{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36208/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36208","id":"gutenberg_36208","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36208","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Ethics","Philosophy","Truth"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Geetu Melwani, Dave Morgan, Susan Skinner and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian\nLibraries)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLECTURES\n\nON\n\nTHE TRUE, THE BEAUTIFUL\nAND THE GOOD.\n\nBY M. V. COUSIN.\n\nINCREASED BY\n\nAn Appendix on French Art.\n\nTRANSLATED, WITH THE APPROBATION OF M. COUSIN, BY\n\nO. W. WIGHT,\n\nTRANSLATOR OF COUSIN'S \"COURSE OF THE HISTORY OF MODERN PHILOSOPHY,\"\nAMERICAN EDITOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, BART.,\nAUTHOR OF \"THE ROMANCE OF ABELARD AND HELOISE,\" ETC., ETC.\n\n\"God is the life of the soul, as the soul is the life of the body.\"\n                                    THE PLATONISTS AND THE FATHERS.\n\nNEW YORK:\nD. APPLETON AND COMPANY,\n549 & 551 BROADWAY.\n1872.\n\n\n\n\nEntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854,\n\nBY D. APPLETON & CO.,\n\nIn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States\nfor the Southern District of New York.\n\n\n\n\n                               TO\n\n                  SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, BART.,\n\n Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh:\n\n     WHO HAS CLEARLY ELUCIDATED, AND, WITH GREAT ERUDITION,\n\n           SKETCHED THE HISTORY OF THE DOCTRINE OF\n\n                          COMMON SENSE;\n\nWHO, FOLLOWING IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF HIS ILLUSTRIOUS COUNTRYMAN, REID\n\n              HAS ESTABLISHED THE DOCTRINE OF THE\n\n                  IMMEDIATENESS OF PERCEPTION,\n\n  THEREBY FORTIFYING PHILOSOPHY AGAINST THE ASSAULTS OF SKEPTICISM;\n\n          WHO, TAKING A STEP IN ADVANCE OF ALL OTHERS,\n\n            HAS GIVEN TO THE WORLD A DOCTRINE OF THE\n\n                          CONDITIONED,\n\n   THE ORIGINALITY AND IMPORTANCE OF WHICH ARE ACKNOWLEDGED BY THE\n\n          FEW QUALIFIED TO JUDGE IN SUCH MATTERS; WHOSE\n\n                 NEW ANALYTIC OF LOGICAL FORMS\n\n       COMPLETES THE HITHERTO UNFINISHED WORKS OF ARISTOTLE;\n\n               THIS TRANSLATION OF M. COUSIN'S\n\n        Lectures on the True, the Beautiful, and the Good,\n\n                 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,\n\n       IN ADMIRATION OF A PROFOUND AND INDEPENDENT THINKER,\n\n        OF AN INCOMPARABLE MASTER OF PHILOSOPHIC CRITICISM;\n\n           AS A TOKEN OF ESTEEM FOR A MAN IN WHOM GENIUS\n\n                AND ALMOST UNEQUALLED LEARNING\n\n                     HAVE BEEN ADORNED BY\n\n             TRUTH, BEAUTY, AND GOODNESS OF LIFE.\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR'S PREFACE.\n\n\nFor some time past we have been asked, on various sides, to collect in a\nbody of doctrine the theories scattered in our different works, and to\nsum up, in just proportions, what men are pleased to call our\nphilosophy.\n\nThis _resume_ was wholly made. We had only to take again the lectures\nalready quite old, but little known, because they belonged to a time\nwhen the courses of the Faculte des Lettres had scarcely any influence\nbeyond the Quartier Latin, and, also, because they could be found only\nin a considerable collection, comprising all our first instruction, from\n1815 to 1821.[1] These lectures were there, as it were, lost in the\ncrowd. We have drawn them hence, and give them apart, severely\ncorrected, in the hope that they will thus be accessible to a greater\nnumber of readers, and that their true character will the better appear.\n\nThe eighteen lectures that compose this volume have in fact the\nparticular trait that, if the history of philosophy furnishes their\nframe-work, philosophy itself occupies in them the first place, and\nthat, instead of researches of erudition and criticism, they present a\nregular exposition of the doctrine which was at first fixed in our mind,\nwhich has not ceased to preside over our labors.\n\nThis book, then, contains the abridged but exact expression of our\nconvictions on the fundamental points of philosophic science. In it will\nbe openly seen the method that is the soul of our enterprise, our\nprinciples, our processes, our results.\n\nUnder these three heads, the True, the Beautiful, the Good, we embrace\npsychology, placed by us at the head of all philosophy, aesthetics,\nethics, natural right, even public right to a certain extent, finally\ntheodicea, that perilous _rendez-vous_ of all systems, where different\nprinciples are condemned or justified by their consequences.\n\nIt is the affair of our book to plead its own cause. We only desire that\nit may be appreciated and judged according to what it really is, and not\naccording to an opinion too much accredited.\n\nEclecticism is persistently represented as the doctrine to which men\ndeign to attach our name. We declare that eclecticism is very dear to\nus, for it is in our eyes the light of the history of philosophy; but\nthe source of that light is elsewhere. Eclecticism is one of the most\nimportant and most useful applications of the philosophy which we teach,\nbut it is not its principle.\n\nOur true doctrine, our true flag is spiritualism, that philosophy as\nsolid as generous, which began with Socrates and Plato, which the Gospel\nhas spread abroad in the world, which Descartes put under the severe\nforms of modern genius, which in the seventeenth century was one of the\nglories and forces of our country, which perished with the national\ngrandeur in the eighteenth century, which at the commencement of the\npresent century M. Royer-Collard came to re-establish in public\ninstruction, whilst M. de Chateaubriand, Madame de Stael, and M.\nQuatremere de Quincy transferred it into literature and the arts. To it\nis rightly given the name of spiritualism, because its character in fact\nis that of subordinating the senses to the spirit, and tending, by all\nthe means that reason acknowledges, to elevate and ennoble man. It\nteaches the spirituality of the soul, the liberty and responsibility of\nhuman actions, moral obligation, disinterested virtue, the dignity of\njustice, the beauty of charity; and beyond the limits of this world it\nshows a God, author and type of humanity, who, after having evidently\nmade man for an excellent end, will not abandon him in the mysterious\ndevelopment of his destiny. This philosophy is the natural ally of all\ngood causes. It sustains religious sentiment; it seconds true art, poesy\nworthy of the name, and a great literature; it is the support of right;\nit equally repels the craft of the demagogue and tyranny; it teaches all\nmen to respect and value themselves, and, little by little, it conducts\nhuman societies to the true republic, that dream of all generous souls\nwhich in our times can be realized in Europe only by constitutional\nmonarchy.\n\nTo aid, with all our power, in setting up, defending, and propagating\nthis noble philosophy, such is the object that early inspired us, that\nhas sustained during a career already lengthy, in which difficulties\nhave not been wanting. Thank God, time has rather strengthened than\nweakened our convictions, and we end as we began: this new edition of\none of our first works is a last effort in favor of the holy cause for\nwhich we have combated nearly forty years.\n\nMay our voice be heard by new generations as it was by the serious youth\nof the Restoration! Yes, it is particularly to you that we address this\nwork, young men whom we no longer know, but whom we bear in our heart,\nbecause you are the seed and the hope of the future. We have shown you\nthe principle of our evils and their remedy. If you love liberty and\nyour country, shun what has destroyed them. Far from you be that sad\nphilosophy which preaches to you materialism and atheism as new\ndoctrines destined to regenerate the world: they kill, it is true, but\nthey do not regenerate. Do not listen to those superficial spirits who\ngive themselves out as profound thinkers, because after Voltaire they\nhave discovered difficulties in Christianity: measure your progress in\nphilosophy by your progress in tender veneration for the religion of the\nGospel. Be well persuaded that, in France, democracy will always\ntraverse liberty, that it brings all right into disorder, and through\ndisorder into dictatorship. Ask, then, only a moderated liberty, and\nattach yourself to that with all the powers of your soul. Do not bend\nthe knee to fortune, but accustom yourselves to bow to law. Entertain\nthe noble sentiment of respect. Know how to admire,--possess the worship\nof great men and great things. Reject that enervating literature, by\nturns gross and refined, which delights in painting the miseries of\nhuman nature, which caresses all our weaknesses, which pays court to the\nsenses and the imagination, instead of speaking to the soul and\nawakening thought. Guard yourselves against the malady of our century,\nthat fatal taste of an accommodating life, incompatible with all\ngenerous ambition. Whatever career you embrace, propose to yourselves an\nelevated aim, and put in its service an unalterable constancy. _Sursum\ncorda_, value highly your heart, wherein is seen all philosophy, that\nwhich we have retained from all our studies, which we have taught to\nyour predecessors, which we leave to you as our last word, our final\nlecture.\n\n                                                    V. COUSIN.\n\n    _June 15, 1853._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA too indulgent public having promptly rendered necessary a new edition\nof this book, we are forced to render it less unworthy of the suffrages\nwhich it has obtained, by reviewing it with severe attention, by\nintroducing a mass of corrections in detail, and a considerable number\nof additions, among which the only ones that need be indicated here are\nsome pages on Christianity at the end of Lecture XVI., and the notes\nplaced as an Appendix[2] at the end of the volume, on various works of\nFrench masters which we have quite recently seen in England, which have\nconfirmed and increased our old admiration for our national art of the\nseventeenth century.\n\n    _November 1, 1853._\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] 1st Series of our work, _Cours de l'Histoire de la Philosophie\nModerne_, five volumes.\n\n[2] The Appendix has been translated by Mr. N. E. S. A. Hamilton of the\nBritish Museum, who is alone entitled to credit and alone\nresponsible.--TR.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.\n\n\nThe nature of this publication is sufficiently explained in the preface\nof M. Cousin.\n\nWe have attempted to render his book, without comment, faithfully into\nEnglish. Not only have we endeavored to give his thought without\nincrease or diminution, but have also tried to preserve the main\ncharacteristics of his style. On the one hand, we have carefully shunned\nidioms peculiar to the French; on the other, when permitted by the laws\nof structure common to both languages, we have followed the general\norder of sentences, even the succession of words. It has been our aim to\nmake this work wholly Cousin's in substance, and in form as nearly his\nas possible, with a total change of dress. That, however, we may have\nnowhere missed a shade of meaning, nowhere introduced a gallicism, is\ntoo much to be hoped for, too much to be demanded.\n\nM. Cousin, in his Philosophical Discussions, defines the terms that he\nuses. In the translation of these we have maintained uniformity, so that\nin this regard no farther explanation is necessary.\n\nThis is, perhaps, in a philosophical point of view, the most important\nof all M. Cousin's works, for it contains a complete summary and lucid\nexposition of the various parts of his system. It is now the last word\nof European philosophy, and merits serious and thoughtful attention.\n\nThis and many more like it, are needed in these times, when noisy and\npretentious demagogues are speaking of metaphysics with idiotic\nlaughter, when utilitarian statesmen are sneering at philosophy, when\nundisciplined sectarians of every kind are decrying it; when, too,\nearnest men, in state and church, men on whose shoulders the social\nworld really rests, are invoking philosophy, not only as the best\ninstrument of the highest culture and the severest mental discipline,\nbut also as the best human means of guiding politics towards the\neternally true and the eternally just, of preserving theology from the\naberrations of a zeal without knowledge, and from the perversion of the\ninterested and the cunning; when many an artist, who feels the nobility\nof his calling, who would address the mind of man rather than his\nsenses, is asking a generous philosophy to explain to him that ravishing\nand torturing Ideal which is ever eluding his grasp, which often\ndiscourages unless understood; when, above all, devout and tender souls\nare learning to prize philosophy, since, in harmony with Revelation, it\nstrengthens their belief in God, freedom, immortality.\n\nGrateful to an indulgent public, on both sides of the ocean, for a\nkindly and very favorable reception of our version of M. Cousin's\n\"Course of the History of Modern Philosophy,\" we add this translation of\nhis \"Lectures on the True, the Beautiful, and the Good,\" hoping that his\nexplanation of human nature will aid some in solving the grave problem\nof life,--for there are always those, and the most gifted, too, who feel\nthe need of understanding themselves,--believing that his eloquence, his\nelevated sentiment, and elevated thought, will afford gratification to a\nrefined taste, a chaste imagination, and a disciplined mind.\n\n                                                    O. W. WIGHT.\n\n    LONDON, Dec. 21, 1853\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT.\n\n\nThe Publishers have to express their thanks to M. COUSIN for his cordial\nconcurrence, and especially for his kindness in transmitting the sheets\nof the French original as printed, so that this translation appears\nalmost simultaneously with it.\n\n    EDINBURGH, 38 GEORGE-STREET,\n        Dec. 26, 1853.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STEM.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nAUTHOR'S PREFACE                                               _Page_  7\n\nTRANSLATOR'S PREFACE                                                  15\n\nDISCOURSE PRONOUNCED AT THE OPENING OF THE COURSE.--PHILOSOPHY\nOF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY                                             25\n\n    Spirit and general principles of the Course.--Object of the\n    Lectures of this year:--application of the principles of which\n    an exposition is given, to the three Problems of the True, the\n    Beautiful, and the Good.\n\n\nPART FIRST.--THE TRUE.\n\nLECTURE I.--THE EXISTENCE OF UNIVERSAL AND NECESSARY PRINCIPLES       39\n\n    Two great wants, that of absolute truths, and that of absolute\n    truths that may not be chimeras. To satisfy these two wants is\n    the problem of the philosophy of our time.--Universal and\n    necessary principles.--Examples of different kinds of such\n    principles.--Distinction between universal and necessary\n    principles and general principles.--Experience alone is\n    incapable of explaining universal and necessary principles, and\n    also incapable of dispensing with them in order to arrive at the\n    knowledge of the sensible world.--Reason as being that faculty\n    of ours which discovers to us these principles.--The study of\n    universal and necessary principles introduces us to the highest\n    parts of philosophy.\n\nLECTURE II.--ORIGIN OF UNIVERSAL AND NECESSARY PRINCIPLES             51\n\n    _Resume_ of the preceding Lecture. A new question, that of the\n    origin of universal and necessary principles.--Danger of this\n    question, and its necessity.--Different forms under which truth\n    presents itself to us, and the successive order of these forms:\n    theory of spontaneity and reflection.--The primitive form of\n    principles; abstraction that disengages them from that form,\n    and gives them their actual form.--Examination and refutation of\n    the theory that attempts to explain the origin of principles by\n    an induction founded on particular notions.\n\nLECTURE III.--ON THE VALUE OF UNIVERSAL AND NECESSARY PRINCIPLES      65\n\n    Examination and refutation of Kant's skepticism.--Recurrence to\n    the theory of spontaneity and reflection.\n\nLECTURE IV.--GOD THE PRINCIPLE OF PRINCIPLES                          75\n\n    Object of the lecture: What is the ultimate basis of absolute\n    truth?--Four hypotheses: Absolute truth may reside either in us,\n    in particular beings and the world, in itself, or in God. 1. We\n    perceive absolute truth, we do not constitute it. 2. Particular\n    beings participate in absolute truth, but do not explain it;\n    refutation of Aristotle. 3. Truth does not exist in itself;\n    defence of Plato. 4. Truth resides in God.--Plato; St.\n    Augustine; Descartes; Malebranche; Fenelon; Bossuet;\n    Leibnitz.--Truth the mediator between God and man.--Essential\n    distinctions.\n\nLECTURE V.--ON MYSTICISM                                             102\n\n    Distinction between the philosophy that we profess and\n    mysticism. Mysticism consists in pretending to know God without\n    an intermediary.--Two sorts of mysticism.--Mysticism of\n    sentiment. Theory of sensibility. Two sensibilities--the one\n    external, the other internal, and corresponding to the soul as\n    external sensibility corresponds to nature.--Legitimate part of\n    sentiment.--Its aberrations.--Philosophical mysticism. Plotinus:\n    God, or absolute unity, perceived without an intermediary by\n    pure thought.--Ecstasy.--Mixture of superstition and abstraction\n    in mysticism.--Conclusion of the first part of the course.\n\n\nPART SECOND.--THE BEAUTIFUL.\n\nLECTURE VI.--THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE MIND OF MAN                        123\n\n    The method that must govern researches on the beautiful and art\n    is, as in the investigation of the true, to commence by\n    psychology.--Faculties of the soul that unite in the perception\n    of the beautiful.--The senses give only the agreeable; reason\n    alone gives the idea of the beautiful.--Refutation of\n    empiricism, that confounds the agreeable and the\n    beautiful.--Pre-eminence of reason.--Sentiment of the beautiful;\n    different from sensation and desire.--Distinction between the\n    sentiment of the beautiful and that of the\n    sublime.--Imagination.--Influence of sentiment on\n    imagination.--Influence of imagination on sentiment.--Theory of\n    taste.\n\nLECTURE VII.--THE BEAUTIFUL IN OBJECTS                               140\n\n    Refutation of different theories on the nature of the beautiful:\n    the beautiful cannot be reduced to what is useful.--Nor to\n    convenience.--Nor to proportion.--Essential characters of the\n    beautiful.--Different kinds of beauties. The beautiful and the\n    sublime. Physical beauty. Intellectual beauty. Moral\n    beauty.--Ideal beauty: it is especially moral beauty.--God, the\n    first principle of the beautiful.--Theory of Plato.\n\nLECTURE VIII.--ON ART                                                154\n\n    Genius:--its attribute is creative power.--Refutation of the\n    opinion that art is the imitation of nature--M. Emeric David,\n    and M. Quatremere de Quincy.--Refutation of the theory of\n    illusion. That dramatic art has not solely for its end to excite\n    the passions of terror and pity.--Nor even directly the moral\n    and religious sentiment.--The proper and direct object of art is\n    to produce the idea and the sentiment of the beautiful; this\n    idea and this sentiment purify and elevate the soul by the\n    affinity between the beautiful and the good, and by the relation\n    of ideal beauty to its principle, which is God.--True mission of\n    art.\n\nLECTURE IX.--THE DIFFERENT ARTS                                      165\n\n    Expression is the general law of art.--Division of\n    arts.--Distinction between liberal arts and trades.--Eloquence\n    itself, philosophy, and history do not make a part of the fine\n    arts.--That the arts gain nothing by encroaching upon each\n    other, and usurping each other's means and\n    processes.--Classification of the arts:--its true principle is\n    expression.--Comparison of arts with each other.--Poetry the\n    first of arts.\n\nLECTURE X.--FRENCH ART IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY                    178\n\n    Expression not only serves to appreciate the different arts, but\n    the different schools of art. Example:--French art in the\n    seventeenth century. French poetry:--Corneille. Racine. Moliere.\n    La Fontaine. Boileau.--Painting:--Lesueur. Poussin. Le Lorrain.\n    Champagne.--Engraving.--Sculpture:--Sarrazin. The Anguiers.\n    Girardon. Pujet.--Le Notre.--Architecture.\n\n\nPART THIRD.--THE GOOD.\n\nLECTURE XI.--PRIMARY NOTIONS OF COMMON SENSE                         215\n\n    Extent of the question of the good.--Position of the question\n    according to the psychological method: What is, in regard to the\n    good, the natural belief of mankind?--The natural beliefs of\n    humanity must not be sought in a pretended state of nature.--\n    Study of the sentiments and ideas of men in languages, in life,\n    in consciousness.--Disinterestedness and devotedness.--Liberty.--\n    Esteem and contempt.--Respect.--Admiration and indignation.--\n    Dignity.--Empire of opinion.--Ridicule.--Regret and repentance.--\n    Natural and necessary foundations of all justice.--Distinction\n    between fact and right.--Common sense, true and false philosophy.\n\nLECTURE XII.--THE ETHICS OF INTEREST                                 229\n\n    Exposition of the doctrine of interest.--What there is of truth\n    in this doctrine.--Its defects. 1st. It confounds liberty and\n    desire, and thereby abolishes liberty. 2d. It cannot explain the\n    fundamental distinction between good and evil. 3d. It cannot\n    explain obligation and duty. 4th. Nor right. 5th. Nor the\n    principle of merit and demerit.--Consequences of the ethics of\n    interest: that they cannot admit a providence, and lead to\n    despotism.\n\nLECTURE XIII.--OTHER DEFECTIVE PRINCIPLES                            255\n\n    The ethics of sentiment.--The ethics founded on the principle of\n    the interest of the greatest number.--The ethics founded on the\n    will of God alone.--The ethics founded on the punishments and\n    rewards of another life.\n\nLECTURE XIV.--TRUE PRINCIPLES OF ETHICS                              274\n\n    Description of the different facts that compose the moral\n    phenomena.--Analysis of each of these facts:--1st, Judgment and\n    idea of the good. That this judgment is absolute. Relation\n    between the true and the good.--2d, Obligation. Refutation of\n    the doctrine of Kant that draws the idea of the good from\n    obligation instead of founding obligation on the idea of the\n    good.--3d, Liberty, and the moral notions attached to the notion\n    of liberty.--4th, Principle of merit and demerit. Punishments\n    and rewards.--5th, Moral sentiments.--Harmony of all these facts\n    in nature and science.\n\nLECTURE XV.--PRIVATE AND PUBLIC ETHICS                               301\n\n    Application of the preceding principles.--General formula of\n    interest,--to obey reason.--Rule for judging whether an action\n    is or is not conformed to reason,--to elevate the motive of this\n    action into a maxim of universal legislation.--Individual\n    ethics. It is not towards the individual, but towards the moral\n    person that one is obligated. Principle of all individual\n    duties,--to respect and develop the moral person.--Social\n    ethics,--duties of justice and duties of charity.--Civil\n    society. Government. Law. The right to punish.\n\nLECTURE XVI.--GOD THE PRINCIPLE OF THE IDEA OF THE GOOD              325\n\n    Principle on which true theodicea rests. God the last foundation\n    of moral truth, of the good, and of the moral person.--Liberty\n    of God.--The divine justice and charity.--God the sanction of\n    the moral law. Immortality of the soul; argument from merit and\n    demerit; argument from the simplicity of the soul; argument from\n    final causes.--Religious sentiment.--Adoration.--Worship.--Moral\n    beauty of Christianity.\n\nLECTURE XVII.--RESUME OF DOCTRINE                                    346\n\n    Review of the doctrine contained in these lectures, and the\n    three orders of facts on which this doctrine rests, with the\n    relation of each one of them to the modern school that has\n    recognized and developed it, but almost always exaggerated\n    it.--Experience and empiricism.--Reason and idealism.--Sentiment\n    and mysticism.--Theodicea. Defects of different known\n    systems.--The process that conducts to true theodicea, and the\n    character of certainty and reality that this process gives to\n    it.\n\n\nAPPENDIX                                                             371\n\n\n\n\nLECTURES\n\nON\n\nTHE TRUE, THE BEAUTIFUL, AND THE GOOD.\n\n\n\n\nDISCOURSE\n\nPRONOUNCED AT THE OPENING OF THE COURSE,\n\nDECEMBER 4, 1817.\n\n\n\n\nPHILOSOPHY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.\n\n    Spirit and general principles of the Course.--Object of the\n    Lectures of this year:--application of the principles of which\n    an exposition is given, to the three Problems of the True, the\n    Beautiful, and the Good.\n\n\nIt seems natural that a century, in its beginning, should borrow its\nphilosophy from the century that preceded it. But, as free and\nintelligent beings, we are not born merely to continue our predecessors,\nbut to increase their work, and also to do our own. We cannot accept\nfrom them an inheritance except under the condition of improving it. Our\nfirst duty is, then, to render to ourselves an account of the philosophy\nof the eighteenth century; to recognize its character and its\nprinciples, the problems which it agitated, and the solutions which it\ngave of them; to discern, in fine, what it transmits to us of the true\nand the productive, and what it also leaves of the sterile and the\nfalse, in order that, with reflective choice, we may embrace the former\nand reject the latter.[3] Placed at the entrance of the new times, let\nus know, first of all, with what views we would occupy ourselves.\nMoreover,--why should I not say it?--after two years of instruction, in\nwhich the professor, in some sort, has been investigating himself, one\nhas a right to demand of him what he is; what are his most general\nprinciples on all the essential parts of philosophic science; what flag,\nin fine, in the midst of parties which contend with each other so\nviolently, he proposes for you, young men, who frequent this auditory,\nand who are called upon to participate in a destiny still so uncertain\nand so obscure in the nineteenth century, to follow.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is not patriotism, it is a profound sentiment of truth and justice,\nwhich makes us place the whole philosophy now expanded in the world\nunder the invocation of the name of Descartes. Yes, the whole of modern\nphilosophy is the work of this great man, for it owes to him the spirit\nthat animates it, and the method that constitutes its power.\n\nAfter the downfall of scholasticism and the mournful disruptures of the\nsixteenth century, the first object which the bold good sense of\nDescartes proposed to itself was to make philosophy a human science,\nlike astronomy, physiology, medicine, subject to the same uncertainties\nand to the same aberrations, but capable also of the same progress.\n\nDescartes encountered the skepticism spread on every side in the train\nof so many revolutions, ambitious hypotheses, born out of the first use\nof an ill-regulated liberty, and the old formulas surviving the ruins of\nscholasticism. In his courageous passion for truth, he resolved to\nreject, provisorily at least, all the ideas that hitherto he had\nreceived without controlling them, firmly decided not to admit any but\nthose which, after a serious examination, might appear to him evident.\nBut he perceived that there was one thing which he could not reject,\neven provisorily, in his universal doubt,--that thing was the existence\nitself of his doubt, that is to say, of his thought; for although all\nthe rest might be only an illusion, this fact, that he thought, could\nnot be an illusion. Descartes, therefore, stopped at this fact, of an\nirresistible evidence, as at the first truth which he could accept\nwithout fear. Recognizing at the same time that thought is the necessary\ninstrument of all the investigations which he might propose to himself,\nas well as the instrument of the human race in the acquisition of its\nnatural knowledges,[4] he devoted himself to a regular study of it, to\nthe analysis of thought as the condition of all legitimate philosophy,\nand upon this solid foundation he reared a doctrine of a character at\nonce certain and living, capable of resisting skepticism, exempt from\nhypotheses, and affranchised from the formulas of the schools.\n\nThus the analysis of thought, and of the mind which is the subject of\nit, that is to say, psychology, has become the point of departure, the\nmost general principle, the important method of modern philosophy.[5]\n\nNevertheless, it must indeed be owned, philosophy has not entirely lost,\nand sometimes still retains, since Descartes and in Descartes himself,\nits old habits. It rarely belongs to the same man to open and run a\ncareer, and usually the inventor succumbs under the weight of his own\ninvention. So Descartes, after having so well placed the point of\ndeparture for all philosophical investigation, more than once forgets\nanalysis, and returns, at least in form, to the ancient philosophy.[6]\nThe true method, again, is more than once effaced in the hands of his\nfirst successors, under the always increasing influence of the\nmathematical method.\n\nTwo periods may be distinguished in the Cartesian era,--one in which the\nmethod, in its newness, is often misconceived; the other, in which one\nis forced, at least, to re-enter the salutary way opened by Descartes.\nTo the first belong Malebranche, Spinoza, Leibnitz himself; to the\nsecond, the philosophers of the eighteenth century.\n\nWithout doubt Malebranche, upon some points, descended very far into\ninterior investigation; but most of the time he gave himself up to\nwander in an imaginary world, and lost sight of the real world. It is\nnot a method that is wanting to Spinoza, but a good method; his error\nconsists in having applied to philosophy the geometrical method, which\nproceeds by axioms, definitions, theorems, corollaries; no one has made\nless use of the psychological method; that is the principle and the\ncondemnation of his system. The _Nouveaux Essais sur l'Entendement\nHumain_ exhibit Leibnitz opposing observation to observation, analysis\nto analysis; but his genius usually hovers over science, instead of\nadvancing in it step by step; hence the results at which he arrives are\noften only brilliant hypotheses, for example, the pre-established\nharmony, now relegated among the analogous hypotheses of occasional\ncauses and a plastic mediator. In general, the philosophy of the\nseventeenth century, by not employing with sufficient rigor and firmness\nthe method with which Descartes had armed it, produced little else than\nsystems, ingenious without doubt, bold and profound, but often also\nrash,--systems that have failed to keep their place in science.[7] In\nfact, nothing is durable except that which is founded upon a sound\nmethod; time destroys all the rest; time, which re-collects,\nfecundates, aggrandizes the least germs of truth deposited in the\nhumblest analyses, strikes without pity, engulfs hypotheses, even those\nof genius. Time takes a step, and arbitrary systems are overturned; the\nstatues of their authors alone remain standing over their ruins. The\ntask of the friend of truth is to search for the useful remains of them,\nthat survive and can serve for new and more solid constructions.\n\nThe philosophy of the eighteenth century opens the second period of the\nCartesian era; it proposed to itself to apply the method already\ndiscovered and too much neglected,--it applied itself to the analysis of\nthought. Disabused of ambitious and sterile attempts, and, like\nDescartes, disdainful of the past, the eighteenth century dared to think\nthat every thing in philosophy was to be done over again, and that, in\norder not to wander anew, it was necessary to set out with the modest\nstudy of man. Instead, therefore, of building up all at once systems\nrisked upon the universality of things, it undertook to examine what man\nknows, what he can know; it brought back entire philosophy to the study\nof our faculties, as physics had just been brought back to the study of\nthe properties of bodies,--which was giving to philosophy, if not its\nend, at least its true beginning.\n\nThe great schools which divide the eighteenth century are the English\nand French school, the Scotch school, and the German school, that is to\nsay, the school of Locke and Condillac, that of Reid, that of Kant. It\nis impossible to misconceive the common principle which animates them,\nthe unity of their method. When one examines with impartiality the\nmethod of Locke, he sees that it consists in the analysis of thought;\nand it is thereby that Locke is a disciple, not of Bacon and Hobbes, but\nof our great countryman, Descartes.[8] To study the human understanding\nas it is in each one of us, to recognize its powers, and also its\nlimits, is the problem which the English philosopher proposed to\nhimself, and which he attempted to solve. I do not wish to judge here\nof the solution which he gave of this problem; I limit myself to\nindicating clearly what was for him the fundamental problem. Condillac,\nthe French disciple of Locke, made himself everywhere the apostle of\nanalysis; and analysis was also in him, or at least should have been,\nthe study of thought. No philosopher, not even Spinoza, has wandered\nfarther than Condillac[9] from the true experimental method, and has\nstrayed farther on the route of abstractions, even verbal abstractions;\nbut, strange enough, no one is severer than he against hypotheses, save\nthat of the statue-man. The author of the _Traite des Sensations_ has\nvery unfaithfully practised analysis; but he speaks of it without\ncessation. The Scotch school combats Locke and Condillac; it combats\nthem, but with their own arms, with the same method which it pretends to\napply better.[10] In Germany, Kant wishes to replace in light and honor\nthe superior element of human consciousness, left in the shade, and\ndecried by the philosophy of his times; and for that end, what does he\ndo? He undertakes a profound examination of the faculty of knowing; the\ntitle of his principal work is, _Critique of Pure Reason_;[11] it is a\ncritique, that is to say again, an analysis; the method of Kant is then\nno other than that of Locke and Reid. Follow it until it reaches the\nhands of Fichte,[12] the successor of Kant, who died but a few years\nsince; there, again, the analysis of thought is given as the foundation\nof philosophy. Kant was so firmly established in the subject of\nknowledge, that he could scarcely go out of it--that, in fact, he never\ndid legitimately go out of it. Fichte plunged into the subject of\nknowledge so deeply that he buried himself in it, and absorbed in the\nhuman _me_ all existences, as well as all sciences--sad shipwreck of\nanalysis, which signalizes at once its greatest effort and its rock!\n\nThe same spirit, therefore, governs all the schools of the eighteenth\ncentury; this century disdains arbitrary formulas; it has a horror for\nhypotheses, and attaches itself, or pretends to attach itself, to the\nobservation of facts, and particularly to the analysis of thought.\n\nLet us acknowledge with freedom and with grief, that the eighteenth\ncentury applied analysis to all things without pity and without measure.\nIt cited before its tribunal all doctrines, all sciences; neither the\nmetaphysics of the preceding age, with their imposing systems, nor the\narts with their prestige, nor the governments with their ancient\nauthority, nor the religions with their majesty,--nothing found favor\nbefore it. Although it spied abysses at the bottom of what it called\nphilosophy, it threw itself into them with a courage which is not\nwithout grandeur; for the grandeur of man is to prefer what he believes\nto be truth to himself. The eighteenth century let loose tempests.\nHumanity no more progressed, except over ruins. The world was again\nagitated in that state of disorder in which it had already been once\nseen, at the decline of the ancient beliefs, and before the triumphs of\nChristianity, when men wandered through all contraries, without power to\nrest anywhere, given up to every disquietude of spirit, to every misery\nof heart, fanatical and atheistical, mystical and incredulous,\nvoluptuous and sanguinary.[13] But if the philosophy of the eighteenth\ncentury has left us a vacuity for an inheritance, it has also left us an\nenergetic and fecund love of truth. The eighteenth century was the age\nof criticism and destructions; the nineteenth should be that of\nintelligent rehabilitations. It belongs to it to find in a profounder\nanalysis of thought the principles of the future, and with so many\nremains to raise, in fine, an edifice that reason may be able to\nacknowledge.\n\nA feeble but zealous workman, I come to bring my stone; I come to do my\nwork; I come to extract from the midst of the ruins what has not\nperished, what cannot perish. This course is at once a return to the\npast, an effort towards the future. I propose neither to attack nor to\ndefend any of the three great schools that divide the eighteenth\ncentury. I will not attempt to perpetuate and envenom the warfare which\ndivides them, complacently designating the differences which separate\nthem, without taking an account of the community of method which unites\nthem. I come, on the contrary, a devoted soldier of philosophy, a common\nfriend of all the schools which it has produced, to offer to all the\nwords of peace.\n\nThe unity of modern philosophy, as we have said, resides in its method,\nthat is to say, in the analysis of thought--a method superior to its own\nresults, for it contains in itself the means of repairing the errors\nthat escape it, of indefinitely adding new riches to riches already\nacquired. The physical sciences themselves have no other unity. The\ngreat physicians who have appeared within two centuries, although united\namongst themselves by the same point of departure and by the same end,\ngenerally accepted, have nevertheless proceeded with independence and in\nways often opposite. Time has re-collected in their different theories\nthe part of truth that produced them and sustained them; it has\nneglected their errors from which they were unable to extricate\nthemselves, and uniting all the discoveries worthy of the name, it has\nlittle by little formed of them a vast and harmonious whole. Modern\nphilosophy has also been enriched during the two centuries with a\nmultitude of exact observations, of solid and profound theories, for\nwhich it is indebted to the common method. What has hindered her from\nprogressing at an equal pace with the physical sciences whose sister she\nis? She has been hindered by not understanding better her own interests,\nby not tolerating diversities that are inevitable, that are even\nuseful, and by not profiting by the truths which all the particular\ndoctrines contain, in order to deduce from them a general doctrine,\nwhich is successively and perpetually purified and aggrandized.\n\nNot, indeed, that I would recommend that blind syncretism which\ndestroyed the school of Alexandria, which attempted to bring contrary\nsystems together by force; what I recommend is an enlightened\neclecticism, which, judging with equity, and even with benevolence, all\nschools, borrows from them what they possess of the true, and neglects\nwhat in them is false. Since the spirit of party has hitherto succeeded\nso ill with us, let us try the spirit of conciliation. Human thought is\nimmense. Each school has looked at it only from its own point of view.\nThis point of view is not false, but it is incomplete, and moreover, it\nis exclusive. It expresses but one side of truth, and rejects all the\nothers. The question is not to decry and recommence the work of our\npredecessors, but to perfect it in reuniting, and in fortifying by that\nreunion, all the truths scattered in the different systems which the\neighteenth century has transmitted to us.\n\nSuch is the principle to which we have been conducted by two years of\nstudy upon modern philosophy, from Descartes to our times. This\nprinciple, badly disengaged at first, we applied for the first time\nwithin the narrowest limits, and only to theories relative to the\nquestion of personal existence.[14] We then extended it to a greater\nnumber of questions and theories; we touched the principal points of the\nintellectual and moral order,[15] and at the same time that we were\ncontinuing the investigations of our illustrious predecessor, M.\nRoyer-Collard, upon the schools of France, England, and Scotland, we\ncommenced the study new among us, the difficult but interesting and\nfecund study, of the philosophy of Koenigsberg. We can at the present\ntime, therefore, embrace all the schools of the eighteenth century, and\nall the problems which they agitated.\n\nPhilosophy, in all times, turns upon the fundamental ideas of the true,\nthe beautiful, and the good. The idea of the true, philosophically\ndeveloped, is psychology, logic, metaphysic; the idea of the good is\nprivate and public morals; the idea of the beautiful is that science\nwhich, in Germany, is called aesthetics, the details of which pertain to\nthe criticism of literature, the criticism of arts, but whose general\nprinciples have always occupied a more or less considerable place in the\nresearches, and even in the teaching of philosophers, from Plato and\nAristotle to Hutcheson and Kant.\n\nUpon these essential points which constitute the entire domain of\nphilosophy, we will successively interrogate the principal schools of\nthe eighteenth century.\n\nWhen we examine them all with attention, we can easily reduce them to\ntwo,--one of which, in the analysis of thought, the common subject of\nall their works, gives to sensation an excessive part; the other of\nwhich, in this same analysis, going to the opposite extreme, deduces\nconsciousness almost wholly from a faculty different from that of\nsensation--reason. The first of these schools is the empirical school,\nof which the father, or rather the wisest representative, is Locke, and\nCondillac the extreme representative; the second is the spiritualistic\nor rationalistic school, as it is called, which reckons among its\nillustrious interpreters Reid, who is the most irreproachable, and Kant,\nwho is the most systematic. Surely there is truth in these two schools,\nand truth is a good which must be taken wherever one finds it. We\nwillingly admit, with the empirical school, that the senses have not\nbeen given us in vain; that this admirable organization which elevates\nus above all other animate beings, is a rich and varied instrument,\nwhich it would be folly to neglect. We are convinced that the spectacle\nof the world is a permanent source of sound and sublime instruction.\nUpon this point neither Aristotle, nor Bacon, nor Locke, has in us an\nadversary, but a disciple. We acknowledge, or rather we proclaim, that\nin the analysis of human knowledge, it is necessary to assign to the\nsenses an important part. But when the empirical school pretends that\nall that passes beyond the reach of the senses is a chimera, then we\nabandon it, and go over to the opposite school. We profess to believe,\nfor example, that, without an agreeable impression, never should we have\nconceived the beautiful, and that, notwithstanding, the beautiful is not\nmerely the agreeable; that, thank heaven, happiness is usually added to\nvirtue, but that the idea itself of virtue is essentially different from\nthat of happiness. On this point we are openly of the opinion of Reid\nand Kant. We have also established, and will again establish, that the\nreason of man is in possession of principles which sensation precedes\nbut does not explain, and which are directly suggested to us by the\npower of reason alone. We will follow Kant thus far, but not farther.\nFar from following him, we will combat him, when, after having\nvictoriously defended the great principles of every kind against\nempiricism, he strikes them with sterility, in pretending that they have\nno value beyond the inclosure of the reason which possesses them,\ncondemning also to impotence that same reason which he has just elevated\nso high, and opening the way to a refined and learned skepticism which,\nafter all, ends at the same abyss with ordinary skepticism.\n\nYou perceive that we shall be by turns with Locke, with Reid, and with\nKant, in that just and strong measure which is called eclecticism.\n\nEclecticism is in our eyes the true historical method, and it has for us\nall the importance of the history of philosophy; but there is something\nwhich we place above the history of philosophy, and, consequently, above\neclecticism,--philosophy itself.\n\nThe history of philosophy does not carry its own light with it, it is\nnot its own end. How could eclecticism, which has no other field than\nhistory, be our only, our primary, object?\n\nIt is, doubtless, just, it is of the highest utility, to discriminate in\neach system what there is true in it from what there is false in it;\nfirst, in order to appreciate this system rightly; then, in order to\nrender the false of no account, to disengage and re-collect the true,\nand thus to enrich and aggrandize philosophy by history. But you\nconceive that we must already know what truth is, in order to recognize\nit, and to distinguish it from the error with which it is mixed; so that\nthe criticism of systems almost demands a system, so that the history of\nphilosophy is constrained to first borrow from philosophy the light\nwhich it must one day return to it with usury.\n\nIn fine, the history of philosophy is only a branch, or rather an\ninstrument, of philosophical science. Surely it is the interest which we\nfeel for philosophy that alone attaches us to its history; it is the\nlove of truth which makes us everywhere pursue its vestiges, and\ninterrogate with a passionate curiosity those who before us have also\nloved and sought truth.\n\nThus philosophy is at once the supreme object and the torch of the\nhistory of philosophy. By this double title it has a right to preside\nover our instruction.\n\nIn regard to this, one word of explanation, I beg you.\n\nHe who is speaking before you to-day is, it is true, officially charged\nonly with the course of the history of philosophy; in that is our task,\nand in that, once more, our guide shall be eclecticism.[16] But, we\nconfess, if philosophy has not the right to present itself here in some\nsort on the first plan; if it should appear only behind its history, it\nin reality holds dominion; and to it all our wishes, as well as all our\nefforts, are related. We hold, doubtless, in great esteem, both Brucker\nand Tennemann,[17] so wise, so judicious; nevertheless our models, our\nveritable masters, always present to our thought, are, in antiquity,\nPlato and Socrates, among the moderns, Descartes, and, why should I\nhesitate to say it, among us, and in our times, the illustrious man who\nhas been pleased to call us to this chair. M. Royer-Collard was also\nonly a professor of the history of philosophy; but he rightly pretended\nto have an opinion in philosophy; he served a cause which he has\ntransmitted to us, and we will serve it in our turn.\n\nThis great cause is known to you; it is that of a sound and generous\nphilosophy, worthy of our century by the severity of its methods, and\nanswering to the immortal wants of humanity, setting out modestly from\npsychology, from the humble study of the human mind, in order to elevate\nitself to the highest regions, and to traverse metaphysics, aesthetics,\ntheodicea, morals, and politics.\n\nOur enterprise is not then simply to renew the history of philosophy by\neclecticism; we also wish, we especially wish, and history well\nunderstood, thanks to eclecticism, will therein powerfully assist us, to\ndeduce from the study of systems, their strifes, and even their ruins, a\nsystem which may be proof against criticism, and which can be accepted\nby your reason, and also by your heart, noble youth of the nineteenth\ncentury!\n\nIn order to fulfil this great object, which is our veritable mission to\nyou, we shall dare this year, for the first and for the last time, to go\nbeyond the narrow limits which are imposed upon us. In the history of\nthe philosophy of the eighteenth century, we have resolved to leave a\nlittle in the shade the history of philosophy, in order to make\nphilosophy itself appear, and while exhibiting to you the distinctive\ntraits of the principal doctrines of the last century, to expose to you\nthe doctrine which seems to us adapted to the wants and to the spirit of\nour times, and still, to explain it to you briefly, but in its full\nextent, instead of dwelling upon some one of its parts, as hitherto we\nhave done. With years we will correct, we will task ourselves to\naggrandize and elevate our work. To-day we present it you very imperfect\nstill, but established upon foundations which we believe solid, and\nalready stamped with a character that will not change.\n\nYou will here see, then, brought together in a short space, our\nprinciples, our processes, our results. We ardently desire to recommend\nthem to you, young men, who are the hope of science as well as of your\ncountry. May we at least be able, in the vast career which we have to\nrun, to meet in you the same kindness which hitherto has sustained us.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] We have so much felt the necessity of understanding well the\nphilosophy of the century that ours succeeds, that three times we have\nundertaken the history of philosophy in the eighteenth century, here\nfirst, in 1818, then in 1819 and 1820, and that is the subject of the\nlast three volumes of the 1st Series of our works; finally, we resumed\nit in 1829, vol. ii. and iii. of the 2d Series.\n\n[4] This word was used by the old English writers, and there is no\nreason why it should not be retained.\n\n[5] On the method of Descartes, see 1st Series, vol. iv., lecture 20; 2d\nSeries, vol. i., lecture 2; vol. ii., lecture 11; 3d Series, vol. iii.,\n_Philosophie Moderne_, as well as _Fragments de Philosophie\nCartesienne_; 5th Series, _Instruction Publique_, vol. ii., _Defense de\nl'Universite et de la Philosophie_, p. 112, etc.\n\n[6] On this return to the scholastic form in Descartes, see 1st Series,\nvol iv., lecture 12, especially three articles of the _Journal des\nSavants_, August, September, and October, 1850, in which we have\nexamined anew the principles of Cartesianism, _a propos_ the _Leibnitii\nAnimadversiones ad Cartesii Principia Philosophiae_.\n\n[7] See on Malebranche, Spinoza, and Leibnitz, 2d Series, vol. ii.,\nlectures 11 and 12; 3d Series, vol. iv., _Introduction aux Oeuvres\nPhilosophiques de M. de Biran_, p. 288; and the _Fragments de\nPhilosophie Cartesienne_, passim.\n\n[8] On Locke, see 1st Series, vol. iii., lecture 1, especially 2d\nSeries, vol. iii., _Examen du Systeme de Locke_.\n\n[9] 1st Series, vol. iii., lectures 2 and 3.\n\n[10] 1st Series, vol. iv., lectures on the Scotch School.\n\n[11] See on Kant and the _Critique of Pure Reason_, vol. v. of the 1st\nSeries, where that great work is examined with as much extent as that of\nReid in vol. iv., and the _Essay_ of Locke in vol. iii. of the 2d\nSeries.\n\n[12] On Fichte, 2d Series, vol. i., lecture 12; 3d Series, vol. iv.,\n_Introduction aux Oeuvres de M. de Biran_, p. 324.\n\n[13] We expressed ourselves thus in December, 1817, when, following the\ngreat wars of the Revolution, and after the downfall of the empire, the\nconstitutional monarchy, still poorly established, left the future of\nFrance and of the world obscure. It is sad to be obliged to hold the\nsame language in 1835, over the ruins accumulated around us.\n\n[14] 1st Series, vol. i., Course of 1816.\n\n[15] _Ibid._, Course of 1817.\n\n[16] On the legitimate employment and the imperative conditions of\neclecticism, see 3d Series, _Fragments Philosophiques_, vol. iv.,\npreface of the first edition, p. 41, &c., especially the article\nentitled _De la Philosophie en Belgique_, pp. 228 and 229.\n\n[17] We have translated his excellent _Manual of the History of\nPhilosophy_. See the second edition, vol. ii., 8vo., 1839.\n\n\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\nTHE TRUE.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE I.\n\nTHE EXISTENCE OF UNIVERSAL AND NECESSARY PRINCIPLES.\n\n    Two great wants, that of absolute truths, and that of absolute\n    truths that may not be chimeras. To satisfy these two wants is\n    the problem of the philosophy of our time.--Universal and\n    necessary principles.--Examples of different kinds of such\n    principles.--Distinction between universal and necessary\n    principles and general principles.--Experience alone is\n    incapable of explaining universal and necessary principles, and\n    also incapable of dispensing with them in order to arrive at the\n    knowledge of the sensible world.--Reason as being that faculty\n    of ours which discovers to us these principles.--The study of\n    universal and necessary principles introduces us to the highest\n    parts of philosophy.\n\n\nTo-day, as in all time, two great wants are felt by man. The first, the\nmost imperious, is that of fixed, immutable principles, which depend\nupon neither times nor places nor circumstances, and on which the mind\nreposes with an unbounded confidence. In all investigations, as long as\nwe have seized only isolated, disconnected facts, as long as we have not\nreferred them to a general law, we possess the materials of science, but\nthere is yet no science. Even physics commence only when universal\ntruths appear, to which all the facts of the same order that observation\ndiscovers to us in nature may be referred. Plato has said, that there is\nno science of the transitory.\n\nThis is our first need. But there is another, not less legitimate, the\nneed of not being the dupe of chimerical principles, of barren\nabstractions, of combinations more or less ingenious, but artificial,\nthe need of resting upon reality and life, the need of experience. The\nphysical and natural sciences, whose regular and rapid conquests strike\nand dazzle the most ignorant, owe their progress to the experimental\nmethod. Hence the immense popularity of this method, which is carried to\nsuch an extent that one would not now condescend to lend the least\nattention to a science over which this method should not seem to\npreside.\n\nTo unite observation and reason, not to lose sight of the ideal of\nscience to which man aspires, and to search for it and find it by the\nroute of experience,--such is the problem of philosophy.\n\nNow we address ourselves to your recollections of the last two\nyears:--have we not established, by the severest experimental method, by\nreflection applied to the study of the human mind, with the deliberation\nand the rigor which such demonstrations exact,--have we not established\nthat there are in all men, without distinction, in the wise and the\nignorant, ideas, notions, beliefs, principles which the most determined\nskeptic cannot in the slightest degree deny, by which he is\nunconsciously, and in spite of himself, governed both in his words and\nactions, and which, by a striking contrast with our other knowledges,\nare marked with the at once marvellous and incontestable character, that\nthey are encountered in the most common experience, and that, at the\nsame time, instead of being circumscribed within the limits of this\nexperience, they surpass and govern it, universal in the midst of\nparticular phenomena to which they are applied; necessary, although\nmingled with things contingent; to our eyes infinite and absolute, even\nwhile appearing within us in that relative and finite being which we\nare? It is not an unpremeditated paradox that we present to you; we are\nonly expressing here the result of numerous lectures.[18]\n\nIt was not difficult for us to show that there are universal and\nnecessary principles at the head of all sciences.\n\nIt is very evident that there are no mathematics without axioms and\ndefinitions, that is to say, without absolute principles.\n\nWhat would logic become, those mathematics of thought, if you should\ntake away from it a certain number of principles, which are a little\nbarbarous, perhaps, in their scholastic form, but must be universal and\nnecessary in order to preside over all reasoning and every\ndemonstration?\n\nAre physics possible, if every phenomenon which begins to appear does\nnot suppose a cause and a law?\n\nWithout the principle of final causes, could physiology proceed a single\nstep, render to itself an account of a single organ, or determine a\nsingle function?\n\nIs not the principle on which the whole of morals rests, the principle\nwhich obligates man to good and lays the foundation of virtue, of the\nsame nature? Does it not extend to all moral beings, without distinction\nof time and place? Can you conceive of a moral being who does not\nrecognize in the depth of his conscience that reason ought to govern\npassion, that it is necessary to preserve sworn faith, and, against the\nmost pressing interest, to restore the treasure that has been confided\nto us?\n\nAnd these are not mere metaphysical prejudices and formulas of the\nschools: I appeal to the most vulgar common sense.\n\nIf I should say to you that a murder has just been committed, could you\nnot ask me when, where, by whom, wherefore? That is to say, your mind is\ndirected by the universal and necessary principles of time, of space, of\ncause, and even of final cause.\n\nIf I should say to you that love or ambition caused the murder, would\nyou not at the same instant conceive a lover, an ambitious person? This\nmeans, again, that there is for you no act without an agent, no quality\nand phenomenon without a substance, without a real subject.\n\nIf I should say to you that the accused pretends that he is not the same\nperson who conceived, willed, and executed this murder, and that, at\nintervals, his personality has more than once been changed, would you\nnot say he is a fool if he is sincere, and that, although the acts and\nthe incidents have varied, the person and the being have remained the\nsame?\n\nSuppose that the accused should defend himself on this ground, that the\nmurder must serve his interest; that, moreover, the person killed was so\nunhappy that life was a burden to him; that the state loses nothing,\nsince in place of two worthless citizens it acquires one who becomes\nuseful to it; that, in fine, mankind will not perish by the loss of an\nindividual, &c.; to all these reasonings would you not oppose the very\nsimple response, that this murder, useful perhaps to its author, is not\nthe less unjust, and that, therefore, under no pretext was it permitted?\n\nThe same good sense which admits universal and necessary truths, easily\ndistinguishes them from those that are not universal and necessary, and\nare only general, that is to say, are applied only to a greater or less\nnumber of cases.\n\nFor example, the following is a very general truth: the day succeeds the\nnight; but is it a universal and necessary truth? Does it extend to all\nlands? Yes, to all known lands. But does it extend to all possible\nlands? No; for it is possible to conceive of lands plunged in eternal\nnight, another system of the world being given. The laws of the material\nworld are what they are; they are not necessary. Their Author might have\nchosen others. With another system of the world one conceives other\nphysics, but we cannot conceive other mathematics and other morals. Thus\nit is possible to conceive that day and night may not be in the same\nrelation to each as that in which we see them; therefore the truth that\nday succeeds night is a very general truth, perhaps even a universal\ntruth, but by no means a necessary truth.\n\nMontesquieu has said that liberty is not a fruit of warm climates. I\nacknowledge, if it is desired, that heat enervates the spirit, and that\nwarm countries maintain free governments with difficulty; but it does\nnot follow that there may be no possible exception to this principle:\nmoreover, there have been exceptions; hence it is not an absolutely\nuniversal principle, much less is it a necessary principle. Could you\nsay as much of the principle of cause? Could you in any way conceive, in\nany time and in any place, a phenomenon which begins to appear without\na cause, physical or moral?\n\nAnd were it possible to reduce universal and necessary principles to\ngeneral principles, in order to employ and apply these principles thus\nabased, and to found upon them any reasoning whatever, it would be\nnecessary to admit what is called in logic the principle of\ncontradiction, viz., that a thing cannot at the same time be and not be,\nin order to maintain the integrity of each part of the reasoning; as\nwell as the principle of sufficient reason, which alone establishes\ntheir connection and the legitimacy of the conclusion. Now, these two\nprinciples, without which there is no reasoning, are themselves\nuniversal and necessary principles; so that the circle is manifest.\n\nEven were we to destroy in thought all existences, save that of a single\nmind, we should be compelled to place in that mind, in order that it\nmight exercise itself at all--and the mind is such only on the condition\nthat it thinks--several necessary principles; it would be beyond the\npower of thought to conceive it deprived of the principle of\ncontradiction and the principle of sufficient reason.\n\nHow many times have we demonstrated the vanity of the efforts of the\nempirical school to disturb the existence or weaken the bearing of\nuniversal and necessary principles! Listen to this school: it will say\nto you that the principle of cause, given by us as universal and\nnecessary, is, after all, only a habit of the mind, which, seeing in\nnature a fact succeeding another fact, puts between these that\nconnection which we have called the relation of effect to cause. This\nexplanation is nothing but the destruction, not only of the principle of\ncausality, but even of the notion of cause. The senses show me two\nballs, one of which begins to move, the other of which moves after it.\nSuppose that this succession is renewed and continues; it will be\nconstancy added to succession; it will by no means be the connection of\na causative power with its effect; for example, that which consciousness\nattests to us is the least effort of volition. Thus a consequent\nempiricist, like Hume,[19] easily proves that no sensible experience\nlegitimately gives the idea of cause.\n\nWhat we say of the notion of cause we might say of all notions of the\nsame kind. Let us at least instance those of substance and unity.\n\nThe senses perceive only qualities, phenomena. I touch the extension, I\nsee the color, I am sensible of the odor; but do our senses attain the\nsubstance that is extended, colored, or odorous? On this point Hume[20]\nindulges in pleasantries. He asks which one of our senses takes\ncognizance of substance. What, then, according to him and in the system\nof empiricism, is the notion of substance? An illusion like the notion\nof cause.\n\nNeither do the senses give us unity; for unity is identity, is\nsimplicity, and the senses show us every thing in succession and\ncomposition. The works of art possess unity only because Art, that is to\nsay, the mind of man puts it there. If we perceive unity in the works of\nnature, it is not the senses that discover it to us. The arrangement of\nthe different parts of an object may contain unity, but it is a unity of\norganization, an ideal and moral unity which the mind alone conceives,\nand which escapes the senses.\n\nIf the senses are not able to explain simple notions, much less still\nare they able to explain the principles in which these notions are met,\nwhich are universal and necessary. In fact, the senses clearly perceive\nsuch and such facts, but it is impossible for them to embrace what is\nuniversal; experience attests what is, it does not reach what cannot but\nbe.\n\nWe go farther. Not only is empiricism unable to explain universal and\nnecessary principles; but we maintain that, without these principles,\nempiricism cannot even account for the knowledge of the sensible world.\n\nTake away the principle of causality, and the human mind is condemned\nnever to go out of itself and its own modifications. All the sensations\nof hearing, of smell, of taste, of touch, of feeling even, cannot inform\nyou what their cause is, nor whether they have a cause. But give to the\nhuman mind the principle of causality, admit that every sensation, as\nwell as every phenomenon, every change, every event, has a cause, as\nevidently we are not the cause of certain sensations, and that\nespecially these sensations must have a cause, and we are naturally led\nto recognize for those sensations causes different from ourselves, and\nthat is the first notion of an exterior world. The universal and\nnecessary principle of causality alone gives it and justifies it. Other\nprinciples of the same order increase and develop it.\n\nAs soon as you know that there are external objects, I ask you whether\nyou do not conceive them in a place that contains them. In order to deny\nit, it would be necessary to deny that every body is in a place, that is\nto say, to reject a truth of physics, which is at the same time a\nprinciple of metaphysics, as well as an axiom of common sense. But the\nplace that contains a body is often itself a body, which is only more\ncapacious than the first. This new body is in its turn in a place. Is\nthis new place also a body? Then it is contained in another place more\nextended, and so on; so that it is impossible for you to conceive a body\nwhich is not in a place; and you arrive at the conception of a boundless\nand infinite place, that contains all limited places and all possible\nbodies: that boundless and infinite place is space.\n\nAnd I tell you in this nothing that is not very simple. Look. Do you\ndeny that this water is in a vase? Do you deny that this vase is in this\nhall? Do you deny that this hall is in a larger place, which is in its\nturn in another larger still? I can thus carry you on to infinite space.\nIf you deny a single one of these propositions, you deny all, the first\nas well as the last; and if you admit the first, you are forced to admit\nthe last.\n\nIt cannot be supposed that sensibility, which is not able to give us\neven the idea of body, alone elevates us to the idea of space. The\nintervention of a superior principle is, therefore, here necessary.\n\nAs we believe that every body is contained in a place, so we believe\nthat every event happens in time. Can you conceive an event happening,\nexcept in some point of duration? This duration is extended and\nsuccessively increased to your mind's eye, and you end by conceiving it\nunlimited like space. Deny duration, and you deny all the sciences that\nmeasure it, you destroy all the natural beliefs upon which human life\nreposes. It is hardly necessary to add that sensibility alone no more\nexplains the notion of time than that of space, both of which are\nnevertheless inherent in the knowledge of the external world.\n\nEmpiricism is, therefore, convicted of being unable to dispense with\nuniversal and necessary principles, and of being unable to explain them.\n\nLet us pause: either all our preceding works have terminated in nothing\nbut chimeras, or they permit us to consider as a point definitely\nacquired for science, that there are in the human mind, for whomsoever\ninterrogates it sincerely, principles really stamped with the character\nof universality and necessity.\n\nAfter having established and defended the existence of universal and\nnecessary principles, we might investigate and pursue this kind of\nprinciples in all the departments of human knowledge, and attempt an\nexact and rigorous classification; but illustrious examples have taught\nus to fear to compromise truths of the greatest price by mixing with\nthem conjectures which, in giving brilliancy, perhaps, to the spirit of\nphilosophy, diminish its authority in the eyes of the wise. We, also,\nfollowing the example of Kant, attempted before you, last year,[21] a\nclassification, even a reduction of universal and necessary principles,\nand of all the notions that are connected with them. This work has not\nlost for us its importance, but we will not reproduce it. In the\ninterest of the great cause which we serve, and taking thought here only\nto establish upon solid foundations the doctrine which is adapted to the\nFrench genius in the nineteenth century, we will carefully shun every\nthing that might seem personal and hazardous; and, instead of examining,\ncriticising,[22] and reconstituting the classification which the\nphilosophy of Koenigsberg has given of universal and necessary\nprinciples, we prefer, we find it much more useful, to enable you to\npenetrate deeper into the nature of these principles, by showing you\nwhat faculty of ours it is that discovers them to us, and to which they\nare related and correspond.\n\nThe peculiarity of these principles is, that each one of us in\nreflection recognizes that he possesses them, but that he is not their\nauthor. We conceive them and apply them, we do not constitute them. Let\nus interrogate our consciousness. Do we refer to ourselves, for example,\nthe definitions of geometry, as we do certain movements of which we feel\nourselves to be the cause? If it is I who make these definitions, they\nare therefore mine, I can unmake them, modify them, change them, even\nannihilate them. It is certain that I cannot do it. I am not, then, the\nauthor of them. It has also been demonstrated that the principles of\nwhich we have spoken cannot be derived from sensation, which is\nvariable, limited, incapable of producing and authorizing any thing\nuniversal and necessary. I arrive, then, at the following consequence,\nalso necessary:--truth is in me and not by me. As sensibility puts me in\nrelation with the physical world, so another faculty puts me in\ncommunication with the truths that depend upon neither the world nor me,\nand that faculty is reason.\n\nThere are in men three general faculties which are always mingled\ntogether, and are rarely exercised except simultaneously, but which\nanalysis divides in order to study them better, without misconceiving\ntheir reciprocal play, their intimate connection, their indivisible\nunity. The first of these faculties is activity, voluntary and free\nactivity, in which human personality especially appears, and without\nwhich the other faculties would be as if they were not, since we should\nnot exist for ourselves. Let us examine ourselves at the moment when a\nsensation is produced in us; we shall recognize that there is\nperception only so far as there is some degree of attention, and that\nperception ends at the moment when our activity ends. One does not\nrecollect what he did in perfect sleep or in a swoon; because then he\nhad lost voluntary activity, consequently consciousness; consequently,\nagain, memory. Passion often, in depriving us of liberty, deprives us,\nat the same time, of the consciousness of our actions and of ourselves;\nthen, to use a just and common expression, one knows not what he does.\nIt is by liberty that man is truly man, that he possesses himself and\ngoverns himself; without it, he falls again under the yoke of nature; he\nis, without it, only a more admirable and more beautiful part of nature.\nBut while I am endowed with activity and liberty, I am also passive in\nother respects; I am subject to the laws of the external world; I suffer\nand I enjoy without being myself the author of my joys and my\nsufferings; I feel rising within me needs, desires, passions, which I\nhave not made, which by turns fill my life with happiness and misery.\nFinally, besides volition and sensibility, man has the faculty of\nknowing, has understanding, intelligence, reason, the name matters\nlittle, by means of which he is elevated to truths of different orders,\nand among others, to universal and necessary truths, which suppose in\nreason, attached to its exercise, principles entirely distinct from the\nimpressions of the senses and the resolutions of the will.[23]\n\nVoluntary activity, sensibility, reason, are all equally certain.\nConsciousness verifies the existence of necessary principles, which\ndirect the reason quite as well as that of sensations and volitions. I\ncall every thing real that falls under observation. I suffer; my\nsuffering is real, inasmuch as I am conscious of it: it is the same with\nliberty: it is the same with reason and the principles that govern it.\nWe can affirm, then, that the existence of universal and necessary\nprinciples rests upon the testimony of observation, and even of the most\nimmediate and surest observation, that of consciousness.\n\nBut consciousness is only a witness,--it makes what is appear; it\ncreates nothing. It is not because consciousness announces it to you,\nthat you have produced such or such a movement, that you have\nexperienced such or such an impression. Neither is it because\nconsciousness says to us that reason is constrained to admit such or\nsuch a truth, that this truth exists; it is because it exists that it is\nimpossible for reason not to admit it. The truths that reason attains by\nthe aid of universal and necessary principles with which it is provided,\nare absolute truths; reason does not create them, it discovers them.\nReason is not the judge of its own principles, and cannot account for\nthem, for it only judges by them, and they are to it its own laws. Much\nless does consciousness make these principles, or the truths which they\nreveal to us; for consciousness has no other office, no other power than\nin some sort to serve as a mirror for reason. Absolute truths are,\ntherefore, independent of experience and consciousness, and at the same\ntime, they are attested by experience and consciousness. On the one\nhand, these truths declare themselves in experience; on the other, no\nexperience explains them. Behold how experience and reason differ and\nagree, and how, by means of experience, we come to find something which\nsurpasses it.\n\nSo the philosophy which we teach rests neither upon hypothetical\nprinciples, nor upon empirical principles. It is observation itself, but\nobservation applied to the higher portion of our knowledge, which\nfurnishes us with the principles that we seek, with a point of departure\nat once solid and elevated.[24]\n\nThis point of departure we have found, and we do not abandon it. We\nremain immovably attached to it. The study of universal and necessary\nprinciples, considered under their different aspects, and in the great\nproblems which they solve, is almost the whole of philosophy; it fills\nit, measures it, divides it. If psychology is the regular study of the\nhuman mind and its laws, it is evident that that of universal and\nnecessary principles which preside over the exercise of reason, is the\nespecial domain of psychology, which in Germany is called rational\npsychology, and is very different from empirical psychology. Since logic\nis the examination of the value and the legitimacy of our different\nmeans of knowing, its most important employment must be to estimate the\nvalue and the legitimacy of the principles which are the foundations of\nour most important cognitions. In fine, the meditation of these same\nprinciples conducts us to theodicea, and opens to us the sanctuary of\nphilosophy, if we would ascend to their true source, to that sovereign\nreason which is the first and last explanation of our own.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[18] 1st Series of our Course, vol. i.\n\n[19] 1st Series, vol. i.\n\n[20] Ibid.\n\n[21] 1st Series, vol. i., Fragments of the Course of 1817.\n\n[22] See that criticism, 1st Series, vol. v., _Kant_, lecture 8.\n\n[23] This classification of the human faculties, save some differences\nmore nominal than real, is now generally adopted, and makes the\nfoundation of the psychology of our times. See our writings, among\nothers, 1st Series, Course of 1816, lectures 23 and 24: _Histoire du\nmoi_; ibid., _Des faits de Conscience_; vol. iii., lecture 3, _Examen de\nla Theorie des Facultes dans Condillac_; vol. iv., lecture 21, _des\nFacultes selon Reid_; vol. v., lecture 8, _Examen de la Theorie de\nKant_; 3d Series, vol iv., _Preface de la Premiere Edition, Examen des\nLecons de M. Laromiguiere, Introduction aux Oeuvres de M. de Biran,\netc._\n\n[24] This lecture on the existence of universal and necessary\nprinciples, which was easily comprehended, in 1818, by an auditory to\nwhich long discussions had already been presented during the two\nprevious years, appearing here without the support of these\npreliminaries, will not perhaps be entirely satisfactory to the reader.\nWe beseech him to consult carefully the first volume of the 1st Series\nof our Course, which contains an abridgment, at least, of the numerous\nlectures of 1816 and 1817, of which this is a _resume_; especially to\nread in the third, fourth, and fifth volumes of the 1st Series, the\ndeveloped analyses, in which, under different forms, universal and\nnecessary principles are demonstrated as far as may be, and in the third\nvolume of the 2d Series the lectures devoted to establish against Locke\nthe same principles.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE II.\n\nORIGIN OF UNIVERSAL AND NECESSARY PRINCIPLES.\n\n    _Resume_ of the preceding Lecture. A new question, that of the\n    origin of universal and necessary principles.--Danger of this\n    question, and its necessity.--Different forms under which truth\n    presents itself to us, and the successive order of these forms:\n    theory of spontaneity and reflection.--The primitive form of\n    principles; abstraction that disengages them from that form, and\n    gives them their actual form.--Examination and refutation of the\n    theory that attempts to explain the origin of principles by an\n    induction founded on particular notions.\n\n\nWe may regard as a certain conquest of the experimental method and of\ntrue psychological analysis, the establishment of principles which at\nthe same time that they are given to us by the surest of all\nexperiences, that of consciousness, have a bearing superior to\nexperience, and open to us regions inaccessible to empiricism. We have\nrecognized such principles at the head of nearly all the sciences; then,\nsearching among our different faculties for that which may have given\nthem to us, we have ascertained that it is impossible to refer them to\nany other faculty than to that general faculty of knowing which we call\nreason, very different from reasoning, to which it furnishes its laws.\n\nThat is the point at which we have arrived. But is it possible to stop\nthere?\n\nIn human intelligence, as it is now developed, universal and necessary\nprinciples are offered to us under forms in some sort consecrated. The\nprinciple of causality, for example, is thus enounced to us:--Every\nthing that begins to appear necessarily has a cause. Other principles\nhave this same axiomatic form. But have they always had it, and did they\nspring from the human mind with this logical and scholastic apparel, as\nMinerva sprang all armed from the head of Jupiter? With what characters\ndid they show themselves at first, before taking those in which they are\nnow clothed, and which can scarcely be their primitive characters? In a\nword, is it possible to find the origin of universal and necessary\nprinciples, and the route which they must have followed in order to\narrive at what they are to-day? A new problem, the importance of which\nit is easy to feel; for, if it can be resolved, what light will be shed\nupon these principles! On the other hand, what difficulties must be\nencountered! How can we penetrate to the sources of human knowledge,\nwhich are concealed, like those of the Nile? Is it not to be feared\nthat, in plunging into the obscure past, instead of truth, one may\nencounter an hypothesis; that, attaching himself, then, to this\nhypothesis, he may transport it from the past to the present, and that,\nbeing deceived in regard to the origin of principles, he may be led to\nmisconceive their actual and certain characters, or, at least, to\nmutilate and enfeeble those which the adopted origin would not easily\nexplain? This danger is so great, this rock is so celebrated in\nshipwrecks, that before braving it one should know how to take many\nprecautions against the seductions of the spirit of the system. It is\neven conceived that great philosophers, who were timid in no place, have\nsuppressed the perilous problem. In fact, by undertaking to grapple with\nthis problem at first, Locke and Condillac went far astray,[25] and it\nmust be said, corrupted all philosophy at its source. The empirical\nschool, which lauds the experimental method so much, turns its back upon\nit, thus to speak, when, instead of commencing by the study of the\nactual characters of our cognitions, as they are attested to us by\nconsciousness and reflection, it plunges, without light and without\nguidance, into the pursuit of their origin. Reid[26] and Kant[27] showed\nthemselves much more observing by confining themselves within the\nlimits of the present, through fear of losing themselves in the darkness\nof the past. Both freely treat of universal and necessary principles in\nthe form which they now have, without asking what was their primitive\nform. We much prefer this wise circumspection to the adventurous spirit\nof the empirical school. Nevertheless, when a problem is given out, so\nlong as it is not solved, it troubles and besets the human mind.\nPhilosophy ought not to shun it then, but its duty is to approach it\nonly with extreme prudence and a severe method.\n\nWe cannot recollect too well, for the sake of others and ourselves, that\nthe primitive state of human cognitions is remote from us; we can\nscarcely bring it within the reach of our vision and submit it to\nobservation; the actual state, on the contrary, is always at our\ndisposal: it is sufficient for us to enter into ourselves, to fathom\nconsciousness by reflection, and make it give up what it contains.\nSetting out from certain facts, we shall not be liable to wander\nsubsequently into hypotheses, or if, in ascending to the primitive\nstate, we fall into any error, we shall be able to perceive it and\nrepair it by the aid of the truth which an impartial observation shall\nhave given us; every origin which shall not legitimately end at the\npoint where we are, is by that alone convicted of being false, and will\ndeserve to be discarded.[28]\n\nYou know that a large portion of the last year was spent upon this\nquestion. We took, one by one, universal and necessary questions\nsubmitted to our examination, in order to determine the origin of each\none of them, its primitive form, and the different forms which have\nsuccessively clothed it; only after having operated thus upon a\nsufficiently large number of principles, did we come slowly to a general\nconclusion, and that conclusion we believe ourselves entitled to express\nhere briefly as the solid result of a most circumspect analysis, and, at\nleast, a most methodical labor. We must either renew before you this\nlabor, this analysis, and thereby run the risk of not being able to\ncomplete the long course that we have marked out for ourselves, or we\nmust limit ourselves to reminding you of the essential traits of the\ntheory at which we arrived.\n\nThis theory, moreover, is in itself so simple, that, without the dress\nof regular demonstrations upon which it is founded, its own evidence\nwill sufficiently establish it. It wholly rests upon the distinction\nbetween the different forms under which truth is presented to us. It is,\nin its somewhat arid generality, as follows:\n\n1st. One can perceive truth in two different ways. Sometimes one\nperceives it in such or such a particular circumstance. For example, in\npresence of two apples or two stones, and of two other similar objects\nplaced by the side of the first, I perceive this truth with absolute\ncertainty, viz., that these two stones and these two other stones make\nfour stones,--which is in some sort a concrete apperception of the\ntruth, because the truth is given to us in regard to real and\ndeterminate objects. Sometimes I also affirm in a general manner that\ntwo and two equal four, abstracting every determinate object,--which is\nthe abstract conception of truth.\n\nNow, of these two ways of knowing truth, which precedes in the\nchronological order of human knowledge? Is it not certain, may it not be\navowed by every one, that the particular precedes the general, that the\nconcrete precedes the abstract, that we begin by perceiving such or such\na determinate truth, in such or such a case, at such or such a moment,\nin such or such a place, before conceiving a general truth,\nindependently of every application and different circumstances of place\nand time?\n\n2d. We can perceive the same truth without asking ourselves this\nquestion: Have we the ability not to admit this truth? We perceive it,\nthen, by virtue alone of the intelligence which has been given us, and\nwhich enters spontaneously into exercise; or rather, we try to doubt the\ntruth which we perceive, we attempt to deny it; we are not able to do\nit, and then it is presented to reflection as superior to all possible\nnegation; it appears to us no longer only as a truth, but as a necessary\ntruth.\n\nIs it not also evident, that we do not begin by reflection, that\nreflection supposes an anterior operation, and that this operation, in\norder not to be one of reflection, and not to suppose another before it,\nmust be entirely spontaneous; that thus the spontaneous and instinctive\nintuition of truth precedes its reflection and necessary conception?\n\nReflection is a progress more or less tardy in the individual and in the\nrace. It is, _par excellence_, the philosophic faculty; it sometimes\nengenders doubt and skepticism, sometimes convictions that, for being\nrational, are only the more profound. It constructs systems, it creates\nartificial logic, and all those formulas which we now use by the force\nof habit as if they were natural to us. But spontaneous intuition is the\ntrue logic of nature. It presides over the acquisition of nearly all our\ncognitions. Children, the people, three-fourths of the human race never\npass beyond it, and rest there with boundless security.\n\nThe question of the origin of human cognitions is thus resolved for us\nin the simplest manner: it is enough for us to determine that operation\nof the mind which precedes all others, without which no other would take\nplace, and which is the first exercise, and the first form of our\nfaculty of knowing.[29]\n\nSince every thing that bears the character of reflection cannot be\nprimitive, and supposes an anterior state, it follows, that the\nprinciples which are the subject of our study could not have possessed\nat first the reflective and abstract character with which they are now\nmarked, that they must have shown themselves at their origin in some\nparticular circumstance, under a concrete and determinate form, and that\nin time they were disengaged from this form, in order to be invested\nwith their actual, abstract, and universal form. These are the two ends\nof the chain; it remains for us to seek how the human mind has been from\none to the other, from the primitive state to the actual state, from the\nconcrete state to the abstract state.\n\nHow can we go from the concrete to the abstract? Evidently by that\nwell-known operation which is called abstraction. Thus far, nothing is\nmore simple. But it is necessary to discriminate between two sorts of\nabstractions.\n\nIn presence of several particular objects, you omit the characters which\ndistinguish them, and separately consider a character which is common to\nthem all--you abstract this character. Examine the nature and conditions\nof this abstraction; it proceeds by means of comparison, and it is\nfounded on a certain number of particular and different cases. Take an\nexample: examine how we form the abstract and general idea of color.\nPlace before my eyes for the first time a white object. Can I here at\nthe first step immediately arrive at a general idea of color? Can I at\nfirst place on one side the whiteness, and on the other side the color?\nAnalyze what passes within you. You experience a sensation of whiteness.\nOmit the individuality of this sensation, and you wholly destroy it; you\ncannot neglect the whiteness, and preserve or abstract the color; for, a\nsingle color being given, which is a white color, if you take away\nthat, there remains to you absolutely nothing in regard to color. Let a\nblue object succeed this white object, then a red object, etc.; having\nsensations differing from each other, you can neglect their differences,\nand only consider what they have in common, that they are sensations of\nsight, that is to say, colors, and you thus obtain the abstract and\ngeneral idea of color. Take another example: if you had never smelled\nbut a single flower, the violet, for instance, would you have had the\nidea of odor in general? No. The odor of the violet would be for you the\nonly odor, beyond which you would not seek, you could not even imagine\nanother. But if to the odor of the violet is added that of the rose, and\nother different odors, in a greater or less number, provided there be\nseveral, and a comparison be possible, and consequently, knowledge of\ntheir differences and their resemblances, then you will be able to form\nthe general idea of odor. What is there in common between the odor of\none flower and that of another flower, except that they have been\nsmelled by aid of the same organ, and by the same person? What here\nrenders generalization possible, is the unity of the sentient subject\nwhich remembers having been modified, while remaining the same, by\ndifferent sensations; now, this subject can feel itself identical under\ndifferent modifications, and it can conceive in the qualities of the\nobject felt some resemblance and some dissimilarity, only on the\ncondition of a certain number of sensations experienced, of odors\nsmelled. In that case, but in that case alone, there can be comparison,\nabstraction, and generalization, because there are different and similar\nelements.\n\nIn order to arrive at the abstract form of universal and necessary\nprinciples, we have no need of all this labor. Let us take again, for\nexample, the principle of cause. If you suppose six particular cases\nfrom which you have abstracted this principle, it will contain neither\nmore nor less ideas than if you had deduced it from a single one. To be\nable to say that the event which I see must have a cause, it is not\nindispensable to have seen several events succeed each other. The\nprinciple which compels me to pronounce this judgment, is already\ncomplete in the first as in the last event; it can change in respect to\nits object, it cannot change in itself; it neither increases nor\ndecreases with the greater or less number of its applications. The only\ndifference that it is subject to in regard to us, is, that we apply it\nwhether we remark it or not, whether we disengage it or not from its\nparticular application. The question is not to eliminate the\nparticularity of the phenomenon, wherein it appears to us, whether it be\nthe fall of a leaf or the murder of a man, in order immediately to\nconceive, in a general and abstract manner, the necessity of a cause for\nevery thing that begins to exist. Here, it is not because I have been\nthe same, or have been affected in the same manner in several different\ncases, that I have come to this general and abstract conception. A leaf\nfalls: at the same instant I think, I believe, I declare that this\nfalling of the leaf must have a cause. A man has been killed: at the\nsame instant I believe, I proclaim that this death must have a cause.\nEach one of these facts contains particular and variable circumstances,\nand something universal and necessary, to wit, both of them cannot but\nhave a cause. Now, I am perfectly able to disengage the universal from\nthe particular, in regard to the first fact as well as in regard to the\nsecond fact, for the universal is in the first quite as well as in the\nsecond. In fact, if the principle of causality is not universal in the\nfirst fact, neither will it be in the second, nor in the third, nor in a\nthousandth; for a thousand are not nearer than one to the infinite, to\nabsolute universality. It is the same, and still more evidently, with\nnecessity. Pay particular attention to this point: if necessity is not\nin the first fact, it cannot be in any; for necessity cannot be formed\nlittle by little, and by successive increment. If, at the first murder\nthat I see, I do not exclaim that this murder necessarily has a cause,\nat the thousandth murder, although it shall have been proved that all\nthe others have had causes, I shall have the right to think that this\nnew murder has, very probably, also its cause; but I shall never have\nthe right to declare that it necessarily has a cause. But when\nnecessity and universality are already in a single case, that case alone\nis sufficient to entitle us to deduce them from it.[30]\n\nWe have established the existence of universal and necessary principles:\nwe have marked their origin; we have shown that they appear to us at\nfirst from a particular fact, and we have shown by what process, by what\nsort of abstraction the mind disengages them from the determinate and\nconcrete form which envelops them, but does not constitute them. Our\ntask, then, seems accomplished. But it is not,--we must defend the\nsolution which we have just presented to you of the problem of the\norigin of principles against the theory of an eminent metaphysician,\nwhose just authority might seduce you. M. Maine de Biran[31] is, like\nus, the declared adversary of the philosophy of sensation,--he admits\nuniversal and necessary principles; but the origin which he assigns to\nthem, puts them, according to us, in peril, and would lead back by a\n_detour_ to the empirical school.\n\nUniversal and necessary principles, if expressed in propositions,\nembrace several terms. For example, in the principle that every\nphenomenon supposes a cause; and in this, that every quality supposes a\nsubstance, by the side of the ideas of quality and phenomenon are met\nthe ideas of cause and substance, which seem the foundation of these two\nprinciples. M. de Biran pretends that the two ideas are anterior to the\ntwo principles which contain them, and that we at first find these ideas\nin ourselves in the consciousness that we are cause and substance, and\nthat, these ideas once being thus acquired, induction transports them\nout of ourselves, makes us conceive causes and substances wherever there\nare phenomena and qualities, and that the principles of cause and\nsubstance are thus explained. I beg pardon of my illustrious friend;\nbut it is impossible to admit in the least degree this explanation.\n\nThe possession of the origin of the idea of cause is by no means\nsufficient for the possession of the origin of the principle of\ncausality; for the idea and the principle are things essentially\ndifferent. You have established, I would say to M. de Biran, that the\nidea of cause is found in that of productive volition:--you will to\nproduce certain effects, and you produce them; hence the idea of a\ncause, of a particular cause, which is yourself; but between this fact\nand the axiom that all phenomena which appear necessarily have a cause,\nthere is a gulf.\n\nYou believe that you can bridge it over by induction. The idea of cause\nonce found in ourselves, induction applies it, you say, wherever a new\nphenomenon appears. But let us not be deceived by words, and let us\naccount for this extraordinary induction. The following dilemma I submit\nwith confidence to the loyal dialectics of M. de Biran:\n\nIs the induction of which you speak universal and necessary? Then it is\na different name for the same thing. An induction which forces us\nuniversally and necessarily to associate the idea of cause with that of\nevery phenomenon that begins to appear is precisely what is called the\nprinciple of causality. On the contrary, is this induction neither\nuniversal nor necessary? It cannot supply the place of the principle of\ncause, and the explanation destroys the thing to be explained.\n\nIt follows from this that the only true result of these various\npsychological investigations is, that the idea of personal and free\ncause precedes all exercise of the principle of causality, but without\nexplaining it.\n\nThe theory which we combat is much more powerless in regard to other\nprinciples which, far from being exercised before the ideas from which\nit is pretended to deduce them, precede them, and even give birth to\nthem. How have we acquired the idea of time and that of space, except by\naid of the principle that the bodies and events, which we see are in\ntime and in space? We have seen[32] that, without this principle, and\nconfined to the data of the senses and consciousness, neither time nor\nspace would exist for us. Whence have we deduced the idea of the\ninfinite, except from the principle that the finite supposes the\ninfinite, that all finite and defective things, which we perceive by our\nsenses and feel within us, are not sufficient for themselves, and\nsuppose something infinite and perfect? Omit the principle, and the idea\nof the infinite is destroyed. Evidently this idea is derived from the\napplication of the principle, and it is not the principle which is\nderived from the idea.\n\nLet us dwell a little longer on the principle of substances. The\nquestion is to know whether the idea of subject, of substance, precedes\nor follows the exercise of the principle. Upon what ground could the\nidea of substance be anterior to the principle that every quality\nsupposes a substance? Upon the ground alone that substance be the object\nof self-observation, as cause is said to be. When I produce a certain\neffect, I may perceive myself in action and as cause; in that case,\nthere would be no need of the intervention of any principle; but it is\nnot, it cannot be, the same, when the question is concerning the\nsubstance which is the basis of the phenomena of consciousness, of our\nqualities, our acts, our faculties even; for this substance is not\ndirectly observable; it does not perceive itself, it conceives itself.\nConsciousness perceives sensation, volition, thought, it does not\nperceive their subject. Who has ever perceived the soul? Has it not been\nnecessary, in order to attain this invisible essence, to set out from a\nprinciple which has the power to bind the visible to the invisible,\nphenomenon to being, to wit, the principle of substances?[33] The idea\nof substance is necessarily posterior to the application of the\nprinciple, and, consequently, it cannot explain its formation.\n\nLet us be well understood. We do not mean to say that we have in the\nmind the principle of substances before perceiving a phenomenon, quite\nready to apply the principle to the phenomenon, when it shall present\nitself; we only say that it is impossible for us to perceive a\nphenomenon without conceiving at the same instant a substance, that is\nto say, to the power of perceiving a phenomenon, either by the senses or\nby consciousness, is joined that of conceiving the substance in which it\ninheres. The facts thus take place:--the perception of phenomena and the\nconception of the substance which is their basis are not successive,\nthey are simultaneous. Before this impartial analysis fall at once two\nequal and opposite errors--one, that experience, exterior or interior,\ncan beget principles; the other, that principles precede experience.[34]\n\nTo sum up, the pretension of explaining principles by the ideas which\nthey contain, is a chimerical one. In supposing that all the ideas which\nenter into principles are anterior to them, it is necessary to show how\nprinciples are deduced from these ideas,--which is the first and radical\ndifficulty. Moreover, it is not true that in all cases ideas precede\nprinciples, for often principles precede ideas,--a second difficulty\nequally insurmountable. But whether ideas are anterior or posterior to\nprinciples, principles are always independent of them; they surpass them\nby all the superiority of universal and necessary principles over simple\nideas.[35]\n\nWe should, perhaps, beg your pardon for the austerity of this lecture.\nBut philosophical questions must be treated philosophically: it does not\nbelong to us to change their character. On other subjects, another\nlanguage. Psychology has its own language, the entire merit of which is\na severe precision, as the highest law of psychology itself is the\nshunning of every hypothesis, and an inviolable respect for facts. This\nlaw we have religiously followed. While investigating the origin of\nuniversal and necessary principles, we have especially endeavored not to\ndestroy the thing to be explained by a systematic explanation. Universal\nand necessary principles have come forth in their integrity from our\nanalysis. We have given the history of the different forms which they\nsuccessively assume, and we have shown, that in all these changes they\nremain the same, and of the same authority, whether they enter\nspontaneously and involuntarily into exercise, and apply themselves to\nparticular and determinate objects, or reflection turns them back upon\nthemselves in order to interrogate them in regard to their nature, or\nabstraction makes them appear under the form in which their universality\nand their necessity are manifest. Their certainty is the same under all\ntheir forms, in all their applications; it has neither generation nor\norigin; it is not born such or such a day, and it does not increase with\ntime, for it knows no degrees. We have not commenced by believing a\nlittle in the principle of causality, of substances, of time, of space,\nof the infinite, etc., then believing a little more, then believing\nwholly. These principles have been, from the beginning, what they will\nbe in the end, all-powerful, necessary, irresistible. The conviction\nwhich they give is always absolute, only it is not always accompanied by\na clear consciousness. Leibnitz himself has no more confidence in the\nprinciple of causality, and even in his favorite principle of sufficient\nreason, than the most ignorant of men; but the latter applies these\nprinciples without reflecting on their power, by which he is\nunconsciously governed, whilst Leibnitz is astonished at their power,\nstudies it, and for all explanation, refers it to the human mind, and to\nthe nature of things, that is to say, he elevates, to borrow the fine\nexpression of M. Royer-Collard,[36] the ignorance of the mass of men to\nits highest source. Such is, thank heaven, the only difference that\nseparates the peasant from the philosopher, in regard to those great\nprinciples of every kind which, in one way or another, discover to men\nthe same truths indispensable to their physical, intellectual, and moral\nexistence, and, in their ephemeral life, on the circumscribed point of\nspace and time where fortune has thrown them, reveal to them something\nof the universal, the necessary, and the infinite.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] First Series, vol. iv., lectures 1, 2, and 3.\n\n[26] _Ibid._, vol. iv., etc.\n\n[27] _Ibid._, vol. v., lecture 8.\n\n[28] We have everywhere called to mind, maintained, and confirmed by the\nerrors of those who have dared to break it, this rule of true\npsychological analysis, that, before passing to the question of the\norigin of an idea, a notion, a belief, any principle whatever, the\nactual characters of this idea, this notion, this belief, this\nprinciple, must have been a long time studied and well established, with\nthe firm resolution of not altering them under any pretext whatever in\nwishing to explain them. We believe that we have, as Leibnitz says,\nsettled this point. See 1st Series, vol. i., Programme of the Course of\n1817, and the Opening Discourse; vol. iii., lecture 1, _Locke_; lecture\n2, _Condillac_; lecture 3, almost entire, and lecture 8, p. 260; 2d\nSeries, vol. iii., _Examen du Systeme de Locke_, lecture 16, p. 77-87;\n3d Series, vol. iv., _Examination of the Lectures of M. Loremquiere_, p.\n268.\n\n[29] This theory of spontaneity and of reflection, which in our view is\nthe key to so many difficulties, continually recurs in our works. One\nmay see, vol. i. of the 1st Series, in a programme of the Course of\n1817, and in a fragment entitled _De la Spontaneite et de la Reflexion_;\nvol. iv. of the same Series, Examination of Reid's Philosophy, _passim_;\nvol. v., Examination of Kant's System, lecture 8; 2d Series, vol. i.,\n_passim_; vol. iii., Lectures on Judgment; 3d Series, _Fragments\nPhilosophiques_, vol. iv., preface of the first edition, p. 37, etc.; it\nwill be found in different lectures of this volume, among others, in the\nthird, On the value of Universal and Necessary Principles; in the fifth,\nOn Mysticism; and in the eleventh, Primary Data of Common Sense.\n\n[30] On immediate abstraction and comparative abstraction, see 1st\nSeries, vol. i., Programme of the Course of 1817, and everywhere in our\nother Courses.\n\n[31] On M. de Biran, on his merits and defects, see our _Introduction_\nat the head of his Works.\n\n[32] See lecture 1.\n\n[33] See vol. i. of the 1st Series, course of 1816, and 2d Series, vol.\niii., lecture 18, p. 140-146.\n\n[34] We have developed this analysis, and elucidated these results in\nthe 17th lecture of vol. ii. of the 2d Series.