k n THB SYSTEM OF NATURE: 3K. LAWS OE THE MOML AND PHYSICAL WORLD, BY BARON D'HOLBACH, AUTHOR OF "good SENSE," ETC. A NEW AND IMPROVED EDITION. WITH NOTES BY DIDEROT. TEANSLATED, FOR THE FIRST TIME, BY H. D. ROBINSON. TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. VOL. T. 't • j« o » * o* ''• '>''' *' '. ' ' "" •"• ••'■ ' • STEREOTYPE EDITION. ' BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY J. P. MENDUM, At the Office of the Boston Investioatob. 1889. 957 S :i Entebsd, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by H. D. Robeson, fet THE PROPRIETOR, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New Yoi^ -■3 3 wU- ADVERTISEMENT. TO THE PUBLIC. To expose superstition, the ignorance and credulity on which it is Dased, and to amehorate the condition of the human race, is the ardent desire of every phihuithropic mind. Mankind are unhappy, in proportion as they are dehided by imag- ^ inary systems of theology. Taught to attach much importance to behef in rehgious doctrines, and to mere forms and ceremonies of re- y hgious worship, the slightest disagreement among theological dogma- lists is oftentimes sufficient to inflame their minds, already excited by bigotry, and to lead them to anathematize and destroy each other with- out pity, mercy, or remorse. The various theological systems in which mankind have been mis- led to have faith, are but fables and falsehoods imposed by visionaries and fanatics on the ignorant, the w-eak, and th? credulous, as historical "^ truths ; and for unbelief of which, millions have perished at the stake, fS or pined in gloomy dungeons : and such will ever be the case, until the Q mists of superstition, and the influence of priestcraft, are exposed by the light of knowledge and the power of truth. ■J Many honest and talented philanthropists have directed their _, powerful intellects against the religious dogmas which have caused V so much misery and persecution among mankind. Owing, however, •^ to the combined power and influence of kings and priests, many of those learned and liberal works have been either destroyed or biu-icd in oblivion, and the characters of the writers assailed by the unsparing and relentless rancovu: of pious abuse. To counteract and destroy, if possilile, these sources of mischief and misery, is the intention of the pnbHsher in issuing the System OF Nature; and this truly able work of a celebrated author, whose writings, owing to religious iiitolcrauce, have been kept in compar- olive obscurity, is now offered to the public in a form which unites the various advantages of neatness of typography and cheapness of price. The publisher commends to all Liberals this translation of Baro.m d'HoLBACH's System of Nature, because it is estimated as one of iV ADVERTISEMENT the most able expositions of theological absurdities which has ever been written. It is in reality a System of Nature. Man is here con- sidered in all his relations both to his own species and those spiritual beings which are supposed to exist in the imaginary Utopia of leligicus devotees. This great work strikes at the root of all the erroiu's anf" evil consequences of religious superstition and intolerance. It incul- cates the purest morality ; instructing us to be kind one to another, in order to live happily in each other's society — to be tolerant and for- bearing, because belief is involuntary, and mankind are so organized that all cannot think alike — to be indulgent and benevolent, because Kindness begets kindness, and hence each individual becomes inter- ested for the happiness of every other, and thus all contribute to human felicity. Let those who declare the immorality of sceptical writings, read the System of Nature, and they will be undeceived. They will then learn that the calumniated sceptics are incited by no other motives than the most praiseworthy benevolence ; that far from endeavouring to increase that misery which is incidental to human life, they only wish to heal the animosities caused by religious dissensions, and to show" men that their true polar star is to be happy, and endeavour to render others so. But above all, let those read this work who seek to come at a " knowledge of the truth ;" — let those read it whose minds are har- assed by the fear of death, or troubled by the horrible tales of a sanguinary and vengeful God. Let them read this work, and their doubts will vanish if there is any potency in the spear of Ithuriel. If the most profound logic, the acutest discrimination, the keenest and most caustic sarcasm, can reflect credit on an author, then we may justly hail Baron d'Holbach as the greatest among philosophers, and an honour to infidels. He is the author of many celebrated works be- sides the System of Nature,* among which we may nmnber. Good Sense, The Natural History of Superstition, Letters to Eugenia, and other famous publications. He is described by bio- gi'aphers as " a man of great and varied talents, generous and kind- hearted."! And the Reverend Laurence Sterne, informs us in his Letters, that he was rich, generous, and learned, keeping an open house several days in the week for indigent scholars. Davenport, ubi sup., page 324, says, " His works are numerous, and were all pub- lished anonymously." It is, no doubt, on this account that the Sys- teme de la Nature was first attributed to Helvetius, and then to Mira- * A person by the name of Robinet, ■wrote a work of a similar tendency, called De la Nature, which should not be confounded with that of Baron d Holbach. t Vide R. A. Davenport's Dictionary of Biography, Boston edition, page 324, Article, Holbach. Perhaps it may be well to add that he was born in 1723, in Heidesheim, Germany, though he was educated at Paris, where he spent the greatest part of his life. He was a distinguished member of many European academies, and peculiarly conversant with mineralogv. He died in 17S9. ADVERTISEMENT. » beau. But this imporlaiil (jueslioii lias been set to rest bv Baron Grimm, from whose celebrated correspondence we make tlie lollowing extracts, under the date of August lUth, 17fci9: — " I became acquainted witli llie Baron d'JIolbach only a few years before ids death ; but, to know him, and to feel that esteem and ven- eration with which liis noble character inspired his friends, a long ac- (juaintance was not necessary, i therefore shall endeavour to portray him as he appeared to me ; and I fain would persuade myself, that if his manes could hear me, they fvould be pleased with the frankness and sinn)licity of my homage. " 1 have never met with a man more learned — I may add, more universally learned, than the Baron d'ilolbach ; and I have never seen any one who cared so little to pass for learned in the eyes of the world. Had it not been for the sincere interest he took in the pro- gress of science, and a longing to impart to others what he thougiit might be useful to them, the world would always have remained ig- norant of his vast erudition. His learning, like his fortune, he gave away, but never crouched to public opinion. " The French nation is indebted to Baron d'Holbach for its rapid progi-ess in natural history and chymistry. It was he who, 30 years ago, translated the best works published by the Germans on both these sciences, till then, scarcely known, or at least, very much neglected in France. His translations are enriched with valuable notes, but those who availed themselves of his labour ignored to whom they were indebted for it ; and even now it is scarcely known. ' There is no longer any indiscretion in stating that Baron d'HoI bach is the author of the work .which, eighteen years ago, made sa- much noise in Europe, of the far-famed System of Nature. Hii» self-love was never seduced by the lofty reputation his work obtained. If he was so fortunate as to escape suspicion, he was more indebtccf for it to his own modesty, than to the prudence and discretion of iiis friends. As to myself, I do not like the doctrines taught in that work, but those who have known the author, will, in justice, admit, that no private consideration induced him to advocate that system • he became its apostle with a purity of intention, and an abnegation of self, which in the eyes of faith, would have done honour to the apostles of the holiest religion. " His Systeme Social, and his Morale Universelle, did not create the same sensation as the Systeme de la Nature ; but those two work* show that, after having pulled down what human weakness had erected as a barrier to vice, the author felt the necessity of rebuilding another founded on the progress of reason, a good education, and wholesome laws. " It was natural for the Baron d'Holbach to believe in the empire of reason, for his passions (and we always judge others by ourselves), were such, as in all cases to give the ascendency to virtue and correct principles. It was impossil)le for him to hate any one ; yet he could not, without an effort, dissiimdate his profound horrour for priests, tlip Vi ADVERTISEMENT. panders of despotism, and the promoters of superstition. Whenever he spoke of these, his natm'allygood temper forsook him. " Among his friends, the Baron d'Holbach numbered the celebrated Helvetius, Diderot, d'Alembert, Naigeon, Condillac, Turgot, Buffon, J. J. Rousseau, Voltaire, &;c. ; and in other countries, such men as llunie, Garrick, the Abbate Galiani, &c. If so distinguished and learned a society was calculated to give more strength and expansion to his mind, it has also been justly remarked, that those illustrious men could not but learn many curious and useful things from him ; for he possessed an extensive library, and the tenacity of his memory was such as to enable him to remember without effort every thing he had once read." However, the most praiseworthy featmre in d'Holbach's character, was his benevolence ; and we now conclude this sketch with the fol- lowing pithy anecdote related by Mr. Naigeon, in the Journal of Pans : — " Among those who frequented d'Holbach's house, was a literary gentleman, who, for some time past, appeared musing and in deep melancholy. Pained to see his friend in that state, d'Holbach called on him. ' I do not wish,' said d'Holbach, ' to pry into a secret you did not wish to confide to me, but I see you are sorrowful, and your situation makes me both uneasy and unhappy. I know you are not rich, and you may have wants which you have hid from me. I bring you ten thousand francs which are of no use tome. You will cer- tainly not refuse them if you feel any friendship for me ; and by-and- by, when you find yourself in better circumstances, you will return them.' This friend, moved to tears by the generosity of the action, assured him that he did not want money, that his chagrin had another cause, and therefore could not accept his offer ; but he never forgot the kindness which prompted it, and to him I am indebted for the facts I have just related." We have no apologies to make for republishing the System of Nature at this time ; the work will support itself, and needs no advo- cate ; it has never been answered, because, in truth, it is, indeed, un- answerable. It demonstrates the fallacy as well of the religion of the Pagan as the Jew — the Christian as the Mahom.etan. It is a guide alike to the philosopher emancipated from religious tlu-aldom, and the poor votary misled by the follies of superstition. All Christian writers on Natural Theology have studiously avoided even the mention of this masterly production : knowing their utter in- ability to cope with its powerful reasoning, they have wisely passed it by in silence. Henry Lord Brougham, it is true, in his recent Discourse of Natural Theology, has m,entioned this extraordinary treatise, but with what care does he evade entering the lists with this distinguished writer ! He passes over the work with a haste and sophistry that indicates how fully conscious he was of his own weak- ness and his opponent's strength, " There is no book of an Atheistical ADVERTISEMENT. VU iescription," says his lordship, " which has ever made a greater im- pressiori'than the famous Systeme de la Nature^ • * « * • " It is impossible to deny the merits of the Systeme de la Nature. The work of a great writer it unquestionably is ; but its merit lies, in the extraordinary eloquence of the composition, and the skill with which words are substituted for ideas ; and assumptions for jjroofs, are made to pass current," &c. It is with a few pages of such empty de- clamation that his lordship attacks and condemns this eloquent and logical work.* We do not wish to detain the reader longer from its perusal by lengthening out our preface, and have only to remark, in conclusion, that when Baron d'Holbach finished this work, he might have said with more truth, and far less vanity than Horace : — " Exegi monumentum aere perennius, Regalique situ pyramidum aUius ; Q,uod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens Possit diruere, aut innumerabiiis Annorum series, et fuga temporum." — et seq. a Hor. Flac. Car. Lib. III. 30, v. 1-5. * Vide A Discourse of Natural Theology, by Henry Lord Broughim, F.R.S., &c. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea, and Blanchard. 1S35. Pages 146 and 147. AUTHOR'S PREFACE The source of man's unhappiness is his ignorance of Nature. The pertinacity with whicli he chngs to bhnd opinions imbibed in his in- fancy, which interweave themselves with his existence, the consequent prejudice that warps his mind, that prevents its expansion, that renders him the slave of fiction, appears to doom him to continual errour. He resembles a child destitute of experience, full of idle notions : a dan- gerous leaven mixes itself with all his knowledge : it is of necessity- obscure, it is vacillating and false : — He takes the tone of his ideas on the authority of others, who are themselves in errour, or else have an interest in deceiving him. To remove this Cimmerian darkness, these barriers to the improvement of his condition ; to disentangle him from the clouds of errour that envelop him, that obscure the path lie ought to tread ; to guide him out of this Cretan labyrinth, requires the clue of Ariadne, with all the love she could bestow on Theseus. It exacts more than common exertion ; it needs a most determined, a most undaunted courage — it is never effected but by a persevering resolu- tion to act, to think for himself; to examine with rigour and imparti- ality the opinions he has adopted. He will find that the most noxious weeds have sprung up beside beautiful flowers ; entwined themselves around their stems, overshadowed them with an exuberance of foliage, choked the ground, enfeebled their growth, diminished their petals, dimmed the brilliancy of their colours ; that deceived by the apparent freshness of their verdure, by the rapidity of their exfoliation, he has given them cultivation, watered them, nmrtured them, when he ought to have plucked out their very roots. Man seeks to range out of his sphere : notwithstanding the reiterated checks his ambitious folly experiences, he still attempts the impossi- ble ; strives to carry his researches beyond the visible world ; and hmits out misery in imaginary regions. He would be a metaphysician be- fore he has become a practical philosopher. He quits the contempla- tion of realities to meditate on chimeras. He neglects experience to feed on conjecture, to indulge in hypothesis. He dares not cultivate his reason, because from his earliest days he has been taught to con- sider it criminal. He pretends to know his fate in the indistinct abodes of another life, before he has considered of the means by which he is to render himself happy in the world he inhabits : in short, man dis- AUTHOR S PREFACE. IX daiiis the study of Nature, except it be partially : he pursues phantoms that resemble an ignis-jatuvs, which at once dazzle, bewilder, and affright : like the benighted traveller led astray by these deceptive ex- halations of a swampy soil, he frequently quits the plain, the simjjle road of truth, by pursuing of which, he can alone ever reasonably hope to reach the goal of happiness. The most important of our duties, then, is to seek means by which we may destroy delusions that can never do more than mislead us. The remedies ior these evils must be sought for in Nature herself; it is only in the abundance of her resources, that we can rationally ex- pect to find antidotes to the mischiefs brought upon us by an ill-di- rected, by an overpowering enthusiasm. It is time these remedies were sought; it is time to look the evil boldly in the face, to ex;iniiue its foundations, to scrutinize its superstructure : reason, with its faithful guide experience, must attack in their entrenchments those prejudices to which the human race has but too long been the victim. I'or this piurpose reason must be restored to its proper rank, — it must be rescued from the evil company with which it is associated. It has been too long degraded — too long neglected — cowardice has rendered it subser- vient to delirium, tha_^Tave to falsehood. It must no longer be held down by the massive chains of ignorant prejudice. Truth is invariable — it is requisite to man — it can never harm him — his very necessities, sooner or later, make him sensible of this ; oblige him to acknowledge it. Let us then discover it to mortals — let us ex- hibit its charms — let us shed its effulgence over the darkened road ; it is the only mode by w'hich man can become disgusted with that dis- graceful superstition w^hich leads him into errour, and which but too often usurps his homage by treacherously covering itself with the mask of truth — its lustre can wound none but those enemies to the human race whose power is bottomed solely on the ignorance, on the dark- ness in which they have in almost every climate contrived to involve the mind of man. Truth speaks not to these perverse beings : — her voic6 can only be heard by generous minds accustomed to reflection, whose sensibilities make them lament the numberless calamities showered on the earth by political and religious tyranny — whose enlightened minds contem- plate with horrour the immensity, the ponderosity of that series of mis- lortrmes with which eiTOur has in all ages overwhelmed mankind. To errour must be attributed those insupportable chains which tjTants, which priests have forged for all nations. To errour must be equally attributed that abject slavery into w-hich the people of almost every country have fallen. Nature designed they should pursue their hap- piness by the most perfect freedom. To errour must be attributed those religious terrours which, in almost every climate, have either pe- trified man with fear, or caused him to destroy himself for coarse or fanciful beings. To errour must be attributed those inveterate hatreds, those barbarous persecutions, those munerous massacres, those dread- 2 X AUTHOR'S PREFACE. ful tragedies, of which, under pretext of serving the interests of heaven, the earth has been but too frequently made the theatre. It is errouc consecrated by rehgious enthusiasm, which produces that ignorance, that uncertainty in which man ever finds himself with regard to his most evident duties, his clearest rights, the most demonstrable truths. In short, man is almost every where a poor degraded captive, devoid either of greatness of soul, of reason, or of virtue, whom his inhuman gaolers have never permitted to see the light of day. Let us then endeavour to disperse those clouds of ignorance, those mists of darkness which impede man on his journey, which obscure his progress, which prevent his marching through life with a firm, with a steady step. Let us try to inspire him with courage — with respect for his feason — with an inextinguishable love for truth — to the end that he may learn to know himself — to know his legitimate rights — that he may learn to consult his experience, and no longer be the dupe of an imagination led astray by authority — that he may renounce the prejudices of his childhood — that he may learn to found his morals on his nature, on his wants, on the real advantage of society — that he may dare to love himself — that he may learn to pursue his true happiness by promoting that of others — in short, that he may no longer occupy himself with reveries either use- less or dangerous — that he may become a virtuous, a rational being, in which case he cannot fail to become happy. If he must have his chimeras, let him at least learn to permit others to form theirs after their own fashion ; since nothing can be more im- material than the manner of men's thinking on subjects not accessible to reason, provided those thoughts be not suffered to imbody them- selves into actions injurious to others : above all, let him be fully per- suaded that it is of the utmost importance to the inhabitants of this world to be just, kind, and peaceable. Far from injuring the cause of virtue, an impartial examination of the principles of this work will show that its object is to restore truth to its proper temple, to build up an altar whose foundations shall be consolidated by morality, reason, a^d justice : from this sacred fane, virtue guarded by truth, clothed with experience, shall shed forth her radiance on delighted mortals ; whose homage flowing consecutively shall open to the world a new era, by rendering general the belief that happiness, the true end of man's e;iistence, can never be attained bi CONTENTS FSfS CHAPTER XXII. Of Deism, Optimism, and Final Causes, ----- 355 CHAPTER XXIII. Examination of the Supposed Advantages which result to Man from the Notions of a Divinity, or their Influence upon Morals, Pol- itics, Science, the Welfare of Nations, and of Individuals, - 356 CHAPTER XXIV. Religious Opinions cannot be the Foundation of Morality : Paral- lel between Religious and Natural Morality : Religion impedes the Progress of the Mind, ...--- 357 CHAPTER XXV. Man, from the Ideas which are given of the Deity, can conclude nothing : Their Absurdity and Uselessness, _ - - 358 CHAPTER XXVI. Apology for the Sentiments contained in this Work, - - - 359 CHAPTER XXVII. Is Atheism Compatible with Sound Morality ? - - - - 360 CHAPTER XXVIII. Motives which lead to Atheism : Can this be Dangerous, - - 361 CHAPTER XXIX. Abridgment of the System of Nature, ----- 631 lO^' w THE SYSTEM OF NATURE. OF NATURE AND IIEll LAWS— OF MAN— OF THE SOUL AND ITS FACULTIES— OF TUB DOCTRINE OF IMMORTALITV— ON HAPPINESS. CHAPTER 1. Of Nature. Mf.n will always deceive themselves by abandoning experience to follow imaiTinary svstems. M.Tn is the work ofj^ature: he exists in Nature : he is submitted to hnr laAvs: he cannot de- liver himself from them; nor can he step beyond them even in thtuii^ht. It is in vain his mind would spring for- ward beyond the visible world, an im- perious necessity always compels his return. For a being formed by Nature, and circumscribed by her laws, there ex- ists nothing beyond. the great whole of which he forms a part.jof which he ex- leriences the influence. > The beings ivhich he pictures to himself as above nature, or distinguished from her, are always chimeras formed after that which he has already seen, but of Avhich it is impossible he should ever form any correct idea, either as to the place they occupy, or of their manner of acting. There is not, there can be nothing out of that Nature which in- cludes all beings. Instead, therefore, of seeking out of the world he inhabits for beings who can procure him a happiness denied to him bv Nature, let man study this Na- ture, let him learn her laws, contem- plate her energies, observe the immuta- ble rules by which she acts : — let him apply these discoveries to his own feli- city and submit in silence to her man- dates, which nothing can alter : — let him cJieerfuUv consent to ignore causes hid from him by an impenetrable veil : — let him, without murmuring yield to the decrees of a universal necessity, which can never be brought within his comprehension, nor ever emancipate him from those laws imposed on liim by his essence. The distinction which has been so dften made between the physical and .the moral man is evidently an abuse of terms. Man is a. being purely phy- sical : the moral man is nothing more thin this physical being considered 1 under a certain point of view, that is \lO say, Avith relation to some of his modes of action, arising out of his par- ticular organization. But is not this organization itself the work of Nature ? The motion or impulse to action of which he is susceptible, is that not phy- sical '? His visible actions, as well as the invisible motion interiorly excited by his will or his thoughts, are equally the natural elfects, the necessary con- sequences, of his peculiar mechanism, and the impulse he receives from those beings by whom he is surrounded. All that the human mind has successively invented with a view to change or perfect his being, and to render him- self more happy, was only a neces- sary consequence of man's peculiar essence, and that of the beings who act upon him. The object of all his in- stitutions, of all his rellections, of all his knowledu'e. is only to procure that happiness towards which he is inces- santly impelled by the peculiarity of his nature. All that he does, all that he thinks, all that he is, all that he \yillbe. is nothing more than what Universal Nature has made him. His ideas, his will, his actions, are the necessaiy ef- fects of those qualities infused into him by Nature, and of those circum- stances in which she has placed him. In short, art is nothins: but Nature act- inir Avith the tools she has made. Nature sends man naked and desti- tute into this world which is to be his abode: he quickly learns to cover his nakedness, to siielter himself from the inclemency of the weather, tirst with 12 OF NATURE. rude huts and the skins of the beasts of the forest ; by degrees he mends their appearance, renders them more con- venient : he establishes manufactories of cloth, of cotton, of silk ; he digs clay, gold, and other fossils from the bowels of the earth, converts them into bricks for his house, into vessels for his use, gradually improves their shape, aug- ments their beauty. To a being ele- vated above our terrestrial globe, who should contemplate the human species tiirough all the changes he undergoes in his progress towards civilization, man would not appear less subjected to the laws of Nature when naked in the forest painfully seeking his susten- ance, than when living in civilized so- ciety sm-rounded Avith comforts ; that is to say, enriched with greater experi- ence, plunged in luxury, where he every day invents a thousand new wants and discovers a thousand new modes of satisfying them. All the steps taken by man to regulate his existence, ought only to be considered as a long succes- sion of causes and effects, which are nothing more than the development of the first impulse given him bv nature. The same animal by virtue of his organization passes successively from the most simple to the most complica- ted wants ; it is nevertheless the con- sequence of his nature. The butterfly whose beauty we admire, whose colours are so rich, whose appearance is so brilliant, commences as an inanimate unattractive egg ; from this, heat pro- duces a worm, this becomes a chrysalis, then changes into that winged insect decorated with the most vivid tints : ar- rived at this stage he reproduces, he propagates : at last despoiled of his or- naments he is obliged to disappear, hav ng fulfilled the task imposed on him by Nature, having described the circle of mutation marked out for beings of his order. The same progress, the same change takes place in vegetables. It is W a succession of combinations originally interwoven with the energies of the aloe, that this plant is insensibly regu- lated, gradually expanded, and at the end of a great number of years pro- duces those flowers which announce its dissolution. ■ It is equally so with man, who in all his motion, all the changes he un- dergoes, never acts but accordmg to laAvs peculiar to his organization, and to the matter of Avhich he is composed. The pJtysiral man^ is he who acts by caiises' our senses make us under- stand. The moral man, is he who acts by physical causes, with Avhich our preju- dices preclude us from becoming ac- quainted. The uild man, is a child destitute of experience, Avho is incapable of pur- suing his happiness, because he has not learnt how to oppose resistance to the impulses he receives from those beings by Avhom he is surrounded. The cicilized man, is he Avhom ex- perience and social life have enabled to draAV from nature the means of his own happiness ; because he has learned to oppose resistance to those impulses he receives from exterior beings, Avhen ex- perience has taught him they Avould be injurious to his Avelfare. The enlightened man, is man in his maturity, in his perfection ; who is ca- pable of pursuing his own happiness ; because he has learned to examine, to think for himself, and not to take that for truth upon the authority of others, Avhich experience has taught him ex- amination will frequently prove errone- ous. The happy man, is he who knows hoAv to enjoy the benefits of nature : in other words, he who thinks for him- self; Avho is thankful for the good he possesses ; who does not envy the wel- fare of others ; Avho does not sigh after imaginary benefits ahvays beyond his grasp. The unhappy man, is he Avho is in- capacitated to enjoy the benefits of na- ture ; that is, he AA^ho suffers others to think for him ; Avho neglects the abso- lute good he possesses, in a fruitless search after imaginary benefits ; who vainly sighs after that Avhich ever eludes his pursuit. It necessarily results, that man in his researches ought always to fall back on experience, and natural philosophy : These are Avhat he should consult in his religion — in his morals — in his le- gislation — in his political government — in the arts — in the sciences — in his pleasures — in his misfortunes. Ex- perience teaches that Nature acts by simple, uniform, and invariable laAvs. O F N A T U R i:. ll is by his senses niau is bound to this universal Nature; it is by his senses he must penetrate her secrets; it is iVoin hi-! senses he must draw experience of her laws? Whenever, therefore, he either fails to actjuire experience or quits its patii, he stum- bles into an abyss, his imagination leads him astray. AJJjhe^errours of man are physical errours: he never deceives himself but when he neglects to return back to na- ture, to consult her laws, to call experi- ence to hiii iiid. It is for want of expcri- ence he forms such imperfect ideas of matter, of its properties, of its combina- tions, of its power, of its mode of action, or of the energies which springfrom its essence. Wanting this experience, the whole universe to him is but one vast scene of illusion. The most ordinary /■esults appear to him the most astonish- ing phenomena ; he wonders at every thing, understands nothing, and yields the guidance of his actions to those in- terested in betraying his interests. He i- ignorant of Nature, he has mistaken her laws ; he has not contemplated the necessary routine which she has marked out for every thing she con- tains. Mistaken the laws of Nature, did I say ? He has mistaken himself: the consequence is, that all his sys- tems, all his conjectures, all his rea- soning-;, from which he has banished experience, are nothing more than a tissue of errours, a long chain of ab- surdities. All errour is prejudicial : it is hv de- ceiving himself that man is plunged in misery. He neglected Nature ; he understood not her laws ; he formed gods of the most preposterous kinds : these became the sole objects of his hope, the creatures of his fear, and he trembled under these visionary deities ; under the supposed inliuence of im- aginary beings created by himself; under the terrour inspired by blocks of stone ; by logs of wood ; by flying fish ; or else under the frowns of men, mortal as himself, whom his distemper- ed fancy had elevated above that Nature of which alone he is capable of form- ing any idea. His very posterity lauf^hs to scorn his folly, because ex- perience has convinced them of the absurdity of his groundless fears, of his misplaced worship. Thus has passed away the ancient mythology, with all the trumpery attributes at- tached to it bv ignorance.* Man did not understand that Nature, equal in her distributions, entirely destitute of goodness or malice, fol- lows only necessary and immutable Unvs, when she either produces beings or destroys them, when she causes tiiose to sull'er, whose organization creates sensibility ; when shi*. scatters among them good and evil ; when she subjects them to incessant change — he did not perceive it was in the bosom of Nature herself, that it was in her abundance he ought to seek to satisfy his wants; for remedies against his pains ; for the means of rendering himself happy : he expected to derive these benefits i'rom imaginary beings, whom he erroneously imagin- ed to be the authors of his pleasures, the cause of his misfortunes. From hence it is clear that to his ignorance of Nature, man owes the creation of those illusive powers under whicii he has so long trembled with fear ; that superstitious worship, which has been the source of all his misery. For want of clearly understanding his own peculiar nature, his proper ten- dency, his wants, and his rights, man has i'allen in society, from Freedom into Slavery. He had forgotten the design of his existence, or else he be- lieved himself obliged to smother the natural desires of hi^ heart, and to sacri- fice ills welfare to the ca^>rice of chiefs, either elected by himself, or submittec^ to without examination. He was ig- ^ norant of the true policy of association ' — of the true object of government ; h'^ disdaineil to listen to the voice, f Nature, whicii loudly proclaimed that the price of all submission is protection and * It is impossible to peruse the ancient and modern theological works without feeling dis- gusted at the contemptible invention of those gods wkirh have been made objects of terrour or love to mankind. To liegm witli tiie in- haliitaiits of India and Egypt, of Greece and Rome, what litileness and foolery in their worship — what rascality and infamy in their priests! Are our own any better? Nol Cicero said, tliat two Augurs coidd not look at each other without laugliing; but lie little thought that a time would come when a eet of viriit) irrelr/ic,K,-f assuming the title of Rer- ercnd^ would endeavour to persuade thei* fellow men that they represented the Divini'\ on eartli ! t dci miairabUi. OF NATURE. Iiapi)ine3s : the end of all government the benefit ol' the go^'erned, not the exclusive advantage of the governours. He gave himself up without reserve to men like himself, whom his prejudices induced hhn to contemplate as beings of a superior order, as gods upon earth : these profited by his ignorance, took ad- vantage of his prejudices, corrupted him, rendered hmi vicious, enslaved him, made him miserable. Thus man, c/intended by Nature for the full enjoy- ment of freedom, to patiently investi- gate her laws, to search into her secrets, to always cling to his experience, has, from a neglect of her salutary ad- monitions, from an inexcusable ignor- ance of his own peculiar essence, fallen into servitude, and has been wickedly governed. Having mistaken himself, he has remained ignorant of the necessary affinity that subsists between him and the beings of his own species : having mistaken his duty to himself, it follow- ed, as a consequence, he has mistaken his duty to others. He made an errone- ous calculation of what his felicity re- quired; he did not perceive, what he owed to himself, the excesses he ought to avoid, the passions he ought to re- sist, the impulses he ought to follow, in order to consolidate his happiness, to promote his comfort, to further his advantage. In short, he was ignorant of his true interests ; hence his irregu- larities, his intemperance, his shame- ful voluptuousness, with that long train of vices to which he has abandoned himself, at the expense of his preser- vation, at the risk of his permanent felicity. It is, therefore, ignorance of himself, ihat has prevented man from enlighten- mg his morals. The depraved govern- ments to which he had submitted, felt an interest in preventing the practice of his duties, even when he knew them. / Man's ignorance has endured so '' long, he has taken such slow, such irresolute steps to ameliorate his condi- tion, only because he has neglected to study Nature, to scrutinize her laws, to search out her resources, to discover her properties. His sluggishness finds its account in permitting himself to be guided by precedent, rather than to follow experience which demands activity ; to be led by routine, rather than by his reason which exacts reHeC' tion. From hence may be traced the aversion man betrays for every thing that swerves from those rules to which he has been accustomed : hence his stupid, his scrupulous respect for anti- quity, for the most silly, the most ab- surd institutions of his fathers : hence those fears that seize him, when the most advantageous changes are propos- ed to him, or the most probable attempts are made to better his condition. He dreads to examine', because he has been taught to hold it a profanation of some- thing immediately connected with his welfare ; lie credulously believes the interested advice, and spurns at those Avho wish to show him the danger of the road he is travelling. This is the reason why nations linger on in the most scandalous lethargy, groaning under abuses transmitted from century to century, trembling at the very idea of that which alone can re- medy their misfortunes. It is for want of energy, for want ol consulting experience, that medicine, natural philosophy, agriculture, paint- ing, in short, all the useful sciences have so long remained under the shackles of authority, have progressed so little : those who profess these sciences, for the nlost part prefer treading the beaten paths, however inadequate to their end, rather than strike out new ones : they prefer the ravings of their imagination, their gratuitous conjectures, to that laborious experience which alone can extract her secrets from Nature. In short, map, whether from sloth or from terrour, having renounced the evi- dence of his senses, has been guided in all his actions, in all his enterprises, by imagination, by enthusiasm, by habit, by prejudice, and above all, by autho- rity, which knew well hoAv to deceive him. vThus, imaginary systems have supplied the place of experience — of reriection — of reason. Man, petrified with his fears, inebciated with the mar- vellous, or benumbed with sloth, sur- rendered his experience : guided by his credulity, he was unable to fall back upon it, he became consequently inex- perienced: from thence he gave birth to the most ridiculous opinions, or else adopted without examination, all those chimeras, ail those idle notions ofier- OF NATURE. ?! 'o him by men whose intorest it \v;is to fool liim to llii' lop of liis bont. Tlius, because man has forgotten Xa- ture, lias neglected her ways — because he has disdained experience — becau-e he has thrown by his reason — because he has been enraptured with the mar- vellous, with the supernatural — because he has unnecessarily tr>-n)hle(l, man has continued so long in a state of in- fancy ; and these are the reasons there is so much trouble in conducting him from this state of childhood to that of manhood. He has had notiiingbui the mo>l jejune hypotiieses. of which he has never dared to examine either the principles or the proofs, because he has been accustomed to hold them sacred, to consider them as the most perfect truths, of which it is not permitted to doubt, even for an instant. His ig- norance rendered him credulous: his curiosity made him swallow large draughts of the marvellous: time con- Hrmed him in his opinions, and he passed his conjectures from race to race for realities ; a tyrannical power main- tained him in his notions, because by those alone could society be enslaved. At length the whole science of man be- came a confused mass of darkness, falsehood and contradictions, with here and there a feeble ray of truth, furnished by that Nature of which he can never entirely divest himself, be- cause, without his knowledge, his ne- cessities are continually bringing him back to her resources. Let us then, raise ourselves above these clouds of prejudice, contem])late the opinions of men, and observe their various systems ; let us learn to distrust a disordered imagination ; let us take experience, that faithful monitor, for our guide ; let us consult Nature, ex- plore her laAvs, dive into her stores: let us draw from herself our ideas of the beings she contains ; let us fall back on our senses, which errour, in- teres^ted errour has taught us to suspect; let us consult that reason, which, for the vilest purposes, has been so shame- fully calumniated, so cruelly disgraced ; let us attentively examine the visible wiirld, and let us try if it will not en- able us to form a tolerable judgment of the invisible territory of the intellectual world : perhaps it may be found that there has been no s^.i!hcient reason for distinguishing them, and that it is not without motives that two empires have been separated, which are equally the inh'jritance of nature. (uflie universe, that vast assemblage of every thing that exists, presents only matter and motion : the whole oflers to our contemplation nothing but an im- mense, an uninterrupted succession of causes and effects; some of these causes are known to us, because they strike immediately on our senses; others are unknown to us, because they act upon us by effects, frequently very remote from their original cause. \/An immense variety of matter, com- bined under an infinity of forms, in- cessantly communicates, unceasingly receives a diversity of impulses. The different properties of this matter, its innumerable combinations, its various methods of action, which are the neces- sary consequence of these combinations, constitute for man, what he calls the e.«f.s'e;?fe of beings: it is from these diver- sified essences that spring the orders, the classes, or the systems, which these beings respectively occupy, of which the sum total makes up that which is called NATURE. W^ature, therefore, in its most extend- ed signification, is the great whole that results from the assemblage of matter under its various combinations, with that diversity of motions which the uni- verse ofTers to our view. Nature, in a less extended sense, or considered in each individual, is the whole that results from its essence ; that is to say, the properties, the combination, the impulse, and the peculiar modes of action, by which it is discriminated from other being-. It is thus that MAN is. as a whole, the rp-!ult of a certain combination of mailer, en- dowed with peculiar properties, compe- tent to give, capable of receiving, certain impulses, the arrangement of which is called organization^ of which the es- sence is, to feel, to think, to act, to move, after a manner distinguijUied from other beings with which he can be compared. Man, therefore, ranks in an order, in a system, in a class by himself, which differs from that of other animals, in whom we do not perceive those properties of which he is possess- ed. The difl!erent systems of beings, or if they will, their particular vaturea, depend on the general system of tht» 16 OF MOTION. great whole, or tliat universal nature, of ■which they form a part ; to which every thing that exists is necessarily submitted, and attached. Having described the proper defini- tion that should be applied to the word NATURE, I must advise the reader, once for all, that whenever, in the course of this Avork, the expression occurs, that " Nature produces such or such an effect," there is no intention of per- sonifying that nature, which is purely an abstract being ; it merely indicates, that the effect spoken of, necessarily springs from the peculiar properties of those beings which compose the mighty macrocosm. When, therefore, it is said, Nature demands that man should pi n-- sue his own happiness, it is to prevent circumlocution, to avoid tautology ; it IS to be understood that it is the pro- perty of a being that feels, that thinks, that wills, that acts, to labour to its own happiness ; in short, that is called natu- ral which is confonnable to the essence of things, or to the laws which Nature prescribes to the beings she contains, in the different orders they occupy, un- der the various circumstances through which they are obliged to pass. Thus health is natural to man in a certain state ; disease is natural to him vmder other circumstances ; dissolution, or if they will, death, is a natural state for a body, deprived of some of those things, necessary to maintain the existence of the animal, &c. By essence is to be understood, that which constitutes a being such as it is ; the whole of the properties, or qualities, by which it acts as it does. Thus, when it is said, it is the essence of a stone to fall, it is the same as saying, that its descent, is the necessary effect of its gravity, of its density, of the cohesion of its parts, of the elements of which it is composed. ervalion and reflection ouglit to convince us, that every thing in JVature is in continual motion : that not one of its parts enjoys true repose: that Nature acts in all; that she Avould cease to be Nature if she did not act ; and thar without unceasing motion, nothing could be preserved, nothing c mid be produced, nothing could act. Thus the idea of Nature necessarily includes that of motion. But, it will be asked, from whence did she receive hermotion ? Our reply is, from herself, since she is the great whole, out of which, conse- quently, nothing can exist. We say this motion is a manner of existence, that flows, necessarily, out of the es- sence of matter ; that matter moves by its own peculiar energies : that its motion is to be attributed to the force which is inherent in itself; that the variety of motion, and the phenomena which result, proceed from the diversity of the properties, of the qualities, and of the combinations, Avhich are originally found in the primitive matter, of which Nature is the assemblage. Natural philosophers, for the most part, have regarded as inanimate, or as deprived of the faculty of motion, those bodies which are only moved by the interposition of some agent, or exterior cause ; they have considered themselves justified in concluding, that the matter which constitutes these bodies, is per- fectly inert in its nature. They have not relinciuished this errour, although they must have observed, that Avhen- ever a body is left to itself, or disen- gaged from those obstacles which op- pose themselves to its descent, it has a tendency to fall, or to approach tne centre of the earth, bv a motion uni- formly accelerated ; they have rather chosen to suppose an imaginarv exterior cause, of which they themselves had no correct idea, than admit that these bodies held their motion from their own peculiar nature. In like manner, although these philo- sophers saw above them an infinite number of immense globes, moving Avith great rapidity round a common centre, still they clung fast to their opinions; and never ceased to suppose chimerical causes for these movements, until the immortal Newton demon- strated that it was the effect of the gravitation of these celestial bodie* OF MOTION. towards each other."" A very sirnnle observation would have sufficed to make the philosophers anterior to Newton feel the insufficiency of the cause? they ad- mitted to operate with such poAverful effect : they had enougli to convince themselves in the clashing oi one body against another which they could con- template, and in the known laws of that motion, which these always com- municate by reason of their greater or less density : from Avhence they ouglit to have inferred, that the density of siiblile or ethereal matter being infi- nitely less than that of the planets, it could only communicate to them a very feeble motion. If they had viewed Nature uninflu- enced by prejudice, they must have been long since convinced, that matter acts by its own peculiar energy, and needs not any exterior impulse to set it in motion. They would have per- ceived, that Avhenever mixed bodies were placed in a capacity to act on each other, motion was instantly en- gendered, and that these mixtures acted with a force capable of producing the most surprising effects. If filings of iron, sulphur and water be mixed to- gether, these bodies thus capacitated to act on each other, are heated by degrees, and ultimately produce a vio- lent combustion. If flour be wetted with Avater, and the mixture closed up, it will be found, after some little lapse of time, by the aid of a microscope, to have produced organized beings that enjoy life, of which the Avater and the * Natural philosophers, and Newton him- self, have considered the cause of gravitation to be inexplicable; vet it appears that it may be deduced from the motion of matter by which bodies are diversely determined. Gravi- tation is only a mode of moving — a tendency towards a centre. But, to^speak correctly, all motion is relative gravitatiov : that which falls relatively to us, ascends with relation to other bodies. Hence it follows, that every motion in the universe is the effect of gravita- tion ; for, in the universe, there is neither up nor doicn, nor positive centre. It appears that the weight of bodies depend on the con- figuration, both exterior and interior, which gives them that motion called gravitation. A ball of lead beins: spherical, falls quickly ; but this ball being reduced into very thin plates, will be sustained for a longer time in the air ; and the action of fire will cause this lead to rise in the atmosphere. Here the same lead, variously modified, will act after modes entirely diff-rent. flour were believed incapable :t it is thus that inanimate matter can pas? into life, or animate matter, which is in itself only an assemblage of motion Reasoning from analogy, the produc- tion of a man, independent of the ordi- nary means. Avould not be more mar- vellous than that of an insect with floui and Avater. Fermentation and putre- faction evidently produce living ani- mals. We have here the principle ; and Avith proper materials, principles can alAA^ays be brought into action That generation AA-hich is styled equivo- cal., is only so for those Avho do not reflect, or AA'ho do not peraiit themselves attentively to observe the operations of Nature. The generation of motion, and its dcA^elopment, as well as the energy of matter, may be seen more especially in those combinations in AA^hich fire, air, and Avater, find themselves in union. These elements, or rather these mixed bodies, are the most volatile, the most fugitive of beings ; nevertheless, in the hands of Nature they are the principal agents employed to produce the most striking phenomena. To these are to be ascribed the effects of thunder, the eruption of volcanoes, earthquakes. &c. Art offers an agent of astonishing force in gunpoAvder, the instant it comes in contact Avith fire. In fact, the most terrible effects result from the com- bination of matter AA'hich is generally believed to be dead and inert. These facts incontestably proA'e, that motion is produced, is augmented, is accelerated in matter. Avithout the con- currence of any exterior agent: it is, therefore, reasonable to conclude, that motion is the necessary conserjuence of immutable laAA's, resulting from the essence, from the properties inherent in the different elements, and the A-arious combinations of these elements. Are Ave not justified, then, in concluding from these examples, that there may be an infinity of other combinations, Avith AA'hich Ave are unacquainted, com- petent to produce a great variety of motion in matter, Avithout being under the necessity of recurring for the expla- nation to agents AA^ho are more difficult + See the Microscopical Observations of Mr. Needham, which fully confirm the above statement of the author. OF MOTION. 21 to compreiicnd tlian even the elFects ! Motion becomes still more obscure, which arc attributed to them 7 | \A'hcn creation, or the formation of inat- ]f man had paid proj)er attention to ' ter. is attributed to a npiritudl being, what passed under his view, he would not have sought out of Nature a power distinguished from herself, to set her in action, and without which he believes she cannot move. If indeed, by Nature IS meant a heap of dead matter, destitute of properties, purely pa>;sive, we must unquestionably seek out of this Nature the principle of her motion : but, if by Nature, be understood what it really is, a whole, of which the numerous parts are endowed with diverse, and various properties ; which oblige them to act according to these properties : which are in a perpetual reciprocity of action and reaction ; which press, which gra- vitate towards a common centre, whilst others diverge and fly olf towards the periphery, or circumference ; which at- tract, and repel, Avhich unite, and sepa- rate; which by continual approxima- tion, and constant collision, produce and decompose all the bodies we behold ; then I say, there is no necessity to have recourse to supernatural powers to account for the formation of things, and those phenomena which are the result of motion. Those who admit a cause exterior to matter, are obliged to suppose, that this cause produced all the motion by which matter is agitated in giving it existence. This supposition rests on another, namely, that matter could begin to ex- ist ; a hypothesis that, until this mo- ment, has never been demonstrated by any thing like solid proof. To pro- duce from nothing, or the Creation, is a term that cannot give us the most slender idea of the formation of the universe; it presents no sense, upon which the mind can fasten itself.* * In fact, the human mind is not adequate to conceive a moment when all was nothin;^, or when all shall have passed away ; even atlmittiuii this to be a truth, it is no truth for us, because by the very nature of our organ- ization we cannot admit positions as facts, of which no evidence can be adduced tliat has relation to our senses: we may, indeed, con- srnt to beli:'ve it, because others say it; but will any rational being be satisfied with such an admission? Can any moral good spring from such blind confidence'? Is it consistent with sound doctrine, with philosophy, with reasjn ? Do we, in fact, pay any respect to the understanding of another when we sny to tiiin, I will believe this, becausft in all the at tnat is to say, to a being which has no analogy, no point of contact, with it ; to a being which has neither extent, nor parts, and cannot, therefore, be sus- ceptible of motion, as we understand the term; this being only the change of one body relatively to another body, in which the body moved, presents suc- cessively diflerent parts to different points of sj)ace. Moreover, as all the world are nearly agreed that matter can never be totally anuihilaled, or cease to exist, how can we understand, that that which cannot cease to be, could ever have had a i)eginninoj? Jf, therefore,, it be asked, whence came matter ? it is a very reasonable reply to say, it has always existed. If it be inquired, whence proceeds the motion that agitates matter? the same reasoning furnishes the answer: name- ly, that, as motion is coeval with mat- ter, it must liave existed from all eter- nity, seeing that motion is the ne- cessary conseipience of its existence, qF'IT^ ^^seuce, of its primitive pro- perties, such as its extent, it* gra- vity. Its impenetrability, its figure, &c. By virtue of these essential, con- stituent properties, inherent in all mat- ter, and without which it is impossible to form an idea of it, the various mat- ter of which the universe is composed must, from all eternity, have pressed against each other; have gravitated to- wards a centre ; have clashed ; have come in contact ; have been attracted ; have been repelled ; have been com- bined ; have been separated ; in short, must have acted and moved according to the essence and energy peculiar to each genus, and to each of its coinbiu- tempts you have ventured for the purpose of proving what y.a say, you have entirely fail- ed ; and have oeen at last obliged to ac- knowledcc, yon know nothinf^ about tfic mat- ter? What moral reliance ought we to have on such people .' Hypothesis may succeed hypothesis; sy? em may destroy system; a new set of ideas inay overtiirn the ideas of a former day. C her Galileos may be coii- deinncd to death —other Newtons may arise — we may reaso.i; we may argue; we may dispute; we mav quarrel; we may punish; we may destroy ; we may even exterminate those who ditTir from us in opinion ; but when we have done all this, we shall be obliged to fall back on our original darkness ; to confess, 22 OP MOTION. ations. Existence supposes properties in the thing that exists : whenever it has properties, its mode of action must necessarily flow from those properties which constitute its mode of being. Thus, when a body is ponderous, it must fall ; when it falls, it must come in collision with the bodies it meets in Its descent ; when it is dense, when it is solid, it must, by reason of this den- sity, communicate motion to the bodies with which it clashes ; when it has analogy or affinity with these bodies, it must unite wdth them ; when it has no point of analogy with them, it must be repulsed. From which it may be fairly infer- red, that, in supposing, as we are under the necessity of doing, the existence of matter, Ave must suppose it to have some kind of properties, from which its motion, or modes of action, must ne- cessarily flow. To form the universe Descartes asked but matter and mo- tion : a diversity of matter sufficed for him ; variety of motion was the conse- quence of its existence, of its essence, of its properties : its diflerent modes of action Avould be the necessary conse- quence of its different modes of being. Matter without properties, would be a that that which has no relation with our senses, which cannot manifest itself to us by some of the ordinary modes by which other tnings are manifested, has no existence for us ; is not comprehensible by us ; can never entirely remove our doubts; can never seize on our steadfast belief; seeing it is that of which we cannot form even an idea; in short, that it is that, which as long as we remain what we are, must be hidden from us by a veil which no power, no faculty, no energy we possess, is able to remove. AH who are not enslaved by prejudice, agree to the truth of the position : that nothing can be made of Nothing. 3Iany theologians have acknowledged na- ture to be an active whole. Almost all the ancient philosophers were agreed to regard the world as eternal. Ocellus Lucanus, speak- ing of the universe, says : " it has alwai/s been, and it always, will be." Vatable and Gko- Tius assure us, that, to render correctly the Hebrew phrase in the first chapter of Gene- si.s, we must say: " When God made heaven and earth, matter wax without furm:'" if this be true, and every Hebraist can judge for him- self, then the word which has been rendered created, means only to fashion, form, arrange. We know that the Greek words create and form, have always indicated the same thing. According to St. Jerome, creare has the same meaning as condere, to found, to build. The Hible does not any where sny in a clear mere nothing : tlierefore as soon aa matter existSy it must act ; as soon as it is various, it must act variously ; if it cannot commence to exist, it must have existed from all eternity ; if it has always existed, it can never cease to be : if it can never cease to be, it can never cease to act by its own energy. Motion is a manner of teing, which matter derives from its peculiar exist- ence. The existence then of matter is a fact ; the existence of motion is another fact. Our visual organs point out to us matter with diflerent essences, form- ing a variety of combinations, endoAv- ed Avith various properties that dis- criminate them. Indeed, it is an errour to believe that matter is a homogene 0U3 body, of Avhich the parts difler from each other only by their various modifications. Among the individuals of the same species that come under our notice, no tAvo are exactly alike, and it is therefore evident that the dif- ference of situation alone, Avill neces- sarily carry a diversity more or less sensible, not only in the modifications, but also in the essence, in the proper- ties, in the entire system of beings.