it so survives, Providence is justified. Had I no other proof of
the immaterial nature of the soul, the triumph of the wicked and
the oppression of the righteous in this world would be enough to
convince me. I should seek to resolve so appalling a discord in the
universal harmony. I should say to myself, "All is not over with
life, everything finds its place at death." I should still have to
answer the question, "What becomes of man when all we know of him
through our senses has vanished?" This question no longer presents
any difficulty to me when I admit the two substances. It is easy
to understand that what is imperceptible to those senses escapes
me, during my bodily life, when I perceive through my senses only.
When the union of soul and body is destroyed, I think one may be
dissolved and the other may be preserved. Why should the destruction
of the one imply the destruction of the other? On the contrary, so
unlike in their nature, they were during their union in a highly
unstable condition, and when this union comes to an end they both
return to their natural state; the active vital substance regains
all the force which it expended to set in motion the passive dead
substance. Alas! my vices make me only too well aware that man is
but half alive during this life; the life of the soul only begins
with the death of the body.
But what is that life? Is the soul of man in its nature immortal?
I know not. My finite understanding cannot hold the infinite; what
is called eternity eludes my grasp. What can I assert or deny, how
can I reason with regard to what I cannot conceive? I believe that
the soul survives the body for the maintenance of order; who knows
if this is enough to make it eternal? However, I know that the
body is worn out and destroyed by the division of its parts, but
I cannot conceive a similar destruction of the conscious nature,
and as I cannot imagine how it can die, I presume that it does not
die. As this assumption is consoling and in itself not unreasonable,
why should I fear to accept it?
I am aware of my soul; it is known to me in feeling and in thought;
I know what it is without knowing its essence; I cannot reason
about ideas which are unknown to me. What I do know is this, that
my personal identity depends upon memory, and that to be indeed
the same self I must remember that I have existed. Now after death
I could not recall what I was when alive unless I also remembered
what I felt and therefore what I did; and I have no doubt that
this remembrance will one day form the happiness of the good and
the torment of the bad. In this world our inner consciousness is
absorbed by the crowd of eager passions which cheat remorse. The
humiliation and disgrace involved in the practice of virtue do not
permit us to realise its charm. But when, freed from the illusions
of the bodily senses, we behold with joy the supreme Being and
the eternal truths which flow from him; when all the powers of our
soul are alive to the beauty of order and we are wholly occupied in
comparing what we have done with what we ought to have done, then
it is that the voice of conscience will regain its strength and sway;
then it is that the pure delight which springs from self-content,
and the sharp regret for our own degradation of that self, will
decide by means of overpowering feeling what shall be the fate
which each has prepared for himself. My good friend, do not ask me
whether there are other sources of happiness or suffering; I cannot
tell; that which my fancy pictures is enough to console me in this
life and to bid me look for a life to come. I do not say the good
will be rewarded, for what greater good can a truly good being expect
than to exist in accordance with his nature? But I do assert that
the good will be happy, because their maker, the author of all
justice, who has made them capable of feeling, has not made them
that they may suffer; moreover, they have not abused their freedom
upon earth and they have not changed their fate through any fault
of their own; yet they have suffered in this life and it will be made
up to them in the life to come. This feeling relies not so much on
man's deserts as on the idea of good which seems to me inseparable
from the divine essence. I only assume that the laws of order are
constant and that God is true to himself.
Do not ask me whether the torments of the wicked will endure for
ever, whether the goodness of their creator can condemn them to
the eternal suffering; again, I cannot tell, and I have no empty
curiosity for the investigation of useless problems. How does the
fate of the wicked concern me? I take little interest in it. All
the same I find it hard to believe that they will be condemned to
everlasting torments. If the supreme justice calls for vengeance,
it claims it in this life. The nations of the world with their errors
are its ministers. Justice uses self-inflicted ills to punish the
crimes which have deserved them. It is in your own insatiable souls,
devoured by envy, greed, and ambition, it is in the midst of your
false prosperity, that the avenging passions find the due reward
of your crimes. What need to seek a hell in the future life? It is
here in the breast of the wicked.
When our fleeting needs are over, and our mad desires are at rest,
there should also be an end of our passions and our crimes. Can
pure spirits be capable of any perversity? Having need of nothing,
why should they be wicked? If they are free from our gross senses,
if their happiness consists in the contemplation of other beings,
they can only desire what is good; and he who ceases to be bad can
never be miserable. This is what I am inclined to think though I
have not been at the pains to come to any decision. O God, merciful
and good, whatever thy decrees may be I adore them; if thou shouldst
commit the wicked to everlasting punishment, I abandon my feeble
reason to thy justice; but if the remorse of these wretched beings
should in the course of time be extinguished, if their sufferings
should come to an end, and if the same peace shall one day be the
lot of all mankind, I give thanks to thee for this. Is not the
wicked my brother? How often have I been tempted to be like him?
Let him be delivered from his misery and freed from the spirit of
hatred that accompanied it; let him be as happy as I myself; his
happiness, far from arousing my jealousy, will only increase my
own.
Thus it is that, in the contemplation of God in his works, and in
the study of such of his attributes as it concerned me to know,
I have slowly grasped and developed the idea, at first partial
and imperfect, which I have formed of this Infinite Being. But if
this idea has become nobler and greater it is also more suited to
the human reason. As I approach in spirit the eternal light, I am
confused and dazzled by its glory, and compelled to abandon all
the earthly notions which helped me to picture it to myself. God
is no longer corporeal and sensible; the supreme mind which rules
the world is no longer the world itself; in vain do I strive to
grasp his inconceivable essence. When I think that it is he that
gives life and movement to the living and moving substance which
controls all living bodies; when I hear it said that my soul is
spiritual and that God is a spirit, I revolt against this abasement
of the divine essence; as if God and my soul were of one and the
same nature! As if God were not the one and only absolute being,
the only really active, feeling, thinking, willing being, from whom
we derive our thought, feeling, motion, will, our freedom and our
very existence! We are free because he wills our freedom, and his
inexplicable substance is to our souls what our souls are to our
bodies. I know not whether he has created matter, body, soul, the
world itself. The idea of creation confounds me and eludes my grasp;
so far as I can conceive of it I believe it; but I know that he has
formed the universe and all that is, that he has made and ordered
all things. No doubt God is eternal; but can my mind grasp the idea
of eternity? Why should I cheat myself with meaningless words?
This is what I do understand; before things were--God was; he will
be when they are no more, and if all things come to an end he will
still endure. That a being beyond my comprehension should give life
to other beings, this is merely difficult and beyond my understanding;
but that Being and Nothing should be convertible terms, this is
indeed a palpable contradiction, an evident absurdity.
God is intelligent, but how? Man is intelligent when he reasons, but
the Supreme Intelligence does not need to reason; there is neither
premise nor conclusion for him, there is not even a proposition.
The Supreme Intelligence is wholly intuitive, it sees what is and
what shall be; all truths are one for it, as all places are but one
point and all time but one moment. Man's power makes use of means,
the divine power is self-active. God can because he wills; his
will is his power. God is good; this is certain; but man finds his
happiness in the welfare of his kind. God's happiness consists in
the love of order; for it is through order that he maintains what
is, and unites each part in the whole. God is just; of this I am
sure, it is a consequence of his goodness; man's injustice is not
God's work, but his own; that moral justice which seems to the
philosophers a presumption against Providence, is to me a proof of
its existence. But man's justice consists in giving to each his
due; God's justice consists in demanding from each of us an account
of that which he has given us.
If I have succeeded in discerning these attributes of which I have
no absolute idea, it is in the form of unavoidable deductions, and
by the right use of my reason; but I affirm them without understanding
them, and at bottom that is no affirmation at all. In vain do I
say, God is thus, I feel it, I experience it, none the more do I
understand how God can be thus.
In a word: the more I strive to envisage his infinite essence the
less do I comprehend it; but it is, and that is enough for me; the
less I understand, the more I adore. I abase myself, saying, "Being
of beings, I am because thou art; to fix my thoughts on thee is
to ascend to the source of my being. The best use I can make of my
reason is to resign it before thee; my mind delights, my weakness
rejoices, to feel myself overwhelmed by thy greatness."
Having thus deduced from the perception of objects of sense and
from my inner consciousness, which leads me to judge of causes by
my native reason, the principal truths which I require to know, I
must now seek such principles of conduct as I can draw from them,
and such rules as I must lay down for my guidance in the fulfilment
of my destiny in this world, according to the purpose of my Maker.
Still following the same method, I do not derive these rules from
the principles of the higher philosophy, I find them in the depths
of my heart, traced by nature in characters which nothing can efface.
I need only consult myself with regard to what I wish to do; what
I feel to be right is right, what I feel to be wrong is wrong;
conscience is the best casuist; and it is only when we haggle with
conscience that we have recourse to the subtleties of argument.
Our first duty is towards ourself; yet how often does the voice of
others tell us that in seeking our good at the expense of others
we are doing ill? We think we are following the guidance of nature,
and we are resisting it; we listen to what she says to our senses,
and we neglect what she says to our heart; the active being obeys,
the passive commands. Conscience is the voice of the soul, the
passions are the voice of the body. It is strange that these voices
often contradict each other? And then to which should we give heed?
Too often does reason deceive us; we have only too good a right to
doubt her; but conscience never deceives us; she is the true guide
of man; it is to the soul what instinct is to the body, [Footnote:
Modern philosophy, which only admits what it can understand, is
careful not to admit this obscure power called instinct which seems
to guide the animals to some end without any acquired experience.
Instinct, according to some of our wise philosophers, is only a
secret habit of reflection, acquired by reflection; and from the
way in which they explain this development one ought to suppose
that children reflect more than grown-up people: a paradox strange
enough to be worth examining. Without entering upon this discussion I
must ask what name I shall give to the eagerness with which my dog
makes war on the moles he does not eat, or to the patience with
which he sometimes watches them for hours and the skill with which
he seizes them, throws them to a distance from their earth as soon
as they emerge, and then kills them and leaves them. Yet no one
has trained him to this sport, nor even told him there were such
things as moles. Again, I ask, and this is a more important question,
why, when I threatened this same dog for the first time, why did
he throw himself on the ground with his paws folded, in such a
suppliant attitude .....calculated to touch me, a position which
he would have maintained if, without being touched by it, I had
continued to beat him in that position? What! Had my dog, little
more than a puppy, acquired moral ideas? Did he know the meaning
of mercy and generosity? By what acquired knowledge did he seek
to appease my wrath by yielding to my discretion? Every dog in the
world does almost the same thing in similar circumstances, and I
am asserting nothing but what any one can verify for himself. Will
the philosophers, who so scornfully reject instinct, kindly explain
this fact by the mere play of sensations and experience which they
assume we have acquired? Let them give an account of it which will
satisfy any sensible man; in that case I have nothing further to
urge, and I will say no more of instinct.] he who obeys his conscience
is following nature and he need not fear that he will go astray.
This is a matter of great importance, continued my benefactor,
seeing that I was about to interrupt him; let me stop awhile to
explain it more fully.
The morality of our actions consists entirely in the judgments we
ourselves form with regard to them. If good is good, it must be
good in the depth of our heart as well as in our actions; and the
first reward of justice is the consciousness that we are acting
justly. If moral goodness is in accordance with our nature, man can
only be healthy in mind and body when he is good. If it is not so,
and if man is by nature evil, he cannot cease to be evil without
corrupting his nature, and goodness in him is a crime against
nature. If he is made to do harm to his fellow-creatures, as the
wolf is made to devour his prey, a humane man would be as depraved
a creature as a pitiful wolf; and virtue alone would cause remorse.