\n\n[35] We have already twice recurred, and more in detail, to the\nimpossibility of legitimately explaining universal and necessary\nprinciples by any association or induction whatever, founded upon any\nparticular idea, 2d Series, vol. iii., _Examen du Systeme de Locke_,\nlecture 19, p. 166; and 3d Series, vol. iv., _Introduction aux Oeuvres\nde M. de Biran_, p. 319. We have also made known the opinion of Reid,\n1st Series, vol. iv., lecture 22, p. 489. Finally, the profoundest of\nReid's disciples, the most enlightened judge that we know of things\nphilosophical, Sir W. Hamilton, professor of logic in the University of\nEdinburgh, has not hesitated to adopt the conclusions of our discussion,\nto which he is pleased to refer his readers:--_Discussions on Philosophy\nand Literature, etc._, by Sir William Hamilton, London, 1852. Appendix\nI, p. 588.\n\n[36] _Oeuvres de Reid_, vol. iv., p. 435. \"When we revolt against\nprimitive facts, we equally misconceive the constitution of our\nintelligence and the end of philosophy. Is explaining a fact any thing\nelse than deriving it from another fact, and if this kind of explanation\nis to terminate at all, does it not suppose facts inexplicable? The\nscience of the human mind will have been carried to the highest degree\nof perfection it can attain, it will be complete, when it shall know how\nto derive ignorance from the most elevated source.\"\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE III.\n\nON THE VALUE OF UNIVERSAL AND NECESSARY PRINCIPLES.\n\n    Examination and refutation of Kant's skepticism.--Recurrence to\n    the theory of spontaneity and reflection.\n\n\nAfter having recognized the existence of universal and necessary\nprinciples, their actual characters, and their primitive characters, we\nhave to examine their value, and the legitimacy of the conclusions which\nmay be drawn from them,--we pass from psychology to logic.\n\nWe have defended against Locke and his school the necessity and\nuniversality of certain principles. We now come to Kant, who recognizes\nwith us these principles, but confines their power within the limits of\nthe subject that conceives them, and, so far as subjective, declares\nthem to be without legitimate application to any object, that is to say,\nwithout objectivity, to use the language of the philosopher of\nKoenigsberg, which, right or wrong, begins to pass into the\nphilosophic language of Europe.\n\nLet us comprehend well the import of this new discussion. The principles\nthat govern our judgments, that preside over most sciences, that rule\nour actions,--have they in themselves an absolute truth, or are they\nonly regulating laws of our thought? The question is, to know whether it\nis true in itself, that every phenomenon has a cause, and every quality\na subject, whether every thing extended is really in space, and every\nsuccession in time, etc. If it is not absolutely true that every quality\nhas its subject of inherence, it is not, then, certain, that we have a\nsoul, a real substance of all the qualities which consciousness\nattests. If the principle of causality is only a law of our mind, the\nexternal world, which this principle discovers to us, loses its reality,\nit is only a succession of phenomena, without any effective action over\neach other, as Hume would have it, and even the impressions of our\nsenses are destitute of causes. Matter exists no more than the soul.\nNothing exists; every thing is reduced to mobile appearances, given up\nto a perpetual becoming, which again is accomplished we know not where,\nsince in reality there is neither time nor space. Since the principle of\nsufficient reason only serves to put in motion human curiosity, once in\npossession of the fatal secret that it can attain nothing real, this\ncuriosity would be very good to weary itself in searching for reasons\nwhich inevitably escape it, and in discovering relations which\ncorrespond only to the wants of our mind, and do not in the least\ncorrespond to the nature of things. In fine, if the principle of\ncausality, of substances, of final causes, of sufficient reason, are\nonly our modes of conception, God, whom all these principles reveal to\nus, will no more be any thing but the last of chimeras, which vanishes\nwith all the others in the breath of the Critique.\n\nKant has established, as well as Reid and ourself, the existence of\nuniversal and necessary principles; but an involuntary disciple of his\ncentury, an unconscious servant of the empirical school, to which he\nplaces himself in the attitude of an adversary, he makes to it the\nimmense concession that these principles are applied only to the\nimpressions of sensibility, that their part is to put these impressions\nin a certain order, but that beyond these impressions, beyond\nexperience, their power expires. This concession has ruined the whole\nenterprise of the German philosopher.\n\nThis enterprise was at once honest and great. Kant, grieved at the\nskepticism of his times, proposed to arrest it by fairly meeting it. He\nthought to disarm Hume by conceding to him that our highest conceptions\ndo not extend themselves beyond the inclosure of the human mind; and at\nthe same time, he supposed that he had sufficiently vindicated the human\nmind by restoring to it the universal and necessary principles which\ndirect it. But, according to the strong expression of M. Royer-Collard,\n\"one does not encounter skepticism,--as soon as he has penetrated into\nthe human understanding he has completely taken it by storm.\" A severe\ncircumspection is one thing, skepticism is another. Doubt is not only\npermitted, it is commanded by reason itself in the employment and\nlegitimate applications of our different faculties; but when it is\napplied to the legitimacy itself of our faculties, it no longer\nelucidates reason, it overwhelms it. In fact, with what would you have\nreason defend herself, when she has called herself in question? Kant\nhimself, then, overturned the dogmatism which he proposed at once to\nrestrain and save, at least in morals, and he put German philosophy upon\na route, at the end of which was an abyss. In vain has this great\nman--for his intentions and his character, without speaking of his\ngenius, merit for him this name--undertaken with Hume an ingenious and\nlearned controversy; he has been vanquished in this controversy, and\nHume remains master of the field of battle.\n\nWhat matters it, in fact, whether there may or may not be in the human\nmind universal and necessary principles, if these principles only serve\nto classify our sensations, and to make us ascend, step by step, to\nideas that are most sublime, but have for ourselves no reality? The\nhuman mind is, then, as Kant himself well expressed it, like a banker\nwho should take bills ranged in order on his desk for real values;--he\npossesses nothing but papers. We have thus returned, then, to that\nconceptualism of the middle age, which, concentrating truth within the\nhuman intelligence, makes the nature of things a phantom of intelligence\nprojecting itself everywhere out of itself, at once triumphant and\nimpotent, since it produces every thing, and produces only chimeras.[37]\n\n\nThe reproach which a sound philosophy will content itself with making to\nKant, is, that his system is not in accordance with facts. Philosophy\ncan and must separate itself from the crowd for the explanation of\nfacts; but, it cannot be too often repeated, it must not in the\nexplanation destroy what it pretends to explain; otherwise it does not\nexplain, it imagines. Here, the important fact which it is the question\nto explain is the belief of the human mind, and the system of Kant\nannihilates it.\n\nIn fact, when we are speaking of the truth of universal and necessary\nprinciples, we do not believe they are true only for us:--we believe\nthem to be true in themselves, and still true, were there no minds of\nours to conceive them. We regard them as independent of us; they seem to\nus to impose themselves upon our intelligence by the force of the truth\nthat is in them. So, in order to express faithfully what passes within\nus, it would be necessary to reverse the proposition of Kant, and\ninstead of saying with him, that these principles are the necessary laws\nof our mind, therefore they have no absolute value out of mind; we\nshould much rather say, that these principles have an absolute value in\nthemselves, therefore we cannot but believe them.\n\nAnd even this necessity of belief with which the new skepticism arms\nitself, is not the indispensable condition of the application of\nprinciples. We have established[38] that the necessity of believing\nsupposes reflection, examination, an effort to deny and the want of\npower to do it; but before all reflection, intelligence spontaneously\nseizes the truth, and, in the spontaneous apperception, is not the\nsentiment of necessity, nor consequently that character of subjectivity\nof which the German school speaks so much.\n\nLet us, then, here recur to that spontaneous intuition of truth, which\nKant knew not, in the circle where his profoundly reflective and\nsomewhat scholastic habits held him captive.\n\nIs it true that there is no judgment, even affirmative in form, which is\nnot mixed with negation?\n\nIt seems indeed that every affirmative judgment is at the same time\nnegative; in fact, to affirm that a thing exists, is to deny its\nnon-existence; as every negative judgment is at the same time\naffirmative; for to deny the existence of a thing, is to affirm its\nnon-existence. If it is so, then every judgment, whatever may be its\nform, affirmative or negative, since these two forms come back to each\nother, supposes a pre-established doubt in regard to the existence of\nthe thing in question, supposes some exercise of reflection, in the\ncourse of which the mind feels itself constrained to bear such or such a\njudgment, so that at this point of view the foundation of the judgment\nseems to be in its necessity; and then recurs the celebrated\nobjection:--if you judge thus only because it is impossible for you not\nto do it, you have for a guaranty of the truth nothing but yourself and\nyour own ways of conceiving; it is the human mind that transports its\nlaws out of itself; it is the subject that makes the object out of its\nown image, without ever going beyond the inclosure of subjectivity.\n\nWe respond, going directly to the root of the difficulty:--it is not\ntrue that all our judgments are negative. We admit that in the\nreflective state every affirmative judgment supposes a negative\njudgment, and reciprocally. But is reason exercised only on the\ncondition of reflection? Is there not a primitive affirmation which\nimplies no negation? As we often act without deliberating on our action,\nwithout premeditating it, and as we manifest in this case an activity\nthat is free still, but free with a liberty that is not reflective; so\nreason often perceives the truth without traversing doubt or error.\nReflection is a return to consciousness, or to an operation wholly\ndifferent from it. We do not find, then, in any primitive fact, that\nevery judgment which contains it presupposes another in which it is not.\nWe thus arrive at a judgment free from all reflection, to an affirmation\nwithout any mixture of negation, to an immediate intuition, the\nlegitimate child of the natural energy of thought, like the inspiration\nof the poet, the instinct of the hero, the enthusiasm of the prophet.\nSuch is the first act of the faculty of knowing. If one contradicts this\nprimitive affirmation, the faculty of knowing falls back up upon itself,\nexamines itself, attempts to call in doubt the truth it has perceived;\nit cannot; it affirms anew what it had affirmed at first; it adheres to\nthe truth already recognized, but with a new sentiment, the sentiment\nthat it is not in its power to divest itself of the evidence of this\nsame truth; then, but only then, appears that character of necessity and\nsubjectivity that some would turn against the truth, as though truth\ncould lose its own value, while penetrating deeper into the mind and\nthere triumphing over doubt; as though reflective evidence of it were\nthe less evidence; as though, moreover, the necessary conception of it\nwere the only form, the primary form of the perception of truth. The\nskepticism of Kant, to which good sense so easily does justice, is\ndriven to the extreme and forced within its intrenchment by the\ndistinction between spontaneous reason and reflective reason. Reflection\nis the theatre of the combats which reason engages in with itself, with\ndoubt, sophism, and error. But above reflection is a sphere of light and\npeace, where reason perceives truth without returning on itself, for the\nsole reason that truth is truth, and because God has made the reason to\nperceive it, as he has made the eye to see and the ear to hear.\n\nAnalyze, in fact, with impartiality, the fact of spontaneous\napperception, and you will be sure that it has nothing subjective in it\nexcept what it is impossible it should not have, to wit, the _me_ which is\nmingled with the fact without constituting it. The _me_ inevitably enters\ninto all knowledge, since it is the subject of it. Reason directly\nperceives truth; but it is in some sort augmented, in consciousness, and\nthen we have knowledge. Consciousness is there its witness, and not its\njudge; its only judge is reason, a faculty subjective and objective\ntogether, according to the language of Germany, which immediately\nattains absolute truth, almost without personal intervention on our\npart, although it might not enter into exercise if personality did not\nprecede or were not added to it.[39]\n\nSpontaneous apperception constitutes natural logic. Reflective\nconception is the foundation of logic properly so called. One is based\nupon itself, _verum index sui_; the other is based upon the\nimpossibility of the reason, in spite of all its efforts, not betaking\nitself to truth and believing in it. The form of the first is an\naffirmation accompanied with an absolute security, and without the least\nsuspicion of a possible negation; the form of the second is reflective\naffirmation, that is to say, the impossibility of denying and the\nnecessity of affirming. The idea of negation governs ordinary logic,\nwhose affirmations are only the laborious product of two negations.\nNatural logic proceeds by affirmations stamped with a simple faith,\nwhich instinct alone produces and sustains.\n\nNow, will Kant reply that this reason, which is much purer than that\nwhich he has known and described, which is wholly pure, which is\nconceived as something disengaged from reflection, from volition, from\nevery thing that constitutes personality, is nevertheless personal,\nsince we have a consciousness of it, and since it is thus marked with\nsubjectivity? To this argument we have nothing to respond, except that\nit is destroyed in the excess of its pretension. In fact, if, that\nreason may not be subjective, we must in no way participate in it, and\nmust not have even a consciousness of its exercise, then there is no\nmeans of ever escaping this reproach of subjectivity, and the ideal of\nobjectivity which Kant pursued is a chimerical, extravagant ideal,\nabove, or rather beneath, all true intelligence, all reason worthy the\nname; for it is demanding that this intelligence and this reason should\ncease to have consciousness of themselves, whilst this is precisely what\ncharacterizes intelligence and reason.[40] Does Kant mean, then, that\nreason, in order to possess a really objective power, cannot make its\nappearance in a particular subject, that it must be, for example, wholly\noutside of the subject which I am? Then it is nothing for me; a reason\nthat is not mine, that, under the pretext of being universal, infinite,\nand absolute in its essence, does not fall under the perception of my\nconsciousness, is for me as if it were not. To wish that reason should\nwholly cease to be subjective, is to demand something impossible to God\nhimself. No, God himself can understand nothing except in knowing it,\nwith his intelligence and with the consciousness of this intelligence.\nThere is subjectivity, then, in divine knowledge itself; if this\nsubjectivity involves skepticism, God is also condemned to skepticism,\nand he can no more escape from it than men; or indeed, if this is too\nridiculous, if the knowledge which God has of the exercise of his own\nintelligence does not involve skepticism for him, neither do the\nknowledge which we have of the exercise of our intelligence, and the\nsubjectivity attached to this knowledge, involve it for us.\n\nIn truth, when we see the father of German philosophy thus losing\nhimself in the labyrinth of the problem of the subjectivity and the\nobjectivity of first principles, we are tempted to pardon Reid for\nhaving disdained this problem, for limiting himself to repeating that\nthe absolute truth of universal and necessary principles rests upon the\nveracity of our faculties, and that upon the veracity of our faculties\nwe are compelled to accept their testimony. \"To explain,\" says he, \"why\nwe are convinced by our senses, by consciousness, by our faculties, is\nan impossible thing; we say--this is so, it cannot be otherwise, and we\ncan go no farther. Is not this the expression of an irresistible belief,\nof a belief which is the voice of nature, and against which we contend\nin vain? Do we wish to penetrate farther, to demand of our faculties,\none by one, what are their titles to our confidence, and to refuse them\nconfidence until they have produced their claims? Then, I fear that this\nextreme wisdom would conduct us to folly, and that, not having been\nwilling to submit to the common lot of humanity, we should be deprived\nof the light of common sense.\"[41]\n\nLet us support ourselves also by the following admirable passage of him\nwho is, for so many reasons, the venerated master of the French\nphilosophy of the nineteenth century. \"Intellectual life,\" says M.\nRoyer-Collard, \"is an uninterrupted succession, not only of ideas, but\nof explicit or implicit beliefs. The beliefs of the mind are the powers\nof the soul and the motives of the will. That which determines us to\nbelief we call evidence. Reason renders no account of evidence; to\ncondemn reason to account for evidence, is to annihilate it, for it\nneeds itself an evidence which is fitted for it. These are fundamental\nlaws of belief which constitute intelligence, and as they flow from the\nsame source they have the same authority; they judge by the same right;\nthere is no appeal from the tribunal of one to that of another. He who\nrevolts against a single one revolts against all, and abdicates his\nwhole nature.\"[42]\n\nLet us deduce the consequences of the facts of which we have just given\nan exposition.\n\n1st. The argument of Kant, which is based upon the character of\nnecessity in principles in order to weaken their objective authority,\napplies only to the form imposed by reflection on these principles, and\ndoes not reach their spontaneous application, wherein the character of\nnecessity no longer appears.\n\n2d. After all, to conclude with the human race from the necessity of\nbelieving in the truth of what we believe, is not to conclude badly; for\nit is reasoning from effect to cause, from the sign to the thing\nsignified.\n\n3d. Moreover, the value of principles is above all demonstration.\nPsychological analysis seizes, takes, as it were, by surprise, in the\nfact of intuition, an affirmation that is absolute, that is inaccessible\nto doubt; it establishes it; and this is equivalent to demonstration. To\ndemand any other demonstration than this, is to demand of reason an\nimpossibility, since absolute principles, being necessary to all\ndemonstration, could only be demonstrated by themselves.[43]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[37] On conceptualism, as well as on nominalism and realism, see the\n_Introduction to the inedited works of Abelard_, and also 1st Series,\nvol. iv., lecture 21, p. 457; 2d Series, vol. iii., lecture 20, p. 215,\nand the work already cited on the _Metaphysics of Aristotle_, p. 49:\n\"Nothing exists in this world which has not its law more general than\nitself. There is no individual that is not related to a species; there\nare no phenomena bound together that are not united to a plan. And it is\nnecessary there should really be in nature species and a plan, if every\nthing has been made with weight and measure, _cum pondere et mensura_,\nwithout which our very ideas of species and a plan would only be\nchimeras, and human science a systematic illusion. If it is pretended\nthat there are individuals and no species, things in juxtaposition and\nno plan; for example, human individuals more or less different, and no\nhuman type, and a thousand other things of the same sort, well and good;\nbut in that case there is nothing general in the world, except in the\nhuman understanding, that is to say, in other terms, the world and\nnature are destitute of order and reason except in the head of man.\"\n\n[38] See preceding lecture.\n\n[39] On the just limits of the personality and the impersonality of\nreason, see the following lecture, near the close.\n\n[40] We have everywhere maintained, that consciousness is the condition,\nor rather the necessary form of intelligence. Not to go beyond this\nvolume, see farther on, lecture 5.\n\n[41] 1st Series, vol. iv., lecture 22, p. 494.\n\n[42] _Oeuvres de Reid_, vol. iii., p. 450.\n\n[43] We have not thought it best to make this lecture lengthy by an\nexposition and detailed refutation of the _Critique of Pure Reason_ and\nits sad conclusion; the little that we say of it is sufficient for our\npurpose, which is much less historical than dogmatical. We refer the\nreader to a volume that we have devoted to the father of German\nphilosophy, 1st Series, vol. v., in which we have again taken up and\ndeveloped some of the arguments that are here used, in which we believe\nthat we have irresistibly exposed the capital defect of the\ntranscendental logic of Kant, and of the whole German school, that it\nleads to skepticism, inasmuch as it raises superhuman, chimerical,\nextravagant problems, and, when well understood, cannot solve them. See\nespecially lectures 6 and 8.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE IV.\n\nGOD THE PRINCIPLE OF PRINCIPLES.\n\n    Object of the lecture: What is the ultimate basis of absolute\n    truth?--Four hypotheses: Absolute truth may reside either in us,\n    in particular beings and the world, in itself, or in God. 1. We\n    perceive absolute truth, we do not constitute it. 2. Particular\n    beings participate in absolute truth, but do not explain it;\n    refutation of Aristotle. 3. Truth does not exist in itself;\n    defence of Plato. 4. Truth resides in God.--Plato; St.\n    Augustine; Descartes; Malebranche; Fenelon; Bossuet;\n    Leibnitz.--Truth the mediator between God and man.--Essential\n    distinctions.\n\n\nWe have justified the principles that govern our intelligence; we have\nbecome confident that there is truth outside of us, that there are\nverities worthy of that name, which we can perceive, which we do not\nmake, which are not solely conceptions of our mind, which would still\nexist although our mind should not perceive them. Now this other problem\nnaturally presents itself: What, then, in themselves, are these\nuniversal and necessary truths? where do they reside? whence do they\ncome? We do not raise this problem, and the problems that it embraces;\nthe human mind itself proposes them, and it is fully satisfied only when\nit has resolved them, and when it has reached the extreme limit of\nknowledge that it is within its power to attain.\n\nIt is certain that the principles which, in all the orders of knowledge,\ndiscover to us absolute and necessary truths, constitute part of our\nreason, which surely makes its dwelling in us, and is intimately\nconnected with personality in the depths of intellectual life. It\nfollows that the truth, which reason reveals to us, falls thereby into\nclose relation with the subject that perceives it, and seems only a\nconception of our mind. Nevertheless, as we have proved, we perceive\ntruth, we are not the authors of it. If the person that I am, if the\nindividual _me_ does not, perhaps, explain the whole of reason, how\ncould it explain truth, and absolute truth? Man, limited and passing\naway, perceives necessary, eternal, infinite truth; that is for him a\nprivilege sufficiently high; but he is neither the principle that\nsustains truth, nor the principle that gives it being. Man may say, My\nreason; but give him credit for never having dared to say, My truth.\n\nIf absolute truths are beyond man who perceives them, once more, where\nare they, then? A peripatetic would respond--In nature. Is it, in fact,\nnecessary to seek for them any other subject than the beings themselves\nwhich they govern? What are the laws of nature, except certain\nproperties which our mind disengages from the beings and phenomena in\nwhich they are met, in order to consider them apart? Mathematical\nprinciples are nothing more. For example, the axiom thus expressed--The\nwhole is greater than any of its parts, is true of any whole and part\nwhatever. The principle of contradiction, considered in its logical\ntitle, as the condition of all our judgments, of all our reasonings,\nconstitutes a part of the essence of all being, and no being can exist\nwithout containing it. The universal exists, says Aristotle, but it does\nnot exist apart from particular beings.[44]\n\nThis theory which considers universals as having their basis in things,\nis a progress towards the pure conceptualism which we have in the\nbeginning indicated and shunned. Aristotle is much more of a realist\nthan Abelard and Kant. He is quite right in maintaining that universals\nare in particular things, for particular things could not be without\nuniversals; universals give to them their fixity, even for a day, and\ntheir unity. But from the fact that universals are in particular beings,\nis it necessary to conclude that they, wholly and exclusively, reside\nthere, and that they have no other reality than that of the objects to\nwhich they are applied? It is the same with principles of which\nuniversals are the constitutive elements. It is, it is true, in the\nparticular fact, of a particular cause producing a particular event,\nthat is given us the universal principle of causality; but this\nprinciple is much more extensive than the facts, for it is applied, not\nonly to this fact, but to a thousand others. The particular fact\ncontains the principle, but it does not wholly contain it, and, far from\ngiving the basis of the principle, it is based upon it. As much may be\nsaid of other principles.\n\nPerhaps it will be replied that, if a principle is certainly more\nextensive than such a fact, or such a being, it is not more extensive\nthan all facts and all beings, and that nature, considered as a whole,\ncan explain that which each particular being does not explain. But\nnature, in its totality, is still only a finite and contingent thing,\nwhilst the principles to be explained have a necessary and infinite\nbearing. The idea of the infinite can come neither from any particular\nbeing, nor from the whole of beings. Entire nature will not furnish us\nthe idea of perfection, for all the beings of nature are imperfect.\nAbsolute principles govern, then, all facts and all beings, they do not\nspring from them.\n\nWill it be necessary to come to the opinion, then, that absolute truths,\nbeing explicable neither by humanity nor by nature, subsist by\nthemselves, and are to themselves their own foundation and their own\nsubject?\n\nBut this opinion contains still more absurdities than the preceding;\nfor, I ask, what are truths, absolute or contingent, that exist by\nthemselves, out of things in which they are found, and out of the\nintelligence that conceives them? Truth is, then, only a realized\nabstraction. There are no quintessential metaphysics which can prevail\nagainst good sense; and if such is the Platonic theory of ideas,\nAristotle is right in his opposition to it. But such a theory is only a\nchimera that Aristotle created for the pleasure of combating it.\n\nLet us hasten to remove absolute truths from this ambiguous and\nequivocal state. And how? By applying to them a principle which should\nnow be familiar to you. Yes, truth necessarily appeals to something\nbeyond itself. As every phenomenon has its subject of inherence, as our\nfaculties, our thoughts, our volitions, our sensations, exist only in a\nbeing which is ourselves, so truth supposes a being in which it resides,\nand absolute truths suppose a being absolute as themselves, wherein they\nhave their final foundation. We come thus to something absolute, which\nis no longer suspended in the vagueness of abstraction, but is a being\nsubstantially existing. This being, absolute and necessary, since it is\nthe subject of necessary and absolute truths, this being which is at the\nfoundation of truth as its very essence, in a single word, is called\n_God_.[45]\n\nThis theory, which conducts from absolute truth to absolute being, is\nnot new in the history of philosophy: it goes back to Plato.\n\nPlato,[46] in searching for the principles of knowledge clearly saw,\nwith Socrates his master, that the least definition, without which there\ncan be no precise knowledge, supposes something universal and one, which\ndoes not come within the reach of the senses, which reason alone can\ndiscover; this something universal and one he called _Idea_.\n\nIdeas, which possess universality and unity, do not come from material,\nchanging, and mobile things, to which they are applied, and which render\nthem intelligible. On the other hand, it is not the human mind that\nconstitutes ideas; for man is not the measure of truth.\n\nPlato calls Ideas veritable beings, [Greek: ta ontos onta], since they\nalone communicate to sensible things and to human cognitions their truth\nand their unity. But does it follow that Plato gives to Ideas a\nsubstantial existence, that he makes of them beings properly so called?\nIt is important that no cloud should be left on this fundamental point\nof the Platonic theory.\n\nAt first, if any one should pretend that in Plato Ideas are beings\nsubsisting by themselves, without interconnection and without relation\nto a common centre, numerous passages of the _Timaeus_ might be objected\nto him,[47] in which Plato speaks of Ideas as forming in their whole an\nideal unity, which is the reason of the unity of the visible world.[48]\n\nWill it be said that this ideal world forms a distinct unity, a unity\nseparate from God? But, in order to sustain this assertion, it is\nnecessary to forget so many passages of the _Republic_, in which the\nrelations of truth and science with the Good, that is to say, with God,\nare marked in brilliant characters.\n\nLet not that magnificent comparison be forgotten, in which, after having\nsaid that the sun produces in the physical world light and life,\nSocrates adds: \"So thou art able to say, intelligible beings not only\nhold from the _Good_ that which renders them intelligible, but also\ntheir being and their essence.\"[49] So, intelligible beings, that is to\nsay, Ideas, are not beings that exist by themselves.\n\nMen go on repeating with assurance that the Good, in Plato, is only the\nidea of the good, and that an idea is not God. I reply, that the Good is\nin fact an idea, according to Plato, but that the idea here is not a\npure conception of the mind, an object of thought, as the peripatetic\nschool understood it; I add, that the Idea of the Good is in Plato the\nfirst of Ideas, and that, for this reason, while remaining for us an\nobject of thought, it is confounded as to existence with God. If the\nIdea of the Good is not God himself, how will the following passage,\nalso taken from the _Republic_, be explained? \"At the extreme limits of\nthe intellectual world is the Idea of the Good, which is perceived with\ndifficulty, but, in fine, cannot be perceived without concluding that it\nis the source of all that is beautiful and good; that in the visible\nworld it produces light, and the star whence the light directly comes,\nthat in the invisible world it directly produces truth and\nintelligence.\"[50] Who can produce, on the one hand, the sun and light,\non the other, truth and intelligence, except a real being?\n\nBut all doubt disappears before the following passages from the\n_Phaedrus_, neglected, as it would seem designedly, by the detractors of\nPlato: \"In this transition, (the soul) contemplates justice,\ncontemplates wisdom, contemplates science, not that wherein enters\nchange, nor that which shows itself different in the different objects\nwhich we are pleased to call beings, but science as it exists in that\nwhich is called being, _par excellence_....\"[51]--\"It belongs to the\nsoul to conceive the universal, that is to say, that which, in the\ndiversity of sensations, can be comprehended under a rational unity.\nThis is the remembrance of what the soul has seen during its journey _in\nthe train of Deity_, when, disdaining what we improperly call beings, it\nlooked upwards to the only true being. So it is just that the thought of\nthe philosopher should alone have wings; for its remembrance is always\nas much as possible with _the things which make God a true God, inasmuch\nas he is with them_.\"[52]\n\nSo the objects of the philosopher's contemplation, that is to say,\nIdeas, are in God, and it is by these, by his essential union with\nthese, that God is the true God, the God who, as Plato admirably says in\nthe _Sophist_, participates in _august and holy intelligence_.[53]\n\nIt is therefore certain, that, in the true Platonic theory, Ideas are\nnot beings in the vulgar sense of the word, beings which would be\nneither in the mind of man, nor in nature, nor in God, and would subsist\nonly by themselves. No, Plato considers Ideas as being at once the\nprinciples of sensible things, of which they are the laws, and the\nprinciples also of human knowledge, which owes to them its light, its\nrule, and its end, and the essential attributes of God, that is to say,\nGod himself.\n\nPlato is truly the father of the doctrine which we have explained, and\nthe great philosophers who have attached themselves to his school have\nalways professed this same doctrine.\n\nThe founder of Christian metaphysics, St. Augustine, is a declared\ndisciple of Plato: everywhere he speaks, like Plato, of the relation of\nhuman reason to the divine reason, and of truth to God. In the _City of\nGod_, book x., chap. ii., and in chap. ix. of book vii. of the\n_Confessions_, he goes to the extent of comparing the Platonic doctrine\nwith that of St. John.\n\nHe adopts, without reserve, the theory of Ideas. _Book of Eighty-three\nQuestions_, question 46: \"Ideas are the primordial forms, and, as it\nwere, the immutable reasons of things; they are not created, they are\neternal, and always the same: they are contained in the divine\nintelligence; and without being subject to birth and death, they are the\ntypes according to which is formed every thing that is born and\ndies.\"[54]\n\n\"What man, pious, and penetrated with true religion, would dare to deny\nthat all things that exist, that is to say, all things that, each of its\nkind, possess a determinate nature, have been created by God? This point\nbeing once conceded, can it be said that God has created things without\nreason? If it is impossible to say or think this, it follows that all\nthings have been created with reason. But the reason of the existence\nof a man cannot be the same as the reason of the existence of a horse;\nthat is absurd; each thing has therefore been created by virtue of a\nreason that is peculiar to it. Now, where can these reasons be, except\nin the mind of the Creator? For he saw nothing out of himself, which he\ncould use as a model for creating what he created: such an opinion would\nbe sacrilege.[55]\n\n\"If the reasons of things to be created and things created are contained\nin the divine intelligence, and if there is nothing in the divine\nintelligence but the eternal and immutable, the reasons of things which\nPlato calls Ideas, are the eternal and immutable truths, by the\nparticipation in which every thing that is is such as it is.\"[56]\n\nSt. Thomas himself, who scarcely knew Plato, and who was often enough\nheld by Aristotle in a kind of empiricism, carried away by Christianity\nand St. Augustine, let the sentiment escape him, \"that our natural\nreason is a sort of participation in the divine reason, that to this we\nowe our knowledge and our judgments, that this is the reason why it is\nsaid, that we see every thing in God.\"[57] There are in St. Thomas many\nother similar passages, of perhaps an expressive Platonism, which is not\nthe Platonism of Plato, but of the Alexandrians.\n\nThe Cartesian philosophy, in spite of its profound originality, and its\nwholly French character, is full of the Platonic spirit. Descartes has\nno thought of Plato, whom apparently he has never read; in nothing does\nhe imitate or resemble him: nevertheless, from the first, he is met in\nthe same regions with Plato, whither he goes by a different route.\n\nThe notion of the infinite and the perfect is for Descartes what the\nuniversal, the Idea, is for Plato. No sooner has Descartes found by\nconsciousness that he thinks, than he concludes from this that he\nexists, then, in course, by consciousness still, he recognizes himself\nas imperfect, full of defects, limitations, miseries, and, at the same\ntime, conceives something infinite and perfect. He possesses the idea of\nthe infinite and the perfect; but this idea is not his own work, for he\nis imperfect; it must then have been put into him by another being\nendowed with perfection, whom he conceives, whom he does not\npossess:--that being is God. Such is the process by which Descartes,\nsetting out from his own thought, and his own being, elevated himself to\nGod. This process, so simple, which he so simply exposes in the\n_Discours de la Methode_, he will put successively, in the\n_Meditations_, in the _Responses aux Objections_, in the _Principes_,\nunder the most diverse forms, he will accommodate it, if it is\nnecessary, to the language of the schools, in order that it may\npenetrate into them. After all, this process is compelled to conclude,\nfrom the idea of the infinite and the perfect, in the existence of a\ncause of this idea, adequate, at least, to the idea itself, that is to\nsay, infinite and perfect. One sees that the first difference between\nPlato and Descartes is, that the ideas which in Plato are at once\nconceptions of our mind, and the principles of things, are for\nDescartes, as well as for all modern philosophy, only our conceptions,\namongst which that of the infinite and perfect occupies the first place;\nthe second difference is, that Plato goes from ideas to God by the\nprinciple of substances, if we may be allowed to use this technical\nlanguage of modern philosophy; whilst Descartes employs rather the\nprinciple of causality, and concludes--well understood without\nsyllogism--from the idea of the infinite and the perfect in a cause also\nperfect and infinite.[58] But under these differences, and in spite of\nmany more, is a common basis, a genius the same, which at first elevates\nus above the senses, and, by the intermediary of marvellous ideas that\nare incontestably in us, bears us towards him who alone can be their\nsubstance, who is the infinite and perfect author of our idea of\ninfinity and perfection. For this reason, Descartes belongs to the\nfamily of Plato and Socrates.\n\nThe idea of the perfect and the finite being once introduced into the\nphilosophy of the seventeenth century, it becomes there for the\nsuccessors of Descartes what the theory of ideas became for the\nsuccessors of Plato.\n\nAmong the French writers, Malebranche, perhaps, reminds us with the\nleast disadvantage, although very imperfectly still, of the manner of\nPlato: he sometimes expresses its elevation and grace; but he is far\nfrom possessing the Socratic good sense, and, it must be confessed, no\none has clouded more the theory of ideas by exaggerations of every kind\nwhich he has mingled with them.[59] Instead of establishing that there\nis in the human reason, wholly personal as it is by its intimate\nrelation with our other faculties, something also which is not personal,\nsomething universal which permits it to elevate itself to universal\ntruths, Malebranche does not hesitate to absolutely confound the reason\nthat is in us with the divine reason itself. Moreover, according to\nMalebranche, we do not directly know particular things, sensible\nobjects; we know them only by ideas; it is the intelligible extension\nand not the material extension that we immediately perceive; in vision\nthe proper object of the mind is the universal, the idea; and as the\nidea is in God, it is in God that we see all things. We can understand\nhow well-formed minds must have been shocked by such a theory; but it is\nnot just to confound Plato with his brilliant and unfaithful disciple.\nIn Plato, sensibility directly attains sensible things; it makes them\nknown to us as they are, that is to say, as very imperfect and\nundergoing perpetual change, which renders the knowledge that we have of\nthem almost unworthy of the name of knowledge. It is reason, different\nin us from sensibility, which, above sensible objects, discovers to us\nthe universal, the idea, and gives a knowledge solid and durable. Having\nonce attained ideas, we have reached God himself, in whom they have\ntheir foundation, who finishes and consummates true knowledge. But we\nhave no need of God, nor of ideas, in order to perceive sensible\nobjects, which are defective and changing; for this our senses are\nsufficient. Reason is distinct from the senses; it transcends the\nimperfect knowledge of what they are capable; it attains the universal,\nbecause it possesses something universal itself; it participates in the\ndivine reason, but it is not the divine reason; it is enlightened by it,\nit comes from it,--it is not it.\n\nFenelon is inspired at once by Malebranche and Descartes in the\ntreatise, _de l'Existence de Dieu_. The second part is entirely\nCartesian in method, in the order and sequence of the proofs.\nNevertheless, Malebranche also appears there, especially in the fourth\nchapter, on the nature of ideas, and he predominates in all the\nmetaphysical portions of the first part. After the explanations which we\nhave given, it will not be difficult for you to discern what is true and\nwhat is at times excessive in the passages which follow:[60]\n\nPart i., chap. lii. \"Oh! how great is the mind of man! It bears in\nitself what astonishes itself and infinitely surpasses itself. Its ideas\nare universal, eternal, and immutable.... The idea of the infinite is\nin me as well as that of lines, numbers, and circles....--Chap. liv.\nBesides this idea of the infinite, I have also universal and immutable\nnotions, which are the rule of all my judgments. I can judge of nothing\nexcept by consulting them, and it is not in my power to judge against\nwhat they represent to me. My thoughts, far from being able to correct\nthis rule, are themselves corrected in spite of me by this superior\nrule, and they are irresistibly adjusted to its decision. Whatever\neffort of mind I may make, I can never succeed in doubting that two and\ntwo are four; that the whole is not greater than any of its parts; that\nthe centre of a perfect circle is not equidistant from all points of the\ncircumference. I am not at liberty to deny these propositions; and if I\ndeny these truths, or others similar to them, I have in me something\nthat is above me, that forces me to the conclusion. This fixed and\nimmutable rule is so internal and so intimate that I am inclined to take\nit for myself; but it is above me since it corrects me, redresses me,\nand puts me in defiance against myself, and reminds me of my impotence.\nIt is something that suddenly inspires me, provided I listen to it, and\nI am never deceived except in not listening to it.... This internal rule\nis what I call my reason....--Chap. lv. In truth my reason is in me; for\nI must continually enter into myself in order to find it. But the higher\nreason which corrects me when necessary, which I consult, exists not by\nme, and makes no part of me. This rule is perfect and immutable; I am\nchanging and imperfect. When I am deceived, it does not lose its\nintegrity. When I am undeceived, it is not this that returns to its end:\nit is this which, without ever having deviated, has the authority over\nme to remind me of my error, and to make me return. It is a master\nwithin, which makes me keep silent, which makes me speak, which makes me\nbelieve, which makes me doubt, which makes me acknowledge my errors or\nconfirm my judgments. Listening to it, I am instructed; listening to\nmyself, I err. This master is everywhere, and its voice makes itself\nheard, from end to end of the universe, in all men as well as in\nme....--Chap. lvi.... That which appears the most in us and seems to be\nthe foundation of ourselves, I mean our reason, is that which is least\nof all our own, which we are constrained to believe to be especially\nborrowed. We receive without cessation, and at all moments, a reason\nsuperior to us, as we breathe without cessation the air, which is a\nforeign body....--Chap. lvii. The internal and universal master always\nand everywhere speaks the same truths. We are not this master. It is\ntrue that we often speak without it, and more loftily than it. But we\nare then deceived, we are stammering, we do not understand ourselves. We\neven fear to see that we are deceived, and we close the ear through fear\nof being humiliated by its corrections. Without doubt, man, who fears\nbeing corrected by this incorruptible reason, who always wanders in not\nfollowing it, is not that perfect, universal, immutable reason which\ncorrects him in spite of himself. In all things we find, as it were, two\nprinciples within us. One gives, the other receives; one wants, the\nother supplies; one is deceived, the other corrects; one goes wrong by\nits own inclination, the other rectifies it.... Each one feels within\nhimself a limited and subaltern reason, which wanders when it escapes a\ncomplete subordination, which is corrected only by returning to the yoke\nof another superior, universal, and immutable power. So every thing in\nus bears the mark of a subaltern, limited, partial, borrowed reason,\nwhich needs another to correct it at every moment. All men are rational,\nbecause they possess the same reason which is communicated to them in\ndifferent degrees. There is a certain number of wise men; but the wisdom\nwhich they receive, as it were, from the fountain-head, which makes them\nwhat they are, is one and the same....--Chap. lviii. Where is this\nwisdom? Where is this reason, which is both common and superior to all\nthe limited and imperfect reasons of the human race? Where, then, is\nthis oracle which is never silent, against which the vain prejudices of\npeoples are always impotent? Where is this reason which we ever need to\nconsult, which comes to us to inspire us with the desire of listening to\nits voice? Where is this light _that lighteneth every man that cometh\ninto the world_.... The substance of the human eye is not light; on the\ncontrary, the eye borrows at each moment the light of the sun's rays. So\nmy mind is not the primitive reason, the universal and immutable truth,\nit is only the medium that conducts this original light, that is\nilluminated by it....--Chap. lx. I find two reasons in myself,--one is\nmyself, the other is above me. That which is in me is very imperfect,\nfaulty, uncertain, preoccupied, precipitate, subject to aberration,\nchanging, conceited, ignorant, and limited; in fine, it possesses\nnothing but what it borrows. The other is common to all men, and is\nsuperior to all; it is perfect, eternal, immutable, always ready to\ncommunicate itself in all places, and to rectify all minds that are\ndeceived, in fine, incapable of ever being exhausted or divided,\nalthough it gives itself to those who desire it. Where is this perfect\nreason, that is so near me and so different from me? Where is it? It\nmust be something real.... Where is this supreme reason? Is it not God\nthat I am seeking?\"\n\nPart ii., chap. i., sect. 28.[61] \"I have in me the idea of the infinite\nand of infinite perfection.... Give me a finite thing as great as you\nplease--let it quite transcend the reach of my senses, so that it\nbecomes, as it were, infinite to my imagination; it always remains\nfinite in my mind; I conceive a limit to it, even when I cannot imagine\nit. I am not able to mark the limit; but I know that it exists; and far\nfrom confounding it with the infinite, I conceive it as infinitely\ndistant from the idea that I have of the veritable infinite. If one\nspeaks to me of the indefinite as a mean between the two extremes of the\ninfinite and the limited, I reply, that it signifies nothing, that, at\nleast, it only signifies something truly finite, whose boundaries escape\nthe imagination without escaping the mind.... Sect. 29. Where have I\nobtained this idea, which is so much above me, which infinitely\nsurpasses me, which astonishes me, which makes me disappear in my own\neyes, which renders the infinite present to me? Whence does it come?\nWhere have I obtained it?... Once more, whence comes this marvellous\nrepresentation of the infinite, which pertains to the infinite itself,\nwhich resembles nothing finite? It is in me, it is more than myself; it\nseems to me every thing, and myself nothing. I can neither efface,\nobscure, diminish, nor contradict it. It is in me; I have not put it\nthere, I have found it there; and I have found it there only because it\nwas already there before I sought it. It remains there invariable, even\nwhen I do not think of it, when I think of something else. I find it\nwhenever I seek it, and it often presents itself when I am not seeking\nit. It does not depend upon me; I depend upon it.... Moreover, who has\nmade this infinite representation of the infinite, so as to give it to\nme? Has it made itself? Has the infinite image[62] of the infinite had\nno original, according to which it has been made, no real cause that has\nproduced it? Where are we in relation to it? And what a mass of\nextravagances! It is, therefore, absolutely necessary to conclude that\nit is the infinitely perfect being that renders himself immediately\npresent to me, when I conceive him, and that he himself is the idea\nwhich I have of him....\"\n\nChap. iv., sect. 49. \"... My ideas are myself; for they are my\nreason.... My ideas, and the basis of myself, or of my mind, appear but\nthe same thing. On the other hand, my mind is changing, uncertain,\nignorant, subject to error, precipitate in its judgments, accustomed to\nbelieve what it does not clearly understand, and to judge without having\nsufficiently consulted its ideas, which are by themselves certain and\nimmutable. My ideas, then, are not myself, and I am not my ideas. What\nshall I believe, then, they can be?... What then! are my ideas God?\nThey are superior to my mind, since they rectify and correct it; they\nhave the character of the Divinity, for they are universal and immutable\nlike God; they really subsist, according to a principle that we have\nalready established: nothing exists so really as that which is universal\nand immutable. If that which is changing, transitory, and derived, truly\nexists, much more does that which cannot change, and is necessary. It is\nthen necessary to find in nature something existing and real, that is,\nmy ideas, something that is within me, and is not myself, that is\nsuperior to me, that is in me even when I am not thinking of it, with\nwhich I believe myself to be alone, as though I were only with myself,\nin fine, that is more present to me, and more intimate than my own\nfoundation. I know not what this something, so admirable, so familiar,\nso unknown, can be, except God.\"\n\nLet us now hear the most solid, the most authoritative of the Christian\ndoctors of the seventeenth century--let us hear Bossuet in his _Logic_,\nand in the _Treatise on the Knowledge of God and Self_.[63]\n\nBossuet may be said to have had three masters in philosophy--St.\nAugustine, St. Thomas, and Descartes. He had been taught at the college\nof Navarre the doctrine of St. Thomas, that is to say, a modified\nperipateticism; at the same time he was nourished by the reading of St.\nAugustine, and out of the schools he found spread abroad the philosophy\nof Descartes. He adopted it, and had no difficulty in reconciling it\nwith that of St. Augustine, while, upon more than one point, it\ncorroborated the doctrine of St. Thomas. Bossuet invented nothing in\nphilosophy; he received every thing, but every thing united and\npurified, thanks to that supreme good sense which in him is a quality\npredominating over force, grandeur, and eloquence.[64] In the passages\nwhich I am about to exhibit to you, which I hope you will impress upon\nyour memories, you will not find the grace of Malebranche, the\nexhaustless abundance of Fenelon; you will find what is better than\neither, to wit, clearness and precision--all the rest in him is in some\nsort an addition to these.\n\nFenelon disengages badly enough the process which conducts from ideas,\nfrom universal and necessary truths, to God. Bossuet renders to himself\na strict account of this process, and marks it with force; it is the\nprinciple that we have invoked, that which concludes from attributes in\na subject, from qualities in a being, from laws in a legislator, from\neternal verities in an eternal mind that comprehends them and eternally\npossesses them. Bossuet cites St. Augustine, cites Plato himself,\ninterprets him and defends him in advance against those who would make\nPlatonic ideas beings subsisting by themselves, whilst they really exist\nonly in the mind of God.\n\n_Logic_, book i., chap. xxxvi. \"When I consider a rectilineal triangle\nas a figure bounded by three straight lines, and having three angles\nequal to two right angles, neither more nor less; and when I pass from\nthis to an equilateral triangle with its three sides and its three\nangles equal, whence it follows, that I consider each angle of this\ntriangle as less than a right angle; and when I come again to consider a\nright-angled triangle, and what I clearly see in this idea, in\nconnection with the preceding ideas, that the two angles of this\ntriangle are necessarily acute, and that these two acute angles are\nexactly equal to one right angle, neither more nor less--I see nothing\ncontingent and mutable, and consequently, the ideas that represent to me\nthese truths are eternal. Were there not in nature a single equilateral\nor right-angled triangle, or any triangle whatever, every thing that I\nhave just considered would remain always true and indubitable. In fact,\nI am not sure of having ever seen an equilateral or rectilineal\ntriangle. Neither the rule nor the dividers could assure me that any\nhuman hand, however skilful, could ever make a line exactly straight, or\nsides and angles perfectly equal to each other. In strictness, we should\nonly need a microscope, in order, not to understand, but to see at a\nglance, that the lines which we trace deviate from straightness, and\ndiffer in length. We have never seen, then, any but imperfect images of\nequilateral, rectilineal, or isosceles triangles, since they neither\nexist in nature, nor can be constructed by art. Nevertheless, what we\nsee of the nature and the properties of a triangle, independently of\nevery existing triangle, is certain and indubitable. Place an\nunderstanding in any given time, or at any point in eternity, thus to\nspeak, and it will see these truths equally manifest; they are,\ntherefore, eternal. Since the understanding does not give being to\ntruth, but is only employed in perceiving truth, it follows, that were\nevery created understanding destroyed, these truths would immutably\nsubsist....\"\n\nChap. xxxvii. \"Since there is nothing eternal, immutable, independent,\nbut God alone, we must conclude that these truths do not subsist in\nthemselves, but in God alone, and in his eternal ideas, which are\nnothing else than himself.\n\n\"There are those who, in order to verify these eternal truths which we\nhave proposed, and others of the same nature, have figured to themselves\neternal essences aside from deity--a pure illusion, which comes from\nnot understanding that in God, as in the source of being, and in his\nunderstanding, where resides the art of making and ordering all things,\nare found primitive ideas, or as St. Augustine says, the eternally\nsubsisting reasons of things. Thus, in the thought of the architect is\nthe primitive idea of a house which he perceives in himself; this\nintellectual house would not be destroyed by any ruin of houses built\naccording to this interior model; and if the architect were eternal, the\nidea and the reason of the house would also be eternal. But, without\nrecurring to the mortal architect, there is an immortal architect, or\nrather a primitive eternally subsisting art in the immutable thought of\nGod, where all order, all measure, all rule, all proportion, all reason,\nin a word, all truth are found in their origin.\n\n\"These eternal verities which our ideas represent, are the true object\nof science; and this is the reason why Plato, in order to render us\ntruly wise, continually reminds us of these ideas, wherein is seen, not\nwhat is formed, but what is, not what is begotten and is corrupt, what\nappears and vanishes, what is made and defective, but what eternally\nsubsists. It is this intellectual world which that divine philosopher\nhas put in the mind of God before the world was constructed, which is\nthe immutable model of that great work. These are the simple, eternal,\nimmutable, unbegotten, incorruptible ideas to which he refers us, in\norder to understand truth. This is what has made him say that our ideas,\nimages of the divine ideas, were also immediately derived from the\ndivine ideas, and did not come by the senses, which serve very well,\nsaid he, to awaken them, but not to form them in our mind. For if,\nwithout having ever seen any thing eternal, we have so clear an idea of\neternity, that is to say, of being that is always the same; if, without\nhaving perceived a perfect triangle, we understand it distinctly, and\ndemonstrate so many incontestable truths concerning it, it is a mark\nthat these ideas do not come from our senses.\"\n\n_Treatise on the Knowledge of God and Self._[65] Chap. iv., sect. 5.\n_Intelligence has for its object eternal truths, which are nothing else\nthan God himself, in whom they are always subsisting and perfectly\nunderstood._\n\n\"... We have already remarked that the understanding has eternal\nverities for its object. The standards by which we measure all things\nare eternal and invariable. We know clearly that every thing in the\nuniverse is made according to proportion, from the greatest to the\nleast, from the strongest to the weakest, and we know it well enough to\nunderstand that these proportions are related to the principles of\neternal truth. All that is demonstrated in mathematics, and in any other\nscience whatever, is eternal and immutable, since the effect of the\ndemonstration is to show that the thing cannot be otherwise than as it\nis demonstrated to be. So, in order to understand the nature and the\nproperties of things which I know, for example, a triangle, a square, a\ncircle, or the relations of these figures, and all other figures, to\neach other, it is not necessary that I should find such in nature, and I\nmay be sure that I have never traced, never seen, any that are perfect.\nNeither is it necessary that I should think that there is motion in the\nworld in order to understand the nature of motion itself, or that of the\nlines which every motion describes, and the hidden proportions according\nto which it is developed. When the idea of these things is once awakened\nin my mind, I know that, whether they have an actual existence or not,\nso they must be, that it is impossible for them to be of another nature,\nor to be made in a different way. To come to something that concerns us\nmore nearly, I mean by these principles of eternal truth, that they do\nnot depend on human existence, that, so far as he is capable of\nreasoning, it is the essential duty of man to live according to reason,\nand to search for his maker, through fear of lacking the recognition of\nhis maker, if in fault of searching for him, he should be ignorant of\nhim. All these truths, and all those which I deduce from them by sure\nreasoning, subsist independently of all time. In whatever time I place a\nhuman understanding, it will know them, but in knowing them it will find\nthem truths, it will not make them such, for our cognitions do not make\ntheir objects, but suppose them. So these truths subsist before all\ntime, before the existence of a human understanding: and were every\nthing that is made according to the laws of proportion, that is to say,\nevery thing that I see in nature, destroyed except myself, these laws\nwould be preserved in my thought, and I should clearly see that they\nwould always be good and always true, were I also destroyed with the\nrest.\n\n\"If I seek how, where, and in what subject they subsist eternal and\nimmutable, as they are, I am obliged to avow the existence of a being in\nwhom truth is eternally subsisting, in whom it is always understood; and\nthis being must be truth itself, and must be all truth, and from him it\nis that truth is derived in every thing that exists and has\nunderstanding out of him.\n\n\"It is, then, in him, in a certain manner, who is incomprehensible[66]\nto me, it is in him, I say, that I see these eternal truths; and to see\nthem is to turn to him who is immutably all truth, and to receive his\nlight.\n\n\"This eternal object is God eternally subsisting, eternally true,\neternally truth itself.... It is in this eternal that these eternal\ntruths subsist. It is also by this that I see them. All other men see\nthem as well as myself, and we see them always the same, and as having\nexisted before us. For we know that we have commenced, and we know that\nthese truths have always been. Thus we see them in a light superior to\nourselves, and it is in this superior light that we see whether we act\nwell or ill, that is to say, whether we act according to these\nconstitutive principles of our being or not. In that, then, we see, with\nall other truths, the invariable rules of our conduct, and we see that\nthere are things in regard to which duty is indispensable, and that in\nthings which are naturally indifferent, the true duty is to accommodate\nourselves to the greatest good of society. A well-disposed man conforms\nto the civil laws, as he conforms to custom. But he listens to an\ninviolable law in himself, which says to him that he must do wrong to no\none, that it is better to be injured than to injure.... The man who sees\nthese truths, by these truths judges himself, and condemns himself when\nhe errs. Or, rather, these truths judge him, since they do not\naccommodate themselves to human judgments, but human judgments are\naccommodated to them. And the man judges rightly when, feeling these\njudgments to be variable in their nature, he gives them for a rule these\neternal verities.\n\n\"These eternal verities which every understanding always perceives the\nsame, by which every understanding is governed, are something of God, or\nrather, are God himself....\n\n\"Truth must somewhere be very perfectly understood, and man is to\nhimself an indubitable proof of this. For, whether he considers himself\nor extends his vision to the beings that surround him, he sees every\nthing subjected to certain laws, and to immutable rules of truth. He\nsees that he understands these laws, at least in part,--he who has\nneither made himself, nor any part of the universe, however small, and\nhe sees that nothing could have been made had not these laws been\nelsewhere perfectly understood; and he sees that it is necessary to\nrecognize an eternal wisdom wherein all law, all order, all proportion,\nhave their primitive reason. For it is absurd to suppose that there is\nso much sequence in truths, so much proportion in things, so much\neconomy in their arrangement, that is to say, in the world, and that\nthis sequence, this proportion, this economy, should nowhere be\nunderstood:--and man, who has made nothing, veritably knowing these\nthings, although not fully knowing them, must judge that there is some\none who knows them in their perfection, and that this is he who has made\nall things....\"\n\nSect. 6 is wholly Cartesian. Bossuet there demonstrates that the soul\nknows by the imperfection of its own intelligence that there is\nelsewhere a perfect intelligence.\n\nIn sect. 9, Bossuet elucidates anew the relation of truth to God.\n\n\"Whence comes to my intelligence this impression, so pure, of truth?\nWhence come to it those immutable rules that govern reasoning, that form\nmanners, by which it discovers the secret proportions of figures and of\nmovements? Whence come to it, in a word, those eternal truths which I\nhave considered so much? Do the triangles, the squares, the circles,\nthat I rudely trace on paper, impress upon my mind their proportions and\ntheir relations? Or are there others whose perfect trueness produces\nthis effect? Where have I seen these circles and these triangles so\ntrue,--I who am not sure of ever having seen a perfectly regular figure,\nand, nevertheless, understand this regularity so perfectly? Are there\nsomewhere, either in the world or out of the world, triangles or circles\nexisting with this perfect regularity, whereby it could be impressed\nupon my mind? And do these rules of reasoning and conduct also exist in\nsome place, whence they communicate to me their immutable truth? Or,\nindeed, is it not rather he who has everywhere extended measure,\nproportion, truth itself, that impresses on my mind the certain idea of\nthem?... It is, then, necessary to understand that the soul, made in the\nimage of God, capable of understanding truth, which is God himself,\nactually turns towards its original, that is to say, towards God, where\nthe truth appears to it as soon as God wills to make the truth appear to\nit.... It is an astonishing thing that man understands so many truths,\nwithout understanding at the same time that all truth comes from God,\nthat it is in God, that it is God himself.... It is certain that God is\nthe primitive reason of all that exists and has understanding in the\nuniverse; that he is the true original, and that every thing is true by\nrelation to his eternal idea, that seeking truth is seeking him, and\nthat finding truth is finding him....\"\n\nChap. v., sect. 14. \"The senses do not convey to the soul knowledge of\ntruth. They excite it, awaken it, and apprize it of certain effects: it\nis solicited to search for causes, but it discovers them, it sees their\nconnections, the principles which put them in motion, only in a superior\nlight that comes from God, or is God himself. God is, then, truth, which\nis always the same to all minds, and the true source of intelligence.\nFor this reason intelligence beholds the light, breathes, and lives.\"\n\nAt the close of the seventeenth century, Leibnitz comes to crown these\ngreat testimonies, and to complete their unanimity.\n\nHere is a passage from an important treatise entitled, _Meditationes de\nCognitione, Veritate et Idaeis_, in which Leibnitz declares that primary\nnotions are the attributes of God. \"I know not,\" he says, \"whether man\ncan perfectly account to himself for his ideas, except by ascending to\nprimary ideas for which he can no more account, that is to say, to the\nabsolute attributes of God.\"[67]\n\nThe same doctrine is in the _Principia Philosophiae seu Theses in Gratiam\nPrincipis Eugenii_. \"The intelligence of God is the region of eternal\ntruths, and the ideas that depend upon them.\"[68]\n\n_Theodicea_, part ii., sect. 189.[69] \"It must not be said with the\nScotists that eternal truths would subsist if there were no\nunderstanding, not even that of God. For, in my opinion, it is the\ndivine understanding that makes the reality of eternal truths.\"\n\n_Nouveaux Essais sur l'Entendement Humain_, book ii., chap. xvii. \"The\nidea of the absolute is in us internally like that of being. _These\nabsolutes are nothing else than the attributes of God_, and it may be\nsaid they are just as much the source of ideas as God is in himself the\nprinciple of beings.\"\n\n_Ibid._, book iv., chap. xi. \"But it will be demanded where those ideas\nwould be if no mind existed, and what would then become of the real\nfoundation of this certainty of eternal truths? That brings us in fine\nto the last foundation of truths, to wit, to that supreme and universal\nmind which cannot be destitute of existence, whose understanding, to\nspeak truly, is the region of eternal truths, as St. Augustine saw and\nclearly enough expressed it. And that it may not be thought necessary to\nrecur to it, we must consider that these necessary truths contain the\ndeterminating reason and the regulative principle of existences\nthemselves, and, in a word, the laws of the universe. So these\nunnecessary truths, being anterior to the existences of contingent\nbeings, must have their foundation in the existence of a necessary\nsubstance. It is there that I find the original of truths which are\nstamped upon our souls, not in the form of propositions, but as sources,\nthe application and occasions of which will produce actual\nenunciations.\"\n\nSo, from Plato to Leibnitz, the greatest metaphysicians have thought\nthat absolute truth is an attribute of absolute being. Truth is\nincomprehensible without God, as God is incomprehensible without truth.\nTruth is placed between human intelligence and the supreme intelligence,\nas a kind of mediator. In the lowest degree, as well as at the height of\nbeing, God is everywhere met, for truth is everywhere. Study nature,\nelevate yourselves to the laws that govern it and make of it as it were\na living truth:--the more profoundly you understand its laws, the nearer\nyou approach to God. Study, above all, humanity; humanity is much\ngreater than nature, for it comes from God as well as nature, and knows\nhim, while nature is ignorant of him. Especially seek and love truth,\nand refer it to the immortal being who is its source. The more you know\nof the truth, the more you know of God. The sciences, so far from\nturning us away from religion, conduct us to it. Physics, with their\nlaws, mathematics, with their sublime ideas, especially philosophy,\nwhich cannot take a single step without encountering universal and\nnecessary principles, are so many stages on the way to Deity, and, thus\nto speak, so many temples in which homage is perpetually paid to him.\n\nBut in the midst of these high considerations, let us carefully guard\nourselves against two opposite errors, from which men of fine genius\nhave not always known how to preserve themselves,--against the error of\nmaking the reason of man purely individual, and against the error of\nconfounding it with truth and the divine reason.[70] If the reason of\nman is purely individual because it is in the individual, it can\ncomprehend nothing that is not individual, nothing that transcends the\nlimits wherein it is confined. Not only is it unable to elevate itself\nto any universal and necessary truth, not only is it unable to have any\nidea of it, even any suspicion of it, as one blind from his birth can\nhave no suspicion that a sun exists; but there is no power, not even\nthat of God, that by any means could make penetrate the reason of man\nany truth of that order absolutely repugnant to its nature; since, for\nthis end, it would not be sufficient for God to lighten our mind; it\nwould be necessary to change it, to add to it another faculty. Neither,\non the other hand, must we, with Malebranche, make the reason of man to\nsuch a degree impersonal that it takes the place of truth which is its\nobject, and of God who is its principle. It is truth that to us is\nabsolutely impersonal, and not reason. Reason is in man, yet it comes\nfrom God. Hence it is individual and finite, whilst its root is in the\ninfinite; it is personal by its relation to the person in which it\nresides, and must also possess I know not what character of\nuniversality, of necessity even, in order to be capable of conceiving\nuniversal and necessary truths; hence it seems, by turns, according to\nthe point of view from which it is regarded, pitiable and sublime. Truth\nis in some sort lent to human reason, but it belongs to a totally\ndifferent reason, to wit, that supreme, eternal, uncreated reason, which\nis God himself. The truth in us is nothing else than our object; in God,\nit is one of his attributes, as well as justice, holiness, mercy, as we\nshall subsequently see. God exists; and so far as he exists, he thinks,\nand his thoughts are truths, eternal as himself, which are reflected in\nthe laws of the universe, which the reason of man has received the power\nto attain. Truth is the offspring, the utterance, I was about to say,\nthe eternal word of God, if it is permitted philosophy to borrow this\ndivine language from that holy religion which teaches us to worship God\nin spirit and in truth. Of old, the theory of Ideas, which manifest God\nto men, and remind them of him, had given to Plato the surname of the\nprecursor; on account of that theory of Ideas he was dear to St.\nAugustine, and is invoked by Bossuet. It is by this same theory, wisely\ninterpreted, and purified by the light of our age, that the new\nphilosophy is attached to the tradition of great philosophies, and to\nthat of Christianity.\n\nThe last problem that the science of the true presented is resolved:--we\nare in possession of the basis of absolute truths. God is substance,\nreason, supreme cause, and the unity of all these truths; God, and God\nalone, is to us the boundary beyond which we have nothing more to seek.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[44] See our work entitled, _Metaphysics of Aristotle_, 2d edition,\n_passim_. In Aristotle himself, see especially _Metaphysics_, book vii.,\nchap. xii., and book xiii., chap. ix.\n\n[45] There are doubtless many other ways of arriving at God, as we shall\nsuccessively see; but this is the way of metaphysics. We do not exclude\nany of the known and accredited proofs of the existence of God; but we\nbegin with that which gives all the others. See further on, part ii.,\n_God, the Principle of Beauty_, and part iii., _God, the Principle of\nthe Good_, and the last lecture, which sums up the whole course.\n\n[46] We have said a word on the Platonic theory of ideas, 1st Series,\nvol. iv., p. 461 and 522. See also, vol. ii. of the 2d Series, lecture\n7, on _Plato and Aristotle_, especially 3d Series, vol. i., a few words\non the _Language of the Theory of Ideas_, p. 121; our work on the\n_Metaphysics of Aristotle_, p. 48 and 149, and our translation of Plato,\n_passim_.\n\n[47] Aristotle first stated this; modern peripatetics have repeated it;\nand after them, all who have wished to decry the ancient philosophy, and\nphilosophy in general, by giving the appearance of absurdity to its most\nillustrious representative.\n\n[48] See particularly p. 121 of the _Timaeus_, vol. xii. of our\ntranslation.\n\n[49] _Republic_, book vi., vol. x. of our translation, p. 57.\n\n[50] _Republic_, book vii., p. 20.\n\n[51] _Phaedrus_, vol. vi., p. 51.\n\n[52] _Phaedrus_, vol. vi., p. 55.\n\n[53] Vol. xi., p. 261.\n\n[54] Edit. Bened., vol. vi., p. 17: _Idex sunt formae quaedam principales\net rationes rerum stabiles atque incommutabiles, quae ipsae formatae non\nsunt ac per hoc aeternae ac semper eodem modo sese habentes, quae in divina\nintelligentia continentur_....\n\n[55] Edit. Bened., vol. vi., p. 18. _Singula igitur propriis creata sunt\nrationibus. Has autem rationes ubi arbitrandum est esse nisi in mente\nCreatoris? non enim extra se quidquam intuebatur, ut secundum id\nconstitueret quod constituebat: nam hoc opinari sacrilegum est._\n\n[56] _Ibid._ See also, book of the _Confessions_, book ii. of the _Free\nWill_, book xii. of the _Trinity_, book vii. of the _City of God_, &c.\n\n[57] _Summa totius theologiae_. Primae partis quaest. xii. art. 11. _Ad\ntertium dicendum, quod omnia dicimus in Deo videre, et secundum ipsum de\nomnibus judicare, in quantum per participationem sui luminis omnia\ncognoscimus et dijudicamus. Nam et ipsum lumen naturale rationis\nparticipatio quaedam est divini luminis._\n\n[58] On the doctrine of Descartes, and on the proof of the existence of\nGod and the true process that he employs, see 1st Series, vol. iv.,\nlecture 12, p. 64, lecture 22, p. 509-518; vol. v., lecture 6, p. 205;\n2d Series, vol. xi., lecture 11; especially the three articles, already\ncited, of the _Journal des Savants_ for the year 1850.\n\n[59] See on Malebranche, 2d Series, lecture 2, and 3d Series, vol. iii.,\n_Modern Philosophy_, as well as the _Fragments of Cartesian Philosophy_;\npreface of the 1st edition of our _Pascal_:--\"On this basis, so pure,\nMalebranche is not steady; is excessive and rash, I know; narrow and\nextreme, I do not fear to say; but always sublime, expressing only one\nside of Plato, but expressing it in a wholly Christian spirit and in\nangelic language. Malebranche is a Descartes who strays, having found\ndivine wings, and lost all connection with the earth.\"\n\n[60] We use the only good edition of the treatise on the Existence of\nGod, that which the Abbe Gosselin has given in the collection of the\n_Works of Fenelon_. Versailles, 1820. See vol. i., p. 80.\n\n[61] Edit. de Versailles, p. 145.\n\n[62] It is not necessary to remark how incorrect are the expressions,\n_representation of the infinite, image of the infinite_, especially\n_infinite image of the infinite_. We cannot represent to ourselves, we\ncannot imagine to ourselves the infinite. We conceive the infinite; the\ninfinite is not an object of the imagination, but of the understanding,\nof reason. See 1st Series, vol. v., lecture 6, p. 223, 224.\n\n[63] By a trifling anachronism, for which we shall be pardoned, we have\nhere joined to the _Traite de la Connaissance de Dieu et de Soi-meme_,\nso long known, the _Logique_, which was only published in 1828.\n\n[64] 4th Series, vol. i., preface of the 1st edition of _Pascal_:\n\"Bossuet, with more moderation, and supported by a good sense which\nnothing can shake, is, in his way, a disciple of the same doctrine, only\nthe extremes of which according to his custom, he shunned. This great\nmind, which may have superiors in invention, but has no equal for force\nin common sense, was very careful not to place revelation and philosophy\nin opposition to each other: he found it the safer and truer way to give\nto each its due, to borrow from philosophy whatever natural light it can\ngive, in order to increase it in turn with the supernatural light, of\nwhich the Church has been made the depository. It is in this sovereign\ngood sense, capable of comprehending every thing, and uniting every\nthing, that resides the supreme originality of Bossuet. He shunned\nparticular opinions as small minds seek them for the triumph of\nself-love. He did not think of himself; he only searched for truth, and\nwherever he found it he listened to it, well assured that if the\nconnection between truths of different orders sometimes escapes us, it\nis no reason for closing the eyes to any truth. If we wished to give a\nscholastic name to Bossuet, according to the custom of the Middle Age,\nwe would have to call him the infallible doctor. He is not only one of\nthe highest, he is also one of the best and solidest intelligences that\never existed; and this great conciliator has easily reconciled religion\nand philosophy, St. Augustine and Descartes, tradition and reason.\"\n\n[65] The best, or, rather, only good edition is that which was published\nfrom an authentic copy, in 1846, by Lecoffre.\n\n[66] These words, _d'une certaine maniere qui m'est incomprehensible,\nc'est en lui, dis-je_, are not in the first edition of 1722.\n\n[67] _Leibnitzii Opera_, edit. Deutens, vol. ii., p. 17.\n\n[68] _Ibid._, p. 24.\n\n[69] 1st edition, Amsterdam, 1710, p. 354, edit. of M. de Jaucourt,\nAmsterdam, 1747, vol. ii., p. 93.\n\n[70] We have many times designated these two rocks, for example, 2d\nSeries, vol. i., lecture 5, p. 92:--\"One cannot help smiling when, in\nour times, he hears individual reason spoken against. In truth it is a\ngreat waste of declamation, for the reason is not individual; if it\nwere, we should govern it as we govern our resolutions and our\nvolitions, we could at any moment change its acts, that is to say, our\nconceptions. If these conceptions were merely individual, we should not\nthink of imposing them upon another individual, for to impose our own\nindividual and personal conceptions on another individual, on another\nperson, would be the most extravagant despotism.... We call those mad\nwho do not admit the relations of numbers, the difference between the\nbeautiful and the ugly, the just and the unjust. Why? Because we know\nthat it is not the individual that constitutes these conceptions, or, in\nother terms, we know that the reason has something universal and\nabsolute, that upon this ground it obligates all individuals; and an\nindividual, at the same time that he knows that he himself is obligated\nby it, knows that all others are obligated by it on the same\nground.\"--_Ibid._, p. 93: \"Truth misconceived is thereby neither altered\nnor destroyed; it subsists independently of the reason that perceives it\nor perceives it ill. Truth in itself is independent of our reason. Its\ntrue subject is the universal and absolute reason.\"\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE V.\n\nON MYSTICISM.\n\n    Distinction between the philosophy that we profess and\n    mysticism. Mysticism consists in pretending to know God without\n    an intermediary.--Two sorts of mysticism.--Mysticism of\n    sentiment. Theory of sensibility. Two sensibilities--the one\n    external, the other internal, and corresponding to the soul as\n    external sensibility corresponds to nature.--Legitimate part of\n    sentiment.--Its aberrations.--Philosophical mysticism. Plotinus:\n    God, or absolute unity, perceived without an intermediary by\n    pure thought.--Ecstasy.--Mixture of superstition and abstraction\n    in mysticism.--Conclusion of the first part of the course.\n\n\nWhether we turn our attention to the forces and the laws that animate\nand govern matter without belonging to it, or as the order of our labors\ncalls us to do, reflect upon the universal and necessary truths which\nour mind discovers but does not constitute, the least systematic use of\nreason makes us naturally conclude from the forces and laws of the\nuniverse that there is a first intelligent mover, and from necessary\ntruths that there is a necessary being who alone is their substance. We\ndo not perceive God, but we conceive him, upon the faith of this\nadmirable world exposed to our view, and upon that of this other world,\nmore admirable still, which we bear in ourselves. By this double road we\nsucceed in going to God. This natural course is that of all men: it must\nbe sufficient for a sound philosophy. But there are feeble and\npresumptuous minds that do not know how to go thus far, or do not know\nhow to stop there. Confined to experience, they do not dare to conclude\nfrom what they see in what they do not see, as if at all times, at the\nsight of the first phenomenon that appears to their eyes, they did not\nadmit that this phenomenon has a cause, even when this cause does not\ncome within the reach of their senses. They do not perceive it, yet they\nbelieve in it, for the simple reason that they necessarily conceive it.\nMan and the universe are also facts that cannot but have a cause,\nalthough this cause may neither be seen by our eyes nor touched by our\nhands. Reason has been given us for the very purpose of going, and\nwithout any circuit of reasoning, from the visible to the invisible,\nfrom the finite to the infinite, from the imperfect to the perfect, and\nalso, from necessary and universal truths, which surround us on every\nside, to their eternal and necessary principle. Such is the natural and\nlegitimate bearing of reason. It possesses an evidence of which it\nrenders no account, and is not thereby less irresistible to whomsoever\ndoes not undertake to contest with God the veracity of the faculties\nwhich he has received. But one does not revolt against reason with\nimpunity. It punishes our false wisdom by giving us up to extravagance.\nWhen one has confined himself to the narrow limits of what he directly\nperceives, he is smothered by these limits, wishes to go out of them at\nany price, and invokes some other means of knowing; he did not dare to\nadmit the existence of an invisible God, and now behold him aspiring to\nenter into immediate communication with him, as with sensible objects,\nand the objects of consciousness. It is an extreme feebleness for a\nrational being thus to doubt reason, and it is an incredible rashness,\nin this despair of intelligence, to dream of direct communication with\nGod. This desperate and ambitious dream is mysticism.\n\nIt behooves us to separate with care this chimera, that is not without\ndanger, from the cause that we defend. It behooves us so much the more\nto openly break with mysticism, as it seems to touch us more nearly, as\nit pretends to be the last word of philosophy, and as by an appearance\nof greatness it is able to seduce many a noble soul, especially at one\nof those epochs of lassitude, when, after the cruel disappointment of\nexcessive hopes, human reason, having lost faith in its own power\nwithout having lost the need of God, in order to satisfy this immortal\nneed, addresses itself to every thing except itself, and in fault of\nknowing how to go to God by the way that is open to it, throws itself\nout of common sense, and tries the new, the chimerical, even the absurd,\nin order to attain the impossible.\n\nMysticism contains a pusillanimous skepticism in the place of reason,\nand, at the same time, a faith blind and carried even to the oblivion of\nall the conditions imposed upon human nature. To conceive God under the\ntransparent veil of the universe and above the highest truths, is at\nonce too much and too little for mysticism. It does not believe that it\nknows God, if it knows him only in his manifestations and by the signs\nof his existence: it wishes to perceive him directly, it wishes to be\nunited to him, sometimes by sentiment, sometimes by some other\nextraordinary process.\n\nSentiment plays so important a part in mysticism, that our first care\nmust be to investigate the nature and proper function of this\ninteresting and hitherto ill-studied part of human nature.\n\nIt is necessary to distinguish sentiment well from sensation. There are,\nin some sort, two sensibilities: one is directed to the external world,\nand is charged with transmitting to the soul the impressions that it\nsees; the other is wholly interior, and is related to the soul as the\nother is to nature,--its function is to receive the impression, and, as\nit were, the rebound of what passes in the soul. Have we discovered any\ntruth? there is something in us which feels joy on account of it. Have\nwe performed a good action? we receive our reward in a feeling of\nsatisfaction less vivid, but more delicate and more durable than all the\nagreeable sensations that come from the body. It seems as if\nintelligence also had its intimate organ, which suffers or enjoys,\naccording to the state of the intelligence. We bear in ourselves a\nprofound source of emotion, at once physical and moral, which expresses\nthe union of our two natures. The animal does not go beyond sensation,\nand pure thought belongs only to the angelic nature. The sentiment that\npartakes of sensation and thought is the portion of humanity. Sentiment\nis, it is true, only an echo of reason; but this echo is sometimes\nbetter understood than reason itself, because it resounds in the most\nintimate, the most delicate portions of the soul, and moves the entire\nman.\n\nIt is a singular, but incontestable fact, that as soon as reason has\nconceived truth, the soul attaches itself to it, and loves it. Yes, the\nsoul loves truth. It is a wonderful thing that a being strayed into one\ncorner of the universe, alone charged with sustaining himself against so\nmany obstacles, who, it would seem, has enough to do to think of\nhimself, to preserve and somewhat embellish his life, is capable of\nloving what is not related to him, and exists only in an invisible\nworld! This disinterested love of truth gives evidence of the greatness\nof him who feels it.\n\nReason takes one step more:--it is not contented with truth, even\nabsolute truth, when convinced that it possesses it ill, that it does\nnot possess it as it really is; as long as it has not placed it upon its\neternal basis; having arrived there, it stops as before its impassable\nbarrier, having nothing more to seek, nothing more to find. Sentiment\nfollows reason, to which it is attached; it stops, it rests, only in the\nlove of the infinite being.\n\nIn fact, it is the infinite that we love, while we believe that we are\nloving finite things, even while loving truth, beauty, virtue. And so\nsurely is it the infinite itself that attracts and charms us, that its\nhighest manifestations do not satisfy us until we have referred them to\ntheir immortal source. The heart is insatiable, because it aspires after\nthe infinite. This sentiment, this need of the infinite, is at the\nfoundation of the greatest passions, and the most trifling desires. A\nsigh of the soul in the presence of the starry heavens, the melancholy\nattached to the passion of glory, to ambition, to all the great emotions\nof the soul, express it better without doubt, but they do not express it\nmore than the caprice and mobility of those vulgar loves, wandering from\nobject to object in a perpetual circle of ardent desires, of poignant\ndisquietudes, and mournful disenchantments.\n\nLet us designate another relation between reason and sentiment.\n\nThe mind at first precipitates itself towards its object without\nrendering to itself an account of what it does, of what it perceives, of\nwhat it feels. But, with the faculty of thinking, of feeling, it has\nalso that of willing; it possesses the liberty of returning to itself,\nof reflecting on its own thought and sentiment, of consenting to this,\nor of resisting it, of abstaining from it, or of reproducing its thought\nand sentiment, while stamping them with a new character. Spontaneity,\nreflection,--these are the two great forms of intelligence.[71] One is\nnot the other; but, after all, the latter does little more than develop\nthe former; they contain at bottom the same things:--the point of view\nalone is different. Every thing that is spontaneous is obscure and\nconfused; reflection carries with it a clear and distinct view.\n\nReason does not begin by reflection; it does not at first perceive the\ntruth as universal and necessary; consequently, when it passes from idea\nto being, when it refers truth to the real being that is its subject, it\nhas not sounded, it even has no suspicion of the depth of the chasm it\npasses; it passes it by means of the power which is in it, but it is not\nastonished at what it has done. It is subsequently astonished, and\nundertakes by the aid of the liberty with which it is endowed, to do the\nopposite of what it has done, to deny what it has affirmed. Here\ncommences the strife between sophism and common sense, between false\nscience and natural truth, between good and bad philosophy, both of\nwhich come from free reflection. The sad and sublime privilege of\nreflection is error; but reflection is the remedy for the evil it\nproduces. If it can deny natural truth, usually it confirms it, returns\nto common sense by a longer or shorter circuit; it opposes in vain all\nthe tendencies of human nature, by which it is almost always overcome,\nand brought back submissive to the first inspirations of reason,\nfortified by this trial. But there is nothing more in the end than there\nwas at the beginning; only in primitive inspiration there was a power\nwhich was ignorant of itself, and in the legitimate results of\nreflection there is a power which knows itself:--one is the triumph of\ninstinct, the other, that of true science.\n\nSentiment which accompanies intelligence in all its proceedings presents\nthe same phenomena.\n\nThe heart, like reason, pursues the infinite, and the only difference\nthere is in these pursuits is, that sometimes the heart seeks the\ninfinite without knowing that it seeks it, and sometimes it renders to\nitself an account of the final end of the need of loving what disturbs\nit. When reflection is added to love, if it finds that the object loved\nis in fact worthy of being loved, far from enfeebling love, it\nstrengthens it; far from clipping its divine wings, it develops them,\nand nourishes them, as Plato[72] says. But if the object of love is only\na symbol of the true beauty, only capable of exciting the desire of the\nsoul without satisfying it, reflection breaks the charm which held the\nheart, dissipates the chimera that enchained it. It must be very sure in\nregard to its attachments, in order to dare to put them to the proof of\nreflection. O Psyche! Psyche! preserve thy good fortune; do not sound\nthe mystery too deeply. Take care not to bring the fearful light near\nthe invisible lover with whom thy soul is enamored. At the first ray of\nthe fatal lamp love is awakened, and flies away. Charming image of what\ntakes place in the soul, when to the serene and unsuspecting confidence\nof sentiment succeeds reflection with its bitter train. This is perhaps\nalso the meaning of the biblical account of the tree of knowledge.[73]\nBefore science and reflection are innocence and faith. Science and\nreflection at first engender doubt, disquietude, distaste for what one\npossesses, the disturbed pursuit of what one knows not, troubles of mind\nand soul, sore travail of thought, and, in life, many faults, until\ninnocence, forever lost, is replaced by virtue, simple faith by true\nscience, until love, through so many vanishing illusions, finally\nsucceeds in reaching its true object.\n\nSpontaneous love has the native grace of ignorance and happiness.\nReflective love is very different; it is serious, it is great, even in\nits faults, with the greatness of liberty. Let us not be in haste to\ncondemn reflection: if it often produces egotism, it also produces\ndevotion. What, in fact, is self-devotion? It is giving ourselves\nfreely, with full knowledge of what we are doing. Therein consists the\nsublimity of love, love worthy of a noble and generous creature, not an\nignorant and blind love. When affection has conquered selfishness,\ninstead of loving its object for its own sake, the soul gives itself to\nits object, and miracle of love, the more it gives the more it\npossesses, nourishing itself by its own sacrifices, and finding its\nstrength and its joy in its entire self-abandonment. But there is only\none being who is worthy of being thus loved, and who can be thus loved\nwithout illusions, and without mistakes, at once without limits, and\nwithout regret, to wit, the perfect being who alone does not fear\nreflection, who alone can fill the entire capacity of our heart.\n\nMysticism corrupts sentiment by exaggerating its power.\n\nMysticism begins by suppressing in man reason, or, at least, it\nsubordinates and sacrifices reason to sentiment.\n\nListen to mysticism: it says that by the heart alone is man in relation\nwith God. All that is great, beautiful, infinite, eternal, love alone\nreveals to us. Reason is only a lying faculty. Because it may err, and\ndoes err, it is said that it always errs. Reason is confounded with\nevery thing that it is not. The errors of the senses, and of reasoning,\nthe illusions of the imagination, even the extravagances of passion,\nwhich sometimes give rise to those of mind, every thing is laid to the\ncharge of reason. Its imperfections are triumphed over, its miseries are\ncomplacently exhibited; the most audacious dogmatical system--since it\naspires to put man and God in immediate communication--borrows against\nreason all the arms of skepticism.\n\nMysticism goes farther: it attacks liberty itself; it orders liberty to\nrenounce itself, in order to identify itself by love with him from whom\nthe infinite separates us. The ideal of virtue is no longer the\ncourageous perseverance of the good man, who, in struggling against\ntemptation and suffering, makes life holy; it is no longer the free and\nenlightened devotion of a loving soul; it is the entire and blind\nabandonment of ourselves, of our will, of our being, in a barren\ncontemplation of thought, in a prayer without utterance, and almost\nwithout consciousness.\n\nThe source of mysticism is in that incomplete view of human nature,\nwhich knows not how to discern in it what therein is most profound,\nwhich betakes itself to what is therein most striking, most seizing,\nand, consequently, also most seizable. We have already said that reason\nis not noisy, and often is not heard, whilst its echo of sentiment\nloudly resounds. In this compound phenomenon, it is natural that the\nmost apparent element should cover and dim the most obscure.\n\nMoreover, what relations, what deceptive resemblances between these two\nfaculties! Without doubt, in their development, they manifestly differ;\nwhen reason becomes reasoning, one easily distinguishes its heavy\nmovement from the flight of sentiment; but spontaneous reason is almost\nconfounded with sentiment,--there is the same rapidity, the same\nobscurity. Add that they pursue the same object, and almost always go\ntogether. It is not, then, astonishing that they should be confounded.\n\nA wise philosophy distinguishes[74] them without separating them.\nAnalysis demonstrates that reason precedes, and that sentiment follows.\nHow can we love what we are ignorant of? In order to enjoy the truth, is\nit not necessary to know it more or less? In order to be moved by\ncertain ideas, is it not necessary to have possessed them in some\ndegree? To absorb reason in sentiment is to stifle the cause in the\neffect. When one speaks of the light of the heart, he designates,\nwithout knowing it, that light of the spontaneous reason which discovers\nto us truth by a pure and immediate intuition entirely opposite to the\nslow and laborious processes of the reflective reason and reasoning.\n\nSentiment by itself is a source of emotion, not of knowledge. The sole\nfaculty of knowledge is reason. At bottom, if sentiment is different\nfrom sensation, it nevertheless pertains on all sides to general\nsensibility, and it is, like it, variable; it has, like it, its\ninterruptions, its vivacity, and its lassitude, its exaltation and its\nshort-comings. The inspirations of sentiment, then, which are\nessentially mobile and individual, cannot be raised to a universal and\nabsolute rule. It is not so with reason; it is constantly the same in\neach one of us, the same in all men. The laws that govern its exercise\nconstitute the common legislation of all intelligent beings. There is no\nintelligence that does not conceive some universal and necessary truth,\nand, consequently, the infinite being who is its principle. These grand\nobjects being once known excite in the souls of all men the emotions\nthat we have endeavored to describe. These emotions partake of the\ndignity of reason and the mobility of imagination and sensibility.\nSentiment is the harmonious and living relation between reason and\nsensibility. Suppress one of the two terms, and what becomes of the\nrelation? Mysticism pretends to elevate man directly to God, and does\nnot see that in depriving reason of its power, it really deprives him of\nthat which makes him know God, and puts him in a just communication with\nGod by the intermediary of eternal and infinite truth.\n\nThe fundamental error of mysticism is, that it discards this\nintermediary, as if it were a barrier and not a tie: it makes the\ninfinite being the direct object of love. But such a love can be\nsustained only by superhuman efforts that end in folly. Love tends to\nunite itself with its object: mysticism absorbs love in its object.\nHence the extravagances of that mysticism so severely and so justly\ncondemned by Bossuet and the Church in quietism.[75] Quietism lulls to\nsleep the activity of man, extinguishes his intelligence, substitutes\nindolent and irregular contemplation for the seeking of truth and the\nfulfilment of duty. The true union of the soul with God is made by truth\nand virtue. Every other union is a chimera, a peril, sometimes a crime.\nIt is not permitted man to reject, under any pretext, that which makes\nhim man, that which renders him capable of comprehending God, and\nexpressing in himself an imperfect image of God, that is to say, reason,\nliberty, conscience. Without doubt, virtue has its prudence, and if we\nmust never yield to passion, there are diverse ways of combating it in\norder to conquer it. One can let it subside, and resignation and silence\nmay have their legitimate employment. There is a portion of truth, of\nutility even, in the _Spiritual Letters_, even in the _Maxims of the\nSaints_. But, in general, it is unsafe to anticipate in this world the\nprerogatives of death, and to dream of sanctity when virtue alone is\nrequired of us, when virtue is so difficult to attain, even imperfectly.\nThe best quietism can, at most, be only a halt in the course, a truce in\nthe strife, or rather another manner of combating. It is not by flight\nthat battles are gained; in order to gain them it is necessary to come\nto an engagement, so much the more as duty consists in combating still\nmore than in conquering. Of the two opposite extremes--stoicism and\nquietism--the first, taken all in all, is preferable to the second; for\nif it does not always elevate man to God, it maintains, at least, human\npersonality, liberty, conscience, whilst quietism, in abolishing these,\nabolishes the entire man. Oblivion of life and its duties, inertness,\nsloth, death of soul,--such are the fruits of that love of God, which is\nlost in the sterile contemplation of its object, provided it does not\ncause still sadder aberrations! There comes a moment when the soul that\nbelieves itself united with God, puffed up with this imaginary\npossession, despises both the body and human personality to such an\nextent that all its actions become indifferent to it, and good and evil\nare in its eyes the same. Thus it is that fanatical sects have been seen\nmingling crime and devotion, finding in one the excuse, often even the\nmotive, of the other, and prefacing infamous irregularities or\nabominable cruelties with mystic transports,--deplorable consequences of\nthe chimera of pure love, of the pretension of sentiment to rule over\nreason, to serve alone as a guide to the human soul, and to put itself\nin direct communication with God, without the intermediary of the\nvisible world, and without the still surer intermediary of intelligence\nand truth.\n\nBut it is time to pass to another kind of mysticism, more singular, more\nlearned, more refined, and quite as unreasonable, although it presents\nitself in the very name of reason.\n\nWe have seen[76] that reason, if one of the principles which govern it\nbe destroyed, cannot lay hold of truth, not even absolute truths of the\nintellectual and moral order; it refers all universal, necessary,\nabsolute truths, to the being that alone can explain them, because in\nhim alone are necessary and absolute existence, immutability, and\ninfinity. God is the substance of uncreated truths, as he is the cause\nof created existences. Necessary truths find in God their natural\nsubject. If God has not arbitrarily made them,--which is not in\naccordance with their essence and his,--he constitutes them, inasmuch as\nthey are himself. His intelligence possesses them as the manifestations\nof itself. As long as our intelligence has not referred them to the\ndivine intelligence, they are to it an effect without cause, a\nphenomenon without substance. It refers them, then, to their cause and\ntheir substance. And in that it obeys an imperative need, a fixed\nprinciple of reason.\n\nMysticism breaks in some sort the ladder that elevates us to infinite\nsubstance: it regards this substance alone, independently[77] of the\ntruth that manifests it, and it imagines itself to possess also the\npure absolute, pure unity, being in itself. The advantage which\nmysticism here seeks, is to give to thought an object wherein there is\nno mixture, no division, no multiplicity, wherein every sensible and\nhuman element has entirely disappeared. But in order to obtain this\nadvantage, it must pay the cost of it. It is a very simple means of\nfreeing theodicea from every shade of anthropomorphism; it is reducing\nGod to an abstraction, to the abstraction of being in itself. Being in\nitself, it is true, is free from all division, but upon the condition\nthat it have no attribute, no quality, and even that it be deprived of\nknowledge and intelligence; for intelligence, if elevated as it might\nbe, always supposes the distinction between the intelligent subject and\nthe intelligible object. A God from whom absolute unity excludes\nintelligence, is the God of the mystic philosophy.\n\nHow could the school of Alexandria, how could Plotinus, its\nfounder,[78] in the midst of the lights of the Greek and Latin\ncivilization, have arrived at such a strange notion of the Divinity? By\nthe abuse of Platonism, by the corruption of the best and severest\nmethod, that of Socrates and Plato.\n\nThe Platonic method, the dialectic process, as its author calls it,\nsearches in particular, variable, contingent things, for what they also\nhave general, durable, one, that is to say, their Idea, and is thus\nelevated to Ideas, as to the only true objects of intelligence, in order\nto be elevated still from these Ideas, which are arranged in an\nadmirable hierarchy, to the first of all, beyond which intelligence has\nnothing more to conceive, nothing more to seek. By rejecting in finite\nthings their limit, their individuality, we attain genera, Ideas, and,\nby them, their sovereign principle. But this principle is not the last\nof genera, nor the last of abstractions; it is a real and substantial\nprinciple.[79] The God of Plato is not called merely unity, he is called\nthe Good; he is not the lifeless substance of the Eleatics;[80] he is\nendowed with _life and movement_;[81] strong expressions that show how\nmuch the God of the Platonic metaphysics differs from that of mysticism.\nThis God is the _father of the world_.[82] He is also the father of\ntruth, that light of spirits.