* if this principle be properly Aveighed, manner, that the world was made of nothino;. Tertullian, and the father Petau, both ad- mit that, "this is a truth established more bij reasoni7ig, than by authority." St. Justin seems to liave contemplated matter as eternal, since he commends Plato for having said that " God in the creation of the world only gave impulse to matter, and fashioned it. Burnet and Pythagoras were entirely of this opinion, and even the church service may be adduced in support ; for although it admits by implication a beginning, it e.xpressly denies an end : "As it was iti the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end." It is easy to percei\'e, that that which cannot cease ^. e.xist, must have always been. /N* Those who have obserA'ed nature closely, know that two grains of sand are not stricrly alilve. As soon as the circumstances or the modifications are not the same for the beings of the same species, there cannot be an e.\act resemblance between them. See Chap. vi. This tiTith was well understood by the pro- found and subtle Leibnitz. This is the man- ner in which one of his disciples explained himself; Ex principio indiscernibilium patet elementa rerum materialium singula singulis esse dissimilia, adeo que unum ab altero dis- tingui, convenienter omnia extra se invicem existere, in quo differunt a punctis mathema- ticis, cum ilia uti hasc nunquam coincidere j possint. BiLFiNGER, De Deo, Anima Et ' MuNDo, page '276 OF MOTIO-X. -a and experience seems always to pro- iuce evidence of its truth, we must be lonrinced, that the matter, or primi- tive elements which enter the compo- sition of bodies, are not of the same na- ture, and, consequently, can neither have the same properties, nor the same modifications ; and if so, they cannot have the same mode of moving, and acting. Their activity or motion, al- ready ditl'erent, can be diversified to in- fijiity, augmented or diminished, acce- lerated or retarded, according to the combinations, the proportions, the pres- sure, the density, the vuiume of the matter that enters their composition. The element of fire, is visibly more active and more inconstant than that of earth. This is more solid and pon- derous than fire, air, or water. Ac- cording to the quality of the elements which enter the composition of bodies, these must act diversely, and their mo- tion must in some measure partake the motion peculiar to each of their constitu- ent parts. Elementary {ire appears to be in nature the principle of activity ; if may be compared to a fruitful leaven, that puts the mass into fermentation and gives it life. Earth appears to be tiie principle of solidity in bodies, from its impenetrability, and by the firm co- herence of its parts. Water is a me- dium, to facilitate the combination of bodies, into which it enters itself as a constituent part. Air is a fluid, whose business it seems to be, to furnish the other elements with the space requisite to exercise their motion, and which is, moreover, found proper to combine w'ith them. These elements, which our senses never discover in a pure state; which are continually and reci- procally set m motion by each other ; whieh are always acting and re-acting; combining and separating ; attracting and repelling; are sufficient to explain to us the formation of all the beings we behold. Their motion is uninterrupt- edly, and reciprocally, produced from each dther ; they are alternately causes and effects. Thus, they form a vast circle of generation and destruction, of combination and decomposition, which could never have had a beginning, and which can never have an end. In short, nature is but an immense chain of causes an-d effects, which unceasing- Iv flaw from each other. The motion oi' particular beings depends on the general motion, which is itself main tained by individual motion. This is strengthened or weakened — accelera- ted or retarded — simplified or comfdi- cated — procreated or destroyed, by a variety of combinations and circiim stances, which eveiy moment changt the directions, the tendency, the modes of existing and of acting, of the differ- ent beings that receive its impulse.* If we desire to go bevond this, t.i find the principle of action in matter and to trace the origin of things, it is for ever to lall back upon difficulties; it is absolutely to abridge the evidence of our senses, by which alone we can judge of and understand the causes acting upon them, or the impulse by which they are set in action. Let us, therefore, content ourselves with saying that which is supported by our experience, and by all the evi- dence we arc capable of understanding ; against the truth of wliicli. not a shadow of proof such as our reason can admit, has ever been adduced ; which has been maintained by philosophers in every age ; which theologians themselves have not denied, but which manv of them have upheld ; namely, that matter always existed; that it moves by lii^tne of its essence; that all the phenomena ofXature is ascrihahle to the diversi- Jied. motion of the varieLy uf matter sha contains; and which, like the phenix, is continually regenerating out of her own ashes.^ " If it were true that every thing hns a tendency to Ibnn one unique or single mas* and in that unique mass the instant shouirt arrive wlieii all was in »ii.9i/s, all would etof nally remain in this state — to all eternity meie would be but one efturt, and this would bt eternal and tnnversal death. Xatund philo- sophers inulerstand by visus the effo; t of one body against anotlu-r body, without local translation. Tliis granted, there could be no cause of dissolution, for, according to chy- niists, bodies act only when dissolved. Cor- pora non agunt nisi sint snlula. t Omnium qua; in seinpitcrno isto mundo semper fueruntfuturaque sunt, aiimtprineipium fuisse nullum, sed orbeiii esse quemdam gone- rantium nasrentiurnque, in quo uniuseujusque geniti initium simul et finis esse videtur. — V. Cen.sorin. De Die yolali. The poet Manilius expresses himself in th( same manner in these beautiful lines : — Omnia mutantur mortali legi creata, Nee se cognoscunt terrir verientibus annis E.xutas variam faeiem per sa^eula sentcs- 24 OF MATTER. CHAPTER III. Of Matter : — Of its various Combinations; Of its diversified Motion; or, of the Course of Nature. We know nothing of the elements of bodie.>, but we know some of their properties or qualities ; and we distin- guish their various matter by the effect or change produced on our senses ; that is to say, by the variety of motion their presence excites in us. In consequence, we discover in them extent, mobility, divisibility, solidity, gravity, and inert force. From these general and primi- tive properties, tiow a number of others, such as density, figure, colour, ponder- osity, &c. Thus, relatively to us. matter IS all that affects our senses, in any manner whatever ; the various proper- ties we attribute to matter, are founded on the different impressions we receive, on the changes they produce in us. A satisfactory definition of matter has not yet been given. Man, deceived and led astray by his prejudices, formed but vague, superficial, and imperfect notions concerning it. He looked upon it as a unique being, gross and passive, incapable of either moving by itself, of forming combinations, or of producing any thing by its own energies ; whilst he ought to have contemplated it as a eentts of beings, of which the indi- viduals, although they might possess some common properties, such as ex- tent, divisibility, figure, &c., should not, however, be all ranked in the same class, nor comprised under the same general denomination. An example will serve more fully to explain what we have just asserted, throw its correctness into light, and facilitate the application. The proper- ties common to all matter, are, extent, divisibility, impenetrability, figure, mo- bility, or the property of being moved in mass. Fire, beside these general At manet incolumis niundus suaque omnia servat, Quae nee longadies auget, m) niitque senectus, Nee motus puncto currit, cu-susque fatigat: Idem semper erit, quoniam semper fuit idem. Manila Astronom. Lib. I. This also was the opinion of Pythagoras, sueli as it is set forth by Ovid, in the fifteenth Bonk of his Metamorphoses, verse 165, and the following : — Omnia mutantur, nihil interit; errat et illinc. Hue venit, hinc illuc, &c. properties common to all matter, enjoys also the peculiar property of being put into activity by a motion producing on our organs of feeling the sensation ot heat, and by another, which communi- cates to our visual organs the sensation of light. Iron, in common with matter in general, has extent and fig-ure ; is j divisible, and moveable in mass : if fire be combined Avith it in a certain propor- tion, tlie iron acquires two new proper- ties, namely, those of exciting in us similar sensations of heat and light, which the iron had not before its com- bination with the igneous matter. These distinguishing properties are insepara- ble from matter, and the phenomena that result, may, in the strictest sense of the word, be said to result necessarily. If we only contemplate the paths of nature ;, if Ave trace the beings in this nature under the different stales through AA^hich, by reason of their propertie -^, they are compelled to pass, Av^e shall discover that it is to motion, and motion alone, that is to be ascribed all the changes, all the combinations, all the forms, in short, all the various modifications of matter. That it is by motion every thing that exists is produced, expe- riences change, expands, and is de- stroyed. It is motion that alters the aspect of beings, that adds to, or takes aAA-ay from their properties ; AA'hich obliges each of them, by a consequence of its nature, after having occupied a certain rank or order, to quit it to occupy another, and to contribute to the gene- ration, maintenance, and decomposition of other bemgs, totally different in their bulk, rank, and essence. In what experimental philosophers have styled the three orders of nature, that is to say, the mineral^ the vegetable, and the animal worlds, they have estab- lished, by the aid of motion, a transmi- gration, an exchange, a continual circu- lation in the particles of matter. Nature has occasion in one place for those par- ticles Avhich, for a time, she has placed in another. These particles, at\er hav- ing, by particular combinations, con- stituted beings endued Avith peculiar essences, AA^ith specific properties, Avith determinate modes of action, dissolve and separate with more or less facility; and combining in a ncAV manner, they form new beings. The attentive ob- serA'er sees this law execute itself in a OK MATTER. 25 (iianner more or less prominent llirough all the beings by which he is surround- etl. He sees nature lull ol' erratic germs, some of which expand them- selves, whilst others wait until motion has placed them in their proper situa- tion, in suitable wombs or matrices, in the necessary circumstances to unfold, to increase, to render them more per- ceptible by the addition of other sub- stances of matter analogous to their primitive being. In all this we see nothing but the etTeet of motion, neces- sarily guided, modified, accelerated or slackened, strengthened or weakened, by reason of the various properties that beings successively acquire and lose; which, every moment, infallibly pro- duces alterations in bodies, more or less marked. Indeed these bodies cannot be, strictly speaking, the same in any two successive moments of their exist- ence ; they must, every instant, either acquire or lose : iu short, they are obliged to undergo continual variations in their essences, in tlieir properties, in their energies, in their masses, in their qualities, in their mode of exi'-tence. Animals, after they have been ex- panded in, and brought out of the wombs that are suitable to the ele- ments of their machine, enlarge, strengthen, acquire new properties, new energies, new faculties ; either by de- riving nourishment from plants analo- gous to their being, or by devouring other animals whose substance is suit- able to their preservation ; that is to say, to repair the continual dcperdition. or loss, of some portion of their own substance that is disengaging itself every instant. These same animals are nourished, preserved, strengthened, and enlarged by the aid of air, water, earth, and fire. Dejirived of air, or of the fluid that surrounds them, that presses on them, that penetrates them, that gives them their elasticity, they presently cease to live. Water com- bined with this air, enters into their whole mechanism, of Avhich it facili- tates the motion. Earth serves them for a basis, by giving solidity to their texture: it is conveyed by air and water, which carry it to those parts of the body with which it can combine. Fire itself, disguised and envelo]iod under an infinity of form*, continunllv received into the animal, nrocures him No. I.— 4 heat, continues him in life, render- him capable of exercising his functions. The aliments, charged with these va- rious principles, entering into ihe sto- mach, re-establish the nervous system, and restore, by their activity, and the elements which compose them. l;ie machine which begins to langui>ii, u be depressed, by the loss it has sustain ed. Forthwith the animal experiences a change in his whole system ; he has more energy, more activity ; he feels more courage ; displays rnore gaiety ; he acts, he moves, he thinks, after a different manner; all his faculties are exercised with more ease.* From this it is clear, that what are called the ele- ments, or primitive parts of matter, when variously combined, are, by the agency of motion, continually united to, ancl assimilated with the substance of animals: that they visibly modify their being, have an evident influence over their actions, that is to say, upon the motion they undergo, whether v- sible or concealed. The same elements, which uiu'- certain circumstances serve to nour-'^u to strengthen, to maintain the aniina. become, under others, the priiiciple> i his weakness, the instruments of m dissolution, of his death : they worv his destruction, whenever they are aOv in that just proportion, which renders them proper to maintain his existence: thus, when Avater becomes too abundant in the body of the animal, it enervates him, it relaxes the fibres, and impedes the necessary action of the other ele- ments: thus, fire admitted in excess, excites in him disorderly motion, des- tructive of his machine : thus, air, charged. with principles not analogous to his mechanism, brings upon him dangerous diseases and contagit)n. In fine, the aliments modified after certain * We may here remark, that all ppiriiiiOHP substances (tlint is to say, tlioso conlaiiiintr n area! proportion of intlammabie and ipn<'oii« matter, such as wine, brandy, iimiors, &e.) are those tliat acrelernte most tne orsrnnie motion of animals, by communicatitic to ilicm heat. Tims, wine jtrcnorates coiimtre, an(i even wit. In spring and .summer myriads of insects are hatrhed, and a lu.xiiriant vegeta- tion sprines into li6>, b(-raiise the matter o{ fire is then more alnmdant tlian in winter. This i'jitrous vinller is evidently tlie eniise o' fermentation, of generation, and of life -th< Jupiter of the ancients. 26 OF MATTER. modes, ui'^tcad of nourishing destroy ihe animal, and condi ce to his ruin : the animal is preserved no longer than tliese substances are analogous to his system. They ruin him Avhen they want that just equilibrium that renders •hem suitable to maintain his exist- ence. Plants, that serve to nourish and re- store animals, are themselves nourish- ed by earth ; they expand on its bosom, enlarge and strengthen at its expense, continually receiving into their texture, by tlipir roots and their pores, Avater, air, and igneous matter : water visibly reaniniates them whenever their vege- tation, or genus of life, languishes ; it convey s to them those analogous prin- ciples by which they are enabled to reach perfection ; air is requisite to their expansion, and furnishes them with water, earth, and igneous matter with whicb it is charged. By these means they receive more or less of the inflammable matter ; and the different proportions of these principles, their numerous combinations, from whence -esult an infinity of properties, a variety )f forms constitute the various families ind clashes into which botanists have listributud plants : it is thus, we see he cedai, and the hyssop, develop heir growth ; the one, rises to the clouds ; tK'; other, creeps humbly on the earth. Thus, by degrees, from an acorn spriMgs the majestic oak, ac- cumulating, with time its numerous br'.nches, and overshadowing us with •iS *oliage. Thus, a grain of corn, after ^4ving drawn its own nourishment iV'jm the juicfss of the earth, serves, in its (urn, for the nourishment of man, 'iito whose system it conveys the ele- ments or principles by which it has been itself expanded — combined and modified in such a manner, as to render this vegetable proper to assimilate and unite with the human frame : that is to say, with the fluids and solids of which it is composed. The same elements, the same prin- ciples, are found in the formation of minerals, and also in their decomposi- tion, whether natural or artificial We find that earth diversely modified, wrought and combined, serves to in- crease their bulk, and give them more or less density and gravitv. Air and vvater contribute to make their parti- cles cohere the igneouf. niaticr, orm- flammable principle, tinges them with colour, and sometimes, plainly indi- cates its presence by the brilliant scin- tillation, which motion elicits from them. These stones and metals, these bodies so compact and solid, are dis- united, are destroyed, by the agency of air, water, and fire which the most ordinary analysis is sufficient to prove, as well as a multitude of experience to which our eyes are fhe daily evidence. Animals, plants, and minerals, after a lapse of time, give back to nature-— that is to say, to the general mass of things, to the universal magazine — the elements or principles wiiich they have borrowed. The earth retakes that portion of the body of w-hich it formed the basis and the solidity ; the air charges itself with those parts that are analogous to it, and with those par- ticles which are light and subtile ; water carries off" that which is suitable to liquescency ; fire bursting its chains, disengages itself, and rushes into new combinations with other bodies. The elementary particles of the ani- mal being thus dissolved, disunited, and dispersed, assume new activity, and form neAv combinations : thus, they serve to nourish, to preserve, or destroy new beings — among others, plants, which, arrived at their maturity, nour- ish and preserve new animals ; these, in their turn, yielding to the same fate as the first. Such is the invariable course of Na- ture : such is the eternal circle of mu- tation, which all that exists is obliged to describe. It is thus that motion generates, preserves for a time, and successively destroys one part of the universe by the other ; whilst the sum of existence remains eternally the same. Nature, by its combinations, produces suns, which place them- selves in the centre of so many sys- tems : she forms planets, which, by their peculiar essence, gravitate and describe their revolutions round these suns : by degrees the motion is chang- ed altogether, and becomes eccentric : perhaps the day may arrive when these wondrous masses will disperse, of Avhich man, in the short space of his existence, can only have a faint and transient glimpse. It is clear, then, that the continual OF THE LAWS OF MOTIOIN. 27 motion iiiliercnl in matter, changes and destroys. all beings ; every instant depriving them of some of their pro- perties to substitute others : it is mo- tion which, in thus changing their actual essence, changes also their order, their direction, their tendency, and the laws which regulate their mode of act- ing and being : from the stone formed in the bowels of the earth by the inti- mate combination and close coherence of similar and analogous particles, to (he sun, that vast reservoir of igneous uarticles, which sheds torrents of light over the firmament ; from the benumb- ed oyster, to the thoughtful and active man, we see an uninterrupted ])rogres- sion, a perpetual chain of motion and combination, from which is produced beings, that only dilfer from each other by the variety of their elementary mat- ter : and by the numerous combina- tions of these elements spring modes of action and existence, diversified to mfinity. In generation, in nutrition, in preservation, we see nothing more than matter variously combined, of which each has its peculiar motion, re- gulated by fixed and determinate laws, which oblige them to submit to neces- sary changes. We shall find in the formation, in the growth, in the in- stantaneous life of animals, vegetables and minerals, nothing but matter, which, combining, accumulating, ag- gregating, and expanding by degrees, forms beings, who are either feeling, living, vegetating, or else destitute of these faculties; and having existed some time under one particular form, they are obliged to contribute bv their ruin to the production of other forms.* CHAPTER IV. Of the Laws qf Motion common to all the Beings of Nature — Of Attraction and Re- pulsion — Of inert Force — Of Necessity. Man is never surprised at those effects of which he thinks he knows the cause; he believes he does know the cause as ♦ Destructio unius, eenerafio alterius. Thus, to speak strictly, nothing in nature is either horn, or dies, according to the common ac- ceptation of those terms. This truth was felt by many of the anrient philosophers. Plato tells us, that according to an old tra- dition, " the living were born of the dead, the soon as he sees them act m a unitorm and determinate manner, or when the motion excited is simi)lf : the descent of a stone, that falls by its own peculiar weight, is an object of meditaiicn only to the pliilosopher, to whom the mode by Avhich the most immediate causes act, and the most simple motion, are no less impenetrable mysteries than the most complex motion, and the manner by whicli the most complicated causes give impulse. The uninformed are seldom teinpted either to examine the effects which are familiar to them, or to recur to first principles. They think they see nothing in the descent of a stone which ought to elicit their sur- l)rise, or become the object of their research : it requires a Newton to i^e\ that the descent of heavy bodies is a phenomenon worthy his whole, his most serious attention : it requires the saga- city of a profound experimental philo- sopher, to discover the laws by whicr heavy bodies i'all, by which they com- municate to others their peculiar motion. In short, the mind that is most practised in philosophical observation, has fre- quently the chagrin to find, that the most simple and most common effects escape all his researches, and remain inexplicable to him. When any extraordinary, any un- usual effect is produced, to which our eyes have not been accustomed ; or when Ave are ignorant of the energies of the cause, the action of which so forcibly strikes our senses, we are tempted to meditate upon it, and take it into our consideration. The Euro- pean, accustomed to the use of gun-, powder^ passes it by, without thinking much of its extraordinaiy energies ; the workman, who labours to manufacture it, finds nothing marvellous in its pro- perties, because he daily handles the same as the dead did come of the living; and that this is the constant routine of nature." He adds from himself, " Who knows if to live, be not to die; and if to die, be not to hve7" This was the doctrine of Pythagoras, a man of great talent and no less note. Empepocles says, " There is neither birth nor death for any mortal, but onlv a combmation and a separa- tion of that wfiich was combined, ancf this is what amongst men they call birth and death." Again he remarks, "Those are in- fants, or short-sighted persons with very con- tracted understandincs, who imaeine any thing is born which clid not e.vist before, or that any thing can die or perish totally." 28 OF THE LAWS OF MOTION. matter that enters its composition. The American, who had never beheld its operation, looked upon it as a divine power, and its energies as supernatural. Tne uninformed, who are ignorant of the true cause of thunder^ contemplate it as the instrument of celestial ven- geance. The experimental philosopher considers it as the effect of the electric matter, which, nevertheless, is itself a cause which he is very far fr^^m per- fectly understanding.* Be this as it may, whenever we see a cause act. v/e look upon its effect as natural : when this cause becomes fa- miliar to the sight, when we are accus- tomed to it, we think we understand it, and its effects surprise us no longer. Whenever any unusual effect is per- ceived without our discovering the cause, the mind sets to work, becomes uneasy ; this uneasiness increases in proportion to its extent : as soon as it is believed to threaten our preservation, Ave become completely agitated : we seek after the cause with an earnestness proportioned to our alarm ; our per- plexity augments in a ratio equivalent to the persuasion we are under how essentially requisite it is we should become acquamted with the cause that has affected us in so lively a manner. As it frequently happens that our senses can teach us nothing respecting this cause which so deeply interests us, which we seek with so much ardour ; we have recourse to our imagination ; this, disturbed with alarm, enervated by fear, becomes a suspicious, a falla- cious guide : we create chimeras, ficti- tious causes, to whom we give the 'credit, to whom we ascribe the honour of those phenomena by which we have been so much alarmed. It is to this disposition of the human mind that must be attributed, as will be seen in the sequel, the religious errours of man, who, despairing of the capability to trace the natural causes of those * It required the keen, the penetrating mind of a Franklin, to throw light on the nature of this subtile fluid ; to develop the means by which ite effects might be rendered harmless; to turn to useful purjioses a phenomenon that made the ignorant tremble, that filled their minds with terrour, their hearts with dismay, as indicating the anger of the gods : impressed with this idea, they prostrated themselves, they sacrificed to Jupiter or Jehovah, to depre- cate their wrath. perplexing phenomena to which he was the witness^ and sometimes the victim, created m his brain, heated with terrour, imaginaiy causes, which have become to him a source of the most extravagant folly. In nature, however, there can be only natural causes and effects; all the motion excited in this nature follows constant and necessary laws: the natu- ral operations to the knowledge of which we are competent, of which we are in a capacity to judge, are of themselves sufficient to enable us to discover those which elude our sight ; we can at least judge of them by analogy. If we study nature with attention, the modes of action which she displays to our senses will teach us not to be disconcerted by those which she refuses to discover. Those causes Avhich are the most re- mote from their effects, unquestionably act by intermediate causes ; by the aid of these, we can frequently trace out the first. If in the chain of these causes we sometimes meet Avith obstacles that oppose themselves to our research, Ave ought to endeavour by patience and diligence to overcome them ; Avhen it so happens we cannot surmount the difficulties that occur, we still are never justified in concluding the chain to be broken, or that the cause Avhich acts is supernatural. Let us, then, be con- tent Avith an hoaest avowal, that Nature contains resources of which we are ignorant ; but never let us substitute phantoms, fictions, or imaginary causes, senseless terms, for those causes Avhich escape our research; because, by such means, we only confirm ourselves in ignorance, impede our inquiries, and obstinately remain in errour. In spite of our ignorance Avith respect to the meanderings of Nature, of the essence of beings, of their properties, their elements, their combinations, their proportions, we yet knoAv the simple and general laws according to Avhich bodies move, and we see clearly, that some of these laAvs, common to all beings, never contradict themselves : although, on some occasions, they ap- pear to vary, Ave are frequently compe- tent to discover that the cause becoming complex, from combination with other causes, either impedes, or prevents its mode of action, being such as in its primitive state Ave had a right to expect OF THE LAWS OK MOTION. 29 We know that active, igneous matter, applied to gunpowder, must necessarily ^ause it to explode: whenever this eflect does not follow the comhination of the igneous matter with the gunjjowder, whenever our senses do not give us evidence of the fact, we are justified in concluding, either that the powder is damp, or that it is united with some other substance that counteracts its ex- plosion. \Ve know that ail the actions of man have a tendency to render him happy : whenever, therefore, we see him labouring to injure or desirov himself, it is just to infer that ne is moved by some cause opposed to his natural ten- dency ; that he is deceived by some prejudice ; that, for want of experience, he is blind to consequences: that he does not see whither his actions will lead him. If the motion excited in beings was always simple ; if their actions did not blend and combine Avith each other, it would be easy to know the eflect a cause Avould produce. I know that a stone, when descending, ought to de- scribe a perpendicular : I al-^o know, that if it encounters any other body which changes its course, it is obliged to take an oblique direction; but if its fall be interrupted bv several contrary powers which act upon it alternately, I am no longer competent to determine what line it will describe. It may be a parabola, an ellipsis, spiral, circular, &.C.; this will depend on the impulse it receives, and the powers by which it is impelled. The most complex motion, however, is never more than the result of simple motion combined : therefore, as soon as we know the general laws of beings, and theii action, Ave have only to de- compose and to analyze them, in order to discover those of Avhich they are combined : experience teaches us tlie effects we are to expect. Thus it is clear, the simi)lest motion cnuses that necessary junction oi different matter of AA'hich all bodies are composed : that matter varied in its essence, in its pro- perties, in its combinations, has each its several modes of action, or motion, peculiar to itself: the Avhole motion of a body is consequently the sum total of each particular motion that is combined. Amongst the matter Ave behold, some IS constantly disposed to unite, Avhilst other is incapable of unii)n ; that Avhii-h is suitable to unite, forms combinations more or less intimate, possessing nujre or less durability : that is to say, Avith more or less capacity to preserve their union and to resist dissolution. Those bodies Avhich are called .w/jV/.s, receive into their composition a great number of homogeneous, similar, and analogous {)articles, disposed to unite themselves; with energies conspiring or tending to the same point. The primitive beings, or elements of bodies, have need of support, of props, that is to say, of the I)resence of each other, for the purpose of preserving themselves; of acquiring consistence, or solidity; a truth which apjdies Avith equal unifonnity to Avhal is called physical, as to what is termed moral. It is upon this disposition in matter and bodies with relation to each other, that is founded those modes of action Avhich natural philosophers designate l)y the terms attraclion, repulsion, si/mpal/iy, antipaUnj, ajfinities, rela- tions.'^ Moralists describe this dispo- sition under the n:\mes of love, liatreil, friendship, aversion. Man, like all the beings in nature, experiences the impulse of attraction and repulsion ; the motion excited in him diflering from that of other beings, only because it is more concealed, and frequently so hid- den, that neither the causes Avhich excite it, nor their mode of action are knoAvn. Be this as it may, it is sufficient for us to know, that by an invariable law certain bodies are disposed to unite with more or less facility, whilst others * Tills system of attraction and repulsion is very ancient, although it reouired a Newton to develop it. That love, to wliich the am-ienta attributed the unfolding or disentanplcnienl of cliaos, appears to have been nothing more than a personification of the principle of aitriielioii. All tiieir allegories and fal)les upon chaos, evi- dently indieate nothing more than the accord or union that exists between analogous and homogeneous substances, from whence re- sulted the existence of the universe: Avhile discord or repulsion, which they called $»'!" was the cause of dissolution, confusion, and disorder. There can scarcely remain a doubi but this was the origin of the doctrine of the two princi[)les. According to DiogcnesLirer- tius, the philosopher, Empedocles asserted " that tJiere is a kind of qfTiction, by irhirh the elimciits unite themselves; and a sort of di.-'- cofd, bii which they separate or remove them selves. so OF THE LAWS OF MOTION. cannot combinR. Water combines itself readily with salt, but Avill not blend with oil. Some combinations are very strong, cohering with great force, as metals ; others are extremely feeble, their cohesion slight, and easily decom- posed, as in fugitive colours. Some bodies, incapable of uniting by them- selves, become susceptible of union by the agency of other bodies, which serve for common bonds or mediums. Thus, oil and water, naturally heterogeneous, combine and make soap, by the inter- vention of alkaline salt. From matter diversely combined, in proportions va- ried almost to infinity, result all physi- cal and moral bodies ; the properties ' and qualities of which are essentially different, with modes of action more or less complex: which are either under- stood with facility, or difficult of com- prehension, according to the matter that has entered into their composition, and the various modifications this matter has undergone. It is thus, from the reciprocity of their attraction, that the primitive, impercep- tible particles of matter which consti- tute bodies, become perceptible, and form compound substances, aggregate masses, by the union of similar and analogous matter, whose essences fit them to cohere. The same bodies are dissolved, or their union broken, when- ever they undergo the action of matter inimical to their junction. Thus by degrees are formed plants, metals, ani- mals, men ; each grows, expands, and increases, in its own system, or order; sustaining itself in its respective ex- istence by the continual attraction of j analogous matter, to which it becomes united, and by which it is preserved and strengthened. Thus, certain ali- ments become fit for the sustenance of man ; whilst others destroy his exist- ence : some are pleasant to him, strengthen his habit ; others are repug- nant to him, weaken his system : in short, never to separate physical from moral laws — it is thus that men, mutu- ally attracted to each other by their reciprocal wants, form those unions which we designate by the terms m,a7'- riage, families, societies, friendships, connexions : it is thus that virtue strengthens and consolidates them ; that vice relaxes, or totally dissolves them. ' Of whatever nature may be the com bination of beings, their motion ha? always one direction or tendency : with- out direction we could not have any idea of motion : this direction is regu- lated by the properties of each being' as soon as they have any given proper- ties, they necessarily act in obedience to them; that is to say, they folloAV the law invariably determined by these same properties, which, of themselves, constitute the being such as he is found, and settle his mode of action, which is always the consequence of his manner of existence. But what is the genera direction, or common tendency, we see in all beings ? What is the visible and knoAvn end of all their motion ? It is to preserve their actual existence — to strengthen their several bodies — to attract that wnich is favourable to them — to repel that which is injurious to them — to avoid that which can harm them, to resist impulsions contrary to their manner of existence and to their natural tendency. To exist, is to experience the motion peculiar to a determinate essence : to preserve this existence, is to give and receive that motion from which results the maintenance of its existence : — it is to attract matter suitable to corrobo- rate its being, — to avoid that by which it may be either endangered, or en- feebled. Thus, all beings of which we have any knowledge, have a ten- dency to preserve themselves each after its own peculiar iTianner : the stone, by the firm adhesion of its particles, opposes resistance to its destruction. Organized beings preserve themselves by more complicated means, but which are, nevertheless, calculated to main- tain their existence against that by which it may be injured. Man, both in his physical and in his moral capa- city, is a living, feeling, thinking, activa being, who every instant of his duration strives equally to avoid that which may be injurious, and to procure that which is pleasing to him, or that which is suitable to his mode of existence.* Conservation, then, is the common point to which all the energies, all the powers, all the faculties of being, seem * St. Augustine admits this tendency for self-preservation in all beings, whether organ- ized or not. — See his tractate De Civitate DeL lib. xi. cap. 28. OF THE LAWS OF MOTION. 31 Kuntinually directed. Natural i)hilo- soplicrs call this direction, or tendency, self-i: rav il aiion. New/on calls it m- crt force. Moralists denominate it, in j man, delj-hire ; whicli i« nothiiifr more I than the tendency lie lias to preserve ' himself— a de-ire of happiness — a love ol" his own welfare — a \\i-h fur plea- sure — H promptitude in seizins^ on every thing tiiat ajipeurs I'avourable to his conservation — a marked aversion to all that either disturos liis happiness, or menaces his existence — i)riniitive sen- timents common to all beings of the human species, which all their facul- ties are continuaily striving to satisfy ; which all their passions, their wills, their actions, have eternally for their oitject and their end. This self-gravi- tation, then, is clearly a necessary dis- position in man and in all other beings, which, by a variety of means, contri- butes to the preservation of the exist- ence they have received as long as nothing deranges the order of their machine or its primitive tendency. Cause always produces effect ; there ;an be no effect witliout cause. Im- pulse is always followed by some mo- tion more or less sensible, by some change mon; or less remarkable in the body which receives it. But motion, and its various modes of displaying it- self, is, as has been already shown, de- termined by the nature, the essence, the properties, the combinations of the beings acting. It must then be con- cluded, that motion, or the modes by which beings act, arises from some cause ; and as this cause is not able to move or act but in conformitv with the manner of its being,' or its essential properties, it must equally be conclud- ed, that all the phenomena we perceive are necessary ; that ev^ry being in na- ture, under the circumstances in which it is placed and with the given proper- ties it possesses, caiijol act otherwise than it does. Necessity is the constant and infalli- ble connexion of causes with their ef- fects. Fire, of necessity, consumes combustible matter placed within its sphere of action : man, of necessity, desires, either that which really is, or appears to be useful to his welfare. Nature, in all tne phenomena she ex- hibits, necessarily acts after her own peculiar essence • all the beings she contains necessarily act each after its individual essence: it is by motion that the whole has relation with its parts, and these with the whole: it is thus tiiat in the universe every thing is connected ; it is itself but an im- mense chain of causes and eflects, which How without ceasing one from the other. If we reflect a little, we shall be obliged to acknowledge, that every thing we see is necessary ; that it cannot be otherwise than it is ; that all the beings we behold, as well as those which escape our sight, act by certain and invariable laws. Accord- ing to these laws heavy bodies fall, light bodies rise; analogous substances attract each other ; beings tend to con- serve themselves ; man cherishes him- self; loves that which he thinks advan tageous, detests that which he has an idea may prove unfavourable to him. In fine, we are obliged to admit that there can be no indepe- ' .at energy — no isolated cause — no aevached action, in a nature where all the beings are in a reciprocity of action — who without interruption mutually impel and resist each other — who is herself nothing more than an eternal circle of motion given and received according to ne- cessary laws. Two examples will serve to throw the principle here laid down, into light — one sliall be taken from physics, the other from morals. In a whirlwind of dust, raised by the impetuous elements, confused as it ap- pears to our eyes ; in the most fright- ful tera|)est, excited by contrary winds^ when the waves roll high as moun- tains ; there is not a single particle oi dust, or drop of water, that has been placed by chance ; that has not a suf- ficient cause for occupying the place Avhere it is found ; that does not, in the most rigorous sense of the word, act after tlic manner in which it ought to act; that is, according to its own peculiar essence, and that of the beings from whom it receives impulse. A geometrician, who exactly knew the different energies acting in each case, with the properties of the particles moved, could demons :rati', hat, after the causes given, each particle acted precisely as it ought to act, and that it could not have acted otherwise than it did. 32 OF THE LAWS OF MOTION. In those terrible convulsion's that! sometimes agitate political societies, shake their foundations, and frequcnt- y produce the overthrow of an empire — there is not a single action, a single word, a single thought, a single will, a single passion m the agents, Avhether they act as destroyers or as victims, that is not the necessary result of the causes operating ; that does not act as of necessity it must act from the pecu- liar situation these agents occupy in the moral Avhirlwind. This could be evidently proved by an understanding capacitated to seize and to rate all the actions and reactions of the minds and bodies of those who contributed to the revolution. In fact, if all be connected in nature ; if all motion be produced the one from the other, notwithstanding their secret communications frequently elude our we ought to feel convinced that there xv. no ^ause, however minute, however remote, that does not some- times produce the greatest and the most immediate effects on man. It may perhaps be in the arid plains of Lybia, that are amassed the first ele- ments of a storm or tempest, which, borne by the winds, approximate our climate, render our atmosphere dense, which operating on the temperament, may influence the passions of a man whose circumstances shall have capa- citated him to influence many others, and who shall decide after his will the fate of many nations. Man, in fact, finds himself in nature, and makes a part of it : he acts accord- ing to laws which are peculiar to hmi ; he receives, in a manner more or less distinct, the action, the impulse of the beings who surround him ; who themselves act after laws that are pe- culiar to their essence. It is thus that tie is variously modified ; but his 30 tions are always the result of his ow:- peculiar energy, and that of the beings who act upon him, and by whom he is modified. This is what gives such variety to his determinations; what frequently produces such contradiction in nis thoughts, his opinions, his will, his actions ; in shorty that motion, whether concealed or visible, by which he is agitated. We shall have occa- sion, in the sequel, to place this truth, at present so much contested, in a broader light: it Avill be sufficient for onr present puipose to prove, generally, that every thing in nature is necessary, that nothing to be found in it can act otherwise tlian it does. It is motion alternately communica- ted and- received, that establishes the connexion and the relation between the ditlerent orders of beings : when they are in the sphere of reciprocal action, attraction approximates them : repul- sion dissolves and separates them ; the one conserves and strengthens them ; the other enfeebles and destrovs them Once combined, they have a tendency to preserve themselves in that mode of existence, by virtue of their iiier-t force: in this they cannot succeed, because they are exposed to the con- tinual influence of all other beings who act upon them perpetually and in suc- cession : their change of form, their dissolution is requisite to the preserva- tion of nature herself: this is the sole end we are able to assign her; to which we see her tend incessantly ; which she follows without interruption by the destruction and reproduction of all subordinate beings, who are obliged to submit to her laws, and to concur, by their mode of action, to the main- tenance of her active existence, so es- sentially requisite to the great whole.. Thus, each being is an individual, who, in the great family, executes the necessar}'' task assigned to him. All bodies act according to laws inherent in their peculiar essence, without the* capability to swerve, even for a single instant, from those according to which Nature herself acts. This is the cen- tral power, to which all other powers, all other essences, all other energies. ■ are submitted ; she regulates the irno- tion of beings ; by the necessity of her own peculiar essence, she makes them concur by various modes to the general plan : this plan appears to be nothing more than the life, action, and mainte- nance of the whole, by the continual change of its parts..' This object she obtains in removing them one by the other : by that which establishes, and by that which destroys the relation subsisting between them ; by that which gives them, and by that which deprives them of their forms, combina- tions, proportions, qualities, according to which they act for a time, and aftei OF ORDKR AND CONFUSION. :l a given mode ; these are at'terwards akcn from them, to make tliem ant after a dilfercnt manner. It is thus that nature makes them expand and change, grow and decline, augment and diminisli, approximate and remove, forms them and destroys thein, accord- ing as she finds it requisite to maintain the whole, towards the conservation of which this nature is herself essen- tially necessitated to have a tendency. This irresistible power, this univer- sal necessity, this general energy, is, then, only a consequence of the nature of things, by virtue of which every thing ads without intermission, after constant and immutable Ir.ws; these laws not varying more for the whole, than for the beings of Avhich it is composed. Nature is an active, liv- ing whole, whose parts necessarily I'oncur, and that without their own knowledge, to maintain activity, life, and existence. Nature acts and ex- ists necessarily : all that she contains necessarily conspires to perpetuate her active existence.* • This was the decided opinion of Plato, who says, " Matter and ncccssitij are the same tiling; this necessity is the mother of the world. In point of fact we cannot go beyond this apliorism, Matter acts because it crisis, and exists to act. If it be inquired how, or why, matter exists'? We answer, wc !uiow not : but reasoning by analogy of wliat we do not know by that which we do, we are of opinion it exists necessarily, or be- cause it contains witliin itself a sullicient rea- son for its existence. In supposinir it to i)e created or produced by a being distinguished from it, or less known than itself, we must still admit tiiat this being is necessary, and includes a sufficient reason for his own exist- ence. We have not then removed any of the ditBculty, we have not thrown a clearer iigiit on the subject, we have not advanced a single step; we have simply laid aside an agent of which we know some of the proper- tics to have recourse to a power of which it is utterly impossible we can form any distinct idea, and whose existence cannot be demon- strated. As therefore these must be at best but speculative points of belief, which each in- dividual, by reason of its obscuritv, may con- tein[)late with different optics and under vari- ous aspects; they surelv ouiiht to be left free for each to iudge after nis own fashion: the Deist can nave no just cause of enmity against the Atheist for his want of faith; and the numerous sects of each of the various persuasions spread over the face of the earth ought to make it a creed, to look with an eye of complacency on the deviation of the oihei; and rest upon that great moral axiom, which No. II.— 5 We shall see in the sequel, hoy- much man's imagination has laboured to form an idea of the energies of that nature he has personified and distin- guished from herself: in short, we shall examine soine of the ridiculous and pernicious inventions which for want of understanding nature, have been imagined to impede her course, to sus- pend her eternal laws, to place obsta- cles to the necessity of things. CHAPTER V. Of Order and Cojifnsion — Of Intelligence — of Chance. The observation of the necessary, regular, and periodical motion in the universe, generated in the mind of man the idea of order. This term, in its primitive signification, represents to him nothing more than a mode of con- sidering, a fiicility of perceiving, to- gether and separately, the different re- lations of a whole, in which is dis- covered b,y its manner of existing and acting, a certain affinity or conformity with his own. Man, in extending this idea to the universe, carried with him those methods of considering things Avhich are peculiar to himself: he has consequently supposed there really ex- isted in nature afliniiies and relations, which he classed under the name ol order ; and others, which appeared to him not to conform to those which he has ranked under the term coiiJ'it.iion. It is easy to comprehend that this idea of order and confusi n can have no absolute existence in nature, where every thing is necessary ; where the whole follows constant and invariable laws ; and which oblige each being, in every moment of its duration, to sub- mit to other laws which themselves flow from its own peculiar mode of ex- istence. It i.s, therefore, in his imag- ination alone man finds the model of that Avhich he terms order, or confu- sion, which, like all his abstract, meta- physical ideas, supposes nothing be- is strictly conformable to nature, which con- tains the nucleus of man's happiness — " D« not unto another, that which you do not rrisk anofhcr should 'lo utilo you ;" for it is evident, according to tiieir own doctrines, that out of all their multilarious systems, one only can be richt. Si OP ORDER AND CONFUSION. yond his reach. Order, however, is nevermore than the faculty of conform- ing himself with the beings by whom he is environed, or with the whole of which he forms a part. Nevertheless, if the idea of order be applied to nature, it will be found to be nothing but a series of action, or mo- tion, Avhich man judges to conspire to one common end. Thus, in a body that moves, order is the chain of action, the series of motion proper to consti- tute it what it is, and to maintain it in its actual state. Order, relatively to the whole of nature, is the concate- nation of causes and effects necessary to her active existence, and to the maintaining ' her eternally together ; but, as it has been proved in the pre- ceding chapter, every individual being is obliged to concur to this end in the diti'erent ranks they occupy ; from whence it is a necessary deduction, that what is called the oz-rfer- of nature, can never be more than a certain man- ner of considering the necessity of thmgs, to which all, of which man has any knowledge, is submitted. That which is styled confusion, is only a re- lative term used to aesignate that series of necessary action, that chain of re- quisite motion, by which an individual being is necessarily changed or dis- turbed in its mode of existence, and by which it is instantaneously obliged to alter its manner of action : but no one of these actions, no part of this motion, is capable, even for a single instant, of contradicting or deranging the general order of nature, from which all beings derive their existence, their properties, the motion peculiar to each. What is termed confusion in a being, is nothing more than its passage into a neAV class, a new mode of existence, which necessarily carries Avith it a new series of action, a new chain of motion, different from that of Avhich this being found itself susceptible in the preceding rank it occupied. That which is called order in nature, is a mode of existence, or a disposition of its particles strictly necessary. In every other assemblage of causes and effects, or of worlds, as well as in that which we inhabit, some sort of arrangement, some kind of order, would necessarily be establish- ed. Suppose the most discordant and the most heterosceneous substances were put into activity ; by a concatena- tion of necessary phenomena they would form amongst themselves a com- plete order, a perfect arrangement of some sort. This is the true notion of a property which may be defined an aptitude to constitute a being such as it is actually found, such as it is, with respect to *he whole of which it makes a part. Thus, I repeat, order is nothing but necessity, considered relatively to the series of actions, or the connected cham of causes and effects that it produces in the universe. What is, in fact, the motion in our planetary system, the only one of which man has any distinct idea, but order ; but a series of phe- nomena, operated according to neces- sary laws, regulating the bodies of which it is composed ? In conformity to these laws, the sun occupies the centre ; the planets gravitate towards it, and describe round it, in regulated periods, continual revolutions : the sa- tellites of these planets gravitate to- wards those which are in the centre of their sphere of action, and describe round them their periodical route. One of these planets, the earth, Avhich man inhabits, turns on its own axis, and by the various aspects which its annuau revolution obliges it to present to the sun, experiences those regular varia- tions Avhich are called seasons. By a necessary series of the sun's action upon different parts of this globe, all its productions undergo vicissitudes : plants, animals, men, are in a sort of lethargy durmg Winler : in Spring, these beings appear to reanimate, to come, as it were, out of a long drowsi- ness. In short, the mode in which the earth receives the sun's beams, has an influence on all its productions; these rays, when darted obliquely, do not act in the same manner as when they fall perpendicularly ; their periodical ab- sence, caused by the revolution of this sphere on itself, produces nieht and day. In all this, however, man never witnesses more than necessary effects, flowing from the essence of things, which, whilst that shall remain the same, can never be contradicted. These effects are owing to gravitation, attrac- fion, centrifugal power, &c.* * Centrifugal force is a philosophical term, used to describe that force by which all bodies OF ORDER AND CONFUSION. 35 On the other hand, this order, which I man aihnires as a supernatural elFect, is sometimes disturbed or changed into what he calls cojififsioii : this confusion itself is, however, always a necessary consequence of the laws of nature, in which it is requisite for the maintenance of the whole that some of her parts should l)e deranged, and thrown out of the ordinary course. It is thus comets present themselves so unexpectedly to man's wonderinir eyes ; their eccentric motion disturbs the tranquillity of his ]ilanetary system : they excite the ter- rour of the uninformed, to whom every thing unusual is marvellous. The natu- ral philosopher himself conjectures that, in former ages, these comets have over- thrown the surface of this mundane ball, and caused great revolutions on the earth. Independent of this extra- ordinary confusion, he is exposed to others more familiar to him : sometimes the seasons appear to have usurped each other's place — to have quitted their regular order; sometimes the discordant elements seem to dispute among them- selves the dominion of the Avorld ; the sea bursts its limits ; the solid earth is shaken, is rent asunder ; mountains are in a state of conflagration ; pestilential diseases destroy men, sweep otf ani- mals ; sterility desolates a country ; then affrighted man utters piercing cries, offers up his prayers to recall order, and tremblingly raises his hands towards the Being he supposes to be the author of all these calamities: and yet, the whole of this afflicting confu- sion are necessary effects, produced by natural causes, which act according to fixed, to permanent laws, determined by their own peculiar essence, and the universal essence of nature, in which every thing must necessarily be changed- be moved, be dissolved ; where that wliich is called 07-der must sometimes 1)6 disturbed, and be altered into a new mode of existence, which, to his mind, appears confusion. What is called the confusion of nature, has no existence : man finds order in every thing that is conformable to his OAvn mode of being; confusion in every thing by which it is opposed : which move round any other body in a circle or an ellipsis, do endeavour to fly off from the axis of their motion in a tangent to the pe- riphery or circumference of it. nevertheless, in nature all is n» order, because none of her parts are ever able to emancipate themselves from tho-e mvanable and necessary rules, which flow from their respective essences ; there is not, there cannot be, confusidu in a whole, to the maintenance of which what is called confusion is absolutely requisite ; of which the general course can never be deranged where all the elTects produced are the consequence of natural causes, that, under the circum- stances in which they are placed, act only as thev infallibly are obliged to act. It thus follows that there can be nei- ther monsters nor prodigies, wonders nor miracles in nature: those which are designated as monsters, are certain combinations with which the eyes of" man are not familiarized, but whicn are not less the necessary effects of natural causes. Those which he terms prodigies, wonders, or supernatni u.i effects, are phenomena of nature with whose mode of action he is unac- quainted — of which his ignorance dees not permit him to ascertain the princi- ples — whose causes he cannot trace, but which his heated imagination makes him foolishly attribute to fictitious causes, which, like the idea of order, have no existence but in himself; for, out of nature, none of these things can have existence. As for those effects, which are called miracles, that is to say, contrarv to the immutable laws of nature, such things are impossible ; because nothing can for an instant suspend the neces<;arv course of beings, without arresting the entire of nature, and disturbing her in her tendency. There have neither been wonders nor miracles in nature, except for those who have not sufficiently studied this nature, and who conse- quently do not feel that her laws can never be contradicted, even in the minutest of her parts, without the whole being annihilated, or at least, without changing her essence, or her mode of action.* * A miracle, accordin, he arrived at forming an idea ol that intelligent cause Avhich he has placed above nature to preside over her action, and to give her that motion of AA^hich he has chosen to believe she AA'as in herself incapable. He obstinately persists in always re- garding this nature as a heap of dead, inert, formless matter, which has not Avithin itself the power of producing any of those great effects, of those re- gular phenomena, from which eman- ates Avhat he styles the order of the universe.