My young friend, let us look within, let us set aside all personal
prejudices and see whither our inclinations lead us. Do we take
more pleasure in the sight of the sufferings of others or their
joys? Is it pleasanter to do a kind action or an unkind action,
and which leaves the more delightful memory behind it? Why do you
enjoy the theatre? Do you delight in the crimes you behold? Do you
weep over the punishment which overtakes the criminal? They say
we are indifferent to everything but self-interest; yet we find
our consolation in our sufferings in the charms of friendship and
humanity, and even in our pleasures we should be too lonely and
miserable if we had no one to share them with us. If there is no
such thing as morality in man's heart, what is the source of his
rapturous admiration of noble deeds, his passionate devotion to
great men? What connection is there between self-interest and this
enthusiasm for virtue? Why should I choose to be Cato dying by his
own hand, rather than Caesar in his triumphs? Take from our hearts
this love of what is noble and you rob us of the joy of life. The
mean-spirited man in whom these delicious feelings have been stifled
among vile passions, who by thinking of no one but himself comes
at last to love no one but himself, this man feels no raptures, his
cold heart no longer throbs with joy, and his eyes no longer fill
with the sweet tears of sympathy, he delights in nothing; the wretch
has neither life nor feeling, he is already dead.
There are many bad men in this world, but there are few of these
dead souls, alive only to self-interest, and insensible to all that
is right and good. We only delight in injustice so long as it is
to our own advantage; in every other case we wish the innocent to
be protected. If we see some act of violence or injustice in town
or country, our hearts are at once stirred to their depths by an
instinctive anger and wrath, which bids us go to the help of the
oppressed; but we are restrained by a stronger duty, and the law
deprives us of our right to protect the innocent. On the other hand,
if some deed of mercy or generosity meets our eye, what reverence
and love does it inspire! Do we not say to ourselves, "I should
like to have done that myself"? What does it matter to us that two
thousand years ago a man was just or unjust? and yet we take the
same interest in ancient history as if it happened yesterday. What
are the crimes of Cataline to me? I shall not be his victim. Why
then have I the same horror of his crimes as if he were living
now? We do not hate the wicked merely because of the harm they do
to ourselves, but because they are wicked. Not only do we wish to
be happy ourselves, we wish others to be happy too, and if this
happiness does not interfere with our own happiness, it increases
it. In conclusion, whether we will or not, we pity the unfortunate;
when we see their suffering we suffer too. Even the most depraved
are not wholly without this instinct, and it often leads them to
self-contradiction. The highwayman who robs the traveller, clothes
the nakedness of the poor; the fiercest murderer supports a fainting
man.
Men speak of the voice of remorse, the secret punishment of hidden
crimes, by which such are often brought to light. Alas! who does
not know its unwelcome voice? We speak from experience, and we
would gladly stifle this imperious feeling which causes us such
agony. Let us obey the call of nature; we shall see that her yoke
is easy and that when we give heed to her voice we find a joy in
the answer of a good conscience. The wicked fears and flees from
her; he delights to escape from himself; his anxious eyes look
around him for some object of diversion; without bitter satire and
rude mockery he would always be sorrowful; the scornful laugh is
his one pleasure. Not so the just man, who finds his peace within
himself; there is joy not malice in his laughter, a joy which
springs from his own heart; he is as cheerful alone as in company,
his satisfaction does not depend on those who approach him; it
includes them.
Cast your eyes over every nation of the world; peruse every volume
of its history; in the midst of all these strange and cruel forms
of worship, among this amazing variety of manners and customs, you
will everywhere find the same ideas of right and justice; everywhere
the same principles of morality, the same ideas of good and evil.
The old paganism gave birth to abominable gods who would have been
punished as scoundrels here below, gods who merely offered, as a
picture of supreme happiness, crimes to be committed and lust to
be gratified. But in vain did vice descend from the abode of the
gods armed with their sacred authority; the moral instinct refused to
admit it into the heart of man. While the debaucheries of Jupiter
were celebrated, the continence of Xenocrates was revered; the
chaste Lucrece adored the shameless Venus; the bold Roman offered
sacrifices to Fear; he invoked the god who mutilated his father,
and he died without a murmur at the hand of his own father. The
most unworthy gods were worshipped by the noblest men. The sacred
voice of nature was stronger than the voice of the gods, and won
reverence upon earth; it seemed to relegate guilt and the guilty
alike to heaven.
There is therefore at the bottom of our hearts an innate principle
of justice and virtue, by which, in spite of our maxims, we judge
our own actions or those of others to be good or evil; and it is
this principle that I call conscience.
But at this word I hear the murmurs of all the wise men so-called.
Childish errors, prejudices of our upbringing, they exclaim in
concert! There is nothing in the human mind but what it has gained
by experience; and we judge everything solely by means of the ideas
we have acquired. They go further; they even venture to reject the
clear and universal agreement of all peoples, and to set against
this striking unanimity in the judgment of mankind, they seek out
some obscure exception known to themselves alone; as if the whole
trend of nature were rendered null by the depravity of a single
nation, and as if the existence of monstrosities made an end
of species. But to what purpose does the sceptic Montaigne strive
himself to unearth in some obscure corner of the world a custom
which is contrary to the ideas of justice? To what purpose does
he credit the most untrustworthy travellers, while he refuses to
believe the greatest writers? A few strange and doubtful customs,
based on local causes, unknown to us; shall these destroy a general
inference based on the agreement of all the nations of the earth,
differing from each other in all else, but agreed in this? O
Montaigne, you pride yourself on your truth and honesty; be sincere
and truthful, if a philosopher can be so, and tell me if there is
any country upon earth where it is a crime to keep one's plighted
word, to be merciful, helpful, and generous, where the good man is
scorned, and the traitor is held in honour.
Self-interest, so they say, induces each of us to agree for the
common good. But how is it that the good man consents to this to
his own hurt? Does a man go to death from self-interest? No doubt
each man acts for his own good, but if there is no such thing as
moral good to be taken into consideration, self-interest will only
enable you to account for the deeds of the wicked; possibly you
will not attempt to do more. A philosophy which could find no place
for good deeds would be too detestable; you would find yourself
compelled either to find some mean purpose, some wicked motive, or
to abuse Socrates and slander Regulus. If such doctrines ever took
root among us, the voice of nature, together with the voice of
reason, would constantly protest against them, till no adherent of
such teaching could plead an honest excuse for his partisanship.
It is no part of my scheme to enter at present into metaphysical
discussions which neither you nor I can understand, discussions
which really lead nowhere. I have told you already that I do not
wish to philosophise with you, but to help you to consult your own
heart. If all the philosophers in the world should prove that I am
wrong, and you feel that I am right, that is all I ask.
For this purpose it is enough to lead you to distinguish between
our acquired ideas and our natural feelings; for feeling precedes
knowledge; and since we do not learn to seek what is good for us
and avoid what is bad for us, but get this desire from nature, in
the same way the love of good and the hatred of evil are as natural
to us as our self-love. The decrees of conscience are not judgments
but feelings. Although all our ideas come from without, the feelings
by which they are weighed are within us, and it is by these feelings
alone that we perceive fitness or unfitness of things in relation
to ourselves, which leads us to seek or shun these things.
To exist is to feel; our feeling is undoubtedly earlier than our
intelligence, and we had feelings before we had ideas.[Footnote:
In some respects ideas are feelings and feelings are ideas. Both
terms are appropriate to any perception with which we are concerned,
appropriate both to the object of that perception and to ourselves
who are affected by it; it is merely the order in which we are
affected which decides the appropriate term. When we are chiefly
concerned with the object and only think of ourselves as it were by
reflection, that is an idea; when, on the other hand, the impression
received excites our chief attention and we only think in the second
place of the object which caused it, it is a feeling.] Whatever may
be the cause of our being, it has provided for our preservation by
giving us feelings suited to our nature; and no one can deny that
these at least are innate. These feelings, so far as the individual
is concerned, are self-love, fear, pain, the dread of death, the
desire for comfort. Again, if, as it is impossible to doubt, man
is by nature sociable, or at least fitted to become sociable, he
can only be so by means of other innate feelings, relative to his
kind; for if only physical well-being were considered, men would
certainly be scattered rather than brought together. But the motive
power of conscience is derived from the moral system formed through
this twofold relation to himself and to his fellow-men. To know
good is not to love it; this knowledge is not innate in man; but as
soon as his reason leads him to perceive it, his conscience impels
him to love it; it is this feeling which is innate.
So I do not think, my young friend, that it is impossible to explain
the immediate force of conscience as a result of our own nature,
independent of reason itself. And even should it be impossible,
it is unnecessary; for those who deny this principle, admitted and
received by everybody else in the world, do not prove that there
is no such thing; they are content to affirm, and when we affirm
its existence we have quite as good grounds as they, while we have
moreover the witness within us, the voice of conscience, which
speaks on its own behalf. If the first beams of judgment dazzle
us and confuse the objects we behold, let us wait till our feeble
sight grows clear and strong, and in the light of reason we shall
soon behold these very objects as nature has already showed them
to us. Or rather let us be simpler and less pretentious; let us be
content with the first feelings we experience in ourselves, since
science always brings us back to these, unless it has led us astray.
Conscience! Conscience! Divine instinct, immortal voice from
heaven; sure guide for a creature ignorant and finite indeed, yet
intelligent and free; infallible judge of good and evil, making
man like to God! In thee consists the excellence of man's nature
and the morality of his actions; apart from thee, I find nothing in
myself to raise me above the beasts--nothing but the sad privilege
of wandering from one error to another, by the help of an unbridled
understanding and a reason which knows no principle.
Thank heaven we have now got rid of all that alarming show of
philosophy; we may be men without being scholars; now that we need
not spend our life in the study of morality, we have found a less
costly and surer guide through this vast labyrinth of human thought.
But it is not enough to be aware that there is such a guide;
we must know her and follow her. If she speaks to all hearts, how
is it that so few give heed to her voice? She speaks to us in the
language of nature, and everything leads us to forget that tongue.
Conscience is timid, she loves peace and retirement; she is startled
by noise and numbers; the prejudices from which she is said to arise
are her worst enemies. She flees before them or she is silent; their
noisy voices drown her words, so that she cannot get a hearing;
fanaticism dares to counterfeit her voice and to inspire crimes
in her name. She is discouraged by ill-treatment; she no longer
speaks to us, no longer answers to our call; when she has been
scorned so long, it is as hard to recall her as it was to banish
her.
How often in the course of my inquiries have I grown weary of my
own coldness of heart! How often have grief and weariness poured
their poison into my first meditations and made them hateful to me!
My barren heart yielded nothing but a feeble zeal and a lukewarm
love of truth. I said to myself: Why should I strive to find what
does not exist? Moral good is a dream, the pleasures of sense
are the only real good. When once we have lost the taste for the
pleasures of the soul, how hard it is to recover it! How much more
difficult to acquire it if we have never possessed it! If there
were any man so wretched as never to have done anything all his life
long which he could remember with pleasure, and which would make him
glad to have lived, that man would be incapable of self-knowledge,
and for want of knowledge of goodness, of which his nature is
capable, he would be constrained to remain in his wickedness and
would be for ever miserable. But do you think there is any one man
upon earth so depraved that he has never yielded to the temptation
of well-doing? This temptation is so natural, so pleasant, that it
is impossible always to resist it; and the thought of the pleasure
it has once afforded is enough to recall it constantly to our
memory. Unluckily it is hard at first to find satisfaction for it;
we have any number of reasons for refusing to follow the inclinations
of our heart; prudence, so called, restricts the heart within the
limits of the self; a thousand efforts are needed to break these
bonds. The joy of well-doing is the prize of having done well,
and we must deserve the prize before we win it. There is nothing
sweeter than virtue; but we do not know this till we have tried it.
