenomena of the corporeal world; and if the
true activity of some on others can be inferred from the coincidence
of their relations in space and time, from the constant succession in
which we see some follow others, and the invariable experience that the
existence of some suffices for the existence of others; then we must
admit true activity in bodies. Whatever this argument may be worth at
the tribunal of metaphysics, it has always been sufficiently powerful
to convince the majority of mankind, and hence it is that the denial of
the activity of bodies is contrary to common sense.
156. If we consider our relations to the corporeal world, we are
equally led to believe that there is true activity in bodies. Whatever
may be our ignorance of the manner in which sensations are produced
within us, it is certain that we experience them in the presence of
bodies which are connected with us in space and time, and in a fixed
and constant order, which authorizes us to prognosticate with safety
what will follow in our senses if such or such bodies are placed in
relation with our organs. The idea of activity presents to us the idea
of a principle of changes in other beings; bodies are continually
producing real or apparent changes in us. The exercise of the sensitive
faculties implies a communication with corporeal beings; in this
communication the sensitive being receives from bodies a multitude of
impressions causing continual changes.
157. It is said that experience shows bodies to be indifferent to rest
or motion, and some works on physics at the very beginning lay it down
as a thing beyond all doubt, that a body placed at rest would remain in
the same state for all eternity, and if put in motion it would move for
all eternity in a right line, and always with the same velocity which
it at first received. I do not know how they could have learned this
from experience; and I maintain that not only they could not know it,
but experience seems to prove directly the contrary.
158. Where was there ever a body that was indifferent to rest or
motion? In all terrestrial bodies we find a tendency to motion, if no
other, at least that of gravitation towards the centre of the earth.
Celestial bodies, so far as our observation extends, are all in motion;
calculation agrees with experience in showing them to be subject to
universal attraction: where, then, is the indifference to rest or
motion, revealed by experience? We should rather say that experience
reveals a general inclination of bodies to be in motion.
159. It would be objected that this inclination does not flow from
any activity in the bodies, but that it is a simple effect of a law
imposed by the Creator. Let it be so: but at least do not tell us that
experience presents bodies as indifferent to motion or rest; explain
motion, if you will, without activity, maintain that there is no
activity, despite the appearances of experience; but do not tell us
that these appearances show the absence of activity.
160. If I place a body on my table, it remains at rest, I find it there
the next day, and if I return after many years I still find it there.
But this body is not indifferent to motion or rest; here it is at rest,
but it is continually exercising its activity, as is evident from its
pressure on the table which supports it. This exercise is incessant,
it is experienced at every moment; try to raise it and it offers
resistance, take away the table and it falls, place your hand under
it and it will press upon your hand, and it changes the form of soft
bodies on which it rests.
161. To say that the attraction of the centre of the earth acts upon
the body, proves nothing against corporeal activity but rather confirms
it; for this centre is another body, and thus you take activity from
one body to give it to another. Moreover, all observations show that
attraction is mutual, and therefore attractive activity is a property
of all bodies.
162. The corporeal world, far from appearing to us as an inert mass,
presents the appearance of an activity developing its colossal forces.
The mass of bodies which move in space is colossal; the orbit which
they describe is colossal; their velocity is colossal; the influence,
at least apparent, which they exercise upon each other, is colossal;
the distance at which they communicate is colossal. Where is the want
of activity revealed by experience? Rays of light inundate space,
producing in sensitive beings the wonderful phenomena of sight: rays
of heat extend in all directions, and motion and life spring up on
all sides; where is the want of activity revealed by experience? Do
not the vegetation which covers our globe, the phenomena of life
which we experience within us, and in the animals around us, require
a continual motion of matter, an ebb and flow, so to speak, of action
and reaction of bodies on each other, in reality or in appearance? Do
not the phenomena of electricity, of magnetism, of galvanism, appear
to be principles of great activity, the origin of motion wherever they
exist, rather than objects indifferent to motion or rest? The ideas of
activity, of force, of impulse, are not alone suggested to us by our
internal activity, but also by the experience of the corporeal world,
which displays before our eyes, and in obedience to constant laws, a
continual variety of magnificent scenes, whose origin seems to indicate
a fund of activity surpassing all calculations.
163. With how little reason then do you appeal to experience to combat
the existence of causality in bodies, and how much more in accordance
with experience are those philosophers who give a true activity to
bodies, is apparent from what I have said. In assigning the limits of
our intuition in relation to causality and activity in themselves,[94]
I said enough to show that I do not judge it possible to demonstrate
metaphysically the existence of activity in the corporeal world; yet I
cannot but insist that if the constant relation of phenomena in space
and time, and the invariable succession of some things after others,
prove any thing in favor of causality, we must admit the opinion which
holds that there is true activity in bodies; that in a secondary order
the reason of the changes of some is contained in others; and that
consequently there is in the corporeal world a chain of second causes
which reaches back to the first cause, the origin and the reason of all
that is.
[94] See Chs. XI. and XIII.
CHAPTER XVI.
INTERNAL CAUSALITY.
164. Consciousness reveals the existence of a faculty within us which
produces certain internal phenomena. If we concentrate our attention
by means of a free act of our will, we experience the production of
images and ideas. The works of the imagination are an irrefutable proof
of our internal activity. Sensations furnish the materials; but the
fancy builds edifices with them. Who, if not ourselves, gave them their
new form? We must confess that if we are absolutely without activity,
nature completely deludes us, making us believe that we are active.
Our recollections offer another proof of true activity. We propose
to think of a country which we have visited, and wish to recollect
its details; at the command of the will the imagination is aroused
and displays to our intuition the scenes which we once saw. But these
images already existed, it will be said, and it was only necessary to
awaken them; but it cannot be said that they existed in act, for we
had no actual consciousness of them; and the command of our will was
necessary and sufficient in order to force them to reappear. This new
presence adds something to our habitual state, and is produced within
us by the mere act of the will.
It is true that we do not know the manner of this production; but it
is certain that consciousness assures us that it immediately follows
an act of our will; and we have, to say the least, a strong proof that
there is in us a force which produces the transition of these images
from their habitual to an actual state. The same may be said of all
recollections; and if we often find that we cannot recollect all that
we wish to, this only proves that our active faculties are limited by
certain conditions from which they cannot free themselves.
165. Without considering recollections, every one knows how ideas are
elaborated in meditation. Our ideas are not the same when we begin to
reflect on any subject, as after we have meditated for a long time
on it. Sometimes without the assistance obtained by reading any new
work or hearing any new observation, by the mere force of our own
reflection we have made clear and distinct what was before only a
confused idea. To say that the new ideas are the result of others which
already existed in our mind only proves that our understanding has
a true activity; for this result, whatever its origin, is something
new, it produces a new state in the soul, since it now knows perfectly
what before it either knew not at all, or only in a confused manner.
The relations of the sub-secant to the secant, and of the sub-tangent
to the tangent, are geometrical ideas within the reach of the most
ordinary intellects: so also are the similarity of the triangles which
are imagined for the purpose of comparing lines with each other, and
the successive approximation of the sub-secant to the sub-tangent, and
of the secant to the tangent; but to reduce those elements to the point
where the wonderful theory of infinitesimal calculus shines forth with
the strongest light, an immense distance has to be passed over. Shall
we say that those geniuses who first crossed over this distance thought
nothing new, because they already had the elements from the combination
of which this theory results?
166. If this productive activity is clearly seen in any phenomena, it
is certainly in the acts of freewill. What becomes of freedom, if the
soul does not produce its volitions? Freedom means nothing, if they
are only phenomena produced by another being, in which the soul has no
other part than that it is the subject in which they are produced. It
is a contradiction to say that the soul is free, and at the same time
deny that it is the principle of its determinations.
167. Mere intelligence, even mere sensibility, and in general, every
phenomenon implying consciousness, seems to be the exercise of an
activity; and in this sense I have shown[95] that we have intuition of
an internal activity. If to know, to will, to have consciousness of
a sensation, are not _actions_, I know not where the type of a true
action can be found. To perceive a thing, to will it, the imperative
act of the will which makes me seek the means of obtaining it, are
undoubtedly actions; and action is the exercise of activity. The
idea of life represents activity in its most perfect degree; and
among the phenomena of life, the most perfect are those which imply
consciousness; if we do not call these actions, we must say that we
have no idea of action or of activity.
[95] SeeCh. XII.
Although we do not know the manner of the production, we are conscious
of it, we have intuition of the action in itself. When we see a bodily
motion we behold a passive modification; but when we experience within
ourselves the phenomena of consciousness, we behold an action, and
consequently have an intuition of our activity.
168. Here an objection arises. If internal phenomena are truly actions,
why are they so often independent of our will? We suffer despite
ourselves; ideas come upon us which we would fain cast off; thoughts
arise so quickly and spontaneously as to seem rather inspirations than
the fruit of labor. Where in such cases is the activity? Are we not
forced to say that these phenomena are wholly passive?
169. This objection, apparently so conclusive, proves nothing against
internal activity. In the first place, we might answer that the soul
being passive in some cases, does not prove that it is so in all;
and that in order to affirm the existence of internal activity, we
require only certain phenomena to be produced by it. But it is not even
necessary to admit that activity is not found in the cases proposed by
the objection; for, if we carefully examine them, we shall find that
even there the soul exercises a true activity.
The force of the objection rests on the appearance within us of certain
phenomena without the concurrence of our will, and at times in spite of
it; but this only leads us to infer that there are other functions in
the soul independent of freewill without obliging us to believe that
these functions are not active. With this observation the difficulty at
once disappears. There are within us certain phenomena which we neither
willed before nor after they appeared; so far I concede. Therefore
there are within us phenomena in which the soul is purely passive; this
I deny. The consequence is illegitimate; all that could logically be
deduced is, that certain phenomena appear and are continued in the soul
without the concurrence of our will.
The same thing happens with the body: there are functions which it
exercises independently of our freewill, such as the circulation of the
blood, respiration, digestion, assimilation of food, transpiration, and
others; but there are others which are only performed at the command
of the will, as eating, walking, and in general whatever relates to
the motion and position of the members. Why may not a similar thing
happen in the soul? Why may not the soul have active faculties which
are developed, and produce various phenomena, without the concurrence
of the will?
I do not believe any reply to this solution possible. Still I propose
to strengthen it by some remarks on the character of the phenomena in
which it is pretended that the soul is purely passive.
170. The objection speaks of painful sensations, in which apparently
the soul has no activity. Who will say that a man to whom I apply
a burning iron, and who suffers horrid pain, exercises in this the
activity of his soul? Is it not more reasonable to say that the soul
is here purely passive, and in a state very like that of the body
when pressed down by the weight of another body? If any activity is
exercised in such a case it is rather that of reaction against a
painful sensation. Reflect well upon these observations, and you will
find that they contain no difficulty whose solution cannot be found in
the preceding paragraph. I admit that the painful sensation does not
depend on the freewill of the sufferer, and that his free action is
opposed to this sensation; but despite all this, the soul may have a
true activity in the mere fact of perceiving: it only shows that the
exercise of this activity is subject to necessary conditions which
when they exist are more powerful for its development than is our will
to prevent it. Nothing is more certain than the development of certain
active faculties independently of our freewill. What more active than
violent passions? And yet it is often impossible for us not to feel
them; and it requires all the command of our freewill to restrain them
within the bounds of reason.