* From whence it may be deduced, that it is for want of being acquainted with the powers of nature, with the properties of matter, that man has multiplied beings without necessi- ty : that he has supposed the universe, under the empire of an intelligent cause, of Avhich he is, and perhaps al- ways will be, himself the model : and he only rendered this cause more in- conceivable, when he extended in it his own faculties too much. He either annihilates, or renders it altogether im- possible. AA'hen he Avould attach to it incompatible qualities, Avhich he is obliged to do to enable him to account for the contradictory and disorderly effects he beholds in the Avorkl. In fact, he sees confusion in the Avorld ; yet, notAA'ithstanding this confusion contradicts the plan, the power, the Avisdom, the bounty of this intelligence, and the miraculous order AA'hich he as- cribes to it, he says the extreme beau- tiful arrangement of the whole obliges him to suppose it to be the Avork of a sovereign intelligence.f ' It Avill, no doubt, be argued, that as nature contains and produces intelli- gent beings, either she must be herself * Anaxagoras is said to have been the first who supposed the universe created and gov- erned by an intelHgence . Aristotle reproaches him with having made an automaton of this intelligence ; that is, with ascnbing to it the production of things only when he was at a loss, for good reasons, to account for their appearance. — See Bayle's Dictionary, Art. Anaxagoras, Note E. t Unable to reconcile this seeming confu- sion with the benevolence he attaches to this cause, he had recourse to another efibrt of his imagination ; he made a new cause, to whom he ascribed all the evil, all the misery, result- ing from this confiisioo : still, his own person sei-ved for the model, to which he added thosf deformities which he had learned to hold in disesteem : in mulnplying these counter oi destroying causea, he peopled Pandemonium OF MAN. 39 intelligent, or else siie must be govern- ed by an intelligent cause. We le^ly, ilxielligence is a I'aculty peculiar to or- gamzed belngSj that is to say, to beings constituted and combined after a de- terminate manner, from whence results certain modes of action, which are de- signated under various names, accord- ing to the ditierent eifects which these beings produce: wine has not the pro- perties called wit and courage ; never- theless, it is sometimes seen that it communicates those qualities to men who are supposed to be in themselves entirely devoid of them. It cannot be said that nature is intelligent after the manner of any one of the beings she contains ; but she can produce intelli- gent beings, by assembling matter suitable to form the particular organ- ization, from whose peculiar modes of action will result the faculty called in- telligence, who shall be capable of pro- ducing those effects which are the ne- cessary consequence of this property. I therefore repeat, that to have intelli- gence, designs, and views, it is requi- site to have ideas : to the production of ideas, organs or senses are neces- sary : this is what is neither said of nature, nor of the causes he has sup- posed to preside over her actions. In short, experience proves beyond a doubt that matter, which is regarded as inert and dead, assumes sensible action, intelligence, and life, when it is com- ^^ bined after particular modes. Fiom Avhat has been said, it must be concluded, that order is never more than the necessary, the uniform con- nexion of causes with their effects ; or that series of action which flows from the peculiar properties of beings so long as they remain in a given state — that confusion is nothing more than the change of this state — that, in the universe, all is necessarily in order; because every thing acts and moves according to the properties of the beings it contains — that, in nature, there can- not be either confusion, or real evil, since every thing follows the laws of its natural existence — that there is neither :Aance^ nor anv thing fortui- tous in this nature, where no effect is produced without a sufficient cause ; where all causes act necessarily ac- cording to fixed, to certain laws, which are themselves dependant on the esse - tial properties of these causes, as well as on the combination or modilicalion which constitutes either their transi- tory or permanent state — that intelli- gence is a mode of acting, a method of existence, natural to some particular beings — that, if this intelligence should be attril)uted to nature, it would then be nothing more than the faculty of conserving herself in active existence by necessary means. In refusing to nature the intelligence he himself en- joys — in rejecting the intelligent cau.>e which is supposed to be the contriver of this nature, or the principle of that order he discovers in he- course, noth- ing is given to chance., nothing to a blind cause ; but every thing he be- holds is attributed to real, to known causes, or to such as are easy of com- prehension. All that exists is ac- knowledged to be a consequence of the inherent properties of eternal matter, which, by contact, by blending, by combination, by change of form, pro- duces order and confusion, and all those varieties which assail his sight — it is liiuiself who is blind, when he imagines blind causes — man only manifested his ignorance of the powers and laws of nature, when he attributed any of its effects to chance. He did not show a more enlightened mind when he as- cribed them to an intelligence, the idea ol which is always borrowed from him- self, but which is never in conformity with the effects which he attributes to its intervention — he only imagined words to supply the place of things, and believed he understood them by thus obscuring ideas which he never dared either define or analyze. CHAPTER VI. Of Man — Of his Distinction into Moral and Physical — Of his Origin. Let us now apply the general laws we have scrutinized, to those beings of nature who interest us the most. Let us see in wliat man differs from the other beings by which he is surround- ed. Let us examine if he has not cer- tain points in conformity with them that oblige him, notwithstanding the different properties they respectively possess, to act in certain respects ac- «»ording to the univeisal laws to which 40 OP MAN. every thing is submitted. Finally, let as inquire if the ideas he has formed of himself in meditating on his own pe- culiar mode of existence, be chimeri- cal, or founded in reason. Man occupies a place amidst that crowd, that multitude of beings, of which nature is the assemblage. His essence, that is to say, the peculiar manner of existence by which he is distinguished from other beings, ren- ders him susceptible of various modes of action, of a variety of motion, some of wliich are simple and visible, others concealed and complicated. His life ifselt'is nothingmore than a long series, a, succession of necessary and con- nected motion, which operates perpet- ual and continual changes in his ma- chine ; which has for its principle either I causes contained wuthin himself, such as blood, nerves, fibres, flesh, bones, in short, the matter, as well solid as fluid, of which his body is composed — or those exterior causes, which, by acting upon him, modify him diversely ; such as the air with which he is encompass- ed, the aliments by which he is nourish- ed, and all those objects from which he receives any impulse whatever by the impression they make on his senses. Man, like all other beings in nature, tends to his own preservation — he ex- periences inert force — he gravitates upon himself — he is attracted by ob- jects that are analogous, and repelled by those that are contrary to him — he seeks after some— he flies or endeavours to remove himself from others. It is this variety of action, this diversity of modification of which the human being is suscej)tible, that >.as been designated under such ditierent names, bv such varied nomenclature. It will be ne- cessary, presently, to examine these closely and in detail. However marvellous, however hid- di'i), however complicated, may be the modes of action which the human frame undergoes, whether interiorly or exteriorly ; whatever may be, or ap- pear to be the impulse he either re- ceives or communicates, examined closely it will be found that all his motion, all his operations, all his changes, all his various states, all his revolutions, are constantly regulated by the same laws, which nature has pre- scribed to all the beings she brino-s forth — which she develops — which she enriches with faculties — of which she increases the bulk — Avhich she con- serves for a season — which she ends by decomposing or destroying — thus obliging them to change their form. Man, in his origin, is an impercepti- ble point, a speck, of which the parts are without form ; of which the mobili- ty, the life, escapes his senses ; in short, in which he does not perceive any sign of those qualities called sen- timent^ feeling^ thought, intelligence, force, reason, &c. Placid in the womb suitable to his expansion, this point unfolds, extends, increases by the continual addition of matter he at- tracts that is analogous to his being, which consequently assimilates itself with him. Having quitted this womb, so appropriate to conserve his exist- ence, to unfold his qualities, to strength- en his habit ; so competent to give, for a season, consistence to the weak rudi ■ ments of his frame ; he becomes adult : his body has then acquired a consider- able extension of bulk, his motion is marked, his action is visible, he is sen- sible in all his parts ; he is a living, an active mass ; that is to say, he feels, thinks, and fulfils the functions pecu- liar to beings of his species. But how has he become sensible? Because he has been by degrees nourished, enlarg- ed, repaired by the continual attraction that takes place within himself of that kind of matter which is pronounced inert, insensible, inanimate ; although continually combining itself Avith his machine, of which it forms an active whole, that is living, that feels, judges, reasons, wills, deliberates, chooses, elects ; with a capability of labouring, more or less efficaciously, to his own individual preservation ; that is to say, to the maintenance of the harmony or his natural existence. All the motion and changes tha.t man experiences in the course of his life, whether it be from exterior objects, or from those substances contained with- in himself, are either favourable or prejudicial to his existence ; either maintain its order, or throw it into con- fusion ; are either in conformity with, or repugnant to the essential tendency of his peculiar mode of being. He is compelled by nature to approve of some, to di -approve of others ; some of neces- sity rc'iuier him hiippy, others contri- bute to his misery; some become the objects ol" his most ardent desire, other-; of his determined aversion : some elicit his confidence, others make him trem- ble with tear. In all the phenomena man presents, from the moment he quits the womb of his mother, to that wherein he be- comes the inhabitant of the silent tomb, he perceives nothing but a succession of necessary causes and effects, which are strictly conformable to those laws common to all the beintis in nature. All his modes of action — all his sensa- tions — all his ideas — all his passions — every act of his will — every impulse he either gives or receives, are the neces- ,sary consequences of his own peculiar properties, and those which he finds in the various beings by whom he is moved. Every thing he does — every thing that passes within himself, are the effects of inert force — of self-gravi- tation — of the attractive or repulsive powers contained in his machine — of the tendency he has, in common with other beings, to his own individual preservation ; in short, of that energy which is the common property of every being he beholds. Nature, in man, does nothing more than show, in a de- cided manner, what belongs to the pe- culiar nature by which he is distin- guished from the beings of a different system or order. The source of those errours into which man has fallen when he has contemplated himself, has its rise, as will presently be shown, in the opinion he has entertained, that he moved by himself — that he always acts by his own natural energy — that in his actions, in the will that gave him impulse, he was independent of the general laws of nature, and of those objects which, frequently without his knowledge, and always in spite of him, are, in obedience to these laws, continually acting upon hira. If he had examined himself at- tentively, he must have acknowledged, that none of the motion he underwent was spontaneous — he must have dis- covered, that even hb birth depended on causes wholly out of the reach of his own powers — that it was without his own consent he entered into the system in which he occupies a place — that, from the moment in which he is No. II.— 6 O F M A N born 41 until that ill wliirh he dies, he is continually impelled by causes which, in spil(! of himself, influence his frame, modify his existence, dispose of his conduct. AVould not the slightest re flection have sufficed to prove to him, that the fluids and the solids uf which his body is composed, as well as that concealed mechanism, which he be- lieves to be independent of exterior causes, are, in fact, perpetually under the influence of these causes ; that without them he Avould find himself m a total incapacity to act? Would he not have seen, that his temperament, his constitution, did in nowise depend on himself— that his passions are the necessary consequence of this tempera- ment — that his will is influenced — his actions determined by these passions; and consequently by opinions which he has not given to himself? His blood more or less heated or abundant, hia nerves more or less braced, his fibres more or less relaxed, give him disposi- tions either transitory or durable, which are at every moment decisive of his ideas, of his desires, of his fears, of his motion, whether visible or concealed. And the state in which he finds him- self, does it not necessarily depend on the air which surrounds him diversely modified; on the various properties of the aliments which nourish him ; on the secret combinations that form them selves in his machine, which either pre serve its order, or throw it into confu- sion ? In short, had man fairly studied himself, every thing must have con- vinced hira, that in every moment of his duration, he was nothing more than a passive instrument in the hands of necessity. Thus it must appear, that where all the causes are linked one to the other, where the whole forms but one im- mense chain, there cannot be any inde- pendent, any isolated energy ; anv de- tached power. It follows, then, tliat nature, always in action, marks out In man each point of the line he is houmi to describe. It is nature that elaborates, that combines the elements of which he must be composed. — It is nature that gives him his being, his tendency, his peculiar mode of action. — It is nature that develops him, expands him, strengthens him. and preserves him for a season, during which he is obliged fir y 42 OF MAN fulfil the task imposed on him. — It is nature, that in his journey through life, strews on the road those objects, those events, those adventures, that modify him in a variety of ways, and give him impulses Avhich are sometimes agree- able and beneficial, at others prejudicial and disagreeable. — It is nature, that in giving him feeling, has endowed him witn capacity to choose the means, and to take those methods that are most conducive to his conservation. — It is nature, who, when he has finislied his career, conducts him to his destruction, and thus obliges him to undergo the constant, the universal law, from the operation of which nothing is exem})ted. It is thus, also, motion brings man forth out of the womb, sustains him for a season, and at length destroys him, or obliges him to return into the bosom of nature, who speedily reproduces him, scattered under an infinity of forms, in which each of his particles will, in the same manner, run over again the differ- ent stages, as necessarily as the whole had before run over those of his pre- ceding existence. The beings of the human species, as well as all other beings, are susceptible of two sorts of motion : the one, that of the mass, by which an entire body, or some of its parts, are visibly transferred from one place to another; the othef, internal and concealed, of some of which man is sensible, Avhile some takes place without his knowledge, and is not even to be guessed at but by the effect it outwardly produces. In a machine so extremely complex as man, formed by the combination of such a multiplicity of matter, so diversified in its properties, so different in its propor- tions, so varied in its modes of action, the motion necessarily becomes of the most complicated kind ; its dullness, as well as its rapidity, frequently escapes the observation of those themselves in whom it takes place. Let us not, then, be surprised, if when man would account to himself for his existence, for his manner of acting, finding so many obstacles to encounter, he invented such strange hypotheses to explain the concealed spring of his machine — if when this motion appeared to him to be different from that of other bodies, he conceived an idea that he moved and acted in a manner altogether distinct from the otlier oeings m nature. He clearly perceived that iris body, as well as different parts of it, did act; but, frequently, he was unable to dis- cover what brought tliem into action : he then conjectured he contained within himself a moving principle distinguish- ed from his machine, Avhich secretly gave an impulse to the springs Avhich set this machine in motion ; that moved him by its own natural energy ; and that consequently he acted according to laws totally distinct from those which regulated the motion of other beings. He was conscious of certain internal motion which he could not help feeling ; but how could he conceive that this invisible motion was so frequently com- petent to produce such striking effects 1 How could he comprehend that a fugitive idea, an imperceptible act of thought, could frequently bring his whole being into trouble and confu- sion ? He fell into the belief, that he perceived within himself a substance distinguished from that self, endowed with a secret force, in which he sup- posed existed qualities distinctly differ- ing from those of either the visible causes that acted on his organs, or those organs themselves. He did not sufficiently understand, that the primi- tive caust which makes a stone fall, or his arm move, are perhaps as difficult of comprehension, as arduous to be explained, as those internal impulses of which his thought or his will are the effects. Thus, for want of medi- tating nature — of considering her under her true point of view — of remarking the conformity and noticing the simul- taneity of the motion of this fancied motive-power with that of his body and of his material organs — he con- jectured he was not only a distinct being, but that he was set apart, with different energies, from all the other beings in nature ; that he was of a more simple essence, having nothing in com- mon with any thing that he beheld.* * " We must," says an anonymous writer, "define life, before we can reason upon the soul : but this is what 1 esteem impossible, because there are things in nature so simple that imagination cannot divide them, nor re- duce them to any thing more simple than themselves: such is life, lehiteness, and light, which we have not been able to define but by their effects." — See Miscellaneous Disserta- tions, printed at Amsterdam, 1740, page 232. — OF MAN. It IS from thence hi« notions of spi- ritnitlily, ivDiialrridlili/. inimnrtality, liave succe.-^sively spruni''; in short, all those vague unmeaniiiij words he has invented by degrees, in order to subtilize and designate the attributes of the un- known poAver which he believes he 4i present dav. arf only gratuitous sujipositions phers of tli founded on Man has always believed he remedied his ignorance of things by inventing words to which he could never attach any true sense or meaning. l\v ima- gined he understood matter, its proper contains within himself, and which he ties, its faculties, its resources, its dif- conjectures to be the concealed prin- ciple of all his visible actions.* To crown the bold conjectures he ventured to make on this internal motive-power, he supposed that dillerent from all other beings, even from the body that served to envelop it, it was not bound to un- dergo dissolution ; that such was its perfect simplicity, that it could not be decomposed, nor even change its form ; in short, that it was by its essence exempted from those revolutions to which he saw the body subjected, as well, as all the compound beings with which nature is filled. Thus man became double ; he looked upon himself as a Avhole, composed by the inconceivable assemblage of two distinct natures, which had no point of analogy between themselves: he dis- tinguished tAVo sub-stances in himself; one evidently submitted to the influence of gross beings, composed of coarse inert matter: this he called bo(hj : — the other, which he supposed to be simple, and of a purer essence, was contemplated as acting from itself, and giving motion to the body with which it found itself so miraculously united: this he called soul or spirit : the func- tions of the one he denominated j)hijsi ferent combinations, because he had a superficial glimpse of some of its qualities : he has, however, in reality done nothing more than obscure the faint ideas he has been capacitated to form of this matter, by associating it with a substance much less intelli oe clian•, is riirhl, whilst every thing is only that which it can be, and the whole is necessarily what it is, and whilst it is positively neither trood nor bad. It is only requisite to displace a man to make him accuse the universe of confusion. These reflections would appear to contradict the ideas of those who are willing to conjecture that the other planets, like our own, are inhabited by beings resembling ourselves. But if the Laplander dilfers in so marked a manner from the Hottentot, what dilfer- ence ought we not rationally to suppose between an inhabitant of our planet and one of Saturn or of Venus ? However, if we are obliged to recur, by imagination, to the origin of things, to the infancy of the human species, we may say, that it is probaole man was a necessary consequence of the disentangling ot our jjlobe, or one of the results of the qualities, of the pro- perties, of the energies of which il is 46 OF MAN. susceptible in its present position; — ihat he was born male and female ; — that his existence is co-ordinate with that of the globe, under its present position ; — that as long as this co-ordi- nation shall subsist, the human species will conserve himself, will propagate himself, according to the impulse and the primitive laws Avhich he has origi- nally received — that, if this co-ordina- tion should happen to cease ; if the earth, displaced, should cease to receive the same impulse, the same influence, on the \r,\it of those causes which actu- ally act upon it and give it energy ; that then, the human species would change to make place for new beings suitable to co-order themselves with the state that should succeed to that which we noAV see subsist. In thus supposing changes in the position of our globe, the primitive man did, perhaps, ditTer more from the actual man than the quadruped differs from the insect. Thus, man, the same as every thing else^ that exists on our planet, as well as in all the others, may be regarded as in a state of con- tinual vicissitude : thus, the last term of the existence of man, is, to us. as unknown, as indistinct, as the first : there is, therefore, no contradiction in the belief, that the species vary inces- santly ; and it is as impossible to know what he will become, as to know what he has been. With respect to those Avho may ask, why nature does not produce new beings ? we inquire of them in turn, upon what foundation they suppose this fact? What is it that authorizes them to believe this sterility in nature? Know they, if, in the various combina- tions which she is every instant form- ing, nature be not occupied in producing new beings without the cognizance of these observers? Who has informed them that this nature is not actually assembling in her immense elaboratory the elements suitable to bring to light generations entirely new, that will have nothing in common with those of the species at present existing ?* What * How do we know that the various beings and productions said to have been created at the same time with man, are not the posterior and spontaneous production of Nature? Four thousand years ago man became acquainted with the lion : — well ! what are four thousand years'] Who can prove that the lion, seen for absurdity, then, or what want of just inference would there be to imagine, that man, the horse, the fish, the biidj Avill be no more 1 Are these animals so indispensably requisite to nature, that without them she cannot continue her eternal course ? Does not all change around us? Do Ave not change our seh-es ? Is it not evident that the AA'hole universe has not been, in its anterior eternal duration, rigorously the same that it noAv is ; that it is impossible, in its posterior eternal duration, it can be rigidly in the same state that it noAv is for a single instant ? Hoav, then, pre- tend to divine the infinite succession of destruction, of reproduction, of combi- nation, of dissolution, of metamorphosis, of change, of transposition, Avhich may eventually take place? Suns encrust themselves, and are extinguished ; pla- nets perish and disperse themselves in the A^ast plains of air ; other suns are kindled ; neAv planets form themselves, either to make revolutions round these suns, or to describe new routes ; and man, an infinitely small portion of the globe, Avhich is itself but an impercep- tible point in the immensity of space, vainly believes it is for himself this universe is made ; foolishly imagines he ought to be the confidant of nature ; confidently flatters himself he is eternal, and calls himself king of the universe ! 1 O man ! Avilt thou never co«ceive that thou art but an ephemeron ? All changes in the universe : nature contains no one constant form, yet thou pretendest that thy species can never disappear; that thou shalt be exempted from the uni- versal laAv, that Avills all shall expe- rience change ! Alas ! in thy actual being, art thou not submitted to con- tinual alterations? Thou, Avho in thy folly arrogantly assumest to thyself the title of KING OF NATDRE ! TllOU, AA^hO measurest the earth and the heavens ! Thou, AA^ho i^i thy vanity imaginest that the Avhole Avas made because thou art intelligent ! there requires but a very slight accident, a single atom to be dis- placed, to make thee perish ; to degrade thee ; to ravish from thee this intelli- gence of AA^hich thou appearest so proud. the first time by man four thousand years ago, had not then been in existence thousands of years ? or aaain, that this hon was not pro duced thousands of years after the proud bij)ed who arrogantly calls himself kins^ of the uni- verse. ? ^ OF THE SOUL. 47 If all the precedinij conjectures be refused ; if" it be pretended tliat nature act'* by a certain quantum of immuta- ble and general laws ; if it be believed that men, (|uadrupeds, fish, insects, plants, are from all eternity, and will remain eternally what they now are : if it be contended, that from all eterni- ty the stars have shone in the immense regions of space ; if it be insisted that we must no more demand why man is such as he appears than ask why na- ture is such as we behold her, or why the world exists ; we shall no longer oppo'^e such arguments. Whatever may be the system adopted, it will perhaps reply equally weli to the difficulties with which our opponents endeavour to embarrass the wav : examined close- ly, it will be perceived they make nothing against those truths which we have gathered from experience. It is not given to man to know every thing: it is not given him to know his origin : it is not given him to penetrate into the essence of things, nor to recur to first principles ; but it is given him to have reason, to have honesty, to ingenuous- ly allow he is ignorant of that which he cannot know, and not to substitute unintelligible words and absurd sup- positions for nis uncertainty. Thus we say to those who, to solve difficul- ties, pretend that the human species descended from a first man and a first woman, created by a God, that we have some ideas of nature, but that we have none of the Divinity nor of creation, and that to use these words, is only in other terms to acknowledge our ignorance of the powers of nature, and our inability to fathom the means by which she has been capacitated to produce the phe- nomena we behold.* Let us then conclude, that man has no reason to believe himself a privi- leged being in nature, for he is subject l3 the same vici/:situdes as all her other fffoduciions. His pretended preroga- tives have their foundation in errour. Let him but elevate himself, by his thoughts, above the globe he inhabits, and he will look upon his own species * Ut Tragici poetse confuciunt ad Deum aliqueni, cum ahter explicare argiiincnti exl- tuni non possunt. Cicero, /u«, y'JXii f^^^- — See Marc. Anlonin., Lib. iii. § 10. t Accordins: to Orisen, ao-aittiTo?, incor- poreus, an epithet given to God, signifies a substance more subtile than that of gross bodies. Tertullian says, Quis autem negabit deum esse corpus, etsi deu? spiritus? The same Tertullian savs. Nus antem animam OP THE SOUL. 51 CleriK'iit of AU'xaiulria, Oiigen. Saint Justin, Irenacus, have never spoken of it other than as a corporeal substance. It was reserved for tiieir successors, at a great distance of time, to make tlie human soul, and the soul of tlie world, jjitre spirits ; that is to say, immaterial substances, of wiiich it is impossible to fonn any accurate idea : by degrees liiis incomprehensible doctrine of spi- ritiiaiilv, conformal)lc without doubt to the vitws of theuloijians who make it a principle to annihilate reason, pre- vailed over the others:* this doctrine was believed divine and supernatural, because it was inconceivable to man. Those who dared believe iJiat the soul was material^ were held as rash, in- considerate madmen, or else treated as enemies to the welfare and happiness of the 'human race. Wiien man had once renounced experience and abjured his reason, he did nothing more, day after day, than subtili/e the ravings of his imagination : he pleased himself by cuntinually sinking (keeper into tlie most luifathomable de])ths of-errour ; and he Iclicitated himself on his discoveries, on his pretended knowledge, in an exact ratio as his understanding became en- veloped with the clouds of ignorance. Tlius, in consequence of man's reason- ing upon false principles, the soul, or moving principle within him, as well as the concealed moving principle of Nature, have been made mere chime- ras, mere beings of the imagination.! corporalem et hie profitcmur, et in suo volu- niinc probanius, habcntcin propriuin genus substanlitt. soliciitatis, per quani quid I't scntire ft pali possit V. Dc Rcsumcliunc Carnis. * The system of spirituality, such as it is niiniiWed at this day, owes all its pretended proofs to Descartes. Aithoufrh before liim tlie soul had been considered spiritual, he was the first who estal)lisbed that "that wliicli tliitiksviiglit tohcdintinL'uislicdfrom matter ;" from whence he concludes that the soul, or that ^vliich thinks in man, is a spirit — that is to say, a simple and indivisible substance. Would it not have been more consistent with ioLMc and reason to have said that, sinr<>. man, "•ho is matter and who has no iflej j it of i\>.s:ter, enjoys the faculty of thouirht, ,natter ra.i think — that is, it is susceptible of that partic'ilar modification called thousriit. — See Baijtc^s Dictionary, Art. Pomponatius and Siinor.idcs. t Althoui^h there is so little reason and philosophy in the system of spirituality, yet we must confess that it requirca deep cunning on the part of the selfish theologians who invented it. To render man susceptible of Therefore the doctrine of spirituality ort'ers nothing but vague ideas — or ra- ther is the absence of all ideas. What does it present to the mind, but a sub- stance which possesses nothing of which our senses enable us to have a knowledge? Can it be truth, that man is able to figure to himself a being not material, having neither extent nor parts, which, nevertheless, acts upon matter without having any point of contact, any kind of analogy with it, aiul which itself receives the im])ulse of matter by means of material organs, Avhich announce to it the presence of other beings? Is it possible to con- ceive the union of the soul with the body, and to comprehend how^ this material body can bind, enclose, con- strain, determine a fugitive being which escapes all our senses? Is it honest to solve these difficulties by saying there is a mystery in them ; that they are the effects of an omnipotent power more inconceivable than the human soul and its mode of acting? When, to resolve these problems, man is obliiied to have recourse to miracles, and to make the Divinity interfere, does he not avow his own ignorance ? Let us not, then, be surprised at those subtle hypotheses, as ingenious as they are unsatisfactory, to which theological prejudice has obliged the most i)rofound modern speculators to recur, when they have undertaken to reconcile the sjji- rituality of the soul with the physical action of material beings on this incor- poreal substance, its reaction upon these beings, and its union with the body. W'hen the human mind permits itself to be guided by authority without proof- to be led forward by enthusiasm— when it reiiounces the evidence of its senses ; what can it do more than sink into errour ?| rewards and punishments after death, it was necessary to exempt some portion of him from corruption and (iissolutioii— a doctrine ex- tremely useful to jiriests, whose trreat aim is to iniimidate, govern, and plunder the igno- rant — a doctrine which enai)l(s them even to perplex niany enlightened j)ersons, who are equally incapable of comprehending the "*i//;- limc trutlis" about the soul and the Divinity! These honest priests fell us, that this I'mwia- ierial soul shall be burnt, or, in other words, shall experience in hell the action of the material element of fire, and we behove them upon their word!!! t Those who wish to form nn idea of the shackles imposed by theology on ilie geniu." Ob THE SOUL. ]C man wishes to form to himself clear ideas of his soul, let him throw himself back on his experience ; let him renounce his prejudices; let him avoid theological conjecture ; let him tear the sacred l)andage with which he has been blindlblded only to confound his reason. Let the natural philosopher, let the anatomist, let the physician, unite their experience and compare their observa- tions, in order to show what ought to be thought of a substance so disguised under a heap of absurdities: let their discoveries teach moralists the true motive-power that ought to influence the actions of man — legislators, the true motives that should excite him to labour to the welfare of society — sovereigns, the means of rendering truly happy the subjects committed to their charge. Physical souls have physical wants, and demand physical and real happi- ness, far preferable to that variety of fanciful chimeras with Avhich the mind of man has been fed during so many ages. Let us labour to perfect the morality of man ; let us make it agree- able to him ; and we shall presently see his morals become better, himself become happier; his mind become calm and serene ; his will determined to vir- tue by the natural and palpable motives held out to him. By the diligence and care which legislators shall bestow on natural philosophy, they will form citi- zens of sound understanding, robust and well constituted, Avho, finding them- selves happy, will be themselves acces- sary to that useful impulse so necessary to general happiness. When the body is suffering, when nations are unhappy, the mind cannot be in a proper state. Mens Sana in corpnre sano, a sound mind in a sound body, this always makes a good citizen. The more man reflects, the more he will be convinced that the soul, very far from being distinguished from the body, is only che body itself considered relatively to some of its functions, or to some of the modes of existing or acting of which it is susceptible whilst it en- of philosophers born under the " Christian dispensation" let them read the metaphysical romances of Leibnitz, Descartes, Malebranche, Cudworth, etc. and coolly examine the inge- nious but rhapsodical systems entitled the Pre-established harmony of occasional causes ; Physical pre-motion, etc joys life. Thus, the soul is man con sidered relatively to the faculty he has of feeling, of thinking, and of acting in a mode resulting from his peculiar nature; that is to say, from his pro- perties, from his particular organiza- tion ; from the modifications, whether durable or transitory, which the beings who act upon him cause his machine to undergo.* Those who have distinguished the soul from the body, appear only to have distinguished their brain from them- selves. Indeed, the brain is the com- mon centre where all the nerves, dis- tributed through every part of the body, meet and blend themselves : it is by the aid of this interior organ that all those operations are performed which are attributed to the soul : it is the im- pulse, the motion, communicated to the nerve, Avhich modifies the brain: in consequence, it reacts, and gives play to the bodily organs, or rather it acts upon itself, and becomes capable of producing within itself a great variety of motion, which has been designated intellectual faculties. From this it may be seen, that some philosophers have been desirous to make a spiritual substance of the brain ; but it is evidently ignorance that has both given birth to, and accredited this system, which embraces so little of the natural. It is from not having studied himself that man has supposed he was compounded with an agent essentially different from his body: in examining this body he will find that it is quite useless to recur to hypothesis to explain the various phenomena it presents ; I'or * When a theologian, obstinately bent on admitting into man two substances essentially difi'erent, is asked why he multiplies beings without necessity 7 he will reply, " Because thought cannot be a property of matter." If, then, it be inquired of him, " Cannot God give to matter the faculty of thought?" he will answer, " Nol seeing that God cannot do im- possible things .'" But this is atheism, for, acco.-dinfr to nis principles, it is as impossible tha* pp'ntor thought can produce matter, as it is in possible that matter can produce spir^ or thought: it must, therefore, be concluaed against liim, that the world was not made by a spirit, any more than a spirit was made by the world ; that the world is eternal, and if an eternal spirit exists, then we have two eternal beings, which is absurd. If, therefore, there is only one eternal substance, it is the wrrld, whose existence cannot be doubted or de nied. OF THE INTELLECT. nypothesis can do nothing more than lead him out of the right road. AVhat ohscurcs tliis question, arises I'rom tliis, lliat man eannot see himself: indeed, for this I'urpose it Avouhl be recjui^ite that he eon hi be at one and tlie same moment botli within and without iiim- self. Man may be compared to an Eolian harp, tiiat issues sounds of it self, and should demand what it is that causes it to give them forth ? it does not perceive that the sensitive quality ol" its chords causes the air to brace them ; that being so braced, it is rendered sonorous by every gust of wind with which it comes in contact. The more experience we collect, the more we shall be convinced that the word sjn'j-it conveys no one sense even to those that invented it ; consequently, cannot be of the least use either in phy- sics or morals. "What modern metaphy- sicians believe and understand by the word, is in truth nothing more than an occult power, imagined to explain oc- cult qualities and actions, but which, in fact, explains nothing. Savage na- tions admit of spirits to account to themselves for those eflects Avhich to them appear marvellous, and the cause of which they ignore. In attributing to spirits the phenomena of nature, as well as those of the human body, do we, in fact, do. any thing more than reason like savages ? Man has filled nature with spirits, because he has almost always been ignorant of the true causes of those elfects by which he was astonished. Not being ac- quainted with the powers of nature, he has supposed her to be animated by a great spirit: not understanding the energy of the human frame, he has, in like manner, conjectured it to be ani- mated by a spirit : from this it would ajipear, that whenever he wished to in- dicate the unknown cause of the i)he- uomena he knew not how to explain in a natural manner, he had recourse to the word spirit. It was according to these principles, that when the Americans first beheld the terrible ef- fects of gunpowder, they ascribed the cause to their Spirits or Divinities : it is by adopting these principles that we now believe in Angels and Demons, and that our ancestors believed in a plurality of Gods, in ghosts, in genii, &c., and pursuing the same track, we ought to attribute to sj)irits graviiaiion, electricity, magnetism, »^c., &c.^ CHAPTER Vin. Of the JiUdlcclual Faaillks ; tliey ore oil dc rived from the F'acullij of J-'tiliii^'. To convince ourselves that the facul- ties called iiitt'ltcctiial, are unlv cer- tain modes of existence, or determinate manners of acting w:hicli result troni the peculiar organization of the bodv, we have only to analyze them : we shall then see, that all the operations which are attributed to the soul, are nothing more than certain modificaliuns of the body, of which a substance that is without extent, that has no parts, that is iimnaterial, is not susceptible. The first faculty we behold in the living man, that from which all his others How, in feeling : however inex- plicable this faculty may appear on a first view, if it be examined closely, it will be found to be a consequence of the essence, a result of the properties of organized beings; the same i;s gravitij, magnetism, elasticity, elec- tricitij, &.C. result iVom the essence or nature of some others ; and we shall also find that these last phenomena are not less inexplicable than that of feel- ing. Nevertheless, if we w^ish to de- fine to ourselves a precise idea of it, we shall find that feeling is a particu- lar manner of being moved peculiar to certain organs of animated bodies, oc- casioned by the presence of a material object that acts upon these organs, and which transmits the impulse or shock to the brain. ♦ It is evident that the notion of spirits, imagined by savages and adopted by tlie ig- norant, is calculated to retard tlie progress of knowledge, since it iirechuies our researches into tile True cause of the etfects which we see, by keepinj; the human mind in apathy and sloth. This state of ignorance may be very useful to <:r;ifly theologians, but very in- jurious to society. This is tlie reason, iiow- ever, why in all ages priests have perseciili d those who have been the (irsl to give natural explanations of tiie phenomena ol nathre— as witness Anaxagoras, Aristotle, Galileo, Des- cartes — and, more reeenliy, Richard Carlilc, William Lawrence, Robert Taylor, and Abiar Knceland; to which we may add the name of the learned and venerable Thomas Coopt r M.D., lately president of Columbia C'ol'egc South Carolina. 54 OF THE INTELLECT. Man only feels by the aid of nerves dispersed through his body, which is itself, to speak correctly, nothing more than a great nerve ; or may be said to resemble a large tree, of which the branches experience the action of the root communicated through the trunk. In man the nerves unite and loose themselves in the brain ; that intestine is the true seat of feeling: like the spider suspended in the centre of his web, it is quickly wamied of all the changes that happen to the body, even at the extremities to which it sends its filaments and branches. Experience enables us to ascertain that man ceases to feel in those parts of his body of which the communication with the brain is intercepted ; he feels veiy little, or not at all, whenever this organ is itself deranged or affected in too lively a "manner.* However this may be, the sensibility of the brain, and of all its parts, is a fact. If it be asked, whence comes this property '? We shall reply, it is the result of an arrangement, of a combina- tion, peculiar to the animal ; insomuch, that coarse and insensible matter ceases to be so by animalizing itself, that is to say, by combining and identifying itself with the animal. It is thus that milk, bread, wine, change themselves in the substance of man, who is a sensible being : this insensible matter becomes sensible in combining itself with a sensible whole. Some philosophers * A proof of this is afforded in the Trans- actions of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris : they inform us of a man, who had his scull taken off, in the room of which his brain was re-covered with skin ; and in proportion as apressu.-e was made hy the hand on his brain, the man fell into a kind of insensibility which deprived him of all feeling. Bartolin says, the brain of a man is twice as big as that of an ox. This obser\'ation had been already made by Aristotle. In the dead body of an idiot dissected by Willis, the brain was found smaller than ordinary : he says, the greatest difference he found between the parts of the body of this idiot, and those of wser men, was, that the plexus of the intercostal nerves, which is the mediator between the brain and the heirt, was extremely small, accompanied by a less number of nerves than usual. Ac- cording to Willis, the ape is of all animals that wnich has the largest brain, relatively to nis size: he is also, after man, that which has the most intelligence; and this is further con- firmed by the name he bears in the soU to which he is indigenous, which is orang out- ang, or the man beast. There is, therefore, think that sensibility is a universal quality of matter: in this case it Avould be useless to seek from whence this property is derived, as we know it by its effects. If this hypothes''^ be ad- mitted, in like manner as tAvo kinds of motion are distinguished in nature, the one called live force, the other dead, or iiiei't force, two sorts of sensibility will be distinguished — the one active or live, the other inert or dead. Then to ani- malize a substance, is only to destroy the obstacles that prevent its being active or sensible. In fact, sensibility is either a quality which communicates itself like motion, and which is acquired by combination ; or this sensibility is a property inherent in all matter : in both, or either case, an unextended being, without parts, such as the human soul is said to be, can neither be the cause of it, nor submitted to its operation.f The conformation, the arrangement, the texture, the delicacy of the organs, as well exterior as interior, which com- pose men and animals, render their parts extremely mobile, and make their machine susceptible of being moved with great facility. In a body, which is only a heap of fibres, a mass of nerves, contiguous one to the other, and united in a common centre, always ready to act ; in a whole, composed of fluids and of solids, of which the parts are in equi- librium ; of which the smallest touch each other, are active, rapid in their motion, communicating reciprocally, every reason to believe that it is entirely in the brain that consists the difTerence that is found not only between man and beasts, but also between the man of wit and the fool ; between the thinking rnan and he who is ig- norant; between the man of sound under- standing and the madman. And again, a multitude of experience proves that those per- sons who are most accustomed to use their intellectual faculties, have their brain more extended than others : the same has been re- marked of watermen or rowers, that they have arms much larger than other men. t All the parts of nature enjoy the capa- bility to arrive at animation; the obstacle is only in the state not in the quality. Life is the perfection of nature : she has no parts which do not tend to it, and which do not attain it by the same means. Life, in an insect, a dog, a man, has no other difTerence than that this act is more perfect, relatively to ourselves, in proportion to the structure of tha organs : if, therefore, it be asked, what is requi- site to animate a bodv? we reply, it needs no foreign aid, it is sufficient that the power ot nature be joined to its organization. OP THE INTELLECT. 55 alieinately and in succession, the im- j)ressions, the oscillations, the shocks they receive ; in such a compusiiion, 1 say, it is not at all surprising that the slightest impul>e jiropagates itself with celerity ; that the shocks excited in its remotest parts make themselves quickly felt in the hrain, whose delicate texture renders it susceptihle of heing itself very easily modified. Air, fne, water, agents the most inconstant, possessing the most rapid motion, circulate continually in the fibres, incessantly penetrate the nerves, and without doubt contribute to that incredible celerity with which the brain is acquainted with what passes at the extremities of the body. Notwithstanding the great mobility of which man's organization renders him susceptible ; although exterior as well as interior causes are continually acting upon him, he does not always feel in a distinct, in a decided manner, the impulse given to his senses : indeed, he does not feel it until it has produced some change, or given some shock to his brain. Thus, although completely environed by air, he does not feel its action until it is so modified as to strike with a sufficient degree of force on his organs and his skin, through which his brain is warned of its presence. Thus, during a profound and tranquil sleep, undisturbed by any dream, man ceases to feel. In short, notAvithstanding the continued motion that agitates his frame, man does not appear to feel when this motion acts in a convenient order; he does not perceive a state of health, but he discovers a state of grief or sickness; because, in the first, his brain does not receive too lively an impulse. Avhilst in the others his nerves are contracted, shocked, agitated, witii violent and di:?- orderly motion, thus giving notice that some cause acts strongly upon them, and impels them in a manner that bears no analogy with their natural habit: this constitutes in him that jieculiar mode of existing which he calls erief. On the other hand, it sometimes hap- pens that exterior objects produce very considerable changes on his body, with- out his perceiving them at the moment. Often, in the heat of battle, the soldier uerceives not that he is dangerously wounded ; because at the time the lapidity, the multiplicity of im})etuous motions that assail his brain, do not permit iiim to distinguish the particular change a part of his body has undergone by the wound. In short, when a great number of causes art simuliuneojsly acting on him with too much vivacity, he sinks under their accumilated pres- sure,— he swoons— he loses his senses- he is deprived of feeling. In general, feeling only obtains when the brain can distingui-h distinctly the impressions made on the organs wiih which it has communication ; it is the distinct shock, the decided modification, man undergoes, that constitutes con- science* From whence it will appear, that feel'ni'T is a mode of being, or a marked change, produced on our bram by the impulse communicated to our organs, whether by interior or exterior agents, and by which it is modified either in a durable or transient manner. In fact, it is not always requisite that man's organs should be moved by an exterior object to enable him to be con- scious of the changes elTected in him: he can feel them within himself by means of an interior impulse ; his brain is then modified, or rather, he renews within himself the anterior modifica- tions. We should not be astonished that the brain should be necessarily warned •of the shocks, of the impedi- ments, of the changes that may happen to so complicaterhich the sensation of light, or colour, is experienced : these give to the brain a distinct perception, in consequence of which man forms an idea generated by the action of luminous or coloured bodies : as soon as the eyelids are opened, the retina is affected in a pe- culiar manner ; the fluid, the fibres, the nerves, of which they are composed, are excited by shocks which they com municate to the brain, and to which they delineate the images of the bodies from which they have received the impulse ; by this means an idea is acquired of the colour, the size, the form, the distance of these bodies: it is thus that may be explained the mechanism of sigJU. The mobility and the elasticity of which the skin is rendered susceptible by the fibres and nerves which form its texture, account for the rapidity with which this envelope to the human body is affected when applied to any other body : by their agency the brain has notice of its presence, of its extent, of its roughness, of its smoothness, of its surface, of its pressure, of its pon- derosity, &c. — qualities from which the brain derives distinct perceptions, which breed in it a diversity of ideas; it is this that constitutes the touch. The delicacy of the membra.ne by which the interior of the nostrils is covered, renders them easily suscepti- ble of irritation, even by the invisible and impalpable corpuscles that emanate from odorous bodies : by th-is means sensations are excited, the brain has perceptions, and generates ideas : it is this that forms the sense of smelling. The mouth, filled with nervous, sen- sible, moveable, and irritable gianuis, saturated with juices suitable to the dissolution of saline substances, is af- fected in a very lively manner by the aliments which pass through it; these glands transmit to the brain the mipres- OF THE INTELLECT. 57 sions received : it is from this mecha- nism that results taste. The ear, whose conformation fits it to receive the various impulses of air diversely modified, communicates to the brain the shocks or sensations; these breed the perception of sound, and generate the idea of sonorous / bodies : it is this tiiat constitutes hear- V ing. Such are the only means by which man receives sensations, perceptions, ideas. These successive modifications of his brain are effects produced by ob- jects that give impulse to his senses ; they become themselves causes pro- ducing in his mind new modifications, which are denominated thought, re- Jlection, memory, imuisination, judg- ment, will, action; the basis, however, of all these is sensation. To form a precise notion of thought, it Avill be requisite to examine step by step what passes in man during the presence of any object Avhatever. Sup- pose, for a moment, this object to be a peach: this fruit makes, at the first view, two different impressions on his eyes ; that is to say, it produces two modifications, which are transmitted to the brain, which on this occasion ex- periences two new perceptions, has two new ideas or modes of existence, de- signated by the terms colour and ro- tundity ; in consequence, he has an idea of a body possessing roundness and colour: if he places his hand on this fruit, the organ of feeling having been set inaction, his hand experiences three new impressions, which are call- ed softness, coolness, weight, from whence result three new perceptions in the brain, and consequently three new ideas: if he approximates this peach to his nose, the organ of smell- ing receives an impulse, which, com- municated to the brain, a new percep- tion arises, by which he acquires a new idea called odour: if he carries this fruit to his mouth, the organ of taste becomes affected in a very lively man- ner; this impulse communicated to the brain, is followed by a perception that generates in him the idea of Jla- vour. In reunilin^ ; which the society in which he lives renders necessary to him, but which his industry will enable him to ol)tain without doing injury to his fellow man. The heart of man is a soil which nature has made equally suitable to, the production of brambles or of useful! grain — of deleterious poison or of re- ' freshing fruit, by virtue of the seeds which may be sown in it — -by the cul- tivation that may be bestowed upon it. In his infancy those objects are pointed ♦ Seneca has said with great reason,— Erras si e.xistimes villa nobiscum nasci ; snpervene- runt, ingesta sunt. V. Senec. Episl. 91, 95, 124 OF GOVERNMENT. 7;^ out to him which he is to estimate or to despise — to seek after or to avoid — to .ove or to hate. It is his parents aud his instructers who render him either virtuous or wicked — wise or unreason- 'ahle — studious or dissipated — steady or trifling — solid or vain.~" Tlieir example and their dis;.'Ourse modify him throui,'h his whole life, teachini]^ him what are -the things he ought either to desire or /to avoid : he desires them in conse- (' quence ; :tnd he imposes on himself \ the task of obtaining them according \ to the energy of his temperament, which ever decides the force of his passions. It is thus that education, by inspiring him with opinions and ideas either true or false, gives him those primitive im- pulsions after which he acts in a man- ner either advantageous or prejudicial, both to himself and to others. Man, at his birth, brings with him into the world nothing but the necessity of con- serving himself and of rendering his existence happy : instruction, example, the customs of the world, present him with the means, either real or imagi- nary, of achieving it: habit procures for him the facility of employing these means ; and he attaches himself strongly to those he judges best calculated to secure to him the possession of those objects which he has learned to desire as the preferable good attached to his existence. Whenever his education, whenever the examples which have been afforded him, whenever the means with which he has been provided, are approved by reason, are the result of experience, every thing concurs to ren- der him virtuous : habit strengthens these dispositions in him ; and he be- comes, in consequence, a useful mem- ber of society, to the interests of which every thing ought to prove to him that his own permanent well-being is neces- sarily allied. If, on the contrary, his education — his institutions — the exam- ples which are set before him — the opinions which are suggested to him in his infancy, are of a nature to exhibit to his mind virtue as useless and repug- nant, aud vice as useful and congenial ' to his own individual happiness, he Avill oecome vicious ; he will believe him- self interested in injuring societv ; he will be carried along by the general current: he will renounce virtue, which to him will no longer be any thing more •\o. III.