{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_8909/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_8909","id":"gutenberg_8909","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8909","summary":null,"tags":["Atheism","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Materialism","Philosophy and religion","Psychology"],"text":"Produced by Freethought Archives and Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SYSTEM OF NATURE, VOLUME I (of II)\n\n\nBy Paul Henri Thiery (Baron d'Holbach)\n\n\nIntroduction by Robert D. Richardson, Jr.\n\n\n\n\nPRODUCTION NOTES: First published in French in 1770 under the pseudonym\nof Mirabaud. This e-book based on a facsimile reprint of an English\ntranslation originally published 1820-21. This e-text covers the first\nof the original two volumes.\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nPaul Henri Thiery, Baron d'Holbach (1723-1789), was the center of the\nradical wing of the _philosophes_. He was friend, host, and patron to\na wide circle that included Diderot, D'Alembert, Helvetius, and Hume.\nHolbach wrote, translated, edited, and issued a stream of books and\npamphlets, often under other names, that has made him the despair of\nbibliographers but has connected his name, by innuendo, gossip, and\nassociation, with most of what was written in defense of atheistic\nmaterialism in late eighteenth-century France.\n\nHolbach is best known for _The System of Nature_ (1770) and deservedly,\nsince it is a clear and reasonably systematic exposition of his main\nideas. His initial position determines all the rest of his argument.\n\"There is not, there can be nothing out of that Nature which includes\nall beings.\" Conceiving of nature as strictly limited to matter and\nmotion, both of which have always existed, he flatly denies that there\nis any such thing as spirit or a supernatural. Mythology began, Holbach\nclaims, when men were still in a state of nature and at the point when\nwise, strong, and for the most part benign men were arising as leaders\nand lawgivers. These leaders \"formed discourses by which they spoke to\nthe imaginations of their willing auditors,\" using the medium of poetry,\nbecause it \"seem{ed} best adapted to strike the mind.\" Through poetry,\nthen, and by means of \"its images, its fictions, its numbers, its rhyme,\nits harmony... the entire of nature, as well as all its parts, was\npersonified, by its beautiful allegories.\" Thus mythology is given\nan essentially political origin. These early poets are literally\nlegislators of mankind. \"The first institutors of nations, and their\nimmediate successors in authority, only spoke to the people by fables,\nallegories, enigmas, of which they reserved to themselves the right\nof giving an explanation.\" Holbach is rather condescending about the\nprocess, but since mythology is a representation of nature itself, he\nis far more tolerant of mythology than he is of the next step. \"Natural\nphilosophers and poets were transformed by leisure into metaphysicians\nand theologians,\" and at this point a fatal error was introduced: the\ntheologians made a distinction between the power of nature and nature\nitself, separated the two, made the power of nature prior to nature, and\ncalled it God. Thus man was left with an abstract and chimerical being\non one side and a despoiled inert nature, destitute of power, on the\nother. In Holbach's critique the point at which theology split off from\nmythology marks the moment of nature's alienation from itself and paves\nthe way for man's alienation from nature.\n\nHolbach is thus significant for Romantic interest in myth in two ways.\nFirst, he provides a clear statement of what can be loosely called the\nantimythic position, that rationalist condescension and derogation of\nall myth and all religion that was never far from the surface during\nthe Romantic era. Holbach was and is a reminder that the Romantic\naffirmation of myth was never easy, uncritical, or unopposed. Any new\nendorsement of myth had to be made in the teeth of Holbach and the other\nskeptics. The very vigor of the Holbachian critique of myth impelled the\nRomantics to think more deeply and defend more carefully any new claim\nfor myth. Secondly, although Holbach's argument generally drove against\nmyth and religion both, he did make an important, indeed a saving\ndistinction between mythology and theology. Mythology is the more or\nless harmless personification of the power in and of nature; theology\nconcerns itself with what for Holbach was the nonexistent power beyond\nor behind nature. By exploiting this distinction it would\nbecome possible for a Shelley, for example, to take a strong\nantitheological--even an anti-Christian--position without having to\nabandon myth.\n\nHolbach was one of William Godwin's major sources for his ideas about\npolitical justice, and Shelley, who discussed Holbach with Godwin,\nquotes extensively from _The System of Nature_ in _Queen Mab_.\nFurthermore, Volney's _Ruins_, another important book for Shelley,\nis directly descended from _The System of Nature_. On the other side,\nHolbach was a standing challenge to such writers as Coleridge and Goethe\nand was reprinted and retranslated extensively in America, where his\nwork was well known to the rationalist circle around Jefferson and\nBarlow.\n\nIssued in 1770 as though by Jean Baptiste de Mirabaud (a former\nperpetual secretary to the Acad\u00e9mie fran\u00e7aise who had died ten years\nbefore), _La Syst\u00e8me de la nature_ was translated and reprinted\nfrequently. The Samuel Wilkinson translation we have chosen to reprint\nwas the most often reprinted or pirated version in English. A useful\nstarting point for Holbach's work is Jerome Vercruysse, _Bibliographie\ndescriptive des \u00e9crits du baron d'Holbach_ (Paris, 1971). The difficult\nsubject of the essentially clandestine evolution of biblical criticism\nas an anti-Christian and antimyth critique in the early part of the\neighteenth century, before the well-documented era of the biblical\ncritic Eichhorn in Germany, is illuminated in Ira Wade, _The Clandestine\nOrganization and Diffusion of Philosophic Ideas in France from\n1700-1750_ (Princeton Univ. Press, 1938).\n\n\nRobert D. Richardson, Jr.\n\nUniversity of Denver\n\n\n* * * * *\n\n\n\n{Illustration: Parke sculp't M. DE MIRABAUD}\n\n\n\n\nTHE SYSTEM OF NATURE; OR, _THE LAWS_ OF THE MORAL AND PHYSICAL WORLD.\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH OF M. DE MIRABAUD\n\n\n\nVOL. I.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nPreface\n\n\n     PART I--Laws of Nature.--Of man.--The faculties of the soul.\n     --Doctrine of immortality.--On happiness.\n\n\nCHAP. I. Nature and her laws.\n\nCHAP. II. Of motion and its origin.\n\nCHAP. III. Of matter--of its various combinations--of its diversified\nmotion--or of the course of Nature.\n\nCHAP. IV. Laws of motion common to every being of Nature--attraction and\nrepulsion--inert force-necessity.\n\nCHAP. V. Order and confusion--intelligence--chance.\n\nCHAP. VI. Moral and physical distinctions of man--his origin.\n\nCHAP. VII. The soul and the spiritual system.\n\nCHAP. VII. The soul and the spiritual system.\n\nCHAP. VIII. The intellectual faculties derived from the faculty of\nfeeling.\n\nCHAP. IX. The diversity of the intellectual faculties; they depend on\nphysical causes, as do their moral qualities.--The natural principles of\nsociety--morals--politics.\n\nCHAP. X. The soul does not derive its ideas from itself--it has no\ninnate ideas.\n\nCHAP. XI. Of the system of man's free-agency.\n\nCHAP. XII. An examination of the opinion which pretends that the system\nof fatalism is dangerous.\n\nCHAP. XIII. Of the immortality of the soul--of the doctrine of a future\nstate--of the fear of death.\n\nCHAP. XIV. Education, morals, and the laws suffice to restrain man--of\nthe desire of immortality--of suicide.\n\nCHAP. XV. Of man's true interest, or of the ideas he forms to himself of\nhappiness.--Man cannot be happy without virtue.\n\nCHAP. XVI. The errors of man.--Upon what constitutes happiness.--The\ntrue source of his evils.--Remedies that may be applied.\n\nCHAP. XVII. Those ideas which are true, or founded upon Nature, are the\nonly remedies for the evil of man.--Recapitulation.--Conclusions of the\nFirst Part.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n_The source of man's unhappiness is his ignorance of Nature. The\npertinacity with which he clings to blind opinions imbibed in his\ninfancy, which interweave themselves with his existence, the consequent\nprejudice that warps his mind, that prevents its expansion, that renders\nhim the slave of fiction, appears to doom him to continual error. He\nresembles a child destitute of experience, full of ideal notions: a\ndangerous leaven mixes itself with all his knowledge: it is of necessity\nobscure, it is vacillating and false:--He takes the tone of his ideas\non the authority of others, who are themselves in error, or else have\nan interest in deceiving him. To remove this Cimmerian darkness, these\nbarriers to the improvement of his condition; to disentangle him from\nthe clouds of error that envelope him; to guide him out of this Cretan\nlabyrinth, requires the clue of Ariadne, with all the love she could\nbestow on Theseus. It exacts more than common exertion; it needs a most\ndetermined, a most undaunted courage--it is never effected but by a\npersevering resolution to act, to think for himself; to examine with\nrigour and impartiality the opinions he has adopted. He will find that\nthe most noxious weeds have sprung up beside beautiful flowers; entwined\nthemselves around their stems, overshadowed them with an exuberance of\nfoliage, choaked the ground, enfeebled their growth, diminished their\npetals; dimmed the brilliancy of their colours; that deceived by\ntheir apparent freshness of their verdure, by the rapidity of their\nexfoliation, he has given them cultivation, watered them, nurtured them,\nwhen he ought to have plucked out their very roots.\n\nMan seeks to range out of his sphere: notwithstanding the reiterated\nchecks his ambitious folly experiences, he still attempts the\nimpossible; strives to carry his researches beyond the visible world;\nand hunts out misery in imaginary regions. He would be a metaphysician\nbefore he has become a practical philosopher. He quits the contemplation\nof realities to meditate on chimeras. He neglects experience to feed on\nconjecture, to indulge in hypothesis. He dares not cultivate his\nreason, because from his earliest days he has been taught to consider\nit criminal. He pretends to know his date in the indistinct abodes of\nanother life, before he has considered of the means by which he is to\nrender himself happy in the world he inhabits: in short, man disdains\nthe study of Nature, except it be partially: he pursues phantoms\nthat resemble an _ignis-fatuus_, which at once dazzle, bewilders, and\naffright: like the benighted traveller led astray by these deceptive\nexhalations of a swampy soil, he frequently quits the plain, the simple\nroad of truth, by pursuing of which, he can alone ever reasonably hope\nto reach the goal of happiness.\n\nThe most important of our duties, then, is to seek means by which we may\ndestroy delusions that can never do more than mislead us. The remedies\nfor these evils must be sought for in Nature herself; it is only in\nthe abundance of her resources, that we can rationally expect to find\nantidotes to the mischiefs brought upon us by an ill directed, by an\noverpowering enthusiasm. It is time these remedies were sought; it is\ntime to look the evil boldly in the face, to examine its foundations,\nto scrutinize its superstructure: reason, with its faithful guide\nexperience, must attack in their entrenchments those prejudices, to\nwhich the human race has but too long been the victim. For this purpose\nreason must be restored to its proper rank,--it must be rescued from\nthe evil company with which it is associated. It has been too long\ndegraded--too long neglected--cowardice has rendered it subservient to\ndelirium, the slave to falsehood. It must no longer be held down by the\nmassive claims of ignorant prejudice.\n\nTruth is invariable--it is requisite to man--it can never harm him--his\nvery necessities, sooner or later, make him sensible of this; oblige him\nto acknowledge it. Let us then discover it to mortals--let us exhibit\nits charms--let us shed it effulgence over the darkened road; it is\nthe only mode by which man can become disgusted with that disgraceful\nsuperstition which leads him into error, and which but too often usurps\nhis homage by treacherously covering itself with the mask of truth--its\nlustre can wound none but those enemies to the human race whose power is\nbottomed solely on the ignorance, on the darkness in which they have in\nalmost every claimed contrived to involve the mind of man.\n\nTruth speaks not to those perverse beings:--her voice can only be heard\nby generous souls accustomed to reflection, whose sensibilities make\nthem lament the numberless calamities showered on the earth by political\nand religious tyranny--whose enlightened minds contemplate with horror\nthe immensity, the ponderosity of that series of misfortunes which error\nhas in all ages overwhelmed mankind.\n\nTo error must be attributed those insupportable chains which tyrants,\nwhich priests have forged for most nations. To error must be equally\nattributed that abject slavery into which the people of almost every\ncountry have fallen. Nature designed they should pursue their happiness\nby the most perfect freedom.--To error must be attributed those\nreligious terrors which, in almost every climate, have either petrified\nman with fear, or caused him to destroy himself for coarse or fanciful\nbeings. To error must be attributed those inveterate hatreds, those\nbarbarous persecutions, those numerous massacres, those dreadful\ntragedies, of which, under pretext of serving the interests of heaven,\nthe earth has been but too frequently made the theatre. It is error\nconsecrated by religious enthusiasm, which produces that ignorance,\nthat uncertainty in which man ever finds himself with regard to his most\nevident duties, his clearest rights, the most demonstrable truths.\nIn short, man is almost everywhere a poor degraded captive, devoid of\ngreatness of soul, of reason, or of virtue, whom his inhuman gaolers\nhave never permitted to see the light of day.\n\nLet us then endeavour to disperse those clouds of ignorance, those\nmists of darkness, which impede man on his journey, which obscure his\nprogress, which prevent his marching through life with a firm, with a\nsteady grip. Let us try to inspire him with courage--with respect for\nhis reason--with an inextinguishable love for truth--with a remembrance\nof Gallileo--to the end that he may learn to know himself--to know his\nlegitimate rights--that he may learn to consult his experience, and no\nlonger be the dupe of an imagination led astray by authority--that he\nmay renounce the prejudices of his childhood--that he may learn to\nfound his morals on his nature, on his wants, on the real advantage of\nsociety--that he may dare to love himself--that he may learn to pursue\nhis true happiness by promoting that of others--in short, that he may no\nlonger occupy himself with reveries either useless or dangerous--that he\nmay become a virtuous, a rational being, in which case he cannot fail to\nbecome happy.\n\nIf he must have his chimeras, let him at least learn to permit others\nto form theirs after their own fashion; since nothing can be more\nimmaterial than the manner of men's thinking on subjects not accessible\nto reason, provided those thoughts be not suffered to embody themselves\ninto actions injurious to others: above all, let him be fully persuaded\nthat it is of the utmost importance to the inhabitants of this world to\nbe JUST, KIND, and PEACEABLE.\n\nFar from injuring the cause of virtue, an impartial examination of the\nprinciples of this work will shew that its object is to restore truth\nto its proper temple, to build up an altar whose foundations shall be\nconsolidated by morality, reason, and justice: from this sacred pane,\nvirtue guarded by truth, clothed with experience, shall shed forth her\nradiance on delighted mortals; whose homage flowing consecutively shall\nopen to the world a new aera, by rendering general the belief that\nhappiness, the true end of man's existence, can never be attained but BY\nPROMOTING THAT OF HIS FELLOW CREATURE.\n\nIn short, man should learn to know, that happiness is simply an\nemanative quality formed by reflection; that each individual ought to\nbe the sun of his own system, continually shedding around him his genial\nrays; that these, re-acting, will keep his own existence constantly\nsupplied with the requisite heat to enable him to put forth kindly\nfruit._\n\n\n\n\nMIRABAUD'S SYSTEM OF NATURE\n\n\nTranslated from the Original, By Samuel Wilkinson.\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\n\nLAWS OF NATURE--OF MAN--THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL--DOCTRINE OF\nIMMORTALITY--ON HAPPINESS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. I.\n\n_Nature and her Laws_.\n\n\nMan has always deceived himself when he abandoned experience to follow\nimaginary systems.--He is the work of nature.--He exists in Nature.--He\nis submitted to the laws of Nature.--He cannot deliver himself from\nthem:--cannot step beyond them even in thought. It is in vain his mind\nwould spring forward beyond the visible world: direful and imperious\nnecessity ever compels his return--being formed by Nature, he is\ncircumscribed by her laws; there exists nothing beyond the great whole\nof which he forms a part, of which he experiences the influence. The\nbeings his fancy pictures as above nature, or distinguished from her,\nare always chimeras formed after that which he has already seen, but of\nwhich it is utterly impossible he should ever form any finished idea,\neither as to the place they occupy, or their manner of acting--for him\nthere is not, there can be nothing out of that Nature which includes all\nbeings.\n\nTherefore, instead of seeking out of the world he inhabits for beings\nwho can procure him a happiness denied to him by Nature, let him study\nthis Nature, learn her laws, contemplate her energies, observe the\nimmutable rules by which she acts.--Let him apply these discoveries to\nhis own felicity, and submit in silence to her precepts, which nothing\ncan alter.--Let him cheerfully consent to be ignorant of causes hid from\nhim under the most impenetrable veil.--Let him yield to the decrees of\na universal power, which can never be brought within his comprehension,\nnor ever emancipate him from those laws imposed on him by his essence.\n\nThe distinction which has been so often made between the _physical_ and\nthe _moral_ being, is evidently an abuse of terms. Man is a being\npurely physical: the moral man is nothing more than this physical being\nconsidered under a certain point of view; that is to say, with\nrelation to some of his modes of action, arising out of his individual\norganization. But is not this organization itself the work of Nature?\nThe motion or impulse to action, of which he is susceptible, is that\nnot physical? His visible actions, as well as the invisible motion\ninteriorly excited by his will or his thoughts, are equally the natural\neffects, the necessary consequences, of his peculiar construction,\nand the impulse he receives from those beings by whom he is always\nsurrounded. All that the human mind has successively invented, with a\nview to change or perfect his being, to render himself happy, was never\nmore than the necessary consequence of man's peculiar essence, and that\nof the beings who act upon him. The object of all his institutions, all\nhis reflections, all his knowledge, is only to procure that happiness\ntoward which he is continually impelled by the peculiarity of his\nnature. All that he does, all that he thinks, all that he is, all that\nhe will be, is nothing more than what Universal Nature has made him.\nHis ideas, his actions, his will, are the necessary effects of those\nproperties infused into him by Nature, and of those circumstances in\nwhich she has placed him. In short, art is nothing but Nature acting\nwith the tools she has furnished.\n\nNature sends man naked and destitute into this world which is to be his\nabode: he quickly learns to cover his nakedness--to shelter himself from\nthe inclemencies of the weather, first with artlessly constructed huts,\nand the skins of the beasts of the forest; by degrees he mends their\nappearance, renders them more convenient: he establishes manufactories\nto supply his immediate wants; he digs clay, gold, and other fossils\nfrom the bowels of the earth; converts them into bricks for his house,\ninto vessels for his use, gradually improves their shape, and augments\ntheir beauty. To a being exalted above our terrestrial globe, man would\nnot appear less subjected to the laws of Nature when naked in the forest\npainfully seeking his sustenance, than when living in civilized society\nsurrounded with ease, or enriched with greater experience, plunged in\nluxury, where he every day invents a thousand new wants and discovers\na thousand new modes of supplying them. All the steps taken by man to\nregulate his existence, ought only to be considered as a long succession\nof causes and effects, which are nothing more than the development of\nthe first impulse given him by nature.\n\nThe same animal, by virtue of his organization, passes successively from\nthe most simple to the most complicated wants; it is nevertheless the\nconsequence of his nature. The butterfly whose beauty we admire, whose\ncolours are so rich, whose appearance is so brilliant, commences as\nan inanimate unattractive egg; from this, heat produces a worm, this\nbecomes a chrysalis, then changes into that beautiful insect adorned\nwith the most vivid tints: arrived at this stage he reproduces,\nhe generates; at last despoiled of his ornaments, he is obliged to\ndisappear, having fulfilled the task imposed on him by Nature, having\nperformed the circle of transformation marked out for beings of his\norder.\n\nThe same course, the same change takes place in the vegetable world. It\nis by a series of combinations originally interwoven with the energies\nof the aloe, that this plant is insensibly regulated, gradually\nexpanded, and at the end of a number of years produces those flowers\nwhich announce its dissolution.\n\nIt is equally so with man, who in all his motion, all the changes\nhe undergoes, never acts but according to the laws peculiar to his\norganization, and to the matter of which he is composed.\n\nThe _physical man_, is he who acts by the causes our faculties make us\nunderstand.\n\nThe _moral man_, is he who acts by physical causes, with which our\nprejudices preclude us from becoming perfectly acquainted.\n\nThe _wild man_ is a child destitute of experience, incapable of\nproceeding in his happiness, because he has not learnt how to oppose\nresistance to the impulses he receives from those beings by whom he is\nsurrounded.\n\nThe _civilized man_, is he whom experience and sociality have enabled to\ndraw from nature the means of his own happiness, because he has learned\nto oppose resistance to those impulses he receives from exterior beings,\nwhen experience has taught him they would be destructive to his welfare.\n\nThe _enlightened man_ is man in his maturity, in his perfection; who\nis capable of advancing his own felicity, because he has learned to\nexamine, to think for himself, and not to take that for truth upon\nthe authority of others, which experience has taught him a critical\ndisquisition will frequently prove erroneous.\n\nThe _happy man_ is he who knows how to enjoy the benefits bestowed\nupon him by nature: in other words, he who thinks for himself; who is\nthankful for the good he possesses; who does not envy the welfare of\nothers, nor sigh after imaginary benefits always beyond his grasp.\n\nThe _unhappy man_ is he who is incapacitated to enjoy the benefits of\nnature; that is, he who suffers others to think for him; who neglects\nthe absolute good he possesses, in a fruitless search after ideal\nbenefits; who vainly sighs after that which ever eludes his pursuit.\n\nIt necessarily results, that man in his enquiry ought always to\ncontemplate experience, and natural philosophy: These are what he should\nconsult in his religion,--in his morals,--in his legislation,--in\nhis political government,--in the arts,--in the sciences,--in his\npleasures,--above all, in his misfortunes. Experience teaches that\nNature acts by simple, regular, and invariable laws. It is by his\nsenses, man is bound to this universal Nature; it is by his perception\nhe must penetrate her secrets; it is from his senses he must draw\nexperience of her laws. Therefore, whenever he neglects to acquire\nexperience or quits its path, he stumbles into an abyss; his imagination\nleads him astray.\n\nAll the errors of man are physical: he never deceives himself but when\nhe neglects to return back to nature, to consult her laws, to call\npractical knowledge to his aid. It is for want of practical knowledge\nhe forms such imperfect ideas of matter, of its properties, of its\ncombinations, of its power, of its mode of action, and of the energies\nwhich spring from its essence. Wanting this experience, the whole\nuniverse, to him, is but one vast scene of error. The most ordinary\nresults appear to him the most astonishing phenomena; he wonders at\nevery thing, understands nothing, and yields the guidance of his actions\nto those interested in betraying his interests. He is ignorant of\nNature, and he has mistaken her laws; he has not contemplated the\nnecessary routine which she has marked out for every thing she holds.\nMistaken the laws of Nature, did I say? He has mistaken himself: the\nconsequence is, that all his systems, all his conjectures, all his\nreasonings, from which he has banished experience, are nothing more than\na tissue of errors, a long chain of inconsistencies.\n\nError is always prejudicial to man: it is by deceiving himself, the\nhuman race is plunged into misery. He neglected Nature; he did not\ncomprehend her laws; he formed gods of the most preposterous and\nridiculous kinds: these became the sole objects of his hope, and the\ncreatures of his fear: he was unhappy, he trembled under these visionary\ndeities; under the supposed influence of visionary beings created by\nhimself; under the terror inspired by blocks of stone; by logs of\nwood; by flying fish; or the frowns of men, mortal as himself, whom\nhis disturbed fancy had elevated above that Nature of which alone he\nis capable of forming any idea. His very posterity laughs at his folly,\nbecause experience has convinced them of the absurdity of his groundless\nfears--of his misplaced worship. Thus has passed away the ancient\nmythology, with all the trifling and nonsensical attributes attached to\nit by ignorance.\n\nNot understanding that Nature, equal in her distributions, entirely\ndestitute of malice, follows only necessary and immutable laws, when\nshe either produces beings or destroys them, when she causes those to\nsuffer, whose construction creates sensibility; when she scatters among\nthem good and evil; when she subjects them to incessant change--he did\nnot perceive it was in the breast of Nature herself, that it was in her\nexuberance he ought to seek to satisfy his deficiencies; for remedies\nagainst his pains; for the means of rendering himself happy: he expected\nto derive these benefits from fantastic beings, whom he supposed to\nbe above Nature; whom he mistakingly imagined to be the authors of his\npleasures, and the cause of his misfortunes. From hence it appears that\nto his ignorance of Nature, man owes the creation of those illusive\npowers; under which he has so long trembled with fear; that\nsuperstitious worship, which has been the source of all his misery, and\nthe evils entailed upon posterity.\n\nFor want of clearly comprehending his own peculiar nature, his proper\ncourse, his wants, and his rights, man has fallen in society, from\nFREEDOM into SLAVERY. He had forgotten the purpose of his existence, or\nelse he believed himself obliged to suppress the natural desires of his\nheart, to sacrifice his welfare to the caprice of chiefs, either elected\nby himself, or submitted to without examination. He was ignorant of the\ntrue policy of association--of the object of government; he disdained to\nlisten to the voice of Nature, which loudly proclaimed the price of all\nsubmission to be protection and happiness: the end of all government\nis the benefit of the governed, not the exclusive advantage of the\ngovernors. He gave himself up without enquiry to men like himself, whom\nhis prejudices induced him to contemplate as beings of a superior order,\nas Gods upon earth, they profited by his ignorance, took advantage of\nhis prejudices, corrupted him, rendered him vicious, enslaved him, and\nmade him miserable. Thus man, intended by Nature for the full enjoyment\nof liberty, to patiently search out her laws, to investigate her\nsecrets, to cling to his experience; has, from a neglect of her salutary\nadmonitions, from an inexcusable ignorance of his own peculiar essence,\nfallen into servility: has been wickedly governed.\n\nHaving mistaken himself, he has remained ignorant of the indispensable\naffinity that subsists between him, and the beings of his own species:\nhaving mistaken his duty to himself, it consequently follows, he has\nmistaken his duty to others. He made a calculation in error of what his\nhappiness required; he did not perceive, what he owed to himself, the\nexcesses he ought to avoid, the desires he ought to resist, the impulses\nhe ought to follow, in order to consolidate his felicity, to promote his\ncomfort, and to further his advantage. In short, he was ignorant of his\ntrue interests; hence his irregularities, his excesses, his shameful\nextravagance, with that long train of vices, to which he has abandoned\nhimself, at the expense of his preservation, at the hazard of his\npermanent prosperity.\n\nIt is, therefore, ignorance of himself that has hindered man from\nenlightening his morals. The corrupt authorities to which he had\nsubmitted, felt an interest in obstructing the practice of his duties,\neven when he knew them. Time, with the influence of ignorance, aided by\nhis corruption, gave them a strength not to be resisted by his enfeebled\nvoice. His duties continued unperformed, and he fell into contempt both\nwith himself and with others.\n\nThe ignorance of Man has endured so long, he has taken such slow,\nsuch irresolute steps to ameliorate his condition, only because he has\nneglected to study Nature, to scrutinize her laws, to search out her\nexpedients, to discover her properties, that his sluggishness finds its\naccount, in permitting himself to be guided by example, rather than to\nfollow experience, which demands activity; to be led by routine, rather\nthan by his reason, which enjoins reflection; to take that for truth\nupon the authority of others, which would require a diligent and patient\ninvestigation. From hence may be traced the hatred man betrays for every\nthing that deviates from those rules to which he has been accustomed;\nhence his stupid, his scrupulous respect for antiquity, for the most\nsilly, the most absurd and ridiculous institutions of his fathers:\nhence those fears that seize him, when the most beneficial changes are\nproposed to him, or the most likely attempts are made to better his\ncondition. He dreads to examine, because he has been taught to hold\nit irreverent of something immediately connected with his welfare; his\ncredulity suffers him to believe the interested advice, and spurns at\nthose who wish to show him the danger of the road he is travelling.\n\nThis is the reason why nations linger on in the most shameful lethargy,\nsuffering under abuses handed down from century to century, trembling at\nthe very idea of that which alone can repair their calamities.\n\nIt is for want of energy, for want of consulting experience, that\nmedicine, natural philosophy, agriculture, painting, in fact, all the\nuseful sciences, have so long remained under the fetters of authority,\nhave progressed so little: those who profess these sciences, prefer\ntreading the beaten paths, however imperfect, rather than strike out\nnew ones,--they prefer the phrensy of their imagination, their voluntary\nconjectures, to that laboured experience which alone can extract her\nsecrets from Nature.\n\nMan, in short, whether from sloth or from terror, having abnegated the\nevidence of his senses, has been guided in all his actions, in all his\nenterprizes, by imagination, by enthusiasm, by habit, by preconceived\nopinions, but above all, by the influence of authority, which knew\nwell how to deceive him, to turn his ignorance to esteem, his sloth\nto advantage. Thus imaginary, unsubstantial systems, have supplied the\nplace of experience--of mature reflection--of reason. Man, petrified\nwith his fears, intoxicated with the marvellous, stupified with sloth,\nsurrendered his experience: guided by his credulity, he was unable to\nfall back upon it; he became consequently inexperienced; from thence he\ngave birth to the most ridiculous opinions, or else adopted all those\nvague chimeras, all those idle notions offered to him by men whose\ninterest it was to continue him in that lamentable state of ignorance.\n\nThus the human race has continued so long in a state of infancy, because\nman has been inattentive to Nature; has neglected her ways,\nbecause he has disdained experience--because he has thrown by his\nreason--because he has been enraptured with the marvellous and the\nsupernatural,--because he has unnecessarily TREMBLED. These are the\nreasons there is so much trouble in conducting him from this state of\nchildhood to that of manhood. He has had nothing but the most trifling\nhypotheses, of which he has never dared to examine either the principles\nor the proofs, because he has been accustomed to hold them sacred, to\nconsider them as the most perfect truths, and which he is not permitted\nto doubt, even for an instant. His ignorance made him credulous; his\ncuriosity made him swallow the wonderful: time confirmed him in his\nopinions, and he passed his conjectures from race to race for realities;\na tyrannical power maintained him in his notions, because by those alone\ncould society be enslaved. It was in vain that some faint glimmerings\nof Nature occasionally attempted the recall of his reason--that slight\ncorruscations of experience sometimes threw his darkness into light, the\ninterest of the few was founded on his enthusiasm; their pre-eminence\ndepended on his love of the marvellous; their very existence rested on\nthe firmness of his ignorance; they consequently suffered no opportunity\nto escape, of smothering even the transient flame of intelligence.\nThe many were thus first deceived into credulity, then forced into\nsubmission. At length the whole science of man became a confused mass\nof darkness, falsehood, and contradictions, with here and there a feeble\nray of truth, furnished by that Nature, of which he can never entirely\ndivest himself; because, without his perception, his necessities are\ncontinually bringing him back to her resources.\n\nLet us then, if possible, raise ourselves above these clouds of\nprepossession! Let us quit the heavy atmosphere in which we are\nenucleated; let us in a more unsullied medium--in a more elastic\ncurrent, contemplate the opinions of men, and observe their various\nsystems. Let us learn to distrust a disordered conception; let us take\nthat faithful monitor, experience, for our guide; let us consult Nature,\nexamine her laws, dive into her stores; let us draw from herself, our\nideas of the beings she contains; let us recover our senses, which\ninterested error has taught us to suspect; let us consult that reason,\nwhich, for the vilest purposes has been so infamously calumniated, so\ncruelly dishonoured; let us examine with attention the visible world;\nlet us try, if it will not enable us to form a supportable judgment of\nthe invisible territory of the intellectual world: perhaps it may be\nfound there has been no sufficient reason for distinguishing them--that\nit is not without motives, well worthy our enquiry, that two empires\nhave been separated, which are equally the inheritance of nature.\n\nThe universe, that vast assemblage of every thing that exists, presents\nonly matter and motion: the whole offers to our contemplation, nothing\nbut an immense, an uninterrupted succession of causes and effects; some\nof these causes are known to us, because they either strike immediately\non our senses, or have been brought under their cognizance, by the\nexamination of long experience; others are unknown to us, because they\nact upon us by effects, frequently very remote from their primary cause.\nAn immense variety of matter, combined under an infinity of forms,\nincessantly communicates, unceasingly receives a diversity of impulses.\nThe different qualities of this matter, its innumerable combinations,\nits various methods of action, which are the necessary consequence of\nthese associations, constitute for man what he calls the ESSENCE of\nbeings: it is from these varied essences that spring the orders, the\nclasses, or the systems, which these beings respectively possess, of\nwhich the sum total makes up that which is known by the term _nature_.\n\nNature, therefore, in its most significant meaning, is the great\nwhole that results from the collection of matter, under its various\ncombinations, with that contrariety of motion, which the universe\npresents to our view. Nature, in a less extended sense, or considered in\neach individual, is the whole that results from its essence; that is\nto say, the peculiar qualities, the combination, the impulse, and the\nvarious modes of action, by which it is discriminated from other beings.\nIt is thus that MAN is, as a whole, or in his nature, the result of\na certain combination of matter, endowed with peculiar properties,\ncompetent to give, capable of receiving, certain impulses, the\narrangement of which is called _organization_; of which the essence is,\nto feel, to think, to act, to move, after a manner distinguished from\nother beings, with which he can be compared. Man, therefore, ranks in\nan order, in a system, in a class by himself, which differs from that of\nother animals, in whom we do not perceive those properties of which he\nis possessed. The different systems of beings, or if they will, their\n_particular natures_, depend on the general system of the great whole,\nor that Universal Nature, of which they form a part; to which every\nthing that exists is necessarily submitted and attached.\n\nHaving described the proper definition that should be applied to the\nword NATURE, I must advise the reader, once for all, that whenever in\nthe course of this work the expression occurs, that \"Nature produces\nsuch or such an effect,\" there is no intention of personifying that\nnature which is purely an abstract being; it merely indicates that the\neffect spoken of necessarily springs from the peculiar properties of\nthose beings which compose the mighty macrocosm. When, therefore, it is\nsaid, _Nature demands that man should pursue his own happiness_, it is\nto prevent circumlocution--to avoid tautology; it is to be understood,\nthat it is the property of a being that feels, that thinks, that acts,\nto labour to its own happiness; in short, that is called _natural_,\nwhich is conformable to the essence of things, or to the laws, which\nNature prescribes to the beings she contains, in the different orders\nthey occupy, under the various circumstances through which they are\nobliged to pass. Thus health is _natural_ to man in a certain state;\ndisease is _natural_ to him under other circumstances; dissolution, or\nif they will, death, is a _natural_ state for a body, deprived of some\nof those things, necessary to maintain the existence of the animal, &c.\nBy ESSENCE is to be understood, that which constitutes a being, such as\nit is; the whole of the properties or qualities by which it acts as it\ndoes. Thus, when it is said, it is the _essence_ of a stone to fall, it\nis the same as saying that its descent is the necessary effect of its\ngravity--of its density--of the cohesion of its parts--of the elements\nof which it is composed. In short, the _essence_ of a being is its\nparticular, its individual nature.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. II.\n\n_Of Motion, and its Origin._\n\n\nMotion is an effect by which a body either changes, or has a tendency\nto change, its position: that is to say, by which it successively\ncorresponds with different parts of space, or changes its relative\ndistance to other bodies. It is motion alone that establishes the\nrelation between our senses and exterior or interior beings: it is only\nby motion that these beings are impressed upon us--that we know their\nexistence--that we judge of their properties--that we distinguish the\none from the other--that we distribute them into classes.\n\nThe beings, the substances, or the various bodies of which Nature is\nthe assemblage, are themselves effects of certain combinations or causes\nwhich become causes in their turn. A CAUSE is a being which puts another\nin motion, or which produces some change in it. The EFFECT is the change\nproduced in one body, by the motion or presence of another.\n\nEach being, by its essence, by its peculiar nature, has the faculty of\nproducing, is capable of receiving, has the power of communicating, a\nvariety of motion. Thus some beings are proper to strike our organs;\nthese organs are competent to receiving the impression, are adequate to\nundergoing changes by their presence. Those which cannot act on any of\nour organs, either immediately and by themselves, or immediately by the\nintervention of other bodies, exist not for us; since they can neither\nmove us, nor consequently furnish us with ideas: they can neither be\nknown to us, nor of course be judged of by us. To know an object, is to\nhave felt it; to feel it, it is requisite to have been moved by it. To\nsee, is to have been moved, by something acting on the visual organs;\nto hear, is to have been struck, by something on our auditory nerves. In\nshort, in whatever mode a body may act upon us, whatever impulse we may\nreceive from it, we can have no other knowledge of it than by the change\nit produces in us.\n\nNature, as we have already said, is the assemblage of all the beings,\nconsequently of all the motion of which we have a knowledge, as well\nas of many others of which we know nothing, because they have not yet\nbecome accessible to our senses. From the continual action and re-action\nof these beings, result a series of causes and effects; or a chain\nof motion guided by the constant and invariable laws peculiar to each\nbeing; which are necessary or inherent to its particular nature--which\nmake it always act or move after a determinate manner. The different\nprinciples of this motion are unknown to us, because we are in many\ninstances, if not in all, ignorant of what constitutes the essence of\nbeings. The elements of bodies escape our senses; we know them only in\nthe mass: we are neither acquainted with their intimate combination,\nnor the proportion of these combinations; from whence must necessarily\nresult their mode of action, their impulse, or their different effects.\n\nOur senses bring us generally acquainted with two sorts of motion in the\nbeings that surround us: the one is the motion of the mass, by which an\nentire body is transferred from one place to another. Of the motion of\nthis genus we are perfectly sensible.--Thus, we see a stone fall, a ball\nroll, an arm move, or change its position. The other is an internal or\nconcealed motion, which always depends on the peculiar energies of a\nbody: that is to say, on its _essence_, or the combination, the action,\nand re-action of the minute--of the insensible particles of matter, of\nwhich that body is composed. This motion we do not see; we know it only\nby the alteration or change, which after some time we discover in\nthese bodies or mixtures. Of this genus is that concealed motion which\nfermentation produces in the particles that compose flour, which,\nhowever scattered, however separated, unite, and form that mass which\nwe call BREAD. Such also is the imperceptible motion by which we see a\nplant or animal enlarge, strengthen, undergo changes, and acquire new\nqualities, without our eyes being competent to follow its progression,\nor to perceive the causes which have produced these effects. Such also\nis the internal motion that takes place in man, which is called his\nINTELLECTUAL FACULTIES, his THOUGHTS, his PASSIONS, his will. Of these\nwe have no other mode of judging, than by their action; that is, by\nthose sensible effects which either accompany or follow them. Thus, when\nwe see a man run away, we judge him to be interiorly actuated by the\npassion of fear.\n\nMotion, whether visible or concealed, is styled ACQUIRED, when it is\nimpressed on one body by another; either by a cause to which we are\na stranger, or by an exterior agent which our senses enable us to\ndiscover. Thus we call that _acquired motion_, which the wind gives\nto the sails of a ship. That motion which is excited in a body, that\ncontains within itself the causes of those changes we see it undergo, is\ncalled SPONTANEOUS. Then it is said, this body acts or moves by its own\npeculiar energies. Of this kind is the motion of the man who walks,\nwho talks, who thinks. Nevertheless, if we examine the matter a little\ncloser, we shall be convinced, that, strictly speaking, there is no\nsuch thing as spontaneous motion in any of the various bodies of Nature;\nseeing they are perpetually acting one upon the other; that all their\nchanges are to be attributed to the causes, either visible or concealed,\nby which they are moved. The will of man is secretly moved or determined\nby some exterior cause that produces a change in him: we believe he\nmoves of himself, because we neither see the cause that determined him,\nthe mode in which it acted, nor the organ that it put in motion.\n\nThat is called SIMPLE MOTION, which is excited in a body by a single\ncause. COMPOUND MOTION, that which is produced by two or more\ndifferent causes; whether these causes are equal or unequal, conspiring\ndifferently, acting together or in succession, known or unknown.\n\nLet the motion of beings be of whatsoever nature it may, it is always\nthe necessary consequence of their essence, or of the properties which\ncompose them, and of those causes of which they experience the action.