{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_11044/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_11044","id":"gutenberg_11044","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11044","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","God","Ontology"],"text":"Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk\n\n\n\nTHE EXISTENCE OF GOD\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n\nAn ancestor of the French divine who under the name of Fenelon has\nmade for himself a household name in England as in France, was\nBertrand de Salignac, Marquis de la Mothe Fenelon, who in 1572, as\nambassador for France, was charged to soften as much as he could the\nresentment of our Queen Elizabeth when news came of the massacre of\nSt. Bartholomew.  Our Fenelon, claimed in brotherhood by Christians\nof every denomination, was born nearly eighty years after that time,\nat the chateau of Fenelon in Perigord, on the 6th of August, 1651.\nTo the world he is Fenelon; he was Francois de Salignac de la Mothe\nFenelon to the France of his own time.\n\nFenelon was taught at home until the age of twelve, then sent to the\nUniversity of Cahors, where he began studies that were continued at\nParis in the College du Plessis.  There he fastened upon theology,\nand there he preached, at the age of fifteen, his first sermon.  He\nentered next into the seminary of Saint Sulpice, where he took holy\norders in the year 1675, at the age of twenty-four.  As a priest,\nwhile true to his own Church, he fastened on Faith, Hope, and\nCharity as the abiding forces of religion, and for him also the\ngreatest of these was Charity.\n\nDuring the next three years of his life Fenelon was among the young\npriests who preached and catechised in the church of St. Sulpice and\nlaboured in the parish.  He wrote for St. Sulpice Litanies of the\nInfant Jesus, and had thought of going out as missionary to the\nLevant.  The Archbishop of Paris, however, placed him at the head of\na community of \"New Catholics,\" whose function was to confirm new\nconverts in their faith, and help to bring into the fold those who\nappeared willing to enter.  Fenelon took part also in some of the\nConferences on Scripture that were held at Saint Germain and\nVersailles between 1672 and 1685.  In 1681 an uncle, who was Bishop\nof Sarlat, resigned in Fenelon's favour the Deanery of Carenas,\nwhich produced an annual income of three or four thousand livres.\nIt was while he held this office that Fenelon published a book on\nthe \"Education of Girls,\" at the request of the Duchess of\nBeauvilliers, who asked for guidance in the education of her\nchildren.\n\nFenelon sought the friendship of Bossuet, who revised for him his\nnext book, a \"Refutation of the System of Malebranche concerning\nNature and Grace.\"  His next book, written just before the\nRevocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, opposed the lawfulness of\nthe ministrations of the Protestant clergy; and after the Edict,\nFenelon was, on the recommendation of Bossuet, placed at the head of\nthe Catholic mission to Poitou.  He brought to his work of\nconversion or re-conversion Charity, and a spirit of concession that\nbrought on him the attacks of men unlike in temper.\n\nWhen Louis XIV. placed his grandson, the young Duke of Burgundy,\nunder the care of the Duke of Beauvilliers, the Duke of Beauvilliers\nchose Fenelon for teacher of the pupil who was heir presumptive to\nthe throne.  Fenelon's \"Fables\" were written as part of his\neducational work.  He wrote also for the young Duke of Burgundy his\n\"Telemaque\"--used only in MS.--and his \"Dialogues of the Dead.\"\nWhile thus living in high favour at Court, Fenelon sought nothing\nfor himself or his friends, although at times he was even in want of\nmoney.  In 1693--as preceptor of a royal prince rather than as\nauthor--Fenelon was received into the French Academy.  In 1694\nFenelon was made Abbot of Saint-Valery, and at the end of that year\nhe wrote an anonymous letter to Louis XIV. upon wrongful wars and\nother faults committed in his reign.  A copy of it has been found in\nFenelon's handwriting.  The king may not have read it, or may not\nhave identified the author, who was not stayed by it from promotion\nin February of the next year (1695) to the Archbishopric of Cambray.\nHe objected that the holding of this office was inconsistent with\nhis duties as preceptor of the King's grandchildren.  Louis replied\nthat he could live at Court only for three months in the year, and\nduring the other nine direct the studies of his pupils from Cambray.\n\nBossuet took part in the consecration of his friend Fenelon as\nArchbishop of Cambray; but after a time division of opinion arose.\nJeanne Marie Bouvier de la Mothe Guyon became in 1676 a widow at the\nage of twenty-eight, with three children, for whose maintenance she\ngave up part of her fortune, and she then devoted herself to the\npractice and the preaching of a spiritual separation of the soul\nfrom earthly cares, and rest in God.  She said with Galahad, \"If I\nlose myself, I save myself.\"  Her enthusiasm for a pure ideal,\njoined to her eloquence, affected many minds.  It provoked\nopposition in the Church and in the Court, which was for the most\npart gross and self-seeking.  Madame Guyon was attacked, even\nimprisoned.  Fenelon felt the charm of her spiritual aspiration,\nand, without accepting its form, was her defender.  Bossuet attacked\nher views.  Fenelon published \"Maxims of the Saints on the Interior\nLife.\"  Bossuet wrote on \"The States of Prayer.\"  These were the\nrival books in a controversy about what was called \"Quietism.\"\nBossuet afterwards wrote a \"Relation sur le Quietisme,\" of which\nFenelon's copy, charged with his own marginal comments, is in the\nBritish Museum.  In March, 1699, the Pope finally decided against\nFenelon, and condemned his \"Maxims of the Saints.\"  Fenelon read\nfrom his pulpit the brief of condemnation, accepted the decision of\nthe Pope, and presented to his church a piece of gold plate, on\nwhich the Angel of Truth was represented trampling many errors under\nfoot, and among them his own \"Maxims of the Saints.\"  At Court,\nFenelon was out of favour.  \"Telemaque,\" written for the young Duke\nof Burgundy, had not been published; but a copy having been obtained\nthrough a servant, it was printed, and its ideal of a true king and\na true Court was so unlike his Majesty Louis XIV. and the Court of\nFrance, and the image of what ought not to be was so like what was,\nthat it was resented as a libel.  \"Telemaque\" was publicly\ncondemned; Fenelon was banished from Court, and restrained within\nthe limits of his diocese.  Though separated from his pupil, the\nyoung Duke of Burgundy (who died in 1712), Fenelon retained his\npupil's warm affection.  The last years of his own life Fenelon gave\nto his work in Cambray, until his death on the 7th of January, 1715.\nHe wrote many works, of which this is one, and they have been\ncollected into twenty volumes.  The translation here given was\nanonymous, and was first published in the year 1713.\n\nH. M.\n\n\n\nTHE EXISTENCE OF GOD\n\n\n\nSECTION I.  Metaphysical Proofs of the Existence of God are not\nwithin Everybody's reach.\n\n\nI cannot open my eyes without admiring the art that shines\nthroughout all nature; the least cast suffices to make me perceive\nthe Hand that makes everything.\n\nMen accustomed to meditate upon metaphysical truths, and to trace up\nthings to their first principles, may know the Deity by its idea;\nand I own that is a sure way to arrive at the source of all truth.\nBut the more direct and short that way is, the more difficult and\nunpassable it is for the generality of mankind who depend on their\nsenses and imagination.\n\nAn ideal demonstration is so simple, that through its very\nsimplicity it escapes those minds that are incapable of operations\npurely intellectual.  In short, the more perfect is the way to find\nthe First Being, the fewer men there are that are capable to follow\nit.\n\n\nSECT.  II.  Moral Proofs of the Existence of God are fitted to every\nman's capacity.\n\n\nBut there is a less perfect way, level to the meanest capacity.  Men\nthe least exercised in reasoning, and the most tenacious of the\nprejudices of the senses, may yet with one look discover Him who has\ndrawn Himself in all His works.  The wisdom and power He has stamped\nupon everything He has made are seen, as it were, in a glass by\nthose that cannot contemplate Him in His own idea.  This is a\nsensible and popular philosophy, of which any man free from passion\nand prejudice is capable.  Humana autem anima rationalis est, quae\nmortalibus peccati poena tenebatur, ad hoc diminutionis redacta ut\nper conjecturas rerum visibilium ad intelligenda invisibilia\nniteretur; that is, \"The human soul is still rational, but in such a\nmanner that, being by the punishment of sin detained in the bonds of\ndeath, it is so far reduced that it can only endeavour to arrive at\nthe knowledge of things invisible through the visible.\"\n\n\nSECT.  III.  Why so few Persons are attentive to the Proofs Nature\naffords of the Existence of God.\n\n\nIf a great number of men of subtle and penetrating wit have not\ndiscovered God with one cast of the eye upon nature, it is not\nmatter of wonder; for either the passions they have been tossed by\nhave still rendered them incapable of any fixed reflection, or the\nfalse prejudices that result from passions have, like a thick cloud,\ninterposed between their eyes and that noble spectacle.  A man\ndeeply concerned in an affair of great importance, that should take\nup all the attention of his mind, might pass several days in a room\ntreating about his concerns without taking notice of the proportions\nof the chamber, the ornaments of the chimney, and the pictures about\nhim, all which objects would continually be before his eyes, and yet\nnone of them make any impression upon him.  In this manner it is\nthat men spend their lives; everything offers God to their sight,\nand yet they see it nowhere.  \"He was in the world, and the world\nwas made by Him, and nevertheless the world did not know Him\"--In\nmundo erat, et mundus per ipsum factus est, et mundus eum non\ncognovit.  They pass away their lives without perceiving that\nsensible representation of the Deity.  Such is the fascination of\nworldly trifles that obscures their eyes!  Fascinatio nugacitatis\nobscurat bona.  Nay, oftentimes they will not so much as open them,\nbut rather affect to keep them shut, lest they should find Him they\ndo not look for.  In short, what ought to help most to open their\neyes serves only to close them faster; I mean the constant duration\nand regularity of the motions which the Supreme Wisdom has put in\nthe universe.  St. Austin tells us those great wonders have been\ndebased by being constantly renewed; and Tully speaks exactly in the\nsame manner.  \"By seeing every day the same things, the mind grows\nfamiliar with them as well as the eyes.  It neither admires nor\ninquires into the causes of effects that are ever seen to happen in\nthe same manner, as if it were the novelty, and not the importance\nof the thing itself, that should excite us to such an inquiry.\"  Sed\nassiduitate quotidiana et consuetudine oculorum assuescunt animi,\nneque admirantur neque requirunt rationes earum rerum, quas semper\nvident, perinde quasi novit as nos magis quam magnitudo rerum debeat\nad exquirendas causas excitare.\n\n\nSECT.  IV.  All Nature shows the Existence of its Maker.\n\n\nBut, after all, whole nature shows the infinite art of its Maker.\nWhen I speak of an art, I mean a collection of proper means chosen\non purpose to arrive at a certain end; or, if you please, it is an\norder, a method, an industry, or a set design.  Chance, on the\ncontrary, is a blind and necessary cause, which neither sets in\norder nor chooses anything, and which has neither will nor\nunderstanding.  Now I maintain that the universe bears the character\nand stamp of a cause infinitely powerful and industrious; and, at\nthe same time, that chance (that is, the blind and fortuitous\nconcourse of causes necessary and void of reason) cannot have formed\nthis universe.  To this purpose it is not amiss to call to mind the\ncelebrated comparisons of the ancients.\n\n\nSECT.  V.  Noble Comparisons proving that Nature shows the Existence\nof its Maker.  First Comparison, drawn from Homer's \"Iliad.\"\n\n\nWho will believe that so perfect a poem as Homer's \"Iliad\" was not\nthe product of the genius of a great poet, and that the letters of\nthe alphabet, being confusedly jumbled and mixed, were by chance, as\nit were by the cast of a pair of dice, brought together in such an\norder as is necessary to describe, in verses full of harmony and\nvariety, so many great events; to place and connect them so well\ntogether; to paint every object with all its most graceful, most\nnoble, and most affecting attendants; in short, to make every person\nspeak according to his character in so natural and so forcible a\nmanner?  Let people argue and subtilise upon the matter as much as\nthey please, yet they never will persuade a man of sense that the\n\"Iliad\" was the mere result of chance.  Cicero said the same in\nrelation to Ennius's \"Annals;\" adding that chance could never make\none single verse, much less a whole poem.  How then can a man of\nsense be induced to believe, with respect to the universe, a work\nbeyond contradiction more wonderful than the \"Iliad,\" what his\nreason will never suffer him to believe in relation to that poem?\nLet us attend another comparison, which we owe to St. Gregory\nNazianzenus.\n\n\nSECT.  VI.  Second Comparison, drawn from the Sound of Instruments.\n\n\nIf we heard in a room, from behind a curtain, a soft and harmonious\ninstrument, should we believe that chance, without the help of any\nhuman hand, could have formed such an instrument?  Should we say\nthat the strings of a violin, for instance, had of their own accord\nranged and extended themselves on a wooden frame, whose several\nparts had glued themselves together to form a cavity with regular\napertures?  Should we maintain that the bow formed without art\nshould be pushed by the wind to touch every string so variously, and\nwith such nice justness?  What rational man could seriously\nentertain a doubt whether a human hand touched such an instrument\nwith so much harmony?  Would he not cry out, \"It is a masterly hand\nthat plays upon it?\"  Let us proceed to inculcate the same truth.\n\n\nSECT.  VII.  Third Comparison, drawn from a Statue.\n\n\nIf a man should find in a desert island a fine statue of marble, he\nwould undoubtedly immediately say, \"Sure, there have been men here\nformerly; I perceive the workmanship of a skilful statuary; I admire\nwith what niceness he has proportioned all the limbs of this body,\nin order to give them so much beauty, gracefulness, majesty, life,\ntenderness, motion, and action!\"\n\nWhat would such a man answer if anybody should tell him, \"That's\nyour mistake; a statuary never carved that figure.  It is made, I\nconfess, with an excellent gusto, and according to the rules of\nperfection; but yet it is chance alone made it.  Among so many\npieces of marble there was one that formed itself of its own accord\nin this manner; the rains and winds have loosened it from the\nmountains; a violent storm has thrown it plumb upright on this\npedestal, which had prepared itself to support it in this place.  It\nis a perfect Apollo, like that of Belvedere; a Venus that equals\nthat of the Medicis; an Hercules, like that of Farnese.  You would\nthink, it is true, that this figure walks, lives, thinks, and is\njust going to speak.  But, however, it is not in the least beholden\nto art; and it is only a blind stroke of chance that has thus so\nwell finished and placed it.\"\n\n\nSECT.  VIII.  Fourth Comparison, drawn from a Picture.\n\n\nIf a man had before his eyes a fine picture, representing, for\nexample, the passage of the Red Sea, with Moses, at whose voice the\nwaters divide themselves, and rise like two walls to let the\nIsraelites pass dryfoot through the deep, he would see, on the one\nside, that innumerable multitude of people, full of confidence and\njoy, lifting up their hands to heaven; and perceive, on the other\nside, King Pharaoh with the Egyptians frighted and confounded at the\nsight of the waves that join again to swallow them up.  Now, in good\nearnest, who would be so bold as to affirm that a chambermaid,\nhaving by chance daubed that piece of cloth, the colours had of\ntheir own accord ranged themselves in order to produce that lively\ncolouring, those various attitudes, those looks so well expressing\ndifferent passions, that elegant disposition of so many figures\nwithout confusion, that decent plaiting of draperies, that\nmanagement of lights, that degradation of colours, that exact\nperspective--in short, all that the noblest genius of a painter can\ninvent?  If there were no more in the case than a little foam at the\nmouth of a horse, I own, as the story goes, and which I readily\nallow without examining into it, that a stroke of a pencil thrown in\na pet by a painter might once in many ages happen to express it\nwell.  But, at least, the painter must beforehand have, with design,\nchosen the most proper colours to represent that foam, in order to\nprepare them at the end of his pencil; and, therefore, it were only\na little chance that had finished what art had begun.  Besides, this\nwork of art and chance together being only a little foam, a confused\nobject, and so most proper to credit a stroke of chance--an object\nwithout form, that requires only a little whitish colour dropped\nfrom a pencil, without any exact figure or correction of design.\nWhat comparison is there between that foam with a whole design of a\nlarge continued history, in which the most fertile fancy and the\nboldest genius, supported by the perfect knowledge of rules, are\nscarce sufficient to perform what makes an excellent picture?  I\ncannot prevail with myself to leave these instances without desiring\nthe reader to observe that the most rational men are naturally\nextreme loath to think that beasts have no manner of understanding,\nand are mere machines.  Now, whence proceeds such an invincible\naverseness to that opinion in so many men of sense?  It is because\nthey suppose, with reason, that motions so exact, and according to\nthe rules of perfect mechanism, cannot be made without some\nindustry; and that artless matter alone cannot perform what argues\nso much knowledge.  Hence it appears that sound reason naturally\nconcludes that matter alone cannot, either by the simple laws of\nmotion, or by the capricious strokes of chance, make even animals\nthat are mere machines.  Those philosophers themselves, who will not\nallow beasts to have any reasoning faculty, cannot avoid\nacknowledging that what they suppose to be blind and artless in\nthese machines is yet full of wisdom and art in the First Mover, who\nmade their springs and regulated their movements.  Thus the most\nopposite philosophers perfectly agree in acknowledging that matter\nand chance cannot, without the help of art, produce all we observe\nin animals.\n\n\nSECT.  IX.  A Particular Examination of Nature.\n\n\nAfter these comparisons, about which I only desire the reader to\nconsult himself, without any argumentation, I think it is high time\nto enter into a detail of Nature.  I do not pretend to penetrate\nthrough the whole; who is able to do it?  Neither do I pretend to\nenter into any physical discussion.  Such way of reasoning requires\na certain deep knowledge, which abundance of men of wit and sense\nnever acquired; and, therefore, I will offer nothing to them but the\nsimple prospect of the face of Nature.  I will entertain them with\nnothing but what everybody knows, and which requires only a little\ncalm and serious attention.\n\n\nSECT.  X.  Of the General Structure of the Universe.\n\n\nLet us, in the first place, stop at the great object that first\nstrikes our sight, I mean the general structure of the universe.\nLet us cast our eyes on this earth that bears us.  Let us look on\nthat vast arch of the skies that covers us; those immense regions of\nair, and depths of water that surround us; and those bright stars\nthat light us.  A man who lives without reflecting thinks only on\nthe parts of matter that are near him, or have any relation to his\nwants.  He only looks upon the earth as on the floor of his chamber,\nand on the sun that lights him in the daytime as on the candle that\nlights him in the night.  His thoughts are confined within the place\nhe inhabits.  On the contrary, a man who is used to contemplate and\nreflect carries his looks further, and curiously considers the\nalmost infinite abysses that surround him on all sides.  A large\nkingdom appears then to him but a little corner of the earth; the\nearth itself is no more to his eyes than a point in the mass of the\nuniverse; and he admires to see himself placed in it, without\nknowing which way he came there.\n\n\nSECT.  XI.  Of the Earth.\n\n\nWho is it that hung and poised this motionless globe of the earth?\nWho laid its foundation?  Nothing seems more vile and contemptible;\nfor the meanest wretches tread it under foot; but yet it is in order\nto possess it that we part with the greatest treasures.  If it were\nharder than it is, man could not open its bosom to cultivate it; and\nif it were less hard it could not bear them, and they would sink\neverywhere as they do in sand, or in a bog.  It is from the\ninexhaustible bosom of the earth we draw what is most precious.\nThat shapeless, vile, and rude mass assumes the most various forms;\nand yields alone, by turns, all the goods we can desire.  That dirty\nsoil transforms itself into a thousand fine objects that charm the\neye.  In the compass of one year it turns into branches, twigs,\nbuds, leaves, blossoms, fruits, and seeds, in order, by those\nvarious shapes, to multiply its liberalities to mankind.  Nothing\nexhausts the earth; the more we tear her bowels the more she is\nliberal.  After so many ages, during which she has produced\neverything, she is not yet worn out.  She feels no decay from old\nage, and her entrails still contain the same treasures.  A thousand\ngenerations have passed away, and returned into her bosom.\nEverything grows old, she alone excepted:  for she grows young again\nevery year in the spring.  She is never wanting to men; but foolish\nmen are wanting to themselves in neglecting to cultivate her.  It is\nthrough their laziness and extravagance they suffer brambles and\nbriars to grow instead of grapes and corn.  They contend for a good\nthey let perish.  The conquerors leave uncultivated the ground for\nthe possession of which they have sacrificed the lives of so many\nthousand men, and have spent their own in hurry and trouble.  Men\nhave before them vast tracts of land uninhabited and uncultivated;\nand they turn mankind topsy-turvy for one nook of that neglected\nground in dispute.  The earth, if well cultivated, would feed a\nhundred times more men than now she does.  Even the unevenness of\nground which at first seems to be a defect turns either into\nornament or profit.  The mountains arose and the valleys descended\nto the place the Lord had appointed for them.  Those different\ngrounds have their particular advantages, according to the divers\naspects of the sun.  In those deep valleys grow fresh and tender\ngrass to feed cattle.  Next to them opens a vast champaign covered\nwith a rich harvest.  Here, hills rise like an amphitheatre, and are\ncrowned with vineyards and fruit trees.  There high mountains carry\naloft their frozen brows to the very clouds, and the torrents that\nrun down from them become the springs of rivers.  The rocks that\nshow their craggy tops bear up the earth of mountains just as the\nbones bear up the flesh in human bodies.  That variety yields at\nonce a ravishing prospect to the eye, and, at the same time,\nsupplies the divers wants of man.  There is no ground so barren but\nhas some profitable property.  Not only black and fertile soil but\neven clay and gravel recompense a man's toil.  Drained morasses\nbecome fruitful; sand for the most part only covers the surface of\nthe earth; and when, the husbandman has the patience to dig deeper\nhe finds a new ground that grows fertile as fast as it is turned and\nexposed to the rays of the sun.\n\nThere is scarce any spot of ground absolutely barren if a man do not\ngrow weary of digging, and turning it to the enlivening sun, and if\nhe require no more from it than it is proper to bear, amidst stones\nand rocks there is sometimes excellent pasture; and their cavities\nhave veins, which, being penetrated by the piercing rays of the sun,\nfurnish plants with most savoury juices for the feeding of herds and\nflocks.  Even sea-coasts that seem to be the most sterile and wild\nyield sometimes either delicious fruits or most wholesome medicines\nthat are wanting in the most fertile countries.  Besides, it is the\neffect of a wise over-ruling providence that no land yields all that\nis useful to human life.  For want invites men to commerce, in order\nto supply one another's necessities.  It is therefore that want that\nis the natural tie of society between nations:  otherwise all the\npeople of the earth would be reduced to one sort of food and\nclothing; and nothing would invite them to know and visit one\nanother.\n\n\nSECT.  XII.  Of Plants.\n\n\nAll that the earth produces being corrupted, returns into her bosom,\nand becomes the source of a new production.  Thus she resumes all\nshe has given in order to give it again.  Thus the corruption of\nplants, and the excrements of the animals she feeds, feed her, and\nimprove her fertility.  Thus, the more she gives the more she\nresumes; and she is never exhausted, provided they who cultivate her\nrestore to her what she has given.  Everything comes from her bosom,\neverything returns to it, and nothing is lost in it.  Nay, all seeds\nmultiply there.  If, for instance, you trust the earth with some\ngrains of corn, as they corrupt they germinate and spring; and that\nteeming parent restores with usury more ears than she had received\ngrains.  Dig into her entrails, you will find in them stone and\nmarble for the most magnificent buildings.  But who is it that has\nlaid up so many treasures in her bosom, upon condition that they\nshould continually produce themselves anew?  Behold how many\nprecious and useful metals; how many minerals designed for the\nconveniency of man!\n\nAdmire the plants that spring from the earth:  they yield food for\nthe healthy, and remedies for the sick.  Their species and virtues\nare innumerable.  They deck the earth, yield verdure, fragrant\nflowers, and delicious fruits.  Do you see those vast forests that\nseem as old as the world?  Those trees sink into the earth by their\nroots, as deep as their branches shoot up to the sky.  Their roots\ndefend them against the winds, and fetch up, as it were by\nsubterranean pipes, all the juices destined to feed the trunk.  The\ntrunk itself is covered with a tough bark that shelters the tender\nwood from the injuries of the air.  The branches distribute by\nseveral pipes the sap which the roots had gathered up in the trunk.\nIn summer the boughs protect us with their shadow against the\nscorching rays of the sun.  In winter, they feed the fire that\npreserves in us natural heat.  Nor is burning the only use wood is\nfit for; it is a soft though solid and durable matter, to which the\nhand of man gives, with ease, all the forms he pleases for the\ngreatest works of architecture and navigation.  Moreover, fruit\ntrees by bending their boughs towards the earth seem to offer their\ncrop to man.  The trees and plants, by letting their fruit or seed\ndrop down, provide for a numerous posterity about them.  The\ntenderest plant, the least of herbs and pulse are, in little, in a\nsmall seed, all that is displayed in the highest plants and largest\ntree.  Earth that never changes produces all those alterations in\nher bosom.\n\n\nSECT.  XIII.  Of Water.\n\n\nLet us now behold what we call water.  It is a liquid, clear, and\ntransparent body.  On the one hand it flows, slips, and runs away;\nand on the other it assumes all the forms of the bodies that\nsurround it, having properly none of its own.  If water were more\nrarefied, or thinner, it would be a kind of air; and so the whole\nsurface of the earth would be dry and sterile.  There would be none\nbut volatiles; no living creature could swim; no fish could live;\nnor would there be any traffic by navigation.  