— 10 than a vain idol, without atiiaciiun- to induce him to folluw it; without charms to tem|)t his adcjratiun, because it will appear to exact that he should immolate at its shrine all those object^ which he has been constantly taugiit 10 consider the most dear to himself and as benelits the most desirable. In order that man may become vir- tuous, it is absolutely requisite that he should have an interest or should find advantages in practising virtue. For this end, it is necessary that education should implant in him reasonable ideas ; that public, opinion should lean towards virtue as the most desirable good ; tiiat example should point it out as the object most worthy esteem ; that government should faithfully reward it; that honour should always accompany its practice; that vice and crime should invariably be despised and punished. Is virtue in this situation amongst men ? Does the education of man infuse into him just ideas of happiness ; true notions of virtue; dispositions really favourable to the beings with whom he is to live? The examples spread before him, are they suitable to innocence of manners? are they calculated to make him respect decency — to cause him to love probity — topraclise honesty—to value good faiih— to esteem equity — to revere conjugal fidelity — to observe exactitude in ful- filling his duties ? Religion, which alone pretends to regulate his manners, does it render him sociable — does it make him pacific — does it teach him to be humane ? The arbiters of society, are they faithful in rewarding those who have best served their country, in punishing those who have plundered, divided, and ruined it? Ju-tice. does she hold her scales with an even hand between all the citizens of the state? The laws, do they never support the strong against the weak • favour the rich against the poor; uphold the happy against the miserable? In short, is it an uncommon spectacle to Sehold crime fre(juentlv justified, or crowned with success, insolently triumphing over that merit which it disdains, over that virtue which it outrages ? Well, then, in societies thus constituted, virt/ie can only be heard by a very small number of peaceab'e citizeiis. whc know how to estimate its value, and wlio enjoy it in secret. For the others, it is onl\ a 74 OF GOVERNMENT. disgusting object, as they see ia it nothing but the supposed enemy to their happiness, or the censor of their individual conduct. If man, according to liis nature, is necessitated to desire his welfare, he is equally obliged to cherish the means by which he believes it is to be acquired : it would be useless, and perhaps unjust, to demand that a man should be virtu- ous, if he could not be so without ren- dering himself miserable. Whenever he thinks vice renders him happy, he must necessarily love vice ; whenever he sees inutility or crime rewarded and honoured, what interest will he find in occupying himself with the happiness of his fellow creatures, or in restraining the fury of his passions ? In fine, when- ever his mind is saturated with false ideas and dangerous opinions, it follows of course that his whole conduct will become nothing more than a long chain of errours, a series of depraved actions. We are informed, that the savages, m order to flatjten the heads of their children, squeeze them between two boards, by that means preventing them from taking the shape designed for them by nature. It is pretty nearly the same thing with the institutions of man ; they commonly conspire to coun- te,act nature — to constrain — to divert — to extinguish the impulse nature has given him, to substitute others which are the source of all his misfortunes. In almost all the countries of the earth man is bereft of truth, is fed with false- hoods, is amused with marvellous chi- meras : he is treated like those children whose members are, by the imprudent care of their nurses, swathed with little fillets, bound up with rollers, which deprive them of the free use of their limbs, obstruct their growth, prevent their activity, and oppose themselves to their health. Most of the religious opinions of man have for their object only to display to him his supreme felicity in those illu- sions for which they kindle his passions : but as the phantoms which are present- fd to his imagination are incapable of neing considered in the same light by all who contemplate them, he is perpetually in dispute concerning these objects ; he nates and persecutes his neighbour — nis neighbour in turn persecutes him — lie believes in doing this he is doing well ; that in committing the greatesi crimes to sustain his opinions he is act- ing right. It is thus religion infatuates man from his infancy, fills him with vanity and fanaticism : if he has a heated imagination it drives him on to fury ; if he has activity, it makes him a madman, who is frequently as cruel to himself, as he is dangerous and in- commodious to others : if, on the con- trary, he be phlegmatic or of a slothful habit, he becomes melancholy and is useless to society. Public opinion every instant offers to man's contemplation false ideas of ho nour and wrong notions of glory : it attaches his esteem not only to frivo- lous advantages, but also to prejudicial and injurious actions, which example authorizes — which prejudice conse- crates — which habit precludes him from viewing with disgust, from eying with the horrour they merit. Indeed, habit familiarizes his mind with the most absurd ideas — with the most unreason- able customs — with the most blame- able actions — with prejudices the most contrary to his own interests, the most detrimental to the society in which he lives. He finds nothing strange, noth- ing singular, nothing despicable, noth- ing ridiculous, except those opinions and those objects to which he is him- self unaccustomed. There are coun- tries in which the most laudable actions appear veiy blameable and extremely ridiculous, and where the foulest, the most diabolical actions, pass for very honest and perfectly rational.* Authority commonly believes itself interested in maintaining the received opinions ; those prejudices and those errours which it considers requisite to the maintenance of its power, are sus- tained by force, which is never ration- * In some nations they kill the old men; in some the children strangle their fathers. The Phenicians and the Cartnagenians immolated their children to their Gods. Europeans ap- prove duels ; and those who refuse to blow out the brains of another are contemplated by them as dishonoured. The Spaniards, the Portuguese, think it meritorious to burn a heretic. Christians deem it right to cut the throats of those who differ from them in opi- nion. In some countries women prostitute themselves without dishonour ; in others it is the height of hospitality for man to present his wife to the embraces of the stranger : the refusal to accept this, elicits his scorn, calls forth his resentment. OF THE SOUL. 7? al. Princes filled with deceptive im- | those objects with which their associ ages of happiness ; with mistaken no tions of power ; with erroneous opin- ions of grandeur ; with false ideas of glory, are surrounded with flattering courtiers, who are interested in keeping up the delusion of their masters : these contemptible men have acquired ideas of virtue only that they may outrage • it: by degrees they corrupt the people, these become depraved, lend them- selves to their debaucheries, pander to the vices of the great, then make a merit of imitating them in their irregu- larities. A court is the true focus of the corruption of a people. This is the true source of moral evil. It is thus that every thing conspires to render man vicious, to give a fatal im- pulse to his soul ; from whence results the general confusion of society, which becomes unhappy from the misery of almost every one of its members. The strongest motive-powers are put in ac- tion to inspire man with a passion for futile or indifferent objects, which make him become dangerous to his fellow man by the means which he is compelled to employ in order to obtain them. Those who have the charge of guiding his steps, either impostors themselves, or the dupes to their own prejudices, forbid him to hearken to reason ; they make truth appear dan- gerous to him, and exhibit errour as re- quisite to his welfare, not only in this world but in the next. In short, habit strongly attaches him to his irrational opinions — to his perilous inclinations — to his blind passion for objects either , useless or dangerous. Here then is the reason why for the most part man finds himself necessarily determined to evil ; the reason why the passions, inherent in his nature and necessary to his con- \ servation, become the instruments of ^ his destruction, the bane of that society which they ought to preserve. Here, then, the reason why society becomes a state of warfare, and why it does nothing but assemble enemies, who are envious of each other and always rivals ' for the prize. If some virtuous beings are to be found in these societies, thev must be sought for in the very small number of those, who, born with a phlegmatic temperament, have moder- ate passions, who therefore either do uot desire at al' or desire very feebly. ates are continuallv inebriated. Man's nature divcr-dv cultivated, decides upon his faculties, as well cor poreal as intellectual — upon hi- quali ties, as well moral as pliysical. The man who is of a sanguine, robust con- stitution, must necessarily have strong fiassions : he who is of a bilious, me- ancholy habit, will as necessarily have fantastical and gloomy passions : the man of a gay turn, of a sprightly ima- gination, will have cheerful passions , while the man, in whom phlegm abounds, will have those which are gentle, or which have a very slight de- gree of violence. It appears to be upon the equilibrium of the humours tliat de- pends the state of the man who is call- ed virtuous : his temjjerament seems to be the result of a combination, in which the elements or principles are balanced with such precision, that no one passion predominates over another, or carries into his machine more dis- order than its neighbour. Habit, as we have seen, is man's nature modifi- ed : this latter furnishes the matter ; education, domestic example, national manners, give it the form : these acting on his temperament, make him either reasonable or irrational, enlightened or stupid, a fanatic or a hero, an enthu- thiast for the public good, or an un- bridled criminal, a wise man smitten with the advantages of virtue or a liber- tine plunged into every kind of vice. All the varieties of the moral man de- pend on the diversity of his ideas, which are themselves arranged and combined in his brain by the interven- tion of his senses. His temperament is the produce of physical substances ; his habits are the ellect of physical mo- difications ; the opinions, whether good or bad, injurious or beneficial, true or false, which form themselves in his mind, are never more than the effect of those physical impulsions which the brain receives by the medium of the senses. CHAPTER X. T7u Saul does not derive its Ideas from Uaelf. It has no innate Ideas. What has preceded suffices to prove that the interior organ of man. which 76 OF THE SOUL. is called his soul, is purely material. He will be enabled to convince him- self of tills truth, by the manner in which he acquires his ideas ; from those impressions, which material objects successively make on his organs, which are themselves acknowledged to be material. It has been seen that the fa- culties which are called intellectual, are to be ascribed to that of feeling ; the dilTerent qualities of those faculties, which are called moral, have been ex- plained after the necessary laws of a very simple mechanism : it now re- mains to reply to those Avho still ob- stinately persist in making the soul a substance distinguished from the body, or Avho insist on giving it an essence totally distinct. They seem to found their distinction upon this, that this interior organ has the faculty of drawing its ideas from within itself; they will have it that man, at his birth, brings with him ideas into the world, which according to this wonderful no- tion, they have called innate.* They have believed, then, that the soul, by a special privilege, in a nature where every thing is connected, enjoyed the faculty of moving itself without receiv- ing any impulse ; of creating to itself ideas, of thinking on a subject, without being determined to such action by any exterior object, which, by moving its organs, should furnish it with an image of the subject of its thoughts. In con- sequence of these gratuitous supposi- tions, which it is only requisite to ex- pose in order to confute, some very able speculators, v>^ho were prepossessed by their superstitious prejudices, have ventured the length to assert, that, without iBodel, without prototype, to act on the senses, the soul is competent * Some ancient philosophers have held, that the soul originally contains the principles of several notions or doctrines: the Stoics de- signated this by the term Y\poh,i-^t;, anticipa- ted opinions ; the Greek mathematicians Ko;v«c Evv-j/ic, universal, ideas. The Jews have a similar doctrine which they borrowed from the Chaldeans; their Rabbins taught that each soul, before it was united to llie seed that must form an infant in the womb of a woman, is confided to the care of an angel, which causes him to behold heaven, earth, and hell : this, they pretend, is done by the assistance of a lamp which extinguishes itself, as soon as the infant comes into the wor'id. See Gaulmin. De vita el rnorte Mosis. to delineate lo itself the whole uni- verse, with all the beings it contains Descartes and his disciples have as- sured us, that the body went absolutely for nothing in the sensations or ideas of the soul ; that it can feel — that it can perceive, understand, taste, and touch, even Avhen there should exist nothing that is corporeal or material exterior to ourselves. But what shall be said of a Berke- ley, who has endeavoured I'i prove tj man, that every thing in this world is nothing more than a chimerical illu- sion, and that the universe exists no- where but in himself: that it has no identity but in his imagination ; who has rendered the existence of all things problematical by the aid of sophisms, insolvable even to those who maintain the doctrine of the spirituality of the soul.t To justify such monstrous opinions, they assert that ideas are only the ob- jects of thought. But according to the last analysis, these ideas can only reach man from exterior objects, which in giving impulse to his senses, modify his brain ; or from the material beings contained within the interior of his machine, who make some parts ol' his body experience those sensations which he perceives, and which furnish him with ideas, which he relates, faithfully or otherwise, to the cause that moves him. Each idea is an effect, but how- ever difficult it may be to recur to the cause, can we possibly suppose it is not ascribable to a cause? If we can only form ideas of material substances, t Extravagant as this doctrine of the bishop of Cloyne may appear, it cannot well be more so than that of Malebranche, the champion of innate ideas, who makes the divinity the common bond between the soul and the body : or than that of those metaphysicians who maintain, that the soul is a substance hetero- geneous to the body, and, who, by ascribing to this soul the thoughts of man, have, in fact, rendered the body superfluous. They have not perceived, they were liable to one solid objection, which is, that if the ideas of man are innate, if he derives them from a superior being, independent of exterior causes, if he sees every thing in God ; how comes it that so many false ideas are afloat, that so many errours prevail with which the human mind is saturated 1 From whence come those opin- ions which, according to the theologians, are so displeasing to God? Might it not be a question to the JMalebranchists, was it in the Divinity that Spinosa beheld his system? OK THE SOUL. liow can \vf suppose the cause of our ideas can j)ossilj|y be iinrniiteriul ? To pretend lhnt man, without the aid of exterior objects, without the interven- tion of Jiis sen-es, is competent to form ideas of llie universe, is to assert, that a blind man is in a capacity to form a true idea of a picture that represents some fact of whicli he has never heard any one sjjeak. It is very easy to perceive the source of tiiose errours into \vi)iohnien, other- wise extremely profound and very en- lightened, have fallen, when they have been desirous to speak of tiie soul and of its operations. Obliged, either by their own prejudices, or by the fear of combating the opinions of an imperi- ous theology, they have become the advocates of the principle, that the soul was a pure spb-if, an immaterial substance, of an essence directly dif- ferent from that of tlie body, or from every thing we behold : this granted, they have been incompetent to conceive how material objects could operate, or in what manner gross and corporeal organs were enabled to act on a sub- stance that had no kind of analogy with them, and how they were in a capacity to modify it by conveying it ideas; in the impossibility of explaining this phe- nomenon, at the same time perceiving that the soul had ideas, they concluded that it must draw them from itself and not from those beings, which accord- ing to their own hypothesis, were in- capable of acting on it ; they therefore imagined that all the modifications of this soul, sprung from its own peculiar energy, were imjirinted on it from its first formation by the author of nature — an immaterial being like itself; and that these did not in any manner de- pend upon the beings of which we have a knowledge, or which act upon it by the gross means of our senses. There are, however, some phenom- ena which, considered superficially, appear to support the opinion of these philosophers, and to announce a facul- ty in the human soul of producing ideas within itself, without any exterior aid ; these are dreams^ in which the interior organ of man, deprived of objects that move it visibly, does not, however, cease to have ideas, to be set in ac- tivity, and to be modified in a manner that is sufficiently sensible to have an 77 But if a little influence upon his body refiectioM be called in, the solution to this dilliculty will be found : it will be perceived, that, even during sleep, his brain is supjdied with a nmltitude of ideas, with which the eve or lime be- fore has stocked it ; these ideas were comumnicated to it by exterior and cor |) real objects, by which it has been modilied: it will be found that these modifications renew themselves, not by any spontaneous or voluntary moiiun on its i)art, but by a chain of involun- tary movements which take place in his machine, which determine or ex- cite those that give play to the brain; these modifications renew themselves with more or less fidelity, with a great- er or lesser degree of conformity to those which it has anteriorly experi- enced. Sometimes in dreaming he has memory, then he retraces to himself the objects which have struck him faithfully; at other times, these modi- fications renew themselves without order, without connexion, or Very dif- ferently from those which real objects have before excited in his interior organ. If in a dream he believe he sees a friend, his brain renews in itself the modifications or the ideas which this friend had formerly excited, in the same order that they arranged them- selves when his eyes really beheld him ; this is nothing more than an ef- fect of memory. If, in his dream, he fancy he sees a monster which has no model in nature, his brain is then mo- dified in the same manner that it was by the particular or detached ideas with which it then does nothing more than compose an ideal whole, by assembling and associating, in a ridiculous man ner, the scattered ideas that were con- signed to its keeping; it is then, that in dreaming he has imagination. Those dreams that are troublesome, extravagant, whimsical, or unconnect- ed, are commonly the elfect of some confusion in his machine; such as painful indigestion, an overheated blood, a prejudicial fermentation, &,c. — these material causes excite in his body a disoiderly motion, which pre- cludes the brain from being modified in the same manner it was on the day before ; in consequence of this irregu- lar motion, the brain is disturbed, ii only represents to itself confused itle.is 78 Of THE feOUL. that want connexion. When in a dream he believes he sees a sphinx,* either he has seen the representation ol'one when he was awake, or else the disorderly motion of the brain is such, that it causes it to combine ideas, to connect parts, from which there results a whole without model, of which the parts were not formed to be united. It is thus, that his brain combines the head of a woman, of which it already has the idea, with the body of a lioness, of which it also has the image. In this his head acts in the same manner as when, by any defect in the interior or- gan, his disordered imagination paints to him some objects, notwithstanding he is awake. He frequently dreams without being asleep: his dreams never produce any thing so strange but that they have some resemblance with the objects which have anteriorly acted on his senses, or have already communi- cated ideas to his brain. The crafty theologians have composed at their leisure, and in their waking hours, those phantoms of which they avail them- selves to terrify man ; they have done nothing more than assemble the scat- tered traits which they havt: found in the most terrible beings of their own species ; by exaggerating the powers and the rights claimed by tyrants, they have formed Gods before whom man trembles. Thus it is seen that dreams, far from proving that the soul acts by its own peculiar energy, or draws its ideas from Its own recesses, prove, on the contrary, that in sleep it is entirely passive, that it does not even renew its modifica- tions, but according to the involuntary confusion, which physical causes pro- duce in the body, of which every thing tends to show the identity and the con- substantiality with the soul. What appears to have led those into a mis- take, who maintained that the soul drew its ideas from itself, is this, they have contemplated these ideas as if they were real beings, when, in point of fact, they are nothing more than the modifications produced in the brain of man by objects to which this brain is . j * A being supposed by the poets to have a head and face like a woman, a body like a d(jg, wings like a bird, and claws like a lion, who put forth riddles and lulled those who eould not expound them. a stranger; they are these objects, wno are the true models or archetypes to which it is necessary to recur: hem is the source of their errours. In the individual who dreams, the soul does not act more from itself than it does in the man who is drunk, that is to say, who is modified by some spirituous liquor; or than it does in the sick man when he is delirious, that is to say, when he is modified by those physical causes which disturb his ma- chine in the performance of its func- tions ; or than it does in him Avhose brain is disordered : dreams, like these various states, announce nothing more than a physical confusion in the human machine, under the influence of which the brain ceases to act after a precise and regular manner : this disorder may be traced to physical causes, such as the aliments, the humours, the combina- tions, the fermentations, which are but little analogous to the salutary state of naan; from which it will appear, that his brain is necessarily confused when- ever his body is agitated in an extra- ordinary manner. Do not let him, therefore, believe that his soul acts by itself, or without a cause, in any one moment of his exist- ence; it is, conjointly with the body, submitted to the impulse of beings who act on him necessarily, and according to their various properties. Wine, taken in too great a quantity, necessarily dis- turbs his ideas, causes confusion in his corporeal functions, occasions disorder in his mental faculties. If there really existed a being in nature with the capability of moving itself by its own peculiar energies, that is to say, able to produce motion inde- pendent of all other causes, such a being would have the power of arrest ing itself, or of suspending the motion of the universe, which is nothing more than an immense chain of causes linked one to the other, acting and reacting by necessary and by immutable laws, which cannot be changed or suspended, unless the essences of every thing in it were changed — nay, annihilated. In the general system of the world, nothing more can be perceived than a long series of motion, received and communicated in succession by beings capacitated to give impulse to each other: it is thus that each body is moved, by the collision OF THE SOUL. of some other body. The invisil)le mo- lion of his soul is to be attributed to causes concealed within himself; he believes that it is moved by itself, bfiCL'use he does not see the springs which put it in motion, or because he conceives those inoiive-powers are in- capable of producing the elfects he so much admires : but, does he more clearly conceive how a spark in ex- ploding gunpowder is capable of pro- ducing the terrible eft'ects he witnesses? - The source of his errours arises from this, that he regard^ his body as gross and inert, whilst this body is a sensible machine, which has necessarily an instantaneous conscience the moment it receives an impression, and which is conscious of its own existence by the recollection of impressions successively experienced ; memory, by resuscitating an impression anteriorly received, by detaining it, or by causing an impression which it receives to remain, whilst it associates it with another, then with a third, gives all the mechanism of reasoning. An idea, which is only an impercep- ' tible modification of the brain, gives i play to the organ of speech, which dis- plays itself by the motion it excites in the tongue : this, m its turn, breeds ideas, thoughts, passions, in those beings who are provided with organs suscep- tible of receiving analogous motion ; in consequence of which, the wills of a great number of men are influenced, who, combining their efforts, produce a revolution in a state, or even have an influence over the entire globe. It is thus that an Alexander decided the fate of Asia ; it is thus that a Mahomet changed the fi\ce of the earth ; it is thus that imperceptible causes produce the most terrible, the most extended effects, by a series of necessary motion im- printed on the brain of man. The difficulty of comprehending the effects produced on the soul of man. has made him attribute to it those incomprehensible qualities which have been examined. By the aid of imagina- tion, by the power of thought, this soul appears to quit his body, to transport itself with tlie utmost facility towards the most distant objects ; to run over and to approximate in the twinkling of an eye all the points of the universe: he has therefore believed that a beinj. who is susceptdjle of such rapid motion, must be of a nature very di>tingiii*hed from all others ; he has persuaded him- self that this soul in reality d a-< travel, that it actually springs over the immense space necessary to meet these various objects; he did not perceive, that to do it in an instant, it had only to run over itself, and approximate the ideas con- signed to its keeping by means of the senses. Indeed, it is never by any other means than by his senses, that beings become known to man, or furnish him with ideas ; it is only in consequence of the impulse given to his l)ody, that his brain is modified ; or that his soul thinks, wills, and acts. If, as Aristotle asserted more than two thousand years ago, " nothing enlurs the mind of man., bid thniwrh ike medium of his se7ists ;" it follows as a consequence, that every thing thai issues from it, must find some sensible object to which it can attach its ideas, whether immediately, as a man, a tree, a bird, &c., or in the last analysis or decomposition, such as pleasure, happi- ness, vice, virtue, &c.* Whenever, therefore, a word or its idea, does not connect itself with some sensible object, to which it can be related, this word, or this idea, is unmeaning, is void of sei)se: it were better for man that the idea was banished from his mind, struck out of his language. This principle is only the converse of the axiom of Aris- totle ; if the direct be evident, the inverse must be so likewise. How has it happened, that the pro- found Locke, who, to the great morti- fication of tiie metaphysicians, has placed this principle of Aristotle in the clearest point of view; how is it that all those who, like him, have recognised the absurdity of the system of innate ideas, have not drawn the immediate and necessary consequences ? How has It come to pass, that they have not had suffic-ent courage to apply so clear a principle to all those fanciful chimeras with which the human mind has for such a length of time been so vainly oecupied ? Did they not perceive, thai their principle sapped the very founda * This principle, so tnie, so luminous, sc important in its consequence, lias luvn set forth in all its lustre bv a greit number of philosophers; among the rest, by tiie grefl Locke 50 OF THE SOUL. tions of that tlieology, which never occupies man but with those objects, of which, as they are inaccessible to his senses, he, consequently, can never form to liimself any accurate idea ? But prejudice, particularly when it is held sacred, prevents him from seeing the most simple application of the most self-evident principles ; in religious mat- ters, the greatest men are frequently nothing more than children, who are incapable of either foreseeing or de- ducing the consequence of their own data. Locke, as well as all those who have adopted his system, which is so demon- strable, or the axiom of Aristotle, which is so clear, ought to have concluded from it, that all those Avonderful things with which theologians have amused themselves, are mere chimeras; that an immaterial spirit or substance, with- out extent, without parts, is nothing more than an absence of ideas; in short, they ought to have felt, that the ineffable intelligence which they have supposed to preside at the helm of the world, is nothing more than a being of their own imagination, of which it is impossible his senses can ever prove either the existence or the qualities. For the same reason moral philoso- phers ought to have concluded, that what is called moral sentiment^ moral instinct^ that is, innate ideas of virtue, anterior to all experience of the good or bad effects resulting from its practice, are mere chimerical notions, which, like a great many others, have for their guarantee and base only theological speculation.* Before man can judge, he must feel; before he can distinguish good fVom evil, he must compare. To undeceive him with respect to innate ideas or modifications imprinted on his soul at the moment of his birth, it is simply requisite to recur to their source • he will then see, that those * Morals is a science of facts : to found it. therefore, on an hypothesis inaccessible to his censes, of which he has no means of provir.g the reality, is to render it uncer tain ; it is to cast the log of discord into his lap ; to cause him unceasingly to dispute upon that which he can never understand. To assert that the ideas of morals are innate, or the effect of instinct, is to pretend that man knows how to read before he has learned the letters of the alphabet ; that he is acquainted with the laws of society, before they are either made or promulgated.' with which he is familiar, which have, as it were, identified themselves with his existence, have all come to him through the medium of some of hi? senses; that they are sometimes en graven on his brain with great difficulty that they have never been permanent and that they have perpetually varied in him : he Avill see that these pretended inherent ideas of his soul, are the effect of education, of example, above all, of habit, which, by reiterated motion, has taught his brain to associate his ideas, either in a confused or perspicuous manner; to familiarize itself with sys- tems, either rational or absurd. In short, he takes those for innate ideas, of which he has forgotten the origin ; he no longer recalls to himself either the precise epoch or the successive circumstances when these ideas were first consigned to his brain : arrived at a certain age, he believes he has always had the same notions ; his memory, crow^ded with experience and a multitude of facts, is no longer able to distinguish the particular circumstances which have contributed to give his brain its present modifications, its instantaneous mode of thinking, its actual opinions. For example, not one of his race recollects the first time the word God struck his ears, the first ideas that it formed in him, the first thoughts that it produced in him; nevertheless, it is certain that from thence he has searched for some being with whom to connect the idf ? which he has either formed to himself, or which has been suggested to him : accustomed to hear God continually spoken of, he has, when in other respects most enlightened, regarded this idea as if it Avere iniused into him by nature ; whilst it is clearly to be attributed to those delineations of it which his pa- rents or his instructers have made to him, and which he has afterwards modi fied according to his own particular organization, and the circumstances in which he has been placed : it is thus that each individual forms to himself a God of which he is himself the model, or which he modifies after his own fashion. t His ideas of morals, although more real than those of metaphysics, are not, however, innate: the moral sentiments he forms on the will, or the judgment t See Vol. II., Chapter iv. OF THE SOUL. 01 U( passes on the actions of man, are fountled on experifuce. which, alone, can enable him to discriminate tliose which are either useful or jjrrjudicial, virtuous or vicious, honest or dishonest, worthy his esteem or deserving his cen- sure. His moral sentiments are the fruit of a multitude of experience, frequently very long and very complicated. Fie gathers it with time : it is more or less faithful, by reason of his particular organization, and the causes by which he is modi/ied ; he ultimately applies this experience with greater or lesser facility, and on this depends his habit of judging. The celerity Avith which he aj)plies his experience, when he judges of the moral actions of his fellow man, is what has been termed movdl instinct. Tiiat which in natural philosophy is called instinct, is only the eiiect of some want of the body, the consequence of some attraction,, or some repulsion, in man or animals. The child that is newly born, sucks for the first time: the nipple of the breast is put into his mouth: the natural analogy that is found between the conglomerate glands which line his mouth, and the milk which flows from the bosom of tlie nurse through the medium of the nipple, causes the child to press it Avith his mouth) in order to express the fluid appropriate to nourish his tender age ; from all this the infant gathers expe- rience ; by degrees the ideas of a nipple, of milk, of pleasure, associate them- selves in his brain, and every time he sees the nipple, he seizes it. promptly conveys it to his mouth, and applies it to the use for which it is designed. What has been said will enable us to judge of those prompt and sudden sentiments, which have been designated the force of blood. Those sentiments of love, which fathers and mothers have foi* their children; those feelings of affection, which children, with good inclinations, bear towards their parents, are by no means innate sentiments; ihey are nothing more than the effect of experience, of reflection, of habit, in souls of sensibility. These sentiments do not even exist in a great number of human beings. We hut too often wit- ness tyrannical parents, occupied with making enemies of their children, who appear to have been formed only to No. III.- 11 be the victims of their iniuonal ca- prices. From the mstant in which man com- mences, until tiiat in which lie cease.s to exist, he feels, he is moved either agreeably or unpleasantly, he colleits facts, he gathers experience, which pro- duce ideas in his brain that are either cheerful or gloomy. Not one individual has this experience present tohis memo- ry at the same time, nor doe-j it evei represent tohim the whole clew at once: it is however this experience that me- chanically, and without his knowledge, directs him in all his actions ; it was to designate the rapidity with which he applied this experience, of which he so frequently loses the connexion, of which he is so often at a loss to render himself an account, that he imagined the word instinct : it appears to be the eiiect of a magical and supernatural power to the greater number of individuals ; but it is a word devoid of sense to many others ; however, to the philosopher it is the effect of a very livelv feeling, which, to him, consists in the faculty of combining promptly a multitude of experiences and a long and numerous train of extremely complicated ideas. It is Avant that causes the inexplicable instinct Ave behold in animals, Avhich have been denied souls Avithout reason; Avhilst they are susceptible of an infinity of actions that prove they think, they judge, have memor\', are capable of experience, can combine idea-;, can apply them with more or less facility to satisfy the Avants engendered by their particular organization; in short, that prove they have passions, and that these are capable of being modified.* The embarrassments Avhich animals have throAvn in the way of the partisans of the doctrine of spiritual itv is aa'cU knoAvn: they have been fearful, if thcr alloAved them to have a spiritual sou . of elevating them to (he condition oi human creatures ; on the other hand, in not alloAving them to have a soul, they haA'e furnished their adversaries with authority to deny it in like manner ♦ Nothinir but the height of folly can refuse intelluotual faculties to animals; tliey feel, choose, deliberate, express love, .show baiu'il; in many instance.s their wnscs are much keener than those of man. Fish will return periodi- cally to the spot where it is the custom to throw them bread. 82 OF THE SOUL. to man, who thus finds himself debased to the condition of the animal. Theo- logians have never known how to extri- cate themselves from this difficulty. Descartes fancied he solved it by say- ing that beasts have no souls, are mere machines. Nothing can be nearer the surface than the absurdity of this prin- ciple. Whoever contemplates nature without prejudice, will readily acknow- ledge, that there is no other difference between the man and the beast than that Avhich is to be attributed to the diversity of his organization. In some beings of the human species, who appear to be endowed with a greater sensibility of organs than others, may be seen an instinct^ by the assistance of which they very promptly judge of the concealed dispositions of their fel- lows, simply by inspecting the linea- ments of their face. Those who are denominated physiognomists . are only men of very acute feelings, who have gathered an experience of which others, whether from the coarseness of their organs, from the little attention they have paid, or from some defect in their senses, are totally incapable : the the faculty of foreseeing the nioir dis- tant events, yet this species of propAe^?c talent has nothing in it of the super- natural ; it indicates nothing more than great experience, with an extremely delicate organization, from which they derive the faculty of judging with ex- treme facility of causes, and of lore- seeing their very remote effects. This faculty is also found in animals, Avho foresee much better than man the varia- tions of the atmosphere, with the various changes of the weather. Birds have long been the prophets and even the guides of several nations who pretend ^o be exti'emely enlightened. ^ It is, then, to their organization, exercised after a particular manner, that must be attributed those won- drous faculties which distinguish some beings. To have instinct only signifies to judge quickly, without requiring to make a long reasoning on the subject. Man's ideas upon vice and upon virtue are by no means innate ; they are, like ,* It appears that the most skilful practi- tioners in medicine have been men endowed with very acute feehngs, similar to those of the physiognomists, by the assistance of which they judged wth great facility of diseases, and very promptly drew their prognostics. OF THK SOUL. 83 all others, acquired ; the judgint'iit he forms is founded upon experience, whu- ther true or false: this depends upon his conlorrnalion, and u|»on the habits that have inodified him. The infant has no ideas either of llie Divinity or of virtue : it is from those who instruct him that ho receives these ideas: lie makes more or less use of them, accord- ing to his natural organization, or as his dispositions have been more or less exercised. Nature gives man legs, tlie nurse teaches him their use, his agility depends upon their natural conforma- tion, ai\d the manner in which lie e.xercises them. What is called laste in tlie fine arts, is to be attributed, in the same manner, only to the acuteness of man's organs practised by the habit of seeing, of comparing, and of judging certain ob- jects: from whence results, to some of his species, the faculty of judging w'ith great rapidity, or in the twinkling of an eye, the whole with its various rela- tions. It is by the force of seeing, of feeling, of experiencing objects, that he attains to a knowledge of them ; it is in consequence of reiterating this experience, that he acquires the power and the habit of judging with celerity. But this experience is by no means innate, for he did not possess it before he w^as born ; he is neither able to think, to judge, nor to have ideas, before he has feeling; he is neither in a capacity to love nor to hate ; to approve nor to blame, before he has been moved either agreeably or disagreeably. This is, however, what must be supposed by those who are desirous to make man admit innate ideas, or opinions infused by nature, whether in morals, theologv, or in any science. That his mind should have the faculty of thought, and should occupy itself with an object, It is requisite it should be acquainted with its qualities ; that it may have a knowledge of these qualities, it is neces- sary that some of his senses should have been struck by them : tiiose objects, therefore, of Avhich he does not know any of the qualities are nullities, or at least they do not exist for him. It will be asserted, perhaps, that the universal consent of man upon certain propositions, such as the vJiole 7.9 greater than its part, and upon all geometrical demonstrations, appear to warrant the supposition of certain pri- mary notions tiiat are innate, or not acquired, it may be rei)lied, that these notions are always accjuired. and that they are tiie fruit of an experience more or less prompt ; that it is recjuisite to have compared tlie whole with its part before conviction can ensue that the Avhole is the greater of the two. Man, when he is born, does not bring with him the idea that two and two make four ; but he is, nevertheless, very speedily convinced of its truth. Be- fore forming any judgment whatever, it is absolutely necessary to have com- pared facts. It is evident that those who have ' gratuitously supposed innate ideas, or notions inherent in man, have con- ■■ founded his organization, or his natur- al disi)Ositions, with the habit hy which ; he is modified, and with the greater or less aptitude he has of making experi- ' ments, and of applying them in his '• judgment. A man \\'\\o has taste in ' painting, has, without doubt, brought ' with him into the Avorld eyes more acute and more penetrating than an- other; but these eyes would by no means enable him to judge with promptitude if he had never had occa- sion to exercise them ; much less, in some respects, can those dispositions which are called natural be regarded as innate. Man is not at twenty years of age the same as he was when he came into the world ; the physical causes that are continually acting upon him, necessarily have an influence upon his organization, and so modify it, that his natural dispositions themselves are not at one period Avhat they arc at an- other.'" Every day may be seen chil- dren who, to a certain age, display a Great deal of ingenuity, a strong apti- tude for the sciences, and who finish by failing into stupidity. Others may be observed, Avho, during their infancy, have shown dispositions but little fa- vourable to improvement, yet develop themselves in the end. and astonish us * "We think," says Ln Moite Le Vaycr, " quite otherwise of thinps at one time than at another : wlicn youn^ than when old— when hiinery than when our apnctile is satisfied — in the niirht than in the uay — wlicn pec\'i8h than when cheerful; thus varyinrr every hour, hy a thousand other circumstances which keen us in a state of perpetual inconstancy and instability." 64 OF THE SOUL. by an exhibition of those qualities of wjiich Ave judged them deficient: there arrives a moment in whieii the mind makes use of a multitude of experience which it has amassed without its hav- ing been perceived, and, if I may be allowed tiie expression, without their own knowledgp. Thus, it cannot be too often repeat- ed, all the ideas, all the notions, all the modes of existence, all the thoughts of man are acquired. His mind cannot act and exercise itself but upon that of which it has knowledge ; it can under- stand either well or ill only those things which it has previously felt. Such of his ideas that do not suppose some ex- terior material object for their model, or one to which he is able to relate them, which are therefore called ab- stract ideas, are only modes in which his interior organ considers its OAvn pe- culiar modifications, of which it chooses some without respect to others. The words which he uses to designate these ideas, such as bounty, beauty, order, intelligence, virtue, &c., do not offer any one sense if he does not relate them to, or if he does not explain them by those objects which his senses have sho\yn him to be susceptible of those qualities, or of those modes of exist- ence and of acting, which are known to him. What is it that points out to him the vague idea of beauty, if he does not attach it to some object that has struck his senses in a particular manner, to which, in consequence, he attributes this quality ? What is it that represents the word intelligence, if he does not connect it with a certain mode of being and of acting? Does the Avord oixler signify any thing, if he does not relate it to a series of actions, to a chain of motion, by which he is affected in a certain manner? Is not the word virtue void of sense, if he does not apply it to those dispositions of his fellows which produce known effects, different from those which re- sult from contrary inclinations ? What do the words pain and pleasure offer to his mind in the moment when his orsfans neither suffer nor enjoy, if it be not tne modes in v,'hich he has been affected, of which his brain conserves the remembrance or the ir.apressions, and which experience has shown him when he hears the Avords spirituality^ immateriality, incorporeality, divini- ty, &c., pronounced, neither his senses nor his memory afford him any assist- ance: they do not furnish him Avith any means by Avhich he can form an idea of their qualities, nor of the objects to Avhich he ought to apply them : in that which is not matter, he can only see vacuum and emptiness, Avhich can- not be susceptible of any one quality. All the errours and all the disputes of men, have their foundation in this, that they have renounced experience and the evidence of their senses, to give themselves up to the guidance of no- tions which they have believed infused' or innate, although in reality they aie no more than the effect of a distemper- ed imagination; of prejudices in which they have been instructed from their infancy ; Avith Avhich habit has famili- arized them ; and Avhich authority has obliged them to conserve. Languages are filled Avith abstract words, to Avhich are attached confused and vague ideas ; of Avhich, Avhen they come to be ex- amined, no model can be found in na- ture ; no object to Avhich they can be related. When man gives himself the trouble to analyze things, he is quite surprised to find that those Avords Avhich are continually in the mouths of men, neA'er present any fixed and determi- nate idea : he hears them unceasingly speaking of spirits — of the soul and its faculties — of God and his attributes — of duration — of space — of immen- sity — of infinity — of perfection — of virtue — of reason — of sentiment — of instinct — of taste, &c., Avithout his being able to tell precisely Avhat they themselves understand by these Avords. And yet words appear to have been in- vented but for the purpose of represent- ing the images of things, or to painl, by the assistance of the senses, those knoAvn objects on Avhich the mind is able to meditate. Avhich it is compe- tent to appreciate, to compare, and to judge. For man to think of that which has not acted on any of his senses, is to think on Avords: it is a dream of sounds] it is to seek in his own imagination for objects to Avhich he can attach his Avandering ideas. To assign qualities to these objects is, unquestionably, to to be either useful or prejudicial ? But J redouble his extravagance. The word OF THE SOUL. 65 God is destined to represent to him an object that ha? not tlie capacity to act on any one of his organs, of which, con- sequently, it is iniiiossilile for him to prove either the existence or the quali- ties ; still, his imairination, by dint of racking itself, will in some measure supply him with the ideas he wants, and compose some kind of a picture with the images or colours he is always obliged to borrow from those objects of which he has a knowledge : thus the Divinity has been represented under the character of a venerable old man, or under that of a puissant monarch, &c. It is evident, however, that man with some of his qualities has served lor the model of this picture. But if he be informed that this God is a pure spirit ; that has neither body nor ex- tent ; that lie is not contained in space ; that he is beyond nature ; here then he IS plunged into emptiness ; his mind no longer has any ideas : it no longer knoAvs upon what it meditates. This, as will be seen in the sequel, is the source of those unformed notions which men have formed of the divinity ; they themselves annihilate him, by assem- bling incouifiatible and contradictory attributes.* In giving him moral anil known qualities, they make him a man ; in assigning him the negative attributes of theology, they destroy all antecedent ideas ; they make him a mere nothing — a chimera. From this it will appear that those sublime sci- ences which are called t/u'Dlotn/, psy- chology, metaphijsics-j h;ivc hern iiure sciences of words : morals and politics, which they too often infect, have, in consequence, become inexplicable enig- mas, which nothing short of the study of nature can enable us to expound. Man has occasion for truth ; it con- sists in a knowledge of the true rela- tions he has with those things which can have an inlluence on his welfare: these relations are to be known only by experience: without experience there can be no reason ; without reason man is only a blind creature who conducts himself by chance. But how is he to acquire experience upon ideal objects, which his senses neither enable him to know nor to examine ? How is he to assure himself of the existence and ♦ See Vol. II., Chap, iv. the qualities of beings he is not able to Icel ? How can he judge whether these objects be favourable or prejudi- cial to him ? How is he to know what he ought to love, what he should Jiate, what to seek al'ter, what to shun, what to do, what to leave undone ? Yet it is upon this knowledge that his condi- tion in this world rests — the only world of which he knows any thing; it is upon this knowledge that morals i? founded. From whence it may be seen, that, by causing him lo blend vague theological notions with morals, or the science of the certain and invariable re- lations which subsist between man- kind, or by weakly establishing them ui)on chimerical beings, which have no exiettles his will, either to remain within or to jjo abroad : rthls motive is always eithe the Tmniediate or ultimate advaiilaiiei !ie finds, or thinks he finds, in the actio to which he is persuaded. Man's will Ti-'etjuenllv fluctuates be- tween two objects, of" which either the presence or the ideas move him alter- nately : he waits until he has contem- plated the objects, or the ideas they have left in his brain which solicit him to difTerent actions; he then compares these objects or ideas ; but even in the time of deliberation, during the com- fiarison, pending these alternatives of ove and hatred which succeed each other, sometimes with the utmost ra- pidity, he is not a free agent for a single mstant ; the good or the evil which he believes he finds successively in the objects, are the necessary motives of these momentary wills; of the rapid motion of desire or fear, that he expe- riences as long as his uncertainty con- tinues. From this it will be obvious that deliberation is necessary ; that uncertainty is necessary ; that what- ever part he takes, in consequence of this deliberation, it will always neces- sarily be that which he has judged, whether well or ill, is most probable to turn to his advantage. When the soul is assailed by two motives that act alternately upon it, or modify it successively, it deliberates; the brain is in a sort of equilibrium, accompanied with perpetual oscilla- tions, sometimes towards one object, sometimes towards the other, until the most forcible carries the point, and thereby extricates it from this state of suspense, in which consists the inde- cision of his will. But when the brain is simultaneously assailed bv causes equally strong that move it in opposite directions, agreeable to the general law of all bodies when they are struck equally by contrary powers, it stops, it IS in 7iisu ; it is neither capable to will nor to act; it waits until one of EB AGENCY. 9\ the two causes has obtained sufficient force to overpower the other; to deter- mine its will ; to attract it in such a manner tlial it may prevail over the efforts of the other cause. This mechanism, so simple, »(; natu- ral, suffices to demonstrate why uncer- tainty is painful, and why suspense is alwavs a violent state for man. The brain, an organ so delicate and so mobile, ex|)eriences such rapid modi- fications that it is fatigued ; or when it is urged in contrai-y directions, by causes equally p(jwerful, it sutlers a kind of compression, that prevents iho activity which is suitable to the preservation of the whole, and which is necessary to procure what is advantageous to its existence. This mechanism will also explain the irregularity, the indecision, the inconstancy of man. a.id account for that conduct which frequently ap- pears an inexplicable mystery, and which is, indeed, the effect of the received systems. In consulting expe- rience, it will be found that the soul is submitted to precisely the same physi- cal laws as the material body. If the will of each individual, during a given time, was only moved by a singl-? cause or passion, nothing would be mori' easy than to foresee his actions; but his heart is frequently assailed by contrary powers, bv adverse motives, v.-hich either act on him simultaneously or in succession; then his brain, attracted in opposite directions, is either fatigued, or else tormented by a state of com pressioii, which deprives it of activity. Sometimes it is in a state of incom- modious inaction ; sometimes it is the sport of the alternate shocks it under goes. Such, no doubt, is the state in whicii man iiiids himselt when a lively passion solicits him to the commission of crime, whilst fear points out to him the danger bv which it is attended : such, also, is the condition cf him whom remorse, by the continued laboLd of his distracted soul, prevents from (-•njoying the objects he has criminally obtained. If the powers or causes, whether exterior or interior, actmg en the mind of man. tend towar.ls opposite points, his soul, as well as al! other bt)dies, will taki- a mean direction between the two; and in consequence of the violence with which his soul is urged, his con- dition becomes sometimes so painful 92 OF MAN'S FREE AGENCY. that his existence is troublesome : he has no longer a tendency to his own peculiar conservation ; he seeks after death as a sanctuary against himself, and as the only remedy to his despair: it is thus we behold men, miserable and discontented, voluntarily destroy themselves whenever life becomes in- supportable. Man cannot cherish his existence any longer than life holds out charms to him : when he is wrought upon by painful sensations, or drawn by contrary impulsions, his natural tendency is deranged; he is under the necessity to follow a new route ; this conducts him to his end, which it even displays to him as the most desirable good. In this manner may be explained the conduct of those melancholy beings, whose vicious temperaments, whose tortured consciences, whose chagrin, whose ennui sometimes determine them to renounce life.* The various powers, frequently very complicated, that act either successively or simultaneously upon the brain of man, which modify him so diversely in the different periods of his existence, are the true causes of that obscurity in morals, of that difficulty which is found, when it is desired to unravel the concealed springs of his enigmatical conduct. The heart of man is a labyrinth, only because it very rarely happens that we possess the necessary gift of judging it; from whence it will appear, that his circum- stances, his indecision, his conduct, whether ridiculous or unexpected, are the necessary consequences of the changes operated in him ; are nothing but the effect of motives that succes- sively determine his will ; Avhich are dependant on the frequent variations experienced by his machine. According to these variations the same motives have not always the same influence over his will ; the same objects no longer enjoy the faculty of pleasing him ; his temperament has changed, either for the moment, or for ever: it follows as a consequence, tbat his taste, his desires, his passions, v.mH change; * See Chapter xiv. — Man i;; oftener induced to destroy himself by mental than by bodily pains. A thousand things may cause him to forget his bodily sufferings, ivhilst in those of the mind his brain is wholly absorbed ; and this is the reason why intellectual pleasures ere superior to all ithers. there can be no kind of uniformity in his conduct; nor any certitude in the effects lo be expected. Choice by no means proves the free agency of man : he only deliberates when he does not yet know which to choose of the many objects that move him, he is then in an embarrassment, which does not terminate until his will is decided by the greater advantage he believes he shall hnd in the object he chooses, or the action he undertakes. From whence it may be seen, that choice is necessary, because he would not determine for an object, or for an action, if he did not believe that he should find in it some direct advantage. That man should have free agemty it were needful tiiat he should be hvAe to will or choose without motive, or that he could prevent motives coercing his ^ will. Action always being the effect of his will once determined, and as his will cannot be determined but by a motive which is not in his own power, it follows that he. is never the master of the determination of his own pecu liar will ; that consequently he nevei acts as a free agent. It has been be lieved that man was a free ageirt be- cause he had a will with the poAver of choosing; but attention has not been paid to the fact that even his '.vill is moved by causes independent of him- self; is owing to that which is iviherent in his own organization, or v/hicli be- longs to the nature of the beings acting on him.f Is he the master of willing not to withdraw his hand from the fire when he fears it will be burnt? Or has he the power to take away from fire the property which makes him fear it ? Is he the master of not cheesing a dish of meal, which he knows to be agreeable, or analogous to his palate; t Man passes a great portion of his life without even willing. His wiU depends on the motive by which he is determined. If he were to render an exact account of every thing he does in the course of each day — iVom rising in the morning to lying dov.n at night — he would find that not one cf his aciKins have been in the least voluntary; that they ):ir.c been mechanical, habitual, determined by causes he was not able to foresee ; to which he was either obliged to yield, or with which he was allured to acquiesce : he would di.scuver, that all the motives of his labours, of his amuse- ments, of his discourses, of his thoughts, have been necessary; that they have evidently i either seduced him or drawn him along. O F M A i\ ' S K 11 E E A G E N C V. Ill' iiDt preferring il lu tlial wliicli he knows lobe disagreeable or dangerous? Il is always according to his sensa- tions, to iiis own peculiar exi)erience, or to his suppositions, tliat he judges of things, eitiicr well or ill; but what- ever may be \u< judgment, it depends ne£ess!irily on his mode of feeling, whcfFier habitual or accidental, and the qualities he finds in the causes that move him, which exist in despite of himself. All the causes by which his will is actuated, must act upon him in a man- ner sufficiently marked to give him some sensation, some'perception, some idea ; whether complete or incomplete, true or false: as soon as his will is de- termined, he must have felt either strongly or feebly ; if this was not the case he would have determined with- out motive : thus, to speak correctly, there are no causes which are truly in- dilferent to the will : however faint the impulse he receives, whether on the part of the objects themselves, or on the part of their images or ideas, as soon as his will acts, the impulse has been competent to determine him. In consequence of a slight or feeble im- pulse, the will is weak; it is this weak- ness in his will, that is called indijfer- ence. His brain with difficulty per- ceives the sensation it has received ; it consequently acts wqth less vigour, either to obtain or to remove the object or the idea that has modified it. If the impulse is powerful, the will is strong. it makes him act vigorously to obtain or to remove the object which appears to him either very agreeable or very in- commodious. It has been believed that man was a free agent, because it has been imagin- ed that his soul could at will recall ideas which sometimes suffice to check hi? most unruly desires.