\nEach being can only move and act after a particular manner; that is to\nsay, conformably to those laws which result from its peculiar essence,\nits particular combination, its individual nature: in short, from its\nspecific energies, and those of the bodies from which it receives an\nimpulse. It is this that constitutes the invariable laws of motion:\nI say _invariable_, because they can never change, without producing\nconfusion in the essence of things. It is thus that a heavy body must\nnecessarily fall, if it meets with no obstacle sufficient to arrest its\ndescent; that a sensible body must naturally seek pleasure, and avoid\npain; that fire must necessarily burn, and diffuse light.\n\nEach being, then, has laws of motion, that are adapted to itself, and\nconstantly acts or moves according to these laws; at least when\nno superior cause interrupts its action. Thus, fire ceases to burn\ncombustible matter, as soon as sufficient water is thrown into it, to\narrest its progress. Thus, a sensible being ceases to seek pleasure, as\nsoon as he fears that pain will be the result.\n\nThe communication of motion, or the medium of action, from one body to\nanother, also follows certain and necessary laws; one being can only\ncommunicate motion to another, by the affinity, by the resemblance, by\nthe conformity, by the analogy, or by the point of contact, which it\nhas with that other being. Fire can only propagate when it finds matter\nanalogous to itself: it extinguishes when it encounters bodies which it\ncannot embrace; that is to say, that do not bear towards it a certain\ndegree of relation or affinity.\n\nEvery thing in the universe is in motion: the essence of matter is to\nact: if we consider its parts, attentively, we shall discover there is\nnot a particle that enjoys absolute repose. Those which appear to us to\nbe without motion, are, in fact, only in relative or apparent rest;\nthey experience such an imperceptible motion, and expose it so little\non their surfaces, that we cannot perceive the changes they undergo. All\nthat appears to us to be at rest, does not, however, remain one instant\nin the same state. All beings are continually breeding, increasing,\ndecreasing, or dispersing, with more or less dullness or rapidity. The\ninsect called EPHEMERON, is produced and perishes in the same day;\nof consequence, it experiences the greatest changes of its being very\nrapidly, in our eyes. Those combinations which form the most solid\nbodies, which appear to enjoy the most perfect repose, are nevertheless\ndecomposed, and dissolved in the course of time. The hardest stones, by\ndegrees, give way to the contact of air. A mass of iron, which time, and\nthe action of the atmosphere, has gnawed into rust, must have been in\nmotion, from the moment of its formation, in the bowels of the earth,\nuntil the instant we behold it in this state of dissolution.\n\nNatural philosophers, for the most part, seem not to have sufficiently\nreflected on what they call the _nisus_; that is to say, the incessant\nefforts one body is making on another, but which, notwithstanding\nappear, to our superficial observation, to enjoy the most perfect\nrepose. A stone of five hundred weight seems to rest quiet on the earth,\nnevertheless, it never ceases for an instant, to press with force upon\nthe earth, which resists or repulses it in its turn. Will the assertion\nbe ventured, that the stone and earth do not act? Do they wish to be\nundeceived? They have nothing to do but interpose their hand betwixt the\nearth and the stone; it will then be discovered, that notwithstanding\nits seeming repose, the stone has power adequate to bruise it;\nbecause the hand has not energies sufficient, within itself, to resist\neffectually both the stone and earth.--Action cannot exist in bodies\nwithout re-action. A body that experiences an impulse, an attraction,\nor a pressure of any kind, if it resists, clearly demonstrates by such\nresistance that it re-acts; from whence it follows, there is a concealed\nforce, called by these philosophers _vis inertia_, that displays itself\nagainst another force; and this clearly demonstrates, that this inert\nforce is capable of both acting and re-acting. In short, it will be\nfound, on close investigation, that those powers which are called\n_dead_, and those which are termed _live_ or _moving_, are powers of\nthe same kind; which only display themselves after a different manner.\nPermit us to go a greater distance yet. May we not say, that in those\nbodies, or masses, of which their whole become evident from appearances\nto us to be at rest, there is notwithstanding, a continual action, and\ncounter-action, constant efforts, uninterrupted or communicated force,\nand continued opposition? In short, a _nisus_, by which the constituting\nportions of these bodies press one upon another, mutually resisting\neach other, acting and re-acting incessantly? that this reciprocity of\naction, this simultaneous re-action, keeps them united, causes their\nparticles to form a mass, a body, and a combination, which, viewed in\nits whole, has the appearance of complete rest, notwithstanding no one\nof its particles really ceases to be in motion for a single instant?\nThese collective masses appear to be at rest, simply by the equality of\nthe motion--by the responsory impulse of the powers acting in them.\n\nThus it appears that bodies enjoying perfect repose, really receive,\nwhether upon their surface, or in their interior, a continual\ncommunicated force, from those bodies by which they are either\nsurrounded or penetrated, dilated or contracted, rarified or condensed:\nin fact, from those which compose them; whereby their particles are\nincessantly acting and re-acting, or in continual motion, the effects\nof which are displayed by extraordinary changes. Thus heat rarifies and\ndilates metals, which is evidence deducible that a bar of iron, from the\nchange of the atmosphere alone, must be in continual motion; that there\nis not a single particle in it that can be said to enjoy rest even for a\nsingle moment. In those hard bodies, indeed, the particles of which are\nin actual contact, and which are closely united, how is it possible to\nconceive, that air, cold, or heat, can act upon one of these particles,\neven exteriorly, without the motion being communicated to those which\nare most intimate and minute in their union? Without motion, how should\nwe be able to comprehend the manner in which our sense of smelling is\naffected, by emanations escaping from the most solid bodies, of which\nall the particles appear to be at perfect rest? How could we, even by\nthe assistance of a telescope, see the most distant stars, if there was\nnot a progressive motion of light from these stars to the retina of our\neye?\n\nObservation and reflection ought to convince us, that every thing in\nNature is in continual motion--that there is not a single part, however\nsmall, that enjoys repose--that Nature acts in all--that she would cease\nto be Nature if she did not act. Practical knowledge teaches us, that\nwithout unceasing motion, nothing could be preserved--nothing could\nbe produced--nothing could act in this Nature. Thus the idea of Nature\nnecessarily includes that of motion. But it will be asked, and not a\nlittle triumphantly, from whence did she derive her motion? Our reply\nis, we know not, neither do they--that _we_ never shall, that _they_\nnever will. It is a secret hidden from us, concealed from them, by the\nmost impenetrable veil. We also reply, that it is fair to infer, unless\nthey can logically prove to the contrary, that it is in herself, since\nshe is the great whole, out of which nothing can exist. We say this\nmotion is a manner of existence, that flows, necessarily, out of the\nnature of matter; that matter moves by its own peculiar energies; that\nits motion is to be attributed to the force which is inherent in itself;\nthat the variety of motion, and the phenomena which result, proceed from\nthe diversity of the properties--of the qualities--of the combinations,\nwhich are originally found in the primitive matter, of which Nature is\nthe assemblage.\n\nNatural philosophers, for the most part, have regarded as inanimate, or\nas deprived of the faculty of motion, those bodies which are only\nmoved by the intervention of some agent or exterior cause; they have\nconsidered themselves justified in concluding, that the matter which\nforms these bodies is perfectly inert in its nature. They have not\nforsaken this error, although they must have observed, that whenever\na body is left to itself, or disengaged from those obstructions which\noppose themselves to its descent, it has a tendency to fall or to\napproach the centre of the earth, by a motion uniformly accelerated;\nthey have rather chosen to suppose a visionary exterior cause, of which\nthey themselves had but an imperfect idea, than admit that these bodies\nheld their motion from their own peculiar nature.\n\nThese philosophers, also, notwithstanding they saw above them an\ninfinite number of globes that moved with great rapidity round a common\ncentre, still adhered to their favourite opinions; and never ceased to\nsuppose some whimsical causes for these movements, until the immortal\nNEWTON clearly demonstrated that it was the effect of the gravitation\nof these celestial bodies towards each other. Experimental philosophers,\nhowever, and amongst them the great Newton himself, have held the cause\nof gravitation as inexplicable. Notwithstanding the great weight of this\nauthority, it appears manifest that it may be deduced from the motion of\nmatter, by which bodies are diversely determined. Gravitation is nothing\nmore than a mode of moving--a tendency towards a centre: to speak\nstrictly, all motion is relative gravitation; since that which falls\nrelatively to us, rises, with relation to other bodies. From this\nit follows, that every motion in our microcosm is the effect of\ngravitation; seeing that there is not in the universe either top or\nbottom, nor any absolute centre. It should appear, that the weight of\nbodies depends on their configuration, as well external as internal,\nwhich gives them that form of action which is called gravitation. Thus,\nfor instance, a piece of lead, spherically formed, falls quickly and\ndirect: reduce this ball into very thin plates, it will be sustained\nin the air for a much longer time: apply to it the action of fire, this\nlead will rise in the atmosphere: here, then, the same metal, variously\nmodified, has very different modes of action.\n\nA very simple observation would have sufficed to make the philosophers,\nantecedent to Newton, feel the inadequateness of the causes they\nadmitted to operate with such powerful effect. They had a sufficiency\nto convince themselves, in the collision of two bodies, which they could\ncontemplate, and in the known laws of that motion, which these always\ncommunicate by reason of their greater or less compactness; from whence\nthey ought to have inferred, that the density of _subtle_ or _ethereal_\nmatter, being considerably less than that of the planets, it could only\ncommunicate to them a very feeble motion, quite insufficient to produce\nthat velocity of action, of which they could not possibly avoid being\nthe witnesses.\n\nIf Nature had been viewed uninfluenced by prejudice, they must have been\nlong since convinced that matter acts by its own peculiar activity; that\nit needs no exterior communicative force to set it in motion. They might\nhave perceived that whenever mixed bodies were placed in a situation to\nact on each other, motion was instantly excited; and that these mixtures\nacted with a force capable of producing the most surprising results.\n\nIf particles of iron, sulphur, and water be mixed together, these\nbodies thus capacitated to act on each other, are heated by degrees, and\nultimately produce a violent combustion. If flour be wetted with water,\nand the mixture closed up, it will be found, after some lapse of time,\n(by the aid of a microscope) to have produced organized beings that\nenjoy life, of which the water and the flour were believed incapable:\nit is thus that inanimate matter can pass into life, or animate matter,\nwhich is in itself only an assemblage of motion.\n\nReasoning from analogy, which the philosophers of the present day do not\nhold incompatible, the production of a man, independent of the ordinary\nmeans, would not be more astonishing than that of an insect with flour\nand water. Fermentation and putrid substances, evidently produce living\nanimals. We have here the principle; with proper materials, principles\ncan always be brought into action. That generation which is styled\n_uncertain_ is only so for those who do not reflect, or who do not\npermit themselves, attentively, to observe the operations of Nature.\n\nThe generative of motion, and its developement, as well as the energy of\nmatter, may be seen everywhere; more particularly in those unitions in\nwhich fire, air, and water, find themselves combined. These elements, or\nrather these mixed bodies, are the most volatile, the most fugitive\nof beings; nevertheless in the hands of Nature, they are the essential\nagents employed to produce the most striking phenomena. To these we must\nascribe the effects of thunder, the eruption of volcanoes, earthquakes,\n&c. Science offers to our consideration an agent of astonishing force,\nin gunpowder, the instant it comes in contact with fire. In short, the\nmost terrible effects result from the combination of matter, which is\ngenerally believed to be dead and inert.\n\nThese facts prove, beyond a doubt, that motion is produced, is\naugmented, is accelerated in matter, without the help of any exterior\nagent: therefore it is reasonable to conclude that motion is the\nnecessary consequence of immutable laws, resulting from the essence,\nfrom the properties existing in the different elements, and the\nvarious combinations of these elements. Are we not justified, then,\nin concluding, from these precedents, that there may be an infinity of\nother combinations, with which we are unacquainted, competent to produce\na great variety of motion in matter, without being under the necessity\nof having recourse, for the explanation, to agents who are more\ndifficult to comprehend than even the effects which are attributed to\nthem?\n\nHad man but paid proper attention to what passed under his review, he\nwould not have sought out of Nature, a power distinguished from herself,\nto set her in action, and without which he believes she cannot move. If,\nindeed, by Nature is meant a heap of dead matter, destitute of peculiar\nqualities purely passive, we must unquestionably seek out of this Nature\nthe principle of her motion. But if by Nature be understood, what it\nreally is, a whole, of which the numerous parts are endowed with various\nproperties, which oblige them to act according to these properties;\nwhich are in a perpetual ternateness of action and reaction; which\npress, which gravitate towards a common center, whilst others depart\nfrom and fly off towards the periphery, or circumference; which attract\nand repel; which by continual approximation and constant collision,\nproduce and decompose all the bodies we behold; then, I say, there is\nno necessity to have recourse to supernatural powers, to account for the\nformation of things, and those extraordinary appearances which are the\nresult of motion.\n\nThose who admit a cause exterior to matter, are obliged to believe that\nthis cause produced all the motion by which matter is agitated in giving\nit existence. This belief rests on another, namely, that matter could\nbegin to exist; an hypothesis that, until this moment, has never been\nsatisfactorily demonstrated. To produce from nothing, or the CREATION,\nis a term that cannot give us the least idea of the formation of the\nuniverse; it presents no sense, upon which the mind can rely. In fact,\nthe human mind is not adequate to conceive a moment of non-existence, or\nwhen all shall have passed away; even admitting this to be a truth, it\nis no truth for us, because by the very nature of our organization, we\ncannot admit positions as facts, of which no evidence can be adduced\nthat has relation to our senses; we may, indeed, consent to believe it,\nbecause others say it; but will any rational being be satisfied with\nsuch an admission? Can any moral good spring from such blind assurance?\nIs it consistent with sound doctrine, with philosophy, or with reason?\nDo we, in fact, pay any respect to the intellectual powers of another,\nwhen we say to him, \"I will believe this, because in all the attempts\nyou have ventured, for the purpose of proving what you say, you have\nentirely failed; and have been at last obliged to acknowledge you know\nnothing about the matter?\" What moral reliance ought we to have on such\npeople? Hypothesis may succeed hypothesis; system may destroy system: a\nnew set of ideas may overturn the ideas of a former day. Other\nGallileos may be condemned to death--other Newtons may arise--we may\nreason--argue--dispute--quarrel--punish and destroy: nay, we may even\nexterminate those who differ from us in opinion; but when we have\ndone all this, we shall be obliged to fall back upon our original\ndarkness--to confess, that that which has no relation with our senses,\nthat which cannot manifest itself to us by some of the ordinary modes\nby which other things are manifested, has no existence for us--is not\ncomprehensible by us--can never entirely remove our doubt--can never\nseize on our stedfast belief; seeing it is that of which we cannot form\neven a notion; in short, that it is that, which as long as we remain\nwhat we are, must be hidden from us by a veil, which no power, no\nfaculty, no energy we possess, is able to remove. All who are not\nenslaved by prejudice agree to the truth of the position, that _nothing\ncan be made of nothing_. Many theologians have acknowledged Nature to\nbe an active whole. Almost all the ancient philosophers were agreed to\nregard the world as eternal. OCELLUS LUCANUS, speaking of the universe,\nsays, \"_it has always been, and it always will be_.\" VATABLE and GROTIUS\nassure us, that to render the Hebrew phrase in the first chapter of\nGENESIS correctly, we must say, \"_when God made heaven and earth, matter\nwas without form._\" If this be true, and every Hebraist can judge for\nhimself, then the word which has been rendered _created_, means only\nto fashion, form, arrange. We know that the Greek words _create_ and\n_form_, have always indicated the same thing. According to ST. JEROME,\n_creare_ has the same meaning as _condere_, to found, to build. The\nBible does not anywhere say in a clear manner, that the world was made\nof nothing. TERTULLIAN and the father PETAU both admit, that \"_this is\na truth established more by reason than by authority._\" ST. JUSTIN seems\nto have contemplated matter as eternal, since he commends PLATO for\nhaving said, that \"_God, in the creation of the world, only gave impulse\nto matter, and fashioned it._\" BURNET and PYTHAGORAS were entirely of\nthis opinion, and even our Church Service may be adduced in support; for\nalthough it admits by implication a beginning, it expressly denies an\nend: \"_As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world\nwithout end._\" It is easy to perceive that that which cannot cease to\nexist, must have always been.\n\nMotion becomes still more obscure, when creation, or the formation of\nmatter, is attributed to a SPIRITUAL being; that is to say, to a being\nwhich has no analogy, no point of contact, with it--to a being which\nhas neither extent or parts, and cannot, therefore, be susceptible of\nmotion, as we understand the term; this being only the change of one\nbody, relatively to another body, in which the body moved presents\nsuccessively different parts to different points of space. Moreover,\nas all the world are nearly agreed that matter can never be totally\nannihilated, or cease to exist; by what reasoning, I would ask, do they\ncomprehend--how understand--that that which cannot cease to be, could\never have had a beginning?\n\nIf, therefore, it be asked, whence came matter? it is very reasonable to\nsay it has always existed. If it be inquired, whence proceeds the motion\nthat agitates matter? the same reasoning furnishes the answer; namely,\nthat as motion is coeval with matter, it must have existed from all\neternity, seeing that motion is the necessary consequence of its\nexistence--of its essence--of its primitive properties, such as its\nextent, its gravity, its impenetrability, its figure, &c. By virtue\nof these essential constituent properties, inherent in all matter, and\nwithout which it is impossible to form an idea of it, the various matter\nof which the universe is composed must from all eternity have\npressed against, each other--have gravitated towards a center--have\nclashed--have come in contact--have been attracted--have been\nrepelled--have been combined--have been separated: in short, must have\nacted and moved according to the essence and energy peculiar to each\ngenus, and to each of its combinations.\n\nExistence supposes properties in the thing that exists: whenever it\nhas properties, its mode of action must necessarily flow from those\nproperties which constitute, its mode of being. Thus, when a body is\nponderous, it must fall; when it falls, it must come in collision with\nthe bodies it meets in its descent; when it is dense, when it is solid,\nit must, by reason of this density, communicate motion to the bodies\nwith which it clashes; when it has analogy, when it has affinity with\nthese bodies, it must be attracted, must be united with them; when it\nhas no point of analogy with them, it must be repulsed.\n\nFrom which it may be fairly inferred, that in supposing, as we are under\nthe necessity of doing, the existence of matter, we must suppose it to\nhave some kind of properties; from which its motion, or modes of action,\nmust necessarily flow. To form the universe, DESCARTES asked but matter\nand motion: a diversity of matter sufficed for him; variety of motion\nwas the consequence of its existence, of its essence, of its properties:\nits different modes of action would be the necessary consequence of\nits different modes of being. Matter without properties would be a mere\nnothing; therefore, as soon as matter exists, it must act; as soon as\nit is various, it must act variously; if it cannot commence to exist,\nit must have existed from all eternity; if it has always existed, it can\nnever cease to be: if it can never cease to be, it can never cease to\nact by its own energy. Motion is a manner of being, which matter derives\nfrom its peculiar existence.\n\nThe existence, then, of matter is a fact: the existence of motion is\nanother fact. Our visual organs point out to us matter with different\nessences, forming a variety of combinations, endowed with various\nproperties that discriminate them. Indeed, it is a palpable error to\nbelieve that matter is a homogeneous body, of which the parts differ\nfrom each other only by their various modifications. Among the\nindividuals of the same species that come under our notice, no two\nresemble exactly; and it is therefore evident that the difference\nof situation alone will, necessarily, carry a diversity more or less\nsensible, not only in the modifications, but also in the essence, in\nthe properties, in the entire system of beings. This truth was well\nunderstood by the profound and subtle LEIBNITZ.\n\nIf this principle be properly digested, and experience seems always to\nproduce evidence of its truth, we must be convinced that the matter or\nprimitive elements which enter into the composition of bodies, are\nnot of the same nature, and consequently, can neither have the same\nproperties, nor the same modifications; and if so, they cannot have\nthe same mode of moving and acting. Their activity or motion, already\ndifferent, can be diversified to infinity, augmented or diminished,\naccelerated or retarded, according to the combinations, the proportions,\nthe pressure, the density, the volume of the matter, that enters their\ncomposition. The endless variety to be produced, will need no further\nillustration than the commonest book of arithmetic furnishes us, where\nit will be found, that to ring all the changes that can be produced on\ntwelve bells only, would occupy a space of more than ninety-one years.\nThe element of fire is visibly more active and more inconstant than that\nof earth. This is more solid and ponderous than fire, air, or water.\nAccording to the quantity of these elements, which enter the composition\nof bodies, these must act diversely, and their motion must in some\nmeasure partake the motion peculiar to each of their constituent parts.\nElementary fire appears to be in Nature the principle of activity;\nit may be compared to a fruitful leaven, that puts the mass into\nfermentation and gives it life. Earth appears to be the principle of\nsolidity in bodies, from its impenetrability, and by the firm coherence\nof its parts. Water is a medium, to facilitate the combination of\nbodies, into which it enters itself, as a constituent part. Air is a\nfluid whose business it seems to be, to furnish the other elements with\nthe space requisite to expand, to exercise their motion, and which is,\nmoreover, found proper to combine with them. These elements, which\nour senses never discover in a pure state--which are continually and\nreciprocally set in motion by each other--which are always acting and\nre-acting, combining and separating, attracting and repelling--are\nsufficient to explain to us the formation of all the beings we behold.\nTheir motion is uninterruptedly and reciprocally produced from each\nother; they are alternately causes and effects. Thus, they form a vast\ncircle of generation and destruction--of combination and decomposition,\nwhich, it is quite reasonable to suppose, could never have had a\nbeginning, and which, consequently can never have an end. In short,\nNature is but an immense chain of causes and effects, which unceasingly\nflow from each other. The motion of particular beings depends on the\ngeneral motion, which is itself maintained by individual motion. This\nis strengthened or weakened, accelerated or retarded, simplified or\ncomplicated, procreated or destroyed, by a variety of combinations and\ncircumstances, which every moment change the directions, the tendency,\nthe modes of existing, and of acting, of the different beings that\nreceive its impulse.\n\nIf it were true, as has been asserted by some philosophers, that every\nthing has a tendency to form one unique or single mass, and in that\nunique mass the instant should arrive when all was in _nisus_, all would\neternally remain in this state; to all eternity there would be no more\nthan one Being and one effort: this would be eternal and universal\ndeath.\n\nIf we desire to go beyond this, to find the principle of action in\nmatter, to trace the origin of things, it is for ever to fall back upon\ndifficulties; it is absolutely to abridge the evidence of our senses; by\nwhich only we can understand, by which alone we can judge of the causes\nacting upon them, or the impulse by which they are set in action.\n\nLet us, therefore, content ourselves with saying WHAT is supported by\nour experience, and by all the evidence we are capable of understanding;\nagainst the truth of which not a shadow of proof, such as our reason can\nadmit, has ever been adduced--which has been maintained by philosophers\nin every age--which theologians themselves have not denied, but which\nmany of them have upheld; namely, that _matter always existed; that\nit moves by virtue of its essence; that all the phenomena of Nature\nis ascribable to the diversified motion of the variety of matter she\ncontains; and which, like the phoenix, is continually regenerating out\nof its own ashes._\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. III.\n\n_Of Matter.--Of its various Combinations.--Of its diversified Motion, or\nof the Course of Nature._\n\n\nWe know nothing of the elements of bodies, but we know some of their\nproperties or qualities; and we distinguish their various matter by the\neffect or change produced on our senses; that is to say, by the variety\nof motion their presence excites in us. In consequence, we discover\nin them, extent, mobility, divisibility, solidity, gravity, and inert\nforce. From these general and primitive properties flow a number\nof others, such as density, figure, colour, ponderosity, &c. Thus,\nrelatively to us, matter is all that affects our senses in any manner\nwhatever; the various properties we attribute to matter, by which we\ndiscriminate its diversity, are founded on the different impressions we\nreceive on the changes they produce in us.\n\nA satisfactory definition of matter has not yet been given. Man,\ndeceived and led astray by his prejudices, formed but vague,\nsuperficial, and imperfect notions concerning it. He looked upon it\nas an unique being, gross and passive, incapable of either moving by\nitself, of forming combinations, or of producing any thing by its\nown energies. Instead of this unintelligible jargon, he ought to have\ncontemplated it as a _genus_ of beings, of which the individuals,\nalthough they might possess some common properties, such as extent,\ndivisibility, figure, &c. should not, however, be all ranked in the same\nclass, nor comprised under the same general denomination.\n\nAn example will serve more fully to explain what we have asserted,\nthrow its correctness into light, and facilitate the application.\nThe properties common to all matter, are extent, divisibility,\nimpenetrability, figure, mobility, or the property of being moved in\nmass. FIRE, beside these general properties, common to all matter,\nenjoys also the peculiar property of being put into activity by a motion\nthat produces on our organs of feeling the sensation of heat; and by\nanother, that communicates to our visual organs the sensation of light.\nIron, in common with matter in general, has extent and figure; is\ndivisible, and moveable in mass: if fire be combined with it in a\ncertain proportion, the iron acquires two new properties; namely, those\nof exciting in us similar sensations of heat and light, which were\nexcited by the element of fire, but which the iron had not, before its\ncombination with the igneous matter. These distinguishing properties\nare inseparable from matter, and the phenomena that result, may, in the\nstrictest sense of the word, be said to result necessarily.\n\nIf we contemplate a little the paths of Nature--if, for a time, we trace\nthe beings in this Nature, under the different states through which,\nby reason of their properties, they are compelled to pass; we shall\ndiscover, that it is to motion, and motion only, that is to be ascribed\nall the changes, all the combinations, all the forms, in short, all the\nvarious modifications of matter. That it is by motion every thing that\nexists is produced, experiences change, expands, and is destroyed. It\nis motion that alters the aspect of beings; that adds to, or takes away\nfrom their properties; which obliges each of them, by a consequence of\nits nature, after having occupied a certain rank or order, to quit it,\nto occupy another, and to contribute to the generation, maintenance, and\ndecomposition of other beings, totally different in their bulk, rank,\nand essence.\n\nIn what experimental philosophers have styled the THREE ORDERS OF\nNATURE, that is to say, the _mineral_, the _vegetable_, and _animal_\nworlds, they have established, by the aid of motion, a transmigration,\nan exchange, a continual circulation in the particles of matter. Nature\nhas occasion in one place, for those particles which, for a time, she\nhas placed in another. These particles, after having, by particular\ncombinations, constituted beings endued with peculiar essences, with\nspecific properties, with determinate modes of action, dissolve and\nseparate with more or less facility; and combining in a new manner, they\nform new beings. The attentive observer sees this law execute itself, in\na manner more or less prominent, through all the beings by which he is\nsurrounded. He sees nature full of _erratic germe_, some of which expand\nthemselves, whilst others wait until motion has placed them in their\nproper situation, in suitable wombs or matrices, in the necessary\ncircumstances, to unfold, to increase, to render them more perceptible\nby the addition of other substances of matter analogous to their\nprimitive being. In all this we see nothing but the effect of motion,\nnecessarily guided, modified, accelerated or slackened, strengthened or\nweakened, by reason of the various properties that beings successively\nacquire and lose; which, every moment, infallibly produces alterations\nin bodies more or less marked. Indeed, these bodies cannot be, strictly\nspeaking, the same in any two successive moments of their existence;\nthey must, every instant, either acquire or lose: in short, they are\nobliged to undergo continual variations in their essences, in their\nproperties, in their energies, in their masses, in their qualities, in\ntheir mode of existence.\n\nAnimals, after they have been expanded in, and brought out of, the wombs\nthat are suitable to the elements of their machine, enlarge, strengthen,\nacquire new properties, new energies, new faculties; either by deriving\nnourishment from plants analogous to their being, or by devouring other\nanimals whose substance is suitable to their preservation; that is to\nsay, to repair the continual deperdition or loss of some portion of\ntheir own substance, that is disengaging itself every instant. These\nsame animals are nourished, preserved, strengthened, and enlarged, by\nthe aid of air, water, earth, and fire. Deprived of air, or of the fluid\nthat surrounds them, that presses on them, that penetrates them, that\ngives them their elasticity, they presently cease to live. Water,\ncombined with this air, enters into their whole mechanism of which\nit facilitates the motion. Earth serves them for a basis, by giving\nsolidity to their texture: it is conveyed by air and water, which carry\nit to those parts of the body with which it can combine. Fire itself,\ndisguised and enveloped under an infinity of forms, continually received\ninto the animal, procures him heat, continues him in life, renders him\ncapable of exercising his functions. The aliments, charged with these\nvarious principles, entering into the stomach, re-establish the nervous\nsystem, and restore, by their activity, and the elements which compose\nthem, the machine which begins to languish, to be depressed, by the loss\nit has sustained. Forthwith the animal experiences a change in his\nwhole system; he has more energy, more activity; he feels more courage;\ndisplays more gaiety; he acts, he moves, he thinks, after a different\nmanner; all his faculties are exercised with more ease. This igneous\nmatter, so congenial to generation--so restorative in its effect--so\nnecessary to life, was the JUPITER of the ancients: from all that has\npreceded, it is clear, that what are called the elements, or primitive\nparts of matter, variously combined, are, by the agency of motion,\ncontinually united to, and assimilated with, the substance of\nanimals--that they visibly modify their being--have an evident influence\nover their actions, that is to say, upon the motion they undergo,\nwhether visible or concealed.\n\nThe same elements, which under certain circumstances serve to nourish,\nto strengthen, to maintain the animal, become, under others, the\nprinciples of his weakness, the instruments of his dissolution--of his\ndeath: they work his destruction, whenever they are not in that just\nproportion which renders them proper to maintain his existence: thus,\nwhen water becomes too abundant in the body of the animal, it enervates\nhim, it relaxes the fibres, and impedes the necessary action of the\nother elements: thus, fire admitted in excess, excites in him disorderly\nmotion destructive of his machine: thus, air, charged with principles\nnot analogous to his mechanism, brings upon him dangerous diseases and\ncontagion. In fine, the aliments modified after certain modes, in the\nroom of nourishing, destroy the animal, and conduce to his ruin: the\nanimal is preserved no longer than these substances are analogous to his\nsystem. They ruin him when they want that just equilibrium that renders\nthem suitable to maintain his existence.\n\nPlants that serve to nourish and restore animals are themselves\nnourished by earth; they expand on its bosom, enlarge and strengthen at\nits expense, continually receiving into their texture, by their\nroots and their pores, water, air, and igneous matter: water visibly\nreanimates them whenever their vegetation or genus of life languishes;\nit conveys to them those analogous principles by which they are enabled\nto reach perfection: air is requisite to their expansion, and furnishes\nthem with water, earth, and the igneous matter with which it is charged.\nBy these means they receive more or less of the inflammable matter; the\ndifferent proportions of these principles, their numerous combinations,\nfrom whence result an infinity of properties, a variety of forms,\nconstitute the various families and classes into which botanists have\ndistributed plants: it is thus we see the cedar and the hyssop develop\ntheir growth; the one rises to the clouds, the other creep humbly on\nthe earth. Thus, by degrees, from an acorn springs the majestic oak,\naccumulating, with time, its numerous branches, and overshadowing us\nwith its foliage. Thus, a grain of corn, after having drawn its own\nnourishment from the juices of the earth, serves, in its turn, for\nthe nourishment of man, into whose system it conveys the elements or\nprinciples by which it has been itself expanded, combined, and modified\nin such a manner, as to render this vegetable proper to assimilate and\nunite with the human frame; that is to say, with the fluids and solids\nof which it is composed.\n\nThe same elements, the same principles, are found in the formation\nof minerals, as well as in their decomposition, whether natural or\nartificial. We find that earth, diversely modified, wrought, and\ncombined, serves to increase their bulk, and give them more or less\ndensity and gravity. Air and water contribute to make their particles\ncohere; the igneous matter, or inflammable principle, tinges them with\ncolour, and sometimes plainly indicates its presence, by the brilliant\nscintillation which motion elicits from them. These stones and metals,\nthese bodies, so compact and solid, are disunited, are destroyed, by\nthe agency of air, water, and fire; which the most ordinary analysis is\nsufficient to prove, as well as a multitude of experience, to which our\neyes are the daily evidence.\n\nAnimals, plants, and minerals, after a lapse of time, give back to\nNature; that is to say, to the general mass of things, to the universal\nmagazine, the elements, or principles, which they have borrowed: The\nearth retakes that portion of the body of which it formed the basis\nand the solidity; the air charges itself with these parts, that are,\nanalogous to it, and with those particles which are light and subtle;\nwater carries off that which is suitable to liquescency; fire, bursting\nits chains, disengages itself, and rushes into new combinations with\nother bodies.\n\nThe elementary particles of the animal, being thus dissolved, disunited,\nand dispersed; assume new activity, and form new combinations: thus,\nthey serve to nourish, to preserve, or destroy new beings; among others,\nplants, which arrived at their maturity, nourish and preserve new\nanimals; these in their turn yielding to the same fate as the first.\n\nSuch is the constant, the invariable course, of Nature; such is\nthe eternal circle of mutation, which all that exists is obliged\nto describe. It is thus motion generates, preserves for a time, and\nsuccessively, destroys, one part of the universe by the other; whilst\nthe sum of existence remains eternally the same. Nature, by its\ncombinations, produces suns, which place themselves in the centre of\nso many systems: she forms planets, which, by their peculiar essence,\ngravitate and describe their revolutions round these suns: by degrees\nthe motion is changed altogether, and becomes eccentric: perhaps the day\nmay arrive when these wondrous masses will disperse, of which man, in\nthe short space of his existence, can only have a faint and transient\nglimpse.\n\nIt is clear, then, that the continual motion inherent in matter, changes\nand destroys all beings; every instant depriving them of some of their\nproperties, to substitute others: it is motion, which, in thus changing\ntheir actual essence, changes also their order, their direction, their\ntendency, and the laws which regulate their mode of acting and being:\nfrom the stone formed in the bowels of the earth, by the intimate\ncombination and close coherence of similar and analogous particles, to\nthe sun, that vast reservoir of igneous particles, which sheds torrents\nof light over the firmament; from the benumbed oyster, to the thoughtful\nand active man; we see an uninterrupted progression, a perpetual chain\nof motion and combination; from which is produced, beings that only\ndiffer from each other by the variety of their elementary matter--by the\nnumerous combinations of these elements, from whence springs modes\nof action and existence, diversified to infinity. In generation, in\nnutrition, in preservation, we see nothing more than matter, variously\ncombined, of which each has its peculiar motion, regulated by fixed and\ndeterminate laws, which oblige them to submit to necessary changes. We\nshall find, in the formation, in the growth, in the instantaneous\nlife, of animals, vegetables, and minerals, nothing but matter; which\ncombining, accumulating, aggregating, and expanding by degrees, forms\nbeings, who are either feeling, living, vegetating, or else destitute\nof these faculties; which, having existed some time under one particular\nform, are obliged to contribute by their ruin to the production of other\nforms.\n\nThus, to speak strictly, nothing in Nature is either born, or dies,\naccording to the common acceptation of those terms. This truth was\nfelt by many of the ancient philosophers. PLATO says, that according to\ntradition, \"the living were born of the dead, the same as the dead did\ncome of the living; and that this is the constant routine of Nature.\" He\nadds from himself, \"who knows, if to live, be not to die; and if to die,\nbe not to live?\" This was the doctrine of PYTHAGORAS, a man of great\ntalent and no less note. EMPEDOCLES asserts, \"there is neither birth nor\ndeath, for any mortal; but only a combination, and a separation of that\nwhich was combined, and that this is what amongst men they call birth,\nand death.\" Again he remarks, \"those are infants, or short-sighted\npersons, with very contracted understandings, who imagine any thing is\nborn, which did not exist before, or that any thing can die or perish\ntotally.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. IV.\n\n_Laws of Motion, common to every Being of Nature.--Attraction and\nRepulsion.--Inert Force.--Necessity._\n\n\nMan is never surprised at those effects, of which he thinks he knows the\ncause; he believes he does know the cause, as soon as he sees them act\nin an uniform and determinate manner, or when the motion excited is\nsimple: the descent of a stone, that falls by its own peculiar weight,\nis an object of contemplation to the philosopher only; to whom the mode\nby which the most immediate causes act, and the most simple motion, are\nno less impenetrable mysteries than the most complex motion, and the\nmanner by which the most complicated causes give impulse. The uninformed\nare seldom tempted either to examine the effects which are familiar to\nthem, or to recur to first principles. They think they see nothing in\nthe descent of a stone, which ought to elicit their surprise, or become\nthe object of their research: it requires a NEWTON to feel that the\ndescent of heavy bodies is a phenomenon, worthy his whole, his most\nserious attention; it requires the sagacity of a profound experimental\nphilosopher, to discover the laws by which heavy bodies fall, by which\nthey communicate to others their peculiar motion. In short, the mind\nthat is most practised in philosophical observation, has frequently the\nchagrin to find, that the most simple and most common effects escape all\nhis researches, and remain inexplicable to him.\n\nWhen any extraordinary, any unusual, effect is produced, to which our\neyes have not been accustomed; or when we are ignorant of the energies\nof the cause, the action of which so forcibly strikes our senses, we\nare tempted to meditate upon it, and take it into our consideration.\nThe European, accustomed to the use of GUNPOWDER, passes it by, without\nthinking much of its extraordinary energies; the workman, who labours to\nmanufacture it, finds nothing marvellous in its properties, because he\ndaily handles the matter that forms its composition. The American, to\nwhom this powder was a stranger, who had never beheld its operation,\nlooked upon it as a divine power, and its energies as supernatural. The\nuninformed, who are ignorant of the true cause of THUNDER, contemplate\nit as the instrument of divine vengeance. The experimental philosopher\nconsiders it as the effect of the electric matter, which, nevertheless,\nis itself a cause which he is very far from perfectly understanding.--It\nrequired the keen, the penetrating mind of a FRANKLIN, to throw light\non the nature of this subtle fluid--to develop the means by which\nits effects might be rendered harmless--to turn to useful purposes, a\nphenomenon that made the ignorant tremble--that filled their minds with\nterror, their hearts with dismay, as indicating the anger of the gods:\nimpressed with this idea, they prostrated themselves, they sacrificed to\nJUPITER, to deprecate his wrath.