171. Sensation in itself cannot be all passive; and those who maintain
that it is, show that they have meditated but little on the facts of
consciousness. These facts are essentially individual, and inasmuch as
they are facts of consciousness, absolutely incommunicable. Another may
feel a pain very like, and even equal to, that which I suffer; but he
cannot experience the same _numerically_ considered; for my pain is so
essentially mine, that if it is not mine it does not exist. Therefore
pain cannot be communicated as an individual entity to me, and all that
can be done to produce it in me, is to excite my sensitive power so as
to experience it.
This observation shows that sensations cannot be merely passive facts.
A passive modification is all _received_; the subject suffering _does_
nothing. From the moment that the subject has in itself some principle
of its modification, it is not purely passive. Sensation cannot be all
_received_; it must be _born_ in the subject under some influence or
other, on this or that occasion; but the being which experiences it
must contain a principle of its own experience; otherwise it would be a
_lifeless_ being, and could not perceive.
172. The objection speaks of painful sensations as though their
necessity were an exception from the general rule; whereas all
sensations, pleasant or unpleasant, are equally necessary, provided
the sensitive faculties are placed in the conditions necessary for
their exercise. There is the same necessity in the pain which I feel
if a burning coal is placed in my hand, as in the sight of a beautiful
painting placed before my eyes.
173. The spontaneousness of internal phenomena, in the pure
intellectual order, or in that of imagination or sentiment, confirms
the existence of an activity independent of our freewill, and by no
means indicates that these phenomena are purely passive.
There is an important circumstance to be observed here. The exercise
of the functions of the soul is connected with the phenomena of the
organization. Experience teaches that the soul perceives with more or
less activity, according to the disposition of the body; and it is a
fact known from all antiquity that certain liquors have an inspiring
power. The state of the digestion causes heavy dreams and torments the
fancy with horrible forms; fever raises or depresses the imagination;
sometimes it increases the strength of the understanding, and sometimes
it produces a stupor in which intelligence is extinguished. These
phenomena offer a greater field to observation when they reach a
very high degree, as happens when the organic functions are greatly
disturbed; but this shows that there is an immense scale passed over
before arriving at the extremity; so that some phenomena, whose
spontaneous appearance seems inexplicable, perhaps depend on certain
unknown conditions to which our organization is subject. Whatever
opinion be adopted as to the equality or inequality of human souls, no
one has any doubt but that the differences of organization may have
an influence on the talent or character, and that certain minds of
extraordinary faculties owe a part of their endowments to a privileged
organization.
Hence it may be inferred that what is called the spontaneity of the
soul, and which has attracted so much attention from some modern
philosophers, is a phenomenon very generally known, and one which
neither destroys internal activity nor tells us any thing new as to its
character.
It is certain that there are certain phenomena in our soul which are
independent of our freewill; but there is no doubt that their presence
is sometimes sudden and unexpected, because the conditions of our
organization with which they are connected are unknown. But this is
only extending to a greater number of cases what we have frequently
remarked in psychological facts, the effects of disease, and what we
constantly experience in sensations. What is a sensation but a sudden
appearance of a phenomenon in our soul, produced by a change in the
state of the organs?
174. I do not mean by this to say that all spontaneous thoughts, and in
general all phenomena which suddenly appear within us without any known
preparation, arise from affections of the organization; I only wished
to recall a physiological and psychological fact, the neglect of which
might produce useless and even dangerous speculations. In reading the
works of some modern philosophers who treat this point, it seems as
though their object were to prepare the way for maintaining that the
individual reason is only a phenomenon of the universal and absolute
reason; and that inspirations, and in general all spontaneous phenomena
independent of freewill, are only indications of the absolute reason
appearing to itself in the human reason; that what we call our _me_ is
a modification of the absolute being; and the personality of our being
is only a phasis of the absolute and impersonal reason.
175. What is called spontaneity, the intuition of former times,
to the eyes of reason and of criticism can only be the primitive
teaching which the human race received from God: whatever some modern
philosophers say to the contrary is only a partly disguised repetition
of the sophisms of the incredulous of every epoch, presented in a
deceitful dress by men who abuse the talents which they possess. Read
with reflection the writings to which we allude, strip them of some
high-sounding and enigmatical terms, and you will find in them nothing
more than what Lucretius and Voltaire had already said after their own
fashion.
CHAPTER XVII.
REMARKS ON SPONTANEITY.
176. There is nothing easier than to write a few brilliant pages on
the phenomenon of spontaneity; some philosophers of our day discourse
of the genius of the poets, of the artists, and of the captains of all
ages, the fabulous and the heroic times, mysticism and religion, in
books which are neither philosophy, nor history, nor poetry, but which
can only be regarded as a flood of agreeable and harmonious words with
which writers of sparkling fancy and inexhaustible eloquence deluge the
overpowered intellect of the ingenuous reader. And after all, what is
this spontaneity, this inspiration of which they tell us so much? Let
us fix our ideas by establishing and classifying facts.
177. Reason properly so called is not developed in the human mind
when completely isolated from other minds; the sight of nature is not
sufficient to arouse it. The stupidness of children found in the woods
and the scanty intelligence of deaf-mutes are undeniable evidence of
this truth.
178. The human mind, when placed in communication with other minds,
experiences a development in part direct and spontaneous, in part
reflex and elaborate. This is another fact which we all perceive
within ourselves. Minds are developed with greater spontaneousness in
proportion as their qualities are more advanced.
179. Of the thoughts which occur to us suddenly and which seem to us
purely spontaneous, not a few are reminiscences, more or less faithful,
of what we have before read, heard, or thought; and consequently they
proceed from a _preparatory_ fact, which we do not remember. This
explains how labor perfects the inventive faculty.
180. As the organization of our body exercises a powerful influence
in the development of the soul's faculties, we may say that the
spontaneity of some internal phenomena is connected with certain
changes of our organization.
181. There is no _philosophical_ difficulty in admitting an _immediate_
communication of our mind with another mind of a higher order; and
consequently there is none in admitting that some internal spontaneous
phenomena arise from the direct influence of this higher mind upon ours.
182. The human race did not originally have a spontaneous development
independent of the action of the Creator; philosophy shows us the
necessity of a primitive teaching, without which the human race would
have remained in a state of brute-like stupidity. This last remark
requires a further explanation.
183. Religion reveals a primitive instruction and education of the
human race given by God himself to the person of the first man; this is
in perfect conformity with what both reason and experience assert.
Our mind possesses innumerable germs, but their growth requires an
external cause. What would a man be who had been alone from his
infancy? Little more than a brute: the precious stone would be covered
with coarse earth which would prevent its glistening.
Language does not and cannot produce ideas; this is certain: the
reason of ideas is not in language, but the reason of language is in
ideas. Words are signs; and that which is not conceived can have no
sign. But this sign, this instrument is of a wonderful use; words are
to the understanding what wheels are to the power of a machine; the
power imparts motion, but the machine would not go without wheels. The
understanding might have some motion without language, but very slow,
very imperfect, very heavy.
184. The Bible represents man as speaking as soon as created; language
was therefore taught him by God. This is another wonderful fact
which reason fully confirms. Man could not invent language. This
invention surpasses all that can be imagined, and would you attribute
it to beings so stupid as men without language? Better to say that a
Hottentot could suddenly invent infinitesimal calculus.
185. The most ignorant man who knows a language possesses an incredible
treasure of ideas. In the simplest conversation we may find many
physical, metaphysical, and moral ideas. Take the following sentence,
which is within the comprehension of the lowest mind: "I did not wish
to pursue the beast farther for fear that, becoming irritated, he
might do harm." Here are the ideas of time, act of the will, action,
continuity, space, causality, analogy, end, and morality.
Time past:--I _did_ not;
Act of the will:--_wish_;
Action:--to _pursue_;
Continuity and space:--_farther_;
Analogy:--_becoming irritated_; since from irritation in other
instances, it is inferred in the present; and it is also known from
what happens to ourselves if molested.
Motive and end:--_for fear_, _that irritated_, etc.;
Causality:--_he might do harm_;
Morality:--_not to harm others_.
186. Science is discovering the affinity of languages, finding them
united in great centres. The dialects of savages are not elements, but
fragments; they are not the lisping speech of infancy, but the torpid
and extravagant jargon of degradation and ebriety.
187. Language cannot produce in the mind the idea of a sensation which
it has not: all the words in the world could not give one born blind
the idea of color. Still less could pure ideas, distinct from all
sensation, result from language; and this is a strong argument in favor
of innate ideas.
188. The ideas of unity, number, time, and causality express things
which are not sensible; therefore they cannot be produced in us by any
sensible representation expressed in language. Yet these ideas exist
in us as germs susceptible of a great development, first by sensible
experience, and then by reflection. The child who burns his hand in the
fire begins to perceive the relation of causality, which he afterwards
generalizes and purifies. The great ideas of Leibnitz on causality were
the ideas of Leibnitz the child. The difference was in the development.
Thus the organization of the giant oak is contained within the shell of
the acorn.
Some have said that man's understanding is like a blank tablet on which
nothing is yet written; others that it was a book which he had only to
open in order to read; I believe it may be compared to a letter written
in invisible ink, which looks white until rubbed with a mysterious
liquid which brings out the black characters. The magic liquid is
instruction and education.
189. Show me a single nation which of itself has emerged from a savage
or a barbarous state. All known civilizations are subordinated one to
another in an uninterrupted chain. European civilization owes much to
Christianity, and something to the Roman; the Roman to the Greek;
the Greek to the Egyptian; the Egyptian to the Oriental; and over the
Oriental civilization hangs a veil which can be lifted only by the
first chapters of Genesis.
190. In order to know the human mind it is necessary to study the
history of humanity; whoever isolates objects too much runs in danger
of mutilating them; hence so many ideological frivolities which have
passed for profound investigations, although they were as far from true
metaphysics as the art of arranging a museum symmetrically is from
the science of the naturalist.
191. If innate ideas be defended, it is impossible to deny to our
understanding a power to form new ideas accordingly as objects,
especially language, excite it; otherwise it would be necessary to say
that we do not learn any thing, and cannot learn any thing; that we
have every thing beforehand in our mind, as if written in a book. Our
understanding seems to resemble a case containing all kinds of types;
but, in order that they may mean any thing, the hand of the compositor
is necessary.
This image of printer's types reminds me of an important ideological
fact: I mean the scanty number of ideas which are in our mind, and
the great variety of combinations of which they are susceptible. All
that is in the intellectual order, or is contained in the categories,
whether we adopt those of Kant or those of Aristotle, or any others,
may be reduced to a very few. Each of those ideas which we call
generative is like a ray of light which, passing successively through
innumerable prisms and refracted on a number of spectra, presents an
infinite variety of colors, shades, and figures.