Like Proteus in the fable, she first assumes a thousand terrible
shapes when we would embrace her, and only shows her true self to
those who refuse to let her go.
Ever at strife between my natural feelings, which spoke of the
common weal, and my reason, which spoke of self, I should have
drifted through life in perpetual uncertainty, hating evil, loving
good, and always at war with myself, if my heart had not received
further light, if that truth which determined my opinions had not
also settled my conduct, and set me at peace with myself. Reason
alone is not a sufficient foundation for virtue; what solid ground
can be found? Virtue we are told is love of order. But can this
love prevail over my love for my own well-being, and ought it so
to prevail? Let them give me clear and sufficient reason for this
preference. Their so-called principle is in truth a mere playing
with words; for I also say that vice is love of order, differently
understood. Wherever there is feeling and intelligence, there
is some sort of moral order. The difference is this: the good man
orders his life with regard to all men; the wicked orders it for
self alone. The latter centres all things round himself; the other
measures his radius and remains on the circumference. Thus his
place depends on the common centre, which is God, and on all the
concentric circles which are His creatures. If there is no God,
the wicked is right and the good man is nothing but a fool.
My child! May you one day feel what a burden is removed when, having
fathomed the vanity of human thoughts and tasted the bitterness of
passion, you find at length near at hand the path of wisdom, the
prize of this life's labours, the source of that happiness which
you despaired of. Every duty of natural law, which man's injustice
had almost effaced from my heart, is engraven there, for the second
time in the name of that eternal justice which lays these duties
upon me and beholds my fulfilment of them. I feel myself merely the
instrument of the Omnipotent, who wills what is good, who performs
it, who will bring about my own good through the co-operation of my
will with his own, and by the right use of my liberty. I acquiesce
in the order he establishes, certain that one day I shall enjoy
that order and find my happiness in it; for what sweeter joy is
there than this, to feel oneself a part of a system where all is
good? A prey to pain, I bear it in patience, remembering that it
will soon be over, and that it results from a body which is not
mine. If I do a good deed in secret, I know that it is seen, and
my conduct in this life is a pledge of the life to come. When I
suffer injustice, I say to myself, the Almighty who does all things
well will reward me: my bodily needs, my poverty, make the idea
of death less intolerable. There will be all the fewer bonds to be
broken when my hour comes.
Why is my soul subjected to my senses, and imprisoned in this body
by which it is enslaved and thwarted? I know not; have I entered
into the counsels of the Almighty? But I may, without rashness,
venture on a modest conjecture. I say to myself: If man's soul
had remained in a state of freedom and innocence, what merit would
there have been in loving and obeying the order he found established,
an order which it would not have been to his advantage to disturb?
He would be happy, no doubt, but his happiness would not attain to
the highest point, the pride of virtue, and the witness of a good
conscience within him; he would be but as the angels are, and
no doubt the good man will be more than they. Bound to a mortal
body, by bonds as strange as they are powerful, his care for the
preservation of this body tempts the soul to think only of self,
and gives it an interest opposed to the general order of things,
which it is still capable of knowing and loving; then it is that
the right use of his freedom becomes at once the merit and the
reward; then it is that it prepares for itself unending happiness, by
resisting its earthly passions and following its original direction.
If even in the lowly position in which we are placed during our present
life our first impulses are always good, if all our vices are of
our own making, why should we complain that they are our masters?
Why should we blame the Creator for the ills we have ourselves
created, and the enemies we ourselves have armed against us? Oh,
let us leave man unspoilt; he will always find it easy to be good
and he will always be happy without remorse. The guilty, who assert
that they are driven to crime, are liars as well as evil-doers; how
is it that they fail to perceive that the weakness they bewail is
of their own making; that their earliest depravity was the result
of their own will; that by dint of wishing to yield to temptations,
they at length yield to them whether they will or no and make them
irresistible? No doubt they can no longer avoid being weak and
wicked, but they need not have become weak and wicked. Oh, how easy
would it be to preserve control of ourselves and of our passions,
even in this life, if with habits still unformed, with a mind
beginning to expand, we were able to keep to such things as we ought
to know, in order to value rightly what is unknown; if we really
wished to learn, not that we might shine before the eyes of others,
but that we might be wise and good in accordance with our nature,
that we might be happy in the performance of our duty. This study
seems tedious and painful to us, for we do not attempt it till we
are already corrupted by vice and enslaved by our passions. Our
judgments and our standards of worth are determined before we have
the knowledge of good and evil; and then we measure all things by
this false standard, and give nothing its true worth.
There is an age when the heart is still free, but eager, unquiet,
greedy of a happiness which is still unknown, a happiness which it
seeks in curiosity and doubt; deceived by the senses it settles at
length upon the empty show of happiness and thinks it has found it
where it is not. In my own case these illusions endured for a long
time. Alas! too late did I become aware of them, and I have not
succeeded in overcoming them altogether; they will last as long as
this mortal body from which they arise. If they lead me astray, I
am at least no longer deceived by them; I know them for what they
are, and even when I give way to them, I despise myself; far from
regarding them as the goal of my happiness, I behold in them an
obstacle to it. I long for the time when, freed from the fetters
of the body, I shall be myself, at one with myself, no longer torn
in two, when I myself shall suffice for my own happiness. Meanwhile
I am happy even in this life, for I make small account of all its
evils, in which I regard myself as having little or no part, while
all the real good that I can get out of this life depends on myself
alone.
To raise myself so far as may be even now to this state of happiness,
strength, and freedom, I exercise myself in lofty contemplation. I
consider the order of the universe, not to explain it by any futile
system, but to revere it without ceasing, to adore the wise Author
who reveals himself in it. I hold intercourse with him; I immerse
all my powers in his divine essence; I am overwhelmed by his kindness,
I bless him and his gifts, but I do not pray to him. What should I
ask of him--to change the order of nature, to work miracles on my
behalf? Should I, who am bound to love above all things the order
which he has established in his wisdom and maintained by his
providence, should I desire the disturbance of that order on my own
account? No, that rash prayer would deserve to be punished rather
than to be granted. Neither do I ask of him the power to do right;
why should I ask what he has given me already? Has he not given
me conscience that I may love the right, reason that I may perceive
it, and freedom that I may choose it? If I do evil, I have no
excuse; I do it of my own free will; to ask him to change my will
is to ask him to do what he asks of me; it is to want him to do
the work while I get the wages; to be dissatisfied with my lot is
to wish to be no longer a man, to wish to be other than what I am,
to wish for disorder and evil. Thou source of justice and truth,
merciful and gracious God, in thee do I trust, and the desire of
my heart is--Thy will be done. When I unite my will with thine, I
do what thou doest; I have a share in thy goodness; I believe that
I enjoy beforehand the supreme happiness which is the reward of
goodness.
In my well-founded self-distrust the only thing that I ask of God,
or rather expect from his justice, is to correct my error if I go
astray, if that error is dangerous to me. To be honest I need not
think myself infallible; my opinions, which seem to me true, may
be so many lies; for what man is there who does not cling to his
own beliefs; and how many men are agreed in everything? The illusion
which deceives me may indeed have its source in myself, but it
is God alone who can remove it. I have done all I can to attain
to truth; but its source is beyond my reach; is it my fault if my
strength fails me and I can go no further; it is for Truth to draw
near to me.
The good priest had spoken with passion; he and I were overcome
with emotion. It seemed to me as if I were listening to the divine
Orpheus when he sang the earliest hymns and taught men the worship
of the gods. I saw any number of objections which might be raised;
yet I raised none, for I perceived that they were more perplexing
than serious, and that my inclination took his part. When he spoke
to me according to his conscience, my own seemed to confirm what
he said.
"The novelty of the sentiments you have made known to me," said
I, "strikes me all the more because of what you confess you do not
know, than because of what you say you believe. They seem to be very
like that theism or natural religion, which Christians profess to
confound with atheism or irreligion which is their exact opposite.
But in the present state of my faith I should have to ascend
rather than descend to accept your views, and I find it difficult
to remain just where you are unless I were as wise as you. That I
may be at least as honest, I want time to take counsel with myself.
By your own showing, the inner voice must be my guide, and you have
yourself told me that when it has long been silenced it cannot be
recalled in a moment. I take what you have said to heart, and I must
consider it. If after I have thought things out, I am as convinced
as you are, you will be my final teacher, and I will be your disciple
till death. Continue your teaching however; you have only told me
half what I must know. Speak to me of revelation, of the Scriptures,
of those difficult doctrines among which I have strayed ever since
I was a child, incapable either of understanding or believing them,
unable to adopt or reject them."
"Yes, my child," said he, embracing me, "I will tell you all I
think; I will not open my heart to you by halves; but the desire
you express was necessary before I could cast aside all reserve. So
far I have told you nothing but what I thought would be of service
to you, nothing but what I was quite convinced of. The inquiry
which remains to be made is very difficult. It seems to me full
of perplexity, mystery, and darkness; I bring to it only doubt
and distrust. I make up my mind with trembling, and I tell you my
doubts rather than my convictions. If your own opinions were more
settled I should hesitate to show you mine; but in your present
condition, to think like me would be gain. [Footnote: I think the
worthy clergyman might say this at the present time to the general
public.] Moreover, give to my words only the authority of reason;
I know not whether I am mistaken. It is difficult in discussion
to avoid assuming sometimes a dogmatic tone; but remember in this
respect that all my assertions are but reasons to doubt me. Seek
truth for yourself, for my own part I only promise you sincerity.
"In my exposition you find nothing but natural religion; strange
that we should need more! How shall I become aware of this need?
What guilt can be mine so long as I serve God according to the
knowledge he has given to my mind, and the feelings he has put
into my heart? What purity of morals, what dogma useful to man and
worthy of its author, can I derive from a positive doctrine which
cannot be derived without the aid of this doctrine by the right
use of my faculties? Show me what you can add to the duties of the
natural law, for the glory of God, for the good of mankind, and for
my own welfare; and what virtue you will get from the new form of
religion which does not result from mine. The grandest ideas of
the Divine nature come to us from reason only. Behold the spectacle
of nature; listen to the inner voice. Has not God spoken it all to
our eyes, to our conscience, to our reason? What more can man tell
us? Their revelations do but degrade God, by investing him with
passions like our own. Far from throwing light upon the ideas of
the Supreme Being, special doctrines seem to me to confuse these
ideas; far from ennobling them, they degrade them; to the inconceivable
mysteries which surround the Almighty, they add absurd contradictions,
they make man proud, intolerant, and cruel; instead of bringing
peace upon earth, they bring fire and sword. I ask myself what
is the use of it all, and I find no answer. I see nothing but the
crimes of men and the misery of mankind.
"They tell me a revelation was required to teach men how God would
be served; as a proof of this they point to the many strange rites
which men have instituted, and they do not perceive that this very
diversity springs from the fanciful nature of the revelations. As
soon as the nations took to making God speak, every one made him
speak in his own fashion, and made him say what he himself wanted.
Had they listened only to what God says in the heart of man, there
would have been but one religion upon earth.
"One form of worship was required; just so, but was this a matter
of such importance as to require all the power of the Godhead to
establish it? Do not let us confuse the outward forms of religion
with religion itself. The service God requires is of the heart; and
when the heart is sincere that is ever the same. It is a strange
sort of conceit which fancies that God takes such an interest in
the shape of the priest's vestments, the form of words he utters,
the gestures he makes before the altar and all his genuflections.
Oh, my friend, stand upright, you will still be too near the earth.