What industrious and\nsagacious hand has found means to thicken the water, by subtilising\nthe air, and so well to distinguish those two sorts of fluid bodies?\nIf water were somewhat more rarefied, it could no longer sustain\nthose prodigious floating buildings, called ships.  Bodies that have\nthe least ponderosity would presently sink under water.  Who is it\nthat took care to frame so just a configuration of parts, and so\nexact a degree of motion, as to make water so fluid, so penetrating,\nso slippery, so incapable of any consistency:  and yet so strong to\nbear, and so impetuous to carry off and waft away, the most unwieldy\nbodies?  It is docile; man leads it about as a rider does a well-\nmanaged horse.  He distributes it as he pleases; he raises it to the\ntop of steep mountains, and makes use of its weight to let it fall,\nin order to rise again, as high as it was at first.  But man who\nleads waters with such absolute command is in his turn led by them.\nWater is one of the greatest moving powers that man can employ to\nsupply his defects in the most necessary arts, either through the\nsmallness or weakness of his body.  But the waters which,\nnotwithstanding their fluidity, are such ponderous bodies, do\nnevertheless rise above our heads, and remain a long while hanging\nthere.  Do you see those clouds that fly, as it were, on the wings\nof the winds?  If they should fall, on a sudden, in watery pillars,\nrapid like a torrent, they would drown and destroy everything where\nthey should happen to fall, and the other grounds would remain dry.\nWhat hand keeps them in those pendulous reservatories, and permits\nthem to fall only by drops as if they distilled through a gardener's\nwatering-pot?  Whence comes it that in some hot countries, where\nscarce any rain ever falls, the nightly dews are so plentiful that\nthey supply the want of rain; and that in other countries, such as\nthe banks of the Nile and Ganges, the regular inundation of rivers,\nat certain seasons of the year, never fails to make up what the\ninhabitants are deficient in for the watering of the ground?  Can\none imagine measures better concerted to render all countries\nfertile and fruitful?\n\nThus water quenches, not only the thirst of men, but likewise of\narid lands:  and He who gave us that fluid body has carefully\ndistributed it throughout the earth, like pipes in a garden.  The\nwaters fall from the tops of mountains where their reservatories are\nplaced.  They gather into rivulets in the bottom of valleys.  Rivers\nrun in winding streams through vast tracts of land, the better to\nwater them; and, at last, they precipitate themselves into the sea,\nin order to make it the centre of commerce for all nations.  That\nocean, which seems to be placed in the midst of lands, to make an\neternal separation between them, is, on the contrary, the common\nrendezvous of all the people of the earth, who could not go by land\nfrom one end of the world to the other without infinite fatigue,\ntedious journeys, and numberless dangers.  It is by that trackless\nroad, across the bottomless deep, that the whole world shakes hands\nwith the new; and that the new supplies the old with so many\nconveniences and riches.  The waters, distributed with so much art,\ncirculate in the earth, just as the blood does in a man's body.  But\nbesides this perpetual circulation of the water, there is besides\nthe flux and reflux of the sea.  Let us not inquire into the causes\nof so mysterious an effect.  What is certain is that the tide\ncarries, or brings us back to certain places, at precise hours.  Who\nis it that makes it withdraw, and then come back with so much\nregularity?  A little more or less motion in that fluid mass would\ndisorder all nature; for a little more motion in a tide or flood\nwould drown whole kingdoms.  Who is it that knew how to take such\nexact measures in immense bodies?  Who is it that knew so well how\nto keep a just medium between too much and too little?  What hand\nhas set to the sea the unmovable boundary it must respect through\nthe series of all ages by telling it:  There, thy proud waves shall\ncome and break?  But these waters so fluid become, on a sudden,\nduring the winter, as hard as rocks.  The summits of high mountains\nhave, even at all times, ice and snow, which are the springs of\nrivers, and soaking pasture-grounds render them more fertile.  Here\nwaters are sweet to quench the thirst of man; there they are briny,\nand yield a salt that seasons our meat, and makes it incorruptible.\nIn fine, if I lift up my eyes, I perceive in the clouds that fly\nabove us a sort of hanging seas that serve to temper the air, break\nthe fiery rays of the sun, and water the earth when it is too dry.\nWhat hand was able to hang over our heads those great reservatories\nof waters?  What hand takes care never to let them fall but in\nmoderate showers?\n\n\nSECT.  XIV.  Of the Air.\n\n\nAfter having considered the waters, let us now contemplate another\nmass yet of far greater extent.  Do you see what is called air?  It\nis a body so pure, so subtle, and so transparent, that the rays of\nthe stars, seated at a distance almost infinite from us, pierce\nquite through it, without difficulty, and in an instant, to light\nour eyes.  Had this fluid body been a little less subtle, it would\neither have intercepted the day from us, or at most would have left\nus but a duskish and confused light, just as when the air is filled\nwith thick fogs.  We live plunged in abysses of air, as fishes do in\nabysses of water.  As the water, if it were subtilised, would become\na kind of air, which would occasion the death of fishes, so the air\nwould deprive us of breath if it should become more humid and\nthicker.  In such a case we should drown in the waves of that\nthickened air, just as a terrestrial animal drowns in the sea.  Who\nis it that has so nicely purified that air we breathe?  If it were\nthicker it would stifle us; and if it were too subtle it would want\nthat softness which continually feeds the vitals of man.  We should\nbe sensible everywhere of what we experience on the top of the\nhighest mountains, where the air is so thin that it yields no\nsufficient moisture and nourishment for the lungs.  But what\ninvisible power raises and lays so suddenly the storms of that great\nfluid body, of which those of the sea are only consequences?  From\nwhat treasury come forth the winds that purify the air, cool\nscorching heats, temper the sharpness of winter, and in an instant\nchange the whole face of heaven?  On the wings of those winds the\nclouds fly from one end of the horizon to the other.  It is known\nthat certain winds blow in certain seas, at some stated seasons.\nThey continue a fixed time, and others succeed them, as it were on\npurpose, to render navigation both commodious and regular:  so that\nif men are but as patient, and as punctual as the winds, they may,\nwith ease, perform the longest voyages.\n\n\nSECT.  XV.  Of Fire.\n\n\nDo you see that fire that seems kindled in the stars, and spreads\nits light on all sides?  Do you see that flame which certain\nmountains vomit up, and which the earth feeds with sulphur within\nits entrails?  That same fire peaceably lurks in the veins of\nflints, and expects to break out, till the collision of another body\nexcites it to shock cities and mountains.  Man has found the way to\nkindle it, and apply it to all his uses, both to bend the hardest\nmetals, and to feed with wood, even in the most frozen climes, a\nflame that serves him instead of the sun, when the sun removes from\nhim.  That subtle flame glides and penetrates into all seeds.  It\nis, as it were, the soul of all living things; it consumes all that\nis impure, and renews what it has purified.  Fire lends its force\nand activity to weak men.  It blows up, on a sudden, buildings and\nrocks.  But have we a mind to confine it to a more moderate use?  It\nwarms man, and makes all sorts of food fit for his eating.  The\nancients, in admiration of fire, believed it to be a celestial gift,\nwhich man had stolen from the gods.\n\n\nSECT.  XVI.  Of Heaven.\n\n\nIt is time to lift up our eyes to heaven.  What power has built over\nour heads so vast and so magnificent an arch?  What a stupendous\nvariety of admirable objects is here?  It is, no doubt, to present\nus with a noble spectacle that an Omnipotent Hand has set before our\neyes so great and so bright objects.  It is in order to raise our\nadmiration of heaven, says Tully, that God made man unlike the rest\nof animals.  He stands upright, and lifts up his head, that he may\nbe employed about the things that were above him.  Sometimes we see\na duskish azure sky, where the purest fires twinkle.  Sometimes we\nbehold, in a temperate heaven, the softest colours mixed with such\nvariety as it is not in the power of painting to imitate.  Sometimes\nwe see clouds of all shapes and figures, and of all the brightest\ncolours, which every moment shift that beautiful decoration by the\nfinest accidents and various effects of light.  What does the\nregular succession of day and night denote?  For so many ages as are\npast the sun never failed serving men, who cannot live without it.\nMany thousand years are elapsed, and the dawn never once missed\nproclaiming the approach of the day.  It always begins precisely at\na certain moment and place.  The sun, says the holy writ, knows\nwhere it shall set every day.  By that means it lights, by turns,\nthe two hemispheres, or sides of the earth, and visits all those for\nwhom its beams are designed.  The day is the time for society and\nlabour; the night, wrapping up the earth with its shadow, ends, in\nits turn, all manner of fatigue and alleviates the toil of the day.\nIt suspends and quiets all; and spreads silence and sleep\neverywhere.  By refreshing the bodies it renews the spirits.  Soon\nafter day returns to summon again man to labour and revive all\nnature.\n\n\nSECT.  XVII.  Of the Sun.\n\n\nBut besides the constant course by which the sun forms days and\nnights it makes us sensible of another, by which for the space of\nsix months it approaches one of the poles, and at the end of those\nsix months goes back with equal speed to visit the other pole.  This\nexcellent order makes one sun sufficient for the whole earth.  If it\nwere of a larger size at the same distance, it would set the whole\nglobe on fire and the earth would be burnt to ashes; and if, at the\nsame distance, it were lesser, the earth would be all over frozen\nand uninhabitable.  Again, if in the same magnitude it were nearer\nus, it would set us in flames; and if more remote, we should not be\nable to live on the terrestrial globe for want of heat.  What pair\nof compasses, whose circumference encircles both heaven and earth,\nhas fixed such just dimensions?  That star does no less befriend\nthat part of the earth from which it removes, in order to temper it,\nthan that it approaches to favour it with its beams.  Its kind,\nbeneficent aspect fertilises all it shines upon.  This change\nproduces that of the seasons, whose variety is so agreeable.  The\nspring silences bleak frosty winds, brings forth blossoms and\nflowers, and promises fruits.  The summer yields rich harvests.  The\nautumn bestows the fruits promised by the spring.  The winter, which\nis a kind of night wherein man refreshes and rests himself, lays up\nall the treasures of the earth in its centre with no other design\nbut that the next spring may display them with all the graces of\nnovelty.  Thus nature, variously attired, yields so many fine\nprospects that she never gives man leisure to be disgusted with what\nhe possesses.\n\nBut how is it possible for the course of the sun to be so regular?\nIt appears that star is only a globe of most subtle flame.  Now,\nwhat is it that keeps that flame, so restless and so impetuous,\nwithin the exact bounds of a perfect globe?  What hand leads that\nflame in so strait a way and never suffers it to slip one side or\nother?  That flame is held by nothing, and there is no body that can\neither guide it or keep it under; for it would soon consume whatever\nbody it should be enclosed in.  Whither is it going?  Who has taught\nit incessantly and so regularly to turn in a space where it is free\nand unconstrained?  Does it not circulate about us on purpose to\nserve us?  Now if this flame does not turn, and if on the contrary\nit is our earth that turns, I would fain know how it comes to be so\nwell placed in the centre of the universe, as it were the focus or\nthe heart of all nature.  I would fain know also how it comes to\npass that a globe of so subtle matter never slips on any side in\nthat immense space that surrounds it, and wherein it seems to stand\nwith reason that all fluid bodies ought to yield to the impetuosity\nof that flame.\n\nIn fine, I would fain know how it comes to pass that the globe of\nthe earth, which is so very hard, turns so regularly about that\nplanet in a space where no solid body keeps it fast to regulate its\ncourse.  Let men with the help of physics contrive the most\ningenious reasons to explain this phenomenon; all their arguments,\nsupposing them to be true, will become proofs of the Deity.  The\nmore the great spring that directs the machine of the universe is\nexact, simple, constant, certain, and productive of abundance of\nuseful effects, the more it is plain that a most potent and most\nartful hand knew how to pitch upon the spring which is the most\nperfect of all.\n\n\nSECT.  XVIII.  Of the Stars.\n\n\nBut let us once more view that immense arched roof where the stars\nshine, and which covers our heads like a canopy.  If it be a solid\nvault, what architect built it?  Who is it that has fixed so many\ngreat luminous bodies to certain places of that arch and at certain\ndistances?  Who is it that makes that vault turn so regularly about\nus?  If on the contrary the skies are only immense spaces full of\nfluid bodies, like the air that surrounds us, how comes it to pass\nthat so many solid bodies float in them without ever sinking or ever\ncoming nearer one another?  For all astronomical observations that\nhave been made in so many ages not the least disorder or irregular\nmotion has yet been discovered in the heavens.  Will a fluid body\nrange in such constant and regular order bodies that swim circularly\nwithin its sphere?  But what does that almost innumerable multitude\nof stars mean?  The profusion with which the hand of God has\nscattered them through His work shows nothing is difficult to His\npower.  He has cast them about the skies as a magnificent prince\neither scatters money by handfuls or studs his clothes with precious\nstones.  Let who will say, if he pleases, that the stars are as many\nworlds like the earth we inhabit; I grant it for one moment; but\nthen, how potent and wise must He be who makes worlds as numberless\nas the grains of sand that cover the sea-shore, and who, without any\ntrouble, for so many ages governs all these wandering worlds as a\nshepherd does a flock of sheep?  If on the contrary they are only,\nas it were, lighted torches to shine in our eyes in this small globe\ncalled earth, how great is that power which nothing can fatigue,\nnothing can exhaust?  What a profuse liberality it is to give man in\nthis little corner of the universe so marvellous a spectacle!\n\nBut among those stars I perceive the moon, which seems to share with\nthe sun the care and office of lighting us.  She appears at set\ntimes with all the other stars, when the sun is obliged to go and\ncarry back the day to the other hemisphere.  Thus night itself,\nnotwithstanding its darkness, has a light, duskish indeed, but soft\nand useful.  That light is borrowed from the sun, though absent:\nand thus everything is managed with such excellent art in the\nuniverse that a globe near the earth, and as dark as she of itself,\nserves, nevertheless, to send back to her, by reflection, the rays\nit receives from the sun; and that the sun lights by means of the\nmoon the people that cannot see him while he must light others.\n\nIt may be said that the motion of the stars is settled and regulated\nby unchangeable laws.  I suppose it is; but this very supposition\nproves what I labour to evince.  Who is it that has given to all\nnature laws at once so constant and so wholesome, laws so very\nsimple, that one is tempted to believe they establish themselves of\ntheir own accord, and so productive of beneficial and useful effects\nthat one cannot avoid acknowledging a marvellous art in them?\nWhence proceeds the government of that universal machine which\nincessantly works for us without so much as our thinking upon it?\nTo whom shall we ascribe the choice and gathering of so many deep\nand so well conceited springs, and of so many bodies, great and\nsmall, visible and invisible, which equally concur to serve us?  The\nleast atom of this machine that should happen to be out of order\nwould unhinge all nature.  For the springs and movements of a watch\nare not put together with so much art and niceness as those of the\nuniverse.  What then must be a design so extensive, so coherent, so\nexcellent, so beneficial?  The necessity of those laws, instead of\ndeterring me from inquiring into their author, does but heighten my\ncuriosity and admiration.  Certainly, it required a hand equally\nartful and powerful to put in His work an order equally simple and\nteeming, constant and useful.  Wherefore I will not scruple to say\nwith the Scripture, \"Let every star haste to go whither the Lord\nsends it; and when He speaks let them answer with trembling, Here we\nare,\" Ecce adsumus.\n\n\nSECT.  XIX.  Of Animals, Beasts, Fowl, Birds, Fishes, Reptiles, and\nInsects.\n\n\nBut let us turn our eyes towards animals, which still are more\nworthy of admiration than either the skies or stars.  Their species\nare numberless.  Some have but two feet, others four, others again a\ngreat many.  Some walk; others crawl, or creep; others fly; others\nswim; others fly, walk, or swim, by turns.  The wings of birds, and\nthe fins of fishes, are like oars, that cut the waves either of air\nor water, and steer the floating body either of the bird, or fish,\nwhose structure is like that of a ship.  But the pinions of birds\nhave feathers with a down, that swells in the air, and which would\ngrow unwieldy in the water.  And, on the contrary, the fins of\nfishes have sharp and dry points, which cut the water, without\nimbibing it, and which do not grow heavier by being wet.  A sort of\nfowl that swim, such as swans, keep their wings and most of their\nfeathers above water, both lest they should wet them and that they\nmay serve them, as it were, for sails.  They have the art to turn\nthose feathers against the wind, and, in a manner, to tack, as ships\ndo when the wind does not serve.  Water-fowls, such as ducks, have\nat their feet large skins that stretch, somewhat like rackets, to\nkeep them from sinking on the oozy and miry banks of rivers.\n\nAmongst the animals, wild beasts, such as lions, have their biggest\nmuscles about the shoulders, thighs, and legs; and therefore these\nanimals are nimble, brisk, nervous, and ready to rush forward.\nTheir jaw-bones are prodigiously large, in proportion to the rest of\ntheir bodies.  They have teeth and claws, which serve them, as\nterrible weapons, to tear in pieces and devour other animals.  For\nthe same reason, birds of prey, such as eagles, have a beak and\npounces that pierce everything.  The muscles of their pinions are\nextreme large and brawny, that their wings may have a stronger and\nmore rapid motion:  and so those creatures, though somewhat heavy,\nsoar aloft and tower up easily to the very clouds, from whence they\nshoot, like a thunderbolt, on the quarry they have in view.  Other\nanimals have horns.  The greatest strength of some lies in their\nbacks and necks; and others can only kick.  Every species, however,\nhas both offensive and defensive arms.  Their hunting is a kind of\nwar, which they wage one against another, for the necessities of\nlife.  They have also laws and a government among themselves.  Some,\nlike tortoises, carry the house wherein they were born; others build\ntheirs, as birds do, on the highest branches of trees, to preserve\ntheir young from the insult of unwinged creatures, and they even lay\ntheir nests in the thickest boughs to hide them from their enemies.\nAnother, such as the beaver, builds in the very bottom of a pond the\nsanctuary he prepares for himself, and knows how to cast up dikes\naround it, to preserve himself by the neighbouring inundation.\nAnother, like a mole, has so pointed and so sharp a snout, that in\none moment he pierces through the hardest ground in order to provide\nfor himself a subterranean retreat.  The cunning fox digs a kennel\nwith two holes to go out and come in at, that he may not be either\nsurprised or trapped by the huntsmen.  The reptiles are of another\nmake.  They curl, wind, shrink, and stretch by the springs of their\nmuscles; they creep, twist about, squeeze, and hold fast the bodies\nthey meet in their way; and easily slide everywhere.  Their organs\nare almost independent one on the other; so that they still live\nwhen they are cut into two.  The long-legged birds, says Cicero, are\nalso long-necked in proportion, that they may bring down their bill\nto the ground, and take up their food.  It is the same with the\ncamel; but the elephant, whose neck through its bigness would be too\nheavy if it were as long as that of the camel, was furnished with a\ntrunk, which is a contexture of nerves and muscles, which he\nstretches, shrinks, winds, and turns every way, to seize on bodies,\nlift them up, or throw them off:  for which reason the Latins called\nthat trunk a hand.\n\nCertain animals seem to be made on purpose for man.  The dog is born\nto caress and fawn upon him; to obey and be under command; to give\nhim an agreeable image of society, friendship, fidelity, and\ntenderness; to be true to his trust; eagerly to hunt down, course,\nand catch several other creatures, to leave them afterwards to man,\nwithout retaining any part of the quarry.  The horse, and such other\nanimals, are within the reach and power of man; to ease him of his\nlabour, and to take upon them a thousand burdens.  They are born to\ncarry, to walk, to supply man's weakness, and to obey all his\nmotions.  Oxen are endowed with strength and patience, in order to\ndraw the plough and till the ground.  Cows yield streams of milk.\nSheep have in their fleeces a superfluity which is not for them, and\nwhich still grows and renews, as it were to invite men to shear them\nevery year.  Even goats furnish man with a long hair, for which they\nhave no use, and of which he makes stuffs to cover himself.  The\nskins of some beasts supply men with the finest and best linings, in\nthe countries that are most remote from the sun.\n\nThus the Author of nature has clothed beasts according to their\nnecessities; and their spoils serve afterwards to clothe men, and\nkeep them warm in those frozen climes.  The living creatures that\nhave little or no hair have a very thick and very hard skin, like\nscales; others have even scales that cover one another, as tiles on\nthe top of a house, and which either open or shut, as it best suits\nwith the living creature, either to extend itself or shrink.  These\nskins and scales serve the necessities of men:  and thus in nature,\nnot only plants but animals also are made for our use.  Wild beasts\nthemselves either grow tame or, at least, are afraid of man.  If all\ncountries were peopled and governed as they ought to be, there would\nnot be anywhere beasts should attack men.  For no wild beasts would\nbe found but in remote forests, and they would be preserved in order\nto exercise the courage, strength, and dexterity of mankind, by a\nsport that should represent war; so that there never would be any\noccasion for real wars among nations.  But observe that living\ncreatures that are noxious to man are the least teeming, and that\nthe most useful multiply most.  There are, beyond comparison, more\noxen and sheep killed than bears or wolves; and nevertheless the\nnumber of bears and wolves is infinitely less than that of oxen and\nsheep still on earth.  Observe likewise, with Cicero, that the\nfemales of every species have a number of teats proportioned to that\nof the young ones they generally bring forth.  The more young they\nbear, with the more milk-springs has nature supplied them, to suckle\nthem.\n\nWhile sheep let their wool grow for our use, silk-worms, in\nemulation with each other, spin rich stuffs and spend themselves to\nbestow them upon us.  They make of their cod a kind of tomb, and\nshutting up themselves in their own work, they are new-born under\nanother figure, in order to perpetuate themselves.  On the other\nhand, the bees carefully suck and gather the juice of odorous and\nfragrant flowers, in order to make their honey; and range it in such\nan order as may serve for a pattern to men.  Several insects are\ntransformed, sometimes into flies, sometimes into worms, or maggots.\nIf one should think such insects useless, let him consider that what\nmakes a part of the great spectacle of the universe, and contributes\nto its variety, is not altogether useless to sedate and\ncontemplative men.  What can be more noble, and more magnificent,\nthan that great number of commonwealths of living creatures so well\ngoverned, and every species of which has a different frame from the\nother?  Everything shows how much the skill and workmanship of the\nartificer surpasses the vile matter he has worked upon.  Every\nliving creature, nay even gnats, appear wonderful to me.  If one\nfinds them troublesome, he ought to consider that it is necessary\nthat some anxiety and pain be mixed with man's conveniences:  for if\nnothing should moderate his pleasures, and exercise his patience, he\nwould either grow soft and effeminate, or forget himself.\n\n\nSECT.  XX.  Admirable Order in which all the Bodies that make up the\nUniverse are ranged.\n\n\nLet us now consider the wonders that shine equally both in the\nlargest and the smallest bodies.  On the one side, I see the sun so\nmany thousand times bigger than the earth; I see him circulating in\na space, in comparison of which he is himself but a bright atom.  I\nsee other stars, perhaps still bigger than he, that roll in other\nregions, still farther distant from us.  Beyond those regions, which\nescape all measure, I still confusedly perceive other stars, which\ncan neither be counted nor distinguished.  The earth, on which I\nstand, is but one point, in proportion to the whole, in which no\nbound can ever be found.  The whole is so well put together, that\nnot one single atom can be put out of its place without unhinging\nthis immense machine; and it moves in such excellent order that its\nvery motion perpetuates its variety and perfection.  Sure it must be\nthe hand of a being that does everything without any trouble that\nstill keeps steady, and governs this great work for so many ages;\nand whose fingers play with the universe, to speak with the\nScripture.\n\n\nSECT.  XXI.  Wonders of the Infinitely Little.\n\n\nOn the other hand the work is no less to be admired in little than\nin great:  for I find as well in little as in great a kind of\ninfinite that astonishes me.  It surpasses my imagination to find in\na hand-worm, as one does in an elephant or whale, limbs perfectly\nwell organised; a head, a body, legs, and feet, as distinct and as\nwell formed as those of the biggest animals.  There are in every\npart of those living atoms, muscles, nerves, veins, arteries, blood;\nand in that blood ramous particles and humours; in these humours\nsome drops that are themselves composed of several particles:  nor\ncan one ever stop in the discussion of this infinite composition of\nso infinite a whole.\n\nThe microscope discovers to us in every object as it were a thousand\nother objects that had escaped our notice.  But how many other\nobjects are there in every object discovered by the microscope which\nthe microscope itself cannot discover?  What should not we see if we\ncould still subtilise and improve more and more the instruments that\nhelp out weak and dull sight?  Let us supply by our imagination what\nour eyes are defective in; and let our fancy itself be a kind of\nmicroscope, and represent to us in every atom a thousand new and\ninvisible worlds:  but it will never be able incessantly to paint to\nus new discoveries in little bodies; it will be tired, and forced at\nlast to stop, and sink, leaving in the smallest organ of a body a\nthousand wonders undiscovered.\n\n\nSECT.  XXII.  