[83] He dwells in the midst of Ideas _which\nmake him a true God inasmuch as he is with them_.[84] He possesses\n_august and holy intelligence_.[85] He has made the world without any\nexternal necessity, and for the sole reason that he is good.[86] In\nfine, he is beauty without mixture, unalterable, immortal, that makes\nhim who has caught a glimpse of it disdain all earthly beauties.[87] The\nbeautiful, the absolute good, is too dazzling to be looked on directly\nby the eye of mortal; it must at first be contemplated in the images\nthat reveal it to us, in truth, in beauty, in justice, as they are met\nhere below, and among men, as the eye of one who has been a chained\ncaptive from infancy, must be gradually habituated to the light of the\nsun.[88] Our reason, enlightened by true science, can perceive this\nlight of spirits; reason rightly led can go to God, and there is no\nneed, in order to reach him, of a particular and mysterious faculty.\n\nPlotinus erred by pushing to excess the Platonic dialectics, and by\nextending them beyond the boundary where they should stop. In Plato they\nterminate at ideas, at the idea of the good, and produce an intelligent\nand good God; Plotinus applies them without limit, and they lead him\ninto an abyss of mysticism. If all truth is in the general, and if all\nindividuality is imperfection, it follows, that as long as we are able\nto generalize, as long as it is possible for us to overlook any\ndifference, to exclude any determination, we shall not be at the limit\nof dialectics. Its last object, then, will be a principle without any\ndetermination. It will not spare in God being itself. In fact, if we say\nthat God is a being, by the side of and above being, we place unity, of\nwhich being partakes, and which it cannot disengage, in order to\nconsider it alone. Being is not here simple, since it is at once being\nand unity; unity alone is simple, for one cannot go beyond that. And\nstill when we say unity, we determine it. True absolute unity must,\nthen, be something absolutely indeterminate, which is not, which,\nproperly speaking, cannot be named, the _unnamable_, as Plotinus says.\nThis principle, which exists not, for a still stronger reason, cannot\nthink, for all thought is still a determination, a manner of being. So\nbeing and thought are excluded from absolute unity. If Alexandrianism\nadmits them, it is only as a forfeiture, a degradation of unity.\nConsidered in thought, and in being, the supreme principle is inferior\nto itself; only in the pure simplicity of its indefinable essence is it\nthe last object of science, and the last term of perfection.\n\nIn order to enter into communication with such a God, the ordinary\nfaculties are not sufficient, and the theodicea of the school of\nAlexandria imposes upon it a quite peculiar psychology.\n\nIn the truth of things, reason conceives absolute unity as an attribute\nof absolute being, but not as something in itself, or, if it considers\nit apart, it knows that it considers only an abstraction. Does one wish\nto make absolute unity something else than an attribute of an absolute\nbeing, or an abstraction, a conception of human intelligence? Reason\ncould accept nothing more on any condition. Will this barren unity be\nthe object of love? But love, much more than reason, aspires after a\nreal object. One does not love substance in general, but a substance\nthat possesses such or such a character. In human friendships, suppress\nall the qualities of a person, or modify them, and you modify or\nsuppress the love. This does not prove that you do not love this person;\nit only proves that the person is not for you without his qualities.\n\nSo neither reason nor love can attain the absolute unity of mysticism.\nIn order to correspond to such an object, there must be in us something\nanalogous to it, there must be a mode of knowing that implies the\nabolition of consciousness. In fact, consciousness is the sign of the\n_me_, that is to say, of that which is most determinate: the being who\nsays, _me_, distinguishes himself essentially from every other; that is\nfor us the type itself of individuality. Consciousness should degrade\nthe ideal of dialectic knowledge, or every division, every determination\nmust be wanting, in order to respond to the absolute unity of its\nobject. This mode of pure and direct communication with God, which is\nnot reason, which is not love, which excludes consciousness, is ecstasy\n([Greek: ekstasis]). This word, which Plotinus first applied to this\nsingular state of the soul, expresses this separation from ourselves\nwhich mysticism exacts, and of which it believes man capable. Man, in\norder to communicate with absolute being, must go out of himself. It is\nnecessary that thought should reject all determinate thought, and, in\nfalling back within its own depths, should arrive at such an oblivion of\nitself, that consciousness should vanish or seem to vanish. But that is\nonly an image of ecstasy; what it is in itself, no one knows; as it\nescapes all consciousness, it escapes memory, escapes reflection, and\nconsequently all expression, all human speech.\n\nThis philosophical mysticism rests upon a radically false notion of\nabsolute being. By dint of wishing to free God from all the conditions\nof finite existence, one comes to deprive him of all the conditions of\nexistence itself; one has such a fear that the infinite may have\nsomething in common with the finite, that he does not dare to recognize\nthat being is common to both, save difference of degree, as if all that\nis not were not nothingness itself! Absolute being possesses absolute\nunity without any doubt, as it possesses absolute intelligence; but,\nonce more, absolute unity without a real subject of inherence is\ndestitute of all reality. Real and determinate are synonyms. What\nconstitutes a being is its special nature, its essence. A being is\nitself only on the condition of not being another; it cannot but have\ncharacteristic traits. All that is, is such or such. Difference is an\nelement as essential to being as unity itself. If, then, reality is in\ndetermination, it follows that God is the most determinate of beings.\nAristotle is much more Platonic than Plotinus, when he says that God is\nthe thought of thought,[89] that he is not a simple power, but a power\neffectively acting, meaning thereby that God to be perfect, ought to\nhave nothing in himself that is not completed. To finite nature it\nbelongs to be, in a certain sense, indeterminate, since being finite, it\nhas always in itself powers that are not realized; this indetermination\ndiminishes as these powers are realized. So true divine unity is not\nabstract unity, it is the precise unity of perfect being in which every\nthing is accomplished. At the summit of existence, still more than at\nits low degree, every thing is determinate, every thing is developed,\nevery thing is distinct, every thing is one. The richness of\ndeterminations is a certain sign of the plenitude of being. Reflection\ndistinguishes these determinations from each other, but it is not\nnecessary that it should in these distinctions see the limits. In us,\nfor example, does the diversity of our faculties and their richest\ndevelopment divide the _me_ and alter the identity and the unity of the\nperson? Does each one of us believe himself less than himself, because\nhe possesses sensibility, reason, and will? No, surely. It is the same\nwith God. Not having employed a sufficient psychology, Alexandrian\nmysticism imagined that diversity of attributes is incompatible with\nsimplicity of essence, and through fear of corrupting simple and pure\nessence, it made of it an abstraction. By a senseless scruple, it feared\nthat God would not be sufficiently perfect, if it left him all his\nperfections; it regards them as imperfections, being as a degradation,\ncreation as a fall; and, in order to explain man and the universe, it is\nforced to put in God what it calls failings, not having seen that these\npretended failings are the very signs of his infinite perfection.\n\nThe theory of ecstasy is at once the necessary condition and the\ncondemnation of the theory of absolute unity. Without absolute unity as\nthe direct object of knowledge, of what use is ecstasy in the subject of\nknowledge? Ecstasy, far from elevating man to God, abases him below man;\nfor it effaces in him thought, by taking away its condition, which is\nconsciousness. To suppress consciousness, is to render all knowledge\nimpossible; it is not to comprehend the perfection of this mode of\nknowing, wherein the limitation of subject and object gives at once the\nsimplest, most immediate, and most determinate knowledge.[90]\n\nThe Alexandrian mysticism is the most learned and the profoundest of all\nknown mysticisms. In the heights of abstraction where it loses itself,\nit seems very far from popular superstitions; and yet the school of\nAlexandria unites ecstatic contemplation and theurgy. These are two\nthings, in appearance, incompatible, but they pertain to the same\nprinciple, to the pretension of directly perceiving what inevitably\nescapes all our efforts. On the one hand, a refined mysticism aspires to\nGod by ecstasy; on the other, a gross mysticism thinks to seize him by\nthe senses. The processes, the faculties employed, differ, but the\nfoundation is the same, and from this common foundation necessarily\nspring the most opposite extravagances. Apollonius of Tyanus is a\npopular Alexandrianist, and Jamblicus is Plotinus become a priest,\nmystagogue, and hierophant. A new worship shone forth by miracles; the\nancient worship would have its own miracles, and philosophers boasted\nthat they could make the divinity appear before other men. They had\ndemons for themselves, and, in some sort, for their own orders; the gods\nwere not only invoked, but evoked. Ecstasy for the initiates, theurgy\nfor the crowd.\n\nAt all times and in all places, these two mysticisms have given each\nother the hand. In India and in China, the schools where the most\nsubtile idealism is taught, are not far from pagodas of the most abject\nidolatry. One day the Bhagavad-Gita or Lao-tseu[91] is read, an\nindefinable God is taught, without essential and determinate attributes;\nthe next day there is shown to the people such or such a form, such or\nsuch a manifestation of this God, who, not having a form that belongs to\nhim, can receive all forms, and being only substance in itself, is\nnecessarily the substance of every thing, of a stone and a drop of\nwater, of a dog, a hero, and a sage. So, in the ancient world under\nJulien, for example, the same man was at once professor in the school of\nAthens and guardian of the temple of Minerva or Cybele, by turns\nobscuring the _Timaeus_ and the _Republic_ by subtile commentaries, and\nexhibiting to the eyes of the multitude sometimes the sacred vale,[92]\nsometimes the shrine of the good goddess,[93] and in either function, as\npriest or philosopher, imposing on others and himself, under taking to\nascend above the human mind and falling miserably below it, paying in\nsome sort the penalty of an unintelligible metaphysics, in lending\nhimself to the most shameless superstitions.\n\nWhen the Christian religion triumphed, it brought humanity under a\ndiscipline that puts a rein upon this deplorable mysticism. But how many\ntimes has it brought back, under the reign of spiritual religion, all\nthe extravagances of the religions of nature! It was to appear\nespecially at the _renaissance_ of the schools and of the genius of\nPaganism in the sixteenth century, when the human mind had broken with\nthe philosophy of the Middle Age, without yet having arrived at modern\nphilosophy.[94] The Paracelsuses and the Von Helmonts renewed the\nApolloniuses and the Jamblicuses, abusing some chemical and medical\nknowledge, as the former had abused the Socratic and Platonic method,\naltered in its character, and turned from its true object. And so, in\nthe midst of the eighteenth century, has not Swedenborg united in his\nown person an exalted mysticism and a sort of magic, opening thus the\nway to those senseless[95] persons who contest with me in the morning\nthe solidest and best-established proofs of the existence of the soul\nand God, and propose to me in the evening to make me see otherwise than\nwith my eyes, and to make me hear otherwise than with my ears, to make\nme use all my faculties otherwise than by their natural organs,\npromising me a superhuman science, on the condition of first losing\nconsciousness, thought, liberty, memory, all that constitutes me an\nintelligent and moral being. I should know all, then, but at the cost of\nknowing nothing that I should know. I should elevate myself to a\nmarvellous world, which, awakened and in a natural state, I am not even\nable to suspect, of which no remembrance will remain to me:--a mysticism\nat once gross and chimerical, which perverts both psychology and\nphysiology; an imbecile ecstasy, renewed without genius from the\nAlexandrine ecstasy; an extravagance which has not even the merit of a\nlittle novelty, and which history has seen reappearing at all epochs of\nambition and impotence.\n\nThis is what we come to when we wish to go beyond the conditions imposed\nupon human nature. Charron first said, and after him Pascal repeated\nit, that whoever would become an angel becomes a beast. The remedy for\nall these follies is a severe theory of reason, of what it can and what\nit cannot do; of reason enveloped first in the exercise of the senses,\nthan elevating itself to universal and necessary ideas, referring them\nto their principle, to a being infinite and at the same time real and\nsubstantial, whose existence it conceives, but whose nature it is always\ninterdicted to penetrate and comprehend. Sentiment accompanies and\nvivifies the sublime intuitions of reason, but we must not confound\nthese two orders of facts, much less smother reason in sentiment.\nBetween a finite being like man and God, absolute and infinite\nsubstance, there is the double intermediary of that magnificent universe\nopen to our gaze, and of those marvellous truths which reason conceives,\nbut has not made more than the eye makes the beauties it perceives. The\nonly means that is given us of elevating ourselves to the Being of\nbeings, without being dazzled and bewildered, is to approach him by the\naid of a divine intermediary; that is to say, to consecrate ourselves to\nthe study and the love of truth, and, as we shall soon see, to the\ncontemplation and reproduction of the beautiful, especially to the\npractice of the good.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[71] See the preceding lectures.\n\n[72] See the _Phaedrus_ and the _Banquet_, vol. vii. of our translation.\n\n[73] We shall not be accused of perverting the holy Scriptures by these\nanalogies, for we give them only as analogies, and St. Augustine and\nBossuet are full of such.\n\n[74] See part ii., _The Beautiful_, lecture 6, and part iii., lecture\n13, on the _Morals of Sentiment_. See also our _Pascal_, preface of the\nlast edition, p. 8, etc., vol. i. of the 4th Series.\n\n[75] See the admirable work of Bossuet, _Instruction sur les etats\nd'Oraison_.\n\n[76] Lecture 4.\n\n[77] See especially in our writings the regular and detailed refutation\nof the double extravagance of considering substance apart from its\ndeterminations and its qualities, or of considering its qualities and\nits facilities apart from the being that possesses them. 1st Series,\nvol. iii., lecture 3, _On Condillac_, and vol. v., lectures 5 and 6, _On\nKant_. We say, the same Series, vol. iv., p. 56: \"There are philosophers\nbeyond the Rhine, who, to appear very profound, are not contented with\nqualities and phenomena, and aspire to pure substance, to being in\nitself. The problem stated as follows, is quite insoluble: the knowledge\nof such a substance is impossible, for this very simple reason, that\nsuch a substance does not exist. Being in itself, _das Ding in sich_,\nwhich Kant seeks, escapes him, and this does not humiliate Kant and\nphilosophy; for there is no being in itself. The human mind may form to\nitself an abstract and general idea of being, but this idea has no real\nobject in nature. All being is determinate, if it is real; and to be\ndeterminate is to possess certain modes of being, transitory and\naccidental, or constant and essential. Knowledge of being in itself is\nthen not merely interdicted to the human mind; it is contrary to the\nnature of things. At the other extreme of metaphysics is a powerless\npsychology, which, by fear of a hollow ontology, is condemned to\nvoluntary ignorance. We are not able, say these philosophers, Mr. Dugald\nStewart, for example, to attain being in itself; it is permitted us to\nknow only phenomena and qualities: so that, in order not to wander in\nsearch of the substance of the soul, they do not dare affirm its\nspirituality, and devote themselves to the study of its different\nfaculties. Equal error, equal chimera! There are no more qualities\nwithout being, than being without qualities. No being is without its\ndeterminations, and reciprocally its determinations are not without it.\nTo consider the determinations of being independently of the being which\npossesses them, is no longer to observe; it is to abstract, to make an\nabstraction quite as extravagant as that of being considered\nindependently of its qualities.\"\n\n[78] On the school of Alexandria, see 2d Series, vol. ii., _Sketch of a\nGeneral History of Philosophy_, lecture 8, p. 211, and 3d Series, vol.\ni., _passim_.\n\n[79] See the previous lecture.\n\n[80] 3d Series, vol. i., _Ancient Philosophy_, article _Xenophanes_, and\narticle _Zeno_.\n\n[81] _The Sophist_, vol. xi. of our translation, p. 261.\n\n[82] _Timaeus_, vol. xii., p. 117.\n\n[83] _Republic_, book vii., p. 70 of vol. x.\n\n[84] _Phaedrus_, vol. vi., p. 55.\n\n[85] _The Sophist_, p. 261, 262. The following little-known and decisive\npassage, which we have translated for the first time, must be\ncited:--\"_Stranger._ But what, by Zeus! shall we be so easily persuaded\nthat in reality, motion, life, soul, intelligence, do not belong to\nabsolute being? that this being neither lives nor thinks, that this\nbeing remains immobile, immutable, without having part in august and\nholy intelligence?--_Theatetus._ That would be consenting, dear Eleatus,\nto a very strange assertion.--_Stranger._ Or, indeed, shall we accord to\nthis being intelligence while we refuse him life?--_Theatetus._ That\ncannot be.--_Stranger._ Or, again, shall we say that there is in him\nintelligence and life, but that it is not in a soul that he possesses\nthem?--_Theatetus._ And how could he possess them otherwise?--_Stranger._\nIn fine, that, endowed with intelligence, soul, and life, all animated\nas he is, he remains incomplete immobility.--_Theatetus._ All that seems\nto me unreasonable.\"\n\n[86] _Timaeus_, p. 119: \"Let us say that the cause which led the supreme\nordainer to produce and compose this universe was, that he was good.\"\n\n[87] _Bouquet_, discourse of Diotimus, vol. vi., and the 2d part of this\nvol., _The Beautiful_, lecture 7.\n\n[88] _Republic._ _Ibid._\n\n[89] Book xii. of the _Metaphysics_. _De la Metaphysique d'Aristotle_,\n2d edition, p. 200, etc.\n\n[90] On this fundamental point, see lecture 3, in this vol.--2d Series,\nvol. i., lecture 5, p. 97. \"The peculiarity of intelligence is not the\npower of knowing, but knowing in fact. On what condition is there\nintelligence for us? It is not enough that there should be in us a\nprinciple of intelligence; this principle must be developed and\nexercised, and take itself as the object of its intelligence. The\nnecessary condition of intelligence is consciousness--that is to say,\ndifference. There can be consciousness only where there are several\nterms, one of which perceives the other, and at the same time perceives\nitself. That is knowing, and knowing self; that is intelligence.\nIntelligence without consciousness is the abstract possibility of\nintelligence, it is not real intelligence. Transfer this from human\nintelligence to divine intelligence, that is to say, refer ideas, I mean\nideas in the sense of Plato, of St. Augustine, of Bossuet, of Leibnitz,\nto the only intelligence to which they can belong, and you will have, if\nI may thus express myself, the life of the divine intelligence ...,\netc.\"\n\n[91] Vol. ii. of the 2d Series, _Sketch of a General History of\nPhilosophy_, lectures 5 and 6, _On the Indian Philosophy_.\n\n[92] See the _Euthyphron_, vol. i. of our translation.\n\n[93] Lucien, Apuleius, Lucius of Patras.\n\n[94] 2d Series, vol. ii., _Sketch of a General History of Philosophy_,\nlecture 10, _On the Philosophy of the Renaissance_.\n\n[95] One was then ardently occupied with magnetism, and more than a\nmagnetizer, half a materialist, half a visionary, pretended to convert\nus to a system of perfect clairvoyance of soul, obtained by means of\nartificial sleep. Alas! the same follies are now renewed. Conjunctions\nare the fashion. Spirits are interrogated, and they respond! Only let\nthere be consciousness that one does not interrogate, and superstition\nalone counterpoises skepticism.\n\n\n\n\nPART SECOND\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE VI.\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL IN THE MIND OF MAN.\n\n    The method that must govern researches on the beautiful and art\n    is, as in the investigation of the true, to commence by\n    psychology.--Faculties of the soul that unite in the perception\n    of the beautiful.--The senses give only the agreeable; reason\n    alone gives the idea of the beautiful.--Refutation of\n    empiricism, that confounds the agreeable and the\n    beautiful.--Pre-eminence of reason.--Sentiment of the beautiful;\n    different from sensation and desire.--Distinction between the\n    sentiment of the beautiful and that of the\n    sublime.--Imagination.--Influence of sentiment on\n    imagination.--Influence of imagination on sentiment.--Theory of\n    taste.\n\n\nLet us recall in a few words the results at which we have arrived.\n\nTwo exclusive schools are opposed to each other in the eighteenth\ncentury; we have combated both, and each by the other. To empiricism we\nhave opposed the insufficiency of sensation, and its own inevitable\nnecessity to idealism. We have admitted, with Locke and Condillac, in\nregard to the origin of knowledge, particular and contingent ideas,\nwhich we owe to the senses and consciousness; and above the senses and\nconsciousness, the direct sources of all particular ideas, we have\nrecognized, with Reid and Kant, a special faculty, different from\nsensation and consciousness, but developed with them,--reason, the lofty\nsource of universal and necessary truths. We have established, against\nKant, the absolute authority of reason, and the truths which it\ndiscovers. Then, the truths that reason revealed to us have themselves\nrevealed to us their eternal principle,--God. Finally, this rational\nspiritualism, which is both the faith of the human race and the doctrine\nof the greatest minds of antiquity and modern times, we have carefully\ndistinguished from a chimerical and dangerous mysticism. Thus the\nnecessity of experience and the necessity of reason, the necessity of a\nreal and infinite being which is the first and last foundation of truth,\na severe distinction between spiritualism and mysticism, are the great\nprinciples which we have been able to gather from the first part of this\ncourse.\n\nThe second part, the study of the beautiful, will give us the same\nresults elucidated and aggrandized by a new application.\n\nIt was the eighteenth century that introduced, or rather brought back\ninto philosophy, investigations on the beautiful and art, so familiar to\nPlato and Aristotle, but which scholasticism had not entertained, to\nwhich our great philosophy of the seventeenth century had remained\nalmost a stranger.[96] One comprehends that it did not belong to the\nempirical school to revive this noble part of philosophic science. Locke\nand Condillac did not leave a chapter, not even a single page, on the\nbeautiful. Their followers treated beauty with the same disdain; not\nknowing very well how to explain it in their system, they found it more\nconvenient not to perceive it at all. Diderot, it is true, had an\nenthusiasm for beauty and art, but enthusiasm was never so ill placed.\nDiderot had genius; but, as Voltaire said of him, his was a head in\nwhich every thing fermented without coming to maturity. He scattered\nhere and there a mass of ingenious and often contradictory perceptions;\nhe has no principles; he abandons himself to the impression of the\nmoment; he knows not what the ideal is; he delights in a kind of nature,\nat once common and mannered, such as one might expect from the author\nof the _Interpretation de la Nature_, the _Pere de Famille_, the _Neveu\nde Rameau_, and _Jacques le Fataliste_. Diderot is a fatalist in art as\nwell as in philosophy; he belongs to his times and his school, with a\ngrain of poetry, sensibility, and imagination.[97] It was worthy of the\nScotch[98] school and Kant[99] to give a place to the beautiful in their\ndoctrine. They considered it in the soul and in nature; but they did not\neven touch the difficult question of the reproduction of the beautiful\nby the genius of man. We will try to embrace this great subject in its\nwhole extent, and we are about to offer at least a sketch of a regular\nand complete theory of beauty and art.\n\nLet us begin by establishing well the method that must preside over\nthese investigations.\n\nOne can study the beautiful in two ways:--either out of us, in itself\nand in the objects, whatever they may be, that bear its impress; or in\nthe mind of man, in the faculties that attain it, in the ideas or\nsentiments that it excites in us. Now, the true method, which must now\nbe familiar to you, makes setting out from man to arrive at things a law\nfor us. Therefore psychological analysis will here again be our point of\ndeparture, and the study of the state of the soul in presence of the\nbeautiful will prepare us for that of the beautiful considered in itself\nand its objects.\n\nLet us interrogate the soul in the presence of beauty.\n\nIs it not an incontestable fact that before certain objects, under very\ndifferent circumstances, we pronounce the following judgment:--This\nobject is beautiful? This affirmation is not always explicit. Sometimes\nit manifests itself only by a cry of admiration; sometimes it silently\nrises in the mind that scarcely has a consciousness of it. The forms of\nthis phenomenon vary, but the phenomenon is attested by the most common\nand most certain observation, and all languages bear witness of it.\n\nAlthough sensible objects, with most men, oftenest provoke the judgment\nof the beautiful, they do not alone possess this advantage; the domain\nof beauty is more extensive than the domain of the physical world\nexposed to our view; it has no bounds but those of entire nature, and of\nthe soul and genius of man. Before an heroic action, by the remembrance\nof a great sacrifice; even by the thought of the most abstract truths\nfirmly united with each other in a system admirable at once for its\nsimplicity and its productiveness; finally, before objects of another\norder, before the works of art, this same phenomenon is produced in us.\nWe recognize in all these objects, however different, a common quality\nin regard to which our judgment is pronounced, and this quality we call\nbeauty.\n\nThe philosophy of sensation, in faithfulness to itself, should have\nattempted to reduce the beautiful to the agreeable.\n\nWithout doubt, beauty is almost always agreeable to the senses, or at\nleast it must not wound them. Most of our ideas of the beautiful come to\nus by sight and hearing, and all the arts, without exception, are\naddressed to the soul through the body. An object which makes us suffer,\nwere it the most beautiful in the world, very rarely appears to us such.\nBeauty has little influence over a soul occupied with grief.\n\nBut if an agreeable sensation often accompanies the idea of the\nbeautiful, we must not conclude that one is the other.\n\nExperience testifies that all agreeable things do not appear beautiful,\nand that, among agreeable things, those which are most so are not the\nmost beautiful,--a sure sign that the agreeable is not the beautiful;\nfor if one is identical with the other, they should never be separated,\nbut should always be commensurate with each other.\n\nFar from this, whilst all our senses give us agreeable sensations, only\ntwo have the privilege of awakening in us the idea of beauty. Does one\never say: This is a beautiful taste, this is a beautiful smell?\nNevertheless, one should say it, if the beautiful is the agreeable. On\nthe other hand, there are certain pleasures of odor and taste that move\nsensibility more than the greatest beauties of nature and art; and even\namong the perceptions of hearing and sight, those are not always the\nmost vivid that most excite in us the idea of beauty. Do not pictures,\nordinary in coloring, often move us more deeply than many dazzling\nproductions, more seductive to the eye, less touching to the soul? I say\nfarther; sensation not only does not produce the idea of the beautiful,\nbut sometimes stifles it. Let an artist occupy himself with the\nreproduction of voluptuous forms; while pleasing the senses, he\ndisturbs, he repels in us the chaste and pure idea of beauty. The\nagreeable is not, then, the measure of the beautiful, since in certain\ncases it effaces it and makes us forget it; it is not, then, the\nbeautiful, since it is found, and in the highest degree, where the\nbeautiful is not.\n\nThis conducts us to the essential foundation of the distinction between\nthe idea of the beautiful and the sensation of the agreeable, to wit,\nthe difference already explained between sensibility and reason.\n\nWhen an object makes you experience an agreeable sensation, if one asks\nyou why this object is agreeable to you, you can answer nothing, except\nthat such is your impression; and if one informs you that this same\nobject produces upon others a different impression and displeases them,\nyou are not much astonished, because you know that sensibility is\ndiverse, and that sensations must not be disputed. Is it the same when\nan object is not only agreeable to you, but when you judge that it is\nbeautiful? You pronounce, for example, that this figure is noble and\nbeautiful, that this sunrise or sunset is beautiful, that\ndisinterestedness and devotion are beautiful, that virtue is beautiful;\nif one contests with you the truth of these judgments, then you are not\nas accommodating as you were just now; you do not accept the dissent as\nan inevitable effect of different sensibilities, you no longer appeal to\nyour sensibility which naturally terminates in you, you appeal to an\nauthority which is made for others as well as you, that of reason; you\nbelieve that you have the right of accusing him with error who\ncontradicts your judgment, for here your judgment rests no longer on\nsomething variable and individual, like an agreeable or painful\nsensation. The agreeable is confined for us within the inclosure of our\nown organization, where it changes every moment, according to the\nperpetual revolutions of this organization, according to health and\nsickness, the state of the atmosphere, that of our nerves, etc. But it\nis not so with beauty; beauty, like truth, belongs to none of us; no one\nhas the right to dispose of it arbitrarily, and when we say: this is\ntrue, this is beautiful, it is no longer the particular and variable\nimpression of our sensibility that we express, it is the absolute\njudgment that reason imposes on all men.\n\nConfound reason and sensibility, reduce the idea of the beautiful to the\nsensation of the agreeable, and taste no longer has a law. If a person\nsays to me, in the presence of the Apollo Belvidere, that he feels\nnothing more agreeable than in presence of any other statue, that it\ndoes not please him at all, that he does not feel its beauty, I cannot\ndispute his impression; but if this person thence concludes that the\nApollo is not beautiful, I proudly contradict him, and declare that he\nis deceived. Good taste is distinguished from bad taste; but what does\nthis distinction signify, if the judgment of the beautiful is resolved\ninto a sensation? You say to me that I have no taste. What does that\nmean? Have I not senses like you? Does not the object which you admire\nact upon me as well as upon you? Is not the impression which I feel as\nreal as that which you feel? Whence comes it, then, that you are\nright,--you who only give expression to the impression which you feel,\nand that I am wrong,--I who do precisely the same thing? Is it because\nthose who feel like you are more numerous than those who feel like me?\nBut here the number of voices means nothing? The beautiful being defined\nas that which produces on the senses an agreeable impression, a thing\nthat pleases a single man, though it were frightfully ugly in the eyes\nof all the rest of the human race, must, nevertheless, and very\nlegitimately, be called beautiful by him who receives from it an\nagreeable impression, for, so far as he is concerned, it satisfies the\ndefinition. There is, then, no true beauty; there are only relative and\nchanging beauties, beauties of circumstance, custom, fashion, and all\nthese beauties, however different, will have a right to the same\nrespect, provided they meet sensibilities to which they are agreeable.\nAnd as there is nothing in this world, in the infinite diversity of our\ndispositions, which may not please some one, there will be nothing that\nis not beautiful; or, to speak more truly, there will be nothing either\nbeautiful or ugly, and the Hottentot Venus will equal the Venus de\nMedici. The absurdity of the consequences demonstrates the absurdity of\nthe principle. But there is only one means of escaping these\nconsequences, which is to repudiate the principle, and recognize the\njudgment of the beautiful as an absolute judgment, and, as such,\nentirely different from sensation.\n\nFinally, and this is the last rock of empiricism, is there in us only\nthe idea of an imperfect and finite beauty, and while we are admiring\nthe real beauties that nature furnishes, are we not elevating ourselves\nto the idea of a superior beauty, which Plato, with great excellence of\nexpression, calls the Idea of the beautiful, which, after him, all men\nof delicate taste, all true artists call the Ideal? If we establish\ndecrees in the beauty of things, is it not because we compare them,\noften without noticing it, with this ideal, which is to us the measure\nand rule of all our judgments in regard to particular beauties? How\ncould this idea of absolute beauty enveloped in all our judgments on the\nbeautiful,--how could this ideal beauty, which it is impossible for us\nnot to conceive, be revealed to us by sensation, by a faculty variable\nand relative like the objects that it perceives?\n\nThe philosophy which deduces all our ideas from the senses falls to the\nground, then, before the idea of the beautiful. It remains to see\nwhether this idea can be better explained by means of sentiment, which\nis different from sensation, which so nearly resembles reason that good\njudges have often taken it for reason, and have made it the principle of\nthe idea of the beautiful as well as that of the good. It is already a\nprogress, without doubt, to go from sensation to sentiment, and\nHutcheson and Smith[100] are in our eyes very different philosophers\nfrom Condillac and Helvetius;[101] but we believe that we have\nsufficiently established[102] that, in confounding sentiment with\nreason, we deprive it of its foundation and rule, that sentiment,\nparticular and variable in its nature, different to different men, and\nin each man continually changing, cannot be sufficient for itself.\nNevertheless, if sentiment is not a principle, it is a true and\nimportant fact, and, after having distinguished it well from reason, we\nourselves proceed to elevate it far above sensation, and elucidate the\nimportant part it plays in the perception of beauty.\n\nPlace yourself before an object of nature, wherein men recognize beauty,\nand observe what takes place within you at the sight of this object. Is\nit not certain that, at the same time that you judge that it is\nbeautiful, you also feel its beauty, that is to say, that you experience\nat the sight of it a delightful emotion, and that you are attracted\ntowards this object by a sentiment of sympathy and love? In other cases\nyou judge otherwise, and feel an opposite sentiment. Aversion\naccompanies the judgment of the ugly, as love accompanies the judgment\nof the beautiful. And this sentiment is awakened not only in presence of\nthe objects of nature: all objects, whatever they may be, that we judge\nto be ugly or beautiful, have the power to excite in us this sentiment.\nVary the circumstances as much as you please, place me before an\nadmirable edifice or before a beautiful landscape; represent to my mind\nthe great discoveries of Descartes and Newton, the exploits of the\ngreat Conde, the virtue of St. Vincent de Paul; elevate me still higher;\nawaken in me the obscure and too much forgotten idea of the infinite\nbeing; whatever you do, as often as you give birth within me to the idea\nof the beautiful, you give me an internal and exquisite joy, always\nfollowed by a sentiment of love for the object that caused it.\n\nThe more beautiful the object is, the more lively is the joy which it\ngives the soul, and the more profound is the love without being\npassionate. In admiration judgment rules, but animated by sentiment. Is\nadmiration increased to the degree of impressing upon the soul an\nemotion, an ardor that seems to exceed the limits of human nature? this\nstate of the soul is called enthusiasm:\n\n    \"Est Deus in nobis, agitante calescimus illo.\"\n\nThe philosophy of sensation explains sentiment, as well as the idea of\nthe beautiful, only by changing its nature. It confounds it with\nagreeable sensation, and, consequently, for it the love of beauty can be\nnothing but desire. There is no theory more contradicted by facts.\n\nWhat is desire? It is an emotion of the soul which has, for its avowed\nor secret end, possession. Admiration is in its nature respectful,\nwhilst desire tends to profane its object.\n\nDesire is the offspring of need. It supposes, then, in him who\nexperiences it, a want, a defect, and, to a certain point, suffering.\nThe sentiment of the beautiful is to itself its own satisfaction.\n\nDesire is burning, impetuous, sad. The sentiment of the beautiful, free\nfrom all desire, and always without fear, elevates and warms the soul,\nand may transport it even to enthusiasm, without making it know the\ntroubles of passion. The artist sees only the beautiful where the\nsensual man sees only the alluring and the frightful. On a vessel tossed\nby a tempest, while the passengers tremble at the sight of the\nthreatening waves, and at the sound of the thunder that breaks over\ntheir heads, the artist remains absorbed in the contemplation of the\nsublime spectacle. Vernet has himself lashed to the mast in order to\ncontemplate for a longer time the storm in its majestic and terrible\nbeauty. When he knows fear, when he participates in the common feeling,\nthe artist vanishes, there no more remains any thing but the man.\n\nThe sentiment of the beautiful is so far from being desire, that each\nexcludes the other. Let me take a common example. Before a table loaded\nwith meats and delicious wines, the desire of enjoyment is awakened, but\nnot the sentiment of the beautiful. Suppose that if, instead of thinking\nof the pleasures which all these things spread before my eyes promise\nme, I only take notice of the manner in which they are arranged and set\nupon the table, and the order of the feast, the sentiment of the\nbeautiful might in some degree be produced; but surely this will be\nneither the need nor the desire of appropriating this symmetry, this\norder.\n\nIt is the property of beauty not to irritate and inflame desire, but to\npurify and ennoble it. The more beautiful a woman is,--I do not mean\nthat common and gross beauty which Reubens in vain animates with his\nbrilliant coloring, but that ideal beauty which antiquity and Raphael\nunderstood so well,--the more, at the sight of this noble creature is\ndesire tempered by an exquisite and delicate sentiment, and is sometimes\neven replaced by a disinterested worship. If the Venus of the Capitol,\nor the Saint Cecilia, excites in you sensual desires, you are not made\nto feel the beautiful. So the true artist addresses himself less to the\nsenses than to the soul; in painting beauty he only seeks to awaken in\nus sentiment; and when he has carried this sentiment as far as\nenthusiasm, he has obtained the last triumph of art.\n\nThe sentiment of the beautiful is, therefore, a special sentiment, as\nthe idea of the beautiful is a simple idea. But is this sentiment, one\nin itself, manifested only in a single way, and applied only to a single\nkind of beauty? Here again--here, as always--let us interrogate\nexperience.\n\nWhen we have before our eyes an object whose forms are perfectly\ndetermined, and the whole easy to embrace,--a beautiful flower, a\nbeautiful statue, an antique temple of moderate size,--each of our\nfaculties attaches itself to this object, and rests upon it with an\nunalloyed satisfaction. Our senses easily perceive its details; our\nreason seizes the happy harmony of all its parts. Should this object\ndisappear, we can distinctly represent it to ourselves, so precise and\nfixed are its forms. The soul in this contemplation feels again a sweet\nand tranquil joy, a sort of efflorescence.\n\nLet us consider, on the other hand, an object with vague and indefinite\nforms, which may nevertheless be very beautiful: the impression which we\nexperience is without doubt a pleasure still, but it is a pleasure of a\ndifferent order. This object does not call forth all our powers like the\nfirst. Reason conceives it, but the senses do not perceive the whole of\nit, and imagination does not distinctly represent it to itself. The\nsenses and the imagination try in vain to attain its last limits; our\nfaculties are enlarged, are inflated, thus to speak, in order to embrace\nit, but it escapes and surpasses them. The pleasure that we feel comes\nfrom the very magnitude of the object; but, at the same time, this\nmagnitude produces in us I know not what melancholy sentiment, because\nit is disproportionate to us. At the sight of the starry heavens, of the\nvast sea, of gigantic mountains, admiration is mingled with sadness.\nThese objects, in reality finite, like the world itself, seem to us\ninfinite, in our want of power to comprehend their immensity, and,\nresembling what is truly without bounds, they awaken in us the idea of\nthe infinite, that idea which at once elevates and confounds our\nintelligence. The corresponding sentiment which the soul experiences is\nan austere pleasure.\n\nIn order to render the difference which we wish to mark more\nperceptible, examples may be multiplied. Are you affected in the same\nway at the sight of a meadow, variegated in its rather limited\ndimensions, whose extent the eye can easily take in, and at the aspect\nof an inaccessible mountain, at the foot of which the ocean breaks? Do\nthe sweet light of day and a melodious voice produce upon you the same\neffect as darkness and silence? In the intellectual and moral order, are\nyou moved in the same way when a rich and good man opens his purse to\nthe indigent, and when a magnanimous man gives hospitality to his enemy,\nand saves him at the peril of his own life? Take some light poetry in\nwhich measure, spirit, and grace, everywhere predominate; take an ode,\nand especially an epistle of Horace, or some small verses of Voltaire,\nand compare them with the Iliad, or those immense Indian poems that are\nfilled with marvellous events, wherein the highest metaphysics are\nunited to recitals by turns graceful or pathetic, those poems that have\nmore than two hundred thousand verses, whose personages are gods or\nsymbolic beings; and see whether the impressions that you experience\nwill be the same. As a last example, suppose, on the one hand, a writer\nwho, with two or three strokes of the pen, sketches an analysis of\nintelligence, agreeable and simple, but without depth, and, on the\nother, a philosopher who engages in a long labor in order to arrive at\nthe most rigorous decomposition of the faculty of knowing, and unfolds\nto you a long chain of principles and consequences,--read the _Traite\ndes Sensations_ and _the Critique of Pure Reason_, and, even leaving out\nof the account the truth and the falsehood they may contain, with\nreference solely to the beautiful, compare your impressions.\n\nThese are, then, two very different sentiments; different names have\nalso been given them: one has been more particularly called the\nsentiment of the beautiful, the other that of the sublime.\n\nIn order to complete the study of the different faculties that enter\ninto the perception of beauty, after reason and sentiment, it remains to\nus to speak of a faculty not less necessary, which animates them and\nvivifies them,--imagination.\n\nWhen sensation, judgment, and sentiment have been produced by the\noccasion of an external object, they are reproduced even in the absence\nof this object; this is memory.\n\nMemory is double:--not only do I remember that I have been in the\npresence of a certain object, but I represent to myself this absent\nobject as it was, as I have seen, felt, and judged it:--the remembrance\nis then an image. In this last case, memory has been called by some\nphilosophers imaginative memory. Such is the foundation of imagination;\nbut imagination is something more still.\n\nThe mind, applying itself to the images furnished by memory, decomposes\nthem, chooses between their different traits, and forms of them new\nimages. Without this new power, imagination would be captive in the\ncircle of memory.\n\nThe gift of being strongly affected by objects and reproducing their\nabsent or vanished images, and the power of modifying these images so as\nto compose of them new ones,--do they fully constitute what men call\nimagination? No, or at least, if these are indeed the proper elements of\nimagination, there must be something else added, to wit, the sentiment\nof the beautiful in all its degrees. By this means is a great\nimagination preserved and kindled. Did the careful reading of Titus\nLivius enable the author of the _Horaces_ to vividly represent to\nhimself some of the scenes described, to seize their principal traits\nand combine them happily? From the outset, sentiment, love of the\nbeautiful, especially of the morally beautiful, were requisite; there\nwas required that great heart whence sprang the word of the ancient\nHorace.\n\nLet us be well understood. We do not say that sentiment is imagination,\nwe say that it is the source whence imagination derives its inspirations\nand becomes productive. If men are so different in regard to\nimagination, it is because some are cold in presence of objects, cold in\nthe representations which they preserve of them, cold also in the\ncombinations which they form of them, whilst others, endowed with a\nparticular sensibility, are vividly moved by the first impressions of\nobjects, preserve strong recollections of them, and carry into the\nexercise of all their faculties this same force of emotion. Take away\nsentiment and all else is inanimate; let it manifest itself, and every\nthing receives warmth, color, and life.\n\nIt is then impossible to limit imagination, as the word seems to demand,\nto images properly so called, and to ideas that are related to physical\nobjects. To remember sounds, to choose between them, to combine them in\norder to draw from them new effects,--does not this belong to\nimagination, although sound is not an image? The true musician does not\npossess less imagination than the painter. Imagination is conceded to\nthe poet when he retraces the images of nature; will this same faculty\nbe refused him when he retraces sentiments? But, besides images and\nsentiments, does not the poet employ the high thoughts of justice,\nliberty, virtue, in a word, moral ideas? Will it be said that in moral\npaintings, in pictures of the intimate life of the soul, either graceful\nor energetic, there is no imagination?\n\nYou see what is the extent of imagination: it has no limits, it is\napplied to all things. Its distinctive character is that of deeply\nmoving the soul in the presence of a beautiful object, or by its\nremembrance alone, or even by the idea alone of an imaginary object. It\nis recognized by the sign that it produces, by the aid of its\nrepresentations, the same impression as, and even an impression more\nvivid than, nature by the aid of real objects. If beauty, absent and\ndreamed of, does not affect you as much as, and more than, present\nbeauty, you may have a thousand other gifts,--that of imagination has\nbeen refused you.\n\nIn the eyes of imagination, the real world languishes in comparison with\nits own fictions. One may feel that imagination is his master by the\n_ennui_ that real and present things give him. The phantoms of imagination\nhave a vagueness, an indefiniteness of form, which moves a thousand\ntimes more than the clearness and distinctness of actual perceptions.\nAnd then, unless we are wholly mad,--and passion does not always render\nthis service,--it is very difficult to see reality otherwise than as it\nis not, that is to say, very imperfectly. On the other hand, one makes\nof an image what he wishes, unconsciously metamorphoses it, embellishes\nit to his own liking. There is at the bottom of the human soul an\ninfinite power of feeling and loving to which the entire world does not\nanswer, still less a single one of its creatures, however charming. All\nmortal beauty, viewed near by, does not suffice for this insatiable\npower which it excites and cannot satisfy. But from afar, its effects\ndisappear or are diminished, shades are mingled and confounded in the\nclear-obscure of memory and dream, and the objects please more because\nthey are less determinate. The peculiarity of men of imagination is,\nthat they represent men and things otherwise than as they are, and that\nthey have a passion for such fantastic images. Those that are called\npositive men, are men without imagination, who perceive only what they\nsee, and deal with reality as it is instead of transforming it. They\nhave, in general, more reason than sentiment; they may be seriously,\nprofoundly honest; they will never be either poets or artists. What\nmakes the poet or artist is, with a foundation of good sense and\nreason--without which all the rest is useless--a sensitive, even a\npassionate heart; above all, a vivid, a powerful imagination.\n\nIf sentiment acts upon imagination, we see that imagination returns with\nusury to sentiment what it gives.\n\nThis pure and ardent passion, this worship of beauty that makes the\ngreat artist, can be found only in a man of imagination. In fact, the\nsentiment of the beautiful may be awakened in each one of us before any\nbeautiful object; but, when this object has disappeared, if its image\ndoes not subsist vivaciously retraced, the sentiment which it for a\nmoment excited is little by little effaced; it may be revived at the\nsight of another object, but only to be extinguished again,--always\ndying to be born again at hazard; not being nourished, increased,\nexalted by the vivacious and continuous reproduction of its object in\nthe imagination, it wants that inspiring power, without which there is\nno artist, no poet.\n\nA word more on another faculty, which is not a simple faculty, but a\nhappy combination of those which have just been mentioned,--taste, so\nill treated, so arbitrarily limited in all theories.\n\nIf, after having heard a beautiful poetical or musical work, admired a\nstatue or a picture, you are able to recall what your senses have\nperceived, to see again the absent picture, to hear again the sounds\nthat no longer exist; in a word, if you have imagination, you possess\none of the conditions without which there is no true taste. In fact, in\norder to relish the works of imagination, is it not necessary to have\ntaste? Do we not need, in order to feel an author, not to equal him,\nwithout doubt, but to resemble him in some degree? Will not a man of\nsensible, but dry and austere mind, like Le Batteux or Condillac, be\ninsensible to the happy darings of genius, and will he not carry into\ncriticism a narrow severity, a reason very little reasonable--since he\ndoes not comprehend all the parts of human nature,--an intolerance that\nmutilates and blemishes art while thinking to purify it?\n\nOn the other hand, imagination does not suffice for the appreciation of\nbeauty. Moreover, that vivacity of imagination so precious to taste,\nwhen it is somewhat restrained, produces, when it rules, only a very\nimperfect taste, which, not having reason for a basis, carelessly\njudges, runs the risk of misunderstanding the greatest beauty,--beauty\nthat is regulated. Unity in composition, harmony of all the parts, just\nproportion of details, skilful combination of effects, discrimination,\nsobriety, measure, are so many merits it will little feel, and will not\nput in their place. Imagination has doubtless much to do with works of\nart; but, in fine, it is not every thing. Is it only imagination that\nmakes the _Polyeucte_ and the _Misanthrope_, two incomparable marvels?\nIs there not, also, in the profound simplicity of plan, in the measured\ndevelopment of action, in the sustained truth of characters, a superior\nreason, different from imagination which furnishes the superior colors,\nand from sensibility that gives the passion?\n\nBesides imagination and reason, the man of taste ought to possess an\nenlightened but ardent love of beauty; he must take delight in meeting\nit, must search for it, must summon it. To comprehend and demonstrate\nthat a thing is not beautiful, is an ordinary pleasure, an ungrateful\ntask; but to discern a beautiful thing, to be penetrated with its\nbeauty, to make it evident, and make others participate in our\nsentiment, is an exquisite joy, a generous task. Admiration is, for him\nwho feels it, at once a happiness and an honor. It is a happiness to\nfeel deeply what is beautiful; it is an honor to know how to recognize\nit. Admiration is the sign of an elevated reason served by a noble\nheart. It is above a small criticism, that is skeptical and powerless;\nbut it is the soul of a large criticism, a criticism that is productive:\nit is, thus to speak, the divine part of taste.\n\nAfter having spoken of taste which appreciates beauty, shall we say\nnothing of genius which makes it live again? Genius is nothing else than\ntaste in action, that is to say, the three powers of taste carried to\ntheir culmination, and armed with a new and mysterious power, the power\nof execution. But we are already entering upon the domain of art. Let us\nwait, we shall soon find art again and the genius that accompanies it.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[96] Except the estimable _Essay on the Beautiful_, by P. Andre, a\ndisciple of Malebranche, whose life was considerably prolonged into the\neighteenth century. On P. Andre, see 3d Series, vol. iii., _Modern\nPhilosophy_, p. 207, 516.\n\n[97] See in the works of Diderot, _Pensees sur la Sculpture, les\nSalons_, etc.\n\n[98] See 1st Series, vol. iv., explained and estimated, the theories of\nHutcheson and Reid.\n\n[99] The theory of Kant is found in the _Critique of Judgment_, and in\nthe _Observations_ on the _Sentiment of the Beautiful and the Sublime_.\nSee the excellent translation made by M. Barny, 2 vols., 1846.\n\n[100] On Hutcheson and Smith, their merits and defects, the part of\ntruth and the part of error, which their philosophy contains, see the\ndetailed lectures which we have devoted to them, 1st Series, vol. iv.\n\n[101] See the exposition and refutation of the doctrine of Condillac and\nHelvetius, _Ibid._, vol. iii.\n\n[102] See lecture 5, in this vol.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE VII.\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL IN OBJECTS.\n\n    Refutation of different theories on the nature of the beautiful:\n    the beautiful cannot be reduced to what is useful.--Nor to\n    convenience.--Nor to proportion.--Essential characters of the\n    beautiful.--Different kinds of beauties. The beautiful and the\n    sublime. Physical beauty. Intellectual beauty. Moral\n    beauty.--Ideal beauty: it is especially moral beauty.--God, the\n    first principle of the beautiful.--Theory of Plato.\n\n\nWe have made known the beautiful in ourselves, in the faculties that\nperceive it and appreciate it, in reason, sentiment, imagination, taste;\nwe come, according to the order determined by the method, to other\nquestions: What is the beautiful in objects? What is the beautiful taken\nin itself? What are its characters and different species? What, in fine,\nis its first and last principle? All these questions must be treated,\nand, if possible, solved. Philosophy has its point of departure in\npsychology; but, in order to attain also its legitimate termination, it\nmust set out from man, and reach things themselves.\n\nThe history of philosophy offers many theories on the nature of the\nbeautiful: we do not wish to enumerate nor discuss them all; we will\ndesignate the most important.[103]\n\nThere is one very gross, which defines the beautiful as that which\npleases the senses, that which procures an agreeable impression. We will\nnot stop at this opinion. We have sufficiently refuted it in showing\nthat it is impossible to reduce the beautiful to the agreeable.\n\nA sensualism a little more wise puts the useful in the place of the\nagreeable, that is to say, changes the form of the same principle.\nNeither is the beautiful the object which procures for us in the present\nmoment an agreeable but fugitive sensation, it is the object which can\noften procure for us this same sensation or others similar. No great\neffort of observation or reasoning is necessary to convince us that\nutility has nothing to do with beauty. What is useful is not always\nbeautiful. What is beautiful is not always useful, and what is at once\nuseful and beautiful is beautiful for some other reason than its\nutility. Observe a lever or a pulley: surely nothing is more useful.\nNevertheless, you are not tempted to say that this is beautiful. Have\nyou discovered an antique vase admirably worked? You exclaim that this\nvase is beautiful, without thinking to seek of what use it may be to\nyou. Finally, symmetry and order are beautiful things, and at the same\ntime, are useful things, because they economize space, because objects\nsymmetrically disposed are easier to find when one wants them; but that\nis not what makes for us the beauty of symmetry, for we immediately\nseize this kind of beauty, and it is often late enough before we\nrecognize the utility that is found in it. It even sometimes happens,\nthat after having admired the beauty of an object, we are not able to\ndivine its use, although it may have one. The useful is, then, entirely\ndifferent from the beautiful, far from being its foundation.\n\nA celebrated and very ancient[104] theory makes the beautiful consist in\nthe perfect suitableness of means to their end. Here the beautiful is no\nlonger the useful, it is the suitable; these two ideas must be\ndistinguished. A machine produces excellent effects, economy of time,\nwork, etc.; it is therefore useful. If, moreover, examining its\nconstruction, I find that each piece is in its place, and that all are\nskilfully disposed for the result which they should produce; even\nwithout regarding the utility of this result, as the means are well\nadapted to their end, I judge that there is suitableness in it. We are\nalready approaching the idea of the beautiful; for we are no longer\nconsidering what is useful, but what is proper. Now, we have not yet\nattained the true character of beauty; there are, in fact, objects very\nwell adapted to their end, which we do not call beautiful. A bench\nwithout ornament and without elegance, provided it be solid, provided\nall the parts are firmly connected, provided one may sit down on it with\nsafety, provided it may be for this purpose suitable, agreeable even,\nmay give an example of the most perfect adaptation of means to an end;\nit will not, therefore, be said that this bench is beautiful. There is\nhere always this difference between suitableness and utility, that an\nobject to be beautiful has no need of being useful, but that it is not\nbeautiful if it does not possess suitableness, if there is in it a\ndisagreement between the end and the means.\n\nSome have thought to find the beautiful in proportion, and this is, in\nfact, one of the conditions of beauty, but it is not the only one. It is\nvery certain, that an object ill-proportioned cannot be beautiful. There\nis in all beautiful objects, however far they may be from geometric\nform, a sort of living geometry. But, I ask, is it proportion that is\ndominant in this slender tree, with flexible and graceful branches, with\nrich and shady foliage? What makes the terrible beauty of a storm, what\nmakes that of a great picture, of an isolated verse, or a sublime ode?\nIt is not, I know, wanting in law and rule, neither is it law and rule:\noften, even what at first strikes us is an apparent irregularity. It is\nabsurd to pretend that what makes us admire all these things and many\nmore, is the same quality that makes us admire a geometric figure, that\nis to say, the exact correspondence of parts.\n\nWhat we say of proportion may be said of order, which is something less\nmathematical than proportion, but scarcely explains better what is\nfree, varied, and negligent in certain beauties.\n\nAll these theories which refer beauty to order, harmony, and proportion,\nare at foundation only one and the same theory which in the beautiful\nsees unity before all. And surely unity is beautiful; it is an important\npart of beauty, but it is not the whole of beauty.\n\nThe most probable theory of the beautiful is that which composes it of\ntwo contrary and equally necessary elements, unity and variety. Behold a\nbeautiful flower. Without doubt, unity, order, proportion, symmetry\neven, are in it; for, without these qualities, reason would be absent\nfrom it, and all things are made with a marvellous reason. But, at the\nsame time, what a diversity! How many shades in the color, what richness\nin the least details! Even in mathematics, what is beautiful is not an\nabstract principle, it is a principle carrying with itself a long chain\nof consequences. There is no beauty without life, and life is movement,\nis diversity.\n\nUnity and variety are applied to all orders of beauty. Let us rapidly\nrun over these different orders.\n\nIn the first place, there are beautiful objects, to speak properly, and\nsublime objects. A beautiful object, we have seen, is something\ncompleted, circumscribed, limited, which all our faculties easily\nembrace, because the different parts are on a somewhat narrow scale. A\nsublime object is that which, by forms not in themselves\ndisproportionate, but less definite and more difficult to seize, awakens\nin us the sentiment of the infinite.\n\nThere are two very distinct species of beauty. But reality is\ninexhaustible, and in all the degrees of reality there is beauty.\n\nAmong sensible objects, colors, sounds, figures, movements, are capable\nof producing the idea and the sentiment of the beautiful. All these\nbeauties are arranged under that species of beauty which, right or\nwrong, is called physical beauty.\n\nIf from the world of sense we elevate ourselves to that of mind, truth,\nand science, we shall find there beauties more severe, but not less\nreal. The universal laws that govern bodies, those that govern\nintelligences, the great principles that contain and produce long\ndeductions, the genius that creates, in the artist, poet, or\nphilosopher,--all these are beautiful, as well as nature herself: this\nis what is called intellectual beauty.\n\nFinally, if we consider the moral world and its laws, the idea of\nliberty, virtue, and devotedness, here the austere justice of an\nAristides, there the heroism of a Leonidas, the prodigies of charity or\npatriotism, we shall certainly find a third order of beauty that still\nsurpasses the other two, to wit, moral beauty.\n\nNeither let us forget to apply to all these beauties the distinction\nbetween the beautiful and the sublime. There are, then, the beautiful\nand the sublime at once in nature, in ideas, in sentiments, in actions.\nWhat an almost infinite variety in beauty!\n\nAfter having enumerated all these differences, could we not reduce them?\nThey are incontestable; but, in this diversity is there not unity? Is\nthere not a single beauty of which all particular beauties are only\nreflections, shades, degrees, or degradations?\n\nPlotinus, in his treatise _On the Beautiful_,[105] proposed to himself\nthis question. He asks--What is the beautiful in itself? I see clearly\nthat such or such a form is beautiful, that such or such an action is\nalso beautiful; but why and how are these two objects, so dissimilar,\nbeautiful? What is the common quality which, being found in these two\nobjects, ranges them under the general idea of the beautiful?\n\nIt is necessary to answer this question, or the theory of beauty is a\nmaze without issue; one applies the same name to the most diverse\nthings, without understanding the real unity that authorizes this unity\nof name.\n\nEither the diversities which we have designated in beauty are such that\nit is impossible to discover their relation, or these diversities are\nespecially apparent, and have their harmony, their concealed unity.\n\nIs it pretended that this unity is a chimera? Then physical beauty,\nmoral beauty, and intellectual beauty, are strangers to each other.\nWhat, then, will the artist do? He is surrounded by different beauties,\nand he must make a work; for such is the recognized law of art. But if\nthis unity that is imposed upon him is a factitious unity, if there are\nin nature only essentially dissimilar beauties, art deceives and lies to\nus. Let it be explained, then, how falsehood is the law of art. That\ncannot be; the unity that art expresses, it must have somewhere caught a\nglimpse of, in order to transport it into its works.\n\nWe neither retract the distinction between the beautiful and the\nsublime, nor the other distinctions just now indicated; but it is\nnecessary to re-unite after having distinguished them. These\ndistinctions and these re-unions are not contradictory: the great law of\nbeauty, like that of truth, is unity as well as variety. All is one, and\nall is diverse. We have divided beauty into three great\nclasses--physical beauty, intellectual beauty, and moral beauty. We must\nnow seek the unity of these three sorts of beauty. Now, we think that\nthey resolve themselves into one and the same beauty, moral beauty,\nmeaning by that, with moral beauty properly so called, all spiritual\nbeauty.\n\nLet us put this opinion to the proof of facts.\n\nPlace yourself before that statue of Apollo which is called Apollo\nBelvidere, and observe attentively what strikes you in that\nmaster-piece. Winkelmann, who was not a metaphysician, but a learned\nantiquarian, a man of taste without system, made a celebrated analysis\nof the Apollo.[106] It is curious to study it. What Winkelmann extols\nbefore all, is the character of divinity stamped upon the immortal youth\nthat invests that beautiful body, upon the height, a little above that\nof man, upon the majestic altitude, upon the imperious movement, upon\nthe _ensemble_, and all the details of the person. The forehead is\nindeed that of a god,--an unalterable placidity dwells upon it. Lower\ndown, humanity reappears somewhat; and that is very necessary, in order\nto interest humanity in the works of art. In that satisfied look, in the\ndistension of the nostrils, in the elevation of the under lip, are at\nonce felt anger mingled with disdain, pride of victory, and the little\nfatigue which it has cost. Weigh well each word of Winkelmann: you will\nfind there a moral impression. The tone of the learned antiquary is\nelevated, little by little, to enthusiasm, and his analysis becomes a\nhymn to spiritual beauty.\n\nInstead of a statue, observe a real and living man. Regard that man who,\nsolicited by the strongest motives to sacrifice duty to fortune,\ntriumphs over interest, after an heroic struggle, and sacrifices fortune\nto virtue. Regard him at the moment when he is about to take this\nmagnanimous resolution; his face will appear to you beautiful, because\nit expresses the beauty of his soul. Perhaps, under all other\ncircumstances, the face of the man is common, even trivial; here,\nilluminated by the soul which it manifests, it is ennobled, and takes an\nimposing character of beauty. So, the natural face of Socrates[107]\ncontrasts strongly with the type of Grecian beauty; but look at him on\nhis death-bed, at the moment of drinking the hemlock, convening with his\ndisciples on the immortality of the soul, and his face will appear to\nyou sublime.[108]\n\nAt the highest point of moral grandeur, Socrates expires:--you have\nbefore your eyes no longer any thing but his dead body; the dead face\npreserves its beauty, as long as it preserves traces of the mind that\nanimated it; but little by little the expression is extinguished or\ndisappears; the face then becomes vulgar and ugly. The expression of\ndeath is hideous or sublime,--hideous at the aspect of the decomposition\nof the matter that no longer retains the spirit,--sublime when it\nawakens in us the idea of eternity.\n\nConsider the figure of man in repose: it is more beautiful than that of\nan animal, the figure of an animal is more beautiful than the form of\nany inanimate object. It is because the human figure, even in the\nabsence of virtue and genius, always reflects an intelligent and moral\nnature, it is because the figure of an animal reflects sentiment at\nleast, and something of soul, if not the soul entire. If from man and\nthe animal we descend to purely physical nature, we shall still find\nbeauty there, as long as we find there some shade of intelligence, I\nknow not what, that awakens in us some thought, some sentiment. Do we\narrive at some piece of matter that expresses nothing, that signifies\nnothing, neither is the idea of beauty applied to it. But every thing\nthat exists is animated. Matter is shaped and penetrated by forces that\nare not material, and it obeys laws that attest an intelligence\neverywhere present. The most subtile chemical analysis does not reach a\ndead and inert nature, but a nature that is organized in its own way,\nthat is neither deprived of forces nor laws. In the depths of the earth,\nas in the heights of the heavens, in a grain of sand as in a gigantic\nmountain, an immortal spirit shines through the thickest coverings. Let\nus contemplate nature with the eye of the soul as well as with the eye\nof the body:--everywhere a moral expression will strike us, and the\nforms of things will impress us as symbols of thought. We have said\nthat with man, and with the animal even, the figure is beautiful on\naccount of the expression. But, when you are on the summit of the Alps,\nor before the immense Ocean, when you behold the rising or setting of\nthe sun, at the beginning or the close of the day, do not these imposing\npictures produce on you a moral effect? Do all these grand spectacles\nappear only for the sake of appearing? Do we not regard them as\nmanifestations of an admirable power, intelligence, and wisdom? And,\nthus to speak, is not the face of nature expressive like that of man?\n\nForm cannot be simply a form, it must be the form of something. Physical\nbeauty is, then, the sign of an internal beauty, which is spiritual and\nmoral beauty; and this is the foundation, the principle, the unity of\nthe beautiful.[109]\n\nAll the beauties that we have just enumerated and reduced compose what\nis called the really beautiful. But, above real beauty, is a beauty of\nanother order--ideal beauty. The ideal resides neither in an individual,\nnor in a collection of individuals. Nature or experience furnishes us\nthe occasion of conceiving it, but it is essentially distinct. Let it\nonce be conceived, and all natural figures, though never so beautiful,\nare only images of a superior beauty which they do not realize. Give me\na beautiful action, and I will imagine one still more beautiful. The\nApollo itself is open to criticism in more than one respect. The ideal\ncontinually recedes as we approach it. Its last termination is in the\ninfinite, that is to say, in God; or, to speak more correctly, the true\nand absolute ideal is nothing else than God himself.\n\nGod, being the principle of all things, must for this reason be that of\nperfect beauty, and, consequently, of all natural beauties that express\nit more or less imperfectly; he is the principle of beauty, both as\nauthor of the physical world and as father of the intellectual and moral\nworld.\n\nIs it not necessary to be a slave of the senses and of appearances in\norder to stop at movements, at forms, at sounds, at colors, whose\nharmonious combinations produce the beauty of this visible world, and\nnot to conceive behind this scene so magnificent and well regulated, the\norderer, the geometer, the supreme artist?\n\nPhysical beauty serves as an envelope to intellectual and moral beauty.\n\nWhat can be the principle of intellectual beauty, that splendor of the\ntrue, except the principle of all truth?\n\nMoral beauty comprises, as we shall subsequently see,[110] two distinct\nelements, equally but diversely beautiful, justice and charity, respect\nand love of men. He who expresses in his conduct justice and charity,\naccomplishes the most beautiful of all works; the good man is, in his\nway, the greatest of all artists. But what shall we say of him who is\nthe very substance of justice and the exhaustless source of love? If our\nmoral nature is beautiful, what must be the beauty of its author! His\njustice and goodness are everywhere, both in us and out of us. His\njustice is the moral order that no human law makes, that all human laws\nare forced to express, that is preserved and perpetuated in the world by\nits own force. Let us descend into ourselves, and consciousness will\nattest the divine justice in the peace and contentment that accompany\nvirtue, in the troubles and tortures that are the invariable punishments\nof vice and crime. How many times, and with what eloquence, have men\ncelebrated the indefatigable solicitude of Providence, its benefits\neverywhere manifest in the smallest as well as in the greatest phenomena\nof nature, which we forget so easily because they have become so\nfamiliar to us, but which, on reflection, call forth our mingled\nadmiration and gratitude, and proclaim a good God, full of love for his\ncreatures!\n\nThus, God is the principle of the three orders of beauty that we have\ndistinguished, physical beauty, intellectual beauty, moral beauty.\n\nIn him also are reunited the two great forms of the beautiful\ndistributed in each of these three orders, to wit, the beautiful and the\nsublime. God is, _par excellence_, the beautiful--for what object\nsatisfies more all our faculties, our reason, our imagination, our\nheart! He offers to reason the highest idea, beyond which it has nothing\nmore to seek; to imagination the most ravishing contemplation; to the\nheart a sovereign object of love. He is, then, perfectly beautiful; but\nis he not sublime also in other ways? If he extends the horizon of\nthought, it is to confound it in the abyss of his greatness. If the soul\nblooms at the spectacle of his goodness, has it not also reason to be\naffrighted at the idea of his justice, which is not less present to it?\nGod is at once mild and terrible. At the same time that he is the life,\nthe light, the movement, the ineffable grace of visible and finite\nnature, he is also called the Eternal, the Invisible, the Infinite, the\nAbsolute Unity, and the Being of beings. Do not these awful attributes,\nas certain as the first, produce in the highest degree in the\nimagination and the soul that melancholy emotion excited by the sublime?\nYes, God is for us the type and source of the two great forms of beauty,\nbecause he is to us at once an impenetrable enigma and still the\nclearest word that we are able to find for all enigmas. Limited beings\nas we are, we comprehend nothing in comparison with that which is\nwithout limits, and we are able to explain nothing without that same\nthing which is without limits. By the being that we possess, we have\nsome idea of the infinite being of God; by the nothingness that is in\nus, we lose ourselves in the being of God; and thus always forced to\nrecur to him in order to explain any thing, and always thrown back\nwithin ourselves under the weight of his infinitude, we experience by\nturns, or rather at the same time, for this God who raises and casts us\ndown, a sentiment of irresistible attraction and astonishment, not to\nsay insurmountable terror, which he alone can cause and allay, because\nhe alone is the unity of the sublime and the beautiful.\n\nThus absolute being, which is both absolute unity and infinite\nvariety,--God, is necessarily the last reason, the ultimate foundation,\nthe completed ideal of all beauty. This is the marvellous beauty that\nDiotimus had caught a glimpse of, and thus paints to Socrates in the\n_Banquet_:\n\n\"Eternal beauty, unbegotten and imperishable, exempt from decay as well\nas increase, which is not beautiful in such a part and ugly in such\nanother, beautiful only, at such a time, in such a place, in such a\nrelation, beautiful for some, ugly for others, beauty that has no\nsensible form, no visage, no hands, nothing corporeal, which is not such\na thought or such a particular science, which resides not in any being\ndifferent from itself, as an animal, the earth, or the heavens, or any\nother thing, which is absolutely identical and invariable by itself, in\nwhich all other beauties participate, in such a way, nevertheless, that\ntheir birth or their destruction neither diminishes nor increases, nor\nin the least changes it!... In order to arrive at this perfect beauty,\nit is necessary to commence with the beauties of this lower world, and,\nthe eyes being fixed upon the supreme beauty, to elevate ourselves\nunceasingly towards it, by passing, thus to speak, through all the\ndegrees of the scale, from a single beautiful body to two, from two to\nall others, from beautiful bodies to beautiful sentiments, from\nbeautiful sentiments to beautiful thoughts, until from thought to\nthought we arrive at the highest thought, which has no other object than\nthe beautiful itself, until we end by knowing it as it is in itself.\n\n\"O my dear Socrates,\" continued the stranger of Mantinea, \"that which\ncan give value to this life is the spectacle of the eternal beauty....\nWhat would be the destiny of a mortal to whom it should be granted to\ncontemplate the beautiful without alloy, in its purity and simplicity,\nno longer clothed with the flesh and hues of humanity, and with all\nthose vain charms that are condemned to perish, to whom it should be\ngiven to see face to face, under its sole form, the divine beauty!\"[111]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[103] If one would make himself acquainted with a simple and piquant\nrefutation, written two thousand years ago, of false theories of beauty,\nhe may read the _Hippias_ of Plato, vol. iv. of our translation. The\n_Phaedrus_, vol. vi., contains the veiled exposition of Plato's own\ntheory; but it is in the _Banquet_ (_Ibid._), and particularly in the\ndiscourse of Diotimus, that we must look for the thought of Plato\ncarried to its highest degree of development, and clothed with all the\nbeauty of human language.\n\n[104] See the _Hippias_.\n\n[105] First _Ennead_, book vi., in the work of M. B. Saint-Hillaire, on\nthe _School of Alexandria_, the translation of this morsel of Plotinus,\np. 197.\n\n[106] Winkelmann has twice described the Apollo, _History of Art among\nthe Ancients_, Paris, 1802, 3 vols., in 4to. Vol. i., book iv., chap.\niii., _Art among the Greeks_:--\"The Apollo of the Vatican offers us that\nGod in a movement of indignation against the serpent Python, which he\nhas just killed with arrow-shots, and in a sentiment of contempt for a\nvictory so little worthy of a divinity. The wise artist, who proposed to\nrepresent the most beautiful of the gods, placed the anger in the nose,\nwhich, according to the ancients, was its seat; and the disdain on the\nlips. He expressed the anger by the inflation of the nostrils, and the\ndisdain by the elevation of the under lip, which causes the same\nmovement in the chin.\"--_Ibid._, vol. ii., book iv., chap. vi., _Art\nunder the Emperors_:--\"Of all the antique statues that have escaped the\nfury of barbarians and the destructive hand of time, the statue of\nApollo is, without contradiction, the most sublime. One would say that\nthe artist composed a figure purely ideal, and employed matter only\nbecause it was necessary for him to execute and represent his idea. As\nmuch as Homer's description of Apollo surpasses the descriptions which\nother poets have undertaken after him, so much this statue excels all\nthe figures of this god. Its height is above that of man, and its\nattitude proclaims the divine grandeur with which it is filled. A\nperennial spring-time, like that which reigns in the happy fields of\nElysium, clothes with lovable youth the beautiful body, and shines with\nsweetness over the noble structure of the limbs. In order to feel the\nmerit of this _chef-d'oeuvre of art_, we must be penetrated with\nintellectual beauty, and become, if possible, the creatures of a\ncelestial nature; for there is nothing mortal in it, nothing subject to\nthe wants of humanity. That body, whose forms are not interrupted by a\nvein, which is not agitated by a nerve, seems animated with a celestial\nspirit, which circulates like a sweet vapor in all the parts of that\nadmirable figure. The god has just been pursuing Python, against which\nhe has bent, for the first time, his formidable bow; in his rapid\ncourse, he has overtaken him, and given him a mortal wound. Penetrated\nwith the conviction of his power, and lost in a concentrated joy, his\naugust look penetrates far into the infinite, and is extended far beyond\nhis victory. Disdain sits upon his lips; the indignation that he\nbreathes distends his nostrils, and ascends to his eyebrows; but an\nunchangeable serenity is painted on his brow, and his eye is full of\nsweetness, as though the Muses were caressing him. Among all the figures\nthat remain to us of Jupiter, there is none in which the father of the\ngods approaches the grandeur with which he manifested himself to the\nintelligence of Homer; but in the traits of the Apollo Belvidere, we\nfind the individual beauties of all the other divinities united, as in\nthat of Pandora. The forehead is the forehead of Jupiter, inclosing the\ngoddess of wisdom; the eyebrows, by their movement, announce his supreme\nwill; the large eyes are those of the queen of the gods, orbed with\ndignity, and the mouth is an image of that of Bacchus, where breathed\nvoluptuousness. Like the tender branches of the vine, his beautiful\nlocks flow around his head, as if they were lightly agitated by the\nzephyr's breath. They seem perfumed with the essence of the gods, and\nare charmingly arranged over his head by the hand of the Graces. At the\nsight of this marvel of art, I forget every thing else, and my mind\ntakes a supernatural disposition, fitted to judge of it with dignity;\nfrom admiration I pass to ecstasy; I feel my breast dilating and rising,\nlike those who are filled with the spirit of prophecy; I am transported\nto Delos, and the sacred groves of Syria,--places which Apollo honored\nwith his presence:--the statue seems to be animated as it were with the\nbeauty that sprung of old from the hands of Pygmalion. How can I\ndescribe thee, O inimitable master-piece? For this it would be necessary\nthat art itself should deign to inspire my pen. The traits that I have\njust sketched, I lay before thee, as those who came to crown the gods,\nput their crowns at their feet, not being able to reach their heads.\"\n\n[107] See the last part of the _Banquet_, the discourse of Alcibiades,\np. 326 of vol. vi. of our translation.\n\n[108] We here have in mind, and we avow it, the Socrates of David, which\nappears to us, the theatrical character being admitted, above its\nreputation. Besides Socrates, it is impossible not to admire Plato\nlistening to his master, as it were from the bottom of his soul, without\nlooking at him, with his back turned upon the scene that is passing, and\nlost in the contemplation of the intelligible world.\n\n[109] We are fortunate in finding this theory, which is so dear to us,\nconfirmed by the authority of one of the severest and most circumspect\nminds:--it may be seen in Reid, 1st Series, vol. iv., lecture 23. The\nScotch philosopher terminates his _Essay on Taste_ with these words,\nwhich happily remind us of the thought and manner of Plato\nhimself:--\"Whether the reasons that I have given to prove that sensible\nbeauty is only the image of moral beauty appear sufficient or not, I\nhope that my doctrine, in attempting to unite the terrestrial Venus more\nclosely to the celestial Venus, will not seem to have for its object to\nabase the first, and render her less worthy of the homage that mankind\nhas always paid her.\"\n\n[110] Part iii., lecture 15.\n\n[111] Vol. vi. of our translation, p. 816-818\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE VIII\n\nON ART.\n\n    Genius:--its attribute is creative power.--Refutation of the\n    opinion that art is the imitation of nature.--M. Emeric David,\n    and M. Quatremere de Quincy.--Refutation of the theory of\n    illusion. That dramatic art has not solely for its end to excite\n    the passions of terror and pity.--Nor even directly the moral\n    and religious sentiment.--The proper and direct object of art is\n    to produce the idea and the sentiment of the beautiful; this\n    idea and this sentiment purify and elevate the soul by the\n    affinity between the beautiful and the good, and by the relation\n    of ideal beauty to its principle, which is God.--True mission of\n    art.\n\n\nMan is not made only to know and love the beautiful in the works of\nnature, he is endowed with the power of reproducing it. At the sight of\na natural beauty, whatever it may be, physical or moral, his first need\nis to feel and admire. He is penetrated, ravished, as it were\noverwhelmed with the sentiment of beauty. But when the sentiment is\nenergetic, he is not a long time sterile. We wish to see again, we wish\nto feel again what caused us so vivid a pleasure, and for that end we\nattempt to revive the beauty that charmed us, not as it was, but as our\nimagination represents it to us. Hence a work original and peculiar to\nman, a work of art. Art is the free reproduction of beauty, and the\npower in us capable of reproducing it is called genius.\n\nWhat faculties are used in this free reproduction of the beautiful? The\nsame that serve to recognize and feel it. Taste carried to the highest\ndegree, if you always join to it an additional element, is genius. What\nis this element?\n\nThree faculties enter into that complex faculty that is called\ntaste,--imagination, sentiment, reason.\n\nThese three faculties are certainly necessary for genius, but they are\nnot sufficient for it. What essentially distinguishes genius from taste\nis the attribute of creative power. Taste feels, judges, discusses,\nanalyzes, but does not invent. Genius is, before all, inventive and\ncreative. The man of genius is not the master of the power that is in\nhim; it is by the ardent, irresistible need of expressing what he feels,\nthat he is a man of genius. He suffers by withholding the sentiments, or\nimages, or thoughts, that agitate his breast. It has been said that\nthere is no superior man without some grain of folly; but this folly,\nlike that of the cross, is the divine part of reason. This mysterious\npower Socrates called his demon. Voltaire called it the devil in the\nbody; he demanded it even in a comedian in order to be a comedian of\ngenius. Give to it what name you please, it is certain that there is a\nI-know-not-what that inspires genius, that also torments it until it has\ndelivered itself of what consumes it; until, by expressing them, it has\nsolaced its pains and its joys, its emotions, its ideas; until its\nreveries have become living works. Thus two things characterize genius;\nat first, the vivacity of the need it has of producing, then the power\nof producing; for the need without the power is only a malady that\nresembles genius, but is not it. Genius is above all, is essentially,\nthe power of doing, of inventing, of creating. Taste is contented with\nobserving, with admiring. False genius, ardent and impotent imagination,\nconsumes itself in sterile dreams and produces nothing, at least nothing\ngreat. Genius alone has the power to convert conceptions into creations.\n\nIf genius creates it does not imitate.\n\nBut genius, it is said, is then superior to nature, since it does not\nimitate it. Nature is the work of God; man is then the rival of God.\n\nThe answer is very simple. No, genius is not the rival of God; but it is\nthe interpreter of him. Nature expresses him in its way, human genius\nexpresses him in its own way.\n\nLet us stop a moment at that question so much discussed,--whether art is\nany thing else than the imitation of nature.\n\nDoubtless, in one sense, art is an imitation; for absolute creation\nbelongs only to God. Where can genius find the elements upon which it\nworks, except in nature, of which it forms a part? But does it limit\nitself to the reproduction of them as nature furnishes them to it,\nwithout adding any thing to them which belongs to itself? Is it only a\ncopier of reality? Its sole merit, then, is that of the fidelity of the\ncopy. And what labor is more sterile than that of copying works\nessentially inimitable on account of the life with which they are\nendowed, in order to obtain an indifferent image of them? If art is a\nservile pupil, it is condemned never to be any thing but an impotent\npupil.\n\nThe true artist feels and profoundly admires nature; but every thing in\nnature is not equally admirable. As we have just said, it has something\nby which it infinitely surpasses art--its life. Besides that, art can,\nin its turn, surpass nature, on the condition of not wishing to imitate\nit too closely. Every natural object, however beautiful, is defective on\nsome side. Every thing that is real is imperfect. Here, the horrible and\nthe hideous are united to the sublime; there, elegance and grace are\nseparated from grandeur and force. The traits of beauty are scattered\nand diverse. To reunite them arbitrarily, to borrow from such a face a\nmouth, eyes from such another, without any rule that governs this choice\nand directs these borrowings, is to compose monsters; to admit a rule,\nis already to admit an ideal different from all individuals. It is this\nideal that the true artist forms to himself in studying nature. Without\nnature, he never would have conceived this ideal; but with this ideal,\nhe judges nature herself, rectifies her, and dares undertake to measure\nhimself with her.\n\nThe ideal is the artist's object of passionate contemplation.\nAssiduously and silently meditated, unceasingly purified by reflection\nand vivified by sentiment, it warms genius and inspires it with the\nirresistible need of seeing it realized and living. For this end, genius\ntakes in nature all the materials that can serve it, and applying to\nthem its powerful hand, as Michael Angelo impressed his chisel upon the\ndocile marble, makes of them works that have no model in nature, that\nimitate nothing else than the ideal dreamed of or conceived, that are in\nsome sort a second creation inferior to the first in individuality and\nlife, but much superior to it, we do not fear to say, on account of the\nintellectual and moral beauty with which it is impressed.\n\nMoral beauty is the foundation of all true beauty. This foundation is\nsomewhat covered and veiled in nature. Art disengages it, and gives to\nit forms more transparent. On this account, art, when it knows well its\npower and its resources, institutes with nature a contest in which it\nmay have the advantage.\n\nLet us establish well the end of art: it is precisely where its power\nlies. The end of art is the expression of moral beauty, by the aid of\nphysical beauty. The latter is only a symbol of the former. In nature,\nthis symbol is often obscure: art in bringing it to light attains\neffects that nature does not always produce. Nature may please more,\nfor, once more, it possesses in an incomparable degree what makes the\ngreat charm of imagination and sight--life; art touches more, because in\nexpressing, above all, moral beauty, it addresses itself more directly\nto the source of profound emotions. Art can be more pathetic than\nnature, and the pathetic is the sign and measure of great beauty.\n\nTwo extremes are equally dangerous--a lifeless ideal, or the absence of\nthe ideal. Either we copy the model, and are wanting in true beauty, or\nwe work _de tete_, and fall into an ideality without character. Genius\nis a ready and sure perception of the right proportion in which the\nideal and the natural, form and thought, ought to be united. This union\nis the perfection of art: _chefs-d'oeuvre_ are produced by observing\nit.\n\nIt is important, in my opinion, to follow this rule in teaching art. It\nis asked whether pupils should begin with the study of the ideal or the\nreal. I do not hesitate to answer,--by both. Nature herself never offers\nthe general without the individual, nor the individual without the\ngeneral. Every figure is composed of individual traits which distinguish\nit from all others, and make its own looks, and, at the same time, it\nhas general traits which constitute what is called the human figure.\nThese general traits are the constitutive lineaments, and this figure is\nthe type, that are given to the pupil that is beginning in the art of\ndesign to trace. It would also be good, I believe, in order to preserve\nhim from the dry and abstract, to exercise him early in copying some\nnatural object, especially a living figure. This would be putting pupils\nto the true school of nature. They would thus become accustomed never to\nsacrifice either of the two essential elements of the beautiful, either\nof the two imperative conditions of art.\n\nBut, in uniting these two elements, these two conditions, it is\nnecessary to distinguish them, and to know how to put them in their\nplace. There is no true ideal without determinate form, there is no\nunity without variety, no genus without individuals, but, in fine, the\nfoundation of the beautiful is the idea; what makes art is before all,\nthe realization of the idea, and not the imitation of such or such a\nparticular form.\n\nAt the commencement of our century, the Institute of France offered a\nprize for the best answer to the following question: _What were the\ncauses of the perfection of the antique sculpture, and what would be the\nbest means of attaining it?_ The successful competitor, M. Emeric\nDavid,[112] maintained the opinion then dominant, that the assiduous\nstudy of natural beauty had alone conducted the antique art to\nperfection, and that thus the imitation of nature was the only route to\nreach the same perfection. A man whom I do not fear to compare with\nWinkelmann, the future author of the _Olympic Jupiter_,[113] M.\nQuatremere de Quincy, in some ingenious and profound disquisitions,[114]\ncombated the doctrine of the laureate, and defended the cause of ideal\nbeauty. It is impossible to demonstrate more decidedly, by the entire\nhistory of Greek sculpture, and by authentic texts from the greatest\ncritiques of antiquity, that the process of art among the Greeks was\nnot the imitation of nature, either by a particular model, or by\nseveral, the most beautiful model being always very imperfect, and\nseveral models not being able to compose a single beauty. The true\nprocess of the Greek art was the representation of an ideal beauty which\nnature scarcely possessed more in Greece than among us, which it could\nnot then offer to the artist. We regret that the honorable laureate,\nsince become a member of the Institute, pretended that this expression\nof ideal beauty, if it had been known by the Greeks, would have meant\n_visible beauty_, because ideal comes from [Greek: eidos], which\nsignifies only, according to M. Emeric David, a form seen by the eye.\nPlato would have been much surprised at this exclusive interpretation of\nthe word [Greek: eidos]. M. Quatremere de Quincy confounds his unequal\nadversary by two admirable texts, one from the _Timaeus_, where Plato\nmarks with precision in what the true artist is superior to the ordinary\nartist, the other at the commencement of the _Orator_, where Cicero\nexplains the manner in which great artists work, in referring to the\nmanner of Phidias, that is to say, the most perfect master of the most\nperfect epoch of art.\n\n\"The artist,[115] who, with eye fixed upon the immutable being, and\nusing such a model, reproduces its idea and its excellence, cannot fail\nto produce a whole whose beauty is complete, whilst he who fixes his eye\nupon what is transitory, with this perishable model will make nothing\nbeautiful.\"\n\n\"Phidias,[116] that great artist, when he made the form of Jupiter or\nMinerva, did not contemplate a model a resemblance of which he would\nexpress; but in the depth of his soul resided a perfect type of beauty,\nupon which he fixed his look, which guided his hand and his art.\"\n\nIs not this process of Phidias precisely that which Raphael describes\nin the famous letter to Castiglione, which he declares that he followed\nhimself for the Galatea?[117] \"As,\" he says, \"I am destitute of\nbeautiful models, I use a certain ideal which I form for myself.\"\n\nThere is another theory which comes back, by a circuit, to imitation: it\nis that which makes illusion the end of art. If this theory be true, the\nideal beauty of painting is a _tromp-l'oeil_,[118] and its\nmaster-piece is the grapes of Zeuxis that the birds came and pecked at.\nThe height of art in a theatrical piece would be to persuade you that\nyou are in the presence of reality. What is true in this opinion is,\nthat a work of art is beautiful only on the condition of being\nlife-like, and, for example, the law of dramatic art is not to put on\nthe stage pale phantoms of the past, but personages borrowed from\nimagination or history, as you like, but animated, endowed with passion,\nspeaking and acting like men and not like shades. It is human nature\nthat is to be represented to itself under a magic light that does not\ndisfigure it, but ennobles it. This magic is the very genius of art. It\nlifts us above the miseries that besiege us, and transports us to\nregions where we still find ourselves, for we never wish to lose sight\nof ourselves, but where we find ourselves transformed to our advantage,\nwhere all the imperfections of reality have given place to a certain\nperfection, where the language that we speak is more equal and elevated,\nwhere persons are more beautiful, where the ugly is not admitted, and\nall this while duly respecting history, especially without ever going\nbeyond the imperative conditions of human nature. Has art forgotten\nhuman nature? it has passed beyond its end, it has not attained it; it\nhas brought forth nothing but chimeras without interest for our soul.\nHas it been too human, too real, too nude? it has fallen short of its\nend; it has then attained it no better.\n\nIllusion is so little the end of art, that it may be complete and have\nno charm. Thus, in the interest of illusion, theatrical men have taken\ngreat pains in these latter times to secure historical accuracy of\ncostume. This is all very well; but it is not the most important thing.\nHad you found, and lent to the actor who plays the part of Brutus, the\nvery costume that of old the Roman hero wore, it would touch true\nconnoisseurs very little. This is not all; when the illusion goes too\nfar, the sentiment of art disappears in order to give place to a\nsentiment purely natural, sometimes insupportable. If I believed that\nIphegenia were in fact on the point of being immolated by her father at\na distance of twenty paces from me, I should leave the theatre trembling\nwith horror. If the Ariadne that I see and hear, were the true Ariadne\nwho is about to be betrayed by her sister, in that pathetic scene where\nthe poor woman, who already feels herself less loved, asks who then robs\nher of the heart, once so tender, of Theseus, I would do as the young\nEnglishman did, who cried out, sobbing and trying to spring upon the\nstage, \"It is Phedre, it is Phedre!\" as if he would warn and save\nAriadne.\n\nBut, it is said, is it not the aim of the poet to excite pity and\nterror? Yes; but at first in a certain measure; then he must mix with\nthem some other sentiment that tempers them, or makes them serve another\nend. If the aim of dramatic art were only to excite in the highest\ndegree pity and terror, art would be the powerless rival of nature. All\nthe misfortunes represented on the stage are very feeble in comparison\nwith those sad spectacles which we may see every day. The first hospital\nis fuller of pity and terror than all the theatres in the world. What\nshould the poet do in the theory that we combat? He should transfer to\nthe stage the greatest possible reality, and move us powerfully by\nshocking our senses with the sight of frightful pains. The great resort\nof the pathetic would then be the representation of death, especially\nthat of the greatest torture. Quite on the contrary, there is an end of\nart when sensibility is too much excited. To take, again, an example\nthat we have already employed, what constitutes the beauty of a\ntempest, of a shipwreck? What attracts us to those great scenes of\nnature? It is certainly not pity and terror,--these poignant and\nlacerating sentiments would much sooner keep us away. An emotion very\ndifferent from these is necessary, which triumphs over us, in order to\nretain us by the shore; this emotion is the pure sentiment of the\nbeautiful and the sublime, excited and kept alive by the grandeur of the\nspectacle, by the vast extent of the sea, the rolling of the foaming\nwaves, and the imposing sound of the thunder. But do we think for a\nsingle instant that there are in the midst of the sea the unfortunate\nwho are suffering, and are, perhaps, about to perish? From that moment\nthe spectacle becomes to us insupportable. It is so in art. Whatever\nsentiment it proposes to excite in us, must always be tempered and\ngoverned by that of the beautiful. If it only produces pity or terror\nbeyond a certain limit, especially physical pity or terror, it revolts,\nand no longer charms; it loses the effect that belongs to it in exchange\nfor a foreign and vulgar effect.\n\nFor this same reason, I cannot accept another theory, which, confounding\nthe sentiment of the beautiful with the moral and religious sentiment,\nputs art in the service of religion and morals, and gives it for its end\nto make us better and elevate us to God. There is here an essential\ndistinction to be made. If all beauty covers a moral beauty, if the\nideal mounts unceasingly towards the infinite, art, which expresses\nideal beauty, purifies the soul in elevating it towards the infinite,\nthat is to say, towards God. Art, then, produces the perfection of the\nsoul, but it produces it indirectly. The philosopher who investigates\neffects and causes, knows what is the ultimate principle of the\nbeautiful and its certain, although remote, effects. But the artist is\nbefore all things an artist; what animates him is the sentiment of the\nbeautiful; what he wishes to make pass into the soul of the spectator is\nthe same sentiment that fills his own. He confides himself to the virtue\nof beauty; he fortifies it with all the power, all the charm of the\nideal; it must then do its own work; the artist has done his when he\nhas procured for some noble souls the exquisite sentiment of beauty.\nThis pure and disinterested sentiment is a noble ally of the moral and\nreligious sentiments; it awakens, preserves, and develops them, but it\nis a distinct and special sentiment. So art, which is founded on this\nsentiment, which is inspired by it, which expands it, is in its turn an\nindependent power. It is naturally associated with all that ennobles the\nsoul, with morals and religion; but it springs only from itself.\n\nLet us confine our thought strictly within its proper limits. In\nvindicating the independence, the proper dignity, and the particular end\nof art, we do not intend to separate it from religion, from morals, from\ncountry. Art draws its inspirations from these profound sources, as well\nas from the ever open source of nature. But it is not less true that\nart, the state, religion, are powers which have each their world apart\nand their own effects; they mutually help each other; they should not\nserve each other. As soon as one of them wanders from its end, it errs,\nand is degraded. Does art blindly give itself up to the orders of\nreligion and the state? In losing its liberty, it loses its charm and\nits empire.\n\nAncient Greece and modern Italy are continually cited as triumphant\nexamples of what the alliance of art, religion, and the state can do.\nNothing is more true, if the question is concerning their union; nothing\nis more false, if the question is concerning the servitude of art. Art\nin Greece was so little the slave of religion, that it little by little\nmodified the symbols, and, to a certain extent, the spirit itself, by\nits free representations. There is a long distance between the\ndivinities that Greece received from Egypt and those of which it has\nleft immortal exemplars. Are those primitive artists and poets, as Homer\nand Dedalus are called, strangers to this change? And in the most\nbeautiful epoch of art, did not AEschylus and Phidias carry a great\nliberty into the religious scenes which they exposed to the gaze of the\npeople, in the theatre, or in front of the temples? In Italy as in\nGreece, as everywhere, art is at first in the hands of priesthoods and\ngovernments; but, as it increases its importance and is developed, it\nmore and more conquers its liberty. Men speak of the faith that animated\nthe artists and vivified their works; that is true of the time of Giotto\nand Ciambue; but after Angelico de Fiesole, at the end of the fifteenth\ncentury, in Italy, I perceive especially the faith of art in itself and\nthe worship of beauty. Raphael was about to become a cardinal;[119] yes,\nbut always painting Galatea, and without quitting Fornarine. Once more,\nlet us exaggerate nothing; let us distinguish, not separate; let us\nunite art, religion, and country, but let not their union injure the\nliberty of each. Let us be thoroughly penetrated with the thought, that\nart is also to itself a kind of religion. God manifests himself to us by\nthe idea of the true, by the idea of the good, by the idea of the\nbeautiful. Each one of them leads to God, because it comes from him.