God desires to be worshipped in spirit and in truth; this duty
belongs to every religion, every country, every individual. As to
the form of worship, if order demands uniformity, that is only a
matter of discipline and needs no revelation.
"These thoughts did not come to me to begin with. Carried away by
the prejudices of my education, and by that dangerous vanity which
always strives to lift man out of his proper sphere, when I could
not raise my feeble thoughts up to the great Being, I tried to
bring him down to my own level. I tried to reduce the distance he
has placed between his nature and mine. I desired more immediate
relations, more individual instruction; not content to make God
in the image of man that I might be favoured above my fellows,
I desired supernatural knowledge; I required a special form of
worship; I wanted God to tell me what he had not told others, or
what others had not understood like myself.
"Considering the point I had now reached as the common centre from
which all believers set out on the quest for a more enlightened
form of religion, I merely found in natural religion the elements
of all religion. I beheld the multitude of diverse sects which hold
sway upon earth, each of which accuses the other of falsehood and
error; which of these, I asked, is the right? Every one replied,
'My own;' every one said, 'I alone and those who agree with me
think rightly, all the others are mistaken.' And how do you know
that your sect is in the right? Because God said so. And how do
you know God said so? [Footnote: "All men," said a wise and good
priest, "maintain that they hold and believe their religion (and
all use the same jargon), not of man, nor of any creature, but of
God. But to speak truly, without pretence or flattery, none of them
do so; whatever they may say, religions are taught by human hands
and means; take, for example, the way in which religions have been
received by the world, the way in which they are still received
every day by individuals; the nation, the country, the locality
gives the religion; we belong to the religion of the place where
we are born and brought up; we are baptised or circumcised, we are
Christians, Jews, Mohametans before we know that we are men; we
do not pick and choose our religion for see how ill the life and
conduct agree with the religion, see for what slight and human
causes men go against the teaching of their religion."--Charron,
De la Sagesse.--It seems clear that the honest creed of the holy
theologian of Condom would not have differed greatly from that of
the Savoyard priest.] And who told you that God said it? My pastor,
who knows all about it. My pastor tells me what to believe and I
believe it; he assures me that any one who says anything else is
mistaken, and I give not heed to them.
"What! thought I, is not truth one; can that which is true for me
be false for you? If those who follow the right path and those who
go astray have the same method, what merit or what blame can be
assigned to one more than to the other? Their choice is the result
of chance; it is unjust to hold them responsible for it, to reward
or punish them for being born in one country or another. To dare to
say that God judges us in this manner is an outrage on his justice.
"Either all religions are good and pleasing to God, or if there
is one which he prescribes for men, if they will be punished for
despising it, he will have distinguished it by plain and certain
signs by which it can be known as the only true religion; these
signs are alike in every time and place, equally plain to all men,
great or small, learned or unlearned, Europeans, Indians, Africans,
savages. If there were but one religion upon earth, and if all
beyond its pale were condemned to eternal punishment, and if there
were in any corner of the world one single honest man who was not
convinced by this evidence, the God of that religion would be the
most unjust and cruel of tyrants.
"Let us therefore seek honestly after truth; let us yield nothing
to the claims of birth, to the authority of parents and pastors,
but let us summon to the bar of conscience and of reason all that
they have taught us from our childhood. In vain do they exclaim,
'Submit your reason;' a deceiver might say as much; I must have
reasons for submitting my reason.
"All the theology I can get for myself by observation of the universe
and by the use of my faculties is contained in what I have already
told you. To know more one must have recourse to strange means.
These means cannot be the authority of men, for every man is of
the same species as myself, and all that a man knows by nature I am
capable of knowing, and another may be deceived as much as I; when
I believe what he says, it is not because he says it but because
he proves its truth. The witness of man is therefore nothing more
than the witness of my own reason, and it adds nothing to the
natural means which God has given me for the knowledge of truth.
"Apostle of truth, what have you to tell me of which I am not the
sole judge? God himself has spoken; give heed to his revelation.
That is another matter. God has spoken, these are indeed words which
demand attention. To whom has he spoken? He has spoken to men. Why
then have I heard nothing? He has instructed others to make known
his words to you. I understand; it is men who come and tell me what
God has said. I would rather have heard the words of God himself;
it would have been as easy for him and I should have been secure
from fraud. He protects you from fraud by showing that his envoys
come from him. How does he show this? By miracles. Where are these
miracles? In the books. And who wrote the books? Men. And who
saw the miracles? The men who bear witness to them. What! Nothing
but human testimony! Nothing but men who tell me what others told
them! How many men between God and me! Let us see, however, let
us examine, compare, and verify. Oh! if God had but deigned to free
me from all this labour, I would have served him with all my heart.
"Consider, my friend, the terrible controversy in which I am now
engaged; what vast learning is required to go back to the remotest
antiquity, to examine, weigh, confront prophecies, revelations,
facts, all the monuments of faith set forth throughout the world,
to assign their date, place, authorship, and occasion. What exactness
of critical judgment is needed to distinguish genuine documents from
forgeries, to compare objections with their answers, translations
with their originals; to decide as to the impartiality of witnesses,
their common-sense, their knowledge; to make sure that nothing
has been omitted, nothing added, nothing transposed, altered, or
falsified; to point out any remaining contradictions, to determine
what weight should be given to the silence of our adversaries
with regard to the charges brought against them; how far were they
aware of those charges; did they think them sufficiently serious
to require an answer; were books sufficiently well known for our
books to reach them; have we been honest enough to allow their
books to circulate among ourselves and to leave their strongest
objections unaltered?
"When the authenticity of all these documents is accepted, we must
now pass to the evidence of their authors' mission; we must know the
laws of chance, and probability, to decide which prophecy cannot
be fulfilled without a miracle; we must know the spirit of the
original languages, to distinguish between prophecy and figures of
speech; we must know what facts are in accordance with nature and
what facts are not, so that we may say how far a clever man may
deceive the eyes of the simple and may even astonish the learned;
we must discover what are the characteristics of a prodigy and how
its authenticity may be established, not only so far as to gain
credence, but so that doubt may be deserving of punishment; we must
compare the evidence for true and false miracles, and find sure
tests to distinguish between them; lastly we must say why God chose
as a witness to his words means which themselves require so much
evidence on their behalf, as if he were playing with human credulity,
and avoiding of set purpose the true means of persuasion.
"Assuming that the divine majesty condescends so far as to make a
man the channel of his sacred will, is it reasonable, is it fair,
to demand that the whole of mankind should obey the voice of this
minister without making him known as such? Is it just to give him
as his sole credentials certain private signs, performed in the
presence of a few obscure persons, signs which everybody else can
only know by hearsay? If one were to believe all the miracles that
the uneducated and credulous profess to have seen in every country
upon earth, every sect would be in the right; there would be more
miracles than ordinary events; and it would be the greatest miracle
if there were no miracles wherever there were persecuted fanatics.
The unchangeable order of nature is the chief witness to the wise
hand that guides it; if there were many exceptions, I should hardly
know what to think; for my own part I have too great a faith in God
to believe in so many miracles which are so little worthy of him.
"Let a man come and say to us: Mortals, I proclaim to you the will
of the Most Highest; accept my words as those of him who has sent
me; I bid the sun to change his course, the stars to range themselves
in a fresh order, the high places to become smooth, the floods to
rise up, the earth to change her face. By these miracles who will
not recognise the master of nature? She does not obey impostors,
their miracles are wrought in holes and corners, in deserts, within
closed doors, where they find easy dupes among a small company
of spectators already disposed to believe them. Who will venture
to tell me how many eye-witnesses are required to make a miracle
credible! What use are your miracles, performed if proof of your
doctrine, if they themselves require so much proof! You might as
well have let them alone.
"There still remains the most important inquiry of all with regard
to the doctrine proclaimed; for since those who tell us God works
miracles in this world, profess that the devil sometimes imitates
them, when we have found the best attested miracles we have got
very little further; and since the magicians of Pharaoh dared in
the presence of Moses to counterfeit the very signs he wrought at
God's command, why should they not, behind his back, claim a like
authority? So when we have proved our doctrine by means of miracles,
we must prove our miracles by means of doctrine, [Footnote: This
is expressly stated in many passages of Scripture, among others in
Deuteronomy xiii., where it is said that when a prophet preaching
strange gods confirms his words by means of miracles and what he
foretells comes to pass, far from giving heed to him, this prophet
must be put to death. If then the heathen put the apostles to
death when they preached a strange god and confirmed their words by
miracles which came to pass I cannot see what grounds we have for
complaint which they could not at once turn against us. Now, what
should be done in such a case? There is only one course; to return
to argument and let the miracles alone. It would have been better
not to have had recourse to them at all. That is plain common-sense
which can only be obscured by great subtlety of distinction. Subtleties
in Christianity! So Jesus Christ was mistaken when he promised the
kingdom of heaven to the simple, he was mistaken when he began his
finest discourse with the praise of the poor in spirit, if so much
wit is needed to understand his teaching and to get others to believe
in him. When you have convinced me that submission is my duty, all
will be well; but to convince me of this, come down to my level;
adapt your arguments to a lowly mind, or I shall not recognise you
as a true disciple of your master, and it is not his doctrine that
you are teaching me.] for fear lest we should take the devil's
doings for the handiwork of God. What think you of this dilemma?
"This doctrine, if it comes from God, should bear the sacred stamp
of the godhead; not only should it illumine the troubled thoughts
which reason imprints on our minds, but it should also offer us
a form of worship, a morality, and rules of conduct in accordance
with the attributes by means of which we alone conceive of God's
essence. If then it teaches us what is absurd and unreasonable, if
it inspires us with feelings of aversion for our fellows and terror
for ourselves, if it paints us a God, angry, jealous, revengeful,
partial, hating men, a God of war and battles, ever ready to strike
and to destroy, ever speaking of punishment and torment, boasting
even of the punishment of the innocent, my heart would not be drawn
towards this terrible God, I would take good care not to quit the
realm of natural religion to embrace such a religion as that; for
you see plainly I must choose between them. Your God is not ours.
He who begins by selecting a chosen people, and proscribing the rest
of mankind, is not our common father; he who consigns to eternal
punishment the greater part of his creatures, is not the merciful
and gracious God revealed to me by my reason.
"Reason tells me that dogmas should be plain, clear, and striking
in their simplicity. If there is something lacking in natural
religion, it is with respect to the obscurity in which it leaves
the great truths it teaches; revelation should teach us these truths
in a way which the mind of man can understand; it should bring them
within his reach, make him comprehend them, so that he may believe
them. Faith is confirmed and strengthened by understanding; the
best religion is of necessity the simplest. He who hides beneath
mysteries and contradictions the religion that he preaches to me,
teaches me at the same time to distrust that religion. The God whom
I adore is not the God of darkness, he has not given me understanding
in order to forbid me to use it; to tell me to submit my reason
is to insult the giver of reason. The minister of truth does not
tyrannise over my reason, he enlightens it.
"We have set aside all human authority, and without it I do not see
how any man can convince another by preaching a doctrine contrary
to reason. Let them fight it out, and let us see what they have to
say with that harshness of speech which is common to both.
"INSPIRATION: Reason tells you that the whole is greater than the
part; but I tell you, in God's name, that the part is greater than
the whole.
"REASON: And who are you to dare to tell me that God contradicts
himself? And which shall I choose to believe. God who teaches me,
through my reason, the eternal truth, or you who, in his name,
proclaim an absurdity?
"INSPIRATION: Believe me, for my teaching is more positive; and I
will prove to you beyond all manner of doubt that he has sent me.
"REASON: What! you will convince me that God has sent you to bear
witness against himself? What sort of proofs will you adduce to
convince me that God speaks more surely by your mouth than through
the understanding he has given me?
