extreme ignorance we cannot accurately define prescience; but we are
reduced to examine whether this prescience, considered in a general
manner, is incompatible with the liberty of man.
This opinion, I think, should not be adopted. Prescience does not
determine future events, for the mere knowledge of the future makes not
the future. It is not prescience which necessitates the actions of men,
because it does not change the natural order of things; but all future
events are fixed, whether foreseen or not; for constraint and liberty
conduct equally to a positive term: thus, all that will happen is as
immutable as that which is past, since the present was the future of
yesterday, and will be to morrow the past. It is then abstractedly
certain, that an event, either foreseen or not, will take place some
time; but if liberty is not contrary to this inevitable certainty, how
would it be more so, because their exists a Being who is acquainted
previously with the precise nature of events? We may then say, with
truth, that the knowledge of the future is no more an obstacle to
liberty, than the remembrance of the past; and prophecies, like
histories, are only recitals, whose place is not the same in the order
of time; but not having any influence on events, do not constrain the
will, cannot enslave the sentiments, or subject men to the law of
necessity.
We will confess, however, that if prescience was founded on the
possibility of calculating the actions of men, like the movements of an
organized machine, liberty could not exist; but then it would not be
prescience which opposed this liberty, it would be because we are
automatons; for with such a constitution we should be without liberty,
were even the Supreme Being not to have any knowledge of futurity.
It is in vain, in order to convince us we are not free, that some would
represent us as necessarily submitting to the impulse of various
exterior objects; comprehending, among those objects, every thing that
is subtle in moral ideas, and uniting them under the general name of
motives, and giving afterwards to these motives a physical force which
we are bound to obey; but to be free, is it necessary that we act
without motives? then man would be indeed evidently a piece of
mechanism. It is certain, that we are, in all our actions, determined by
reason, taste, or a cause of preference; but it is our mind which
comprehends these various considerations, which weighs, compares, and
modifies; it is our mind which listens to the counsels of virtue, and
which replies to the language of our passions; it is in order to
enlighten itself that it borrows from the memory the succours of
experience; it is then our mind which prepares, composes, and improves
every thing which we term motives, and it is after this intellectual
labour that we act. There is too much order, unity, and harmony in our
thoughts, to allow us to suppose them the mere effect of exterior
objects; which, under the form of ideas, come without order to impress
themselves on our brain; and until we are made acquainted with the works
of chaos, we shall believe with reason that every where there is that
unity, that order; that there is a faculty capable of re-assembling
every thing that is scattered, and uniting to one end all that is mixed
without design.
As soon as we are impelled to believe, that there is a master of all our
perceptions, and that we feel this master act, how is it possible not to
be certain that it is our mind which acts? It is then, in breaking loose
from its operations, that we are stripped of our liberty, and that we at
length suppose that our will is the necessary consequence of all
exterior objects, as if it were the colours, and not the painter, which
produced a picture. However, if we secure our mind from that dependence
to which some wish to reduce it, our actions will not obey these
irresistible emotions; for if they grant that we have liberty of
thought, we have free will.
We ought to consider our senses as messengers, which bring to our mind
new subjects of reflection; but they are in such a manner subordinate to
the sublime part of ourselves, that they act only under direction;
sometimes the ruling principle commands them to bring representations of
the beauties of nature, to examine assiduously the registers of the
human mind, to take the rule and the compass, and render an exact
account of that which it desires to know with precision; sometimes they
are taught to acquire more power, and when the soul wishes to
communicate with men, when it wishes to address posterity, it orders
them to perpetuate in indelible characters all that it has maturely
combined, all that it has discovered, and all it hopes to add to the
treasures of our knowledge. Is it not the master rather than the slave
of our senses, or the blind play of their caprice?
There is besides another observation, which seems to contrast with the
absolute empire, that some are willing to grant to exterior objects over
the powers of our soul; for it is in the silence of meditation that the
action of our mind is not interrupted: we experience that we have the
power of recalling past ideas, and that we can connect those ideas with
the prospect of the future, and to various imaginary circumstances of
which we compose this picture; our reflection is then the result, but
not the work of those exterior objects we are acquainted with. These two
words, work and result, which in some acceptations have a great
resemblance, have here very different meanings; and it is only in
confounding them, that the objection against the existence of our
liberty is favoured. We cannot form any judgment, without previously
discussing every argument proper to throw a light on the subject; and
the result of such enquiries determines our will; but these enquiries
are themselves the work of our mind.
In short, all the degrees which lead to the end of our intellectual
researches, are simple antecedents, and not absolute motives: there is,
in the operations of our mind, as in every thing which is not
immoveable, a train of causes and effects; but this train does not
characterize necessity more than liberty.