As our thought is almost entirely reduced to combination, and as this
combination may be made in various ways, there is a wonderful agreement
in the fundamental combinations which all minds have. In the secondary
points there is divergence, but not in the principal. This proves that
the human mind, in its existence and in its development, depends on an
infinite intelligence, which is the cause and master of all minds.
192. Reject these doctrines so accordant with philosophy and with
history, and spontaneity, whether of the individual or the race, either
means nothing, or it expresses the vague and absurd theories of ideal
pantheism.
CHAPTER XVIII.
FINAL CAUSALITY;--MORALITY.
193. Those beings which act by intelligence must have, besides their
efficient activity, a moral principle of their determinations. In
order to will, the faculty of willing is not alone sufficient; it is
necessary to know that which is willed, for nothing is willed without
being known. Hence arises _final causality_, which is essentially
distinct from efficient causality, and can exist only in beings endowed
with intelligence.
194. Recalling what was said in the tenth chapter of this book, we may
observe that final causes form a series distinct from that of efficient
causes; what in the latter is physical action, is in the former, moral
influence. In a painting, the series of efficient causes is the pencil,
the hand, the muscles, the animal spirits, and the command of the will.
This series, which is necessary for the execution of the painting,
may be combined with different series of final causes. The artist may
purpose by the brilliancy of his genius to acquire renown, and by
renown to enjoy the happiness of a great name. Another series may be,
to please a person for whom he is working; and this in order that the
person may pay him a sum of money; and the money in order to gratify
the artist's wants or pleasures. A third series may be, in order to
seek in painting a distraction from a grief; and this in order to
preserve his health. It is evident that many series of a purely moral
or intellectual influence may be imagined, and which concur in the
production of the effect only, in so far as combined with the series of
efficient causes, they influence the artist's determination.
195. This moral influence may be exerted in two ways: either
necessarily bending the will, or leaving it free to will or not will;
in the first case, there is a voluntary, but necessary spontaneousness;
in the second, there is a free spontaneousness. Every free act is
voluntary, but not every voluntary act is free. God freely wills the
conservation of creatures; but he necessarily wills virtue, and cannot
will iniquity.
196. Regarding only efficient causality, we have only the relations
of cause and effect; but considering final causality, a new order of
ideas and facts is presented, which is _morality_. Let us first of all
establish the existence of the fact.
197. Good and evil, moral, immoral, just, unjust, right, duty,
obligation, command, prohibition, lawful, unlawful, virtue, and vice,
are words which we all use continually, and apply to the whole course
of life, to all the relations of man with God, with himself, and
with his fellow-men, without any doubt as to their true meaning, and
perfectly understanding each other, just as when we speak of color,
light, or other sensible objects. When the term lawful or unlawful
is applied to an act, who ever asks what it means? When this man is
called virtuous, that vicious, who does not know the meaning of these
expressions? Is there any one who finds a difficulty in understanding
the expressions which follow: he has a right to perform this act; he
is obliged to comply with that circumstance; this is his duty; he
has neglected his duty; this is commanded; that is prohibited; this
is right; that is wrong: this is a heroic virtue; that is a crime?
No ideas are more common, more ordinarily used, by the ignorant as
by the learned; by barbarous as by civilized nations; in the youth
of societies as in their infancy, and in their old age; in the midst
of pure customs, as of the most revolting corruption; they express
something primitive, innate in the human mind and indispensable to
its existence, something which it cannot throw off while it retains
the exercise of its faculties. There may be more or less error and
extravagance in the application of these ideas to certain particular
cases: but the generative ideas of good and evil, just and unjust,
lawful and unlawful, are the same at all times, and in all countries;
they form, as it were, an atmosphere in which the human mind lives and
breathes.
198. It is remarkable that even those who deny the distinction between
good and evil, are forced to admit it in practice. A philosopher, with
his pen in his hand, laughs at what he calls the prejudices of the
human race concerning the difference between good and evil; but say
to him: "It seems to me, Sir Philosopher, that you are a detestable
wretch, to spend your time in destroying that which is most holy on
earth;" and you will see how soon he will forget his philosophy and all
that he has said of the empty meaning of the words virtue and vice,
become indignant at being thus addressed, warmly defend himself, and
attempt to prove to you that he is the most virtuous man in the world,
giving repeated arguments of _honesty_, _sincerity_, and _honor_. It
matters little that in his lofty theories, honor, sincerity, and
honesty, are unmeaning words, since they can have no sense unless
the word order is admitted; the philosopher is not staggered by an
inconsequence, or rather, he takes no notice of it; moral ideas and
sentiments are awakened in his mind as soon as he hears himself called
immoral, he ceases to be a sophist, and becomes a man again.
199. Can the idea of this moral order be a prejudice, which, without
any thing in reality corresponding to it, or any foundation in human
nature, owes its origin to education, so that it would have been
possible for men to have lived without moral ideas, or with others
directly contrary to those which we now have? If it is a prejudice,
how comes it that it is general to all times and countries? Who
communicated it to the human race? who was strong and powerful enough
to make all men adopt it? How did it happen that the passions, when in
possession of their liberty, renounced it, and suffered a bridle to be
put on them? Who was that extraordinary man who subdued all times and
all countries, the most brutal customs, the most violent passions, the
most obtuse understandings, and diffused the idea of a moral order over
the whole face of the earth, notwithstanding the diversity of climates,
languages, customs, and necessities, and the differences in the social
condition of nations, and gave to this idea of the moral order such
force and consistency that it has been preserved through the most
complete revolutions, amid the ruins of empires, and the fluctuations
and transmigrations of civilization, remaining firm as a rock, unmoved
by the furious waves of the river of ages?
Here is not the hand of man; a phenomenon of this sort does not
spring from human combinations; it is founded on nature, and it is
indestructible because it is natural; thus, and thus only, is it
possible to explain its universality and permanence.
200. To deny all difference between good and evil is to place one's
self in open contradiction with the ideas the most deeply rooted in the
human mind, with all its most profound and most powerful sentiments;
all the sophisms of the world could not persuade any one, not even the
sophist himself, that there is no difference between consoling one who
is afflicted, and adding to his afflictions; between assisting the
unfortunate, and increasing their misfortunes; between being grateful
for a favor, and doing evil to the benefactor; between fulfilling a
promise, and breaking it; between giving alms, and taking what belongs
to another; between being faithful to a friend, and betraying him;
between dying for one's country, and selling it to the enemy; between
respecting the laws of modesty, and violating them without shame;
between sobriety and drunkenness; between temperance and moderation
in all the acts of life, and the disorder of unbridled passions. No
argument, nor genius, nor cavil can destroy the dividing line. The
sophist discusses, imagines, feigns, subtilizes, but in vain; nature is
there; she says to senseless man: So far mayst thou go, but here shall
thy pride be broken.
201. If there is no intrinsic difference between good and evil, and all
that is said of the morality and immorality of actions is a collection
of words which have no meaning, or only such as they have received from
human convention; how is it that whilst the just man sleeps securely
in his bed, the evil-doer is tossed about with a heart struggling with
remorse? Whence come those sentiments of love and respect inspired by
what we call virtue, and the aversion created by what is called vice?
Do not the love of children, the veneration of parents, fidelity to
friends, compassion for suffering, gratitude towards benefactors, the
horror which all men have for a cruel father, a parricide son, an
unfaithful wife, a dishonest friend, a traitor to his country, a hand
red with the blood of its victim, oppression of the weak, desertion of
the orphan, do not all these sentiments show clearer than the light of
day the hand of the Almighty engraving in our souls the ideas of the
moral order, and strengthening us with sentiments which instinctively
show us, even when we have not time to reflect, the path which we
should follow?
202. I do not deny that serious difficulties are encountered in
examining the grounds of morality; I admit that the analysis of
the knowledge of good and evil is one of the most hidden points of
philosophy; but these difficulties prove nothing against the difference
we have established. No one denies the existence of a building because
he cannot see how deep its foundations go: its depth is a proof of its
solidity, a guaranty of its duration. The difference between good and
evil demonstrated _a priori_ by the interior sentiments of the heart,
is strengthened with further evidence if we regard the consequences
of its existence or non-existence. Let us admit the moral order,
and suppose all men to regulate their conduct conformably to this
_prejudice_. What will be the result? The world becomes a paradise;
men live like brothers, using with moderation the gifts of nature,
dividing with each other their happiness, and aiding one another to
bear misfortune; the most lovely harmony reigns in the individual, the
family, and society; if the moral order is a prejudice, let us confess
that never did prejudice have more grand, beneficial, and delightful
consequences; if virtue is a lie, never was there one more useful,
fairer, or more sublime.
203. But let us make the counterproof. Let us suppose this prejudice
to disappear, and all men to be convinced that the moral order is a
vain illusion which they must banish from their understanding, their
will, and their acts; what will be the result this time? The moral
order destroyed, the physical alone remains; every one thinks and acts
according to his views, passions, or caprices; man has no other guide
than the blind instinct of nature or the cold speculations of egotism;
the individual becomes a monster, all the ties of family are broken
asunder; and society, sunk in a frightful chaos, rapidly advances to
complete destruction. These are the necessary consequences of the
rejection of the _prejudice_. Language would be horridly mutilated if
the ideas of the moral order should disappear; good and bad conduct
would be words without meaning; praise and blame would have no object;
even vanity would lose a great part of its food; flattery would be
forced to confine itself to natural qualities, considered in the purely
physical order; to pronounce the word merit, would be forbidden under
pain of falling into absurdity.
204. See, then, if any objection could be sufficient to make such
consequences admissible. Whoever, frightened at the difficulties
accompanying the examination of the first principles of morality,
should undertake to deny morality, would be as foolish as the
husbandman who, seeing the stream which waters his fields, should
insist on denying the existence of its waters because inaccessible
crags prevent his approach to their source.
CHAPTER XIX.
VARIOUS EXPLANATIONS OF MORALITY.
205. There have been many disputes concerning the origin and character
of the morality of actions; the same happening here as elsewhere, that
the understanding becomes perplexed and confused whenever it attempts
to penetrate into the first principles of things. As I am not going
to write a treatise on morals, but only to analyze the foundations of
this science, I shall confine myself to giving the character, as far
as possible, of the primitive ideas and sentiments of the moral order,
without descending to their application. In this I shall proceed, as
usual, on the analytic method, decomposing the fact established in the
preceding chapter, glancing at the various explanations which have been
given of it, showing the insufficiency and inexactness of some of them,
before coming to the only one which appears to me true and complete.
206. What is good? what is evil? why are things good or evil? in what
does goodness or evil consist? what is their origin?
We are told that good is that which is conformed to reason, that which
is in harmony with the eternal laws, that which is pleasing to God, and
that evil is that which is opposed to reason, that which contradicts
the eternal law, that which displeases God. This is true, but does it
completely solve the question on a scientific ground?
The moral worth of the dictate of reason depends on its conformity to
the eternal law; when, therefore, to found the moral order, you call in
the former, you also appeal to the latter; they are not therefore two
solutions of the question, but only one.