"INSPIRATION: The understanding he has given you! Petty, conceited
creature! As if you were the first impious person who had been led
astray through his reason corrupted by sin.
"REASON: Man of God, you would not be the first scoundrel who
asserts his arrogance as a proof of his mission.
"INSPIRATION: What! do even philosophers call names?
"REASON: Sometimes, when the saints set them the example.
"INSPIRATION: Oh, but I have a right to do it, for I am speaking
on God's behalf.
"REASON: You would do well to show your credentials before you make
use of your privileges.
"INSPIRATION: My credentials are authentic, earth and heaven will
bear witness on my behalf. Follow my arguments carefully, if you
please.
"REASON: Your arguments! You forget what you are saying. When you
teach me that my reason misleads me, do you not refute what it might
have said on your behalf? He who denies the right of reason, must
convince me without recourse to her aid. For suppose you have
convinced me by reason, how am I to know that it is not my reason,
corrupted by sin, which makes me accept what you say? besides,
what proof, what demonstration, can you advance, more self-evident
than the axiom it is to destroy? It is more credible that a good
syllogism is a lie, than that the part is greater than the whole.
"INSPIRATION: What a difference! There is no answer to my evidence;
it is of a supernatural kind.
"REASON: Supernatural! What do you mean by the word? I do not
understand it.
"INSPIRATION: I mean changes in the order of nature, prophecies,
signs, and wonders of every kind.
"REASON: Signs and wonders! I have never seen anything of the kind.
"INSPIRATION: Others have seen them for you. Clouds of witnesses--the
witness of whole nations....
"REASON: Is the witness of nations supernatural?
"INSPIRATION: No; but when it is unanimous, it is incontestable.
"REASON: There is nothing so incontestable as the principles of
reason, and one cannot accept an absurdity on human evidence. Once
more, let us see your supernatural evidence, for the consent of
mankind is not supernatural.
"INSPIRATION: Oh, hardened heart, grace does not speak to you.
"REASON: That is not my fault; for by your own showing, one must
have already received grace before one is able to ask for it. Begin
by speaking to me in its stead.
"INSPIRATION: But that is just what I am doing, and you will not
listen. But what do you say to prophecy?
"REASON: In the first place, I say I have no more heard a prophet
than I have seen a miracle. In the next, I say that no prophet
could claim authority over me.
"INSPIRATION: Follower of the devil! Why should not the words of
the prophets have authority over you?
"REASON: Because three things are required, three things which will
never happen: firstly, I must have heard the prophecy; secondly,
I must have seen its fulfilment; and thirdly, it must be clearly
proved that the fulfilment of the prophecy could not by any possibility
have been a mere coincidence; for even if it was as precise, as
plain, and clear as an axiom of geometry, since the clearness of
a chance prediction does not make its fulfilment impossible, this
fulfilment when it does take place does not, strictly speaking,
prove what was foretold.
"See what your so-called supernatural proofs, your miracles, your
prophecies come to: believe all this upon the word of another.
Submit to the authority of men the authority of God which speaks to
my reason. If the eternal truths which my mind conceives of could
suffer any shock, there would be no sort of certainty for me; and
far from being sure that you speak to me on God's behalf, I should
not even be sure that there is a God.
"My child, here are difficulties enough, but these are not all.
Among so many religions, mutually excluding and proscribing each
other, one only is true, if indeed any one of them is true. To
recognise the true religion we must inquire into, not one, but all;
and in any question whatsoever we have no right to condemn unheard.
[Footnote: On the other hand, Plutarch relates that the Stoics
maintained, among other strange paradoxes, that it was no use hearing
both sides; for, said they, the first either proves his point or
he does not prove it; if he has proved it, there is an end of it,
and the other should be condemned: if he has not proved it, he
himself is in the wrong and judgment should be given against him.
I consider the method of those who accept an exclusive revelation
very much like that of these Stoics. When each of them claims to
be the sole guardian of truth, we must hear them all before we can
choose between them without injustice.] The objections must be
compared with the evidence; we must know what accusation each brings
against the other, and what answers they receive. The plainer any
feeling appears to us, the more we must try to discover why so many
other people refuse to accept it. We should be simple, indeed, if
we thought it enough to hear the doctors on our own side, in order
to acquaint ourselves with the arguments of the other. Where can
you find theologians who pride themselves on their honesty? Where
are those who, to refute the arguments of their opponents, do
not begin by making out that they are of little importance? A man
may make a good show among his own friends, and be very proud of
his arguments, who would cut a very poor figure with those same
arguments among those who are on the other side. Would you find
out for yourself from books? What learning you will need! What
languages you must learn; what libraries you must ransack; what an
amount of reading must be got through! Who will guide me in such
a choice? It will be hard to find the best books on the opposite
side in any one country, and all the harder to find those on all
sides; when found they would be easily answered. The absent are
always in the wrong, and bad arguments boldly asserted easily efface
good arguments put forward with scorn. Besides books are often very
misleading, and scarcely express the opinions of their authors.
If you think you can judge the Catholic faith from the writings
of Bossuet, you will find yourself greatly mistaken when you have
lived among us. You will see that the doctrines with which Protestants
are answered are quite different from those of the pulpit. To
judge a religion rightly, you must not study it in the books of its
partisans, you must learn it in their lives; this is quite another
matter. Each religion has its own traditions, meaning, customs,
prejudices, which form the spirit of its creed, and must be taken
in connection with it.
"How many great nations neither print books of their own nor read
ours! How shall they judge of our opinions, or we of theirs? We
laugh at them, they despise us; and if our travellers turn them
into ridicule, they need only travel among us to pay us back in
our own coin. Are there not, in every country, men of common-sense,
honesty, and good faith, lovers of truth, who only seek to know
what truth is that they may profess it? Yet every one finds truth
in his own religion, and thinks the religion of other nations
absurd; so all these foreign religions are not so absurd as they
seem to us, or else the reason we find for our own proves nothing.
"We have three principal forms of religion in Europe. One accepts
one revelation, another two, and another three. Each hates the
others, showers curses on them, accuses them of blindness, obstinacy,
hardness of heart, and falsehood. What fair-minded man will dare
to decide between them without first carefully weighing their
evidence, without listening attentively to their arguments? That
which accepts only one revelation is the oldest and seems the best
established; that which accepts three is the newest and seems the
most consistent; that which accepts two revelations and rejects the
third may perhaps be the best, but prejudice is certainly against
it; its inconsistency is glaring.
"In all three revelations the sacred books are written in languages
unknown to the people who believe in them. The Jews no longer
understand Hebrew, the Christians understand neither Hebrew nor
Greek; the Turks and Persians do not understand Arabic, and the
Arabs of our time do not speak the language of Mahomet. Is not
it a very foolish way of teaching, to teach people in an unknown
tongue? These books are translated, you say. What an answer! How
am I to know that the translations are correct, or how am I to
make sure that such a thing as a correct translation is possible?
If God has gone so far as to speak to men, why should he require
an interpreter?
"I can never believe that every man is obliged to know what is
contained in books, and that he who is out of reach of these books,
and of those who understand them, will be punished for an ignorance
which is no fault of his. Books upon books! What madness! As
all Europe is full of books, Europeans regard them as necessary,
forgetting that they are unknown throughout three-quarters of the
globe. Were not all these books written by men? Why then should a
man need them to teach him his duty, and how did he learn his duty
before these books were in existence? Either he must have learnt
his duties for himself, or his ignorance must have been excused.
"Our Catholics talk loudly of the authority of the Church; but what
is the use of it all, if they also need just as great an array of
proofs to establish that authority as the other seeks to establish
their doctrine? The Church decides that the Church has a right to
decide. What a well-founded authority! Go beyond it, and you are
back again in our discussions.
"Do you know many Christians who have taken the trouble to inquire
what the Jews allege against them? If any one knows anything at
all about it, it is from the writings of Christians. What a way of
ascertaining the arguments of our adversaries! But what is to be
done? If any one dared to publish in our day books which were openly
in favour of the Jewish religion, we should punish the author,
publisher, and bookseller. This regulation is a sure and certain
plan for always being in the right. It is easy to refute those who
dare not venture to speak.
"Those among us who have the opportunity of talking with Jews are
little better off. These unhappy people feel that they are in our
power; the tyranny they have suffered makes them timid; they know
that Christian charity thinks nothing of injustice and cruelty;
will they dare to run the risk of an outcry against blasphemy? Our
greed inspires us with zeal, and they are so rich that they must
be in the wrong. The more learned, the more enlightened they are,
the more cautious. You may convert some poor wretch whom you have
paid to slander his religion; you get some wretched old-clothes-man
to speak, and he says what you want; you may triumph over their
ignorance and cowardice, while all the time their men of learning
are laughing at your stupidity. But do you think you would get
off so easily in any place where they knew they were safe! At the
Sorbonne it is plain that the Messianic prophecies refer to Jesus
Christ. Among the rabbis of Amsterdam it is just as clear that they
have nothing to do with him. I do not think I have ever heard the
arguments of the Jews as to why they should not have a free state,
schools and universities, where they can speak and argue without
danger. Then alone can we know what they have to say.
"At Constantinople the Turks state their arguments, but we dare not
give ours; then it is our turn to cringe. Can we blame the Turks
if they require us to show the same respect for Mahomet, in whom
we do not believe, as we demand from the Jews with regard to Jesus
Christ in whom they do not believe? Are we right? On what grounds
of justice can we answer this question?
"Two-thirds of mankind are neither Jews, Mahometans, nor Christians;
and how many millions of men have never heard the name of Moses,
Jesus Christ, or Mahomet? They deny it; they maintain that our
missionaries go everywhere. That is easily said. But do they go into
the heart of Africa, still undiscovered, where as yet no European
has ever ventured? Do they go to Eastern Tartary to follow on
horseback the wandering tribes, whom no stranger approaches, who
not only know nothing of the pope, but have scarcely heard tell
of the Grand Lama! Do they penetrate into the vast continents
of America, where there are still whole nations unaware that the
people of another world have set foot on their shores? Do they
go to Japan, where their intrigues have led to their perpetual
banishment, where their predecessors are only known to the rising
generation as skilful plotters who came with feigned zeal to take
possession in secret of the empire? Do they reach the harems of the
Asiatic princes to preach the gospel to those thousands of poor
slaves? What have the women of those countries done that no missionary
may preach the faith to them? Will they all go to hell because of
their seclusion?
"If it were true that the gospel is preached throughout the world,
what advantage would there be? The day before the first missionary
set foot in any country, no doubt somebody died who could not hear
him. Now tell me what we shall do with him? If there were a single
soul in the whole world, to whom Jesus Christ had never been
preached, this objection would be as strong for that man as for a
quarter of the human race.
"If the ministers of the gospel have made themselves heard among
far-off nations, what have they told them which might reasonably be
accepted on their word, without further and more exact verification?
You preach to me God, born and dying, two thousand years ago, at
the other end of the world, in some small town I know not where;
and you tell me that all who have not believed this mystery are
damned. These are strange things to be believed so quickly on the
authority of an unknown person. Why did your God make these things
happen so far off, if he would compel me to know about them? Is
it a crime to be unaware of what is happening half a world away?