Of the Structure or Frame of the Animal.\n\n\nLet us confine ourselves within the animal's machine, which has\nthree things that never can be too much admired:  First, it has in\nit wherewithal to defend itself against those that attack it, in\norder to destroy it.  Secondly, it has a faculty of reviving itself\nby food.  Thirdly, it has wherewithal to perpetuate its species by\ngeneration.  Let us bestow some considerations on these three\nthings.\n\n\nSECT.  XXIII.  Of the Instinct of the Animal.\n\n\nAnimals are endowed with what is called instinct, both to approach\nuseful and beneficial objects, and to avoid such as may be noxious\nand destructive to them.  Let us not inquire wherein this instinct\nconsists, but content ourselves with matter of fact, without\nreasoning upon it.\n\nThe tender lamb smells his dam afar off, and runs to meet her.  A\nsheep is seized with horror at the approach of a wolf, and flies\naway before he can discern him.  The hound is almost infallible in\nfinding out a stag, a buck, or a hare, only by the scent.  There is\nin every animal an impetuous spring, which, on a sudden, gathers all\nthe spirits; distends all the nerves; renders all the joints more\nsupple and pliant; and increases in an incredible manner, upon\nsudden dangers, his strength, agility, speed, and cunning, in order\nto make him avoid the object that threatens his destruction.  The\nquestion in this place is not to know whether beasts are endowed\nwith reason or understanding; for I do not pretend to engage in any\nphilosophical inquiry.  The motions I speak of are entirely\nindeliberate, even in the machine of man.  If, for instance, a man\nthat dances on a rope should, at that time, reason on the laws and\nrules of equilibrium, his reasoning would make him lose that very\nequilibrium which he preserves admirably well without arguing upon\nthe matter, and reason would then be of no other use to him but to\nthrow him on the ground.  The same happens with beasts; nor will it\navail anything to object that they reason as well as men, for this\nobjection does not in the least weaken my proof; and their reasoning\ncan never serve to account for the motions we admire most in them.\nWill any one affirm that they know the nicest rules of mechanics,\nwhich they observe with perfect exactness, whenever they are to run,\nleap, swim, hide themselves, double, use shifts to avoid pursuing\nhounds, or to make use of the strongest part of their bodies to\ndefend themselves?  Will he say that they naturally understand the\nmathematics which men are ignorant of?  Will he dare to advance that\nthey perform with deliberation and knowledge all those impetuous and\nyet so exact motions which even men perform without study or\npremeditation?  Will he allow them to make use of reason in those\nmotions, wherein it is certain man does not?  It is an instinct,\nwill he say, that beasts are governed by.  I grant it:  for it is,\nindeed, an instinct.  But this instinct is an admirable sagacity and\ndexterity, not in the beasts, who neither do, nor can then, have\ntime to reason, but in the superior wisdom that governs them.  That\ninstinct, or wisdom, that thinks and watches for beasts, in\nindeliberate things, wherein they could neither watch nor think,\neven supposing them to be as reasonable as we, can be no other than\nthe wisdom of the Artificer that made these machines.  Let us\ntherefore talk no more of instinct or nature, which are but fine\nempty names in the mouth of the generality that pronounce them.\nThere is in what they call nature and instinct a superior art and\ncontrivance, of which human invention is but a shadow.  What is\nbeyond all question is, that there are in beasts a prodigious number\nof motions entirely indeliberate, and which yet are performed\naccording to the nicest rules of mechanics.  It is the machine alone\nthat follows those rules:  which is a fact independent from all\nphilosophy; and matter of fact is ever decisive.  What would a man\nthink of a watch that should fly or slip away, turn, again, or\ndefend itself, for its own preservation, if he went about to break\nit?  Would he not admire the skill of the artificer?  Could he be\ninduced to believe that the springs of that watch had formed,\nproportioned, ranged, and united themselves, by mere chance?  Could\nhe imagine that he had clearly explained and accounted for such\nindustrious and skilful operation by talking of the nature and\ninstinct of a watch that should exactly show the hour to his master,\nand slip away from such as should go about to break its springs to\npieces?\n\n\nSECT.  XXIV.  Of Food.\n\n\nWhat is more noble than a machine which continually repairs and\nrenews itself?  The animal, stinted to his own strength, is soon\ntired and exhausted by labour; but the more he takes pains, the more\nhe finds himself pressed to make himself amends for his labour, by\nmore plentiful feeding.  Aliments daily restore the strength he had\nlost.  He puts into his body another substance that becomes his own,\nby a kind of metamorphosis.  At first it is pounded, and being\nchanged into a liquor, it purifies, as if it were strained through a\nsieve, in order to separate anything that is gross from it;\nafterwards it arrives at the centre, or focus of the spirits, where\nit is subtilised, and becomes blood.  And running at last, and\npenetrating through numberless vessels to moisten all the members,\nit filtrates in the flesh, and becomes itself flesh.  So many\naliments, and liquors of various colours, are then no more than one\nand the same flesh; and food which was but an inanimate body\npreserves the life of the animal, and becomes part of the animal\nhimself; the other parts of which he was composed being exhaled by\nan insensible and continual transpiration.  The matter which, for\ninstance, was four years ago such a horse, is now but air, or dung.\nWhat was then either hay, or oats, is become that same horse, so\nfiery and vigorous--at least, he is accounted the same horse,\nnotwithstanding this insensible change of his substance.\n\n\nSECT.  XXV.  Of Sleep.\n\n\nThe natural attendant of food is sleep; in which the animal forbears\nnot only all his outward motions, but also all the principal inward\noperations which might too much stir and dissipate the spirits.  He\nonly retains respiration, and digestion; so that all motions that\nmight wear out his strength are suspended, and all such as are\nproper to recruit and renew it go on freely of themselves.  This\nrepose, which is a kind of enchantment, returns every night, while\ndarkness interrupts and hinders labour.  Now, who is it that\ncontrived such a suspension?  Who is it that so well chose the\noperations that ought to continue; and, with so just discernment,\nexcluded all such as ought to be interrupted?  The next day all past\nfatigue is gone and vanished.  The animal works on, as if he had\nnever worked before; and this reviving gives him a vivacity and\nvigour that invites him to new labour.  Thus the nerves are still\nfull of spirits, the flesh smooth, the skin whole, though one would\nthink it should waste and tear; the living body of the animal soon\nwears out inanimate bodies, even the most solid that are about it;\nand yet does not wear out itself.  The skin of a horse, for\ninstance, wears out several saddles; and the flesh of a child,\nthough very delicate and tender, wears out many clothes, whilst it\ndaily grows stronger.  If this renewing of spirits were perfect, it\nwould be real immortality, and the gift of eternal youth.  But the\nsame being imperfect, the animal insensibly loses his strength,\ndecays and grows old, because everything that is created ought to\nbear a mark of nothingness from which it was drawn; and have an end.\n\n\nSECT.  XXVI.  Of Generation.\n\n\nWhat is more admirable than the multiplication of animals?  Look\nupon the individuals:  no animal is immortal.  Everything grows old,\neverything passes away, everything disappears, everything, in short,\nis annihilated.  Look upon the species:  everything subsists,\neverything is permanent and immutable, though in a constant\nvicissitude.  Ever since there have been on earth men that have\ntaken care to preserve the memory of events, no lions, tigers, wild\nboars, or bears, were ever known to form themselves by chance in\ncaves or forests.  Neither do we see any fortuitous productions of\ndogs or cats.  Bulls and sheep are never born of themselves, either\nin stables, folds, or on pasture grounds.  Every one of those\nanimals owes his birth to a certain male and female of his species.\n\nAll those different species are preserved much the same in all ages.\nWe do not find that for three thousand years past any one has\nperished or ceased; neither do we find that any one multiplies to\nsuch an excess as to be a nuisance or inconveniency to the rest.  If\nthe species of lions, bears, and tigers multiplied to a certain\nexcessive degree, they would not only destroy the species of stags,\nbucks, sheep, goats, and bulls, but even get the mastery over\nmankind, and unpeople the earth.  Now who maintains so just a\nmeasure as never either to extinguish those different species, or\nnever to suffer them to multiply too fast?\n\nBut this continual propagation of every species is a wonder with\nwhich we are grown too familiar.  What would a man think of a\nwatchmaker who should have the art to make watches, which, of\nthemselves, should produce others ad infinitum in such a manner that\ntwo original watches should be sufficient to multiply and perpetuate\ntheir species over the whole earth?  What would he say of an\narchitect that should have the skill to build houses, which should\nbuild others, to renew the habitations of men, before the first\nshould decay and be ready to fall to the ground?  It is, however,\nwhat we daily see among animals.  They are no more, if you please,\nthan mere machines, as watches are.  But, after all, the Author of\nthese machines has endowed them with a faculty to reproduce or\nperpetuate themselves ad infinitum by the conjunction of both sexes.\nAffirm, if you please, that this generation of animals is performed\neither by moulds or by an express configuration of every individual;\nwhich of these two opinions you think fit to pitch upon, it comes\nall to one; nor is the skill of the Artificer less conspicuous.  If\nyou suppose that at every generation the individual, without being\ncast into a mould, receives a configuration made on purpose, I ask,\nwho it is that manages and directs the configuration of so\ncompounded a machine, and which argues so much art and industry?\nIf, on the contrary, to avoid acknowledging any art in the case you\nsuppose that everything is determined by the moulds, I go back to\nthe moulds themselves, and ask, who is it that prepared them?  In my\nopinion they are still greater matter of wonder than the very\nmachines which are pretended to come out of them.\n\nTherefore let who will suppose that there were moulds in the animals\nthat lived four thousand years ago, and affirm, if he pleases, that\nthose moulds were so inclosed one within another ad infinitum, that\nthere was a sufficient number for all the generations of those four\nthousand years; and that there is still a sufficient number ready\nprepared for the formation of all the animals that shall preserve\ntheir species in all succeeding ages.  Now, these moulds, which, as\nI have observed, must have all the configuration of the animal, are\nas difficult to be explained or accounted for as the animals\nthemselves, and are besides attended with far more unexplicable\nwonders.  It is certain that the configuration of every individual\nanimal requires no more art and power than is necessary to frame all\nthe springs that make up that machine; but when a man supposes\nmoulds:  first, he must affirm that every mould contains in little,\nwith unconceivable niceness, all the springs of the machine itself.\nNow, it is beyond dispute that there is more art in making so\ncompound a work in little than in a larger bulk.  Secondly, he must\nsuppose that every mould, which is an individual prepared for a\nfirst generation, contains distinctly within itself other moulds\ncontained within one another ad infinitum, for all possible\ngenerations, in all succeeding ages.  Now what can be more artful\nand more wonderful in matter of mechanism than such a preparation of\nan infinite number of individuals, all formed beforehand in one from\nwhich they are to spring?  Therefore the moulds are of no use to\nexplain the generations of animals without supposing any art or\nskill.  For, on the contrary, moulds would argue a more artificial\nmechanism and more wonderful composition.\n\nWhat is manifest and indisputable, independently from all the\nsystems of philosophers, is that the fortuitous concourse of atoms\nnever produces, without generation, in any part of the earth, any\nlions, tigers, bears, elephants, stags, bulls, sheep, cats, dogs, or\nhorses.  These and the like are never produced but by the encounter\nof two of their kind of different sex.  The two animals that produce\na third are not the true authors of the art that shines in the\ncomposition of the animal engendered by them.  They are so far from\nknowing how to perform that art, that they do not so much as know\nthe composition or frame of the work that results from their\ngeneration.  Nay, they know not so much as any particular spring of\nit; having been no more than blind and unvoluntary instruments, made\nuse of for the performance of a marvellous art, to which they are\nabsolute strangers, and of which they are perfectly ignorant.  Now I\nwould fain know whence comes that art, which is none of theirs?\nWhat power and wisdom knows how to employ, for the performance of\nworks of so ingenious and intricate a design, instruments so\nuncapable to know what they are doing, or to have any notion of it?\nNor does it avail anything to suppose that beasts are endowed with\nreason.  Let a man suppose them to be as rational as he pleases in\nother things, yet he must own, that in generation they have no share\nin the art that is conspicuous in the composition of the animals\nthey produce.\n\nLet us carry the thing further, and take for granted the most\nwonderful instances that are given of the skill and forecast of\nanimals.  Let us admire, as much as you please, the certainty with\nwhich a hound takes a spring into a third way, as soon as he finds\nby his nose that the game he pursues has left no scent in the other\ntwo.  Let us admire the hind, who, they say, throws a good way off\nher young fawn, into some hidden place, that the hounds may not find\nhim out by the scent of his strain.  Let us even admire the spider\nwho with her cobwebs lays subtle snares to trap flies, and fall\nunawares upon them before they can disentangle themselves.  Let us\nalso admire the hern, who, they say, puts his head under his wing,\nin order to hide his bill under his feathers, thereby to stick the\nbreast of the bird of prey that stoops at him.  Let us allow the\ntruth of all these wonderful instances of rationality; for all\nnature is full of such prodigies.  But what must we infer from them?\nIn good earnest, if we carefully examine the matter, we shall find\nthat they prove too much.  Shall we say that animals are more\nrational than we?  Their instinct has undoubtedly more certainty\nthan our conjectures.  They have learnt neither logic nor geometry,\nneither have they any course or method of improvement, or any\nscience.  Whatever they do is done of a sudden without study,\npreparation, or deliberation.  We commit blunders and mistakes every\nhour of the day after we have a long while argued and consulted\ntogether; whereas animals, without any reasoning or premeditation,\nperform every hour what seems to require most discernment, choice,\nand exactness.  Their instinct is in many things infallible; but\nthat word instinct is but a fair name void of sense.  For what can\nan instinct more just, exact, precise, and certain than reason\nitself mean but a more perfect reason?  We must therefore suppose a\nwonderful reason and understanding either in the work or in the\nartificer; either in the machine or in him that made it.  When, for\ninstance, I find that a watch shows the hours with such exactness as\nsurpasses my knowledge, I presently conclude that if the watch\nitself does not reason, it must have been made by an artificer who,\nin that particular, reasoned better and had more skill than myself.\nIn like manner, when I see animals, who every moment perform actions\nthat argue a more certain art and industry than I am master of, I\nimmediately conclude that such marvellous art must necessarily be\neither in the machine or in the artificer that framed it.  Is it in\nthe animal himself?  But how is it possible he should be so wise and\nso infallible in some things?  And if this art is not in him, it\nmust of necessity be in the Supreme Artificer that made that piece\nof work, just as all the art of a watch is in the skill of the\nwatchmaker.\n\n\nSECT.  XXVII.  Though Beasts commit some Mistakes, yet their\nInstinct is, in many cases, Infallible.\n\n\nDo not object to me that the instinct of beasts is in some things\ndefective, and liable to error.  It is no wonder beasts are not\ninfallible in everything, but it is rather a wonder they are so in\nmany cases.  If they were infallible in everything, they should be\nendowed with a reason infinitely perfect; in short, they should be\ndeities.  In the works of an infinite Power there can be but a\nfinite perfection, otherwise God should make creatures like or equal\nto Himself, which is impossible.  He therefore cannot place\nperfection, nor consequently reason, in his works, without some\nbounds and restrictions.  But those bounds do not prove that the\nwork is void of order or reason.  Because I mistake sometimes, it\ndoes not follow that I have no reason at all, and that I do\neverything by mere chance, but only that my reason is stinted and\nimperfect.  In like manner, because a beast is not by his instinct\ninfallible in everything, though he be so in many, it does not\nfollow that there is no manner of reason in that machine, but only\nthat such a machine has not a boundless reason.  But, after all, it\nis a constant truth that in the operations of that machine there is\na regular conduct, a marvellous art, and a skill which in many cases\namounts to infallibility.  Now, to whom shall we ascribe this\ninfallible skill?  To the work, or its Artificer?\n\n\nSECT.  XXVIII.  It is impossible Beasts should have Souls.\n\n\nIf you affirm that beasts have souls different from their machines,\nI immediately ask you, \"Of what nature are those souls entirely\ndifferent from and united to bodies?  Who is it that knew how to\nunite them to natures so vastly different?  Who is it that has such\nabsolute command over so opposite natures, as to put and keep them\nin such a regular and constant a society, and wherein mutual\nagreement and correspondence are so necessary and so quick?\n\nIf, on the contrary, you suppose that the same matter may sometimes\nthink, and sometimes not think, according to the various wrangling\nand configurations it may receive, I will not tell you in this place\nthat matter cannot think; and that one cannot conceive that the\nparts of a stone, without adding anything to it, may ever know\nthemselves, whatever degree of motion, whatever figure, you may give\nthem.  I will only ask you now wherein that precise ranging and\nconfiguration of parts, which you speak of, consists?  According to\nyour opinion there must be a degree of motion wherein matter does\nnot yet reason, and then another much like it wherein, on a sudden,\nit begins to reason and know itself.  Now, who is it that knew how\nto pitch upon that precise degree of motion?  Who is it that has\ndiscovered the line in which the parts ought to move?  Who is it\nthat has measured the dimensions so nicely as to find out and state\nthe bigness and figure every part must have to keep all manner of\nproportions between themselves in the whole?  Who is it that has\nregulated the outward form by which all those bodies are to be\nstinted?  In a word, who is it that has found all the combinations\nwherein matter thinks, and without the least of which matter must\nimmediately cease to think?  If you say it is chance, I answer that\nyou make chance rational to such a degree as to be the source of\nreason itself.  Strange prejudice and intoxication of some men, not\nto acknowledge a most intelligent cause, from which we derive all\nintelligence; and rather choose to affirm that the purest reason is\nbut the effect of the blindest of all causes in such a subject as\nmatter, which of itself is altogether incapable of knowledge!\nCertainly there is nothing a man of sense would not admit rather\nthan so extravagant and absurd an opinion.\n\n\nSECT.  XXIX.  Sentiments of some of the Ancients concerning the Soul\nand Knowledge of Beasts.\n\n\nThe philosophy of the ancients, though very lame and imperfect, had\nnevertheless a glimpse of this difficulty; and, therefore, in order\nto remove it, some of them pretended that the Divine Spirit\ninterspersed and scattered throughout the universe is a superior\nWisdom that continually operates in all nature, especially in\nanimals, just as souls act in bodies; and that this continual\nimpression or impulse of the Divine Spirit, which the vulgar call\ninstinct, without knowing the true signification of that word, was\nthe life of all living creatures.  They added, \"That those sparks of\nthe Divine Spirit were the principle of all generations; that\nanimals received them in their conception and at their birth; and\nthat the moment they died those divine particles disengaged\nthemselves from all terrestrial matter in order to fly up to heaven,\nwhere they shone and rolled among the stars.  It is this philosophy,\nat once so magnificent and so fabulous, which Virgil so gracefully\nexpresses in the following verses upon bees:--\n\n\"Esse apibus partem divinae mentis, et haustus\nAEtherios dixere:  Deum namque ire per omnes\nTerrasque, tractusque maris, caelumque profundum.\nHinc pecudes, armenta viros, genus omne ferarum,\nQuemque sibi tenues nascentem arcessere vitas.\nScilicet huc reddi deinde, ac resoluta referri\nOmnia, nec morti esse locum, sed viva volare\nSideris in numerum, atque alto succedere caelo.\"\n\nThat is:--\n\n\"Induced by such examples, some have taught\nThat bees have portions of ethereal thought,\nEndued with particles of heavenly fires,\nFor God the whole created mass inspires.\nThrough heaven, and earth, and ocean depth He throws\nHis influence round, and kindles as He goes.\nHence flocks, and herds, and men, and beasts, and fowls,\nWith breath are quickened, and attract their souls.\nHence take the forms His prescience did ordain,\nAnd into Him, at length, resolve again.\nNo room is left for death:  they mount the sky,\nAnd to their own congenial planets fly.\"\n\nDryden's \"Virgil.\"\n\nThat Divine Wisdom that moves all the known parts of the world had\nmade so deep an impression upon the Stoics, and on Plato before\nthem, that they believed the whole world to be an animal, but a\nrational and wise animal--in short, the Supreme God.  This\nphilosophy reduced Polytheism, or the multitude of gods, to Deism,\nor one God, and that one God to Nature, which according to them was\neternal, infallible, intelligent, omnipotent, and divine.  Thus\nphilosophers, by striving to keep from and rectify the notions of\npoets, dwindled again at last into poetical fancies, since they\nassigned, as the inventors of fables did, a life, an intelligence,\nan art, and a design to all the parts of the universe that appear\nmost inanimate.  Undoubtedly they were sensible of the wonderful art\nthat is conspicuous in nature, and their only mistake lay in\nascribing to the work the skill of the Artificer.\n\n\nSECT.  XXX.  Of Man.\n\n\nLet us not stop any longer with animals inferior to man.  It is high\ntime to consider and study the nature of man himself, in order to\ndiscover Him whose image he is said to bear.  I know but two sorts\nof beings in all nature:  those that are endowed with knowledge or\nreason, and those that are not Now man is a compound of these two\nmodes of being.  He has a body, as the most inanimate corporeal\nbeings have; and he has a spirit, a mind, or a soul--that is, a\nthought whereby he knows himself, and perceives what is about him.\nIf it be true that there is a First Being who has drawn or created\nall the rest from nothing, man is truly His image; for he has, like\nHim, in his nature all the real perfection that is to be found in\nthose two various kinds or modes of being.  But an image is but an\nimage still, and can be but an adumbration or shadow of the true\nPerfect Being.\n\nLet us begin to study man by the contemplation of his body.  \"I know\nnot,\" said a mother to her children in the Holy Writ, \"how you were\nformed in my womb.\"  Nor is it, indeed, the wisdom of the parents\nthat forms so compounded and so regular a work.  They have no share\nin that wonderful art; let us therefore leave them, and trace it up\nhigher.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXI.  Of the Structure of Man's Body.\n\n\nThe body is made of clay; but let us admire the Hand that framed and\npolished it.  The Artificer's Seal is stamped upon His work.  He\nseems to have delighted in making a masterpiece with so vile a\nmatter.  Let us cast our eyes upon that body, in which the bones\nsustain the flesh that covers them.  The nerves that are extended in\nit make up all its strength; and the muscles with which the sinews\nweave themselves, either by swelling or extending themselves,\nperform the most exact and regular motions.  The bones are divided\nat certain distances, but they have joints, whereby they are set one\nwithin another, and are tied by nerves and tendons.  Cicero admires,\nwith reason, the excellent art with which the bones are knit\ntogether.  For what is more supple for all various motions?  And, on\nthe other hand, what is more firm and durable?  Even after a body is\ndead, and its parts are separated by corruption, we find that these\njoints and ligaments can hardly be destroyed.  Thus this human\nmachine or frame is either straight or crooked, stiff or supple, as\nwe please.  From the brain, which is the source of all the nerves,\nspring the spirits, which are so subtle that they escape the sight;\nand nevertheless so real, and of so great activity and force, that\nthey perform all the motions of the machine, and make up all in\nstrength.  These spirits are in an instant conveyed to the very\nextremities of the members.  Sometimes they flow gently and\nregularly, sometimes they move with impetuosity, as occasion\nrequires; and they vary ad infinitum the postures, gestures, and\nother actions of the body.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXII.  Of the Skin.\n\n\nLet us consider the flesh.  It is covered in certain places with a\nsoft and tender skin, for the ornament of the body.  If that skin,\nthat renders the object so agreeable, and gives it so sweet a\ncolour, were taken off, the same object would become ghastly, and\ncreate horror.  In other places that same skin is harder and\nthicker, in order to resist the fatigue of those parts.  As, for\ninstance, how harder is the skin of the feet than that of the face?\nAnd that of the hinder part of the head than that of the forehead?\nThat skin is all over full of holes like a sieve:  but those holes,\nwhich are called pores, are imperceptible.  Although sweat and other\ntranspirations exhale through those pores, the blood never runs out\nthat way.  That skin has all the tenderness necessary to make it\ntransparent, and give the face a lively, sweet, and graceful colour.\nIf the skin were less close, and less smooth, the face would look\nbloody, and excoriated.  Now, who is that knew how to temper and mix\nthose colours with such nicety as to make a carnation which painters\nadmire, but never can perfectly imitate?\n\n\nSECT.  XXXIII.  Of Veins and Arteries.\n\n\nThere are in man's body numberless branches of blood-vessels.  Some\nof them carry the blood from the centre to the extreme parts, and\nare called arteries.  Through those various vessels runs the blood,\na liquor soft and oily, and by this oiliness proper to retain the\nmost subtle spirits, just as the most subtle and spirituous essences\nare preserved in gummy bodies.  This blood moistens the flesh, as\nsprings and rivers water the earth; and after it has filtrated in\nthe flesh, it returns to its source, more slowly, and less full of\nspirits:  but it renews, and is again subtilised in that source, in\norder to circulate without ceasing.