Acts cannot please or displease God, except as conformed to the eternal
law; therefore, to judge of the goodness or evil of acts by their
relation to the pleasure or displeasure of God, is to judge of them by
their conformity to the eternal law.
From this it may be inferred that, although an act conformed to reason,
one agreeing with the eternal law, and one displeasing to God, express
different aspects of an idea, they all mean the same when used in
explaining the foundations of the moral order.
207. The rules of the eternal law do not depend on the _free_ will of
God, since, in that case, God could make good evil, and evil good.
The eternal law cannot be any thing else than the eternal reason,
or the representation of the moral order in the divine intellect.
Morality thus seems, according to our mode of conception, to precede
its representation; that is to say, morality seems to be represented
in the divine intellect because it is; but not that it is because it
is represented. In the moral order we come to something resembling
metaphysical and geometrical science. Geometrical truths are eternal,
inasmuch as they are represented in the eternal reason; and this
representation supposes an intrinsic and necessary truth in them,
since the representation would otherwise be false. As this truth must
have some eternal foundation,[96] and this foundation cannot be in
any finite being, it must be sought for in the essentially infinite
being, which contains the reason of all things. The infinite intellect
represents the truth, and is, therefore, true; but this truth is itself
founded on the essence of the infinite being which knows it.
[96] See Bk. IV., Chs. XXIV., XXV., XXVI., and XXVII.
208. Moral truths are not distinguished in this respect from
metaphysical; their origin is in God, moral science cannot be
atheistic. Why are some things represented in God as good and others
as evil? To ask the reason of this is like asking why triangles are
not represented as circles, and circles as triangles. If there is an
intrinsic necessity, either we can assign no reason for it or we must
at any rate come to a reason which can be explained by no other reason.
It will in any case, be necessary for us to come to a point where
we can only say: It is so. Any further satisfaction, which we might
desire, is beyond our reach, as we do not intuitively see the infinite
essence which contains the first and ultimate reason of all things.
209. It is necessary first to suppose good and evil before things can
be represented as such, or even conceived as so represented. What is
a good thing? If we say it is being represented as good in the divine
mind, the thing defined is contained in the definition; the difficulty
still remains: what is it to be represented as good?
Goodness cannot consist in the simple representation, so that whatever
is represented in God is good; for then every thing would be good, as
every thing is represented in God.
Therefore, in order that a thing may be good, it must not only be
represented, but represented under such or such a character which makes
it good; but still the difficulty remains: what is this character?
210. Let us make these ideas clearer by comparing a metaphysical with a
moral truth. All the diameters of the same circle are equal; this truth
does not depend on any particular circle, it is founded on the essence
of all circles; this essence is in turn represented eternally in the
infinite essence, where with the plenitude of being, is contained the
representation and knowledge of all the finite participations in which
the wisdom and power of God may be exercised. All the participations
are subject to the principle of contradiction, in none of them can
being cease to exclude not-being, or not-being to exclude being; hence
proceeds the necessity of all the properties and relations, without
which the principle of contradiction cannot subsist; among these is the
equality of all the diameters of the same circle.
211. These considerations suggest the question: is it possible to
explain the moral order like the metaphysical and mathematical, by
showing it contained in the principle of contradiction?
212. It is easy to see that in all metaphysical and mathematical
truths, identity is expressed or denied. All formulas are reduced to A
is B, or A is not B; this is the general formula of all truths of an
absolute order. But it is otherwise in the moral order, where nothing
is ever expressed absolutely, as is shown by the very form of the
propositions. God is good, expresses a metaphysical truth, God must
be loved, or in other words, we ought to love God, expresses a moral
truth. Note the difference: in one case we say _is_ absolutely; in the
other, _must be_, _ought to be_, _there is obligation_, etc., using
different expressions which all mean the same thing; but in all, the
verb _to be_, as an absolute affirmation, disappears. It seems that no
moral proposition could be thus expressed, if we regard the primitive
elements of our moral ideas; for all these propositions express the
idea of duty, which is essentially a relative idea.
213. To love God is good. This is a moral proposition whose structure
seems to contradict what I have just established. Here an absolute
affirmation is found expressed simply by _is_, as in metaphysical or
mathematical propositions. Still, the least reflection will suffice to
show that this absolute character is destroyed by the nature of the
predicate. What is the meaning of _good_? Here we have an essentially
relative idea which communicates this character to the proposition. To
love God is good, is the same as: to love God is a thing conformed to
reason, or to the eternal law, or pleasing to God, or a thing which we
are under obligation to do; it is always a relative idea, and never
absolute, like being, not-being, a triangle, a circle, etc.
214. Good, say some, is that which leads to the end which corresponds
to intelligent beings. This explanation must not be confounded with
the theory of private interest;--a theory alike rejected by religion
and by the sentiments of the heart, and combated by the most profound
thinkers;--here, in speaking of end, the last end is meant, which is
something superior to what is understood by the expression, private
interest. Without doubt, to arrive at the last end, is a great interest
of every intelligent being; but at least this interest is taken in
an elevated sense, and does not promote the development of a paltry
egotism.
Having thus designated the difference between these doctrines, I say
that not even the latter seems to me admissible. Moral good must lead
to the end; but this does not constitute the character of morality.
For, what is meant by end? If God himself is meant, a moral act is
that which leads to God; in which case the difficulty still remains,
for we again ask, what is meant by _leading_? If it means to conduce
to the happiness which consists in a union with God, _how_ does
it conduce to this happiness? By the performance of what God has
commanded;--certainly; but then we ask: I. Why does doing what God
has commanded conduce to happiness? II. Why has God commanded some
things and prohibited others?--which is equivalent to putting anew the
question of intrinsic morality.
215. Besides, the idea of happiness represents something very different
from the idea of morality. Imagining a being which sacrifices all
that it possessed for the sake of other beings, we have the idea of
a highly moral being, but not a happy being. If morality consisted in
happiness, the participation of happiness would be the participation
of morality; every enjoyment would be a moral act; and could only be
immoral because too short or feeble. In proportion as we rose to the
idea of a stronger and more lasting enjoyment, we should form the
idea of a more elevated morality; the enjoyment the most free from
trouble would be the purest act of morality; who does not see that this
overthrows all our moral ideas, and is repugnant to every sentiment of
the heart?
216. It is not enough to say that a moral being will obtain happiness,
and that its happiness will be great in proportion to its morality;
this only proves that happiness is the reward of morality; it does not
authorize us to confound the two, the guerdon with the merit.
217. To confound morality with happiness is to reduce morality to
a calculation, to strip virtue of the pure lustre which charms and
attracts us, and makes it appear more beautiful accordingly as it is
joined with greater suffering. If we identify happiness with morality,
disinterestedness becomes a calculation of interest, a sacrifice of a
smaller to a greater interest, a loss for the present to gain in the
future.
No! the morality of actions is not an affair of calculation: the
virtuous man obtains a reward; but, in order that the act may be
virtuous, something more is necessary than a combination for the
purpose of obtaining it; there must be something which makes the act
merit the reward; and we cannot even conceive that a reward can be
reserved for any act, unless the act is in itself meritorious.
When God prepared punishment for some acts and rewards for others,
he must have found an intrinsic difference in them; and therefore he
gave them different destinies; but, according to the systems which
we are opposing, acts could be good only inasmuch as they lead to a
reward, and there would be no reason why some should lead to it rather
than others. This reason must be found in an intrinsic difference in
the acts themselves; or we fall into the absurdity of saying that all
actions are in themselves indifferent, and the good may be evil, and
the evil good.
218. To lead to the good of mankind is another incomplete character of
the morality of actions. It is clear that this morality would be only
human, and would not include the intrinsic morality which we consider
common to all intelligent beings.
219. What, too, is the good which is spoken of? In what state are
mankind considered? Do you mean a society constituted as a nation, or
mankind, properly so called; one generation or many; their destiny
on earth or hereafter in another life? Are you speaking of their
_well-being_, or of their development and perfection abstracted from
their greater or less well-being? If the morality of actions is to be
placed in their _conduciveness_, so to speak, to the general good of
mankind, in what does this supreme good consist? Is it the development
of the understanding, of the imagination, or of the heart; or in the
perfection of the arts, which secure material enjoyments? You must not,
then, place moral perfection as the end; for by the supposition it is
only the means; and the actions will be more moral accordingly as they
are more useful means of obtaining the general good.
220. To say that morality is only the object of sentiment, and that no
other mark of what is good can be given than the mysterious perfection
which we find in virtue, is to banish morality as a science, and to
shut the door against all investigation. I do not deny that there is
in us a moral sentiment, or that our heart feels mysterious sympathy
for virtue; but I believe the scientific study of the foundations of
the moral order to be compatible with this fact. It is necessary to
acknowledge the primitive character of some facts of our mind, and not
attempt to explain every thing; but we must guard against exaggeration
in this respect, which is only the more dangerous when covered with the
cloak of modesty.
CHAPTER XX.
FUNDAMENTAL EXPLANATION OF THE MORAL ORDER.
221. There must be something absolute in morality. It is not possible
to conceive any thing all relative, without something absolute on which
it is founded. Moreover, every relation implies a term to which it
relates, and, consequently, though we suppose a series of relations, we
must come to a last term. This shows why purely relative explanations
of morality do not satisfy the understanding; reason, and even
sentiment seek an absolute basis.
Besides, this purely ontological argument in favor of the absolute in
morality, there are others not less conclusive, and which are within
the reach of ordinary men.
222. In the infinitely perfect being we conceive infinite holiness,
independently of the existence of creatures; and what is infinite
holiness but _moral_ perfection in an infinite degree? This argument
is decisive for all the world, excepting atheists: whoso admits the
existence of God must admit his holiness; the contrary is repugnant to
reason, to the heart, to common sense. Therefore something absolutely
moral exists; therefore morality in itself cannot be explained by any
relation of creatures to end, since morality in an infinite degree
would exist though there had never been any creature.
223. In conceiving a created intelligent being, we also conceive
morality as an inflexible law to which the actions of this being must
be subjected. It is to be observed that we conceive this morality, even
supposing only one intelligent being; therefore morality cannot be
explained by the relations of creatures to each other. Imagine one man
all alone on the earth, can you conceive him exempt from all morality?
Would he be equally beautiful in the moral order, whether he labored
to perfect his intellect and develop his faculties harmoniously, or
abandoned himself to his coarse instincts, lowering himself to the
level of the beasts by his stupidity and debasement? Imagine the
earth, the whole corporeal universe, and all created beings, except
one intelligence, to disappear; can you conceive this creature wholly
exempt from all moral law? Can you suppose all his thoughts and acts of
the will to be indifferent, and that morality is for him an unmeaning
word? Impossible, unless you place yourself in open struggle with our
primary ideas, with our profoundest sentiments, with the common sense
of mankind. This, then, is another proof that in the moral order there
is something absolute, an intrinsic perfection, independent of the
mutual relations of creatures; that certain acts of an intelligent and
free creature have a beauty of their own.