Could I guess that in another hemisphere there was a Hebrew nation
and a town called Jerusalem? You might as well expect me to know
what was happening in the moon. You say you have come to teach me;
but why did you not come and teach my father, or why do you consign
that good old man to damnation because he knew nothing of all
this? Must he be punished everlastingly for your laziness, he who
was so kind and helpful, he who sought only for truth? Be honest;
put yourself in my place; see if I ought to believe, on your word
alone, all these incredible things which you have told me, and
reconcile all this injustice with the just God you proclaim to
me. At least allow me to go and see this distant land where such
wonders, unheard of in my own country, took place; let me go and
see why the inhabitants of Jerusalem put their God to death as a
robber. You tell me they did not know he was God. What then shall
I do, I who have only heard of him from you? You say they have been
punished, dispersed, oppressed, enslaved; that none of them dare
approach that town. Indeed they richly deserved it; but what do its
present inhabitants say of their crime in slaying their God! They
deny him; they too refuse to recognise God as God. They are no
better than the children of the original inhabitants.
"What! In the very town where God was put to death, neither the
former nor the latter inhabitants knew him, and you expect that I
should know him, I who was born two thousand years after his time,
and two thousand leagues away? Do you not see that before I can
believe this book which you call sacred, but which I do not in the
least understand, I must know from others than yourself when and by
whom it was written, how it has been preserved, how it came into
your possession, what they say about it in those lands where it is
rejected, and what are their reasons for rejecting it, though they
know as well as you what you are telling me? You perceive I must
go to Europe, Asia, Palestine, to examine these things for myself;
it would be madness to listen to you before that.
"Not only does this seem reasonable to me, but I maintain that it
is what every wise man ought to say in similar circumstances; that
he ought to banish to a great distance the missionary who wants
to instruct and baptise him all of a sudden before the evidence is
verified. Now I maintain that there is no revelation against which
these or similar objections cannot be made, and with more force
than against Christianity. Hence it follows that if there is but
one true religion and if every man is bound to follow it under pain
of damnation, he must spend his whole life in studying, testing,
comparing all these religions, in travelling through the countries
in which they are established. No man is free from a man's first
duty; no one has a right to depend on another's judgment. The
artisan who earns his bread by his daily toil, the ploughboy who
cannot read, the delicate and timid maiden, the invalid who can
scarcely leave his bed, all without exception must study, consider,
argue, travel over the whole world; there will be no more fixed
and settled nations; the whole earth will swarm with pilgrims on
their way, at great cost of time and trouble, to verify, compare,
and examine for themselves the various religions to be found. Then
farewell to the trades, the arts, the sciences of mankind, farewell
to all peaceful occupations; there can be no study but that
of religion, even the strongest, the most industrious, the most
intelligent, the oldest, will hardly be able in his last years to
know where he is; and it will be a wonder if he manages to find
out what religion he ought to live by, before the hour of his death.
"Hard pressed by these arguments, some prefer to make God unjust
and to punish the innocent for the sins of their fathers, rather
than to renounce their barbarous dogmas. Others get out of the
difficulty by kindly sending an angel to instruct all those who
in invincible ignorance have lived a righteous life. A good idea,
that angel! Not content to be the slaves of their own inventions
they expect God to make use of them also!
"Behold, my son, the absurdities to which pride and intolerance
bring us, when everybody wants others to think as he does, and
everybody fancies that he has an exclusive claim upon the rest of
mankind. I call to witness the God of Peace whom I adore, and whom
I proclaim to you, that my inquiries were honestly made; but when
I discovered that they were and always would be unsuccessful, and
that I was embarked upon a boundless ocean, I turned back, and
restricted my faith within the limits of my primitive ideas. I
could never convince myself that God would require such learning
of me under pain of hell. So I closed all my books. There is one
book which is open to every one--the book of nature. In this good
and great volume I learn to serve and adore its Author. There
is no excuse for not reading this book, for it speaks to all in a
language they can understand. Suppose I had been born in a desert
island, suppose I had never seen any man but myself, suppose I had
never heard what took place in olden days in a remote corner of
the world; yet if I use my reason, if I cultivate it, if I employ
rightly the innate faculties which God bestows upon me, I shall
learn by myself to know and love him, to love his works, to will
what he wills, and to fulfil all my duties upon earth, that I may
do his pleasure. What more can all human learning teach me?
"With regard to revelation, if I were a more accomplished disputant,
or a more learned person, perhaps I should feel its truth, its
usefulness for those who are happy enough to perceive it; but if I
find evidence for it which I cannot combat, I also find objections
against it which I cannot overcome. There are so many weighty
reasons for and against that I do not know what to decide, so that
I neither accept nor reject it. I only reject all obligation to be
convinced of its truth; for this so-called obligation is incompatible
with God's justice, and far from removing objections in this way
it would multiply them, and would make them insurmountable for the
greater part of mankind. In this respect I maintain an attitude of
reverent doubt. I do not presume to think myself infallible; other
men may have been able to make up their minds though the matter
seems doubtful to myself; I am speaking for myself, not for them;
I neither blame them nor follow in their steps; their judgment may
be superior to mine, but it is no fault of mine that my judgment
does not agree with it.
"I own also that the holiness of the gospel speaks to my heart,
and that this is an argument which I should be sorry to refute.
Consider the books of the philosophers with all their outward show;
how petty they are in comparison! Can a book at once so grand and
so simple be the work of men? Is it possible that he whose history
is contained in this book is no more than man? Is the tone of this
book, the tone of the enthusiast or the ambitious sectary? What
gentleness and purity in his actions, what a touching grace in his
teaching, how lofty are his sayings, how profoundly wise are his
sermons, how ready, how discriminating, and how just are his answers!
What man, what sage, can live, suffer, and die without weakness
or ostentation? When Plato describes his imaginary good man,
overwhelmed with the disgrace of crime, and deserving of all the
rewards of virtue, every feature of the portrait is that of Christ;
the resemblance is so striking that it has been noticed by all
the Fathers, and there can be no doubt about it. What prejudices
and blindness must there be before we dare to compare the son of
Sophronisca with the son of Mary. How far apart they are! Socrates
dies a painless death, he is not put to open shame, and he plays
his part easily to the last; and if this easy death had not done
honour to his life, we might have doubted whether Socrates, with all
his intellect, was more than a mere sophist. He invented morality,
so they say; others before him had practised it; he only said
what they had done, and made use of their example in his teaching.
Aristides was just before Socrates defined justice; Leonidas died
for his country before Socrates declared that patriotism was a
virtue; Sparta was sober before Socrates extolled sobriety; there
were plenty of virtuous men in Greece before he defined virtue.
But among the men of his own time where did Jesus find that pure
and lofty morality of which he is both the teacher and pattern?
[Footnote: Cf. in the Sermon on the Mount the parallel he himself
draws between the teaching of Moses and his own.--Matt. v.] The
voice of loftiest wisdom arose among the fiercest fanaticism, the
simplicity of the most heroic virtues did honour to the most degraded
of nations. One could wish no easier death than that of Socrates,
calmly discussing philosophy with his friends; one could fear nothing
worse than that of Jesus, dying in torment, among the insults,
the mockery, the curses of the whole nation. In the midst of these
terrible sufferings, Jesus prays for his cruel murderers. Yes,
if the life and death of Socrates are those of a philosopher, the
life and death of Christ are those of a God. Shall we say that the
gospel story is the work of the imagination? My friend, such things
are not imagined; and the doings of Socrates, which no one doubts,
are less well attested than those of Jesus Christ. At best, you
only put the difficulty from you; it would be still more incredible
that several persons should have agreed together to invent such a
book, than that there was one man who supplied its subject matter.
The tone and morality of this story are not those of any Jewish
authors, and the gospel indeed contains characters so great, so
striking, so entirely inimitable, that their invention would be
more astonishing than their hero. With all this the same gospel
is full of incredible things, things repugnant to reason, things
which no natural man can understand or accept. What can you do
among so many contradictions? You can be modest and wary, my child;
respect in silence what you can neither reject nor understand, and
humble yourself in the sight of the Divine Being who alone knows
the truth.
"This is the unwilling scepticism in which I rest; but this scepticism
is in no way painful to me, for it does not extend to matters of
practice, and I am well assured as to the principles underlying all
my duties. I serve God in the simplicity of my heart; I only seek
to know what affects my conduct. As to those dogmas which have
no effect upon action or morality, dogmas about which so many men
torment themselves, I give no heed to them. I regard all individual
religions as so many wholesome institutions which prescribe a
uniform method by which each country may do honour to God in public
worship; institutions which may each have its reason in the country,
the government, the genius of the people, or in other local causes
which make one preferable to another in a given time or place. I
think them all good alike, when God is served in a fitting manner.
True worship is of the heart. God rejects no homage, however offered,
provided it is sincere. Called to the service of the Church in
my own religion, I fulfil as scrupulously as I can all the duties
prescribed to me, and my conscience would reproach me if I were
knowingly wanting with regard to any point. You are aware that after
being suspended for a long time, I have, through the influence of
M. Mellarede, obtained permission to resume my priestly duties,
as a means of livelihood. I used to say Mass with the levity that
comes from long experience even of the most serious matters when
they are too familiar to us; with my new principles I now celebrate
it with more reverence; I dwell upon the majesty of the Supreme
Being, his presence, the insufficiency of the human mind, which
so little realises what concerns its Creator. When I consider how
I present before him the prayers of all the people in a form laid
down for me, I carry out the whole ritual exactly; I give heed
to what I say, I am careful not to omit the least word, the least
ceremony; when the moment of the consecration approaches, I collect my
powers, that I may do all things as required by the Church and by
the greatness of this sacrament; I strive to annihilate my own reason
before the Supreme Mind; I say to myself, Who art thou to measure
infinite power? I reverently pronounce the sacramental words, and
I give to their effect all the faith I can bestow. Whatever may
be this mystery which passes understanding, I am not afraid that
at the day of judgment I shall be punished for having profaned it
in my heart."
Honoured with the sacred ministry, though in its lowest ranks, I
will never do or say anything which may make me unworthy to fulfil
these sublime duties. I will always preach virtue and exhort men
to well-doing; and so far as I can I will set them a good example.
It will be my business to make religion attractive; it will be my
business to strengthen their faith in those doctrines which are
really useful, those which every man must believe; but, please God,
I shall never teach them to hate their neighbour, to say to other
men, You will be damned; to say, No salvation outside the Church.
[Footnote: The duty of following and loving the religion of our
country does not go so far as to require us to accept doctrines
contrary to good morals, such as intolerance. This horrible
doctrine sets men in arms against their fellow-men, and makes them
all enemies of mankind. The distinction between civil toleration
and theological toleration is vain and childish. These two kinds
of toleration are inseparable, and we cannot accept one without the
other. Even the angels could not live at peace with men whom they
regarded as the enemies of God.] If I were in a more conspicuous
position, this reticence might get me into trouble; but I am too
obscure to have much to fear, and I could hardly sink lower than I
am. Come what may, I will never blaspheme the justice of God, nor
lie against the Holy Ghost.
"I have long desired to have a parish of my own; it is still
my ambition, but I no longer hope to attain it. My dear friend, I
think there is nothing so delightful as to be a parish priest. A
good clergyman is a minister of mercy, as a good magistrate is a
minister of justice. A clergyman is never called upon to do evil;
if he cannot always do good himself, it is never out of place for
him to beg for others, and he often gets what he asks if he knows
how to gain respect. Oh! if I should ever have some poor mountain
parish where I might minister to kindly folk, I should be happy
indeed; for it seems to me that I should make my parishioners happy.
I should not bring them riches, but I should share their poverty;
I should remove from them the scorn and opprobrium which are harder
to bear than poverty. I should make them love peace and equality,
which often remove poverty, and always make it tolerable. When they
saw that I was in no way better off than themselves, and that yet
I was content with my lot, they would learn to put up with their
fate and to be content like me. In my sermons I would lay more stress
on the spirit of the gospel than on the spirit of the church; its
teaching is simple, its morality sublime; there is little in it
about the practices of religion, but much about works of charity.