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXIV.  Of the Bones, and their Jointing.\n\n\nDo you consider that excellent order and proportion of the limbs?\nThe legs and thighs are great bones jointed one with another, and\nknit together by tendons.  They are two sorts of pillars, equal and\nregular, erected to support the whole fabric.  But those pillars\nfold; and the rotula of the knee is a bone of a circular figure,\nwhich is placed on purpose on the joint, in order to fill it up, and\npreserve it, when the bones fold, for the bending of the knee.  Each\ncolumn or pillar has its pedestal, which is composed of various\ninlaid parts, so well jointed together, that they can either bend,\nor keep stiff, as occasion requires.  The pedestal, I mean the foot,\nturns, at a man's pleasure, under the pillar.  In this foot we find\nnothing but nerves, tendons, and little bones closely knit, that\nthis part may, at once, be either more supple or more firm,\naccording to various occasions.  Even the toes, with their articles\nand nails, serve to feel the ground a man walks on, to lean and\nstand with more dexterity and nimbleness, the better to preserve the\nequilibrium of the body, to rise, or to stoop.  The two feet stretch\nforward, to keep the body from falling that way, when it stoops or\nbends.  The two pillars are jointed together at the top, to bear up\nthe rest of the body, but are still divided there in such a manner,\nthat that joint affords man the conveniency of resting himself, by\nsitting on the two biggest muscles of the body.\n\nThe body of the structure is proportioned to the height of the\npillars.  It contains such parts as are necessary for life, and\nwhich consequently ought to be placed in the centre, and shut up in\nthe securest place.  Therefore two rows of ribs pretty close to one\nanother, that come out of the backbone, as the branches of a tree do\nfrom its trunk, form a kind of hoop, to hide and shelter those noble\nand tender parts.  But because the ribs could not entirely shut up\nthat centre of the human body, without hindering the dilatation of\nthe stomach and of the entrails, they form that hoop but to a\ncertain place, below which they leave an empty space, that the\ninside may freely distend and stretch, both for respiration and\nfeeding.\n\nAs for the backbone, all the works of man afford nothing so artfully\nand curiously wrought.  It would be too stiff, and too frangible or\nbrittle, if it were made of one single bone:  and in such a case man\ncould never bend or stoop.  The author of this machine has prevented\nthat inconveniency by forming vertebrae, which jointing one with\nanother make up a whole, consisting of several pieces of bones, more\nstrong than if it were of a single piece.  This compound being\nsometimes supple and pliant, and sometimes stiff, stands either\nupright, or bends, in a moment, as a man pleases.  All these\nvertebrae have in the middle a gutter or channel, that serves to\nconvey a continuation of the substance of the brain to the\nextremities of the body, and with speed to send thither spirits\nthrough that pipe.\n\nBut who can forbear admiring the nature of the bones?  They are very\nhard; and we see that even the corruption of all the rest of the\nbody, after death, does not affect them.  Nevertheless, they are\nfull of numberless holes and cavities that make them lighter; and in\nthe middle they are full of the marrow, or pith, that is to nourish\nthem.  They are bored exactly in those places through which the\nligaments that knit them are to pass.  Moreover, their extremities\nare bigger than the middle, and form, as it were, two semicircular\nheads, to make one bone turn more easily with another, that so the\nwhole may fold and bend without trouble.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXV.  Of the Organs.\n\n\nWithin the enclosure of the ribs are placed in order all the great\norgans such as serve to make a man breathe; such as digest the\naliments; and such as make new blood.  Respiration, or breathing, is\nnecessary to temper inward heat, occasioned by the boiling of the\nblood, and by the impetuous course of the spirits.  The air is a\nkind of food that nourishes the animal, and by means of which he\nrenews himself every moment of his life.  Nor is digestion less\nnecessary to prepare sensible aliments towards their being changed\ninto blood, which is a liquor apt to penetrate everywhere, and to\nthicken into flesh in the extreme parts, in order to repair in all\nthe members what they lose continually both by transpiration and the\nwaste of spirits.  The lungs are like great covers, which being\nspongy, easily dilate and contract themselves, and as they\nincessantly take in and blow out a great deal of air, they form a\nkind of bellows that are in perpetual motion.  The stomach has a\ndissolvent that causes hunger, and puts man in mind of his want of\nfood.  That dissolvent, which stimulates and pricks the stomach,\ndoes, by that very uneasiness, prepare for it a very lively\npleasure, when its craving is satisfied by the aliments.  Then man,\nwith delight, fills his belly with strange matter, which would\ncreate horror in him if he could see it as soon as it has entered\nhis stomach, and which even displeases him, when he sees it being\nalready satisfied.  The stomach is made in the figure of a bagpipe.\nThere the aliments being dissolved by a quick coction, or digestion,\nare all confounded, and make up a soft liquor, which afterwards\nbecomes a kind of milk, called chyle; and which being at last\nbrought into the heart, receives there, through the plenty of\nspirits, the form, vivacity, and colour of blood.  But while the\npurest juice of the aliments passes from the stomach into the pipes\ndestined for the preparation of chyle and blood, the gross particles\nof the same aliments are separated, just as bran is from flour by a\nsieve; and they are dejected downwards to ease the body of them,\nthrough the most hidden passages, and the most remote from the\norgans of the senses, lest these be offended at them.  Thus the\nwonders of this machine are so great and numerous, that we find some\nunfathomable, even in the most abject and mortifying functions of\nthe body, which modesty will not allow to be more particularly\nexplained.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXVI.  Of the Inward Parts.\n\n\nI own that the inward parts are not so agreeable to the sight as the\noutward; but then be pleased to observe they are not made to be\nseen.  Nay, it was necessary according to art and design that they\nshould not be discovered without horror, and that a man should not\nwithout violent reluctance go about to discover them by cutting open\nthis machine in another man.  It is this very horror that prepares\ncompassion and humanity in the hearts of men when one sees another\nwounded or hurt.  Add to this, with St. Austin, that there are in\nthose inward parts a proportion, order, and mechanism which still\nplease more an attentive, inquisitive mind than external beauty can\nplease the eyes of the body.  That inside of man--which is at once\nso ghastly and horrid and so wonderful and admirable--is exactly as\nit should be to denote dirt and clay wrought by a Divine hand, for\nwe find in it both the frailty of the creature and the art of the\nCreator.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXVII.  Of the Arms and their Use.\n\n\nFrom the top of that precious fabric we have described hang the two\narms, which are terminated by the hands, and which bear a perfect\nsymmetry one with another.  The arms are knit with the shoulders in\nsuch a manner that they have a free motion, in that joint.  They are\nbesides divided at the elbow and at the wrist that they may fold,\nbend, and turn with quickness.  The arms are of a just length to\nreach all the parts of the body.  They are nervous and full of\nmuscles, that they may, as well as the back, be often in action and\nsustain the greatest fatigue of all the body.  The hands are a\ncontexture of nerves and little bones set one within another in such\na manner that they have all the strength and suppleness necessary to\nfeel the neighbouring bodies, to seize on them, hold them fast,\nthrow them, draw them to one, push them off, disentangle them, and\nuntie them one from another.\n\nThe fingers, the ends of which are armed with nails, are by the\ndelicacy and variety of their motions contrived to exercise the most\ncurious and marvellous arts.  The arms and hands serve also,\naccording as they are either extended, folded, or turned, to poise\nthe body in such a manner as that it may stoop without any danger of\nfalling.  The whole machine has, besides, independently from all\nafter-thoughts, a kind of spring that poises it on a sudden and\nmakes it find the equilibrium in all its different postures and\npositions.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXVIII.  Of the Neck and Head.\n\n\nAbove the body rises the neck, which is either firm or flexible at\npleasure.  Must a man bear a heavy burden on his head?  This neck\nbecomes as stiff as if it were made up of one single bone.  Has he a\nmind to bow or turn his head?  The neck bends every way as if all\nits bones were disjointed.  This neck, a little raised above the\nshoulders, bears up with ease the head, which over-rules and governs\nthe whole body.  If it were less big it would bear no proportion\nwith the rest of the machine; and if it were bigger it would not\nonly be disproportioned and deformed, but, besides, its weight would\nboth crush the neck and put man in danger of falling on the side it\nshould lean a little too much.  This head, fortified on all sides by\nvery thick and very hard bones in order the better to preserve the\nprecious treasure it encloses, is jointed with the vertebrae of the\nneck, and has a very quick communication with all the other parts of\nthe body.  It contains the brain, whose moist, soft, and spongy\nsubstance is made up of tender filaments or threads woven together;\nthis is the centre of all the wonders we shall speak of afterwards.\nThe skull is regularly perforated, or bored, with exact proportion,\nand symmetry, for, the two eyes, the two ears, the mouth, and the\nnostrils.  There are nerves destined for sensations, that exercise\nand play in most of those pipes.  The nose, which has no nerves for\nits sensation, has a cribriform, or spongy bone, to let odours pass\non to the brain.  Amongst the organs of these sensations the chief\nare double, to preserve to one side what the other might happen to\nbe defective in by any accident.  These two organs of the same\nsensation are symmetrically placed either on the forepart or on the\nsides, that man may use them with more ease to the right or to the\nleft or right against him--that is to say, towards the places his\njoints direct his steps and all his actions.  Besides, the\nflexibility of the neck makes all those organs turn in an instant\nwhich way soever he pleases.  All the hinder part of the head, which\nis the least able to defend itself, is therefore the thickest.  It\nis adorned with hair which at the same time serves to fortify the\nhead against the injuries of the air; and, on the other hand, the\nhair likewise adorns the fore part of the head and renders the face\nmore graceful.  The face is the fore part of the head, wherein the\nprincipal sensations meet and centre with an order and proportion\nthat render it very beautiful unless some accident or other happen\nto alter and impair so regular a piece of work.  The two eyes are\nequal, being placed about the middle, on the two sides of the head,\nthat they may, without trouble, discover afar off both on the right\nand left all strange objects, and that they may commodiously watch\nfor the safety of all the parts of the body.  The exact symmetry\nwith which they are placed is the ornament of the face; and He that\nmade them has kindled in them I know not what celestial flame, the\nlike of which all the rest of nature does not afford.  These eyes\nare a sort of looking-glasses, wherein all the objects of the whole\nworld are painted by turns and without confusion in the bottom of\nthe retina that the thinking part of man may see them in those\nlooking-glasses.  But though we perceive all objects by a double\norgan, yet we never see the objects double, because the two nerves\nthat are subservient to sight in our eyes are but two branches that\nunite in one pipe, as the two glasses of a pair of spectacles unite\nin the upper part that joins them together.  The two eyes are\nadorned with two equal eyebrows, and, that they may open and close,\nthey are wrapped up with lids edged with hair that defend so\ndelicate a part.\n\n\nSECT.  XXXIX.  Of the Forehead and Other Parts of the Face.\n\n\nThe forehead gives majesty and gracefulness to all the face, and\nserves to heighten all its features.  Were it not for the nose,\nwhich is placed in the middle, the whole face would look flat and\ndeformed, of which they are fully convinced who have happened to see\nmen in whom that part of the face is mutilated.  It is placed just\nabove the mouth, that it may the more easily discern, by the odours,\nwhatever is most proper to feed man.  The two nostrils serve at once\nboth for the respiration and smell.  Look upon the lips:  their\nlively colour, freshness, figure, seat, and proportion, with the\nother features, render the face most beautiful.  The mouth, by the\ncorrespondence of its motions with those of the eyes, animates,\ngladdens, suddens, softens, or troubles the face, and by sensible\nmarks expresses every passion.  The lips not only open to receive\nfood, but by their suppleness and the variety of their motions serve\nlikewise to vary the sounds that form speech.  When they open they\ndiscover a double row of teeth with which the mouth is adorned.\nThese teeth are little bones set in order in the two jaw-bones,\nwhich have a spring to open and another to shut in such a manner\nthat the teeth grind, like a mill, the aliments in order to prepare\ntheir digestion.  But these aliments thus ground go down into the\nstomach, through a pipe different from that through which we\nbreathe, and these two pipes, though so neighbouring, have nothing\ncommon.\n\n\nSECT.  XL.  Of the Tongue and Teeth.\n\n\nThe tongue is a contexture of small muscles and nerves so very\nsupple, that it winds and turns like a serpent, with unconceivable\nmobility and pliantness.  It performs in the mouth the same office\nwhich either the fingers or the bow of a master of music perform on\na musical instrument:  for sometimes it strikes the teeth, sometimes\nthe roof of the mouth.  There is a pipe that goes into the inside of\nthe neck, called throat, from the roof of the mouth to the breast,\nwhich is made up of cartilaginous rings nicely set one within\nanother, and lined within with a very smooth membrane, in order to\nrender the air that is pushed from the lungs more sonorous.  On the\nside of the roof of the mouth the end of that pipe is opened like a\nflute, by a slit, that either extends, or contracts itself as is\nnecessary to render the voice either big or slender, hollow or\nclear.  But lest the aliments, which have their separate pipe,\nshould slide into the windpipe I have been describing, there is a\nkind of valve that lies on the orifice of the organ of the voice,\nand playing like a drawbridge, lets the aliments freely pass through\ntheir proper channel, but never suffers the least particle or drop\nto fall into the slit of the windpipe.  This sort of valve has a\nvery free motion, and easily turns any way, so that by shaking on\nthat half-opened orifice, it performs the softest modulations of the\nvoice.  This instance is sufficient to show, by-the-by, and without\nentering long-winded details of anatomy, what a marvellous art there\nis in the frame of the inward parts.  And indeed the organ I have\ndescribed is the most perfect of all musical instruments, nor have\nthese any perfection, but so far as they imitate that.\n\n\nSECT.  XLI.  Of the Smell, Taste, and Hearing.\n\n\nWho were able to explain the niceness of the organs by which man\ndiscerns the numberless savours and odours of bodies?  But how is it\npossible for so many different voices to strike at once my ear\nwithout confounding one another, and for those sounds to leave in\nme, after they have ceased to be, so lively and so distinct images\nof what they have been?  How careful was the Artificer who made our\nbodies to give our eyes a moist, smooth, and sliding cover to close\nthem; and why did He leave our ears open?  Because, says Cicero, the\neyes must be shut against the light in order to sleep; and, in the\nmeantime, the ears ought to remain open in order to give us warning,\nand wake us by the report of noise, when we are in danger of being\nsurprised.  Who is it that, in an instant, imprints in my eye the\nheaven, the sea, and the earth, seated at almost an infinite\ndistance?  How can the faithful images of all the objects of the\nuniverse, from the sun to an atom, range themselves distinctly in so\nsmall an organ?  Is not the substance of the brain, which preserves,\nin order, such lively representations of all the objects that have\nmade an impression upon us ever since we were in the world, a most\nwonderful prodigy?  Men admire with reason the invention of books,\nwherein the history of so many events, and the collection of so many\nthoughts, are preserved.  But what comparison can be made between\nthe best book and the brain of a learned man?  There is no doubt but\nsuch a brain is a collection infinitely more precious, and of a far\nmore excellent contrivance, than a book.  It is in that small\nrepository that a man never misses finding the images he has\noccasion for.  He calls them, and they come; he dismisses them, and\nthey sink I know not where, and disappear, to make room for others.\nA man shuts or opens his fancy at pleasure, like a book.  He turns,\nas it were, its leaves; and, in an instant, goes from one end to the\nother.  There is even in memory a sort of table, like the index of a\nbook, which shows where certain remote images are to be found.  We\ndo not find that these innumerable characters, which the mind of man\nreads inwardly with so much rapidity, leave any distinct trace or\nprint in the brain, when we open it.  That admirable book is but a\nsoft substance, or a sort of bottom made up of tender threads, woven\none with another.  Now what skilful hand has laid up in that kind of\ndirt, which appears so shapeless, such precious images, ranged with\nsuch excellent and curious art?\n\n\nSECT.  XLII.  Of the Proportion of Man's Body.\n\n\nSuch is the body of man in general:  for I do not enter into an\nanatomical detail, my design being only to discover the art that is\nconspicuous in nature, by the simple cast of an eye, without any\nscience.  The body of man might undoubtedly be either much bigger\nand taller, or much lesser and smaller.  But if, for instance, it\nwere but one foot high, it would be insulted by most animals, that\nwould tread and crush it under their feet.  If it were as tall as a\nhigh steeple, a small number of men would in a few days consume all\nthe aliments a whole country affords.  They could find neither\nhorses nor any other beasts of burden either to carry them on their\nbacks or draw them in a machine with wheels; nor could they find\nsufficient quantity of materials to build houses proportioned to\ntheir bigness; and as there could be but a small number of men upon\nearth, so they should want most conveniences.  Now, who is it that\nhas so well regulated the size of man to so just a standard?  Who is\nit that has fixed that of other animals and living creatures, with\nproportion to that of man?  Of all animals, man only stands upright\non his feet, which gives him a nobleness and majesty that\ndistinguishes him, even as to the outside, from all that lives upon\nearth.  Not only his figure is the noblest, but he is also the\nstrongest and most dextrous of all animals, in proportion to his\nbigness.  Let one nicely examine the bulk and weight of the most\nterrible beasts, and he will find, that though they have more matter\nthan the body of a man, yet a vigorous man has more strength of body\nthan most wild beasts.  Nor are these dreadful to him, except in\ntheir teeth and claws.  But man, who has not such natural arms in\nhis limbs, has yet hands, whose dexterity to make artificial weapons\nsurpasses all that nature has bestowed upon beasts.  Thus man either\npierces with his darts or draws into his snares, masters, and leads\nin chains the strongest and fiercest animals.  Nay, he has the skill\nto tame them in their captivity, and to sport with them as he\npleases.  He teaches lions and tigers to caress him:  and gets on\nthe back of elephants.\n\n\nSECT.  XLIII.  Of the Soul, which alone, among all Creatures, Thinks\nand Knows.\n\n\nBut the body of man, which appears to be the masterpiece of nature,\nis not to be compared to his thought.  It is certain that there are\nbodies that do not think:  man, for instance, ascribes no knowledge\nto stone, wood, or metals, which undoubtedly are bodies.  Nay, it is\nso natural to believe that matter cannot think, that all\nunprejudiced men cannot forbear laughing when they hear any one\nassert that beasts are but mere machines; because they cannot\nconceive that mere machines can have such knowledge as they pretend\nto perceive in beasts.  They think it to be like children's playing,\nand talking to their puppets, the ascribing any knowledge to mere\nmachines.  Hence it is that the ancients themselves, who knew no\nreal substance but the body, pretended, however, that the soul of a\nman was a fifth element, or a sort of quintessence without name,\nunknown here below, indivisible, immutable, and altogether celestial\nand divine, because they could not conceive that the terrestrial\nmatter of the four elements could think, and know itself:\nAristoteles quintam quandam naturam censet esse, e qua sit mens.\nCogitare enim, et providere, et discere, et docere. . . . in horum\nquatuor generum nullo inesse putat; quintum genus adhibet vacans\nnomine.\n\n\nSECT.  XLIV.  Matter Cannot Think.\n\n\nBut let us suppose whatever you please, for I will not enter the\nlists with any sect of philosophers:  here is an alternative which\nno philosopher can avoid.  Either matter can become a thinking\nsubstance, without adding anything to it, or matter cannot think at\nall, and so what thinks in us is a substance distinct from matter,\nand which is united to it.  If matter can acquire the faculty of\nthinking without adding anything to it, it must, at least, be owned\nthat all matter does not think, and that even some matter that now\nthinks did not think fifty years ago; as, for instance, the matter\nof which the body of a young man is made up did not think ten years\nbefore he was born.  It must then be concluded that matter can\nacquire the faculty of thinking by a certain configuration, ranging,\nand motion of its parts.  Let us, for instance, suppose the matter\nof a stone, or of a heap of sand.  It is agreed this part of matter\nhas no manner of thought; and therefore to make it begin to think,\nall its parts must be configurated, ranged, and moved a certain way\nand to a certain degree.  Now, who is it that knew how to find, with\nso much niceness, that proportion, order, and motion that way, and\nto such a degree, above and below which matter would never think?\nWho is it that has given all those just, exact, and precise\nmodifications to a vile and shapeless matter, in order to form the\nbody of a child, and to render it rational by degrees?  If, on the\ncontrary, it be affirmed that matter cannot become a thinking\nsubstance without adding something to it, and that another being\nmust be united to it, I ask, what will that other thinking being be,\nwhilst the matter, to which it is united, only moves?  Therefore,\nhere are two natures or substances very unlike and distinct.  We\nknow one by figures and local motions only; as we do the other by\nperceptions and reasonings.  The one does not imply, or create the\nidea of the other, for their respective ideas have nothing in\ncommon.\n\n\nSECT.  XLV.  Of the Union of the Soul and Body, of which God alone\ncan be the Author.\n\n\nBut now, how comes it to pass that beings so unlike are so\nintimately united together in man?  Whence comes it that certain\nmotions of the body so suddenly and so infallibly raise certain\nthoughts in the soul?  Whence comes it that the thoughts of the\nsoul, so suddenly and so infallibly, occasion certain motions in the\nbody?  Whence proceeds so regular a society, for seventy or\nfourscore years, without any interruption?  How comes it to pass\nthat this union of two beings, and two operations, so very\ndifferent, make up so exact a compound, that many are tempted to\nbelieve it to be a simple and indivisible whole?  What hand had the\nskill to unite and tie together these two extremes and opposites?\nIt is certain they did not unite themselves by mutual consent, for\nmatter having of itself neither thought nor will, to make terms and\nconditions, it could not enter into an agreement with the mind.  On\nthe other hand, the mind does not remember that it ever made an\nagreement with matter; nor could it be subjected to such an\nagreement, if it had quite forgot it.  If the mind had freely, and\nof its own accord, resolved to submit to the impressions of matter,\nit would not, however, subject itself to them but when it should\nremember such a resolution, which, besides, it might alter at\npleasure.  Nevertheless, it is certain that in spite of itself it is\ndependent on the body, and that it cannot free itself from its\ndependence, unless it destroy the organs of the body by a violent\ndeath.  Besides, although the mind had voluntarily subjected itself\nto matter, it would not follow that matter were reciprocally\nsubjected to the mind.  The mind would indeed have certain thoughts\nwhen the body should have certain motions, but the body would not be\ndetermined to have, in its turn, certain motions, as soon as the\nmind should have certain thoughts.  Now it is most certain that this\ndependence is reciprocal.  Nothing is more absolute than the command\nof the mind over the body.  The mind wills, and, instantly, all the\nmembers of the body are in motion, as if they were acted by the most\npowerful machines.  On the other hand, nothing is more manifest than\nthe power and influence of the body over the mind.  The body is in\nmotion, and, instantly the mind is forced to think either with\npleasure or pain, upon certain objects.  Now, what hand equally\npowerful over these two divers and distinct natures has been able to\nbring them both under the same yoke, and hold them captive in so\nexact and inviolable a society?  Will any man say it was chance?  If\nhe does, will he be able either to understand what he means, or to\nmake it understood by others?  Has chance, by a concourse of atoms,\nhooked together the parts of the body with the mind?  If the mind\ncan be hooked with some parts of the body, it must have parts\nitself, and consequently be a perfect body, in which case, we\nrelapse into the first answer, which I have already confuted.  If,\non the contrary, the mind has no parts, nothing can hook it with\nthose of the body, nor has chance wherewithal to tie them together.\n\nIn short, my alternative ever returns, and is peremptory and\ndecisive.  If the mind and body are a whole made up of matter only,\nhow comes it to pass that this matter, which yesterday did not, has\nthis day begun to think?  Who is it that has bestowed upon it what\nit had not, and which is without comparison more noble than\nthoughtless matter?  What bestows thought upon it, has it not\nitself, and how can it give what it has not?  Let us even suppose\nthat thought should result from a certain configuration, ranging,\nand degree of motion a certain way, of all the parts of matter:\nwhat artificer has had the skill to find out all those just, nice,\nand exact combinations, in order to make a thinking machine?  If, on\nthe contrary, the mind and body are two distinct natures, what power\nsuperior to those two natures has been able to unite and tie\ntogether without the mind's assent, or so much as its knowing which\nway that union was made?  Who is it that with such absolute and\nsupreme command over-rules both minds and bodies, and keeps them in\nsociety and correspondence, and under a sort of incomprehensible\npolicy?\n\n\nSECT.  XLVI.  The Soul has an Absolute Command over the Body.