224. The imputability of actions offers another argument in
confirmation of this truth. Morality is never measured by the result;
its perfection is appreciated by what is _immanent_, that is, by
the motives which have impelled the will, by the greater or less
deliberation which preceded the act of the will, by the greater or less
intensity of the act. If the result is sometimes considered, all its
moral worth arises from the interior of the soul. Whether the result
was foreseen or unforeseen; whether it was possible or not to foresee
it; whether it was willed or not; whether it was proposed as the
principal or secondary object; whether it was desired or accepted with
sorrow; these and other such considerations are present when the merit
or demerit of an action which has had such or such result, is weighed
and appreciated. Hence this result has no weight in the moral order
except in so far as it is the expression of the act of the will.
225. This character of _immanence_, which is essential to all moral
acts, overthrows all the theories which found morality on external
combinations; and shows that the act of a free and intelligent being
is good or bad in itself, absolutely abstracted from its good or bad
consequences, which were not contained in the internal act in one
way or another. A man, who, by an act which he did not and could
not foresee, should seriously injure the whole human race, would
be innocent; and another who with an evil intention should benefit
mankind, would be guilty. It is not a virtuous act to save one's
country through a motive of vanity or ambition; and the unfortunate
man, who with a pure and disinterested intention and with an ardent
desire to save his country, should by an error produce its downfall,
would not cease to be virtuous; the very act whose result is so sad, is
considered an act of virtue.
226. In what, then, does absolute morality consist? Where is the hidden
source of this ray of beauty which we all perceive, which penetrates
every thing, making all things beautiful, and without which the world
of intelligences would wither and fade away?
It seems to me that on this point, as on many others, science has not
paid sufficient regard to the admirable profoundness of the Christian
religion, which answers with one word, as full of tenderness as of
meaning: _Love_.
I particularly call the attention of my readers to the theory which I
am going to unfold. After so many difficulties as we have hitherto
encountered concerning the moral order, we must try to gain some light
on so important a subject. This light will more and more confirm a
truth which science reveals. When we come to the principles or the last
results of science, the ideas of Christianity are not useless; they
throw light on the foundation and on the summit of the edifice of human
knowledge.
Let not the reader imagine that instead of a scientific theory, I am
going to offer him a chapter of mysticism. I am sure that in the end
the reader will be convinced that, even under a purely scientific
aspect, this doctrine is much more exact and profound than that of
those authors who carefully avoid using the word _God_, as though this
august name would be a blot on the pages of science.
227. Absolute morality is the love of God; all moral ideas and
sentiments are applications and participations of this love.
Let us give a proof of this by carrying this principle to all the parts
of the moral world.
What is absolute morality in God? What is the attribute of the infinite
being, which we call holiness? The love of himself, of his infinite
perfection. In God there is no duty, properly so called, there is
an absolute necessity of being holy; for he is under the absolute
necessity of loving his infinite perfection. Thus morality in its most
absolute sense, in its highest degree, is infinite holiness; it is
independent of all freewill. God cannot cease to be holy.
228. But it may be asked, why _must_ God love himself? This question
has no meaning if the matter is rightly understood; for it supposes
that what is entirely absolute can be exactly expressed in relative
terms. The proposition: God _must_ love himself is not exact; strict
exactness is expressed only in this: God loves himself; for it
expresses an absolute fact in an absolute manner. If it is now asked,
why God loves himself; I answer that it might as well be asked, why
God knows himself, why he knows the truth, or why he exists; when we
come to these questions, we have arrived at the primitive origin, at
absolute, unconditioned things; therefore every _why_ is absurd.
229. Morality can, therefore, be expressed in an absolute proposition.
It is in itself, in an infinite degree, an absolute truth; it implies
an identity whose opposite is contradictory: it is not less connected
with the principle of contradiction than all metaphysical and
geometrical truths. Its simplest formula is: the infinite loves itself.
230. God in his intelligence sees from all eternity an infinity
of possible creatures. Containing in himself the ground of their
possibility and of all their relations among themselves or to their
Creator, nothing can exist independent of him; hence it is not possible
for any being to cease to be directed to God. The end which God
proposed in the creation can be no other than himself; since before
the creation only God existed, and after the creation there were no
perfections in creatures which were not contained in God in an infinite
degree, either formally or virtually. Therefore this direction of all
creatures to God as their last end, is a condition inseparable from
them, and seen by God from eternity in all possible worlds. Whatever
is created or may be created is a realization of a divine idea, of
that which was represented in the infinite mind, with the absolute or
relative properties which pre-existed in that representation. Therefore
whatever exists or may exist must be subject to this condition, it must
be directed to God, without whom its existence would be impossible.
231. Among the creatures, in which is realized the representation
pre-existing in the divine mind, there are some endowed with will,
which is an inclination to what is known, and, by means of an act of
the understanding, becomes a principle of its own determinations.
If the creature knew God intuitively, the acts of its will would be
necessarily moral; for it would necessarily be an act of the love
of God. The rectitude of the created will would then be a constant
reflection of the infinite holiness, or of the love which God bears
himself. The moral perfection of the creature would not in that case be
free, though it would still be an eminent degree of moral perfection.
There would be a perpetual conformity of the created will to the will
of God, for the creature loving God by a happy necessity, could will
nothing but what God wills. The morality of the created will would be
this constant conformity to the divine will, which conformity would not
be distinguished from the essentially moral and holy act, by which the
creature would love the infinite being.
But since the knowledge of God is not intuitive, since the idea which
the creature has of God is an incomplete conception involving many
indeterminate notions, the infinite good is not loved by necessity,
because it is not known in its essence. The will has an inclination to
good, but to good indeterminately; and therefore it does not feel a
necessary inclination to any real object. The good is presented under a
general and indeterminate idea, with various applications, and to none
of them is the will inclined necessarily; hence proceeds its freedom
to depart from the order seen by God as conformed to his sovereign
designs; when freedom, far from being a perfection, is a defect arising
from the weakness of the knowledge of the being which possesses it.
232. The rational creature conforming in its acts to the will of God,
realizes the order which God wills; loving this order, it loves what
God loves. If, although realizing this order, the creature in its
freedom does not love the order, but acts from motives independent of
it, its will, performing the act materially, does not love what God
loves; and here is the line which divides morality from immorality. The
proper morality of an act consists in explicit or implicit conformity
of the created will to the divine will; the mysterious perfections of
moral acts, that loveliness in them which charms and attracts us, is
nothing else than conformity to the will of God; the absolute character
which we find in morality is the explicit or implicit love of God, and,
consequently, a reflection of the infinite holiness, or of the love by
which God loves himself.
By applying this doctrine to facts, we shall see more clearly still its
perfect exactness.
233. To love God is a morally good act; to hate God is a morally evil
act, and of the most detestable character. Where is the morality of the
act of loving God? In the act itself, the reflection of the infinite
holiness, which consists in the love which God has for his infinite
perfection; here is a palpable proof of the truth of our theory. The
love of the creature for the Creator has always been regarded as an
essentially moral act, as the purest morality; which shows that in the
secondary and finite order, this act is the purest and most faithful
expression of absolute morality.
234. If we ask why we must love God, we are ordinarily reminded of
the benefits which he has conferred upon us, of the love which he
bears us, and even of the example of the love which we owe to our
friends and benefactors, and especially our parents; these reasons are
certainly very useful in order to make the morality of the act in some
sense palpable, and to move our heart; but they are not completely
satisfactory in the field of science. For, if we could doubt that we
ought to love the infinite Being, the author of all beings, it is
clear that we should also doubt that we ought to love our parents,
our friends, or our benefactors. Therefore our love for them must be
founded on something higher, or else, when asked why we love them, we
must remain without an answer.
235. To wish to perfect the understanding is a moral act in itself.
Whence proceeds the morality of this act? God, in giving us
intelligence, evidently wished us to use it. Its use, therefore, enters
into the order known and willed by God; in willing this order, we will
what God wills; we love this order which God loved from all eternity,
as a realization of his supreme designs; if, on the contrary, the
creature does not perfect his intellectual faculties, and making use
of his freedom leaves these faculties unexercised, he departs from the
order established by God, he does not will what God wills, he does not
love what God loves.
236. A man may perfect these faculties merely for the sake of obtaining
the pleasure of being praised by others; in this case he realizes the
order in the perfection of his understanding, but he does not do so
from love of the order in itself, but from love of something distinct
which does not enter into the order willed by God; for it is evident
that God did not endow us with intellectual faculties for the fruitless
object of obtaining each other's praise. Here, then, is the difference
which we know, which we perceive between two equal actions done with
different ends: the will in one perfects the understanding as a simple
realization of the divine order; perhaps we may not be able to explain
what there is there, but we know for certain that this will is right;
in the other the will is the same, it wills the same thing, but it
suffers something foreign to this order to mingle with it; and the
understanding and the heart both tell us this act which does something
good, is not good, it is not virtue,--it is meanness.
237. There is a person in great want, but who, nevertheless, has every
probability of soon improving his fortunes, Lentulus and Julius each
give him an alms. Lentulus gives his, because he hopes that when the
poor man is better off he will remember his benefactor, and assist
him if necessary. The action of Lentulus can have no moral value; in
judging of it we see a calculation, not a virtuous act. Julius gives
the alms solely in order to succor the unfortunate man, who excites his
pity, without thinking of the return which may be made; the action of
Julius is morally beautiful, it is virtuous. Whence this difference?
Lentulus does good, assisting the needy; but not from love of the
internal order of the act; he bends this order towards himself. God,
willing that men should stand in need of each other, also willed that
they should mutually help one another; to help one, therefore, simply
in order to alleviate his wants is to realize simply the order willed
by God; to help one for a particular end, is to realize this order
not as it is established by God, but as combined by man. There is a
_complication_ of view, the _simplicity_ of intention is wanting,--this
simplicity so recommended by Christianity, and even in philosophy
containing a profound meaning.
238. Regarding the purely natural order, we find that all moral
obligations have in the last result a _useful_ object; as all
prohibitions are directed to prevent an injury; but it does not suffice
for morality, that we will its utility, we must will the order itself
from which the utility results; for the greater the reflection, and
the love with which this order is willed, without any mixture of
heterogeneous views, the more moral is the act.
To help the poor with the _simple_ view of assisting them, out of
love for them, is a virtuous act; to help them, out of this love, and
with the _explicit_ reflection that it is complying with a _duty_ of
humanity, is still more virtuous; to help them, for the thought of God,
because you see in the poor man the image of God, who commands you
to love him, is a still more virtuous act than either of the other
two; to help them, even against the inclination of your own heart,
excited by resentment against them, or moved by other passions, to
subdue yourself with a firm will for the love of God, is an act of
heroic virtue. Observe that the moral perfection of the act increases
in proportion as the thing in itself is willed with greater reflection
and love; and arrives at the highest point when, in the thing loved,
it is God himself that is loved. If the views are selfish the order
is perverted, and morality is banished; when there are no selfish
views, but the act is prompted principally by sentiment, the action is
beautiful, but belongs rather to sensibility than to morality; when
the sacrifice tears the heart, but the will preceded by reflection
commands the sacrifice, and the duty is performed because it is a duty;
or perhaps an act not obligatory is done for the love of its moral
goodness, and because it is agreeable to God, we see in the action
something so fair, so lovely, so deserving of praise, that we should
be confounded if asked the reason of the sentiment of respect which we
feel for the person who for such noble motives sacrifices himself for
his fellow-men.