* Thus, the idea of a remote evil, frequently prevents him from enjoying a present and actual good : thus remembrance, which is an almost insensible or slight modification of his brain, annihilates, at each in- stant, the real objects that act upon his will. But he is not master of recalling to himself his ideas at pleasure; their association is independent of him; they * St. Augustine says : " Non enim cuiquam in potestate est quid veniat inmentem." are arranged in his brain in des|)ite of him and without his own knowledge, where ihey have made an impression more or less profound; his memo.-y it- self depends upon his ori,Mni/ati(jn ; its fidelity depends u|)On the haijitual or momentary state in which he finds him- self ; when his will is vigorous. y deter- mined to some object or idea that excites a very lively passion in him, those objects or ideas that would be able to arrest his action, no longer pre- sent themselves to his mind ; in those moments his eyes are shut to the dangers that menace him ; of which the idea ought to make him forbear; he marches forwards headlong towards the object by whose image he is hur- ried on ; reflection cannot operate upon him in any way; he sees nothing but the object of his desires; the salutary ideas which might be able to arrest his progress disappear, or else display themselves either too faintly or too late to prevent his acting. Such is the case wnth all those who, blinded by some strong passion, are not in a condition to recall to themselves those motives, of which the idea alone, in cooler mo- ments, Avould be sufficient to deter them from proceeding ; the disorder in which they are, prevents their judging sound- ly ; renders them incapable of foresee- ing the consequence of their actions ; precludes them from applying to their experience ; from making use of their reason ; natural operations which sup- pose a justness in tlie manner of asso- ciating their ideas, but to which their brain is then not more competent, in consequence of the momentary deliri- um it suffers, than their hand is to write whilst they are taking violent exercise. Man's mode of thinking is necessari- ly determined by his manner of being; it must therefore de|)end on his natural organization, and the modification his system receives independently of his will. From this, we are obliged to conclude, that his thoughts, his reflec- tions, his manner of viewinsj; things, of feeling, of judging, of combining ideas, is neither voluntary nor free. In a word, that his soul is neither mistress of the motion excited in it, nor of rep- resenting to itself, when wanted, those images or ideas that are capable of counterbalancing the imnulse it re- 94 OF MAN'S FREE AGENCY. ceives. This is the reason, "why man, when in a passion, ceases to reason; at that moment reason is as impossible to oe heard, as it is during an ecstacy, or in a fit of drunlvenness. The wicked are never more than men "who are either drunk or mad ; if tliey reason, it is not until tranquillity is re-establish- ed in their machine ; then, and not till then, the tardy ideas that present them- selves to their mind enable them to see the consequence of their actions, and give birth to ideas that bring on them that trouble, which is designated shame, T6gret, remorse. The errours of philosophers on the free agency of man, have arisen from their regarding his will as the primum mobile, the original motive of his ac- tions ; for want of recurring back, they have not perceived the multiplied, the complicated causes which, independ- ently of him, give motion to the will itself; or which dispose and modify his brain, whilst he himself is purely passive in the motion he receives. Is he the master of desiring or not desir- ing an object that appears desirable to him? Without doubt it will be an- swered, no : but he is the master of re- sisting his desire, if he reflects on the consequences. But, I ask, is he capa- ble of reflecting on these consequences, when his soul is hurried along by a very lively passion, which entirely de- pends upon his natural organization, and the causes by which he is modi- fied ? Is it in his power to add to these consequences all the weight necessary to counterbalance his desire ? Is he the master of preventing the qualities which render an object desirable from residing in it? I shall be told: he ought to have learned to resist his pas- sions ; to contract a habit of putting a a curb on his desires. I agree to it without any difliculty. But in reply, I again ask, is his nature susceptible of this modification ? Does his boiling blood, his unruly imagination, the ig- neous fluid that circulates in his veins, permit him to make, enable him to ap- ply true experience in the moment when it is wanted? And even when his temperament has capacitated him, has his education, the examples set be- fore him, the ideag with which he has been inspired in early life, been suitable to make him contract this habit of re- pressing his desires? Have not aP these things rather contributed to in- duce him to seek with avidity, to make him actually desire those objects which you say he ought to resist. The ambitious man cries out: you 1-'''^ will have me resist my passion ; but have they not unceasingly repeated to me that rank, honours, power, are the most desirable advantages in life 'i Have I not seen my fellow citizens envy them, the nobles of my country sacrifice every thing to obtain them ? In the society in which I live, am I not obliged to feel, that if I am deprived of these advantages, I must expect to languish in contempt ; to cringe under the rod of oppression ? The miser says : you forbid me to ' . love money, to seek after the means of acquiring it : alas I does not every thing tell me that, in this world, money is the greatest blessing ; that it is amply sufficient to render me happy ? In the country I inhabit, do I not see all my fellow citizens covetous of riches ? but do I not also witness that they are little scrupulous in the means of obtaining wealth ? As soon as they are enrich- ed by the means which you censure, are they not cherished, considered and respected ? By what authority, then, do you defend me from amassing trea- sure ? what right have you to prevent my using means, which, although you call them sordid and criminal, I see ap- proved by the sovereign ? Will you have me renounce my happiness ? The voluptuary argues : you pre \/ tend that I should resist my desires ; but was I the maker of my own tem- perament, which unceasingly invites me to pleasure? You call my plea- sures disgraceful ; but in the country in which I live, do I not witness the most dissipated men enjoying the most distinguished rank ? Do I not behold that no one is ashamed of adultery but the husband it has outraged ? do not I see men making trophies of their de- baucheries, boasting of their libertinism, rewarded with applause ? The choleric man vociferates: you ^ advise me to put a curb on my passions, and to resist the desire of avenging myself: but can I conquer my nature? Can I alter the received opinions of the world ? Shall I not be for ever dis- graced, infallibly dishonoured in so- riety, if I do not wash out in the blood of my fellow creature the injuries I have received? \_^ The zealous enthusiast exclaims: you recommend me mildness ; you ad- vise me to be tolerant; lobe indulgent to the opinions ol' my fellow men ; but IS not my temperament violent ? Uo I not ardently love my God ? Do they not assure me, that zeal is pleasing to him; that sanguinary inhuman perse- cutors have been his friends ? As I wish to render myself acceptable in his sight, I therefore adopt the same means. In short, the actions of man are never free ; they are always the necessary consequence of his temperament, of the received ideas, and of the notions, either true or false, which he has form- ed to himself of happiness ; of his opin- ions, strengthened by example, by edu- ' cation, and by daily experience. So many crimes are witnessed on the earth only because every thing con- spires to render man vicious and crimi- nal ; the religion he has adopted, his government, his education, the exam- Sles set before him, irresistibly drive im on to evil: under these circum- stances, morality preaches virtue to him in vain. In those societies where vice is esteemed, where crime is crown- ed, where venality is constantiv re- compensed, where the most dreadful disorders are punished only in those who are too weak to enjoy the privilege of committing them with impunitv, tiie practice of virtue is considered nothing more than a painful sacrifice of happi- ness. Such societies chastise, in tiie lower orders, those excesses which they respect in the higher ranks ; and fre- quently have the injustice to condemn those in the penalty of death, whom public prejudice^, maintained by con- stant example, have rendered criminal. Man, then, is not a free agent in any one instant of his life ; he is necessari- ly guided in each step by those advan- tages, whether real or fictitious, that he attaches to the objects by which his /Passions are roused : these passions /themselves are necessary in a being / who unceasingly tends towards his own I happmess ; their energy is necessary, \ *ince mat depends on his tempera- 1 ment ; his temperament is necessary, because it depends on the physical ele- OF MAN'S FREE AGENCY. 95 ments which enter into his composi- tion; the modification of liiis lempera ment is necessary, as it is the infalli- ble and inevitable consequence of the im|)ulse he receives from the incessant actiun of UKJral and jjliysical beings. In despite of these proofs uf the want of free agency in man, so clear to un- prejudii-ed minds, it will, perliaps, be insisted upon witli no small feeling of triumph, that if it be proposed to any one, to move or not to move his hand, an action in the number of tho-e called iiidijfcrent, he evidently appears to be the master of choosing; from which it is concluded that evidence has been oifered of bis free agency. The reply is, this example is perfectly rsimple ; man in performing some action wiiich he is resolved on doing, does not by any means prove his free agencv : the very desire of displaying this quality, excited by the disjjute, becomes a ne- cessary motive, which decides liis will either for the one or the other of these actions: what deludes him in this in- stance, orlhatwhich persuades him he is a free agent at this moment, is, that he does not discern the true motive which sets him in action, namely, the desire of convincing his opponent: if in the heat of the dispute he insists and asks, " Am I not the master of throwing myself out of the window ?" I shall answer him, no ; that whilst he pre- serves his reason there is no probability that the desire of proving his free agency, Avill become a motive suffi- ciently powerful to make him sacrifice his life to the attempt: if, notwith- standing this, to prove he is a free agent, he should actually precipitate himself from the window, it would not !)e a sufficient warranty to conclude he acted freely, but rather that it was the violence ot his temperament which spurred him on to this folly. Madness is a state, that depends U|)on the heat of the blood, not upon the will. A fanatic or a hero, ! raves death as ne- cessarily as a more phlei;,matic man or a coward Hies from it.* * There is, in point of fact, no difTcrence between the man tliat is cast out of the win- dow by anoflur, and the man wlio throws biiiisclf out of it, except that the iinniilsc in the tirst instance comes inimediately from without, whilst that which determines the fall in the second case, sprintis from within liis own peculiar machine, having its more r«- % OF MAiN » FREE AGENCY. U is said that free agency is the ab- sence of those obstacles competent to oppose themselves to the actions of man, or to the exercise of his faculties : it is pretended that he is a free agent whenever, making use of these facul- ties, ho i)roduces the effect he has pro- posed to himself In reply to this rea- soning, it is sufficient to consider that it in nowise depends upon himself to place or remove the obstacles that eitiier determine or resist him; the motive that causes his action is no more in his own power than the obsta- cle that impedes him, whether this ob- stacle or motive be within his own ma- chine or exterior of his person : he is not master of the thought presented to his mind, which determines his will ; this thought is excited by some cause independent of himself. To be undeceived on the system of his free agency, man has simply to re- cur to the motive by which his will is determined ; he Avill always find this motive is out of his own controul. It is said : that in consequence of an idea to which the mind gives birth, man acts freely if he encounters no obstacle. But the question is, what gives birth to this idea in his brain? was he the master either to prevent it from pre- senting itself, or from renewing itself in his brain ? Does not this idea depend either upon objects that strike him ex- teriorly and in despite of himself, or upon causes, that without his know- ledge, act within himself and modify his brain ? Can he prevent his eyes, cast without design upon any object whatever, from giving him an idea of this object, and from moving his brain? He is not more master of the obstacles ; thev are the necessary effects of either interior or exterior causes, which al- niote cause also exterior. When Mutius Scaevola held his hand in the fire, he was as much acting under the influence of necessity (caused by interior motives) that urged him to this strange action, as if his arm had been held by strongmen: pride, despair, the desire of braving his enemy, a wish to astonish him, an an.xietv to intimidate him, &c., were the invisible chains that held his hand bound to the fire. The love of glory, enthusiasm for their country, in like manner caused Codrus and Decius to devote themselves for their fellow-citizens. The Indian Colanus and the philosopher Peregrinus were equally obliged i to burn themselves, by desire of exciting the astonishment of the Grecian assembly ways act according to their given pi"o- perties. A man insults a coward, this necessarily irritates him against his in- sulter, but his will cannot vanquish the obstacle that cowardice places to the object of his desire, because his natural conformation, which does not depend upon himself, prevents his having courage. In this case, the coward is insulted in despite of himself; and against his will is obliged patiently to brook the insult he has received. The partisans of the system of free agency appear ever to have confound- ed constraint with necessity. Man be- lieves he acts as a free agent, every time he does not see any thing that places obstacles to his actions ; he does not perceive that the motive Avhich causes him to will, is always necessary and independent of himself. A pris- oner loaded with chains is compelled to remain in prison ; but he is not a free agent in the desire to emancipate himself; his chains prevent him from acting, but they do not prevent him from willing ; he would save himself if they would loose his fetters ; but he would not save him-elf as a free agent; fear or the idea of punishment would be sufficient motives for his action. Man may, therefore, cease to be restrained, without, for that rea-^on. becoming a free agent : in whatever manner he acts, he will act necessarily, according to motives by which he shall be determined. He may be compared to a heavy body that finds itself arrested in its descent by any obstacle whatever: take away this obstacle, it will gravi- tate or continue to fall ; but who shall say this dense body is free to fall or not? Is not its descent the necessary effect of its own specific gravity ? The virtuous Socrates submitted to the laws of his country, although they Avere unjust; and though the doors of his jail were left open to him, he would not save himself; but in this he did not act as a free agent: the invisible chains of opinion, the secret love of decorum, the inward respect for the laws, even when they were iniquitous, the fear of tarnishing his glory, kept him in his prison ; they were motives sufficiently powerful with this enthu- siast for virtue, to induce him to wait death Avith tranquillity ; it was not in his power to save himself, because he OF MAN'S FREE AGENCY. 97 could find no potential uiotive to bring hiui to dcjjart, even for an instant, from those {jrinciples to which his mind was accustomed. Man, it is said, frequently acts against his inclination, from whence it is falsely concluded ln' is a free agent; but when he affptar-: to act contrary to his inclina- tion, he is always determined to it by some motive sufficiently elhcacious to vanquish this inclination. A sick man, with a view to his cure, arrives at conquering his repugnance to the most disgusting remeuies: the fear of pain, or the dread of death, then becomes necessary motives ; consequently this sick man cannot be said to act freely. When it is said, that man is not a free agent, it is not pretended to com- pare him to a body moved by a simple impulsive cause : he contains within himself causes inherent to his existence; he is moved by an interior organ, which has its own peculiar laws, and is itself necessarily determined in consequence of ideas formed from perceptions result- ing from sensations which it receives from exterior objects. As the mechanism of these sensations, of these perceptions, and the manner they engrave ideas on the brain of man, are not known to him ; because he is unable to unravel all these motions ; because he cannot perceive the chain of operations in his soul, or the motive principle that acts within him, he supposes himself a free agent ; which, literally translated, signifies, that he moves himself by himself; that he determmes himself Avithout cause: when he rather ought to say, that he is ignorant how or for why he acts in the manner he does. It is true the soul enjoys an activity peculiar to itself: but it is equally certain that this activity would never be displayed, if some motive or some cause did not i)ut it in a condition to exercise itself: at lean il WiU not be pretended that the soul is able either to love or to hate without being moved, without knowing the objec'.s, without having some idea of their qualities. Gunpowder has tinquestionablv a particular activity, out this activity will never display itself, unless fire be applied to it; this, nowever, immediately sets it in motion. It IS the great complication of motion m man, it is the variety of his action, it is the nmltiplicitv of causes that move No. IV.— 13 him, whether sinmltanrou-ly received customs that are opposed to good sense ; that it cannot exist whilst public opinion is unfavourable to virtue; above all, that it is absurd to expect it from incapable instnicters, from masters with weak minds, who'have only the ability to infuse into their scholars those false ideas with which they are /lirmselves infected. + We can scarcely conceive a more baneful loctrine than that which inculcates the natii- .-al corruption of man, and the absolute need >f the grace of God to make him U other events of whose causes he is ignorant, and with whose mode of acting he is unac(iuainted : but in nature, where every thing is connected by one common bond, there exists no effect without a cause. Ih the moral as Avell as in the physical world, every thing that happens is a necessary consequence of causes, either visible or concealed, which are of necessity obliged to act after their pe- culiar essences. In man, free agency is nothing more than necessity con- tained xcithin himself. _, CHAPTER XII. An Examination of the Opinion which pre- tends that the System of Fatalism is Dangerous. For a being whose essence obliges him to have a constant tendency to iiis own conservation and to render him- self happy, experience is indispensable : without it he cannot discover truth, which is nothing more, as has been already said, than a knowledge of the constant relations which subsist be- tween man and those objects that act upon him ; according to his experience he denom.inates those that contribute to his permanent welfare, useful and salutarv ; those that procure him plea- sure, more or less durable, he calls agreeable. Truth itself becomes the object of his desires, only when he believes it is useful ; he dreads it when- ever h,e presumes it will injure him. But has truth the power to injure him? Is it possible that evil can result to man from a correct understanding of the relations he has with other beings? Can it be true that he can be harmed Dv becoming acquainted with those thin2:s of which, for his own happiness, he is interested in having a knowledge? No ! unquestionably not : it is upon its utility that truth founds its worth and its rights: sometimes it may be dis- agreeable to individuals, it may even appear contrary to their interests ; hut it will always be useful to the whole human species, whose interests must for ever remain distinct from those of men who, duped by their own peculiar passions, believe their advantage con- sists in plunging others into errour. Utility, then, is the touchstone of the systems, the opinions, and the actions of man ; it is the standard of the esteem and the love he owes to truth itself: the most useful truths are the most estimable : those truths which are most interesting for his species, he styles eminent ; those of which the utility limits itself to the amusement of some individuals who have not correspondent ideas, similar modes of feeling, wants analogous to his own, he eitherdisdains, or else calls them barren. It is according to this standard that the principles laid down in this work ought to be judged. Those who are acquainted with the immense chain of mischief produced on the earth by erroneous systems of superstition, will acknowledge the importance ofopposing to them systems more accordant with truth, drawn from nature, and founded on experience. Those who are. or be- lieve they are, interested in maintaining the established errours, will contemplate with horrour the truths here presented to them : in short, those infatuated mor- tals, who only iVel very faintly the enor- mous load of misery brought upon man- kind by theological prejuilices, will regard all our principles as useless, or, at most, as steril truths, calculated to amuse the idle hours of a few specu- lators. No astonishment, therefore, need be excited at the various judgments formed by man: his interests never being the same, any more than his notions of utilitv, he condemns or disdain^; every thing that does not accord with his own peculiar ideas. This granted, let us examine if, in the eyes of the disinte- rested man, who is not entangled by prejudice, who is sensible to the happi- ness of his species, tin' (li>rtrine >>f fatalism be useful or dangerou- .' Let us see if it be a barren speculation, that has not any intiuence upon the felicity of 'he human race ? It has been already shown that it will furni-ih morals with efficacious arguments, with real motives to determine the will, supply nolitics 04 OF FATALISM. with the true lever to raise the proper activity in the mind of man. It will also be seen that it serves to explain in a simple manner the mechanism of man's actions, and the most striking phenomena ot' the human heart : on the other hand, if his ideas are only the result of unfruitful speculations, they cannot interest the happiness of the human species. Whether he be- lieves himself a free agent, or whether he acknowledges the necessity of things, he always equally follows the desires imprinted on his soul. A rational edu- cation, honest habits, wise systems, equitable laws, rewards uprightly dis- tributed, punishments justly inflicted, will render man virtuous ; while thorny speculations, filled with difficulties, can, at most, only have an influence over persons accustomed to think. After these reflections it will be very (!asy to remove the difficulties that are unceasingly opposed to the system of fatalism ; which so many persons, blinded by their religious systems, are desirous to have considered as danger- ous ; as deserving of punishment ; as calculated to disturb public tranquillity ; as tending to unchain the passions, and to confopnd ideas of vice and of virtue. The 'Opposers of necessity say : that if all the actions of man are necessary, no right whatever exists to punish bad ones, or even to be angry with those who commit them ; that nothing ought to be imputed to them; that the laws v.'ould be unjust, if they should decree punishment for necessary actions ; in short, that under this system, man could neither have merit nor demerit. In reply it may be argued, that, to- impute an action to any one, is to attribute that action to him — to ac- knowledge him for the author: thus, ^when even an action was supposed to be the eflect of an agent, and that agent necessity^ the imputation would still lie: the merit or demerit that is ascribed to an action are ideas originating in the effects, whether favourable or perni- cious, that result to those Avho expe- rience its operation : when, therefore, it should be conceded that the agent was necessity, it is not less certain that the action would be either good or bad ; estimable or contemptible, to those who must feel its influence ; in short, that it would be capable of either eliciting their love, or exciting their anger. Love and anger are modes of existence suitable to modify beings of the human species : when, therefore, man irritates himself against his fellow, he intends to excite his fear, or even to punish him. Moreover, his anger is necessary ; it is the result of his nature and of his temperament. The painful sensation produced by a stone that falls on the arm, does not displease the less because it comes from a cause deprived of will, and which acts by the necessity of its nature. In contemplating man as acting necessarily, it is impossible to avoid distinguishing that mode of action or being which is agreeable, which elicits approbation, from that which is afflicting, which irritates, which nature obliges him to blame and to prevent. From this it will be seen that the system of fatalism does not in any manner change the actual state of things, and is by no means calculated to confound man's ideas of virtue and vice.* Laws are made with a view to maintain society, and to prevent man associated from injuring his neighbour; they are therefore compe tent to punish Those who disturb its harmony, or those who commit actions that are injurious to their fellows ; whether these asso- ciates may be the agents of necessity, or whether they are free agents, it suffices to know that they are sus- ceptible of modification, and are there- fore submitted to the operation of the law. Penal laws are those motives which experience has shown capable of restraining or of annihilating the impulse passions give to man's will : from whatever necessary cause man may derive these passions, the legis- lator proposes to arrest their eflfect, and when he takes suitable means he is certain of success. The jurisconsult, * Man's nature always revolts against that which opposes it : there are men so choleric, that they infuriate themselves even against insensible and inanimate objects ; reflection on theirown impotence to modify these objects ought to conduct them back to reason. Pa- rents are frequently verv much to be blamed for correcting their children with anger : they should be contemplated as beings wtio are not yet modified, or who have, perhaps, been very badly modified by themselves : nothing is more common in life, than to see men punish faults of which they are themselves the cause. OF FATALISM. lOS m decreeing to crime, gibbets, tortures, I insensible to those motives which or any other chastisement whatever, [ operate upon all his fellows, he is not does nothing more than is done by the | (it to live in society ; he would coiitra- architect, who in building a house places gutters to carry oil' the rain, and prevent it from sapping the foundation. Whatever may be the cause that obliges man to act, society possesses the right to crush the ellects: as much as the man whose land would be ruined by a river, has to restrain its waters by a bank, or even, if he is able, to turn its course. It is by virtue of this right, that society ha^ the power to intimidate and to puni>;h. with a view to its own conservation, those who mavbe tempted to injure it; or those who commit ac- tions which are acknowledged really to interrupt its repose, to be inimical to its security, or repugnant to his happiness. It will perhaps be argued, that society does not usually punish those faults in which the will has no share; that it punishes the will alone; that this It is which decides the nature of the crime, and the degree of its atrocity : that if this will be not free, it ought not to be punished. I reply, that society is an assemblage of sensible beings, susceptible of reason, who dc'^ire their own welfi^re, who fear evil, and seek after good. These dispositions enable their will to be so modified or deter- mined, that they arc capable of holding such a conduct as will conduce to the end they have in view. Education, the laAvs, public opinion, example, habit, fear, are the causes that must modify associated man, influence his will, regulate his passions, restrain the actions of him who is capable of in- juring the end of his a-:sociation, and thereby make him concur to the gene- ral happiness. These causes are of a nature to make impressions on every man whose organization and whose essence place him in a capacity to contract the habits, the modes of think- ing, and the manner of acting, with which society is willing to inspire him. All the individuals of the human species are susceptible of fear; from whence it flows as a natural consequence, that the fear of punishment, or the privation of the happiness he desires, are motives that must necessarily more or less influ- ence his will, and regulate his actions. If the man is to be found, who is so baro- posed by man in his association. But, on the other hand, the law has not acquired the right to punish him, if it has failed to present to him the motives necessary to have an influence over his will ; it has not the right to coerce him, if the negligence of society has deprived nim of the means of subsisting, of exercising his talents, of exerting bis 106 OF FATALISM. industry, and of labouring for its •wel- fare. It is unjust, wiien it punishes those to whom it has neitlier given an education, nor honest principles ; whom it has not enabled to contract habits necessary to the maintenance of society : it is unjust, when it punishes them for faults which the wants of their nature, or the constitution of society has ren- dered necessary to them: it is unjust and irrational, whenever it chastises them for having tollowed those pro- pensities which example, which public opinion, which the institutions, which society itself conspires to give them. In short, the law is defective when it does not proportion the punishment to the real evil which society has sustained. The last degree of injustice and folly is, when society is so blinded as to inflict punishment on those citizens who have served it usefully. Thus penal laws in exhibiting ter- rifying objects to man who must be supposed susceptible of fear, present him with motives calculated to have an influence over his will. The idea of pain, the privation of liberty, the fear of death, are, to a being well constituted and in the full enjoyment of his faculties, very puissant obstacles that strongly oppose themselves to the impulse of his unruly desires : when these do not co- erce his will, when they fail to arrest his progress, he is an irrational being, a madman, a being badly organized, against whom society has the right to guaranty itself and to take measures for its own security. Madness is, A^ithout doubt, an involuntary and a necessary state ; nevertheless, no one feels it unjust to deprive the insane of their liberty, although their actions can only be imputed to the derangement of their brain. The wicked are men whose brain is either constantly or transitorily disturbed ; still they must be punished by reason of the evil they commit; they must always be placed in the impossibility of injuring society ; if no hope remains of bringing them back to a reasonable conduct, and to adopt a mode of action conformable to the great end of association, they must be for ever excluded its benefits. It will not be requisite to examine here how fer the punishments, which society inflicts upon those who offend against it, may be reasonably carried. Reason should seem to indicate, tnat • the law ought to show to the necessary crimes of man all the indulgence that is compatible with the conservation of society. The system of fatalism, as we have seen, does not leave crime unpunished ; but it is at least calculated to moderate the barbarity with which a number of nations punish the victims to their anger. This cruelty becomes still more absurd when experience has shown its inutility : the habit of wit- nessing ferocious punishments, famil- iarizes criminals with the idea. If it be true that society possesses the right of taking away the life of its members ; if it be really a fact that the death of a criminal, thenceforth useless, can be advantageous for society, (which it will be necessary to examine,) humanity at least exacts, that this death should not be accompanied with useless tor- tures with which laws too frequently seem to delight in overwhelming their victim. This cruelty defeats its own end, as it only serves to make the culprit, who is immolated to the public vengeance, suffer without any advan- tage to society : it moves the compassion of the spectator, and interests him in favour of the miserable offender who groans under its weight : it impresses nothing upon the wicked ; whilst the sight of those cruelties destined for himself but too frequently renders him more ferocious, more cruel, and more the enemy of his associates : if the example of death were less frequent, even without being accompanied with , tortures, it would be more efficacious.* * The greater number of criminals only look upon death as a had quarter of an hour. A thief seeing one of his comrades display a want of firmness under the punishment, said to him : " Is not this what I have often told you, that in our business we hare one evil more than the rest of mankind?" Robberies are daily committed even at the foot of the scaflblds wrhere criminals are punished. In those nations, where the penalty of death is so lightly inflicted, has sufficient attention been paid to the fact, that society is yearly deprived of a great number of individuals who would be able to render it very useful service, if made to work, and thus indemnify the com- munity for the Injuries they have committed ? The facility with which the lives of men are taken away, proves the tyranny and incapa- city of legislators : they find it a much shorter road to destroy the citizens, than to seek after the means to render them belter. OF FATALISM. 107 What shall be said for the unjust rruplty of some nation';, in whicli the law, tliat ouij;ht to have for its object the advantaife of the whole, appears to be made onlv for the security of the most powerful ; in which punishments tlie most disproportionate to the crime, unmercifully take away the lives of men, whom the most urgent necessity yhas obliged to become criminal? It is thus, that in a great number of civilized nations, the life of the citizen is placed in the same scales with money ; that \ the unhappy wretcli, who is perisning 1 from hunger and misery, is put to death for having taken a pitiful portion of the superfluity of another whom he beholds rolling in abundance? It is this, that in many otherwise very enlightened societies, is called justice, or making the punishment commensurate with the crime. This dreadful iniquity becomes yet more crying, when the laws decree the most cruel tortures for crimes to which the most irrational customs give birth; •which bad institutions multiply. Man, as it cannot be too frequently repeated, is so prone to evil, only because every thing appears to urge him on to the commission, b)^ too frequently showing him vice triumphant : his education is void in most states ; he receives from society no other principles, save those of an unintelligible religion, which make but a feeble barrier against his propensities: in vain the law cries out to him : " abstain from the goods of thy neiglibour;" his wants, more powerful, loudly declare to him that he must live at the expense of a society who has done nothing for him, and who con- demns him to groan in misery and in indigence; frequently deprived of the common necessaries, he compensates himself by theft, and by assassination ; he becomes a plunderer by profession, a murderer by trade, and seeks, at the risk of his life, to satisfy those wants, whether real or imaginary, to which every thing around him conspires to give birth. Deprived of education, he has not been taught to restrain the fury of his temperament. Without ideas of decency, destitute of the true principles of honour, he engages in criminal pur- suits that injure his country, which has been to him nothing more than a step- mother. In the paroxysm of his rage he only sees the gibbet that awaits him; his unruly desires have become too potent; they have given an invete- racy to his habits which i)reclu(!e him from changing them ; laziness ha> made him torpid; despair has rendered liiui blind ; he rushes on to death ; and society punishes him rigorously lor those fatal and necessary dispositions, which it has itself engendered in his heart, or wliich at least it has not taken the pains seasonably to root out and to oppo-e by motives calculated to give him honest principles. Thus society frequently punishes those propensities of which it is itself the author, or which its negligence has suH'ered to spring up in the mind of man : it acts like those unjust fathers, who chastise their chil- dren for vices which they have them- selves made them contract. However unjust and unreasonable this conduct may be, or appear to be, it is not the less necessary : society, such as it is, whatever may be its cor- ruption, whatever vices may pervade its institutions, like every thing else in nature, tends to subsist and to conserve itself: in consequence it is obliged to punish those excesses which its own vicious constitution has produced : in despite of its peculiar prejudices and vices, it feels cogently that it* own immediate security demands, that it should destroy the conspiracies of those who make war against its trancjuillity: if these, hurried on by necessary pro- pensities, disturb its repose and injure its interests, this following the natural law, which obliges it to labour to its own peculiar conservation, removes them out of its road, and punishes them with more or less rigour, accord- ing to the objects to which it attaches the greatest importance, or which it supposes best suited to further its own peculiar welfare: without doubt it de- ceives itself frequently, but it deceives itself necessarily, for want of the know- ledge calculated to enlighten it with regard to its true interests, or for want of those, who regulate its movements, possessing proper vigilance, suitable talents, and the requisite virtue. From this it will appear, that the injustice of a society badly constftuted, and blinded by its prejudices, is as neces- 108 OF FATALISM. sary as the crimes of those by whom it is hostily attacked and distracted.* The body politic, when in a state of insanity, cannot act more consistently with reason than one of its members whose brain is disturbed by madness. It will still be said that these max- ims, by submitting every thing to ne- cessity, must confound, or even de- stroy, the notions man forms of justice and injustice, of good and evil, of merit and demerit. I deny it: although man, in everv thing he does, acts neces- sarily, his actions are good, just, and meritorious, every time they tend to the real utility of his fellows, and of the society of which he makes a part : they ire, of necessity, distinguished from *hose Avhich are really prejudicial to (he welfare of his associates. Society •s just, good, and worthy our reverence, when it procures for all its members (heir physical wants, afibrds them pro- lection, secures their liberty, and puts them in possession of their natural rights. It is in this that consists all the happiness of which the social com- pact is susceptible. Society is unjust, and unworthy our esteem, when it is partial to a few, and cruel to the great- er number : it is then that it multi- plies its enemies, and obliges them to revenge themselves by criminal actions which it is under the necessity to pun- ish. It is not upon the caprices of political society that depend the true notions of justice and injustice, the right ideas of moral good and evil, a just appreciation of merit and demerit ; it is upon utility — upon the necessity of things — which always forces man to feel that there exists a mode of act- ing which he is obliged to venerate and approve, either in his fellows or in society : Avhilst there is another mode which his nature makes him hate, which his feelings compel him to con- demn. It is upon his own peculiar essence that man founds his ideas of pleasure and of pain, of right and of wrong, of vice and of virtue : the only difference between these is, that pleas- ure and pain make them instantane- * A society punishing excesses to which it has itself given birth, may be compared to a man attacked with the ImLsy disorder, who is obliged to kill the insects, although it is his own diseased constitution which every mo- ment produces them. ously felt in his brain ; whilst the ad- vantages that accrue to him from jus- lice and virtue, frequently do not dis- play themselves but after a long train of reflections, and after multiplied ex- periences, which many, either from a defect in their conformation or from the peculiarity of the circumstances under which they are placed, are prevented from making, or, at least, from making correctly. ■ By a necessary consequence of this truism, the system of fatalism, although it has frequently been so accused, does not tend to encourage man in crime, and to make remorse vanish from his mind. His propensities are to be as- cribed to his nature ; the use he makes of his passions depends upon his habits upon his opinions, upon the ideas he has received in his education, and upon the examples held forth by the society in which he lives. These things are what necessarily decide his conduct. Thus when his temperament renders him susceptible of strong passions, he is violent in his desires, whatever may be his speculations. Remorse is the painful sentiment excited in him by grief caused either by the immediate or probable future effect of his passions : if these effects were always useful to him, he would not experience remorse ; but, as soon as he is assured that his actions render him hateful or contemptible ; or as soon as he fears he shall be punished in some mode or other, he becomes rest- less and discontented with himself: he reproaches himself with his own con- duct; he feels ashamed; he fears the judgment of those beings whose affec- tion he has learned to esteem ; in whose good will he finds his own com- fort deeply interested. His experience proves to him, that the wicked man is odious to all those upon whom his ac- tions have any influence : if these ac- tions are concealed at the moment, he knows it very rarely happens they remain so forever. The smallest re- flection convinces him, that there is no wicked man who is not ashamed of his own conduct ; who is truly con- tented with himself; who does not envy the condition of the good man; who is not obliged to acknowledge, that he has paid very dearly for those advantages he is never able to enjoy OF FATALISM. lOJ jvithout nuikiiiij the most bitter ic- prouclies airaiii^t liimseil": llien he feels ashamed, despises liimself, hates him- self, his conscience becomes alarmed, remorse follows in its train. To be convinced ol' the truth of this principle, it is only requisite to cast our eyes on the extreme precautions that tyrants and villains, who are otherwise suffi- cientlv powerful not to dread the pun- ishment of man, take to prevent expo- sure ; to what lengths they push their cruelties against some, to what mean- ness thev stoop to others, of those who are able to hold them up to public scorn. Have they not then a con- sciousness of their own iniquities? Do ihey not know, that they are hateful and contemptible? Have they not re- morse ? Is their condition happy ? Per- sons Avell brought up acquire these sentiments in their education; which are eitiier strengthened or enfeebled by public opinion, by habit, by the ex- am|)les set before them. In a depraved society, remorse, either does not exist, or presently disappears : because in all his actions, it is ever the judgment of his fellow man that man is obliged necessarily to regard. He never feels either shame or remorse for actions he sees approved, that are practised by all the world. Under corrupt governments, venal souls, avaricious beings, merce- nary individuals, do not blush, either at meanness, robbery, or rapine, when it is authorized by example : in licen- tious nations no one blu-hes at adul- tery ; in superstitious countries, man does not blush to assassinate his fel- low for his opinions. It will be obvi- ous, therefore, that his remorse, as well as the ideas, whether right or wrong, which man has of decency, virtue, justice, &c. are the necessary conse- quence of his temperament, modified by the society in which he lives : as- sassins and thieves, when they live only among themselves, have neither shame nor remorse. Thus, I repeat, all the actions of man, are necessary ; those which are always useful, which constantly con- tribute to the real, tend to the perma- nent happiness of his species, are call- ed I'irlues, and are necessarily pleas- ing to all who experience their influ- ence — ar. least, if their passions or false opinions do not oblige them to judge in tiiat manner which is but little ac- cordant with the nature ol' tilings: each man acts, each individual judges necessarily according to his own pecu- liar mode of existence, and after the ideas, wiielher true or fahe, which he has formed with regard to his happi- ness. There are necessary actions, wliich man is obliged to approve; there are others, that in despite of him- self, he is compelled to censure, of which the idea generates shame, wnen his reflection permits him to contem- plate them under the same point of view that they are regarded by his as- sociates. The virtuous man and the wicked act from motives equally ne- cessary ; they differ simply in their or- ganization, and in the ideas they form to themselves of happiness : we love the one, necessarily, we detest the other from the same necessity. The law of his nature which wills that a sensible being shall constantly labour to preserve himself, has not left to man the power to choose, or the free agency to prefer pain to i)leasure, vice to util- ity, crime to virtue. It is then the es- sence of man himself, that obliges him to discriminate those actions which are advantageous to him, from those which are prejudicial. This distinction subsists even in the most corrupt societies, in which the ideas of virtue, although completely ctTaced from their conduct, remain the same in their mind. Let us suppose a man. who had decidedly determined for villany, \vho should say to himself: " It is folly to be virtuous in a society that is depraved, in a community that is debauched." Let us suppose also that he ha< sufficient address and good for- tune to escape censure or punishment during a long series of years ; I say. that despite of all these circumstances, an- ])arently so advantageous for him -elf, such a man has neither been happy nor contented with his own conduct. He has been in continual agonies ; ever at war with his own actions ; in a state of constant agitation. How much pain, how much anxiety, has he not endured in this perpetual conflict with himself? how many precautions, what excessive labour, what endless solicitude, has he not been compelled to employ in this continued struggle ; how many en-bar- rassments, how many cares, has ht not no OF FATALISM. experienced in this eternal wrestling with his associates, whose penetration he dreads ? Demand of him wliat he thinks of himself, he will shrink from the question. Approach the bedside of this villain at the moment he is dying, ask him if he would be willing to recommence, at the same price, a life of similar agitation ? If he is in- genuous, he will avow that he has tast- ed neither repose nor happiness ; that each crime filled him with inquietude ; that reflection prevented him from sleeping ; that the Avorld has been to him only one continued scene of alarm and an everlasting anxiety of mind ; that to live peaceably upon bread and water, appears to him to be a much happier, a more easy condition, than to possess riches, credit, reputation, hon- ours, on the same terms that he has him- self acquired them. If this villain, mau- gre all his success, finds his condition so deplorable, what must be thought of the feelings of those who have neither the same resources, nor the same ad- vantages, to succeed in their criminal projects ? Thus the system of necessity, is a truth not only founded upon certain -experience, but, again, it establishes morals upon an immoveable ^asis. Far from sapping the foundations of virtue, it points out its necessity ; it clearly shows the invariable sentiments it must excite — sentiments so necessary, so strong, that all the prejudices and all the vices of man's institutions, have never been able entirely to eradicate them from his mind. When he mis- takes the advantages of virtue, it ought to be ascribed to the errours that are infused into him ; to the irrationality of his institutions. All his wander- ings are the fatal and necessary conse- quences of errour and of prejudices which have identified themselves with his existence. Let it not therefore any longer be imputed to his nature that he has become wicked, but to those bane- ful opinions he has imbibed with his mother's milk which have rendered him ambitious, avaricious, envious, haughty, arrogant, debauched, intole- rant, obstinate, prejudiced, incommodi- ous to his fellows, and mischievous to himself. It is education that carries into his system the germ of those vices, which necessarily torment him during the whole course of his life. Fatalism is reproached with dis- couraging man, damping the ardour of his soul, plunging him into apathy, and with destroying the bonds that should connect him with society. Its oppo- nents say : " If every thing is necessary, we must let things go on, and not be disturbed at any thing." But does it depend on man to be sensible or not? Is he master of feeling, or not feeling pain? If nature has endowed him with a humane and tender soul, is it possible he should not interest himself in a very lively manner in the welfare of beings whom he knows are necessary to his own peculiar happiness ? His feelings are necessary; they depend on his own peculiar nature, cultivated by education. His imagination, prompt to concern itself with the felicity of his race, causes his heart to be oppressed at the sight of those evils his fellow creature is obliged to endure : makes his soul tremble in the contemplation of the misery arising from the despotism that crushes him ; from the superstition that leads him astray ; from the pas- sions that distract him ; from the follies that are perpetually ranking him in a state of warfare against his neighbour. Although he knows that death is the fatal and necessary period to the form of all beings, his soul is not affected in a less lively manner at the loss of a beloved wile — at the demise of a child calculated to console his old age — at the final separation from an esteemed friend, who had become dear to his heart. Although he is not ignorant that it is the essence of fire to burn, he does not believe he is dispensed from using his utmost efforts to arrest the progress of a conflagration. Although he is intimately convinced that the evils to which he is a witness are the necessary consequence of primitive errours with which his fellow citizens are imbued, yet he feels he ought to display truth to them, (if nature has given him the necessary courage,) under the conviction that if they listen to it, it will by degrees become a cer- tain remedy for their sufferings — that It will produce those necessary effects which it is of its essence to operate. If the speculations of man modify OF FATALISM. ill his conduct, if they change his tem- perament, he ought not to douht that the system of necessity wouhl have the most advantageous innuenre over him: not only is it suitaiile to cahii the greater part of his ini|uietude, i)ut it will al>o contribute to inspire him with a useful submission, a rational resignation to the decrees of a destiny, with which his too great sensinility frequently causes him to be overwhelmed. This happy apathy without doubt would be desirable 10 those whose souls, too tender to brook the inecjualities of life, frequently render them the deplorable sport of their fate ; or whose organs, too weak to make resistance to the buffetings of fortune, incessantly expose them to be dashed in pieces under the rude blows of ad- versity. But, of all the important advantages the human race would be enabled to derive from the doctrine of fatalism if man was to apply it to his conduct, none would be of greater magnitude, none of more happy consequence, none that w^ould more efficaciously corrobo- rate his happiness, than that general indulgence, that universal toleration, that must necessarily spring from the opinion that all is necessary. In coh- sequence of the adoption of this prin- ciple, the fatalist, if he had a sensible soul, would commiserate the prejudices of his fellow man, would lament over his wanderings, would seek to unde- ceive him, without ever irritating him- self against his weakness — without ever insulting his misery. Indeed, what right have we to hate or despise man for his opinions? His ignorance, his prejudices, his imbecility, his vices, his passions, his weakness, are they not the inevitable consequence of vicious institutions ? Is he not sufficiently pun- ished by the multitude of evils that afflict him on every side? Those despots who crush him with an iron sceptre, are they not continual victims to their own peculiar restlessness, and eternal slaves to their suspicions ? Is there one wicked individual who enjoys a ])ure. an un- mixed, a real happiness? Do not nations unceasingly sufler from their follies? Are they not the incessant dupes to their prejudices? Is not the ignorance of chiefs, the ill-will they bear to rea- son, the hatred they have for truth, punished by the imbecility of their citi- zens, and by the ruin of the staH's they govern? In short, the fatali>t would grieve to witness necessity each moment exercising its severe decrees upon mor- tals who are ignorant of it-< power, or who feel its castigatiun, without ijeing willing to acknowledge the hand from whence it proceeds ; lie will jjcrceive, that ignorance is necessary, that credu- lity is the necessary result of ignorance, that slavery and bondage are necessary consequences of ignorant credulity ; that corruption of manners springs necessarily from slavery ; that the miseries of society and of its members, are the necessary offspring of this cor- ruption. The fatalist, in consequence of these ideas, will neither lie a gloomy mis- anthrope, nor a dangerous citizen. He will pardon in his brethren those wan- derings which their nature vitiated by a thousand causes, has rendered neces- sary ; he will offer them consolation; he will endeavour to inspire them with courage ; he will be sedulous to unde- ceive them in their idle notions ; in their chimerical ideas ; but he will never show them that rancorous ani- mosity which is more suitable to make them revolt from his doctrines than to attract them to reason. He will not disturb the repose of society ; he will not raise the people to insurrection against the sovereign authority ; on the contrary, he will feel that the miserable blindness and perverseiiess of so many conductors of the people, are the neces- sary consequence of that (lattery admin- istered to them in their infancy ; of the depraved malice of those who surround them, and who wickedly corrupi them, tnat they may pr(jtit by their folly: ia short, that these things are the inevi- table effect of that profound ignorance of their true interest, in which every thing strives to keep them. The fatalist has no right to be vain of his peculiar talents or of his virtues : he knows that these qualities are only the consequence of his natural organiza • tion, modified by circumstances that have in nowise depended upon himself. He will neither have hatred nor feel contempt for those whom nature and circumstances have not favoured in a similar manner. It is the fatalist who ought to be humble and mode>t from principle: is he not obliged to acknow nz OF FATALISM. ledge that he possesses nothing that he has not previously received ? In fact, every thing will conduct to indulgence the fatalist Avhom experience has convinced of the necessity of things. He will see with pain that it is the essence of a society badly constituted, unwisely governed, enslaved to preju- dice, attached to unreasonable customs, submitted to irrational laws, degraded under despotism, corrupted by luxury, inebriated with false opinions, to be filled Avith trifling members ; to be composed of vicious citizens ; to be made up of cringing slaves, who are proud of their chains ; of ambitious men, without ideas of true glory ; of mis«rs and prodigals ; of fanatics and libertines ! Convinced of the necessary connexion of things, he Avill not be surprised to see that the supineness of their chiefs carries discouragement into their country ; or that the influence of their governors stirs up bloody wars by which it is depopulated ; causes useless expenditures that empoverish it ; and that all these excesses united is the reason why so many nations contain only men wanting happiness, who are devoid of morals, destitute of virtue. In ail this, he will contemplate nothing more than the necessary action and reaction of physics upon morals, of morals upon physics. In short, all who acknowledge fatality, will remain persuaded that a nation badly governed is a soil very abundant in poisonous plants ; that these have such a plentiful growth as to crowd each other and choke themselves. It is in a country cultivated by the hands of a Lycurgus, that he Avill witness the production of intrepid citizens, of noble-minded indi- viduals, of disinterested men, who are strangers to irregular pleasures. In a country cultivated by a Tiberius, he will find nothing but villains, with depraved hearts, men with mean con- temptible souls, despicable informers, and execrable traitors. It is the soil, it is the circumstances in which man tinds himself placed, that renders him either a useful object or a prejudicial being: the Avise man avoids the one, as he would those dangerous reptiles whose nature it is to sting and com- municate their deadly venom ; he at- taches himself to the other, esteems him, loves him, as he does those deli- cious fruits, with Avhose rich maturity his palate is pleasantly gratified, and Avith Avhose cooling juices he finds himself agreeably refreshed : he sees the wicked Avithout anger ; he cherishes the good Avith pleasure ; he delights in the bountiful ; he knows full Avell that the tree Avhich is languishing Avithout culture in the arid, sandy desert; that is stunted forAvant of attention; leafless for Avant of moisture ; that has groAvn crooked from neglect; become barren from Avant of loam ; Avould perhaps have expanded far and AA'ide its verdant boughs, brought forth delectable fruit, aflforded an umbrageous refreshing shel- ter, if its seed had been fortunately soAA^n in a more fertile soil, or if it had experienced the fostering cares of a skilful cultivator. Let it not then be said, that it is degrading man to reduce his functions to a pure mechanism ; that it is shame- fully to undervalue him, to compare him to a tree — to an abject vegetation. The philosopher devoid of prejudice, does not understand this language invented by those who are ignorant of AA'hat con- stitutes the true dignity of man. A tree is an object Avhich, in its station, joins the useful AAdth the agreeable ; it merits our approbation Avhen it produces sweet and pleasant fruit, and Avhen it aflbrds a favourable shade. All machines are precious, AA^henever they are truly useful, and Avhen they faithfully perform the functions for Avhich they are designed. Yes, I speak it Avith courage, the honest man. Avhen he has talents and possesses A'irtue, is, for the beings of his species, a tree that furnishes them Avith delicious fruit, and atfords them refreshing shelter : the honest man is a machine, of AA^hich the springs are adapted to fulfil its func- tions in a manner that must gratify the expectation of all his felloAvs. N-o, I should not blush to be a machine of this sort ; and my heart Avould leap Avith joy if I could foresee that the fruit of my reflections Avould one day be useful and consoling to my felloAv man. Is not nature herself a A^ast machine, of Avhich the hum.an species is but a very feeble spring ? I see nothing con- temptible either in her or in her pro- ductions : all the beings who come out of her hands are good, are noble, are sublime, whenever they co-operate to the production of order ; to the main- OT FATALISM. 