\nTrue beauty is ideal beauty, and ideal beauty is a reflection of the\ninfinite. So, independently of all official alliance with religion and\nmorals, art is by itself essentially religious and moral; for, far from\nwanting its own law, its own genius, it everywhere expresses in its\nworks eternal beauty. Bound on all sides to matter by inflexible laws,\nworking upon inanimate stone, upon uncertain and fugitive sounds, upon\nwords of limited and finite signification, art communicates to them,\nwith the precise form that is addressed to such or such a sense, a\nmysterious character that is addressed to the imagination and the soul,\ntakes them away from reality, and bears them sweetly or violently into\nunknown regions. Every work of art, whatever may be its form, small or\ngreat, figured, sung, or uttered,--every work of art, truly beautiful or\nsublime, throws the soul into a gentle or severe reverie that elevates\nit towards the infinite. The infinite is the common limit after which\nthe soul aspires upon the wings of imagination as well as reason, by the\nroute of the sublime and the beautiful, as well as by that of the true\nand the good. The emotion that the beautiful produces turns the soul\nfrom this world; it is the beneficent emotion that art produces for\nhumanity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[112] _Recherches sur l'Art Statuaire._ Paris, 1805.\n\n[113] Paris, 1815, in folio, an eminent work that will subsist even when\ntime shall have destroyed some of its details.\n\n[114] Since reprinted under the title of _Essais sur l'Ideal dans ses\nApplications Pratiques_. Paris, 1837.\n\n[115] Translation of Plato, vol. xii., _Timaeus_, p. 116.\n\n[116] _Orator:_ \"Neque enim ille artifex (Phidias) cum faceret Jovis\nformam aut Minervae, contemplabatur aliquem a quo similitudinem duceret;\nsed ipsius in mente insidebat species pulchritudinis eximia quaedam, quam\nintuens, in eaque defixus, ad illius similitudinem artem et manum\ndirigebat.\"\n\n[117] _Raccolta di lett._ _Sulla pitt._, i., p. 83. \"_Essendo carestia e\nde' buoni giudici e di belle donne, io mi servo di certa idea che mi\nviene alla mente._\"\n\n[118] \"A picture representing a broken glass over several subjects\npainted on the canvas, by which the eye is deceived.\"\n\n[119] Vassari, _Vie de Raphael_.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE IX.\n\nTHE DIFFERENT ARTS.\n\n    Expression is the general law of art.--Division of\n    arts.--Distinction between liberal arts and trades.--Eloquence\n    itself, philosophy, and history do not make a part of the fine\n    arts.--That the arts gain nothing by encroaching upon each\n    other, and usurping each other's means and\n    processes.--Classification of the arts:--its true principle is\n    expression.--Comparison of arts with each other.--Poetry the\n    first of arts.\n\n\nA _resume_ of the last lecture would be a definition of art, of its end\nand law. Art is the free reproduction of the beautiful, not of a single\nnatural beauty, but of ideal beauty, as the human imagination conceives\nit by the aid of data which nature furnishes it. The ideal beauty\nenvelops the infinite:--the end of art is, then, to produce works that,\nlike those of nature, or even in a still higher degree, may have the\ncharm of the infinite. But how and by what illusion can we draw the\ninfinite from the finite? This is the difficulty of art, and its glory\nalso. What bears us towards the infinite in natural beauty? The ideal\nside of this beauty. The ideal is the mysterious ladder that enables the\nsoul to ascend from the finite to the infinite. The artist, then, must\ndevote himself to the representation of the ideal. Every thing has its\nideal. The first care of the artist will be, then, whatever he does, to\npenetrate at first to the concealed ideal of his subject, for his\nsubject has an ideal,--in order to render it, in the next place, more or\nless striking to the senses and the soul, according to the conditions\nwhich the very materials that he employs--the stone, the color, the\nsound, the language--impose on him.\n\nSo, to express the ideal of the infinite in one way or another, is the\nlaw of art; and all the arts are such only by their relation to the\nsentiment of the beautiful and the infinite which they awaken in the\nsoul, by the aid of that high quality of every work of art that is\ncalled expression.\n\nExpression is essentially ideal: what expression tries to make felt, is\nnot what the eye can see and the hand touch, evidently it is something\ninvisible and impalpable.\n\nThe problem of art is to reach the soul through the body. Art offers to\nthe senses forms, colors, sounds, words, so arranged that they excite in\nthe soul, concealed behind the senses, the inexpressible emotion of\nbeauty.\n\nExpression is addressed to the soul as form is addressed to the senses.\nForm is the obstacle of expression, and, at the same time, is its\nimperative, necessary, only means. By working upon form, by bending it\nto its service, by dint of care, patience, and genius, art succeeds in\nconverting an obstacle into a means.\n\nBy their object, all arts are equal; all are arts only because they\nexpress the invisible. It cannot be too often repeated, that expression\nis the supreme law of art. The thing to express is always the same,--it\nis the idea, the spirit, the soul, the invisible, the infinite. But, as\nthe question is concerning the expression of this one and the same\nthing, by addressing ourselves to the senses which are diverse, the\ndifference of the senses divides art into different arts.\n\nWe have seen, that, of the five senses which have been given to\nman,[120] three--taste, smell, and touch--are incapable of producing in\nus the sentiment of beauty. Joined to the other two, they may contribute\nto the understanding of this sentiment; but alone and by themselves they\ncannot produce it. Taste judges of the agreeable, not of the beautiful.\nNo sense is less allied to the soul and more in the service of the body;\nit flatters, it serves the grossest of all masters, the stomach. If\nsmell sometimes seems to participate in the sentiment of the beautiful,\nit is because the odor is exhaled from an object that is already\nbeautiful, that is beautiful for some other reason. Thus the rose is\nbeautiful for its graceful form, for the varied splendor of its colors;\nits odor is agreeable, it is not beautiful. Finally, it is not touch\nalone that judges of the regularity of forms, but touch enlightened by\nsight.\n\nThere remain two senses to which all the world concedes the privilege of\nexciting in us the idea and the sentiment of the beautiful. They seem to\nbe more particularly in the service of the soul. The sensations which\nthey give have something purer, more intellectual. They are less\nindispensable for the material preservation of the individual. They\ncontribute to the embellishment rather than to the sustaining of life.\nThey procure us pleasures in which our personality seems less interested\nand more self-forgetful. To these two senses, then, art should be\naddressed, is addressed, in fact, in order to reach the soul. Hence the\ndivision of arts into two great classes,--arts addressed to hearing,\narts addressed to sight; on the one hand, music and poetry; on the\nother, painting, with engraving, sculpture, architecture, gardening.\n\nIt will, perhaps, seem strange that we rank among the arts neither\neloquence, nor history, nor philosophy.\n\nThe arts are called the fine arts, because their sole object is to\nproduce the disinterested emotion of beauty, without regard to the\nutility either of the spectator or the artist. They are also called the\nliberal arts, because they are the arts of free men and not of slaves,\nwhich affranchise the soul, charm and ennoble existence; hence the sense\nand origin of those expressions of antiquity, _artes liberales_, _artes\ningenuae_. There are arts without nobility, whose end is practical and\nmaterial utility; they are called trades, such as that of the\nstove-maker and the mason. True art may be joined to them, may even\nshine in them, but only in the accessories and the details.\n\nEloquence, history, philosophy, are certainly high employments of\nintelligence; they have their dignity, their eminence, which nothing\nsurpasses, but rigorously speaking, they are not arts.\n\nEloquence does not propose to itself to produce in the soul of the\nauditors the disinterested sentiment of beauty. It may also produce this\neffect, but without having sought it. Its direct end, which it can\nsubordinate to no other, is to convince, to persuade. Eloquence has a\nclient which before all it must save or make triumph. It matters little,\nwhether this client be a man, a people, or an idea. Fortunate is the\norator if he elicits the expression: That is beautiful! for it is a\nnoble homage rendered to his talent; unfortunate is he if he does not\nelicit this, for he has missed his end. The two great types of political\nand religious eloquence, Demosthenes in antiquity, Bossuet among the\nmoderns, think only of the interest of the cause confided to their\ngenius, the sacred cause of country and that of religion; whilst at\nbottom Phidias and Raphael work to make beautiful things. Let us hasten\nto say, what the names of Demosthenes and Bossuet command us to say,\nthat true eloquence, very different from that of rhetoric, disdains\ncertain means of success; it asks no more than to please, but without\nany sacrifice unworthy of it; every foreign ornament degrades it. Its\nproper character is simplicity, earnestness--I do not mean affected\nearnestness, a designed and artful gravity, the worst of all\ndeceptions--I mean true earnestness, that springs from sincere and\nprofound conviction. This is what Socrates understood by true\neloquence.[121]\n\nAs much must be said of history and philosophy. The philosopher speaks\nand writes. Can he, then, like the orator, find accents which make truth\nenter the soul, colors and forms that make it shine forth evident and\nmanifest to the eyes of intelligence? It would be betraying his cause to\nneglect the means that can serve it; but the profoundest art is here\nonly a means, the aim of philosophy is elsewhere; whence it follows that\nphilosophy is not an art. Without doubt, Plato is a great artist; he is\nthe peer of Sophocles and Phidias, as Pascal is sometimes the rival of\nDemosthenes and Bossuet;[122] but both would have blushed if they had\ndiscovered at the bottom of their soul another design, another aim than\nthe service of truth and virtue.\n\nHistory does not relate for the sake of relating; it does not paint for\nthe sake of painting; it relates and paints the past that it may be the\nliving lesson of the future. It proposes to instruct new generations by\nthe experience of those who have gone before them, by exhibiting to them\na faithful picture of great and important events, with their causes and\ntheir effects, with general designs and particular passions, with the\nfaults, virtues, and crimes that are found mingled together in human\nthings. It teaches the excellence of prudence, courage, and great\nthoughts profoundly meditated, constantly pursued, and executed with\nmoderation and force. It shows the vanity of immoderate pretensions, the\npower of wisdom and virtue, the impotence of folly and crime.\nThucydides, Polybius, and Tacitus undertake any thing else than\nprocuring new emotions for an idle curiosity or a worn-out imagination;\nthey doubtless desire to interest and attract, but more to instruct;\nthey are the avowed masters of statesmen and the preceptors of mankind.\n\nThe sole object of art is the beautiful. Art abandons itself as soon as\nit shuns this. It is often constrained to make concessions to\ncircumstances, to external conditions that are imposed upon it; but it\nmust always retain a just liberty. Architecture and the art of gardening\nare the least free of arts; they are subjected to unavoidable obstacles;\nit belongs to the genius of the artist to govern these obstacles, and\neven to draw from them happy effects, as the poet turns the slavery of\nmetre and rhyme into a source of unexpected beauties. Extreme liberty\nmay carry art to a caprice which degrades it, as chains too heavy crush\nit. It is the death of architecture to subject it to convenience, to\n_comfort_. Is the architect obliged to subordinate general effect and\nthe proportions of the edifice to such or such a particular end that is\nprescribed to him? He takes refuge in details, in pediments, in friezes,\nin all the parts that have not utility for a special object, and in them\nhe becomes a true artist. Sculpture and painting, especially music and\npoetry, are freer than architecture and the art of gardening. One can\nalso shackle them, but they disengage themselves more easily.\n\nSimilar by their common end, all the arts differ by the particular\neffects which they produce, and by the processes which they employ. They\ngain nothing by exchanging their means and confounding the limits that\nseparate them. I bow before the authority of antiquity; but, perhaps,\nthrough habit and a remnant of prejudice, I have some difficulty in\nrepresenting to myself with pleasure statues composed of several metals,\nespecially painted statues.[123] Without pretending that sculpture has\nnot to a certain point its color, that of perfectly pure matter, that\nespecially which the hand of time impresses upon it, in spite of all the\nseductions of a contemporaneous[124] artist of great talent, I have\nlittle taste, I confess, for that artifice that is forced to give to\nmarble the _morbidezza_ of painting. Sculpture is an austere muse; it\nhas its graces, but they are those of no other art. Flesh-color must\nremain a stranger to it: there would nothing more remain to communicate\nto it but the movement of poetry and the indefiniteness of music! And\nwhat will music gain by aiming at the picturesque, when its proper\ndomain is the pathetic? Give to the most learned symphonist a storm to\nrender. Nothing is easier to imitate than the whistling of the winds and\nthe noise of thunder. But by what combinations of harmony will he\nexhibit to the eyes the glare of the lightning rending all of a sudden\nthe veil of the night, and what is most fearful in the tempest, the\nmovement of the waves that now ascend like a mountain, now descend and\nseem to precipitate themselves into bottomless abysses? If the auditor\nis not informed of the subject, he will never suspect it, and I defy him\nto distinguish a tempest from a battle. In spite of science and genius,\nsounds cannot paint forms. Music, when well guided, will guard itself\nfrom contending against the impossible; it will not undertake to express\nthe tumult and strife of the waves and other similar phenomena; it will\ndo more: with sounds it will fill the soul with the sentiments that\nsucceed each other in us during the different scenes of the tempest.\nHaydn will thus become[125] the rival, even the vanquisher of the\npainter, because it has been given to music to move and agitate the soul\nmore profoundly than painting.\n\nSince the _Laocoon_ of Lessing, it is no longer permitted to repeat,\nwithout great reserve, the famous axiom,--_Ut pictura poesis_; or, at\nleast, it is very certain that painting cannot do every thing that\npoetry can do. Everybody admires the picture of Rumor, drawn by Virgil;\nbut let a painter try to realize this symbolic figure; let him represent\nto us a huge monster with a hundred eyes, a hundred mouths, and a\nhundred ears, whose feet touch the earth, whose head is lost in the\nclouds, and such a figure will become very ridiculous.\n\nSo the arts have a common end, and entirely different means. Hence the\ngeneral rules common to all, and particular rules for each. I have\nneither time nor space to enter into details on this point. I limit\nmyself to repeating, that the great law which governs all others, is\nexpression. Every work of art that does not express an idea signifies\nnothing; in addressing itself to such or such a sense, it must penetrate\nto the mind, to the soul, and bear thither a thought, a sentiment\ncapable of touching or elevating it. From this fundamental rule all the\nothers are derived; for example, that which is continually and justly\nrecommended,--composition. To this is particularly applied the precept\nof unity and variety. But, in saying this, we have said nothing so long\nas we have not determined the nature of the unity of which we would\nspeak. True unity, is unity of expression, and variety is made only to\nspread over the entire work the idea or the single sentiment that it\nshould express. It is useless to remark, that between composition thus\ndefined, and what is often called composition, as the symmetry and\narrangement of parts according to artificial rules, there is an abyss.\nTrue composition is nothing else than the most powerful means of\nexpression.\n\nExpression not only furnishes the general rules of art, it also gives\nthe principle that allows of their classification.\n\nIn fact, every classification, supposes a principle that serves as a\ncommon measure.\n\nSuch a principle has been sought in pleasure, and the first of arts has\nseemed that which gives the most vivid joys. But we have proved that the\nobject of art is not pleasure:--the more or less of pleasure that an art\nprocures cannot, then, be the true measure of its value.\n\nThis measure is nothing else than expression. Expression being the\nsupreme end, the art that most nearly approaches it is the first of all.\n\nAll true arts are expressive, but they are diversely so. Take music; it\nis without contradiction the most penetrating, the profoundest, the most\nintimate art. There is physically and morally between a sound and the\nsoul a marvellous relation. It seems as though the soul were an echo in\nwhich the sound takes a new power. Extraordinary things are recounted of\nthe ancient music. And it must not be believed that the greatness of\neffect supposes here very complicated means. No, the less noise music\nmakes, the more it touches. Give some notes to Pergolese, give him\nespecially some pure and sweet voices, and he returns a celestial charm,\nbears you away into infinite spaces, plunges you into ineffable\nreveries. The peculiar power of music is to open to the imagination a\nlimitless career, to lend itself with astonishing facility to all the\nmoods of each one, to arouse or calm, with the sounds of the simplest\nmelody, our accustomed sentiments, our favorite affections. In this\nrespect music is an art without a rival:--however, it is not the first\nof arts.\n\nMusic pays for the immense power that has been given it; it awakens more\nthan any other art the sentiment of the infinite, because it is vague,\nobscure, indeterminate in its effects. It is just the opposite art to\nsculpture, which bears less towards the infinite, because every thing in\nit is fixed with the last degree of precision. Such is the force and at\nthe same time the feebleness of music, that it expresses every thing and\nexpresses nothing in particular. Sculpture, on the contrary, scarcely\ngives rise to any reverie, for it clearly represents such a thing and\nnot such another. Music does not paint, it touches; it puts in motion\nimagination, not the imagination that reproduces images, but that which\nmakes the heart beat, for it is absurd to limit imagination to the\ndomain of images.[126] The heart, once touched, moves all the rest of\nour being; thus music, indirectly, and to a certain point, can recall\nimages and ideas; but its direct and natural power is neither on the\nrepresentative imagination nor intelligence, it is on the heart, and\nthat is an advantage sufficiently beautiful.\n\nThe domain of music is sentiment, but even there its power is more\nprofound than extensive, and if it expresses certain sentiments with an\nincomparable force, it expresses but a very small number of them. By way\nof association, it can awaken them all, but directly it produces very\nfew of them, and the simplest and the most elementary, too,--sadness and\njoy with their thousand shades. Ask music to express magnanimity,\nvirtuous resolution, and other sentiments of this kind, and it will be\njust as incapable of doing it, as of painting a lake or a mountain. It\ngoes about it as it can; it employs the slow, the rapid, the loud, the\nsoft, etc., but imagination has to do the rest, and imagination does\nonly what it pleases. The same measure reminds one of a mountain,\nanother of the ocean; the warrior finds in it heroic inspirations, the\nrecluse religious inspirations. Doubtless, words determine musical\nexpression, but the merit then is in the word, not in the music; and\nsometimes the word stamps the music with a precision that destroys it,\nand deprives it of its proper effects--vagueness, obscurity, monotony,\nbut also fulness and profundity, I was about to say infinitude. I do not\nin the least admit that famous definition of song:--a noted declamation.\nA simple declamation rightly accented is certainly preferable to\nstunning accompaniments; but to music must be left its character, and\nits defects and advantages must not be taken away from it. Especially it\nmust not be turned aside from its object, and there must not be demanded\nfrom it what it could not give. It is not made to express complicated\nand factitious sentiment, nor terrestrial and vulgar sentiments. Its\npeculiar charm is to elevate the soul towards the infinite. It is\ntherefore naturally allied to religion, especially to that religion of\nthe infinite, which is at the same time the religion of the heart; it\nexcels in transporting to the feet of eternal mercy the soul trembling\non the wings of repentance, hope, and love. Happy are those, who, at\nRome, in the Vatican,[127] during the solemnities of the Catholic\nworship, have heard the melodies of Leo, Durante, and Pergolese, on the\nold consecrated text! They have entered heaven for a moment, and their\nsouls have been able to ascend thither without distinction of rank,\ncountry, even belief, by those invisible and mysterious steps, composed,\nthus to speak, of all the simple, natural, universal sentiments, that\neverywhere on earth draw from the bosom of the human creature a sigh\ntowards another world!\n\nBetween sculpture and music, those two opposite extremes, is painting,\nnearly as precise as the one, nearly as touching as the other. Like\nsculpture, it marks the visible forms of objects, but adds to them life;\nlike music, it expresses the profoundest sentiments of the soul, and\nexpresses them all. Tell me what sentiment does not come within the\nprovince of the painter? He has entire nature at his disposal, the\nphysical world, and the moral world, a churchyard, a landscape, a\nsunset, the ocean, the great scenes of civil and religious life, all the\nbeings of creation, above all, the figure of man, and its expression,\nthat living mirror of what passes in the soul. More pathetic than\nsculpture, clearer than music, painting is elevated, in my opinion,\nabove both, because it expresses beauty more under all its forms, and\nthe human soul in all the richness and variety of its sentiments.\n\nBut the art _par excellence_, that which surpasses all others, because\nit is incomparably the most expressive, is poetry.\n\nSpeech is the instrument of poetry; poetry fashions it to its use, and\nidealizes it, in order to make it express ideal beauty. Poetry gives to\nit the charm and power of measure; it makes of it something intermediary\nbetween the ordinary voice and music, something at once material and\nimmaterial, finite, clear, and precise, like contours and forms the most\ndefinite, living and animated like color, pathetic and infinite like\nsound. A word in itself, especially a word chosen and transfigured by\npoetry, is the most energetic and universal symbol. Armed with this\ntalisman, poetry reflects all the images of the sensible world, like\nsculpture and painting; it reflects sentiment like painting and music,\nwith all its varieties, which music does not attain, and in their rapid\nsuccession that painting cannot follow, as precise and immobile as\nsculpture; and it not only expresses all that, it expresses what is\ninaccessible to every other art, I mean thought, entirely distinct from\nthe senses and even from sentiment,--thought that has no forms,--thought\nthat has no color, that lets no sound escape, that does not manifest\nitself in any way,--thought in its highest flight, in its most refined\nabstraction.\n\nThink of it. What a world of images, of sentiments, of thoughts at once\ndistinct and confused, are excited within us by this one word--country!\nand by this other word, brief and immense,--God! What is more clear and\naltogether more profound and vast!\n\nTell the architect, the sculptor, the painter, even the musician, to\ncall forth also by a single stroke all the powers of nature and the\nsoul! They cannot, and by that they acknowledge the superiority of\nspeech and poetry.\n\nThey proclaim it themselves, for they take poetry for their own measure;\nthey esteem their own works, and demand that they should be esteemed, in\nproportion as they approach the poetic ideal. And the human race does as\nartists do: a beautiful picture, a noble melody, a living and expressive\nstatue, gives rise to the exclamation--How poetical! This is not an\narbitrary comparison; it is a natural judgment which makes poetry the\ntype of the perfection of all the arts,--the art _par excellence_,\nwhich comprises all others, to which they aspire, which none can reach.\n\nWhen the other arts would imitate the works of poetry, they usually err,\nlosing their own genius, without robbing poetry of its genius. But\npoetry constructs according to its own taste palaces and temples, like\narchitecture; it makes them simple or magnificent; all orders, as well\nas all systems, obey it; the different ages of art are the same to it;\nit reproduces, if it pleases, the classic or the Gothic, the beautiful\nor the sublime, the measured or the infinite. Lessing has been able,\nwith the exactest justice, to compare Homer to the most perfect\nsculptor; with such precision are the forms which that marvellous chisel\ngives to all beings determined! And what a painter, too, is Homer! and,\nof a different kind, Dante! Music alone has something more penetrating\nthan poetry, but it is vague, limited, and fugitive. Besides its\nclearness, its variety, its durability, poetry has also the most\npathetic accents. Call to mind the words that Priam utters at the feet\nof Achilles while asking him for the dead body of his son, more than one\nverse of Virgil, entire scenes of the _Cid_ and the _Polyeucte_, the\nprayer of Esther kneeling before the Lord, the choruses of _Esther_ and\n_Athalie_. In the celebrated song of Pergolese, _Stabat Mater Dolorosa_,\nwe may ask which moves most, the music or the words. The _Dies irae, Dies\nilla_, recited only, produces the most terrible effect. In those fearful\nwords, every blow tells, so to speak; each word contains a distinct\nsentiment, an idea at once profound and determinate. The intellect\nadvances at each step, and the heart rushes on in its turn. Human speech\nidealized by poetry has the depth and brilliancy of musical notes; it is\nluminous as well as pathetic; it speaks to the mind as well as to the\nheart; it is in that inimitable, unique, and embraces all extremes and\nall contraries in a harmony that redoubles their reciprocal effect, in\nwhich, by turns, appear and are developed, all images, all sentiments,\nall ideas, all the human faculties, all the inmost recesses of the soul,\nall the forms of things, all real and all intelligible worlds!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[120] Lecture 6.\n\n[121] See the _Gorgias_, with the _Argument_, vol. iii. of our\ntranslation of Plato.\n\n[122] There is a _Provincial_ that for vehemence can be compared only to\nthe _Philipics_, and its fragment on the infinite has the grandeur and\nmagnificence of Bossuet. See our work on the _Thoughts of Pascal_, 4th\nSeries, _Literature_, vol. i.\n\n[123] See the _Jupiter Olympien_ of M. Quatremere de Quincy.\n\n[124] Allusion to the _Magdeleine_ of Canova, which was then to be seen\nin the gallery of M. de Sommariva.\n\n[125] See the _Tempest_ of Haydn, among the pianoforte works of this\nmaster.\n\n[126] See lecture 6.\n\n[127] I have not myself had the good fortune to hear the religious music\nof the Vatican. Therefore, I shall let a competent judge, M. Quatremere\nde Quincy, speak, _Considerations Morales sur les Destination des\nOuvrages de l'Art_, Paris, 1815, p. 98: \"Let one call to mind those\nchants so simple and so touching, that terminate at Rome the funeral\nsolemnities of those three days which the Church particularly devotes to\nthe expression of its grief, in the last week of Lent. In that nave\nwhere the genius of Michael Angelo has embraced the duration of ages,\nfrom the wonders of creation to the last judgment that must destroy its\nworks, are celebrated, in the presence of the Roman pontiff, those\nnocturnal ceremonies whose rites, symbols, and plaintive liturgies seem\nto be so many figures of the mystery of grief to which they are\nconsecrated. The light decreasing by degrees, at the termination of each\npsalm, you would say that a funeral veil is extended little by little\nover those religious vaults. Soon the doubtful light of the last lamp\nallows you to perceive nothing but Christ in the distance, in the midst\nof clouds, pronouncing his judgments, and some angel executors of his\nbehests. Then, at the bottom of a tribune interdicted to the regard of\nthe profane, is heard the psalm of the penitent king, to which three of\nthe greatest masters of the art have added the modulations of a simple\nand pathetic chant. No instrument is mingled with those accents. Simple\nharmonies of voice execute that music; but these voices seem to be those\nof angels, and their effect penetrates the depths of the soul.\"\n\nWe have cited this beautiful passage--and we could have cited many\nothers, even superior to it--of a man now forgotten, and almost always\nmisunderstood, but whom posterity will put in his place. Let us\nindicate, at least, the last pages of the same production, on the\nnecessity of leaving the works of art in the place for which they were\nmade, for example, the portrait of Mlle. de Valliere in the _Madeleine\naux Carmelites_, instead of transferring it to, and exposing it in the\napartments of Versailles, \"the only place in the world,\" eloquently says\nM. Quatremere, \"which never should have seen it.\"\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE X.\n\nFRENCH ART IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.\n\n    Expression not only serves to appreciate the different arts, but\n    the different schools of art. Example:--French art in the\n    seventeenth century. French poetry:--Corneille. Racine. Moliere.\n    La Fontaine. Boileau.--Painting:--Lesueur. Poussin. Le Lorrain.\n    Champagne.--Engraving.--Sculpture:--Sarrazin. The Anguiers.\n    Girardon. Pujet.--Le Notre.--Architecture.\n\n\nWe believe that we have firmly established that all kinds of beauty,\nalthough most dissimilar in appearance, may, when subjected to a serious\nexamination, be reduced to spiritual and moral beauty; that expression,\ntherefore, is at once the true object and the first law of art; that all\narts are such only so far as they express the idea concealed under the\nform, and are addressed to the soul through the senses; finally, that in\nexpression the different arts find the true measure of their relative\nvalue, and the most expressive art must be placed in the first rank.\n\nIf expression judges the different arts, does it not naturally follow,\nthat by the same title it can also judge the different schools which, in\neach art, dispute with each other the empire of taste?\n\nThere is not one of these schools that does not represent in its own way\nsome side of the beautiful, and we are disposed to embrace all in an\nimpartial and kindly study. We are eclectics in the arts as well as in\nmetaphysics. But, as in metaphysics, the knowledge of all systems, and\nthe portion of truth that is in each, enlightens without enfeebling our\nconvictions; so, in the history of arts, while holding the opinion that\nno school must be disdained, that even in China some shade of beauty can\nbe found, our eclecticism does not make us waver in regard to the\nsentiment of true beauty and the supreme rule of art. What we demand of\nthe different schools, without distinction of time or place, what we see\nin the south as well as in the north, at Florence, Rome, Venice, and\nSeville, as well as at Antwerp, Amsterdam, and Paris,--wherever there\nare men, is something human, is the expression of a sentiment or an\nidea.\n\nA criticism that should be founded on the principle of expression, would\nsomewhat derange, it must be confessed, received judgments, and would\ncarry some disorder into the hierarchy of the renowned. We do not\nundertake such a revolution; we only propose to confirm, or at least\nelucidate our principle by an example, and by an example that is at our\nhand.\n\nThere is in the world a school formerly illustrious, now very lightly\ntreated:--this school is the French school of the seventeenth century.\nWe would replace it in honor, by recalling attention to the qualities\nthat make its glory.\n\nWe have worked with constancy to reinstate among us the philosophy of\nDescartes, unworthily sacrificed to the philosophy of Locke, because\nwith its defects it possesses in our view the incomparable merit of\nsubordinating the senses to the mind, of elevating and ennobling man. So\nwe profess a serious and reflective admiration for our national art of\nthe seventeenth century, because, without disguising what is wanting to\nit, we find in it what we prefer to every thing else, grandeur united to\ngood sense and reason, simplicity and force, genius of composition,\nespecially that of expression.\n\nFrance, careless of her glory, does not appear to have the least notion\nthat she reckons in her annals perhaps the greatest century of humanity,\nthat which embraces the greatest number of extraordinary men of every\nkind. When, I pray you, have politicians like Henry IV., Richelieu,\nMazarin, Colbert, Louis XIV. been seen giving each other the hand? I do\nnot pretend that each of them has no rival, even superiors. Alexander,\nCaesar, Charlemagne, perhaps excel them. But Alexander has but a single\ncontemporary that can be compared with him, his father Philip; Caesar\ncannot even have suspected that Octavius would one day be worthy of\nhim; Charlemagne is a colossus in a desert; whilst among us these five\nmen succeed each other without an interval, press upon each other, and\nhave, thus to speak, a single soul. And by what officers were they\nserved! Is Conde really inferior to Alexander, Hannibal, and Caesar; for\namong his predecessors we must not look for other rivals? Who among them\nsurpasses him in the extent and justness of his conceptions, in\nquickness of sight, in rapidity of manoeuvres, in the union of\nimpetuosity and firmness, in the double glory of taker of cities and\ngainer of battles? Add that he dealt with generals like Merci and\nWilliam, that he had under him Turenne and Luxemburg, without speaking\nof so many other soldiers who were reared in that admirable school, and\nat the hour of reverse still sufficed to save France.\n\nWhat other time, at least among the moderns, has seen flourishing\ntogether so many poets of the first order? We have, it is true, neither\nHomer, nor Dante, nor Milton, nor even Tasso. The epic, with its\nprimitive simplicity, is interdicted us. But in the drama we scarcely\nhave equals. It is because dramatic poetry is the poetry that is adapted\nto us, moral poetry _par excellence_, which represents man with his\ndifferent passions armed against each other, the violent contentions\nbetween virtue and crime, the freaks of fortune, the lessons of\nprovidence, and in a narrow compass, too, in which the events press upon\neach other without confusion, in which the action rapidly progresses\ntowards the crisis that must reveal what is most intimate to the heart\nof the personages.\n\nLet us dare to say what we think, that, in our opinion, AEschylus,\nSophocles, and Euripides, together, do not equal Corneille; for none of\nthem has known and expressed like him what is of all things most truly\ntouching, a great soul at war with itself, between a generous passion\nand duty. Corneille is the creator of a new pathetic unknown to\nantiquity and to all the moderns before him. He disdains to address\ncommon and subaltern passions; he does not seek to rouse terror and\npity, as demands Aristotle, who limits himself to erecting into maxims\nthe practice of the Greeks. Corneille seems to have read Plato, and\nfollowed his precepts:--he addresses a most elevated part of human\nnature, the noblest passion, the one nearest virtue,--admiration; and\nfrom admiration carried to its culmination he draws the most powerful\neffects. Shakspeare, we admit, is superior to Corneille in extent and\nrichness of dramatic genius. Entire human nature seems at his disposal,\nand he reproduces the different scenes of life in their beauty and\ndeformity, in their grandeur and baseness. He excels in painting the\nterrible or the gentle passions. Othello is jealousy, Lady Macbeth is\nambition, as Juliet and Desdemona are the immortal names of youthful and\nunfortunate love. But if Corneille has less imagination, he has more\nsoul. Less varied, he is more profound. If he does not put upon the\nstage so many different characters, those that he does put on it are the\ngreatest that can be offered to humanity. The scenes that he gives are\nless heart-rending, but at once more delicate and more sublime. What is\nthe melancholy of Hamlet, the grief of King Lear, even the disdainful\nintrepidity of Caesar, in comparison with the magnanimity of Augustus\nstriving to be master of himself as well as the universe, in comparison\nwith Chimene sacrificing love to honor, especially in comparison with\nPauline, not suffering even at the bottom of her heart an involuntary\nsigh for the one that she must not love? Corneille always confines\nhimself to the highest regions. He is by turns Roman and Christian. He\nis the interpreter of heroes, the chanter of virtue, the poet of\nwarriors and politicians.[128] And it must not be forgotten that\nShakspeare is almost alone in his times, whilst after Corneille comes\nRacine, who would suffice for the poetical glory of a nation.\n\nRacine assuredly cannot be compared with Corneille for dramatic genius;\nhe is more the man of letters; he has not the tragic soul; he neither\nloves nor understands politics and war. When he imitates Corneille, for\nexample, in Alexander, and even in Mithridates, he imitates him badly\nenough. The scene, so vaunted, of Mithridates exposing his plan of\ncampaign to his sons is a morsel of the finest rhetoric, which cannot be\ncompared with the political and military scenes of Cinna and Sertorius,\nespecially with that first scene of the Death of Pompey, in which you\nwitness a counsel as true, as grand, as profound as ever could have been\none of the counsels of Richelieu or Mazarin. Racine was not born to\npaint heroes, but he paints admirably man with his natural passions, and\nthe most natural as well as the most touching of all, love. So he\nparticularly excels in feminine characters. For men he has need of being\nsustained by Tacitus or holy Scripture.[129] With woman he is at his\nease, and he makes them think and speak with perfect truth, set off by\nexquisite art. Demand of him neither Emilie, Cornelie, nor Pauline; but\nlisten to Andromaque, Monime, Berenice, and Phedre! There, even in\nimitating, he is original, and leaves the ancients very far behind him.\nWho has taught him that charming delivery, those graceful troubles, that\npurity even in feebleness, that melancholy, sometimes even that depth,\nwith that marvellous language which seems the natural accent of woman's\nheart? It is continually repeated that Racine wrote better than\nCorneille:--say only that the two wrote very differently, and like men\nin very different epochs. One has two sovereign qualities, which belong\nto his own nature and his times, a _naivete_ and grandeur, the other is\nnot _naive_, but he has too much taste not to be always simple, and he\nsupplies the place of grandeur, forever lost, with consummate elegance.\nCorneille speaks the language of statesmen, soldiers, theologians,\nphilosophers, and clever women; of Richelieu, Rohan, Saint-Cyran,\nDescartes, and Pascal; of mother Angelique Arnaud and mother Madeleine\nde Saint-Joseph; the language which Moliere still spoke, which Bossuet\npreserved to his last breath. Racine speaks that of Louis XIV. and the\nwomen who were the ornament of his court. I suppose that thus spoke\nMadame, the amiable, sprightly, and unfortunate Henriette; thus wrote\nthe author of the _Princesse de Cleves_ and the author of _Telemaque_.\nOr, rather, this language is that of Racine himself, of that feeble and\ntender soul, which passed quickly from love to devotion, which uttered\nits complaints in lyric poetry, which was wholly poured out in the\nchoruses of _Esther_ and _Athalie_, and in the _Cantiques Spirituels_;\nthat soul, so easy to be moved, that a religious ceremony or a\nrepresentation of _Esther_ at Saint-Cyr touched to tears, that pitied\nthe misfortunes of the people, that found in its pity and its charity\nthe courage to speak one day the truth to Louis XIV., and was\nextinguished by the first breath of disgrace.\n\nMoliere is, in comparison with Aristophanes, what Corneille is, in\ncomparison with Shakspeare. The author of _Plutus_, the _Wasps_, and the\n_Clouds_, has doubtless an imagination, an explosive buffoonery, a\ncreative power, above all comparison. Moliere has not as great poetical\nconceptions: he has more, perhaps; he has characters. His coloring is\nless brilliant, his graver is more penetrating. He has engraved in the\nmemory of men a certain number of irregularities and vices which will\never be called _l'Avare_ (_the Miser_), _le Malade Imaginaire_ (the\n_Hypochondriac_), _les Femmes Savantes_ (the _Learned Women_), _le\nTartufe_ (the _Hypocrite_), and _Don Juan_, not to speak of the\n_Misanthrope_, a piece apart, touching as pleasant, which is not\naddressed to the crowd, and cannot be popular, because it expresses a\nridicule rare enough, excess in the passion of truth and honor.\n\nOf all fabulists, ancient and modern, does any one, even the ingenious,\nthe pure, the elegant Phaedrus, approach our La Fontaine? He composes his\npersonages, and puts them in action with the skill of Moliere; he knows\nhow to take on occasion the tone of Horace, and mingle an ode with a\nfable; he is at once the most naive, and the most refined of writers,\nand his art disappears in its very perfection. We do not speak of the\ntales, first, because we condemn the kind, then, because La Fontaine\ndisplays in them qualities more Italian than French, a narrative full of\nnature, malice, and grace, but without any of those profound, tender,\nmelancholy traits, that place among the greatest poets of all time the\nauthor of the _Two Pigeons_ (_Deux Pigeons_), the _Old Man_\n(_Vieillard_), and the _Three Young Persons_ (_Gens_).\n\nWe do not hesitate to put Boileau among these great men. He comes after\nthem, it is true, but he belongs to their company: he comprehends them,\nloves them, sustains them. It was he, who, in 1663, after the _School of\nWomen_ (_l'Ecole des Femmes_) and long before the _Hypocrite_ (_le\nTartufe_), and the _Misanthrope_, proclaimed Moliere the master in the\nart of verse. It was he who, in 1677, after the failure of _Phedre_,\ndefended the vanquisher of Euripides against the successes of Pradon. It\nwas he who, in advance of posterity, first put in light what is new and\nentirely original in the plays of Corneille.[130] He saved the pension\nof the old tragedian by offering the sacrifice of his own. Louis XIV.\nasking him what writer most honored his reign, Boileau answered, that it\nwas Moliere; and when the great king in his decline persecuted\nPort-Royal, and wished to lay hands on Arnaud, he encountered a man of\nletters, who said to the face of the imperious monarch,--\"Your Majesty\nin vain seeks M. Arnaud, you are too fortunate to find him.\" Boileau is\nsomewhat wanting in imagination and invention; but he is great in the\nenergetic sentiment of truth and justice; he carries to the extent of\npassion taste for the beautiful and the honest; he is a poet by force\nof soul and good sense. More than once his heart dictated to him the\nmost pathetic verses:\n\n    \"In vain against the Cid a minister is leagued,[131]\n    All Paris for Chimene the eyes of Rodrique,\" etc.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"After a little spot of earth, obtained by prayer,\n    Forever in the tomb had inclosed Moliere,\" etc.\n\nAnd this epitaph of Arnaud, so simple and so grand:[132]\n\n    \"At the feet of this altar of structure gross,\n    Lies without pomp, inclosed in a coffin vile,\n    The most learned mortal that ever wrote;\n    Arnaud, who in grace instructed by Jesus Christ,\n    Combating for the Church, has, in the Church itself,\n    Suffered more than one outrage and more than one anathema,\" etc.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Wandering, poor, banished, proscribed, persecuted;\n    And even by his death their ill-extinguished rage\n    Had never left his ashes in repose,\n    If God himself here by his holy flock\n    From these devouring wolves had not concealed his bones.\"[133]\n\nThese are, I think, poets sufficiently great, and we have more of them\nstill: I mean those charming or sublime minds who have elevated prose\nto poetry. Greece alone, in her most beautiful days, offers, perhaps,\nsuch a variety of admirable prose writers. Who can enumerate them? At\nfirst, Rabelais and Montaigne; later, Descartes, Pascal, and\nMalebranche; La Rochefoucauld and La Bruyere; Retz and Saint-Simon;\nBourdaloue, Flechier, Fenelon, and Bossuet; add to these so many eminent\nwomen, at their head Madame de Sevigne; while Montesquieu, Voltaire,\nRousseau, and Buffon are still to come.[134]\n\nBy what strange diversity could a country, in which the mental arts\nwere carried to such perfection, remain ordinary in the other arts? Was\nthe sentiment of the beautiful wanting, then, to that society so\npolished, to that magnificent court, to those great lords and those\ngreat ladies passionately loving luxury and elegance, to that public of\nthe _elite_, enamored of every kind of glory, whose enthusiasm defended\nthe _Cid_ against Richelieu? No; France in the seventeenth century was a\nwhole, and produced artists that she can place by the side of her poets,\nher philosophers, her orators.\n\nBut, in order to admire our artists, it is necessary to comprehend them.\n\nWe do not believe that imagination has been less freely imparted to\nFrance than to any other nation of Europe. It has even had its reign\namong us. It is fancy that rules in the sixteenth century, and inspires\nthe literature and the arts of the _Renaissance_. But a great revolution\nintervened at the commencement of the seventeenth century. France at\nthat moment seems to pass from youth to virility. Instead of abandoning\nimagination to itself, we apply ourselves from that moment to restrain\nit without destroying it, to moderate it, as the Greeks did by the aid\nof taste; as in the progress of life and society we learn to repress or\nconceal what is too individual in character. An end is made of the\nliterature of the preceding age. A new poetry, a new prose, begin to\nappear, which, during an entire century, bear fruits sufficiently\nbeautiful. Art follows the general movement; after having been elegant\nand graceful, it becomes in its turn serious; it no longer aims at\noriginality and extraordinary effects; it neither flashes nor dazzles;\nit speaks, above all, to the mind and the soul. Hence its good qualities\nand also its defects. In general, it is somewhat wanting in brilliancy\nand coloring, but it is in the highest degree expressive.\n\nSome time since we have changed all that. We have discovered, somewhat\nlate, that we have not sufficient imagination; we are in training to\nacquire it, it is true, at the expense of reason, alas! also at the\nexpense of soul, which is forgotten, repudiated, proscribed. At this\nmoment, color and form are the order of the day, in poetry, in painting,\nin every thing. We are beginning to run mad with Spanish painting. The\nFlemish and Venetian schools are gaining ground on the schools of\nFlorence and Rome. Rossini equals Mozart, and Gluck will soon seem to us\ninsipid.\n\nYoung artists, who, rightly disgusted with the dry and inanimate manner\nof David, undertake to renovate French painting, who would rob the sun\nof its heat and splendor, remember that of all beings in the world, the\ngreatest is still man, and that what is greatest in man is his\nintelligence, and above all, his heart; that it is this heart, then,\nwhich you must put and develop on your canvas. This is the most elevated\nobject of art. In order to reach it, do not make yourselves disciples of\nFlemings, Venetians, and Spaniards; return, return to the masters of our\ngreat national school of the seventeenth century.\n\nWe bow with respectful admiration before the schools of Rome and\nFlorence, at once ideal and living; but, those excepted, we maintain\nthat the French school equals or surpasses all others. We prefer neither\nMurillo, Rubens, Corregio, nor Titian himself to Lesueur and Poussin,\nbecause, if the former have an incomparable hand and color, our two\ncountrymen are much greater in thought and expression.\n\nWhat a destiny was that of Eustache Lesueur![135] He was born at Paris\nabout 1617, and he never went out of it. Poor and humble, he passed his\nlife in the churches and convents where he worked. The only sweetness of\nhis sad days, his only consolation was his wife: he loses her, and goes\nto die, at thirty-eight, in that cloister of Chartreux, which his pencil\nhas immortalized. What resemblance at once, and what difference between\nhis life and that of Raphael, who also died young, but in the midst of\npleasures, in honors, and already almost in purple! Our Raphael was not\nthe lover of Fornarina and the favorite of a pope: he was Christian; he\nis Christianity in art.\n\nLesueur is a genius wholly French. Scarcely having escaped from the\nhands of Simon Vouet, he formed himself according to the model which he\nhad in the soul. He never saw the sky of Italy. He knew some fragments\nof the antique, some pictures of Raphael, and the designs that Poussin\nsent him. With these feeble resources, and guided by a happy instinct,\nin less than ten years he mounted by a continual progress to the\nperfection of his talent, and expired at the moment when, finally sure\nof himself, he was about to produce new and more admirable\nmaster-pieces. Follow him from the _St. Bruno_ completed in 1648,\nthrough the _St. Paul_ of 1649, to the _Vision of St. Benedict_ in 1651,\nand to the _Muses_, scarcely finished before his death. Lesueur went on\nadding to his essential qualities which he owed to his own genius, and\nto the national genius, I mean composition and expression, qualities\nwhich he had dreamed of, or had caught glimpses of. His design from day\nto day became more pure, without ever being that of the Florentine\nschool, and the same is true of his coloring.\n\nIn Lesueur every thing is directed towards expression, every thing is in\nthe service of the mind, every thing is idea and sentiment. There is no\naffectation, no mannerism; there is a perfect _naivete_; his figures\nsometimes would seem even a little common, so natural are they, if a\nDivine breath did not animate them. It must not be forgotten that his\nfavorite subjects do not exact a brilliant coloring: he oftenest\nretraces scenes mournful or austere. But as in Christianity by the side\nof suffering and resignation is faith with hope, so Lesueur joins to the\npathetic sweetness and grace; and this man charms me at the same time\nthat he moves me.\n\nThe works of Lesueur are almost always great wholes that demanded\nprofound meditation, and the most flexible talent, in order to preserve\nin them unity of subject, and to give them variety and harmony. The\n_History of St. Bruno_, the founder of the order _des Chartreux_, is a\nvast melancholy poem, in which are represented the different scenes of\nmonastic life. The _History of St. Martin and St. Benedict_ has not\ncome down to us entire; but the two fragments of it that we possess, the\n_Mass of St. Martin_, and the _Vision of St. Benedict_, allow us to\ncompare that great work with every better thing of the kind that has\nbeen done in Italy, as, to speak sincerely, the _Muses_ and the _History\nof Love_, appear to us to equal at least the Farnesina.\n\nIn the _History of St. Bruno_, it is particularly necessary to remark\nSt. Bruno, prostrated before a crucifix, the saint reading a letter of\nthe pope, his death, his apotheosis. Is it possible to carry meditation,\nhumiliation, rapture farther? _St. Paul preaching at Ephesus_ reminds\none of the _School of Athens_, by the extent of the scene, the\nemployment of architecture, and the skilful distribution of groups. In\nspite of the number of personages, and the diversity of episodes, the\npicture wholly centres in St. Paul. He preaches, and upon his words hang\nthose who are listening, of every sex, of every age, in the most varied\nattitudes. In that we behold the grand lines of the Roman school, its\ndesign full of nobleness and truth at the same time. What charming and\ngrave heads! What graceful, bold, and always natural movements! Here,\nthat child with ringlets, full of _naive_ enthusiasm; there, that old\nman with bended knees, and hands joined. Are not all those beautiful\nheads, and those draperies, too, worthy of Raphael? But the marvel of\nthe picture is the figure of St. Paul,[136]--it is that of the Olympic\nJupiter, animated by a new spirit. The _Mass of St. Martin_ carries into\nthe soul an impression of peace and silence. The _Vision of St.\nBenedict_ has the character of simplicity full of grandeur. A desert,\nthe saint on his knees, contemplating his sister, St. Scholastique, who\nis ascending to heaven, borne up by angels, accompanied by two young\ngirls, crowned with flowers, and bearing the palm, the symbol of\nvirginity. St. Peter and St. Paul show St. Benedict the abode whither\nhis sister is going to enjoy eternal peace. A slight ray of the sun\npierces the cloud. St. Benedict is as it were lifted up from the earth\nby this ecstatic vision. One scarcely desires a more lively color, and\nthe expression is divine. Those two virgins, a little too tall, perhaps,\nhow beautiful and pure they are! How sweet are those forms! How grave\nand gentle are those faces! The person of the holy monk, with all the\nmaterial accessories, is perfectly natural, for it remains on the earth;\nwhilst his face, where his soul shines forth, is wholly ideal, and\nalready in heaven.\n\nBut the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of Lesueur is, in our opinion, the _Descent\nfrom the Cross_, or rather the enshrouding of Jesus Christ, already\ndescended from the cross, whom Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus, and St.\nJohn are placing in the shroud. On the left, Magdalen, in tears, kisses\nthe feet of Jesus; on the right, are the holy women and the Virgin. It\nis impossible to carry the pathetic farther and preserve beauty. The\nholy women, placed in front, have each their particular grief. While one\nof them abandons herself to despair, an immense but internal and\nthoughtful sadness is upon the face of the mother of the crucified. She\nhas comprehended the divine benefit of the redemption of the human race,\nand her grief, sustained by this thought, is calm and resigned. And then\nwhat dignity in that head! It, in some sort, sums up the whole picture,\nand gives to it its character, that of a profound and subdued emotion. I\nhave seen many _Descents from the Cross_; I have seen that of Rubens at\nAntwerp, in which the sanctity of the subject has, as it were,\nconstrained the great Flemish painter to join sensibility and sentiment\nto color; none of those pictures have touched me like that of Lesueur.\nAll the parts of art are there in the service of expression. The drawing\nis severe and strong; even the color, without being brilliant, surpasses\nthat of the _St. Bruno_, the _Mass of St. Martin_, the _St. Paul_, and\neven that of the _Vision of St. Benedict_; as if Lesueur had wished to\nbring together in it all the powers of his soul, all the resources of\nhis talent![137]\n\nNow, regard the _Muses_,--other scenes, other beauties, the same genius.\nThose are Pagan pictures, but Christianity is in them also, by reason of\nthe adorable chastity with which Lesueur has clothed them. All critics\nhave emulously shown the mythological errors into which poor Lesueur\nfell, and they have not wanted occasion to deplore that he had not made\nthe journey to Italy and studied antiquity more. But who can have the\nstrange idea of searching in Lesueur for an archeology? I seek and find\nin him the very genius of painting. Is not that Terpsichore, well or ill\nnamed, with a harp a little too strong, it is said, as if the Muse had\nno particular gift, in her modest attitude the symbol of becoming grace?\nIn that group of three Muses, to which one may give what name he\npleases, is not the one that holds upon her knees a book of music, who\nsings or is about to sing, the most ravishing creature, a St. Cecilia\nthat preludes just before abandoning herself to the intoxication of\ninspiration? And in those pictures there is brilliancy and coloring; the\nlandscape is beautifully lighted, as if Poussin had guided the hand of\nhis friend.\n\nPoussin! What a name I pronounce. If Lesueur is the painter of\nsentiment, Poussin is the painter of thought. He is in some sort the\nphilosopher of painting. His pictures are religious or moral lectures\nthat testify a great mind as well as a great heart. It is sufficient to\nrecall the _Seven Sacraments_, the _Deluge_, the _Arcadia_, the _Truth\nthat Time frees from the Taints of Envy_, the _Will of Eudamidas_, and\nthe _Dance of Human Life_. And the style is equal to the conception.\nPoussin draws like a Florentine, composes like a Frenchman, and often\nequals Lesueur in expression; coloring alone is sometimes wanting to\nhim. As well as Racine, he is smitten with the antique beauty, and\nimitates it; but, like Racine, he always remains original. In place of\nthe naivete and unique charm of Lesueur, he has a severe simplicity,\nwith a correctness that never abandons him. Remember, too, that he\ncultivated every kind of painting. He is at once a great historical\npainter and a great landscape painter,--he treats religious subjects as\nwell as profane subjects, and by turns is inspired by antiquity and the\nBible. He lived much at Rome, it is true, and died there; but he also\nworked in France, and almost always for France. Scarcely had he become\nknown, when Richelieu attracted him to Paris and retained him there,\nloading him with honors, and giving him the commission of first painter\nin ordinary to the king, with the general direction of all the works of\npainting, and all the ornaments of the royal houses. During that sojourn\nof two years in Paris, he made the _Last Supper_ (_Cene_), the _St.\nFrancois Xavier_, the _Truth that Time frees from the Taints of Envy_.\nIt was also to France, to his friend M. de Chantelou, that from Rome he\naddressed the _Inspiration of St. Paul_, as well as the second series of\nthe _Seven Sacraments_, an immense composition that, for grandeur of\nthought, can vie with the _Stanze_ of Raphael. I speak of it from the\nengravings; for the _Seven Sacraments_ are no longer in France. Eternal\nshame of the eighteenth century! It was at least necessary to wrest from\nthe Greeks the pediments of the Parthenon,--we, we delivered up to\nstrangers, we sold all those monuments of French genius which Richelieu\nand Mazarin, with religious care, had collected. Public indignation did\nnot avert the act! And there has not since been found in France a king,\na statesman, to interdict letting the master-pieces of art that honor\nthe nation depart without authorization from the national\nterritory![138] There has not been found a government which has\nundertaken at least to repurchase those that we have lost, to get back\nagain the great works of Poussin, Lesueur, and so many others, scattered\nin Europe, instead of squandering millions to acquire the baboons of\nHolland, as Louis XIV. said, or Spanish canvasses, in truth of an\nadmirable color, but without nobleness and moral expression.[139] I know\nand I love the Dutch pastorals and the cows of Potter; I am not\ninsensible to the sombre and ardent coloring of Zurbaran, to the\nbrilliant Italian imitations of Murillo and Velasquez; but in fine, what\nis all that in comparison with serious and powerful compositions like\nthe _Seven Sacraments_, for example, that profound representation of\nChristian rites, a work of the highest faculties of the intellect and\nthe soul, in which the intellect and the soul will ever find an\nexhaustless subject of study and meditation! Thank God, the graver of\nPesne has saved them from our ingratitude and barbarity. Whilst the\noriginals decorate the gallery of a great English lord,[140] the love\nand the talent of a Pesne, of a Stella, have preserved for us faithful\ncopies in those expressive engravings that one never grows tired of\ncontemplating, that every time we examine them, reveal to us some new\nside of the genius of our great countryman. Regard especially the\n_Extreme Unction!_ What a sublime and at the same time almost graceful\nscene! One would call it an antique bas-relief, so many groups are\nproperly distributed in it, with natural and varied attitudes. The\ndraperies are as admirable as those of a fragment of the _Panathenaea_,\nwhich is in the Louvre. The figures are all beautiful. Beauty of figures\nbelongs to sculpture, one is about to say:--yes, but it also belongs to\npainting, if you have yourself the eye of the painter, if you have been\nstruck with the expression of those postures, those heads, those\ngestures, and almost those looks; for every thing lives, every thing\nbreathes, even in those engravings, and if it were the place, we would\nendeavor to make the reader penetrate with us into those secrets of\nChristian sentiment which are also the secrets of art.\n\nWe endeavor to console ourselves for having lost the _Seven\nSacraments_, and for not having known how to keep from England and\nGermany so many productions of Poussin, now buried in foreign\ncollections,[141] by going to see at the Louvre what remains to us of\nthe great French artist,--thirty pictures produced at different epochs\nof his life, which, for the most part, worthily sustain his renown,--the\nportrait of _Poussin_, one of the _Bacchanals_ made for Richelieu, _Mars\nand Venus_, the _Death of Adonis_, the _Rape of the Sabines_,[142]\n_Eliezer and Rebecca_, _Moses saved from the Waters_, the _Infant Jesus\non the Knees of the Virgin and St. Joseph standing by_,[143] especially\nthe _Manna in the Desert_, the _Judgment of Solomon_, the _Blind Men of\nJericho_, the _Woman taken in Adultery_, the _Inspiration of St. Paul_,\nthe _Diogenes_, the _Deluge_, the _Arcadia_. Time has turned the color,\nwhich was never very brilliant; but it has not been able to disturb what\nwill make them live forever,--the design, the composition, and the\nexpression. The _Deluge_ has remained, and in fact will always be, the\nmost striking. After so many masters who have treated the same subject,\nPoussin has found the secret of being original, and more pathetic than\nhis predecessors, in representing the solemn moment when the race is\nabout to disappear. There are few details; some dead bodies are floating\nupon the abyss; a sinister-looking moon has scarcely risen; a few\nmoments and mankind will be no more; the last mother uselessly extends\nher last child to the last father, who cannot take it, and the serpent\nthat has destroyed mankind darts forth triumphant. We try in vain to\nfind in the Deluge some signs of a trembling hand: the soul that\nsustained and conducted that hand makes itself felt by our soul, and\nprofoundly moves it. Stop at that scene of mourning, and almost by its\nside let your eyes rest upon that fresh landscape and upon those\nshepherds that surround a tomb. The most aged, with a knee on the\nground, reads these words graven upon the stone: _Et in Arcadia ego_,\nand I also lived in Arcadia. At the left a shepherd listens with serious\nattention. At the right is a charming group, composed of a shepherd in\nthe spring-time of life, and a young girl of ravishing beauty. An\nartless admiration is painted on the face of the young peasant, who\nlooks with happiness on his beautiful companion. As for her, her\nadorable face is not even veiled with the slightest shade; she smiles,\nher hand resting carelessly upon the shoulder of the young man, and she\nhas no appearance of comprehending that lecture given to beauty, youth,\nand love. I confess that, for this picture alone, of so touching a\nphilosophy, I would give many master-pieces of coloring, all the\npastorals of Potter, all the badinages of Ostade, all the buffooneries\nof Teniers.\n\nLesueur and Poussin, by very different but nearly equal titles, are at\nthe head of our great painting of the seventeenth century. After them,\nwhat artists again are Claude Lorrain and Philippe de Champagne?\n\nDo you know in Italy or Holland a greater landscape painter than Claude?\nAnd seize well his true character. Look at those vast and beautiful\nsolitudes, lighted by the first or last rays of the sun, and tell me\nwhether those solitudes, those trees, those waters, those mountains,\nthat light, that silence,--whether all that nature has a soul, and\nwhether those luminous and pure horizons do not lift you involuntarily,\nin ineffable reveries, to the invisible source of beauty and grace!\nLorrain is, above all, the painter of light, and his works might be\ncalled the history of light and all its combinations, in small and\ngreat, when it is poured out over large plains or breaks in the most\nvaried accidents, on land, on waters, in the heavens, in its eternal\nsource. The human scenes thrown into one corner have no other object\nthan to relieve and make appear to advantage the scenes of nature by\nharmony or contrast. In the _Village Fete_, life, noise, movement are in\nfront,--peace and grandeur are at the foundation of the landscape, and\nthat is truly the picture. The same effect is in the _Cattle Crossing a\nRiver_. The landscape placed immediately under your eyes has nothing in\nit very rare, we can find such a one anywhere; but follow the\nperspective,--it leads you across flowering fields, a beautiful river,\nruins, mountains that overlook these ruins, and you lose yourself in\ninfinite distances. That Landscape crossed by a river, where a peasant\nwaters his herd, means nothing great at first sight. Contemplate it some\ntime, and peace, a sort of meditativeness in nature, a well-graduated\nperspective, will, little by little, gain your heart, and give you in\nthat small picture a penetrating charm. The picture called a _Landscape_\nrepresents a vast champagne filled with trees, and lighted by the rising\nsun,--in it there is freshness and--already--warmth, mystery, and\nsplendor, with skies of the sweetest harmony. _A Dance at Sunset_\nexpresses the close of a beautiful day. One sees in it, one feels in it\nthe decline of the heat of the day; in the foreground are some shepherds\nand shepherdesses dancing by the side of their flocks.[144]\n\nIs it not strange, that Champagne has been put in the Flemish\nschool?[145] He was born at Brussels, it is true, but he came very early\nto Paris, and his true master was Poussin, who counselled him. He\ndevoted his talent to France, lived there, died there, and what is\ndecisive, his manner is wholly French. Will it be said that he owes to\nFlanders his color? We respond that this quality is balanced by a grave\ndefect that he also owes to Flanders, the want of ideality in the\nfigures; and it was from France that he learned how to repair this\ndefect by beauty of moral expression. Champagne is inferior to Lesueur\nand Poussin, but he is of their family. He was, also, of those artists\ncontemporaneous with Corneille, simple, poor, virtuous, Christian.[146]\nChampagne worked both for the convent of the Carmelites in the _Rue St.\nJacques_, that venerable abode of ardent and sublime piety, and\nPort-Royal, that place of all others that contained in the smallest\nspace the most virtue and genius, so many admirable men and women worthy\nof them. What has become of that famous crucifix that he painted for the\nChurch of the Carmelites, a master-piece of perspective that upon a\nhorizontal plane appeared perpendicular? It perished with the holy\nhouse. The _Last Supper_ (_Cene_) is a living picture, on account of the\ntruth of all the figures, movements, and postures, but to my eyes it is\nblemished by the absence of the ideal. I am obliged to say as much of\nthe _Repast with Simon the Pharisee_. The _chef-d'oeuvre_ of Champagne\nis the _Apparition of St. Gervais and St. Protais to St. Ambrose in a\nBasilica of Milan_. All the qualities of French art are seen in\nit,--simplicity and grandeur in composition, with a profound expression.\nOn that canvas are only four personages, the two martyrs and St. Paul,\nwho presents them to St. Ambrose. Those four figures fill the temple,\nlighted above all in the obscurity of the night, by the luminous\napparition. The two martyrs are full of majesty. St. Ambrose, kneeling\nand in prayer, is, as it were, seized with terror.[147]\n\nI certainly admire Champagne as an historical painter, and even as a\nlandscape painter; but he is perhaps greatest as a portrait painter. In\nportraits truth and nature are particularly in their place, relieved by\ncoloring, and idealized in proper measure by expression. The portraits\nof Champagne are so many monuments in which his most illustrious\ncontemporaries will live forever. Every thing about them is strikingly\nreal, grave, and severe, with a penetrating sweetness. Should the\nrecords of Port-Royal be lost, all Port-Royal might be found in\nChampagne. Among those portraits we see the inflexible Saint-Cyran,[148]\nas well as his persecutor, the imperious Richelieu.[149] We see, too,\nthe learned, the intrepid Antoine Arnaud, to whom the contemporaries of\nBossuet decreed the name of Great;[150] and Mme. Angelique Arnaud, with\nher naive and strong figure.[151] Among them is mother Agnes and the\nhumble daughter of Champagne himself, sister St. Suzanne.[152] She has\njust been miraculously cured, and her whole prostrated person bears\nstill the impress of a relic of suffering. Mother Agnes, kneeling before\nher, regards her with a look of grateful joy. The place of the scene is\na poor cell; a wooden cross hanging on the wall, and some straw chairs,\nare all the ornaments. On the picture is the inscription,--_Christo uni\nmedico animarum et corporum_, etc. There is possessed the Christian\nstoicism of Port-Royal in its imposing austerity. Add to all these\nportraits that of Champagne;[153] for the painter may be put by the side\nof his personages.\n\nHad France produced in the seventeenth century only these four great\nartists, it would be necessary to give an important place to the French\nschool; but she counts many other painters of the greatest merit. Among\nthese we may distinguish P. Mignard, so much admired in his times, so\nlittle known now, and so worthy of being known. How have we been able to\nlet fall into oblivion the author of the immense fresco of\n_Val-de-grace_, so celebrated by Moliere, which is perhaps the greatest\npage of painting in the world![154] What strikes at first, in this\ngigantic work, is the order and harmony. Then come a thousand charming\ndetails and innumerable episodes which form themselves important\ncompositions. Remark also the brilliant and sweet coloring which should\nat least obtain favor for so many other beauties of the first order.\nAgain, it is to the pencil of Mignard that we owe that ravishing ceiling\nof a small apartment of the King at Versailles, a master-piece now\ndestroyed, but of which there remains to us a magnificent translation in\nthe beautiful engraving of Gerard Audran. What profound expression in\nthe _Plague of AEacus_,[155] and in the _St. Charles giving the\nCommunion to the Plague-infected of Milan_! Mignard is recognized as\none of our best portrait painters: grace, sometimes a little too\nrefined, is joined in him to sentiment. The French school can also\npresent with pride Valentin, who died young and was so full of promise;\nStella, the worthy friend of Poussin, the uncle of Claudine, Antoinette,\nand Francoise Stella; Lahyre, who has so much spirit and taste;[156]\nSebastien Bourdon, so animated and elevated;[157] the Lenains, who\nsometimes have the _naivete_ of Lesueur and the color of Champagne;\nBourguignon, full of fire and enthusiasm; Jouvenet, whose composition is\nso good;[158] finally, besides so many others, Lebrun, whom it is now\nthe fashion to treat cavalierly, who received from nature, with perhaps\nan immoderate passion for fame, passion for the beautiful of every kind,\nand a talent of admirable flexibility,--the true painter of a great king\nby the richness and dignity of his manner, who, like Louis XIV.,\nworthily closes the seventeenth century.[159]\n\nSince we have spoken somewhat extensively of painting, would it not be\nunjust to pass in silence over engraving, its daughter, or its sister?\nCertainly it is not an art of ordinary importance; we have excelled in\nit; we have above all carried it to its perfection in portraits. Let us\nbe equitable to ourselves. What school--and we are not unmindful of\nthose of Marc' Antonio, Albert Durer, and Rembrandt--can present such a\nsuccession of artists of this kind? Thomas de Leu and Leonard Gautier\nmake in some sort the passage from the sixteenth to the seventeenth\ncentury. Then come a crowd of men of the most diverse talents,--Mellan,\nMichel Lasne, Morin, Daret, Huret, Masson, Nanteuil, Drevet, Van\nSchupen, the Poillys, the Edelincks, and the Audrans. Gerard Edelinck\nand Nanteuil alone have a popular renown, and they merit it by the\ndelicacy, splendor, and charm of their graver. But the connoisseurs of\nelevated taste find at least their rivals in engravers now less admired,\nbecause they do not flatter the eye so much, but have, perhaps, more\ntruth and vigor. It must also be said, that the portraits of these two\nmasters have not the historic importance of those of their predecessors.\nThe _Conde_ of Nanteuil is justly admired; but if we wish to know the\ngreat Conde, the conqueror of Rocroy and Lens, we must not demand him\nfrom Nanteuil, but from Huret, Michel Lasne, and Daret,[160] who\ndesigned and engraved him in all his force and heroic beauty. Edelinck\nand Nanteuil himself scarcely knew and retraced the seventeenth century,\nexcept at the approach of its decline.[161] Morin and Mellan were able\nto see it, and transmit it in its glorious youth. Morin is the Champagne\nof engraving: he does not engrave, he paints. It is he who represents\nand transmits to posterity the illustrious men of the first half of the\ngreat century--Henry IV., Louis XIII., the de Thous, Berulle, Jansenius,\nSaint-Cyran, Marillac, Bentivoglio, Richelieu, Mazarin, still young,\nand Retz, when he was only a coadjutor.[162] Mellan had the same\nadvantage. He is the first in date of all the engravers of the\nseventeenth century, and perhaps is also the most expressive. With a\nsingle line, it seems that from his hands only shades can spring; he\ndoes not strike at first sight; but the more we regard him, the more he\nseizes, penetrates, and touches, like Lesueur.[163]\n\nChristianity, that is to say, the reign of the spirit, is favorable to\npainting, is particularly expressive. Sculpture seems to be a pagan art;\nfor, if it must also contain moral expression, it is always under the\nimperative condition of beauty of form. This is the reason why sculpture\nis as it were natural to antiquity, and appeared there with an\nincomparable splendor, before which painting somewhat paled,[164] whilst\namong the moderns it has been eclipsed by painting, and has remained\nvery inferior to it, by reason of the extreme difficulty of bringing\nstone and marble to express Christian sentiment, without which, material\nbeauty suffers; so that our sculpture is too insignificant to be\nbeautiful, too mannered to be expressive. Since antiquity, there have\nscarcely been two schools of sculpture:[165]--one at Florence, before\nMichael Angelo, and especially with Michael Angelo; the other in\nFrance, at the _Renaissance_, with Jean Cousin, Goujon, Germain Pilon.\nWe may say that these three artists have, as it were, shared among\nthemselves grandeur and grace: to the first belong nobility and force,\nwith profound knowledge;[166] to the other two, an elegance full of\ncharm. Sculpture changes its character in the seventeenth century as\nwell as every thing else: it no longer has the same attraction, but it\nfinds moral and religious inspiration, which the skilful masters of the\n_Renaissance_ too much lacked. Jean Cousin excepted, is there one of\nthem that is superior to Jacques Sarazin? That great artist, now almost\nforgotten, is at once a disciple of the French school and the Italian\nschool, and to the qualities that he borrows from his predecessors, he\nadds a moral expression, touching and elevated, which he owes to the\nspirit of the new school. He is, in sculpture, the worthy contemporary\nof Lesueur and Poussin, of Corneille, Descartes, and Pascal. He belongs\nentirely to the reign of Louis XIII., Richelieu, and Mazarin; he did not\neven see that of Louis XIV.[167] Called into France by Richelieu, who\nhad also called there Poussin and Champagne, Jacques Sarazin in a few\nyears produced a multitude of works of rare elegance and great\ncharacter. What has become of them? The eighteenth century passed over\nthem without regarding them. The barbarians that destroyed or scattered\nthem, were arrested before the paintings of Lesueur and Poussin,\nprotected by a remnant of admiration: while breaking the master-pieces\nof the French chisel, they had no suspicion of the sacrilege they were\ncommitting against art as well as their country. I was at least able to\nsee, some years ago, at the Museum of French Monuments, collected by the\npiety of a friend of the arts, beautiful parts of a superb mausoleum\nerected to the memory of Henri de Bourbon, second of the name, Prince of\nConde, father of the great Conde, the worthy support, the skilful\nfellow-laborer of Richelieu and Mazarin. This monument was supported by\nfour figures of natural grandeur,--_Faith, Prudence, Justice, Charity_.\nThere were four bas-reliefs in bronze, representing the _Triumphs of\nRenown, Time, Death_, and _Eternity_. In the _Triumph of Death_, the\nartist had represented a certain number of illustrious moderns, among\nwhom he had placed himself by the side of Michael Angelo.[168] We can\nstill contemplate in the court of the Louvre, in the pavilion of the\nHorloge, those caryatides of Sarazin at once so majestic and so\ngraceful, which are detached with admirable relief and lightness. Have\nJean Goujon and Germain Pilon done any thing more elegant and lifelike?\nThose females breathe, and are about to move. Take the pains to go a\nshort distance[169] to visit the humble chapel that now occupies the\nplace of that magnificent church of the Carmelites, once filled with the\npaintings of Champagne, Stella, Lahire, and Lebrun; where the voice of\nBossuet was heard, where Mlle. de Lavalliere and Mme. de Longueville\nwere so often seen prostrated, their long hair shorn, and their faces\nbathed in tears. Among the relics that are preserved of the past\nsplendor of the holy monastery, consider the noble statue of the\nkneeling Cardinal de Berulle. On those meditative and penetrating\nfeatures, in those eyes raised to heaven, breathes the soul of that\ngreat servant of God, who died at the altar like a warrior on the field\nof honor. He prays God for his dear Carmelites. That head is perfectly\nnatural, as Champagne might have painted it, and has a severe grace that\nreminds one of Lesueur and Poussin.[170]\n\nBelow Sarazin, the Anguiers are still artists that Italy would admire,\nand to whom there is wanting, since the great century, nothing but\njudges worthy of them. These two brothers covered Paris and France with\nthe most precious monuments. Look at the tomb of Jacques-Auguste de\nThou, by Francois Anguier: the face of the great historian is reflective\nand melancholy, like that of a man weary of the spectacle of human\nthings; and nothing is more amiable than the statues of his two wives,\nMarie Barbancon de Cany, and Gasparde de la Chatre.[171] The mausoleum\nof Henri de Montmorency, beheaded at Toulouse in 1632, which is still\nseen at Moulins, in the church of the ancient convent of the daughters\nof Sainte-Marie, is an important work of the same artist, in which force\nis manifest, with a little heaviness.[172] To Michel Anguier are\nattributed the statues of the duke and duchess of Tresmes, and that of\ntheir illustrious son, Potier, Marquis of Gevres.[173] Behold in him the\nintrepid companion of Conde, arrested in his course at thirty-two years\nof age before Thionville, after the battle of Rocroy, already\nlieutenant-general, and when Conde was demanding for him the baton of a\nmarshal of France, deposited on his tomb; behold him young, beautiful,\nbrave, like his comrades cut down also in the flower of life, Laval,\nChatillon, La Moussaye. One of the best works of Michel Anguier is the\nmonument of Henri de Chabot, that other companion, that faithful friend\nof Conde, who by the splendor of his valor, especially by the graces of\nhis person, knew how to gain the heart, the fortune, and the name of the\nbeautiful Marguerite, the daughter of the great Duke of Rohan. The new\nduke died, still young, in 1655, at thirty-nine years of age. He is\nrepresented lying down, the head inclined and supported by an angel;\nanother angel is at his feet. The whole is striking, and the details are\nexquisite. The face of Chabot has every beauty, as if to answer to its\nreputation, but the beauty is that of one dying. The body has already\nthe languor of death, _longuescit moriens_, with I know not what antique\ngrace. This morsel, if the drawing were more severe, would rival the\n_Dying Gladiator_, of which it reminds one, which it perhaps even\nimitates.[174]\n\nIn truth, I wonder that men now dare speak so lightly of Puget and\nGirardon. To Puget qualities of the first order cannot be refused. He\nhas the fire, the enthusiasm, the fecundity of genius. The caryatides of\nthe Hotel de Ville of Toulon, which have been brought to the Museum of\nParis, attest a powerful chisel. The _Milon_ reminds one of the manner\nof Michael Angelo; it is a little overstrained, but it cannot be denied\nthat the effect is striking. Do you want a talent more natural, and\nstill having force and elevation? Take the trouble to search in the\nTuileries, in the gardens of Versailles, in several churches of Paris,\nfor the scattered works of Girardon, here for the mausoleum of the\nGondis,[175] there for that of the Castellans,[176] that of\nLouvois,[177] etc.; especially go to see in the church of the Sorbonne\nthe mausoleum of Richelieu. The formidable minister is there represented\nin his last moments, sustained by religion and wept by his country. The\nwhole person is of a perfect nobility, and the figure has the fineness,\nthe severity, the superior distinction given to it by the pencil of\nChampagne, and the gravers of Morin, Michel Lasne, and Mellan.\n\nFinally, I do not regard as a vulgar sculptor Coysevox, who, under the\ninfluence of Lebrun, unfortunately begins the theatrical style, who\nstill has the facility, movement, and elegance of Lebrun himself. He\nreared worthy monuments to Mazarin, Colbert, and Lebrun,[178] and thus\nto speak, sowed busts of the illustrious men of his time. For, remark it\nwell, artists then took scarcely any arbitrary and fanciful subjects.\nThey worked upon contemporaneous subjects, which, while giving them\nproper liberty, inspired and guided them, and communicated a public\ninterest to their works. The French sculpture of the seventeenth\ncentury, like that of antiquity, is profoundly natural. The churches and\nthe monasteries were filled with the statues of those who loved them\nduring life, and wished to rest in them after death. Each church of\nParis was a popular museum. The sumptuous residences of the\naristocracy--for at that period, there was one in France, like that of\nEngland at the present time--possessed their secular tombs, statues,\nbusts, and portraits of eminent men whose glory belonged to the country\nas well as their own family. On its side, the state did not encourage\nthe arts in detail, and, thus to speak, in a small way; it gave them a\npowerful impulse by demanding of them important works, by confiding to\nthem vast enterprises. All great things were thus mingled together,\nreciprocally inspired and sustained each other.\n\nOne man alone in Europe has left a name in the beautiful art that\nsurrounds a chateau or a palace with graceful gardens or magnificent\nparks,--that man is a Frenchman of the seventeenth century, is Le Notre.\nLe Notre may be reproached with a regularity that is perhaps excessive,\nand a little mannerism in details; but he has two qualities that\ncompensate for many defects, grandeur and sentiment. He who designed the\npark of Versailles, who to the proper arrangement of parterres, to the\nmovement of fountains, to the harmonious sound of waterfalls, to the\nmysterious shades of groves, has known how to add the magic of infinite\nperspective by means of that spacious walk where the view is extended\nover an immense sheet of water to be lost in the limitless\ndistances,--he is a landscape-painter worthy of having a place by the\nside of Poussin and Lorrain.\n\nWe had in the middle age our Gothic architecture, like all the nations\nof northern Europe. In the sixteenth century what architects were Pierre\nLescot, Jean Bullant, and Philibert Delorme! What charming palaces, what\ngraceful edifices, the Tuileries, the Hotel de Ville of Paris, Chambord,\nand Ecouen! The seventeenth century also had its original architecture,\ndifferent from that of the middle age and that of the _Renaissance_,\nsimple, austere, noble, like the poetry of Corneille and the prose of\nDescartes. Study without scholastic prejudice the Luxembourg of de\nBrosses,[179] the portal of Saint-Gervais, and the great hall of the\nPalais de Justice, by the same architect; the Palais Cardinal and the\nSorbonne of Lemercier;[180] the cupola of Val-de-Grace by Lemuet;[181]\nthe triumphal arch of the Porte Saint-Denis by Francois Blondel;\nVersailles, and especially the Invalides, of Mansart.[182] Consider with\nattention the last edifice, let it make its impression on your mind and\nsoul, and you will easily succeed in recognizing in it a particular\nbeauty. It is not a Gothic monument, neither is it an almost Pagan\nmonument of the sixteenth century,--it is modern, and also Christian; it\nis vast with measure, elegant with gravity. Contemplate at sunset that\ncupola reflecting the last rays of day, elevating itself gently towards\nthe heavens in a slight and graceful curve; cross that imposing\nesplanade, enter that court admirably lighted in spite of its covered\ngalleries, bow beneath the dome of that church where Vauban and Turenne\nsleep,--you will not be able to guard yourself from an emotion at once\nreligious and military; you will say to yourself that this is indeed the\nasylum of warriors who have reached the evening of life and are prepared\nfor eternity!\n\nSince then, what has French architecture become? Once having left\ntradition and national character, it wanders from imitation to\nimitation, and without comprehending the genius of antiquity, it\nunskilfully reproduces its forms. This bastard architecture, at once\nheavy and mannered, is, little by little, substituted for the beautiful\narchitecture of the preceding century, and everywhere effaces the\nvestiges of the French spirit. Do you wish a striking example of it? In\nParis, near the Luxembourg, the Condes had their _hotel_,[183]\nmagnificent and severe, with a military aspect, as it was fitting for\nthe dwelling-place of a family of warriors, and within of almost royal\nsplendor. Beneath those lofty ceilings had been some time suspended the\nSpanish flags taken at Rocroy. In those vast saloons had been assembled\nthe _elite_ of the grandest society that ever existed. In those\nbeautiful gardens had been seen promenading Corneille and Madame de\nSevigne, Moliere, Bossuet, Boileau, Racine, in the company of the great\nConde. The oratory had been painted by the hand of Lesueur.[184] It had\nbeen easy to repair and preserve the noble habitation. At the end of the\neighteenth century, a descendant of the Condes sold it to a dismal\ncompany to build that palace without character and taste which is called\nthe Palais-Bourbon. Almost at the same epoch there was a movement made\nto construct a church to the patroness of Paris, to that Genevieve,\nwhose legend is so touching and so popular. Was there ever a better\nchance for a national and Christian monument? It was possible to return\nto the Gothic style and even to the Byzantine style. Instead of that\nthere was made for us an immense Roman basilica of the Decline. What a\ndwelling for the modest and holy virgin, so dear to the fields that\nbordered upon Lutece, whose name is still venerated by the poor people\nwho inhabit these quarters! Behold the church which has been placed by\nthe side of that of Saint-Etienne du Mont, as if to make felt all the\ndifferences between Christianity and Paganism! For here, in spite of a\nmixture of the most different styles, it is evident that the Pagan style\npredominates. Christian worship cannot be naturalized in this profane\nedifice, which has so many times changed its destination. It is in vain\nto call it anew Saint-Genevieve,--the revolutionary name of Pantheon\nwill stick to it.[185] The eighteenth century treated the Madeleine no\nbetter than Saint-Genevieve. In vain the beautiful sinner wished to\nrenounce the joys of the world and attach herself to the poverty of\nJesus Christ. She has been brought back to the pomp and luxury that she\nrepudiated; she has been put in a rich palace, all shining with gold,\nwhich might very well be a temple of Venus, for certainly it has not the\nsevere grace of the Pantheon, of which it is the most vulgar copy. How\nfar we are from the Invalides, from Val-de-Grace, and the Sorbonne, so\nadmirably appropriated to their object, wherein appears so well the hand\nof the century and the country which reared them!\n\nWhile architecture thus strays, it is natural that painting should seek\nabove every thing color and brilliancy, that sculpture should apply\nitself to become Pagan again, that poetry itself, receding for two\ncenturies, should abjure the worship of thought for that of fancy, that\nit should everywhere go borrowing images from Spain, Italy, and Germany,\nthat it should run after subaltern and foreign qualities which it will\nnot attain, and abandon the grand qualities of the French genius.\n\nIt will be said that the Christian sentiment which animated Lesueur and\nthe artists of the seventeenth century is wanting to those of ours; it\nis extinguished, and cannot be rekindled. In the first place, is that\nvery certain? Native faith is dead, but cannot reflective faith take its\nplace? Christianity is exhaustless; it has infinite resources, and\nadmirable flexibility; there are a thousand ways of arriving at it and\nreturning to it, because it has itself a thousand phases that answer to\nthe most different dispositions, to all the wants, to all the mobility\nof the heart. What it loses on one side, it gains on another; and as it\nhas produced our civilization, it is called to follow it in all its\nvicissitudes. Either every religion will perish in this world, or\nChristianity will endure, for it is not in the power of thought to\nconceive a more perfect religion. Artists of the nineteenth century, do\nnot despair of God and yourselves. A superficial philosophy has thrown\nyou far from Christianity considered in a strict sense; another\nphilosophy can bring you near it again by making you see it with another\neye. And then, if the religious sentiment is weakened, are there not\nother sentiments that can make the heart of man beat, and fecundate\ngenius? Plato has said, that beauty is always old and always new. It is\nsuperior to all its forms, it belongs to all countries and all times; it\nbelongs to all beliefs, provided these beliefs be serious and profound,\nand the need be felt of expressing and spreading them. If, then, we have\nnot arrived at the boundary assigned to the grandeur of France, if we\nare not beginning to descend into the shade of death, if we still truly\nlive, if there remain to us convictions, of whatever kind they may be,\nthereby even remains to us, or at least may remain to us, what made the\nglory of our fathers, what they did not carry with them to the tomb,\nwhat had already survived all revolutions, Greece, Rome, the Middle Age,\nwhat does not belong to any temporary or ephemeral accident, what\nsubsists and is continually found in the focus of consciousness--I mean\nmoral inspiration, immortal as the soul.\n\nLet us terminate here, and sum up this defence of the national art.\nThere are in arts, as well as in letters and philosophy, two contrary\nschools. One tends to the ideal in all things,--it seeks, it tries to\nmake appear the spirit concealed under the form, at once manifested and\nveiled by nature; it does not so much wish to please the senses and\nflatter the imagination as to enlarge the intellect and move the soul.\nThe other, enamored of nature, stops there and devotes itself to\nimitation,--its principal object is to reproduce reality, movement,\nlife, which are for it the supreme beauty. The France of the seventeenth\ncentury, the France of Descartes, Corneille, and Bossuet, highly\nspiritual in philosophy, poetry, and eloquence, was also highly\nspiritual in the arts. The artists of that great epoch participate in\nits general character, and represent it in their way. It is not true\nthat they lacked imagination, more than Pascal and Bossuet lacked it.\nBut inasmuch as they do not suffer imagination to usurp the dominion\nthat does not belong to it, inasmuch as they subject its order, even its\nimpetuosity, to the reign of reason and the inspirations of the heart,\nit seems that it is not so strong when it is only disciplined and\nregulated. As we have said, they excel in composition, especially in\nexpression. They always have a thought, and a moral and elevated\nthought. For this reason they are dear to us, their cause interests us,\nis in some sort our own cause, and so this homage rendered to their\nmisunderstood glory naturally crowns these lectures devoted to true\nbeauty, that is to say, moral beauty.\n\nMay these lectures be able to make it known, and, above all, loved! May\nthey be able also to inspire some one of you with the idea of devoting\nhimself to studies so beautiful, of devoting to them his life, and\nattaching to them his name! The sweetest recompense of a professor who\nis not too unworthy of that title, is to see rapidly following in his\nfootsteps young and noble spirits who easily pass him and leave him far\nbehind them.[186]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[128] One is reminded of the expression of the great Conde: \"Where then\nhas Corneille learned politics and war?\"\n\n[129] It would be a curious and useful study, to compare with the\noriginal all the passages of Britannicus imitated from Tacitus; in them\nRacine would almost always be found below his model. I will give a\nsingle example. In the account of the death of Britannicus, Racine thus\nexpresses the different effects of the crime on the spectators:\n\n    Juez combien ce coup frappe tous les esprits;\n    La moitie s'epouvante et sort avec des cris;\n    Mais ceux qui de la cour ont un plus long usage\n    Sur les yeux de Cesar composent leur visage.\n\nCertainly the style is excellent; but it pales and seems nothing more\nthan a very feeble sketch in comparison with the rapid and sombre\npencil-strokes of the great Roman painter: \"Trepidatur a\ncircumsedentibus, diffugiunt imprudentes; at, quibus altior intellectus,\nresistunt defixi et Neronem intuentes.\"\n\n[130] See the letter to Perrault.\n\n[131]\n\n    En vain contre le Cid ministre se ligue,\n    Tout Paris pour Chimene a les yeux de Rodrique, etc.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Apres qu'un peu de terre, obtenu par priere,\n    Pour jamais dans la tombe eut enferme Moliere, etc.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n[132]\n\n    Aux pieds de cet autel de structure grossiere,\n    Git sans pompe, enferme dans une vile biere,\n    Le plus savant mortel qui jamais ait ecrit;\n    Arnaud, qui sur la grace instruit par Jesus-Christ,\n    Combattant pour l'Eglise, a, dans l'Eglise meme,\n    Souffert plus d'un outrage et plus d'un anatheme, etc.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Errant, pauvre, banni, proscrit, persecute;\n    Et meme par sa mort leur fureur mal eteinte\n    N'aurait jamais laisse ses cendres en repos,\n    Si Dieu lui-meme ici de son ouaille sainte\n    A ces loups devorants n'avait cache les os.\n\n\n\n[133] These verses did not appear till after the death of Boileau, and\nthey are not well known. Jean-Baptiste Rousseau, in a letter to\nBrossette, rightly said that these are \"the most beautiful verses that\nM. Despreaux ever made.\"\n\n[134] 4th Series of our works, LITERATURE, book i., _Preface_, p. 3: \"It\nis in prose, perhaps, that our literary glory is most certain.... What\nmodern nation reckons prose writers that approach those of our nation?\nThe country of Shakspeare and Milton does not possess, since Bacon, a\nsingle prose writer of the first order [?]; that of Dante, Petrarch,\nAriosto, and Tasso, is in vain proud of Machiavel, whose sound and manly\ndiction, like the thought that it expresses, is destitute of grandeur.\nSpain, it is true, has produced Cervantes, an admirable writer, but he\nis alone.... France can easily show a list of more than twenty prose\nwriters of genius: Froissard, Rabelais, Montaigne, Descartes, Pascal, La\nRochefoucauld, Moliere, Retz, La Bruyere, Malebranche, Bossuet, Fenelon,\nFlechier, Bourdaloue, Massillon, Mme. de Sevigne, Saint-Simon,\nMontesquieu, Voltaire, Buffon, J. J. Rousseau; without speaking of so\nmany more that would be in the first rank everywhere else,--Amiot,\nCalvin, Pasquier, D'Aubigne, Charron, Balzac, Vaugelas, Pelisson,\nNicole, Fleury, Bussi, Saint-Evremont, Mme. de Lafayette, Mme. de\nMaintenon, Fontenelle, Vauvenargues, Hamilton, Le Sage, Prevost,\nBeaumarchais, etc. It may be said with the exactest truth, that French\nprose is without a rival in modern Europe; and, even in antiquity,\nsuperior to the Latin prose, at least in the quantity and variety of\nmodels, it has no equal but the Greek prose, in its palmiest days, in\nthe days of Herodotus and Demosthenes. I do not prefer Demosthenes to\nPascal, and it would be difficult for me to put Plato himself above\nBossuet. Plato and Bossuet, in my opinion, are the two greatest masters\nof human language, with manifest differences, as well as more than one\ntrait of resemblance; both ordinarily speak like the people, with the\nlast degree of simplicity, and at moments ascending without effort to a\npoetry as magnificent as that of Homer, ingenious and polished to the\nmost charming delicacy, and by instinct majestic and sublime. Plato,\nwithout doubt, has incomparable graces, the supreme serenity, and, as it\nwere, the demi-smile of the divine sage. Bossuet, on his side, has the\npathetic, in which he has no rival but the great Corneille. When such\nwriters are possessed, is it not a religion to render them the honor\nthat is their due, that of a regular and profound study?\"\n\n[135] See the APPENDIX, at the end of the volume.\n\n[136] See the APPENDIX.\n\n[137] This picture had been made for a chapel of the church of St.\nGervais. It formed the altar-piece, and in the foreground there was the\nadmirable Bearing of the Cross, which is still seen in the Museum.\n\n[138] Such a law was the first act of the first assembly of affranchised\nGreece, and all the friends of art have applauded it from end to end of\ncivilized Europe.\n\n[139] See the APPENDIX.\n\n[140] The _Seven Sacraments_ of Poussin are now in the Bridgewater\nGallery. See the APPENDIX.\n\n[141] See the APPENDIX.\n\n[142] In the midst of this scene of brutal violence, everybody has\nremarked this delicate trait--a Roman quite young, almost juvenile,\nwhile possessing himself by force of a young girl taking refuge in the\narms of her mother, asks her from her mother with an air at once\npassionate and restrained. In order to appreciate this picture, compare\nit with that of David in the _ensemble_ and in the details.\n\n[143] In fact, the St. Joseph is here the important personage. He\ngoverns the whole scene; he prays, he is as it were in ecstasy.\n\n[144] The pictures of Claude Lorrain, of which we have just spoken, are\nin the Museum of Paris. In all there are thirteen, whilst the Museum of\nMadrid alone possesses almost as many, while there are in England more\nthan fifty, and those the most admirable. See the APPENDIX.\n\n[145] The last _Notice of the Pictures exhibited in the Gallery of the\nNational Museum of the Louvre_, 1852, although its author, M. Villot, is\nsurely a man of incontestable knowledge and taste, persists in placing\nChampagne in the Flemish school. _En revanche_, a learned foreigner, M.\nWaagen, claims him for the French school. _Kunstwerke and Kuenstler in\nParis_, Berlin, 1839, p. 651.\n\n[146] Well appreciated by Richelieu, he preferred his esteem to his\nbenefits. One day when an envoy of Richelieu said to him that he had\nonly to ask freely what he wished for the advancement of his fortune,\nChampagne responded that if M. the Cardinal could make him a more\nskilful painter than he was, it was the only thing that he asked of his\nEminence; but that being impossible, he only desired the honor of his\ngood graces. Felibien, _Entretiens_, 1st edition, 4to., part v., p. 171;\nand de Piles, _Abrege de la Vie des Peintres_, 2d edition, p. 500.--\"As\nhe had much love for justice and truth, provided he satisfied what they\nboth demanded, he easily passed over all the rest.\"--_Necrologe de\nPort-Royal_, p. 336.\n\n[147] See the APPENDIX.\n\n[148] The original is in the Museum of Grenoble; but see the engraving\nof Morin; see also that of Daret, after the beautiful design of\nDemonstier.\n\n[149] In the Museum of the Louvre; see also the engraving of Morin.\n\n[150] The original is now in the Chateau of Sable, belonging to the\nMarquis of Rouge; see the engraving of Simonneau in Perrault. The\nbeautiful engraving of Edelinck was made after a different original,\nattributed to a nephew of Champagne.\n\n[151] The original is also in the possession of the Marquis of Rouge;\nthe admirable engraving of Van Schupen may take its place.\n\n[152] In the Museum.\n\n[153] In the Museum, and engraved by Gerard Edelinck.\n\n[154] _La Gloire du Val-de-Grace_, in 4to, 1669, with a frontispiece and\nvignettes. Moliere there enters into infinite details on all the parts\nof the art of painting and the genius of Mignard. He pushes eulogy\nperhaps to the extent of hyperbole; afterwards, hyperbole gave place to\nthe most shameful indifference. The fresco of the dome of Val-de-grace\nis composed of four rows of figures, which rise in a circle from the\nbase to the vertex of the arch. In the upper part is the Trinity, above\nwhich is raised a resplendent sky. Below the Trinity are the celestial\npowers. Descending a degree, we see the Virgin and the holy personages\nof the Old and New Testament. Finally, at the lower extremity is Anne of\nAustria, introduced into paradise by St. Anne and St. Louis, and these\nthree figures are accompanied by a multitude of personages pertaining to\nthe history of France, among whom are distinguished Joan of Arc,\nCharlemagne, etc.\n\n[155] Engraved by Gerard Audran under the name of the _Plague of David_\n(_la Peste de David_). What has become of the original?\n\n[156] See his _Landscape at Sunset_, and the _Bathers_ (_les\nBaigneuses_), an agreeable scene somewhat blemished by careless drawing.\n\n[157] It would be necessary to cite all his compositions. In his _Holy\nFamily_ the figure of the Virgin, without being celestial, admirably\nexpresses meditation and reflection. We lost some time ago the most\nimportant work of S. Bourdon, the _Sept Oeuvres de Misericorde_. See\nthe APPENDIX.\n\n[158] See especially his _Extreme Unction_.\n\n[159] The picture that is called _le Silence_, which represents the\nsleep of the infant Jesus, is not unworthy of Poussin. The head of the\ninfant is of superhuman power. The _Battles of Alexander_, with their\ndefects, are pages of history of the highest order; and in the\n_Alexander visiting with Ephestion the Mother and the Wife of Darius_,\none knows not which to admire most, the noble ordering of the whole or\nthe just expression of the figures.\n\n[160] It seems that Lesueur sometimes furnished Daret with designs. It\nis indeed to Lesueur that Daret owes the idea and the design of his\n_chef-d'oeuvre_, the portrait of Armand de Bourbon, prince de Conti,\nrepresented in his earliest youth, and in an abbe, sustained and\nsurrounded by angels of different size, forming a charming composition.\nThe drawing is completely pure, except some imperfect fore-shortenings.