Conformably to these principles we may clearly and exactly determine
the ideas of morality.
239. Absolute morality, and consequently the origin and type of the
moral order, is the act by which the infinite Being loves his infinite
perfection. This is an absolute fact of which we can give no reason _a
priori_.
In God there is, _strictly_ speaking, no duty; there is the absolute
necessity of being holy.
240. The act essentially moral in creatures is the love of God. It is
impossible to found the morality of this act on the morality of any
other act.
241. The acts of creatures are moral in so far as they participate of
this love, explicitly or implicitly.
242. Creatures which see God intuitively, love him necessarily; and
thus all their acts, stamped with this august mark, are necessarily
moral.
243. Creatures which do not see God intuitively necessarily love good
in general, or under an indeterminate idea; but they do not love
necessarily any object in particular.
244. In this love of good in general, these free acts are moral, when
their will wills the order which God has willed, without mingling with
this order foreign or contrary combinations.
245. In order that an act may be moral, it is not necessary that the
one who performs it should think explicitly of God, nor that his will
should love him explicitly.
246. The act is more moral, in proportion as it is accompanied with
greater reflection on its morality and its conformity to the will of
God.
247. Moral sentiment was given us in order that we might perceive the
beauty of the order willed by God; it is, so to speak, an _instinct_ of
love of God.
248. As this sentiment is innate, indelible, and independent of
reflection, even atheists experience it.
249. The idea of moral obligation or duty results from two ideas: the
order willed by God, and the physical freedom to depart from this
order. God granting us life, wills us to try to preserve it; but man is
free, and sometimes kills himself. He that preserves his life fulfils
a duty; he that destroys himself, infringes it. Thus the idea of duty
contains the idea of physical freedom, which cannot be exercised,
in a certain sense, without departing from the order which God has
established.
250. Punishment is a sanction of the moral order; it serves to supply
the necessity which is impossible in free beings. Creatures that act
without knowledge, fulfil their destiny by an absolute necessity; free
beings do not fulfil their destiny by an absolute necessity, but by
that kind of necessity produced by the sight of a painful result.
251. Here may be seen the difference between physical evil and moral
evil even in the same free being; physical evil is pain; moral evil is
the departure from the order willed by God.
252. Unlawful is what is contrary to a duty.
253. Lawful is what is not opposed to any duty.
254. The eternal law is the order of intelligent beings, willed by God
conformably to his infinite holiness.
255. Intrinsically moral acts are those which form a part of the order
which God (supposing the will to create such or such beings) has willed
necessarily, by force of the love of his infinite perfection. Such
actions are commanded because they are good.
256. The actions which are good because they are commanded are those
which form a part of the order which God has willed freely, and of
which he has given creatures knowledge.
257. The command of God is his will communicated to creatures. If this
will is necessary, the precept is natural, if free, the precept is
positive.
258. Regarding the natural only, the order willed by God is that which
leads to the preservation and perfection of created beings. Actions are
moral when conformed to this order.
259. The natural perfection of beings consists in using their faculties
for the end for which their nature shows them to be destined.
260. Nature has charged each individual to take care of his own
preservation and perfection.
261. The natural impossibility of man's living alone, shows that the
preservation and perfection of individuals must be obtained in society.
262. The first society is the family.
263. Parents must support and educate their children; for without this
the human race could not be preserved.
264. Conjugal duties arise from the order necessary for the
preservation and perfection of the society of the family, which is
indispensable for the preservation of the human race.
265. The more necessary the connection of an act with the preservation
and perfection of the family, the more necessary is its morality, and
consequently the less subject to modifications.
266. The immorality of acts contrary to chastity, and especially
of those against nature, is founded on great reasons of an order
indispensable for the preservation of the individual and the species.
267. Passions, because they are blind, are evidently given us as means,
not as ends.
268. Therefore, when the gratification of the passions is taken, not
as a means, but as the end, the act is immoral. A simple example will
explain this idea. The pleasure of eating has a very useful object in
the preservation of the individual; thus to eat _with_ pleasure is not
evil, but good; to eat _for_ the pleasure of eating is to invert the
order: the act is not good. The same action which in the first case is
very reasonable, in the second, is an act of _gluttony_. Common sense
renders any proof of this superfluous.
269. If a man lived all alone, the use of his physical freedom could
never injure any one but himself; the moral limit of his freedom would
be to satisfy his wants and desires in conformity to the dictates
of reason. But as men live in society, the exercise of the physical
freedom of one necessarily interferes with the freedom of others; to
prevent disorder it is necessary that the physical freedom of each one
should be restricted a little, and that all should be subjected to
an order conformed to reason and conducive to the general good; hence
the necessity of civil legislation. But as the legislation cannot
be established or preserved by itself alone, a public power becomes
necessary. The object of society is the general good, in subjection
to the principles of eternal morality; the same is the object of the
public power.
270. This theory explains satisfactorily the double character presented
by the moral order: the absolute, and the relative. The heart, reason,
and common sense force us to acknowledge in the moral order something
absolute and independent of the consideration of utility; this is
explained by rising to an absolute act of absolute perfection, and
regarding the morality of creatures as a participation of that act.
Reason and experience teach that the morality of actions has _useful_
results; this is explained by observing that the absolute act includes
the love of the order which must rule among created beings in order
that they may fulfil their destinies. This order, then, is at the
same time _willed_ by God, and _conducive_ to the special end of each
creature; therefore it is at the same time both _moral_ and _useful_.
271. But these two characters are always kept essentially distinct;
the first we _perceive_; the second we _calculate_. When the first is
wanting, we are _evil_; when the second fails, we are _unfortunate_.
The painful result is _punishment_ when our will has knowingly violated
the order; otherwise, it is simply _misfortune_.
272. I hope I may flatter myself that this theory is somewhat more
satisfactory than those invented by some modern philosophers for the
purpose of explaining the absolute nature of morality. I had need of
the idea of God, it is true; but I conceive no moral order, if God be
taken from the world. Without God morality is nothing but a blind
sentiment, as absurd in its object as in itself; the philosophy which
does not found it on God, can never explain it scientifically; it must
confine itself to establishing the fact as a necessity whose character
and origin they know nothing of.
273. I shall add one observation which is an epitome of my whole
theory, and will show wherein it differs from others which likewise
acknowledge that the foundation of the moral order is in God, and that
the love of God is the first of all duties. The systems to which I
refer, suppose the idea of morality to be distinct from the idea of
the love of God; but I say that the love of God is the _essence_ of
morality. Thus I assert that the infinite holiness is _essentially_ the
love with which God loves himself; that the first and essentially moral
act of creatures is the love of God; that the morality of all their
actions consists in explicit or implicit conformity to the will of God,
which is the same as the explicit or implicit love of God.
One of the most remarkable results of this theory which places the
essence of morality in the love of God, or of the infinite good, is
that it destroys the difference of form of moral and metaphysical
propositions, showing that the _must_ and _ought_ of the former is
reduced to the absolute _is_ of the latter.[97] The explanation of this
important result is the following. The proposition: to love God is good
morally, is an absolute and identical proposition; for moral goodness
is the same thing as the love of God.
[97] See §§ 210, 211, 212, and 213.
The proposition: to love our neighbor is good, is reduced to the
former, since to love our neighbor is, in a certain sense, to love God.
The proposition: to help our neighbor is good, is reduced to the last,
for to help is to love.
The proposition: man ought to preserve his life, is explained by this
absolute proposition: the preservation of man's life _is_ willed by
God. Thus the word _ought_ expresses the necessity that man should
preserve his life, if he does not mean to oppose the order willed by
God.
These examples are enough to show how easily moral propositions may
be reduced to an absolute form. I cannot see how this is possible, if
instead of saying that the love of God is morality, we distinguish
between morality and love, saying that the love of God is a moral act.
274. Whatever judgment may be formed of this explanation, it cannot
be denied that by it, a profound wisdom, even in the natural and
philosophical order, is recognized in that admirable doctrine of our
divine Master, in which he calls the love of God the first and greatest
of the commandments; and in which, when he wishes to point out the
character of the moral good, he especially designates the fulfilment of
the divine will.
275. If we place the essence of morality in love, that which is moral
must appear beautiful, since nothing is more beautiful than love; it
must be agreeable to the soul, since nothing is more pleasing than
love. We see also why the ideas of disinterestednessss and sacrifice seem
so beautiful in the moral order, and make us instinctively reject the
theory of self-interest; nothing more disinterested than love, nothing
more capable of great sacrifices.
276. Thus egotism is banished from the moral order: God loves himself,
because he is infinitely perfect; outside of him there is nothing to
love which he has not created. The love which he has for creatures is
completely disinterested, since he can receive nothing from them. The
creature loves itself and also others; but what it loves in itself and
in other creatures, is the reflection of the infinite good. It desires
to be united to the supreme good, and in this it places its last
happiness; but this desire is united with the love of the supreme good
in itself, which the creature does not love precisely for the reason
that thence results its own happiness.
CHAPTER XXI.
A GLANCE AT THE WORK.
277. I have approached the term of my labor; and it is well to cast a
glance over the long path which I have travelled.
I proposed to examine the fundamental ideas of our mind, whether
considered in themselves, or in their relations to the world.
278. With regard to objects, we have found in our mind two primitive
facts; the intuition of extension, and the idea of being. All objective
sensibility is founded on the intuition of extension; all the pure
intellectual order in what relates to indeterminate ideas, is founded
on the idea of being. We have seen that from the idea of being proceed
the ideas of identity, distinction, unity, number, duration, time,
simplicity, composition, the finite, the infinite, the necessary, the
contingent, the mutable, the immutable, substance, accident, cause, and
effect.
279. We find in the subjective order, as facts of consciousness,
sensibility, or sensitive being, (including, in this, sentiment as well
as sensation,) intelligence, and will; whence we have intuitive ideas
of determinate modes of being, distinct from extended beings.
280. Thus all the elements of our mind are reduced to the intuitive
ideas of extension, sensibility, intelligence, and will, and the
indeterminate ideas which are all founded on the idea of being.
281. From the idea of being, combined with not-being, springs the
principle of contradiction, which of itself produces only indeterminate
cognitions. In order that science should have an object that could be
realized, the idea of being must be presented under some form. Our
intuition gives two: extension, and consciousness.
282. Consciousness presents three modes of being: sensibility, or
sensitive being; intelligence, and will.
283. Extension, considered in all its purity, as we imagine it in
space, is the basis of geometry.
284. The same extension modified in various ways, and placed in
relation with our sensibility, is the basis of all the natural
sciences, of all those which have for their object, the corporeal
universe.