\n\nBe this as it may, whenever we see a cause act, we look upon its effect\nas natural: when this cause becomes familiar to the sight, when we are\naccustomed to it, we think we understand it, and its effects surprise\nus no longer. Whenever any unusual effect is perceived, without our\ndiscovering the cause, the mind sets to work, becomes uneasy; this\nuneasiness increases in proportion to its extent: as soon as it is\nbelieved to threaten our preservation, we become completely agitated; we\nseek after the cause with an earnestness proportioned to our alarm;\nour perplexity augments in a ratio equivalent to the persuasion we are\nunder: how essentially requisite it is, we should become acquainted with\nthe cause that has affected us in so lively a manner. As it frequently\nhappens that our senses can teach us nothing respecting this cause\nwhich so deeply interests us--which we seek with so much ardour, we have\nrecourse to our imagination; this, disturbed with alarm, enervated by\nfear, becomes a suspicious, a fallacious guide: we create chimeras,\nfictitious causes, to whom we give the credit, to whom we ascribe the\nhonour of those phenomena by which we have been so much alarmed. It is\nto this disposition of the human mind that must be attributed, as will\nbe seen in the sequel, the religious errors of man, who, despairing of\nthe capacity to trace the natural causes of those perplexing phenomena\nto which he was the witness, and sometimes the victim, created in his\nbrain (heated with terror) imaginary causes, which have become to him a\nsource of the most extravagant folly.\n\nIn Nature, however, there can be only natural causes and effects; all\nmotion excited in this Nature, follows constant and necessary laws: the\nnatural operations, to the knowledge of which we are competent, of which\nwe are in a capacity to judge, are of themselves sufficient to enable us\nto discover those which elude our sight; we can at least judge of them\nby analogy. If we study Nature with attention, the modes of action which\nshe displays to our senses will teach us not to be disconcerted by those\nwhich she refuses to discover. Those causes which are the most remote\nfrom their effects, unquestionably act by intermediate causes; by the\naid of these, we can frequently trace out the first. If in the chain of\nthese causes we sometimes meet with obstacles that oppose themselves\nto our research, we ought to endeavour by patience and diligence to\novercome them; when it so happens we cannot surmount the difficulties\nthat occur, we still are never justified in concluding the chain to be\nbroken, or that the cause which acts is SUPER-NATURAL. Let us, then, be\ncontent with an honest avowal, that Nature contains resources of which\nwe are ignorant; but never let us substitute phantoms, fictions, or\nimaginary causes, senseless terms, for those causes which escape our\nresearch; because, by such means we only confirm ourselves in ignorance,\nimpede our enquiries, and obstinately remain in error.\n\nIn spite of our ignorance with respect to the meanderings of Nature,\n(for of the essence of being, of their properties, their elements, their\ncombinations, their proportions, we yet know the simple and general\nlaws, according to which bodies move;) we see clearly, that some of\nthese laws, common to all beings, never contradict themselves; although,\non some occasions, they appear to vary, we are frequently competent to\ndiscover that the cause becoming complex, from combination with other\ncauses, either impedes or prevents its mode of action being such as\nin its primitive state we had a right to expect. We know that active,\nigneous matter, applied to gunpowder, must necessarily cause it to\nexplode: whenever this effect does not follow the combination of the\nigneous matter with the gunpowder--whenever our senses do not give us\nevidence of the fact, we are justified in concluding, either that the\npowder is damp, or that it is united with some other substance that\ncounteracts its explosion. We know that all the actions of man have a\ntendency to render him happy: whenever, therefore, we see him labouring\nto injure or destroy himself, it is just to infer that he is moved by\nsome cause opposed to his natural tendency; that he is deceived by some\nprejudice; that, for want of experience, he is blind to consequences:\nthat he does not see whither his actions will lead him.\n\nIf the motion excited in beings was always simple; if their actions did\nnot blend and combine with each other, it would be easy to know, and we\nshould be assured, in the first instance, of the effect a cause would\nproduce. I know that a stone, when descending, ought to describe a\nperpendicular: I also know, that if it encounters any other body which\nchanges its course, it is obliged to take an oblique direction, but if\nits fall be interrupted by several contrary powers, which act upon it\nalternately, I am no longer competent to determine what line it will\ndescribe. It may be a parabola, an ellipsis, spiral, circular, &c. this\nwill depend on the impulse, it receives, and the powers by which it is\nimpelled.\n\nThe most complex motion, however, is never more than the result of\nsimple motion combined: therefore as soon as we know the general laws of\nbeings and their action, we have only to decompose, to analyse them, in\norder to discover those of which they are combined; experience teaches\nus the effects we are to expect. Thus it is clear, the simplest motion\ncauses that necessary junction of different matter, of which all bodies\nare composed: that matter, varied in its essence, in its properties,\nin its combinations, has each its several modes of action or motion,\npeculiar to itself; the whole motion of a body is consequently the sum\ntotal of each particular motion that is combined.\n\nAmongst the matter we behold, some is constantly disposed to unite,\nwhilst other is incapable of union; that which is suitable to unite,\nforms combinations, more or less intimate, possessing more or less\ndurability: that is to say, with more or less capacity to preserve their\nunion, to resist dissolution. Those bodies which are called SOLIDS,\nreceive into their composition a great number of homogeneous, similar,\nand analogous particles, disposed to unite themselves with energies\nconspiring or tending to the same point. The primitive beings, or\nelements of bodies, have need of supports, of props; that is to say, of\nthe presence of each other, for the purpose of preserving themselves;\nof acquiring consistence or solidity: a truth, which applies with equal\nuniformity to what is called _physical_, as to what is termed _moral_.\n\nIt is upon this disposition in matter and bodies, with relation to each\nother, that is founded those modes of action which natural philosophers\ndesignate by the terms _attraction, repulsion, sympathy, antipathy,\naffinities, relations_; that moralists describe under the names of\n_love, hatred, friendship, aversion_. Man, like all the beings in\nnature, experiences the impulse of attraction and repulsion; the motion\nexcited in him differing from that of other beings, only, because it is\nmore concealed, and frequently so hidden, that neither the causes which\nexcite it, nor their mode of action are known. This system of attraction\nand repulsion is very ancient, although it required a NEWTON to develop\nit. That love, to which the ancients attributed the unfolding, or\ndisentanglement of chaos, appears to have been nothing more than a\npersonification of the principle of attraction. All their allegories and\nfables upon chaos, evidently indicate nothing more than the accord or\nunion that exists between analogous and homogeneous substances; from\nwhence resulted the existence of the universe: whilst discord or\nrepulsion, which they called SOIS, was the cause of dissolution,\nconfusion, and disorder; there can scarcely remain a doubt, but this was\nthe origin of the doctrines of the TWO PRINCIPLES. According to DIOGENES\nLAERTIUS, the philosopher, EMPEDOCLES, asserted, that \"_there is a\nkind of affection by which the elements unite themselves; and a sort of\ndiscord, by which they separate or remove themselves._\"\n\nHowever it may be, it is sufficient for us to know that by an invariable\nlaw, certain bodies are disposed to unite with more or less facility;\nwhilst others cannot combine or unite themselves: water combines itself\nreadily with salt, but will not blend with oil. Some combinations are\nvery strong, cohering with great force, as metals; others are extremely\nfeeble, their cohesion slight and easily decomposed, as in fugitive\ncolours. Some bodies, incapable of uniting by themselves, become\nsusceptible of union by the agency of other bodies, which serve for\ncommon bonds or MEDIUMS. Thus, oil and water, naturally heterogeneous,\ncombine and make soap, by the intervention of alkaline salt. From matter\ndiversely combined, in proportions varied almost to infinity, result\nall physical and moral bodies; the properties and qualities of which are\nessentially different, with modes of action more or less complex: which\nare either understood with facility, or difficult of comprehension,\naccording to the elements or matter that has entered into their\ncomposition, and the various modifications this matter has undergone.\n\nIt is thus, from the reciprocity of their attraction, the primitive\nimperceptible particles of matter, which constitute bodies, become\nperceptible, form compound substances, aggregate masses; by the union\nof similar and analogous matter, whose essences fit them to cohere. The\nsame bodies are dissolved, their union broken, whenever they undergo the\naction of matter inimical to their junction. Thus by degrees are formed,\nplants, metals, animals, men; each grows, expands, and increases in its\nown system or order; sustaining itself in its respective existence,\nby the continual attraction of analogous matter; to which it becomes\nunited, and by which it is preserved and strengthened. Thus, certain\naliments become fit for the sustenance of man, whilst others destroy his\nexistence: some are pleasant to him, strengthen his habit; others\nare repugnant to him, weaken his system: in short, never to separate\nphysical from moral laws, it is thus that men, mutually attracted\nto each other by their reciprocal wants, form those unions which we\ndesignate by the terms, MARRIAGE, FAMILIES, SOCIETIES, FRIENDSHIPS,\nCONNEXIONS: it is thus that virtue strengthens and consolidates them;\nthat vice relaxes or totally dissolves them.\n\nOf whatever nature may be the combination of beings, their motion has\nalways one direction or tendency: without direction we could not have\nany idea of motion: this direction is regulated by the properties of\neach being; as soon as they have any given properties, they necessarily\nact in obedience to them: that is to say, they follow the law invariably\ndetermined by these same properties; which, of themselves, constitute\nthe being such as he is found, and settle his mode of action, which\nis always the consequence of his manner of existence. But what is the\ngeneral direction, or common tendency, we see in all beings? What is\nthe visible and known end of all their motion? It is to conserve their\nactual existence--to preserve themselves--to strengthen their several\nbodies--to attract that which is favorable to them--to repel that\nwhich is injurious them--to avoid that which can harm them--to resist\nimpulsions contrary to their manner of existence, and to their natural\ntendency.\n\nTo exist, is to experience the motion peculiar to a determinate essence:\nto conserve this existence, is to give and receive that motion from\nwhich results its maintenance:--it is to attract matter suitable\nto corroborate its being--to avoid that by which it may be either\nendangered or enfeebled. Thus, all beings of which we have any\nknowledge, have a tendency to conserve themselves, each after its\npeculiar manner: the stone, by the firm adhesion of its particles,\nopposes resistance to its destruction. Organized beings conserve\nthemselves by more complicated means, but which are, nevertheless,\ncalculated to maintain their existence against that by which it may\nbe injured. Man, both in his physical and in his moral capacity, is\na living, feeling, thinking, active being; who, every instant of his\nduration, strives equally to avoid that which may be injurious, and to\nprocure that which is pleasing to him, or that which is suitable to his\nmode of existence; all his actions tending solely to conserve himself.\nST. AUGUSTINE admits this tendency in all whether organized or not.\n\nConservation, then, is the common point to which all the energies, all\nthe powers, all the faculties of beings, seem continually directed.\nNatural philosophers call this direction or tendency, SELF-GRAVITATION:\nNEWTON calls it INERT FORCE: moralists denominate it in man, SELF-LOVE\nwhich is nothing more than the tendency he has to preserve himself--a\ndesire of happiness--a love of his own welfare--a wish for pleasure--a\npromptitude in seizing on every thing that appears favourable to\nhis conservation--a marked aversion to all that either disturbs his\nhappiness, or menaces his existence--primitive sentiments, that are\ncommon to all beings of the human species; which all their faculties are\ncontinually striving to satisfy; which all their passions, their wills,\ntheir actions, have eternally for their object and their end. This\nself-gravitation, then, is clearly a necessary disposition in man,\nand in all other beings; which, by a variety means, contribute to the\npreservation of the existence they have received, as long as nothing\nderanges the order of their machine, or its primitive tendency.\n\nCause always produces effect; there can be no effect without cause.\nImpulse is always followed by some motion, more or less sensible; by\nsome change, more or less remarkable in the body which receives it.\nBut motion, and its various modes of displaying itself, is, as has been\nalready shewn, determined by the nature, the essence, the properties,\nthe combinations of the beings acting. It must, then, be concluded that\nmotion, or the modes by which beings act, arises from some cause; that\nas this cause is not able to move or act, but in conformity with the\nmanner of its being or its essential properties, it must equally be\nconcluded, that all the phenomena we perceive are necessary; that every\nbeing in Nature, under the circumstances in which it is placed, and with\nthe given properties it possesses, cannot act otherwise than it does.\n\nNecessity is the constant and infallible relation of causes with their\neffects. Fire consumes, of necessity, combustible matter plated within\nits circuit of action: man, by fatality, desires either that which\nreally is, or appears to be serviceable to his welfare. Nature, in all\nthe extraordinary appearances she exhibits, necessarily acts after her\nown peculiar essence: all the beings she contains, necessarily act each\nafter its own a individual nature: it is by motion that the whole has\nrelation with its parts; and these parts with the whole: it is thus\nthat in the general system every thing is connected: it is itself but\nan immense chain of causes and effects, which flow without ceasing, one\nfrom the other. If we reflect, we shall be obliged to acknowledge that\nevery thing we see is necessary; that it cannot be otherwise than it is;\nthat all the beings we behold, as well as those which escape our\nsight, act by invariable laws. According to these laws, heavy\nbodies fall--light bodies ascend--analogous substances attract each\nother--beings tend to preserve themselves--man cherishes himself; loves\nthat which he thinks advantageous--detests that which he has an idea may\nprove unfavourable to him.--In fine, we are obliged to admit, there\ncan be no perfectly independent energy--no separated cause--no detached\naction, in a nature where all the beings are in a reciprocity of\naction--who, without interruption, mutually impel and resist each\nother--who is herself nothing more than an eternal circle of motion,\ngiven and received according to necessary laws; which under the same\ngiven incidents, invariably produce the same effect.\n\nTwo examples will serve to throw the principle here laid down, into\nlight--one shall be taken from physics, the other from morals.\n\nIn a whirlwind of dust, raised by elemental force, confused as it\nappears to our eyes, in the most frightful tempest excited by contrary\nwinds, when the waves roll high as mountains, there is not a single\nparticle of dust, or drop of water, that has been placed by CHANCE, that\nhas not a cause for occupying the place where it is found; that does\nnot, in the most rigorous sense of the word, act after the manner in\nwhich it ought to act; that is, according to its own peculiar essence,\nand that of the beings from whom it receives this communicated force.\nA geometrician exactly knew the different energies acting in each case,\nwith the properties of the particles moved, could demonstrate that after\nthe causes given, each particle acted precisely as it ought to act, and\nthat it could not have acted otherwise than it did.\n\nIn those terrible convulsions that sometimes agitate political\nsocieties, shake their foundations, and frequently produce the overthrow\nof an empire; there is not a single action, a single word, a single\nthought, a single will, a single passion in the agents, whether they act\nas destroyers, or as victims, that is not the necessary result of the\ncauses operating; that does not act, as, of necessity, it must act, from\nthe peculiar essence of the beings who give the impulse, and that of the\nagents who receive it, according to the situation these agents fill in\nthe moral whirlwind. This could be evidently proved by an understanding\ncapacitated to rate all the action and re-action, of the minds and\nbodies of those who contributed to the revolution.\n\nIn fact, if all be connected in Nature, if all motion be produced,\nthe one from the other, notwithstanding their secret communications\nfrequently elude our sight; we ought to feel convinced of this truth,\nthat there is no cause, however minute, however remote, that does not\nsometimes produce the greatest and most immediate effects on man. It\nmay, perhaps, be in the parched plains of Lybia, that are amassed\nthe first elements of a storm or tempest, which, borne by the winds,\napproach our climate, render our atmosphere dense, and thus operating\non the temperament, may influence the passions of a man, whose\ncircumstances shall have capacitated him to influence many others, who\nshall decide after his will the fate of many nations.\n\nMan, in fact, finds himself in Nature, and makes a part of it: he acts\naccording to laws, which are appropriate to him; he receives in a manner\nmore or less distinct, the action and impulse of the beings who surround\nhim; who themselves act after laws that are peculiar to their essence.\nThus he is variously modified; but his actions are always the result of\nhis own energy, and that of the beings who act upon him, and by whom he\nis modified. This is what gives such variety to his determinations--what\ngenerally produces such contradiction in his thoughts, his opinions,\nhis will, his actions; in short, in that motion, whether concealed or\nvisible, by which he is agitated. We shall have occasion, in the sequel,\nto place this truth, at present so much contested, in a clearer light:\nit will be sufficient for our purpose at present to prove, generally,\nthat every thing in Nature is necessary--that nothing to be found in it\ncan act otherwise than it does.\n\nMotion, alternately communicated and received, establishes the\nconnection or relation between the different orders of beings: when they\nare in the sphere of reciprocal action, attraction approximates\nthem; repulsion dissolves and separates them; the one strengthens and\npreserves them; the other enfeebles and destroys them. Once combined,\nthey have a tendency to conserve themselves in that mode of existence,\nby virtue of their _inert force_; in this they cannot succeed, because\nthey are exposed to the continual influence of all other beings, who\nperpetually and successively act upon them; their change of form, their\ndissolution, is requisite to the preservation of Nature herself: this is\nthe sole end we are able to assign her--to which we see her tend without\nintermission--which she follows without interruption, by the destruction\nand reproduction of all subordinate beings, who are obliged to submit to\nher laws--to concur, by their mode of action, to the maintenance of her\nactive existence, so essentially requisite to the GREAT WHOLE.\n\nIt is thus each being is an individual, who, in the great family,\nperforms his necessary portion of the general labour--who executes the\nunavoidable task assigned to him. All bodies act according to laws,\ninherent in their peculiar essence, without the capability to swerve,\neven for a single instant, from those according to which Nature herself\nacts. This is the central power, to which all other powers, essences,\nand energies, are submitted: she regulates the motions of beings, by the\nnecessity of her own peculiar essence: she makes them concur by various\nmodes to the general plan: this appears to be nothing more than the\nlife, action, and maintenance of the whole, by the continual change of\nits parts. This object she obtains, in removing them, one by the other;\nby that which establishes, and by that which destroys, the relation\nsubsisting between them; by that which gives them, and that which\ndeprives them of, their forms, combinations, proportions, and qualities,\naccording to which they act for a time, after a given mode; these are\nafterwards taken from them, to make them act after a different manner.\nIt is thus that Nature makes them expand and change, grow and decline,\naugment and diminish, approximate and remove, forms and destroys them,\naccording as she finds it requisite to maintain the whole; towards the\nconservation which this Nature is herself essentially necessitated to\nhave a tendency.\n\nThis irresistible power, this universal necessity, this general energy,\nthen, is only a consequence of the nature of things; by virtue of which\nevery thing acts, without intermission, after constant and immutable\nlaws: these laws not varying more for the whole than for the beings of\nwhich it is composed. Nature is an active living whole, to which all its\nparts necessarily concur; of which, without their own knowledge, they\nmaintain the activity, the life, and the existence. Nature acts and\nexists necessarily: all that she contains, necessarily conspires to\nperpetuate her active existence. This is the decided opinion of PLATO,\nwhen he says, \"_matter and necessity are the same thing; this necessity\nis the mother of the world._\" In point of fact, we cannot go beyond this\naphorism, MATTER ACTS, BECAUSE IT EXISTS; AND EXISTS, TO ACT. If it be\nenquired how, or for why, matter exists? We answer, we know not: but\nreasoning by analogy, of what we do not know by that which we do, we\nshould be of opinion it exists necessarily, or because it contains\nwithin itself a sufficient reason for its existence. In supposing it to\nbe created or produced by a being distinguished from it, or less known\nthan itself, (which it may be, for any thing we know to the contrary,)\nwe must still admit, that this being is necessary, and includes a\nsufficient reason for his own existence. We have not then removed any of\nthe difficulty, we have not thrown a clearer light upon the subject, we\nhave not advanced a single step; we have simply laid aside a being,\nof which we know some few of the properties, but of which we are still\nextremely ignorant, to have recourse to a power, of which it is utterly\nimpossible we can, as long as we are men, form any distinct idea; of\nwhich, notwithstanding it may be a truth, we cannot, by any means we\npossess, demonstrate the existence. As, therefore, these must be at best\nbut speculative points of belief, which each individual, by reason of\nits obscurity, may contemplate with different optics, under various\naspects, they surely ought to be left free for each to judge after his\nown fashion: the Hindoo can have no just cause of enmity against\nthe Christian for his faith: this has no moral right to question\nthe Mussulman upon his; the numerous sects of each of the various\npersuasions spread over the face of the earth, ought to make it a creed\nto look with an eye of complacency on the deviation of the others;\nand rest upon that great moral axiom, which is strictly conformable\nto Nature, which contains the whole of man's happiness--\"_Do not unto\nanother, that which do you not wish another should do unto you_;\" for it\nis evident, according to their own doctrines, out of all the variety of\nsystems, one only can be right.\n\nWe shall see in the sequel, how much man's imagination labours to\nform an idea, of the energies of that Nature he has personified, and\ndistinguished from herself: in short, we shall examine some of the\nridiculous and pernicious inventions, which, for want of understanding\nNature, have been imagined to impede her course, to suspend her eternal\nlaws, to place obstacles to the necessity of things.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. V.\n\n_Order and Confusion.--Intelligence.--Chance._\n\n\nThe observation of the necessary, regular, and periodical motion in the\nuniverse, generated in the mind of man the idea of ORDER; this term,\nin its original signification, represents nothing more than a mode of\nconsidering, a facility of perceiving, together and separately, the\ndifferent relations of a whole; in which is discovered, by its manner of\nexisting and acting, a certain affinity or conformity with his own. Man,\nin extending this idea to the universe, carried with him those methods\nof considering things which are peculiar to himself: he has consequently\nsupposed there really existed in Nature affinities and relations, which\nhe classed under the name of ORDER; and others which appeared to him not\nto conform to those, which he has ranked under the term of CONFUSION.\n\nIt is easy to comprehend, that this idea of order and confusion can have\nno absolute existence in Nature, where every thing is necessary; where\nthe whole follows constant and invariable laws, which oblige each being,\nin every moment of its duration, to submit to other laws, which\nflow from its own peculiar mode of existence. Therefore it is in his\nimagination, only, man finds a model of that which he terms order or\nconfusion; which, like all his abstract, metaphysical ideas, supposes\nnothing beyond his reach. Order, however, is never more than the faculty\nof conforming himself with the beings by whom he is environed, or with\nthe whole of which he forms a part.\n\nNevertheless, if the idea of order be applied to Nature, it will be\nfound to be nothing but a series of action or motion, which he judges\nto conspire to one common end. Thus, in a body that moves, order is the\nchain of action, the series of motion, proper to constitute it what it\nis, and to maintain it in its actual state. Order, relatively to the\nwhole of Nature, is the concatenation of causes and effects, necessary\nto her _active_ existence--to maintaining her constantly together; but,\nas it has been proved in the chapter preceding, every individual being\nis obliged to concur to this end, in the different ranks they occupy;\nfrom whence it is a necessary deduction, that what is called the ORDER\nOF NATURE, can never be more than a certain manner of considering the\nnecessity of things, to which all, of which man has any knowledge, is\nsubmitted. That which is styled CONFUSION, is only a relative term, used\nto designate that series of necessary action, that chain of requisite\nmotion, by which an individual being is necessarily changed or disturbed\nin its mode of existence--by which it is instantaneously obliged to\nalter its manner of action; but no one of these actions, no part of\nthis motion is capable, even for a single instant, of contradicting\nor deranging the general order of Nature; from which all beings derive\ntheir existence, their properties, the motion appropriate to each.\n\nWhat is termed confusion in a being, is nothing more than its passage\ninto a new class, a new mode of existence; which necessarily carries\nwith it a new series of action, a new chain of motion, different from\nthat of which this being found itself susceptible in the preceding\nrank it occupied. That which is called order, in Nature, is a mode of\nexistence, or a disposition of its particles, strictly _necessary_. In\nevery other assemblage of causes and effects, of worlds, as well as\nin that which we inhabit, some sort of arrangement, some kind of order\nwould necessarily be established. Suppose the most incongruous, the\nmost heterogeneous substances were put into activity, and assembled by\na concatenation of extraordinary circumstances; they would form amongst\nthemselves, a complete order, a perfect arrangement. This is the true\nnotion of a property, which may be defined, an aptitude to constitute a\nbeing, such as it is actually found, such as it is with respect to the\nwhole of which it makes a part.\n\nOrder, then, is nothing but necessity, considered relatively to the\nseries of actions, or the connected chain of causes and effects, that\nit produces in the universe. What is the motion in our planetary system;\nbut a series of phenomena, operated upon according to necessary laws,\nthat regulate the bodies of which it is composed? In conformity to these\nlaws, the sun occupies the centre; the planets gravitate towards it, and\nrevolve round it, in regulated periods: the satellites of these planets\ngravitate towards those which are in the centre of their sphere of\naction, and describe round them their periodical route. One of these\nplanets, the earth which man inhabits, turns on its own axis; and by the\nvarious aspects which its revolution obliges it to present to the sun,\nexperiences those regular variations which are called SEASONS. By a\nsequence of the sun's action upon different parts of this globe, all its\nproductions undergo vicissitudes: plants, animals, men, are in a sort of\nmorbid drowsiness during _Winter_: in _Spring_, these beings re-animate,\nto come as it were out of a long lethargy. In short, the mode in\nwhich the earth receives the sun's beams, has an influence on all its\nproductions; these rays, when darted obliquely, do not act in the same\nmanner as when they fall perpendicularly; their periodical absence,\ncaused by the revolution of this sphere on itself, produces _night_ and\n_day_. However, in all this, man never witnesses more than necessary\neffects, flowing from the nature of things, which, whilst that remains\nthe same, can never be opposed with propriety. These effects are owing\nto gravitation, attraction, centrifugal power, &c.\n\nOn the other hand, this _order_, which man admires as a supernatural\neffect, is sometimes disturbed, or changed into what he calls\n_confusion_: this confusion is, however, always a necessary consequence\nof the laws of Nature; in which it is requisite to the support of the\nwhole that some of her parts should be deranged and thrown out of the\nordinary course. It is thus, COMETS present themselves so unexpectedly\nto man's wondering eyes; their eccentric motion disturbs the\ntranquillity of his planetary system; they excite the terror of the\nmisinstructed to whom every thing unusual is marvellous. The natural\nphilosopher, himself, conjectures that in former ages, these comets\nhave overthrown the surface of this mundane ball, and caused great\nrevolutions on the earth. Independent of this extraordinary _confusion_,\nhe is exposed to others more familiar to him: sometimes, the seasons\nappear to have usurped each other's place; to have quitted their regular\norder: sometimes the opposing elements seem to dispute among themselves\nthe dominion of the world; the sea bursts its limits; the solid earth\nis shaken and rent asunder; mountains are in a state of conflagration;\npestilential diseases destroy both men and animals; sterility desolates\na country: then affrighted man utters piercing cries, offers up his\nprayers to recall order; tremblingly raises his hands towards the Being\nhe supposes to be the author of all these calamities; nevertheless, the\nwhole of this afflicting confusion are necessary effects, produced by\nnatural causes; which act according to fixed laws, determined by their\nown peculiar essence, and the universal essence of Nature: in which\nevery thing must necessarily be changed, moved, and dissolved; where\nthat which is called ORDER, must sometimes be disturbed and altered into\na new mode of existence; which to his deluded mind, to his imagination,\nled astray by ignorance and want of reflection, appears CONFUSION.\n\nThere cannot possibly exist what is generally termed _a confusion of\nNature_: man finds order in every thing that is conformable to his\nown mode of being; confusion in every thing by which it is opposed:\nnevertheless, in Nature, all is in order; because none of her parts are\never able to emancipate themselves from those invariable rules which\nflow from their respective essences: there _is_ not, there _cannot_\nbe confusion in a whole, to the maintenance of which what is _called_\nconfusion is absolutely requisite; of which the general course can never\nbe discomposed, although individuals may be, and necessarily are; where\nall the effects produced are the consequence of natural causes, that\nunder the circumstances in which they are placed, act only as they\ninfallibly are obliged to act.\n\nIt therefore follows, there can be neither monsters nor prodigies;\nwonders nor miracles in Nature: those which are designated MONSTERS, are\ncertain combinations, with which the eyes of man are not familiarized;\nbut which, therefore, are not less the necessary effects of natural\ncauses. Those which he terms PRODIGIES, WONDERS, or SUPERNATURAL\neffects, are phenomena of Nature, with whose mode of action he is\nunacquainted; of which his ignorance does not permit him to ascertain\nthe principles; whose causes he cannot trace; but which his impatience,\nhis heated imagination, aided by a desire to explain, makes him\nfoolishly attribute to imaginary causes; which, like the idea of order,\nhave no existence but in himself; and which, that he may conceal his\nown ignorance, that he may obtain more respect with the uninformed,\nhe places beyond Nature, out of which his experience is every instant\ndemonstrably proving that none of these things can have existence.\n\nAs for those effects which are called MIRACLES, that is to say, contrary\nto the unalterable laws of Nature, it must be felt such things are\nimpossible; because, nothing can, for an instant, suspend the necessary\ncourse of beings, without the whole of Nature was arrested; without\nshe was disturbed in her tendency. There have neither been wonders nor\nmiracles in Nature; except for those, who have not sufficiently studied\nthe laws, who consequently do not feel, that those laws can never be\ncontradicted, even in the most minute parts, without the whole being\ndestroyed, or at least without changing her essence, her mode of action;\nthat it is the height of folly to recur to supernatural causes to\nexplain the phenomena man beholds, before he becomes fully acquainted\nwith natural causes--with the powers and capabilities which Nature\nherself contains.\n\n_Order_ and _Confusion_, then, are only relative terms, by which man\ndesignates the state in which particular beings find themselves. He\nsays, a being is in order, when all the motion it undergoes conspires to\nfavor its tendency to its own preservation; when it is conducive to the\nmaintenance of its actual existence: that it is in confusion when the\ncauses which move it disturb the harmony of its existence, or have a\ntendency to destroy the equilibrium necessary to the conservation of its\nactual state. Nevertheless, confusion, as we have shown, is nothing but\nthe passage of a being into a new order; the more rapid the progress,\nthe greater the confusion for the being that is submitted to it: that\nwhich conducts man to what is called death, is, for him, the greatest\nof all possible confusion. Yet this death is nothing more than a passage\ninto a new mode of existence: it is the eternal, the invariable, the\nunconquerable law of Nature, to which the individuals of his order, each\nin his turn, is obliged to submit.\n\nThe human body is said to be in order, when its various component parts\nact in that mode, from which results the conservation of the whole; from\nwhich emanates that which is the tendency of his actual existence;\nin other words, when all the impulse he receives, all the motion he\ncommunicates, tends to preserve his health, to render him happy, by\npromoting the happiness of his fellow men. He is said to be in health\nwhen the fluids and solids of his body concur to render him robust, to\nkeep his mind in vigour; when each lends mutual aid towards this end. He\nis said to be in _confusion_, or in ill health, whenever this tendency\nis disturbed; when any of the essential parts of his body cease to\nconcur to his preservation, or to fulfil its peculiar functions. This\nit is that happens in a state of sickness, in which, however, the motion\nexcited in the human machine is as necessary, is regulated by laws as\ncertain, as natural, as invariable, as that which concurs to produce\nhealth. Sickness merely produces in him a new order of motion, a new\nseries of action, a new chain of things. Man dies: to him, this appears\nthe greatest confusion he can experience; his body is no longer what it\nwas--its parts no longer concur to the same end--his blood has lost\nits circulation--he is deprived of feeling--his ideas have vanished--he\nthinks no more--his desires have fled--death is the epoch, the cessation\nof his human existence.--His frame becomes an inanimate mass, by the\nsubtraction of those principles by which it was animated; that is, which\nmade it act after a determinate manner: its tendency has received a\nnew direction; its action is changed; the motion excited in its ruins\nconspires to a new end. To that motion, the harmony of which he calls\norder, which produced life, sentiment, thought, passions, health,\nsucceeds a series of motion of another species; that, nevertheless,\nfollows laws as necessary as the first; all the parts of the dead\nman conspire to produce what is called dissolution, fermentation,\nputrefaction: these new modes of being, of acting, are just as natural\nto man, reduced to this state, as sensibility, thought, the periodical\nmotion of the blood, &c. were to the living man: his essence having\nchanged, his mode of action can no longer be the same. To that regulated\nmotion, to that necessary action, which conspired to the production\nof life, succeeds that determinate motion, that series of action which\nconcurs to produce the dissolution of the dead carcass; the dispersion\nof its parts; the formation of new combinations, from which result new\nbeings; and which, as we have before seen, is the immutable order of\nactive Nature.\n\nHow then can it be too often repeated, that relatively to the great\nwhole, all the motion of beings, all their modes of action, can never be\nbut in order, that is to say, are always conformable to Nature; that in\nall the stages through which beings are obliged to pass, they invariably\nact after a mode necessarily subordinate to the universal whole? To say\nmore, each individual being always acts in order; all its actions,\nthe whole system of its motion, are the necessary consequence of its\npeculiar mode of existence; whether that be momentary or durable. Order,\nin political society, is the effect of a necessary series of ideas,\nof wills, of actions, in those who compose it; whose movements are\nregulated in a manner, either calculated to maintain its indivisibility,\nor to hasten its dissolution. Man constituted, or modified, in the\nmanner we term virtuous, acts necessarily in that mode, from whence\nresults the welfare of his associates: the man we stile wicked, acts\nnecessarily in that mode, from whence springs the misery of his fellows:\nhis Nature, being essentially different, he must necessarily act after\na different mode: his individual order is at variance, but his relative\norder is complete: it is equally the essence of the one, to promote\nhappiness, as it is of the other to induce misery.\n\nThus, order and confusion in individual beings, is nothing more than\nthe manner of man's considering the natural and necessary effects, which\nthey produce relatively to himself. He fears the wicked man; he says\nthat he will carry confusion into society, because he disturbs its\ntendency and places obstacles to its happiness. He avoids a falling\nstone, because it will derange in him the order necessary to his\nconservation. Nevertheless, order and confusion, are always, as we\nhave shewn, consequences, equally necessary to either the transient or\ndurable state of beings. It is in order that fire burns, because it\nis of its essence to burn; on the other hand, it is in order, that an\nintelligent being should remove himself from whatever can disturb his\nmode of existence. A being, whose organization renders him sensible,\nmust in virtue of his essence, fly from every thing that can injure his\norgans, or that can place his existence in danger.\n\nMan calls those beings _intelligent_, who are organized after his\nown manner; in whom he sees faculties proper for their preservation;\nsuitable to maintain their existence in the order that is convenient to\nthem; that can enable them to take the necessary measures towards this\nend, with a consciousness of the motion they undergo. From hence, it\nwill be perceived, that the faculty called intelligence, consists in a\npossessing capacity to act comformably to a known end, in the being\nto which it is attributed. He looks upon these beings as deprived of\nintelligence, in which he finds no conformity with himself; in whom\nhe discovers neither the same construction, nor the same faculties:\nof which he knows neither the essence, the end to which they tend, the\nenergies by which they act, nor the order that is necessary to them. The\nwhole cannot have a distinct name, or end, because there is nothing out\nof itself, to which it can have a tendency. If it be in himself, that\nhe arranges the idea of _order_, it is also in himself, that he draws up\nthat of _intelligence_. He refuses to ascribe it to those beings, who\ndo not act after his own manner: he accords it to all those whom he\nsupposes to act like himself: the latter he calls intelligent agents:\nthe former blind causes; that is to say, intelligent agents who act\nby _chance_: thus chance is an empty word without sense, but which\nis always opposed to that of intelligence, without attaching any\ndeterminate, or any certain idea.\n\nMan, in fact, attributes to _chance_ all those effects, of which the\nconnection they have with their causes is not seen. Thus he uses the\nword _chance_, to cover his ignorance of those natural causes, which\nproduce visible effects, by means which he cannot form an idea of; or\nthat act by a mode of which he does not perceive the order; or whose\nsystem is not followed by actions conformable to his own. As soon as he\nsees, or believes he sees, the order of action, or the manner of motion,\nhe attributes this order to an _intelligence_; which is nothing more\nthan a quality borrowed from himself--from his own peculiar mode of\naction--from the manner in which he is himself affected.\n\nThus an _intelligent being_ is one who thinks, who wills, and who acts,\nto compass an end. If so, he must have organs, an aim conformable to\nthose of man: therefore, to say Nature is governed by an intelligence,\nis to affirm that she is governed by a being, furnished with organs;\nseeing that without this organic construction, he can neither have\nsensations, perceptions, ideas, thought, will, plan, nor action which he\nunderstands.\n\nMan always makes himself the center of the universe: it is to himself\nthat he relates all he beholds. As soon as he believes he discovers a\nmode of action that has a conformity with his own, or some phenomenon\nthat interests his feelings, he attributes it to a cause that resembles\nhimself--that acts after his manner--that has faculties similar to those\nhe possesses--whose interests are like his own--whose projects are in\nunison with and have the same tendency as those he himself indulges: in\nshort, it is from himself, or the properties which actuate him, that he\nforms the model of this cause. It is thus that man beholds, out of his\nown species, nothing but beings who act differently from himself;\nyet believes that he remarks in Nature an order similar to his own\nideas--views conformable to those which he himself possesses. He\nimagines that Nature is governed by a cause whose intelligence is\nconformable to his own, to whom he ascribes the honor of the order which\nhe believes he witnesses--of those views that fall in with those that\nare peculiar to himself--of an aim which quadrates with that which is\nthe great end of all his own actions. It is true that man, feeling his\nincapability of producing the vast, the multiplied effects of which he\nwitnesses the operation, when contemplating the universe, was under the\nnecessity of making a distinction between himself and the cause which\nhe supposed to be the author of such stupendous effects; he believed\nhe removed every difficulty, by amplifying in this cause all those\nfaculties of which he was himself in possession; adding others of which\nhis own self-love made him desirous, or which he thought would render\nhis being more perfect: thus, he gave JUPITER wings, with the faculty of\nassuming any form he might deem convenient: it was thus, by degrees,\nhe arrived at forming an idea of that intelligent cause, which he has\nplaced above Nature, to preside over action--to give her that motion\nof which he has chosen to believe she was in herself incapable. He\nobstinately persists in regarding this Nature as a heap of dead, inert\nmatter, without form, which has not within itself the power of producing\nany of those great effects, those regular phenomena, from which emanates\nwhat he styles _the order of the Universe_. ANAXAGORAS is said to have\nbeen the first who supposed the universe created and governed by an\nintelligence: ARISTOTLE reproaches him with having made an automaton\nof this intelligence; or in other words, with ascribing to it the\nproduction of things, only when he was at a loss to account for their\nappearance. From whence it may be deduced, that it is for want of being\nacquainted with the powers of Nature, or the properties of matter, that\nman has multiplied beings without necessity--that he has supposed the\nuniverse under the government of an intelligent cause, which he is, and\nperhaps always will be, himself the model: in fine, this cause has been\npersonified under such a variety of shapes, sexes, and names, that\na list of the deities he has at various times supposed to guide this\nNature, or to whom he has submitted her, makes a large volume that\noccupies some years of his youthful education to understand. He only\nrendered this cause more inconceivable, when he extended in it his own\nfaculties too much. He either annihilates, or renders it altogether\nimpossible, when he would attach to it incompatible qualities, which\nhe is obliged to do, to enable him to account for the contradictory and\ndisorderly effects he beholds in the world. In fact, he sees confusion\nin the world; yet, notwithstanding his confusion contradicts the\nplan, the power, the wisdom, the bounty of this intelligence, and the\nmiraculous order which he ascribes to it; he says, the extreme beautiful\narrangement of the whole, obliges him to suppose it to be the work of\na sovereign intelligence: unable, however, to reconcile this seeming\nconfusion with the benevolence he attaches to this cause, he had\nrecourse to another effort of his imagination; he made a new cause,\nto whom he ascribed all the evil, all the misery, resulting from this\nconfusion: still, his own person served for the model; to which he\nadded those deformities which he had learned to hold in disrespect: in\nmultiplying these counter or destroying causes, he peopled Pandemonium.