In restoring thus to our soul its original dignity, do you not perceive,
that we approach nearer to nature, than in adopting those systems and
explications which assimilate our intellectual faculties to the regular
vibrations of a pendulum? or would you like better still to compare them
to those little balls which go out of their niches to strike our brain,
which by various ramifications, produce that shock which impels our
will? I see, in all this, only childish figures, put in the place of
those names which indicate at least, by their abstraction, the
indefinite extent of the ideas which they represent, and the respect
they merit. It is easy to call a motive a little moving ball; it is easy
to call uncertainty or repentance the combat of two of these balls, till
the arrival of a third forms a determination; and the concurrence of
many to the same point excites, in us, an impetuous passion: but who
sees not that, after having endeavoured to debase the functions of the
mind by these wretched comparisons, the difficulty remains undiminished?
In short, if the meditations and the researches of our minds, on the
existence and the nature of our liberty, presents us only impenetrable
clouds and obscurity, is it not singular, that in the midst of this
darkness we should reject all the information of our instinctive
sentiments, which only can clearly explain every thing that we in vain
search for by other means? What would you say of a man born blind, who
would not be directed by the voice? We are assuredly better instructed
in the constitution of our nature by our feelings, than by metaphysical
arguments! they compose an internal part of the essence of our soul; and
we ought to consider them, in some measure, as a sally of the
incomprehensible formation, whose mysteries we cannot penetrate. Such a
doctrine, which came to us from a divine hand, is more deserving of
confidence than the interpretations of men. There are secrets which
philosophers try in vain to explain, all their efforts are useless to
represent by comparison, that which is alone and without resemblance.
One would think, that nature, guessing the false reasoning which would
mislead us, has purposely bestowed an inward conviction of the existence
of our free will, in composing our natural life of two movements very
distinct: one depends on a necessity, whose laws we are not acquainted
with, and do not govern; whilst the other is entirely submitted to the
government of our reason. Such a comparison would be sufficient to
convince us, if we sought merely for the truth.
When Spinosa desired to throw contempt on our instinctive perceptions,
he said, it is the same as if a weather-cock, at the very moment it was
the plaything of the winds, believed itself to be the cause, and
consequently that it had free will. What signifies such an argument,
unless it is to prove, that it is possible to suppose a fiction so
perfect, that it would apparently be equivalent to a reality? But I
would ask, by what foolish design of an intelligent being, or even by
what fortuitous assemblage of blind nature, is it that man should have
every moment a will precisely conformable to his actions, if there is
not a real correspondence between every part?
We could oppose to the hypothesis of Spinosa another argument, which
would lead to a conclusion absolutely contrary; that is, if the most
apparent liberty may be only a fiction, by a particular concurrence of
our will with an action ordained; it is also incontestible, that were we
to suppose the existence, or simple possibility of a free-will, we could
not have a different idea of it, than that which we have already; and
the liberty of God himself would not appear to our thoughts under any
other form. It is very essential to remark, that when we reflect about
our faculties, we with ease imagine a superior degree of intelligence,
of knowledge, of memory, of foresight, and of every other property of
our understanding; liberty is the only part of ourselves to which our
imagination cannot add any thing.
I shall not pursue other subtle arguments, which have been produced, to
corroborate my opinion; it is not to some men, but to all, that I desire
to speak, because I wish to be universally useful: I shall then always
dwell on the principal reflections, whenever they appear to me
sufficient to influence the opinion of sound minds, and to fix them on
those important truths which are the surest foundation of public
happiness. Self-love might induce many to follow a question as far as it
would go, and vainly glory in spinning it out; but self-love, applied to
profound meditations, is itself a great subtilty.
Let us examine other arguments used to combat principles which we have
established. It is in vain, some will say, to endeavour to prove the
existence of a God, as a real support of the laws of morality; all this
system will fall to pieces, if we are not informed, at the same time, in
what manner this God rewards and punishes.