285. Intelligence gives rise to ideology and psychology.
286. The will, in so far as moved by ends, gives rise to the moral
sciences.
287. The idea of being begets the principle of contradiction; and, by
this principle, the general and indeterminate ideas, whose combination
produces ontology, which circulates, like a life-giving fluid, through
all the other sciences.
288. Such I conceive the tree of human science: to examine its roots
was the object of the _Fundamental Philosophy_.
NOTES TO BOOK SEVENTH.
ON CHAPTER I.
There are not wanting those who have believed that time is a thing
very easily explained. Such is the opinion of Buffier in his
celebrated _Traité des premières verités_.[98] After explaining in his
own way in what duration and time consist, he adds:
[98] Part II., ch. xxiii. De la durée et du temps.
"J'admire donc que tant de philosophes aient parlé du _temps_ et de
la _durée_ comme de choses inexplicables ou incompréhensibles: _si
non rogas, intelligo_, leur fait-on dire, et selon la paraphrase de
Locke, _plus je m'applique à découvrir la nature du temps, moins je
la conçois. Le temps qui découvre toutes les choses ne saurait être
compris lui-même._ Cependant, à quoi se réduisent tous ces mystères? A
deux mots que nous venons d'exposer."
It is strange that so distinguished a writer should not have known, or
should not have remembered, that the difficulty of explaining time was
acknowledged not only by the philosophers of whom he speaks, but even
by so eminent a man as St. Augustine. The words to which he alludes
are from St. Augustine, and are found in the fourteenth chapter of the
second book of his confessions:
"Quid enim est tempus, quis hoc facile, breviterque explicaverit? Quis
hoc ad verbum de illo proferendum vel cognatione comprehenderit ...
quid ergo est tempus? Si nemo ex me quærat scio, si quærenti explicare
velim nescio."
"What is time? If no one ask me, I know, but if I wish to explain it,
I know it not."
The great doctor discovered here a profound question, and like all
great geniuses when they find themselves in sight of a deep abyss, he
felt a strong desire to know what was hidden in its bottom. Full of a
holy enthusiasm, he turns to God, and begs him to explain this mystery:
"Exarsit animus meus nosse istud implicatissimum enigma. Noli
claudere, Domine Deus, bone pater; per Christum obsecro, noli
claudere desiderio meo ista et usitata, et abdita, quominus in ea
penetret, et dilucescant allucente misericordia tua, Domine! Quem
percunctabor de his? et cui fructuosius confitebor imperitiam meam
nisi tibi, cui non sunt molesta studia mea flammantia vehementer
in scripturas tuas? Da quod amo; amo enim, et hoc tu dedisti. Da,
pater, qui vere nosti data bona dare filiis tuis. Da, quoniam suscepi
cognoscere te; et labor est ante me donec aperias.
"Per Christum obsecro, in nomine ejus sancti sanctorum nemo mihi
obstrepat. Et ego credidi propter quod et loquor. Hæc est spes mea, ad
hanc vivo, ut contempler delectationes Domini. Ecce veteres posuisti
dies meos, et transeunt; et quomodo, nescio. Et dicimus, _Tempus et
tempus, tempora et tempora. Quamdiu dixit hoc ille; quamdiu fecit hoc
ille; et quam longo tempore illud non vidi; et duplum temporis habet
hæc syllaba; ad illam simplam brevem._ Dicimus hæc, et audimus hæc: et
intelligimur, et intelligimus. Manifestissima et usitatissima sunt, et
eadem rursus nimis latent, et nova est inventio eorum. (Lib. XI., cap.
xxii.)
"Video igitur tempus quamdam esse distensionem, sed video an videre
mihi videor? Tu demonstrabis lux, veritas. (Cap. xxiii.)
"Et confiteor tibi (Domine) ignorare me adhuc quid sit tempus; et
rursus confiteor tibi (Domine) scire me in tempore ista dicere, et
diu me jam loqui de tempore, atque idipsum diu, non esse nisi moram
temporis. Quomodo igitur hoc sciam, quando quid sit tempus nescio? an
forte nescio quemadmodum dicam quod scio? Hei mihi qui nescio saltem
quid nesciam! Ecce Deus meus coram te, quia non mentior; sicut loquor
ita est cor meum. Tu illuminabis lucernam meam, Domine Deus meus;
illuminabis tenebras meas." (Cap. xxv.)
To present as easy things which seemed difficult to the greatest men,
is, to say the least of it, rather bold. The author flatters himself,
in such instances that he has settled the question when he has not
penetrated beyond its surface. It often happens that objects seem
very clear at first, and we only discover the difficulty which they
present, when we examine them more closely. Ask a man unskilled in
questions of philosophy, what extension is, or space, or time, and he
will wonder that you find any difficulty _in things so clear_. And
why? Because his first reflex act does not go beyond the ordinary idea
of these objects, or rather, the use of this idea. Father Buffier
says, in the chapter from which we quoted before:
"Dans toutes ces recherches de métaphysique, si embarassées en
apparence, il ne faut, comme je l'ai dit d'abord, que distinguer les
idées les plus simples que nous avons dans l'esprit d'avec les noms
qui y sont attachés par l'usage, pour y découvrir ce qui nous doit
tenir lieu de première vérité à leur sujet."
I do not deny that this observation presents a useful criterion; but
I cannot see in it so simple a means of solving the most difficult
questions of philosophy. For the difficulty is in distinguishing with
exactness these simple ideas, which, because they constitute the
foundation of our knowledge, are, for this very reason, generally
placed at a greater depth, and covered over with a thousand different
objects, which hinder us from perceiving them clearly and distinctly,
Father Buffier was led astray by the very clearness of his explanation
of time, and believed he saw the bottom of the abyss, when he only saw
the reflection on its surface:
"Qu'est-ce que durer? C'est _exister sans être détruit_: voilà
l'explication la plus nette qu'on puisse donner de la durée; mais le
simple mot de _durée_ fait comprendre la chose aussi clairement que
cette explication.
"Outre l'idée de la durée, nous avons l'idée de la mesure de la durée,
qui n'est pas la durée elle-même, bien que nous confondions souvent
l'une avec l'autre; comme il arrive d'ordinaire de confondre nos
sentiments ou avec leurs effets, ou avec leurs causes, ou avec leurs
autres circonstances.
"Or, cette mesure de la durée n'est autre chose que ce que nous
appelons le _temps_; et le temps n'est que _la révolution régulière
de quelque chose de sensible_, comme du cours annuel du soleil, ou
du cours mensuel de la lune, ou diurnal d'une aiguille sur le cadran
d'une horloge.
"L'attention que nous avons à cette révolution régulière fait
précisément en nous l'idée du temps. L'intervalle de cette révolution
se divisant en de moindres intervalles forme l'idée des parties du
temps, auxquelles nous donnons aussi le nom de _temps_ plus long ou
plus court, selon les divers intervalles de la révolution.
"Quand nous avons une fois acquis cette idée du temps, nous
l'appliquons à toute la durée que nous concevons ou que nous supposons
répondre à tel intervalle de la révolution régulière, et par là nous
donnons à la durée même le nom de temps, appliquant le nom de de la
mesure à la chose mesurée; mais sans que la durée qu'on mesure soit au
fond le temps auquel on la mesure, et qui est une révolution. Ainsi,
Dieu a duré avant le temps, c'est-à-dire _a été sans cesser d'être
avant la création du monde, et avant la révolution régulière d'aucun
corps_."
Here follows the passage already quoted, where the author shows his
surprise that the explanation of time has been found so difficult.
After giving his rule that _the simplest ideas must be separated from
the terms which custom has joined to them_, he concludes with these
words:
"Par ces deux moyens nous trouvons tout d'un coup l'idée ou la notion
de _durée_ et de _temps_: j'ai l'idée d'un être en tant qu'il ne cesse
pas d'être, c'est ce qui s'appelle _durée_; j'ai l'idée de cette durée
en tant qu'elle est mesurée par la révolution régulière d'un corps
ou par les intervalles de cette révolution, c'est ce que j'appelle
_temps_. Il me semble que ces notions sont aussi claires qu'elles
peuvent l'être, et celui qui cherche à les éclaircir davantage est à
peu près aussi peu sensé que celui qui voudrait éclaircir comment deux
fois deux font quatre et ne font pas cinq."
What explanation is contained in these passages? I can see none.
Duration, says Buffier, is uninterrupted succession, and time is the
measure of this duration. But he ought to have reflected that only
what has quantity can be measured; and consequently duration cannot
he measured, unless he supposes a length before the measure. This
is precisely what the difficulty consists in. It is well known that
time is measured by reference to the revolution of some quantity.
But what he ought to have explained was, the nature of that which is
measured, of this quantity, or length, independently of the measure.
Measure requires _a greater and a less_, and this _greater and less_
exists independently of all measure. What, then, is the nature of this
quantity, of this _greater and less_?
Father Buffier observes, that although there were no succession of
thought in us, and we should have only one thought, we should still
have the idea of duration as much as ever. This is true, if we make
the idea of duration the same as the idea of uninterrupted existence.
But on this hypothesis we could not measure this duration, and
consequently could not have the idea of time.
"In God," says Buffier, "there is no succession, for, does not his
being endure always?" No doubt of it; but this argument instead of
confirming his doctrine, only shows its weakness. The duration of
God cannot be measured unless we suppose a _greater and less_ in the
duration of necessary and infinite being. Therefore, the idea of
duration, or uninterrupted existence, does not give us the idea of
time, or of a duration that can be measured.
ON CHAPTER IV.
The denial of all succession in eternity, and making it all present,
without any past or future, must not be regarded as a vain subtlety of
the schools. Long before the scholastics this had been taught by the
most eminent authors. St. Augustine says:
"Idipsum enim tempus tu feceras: nec præterire potuerunt tempora
antequam faceres tempora. Si autem ante cœlum et terram nullum
erat tempus, cur quæritur quid tunc faciebas? Non enim erat tunc, ubi
non erat tempus; nec in tempore tempora præcedis; alioquin non omnia
tempora præcederes.
"Sed præcedis omnia tempora præterita, celsitudine semper præsentis
æternitatis: et superas omnia futura; quia et illa futura sunt; et
cum venerint præterita erunt; _tu autem idem ipse es, et anni tui
non deficient_. Anni tui nec eunt, nec veniunt: isti autem nostri,
et eunt, et veniunt, ut omnes veniant. Anni tui omnes simul stant,
quoniam stant; nec euntes à venientibus excluduntur, quia non
transeunt: isti autem nostri omnes erunt cum omnes non erunt. Anni tui
dies unus: et dies tuus non quotidie, sed hodie: quia hodiernus tuus
non cedit crastino neque succedit hesterno. Hodiernus tuus æternitas;
ideo coæternum genuisti, cui dixisti: Ego hodie genui te. Omnia
tempora tu fecisti, et ante omnia tempora tu es, nec aliquo tempore
non erat tempus." (Conf. Lib. XI., cap. xiii.)