\nThe little angels that sport with the emblems of the future cardinal are\nfull of spirit, and, at the same time, sweetness.\n\n[161] Edelinck saw only the reign of Louis XIV. Nanteuil was able to\nengrave very few of the great men of the time of Louis XIII., and the\nregency, and in the latter part of their life; Mazarin, in his last five\nor six years; Conde, growing old; Turenne, old; Fouquet and Matthieu\nMole, some years before the fall of the one and the death of the other;\nand he was too often obliged to waste his talent upon a crowd of\nparliamentarians, ecclesiastics, and obscure financiers.\n\n[162] If I wished to make any one acquainted with the greatest and most\nneglected portion of the seventeenth century, that which Voltaire almost\nwholly omitted, I would set him to collecting the works of Morin.\n\n[163] Mellan not only made portraits after the celebrated painters of\nhis time, he is himself the author of great and charming compositions,\nmany of which serve as frontispieces to books. I willingly call\nattention to that one which is at the head of a folio edition of the\n_Introduction a la Vie Devote_, and to the beautiful frontispieces of\nthe writings of Richelieu, from the press of the Louvre.\n\n[164] This was the opinion of Winkelmann at the end of the eighteenth\ncentury; it is our opinion now, even after all the discoveries that have\nbeen made during fifty years, that may be seen in great part retraced\nand described in the _Musio real Barbonico_.\n\n[165] There was doubtless sculpture in the middle age: the innumerable\nfigures at the portals of our cathedrals, and the statues that are\ndiscovered every day sufficiently testify it. The _imagers_ of that time\ncertainly had much spirit and imagination; but, at least in everything\nthat we have seen, beauty is absent, and taste wanting.\n\n[166] Go and see at the Museum of Versailles the statue of Francis I.,\nand say whether any Italian, except the author of the _Laurent de\nMedicis_, has made any thing like it. See also in the Museum of the\nLouvre, the statue of Admiral Chabot.\n\n[167] Sarazin died in 1660, Lesueur in 1655, Poussin in 1665, Descartes\nin 1650, Pascal in 1662, and the genius of Corneille did not extend\nbeyond that epoch.\n\n[168] Lenoir, _Musee des Monuments Francais_, vol. v., p. 87-91, and the\n_Musee Royale des Monuments Francais_ of 1815, p. 98, 99, 108, 122, and\n140. This wonderful monument, erected to Henri de Bourbon, at the\nexpense of his old intendant Perrault, president of the _Chambre des\nComptes_, was placed in the Church of the Jesuits, and was wholly in\nbronze. It must not be confounded with the other monument that the\nCondes erected to the same prince in their family burial-ground at\nVallery, near Montereau, in Yonne. This monument is in marble, and by\nthe hand of Michel Anguier; see the description in Lenoir, vol. v., p.\n23-25, and especially in the _Annuaire de l'Yonne pour_ 1842, p. 173,\netc.\n\n[169] Rue d'Enfer, No. 67.\n\n[170] The Museum of the Louvre possesses only a very small number of\nSarazin's works, and those of very little importance:--a bust of Pierre\nSeguier, strikingly true, two statuettes full of grace, and the small\nfuneral monument of Hennequin, Abbe of Bernay, member of Parliament, who\ndied in 1651, which is a _chef-d'oeuvre_ of elegance.\n\n[171] These three statues were united in the Museum des\n_Petits-Augustins_, Lenoir, _Musee-royal_, etc., p. 94; we know not why\nthey have been separated; Jacques-Auguste de Thou has been placed in the\nLouvre, and his two wives at Versailles.\n\n[172] Francois Anguier had made a marble tomb of Cardinal de Berulle,\nwhich was in the oratory of _Rue St. Honore_. It would have been\ninteresting to compare this statue with that of Sarazin, which is still\nat the Carmelites. Francois is also the author of the monument of the\nLonguevilles, which, before the Revolution, was at the Celestins, and\nwas seen in 1815 at the museum des _Petits-Augustins_, Lenoir, _ibid._,\np. 103; it is now in the Louvre. It is an obelisk, the four sides of\nwhich are covered with allegorical bas-reliefs. The pedestal, also\nornamented with bas-reliefs, has four female figures in marble,\nrepresenting the cardinal virtues.\n\n[173] Now at Versailles. Lenoir, p. 97 and 100. See his portrait,\npainted by Champagne, and engraved by Morin.\n\n[174] Group in white marble which was at the Celestins, a church near\nthe _hotel_ of Rohan-Chabot in the _Place Royale_; re-collected in the\nMuseum _des Petits-Augustins_, Lenoir, _ibid._, p. 97; it is now at\nVersailles. We must not pass over that beautiful production, the\nmausoleum of Jacques de Souvre, Grand Prior of France, the brother of\nthe beautiful Marchioness de Sable; a mausoleum that came from\nSaint-Jean de Latran, passed through the Museum _des Petits-Augustins_,\nand is now found in the Louvre. The sculptures of the porte Saint-Denis\nare also owed to Michel Anguier, as well as the admirable bust of\nColbert, which is in the museum.\n\n[175] At first at Notre-Dame, the natural place for the tombs of the\nGondis, then at the Augustins, now at Versailles.\n\n[176] In the Church St. Germain des Pres.\n\n[177] At the Capuchins, then at the Augustins, then at Versailles.\n\n[178] See, on these monuments, Lenoir, p. 98, 101, 102. That of Mazarin\nis now at the Louvre; that of Colbert has been restored to the Church of\nSt. Eustache, and that of Lebrun to the Church St. Nicholas du\nChardonnet, as well as the mausoleum, so expressive but a little\noverstrained, of the mother of Lebrun, by Tuby, and the mausoleum of\nJerome Bignon, the celebrated Councillor of State, who died in 1656.\n\n[179] Quatremere de Quincy, _Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages de plus\nCelebres Architectes_, vol. ii., p. 145:--\"There could scarcely be found\nin any country an _ensemble_ so grand, which offers with so much unity\nand regularity an aspect at once more varied and picturesque, especially\nin the facade of the entrance.\" Unfortunately this unity has\ndisappeared, thanks to the constructions that have since been added to\nthe primitive work.\n\n[180] In order to appreciate the beauty of the Sorbonne, one must stand\nin the lower part of the great court, and from that point consider the\neffect of the successive elevation, at first of the other part of the\ncourt, then of the different stories of the portico, then of the portico\nitself, of the church, and, finally, of the dome.\n\n[181] Quatremere de Quincy, _Ibid._, p. 257:--\"The cupola of this\nedifice is one of the finest in Europe.\"\n\n[182] We do not speak of the colonnade of the Louvre by Perrault,\nbecause in spite of its grand qualities, it begins the decline and marks\nthe passage from the serious to the academic style, from originality to\nimitation, from the seventeenth century to the eighteenth.\n\n[183] See the engraving of Perelle. Sauval, vol. ii., p. 66 and p. 131,\nsays that the _hotel_ of Conde was _magnificently built_, that it was\n_the most magnificent of the time_.\n\n[184] Notice of Guillet de St. Georges, recently published (see the\nAPPENDIX):--\"Nearly at the same time the Princess-dowager de Conde,\nCharlotte-Marguerite de Montmorency, mother of the late prince, had an\noratory painted by Lesueur in the _hotel_ of Conde. The altar-piece\nrepresents a _Nativity_, that of the ceiling a _Celestial Glory_. The\nwainscot is enriched with several figures and with a quantity of\nornaments worked with great care.\"\n\n[185] The Pantheon is an imitation of the St. Paul's of London, which is\nitself a very sad imitation of St. Peter's of Rome. The only merit of\nthe Pantheon is its situation on the summit of the hill of St.\nGenevieve, from which it overlooks that part of the town, and is seen on\ndifferent sides to a considerable distance. Put in its place the\nVal-de-Grace of Lemercier with the dome of Lemuet, and judge what would\nbe the effect of such an edifice!\n\n[186] In the first rank of the intelligent auditors of this course was\nM. Jouffroy, who already under our auspices, had presented to the\n_faculte des lettres_, in order to obtain the degree of doctor, a thesis\non the beautiful. M. Jouffroy had cultivated, with care and particular\ntaste, the seeds that our teaching might have planted in his mind. But\nof all those who at that epoch or later frequented our lectures, no one\nwas better fitted to embrace the entire domain of beauty or art than the\nauthor of the beautiful articles on Eustache Lesueur, the Cathedral of\nNoyon, and the Louvre. M. Vitet possesses all the knowledge, and, what\nis more, all the qualities requisite for a judge of every kind of\nbeauty, for a worthy historian of art. I yield to the necessity of\naddressing to him the public petition that he may not be wanting to a\nvocation so marked and so elevated.\n\n\n\n\nPART THIRD\n\nTHE GOOD.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XI.\n\nPRIMARY NOTIONS OF COMMON SENSE.\n\n    Extent of the question of the good.--Position of the question\n    according to the psychological method: What is, in regard to the\n    good, the natural belief of mankind?--The natural beliefs of\n    humanity must not be sought in a pretended state of\n    nature.--Study of the sentiments and ideas of men in languages,\n    in life, in consciousness.--Disinterestedness and\n    devotedness.--Liberty.--Esteem and\n    contempt.--Respect.--Admiration and\n    indignation.--Dignity.--Empire of opinion.--Ridicule.--Regret\n    and repentance.--Natural and necessary foundations of all\n    justice.--Distinction between fact and right.--Common sense,\n    true and false philosophy.\n\n\nThe idea of the true in its developments, comprises psychology, logic,\nand metaphysics. The idea of the beautiful begets what is called\naesthetics. The idea of the good is the whole of ethics.\n\nIt would be forming a false and narrow idea of ethics to confine them\nwithin the inclosure of individual consciousness. There are public\nethics, as well as private ethics, and public ethics embrace, with the\nrelations of men among themselves, so far as men, their relations as\ncitizens and as members of a state. Ethics extend wherever is found in\nany decree the idea of the good. Now, where does this idea manifest\nitself more, and where do justice and injustice, virtue and crime,\nheroism and weakness appear more openly, than on the theatre of civil\nlife? Moreover, is there any thing that has a more decisive influence\nover manners, even of individuals, than the institutions of peoples and\nthe constitutions of states? If the idea of the good goes thus far, it\nmust be followed thither, as recently the idea of the beautiful has\nintroduced us into the domain of art.\n\nPhilosophy usurps no foreign power; but it is not disposed to relinquish\nits right of examination over all the great manifestations of human\nnature. All philosophy that does not terminate in ethics, is hardly\nworthy of the name, and all ethics that do not terminate at least in\ngeneral views on society and government, are powerless ethics, that have\nneither counsels nor rules to give humanity in its most difficult\ntrials.\n\nIt seems that at the point where we have arrived, the metaphysics and\naesthetics that we have taught evidently involve such a doctrine of\nmorality and not such another, that, accordingly, the question of the\ngood, that question so fertile and so vast, is for us wholly solved, and\nthat we can deduce, by way of reasoning, the moral theory that is\nderived from our theory of the beautiful and our theory of the true. We\nmight do this, perhaps, but we will not. This would be abandoning the\nmethod that we have hitherto followed, that method that proceeds by\nobservation, and not by deduction, and makes consulting experience a law\nto itself. We do not grow weary of experience. Let us attach ourselves\nfaithfully to the psychological method; it has its delays; it condemns\nus to more than one repetition, but it places us in the beginning, and a\nlong time retains us at the source of all reality, and all light.\n\nThe first maxim of the psychological method is this: True philosophy\ninvents nothing, it establishes and describes what is. Now here, what\nis, is the natural and permanent belief of the being that we are\nstudying, to wit, man. What is, then, in relation to the good, the\nnatural and permanent belief of the human race? Such is, in our eyes,\nthe first question.\n\nWith us, in fact, the human race does not take one side, and philosophy\nthe other. Philosophy is the interpreter of the human race. What the\nhuman race thinks and believes, often unconsciously, philosophy\nre-collects, explains, establishes. It is the faithful and complete\nexpression of human nature, and human nature is entire in each of us\nphilosophers, and in every other man. Among us, it is attained by\nconsciousness; among other men, it manifests itself in their words and\nactions. Let us, then, interrogate the latter and the former; let us\nespecially interrogate our own consciousness; let us clearly recognize\nwhat the human race thinks; we shall then see what should be the office\nof philosophy.\n\nIs there a human language known to us that has not different expressions\nfor good and evil, for just and unjust? Is there any language, in which,\nby the side of the words pleasure, interest, utility, happiness, are not\nalso found the words sacrifice, disinterestedness, devotedness, virtue?\nDo not all languages, as well as all nations, speak of liberty, duty,\nand right?\n\nHere, perhaps, some disciple of Condillac and Helvetius will ask us\nwhether, in this regard, we possess authentic dictionaries of the\nlanguage of savage tribes found by voyagers in the isles of the ocean?\nNo; but we have not made our philosophic religion out of the\nsuperstitions and prejudices of a certain school. We absolutely deny\nthat it is necessary to study human nature in the famous savage of\nAveyron, or in the like of him of the isles of the ocean, or the\nAmerican continent. The savage state offers us humanity in\nswaddling-clothes, thus to speak, the germ of humanity, but not humanity\nentire. The true man is the perfect man of his kind; true human nature\nis human nature arrived at its development, as true society is also\nperfected society. We do not think it worth the while to ask a savage\nhis opinion on the Apollo Belvidere, neither will we ask him for the\nprinciples that constitute the moral nature of man, because in him this\nmoral nature is only sketched and not completed. Our great philosophy of\nthe seventeenth century was sometimes a little too much pleased with\nhypotheses in which God plays the principal part, and crushes human\nliberty.[187] The philosophy of the eighteenth century threw itself\ninto the opposite extreme; it had recourse to hypotheses of a totally\ndifferent character, among others, to a pretended natural state, whence\nit undertook, with infinite pains, to draw society and man as we now see\nthem. Rousseau plunged into the forests, in order to find there the\nmodel of liberty and equality. That is the commencement of his politics.\nBut wait a little, and soon you will see the apostle of the natural\nstate, driven, by a necessary inconsequence, from one excess to an\nopposite excess, instead of the sweets of savage liberty, proposing to\nus the _Contrat Social and Lacedemone_. Condillac[188] studies the human\nmind in a statue whose senses enter into exercise under the magic wand\nof a systematic analysis, and are developed in the measure and progress\nthat are convenient to him. The statue successively acquires our five\nsenses, but there is one thing that it does not acquire, that is, a mind\nlike the human mind, and a soul like ours. And this was what was then\ncalled the experimental method! Let us leave there all those hypotheses.\nIn order to understand reality, let us study it, and not imagine it. Let\nus take humanity as it is incontestably shown to us in its actual\ncharacters, and not as it may have been in a primitive, purely\nhypothetical state, in those unformed lineaments or that degradation\nwhich is called the savage state. In that, without doubt, may be found\nsigns or _souvenirs_ of humanity, and, if this were the plea, we might,\nin our turn, examine the recitals of voyages, and find, even in that\ndarkness of infancy or decrepitude, admirable flashes of light, noble\ninstincts, which already appear, or still subsist, presaging or\nrecalling humanity. But, for the sake of exactness of method and true\nanalysis, we turn our eyes from infancy and the savage state, in order\nto direct them towards the being who is the sole object of our studies,\nthe actual man, the real and completed man.\n\nDo you know a language, a people, which does not possess the word\ndisinterested virtue? Who is especially called an honest man? Is it the\nskilful calculator, devoting himself to making his own affairs the best\npossible, or he who, under all circumstances, is disposed to observe\njustice against his apparent or real interest? Take away the idea that\nan honest man is capable, to a certain degree, of resisting the\nattractions of personal interest, and of making some sacrifices for\nopinion, for propriety, for that which is or appears honest, and you\ntake away the foundation of that title of honest man, even in the most\nordinary sense. That disposition to prefer what is good to our pleasure,\nto our personal utility, in a word, to interest--that disposition more\nor less strong, more or less constant, more or less tested, measures the\ndifferent degrees of virtue. A man who carries disinterestedness as far\nas devotion, is called a hero, let him be concealed in the humblest\ncondition, or placed on a public stage. There is devotedness in obscure\nas well as in exalted stations. There are heroes of probity, of honor,\nof loyalty, in the relations of ordinary life, as well as heroes of\ncourage and patriotism in the counsels of peoples and at the head of\narmies. All these names, with their meaning well recognized, are in all\nlanguages, and constitute a certain and universal fact. We may explain\nthis fact, but on one imperative condition, that in explaining we do not\ndestroy it. Now, is the idea and the word disinterestedness explained to\nus by reducing disinterestedness to interest? This is what common sense\ninvincibly repels.\n\nPoets have no system,--they address themselves to men as they really\nare, in order to produce in them certain effects. Is it skilful\nselfishness or disinterested virtue that poets celebrate? Do they demand\nour applause for the success of fortunate address, or for the voluntary\nsacrifices of virtue? The poet knows that there is at the foundation of\nthe human soul I know not what marvellous power of disinterestedness and\ndevotedness. In addressing himself to this instinct of the heart, he is\nsure of awakening a sublime echo, of opening every source of the\npathetic.\n\nConsult the annals of the human race, and you will find in them man\neverywhere, and more and more, claiming his liberty. This word liberty\nis as old as man himself. What then! Men wish to be free, and man\nhimself should not be free! The word nevertheless exists with the most\ndetermined signification. It signifies that man believes himself a free\nbeing, not only animated and sensible, but endowed with will, a will\nthat belongs to him, that consequently cannot admit over itself the\ntyranny of another will which would make, in regard to him, the office\nof fatality, even were it that of the most beneficent fatality. Do you\nsuppose that the word liberty could ever have been formed, if the thing\nitself did not exist? None but a free being could possess the idea of\nliberty. Will it be said that the liberty of man is only an illusion?\nThe wishes of the human race are then the most inexplicable\nextravagance. In denying the essential distinction between liberty and\nfatality, we contradict all languages and all received notions; we have,\nit is true, the advantage of absolving tyrants, but we degrade heroes.\nThey have, then, fought and died for a chimera!\n\nAll languages contain the words esteem and contempt. To esteem, to\ndespise,--these are universal expressions, certain phenomena, from which\nan impartial analysis can draw the highest notions. Can we despise a\nbeing who, in his acts, should not be free, a being who should not know\nthe good, and should not feel himself obligated to fulfil it? Suppose\nthat the good is not essentially different from the evil, suppose that\nthere is in the world only interest more or less well understood, that\nthere is no real duty, and that man is not essentially a free being,--it\nis impossible to explain rationally the word contempt. It is the same\nwith the word esteem.\n\nEsteem is a fact which, faithfully expressed, contains a complete\nphilosophy as solid as generous. Esteem has two certain characters: 1st,\nIt is a disinterested sentiment in the soul of him who feels it; 2d, It\nis applied only to disinterested acts. We do not esteem at will, and\nbecause it is our interest to esteem. Neither do we esteem an action or\na person because they have been successful. Success, fortunate\ncalculation, may make us envied; it does not bring esteem, which has\nanother price.\n\nEsteem in a certain degree, and under certain circumstances, is\nrespect,--respect, a holy and sacred word which the most subtile or the\nloosest analysis will never degrade to expressing a sentiment that is\nrelated to ourselves, and is applied to actions crowned by fortune.\n\nTake again these two words, these two facts analogous to the first two,\nadmiration and indignation. Esteem and contempt are rather judgments;\nindignation and admiration are sentiments, but sentiments that pertain\nto intelligence and envelop a judgment.[189]\n\nAdmiration is an essentially disinterested sentiment. See whether there\nis any interest in the world that has the power to give you admiration\nfor any thing or any person. If you were interested, you might feign\nadmiration, but you would not feel it. A tyrant with death in his hand,\nmay constrain you to appear to admire, but not to admire in reality.\nEven affection does not determine admiration; whilst a heroic trait,\neven in an enemy, compels you to admire.\n\nThe phenomenon opposed to admiration is indignation. Indignation is no\nmore anger than admiration is desire. Anger is wholly personal.\nIndignation is never directly related to us; it may have birth in the\nmidst of circumstances wherein we are engaged, but the foundation and\nthe dominant character of the phenomenon in itself is to be\ndisinterested. Indignation is in its nature generous. If I am a victim\nof an injustice, I may feel at once anger and indignation, anger against\nhim that injures me, indignation towards him who is unjust to one of his\nfellow-men. We may be indignant towards ourselves; we are indignant\ntowards every thing that wounds the sentiment of justice. Indignation\ncovers a judgment, the judgment that he who commits such or such an\naction, whether against us, or even for us, does an action unworthy,\ncontrary to our dignity, to his own dignity, to human dignity. The\ninjury sustained is not the measure of indignation, as the advantage\nreceived is not that of admiration. We felicitate ourselves on\npossessing or having acquired a useful thing; but we never admire, on\nthat account, either ourselves or the thing that we have just acquired.\nSo we repel the stone that wounds us, we do not feel indignant towards\nit.\n\nAdmiration elevates and ennobles the soul. The generous parts of human\nnature are disengaged and exalted in presence of, and as it were in\ncontact with, the image of the good. This is the reason why admiration\nis already by itself so beneficent, even should it be deceived in its\nobject. Indignation is the result of these same generous parts of the\nsoul, which, wounded by injustice, are highly roused and protest in the\nname of offended human dignity.\n\nLook at men in action, and you will see them imposing upon themselves\ngreat sacrifices in order to conquer the suffrages of their fellows. The\nempire of opinion is immense,--vanity alone does not explain it; it\ndoubtless also pertains to vanity, but it has deeper and better roots.\nWe judge that other men are, like us, sensible to good and evil, that\nthey distinguish between virtue and vice, that they are capable of being\nindignant and admiring, of esteeming and respecting, as well as\ndespising. This power is in us, we have consciousness of it, we know\nthat other men possess it as well as we, and it is this power that\nfrightens us. Opinion is our own consciousness transferred to the\npublic, and there disengaged from all complaisance and armed with an\ninflexible severity. To the remorse in our own hearts, responds the\nshame in that second soul which we have made ourselves, and is called\npublic opinion. We must not be astonished at the sweets of popularity.\nWe are more sure of having done well, when to the testimony of our\nconsciousness we are able to join that of the consciousness of our\nfellow-men. There is only one thing that can sustain us against opinion,\nand even place us above it: it is the firm and sure testimony of our\nconsciousness, because, in fine, the public and the whole human race\nare compelled to judge us according to appearance, whilst we judge\nourselves infallibly and by the most certain of all knowledge.\n\nRidicule is the fear of opinion in small things. The force of ridicule\nis wholly in the supposition that there is a common taste, a common type\nof what is proper, that directs men in their judgments, and even in\ntheir pleasantries, which in their way are also judgments. Without this\nsupposition, ridicule falls of itself, and pleasantry loses its sting.\nBut it is immortal, as well as the distinction between good and evil,\nbetween the beautiful and the ugly, between what is proper and what is\nimproper.\n\nWhen we have not succeeded in any measure undertaken for our interest\nand prosperity, we experience a sentiment of pain that is called regret.\nBut we do not confound regret with that other sentiment that rises in\nthe soul when we are conscious of having done something morally bad.\nThis sentiment is also a pain, but of quite a different nature,--it is\nremorse, repentance. That we have lost in play, for example, is\ndisagreeable to us; but if, in gaining, we have the consciousness of\nhaving deceived our adversary, we experience a very different sentiment.\n\nWe might prolong and vary these examples. We have said enough to be\nentitled to conclude that human language and the sentiments that it\nexpresses are inexplicable, if we do not admit the essential distinction\nbetween good and evil, between virtue and crime, crime founded on\ninterest, virtue founded on disinterestedness.\n\nDisturb this distinction, and you disturb human life and entire society.\nPermit me to take an extreme, tragic, and terrible example. Here is a\nman that has just been judged. He has been condemned to death, and is\nabout to be executed--to be deprived of life. And why? Place yourself in\nthe system that does not admit the essential distinction between good\nand evil, and ponder on what is stupidly atrocious in this act of human\njustice. What has the condemned done? Evidently a thing indifferent in\nitself. For if there is no other outward distinction than that of\npleasure and pain, I defy any one to qualify any human action, whatever\nit may be, as criminal, without the most absurd inconsequence. But this\nthing, indifferent in itself, a certain number of men, called\nlegislators, have declared to be a crime. This purely arbitrary\ndeclaration has found no echo in the heart of this man. He has not been\nable to feel the justice of it, since there is nothing in itself just.\nHe has therefore done, without remorse, what this declaration\narbitrarily interdicted. The court proceeds to prove to him that he has\nnot succeeded, but not that he has done contrary to justice, for there\nis no justice. I maintain that every condemnation, be it to death, or to\nany punishment whatever, imperatively supposes, in order to be any thing\nelse than a repression of violence by violence, the four following\npoints:--1st, That there is an essential distinction between good and\nevil, justice and injustice, and that to this distinction is attached,\nfor every intelligent and free being, the obligation of conforming to\ngood and justice; 2d, That man is an intelligent and free being, capable\nof comprehending this distinction, and the obligation that accompanies\nit, and of adhering to it naturally, independently of all convention,\nand every positive law; capable also of resisting the temptations that\nbear him towards evil and injustice, and of fulfilling the sacred law of\nnatural justice; 3d, That every act contrary to justice deserves to be\nrepressed by force, and even punished in reparation of the fault\ncommitted, and independently too of all law and all convention; 4th,\nThat man naturally recognizes the distinction between the merit and\ndemerit of actions, as he recognizes the distinction between the just\nand the unjust, and knows that every penalty applied to an unjust act is\nitself most strictly just.\n\nSuch are the foundations of that power of judging and punishing which is\nentire society. Society has not made those principles for its own use;\nthey are much anterior to it, they are contemporaneous with thought and\nthe soul, and upon these rests society, with its laws and its\ninstitutions. Laws are legitimate by their relation to these eternal\nlaws. The surest power of institutions resides in the respect that\nthese principles bear with them and extend to every thing that\nparticipates in them. Education develops them, it does not create them.\nThey direct the legislator who makes the law, and the judge who applies\nit. They are present to the accused brought before the tribunal, they\ninspire every just sentence, they give it authority in the soul of the\ncondemned, and in that of the spectator, and they consecrate the\nemployment of force necessary for his execution. Take away a single one\nof these principles, and all human justice is overthrown, no longer is\nthere any thing but a mass of arbitrary conventions which no one in\nconscience is bound to respect, which may be violated without remorse,\nwhich are sustained only by the display of extreme punishments. The\ndecisions of such a justice are not true judgments, but acts of force,\nand civil society is only an arena where men contend with each other\nwithout duties and rights, without any other object than that of\nprocuring for themselves the greatest possible amount of enjoyment, of\nprocuring it by conquest and preserving it by force or cunning, save\nthrowing over all that the cloak of hypocritical laws.\n\nIt is true, such is the aspect under which skepticism makes us consider\nsociety and human justice, driving us through despair to revolt and\ndisorder, and bringing us back through despair again to quite another\nyoke than that of reason and virtue, to that regulated disorder which is\ncalled despotism. The spectacle of human things, viewed coolly, and\nwithout the spirit of system, is, thank God, less sombre. Without doubt,\nsociety and human justice have still many imperfections which time\ndiscovers and corrects; but it may be said, that in general they rest on\ntruth and natural equity. The proof of it is, that society everywhere\nsubsists, and is even developed. Moreover, facts, were they such as the\nmelancholy pen of a Pascal or a Rousseau represent them to be, facts are\nnot all,--before facts is right; and this idea of right alone, if it is\nreal, suffices to overturn an abasing system, and save human dignity.\nNow, is the idea of right a chimera? I again appeal to languages, to\nindividual consciousness, to the human race,--is it not true that fact\nis everywhere distinguished from right, fact which too often, perhaps,\nbut not always, as it is said, is opposed to right; and right that\nsubdues and rules fact, or protests against it? What word is it that\nrestrains most in human societies? Is it not that of right? Look for a\nlanguage that does not contain it. On all sides, society is bristling\nwith rights. There is even a distinction made between natural right and\npositive right, between what is legal and what is equitable. It is\nproclaimed that force should be in the service of right, and not right\nat the mercy of force. The triumphs of force, wherever we perceive them,\neither under our eyes, or by the aid of history in bygone centuries, or\nby favor of universal publicity beyond the ocean, and in foreign\ncontinents, rouse indignation in the disinterested spectator or reader.\nOn the contrary, he who inscribes on his banner the name of right, by\nthat alone interests us; the cause of right, or what we suppose to be\nthe cause of right, is for us the cause of humanity. It is also a fact,\nand an incontestable fact, that in the eyes of man fact is not every\nthing, and that the idea of right is a universal idea, graven in shining\nand ineffaceable characters, if not in the visible world, at least in\nthat of thought and the soul; concerning that is the question; it is\nalso that which in the long run reforms and governs the other.\n\nIndividual consciousness, conceived and transferred to the entire\nspecies, is called common sense. It is common sense that has made, that\nsustains, that develops languages, natural and permanent beliefs,\nsociety and its fundamental institutions. Grammarians have not invented\nlanguages, nor legislators societies, nor philosophers general beliefs.\nAll these things have not been personally done, but by the whole\nworld,--by the genius of humanity.\n\nCommon sense is deposited in its works. All languages, and all human\ninstitutions contain the ideas and the sentiments that we have just\ncalled to mind and described, and especially the distinction between\ngood and evil, between justice and injustice, between free will and\ndesire, between duty and interest, between virtue and happiness, with\nthe profoundly rooted belief that happiness is a recompense due to\nvirtue, and that crime in itself deserves to be punished, and calls for\nthe reparation of a just suffering.\n\nThese things are attested by the words and actions of men. Such are the\nsincere and impartial, but somewhat confused, somewhat gross notions of\ncommon sense.\n\nHere begins the part of philosophy. It has before it two different\nroutes; it can do one of two things: either accept the notions of common\nsense, elucidate them, thereby develop and increase them, and, by\nfaithfully expressing them, fortify the natural beliefs of humanity; or,\npreoccupied with such or such a principle, impose it upon the natural\ndata of common sense, admit those that agree with this principle,\nartificially bend the others to these, or openly deny them; this is what\nis called making a system.\n\nPhilosophic systems are not philosophy; they try to realize the idea of\nit, as civil institutions try to realize that of justice, as the arts\nexpress in their way infinite beauty, as the sciences pursue universal\nscience. Philosophic systems are necessarily very imperfect, otherwise\nthere never would have been two systems in the world. Fortunate are\nthose that go on doing good, that expand in the minds and souls of men,\nwith some innocent errors, the sacred love of the true, the beautiful,\nand the good! But philosophic systems follow their times much more than\nthey direct them; they receive their spirit from the hands of their age.\nTransferred to France towards the close of the regency and under the\nreign of Louis XV., the philosophy of Locke gave birth there to a\ncelebrated school, which for a long time governed and still subsists\namong us, protected by ancient habits, but in radical opposition to our\nnew institutions and our new wants. Sprung from the bosom of tempests,\nnourished in the cradle of a revolution, brought up under the bad\ndiscipline of the genius of war, the nineteenth century cannot recognize\nits image and find its instincts in a philosophy born under the\ninfluence of the voluptuous refinements of Versailles, admirably fitted\nfor the decrepitude of an arbitrary monarchy, but not for the laborious\nlife of a young liberty surrounded with perils. As for us, after having\ncombated the philosophy of sensation in the metaphysics which it\nsubstituted for Cartesianism, and in the deplorable aesthetics, now too\naccredited, under which succumbed our great national art of the\nseventeenth century, we do not hesitate to combat it again in the ethics\nthat were its necessary product, the ethics of interest.\n\nThe exposition and refutation of these pretended ethics will be the\nsubject of the next lecture.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[187] See 2d Series, vol. ii., lect. 11 and 12; 4th Series, vol. ii.,\nlast pages of _Jacqueline Pascal_, and the _Fragments of the Cartesian\nPhilosophy_, p. 469.\n\n[188] 1st Series, vol. iii., lectures 2 and 3, _Condillac_.\n\n[189] See the Theory of Sentiment, part i., lecture 5.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XII.\n\nTHE ETHICS OF INTEREST.[190]\n\n    Exposition of the doctrine of interest.--What there is of truth\n    in this doctrine.--Its defects. 1st. It confounds liberty and\n    desire, and thereby abolishes liberty. 2d. It cannot explain the\n    fundamental distinction between good and evil. 3d. It cannot\n    explain obligation and duty. 4th. Nor right. 5th. Nor the\n    principle of merit and demerit.--Consequences of the ethics of\n    interest: that they cannot admit a providence, and lead to\n    despotism.\n\n\nThe philosophy of sensation, setting out from a single fact, agreeable\nor painful sensation, necessarily arrives in ethics at a single\nprinciple,--interest. The whole of the system may be explained as\nfollows:\n\nMan is sensible to pleasure and pain: he shuns the one and seeks the\nother. That is his first instinct, and this instinct will never abandon\nhim. Pleasure may change so far as its object is concerned, and be\ndiversified in a thousand ways: but whatever form it takes,--physical\npleasure, intellectual pleasure, moral pleasure, it is always pleasure\nthat man pursues.\n\nThe agreeable generalized is the useful; and the greatest possible sum\nof pleasure, whatever it may be, no longer concentrated within such or\nsuch an instant, but distributed over a certain extent of duration, is\nhappiness.[191]\n\nHappiness, like pleasure, is relative to him who experiences it; it is\nessentially personal. Ourselves, and ourselves alone we love, in loving\npleasure and happiness.\n\nInterest is that which prompts us to seek in every thing our pleasure\nand our happiness.\n\nIf happiness is the sole end of life, interest is the sole motive of all\nour actions.\n\nMan is only sensible to his interest, but he understands it well or ill.\nMuch art is necessary in order to be happy. We are not ready to give\nourselves up to all the pleasures that are offered on the highway of\nlife, without examining whether these pleasures do not conceal many a\npain. Present pleasure is not every thing,--it is necessary to take\nthought for the future; it is necessary to know how to renounce joys\nthat may bring regret, and sacrifice pleasure to happiness, that is to\nsay, to pleasure still, but pleasure more enduring and less\nintoxicating. The pleasures of the body are not the only ones,--there\nare other pleasures, those of mind, even those of opinion: the sage\ntempers them by each other.\n\nThe ethics of interest are nothing else than the ethics of perfected\npleasure, substituting happiness for pleasure, the useful for the\nagreeable, prudence for passion. It admits, like the human race, the\nwords good and evil, virtue and vice, merit and demerit, punishment and\nreward, but it explains them in its own way. The good is that which in\nthe eyes of reason is conformed to our true interest; evil is that which\nis contrary to our true interest. Virtue is that wisdom which knows how\nto resist the enticement of passions, discerns what is truly useful, and\nsurely proceeds to happiness. Vice is that aberration of mind and\ncharacter that sacrifices happiness to pleasures without duration or\nfull of dangers. Merit and demerit, punishment and reward, are the\nconsequences of virtue and vice:--for not knowing how to seek happiness\nby the road of wisdom, we are punished by not attaining it. The ethics\nof interest do not pretend to destroy any of the duties consecrated by\npublic opinion; it establishes that all are conformed to our personal\ninterest, and it is thereby that they are duties. To do good to men is\nthe surest means of making them do good to us; and it is also the means\nof acquiring their esteem, their good will, and their sympathy,--always\nagreeable, and often useful. Disinterestedness itself has its\nexplanation. Doubtless there is no disinterestedness in the vulgar sense\nof the word, that is to say, a real sacrifice of self, which is absurd,\nbut there is the sacrifice of present interest to future interest, of\ngross and sensual passion to a nobler and more delicate pleasure.\nSometimes one renders to himself a bad account of the pleasure that he\npursues, and in fault of seeing clearly into his own heart, invents that\nchimera of disinterestedness of which human nature is incapable, which\nit cannot even comprehend.\n\nIt will be conceded that this explanation of the ethics of interest is\nnot overcharged, that it is faithful.\n\nWe go further,--we acknowledge that these ethics are an extreme, but, up\nto a certain point, a legitimate reaction against the excessive rigor of\nstoical ethics, especially ascetic ethics that smother sensibility\ninstead of regulating it, and, in order to save the soul from passions,\ndemands of it a sacrifice of all the passions of nature that resembles a\nsuicide.\n\nMan was not made to be a sublime slave, like Epictetus, employed in\nsupporting bad fortune well without trying to surmount it, nor, like the\nauthor of the _Imitation_, the angelic inhabitant of a cloister, calling\nfor death as a fortunate deliverance, and anticipating it, as far as in\nhim lies, by continual penitence and in mute adoration. The love of\npleasure, even the passions, have a place among the needs of humanity.\nSuppress the passions, and it is true there is no more excess; neither\nis there any mainspring of action,--without winds the vessel no longer\nproceeds, and soon sinks in the deep. Suppose a being that lacks love\nof self, the instinct of preservation, the horror of suffering,\nespecially the horror of death, who has neither the love of pleasure nor\nthe love of happiness, in a word, destitute of all personal\ninterest,--such a being will not long resist the innumerable causes of\ndestruction that surround and besiege him; he will not remain a day.\nNever can a single family, nor the least society be formed or\nmaintained. He who has made man has not confided the care of his work to\nvirtue alone, to devotedness and sublime charity,--he has willed that\nthe duration and development of the race and human society should be\nplaced upon simpler and surer foundations; and this is the reason why he\nhas given to man the love of self, the instinct of preservation, the\ntaste of pleasure and happiness, the passions that animate life, hope\nand fear, love, ambition, personal interest, in fine, a powerful,\npermanent, universal motive that urges us on to continually ameliorate\nour condition upon the earth.\n\nSo we do not contest with the ethics of interest the reality of their\nprinciple,--we are convinced that this principle exists, that it has a\nright to be. The only question that we raise is the following:--The\nprinciple of interest is true in itself, but are there not other\nprinciples quite as true, quite as real? Man seeks pleasure and\nhappiness, but are there not in him other needs, other sentiments as\npowerful, as vital? The first and universal principle of human life is\nthe need of the individual to preserve himself; but would this principle\nsuffice to support human life and society entire and as we behold it?\n\nJust as the existence of the body does not hinder that of the soul, and\nreciprocally, so in the ample bosom of humanity and the profound designs\nof divine Providence, the principles that differ most do not exclude\neach other.\n\nThe philosophy of sensation continually appeals to experience. We also\ninvoke experience; and it is experience that has given us certain facts\nmentioned in the preceding lecture, which constitute the primary notions\nof common sense. We admit the facts that serve as a foundation for the\nsystem of interest, and reject the system. The facts are true in their\nproper bearing,--the system is false in attributing to them an\nexcessive, limitless bearing; and it is false again in denying other\nfacts quite as incontestable. A sound philosophy holds for its primary\nlaw to collect all real facts and respect the real differences that also\ndistinguish them. What it pursues before all, is not unity, but\ntruth.[192] Now the ethics of interest mutilate truth,--they choose\namong facts those that agree with them, and reject all the others, which\nare precisely the very facts of morality. Exclusive and intolerant, they\ndeny what they do not explain,--they form a whole well united, which, as\nan artificial work, may have its merit, but is broken to pieces as soon\nas it comes to encounter human nature with its grand parts.\n\nWe are about to show that the ethics of interest, an offspring of the\nphilosophy of sensation, are in contradiction with a certain number of\nphenomena, which human nature presents to whomsoever interrogates it\nwithout the spirit of system.\n\n1st. We have established, not in the name of a system, but in the name\nof the most common experience, that entire humanity believes in the\nexistence, in each of its members, of a certain force, a certain power\nthat is called liberty. Because it believes in liberty in the\nindividual, it desires that this liberty should be respected and\nprotected in society. Liberty is a fact that the consciousness of each\nof us attests to him, which, moreover, is enveloped in all the moral\nphenomena that we have signalized, in moral approbation and\ndisapprobation, in esteem and contempt, in admiration and indignation,\nin merit and demerit, in punishment and reward. We ask the philosophy of\nsensation and the ethics of interest what they do with this universal\nphenomena which all the beliefs of humanity suppose, on which entire\nlife, private and public, turns.\n\nEvery system of ethics, whatever it may be, which contains, I do not say\na rule, but a simple advice, implicitly admits liberty. When the ethics\nof interest advise a man to sacrifice the agreeable to the useful, it\napparently admits that man is free to follow or not to follow this\nadvice. But in philosophy it does not suffice to admit a fact, there\nmust be the right to admit it. Now, most moralists of interest deny the\nliberty of man, and no one has the right to admit it in a system that\nderives the entire human soul, all its faculties as well as all its\nideas, from sensation alone and its developments.\n\nWhen an agreeable sensation, after having charmed our soul, quits it and\nvanishes, the soul experiences a sort of suffering, a want, a need,--it\nis agitated, disquieted. This disquietude, at first vague and\nindecisive, is soon determined; it is borne towards the object that has\npleased us, whose absence makes us suffer. This movement of the soul,\nmore or less vivid, is desire.\n\nIs there in desire any of the characters of liberty? What is it called\nto be free? Each one knows that he is free, when he knows that he is\nmaster of his action, that he can begin it, arrest it, or continue it as\nhe pleases. We are free, when before acting we have taken the resolution\nto act, knowing well that we are able to take the opposite resolution. A\nfree act is that of which, by the infallible testimony of my\nconsciousness, I know that I am the cause, for which, therefore, I\nregard myself as responsible. God, the world, the body, can produce in\nme a thousand movements; these movements may seem to the eyes of an\nexternal observer to be voluntary acts; but any error is impossible to\nconsciousness,--it distinguishes every movement not voluntary, whatever\nit may be, from a voluntary act.\n\nTrue activity is voluntary and free activity. Desire is just the\nopposite. Desire, carried to its culmination, is passion; but language,\nas well as consciousness, says that man is passive in passion; and the\nmore vivid passion is, the more imperative are its movements, the\nfarther is it from the type of true activity in which the soul possesses\nand governs itself.\n\nI am no more free in desire than in the sensation that precedes and\ndetermines it. If an agreeable object is presented to me, am I able not\nto be agreeably moved? If it is a painful object, am I able not to be\npainfully moved? And so, when this agreeable sensation has disappeared,\nif memory and imagination remind me of it, is it in my power not to\nsuffer from no longer experiencing it, is it in my power not to feel the\nneed of experiencing it again, and to desire more or less ardently the\nobject that alone can appease the disquietude and suffering of my soul?\n\nObserve well what takes place within you in desire; you recognize in it\na blind emotion, that, without any deliberation on your part, and\nwithout the intervention of your will, rises or falls, increases or\ndiminishes. One does not desire, and cease to desire, according to his\nwill.\n\nWill often combats desire, as it often also yields to it; it is not,\ntherefore, desire. We do not reproach the sensations that objects\nproduce, nor even the desires that these sensations engender; we do\nreproach ourselves for the consent of the will to these desires, and the\nacts that follow, for these acts are in our power.\n\nDesire is so little will, that it often abolishes it, and leads man into\nacts that he does not impute to himself, for they are not voluntary. It\nis even the refuge of many of the accused; they lay their faults to the\nviolence of desire and passion, which have not left them masters of\nthemselves.\n\nIf desire were the basis of will, the stronger the desire the freer we\nshould be. Evidently the contrary is true. As the violence of desire\nincreases, the dominion of man over himself decreases; and as desire is\nweakened and passion extinguished, man repossesses himself.\n\nI do not say that we have no influence over our desires. That two facts\ndiffer, it does not follow that they must be without relation to each\nother. By removing certain objects, or even by merely diverting our\nthoughts away from the pleasure that they can give us, we are able, to a\ncertain extent, to turn aside and elude the sensible effects of these\nobjects, and escape the desire which they might excite in us. One may\nalso, by surrounding himself with certain objects, in some sort manage\nhimself, and produce in himself sensations and desires which for that\nare not more voluntary than would be the impression made upon us by a\nstone with which we should strike ourselves. By yielding to these\ndesires, we lend them a new force, and we moderate them by a skilful\nresistance. One even has some power over the organs of the body, and, by\napplying to them an appropriate regimen, he goes so far as to modify\ntheir functions. All this proves that there is in us a power different\nfrom the senses and desire, which, without disposing of them, sometimes\nexercises over them an indirect authority.\n\nWill also directs intelligence, although it is not intelligence. To will\nand to know are two things essentially different. We do not judge as we\nwill, but according to the necessary laws of the judgment and the\nunderstanding. The knowledge of truth is not a resolution of the will.\nIt is not the will that declares, for example, that body is extended,\nthat it is in space, that every phenomenon has a cause, etc. Yet the\nwill has much power over intelligence. It is freely and voluntarily that\nwe work, that we give attention, for a longer or a shorter time, more or\nless intense, to certain things; consequently, it is the will that\ndevelops and increases intelligence, as it might let it languish and\nbecome extinguished. It must, then, be avowed that there is in us a\nsupreme power that presides over all our faculties, over intelligence as\nwell as sensibility, which is distinguished from them, and is mingled\nwith them, governs them, or leaves them to their natural development,\nmaking appear, even in its absence, the character that belongs to it,\nsince the man that is deprived of it avows that he is no longer master\nof himself, that he is not himself, so true is it that human personality\nresides particularly in that prominent power that is called the\nwill.[193]\n\nSingular destiny of that power, so often misconceived, and yet so\nmanifest! Strange confounding of will and desire, wherein the most\nopposite schools meet each other, Spinoza, Malebranche, and Condillac,\nthe philosophy of the seventeenth century, and that of the eighteenth!\nOne, a despiser of humanity, by an extreme and ill-understood piety,\nstrips man of his own activity, in order to concentrate it in God; the\nother transfers it to nature. In both man is a mere instrument, nothing\nelse than a mode of God or a product of nature. When desire is once\ntaken as the type of human activity, there is an end of all liberty and\npersonality. A philosophy, less systematic, by conforming itself to\nfacts, carries through common sense to better results. By distinguishing\nbetween the passive phenomenon of desire and the power of freely\ndetermining self, it restores the true activity that characterizes human\npersonality. The will is the infallible sign and the peculiar power of a\nreal and effective being; for how could he who should be only a mode of\nanother being find in his own borrowed being a power capable of willing\nand producing acts of which he should feel himself the cause, and the\nresponsible cause?\n\nIf the philosophy of sensation, by setting out from passive phenomena,\ncannot explain true activity, voluntary and free activity, we might\nregard it as demonstrated that this same philosophy cannot give a true\ndoctrine of morality, for all ethics suppose liberty. In order to impose\nrules of action on a being, it is necessary that this being should be\ncapable of fulfilling or violating them. What makes the good and evil of\nan action is not the action itself, but the intention that has\ndetermined it. Before every equitable tribunal, the crime is in the\nintention, and to the intention the punishment is attached. Where, then,\nliberty is wanting, where there is nothing but desire and passion, not\neven a shade of morality subsists. But we do not wish to reject, by the\nprevious question, the ethics of sensation. We proceed to examine in\nitself the principle that they lay down, and to show that from this\nprinciple can be deduced neither the idea of good and evil, nor any of\nthe moral ideas that are attached to it.\n\n2d. According to the philosophy of sensation, the good is nothing else\nthan the useful. By substituting the useful for the agreeable, without\nchanging the principle, there has been contrived a convenient refuge\nagainst many difficulties; for it will always be possible to distinguish\ninterest well understood from apparent and vulgar interest. But even\nunder this somewhat refined form, the doctrine that we are examining\nnone the less destroys the distinction between good and evil.\n\nIf utility is the sole measure of the goodness of actions, I must\nconsider only one thing when an action is proposed to me to do,--what\nadvantages can result from it to me?\n\nSo I make the supposition that a friend, whose innocence is known to me,\nfalls into disfavor with a king, or opinion--a mistress more jealous and\nimperious than all kings,--and that there is danger in remaining\nfaithful to him and advantage in separating myself from him; if, on one\nside, the danger is certain, and on the other the advantage is\ninfallible, it is clear that I must either abandon my unfortunate\nfriend, or renounce the principle of interest--of interest well\nunderstood.\n\nBut it will be said to me:--think on the uncertainty of human things;\nremember that misfortune may also overtake you, and do not abandon your\nfriend, through fear that you may one day be abandoned.\n\nI respond that, at first, it is the future that is uncertain, but the\npresent is certain; if I can reap great and unmistakable advantages from\nan action, it would be absurd to sacrifice them to the chance of a\npossible misfortune. Besides, according to my supposition, all the\nchances of the future are in my favor,--this is the hypothesis that we\nhave made.\n\nDo not speak to me of public opinion. If personal interest is the only\nrational principle, the public reason must be with me. If it were\nagainst me, it would be an objection against the truth of the principle.\nFor how could a true principle, rationally applied, be revolting to the\npublic conscience?\n\nNeither oppose to me remorse. What remorse can I feel for having\nfollowed the truth, if the principle of interest is in fact moral truth?\nOn the contrary, I should feel satisfaction on account of it.\n\nThe rewards and punishments of another life remain. But how are we to\nbelieve in another life, in a system that confines human consciousness\nwithin the limits of transformed sensation?\n\nI have, then, no motive to preserve fidelity to a friend. And mankind\nnevertheless imposes on me this fidelity; and, if I am wanting in it, I\nam dishonored.\n\nIf happiness is the highest aim, good and evil are not in the act\nitself, but in its happy or unhappy results.\n\nFontenelle seeing a man led to punishment, said, \"There is a man who has\ncalculated badly.\" Whence it follows that, if this man, in doing what he\ndid, could have escaped punishment, he would have calculated well, and\nhis conduct would have been laudable. The action then becomes good or\nill according to the issue. Every act is of itself indifferent, and it\nis lot that qualifies it.\n\nIf the honest is only the useful, the genius of calculation is the\nhighest wisdom; it is even virtue!\n\nBut this genius is not within the reach of everybody. It supposes, with\nlong experience of life, a sure insight, capable of discerning all the\nconsequences of actions, a head strong and large enough to embrace and\nweigh their different chances. The young man, the ignorant, the poor in\nmind, are not able to distinguish between the good and the evil, the\nhonest and the dishonest. And even in supposing the most consummate\nprudence, what place remains, in the profound obscurity of human things,\nfor chance and the unforeseen! In truth, in the system of interest well\nunderstood, there must be great knowledge in order to be an honest man.\nMuch less is requisite for ordinary virtue, whose motto has always been:\nDo what you ought, let come what may.[194] But this principle is\nprecisely the opposite of the principle of interest. It is necessary to\nchoose between them. If interest is the only principle avowed by reason,\ndisinterestedness is a lie and madness, and literally an\nincomprehensible monster in well-ordered human nature.\n\nNevertheless humanity speaks of disinterestedness, and thereby it does\nnot simply mean that wise selfishness that deprives itself of a pleasure\nfor a surer, more delicate, or more durable pleasure. No one has ever\nbelieved that it was the nature or the degree of the pleasure sought\nthat constituted disinterestedness. This name is awarded only to the\nsacrifice of an interest, whatever it may be, to a motive free from all\ninterest. And the human race, not only thus understands\ndisinterestedness, but it believes that such a disinterestedness exists;\nit believes the human soul capable of it. It admires the devotedness of\nRegulus, because it does not see what interest could have impelled that\ngreat man to go far from his country to seek, among cruel enemies, a\nfrightful death, when he might have lived tranquil and even honored in\nthe midst of his family and his fellow-citizens.\n\nBut glory, it will be said, the passion of glory inspired Regulus; it\nis, then, interest still that explains the apparent heroism of the old\nRoman. Admit, then, that this manner of understanding his interest is\neven ridiculously absurd, and that heroes are very unskilful and\ninconsistent egoists. Instead of erecting statues, with the deceived\nhuman race, to Regulus, d'Assas, and St. Vincent de Paul, true\nphilosophy must send them to the Petites-Maisons, that a good regime may\ncure them of generosity, charity, and greatness of soul, and restore\nthem to the sane state, the normal state, the state in which man only\nthinks of himself, and knows no other law, no other principle of action\nthan his interest.\n\n3d. If there is no liberty, if there is no essential distinction between\ngood and evil, if there is only interest well or ill understood, there\ncan be no obligation.\n\nIt is at first very evident that obligation supposes a being capable of\nfulfilling it, that duty is applied only to a free being. Then the\nnature of obligation is such, that if we are delinquent in fulfilling\nit, we feel ourselves culpable, whilst if, instead of understanding our\ninterest well, we have understood it ill, there follows only a single\nthing, that we are unfortunate. Are, then, being culpable and being\nunfortunate the same thing? These are two ideas radically different. You\nmay advise me to understand my interest well, under penalty of falling\ninto misfortune; you cannot command me to see clearly in regard to my\ninterest under penalty of crime.\n\nImprudence has never been considered a crime. When it is morally\naccused, it is much less as being wrong than as attesting vices of the\nsoul, lightness, presumption, feebleness.\n\nAs we have said, our true interest is often most difficult of\ndiscernment. Obligation is always immediate and manifest. In vain\npassion and desire combat it; in vain the reasoning that passion trains\nfor its attendance, like a docile slave, tries to smother it under a\nmass of sophisms: the instinct of conscience, a cry of the soul, an\nintuition of reason, different from reasoning, is sufficient to repel\nall sophisms, and make obligation appear.\n\nHowever pressing may be the solicitations of interest, we may always\nenter into contest and arrangement with it. There are a thousand ways of\nbeing happy. You assure me that, by conducting myself in such a manner,\nI shall arrive at fortune. Yes, but I love repose more than fortune, and\nwith happiness alone in view, activity is not better than sloth. Nothing\nis more difficult than to advise any one in regard to his interest,\nnothing is easier than to advise him in regard to honor.\n\nAfter all, in practice, the useful is resolved into the agreeable, that\nis to say, into pleasure. Now, in regard to pleasure, every thing\ndepends on humor and temperament. When there is neither good nor evil in\nitself, there are no pleasures more or less noble, more or less\nelevated; there are only pleasures that are more or less agreeable to\nus. Every thing depends on the nature of each one. This is the reason\nwhy interest is so capricious. Each one understands it as it pleases\nhim, because each one is the judge of what pleases him. One is more\nmoved by pleasures of the senses; another by pleasures of mind and\nheart. To the latter, the passion of glory takes the place of pleasures\nof the senses; to the former, the pleasure of dominion appears much\nsuperior to that of glory. Each man has his own passions, each man,\nthen, has his own way of understanding his interest; and even my\ninterest of to-day is not my interest of to-morrow. The revolutions of\nhealth, age, and events greatly modify our tastes, our humors. We are\nourselves perpetually changing, and with us change our desires and our\ninterests.\n\nIt is not so with obligation. It exists not, or it is absolute. The idea\nof obligation implies that of something inflexible. That alone is a duty\nfrom which one cannot be loosed under any pretext, and is, by the same\ntitle, a duty for all. There is one thing before which all the caprices\nof my mind, of my imagination, of my sensibility must disappear,--the\nidea of the good with the obligation which it involves. To this supreme\ncommand I can oppose neither my humor, nor circumstances, nor even\ndifficulties. This law admits of no delay, no accommodation, no excuse.\nWhen it speaks, be it to you or me, in whatever place, under whatever\ncircumstance, in whatever disposition we may be, it only remains for us\nto obey. We are able not to obey, for we are free; but every\ndisobedience to the law appears to ourselves a fault more or less grave,\na bad use of our liberty. And the violated law has its immediate penal\nsanction in the remorse that it inflicts upon us.\n\nThe only penalty that is brought upon us by the counsels of prudence,\ncomprehended more or less well, followed more or less well, is, in the\nfinal account, more or less happiness or unhappiness. Now I pray you, am\nI obligated to be happy? Can obligation depend upon happiness, that is\nto say, on a thing that it is equally impossible for me to always seek\nand obtain at will? If I am obligated, it must be in my power to fulfil\nthe obligation imposed. But my liberty has but little power over my\nhappiness, which depends upon a thousand circumstances independent of\nme, whilst it is all in all in regard to virtue, for virtue is only an\nemployment of liberty. Moreover, happiness is in itself, morally,\nneither better nor worse than unhappiness. If I understand my interest\nbadly, I am punished for it by regret, not by remorse. Unhappiness can\noverwhelm me; it does not disgrace me, if it is not the consequence of\nsome vice of the soul.\n\nNot that I would renew stoicism and say to suffering, Thou art no evil.\nNo, I earnestly advise man to escape suffering as much as he can, to\nunderstand well his interest, to shun unhappiness and seek happiness. I\nonly wish to establish that happiness is one thing and virtue another,\nthat man necessarily aspires after happiness, but that he is only\nobligated to virtue, and that consequently, by the side of and above\ninterest well understood is a moral law, that is to say, as\nconsciousness attests, and the whole human race avows, an imperative\nprescription of which one cannot voluntarily divest himself without\ncrime and shame.\n\n4th. If interest does not account for the idea of duty, by a necessary\nconsequence, it does not more account for that of right; for duty and\nright reciprocally suppose each other.\n\nMight and right must not be confounded. A being might have immense\npower, that of the whirlwind, of the thunderbolt, that of one of the\nforces of nature; if liberty is not joined to it, it is only a fearful\nand terrible thing, it is not a person,--it may inspire, in the highest\ndegree, fear and hope,--it has no right to respect; one has no duties\ntowards it.\n\nDuty and right are brothers. Their common mother is liberty.\n\nThey are born at the same time, are developed and perish together. It\nmight even be said that duty and right make one, and are the same being,\nhaving a face on two different sides. What, in fact, is my right to your\nrespect, except the duty you have to respect me, because I am a free\nbeing? But you are yourself a free being, and the foundation of my right\nand your duty becomes for you the foundation of an equal right, and in\nme of an equal duty.[195]\n\nI say equal with the exactest equality, for liberty, and liberty alone,\nis equal to itself. All the rest is diverse; by all the rest men differ;\nfor resemblance implies difference. As there are no two leaves that are\nthe same, there are no two men absolutely the same in body, senses,\nmind, heart. But it is impossible to conceive of difference between the\nfree will of one man and the free will of another. I am free or I am not\nfree. If I am free, I am free as much as you, and you are as much as I.\nThere is not in this more or less. One is a moral person as much as, and\nby the same title as another moral person. Volition, which is the seat\nof liberty, is the same in all men. It may have in its service different\ninstruments, powers different, and consequently unequal, whether\nmaterial or spiritual. But the powers of which will disposes are not\nit,[196] for it does not dispose of them in an absolute manner. The only\nfree power is that of will, but that is essentially so. If will\nrecognizes laws, these laws are not motives, springs that move it,--they\nare ideal laws, that of justice, for example; will recognizes this law,\nand at the same time it has the consciousness of the ability to fulfil\nit or to break it, doing the one only with the consciousness of the\nability to do the other, and reciprocally. Therein is the type of\nliberty, and at the same time of true equality; every thing else is\nfalse. It is not true that men have the right to be equally rich,\nbeautiful, robust, to enjoy equally, in a word, to be equally fortunate;\nfor they originally and necessarily differ in all those points of their\nnature that correspond to pleasure, to riches, to good fortune. God has\nmade us with powers unequal in regard to all these things. Here equality\nis against nature and eternal order; for diversity and difference, as\nwell as harmony, are the law of creation. To dream of such an equality\nis a strange mistake, a deplorable error. False equality is the idol of\nill-formed minds and hearts, of disquiet and ambitious egoism. True\nequality accepts without shame all the exterior inequalities that God\nhas made, and that it is not in the power of man not only to efface, but\neven to modify. Noble liberty has nothing to settle with the furies of\npride and envy. As it does not aspire to domination, so, and by virtue\nof the same principle, it does not more aspire to a chimerical equality\nof mind, of beauty, of fortune, of enjoyments. Moreover, such an\nequality, were it possible, would be of little value in its own eyes; it\nasks something much greater than pleasure, fortune, rank, to wit,\nrespect. Respect, an equal respect of the sacred right of being free in\nevery thing that constitutes the person, that person which is truly man;\nthis is what liberty and with it true equality claim, or rather\nimperatively demand. Respect must not be confounded with homage. I\nrender homage to genius and beauty. I respect humanity alone, and by\nthat I mean all free natures, for every thing that is not free in man is\nforeign to him. Man is therefore the equal of man precisely in every\nthing that makes him man, and the reign of true equality exacts on the\npart of all only the same respect for what each one possesses equally in\nhimself, both young and old, both ugly and beautiful, both rich and\npoor, both the man of genius and the mediocre man, both woman and man,\nwhatever has consciousness of being a person and not a thing. The equal\nrespect of common liberty is the principle at once of duty and right; it\nis the virtue of each and the security of all; by an admirable\nagreement, it is dignity among men, and accordingly peace on earth. Such\nis the great and holy image of liberty and equality, which has made the\nhearts of our fathers beat, and the hearts of all virtuous and\nenlightened men, of all true friends of humanity. Such is the ideal that\ntrue philosophy pursues across the ages, from the generous dreams of\nPlato to the solid conceptions of Montesquieu, from the first free\nlegislation of the smallest city of Greece to our declaration of rights,\nand the immortal works of the constituent Assembly.\n\nThe philosophy of sensation starts with a principle that condemns it to\nconsequences as disastrous as those of the principle of liberty are\nbeneficent. By confounding will with desire, it justifies passion, which\nis desire in all its force--passion, which is precisely the opposite of\nliberty. It accordingly unchains all the desires and all the passions,\nit gives full rein to imagination and the heart; it renders each man\nmuch less happy on account of what he possesses, than miserable on\naccount of what he lacks; it makes him regard his neighbors with an eye\nof envy and contempt, and continually pushes society towards anarchy or\ntyranny. Whither, in fact, would you have interest lead in the train of\ndesire? My desire is certainly to be the most fortunate possible. My\ninterest is to seek to be so by all means, whatever they may be, under\nthe single reserve that they be not contrary to their end. If I am born\nthe first of men, the richest, the most beautiful, the most powerful,\netc., I shall do every thing to preserve the advantages I have received.\nIf fate has given me birth in a rank little elevated, with a moderate\nfortune, limited talents, and immense desires--for it cannot too often\nbe repeated, desire of every kind aspires after the infinite--I shall do\nevery thing to rise above the crowd, in order to increase my power, my\nfortune, my joys. Unfortunate on account of my position in this world,\nin order to change it, I dream of, and call for revolutions, it is true,\nwithout enthusiasm and political fanaticism, for interest alone does not\nproduce these noble follies, but under the sharp goad of vanity and\nambition. Thereby, then, I arrive at fortune and power; interest, then,\nclaims security, as before it invoked agitation. The need of security\nbrings me back from anarchy to the need of order, provided order be to\nmy profit; and I become a tyrant, if I can, or the gilt servant of a\ntyrant. Against anarchy and tyranny, those two scourges of liberty, the\nonly rampart is the universal sentiment of right, founded on the firm\ndistinction between good and evil, the just and the useful, the honest\nand the agreeable, virtue and interest, will and desire, sensation and\nconscience.\n\n5. Let us again signalize one of the necessary consequences of the\ndoctrine of interest.\n\nA free being, in possession of the sacred rule of justice, cannot\nviolate it, knowing that he should and may follow it, without\nimmediately recognizing that he merits punishment. The idea of\npunishment is not an artificial idea, borrowed from the profound\ncalculations of legislators; legislations rest upon the natural idea of\npunishment. This idea, corresponding to that of liberty and justice, is\nnecessarily wanting where the former two do not exist. Does he who\nobeys, and fatally obeys his desires, by the attraction of pleasure and\nhappiness, supposing that, without any other motive than that of\ninterest, he does an act conformed, externally at least, to the rule of\njustice, merit any thing by doing such an action? Not the least in the\nworld. Conscience attributes to him no merit, and no one owes him thanks\nor recompense, for he only thinks of himself. On the other hand, if he\ninjures others in wishing to serve himself, he does not feel culpable,\nand no one can say to him that he has merited punishment. A free being\nwho wills what he does, who has a law, and can conform to it, or break\nit, is alone responsible for his acts. But what responsibility can there\nbe in the absence of liberty and a recognized and accepted rule of\njustice? The man of sensation and desire tends to his own good under the\nlaw of interest, as the stone is drawn towards the centre of the earth\nunder the law of gravitation, as the needle points to the pole. Man may\nerr in the pursuit of his interest. In this case, what is to be done!\nAs it seems, to put him again in the right way. Instead of that, he is\npunished. And for what, I pray you? For being deceived. But error merits\nadvice, not punishment. Punishment has, in the system of interest, no\nmore the sanction of moral sense than recompense. Punishment is only an\nact of personal defence on the part of society; it is an example which\nit gives, in order to inspire a salutary terror. These motives are\nexcellent, if it be added that this punishment is just in itself, that\nit is merited, and that it is legitimately applied to the action\ncommitted. Omit that, and the other motives lose their authority, and\nthere remains only an exercise of force, destitute of all morality. Then\nthe culprit is not punished; he is smitten, or even put to death, as the\nanimal that injures instead of serving is put to death without scruple.\nThe condemned does not bow his head to the wholesome reparation due to\njustice, but to the weight of irons or the stroke of the axe. The\nchastisement is not a legitimate satisfaction, an expiation which,\ncomprehended by the culprit, reconciles him in his own eyes with the\norder that he has violated. It is a storm that he could not escape; it\nis the thunder-bolt that falls upon him; it is a force more powerful\nthan his own, which compasses and overthrows him. The appearance of\npublic chastisements acts, without doubt, upon the imagination of\npeoples; but it does not enlighten their reason and speak to their\nconscience; it intimidates them, perhaps; it does not soften them. So\nrecompense is only an additional attraction, added to all the others.\nAs, properly speaking, there is no merit, recompense is simply an\nadvantage that one desires, that is striven for and obtained without\nattaching to it any moral idea. Thus is degraded and effaced the great\ninstitution, natural and divine, of the recompense of virtue by\nhappiness, and of reparation for a fault by proportionate\nsuffering.[197]\n\nWe may then draw the conclusion, without fear of its being contradicted\neither by analysis or dialectics, that the doctrine of interest is\nincompatible with the most certain facts, with the strongest convictions\nof humanity. Let us add, that this doctrine is not less incompatible\nwith the hope of another world, where the principle of justice will be\nbetter realized than in this.\n\nI will not seek whether the sensualistic metaphysics can arrive at an\ninfinite being, author of the universe and man. I am well persuaded that\nit cannot. For every proof of the existence of God supposes in the human\nmind principles of which sensation renders no account,--for example, the\nuniversal and necessary principle of causality, without which I should\nhave no need of seeking, no power of finding the cause of whatever\nexists.[198] All that I wish to establish here is, that in the system of\ninterest, man, not possessing any truly moral attribute, has no right to\nput in God that of which he finds no trace either in the world or in\nhimself. The God of the ethics of interest must be analogous to the man\nof these same ethics. How could they attribute to him the justice and\nthe love--I mean disinterested love--of which they cannot have the least\nidea? The God that they can admit loves himself, and loves only himself.\nAnd reciprocally, not considering him as the supreme principle of\ncharity and justice, we can neither love nor honor him, and the only\nworship that we can render him, is that of the fear with which his\nomnipotence inspires us.\n\nWhat holy hope could we then found upon such a God? And we who have some\ntime grovelled upon this earth, thinking only of ourselves, seeking only\npleasure and a pitiable happiness, what sufferings nobly borne for\njustice, what generous efforts to maintain and develop the dignity of\nour soul, what virtuous affections for other souls, can we offer to the\nFather of humanity as titles to his merciful justice? The principle that\nmost persuades the human race of the immortality of the soul is still\nthe necessary principle of merit and demerit, which, not finding here\nbelow its exact satisfaction, and yet under the necessity of finding it,\ninspires us to call upon God for its satisfaction, who has not put in\nour hearts the law of justice to violate it himself in regard to\nus.[199] Now, we have just seen that the ethics of interest destroy the\nprinciple of merit and demerit, both in this world, and above all, in\nthe world to come. Accordingly, there is no regard beyond this\nworld,--no recourse to an all-powerful judge, wholly just and wholly\ngood, against the sports of fortune and the imperfections of human\njustice. Every thing is completed for man between birth and death, in\nspite of the instincts and presentiments of his heart, and even the\nprinciples of his reason.\n\nThe disciples of Helvetius will, perhaps, claim the glory of having\nfreed humanity from the fears and hopes that turn it aside from its true\ninterests. It is a service which mankind will appreciate. But since they\nconfine our whole destiny to this world, let us demand of them what lot\nso worthy of envy they have in reserve for us here, what social order\nthey charge with our good fortune, what politics, in fine, are derived\nfrom their ethics.[200]\n\nYou already know. We have demonstrated that the philosophy of sensation\nknows neither true liberty nor true right. What, in fact, is will for\nthis philosophy? It is desire. What, then, is right? The power of\nsatisfying desires. On this score, man is not free, and right is might.\n\nOnce more, nothing pertains less to man than desire. Desire comes of\nneed which man does not make, which he submits to. He submits in the\nsame way to desire. To reduce will to desire is to annihilate liberty;\nit is worse still, it is to put it where it is not; it is to create a\nmendacious liberty that becomes an instrument of crime and misery. To\ncall man to such a liberty is to open his soul to infinite desires,\nwhich it is impossible for him to satisfy. Desire is in its nature\nwithout limits, and our power is very limited. If we were alone in this\nworld, we should even then be much troubled to satisfy our desires. But\nwe press against each other with immense desires, and limited, diverse,\nand unequal powers. When right is the force that is in each of us,\nequality of rights is a chimera,--all rights are unequal, since all\nforces are unequal and can never cease to be so. It is, therefore,\nnecessary to renounce equality as well as liberty; or if one invents a\nfalse equality as well as a false liberty, he puts humanity in pursuit\nof a phantom.\n\nSuch are the social elements that the ethics of interest give to\npolitics. From such elements I defy all the politics of the school of\nsensation and interest to produce a single day of liberty and happiness\nfor the human race.\n\nWhen right is might, the natural state of men among themselves, is war.\nAll desiring the same things, they are all necessarily enemies; and in\nthis war, woe to the feeble, to the feeble in body and the feeble in\nmind! The stronger are the masters by perfect right. Since right is\nmight, the feeble may complain of nature that has not made them strong,\nand not complain of the strong man who uses his right in oppressing\nthem. The feeble then call deception to their aid; and it is in this\nstrife between cunning and force that humanity combats with itself.\n\nYes, if there are only needs, desires, passions, interests, with\ndifferent forces pitted against each other, war, a war sometimes\ndeclared and bloody, sometimes silent and full of meannesses, is in the\nnature of things. No social art can change this nature,--it may be more\nor less covered; it always reappears, overcomes and rends the veil with\nwhich a mendacious legislation envelops it. Dream, then, of liberty for\nbeings that are not free, of equality between beings that are\nessentially different, of respect for rights where there is no right,\nand of the establishment of justice on an indestructible foundation of\ninimical passions! From such a foundation can spring only endless\ntroubles or oppression, or rather all these evils together in a\nnecessary circle.\n\nThis fatal circle can be broken only by the aid of principles which all\nthe metamorphoses of sensation do not engender, and for which interest\ncannot account, which none the less subsist to the honor and for the\nsafety of humanity. These principles are those that time has little by\nlittle drawn from Christianity in order to give them for the guidance of\nmodern societies. You will find them written in the glorious declaration\nof rights that forever broke the monarchy of Louis XV., and prepared the\nconstitutional monarchy. They are in the charter that governs us, in our\nlaws, in our institutions, in our manners, in the air that we breathe.\nThey serve at once as foundations for our society and the new philosophy\nnecessary to a new order.[201]\n\nPerhaps you will ask me how, in the eighteenth century, so many\ndistinguished, so many honest souls could let themselves be seduced by a\nsystem that must have been revolting to all their sentiments. I will\nanswer by reminding you that the eighteenth century was an immoderate\nreaction against the faults into which had sadly fallen the old age of a\ngreat century and a great king, that is to say, the revocation of the\nedict of Nantes, the persecution of all free and elevated philosophy, a\nnarrow and suspicious devotion, and intolerance, with its usual\ncompanion, hypocrisy. These excesses must have produced opposite\nexcesses. Mme. de Maintenon opened the route to Mme. de Pompadour. After\nthe mode of devotion comes that of license; it takes every thing by\nstorm. It descends from the court to the nobility, to the clergy even,\nand accordingly to the people. It carried away the best spirits, even\ngenius itself. It put a foreign philosophy in the place of the national\nphilosophy, culpable, persecuted as it had been, for not being\nirreconcilable with Christianity. A disciple of Locke, whom Locke had\ndiscarded, Condillac, took the place of Descartes, as the author of\n_Candide_ and _la Pucelle_ had taken the place of Corneille and Bossuet,\nas Boucher and Vanloo had taken the place of Lesueur and Poussin. The\nethics of pleasure and interest were the necessary ethics of that epoch.\nIt must not be supposed from this that all souls were corrupt. Men, says\nM. Royer-Collard, are neither as good nor as bad as their\nprinciples[202]. No stoic has been as austere as stoicism, no epicurean\nas enervated as epicureanism. Human weakness practically baffles\nvirtuous theories; in return, thank God, the instinct of the heart\ncondemns to inconsistency the honest man who errs in bad theories.\nAccordingly, in the eighteenth century, the most generous and most\ndisinterested sentiments often shone forth under the reign of the\nphilosophy of sensation and the ethics of interest. But it is none the\nless true, that the philosophy of sensation is false, and the ethics of\ninterest destructive of all morality.\n\nI should perhaps make an apology for so long a lecture; but it was\nnecessary to combat seriously a doctrine of morality radically\nincompatible with that which I would make penetrate your minds and your\nsouls. It was especially necessary for me to strip the ethics of\ninterest of that false appearance of liberty which they usurp in vain. I\nmaintain, on the contrary, that they are the ethics of slaves, and send\nthem back to the time when they ruled. Now, the principle of interest\nbeing destroyed, I propose to examine other principles also, less false\nwithout doubt, but still defective, exclusive, and incomplete, upon\nwhich celebrated systems have pretended to found ethics. I will\nsuccessively combat these principles taken in themselves, and will then\nbring them together, reduced to their just value, in a theory large\nenough to contain all the true elements of morality, in order to express\nfaithfully common sense and entire human consciousness.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[190] On the ethics of interest, to this lecture may be joined those of\nvol. iii. of the 1st Series, on the doctrine of Helvetius and St.\nLambert.\n\n[191] The word _bonheur_, which has no exact English equivalent, which\nM. Cousin uses in his ethical discussions in the precise sense of the\ndefinition given above, we have sometimes translated happiness,\nsometimes good fortune, sometimes prosperity, sometimes fortune. When\none has in mind the thing, he will not be troubled by the more or less\nexact word that indicates it:--all language, at best, is only symbolic;\nit bears the same relation to thought as the forms of nature do to the\nlaws that produce and govern them. The true reader never mistakes the\nsymbol for the thing symbolized, the shadow for the reality.\n\n[192] On the danger of seeking unity before all, see in the 3d Series,\n_Fragments Philosophiques_, vol. iv., our _Examination of the Lectures\nof M. Laromeguiere_.\n\n[193] On the difference between desire, intelligence, and will, see the\n_Examination_, already cited, _of the Lectures of M. Laromeguiere_.\n\n[194] 1st Series, vol. iii., p. 193: \"In the doctrine of interest, every\nman seeks the useful, but he is not sure of attaining it. He may, by\ndint of prudence and profound combinations, increase in his favor the\nchances of success; it is impossible that there should not remain some\nchances against him; he never pursues, then, any thing but a probable\nresult. On the contrary, in the doctrine of duty, I am always sure of\nobtaining the last end that I propose to myself, moral good. I risk my\nlife to save my fellow; if, through mischance, I miss this end, there is\nanother which does not, which cannot, escape me,--I have aimed at the\ngood, I have been successful. Moral good, being especially in the\nvirtuous intention, is always in my power and within my reach; as to the\nmaterial good that can result from the action itself, Providence alone\ndisposes of it. Let us felicitate ourselves that Providence has placed\nour moral destiny in our own hands, by making it depend upon the good\nand not upon the useful. The will, in order to act in the sad trials of\nlife, has need of being sustained by certainty. Who would be disposed to\ngive his blood for an uncertain end? Success is a complicated problem,\nthat, in order to be solved, exacts all the power of the calculus of\nprobabilities. What labor and what uncertainties does such a calculus\ninvolve! Doubt is a very sad preparation for action. But when one\nproposes before all to do his duty, he acts without any perplexity. Do\nwhat you ought, let come what may, is a motto that does not deceive.\nWith such an end, we are sure of never pursuing it in vain.\"\n\n[195] See the development of the idea of right, lectures 14 and 15.\n\n[196] See lecture 14, Theory of liberty.\n\n[197] See the preceding lecture, and lectures 14 and 15.\n\n[198] 1st part, lecture 1.\n\n[199] See lecture 16.\n\n[200] On the politics that are derived from the philosophy of sensation,\nsee the four lectures that we devoted to the exposition and refutation\nof the doctrine of Hobbes, vol. iii. of the 1st Series.\n\n[201] These words sufficiently mark the generous epoch in which we\npronounce them, without wounding the authority and the applauses of a\nnoble youth, when M. de Chateaubriand covered the Restoration with his\nown glory, when M. Royer-Collard presided over public instruction, M.\nPasquier, M. Laine, M. de Serre over justice and the interior, Marshal\nSt. Cyr over war, and the Duke de Richelieu over foreign affairs, when\nthe Duke de Broglie prepared the true legislation of the press, and M.\nDecazes, the author of the wise and courageous ordinance of September 5,\n1816, was at the head of the councils of the crown; when finally, Louis\nXVIII. separated himself, like Henry IV., from his oldest servants in\norder to be the king of the whole nation.\n\n[202] _Oeuvres de Reid_, vol. iv., p. 297: \"Men are neither as good\nnor as bad as their principles; and, as there is no skeptic in the\nstreet, so I am sure there is no disinterested spectator of human\nactions who is not compelled to discern them as just and unjust.\nSkepticism has no light that does not pale before the splendor of that\nvivid internal light that lightens the objects of moral perception, as\nthe light of day lightens the objects of sensible perception.\"\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XIII.\n\nOTHER DEFECTIVE PRINCIPLES.\n\n    The ethics of sentiment.--The ethics founded on the principle of\n    the interest of the greatest number.--The ethics founded on the\n    will of God alone.--The ethics founded on the punishments and\n    rewards of another life.\n\n\nAgainst the ethics of interest, all generous souls take refuge in the\nethics of sentiment. The following are some of the facts on which these\nethics are supported, and by which they seem to be authorized.\n\nWhen we have done a good action, is it not certain that we experience a\npleasure of a certain nature, which is to us the reward of this action?\nThis pleasure does not come from the senses--it has neither its\nprinciple nor its measure in an impression made upon our organs. Neither\nis it confounded with the joy of satisfied personal interest,--we are\nnot moved in the same manner, in thinking that we have succeeded, and in\nthinking that we have been honest. The pleasure attached to the\ntestimony of a good conscience is pure; other pleasures are much\nalloyed. It is durable, whilst the others quickly pass away. Finally, it\nis always within our reach. Even in the midst of misfortune, man bears\nin himself a permanent source of exquisite joys, for he always has the\npower of doing right, whilst success, dependent upon a thousand\ncircumstances of which we are not the masters, can give only an\noccasional and precarious pleasure.\n\nAs virtue has its joys, so crime has its pains. The suffering that\nfollows a fault is the just recompense for the pleasure that we have\nfound in it, and is often born with it. It poisons culpable joys and the\nsuccesses that are not legitimate. It wounds, rends, bites, thus to\nspeak, and thereby receives its name.[203] To be man, is sufficient to\nunderstand this suffering,--it is remorse.\n\nHere are other facts equally incontestable:\n\nI perceive a man whose face bears the marks of distress and misery.\nThere is nothing in this that reaches and injures me; nevertheless,\nwithout reflection or calculation, the sight alone of this suffering man\nmakes me suffer. This sentiment is pity, compassion, whose general\nprinciple is sympathy.\n\nThe sadness of one of my fellow-men inspires me with sadness, and a glad\nface disposes me to joy:\n\n    Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent\n    Humani vultus.\n\nThe joy of others has an echo in our souls, and their sufferings, even\ntheir physical sufferings, communicate themselves to us almost\nphysically. Not as exaggerated as it has been supposed was that\nexpression of Mme. de Sevigne to her sick daughter: I have a pain in\nyour breast.\n\nOur soul feels the need of putting itself in unison, and, as it were, in\nequilibrium with that of others. Hence those electric movements, thus to\nspeak, that run through large assemblies. One receives the\ncounter-stroke of the sentiments of his neighbors,--admiration and\nenthusiasm are contagious, as well as pleasantry and ridicule. Hence\nagain the sentiment with which the author of a virtuous action inspires\nus. We feel a pleasure analogous to that which he feels himself. But are\nwe witnesses of a bad action? our souls refuse to participate in the\nsentiments that animate the culpable man,--they have for him a true\naversion, what is called antipathy.\n\nWe do not forget a third order of facts that pertain to the preceding,\nbut differ from them.\n\nWe not only sympathize with the author of a virtuous action, we wish\nhim well, we voluntarily do good to him, in a certain degree we love\nhim. This love goes as far as enthusiasm when it has for its object a\nsublime act and a hero. This is the principle of the homages, of the\nhonors that humanity renders to great men. And this sentiment does not\npertain solely to others,--we apply it to ourselves by a sort of return\nthat is not egoism. Yes, it may be said that we love ourselves when we\nhave done well. The sentiment that others owe us, if they are just, we\naccord to ourselves,--that sentiment is benevolence.\n\nOn the contrary, do we witness a bad action? We experience for the\nauthor of this action antipathy; moreover we wish him evil,--we desire\nthat he should suffer for the fault that he has committed, and in\nproportion to the gravity of the fault. For this reason great culprits\nare odious to us, if they do not compensate for their crimes by deep\nremorse, or by great virtues mingled with their crimes. This sentiment\nis not malevolence. Malevolence is a personal and interested sentiment,\nwhich makes us wish evil to others, because they are an obstacle to us.\nHatred does not ask whether such a man is virtuous or vicious, but\nwhether he obstructs us, surpasses us, or injures us. The sentiment of\nwhich we are speaking is a sort of hatred, but a generous hatred that\nneither springs from interest nor envy, but from a shocked conscience.\nIt is turned against us when we do evil, as well as against others.\n\nMoral satisfaction is not sympathy, neither is sympathy, to speak\nrigorously, benevolence. But these three phenomena have the common\ncharacter of all being sentiments. They give birth to three different\nand analogous systems of ethics.\n\nAccording to certain philosophers, a good action is that which is\nfollowed by moral satisfaction, a bad action is that which is followed\nby remorse. The good or bad character of an action is at first attested\nto us by the sentiment that accompanies it. Then, this sentiment, with\nits moral signification, we attribute to other men; for we judge that\nthey do as we do, that in presence of the same actions they feel the\nsame sentiments.\n\nOther philosophers have assigned the same part to sympathy or\nbenevolence.\n\nFor these the sign and measure of the good is in the sentiments of\naffection and benevolence which we feel for a moral agent. Does a man\nexcite in us by such or such an action a more or less vivid disposition\nto wish him well, a desire to see and even make him happy? we may say\nthat this action is good. If, by a series of actions of the same kind,\nhe makes this disposition and this desire permanent in us, we judge that\nhe is a virtuous man. Does he excite an opposite desire, an opposite\ndisposition? he appears to us a dishonest man.\n\nFor the former, the good is that with which we naturally sympathize. Has\na man devoted himself to death through love for his country? this heroic\naction awakens in us, in a certain degree, the same sentiments that\ninspired him. Bad passions are not thus echoed in our hearts, unless\nthey find us already very corrupt, and have interest for their\naccomplice; but even then there is something in us that revolts against\nthese passions, and in the most depraved soul subsists a concealed\nsentiment of sympathy for the good, and antipathy for the evil.\n\nThese different systems may be reduced to a single one, which is called\nthe ethics of sentiment.\n\nIt is not difficult to show the difference which separates these ethics\nfrom those of egoism. Egoism is the exclusive love of self, is the\nthoughtful and permanent search for our own pleasure and our own\nwell-being.\n\nWhat is there more opposed to interest than benevolence? In benevolence,\nfar from wishing others well by reason of our interest, we will\nvoluntarily risk something, we will make some sacrifice in order to\nserve an honest man who has coined our heart. If even in this sacrifice\nthe soul feels a pleasure, this pleasure is only the involuntary\naccompaniment of sentiment, it is not the end proposed,--we feel it\nwithout having sought it. It is, indeed, permitted the soul to taste\nthis pleasure, for it is nature herself that attaches it to\nbenevolence.\n\nSympathy, like benevolence, is related to another than ourselves,--our\ninterest is not its starting-point. The soul is so constituted that it\nis capable of suffering on account of the sufferings of an enemy. That a\nman does a noble action, although it opposes our interests, awakens in\nus a certain sympathy for that action and its author.\n\nThe attempt has been made to explain the compassion with which the\nsuffering of one of our fellow-men inspires us by the fear that we have\nof feeling it in our turn. But the unhappiness for which we feel\ncompassion, is often so far from us and threatens us so little, that it\nwould be absurd to fear it. Doubtless, that sympathy may have existence\nit is necessary to experience suffering,--_non ignara mali_. For how do\nyou suppose that I can be sensible to evils of which I form to myself no\nidea? But that is only the condition of sympathy. It is not at all\nnecessary to conclude that it is only a remembrance of our own ills or\nthe fear of ills to come.\n\nNo recurrence to ourselves can account for sympathy. In the first place,\nit is involuntary, like antipathy. Then it cannot be supposed that we\nsympathize with any one in order to win his benevolence; for he who is\nits object often knows not what we feel. What benevolence are we\nseeking, when we sympathize with men that we have never seen, that we\nnever shall see, with men that are no more?\n\nEgoism admits all pleasures; it repels none; it may, if it is\nenlightened, if it has become delicate and refined, recommend, as more\ndurable and less alloyed, the pleasures of sentiment. The ethics of\nsentiment would then be confounded with those of egoism, if they should\nprescribe obedience to sentiment for the pleasure that we find in it.\nThere would, then, be no disinterestedness in it,--the individual would\nbe the centre and sole end of all his actions. But such is not the case.\nThe charm of the pleasures of conscience comes from the very fact that\nwe are forgetful of self in the action that has produced them. So if\nnature has joined to sympathy and benevolence a true enjoyment, it is\non condition that these sentiments remain as they are, pure and\ndisinterested; you must only think of the object of your sympathy and\nbenevolence in order that benevolence and sympathy may receive their\nrecompense in the pleasure which they give. Otherwise, this pleasure no\nlonger has its reason for existence, and it is wanting as soon as it\nsought for itself. No metamorphose of interest can produce a pleasure\nattached to disinterestedness alone.\n\nThe ethics of egoism are only a perpetual falsehood,--they preserve the\nnames consecrated by ethics, but they abolish ethics themselves; they\ndeceive humanity by speaking to humanity its own language, concealing\nunder this borrowed language a radical opposition to all the instincts,\nto all the ideas that form the treasure of mankind. On the contrary, if\nsentiment is not the good itself, it is its faithful companion and\nuseful auxiliary. It is as it were the sign of the presence of the good,\nand renders the accomplishment of it more easy. We always have sophisms\nat our disposal, in order to persuade ourselves that our true interest\nis to satisfy present passion; but sophism has less influence over the\nmind when the mind is in some sort defended by the heart. Nothing is,\ntherefore, more salutary than to excite and preserve in the soul those\nnoble sentiments that lift us above the slavery of personal interest.\nThe habit of participating in the sentiments of virtuous men disposes us\nto act like them. To cultivate in ourselves benevolence and sympathy is\nto fertilize the source of charity and love, is to nourish and develop\nthe germ of generosity and devotion.\n\nIt is seen that we render sincere homage to the ethics of sentiment.\nThese ethics are true,--only they are not sufficient for themselves;\nthey need a principle which authorizes them.\n\nI act well, and I feel on account of it an internal satisfaction: I do\nevil, and feel remorse on account of it. These two sentiments do not\nqualify the act that I have just done, since they follow it. Would it be\npossible for us to feel any internal satisfaction for having acted well\nif we did not judge that we had acted well?--any remorse for having\ndone evil, if we did not judge that we had done evil? At the same time\nthat we do such or such an act, a natural and instinctive judgment\ncharacterizes it, and it is in consequence of this judgment that our\nsensibility is moved. Sentiment is not this primitive and immediate\njudgment; far from forming the basis of the idea of the good, it\nsupposes it. It is manifestly a vicious circle to derive the knowledge\nof the good from that which would not exist without this knowledge.[204]\n\nSo is it not because we find a good action that we sympathize with it?\nIs it not because the dispositions of a man appear to us conformed to\nthe idea of justice, that we are inclined to participate in them with\nhim? Moreover, if sympathy were the true criterion of the good, every\nthing for which we feel sympathy would be good. But sympathy is not only\nrelated to things in their nature moral, we also sympathize with the\ngrief and the joy that have nothing to do with virtue and crime. We even\nsympathize with physical sufferings. Moral sympathy is only a case of\ngeneral sympathy. It must even be acknowledged that sympathy is not\nalways in accordance with right. We sometimes sympathize with certain\nsentiments that we condemn, because, without being in themselves\nbad--which would prevent all sympathy--they give an inclination to the\ngreatest faults; for example, love, which comes so near to irregularity,\nand emulation, that so quickly leads to ambition.\n\nBenevolence also is not always determined by the good alone. And, again,\nwhen it is applied to a virtuous man, it supposes a judgment by which we\npronounce that this man is virtuous. It is not because we wish the\nauthor of an action well that we judge that this action is good; it is\nbecause we judge that this action is good that we wish its author well.\nThis is not all. In the sentiment of benevolence is enveloped a new\njudgment which is not in sympathy. This judgment is the following: the\nauthor of a good action deserves to be happy, as the author of a bad\naction deserves to suffer in order to expiate it. This is the reason why\nwe desire happiness for the one and reparatory suffering for the other.\nBenevolence is little else than the sensible form of this judgment.\n\nAll these sentiments, therefore, suppose an anterior and superior\njudgment. Everywhere and always the same vicious circle. From the fact\nthat the sentiments which we have just described have a moral character,\nit is concluded that they constitute the idea of the good, whilst it is\nthe idea of the good that communicates to them the character that we\nperceive in them.\n\nAnother difficulty is, that sentiments pertain to sensibility, and\nborrow from it something of its relative and changing nature. It is,\nthen, very necessary that all men should be made to enjoy with the same\ndelicacy the pleasures of the heart. There are gross natures and natures\nrefined. If your desires are impetuous and violent, will not the idea of\nthe pleasures of virtue be in you much more easily overcome by the force\nof passion than if nature had given you a tranquil temperament? The\nstate of the atmosphere, health, sickness, calm or rouse our moral\nsensibility. Solitude, by delivering man up to himself, leaves to\nremorse all its energy, the presence of death redoubles it; but the\nworld, noise, force of example, habit, without power to smother it, in\nsome sort stun it. The spirit has a little season of rest. We are not\nalways in the vein of enthusiasm. Courage itself has its intermissions.