\n\nIt will no doubt be argued, that as Nature contains and produces\nintelligent beings, either she must be herself intelligent, or else she\nmust be governed by an intelligent cause. We reply, intelligence is\na faculty peculiar to organized beings, that it is to say, to beings\nconstituted and combined after a determinate manner; from whence results\ncertain modes of action, which are designated under various names;\naccording to the different effects which these beings produce: wine\nhas not the properties called _wit_ and _courage_; nevertheless, it\nis sometimes seen that it communicates those qualities to men, who are\nsupposed to be in themselves entirely devoid of them. It cannot be\nsaid Nature is intelligent after the manner of any of the beings she\ncontains; but she can produce intelligent beings by assembling matter\nsuitable to their particular organization, from whose peculiar modes of\naction will result the faculty called intelligence; who shall be capable\nof producing certain effects which are the necessary consequence of this\nproperty. I therefore repeat, that to have intelligence, designs and\nviews, it is requisite to have ideas; to the production of ideas, organs\nor senses are necessary: this is what is neither said of Nature nor\nof the causes he has supposed to preside over her actions. In short\nexperience warrants the assertion, it does more, it proves beyond\na doubt, that matter, which is regarded as inert and dead, assumes\nsensible action, intelligence, and life, when it is combined and\norganized after particular modes.\n\nFrom what has been said, it must rationally be concluded that _order_ is\nnever more than the necessary or uniform connection of causes with\ntheir effects; or that series of action which flows from the peculiar\nproperties of beings, so long as they remain in a given state; that\n_confusion_ is nothing more than the change of this state; that in the\nuniverse, all is necessarily in order, because every thing acts and\nmoves according to the various properties of the different beings it\ncontains; that in Nature there cannot be either confusion or real evil,\nsince every thing follows the laws of its natural existence; that there\nis neither _chance_ nor any thing fortuitous in this Nature, where no\neffect is produced without a sufficient, without a substantial cause;\nwhere all causes act necessarily according to fixed and certain laws,\nwhich are themselves dependant on the essential properties of these\ncauses or beings, as well as on the combination, which constitutes\neither their transitory or permanent state; that intelligence is a mode\nof acting, a method of existence natural to some particular beings; that\nif this intelligence should be attributed to Nature, it would then be\nnothing more than the faculty of conserving herself in active existence\nby necessary means. In refusing to Nature the intelligence he himself\nenjoys--in rejecting the intelligent cause which is supposed to be the\ncontriver of this Nature, or the principle of that _order_ he discovers\nin her course, nothing is given to _chance_, nothing to a blind cause,\nnothing to a power which is indistinguishable; but every thing he\nbeholds is attributed to real, to known causes; or to those which by\nanalogy are easy of comprehension. All that exists is acknowledged to\nbe a consequence of the inherent properties of eternal matter, which by\ncontact, by blending, by combination, by change of form, produces order\nand confusion; with all those varieties which assail his sight, it\nis himself who is blind, when he imagines blind causes:--man only\nmanifested his ignorance of the powers of motion, of the laws of Nature,\nwhen he attributed, any of its effects to _chance_. He did not shew a\nmore enlightened feeling when he ascribed them to an intelligence, the\nidea of which he borrowed from himself, but which is never in conformity\nwith the effects which he attributes to its intervention--he only\nimagined words to supply the place of things--he made JUPITER, SATURN,\nJUNO, and a thousand others, operate that which he found himself\ninadequate to perform; he distinguished them from Nature, gave them an\namplification of his own properties, and believed he understood them by\nthus obscuring ideas, which he never dared either define or analyze.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. VI.\n\n_Moral and Physical Distinctions of Man.--His Origin._\n\n\nLet us now apply the general laws we have scrutinized, to those beings\nof Nature who interest us the most. Let us see in what man differs from\nthe other beings by which he is surrounded. Let us examine if he has not\ncertain points in conformity with them, that oblige him, notwithstanding\nthe different properties they respectively possess, to act in certain\nrespects according to the universal laws to which every thing is\nsubmitted. Finally, let us enquire if the ideas he has formed of himself\nin meditating on his own peculiar mode of existence, be chimerical, or\nfounded in reason.\n\nMan occupies a place amidst that crowd, that multitude of beings,\nof which Nature is the assemblage. His essence, that is to say, the\npeculiar manner of existence, by which he is distinguished from other\nbeings, renders him susceptible of various modes of action, of a variety\nof motion, some of which are simple and visible, others concealed and\ncomplicated. His life itself is nothing more than a long series, a\nsuccession of necessary and connected motion; which operates perpetual\nchanges in his machine; which has for its principle either causes\ncontained within himself, such as blood, nerves, fibres, flesh, bones;\nin short, the matter, as well solid as fluid, of which his body is\ncomposed--or those exterior causes, which, by acting upon him, modify\nhim diversely; such as the air with which he is encompassed, the\naliments by which he is nourished, and all those objects from which\nhe receives any impulse whatever, by the impression they make on his\nsenses.\n\nMan, like all other beings in Nature, tends to his own destruction--he\nexperiences inert force--he gravitates upon himself--he is attracted by\nobjects that are contrary or repugnant to his existence--he seeks after\nsome--he flies, or endeavours to remove himself from others. It is this\nvariety of action, this diversity of modification of which the human\nbeing is susceptible, that has been designated under such different\nnames, by such varied nomenclature. It will be necessary, presently, to\nexamine these closely and go more into detail.\n\nHowever marvellous, however hidden, however secret, however complicated\nmay be the modes of action, which the human frame undergoes, whether\ninteriorly or exteriorly; whatever may be, or appear to be the impulse\nhe either receives or communicates, examined closely, it will be found\nthat all his motion, all his operations, all his changes, all his\nvarious states, all his revolutions, are constantly regulated by the\nsame laws, which Nature has prescribed to all the beings she brings\nforth--which she developes--which she enriches with faculties--of which\nshe increases the bulk--which she conserves for a season--which she ends\nby decomposing, by destroying: obliging them to change their form.\n\nMan, in his origin, is an imperceptible point, a speck, of which the\nparts are without form; of which the mobility, the life, escapes his\nsenses; in short, in which he does not perceive any sign of those\nqualities, called SENTIMENT, FEELING, THOUGHT, INTELLIGENCE, FORCE,\nREASON, &c. Placed in the womb suitable to his expansion, this point\nunfolds, extends, increases, by the continual addition of matter he\nattracts, that is analogous to his being, which consequently assimilates\nitself with him. Having quitted this womb, so appropriate to conserve\nhis existence, to unfold his qualities, to strengthen his habits; so\ncompetent to give, for a season, consistence to the weak rudiments of\nhis frame; he travels through the stage of infancy; he becomes adult:\nhis body has then acquired a considerable extension of bulk, his motion\nis marked, his action is visible, he is sensible in all his parts; he is\na living, an active mass; that is to say, a combination that feels and\nthinks; that fulfils the functions peculiar to beings of his species.\nBut how has he become sensible? Because he has been by degrees\nnourished, enlarged, repaired by the continual attraction that takes\nplace within himself, of that kind of matter which is pronounced inert,\ninsensible, inanimate; which is, nevertheless, continually combining\nitself with his machine; of which it forms an active whole, that is\nliving, that feels, judges, reasons, wills, deliberates, chooses,\nelects; that has the capability of labouring, more or less\nefficaciously, to his own individual preservation; that is to say, to\nthe maintenance of the harmony of his existence.\n\nAll the motion and changes that man experiences in the course of his\nlife, whether it be from exterior objects or from those substances\ncontained within himself, are either favorable or prejudicial to his\nexistence; either maintain its order, or throw it into confusion; are\neither in conformity with, or repugnant to, the essential tendency of\nhis peculiar mode of being. He is compelled by Nature to approve of\nsome, to disapprove of others; some of necessity render him happy,\nothers contribute to his misery; some become the objects of his most\nardent desire, others of his determined aversion: some elicit his\nconfidence, others make him tremble with fear.\n\nIn all the phenomena man presents, from the moment he quits the womb\nof his mother, to that wherein he becomes the inhabitant of the silent\ntomb, he perceives nothing but a succession of necessary causes and\neffects, which are strictly conformable to those laws that are common\nto all the beings in Nature. All his modes of action--all his\nsensations--all his ideas--all his passions--every act of his\nwill--every impulse which he either gives or receives, are the necessary\nconsequences of his own peculiar properties, and those which he finds in\nthe various beings by whom he is moved. Every thing he does--every thing\nthat passes within himself--his concealed motion--his visible action,\nare the effects of inert force--of self-gravitation--the attractive or\nrepulsive powers contained in his machine--of the tendency he has, in\ncommon with other beings, to his own individual preservation; in short,\nof that energy which is the common property of every being he beholds.\nNature, in man, does nothing more than shew, in a decided manner, what\nbelongs to the peculiar nature by which he is distinguished from the\nbeings of a different system or order.\n\nThe source of those errors into which man has fallen, when he has\ncontemplated himself, has its rise, as will presently be shown, in the\nopinion he has entertained, that he moved by himself--that he always\nacts by his own natural energy--that in his actions, in the will that\ngave him impulse, he was independent of the general laws of Nature; and\nof those objects which, frequently, without his knowledge, always in\nspite of him, in obedience to these laws, are continually acting upon\nhim. If he had examined himself attentively, he must have acknowledged,\nthat none of the motion he underwent was spontaneous--he must have\ndiscovered, that even his birth depended on causes, wholly out of the\nreach of his own powers--that, it was without his own consent he entered\ninto the system in which he occupies a place--that, from the moment\nin which he is born, until that in which he dies, he is continually\nimpelled by causes, which, in spite of himself, influence his frame,\nmodify his existence, dispose of his conduct. Would not the slightest\nreflection have sufficed to prove to him, that the fluids, the solids,\nof which his body is composed, as well as that concealed mechanism,\nwhich he believes to be independent of exterior causes, are, in fact,\nperpetually under the influence of these causes; that without them he\nfinds himself in a total incapacity to act? Would he not have seen,\nthat his temperament, his constitution, did in no wise depend on\nhimself--that his passions are the necessary consequence of this\ntemperament--that his will is influenced, his actions determined by\nthese passions; consequently by opinions, which he has not given to\nhimself, of which he is not the master? His blood, more or less heated\nor abundant; his nerves more or less braced, his fibres more or less\nrelaxed, give him dispositions either transitory or durable--are not\nthese, at every moment decisive of his ideas; of his thoughts: of his\ndesires: of his fears: of his motion, whether visible or concealed? The\nstate in which he finds himself, does it not necessarily depend on the\nair which surrounds him diversely modified; on the various properties\nof the aliments which nourish him; on the secret combinations that form\nthemselves in his machine, which either preserve its order, or throw it\ninto confusion? In short, had man fairly studied himself, every thing\nmust have convinced him, that in every moment of his duration, he was\nnothing more than a passive instrument in the hands of necessity.\n\nThus it must appear, that where all is connected, where all the causes\nare linked one to the other, where the whole forms but one immense\nchain, there cannot be any independent, any isolated energy; any\ndetached power. It follows then, that Nature, always in action, marks\nout to man each point of the line he is bound to describe; establishes\nthe route, by which he must travel. It is Nature that elaborates, that\ncombines the elements of which he must be composed;--It is Nature that\ngives him his being, his tendency, his peculiar mode of action. It is\nNature that develops him, expands him, strengthens him, increases his\nbulk--preserves him for a season, during which he is obliged to fulfil\nthe task imposed on him. It is Nature, that in his journey through life,\nstrews on the road those objects, those events; those adventures,\nthat modify him in a variety of ways, that give him impulses which\nare sometimes agreeable and beneficial, at others prejudicial and\ndisagreeable. It is Nature, that in giving him feeling, in supplying him\nwith sentiment, has endowed him with capacity to choose, the means to\nelect those objects, to take those methods that are most conducive, most\nsuitable, most natural, to his conservation. It is Nature, who when he\nhas run his race, when he has finished his career, when he has\ndescribed the circle marked out for him, conducts him in his turn to\nhis destruction; dissolves the union of his elementary particles,\nand obliges him to undergo the constant, the universal law; from the\noperation of which nothing is exempted. It is thus, motion places man in\nthe matrix of his mother; brings him forth out of her womb; sustains\nhim for a season; at length destroys him; obliges him to return into\nthe bosom of Nature; who speedily reproduces him, scattered under an\ninfinity of forms; in which each of his particles run over again, in the\nsame manner, the different stages, as necessary as the whole had before\nrun over those of his preceding existence.\n\nThe beings of the human species, as well as all other beings, are\nsusceptible of two sorts of motion: the one, that of the mass, by which\nan entire body, or some of its parts, are visibly transferred from one\nplace to another; the other, internal and concealed, of some of which\nman is sensible, while some takes place without his knowledge, and is\nnot even to be guessed at, but by the effect it outwardly produces. In a\nmachine so extremely complex as man, formed by the combination of such\na multiplicity of matter, so diversified in its properties, so different\nin its proportions, so varied in its modes of action, the motion\nnecessarily becomes of the most complicated kind; its dullness, as well\nas its rapidity, frequently escapes the observation of those themselves,\nin whom it takes place.\n\nLet us not, then, be surprised, if, when man would account to himself\nfor his existence, for his manner of acting, finding so many obstacles\nto encounter, he invented such strange hypotheses to explain the\nconcealed spring of his machine--if then this motion appeared to him,\nto be different from that of other bodies, he conceived an idea, that he\nmoved and acted in a manner altogether distinct from the other beings in\nNature. He clearly perceived that his body, as well as different parts\nof it, did act; but, frequently, he was unable to discover what\nbrought them into action: from whence he received the impulse: he then\nconjectured he contained within himself a moving principle distinguished\nfrom his machine, which secretly gave an impulse to the springs which\nset this machine in motion; that moved him by its own natural energy;\nthat consequently he acted according to laws totally distinct from those\nwhich regulated the motion of other beings: he was conscious of certain\ninternal motion, which he could not help feeling; but how could he\nconceive, that this invisible motion was so frequently competent to\nproduce such striking effects? How could he comprehend, that a fugitive\nidea, an imperceptible act of thought, was so frequently capacitated\nto bring his whole being into trouble and confusion? He fell into the\nbelief, that he perceived within himself a substance distinguished from\nthat self, endowed with a secret force; in which he supposed existed\nqualities distinctly differing from those, of either the visible\ncauses that acted on his organs, or those organs themselves. He did not\nsufficiently understand, that the primitive cause which makes a stone\nfall, or his arm move, are perhaps as difficult of comprehension,\nas arduous to be explained, as those internal impulses, of which his\nthought or his will are the effects. Thus, for want of meditating\nNature--of considering her under her true point of view--of remarking\nthe conformity--of noticing the simultaneity, the unity of the motion\nof this fancied motive-power with that of his body--of his material\norgans--he conjectured he was not only a distinct being, but that he was\nset apart, with different energies, from all the other beings in Nature;\nthat he was of a more simple essence having nothing in common with any\nthing by which he was surrounded; nothing that connected him with all\nthat he beheld.\n\nIt is from thence has successively sprung his notions of SPIRITUALITY,\nIMMATERIALITY, IMMORTALITY; in short, all those vague unmeaning words\nhe has invented by degrees, in order to subtilize and designate the\nattributes of the unknown power, which he believes he contains within\nhimself; which he conjectures to be the concealed principle of all his\nvisible actions when man once imbibes an idea that he cannot comprehend,\nhe meditates upon it until he has given it a complete personification:\nThus he saw, or fancied he saw, the igneous matter pervade every thing;\nhe conjectured that it was the only principle of life and activity; he\nproceeded to embody it; he gave it his own form; called it JUPITER, and\nended by worshipping this image of his own creation, as the power from\nwhom he derived every good he experienced, every evil he sustained.\nTo crown the bold conjectures he ventured to make on this internal\nmotive-power, he supposed, that different from all other beings, even\nfrom the body that served to envelope it, it was not bound to undergo\ndissolution; that such was its perfect simplicity, that it could not\nbe decomposed, nor even change its form; in short, that it was by\nits essence exempted from those revolutions to which he saw the body\nsubjected, as well as all the compound beings with which Nature is\nfilled.\n\nThus man, in his own ideas, became double; he looked upon himself as a\nwhole, composed by the inconceivable assemblage of two different, two\ndistinct natures, which have no point of analogy between themselves: he\ndistinguished two substances in himself; one evidently submitted to\nthe influence of gross beings, composed of coarse inert matter: this\nhe called BODY;--the other, which he supposed to be simple, of a purer\nessence, was contemplated as acting from itself: giving motion to the\nbody, with which it found itself so miraculously united: this he called\nSOUL, or SPIRIT; the functions of the one, he denominated _physical,\ncorporeal, material_; the functions of the other he styled _spiritual,\nintellectual._ Man, considered relatively to the first, was termed the\nPHYSICAL MAN; viewed with relation to the last, he was designated the\nMORAL MAN. These distinctions, although adopted by the greater number of\nthe philosophers of the present day, are, nevertheless, only founded\non gratuitous suppositions. Man has always believed he remedied his\nignorance of things, by inventing words to which he could never attach\nany true sense or meaning. He imagined he understood matter, its\nproperties, its faculties, its resources, its different combinations,\nbecause he had a superficial glimpse of some of its qualities: he has,\nhowever, in reality, done nothing more than obscure the faint ideas he\nhas been capacitated to form of this matter, by associating it with a\nsubstance much less intelligible than itself. It is thus, speculative\nman, in forming words, in multiplying beings, has only plunged himself\ninto greater difficulties than those he endeavoured to avoid; and\nthereby placed obstacles to the progress of his knowledge: whenever he\nhas been deficient of facts, he has had recourse to conjecture, which he\nquickly changed into fancied realities. Thus, his imagination, no longer\nguided by experience, hurried on by his new ideas, was lost, without\nhope of return, in the labyrinth of an ideal, of an intellectual world,\nto which he had himself given birth; it was next to impossible to\nwithdraw him from this delusion, to place him in the right road, of\nwhich nothing but experience can furnish him the clue. Nature points out\nto man, that in himself, as well as in all those objects which act upon\nhim, there is never more than matter endowed with various properties,\ndiversely modified, that acts by reason of these properties: that man is\nan organized whole, composed of a variety of matter; that like all the\nother productions of Nature, he follows general and known laws, as\nwell as those laws or modes of action which are peculiar to himself and\nunknown.\n\nThus, when it shall be inquired, what is man?\n\nWe say, he is a material being, organized after a peculiar manner;\nconformed to a certain mode of thinking--of feeling; capable\nof modification in certain modes peculiar to himself--to his\norganization--to that particular combination of matter which is found\nassembled in him.\n\nIf, again, it be asked, what origin we give to beings of the human\nspecies?\n\nWe reply, that, like all other beings, man is a production of Nature,\nwho resembles them in some respects, and finds himself submitted to\nthe same laws; who differs from them in other respects, and follows\nparticular laws, determined by the diversity of his conformation.\n\nIf, then, it be demanded, whence came man?\n\nWe answer, our experience on this head does not capacitate us to resolve\nthe question: but that it cannot interest us, as it suffices for us to\nknow that man exists; that he is so constituted, as to be competent to\nthe effects we witness.\n\nBut it will be urged, has man always existed? Has the human species\nexisted from all eternity; or is it only an instantaneous production of\nNature? Have there been always men like ourselves? Will there always\nbe such? Have there been, in all times, males and females? Was there a\nfirst man, from whom all others are descended? Was the animal anterior\nto the egg, or did the egg precede the animal? Is this species without\nbeginning? Will it also be without end? The species itself, is it\nindestructible, or does it pass away like its individuals? Has man\nalways been what he now is; or has he, before he arrived at the state in\nwhich we see him, been obliged to pass under an infinity of successive\ndevelopements? Can man at last flatter himself with having arrived at\na fixed being, or must the human species again change? If man is the\nproduction of Nature, it will perhaps be asked, Is this Nature competent\nto the production of new beings, to make the old species disappear?\nAdopting this supposition, it may be inquired, why Nature does not\nproduce under our own eyes new beings--new species?\n\nIt would appear on reviewing these questions, to be perfectly\nindifferent, as to the stability of the argument we have used, which\nside was taken; that, for want of experience, hypothesis must settle a\ncuriosity that always endeavours to spring forward beyond the boundaries\nprescribed to our mind. This granted, the contemplator of Nature will\nsay, that he sees no contradiction, in supposing the human species, such\nas it is at the present day, was either produced in the course of time,\nor from all eternity: he will not perceive any advantage that can arise\nfrom supposing that it has arrived by different stages, or successive\ndevelopements, to that state in which it is actually found. Matter is\neternal, it is necessary, but its forms are evanescent and contingent.\nIt may be asked of man, is he any thing more than matter combined, of\nwhich the former varies every instant?\n\nNotwithstanding, some reflections seem to favor the supposition, to\nrender more probable the hypothesis, that man is a production formed in\nthe course of time; who is peculiar to the globe he inhabits, who is the\nresult of the peculiar laws by which it is directed; who, consequently,\ncan only date his formation as coeval with that of his planet. Existence\nis essential to the universe, or the total assemblage of matter\nessentially varied that presents itself to our contemplation; the\ncombinations, the forms, however, are not essential. This granted,\nalthough the matter of which the earth is composed has always existed,\nthis earth may not always have had its present form--its actual\nproperties; perhaps it may be a mass detached in the course of time from\nsome other celestial body;--perhaps it is the result of the spots, or\nthose encrustations which astronomers discover in the sun's disk,\nwhich have had the faculty to diffuse themselves over our planetary\nsystem;--perhaps the sphere we inhabit may be an extinguished or a\ndisplaced comet, which heretofore occupied some other place in the\nregions of space;--which, consequently, was then competent to produce\nbeings very different from those we now behold spread over its surface;\nseeing that its then position, its nature, must have rendered its\nproductions different from those which at this day it offers to our\nview.\n\nWhatever may be the supposition adopted, plants, animals, men, can only\nbe regarded as productions inherent in and natural to our globe, in the\nposition and in the circumstances in which it is actually found: these\nproductions it would be reasonable to infer would be changed, if this\nglobe by any revolution should happen to shift its situation. What\nappears to strengthen this hypothesis, is, that on our ball itself, all\nthe productions vary, by reason of its different climates: men, animals,\nvegetables, minerals, are not the same on every part of it: they vary\nsometimes in a very sensible manner, at very inconsiderable distances.\nThe elephant is indigenous to, or native of the torrid zone: the rein\ndeer is peculiar to the frozen climates of the North; Indostan is the\nwomb that matures the diamond; we do not find it produced in our own\ncountry: the pine-apple grows in the common atmosphere of America; in\nour climate it is never produced in the open ground, never until art has\nfurnished a sun analogous to that which it requires--the European in his\nown climate finds not this delicious fruit. Man in different climates\nvaries in his colour, in his size, in his conformation, in his powers,\nin his industry, in his courage, and in the faculties of his mind. But,\nwhat is it that constitutes climate? It is the different position of\nparts of the same globe, relatively to the sun; positions that suffice\nto make a sensible variety in its productions.\n\nThere is, then, sufficient foundation to conjecture that if by any\naccident our globe should become displaced, all its productions would of\nnecessity be changed; seeing that causes being no longer the same, or\nno longer acting after the same manner, the effects would necessarily no\nlonger be what they now are, all productions, that they may be able to\nconserve themselves, or maintain their actual existence, have occasion\nto co-order themselves with the whole from which they have emanated.\nWithout this they would no longer be in a capacity to subsist: it is\nthis faculty of co-ordering themselves,--this relative adaption, which\nis called the ORDER OF THE UNIVERSE: the want of it is called CONFUSION.\nThose productions which are treated as MONSTROUS, are such as are unable\nto co-order themselves with the general or particular laws of the beings\nwho surround them, or with the whole in which they find themselves\nplaced: they have had the faculty in their formation to accommodate\nthemselves to these laws; but these very laws are opposed to their\nperfection: for this reason they are unable to subsist. It is thus that\nby a certain analogy of conformation, which exists between animals of\ndifferent species, mules are easily produced; but these mules, unable to\nco-order themselves with the beings that surround them, are not able to\nreach perfection, consequently cannot propagate their species. Man can\nlive only in air, fish only in water: put the man into the water, the\nfish into the air, not being able to co-order themselves with the fluids\nwhich surround them, these animals will quickly be destroyed. Transport\nby imagination, a man from our planet into SATURN, his lungs will\npresently be rent by an atmosphere too rarified for his mode of being,\nhis members will be frozen with the intensity of the cold; he will\nperish for want of finding elements analogous to his actual existence:\ntransport another into MERCURY, the excess of heat, beyond what his mode\nof existence can bear, will quickly destroy him.\n\nThus, every thing seems to authorise the conjecture, that the human\nspecies is a production peculiar to our sphere, in the position in which\nit is found: that when this position may happen to change, the human\nspecies will, of consequence, either be changed or will be obliged to\ndisappear; seeing that there would not then be that with which man could\nco-order himself with the whole, or connect himself with that which can\nenable him to subsist. It is this aptitude in man to co-order himself\nwith the whole, that not only furnishes him with the idea of order, but\nalso makes him exclaim \"_whatever is, is right_;\" whilst every thing is\nonly that which it can be, as long as the whole is necessarily what it\nis; whilst it is positively neither good nor bad, as we understand those\nterms: it is only requisite to displace a man, to make him accuse the\nuniverse of confusion.\n\nThese reflections would appear to contradict the ideas of those, who\nare willing to conjecture that the other planets, like our own, are\ninhabited by beings resembling ourselves. But if the LAPLANDER differs\nin so marked a manner from the HOTTENTOT, what difference ought we not\nrationally to suppose between an inhabitant of our planet and one of\nSATURN or of VENUS?\n\nHowever it may be, if we are obliged to recur by imagination to the\norigin of things, to the infancy of the human species, we may say that\nit is probable that man was a necessary consequence of the disentangling\nof our globe; or one of the results of the qualities, of the\nproperties, of the energies, of which it is susceptible in its present\nposition--that he was born male and female--that his existence is\nco-ordinate with that of the globe, under its present position--that as\nlong as this co-ordination shall subsist, the human specie will conserve\nhimself, will propagate himself, according to the impulse, after\nthe primitive laws, which he has originally received--that if this\nco-ordination should happen to cease; if the earth, displaced, should\ncease to receive the same impulse, the same influence, on the part of\nthose causes which actually act upon it, or which give it energy; that\nthen the human species would change, to make place for new beings,\nsuitable to co-order themselves with the state that should succeed to\nthat which we now see subsist.\n\nIn thus supposing the changes in the position of our globe, the\nprimitive man did, perhaps, differ more from the actual man, than the\nquadruped differs from the insect. Thus man, the same as every thing\nelse that exists on our planet, as well as in all the others, may be\nregarded as in a state of continual vicissitude: thus the last term of\nthe existence of man is to us as unknown and as indistinct as the first:\nthere is, therefore, no contradiction in the belief that the species\nvary incessantly--that to us it is as impossible to know what he will\nbecome, as to know what he has been.\n\nWith respect to those who may ask why Nature does not produce new\nbeings? we may enquire of them in turn, upon what foundation they\nsuppose this fact? What it is that authorizes them to believe this\nsterility in Nature? Know they if, in the various combinations which\nshe is every instant forming, Nature be not occupied in producing new\nbeings, without the cognizance of these observers? Who has informed them\nthat this Nature is not actually assembling, in her immense elaboratory,\nthe elements suitable to bring to light, generations entirely new,\nthat will have nothing in common with those of the species at present\nexisting? What absurdity then, or what want of just inference would\nthere be, to imagine that the man, the horse, the fish, the bird, will\nbe no more? Are these animals so indispensably requisite to Nature, that\nwithout them she cannot continue her eternal course? Does not all change\naround us? Do we not ourselves change? Is it not evident that the whole\nuniverse has not been, in its anterior eternal duration, rigorously the\nsame that it now is? that it is impossible, in its posterior eternal\nduration, it can be rigidly in the same state that it now is for a\nsingle instant? How, then, pretend to divine that, to which the\ninfinite succession of destruction, of reproduction, of combination, of\ndissolution, of metamorphosis, of change, of transposition, may be able\neventually to conduct it by their consequence? Suns encrust themselves,\nand are extinguished; planets perish and disperse themselves in the vast\nplains of air; other suns are kindled, and illumine their systems; new\nplanets form themselves, either to make revolutions round these suns,\nor to describe new routes; and man, an infinitely small portion of the\nglobe, which is itself but an imperceptible point in the immensity\nof space, vainly believes it is for himself this universe is made;\nfoolishly imagines he ought to be the confident of Nature; confidently\nflatters himself he is eternal: and calls himself KING OF THE\nUNIVERSE!!!\n\nO man! wilt thou never conceive, that thou art but an ephemeron? All\nchanges in the great macrocosm: nothing remains the same an instant, in\nthe planet thou inhabitest: Nature contains no one constant form, yet\nthou pretendest thy species can never disappear; that thou shalt be\nexempted from the universal law, that wills all shall experience\nchange! Alas! In thy actual being, art not thou submitted to continual\nalterations? Thou, who in thy folly, arrogantly assumest to thyself the\ntitle of KING OF NATURE! Thou, who measurest the earth and the heavens!\nThou, who in thy vanity imaginest, that the whole was made, because thou\nart intelligent! There requires but a very slight accident, a single\natom to be displaced, to make thee perish; to degrade thee; to ravish\nfrom thee this intelligence of which thou appearest so proud.\n\nIf all the preceding conjectures be refused by those opposed to us; if\nit be pretended that Nature acts by a certain quantum of immutable and\ngeneral laws; if it be believed that men, quadrupeds, fish, insects,\nplants, are from all eternity, and will remain eternally, what they now\nare: if I say it be contended, that from all eternity the stars have\nshone, in the immense regions of space, have illuminated the firmament;\nif it be insisted, we must no more demand why man is such as he appears,\nthen ask why Nature is such as we behold her, or why the world exists?\nWe are no longer opposed to such arguments. Whatever may be the system\nadopted, it will perhaps reply equally well to the difficulties with\nwhich our opponents endeavour to embarrass the way: examined closely, it\nwill be perceived they make nothing against those truths, which we have\ngathered from experience. It is not given to man to know every thing--it\nis not given him to know his origin--it is not given him to penetrate\ninto the essence of things, nor to recur to first principles--but it is\ngiven him, to have reason, to have honesty, to ingenuously allow he\nis ignorant of that which he cannot know, and not to substitute\nunintelligible words, absurd suppositions, for his uncertainty. Thus, we\nsay to those, who to solve difficulties far above their reach, pretend\nthat the human species descended from a first man and a first woman,\ncreated diversely according to different creeds;--that we have some\nideas of Nature, but that we have none of creation;--that the human mind\nis incapable of comprehending the period when all was nothing;--that to\nuse words we cannot understand, is only in other terms to acknowledge\nour ignorance of the powers of Nature;--that we are unable to fathom\nthe means by which she has been capacitated to produce the phenomena we\nbehold.\n\nLet us then conclude, that man has no just, no solid reason to believe\nhimself a privileged being in Nature; because he is subject to the same\nvicissitudes, as all her other productions. His pretended prerogatives\nhave their foundation in error, arising from mistaken opinions\nconcerning his existence. Let him but elevate himself by his thoughts\nabove the globe he inhabits, he will look upon his own species with\nthe same eyes he does all other beings in Nature: He will then clearly\nperceive that in the same manner that each tree produces its fruit, by\nreason of its energies, in consequence of its species: so each man acts\nby reason of his particular energy; that he produces fruit, actions,\nworks, equally necessary: he will feel that the illusion which he\nanticipates in favour of himself, arises from his being, at one and the\nsame time, a spectator and a part of the universe. He will acknowledge,\nthat the idea of excellence which he attaches to his being, has no other\nfoundation than his own peculiar interest; than the predilection he\nhas in favour of himself--that the doctrine he has broached with such\nseeming confidence, bottoms itself on a very suspicious foundation,\nnamely IGNORANCE and SELF-LOVE.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. VII.\n\n_The Soul and the Spiritual System_.\n\n\nMan, after having gratuitously supposed himself composed of two distinct\nindependent substances, that have no common properties, relatively with\neach other; has pretended, as we have seen, that that which actuated him\ninteriorly, that motion which is invisible, that impulse which is\nplaced within himself, is essentially different from those which act\nexteriorly. The first he designated, as we have already said, by the\nname of a SPIRIT or a SOUL. If however it be asked, what is a spirit?\nThe moderns will reply, that the whole fruit of their metaphysical\nresearches is limited to learning that this motive-power, which they\nstate to be the spring of man's action, is a substance of an unknown\nnature; so simple, so indivisible, so deprived of extent, so invisible,\nso impossible to be discovered by the senses, that its parts cannot be\nseparated, even by abstraction or thought. The question then arises, how\ncan we conceive such a substance, which is only the negation of every\nthing of which we have a knowledge? How form to ourselves an idea of a\nsubstance, void of extent, yet acting on our senses; that is to say,\non those organs which are material, which have extent? How can a\nbeing without extent be moveable; how put matter in action? How can a\nsubstance devoid of parts, correspond successively with different parts\nof space? But a very cogent question presents itself on this occasion:\nif this distinct substance that is said to form one of the component\nparts of man, be really what it is reported, and if it be not, it is\nnot what it is described; if it be unknown, if it be not pervious to\nthe senses; if it be invisible, by what means did the metaphysicians\nthemselves become acquainted with it? How did they form ideas of a\nsubstance, that taking their own account of it, is not, under any of its\ncircumstances, either directly or by analogy, cognizable to the mind of\nman? If they could positively achieve this, there would no longer be any\nmystery in Nature: it would be as easy to conceive the time when all was\nnothing, when all shall have passed away, to account for the\nproduction of every thing we behold, as to dig in a garden or read a\nlecture.--Doubt would vanish from the human species; there could no\nlonger be any difference of opinion, since all must necessarily be of\none mind on a subject so accessible to every enquirer.\n\nBut it will be replied, the materialist himself admits, the natural\nphilosophers of all ages have admitted, elements and atoms, beings\nsimple and indivisible, of which bodies are composed:--granted; they\nhave no more: they have also admitted that many of these atoms, many\nof these elements, if not all, are unknown to them: nevertheless, these\nsimple beings, these atoms of the materialist, are not the same thing\nwith the spirit, or the soul of the metaphysician. When the natural\nphilosopher talks of atoms--when he describes them as simple beings,\nhe indicates nothing more than that they are homogeneous, pure, without\nmixture: but then he allows that they have extent, consequently parts,\nare separable by thought, although no other natural agent with which\nhe is acquainted is capable of dividing them: that the simple beings\nof this genus are susceptible of motion--can impart action--receive\nimpulse--are material--are placed in Nature--are indestructible;--that\nconsequently, if he cannot know them from themselves, he can form some\nidea of them by analogy: thus he has done that intelligibly, which the\nmetaphysician would do unintelligibly: the latter, with a view to render\nman immortal, finding difficulties to his wish, from seeing that\nthe body decayed--that it has submitted to the great, the universal\nlaw--has, to solve the difficulty, to remove the impediment, given him a\nsoul, distinct from the body, which he says is exempted from the action\nof the general law: to account for this, he has called it a spiritual\nbeing, whose properties are the negation of all known properties,\nconsequently inconceivable: had he, however, had recourse to the atoms\nof the former--had he made this substance the last possible term of the\ndivision of matter--it would at least have been intelligible; it would\nalso have been immortal, since, according to the reasonings of all men,\nwhether metaphysicians, theologians, or natural philosophers, an atom is\nan indestructible element, that must exist to all eternity.\n\nAll men are agreed in this position, that motion is the successive\nchange of the relations of one body with other bodies, or with\nthe different parts of space. If that which is called _spirit_ be\nsusceptible of communicating or receiving motion--if it acts--if\nit gives play to the organs of body--to produce these effects, it\nnecessarily follows that this being changes successively its relation,\nits tendency, its correspondence, the position of its parts, either\nrelatively to the different points of space, or to the different organs\nof the body which it puts in action: but to change its relation\nwith space, with the organs to which it gives impulse, it follows of\nnecessity that this spirit most have extent, solidity, consequently\ndistinct parts: whenever a substance possesses these qualities, it\nis what we call MATTER, it can no longer be regarded as a simple pure\nbeing, in the sense attached to it by the moderns, or by theologians.