\n\n\nBe pleased to observe that the command of my mind over my body is\nsupreme and absolute in its bounded extent, since my single will,\nwithout any effort or preparation, causes all the members of my body\nto move on a sudden and immediately, according to the rules of\nmechanics.  As the Scripture gives us the character of God, who said\nafter the creation of the universe, \"Let there be light, and there\nwas light\"--in like manner, the inward word of my soul alone,\nwithout any effort or preparation, makes what it says.  I say, for\ninstance, within myself, through that inward, simple, and\nmomentaneous word, \"Let my body move, and it moves.\"  At the command\nof that simple and intimate will, all the parts of my body are at\nwork.  Immediately all nerves are distended, all the springs hasten\nto concur together, and the whole machine obeys, just as if every\none of the most secret of those organs heard a supreme and\nomnipotent voice.  This is certainly the most simple and most\neffectual power that can be conceived.  All the other beings within\nour knowledge afford not the like instance of it, and this is\nprecisely what men that are sensible and persuaded of a Deity\nascribe to it in all the universe.\n\nShall I ascribe it to my feeble mind, or rather to the power it has\nover my body, which is so vastly different from it?  Shall I believe\nthat my will has that supreme command of its own nature, though in\nitself so weak and imperfect?  But how comes it to pass that, among\nso many bodies, it has that power over no more than one?  For no\nother body moves according to its desires.  Now, who is it that gave\nover one body the power it had over no other?  Will any man be again\nso bold as to ascribe this to chance?\n\n\nSECT.  XLVII.  The Power of the Soul over the Body is not only\nSupreme or Absolute, but Blind at the same time.\n\n\nBut that power, which is so supreme and absolute, is blind at the\nsame time.  The most simple and ignorant peasant knows how to move\nhis body as well as a philosopher the most skilled in anatomy.  The\nmind of a peasant commands his nerves, muscles, and tendons, which\nhe knows not, and which he never heard of.  He finds them without\nknowing how to distinguish them, or knowing where they lie; he calls\nprecisely upon such as he has occasion for, nor does he mistake one\nfor the other.  If a rope-dancer, for instance, does but will, the\nspirits instantly run with impetuousness, sometimes to certain\nnerves, sometimes to others--all which distend or slacken in due\ntime.  Ask him which of them he set a-going, and which way he begun\nto move them?  He will not so much as understand what you mean.  He\nis an absolute stranger to what he has done in all the inward\nsprings of his machine.  The lute-player, who is perfectly well\nacquainted with all the strings of his instrument, who sees them\nwith his eyes, and touches them one after another with his fingers,\nyet mistakes them sometimes.  But the soul that governs the machine\nof man's body moves all its springs in time, without seeing or\ndiscerning them, without being acquainted with their figure,\nsituation, or strength, and yet it never mistakes.  What prodigy is\nhere!  My mind commands what it knows not, and cannot see; what\nneither has, nor is capable of any knowledge.  And yet it is\ninfallibly obeyed.  How much blindness and how much power at once is\nhere!  The blindness is man's; but the power, whose is it?  To whom\nshall we ascribe it, unless it be to Him who sees what man does not\nsee, and performs in him what passes his understanding?  It is to no\npurpose my mind is willing to move the bodies that surround it, and\nwhich it knows very distinctly; for none of them stirs, and it has\nnot power to move the least atom by its will.  There is but one\nsingle body, which some superior Power must have made its property.\nWith respect to this body, my mind is but willing, and all the\nsprings of that machine, which are unknown to it, move in time and\nin concert to obey him.  St. Augustin, who made these reflections,\nhas expressed them excellently well.  \"The inward parts of our\nbodies,\" says he, \"cannot be living but by our souls; but our souls\nanimate them far more easily than they can know them. . . .  The\nsoul knows not the body which is subject to it. . . .  It does not\nknow why it does not move the nerves but when it pleases; and why,\non the contrary, the pulsation of veins goes on without\ninterruption, whether the mind will or no.  It knows not which is\nthe first part of the body it moves immediately, in order thereby to\nmove all the rest. . . .  It does not know why it feels in spite of\nitself, and moves the members only when it pleases.  It is the mind\ndoes these things in the body.  But how comes it to pass it neither\nknows what she does, nor in what manner it performs it?  Those who\nlearn, anatomy,\" continues that father, \"are taught by others what\npasses within, and is performed by themselves.  Why,\" says he, \"do I\nknow, without being taught, that there is in the sky, at a\nprodigious distance from me, a sun and stars; and why have I\noccasion for a master to learn where motion begins? . . .  When I\nmove my finger, I know not how what I perform within myself is\nperformed.  We are too far above, and cannot comprehend ourselves.\"\n\n\nSECT.  XLVIII.  The Sovereignty of the Soul over the Body\nprincipally appears in the Images imprinted in the Brain.\n\n\nIt is certain we cannot sufficiently admire either the absolute\npower of the soul over corporeal organs which she knows not, or the\ncontinual use it makes of them without discerning them.  That\nsovereignty principally appears with respect to the images imprinted\nin our brain.  I know all the bodies of the universe that have made\nany impression on my senses for a great many years past.  I have\ndistinct images of them that represent them to me, insomuch that I\nbelieve I see them even when they exist no more.  My brain is like a\ncloset full of pictures, which should move and set themselves in\norder at the master's pleasure.  Painters, with all their art and\nskill, never attain but an imperfect likeness; whereas the pictures\nI have in my head are so faithful, that it is by consulting them I\nperceive all the defects of those made by painters, and correct them\nwithin myself.  Now, do these images, more like their original than\nthe masterpieces of the art of painting, imprint themselves in my\nhead without any art?  Is my brain a book, all the characters of\nwhich have ranged themselves of their own accord?  If there be any\nart in the case, it does not proceed from me.  For I find within me\nthat collection of images without having ever so much as thought\neither to imprint them, or set them in order.  Moreover, all these\nimages either appear or retire as I please, without any confusion.\nI call them back, and they return; I dismiss them, and they sink I\nknow not where.  They either assemble or separate, as I please.  But\nI neither know where they lie, nor what they are.  Nevertheless I\nfind them always ready.  The agitation of so many images, old and\nnew, that revive, join, or separate, never disturbs a certain order\nthat is amongst them.  If some of them do not appear at the first\nsummons, at least I am certain they are not far off.  They may lurk\nin some deep corner, but I am not totally ignorant of them as I am\nof things I never knew; for, on the contrary, I know confusedly what\nI look for.  If any other image offers itself in the room of that I\ncalled for, I immediately dismiss it, telling it, \"It is not you I\nhave occasion for.\"  But, then, where lie objects half-forgotten?\nThey are present within me, since I look for them there, and find\nthem at last.  Again, in what manner are they there, since I look\nfor them a long while in vain?  What becomes of them?  \"I am no\nmore,\" says St. Augustin, \"what I was when I had the thoughts I\ncannot find again.  I know not,\" continues that father, \"either how\nit comes to pass that I am thus withdrawn from and deprived of\nmyself, or how I am afterwards brought back and restored to myself.\nI am, as it were, another man, and carried to another place, when I\nlook for, and do not find, what I had trusted to my memory.  In such\na case we cannot reach, and are, in a manner, strangers remote from\nourselves.  Nor do we come at us but when we find what we are in\nquest of.  But where is it we look for but within us?  Or what is it\nwe look for but ourselves? . . .  So unfathomable a difficulty\nastonishes us!\"  I distinctly remember I have known what I do not\nknow at present.  I remember my very oblivion.  I call to mind the\npictures or images of every person in every period of life wherein I\nhave seen them formerly, so that the same person passes several\ntimes in my head.  At first, I see one a child, then a young, and\nafterwards an old, man.  I place wrinkles in the same face in which,\non the other side, I see the tender graces of infancy.  I join what\nsubsists no more with what is still, without confounding these\nextremes.  I preserve I know not what, which, by turns, is all that\nI have seen since I came into the world.  Out of this unknown store\ncome all the perfumes, harmonies, tastes, degrees, and mixtures of\ncolours; in short, all the figures that have passed through my\nsenses, and which they have trusted to my brain.  I revive when I\nplease the joy I felt thirty years ago.  It returns; but sometimes\nit is not the same it was formerly, and appears without rejoicing\nme.  I remember I have been well pleased, and yet am not so while I\nhave that remembrance.  On the other hand, I renew past sorrows and\ntroubles.  They are present; for I distinctly perceive them such as\nthey were formerly, and not the least part of their bitterness and\nlively sense escapes my memory.  But yet they are no more the same;\nthey are dulled, and neither trouble nor disquiet me.  I perceive\nall their severity without feeling it; or, if I feel it, it is only\nby representation, which turns a former smart and racking pain into\na kind of sport and diversion, for the image of past sorrows\nrejoices me.  It is the same with pleasures:  a virtuous mind is\nafflicted by the memory of its disorderly unlawful enjoyments.  They\nare present, for they appear with all their softest and most\nflattering attendants; but they are no more themselves, and such\njoys return only to make us uneasy.\n\n\nSECT.  XLIX.  Two Wonders of the Memory and Brain.\n\n\nHere, therefore, are two wonders equally incomprehensible.  The\nfirst, that my brain is a kind of book, that contains a number\nalmost infinite of images, and characters ranged in an order I did\nnot contrive, and of which chance could not be the author.  For I\nnever had the least thought either of writing anything in my brain,\nor to place in any order the images and characters I imprinted in\nit.  I had no other thought but only to see the objects that struck\nmy senses.  Neither could chance make so marvellous a book:  even\nall the art of man is too imperfect ever to reach so high a\nperfection, therefore what hand had the skill to compose it?\n\nThe second wonder I find in my brain, is to see that my mind reads\nwith so much ease, whatever it pleases, in that inward book; and\nread even characters it does not know.  I never saw the traces or\nfigures imprinted in my brain, and even the substance of my brain\nitself, which is like the paper of that book, is altogether unknown\nto me.  All those numberless characters transpose themselves, and\nafterwards resume their rank and place to obey my command.  I have,\nas it were, a divine power over a work I am unacquainted with, and\nwhich is incapable of knowledge.  That which understands nothing,\nunderstands my thought and performs it instantly.  The thought of\nman has no power over bodies:  I am sensible of it by running over\nall nature.  There is but one single body which my bare will moves,\nas if it were a deity; and even moves the most subtle and nicest\nsprings of it, without knowing them.  Now, who is it that united my\nwill to this body, and gave it so much power over it?\n\n\nSECT.  L.  The Mind of Man is mixed with Greatness and Weakness.\nIts Greatness consists in two things.  First, the Mind has the Idea\nof the Infinite.\n\n\nLet us conclude these observations by a short reflection on the\nessence of our mind; in which I find an incomprehensible mixture of\ngreatness and weakness.  Its greatness is real:  for it brings\ntogether the past and the present, without confusion; and by its\nreasoning penetrates into futurity.  It has the idea both of bodies\nand spirits.  Nay, it has the idea of the infinite:  for it supposes\nand affirms all that belongs to it, and rejects and denies all that\nis not proper to it.  If you say that the infinite is triangular,\nthe mind will answer without hesitation, that what has no bounds can\nhave no figure.  If you desire it to assign the first of the units\nthat make up an infinite number, it will readily answer, that there\ncan be no beginning, end, or number in the infinite; because if one\ncould find either a first or last unit in it, one might add some\nother unit to that, and consequently increase the number.  Now a\nnumber cannot be infinite, when it is capable of some addition, and\nwhen a limit may be assigned to it, on the side where it may receive\nan increase.\n\n\nSECT.  LI.  The Mind knows the Finite only by the Idea of the\nInfinite.\n\n\nIt is even in the infinite that my mind knows the finite.  When we\nsay a man is sick, we mean a man that has no health; and when we\ncall a man weak, we mean one that has no strength.  We know\nsickness, which is a privation of health, no other way but by\nrepresenting to us health itself as a real good, of which such a man\nis deprived; and, in like manner, we only know weakness, by\nrepresenting to us strength as a real advantage, which such a man is\nnot master of.  We know darkness, which is nothing real, only by\ndenying, and consequently by conceiving daylight, which is most\nreal, and most positive.  In like manner we know the finite only by\nassigning it a bound, which is a mere negation of a greater extent;\nand consequently only the privation of the infinite.  Now a man\ncould never represent to himself the privation of the infinite,\nunless he conceived the infinite itself:  just as he could not have\na notion of sickness, unless he had an idea of health, of which it\nis only a privation.  Now, whence comes that idea of the infinite in\nus?\n\n\nSECT.  LII.  Secondly, the Ideas of the Mind are Universal, Eternal,\nand Immutable.\n\n\nOh! how great is the mind of man!  He carries within him wherewithal\nto astonish, and infinitely to surpass himself:  since his ideas are\nuniversal, eternal, and immutable.  They are universal:  for when I\nsay it is impossible to be and not to be; the whole is bigger than a\npart of it; a line perfectly circular has no straight parts; between\ntwo points given the straight line is the shortest; the centre of a\nperfect circle is equally distant from all the points of the\ncircumference; an equilateral triangle has no obtuse or right angle:\nall these truths admit of no exception.  There never can be any\nbeing, line, circle, or triangle, but according to these rules.\nThese axioms are of all times, or to speak more properly, they exist\nbefore all time, and will ever remain after any comprehensible\nduration.  Let the universe be turned topsy-turvy, destroyed, and\nannihilated; and even let there be no mind to reason about beings,\nlines, circles, and triangles:  yet it will ever be equally true in\nitself, that the same thing cannot at once be and not be; that a\nperfect circle can have no part of a straight line; that the centre\nof a perfect circle cannot be nearer one side of the circumference\nthan the other.  Men may, indeed, not think actually on these\ntruths:  and it might even happen that there should be neither\nuniverse nor any mind capable to reflect on these truths:  but\nnevertheless they are still constant and certain in themselves\nalthough no mind should be acquainted with them; just as the rays of\nthe sun would not cease being real, although all men should be\nblind, and no body have eyes to be sensible of their light.  By\naffirming that two and two make four, says St. Augustin, man is not\nonly certain that he speaks truth, but he cannot doubt that such a\nproposition was ever equally true, and must be so eternally.  These\nideas we carry within ourselves have no bounds, and cannot admit of\nany.  It cannot be said that what I have affirmed about the centre\nof perfect circles is true only in relation to a certain number of\ncircles; for that proposition is true, through evident necessity,\nwith respect to all circles ad infinitum.  These unbounded ideas can\nnever be changed, altered, impaired, or defaced in us; for they make\nup the very essence of our reason.  Whatever effort a man may make\nin his own mind, yet it is impossible for him ever to entertain a\nserious doubt about the truths which those ideas clearly represent\nto us.  For instance, I never can seriously call in question,\nwhether the whole is bigger than one of its parts; or whether the\ncentre of a perfect circle is equally distant from all the points of\nthe circumference.  The idea of the infinite is in me like that of\nnumbers, lines, circles, a whole, and a part.  The changing our\nideas would be, in effect, the annihilating reason itself.  Let us\njudge and make an estimate of our greatness by the immutable\ninfinite stamp within us, and which can never be defaced from our\nminds.  But lest such a real greatness should dazzle and betray us,\nby flattering our vanity, let us hasten to cast our eyes on our\nweakness.\n\n\nSECT.  LIII.  Weakness of Man's Mind.\n\n\nThat same mind that incessantly sees the infinite, and, through the\nrule of the infinite, all finite things, is likewise infinitely\nignorant of all the objects that surround it.  It is altogether\nignorant of itself, and gropes about in an abyss of darkness.  It\nneither knows what it is, nor how it is united with a body; nor\nwhich way it has so much command over all the springs of that body,\nwhich it knows not.  It is ignorant of its own thoughts and wills.\nIt knows not, with certainty, either what it believes or wills.  It\noften fancies to believe and will, what it neither believes nor\nwills.  It is liable to mistake, and its greatest excellence is to\nacknowledge it.  To the error of its thoughts, it adds the disorder\nand irregularity of its will and desires; so that it is forced to\ngroan in the consciousness and experience of its corruption.  Such\nis the mind of man, weak, uncertain, stinted, full of errors.  Now,\nwho is it that put the idea of the infinite, that is to say of\nperfection, in a subject so stinted and so full of imperfection?\nDid it give itself so sublime, and so pure an idea, which is itself\na kind of infinite in imagery?  What finite being distinct from it\nwas able to give it what bears no proportion with what is limited\nwithin any bounds?  Let us suppose the mind of man to be like a\nlooking-glass, wherein the images of all the neighbouring bodies\nimprint themselves.  Now what being was able to stamp within us the\nimage of the infinite, if the infinite never existed?  Who can put\nin a looking-glass the image of a chimerical object which is not in\nbeing, and which was never placed against the glass?  This image of\nthe infinite is not a confused collection of finite objects, which\nthe mind may mistake for a true infinite.  It is the true infinite\nof which we have the thought and idea.  We know it so well, that we\nexactly distinguish it from whatever it is not; and that no subtilty\ncan palm upon us any other object in its room.  We are so well\nacquainted with it, that we reject from it any propriety that\ndenotes the least bound or limit.  In short, we know it so well,\nthat it is in it alone we know all the rest, just as we know the\nnight by the day, sickness by health.  Now, once more, whence comes\nso great an image?  Does it proceed from nothing?  Can a stinted\nlimited being imagine and invent the infinite, if there be no\ninfinite at all?  Our weak and short-sighted mind cannot of itself\nform that image, which, at this rate, should have no author.  None\nof the outward objects can give us that image:  for they can only\ngive us the image of what they are, and they are limited and\nimperfect.  Therefore, from whence shall we derive that distinct\nimage which is unlike anything within us, and all we know here\nbelow, without us?  Whence does it proceed?  Where is that infinite\nwe cannot comprehend, because it is really infinite:  and which\nnevertheless we cannot mistake, because we distinguish it from\nanything that is inferior to it?  Sure it must be somewhere,\notherwise how could it imprint itself in our minds?\n\n\nSECT.  LIV.  The Ideas of Man are the Immutable Rules of his\nJudgment.\n\n\nBut besides the idea of the infinite, I have yet universal and\nimmutable notions, which are the rule and standard of all my\njudgments; insomuch that I cannot judge of anything but by\nconsulting them; nor am I free to judge contrary to what they\nrepresent to me.  My thoughts are so far from being able to correct\nor form that rule, that they are themselves corrected, in spite of\nmyself, by that superior rule; and invincibly subjected to its\ndecision.  Whatever effort my mind can make, I can never be brought,\nas I observed before, to entertain a doubt whether two and two make\nfour; whether the whole is bigger than one of its parts; or whether\nthe centre of a perfect circle be equally distant from all the\npoints of the circumference.  I am not free to deny those\npropositions; and if I happen to deny those truths, or others much\nlike them, there is in me something above myself, which forces me to\nreturn to the rule.  That fixed and immutable rule is so inward and\nintimate, that I am tempted to take it for myself.  But it is above\nme, since it corrects and rectifies me; gives me a distrust of\nmyself, and makes me sensible of my impotency.  It is something that\ninspires me every moment, provided I hearken to it, and I never err\nor mistake except when I am not attentive to it.  What inspires me\nwould for ever preserve me from error, if I were docile, and acted\nwithout precipitation; for that inward inspiration would teach me to\njudge aright of things within my reach, and about which I have\noccasion to form a judgment.  As for others, it would teach me not\nto judge of them at all, which second lesson is no less important\nthan the first.  That inward rule is what I call my reason; but I\nspeak of my reason without penetrating into the extent of those\nwords, as I speak of nature and instinct, without knowing what those\nexpressions mean.\n\n\nSECT.  LV.  What Man's Reason is.\n\n\nIt is certain my reason is within me, for I must continually\nrecollect myself to find it; but the superior reason that corrects\nme upon occasion, and which I consult, is none of mine, nor is it\npart of myself.  That rule is perfect and immutable; whereas I am\nchangeable and imperfect.  When I err, it preserves its rectitude.\nWhen I am undeceived, it is not set right, for it never was\notherwise; and still keeping to truth has the authority to call, and\nbring me back to it.  It is an inward master that makes me either be\nsilent or speak; believe, or doubt; acknowledge my errors, or\nconfirm my judgment.  I am instructed by hearkening to it; whereas I\nerr and go astray when I hearken to myself.  That Master is\neverywhere, and His voice is heard, from one end of the universe to\nthe other, by all men as well as me.  Whilst He corrects and\nrectifies me in France, He corrects and sets right other men in\nChina, Japan, Mexico, and in Peru, by the same principles.\n\n\nSECT.  LVI.  Reason is the Same in all Men, of all Ages and\nCountries.\n\n\nTwo men who never saw or heard of one another, and who never\nentertained any correspondence with any other man that could give\nthem common notions, yet speak at two extremities of the earth,\nabout a certain number of truths, as if they were in concert.  It is\ninfallibly known beforehand in one hemisphere, what will be answered\nin the other upon these truths.  Men of all countries and of all\nages, whatever their education may have been, find themselves\ninvincibly subjected and obliged to think and speak in the same\nmanner.  The Master who incessantly teaches us makes all of us think\nthe same way.  Whenever we hastily judge, without hearkening to His\nvoice, in diffidence of ourselves, we think and utter dreams full of\nextravagance.  Thus what appears most to be part of ourselves, and\nour very essence, I mean our reason, is least our own, and what, on\nthe contrary, ought to be accounted most borrowed.  We continually\nreceive a reason superior to us, as we incessantly breathe the air,\nwhich is a foreign body; or as we incessantly see all the objects\nnear us by the light of the sun, whose rays are bodies foreign to\nour eyes.  That superior reason over-rules and governs, to a certain\ndegree, with an absolute power all men, even the least rational, and\nmakes them all ever agree, in spite of themselves, upon those\npoints.  It is she that makes a savage in Canada think about a great\nmany things, just as the Greek and Roman philosophers did.  It is\nshe that made the Chinese geometricians find out much of the same\ntruths with the Europeans, whilst those nations so very remote were\nunknown one to another.  It is she that makes people in Japan\nconclude, as in France, that two and two make four; nor is it\napprehended that any nation shall ever change their opinion about\nit.  It is she that makes men think nowadays about certain points,\njust as men thought about the same four thousand years ago.  It is\nshe that gives uniform thoughts to the most jealous and jarring men,\nand the most irreconcilable among themselves.  It is by her that men\nof all ages and countries are, as it were, chained about an\nimmovable centre, and held in the bonds of amity by certain\ninvariable rules, called first principles, notwithstanding the\ninfinite variations of opinions that arise in them from their\npassion, avocations, and caprices, which over-rule all their other\nless-clear judgments.  It is through her that men, as depraved as\nthey are, have not yet presumed openly to bestow on vice the name of\nvirtue, and that they are reduced to dissemble being just, sincere,\nmoderate, benevolent, in order to gain one another's esteem.  The\nmost wicked and abandoned of men cannot be brought to esteem what\nthey wish they could esteem, or to despise what they wish they could\ndespise.  It is not possible to force the eternal barrier of truth\nand justice.  The inward master, called reason, intimately checks\nthe attempt with absolute power, and knows how to set bounds to the\nmost impudent folly of men.  Though vice has for many ages reigned\nwith unbridled licentiousness, virtue is still called virtue; and\nthe most brutish and rash of her adversaries cannot yet deprive her\nof her name.  Hence it is that vice, though triumphant in the world,\nis still obliged to disguise itself under the mask of hypocrisy or\nsham honesty, to gain the esteem it has not the confidence to\nexpect, if it should go bare-faced.  Thus, notwithstanding its\nimpudence, it pays a forced homage to virtue, by endeavouring to\nadorn itself with her fairest outside in order to receive the honour\nand respect she commands from men.  It is true virtuous men are\nexposed to censure; and they are, indeed, ever reprehensible in this\nlife, through their natural imperfections; but yet the most vicious\ncannot totally efface in themselves the idea of true virtue.  There\nnever was yet any man upon earth that could prevail either with\nothers, or himself, to allow, as a received maxim, that to be\nknavish, passionate, and mischievous, is more honourable than to be\nhonest, moderate, good-natured, and benevolent.\n\n\nSECT.  LVII.  Reason in Man is Independent of and above Him.\n\n\nI have already evinced that the inward and universal master, at all\ntimes, and in all places, speaks the same truths.  We are not that\nmaster:  though it is true we often speak without, and higher than\nhim.  But then we mistake, stutter, and do not so much as understand\nourselves.  We are even afraid of being made sensible of our\nmistakes, and we shut up our ears, lest we should be humbled by his\ncorrections.  Certainly the man who is apprehensive of being\ncorrected and reproved by that uncorruptible reason, and ever goes\nastray when he does not follow it, is not that perfect, universal,\nand immutable reason, that corrects him, in spite of himself.  