113 lenance of hiirinony in tlie spIiL're where they must act. Of whatever nature the soul may be, whetlier mortal or immor- tal; whether it he rerranled a> a spirit, or whether it be looked u])on as a por- tion of the body ; it will be found noble, great, and sublime, in a Socrates, in an Ari>tides, in a Cato: it will be thought abject, it will be viewed as de-spicahle ever arrest her colo^isal power, always acting after immutable laws. Let him submit silently to his condition; and when he suffers, let him not seek a remedy by recurring to chimeras that his OAvn distempered imagination has created ; let him draw from the stores^ of nature herself the remedies which she offers for the evil she brinies upon and corrupt in a Claudius, in a .Sejanus, him: if she send him diseases, let in a iVero : its enerijies will be admired him search in her bosom for those in a Shakspeare, in a Corneille, in a .salutary productions »o which she has Newton, in a Montesquieu: its base- [given birth. If she gives him errours, ness will be lamented when we behold j she also furnishes him with experience mean men, wiio Hatter tyranny, or who servilely cringe at the foot of super- stition. All that has been said in the course of this work, proves clearly that every thing is necessary; that every thing is always in order relatively to nature, where all beings do nothing more th-in follow the laws that are imposed on their respective classes. It is part of her plan, that certain portions of the earth shall bring forth delicious fruits, whilst others shall only furnish bram- bles and noxious vegetables : she has been willing that some societies should produce wise men and great heroes , that others should only give birth to contemptible men, without energy, and de<;tiiute of virtue. Winds, tempests, hurricanes, volcanoes, wars, plagues, famine, diseases, death, are as necessary to her eternal march, as the beneficent heat of the sun, the serenity of the atmosphere, the gentle showers of spring, plentiful years, peace, health, harmony, life : vice and virtue, dark- ness and light, ignorance and science, are equally necessary; the one are not benefits, the other are not evils, except for those beings whose happiness they influence, by either favouring or de- ranging their peculiar mode of existence. IVii^ ir/i(ile cctnnot be mis-erahlf, Init it may contain unhappy iiuUridaals. Nature, then, distributes with the same hand that which is called order, and that which is called di>inrdr.r ; that which is called pleaaure. and that which is called pain; in short, she diffuses, by the necessity of her exist- ence, good and evil, in the world we inhabit. Let not man therefore either arraign her bounty, or tax her with malice ; let him not imagine that his and truth to counteract and destroy their fatal effects. If she permit« man to groan under the pressure of his vices, beneath the load of his follies, she also shows him in virtue a sure remedy for his infirmities: if the evils that some societies experience are necessary .when they shall have become too incommo- dious, they will be irresistibly obliged to search for those remedies which nature will always point out to them. If this nature has rendered existence insup- portable to some unfortunate beings whom she may appear to have selected for her victims, still death is a door that will surely be opened to them, and will deliver them from their mis- fortunes, although they may be deemed impossible of cure. Let not man, then, accuse nature with being inexorable to him ; since there does not exist an evil for which she has not furnished the remedy to those who have the courage to seek and apply it. Nature follows general and necessary laws in all her opera- tions ; physical and moral evil are not to be ascribed to her want of kindness, but to the necessity of things. Physical calamity is the derangement produced in man's organs by physical causes which he sees act: moral evil is the derangement produced in him by physi- cal causes, of which the action is tc him a secret. These causes always terminate by producing sensible effects, whicli are capable of striking hi-* senses ; neither the thought- the passions of those men who are called mighty, accordmg to their actions ; he OF FATALISM. IIS would find that they are true atoms which nature employs to move the moral world ; tiiat it is the unexpected but necessary junction of these indis- cernible particles of n)attcr, it is their aggregation, their combination, their proportion, their fermentation, which modifying the individual by degrees, in despite of himself, and frequently without his own knowledge, make him think, will and act in a determinate but necessary mode. If the will and the actions of this individual have an inlluence over a great number of other men, here is the moral world in a state of the greatest combu'^tion. Too much acrimony in the bile of a fanatic, blood too much inflamed in the heart of a conqueror, a painful indiijestion in the stomach of a monarch, a whim that passes in the mind of a woman, are sometimes causes sufficient to bring on war, to send millions of men to the slaughter, to root out an entire people, to overthrow walls, to reduce cities into ashes, to plunge nations into slavery, to put a whole people into mourning, to breed famine in a land, to engender pestilence, to propagate calamity, to extend misery, to spread desolation far and wide upon the surface of our globe, through a long series of ages. The dominant passion of an indi- vidual of the human species, Avhen it disposes of the passions of many others, arrives at combining their will, at uniting their efforts, and thus decitles the condition of man. It is after this manner that an ambitious, crafty, and voluptuous Arabgave to his countrymen an impulse, of which the etlect was the subjugation and desolation of vast countries in Asia, in Africa, and in Europe; whose consequences were suf- ficiently potential to give a novel system of religion to millions of human beings ; to overturn the altars of their former gods ; in short, to alter the opinions, to change the customs of a considerable portion of the population of the earth. But in examining the primitive sources of this strange revolution, what were the concealed causes that had an influ- ence over this man, that excited his peculiar passions, that modified his temperament ? What was the matter from the combination of whicJi resulted a crafty, ambitious, enthusiastic, and eloquent man ; in short, a personage competent to impofre on his fellow creatures, and capable of making them concur in his views. Th"y were th« insensible particles of his blood, the imperceptible texture of his fibres, the salts, more or less acrid, that stimu- lated his nerves, the proportion of igneous fluid that circulated in his system. From whence came these elements? It was from the womb of his mother, from the aliments which nourished him, from the climate in which he had his birih, frou) the ideas he received, from the air which he respired, without reckoning a thousand inappreciable and transitory causes, that, in the instance given, had modi- fied, had determined the passions of this important being, who had thereby acquired the capacity to change the face of this mundane sphere. To causes so weak in their principles, if in the origin the slightest obstacle had been opposed, these wonderful events, which have astounded man, would never have been produced. The fit of an ague, the consequence of bile a little too much inflamed, had sufYiced, perhaps, to have rendered abortive all the vast projects of the legislator of the Mussulmen. Spare diet, a glass of water, a sanguinary evacuation, would sometimes have been sufficient to have saved kingdoms. It will be seen, then, that the con- dition of the human species, as well as that of each of its individuals, every instant depends on insensible causes, to which circumstances, frequently fugi- tive, give birth ; that opportunity de- velops, and convenience puts in action: man attributes their eflects to chance, whilst these cau«;es operate necessarily and act according to fixed rules : he has frequently neither the sagacity, nor the honesty, to recur to their true prin- ciples ; he regards such feeble nn)tives with contempt, because he has been taught to consider them as incapable of producing such stupendous events. They are, however, these motives, weak as they may apjjcar to be, these springs, so pitiful in his eyes, which, according to her necessary laws, suffice in the hands of nature, to move the universe. The conque'^ts of a Gengis- khan have nothing in them that is more strange to the eve ol" a jihilosopher than the explosion of a mine, caused in its 116 IMMORTALITY OF TIJE SOUL. principle by a feeble spark, which com- mences with setting fire to a single grain of powder; this presently com- municates itself to many millions of other contiguous grains, of which the united and multiplied powers, terminate by blowing Up mountains, overthrow- ing fortifications, or converting populous cities into heaps of ruins. Thus, imperceptible causes, concealed m the bosom of nature until the moment their action is displayed, frequently decide the fate of man. The happiness or the wretchedness, the prosperity or the misery of each individual, as well as that of whole nations, are attached to powers which it is impossible for him to foresee, to appreciate, or to arrest the action. Perhaps, at this 'moment, atoms are amassing, insensible particles are combining, of which the assemblage shall form a sovereign, who will be either the scourge or the saviour of a mighty empire.'*" Man cannot answer for his own destiny one single instant; he has no cognizance of what is passing within himself; he is ignorant of the causes which act in the interior of his machine ; he knows nothing of the cir- cumstances that will give them activity and develop their energy ; it is, never- theless, on these causes, impossible to be unravelled by him, that depends his condition in life. Frequently an un- foreseen rencounter gives birth to a passion in his soul, of which the con- sequences shall necessarily have an influence over his felicity. It is thus that the most virtuous man, by a whim- sical combination of unlooked for cir- cumstances, may become in an instant the most criminal of his species. This truth, without doubt, will be found frightful and terrible : but at bottom, what has it more revolting than that which teaches him that an infinity of accidents, as irremediable as they are unforeseen, may every instant wrest from him that life to which he is so strongly attached ? Fatalism reconciles the good man easily to death : it makes him contemplate it as a certain means of withdrawing himself from wickedness ; this system shows death, even to the happy man himself, as a medium between him and those mis- * By a strange coincidence, Napoleon Buonaparte was born the same year in which the System of Nature was rirst published. fortunes which frequently terminate b) poisoning his hapj)iness, and with im bittering the most fortunate existence. Let man then submit to necessity in despite of himself it will always hurry him forward : let him resign himself to nature ; let him accept the good with which she presents him ; let him oppose to the necessary evil which she makes him experience, those necessary remedies which she consents to afford him : let him not disturb his mind with useless inquietude ; let him enjoy with moderation, because he will find that pain is the necessary com- panion of excess: let him follow the paths of virtue, because every thing will prove to him, even in this world of perverseness, that it is absolutely necessary to render him estimable in the eyes of others, and to make him contented with himself. Feeble, and vain mortal, thou pre- tendest to be a free agent; alas, dost not thou see all the threads which enchain thee ? Dost thou not perceive that they are atoms which form thee ; that they are atoms which move thee ; that they are circumstances independent of thyself that modify thy being, and rule thy destiny ? In the puissant na- ture that environs thee, shalt thou pre- tend to be the only being who is able to resist her power? Dost thou really believe, that thy weak prayers will induce her to stop in her eternal march or chan£:e her everlasting course ? ~^ ■7 CHAPTER XIII. Of the Immortality of the Soul ; — Of the Doc- trine of a Future State; — Of the Fear of Death. The reflections presented to the reader in this work, tend to show, Avhat ought to be thought of the human soul, as well as of its operations and faculties : every thing proves, in the most con- vincing manner, that it acts and moves according to laws similar to those pre- scribed to the other beings of nature; that it cannot be distinguished from the body ; that it is born Avith it ; that it grows up with, it; that it is modified in the same progression ; in short, every thing ought to make man conclude that it perishes with it. This soul, a? well IMMORTALITY' OP THE SOUL. :i7 as the body, passes through a state of weakness and infancy ; it is in this stage o(" its existence that it is assailed by a miilliuide of modifications and of ideas which it receives from exterior objects through the medium of the organs ; that it amasses facts ; that it collects experience, whether true or false; that it forms to itself a system of conduct, according to which it thinks and acts, and from whence results either its happiness or its misery, its reason or its delirium, its virtue-S or its vices: arrived with the body at its full jiowers ; having in conjunction with it reached maturity, it does not cease for a single instant to partake in common of its sensations, Avhether these are agreeable or disagreeable ; in consequence it con- jointly approves or disapproves its state ; like it, it is either sound or diseased, active or languishing, awake or asleep. In old age, man extinguishes entirely, his fibres become rigid, his nerves lose their elasticity, his senses are obtunded, his sight grows dim, his ears lose their quickness, his ideas become uncon- nected, his memory fails, his imagina- tion cools ;, what, then, becomes of his soul? Alas! it sinks down with the body ; it gets benumbed as this loses its feeling, becomes sluggish as this decays in activity; like it, when en- feebled by years it fulfils its functions with pain ; and this substance, which IS deemed spiritual or immaterial. undergoes the same revolutions, and experiences the same vicissitudes as does the body itself In despite of this convincmg proof of the materiality of the soul, and of its identity with the body, some thinkers have supposed that altiiough the latter is perishable, the former does not perish ; that this portion of man enjoys the especial privilege of immortalily: that it is exempt from dissolution and free from those changes of form all the 'beings in nature undergo : in conse- quence of this, man has persuaded himself that this privilegtjd soul does 1 not die : its immortality above all appears indubitable to those who sup- pose it spiritual : after having made it a simple being, witliout extent, devoid of parts, totally different from any thintr of which he has a knowledge, he pre- tended that it was not subjected to the laws of decomposition common to all beings, of which experience shows him the continual operation. Man, feeling within himself a con- cealed force that insen-ihly produced action, that imperceptiblv gave direc- tion to the motion of his machine, believed that the entire of nature, or whose energies he is ignorant, with whose modes of acting he is unac- qiiainted, owed its motion to an a^ent analogous to his own soul, who acted upon the great macrocosm in the same manner that this soul acted upon his body. Man having supposed himself double, made nature double also: he distinguished her from her own pecu- liar energy ; he separated her from her mover, which by degrees he made spi- ritual. Thus this being distinguished from nature was regarded as the soul of the world, and the soul of man was considered as portions emanating from this universal soul. This notion upon the origin of the soul, is of very remote antiquity. It was that of the Egyptians, of the Chaldeans, of the Hebrews, of the greater number of the icise men nf the east* It was in these schools that Pherecydes, Pythagoras, Plato, drew up a doctrine so flattering to the vanity ot human nature — so gratifying to the imagination of mortals. Thus man believed himself a portion of the Divi- nity ; immortal, like the Godhead, in one part of himself; nevertheless, reli- gions subscquenlly invented have re- nounced these advantages, which they ♦ It nppcnrs thai Moses believed, with the F,i,'yptiaiis, tlie divine eiiiaimtion of souls :' aeeordiiig to him, " God J'ormcd mini of the ctitsl of lite ground, and brealhcd into hia nostrits the breath of life; and man brcaine a livins^ i'oul :" Gen. ii. 7. — nevertheless Chris- tians at this day reject thi.s system of Pirine cmannlion, seeiiiu; that it supposes the Divinity divisible; besides, their reliL'ioii havini: "•'M of a Hell to torment the souls of the damned, it would have lieen necessary to send a portion of the Divinity to Hell, conjointly with the souls of those victims that were sacri(ic(>d to bis own ven^ieanee. .Vlthouiib Closes, in the < above quotation, seems to inigiiation to the decrees of fate : his welfare exacts that he should contract the habit of contem- plating without alarm an event that his essence has rendered inevitable : his interest demands that he should not by continual dread imbitter his life, the charms of which he must inevitably destroy, if he can never view its termi- nation but with trepidation. Reason and his interest concur to assure him against those vague terrours with which his imagination inspires him in this respect. If he was to call them to his assistance, they would reconcile him to an object that only startles him because he has no knowledge of it, or because it is only shown to him with those hideous accompaniments with which it is clothed by superstition. Let him, then, endeavour to despoil death of these vain illusions, and he Avill per- ceive that it is only the sleep of life ; that this sleep will not be disturbed with disagreeable dreams, and that an unpleasant awakening will never fol- low it. To die, is to sleep ; it is to re- enter into that state of insensibility in which he was previous to his birth ; before he had senses, before he was conscious of his actual existence. Laws, as necessary as those which gave him birth, will make him return into the bosom of nature from whence he was drawn, in order to reproduce him afterwards under some new form, which it would be useless for him to know: without consulting him, nature places him for a season in the order of organized beings; without his consent, she will oblige him to quit it to occupy some other order. Let him not complain, then, that nature is callous ; she only makes him undergo a law from which she does not exempt any one being she contains.* If all are born and perish ; if every thing is changed and destroyed ; if the birth of a being is never more than the first step towards its end ; how is it possible lb expect that man, who of death: ever ingenious in tormenting him, it has extended his inquietudes beyond even his known existence ; and its ministers, the more securely to dispose of him in this world, invented future regions, reserving to themselves the privilege of awarding recompenses to those who yielded most implicitly to their arbitrary laws, and of having their God decree punishments to those re- fractory beings who rebelled against their power.J Thus, far from holding forth conso- lation to mortals, far from cultivating man's reason, far from teaching him to yield under the hands of necessity, religion strives to render death still more bitter to him, to make its yoke sit heavy, to fill up its retinue with a multitude of hideous phantoms, and to render its approach terrible. By this means it has crowded the world Avith enthusiasts, whom it seduces by vague promises ; with contemptible slaves, whom it coerces "with the fear of imagi- nary evils. It has at length persuaded man, that his actual existence is only a journey by which he will arrive at a more important life. This irrational doctrine of a future life prevents him from occupying himself with his true happiness ; from thinking of amelior- ating his institutions, of improving his laws, of advancing the progress of science, and of perfectioning his morals. Vain and gloomy ideas have absorbed his attention : he consents to groan under religious and political tyranny ; to live in errour, to languish in rais- been so regulated by virtue, will he not have so comported himself in iiis present existence, as to stand a fair chance of enjoying in their fullest extent those felicities prepared for his species 7 t Let us review the history of Priestcraft in all ages, and we shall invariably find it the same crafty and contemptible system. Tan- talus, for divulging their secrets, must eter- nally fear, engulfed in burning suljihur, the stone ready to fall on bis devoted head ; whilst Romulus was iieatified and worshipjied as a God under ilie name of Qiiiriiuis. Tiio same systiMn of Priestcraft caused the pliilosopher rallisthencs to be put to death, for opposing the worship of Alexander, and elevated the monk Athanasius to be a saint in heaven I 124 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. fortune, in the hope, when he shall he no more, of being one day happier ; in the firm confidence, that his calamities, his stupid patience, will conduct him to a never-ending felicity : he has be- lieved himself submitted to a cruel God, who is willing to make him purchase his future welfare, at the expense of every thing most dear and most valu- able to his existence here below : they have pictured their God as irritated against him, as disposed to appease itself by punishing him eternally tor any efforts he should make to withdraw himself from their power. It is thus that the doctrine of a future life has been most fatal to the human species: it plunged whole nations into sloth, made them languid, filled them with indifference to their present welfare ; or else precipitated them into the most furious enthusiasm, which hurried them on to tear each other in pieces in order to merit heaven. It will be asked, perhaps, by what road has man been conducted, to form to himself these strange and gratuitous ideas of another world? I reply, that it is a truth man has no idea of a future life, which does not exist for him; the ideas of the past and the present furnish his imagination with the materials of which he constructs the edifice of the regions of futurity ; and Hobbes says, " We believe that that which is, will always be, and that the same causes will have the same effects." Man in his actual state, has two modes of feeling, one that he approves, another that he disapproves : thus, persuaded that these two modes of feeling must accompany him, even beyond his pre- sent existence, he placed in the regions of eternity two distinguished abodes; one destined to felicity, the other to misery : the one will contain the friends of his God ; the other is a prison, des- tined to avenge Him on all those who shall not faithfully believe the doctrines promulgated by the ministers of a vast variety of superstitions.* * Has sufficient attention been paid to the fact that results as a necessary conseq\ience from this reasoning, which on examination will be found to have rendered the first place entirely noseless, seeing that by the number and contradiction of these various systenis, let man beheve which ever he may, let him follow it in the most faithful manner, still he Such is the origin of the ideas upon a future life, so diffused among man- kind. Every where may be seen an Eli^shim and a Tartarus ; ?l Paradise and a Hell ; in a word, two distin- guished abodes, constructed according to the imagination of the knaves or enthusiasts who have invented them, and who have accommodated them to the peculiar prejudices, to the hopes, to the fears, of the people who believe in them. The Indian figures the first of these abodes as one of inaction and of permanent repose, because, being the inhabitant of a hot climate, he has Jearned to contemplate rest as the extreme of felicity : the Mussulman promises himself corporeal pleasures, similar to those that actually constitute the object of his research in this life : the Christian iiopes for ineffable and spiritual pleasures — in a word, for a happiness of which he has no idea. Of whatever nature these pleasures may be, man perceived that a body was needful, in order that his soul might be enabled to enjoy the pleasures, or to experience the pains in reserve for him by the Divinity : from hence the doc- trine of the resurrection ; but as he beheld this body putrify, as he saw il dissolve, as he witnessed its decompo- sition after death, he therefore had re- course to the divine omnipotence, by whose interposition he now believes it will be formed anew. This opinion, so incomprehensible, is said to have originated in Persia, among the Magi, and finds a great number of adherents, who have never given it a serious ex- amination.! Others, incapable of ele- must be ranked as an infidel, as a rebel to the Divinity, because he cannot believe in all ; and those from which he dissents, by a conse- quence of their own creed, condemn him to the prison-house 7 + The doctrine of the resurrection appears perfectly useless to all those who believe in the existence of a soul, that feels, thinks, suf- fers, and enjoys after a separation from the body : indeed, there are already sects who be- gin to maintain, that the body is not necessary, that therefore it will never be resurrected.— Like Berkeley, they conceive that " the soul has need neither of body nor any exterior be- ing, either to experience sensations, or to have ideas." The Mahhranchisls, in particular, must suppose that the rejected souls will see hell in the Divinity, and will feel ihemselvea burn without having occasion for bodies for that purpose. l.M.MORT.\[,ITV OF TIIR SOUL. 12,') vatinij thcin^olvos to thc^e sublime no- tions. bolifViMi, that under clivers 1'orin.s, man aniniaieil successively clillerent animals, of various species, and that he never ceased to he an inhabitant of the earth ; such was the opinion of those who adopted the doctrine of Melempsi/c/iti.'^iti. As for ihe miserable abode of souls, the imaijji nation of fanatics, who were desirous of 2:overning the peoi)le, strove to assemble the most frightful images to render it still more terrible. Fire is of all beings that which produces in man the most pungent sensation ; it was therefore supposed that God could not invent any thing more cruel to punish his enemies : then fire was the point at which their imagination was obliged to slo|) ; and it was agreed pretty generally, that fire would one day avenge the olTended divinity :* thus they i)ainted the victims to his anger as confined in fiery dungeons ; as per- l)etually rolling in a vorte.x of bitumin- ous flames ; as plunged in unfathomed gulfs of liquid, sulphur ; and making the infernal caverns resound with their useless groanings, and with their un- availing gnashing of teeth. But it will perhaps be inquired, how could man reconcile himself to tlie be- lief of an existence accompanied with eternal torments ; above all, as many according to their own religious systems had reason to fear it for themselves? Many causes have concurred to make him adopt so revolting an opinion. In the first place, very few thinking men have ever believed such an absurdity, when they have deigned to make use of their reason ; or, when they have accredited it, this notion was always (counterbalanced by the idea of the goodness, by a reliance on the mercy, which they attributed to their God.f * It is no doubt to this we owe the atone- ments by fire used by a frrcat number of ori- ental nations, and practised at this very day by the priests of the God of Peace, who are so cruel as to consifjn to the flames all those who differ from them in their ideas of tiie Divinity. As a consequence of this absurd system, the civil masjistrates condemn to the tire the sacrih^gious and the blasphemer —that IS lo say, persons who do no harm to any on(^ ; whilst they are content to punish more mildly tlio.se who do a real injurv to society. So laueh for religion and its efiects ! t If as Christians assume, the torments in li '11 are to be infinite in tlieir duration and in- In till' second place, those who were blinded by their fears, never rendered to themselves any account of these strange doctrines, whiich they either received with awe from their legisla- tors, or which were transmitted lo them by their lathers. In the third i)lace each sees the object of his terrours only at a favourable distance ; more- over superstition promises hun the means of escaping the tortures he be- lieves he has merited. At length, like those sick people whom we see cling Avith fondness even to the most painful life, man preferred the idea of an un- happy though unknown existence, to that of non-existence, which he looked upon as the most frightful evil that could befall him, either because he could form no idea of it, or, because his imagination painted to him this non-existence, this nothing, as the coii- fiised assemblage of all evils. A known evil, of whatever magnitude, alarmed him less, above all when there remain- ed the hope of being able to avoid it, than an evil of which he knew nothing, upon which consequently his imagi- nation was painfully employed, but to which he knew not how to oppose a remedy. It will be seen, then, that supersti- tion, far from consoling man upon the necessity of death, only reiloubles his terrours, by the evils which it pretends his decease will be followed : these terrours are so strong, that the miser- able wretches who believe strictly in these formidable tloctrines. pass their days in alfiiction, bathed in the most bitter tears. What shall be said of an opinion, so destructive to society, yet adopted by so many nations, which announces to them, that a severe God, may at each instant, ///ce a M?Vy^ take them unprovided ; that at each moment they are liable to pass under the most rigorous judgment ? What idea can tenseness, we must conclude that man, who is a finite being, caimot suffer infinitely. fho has arrived at per- suading himself that he cannot be happy without crime, will always readily de- liver himself up to it notwithstanding the menaces of religion. Whoever is sufficiently blind, not to read his infamy in his own heart, to see his own vile- ness in the countenances of his asso- ciates, his own condemnation in the anger of his fellow men, his own un- worthiness in the indignation of the judges established to punish the offences he may commit ; such a man. I say, will never feel the impression his crimes * It will be said, that the fear of another life is a curb useful at least to restrain princes and nobles, who have no other ; and that this curb, such as it is, is better than none. But it has been sufficiently proved that the behef in a future life does not controul the actions of sovereigns. The only way to prevent sovereigns from injurinar society, is, to make them subservient to the laws, and to prevent their ever having the right or power of enslav- ing and oppressing nations according to the whim or caprice of the moment. Tlierefore, a good political constimtion, founded upon natural rights and a sound education, is the only efficient check to the malpractic«« of 'bo rulers of nations. IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. )J9 shall make on the feature-* of a judq^e that is eitiier iiidtleii iVoin hi- view, or that he only contemplate-; at a di'^tance. The tyrant, who with dry eyes can hear the cries of the distressed, who with callous heart can heiiold tiie tears of a whole people of whose misery he is the cause, will not see the angry counte- nance of a more powerful master. When a haughty, arrogant monarch, pretends to be accountable for his actions to the Divinity alone, it is because he fears his nation more than he does his God. On the other hand, does not religion itself annihilate the effects of those lears which it announces as salutary ? Does it not furni-li its disciples with the means of extricating themselves from the punishments with which it has so frequently menaced them? Does it not tell them, that a steril repenrance will, even at the moment of death, dis- arm the celestial wrath; that it will purify the tilthy souls of sinners? Do not even the priests, in some super- stitions, arrogate to themselves the right of remitting to the dying, the punishment due to the crimes com- mitted during the course of a disorderly life ? In short, do not the most perverse men, encouraged in iniquity, debauchery, and crime, reckon, even to the last mo- ment, upon the aid of a religion that promises them the infallible means of reconciling themselves to the Divinity whom they have irritated, and of avoid- ing his rigorous punishments? In consequence of these notions, so favourable to the wicked, so suitable to tranquillize their fears, we see that the hope of an easy expiation, far from correcting man, engages him to persist until death in the most crying disorders. Indeed, in despite of the numberless advantages which he is assured flows from the doctrine of a life to come, in defiance of its pretended efficacy to repress the passions of men, do not the priests themselves, although so inter- ested in the maintenance of this system, everv day cc)m|)lain of its insufficiency? They acknowledge, that mortals, whom from their infancy they have imbued with these ideas, are not less hurried forward by their evil propensities, less sunk in the vortex of dissipation, le*s the slaves to their pleasures, less capti- vated bv bad habits, less driven along No. v.— 17 by the torrent of the world, less seduced by their present interest, which make them forget equally the recompense and the chastisement of a future exist- ence. In a word, the ministers of Heaven allow, that their disciples, *for the greater part, conduct themselves in this world as if they had nothing either to hoi)e or to fear in another. But let it be suj)posed for a moment that the doctrine of eternal punishments was of some utility, and that it really restrained a small number of indt> viduals ; what are these teeble advan- tages compared to the numberless evils that flow from it? Against one timid man, whom this idea restrains, there are thousands upon whcjm it ojjcrates nothing; there are millions whom it makes irrational ; whom it renders savage persecutors ; whom it converts into useless and wicked fanatics ; there" are millions whose mind it disturbs, and whom it diverts from their duties towards society ; there are an infinity whom it grievously afflicts and troubles, without producing anv real good for their associates.* * Many persons, convinced of the utility of the belief in another life, consider those who do not fall in with this doctrine as the enemies of society. However, it will be found on examination tiiat tlie wisest and the most enlijihtened men of aiiiiciuity have believed, not only that the soul is material and perishes witli the body, but also that thi-y have attacked without hesitation and without subterfuge the oijinion of future punislnuents. This senti- ment was not pecuhar to the Epicureans, but was adopted by phiidsophers of all sects, by Pythagoreans, by Stoics, by Peripritetics, by Academics; in short, by the most godly ancl the most virtuous men of Greece and Rome. Pythagoras, according to Ovid, speaks thus : — O Genus aUniijtuni pclirloe rorinidiiie Mortis, Quid sliga, quit! teni-bras, et noniiiia vaua tiinetis Materiein vatuui, falsique pi'iiciilu inuiidi ? Timaius of Locris, who was a Pythaaorean, admits tliat the doctrine of future punishments was fabulous, solely destined for tlie imhecihty of the uninformed, and but little calculated for those who cultivate their reason. Aristotle expressly says, that, " Man has neither good to hope, nor evil to fear after death." The Piatonists, who made the soul imiiior- tal, could not have any idea of future pvmish- nients, because the soul accordin.'X to liiem was a portion of the Divinity, which, after the dissolution of the body, it returned to rcioin. Now, a portion of the Divinity could not be subject to suffer. Zeno, according to Cicero, supposed the soul to be an igneous substance, from whence m tiDUCATlON, CHAPTER XIV. Education, Morals, and the Laws, suffice to restrain Man. — Of the Desire of Immor- tality. — Of Suicide. It is not then in an ideal world, existing no where but in the imagina- tion of man, that he must seek to collect motives calculated to make him act pro- perly m this ; it is in the visible world (hat will be found incitements to divert him from crime and to rouse him to virtue. It is in nature, in experience, lie concluded it destroyed itself.— Zenoni S toico animus ignis videtur. Si sit ignis, extinguetur ; interibit cum reliquo corpore. This philosophical orator, who was of the sect of the Academics, is not always in accord with himself; however, on several occasions he treats openly as fables the torments of Hell, and looks upon death as the end of every thing for man. — Vide 2\sculan., C 38. Seneca is filled with passages which con- template death as a state of total annihilation :~ Mors est non esse. Id quale sit jam scio ; hoc erit post me quod ante me fuit. Si quid in hac re torment! est, necesse est et fuisse antequam prodiremus in lucem ; atqui nuUam sensimus tunc vexationem. Speaking of the death of his brother, he says : — Quid itaque ejus desi- derio maceror, qui aut beatus, aut nullus est 1 But nothing can be more decisive than what he writes to Marcia to console him. (chap. 19.)— Cogita nulhs defiinctuni mahs afBci : ilia quse nobis inferos faciunt tembiles, fabulam esse : nullas imminere mortuis tenebras, nee carce- rem, nee flumina tlagrantia igne, nee oblivi- onis amnem, nee tribunalia, et reos et in ilia hbertate tarn laxa iterura tyrannos: lusenint ista poetse et vanis nos agitavere terroribus. Mors omnium dolorum et soludo est et finis : ultra quam mala nostra non exeunt, quae nos in illam tranquilitatem, in qua antequam nasceremur, jacuimus, reponit. Here is also another conclusive passage frcni this philosopher, which is deserving of *.hfc attention of the reader : — Si animus fortuita contempsit; si deoruni hominumque forniidi- nem ejecit, et scit non multum ab homine timendum, a deo nihil; sicontemptor omnium quibus torquetur vita eo perductus est ut illi liqueat mortem nullius mali esse materiam, xnultonnn finem. — V. De Beneficiis, VII. i. Seneca, the tragedian, explains himself in ine same manner as the philosopher : — Post mortem nihil est, ipsaque mors rrihil. Velocis spatii meta novissima. Quffiris quo jaceas post obitum loco 7 Q.U0 non nata jacent. Mors individua est noxia corpori, Nee parcens animae. Troades. Epictetus has the same idea. In a passage reported by Arrian, he says : — " But where are you going? It cannot be to a place of suffering : you will only return to the place from whence you came ; you are about to be again peace- MORALS, &c. in truth, that he must search out reme- dies for the evils of his species, and for motives suitable to iafu.^e into the human heart propensities truly useful for society. If attention has been paid to what has been said in the course of this work, it will be seen, that above all it is education that will best furnish the true means of rectifying the wanderings of mankind. It is this that should scatter the seeds in his heart ; cultivate the tender shoots ; make a profitable use ably associated with the elements from whence you are derived. That which in your compo- sition is of the nature of fire, will return to the element of fire ; that which is of the nature of earth, will rejoin itself to the earth ; that which is air, will reunite itself with air ; that which is water, will resolve itself into water ; there is no Hell, no Acheron, no Cocytus, no Phlege- thon." — See Arrian. in Epictet. lib. m. cap. 13. In another place he says : '' The hour of aeath approaches ; but do not aggravate your evil, nor render things worse than they are : repre- sent them to yourself under their tnie point of view. The time is come when the materials of which you are composed, go to resolve themselves into the elements from whence they were originally borrowed. What is there that is terrible or grievous in that! Is there any thing in the world, that perishes totally 1"— See Arria7i. lib. iv. cap. 7. § 1. The sage and pious Antoninus says : " He who fears death, either fears to be deprived of all feehng, or dreads to experience different sensations. If you lose all feeling, you will no longer be subject either to pain or to misery. If you are provided with othnr senses of a different nature, you will become a creature of a different species." This great emperor further says : " that we must expect death with tranquillity, seeing that it is only a dis- solution of the elements of which each animal is composed." — See the Moral Rijleclions of Marcns Antoninus, lib. ii. To the evidence of so many great men of Pagan antiquity, may be joined that of the author of Ecclesiastes, who speaks of death and of the condition of the human soul, lil^e an Epicurean; he says: "For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts ; even one thing befalleth them : as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath ; so that a man hath no pre- eminence above a beast ; for all is vanity. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again." And further, " wherefore I perceive, that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works ; for that is his portion : for who shall bring him to see what shall be after himr' In short, how can Christians reconcile the utility or the necessity of this doctrine with the fact, that the legislator of the .lews,, inspired by the Divinity, remained silent on a subject that is said to be of fo nuuh importance'? EDUCATION, MORALS, «fec. of his dispositions ; turn to account those faculties wliicli depend on liis organization ; whicii should cherish the fire of his iinairination, kindle it for useful ot)jects; damp it, or extinguish it for others ; in short, it is this which shouW make sensible souls contract hahits that are advantageous for society, and beneficial to the individual. Brought up in this manner, man would not have occasion for celestial punishments to teach him the value of virtue ; he would not need to behold burning gulfs of brimstone under his feet, to induce him to feel horrour for crime ; nature, with- out these fable*, would teach him much better what he owes to himself, and the law would point out to him what he owes to the body politic of which )ie is a member. It is thus that edu- cation would form valuable citizens to the state ; the depositaries of power would distingui-ih those whom educa- tion should have thus formed, by reason of the advantages which they w^ould procure for their country ; they would punish those who should be found injurious to it ; it would make the citi- zens see, that the promises of reward which education and morals held forth, are by no means vain ; and that in a stale well constituted, virtue is the true and only road to happiness ; talents the way to gain respect; and that inutility and crime 'lead to contempt and mis- fortune. Aju-;t, enlightened, virtuous, and vigi- lant government, who should honestly propose the public good, would have no occasion either for fables or for falsehoods to govern reasonable sub- jects ; it would blu5, but by the bonds of happiness. Are tiiese bonds cut asunder? he is restored to liberty. Society, or those who represent it, do they use him with harshness, do they treat him with injustice, do they render his existence painful? Does disgrace hold him out to tiie linger of scorn; does indigence menace him, in an obdurate world ? Perfidious friends, do thev for-iake him in adversity ? An unfaithful wife, does she outrage his heart '? Rebellious, ungrateful children, do they afflict his old age? Has he placed his happiness exclusively on some object which it is impossible for him to procure ? Chagrin, remorse, melancholy, despair, have they disfigured to him the spectacle of the universe 7 In short, for whatever cause it may be, if he is not able to support his evils, let him quit a world which from thenceforth is for him only a fright- ful desert: let him remove himself for ever from a country he thinks no longer willing to reckon him amongst the num- ber of her children: let him quit a house that to his mind is ready to bury him .under its ruins: let him renounce a society to the happiness of which he can no longer contribute ; which his own peculiar felicity alone can render dear to him. And could the man be blamed, who finding himself useless, who being without resources in the town where destiny gave him birtli, should quit it in his chagrin to plunge hunself in solitude? Death is to the ivretched the only remedy for despair; the sword is then the only friend — the only comfort that is left to the unhappy : as long as hope remains the tenant of his bosom ; as long as his evils appear lo iiiin at all supportable ; as long as he liatters himself with seeing them brought to a termination ; as long as he hnds some comfort in existence however slender, he will not consent to deprive himself of life: but when nothing any longer sustains in him the love of this existence, then to live, is lo him the greatest of evils ; to die, the oiiiy mode by which he' can avoid the excess of despair.* * This has been the opinion of many great No. v.— 18 MORALS, &c. 1 37 That society who has not the ability, or who is not willing to procure man any one benefit, lo>es all it-; rights over him ; nature, when it has rendered his existence completely miseraljle, ha* in fact ordered him to quit it: in dying he does no more than fulfil one of her decrees, as he did when he lirst drew his breath. To him who is fearless of death, there is no evil without a remedy ; for him who refuses to die, there yet exist benefits which attach him to the world ; in this case let him rally his powers, let him oppose courage to a destiny that oppresses him ; let him call forth those resources with which nature yet furnishes him ; she cannot have totally abandoned him whilst she yet leaves him the sensation of pleasure, and the hopes of seeing a period to his pains. As to the superstitious, there is no end to his sufferings, for he is not allowed to abridge them.f His religion bids him to continue to groan, and for- bids his recurring to death, which would lead him to a miserable state of exist- ence: he would be eternally punished for daring to anticipate the tardy orders of a cruel God, who takes pleasure ia men : Seneca, the moralist, wliom Lactantiua calls the divine Pagan, who has been praised equally by St. Austin and by St. Augustine, endeavours by every kind of argument lo make death a matter of indifl'erence to man : — Malum est in necessitate vivere : sed in neces- sitate vivere, necessitas nulla est. Q.uidai nnlla sit 7 Patent undique ad libertatem viae nmlta;, breves, faciles. Agamus Deo gratias, quod nemo in vita tenen possit. — V. Senec. Episl. xii. Cato has always been com- mended, because he would not survive the cause of liberty, — for that he would not live a slave. C'urtius, who rode voluntarily into the gap to save his country, has always been held forth as a model of heroic virtur. Is it not evident that those martyrs who have deliveres.ure in being wit- ness to a great and generous action, as the man oi' virtu finds in the sight of a fine picture of which he is not the pro- l)rietor. He who lias formed to himself a habit of practising virtue, is a man who has unceasingly before liis eyes the interest that he has in meriting the alfection, in deserving the esteem, in sircnring the assistance of others, as well as to love and esteem himself: impressed with these ideas, which have become habitual to him, he abstains •even from concealed crimes, since these would degrade him in his own eyes* he resembles a man, who having from his infancy contracted a habit of clean- liness, would be painfully affected at seeing himself dirty, even when no one should witness it. The honest man is he to wiioni truth has sTiown his inter- est or his happiness in a mode of acting that others are obliged to love and to approve for their own peculiar interest. These principles, duly developed, are the true ba-^is of morals ; nothing is more chimerical than those which are founded upon imaginary motives, pla- ced out of nature; or upon innate sen- timents, which some speculators have regarded as anterior to man's experi- ence, and as wholly independent of those advantages which result to hira from its use : it is the essence of man to love himself: to tend to his own conservation ; to seek to render his ex- istence happy :* thus interest, or the desire of happiness, is the onlv real motive of all his actions ; this interest depends upon his natural organization, his wants, his acquired ideas, the habits he has contracted ; he is without doubt in errour, when either a vitiated organ- ization or false opinions show him his welfare in objects either useless or in- jurious to himself, as well as to others ; he marches steadily in the paths of vir- ♦ Seneca says : Mod\is ergo diligendi pr»- cipiendus est hoinini, id est quomodo sc dili- gat aut prosit sibi ; quin autem diligat aut pro sit sibi, dubitare dementis est. 142 OF MAN'S TRUE INTEREST. tue, when true ideas have made him rest his happiness on a conduct useful to nis species, approved by others, and which renders him an interesting object to his associates. Morals would be a vain science, if it did not incontestably prove to man that his interest consists in being virtuous. Obligation, of what- ever kind, can only be founded upon the probability or the certitude of either ob- taining a good or avoiding an evil. Indeed, in no one instant of his dura- tion, can a sensible and intelligent be- ing either lose sight of his own preser- vation or forget his own welfare ; he owes happiness to himself; but experi- ence quickly proves to him, that be- reaved of assistance, he cannot alone procure all those objects which are re- quisite to his felicity : he lives with sensible, with intelligent beings, occu- pied like himself with their own pe- culiar happiness, but capable of assist- ing him in obtaining those objects he most desires ; he discovers that these beings will not be favourable to his views, but Avhen they find their interest involved ; from which he concludes, that his own happiness demands that he should conduct himself at all times in a manner suitable to conciliate the attachment, to obtain the approbation, to elicit the esteem, to secure the assist- ance of those beings who are most ca- pacitated to further his designs. He perceives that it is man who is most necessary to the welfare of man, and that to induce him to join in his inter- ests, he ought to make him find real advantages in seconding his projects: but to procure real advantages to the beings of the human species, is to have virtue ; the reasonable man, therefore, is obliged to feel that it is his interest to be virtuous. Virtue is only the art of rendering himself happy, by the feli- city of others. The virtuous man is he who communicates happiness to those beings who are capable of rendering his own condition happy, who are ne- cessary to his conservation, who have the ability to procure him a felicitous existence. Such, then, is the true foundation of all morals ; merit and virtue are found- ed upon the nature of man; have their dependance upon his wants. It is vir- tue, alone, that can render him truly happy :* without virtue, society can neither be useful nor indeed subsist; it can only have real utility when it as- sembles beings animated with the de- sire of pleasing each other, and disposed to labour to their reciprocal advantage: there exists no comfort in those fami- lies whose members are not in the hap- py disposition to lend each other mutual succours ; who have not a reciprocity of feeling that stimulates them to assist one the other; that induces tlieni to cling to each other, to support the sor- rows of life ; to unite their efforts to put away those evils to which nature has subjected them. The conjugal bonds are sweet only in proportion as they identify the interest of two beings, united by the want of legitimate pleas- ure, from Avhence results the mainte- nance of political society, and the means of furnishing it with citizens. Friendship has charms, only when it more particularly associates two virtu- ous beings ; that is to say, two beings animated with the sincere desire of con- spiring to their reciprocal happiness. In short, it is only by displaying virtue that man can merit the benevolence, the confidence, the esteem, of all those with whom he has relation ; in a word, no man can be independently happy. Indeed, the happiness of each human individual depends on those sentiments to which he gives birth, on those feel- ings which he nourishes in the beings amongst whom his destiny has placed him ; grandeur may dazzle them ; power and force may wrest from them an in- voluntary homage; opulence may se- duce mean and venal souls; but it is humanity, it is benevolence, it is com- passion, it is equity, that, unassisted by these, can without efibrts obtain for him those delicious sentiments of attach- ment, of tenderness, of esteem, of which all reasonable men feel the necessity. To be virtuous, then, is to place his in- terest in that which accords with the interest of others ; it is to enjoy those benefits and that pleasure which he himself diffuses over his fellows. He, whom his nature, his education, his re- flections, his habits, have rendered sus- * Est autem virtus nihil aliud quam m 8e perfecta et ad summum perducta natura.. — Cicero. De Legibus 1. He says elsewhere Virtus rationis abso' itio definitur. o V :m A X ' s TRvr. i n r f, r f. .s t. 143 ceplibl' of these di-^pu-^itiuns, and to whom ills circumstance^ liave given liim the faculty of gratifying them, be- comes an intere-ting object to ail those who approach him: he enjoys every instant; he reads with satisfaction tlie contentment and the joy whicli he lias dillused over all countenances: his wife, his children, his friends, his ser- vants, greet him with gay and serene laces, indicative of that content and of that peace which he recognises for his own work: every thing that environs him is ready to partake his pleasures and to share his pains ; cherished, re- spected, looked up to by others, every thing conducts him to agreeable reflec- tions : he knows the rights he has ac- quired over their hearts; he applauds himself for being the source of a felicity that captivates all the world ; his own condition, his sentiments of self-love, become a hundred times more delicious •when he sees them participated by all those with whom his destiny has con- nected him. The habit of virtue creates for him no wants but those which vir- tue itself suffices to satisfy ; it is thus that virtue is always its own peculiar reward, that it remunerates itself with all the advantages it incessantly pro- cures for others. It will be said, and perhaps even proved, that under the present constitu- tion of things, virtue, far from procuring the welfare of those who practise it, frequently plunges man into misfortune, and often places continual obstacles to his felicity ; that almost every where it IS without recompense. What do I say ? A thousand examples could be adduced as evidence that in almost every coun- try It is hated, persecuted, obliged to lament the ingratitude of human nature. I reply, with avowing, that by a neces- sary consequence of the wanderings and errours of his race, virtue rarely conducts man to those objects in which the uninformed make their happiness consist. The greater number of socie- ties, too frequently ruled by those whose ignorance makes them abuse their pow- er, whose prejudices render them the enemies of virtue, who flattered by sy- copiumts, secure in the impunity their actions enjoy, commonly lavish their esteem, bestow their kindness on none but the most unworthy objects, reward oniy the most frivolous, recompense none but ihe most pri'judiria! qualities: and liardlv ever accord that ju-tice to merit which is uncjuestionably its due. But the truly honest man is neither am bitinus of remuneration, nor sedulous of the suifrages of a society thus badly constituted: contented with domestic happiness, he seeks not to augment re- lations which would do no more than increase his danger; he knows that a vitiated community is a whirlwind, with whicli an honest man cannot co-order himself; he therefore steps aside, quits the beaten path, by continuing in which he would infallibly be crushed. He does all the good of which he is capa- ble in his sphere; he leaves the road free to the wicked, who are willing to wade through its mire ; he laments the heavy strokes they inflict on them- selves ; he applauds the mediocrity that atfords him security ; he pities those nations made miserable by their errours ; rendered unhappy by those passions which are the fatal but neces- sary consequence ; he sees they contain nothing but wretched citizens, who far I'rom cultivating their true interest, far from labouring to their mutual felicity, far from feeling the real value of virtue, unconscious how dear it ought to be to them, do nothing but either openly attack or secretly injure it ; in short, Avho detest a quality which would re- strain their disorderly propensities. In saying that virtue is its own pe- culiar reward, it is simply meant to an- nounce, that, in a society whose views were guided by truth, by experience, and by reason, each individual would be acquainted with his real interests, would understand tlie true end of asso- ciation, would have sound motives to perform his duties, and find real advan- tages in fulfilling them; in fact, would be convinced that to render himself sol- idly happy, he should occupy his ac- tions with the welfare of his fellows, and by their utility, merit their esteem, their kindness, and their assistance. In a well constituted society, the govern- ment, the laws, education, example, would all conspire to prove to the citi- zen, that the nation of whicli he forms a part is a whole that cannot be happy that cannot subsist without virtue ; ex- perience would, at each step, convince him that the welfare of its parts can only result from that of the whole body OF MAN'S TRUE INTEREST. corporate ; justice would mnke him feel, thnt no society can be advantageous to its members where the volition of wills in those who act, is not so conformalile to the interests of the whole, as to pro- duce an advantageous reaction. But, alas ! by the confusion which, the errours of man have carried into his ideas, virtue, disgraced, banished and persecuted, finds not one of those ad- vantages it has a right to expect; man 's indeed shown those pretended re- wards for it in a future life, of which he is almost always deprived in his ac- tual existence. It is thought necessary to deceive, to seduce, to intimidate him, in order to induce him to follow that virtue which every thing renders in- commodious to him ; he is fed with dis- tant hopes, in order to solicit him to practise virtue, while contemplation of the world makes it hateful to him; he is alarmed by remote terrours to deter him from committing evil, which all conspires to render amiable and neces- sary. It is thus that politics and su- perstition, by the formation of chime- ras, by the creation of fictitious inter- ests, pretend to supply those true and real motives which nature furnishes, which experience points out, which an enlightened government should hold forth, which the law ought to enforce, which instruction should sanction, which example should encourage, which rational opinions would render pleasant. Man. blinded by his pas- sions, not less dangerous than neces- sary, led away by precedent, authorized by custom, enslaved by habit, pays no attention to these uncertain promises and menaces ; the actual interest of his immediate pleasures, the force of his passions, the inveteracy of his habits, always rise superior to the distant in- terests pointed out in his future wel- fare, or the remote evils with which he is threatened, which ahvays appear doubtful whenever he compares them witli present advantages. Thus superstition, far from making man virtuous by principle, does nothing mure than impose upon him a yoke as severe as it is useless : it is borne by none but enthusiasts, or by the pusillan- imous, who, without becoming better, tremblingly champ the feeble bit put into their mouth. Indeed, experience intontestably proves, that religion is a dike inadequate to restrain the torrent of corruption to which so many accu- mulated causes give an irresistible force : nay more, does not this religion itself augment the public disorder, by the dangerous passions which it lets loose and consecrates? Virtue, in al- • most every climate, is confined to some few rational beings, Avho have sufficient strength of mind to resist the stream of prejudice; who are contented by re- munerating themselves with the bene- fits they diff"use over society ; whose temperate dispositions are gratified with the suffrages of a small number of virtuous approvers : in short, who are detached from those frivolous ad vantages which the injustice of society but too commonly accords only to base- ness, to intrigue, and to crime. In despite of the injustice that reigns in the world, there are, however, some virtuous men ; in the bosom even of the most degenerate nations, there are some benevolent beings, still enamoured of virtue, who are fully acquainted with its true value, who are suflJiciently en- lightened to know that it exacts hom- age even from its enemies ; who are at least satisfied with those concealed pleasures and recompenses, of which no earthly power is competent to de- prive them. The honest man acquires a right to the esteem, the veneration, the confidence, the love, even of those whose conduct is exposed by a contrast with his own. In short, vice is obliged to cede to virtue, of which it blushingly acknowledges the superiority. Inde- * pendent of this ascendency so gentle, so grand, so infallible, if even the whole universe should be unjust to him, there yet remains to the honest man the ad- vantage of loving his own conduct, of esteeming himself, of diving with sat- isfaction into the recesses of his own heart, of contemplating his own ac- tions with that delicious complacency that others ought to do, if they were not hoodwinked. No power is adequate to ravish from him the merited esteem of himself; no authority is sufficiently potent to give it to him when he de- serves it not; but when it is not well founded it is then a ridiculous senti- ment : it ought to be censured when it displays itself in a mode that is morti- fying and troublesome t(j others; it 13 then called arro.