\n\nThus it will be seen, that those who, to conquer insurmountable\ndifficulties, have supposed in man an immaterial substance,\ndistinguished from his body, have not thoroughly understood themselves;\nindeed they have done nothing more than imagined a negative quality,\nof which they cannot have any correct idea: matter alone is capable of\nacting on our senses; without this action nothing would be capable\nof making itself known to us. They have not seen that a being without\nextent is neither in a capacity to move itself, nor has the capability\nof communicating motion to the body; since such a being, having no\nparts, has not the faculty of changing its relation, or its distance,\nrelatively to other bodies, nor of exciting motion in the human body,\nwhich is itself material. That which is called our soul moves itself\nwith us; now motion is a property of matter--this soul gives impulse to\nthe arm; the arm, moved by it, makes an impression, a blow, that follows\nthe general law of motion: in this case, the force remaining the same,\nif the mass was two-fold, the blow should be double. This soul again\nevinces its materiality in the invincible obstacles it encounters on\nthe part of the body. If the arm be moved by its impulse when nothing\nopposes it, yet this arm can no longer move, when it is charged with\na weight beyond its strength. Here then is a mass of matter that\nannihilates the impulse given by a spiritual cause, which spiritual\ncause having no analogy with matter, ought not to find more difficulty\nin moving the whole world, than in moving a single atom, nor an atom,\nthan the universe. From this, it is fair to conclude, such a substance\nis a chimera--a being of the imagination. That it required a being\ndifferently endowed, differently constituted, to set matter in\nmotion--to create all the phenomena we behold: nevertheless, it is a\nbeing the metaphysicians have made the contriver, the Author of Nature.\nAs man, in all his speculations, takes himself for the model, he no\nsooner imagined a spirit within himself, than giving it extent, he\nmade it universal; then ascribed to it all those causes with which his\nignorance prevents him from becoming acquainted, thus he identified\nhimself with the Author of Nature--then availed himself of the\nsupposition to explain the connection of the soul with the body: his\nself-complacency prevented his perceiving that he was only enlarging the\ncircle of his errors, by pretending to understand that which it is\nmore than possible he will never be permitted to know; his self-love\nprevented him from feeling, that whenever he punished another for not\nthinking as he did, that he committed the greatest injustice, unless he\nwas satisfactorily able to prove that other wrong, and himself right:\nthat if he himself was obliged to have recourse to hypothesis--to\ngratuitous suppositions, whereon to found his doctrine, that from the\nvery fallibility of his nature, these might be erroneous: thus GALLILEO\nwas persecuted, because the metaphysicians, the theologians of his day,\nchose to make others believe what it was evident they did not themselves\nunderstand.\n\nAs soon as I feel an impulse, or experience motion, I am under the\nnecessity to acknowledge extent, solidity, density, impenetrability in\nthe substance I see move, or from which I receive impulse: thus, when\naction is attributed to any cause whatever, I am obliged to consider\nit MATERIAL. I may be ignorant of its individual nature, of its mode\nof action, or of its generic properties; but I cannot deceive myself in\ngeneral properties, which are common to all matter: this ignorance will\nonly be increased, when I shall take that for granted of a being, of\nwhich from that moment I am precluded by what I admit from forming any\nidea, which moreover deprives it completely either of the faculty of\nmoving itself, giving an impulse, or acting. Thus, according to the\nreceived idea of the term, a spiritual substance that moves itself, that\ngives motion to matter, and that acts, implies a contradiction, that\nnecessarily infers a total impossibility.\n\nThe partizans of spirituality believe they answer the difficulties they\nhave accumulated, by asserting that \"_the soul is entire--is whole under\neach point of its extent_.\" If an absurd answer will solve difficulties,\nthey certainly have done it. But let us examine this reply:--it will\nbe found that this indivisible part which is called soul, however\ninsensible or however minute, must yet remain something: then an\ninfinity of unextended substances, or the same substance having no\ndimensions, repeated an infinity of times, would constitute a substance\nthat has extent: this cannot be what they mean, because according to\nthis principle, the human soul would then be as infinite as the Author\nof Nature; seeing that they have stated this to be a being without\nextent, who is an infinity of times whole in each part of the universe.\nBut when there shall appear as much solidity in the answer as there is\na want of it, it must be acknowledged that in whatever manner the spirit\nor the soul finds itself in its extent, when the body moves forward the\nsoul does not remain behind; if so, it has a quality in common with\nthe body, peculiar to matter; since it is conveyed from place to place\njointly with the body. Thus, when even the soul should be admitted to\nbe immaterial, what conclusion must be drawn? Entirely submitted to the\nmotion of the body, without this body it would remain dead and inert.\nThis soul would only be part of a two-fold machine, necessarily impelled\nforward by a concatenation, or connection with the whole. It would\nresemble a bird, which a child conducts at its pleasure, by the string\nwith which it is bound.\n\nThus, it is for want of consulting experience, by not attending to\nreason, that man has darkened his ideas upon the concealed principle of\nhis motion. If, disentangled from prejudice--if, destitute of gratuitous\nsuppositions--if, throwing aside error, he would contemplate his soul,\nor the moving principle that acts within him, he would be convinced that\nit forms a part of its body, that it cannot be distinguished from\nit, but by abstraction; that it is only the body itself, considered\nrelatively with some of its functions, or with those faculties of which\nits nature, or its peculiar organization, renders it susceptible:--he\nwill perceive that this soul is obliged to undergo the same changes as\nthe body; that it is born with it; that it expands itself with it;\nthat like the body, it passes through a state of infancy, a period of\nweakness, a season of inexperience; that it enlarges itself, that it\nstrengthens itself, in the same progression; that like the body, it\narrives at an adult age or reaches maturity; that it is then, and not\ntill then, it obtains the faculty of fulfilling certain functions; that\nit is in this stage, and in no other, that it enjoys reason; that it\ndisplays more or less wit, judgment, and manly activity; that like the\nbody, it is subject to those vicissitudes which exterior causes obliges\nit to undergo by their influence; that, conjointly with the body, it\nsuffers, enjoys, partakes of its pleasures, shares its pains, is sound\nwhen the body is healthy, and diseased when the body is oppressed\nwith sickness; that like the body, it is continually modified by the\ndifferent degrees of density in the atmosphere; by the variety of the\nseasons, and by the various properties of the aliments received into\nthe stomach: in short, he would be obliged to acknowledge that at some\nperiods it manifests visible signs of torpor, stupefaction, decrepitude,\nand death.\n\nIn despite of this analogy, or rather this continual identity, of\nthe soul with the body, man has been desirous of distinguishing their\nessence; he has therefore made the soul an inconceivable being: but\nin order that he might form to himself some idea of it, he was,\nnotwithstanding, obliged to have recourse to material beings, and to\ntheir manner of acting. The word _spirit_, therefore, presents to the\nmind no other ideas than those of breathing, of respiration, of wind.\nThus, when it is said the _soul is a spirit_, it really means nothing\nmore than that its mode of action is like that of breathing: which\nthough invisible in itself, or acting without being seen, nevertheless\nproduces very visible effects. But breath, it is acknowledged, is a\nmaterial cause; it is allowed to be air modified; it is not, therefore,\na simple or pure substance, such as the moderns designate under the name\nof SPIRIT.\n\nIt is rather singular that in the Hebrew, the Greek, and the Latin, the\nsynonymy, or corresponding term for spirit should signify _breath_.\nThe metaphysicians themselves can best say why they have adopted such\na word, to designate the substance they have distinguished from matter:\nsome of them, fearful they should not have distinct beings enough, have\ngone farther, and compounded man of three substances, BODY, SOUL, and\nINTELLECT.\n\nAlthough the word _spirit_ is so very ancient among men, the sense\nattached to it by the moderns is quite new: the idea of spirituality, as\nadmitted at this day, is a recent production of the imagination. Neither\nPYTHAGORAS nor PLATO, however heated their brain, however decided\ntheir taste for the marvellous, appear to have understood by spirit an\nimmaterial substance, or one without extent, devoid of parts; such as\nthat of which the moderns have formed the human soul, the concealed\nauthor of motion. The ancients, by the word spirit, were desirous to\ndefine matter of an extreme subtilty, of a purer quality than that which\nacted grossly on our senses. In consequence, some have regarded the soul\nas an ethereal substance; others as igneous matter; others again have\ncompared it to light. DEMOCRITUS made it consist in motion, consequently\ngave it a manner of existence. ARISTOXENES, who was himself a musician,\nmade it harmony. ARISTOTLE regarded the soul as the moving faculty, upon\nwhich depended the motion of living bodies.\n\nThe earliest doctors of Christianity had no other idea of the soul,\nthan that it was material. TERTULLIAN, ARNOBIUS, CLEMENT of ALEXANDRIA,\nORIGEN, SAINT JUSTIN, IRENAEUS, have all of them discoursed upon it; but\nhave never spoken of it other than as a corporeal substance--as matter.\nIt was reserved for their successors at a great distance of time, to\nmake the human soul and the soul of the world _pure spirits_; that is\nto say, immaterial substances, of which it is impossible they could\nform any accurate idea: by degrees this incomprehensible doctrine of\nspirituality, conformable without doubt to the views of those who make\nit a principle to annihilate reason, prevailed over the others: But\nit might be fairly asked, if the pretended proofs of this doctrine owe\nthemselves to a man, who on a much more comprehensible point has been\nproved in error; if, on that which time has shewn was accessible to\nman's reason, the great champion in support of this dogma was deceived;\nare we not bound to examine, with the most rigorous investigation, the\nreasonings, the evidence, of one who was the decided, the proven child\nof enthusiasm and error? Yet DESCARTES, to whose sublime errors the\nworld is indebted for the Newtonian system, although before him the\nsoul had been considered spiritual, was the first who established that,\n\"_that which thinks ought to be distinguished from matter_;\" from whence\nhe concludes rather hastily, that the soul, or that which thinks in man,\nis a spirit; or a simple indivisible substance. Perhaps it would have\nbeen more logical, more consistent with reason, to have said, since\nman, who is matter, who has no idea but of matter, enjoys the faculty of\nthought, matter can think; that is, it is susceptible of that particular\nmodification called thought.\n\nHowever this may be, this doctrine was believed divine, supernatural,\nbecause it was inconceivable to man. Those who dared believe even that\nwhich was believed before; namely, _that the soul was material_, were\nheld as rash inconsiderate madmen, or else treated as enemies to the\nwelfare and happiness of the human race. When man had once renounced\nexperience; when he had abjured his reason; when he had joined the\nbanner of this enthusiastic novelty; he did nothing more, day after day,\nthan subtilize the delirium, the ravings of his imagination: he pleased\nhimself by continually sinking deeper into the most unfathomable depths\nof error: he felicitated himself on his discoveries; on his pretended\nknowledge; in an exact ratio as his understanding became enveloped in\nthe mists of darkness, environed with the clouds of ignorance. Thus,\nin consequence of man's reasoning upon false principles; of having\nrelinquished the evidence of his senses; the moving principle within\nhim, the concealed author of motion, has been made a mere chimera, a\nmere being of the imagination, because he has divested it of all known\nproperties; because he has attached to it nothing but properties\nwhich, from the very nature of his existence, he is incapacitated to\ncomprehend.\n\nThe doctrine of spirituality, such as it now exists, offers nothing but\nvague ideas; or rather is the absense of all ideas. What does it present\nto the mind, but a substance which possesses nothing of which our senses\nenable us to have a knowledge? Can it be truth that a man is able to\nfigure to himself a being not material, having neither extent nor\nparts, which, nevertheless, acts upon matter without having any point\nof contact, any kind of analogy with it; and which itself receives the\nimpulse of matter by means of material organs, which announce to it the\npresence of other beings? Is it possible to conceive the union of the\nsoul with the body; to comprehend how this material body can bind,\nenclose, constrain, determine a fugitive being which escapes all our\nsenses? Is it honest, is it plain dealing, to solve these difficulties,\nby saying there is a mystery in them; that they are the effects of a\npower, more inconceivable than the human soul; than its mode of acting,\nhowever concealed from our view? When to resolve these problems, man is\nobliged to have recourse to miracles or to make the Divinity interfere,\ndoes he not avow his own ignorance? When, notwithstanding the ignorance\nhe is thus obliged to avow by availing himself of the divine agency,\nhe tells us, this immaterial substance, this soul, shall experience the\naction of the element of fire, which he allows to be material; when he\nconfidently says this soul shall be burnt; shall suffer in purgatory;\nhave we not a right to believe, that either he has a design to deceive\nus, or else that he does not himself understand that which he is so\nanxious we should take upon his word?\n\nLet us not then be surprised at those subtile hypotheses, as ingenious\nas they are unsatisfactory, to which theological prejudice has obliged\nthe most profound modern speculators to recur; when they have undertaken\nto reconcile the spirituality of the soul, with the physical action of\nmaterial beings, on this incorporeal substance; its re-action upon these\nbeings; its union with the body. When the human mind permits itself to\nbe guided by authority without proof, to be led forward by enthusiasm;\nwhen it renounces the evidence of its senses; what can it do more\nthan sink into error? Let those who doubt this, read the metaphysical\nromances of LEIBNITZ, DESCARTES, MALEBRANCHE, CUDWORTH, and many others:\nlet them coolly examine the ingenious, but fanciful systems entitled\n_the pre-established harmony of occasional causes; physical pre-motion,\n&c._\n\nIf man wishes to form to himself clear, perspicuous ideas of his soul,\nlet him throw himself back on his experience--let him renounce his\nprejudices--let him avoid theological conjecture--let him tear the\nbandages which he has been taught to think necessary, but with which he\nhas been blind-folded, only to confound his reason. If it be wished to\ndraw man to virtue, let the natural philosopher, let the anatomist,\nlet the physician, unite their experience; let them compare their\nobservations, in order to show what ought to be thought of a substance,\nso disguised, so hidden by absurdities, as not easily to be known. Their\ndiscoveries may perhaps teach moralists the true motive-power that ought\nto influence the actions of man--legislators, the true motives that\nshould actuate him, that should excite him to labour to the welfare of\nsociety--sovereigns, the means of rendering their subjects truly happy;\nof giving solidity to the power of the nations committed to their\ncharge. Physical souls have physical wants, and demand physical\nhappiness. These are real, are preferable objects, to that variety of\nfanciful chimeras, each in its turn giving place to the other, with\nwhich the mind of man has been fed during so many ages. Let us, then,\nlabour to perfect the morality of man; let us make it agreeable to him;\nlet us excite in him an ardent thirst for its purity: we shall presently\nsee his morals become better, himself become happier; his soul become\ncalm and serene; his will determined to virtue, by the natural, by the\npalpable motives held out to him. By the diligence, by the care which\nlegislators shall bestow on natural philosophy, they will form citizens\nof sound understandings; robust and well constituted; who, finding\nthemselves happy, will be themselves accessary to that useful impulse so\nnecessary for their soul. When the body is suffering, when nations are\nunhappy, the soul cannot be in a proper state. _Mens sana in corpore\nsano_, a sound mind in a sound body, will be always able to make a good\ncitizen.\n\nThe more man reflects, the more he will be convinced that the soul, very\nfar from being distinguished from the body, is only the body itself,\nconsidered relatively to some of its functions, or to some of the modes\nof existing or acting, of which it is susceptible whilst it enjoys life.\nThus, the soul is man, considered relatively to the faculty he has of\nfeeling, of thinking, of acting in a mode resulting from his peculiar\nnature; that is to say, from his properties, from his particular\norganization: from the modifications, whether durable or transitory,\nwhich the beings who act upon him cause his machine to undergo.\n\nThose who have distinguished the soul from the body, appear only to\nhave distinguished their brain from themselves. Indeed, the brain is the\ncommon center, where all the nerves, distributed through every part of\nthe body, meet and blend themselves: it is by the aid of this interior\norgan that all those operations are performed which are attributed to\nthe soul: it is the impulse, or the motion, communicated to the nerve,\nwhich modifies the brain: in consequence, it re-acts, or gives play to\nthe bodily organs; or rather it acts upon itself, and becomes capable\nof producing within itself a great variety of motion, which has been\ndesignated _intellectual faculties_.\n\nFrom this it may be seen that some philosophers have been desirous to\nmake a spiritual substance of the brain. It is evidently nothing but\nignorance that has given birth to and accredited this system, which\nembraces so little, either of the natural or the rational. It is from\nnot having studied himself, that man has supposed he was compounded with\nan agent, essentially different from his body: in examining this body,\nhe will find that it is quite useless to recur to hypothesis for the\nexplanation of the various phenomena it presents to his contemplation;\nthat hypothesis can do nothing more than lead him out of the right road\nto the information after which he seeks. What obscures this question,\narises from this, that man cannot see himself: indeed, for this purpose,\nthat would be requisite which is impossible; namely, that he could he\nat one and the same moment both within and without himself: he may be\ncompared to an Eolian harp, that issues sounds of itself, and should\ndemand what it is that causes it to give them forth? It does not\nperceive that the sensitive quality of its chords causes the air to\nbrace them; that being so braced, it is rendered sonorous by every gust\nof wind with which it happens to come in contact.\n\nWhen a theologian, obstinately bent on admitting into man two substances\nessentially different, is asked why he multiplies beings without\nnecessity? he will reply, because _\"thought cannot be a property of\nmatter.\"_ If, then, it be enquired of him, _cannot God give to matter\nthe faculty of thought?_ he will answer, _\"no! seeing that God cannot\ndo impossible things!\"_ According to his principles, it is as impossible\nthat spirit or thought can produce matter, as it is impossible that\nmatter can produce spirit or thought: it might, therefore, be concluded\nagainst him, that the world was not made by a spirit, any more than a\nspirit was made by the world. But in this case, does not the theologian,\naccording to his own assertion, acknowledge himself to be the true\natheist? Does he not, in fact, circumscribe the attributes of the\nDeity, and deny his power, to suit his own purpose? Yet these men demand\nimplicit belief in doctrines, which they are obliged to maintain by the\nmost contradictory assertions.\n\nThe more experience we collect, the more we shall be convinced that the\nword _spirit_, in its present received usage, conveys no one sense\nthat is tangible, either to ourselves or to those that invented it;\nconsequently cannot be of the least use, either in physics or morals.\nWhat modern metaphysicians believe and understand by the word, is\nnothing more than an _occult_ power, imagined to explain _occult_\nqualities and actions, but which, in fact, explains nothing. Savage\nnations admit of spirits, to account to themselves for those effects,\nwhich to them appear marvellous, as long as their ignorance knows\nnot the cause to which they ought to be attributed. In attributing to\nspirits the phenomena of Nature, as well as those of the human body, do\nwe, in fact, do any thing more than reason like savages? Man has filled\nNature with spirits, because he has almost always been ignorant of\nthe true causes of those effects by which he was astonished. Not being\nacquainted with the powers of Nature, he has supposed her to be animated\nby a _great spirit_: not understanding the energy of the human frame,\nhe has in like manner conjectured it to be animated by a _minor spirit_:\nfrom this it would appear, that whenever he wished to indicate the\nunknown cause of a phenomena, he knew not how to explain in a natural\nmanner, he had recourse to the word _spirit_. In short, _spirit_ was a\nterm by which he solved all his doubts, and cleared up his ignorance to\nhimself. It was according to these principles that when the AMERICANS\nfirst beheld the terrible effects of gunpowder, they ascribed the cause\nto wrathful spirits, to their enraged divinities: it was by adopting\nthese principles, that our ancestors believed in a plurality of gods, in\nghosts, in genii, &c. Pursuing the same track, we ought to attribute\nto spirits gravitation, electricity, magnetism, &c. &c. It is somewhat\nsingular, that priests have in all ages so strenuously upheld those\nsystems which time has exploded; that they have appeared to be either\nthe most crafty or the most ignorant of men. Where are now the priests\nof Apollo, of Juno, of the Sun, and a thousand others? Yet these are the\nmen, who in all times have persecuted those who have been the first\nto give natural explanations of the phenomena of Nature, as witness\nANAXAGORAS, ARISTOTLE, GALLILEO, DESCARTES, &c. &c.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. VIII.\n\n_The Intellectual Faculties derived from the Faculty of Feeling_.\n\n\nTo convince ourselves that the faculties called _intellectual_, are\nonly certain modes of existence, or determinate manners of acting,\nwhich result from the peculiar organization of the body, we have only\nto analyze them; we shall then see that all the operations which are\nattributed to the soul, are nothing more than certain modifications\nof the body; of which a substance that is without extent, that has no\nparts, that is immaterial, is not susceptible.\n\nThe first faculty we behold in the living man, and that from which all\nhis others flow, is _feeling_: however inexplicable this faculty may\nappear, on a first view, if it be examined closely, it will be found\nto be a consequence of the essence, or a result of the properties\nof organized beings; the same as _gravity, magnetism, elasticity,\nelectricity_, &c. result from the essence or nature of some others. We\nshall also find these last phenomena are not less inexplicable than that\nof feeling. Nevertheless, if we wish to define to ourselves a clear and\nprecise idea of it, we shall find that feeling is a particular manner of\nbeing moved--a mode of receiving an impulse peculiar to certain organs\nof animated bodies, which is occasioned by the presence of a material\nobject that acts upon these organs, and transmit the impulse or shock to\nthe brain.\n\nMan only feels by the aid of nerves dispersed through his body; which is\nitself, to speak correctly, nothing more than a great nerve; or may\nbe said to resemble a large tree, of which the branches experience the\naction of the root, communicated through the trunk. In man the nerves\nunite and lose themselves in the brain; that intestine is the true seat\nof feeling: like the spider in the centre of his web, it is quickly\nwarned of all the changes that happen to the body, even at the\nextremities to which it sends its filaments and branches. Experience\nenables us to ascertain, that man ceases to feel in those parts of his\nbody of which the communication with the brain is intercepted; he feels\nvery little, or not at all, whenever this organ is itself deranged or\naffected in too lively a manner. A proof of this is afforded in the\ntransactions of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris: they inform us\nof a man who had his scull taken off, in the room of which his brain was\nrecovered with skin; in proportion as a pressure was made by the hand on\nhis brain, the man fell into a kind of insensibility, which deprived\nhim of all feeling. BARTOLIN says, the brain of a man is twice as big as\nthat of an ox. This observation had been already made by ARISTOTLE.\nIn the dead body of an idiot dissected by WILLIS, the brain was found\nsmaller than ordinary: he says the greatest difference he found between\nthe parts of the body of this idiot, and those of wiser men, was, that\nthe plexus of the intercostal nerves, which is the mediator between the\nbrain and the heart, was extremely small, accompanied by a less number\nof nerves than usual. According to WILLIS, the ape is, of all animals,\nthat which has the largest brain, relatively to his size: he is also,\nafter man, that which has the most intelligence: this is further\nconfirmed, by the name he bears in the soil, to which he is indigenous,\nwhich is _ourang outang_, or the man beast. There is, therefore, every\nreason to believe that it is entirely in the brain, that consists the\ndifference, that is found not only between man and beasts, but also\nbetween the man of wit, and the fool: between the thinking man, and he\nwho is ignorant; between the man of sound understanding, and the madman:\na multitude of experience, serves to prove, that those persons who are\nmost accustomed to use their intellectual faculties, have their brain\nmore extended than others: the same has been remarked of watermen, that\nthey have arms much longer than other men.\n\nHowever this may be, the sensibility of the brain, and all its parts, is\na fact: if it be asked, whence comes this property? We shall reply,\nit is the result of an arrangement, of a combination, peculiar to the\nanimal: it is thus that milk, bread, wine, change themselves in the\nsubstance of man, who is a sensible being: this insensible matter\nbecomes sensible, in combining itself with a sensible whole. Some\nphilosophers think that sensibility is a universal quality of matter:\nin this case, it would be useless to seek from whence this property is\nderived, as we know it by its effects. If this hypothesis be admitted,\nin like manner as two kinds of motion are distinguished in Nature, the\none called _live_ force, the other _dead_, or _inert_ force, two sorts\nof sensibility will be distinguished, the one active or alive, the other\ninert or dead. Then to animalize a substance, is only to destroy\nthe obstacles that prevent its being active or sensible. In fact,\nsensibility is either a quality which communicates itself like motion,\nand which is acquired by combination; or this sensibility is a property\ninherent in all matter: in both, or either case, an unextended being,\nwithout parts, such as the human soul is said to be, can neither be the\ncause of it nor submitted to its operation; but we may fairly conclude,\nthat all the parts of Nature enjoy the capability to arrive at\nanimation; the obstacle is only in the state, not in the quality. Life\nis the perfection of Nature: she has no parts which do not tend to\nit--which do not attain it by the same means. Life in an insect, a dog,\na man, has no other difference, than that this act is more perfect,\nrelatively to ourselves in proportion to the structure of the organs:\nif, therefore, it be asked, what is requisite to animate a body? we\nreply, it needs no foreign aid; it is sufficient that the power of\nNature be joined to its organization.\n\nThe conformation, the arrangement, the texture, the delicacy of the\norgans, as well exterior as interior, which compose men and animals,\nrender their parts extremely mobile, or make their machine susceptible\nof being moved with great facility. In a body, which is only a heap\nof fibres, a mass of nerves, contiguous one to the other, united in a\ncommon center, always ready to act; in a whole, composed of fluids and\nsolids, of which the parts are in equilibrium, the smallest touching\neach other, are active in their motion, communicating reciprocally,\nalternately and in succession, the impression, oscillations, and shocks\nthey receive; in such a composition, it is not surprising that the\nslightest impulse propagates itself with celerity; that the shocks\nexcited in its remotest parts, make themselves quickly felt in the\nbrain, whose delicate texture renders it susceptible of being itself\nvery easily modified. Air, fire, water, agents the most inconstant,\npossessing the most rapid motion, circulate continually in the fibres,\nincessantly penetrate the nerves: without doubt these contribute to that\nincredible celerity with which the brain is acquainted with what passes\nat the extremities of the body.\n\nNotwithstanding the great mobility with which man's organization renders\nhim susceptible, although exterior as well as interior causes are\ncontinually acting upon him, he does not always feel in a distinct, in\na decided manner, the impulse given to his senses: indeed, he does not\nfeel it, until it has produced some change, or given some shock to his\nbrain. Thus, although completely environed by air, he does not feel its\naction, until it is so modified, as to strike with a sufficient degree\nof force on his organs; to penetrate his skin, through which his brain\nis warned of its presence. Thus, during a profound and tranquil sleep,\nundisturbed by any dream, man ceases to feel. In short, notwithstanding\nthe continued motion that agitates his frame, man does not appear to\nfeel, when this motion acts in a convenient order; he does not perceive\na state of health, but he discovers a state of grief or sickness;\nbecause, in the first, his brain does not receive too lively an impulse,\nwhilst in the others, his nerves are contracted, shocked, and agitated,\nwith violent, with disorderly motion: these communicating with his\nbrain, give notice that some cause acts strongly upon them--impels\nthem in a manner that bears no analogy with their natural habit: this\nconstitutes, in him, that peculiar mode of existing which he calls\n_grief_.\n\nOn the other hand, it sometimes happens that exterior objects produce\nvery considerable changes on his body, without his perceiving them at\nthe moment. Often, in the heat of battle, the soldier perceives not\nthat he is dangerously wounded, because, at the time, the rapidity, the\nmultiplicity of impetuous motion that assails his brain, does not\npermit him to distinguish the particular change a part of his body has\nundergone by the wound. In short, when a great number of causes are\nsimultaneously acting on him with too much vivacity, he sinks under\ntheir accumulated pressure,--he swoons--he loses his senses--he is\ndeprived of feeling.\n\nIn general, feeling only obtains, when the brain can distinguish\ndistinctly, the impressions made on the organs with which it has\ncommunication; it is the distinct shock, the decided modification man\nundergoes, that constitutes _conscience_. Doctor Clarke, says to this\neffect: \"Conscience is the act of reflecting, by means of which I know\nthat I think, and that my thoughts, or my actions belong to me, and\nnot to another.\" From this it will appear, that _feeling_ is a mode of\nbeing, a marked change, produced on our brain, occasioned by the impulse\ncommunicated to our organs, whether by interior or exterior agents, by\nwhich it is modified either in a durable or transient manner: it is\nnot always requisite that man's organs should be moved by an exterior\nobject, to enable him to feel that he should be conscious of the changes\neffected in him: he can feel them within himself by means of an interior\nimpulse; his brain is then modified, or rather he renews within himself\nthe anterior modifications. We are not to be astonished that the brain\nshould be necessarily warned of the shocks, of the impediments, of the\nchanges that may happen to so complicated a machine as the human body,\nin which, notwithstanding all the parts are contiguous to the brain,\nand concentrate themselves in this brain, and are by their essence in a\ncontinual state of action and re-action.\n\nWhen a man experiences the pains of the gout, he is conscious of them;\nin other words, he feels interiorly, that it has produced very marked,\nvery distinct changes in him, without his perceiving, that he has\nreceived an impulse from any exterior cause; nevertheless, if he will\nrecur to the true source of these changes, he will find that they have\nbeen wholly produced by exterior agents: they have been the consequence,\neither of his temperament; of the organization received from his\nparents; of the aliments with which his frame has been nourished;\nbesides a thousand trivial, inappreciable causes, which congregating\nthemselves by degrees produce in him the gouty humour; the effect of\nwhich is to make him feel in an acute and very lively manner. The pain\nof the gout engenders in his brain an idea, so modifies it that it\nacquires the faculty of representing to itself, of reiterating as it\nwere, this pain when even he shall be no longer tormented with the gout:\nhis brain, by a series of motion interiorly excited, is again placed\nin a state analogous to that in which it was when he really experienced\nthis pain: but if he had never felt it, he would never have been in a\ncapacity to form to himself any just idea of its excruciating torments.\n\nThe visible organs of man's body, by the intervention of which his brain\nis modified, take the name of _senses_. The various modifications which\nhis brain receives by the aid of these senses, assumes a variety of\nnames. _Sensation_, _perception_, and _idea_, are terms that designate\nnothing more than the changes produced in this interior organ, in\nconsequence of impressions made on the exterior organs by bodies\nacting on them: these changes considered by themselves, are called\n_sensations_; they adopt the term _perception_ when the brain is warned\nof their presence; _ideas_ is that state of them in which the brain is\nable to ascribe them to the objects by which they have been produced.\n\nEvery _sensation_, then, is nothing more than the shock given to the\norgans, every _perception_ is this shock propagated to the brain;\nevery _idea_ is the image of the object to which the sensation and the\nperception is to be ascribed. From whence it will be seen, that if the\nsenses be not moved, there can neither be sensations, perceptions, nor\nideas: this will be proved to those, who can yet permit themselves to\ndoubt so demonstrable and striking a truth.\n\nIt is the extreme mobility of which man is capable, owing to his\npeculiar organization, that distinguishes him from other beings that are\ncalled insensible or inanimate; the different degrees of this mobility,\nof which the individuals of his species are susceptible, discriminate\nthem from each other; make that incredible variety, that infinity of\ndifference which is to be found, as well in their corporeal faculties,\nas in those which are mental or intellectual. From this mobility,\nmore or less remarkable in each human being, results wit, sensibility,\nimagination, taste, &c.: for the present, however, let us follow the\noperation of the senses; let us examine in what manner they are\nacted upon, and are modified by exterior objects:--we will afterwards\nscrutinize the re-action of the interior organ or brain.\n\nThe eyes are very delicate, very movable organs, by means of which the\nsensation of light or colour is experienced: these give to the brain\na distinct perception, in consequence of which, man forms an idea,\ngenerated by the action of luminous or coloured bodies: as soon as the\neyelids are opened, the retina is affected in a peculiar manner; the\nfluid, the fibres, the nerves, of which they are composed, are excited\nby shocks which they communicate to the brain; to which they delineate\nthe images of the bodies from which they have received the impulse; by\nthis means, an idea is acquired of the colour, the size, the form, the\ndistance of these bodies: it is thus that may be explained the mechanism\nof _sight_.\n\nThe mobility and the elasticity of which the skin is rendered\nsusceptible, by the fibres and nerves which form its texture, accounts\nfor the rapidity with which this envelope to the human body is affected\nwhen applied to any other body; by their agency, the brain has notice of\nits presence, of its extent, of its roughness, of its smoothness, of its\nsurface, of its pressure of its ponderosity, &c. Qualities from which\nthe brain derives distinct perceptions, which breed in it a diversity of\nideas; it is this that constitutes the _touch_ or _feeling_.\n\nThe delicacy of the membrane by which the interior of the nostrils is\ncovered, renders them easily susceptible of irritation, even by the\ninvisible and impalpable corpuscles that emanate from odorous bodies:\nby these means sensations are excited, the brain has perceptions, and\ngenerates ideas: it is this that forms the sense of _smelling_.\n\nThe mouth, filled with nervous, sensible, movable, irritable glands,\nsaturated with juices suitable to the dissolution of saline substances,\nis affected in a very lively manner by the aliments which pass through\nit for the nourishment of the body; these glands transmit to the brain\nthe impressions received: perceptions are of consequence; ideas follow:\nit is from this mechanism that results _taste_.\n\nThe ear, whose conformation fits it to receive the various impulses\nof air, diversely modified, communicates to the brain the shocks or\nsensations; these breed the perception of sound, and generate the idea\nof sonorous bodies: it is this that constitutes _hearing_.\n\nSuch are the only means by which man receives sensations, perceptions,\nand ideas. These successive modifications of his brain are effects\nproduced by objects that give impulse to his senses; they become\nthemselves causes, producing in his soul new modifications, which are\ndenominated _thought, reflection, memory, imagination, judgment, will,\naction_; the basis, however, of all these is _sensation_.\n\nTo form a precise notion of _thought_, it will be requisite to examine,\nstep by step, what passes in man during the presence of any object\nwhatever. Suppose for a moment this object to be a peach: this fruit\nmakes, at the first view, two different impressions on his eyes; that\nis to say, it produces two modifications, which are transmitted to the\nbrain, which on this occasion experiences two new perceptions, or has\ntwo new ideas or modes of existence, designated by the terms _colour_\nand _rotundity_; in consequence, he has an idea of a body possessing\nroundness and colour: if he places his hand on this fruit, the organ\nof feeling having been set in action, his hand experiences three new\nimpressions, which are called _softness, coolness, weight_, from whence\nresult three new perceptions in the brain, he has consequently three\nnew ideas: if he approximates this peach to his nose, the organ of\n_smelling_ receives an impulse, which, communicated to the brain, a new\nperception arises, by which he acquires a new idea, called _odour_: if\nhe carries this fruit to his mouth, the organ of taste becomes affected\nin a very lively manner: this impulse communicated to the brain, is\nfollowed by a perception that generates in him the idea of _flavour_. In\nre-uniting all these impressions, or these various modifications of his\norgans, which it have been consequently transmitted to his brain; that\nis to say, in combining the different sensations, perceptions, and\nideas, that result from the impulse he has received, he has an idea of\na whole, which he designates by the name of a peach, with which he can\nthen occupy his thoughts.\n\nFrom this it is sufficiently proved that thought has a commencement, a\nduration, an end; or rather a generation, a succession, a dissolution,\nlike all the other modifications of matter; like them, thought is\nexcited, is determined, is increased, is divided, is compounded, is\nsimplified, &c. If, therefore, the soul, or the principle that thinks,\nbe indivisible; how does it happen, that this soul has the faculty of\nmemory, or of forgetfulness; is capacitated to think successively, to\ndivide, to abstract, to combine, to extend its ideas, to retain them,\nor to lose them? How can it cease to think? If forms appear divisible in\nmatter, it is only in considering them by abstraction, after the method,\nof geometricians; but this divisibility of form exists not in Nature, in\nwhich there is neither a point, an atom, nor form perfectly regular;\nit must therefore be concluded, that the forms of matter are not less\nindivisible than thought.\n\nWhat has been said is sufficient to show the generation of sensations,\nof perceptions, of ideas, with their association, or connection in the\nbrain: it will be seen that these various modifications are nothing more\nthan the consequence of successive impulses, which the exterior organs\ntransmit to the interior organ, which enjoys the faculty of thought,\nthat is to say, to feel in itself the different modifications it has\nreceived, or to perceive the various ideas which it has generated; to\ncombine them, to separate them, to extend them, to abridge them, to\ncompare them, to renew them, &c. From whence it will be seen, that\nthought is nothing more than the perception of certain modifications,\nwhich the brain either gives to itself, or has received from exterior\nobjects.\n\nIndeed, not only the interior organ perceives the modifications it\nreceives from without, but again it has the faculty of modifying itself;\nof considering the changes which take place in it, the motion by which\nit is agitated in its peculiar operations, from which it imbibes new\nperceptions and new ideas. It is the exercise of this power to fall back\nupon itself, that is called _reflection_.\n\nFrom this it will appear, that for man to think and to reflect, is to\nfeel, or perceive within himself the impressions, the sensations, the\nideas, which have been furnished to his brain by those objects which\ngive impulse to his senses, with the various changes which his brain\nproduced on itself in consequence.\n\n_Memory_ is the faculty which the brain has of renewing in itself the\nmodifications it has received, or rather, to restore itself to a state\nsimilar to that in which it has been placed by the sensations, the\nperceptions, the ideas, produced by exterior objects, in the exact order\nit received them, without any new action on the part of these objects,\nor even when these objects are absent; the brain perceives that these\nmodifications assimilate with those it formerly experienced in the\npresence of the objects to which it relates, or attributes them. Memory\nis faithful, when these modifications are precisely the same; it\nis treacherous, when they differ from those which the organs have\nexteriorly experienced.\n\n_Imagination_ in man is only the faculty which the brain has of\nmodifying itself, or of forming to itself new perceptions, upon the\nmodel of those which it has anteriorly received through the action of\nexterior objects on the senses. The brain, then, does nothing more than\ncombine ideas which it has already formed, which it recalls to itself,\nfrom which it forms a whole, or a collection of modifications, which\nit has not received, which exists no-where but in itself, although the\nindividual ideas, or the parts of which this ideal whole is composed,\nhave been previously communicated to it, in consequence of the impulse\ngiven to the senses by exterior objects: it is thus man forms to himself\nthe idea of _centaurs_, or a being composed of a man and a horse, of\n_hyppogriffs_, or a being composed of a horse with wings and a griffin,\nbesides a thousand other objects, equally ridiculous. By memory, the\nbrain renews in itself the sensations, the perceptions, and the ideas\nwhich it has received or generated; represents to itself the objects\nwhich have actually moved its organs. By imagination it combines them\nvariously: forms objects in their place which have not moved its organs,\nalthough it is perfectly acquainted with the elements or ideas of which\nit composes them. It is thus that man, by combining a great number\nof ideas borrowed from himself, such as justice, wisdom, goodness,\nintelligence, &c. by the aid of imagination, has formed various ideal\nbeings, or imaginary wholes, which he has called JUPITER, JUNO, BRAMAH,\nSATURN, &c.\n\n_Judgment_ is the faculty which the brain possesses of comparing with\neach other the modifications it receives, the ideas it engenders, or\nwhich it has the power of awakening within itself, to the end that it\nmay discover their relations, or their effects.\n\n_Will_ is a modification of the brain, by which it is disposed to\naction, that is to say, to give such an impulse to the organs of the\nbody, as can induce to act in a manner, that will procure for itself\nwhat is requisite to modify it in a mode analogous to its own existence,\nor to enable it to avoid that by which it can be injured. To _will_ is\nto be disposed to _action_. The exterior objects, or the interior ideas,\nwhich give birth to this disposition are called _motives_, because they\nare the springs or movements which determine it to act, that is to say,\nwhich give play to the organs of the body. Thus, _voluntary actions_\nare the motion of the body, determined by the modification of the\nbrain. Fruit hanging on a tree, through the agency of the visual organs,\nmodifies the brain in such a manner as to dispose the arm to stretch\nitself forth to cull it; again, it modifies it in another manner, by\nwhich it excites the hand to carry it to the mouth.