In\nall things we find, as it were, two principles within us.  The one\ngives, the other receives; the one fails, or is defective; the other\nmakes up; the one mistakes, the other rectifies; the one goes awry,\nthrough his inclination, the other sets him right.  It was the\nmistaken and ill-understood experience of this that led the\nMarcionites and Manicheans into error.  Every man is conscious\nwithin himself of a limited and inferior reason, that goes astray\nand errs, as soon as it gets loose from an entire subordination, and\nwhich mends its error no other way, but by returning under the yoke\nof another superior, universal, and immutable reason.  Thus\neverything within us argues an inferior, limited, communicated, and\nborrowed reason, that wants every moment to be rectified by another.\nAll men are rational by means of the same reason, that communicates\nitself to them, according to various degrees.  There is a certain\nnumber of wise men; but the wisdom from which they draw theirs, as\nfrom an inexhaustible source, and which makes them what they are, is\nbut ONE.\n\n\nSECT.  LVIII.  It is the Primitive Truth, that Lights all Minds, by\ncommunicating itself to them.\n\n\nWhere is that wisdom?  Where is that reason, at once both common and\nsuperior to all limited and imperfect reasons of mankind?  Where is\nthat oracle, which is never silent, and against which all the vain\nprejudices of men cannot prevail?  Where is that reason which we\nhave ever occasion to consult, and which prevents us to create in us\nthe desire of hearing its voice?  Where is that lively light which\nlighteth every man that cometh into the world?  Where is that pure\nand soft light, which not only lights those eyes that are open, but\nwhich opens eyes that are shut; cures sore eyes; gives eyes to those\nthat have none to see it; in short, which raises the desire of being\nlighted by it, and gains even their love, who were afraid to see it?\nEvery eye sees it; nor would it see anything, unless it saw it;\nsince it is by that light and its pure rays that the eye sees\neverything.  As the sensibler sun in the firmament lights all\nbodies, so the sun of intelligence lights all minds.  The substance\nof a man's eye is not the light:  on the contrary, the eye borrows,\nevery moment, the light from the rays of the sun.  Just in the same\nmanner, my mind is not the primitive reason, or universal and\nimmutable truth; but only the organ through which that original\nlight passes, and which is lighted by it.  There is a sun of spirits\nthat lights them far better than the visible sun lights bodies.\nThis sun of spirits gives us, at once, both its light, and the love\nof it, in order to seek it.  That sun of truth leaves no manner of\ndarkness, and shines at the same time in the two hemispheres.  It\nlights us as much by night as by day; nor does it spread its rays\noutwardly; but inhabits in every one of us.  A man can never deprive\nanother man of its beams.  One sees it equally, in whatever corner\nof the universe he may lurk.  A man never needs say to another, step\naside, to let me see that sun; you rob me of its rays; you take away\nmy share of it.  That sun never sets:  nor suffers any cloud, but\nsuch as are raised by our passions.  It is a day without shadow.  It\nlights the savages even in the deepest and darkest caves; none but\nsore eyes wink against its light; nor is there indeed any man so\ndistempered and so blind, but who still walks by the glimpse of some\nduskish light he retains from that inward sun of consciences.  That\nuniversal light discovers and represents all objects to our minds;\nnor can we judge of anything but by it; just as we cannot discern\nanybody but by the rays of the sun.\n\n\nSECT.  LIX.  It is by the Light of Primitive Truth a Man Judges\nwhether what one says to him be True or False.\n\n\nMen may speak and discourse to us in order to instruct us:  but we\ncannot believe them any farther, than we find a certain conformity\nor agreement between what they say, and what the inward master says.\nAfter they have exhausted all their arguments, we must still return,\nand hearken to him, for a final decision.  If a man should tell us\nthat a part equals the whole of which it is a part, we should not be\nable to forbear laughing, and instead of persuading us, he would\nmake himself ridiculous to us.  It is in the very bottom of\nourselves, by consulting the inward master, that we must find the\ntruths that are taught us, that is, which are outwardly proposed to\nus.  Thus, properly speaking, there is but one true Master, who\nteaches all, and without whom one learns nothing.  Other masters\nalways refer and bring us back to that inward school where he alone\nspeaks.  It is there we receive what we have not; it is there we\nlearn what we were ignorant of; and find what we had lost by\noblivion.  It is in the intimate bottom of ourselves, he keeps in\nstore for us certain truths, that lie, as it were, buried, but which\nrevive upon occasion; and it is there, in short, that we reject the\nfalsehood we had embraced.  Far from judging that master, it is by\nhim alone we are judged peremptorily in all things.  He is a judge\ndisinterested, impartial, and superior to us.  We may, indeed,\nrefuse hearing him, and raise a din to stun our ears:  but when we\nhear him it is not in our power to contradict him.  Nothing is more\nunlike man than that invisible master that instructs and judges him\nwith so much severity, uprightness, and perfection.  Thus our\nlimited, uncertain, defective, fallible reason, is but a feeble and\nmomentaneous inspiration of a primitive, supreme, and immutable\nreason, which communicates itself with measure, to all intelligent\nbeings.\n\n\nSECT.  LX.  The Superior Reason that resides in Man is God Himself;\nand whatever has been above discovered to be in Man, are evident\nFootsteps of the Deity.\n\n\nIt cannot be said that man gives himself the thoughts he had not\nbefore; much less can it be said that he receives them from other\nmen, since it is certain he neither does nor can admit anything from\nwithout, unless he finds it in his own bottom, by consulting within\nhim the principles of reason, in order to examine whether what he is\ntold is agreeable or repugnant to them.  Therefore there is an\ninward school wherein man receives what he neither can give himself,\nnor expect from other men who live upon trust as well as himself.\nHere then, are two reasons I find within me; one of which, is\nmyself, the other is above me.  That which is myself is very\nimperfect, prejudiced, liable to error, changeable, headstrong,\nignorant, and limited; in short it possesses nothing but what is\nborrowed.  The other is common to all men, and superior to them.  It\nis perfect, eternal, immutable, ever ready to communicate itself in\nall places, and to rectify all minds that err and mistake; in short,\nincapable of ever being either exhausted or divided, although it\ncommunicates itself to all who desire it.  Where is that perfect\nreason which is so near me, and yet so different from me?  Where is\nit?  Sure it must be something real; for nothing or nought cannot\neither be perfect or make perfect imperfect natures.  Where is that\nsupreme reason?  Is it not the very God I look for?\n\n\nSECT.  LXI.  New sensible Notices of the Deity in Man, drawn from\nthe Knowledge he has of Unity.\n\n\nI still find other traces or notices of the Deity within me:  here\nis a very sensible one.  I am acquainted with prodigious numbers\nwith the relations that are between them.  Now how come I by that\nknowledge?  It is so very distinct that I cannot seriously doubt of\nit; and so, immediately, without the least hesitation, I rectify any\nman that does not follow it in computation.  If a man says seventeen\nand three make twenty-two, I presently tell him seventeen and three\nmake but twenty; and he is immediately convinced by his own light,\nand acquiesces in my correction.  The same Master who speaks within\nme to correct him speaks at the same time within him to bid him\nacquiesce.  These are not two masters that have agreed to make us\nagree.  It is something indivisible, eternal, immutable, that speaks\nat the same time with an invincible persuasion in us both.  Once\nmore, how come I by so just a notion of numbers?  All numbers are\nbut repeated units.  Every number is but a compound, or a repetition\nof units.  The number of two, for instance, is but two units; the\nnumber of four is reducible to one repeated four times.  Therefore\nwe cannot conceive any number without conceiving unity, which is the\nessential foundation of any possible number; nor can we conceive any\nrepetition of units without conceiving unity itself, which is its\nbasis.\n\nBut which way can I know any real unit?  I never saw, nor so much as\nimagined any by the report of my senses.  Let me take, for instance,\nthe most subtle atom; it must have a figure, length, breadth, and\ndepth, a top and a bottom, a left and a right side; and again the\ntop is not the bottom, nor one side the other.  Therefore this atom\nis not truly one, for it consists of parts.  Now a compound is a\nreal number, and a multitude of beings.  It is not a real unit, but\na collection of beings, one of which is not the other.  I therefore\nnever learnt by my eyes, my ears, my hands, nor even by my\nimagination, that there is in nature any real unity; on the\ncontrary, neither my senses nor my imagination ever presented to me\nanything but what is a compound, a real number or a multitude.  All\nunity continually escapes me; it flies me as it were by a kind of\nenchantment.  Since I look for it in so many divisions of an atom, I\ncertainly have a distinct idea of it; and it is only by its simple\nand clear idea that I arrive, by the repetition of it, at the\nknowledge of so many other numbers.  But since it escapes me in all\nthe divisions of the bodies of nature, it clearly follows that I\nnever came by the knowledge of it, through the canal of my senses\nand imagination.  Here therefore is an idea which is in me\nindependently from the senses, imagination, and impressions of\nbodies.\n\nMoreover, although I would not frankly acknowledge that I have a\nclear idea of unity, which is the foundation of all numbers, because\nthey are but repetitions or collections of units:  I must at least\nbe forced to own that I know a great many numbers with their\nproprieties and relations.  I know, for instance, how much make\n900,000,000 joined with 800,000,000 of another sum.  I make no\nmistake in it; and I should, with certainty, immediately rectify any\nman that should.  Nevertheless, neither my senses nor my imagination\nwere ever able to represent to me distinctly all those millions put\ntogether.  Nor would the image they should represent to me be more\nlike seventeen hundred millions than a far inferior number.\nTherefore, how came I by so distinct an idea of numbers, which I\nnever could either feel or imagine?  These ideas, independent upon\nbodies, can neither be corporeal nor admitted in a corporeal\nsubject.  They discover to me the nature of my soul, which admits\nwhat is incorporeal and receives it within itself in an incorporeal\nmanner.  Now, how came I by so incorporeal an idea of bodies\nthemselves?  I cannot by my own nature carry it within me, since\nwhat in me knows bodies is incorporeal; and since it knows them,\nwithout receiving that knowledge through the canal of corporeal\norgans, such as the senses and imagination.  What thinks in me must\nbe, as it were, a nothing of corporeal nature.  How was I able to\nknow beings that have by nature no relation with my thinking being?\nCertainly a being superior to those two natures, so very different,\nand which comprehends them both in its infinity, must have joined\nthem in my soul, and given me an idea of a nature entirely different\nfrom that which thinks in me.\n\n\nSECT.  LXII.  The Idea of the Unity proves that there are Immaterial\nSubstances; and that there is a Being Perfectly One, who is God.\n\n\nAs for units, some perhaps will say that I do not know them by the\nbodies, but only by the spirits; and, therefore, that my mind being\none, and truly known to me, it is by it, and not by the bodies, I\nhave the idea of unity.  But to this I answer.\n\nIt will, at least, follow from thence that I know substances that\nhave no manner of extension or divisibility, and which are present.\nHere are already beings purely incorporeal, in the number of which I\nought to place my soul.  Now, who is it that has united it to my\nbody?  This soul of mine is not an infinite being; it has not been\nalways, and it thinks within certain bounds.  Now, again, who makes\nit know bodies so different from it?  Who gives it so great a\ncommand over a certain body; and who gives reciprocally to that body\nso great a command over the soul?  Moreover, which way do I know\nwhether this thinking soul is really one, or whether it has parts?\nI do not see this soul.  Now, will anybody say that it is in so\ninvisible, and so impenetrable, a thing that I clearly see what\nunity is?  I am so far from learning by my soul what the being One\nis, that, on the contrary, it is by the clear idea I have already of\nunity that I examine whether my soul be one or divisible.\n\nAdd to this, that I have within me a clear idea of a perfect unity,\nwhich is far above that I may find in my soul.  The latter is often\nconscious that she is divided between two contrary opinions,\ninclinations, and habits.  Now, does not this division, which I find\nwithin myself, show and denote a kind of multiplicity and\ncomposition of parts?  Besides, the soul has, at least, a successive\ncomposition of thoughts, one of which is most different and distinct\nfrom another.  I conceive an unity infinitely more One, if I may so\nspeak.  I conceive a Being who never changes His thoughts, who\nalways thinks all things at once, and in which no composition, even\nsuccessive, can be found.  Undoubtedly it is the idea of the perfect\nand supreme unity that makes me so inquisitive after some unity in\nspirits, and even in bodies.  This idea, ever present within me, is\ninnate or inborn with me; it is the perfect model by which I seek\neverywhere some imperfect copy of the unity.  This idea of what is\none, simple, and indivisible by excellence can be no other than the\nidea of God.  I, therefore, know God with such clearness and\nevidence, that it is by knowing Him I seek in all creatures, and in\nmyself, some image and likeness of His unity.  The bodies have, as\nit were, some mark or print of that unity, which still flies away in\nthe division of its parts; and the spirits have a greater likeness\nof it, although they have a successive composition of thoughts.\n\n\nSECT.  LXIII.  Dependence and Independence of Man.  His Dependence\nProves the Existence of his Creator.\n\n\nBut here is another mystery which I carry within me, and which makes\nme incomprehensible to my self, viz.:  that on the one hand I am\nfree, and on the other dependent.  Let us examine these two things,\nand see whether it is possible to reconcile them.\n\nI am a dependent being.  Independency is the supreme perfection.  To\nbe by one's self is to carry within one's self the source or spring\nof one's own being; or, which is the same, it is to borrow nothing\nfrom any being different from one's self.  Suppose a being that has\nall the perfections you can imagine, but which has a borrowed and\ndependent being, and you will find him to be less perfect than\nanother being in which you would suppose but bare independency.  For\nthere is no comparison to be made between a being that exists by\nhimself and a being who has nothing of his own--nothing but what is\nprecarious and borrowed--and is in himself, as it were, only upon\ntrust.\n\nThis consideration brings me to acknowledge the imperfection of what\nI call my soul.  If she existed by herself, it would borrow nothing\nfrom another; she would not want either to be instructed in her\nignorances, or to be rectified in her errors.  Nothing could reclaim\nher from her vices, or inspire her with virtue; for nothing would be\nable to render her will better than it should have been at first.\nThis soul would ever possess whatever she should be capable to\nenjoy, nor could she ever receive any addition from without.  On the\nother hand, it is no less certain that she could not lose anything,\nfor what is or exists by itself is always necessarily whatever it\nis.  Therefore my soul could not fall into ignorance, error, or\nvice, or suffer any diminution of good-will; nor could she, on the\nother hand, instruct or correct herself, or become better than she\nis.  Now, I experience the contrary of all these; for I forget,\nmistake, err, go astray, lose the sight of truth and the love of\nvirtue, I corrupt, I diminish.  On the other hand, I improve and\nincrease by acquiring wisdom and good-will, which I never had.  This\nintimate experience convinces me that my soul is not a being\nexisting by itself and independent; that is necessary, and immutable\nin all it possesses and enjoys.  Now, whence proceeds this\naugmentation and improvement of myself?  Who is it that can enlarge\nand perfect my being by making me better, and, consequently, greater\nthan I was?\n\n\nSECT.  LXIV.  Good Will cannot Proceed but from a Superior Being.\n\n\nThe will or faculty of willing is undoubtedly a degree of being, and\nof good, or perfection; but good-will, benevolence, or desire of\ngood, is another degree of superior good.  For one may misuse will\nin order to wish ill, cheat, hurt, or do injustice; whereas good-\nwill is the good or right use of will itself, which cannot but be\ngood.  Good-will is therefore what is most precious in man.  It is\nthat which sets a value upon all the rest.  It is, as it were, \"The\nwhole man:\" Hoc enim omnis homo.\n\nI have already shown that my will is not by itself, since it is\nliable to lose and receive degrees of good or perfection; and\nlikewise that it is a good inferior to good-will, because it is\nbetter to will good than barely to have a will susceptible both of\ngood and evil.  How could I be brought to believe that I, a weak,\nimperfect, borrowed, precarious, and dependent being, bestow on\nmyself the highest degree of perfection, while it is visible and\nevident that I derive the far inferior degree of perfection from a\nFirst Being?  Can I imagine that God gives me the lesser good, and\nthat I give myself the greater without Him?  How should I come by\nthat high degree of perfection in order to give it myself!  Should I\nhave it from nothing, which is all my own stock?  Shall I say that\nother spirits, much like or equal to mine, give it me?  But since\nthose limited and dependent beings like myself cannot give\nthemselves anything no more than I can, much less can they bestow\nanything upon another.  For as they do not exist by themselves, so\nthey have not by themselves any true power, either over me, or over\nthings that are imperfect in me, or over themselves.  Wherefore,\nwithout stopping with them, we must go up higher in order to find\nout a first, teeming, and most powerful cause, that is able to\nbestow on my soul the good will she has not.\n\n\nSECT.  LXV.  As a Superior Being is the Cause of All the\nModifications of Creatures, so it is Impossible for Man's Will to\nWill Good by Itself or of its own Accord.\n\n\nLet us still add another reflection.  That First Being is the cause\nof all the modifications of His creatures.  The operation follows\nthe Being, as the philosophers are used to speak.  A being that is\ndependent in the essence of his being cannot but be dependent in all\nhis operations, for the accessory follows the principal.  Therefore,\nthe Author of the essence of the being is also the Author of all the\nmodifications or modes of being of creatures.  Thus God is the real\nand immediate cause of all the configurations, combinations, and\nmotions of all the bodies of the universe.  It is by means or upon\noccasion of a body He has set in motion that He moves another.  It\nis He who created everything and who does everything in His\ncreatures or works.  Now, volition is the modification of the will\nor willing faculty of the soul, just as motion is the modification\nof bodies.  Shall we affirm that God is the real, immediate, and\ntotal cause of the motion of all bodies, and that He is not equally\nthe real and immediate cause of the good-will of men's wills?  Will\nthis modification, the most excellent of all, be the only one not\nmade by God in His own work, and which the work bestows on itself\nindependently?  Who can entertain such a thought?  Therefore my\ngood-will which I had not yesterday and which I have to-day is not a\nthing I bestow upon myself, but must come from Him who gave me both\nthe will and the being.\n\nAs to will is a greater perfection than barely to be, so to will\ngood is more perfect than to will.  The step from power to a\nvirtuous act is the greatest perfection in man.  Power is only a\nbalance or poise between virtue and vice, or a suspension between\ngood and evil.  The passage or step to the act is a decision or\ndetermination for the good, and consequent by the superior good.\nThe power susceptible of good and evil comes from God, which we have\nfully evinced.  Now, shall we affirm that the decisive stroke that\ndetermines to the greater good either is not at all, or is less\nowing to Him?  All this evidently proves what the Apostle says,\nviz., that God \"works both to will and to do of His good pleasure.\"\nHere is man's dependence; let us look for his liberty.\n\n\nSECT.  LXVI.  Of Man's Liberty.\n\n\nI am free, nor can I doubt of it.  I am intimately and invincibly\nconvinced that I can either will or not will, and that there is in\nme a choice not only between willing and not willing, but also\nbetween divers wills about the variety of objects that present\nthemselves.  I am sensible, as the Scripture says, that I \"am in the\nhands of my Council,\" which alone suffices to show me that my soul\nis not corporeal.  All that is body or corporeal does not in the\nleast determine itself, and is, on the contrary, determined in all\nthings by laws called physical, which are necessary, invincible, and\ncontrary to what I call liberty.  From thence I infer that my soul\nis of a nature entirely different from that of my body.  Now who is\nit that was able to join by a reciprocal union two such different\nnatures, and hold them in so just a concert for all their respective\noperations?  That tie, as we observed before, cannot be formed but\nby a Superior Being, who comprehends and unites those two sorts of\nperfections in His own infinite perfection.\n\n\nSECT.  LXVII.  Man's Liberty Consists in that his Will by\ndetermining, Modifies Itself.\n\n\nIt is not the same with the modification of my soul which is called\nwill, and by some philosophers volition, as with the modifications\nof bodies.  A body does not in the least modify itself, but is\nmodified by the sole power of God.  It does not move itself, it is\nmoved; it does not act in anything, it is only acted and actuated.\nThus God is the only real and immediate cause of all the different\nmodifications of bodies.  As for spirits the case is different, for\nmy will determines itself.  Now to determine one's self to a will is\nto modify one's self, and therefore my will modifies itself.  God\nmay prevent my soul, but He does not give it the will in the same\nmanner as He gives motion to bodies.  If it is God who modifies me,\nI modify myself with Him, and am with Him a real cause of my own\nwill.  My will is so much my own that I am only to blame if I do not\nwill what I ought.  When I will a thing it is in my power not to\nwill it, and when I do not will it it is likewise in my power to\nwill it.  I neither am nor can be compelled in my will; for I cannot\nwill what I actually will in spite of myself, since the will I mean\nevidently excludes all manner of constraint.  Besides the exemption\nfrom all compulsion, I am likewise free from necessity.  I am\nconscious and sensible that I have, as it were, a two-edged will,\nwhich at its own choice may be either for the affirmative or the\nnegative, the yes or the no, and turn itself either towards an\nobject or towards another.  I know no other reason or determination\nof my will but my will itself.  I will a thing because I am free to\nwill it; and nothing is so much in my power as either to will or not\nto will it.  Although my will should not be constrained, yet if it\nwere necessitated it would be as strongly and invincibly determined\nto will as bodies are to move.  An invincible necessity would have\nas much influence over the will with respect to spirits as it has\nover motion with respect to bodies; and, in such a case, the will\nwould be no more accountable for willing than a body for moving.  It\nis true the will would will what it would; but the motion by which a\nbody is moved is the same as the volition by which the willing\nfaculty wills.  If therefore volition be necessitated as motion it\ndeserves neither more nor less praise or blame.  For though a\nnecessitated will may seem to be a will unconstrained, yet it is\nsuch a will as one cannot forbear having, and for which he that has\nit is not accountable.  Nor does previous knowledge establish true\nliberty, for a will may be preceded by the knowledge of divers\nobjects, and yet have no real election or choice.  Nor is\ndeliberation or the being in suspense any more than a vain trifle,\nif I deliberate between two counsels when I am under an actual\nimpotency to follow the one and under an actual necessity to pursue\nthe other.  In short, there is no serious and true choice between\ntwo objects, unless they be both actually ready within my reach so\nthat I may either leave or take which of the two I please.\n\n\nSECT.  LXVIII.  Will may Resist Grace, and Its Liberty is the\nFoundation of Merit and Demerit.\n\n\nWhen therefore I say I am free, I mean that my will is fully in my\npower, and that even God Himself leaves me at liberty to turn it\nwhich way I please, that I am not determined as other beings, and\nthat I determine myself.  I conceive that if that First Being\nprevents me, to inspire me with a good-will, it is still in my power\nto reject His actual inspiration, how strong soever it may be, to\nfrustrate its effect, and to refuse my assent to it.  I conceive\nlikewise that when I reject His inspiration for the good, I have the\ntrue and actual power not to reject it; just as I have the actual\nand immediate power to rise when I remain sitting, and to shut my\neyes when I have them open.  Objects may indeed solicit me by all\ntheir allurements and agreeableness to will or desire them.  The\nreasons for willing may present themselves to me with all their most\nlively and affecting attendants, and the Supreme Being may also\nattract me by His most persuasive inspirations.  But yet for all\nthis actual attraction of objects, cogency of reasons, and even\ninspiration of a Superior Being, I still remain master of my will,\nand am free either to will or not to will.\n\nIt is this exemption not only from all manner of constraint or\ncompulsion but also from all necessity and this command over my own\nactions that render me inexcusable when I will evil, and\npraiseworthy when I will good; in this lies merit and demerit,\npraise and blame; it is this that makes either punishment or reward\njust; it is upon this consideration that men exhort, rebuke,\nthreaten, and promise.  This is the foundation of all policy,\ninstruction, and rules of morality.  The upshot of the merit and\ndemerit of human actions rests upon this basis, that nothing is so\nmuch in the power of our will as our will itself, and that we have\nthis free-will--this, as it were, two-edged faculty--and this\nelative power between two counsels which are immediately, as it\nwere, within our reach.  It is what shepherds and husbandmen sing in\nthe fields, what merchants and artificers suppose in their traffic,\nwhat actors represent in public shows, what magistrates believe in\ntheir councils, what doctors teach in their schools; it is that, in\nshort, which no man of sense can seriously call in question.  That\ntruth imprinted in the bottom of our hearts, is supposed in the\npractice, even by those philosophers who would endeavour to shake it\nby their empty speculations.  The intimate evidence of that truth is\nlike that of the first principles, which want no proof, and which\nserve themselves as proofs to other truths that are not so clear and\nself-evident.  