^ance ; if it rest itself OF MAN'S TRUE INTEREST. 1-13 upon frivolous actions, it is called vrm- ity ; but when it cannot be condenined, when it is known lor legitimate, when it is discovered to have a solid lounda- tiou, when it bottoms itseliupon talents, when it rises upon great actions that are useful to the community, when it erects its edilice upon virtue, even though so- ciety sliould not set tiiese merits at their just price, it is noble pride, elevation of mind, grandeur of soul. Let us not, liien, listen to the preach- ing of those superstitions which, ene- mies to man's iiappiness, have been desirous of destroying it, even in the inmost recesses of his heart ; which have prescribed to him hatred of his fellows and contempt for himself; which pretend to wrest from the honest man tliat self-respect which is frequent- ly the only reward tliat remains to vir- tue in a perverse world. To annihilate in him this sentiment so full of justice, this love of himself, is to break the most powerful spring that urges him to act right. What motive, indeed, ex- cept it be this, remains for him in the greater part of human societies ? is not virtue discouraged and contemned ? Is not audacious crime and cunning vice rewarded 7 Is not love of the pub- lic weal taxed as folly ; exactitude in fulfilling duties looked upon as a bub- ble ? Is not compassion, sensibilitv, tenderness, conjugal fidelity, sincerity, inviolable friendship, treated with ridi- cule? Man must have motives for ac- tion : he neither acts well nor ill, but with a view to his own happiness — to that which lie thinks his interest ; he does nothing gratuitously ; and wlicn reward I'or useful actions is witiiheld from him, he is reduced either to be- come as abandoned as others, or else to remunerate hir'^'=-3lf with his own ap- plause. This granted, the honest man can never be completely unhapjjy ; he can never be entirely deprived of the recom- pense which is iiis due ; virtue can am- ply make up to him all the happiness de- nied him by iiublic opinion; but nothing can com()ensate to him the want of vir- tue. It does not follow that the honest man will be exempted from alllictions: like the wicked, he is subjected to phys- ical evils ; he may be worn down with disease ; he may frequently be the sub- ject of calumny, of injustice, of ingrat- No. v.— 19 itude, of hatred ; but in the midst of all his misfortunes, of his sorrows, he finds support in himself, he is contented with his own conduct, he respects himself, he feels his own dignity, he knows the eiprity of his rights, and consoles him- self with the confidence inspired by the justness of his cause. These supports are not calculated for the wicked. Ei|Ually liable with the honest man to infirmities and to the ca])rices of his destiny, lie [\\u\<, the recesses of his own iieart filled with dreadful alarms, cares, solicituile, regret, and remorse; he dies within himself; his conscience sustains him not, but loads hinr*with reproach; and his mind, overwhelmed, sinks un- der the storm. The honest man is not an insensible stoic ; virtue does not procure impassibility, but if wretched, it enables him to cast olf despair ; if infirm, he has less to complain of than the vicious being who is oppressed with sickness; if indigent, he is less unhap- py in his poverty ; if in disgrace, he is not overwhelmed by its pressure, like the wretched slave to crime. Thus the happiness of each indi- vidual depends on the cultivation of his temperament ; nature makes both the happy and the unhappy ; it is culture that gives value to the soil nature has formed, and instruction and reflection make it usel'ul. For man to be happily born, is to have received from nature a sound body, organs that act with pre- cision, a just mind, a heart whose pas- sions and desires are analogous and conformable to the circumstances in whii.-h his destiny has placed him. Na- ture, then, has done every thing for hiiii, when she has joined to these faculties the quantum of vigour and energv suf- ficient to enable him to obtain those things, which his station, his mode of thinking, his temperament, have ren- dered desirable. Nature has made him a fatal present, when she has filled his sanguinary vessels with an overheated fluid, given him an imagination loo ac- tive, desires too impetuous after objects either impossible or imj)roper to be ob- tained under his circumstances ; or W'hich at least he cannot procure with- out those incredible efforts that either place his own welfare in danger or dis- turb the repose of society. The most happy man is commonly he who pos- sesses a peaceable mind, who only de- 146 OF MAN'S TRUE INTEREST. sires those things which he can procure by labour suitable to maintain his ac- tivity, without causing shocks that are either too violent or troublesome. A philosopher, whose wants are easily satisfied, who is a stranger to ambition, who is contented with the limited cir- cle of a small number of friends, is, without doubt, a being much more hap- j)ily constituted than an ambitious con- queror, whose greedy imagination is reduced to despair by having only one world to ravage. He Avho is happily born, or whom nature has rendered susceptible of being conveniently mod- ified, is not a being injurious to society : it is generally disturbed by men who are unhappily born, whose organiza- tion renders them turbulent, who are discontented with their destiny, who are inebriated Avith their own licentious passions, who are smitten with difficult enterprises, who set the world in com- bustion to gather imaginary benefits, in which they make their own happiness consist. An Alexander requires the destruction of empires, nations to be deluged with blood, cities to be laid in ashes, its inhabitants to be extermina- ted, to content that passion for glory of which he has formed to himself a false idea, but which his too ardent imagina- tion anxiously thirsts after : for a Dio- genes there needs only a tub, with the liberty of appearing whimsical : a Soc- rates wants nothing but the pleasure of forming disciples to virtue. Man by his organization is a being to whom motion is always necessary, he must therefore always desire it ; this is the reason Avhy too much facility in procuring the objects of his search, renders them quickly insipid. To feel happiness, it is necessary to make ef- forts to obtain it ; to find charms in its enjoyment, it is necessary that the de- sire should be whetted by obstacles j he is presently disgusted with those benefits which have cost him but little pains. The expectations of happiness, the labour requisite to procure it, the varied and multiplied pictures Avhich his imagination forms to him, supply his brain with that motion for which it has occasion ; this gives impulse to his organs, puts his whole machine into activity, exercises his faculties, sets all his springs in play ; in a word, puts him into that agreeable activity, for the want of which the enjoyment of happiness itself cannot compensate him. Action is the true element of the human mind ; as soon as it ceases to act, it sinks into lassitude. His mind has the same oc- casion for ideas his stomach has for aliment.* Thus the impulse given him by de- sire is itself a great benefit ; it is to the mind what exercise is to the body ; without it he would not derive any pleasure in the aliments presented to him ; it is thirst that renders the pleas- ure of drinking so agreeable. Life is a perpetual circle of regenerated desires and wants satisfied : repose is only a pleasure to him who labours ; it is a source of weariness, the cause of sor- row, the spring of vice to him who has nothing to do. To enjoy without in- terruption is not to enjoy any thing; the man who has nothing to desire is certainly more unhappy than he who suffers. These reflections, grounded upon ex- perience, ought to prove to man that good as well as evil depends on the es- sence of things. Happiness to be fell cannot be continued. Labour is neces- sary to make intervals between his pleasures ; his body has occasion for exercise to co-order him with the be- ings who surround him ; his heart must have desires; trouble alone can give him the right relish of his welfare ; it is this which puts in the shadows to the picture of human life. By an ir- revocable law of his destiny, man is obliged to be discontented with his present condition ; to make efforts to change it; to reciprocally envy that fe- licity which no individual enjoys per- fectly. Thus the poor man envies the opulence of the rich, although this one is frequently more unhappy than his needy neighbour; thus the rich man views with pain the advantages of a * The advantage which philosophers and men of letters have over the ignorant and the idle, o~over those that neither think nor study, is owing to the variety as well as quantity of ideas furnished to the mind by study and re- flection. The mind of a man who thinks finds more delight in a good book than can be obtained by all the riclies at the command of the ignorant. To study is to amass ideas ; and the number and combination of ideas make that difference between man and man which we observe, besides giving him an ad- vantage over all other animals. OF MAN'S TRUE INTEREST. 147 poverty wliich he sees active, healthy, and frequently jocund even in the ho- som of penury. •'' li'man were perfectly contented, there would no longer be any activity in the world; it is necessary that he should jdesire, act, labour, in order that he may oehapp)': such is the course of nature, of which the life consists in action. Human societies can only subsist by the continual exchange of those things in which man places his happiness. The poor man is obliged to desire and to labour, that he may procure what he knows is requisite to the preservation of his existence ; the primary wants given to him by nature, are to nourish himself, clothe himself, lodge himself, and propagate his species ; has he sat- isfied these? he is quickly obliged to create others entirely new; or rather, his imagination only relines upon the first ; he seeks to diversify them ; he is willing to give them fresh zest ; arrived at opulence, when he has run over the whole circle of wants, when he has completely exhausted their combina- tions, he lalls into disgust. Dispensed from labour, his body amasses humours; destitute of desires, his heart feels a languor; deprived of activity, he is obliged to divide his riches with beings more active, more laborious tlian him- self: these, following their own pecu- liar interests, take upon themselves the task of labouring for his advantage, of procuring for him means to satisfy his wants, of ministering to his caprices in order to remove the languor that op- presses him. It is thus the great, the rich, excite the energies, the activity, the industry of the indigent; these la- bour to their own peculiar welfare by working for others: thus the desire of ameliorating his condition, renders man necessary to his fellow man ; thus wants, always regenerating, never sat- isfied, are the principles of life, of activ- ity, the source of health, the basis of society. If each individual were com- petent to the supply of his own exigen- cies, there would be no occasion for him to congregate in society, but his wants, his desires, his whims, place him in a state of dependance on others : these are the causes that each individ- ual, in order to further his own pecu- liar interest, is obliged to be useful to those who have the capability of pro- curing for him the objects which he himself has not. A nation is nothing more than the union of a great number of individuals, connected with each other by the reciprocity of their wants, or by their mutual desire of pleasure ; the most happy man is he who has the fewest wants, and the most numerous, means of satisfying them.* in the individuals of the human spe- cies, as well as in political society, the progression of wants, is a thing abso- lutely necessary ; it is founded upon the essence of man; it is requisite that the natural Avants once satisfied, should be replaced by those which he calls inia- ginanj, or wants of the fcaicij ; these become as necessary to his happiness as the first. Custom, which permits the native American to go quite naked, obliges the more civilized inhabitant of^ Europe to clothe himself; the poor man contents himself with very simple at- tire, which equally serves him for win- ter and for summer ; the rich man de- sires to have garments suitable to each season; he would experience pain if he had not the convenience of changing his raiment with every variation of his climate ; he would be unhappy if the expense and variety of his costume did not display to the surrounding multi- tude his opulence, mark his rank, an- nounce his superiority. It is thus liabit multiplies the wants of the wealthy ; it is thus that vanity itself becomes a want, which sets a thousand hands in motion, who are all eager to gratify its cra- vings ; in short, this very vanity pro- cures for the necessitous man the means of subsisting at the expense of his opu- lent neighbour. He who is accustom- ed to pomp, who is used to ostentatious sj)lendour, whose habits are luxurious, whenever he is deprived of these insig- nia of opulence to which he has attach- ed the idea of happiness, finds himself just as unhappy as the needy wretch who has not wherewith to cover his nakedness. The civilized nations of the present day weie in their origin savages composed of erratick tribes, mere wanderers who were occupied with war and the chase, obliged to seek a precarious subsistence by hunting in * The man who would be truly rich, has no need to increase his fortune, it suffices he should diminish his wants. 148 OF MAN'S TRUE INTEREST. those woods : in time they have become stationary ; they first applied them- selves to agriculture, afterwards to com- merce; by degrees they have refined on their primitive wants, extended their sphere of action, given birth to a thou- sand new wants, imagined a thousand new means to satisfy them; this is the natural and necessary progression of active beings, who cannot live without feeling ; who, to be happy, must of ne- cessity diversify their sensations. In proportion as man's wants multi- ply, the means to satisfy them becomes more difficult ; he is obliged to depend on a greater number of his fellow crea- tures ; his interest obliges him to rouse their activity to engage them to concur with his views, consequently he is obli- ged to procure for them those objects by which they can be excited. The savage need only put forth his hand to gather the fruit he finds sufficient for his nourishment. The opulent citizen of a flourishing society is obliged to set numerous hands to work to produce the sumptuous repast and to procure the far- fetched viands become necessary to re- vive his languishing appetite, or to flat- ter his inordinate vanity. From this it will appear, that in the same proportion the wants of man are multiplied, he is obliged to augment the means to satisfy "them. Riches are nothing more than the measure of a convention, by the as- sistance of Avhich man is enabled to make a greater number of his fellows concur in the gratification of his de- sires ; by which he is capacitated to invite them, for their own peculiar in- terests, to contribute to his pleasures. What, in fact, does the rich man do, /'except announce to the needy that he can furnish him with the means of sub- sistence if he consents to lend himself to his will ? What does the man in power except show to others that he is in a state to supply the requisites to render them happy 7 Sovereigns, no- bles, men of wealth, appear to be happy only because they possess the ability, are masters of the motives, sufficient to determine a great number of individuals to occupy themselves with their re- spective felicity. The more things are considered, the more man will be convinced that his false opinions are the true source of his misery ; and the clearer it Avill appear to him that happiness is so rare only because he attaches it to objects either indifferent or useless to his welfare, or which, when enjoyed, convert them- selves into real evils. Riches are indifferent in themselves it is only by their application that they either become objects of utility to man, or are rendered prejudicial to his wel- fare. Money, useless to the savage^ vi^ho understands not its value, is amassed by the miser, (to whom it is useless) lest it should be squandered by the prodigal or by the voluptuary, who makes no other use of it than to purchase infirmities and regret. Pleas- ures are nothing for the man who is in- capable of feeling them ; they become real evils when they are too freely in- dulged ; when they are destructive to his health; Avhen they derange the economy of his machine ; when they make him neglect his duties, and when they render him despicable in the eyes of others. Power is nothing in itself; it is useless to man if he does not avail himself of it to promote his own pecu- liar felicity : it becomes fatal to him as soon as he abuses it ; it becomes odious whenever he employs it to render oth- ers miserable. For Avant of being en- lightened on his true interest, the man who enjoys all the means of rendering himself completely happy, scarcely ever discovers the secret of making those means truly subservient to his own peculiar felicity. The art of en- joying is that Avhich of all others is least understood: man should learn this art before he begins to desire; the earth is covered with individuals who only occupy themselves Avith the care of procuring the means, Avithout ever being acquainted Avith the end. All the world desire fortune and poAver, yet very feAV indeed are those Avhom these objects render truly happy. It is quite natural in man, it is ex- tremely reasonable, it is absolutely ne- cessary, to desire those things Avhich can contribute to augment the sum of his felicity. Pleasure, riches, power, are objects worthy his ambition, and deserving his most strenuous efforts, when he has learned how to employ them to render his existence really more agreeable. It is impossible to censure him who desires them, to de- spise him Avho commands them, to hate THE ERROURS OF MAN. 149 hiin who possesses them, but when to obiaiii tlicm he employs odious means, or when after he has obtained them he makes a pernicious use of them, inju- rious to himself, prejudicial to others. Let him wish for power, ).^t him seek after grandeur, let him be ambitious of reimtalion, when he can obtain them without making tiie purchase at the exj)ense of his own rejiose, or that of the ,beings with whom he lives : let him desire riches, when he knows how to make a use of them that is truly ad- vantageous for himself, really benefi- cial for others ; but never let him em- ploy those means to i)rocure them with which he may be obliged to reproach himself, or which may draw upon him the hatred of his associates. Let him al- ways recollect, that his solid happiness should rest its foundations upon his own esteem, and upon the advantages he procures for others ; and above all, that oi all the objects to wiiich his ambition may point, the most imprac- ticable for a being who lives in society, is that of attempting to render himself exclusively happy. CHAPTER XVI. The Errours of Man, upon what constitutes Happiui ss, the true Source of his Evil. — Remedies that may be applied. Reason by no means forbids man from forming capacious desires ; am- bition is a passion useful to his species, "when it has for its object the happiness of his race. Great minds are desirous of acting on an extended sphere ; gen- iuses who are powerful, enlightened, beneficent, distribute very widely their benign intluence ; they must necessa- rily, ir order to promote their own pe- culiar felicity, render great numbers happy. So many princes fail to enjoy true happiness, only because their fee- ble, narrow souls, are obliged to act in a sphere too extensive for their ener- gies : it is thus that by the supineness, the indolence, the incapacity of their chiefs, nations frequently pine in mis- ery, and are often submitted to masters whose exility of mind is as little cal- culated to promote their own immedi- ate happiness, as it is to further that of their miserable subjects. On the other hind, minds too vehement, too much inflamed, too active, are themselves tormented by the narrow sphere that confines them, and their misplaced ar- dour becomes the scourge of the human race.* Alexander was a monarch, who was as injurious to the earth, as discon- tented with his condition, as the in- dolent despot whom he dethroned. — The souls of neither were by any means commensurate with their sphere of action. The ha|)piness of man will never, be more than the i-esult of the harmony that subsists between his desires and his circumstances. The sovereign power, to him who know^s not how to apply it to the advantage of his citizens, is as nothing; if i' renders him miserable, it is a real evil ; if it produces the mis- fortune of a portion of the human race, it is a detestable abuse. The most powerful princes are ordinarily such strangers ■ to happiness, their subjects are commonly so unfortunate only be- cause they first possess all the means of rendering themselves happy, with- out ever giving them activity, or be- cause the onlv knowledge they have of them is their abuse. A wise man, seated on a throne, Avould be the most happv of mortals. A monarch is a man for whom his power, let it be of whatever extent, cannot procure other organs, other modes of feeling, than the meanest of his subjects; if he has an advantage over them, it is by the grandeur, the variety, the multiplicity of the objects with which he can oc- cupy him>;elf, wliich, by giving per- petual v.nivity to his mind, can prevent it fr'^'V- decay and from falling into slotn If his mind is virtuous and ex- pansive, his ambition finds continual food in the contein|dation of the power he possesses to unite by gentleness and kindness the will of his subjects with his vn ; to interest them in his own conservation, to merit their affections, to draw forth the respect of strangers, and to elicit the eulogies of all nations. Such are tiie conquests that reason proposes to all those who-.e de>tiny it is to govern the fate of empires: they are sulBcientlv grand to satisfy the ♦ iEstuat infelix augusto limitc mundi. — Seneca says of Alexander, Post Dariuin and Indos pauper est Alexander ; inventus est qui concupiscent aliquid post omnia. V. Senec Epist. 120. 150 THE ERROURS OP MAN. most ardent imagination, lo gratify the most! capacious ambition. Kings are the most happy of men only because they have the power ot making a great number of other men happy, and thus ot multiplying the causes of legitimate content with themselves. The advantages of the sovereign power are participated by all those who contribute to the government of states. Thus grandeur, rank, reputa- tion, are desirable for all who are acquainted vtith all the means of ren- dering them subservient to their own peculiar felicity ; they are useless to those ordinary men, who have neither the energy nor the capacity to employ them in a mode advantageous to them- selves ; they are detestable whenever to obtain them man compromises his own happiness and the welfare of so- ciety : this society itself is in an er- rour every time it respects men who only employ to its destruction a power, the exercise of which it ought never to approve but when it reaps from it sub- stantial benefits. Riches, useless to the miser, who is no more than their miserable jailer, prejudicial to the debauchee, for whom they only procure infirmities, disgust, and satiety, can, in the hands of the hon- est man, produce unnumbered means of augmenting the sum of his happi- ness ; but before man covets wealth, it is proper he should know how to em- ploy it ; money is only a representative of happiness : to enjoy it so as to make others happy, this is the reality. Mo- ney, according to the compact of man, procures for him all those benefits he can desire ; there is only one which it will not procure, tnat is, the knowledge how to apply it properly. For man to have money, without the true secret how to enjoy it, is to possess the key of a commodious palace to which he is interdicted entrance; to lavish it prodigally, is to throw the key into the river ; to make a bad use of it, is only to make it the means of wounding himself. Give the most ample treas- ures to the enlightened man, he will not be overwhelmed with them ; if he has a capacious and noble mind he will only extend more widely his be- nevolence ; he will deserve the affec- tion of a greater number of his fellow men ; he will attract the love, and the homage of all those who surround him ; he will restrain himself in his pleasures, in order that he may be en- abled truly to enjoy them ; he will know that money cannot re-establish a mind worn out with enjoyment, enfee- bled by excess ; cannot invigorate a body enervated by debauchery, from thenceforth become incapable of sus- taining him, except by the necessity of privations ; he will know that the licen- tiousness of the voluptuary stifles pleas- ure in its source, and that all the treas- ure in the world cannot renew his senses. From this it will be obvious, that nothing is more frivolous than the de- clamations of a gloomy philosophy against the desire of power, the pur- suit of grandeur, the acquisition of riches, the enjoyment of pleasure. — These objects are desirable for man^ whenever his condition permits him to make pretensions to them, or whenever he has acquired the knowledge of ma- king them turn to his own real ad- vantage ; reason cannot either censure or despise him, when to obtain them he wounds no one's interest: his asso- ciates will esteem him when he em- ploys their agency to secure his own happiness, and that of his fellows. Pleasure is a benefit, it is of the es- sence of man to love it ; it is even ra- tional, when it renders his existence really valuable to himself, when its consequences are not grievous to oth- ers. Riches are the > mbols of the great majority of the l^enefits of this life ; they become a reality in the hands of the man who has the clew to their just application. Power is the most sterling of all benefits, when he who is its depositary has received from nature a mind sufficiently noble, eleva- ted, benevolent, and energetic, which enables him to extend his happy influ- ence over Avhole nations, which, by this means, he places in a state of legitimate dependance on his will : man only ac- quires the right of commanding men, when he renders them happy. The right of man over his fellow- man, can only be founded, either upon the actual happiness he secures to him, or that which gives him reason to hope he will procure for him ; without this, the power he exercises would be vio- lence, usurpation. Tianifest tyranny : it THE err;ours of man. 151 is only upou tlie faculty of rendering him happy that legitimate authority builds its structure. No man derives from nature the right of commanding another ; but it is voluuiariiy accorded to those from whom he expects his welfare. Government is the right of commanding conferred on the sove- reign, only for the advantage of those who are governed. Sovereigns are the defenders of the persons, tiie guardians of the property, the protectors of the liberty of their subjects: it is only on this condition these consent to obey ; government would not be better than a robbery whenever it availed itself of the powers confided to it to render so- ciety unhappy. The empire of reli- gion is founded on the opinion man entertains of its having power to rerr- der nations happy ; and the Gods are horrible phantoms if tiiey do render man unhappy.* Government and reli- gion, could be reasonable institutions only inasmuch as they equally contrib- uted to the felicity of man : it would be folly iu him to submit himself to a yoke from which these resulted nothing but evil: it would be rank injustice to oblige him to renounce his rights, with- out some corresponding advantage. The authority which a father exer- cises over his family, is only founded on the advantages which he is suppos- ed to procure for it. Rank, in political society, has only tor its basis the real or imaginary utility of some citizens, for which the others are willing to dis- tinguish, respect, and obey them. The rich acquire rights over the indigent, only by virtue of the welfare they are able to procure them. Genius, talents, science, arts, have rights over man, only in consequence of their utility, of the delight they confer, of the advan- tages they procure for society. In a word, it is happiness, it is the expec- tation of happiness, it is its image, that man cherishes, esteems, and unceas- ingly adores. Gods and monarchs, the rich and the great, may easily impose • Cicero savs — Nisi hoinini placuerit, Deus non erit. — " 6od cannot oMi^e men to obey him, unless he proves to thpin that ho has the power of rendcTHiff thorn happy or unhappy." See the Defence of Iielii:^iou, Vol. I. p. lii. From this we must conclude that we are right in judging of religion and of the Grods by the advantages or disadvantages they procure to .wciety. on him, may dazzle him, may intimi- date him, but they will never be able to obtain the voluntary submission of his heart, which alone can confer upon them legitimate rights, without they make him experience real benefits and display virtue. Utility is nothing more than true happiness; to be useful is to be virtuous ; to be virtuous is to make others happy. The happiness which man derives from them, is the invariable and neces- sary standard of his sentiments for the beings of his species, for the objects he desires, for the opinions he em- braces, for those actions on which he decides ; he is the dupe of his preju- dices every time he ceases to-avail him- self of this standard to regulate his judgment. He will never run the risk of deceiving himself, when he shall examine strictly what is the real utility resulting to his species from the reli- gion^ from the laws, from the institu- tions, from the inventions and the va- rious actions of all mankind. A superficial view may sometimes seduce him; but experience, aided by reflection, will re-conduct him to rea- son, which is incapable of deceiving him. This teaches him that pleasure is a momentary happiness, which fre- quently becomes an evil ; that evil is a fleeting trouble, that fre(|uently be- comes a good: it makts him under- stand the true nature of objects, and enables him to foresee the eflects he may expect ; it makes him distinguish those desires to which his welfare pen- mits him to lend himself from those to whose seduction ho ought to make re- sistance. In short, it will always con- vince him, that the true interest of in- telligent beings, who love happiness, who de-ire to render their own exist- ence felicitous, demands tiiat they should root out all those phantoms, abolish all those chimerical ideas, de- stroy all tho>e prejudices, which ob- struct their felicity in this world. If he consults experience, he will perceive that it is in illusion-; and opin- ions looked upon as sacred, that he ought to search out the source of that multitude of evils, which almost every where overwhelms mankind. From ignorance of natural cause-;, man has created Gods ; imposture rendered tlie se Gods terrible to him; and these fatal 152 THE ERROURS OF MAN. ideas liauiited him without rendering him better, made him tremble without either benefit to him--eii" or to others ; filled his mind with chimeras, opposed themselves to the progress of his rea- son, prevented him from seeking after his happiness. His fears rendered him the slave of those who have deceived him under pretence of consulting his welfare ; he committed evil whenever they told him his Gods demanded crimes ; he lived in misfortune, because they made him believe these Gods con- demned him to be miserable ; the slave of these Gods, he never dared to disen- tangle himself from his chains, because the artful mmisters of these Divinities gave him to understand, that stupidity, the renunciation of reason, sloth of mind, abjection of soul, were the sure means of obtaining eternal felicity. Prejudices, not less dangerous, have blinded man upon the true nature of government ; nations are ignorant of the true foundations of authority ; they dare not demand happiness from those kings who are charged with the care of procuring it for them: they have be- lieved that their sovereigns were Gods disguised, who received with their birth, the right of commanding the rest of mankind ; that they could at their pleasure dispose of the felicity of the people, and that they were not ac- countable for the misery they engen- dered. By a necessary consequence of tlicse opinions, politics have al- most every where degenerated into the fatal art of sacrificing the interests of the many, either to the caprice of an individual, or to some few privile- ged rascals. In despite of the evils which assailed them, nations fell down in adoration before the idols they them- selves had made, and foolishly respect- ed the instruments of their misery ; obeyed their unjust will : lavished their blood, exhausted their trea^^ure, sacri- ficed their lives, to glut the ambition, the cupidity, the never-ending caprices of these men ; they bent the knee to established opinion, bowed to rank, yielded to title, to opulence, to pageant- ry, to ostentation: at length, victims to their prejudices, they in vam expected their welfare at the hands of men who were themselves unhappy from their own vices, whose neglect of virtue luid rendered them incapable of enjoying true felicity, who were but little dispos- ed to occupy themselves with their prosperity : under such chiefs their physical and moral happiness were equally neglected or even annihilated. The same blindness may be perceiv- ed in the science of morals. Religion, which never had any thing but ignor- ance for its basis, and imagination for its guide, did not found ethics upon man's nature, upon his relations with his fellov/s, upon those duties which necessarily floAv from these relations , it preferred founding them upon ima- ginary relations, which it pretended subsisted between him and some invis- ible powers it had gratuitously imagin- ed, and had falsely been made to speak.* It was these invisible Gods which re- ligion always paints as furious tyrants, who were declared the arbiters of man's destiny — the models of his conduct; when he was willing to imitate these tyrannical Gods, when he was willing to conform himself to the lessons of their interpreters, he became wicked, was an unsociable creature, a useless being, or else a turbulent maniac and a zealous fanatic. It was these alone who profited by religion, who advan- taged themselves by the darkness in Avhich it involved the human mind ; nations were ignorant of nature, they knew nothing of reason, they under- stood not truth ; thev had only a gloomy religion, without one certain idea of either morals or virtue. When man committed evil against his fellow crea- ture, he believed he had offended his God; but he also believed himself for- given, as soon as he had prostrated him- self before him ; as soon as he had made him costly presents, and gained over the 'priest to his interest. Thus reli- gion, far from giving a sure, a natural, and a known basis to morals, only rest- ed it on an unsteady fc mdation, made it consist in ideal duties, impossible to * Thus Trophonius, from his cave, made affrighted mortals tremble, shook the stoutest nerves, made them turn pale with fear; his miserable, deluded supplicants, who were obli- ged to sacrifice to him, anointed their bodies with oil, bathed in certain rivers, and after they had offered their cake of honey and re ceived their destiny, became so dejected, Sf wretchedly forlorn, that to this day their de- scendants, when they behold a melanch',if man, exclaim, "He has consulted theoracie qf Trophonius.'" THE ERROURS OF MAN. 15'd be accurately understood. What did I ^ay? It Hm corrupted him, and liis expiations finished by ruining him. Tims when religion was desirous to comhat tiie unruly passions of man, it atlempled it in vain; always enthusi- astic, and deprived of experience, it knew nothing of the true remedies ; tiiose which it applied were di>gu of toil beyond their strength procure wherewith to satisfy those wants which nature has made necessary to their ex-, istence. Their minds rest contented ' as soon as they are convinced no power can ravish from them the fruits of their industry, and that they labour tor them- selves. By a cousequence of humaii 156 THE ERROURS OF MAN. folly, whole nations are obliged to toil incessantly, to waste their strength, to sweat under their burdens, to drench the earth with their tears, in order to maintain the luxury, to gratify the whims, to support the corruption of a small number of irrational beings, of some few useless men, to whom happi- ness has become impossible, because their bewildered imaginations no longer know any bounds. It is thus that re- ligious and political errours have chang- ed the fair face of nature into a valley of tears. For want of consulting reason, for want of knowing the value of virtue, for want of "being instructed in their true interests, for Avant of being ac- quainted with what constitutes solid and real felicity, the prince and the peo- ple, the rich and the poor, the great and the little, are unquestionably frequently very far removed from content; never- theless if an impartial eye be glanced over the human race, it will be found to comprise a greater number of bene- fits than of evils. No man is entirely happy, but he is so in detail. Those who make the most bitter complaints of the rigour of their fate, are, however, held in existence by threads frequently imperceptible, which prevent the desire of quitting it. In short, habit lighteni^i to man the burden of his troubles; grief suspended becomes true enjoy- ment ; every want is a pleasure in the moment when it is satisfied ; freedom from chagrin, the absence of disease, it? a happy state which he enjoys secretly and without even perceiving it ; hope, which rarely abandons him entirely, helps him to support the most cruel dis- asters. The prisoner laughs in his irons ; the wearied villager returns sing- ing to his cottage ; in short, the man who calls himself the most unfortunate, never sees death approach without dis- may, at least if despair has not totally disfigured nature in his eyes.* As long as man desires the continua- tion of his being, he has no right to call himself completely unhappy ; whilst hope sustains him, he still enjoys a great benefit. If man was more just in rendering to himself an account of his pleasures and of his pains, he would * See what has been said on suicide chantpr xiv. acknowledge that the sum of the first exceeds by much the amount of the last; he Avould perceive that he keeps a very exact leger of the evil, but a very unfaithful journal of the good : in- deed he would avow, that there are but few days entirely unhappy during the whole course of his existence. His periodical wants procure foi him the pleasure of satisfying them: his mii^d is perpetually moved by a thousand objects, of which the variety, the mul- tiplicity, the novelty, rejoices him, sus- pends his sorrows, diverts his chagrin. His physical evils, are they violent? They are not of long duration ; they conduct him quickly to his end : the sorrows of his mind conduct him to it equally. At the same time that nature refuses him every happiness, ske opens to him a door by which he quits lile : does he refuse to enter it ? it is that he yet finds pleasure in existence. Are nations reduced to despair? Are they completely miserable ? They have re- course to arms ; and, at the risk O'f per- ishing, they make the most violent ef- forts to terminate their sufferings. Thus, as he sees so many of his fel- lows cling to life, man ought to con- clude they aie not so unhappy as he thinks. Then let him not exaggerate the evils of the human race ; let him impose silence on that gloomy humour, t'/iat persuades him these evils are with- out remedy ; let him diminish by de- grees the number of his errours, and his calamities will vanish in the same proportion. He is not to conclude him- self infelicitous, because his heart nev- er ceases to form new desires. Since his body daily requires nourishment, let him infer that it is sound, that it fulfils its functions. As long as he has de- sires, the proper deduction ought to be, that his mind is kept in the necessary activity ; he should also gather from all this that passions are essential to him, that they constitute the happiness of a be- ing who feels, who thinks, Avho receives ideas, who must necessarily love and desire that which promises him a mode of existence analogous to his natural energies. As long as he exists, as long as the spring of his mind maintains its elasticity, this mind desires ; as long as it desires, he experiences the activity which is necessary to him ; as long as he acts, so long he lives. Human life REMEDIES FOR THE EVILS OF MAN. 157 may be compared to a river, of which the waters succeed each other, drive each other forward, and flow on with- out interruption; these water^^ obliged to roll over an unequal bed, encoun- ter at intervals those obstacles which prevent their stagnation; they never cease to undulate, recoil, and to rush forward, until they are restored to the ocean oi' nature. CHAPTER XVII. TTiose Ideas wliich are true, or founded upon Nature, are the only Remedies for the Kvils of Man. — Recapitulation. — Conclusion of Vie First Part. Whenevf.u man ceases to take expe- rience for his guide, he falls into er- rour. His errours become yet more danirerous and assume a more deter- mined inveteracy, when they are cloth- ed with the sanction of religion: it is then that he hardly ever consents to re- turn into the paths of truth ; he believes himself deeply interested in no longer seeing clearly that which lies before him ; he fancies he has an essential ad- vantage in no longer understanding himself, and that his happiness exacts that he should shut his eyes to truth. If the Tnajority of moral philosophers have mistaken the human heart ; if they have deceived themselves upon its di-eases and the remedies that are suit- able ; if the remedies thev have admin- istered have been inefficacious or even dangerous, it is because they have aban- doned nature, have re-^isted experience, and have not had sufficient steadiness to consult their reason ; because, having renounced the evidence of their senses, they have only followed the caprices of an imagination either dazzled by enthu- siasm or disturbed by fear, and have preferred the illusions it has held forth to the realities of nature, who never de- ceives. It is for want of having felt, that an intelligent being cannot for an instant lose sight of his own peculiar conser- vation — of his particular interests, ei- ther real or fictitious — of his own wel- fare, whether permanent or transitory ; in short, of his happiness, either true or false ; it is for want of having con- sidered that desires and passions are essential and natural, that both the one and the other are motions necessary to the mind of man, that the physicians of the hmnan mind have supposed su- pernatural causes for his wanderings, and have only applied to his evils topi- cal remedies, either useless or danger- ous. Indeed, in desiring him to stifle his desires, to combat his [iropensities, to annihilate his jiassions, they have^ done no more than give him stcril pre- cepts, at once vague and impracticable ; these vain lessons have iniluenced no one ; they have a( most restrained some few mortals, whom a quiet imagination but feebly solicited to evil ; the terrours with which they have accompanied them, have disturbed the tranquillity of those persons, who were moderate by their nature, without ever arresting the ungovernable temperament of those who were inebriated by their passions, or hurried along by the torrent of habit. In short, the promises of superstition, as well as the menaces it holds forth, have only formed fanatics and enthusiasts, who are either dangerous or useless to society, without ever making man truly virtuous, that is to say, useful to his fellow creatures. These empirics, guided by a blind routine, have not seen that man, as lon£ as he exists, is obliged to feel, to desire, to have passions, and to satisfy them in proportion to the energy which his or-l ganization has given him ; they havei not perceived that education planted these desires in his heart, that habit rooted them, that his government, fre- quently vicious, corroborated their growth, that public opinion stamped them with its approbation, that experi- ence rendered them necessary, and that to tell men thus constituted to destroy their passions, was either to plunge them into despair, or else to order them remedies too revolting for their temper- 1 anient. In the actual state of opulent i societies, to say to a man who knows | by experience that riches procure every , pleasure, that he must not desire them, i that he must not make any efforts to oh- ? tain them, that he ought to detach him- self from them, is to persuade him to render himself miserable. To tell an ambitious man not to desire grandeur and power, which every thing conspires to point out to him as the height of fe- licity, is to order him to overturn at one blow the habitual system of his 153 REMEDIES FORTHEEVILSOFMAN. ideas; it is to speak to a deaf man. To tell a lover of an impetuous tempera- ment, to stifle his passion for the ob- ject that enchants him, is to make him understand that he ought to renounce his happiness. To oppose religion to such puissant interests, is to combat realities by chimerical speculations. Indeed, if things were examined without prepossession, it would be found that the greater part of the pre- cepts inculcated by religion, or which fanatical and supernatural morals give to man, are as ridiculous as they are impossible to be put into practice. To interdict passion to man, is to desire of him not to be a human creature ; to counsel an individual of violent ima- gination to moderate his desires, is to advise him to change his temperament — to request his blood to flow more sluggishly. To tell a man to renounce his habits, is to be willing that a citi- zen, accustomed to clothe himself, should consent to walk quite naked ; it would avail as much to desire him to change the lineament of his face, to destroy his configuration, to extinguish his imagination, to alter the course of his fluids, as to command him not to have passions analogous with his natu- ral energy, or to lay aside those which habit and his circumstances have con- verted into wants.* Such are, how- ever, the so much boasted remedies which the greater number of moral philosophers apply to human depravity. Is it then surprising they do not pro- duce the desired effect, or that they only reduce man to a state of despair, by the effervescence that results from | the continual conflict which they excite ; between the passions of his heart, be- [ tween his vices and his virtues, be- tween his habits and those chimerical fears with which superstition is at all [ times ready to overwhelm him ? The I vices of society, aided by the objects ; * It is evident that these counsels, extrava- gant as they are, have been suggested to man by all religions. The Indian, the Japanese, the Mahometan, the Christian, the Jew, each, according to his superstition, has made per- fection to consist in fasting, mortification, ab- stinence from the most rational pleasures, re- tirement from the busy world, and in labour- ing without ceasing to counteract nature. Among tlie Pagans the priests of the Syrian Goddess were not more rational — their piety led them to mutilate themselves. of which it avails itself to wliet the desires of man, the pleasures, the riches, the grandeur, which his government holds forth to him as so many seductive magnets, the advantage which educa- tion, the benefits, example, public opin- ion render dear to him, attract him on one side ; Avhilst a gloomy morality vain- ly solicits him on the other ; thu^, reli- gion plunges him into misery — holds a violent struggle with his heart, without ever gaining the victory ; when by ac- cident it does prevail against so many united forces, it renders him unhappy — it completely destroys the spring of his mind. Passions are the true counterpoise to passions ; then, let him not seek to destroy them, but let him endeavour to direct them; let him balance those which are prejudicial, by those which are useful to society. Reason, the fruit of experience, is only the art of choos- ing those passions to which, for his own peculiar happiness, he ought to listen. Education is the true art of disseminating, the proper method of cultivating advantageous passions in the heart of man. Legislation is the art of restraining dangerous passions, and of exciting those which may be conducive to the public welfare. Reli- gion is only the art of planting and of nourishing in the mind of man those chimeras, those illusions, those impos- tures, those incertitudes, from whence spring passions fatal to himself as well as to others : it is only hy bearing up with fortitude against these, that he can place himself on the road to hap- piness. f Reason and morals cannot effect any thing on mankind, if they do not point out to each individual, that his true interest is attached to a conduct useful to others and beneficial to him- self; this conduct to be useful must conciliate for him the favour of those beings who are necessary to his happi- t To these we may add philosophy, which is the art of advocatmg truth, of renouncing errour, of contemplating reality, of drawing wisdom from experience, of cultivating man's nature to his own felicity, by teachmg him to contribute to that of his associates ; in short, it is reason, education, and legislation, united to further the great end of human ex- istence, by causing the passions of man to flow in a current genial to his own happi- ness. REMEDIES FOR THE EVILS OF" MAN. 169 iiess : it i«; then for the interest of man- kind, for the happiness of the human race, it is for the esteem of himself, for the love of his fellows, for the advan- tages which enorder which these objects produce in him ; they are mea- sured by tlieir rarity, that is to say, by the inexperience he has of them ; by his natural sensibility, and by the ar- dour of his imagination. The more Ignorant man is, the less experience he has, the more he is susceptible of fear; solitude, the obscurity of a forest, si- lence, and the darkness of night, the roaring of the wind, sudden, confused noises, are objects of terrour to all Avho are unaccustomed to these things. The uninformed man is a child whom every thing astonishes ; but his alarms dis- appear, or diminish, in proportion as experience familiarizes him, more or less, with natural elfects ; his lears cease entirely, as soon as he understands, or believes he understands, the causes that act, and when he knows how to avoid tlieir effects. But if he cannot penetrate the causes which disturb him, or by whom he suffers, if he cannot hnd to what account to place the confusion he experiences, his inquietude augments; his fears redouble ; his imagination leads him astray ; it exaggerates his evil ; paints in a disorderly manner these un- known objects of his terrour; then ma- king an analogy between them and those terrific objects with whom he is already acquainted, he suggests to him-ed ofpliys- f icTTT causes, or willi tlie elfects they ' must necessarily produce. This igno- rance, without doubt, was much greater in the more remote ages of the world, when the human mind, yet in its in- fancy, had not collected that experi- ence, and made those strides towards improvement, whicii distinguishes the present from the past. Savages dis- persed, knew the course of nature ei- ther very imperfectly or not at all ; soci- ety alone perfects human knowledge: it requires not unly multiplied but com- bined efforts to unravel the secrets of nature. This granted, all natural causes were mysteries to our wandering an- cestors ; the entire of nature was an enigma to them; all its ]ihenomena were marvellous, every event inspired terrour to beings who were destitute of experience ; almost every thing they saw must have appeared to them strange, unusual, contrary to their idea of the order of things. It cannot then furnish matter for sur- prise, if we behold men in the present day trembling at the sight of those ob- jects which have formerly filled their fathers with dismay. Eclipses, comets, meteors, were in ancient days, subjects of alarm to all the people of the earth : these effects so natural in the eyes of the sound philosopher, who has by de- grees fathomed their true causes, have yet the right to alarm the most numer- ous and the least instructed part of modern nations. The people of the present day, as well as their ignorant ancestors, find something marvellous and supernatural in all those objects to which their eyes are unaccustomed, or in all tho«^ unknown causes (hat act with a force of which their mind has no idea it is possible the known agents are capable. The ignorant see wonders, prodigies, miracles, in all those striking effects of which they are unable to render themselves a sati-^fac- tory account ; all the causes which I produce them they iWmksHiirrnafKrti/ ; ! this, however, really implies nothing I more than tliat they are not familiar to [ them, or that they have not hitherto I witnessed natural asjeuts whose energy 166 THE ORIGIN OF MAN'S IDEAS was equal to the production of effects so astonisliing as those with which their sight has been appalled. Besides the ordinary phcaomena to which nations Avere witnesses without being competent to unravel the causes, they have, in times very remote from ours, experienced calamities, whether general or local, which filled them with the most cruel inquietude, and plunged them into an abyss of consternation. The traditions and annals of all na- tions, recall, even at this day, melan- choly events, physical disasters, dread- ful catastrophes, which had the effect of spreading universal terrour among our forefatliers. But when history should be silent on these stupendous revolutions, would not our own reflec- tion on what passes under our eyes be sufficient to convince us, that all parts of our globe have been, and following the course of things, will necessarily be again violently agitated, overturn- ed, changed, overflowed, in a state of conflagration ? Vast continents have been inundated : seas breaking their limits have usurped the dominion of the earth ; at length, retiring, these wa- ters have left striking proofs of their presence, by the marine vestiges of shells, skeletons of sea-fish, &c. which the attentive observer meets with at every step in the bowels of those fer- tile countries we now inhabit. Sub- terraneous fires have opened to them- selves the most frightful volcanoes, whose craters frequently issue destruc- tion on every side. In short, the ele- ments unloosed, have, at various times, disputed among themselves the empire of our globe ; this exhibits evidence of the fact, by those vast heaps of wreck, those stupendous ruins spread over its surface. What, then, must have been the fears of mankind, who in those countries believed he beheld the entire of nature armed against his peace, and menacing with destruction his very abode? What must have been the in- quietude of a people taken thus unpro- vided, Avho fancied they saw nature cruelly labouring to their annihilation? Who beheld a world ready to be dash- ed into atoms, the earth suddenly rent asunder, whose yawming chasm was the grave of large cities, whole pro- vinces, entire nations? What ideas must mortals, thus overwhelmed with terrour, form to themselves of the irre- sistible cause that could produce such extended effects ? Without doubt they did not attribute these wide-spreading calamities to nature ; they could not suspect she was the author, the accpm- plice of the confusion she herself expe- rienced ; they did not see that these tremendous revolutions, these over- powering disorders, were the necessary result of her immutable laws, and that they contributed to the general order by Avhich she subsists.* It was under these astounding cir- cumstances, that nations, not seeing on this mundane ball causes sufficiently powerful to operate the gigantic phe- nomena that filled their minds with dismay, carried their streaming and tremulous eyes towards heaven, where they supposed these unknown agents, whose unprovoked enmity destroyed their earthly felicity, could alone re- side. It was in the lap of ignorance, in the season of alarm and calamity, that mankind ever formed his first notions of the Divinity. From hence it is obvious that his ideas on this subject are to be suspected as false, and that they are always afl^icting. Indeed, up- on whatever part of our sphere we cast our eyes, whether it be upon the frozen climates of the north, upon the parch- ing regions of the south, or under the more temperate zones, we every where behold the people when assailed by misfortunes, have either made to them- selves national Gods, or else have adopted those w^hich have been given them by their conquerors ; before these beings, either of their own creation or adoption, they have tremblingly prostra- ted themselves in the hour of calamity. The idea of these powerful agents, was always associated with that of terrour; their name was never pronounced with- out recalling to man's mind either his own particular calamities or those of his fathers : man trembles at this day, because his progenitors have trembled * In point of fact, there is nothing more surprising- in the inundation of large portions of the earth, in the swallowing up an entire nation, in a volcanic conflagration, spreading destruction over whole provinces, than there is in a stone falling to the earth, or the death of a fly : each equally has its spring in tha necessity of things. UPON THE DIVINITY. lf.7 ihousaiuls of years ago. The thought of Gods always awakons in man the most afflicting ideas: if" lie recurred to the source oi" his actual fears, to the y ill'' unil'onii Iradiiion of every nation in llw world, and also by ilie remains of marine bodies found in every country, im- bedded to irre-iier or less deptlis. Vet it might be possiblr tbat a eomei coniini: in contact wuli our nlobe, should have produced sueb a slioeU !is lo submerge at onre wbole conti- oent.