\n\nAll the modifications which the interior organ or the brain receives,\nall the sensations, all the perceptions, all the ideas that are\ngenerated by the objects which give impulse to the senses, or which\nit renews within itself by its own peculiar faculties, are either\nfavourable or prejudicial to man's mode of existence, whether that be\ntransitory or habitual: they dispose the interior organ to action, which\nit exercises by reason of its own peculiar energy: this action is not,\nhowever, the same in all the individuals of the human species, depending\nmuch on their respective temperaments. From hence the PASSIONS have\ntheir birth: these are more or less violent; they are, however, nothing\nmore than the motion of the will, determined by the objects which give\nit activity; consequently composed of the analogy or of the discordance\nwhich is found between these objects, man's peculiar mode of existence,\nand the force of his temperament. From this it results, that the\npassions are modes of existence or modifications of the brain; which\neither attract or repel those objects by which man is surrounded; that\nconsequently they are submitted in their action to the physical laws of\nattraction and repulsion.\n\nThe faculty of perceiving or of being modified, as well by itself as\nexterior objects which the brain enjoys is sometimes designated by the\nterm _understanding_. To the assemblage of the various faculties\nof which this interior organ is susceptible, is applied the name of\n_intelligence_. To a determined mode in which the brain exercises the\nfaculties peculiar to itself, is given the appellation of _reason_. The\ndispositions or the modifications of the brain, some of them constant,\nothers transitory, which give impulse to the beings of the human\nspecies, causing them to act, are styled _wit, wisdom, goodness,\nprudence, virtue, &c_.\n\nIn short, as there will be an opportunity presently to prove, all\nthe intellectual faculties--that is to say, all the modes of action\nattributed to the soul, may be reduced to the modifications, to the\nqualities, to the modes of existence, to the changes produced by the\nmotion of the brain; which is visibly in man the seat of feeling, the\nprinciple of all his actions. These modifications are to be attributed\nto the objects that strike on his senses; of which the impression is\ntransmitted to the brain, or rather to the ideas, which the perceptions\ncaused by the action of these objects on his senses have there\ngenerated, and which it has the faculty to re-produce. This brain moves\nitself in its turn, re-acts upon itself, gives play to the organs, which\nconcentrate themselves in it, or which are rather nothing more than an\nextension of its own peculiar substance. It is thus the concealed motion\nof the interior organ, renders itself sensible by outward and visible\nsigns. The brain, affected by a modification which is called FEAR,\ndiffuses a paleness over the countenance, excites a tremulous motion in\nthe limbs called trembling. The brain, affected by a sensation of GRIEF,\ncauses tears to flow from the eyes, even without being moved by any\nexterior object; an idea which it retraces with great strength, suffices\nto give it very little modifications, which visibly have an influence on\nthe whole frame.\n\nIn all this, nothing more is to be perceived than the same substance\nwhich acts diversely on the various parts of the body. If it be objected\nthat this mechanism does not sufficiently explain the principles of the\nmotion or the faculties of the soul; we reply, that it is in the same\nsituation as all the other bodies of Nature, in which the most simple\nmotion, the most ordinary phenomena, the most common modes of action are\ninexplicable mysteries, of which we shall never be able to fathom the\nfirst principles. Indeed, how can we flatter ourselves we shall ever be\nenabled to compass the true principle of that gravity by which a stone\nfalls? Are we acquainted with the mechanism which produces attraction in\nsome substances, repulsion in others? Are we in a condition to explain\nthe communication of motion from one body to another? But it may be\nfairly asked,--Are the difficulties that occur, when attempting to\nexplain the manner in which the soul acts, removed by making it a\n_spiritual being_, a substance of which we have not, nor cannot form one\nidea, which consequently must bewilder all the notions we are capable\nof forming to ourselves of this being? Let us then be contented to know\nthat the soul moves itself, modifies itself, in consequence of material\ncauses, which act upon it which give it activity: from whence the\nconclusion may be said to flow consecutively, that all its operations,\nall its faculties, prove that it is itself _material_.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. IX.\n\n_The Diversity of the Intellectual Faculties: they depend on Physical\nCauses, as do their Moral Qualities.--The Natural Principles of\nSociety.--Morals.--Politics_.\n\n\nNature is under the necessity of diversifying all her works. Elementary\nmatter, different in its essence, must necessarily form different\nbeings, various in their combinations, in their properties, in their\nmodes of action, in their manner of existence. There is not, neither\ncan there be, two beings, two combinations, which are mathematically\nand rigorously the same; because the place, the circumstances, the\nrelations; the proportions, the modifications, never being exactly\nalike, the beings that result can never bear a perfect resemblance to\neach other: their modes of action must of necessity vary in something,\neven when we believe we find between them the greatest conformity.\n\nIn consequence of this principle, which every thing we see conspires to\nprove to be a truth, there are not two individuals of the human species\nwho have precisely the same traits--who think exactly in the same\nmanner--who view things under the same identical point of sight--who\nhave decidedly the same ideas; consequently no two of them have\nuniformly the same system of conduct. The visible organs of man, as well\nas his concealed organs, have indeed some analogy, some common points\nof resemblance, some general conformity; which makes them appear,\nwhen viewed in the gross, to be affected in the same manner by certain\ncauses: but the difference is infinite in the detail. The human soul\nmay be compared to those instruments, of which the chords, already\ndiversified in themselves, by the manner in which they have been spun,\nare also strung upon different notes: struck by the same impulse, each\nchord gives forth the sound that is peculiar to itself; that is to\nsay, that which depends on its texture, its tension, its volume, on the\nmomentary state in which it is placed by the circumambient air. It is\nthis that produces the diversified spectacle, the varied scene, which\nthe moral world offers to our view: it is from this that results the\nstriking contrariety that is to be found in the minds, in the faculties,\nin the passions, in the energies, in the taste, in the imagination, in\nthe ideas, in the opinions of man. This diversity is as great as that of\nhis physical powers: like them it depends on his temperament, which\nis as much varied as his physiognomy. This variety gives birth to that\ncontinual series of action and reaction, which constitutes the life of\nthe moral world: from this discordance results the harmony which at once\nmaintains and preserves the human race.\n\nThe diversity found among the individuals of the human species, causes\ninequalities between man and man: this inequality constitutes the\nsupport of society. If all men were equal in their bodily powers, in\ntheir mental talents, they would not have any occasion for each other:\nit is the variation of his faculties, the inequality which this places\nhim in, with regard to his fellows, that renders morals necessary\nto man: without these, he would live by himself, he would remain an\nisolated being. From whence it may be perceived, that this inequality\nof which man so often complains without cause--this impossibility which\neach man finds when in an isolated state, when left to himself, when\nunassociated with his fellow men, to labour efficaciously to his own\nwelfare, to make his own security, to ensure his own conservation;\nplaces him in the happy situation of associating with his like, of\ndepending on his fellow associates, of meriting their succour, of\npropitiating them to his views, of attracting their regard, of calling\nin their aid to chase away, by common and united efforts, that which\nwould have the power to trouble or derange the order of his existence.\nIn consequence of man's diversity, of the inequality that results, the\nweaker is obliged to seek the protection of the stronger; this, in his\nturn, recurs to the understanding, to the talents, to the industry of\nthe weaker, whenever his judgment points out he can be useful to him:\nthis natural inequality furnishes the reason why nations distinguish\nthose citizens who have rendered their country eminent services. It is\nin consequence of his exigencies that man honors and recompenses those\nwhose understanding, good deeds, assistance, or virtues, have procured\nfor him real or supposed advantages, pleasures, or agreeable sensations\nof any sort: it is by this means that genius gains an ascendancy over\nthe mind of man, and obliges a whole people to acknowledge its powers.\nThus, the diversity and inequality of the faculties, as well corporeal\nas mental or intellectual, renders man necessary to his fellow man,\nmakes him a social being, and incontestibly proves to him the necessity\nof morals.\n\nAccording to this diversity of faculties, the individuals of the human\nspecies are divided into different classes, each in proportion to the\neffects produced, or the different qualities that may be remarked: all\nthese varieties in man flow from the individual properties of his soul,\nor from the particular modification of his brain. It is thus, that\nwit, imagination, sensibility, talents, &c. diversify to infinity the\ndifferences that are to be found in man. It is thus, that some are\ncalled good, others wicked; some are denominated virtuous, others\nvicious; some are ranked as learned, others as ignorant; some are\nconsidered reasonable, others unreasonable, &c.\n\nIf all the various faculties attributed to the soul are examined, it\nwill be found that like those of the body they are to be ascribed to\nphysical causes, to which it will be very easy to recur. It will be\nfound that the powers of the soul are the same as those of the body;\nthat they always depend on the organization of this body, on its\npeculiar properties, on the permanent or transitory modifications that\nit undergoes; in a word, on its temperament.\n\n_Temperament_ is, in each individual, the habitual state in which he\nfinds the fluids and the solids of which his body is composed. This\ntemperament varies, by reason of the elements or matter that predominate\nin him, in consequence of the different combinations, of the various\nmodifications, which this matter, diversified in itself, undergoes in\nhis machine. Thus, in one, the blood is superabundant; in another, the\nbile; in a third, phlegm, &c.\n\nIt is from Nature--from his parents--from causes, which from the first\nmoment of his existence have unceasingly modified him, that man derives\nhis temperament. It is in his mother's womb that he has attracted the\nmatter which, during his whole life, shall have an influence on his\nintellectual faculties--on his energies--on his passions--on his\nconduct. The very nourishment he takes, the quality of the air he\nrespires, the climate he inhabits, the education he receives, the\nideas that are presented to him, the opinions he imbibes, modify this\ntemperament. As these circumstances can never be rigorously the same in\nevery point for any two men, it is by no means surprising that such an\namazing variety, so great a contrariety, should be found in man; or\nthat there should exist as many different temperaments, as there are\nindividuals in the human species.\n\nThus, although man may bear a general resemblance, he differs\nessentially, as well by the texture of his fibres and the disposition of\nhis nerves, as by the nature, the quality, the quantity of matter that\ngives them play, that sets his organs in motion. Man, already different\nfrom his fellow, by the elasticity of his fibres, the tension of\nhis nerves, becomes still more distinguished by a variety of other\ncircumstances: he is more active, more robust, when he receives\nnourishing aliments, when he drinks wine, when he takes exercise: whilst\nanother, who drinks nothing but water, who takes less juicy nourishment,\nwho languishes in idleness, shall be sluggish and feeble.\n\nAll these causes have necessarily an influence on the mind, on the\npassions, on the will; in a word, on what are called the intellectual\nfaculties. Thus, it may be observed, that a man of a sanguine\nconstitution, is commonly lively, ingenious, full of imagination,\npassionate, voluptuous, enterprising; whilst the phlegmatic man is dull,\nof a heavy understanding, slow of conception, inactive, difficult to be\nmoved, pusillanimous, without imagination, or possessing it in a less\nlively degree, incapable of taking any strong measures, or of willing\nresolutely.\n\nIf experience was consulted, in the room of prejudice, the physician\nwould collect from morals, the key to the human heart: in curing the\nbody, he would sometimes be assured of curing the mind. Man, in making\na spiritual substance of his soul, has contented himself with\nadministering to it spiritual remedies, which either have no influence\nover his temperament, or do it an injury. The doctrine of the\nspirituality of the soul has rendered morals a conjectural science, that\ndoes not furnish a knowledge of the true motives which ought to be\nput in activity, in order to influence man to his welfare. If, calling\nexperience to his assistance, man sought out the elements which form the\nbasis of his temperament, or of the greater number of the individuals\ncomposing a nation, he would then discover what would be most proper\nfor him,--that which could be most convenient to his mode of\nexistence--which could most conduce to his true interest--what laws\nwould be necessary to his happiness--what institutions would be most\nuseful for him--what regulations would be most beneficial. In short,\nmorals and politics would be equally enabled to draw from _materialism_,\nadvantages which the dogma of spirituality can never supply, of which\nit even precludes the idea. Man will ever remain a mystery, to those\nwho shall obstinately persist in viewing him with eyes prepossessed\nby metaphysics; he will always be an enigma to those who shall\npertinaciously attribute his actions to a principle, of which it is\nimpossible to form to themselves any distinct idea. When man shall be\nseriously inclined to understand himself, let him sedulously endeavour\nto discover the matter that enters into his combination, which\nconstitutes his temperament; these discoveries will furnish him with the\nclue to the nature of his desires, to the quality of his passions, to\nthe bent of his inclinations--will enable him to foresee his conduct\non given occasions--will indicate the remedies that may be successfully\nemployed to correct the defects of a vicious organization, of a\ntemperament, as injurious to himself as to the society of which he is a\nmember.\n\nIndeed, it is not to be doubted that man's temperament is capable of\nbeing corrected, of being modified, of being changed, by causes as\nphysical as the matter of which it is constituted. We are all in some\nmeasure capable of forming our own temperament: a man of a sanguine\nconstitution, by taking less juicy nourishment, by abating its quantity,\nby abstaining from strong liquor, &c. may achieve the correction of\nthe nature, the quality, the quantity, the tendency, the motion of the\nfluids, which predominate in his machine. A bilious man, or one who is\nmelancholy, may, by the aid of certain remedies, diminish the mass of\nthis bilious fluid; he may correct the blemish of his humours, by the\nassistance of exercise; he may dissipate his gloom, by the gaiety which\nresults from increased motion. An European transplanted into Hindostan,\nwill, by degrees, become quite a different man in his humours, in his\nideas, in his temperament, in his character.\n\nAlthough but few experiments have been made with a view to learn what\nconstitutes the temperament of man, there are still enough if he would\nbut deign to make use of them--if he would vouchsafe to apply to useful\npurposes the little experience he has gleaned. It would appear, speaking\ngenerally, that the igneous principle which chemists designate under the\nname of _phlogiston_, or inflammable matter, is that which in man\nyields him the most active life, furnishes him with the greatest energy,\naffords the greatest mobility to his frame, supplies the greatest spring\nto his organs, gives the greatest elasticity to his fibres, the greatest\ntension to his nerves, the greatest rapidity to his fluids. From these\ncauses, which are entirely material, commonly result the dispositions\nor faculties called sensibility, wit, imagination, genius, vivacity, &c.\nwhich give the tone to the passions, to the will, to the moral\nactions of man. In this sense, it is with great justice we apply the\nexpressions, 'warmth of soul,' 'ardency of imagination,' 'fire of\ngenius,' &c.\n\nIt is this fiery element, diffused unequally, distributed in various\nproportions through the beings of the human species, that sets man in\nmotion, gives him activity, supplies him with animal heat, and which, if\nwe may be allowed the expression, renders him more or less alive. This\nigneous matter, so active, so subtle, dissipates itself with great\nfacility, then requires to be reinstated in his system by means of\naliments that contain it, which thereby become proper to restore\nhis machine, to lend new warmth to the brain, to furnish it with the\nelasticity requisite to the performance of those functions which are\ncalled intellectual. It is this ardent matter contained in wine, in\nstrong liquor, that gives to the most torpid, to the dullest, to\nthe most sluggish man, a vivacity of which, without it, he would be\nincapable--which urges even the coward on to battle. When this fiery\nelement is too abundant in man, whilst he is labouring under certain\ndiseases, it plunges him into delirium; when it is in too weak or in too\nsmall a quantity, he swoons, he sinks to the earth. This igneous matter\ndiminishes in his old age--it totally dissipates at his death. It would\nnot be unreasonable to suppose, that what physicians call the nervous\nfluid, which so promptly gives notice to the brain of all that happens\nto the body, is nothing more than electric matter; that the various\nproportions of this matter diffused through his system, is the cause\nof that great diversity to be discovered in the human being, and in the\nfaculties he possesses.\n\nIf the intellectual faculties of man, or his moral qualities, be\nexamined according to the principles here laid down, the conviction must\nbe complete that they are to be attributed to material causes, which\nhave an influence more or less marked, either transitory or durable,\nover his peculiar organization. But where does he derive this\norganization, except it be from the parents from whom he receives the\nelements of a machine necessarily analogous to their own? From whence\ndoes he derive the greater or less quantity of igneous matter, or\nvivifying heat, that decides upon, that gives the tone to his mental\nqualities? It is from the mother who bore him in her womb, who has\ncommunicated to him a portion of that fire with which she was herself\nanimated, which circulated through her veins with her blood;--it is\nfrom the aliments that have nourished him,--it is from the climate he\ninhabits,--it is from the atmosphere that surrounds: all these causes\nhave an influence over his fluids, over his solids, and decide on his\nnatural dispositions. In examining these dispositions, from whence his\nfaculties depend, it will ever be found, that they are _corporeal_, that\nthey are _material_.\n\nThe most prominent of these dispositions in man, is that physical\nsensibility from which flows all his intellectual or moral qualities. To\nfeel, according to what has been said, is to receive an impulse, to be\nmoved, to have a consciousness of the changes operated on his system.\nTo have sensibility is nothing more than to be so constituted as to feel\npromptly, and in a very lively manner, the impressions of those objects\nwhich act upon him. A sensible soul is only man's brain, disposed in a\nmode to receive the motion communicated to it with facility, to re-act\nwith promptness, by giving an instantaneous impulse to the organs.\nThus the man is called sensible, whom the sight of the distressed, the\ncontemplation of the unhappy, the recital of a melancholy tale, the\nwitnessing of an afflicting catastrophe, or the idea of a dreadful\nspectacle, touches in so lively a manner as to enable the brain to give\nplay to his lachrymal organs, which cause him to shed tears; a sign by\nwhich we recognize the effect of great grief, of extreme anguish in the\nhuman being. The man in whom musical sounds excite a degree of pleasure,\nor produce very remarkable effects, is said to have a _sensible_ or a\nfine ear. In short, when it is perceived that eloquence--the beauty of\nthe arts--the various objects that strike his senses, excite in him very\nlively emotions, he is said to possess a soul full of sensibility.\n\n_Wit_, is a consequence of this physical sensibility; indeed, wit is\nnothing more than the facility which some beings, of the human species\npossess, of seizing with promptitude, of developing with quickness, a\nwhole, with its different relations to other objects. _Genius_, is the\nfacility with which some men comprehend this whole, and its various\nrelations when they are difficult to be known, but useful to forward\ngreat and mighty projects. Wit may be compared to a piercing eye which\nperceives things quickly. Genius is an eye that comprehends at one view,\nall the points of an extended horizon: or what the French term _coup\nd'oeil_. True wit is that which perceives objects with their relations\nsuch as they really are. False wit is that which catches at relations,\nwhich do not apply to the object, or which arises from some blemish in\nthe organization. True wit resembles the direction on a hand-post.\n\n_Imagination_ is the faculty of combining with promptitude ideas or\nimages; it consists in the power man possesses of re-producing with ease\nthe modifications of his brain: of connecting them, of attaching them to\nthe objects to which they are suitable. When imagination does this, it\ngives pleasure; its fictions are approved, it embellishes Nature, it\nis a proof of the soundness of the mind, it aids truth: when on the\ncontrary, it combines ideas, not formed to associate themselves with\neach other--when it paints nothing but disagreeable phantoms, it\ndisgusts, its fictions are censured, it distorts Nature, it advocates\nfalsehood, it is the proof of a disordered, of a deranged mind: thus\npoetry, calculated to render Nature more pathetic, more touching,\npleases when it creates ideal beings, but which move us agreeably: we,\ntherefore, forgive the illusions it has held forth, on account of the\npleasure we have reaped from them. The hideous chimeras of superstition\ndisplease, because they are nothing more than the productions of a\ndistempered imagination, that can only awaken the most afflicting\nsensations, fills us with the most disagreeable ideas.\n\nImagination, when it wanders, produces fanaticism, superstitious\nterrors, inconsiderate zeal, phrenzy, and the most enormous crimes: when\nit is well regulated, it gives birth to a strong predilection for useful\nobjects, an energetic passion for virtue, an enthusiastic love of our\ncountry, and the most ardent friendship: the man who is divested\nof imagination, is commonly one in whose torpid constitution phlegm\npredominates over the igneous fluid, over that sacred fire, which is\nthe great principle of his mobility, of that warmth of sentiment, which\nvivifies all his intellectual faculties. There must be enthusiasm for\ntranscendent virtues as well as for atrocious crimes; enthusiasm places\nthe soul in a state similar to that of drunkenness; both the one and the\nother excite in man that rapidity of motion which is approved, when\ngood results, when its effects are beneficial; but which is censured,\nis called folly, delirium, crime, fury; when it produces nothing but\ndisorder and confusion.\n\nThe mind is out of order, it is incapable of judging sanely--the\nimagination is badly regulated, whenever man's organization is not so\nmodified, as to perform its functions with precision. At each moment of\nhis existence, man gathers experience; every sensation he has, furnishes\na fact that deposits in his brain an idea which his memory recalls with\nmore or less fidelity: these facts connect themselves, these ideas\nare associated; their chain constitutes _experience_; this lays the\nfoundation of _science_. Knowledge is that consciousness which arises\nfrom reiterated experience--from experiments made with precision of the\nsensations, of the ideas, of the effects which an object is capable of\nproducing, either in ourselves or in others. All science, to be just,\nmust be founded on truth. Truth itself rests on the constant, the\nfaithful relation of our senses. Thus, _truth_ is that conformity, that\nperpetual affinity, which man's senses, when well constituted, when\naided by experience, discover to him, between the objects of which he\nhas a knowledge, and the qualities with which he clothes them. In short,\ntruth is nothing more than the just, the precise association of his\nideas. But how can he, without experience, assure himself of the\naccuracy, of the justness of this association? How, if he does not\nreiterate this experience, can he compare it? how prove its truth? If\nhis senses are vitiated, how is it possible they can convey to him with\nprecision, the sensations, the facts, with which they store his brain?\nIt is only by multiplied, by diversified, by repeated experience, that\nhe is enabled to rectify the errors of his first conceptions.\n\nMan is in error every time his organs, either originally defective in\ntheir nature, or vitiated by the durable or transitory modifications\nwhich they undergo, render him incapable of judging soundly of objects.\nError consists in the false association of ideas, by which qualities are\nattributed to objects which they do not possess. Man is in error, when\nhe supposes those beings really to have existence, which have no\nlocal habitation but in his own imagination: he is in error, when he\nassociates the idea of happiness with objects capable of injuring him,\nwhether immediately or by remote consequences which he cannot foresee.\n\nBut how can he foresee effects of which he has not yet any knowledge?\nIt is by the aid of experience: by the assistance which this experience\naffords, it is known that analogous, that like causes, produce\nanalogous, produce like effects. Memory, by recalling these effects,\nenables him to form a judgment of those he may expect, whether it be\nfrom the same causes, or from causes that bear a relation to those of\nwhich he has already experienced the action. From this it will appear,\nthat _prudence_, _foresight_, are faculties that are ascribable to, that\ngrow out of experience. If he has felt that fire excited in his organs\npainful sensation, this experience suffices him to know, to foresee,\nthat fire so applied, will consequently excite the same sensations.\nIf he has discovered that certain actions, on his part, stirred up the\nhatred, elicited the contempt of others, this experience sufficiently\nenables him to foresee, that every time he shall act in a similar\nmanner, he will be either hated or despised.\n\nThe faculty man has of gathering experience, of recalling it to himself,\nof foreseeing effects by which he is enabled to avoid whatever may have\nthe power to injure him, to procure that which may be useful to the\nconservation of his existence, which may contribute to that which is\nthe sole end of all his actions, whether corporeal or mental,--his\nfelicity--constitutes that, which, in one word, is designated under the\nname of _Reason_. Sentiment, imagination, temperament, may be capable\nof leading him astray--may have the power to deceive him; but experience\nand reflection will rectify his errors, point out his mistakes, place\nhim in the right road, teach him what can really conduce to, what can\ntruly conduct him to happiness. From this, it will appear, that _reason_\nis man's nature, modified by experience, moulded by judgment, regulated\nby reflection: it supposes a moderate, sober temperament; a just, a\nsound mind; a well-regulated, orderly imagination; a knowledge of truth,\ngrounded upon tried, upon reiterated experience; in fact, prudence\nand foresight: this will serve to prove, that although nothing is more\ncommonly asserted, although the phrase is repeated daily, nay, hourly,\nthat _man is a reasonable being_, yet there are but a very small number\nof the individuals who compose the human species, of whom it can with\ntruth be said; who really enjoy the faculty of reason, or who combine\nthe dispositions, the experience, by which it is constituted. It ought\nnot, then to excite surprise, that the individuals of the human race,\nwho are in a capacity to make true experience, are so few in number.\nMan, when he is born, brings with him into the world organs susceptible\nof receiving impulse, amassing ideas, of collecting experience; but\nwhether it be from the vice of his system, the imperfection of his\norganization, or from those causes by which it is modified, his\nexperience is false, his ideas are confused, his images are badly\nassociated, his judgment is erroneous, his brain is saturated with\nvicious, with wicked systems, which necessarily have an influence over\nhis conduct, which are continually disturbing his mind, and confounding\nhis reason.\n\nMan's senses, as it has been shewn, are the only means by which he is\nenabled to ascertain whether his opinions are true or false, whether\nhis conduct is useful to himself and beneficial to others, whether it is\nadvantageous or disadvantageous. But that his senses may be competent to\nmake a faithful relation--that they may be in a capacity to impress true\nideas on his brain, it is requisite they should be sound; that is to\nsay, in the state necessary to maintain his existence; in that\norder which is suitable to his preservation--that condition which is\ncalculated to ensure his permanent felicity. It is also indispensable\nthat his brain itself should be healthy, or in the proper circumstances\nto enable it to fulfil its functions with precision, to exercise its\nfaculties with vigour. It is necessary that memory should faithfully\ndelineate its anterior sensations, should accurately retrace its former\nideas; to the end, that he may be competent to judge, to foresee the\neffects he may have to hope, the consequences he may have to fear, from\nthose actions to which he may be determined by his will. If his organic\nsystem be vicious, if his interior or exterior organs be defective,\nwhether by their natural conformation or from those causes by which they\nare regulated, he feels but imperfectly--in a manner less distinct than\nis requisite; his ideas are either false or suspicious, he judges badly,\nhe is in a delusion, in a state of ebriety, in a sort of intoxication\nthat prevents his grasping the true relation of things. In short, if\nhis memory is faulty, if it is treacherous, his reflection is void,\nhis imagination leads him astray, his mind deceives him, whilst the\nsensibility of his organs, simultaneously assailed by a crowd of\nimpressions, shocked by a variety of impulsions, oppose him to prudence,\nto foresight, to the exercise of his reason. On the other hand, if the\nconformation of his organs, as it happens with those of a phlegmatic\ntemperament, of a dull habit, does not permit him to move, except with\nfeebleness, in a sluggish manner, his experience is slow, frequently\nunprofitable. The tortoise and the butterfly are alike incapable of\npreventing their destruction. The stupid man, equally with him who is\nintoxicated, are in that state which renders it impossible for them to\narrive at or attain the end they have in view.\n\nBut what is the end? What is the aim of man in the sphere he occupies?\nIt is to preserve himself; to render his existence happy. It becomes\nthen of the utmost importance, that he should understand the true means\nwhich reason points out, which prudence teaches him to use, in order\nthat he may with certainty, that he may constantly arrive at the\nend which he proposes to himself. These he will find are his natural\nfaculties--his mind--his talents--his industry--his actions, determined\nby those passions of which his nature renders him susceptible, which\ngive more or less activity to his will. Experience and reason again shew\nhim, that the men with whom he is associated are necessary to him,\nare capable of contributing to his happiness, are in a capacity to\nadminister to his pleasures, are competent to assist him by those\nfaculties which are peculiar to them; experience teaches him the mode he\nmust adopt to induce them to concur in his designs, to determine them to\nwill and incline them to act in his favour. This points out to him the\nactions they approve--those which displease them--the conduct which\nattracts them--that which repels them--the judgment by which they are\nswayed--the advantages that occur--the prejudicial effects that result\nto him from their various modes of existence and from their diverse\nmanner of acting. This experience furnishes him with the ideas of virtue\nand of vice, of justice and of injustice, of goodness and of wickedness,\nof decency and of indecency, of probity and of knavery: In short,\nhe learns to form a judgment of men--to estimate their actions--to\ndistinguish the various sentiments excited in them, according to the\ndiversity of those effects which they make him experience. It is\nupon the necessary diversity of these effects that is founded the\ndiscrimination between good and evil--between virtue and vice;\ndistinctions which do not rest, as some thinkers have believed, on the\nconventions made between men; still less, as some metaphysicians have\nasserted, upon the chimerical will of supernatural beings: but upon the\nsolid, the invariable, the eternal relations that subsist between beings\nof the human species congregated together, and living in society: which\nrelations will have existence as long as man shall remain, as long as\nsociety shall continue to exist.\n\nThus _virtue_ is every thing that is truly beneficial, every thing\nthat is constantly useful to the individuals of the human race, living\ntogether in society; _vice_ every thing that is really prejudicial,\nevery thing that is permanently injurious to them. The greatest virtues\nare those which procure for man the most durable advantages, from which\nhe derives the most solid happiness, which preserves the greatest degree\nof order in his association: the greatest vices, are those which most\ndisturb his tendency to happiness, which perpetuate error, which most\ninterrupt the necessary order of society.\n\nThe _virtuous man_, is he whose actions tend uniformly to the welfare,\nconstantly to the happiness, of his fellow creatures. The _vicious man_,\nis he whose conduct tends to the misery, whose propensities form the\nunhappiness of those with whom he lives; from whence his own peculiar\nmisery most commonly results.\n\nEvery thing that procures for a man true and permanent happiness is\nreasonable; every thing that disturbs his individual felicity, or that\nof the beings necessary to his happiness, is foolish and unreasonable.\nThe man who injures others, is wicked; the man who injures himself, is\nan imprudent being, who neither has a knowledge of reason, of his own\npeculiar interests, nor of truth.\n\nMan's _duties_ are the means pointed out to him by experience, the\ncircle which reason describes for him, by which he is to arrive at that\ngoal he proposes to himself; these duties are the necessary consequence\nof the relations subsisting between mortals, who equally desire\nhappiness, who are equally anxious to preserve their existence. When it\nis said these duties _compel him_, it signifies nothing more than that,\nwithout taking these means, he could not reach the end proposed to him\nby his nature. Thus, _moral obligation_ is the necessity of employing\nthe natural means to render the beings with whom he lives happy; to\nthe end that he may determine them in turn to contribute to his own\nindividual happiness: his obligation toward himself, is the necessity\nhe is under to take those means, without which he would be incapable to\nconserve himself, or render his existence solidly and permanently\nhappy. Morals, like the universe, is founded upon necessity, or upon the\neternal relation of things.\n\n_Happiness_ is a mode of existence of which man naturally wishes the\nduration, or in which he is willing to continue. It is measured by its\nduration, by its vivacity. The greatest happiness is that which has the\nlongest continuance: transient happiness, or that which has only a\nshort duration, is called _Pleasure_; the more lively it is, the more\nfugitive, because man's senses are only susceptible of a certain quantum\nof motion. When pleasure exceeds this given quantity, it is changed into\n_anguish_, or into that painful mode of existence, of which he ardently\ndesires the cessation: this is the reason why pleasure and pain\nfrequently so closely approximate each other as scarcely to be\ndiscriminated. Immoderate pleasure is the forerunner of regret. It is\nsucceeded by ennui, it is followed by weariness, it ends in disgust:\ntransient happiness frequently converts itself into durable misfortune.\nAccording to these principles it will be seen that man, who in each\nmoment of his duration seeks necessarily after happiness, ought, when\nhe is reasonable, to manage, to husband, to regulate his pleasures; to\nrefuse himself to all those of which the indulgence would be succeeded\nby regret; to avoid those which can convert themselves into pain; in\norder that he may procure for himself the most permanent felicity.\n\nHappiness cannot be the same for all the beings of the human species;\nthe same pleasures cannot equally affect men whose conformation is\ndifferent, whose modification is diverse. This no doubt, is the true\nreason why the greater number of moral philosophers are so little\nin accord upon those objects in which they have made man's happiness\nconsist, as well as on the means by which it may be obtained.\nNevertheless, in general, happiness appears to be a state, whether\nmomentary or durable, in which man readily acquiesces, because he finds\nit conformable to his being. This state results from the accord,\nsprings out of the conformity, which is found between himself and\nthose circumstances in which he has been placed by Nature; or, if it be\npreferred, _happiness is the co-ordination of man, with the causes that\ngive him impulse_.\n\nThe ideas which man forms to himself of happiness depend not only on his\ntemperament, on his individual conformation, but also upon the habits he\nhas contracted. _Habit_ is, in man, a mode of existence--of thinking--of\nacting, which his organs, as well interior as exterior, contract, by the\nfrequent reiteration of the same motion; from whence results the faculty\nof performing these actions with promptitude, of executing them with\nfacility.\n\nIf things be attentively considered, it will be found that almost\nthe whole conduct of man--the entire system of his actions--his\noccupations--his connexions--his studies--his amusements--his\nmanners--his customs--his very garments--even his aliments, are the\neffect of habit. He owes equally to habit, the facility with which\nhe exercises his mental faculties of thought--of judgment--of wit--of\nreason--of taste, &c. It is to habit he owes the greater part of his\ninclinations--of his desires--of his opinions--of his prejudices--of the\nideas, true or false, he forms to himself of his welfare. In short, it\nis to habit, consecrated by time, that he owes those errors into\nwhich everything strives to precipitate him; from which every thing\nis calculated to prevent him emancipating himself. It is habit that\nattaches him either to virtue or to vice: experience proves this:\nobservation teaches incontrovertibly that the first crime is always\naccompanied by more pangs of remorse than the second; this again, by\nmore than the third; so on to those that follow. A first action is the\ncommencement of a habit; those which succeed confirm it: by force\nof combatting the obstacles that prevent the commission of criminal\nactions, man arrives at the power of vanquishing them with ease; of\nconquering them with facility. Thus he frequently becomes wicked from\nhabit.\n\nMan is so much modified by habit, that it is frequently confounded\nwith his nature: from hence results, as will presently be seen, those\nopinions or those ideas, which he has called _innate_: because he has\nbeen unwilling to recur back to the source from whence they sprung:\nwhich has, as it were, identified itself with his brain. However this\nmay be, he adheres with great strength of attachment to all those things\nto which he is habituated; his mind experiences a sort of violence, an\nincommodious revulsion, a troublesome distaste, when it is endeavoured\nto make him change the course of his ideas: a fatal predilection\nfrequently conducts him back to the old track in despite of reason.\n\nIt is by a pure mechanism that may be explained the phenomena of habit,\nas well physical as moral; the soul, notwithstanding its spirituality,\nis modified exactly in the same manner as the body. Habit, in man,\ncauses the organs of voice to learn the mode of expressing quickly the\nideas consigned to his brain, by means of certain motion, which, during\nhis infancy, the tongue acquires the power of executing with facility:\nhis tongue, once habituated to move itself in a certain manner, finds\nmuch trouble, has great pain, to move itself after another mode; the\nthroat yields with difficulty to those inflections which are exacted by\na language different from that to which he has, been accustomed. It is\nthe same with regard to his ideas; his brain, his interior organ, his\nsoul, inured to a given manner of modification, accustomed to attach\ncertain ideas to certain objects, long used to form to itself a system\nconnected with certain opinions, whether true or false, experiences a\npainful sensation, whenever he undertakes to give it a new impulse, or\nalter the direction of its habitual motion. It is nearly as difficult to\nmake him change his opinions as his language.\n\nHere, then, without doubt, is the cause of that almost invincible\nattachment which man displays to those customs--those prejudices--those\ninstitutions of which it is in vain that reason, experience, good sense\nprove to him the inutility, or even the danger. Habit opposes itself to\nthe clearest, the most evident demonstrations; these can avail\nnothing against those passions, those vices, which time has rooted\nin him--against the most ridiculous systems--against the most absurd\nnotions--against the most extravagant hypotheses--against the strangest\ncustoms: above all, when he has learned to attach to them the ideas\nof utility, of common interest, of the welfare of society. Such is the\nsource of that obstinacy, of that stubbornness, which man evinces for\nhis religion, for ancient usages, for unreasonable customs, for laws so\nlittle accordant with justice, for abuses, which so frequently make him\nsuffer, for prejudices of which he sometimes acknowledges the absurdity,\nyet is unwilling to divest himself of them. Here is the reason\nwhy nations contemplate the most useful novelties as mischievous\ninnovations--why they believe they would be lost, if they were to\nremedy those evils to which they have become habituated; which they have\nlearned to consider as necessary to their repose; which they have been\ntaught to consider dangerous to be cured.\n\n_Education_ is only the art of making man contract, in early life,\nthat is to say, when his organs are extremely flexible, the habits, the\nopinions, the modes of existence, adopted by the society in which he\nis placed. The first moments of his infancy are employed in collecting\nexperience; those who are charged with the care of rearing him, or who\nare entrusted to bring him up, teach him how to apply it: it is they who\ndevelope reason in him: the first impulse they give him commonly decides\nupon his condition, upon his passions, upon the ideas he forms to\nhimself of happiness, upon the means he shall employ to procure it,\nupon his virtues, and upon his vices. Under the eyes of his masters,\nthe infant acquires ideas: under their tuition he learns to associate\nthem,--to think in a certain manner,--to judge well or ill. They point\nout to him various objects, which they accustom him either to love or\nto hate, to desire or to avoid, to esteem or to despise. It is thus\nopinions are transmitted from fathers, mothers, nurses, and masters,\nto man in his infantine state. It is thus, that his mind by degrees\nsaturates itself with truth, or fills itself with error; after which\nhe regulates his conduct, which renders him either happy or miserable,\nvirtuous or vicious, estimable or hateful. It is thus he becomes either\ncontented or discontented with his destiny, according to the objects\ntowards which they have directed his passions--towards which they have\nbent the energies of his mind; that is to say, in which they have shewn\nhim his interest, in which they have taught him to place his felicity:\nin consequence, he loves and searches after that which they have taught\nhim to revere--that which they have made the object of his research; he\nhas those tastes, those inclinations, those phantasms, which, during the\nwhole course of his life, he is forward to indulge, which he is eager to\nsatisfy, in proportion to the activity they have excited in him, and the\ncapacity with which he has been provided by Nature.