But how could the First Being make a creature who is\nhimself the umpire of his own actions?\n\n\nSECT.  LXIX.  A Character of the Deity, both in the Dependence and\nIndependence of Man.\n\n\nLet us now put together these two truths equally certain.  I am\ndependent upon a First Being even in my own will; and nevertheless I\nam free.  What then is this dependent liberty? how is it possible\nfor a man to conceive a free-will, that is given by a First Being?\nI am free in my will, as God is in His.  It is principally in this I\nam His image and likeness.  What a greatness that borders upon\ninfinite is here!  This is a ray of the Deity itself:  it is a kind\nof Divine power I have over my will; but I am but a bare image of\nthat supreme Being so absolutely free and powerful.\n\nThe image of the Divine independence is not the reality of what it\nrepresents; and, therefore, my liberty is but a shadow of that First\nBeing, by whom I exist and act.  On the one hand, the power I have\nof willing evil is, indeed, rather a weakness and frailty of my will\nthan a true power:  for it is only a power to fall, to degrade\nmyself, and to diminish my degree of perfection and being.  On the\nother hand, the power I have to will good is not an absolute power,\nsince I have it not of myself.  Now liberty being no more than that\npower, a precarious and borrowed power can constitute but a\nprecarious, borrowed, and dependent liberty; and, therefore, so\nimperfect and so precarious a being cannot but be dependent.  But\nhow is he free?  What profound mystery is here!  His liberty, of\nwhich I cannot doubt, shows his perfection; and his dependence\nargues the nothingness from which he was drawn.\n\n\nSECT.  LXX.  The Seal and Stamp of the Deity in His Works.\n\n\nWe have seen the prints of the Deity, or to speak more properly, the\nseal and stamp of God Himself, in all that is called the works of\nnature.  When a man will not enter into philosophical subtleties, he\nobserves with the first cast of the eye a hand, that was the first\nmover, in all the parts of the universe, and set all the wheels of\nthe great machine a-going.  The heavens, the earth, the stars,\nplants, animals, our bodies, our minds:  everything shows and\nproclaims an order, an exact measure, an art, a wisdom, a mind\nsuperior to us, which is, as it were, the soul of the whole world,\nand which leads and directs everything to his ends, with a gentle\nand insensible, though omnipotent, force.  We have seen, as it were,\nthe architecture and frame of the universe; the just proportion of\nall its parts; and the bare cast of the eye has sufficed us to find\nand discover even in an ant, more than in the sun, a wisdom and\npower that delights to exert itself in the polishing and adorning\nits vilest works.  This is obvious, without any speculative\ndiscussion, to the most ignorant of men; but what a world of other\nwonders should we discover, should we penetrate into the secrets of\nphysics, and dissect the inward parts of animals, which are framed\naccording to the most perfect mechanics.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXI.  Objection of the Epicureans, who Ascribe Everything to\nChance, considered.\n\n\nI hear certain philosophers who answer me that all this discourse on\nthe art that shines in the universe is but a continued sophism.\n\"All nature,\" will they say, \"is for man's use, it is true; but you\nhave no reason to infer from thence, that it was made with art, and\non purpose for the use of man.  A man must be ingenious in deceiving\nhimself who looks for and thinks to find what never existed.\"  \"It\nis true,\" will they add, \"that man's industry makes use of an\ninfinite number of things that nature affords, and are convenient\nfor him; but nature did not make those things on purpose for his\nconveniency.  As, for instance, some country fellows climb up daily,\nby certain craggy and pointed rocks, to the top of a mountain; but\nyet it does not follow that those points of rocks were cut with art,\nlike a staircase, for the conveniency of men.  In like manner, when\na man happens to be in the fields, during a stormy rain, and\nfortunately meets with a cave, he uses it, as he would do a house,\nfor shelter; but, however, it cannot be affirmed that this cave was\nmade on purpose to serve men for a house.  It is the same with the\nwhole world:  it was formed by chance, and without design; but men\nfinding it as it is, had the art to turn and improve it to their own\nuses.  Thus the art you admire both in the work and its artificer,\nis only in men, who know how to make use of everything that\nsurrounds them.\"  This is certainly the strongest objection those\nphilosophers can raise; and I hope they will have no reason to\ncomplain that I have weakened it; but it will immediately appear how\nweak it is in itself when closely examined.  The bare repetition of\nwhat I said before will be sufficient to demonstrate it.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXII.  Answer to the Objection of the Epicureans, who\nAscribe all to Chance.\n\n\nWhat would one say of a man who should set up for a subtle\nphilosopher, or, to use the modern expression, a free-thinker, and\nwho entering a house should maintain it was made by chance, and that\nart had not in the least contributed to render it commodious to men,\nbecause there are caves somewhat like that house, which yet were\nnever dug by the art of man?  One should show to such a reasoner all\nthe parts of the house, and tell him for instance:--Do you see this\ngreat court-gate?  It is larger than any door, that coaches may\nenter it.  This court has sufficient space for coaches to turn in\nit.  This staircase is made up of low steps, that one may ascend it\nwith ease; and turns according to the apartments and stories it is\nto serve.  The windows, opened at certain distances, light the whole\nbuilding.  They are glazed, lest the wind should enter with the\nlight; but they may be opened at pleasure, in order to breathe a\nsweet air when the weather is fair.  The roof is contrived to defend\nthe whole house from the injuries of the air.  The timber-work is\nlaid slanting and pointed at the top, that the rain and snow may\neasily slide down on both sides.  The tiles bear one upon another,\nthat they may cover the timber-work.  The divers floors serve to\nmake different stories, in order to multiply lodgings within a small\nspace.  The chimneys are contrived to light fire in winter without\nsetting the house on fire, and to let out the smoke, lest it should\noffend those that warm themselves.  The apartments are distributed\nin such a manner that they be disengaged from one another; that a\nnumerous family may lodge in the house, and the one not be obliged\nto pass through another's room; and that the master's apartment be\nthe principal.  There are kitchens, offices, stables, and coach-\nhouses.  The rooms are furnished with beds to lie in, chairs to sit\non, and tables to write and eat on.  Sure, should one urge to that\nphilosopher, this work must have been directed by some skilful\narchitect; for everything in it is agreeable, pleasant,\nproportioned, and commodious; and besides, he must needs have had\nexcellent artists under him.  \"Not at all,\" would such a philosopher\nanswer; \"you are ingenious in deceiving yourself.  It is true this\nhouse is pleasant, agreeable, proportioned, and commodious; but yet\nit made itself with all its proportions.  Chance put together all\nthe stones in this excellent order; it raised the walls, jointed and\nlaid the timber-work, cut open the casements, and placed the\nstaircase:  do not believe any human hand had anything to do with\nit.  Men only made the best of this piece of work when they found it\nready made.  They fancy it was made for them, because they observe\nthings in it which they know how to improve to their own\nconveniency; but all they ascribe to the design and contrivance of\nan imaginary architect, is but the effect of their preposterous\nimaginations.  This so regular, and so well-contrived house, was\nmade in just the same manner as a cave, and men finding it ready\nmade to their hands made use of it, as they would in a storm, of a\ncave they should find under a rock in a desert.\"\n\nWhat thoughts could a man entertain of such a fantastic philosopher,\nif he should persist seriously to assert that such a house displays\nno art?  When we read the fabulous story of Amphion, who by a\nmiraculous effect of harmony caused the stones to rise, and placed\nthemselves, with order and symmetry, one on the top of another, in\norder to form the walls of Thebes, we laugh and sport with that\npoetical fiction:  but yet this very fiction is not so incredible as\nthat which the free-thinking philosopher we contend with would dare\nto maintain.  We might, at least, imagine that harmony, which\nconsists in a local motion of certain bodies, might (by some of\nthose secret virtues, which we admire in nature, without being\nacquainted with them) shake and move the stones into a certain order\nand in a sort of cadence, which might occasion some regularity in\nthe building.  I own this explanation both shocks and clashes with\nreason; but yet it is less extravagant than what I have supposed a\nphilosopher should say.  What, indeed, can be more absurd, than to\nimagine stones that hew themselves, that go out of the quarry, that\nget one on the top of another, without leaving any empty space; that\ncarry with them mortar to cement one another; that place themselves\nin different ranks for the contrivance of apartments; and who admit\non the top of all the timber-roof, with the tiles, in order to cover\nthe whole work?  The very children, that cannot yet speak plain,\nwould laugh, if they were seriously told such a ridiculous story.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXIII.  Comparison of the World with a Regular House.  A\nContinuation of the Answer to the Objection of the Epicureans.\n\n\nBut why should it appear less ridiculous to hear one say that the\nworld made itself, as well as that fabulous house?  The question is\nnot to compare the world with a cave without form, which is supposed\nto be made by chance:  but to compare it with a house in which the\nmost perfect architecture should be conspicuous.  For the structure\nand frame of the least living creature is infinitely more artful and\nadmirable than the finest house that ever was built.\n\nSuppose a traveller entering Saida, the country where the ancient\nThebes, with a hundred gates, stood formerly, and which is now a\ndesert, should find there columns, pyramids, obelisks, and\ninscriptions in unknown characters.  Would he presently say:  men\nnever inhabited this place; no human hand had anything to do here;\nit is chance that formed these columns, that placed them on their\npedestals, and crowned them with their capitals, with such just\nproportions; it is chance that so firmly jointed the pieces that\nmake up these pyramids; it is chance that cut the obelisks in one\nsingle stone, and engraved in them these characters?  Would he not,\non the contrary, say, with all the certainty the mind of man is\ncapable of:  these magnificent ruins are the remains of a noble and\nmajestical architecture that flourished in ancient Egypt?  This is\nwhat plain reason suggests, at the first cast of the eye, or first\nsight, and without reasoning.  It is the same with the bare prospect\nof the universe.  A man may by vain, long-winded, preposterous\nreasonings confound his own reason and obscure the clearest notions:\nbut the single cast of the eye is decisive.  Such a work as the\nworld is never makes itself of its own accord.  There is more art\nand proportion in the bones, tendons, veins, arteries, nerves, and\nmuscles, that compose man's body, than in all the architecture of\nthe ancient Greeks and Egyptians.  The single eye of the least of\nliving creatures surpasses the mechanics of all the most skilful\nartificers.  If a man should find a watch in the sands of Africa, he\nwould never have the assurance seriously to affirm, that chance\nformed it in that wild place; and yet some men do not blush to say\nthat the bodies of animals, to the artful framing of which no watch\ncan ever be compared, are the effects of the caprices of chance.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXIV.  Another Objection of the Epicureans drawn from the\nEternal Motion of Atoms.\n\n\nI am not ignorant of a reasoning which the Epicureans may frame into\nan objection.  \"The atoms will, they say, have an eternal motion;\ntheir fortuitous concourse must, in that eternity, have already\nproduced infinite combinations.  Who says infinite, says what\ncomprehends all without exception.  Amongst these infinite\ncombinations of atoms which have already happened successively, all\nsuch as are possible must necessarily be found:  for if there were\nbut one possible combination, beyond those contained in that\ninfinite, it would cease to be a true infinite, because something\nmight be added to it; and whatever may be increased, being limited\non the side it may receive an addition, is not truly infinite.\nHence it follows that the combination of atoms, which makes up the\npresent system of the world, is one of the combinations which the\natoms have had successively:  which being laid as a principle, is it\nmatter of wonder that the world is as it is now?  It must have taken\nthis exact form, somewhat sooner, or somewhat later, for in some one\nof these infinite changes it must, at last, have received that\ncombination that makes it now appear so regular; since it must have\nhad, by turns, all combinations that can be conceived.  All systems\nare comprehended in the total of eternity.  There is none but the\nconcourse of atoms, forms, and embraces, sooner or later.  In that\ninfinite variety of new spectacles of nature, the present was formed\nin its turn.  We find ourselves actually in this system.  The\nconcourse of atoms that made will, in process of time, unmake it, in\norder to make others, ad infinitum, of all possible sorts.  This\nsystem could not fail having its place, since all others without\nexception are to have theirs, each in its turn.  It is in vain one\nlooks for a chimerical art in a work which chance must have made as\nit is.\n\n\"An example will suffice to illustrate this.  I suppose an infinite\nnumber of combinations of the letters of the alphabet, successively\nformed by chance.  All possible combinations are, undoubtedly,\ncomprehended in that total, which is truely infinite.  Now, it is\ncertain that Homer's Iliad is but a combination of letters:\ntherefore Homer's Iliad is comprehended in that infinite collection\nof combinations of the characters of the alphabet.  This being laid\ndown as a principle, a man who will assign art in the Iliad, will\nargue wrong.  He may extol the harmony of the verses, the justness\nand magnificence of the expressions, the simplicity and liveliness\nof images, the due proportion of the parts of the poem, its perfect\nunity, and inimitable conduct; he may object that chance can never\nmake anything so perfect, and that the utmost effort of human wit is\nhardly capable to finish so excellent a piece of work:  yet all in\nvain, for all this specious reasoning is visibly false.  It is\ncertain, on the contrary, that the fortuitous concourse of\ncharacters, putting them together by turns with an infinite variety,\nthe precise combination that composes the Iliad must have happened\nin its turn, somewhat sooner or somewhat later.  It has happened at\nlast; and thus the Iliad is perfect, without the help of any human\nart.\"  This is the objection fairly laid down in its full latitude;\nI desire the reader's serious and continued attention to the answers\nI am going to make to it.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXV.  Answers to the Objection of the Epicureans drawn from\nthe Eternal Motion of Atoms.\n\n\nNothing can be more absurd than to speak of successive combinations\nof atoms infinite in number; for the infinite can never be either\nsuccessive or divisible.  Give me, for instance, any number you may\npretend to be infinite, and it will still be in my power to do two\nthings that shall demonstrate it not to be a true infinite.  In the\nfirst place, I can take an unit from it; and in such a case it will\nbecome less than it was, and will certainly be finite; for whatever\nis less than the infinite has a boundary or limit on the side where\none stops, and beyond which one might go.  Now the number which is\nfinite as soon as one takes from it one single unit, could not be\ninfinite before that diminution; for an unit is certainly finite,\nand a finite joined with another finite cannot make an infinite.  If\na single unit added to a finite number made an infinite, it would\nfollow from thence that the finite would be almost equal to the\ninfinite; than which nothing can be more absurd.  In the second\nplace, I may add an unit to that number given, and consequently\nincrease it.  Now what may be increased is not infinite, for the\ninfinite can have no bound; and what is capable of augmentation is\nbounded on the side a man stops, when he might go further and add\nsome units to it.  It is plain, therefore, that no divisible\ncompound can be the true infinite.\n\nThis foundation being laid, all the romance of the Epicurean\nphilosophy disappears and vanishes out of sight in an instant.\nThere never can be any divisible body truly infinite in extent, nor\nany number or any succession that is a true infinite.  From hence it\nfollows that there never can be an infinite successive number of\ncombinations of atoms.  If this chimerical infinite were real, I own\nall possible and conceivable combinations of atoms would be found in\nit; and that consequently all combinations that seem to require the\nutmost industry would likewise be included in them.  In such a case,\none might ascribe to mere chance the most marvellous performances of\nart.  If one should see palaces built according to the most perfect\nrules of architecture, curious furniture, watches, clocks, and all\nsort of machines the most compounded, in a desert island, he should\nnot be free reasonably to conclude that there have been men in that\nisland who made all those exquisite works.  On the contrary, he\nought to say, \"Perhaps one of the infinite combinations of atoms\nwhich chance has successively made, has formed all these\ncompositions in this desert island without the help of any man's\nart;\" for such an assertion is a natural consequence of the\nprinciples of the Epicureans.  But the very absurdity of the\nconsequence serves to expose the extravagance of the principle they\nlay down.  When men, by the natural rectitude of their common sense,\nconclude that such sort of works cannot result from chance, they\nvisibly suppose, though in a confused manner, that atoms are not\neternal, and that in their fortuitous concourse they had not an\ninfinite succession of combinations.  For if that principle were\nadmitted, it would no longer be possible ever to distinguish the\nworks of art from those that should result from those combinations\nas fortuitous as a throw at dice.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXVI.  The Epicureans confound the Works of Art with those\nof Nature.\n\n\nAll men who naturally suppose a sensible difference between the\nworks of art and those of chance do consequently, though but\nimplicitly, suppose that the combinations of atoms were not\ninfinite--which supposition is very just.  This infinite succession\nof combinations of atoms is, as I showed before, a more absurd\nchimera than all the absurdities some men would explain by that\nfalse principle.  No number, either successive or continual, can be\ninfinite; from whence it follows that the number of atoms cannot be\ninfinite, that the succession of their various motions and\ncombinations cannot be infinite, that the world cannot be eternal,\nand that we must find out a precise and fixed beginning of these\nsuccessive combinations.  We must recur to a first individual in the\ngenerations of every species.  We must likewise find out the\noriginal and primitive form of every particle of matter that makes a\npart of the universe.  And as the successive changes of that matter\nmust be limited in number, we must not admit in those different\ncombinations but such as chance commonly produces; unless we\nacknowledge a Superior Being, who with the perfection of art made\nthe wonderful works which chance could never have made.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXVII.  The Epicureans take whatever they please for\ngranted, without any Proof.\n\n\nThe Epicurean philosophers are so weak in their system that it is\nnot in their power to form it, or bring it to bear, unless one\nadmits without proofs their most fabulous postulata and positions.\nIn the first place they suppose eternal atoms, which is begging the\nquestion; for how can they make out that atoms have ever existed and\nexist by themselves?  To exist by one's self is the supreme\nperfection.  Now, what authority have they to suppose, without\nproofs, that atoms have in themselves a perfect, eternal, and\nimmutable being?  Do they find this perfection in the idea they have\nof every atom in particular?  An atom not being the same with, and\nbeing absolutely distinguished from, another atom, each of them must\nhave in itself eternity and independence with respect to any other\nbeing.  Once more, is it in the idea these philosophers have of each\natom that they find this perfection?  But let us grant them all they\nsuppose in this question, and even what they ought to be ashamed to\nsuppose--viz., that atoms are eternal, subsisting by themselves,\nindependent from any other being, and consequently entirely perfect.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXVIII.  The Suppositions of the Epicureans are False and\nChimerical.\n\n\nMust we suppose, besides, that atoms have motion of themselves?\nShall we suppose it out of gaiety to give an air of reality to a\nsystem more chimerical than the tales of the fairies?  Let us\nconsult the idea we have of a body.  We conceive it perfectly well\nwithout supposing it to be in motion, and represent it to us at\nrest; nor is its idea in this state less clear; nor does it lose its\nparts, figure, or dimensions.  It is to no purpose to suppose that\nall bodies are perpetually in some motion, either sensible or\ninsensible; and that though some parts of matter have a lesser\nmotion than others, yet the universal mass of matter has ever the\nsame motion in its totality.  To speak at this rate is building\ncastles in the air, and imposing vain imaginations on the belief of\nothers; for who has told these philosophers that the mass of matter\nhas ever the same motion in its totality?  Who has made the\nexperiment of it?  Have they the assurance to bestow the name of\nphilosophy upon a rash fiction which takes for granted what they\nnever can make out?  Is there no more to do than to suppose whatever\none pleases in order to elude the most simple and most constant\ntruths?  What authority have they to suppose that all bodies\nincessantly move, either sensibly or insensibly?  When I see a stone\nthat appears motionless, how will they prove to me that there is no\natom in that stone but what is actually in motion?  Will they ever\nimpose upon me bare suppositions, without any semblance of truth,\nfor decisive proofs?\n\n\nSECT.  LXXIX.  It is Falsely supposed that Motion is Essential to\nBodies.\n\n\nHowever, let us go a step further, and, out of excessive\ncomplaisance, suppose that all the bodies in Nature are actually in\nmotion.  Does it follow from thence that motion is essential to\nevery particle of matter?  Besides, if all bodies have not an equal\ndegree of motion; if some move sensibly, and more swiftly than\nothers; if the same body may move sometimes quicker and sometimes\nslower; if a body that moves communicates its motion to the\nneighbouring body that was at rest, or in such inferior motion that\nit was insensible--it must be confessed that a mode or modification\nwhich sometimes increases, and at other times decreases, in bodies\nis not essential to them.  What is essential to a being is ever the\nsame in it.  Neither the motion that varies in bodies, and which,\nafter having increased, slackens and decreases to such a degree as\nto appear absolutely extinct and annihilated; nor the motion that is\nlost, that is communicated, that passes from one body to another as\na foreign thing--can belong to the essence of bodies.  And,\ntherefore, I may conclude that bodies are perfect in their essence\nwithout ascribing to them any motion.  If they have no motion in\ntheir essence, they have it only by accident; and if they have it\nonly by accident, we must trace up that accident to its true cause.\nBodies must either bestow motion on themselves, or receive it from\nsome other being.  It is evident they do not bestow it on\nthemselves, for no being can give what it has not in itself.  And we\nare sensible that a body at rest ever remains motionless, unless\nsome neighbouring body happens to shake it.  It is certain,\ntherefore, that no body moves by itself, and is only moved by some\nother body that communicates its motion to it.  But how comes it to\npass that a body can move another?  What is the reason that a ball\nwhich a man causes to roll on a smooth table (billiards, for the\npurpose) cannot touch another without moving it?  Why was it not\npossible that motion should not ever communicate itself from one\nbody to another?  In such a case a ball in motion would stop near\nanother at their meeting, and yet never shake it.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXX.  The Rules of Motion, which the Epicureans suppose do\nnot render it essential to Bodies.\n\n\nI may be answered that, according to the rules of motion among\nbodies, one ought to shake or move another.  But where are those\nlaws of motion written and recorded?  Who both made them and\nrendered them so inviolable?  They do not belong to the essence of\nbodies, for we can conceive bodies at rest; and we even conceive\nbodies that would not communicate their motion to others unless\nthese rules, with whose original we are unacquainted, subjected them\nto it.  Whence comes this, as it were, arbitrary government of\nmotion over all bodies?  Whence proceed laws so ingenious, so just,\nso well adapted one to the other, that the least alteration of or\ndeviation from which would, on a sudden, overturn and destroy all\nthe excellent order we admire in the universe?  A body being\nentirely distinct from another, is in its nature absolutely\nindependent from it in all respects.  Whence it follows that it\nshould not receive anything from it, or be susceptible of any of its\nimpressions.  The modifications of a body imply no necessary reason\nto modify in the same manner another body, whose being is entirely\nindependent from the being of the first.  It is to no purpose to\nallege that the most solid and most heavy bodies carry or force away\nthose that are less big and less solid; and that, according to this\nrule, a great leaden ball ought to move a great ball of ivory.  We\ndo not speak of the fact; we only inquire into the cause of it.  The\nfact is certain, and therefore the cause ought likewise to be\ncertain and precise.  Let us look for it without any manner of\nprepossession or prejudice.  What is the reason that a great body\ncarries off a little one?  The thing might as naturally happen quite\notherwise; for it might as well happen that the most solid body\nshould never move any other body--that is to say, motion might be\nincommunicable.  Nothing but custom obliges us to suppose that\nNature ought to act as it does.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXI.  To give a satisfactory Account of Motion we must\nrecur to the First Mover.\n\n\nMoreover, it has been proved that matter cannot be either infinite\nor eternal; and, therefore, there must be supposed both a first atom\n(by which motion must have begun at a precise moment), and a first\nconcourse of atoms (that must have formed the first combination).\nNow, I ask what mover gave motion to that first atom, and first set\nthe great machine of the universe a-going?  It is not possible to\nelude this home question by an endless circle, for this question,\nlying within a finite circumference, must have an end at last; and\nso we must find the first atom in motion, and the first moment of\nthat first motion, together with the first mover, whose hand made\nthat first impression.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXII.  