Before I teach them what they ought to do, I would try to practise
it myself, that they might see that at least I think what I say.
If there were Protestants in the neighbourhood or in my parish, I
would make no difference between them and my own congregation so
far as concerns Christian charity; I would get them to love one
another, to consider themselves brethren, to respect all religions,
and each to live peaceably in his own religion. To ask any one to
abandon the religion in which he was born is, I consider, to ask
him to do wrong, and therefore to do wrong oneself. While we await
further knowledge, let us respect public order; in every country
let us respect the laws, let us not disturb the form of worship
prescribed by law; let us not lead its citizens into disobedience;
for we have no certain knowledge that it is good for them to abandon
their own opinions for others, and on the other hand we are quite
certain that it is a bad thing to disobey the law.
"My young friend, I have now repeated to you my creed as God reads
it in my heart; you are the first to whom I have told it; perhaps
you will be the last. As long as there is any true faith left among
men, we must not trouble quiet souls, nor scare the faith of the
ignorant with problems they cannot solve, with difficulties which
cause them uneasiness, but do not give them any guidance. But
when once everything is shaken, the trunk must be preserved at the
cost of the branches. Consciences, restless, uncertain, and almost
quenched like yours, require to be strengthened and aroused; to
set the feet again upon the foundation of eternal truth, we must
remove the trembling supports on which they think they rest.
"You are at that critical age when the mind is open to conviction,
when the heart receives its form and character, when we decide our
own fate for life, either for good or evil. At a later date, the
material has hardened and fresh impressions leave no trace. Young
man, take the stamp of truth upon your heart which is not yet
hardened, if I were more certain of myself, I should have adopted
a more decided and dogmatic tone; but I am a man ignorant and
liable to error; what could I do? I have opened my heart fully to
you; and I have told what I myself hold for certain and sure; I
have told you my doubts as doubts, my opinions as opinions; I have
given you my reasons both for faith and doubt. It is now your turn
to judge; you have asked for time; that is a wise precaution and
it makes me think well of you. Begin by bringing your conscience
into that state in which it desires to see clearly; be honest with
yourself. Take to yourself such of my opinions as convince you,
reject the rest. You are not yet so depraved by vice as to run the
risk of choosing amiss. I would offer to argue with you, but as
soon as men dispute they lose their temper; pride and obstinacy
come in, and there is an end of honesty. My friend, never argue;
for by arguing we gain no light for ourselves or for others. So far
as I myself am concerned, I have only made up my mind after many
years of meditation; here I rest, my conscience is at peace, my
heart is satisfied. If I wanted to begin afresh the examination of
my feelings, I should not bring to the task a purer love of truth;
and my mind, which is already less active, would be less able to
perceive the truth. Here I shall rest, lest the love of contemplation,
developing step by step into an idle passion, should make me
lukewarm in the performance of my duties, lest I should fall into
my former scepticism without strength to struggle out of it. More
than half my life is spent; I have barely time to make good use of
what is left, to blot out my faults by my virtues. If I am mistaken,
it is against my will. He who reads my inmost heart knows that
I have no love for my blindness. As my own knowledge is powerless
to free me from this blindness, my only way out of it is by a good
life; and if God from the very stones can raise up children to
Abraham, every man has a right to hope that he may be taught the
truth, if he makes himself worthy of it.
"If my reflections lead you to think as I do, if you share my
feelings, if we have the same creed, I give you this advice: Do
not continue to expose your life to the temptations of poverty and
despair, nor waste it in degradation and at the mercy of strangers;
no longer eat the shameful bread of charity. Return to your own
country, go back to the religion of your fathers, and follow it in
sincerity of heart, and never forsake it; it is very simple and very
holy; I think there is no other religion upon earth whose morality
is purer, no other more satisfying to the reason. Do not trouble
about the cost of the journey, that will be provided for you.
Neither do you fear the false shame of a humiliating return; we
should blush to commit a fault, not to repair it. You are still at
an age when all is forgiven, but when we cannot go on sinning with
impunity. If you desire to listen to your conscience, a thousand
empty objections will disappear at her voice. You will feel that, in
our present state of uncertainty, it is an inexcusable presumption
to profess any faith but that we were born into, while it is
treachery not to practise honestly the faith we profess. If we go
astray, we deprive ourselves of a great excuse before the tribunal
of the sovereign judge. Will he not pardon the errors in which we
were brought up, rather than those of our own choosing?
"My son, keep your soul in such a state that you always desire
that there should be a God and you will never doubt it. Moreover,
whatever decision you come to, remember that the real duties of
religion are independent of human institutions; that a righteous
heart is the true temple of the Godhead; that in every land, in
every sect, to love God above all things and to love our neighbour
as ourself is the whole law; remember there is no religion which
absolves us from our moral duties; that these alone are really
essential, that the service of the heart is the first of these duties,
and that without faith there is no such thing as true virtue.
"Shun those who, under the pretence of explaining nature, sow
destructive doctrines in the heart of men, those whose apparent
scepticism is a hundredfold more self-assertive and dogmatic than
the firm tone of their opponents. Under the arrogant claim, that
they alone are enlightened, true, honest, they subject us imperiously
to their far-reaching decisions, and profess to give us, as the
true principles of all things, the unintelligible systems framed by
their imagination. Moreover, they overthrow, destroy, and trample
under foot all that men reverence; they rob the afflicted of
their last consolation in their misery; they deprive the rich and
powerful of the sole bridle of their passions; they tear from the
very depths of man's heart all remorse for crime, and all hope of
virtue; and they boast, moreover, that they are the benefactors of
the human race. Truth, they say, can never do a man harm. I think
so too, and to my mind that is strong evidence that what they
teach is not true. [Footnote: The rival parties attack each other
with so many sophistries that it would be a rash and overwhelming
enterprise to attempt to deal with all of them; it is difficult
enough to note some of them as they occur. One of the commonest
errors among the partisans of philosophy is to contrast a nation
of good philosophers with a nation of bad Christians; as if it were
easier to make a nation of good philosophers than a nation of good
Christians. I know not whether in individual cases it is easier to
discover one rather than the other; but I am quite certain that,
as far as nations are concerned, we must assume that there will
be those who misuse their philosophy without religion, just as our
people misuse their religion without philosophy, and that seems
to put quite a different face upon the matter.]--Bayle has proved
very satisfactorily that fanaticism is more harmful than atheism,
and that cannot be denied; but what he has not taken the trouble to
say, though it is none the less true, is this: Fanaticism, though
cruel and bloodthirsty, is still a great and powerful passion,
which stirs the heart of man, teaching him to despise death, and
giving him an enormous motive power, which only needs to be guided
rightly to produce the noblest virtues; while irreligion, and the
argumentative philosophic spirit generally, on the other hand,
assaults the life and enfeebles it, degrades the soul, concentrates
all the passions in the basest self-interest, in the meanness of
the human self; thus it saps unnoticed the very foundations of all
society, for what is common to all these private interests is so
small that it will never outweigh their opposing interests.--If
atheism does not lead to bloodshed, it is less from love of peace
than from indifference to what is good; as if it mattered little
what happened to others, provided the sage remained undisturbed in
his study. His principles do not kill men, but they prevent their
birth, by destroying the morals by which they were multiplied, by
detaching them from their fellows, by reducing all their affections
to a secret selfishness, as fatal to population as to virtue. The
indifference of the philosopher is like the peace in a despotic state;
it is the repose of death; war itself is not more destructive.--Thus
fanaticism though its immediate results are more fatal than those
of what is now called the philosophic mind, is much less fatal in
its after effects. Moreover, it is an easy matter to exhibit fine
maxims in books; but the real question is--Are they really in
accordance with your teaching, are they the necessary consequences
of it? and this has not been clearly proved so far. It remains
to be seen whether philosophy, safely enthroned, could control
successfully man's petty vanity, his self-interest, his ambition,
all the lesser passions of mankind, and whether it would practise
that sweet humanity which it boasts of, pen in hand.--In theory,
there is no good which philosophy can bring about which is not equally
secured by religion, while religion secures much that philosophy
cannot secure.--In practice, it is another matter; but still we
must put it to the proof. No man follows his religion in all things,
even if his religion is true; most people have hardly any religion,
and they do not in the least follow what they have; that is still
more true; but still there are some people who have a religion
and follow it, at least to some extent; and beyond doubt religious
motives do prevent them from wrong-doing, and win from them virtues,
praiseworthy actions, which would not have existed but for these
motives.--A monk denies that money was entrusted to him; what of
that? It only proves that the man who entrusted the money to him
was a fool. If Pascal had done the same, that would have proved that
Pascal was a hypocrite. But a monk! Are those who make a trade of
religion religious people? All the crimes committed by the clergy,
as by other men, do not prove that religion is useless, but that
very few people are religious.--Most certainly our modern governments
owe to Christianity their more stable authority, their less frequent
revolutions; it has made those governments less bloodthirsty; this
can be shown by comparing them with the governments of former times.
Apart from fanaticism, the best known religion has given greater
gentleness to Christian conduct. This change is not the result of
learning; for wherever learning has been most illustrious humanity
has been no more respected on that account; the cruelties of the
Athenians, the Egyptians, the Roman emperors, the Chinese bear
witness to this. What works of mercy spring from the gospel! How
many acts of restitution, reparation, confession does the gospel
lead to among Catholics! Among ourselves, as the times of communion
draw near, do they not lead us to reconciliation and to alms-giving?
Did not the Hebrew Jubilee make the grasping less greedy, did it
not prevent much poverty? The brotherhood of the Law made the nation
one; no beggar was found among them. Neither are there beggars
among the Turks, where there are countless pious institutions;
from motives of religion they even show hospitality to the foes of
their religion.--"The Mahometans say, according to Chardin, that
after the interrogation which will follow the general resurrection,
all bodies will traverse a bridge called Poul-Serrho, which is
thrown across the eternal fires, a bridge which may be called the
third and last test of the great Judgment, because it is there that
the good and bad will be separated, etc.--"The Persians, continues
Chardin, make a great point of this bridge; and when any one suffers
a wrong which he can never hope to wipe out by any means or at any
time, he finds his last consolation in these words: 'By the living
God, you will pay me double at the last day; you will never get
across the Poul-Serrho if you do not first do me justice; I will
hold the hem of your garment, I will cling about your knees.' I
have seen many eminent men, of every profession, who for fear lest
this hue and cry should be raised against them as they cross that
fearful bridge, beg pardon of those who complained against them;
it has happened to me myself on many occasions. Men of rank, who
had compelled me by their importunity to do what I did not wish
to do, have come to me when they thought my anger had had time to
cool, and have said to me; I pray you "Halal becon antchisra," that
is, "Make this matter lawful and right." Some of them have even
sent gifts and done me service, so that I might forgive them and
say I did it willingly; the cause of this is nothing else but this
belief that they will not be able to get across the bridge of hell
until they have paid the uttermost farthing to the oppressed."--Must
I think that the idea of this bridge where so many iniquities are
made good is of no avail? If the Persians were deprived of this
idea, if they were persuaded that there was no Poul-Serrho, nor
anything of the kind, where the oppressed were avenged of their
tyrants after death, is it not clear that they would be very much
at their ease, and they would be freed from the care of appeasing
the wretched? But it is false to say that this doctrine is hurtful;
yet it would not be true.--O Philosopher, your moral laws are all
very fine; but kindly show me their sanction. Cease to shirk the
question, and tell me plainly what you would put in the place of
Poul-Serrho.