\n\n_Politics_ ought to be the art of regulating the passions of man--of\ndirecting them to the welfare of society--of diverting them into a\ngenial current of happiness--of making them flow gently to the\ngeneral benefit of all: but too frequently it is nothing more than the\ndetestible art of arming the passions of the various members of society\nagainst each other,--of making them the engines to accomplish their\nmutual destruction,--of converting them into agents which embitter\ntheir existence, create jealousies among them, and fill with rancorous\nanimosities that association from which, if properly managed, man ought\nto derive his felicity. Society is commonly so vicious because it is not\nfounded upon Nature, upon experience, and upon general utility; but\non the contrary, upon the passions, upon the caprices, and upon the\nparticular interests of those by whom it is governed. In short, it is\nfor the most part the advantage of the few opposed to the prosperity of\nthe many.\n\nPolitics, to be useful, should found its principles upon Nature; that is\nto say, should conform itself to the essence of man, should mould itself\nto the great end of society: but what is society? and what is its end?\nIt is a whole, formed by the union of a great number of families, or by\na collection of individuals, assembled from a reciprocity of interest,\nin order that they may satisfy with greater facility their reciprocal\nwants--that they may, with more certainty, procure the advantages they\ndesire--that they may obtain mutual succours--above all, that they may\ngain the faculty of enjoying, in security, those benefits with which\nNature and industry may furnish them: it follows, of course, that\npolitics, which are intended to maintain society, and to consolidate\nthe interests of this congregation, ought to enter into its views, to\nfacilitate the means of giving them efficiency, to remove all those\nobstacles that have a tendency to counteract the intention with which\nman entered into association.\n\nMan, in approximating to his fellow man, to live with him in society,\nhas made, either formally or tacitly, a covenant; by which he engages\nto render mutual services, to do nothing that can be prejudicial to his\nneighbour. But as the nature of each individual impels him each instant\nto seek after his own welfare, which he has mistaken to consist in the\ngratification of his passions, and the indulgence of his transitory\ncaprices, without any regard to the convenience of his fellows; there\nneeded a power to conduct him back to his duty, to oblige him to conform\nhimself to his obligations, and to recall him to his engagements, which\nthe hurry of his passions frequently make him forget. This power is the\n_law_; it is, or ought to be, the collection of the will of society,\nreunited to fix the conduct of its members, to direct their action in\nsuch a mode, that it may concur to the great end of his association--the\ngeneral good.\n\nBut as society, more especially when very numerous, is incapable of\nassembling itself, unless with great difficulty, as it cannot with\ntumult make known its intentions, it is obliged to choose citizens in\nwhom it places a confidence, whom it makes the interpreter of its will,\nwhom it constitutes the depositaries of the power requisite to carry\nit into execution. Such is the origin of all _government_, which to be\nlegitimate can only be founded on the free consent of society. Those\nwho are charged with the care of governing, call themselves sovereigns,\nchiefs, legislators: according to the form which society has been\nwilling to give to its government: these sovereigns are styled monarchs,\nmagistrates, representatives, &c. Government only borrows its power from\nsociety: being established for no other purpose than its welfare, it is\nevident society can revoke this power whenever its interest shall exact\nit; change the form of its government; extend or limit the power which\nit has confided to its chiefs, over whom, by the immutable laws of\nNature, it always conserves a supreme authority: because these laws\nenjoin, that the part shall always remain subordinate to the whole.\n\nThus sovereigns are the ministers of society, its interpreters, the\ndepositaries of a greater or of a less portion of its power; but they\nare not its absolute masters, neither are they the proprietors of\nnations. By a _covenant_, either expressed or implied, they engage\nthemselves to watch over the maintenance, to occupy themselves with the\nwelfare of society; it is only upon these conditions society consents to\nobey them. The price of obedience is protection. There is or ought to\nbe a reciprocity of interest between the governed and the governor:\nwhenever this reciprocity is wanting, society is in that state of\nconfusion of which we spoke in the fifth chapter: it is verging on\ndestruction. No society upon earth was ever willing or competent to\nconfer irrevocably upon its chiefs the power, the right, of doing it\ninjury. Such a concession, such a compact, would be annulled, would be\nrendered void by Nature; because she wills that each society, the\nsame as each individual of the human species shall tend to its own\nconservation; it has not therefore the capacity to consent to its\npermanent unhappiness. _Laws_, in order that they may be just, ought\ninvariably to have for their end, the general interest of society; that\nis to say, to assure to the greater number of citizens those advantages\nfor which man originally associated. These advantages are _liberty,\nproperty, security_.\n\n_Liberty_, to man, is the faculty of doing, for his own peculiar\nhappiness, every thing which does not injure or diminish the happiness\nof his associates: in associating, each individual renounced the\nexercise of that portion of his natural liberty which would be able to\nprejudice or injure the liberty of his fellows. The exercise of that\nliberty which is injurious to society is called _licentiousness_.\n\n_Property_, to man, is the faculty of enjoying those advantages which\nspring from labour; those benefits which industry or talent has procured\nto each member of society.\n\n_Security_, to man, is the certitude, the assurance, that each\nindividual ought to have, of enjoying in his person, of finding for\nhis property the protection of the laws, as long as he shall faithfully\nobserve, as long as he shall punctually perform, his engagements with\nsociety.\n\n_Justice_, to man, assures to all the members of society, the possession\nof these advantages, the enjoyment of those rights, which belong to\nthem. From this, it will appear, that without justice, society is not in\na condition to procure the happiness of any man. Justice is also called\n_equity_, because by the assistance of the laws made to command the\nwhole, she reduces all its members to a state of equality; that is\nto say, she prevents them from prevailing one over the other, by\nthe inequality which Nature or industry may have made between their\nrespective powers.\n\n_Rights_, to man, are every thing which society, by equitable laws,\npermits each individual to do for his own peculiar felicity. These\nrights are evidently limited by the invariable end of all association:\nsociety has, on its part, rights over all its members, by virtue of the\nadvantages which it procures for them; all its members, in turn, have\na right to claim, to exact from society, or secure from its ministers\nthose advantages for the procuring of which they congregated, in favour\nof which they renounced a portion of their natural liberty. A society,\nof which the chiefs, aided by the laws, do not procure any good for its\nmembers, evidently loses its right over them: those chiefs who injure\nsociety lose the right of commanding. It is not our country, without\nit secures the welfare of its inhabitants; a society without equity\ncontains only enemies; a society oppressed is composed only of tyrants\nand slaves; slaves are incapable of being citizens; it is liberty,\nproperty, and security, that render our country dear to us; it is the\ntrue love of his country that forms the citizen.\n\nFor want of having a proper knowledge of these truths, or for want\nof applying them when known, some nations have become unhappy--have\ncontained nothing but a vile heap of slaves, separated from each other,\ndetached from society, which neither procures for them any good, nor\nsecures to them any one advantage. In consequence of the imprudence of\nsome nations, or of the craft, cunning, and violence of those to whom\nthey have confided the power of making laws, and carrying them into\nexecution, their sovereigns have rendered themselves absolute masters of\nsociety. These, mistaking the true source of their power, pretended to\nhold it from heaven, to be accountable for their actions to God alone,\nto owe nothing, not to have any obligation to society, in a word, to\nbe gods upon earth, to possess the right of governing arbitrarily.\nFrom thence politics became corrupted: they were only a mockery. Such\nnations, disgraced and grown contemptible, did not dare resist the will\nof their chiefs; their laws were nothing more than the expression of the\ncaprice of these chiefs; public welfare was sacrificed to their peculiar\ninterests; the force of society was turned against itself; its members\nwithdrew to attach themselves to its oppressors, to its tyrants; these\nto seduce them, permitted them to injure it with impunity and to profit\nby its misfortunes. Thus liberty, justice, security, and virtue, were\nbanished from many nations; politics was no longer any thing more than\nthe art of availing itself of the forces of a people and of the treasure\nof society; of dividing it on the subject of its interest, in order to\nsubjugate it by itself; at length a stupid, a mechanical habit, made\nthem cherish their oppressors, and love their chains.\n\nMan when he has nothing to fear, presently becomes wicked; he who\nbelieves he has not occasion for his fellow, persuades himself he may\nfollow the inclinations of his heart without caution or discretion. Thus\nfear is the only obstacle society can effectually oppose to the passions\nof its chiefs; without it they will quickly become corrupt, and will\nnot scruple to avail themselves of the means society has placed in their\nhands, to make them accomplices in their iniquity. To prevent these\nabuses, it is requisite society should set bounds to its confidence;\nshould limit the power which it delegates to its chiefs; should reserve\nto itself a sufficient portion of authority to prevent them from\ninjuring it; it must establish prudent checks: it must cautiously divide\nthe power it confers, because re-united, it will by such reunion be\ninfallibly oppressed. The slightest reflection, the most scanty\nreview, will make men feel that the burthen of governing and weight\nof administration, is too ponderous and overpowering to be borne by an\nindividual; that the scope of his jurisdiction, that the range of his\nsurveillance, and multiplicity of his duties must always render him\nnegligent; that the extent of his power has ever a tendency to render\nhim mischievous. In short, the experience of all ages will convince\nnations that man is continually tempted to the abuse of power: that as\nan abundance of strong liquor intoxicates his brain, so unlimited power\ncorrupts his heart; that therefore the sovereign ought to be subject to\nthe law, not the law to the sovereign.\n\n_Government_ has necessarily an equal influence over the philosophy, as\nover the morals of nations. In the same manner that its care produces\nlabour, activity, abundance, salubrity and justice; its negligence\ninduces idleness, sloth, discouragement, penury, contagion, injustice,\nvices and crimes. It depends upon government either to foster industry,\nmature genius, give a spring to talents, or stifle them. Indeed\ngovernment, the disturber of dignities, of riches, of rewards, and\npunishments; the master of those objects in which man from his infancy\nhas learned to place his felicity, and contemplate as the means of his\nhappiness; acquires a necessary influence over his conduct: it kindles\nhis passions; gives them direction; makes him instrumental to whatever\npurpose it pleases; it modifies him; determines his manners; which in\na whole people, as in the individual, is nothing more than the conduct,\nthe general system of wills, of actions that necessarily result from his\neducation, government, laws, and religious opinions--his institutions,\nwhether rational or irrational. In short, manners are the habits of a\npeople: these are good whenever society draws from them true felicity\nand solid happiness; they are bad, they are detestable in the eye of\nreason, when the happiness of society does not spring from them; they\nare unwholesome when they have nothing more in their favour than the\nsuffrage of time, and the countenance of prejudice which rarely\nconsults experience, which is almost ever at variance with good sense:\nnotwithstanding they may have the sanction of the law, custom, religion,\npublic opinion, or example, they may be unworthy and may be disgraceful,\nprovided society is in disorder; that crime abounds; that virtue shrinks\nbeneath the basilisk eye of triumphant vice; they may then be said to\nresemble the UPAS, whose luxuriant yet poisonous foliage, the produce\nof a rank soil, becomes more baneful to those who are submitted to\nits vortex, in proportion as it extends its branches. If experience he\nconsulted, it will be found there is no action, however abominable, that\nhas not received the applause, that has not obtained the approbation of\nsome people. Parricide, the sacrifice of children, robbery, usurpation,\ncruelty, intolerance, and prostitution, have all in their turn been\nlicensed actions; have been advocated; have been deemed laudable\nand meritorious deeds with some nations of the earth. Above all,\n_superstition_ has consecrated the most unreasonable, the most revolting\ncustoms.\n\nMan's passions result from and depend on the motion of attraction or\nrepulsion, of which he is rendered susceptible by Nature; who enables\nhim, by his peculiar essence, to be attracted by those objects which\nappear useful to him, to be repelled by those which he considers\nprejudicial; it follows that government, by holding the magnet, can put\nthese passions into activity, has the power either of restraining them,\nor of giving them a favorable or an unfavorable direction. All his\npassions are constantly limited by either loving or hating, seeking\nor avoiding, desiring or fearing. These passions, so necessary to the\nconservation of man, are a consequence of his organization; they display\nthemselves with more or less energy, according to his temperament;\neducation and habit develope them; government gives them play, conducts\nthem towards those objects, which it believes itself interested in\nmaking desirable to its subjects. The various names which have been\ngiven to these passions, are relative to the different objects by which\nthey are excited, such as pleasure, grandeur, or riches, which produce\nvoluptuousness, ambition, vanity and avarice. If the source of those\npassions which predominate in nations be attentively examined it will\nbe commonly found in their governments. It is the impulse received\nfrom their chiefs that renders them sometimes warlike, sometimes\nsuperstitious, sometimes aspiring after glory, sometimes greedy after\nwealth, sometimes rational, and sometimes unreasonable; if sovereigns,\nin order to enlighten and render happy their dominions, were to employ\nonly the _tenth_ part of the vast expenditures which they lavish, only\na _tythe_ of the pains which they employ to render them brutish, to\nstupify them, to deceive them, and to afflict them; their subjects\nwould presently be as wise, would quickly be as happy, as they are now\nremarkable for being blind, ignorant, and miserable.\n\nLet the vain project of destroying, the delusive attempt at rooting his\npassions from the heart of man, he abandoned; let an effort be made to\ndirect them towards objects that may be useful to himself, beneficial to\nhis associates. Let education, let government, let the laws, habituate\nhim to restrain his passions within those just bounds that experience\nfixes and reason prescribes. Let the ambitious have honours, titles,\ndistinctions, and power, when they shall have usefully served their\ncountry; let riches be given to those who covet them, when they shall\nhave rendered themselves necessary to their fellow citizens; let\ncommendations, let eulogies, encourage those who shall be actuated by\nthe love of glory. In short, let the passions of man have a free, an\nuninterrupted course, whenever there shall result from their exercise,\nreal, substantial, and durable advantages to society. Let education\nkindle only those, which are truly beneficial to the human species; let\nit favour those alone which are really necessary to the maintenance of\nsociety. The passions of man are dangerous, only because every thing\nconspires to give them an evil direction.\n\nNature does not make man either good or wicked: she combines machines\nmore or less active, mobile, and energetic; she furnishes him with\norgans and temperament, of which his passions, more or less impetuous,\nare the necessary consequence; these passions have always his happiness\nfor their object, his welfare for their end: in consequence they are\nlegitimate, they are natural, they can only be called bad or good,\nrelatively, to the influence they have on the beings of his species.\nNature gives man legs proper to sustain his weight, and necessary to\ntransport him from one place to another; the care of those who rear them\nstrengthens them, habituates him to avail himself of him, accustoms\nhim to make either a good or a bad use of them. The arm which he has\nreceived from Nature is neither good nor bad; it is necessary to a great\nnumber of the actions of life; nevertheless, the use of this arm\nbecomes criminal, if he has contracted the habit of using it to rob, to\nassassinate, with a view to obtain that money which he has been taught\nfrom his infancy to desire, and which the society in which he lives\nrenders necessary to him, but which his industry will enable him to\nobtain without doing injury to his fellow man.\n\nThe heart of man is a soil which Nature has made equally suitable to the\nproduction of brambles, or of useful grain--of deleterous poison, or of\nrefreshing fruit, by virtue of the seeds which may be sown in it--by the\ncultivation that may be bestowed upon it, In his infancy, those objects\nare pointed out to him which he is to estimate or to despise, to\nseek after or to avoid, to love or to hate. It is his parents,\nhis instructors, who render him either virtuous or wicked, wise or\nunreasonable, studious or dissipated, steady or trifling, solid or\nvain. Their example, their discourse, modify him through his whole life,\nteaching him what are the things he ought either to desire or to avoid;\nwhat the objects he ought to fear or to love: he desires them, in\nconsequence; and he imposes on himself the task of obtaining them,\naccording to the energy of his temperament, which ever decides the\nforce of his passions. It is thus that education, by inspiring him with\nopinions, by infusing into him ideas, whether true or false, gives\nhim those primitive impulsions after which he acts, in a manner either\nadvantageous or prejudicial both to himself and to others. Man, at\nhis birth, brings with him into the world nothing but the necessity\nof conserving himself, of rendering his existence happy: instruction,\nexample, the customs of the world, present him with the means, either\nreal or imaginary, of achieving it; habit procures for him the facility\nof employing these means: he attaches himself strongly to those he\njudges best calculated, most proper to secure to him the possession of\nthose objects which they have taught him, which he has learned to\ndesire as the preferable good attached to his existence. Whenever his\neducation--whenever the examples which have been afforded him--whenever\nthe means with which he has been provided, are approved by reason, are\nthe result of experience, every thing concurs to render him virtuous;\nhabit strengthens these dispositions in him; he becomes, in consequence,\na useful member of society; to the interests of which, every thing ought\nto prove to him his own permanent well-being, his own durable felicity,\nis necessarily allied. If, on the contrary, his education--his\ninstitutions--the examples which are set before him--the opinions which\nare suggested to him in his infancy, are of a nature to exhibit to his\nmind virtue as useless and repugnant--vice as useful and congenial to\nhis own individual happiness, he will become vicious; he will believe\nhimself interested in injuring society, in rendering his associates\nunhappy; he will be carried along by the general current: he will\nrenounce virtue, which to him will no longer be any thing more than\na vain idol, without attractions to induce him to follow it; without\ncharms to tempt his adoration; because it will appear to exact, that he\nshould immolate at its shrine, that he should sacrifice at its altar all\nthose objects which he has been constantly taught to consider the most\ndear to himself; to contemplate as benefits the most desirable.\n\nIn order that man may become virtuous, it is absolutely requisite that\nhe should have an interest, that he should find advantages in practising\nvirtue. For this end, it is necessary that education should implant in\nhim reasonable ideas; that public opinion should lean towards virtue, as\nthe most desirable good; that example should point it out as the object\nmost worthy esteem; that government should faithfully recompense, should\nregularly reward it; that honor should always accompany its practice;\nthat vice should constantly be despised; that crime should invariably be\npunished. Is virtue in this situation amongst men? does the education of\nman infuse into him just, faithful ideas of happiness--true notions of\nvirtue--dispositions really favourable to the beings with whom he is to\nlive? The examples spread before him, are they suitable to innocence and\nmanners? are they calculated to make him respect decency--to cause him\nto love probity--to practice honesty--to value good faith--to esteem\nequity--to revere conjugal fidelity--to observe exactitude in fulfilling\nhis duties? Religion, which alone pretends to regulate his manners, does\nit render him sociable--does it make him pacific--does it teach him to\nbe humane? The arbiters, the sovereigns of society, are they faithful\nin recompensing, punctual in rewarding, those who have best served their\ncountry? in punishing those who have pillaged, who have robbed, who have\nplundered, who have divided, who have ruined it? Justice, does she hold\nher scales with a firm, with an even hand, between all the citizens\nof the state? The laws, do they never support the strong against the\nweak--favor the rich against the poor--uphold the happy against the\nmiserable? In short, is it an uncommon spectacle to behold crime\nfrequently justified, often applauded, sometimes crowned with success,\ninsolently triumphing, arrogantly striding over that merit which it\ndisdains, over that virtue which it outrages? Well then, in societies\nthus constituted, virtue can only be heard by a very small number of\npeaceable citizens, a few generous souls, who know how to estimate its\nvalue, who enjoy it in secret. For the others, it is only a disgusting\nobject; they see in it nothing but the supposed enemy to their\nhappiness, or the censor of their individual conduct.\n\nIf man, according to his nature, is necessitated to desire his welfare,\nhe is equally obliged to love and cherish the means by which he believes\nit is to be acquired: it would be useless, it would perhaps be unjust,\nto demand that a man should be virtuous, if he could not be so without\nrendering himself miserable. Whenever he thinks vice renders him happy,\nhe must necessarily love vice; whenever he sees inutility recompensed,\ncrime rewarded--whenever he witnesses either or both of them\nhonored,--what interest will he find in occupying himself with the\nhappiness of his fellow-creatures? what advantage will he discover in\nrestraining the fury of his passions? Whenever his mind is saturated\nwith false ideas, filled with dangerous opinions, it follows, of course,\nthat his whole conduct will become nothing more than a long chain of\nerrors, a tissue of mistakes, a series of depraved actions.\n\nWe are informed, that the savages, in order to flatten the heads\nof their children, squeeze them between two boards, by that means\npreventing them from taking the shape designed for them by Nature. It is\npretty nearly the same thing with the institutions of man; they commonly\nconspire to counteract Nature, to constrain and divert, to extinguish\nthe impulse Nature has given him, to substitute others which are the\nsource of all his misfortunes. In almost all the countries of the\nearth, man is bereft of truth, is fed with falsehoods, and amused with\nmarvellous chimeras: he is treated like those children whose members\nare, by the imprudent care of their nurses, swathed with little fillets,\nbound up with rollers, which deprive them of the free use of their\nlimbs, obstruct their growth, prevent their activity, and oppose\nthemselves to their health.\n\nMost of the superstitious opinions of man have for their object only to\ndisplay to him his supreme felicity in those illusions for which they\nkindle his passions: but as the phantoms which are presented to his\nimagination are incapable of being considered in the same light by all\nwho contemplate them, he is perpetually in dispute concerning these\nobjects; he hates his fellow, he persecutes his neighbour, his neighbour\nin turn persecutes him, and he believes that in doing this he is doing\nwell: that in committing the greatest crimes to sustain his opinions\nhe is acting right. It is thus superstition infatuates man from his\ninfancy, fills him with vanity, and enslaves him with fanaticism: if he\nhas a heated imagination, it drives him on to fury; if he has activity,\nit makes him a madman, who is frequently as cruel himself, as he is\ndangerous to his fellow-creatures, as he is incommodious to others: if,\non the contrary, he be phlegmatic, and of a slothful habit, he becomes\nmelancholy and useless to society.\n\n_Public opinion_ every instant offers to man's contemplation false ideas\nof honor, and wrong notions of glory: it attaches his esteem not only\nto frivolous advantages, but also to prejudicial interests and injurious\nactions; which example authorizes, which prejudice consecrates, which\nhabit precludes him from viewing with the disgust and horror which they\nmerit. Indeed, habit familiarizes his mind with the most absurd\nideas, the most unreasonable customs, the most blameable actions; with\nprejudices the most contrary to his own interests, and detrimental\nto the society in which he lives. He finds nothing strange, nothing\nsingular, nothing despicable, nothing ridiculous, except those opinions\nand objects to which he is himself unaccustomed. There are countries\nin which the most laudable actions appear very blameable and\nridiculous--where the foulest and most diabolical actions pass for very\nhonest and perfectly rational conduct. In some nations they kill the old\nmen; in some the children strangle their fathers. The Phoenicians and\nCarthaginians immolated their children to their gods. Europeans approve\nduels; he who refuses to cut the throat of another, or to blow out the\nbrains of his neighbour, is contemplated by them as dishonoured. The\nSpaniards and Portuguese think it meritorious to burn an heretic. In\nsome countries women prostitute themselves without dishonour; in others\nit is the height of hospitality for a man to present his wife to the\nembraces of the stranger: the refusal to accept this, excites his scorn\nand calls forth his resentment.\n\n_Authority_ commonly believes itself interested in maintaining the\nreceived opinions: those prejudices and errors which it considers\nrequisite to the maintenance of its power and the consolidation of its\ninterests, are sustained by force, which is never rational. Princes\nthemselves, filled with deceptive images of happiness, mistaken notions\nof power, erroneous opinions of grandeur, and false ideas of glory, are\nsurrounded with flattering courtiers, who are interested in keeping\nup the delusion of their masters: these contemptible men have acquired\nideas of virtue, only that they may outrage it: by degrees they\ncorrupt the people, these become depraved, lend themselves to their\ndebaucheries, pander to the vices of the great, then make a merit of\nimitating them in their irregularities. A court is too frequently the\ntrue focus of the corruption of a people.\n\nThis is the true source of moral evil. It is thus that every thing\nconspires to render man vicious, and give a fatal impulse to his soul:\nfrom whence results the general confusion of society, which becomes\nunhappy, from the misery of almost every one of its members. The\nstrongest motive-powers are put in action to inspire man with a passion\nfor futile objects which are indifferent to him; which make him become\ndangerous to his fellow man, by the means which he is compelled to\nemploy, in order to obtain them. Those who have the charge of guiding\nhis steps, either impostors themselves, or the dupes to their own\nprejudices, forbid him to hearken to reason; they make truth appear\ndangerous to him; they exhibit error as requisite to his welfare, not\nonly in this world, but in the next. In short, habit strongly attaches\nhim to his irrational opinions, to his perilous inclinations, and to his\nblind passion for objects either useless or dangerous. Here, then,\nis the reason why for the most part man finds himself necessarily\ndetermined to evil; the reason why the passions, inherent in his\nNature and necessary to his conservation, become the instruments of his\ndestruction, and the bane of that society, which properly conducted,\nthey ought to preserve; the reason why society becomes a state of\nwarfare; why it does nothing but assemble enemies, who are envious of\neach other, and are always rivals for the prize. If some virtuous beings\nare to be found in these societies, they must be sought for in the\nvery small number of those, who born with a phlegmatic temperament have\nmoderate passions, who therefore, either do not desire at all, or desire\nvery feebly, those objects with which their associates are continually\ninebriated.\n\nMan's nature, diversely cultivated, decides upon his faculties, as\nwell corporeal as intellectual; upon his qualities, as well moral\nas physical. The man who is of a sanguine, robust constitution, must\nnecessarily have strong passions; he who is of a bilious, melancholy\nhabit, will as necessarily have fantastical and gloomy passions; the man\nof a gay turn, of a sprightly imagination, will have cheerful passions;\nwhile the man in whom phlegm abounds, will have those which are gentle,\nor which have a very slight degree of violence. It appears to be upon\nthe equilibrium of the humours, that depends the state of the man who\nis called _virtuous_; his temperament seems to be the result of a\ncombination, in which the elements or principles are balanced with such\nprecision that no one passion predominates over another, or carries into\nhis machine more disorder than its neighbour.\n\nHabit, as we have seen, is man's nature modified: this latter furnishes\nthe matter; education, domestic example, national manners, give it the\nform: these, acting on his temperament, make him either reasonable, or\nirrational--enlightened, or stupid--a fanatic, or a hero--an enthusiast\nfor the public good, or an unbridled criminal--a wise man, smitten with\nthe advantages of virtue, or a libertine, plunged into every kind of\nvice. All the varieties of the moral man, depend on the diversity of his\nideas; which are themselves arranged and combined in his brain by the\nintervention of his senses. His temperament is the produce of physical\nsubstances, his habits are the effect of physical modifications; the\nopinions, whether good or bad, injurious or beneficial, true or false,\nwhich form themselves in his mind, are never more than the effect of\nthose physical impulsions which the brain receives by the medium of the\nsenses.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. X.\n\n_The Soul does not derive its ideas from itself--It has no innate\nIdeas._\n\n\nWhat has preceded suffices to prove, that the interior organ of man,\nwhich is called his _soul_, is purely material. He will be enabled to\nconvince himself of this truth, by the manner in which he acquires his\nideas,--from those impressions which material objects successively make\non his organs, which are themselves acknowledged to be material. It has\nbeen seen, that the faculties which are called intellectual, are to be\nascribed to that of feeling; the different qualities of those faculties\nwhich are called moral, have been explained after the necessary laws\nof a very simple mechanism: it now remains, to reply to those who still\nobstinately persist in making the soul a substance distinguished from\nthe body, or who insist on giving it an essence totally distinct. They\nseem to found their distinction upon this, that this interior organ has\nthe faculty of drawing its ideas from within itself; they will have it,\nthat man, at his birth, brings with him ideas into the world, which,\naccording to this wonderful notion, they have called _innate_. The Jews\nhave a similar doctrine which they borrowed from the Chaldeans: their\nrabbins taught, that each soul, before it was united to the seed that\nmust form an infant in the womb of a woman, is confided to the care of\nan angel, which causes him to behold heaven, earth, and hell: this, they\npretend, is done by the assistance of a lamp, which extinguishes itself\nas soon as the infant comes into the world. Some ancient philosophers\nhave held, that the soul originally contains the principles of several\nnotions or doctrines: the Stoics designated this by the term PROLEPSIS,\n_anticipated opinions_; the Greek mathematicians, KOINAS ENNOIAS,\n_universal ideas_. They have believed that the soul, by a special\nprivilege, in a nature where every thing is connected, enjoyed the\nfaculty of moving itself without receiving any impulse; of creating to\nitself ideas, of thinking on a subject, without being determined to\nsuch action, by any exterior object; which by moving its organs should\nfurnish it with an image of the subject of its thoughts. In consequence\nof these gratuitous suppositions, of these extraordinary pretensions,\nwhich it is only requisite to expose, in order to confute some very able\nspeculators, who were prepossessed by their superstitious prejudices;\nhave ventured the length to assert, that without model, without\nprototype to act on the senses, the soul is competent to delineate to\nitself, the whole universe with all the beings it contains. DESCARTES\nand his disciples have assured us, that the body went absolutely for\nnothing, in the sensations, in the perceptions, in the ideas of the\nsoul; that it can feel, that it can perceive, that it can understand,\nthat it can taste, that it can touch, even when there should exist\nnothing that is corporeal or material exterior to ourselves. But what\nshall be said of a BERKELEY, who has endeavoured, who has laboured to\nprove to man, that every thing in this world is nothing more than a\nchimerical illusion; that the universe exists nowhere but in himself;\nthat it has no identity but in his imagination; who has rendered the\nexistence of all things problematical by the aid of sophisms, insolvable\neven to those who maintain the doctrine of the spirituality of the soul.\n\nExtravagant as this doctrine of the BISHOP OF CLOYNE may appear, it\ncannot well be more so than that of MALEBRANCHE, the champion of innate\nideas; who makes the divinity the common bond between the soul and the\nbody: or than that of those metaphysicians, who maintain that the soul\nis a substance heterogeneous to the body; who by ascribing to this soul\nthe thoughts of man, have in fact rendered the body superfluous. They\nhave not perceived they were liable to one solid objection, which is,\nthat if the ideas of man are innate, if he derives them from a superior\nbeing, independent of exterior causes, if he sees every thing in God;\nhow comes it that so many false ideas are afloat, that so many errors\nprevail, with which the human mind is saturated? From whence comes these\nopinions, which according to the theologians are so displeasing to God?\nMight it not be a question to the Malebranchists, was it in the Divinity\nthat SPINOZA beheld his system?\n\nNevertheless, to justify such monstrous opinions, they assert that ideas\nare only the objects of thought. But according to the last analysis,\nthese ideas can only reach man from exterior objects, which in giving\nimpulse to his senses modify his brain; or from the material beings\ncontained within the interior of his machine, who make some parts of his\nbody experience those sensations which he perceives, which furnish him\nwith ideas, which he relates, faithfully or otherwise, to the cause that\nmoves him. Each idea is an effect, but however difficult it may be to\nrecur to the cause, can we possibly suppose it is not ascribable to\na cause? If we can only form ideas of material substances, how can we\nsuppose the cause of our ideas can possibly be immaterial? To pretend\nthat man without the aid of exterior objects, without the intervention\nof his senses, is competent to form ideas of the universe, is to assert,\nthat a blind man is in a capacity to form a true idea of a picture, that\nrepresents some fact of which he has never heard any one speak.\n\nIt is very easy to perceive the source of those errors, into which men,\notherwise extremely profound and very enlightened have fallen, when they\nhave been desirous to speak of the soul: to describe its operations.\nObliged either by their own prejudices, or by the fear of combatting the\nopinions of some imperious theologian, they have become the advocates of\nthe principle, that the soul was a pure spirit: an immaterial substance;\nof an essence directly different from that of the body; from every thing\nwe behold: this granted, they have been incompetent to conceive how\nmaterial objects could operate, in what manner gross and corporeal\norgans were enabled to act on a substance, that had no kind of analogy\nwith them; how they were in a capacity to modify it by conveying its\nideas; in the impossibility of explaining this phenomenon, at the same\ntime perceiving that the soul had ideas, they concluded that it must\ndraw them from itself, and not from those beings, which according to\ntheir own hypothesis, were incapable of acting on it, or rather, of\nwhich they could not conceive the manner of action; they therefore\nimagined that all the modifications, all the actions of this soul,\nsprung from its own peculiar energy, were imprinted on it from its first\nformation, by the Author of Nature: that these did not in any manner\ndepend upon the beings of which we have a knowledge, or which act upon\nit, by the gross means of our senses.\n\nThere are, however, some phenomena, which, considered superficially,\nappear to support the opinion of these philosophers; to announce a\nfaculty in the human soul of producing ideas within itself, without any\nexterior aid; these are _dreams_, in which the interior organ of man,\ndeprived of objects that move it visibly, does not, however, cease to\nhave ideas--to be set in activity--to be modified in a manner that is\nsufficiently sensible--to have an influence upon his body. But if a\nlittle reflection be called in, the solution to this difficulty will\nbe found: it will be perceived that, even during sleep, his brain is\nsupplied with a multitude of ideas, with which the eye or time before\nhas stocked it; these ideas were communicated to it by exterior or\ncorporeal objects, by which they have been modified: it will be found\nthat these modifications renew themselves, not by any spontaneous,\nnot by any voluntary motion on its part, but by a chain of involuntary\nmovements which take place in his machine, which determine, which excite\nthose that give play to the brain; these modifications renew themselves\nwith more or less fidelity, with a greater or lesser degree of\nconformity to those which it has anteriorly experienced. Sometimes in\ndreaming, he has memory, then he retraces to himself the objects which\nhave struck him faithfully;--at other times, these modifications renew\nthemselves without order, and without connection, very differently from\nthose, which real objects have before excited in his interior organ. If\nin a dream he believes he sees a friend, his brain renews in itself the\nmodifications or the ideas which this friend had formerly excited--in\nthe same order that they arranged themselves when his eyes really beheld\nhim--this is nothing more than an effect of memory. If in his dream he\nfancies he sees a monster which has no model in nature, his brain is\nthen modified in the same manner that it was by the particular, by the\ndetached ideas, with which it then does nothing more than compose an\nideal whole; by assembling, and associating, in a ridiculous manner, the\nscattered ideas that were consigned to its keeping; it is then, that in\ndreaming he has imagination.\n\nThose dreams that are troublesome, extravagant, whimsical, or\nunconnected, are commonly the effect of some confusion in his machine;\nsuch as painful indigestion--an overheated blood--a prejudicial\nfermentation, &c.--these material causes excite in his body a disorderly\nmotion, which precludes the brain from being modified in the same manner\nit was on the day before; in consequence of this irregular motion the\nbrain is disturbed, it only represents to itself confused ideas that\nwant connection. When in a dream, he believes he sees a Sphinx, a being\nsupposed by the poets to have a head and face like a woman, a body like\na dog, wings like a bird, and claws like a lion, who put forth riddles\nand killed those who could not expound them; either, he has seen the\nrepresentation of one when he was awake, or else the disorderly motion\nof the brain is such that it causes it to combine ideas, to connect\nparts, from which there results a whole without model, of which the\nparts were not formed to be united. It is thus, that his brain combines\nthe head of a woman, of which it already has the idea, with the body of\na lioness, of which it also has the image. In this his head acts in the\nsame manner, as when by any defect in the interior organ, his disordered\nimagination paints to him some objects, notwithstanding he is awake. He\nfrequently dreams, without being asleep: his dreams never produce any\nthing so strange but that they have some resemblance, with the\nobjects which have anteriorly acted on his senses; which have already\ncommunicated ideas to his brain. The watchful theologians have composed,\nat their leisure, in their waking hours, those phantoms, of which they\navail themselves, to terrify or frighten man; they have done nothing\nmore than assemble the scattered traits which they have found in the\nmost terrible beings of their own species; by exaggerating the powers,\nby enlarging the rights claimed by tyrants, they have formed ideal\nbeings, before whom man trembles, and is afraid.\n\nThus, it is seen, that dreams, far from proving that the soul acts by\nits own peculiar energy, that it draws its ideas from its own recesses;\nprove, on the contrary, that in sleep it is intirely passive, that it\ndoes not even renew its modifications, but according to the involuntary\nconfusion, which physical causes produce in the body, of which every\nthing tends to shew the identity, the consubstantiality with the soul.\nWhat appears to have led those into a mistake, who maintained that the\nsoul drew its ideas from itself, is this, they have contemplated these\nideas, as if they were real beings, when, in point of fact, they are\nnothing more than the modifications produced in the brain of man, by\nobjects to which this brain is a stranger; they are these objects,\nwho are the true models, who are the real archetypes to which it is\nnecessary to recur: here is the source of all their errors.\n\nIn the individual who dreams, the soul does not act more from itself,\nthan it does in the man who is drunk, that is to say, who is modified\nby some spirituous liquor: or than it does in the sick man, when he is\ndelirious, that is to say, when he is modified by those physical causes\nwhich disturb his machine, which obstruct it in the performance of its\nfunctions; or than it, does in him, whose brain is disordered: dreams,\nlike these various states, announce nothing more than a physical\nconfusion in the human machine, under the influence of which the brain\nceases to act, after a precise and regular manner: this disorder may\nbe traced to physical causes, such as the aliments--the humours--the\ncombinations--the fermentations, which are but little analogous to the\nsalutary state of man; from hence it will appear, that his brain is\nnecessarily confused, whenever his body is agitated in an extraordinary\nmanner.\n\nDo not let him, therefore, believe that his soul acts by itself, or\nwithout a cause, in any one moment of his existence; it is, conjointly\nwith the body, submitted to the impulse of beings, who act on him\nnecessarily, according to their various properties. Wine taken in too\ngreat a quantity, necessarily disturbs his ideas, causes confusion in\nhis corporeal functions, occasions disorder in his mental faculties.\n\nIf there really existed a being in Nature, with the capability of moving\nitself by its own peculiar energies, that is to say, able to produce\nmotion, independent of all other causes, such a being would have the\npower of arresting itself, or of suspending the motion of the universe;\nwhich is nothing more than an immense chain of causes linked one to\nanother, acting and re-acting by necessary immutable laws, and which\ncannot be changed, which are incapable of being suspended, unless the\nessences of every thing in it were changed, without the properties\nof every thing were annihilated. In the general system of the world,\nnothing more can be perceived than a long series of motion, received\nand communicated in succession, by beings capacitated to give impulse to\neach other: it is thus, that each body is moved by the collision of some\nother body. The invisible motion of some soul is to be attributed to\ncauses concealed within himself; he believes that it is moved by itself,\nbecause he does not see the springs which put it in motion, or because\nhe conceives those powers are incapable of producing the effects he\nso much admires: but, does he more clearly conceive, how a spark in\nexploding gunpowder, is capable of producing the terrible effects he\nwitnesses? The source of his errors arise from this, that he regards his\nbody as gross and inert, whilst this body is a sensible machine, which\nhas necessarily an instantaneous conscience the moment it receives an\nimpression; which is conscious of its own existence by the recollection\nof impressions successively experienced; memory by resuscitating an\nimpression anteriorly received, by detaining it, or by causing an\nimpression which it receives to remain, whilst it associates it with\nanother, then with a third, gives all the mechanism of _reasoning_.