\nWe know the celebrated expression: He was one day brave. Humor has its\nvicissitudes that influence our most intimate sentiments. The purest,\nthe most ideal sentiment still pertains on some side to organization.\nThe inspiration of the poet, the passion of the lover, the enthusiasm of\nthe martyr, have their languors and shortcomings that often depend on\nvery pitiable material causes. On those perpetual fluctuations of\nsentiment, is it possible to ground a legislation equal for all?\n\nSympathy and benevolence do not escape the conditions of all the\nphenomena of sensibility. We do not all possess in the same degree the\npower of feeling what others experience. Those who have suffered most\nbest comprehend suffering, and consequently feel for it the most lively\ncompassion. With mere imagination one also represents to himself better\nand feels more what passes in the souls of his fellow-man. One feels\nmore sympathy for physical pleasures and pains, another for pleasures\nand pains of soul; and each of these sympathies has in each of us its\ndegrees and variations. They not only differ, they often oppose each\nother. Sympathy for talent weakens the indignation that outraged virtue\nproduces. We overlook many things in Voltaire, in Rousseau, in Mirabeau,\nand we excuse them on account of the corruption of their century. The\nsympathy caused by the pain of a condemned person renders less lively\nthe just antipathy excited by his crime. Thus turns and wavers at each\nstep that sympathy which some would set up as the supreme arbiter of the\ngood. Benevolence does not vary less. We have souls naturally more or\nless affectionate, more or less animated. And, then, like sympathy,\nbenevolence receives the counter-stroke of different passions that are\nmingled with it. Friendship, for example, often renders us, in spite of\nourselves, more benevolent than justice would wish.\n\nIs it not a rule of prudence not to listen to, without always disdaining\nthem, the inspirations--often capricious--of the heart? Governed by\nreason, sentiment becomes to it an admirable support. But, delivered up\nto itself, in a little while it degenerates into passion, and passion is\nfantastic, excessive, unjust; it gives to the soul spring and energy,\nbut generally troubles and perverts it. It is even not very far from\negoism, and it usually terminates in that, wholly generous as it is or\nseems to be in the beginning. Unless we always keep in sight the good\nand the inflexible obligation that is attached to it, unless we always\nkeep in sight this fixed and immutable point, the soul knows not where\nto betake itself on that moving ground that is called sensibility; it\nfloats from sentiment to passion, from generosity to selfishness,\nascending one day to the pitch of enthusiasm, and the next day\ndescending to all the miseries of personality.\n\nThus the ethics of sentiment, although superior to those of interest,\nare not less insufficient: 1st. They give as the foundation of the idea\nof the good what is founded on this same idea; 2d. The rule that they\npropose is too mobile to be universally obligatory.[205]\n\nThere is another system of which I will also say, as of the preceding,\nthat it is not false, but incomplete and insufficient.\n\nThe partisans of the ethics of utility and happiness have tried to save\ntheir principle by generalizing it. According to them, the good can be\nnothing but happiness; but egoism is wrong in understanding by that the\nhappiness of the individual; we must understand by it the general\nhappiness.\n\nLet us establish, in the first place, that the new principle is entirely\nopposed to that of personal interest, for, according to circumstances,\nit may demand, not only a passing sacrifice, but an irreparable\nsacrifice, that of life. Now, the wisest calculations of personal\ninterest cannot go thus far.\n\nAnd, notwithstanding, this principle is far from containing true ethics\nand the whole of ethics.\n\nThe principle of general interest leans towards disinterestedness, and\nthis is certainly much; but disinterestedness is the condition of\nvirtue, not virtue itself. We may commit an injustice with the most\nentire disinterestedness. From the fact that an action does not profit\nhim who does it, it does not follow that it may not be in itself very\nunjust, in seeking general interest before all, we escape, it is true,\nthat vice of soul which is called selfishness, but we may fall into a\nthousand iniquities. Or, indeed, it must be felt, that general interest\nis always conformed to justice. But these two ideas are not adequate to\neach other. If they very often go together, they are sometimes also\nseparated. Themistocles proposed to the Athenians to burn the fleet of\nthe allies that was in the port of Athens, and thus to secure to\nthemselves the supremacy. The project is useful, says Aristides, but it\nis unjust, and on account of this simple speech, the Athenians renounce\nan advantage that must be purchased by an injustice. Observe that\nThemistocles had no particular interest in that; he thought only of the\ninterest of his country. But, had he hazarded or given his life in order\nto engage the Athenians in such an act, he would only have been\nconsecrating--what has often been seen--an admirable devotion to a\ncourse in itself immoral.\n\nTo this it is replied, that if, in the example cited, justice and\ninterest exclude each other, it is because the interest was not\nsufficiently general; and the celebrated maxim is arrived at, that one\nmust sacrifice himself to his family, his family to the city, the city\nto country, country to humanity, that, in fine, the good is the interest\nof the greatest number.[206]\n\nWhen you have gone thus far, you have not yet attained even the idea of\njustice. The interest of humanity, like that of the individual, may\naccord in fact with justice, for in that there is certainly no\nincompatibility, but the two things are none the more identical, so that\nwe cannot say with exactness that the interest of humanity is the\nfoundation of justice. A single case, even a single hypothesis, in which\nthe interest of humanity should not accord with the good, is sufficient\nto enable us to conclude that one is not essentially the other.\n\nWe go farther: if it is the interest of humanity that constitutes and\nmeasures justice, that only is unjust which this interest declares to be\nso. But you are not able to affirm absolutely, that, in any\ncircumstance, the interest of humanity will not demand such or such an\naction; and if it demands it, by virtue of your principle, it will be\nnecessary to do it, whatever it may be, and to do it inasmuch as it is\njust.\n\nYou order me to sacrifice particular interest to general interest. But\nin the name of what do you order me to do this? Is it in the name of\ninterest? If interest, as such, must touch me, evidently my interest\nmust also touch me, and I do not see why I should sacrifice it to that\nof others.\n\nThe supreme end of human life, you say, is happiness. I hence conclude\nvery reasonably, that the supreme end of my life is my happiness.\n\nIn order to ask of me the sacrifice of my happiness, it must be called\nfor by some other principle than happiness itself.\n\nConsider to what perplexity this famous principle of the greatest good\nof the greatest number condemns me. I have already much difficulty in\ndiscerning my true interest in the obscurity of the future; by\nsubstituting for the infallible voice of justice the uncertain\ncalculations of personal interest, you have not rendered action easy for\nme;[207] but it becomes impossible, if it is necessary to seek, before\nacting, what is the interest not only of myself, but of my family, not\nonly of my family, but of my country, not only of my country, but of\nhumanity. What! must I embrace the entire world in my foresight? What!\nis such the price of virtue? You impose upon me a knowledge that God\nalone possesses. Am I in his counsels so as to adjust my actions\naccording to his decrees? The philosophy of history and the wisest\ndiplomacy are not, then, sufficient for conducting ourselves well.\nImagine, therefore, that there is no mathematical science of human life.\nChance and liberty confound the profoundest calculations, overturn the\nbest-established fortunes, relieve the most desperate miseries, mingle\ngood fortune and bad, confound all foresight.\n\nAnd would you establish ethics on a foundation so mobile? How much place\nyou leave for sophism in that complaisant and enigmatical law of general\ninterest![208] It will not be very difficult always to find some remote\nreason of general interest, which will excuse us from being faithful in\nthe present moment to our friends, when they shall be in misfortune. A\nman in adversity addresses himself to my generosity. But could I not\nemploy my money in a way more useful to humanity? Will not the country\nhave need of it to-morrow? Let us virtuously keep it for the country\nthen. Moreover, even where the interest of all seems evident, there\nstill remains some chance of error; it is, therefore, better to\nwithhold. It will always be wisdom to withhold. Yes, when it is\nnecessary, in order to do well, to be sure of serving the greatest\ninterest of the greatest number, none but the rash and senseless will\ndare to act. The principle of general interest will produce, I admit,\ngreat devotedness, but it will also produce great crimes. Is it not in\nthe name of this principle that fanatics of every kind, fanatics in\nreligion, fanatics in liberty, fanatics in philosophy, taking it upon\nthemselves to understand the eternal interest of humanity, have engaged\nin abominable acts, mingled often with a sublime disinterestedness?\n\nAnother error of this system is that it confounds the good itself with\none of its applications. If the good is the greatest interest of the\ngreatest number, the consequence is clear, that there are only public\nand social ethics, and no private ethics; there is only a single class\nof duties, duties towards others, and there are no duties towards\nourselves. But this is retrenching precisely those of our duties that\nmost surely guarantee the exercise of all the rest.[209] The most\nconstant relations that I sustain are with that being which is myself.\nI am my own most habitual society. I bear in myself, as Plato[210] has\nwell said, a whole world of ideas, sentiments, desires, passions,\nemotions, which claim a legislation. This necessary legislation is\nsuppressed.\n\nLet us also say a word on a system that, under sublime appearances,\nconceals a vicious principle.\n\nThere are persons who believe that they are magnifying God, by placing\nin his will alone the foundation of the moral law, and the sovereign\nmotive of humanity in the punishments and rewards that it has pleased\nhim to attach to the respect and violation of his will.\n\nLet us understand what we are about in a matter of such delicacy.\n\nIt is certain, and we shall establish it for the good,[211] as we have\ndone for the true and the beautiful,[212] it is certain that, from\nexplanations to explanations, we come to be convinced that God is\ndefinitively the supreme principle of ethics, so that it may be very\ntruly said, that the good is the expression of his will, since his will\nis itself the expression of the eternal and absolute justice that\nresides in him. God wills, without doubt, that we should act according\nto the law of justice that he has put in our understanding and our\nheart; but it is not at all necessary to conclude that he has\narbitrarily instituted this law. Far from that, justice is in the will\nof God only because it has its roots in his intelligence and wisdom,\nthat is to say, in his most intimate nature and essence.\n\nWhile making, then, every reservation in regard to what is true in the\nsystem that founds ethics on the will of God, we must show what there is\nin this system, as it is presented to us, false, arbitrary, and\nincompatible with ethics themselves.[213]\n\nIn the first place, it does not pertain to the will, whatever it may\nbe, to institute the good, any more than it belongs to it to institute\nthe true and the beautiful. I have no idea of the will of God except by\nmy own, to be sure with the differences that separate what is finite\nfrom what is infinite. Now, I cannot by my will found the least truth.\nIs it because my will is limited? No; were it armed with infinite power,\nit would, in this respect, be equally impotent. Such is the nature of my\nwill that, in doing a thing, it is conscious of the power to do the\nopposite; and that is not an accidental character of the will, it is its\nfundamental character; if, then, it is supposed that truth, or that\nfirst part of it which is called justice, has been established as it is\nby an act of volition, human or Divine, it must be acknowledged that\nanother act might have established it otherwise, and made what is now\njust unjust, and what is unjust just. But such mobility is contrary to\nthe nature of justice and truth. In fact, moral truths are as absolute\nas metaphysical truths. God cannot make effects exist without a cause,\nphenomena without a substance; neither can he make it evil to respect\nhis word, to love truth, to repress one's passions. The principles of\nethics are immutable axioms like those of geometry. Of moral laws\nespecially must be said what Montesquieu said of all laws in\ngeneral,--they are necessary relations that are derived from the nature\nof things.\n\nLet us suppose that the good and the just are derived from the divine\nwill; on the divine will obligation will also rest. But can any will\nwhatever be the foundation of obligation? The divine will is the will\nof an omnipotent being, and I am a feeble being. This relation of a\nfeeble being to an omnipotent being, does not contain in itself any\nmoral idea. One may be forced to obey the stronger, but he is not\nobligated to do it. The sovereign orders of the will of God, if his will\ncould for a moment be separated from his other attributes, would not\ncontain the least ray of justice; and, consequently, there would not\ndescend into my soul the least shade of obligation.\n\nOne will exclaim,--It is not the arbitrary will of God that makes the\nfoundation of obligation and justice; it is his just will. Very well.\nEvery thing changes then. It is not the pure will of God that obligates\nus, it is the motive itself that determines his will, that is to say,\nthe justice passed into his will. The distinction between the just and\nthe unjust is not then the work of his will.\n\nOne of two things. Either we found ethics on the will of God alone, and\nthen the distinction between good and evil, just and unjust, is\ngratuitous, and moral obligation does not exist; or you give authority\nto the will of God by justice, which, in your hypothesis, must have\nreceived from the will of God its authority, which is a _petitio\nprincipii_.\n\nAnother _petitio principii_ still more evident. In the first place, you\nare compelled, in order legitimately to draw justice from the will of\nGod, to suppose that this will is just, or I defy any one to show that\nthis will alone can ever form the basis of justice. Moreover, evidently\nyou cannot comprehend what a just will of God is, if you do not already\npossess the idea of justice. This idea, then, does not come from that of\nthe will of God.\n\nOn the one hand, you may have, and you do have, the idea of justice,\nwithout understanding the will of God; on the other, you cannot conceive\nthe justice of the divine will, without having conceived justice\nelsewhere.\n\nAre not these reasons sufficient, I pray you, to conclude that the sole\nwill of God is not for us the principle of the idea of the good?\n\nAnd now, behold the natural consummation of the ethical system that we\nare examining:--the just and the unjust are what it has pleased God to\ndeclare such, by attaching to them the rewards and punishments of\nanother life. The divine will manifests itself here only by an arbitrary\norder; it adds to this order promises and threats.\n\nBut to what human faculty are addressed the promise and threat of the\nchastisements and the rewards of another life? To the same one that in\nthis life fears pain and seeks pleasure, shuns unhappiness and desires\nhappiness, that is to say, to sensibility animated by imagination, that\nis to say, again, to what is most changing in each of us and most\ndifferent in the human species. The joys and sufferings of another life\nexcite in us the two most vivid but most mobile passions, hope and fear.\nEvery thing influences our fears and hopes,--aye, health, the passing\ncloud, a ray of the sun, a cup of coffee, a thousand causes of this\nkind. I have known men, even philosophers, who on certain days hoped\nmore, and other days less. And such a basis some would give to ethics!\nThen it is doing nothing else than proposing for human conduct an\ninterested motive. The calculation which I obey is purer, if you will;\nthe happiness that one makes me hope for is greater; but I see in that\nno justice that obligates me, no virtue and no vice in me, who know or\ndo not know how to make this calculation, not having a head as strong as\nthat of Pascal,[214] who yield to or resist those fears and hopes\naccording to the deposition of my sensibility and my imagination, over\nwhich I have no power. Finally, the pains and pleasures of the future\nlife are instituted on the ground of punishments and rewards. Now, none\nbut actions in themselves good or bad can be rewarded and punished. If\nalready there is in itself no good, no law that in conscience we are\nobligated to follow, there is neither merit nor demerit; recompense is\nnot then recompense, nor penalty penalty, since they are such only on\nthe condition of being the complement and the sanction of the idea of\nthe good. Where this idea does not pre-exist, there remain, instead of\nrecompense and penalty, only the attraction of pleasure and the fear of\nsuffering, added to a prescription deprived in itself of morality. In\nthat we come back to the punishments of earth invented for the purpose\nof frightening popular imagination, and supported solely on the decrees\nof legislators, on an abstraction of good and evil, of justice and\ninjustice, of merit and demerit. It is the worst human justice that is\nfound thus transported into heaven. We shall see that the human soul has\nfoundation somewhat solider.[215]\n\nThese different systems, false or incomplete, having been rejected, we\narrive at the doctrine that is to our eyes perfect truth, because it\nadmits only certain facts, neglects none, and maintains for all of them\ntheir character and rank.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[203] _Mordre_--to bite, is the main root of _remords_--remorse.\n\n[204] See 1st part, lecture 5, _On Mysticism_, and 2d part, lecture 6,\n_On the Sentiment of the Beautiful_. See, also, 1st Series, vol. iv.,\ndetailed refutation of the Theories of Hutcheson and Smith.\n\n[205] We do not grow weary of citing M. Royer-Collard. He has marked the\ndefects of the ethics of sentiment in a lively and powerful passage,\nfrom which we borrow some traits. _Oeuvres de Reid_, vol. iii., p.\n410, 411: \"The perception of the moral qualities of human actions is\naccompanied by an emotion of the soul that is called _sentiment_.\nSentiment is a support of nature that invites us to good by the\nattraction of the noblest joys of which man is capable, and turns us\nfrom evil by the contempt, the aversion, the horror with which it\ninspires us. It is a fact that by the contemplation of a beautiful\naction or a noble character, at the same time that we perceive these\nqualities of the action and the character (perception, which is a\njudgment), we feel for the person a love mingled with respect, and\nsometimes an admiration that is full of tenderness. A bad action, a\nloose and perfidious character, excite a contrary perception and\nsentiment. The internal approbation of conscience and remorse are\nsentiments attached to the perception of the moral qualities of our own\nactions.... I do not weaken the part of sentiment; yet it is not true\nthat ethics are wholly in sentiment; if we maintain this, we annihilate\nmoral distinctions.... Let ethics be wholly in sentiment, and nothing is\nin itself good, nothing is in itself evil; good and evil are relative;\nthe qualities of human actions are precisely such as each one feels them\nto be. Change sentiment, and you change every thing; the same action is\nat once good, indifferent, and bad, according to the affection of the\nspectator. Silence sentiment, and actions are only physical phenomena;\nobligation is resolved into inclinations, virtue into pleasure, honesty\ninto utility. Such are the ethics of Epicurus: _Dii meliora piis_!\"\n\n[206] In this formula is recognized the system of Bentham, who, for some\ntime, had numerous partisans in England, and even in France.\n\n[207] See lecture 12.\n\n[208] 1st Series, vol. iv., p. 174: \"If the good is that alone which\nmust be the most useful to the greatest number, where can the good be\nfound, and who can discern it? In order to know whether such an action,\nwhich I propose to myself to do, is good or bad, I must be sure, in\nspite of its visible and direct utility in the present moment, that it\nwill not become injurious in a future that I do not yet know. I must\nseek whether, useful to mine and those that surround me, it will not\nhave counter-strokes disastrous to the human race, of which I must think\nbefore all. It is important that I should know whether the money that I\nam tempted to give this unfortunate who needs it, could not be otherwise\nmore usefully employed, in fact, the rule is here the greatest good of\nthe greatest number. In order to follow it, what calculations are\nimposed on me? In the obscurity of the future, in the uncertainty of the\nsomewhat remote consequences of every action, the surest way is to do\nnothing that is not related to myself, and the last result of a prudence\nso refined is indifference and egoism. Supposing you have received a\ndeposit from an opulent neighbor, who is old and sick, a sum of which he\nhas no need, and without which your numerous family runs the risk of\ndying with famine. He calls on you for this sum,--what will you do? The\ngreatest number is on your side, and the greatest utility also; for this\nsum is insignificant for your rich neighbor, whilst it will save your\nfamily from misery, and perhaps from death. Father of a family, I should\nlike much to know in the name of what principle you would hesitate to\nretain the sum which is necessary to you? Intrepid reasoner, placed in\nthe alternative of killing this sick old man, or of letting your wife\nand children die of hunger, in all honesty of conscience you ought to\nkill him. You have the right, it is even your duty to sacrifice the less\nadvantage of a single person to much the greater advantage of a greater\nnumber; and since this principle is the expression of true justice, you\nare only its minister in doing what you do. A vanquishing enemy or a\nfurious people threaten destruction to a whole city, if there be not\ndelivered up to them the head of such a man, who is, nevertheless,\ninnocent. In the name of the greatest good of the greatest number, this\nman will be immolated without scruple. It might even be maintained that\ninnocent to the last, he has ceased to be so, since he is an obstacle to\nthe public good. It having once been declared that justice is the\ninterest of the greatest number, the only question is to know where this\ninterest is. Now, here, doubt is impossible, therefore, it is perfectly\njust to offer innocence as a holocaust to public safety. This\nconsequence must be accepted, or the principle rejected.\"\n\n[209] See lecture 15, _Private and Public Ethics_.\n\n[210] Plato, _Republic_, vol. ix. and x. of our translation.\n\n[211] Lecture 16.\n\n[212] Lectures 4 and 7.\n\n[213] This polemic is not new. The school of St. Thomas engaged in it\nearly against the theory of Occam, which was quite similar to that which\nwe combat. See our _Sketch of a General History of Philosophy_, 2d\nSeries, vol. ii., lect. 9, _On Scholasticism_. Here are two decisive\npassages from St. Thomas, 1st book of the _Summation against the\nGentiles_, chap. lxxxvii: \"Per praedicta autem excluditur error dicentiam\nomnia procedere a Deo secundum simplicem voluntatem, ut de nullo\noporteat rationem reddere, nisi quia Deus vult. Quod etiam divinae\nScripturae contrariatur, quae Deum perhibet secundum ordinem sapientiae suae\nomnia fecisse, secundum illud Psalm ciii.: omnia in sapientia fecisti.\"\n_Ibid._, book ii., chap. xxiv.: \"Per hoc autem excluditur quorundam\nerror qui dicebant omnia ex simplica divina voluntate dependere aliqua\nratione.\"\n\n[214] See the famous calculus applied to the immortality of the soul,\n_Des Pensees de Pascal_, vol. i. of the 4th Series, p. 229-235 and p.\n289-296.\n\n[215] Lecture 16.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XIV.\n\nTRUE PRINCIPLES OF ETHICS.\n\n    Description of the different facts that compose the moral\n    phenomena.--Analysis of each of these facts:--1st, Judgment and\n    idea of the good. That this judgment is absolute. Relation\n    between the true and the good.--2d, Obligation. Refutation of\n    the doctrine of Kant that draws the idea of the good from\n    obligation instead of founding obligation on the idea of the\n    good.--3d, Liberty, and the moral notions attached to the notion\n    of liberty.--4th, Principle of merit and demerit. Punishments\n    and rewards.--5th, Moral sentiments.--Harmony of all these facts\n    in nature and science.\n\n\nPhilosophic criticism is not confined to discerning the errors of\nsystems; it especially consists in recognizing and disengaging the\ntruths mixed with these errors. The truths scattered in different\nsystems compose the whole truth which each of these almost always\nexpresses on a single side. So, the systems that we have just run over\nand refuted deliver up to us, in some sort, divided and opposed to each\nother, all the essential elements of human morality. The only question\nis to collect them, in order to restore the entire moral phenomenon. The\nhistory of philosophy, thus understood, prepares the way for or confirms\npsychological analysis, as psychological analysis receives from the\nhistory of philosophy its light. Let us, then, interrogate ourselves in\npresence of human actions, and faithfully collect, without altering them\nby any preconceived system, the ideas and the sentiments of every kind\nthat the spectacle of these actions produce in us.\n\nThere are actions that are agreeable or disagreeable to us, that procure\nus advantages or injure us, in a word, that are, in one way or another,\ndirectly or indirectly, addressed to our interest. We are rejoiced with\nactions that are useful to us, and shun those that may injure us. We\nseek earnestly and with the greatest effort what seems to us our\ninterest.\n\nThis is an incontestable fact. Here is another fact that is not less\nincontestable.\n\nThere are actions that have no relation to us, that, consequently, we\ncannot estimate and judge on the ground of our interest, that we\nnevertheless qualify as good or bad.\n\nSuppose that before your eyes a man, strong and armed, falls upon\nanother man, feeble and disarmed, whom he maltreats and kills, in order\nto take away his purse. Such an action does not reach you in any way,\nand, notwithstanding, it fills you with indignation.[216] You do every\nthing in your power that this murderer may be arrested and delivered up\nto justice; you demand that he shall be punished, and if he is punished\nin one way or another, you think that it is just; your indignation is\nappeased only after a chastisement proportioned to the crime committed\nhas been inflicted on the culprit. I repeat that in this you neither\nhope nor fear any thing for yourself. Were you placed in an inaccessible\nfortress, from the top of which you might witness this scene of murder,\nyou would feel these sentiments none the less.\n\nThis is only a rude picture of what takes place in you at the sight of a\ncrime. Apply now a little reflection and analysis to the different\ntraits of which this picture is composed, without destroying their\nnature, and you will have a complete philosophic theory.\n\nWhat is it that first strikes you in what you have experienced? It is\ndoubtless the indignation, the instinctive horror that you have felt.\nThere is, then, in the soul a power of raising indignation that is\nforeign to all personal interests! There are, then, in us sentiments of\nwhich we are not the end! There is an antipathy, an aversion, a horror,\nthat are not related to what injures us, but to acts whose remotest\ninfluence cannot reach us, that we detest for the sole reason that we\njudge them to be bad!\n\nYes, we judge them to be bad. A judgment is enveloped under the\nsentiments that we have just mentioned. In fact, in the midst of the\nindignation that transports you, let one tell you that all this generous\nanger pertains to your particular organization, and that, after all, the\naction that takes place is indifferent,--you revolt against such an\nexplanation, you exclaim that the action is bad in itself; you not only\nexpress a sentiment, you pronounce a judgment. The next day after the\naction, when the feelings that agitated your soul have been quieted, you\nnone the less still judge that the action was bad; you judge thus six\nmonths after, you judge thus always and everywhere; and it is because\nyou judge that this action is in itself bad, that you bear this other\njudgment, that it should not have been done.\n\nThis double judgment is at the foundation of sentiment; otherwise\nsentiment would be without reason. If the action is not bad in itself,\nif he who has done it was not obligated not to do it, the indignation\nthat we experience is only a physical emotion, an excitement of the\nsenses, of the imagination, of the heart,--a phenomenon destitute of\nevery moral character, like the trouble that visits us before some\nfrightful scene of nature. You cannot rationally feel indignation for\nthe author of an indifferent action. Every sentiment of disinterested\nanger against the author of an action supposes in him who feels it, this\ndouble conviction:--1st, That the action is in itself bad; 2d, That it\nshould not have been done.\n\nThis sentiment also supposes that the author of this action has himself\na consciousness of the evil that he has done, and of the obligation that\nhe has violated; for without this he would have acted like a brutal and\nblind force, not like an intelligent and moral force, and we should have\nfelt towards him no more indignation than towards a rock that falls on\nour head, towards a torrent that sweeps us away into an abyss.\n\nIndignation equally supposes in him who is the object of it an other\ncharacter still, to wit, that he is free,--that he could do or not do\nwhat he has done. It is evident that the agent must be free in order to\nbe responsible.\n\nYou desire that the murderer may be arrested and delivered up to\njustice, you desire that he may be punished; when he has been arrested,\ndelivered up to justice, and punished, you are satisfied. What does that\nmean? Is it a capricious movement of the imagination and heart? No. Calm\nor indignant, at the moment of the crime or a long time after, without\nany spirit of personal vengeance, since you are not the least interested\nin this affair, you none the less declare that the murderer ought to be\npunished. If, instead of receiving a punishment, the culpable man makes\nhis crime a stepping-stone to fortune, you still declare that, far from\ndeserving prosperity, he deserves to suffer in reparation of his fault;\nyou protest against lot, and appeal to a superior justice. This judgment\nphilosophers have called the judgment of merit and demerit. I suppose,\nin the mind of man, the idea of a supreme law that attaches happiness to\nvirtue, unhappiness to crime. Omit the idea of this law, and the\njudgment of merit and demerit is without foundation. Omit this judgment,\nand indignation against prosperous crime and the neglect of virtue is an\nunintelligible, even an impossible sentiment, and never, at the sight of\ncrime, would you think of demanding the chastisement of a criminal.\n\nAll the parts of the moral phenomenon are connected together; all are\nequally certain parts,--destroy one, and you completely overturn the\nwhole phenomenon. The most common observation bears witness to all these\nfacts, and the least subtle logic easily discovers their connection. It\nis necessary to renounce even sentiment, or it must be avowed that\nsentiment covers a judgment, the judgment of the essential distinction\nbetween good and evil, that this distinction involves an obligation,\nthat this obligation is applied to an intelligent and free agent; in\nfine, it must be observed that the distinction between merit and\ndemerit, that corresponds to the distinction between good and evil,\ncontains the principle of the natural harmony between virtue and\nhappiness.\n\nWhat have we done thus far? We have done as the physicist or chemist\ndoes, who submits a composite body to analysis and reduces it to its\nsimple elements. The only difference here is that the phenomenon to\nwhich our analysis is applied is in us, instead of being out of us.\nBesides, the processes employed are exactly the same; there is in them\nneither system nor hypothesis; there are only experience and the most\nimmediate induction.\n\nIn order to render experience more certain, we may vary it. Instead of\nexamining what takes place in us when we are spectators of bad or good\nactions in another, let us interrogate our own consciousness when we are\ndoing well or ill. In this case, the different elements of the moral\nphenomenon are still more striking, and their order appears more\ndistinctly.\n\nSuppose that a dying friend has confided to me a more or less important\ndeposit, charging me to remit it after his death to a person whom he has\ndesignated to me alone, and who himself knows not what has been done in\nhis favor. He who confided to me the deposit dies, and carries with him\nhis secret; he for whom the deposit has been made to me has no knowledge\nof it; if, then, I wish to appropriate this deposit to myself, no one\nwill ever be able to suspect me. In this case what should I do? It is\ndifficult to imagine circumstances more favorable for crime. If I\nconsult only interest, I ought not to hesitate to return the deposit. If\nI hesitate, in the system of interest, I am senseless, and I revolt\nagainst the law of my nature. Doubt alone, in the impunity that is\nassured me, would betray in me a principle different from interest.\n\nBut naturally I do not doubt, I believe with the most entire certainty,\nthat the deposit confided to me does not belong to me, that it has been\nconfided to me to be remitted to another, and that to this other it\nbelongs. Take away interest, and I should not even think of returning\nthis deposit,--it is interest alone that tempts me. It tempts me, it\ndoes not bear me away without resistance. Hence the struggle between\ninterest and duty,--a struggle filled with troubles, opposite\nresolutions, by turns taken and abandoned; it energetically attests the\npresence of a principle of action different from interest and quite as\npowerful.\n\nDuty succumbs, interest triumphs over it. I retain the deposit that has\nbeen confided to me, and apply it to my own wants, and to the wants of\nmy family; it makes me rich, and in appearance happy; but I internally\nsuffer with that bitter and secret suffering that is called\nremorse.[217] The fact is certain; it has been a thousand times\ndescribed; all languages contain the word, and there is no one who, in\nsome degree, has not experienced the thing, that sharp gnawing at the\nheart which is caused by every fault, great or small, as long as it has\nnot been expiated. This painful recollection follows me in the midst of\npleasures and prosperity. The applauses of the crowd are not able to\nsilence this inexorable witness. Only a long habit of sin and crime, an\naccumulation of oft-repeated faults, can compass this sentiment, at once\navenging and expiatory. When it is stifled, every resource is lost, and\nan end is made of the soul's life; as long as it endures, the sacred\nfire is not wholly extinguished.\n\nRemorse is a suffering of a particular character. In remorse I do not\nsuffer on account of such an impression made upon my senses, nor on\naccount of the thwarting of my natural passions, nor on account of the\ninjury done or threatened to my interest, nor by the disquietude of my\nhopes and the agony of my fears: no, I suffer without any external\ncause, yet I suffer in the most cruel manner. I suffer for the sole\nreason that I have a consciousness of having committed a bad action\nwhich I knew I was obligated not to commit, which I was able not to\ncommit, which leaves behind it a chastisement that I know to be\ndeserved. No exact analysis can take away from remorse, without\ndestroying it, a single one of these elements. Remorse contains the idea\nof good and evil, of an obligatory law, of liberty, of merit and\ndemerit. All these ideas were already in the struggle between good and\nevil; they reappear in remorse. In vain interest counselled me to\nappropriate the deposit that had been confided to me; something said to\nme, and still says to me, that to appropriate it is to do evil, is to\ncommit an injustice; I judged, and judge, thus, not such a day, but\nalways, not under such a circumstance, but under all circumstances. In\nvain I say to myself that the person to whom I ought to remit this\ndeposit has no need of it, and that it is necessary to me; I judge that\na deposit must be respected without regard to persons, and the\nobligation that is imposed on me appears inviolable and absolute. Having\ntaken upon myself this obligation, I believe by this fact alone that I\nhave the power to fulfil it: this is not all; I am directly conscious of\nthis power, I know with the most certain knowledge that I am able to\nkeep this deposit or to remit it to the lawful owner; and it is\nprecisely because I am conscious of this power that I judge that I have\ndeserved punishment for not having made the use of it for which it was\ngiven me. It is, in fine, because I have a lively consciousness of all\nthat, that I experience this sentiment of indignation against myself,\nthis suffering of remorse which expresses in itself the moral phenomenon\nentire.\n\nAccording to the rules of the experimental method, let us take an\nopposite course; let us suppose that, in spite of the suggestions of\ninterest, in spite of the pressing goad of misery, in order to be\nfaithful to pledged faith, I send the deposit to the person that had\nbeen designated to me; instead of the painful scene that just now passed\nin consciousness, there passes another quite as real, but very\ndifferent. I know that I have done well; I know that I have not obeyed a\nchimera, an artificial and mendacious law, but a law true, universal,\nobligatory upon all intelligent and free beings. I know that I have made\na good use of my liberty; I have of this liberty, by the very use that I\nhave made of it, a sentiment more distinct, more energetic, and, in some\nsort, triumphant. Every opinion would accuse me in vain, I appeal from\nit to a better justice, and this justice is already declared in me by\nsentiments that press upon each other in my soul. I respect myself,\nesteem myself, and believe that I have a right to the esteem of others;\nI have the sentiment of my dignity; I feel for myself only sentiments of\naffection opposed to that species of horror for myself with which I was\njust now inspired. Instead of remorse, I feel an incomparable joy that\nno one can deprive me of, that, were every thing else wanting to me,\nwould console and support me. This sentiment of pleasure is as\npenetrating, as profound as was the remorse. It expresses the\nsatisfaction of all the generous principles of human nature, as remorse\nrepresented their revolt. It testifies by the internal happiness that it\ngives me to the sublime accord between happiness and virtue, whilst\nremorse is the first link in that fatal chain, that chain of iron and\nadamant, which, according to Plato,[218] binds pain to transgression,\ntrouble to passion, misery to faithlessness, vice, and crime.\n\nMoral sentiment is the echo of all the moral judgments and entire moral\nlife. It is so striking that it has been regarded by a somewhat\nsuperficial philosophy as sufficient to found entire ethics; and,\nnevertheless, we have just seen that this admirable sentiment would not\nexist without the different judgments that we have just enumerated; it\nis their consequence, but not their principle; it supplies, but does not\nconstitute them; it does not take their place, but sums them up.\n\nNow that we are in possession of all the elements of human morality, we\nproceed to take these elements one by one, and submit them to a detailed\nanalysis.\n\nThat which is most apparent in the complex phenomenon that we are\nstudying is sentiment; but its foundation is judgment.\n\nThe judgment of good and evil is the principle of all that follows it;\nbut this judgment rests only on the constitution itself of human nature,\nlike the judgment of the true and the judgment of the beautiful. As well\nas these two judgments,[219] that of the good is a simple, primitive,\nindecomposable judgment.\n\nLike them, again, it is not arbitrary. We cannot but fear this judgment\nin presence of certain acts; and, in fearing it, we know that it does\nnot make good or evil, but declares it. The reality of moral\ndistinctions is revealed by this judgment, but it is independent of it,\nas beauty is independent of the eye that perceives it, as universal and\nnecessary truths are independent of the reason that discovers them.[220]\n\nGood and evil are real characters of human actions, although these\ncharacters might not be seen with our eyes nor touched with our hands.\nThe moral qualities of an action are none the less real for not being\nconfounded with the material qualities of this action. This is the\nreason why actions materially identical may be morally very different. A\nhomicide is always a homicide; nevertheless, it is often a crime, it is\nalso often a legitimate action, for example, when it is not done for the\nsake of vengeance, nor for the sake of interest, in a strict case of\nself-defence.\n\nIt is not the spilling of blood that makes the crime, it is the spilling\nof innocent blood. Innocence and crime, good and evil, do not reside in\nsuch or such an external circumstance determined one for all. Reason\nrecognizes them with certainty under the most different appearances, in\ncircumstances sometimes the same and sometimes dissimilar.\n\nGood and evil almost always appear to us connected with particular\nactions; but it is not on account of what is particular in them that\nthese actions are good or bad. So when I declare that the death of\nSocrates is unjust, and that the devotion of Leonidas is admirable, it\nis the unjust death of a wise man that I condemn, and the devotion of a\nhero that I admire. It is not important whether this hero be called\nLeonidas or d'Assas, whether the immolated sage be called Socrates or\nBailly.\n\nThe judgment of the good is at first applied to particular actions, and\nit gives birth to general principles which in course serve us as rules\nfor judging all actions of the same kind. As after having judged that\nsuch a particular phenomenon has such a particular cause, we elevate\nourselves to the general principle that every phenomenon has its\ncause;[221] so we erect into a general rule the moral judgment that we\nhave borne in regard to a particular fact. Thus, at first we admire the\ndeath of Leonidas, thence we elevate ourselves to the principle that it\nis good to die for one's country. We already possess the principle in\nits first application to Leonidas; otherwise, this particular\napplication would not have been legitimate, it would not have been even\npossible; but we possess it implicitly; as soon as it is disengaged, it\nappears to us under its universal and pure form, and we apply it to all\nanalogous cases.\n\nEthics have their axioms like other sciences; and these axioms are\nrightly called in all languages moral truths.\n\nIt is good not to violate one's oath, and in this is also involved a\ntruth. In fact, an oath is founded in the truth of things,--its good is\nonly derived. Moral truths considered in themselves have no less\ncertainty than mathematical truths. The idea of a deposit being given, I\nask whether the idea of faithfully keeping it is not necessarily\nattached to it, as to the idea of a triangle is attached the idea that\nits three angles are equal to two right angles. You may withhold a\ndeposit; but, in withholding it, do not believe that you change the\nnature of things, nor that you make it possible for a deposit ever to\nbecome property. These two ideas exclude each other. You have only a\nfalse semblance of property; and all the efforts of passion, all the\nsophisms of interest will not reverse the essential differences. This is\nthe reason why moral truth is so troublesome,--it is because, like all\ntruth, it is what it is, and does not bend to any caprice. Always the\nsame and always present, in spite of all our efforts, it inexorably\ncondemns, with a voice always heard, but not always listened to, the\nsensible and the culpable will which thinks to hinder it from being by\ndenying it, or rather by pretending to deny it.\n\nMoral truths are distinguished from other truths by the singular\ncharacter that, as soon as we perceive them, they appear to us as the\nrule of our conduct. If it is true that a deposit is made to be remitted\nto its legitimate possessor, it is necessary to remit it to him. To the\nnecessity of believing is here added the necessity of practising.\n\nThe necessity of practising is obligation. Moral truths, in the eyes of\nreason necessary, are to the will obligatory.\n\nMoral obligation, like the moral truth that is its foundation, is\nabsolute. As necessary truths are not more or less necessary,[222] so\nobligation is not more or less obligatory. There are degrees of\nimportance between different obligations; but there are no degrees in\nthe same obligation. We are not somewhat obligated, almost obligated; we\nare either wholly obligated, or not at all.\n\nIf obligation is absolute, it is immutable and universal. For, if the\nobligation of to-day were not the obligation of to-morrow, if what is\nobligatory for me were not so for you, obligation would differ from\nitself, would be relative and contingent.\n\nThis fact of absolute, immutable, universal obligation is so certain and\nso manifest, in spite of all the efforts of the doctrine of interest to\nobscure it, that one of the profoundest moralists of modern philosophy,\nparticularly struck with this fact, has regarded it as the principle of\nthe whole of ethics. By separating duty from interest which ruins it,\nand from sentiment which enervates it, Kant restored to ethics their\ntrue character. He elevated himself very high in the century of\nHelvetius, in elevating himself to the holy law of duty; but he still\ndid not ascend high enough, he did not reach the reason itself of duty.\n\nThe good for Kant is what is obligatory. But logically, whence comes the\nobligation of performing an action, if not from the intrinsic goodness\nof this act? Is it not because that, in the order of reason, it is\nabsolutely impossible to regard a deposit as a property, that we cannot\nappropriate it to ourselves without a crime? If one action must be\nperformed, and another action must not, it is because there is\napparently an essential difference between these two acts. To found the\ngood on obligation, instead of founding obligation on the good, is,\ntherefore, to take the effect for the cause, is to draw the principle\nfrom the consequence.\n\nIf I ask an honest man who, in spite of the suggestions of misery, has\nrespected the deposit that was intrusted to him, why he respected it, he\nwill answer me,--because it was my duty. If I persist, and ask why it\nwas his duty, he will very rightly answer,--because it was just, because\nit was good. That point having been reached, all answers are stopped;\nbut questions also are stopped. No one allows a duty to be imposed upon\nhim without rendering to himself a reason for it; but as soon as it is\nrecognized that this duty is imposed upon us because it is just, the\nmind is satisfied; for it reaches a principle beyond which it has\nnothing more to seek, justice being its own principle. First truths\ncarry with them their reason for being. Now, justice, the essential\ndistinction between good and evil in the relations of men among\nthemselves, is the primary truth of ethics.\n\nJustice is not a consequence, since we cannot ascend to another more\nelevated principle; and duty is not, rigorously speaking, a principle,\nsince it supposes a principle above it, that explains and authorizes it,\nto wit, justice.\n\nMoral truth no more becomes relative and subjective, to take for a\nmoment the language of Kant, in appearing to us obligatory, than truth\nbecomes relative and subjective in appearing to us necessary; for in the\nvery nature of truth and the good must be sought the reason of necessity\nand obligation. But if we stop at obligation and necessity, as Kant did,\nin ethics as well as in metaphysics, without knowing it, and even\nagainst our intention, we destroy, or at least weaken truth and the\ngood.[223]\n\nObligation has its foundation in the necessary distinction between good\nand evil; and is itself the foundation of liberty. If man has duties,\nhe must possess the faculty of fulfilling them, of resisting desire,\npassion, and interest, in order to obey law. He ought to be free,\ntherefore he is free, or human nature is in contradiction with itself.\nThe direct certainty of obligation implies the corresponding certainty\nof liberty.\n\nThis proof of liberty is doubtless good; but Kant is deceived in\nsupposing it the only legitimate proof. It is very strange that he\nshould have preferred the authority of reasoning to that of\nconsciousness, as if the former had no need of being confirmed by the\nlatter; as if, after all, my liberty ought not to be a fact for me.[224]\nEmpiricism must be greatly feared to distrust the testimony of\nconsciousness; and, after such a distrust, one must be very credulous to\nhave a boundless faith in reasoning. We do not believe in our liberty as\nwe believe in the movement of the earth. The profoundest persuasion that\nwe have of it comes from the continual experience that we carry with\nourselves.\n\nIs it true that in presence of an act to be done I am able to will or\nnot to will to do it? In that lies the whole question of liberty.\n\nLet us clearly distinguish between the power of doing and the power of\nwilling. The will has, without doubt, in its service and under its\nempire, the most of our faculties; but that empire, which is real, is\nvery limited. I will to move my arm, and I am often able to do it,--in\nthat resides, as it were, the physical power of will; but I am not\nalways able to move my arm, if the muscles are paralyzed, if the\nobstacle to be overcome is too strong, &c.; the execution does not\nalways depend on me; but what always depends on me is the resolution\nitself. The external effects may be hindered, my resolution itself can\nnever be hindered. In its own domain, will is sovereign.\n\nAnd I am conscious of this sovereign power of the will. I feel in\nmyself, before its determination, the force that can determine itself in\nsuch a manner or in such another. At the same time that I will this or\nthat, I am equally conscious of the power to will the opposite; I am\nconscious of being master of my resolution, of the ability to arrest it,\ncontinue it, repress it. When the voluntary act ceases, the\nconsciousness of the power does not cease,--it remains with the power\nitself, which is superior to all its manifestations. Liberty is\ntherefore the essential and always-subsisting attribute of will.[225]\n\nThe will, we have seen,[226] is neither desire nor passion,--it is\nexactly the opposite. Liberty of will is not, then, the license of\ndesires and passions. Man is a slave in desire and passion, he is free\nonly in will. That they may not elsewhere be confounded, liberty and\nanarchy must not be confounded in psychology. Passions abandoning\nthemselves to their caprices, is anarchy. Passions concentrated upon a\ndominant passion, is tyranny. Liberty consists in the struggle of will\nagainst this tyranny and this anarchy. But this combat must have an aim,\nand this aim is the duty of obeying reason, which is our true sovereign,\nand justice, which reason reveals to us and prescribes for us. The duty\nof obeying reason is the law of will, and will is never more itself than\nwhen it submits to its law. We do not possess ourselves, as long as to\nthe domination of desire, of passion, of interest, reason does not\noppose the counterpoise of justice. Reason and justice free us from the\nyoke of passions, without imposing upon us another yoke. For, once more,\nto obey them, is not to abdicate liberty, but to save it, to apply it to\nits legitimate use.\n\nIt is in liberty, and in the agreement of liberty with reason and\njustice, that man belongs to himself, to speak properly. He is a person\nonly because he is a free being enlightened by reason.\n\nWhat distinguishes a person from a simple thing, is especially the\ndifference between liberty and its opposite. A thing is that which is\nnot free, consequently that which does not belong to itself, that which\nhas no self, which has only a numerical individuality, a perfect effigy\nof true individuality, which is that of person.\n\nA thing, not belonging to itself, belongs to the first person that takes\npossession of it and puts his mark on it.\n\nA thing is not responsible for the movements which it has not willed, of\nwhich it is even ignorant. Person alone is responsible, for it is\nintelligent and free; and it is responsible for the use of its\nintelligence and freedom.\n\nA thing has no dignity; dignity is only attached to person.\n\nA thing has no value by itself; it has only that which person confers on\nit. It is purely an instrument whose whole value consists in the use\nthat the person using it derives from it.[227]\n\nObligation implies liberty; where liberty is not, duty is wanting, and\nwith duty right is wanting also.\n\nIt is because there is in me a being worthy of respect, that I have the\nduty of respecting it, and the right to make it respected by you. My\nduty is the exact measure of my right. The one is in direct ratio with\nthe other. If I had no sacred duty to respect what makes my person, that\nis to say, my intelligence and my liberty, I should not have the right\nto defend it against your injuries. But as my person is inviolable and\nsacred in itself, it follows that, considered in relation to me, it\nimposes on me a duty, and, considered in relation to you, it confers on\nme a right.\n\nI am not myself permitted to degrade the person that I am by abandoning\nmyself to passion, to vice and crime, and I am not permitted to let it\nbe degraded by you.\n\nThe person is inviolable; and it alone is inviolable.\n\nIt is inviolable not only in the intimate sanctuary of consciousness,\nbut in all its legitimate manifestations, in its acts, in the product\nof its acts, even in the instruments that it makes its own by using\nthem.\n\nTherein is the foundation of the sanctity of property. The first\nproperty is the person. All other properties are derived from that.\nThink of it well. It is not property in itself that has rights, it is\nthe proprietor, it is the person that stamps upon it, with its own\ncharacter, its right and its title.\n\nThe person cannot cease to belong to itself, without degrading\nitself,--it is to itself inalienable. The person has no right over\nitself; it cannot treat itself as a thing, cannot sell itself, cannot\ndestroy itself, cannot in any way abolish its free will and its liberty,\nwhich are its constituent elements.\n\nWhy has the child already some rights? Because it will be a free being.\nWhy have the old man, returned to infancy, and the insane man still some\nrights? Because they have been free beings. We even respect liberty in\nits first glimmerings or its last vestiges. Why, on the other hand, have\nthe insane man and the imbecile old man no longer all their rights?\nBecause they have lost liberty. Why do we enchain the furious madman?\nBecause he has lost knowledge and liberty. Why is slavery an abominable\ninstitution? Because it is an outrage upon what constitutes humanity.\nThis is the reason why, in fine, certain extreme devotions are sometimes\nsublime faults, and no one is permitted to offer them, much less to\ndemand them. There is no legitimate devotion against the very essence of\nright, against liberty, against justice, against the dignity of the\nhuman person.\n\nWe have not been able to speak of liberty, without indicating a certain\nnumber of moral notions of the highest importance which it contains and\nexplains; but we could not pursue this development without encroaching\nupon the domain of private and public ethics and anticipating the\nfollowing lecture.\n\nWe arrive, then, at the last element of the moral phenomenon, the\njudgment of merit and demerit.\n\nAt the same time that we judge that a man has done a good or bad action,\nwe bear this other judgment quite as necessary as the former, to wit,\nthat if this man has acted well he has merited a reward, and if he has\nacted ill, he has merited a punishment. It is exactly the same with this\njudgment as with that of the good. It may be outwardly expressed in a\nmore or less lively manner, according as it is mingled with more or less\nenergetic feelings. Sometimes it will be only a benevolent disposition\ntowards the virtuous agent, and an unfavorable disposition towards the\nculpable agent; sometimes it will be enthusiasm or indignation. In some\ncases one will make himself the executor of the judgment that he bears,\nhe will crown the hero and load the criminal with chains. But when all\nyour feelings are calmed, when enthusiasm has cooled as well as\nindignation, when time and separation have rendered an action almost\nindifferent to you, you none the less persist in judging that the author\nof this action merits a reward or a punishment, according to the quality\nof the action. You decide that you were right in the sentiments that you\nfelt, and, although they are extinguished, you declare them legitimate.\n\nThe judgment of merit and demerit is essentially tied to the judgment of\ngood and evil. In fact, he who does an action without knowing whether it\nis good or bad, has neither merit nor demerit in doing it. It is with\nhim the same as with those physical agents that accomplish the most\nbeneficent or the most destructive works, to which we never think of\nattributing knowledge and will, consequently accountability. Why are\nthere no penalties attached to involuntary crimes? Because for that very\nreason they are not regarded as crimes. Hence it comes that the question\nof premeditation is so grave in all criminal processes. Why is the\nchild, up to a certain age, subject to none but light punishments?\nBecause where the idea of the good and liberty are wanting, merit and\ndemerit are also wanting, which alone authorize reward and punishment.\nThe author of an injurious but involuntary action is condemned to an\nindemnity corresponding to the damage done; he is not condemned to a\npunishment properly so called.\n\nSuch are the conditions of merit and demerit. When these conditions are\nfulfilled, merit and demerit manifest themselves, and involve reward and\npunishment.\n\nMerit is the natural right we have to be rewarded; demerit the natural\nright that others have to punish us, and, if we may thus speak, the\nright that we have to be punished. This expression may seem paradoxical,\nnevertheless it is true. A culpable man, who, opening his eyes to the\nlight of the good, should comprehend the necessity of expiation, not\nonly by internal repentance, without which all the rest is in vain, but\nalso by a real and effective suffering, such a culpable man would have\nthe right to claim the punishment that alone can reconcile him with\norder. And such reclamations are not so rare. Do we not every day see\ncriminals denouncing themselves and offering themselves up to avenge the\npublic? Others prefer to satisfy justice, and do not have recourse to\nthe pardon that law places in the hands of the monarch in order to\nrepresent in the state charity and mercy, as tribunals represent in it\njustice. This is a manifest proof of the natural and profound roots of\nthe idea of punishment and reward.\n\nMerit and demerit imperatively claim, like a lawful debt, punishment and\nreward; but reward must not be confounded with merit, nor punishment\nwith demerit; this would be confounding cause and effect, principle and\nconsequence. Even were reward and punishment not to take place, merit\nand demerit would subsist. Punishment and reward satisfy merit and\ndemerit, but do not constitute them. Suppress all reward and all\npunishment and you do not thereby suppress merit and demerit; on the\ncontrary, suppress merit and demerit, and there are no longer true\npunishments and true rewards. Unmerited goods and honors are only\nmaterial advantages; reward is essentially moral, and its value is\nindependent of its form. One of those crowns of oak that the early\nRomans decreed to heroism is worth more than all the riches in the\nworld, when it is the sign of the recognition and the admiration of a\npeople. To reward is to give in return. He who is rewarded must have\nfirst given something in order to deserve to be rewarded. Reward\naccorded to merit is a debt; reward without merit is a charity or a\ntheft. It is the same with punishment. It is the relation of pain to a\nfault,--in this relation, and not in the pain alone, is the truth as\nwell as the shame of chastisement.\n\n    'Tis crime and not the scaffold makes the shame.[228]\n\nThere are two things that must be unceasingly repeated, because they are\nequally true,--the first is, that the good is good in itself, and ought\nto be pursued whatever may be the consequences; the second is, that the\nconsequences of the good cannot fail to be fortunate. Happiness,\nseparated from the good, is only a fact to which is attached no moral\nidea; but, as an effect of the good, it enters into the moral order and\ncompletes it.\n\nVirtue without happiness, and crime without unhappiness, are a\ncontradiction, a disorder. If virtue supposes sacrifice, that is to say,\nsuffering, it is of eternal justice that the sacrifice, generously\naccepted and courageously borne, have for a reward the very happiness\nthat has been sacrificed. So, it is of eternal justice that crime be\npunished by the unhappiness of the culpable happiness which it has tried\nto obtain by stealth.\n\nNow, when and how is the law fulfilled that attaches pleasure and pain\nto good and evil? Most of the time even here below. For order rules in\nthis world, since the world endures. If order is sometimes disturbed,\nand happiness and unhappiness are not always distributed in right\nproportion to crime and virtue, still the absolute judgment of the good,\nthe absolute judgment of obligation, the absolute judgment of merit and\ndemerit, subsist inviolable and imprescriptible,--we remain convinced\nthat he who has put in us the sentiment and the idea of order cannot in\nthat fail himself, and that sooner or later he will re-establish the\nsacred harmony between virtue and happiness by the means that to him\nbelong. But the time has not come to sound these mysterious\nprospects.[229] It is sufficient for us, but it was necessary to mark\nthem, in order to show the nature and the end of moral truth.\n\nWe terminate this analysis of the different parts of the complex\nphenomenon of morality by recalling that one which is the most apparent\nof all, which, however, is only the accompaniment, and, thus to speak,\nthe echo of all the others--sentiment. Sentiment has for its object to\nrender sensible to the soul the tie between virtue and happiness. It is\nthe direct and vital application of the law of merit and demerit. It\nprecedes and authorizes the punishments and rewards that society\ninstitutes. It is the internal model according to which the imagination,\nguided by faith, represents to itself the punishments and rewards of the\ndivine city. The world that we place beyond this is, in great part, our\nown heart transported into heaven. Since it comes thence, it is just\nthat it should return thither.\n\nWe will not dwell upon the different phenomena of sentiment; we have\nsufficiently explained them in the last lecture. A few words will\nreplace them under your eyes.\n\nWe cannot witness a good action, whoever may be its author, another or\nourselves, without experiencing a particular pleasure, analogous to that\nwhich is attached to the perception of the beautiful; and we cannot\nwitness a bad action without feeling a contrary sentiment, also\nanalogous to that which the sight of an ugly and deformed object excites\nin us. This sentiment is profoundly different from agreeable or\ndisagreeable sensation.\n\nAre we the authors of the good action? We feel a satisfaction that we do\nnot confound with any other. It is not the triumph of interest nor that\nof pride,--it is the pleasure of modest honesty or dignified virtue that\nrenders justice to itself. Are we the authors of the bad action? We feel\noffended conscience groaning within us. Sometimes it is only an\nimportunate reclamation, sometimes it is a bitter agony. Remorse is a\nsuffering the more poignant on account of our feeling that it is\ndeserved.\n\nThe spectacle of a good action done by another also has something\ndelicious to the soul. Sympathy is an echo in us that responds to\nwhatever is noble and good in others. When interest does not lead us\nastray, we naturally put ourselves in the place of him who has done\nwell. We feel in a certain measure the sentiments that animate him. We\nelevate ourselves to the mood of his spirit. Is it not already for the\ngood man an exquisite reward to make the noble sentiments that animate\nhim thus pass into the hearts of his fellow-men? The spectacle of a bad\naction, instead of sympathy, excites an involuntary antipathy, a painful\nand sad sentiment. Without doubt, this sentiment is never acute like\nremorse. There is in innocence something serene and placid that tempers\neven the sentiment of injustice, even when this injustice falls on us.\nWe then experience a sort of shame for humanity, we mourn over human\nweakness, and, by a melancholy return upon ourselves, we are less moved\nto anger than to pity. Sometimes also pity is overcome by a generous\nanger, by a disinterested indignation. If, as we have said, it is a\nsweet reward to excite a noble sympathy, an enthusiasm almost always\nfertile in good actions, it is a cruel punishment to stir up around us\npity, indignation, aversion, and contempt.\n\nSympathy for a good action is accompanied by benevolence for its author.\nHe inspires us with an affectionate disposition. Even without knowing\nit, we would love to do good to him; we desire that he may be happy,\nbecause we judge that he deserves to be. Antipathy also passes from the\naction to the person, and engenders against him a sort of bad will, for\nwhich we do not blame ourselves, because we feel it to be disinterested\nand find it legitimate.\n\nMoral satisfaction and remorse, sympathy, benevolence, and their\nopposites are sentiments and not judgments; but they are sentiments that\naccompany judgments, the judgment of the good, especially that of merit\nand demerit. These sentiments have been given us by the sovereign Author\nof our moral constitution to aid us in doing good. In their diversity\nand mobility, they cannot be the foundations of absolute obligation\nwhich must be equal for all, but they are to it happy auxiliaries, sure\nand beneficent witnesses of the harmony between virtue and happiness.\n\nThese are the facts as presented by a faithful description, as brought\nto light by a detailed analysis.\n\nWithout facts all is chimera; without a severe distinction of facts, all\nis confusion; but, also, without the knowledge of their relations,\ninstead of a single vast doctrine, like the total phenomenon that we\nhave undertaken to embrace, there can be only different systems like the\ndifferent parts of this phenomenon, consequently imperfect systems,\nsystems always at war with each other.\n\nWe set out from common sense; for the object of true science is not to\ncontradict common sense, but to explain it, and for this end we must\ncommence by recognizing it. We have at first painted in its simplicity,\neven in the gross, the phenomenon of morality. Then we have separated\nits elements, and carefully marked the characteristic traits of each of\nthem. It only remains for us to re-collect them all, to seize their\nrelations, and thus to find again, but more precise and more clear, the\nprimitive unity that served us as a point of departure.\n\nBeneath all facts analysis has shown us a primitive fact, which vests\nonly on itself,--the judgment of the good. We do not sacrifice other\nfacts to that, but we must establish that it is the first both in date\nand in importance.\n\nBy its close resemblance to the judgment of the true and the beautiful,\nthe judgment of the good has shown us the affinities of ethics,\nmetaphysics, and aesthetics.\n\nThe good, so essentially united to the true, is distinguished from it in\nthat it is practical truth. The good is obligatory. These two ideas are\ninseparable, but not identical. For obligation rests on the good,--in\nthis intimate alliance, from the good obligation borrows its universal\nand absolute character.\n\nThe obligatory good is the moral law. Therein is for us the foundation\nof all ethics. Thereby it is that we separate ourselves from the ethics\nof interest and the ethics of sentiment. We admit all the facts, but we\ndo not admit them in the same rank.\n\nTo the moral law in the reason of man corresponds liberty in action.\nLiberty is deduced from obligation, and moreover it is a fact of an\nirresistible evidence.\n\nMan as a being free and subject to obligation, is a moral person. The\nidea of person contains several moral notions, among others that of\nright. Person alone can have rights.\n\nTo all these ideas is added that of merit and demerit, which serves as\ntheir sanction.\n\nMerit and demerit suppose the distinction between good and evil,\nobligation and liberty, and give birth to the idea of reward and\npunishment.\n\nIt is on the condition that the good may be an object of reason, that\nethics can have an immovable basis. We have therefore insisted on the\nrational character of the idea of the good, but without misconceiving\nthe part of sentiment.\n\nWe have distinguished that particular sensibility, which is stirred in\nus in the train of reason itself, from physical sensibility, which needs\nan impression made upon the organs in order to enter into exercise.\n\nAll our moral judgments are accompanied by sentiments that respond to\nthem. The sight of an action which we judge to be good gives us\npleasure,--the consciousness of having performed an obligatory act, and\nof having performed it freely, is also a pleasure; the judgment of merit\nand demerit makes our hearts beat by taking the form of sympathy and\nbenevolence.\n\nIt must be avowed that the law of duty, although it ought to be\nfulfilled for its own sake, would be an ideal almost inaccessible to\nhuman weakness, if to its austere prescriptions were not added some\ninspiration of the heart. Sentiment is in some sort a natural grace that\nhas been given us, either to supply the light of reason that is\nsometimes uncertain, or to succor the will wavering in the presence of\nan obscure or painful duty. In order to resist the violence of culpable\npassions, the aid of generous passions is needed; and when the moral\nlaw exacts the sacrifice of natural sentiments, of the sweetest and most\nlively instincts, it is fortunate that it can support itself on other\nsentiments, or other instincts which also have their charm and their\nforce. Truth enlightens the mind; sentiment warms the soul and leads to\naction. It is not cold reason that determines a Codrus to devote himself\nfor his countrymen, a d'Assas to utter, beneath the steel of the enemy,\nthe generous cry that brings him death and saves the army. Let us guard\nourselves, then, from weakening the authority of sentiment; let us honor\nand sustain enthusiasm; it is the source whence spring great and heroic\nactions.\n\nAnd shall interest be entirely banished from our system? No; we\nrecognize in the human soul a desire for happiness which is the work of\nGod himself. This desire is a fact,--it must then have its place in a\nsystem founded upon experience. Happiness is one of the ends of human\nnature; only it is neither its sole end nor its principal end.\n\nAdmirable economy of the moral constitution of man! Its supreme end is\nthe good, its law is virtue, which often imposes on it suffering, and\nthereby it is the most excellent of all things that we know. But this\nlaw is very hard and in contradiction with the instinct of happiness.\nFear nothing,--the beneficent author of our being has placed in our\nsouls, by the side of the severe law of duty, the sweet and amiable\nforce of sentiment,--he has, in general, attached happiness to virtue;\nand, for the exceptions, for there are exceptions, at the end of the\ncourse he has placed hope.[230]\n\nOur doctrine is now known. Its only pretension is to express faithfully\neach fact, to express them all, and to make appear at once their\ndifferences and their harmony.\n\nBeyond that there is nothing new to attempt in ethics. To admit only a\nsingle fact and to sacrifice to that all the rest,--such is the beaten\nway. Of all the facts that we have just analyzed, there is not one that\nhas not in its turn played the part of sole principle. All the great\nschools of moral philosophy have each seen only one side of\ntruth,--fortunate when they have not chosen among the different phases\nof the moral phenomenon, in order to found upon them their entire\nsystem, precisely those that are least adapted to that end!\n\nWho could now return to Epicurus, and, against the most manifest facts,\nagainst common sense, against the very idea of all ethics, found duty,\nvirtue, the good, on the desire of happiness alone? It would be proof of\ngreat blindness and great barrenness. On the other hand, shall we\nimmolate the need of happiness, the hope of all reward, human or divine,\nto the abstract idea of the good? The Stoics have done it,--we know with\nwhat apparent grandeur, with what real impotence. Shall we confine with\nKant the whole of ethics to obligation? That is straitening still more a\nsystem that is already very narrow. Moreover, one may hope to surpass\nKant in extent of views, by a completer knowledge and more faithful\nrepresentation of facts; one cannot hope to be more profound in the\npoint of view that he has chosen. Or, in another order of ideas, shall\nwe refer to the will of God alone the obligation of virtue, and found\nethics on religion, instead of giving religion to ethics as their\nnecessary perfection? We still invent nothing new, we only renew the\nethics of the theologians of the Middle Age, or rather of a particular\nschool which has had for its adversaries the most illustrious doctors.\nFinally, shall we reduce all morality to sentiment, to sympathy, to\nbenevolence? It only remains to follow the footsteps of Hutcheson and\nSmith, abandoned by Reid himself, or the footsteps of a celebrated\nadversary of Kant, Jacobi.[231]\n\nThe time of exclusive theories has gone by; to renew them is to\nperpetuate war in philosophy. Each of them, being founded upon a real\nfact, rightly refuses the sacrifice of this fact; and it meets in\nhostile theories an equal right and an equal resistance. Hence the\nperpetual return of the same systems, always at war with each other, and\nby turns vanquished and victorious. This strife can cease only by means\nof a doctrine that conciliates all systems by comprising all the facts\nthat give them authority.\n\nIt is not the preconceived design of conciliating systems in history\nthat suggests to us the idea of conciliating facts in reality. It is, on\nthe contrary, the full possession of all the facts, analogous and\ndifferent, that forces us to absolve and condemn all systems on account\nof the truth that is in each of them, and on account of the errors that\nare mixed with the truth.\n\nIt is important to repeat continually, that nothing is so easy as to\narrange a system, by suppressing or altering the facts that embarrass\nit. But is it, then, the object of philosophy to produce at any cost a\nsystem, instead of seeking to understand the truth and express it as it\nis?\n\nIt is objected that such a doctrine has not sufficient character. But is\nit not sporting with philosophy to demand of it any other character than\nthat of truth? Do men complain that modern chemistry has not sufficient\ncharacter, because it limits itself to studying facts in their\nrelations, and also in their differences, and because it does not end at\na single substance? The only true philosophy that is proper for a\ncentury returned from all exaggerations, is a picture of human nature\nwhose first merit is fidelity, which must offer all the traits of the\noriginal in their right proportion and real harmony. The unity of the\ndoctrine that we profess is in that of the human soul, whence we have\ndrawn it. Is it not one and the same being that perceives the good, that\nknows that he is obligated to fulfil it, that knows that he is free in\nfulfilling it, that loves the good, and judges that the fulfilment or\nviolation of the good justly brings after it reward or punishment,\nhappiness or misery? We draw, then, a true unity from the intimate\nrelation between all the facts that, as we have seen, imply and sustain\neach other. But by what right is the unity of a doctrine placed in\nallowing in it only a single principle? Such a unity is possible only\nin those regions of mathematical abstraction, where one is not disturbed\nby what is, where one retrenches at will from the object that he is\nstudying, in order to simplify it continually, where every thing is\nreduced to pure notions. In the reality all is determined, and\nconsequently, all is complex. A science of facts is not a series of\nequations. In it must be found again the life that is in things, life\nwith its harmony doubtless, but also with its richness and\ndiversity.[232]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[216] On indignation, see lecture 11.\n\n[217] On remorse, see lecture 11.\n\n[218] See the _Gorgias_, with the _Argument_, vol. iii. of our\ntranslation.\n\n[219] Lectures 1 and 6.\n\n[220] Lectures 2, 3, and 6.\n\n[221] 1st part, lecture 2.\n\n[222] Lecture 2.\n\n[223] 1st part, lecture 3. See also vol. v. of the 1st Series, lecture\n8.\n\n[224] 1st Series, vol. v., lecture 7.\n\n[225] See, for the entire development of the theory of liberty, 1st\nSeries, vol. iii., lecture 1, _Locke_, p. 71; lecture 3, _Condillac_, p.\n116, 149, etc.; vol. iv., lecture 23, _Reid_, p. 541-574; 2d Series,\nvol. iii., _Examination of the System of Locke_, lecture 25.\n\n[226] Lecture 12.\n\n[227] See 1st Series, vol. iv., Lecture on Smith and on the true\nprinciple of political economy, p. 278-302.\n\n[228] Le crime fait la honte et non pas l'echafaud.\n\n[229] See lecture 16, _God, the Principle of the Idea of the Good_.\n\n[230] See lecture 16.\n\n[231] On Jacobi, see Tennemann's _Manual of the History of Philosophy_,\nvol. iii., p. 318, etc.\n\n[232] On this important question of method, see lecture 12.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XV.\n\nPRIVATE AND PUBLIC ETHICS.\n\n    Application of the preceding principles.--General formula of\n    interest,--to obey reason.--Rule for judging whether an action\n    is or is not conformed to reason,--to elevate the motive of this\n    action into a maxim of universal legislation.--Individual\n    ethics. It is not towards the individual, but towards the moral\n    person that one is obligated. Principle of all individual\n    duties,--to respect and develop the moral person.--Social\n    ethics,--duties of justice and duties of charity.--Civil\n    society. Government. Law. The right to punish.\n\n\nWe know that there is moral good and that there is moral evil: we know\nthat this distinction between good and evil engenders an obligation, a\nlaw, duty; but we do not yet know what our duties are. The general\nprinciple of ethics is laid down; it must be followed at least into its\nmost important applications.\n\nIf duty is only truth become obligatory, and if truth is known only by\nreason, to obey the law of duty, is to obey reason.\n\nBut to obey reason is a precept very vague and very abstract:--how can\nwe be sure that our action is conformed or is not conformed to reason?\n\nThe character of reason being, as we have said, its universality,\naction, in order to be conformed to reason, must possess something\nuniversal; and as it is the motive itself of the action that gives it\nits morality, it is also the motive that must, if the action is good,\nreflect the character of reason. By what sign, then, do you recognize\nthat an action is conformed to reason, that it is good? By the sign that\nthe motive of this action being generalized, appears to you a maxim of\nuniversal legislation, which reason imposes upon all intelligent and\nfree beings. If you are not able thus to generalize the motive of an\naction, and if it is the opposite motive that appears to you a universal\nmaxim, your action, being opposed to this maxim, is thereby proved to be\ncontrary to reason and duty,--it is bad. If neither the motive of your\naction nor the motive of the opposite action can be erected into a\nuniversal law, the action is neither good nor bad, it is indifferent.\nSuch is the ingenious measure that Kant has applied to the morality of\nactions. It makes known with the last degree of clearness where duty is\nand where it is not, as the severe and naked form of syllogism, being\napplied to reasoning, brings out in the precisest manner its error or\nits truth.\n\nTo obey reason,--such is duty in itself, the duty superior to all other\nduties, giving to all others their foundation, and being itself founded\nonly on the essential relation between liberty and reason.\n\nIt may be said that there is only a single duty, that of obeying reason.\nBut man having different relations, this single and general duty is\ndetermined by these different relations, and divided into a\ncorresponding number of particular duties.\n\nOf all the beings that we know, there is not one with whom we are more\nconstantly in relation than with ourselves. The actions of which man is\nat once the author and the object, have rules as well as other actions.\nHence that first class of duties which are called the duties of man\ntowards himself.\n\nAt first sight, it is strange that man should have duties towards\nhimself. Man, being free, belongs to himself. What is most to me is\nmyself:--this is the first property and the foundation of all other\nproperties. Now, is it not the essence of property to be at the free\ndisposition of the proprietor, and consequently, am I not able to do\nwith myself what I please?\n\nNo; from the fact that man is free, from the fact that he belongs only\nto himself, it must not be concluded that he has over himself all power.\nOn the contrary, indeed, from the fact alone that he is endowed with\nliberty, as well as intelligence, I conclude that he can no more\ndegrade his liberty than his intelligence, without transgressing. It is\na culpable use of liberty to abdicate it. We have said that liberty is\nnot only sacred to others, but is so to itself. To subject it to the\nyoke of passion, instead of increasing it under the liberal discipline\nof duty, is to abase in us what deserves our respect as much as the\nrespect of others. Man is not a thing; it has not, then, been permitted\nhim to treat himself as a thing.\n\nIf I have duties towards myself, it is not towards myself as an\nindividual, it is towards the liberty and intelligence that make me a\nfree moral person. It is necessary to distinguish closely in us what is\npeculiar to us from what pertains to humanity. Each one of us contains\nin himself human nature with all its essential elements; and, in\naddition, all these elements are in him in a certain manner that is not\nthe same in two different men. These particularities make the\nindividual, but not the person; and the person alone in us is to be\nrespected and held as sacred, because it alone represents humanity.\nEvery thing that does not concern the moral person is indifferent. In\nthese limits I may consult my tastes, even my fancies to a certain\nextent, because in them there is nothing absolute, because in them good\nand evil are in no way involved. But as soon as an act touches the moral\nperson, my liberty is subjected to its law, to reason, which does not\nallow liberty to be turned against itself. For example, if through\ncaprice, or melancholy, or any other motive, I condemn myself to an\nabstinence too prolonged, if I impose on myself vigils protracted and\nbeyond my strength; if I absolutely renounce all pleasure, and, by these\nexcessive privations, endanger my health, my life, my reason, these are\nno longer indifferent actions. Sickness, death, madness, may become\ncrimes, if we voluntarily bring them upon ourselves.\n\nI have not established this obligation of self-respect imposed on the\nmoral person, therefore I cannot destroy it. Is self-respect founded on\none of those arbitrary conventions that cease to exist when the two\ncontracting parties freely renounce them? Are the two contracting\nparties here _me_ and myself? By no means; one of the contracting\nparties is not _me_, to wit, humanity, the moral person. And there is\nhere neither convention nor contract. By the fact alone that the moral\nperson is in us, we are obligated towards it, without convention of any\nsort, without contract that can be cancelled, and by the very nature of\nthings. Hence it comes that obligation is absolute.\n\nRespect of the moral person in us is the general principle whence are\nderived all individual duties. We will cite some of them.\n\nThe most important, that which governs all others, is the duty of\nremaining master of one's self. One may lose possession of himself in\ntwo ways, either by allowing himself to be carried away, or by allowing\nhimself to be overcome, by yielding to enervating passions or to\noverwhelming passions, to anger or to melancholy. On either hand there\nis equal weakness. And I do not speak of the consequences of those vices\nfor society and ourselves,--certainly they are very injurious; but they\nare much worse than that, they are already bad in themselves, because in\nthemselves they give a blow to moral dignity, because they diminish\nliberty and disturb intelligence.\n\nPrudence is an eminent virtue. I speak of that noble prudence that is\nthe moderation in all things, the foresight, the fitness, that preserve\nat once from negligence and that rashness which adorns itself with the\nname of heroism, as cowardice and selfishness sometimes usurp the name\nof prudence. Heroism, without being premeditated, ought always to be\nrational. One may be a hero at intervals; but, in every-day life, it is\nsufficient to be a wise man. We must ourselves hold the reins of our\nlife, and not prepare difficulties for ourselves by carelessness or\nbravado, nor create for ourselves useless perils. Doubtless we must know\nhow to dare, but still prudence is, if not the principle, at least the\nrule of courage; for true courage is not a blind transport, it is before\nall coolness and self possession in danger. Prudence also teaches\ntemperance; it keeps the soul in that state of moderation without which\nman is incapable of recognizing and practising justice. This is the\nreason why the ancients said that prudence is the mother and guardian of\nall the virtues. Prudence is the government of liberty by reason, as\nimprudence is liberty escaped from reason:--on the one side, order, the\nlegitimate subordination of our faculties to each other; on the other,\nanarchy and revolt.[233]\n\nVeracity is also a great virtue. Falsehood, by breaking the natural\nalliance between man and truth, deprives him of that which makes his\ndignity. This is the reason why there is no graver insult than giving\nthe lie, and why the most honored virtues are sincerity and frankness.\n\nOne may degrade the moral person by wounding it in its instruments. For\nthis reason the body is to man the object of imperative duties. The body\nmay become an obstacle or a means. If you refuse it what sustains and\nstrengthens it, or if you demand too much from it by exciting it beyond\nmeasure, you exhaust it, and by abusing it, deprive yourself of it. It\nis worse still if you pamper it, if you grant every thing to its\nunbridled desires, if you make yourself its slave. It is being\nunfaithful to the soul to enfeeble its servant; it is being much more\nunfaithful to it still, to enslave it to its servant.\n\nBut it is not enough to respect the moral person, it is necessary to\nperfect it; it is necessary to labor to return the soul to God better\nthan we received it; and it can become so only by a constant and\ncourageous exercise. Everywhere in nature, all things are spontaneously\ndeveloped, without willing it, and without knowing it. With man, if the\nwill slumbers, the other faculties degenerate into languor and inertion;\nor, carried away by the blind impulse of passion, they are precipitated\nand go astray. It is by the government and education of himself that man\nis great.\n\nMan must, before every thing else, occupy himself with his\nintelligence. It is in fact our intelligence that alone can give us a\nclear sight of the true and the good, that guides liberty by showing it\nthe legitimate object of its efforts. No one can give himself another\nmind than the one that he has received, but he may train and strengthen\nit as well as the body, by putting it to a task of some kind, by rousing\nit when it is drowsy, by restraining it when it is carried away, by\ncontinually proposing to it new objects,--for it is only by continually\nenriching it that it does not grow poor. Sloth benumbs and enervates the\nmind; regular work excites and strengthens it, and work is always in our\npower.\n\nThere is an education of liberty as well as our other faculties. It is\nsometimes in subduing the body, sometimes in governing our intelligence,\nespecially in resisting our passions, that we learn to be free. We\nencounter opposition at each step,--the only question is not to shun it.\nIn this constant struggle liberty is formed and augmented, until it\nbecomes a habit.\n\nFinally, there is a culture of sensibility itself. Fortunate are those\nwho have received from nature the sacred fire of enthusiasm! They ought\nreligiously to preserve it. But there is no soul that does not conceal\nsome fortunate vein of it. It is necessary to watch it and pursue, to\navoid what restrains it, to seek what favors it, and, by an assiduous\nculture, draw from it, little by little, some treasures. If we cannot\ngive ourselves sensibility, we can at least develop what we have. We can\ndo this by giving ourselves up to it, by seizing all the occasions of\ngiving ourselves up to it, by calling to its aid intelligence itself;\nfor, the more we know of the beautiful and the good, the more we love\nit. Sentiment thereby only borrows from intelligence what it returns\nwith usury. Intelligence in its turn finds, in the heart, a rampart\nagainst sophism. Noble, sentiments, nourished and developed, preserve\nfrom those sad systems that please certain spirits so much only because\ntheir hearts are so small.\n\nMan would still have duties, should he cease to be in relation with\nother men.[234] As long as he preserves any intelligence and any\nliberty, the idea of the good dwells in him, and with it duty. Were we\ncast upon a desert island, duty would follow us thither. It would be\nbeyond belief strange that it should be in the power of certain\nexternal circumstances to affranchise an intelligent and free being from\nall obligation towards his liberty and his intelligence. In the deepest\nsolitude he is always and consciously under the empire of a law attached\nto the person itself, which, by obligating him to keep continual watch\nover himself, makes at once his torment and his grandeur.\n\nIf the moral person is sacred to me, it is not because it is in me, it\nis because it is the moral person; it is in itself respectable; it will\nbe so, then, wherever we meet it.\n\nIt is in you as in me, and for the same reason. In relation to me it\nimposes on me a duty; in you it becomes the foundation of a right, and\nthereby imposes on me a new duty in relation to you.\n\nI owe to you truth as I owe it to myself; for truth is the law of your\nreason as of mine. Without doubt there ought to be measure in the\ncommunication of truth,--all are not capable of it at the same moment\nand in the same degree; it is necessary to portion it out to them in\norder that they may be able to receive it; but, in fine, the truth is\nthe proper good of the intelligence; and it is for me a strict duty to\nrespect the development of your mind, not to arrest, and even to favor\nits progress towards truth.\n\nI ought also to respect your liberty. I have not even always the right\nto hinder you from committing a fault. Liberty is so sacred that, even\nwhen it goes astray, it still deserves, up to a certain point, to be\nmanaged. We are often wrong in wishing to prevent too much the evil that\nGod himself permits. Souls may be corrupted by an attempt to purify\nthem.\n\nI ought to respect you in your affections, which make part of yourself;\nand of all the affections there are none more holy than those of the\nfamily. There is in us a need of expanding ourselves beyond ourselves,\nyet without dispelling ourselves, of establishing ourselves in some\nsouls by a regular and consecrated affection,--to this need the family\nresponds. The love of men is something of the general good. The family\nis still almost the individual, and not merely the individual,--it only\nrequires us to love as much as ourselves what is almost ourselves. It\nattaches one to the other, by the sweetest and strongest of all\nties--father, mother, child; it gives to this sure succor in the love of\nits parents--to these hope, joy, new life, in their child. To violate\nthe conjugal or paternal right, is to violate the person in what is\nperhaps its most sacred possession.\n\nI ought to respect your body, inasmuch as it belongs to you, inasmuch as\nit is the necessary instrument of your person. I have neither the right\nto kill you, nor to wound you, unless I am attacked and threatened; then\nmy violated liberty is armed with a new right, the right of defence and\neven constraint.\n\nI owe respect to your goods, for they are the product of your labor; I\nowe respect to your labor, which is your liberty itself in exercise;\nand, if your goods come from an inheritance, I still owe respect to the\nfree will that has transmitted them to you.[235]\n\nRespect for the rights of others is called justice; every violation of a\nright is an injustice.\n\nEvery injustice is an encroachment upon our person,--to retrench the\nleast of our rights, is to diminish our moral person, is, at least, so\nfar as that retrenchment goes, to abase us to the condition of a thing.\n\nThe greatest of all injustices, because it comprises all others, is\nslavery. Slavery is the subjecting of all the faculties of one man to\nthe profit of another man. The slave develops his intelligence a little\nonly in the interest of another,--it is not for the purpose of\nenlightening him, but to render him more useful, that some exercise of\nmind is allowed him. The slave has not the liberty of his movements; he\nis attached to the soil, is sold with it, or he is chained to the person\nof a master. The slave should have no affection, he has no family, no\nwife, no children,--he has a female and little ones. His activity does\nnot belong to him, for the product of his labor is another's. But, that\nnothing may be wanting to slavery, it is necessary to go farther,--in\nthe slave must be destroyed the inborn sentiment of liberty, in him must\nbe extinguished all idea of right; for, as long as this idea subsists,\nslavery is uncertain, and to an odious power may respond the terrible\nright of insurrection, that last resort of the oppressed against the\nabuse of force.[236]\n\nJustice, respect for the person in every thing that constitutes the\nperson, is the first duty of man towards his fellow-man. Is this duty\nthe only one?\n\nWhen we have respected the person of others, when we have neither\nrestrained their liberty, nor smothered their intelligence, nor\nmaltreated their body, nor outraged their family, nor injured their\ngoods, are we able to say that we have fulfilled the whole law in regard\nto them? One who is unfortunate is suffering before us. Is our\nconscience satisfied, if we are able to bear witness to ourselves that\nwe have not contributed to his sufferings? No; something tells that it\nis still good to give him bread, succor, consolation.\n\nThere is here an important distinction to be made. If you have remained\nhard and insensible at the sight of another's misery, conscience cries\nout against you; and yet this man who is suffering, who, perhaps, is\nready to die, has not the least right over the least part of your\nfortune, were it immense; and, if he used violence for the purpose of\nwresting from you a single penny, he would commit a crime. We here meet\na new order of duties that do not correspond to rights. Man may resort\nto force in order to make his rights respected; he cannot impose on\nanother any sacrifice whatever. Justice respects or restores; charity\ngives, and gives freely.\n\nCharity takes from us something in order to give it to our fellow-men.\nIf it goes so far as to inspire us to renounce our dearest interests, it\nis called devotedness.\n\nIt certainly cannot be said that to be charitable is not obligatory. But\nthis obligation must not be regarded as precise, as inflexible as the\nobligation to be just. Charity is a sacrifice; and who can find the rule\nof sacrifice, the formula of self-renunciation? For justice, the formula\nis clear,--to respect the rights of another. But charity knows neither\nrule nor limit. It transcends all obligation. Its beauty is precisely in\nits liberty.\n\nBut it must be acknowledged that charity also has its dangers. It tends\nto substitute its own action for the action of him whom it wishes to\nhelp; it somewhat effaces his personality, and makes itself in some sort\nhis providence,--a formidable part for a mortal! In order to be useful\nto others, one imposes himself on them, and runs the risk of violating\ntheir natural rights. Love, in giving itself, enslaves. Doubtless it is\nnot interdicted us to act upon another. We can always do it through\npetition and exhortation. We can also do it by threatening, when we see\none of our fellows engaged in a criminal or senseless action. We have\neven the right to employ force when passion carries away liberty and\nmakes the person disappear. So we may, we even ought to prevent by force\nthe suicide of one of our fellow-men. The legitimate power of charity is\nmeasured by the more or less liberty and reason possessed by him to whom\nit is applied. What delicacy, then, is necessary in the exercise of this\nperilous virtue! How can we estimate with sufficient certainty the\ndegree of liberty still possessed by one of our fellow-men to know how\nfar we may substitute ourselves for him in the guiding of his destiny?\nAnd when, in order to assist a feeble soul, we take possession of it,\nwho is sufficiently sure of himself not to go farther, not to pass from\nthe person governed to the love of domination itself? Charity is often\nthe commencement and the excuse, and always the pretext of usurpation.\nIn order to have the right of abandoning one's self to the emotions of\ncharity, it is necessary to be fortified against one's self by a long\nexercise of justice.\n\nTo respect the rights of others and do good to men, to be at once just\nand charitable,--such are social ethics in the two elements that\nconstitute them.\n\nWe speak of social ethics, and we do not yet know what society is. Let\nus look around us:--everywhere society exists, and where it is not, man\nis not man. Society is a universal fact which must have universal\nfoundations.\n\nLet us avoid at first the question of the origin of society.[237] The\nphilosophy of the last century delighted in such questions too much. How\ncan we demand light from the regions of darkness, and the explanation of\nreality from an hypothesis? Why go back to a pretended primitive state\nin order to account for a present state which may be studied in itself\nin its unquestionable characters? Why seek what may have been in the\ngerm that which may be perceived, that which it is the question to\nunderstand, completed and perfect? Moreover, there is great peril in\nstarting with the question of the origin of society. Has such or such an\norigin been found? Actual society is arranged according to the type of\nthe primitive society that has been dreamed of, and political society is\ndelivered up to the mercy of historical romances. This one imagines that\nthe primitive state is violence, and he sets out from that in order to\nauthorize the right of the strongest, and to consecrate despotism. That\none thinks that he has found in the family the first form of society,\nand he compares government to the father of a family, and subjects to\nchildren; society in his eyes is a minor that must be held in tutelage\nin the hands of the paternal power, which in the origin is absolute, and\nconsequently, must remain so. Or has one thrown himself to the extreme\nof the opposite opinion, and into the hypothesis of an agreement, of a\ncontract that expresses the will of all or of the greatest number? He\ndelivers up to the mobile will of the crowd the eternal laws of justice\nand the inalienable rights of the person. Finally, are powerful\nreligious institutions found in the cradle of society? It is hence\nconcluded, that power belongs of right to priesthoods, which have the\nsecret of the designs of God, and represent his sovereign authority.\nThus a vicious method in philosophy leads to a deplorable political\nsystem,--the commencement is made in hypothesis, and the termination is\nin anarchy or tyranny.\n\nTrue politics do not depend on more or less well directed historical\nresearches into the profound night of a past forever vanished, and of\nwhich no vestige subsists: they rest on the knowledge of human nature.\n\nWherever society is, wherever it was, it has for its foundations:--1st,\nThe need that we have of our fellow-creatures, and the social instincts\nthat man bears in himself; 2d, The permanent and indestructible idea and\nsentiment of justice and right.\n\nMan, feeble and powerless when he is alone, profoundly feels the need\nthat he has of the succor of his fellow-creatures in order to develop\nhis faculties, to embellish his life, and even to preserve it.[238]\nWithout reflection, without convention, he claims the hand, the\nexperience, the love of those whom he sees made like himself. The\ninstinct of society is in the first cry of the child that calls for the\nmother's help without knowing that it has a mother, and in the eagerness\nof the mother to respond to the cries of the child. It is in the\nfeelings for others that nature has put in us--pity, sympathy,\nbenevolence. It is in the attraction of the sexes, in their union, in\nthe love of parents for their children, and in the ties of every kind\nthat these first ties engender. If Providence has attached so much\nsadness to solitude, so much charm to society, it is because society is\nindispensable for the preservation of man and for his happiness, for his\nintellect and moral development.\n\nBut if need and instinct begin society, it is justice that completes it.\n\nIn the presence of another man, without any external law, without any\ncompact,[239] it is sufficient that I know that he is a man, that is to\nsay, that he is intelligent and free, in order to know that he has\nrights, and to know that I ought to respect his rights as he ought to\nrespect mine. As he is no freer than I am, nor I than he, we recognize\ntowards each other equal rights and equal duties. If he abuses his force\nto violate the equality of our rights, I know that I have the right to\ndefend myself and make myself respected; and if a third party is found\nbetween us, without any personal interest in the quarrel, he knows that\nit is his right and his duty to use force in order to protect the\nfeeble, and even to make the oppressor expiate his injustice by a\nchastisement. Therein is already seen entire society with its essential\nprinciples,--justice, liberty, equality, government, and punishment.\n\nJustice is the guaranty of liberty. True liberty does not consist in\ndoing what we will, but in doing what we have a right to do. Liberty of\npassion and caprice would have for its consequence the enslavement of\nthe weakest to the strongest, and the enslavement of the strongest\nthemselves to their unbridled desires. Man is truly free in the interior\nof his consciousness only in resisting passion and obeying justice;\ntherein also is the type of true social liberty. Nothing is falser than\nthe opinion that society diminishes our mutual liberty; far from that,\nit secures it, develops it: what it suppresses is not liberty; it is its\nopposite, passion. Society no more injures liberty than justice, for\nsociety is nothing else than the very idea of justice realized.\n\nIn securing liberty, justice secures equality also. If men are unequal\nin physical force and intelligence, they are equal in so far as they are\nfree beings, and consequently equally worthy of respect. All men, when\nthey bear the sacred character of the moral person, are to be respected,\nby the same title, and in the same degree.