In another place we find the same doctrine in these terms:
"Anni Dei æternitas Dei est. Æternitas ipsa Dei substantia est, quæ
nihil habet mutabile. Ibi nihil est præteritum, quasi jam non sit;
nihil est futurum, quasi nondum sit. Non est ibi, nisi _est_. Non est
ibi, _fuit_ et _erit_, quia et quod fuit jam non est; et quod erit
nondum est; sed quidquid ibi est, non nisi est." (In Psal. 101; Serm.
2, num. 10.)
Plato was not ignorant of this truth, and the holy fathers have
constantly taught it. When the scholastics adopted the definition of
Boëthius, that eternity is _interminabilis vitæ tota simul et perfecta
possessio_, they only embraced a doctrine as solid as it was universal.
It is difficult to explain these sublime ideas in a more lofty or
a more profound manner than Fenelon does in his _Treatise on the
Existence of God_.[99]
[99] II. part, ch. ii., § 9.
"C'est retomber dans l'idée du temps, et confondre tout, que de
vouloir imaginer en Dieu rien qui ait rapport à aucune succession. En
lui rien ne dure, parce que rien ne passe: tout est fixe; tout est à
la fois; tout est immobile. En Dieu rien n'a été, rien ne sera; mais
tout est. Supprimons donc pour lui toutes les questions que l'habitude
et la faiblesse de l'esprit fini, qui veut embrasser l'infini à sa
mode étroite et raccourcie, me tenterait de faire. Dirai-je, ô mon
Dieu, que vous aviez déjà une éternité d'existence en vous-même
avant que vous m'eussiez créé, et qu'il vous reste encore une autre
éternité, après ma création, où vous existez toujours? Ces mots de
_déjà_ et d'_après_ sont indignes de celui qui est. Vous ne pouvez
souffrir aucun passé et aucun avenir en vous. C'est une folie que de
vouloir diviser votre éternité, qui est une permanence indivisible:
c'est vouloir que le rivage s'enfuie, parce qu'en descendant le long
d'un fleuve, je m'éloigne toujours de ce rivage qui est immobile.
Insensé que je suis! Je veux, ô immobile vérité, vous attribuer
l'être borné, changeant et successif de votre créature! Vous n'avez
en vous aucune mesure dont on puisse mesurer votre existence; car
elle n'a ni bornes ni parties; vous n'avez rien de mesurable:
les mesures même qu'on peut tirer des êtres bornés, changeants,
divisibles et successifs, ne peuvent servir à vous mesurer, vous qui
êtes infini, indivisible, immuable et permanent. Comment dirai-je
donc que la courte durée de la créature est par rapport à votre
éternité? N'étiez-vous pas avant moi? Ne serez-vous pas après moi?
Ces paroles tendent à signifier quelque vérité; mais elles sont à la
rigueur indignes et impropres. Ce qu'elles ont de vrai, c'est que
l'infini surpasse infiniment le fini; qu'ainsi votre existence infinie
surpasse infiniment en tout sens mon existence, qui, étant bornée,
a un commencement, un présent et un futur. Mais il est faux que la
création de votre ouvrage partage votre éternité en deux éternités.
Deux éternités ne feraient pas plus qu'une seule: une éternité
partagée, qui aurait une partie antérieure et une partie postérieure,
ne serait plus une véritable éternité: en voulant la multiplier, on
la détruirait, parce qu'une partie serait nécessairement la borne
de l'autre par le bout où elles se toucheraient. Qui dit éternité,
s'il entend ce qu'il dit, ne dit que ce qui est, et rien au delà; car
tout ce qu'on ajoute à cette infinie simplicité l'anéantit. Qui dit
éternité ne souffre plus le langage du temps. Le temps et l'éternité
sont incommensurables, ils ne peuvent être comparés; et on est séduit
par sa propre faiblesse toutes les fois qu'on imagine quelque rapport
entre des choses si disproportionnées. Vous avez néanmoins, ô mon
Dieu, fait quelque chose hors de vous; car je ne suis pas vous, et il
s'en faut infiniment. Quand est-ce donc que vous m'avez fait? Est-ce
que vous n'étiez pas avant que de me faire? Mais que dis-je? Me voilà
déjà retombé dans mon illusion et dans les questions du temps. Je
parle de vous comme de moi, ou comme de quelque autre être passager
que je pourrais mesurer avec moi. Ce qui passe peut être mesuré avec
ce qui passe; mais ce qui ne passe point est hors de toute mesure et
de toute comparaison avec ce qui passe: il n'est permis de demander
ni quand il a été, ni s'il était avant ce qui n'est pas, ou qui
n'est qu'en passant. Vous êtes, et c'est tout. O que j'aime cette
parole, et qu'elle me remplit pour tout ce que j'ai à connaître de
vous! Vous êtes _celui qui est_. Tout ce qui n'est point cette parole
vous dégrade. Il n'y a qu'elle qui vous ressemble. Eu n'ajoutant
rien au mot d'être, elle ne diminue rien de votre grandeur. Elle
est, je l'ose dire, cette parole, infiniment parfaite comme vous. Il
n'y a que vous qui puissiez parler ainsi, et renfermer votre infini
dans trois mots si simples. Je ne suis pas, ô mon Dieu, ce qui est.
Hélas! je suis presque ce qui n'est pas. Je me vois comme un milieu
incompréhensible entre le néant et l'être. Je suis celui qui a été; je
suis celui qui sera; je suis celui qui n'est plus ce qu'il a été; je
suis celui qui n'est pas encore ce qu'il sera; et dans cet entre-deux
que je suis, un je ne sais quoi qui ne peut s'arrêter en soi, qui n'a
aucune consistance, qui s'écoule rapidement comme l'eau; un je ne sais
quoi que je ne puis saisir, qui s'enfuit de mes propres mains, qui
n'est plus dès que je le veux saisir ou l'apercevoir; un je ne sais
quoi qui finit dans l'instant même où il commence; en sorte que je
ne puis jamais un seul moment me trouver moi-même, fixe et présent à
moi-même, pour dire simplement: Je suis. Ainsi, ma durée n'est qu'une
défaillance perpétuelle. O que je suis loin de votre éternité qui est
indivisible, infinie, et toujours présente tout entière! Que je suis
même bien éloigné de la comprendre! Elle m'échappe à force d'être
vraie, simple et immense; comme mon être m'échappe à force d'être
composé de parties, mêlé de vérité et de mensonge, d'être et de néant.
C'est trop peu que de dire de vous que vous étiez des siècles infinis
avant que je fusse. J'aurais honte de parler ainsi; car c'est mesurer
l'infini avec le fini qui est un demi-néant. Quand je crains de dire
que vous étiez avant que je fusse, ce n'est pas pour douter que vous
existant, vous ne m'ayez créé, moi qui n'existais pas: mais c'est pour
éloigner de moi toutes les idées imparfaites qui sont au-dessus de
vous. Dirai-je que vous étiez avant moi? Non; car voilà deux termes
que je ne puis souffrir. Il ne faut pas dire, _vous étiez_; car _vous
étiez_ marque un temps passé et une succession. Vous êtes: et il n'y
a qu'un présent, immobile, indivisible et infini que l'on puisse vous
attribuer, pour parler dans la rigueur des termes. Il ne faut point
dire que vous avez toujours été, il faut dire que vous êtes; et ce
terme de _toujours_, qui est si fort pour la créature, est trop faible
pour vous; car il marque une continuité et non une permanence. Il vaut
mieux dire simplement et sans restriction, que vous êtes. O Etre! ô
Etre! votre éternité, qui n'est que votre être même, m'étonne; mais
elle me console. Je me trouve devant vous comme si je n'étais pas; je
m'abîme dans votre infini; et loin de mesurer votre permanence, par
rapport à ma fluidité continuelle, je commence à me perdre de vue, à
ne me trouver plus, et ne voir en tout que ce qui est; je veux dire
vous-même. Ce que j'ai dit du passé, je le dis de même de l'avenir.
On ne peut point dire que vous serez après ce qui passe; car vous ne
passez point. Ainsi, vous ne serez présent en parlant de vous. On ne
dit point d'un rivage immobile, qu'il devance ou qu'il suit les flots
d'une rivière: il ne devance ni ne suit; car il ne marche point. Ce
que je remarque de ce rivage par rapport à l'immobilité locale, je le
dois dire de l'être infini par rapport à l'immobilité d'existence. Ce
qui passe a été et sera, et passe du prétérit au futur par un présent
imperceptible, qu'on ne peut jamais assigner. Mais ce qui ne passe
point existe absolument, et n'a qu'un présent infini: il est, et c'est
tout ce qu'il est permis d'en dire: il est sans temps dans tous les
temps de la création. Quiconque sort de cette simplicité, tombe de
l'éternité dans le temps."
NOTE TO BOOK EIGHTH.
(3) Perhaps some of my readers, who are not well acquainted with the
history of philosophy, may think that I have extended the explanation
of the idea of the infinite to too great length, and consider these
questions as serving rather to subtilize, than to acquire solid
knowledge. This is a great mistake. At all times the philosophical
questions of the idea of the infinite have held a prominent position,
and at the present time there is scarcely any which require to be more
carefully examined, if we wish to stay the progress of pantheism.
I shall not cease to repeat that a great many of the most serious
errors have their birth in a confusion in their fundamental ideas;
if one is well grounded in these ideas, he has nothing to fear from
certain works whose secret in leading one astray, consists in using
incomprehensible words, or in giving a false sense to those which can
be understood. However this may be, I would remind those who believe
these questions mere scholastic cavils, that they must regard as
cavillers the most eminent philosophers of ancient and modern times.
NOTE TO BOOK NINTH.
(4) I know that some modern philosophers, and more especially M.
Cousin, reject the accusation of pantheism, and explain in their own
way those passages of their works in which this error is professed.
As it is not possible for me to examine at any length, a question
which would require the insertion of long extracts, I merely refer the
reader to what I have said in the body of the work, and with respect
to M. Cousin, to the extracts which I have made in my _Letters to a
Skeptic in Matters of Religion, Letter I_. It is not the fault of M.
Cousin's adversaries that he has used such clear expressions that no
man of sound judgment can doubt that they contain a full profession
of pantheism. Leaving to the philosopher the responsibility of his
intentions, I shall only beg our young men not to judge lightly of the
disputes of the neighboring kingdom, which are not always received
here through faithful organs; and to withhold their faith from those
who would attempt to persuade them that there is no ground for the
alarms of men of sound philosophical doctrine.
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Variations in hyphenation have been standardised, but other variations
in spelling, accents and punctuation are as in the original.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
§ 18, Book VII, fourth paragraph
"A space whose parts are not continuous, is not a space; neither is
a time whose parts are not continuous, a space."
The final space has been changed to time.
Footnote 61 read "III. Th. § 5, II., p. 256.". From the context it
appears that Ib., was omitted.
Book X Chapter 1. The first sentence read
"1. Beings are divided into two classes: necessary and contingent;
necessary being is that which cannot be;"
This has been changed to "cannot but be;"
The repetition of the title of each book on consecutive pages at
the beginning has been removed.