I shall observe, at first, that such an objection cannot make a very
deep impression, but when it is connected in our minds with some doubt
of the existence of a Supreme Being: a question that I shall not yet
treat; for supposing an internal conviction of this last truth,
supposing, in all its force, the idea of a God present to our thoughts;
I ask, whether in order to please Him, we should not have need of
knowing precisely the period when we could perceive distinct signs of
his approbation and beneficence? I ask, again, whether, to avoid
incurring His displeasure, it would be equally necessary for us to know
how, and in what manner, He would punish us? Undoubtedly not: for in
taking a comprehensive view of the rewards and punishments which may
proceed from a Supreme Being, struck with His grandeur, and astonished
by His power, the vague idea of infinity would obtrude; and this idea,
so awful, would suffice to govern our sentiments, and fix our principles
of conduct. We should be careful not to propose conditions to Him who
has drawn us out of nothing, and we should wait with respect for the
moment, when, in His profound wisdom, He may think proper to make us
better acquainted with His attributes. Men may say to each other, secure
my wages, I want them on such a day, I demand them on such an hour; they
barter things of equal value, and during a short space of time; but in
the intercourse of man with the Deity, what a difference!—The creature
and the Creator—the child of dust and the source of life—a fleeting
moment and eternity—an imperceptible atom and the Infinite Being!—our
understanding is struck by the contrast! How then should we adapt to
such disproportions the rules and notions which we have introduced into
our trivial transactions? You require that in order to feel the desire
of pleasing the Supreme Being, He should every moment bestow gifts on
those, who, by their sentiments and actions, appear worthy of his
goodness; and, to inspire the fear of offending Him, you wish that,
without delay, He would let His vengeance crush the wicked. Certainly
you would be scrupulous observers of His will on such conditions, for
less stable hopes and fears detain you servilely near a monarch; and I
may venture to say, that you would be equally attentive to the Ruler of
the World, if, in order to reward or punish you, he was to alter the
laws of nature.
But do we not, you may add, see that God does not interfere in any
manner to direct things here below: you do not perceive Him; but do you
more clearly discover the power which gives life and motion? It is not
because He does not exist, but because He is above the flight of your
mind. We do not know what to say to a man who rejects the opinion of the
existence of a God; for without that guide all our ideas are wandering,
and have not any other connexion but that of the wildest imagination;
but if you grant that the world had an origin, if you suppose a God,
creator and preserver, what arguments would you use to induce us to
believe that this God has no relation to us; that He does not take any
notice of us, and that He is thus separated from the offspring of His
intelligence and love? You add, vice is every where triumphant, an
honest man often languishes in despondency and obscurity; and you cannot
reconcile this injustice with the idea of a Divine Providence! One may
at first deny the assertion which forms the basis of this reproach, or
dispute at least the consequences that are drawn from it: these ideas of
triumph and abasement, of splendour and obscurity, are sometimes very
foreign to the internal sentiments, which only constitute happiness and
misery; and for my part, I am persuaded, that if we take for a rule of
comparison, not some particular situation, or some, scattered events,
but the whole of life, and the generality of men; we shall then find,
that the most constant satisfactions attend those minds which are filled
with a mild piety, firm and rational, such as the pure idea of the Deity
ought to inspire; and I am equally persuaded, that virtue, united to
this piety, which knows how to soften every sacrifice, is the safest
guide in the path of life. Perhaps, ignorant as we are of our nature and
destination, it is not our interest that uninterrupted rewards should
excite us to virtue; for if this virtue were our title and hope with God
for the present, and the time to come, we ought not to desire that it
should degenerate into an evident calculation, into a sentiment
bordering on selfishness. It would then be very difficult to give a
proper definition of liberty, if, by the effect of rapid justice, a
constant proportion of good and evil, accompanied every determination of
our mind; we should then, morally as well as physically, be impelled by
an imperious instinct, and the merit of our actions would be absolutely
destroyed.
I mean by all this to ask, what would be our merit or demerit, if our
life is only for an instant, and if nothing is to follow? The persuasion
of the existence of a God, without a certainty of the immortality of our
soul, cannot impose any obligation; but the real connexion between these
two ideas is too frequently overlooked.
Undoubtedly, left to our understanding, this word certainty is not made
for us, or at least it is not applicable to our relation with the Deity,
and to the judgment we form of his designs and will. We are too far
removed from the High and lofty One, who inhabiteth eternity, to pretend
to measure His thoughts by our bounded views. They are covered with a
veil, and we always obscurely discern that which is hid in the depths of
His wisdom: but the more this God, whom we adore, escapes by His
immensity from our conceptions, the less have we a right to limit His
perfections, in order to refuse Him the power of transporting our
existence beyond the narrow circle submitted to our view; and I know not
how it would be possible to persuade us, that this action of the Deity
would surpass in grandeur the creation of the world, or the formation of
animated beings: the habit of observing a great wonder may weaken our
astonishment, but should not eradicate our admiration.