[240]\n\nThe limit of liberty is in liberty itself; the limit of right is in\nduty. Liberty is to be respected, but provided it injure not the liberty\nof an other. I ought to let you do what you please, but on the condition\nthat nothing which you do will injure my liberty. For then, in virtue of\nmy right of liberty, I should regard myself as obligated to repress the\naberrations of your will, in order to protect my own and that of others.\nSociety guaranties the liberty of each one, and if one citizen attacks\nthat of another, he is arrested in the name of liberty. For example,\nreligious liberty is sacred; you may, in the secret of consciousness,\ninvent for yourself the most extravagant superstition; but if you wish\npublicly to inculcate an immoral worship, you threaten the liberty and\nreason of your citizens: such preaching is interdicted.\n\nFrom the necessity of repressing springs the necessity of a constituted\nrepressive force.\n\nRigorously, this force is in us; for if I am unjustly attacked, I have\nthe right to defend myself. But, in the first place, I may not be the\nstrongest; in the second place, no one is an impartial judge in his own\ncause, and what I regard or give out as an act of legitimate defence may\nbe an act of violence and oppression.\n\nSo the protection of the rights of each one demands an impartial and\ndisinterested force, that may be superior to all particular forces.\n\nThis disinterested party, armed with the power necessary to secure and\ndefend the liberty of all, is called government.\n\nThe right of government expresses the rights of all and each. It is the\nright of personal defence transferred to a public force, to the profit\nof common liberty.\n\nGovernment is not, then, a power distinct from and independent of\nsociety; it draws from society its whole force. It is not what it has\nseemed to two opposite schools of publicists,--to those who sacrifice\nsociety to government,--to those who consider government as the enemy of\nsociety. If government did not represent society, it would be only a\nmaterial, illegitimate, and soon powerless force; and without\ngovernment, society would be a war of all against all. Society makes\nthe moral power of government, as government makes the security of\nsociety. Pascal is wrong[241] when he says, that not being able to make\nwhat is just powerful, men have made what is powerful just. Government,\nin principle at least, is precisely what Pascal desired,--justice armed\nwith force.\n\nIt is a sad and false political system that places society and\ngovernment, authority and liberty, in opposition to each other, by\nmaking them come from two different sources, by presenting them as two\ncontrary principles. I often hear the principle of authority spoken of\nas a principle apart, independent, deriving from itself its force and\nlegitimacy, and consequently made to rule. No error is deeper and more\ndangerous. Thereby it is thought to confirm the principle of authority;\nfar from that, from it is taken away its solidest foundation.\nAuthority--that is to say, legitimate and moral authority--is nothing\nelse than justice, and justice is nothing else than the respect of\nliberty; so that there is not therein two different and contrary\nopinions, but one and the same principle, of equal certainty and equal\ngrandeur, under all its forms and in all its applications.\n\nAuthority, it is said, comes from God: doubtless; but whence comes\nliberty, whence comes humanity? To God must be referred every thing that\nis excellent on the earth; and nothing is more excellent than liberty.\nReason, which in man commands liberty, commands it according to its\nnature; and the first law that reason imposes on liberty is that of\nself-respect.\n\nAuthority is so much the stronger as its true title is better\nunderstood; and obedience is the easiest when, instead of degrading, it\nhonors; when, instead of resembling servitude, it is at once the\ncondition and guaranty of liberty.\n\nThe mission, the end of government, is to make justice, the protector of\nthe common liberty, reign. Whence it follows, that as long as the\nliberty of one citizen does not injure the liberty of another, it\nescapes all repression. So government cannot be severe against\nfalsehood, intemperance, imprudence, levity, avarice, egoism, except\nwhen these vices become prejudicial to others. Moreover, it is not\nnecessary to confine government within too narrow limits. Government,\nwhich represents society, is also a moral person; it has a heart like\nthe individual; it has generosity, goodness, charity. There are\nlegitimate, and even universally admired facts, that are not explained,\nif the function of government is reduced to the protection of rights\nalone.[242] Government owes to the citizens, in a certain measure, to\nguard their well-being, to develop their intelligence, to fortify their\nmorality, for the interest of society, and even for the interest of\nhumanity. Hence sometimes for government the formidable right of using\nforce in order to do good to men. But we are here touching upon that\ndelicate point where charity inclines to despotism. Too much\nintelligence and wisdom, therefore, cannot be demanded in the employment\nof a power perhaps necessary, but dangerous.\n\nNow, on what condition is government exercised? Is an act of its own\nwill sufficient for it in order to employ to its own liking under all\ncircumstances, as it shall understand them, the power that has been\nconfided to it? Government must have been thus exercised in early\nsociety, and in the infancy of the art of governing. But the power,\nexercised by men, may go astray in different ways, either through\nweakness or through excess of force. It must, then, have a rule superior\nto itself, a public and known rule, that may be a lesson for the\ncitizens, and for the government a rein and support: that rule is called\nlaw.\n\nUniversal and absolute law is natural justice, which cannot be written,\nbut speaks to the reason and heart of all. Written laws are the formulas\nwherein it is sought to express, with the least possible imperfection,\nwhat natural justice requires in such or such determined circumstances.\n\nIf laws propose to express in each thing natural justice, which is\nuniversal and absolute justice, one of the necessary conditions of a\ngood law is the universality of its character. It is necessary to\nexamine in an abstract and general manner what is required by justice in\nsuch or such a case, to the end that this case being presented may be\njudged according to the rule laid down, without regard to circumstances,\nplace, time, or person.\n\nThe collection of those rules or laws that govern the social relations\nof individuals is called positive right. Positive right rests wholly on\nnatural right, which at once serves as its foundation, measure, and\nlimit. The supreme law of every positive law is that it be not opposed\nto natural law: no law can impose on us a false duty, nor deprive us of\na true right.\n\nThe sanction of law is punishment. We have already seen that the right\nto punish springs from the idea of demerit.[243] In the universal\norder, to God alone it belongs to apply a punishment to all faults,\nwhatever they may be. In the social order, government is invested with\nthe right to punish only for the purpose of protecting liberty by\nimposing a just reparation on those who violate it. Every fault that is\nnot contrary to justice, and does not strike at liberty, escapes, then,\nsocial retribution. Neither is the right to punish the right of avenging\none's self. To render evil for evil, to demand an eye for an eye, a\ntooth for a tooth, is the barbarous form of a justice without light; for\nthe evil that I do you will not take away the evil that you have done\nme. It is not the pain felt by the victim that demands a corresponding\npain; it is violated justice that imposes on the culpable man the\nexpiation of suffering. Such is the morality of penalty. The principle\nof penalty is not the reparation of damage caused. If I have caused you\ndamage without intending it, I pay you an indemnity; that is not a\npenalty, for I am not culpable; whilst if I have committed a crime, in\nspite of the material indemnity for the evil that I have done, I owe a\nreparation to justice by a proper suffering, and in that truly consists\nthe penalty.\n\nWhat is the exact proportion of chastisements and crimes? This question\ncannot receive an absolute solution. What is here immutable, is that the\nact opposed to justice merits a punishment, and that the more unjust the\nact is, the severer ought to be the punishment. But by the side of the\nright to punish is the duty of correcting. To the culprit must be left\nthe possibility of repairing his crime. The culpable man is still a\nman; he is not a thing of which we ought to rid ourselves as soon as it\nbecomes injurious, a stone that falls on our heads, that we throw into a\ngulf that it may wound no more. Man is a rational being, capable of\ncomprehending good and evil, of repenting, and of being one day\nreconciled with order. These truths have given birth to works that honor\nthe close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth.\nThe conception of houses of correction reminds one of those early times\nof Christianity when punishment consisted in an expiation that permitted\nthe culprit to return through repentance to the ranks of the just. Here\nintervenes, as we have just indicated, the principle of charity, which\nis very different from the principle of justice. To punish is just, to\nameliorate is charitable. In what measure ought those two principles to\nbe united? Nothing is more delicate, more difficult to determine. It is\ncertain that justice ought to govern. In undertaking the amendment of\nthe culprit, government usurps, with a very generous usurpation, the\nrights of religion; but it ought not to go so far as to forget its\nproper function and its rigorous duty.\n\nLet us pause on the threshold of politics, properly so called. Nothing\nin them but these principles is fixed and invariable; all else is\nrelative. The constitutions of states have something absolute by their\nrelation to the inviolable rights which they ought to guarantee; but\nthey also have a relative side by the variable forms with which they are\nclothed, according to times, places, manners, history. The supreme rule\nof which philosophy reminds politics, is that politics ought, in\nconsulting all circumstances, to seek always those social forms and\ninstitutions that best realize those eternal principles. Yes, they are\neternal; because they are drawn from no arbitrary hypothesis, because\nthey rest on the immutable nature of man, on the all-powerful instincts\nof the heart, on the indestructible notion of justice, and the sublime\nidea of charity, on the consciousness of person, liberty, and equality,\non duty and right, on merit and demerit. Such are the foundations of\nall true society, worthy of the beautiful name of human society, that is\nto say, formed of free and rational beings; and such are the maxims that\nought to direct every government worthy of its mission, which knows that\nit is not dealing with beasts but with men, which respects them and\nloves them.\n\nThank God, French society has always marched by the light of this\nimmortal idea, and the dynasty that has been at its head for some\ncenturies has always guided it in these generous ways. It was Louis le\nGros, who, in the Middle Age, emancipated the communes; it was Philippe\nle Bel who instituted parliaments--an independent and gratuitous\njustice; it was Henri IV. who began religious liberty; it was Louis\nXIII. and Louis XIV. who, while they undertook to give to France her\nnatural frontiers, and almost succeeded in it, labored to unite more and\nmore all parts of the nation, to put a regular administration in the\nplace of feudal anarchy, and to reduce the great vassals to a simple\naristocracy, from day to day deprived of every privilege but that of\nserving the common country in the first rank. It was a king of France\nwho, comprehending the new wants, and associating himself with the\nprogress of the times, attempted to substitute for that very real, but\nconfused and formless representative government, that was called the\nassemblies of the nobility, the clergy, and the _tiers etat_, the true\nrepresentative government that is proper for great civilized nations,--a\nglorious and unfortunate attempt that, if royalty had then been served\nby a Richelieu, a Mazarin, or a Colbert, might have terminated in a\nnecessary reform, that, through the fault of every one, ended in a\nrevolution full of excess, violence, and crime, redeemed and covered by\nan incomparable courage, a sincere patriotism, and the most brilliant\ntriumphs. Finally, it was the brother of Louis XVI. who, enlightened and\nnot discouraged by the misfortunes of his family, spontaneously gave to\nFrance that liberal and wise constitution of which our fathers had\ndreamed, about which Montesquieu had written, which, loyally adhered to,\nand necessarily developed, is admirably fitted for the present time,\nand sufficient for a long future. We are fortunate in finding in the\nCharter the principles that we have just explained, that contain our\nviews and our hopes for France and humanity.[244]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[233] See the _Republic_, book iv., vol. ix., of our translation.\n\n[234] On our principal duties towards ourselves, and on that error, too\nmuch accredited in the eighteenth century, of reducing ethics to our\nduties towards others, see 1st Series, vol. iii., lectures on the ethics\nof Helvetius and Saint-Lambert, lecture vi., p. 235: \"To define virtue\nan habitual disposition to contribute to the happiness of others, is to\nconcentrate virtue into a single one of its applications, is to suppress\nits general and essential character. Therein is the fundamental vice of\nthe ethics of the eighteenth century. Those ethics are an exaggerated\nreaction against the somewhat mystical ethics of the preceding age,\nwhich, rightly occupied with perfecting the internal man, often fell\ninto asceticism, which is not only useless to others, but is contrary to\nwell-ordered human life. Through fear of asceticism, the philosophy of\nthe eighteenth century forgot the care of internal perfection, and only\nconsidered the virtues useful to society. That was retrenching many\nvirtues, and the best ones. I take, for example, dominion over self. How\nmake a virtue of it, when virtue is defined a _disposition to contribute\nto the happiness of others_? Will it be said that dominion over self is\nuseful to others? But that is not always true; often this dominion is\nexercised in the solitude of the soul over internal and wholly personal\nmovements; and there it is most painful and most sublime. Were we in a\ndesert, it would still be for us a duty to resist our passions, to\ncommand ourselves, and to govern our life as it becomes a rational and\nfree being. Beneficence is an adorable virtue, but it is neither the\nwhole of virtue, nor its most difficult employment. What auxiliaries we\nhave when the question is to do good to our fellow-creatures,--pity,\nsympathy, natural benevolence! But to resist pride and envy, to combat\nin the depths of the soul a natural desire legitimate in itself, often\nculpable in its excesses, to suffer and struggle in silence, is the\nhardest task of a virtuous man. I add that the virtues useful to others\nhave their surest guaranty in those personal virtues that the eighteenth\ncentury misconceived. What are goodness, generosity, and beneficence\nwithout dominion over self, without the form of soul attached to the\nreligious observance of duty? They are, perhaps, only the emotions of a\nbeautiful nature placed in fortunate circumstances. Take away these\ncircumstances, and, perhaps, the effects will disappear or be\ndiminished. But when a man, who knows himself to be a rational and free\nbeing, comprehends that it is his duty to remain faithful to liberty and\nreason, when he applies himself to govern himself, and pursue, without\ncessation, the perfection of his nature through all circumstances, you\nmay rely upon that man; he will know how, in case of need, to be useful\nto others, because there is no true perfection for him without justice\nand charity. From the care of internal perfection you may draw all the\nuseful virtues, but the reciprocal is not always true. One may be\nbeneficent without being virtuous; one is not virtuous without being\nbeneficent.\"\n\n[235] On the true foundation of property see the preceding lecture.\n\n[236] Voluntary servitude is little better than servitude imposed by\nforce. See 1st Series, vol. iii., lecture 4, p. 240: \"Had another the\ndesire to serve us as a slave, without conditions and without limits, to\nbe for us a thing for our use, a pure instrument, a staff, a vase, and\nhad we also the desire to make use of him in this manner, and to let him\nserve us in the same way, this reciprocity of desires would authorize\nfor neither of us this absolute sacrifice, because desire can never be\nthe title of a right, because there is something in us that is above all\ndesires, participated or not participated, to wit, duty and\nright,--justice. To justice it belongs to be the rule of our desires,\nand not to our desires to be the rule of justice. Should entire humanity\nforget its dignity, should it consent to its own degradation, should it\nextend the hand to slavery, tyranny would be none the more legitimate;\neternal justice would protest against a contract, which, were it\nsupported by desires, reciprocal desires most authentically expressed\nand converted into solemn laws, is none the less void of all right,\nbecause, as Bossuet very truly said, there is no right against right, no\ncontracts, no conventions, no human laws against the law of laws,\nagainst natural law.\"\n\n[237] On the danger of seeking at first the origin of human knowledge,\nsee 1st Series, vol. iii., lecture on Hobbes, p. 261: \"Hobbes is not the\nonly one who took the question of the origin of societies as the\nstarting-point of political science. Nearly all the publicists of the\neighteenth century, Montesquieu excepted, proceed in the same manner.\nRousseau imagines at first a primitive state in which man being no\nlonger savage without being yet civilized, lived happy and free under\nthe dominion of the laws of nature. This golden age of humanity\ndisappearing carries with it all the rights of the individual, who\nenters naked and disarmed into what we call the social state. But order\ncannot reign in a state without laws, and since natural laws perished in\nthe shipwreck of primitive manners, new ones must be created. Society is\nformed by aid of a contract whose principle is the abandonment by each\nand all of their individual force and rights to the profit of the\ncommunity, of the state, the instrument of all forces, the depository of\nall rights. The state, for Hobbes, will be a man, a monarch, a king; for\nRousseau, the state is the collection itself of citizens, who by turns\nare considered as subjects and governors, so that instead of the\ndespotism of one over all, we have the despotism of all over each. Law\nis not the more or less happy, more or less faithful expression of\nnatural justice; it is the expression of the general will. This general\nwill is alone free; particular wills are not free. The general will has\nall rights, and particular wills have only the rights that it confers on\nthem, or rather lends them. Force, in _The Citizen_ is the foundation of\nsociety, of order, of laws, of the rights and duties which laws alone\ninstitute. In the _Contrat Social_, the general will plays the same\npart, fulfils the same function. Moreover, the general will scarcely\ndiffers in itself from force. In fact, the general will is number, that\nis to say, force still. Thus, on both sides, tyranny under different\nforms. One may here observe the power of method. If Hobbes, if Rousseau\nespecially had at first studied the idea of right in itself, with the\ncertain characters without which we are not able to conceive it, they\nwould have infallibly recognized that if there are rights derived from\npositive laws, and particularly from conventions and contracts, there\nare rights derived from no contract, since contracts take them for\nprinciples and rules; from no convention, since they serve as the\nfoundation to all conventions in order that these conventions may be\nreputed just;--rights that society consecrates and develops, but does\nnot make,--rights not subject to the caprices of general or particular\nwill, belonging essentially to human nature, and like it, inviolable and\nsacred.\"\n\n[238] 1st Series, vol. iii., p. 265: \"What!\" somewhere says Montesquieu,\n\"man is everywhere in society, and it is asked whether man was born for\nsociety! What is this fact that is reproduced in all the vicissitudes of\nthe life of humanity, except a law of humanity? The universal and\npermanent fact of society attests the principle of sociability. This\nprinciple shines forth in all our inclinations, in our sentiments, in\nour beliefs. It is true that we love society for the advantages that it\nbrings; but it is none the less true, that we also love it for its own\nsake, that we seek it independently of all calculation. Solitude saddens\nus; it is not less deadly to the life of the moral being, than a perfect\nvacuum is to the life of the physical being. Without society what would\nbecome of sympathy, which is one of the most powerful principles of our\nsoul, which establishes between men a community of sentiments, by which\neach lives in all and all live in each? Who would be blind enough not to\nsee in that an energetic call of human nature for society? And the\nattraction of the sexes, their union, the love of parents for\nchildren,--do they not found a sort of natural society, that is\nincreased and developed by the power of the same causes which produced\nit? Divided by interest, united by sentiment, men respect each other in\nthe name of justice. Let us add that they love each other in virtue of\nnatural charity. In the sight of justice, equal in right, charity\ninspires us to consider ourselves as brethren, and to give each other\nsuccor and consolation. Wonderful thing! God has not left to our wisdom,\nnor even to experience, the care of forming and preserving society,--he\nhas willed that sociability should be a law of our nature, and a law so\nimperative that no tendency to isolation, no egoism, no distaste even,\ncan prevail against it. All the power of the spirit of system was\nnecessary in order to make Hobbes say that society is an accident, as an\nincredible degree of melancholy to wring from Rousseau the extravagant\nexpression that society is an evil.\"\n\n[239] 1st Series, vol. iii., p. 283: \"We do not hold from a compact our\nquality as man, and the dignity and rights attached to it; or, rather,\nthere is an immortal compact which is nowhere written, which makes\nitself felt by every uncorrupted conscience, that compact which binds\ntogether all beings intelligent, free, and subject to misfortune, by the\nsacred ties of a common respect and a common charity.... Laws promulgate\nduties, but do not give birth to them; they could not violate duties\nwithout being unjust, and ceasing to merit the beautiful name of\nlaws--that is to say, decisions of the public authority worthy of\nappearing obligatory to the conscience of all. Nevertheless, although\nlaws have no other virtue than that of declaring what exists before\nthem, we often found on them right and justice, to the great detriment\nof justice itself, and the sentiment of right. Time and habit despoil\nreason of its natural rights in order to transfer it to law. What then\nhappens? We either obey it, even when it is unjust, which is not a very\ngreat evil, but we do not think of reforming it little by little, having\nno superior principle that enables us to judge it,--or we continually\nchange it, in an invincible impotence of founding any thing, by not\nknowing the immutable basis on which written law must rest. In either\ncase, all progress is impossible, because the laws are not related to\ntheir true principle, which is reason, conscience, sovereign and\nabsolute justice.\"\n\n[240] Lecture 12.\n\n[241] See 4th Series, vol. i., p. 40.\n\n[242] See our pamphlet entitled _Justice and Charity_, composed in 1848,\nin the midst of the excesses of socialism, in order to remind of the\ndignity of liberty, the character, bearing, and the impassable limits of\ntrue charity, private and civil.\n\n[243] See on the theory of penalty, the _Gorgias_, vol. iii. of the\ntranslation of Plato, and our argument, p. 367: \"The first law of order\nis to be faithful to virtue, and to that part of virtue which is related\nto society, to wit, justice; but if one is wanting in that, the second\nlaw of order is to expiate one's fault, and it is expiated by\npunishment. Publicists are still seeking the foundation of penalty.\nSome, who think themselves great politicians, find it in the utility of\nthe punishment for those who witness it, and are turned aside from crime\nby fear of its menace, by its preventive virtue. And that it is true, is\none of the effects of penalty, but it is not its foundation; for\npunishment falling upon the innocent, would produce as much, and still\nmore terror, and would be quite as preventive. Others, in their\npretensions to humanity, do not wish to see the legitimacy of punishment\nexcept in its utility for him who undergoes it, in its corrective\nvirtue,--and that, too, is one of the possible effects of punishment,\nbut not its foundation; for that punishment may be corrective, it must\nbe accepted as just. It is, then, always necessary to recur to justice.\nJustice is the true foundation of punishment,--personal and social\nutility are only consequences. It is an incontestable fact, that after\nevery unjust act, man thinks, and cannot but think that he has incurred\ndemerit, that is to say, has merited a punishment. In intelligence, to\nthe idea of injustice corresponds that of penalty; and when injustice\nhas taken place in the social sphere, merited punishment ought to be\ninflicted by society. Society can inflict it only because it ought.\nRight here has no other source than duty, the strictest, most evident,\nand most sacred duty, without which this pretended right would be only\nthat of force, that is to say, an atrocious injustice, should it even\nresult in the moral profit of him who undergoes it, and in a salutary\nspectacle for the people,--what it would not then be; for then the\npunishment would find no sympathy, no echo, either in the public\nconscience or in that of the condemned. The punishment is not just,\nbecause it is preventively or correctively useful; but it is in both\nways useful, because it is just.\" This theory of penalty, in\ndemonstrating the falsity, the incomplete and exclusive character of two\ntheories that divide publicists, completes and explains them, and gives\nthem both a legitimate centre and base. It is doubtless only indicated\nin Plato, but is met in several passages, briefly but positively\nexpressed, and on it rests the sublime theory of expiation.\n\n[244] As it is perceived, we have confined ourselves to the most general\nprinciples. The following year, in 1819, in our lectures on Hobbes, 1st\nSeries, vol. iii., we gave a more extended theory of rights, and the\ncivil and political guaranties which they demand; we even touched the\nquestion of the different forms of government, and established the truth\nand beauty of the constitutional monarchy. In 1828, 2d Series, vol. i.,\nlecture 13, we explained and defended the Charter in its fundamental\nparts. Under the government of July, the part of defender of both\nliberty and royalty was easy. We continued it in 1848; and when, at the\nunexpected inundation of democracy, soon followed by a passionate\nreaction in favor of an absolute authority, many minds, and the best,\nasked themselves whether the young American republic was not called to\nserve as a model for old Europe, we did not hesitate to maintain the\nprinciple of the monarchy in the interest of liberty; we believe that we\ndemonstrated that the development of the principles of 1789, and in\nparticular the progress of the lower classes, so necessary, can be\nobtained only by the aid of the constitutional monarchy,--6th Series,\nPOLITICAL DISCOURSES, _with an introduction on the principles of the\nFrench Revolution and representative government_.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XVI.\n\nGOD THE PRINCIPLE OF THE IDEA OF THE GOOD.\n\n    Principle on which true theodicea rests. God the last foundation\n    of moral truth, of the good, and of the moral person.--Liberty\n    of God.--The divine justice and charity.--God the sanction of\n    the moral law. Immortality of the soul; argument from merit and\n    demerit; argument from the simplicity of the soul; argument from\n    final causes.--Religious sentiment.--Adoration.--Worship.--Moral\n    beauty of Christianity.\n\n\nThe moral order has been confirmed,--we are in possession of moral\ntruth, of the idea of the good, and the obligation that is attached to\nit. Now, the same principle that has not permitted us to stop at\nabsolute truth,[245] and has forced us to seek its supreme reason in a\nreal and substantial being, forces us here again to refer the idea of\nthe good to the being who is its first and last foundation.\n\nMoral truth, like every other universal and necessary truth, cannot\nremain in a state of abstraction. In us it is only conceived. There must\nsomewhere be a being who not only conceives it, but constituted it.\n\nAs all beautiful things and all true things are related--these to a\nunity that is absolute truth, and those to another unity that is\nabsolute beauty, so all moral principles participate in the same\nprinciple, which is the good. We thus elevate ourselves to the\nconception of the good in itself, of absolute good, superior to all\nparticular duties, and determined in these duties. Now, can the absolute\ngood be any thing else than an attribute of him who, properly speaking,\nis alone absolute being?\n\nWould it be possible that there might be several absolute beings, and\nthat the being in whom are realized absolute truth and absolute beauty\nmight not also be the one who is the principle of absolute good? The\nvery idea of the absolute implies absolute unity. The true, the\nbeautiful, and the good, are not three distinct essences; they are one\nand the same essence considered in its fundamental attributes. Our mind\ndistinguishes them, because it can comprehend them only by division;\nbut, in the being in whom they reside, they are indivisibly united; and\nthis being at once triple and one, who sums up in himself perfect\nbeauty, perfect truth, and the supreme good, is nothing else than God.\n\nSo God is necessarily the principle of moral truth and the good. He is\nalso the type of the moral person that we carry in us.\n\nMan is a moral person, that is to say, he is endowed with reason and\nliberty. He is capable of virtue, and virtue has in him two principal\nforms, respect of others, and love of others, justice and charity.\n\nCan there be among the attributes possessed by the creature something\nessential not possessed by the Creator? Whence does the effect draw its\nreality and its being, except from its cause? What it possesses, it\nborrows and receives. The cause at least contains all that is essential\nin the effect. What particularly belongs to the effect, is inferiority,\nis a lack, is imperfection: from the fact alone that it is dependent and\nderived, it bears in itself the signs and the conditions of dependence.\nIf, then, we cannot legitimately conclude from the imperfection of the\neffect in that of the cause, we can and must conclude from the\nexcellence of the effect in the perfection of the cause, otherwise there\nwould be something prominent in the effect which would be without cause.\n\nSuch is the principle of our theodicea. It is neither new nor subtle;\nbut it has not yet been thoroughly disengaged and elucidated, and it is,\nto our eyes, firm against every test. It is by the aid of this\nprinciple that we can, up to a certain point, penetrate into the true\nnature of God.\n\nGod is not a being of logic, whose nature can be explained by way of\ndeduction, and by means of algebraic equations. When, setting out from a\nfirst attribute, we have deduced the attributes of God from each other,\nafter the manner of geometricians and the schoolmen, what do we\npossess,[246] I pray you, but abstractions? It is necessary to leave\nthese vain dialectics in order to arrive at a real and living God.\n\nThe first notion that we have of God, to wit, the notion of an infinite\nbeing, is itself given to us independently of all experience. It is the\nconsciousness of ourselves, as being at once, and as being limited, that\nelevates us directly to the conception of a being who is the principle\nof our being, and is himself without bounds. This solid and single\nargument, which is at bottom that of Descartes,[247] opens to us a way\nthat must be followed, in which Descartes too quickly stopped. If the\nbeing that we possess forces us to recur to a cause which possesses\nbeing in an infinite degree, all that we have of being, that is to say,\nof substantial attributes, equally requires an infinite cause. Then, God\nwill no longer be merely the infinite, abstract, or at least\nindeterminate being in which reason and the heart know not where to\nbetake themselves,[248] he will be a real and determined being, a moral\nperson like ours and psychology conducts us without hypothesis to a\ntheodicea at once sublime and related to us.[249]\n\nBefore all, if man is free, can it be that God is not free? No one\ncontends that he who is cause of all causes, who has no cause but\nhimself, can be dependent on any thing whatever. But in freeing God from\nall external constraint, Spinoza subjects him to an internal and\nmathematical necessity, wherein he finds the perfection of being. Yes,\nof being which is not a person; but the essential character of personal\nbeing is precisely liberty. If, then, God were not free, God would be\nbeneath man. Would it not be strange that the creature should have the\nmarvellous power of disposing of himself, and of freely willing, and\nthat the being who has made him should be subjected to a necessary\ndevelopment, whose cause is only in himself, without doubt, but, in\nfine, is a sort of abstract power, mechanical or metaphysical, but very\ninferior to the personal and voluntary cause that we are, and of which\nwe have the clearest consciousness? God is therefore free, since we are\nfree. But he is not free as we are free; for God is at once all that we\nare, and nothing that we are. He possesses the same attributes that we\npossess, but elevated to infinity. He possesses an infinite liberty,\njoined to an infinite intelligence; and, as his intelligence is\ninfallible, excepted from the uncertainties of deliberation, and\nperceiving at a glance where the good is, so his liberty spontaneously,\nand without effort, fulfils it.[250]\n\nIn the same manner as we transfer to God the liberty that is the\nfoundation of our being, we also transfer to him justice and charity. In\nman, justice and charity are virtues; in God, they are attributes. What\nis in us the laborious conquest of liberty, is in him his very nature.\nIf respect of rights is in us the very essence of justice and the sign\nof the dignity of our being, it is impossible that the perfect being\nshould not know and respect the rights of the lowest beings, since it is\nhe, moreover, who has imparted to them those rights. In God resides a\nsovereign justice, which renders to each one his due, not according to\ndeceptive appearances, but according to the truth of things. Finally, if\nman, that limited being, has the power of going out of himself, of\nforgetting his person, of loving another than himself, of devoting\nhimself to another's happiness, or, what is better, to the perfecting of\nanother, should not the perfect being have, in an infinite degree, this\ndisinterested tenderness, this charity, the supreme virtue of the human\nperson? Yes, there is in God an infinite tenderness for his creatures:\nhe at first manifested it in giving us the being that he might have\nwithheld, and at all times it appears in the innumerable signs of his\ndivine providence. Plato knew this love of God well, and expressed it in\nthose great words, \"Let us say that the cause which led the supreme\nordainer to produce and compose this universe is, that he was good; and\nhe who is good has no species of envy. Exempt from envy, he willed that\nall things should be, as much as possible, like himself.\"[251]\nChristianity went farther: according to the divine doctrine, God so\nloved men that he gave them his only Son. God is inexhaustible in his\ncharity, as he is inexhaustible in his essence. It is impossible to give\nmore to the creature; he gives him every thing that he can receive\nwithout ceasing to be a creature; he gives him every thing, even\nhimself, so far as the creature is in him and he in the creature. At the\nsame time nothing can be lost; for being absolute being, he eternally\nexpands and gives himself without being diminished. Infinite in power,\ninfinite in charity, he bestows his love in exhaustless abundance upon\nthe world, to teach us that the more we give the more we possess. It is\negoism, whose root is at the bottom of every heart, even by the side of\nthe sincerest charity, that inculcates in us the error that we lose by\nself-devotion: it is egoism that makes us call devotion a sacrifice.\n\nIf God is wholly just and wholly good, he can will nothing but what is\ngood and just; and, as he is all-powerful, every thing that he wills he\ncan do, and consequently does do. The world is the work of God; it is\ntherefore perfectly made, perfectly adapted to its end.\n\nAnd nevertheless, there is in the world a disorder that seems to accuse\nthe justice and goodness of God.\n\nA principle that is attached to the very idea of the good, says to us\nthat every moral agent deserves a reward when he does good, and a\npunishment when he does evil. This principle is universal and necessary:\nit is absolute. If this principle has not its application in this world,\nit must either be a lie, or this world is ordered ill.\n\nNow, it is a fact that the good is not always followed by happiness, nor\nevil always by unhappiness.\n\nLet us, in the first place, remark that if the fact exists, it is rare\nenough, and seems to present the character of an exception.\n\nVirtue is a struggle against passion; this struggle, full of dignity, is\nalso full of pain; but, on one side, crime is condemned to much harder\npains; on the other, those of virtue are of short duration; they are a\nnecessary and almost always beneficent trial.\n\nVirtue has its pains, but the greatest happiness is still with it, as\nthe greatest unhappiness is with crime; and such is the case in small\nand great, in the secret of the soul, and on the theatre of life, in the\nobscurest conditions and in the most conspicuous situations.\n\nGood and bad health are, after all, the greatest part of happiness or\nunhappiness. In this regard, compare temperance and its opposite, order\nand disorder, virtue and vice; I mean a temperance truly temperate, and\nnot an atrabilarious asceticism, a rational virtue, and not a fierce\nvirtue.\n\nThe great physician Hufeland[252] remarks that the benevolent sentiments\nare favorable to health, and that the malevolent sentiments are opposed\nto it. Violent and sinful passions irritate, inflame, and carry trouble\ninto the organization as well as the soul; the benevolent affections\npreserve the measured and harmonious play of all the functions.\n\nHufeland again remarks that the greatest longevities pertain to wise and\nwell-regulated lives.\n\nThus, for health, strength, and life, virtue is better than vice: it is\nalready much, it seems to me.\n\nI surely mean to speak of conscience only after health; but, in fine,\nwith the body, our most constant host is conscience. Peace or trouble of\nconscience decides internal happiness or unhappiness. At this point of\nview, compare again order and disorder, virtue and vice.\n\nAnd without us, in society, to whom come esteem and contempt,\nconsideration and infamy? Certainly opinion has its mistakes, but they\nare not long. In general, if charlatans, intriguers, impostors of every\nkind, for some time surreptitiously get suffrages, it must be that a\nsustained honesty is the surest and the almost infallible means of\nreaching a good renown.\n\nI regret that upon this point time does not allow of any development. It\nwould have afforded me delight, after having distinguished virtue from\nhappiness, to show them to you almost always united by the admirable law\nof merit and demerit. I should have been pleased to show you this\nbeneficent law already governing human destiny, and called to preside\nover it more exactly from day to day by the ever-increasing progress of\nlights in governments and peoples, by the perfecting of civil and\njudicial institutions. It would have been my wish to make pass into your\nminds and hearts the consoling conviction that, after all, justice is\nalready in this world, and that the surest road to happiness is still\nthat of virtue.\n\nThis was the opinion of Socrates and Plato; and it is also that of\nFranklin, and I gather it from my personal experience and an attentive\nexamination of human life. But I admit that there are exceptions; and\nwere there but one exception, it would be necessary to explain it.\n\nSuppose a man, young, beautiful, rich, amiable, and loved, who, placed\nbetween the scaffold and the betrayal of a sacred cause, voluntarily\nmounts the scaffold at twenty years of age. What do you make of this\nnoble victim? The law of merit and demerit seems here suspended. Do you\ndare blame virtue, or how in this world do you accord to it the\nrecompense that it has not sought, but is its due?\n\nBy careful search you will find more than one case analogous to that.\n\nThe laws of this world are general; they turn aside to suit no one: they\npursue their course without regard to the merit or demerit of any. If a\nman is born with a bad temperament, it is in virtue of certain obscure\nbut undeviating physical laws, to which he is subject, like the animal\nand the plant, and he suffers during his whole life, although personally\ninnocent. He is brought up in the midst of flames, epidemics, calamities\nthat strike at hazard the good as well as the bad.\n\nHuman justice condemns many that are innocent, it is true, but it\nabsolves, in fault of proof, more than one who is culpable. Besides, it\nknows only certain derelictions. What faults, what basenesses occur in\nthe dark, which do not receive merited chastisement! In like manner,\nwhat obscure devotions of which God is the sole witness and judge!\nWithout doubt nothing escapes the eye of conscience, and the culpable\nsoul cannot escape remorse. But remorse is not always in exact relation\nwith the fault committed; its vivacity may depend on a nature more or\nless delicate, on education and habit. In a word, if it is in general\nvery true that the law of merit and demerit is fulfilled in this world,\nit is not fulfilled with mathematical rigor.\n\nWhat must we conclude from this? That the world is ill-made? No. That\ncannot be, and is not. That cannot be, for incontestably the world has a\njust and good author; that is not, for, in fact, we see order reigning\nin the world; and it would be absurd to misconceive the manifest order\nthat almost everywhere shines forth on account of a few phenomena that\nwe cannot refer to order. The universe endures, therefore it is well\nmade. The pessimism of Voltaire is still more opposed to the aggregate\nof facts than an absolute optimism. Between these two systematic\nextremes which facts deny, the human race places the hope of another\nlife. It has found it very irrational to reject a necessary law on\naccount of some infractions; it has, therefore, maintained the law; and\nfrom infractions it has only concluded that they ought to be referred to\nthe law, that there will be a reparation. Either this conclusion must be\nadmitted, or the two great principles previously admitted, that God is\njust, and that the law of merit and demerit is an absolute law, must be\nrejected.\n\nNow, to reject these two principles is to totally overthrow all human\nbelief.\n\nTo maintain them, is implicitly to admit that actual life must be,\nelsewhere terminated or continued.\n\nBut is this continuation of the person possible? After the dissolution\nof the body, can any thing of us remain?\n\nIn truth, the moral person, which acts well or ill, which awaits the\nreward or punishment of its good or bad actions, is united to a\nbody,--it lives with the body, makes use of it, and, in a certain\nmeasure, depends on it, but is not it.[253] The body is composed of\nparts, may decrease or increase; is divisible, essentially divisible,\nand even infinitely divisible. But that something that has consciousness\nof itself, that says, _I_, _me_, that feels itself to be free and\nresponsible, does it not also feel that there is in it no division,\neven no possible division, that it is a being one and simple? Is the\n_me_ more or less _me_? Is there a half of _me_, a quarter of _me_? I\ncannot divide my person. It remains identical to itself under the\ndiversity of the phenomena that manifest it. This identity, this\nindivisibility of the person, is its spirituality. Spirituality is,\ntherefore, the very essence of the person. Belief in the spirituality of\nthe soul is involved in the belief of this identity of the _me_, which\nno rational being has ever called in question. Accordingly, there is not\nthe least hypothesis for affirming that the soul does not essentially\ndiffer from the body. Add that when we say the soul, we mean to say, and\ndo say the person, which is not separated from the consciousness of the\nattributes that constitute it, thought and will. The being without\nconsciousness is not a person. It is the person that is identical, one,\nsimple. Its attributes, in developing it, do not divide it. Indivisible,\nit is indissoluble, and may be immortal. If, then, divine justice, in\norder to be exercised in regard to us, demands an immortal soul, it does\nnot demand an impossible thing. The spirituality of the soul is the\nnecessary foundation of immortality. The law of merit and demerit is the\ndirect demonstration of this. The first proof is called the metaphysical\nproof, the second, the moral proof, which is the most celebrated, most\npopular, at once the most convincing and the most persuasive.\n\nWhat powerful motives are added to these two proofs to fortify them in\nthe heart! The following, for example, is a presumption of great value\nfor any one that believes in the virtue of sentiment and instinct.\n\nEvery thing has its end. This principle is as absolute as that which\nrefers every event to a cause.[254] Man has, therefore, an end. This end\nis revealed in all his thoughts, in all his ways, in all his sentiments,\nin all his life. Whatever he does, whatever he feels, whatever he\nthinks, he thinks upon the infinite, loves the infinite, tends to the\ninfinite.[255] This need of the infinite is the mainspring of scientific\ncuriosity, the principle of all discoveries. Love also stops and rests\nonly there. On the route it may experience lively joys; but a secret\nbitterness that is mingled with them soon makes it feel their\ninsufficiency and emptiness. Often, while ignorant of its true object,\nit asks whence comes that fatal disenchantment by which all its\nsuccesses, all its pleasures are successively extinguished. If it knew\nhow to read itself, it would recognize that if nothing here below\nsatisfies it, it is because its object is more elevated, because the\ntrue bourne after which it aspires is infinite perfection. Finally, like\nthought and love, human activity is without limits. Who can say where it\nshall stop? Behold this earth almost known. Soon another world will be\nnecessary for us. Man is journeying towards the infinite, which is\nalways receding before him, which he always pursues. He conceives it, he\nfeels it, he bears it, thus to speak, in himself,--how should his end be\nelsewhere? Hence that unconquerable instinct of immortality, that\nuniversal hope of another life to which all worships, all poesies, all\ntraditions bear witness. We tend to the infinite with all our powers;\ndeath comes to interrupt the destiny that seeks its goal, and overtakes\nit unfinished. It is, therefore, likely that there is something after\ndeath, since at death nothing in us is terminated. Look at the flower\nthat to-morrow will not be. To-day, at least, it is entirely developed:\nwe can conceive nothing more beautiful of its kind; it has attained its\nperfection. My perfection, my moral perfection, that of which I have the\nclearest idea and the most invincible need, for which I feel that I am\nborn,--in vain I call for it, in vain I labor for it; it escapes me, and\nleaves me only hope. Shall this hope be deceived? All beings attain\ntheir end; should man alone not attain his? Should the greatest of\ncreatures be the most ill-treated? But a being that should remain\nincomplete and unfinished, that should not attain the end which all his\ninstincts proclaim for him, would be a monster in the eternal order,--a\nproblem much more difficult to solve than the difficulties that have\nbeen raised against the immortality of the soul. In our opinion, this\ntendency of all the desires and all the powers of the soul towards the\ninfinite, elucidated by the principle of final causes, is a serious and\nimportant confirmation of the moral proof and the metaphysical proof of\nanother life.\n\nWhen we have collected all the arguments that authorize belief in\nanother life, and when we have thus arrived at a satisfying\ndemonstration, there remains an obstacle to be overcome. Imagination\ncannot contemplate without fright that unknown which is called death.\nThe greatest philosopher in the world, says Pascal, on a plank wider\nthan it is necessary in order to go without danger from one side of an\nabyss to the other, cannot think without trembling on the abyss that is\nbeneath him. It is not reason, it is imagination that frightens him; it\nis also imagination that in great part causes that remnant of doubt,\nthat trouble, that secret anxiety which the firmest faith cannot always\nsucceed in overcoming in the presence of death. The religious man\nexperiences this terror, but he knows whence it comes, and he surmounts\nit by attaching himself to the solid hopes furnished him by reason and\nthe heart. Imagination is a child that must be educated, by putting it\nunder the discipline and government of better faculties; it must be\naccustomed to go to intelligence for aid instead of troubling\nintelligence with its phantoms. Let us acknowledge that there is a\nterrible step to be taken when we meet death. Nature trembles when face\nto face with the unknown eternity. It is wise to present ourselves there\nwith all our forces united,--reason and the heart lending each other\nmutual support, the imagination being subdued or charmed. Let us\ncontinually repeat that, in death as in life, the soul is sure to find\nGod, and that with God all is just, all is good.[256]\n\nWe now know what God truly is. We have already seen two of his adorable\nattributes,--truth and beauty. The most august attribute is revealed to\nus,--holiness. God is the holy of holies, as the author of the moral law\nand the good, as the principle of liberty, justice, and charity, as the\ndispenser of penalty and reward. Such a God is not an abstract God, but\nan intelligent and free person, who has made us in his own image, from\nwhom we hold the law itself that presides over our destiny, whose\njudgments we await. It is his love that inspires us in our acts of\ncharity; it is his justice that governs our justice, that of our\nsocieties and our laws. If we do not continually remind ourselves that\nhe is infinite, we degrade his nature; but he would be for us as if he\nwere not, if his infinite essence had no forms that pertain to us, the\nproper forms of our reason and our soul.\n\nBy thinking upon such a being, man feels a sentiment that is _par\nexcellence_ the religious sentiment. All the beings with whom we are in\nrelation awaken in us different sentiments, according to the qualities\nthat we perceive in them; and should he who possesses all perfections\nexcite in us no particular sentiment? When we think upon the infinite\nessence of God, when we are penetrated with his omnipotence, when we are\nreminded that the moral law expresses his will, that he attaches to the\nfulfilment and the violation of this law recompenses and penalties which\nhe dispenses with an inflexible justice, we cannot guard ourselves\nagainst an emotion of respect and fear at the idea of such a grandeur.\nThen, if we come to consider that this all-powerful being has indeed\nwished to create us, us of whom he has no need, that in creating us he\nhas loaded us with benefits, that he has given us this admirable\nuniverse for enjoying its ever-new beauties, society for ennobling our\nlife in that of our fellow-men, reason for thinking, the heart for\nloving, liberty for acting; without disappearing, respect and fear are\ntinged with a sweeter sentiment, that of love. Love, when it is applied\nto feeble and limited beings, inspires us with a desire to do good to\nthem; but in itself it proposes to itself no advantage from the person\nloved; we love a beautiful or good object, because it is beautiful or\ngood, without at first regarding whether this love may be useful to its\nobject and ourselves. For a still stronger reason, love, when it ascends\nto God, is a pure homage rendered to his perfections; it is the natural\noverflow of the soul towards a being infinitely lovable.\n\nRespect and love compose adoration. True adoration does not exist\nwithout possessing both of these sentiments. If you consider only the\nall-powerful God, master of heaven and earth, author and avenger of\njustice, you crush man beneath the weight of the grandeur of God and his\nown feebleness, you condemn him to a continual trembling in the\nuncertainty of God's judgments, you make him hate the world, life, and\nhimself, for every thing is full of misery. Towards this extreme,\nPort-Royal inclines. Read the _Pensees de Pascal_.[257] In his great\nhumility, Pascal forgets two things,--the dignity of man and the love of\nGod. On the other hand, if you see only the good God and the indulgent\nfather, you incline to a chimerical mysticism. By substituting love for\nfear, little by little with fear, we run the risk of losing respect. God\nis no more a master, he is no more even a father; for the idea of a\nfather still to a certain point involves that of a respectful fear; he\nis no more any thing but a friend, sometimes even a lover. True\nadoration does not separate love and respect; it is respect animated by\nlove.\n\nAdoration is a universal sentiment. It differs in degrees according to\ndifferent natures; it takes the most different forms; it is often even\nignorant of itself; sometimes it is revealed by an exclamation springing\nfrom the heart, in the midst of the great scenes of nature and life,\nsometimes it silently rises in the mute and penetrated soul; it may err\nin its expressions, even in its object; but at bottom it is always the\nsame. It is a spontaneous, irresistible emotion of the soul; and when\nreason is applied to it, it is declared just and legitimate. What, in\nfact, is more just than to fear the judgments of him who is holiness\nitself, who knows our actions and our intentions, and will judge them\naccording to the highest justice? What, too, is more just than to love\nperfect goodness and the source of all love? Adoration is at first a\nnatural sentiment; reason makes it a duty.\n\nAdoration confined to the sanctuary of the soul is what is called\ninternal worship--the necessary principle of all public worships.\n\nPublic worship is no more an arbitrary institution than society and\ngovernment, language and arts. All these things have their roots in\nhuman nature. Adoration abandoned to itself, would easily degenerate\ninto dreams and ecstasy, or would be dissipated in the rush of affairs\nand the necessities of every day. The more energetic it is, the more it\ntends to express itself outwardly in acts that realize it, to take a\nsensible, precise, and regular form, which, by a proper reaction on the\nsentiment that produced it, awakens it when it slumbers, sustains it\nwhen it languishes, and also protects it against extravagances of every\nkind to which it might give birth in so many feeble or unbridled\nimaginations. Philosophy, then, lays the natural foundation of public\nworship in the internal worship of adoration. Having arrived at that\npoint, it stops, equally careful not to betray its rights and not to go\nbeyond them, to run over, in its whole extent and to its farthest limit,\nthe domain of natural reason, as well as not to usurp a foreign domain.\n\nBut philosophy does not think of trespassing on the ground of theology;\nit wishes to remain faithful to itself, and also to follow its true\nmission, which is to love and favor every thing that tends to elevate\nman, since it heartily applauds the awakening of religious and Christian\nsentiment in all noble souls, after the ravages that have been made on\nevery hand, for more than a century, by a false and sad philosophy.\nWhat, in fact, would not have been the joy of a Socrates and a Plato if\nthey had found the human race in the arms of Christianity! How happy\nwould Plato--who was so evidently embarrassed between his beautiful\ndoctrines and the religion of his times, who managed so carefully with\nthat religion even when he avoided it, who was forced to take from it\nthe best possible part, in order to aid a favorable interpretation of\nhis doctrine--have been, if he had had to do with a religion which\npresents to man, as at once its author and its model, the sublime and\nmild Crucified, of whom he had an extraordinary presentiment, whom he\nalmost described in the person of a just man dying on the cross;[258] a\nreligion which came to announce, or at least to consecrate and expand\nthe idea of the unity of God and that of the unity of the human race;\nwhich proclaims the equality of all souls before the divine law, which\nthereby has prepared and maintains civil equality; which prescribes\ncharity still more than justice, which teaches man that he does not live\nby bread alone, that he is not wholly contained in his senses and his\nbody, that he has a soul, a free soul, whose value is infinite, above\nthe value of all worlds, that life is a trial, that its true object is\nnot pleasure, fortune, rank, none of those things that do not pertain to\nour real destiny, and are often more dangerous than useful, but is that\nalone which is always in our power, in all situations and all\nconditions, from end to end of the earth, to wit, the improvement of the\nsoul by itself, in the holy hope of becoming from day to day less\nunworthy of the regard of the Father of men, of the examples given by\nhim, and of his promises. If the greatest moralist that ever lived could\nhave seen these admirable teachings, which in germ were already at the\nfoundation of his spirit, of which more than one trait can be found in\nhis works, if he had seen them consecrated, maintained, continually\nrecalled to the heart and imagination of man by sublime and touching\ninstitutions, what would have been his tender and grateful sympathy for\nsuch a religion! If he had come in our own times, in that age given up\nto revolutions, in which the best souls were early infected by the\nbreath of skepticism, in default of the faith of an Augustine, of an\nAnselm, of a Thomas, of a Bossuet, he would have had, we doubt not, the\nsentiments at least of a Montesquieu,[259] of a Turgot,[260] of a\nFranklin,[261] and very far from putting the Christian religion and a\ngood philosophy at war with each other, he would have been forced to\nunite them, to elucidate and fortify them by each other. That great mind\nand that great heart, which dictated to him the _Phedon_, the _Gorgias_,\nthe _Republic_, would also have taught him that such books are made for\na few sages, that there is needed for the human race a philosophy at\nonce similar and different, that this philosophy is a religion, and that\nthis desirable and necessary religion is the Gospel. We do not hesitate\nto say that, without religion, philosophy, reduced to what it can\nlaboriously draw from perfected natural reason, addresses itself to a\nvery small number, and runs the risk of remaining without much influence\non manners and life; and that, without philosophy, the purest religion\nis no security against many superstitions, which little by little bring\nall the rest, and for that reason it may see the best minds escaping its\ninfluence, as was the case in the eighteenth century. The alliance\nbetween true religion and true philosophy is, then, at once natural and\nnecessary; natural by the common basis of the truths which they\nacknowledge; necessary for the better service of humanity. Philosophy\nand religion differ only in the forms that distinguish, without\nseparating them. Another auditory, other forms, and another language.\nWhen St. Augustine speaks to all the faithful in the church of Hippone,\ndo not seek in him the subtile and profound metaphysician who combated\nthe Academicians with their own arms, who supports himself on the\nPlatonic theory of ideas, in order to explain the creation. Bossuet, in\nthe treatise _De la Connaissance de Dieu et Soi-meme_, is no longer,\nand at the same time he is always, the author of the _Sermons_, of the\n_Elevations_, and the incomparable _Catechisme de Meaux_. To separate\nreligion and philosophy has always been, on one side or the other, the\npretension of small, exclusive, and fanatical minds; the duty, more\nimperative now than ever, of whomsoever has for either a serious and\nenlightened love, is to bring together and unite, instead of dividing\nand wasting the powers of the mind and the soul, in the interest of the\ncommon cause and the great object which the Christian religion and\nphilosophy pursue, each in its own way,--I mean the moral grandeur of\nhumanity.[262]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[245] Lectures 4 and 7.\n\n[246] Such is the common vice of nearly all theodiceas, without\nexcepting the best--that of Leibnitz, that of Clarke; even the most\npopular of all, the _Profession de Foi du Vicaire Savoyard_. See our\nsmall work entitled _Philosophie Populaire_, 3d edition, p. 82.\n\n[247] On the Cartesian argument, see above, part 1st, lecture 4; see\nalso 1st Series, vol. iv., lecture 12, and especially vol. v., lecture\n6.\n\n[248] _Fragments de Philosophie Cartesienne_, p. 24: \"The infinite\nbeing, inasmuch as infinite, is not a mover, a cause; neither is he,\ninasmuch as infinite, an intelligence; neither is he a will; neither is\nhe a principle of justice, nor much less a principle of love. We have no\nright to impute to him all these attributes in virtue of the single\nargument that every contingent being supposes a being that is not so,\nthat every finite supposes an infinite. The God given by this argument\nis the God of Spinoza, is rigorously so; but he is almost as though he\nwere not, at least for us who with difficulty perceive him in the\ninaccessible heights of an eternity and existence that are absolute,\nvoid of thought, of liberty, of love, similar to nonentity itself, and a\nthousand times inferior, in his infinity and eternity, to an hour of our\nfinite and perishable existence, if during this fleeting hour we know\nwhat we are, if we think, if we love something else than ourselves, if\nwe feel capable of freely sacrificing to an idea the few minutes that\nhave been accorded to us.\"\n\n[249] This theodicea is here _in resume_, and in the 4th and 5th\nlectures of part first, as well as in the lecture that follows. The most\nimportant of our different writings, on this point, will be found\ncollected and elucidated by each other, in the Appendix to the 5th\nlecture of the first volume of the 1st Series.--See our translation of\nthis entire Series of M. Cousin's works, under the title of the History\nof Modern Philosophy.\n\n[250] 3d Series, vol. iv., advertisement to the 3d edition: \"Without\nvain subtilty, there is a real distinction between free will and\nspontaneous liberty. Arbitrary freedom is volition with the appearance\nof deliberation between different objects, and under this supreme\ncondition, that when, as a consequence of deliberation, we resolve to do\nthis or that, we have the immediate consciousness of having been able,\nand of being able still, to will the contrary. It is in volition, and in\nthe retinue of phenomena which surround it, that liberty more\nenergetically appears, but it is not thereby exhausted. It is at rare\nand sublime moments in which liberty is as much greater as it appears\nless to the eyes of a superficial observation. I have often cited the\nexample of d'Assas. D'Assas did not deliberate; and for all that, was\nd'Assas less free, did he not act with entire liberty? Has the saint\nwho, after a long and painful exercise of virtue, has come to practise,\nas it were by nature, the acts of self-renunciation which are repugnant\nto human weakness; has the saint, in order to have gone out from the\ncontradictions and the anguish of this form of liberty which we called\nvolition, fallen below it instead of being elevated above it; and is he\nnothing more than a blind and passive instrument of grace, as Luther and\nCalvin have inappropriately wished to call it, by an excessive\ninterpretation of the Augustinian doctrine? No, freedom still remains;\nand far from being annihilated, its liberty, in being purified, is\nelevated and ennobled; from the human form of volition it has passed to\nthe almost divine form of spontaneity. Spontaneity is essentially free,\nalthough it may be accompanied with no deliberation, and although often,\nin the rapid motion of its inspired action, it escapes its own\nobservation, and leaves scarcely a trace in the depths of consciousness.\nLet us transfer this exact psychology to theodicea, and we may recognize\nwithout hypothesis, that spontaneity is also especially the form of\nGod's liberty. Yes, certainly, God is free; for, among other proofs, it\nwould be absurd that there should be less freedom in the first cause\nthan in one of its effects, humanity; God is free, but not with that\nliberty which is related to our double nature, and made to contend\nagainst passion and error, and painfully to engender virtue and our\nimperfect knowledge; he is free, with a liberty that is related to his\nown divine nature, that is a liberty unlimited, infinite, recognizing no\nobstacle. Between justice and injustice, between good and evil, between\nreason and its contrary, God cannot deliberate, and, consequently,\ncannot will after our manner. Can one conceive, in fact, that he could\ntake what we call the bad part? This very supposition is impious. It is\nnecessary to admit that when he has taken the contrary part, he has\nacted freely without doubt, but not arbitrarily, and with the\nconsciousness of having been able to choose the other part. His nature,\nall-powerful, all-just, all-wise, is developed with that spontaneity\nwhich contains entire liberty, and excludes at once the efforts and the\nmiseries of volition, and the mechanical operation of necessity. Such is\nthe principle and the true character of the divine action.\"\n\n[251] _Timaeus_, p. 119, vol. xii. of our translation.\n\n[252] _De l'Art de prolonger sa Vie_, etc.\n\n[253] On the spirituality of the soul, see all our writings. We will\nlimit ourselves to two citations. 2d Series, vol. iii., lecture 25, p.\n859: \"It is impossible to know any phenomenon of consciousness, the\nphenomena of sensation, or volition, or of intelligence, without\ninstantly referring them to a subject one and identical, which is the\n_me_; so we cannot know the external phenomena of resistance, of\nsolidity, of impenetrability, of figure, of color, of smell, of taste,\netc., without judging that these are not phenomena in appearance, but\nphenomena which belong to something real, which is solid, impenetrable,\nfigured, colored, odorous, savory, etc. On the other hand, if you did\nnot know any of the phenomena of consciousness, you would never have the\nleast idea of the subject of these phenomena; if you did not know any of\nthe external phenomena of resistance, of solidity, of impenetrability,\nof figure, of color, etc., you would not have any idea of the subject of\nthese phenomena: therefore the characters, whether of the phenomena of\nconsciousness, or of exterior phenomena, are for you the only signs of\nthe nature of the subjects of these phenomena. In examining the\nphenomena which fall under the senses, we find between them grave\ndifferences upon which it is useless here to insist, and which establish\nthe distinction of primary qualities and of secondary qualities. In the\nfirst rank among the primary qualities is solidity, which is given to\nyou in the sensation of resistance, and inevitably accompanied by form,\netc. On the contrary, when you examine the phenomena of consciousness,\nyou do not therein find this character of resistance, of solidity, of\nform, etc.; you do not find that the phenomena of your consciousness\nhave a figure, solidity, impenetrability, resistance; without speaking\nof secondary qualities which are equally foreign to them, color, savor,\nsound, smell, etc. Now, as the subject is for us only the collection of\nthe phenomena which reveal it to us, together with its own existence in\nso far as the subject of the inherence of these phenomena, it follows\nthat, under phenomena marked with dissimilar characters and entirely\nforeign to each other, the human mind conceives dissimilar and foreign\nsubjects. Thus as solidity and figure have nothing in common with\nsensation, will, and thought, as every solid is extended for us, and as\nwe place it necessarily in space, while our thoughts, our volitions, our\nsensations, are for us unextended, and while we cannot conceive them and\nplace them in space, but only in time, the human mind concludes with\nperfect strictness that the subject of the exterior phenomena has the\ncharacter of the latter, and that the subject of the phenomena of\nconsciousness has the character of the former; that the one is solid and\nextended, and that the other is neither solid nor extended. Finally, as\nthat which is solid and extended is divisible, and as that which is\nneither solid nor extended is indivisible, hence divisibility is\nattributed to the solid and extended subject, and indivisibility\nattributed to the subject which is neither extended nor solid. Who of\nus, in fact, does not believe himself an indivisible being, one and\nidentical, the same yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow? Well, the word\nbody, the word matter, signifies nothing else than the subject of\nexternal phenomena, the most eminent of which are form, impenetrability,\nsolidity, extension, divisibility. The word mind, the word soul,\nsignifies nothing else than the subject of the phenomena of\nconsciousness, thought, will, sensation, phenomena simple, unextended,\nnot solid, etc. Behold the whole idea of spirit, and the whole idea of\nmatter! See, therefore, all that must be done in order to bring back\nmatter to spirit, and spirit to matter: it is necessary to pretend that\nsensation, volition, thought, are reducible in the last analysis to\nsolidity, extension, figure, divisibility, etc., or that solidity,\nextension, figure, etc., are reducible to thought, volition, sensation.\"\n1st Series, vol. iii., lecture I, _Locke_. \"Locke pretends that we\ncannot be certain _by the contemplation of our own ideas_, that matter\ncannot think; on the contrary, it is in the contemplation itself of our\nideas that we clearly perceive that matter and thought are incompatible.\nWhat is thinking? Is it not uniting a certain number of ideas under a\ncertain unity? The simplest judgment supposes several terms united in a\nsubject, one and identical, which is _me_. This identical _me_ is\nimplied in every real act of knowledge. It has been demonstrated to\nsatiety that comparison exacts an indivisible centre that comprises the\ndifferent terms of the comparison. Do you take memory? There is no\nmemory possible without the continuation of the same subject that refers\nto self the different modifications by which it has been successively\naffected. Finally, consciousness, that indispensable condition of\nintelligence,--is it not the sentiment of a single being? This is the\nreason why each man cannot think without saying _me_, without affirming\nthat he is himself the identical and one subject of his thoughts. I am\n_me_ and always _me_, as you are always yourself in the most different\nacts of your life. You are not more yourself to-day than you were\nyesterday, and you are not less yourself to-day than you were yesterday.\nThis identity and this indivisible unity of the _me_ inseparable from\nthe least thought, is what is called its spirituality, in opposition to\nthe evident and necessary characters of matter. By what, in fact, do you\nknow matter? It is especially by form, by extension, by something solid\nthat stops you, that resists you in different points of space. But is\nnot a solid essentially divisible? Take the most subtile fluids,--can\nyou help conceiving them as more or less susceptible of division? All\nthought has its different elements like matter, but in addition it has\nits unity in the thinking subject, and the subject being taken away,\nwhich is one, the total phenomenon no longer exists. Far from that, the\nunknown subject to which we attach material phenomena is divisible, and\ndivisible _ad infinitum_; it cannot cease to be divisible without\nceasing to exist. Such are the ideas that we have, on the one side, of\nmind, on the other, of matter. Thought supposes a subject essentially\none; matter is infinitely divisible. What is the need of going farther?\nIf any conclusion is legitimate, it is that which distinguishes thought\nfrom matter. God can indeed make them exist together, and their\nco-existence is a certain fact, but he cannot confound them. God can\nunite thought and matter, he cannot make matter thought, nor what is\nextended simple.\"\n\n[254] See 1st part, lecture 1.\n\n[255] See lecture 5, _Mysticism_.\n\n[256] 4th Series, vol. iii., _Santa-Rosa_: \"After all, the existence of\na divine Providence is, to my eyes, a truth clearer than all lights,\nmore certain than all mathematics. Yes, there is a God, a God who is a\ntrue intelligence, who consequently has a consciousness of himself, who\nhas made and ordered every thing with weight and measure, whose works\nare excellent, whose ends are adorable, even when they are veiled from\nour feeble eyes. This world has a perfect author, perfectly wise and\ngood. Man is not an orphan; he has a father in heaven. What will this\nfather do with his child when he returns to him? Nothing but what is\ngood. Whatever happens, all will be well. Every thing that he has done\nhas been done well; every thing that he shall do, I accept beforehand,\nand bless. Yes, such is my unalterable faith, and this faith is my\nsupport, my refuge, my consolation, my solace in this fearful moment.\"\n\n[257] See our discussion on the _Pensees de Pascal_, vol. i. of the 4th\nSeries.\n\n[258] See the end of the first book of the _Republic_, vol. ix. of our\ntranslation.\n\n[259] _Esprit des Lois_, _passim_.\n\n[260] Works of Turgot, vol. ii., _Discours en Sorbonne sur les Avantages\nque l'etablissement du Christianism a procures au Genre Humain_, etc.\n\n[261] In the _Correspondence_, the letter to Dr. Stiles, March 9, 1790,\nwritten by Franklin a few months before his death: \"I am convinced that\nthe moral and religious system which Jesus Christ has transmitted to us\nis the best that the world has seen or can see.\"--We here re-translate,\nnot having the works of Franklin immediately at hand.\n\n[262] We have not ceased to claim, to earnestly call for, the alliance\nbetween Christianity and philosophy, as well as the alliance between the\nmonarchy and liberty. See particularly 3d Series, vol. iv., _Philosophie\nContemporaine_, preface of the second edition; 4th Series, vol. i.,\n_Pascal_, 1st and 2d preface, _passim_; 5th Series, vol. ii., _Discours\na la Chambre des Paris pour le Defence de l'Universite et de la\nPhilosophie_. We everywhere profess the most tender veneration for\nChristianity,--we have only repelled the servitude of philosophy, with\nDescartes, and the most illustrious doctors of ancient and modern times,\nfrom St. Augustine and St. Thomas, to the Cardinal de la Lucerne and the\nBishop of Hermopolis. Moreover, we love to think that those quarrels,\noriginating in other times from the deplorable strife between the clergy\nand the University, have not survived it, and that now all sincere\nfriends of religion and philosophy will give each other the hand, and\nwill work in concert to encourage desponding souls and lift up burdened\ncharacters.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XVII.\n\nRESUME OF DOCTRINE.\n\n    Review of the doctrine contained in these lectures, and the\n    three orders of facts on which this doctrine rests, with the\n    relation of each one of them to the modern school that has\n    recognized and developed it, but almost always exaggerated\n    it.--Experience and empiricism.--Reason and idealism.--Sentiment\n    and mysticism.--Theodicea. Defects of different known\n    systems.--The process that conducts to true theodicea, and the\n    character of certainty and reality that this process gives to\n    it.\n\n\nHaving arrived at the limit of this course, we have a final task to\nperform,--it is necessary to recall its general spirit and most\nimportant results.\n\nFrom the first lecture, I have signalized to you the spirit that should\nanimate this instruction,--a spirit of free inquiry, recognizing with\njoy the truth wherever found, profiting by all the systems that the\neighteenth century has bequeathed to our times, but confining itself to\nnone of them.\n\nThe eighteenth century has left to us as an inheritance three great\nschools which still endure--the English and French school, whose chief\nis Locke, among whose most accredited representatives are Condillac,\nHelvetius, and Saint-Lambert; the Scotch school, with so many celebrated\nnames, Hutcheson, Smith, Reid, Beattie, Ferguson, and Dugald\nStewart;[263] the German school, or rather school of Kant, for, of all\nthe philosophers beyond the Rhine, the philosopher of Koenigsberg is\nalmost the only one who belongs to history. Kant died at the beginning\nof the nineteenth century;[264] the ashes of his most illustrious\ndisciple, Fichte,[265] are scarcely cold. The other renowned\nphilosophers of Germany still live,[266] and escape our valuation.\n\nBut this is only an ethnographical enumeration of the schools of the\neighteenth century. It is above all necessary to consider them in their\ncharacters, analogous or opposite. The Anglo-French school particularly\nrepresents empiricism and sensualism, that is to say, an almost\nexclusive importance attributed in all parts of human knowledge to\nexperience in general, and especially to sensible experience. The Scotch\nschool and the German school represent a more or less developed\nspiritualism. Finally, there are philosophers, for example, Hutcheson,\nSmith, and others, who, mistrusting the senses and reason, give the\nsupremacy to sentiment.\n\nSuch are the philosophic schools in the presence of which the nineteenth\ncentury is placed.\n\nWe are compelled to avow, that none of these, to our eyes, contains the\nentire truth. It has been demonstrated that a considerable part of\nknowledge escapes sensation, and we think that sentiment is a basis\nneither sufficiently firm, nor sufficiently broad, to support all human\nscience. We are, therefore, rather the adversary than the partisan of\nthe school of Locke and Condillac, and of that of Hutcheson and Smith.\nAre we on that account the disciple of Reid and Kant? Yes, certainly, we\ndeclare our preference for the direction impressed upon philosophy by\nthese two great men. We regard Reid as common sense itself, and we\nbelieve that we thus eulogize him in a manner that would touch him most.\nCommon sense is to us the only legitimate point of departure, and the\nconstant and inviolable rule of science. Reid never errs; his method is\ntrue, his general principles are incontestable, but we will willingly\nsay to this irreproachable genius,--_Sapere aude_. Kant is far from\nbeing as sure a guide as Reid. Both excel in analysis; but Reid stops\nthere, and Kant builds upon analysis a system irreconcilable with it. He\nelevates reason above sensation and sentiment; he shows with great skill\nhow reason produces by itself, and by the laws attached to its exercise,\nnearly all human knowledge; there is only one misfortune, which is that\nall this fine edifice is destitute of reality. Dogmatical in analysis,\nKant is skeptical in his conclusions. His skepticism is the most\nlearned, most moral, that ever existed; but, in fine, it is always\nskepticism. This is saying plainly enough that we are far from belonging\nto the school of the philosopher of Koenigsberg.\n\nIn general, in the history of philosophy, we are in favor of systems\nthat are themselves in favor of reason. Accordingly, in antiquity, we\nside with Plato against his adversaries; among the moderns, with\nDescartes against Locke, with Reid against Hume, with Kant against both\nCondillac and Smith. But while we acknowledge reason as a power superior\nto sensation and sentiment, as being, _par excellence_, the faculty of\nevery kind of knowledge, the faculty of the true, the faculty of the\nbeautiful, the faculty of the good, we are persuaded that reason cannot\nbe developed without conditions that are foreign to it, cannot suffice\nfor the government of man without the aid of another power: that power\nwhich is not reason, which reason cannot do without, is sentiment; those\nconditions, without which reason cannot be developed, are the senses. It\nis seen what for us is the importance of sensation and sentiment: how,\nconsequently, it is impossible for us absolutely to condemn either the\nphilosophy of sensation, or, much more, that of sentiment.\n\nSuch are the very simple foundations of our eclecticism. It is not in us\nthe fruit of a desire for innovation, and for making ourself a place\napart among the historians of philosophy; no, it is philosophy itself\nthat imposes on us our historical views. It is not our fault if God has\nmade the human soul larger than all systems, and we also aver that we\nare also much rejoiced that all systems are not absurd. Without giving\nthe lie to the most certain facts signalized and established by ourself,\nit was indeed necessary, on finding them scattered in the history of\nphilosophy, to recognize and respect them, and if the history of\nphilosophy, thus considered, no longer appeared a mass of senseless\nsystems, a chaos, without light, and without issue; if, on the contrary,\nit became, in some sort, a living philosophy, that was, it should seem,\na progress on which one might felicitate himself, one of the most\nfortunate conquests of the nineteenth century, the very triumphing of\nthe philosophic spirit.\n\nWe have, therefore, no doubt in regard to the excellence of the\nenterprise; the whole question for us is in the execution. Let us see,\nlet us compare what we have done with what we have wished to do.\n\nLet us ask, in the first place, whether we have been just towards that\ngreat philosophy represented in antiquity by Aristotle, whose best model\namong the moderns is the wise author of the Essay on the _Human\nUnderstanding_.\n\nThere is in the philosophy of sensation what is true and what is false.\nThe false is the pretension of explaining all human knowledge by the\nacquisitions of the senses; this pretension is the system itself; we\nreject it, and the system with it. The true is that sensibility,\nconsidered in its external and visible organs, and in its internal\norgans, the invisible seats of the vital functions, is the indispensable\ncondition of the development of all our faculties, not only of the\nfaculties that evidently pertain to sensibility, but of those that seem\nto be most remote from it. This true side of sensualism we have\neverywhere recognized and elucidated in metaphysics, aesthetics, ethics,\nand theodicea.\n\nFor us, theodicea, ethics, aesthetics, metaphysics, rest on psychology,\nand the first principle of our psychology is that the condition of all\nexercise of mind and soul is an impression made on our organs, and a\nmovement of the vital functions.\n\nMan is not a pure spirit; he has a body which is for the spirit\nsometimes an obstacle, sometimes a means, always an inseparable\ncompanion. The senses are not, as Plato and Malebranche have too often\nsaid, a prison for the soul, but much rather windows looking out upon\nnature, through which the soul communicates with the universe. There is\nan entire part of Locke's polemic against the theories of innate ideas\nthat is to our eyes perfectly true. We are the first to invoke\nexperience in philosophy. Experience saves philosophy from hypothesis,\nfrom abstraction, from the exclusively deductive method, that is to say,\nfrom the geometrical method. It is on account of having abandoned the\nsolid ground of experience, that Spinoza, attaching himself to certain\nsides of Cartesianism,[267] and closing his eyes to all the others,\nforgetting its method, its essential character, and its most certain\nprinciples, reared a hypothetical system, or made from an arbitrary\ndefinition spring with the last degree of rigor a whole series of\ndeductions, which have nothing to do with reality. It is also on account\nof having exchanged experience for a systematic analysis, that\nCondillac, an unfaithful disciple of Locke, undertook to draw from a\nsingle fact, and from an ill-observed fact, all knowledge, by the aid of\na series of verbal transformations, whose last result is a nominalism,\nlike that of the later scholastics. Experience does not contain all\nscience, but it furnishes the conditions of all science. Space is\nnothing for us without visible and tangible bodies that occupy it, time\nis nothing without the succession of events, cause without its effects,\nsubstance without its modes, law without the phenomena that it\nrules.[268] Reason would reveal to us no universal and necessary truth,\nif consciousness and the senses did not suggest to us particular and\ncontingent notions. In aesthetics, while severely distinguishing between\nthe beautiful and the agreeable, we have shown that the agreeable is the\nconstant accompaniment of the beautiful,[269] and that if art has for\nits supreme law the expression of the ideal, it must express it under an\nanimated and living form which puts it in relation with our senses,\nwith our imagination, above all, with our heart. In ethics, if we have\nplaced Kant and stoicism far above epicureanism and Helvetius, we have\nguarded ourselves against an insensibility and an asceticism which are\ncontrary to human nature. We have given to reason neither the duty nor\nthe right to smother the natural passions, but to rule them; we have not\nwished to wrest from the soul the instinct of happiness, without which\nlife would not be supportable for a day, nor society for an hour; we\nhave proposed to enlighten this instinct, to show it the concealed but\nreal harmony which it sustains with virtue, and to open to it infinite\nprospects.[270]\n\nWith these empirical elements, idealism is guarded from that mystical\ninfatuation which, little by little, gains and seizes it when it is\nwholly alone, and brings it into discredit with sound and severe minds.\nIn our works--and why should we not say it?--we have often presented the\nthought of Locke, whom we regard as one of the best and most sensible\nmen that ever lived. He is among those secret and illustrious advisers\nwith whom we support our weakness. More than one happy thought we owe to\nhim; and we often ask ourself whether investigations directed with the\ncircumspect method which we try to carry into ours, would not have been\naccepted by his sincerity and wisdom. Locke is for us the true\nrepresentative, the most original, and altogether the most temperate of\nthe empirical school. Tied to a system, he still preserves a rare spirit\nof liberty,--under the name of reflection he admits another source of\nknowledge than sensation; and this concession to common sense is very\nimportant. Condillac, by rejecting this concession, carried to extremes\nand spoiled the doctrine of Locke, and made of it a narrow, exclusive,\nentirely false system,--sensualism, to speak properly. Condillac works\nupon chimeras reduced to signs, with which he sports at his ease. We\nseek in vain in his writings, especially in the last, some trace of\nhuman nature. One truly believes himself to be in the realm of shades,\n_per inania regna_.[271] The _Essay on the Human Understanding_ produces\nthe opposite impression. Locke is a disciple of Descartes, whom the\nexcesses of Malebranche have thrown to an opposite excess: he is one of\nthe founders of psychology, he is one of the finest and most profound\nconnoisseurs of human nature, and his doctrine, somewhat unsteady but\nalways moderate, is worthy of having a place in a true eclecticism.[272]\n\nBy the side of the philosophy of Locke, there is one much greater, which\nit is important to preserve from all exaggeration, in order to maintain\nit in all its height. Founded in antiquity by Socrates, constituted by\nPlato, renewed by Descartes, idealism embraces, among the moderns, men\nof the highest renown. It speaks to man in the name of what is noblest\nin man. It demands the rights of reason; it establishes in science, in\nart, and in ethics fixed and invariable principles, and from this\nimperfect existence it elevates us towards another world, the world of\nthe eternal, of the infinite, of the absolute.\n\nThis great philosophy has all our preferences, and we shall not be\naccused of having given it too little place in these lectures. In the\neighteenth century it was especially represented in different degrees by\nReid and Kant. We wholly accept Reid, with the exception of his\nhistorical views, which are too insufficient, and often mixed with\nerror.[273] There are two parts in Kant,--the analytical part, and the\ndialectical part, as he calls them.[274] We admit the one and reject the\nother. In this whole course we have borrowed much from the _Critique of\nSpeculative Reason_, the _Critique of Judgment_, and the _Critique of\nPractical Reason_. These three works are, in our eyes, admirable\nmonuments of philosophic genius,--they are filled with treasures of\nobservation and analysis.[275]\n\nWith Reid and Kant, we recognize reason as the faculty of the true, the\nbeautiful, and the good. It is to its proper virtue that we directly\nrefer knowledge in its humblest and in its most elevated part. All the\nsystematic pretensions of sensualism are broken against the manifest\nreality of universal and necessary truths which are incontestably in our\nmind. At each instant, whether we know it or not, we bear universal and\nnecessary judgments. In the simplest propositions is enveloped the\nprinciple of substance and being. We cannot take a step in life without\nconcluding from an event in the existence of its cause. These principles\nare absolutely true, they are true everywhere and always. Now,\nexperience apprises us of what happens here and there, to-day or\nyesterday; but of what happens everywhere and always, especially of what\ncannot but happen, how can it apprise us, since it is itself always\nlimited to time and space? There are, then, in man principles superior\nto experience.\n\nSuch principles can alone give a firm basis to science. Phenomena are\nthe objects of science only so far as they reveal something superior to\nthemselves, that is to say, laws. Natural history does not study such or\nsuch an individual, but the generic type that every individual bears in\nitself, that alone remains unchangeable, when the individuals pass away\nand vanish. If there is in us no other faculty of knowing than\nsensation, we never know aught but what is passing in things, and that,\ntoo, we know only with the most uncertain knowledge, since sensibility\nwill be its only measure, which is so variable in itself and so\ndifferent in different individuals. Each of us will have his own\nscience, a science contradictory and fragile, which one moment produces\nand another destroys, false as well as true, since what is true for me\nis false for you, and will even be false for me in a little while. Such\nare science and truth in the doctrine of sensation. On the contrary,\nnecessary and immutable principles found a science necessary and\nimmutable as themselves,--the truth which they gave as is neither mine\nnor yours, neither the truth of to-day, nor that of to-morrow, but truth\nin itself.\n\nThe same spirit transferred to aesthetics has enabled us to seize the\nbeautiful by the side of the agreeable, and, above different and\nimperfect beauties which nature offers to us, to seize an ideal beauty,\none and perfect, without a model in nature, and the only model worthy of\ngenius.\n\nIn ethics we have shown that there is an essential distinction between\ngood and evil; that the idea of the good is an idea just as absolute as\nthe idea of the beautiful and that of the true; that the good is a\nuniversal and necessary truth, marked with the particular character that\nit ought to be practised. By the side of interest, which is the law of\nsensibility, reason has made us recognize the law of duty, which a free\nbeing can alone fulfil. From these ethics has sprung a generous\npolitical doctrine, giving to right a sure foundation in the respect due\nto the person, establishing true liberty, and true equality, and calling\nfor institutions, protective of both, which do not rest on the mobile\nand arbitrary will of the legislator, whether people or monarch, but on\nthe nature of things, on truth and justice.\n\nFrom empiricism we have retained the maxim which gives empiricism its\nwhole force--that the conditions of science, of art, of ethics, are in\nexperience, and often in sensible experience. But we profess at the same\ntime this other maxim, that the foundation of science is absolute truth,\nthat the direct foundation of art is absolute beauty, that the direct\nfoundation of ethics and politics is the good, is duty, is right, and\nthat what reveals to us these absolute ideas of the true, the\nbeautiful, and the good, is reason. The foundation of our doctrine is,\ntherefore, idealism rightly tempered by empiricism.\n\nBut what would be the use of having restored to reason the power of\nelevating itself to absolute principles, placed above experience,\nalthough experience furnishes their external conditions, if, to adopt\nthe language of Kant,[276] these principles have no objective value?\nWhat good could result from having determined with a precision until\nthen unknown the respective domains of experience and reason, if, wholly\nsuperior as it is to the senses and experience, reason is captive in\ntheir inclosure, and we know nothing beyond with certainty? Thereby,\nthen, we return by a _detour_ to skepticism to which sensualism conducts\nus directly, and at less expense. To say that there is no principle of\ncausality, or to say that this principle has no force out of the subject\nthat possesses it,--is it not saying the same thing? Kant avows that man\nhas no right to affirm that there are out of him real causes, time, or\nspace, or that he himself has a spiritual and free soul. This\nacknowledgment would perfectly satisfy Hume; it would be of very little\nimportance to him that the reason of man, according to Kant, might\nconceive, and even could not but conceive, the ideas of cause, time,\nspace, liberty, spirit, provided these ideas are applied to nothing\nreal. I see therein, at most, only a torment for human reason, at once\nso poor and so rich, so full and so void.\n\nA third doctrine, finding sensation insufficient, and also discontented\nwith reason, which it confounds with reasoning, thinks to approach\ncommon sense by making science, art, and ethics rest on sentiment. It\nwould have us confide ourselves to the instinct of the heart, to that\ninstinct, nobler than sensation, and more subtle than reasoning. Is it\nnot the heart, in fact, that feels the beautiful and the good? Is it not\nthe heart that, in all the great circumstances of life, when passion and\nsophism obscure to our eyes the holy idea of duty and virtue, makes it\nshine forth with an irresistible light, and, at the same time, warms us,\nanimates us, and gives us the courage to practise it?\n\nWe also have recognized that admirable phenomenon which is called\nsentiment; we even believe that here will be found a more precise and\nmore complete analysis of it than in the writings where sentiment reigns\nalone. Yes, there is an exquisite pleasure attached to the contemplation\nof the truth, to the reproduction of the beautiful, to the practice of\nthe good; there is in us an innate love for all these things; and when\ngreat rigor is not aimed at, it may very well be said that it is the\nheart which discerns truth, that the heart is and ought to be the light\nand guide of our life.\n\nTo the eyes of an unpractised analysis, reason in its natural and\nspontaneous exercise is confounded with sentiment by a multitude of\nresemblances.[277] Sentiment is intimately attached to reason; it is its\nsensible form. At the foundation of sentiment is reason, which\ncommunicates to it its authority, whilst sentiment lends to reason its\ncharm and power. Is not the widest spread and the most touching proof of\nthe existence of God that spontaneous impulse of the heart which, in the\nconsciousness of our miseries, and at the sight of the imperfections of\nour race which press upon our attention, irresistibly suggests to us the\nconfused idea of an infinite and perfect being, fills us, at this idea,\nwith an inexpressible emotion, moistens our eyes with tears, or even\nprostrates us on our knees before him whom the heart reveals to us, even\nwhen the reason refuses to believe in him? But look more closely, and\nyou will see that this incredulous reason is reasoning supported by\nprinciples whose bearing is insufficient; you will see that what reveals\nthe infinite and perfect being is precisely reason itself;[278] and\nthat, in turn, it is this revelation of the infinite by reason, which,\npassing into sentiment, produces the emotion and the inspiration that we\nhave mentioned. May heaven grant that we shall never reject the aid of\nsentiment! On the contrary, we invoke it both for others and ourself.\nHere we are with the people, or rather we are the people. It is to the\nlight of the heart, which is borrowed from that of reason, but reflects\nit more vividly in the depths of the soul, that we confide ourselves, in\norder to preserve all great truths in the soul of the ignorant, and even\nto save them in the mind of the philosopher from the aberrations or\nrefinements of an ambitious philosophy.\n\nWe think, with Quintilian and Vauvenargues, that the nobility of\nsentiment makes the nobility of thought. Enthusiasm is the principle of\ngreat works as well as of great actions. Without the love of the\nbeautiful, the artist will produce only works that are perhaps regular\nbut frigid, that will possibly please the geometrician, but not the man\nof taste. In order to communicate life to the canvas, to the marble, to\nspeech, it must be born in one's self. It is the heart mingled with\nlogic that makes true eloquence; it is the heart mingled with\nimagination that makes great poetry. Think of Homer, of Corneille, of\nBossuet,--their most characteristic trait is pathos, and pathos is a cry\nof the soul. But it is especially in ethics that sentiment shines forth.\nSentiment, as we have already said, is as it were a divine grace that\naids us in the fulfilment of the serious and austere law of duty. How\noften does it happen that in delicate, complicated, difficult\nsituations, we know not how to ascertain wherein is the true, wherein is\nthe good! Sentiment comes to the aid of reasoning which wavers; it\nspeaks, and all uncertainties are dissipated. In listening to its\ninspirations, we may act imprudently, but we rarely act ill: the voice\nof the heart is the voice of God.\n\nWe, therefore, give a prominent place to this noble element of human\nnature. We believe that man is quite as great by heart as by reason. We\nhave a high regard for the generous writers who, in the looseness of\nprinciples and manners in the eighteenth century, opposed the baseness\nof calculation and interest with the beauty of sentiment. We are with\nHutcheson against Hobbes, with Rousseau against Helvetius, with the\nauthor of Woldemar[279] against the ethics of egoism or those of the\nschools. We borrow from them what truth they have, we leave their\nuseless or dangerous exaggerations. Sentiment must be joined to reason;\nbut reason must not be replaced by sentiment. In the first place, it is\ncontrary to facts to take reason for reasoning, and to envelop them in\nthe same criticism. And then, after all, reasoning is the legitimate\ninstrument of reason; its value is determined by that of the principles\non which it rests. In the next place, reason, and especially spontaneous\nreason, is, like sentiment, immediate and direct; it goes straight to\nits object, without passing through analysis, abstraction, and\ndeduction, excellent operations without doubt, but they suppose a\nprimary operation, the pure and simple apperception of the truth.[280]\nIt is wrong to attribute this apperception to sentiment. Sentiment is an\nemotion, not a judgment; it enjoys or suffers, it loves or hates, it\ndoes not know. It is not universal like reason; and as it still pertains\non some side to organization, it even borrows from the organization\nsomething of its inconstancy. In fine, sentiment follows reason, and\ndoes not precede it. Therefore, in suppressing reason, we suppress the\nsentiment which emanates from it, and science, art, and ethics lack firm\nand solid bases.\n\nPsychology, aesthetics, and ethics, have conducted us to an order of\ninvestigations more difficult and more elevated, which are mingled with\nall the others, and crown them--theodicea.\n\nWe know that theodicea is the rock of philosophy. We might shun it, and\nstop in the regions--already very high--of the universal and necessary\nprinciples of the true, the beautiful, and the good, without going\nfarther, without ascending to the principles of these principles, to the\nreason of reason, to the source of truth. But such a prudence is, at\nbottom, only a disguised skepticism. Either philosophy is not, or it is\nthe last explanation of all things. Is it, then, true that God is to us\nan inexplicable enigma,--he without whom the most certain of all things\nthat thus far we have discovered would be for us an insupportable\nenigma? If philosophy is incapable of arriving at the knowledge of God,\nit is powerless; for if it does not possess God, it possesses nothing.\nBut we are convinced that the need of knowing has not been given us in\nvain, and that the desire of knowing the principle of our being bears\nwitness to the right and power of knowing which we have. Accordingly,\nafter having discoursed to you about the true, the beautiful, and the\ngood, we have not feared to speak to you of God.\n\nMore than one road may lead us to God. We do not pretend to close any of\nthem; but it was necessary for us to follow the one that was open to us,\nthat which the nature and subject of our instruction opened to us.\n\nUniversal and necessary truths are not general ideas which our mind\ndraws by way of reasoning from particular things; for particular things\nare relative and contingent, and cannot contain the universal and\nnecessary. On the other hand, these truths do not subsist by themselves;\nthey would thus be only pure abstractions, suspended in vacuity and\nwithout relation to any thing. Truth, beauty, and goodness are\nattributes and not entities. Now there are no attributes without a\nsubject. And as here the question is concerning absolute truth, beauty\nand goodness, their substance can be nothing else than absolute being.\nIt is thus that we arrive at God. Once more, there are many other means\nof arriving at him; but we hold fast to this legitimate and sure way.\n\nFor us, as for Plato, whom we have defended against a too narrow\ninterpretation,[281] absolute truth is in God,--it is God himself under\none of his phases. Since Plato, the greatest minds, Saint Augustine,\nDescartes, Bossuet, Leibnitz, agree in putting in God, as in their\nsource, the principles of knowledge as well as existence. From him\nthings derive at once their intelligibility and their being. It is by\nthe participation of the divine reason that our reason possesses\nsomething absolute. Every judgment of reason envelops a necessary truth,\nand every necessary truth supposes necessary being.\n\nIf all perfection belongs to the perfect being, God will possess beauty\nin its plenitude. The father of the world, of its laws, of its ravishing\nharmonies, the author of forms, colors, and sounds, he is the principle\nof beauty in nature. It is he whom we adore, without knowing it, under\nthe name of the ideal, when our imagination, borne on from beauties to\nbeauties, calls for a final beauty in which it may find repose. It is to\nhim that the artist, discontented with the imperfect beauties of nature\nand those that he creates himself, comes to ask for higher inspirations.\nIt is in him that are summed up the main forms of every kind of beauty,\nthe beautiful and the sublime, since he satisfies all our faculties by\nhis perfections, and overwhelms them with his infinitude.\n\nGod is the principle of moral truths, as well as of all other truths.