No Law of Motion has its Foundation in the Essence\nof the Body; and most of those Laws are Arbitrary.\n\n\nAmong the laws of motion we must look upon all those as arbitrary\nwhich we cannot account for by the very essence of bodies.  We have\nalready made out that no motion is essential to any body.  Wherefore\nall those laws which are supposed to be eternal and immutable are,\non the contrary, arbitrary, accidental, and made without cogent\nnecessity; for there is none of them that can be accounted for by\nthe essence of bodies.\n\nIf there were any law of motion essential to bodies, it would\nundoubtedly be that by which bodies of less bulk and less solid are\nmoved by such as have more bulk and solidity.  And yet we have seen\nthat that very law is not to be accounted for by the essence of\nbodies.  There is another which might also seem very natural--that,\nI mean, by which bodies ever move rather in a direct than a crooked\nline, unless their motion be otherwise determined by the meeting of\nother bodies.  But even this rule has no foundation in the essence\nof matter.  Motion is so very accidental, and super-added to the\nnature of bodies, that we do not find in this nature of bodies any\nprimitive or immutable law by which they ought to move at all, much\nless to move according to certain rules.  In the same manner as\nbodies might have existed, and yet have never either been in motion\nor communicated motion one to another, so they might never have\nmoved but in a circular line, and this motion might have been as\nnatural to them as the motion in a direct line.  Now, who is it that\npitched upon either of these two laws equally possible?  What is not\ndetermined by the essence of bodies can have been determined by no\nother but Him who gave bodies the motion they had not in their own\nessence.  Besides, this motion in a direct line might have been\nupwards or downwards, from right to left, or from left to right, or\nin a diagonal line.  Now, who is it that determined which way the\nstraight line should go?\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXIII.  The Epicureans can draw no Consequence from all\ntheir Suppositions, although the same should be granted them.\n\n\nLet us still attend the Epicureans even in their most fabulous\nsuppositions, and carry on the fiction to the last degree of\ncomplaisance.  Let us admit motion in the essence of bodies, and\nsuppose, as they do, that motion in a direct line is also essential\nto all atoms.  Let us bestow upon atoms both a will and an\nunderstanding, as poets did on rocks and rivers.  And let us allow\nthem likewise to choose which way they will begin their straight\nline.  Now, what advantage will these philosophers draw from all I\nhave granted them, contrary to all evidence?  In the first place,\nall atoms must have been in motion from all eternity; secondly, they\nmust all have had an equal motion; thirdly, they must all have moved\nin a direct line; fourthly, they must all have moved by an immutable\nand essential law.\n\nI am still willing to gratify our adversaries, so far as to suppose\nthat those atoms are of different figures, for I will allow them to\ntake for granted what they should be obliged to prove, and for which\nthey have not so much as the shadow of a proof.  One can never grant\ntoo much to men who never can draw any consequence from what is\ngranted them; for the more absurdities are allowed them, the sooner\nthey are caught by their own principles.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXIV.  Atoms cannot make any Compound by the Motion the\nEpicureans assign them.\n\n\nThese atoms of so many odd figures--some round, some crooked, others\ntriangular, &c.--are by their essence obliged always to move in a\nstraight line, without ever deviating or bending to the right or to\nthe left; wherefore they never can hook one another, or make\ntogether any compound.  Put, if you please, the sharpest hooks near\nother hooks of the like make; yet if every one of them never moves\notherwise than in a line perfectly straight, they will eternally\nmove one near another, in parallel lines, without being able to join\nand hook one another.  The two straight lines which are supposed to\nbe parallel, though immediate neighbours, will never cross one\nanother, though carried on ad infinitum; wherefore in all eternity,\nno hooking, and consequently no compound, can result from that\nmotion of atoms in a direct line.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXV.  The Clinamen, Declination, or Sending of Atoms is a\nChimerical Notion that throws the Epicureans into a gross\nContradiction.\n\n\nThe Epicureans, not being able to shut their eyes against this\nglaring difficulty, that strikes at the very foundation of their\nwhole system, have, for a last shift, invented what Lucretius calls\nclinamen--by which is meant a motion somewhat declining or bending\nfrom the straight line, and which gives atoms the occasion to meet\nand encounter.  Thus they turn and wind them at pleasure, according\nas they fancy best for their purpose.  But upon what authority do\nthey suppose this declination of atoms, which comes so pat to bear\nup their system?  If motion in a straight line be essential to\nbodies, nothing can bend, nor consequently join them, in all\neternity; the clinamen destroys the very essence of matter, and\nthose philosophers contradict themselves without blushing.  If, on\nthe contrary, the motion in a direct line is not essential to all\nbodies, why do they so confidently suppose eternal, necessary, and\nimmutable laws for the motion of atoms without recurring to a first\nmover?  And why do they build a whole system of philosophy upon the\nprecarious foundation of a ridiculous fiction?  Without the clinamen\nthe straight line can never produce anything, and the Epicurean\nsystem falls to the ground; with the clinamen, a fabulous poetical\ninvention, the direct line is violated, and the system falls into\nderision and ridicule.\n\nBoth the straight line and the clinamen are airy suppositions and\nmere dreams; but these two dreams destroy each other, and this is\nthe upshot of the uncurbed licentiousness some men allow themselves\nof supposing as eternal truths whatever their imagination suggests\nthem to support a fable; while they refuse to acknowledge the artful\nand powerful hand that formed and placed all the parts of the\nuniverse.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXVI.  Strange Absurdity of the Epicureans, who endeavour\nto account for the Nature of the Soul by the Declination of Atoms.\n\n\nTo reach the highest degree of amazing extravagance, the Epicureans\nhave had the assurance to explain and account for what we call the\nsoul of man and his free-will, by the clinamen, which is so\nunaccountable and inexplicable itself.  Thus they are reduced to\naffirm that it is in this motion, wherein atoms are in a kind of\nequilibrium between a straight line and a line somewhat circular,\nthat human will consists.\n\nStrange philosophy!  If atoms move only in a straight line, they are\ninanimate, and incapable of any degree of knowledge, understanding,\nor will; but if the very same atoms somewhat deviate from the\nstraight line, they become, on a sudden, animate, thinking, and\nrational.  They are themselves intelligent souls, that know\nthemselves, reflect, deliberate, and are free in their acts and\ndeterminations.  Was there ever a more absurd metamorphosis?  What\nopinion would men have of religion if, in order to assert it, one\nshould lay down principles and positions so trifling and ridiculous\nas theirs who dare to attack it in earnest?\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXVII.  The Epicureans cast a Mist before their own Eyes by\nendeavouring to explain the Liberty of Man by the Declination of\nAtoms.\n\n\nBut let us consider to what degree those philosophers impose upon\ntheir own understandings.  What can they find in the clinamen that,\nwith any colour, can account for the liberty of man?  This liberty\nis not imaginary; for it is not in our power to doubt of our free-\nwill, any more than it is to doubt of what we are intimately\nconscious and certain.  I am conscious I am free to continue sitting\nwhen I rise in order to walk.  I am sensible of it with so entire\ncertainty that it is not in my power ever to doubt of it in earnest;\nand I should be inconsistent with myself if I dared to say the\ncontrary.  Can the proof of our religion be more evident and\nconvincing?  We cannot doubt of the existence of God unless we doubt\nof our own liberty; from whence I infer that no man can seriously\ndoubt of the being of the Deity, since no man can entertain a\nserious doubt about his own liberty.  If, on the contrary, it be\nfrankly acknowledged that men are really free, nothing is more easy\nthan to demonstrate that the liberty of man's will cannot consist of\nany combination of atoms, if one supposes that there was no first\nmover, who gave matter arbitrary laws for its motion.  Motion must\nbe essential to bodies, and all the laws of motion must also be as\nnecessary as the essences of natures are.  Therefore, according to\nthis system, all the motions of bodies must be performed by\nconstant, necessary, and immutable laws; the motion in a straight\nline must be essential to all atoms, that are not made to deviate\nfrom it by the encounter of other atoms; the straight line must\nlikewise be essential either upwards or downwards, either from right\nto left, or left to right, or some other diagonal way, fixed,\nprecise, and immutable.  Besides, it is evident that no atom can\nmake another atom deviate; for that other atom carries also in its\nessence the same invincible and eternal determination to follow the\nstraight line the same way.  From hence it follows that all the\natoms placed at first on different lines must pursue ad infinitum\nthose parallel lines without ever coming nearer one another; and\nthat those who are in the same line must follow one another ad\ninfinitum without ever coming up together, but keeping still the\nsame distance from one another.  The clinamen, as we have already\nshown, is manifestly impossible:  but, contrary to evident truth,\nsupposing it to be possible, in such a case it must be affirmed that\nthe clinamen is no less necessary, immutable, and essential to atoms\nthan the straight line.  Now, will anybody say that an essential and\nimmutable law of the local motion of atoms explains and accounts for\nthe true liberty of man?  Is it not manifest that the clinamen can\nno more account for it than the straight line itself?  The clinamen,\nsupposing it to be true, would be as necessary as the perpendicular\nline, by which a stone falls from the top of a tower into the\nstreet.  Is that stone free in its fall?  However, the will of man,\naccording to the principle of the clinamen, has no more freedom than\nthat stone.  Is it possible for man to be so extravagant as to dare\nto contradict his own conscience about his free-will, lest he should\nbe forced to acknowledge his God and maker?  To affirm, on the one\nhand, that the liberty of man is imaginary, we must silence the\nvoice and stifle the sense of all nature; give ourselves the lie in\nthe grossest manner; deny what we are most intimately conscious and\ncertain of; and, in short, be reduced to believe that we have no\neligibility or choice of two courses, or things proposed, about\nwhich we fairly deliberate upon any occasion.  Nothing does religion\nmore honour than to see men necessitated to fall into such gross and\nmonstrous extravagance as soon as they call in question the truths\nshe teaches.  On the other hand, if we own that man is truly free,\nwe acknowledge in him a principle that never can be seriously\naccounted for, either by the combinations of atoms or the laws of\nlocal motion, which must be supposed to be all equally necessary and\nessential to matter, if one denies a first mover.  We must therefore\ngo out of the whole compass of matter, and search far from combined\natoms some incorporeal principle to account for free-will, if we\nadmit it fairly.  Whatever is matter and an atom, moves only by\nnecessary, immutable, and invincible laws:  wherefore liberty cannot\nbe found either in bodies, or in any local motion; and so we must\nlook for it in some incorporeal being.  Now whose hand tied and\nsubjected to the organs of this corporeal machine that incorporeal\nbeing which must necessarily be in me united to my body?  Where is\nthe artificer that ties and unites natures so vastly different?  Can\nany but a power superior both to bodies and spirits keep them\ntogether in this union with so absolute a sway?  Two crooked atoms,\nsays an Epicurean, hook one another.  Now this is false, according\nto his very system; for I have demonstrated that those two crooked\natoms never hook one another, because they never meet.  But,\nhowever, after having supposed that two crooked atoms unite by\nhooking one another, the Epicurean must be forced to own that the\nthinking being, which is free in his operations, and which\nconsequently is not a collection of atoms, ever moved by necessary\nlaws, is incorporeal, and could not by its figure be hooked with the\nbody it animates.  Thus which way so ever the Epicurean turns, he\noverthrows his system with his own hands.  But let us not, by any\nmeans, endeavour to confound men that err and mistake, since we are\nmen as well as they, and no less subject to error.  Let us only pity\nthem, study to light and inform them with patience, edify them, pray\nfor them, and conclude with asserting an evident truth.\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXVIII.  We must necessarily acknowledge the Hand of a\nFirst Cause in the Universe without inquiring why that first Cause\nhas left Defects in it.\n\n\nThus everything in the universe--the heavens, the earth, plants,\nanimals, and, above all, men--bears the stamp of a Deity.\nEverything shows and proclaims a set design, and a series and\nconcatenation of subordinate causes, over-ruled and directed with\norder by a superior cause.\n\nIt is preposterous and foolish to criticise upon this great work.\nThe defects that happen to be in it proceed either from the free and\ndisorderly will of man, which produces them by its disorder, or from\nthe ever holy and just will of God, who sometimes has a mind to\npunish impious men, and at other times by the wicked to exercise and\nimprove the good.  Nay, it happens oftentimes that what appears a\ndefect to our narrow judgment in a place separate from the work is\nan ornament with respect to the general design, which we are not\nable to consider with views sufficiently extended and simple to know\nthe perfection of the whole.  Does not daily experience show that we\nrashly censure certain parts of men's works for want of being\nthoroughly acquainted with the whole extent of their designs and\nschemes?  This happens, in particular, every day with respect to the\nworks of painters and architects.  If writing characters were of an\nimmense bigness, each character at close view would take up a man's\nwhole sight, so that it would not be possible for him to see above\none at once; and, therefore, he would not be able to read--that is,\nput different letters together, and discover the sense of all those\ncharacters put together.  It is the same with the great strokes of\nProvidence in the conduct of the whole world during a long\nsuccession of ages.  There is nothing but the whole that is\nintelligible; and the whole is too vast and immense to be seen at\nclose view.  Every event is like a particular character that is too\nlarge for our narrow organs, and which signifies nothing of itself\nand separate from the rest.  When, at the consummation of ages, we\nshall see in God--that is, in the true point and centre of\nperspective--the total of human events, from the first to the last\nday of the universe, together with their proportions with regard to\nthe designs of God, we shall cry out, \"Lord, Thou alone art just and\nwise!\"  We cannot rightly judge of the works of men but by examining\nthe whole.  Every part ought not to have every perfection, but only\nsuch as becomes it according to the order and proportion of the\ndifferent parts that compose the whole.  In a human body, for\ninstance, all the members must not be eyes, for there must be hands,\nfeet, &c.  So in the universe, there must be a sun for the day, but\nthere must be also a moon for the night.  Nec tibi occurrit perfecta\nuniversitas, nisi ubi majora sic praesto sunt, ut minora non desint.\nThis is the judgment we ought to make of every part with respect to\nthe whole.  Any other view is narrow and deceitful.  But what are\nthe weak and puny designs of men, if compared to that of the\ncreation and government of the universe?  \"As much as the heavens\nare above the earth, as much,\" says God in the Holy Writ, \"are My\nways and My thoughts above yours.\"  Let, therefore, man admire what\nhe understands, and be silent about what he does not comprehend.\nBut, after all, even the real defects of this work are only\nimperfections which God was pleased to leave in it, to put us in\nmind that He drew and made it from nothing.  There is not anything\nin the universe but what does and ought equally to bear these two\nopposite characters:  on the one side, the seal or stamp of the\nartificer upon his work, and, on the other, the mark of its original\nnothing, into which it may relapse and dwindle every moment.  It is\nan incomprehensible mixture of low and great; of frailty in the\nmatter, and of art in the maker?  The hand of God is conspicuous in\neverything, even in a worm that crawls on earth.  Nothingness, on\nthe other hand, appears everywhere, even in the most vast and most\nsublime genius.  Whatever is not God, can have but a stinted\nperfection; and what has but a stinted perfection, always remains\nimperfect on the side where the boundary is sensible, and denotes\nthat it might be improved.  If the creature wanted nothing, it would\nbe the Creator Himself; for it would have the fulness of perfection,\nwhich is the Deity itself.  Since it cannot be infinite, it must be\nlimited in perfection, that is, it must be imperfect on one side or\nother.  It may have more or less imperfection, but still it must be\nimperfect.  We must ever be able to point out the very place where\nit is defective, and to say, upon a critical examination, \"This is\nwhat it might have had, what it has not.\"\n\n\nSECT.  LXXXIX.  The Defects of the Universe compared with those of a\nPicture.\n\n\nDo we conclude that a piece of painting is made by chance when we\nsee in it either shades, or even some careless touches?  The\npainter, we say, might have better finished those carnations, those\ndraperies, those prospects.  It is true, this picture is not perfect\naccording to the nicest rules of art.  But how extravagant would it\nbe to say, \"This picture is not absolutely perfect; therefore it is\nonly a collection of colours formed by chance, nor did the hand of\nany painter meddle with it!\"  Now, what a man would blush to say of\nan indifferent and almost artless picture he is not ashamed to\naffirm of the universe, in which a crowd of incomprehensible\nwonders, with excellent order and proportion, are conspicuous.  Let\na man study the world as much as he pleases; let him descend into\nthe minutest details; dissect the vilest of animals; narrowly\nconsider the least grain of corn sown in the ground, and the manner\nin which it germinates and multiplies; attentively observe with what\nprecautions a rose-bud blows and opens in the sun, and closes again\nat night; and he will find in all these more design, conduct, and\nindustry than in all the works of art.  Nay, what is called the art\nof men is but a faint imitation of the great art called the laws of\nNature, and which the impious did not blush to call blind chance.\nIs it therefore a wonder that poets animated the whole universe,\nbestowed wings upon the winds, and arrows on the sun, and described\ngreat rivers impetuously running to precipitate themselves into the\nsea, and trees shooting up to heaven to repel the rays of the sun by\ntheir thick shades?  These images and figures have also been\nreceived in the language of the vulgar, so natural it is for men to\nbe sensible of the wonderful art that fills all nature.  Poetry did\nonly ascribe to inanimate creatures the art and design of the\nCreator, who does everything in them.  From the figurative language\nof the poets those notions passed into the theology of the heathens,\nwhose divines were the poets.  They supposed an art, a power, or a\nwisdom, which they called numen, in creatures the most destitute of\nunderstanding.  With them great rivers were gods; and springs,\nnaiads.  Woods and mountains had their particular deities; flowers\nhad their Flora; and fruits, Pomona.  After all, the more a man\ncontemplates Nature, the more he discovers in it an inexhaustible\nstock of wisdom, which is, as it were, the soul of the universe.\n\n\nSECT.  XC.  We must necessarily conclude that there is a First Being\nthat created the Universe.\n\n\nWhat must we infer from thence?  The consequence flows of itself.\n\"If so much wisdom and penetration,\" says Minutius Felix, \"are\nrequired to observe the wonderful order and design of the structure\nof the world, how much more were necessary to form it!\"  If men so\nmuch admire philosophers, because they discover a small part of the\nwisdom that made all things, they must be stark blind not to admire\nthat wisdom itself.\n\n\nSECT.  XCI.  Reasons why Men do not acknowledge God in the Universe,\nwherein He shows Himself to them, as in a faithful glass.\n\n\nThis is the great object of the universe, wherein God, as it were in\na glass, shows Himself to mankind.  But some (I mean, the\nphilosophers) were bewildered in their own thoughts.  Everything\nwith them turned into vanity.  By their subtle reasonings some of\nthem overshot and lost a truth which a man finds naturally and\nsimply in himself without the help of philosophy.\n\nOthers, intoxicated by their passions, live in a perpetual avocation\nof thought.  To perceive God in His works a man must, at least,\nconsider them with attention.  But passions cast such a mist before\nthe eyes, not only of wild savages, but even of nations that seem to\nbe most civilised and polite, that they do not so much as see the\nlight that lights them.  In this respect the Egyptians, Grecians,\nand Romans were no less blind or less brutish than the rudest and\nmost ignorant Americans.  Like these, they lay, as it were, buried\nwithin sensible things without going up higher; and they cultivated\ntheir wit, only to tickle themselves with softer sensations, without\nobserving from what spring they proceeded.  In this manner the\ngenerality of men pass away their lives upon earth.  Say nothing to\nthem, and they will think on nothing except what flatters either\ntheir brutish passions or vanity.  Their souls grow so heavy and\nunwieldy that they cannot raise their thoughts to any incorporeal\nobject.  Whatever is not palpable and cannot be seen, tasted, heard,\nfelt, or told, appears chimerical to them.  This weakness of the\nsoul, turning into unbelief, appears strength of mind to them; and\ntheir vanity glories in opposing what naturally strikes and affects\nthe rest of mankind, just as if a monster prided in not being formed\naccording to the common rules of Nature, or as if one born blind\nboasted of his unbelief with respect to light and colours, which\nother men perceive and discern.\n\n\nSECT.  XCII.  A Prayer to God.\n\n\nO my God, if so many men do not discover Thee in this great\nspectacle Thou givest them of all Nature, it is not because Thou art\nfar from any of us.  Every one of us feels Thee, as it were, with\nhis hand; but the senses, and the passions they raise, take up all\nthe attention of our minds.  Thus, O Lord, Thy light shines in\ndarkness; but darkness is so thick and gloomy that it does not admit\nthe beams of Thy light.  Thou appearest everywhere; and everywhere\nunattentive mortals neglect to perceive Thee.  All Nature speaks of\nThee and resounds with Thy holy name; but she speaks to deaf men,\nwhose deafness proceeds from the noise and clutter they make to stun\nthemselves.  Thou art near and within them; but they are fugitive,\nand wandering, as it were, out of themselves.  They would find Thee,\nO Sweet Light, O Eternal Beauty, ever old and ever young, O Fountain\nof Chaste Delights, O Pure and Happy Life of all who live truly,\nshould they look for Thee within themselves.  But the impious lose\nThee only by losing themselves.  Alas! Thy very gifts, which should\nshow them the hand from whence they flow, amuse them to such a\ndegree as to hinder them from perceiving it.  They live by Thee, and\nyet they live without thinking on Thee; or, rather, they die by the\nFountain of Life for want of quenching their drought in that\nvivifying stream; for what greater death can there be than not to\nknow Thee, O Lord?  They fall asleep in Thy soft and paternal bosom,\nand, full of the deceitful dreams by which they are tossed in their\nsleep, they are insensible of the powerful hand that supports them.\nIf Thou wert a barren, impotent, and inanimate body, like a flower\nthat fades away, a river that runs, a house that decays and falls to\nruin, a picture that is but a collection of colours to strike the\nimagination, or a useless metal that glisters--they would perceive\nThee, and fondly ascribe to Thee the power of giving them some\npleasure, although in reality pleasure cannot proceed from inanimate\nbeings, which are themselves void and incapable of it, but only from\nThee alone, the true spring of all joy.  If therefore Thou wert but\na lumpish, frail, and inanimate being, a mass without any virtue or\npower, a shadow of a being, Thy vain fantastic nature would busy\ntheir vanity, and be a proper object to entertain their mean and\nbrutish thoughts.  But because Thou art too intimately within them,\nand they never at home, Thou art to them an unknown God; for while\nthey rove and wander abroad, the intimate part of themselves is most\nremote from their sight.  The order and beauty Thou scatterest over\nthe face of Thy creatures are like a glaring light that hides Thee\nfrom and dazzles their sore eyes.  Thus the very light that should\nlight them strikes them blind; and the rays of the sun themselves\nhinder them to see it.  In fine, because Thou art too elevated and\ntoo pure a truth to affect gross senses, men who are become like\nbeasts cannot conceive Thee, though man has daily convincing\ninstances of wisdom and virtue without the testimony of any of his\nsenses; for those virtues have neither sound, colour, odour, taste,\nfigure, nor any sensible quality.  Why then, O my God, do men call\nThy existence, wisdom, and power more in question than they do those\nother things most real and manifest, the truth of which they suppose\nas certain, in all the serious affairs of life, and which\nnevertheless, as well as Thou, escape our feeble senses?  O misery!\nO dismal night that surrounds the children of Adam!  O monstrous\nstupidity!  O confusion of the whole man!  Man has eyes only to see\nshadows, and truth appears a phantom to him.  What is nothing, is\nall; and what is all, is nothing to him.  What do I behold in all\nNature?  God.  God everywhere, and still God alone.  When I think, O\nLord, that all being is in Thee, Thou exhaustest and swallowest up,\nO Abyss of Truth, all my thoughts.  I know not what becomes of me.\nWhatever is not Thou, disappears; and scarce so much of myself\nremains wherewithal to find myself again.  Who sees Thee not, never\nsaw anything; and who is not sensible of Thee, never was sensible of\nanything.  He is as if he were not.  His whole life is but a dream.\nArise, O Lord, arise.  Let Thy enemies melt like wax and vanish like\nsmoke before Thy face.  How unhappy is the impious soul who, far\nfrom Thee, is without God, without hope, without eternal comfort!\nHow happy he who searches, sighs, and thirsts after Thee!  But fully\nhappy he on whom are reflected the beams of Thy countenance, whose\ntears Thy hand has wiped off, and whose desires Thy love has already\ncompleted.  When will that time be, O Lord?  O Fair Day, without\neither cloud or end, of which Thyself shalt be the sun, and wherein\nThou shalt run through my soul like a torrent of delight?  Upon this\npleasing hope my bones shiver, and cry out:--\"Who is like Thee, O\nLord?  My heart melts and my flesh faints, O God of my soul, and my\neternal wealth.\"","title":"The Existence of God","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":40537}