-i! for this a miracle wa.-^ uot necessary ! attached to existence, weie cfTects he looked upon as either suiiernatural, or else he conceived they were repugnant to his actual nature; he attributed them to some mighty cause, which maugre all his efibrts, disposed of him at each moment. His imagination, thus rendered desiierate by his endur- ance of evils which he found inevi- table, formed to him those phantoms before whom he trembled from a con- sciousness of his own weakness. It was then he endeavoured by prostra- tion, by sacrifices, by prayers, to disarm the anger of these imaginary beings to which his trepidation had given birth; whom he ignorantly imagined to be the cause of his misery, whom his fancy painted to him as endowed with the power of alleviating his sufferings: it was then, in the extremity of his grief, in the exarccrbation of his mind, weighed down with misfortune, that unbappy man fashioned the phantom God. Man never judges of those objects of which he is ignorant but through the medium of those which come with- in his knowledge: thus man, taking himself for the model, ascribed will, intelligence, design, projects, passions ; in a word, qualities analogous to his own, to all those unknown causes of which he experienced the action. As soon as a visible or su])posed cause aflects him in an agreeable manner, or in a mode favourable to his existence, he concludes it to be good, to be well in- tentioned towards him: on the con- trary, he judges all those to be bad in their nature, and to have the intention of injuring him, Avhich cause him many painful sensations. He attrib- utes views, plans, a system of conduct like his own, to every thing which to his limited ideas appears of itself to produce connected elFects, to act with regularity, to constantly operate in the same manner, that uniioriulv produces the same sensations in his own per- son. According to these notions, whichiie always borrows from himself, from his own peculiar mode of action, he either loves or fears those objects which have affected him : he in conse- quence approaches them with confi- dence or timidity ; seeks after thein or flies from them in proportion as the feelings thev have excited are either 169 THE ORIGIN OF MAN'S IDEAS pleasant or painful. He presently ad- dresses them ; he invokes their aid ; prays to them for succour; conjures them to cease his afflictions ; to for- bear tormenting him; as he finds him- self sensible to presents, pleased with submission, he tries to win them to his interests by humiliation, by sacrifices ; he exercises towards them the hospi- tality he himself loves ; he gives them an asylum ; he builds them a dwelling ; he furnishes them Avith all those things which he thinks will please them the most, because he himself places the highest value ou them. These dispo- sitions enable us to account for the for mation of tutelary Gods, which every man makes to himself in savage and unpolished nations. Thus we per- ceive that weak mortals, regard as the arbiters of their fate, as the dispensers of good and evil, animals, stones, un- formed inanimate substances, which they transform into Gods, whom they mvest with intelligence, whom they clothe wnth desires, and to whom they give volition. Another disposition which serves to deceive the savage man, which will equally deceive those whom reason shall not enlighten on these subjects, is the fortuitous concurrence of certain efiects, with causes which have not produced them, or the co-existence of these effects with certain causes which have not the slighest connexion with them. Thus the savage attributes bounty or the will to render him ser- vice, to any object whether animate or inanimate, such as a stone of a certain form, a rock, a mountain, a tree, a ser- pent, an owl, &c., if every time he en- counters these objects in a certain posi- tion, it should so happen that he is more than ordinarily successful in hunting, that he should take an unu- sual quantity of fish, that he should be victorious in war, or that he should compass any enterprise whatever, that he may at that moment undertake. — The same savage will be quite as gra- tuitous in attaching malice or wicked- ness to either the same object in a dif- ferent position, or any others in a given posture, Avhich may have met his eyes on those days when he shall have suf- fered some grievous accident: incapa- ble of reasoning he connects these effects with causes that are entirely due to physical causes, to necessary circumstances, over which neither him- self nor his omens have the least con- tioul : nevertheless, he finds it much easier to attribute them to these ima- ginary causes, he therefore deifies them, endows them with passions, gives them design, intelligence, will, and invests them with supernatural powers. The savage in this is never more than an infant that is angry with the object that displeases him, just like the dog who gnaws the stone by which he has been wounded, without recur- ring to the hand by which it was thrown. Such is the foundation of man's faith in either happy or unhappy omens : devoid of experience, he looks upon them as warnings given him by his ridiculous Gods, to whom he attri- butes the faculties of sagacity and fore- sight, of which he is himself deficient. Ignorance, when involved in disaster, when immersed in trouble, believes a stone, a reptile, a bird, much better in- structed than himself. The slender observation of the ignorant only serves to render him more superstitious ; he sees certain birds announce by their flight, by their cries, certain changes in the weather, such as cold, heat, rain, storms ; he beholds at certain periods vapours arise from the bottom of some particular caverns ; there needs nothing further to impress upon him the belief, that these beings possess the knowledge of future events and enjoy the gifts of prophecy. If bv degrees experience and reflec- tion arrive at undeceiving him with re- spect to the power, tlie intelligence, the virtues, actually residing in these objects; if he at least supposes them put in activity by some secret, some hidden cause, whose instruments they are, to this concealed agent he ad- dresses himself; pays him his vows; implores his assistance ; deprecates his wrath ; seeks to propitiate him to his interests ; is willing to soften his anger ; and for this purpose he employs the same means of which he avails himself either to appease or gain over the beings of his own species. Societies in their origin, seeing them- selves frequently afflicted by nature, ' supposed that either the elements, or / the concealed powers who regulated . UPON THE DIVINITY, 169 them, possessed a will, views, wants, desires, similar to tliuir own. From hence, the sacrifices imagined to nou- risli them ; the libations poured out to them ; the steams, the incense to grat- ify their olfactery nerves. They be- lieved these elements or their irritated movers were to be appeased like irri- tated man, by prayers, by humiliation, by presents. Their imagination was r} nsacked to discover the presents that \^ould be most acceptable to tlicse mute beinirs who did not make known their inclinations. Thus some brought the fruits of the earth, others offered sheaves of corn ; some strewed flow- ers over their fanes; some decorated them with the most costly jewels; some served them with meats ; others sacrificed lambs, heifers, bulls. As they appeared to be almost always irri- tated against man, they stained their altars with human gore, and made ob- lations of young children. At length, such was their delirium, such the wild- ness of their imaginations, that they believed it impossible to appease with oblations from the earth the supposed agents of nature, who therefore requir- ed the sacrifice of a God ! It was pre- sumed that an infinite being could not be reconciled to the human race but by an infinite victim. The old men as having the most ex- perience, were usually charged with tlie conduct of these peace-offerings.* These accompanied them with cere- monies, instituted rites, used precau- tions, adopted formalities, retraced to their fellow citizens the notions trans- mitted to them by their forefathers ; collected the observations made by their ancestors ; repeated the fables tliey had received. It is thus the sa- cerdotal order was established ; thus that public worship was established ; * The Greek word rifn^SuT, from whence is defivwl the name priest, siirnifiee an ok! man. Men have always felt respect for that which hore the cliaracter of antiquity, as they have always associated with it the Idea of wisdom and consummate experience. It is probahly ill einisemiencc of this prejudice that men, when in doubt, jieneraliy prefer the authority of antiquity and the decisions of tlioir ances- tors to those of srood sense and reason. This we sec every day in matters nppertaininir to religion, which is suppcsed to have been pure and undefiled in its infancy, allhougii this idea is certainly witliout foundation. No. VI.— 22 by degrees each community formed a body of tenets to be observed by the citizens; these were transmitted fruin race to race.f Such were the unform- ed, the precarious elements of whit3 founded their rights ; established their authority : erected temples, rai-ed al- tars, loaded them with wealth, rested their dogmas. In short, it was from such rude foundations that arose the structure of all religions; under which man trembled for thousands of years: and altliough these religions were ori- ginally invented by savages, they still have the power of regulating the fate of the most civilized nations. These systems, so ruinous in their principles, have been variously modified by the human mind, of which it is the essence to labour incessantly on unknown ob- jeci - ; it always commences by attach- M\: to these a very first-rate impor- tance, which it afterwards never dares coolly to examine. t At length it was deemed sacrilege even to doubt these pandects in any one particular; he that ventured to reason upon them, was looked upon as an enemy to the common- wealth ; as one whose impiety drew down upon them the vengeance of these adored be- ings, to whicii alone imagination had given birtli. Not contented with adopting rituals, with following the ceremonies invented l)y themselves, one community waged war against another, to oblige it to receive tiieir particular creeds; which the knaves who regidatcd them, declared would infallibly win them the favour of their tutelary Deities: thus very often to conciliate their favour, the victorious party immolated on the altars of their Gods, the bodies of iheir unhappy cap- tives; and frequently they carried their savage bariiarity the length of exterminating whole nations, who hajipencd to worship Gods different from tluir own: thus it frequently happened, that the friends of tiie serpent, when victorious, covered his altars with the man- gled carcasses of the worshippers of the etone whom the fortune of war had placed in their hands 170 THE ORIGIN OF MAN'S IDEAS Such was the fate of man's imagi- nation in the successive ideas which he either formed to himself, or which iie received upon the divinity. The first theology ot" man was grounded on fear, modelled by ignorance : either afflicted or benefited by the elements, he adored these elements themselves, and extend- ed his reverence to every material, which are the mofet easy to bfe known to whoever shall be willing to meditate upon them.* In short, man has al- ways respected those unknown causes, those surprising effects which his igno- rance prevented him from fathoming. It remains, then, to inquire, if man can reasonably flatter himself with ob- taining a perfect knowledge of the coarse object; he afterwards rendered his [power of nature ;t of the properties of homage to the agents he supposed pre- siding over these elements ; to powerful genii ; to inferior genii ; to heroes, or to men endowed with great qualities. By dint ofreflection, he believed he simplifi- ed the thing in submitting the entire of nature to a single agent — to a sovereign intelligence — to a spirit — to a univer- sal soul, which put this nature and its parts in motion. In recurring from cause to cause, man finished by losing sight of every thing, and in this obscu- rity, in this dark abyss, he placed his God, and i'ormed new chimeras which will afflict him until a knowledge of natural causes undeceives him with re- gard to those phantoms he had always so stupidly adored. If a faithful account was rendered of man's ideas upon the Divinity, he would be obliged to acknowledge, that the word God has only been used to express the concealed, remote, un- known causes of the effects he witness- ed ; he uses this term only when the spring of natural and known causes ceases to be visible: as soon as he loses the thread of these causes, or as soon as his mind can no longer follow the chain, he solves the difficulty, ter- minates his research, by ascribing it to God ; thus giving a vague definition to an unknown cause, at which either his idleness, or his limited knowledge, obliges him to stop. When, therefore, he ascribes to God the production of some phenomenon, of which his ignorance precludes him from unravel- ling the true cause, does he, in fact, do any thing more than substitute for the darkness of his own mind, a sound to which he has been accustomed to lis- ten with reverential awe ? Ignorance may be said to be the inheritance of the generality of men ; these attribute to the Divinity not only those uncom- mon effects that burst upon their senses w'lh an astounding force, but also the most simple event* the causes of * If there be a God, can it be possible we * are acting rationally, eternally to make him the agent of our stupidity, of our sloth, of our want of information on natural causes? Do we, in fact, pay any kind of adoration to this being, by thus bringing him forth on every trifling occasion, to solve the difficulties igno- rance throws in our way 1 Of whatever na- ture the Cause of causes may be, it is evident to the slightest reflection that it has been sedulous to conceal itself from our view; that it has rendered it impossible for us to have the least acquaintance with it, except through the medium of nature, which is un- questionably competent to every thing: this is the rich banquet spread before man ; he is invited to partake, with a welcome he has no right to dispute ; to enjoy therefore is to obey ; to be happy himself is to make otliers happy ; to make others happy is to be virtuous ; to be virtiwus he must revere truth : to know ichai truth is, he must examine with caution, scruti- nize with severity, every opinion he adopts ; this granted, is it not insulting to a God to clothe him with our wayward passions ; to ascribe to him designs similar to our narrow view of things ; to give him our filthy desires ; to suppose he can be guided by our finite con- ceptions ; to bring him on a level with frail humanity, by investing him with our quali- ties, however much we may exaggerate them; to indulge an opinion that he can either act or think as we do ; to imagine he can in any manner resemble such a feeble plaything, as is the greatest, the most distinguished man? No ! it is to fall back into the depth of Cim- merian darkness. Let man therefore sit down cheerfully to the feast; let him contentedly partake of what he finds ; but let him not worry his may- be- God with his useless pray- ers : these supplicadons are, in fact, at once to say, that with our limited experience, with our slender knowledge, we better understand what is suitable to our condition, what is con- venient to our welfare, than the Cause of all causes who has left us in the hands of na- ture. + How many discoveries in the great sci- ence of natural philosophy has mankind pro- gressively made, which the ignorant prejudi- ces of our forefathers on their first announce- ment considered as impious, as displeasing to the Divinity, as heretical profanations, which could only be expiated by the sacrifice of the inquiring individuals, to whose labour their pos- tenty owes such an infinity of gratitude. Even in modern days we have seen a Socrates de- UPON Tin: DIVIMTY. 171 tlip beings she contains ; of the cfTects which inav result from their various coni})inations? Do we know why the maijiiet attracts iron? Are we better acquainted with the cause of polar at- traction ? Are we in a condition to ex- phiin the])henomenaof light, electricity, elasticity ? Do we understand the me- chanism by whicii that moditication of our brain, which we call volition, puts our arm or our legs into motion ? Can we render to ourselves an account of the manner in which our eyes behold objects, in which our ears receive sounds, in which our mind conceives ideas ? If then we are incapable of accounting for the most ordinary phe- nomena, which nature daily exhibits to us, by what chain of reasoning do we refuse to her the power of producing other effects equally incomprehensible tons? Shall we be more instructed, when every time we behold an effect of which we are not in a capacity to de- velop the cause, we may idly say, this effect is produced by the power, by the will of God ? — that is to say, by an agent of which we have no know- ledge whatever, and of which we are more ignorant than of natural causes. Does then, a sound, to which we can- stroyed, a Galileo condemned, whilst muhi- tudes of other benefactors to mankind have been iield in contempt by their uninformed contemporaries, for those very researches info nature which the present generation hold in the highest veneration. Whenever ignorant priests ere permitted to guide the opinions of na- tions, science can make but a very slender pro- gress: natural discoveries will be always held mimical to the interest of bigoted religious men. It may, to ilie minds of infatuated mortals, to the shallow comprehension of prejudiced beings, appear very pious to reply on every occasion, our God do this, our God do that ; but to the contemplative philosopher, to the man of reason, it will never be convincing that a sound, a mere word, can attach the reason of things; can have more than a fixed sense; can suffice to e.xplain problems. The word God is used to denote the impenetrable cause of those eff 'Cts which astonish man- kind; which man is not competent to ex- plain. Rut is not this wilful idleness ? Is it not inconsistent with our nature thus to give the answer of a child to every thing we do not understand; or rather which our own sloth, or our own want of industry has pre- vented us from knowing? Ought we not rather to redouble our efforts to penetrate the cause iif those phenomena which strike our mind? When we have sriven this answer, what have we said ? Nothing but what every one knows. not attach any fixed sense, suffice to explain problems? Can the word God signify any thing else but the impene- trable cause of those effects which we cannot explain? When we shall be ingenuous \vith ourselves, we shall be obliged to agree that it was uniformly the ignorance in which our ancestors were involved, their want of knowltdge of natural causes, their unenlightened ideas on the powers of nature, which gave birth to the Gods; that it i>, again, the im- possibility which the greater part of mankind find to withdraw themselves out of this ignorance, the difficulty they consequently find to form to them- selves simple ideas of the formation of things, the laboi'.r that is required to discover the true sources of those events which they either admire or fear, that make them believe the idea of a God is necessary to enable them to render an account of those phenomena, the true cause of which they cannot discover. Here, without doubt, is the reason they treat all those as irrational who do not see the necessity of admitting an un- known agent, or some secret energy, which, for want of being acquainted wnth nature, they have placed out of herself. The phenomena of nature necessa- rily breed various sentiments in man : some he thinks favourable to him, some prejudicial ; some excite his love, his admiration, his gratitude ; others fill him with trouble, cause aversion, drive him to despair. According to the va- rious sensations he experiences, he either loves or fears the causes to which he attributes the effects which produce in him these different passions: these sentiments are commensurate with the effects he experiences; his admiration is enhanced, his fears are augmented, in the same ratio as the phenomena which strike his senses are more or less extensive, more or less irresistible or interesting to him. Man necessa- rily makes himself the centre of na- ture ; indeed he can only judge of things, as he is himself aflected by them ; he can only love that which he thinks favourable to his being; he hates, he fearsevery thing which causes him to suffer: in short, as we have seen, he calls confusion every thing that deranges the economy of his ma- 172 THE ORIGIN OF MAN'S IDEAS chine, and he believes all is in order, as !;oon as he experiences nothing but what is suitable to his peculiar mode of existence. By a necessary conse- quence of these ideas, man firmly be- lieves that the entire of nature was made for him alone ; that it was only himself which she had in view in all her works ; or rather that the powerful causes to which this nature was subor- dinate, had only for object man and his convenience, in all the effects which are produced in the universe. If there existed on this earth other thinking beings besides man, they would fall exactly into similar preju- dices with himself; it is a sentiment founded upon that predilection which each individual necessarily has for himself; a predilection that will sub- sist until reason, aided by experience, shall have rectified his errours. Thus, whenever man is contented, whenever every thing is in order with respect to himself, he either admires or loves the cause to which he believes he is indebted for his welfare ; when he becomes discontented with his mode of existence, he either fears or hates the cause which he supposes has pro- duced these afflicting effects. But his welfare confounds itso-lf with his exist- ence ; it ceases to make itself felt when it has become habitual and of long con- tinuance ; he then thinks it is inherent to his essence ; he concludes from it that he is formed to be always happy ; he finds it natural that every thing should concur to the maintenance of his being. It is by no means the same when he experiences a mode of exi.st- ence that is displeasing to himself: the man who suffers is quite astonished at the change which has taken place in his machine ; he judges it to be contrary to nature, because it is incommodious to his own particular nature; he ima- gines those events by which he is wounded, to be contrary to the order of things ; he believes that nature is deranged every time she does not pro- cure for him that mode of feeling which is suitable to his ideas; and he con- cludes from these suppositions that nature, or the agent who moves her, is irritated against him. It IS thus that man, almost insensi- ble to good, feels evil in a very lively manner; the first he believes natural, the other he thinks opposed to nature. He is either ignorant, or forgets, that he constitutes part of a whole, formed by the assemblage of substances, of which some are analogous, others hete- rogeneous ; that the various beings of which nature is composed, are endowed with a variety of properties, by virtue of which they act diversely on the bodies who find themselves within the sphere of their action ; he does not perceive that these beings, destitute of goodness, devoid of malice, act only according to their respective essences and the laws their properties impose upon them, without being in a capacity to act otherwise than they do. It is, therefore, for want of being acquainted with these things, that he looks upon the author of nature, as the cause of those evils to which he is submitted, that he judges him to be wicked or exasperated against him. The fact is, man believes that his wel- fare is a debt due to him from nature ; that when he suffers evil she does him an injustice ; fully persuaded that this nature was made solely for himself, he cannot conceive she would make him suffer, if she was not moved thereto by a power who is inimical to his happi- ness — who has reasons for afflicting and punishing him. From hence it will be obvious, that evil, much more than good, is the true motive of those researches which man has made con- cerning the Divinity — of those ideas which he has formed of himself — of the conduct he has held towards him. The admiration of the works of nature, or the acknowledgment of its goodness, would never alone have determined the human species to recur painfully by thought to the source of these things; familiarized at once with all those effects which are favourable to his existence, he does not by any means give himself the same trouble to seek the causes, that he does to discover those which disquiet him, or by whick he is afflicted. Thus, in reflecting up- on the Divinity, it was always upot the cause of his evils that man medi tated ; his tneditations were fruitles.' because the evils he experiences, ai well as the good he partakes, are equal' ly necessary effects of natural causes, to which his mind ought rather to have bent its force, than to have invented UPON THE DIVINITY. 173 fictitious causes of which lie never cuukl foiiii to himself any hut false ideas, seeing tiiat he always iiurrowed iheiii fiDiu liis own jieculiar iiianiier of existing, and feeliii<.(. Ohsliiiately re- fusiiii; to see any thinij hut himself, he never Ijeoame aecidainted with that uni- versal nature of which he constitutes sucii a very feehle ])art. The sliirhtesl rellection, however, would have been sullicient to unde- ceive him on these erroneous ideas. Every thing tends to prove that good and evil are modes of existence that depend upon causes by which a man is moved, and that a sensible being is obliged to experience them. In a na- ture (!oni])osed of a multitude of beings intinitely varied, the shock occasioned by the collision of discordant mUtter must necessarily disturb the order, de- range the mode of existence of those beings who have analogy with them : these act in every thing they do after certain laws; the good or evil, there- fore, which man experiences, are ne- cessary consequences of the qualities inherent to the beings, within wiiose sphere of action he is found. Our birth, which we call a heneHt, is an efl'ect as necessary as our death, which we contemplate as an injustice of fate : it is of the nature of all analogous beings to unite themselves to form a whole: it is of the nature of all compound beings to be destroyed, or to dissolve them- selves; some maintain their union for a longer period than oliiers, and some disperse very quickly. Every being in dissolving itself gives birth to new l)eings; these arc destroyed in their turn, to executQ eternally the immuta- ble laws of a nature that only exists by the continual changes that all its parts undergo. Thus nature cannot be accused of either goodness or malice, since every thing that takes place in it is necessary — is produced by an inva- riable system, to which every other being, as well as herself, is eternally subjected. The same igneous mat- ter that in man is the principle of life, fretjuently becomes the principle of his destruction, either' by the conllagration of a city, or the explosion of a volcano. The acjueous fluid that circulates tlirougli his machine, so essentially necessary to his actual existence, fre- quently becomes too abundant, and ter- minates him by suffocation, is the cause of those inundations wliicji sometimes swallow uj) both the earth and its in- habitants. The air, without which he is not able to respire, is the cause of those hurricanes, of those tempests, which frequently render useless the labour of mortals. These elements nre obliged to burst their bonds, when they are combined in a certain manner, and their necessary conse(|uences are those ravages, those contagions, those fam- ines, those diseases, those various scourges, against which man, with streaming eyes and violent emotions, vainly implores the aid of those pow- ers who are deaf to his cries : his pray- ers are never granted but when the same necessity which alflicted him, the same immutable laws which over- whelmed him with trouble, replaces tilings in the order he finds suitable to his species : a relative order of things which was, is, and always will be, the only standard of his judgment. Man, however, made no such simple reflections; he did not perceive that everv thing in nature acted by invari- able laws; he continued in contempla- ting the good of which he was parta- ker as a favour, and the evil he experi- enced, as a sign of anger in this na- ture, which he supposed to be anima- ted by the same passions as himself; or at least that it was governed by a secret airent who obliged it to execute their will, that was sometimes favour- able, sometimes inimical to the human species. It was to tliis sujiijosed agent, with whom in the sunshine of his pros- perity he was but little occupied, that in the bosom of his calamity he ad- dressed his prayers; he thanked him, however, for his favours, fearing lest his ingratitude might further pi'ovoke his fury: thus when assailed by disas- ter, when afflicted with disease, he in- voked him with fervour: he required him to change in his favour the mode of acting which was the very essence of beings ; he was willing that to make the slightest evil that he experienced cease, that the eternal chain of things might be broken or arrested. It was upon such ridiculous preten- sions, that were founded those fervent prayers, which mortals, almost always discontented with their fate, and never in accord in their respective desires, 174 OF MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. addressed to the Divinity. Tiiey were unceasingly prostrate before tlie ima- ginary power whom they judged had the right of commanding nature; — whom they supposed to have sufficient energy to divert her course ; and whom they considered to possess the means to make her subservient to his particu- lar views ; thus each hoped by pres- ents, by humiliation, to induce him to oblige this nature to satisfy the dis- cordant desires of their race. The sick man, expiring in his bed, asks that the humours accumulated in his body, should in an instant lose those proper- ties which render them injurious to his existence; that, by an act of his puis- sance, his God should renew or recre- ate the springs of a machine worn out by infinnities. The cultivator of a low swampy country, makes complaint of the abundance of rain with which the fields are inundated ; whilst the inhabit- ant of the hill, raises his thanks for the favours he receives, and solicits a continuance of that which causes the despair of his neighbour. In this, each is willing to have a God for himself, and asks according to his momentary caprices, to his fluctuating wants, that the invariable essence of things should be continually changed in his favour. From this it must be obvious, that man every moment asks a miracle to be wrought in his support. It is not, therefore, at all surprising that he dis- played such ready credulity, that he adopted with such facility the relation of the marvellous deeds which were universally announced to him as the acts of the power, or the eflfects of the benevolence of the Divinity, and as the most indubitable proof of his empire over nature, in the expectation, that if he could gain them over to his interest, this nature, which he found so sullen, so little disposed to lend herself to his views, would then be controuled in his own favour.* * It was easy to perceive that nature was deaf, or at least that it never interrupted its march ; therefore men deemed it their interest to submit the entire of nature to an intelligent agent, whom, reasoning by analogy, they supposed better disposed to listen to them than an insensible nature which they were not able to controul. Now it remains to be shown, whether the selfish interest of man is a proof sufiBcient of the existence of an agent By a necessary consequence of these ideas, nature was despoiled of all pow- er ; she was contemplated only as a passive instrument, who acted at the will, under the influence of the numer- ous, all-powerful agents to whom she was subordinate. It was thus for want of contemplating nature under her true point of view, that man has mistaken her entirely, that he believed her inca- pable of producing any thing by her- self; that he ascribed the honour of all those productions, whether advan- tageous or disadvantageous to the hu- man species, to fictitious powers, whom he always clothed with his own pecu- liar dispositions, only he aggrandized their force. In short it was upon the ruins of nature, that man erected the imaginary colossus of the Divinity. If the ignoranceof nature gave birth to the Gods, the knowledge of nature is calculated to destroy them. As soon as man becomes enlightened, his pow- ers augment, his resources increase iij a ratit) with his knowledge ; the sci ences, the protecting arts, industrious application, furnish him assistance j experience encourages his progress, or procures for him the means of resist- ing the efforts of many causes, which cease to alarm him as soon as he ob- tains a correct knowledge of them. In a word, his terrours dissipate in pro- portion as his mind becomes enlight- ened. Man, when instructed, ceases to be superstitious. CHAPTER XIX. Of Mythology, and Theology. The elements of nature were, as we have shown, the first divinities of ' man ; he has generally commenced with adoring material beings ; each in- dividual, as we have already said, and as may be still seen in savage nations, made to himself a particular God of some physical object, which he sup- posed to be the cause of those events in which he was himself interested ; he never wandered to seek out of visi- ble nature the source either of what happened to himself, or of those phe- endowed with intelligence — whether, because a thing may be very convenient, it follows that it is so ! OF MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. J75 ••omena I' .van h iie w as a witness. As h«» every wher «civ nly material ef- fects, he a tribiiiea t n to causes of the same tjenus ; incapable in his in- fancy of those profound reveries, of those subti.e speculations, which are the result of leisure, he did not mi- agine any cause distinijui>ned from the objects that met his slight, nor of any essence totally dilferenl iVom every thing he beheld. The observation of nature was the first study of those who had leisurp to meditate: they could not avoid oe nsf struck with the phenomena of the v s ble world. The rising and settmg oi the sun, the periodical return oi tne seasons, the variations of the atmo- sphere, the fertility and sterility of the earth, the advantages of irrigation, the damages caused by floods, the use- ful etfects of fire, the terrible conse- quences of conflagration, were proper and suitable objects to occupy their thoughts. It was natural for them to 'elieve that those beings they saw move of themselves, acted by their >wn peculiar energies; according as their influence over the inliabitants o*" the earth was either favourable or otherwise, they concluded them to have either the power to mjure them, or the disposition to confer benefits. Those who first acquired the knowledge of gaining the ascendency over man, then savage, wandering, unpolished, or dis- nersed in woods, with but little attach- ment to the soil, of whicii he had not yet learned to reap the advantage, were always more practised observers — in- dividuals more instructed in the ways of nature, than the people, or rather the scattered hordes, Avhom they found ignorant and destitute of experience. Their superior knowledge placed them m a capacity to render them services — to discover to them useful inventions, which attracted the confidence of the unhappy beings to whom they came to oflfer an a-sisting hand ; savages who were naked, half famished, exposed to the injuries of the Aveather. and to the atlaL-ks of ferocious beasts, dispersed * in cavern>^. scattered in fiuests, occu- ' pied with hunting, painfuliv labouring, to procure thein-;elves a vitv precarious ' v;bsistence, had not sulHcient leisure n» make discoveries calculated to facili- ute their labour, or to render it less in- cessant. These discoveries are gene- rally the fruit of society: isolated be- ings, detached families, hardly ever make any discoveries — scarcely ever think of making any. The savage is a being who lives in a perpetual state of infancy, who never reaches ma- turity unless some one comes to dra^ him out of his misery. At first repul- sive, un-;ociable, intractable, he by de- grees familiarizes himself with those who render him service; once gained by thfir kindnes,s, he readily lends them his confidence ; in the end he goes the length of sacrificing to them his liberty. k was commonly from the bosom of civilized nations that have issued those personages who have carried sociability agriculture, arts, laws, Gods, religious opinions, forms of worship, to those families or hordes as yet scattered, who were not formed into nation-;. These softened'their manners — gathered them together — taught them to reap the ad- vantages of their own powers — to ren- der each other reciprocal assistance — to satisfy their wants with greater fa- cility. In thus rendering their exist- ence more comfortable, they attracted their love, obtained their veneration, acquired the right of prescribing opin- ions to them, made them adopt such as they had either invented tiieinselves or else drawn up in the civilized coun- tries from whence they came. History points out to us the mo^t famous legis- lators as men. who. enriched with use- ful knowledge they had gleaned in the bosom of polished nations, carried to savages without industry and needing assi-;tance, those arts, of which, until then, these rude people were ignorant: such were the IBacchus's, the Orphe- us's, the Triptolenius's, the Moses's, the Numas. the Zainolixis's ; in short, all tnose who first gave to nations their God< — their worship — tiie rudiments of agriculture, of science, of theology, of juri-prudence, of mv-^teries, &c. It will perhaps be inquired, if those na- tion-i which at the pre-jent day we see a<-embled, were all originally dispers- ed? We reply, that thi< di-persioa may have been produced at various times bv tho^e terrible revolutions, of which It has before been remarked our gloi)e has more than once been the the- atre, m times so remote that history OF MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. ;tas not been able to transmit to us the fietail. Perhaps the approach of more than one comet may have produced on our earth several universal ravages, which have at each time annihilated the greater portion of the human spe- cies. Those who were able to escape from the ruin of the world, filled with consternation, plunged in misery, were but little conditioned to preserve to their posterity a knowledge, effaced by those misfortunes of which they had oeen both the victims and the wit- nesses : overwhelmed with dismay trembling with fear, they were not able to hand down the history of their frightful adventures, except by obscure traditions ; much less to transmit to us the opinions, the systems, the arts, the sciences, anterior to these revolutions of our sphere. There have been per- haps men upon the earth from all eter- nity ; but at difl'erent periods they may nave been nearly annihilated, together with their monunsents, their sciences, and their arts ; those who outlived these periodical revolutions, each time formed a new race of men, who by dint of time, labour, and experience nave by degrees withdrawn from oblivion the inventions of the primitive races. It is, perhaps, to these periodical revo- lutions of the human species, that is to be ascribed the profound ignorance in which we see man plunged upon those objects that are the most interest- ing to him. This is, perhaps, the true source of the imperfection of his know- ledge — of the vices of his political and religious institutions over which ter- rour has always presided ; here, in all probability, is the cause of tnat puerile inexperience, of those jejune prejuaices, which every where keep man in a state of infancy, and which render him so little capable of either listening to rea- son or of consulting truth. To judge by the slowness of his progress, by the feebleness of his advance, in a number of respects, we should be inclined to say, the human race has either just iiu'itted its cradle, or that he was never destined to attain the age of virility or (tl reason.* * These hypotheses will unquestionably ap- pear bold to those who have not sufficiently meditated on nature, out to tne pni.osophic mquirer they are by no means mconsi?tent. There may nave not only nave been one gen- However it may be with these con jeclures, whether the human race ma always have existed upon die carrii, ut whether it may have been a rect Jt pro- eral deluge, but even a great nunibtr since tne existence of our planet ; this globe itself may have been a new protiuction in nature; i. may r^^-t always have occupied the. place it does at present. — See Ch. VI. Whatever idee;, may be adopted on this subject, it is very cer- tain that, independent of those exterior cauaes which are competent to totally change its face, as the impulse of a comet may do, thia globe contains within itself a cause adequate to alter It entirelv, since uesides 'he diurnal I and sensible motion of tne earth, it has one ' extremely slow, almost imperceptible, by which every thing must eventually be chang- ed in it : this is the motion from whenct depends the precession of the equiiioctia. points, observed by Hipparchus and other matheniatieians; by this motion, the earth must at the end of several thousand years change totally : this motion will at length cause the ocean to occupy that space which at present forms the lands or continents. From this it will be obvious that our globe, as well as all the beings in nature, has a con tinual disposition to change. This motio! was known to the ancients, and was what gave rise to what they called their great year, which the Egyptians fixed at thirty-six thou- sand, five hundred and twenty-five years : the Sabines at thirty-six thousand, four hundrf and twenty-five, whilst others have extendeL it to one hundred thousand, some to even seve* hundred and fifty-three thousand years.— Again, to those general revolutions which en planet has at different times experienced, ma^- be added those that have been parnal, sue; as inundations of the sea, earthquakes, sub terraneous conflasrations, which have some times had the efTect of dispersing particular nations, and to make them forget all tho3 sciences with which they were before ao quainted. It is also probable that the firs volcanic fires, having had no previous vent were more central, and greater in quantity, before they burst the crust of earth; as the sea washed the whole, it must have rapidly sunk down into every opening, where, falling on the boiling lava, it was instantly expandea into steam, producing irresistible e.xplosion; whence it is reasonable to conclude, that the primeval earthquakes were more widely ex- tended, and of much greater force, than those which occur in our days. Other vapours may be produced by intense heat, possessing t much greater elasdcity, from substances that evaporate, such as mercury, diamonds, &c. the expansive force of these vapours woulc be much greater than the steam of wate even at redhot heat ; consequently they may have had sufficient energy to raise islands continents, or even to have detached th» moon from the earth ; if the moon, as ha? been supposed by some philosophers, were thrown out of the great cavity which now contains the South Sea; tYe )iXJneam qawri- OF MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. 177 duction of naturo,* it is exfromcly easy to recur to the origin of many existing nations : we shall lind them always in the stivage stale ; that is to say, com- posed of wanderinff hordes; these were collected together, at the voice of some missionary or legislator, from whom they received henelits, who gave them Gods, opinions, anil laws. These per- sonages, of whom the people, newly congregated, readily acknowledged the superiority, fixed the national Gods, leaving to each individual those which he had fonned to himself, according to his own peculiar ideas, or else suhsti- tuling others hrought from those re- git)ns from whence they themselves had emigrated. The better to imprint their lesson^s on the minds of their new subjects, these men became the guides, the priests, the sovereigns, the masters, of these infant societies; they spoke to tity of water flowina in from the original ocean, and whii-li then covered the earth, would much contribute to leave the conti- nents and isiarrdi!, which might be raised at the same time, above the surface of the water. In later days we have accounts of liuge stones falling from the firmament, which may have been thrown by explosion from some distant earthquake, without having been im- pelled with a force sufficient to cause them to circulate round the earth, and thus produce numerous small moons or satellites. * It may be that the larger animals we now behold were originally derived from the small- est mieroseopu; ones, who have increased in bulk with the pri>i.'ression of time, or tliat, as the Egyptian pliilosopliers thouglit, mankind were originally htrma|)lirotliley, who, like the aphis, produi:e(l the sexual distinction after some generations. This was also the opinion of Plato, and seems to have been that of Moses, who was educated amongst the Egyp- tians, as may be gathered from the '27th iiiid 28th verses oi" the first chapter of Genesis: " So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him ; male ami female created he them. .And God blessed them, nnd G(jd said unto them, be fruitful and nuihiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have douuiuon over tiie fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over eve- ry livini' diitig liiat movelh upon the earth :" it is not tlierefore presuminu too muc'i to sup- pose, as the l-.L'vptians were a nation very fond of explainuiL.' iheu' ojjinions bv hierogly- phics, that tiiai part which describes Eve as taken out of Adam's rib. was an hieroglyphic emblem, showing that mankind were in the primitive state of both sext>*i, united, who were afterwards divided into males and females. No. VI.— 23 the imagination of their auditors. — Poetry, by its images, its tictions, its numbers, its rhyme, its harmony, con- spired to please their fancy, and to render permanent the impressions it made: thus, the entire of nature, as well as all its parts, was personified ; at its voice, trees, stones, rocks, earth, air, fire, water, took intelligence, held conversation with man, and with them- selves; the elements were deiticd. — The skv, which, according to the then philoso|)hy, was an arched concave, spreading over the earth, which was supposed to be a level plain, was itself made a God ; Time, under the name of Saturn, was pictured as the son of heaven ;t the igneous matter, the ethe- real electric fluid, that invisible fire which vivifies nature, that penetrates all beings, that fetilizes the earth, Avhich is the great principle of motion, the source of heat, was deified under the name of Jupiter: his combination with every being in nature was express- ed by his metamori)hoses — by the fre- quent adulteries imputed to him. Hi; was armed wath thunder, to indicate he produced meteors, to typifV the elec- tric fluid that is called lightning. He married the winds, which were desig- nated under the name of Juno, there- fore called the Goddess of the Winds ; their nuptials were celebrated with t ."Saturn was represented as an inexorable divinity — naturally artful, who devoured his own children — who revenged the anger of his mother upon his fatiier, for which pur])ose she armed him with a scythe, formed of met- als drawn from her own bowels, with which he struck Cu^dus, in the act of uniiiiiir him- self to fhea, and so mutilated him tliat he was ever after incapacitated to increase the numljer of his children : he was said to have divided the throne with .lanus, king of Italy, whose reign seems to have been so mild, so beneficent, that it was called the golden, (I'j-c; human victims were sacrificed on his altars', until abolished by Hercules, who sub- stituted small imagis of clay. Festivals in honour of this (ioil, called Saturnaha, were instituted long antecedent to tile foundation of Rome : they were celebrated about the middle of Dece.nber, either on tiie IGth, 17th, or IRth ; they lasted in latter times several days, oriL'iiially but one. Universal liberty prevailed at the celebration, slaves were per- mitted to ridicule their masters — to speak freely on every subject — no criminals were executed — war never declared ; the priests made th(»ir human ofleriniis with thiir licads uncovered; a circumstance pecular to the Saturnalia, not adopted at other festivaU. 178 OF MVTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. great solemnity.* Thus, following the same fictions, the sun, that beneficent star Avhich has such a marked influence over the earth, became an Osiris, a Belus, a Mithras, an Adonis, an Apollo. Nature, rendered sorrowful by his peri- odical absence, was an Isis, an Astarte, a Venus, a Cybele.f In short, every thing was personified : the sea was under the empire of Nep- tune; fire was adored by the Egyp- tians under the name of Serapis; by the Persians, under that of Ormus or Oromaze ; and by the Romans, under that of Vesta and Vulcan. Such was the origin of mythology : it may be said to be the daughter of natural philosophy, embellished by po- etry, and only destined to describe na- ture and its parts. If antiquity is con- sulted, it will be perceived without much trouble, that those famous sages, those legislators, those priests, those conquerors, who were the instructers * All the Gods, ihe entire brute creation, and the whole of mankind attended these nuptials, except one young woman named Chelone, who laughed at the ceremonies, for which impiety she was changed by Mercury into a tortoise, and condemned to perpetual silence. He was the most powerful of all the Gods, and considered as the king and father both of Gods and men: his worship was very extended, performed with greater solemnity, than that of any other God. Upon his altars smoked goats, sheep, and white bulls, in which he is said to have particularly delighted : the oak was rendered sacred to him, because he taught mankind to live upon acorns ; he had many oracles where his pre- cepts were delivered : the most celebrated of these were at Dodona and Ammon in Libya ; He was supposed to be invisible to the in- habitants of the earth ; the Lacedemonians erected his statue with four heads, thereby indicating that he listened readily to the so- licitations of every quarter of the earth. — Minerva is represented as having no mother, but to have come completely armed from his brains, when his head was opened by Vul- can ; by which it is meant to infer that wis- dom is the result of this ethereal fluid. + Astarte had a magnificent temple at Hie- ropolis, served by three hundred priests, who were always employed in offering sacrifices. The priests of Cybele, called Corybantes, also Galli, were not admitted to their sacred functions without previous mutilation. In the celebration of their festivals these priests used all kinds of indecent expressions, beat drums, cymbals, and behaved just like mad- men : his worship extended all over Phrygia, and was established in Greece under the name of Eleusinian mysteries. of infant nations, themselves adoied active nature, or the great whole con- sidered relatively to its different opera- tions or qualities ; that this was what caused the ignorant savages whom they had gathered together to adore.J It was the great whole they deified ; it was its various parts which they made their inferior gods ; it was from the necessity of her laws they made fate. Allegory masked its inode of action : it was at length parts of this great whole that idolatry represented by statues and symbols. § To complete the proofs of what has been said ; to show distinctly that it was the great whole, the universe, the nature of things, which was the real object of the worship of Pagan anti- quity, we shall here give the hymn of Orpheus addressed to the God Pan : — '■ O Pan ! I invoke thee, O powerful God ! O universal nature ! the heavens, the sea, the earth, who nourish all, and the eternal fire, because these are thy members. O all powerful Pan," &c. Nothing can be more suitable to con- firm these ideas, than the ingenious ex- planation which is given of the fable of Pan, as well as of the figure under which he is represented. . It is said. t The Greeks called nature a divinity who had a thousand names {^Airgiov-j/j-rt). All the divinities of Paganism, were nothing more than nature considered according to its differ- ent functions, and under its different points of view. The emblems with which they de- corated these divinities again prove this truth. These different modes of considering nature have given birth to Polytheism and Idolatry. See the critical remarks against Toland by M. Benoist, page 258. § To convince ourselves of this truth, we have only to open the ancient authors. "I believe," says Varro, " that God is the soul of the universe, which the Greeks have called K02M0:S, and that the universe itself is God." Cicero says, "cos qui dii appellantur renim natura esse." See de Natura Deorum, lib. iii. cap. 24. The same Cicero says, that in the mysteries of Samothracia, of Lemnos, of Eleusis, it was nature nuich more than the Gods they explained to the initiated. Rerum magis natura cognoscitur quam deorum. Join to these anthorities the Book of VVisdom, chap. xiii ver. 10, and xiv. 1.5 and 22. Pliny says, in a very dogmatical style, " We must believe that the world, or that which is contained under the vast extent of the heavens, is the Divinity itself, eternal, immense, without be- ginning or end." See Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. ii. cap. 1, init. OF MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. 17D "Pan, according to the signification of his name, is the eml)leni by whirh the ancients have designated the great as- semblage of things: he represents the universe ; and, in the mind of the widest philu^ophers of antiquity, he jjassed for the greatest and most ancient of the Gods. The features under wliich he is delineated form the portrait of na- ture, and of the savage state in which she was found in the beginning. The spotted skin of the leopard, which serves him for a mantle, represented the hea- vens hlled wilh stars and constellations. His person was compounded of parts, some of which were suitable to a rea- sonable animal, that is to say, to man ; and others to the animal destitute of reason, such as the goat. It is thus," says he, " that the universe is com- posed of an intelligence that governs the whole, and of the prolific, fruitful el- ements of fire, water, earth, air. Pan, loved to drink and to follow the nymphs; this announces the occasion nature has loriiumidity in all her productions, and that tills God, like nature, is strongly in- clined to propagation. According to the Egyptians, and the most ancient Grecian philosophers, Pan had neither father nor mother; he came out of De- mogorgon at the same moment with the Destinies, his fatal sisters ; a fine method of ex|)ressing that the universe was the work of an unknown power, and that it was formed after the inva- riable relations, the eternal laws of ne- cessity ; but his most significant sym- bol, that most suitable to express the harmony of the universe, is his myste- rious pipe, composed of seven unequal tubes, but calculated to produce the nicest and most perfect concord. The orbs which compose the seven ])lanets of our solar system, are of difierent di- ameters; being bodies of unequal mass, they describe their revolutions round the sun in various periods ; neverthe- less it is from the order of their mo- tion that results the harmony of the spheres." &c.* * This passage is taken from an Eni;lish book entitled, Letters concerning Mytholuisu. We can hardly doubt that the wisest anion!! the Pagans adored nature, which mythology, or the Pasan theology, designated under an in- finity of names and different emblems. Apu- leius, akhough lie was a Platonist and accus- tomed to the mysterious and unintelligible no- Here then is the great macrocosm, the mighty whole, the asscmblaire of things, adored and deified by the phi- losophers of antiquity, whilst the un- informed stopped at the emblem under which this nature was depicted, at the symbols under which its various parts, its numerous funetions were personifi- etl ; his narrow mind, his barbarous ig- norance, never permitted him to mount higher; they alone were deemed wor- thy of being initiated into the myste- ries, who knew the realities masked under these emblems. Indeed, the first institutor- of nations, and their immediate successors in au- thority, only spoke to the people by fa- bles, allegories, enigmas, of which they reserved to themselves the right of giv- ing an explanation. This mysterious tone they considered necessary, wheth- er it were to mask their own ignorance, or whether it were to preserve their pow- er over the uninforinc-d, who for the most part only respect that which is above their comprehension. Their ex- plications were always dictated either by interest, by a delirious imagination, or by imposture ; thus from age to age, they did no more than render nature and its parts, which they had original- ly depicted, more unknown, until they completely lost sight of the primitive ideas ; these weie replaced by a mul- titude of fictitious personages, under whose features this nature had prima- rily been represented to them. The people adored these personages, with- out penetrating into the true sense of the emblematical fables recounted to them. These ideal beings, wilh mate- rial figures, in whom they believed there resided a mysterious virtue, a di- vine power, were the objects of their worship, of their fears, of their hopes. The wonderful, the incredible actions tionsof his master, calls nature " rerum natu- ra parens, elementorum omnium Domina, sajculoruin progenies initialis ... . Ma- trem sidenim, parentem temporum, orbisque totiusdominam." It is this nature that some adored under the name of the mother of the Gods, others under the names of Ceres, Ve- nus, Minerva, &c. In short, the Pantheism of the Pagans is clearly proved by these re- markable words in the maxims of Medaura, who in speaking of nature says, "ita fit ut ; dum ejus quasi membra carptim, variis cup- plicationibus prosequimur, totum colore pro- fecto videamur." rso OF MYTHOLOGY AND THEOLOGY. ascribed to these fancied divinities, were an inexhaustible fund of admira- tion, which oave perpetual play to the fancy; which delighted not only the people of those days, but even the chil- dren of latter ages. Thus were trans- mitted from age to age those marvellous accounts, Avhich, although necessary to the existence of the ministers of the Gods, did nothing more than confirm the blindness of the ignorant : tJiese never supposed that it was nature, its various operations, the passions of man and his divers faculties, that lay buried under a heap of allegories;* they had no eyes but for these emblematical persons, under which nature was mask- ed : they attributed to their influence the good, to their displeasure the evil, which they experienced : they entered into eA^ery kind of folly, into the mo