\nAll our duties are comprised in justice and charity. These two great\nprecepts have not been made by us; they have been imposed on us; from\nwhom, then, can they come, except from a legislator essentially just and\ngood? Therein, in our opinion, is an invincible demonstration of the\ndivine justice and charity:--this demonstration elucidates and sustains\nall others. In this immense universe, of which we catch a glimpse of a\ncomparatively insignificant portion, every thing, in spite of more than\none obscurity, seems ordered in view of general good, and this plan\nattests a Providence. To the physical order which one in good faith can\nscarcely deny, add the certainty, the evidence of the moral order that\nwe bear in ourselves. This order supposes the harmony of virtue and\ngoodness; it therefore requires it. Without doubt this harmony already\nappears in the visible world, in the natural consequences of good and\nbad actions, in society which punishes and rewards, in public esteem and\ncontempt, especially in the troubles and joys of conscience. Although\nthis necessary law of order is not always exactly fulfilled, it\nnevertheless ought to be, or the moral order is not satisfied, and the\nintimate nature of things, their moral nature, remains violated,\ntroubled, perverted. There must, then, be a being who takes it upon\nhimself to fulfil, in a time that he has reserved to himself, and in a\nmanner that will be proper, the order of which he has put in us the\ninviolable need; and this being is again, God.\n\nThus, on all sides, on that of metaphysics, on that of aesthetics,\nespecially on that of ethics, we elevate ourselves to the same\nprinciple, the common centre, the last foundation, of all truth, all\nbeauty, all goodness. The true, the beautiful, and the good, are only\ndifferent revelations of the same being. Human intelligence,\ninterrogated in regard to all these ideas which are incontestably in it,\nalways makes us the same response; it sends us back to the same\nexplanation,--at the foundation of all, above all, God, always God.\n\nWe have arrived, then, from degree to degree, at religion. We are in\nfellowship with the great philosophies which all proclaim a God, and, at\nthe same time, with the religions that cover the earth, with the\nChristian religion, incomparably the most perfect and the most holy. As\nlong as philosophy has not reached natural religion,--and by this we\nmean, not the religion at which man arrives in that hypothetical state\nthat is called the state of nature, but the religion which is revealed\nto us by the natural light accorded to all men,--it remains beneath all\nworship, even the most imperfect, which at least gives to man a father,\na witness, a consoler, a judge. A true theodicea borrows in some sort\nfrom all religious beliefs their common principle, and returns it to\nthem surrounded with light, elevated above all uncertainty, guarded\nagainst all attack. Philosophy may present itself in its turn to\nmankind; it also has a right to man's confidence, for it speaks to him\nof God in the name of all his needs and all his faculties, in the name\nof reason and sentiment.\n\nObserve that we have arrived at these high conclusions without any\nhypothesis, by the aid of processes at once very simple and perfectly\nrigorous. Truths of different orders being given, truths which have not\nbeen made by us, and are not sufficient for themselves, we have ascended\nfrom these truths to their author, as one goes from the effect to the\ncause, from the sign to the thing signified, from phenomenon to being,\nfrom quality to subject. These two principles--that every effect\nsupposes a cause, and every quality a subject--are universal and\nnecessary principles. They have been put by us in their full light, and\ndemonstrated in the manner in which principles undemonstrable, because\nthey are primitive, can be demonstrated. Moreover, to what are these\nnecessary principles applied? To metaphysical and moral truths, which\nare also necessary. It was therefore necessary to conclude in the\nexistence of a cause and a necessary being, or, indeed, it was necessary\nto deny either the necessity of the principle of cause and the principle\nof substance, or the necessity of the truths to which we applied them,\nthat is to say, to renounce all notions of common sense; for these very\nprinciples and these truths, with their character of universality and\nnecessity, compose common sense.\n\nNot only is it certain that every effect supposes a cause, and every\nquality a being, but it is equally certain that an effect of such a\nnature supposes a cause of the same nature, and that a quality or an\nattribute marked with such or such essential characters supposes a being\nin which these same characters are again found in an eminent degree.\nWhence it follows, that we have very legitimately concluded from truth\nin an intelligent cause and substance, from beauty in a being supremely\nbeautiful, and from a moral law composed at once of justice and charity\nin a legislator supremely just and supremely good.\n\nAnd we have not made a geometrical and algebraical theodicea, after the\nexample of many philosophers, and the most illustrious. We have not\ndeduced the attributes of God from each other, as the different terms of\nan equation are converted, or as from one property of a triangle the\nother properties are deduced, thus ending at a God wholly abstract,\ngood perhaps for the schools, but not sufficient for the human race. We\nhave given to theodicea a surer foundation--psychology. Our God is\ndoubtless also the author of the world, but he is especially the father\nof humanity; his intelligence is ours, with the necessity of essence and\ninfinite power added. So our justice and our charity, related to their\nimmortal exemplar, give us an idea of the divine justice and charity.\nTherein we see a real God, with whom we can sustain a relation also\nreal, whom we can comprehend and feel, and who in his turn can\ncomprehend and feel our efforts, our sufferings, our virtues, our\nmiseries. Made in his image, conducted to him by a ray of his own being,\nthere is between him and us a living and sacred tie.\n\nOur theodicea is therefore free at once from hypothesis and abstraction.\nBy preserving ourselves from the one, we have preserved ourselves from\nthe other. Consenting to recognize God only in his signs visible to the\neyes and intelligible to the mind, it is on infallible evidence that we\nhave elevated ourselves to God. By a necessary consequence, setting out\nfrom real effects and real attributes, we have arrived at a real cause\nand a real substance, at a cause having in power all its essential\neffects, at a substance rich in attributes. I wonder at the folly of\nthose who, in order to know God better, consider him, they say, in his\npure and absolute essence, disengaged from all limitative determination.\nI believe that I have forever removed the root of such an\nextravagance.[282] No; it is not true that the diversity of\ndeterminations, and, consequently, of qualities and attributes, destroys\nthe absolute unity of a being; the infallible proof of it is that my\nunity is not the least in the world altered by the diversity of my\nfaculties. It is not true that unity excludes multiplicity, and\nmultiplicity unity; for unity and multiplicity are united in me. Why\nthen should they not be in God? Moreover, far from altering unity in me,\nmultiplicity develops it and makes its productiveness appear. So the\nrichness of the determinations and the attributes of God is exactly the\nsign of the plenitude of his being. To neglect his attributes, is\ntherefore to impoverish him; we do not say enough, it is to annihilate\nhim,--for a being without attributes exists not; and the abstraction of\nbeing, human or divine, finite or infinite, relative or absolute, is\nnonentity.\n\nTheodicea has two rocks,--one, which we have just signalized to you, is\nabstraction, the abuse of dialectics; it is the vice of the schools and\nmetaphysics. If we are forced to shun this rock, we run the risk of\nbeing dashed against the opposite rock, I mean that fear of reasoning\nthat extends to reason, that excessive predominance of sentiment, which\ndeveloping in us the loving and affectionate faculties at the expense of\nall the others, throws us into anthropomorphism without criticism, and\nmakes us institute with God an intimate and familiar intercourse in\nwhich we are somewhat too forgetful of the august and fearful majesty of\nthe divine being. The tender and contemplative soul can neither love nor\ncontemplate in God the necessity, the eternity, the infinity, that do\nnot come within the sphere of imagination and the heart, that are only\nconceived. It therefore neglects them. Neither does it study God in\ntruth of every kind, in physics, metaphysics, and ethics, which manifest\nhim; it considers in him particularly the characters to which affection\nis attached. In adoration, Fenelon retrenches all fear that nothing but\nlove may subsist, and Mme. Guyon ends by loving God as a lover.\n\nWe escape these opposite excesses of a refined sentimentality and a\nchimerical abstraction, by always keeping in mind both the nature of\nGod, by which he escapes all relation with us,--necessity, eternity,\ninfinity, and at the same time those of his attributes which are our own\nattributes transferred to him, for the very simple reason that they came\nfrom him.\n\nI am able to conceive God only in his manifestations and by the signs\nwhich he gives of his existence, as I am able to conceive any being only\nby the attributes of that being, a cause only by its effects, as I am\nable to conceive myself only by the exercise of my faculties. Take away\nmy faculties and the consciousness that attests them to me, and I am not\nfor myself. It is the same with God,--take away nature and the soul, and\nevery sign of God disappears. It is therefore in nature and the soul\nthat he must be sought and found.\n\nThe universe, which comprises nature and man, manifests God. Is this\nsaying that it exhausts God? By no means. Let us always consult\npsychology. I know myself only by my acts; that is certain; and what is\nnot less certain is, that all my acts do not exhaust, do not equal my\npower and my substance; for my power, at least that of my will, can\nalways add an act to all those which it has already produced, and it has\nthe consciousness, at the same time that it is exercised, of containing\nin itself something to be exercised still. Of God and the world must be\nsaid two things in appearance contrary,--we know God only by the world,\nand God is essentially distinct and different from the world. The first\ncause, like all secondary causes, manifests itself only by its effects;\nit can even be conceived only by them, and it surpasses them by all of\nthe difference between the Creator and the created, the perfect and the\nimperfect. The world is indefinite; it is not infinite; for, whatever\nmay be its quantity, thought can always add to it. To the myriads of\nworlds that compose the totality of the world, may be added new worlds.\nBut God is infinite, absolutely infinite in his essence, and an\nindefinite series cannot equal the infinite; for the indefinite is\nnothing else than the finite more or less multiplied and capable of\ncontinuous multiplication. The world is a whole which has its harmony;\nfor a God could make only a complete and harmonious work. The harmony of\nthe world corresponds to the unity of God, as indefinite quantity is a\ndefective sign of the infinity of God. To say that the world is God, is\nto admit only the world and deny God. Give to this whatever name you\nplease, it is at bottom atheism. On the one hand, to suppose that the\nworld is void of God, and that God is separate from the world, is an\ninsupportable and almost impossible abstraction. To distinguish is not\nto separate. I distinguish myself, but do not separate myself from my\nqualities and my acts. So God is not the world, although he is in it\neverywhere present in spirit and in truth.[283]\n\nSuch is our theodicea: it rejects the excesses of all systems, and\ncontains, we believe at least, all that is good in them. From sentiment\nit borrows a personal God as we ourselves are a person, and from reason\na necessary, eternal, infinite God. In the presence of two opposite\nsystems,--one of which, in order to see and feel God in the world,\nabsorbs him in it; the other of which, in order not to confound God with\nthe world, separates him from it and relegates him to an inaccessible\nsolitude,--it gives to both just satisfaction by offering to them a God\nwho is in fact in the world, since the world is his work, but without\nhis essence being exhausted in it, a God who is both absolute unity and\nunity multiplied, infinite and living, immutable and the principle of\nmovement, supreme intelligence and supreme truth, sovereign justice and\nsovereign goodness, before whom the world and man are like nonentity,\nwho, nevertheless, is pleased with the world and man, substance eternal,\nand cause inexhaustible, impenetrable, and everywhere perceptible, who\nmust by turns be sought in truth, admired in beauty, imitated, even at\nan infinite distance, in goodness and justice, venerated and loved,\ncontinually studied with an indefatigable zeal, and in silence adored.\n\nLet us sum up this _resume_. Setting out from the observation of\nourselves in order to preserve ourselves from hypothesis, we have found\nin consciousness three orders of facts. We have left to each of them its\ncharacter, its rank, its bearing, and its limits. Sensation has appeared\nto us the indispensable condition, but not the foundation of knowledge.\nReason is the faculty itself of knowing; it has furnished us with\nabsolute principles, and these absolute principles have conducted us to\nabsolute truths. Sentiment, which pertains at once to sensation and\nreason, has found a place between both. Setting out from consciousness,\nbut always guided by it, we have penetrated into the region of being; we\nhave gone quite naturally from knowledge to its objects by the road that\nthe human race pursues, that Kant sought in vain, or rather misconceived\nat pleasure, to wit, that reason which must be admitted entire or\nrejected entire, which reveals to us existences as well as truths.\nTherefore, after having recalled all the great metaphysical, aesthetical,\nand moral truths, we have referred them to their principle; with the\nhuman race we have pronounced the name of God, who explains all things,\nbecause he has made all things, whom all our faculties require,--reason,\nthe heart, the senses, since he is the author of all our faculties.\n\nThis doctrine is so simple, is to such an extent in all our powers, is\nso conformed to all our instincts, that it scarcely appears a\nphilosophic doctrine, and, at the same time, if you examine it more\nclosely, if you compare it with all celebrated doctrines, you will find\nthat it is related to them and differs from them, that it is none of\nthem and embraces them all, that it expresses precisely the side of them\nthat has made them live and sustains them in history. But that is only\nthe scientific character of the doctrine which we present to you; it has\nstill another character which distinguishes it and recommends it to you\nmuch more. The spirit that animates it is that which of old inspired\nSocrates, Plato, and Marcus Aurelius, which makes your hearts beat when\nyou are reading Corneille and Bossuet, which dictated to Vauvenargues\nthe few pages that have immortalized his name, which you feel especially\nin Reid, sustained by an admirable good sense, and even in Kant, in the\nmidst of, and superior to the embarrassments of his metaphysics, to wit,\nthe taste of the beautiful and the good in all things, the passionate\nlove of honesty, the ardent desire of the moral grandeur of humanity.\nYes, we do not fear to repeat that we tend thither by all our views; it\nis the end to which are related all the parts of our instruction; it is\nthe thought which serves as their connection, and is, thus to speak,\ntheir soul. May this thought be always present to you, and accompany you\nas a faithful and generous friend, wherever fortune shall lead you,\nunder the tent of the soldier, in the office of the lawyer, of the\nphysician, of the savant, in the study of the literary man, as well as\nin the studio of the artist! Finally, may it sometimes remind you of him\nwho has been to you its very sincere but too feeble interpreter!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[263] Still living in 1818, died in 1828.\n\n[264] In 1804.\n\n[265] Died, 1814.\n\n[266] This was said in 1818. Since then, Jacobi, Hegel, and\nSchleiermacher, with so many others, have disappeared. Schelling alone\nsurvives the ruins of the German philosophy.\n\n[267] FRAGMENTS DE PHILOSOPHIE CARTESIENNE, p. 429: _Des Rapports du\nCartesienisme et du Spinozisme_.\n\n[268] Part 1st, lectures 1 and 2.\n\n[269] Part 2d.\n\n[270] Part 3d.\n\n[271] On Condillac, 1st Series, vol. i., _passim_, and particularly vol.\niii., lectures 2 and 3.\n\n[272] We have never spoken of Locke except with sincere respect, even\nwhile combating him. See 1st Series, vol. i., course of 1817, _Discours\nd'Ouverture_, vol. ii., lecture 1, and especially 2d Series, vol. iii.,\n_passim_.\n\n[273] See 1st Series, vol. iv., lectures on Reid.\n\n[274] _Ibid._, vol. v.\n\n[275] For more than twenty years we have thought of translating and\npublishing the three _Critiques_, joining to them a selection from the\nsmaller productions of Kant. Time has been wanting to us for the\ncompletion of our design; but a young and skilful professor of\nphilosophy, a graduate of the Normal School, has been willing to supply\nour place, and to undertake to give to the French public a faithful and\nintelligent version of the greatest thinker of the eighteenth century.\nM. Barni has worthily commenced the useful and difficult enterprise\nwhich we have remitted to his zeal, and pursues it with courage and\ntalent.\n\n[276] Part 1st, Lecture 3.\n\n[277] Lecture 5, _Mysticism_.\n\n[278] This pretended proof of sentiment is in fact, the Cartesian proof\nitself. See lectures 4 and 16.\n\n[279] M. Jacobi. See the _Manual of the History of Philosophy_, by\nTennemann, vol. ii., p. 318.\n\n[280] On spontaneous reason and reflective reason, see 1st part, lect. 2\nand 3.\n\n[281] Lectures 4 and 5.\n\n[282] See particularly lecture 5.\n\n[283] We place here this analogous passage on the true measure in which\nit may be said that God is at once comprehensible and incomprehensible,\n1st Series, vol. iv., lecture 12, p. 12: \"We say in the first place that\nGod is not absolutely incomprehensible, for this manifest reason, that,\nbeing the cause of this universe, he passes into it, and is reflected in\nit, as the cause in the effect; therefore we recognize him. 'The heavens\ndeclare his glory.' and 'the invisible things of him from the creation\nof the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are\nmade;' his power, in the thousands of worlds sown in the boundless\nregions of space; his intelligence in their harmonious laws; finally,\nthat which there is in him most august, in the sentiments of virtue, of\nholiness, and of love, which the heart of man contains. It must be that\nGod is not incomprehensible to us, for all nations have petitioned him,\nsince the first day of the intellectual life of humanity. God, then, as\nthe cause of the universe, reveals himself to us; but God is not only\nthe cause of the universe, he is also the perfect and infinite cause,\npossessing in himself, not a relative perfection, which is only a degree\nof imperfection, but an absolute perfection, an infinity which is not\nonly the finite multiplied by itself in those proportions which the\nhuman mind is able always to enumerate, but a true infinity, that is,\nthe absolute negation of all limits, in all the powers of his being.\nMoreover, it is not true that an indefinite effect adequately expresses\nan infinite cause; hence it is not true that we are able absolutely to\ncomprehend God by the world and by man, for all of God is not in them.\nIn order absolutely to comprehend the infinite, it is necessary to have\nan infinite power of comprehension, and that is not granted to us. God,\nin manifesting himself, retains something in himself which nothing\nfinite can absolutely manifest; consequently, it is not permitted us to\ncomprehend absolutely. There remains, then, in God, beyond the universe\nand man, something unknown, impenetrable, incomprehensible. Hence in the\nimmeasurable spaces of the universe, and beneath all the profundities of\nthe human soul, God escapes us in that inexhaustible infinitude, whence\nhe is able to draw without limit new worlds, new beings, new\nmanifestations. God is to us, therefore, incomprehensible; but even of\nthis incomprehensibility we have a clear and precise idea; for we have\nthe most precise idea of infinity. And this idea is not in us a\nmetaphysical refinement, it is a simple and primitive conception which\nenlightens us from our entrance into this world, both luminous and\nobscure, explaining everything, and being explained by nothing, because\nit carries us at first, to the summit and the limit of all explanation.\nThere is something inexplicable for thought,--behold then whither\nthought tends; there is infinite being,--behold then the necessary\nprinciple of all relative and finite beings. Reason explains not the\ninexplicable, it conceives it. It is not able to comprehend infinity in\nan absolute manner, but it comprehends it in some degree in its\nindefinite manifestations, which reveal it, and which veil it; and,\nfurther, as it has been said, it comprehend it so far as\nincomprehensible. It is, therefore, an equal error to call God\nabsolutely comprehensible, and absolutely incomprehensible. He is both\ninvisible and present, revealed and withdrawn in himself, in the world\nand out of the world, so familiar and intimate with his creatures, that\nwe see him by opening our eyes, that we feel him in feeling our hearts\nbeat, and at the same time inaccessible in his impenetrable majesty,\nmingled with every thing, and separated from every thing, manifesting\nhimself in universal life, and causing scarcely an ephemeral shadow of\nhis eternal essence to appear there, communicating himself without\ncessation, and remaining incommunicable, at once the living God, and the\nGod concealed, '_Deus vivus et Deus absconditus_.'\"\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nPage 188: \"What a destiny was that of Eustache Lesueur!\"\n\nIt is perceived that we have followed, as regards his death, the\ntradition, or rather the prejudices current at the present day, and\nwhich have misled the best judges before us. But there have appeared in\na recent and interesting publication, called _Archives de l'Art\nfrancais_, vol. iii., certain incontrovertible documents, never before\npublished, on the life and works of the painter of St. Bruno, which\ncompel us to withdraw certain assertions agreeable to general opinion,\nbut contrary to truth. The notice of Lesueur's death, extracted for the\nfirst time from the _Register of Deaths of the parish church of\nSaint-Louis in the isle of Notre-Dame_, preserved amongst the archives\nof the Hotel de Ville at Paris, clearly prove that he did not die at the\nChartreux, but in the isle of Notre-Dame, where he dwelt, in the parish\nof St. Louis, and that he was buried in the church of Saint-Etienne du\nMont, the resting-place of Pascal and Racine. It appears also that\nLesueur died before his wife, Genevieve Gousse, since the _Register of\nBirths_ of the parish of Saint-Louis, contains under the date 18th\nFebruary, 1655, a notice of the baptism of a fourth child of Lesueur.\nNow, Genevieve Gousse must have deceased almost immediately after her\nconfinement, supposing her to have died before her husband's decease,\nwhich occurred on the 1st of the following May. If this were the case,\nwe should have found a notice of her death in the _Register of Deaths_\nfor the year 1655, as we do that of her husband. Such a notice, however,\nwhich could alone disprove the probability, and authenticate the vulgar\nopinion, is nowhere to be found amongst the archives of the Hotel de\nVille, at least the author of the _Nouvelles Recherches_ has nowhere\nbeen able to meet with it.\n\nIn the other particulars our rapid sketch of Lesueur's history remains\nuntouched. He never was in Italy; and according to the account of\nGuillet de Saint-Georges, which has so long remained in manuscript, he\nnever desired to go there. He was poor, discreet, and pious, tenderly\nloved his wife, and lived in the closest union with his three brothers\nand brother-in-law, who were all pupils and fellow-laborers of his. It\nappears to be a refinement of criticism which denies the current belief\nof an acquaintance between Lesueur and Poussin. If no document\nauthenticates it, at all events it is not contradicted by any, and\nappears to us to be highly probable.\n\nEvery one admits that Lesueur studied and admired Poussin. It would\ncertainly be strange if he did not seek his acquaintance, which he could\nhave obtained without difficulty, since Poussin was staying at Paris\nfrom 1640 to 1642. It would be difficult for them not to have met. After\nVouet's death in 1641, Lesueur acquired more and more a peculiar style;\nand in 1642, at the age of twenty-five, entirely unshackled, and with a\ntaste ripe for the antique and Raphael, he must frequently have been at\nthe Louvre, where Poussin resided. Thus it is natural to suppose that\nthey frequently saw each other and became acquainted, and with their\nsympathies of character and talent, acquaintance must have resulted in\nesteem and love. If Poussin's letters do not mention Lesueur, we would\nremark that neither do they mention Champagne, whose connection with\nPoussin is not disputed. The argument built on the silence of Guillet de\nSaint-Georges' account is far from convincing; inasmuch as being\nintended to be read before a Sitting of the Academy, it could only\ncontain a notice of the great artist's career, without those\nbiographical details in which his friendships would be mentioned.\nLastly, it is impossible to deny Poussin's influence upon Lesueur, which\nit seems to us at least probable was as much due to his counsels as to\nhis example.\n\nPage 190: \"But the marvel of the picture is the figure of St. Paul.\"\n\nWe have recently seen, at Hampton Court, the seven cartoons of Raphael,\nwhich should not be looked at, still less criticised, but on bended\nknee. Behold Raphael arrived at the summit of his art, and in the last\nyears of life! And these were but drawings for tapestry! These drawings\nalone would reward the journey to England, even were the figures from\nthe friezes of the Parthenon not at the _British Museum_. One never\ntires of contemplating these grand performances even in the obscurity\nof that ill-lighted room. Nothing could be more noble, more magnificent,\nmore imposing, more majestic. What draperies, what attitudes, what\nforms! Notwithstanding the absence of color, the effect is immense; the\nmind is struck, at once charmed and transported; but the soul, we can\nspeak for ourselves, remains well-nigh insensible. We request any one to\ncompare carefully the sixth cartoon, clearly one of the finest,\nrepresenting the Preaching of St. Paul at Ephesus, with the painting we\nhave described of Lesueur's. One, immediately and at the first sight,\ntransports you into the regions of the ideal; the other is less striking\nat first, but stay, consider it well, study it in detail, then take in\nthe whole: by degrees you are overcome by an ever-increasing emotion.\nAbove all, examine in both the principal character, St. Paul. Here, you\nbehold the fine long folds of a superb robe which at once envelops and\nsets off his height, whilst the figure is in shade, and the little you\nsee of it has nothing striking. There he confronts you, inspired,\nterrible, majestic. Now say which side lays claim to moral effect.\n\nPage 193: \"The great works of Lesueur, Poussin, and so many others\nscattered over Europe.\"\n\nOf all the paintings of Lesueur which are in England, that which we\nregret most not having seen is _Alexander and his Physician_, painted\nfor M. de Nouveau, director-general of the _Postes_, which passed from\nthe Hotel Nouveau to the Place Royale in the Orleans Gallery, from\nthence into England, where it was bought by Lady Lucas at the great\nLondon sale in 1800. The sale catalogue, with the prices and names of\nthe purchasers, will be found at the end of vol. i. of M. Waagen's\nexcellent work, _Oeuvres d'Art et Artistes en Angleterre_, 2 vols.,\nBerlin, 1837 and 1838.\n\nWe were both consoled and agreeably surprised on our return, to meet, in\nthe valuable gallery of M. le Comte d'Houdetot, an ancient peer of\nFrance, and free member of the Academy of Fine Arts, with another\nAlexander and his physician Philip, in which the hand of Lesueur cannot\nbe mistaken. The composition of the entire piece is perfect. The drawing\nis exquisite. The amplitude and nobleness of the draperies recall those\nof Raphael. The form of Alexander fine and languid; the person of Philip\nthe physician grave and imposing. The coloring, though not powerful, is\nfinely blended in tone. Now, where is the true original, is it with M.\nHoudetot or in England? The painting sold in London in 1800 certainly\ncame from the Orleans' gallery, which would seem most likely to have\npossessed the original. On the other hand, it is impossible M.\nHoudetot's picture is a copy. They must, therefore, both be equally the\nwork of Lesueur, who has in this instance treated the same subject twice\nover, as he has likewise done the Preaching of St. Paul; of which there\nis another, smaller than that at the Louvre, but equally admirable, at\nthe Place Royale, belonging to M. Girou de Buzariengues, corresponding\nmember of the Academy of Sciences.[284]\n\nWe borrow M. Waagen's description of the works of Lesueur, found by that\neminent critic in the English collections: _The Queen of Sheba before\nSolomon_, the property of the Duke of Devonshire, vol. i., p. 245.\n_Christ at the foot of the Cross supported by his Family_, belonging to\nthe Earl of Shrewsbury, vol. ii., p. 463, \"the sentiment deep and\ntruthful,\" remarks M. Waagen. _The Magdalen pouring the ointment on the\nfeet of Jesus_, the property of Lord Exeter, vol. ii., p. 485, \"a\npicture full of the purest sentiment;\" lastly, in the possession of M.\nMiles, a _Death of Germanicus_, \"a rich and noble composition,\ncompletely in Poussin's style,\" remarks M. Waagen, vol. ii., p. 356. Let\nus add that this last work is not met with in any catalogue, ancient or\nmodern. We ask ourselves whether this may not be a copy of the\nGermanicus of Poussin attributed to Lesueur.\n\nThe author of _Musees d'Allemagne et du Russie_ (Paris, 1844) mentions\nat Berlin a _Saint Bruno adoring the Cross in his Cell, opening upon a\nlandscape_, and pretends that this picture is as pathetic as the best\nSaint Brunos in the Museum at Paris. It is probably a sketch, like the\none we have, or one of the wanting panels; for as for the pictures\nthemselves, there were never more than twenty-two at the Chartreux, and\nthese are at the Louvre. Perhaps, however, it may be the picture which\nLesueur made for M. Bernard de Roze, see Florent Lecomte, vol. iii., p.\n98, which represented a Carthusian in a cell. At St. Petersburg, the\ncatalogue of the Hermitage mentions seven pictures of Lesueur, one of\nwhich, _The infant Moses exposed on the Nile_, is admitted by the author\ncited to be authentic. Can this be one of two _Moses_ which were painted\nby Lesueur for M. de Nouveau, as we learn from Guillet de Saint-Georges?\nUnless M. Viardot is deceived, and mistakes a copy for an original, we\nmust regret that a real Lesueur should Lave been suffered to stray to\nSt. Petersburg, with many of Poussin's most beautiful Claudes (see p.\n474), Mignards, Sebastian Bourdons, Gaspars, Stellas, and Valentins.\n\nSome years ago, at the sale of Cardinal Fesch's gallery, we might have\nacquired one of Lesueur's finest pieces, executed for the church of\nSaint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, which had got, by some chance, into the\npossession of Chancellor Pontchartrain, afterwards into that of the\nEmperor's uncle. This celebrated picture, _Christ with Martha and Mary_,\nformed at Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, a pendent to the _Martyrdom of St.\nLawrence_. Will it be believed that the French Government lost the\nopportunity, and permitted this little _chef-d'oeuvre_ to pass into\nthe hands of the King of Bavaria? A good copy at Marseilles was thought,\ndoubtless, sufficient, and the original was left to find its way to the\ngallery at Munich, and meet again the _St. Louis on his knees at Mass_,\nwhich the catalogue of that gallery attributes to Lesueur, on what\nground we are not aware. In conclusion, we may mention that there is in\nthe Museum at Brussels, a charming little Lesueur, _The Saviour giving\nhis Blessing_, and in the Museums of Grenoble and Montpelier several\nfragments of the _History of Tobias_, painted for M. de Fieubet.\n\nPage 193: \"Those master-pieces of art that honor the nation depart\nwithout authorization from the national territory! There has not been\nfound a government which has undertaken at least to repurchase those\nthat we have lost, to get back again the great works of Poussin,\nLesueur, and so many others, scattered in Europe, instead of squandering\nmillions to acquire the baboons of Holland, as Louis XIV. said, or\nSpanish canvases, in truth of an admirable color, but without nobleness\nand moral expression.\"\n\nShall we give a recent instance of the small value we appear to set on\nPoussin? We blush to think that in 1848 we should have permitted the\nnoble collection of M. de Montcalm to pass into England. One picture\nescaped: it was put up to sale in Paris on the 5th of March, 1850. It\nwas a charming Poussin, undoubtedly authentic, from the Orleans gallery,\nand described at length in the catalogue of Dubois de Saint-Gelais. It\nrepresented the _Birth of Bacchus_, and by its variety of scenes and\nmultitude of ideas, showed it belonged to Poussin's best period. We must\ndo Normandy, rather the city of Rouen, the justice to say, that it made\nan effort to acquire it, but it was unsupported by Government; and this\ncomposition, wholly French, was sold at Paris for the sum of 17,000\nfrancs, to a foreigner, Mr. Hope.\n\nMiserable contrast! while five or six hundred thousand francs have been\ngiven for a _Virgin_ by Murillo, which is now turning the heads of all\nwho behold it. I confess that mine has entirely resisted. I admire the\nfreshness, the sweetness, the harmony of color; but every other superior\nquality which one looks to find in such a subject is wanting, or at\nleast escaped me. Ecstasy never transfigured that face, which is neither\nnoble nor great. The lovely infant before me does not seem sensible of\nthe profound mystery accomplished in her. What, then, can there be in\nthis vaunted Virgin which so catches the multitude? She is supported by\nbeautiful angels, in a fine dress, of a charming color, the effect of\nall which is doubtless highly pleasant.\n\nPage 195: \"We endeavor to console ourselves for having lost the _Seven\nSacraments_, and for not having known how to keep from England and\nGermany so many productions of Poussin, now buried in foreign\ncollections,\" etc.\n\nAfter having expressed our regret that we were unacquainted with the\n_Seven Sacraments_ save from the engravings of Pesne, we made a journey\nto London, to see with our own eyes, and judge for ourselves these\nfamous pictures, with many others of our great countryman, now fallen\ninto the possession of England, through our culpable indifference, and\nwhich have been brought under our notice by M Waagen.\n\nIn the few days we were able to dedicate to this little journey, we had\nto examine four galleries: the National Gallery, answering to our\nMuseum, those of Lord Ellesmere and the Marquis of Westminster, and, at\nsome miles from London, the collection at Dulwich College, celebrated in\nEngland, though but little known on the continent.\n\nWe likewise visited another collection, resulting from an institution\nwhich might easily be introduced into France, to the decided advantage\nof art and taste. A society has been formed in England, called the\nBritish Institution for promoting the Fine Arts in the United Kingdom.\nEvery year it has, in London, an exhibition of ancient paintings, to\nwhich individual galleries send their choice pieces, so that in a\ncertain number of years all the most remarkable pictures in England pass\nunder the public eye. But for this exhibition, what riches would remain\nburied in the mansions of the aristocracy or unknown cabinets of\nprovincial amateurs! The society, having at its head the greatest names\nof England, enjoys a certain authority, and all ranks respond eagerly to\nits appeal.\n\nWe ourselves saw the list of persons who this year contributed to the\nexhibition; there were her Majesty the Queen, the Dukes of Bedford,\nDevonshire, Newcastle, Northumberland, Sutherland, the Earls of Derby\nand Suffolk, and numerous other great men, besides bankers, merchants,\n_savants_, and artists. The exhibition is public, but not free, as you\nmust pay both for admission and the printed catalogue. The money thus\nacquired is appropriated to defray the expenses of the exhibition;\nwhatever remains is employed in the purchase of pictures, which are then\npresented to the National Gallery.\n\nAt this year's exhibition we saw three of Claude Lorrain's, which well\nsustained the name of that master. _Apollo watching the herds of\nAdmetus_; a _Sea-port_, both belonging to the Earl of Leicester, and\n_Psyche and Amor_, the property of Mr. Perkins; a pretended Lesueur, the\n_Death of the Virgin_, from the Earl of Suffolk; seven Sebastian\nBourdons, the _Seven Works of Mercy_,[285] lent by the Earl of\nYarborough; a landscape by Gaspar Poussin, but not one _morceau_ of his\nillustrious brother-in-law's.\n\nWe were more fortunate in the National Gallery.\n\nThere, to begin, what admirable Claudes! We counted as many as ten, some\nof them of the highest value. We will confine ourselves to the\nrecapitulation of three, the Embarkation of St. Ursula, a large\nlandscape, and the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba.\n\n1st. _The Embarkation of St. Ursula_, which was painted for the\nBarberini, and adorned their palace at Rome until the year 1760, when an\nEnglish amateur purchased it from the Princess Barberini, with other\nworks of the first class. This picture is 3 feet 8 inches high, 4 feet\n11 inches wide.\n\n2d. The large landscape is 4 feet 11 inches high, 6 feet 7 inches wide.\nRebecca is seen, with her relatives and servants, waiting the arrival of\nIsaac, who comes from afar to celebrate their marriage.\n\n3d. _The Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba_, going to visit Solomon,\nformed a pendent to the preceding figure, which it resembles in its\ndimensions. It is both a sea and landscape drawing, M. Waagen declares\nit to be the most beautiful _morceau_ of the kind he is acquainted with,\nand asserts that Lorrain has here attained perfection, vol. i., p. 211.\nThis masterpiece was executed by Claude for his protector, the Duke de\nBouillon. It is signed \"Claude GE. I. V., faict pour son Altesse le Duc\nde Bouillon, anno 1648.\" Doubtless the great Duke de Bouillon, eldest\nbrother of Turenne. This French work, destined, too, for France, she has\nnow forever lost, as well as the famous Book of Truth, _Libro di\nVerita_, in which Claude collected the drawings of all his paintings,\ndrawings which may be themselves regarded as finished pictures. This\ninvaluable treasure was, like the _Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba_,\nfor a long time in the hands of a French broker, who would willingly\nhave relinquished it to the Government, but failing to find purchasers\nin Paris in the last century, ultimately sold it for a mere nothing into\nHolland, whence it has passed into England.[286] The author of the\n_Musees d'Allemagne et de Russie_, mentions that in the gallery of the\nHermitage at St. Petersburg, amongst a large number of Claudes, whose\nauthenticity he appears to admit, there are four _morceaux_, which he\ndoes not hesitate to declare equal to the most celebrated\n_chefs-d'oeuvre_ of that master, in Paris or London, called the\n_Morning_, the _Noon_, the _Evening_, and the _Night_. They are from\nMalmaison. Thus the sale of the gallery of an empress has in our own\ntime enriched Russia, as, twenty-five years before, the sale of the\nOrleans gallery enriched England.\n\nIn the National Gallery, along with the serene and quiet landscapes of\nLorrain, are five of Caspar's, depicting nature under an opposite\naspect--rugged and wild localities, and tempests. One of the most\nremarkable represents Eneas and Dido seeking shelter in a grotto from\nthe violence of a storm. The figures are from the pencil of Albano, and\nfor a length of time remained in the palace Falconieri. Two other\nlandscapes are from the palace Corsini, and two from the palace Colonna.\n\nBut to return to our real subject, which is Poussin. There are eight\npaintings by his hand in the National Gallery, all worthy of mention. M.\nWaagen has merely spoken of them in general terms, but we shall proceed\nto give a description in detail.\n\nOf these eight paintings, only one, representing the plague of Ashdod,\nis taken from sacred history. This is described in the printed catalogue\nas No. 105. The Israelites having been vanquished by the Philistines,\nthe ark was taken by the victors and placed in the temple of Dagon at\nAshdod. The idol falls before the ark, and the Philistines are smitten\nwith the pestilence. This canvas is 4 feet 3 inches high, and 6 feet 8\ninches, wide. A sketch or copy of the _Plague of the Philistines_ is in\nthe Museum of the Louvre, and has been engraved by Picard. Poussin was,\nin fact, fond of repeating a subject; there are two sets of the _Seven\nSacraments_, two _Arcadias_,[287] two or three _Moses striking the\nRock_, &c. The science of painting is here employed to portray the scene\nin all its terrors, and display every horror of the pestilence, and it\nwould seem that Poussin had here endeavored to contend with Michael\nAngelo, even at the expense of beauty. It is said the commission for\nthis work was given by Cardinal Barberini. It comes from the palace of\nColonna. The subjects of the remaining seven pictures in the National\nGallery are mythological, and may be nearly all referred to the early\nepoch of Poussin's career, when he paid tribute to the genius of the\n16th century, and yielded to the influence of Marini.\n\nNo. 39. The _Education of Bacchus_, a subject chosen by Poussin more\nthan once. On a small canvas 2 feet 3 inches high, and 3 feet 1 inch\nwide.\n\nNo. 40. Another small picture 1 foot 6 inches high, and 3 feet 4 inches\nbroad: _Phocion washing his Feet at a Public Fountain_, a touching\nemblem of the purity and simplicity of his life. To heighten this rustic\nscene, and impart its meaning, the painter shows us the trophies of the\nnoble warrior hung on the trunk of a tree at a little distance. The\nwhole composition is striking and full of animation. We believe that it\nhas never been engraved. It forms a happy addition to the two other\ncompositions consecrated by Poussin to Phocion, and which have been so\nadmirably engraved by Baudet, _Phocion carried out of the City of\nAthens_, and the _Tomb of Phocion_.\n\nNo. 42. Here is one of the three bacchanals painted by Poussin for the\nDuke de Montmorency. The two others are said to be in the collection of\nLord Ashburnham. This bacchanal is 4 feet 8 inches high, and 3 feet 1\ninch wide. In a warm landscape Bacchus is sleeping surrounded by nymphs,\nsatyrs, and centaurs, whilst Silenus appears under an arbor attended by\nsylvan figures.\n\nNo. 62. Another bacchanal, which may be considered one of Poussin's\nmasterpieces. According to M. Waagen, it belonged to the Colonna\ncollection, but the catalogue, published _by authority_, states that it\nwas originally the property of the Comte de Vaudreueili, that it\nafterwards came into the hands of M. de Calonne, whence it passed into\nEngland, and ultimately found its way into the hands of Mr. Hamlet, from\nwhom it was purchased by Parliament, and placed in the National Gallery.\nIt is 3 feet 8 inches high, and 4 feet 8 inches wide. Its subject is a\ndance of fauns and bacchantes, which is interrupted by a satyr, who\nattempts to take liberties with a nymph. Besides the main subject, there\nare numerous spirited and graceful episodes, particularly two infants\nendeavoring to catch in a cup the juice of a bunch of grapes supported\nin air, and pressed by a bacchante of slim and fine form. The\ncomposition is full of fire, energy, and spirit. There is not a single\ngroup, not a figure, which will not repay an attentive study. M. Waagen\ndoes not hesitate to pronounce it one of Poussin's finest. He admires\nthe truth and variety of heads, the freshness of color, and the\ntransparent tone (_die Faerbung von seltenster Frische, Helle und\nKlarheit in allen Theilen_). It has been engraved by Huart, and\naccurately copied by Landon, under the title of _Danse de Fauns et de\nBacchantes_.\n\nNo. 65. _Cephalus and Aurora._ Aurora, captivated by the beauty of\nCephalus, endeavors to separate him from his wife Procris. Being\nunsuccessful, in a fit of jealousy she gives to Cephalus the dart which\ncauses the death of his adored spouse. 3 feet 2 inches high, 4 feet 2\ninches wide.\n\nNo. 83. A large painting, 5 feet 6 inches high, and 8 feet wide,\nrepresenting _Phineas and his Companions changed into Stones by looking\non the Gorgon_. Perseus, having rescued Andromeda from the sea monster,\nobtains her hand from her father Cepheus, who celebrates their nuptials\nwith a magnificent feast. Phineas, to whom Andromeda had been betrothed,\nrushes in upon the festivity at the head of a troop of armed men. A\ncombat ensues, in which Perseus, being nearly overcome, opposes to his\nenemies the head of Medusa, by which they are instantly changed to\nstone. This composition is full of vigor, with brilliant coloring,\nalthough somewhat crude. It is nowhere mentioned, and we are not aware\nof its having been engraved.\n\nNo. 91. A charming little drawing, 2 feet 2 inches high, 1 foot 8 inches\nwide: _A sleeping Nymph, surprised by Lore and Satyrs_, engraved by\nDaulle, also in Landon's work.\n\nPassing from the National Gallery to that of Bridgewater, we come upon\nanother phase of Poussin's genius, and encounter not the disciple of\nMariai but the disciple of the gospel, the graces of mythology giving\nway to the austerity and sublimity of Christianity. Such is the account\nof what we came to see; we looked for much, and found more than we\nexpected.\n\nThe Bridgewater Gallery is so named after its founder, the Duke of\nBridgewater, by whom it was formed about the middle of the eighteenth\ncentury. He bequeathed it to his brother, the Marquis of Stafford, on\nthe condition of his leaving it to his second son, Lord Francis Egerton,\nnow Lord Ellesmere. The best part of this collection was engraved during\nthe life of the Marquis of Stafford, by Ottley, under the title of the\nStafford Gallery, in 4 vols. folio.\n\nIt occupies the first place in England amongst private collections, on\naccount of the number of masterpieces of the Italian, and Dutch, and\nFrench schools. A large number of paintings were added to it from the\nOrleans Gallery, and we could not repress a feeling of regret to meet at\nCleveland Square with so many masterpieces formerly belonging to France,\nand which have been engraved in the two celebrated works: 1. _La Galerie\ndu duc d'Orleans au Palais-Royal_, 2 volumes in folio; 2. _Recueil\nd'estampes d'apres les plus beaux tableaux et dessins qui sont en France\ndans le cabinet du roi et celui de Monseigneur le duc d'Orleans_, 1729,\n2 volumes in folio; a most valuable collection known also under the name\nof the _Cabinet of Crozat_. This admirable collection is deposited in a\nbuilding worthy of it, in a veritable palace, and consists of nearly 300\npaintings. The French school is here well represented. The _Musical\nParty_, from the Orleans Gallery, and engraved in the _Galerie du\nPalais-Royal_, three Bourguignons, four Gaspars, four fine Claudes,\ndescribed by M. Waagen, vol. i., p. 331, the two former described in the\ncatalogue as Nos. 11 and 41 were painted in 1664 for M. de Bourlemont, a\ngentleman of Lorraine; the former, _Demosthenes by the Sea-side_, offers\na fine contrast between majestic ruins and nature eternally young and\nfresh; the second, _Moses at the Burning Bush_, a third, No. 103, of the\nyear 1657, was likewise painted for a Frenchman, M. de Lagarde, and\nrepresents the _Metamorphosis of Apuleius into a Shepherd_; lastly,\nthere is a fourth, No. 97, the freshest idyll that ever was, a _View of\nthe Cascatelles of Tivoli_.\n\nThe memory of these charming compositions, however, soon fades before\nthe view of the eight grand pictures of Poussin, marked in the catalogue\nNos. 62-69, the _Seven Sacraments_, and _Moses striking the Rock with\nhis Rod_.\n\nIt would be difficult to describe the religious sensations which took\npossession of us whilst contemplating the _Seven Sacraments_. Whatever\nM. Waagen may please to assert, there is certainly nothing theatrical\nabout them. The beauty of ancient statuary is here animated and\nenlivened by the spirit of Christianity, and the genius of the painter.\nThe moral expression is of the most exalted character, and is left to be\nnoticed less in the details than in the general composition. In fact, it\nis in composition that Poussin excels, and, in this respect, we do not\nthink he has any superior, not even of the Florentine and Roman school.\nAs each _Sacrament_ is a vast scene in which the smallest details go to\nenhance the effect of the whole, so the _Seven Sacraments_ form a\nharmonious entirety, a single work, representing the development of the\nChristian life by means of its most august ceremonies, in the same way\nas the twenty-two _St. Brunos_ of Lesueur express the whole monastic\nlife, the intention of the variety being to give a truer conception of\nits unity. Can any one, in sincerity, say as much as this for the\n_Stanze_ of the Vatican? Have they a common sentiment? Is the sentiment\nprofound, and, indeed, Christian? No doubt Raphael elevates the soul,\nwhatever is beautiful cannot fail to do that; but he touches only the\nsurface, _circum praecordia ludit_; he penetrates not deep; moves not the\ninner fibres of our being: for why? he himself was not so moved. He\nsnatches us from earth, and transports us into the serene atmosphere of\neternal beauty; but the mournful side of life, the sublime emotions of\nthe heart, magnanimity, heroism, in a word, moral grandeur, this he\ndoes not express; and why was this? because he did not possess it in\nhimself, because it was not to be met with around him in the Italy of\nthe 16th century, in a society semi-pagan, superstitious, and impious,\ngiven up to every vice and disorder, which Luther could not even catch a\nglimpse of without raging with horror, and meditating a revolution. From\nthis corrupt basis, thinly hidden by a fictitious politeness, two great\nfigures, Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna, show themselves. But the\nnoble widow of the Marquis of Pescaria was not of the company of the\nFornarina; and what common ground could the chaste lover of the second\nBeatrice, the Dante of painting and of sculpture, the intrepid engineer\nwho defended Florence, the melancholy author of _the Last Judgment_ and\nof _Lorenzo di Medici_, have with such men as Perugino boldly professing\natheism, at the same time that he painted, at the highest price\npossible, the most delicate Madonnas; and his worthy friend Aretino,\natheist, and moreover hypocrite, writing with the same hand his infamous\nsonnets and the life of the Holy Virgin; and Giulio Romano, who lent his\npencil to the wildest debaucheries, and Marc' Antonio, who engraved\nthem? Such is the world in which Raphael lived, and which early taught\nhim to worship material beauty, the purest taste in design, if not the\nstrongest, fine drawing, sweet contours, of light, of color, but which\nalways hides from him the highest beauty, that is, moral beauty. Poussin\nbelongs to a very different world. Thanks to God, he had learned to know\nin France others besides artists without faith or morals, elegant\namateurs, rich prelates, and compliant beauties. He had seen with his\neyes heroes, saints, and statesmen. He must have met, at the court of\nLouis XIII., between 1640 and 1642, the young Conde and the voting\nTurenne, St. Vincent de Paul, Mademoiselle de Vigean, and Mademoiselle\nde Lafayette; had shaken hands with Richelieu, with Lesueur, with\nChampagne, and no doubt also with Corneille. Like the last, he is grave\nand masculine; he has the sentiment of the great, and strives to reach\nit. If, above every thing, he is an artist, if his long career is an\nassiduous and indefatigable study of beauty, it is pre-eminently moral\nbeauty that strikes him: and when he represents historic or Christian\nscenes, one feels he is there, like the author of the Cid, of Cinna, and\nof Polyeuete, in his natural element. He shows, assuredly, much spirit\nand grace in his mythologies, and like Corneille in several of his\nelegies and in the Declaration of Love to Psyche: but also like him, it\nis in the thoughtful and noble style that Poussin excels: it is on the\nmoral ground that he has a place exalted and apart in the history of\nart.\n\nIt is not our intention to describe the _Seven Sacraments_, which has\nbeen done by others more competent to the task than ourselves. We will\nonly inquire whether Bossuet himself, in speaking of the sacrament of\nthe _Ordination_, could have employed more gravity and majesty than\nPoussin has done in the noble painting, so well preserved, in the\ngallery of Lord Ellesmere. It is worthy of remark, in this as in the\nother paintings of Poussin's best period, how admirably the landscape\naccords with the historic portion. Whilst the foreground is occupied\nwith the great scene in which Christ transmits his power to St. Peter\nbefore the assembled apostles,[288] in the distance, and above the\nheights, are descried edifices rising and in decay. Doubtless, the\n_Extreme Unction_ is the most pathetic; affects and attracts us most by\nits various qualities, particularly by a certain austere grace shed\naround the images of death;[289] but, unhappily, this striking\ncomposition has almost totally disappeared under the black tint, which\nhas little by little gained on the other colors, and obscured the whole\npainting, so that we are well-nigh reduced to the engraving of Pesne,\nand the beautiful drawing preserved in the museum of the Louvre.[290]\n\nMost unhappily a technical error, into which even the most\ninconsiderable painter would not now fall, has deprived posterity of one\nhalf of Poussin's labors. He was in the habit of covering his canvas\nwith a preparation of red, which has been changed by the effect of time\ninto black, and thus absorbed the other colors, destroying the effect of\nthe etherial perspective. As every one knows, this does not occur with a\nwhite preparation, which, instead of destroying the colors, preserves\nthem for a length of time in their original state. This last process\nPoussin appears to have adopted in the _Moses striking the Rock with his\nStaff_, incomparably the finest of all the _Strikings of the Rock_ which\nproceeded from his pencil. This masterpiece is well known, from the\nengraving by Baudet, and has passed, with the _Seven Sacraments_, from\nthe Orleans gallery into the collection at Bridgewater. What unity is in\nthis vast composition, and yet what variety in the action, the pose, the\nfeatures of the figures! It consists of twenty different pictures, and\nyet is but one; and not even one of the episodes could be taken away\nwithout considerable injury to the _ensemble_ of the piece. At the same\ntime, what fine coloring! The impastation is both solid and light, and\nthe colors are combined in the happiest manner. No doubt they might\npossess greater brilliancy; but the severity of the subject agrees well\nwith a moderate tone. It is important to remember this. In the first\nplace, every subject demands its proper color: in the second, grave\nsubjects require a certain amount of coloring, which, however, must not\nbe exceeded. Although the highest art does not consist in coloring, it\nwould nevertheless be folly to regard it as of small importance: for, in\nthat case, drawing would be every thing, and color might be altogether\ndispensed with. In attempting too far to please the eye, the risk is\nincurred of not going beyond and penetrating to the soul. On the other\nhand, want of color, or what is perhaps still worse, a disagreeable,\ncrude, and improper coloring, while it offends the eye, likewise impairs\nthe moral effect, and deprives even beauty of its charm. Color is to\npainting what harmony is to poetry and prose. There is equal defect\nwhether in the case of too much or too little harmony, while one same\nharmony continued must be looked upon as a serious fault. Is Corneille\nhappily inspired? His harmony, like his words, are true, beautiful,\nadmirable in their variety. The tones differ with his different\ncharacters, but are always consistent with the conditions of harmony\nimposed by poesy. Is he negligent? his style then becomes rude,\nunpolished, at times intolerable. The harmony of Racine is slightly\nmonotonous, his men talk like women, and his lyre was but one tone, that\nof a natural and refined elegance. There is but one man amongst us who\nspeaks in every tone and in all languages, who has colors and accents\nfor every subject, _naive_ and sublime, vividly correct yet unaffectedly\nsimple. Sweet as Racine in his lament of Madame, masculine and vigorous\nas Corneille or Tacitus when he comes to describe Retz or Cromwell,\nclear as the battle trumpet when his strain is Roeroy or Conde,\nsuggestive of the equal and varied flow of a mighty river in the\nmajestic harmony of his Discourse on Universal History, a History which,\nin the grandeur and extent of its composition, in its vanquished\ndifficulties, its depth of art, where art even ceases to appear as such,\nin its perfect unity, and, at the same time, almost infinite variety of\ntone and style, is perhaps the most finished work which has ever come\nfrom the hand of man.\n\nTo return to Poussin. At Hampton Court, where, by the side of the seven\ncartoons of Raphael, the nine magnificent Montegnas representing the\ntriumph of Caesar, and the fine portraits of Albert Durer and Holbein,\nFrench art makes so small a figure, there is a Poussin[291] of\nparticularly fine color, _Satyrs finding a Nymph_. The transparent and\nlustrous body of the nymph forms the entire picture. It is a study of\ndesign and color, evidently of the period when Poussin, to perfect\nhimself in every branch of his art, made copies from Titian.\n\nTime fails us to give the least idea of the rich gallery of the Marquess\nof Westminster, in Grosvenor-street. We refer for this to what M. Waagen\nhas said, vol. ii., p. 113-130. The Flemish and Dutch schools\npreponderate in this gallery. One sees there in all their glory the\nthree great masters of that school, Rubens, Van Dyck, and Rembrandt,\naccompanied by a numerous suite of inferior masters, at present much in\nvogue, Hobbema, Cuyp, Both, Potter, and others, who, to our idea, fade\ncompletely before some half-dozen by Claude of all sizes, of every\nvariety of subject, and nearly all of the best time of the great\nlandscape-painter, between 1651 and 1661. Of these paintings, the\ngreatest and most important is perhaps the _Sermon on the Mount_.\nPoussin appears worthily by the side of Lorrain in the gallery at\nGrosvenor-street. M. Waagen admires particularly _Calisto changed into a\nBear, and placed by Jupiter among the Constellations_, and still more a\n_Virgin with the infant Jesus surrounded by Angels_. He extols in this\n_morceau_ the surpassing clearness of coloring, the noble and melancholy\nsentiment of nature, together with a warm and powerful tone. M. Waagen\nplaces this painting amongst the masterpieces of the French painter\n(_gehoert zu dem vortrefflichsten was ich von ihm kenne_). Whilst fully\nconcurring in this judgment, we beg leave to point out in the same\ngallery two other canvases of Poussin, two delicious pieces from the\neasel, first a touching episode in _Moses striking the Rock_, in the\ngallery of Lord Ellesmere, of a mother who, heedless of herself, hastens\nto give her children drink, whilst their father bends in thanksgiving to\nGod; the other, _Children at play_. Never did a more delightful scene\ncome from the pencil of Albano. Two children look, laughing, at each\nother; another to the right holds a butterfly on his finger; a fourth\nendeavors to catch a butterfly which is flying from him; a fifth,\nstooping, takes fruit from a basket.\n\nBut we must quit the London galleries to betake ourselves to that which\nforms the ornament of the college situated in the charming village of\nDulwich.\n\nStanislas, king of Poland, charged a London amateur, M. Noel Desenfans,\nto form him a collection of pictures. The misfortunes of Stanislas, and\nthe dismemberment of Poland left on M. Desenfans' hands all he had\ncollected; these he made a present of to a friend of his, M. Bourgeois,\na painter, who still further enriched this fine collection, and\nbequeathed it, at his death, to Dulwich College, where it now is in a\nvery commodious and well-lighted building. It consists of nearly 350\npaintings. M. Waagen, who visited it, pronounces judgment with some\nseverity. The catalogue is ill-compiled, it is true, but in this it does\nnot differ from numerous other catalogues. Mediocrity is frequently\nplaced side by side with excellence, and copies given as originals; this\nis the case with more than one gallery. This one, however, has to us the\nmerit of containing a considerable number of French paintings, to some\nof which even M. Waagen cannot refuse his admiration.\n\nWe will, first of all, mention without describing them, a Lenain, two\nBourguignons, three portraits by Rigaud, or after Rigaud, a Louis XIV.,\na Boileau, and another personage unknown to us, two Lebruns, the\n_Massacre of the Innocents_, and _Horatius Cocles defending the Bridge_,\nin which M. Waagen discovers happy imitations of Poussin, three or four\nGaspars and seven Claude Lorrains, the beauty of most of which is a\nsufficient guarantee of their authenticity; together with a very fine\n_Fete champetre_ by Watteau, and a _View near Rome_, by Joseph Vernet.\nOf Poussin, the catalogue points out eighteen, of which the following is\na list:\n\nNo. 115. _The Education of Bacchus_; 142, _a Landscape_; 249, _a Holy\nFamily_; 253, _the Apparition of the Angels to Abraham_; 260, _a\nLandscape_; 269, _the Destruction of Niobe_; 279, _a Landscape_; 291,\n_the Adoration of the Magi_; 292, _a Landscape_; 295, _the Inspiration\nof the Poet_; 300, _the Education of Jupiter_; 305, _the Triumph of\nDavid_; 310, _the Flight into Egypt_; 315, _Renald and Armida_; 316,\n_Venus and Mercury_; 325, _Jupiter and Antiope_; 336, _the Assumption of\nthe Virgin_; 352, _Children_.\n\nOf these eighteen pictures, M. Waagen singles out five, which he thus\ncharacterizes:\n\n_The Assumption of the Virgin_, No. 336. In a landscape of powerful\npoesy, the Virgin is carried off to heaven in clouds of gold: a small\npicture, of which the sentiment is noble and pure, the coloring strong\nand transparent (_in der Farbe kraftiges und klaares Bild_). _Children_,\nNo. 352. Replete with loveliness and charm. _The Triumph of David_, No.\n305. A rich picture, but theatrical.\n\n_Jupiter suckled by the goat Amalthea_, No. 300. A charming composition,\ntransparent tone. _A Landscape_, No. 260. A well-drawn landscape,\nbreathing a profound sentiment of nature; but which has become rather\nblackened.\n\nWe are unable to recognize in the _Triumph of David_ the theatrical\ncharacter which shocked M. Waagen. On the contrary, we perceive a bold\nand almost wild expression, a great deal of passion finely subdued.\n\nA triumph must always contain some formality; here, however, there is\nthe least possible, and that with which we are struck is its vigor and\ntruth to nature. The giant's head stuck on the pike has the grandest\neffect: and we believe that the able German critic has, in this\ninstance, likewise yielded to the prejudices of his country, which, in\nits passion for what it styles reality, fancies it perceives the\ntheatrical in whatever is noble. We admit that at the close of the\nseventeenth century, under Louis XIV. and Lebrun, the noble was merged\nin the theatrical and academic; but under Louis XIII. and the Regency,\nin the time of Corneille and Poussin, the academic and theatrical style\nwas wholly unknown. We entreat the sagacious critic not to forget this\ndistinction between the divisions of the seventeenth century, nor to\nconfound the master with his disciples, who, although they were still\ngreat, had slightly degenerated, and who were oppressed by the taste of\nthe age of Louis XIV.\n\nBut our gravest reproach against M. Waagen is, that he did not notice at\nDulwich numerous _morceaux_ of Poussin, which well merited his\nattention; amongst others, the _Adoration of the Magi_, far superior,\nfor its coloring, to that in the Museum at Paris; and, above all, a\npicture which seems to us a masterpiece in the difficult art of\nconveying a philosophic idea under the living form of a myth and an\nallegory.\n\nIn this art, Poussin excelled: he is pre-eminently a philosophical\nartist, a thinker assisted by all the resources of the science of\ndesign. He has ever an idea which guides his hand, and which is his main\nobject. Let us not tire to reiterate this: it is moral beauty which he\neverywhere seeks, both in nature and humanity. As we have stated in\nrelation to the sacrament of _Ordination_, the landscapes of Poussin are\nalmost always designed to set off and heighten human life, whilst Claude\nis essentially a landscape painter, with whom both history and humanity\nare made subservient to nature. Subjects derived from Christianity were\nexactly suited to Poussin, inasmuch as they afforded the sublimest types\nof that moral grandeur in which he delighted, although we do not see in\nhim the exquisite piety of Lesueur and Champagne; and if Christian\ngreatness speaks to his soul, it appears to do so with no authority\nbeyond that of Phocion, of Scipio, or of Germanicus. Sometimes neither\nsacred nor profane history suffices him: he invents, he imagines, he has\nrecourse to moral and philosophic allegory. It is here, perhaps, that he\nis most original, and that his imagination displays itself in its\ngreatest freedom and elevation. _Arcadia_ is a lesson of high philosophy\nunder the form of an idyll. _The Testament of Eudamidas_ portrays the\nsublime confidence of friendship. _Time Rescuing Truth from the assaults\nof Envy and Discord_, _the Ballet of Human Life_, are celebrated models\nof this style. We have had the good fortune to meet at Dulwich with a\nwork of Poussin's almost unknown, and of whose existence we had not even\nan idea, sparkling at the same time with the style we have been\ndescribing, and with the most eminent qualities of the chief of the\nFrench school.\n\nThis work, entirely new to us, is a picture of very small size, marked\nNo. 295, and described in the catalogue as _The Inspiration of the\nPoet_, a delightful subject, and treated in the most delightful manner.\nFancy the freshest landscape, in the foreground a harmonious group of\nthree personages. The poet, on bended knee, carries to his lips the\nsacred cup which Apollo, the god of poesy, has presented to him. Whilst\nhe quaffs, inspiration seizes him, his face is transfigured, and the\nsacred intoxication becomes apparent in the motion of his hands and his\nwhole body. Beside Apollo, the Muse prepares to collect the songs of the\npoet. Above this group, a genius, frolicking in air, weaves a chaplet,\nwhilst other genii scatter flowers. In the background, the clearest\nhorizon. Grace, spirit, depth--this enchanting composition unites the\nwhole. Added to this, the color is well-grounded and of great\nbrilliancy.\n\nIt is very singular that neither Bellori nor Felibien, who both lived on\nterms of intimacy with Poussin, and are still his best historians, say\nnot a word of this work. It is not referred to in the catalogues of\nFlorent Lecomte, of Gault de St. Germain, or of Castellan; nor does M.\nWaagen himself, who, having been at Dulwich, must have seen it there,\nmake the least mention of it. We are, therefore, ignorant in what year,\non what occasion, and for whom this delicious little painting was\nexecuted: but the hand of Poussin is seen throughout, in the drawing, in\nthe composition, in the expression. Nothing theatrical or vulgar: truth\ncombined with beauty. The whole scene conveys unmixed delight, and its\nimpression is at once serene and profound. In our idea, _The Inspiration\nof the Poet_ may be ranked as almost equal with _The Arcadia_.\n\nNotwithstanding this, _The Inspiration_ has never been engraved, at\nleast we have not met with it in any of the rich collections of\nengravings from Poussin we have been enabled to consult, those of M. de\nBaudicour, of M. Gatteaux, member of the Academy of Fine Arts, and\nlastly, the cabinet of prints in the _Bibliotheque Nationale_. We hope\nthat these few words may suggest to some French engraver the idea of\nundertaking the very easy pilgrimage to Dulwich, and making known to the\nlovers of national art an ingenious and touching production of Poussin,\nstrayed and lost, as it, were, in a foreign collection.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[284] This is the sketch which Felibien so justly praises, part v., p.\n37, of the 1st edition, in 4to.\n\n[285] This great work has been long in England, as remarked by Mariette,\nsee the _Abecedario_, just published, article S. Bourdon, vol. i., p.\n171. It appears to have been a favorite work of Bourdon, he having\nhimself engraved it, see de Piles, _Abrege de la Vie des Peintres_, 2d\nedition, p. 494, and the _Peintre graveur francais_, of M. Robert\nDumesnil, vol. i., p. 131, etc. The copperplates of the _Seven Works of\nMercy_ are at the Louvre.\n\n[286] The _Libro di Verita_ is now the property of the Duke of\nDevonshire. M. Leon de Laborde has given a detailed account of it in the\n_Archives de l'Art francais_, tom. i., p. 435, et seq.\n\n[287] The first composition of _Arcadia_, truly precious could it have\nbeen placed in the Louvre beside the second and better production, is in\nEngland, the property of the Duke of Devonshire.\n\n[288] In the first set of the _Seven Sacraments_, executed for the\nChevalier del Pozzo, now in England, the property of the Duke of\nRutland, and with which we are acquainted only through engravings,\nChrist is placed on the left hand; it is less masterly and imposing, and\nthe centre has a vacant appearance. In the second set, painted five or\nsix years after the former for M. de Chanteloup, Christ is placed in the\ncentre: this new disposition changes the entire effect of the piece.\nPoussin never repeated himself in treating the same subject a second\ntime, but improved on it, aiming ever at perfection. And the memorable\nanswer which he once made to one who inquired of him by what means he\nhad attained to so great perfection, \"I never neglected any thing,\"\nshould be always present to the mind of every artist, painter, sculptor,\npoet, or composer.\n\n[289] Poussin writes to M. de Chanteloup, April 25, 1644 (Lettres de\nPoussin, Paris, 1824), \"I am working briskly at the _Extreme Unction_,\nwhich is indeed a subject worthy of Apelles, who was very fond of\nrepresenting the dying.\" He adds, with a vivacity which seems to\nindicate that he took a particular fancy to this painting, \"I do not\nintend to quit it whilst I feel thus well-disposed, until I have put it\nin fair train for a sketch. It is to contain seventeen figures of men,\nwomen, and children, young and old, one part of whom are drowned in\ntears, whilst the others pray for the dying. I will not describe it to\nyou more in detail. In this, my clumsy pen is quite unfit, it requires a\ngilded and well-set pencil. The principal figures are two feet high; the\npainting will be about the size of your _Manne_, but of better\nproportion.\" Felibien, a friend and confidant of Poussin, likewise\nremarks (_Entretiens_, etc., part iv., p. 293), that the _Extreme\nUnction_ was one of the paintings which pleased him most. We learn at\nlength, from Poussin's letters, that he finished it and sent it into\nFrance in this same year, 1644. Fenoien informs us that in 1646 he\ncompleted the _Confirmation_, in 1647 the _Baptism_, the _Penance_, the\n_Ordination_ and the _Eucharist_, and that he sent the last sacrament,\nthat of _Marriage_, at the commencement of the year 1648. Bellori (_le\nVite de Pittori_, etc., Rome, 1672) gives a full and detailed\ndescription of the _Extreme Unction_; and, as he lived with Poussin, it\nseems credible that his explanations are for the most part those he had\nhimself received from the great artist.\n\n[290] The drawing of the _Extreme Unction_ is at the Louvre; the\ndrawings of the five other sacraments are in the rich cabinet of M. de\nla Salle, that of the seventh is the property of the well-known print\nseller, M. Deter.\n\n[291] There is here likewise a charming Francis II., wholly from the\nhand of Clouet, and the portrait of Fenelon by Rigaud, which may be the\noriginal or at all events is not inferior to the painting in the gallery\nat Versailles.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS._\n\n\nA History of Philosophy:\n\nAn Epitome. By Dr. ALBERT SCHWEGLER. Translated from the original\nGerman, by JULIUS H. SEELYE. 12mo, 365 pages.\n\nThis translation is designed to supply a want long felt by both teachers\nand students in our American colleges. We have valuable histories of\nPhilosophy in English, but no _manual_ on this subject so clear,\nconcise, and comprehensive as the one now presented. Schwegler's work\nbears the marks of great learning, and is evidently written by one who\nhas not only studied the original sources for such a history, but has\nthought out for himself the systems of which he treats. He has thus\nseized upon the real germ of each system, and traced its process of\ndevelopment with great clearness and accuracy. The whole history of\nspeculation, from Thales to the present time, is presented in its\nconsecutive order. This rich and important field of study, hitherto so\ngreatly neglected, will, it is hoped, receive a new impulse among\nAmerican students through Mr. Seelye's translation. It is a book,\nmoreover, invaluable for reference, and should be in the possession of\nevery public and private library.\n\n    _From L. P. HICKOK, Vice-President of Union College._\n\n    \"I have had opportunity to hear a large part of Mr. Seelye's\n    translation of Schwegler's History of Philosophy read from\n    manuscript, and I do not hesitate to say that it is a faithful,\n    clear, and remarkably precise English rendering of this\n    invaluable Epitome of the History of Philosophy. It is\n    exceedingly desirable that it should be given to American\n    students of philosophy in the English language, and I have no\n    expectation of its more favorable and successful accomplishment\n    than in this present attempt. I should immediately introduce it\n    as a text-book in the graduate's department under my own\n    instruction, if it be favorably published, and cannot doubt that\n    other teachers will rejoice to avail themselves of the like\n    assistance from it.\"\n\n    _From HENRY B. SMITH, Professor of Christian Theology, Union\n    Theological Seminary, N. Y._\n\n    \"It will well reward diligent study, and is one of the best\n    works for a text-book in our colleges upon this neglected branch\n    of scientific investigation.\"\n\n    _From N. PORTER, Professor of Intellectual Philosophy in Yale\n    College._\n\n    \"It is the only book translated from the German which professes\n    to give an account of the recent German systems which seems\n    adapted to give any intelligible information on the subject to a\n    novice.\"\n\n    _From GEO. P. FISHER, Professor of Divinity in Yale College._\n\n    \"It is really the best Epitome of the History of Philosophy now\n    accessible to the English student.\"\n\n    _From JOSEPH HAVEN, Professor of Mental Philosophy in Amherst\n    College._\n\n    \"As a manual and brief summary of the whole range of speculative\n    inquiry, I know of no work which strikes me more favorably.\"\n\n\nANNUAL CYCLOPAEDIA\n\n_FOR 1870._\n\nIn addition to its usual information on all the Civil, Political,\nIndustrial Affairs of each State, and of the whole country, it contains\nvery complete details of the UNITED STATES CENSUS. A complete account of\nthe origin and progress of the GERMAN-FRENCH WAR, and a very full\nexhibition of the present state of Europe, Population, Nationalities,\nWealth, Debts, Military Force of the different Countries and an\nEXPLANATION OF ALL THE EXISTING EUROPEAN QUESTIONS, are presented.\n\nThe Discoveries, Events, and Developments of the year are fully brought\nup, together with the History and Progress of all Countries of the World\nduring the year; and the volume is Illustrated with Maps, and fine Steel\nPortraits of General ROBERT E. LEE, General VON MOLTKE, and King VICTOR\nEMMANUEL.\n\nThis work is the Tenth of a Series commenced in 1861, and published, one\nvolume annually since, in the same style as the \"New American\nCyclopaedia,\" and is, in fact, an addendum to that invaluable work. Each\nvolume, however, is complete in itself, and is confined to the results\nof its year.\n\nTHIS VOLUME ALSO CONTAINS A COMPLETE INDEX TO ALL THE \"ANNUALS\"\nHERETOFORE PUBLISHED.\n\nCOMMENTS OF THE PRESS.\n\n    The New York _World_, speaking of this work, says: \"The past\n    volumes of the annual series have all been good; but that which\n    has been recently added is excellent, in fact, it might be said\n    to have approached perfection. No final Word is needed to\n    express the genuine admiration which this work, in its\n    conception, _execution_, and publication, deserves. No private\n    library in the country should be without it or its\n    predecessors.\"\n\n    \"Its value is not easily estimated.\"--_London Saturday Review._\n\n    \"Each succeeding year will add to its value.\"--_London Daily\n    News._\n\n    \"No individual or family of ordinary intelligence should be\n    without it.\"--_N. Y. Times._\n\n    \"Supplies a great public want.\"--_Detroit Tribune._\n\n    \"Ought to be in every library.\"--_Albany Atlas and Argus._\n\n    \"We can confidently and conscientiously recommend it.\"--_Evening\n    Traveller._\n\n    \"Thorough and reliable, and just such a work as is greatly\n    needed.\"--_Cleveland Daily Plain Dealer._\n\n    \"Cannot be too highly commended.\"--_Ohio State Journal._\n\n\nPRICES AND STYLES OF BINDING.\n\nIn Extra Cloth, per vol.,                           $5.00\nIn Library Leather, per vol.,                        6.00\nIn Half Turkey Morocco, per vol.,                    6.50\nIn Half Russia, extra gilt, per vol.,                7.50\nIn Full Morocco, antique, gilt edges, per vol.,      9.00\nIn Full Russia,                                      9.00\n\n_SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY._\n\nD. APPLETON & CO., Publishers,\n549 & 551 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.\n\n\nA TEXT-BOOK OF PRACTICAL MEDICINE, with Particular Reference to\nPhysiology and Pathological Anatomy. By Dr. FELIX VON NIEMEYER.\nTranslated from the eighth German edition, by special permission of the\nAuthor, by GEORGE H. HUMPHREYS, M. D., and CHARLES E. HACKLEY, M. D. 2\nvols., 8vo, 1,528 pages. Cloth. Price, $9.00.\n\n    The translators are pleased to find that the medical public\n    sustain their own opinion of the practical value of Professor\n    Niemeyer's Text-Book, and take pleasure in presenting the\n    present edition, which is altered to correspond with the eighth\n    and last German edition.\n\n    The translators also take great pleasure in noticing the\n    favorable reception of this work in England, showing the\n    interest felt there as well as herein the ideas of the modern\n    German School of Medicine.\n\n\nVERA; OR THE ENGLISH EARL AND THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS. By the Author of\n\"The Hotel du Petit St. Jean.\" 1 vol., 8vo, forming No. 25 of Library of\nChoice Novels. Price, 40 cents.\n\n    \"Vera\" has been praised by the English press in the highest\n    terms. There is a freshness of style, of method and material,\n    and the world of English novel-readers have found in them a new\n    sensation. The London _Saturday Review_, speaking of \"Vera,\"\n    says that \"it heartily recommends to the public a book which\n    cannot fail to please every one who reads it.\"\n\n\nLIGHT SCIENCE FOR LEISURE HOURS. A Series of Familiar Essays on\nScientific Subjects, Natural Phenomena, etc. By R. A. PROCTOR, B. A., F.\nR. A. S., author of \"Saturn and its System,\" \"Other Worlds than Ours,\"\n\"The Sun,\" etc. 1 vol. Cloth. 12mo. Price, $2.00.\n\n    CONTENTS.--Strange Discoveries respecting the Aurora; The\n    Earth's Magnetism; Our Chief Timepiece losing Time; Encke, the\n    Astronomer; Venus on the Sun's Face; Recent Solar Researches;\n    Government Aid to Science; American Alms for British Science;\n    The Secret of the North Pole; Is the Gulf Stream a Myth? Floods\n    in Switzerland; A Great Tidal Wave; Deep-Sea Dredgings; The\n    Tunnel through Mont Cenis; Tornadoes; Vesuvius; The Earthquake\n    in Peru; The Greatest Sea Wave ever known; The Usefulness of\n    Earthquakes; The Forcing Power of Rain; A Shower of Snow\n    Crystals; Long Shots; Influence of Marriage on the Death-Rate;\n    The Topographical Survey of India; A Ship attacked by a\n    Swordfish; The Safety-Lamp; The Dust we have to Breathe;\n    Photographic Ghosts; The Oxford and Cambridge Rowing Styles;\n    Betting on Horse-Races, or the State of the Odds; Squaring the\n    Circle; A New Theory of Achilles's Shield.\n\n\nHEREDITARY GENIUS; an Inquiry into its Laws and Consequences. By FRANCIS\nGALTON, F. R. S. 1 vol., 8vo. Cloth. 390 pages. Price, $2.00.\n\n    The author of this book endeavors to show that man's natural\n    abilities are derived from inheritance, under exactly the same\n    limitations as are the form and physical features of the whole\n    organic world. Consequently, as it is easy, notwithstanding the\n    limitations, to obtain by careful selection a permanent breed of\n    dogs or horses, gifted with peculiar powers of reasoning, or of\n    doing any thing else, so it would be quite practicable to\n    produce a highly-gifted race of men by judicious marriages\n    during several consecutive generations.\n\n\nAPPLETONS' EUROPEAN GUIDE-BOOK, Illustrated, including England,\nScotland, and Ireland, France, Belgium, Holland, Northern and Southern\nGermany, Switzerland, Italy, Spain and Portugal, Russia, Denmark,\nNorway, and Sweden; containing a Map of Europe, and Nine other Maps,\nwith Plans of Twenty of the Principal Cities, and 120 Engravings. 1\nvol., 12mo. Second Edition, brought down to May, 1871. 720 pages. Red\nFrench morocco, with a tuck. Price, $6.00.\n\n    \"In the preparation of this Guide-book, the author has sought to\n    give, within the limits of a single volume, all the information\n    necessary to enable the tourist to find his way, without\n    difficulty, from place to place, and to see the objects best\n    worth seeing, throughout such parts of Europe as are generally\n    visited by American and English travellers.\"--_Extract from\n    Preface._\n\n\nTHE ART OF BEAUTIFYING SUBURBAN HOME GROUNDS OF SMALL EXTENT, and the\nbest Modes of Laying out, Planting, and Keeping Decorated Grounds.\nIllustrated by upward of Two Hundred Plates and Engravings of Plans for\nResidences and their Grounds, of Trees, and Shrubs, and Garden\nEmbellishments. With Descriptions of the Beautiful and Hardy Trees and\nShrubs grown in the United States. By FRANK J. SCOTT. Complete in one\nElegant Quarto Volume of 618 pages. Is printed on tinted paper, bound in\ngreen morocco cloth, bevelled boards, with uncut edges, gilt top. Price,\n$8.00.\n\n    This elegant work is the only book published on the especial\n    subject indicated by the title. Its aim and object are to aid\n    persons of moderate incomes, who are not fully posted on the\n    arts of decorative gardening, to beautify their homes, to\n    suggest and illustrate the simple means with which _beautiful\n    home-surroundings_ may be realized on _small ground_, and with\n    little cost; also to assist in giving an intelligent direction\n    to the desires and a satisfactory result for the labors of those\n    who are engaged in embellishing houses, as well as those whose\n    imaginations are warm with the hopes of homes that are yet to\n    be.\n\n\nLIFE OF MAJOR JOHN ANDRE. By WINTHORP SARGENT. A new and revised\nedition. 1 vol., 12mo, with Portraits of the Author and Editor. Price,\n$2.50.\n\n    This work is an important contribution to our historical\n    literature--\"a volume,\" says Robert C. Winthrop, \"full of\n    attractive and valuable matter, and displaying the fruit of rich\n    culture and rare accomplishments.\" The \"Life of Andre\" has been\n    fortunate in receiving the commendation, at home and abroad, of\n    careful critics and distinguished historians.\n\n\nTHE TWO GUARDIANS; OR HOME IN THIS WORLD. By the author of \"The Heir of\nRedclyffe.\" 1 vol., 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. Forming one of the\nvolumes of the new illustrated edition of Miss Yonge's popular novels.\nVolumes already published: \"The Heir of Redclyffe,\" 2 vols.;\n\"Heartsease,\" 2 vols.; \"Daisy Chain,\" 2 vols.; \"Beechcroft,\" 1 vol.\n\n\nTHE RECOVERY OF JERUSALEM. An Account of the Recent Excavations and\nDiscoveries in the Holy City. By CAPTAIN WILSON, R. E., and CAPTAIN\nWARREN, R. E. With an Introductory Chapter by Dean Stanley. Cloth, 8vo.\nWith fifty Illustrations. Price, $3.50.\n\n    \"That this volume may bring home to the English public a more\n    definite knowledge of what the Palestine Exploration Fund has\n    been doing, and hopes to do, than can be gathered from partial\n    and isolated reports, or from popular lectures, must be the\n    desire of every one who judges the Bible to be the most\n    precious, as it is the most profound, book in the world, and who\n    deems nothing small or unimportant that shall tend to throw\n    light upon its meaning, and to remove the obscurities which time\n    and distance have caused to rest upon some of its\n    pages.\"--_Globe._\n\n\nTHE PHYSICAL CAUSE OF THE DEATH OF CHRIST, and its Relations to the\nPrinciples and Practice of Christianity. By WM. STROUD, M. D. With a\nLetter on the Subject by SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON, Bart., M. D. 1 vol.,\n12mo. Cloth. Price, $2.00.\n\n    Dr. William Stroud's treatise on \"The Physical Cause of the\n    Death of Christ, and its Relation to the Principles and Practice\n    of Christianity,\" although now first reprinted in this country,\n    has maintained, for the last quarter of a century, a great\n    reputation in England. It is, in its own place, a masterpiece.\n    \"It could have been composed,\" says Dr. Stroud's biographer,\n    \"only by a man characterized by a combination of superior\n    endowments. It required, on the one hand, a profound\n    acquaintance with medical subjects and medical literature. It\n    required, on the other, an equally profound acquaintance with\n    the Bible, and with theology in general.\" The object of the\n    treatise is to demonstrate an important physical fact connected\n    with the death of Christ--namely, that it was caused by rupture\n    of the heart--and to point out its relation to the principles\n    and practice of Christianity.\n\n\nWESTWARD BY RAIL: THE NEW ROUTE TO THE EAST. By W. F. RAE. 1 vol., 12mo.\nCloth. 390 pages. Price, $2.00.\n\n    The author of this work, one of the editors of the London _Daily\n    News_, was a stanch defender of the Union, and his work is one\n    of the most just and appreciative books on America yet published\n    by an Englishman.\n\n    \"There is a quiet and subtle charm, as well as a deep and true\n    romantic interest, in the story of the railway\n    journey.\"--_Westminster Review._\n\n    \"He has given us a very pleasant and instructive book, which we\n    heartily commend to the attention of all thoughtful and\n    inquiring readers.\"--_Glasgow Mail._\n\n    \"He has written a most readable, interesting, and attractive\n    account of a journey which is long enough to be worth the\n    complete description he has given it.\"--_Observer._\n\n\nTHE REVELATION OF JOHN, with Notes, Critical, Explanatory, and\nPractical. Designed for both Pastors and People. By Rev. HENRY COWLES,\nD. D. 1 vol., 12mo, cloth. Price, $1.50.\n\nD. Appleton & Co. also publish by the same Author: \"Minor Prophets.\"\n12mo, cloth. Price, $2.00; \"Ezekiel and Daniel.\" 12mo, cloth. $2.25;\n\"Isaiah.\" With Notes, $2.25; \"Jeremiah.\" 1 vol., 12mo. $2.00; \"Proverbs,\nEcclesiastes, and Songs of Solomon.\" $2.00.\n\n\nA TREATISE ON DISEASES OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM. By WILLIAM A. HAMMOND, M. D.,\nProfessor of Diseases of the Mind and Nervous System, and of Clinical\nMedicine, in the Bellevue Hospital Medical College; Physician-in-chief\nto the New-York State Hospital for Diseases of the Nervous System, etc.\nWith Forty-five Illustrations. 1 vol., 8vo, 750 pages. Price, $5.00.\n\n    \"In the following work I have endeavored to present a 'Treatise\n    on Diseases of the Nervous System' which, without being\n    superficial, would be concise and explicit, and which, while\n    making no claim to being exhaustive, would nevertheless be\n    sufficiently complete for the instruction and guidance of those\n    who might be disposed to seek information from its pages. How\n    far I have been successful will soon be determined by the\n    judgment of those more competent than myself to form an unbiased\n    opinion.\n\n    \"One feature I may, however, with justice claim for this work,\n    and that is, that it rests, to a great extent, on my own\n    observation and experience, and is, therefore, no mere\n    compilation. The reader will readily perceive that I have views\n    of my own on every disease considered, and that I have not\n    hesitated to express them.\"--_Extract from the Preface._\n\n    Over fifty diseases of the nervous system, including insanity,\n    are considered in this treatise.\n\n\nON THE PHYSIOLOGICAL EFFECTS OF SEVERE AND PROTRACTED MUSCULAR EXERCISE,\nwith Special Reference to its Influence upon the Excretion of Nitrogen.\nBy AUSTIN FLINT, Jr., M. D., Professor of Physiology in the Bellevue\nHospital Medical College, New York. 1 vol., 8vo. Cloth. Price, $1.25.\n\n\nAPPLETONS' HAND-BOOK OF AMERICAN TRAVEL. Northern and Eastern Tour. New\nedition, revised for the Summer of 1871. Including New York, New Jersey,\nPennsylvania, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maine, New\nHampshire, Vermont, and the British Dominion, being a Guide to Niagara,\nthe White Mountains, the Alleghanies, the Catskills, the Adirondacks,\nthe Berkshire Hills, the St. Lawrence, Lake Champlain, Lake George, Lake\nMemphremagog, Saratoga, Newport, Cape May, the Hudson, and other Famous\nLocalities; with full Descriptive Sketches of the Cities, Towns, Rivers,\nLakes, Waterfalls, Mountains, Hunting and Fishing Grounds,\nWatering-places, Sea-side Resorts, and all scenes and objects of\nimportance and interest within the district named. With Maps and various\nSkeleton Tours, arranged as suggestions and guides to the Traveller. One\nvol., 12mo. Flexible cloth. Price, $2.00.\n\n\nJAMES GORDON'S WIFE. A Novel. 8vo. Paper. Price, 50 cents.\n\n    \"An interesting novel, pleasantly written, refined in tone, and\n    easy in style.\"--_London Globe._\n\n    \"This novel is conceived and executed in the purest spirit. The\n    illustrations of society in its various phases are cleverly and\n    spiritedly done.\"--_London Post._\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY. By HERBERT SPENCER. 1 vol., 8vo. Cloth.\nPrice, $2.50.\n\n    This work is thought by many able judges to be the most original\n    and valuable contribution to the science of mind that has\n    appeared in the present century. John Stuart Mill says it is\n    \"one of the finest examples we possess of the psychological\n    method in its full power.\" Dr. McCosh says \"his bold\n    generalizations are always suggestive, and some may in the end\n    be established in the profoundest laws of the knowable\n    universe.\" George Ripley says \"Spencer is as keen an analyst as\n    is known in the history of Philosophy. I do not except either\n    Aristotle or Kant, whom he greatly resembles.\"\n\n\nNIGEL BARTRAM'S IDEAL. A Novel. By FLORENCE WILFORD. 1 vol., 8vo. Paper\ncovers. Price, 50 cents.\n\n    This is a novel of marked originality and high literary merit.\n    The heroine is one of the loveliest and purest characters of\n    recent fiction, and the detail of her adventures in the arduous\n    task of overcoming her husband's prejudices and jealousies forms\n    an exceedingly interesting plot. The book is high in tone and\n    excellent in style.\n\n\nGOOD FOR NOTHING. A Novel. By WHYTE MELVILLE. Author of \"Digby Grand,\"\n\"The Interpreter,\" etc. 1 vol., 8vo, 210 pages. Price, 60 cents.\n\n    \"The interest of the reader in the story, which for the most\n    part is laid in England, is enthralling from the beginning to\n    the end. The moral tone is altogether unexceptionable.\"--_The\n    Chronicle._\n\n\nA HAND-BOOK OF LAW, for Business Men; containing an Epitome of the Law\nof Contracts, Bills and Notes, interest, Guaranty and Suretyship,\nAssignments for Creditors, Agents, Factors, and Brokers, Sales,\nMortgages, and Liens, Patents and Copyrights, Trade-Marks, the Good-Will\nof a Business, Carriers, Insurance, Shipping, Arbitrations, Statutes of\nLimitation, Partnership, with an Appendix, containing Forms of\nInstruments used in the Transaction of Business. By WILLIAM TRACY, LL. D.\n1 vol., 8vo, 679 pages. Half basil, $5.50; library leather, $6.50.\n\n    This work is an epitome of those branches of law which affect\n    the ordinary transactions of BUSINESS MEN. _It is not proposed\n    by it to make every man a lawyer_, but to give a man of business\n    a convenient and reliable book of reference, to assist him in\n    the solution of questions relating to his rights and duties,\n    which are constantly arising, and to guide him in conducting his\n    negotiations.\n\n    In preparing it, the aim has been to set forth, IN PLAIN\n    LANGUAGE, the rules which constitute the doctrines of law which\n    are examined, _and to illustrate the same by decisions of the\n    Courts in which they are recognized_, WITH MARGINAL REFERENCES\n    TO THE VOLUMES WHERE THE CASES MAY BE FOUND.\n\n\nNEW YORK ILLUSTRATED; with Fifty-nine Illustrations. A Descriptive Text\nand a Map of the City. An entirely new edition, brought down to date,\nwith new Illustrations. Price, 50 cents.\n\n    \"There has never been published so beautiful a guide-book to New\n    York as this is. A suitable letter-press accompanies the\n    woodcuts, the whole forming a picture of New York such as no\n    other book affords.\"--_New York World._\n\n\nTHE NOVELS AND NOVELISTS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. In Illustration of\nthe Manners and Morals of the Age. By WILLIAM FORSYTH, M. A., Q. C. 1\nvol., 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50.\n\n    Mr. Forsyth, in his instructive and entertaining volume, has\n    succeeded in showing that much real information concerning the\n    morals as well as the manners of our ancestors may be gathered\n    from the novelists of the last century. With judicial\n    impartiality he examines and cross-examines the witnesses,\n    laying all the evidence before the reader. Essayists as well as\n    novelists are called up. The Spectator, The Tatler, The World,\n    The Connoisseur, add confirmation strong to the testimony of\n    Parson Adams, Trulliber, Trunnion, Squire Western, the \"Fool of\n    Quality,\" \"Betsey Thoughtless,\" and the like. A chapter on dress\n    is suggestive of comparison. Costume is a subject on which\n    novelists, like careful artists, are studiously precise.\n\n\nREMINISCENCES OF FIFTY YEARS. By MARK BOYD. 1 vol., 12mo, 390 pp. Price,\n$1.75.\n\n    Mr. Boyd has seen much of life at home and abroad. He has\n    enjoyed the acquaintance or friendship of many illustrious men,\n    and he has the additional advantage of remembering a number of\n    anecdotes told by his father, who possessed a retentive memory\n    and a wide circle of distinguished friends. The book, as the\n    writer acknowledges, is a perfect _olla podrida_. There is\n    considerable variety in the anecdotes. Some relate to great\n    generals, like the Duke of Wellington and Lord Clyde; some to\n    artists and men of letters, and these include the names of\n    Campbell, Rogers, Thackeray, and David Roberts; some to\n    statesmen, and among others, to Pitt, who was a friend of Mr.\n    Boyd's father, to Lords Palmerston, Brougham, and Derby; some to\n    discoverers, like Sir John Franklin and Sir John Ross: and\n    others--among which may be reckoned, perhaps, the most amusing\n    in the volume--to persons wholly unknown to fame, or to manners\n    and customs now happily obsolete.\n\n\nFRAGMENTS OF SCIENCE FOR UNSCIENTIFIC PEOPLE. A Series of Detached\nEssays, Lectures, and Reviews. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL. D., F. R. S. 1 vol.,\n12mo. Cloth. 422 pages. Price, $2.00.\n\nPROF. TYNDALL IS THE POET OF MODERN SCIENCE.\n\n    This is a book of genius--one of those rare productions that\n    come but once in a generation. Prof. Tyndall is not only a bold,\n    broad, and original thinker, but one of the most eloquent and\n    attractive of writers. In this volume he goes over a large range\n    of scientific questions, giving us the latest views in the most\n    lucid and graphic language, so that the subtlest order of\n    invisible changes stand out with all the vividness of\n    stereoscopic perspective. Though a disciplined scientific\n    thinker, Prof. Tyndall is also a poet, alive to all beauty, and\n    kindles into a glow of enthusiasm at the harmonies and wonder of\n    Nature which he sees on every side. To him science is no mere\n    dry inventory of prosaic facts, but a disclosure of the Divine\n    order of the world, and fitted to stir the highest feelings of\n    our nature.\n\n\nGABRIELLE ANDRE. An Historical Novel. By S. BARING-GOULD, author of\n\"Myths of the Middle Ages.\" 1 vol., 8vo. Paper covers. Price, 60 cents.\n\n    Those who take an interest in comparing the effects of the\n    present French Revolution on the Church with that of 1789 will\n    find in this work a great deal of information illustrating the\n    feeling in the State and Church of France at that period. The\n    _Literary Churchman_ says: \"The book is a remarkably able one,\n    full of vigorous and often exceedingly beautiful writing and\n    description.\"\n\n\nMUSINGS OVER THE CHRISTIAN YEAR AND LYRA INNOCENTIUM. By CHARLOTTE MARY\nYONGE, together with a few Gleanings of Recollection, gathered by\nSeveral Friends. 1 vol. Thick 12mo, 431 pages. Price, $2.00.\n\n    Miss Yonge has here produced a volume which will possess great\n    interest in the eyes of Churchmen, who have for so many years\n    enjoyed the privilege of reading the exquisite poetry of the\n    \"Christian Year\" by Rev. John Keble. Miss Yonge gives her own\n    experience of the uninterrupted intercourse of thirty years:\n    then there are the \"Recollections,\" by Francis M. Wilbraham: a\n    few words of \"Personal Description,\" by Rev. T. Simpson Evans;\n    then follow the \"Musings,\" one each of the poems illustrative of\n    the \"Christian Year and Lyra Innocentium.\"\n\n\nTHE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. A New Illustrated Edition.\n2 vols., 12mo. Cloth. Price, $2.00.\n\nTo be followed by HEARTSEASE.\n\n    \"The first of her writings which made a sensation here was the\n    'Heir,' and what a sensation it was! Referring to the remains of\n    the tear-washed covers of the copy aforesaid, we find it\n    belonged to the 'eighth thousand.' How many thousands have been\n    issued since by the publishers, to supply the demand for new,\n    and the places of drowned, dissolved, or swept away old copies,\n    we do not attempt to conjecture. Not individuals merely, but\n    households--consisting in great part of tender-hearted young\n    damsels--were plunged into mourning. With a tolerable\n    acquaintance with fictitious heroes (not to speak of real ones),\n    from Sir Charles Grandison down to the nursery idol, Carlton, we\n    have little hesitation in pronouncing Sir Guy Morville, or\n    Redclyffe, Baronet, the most admirable one we ever met with, in\n    story or out. The glorious, joyous boy, the brilliant, ardent\n    child of genius and of fortune, crowned with the beauty of his\n    early holiness, and overshadowed with the darkness of his\n    hereditary gloom, and the soft and touching sadness of his early\n    death--what a caution is there! What a vision!\"--Extract from a\n    review of \"The Heir of Redclyffe,\" and \"Heartsease,\" in the\n    _North American Review_ for April.\n\n\nA COMPREHENSIVE DICTIONARY OF THE BIBLE; mainly abridged from Dr.\nWilliam Smith's \"Dictionary of the Bible,\" but comprising important\nAdditions and Improvements from the Works of Robinson, Gesenius, Furst,\nPape, Pott, Winer, Keil, Lange, Kitto, Fairbairn, Alexander, Barnes,\nBush, Thomson, Stanley, Porter, Tristram, King, Ayre, and many other\neminent scholars, commentators, travellers, and authors in various\ndepartments. Designed to be a Complete Guide in regard to the\nPronunciation and Signification of Scriptural Names; the Solution of\nDifficulties respecting the Interpretation, Authority, and Harmony of\nthe Old and New Testaments; the History and Description of Biblical\nCustoms, Events, Places, Persons, Animals, Plants, Minerals, and other\nthings concerning which information is needed for an intelligent and\nthorough study of the Holy Scriptures, and of the Books of the\nApocrypha. Illustrated with Five Hundred Maps and Engravings. Edited by\nRev. SAMUEL W. BARNUM. Complete in one large royal octavo volume of\n1,234 pages. Price, in cloth binding, $5.00; in library sheep, $6.00; in\nhalf morocco, $7.50.\n\n\nLIGHT AND ELECTRICITY. Notes of Two Courses of Lectures before the Royal\nInstitution of Great Britain. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL. D., F. R. S. 1 vol.,\n12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25.\n\n    \"For the benefit of those who attended his Lectures on Light and\n    Electricity at the Royal Institution. Prof. Tyndall prepared\n    with much care a series of notes, summing up briefly and clearly\n    the leading facts and principles of these sciences. The notes\n    proved so serviceable to those for whom they were designed that\n    they were widely sought by students and teachers, and Prof.\n    Tyndall had them reprinted in two small books. Under the\n    conviction that they will be equally appreciated by instructors\n    and learners in this country, they are here combined and\n    republished in a single volume.\"--_Extract from Preface._\n\n\nTHE DESCENT OF MAN AND SELECTION IN RELATION TO SEX. By CHARLES DARWIN,\nM. A. With Illustrations. 2 vols., 12mo. Cloth. Price, $4.00.\n\n    \"We can find no fault with Mr. Darwin's facts, or the\n    application of them.\"--_Utica Herald._\n\n    \"The theory is now indorsed by many eminent scientists, who at\n    first combated it, including Sir Charles Lyell, probably the\n    most learned of living geologists.\"--_Evening Bulletin._\n\n\nON THE GENESIS OF SPECIES. By ST. GEORGE MIVART, F. R. S. 1 vol., 12mo.\nCloth, with Illustrations. Price, $1.75.\n\n    \"Mr. Mivart has succeeded in producing a work which will clear\n    the ideas of biologists and theologians, and which treats the\n    most delicate questions in a manner which throws light upon most\n    of them, and tears away the barriers of intolerance on each\n    side.\"--_British Medical Journal._\n\n\nMARQUIS AND MERCHANT. A Novel. By MORTIMER COLLINS. 1 vol., 8vo. Paper\ncovers. Price, 50 cents.\n\n    \"We will not compare Mr. Collins, as a novelist, with Mr.\n    Disraeli, but, nevertheless, the qualities which have made Mr.\n    Disraeli's fictions so widely popular are to be found in no\n    small degree in the pages of the author of 'Marquis and\n    Merchant.'\"--_Times._\n\n\nHEARTSEASE. A Novel. By the author of the \"Heir of Redclyffe.\" An\nIllustrated Edition. 2 vols., 12mo. Price, $2.00.\n\n    This is the second of the series of Miss Yonge's novels, now\n    being issued in a new and beautiful style with illustrations.\n    Since this novel was first published a new generation of readers\n    have appeared. Nothing in the English language can equal the\n    delineation of character which she so beautifully portrays.\n\n\nWHAT TO READ, AND HOW TO READ, being Classified Lists of Choice Reading,\nwith appropriate hints and remarks, adapted to the general reader, to\nsubscribers, to libraries, and to persons intending to form collections\nof books. Brought down to September, 1870. By CHARLES H. MOORE, M. D. 1\nvol., 12mo. Paper Covers, 50 cents. Cloth. Price, 75 cents.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Note.\n\nThe following errors in the original text have been corrected in this\nversion:\n\nPage 20: Mind on Man changed to Mind of Man\n\nPage 21: Le Notre changed to Le Notre\n\nPage 44: empirist changed to empiricist\n\nPage 75: Fenelon; changed to Fenelon;\n\nPage 99: metaphysicans changed to metaphysicians\n\nPage 117: [Greek: ektasis] changed to [Greek: ekstasis]\n\nPage 136: added missing comma after receives warmth\n\nPage 165: resume changed to resume\n\nPage 182: exquiste changed to exquisite\n\nPage 184: monarh changed to monarch\n\nPage 245: missing semi-colon added after duty and right\n\nPage 268: destrnction changed to destruction\n\nPage 270: depeudere changed to dependere\n\nPage 321: missing quotation mark added after because it is just.\n\nPage 327: inaccesible changed to inaccessible\n\nPage 356: iufinite changed to infinite\n\nPage 360: sinee changed to since\n\nPage 363: extravagauce changed to extravagance\n\nPage 366: obsconditus changed to absconditus\n\nPage 374: Nonveau changed to Nouveau\n          Allemange changed to Allemagne\n\nPage 399: analysist changed to analyst\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Lectures on the true, the beautiful and the good","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":144371}