"My good youth, be honest and humble; learn how to be ignorant, then
you will never deceive yourself or others. If ever your talents are
so far cultivated as to enable you to speak to other men, always
speak according to your conscience, without caring for their
applause. The abuse of knowledge causes incredulity. The learned
always despise the opinions of the crowd; each of them must have his
own opinion. A haughty philosophy leads to atheism just as blind
devotion leads to fanaticism. Avoid these extremes; keep steadfastly
to the path of truth, or what seems to you truth, in simplicity of
heart, and never let yourself be turned aside by pride or weakness.
Dare to confess God before the philosophers; dare to preach humanity
to the intolerant. It may be you will stand alone, but you will
bear within you a witness which will make the witness of men of no
account with you. Let them love or hate, let them read your writings
or despise them; no matter. Speak the truth and do the right; the
one thing that really matters is to do one's duty in this world;
and when we forget ourselves we are really working for ourselves.
My child, self-interest misleads us; the hope of the just is the
only sure guide."
I have transcribed this document not as a rule for the sentiments
we should adopt in matters of religion, but as an example of the way
in which we may reason with our pupil without forsaking the method
I have tried to establish. So long as we yield nothing to human
authority, nor to the prejudices of our native land, the light of
reason alone, in a state of nature, can lead us no further than to
natural religion; and this is as far as I should go with Emile. If
he must have any other religion, I have no right to be his guide;
he must choose for himself.
We are working in agreement with nature, and while she is shaping
the physical man, we are striving to shape his moral being, but
we do not make the same progress. The body is already strong and
vigorous, the soul is still frail and delicate, and whatever can be
done by human art, the body is always ahead of the mind. Hitherto
all our care has been devoted to restrain the one and stimulate
the other, so that the man might be as far as possible at one with
himself. By developing his individuality, we have kept his growing
susceptibilities in check; we have controlled it by cultivating
his reason. Objects of thought moderate the influence of objects
of sense. By going back to the causes of things, we have withdrawn
him from the sway of the senses; it is an easy thing to raise him
from the study of nature to the search for the author of nature.
When we have reached this point, what a fresh hold we have got over
our pupil; what fresh ways of speaking to his heart! Then alone
does he find a real motive for being good, for doing right when he
is far from every human eye, and when he is not driven to it by
law. To be just in his own eyes and in the sight of God, to do his
duty, even at the cost of life itself, and to bear in his heart
virtue, not only for the love of order which we all subordinate
to the love of self, but for the love of the Author of his being,
a love which mingles with that self-love, so that he may at length
enjoy the lasting happiness which the peace of a good conscience
and the contemplation of that supreme being promise him in another
life, after he has used this life aright. Go beyond this, and I see
nothing but injustice, hypocrisy, and falsehood among men; private
interest, which in competition necessarily prevails over everything
else, teaches all things to adorn vice with the outward show of
virtue. Let all men do what is good for me at the cost of what is
good for themselves; let everything depend on me alone; let the
whole human race perish, if needs be, in suffering and want, to
spare me a moment's pain or hunger. Yes, I shall always maintain
that whoso says in his heart, "There is no God," while he takes
the name of God upon his lips, is either a liar or a madman.
Reader, it is all in vain; I perceive that you and I shall never
see Emile with the same eyes; you will always fancy him like your
own young people, hasty, impetuous, flighty, wandering from fete to
fete, from amusement to amusement, never able to settle to anything.
You smile when I expect to make a thinker, a philosopher, a young
theologian, of an ardent, lively, eager, and fiery young man,
at the most impulsive period of youth. This dreamer, you say, is
always in pursuit of his fancy; when he gives us a pupil of his
own making, he does not merely form him, he creates him, he makes
him up out of his own head; and while he thinks he is treading in
the steps of nature, he is getting further and further from her.
As for me, when I compare my pupil with yours, I can scarcely find
anything in common between them. So differently brought up, it is
almost a miracle if they are alike in any respect. As his childhood
was passed in the freedom they assume in youth, in his youth he
begins to bear the yoke they bore as children; this yoke becomes
hateful to them, they are sick of it, and they see in it nothing
but their masters' tyranny; when they escape from childhood, they
think they must shake off all control, they make up for the prolonged
restraint imposed upon them, as a prisoner, freed from his fetters,
moves and stretches and shakes his limbs. [Footnote: There is no
one who looks down upon childhood with such lofty scorn as those
who are barely grown-up; just as there is no country where rank is
more strictly regarded than that where there is little real inequality;
everybody is afraid of being confounded with his inferiors.] Emile,
however, is proud to be a man, and to submit to the yoke of his
growing reason; his body, already well grown, no longer needs so
much action, and begins to control itself, while his half-fledged
mind tries its wings on every occasion. Thus the age of reason
becomes for the one the age of licence; for the other, the age of
reasoning.
Would you know which of the two is nearer to the order of nature!
Consider the differences between those who are more or less removed
from a state of nature. Observe young villagers and see if they
are as undisciplined as your scholars. The Sieur de Beau says that
savages in childhood are always active, and ever busy with sports
that keep the body in motion; but scarcely do they reach adolescence
than they become quiet and dreamy; they no longer devote themselves
to games of skill or chance. Emile, who has been brought up in full
freedom like young peasants and savages, should behave like them
and change as he grows up. The whole difference is in this, that
instead of merely being active in sport or for food, he has, in the
course of his sports, learned to think. Having reached this stage,
and by this road, he is quite ready to enter upon the next stage to
which I introduce him; the subjects I suggest for his consideration
rouse his curiosity, because they are fine in themselves, because
they are quite new to him, and because he is able to understand
them. Your young people, on the other hand, are weary and overdone
with your stupid lessons, your long sermons, and your tedious
catechisms; why should they not refuse to devote their minds to
what has made them sad, to the burdensome precepts which have been
continually piled upon them, to the thought of the Author of their
being, who has been represented as the enemy of their pleasures?
All this has only inspired in them aversion, disgust, and weariness;
constraint has set them against it; why then should they devote
themselves to it when they are beginning to choose for themselves?
They require novelty, you must not repeat what they learned
as children. Just so with my own pupil, when he is a man I speak
to him as a man, and only tell him what is new to him; it is just
because they are tedious to your pupils that he will find them to
his taste.
This is how I doubly gain time for him by retarding nature to the
advantage of reason. But have I indeed retarded the progress of
nature? No, I have only prevented the imagination from hastening
it; I have employed another sort of teaching to counterbalance
the precocious instruction which the young man receives from other
sources. When he is carried away by the flood of existing customs
and I draw him in the opposite direction by means of other customs,
this is not to remove him from his place, but to keep him in it.
Nature's due time comes at length, as come it must. Since man must
die, he must reproduce himself, so that the species may endure and
the order of the world continue. When by the signs I have spoken of
you perceive that the critical moment is at hand, at once abandon
for ever your former tone. He is still your disciple, but not your
scholar. He is a man and your friend; henceforth you must treat
him as such.
What! Must I abdicate my authority when most I need it? Must I
abandon the adult to himself just when he least knows how to control
himself, when he may fall into the gravest errors! Must I renounce
my rights when it matters most that I should use them on his behalf?
Who bids you renounce them; he is only just becoming conscious of
them. Hitherto all you have gained has been won by force or guile;
authority, the law of duty, were unknown to him, you had to constrain
or deceive him to gain his obedience. But see what fresh chains
you have bound about his heart. Reason, friendship, affection,
gratitude, a thousand bonds of affection, speak to him in a voice
he cannot fail to hear. His ears are not yet dulled by vice, he
is still sensitive only to the passions of nature. Self-love, the
first of these, delivers him into your hands; habit confirms this.
If a passing transport tears him from you, regret restores him to
you without delay; the sentiment which attaches him to you is the
only lasting sentiment, all the rest are fleeting and self-effacing.
Do not let him become corrupt, and he will always be docile; he
will not begin to rebel till he is already perverted.
I grant you, indeed, that if you directly oppose his growing desires
and foolishly treat as crimes the fresh needs which are beginning
to make themselves felt in him, he will not listen to you for
long; but as soon as you abandon my method I cannot be answerable
for the consequences. Remember that you are nature's minister; you
will never be her foe.
But what shall we decide to do? You see no alternative but either
to favour his inclinations or to resist them; to tyrannise or to
wink at his misconduct; and both of these may lead to such dangerous
results that one must indeed hesitate between them.
The first way out of the difficulty is a very early marriage; this
is undoubtedly the safest and most natural plan. I doubt, however,
whether it is the best or the most useful. I will give my reasons
later; meanwhile I admit that young men should marry when they reach
a marriageable age. But this age comes too soon; we have made them
precocious; marriage should be postponed to maturity.
If it were merely a case of listening to their wishes and following
their lead it would be an easy matter; but there are so many
contradictions between the rights of nature and the laws of society
that to conciliate them we must continually contradict ourselves.
Much art is required to prevent man in society from being altogether
artificial.
For the reasons just stated, I consider that by the means I have
indicated and others like them the young man's desires may be kept
in ignorance and his senses pure up to the age of twenty. This is
so true that among the Germans a young man who lost his virginity
before that age was considered dishonoured; and the writers justly
attribute the vigour of constitution and the number of children
among the Germans to the continence of these nations during youth.
This period may be prolonged still further, and a few centuries
ago nothing was more common even in France. Among other well-known
examples, Montaigne's father, a man no less scrupulously truthful
than strong and healthy, swore that his was a virgin marriage at
three and thirty, and he had served for a long time in the Italian
wars. We may see in the writings of his son what strength and
spirit were shown by the father when he was over sixty. Certainly
the contrary opinion depends rather on our own morals and our own
prejudices than on the experience of the race as a whole.
I may, therefore, leave on one side the experience of our young
people; it proves nothing for those who have been educated in
another fashion. Considering that nature has fixed no exact limits
which cannot be advanced or postponed, I think I may, without going
beyond the law of nature, assume that under my care Emil has so far
remained in his first innocence, but I see that this happy period
is drawing to a close. Surrounded by ever-increasing perils, he
will escape me at the first opportunity in spite of all my efforts,
and this opportunity will not long be delayed; he will follow the
blind instinct of his senses; the chances are a thousand to one on
his ruin. I have considered the morals of mankind too profoundly
not to be aware of the irrevocable influence of this first moment
on all the rest of his life. If I dissimulate and pretend to see
nothing, he will take advantage of my weakness; if he thinks he
can deceive me, he will despise me, and I become an accomplice in
his destruction. If I try to recall him, the time is past, he no
longer heeds me, he finds me tiresome, hateful, intolerable; it
will not be long before he is rid of me. There is therefore only
one reasonable course open to me; I must make him accountable for
his own actions, I must at least preserve him from being taken
unawares, and I must show him plainly the dangers which beset his
path. I have restrained him so far through his ignorance; henceforward
his restraint must be his own knowledge.
This new teaching is of great importance, and we will take up our
story where we left it. This is the time to present my accounts,
to show him how his time and mine have been spent, to make known
to him what he is and what I am; what I have done, and what he has
done; what we owe to each other; all his moral relations, all the
undertakings to which he is pledged, all those to which others
have pledged themselves in respect to him; the stage he has reached
in the development of his faculties, the road that remains to be
travelled, the difficulties he will meet, and the way to overcome
them; how I can still help him and how he must henceforward help
himself; in a word, the critical time which he has reached, the
new dangers round about him, and all the valid reasons which should
induce him to keep a close watch upon himself before giving heed
to his growing desires.
Remember that to guide a grown man you must reverse all that you
did to guide the child. Do not hesitate to speak to him of those
dangerous mysteries which you have so carefully concealed from him
hitherto. Since he must become aware of them, let him not learn
them from another, nor from himself, but from you alone; since he
must henceforth fight against them, let him know his enemy, that
he may not be taken unawares.