We cannot reach, but by reflection, to those events of which the future
is still the depository; but if every thing which surrounds us attests
the grandeur of the Supreme Being; if the mind, in its meditations,
without terror, approaches the confines of infinity, why mistrust that
he can perform in favour of men, a magnificent union of Omnipotence and
perfect goodness? Why reject, as an absurd confidence, the idea of
another existence? We see, without astonishment, the feeble chrysalis
force its way from the tomb it wove for itself, and appear under a new
form. We cannot be anticipated witnesses of the perpetuity of our
intelligence; but its vast extent would appear to us, were we not
familiarized with it, a greater phœnomenon than duration.
In short, why do I resist an idea of a continuation of existence, since
I am forced to give credit to my birth? There is a greater distance from
nothing to life, than from life to its sequel, or renewal under a new
form: I am clearly acquainted with the commencement of existence, I know
death only by conjecture. We now enjoy the light and blessings brought
to us by a beneficent heavenly Teacher; could it be, that he alone would
be a stranger to his own glory and virtues? I cannot say, why this
contrast makes an impression on me; but it is among the number of
superficial ideas which occur to my mind, when I reflect on this
subject.
A comforting thought still strikes me, the natural order of the universe
appears to me a finished system: we perceive a perfect regularity
between the revolution of the heavenly bodies, an invariable succession
in vegetable life, an almost incredible precision in that immense
quantity of volatile particles submitted to the laws of affinity; and
think every thing in its right place, and that all fulfil exactly their
destination in the grand and complete system of nature.
But if we turn afterwards our attention on the multitude of beings
inferior to men, we shall discover also, that their action is as
complete and conformable in every respect to the faculties they are
endowed with, since they are governed by an imperious instinct. Full of
these ideas, struck with astonishment at the appearance of an harmony so
general, have we not just grounds to presume, that man, transported into
infinite space by his intelligence; that man, susceptible of
improvement, and continually combatting obstacles; that man, in short,
this most noble work of nature, only commences in this sublunary world
his race? And, since all which composes the material order of the
universe appears to us in an harmony so admirable, ought we not then to
conclude, that the moral order in which we perceive some things vague
and not determinate; that the moral order is connected with another life
more sublime and more astonishing than the other parts of creation, and
will one day be ultimately developed? This singular disproportion
between the harmony of the physical and apparent confusion of the moral
world, seems to announce a time of equilibrium and completion; a time
when we shall all know its relation with the wisdom of the Creator, as
we already perceive the wisdom of His designs, in the perfect agreement
of the innumerable blessings on sature with the present wants of man,
and every other animated creature.
The grandeur of the human mind is indeed a vast subject of reflection;
this marvellous constitution seems to remind us perpetually of a design
proportioned to such a noble conception; it seems almost unnecessary
that God should have endowed the soul with such noble faculties for such
a short life as ours, to fulfil its limited plans and trivial pursuits:
thus every thing authorizes us to carry our views further; were I to see
such men as Columbus, Vesputius, Vasco de Gama, in a ship, I should not
suppose that they were mere coasters.
Some try to destroy our hopes, by endeavouring to prove, that the soul
is material, and that it ought to be assimilated to every thing which
perishes before us; but the forms only change, the vivifying force does
not perish; perhaps the soul resembles it, but with this difference,
that as it is composed of memory, reflection, and foresight, it exists
only by a series of consequences, which forms the distinct attributes
and particular character of its essence: it follows then, that it cannot
be generalized like the blind force which animates in a universal manner
vegetation; but that every soul is in some measure a world to itself,
and that it ought to preserve separately an identity of interest, and
consciousness of preceding thoughts. Thus, in this system, the corporeal
body, which distinguishes us to the eyes of others, is only the
transitory habitation of that soul which is not to die; of that soul
susceptible of continual improvement, and which, by degrees we can have
no idea of, will probably approach insensibly to that magnificent
period, when it will be thought worthy of knowing more intimately the
Author of Nature.
How can we conceive the action of the soul on our senses, without a
point of contact? and how conceive that contact, without the idea of
matter? For it is only by experience we are acquainted with the
necessity of it to occasion a motion; and without that previous
knowledge, the rapidity with which one body sometimes strikes another,
could only have been represented by the length of time necessary for its
approach to it: however, if we had not any metaphysical knowledge of the
cause of motion, and if experience only guided our judgment in this
respect, why resist an idea that there is within us a faculty which acts
of itself? the intimate feeling which we have of it, is certainly an
argument for its existence. We cannot, besides, maintain, that a like
property may be opposite to the nature of things; since if we adopt the
system of the creation of the world, this property may proceed, like all
others, from the Divine Power; and if we admit, on the contrary, the
irreligious opinion of the eternity of the universe, there must have
been from eternity a general movement without impulsion, without
exterior contact, or any cause out of itself; and the action of our
souls might be subject to the same laws.