\n\nAn idea, which is only an imperceptible modification of the brain, gives\nplay to the organ of speech, which displays itself by the motion it\nexcites in the tongue: this, in its turn, breeds ideas, thoughts, and\npassions, in those beings who are provided with organs susceptible of\nreceiving analagous motion; in consequence of which, the wills of\na great number of men are influenced, who, combining their efforts,\nproduce a revolution in a state, or even have an influence over the\nentire globe. It is thus, that an ALEXANDER decided the fate of Asia, it\nis thus, that a MAHOMET changed the face of the earth; it is thus,\nthat imperceptible causes produce the most terrible, the most extended\neffects, by a series of necessary motion imprinted on the brain of man.\n\nThe difficulty of comprehending the effects produced on the soul of man,\nhas made him attribute to it those incomprehensible qualities which have\nbeen examined. By the aid of imagination, by the power of thought, this\nsoul appears to quit his body, to carry itself with the greatest ease,\nto transport itself with the utmost facility towards the most distant\nobjects; to run over, to approximate in the twinkling of an eye, all the\npoints of the universe: he has therefore believed, that a being who is\nsusceptible of such rapid motion, must be of a nature very distinguished\nfrom all others; he has persuaded himself that this soul in reality does\ntravel, that it actually springs over the immense space necessary to\nmeet these various objects; he did not perceive, that to do it in\nan instant, it had only to run over itself to approximate the ideas\nconsigned to its keeping, by means of the senses.\n\nIndeed, it is never by any other means than by his senses, that\nbeings become known to man, or furnish him with ideas; it is only\nin consequence of the impulse given to his body, that his brain is\nmodified, or that his soul thinks, wills, and acts. If, as ARISTOTLE\nasserted more than two thousand years ago,--\"_nothing enters the mind\nof man but through the medium of his senses_,\"--it follows as a\nconsequence, that every thing that issues from it must find some\nsensible object to which it can attach its ideas, whether immediately,\nas a man, a tree, a bird, &c. or in the last analysis or decomposition,\nsuch as pleasure, happiness, vice, virtue, &c. This principle, so true,\nso luminous, so important in its consequence, has been set forth in all\nits lustre, by a great number of philosophers; among the rest, by the\ngreat LOCKE. Whenever, therefore, a word or its idea does not connect\nitself with some sensible object to which it can be related, this word\nor this idea is unmeaning, and void of sense; it were better for man\nthat the idea was banished from his mind, struck out of his language:\nthis principle is only the converse of the axiom of ARISTOTLE,--\"_if\nthe direct be evident, the inverse must be so likewise_.\" How has it\nhappened, that the profound LOCKE, who, to the great mortification\nof the metaphysicians, has placed this principle of ARISTOTLE in the\nclearest point of view? how is it, that all those who, like him, have\nrecognized the absurdity of the system of innate ideas, have not drawn\nthe immediate, the necessary consequences? How has it come to pass, that\nthey have not had sufficient courage to apply so clear a principle to\nall those fanciful chimeras with which the human mind has for such a\nlength of time been so vainly occupied? did they not perceive that\ntheir principle sapped the very foundations of those metaphysical\nspeculations, which never occupy man but with those objects of which, as\nthey are inaccessible to his senses, he consequently can never form\nto himself any accurate idea? But prejudice, when it is generally held\nsacred, prevents him from seeing the most simple application of the most\nself-evident principles. In metaphysical researches, the greatest men\nare frequently nothing more than children, who are incapable of either\nforeseeing or deducing the consequence of their own data.\n\nLOCKE, as well as all those who have adopted his system, which is so\ndemonstrable,--or to the axiom of ARISTOTLE, which is so clear, ought\nto have concluded from it that all those wonderful things with\nwhich metaphysicians have amused themselves, are mere chimeras; mere\nwanderings of the imagination; that an immaterial spirit or substance,\nwithout extent, without parts, is, in fact, nothing more than an\nabsence of ideas; in short, they ought to have felt that the ineffable\nintelligence which they have supposed to preside at the helm of the\nworld, is after all nothing more than a being of their own imagination,\non which man has never been in accord, whom he has pictured under all\nthe variety of forms, to which he has at different periods, in different\nclimes, ascribed every kind of attribute, good or bad; but of which\nit is impossible his senses can ever prove either the existence or the\nqualities.\n\nFor the same reason, moral philosophers ought to have concluded, that\nwhat is called moral sentiment, _moral instinct_, that is, innate\nideas of virtue, anterior to all experience of the good or bad effects\nresulting from its practice, are mere chimerical notions, which, like a\ngreat many others, have for their guarantee and base only metaphysical\nspeculation. Before man can judge, he must feel; before he can\ndistinguish good from evil, he must compare. _Morals_, is a science of\nfacts: to found them, therefore, on an hypothesis inaccessible to his\nsenses, of which he has no means of proving the reality, is to render\nthem uncertain; it is to cast the log of discord into his lap, to cause\nhim unceasingly to dispute upon that which he can never understand.\nTo assert that the ideas of morals are _innate_, or the effect of\n_instinct_, is to pretend that man knows how to read before he has\nlearned the letters of the alphabet; that he is acquainted with the laws\nof society before they are either made or promulgated.\n\nTo undeceive him, with respect to innate ideas or modifications,\nimprinted on his soul, at the moment of his birth, it is simply\nrequisite to recur to their source; he will then see that those with\nwhich he is familiar, which have, as it were, identified themselves with\nhis existence, have all come to him through the medium of some of\nhis senses; that they are sometimes engraven on his brain with great\ndifficulty,--that they have never been permanent,--that they have\nperpetually varied in him: he will see that these pretended inherent\nideas of his soul, are the effect of education, of example, above all,\nof habit, which by reiterated motion has taught his brain to associate\nhis ideas either in a confused or a perspicuous manner; to familiarize\nitself with systems either rational or absurd. In short, he takes those\nfor innate ideas of which he has forgotten the origin; he no longer\nrecals to himself, either the precise epoch, or the successive\ncircumstances when these ideas were first consigned to his brain:\narrived at a certain age he believes he has always had the same notions;\nhis memory, crowded with experience, loaded with a multitude of facts,\nis no longer able to distinguish the particular circumstances which\nhave contributed to give his brain its present modifications; its\ninstantaneous mode of thinking; its actual opinions. For example, not\none of his race, perhaps, recollects the first time the word God struck\nhis ears--the first ideas that it formed in him--the first thoughts that\nit produced in him; nevertheless, it is certain that from thence he\nhas searched for some being with whom to connect the idea which he has\neither formed to himself, or which has been suggested to him: accustomed\nto hear God continually spoken of, he has, when in other respects, the\nmost enlightened, regarded this idea as if it were infused into him by\nNature; whilst it is visibly to be attributed to those delineations of\nit, which his parents or his instructors have made to him; which he has,\nin consequence, modified according to his own particular organization,\nand the circumstances in which he has been placed; it is thus, that each\nindividual forms to himself a God, of which he is himself the model, or\nwhich he modifies after his own fashion.\n\nHis ideas of morals, although more real than those of metaphysics, are\nnot however innate: the moral sentiments he forms on the will, or the\njudgment he passes on the actions of man, are founded on experience;\nwhich alone can enable him to discriminate those which are either useful\nor prejudicial, virtuous or vicious, honest or dishonest, worthy his\nesteem, or deserving his censure. His moral sentiments are the fruit\nof a multitude of experience that is frequently very long and very\ncomplicated. He gathers it with time; it is more or less faithful, by\nreason of his particular organization and the causes by which he is\nmodified; he ultimately applies this experience with greater or less\nfacility; to this is to be attributed his habit of judging. The celerity\nwith which he applies his experience when he judges of the moral actions\nof his fellow man, is what has been termed _moral instinct_.\n\nThat which in natural philosophy is called _instinct_, is only the\neffect of some want of the body, the consequence of some attraction or\nsome repulsion in man or animals. The child that is newly born, sucks\nfor the first time; the nipple of the breast is put into his mouth:\nby the natural analogy, that is found between the conglomerate glands,\nfilled with nerves; which line his mouth, and the milk which flows from\nthe bosom of the nurse, through the medium of the nipple, causes\nthe child to press it with his mouth, in order to express the fluid\nappropriate to nourish his tender age; from all this the infant gathers\nexperience; by degrees the idea of a nipple, of milk, of pleasure,\nassociate themselves in his brain: every time he sees the nipple, he\nseizes it, promptly conveys it to his mouth, and applies it to the use\nfor which it is designed.\n\nWhat has been said, will enable us to judge of those prompt and sudden\nsentiments, which have been designated _the force of blood_.\nThose sentiments of love, which fathers and mothers have for their\nchildren--those feelings of affection, which children, with good\ninclinations, bear towards their parents, are by no means _innate\nsentiments_; they are nothing more, than the effect of experience, of\nreflection, of habit, in souls of sensibility. These sentiments do not\neven exist in a great number of human beings. We but too often witness\ntyrannical parents, occupied with making enemies of their children, who\nappear to have been formed, only to be the victims of their irrational\ncaprices or their unreasonable desires.\n\nFrom the instant in which man commences, until that in which he ceases\nto exist, he feels--he is moved either agreeably or unpleasantly--he\ncollects facts--he gathers experience; these produce ideas in his brain,\nthat are either cheerful or gloomy. Not one individual has all this\nexperience present to his memory at the same time, it does not ever\nrepresent to him the whole clew at once: it is, however, this experience\nthat mechanically directs him, without his knowledge, in all his\nactions; it was to designate the rapidity with, which he applied this\nexperience, of which he so frequently loses the connection--of which he\nis so often at a loss to render himself an account, that he imagined the\nword _instinct_: it appears to be the effect of magic, the operation of\na supernatural power, to the greater number of individuals: it is a word\ndevoid of sense to many others; but to the philosopher it is the effect\nof a very lively feeling to him it consists in the faculty of combining,\npromptly, a multitude of experience--of arranging with facility--of\ncomparing with quickness, a long and numerous train of extremely\ncomplicated ideas. It is want that causes the inexplicable instinct we\nbehold in animals which have been denied souls without reason,\nwhilst they are susceptible of an infinity of actions that prove they\nthink--judge--have memory--are capable of experience--can combine\nideas--can apply them with more or less facility to satisfy the wants\nengendered by their particular organization; in short, that prove they\nhave passions that are capable of being modified. Nothing but the\nheight of folly can refuse intellectual faculties to animals; they feel,\nchoose, deliberate, express love, show hatred; in many instances their\nsenses are much keener than those of man. Fish will return periodically\nto the spot where it is the custom to throw them bread.\n\nIt is well known the embarrassments which animals have thrown in the\nway of the partizans of the doctrine of spirituality; they have been\nfearful, if they allowed them to have a spiritual soul, of elevating\nthem to the condition of human creatures; on the other hand, in not\nallowing them to have a soul, they have furnished their adversaries\nwith authority to deny it in like manner to man, who thus finds himself\ndebased to the condition of the animal. Metaphysicians have never known\nhow to extricate themselves from this difficulty. DESCARTES fancied he\nsolved it by saying that beasts have no souls, but are mere machines.\nNothing can be nearer the surface, than the absurdity of this principle.\nWhoever contemplates Nature without prejudice, will readily acknowledge\nthat there is no other difference between the man and the beast, than\nthat which is to be attributed to the diversity of his organization.\n\nIn some beings of the human species, who appear to be endowed with a\ngreater sensibility of organs than others, may be seen an instinct,\nby the assistance of which they very promptly judge of the concealed\ndispositions of their fellows, simply by inspecting the lineaments of\ntheir face. Those who are denominated _physiognomists_, are only men of\nvery acute feelings; who have gathered an experience of which others,\nwhether from the coarseness of their organs, from the little attention\nthey have paid, or from some defect in their senses, are totally\nincapable: these last do not believe in the science of physiognomy,\nwhich appears to them perfectly ideal. Nevertheless, it is certain,\nthat the action of this soul, which has been made spiritual, makes\nimpressions that are extremely marked upon the exterior of the body;\nthese impressions, continually reiterated, their image remains: thus the\nhabitual passions of man paint themselves on his countenance; by which\nthe attentive observer, who is endowed with acute feeling, is enabled to\njudge with great rapidity of his mode of existence, and even to foresee\nhis actions, his inclinations, his desires, his predominant passions,\n&c. Although the science of physiognomy appears chimerical to a great\nnumber of persons, yet there are few who have not a clear idea of\na tender regard--of a cruel eye--of an austere aspect--of a false,\ndissimulating look--of an open countenance, &c. Keen practised optics\nacquire without doubt the faculty of penetrating the concealed motion\nof the soul, by the visible traces it leaves upon features that it has\ncontinually modified. Above all, the eyes of man very quickly undergo\nchanges according to the motion which is excited in him: these delicate\norgans are visibly altered by the smallest shock communicated to his\nbrain. Serene eyes announce a tranquil soul; wild eyes indicate a\nrestless mind; fiery eyes pourtray a choleric, sanguine temperament;\nfickle or inconstant eyes give room to suspect a soul either alarmed or\ndissimulating. It is the study of this variety of shades that renders\nman practised and acute: upon the spot he combines a multitude of\nacquired experience, in order to form his judgment of the person he\nbeholds. His judgment, thus rapidly formed, partakes in nothing of\nthe supernatural, in nothing of the wonderful: such a man is only\ndistinguished by the fineness of his organs, and by the celerity with\nwhich his brain performs its functions.\n\nIt is the same with some beings of the human species, in whom may be\ndiscovered an extraordinary sagacity, which, to the uninformed, appears\nmiraculous. The most skilful practitioners in medicine, are, no\ndoubt, men endowed with very acute feelings, similar to that of the\nphysiognomists, by the assistance of which they judge with great\nfacility of diseases, and very promptly draw their prognostics. Indeed,\nwe see men who are capable of appreciating in the twinkling of an eye a\nmultitude of circumstances, who have sometimes the faculty of foreseeing\nthe most distant events; yet, this species of prophetic talent has\nnothing in it of the supernatural; it indicates nothing more than great\nexperience, with an extremely delicate organization, from which they\nderive the faculty of judging with extreme faculty of causes, of\nforeseeing their very remote effects. This faculty, however, is also\nfound in animals, who foresee much better than man, the variations of\nthe atmosphere with the various changes of the weather. Birds have long\nbeen the prophets, and even the guides of several nations who pretend to\nbe extremely enlightened.\n\nIt is, then, to their organization, exercised after a particular manner,\nthat must be attributed those wonderous faculties which distinguish\nsome beings, that astonish others. To have _instinct_, only signifies\nto judge quickly, without requiring to make a long, reasoning on the\nsubject. Man's ideas upon vice and upon virtue, are by no means innate;\nthey are, like all others, acquired: the judgment he forms, is\nfounded upon experience, whether true or false,--this depends upon his\nconformation, and upon the habits that have modified him. The infant\nhas no ideas either of the Divinity or of virtue; it is from those who\ninstruct him that he receives these ideas; he makes more or less use of\nthem, according to his natural organization, or as his dispositions have\nbeen more or less exercised. Nature gives man legs, the nurse teaches\nhim their use, his agility depends upon their natural conformation, and\nthe manner in which he exercises them.\n\nWhat is called _taste_, in the fine arts, is to be attributed, in the\nsame manner, only to the acuteness of man's organs, practised by the\nhabit of seeing, of comparing, of judging certain objects; from whence\nresults, to some of his species, the faculty of judging with great\nrapidity, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole with its various\nrelations. It is by the force of seeing, of feeling, of experiencing\nobjects, that he attains to a knowledge of them; it is in consequence of\nreiterating this experience, that he acquires the power, that he gains\nthe habit of judging with celerity. But this experience is by no means\ninnate, he did not possess it before he was born; he is neither able to\nthink, to judge, nor to have ideas, before he has feeling; he is neither\nin a capacity to love, nor to hate; to approve, nor to blame, before he\nhas been moved, either agreeably or disagreeably. Nevertheless, this is\nprecisely what must be supposed by those who are desirous to make\nman admit of innate ideas, of opinions; infused by Nature, whether in\nmorals, metaphysics, or any other science. That his mind should have the\nfaculty of thought, that it should occupy itself with an object, it is\nrequisite it should be acquainted with its qualities; that it may have a\nknowledge of these qualities, it is necessary some of his senses should\nhave been struck by them: those objects, therefore, of which he does not\nknow any of the qualities, are nullities; or at least they do not exist\nfor him.\n\nIt will be asserted, perhaps, that the universal consent of man, upon\ncertain propositions, such as _the whole is greater than its part_, upon\nall geometrical demonstrations, appear to warrant the supposition\nof certain primary notions that are innate, not acquired. It may be\nreplied, that these notions are always acquired; that they are the\nfruit of an experience more or less prompt; that it is requisite to have\ncompared the whole with its part, before conviction can ensue, that the\nwhole is the greater of the two. Man when he is born, does not bring\nwith him the idea that two and two make four; but he is, nevertheless,\nspeedily convinced of its truth. Before forming any judgment whatever,\nit is absolutely necessary to have compared facts.\n\nIt is evident, that those who have gratuitously supposed innate ideas,\nor notions inherent in man, have confounded his organization, or his\nnatural dispositions, with the habit by which he is modified; with the\ngreater or less aptitude he has of making experience, and of applying\nit in his judgment. A man who has taste in painting, has, without doubt,\nbrought with him into the world eyes more acute, more penetrating than\nanother; but these eyes would by no means enable him to judge with\npromptitude, if he had never had occasion to exercise them; much less,\nin some respects, can those dispositions which are called _natural_, be\nregarded as innate. Man is not, at twenty years of age, the same as\nhe was when he came into the world; the physical causes that are\ncontinually acting upon him, necessarily have an influence upon his\norganization, and so modify it, that his natural dispositions themselves\nare not at one period what they are at another. La Motte Le Vayer says,\n\"We think quite otherwise of things at one time than at another; when\nyoung than when old--when hungry than when our appetite is satisfied--in\nthe night than in the day--when peevish than when cheerful. Thus,\nvarying every hour, by a thousand other circumstances, which keep us in\na state of perpetual inconstancy and instability.\" Every day may be seen\nchildren, who, to a certain age--display a great deal of ingenuity, a\nstrong aptitude for the sciences, who finish by falling into stupidity.\nOthers may be observed, who, during their infancy, have shown\ndispositions but little favourable to improvement, yet develope\nthemselves in the end, and astonish us by an exhibition of those\nqualities of which we hardly thought them susceptible: there arrives\na moment in which the mind takes a spring, makes use of a multitude of\nexperience which it has amassed, without its having been perceived; and,\nif I may be allowed the expression, without their own knowledge.\n\nThus, it cannot be too often repeated, all the ideas, all the notions,\nall the modes of existence, and all the thoughts of man, are acquired.\nHis mind cannot act, cannot exercise itself, but upon that of which it\nhas knowledge; it can understand either well or ill, only those things\nwhich it has previously felt. Such of his ideas that do not suppose some\nexterior material object for their model, or one to which he is able to\nrelate them, which are therefore called _abstract ideas_, are only modes\nin which his interior organ considers its own peculiar modifications, of\nwhich it chooses some without respect to others. The words which he uses\nto designate these ideas, such as _bounty, beauty, order, intelligence,\nvirtue_, &c. do not offer any one sense, if he does not relate them to,\nor if he does not explain them by, those objects which his senses have\nshewn him to be susceptible of those qualities, or of those modes of\nexistence, of that manner of acting, which is known to him. What is it\nthat points out to him the vague idea of _beauty_, if he does not attach\nit to some object that has struck his senses in a peculiar manner,\nto which, in consequence, he attributes this quality? What is it that\nrepresents the word _intelligence_, if he does not connect it with a\ncertain mode of being and of acting? Does the word _order_ signify any\nthing, if he does not relate it to a series of actions, to a chain of\nmotion, by which he is affected in a certain manner? Is not the word\n_virtue_ void of sense, if he does not apply it to those dispositions\nof his fellows which produce known effects, different from those\nwhich result from contrary inclinations? What do the words _pain_ and\n_pleasure_ offer to his mind in the moment when his organs neither\nsuffer nor enjoy, if it be not the modes in which he has been affected,\nof which his brain conserves the remembrance, of those impressions,\nwhich experience has shewn him to be either useful or prejudicial? But\nwhen he bears the words spirituality, immateriality, incorporeality, &c.\npronounced, neither his senses nor his memory afford him any assistance;\nthey do not furnish him with any means by which he can form an idea of\ntheir qualities, or of the objects to which he ought to apply them; in\nthat which is not matter he can only see vacuum and emptiness, which as\nlong as he remains what he is, cannot, to his mind, be susceptible of\nany one quality.\n\nAll the errors, all the disputes of men, have their foundation in this,\nthat they have renounced experience, have surrendered the evidence of\ntheir senses, to give themselves up to the guidance of notions which\nthey have believed infused or innate; although in reality they are no\nmore than the effect of a distempered imagination, of prejudices, in\nwhich they have been instructed from their infancy, with which habit\nhas familiarized them, which authority has obliged them to conserve.\nLanguages are filled with abstract words, to which are attached confused\nand vague ideas; of which, when they come to be examined, no model can\nbe found in Nature; no object to which they can be related. When man\ngives himself the trouble to analyze things, he is quite surprised to\nfind, that those words which are continually in the mouths of men,\nnever present any fixed or determinate idea: he hears them unceasingly\nspeaking of spirits--of the soul and its faculties--of duration--of\nspace--of immensity--of infinity--of perfection--of virtue--of\nreason--of sentiment--of instinct--of taste, &c. without his being\nable to tell precisely, what they themselves understand by these words.\nNevertheless, they do not appear to have been invented, but for the\npurpose of representing the images of things; or to paint, by the\nassistance of the senses, those known objects on which the mind is able\nto meditate, which it is competent to appreciate, to compare, and to\njudge.\n\nFor man to think of that which has not acted on any of his senses, is to\nthink on words; it is for his senses to dream; it is to seek in his own\nimagination for objects to which he can attach his wandering ideas: to\nassign qualities to these objects is, unquestionably, to redouble his\nextravagance, to set no limits to his folly. If a word be destined to\nrepresent to him an object that has not the capacity to act on any one\nof his organs; of which, it is impossible for him to prove either the\nexistence or the qualities; his imagination, by dint of racking itself,\nwill nevertheless, in some measure, supply him with the ideas he wants;\nhe composes some kind of a picture, with the images or colours he is\nalways obliged to borrow, from the objects of which he has a knowledge:\nthus the Divinity has been represented by some under the character of\na venerable old man; by others, under that of a puissant monarch; by\nothers, as an exasperated, irritated being, &c. It is evident, however,\nthat man, with some of his qualities, has served for the model of these\npictures: but if he be informed of objects that are represented as pure\nspirits--that have neither body nor extent--that are not contained in\nspace--that are beyond nature,--here then he is plunged into emptiness;\nhis mind no longer has any ideas--it no longer knows upon what it\nmeditates. This, as will be seen in the sequel, no doubt, is the source\nof those unformed notions which some men have formed of the Divinity;\nthey themselves frequently annihilate him, by assembling incompatible\nand contradictory attributes. In giving him morals--in composing him of\nknown qualities,--they make him a man;--in assigning him the negative\nattributes of every thing they know, they render him inaccessible to\ntheir senses--they destroy all antecedent ideas--they make him a mere\nnothing. From this it will appear, that those sublime sciences which are\ncalled _Theology, Psychology, Metaphysics_, have been mere sciences of\nwords: morals and politics, with which they very frequently mix, have,\nin consequence, become inexplicable enigmas, which there is nothing\nshort of the study of Nature can enable us to expound.\n\nMan has occasion for truth; it consists in a knowledge of the true\nrelations he has with those beings competent to have an influence on\nhis welfare; these relations are to be known only by experience: without\nexperience there can be no reason; without reason man is only a blind\ncreature, who conducts himself by chance. But, how is he to acquire\nexperience upon ideal objects, which his senses neither enable him to\nknow nor to examine? How is he to assure himself of the existence, how\nascertain the qualities of beings he is not able to feel? How can he\njudge whether there objects be favorable or prejudicial to him? How is\nhe to know, without the evidence of his senses, what he ought to love,\nwhat he should hate, what to seek after, what to shun, what to do, what\nto leave undone? It is, however, upon this knowledge that his condition\nin this world rests; it is upon this knowledge that morals is founded.\nFrom whence it may be seen, that, by causing him to blend vague\nmetaphysical notions with morals, or the science of the certain and\ninvariable relations which subsist between mankind; or by weakly\nestablishing them upon chimerical ideas, which have no existence but in\nhis imagination; these morals, upon which the welfare of society so much\ndepends, are rendered uncertain, are made arbitrary, are abandoned to\nthe caprices of fancy, are not fixed upon any solid basis.\n\nBeings essentially different by their natural organization, by the\nmodifications they experience, by the habits they contract, by the\nopinions they acquire, must of necessity think differently. His\ntemperament, as we have seen, decides the mental qualities of man:\nthis temperament itself is diversely modified in him: from whence it\nconsecutively follows, his imagination cannot possibly be the same;\nneither can it create to him the same images. Each individual is a\nconnected whole, of which all the parts have a necessary correspondence.\nDifferent eyes must see differently, must give extremely varied ideas\nof the objects they contemplate, even when these objects are real. What,\nthen, must be the diversity of these ideas, if the objects meditated\nupon do not act upon the senses? Mankind have pretty nearly the same\nideas, in the gross, of those substances that act upon his organs with\nvivacity; he is sufficiently in unison upon some qualities which he\ncontemplates very nearly in the same manner; I say, very nearly, because\nthe intelligence, the notion, the conviction of any one proposition,\nhowever simple, however evident, however clear it may be supposed, is\nnot, nor cannot be, strictly the same, in any two men. Indeed, one man\nnot being another man, the first cannot, for example, have rigorously\nand mathematically the same notion of unity as the second; seeing that\nan identical effect cannot be the result of two different causes. Thus,\nwhen men are in accord in their ideas, in their modes of thinking, in\ntheir judgment, in their passions, in their desires, in, their tastes,\ntheir consent does not arise from their seeing or feeling the same\nobjects precisely in the same manner, but pretty nearly; language is\nnot, nor cannot be, sufficiently copious to designate the vast variety\nof shades, the multiplicity of imperceptible differences, which is to be\nfound in their modes of seeing and thinking. Each man, then, has, to say\nthus, a language which is peculiar to himself alone, and this language\nis incommunicable to others. What harmony, what unison, then, can\npossibly exist between them, when they discourse with each other, upon\nobjects only known to their imagination? Can this imagination in\none individual ever be the same as in another? How can they possibly\nunderstand each other, when they assign to those objects qualities that\ncan only be attributed to the particular manner in which their brain is\naffected.\n\nFor one man to exact from another that he shall think like himself, is\nto insist that he shall be organized precisely in the same manner--that\nhe shall have been modified exactly the same in every moment of his\nexistence: that he shall have received the same temperament, the same\nnourishment, the same education: in a word, that he shall require that\nother to be himself. Wherefore is it not exacted that all men shall have\nthe same features? Is man more the master of his opinions? Are not his\nopinions the necessary consequence of his Nature, and of those peculiar\ncircumstances which, from his infancy, have necessarily had an influence\nupon his mode of thinking, and his manner of acting? If man be a\nconnected whole, whenever a single feature differs from his own, ought\nhe not to conclude that it is not possible his brain can either think,\nassociate ideas, imagine, or dream precisely in the same manner with\nthat other.\n\nThe diversity in the temperament of man, is the natural, the necessary\nsource of the diversity of his passions, of his taste, of his ideas of\nhappiness, of his opinions of every kind. Thus, this same diversity will\nbe the fatal source of his disputes, of his hatreds, of his injustice,\nevery time he shall reason upon unknown objects, but to which he shall\nattach the greatest importance. He will never understand either himself\nor others, in speaking of a spiritual soul, or of immaterial substances\ndistinguished from Nature; he will, from that moment, cease to speak\nthe same language, and he will never attach the same ideas to the same\nwords. What, then, shall be, the common standard that shall decide which\nis the man that thinks with the greatest justice? What the scale by\nwhich to measure who has the best regulated imagination? What balance\nshall be found sufficiently exact to determine whose knowledge is most\ncertain, when he agitates subjects, which experience cannot enable him\nto examine, that escape all his senses, that have no model, that are\nabove reason? Each individual, each legislator, each speculator, each\nnation, has ever formed to himself different ideas of these things; each\nbelieves, that his own peculiar reveries ought to be preferred to those\nof his neighbours; which always appear to him an absurd, ridiculous, and\nfalse as his own can possibly have appeared to his fellow; each clings\nto his own opinion, because each retains his own peculiar mode of\nexistence; each believes his happiness depends upon his attachment\nto his prejudices, which he never adopts but because he believes them\nbeneficial to his welfare. Propose to a man to change his religion\nfor yours, he will believe you a madman; you will only excite his\nindignation, elicit his contempt; he will propose to you, in his turn,\nto adopt his own peculiar opinions; after much reasoning, you will treat\neach other as absurd beings, ridiculously opiniated, pertinaciously\nstubborn: and he will display the least folly, who shall first yield.\nBut if the adversaries become heated in the dispute, which always\nhappens, when they suppose the matter important, or when they would\ndefend the cause of their own self-love; from thence their passions\nsharpen, they grow angry, quarrels are provoked, they hate each other,\nand end by reciprocal injury. It is thus, that for opinions, which no\nman can demonstrate, we see the Brahmin despised; the Mahommedan hated;\nthe Pagan held in contempt; that they oppress and disdain each with the\nmost rancorous animosity: the Christian burns the Jew at what is called\nan _auto-de-fe_, because he clings to the faith of his fathers: the\nRoman Catholic condemns the Protestant to the flames, and makes a\nconscience of massacring him in cold blood: this re-acts in his turn;\nsometimes the various sects of Christians league together against the\nincredulous Turk, and for a moment suspend their own bloody disputes\nthat they may chastise the enemies to the true faith: then, having\nglutted their revenge, return with redoubled fury, to wreak over again\ntheir infuriated vengeance on each other.\n\nIf the imaginations of men were the same, the chimeras which they bring\nforth would be every where the same; there would be no disputes among\nthem on this subject, if they all dreamt in the same manner; great\nnumbers of human beings would be spared, if man occupied his mind with\nobjects capable of being known, of which the existence was proved,\nof which he was competent to discover the true qualities, by sure,\nby reiterated experience. _Systems of Philosophy_ are not subject\nto dispute but when their principles are not sufficiently proved;\nby degrees experience, in pointing out the truth and detecting\ntheir errors, terminates these quarrels. There is no variance among\n_geometricians_ upon the principles of their science; it is only\nraised, when their suppositions are false, or their objects too much\ncomplicated. _Theologians_ find so much difficulty in agreeing among\nthemselves, simply, because, in their contests, they divide without\nceasing, not known and examined propositions, but prejudices with which\nthey have been imbued in their youth--in the schools--by each other's\nbooks, &c. They are perpetually reasoning, not upon real objects, of\nwhich the existence is demonstrated, but upon imaginary systems of which\nthey have never examined the reality; they found these disputes,\nnot upon averred experience, or constant facts, but upon gratuitious\nsuppositions, which each endeavours to convince the other are without\nsolidity. Finding these ideas of long standing, that few people, refuse\nto admit them, they take them for incontestible truths, that ought to\nbe received merely upon being announced; whenever they attach great\nimportance to them, they irritate themselves against the temerity of\nthose who have the audacity to doubt, or even to examine them.\n\nIf prejudice had been laid aside, it would perhaps have been discovered\nthat many of those objects, which have given birth to the most shocking,\nthe most sanguinary disputes among men, were mere phantoms; which a\nlittle examination would have shown to be unworthy their notice: _the\npriests of Apollo_ would have been harmless, if man had examined for\nhimself, without prejudice, the tenets they held forth: he would have\nfound, that he was fighting, that he was cutting his neighbour's throat,\nfor words void of sense; or, at the least, he would have learned to\ndoubt his right to act in the manner he did; he would have renounced\nthat dogmatical, that imperious tone he assumed, by which he would\noblige his fellow to unite with him in opinion. The most trifling\nreflection would have shewn him the necessity of this diversity in his\nnotions, of this contrariety in his imagination, which depends upon\nhis Natural conformation diversely modified: which necessarily has an\ninfluence over his thoughts, over his will, and over his actions. In\nshort, if he had consulted morals, if he had fallen back upon reason,\nevery thing would have conspired to prove to him, that beings who call\nthemselves rational, were made to think variously; on that account were\ndesigned to live peaceable with each other, to love each other, to lend\neach other mutual succours whatever may be their opinions upon subjects,\neither impossible to be known, or to be contemplated under the same\npoint of view: every thing would have joined in evidence to convince\nhim of the unreasonable tyranny, of the unjust violence, of the useless\ncruelty of those men of blood, who persecute, who destroy mankind, in\norder that they may mould him to their own peculiar opinions; every\nthing would have conducted mortals to _mildness_, to _indulgence_, to\n_toleration_; virtues, unquestionably of more real importance, much more\nnecessary to the welfare of society, than the marvellous speculations by\nwhich it is divided, by which it is frequently hurried on to sacrifice\nto a maniacal fury, the pretended enemies to these revered flights of\nthe imagination.\n\nFrom this it must be evident, of what importance it is to _morals_ to\nexamine the ideas, to which it has been agreed to attach so much worth;\nto which man is continually sacrificing his own peculiar happiness; to\nwhich he is immolating the tranquillity of nations, at the irrational\ncommand of fanatical cruel guides. Let him fall back on his experience;\nlet him return to Nature; let him occupy himself with reason; let him\nconsult those objects that are real, which are useful to his permanent\nfelicity; let him study Nature's laws; let him study himself; let him\nconsult the bonds which unite him to his fellow mortals; let him examine\nthe fictitious bonds that enchain him to the most baneful prejudices.\nIf his imagination must always feed itself with illusions, if he remains\nsteadfast in his own opinions, if his prejudices are dear to him, let\nhim at least permit others to ramble in their own manner, or seek after\ntruth as best suits their inclination; but let him always recollect,\nthat all the opinions--all the ideas--all the systems--all the\nwills--all the actions of man, are the necessary consequence of his\nnature, of his temperament, of his organization, and of those causes,\neither transitory or constant, which modify hint: in short, that _man is\nnot more a free agent to think than to act:_ a truth that will be again\nproved in the following chapter.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XI\n\n_Of the System of Man's free agency._\n\n\nThose who have pretended that the _soul_ is distinguished from the body,\nis immaterial, draws its ideas from its own peculiar source, acts by its\nown energies without the aid of any exterior object; by a consequence\nof their own system, have enfranchised it from those physical laws,\naccording to which all beings of which we have a knowledge are obliged\nto act. They have believed that the foul is mistress of its own conduct,\nis able to regulate its own peculiar operations; has the faculty to\ndetermine its will by its own natural energy; in a word, they have\npretended man is a _free agent_.\n\nIt has been already sufficiently proved, that the soul is nothing more\nthan the body, considered relatively to some of its functions, more\nconcealed than others: it has been shewn, that this soul, even when it\nshall be supposed immaterial, is continually modified conjointly with\nthe body; is submitted to all its motion; that without this it would\nremain inert and dead: that, consequently, it is subjected to the\ninfluence of those material, to the operation those physical causes,\nwhich give impulse to the body; of which the mode of existence, whether\nhabitual or transitory, depends upon the material elements by which it\nis surrounded; that form its texture; that constitute its temperament;\nthat enter into it by the means of the aliments; that penetrate it by\ntheir subtility; the faculties which are called intellectual, and those\nqualities which are styled moral, have been explained in a manner purely\nphysical; entirely natural: in the last place, it has been demonstrated,\nthat all the ideas, all the systems, all the affections, all the\nopinions, whether true or false, which man forms to himself, are to be\nattributed to his physical powers; are to be ascribed to his material\nsenses. Thus man is a being purely physical; in whatever manner he\nis considered, he is connected to universal Nature: submitted to the\nnecessary, to the immutable laws that she imposes on all the beings\nshe contains, according to their peculiar essences; conformable to the\nrespective properties with which, without consulting them, she endows\neach particular species. Man's life is a line that Nature commands him\nto describe upon the surface of the earth: without his ever being\nable to swerve from it even for an instant. He is born without his own\nconsent; his organizations does in no wise depend upon himself; his\nideas come to him involuntarily; his habits are in the power of those\nwho cause him to contract them; he is unceasingly modified by causes,\nwhether visible or concealed, over which he has no controul; give the\nhue to his way of thinking, and determine his manner of acting. He\nis good or bad--happy or miserable--wise or foolish--reasonable or\nirrational, without his will going for anything in these various states.\nNevertheless, in despite of the shackles by which he is bound, it is\npretended he is a free agent, or that independent of the causes by which\nhe is moved, he determines his own will; regulates his own condition.\n\nHowever slender the foundation of this opinion, of which every thing\nought to point out to him the error; it is current at this day for\nan incontestible truth, and believed enlightened; it is the basis or\nreligion, which has been incapable of imagining how man could either\nmerit reward or deserve punishment if he was not a free agent. Society\nhas been believed interested in this system, because an idea has gone\nabroad, that if all the actions of man were to be contemplated as\nnecessary, the right of punishing those who injure their associates\nwould no longer exist. At length human vanity accommodated itself to an\nhypothesis which, unquestionable, appears to distinguish man from all\nother physical beings, by assigning to him the special privilege of\na total independence of all other causes; but of which a very little\nreflection would have shewn him the absurdity or even the impossibility.\n\nAs a part, subordinate to the great whole, man is obliged to experience\nits influence. To be a free agent it were needful that each individual\nwas of greater strength than the entire of Nature; or, that he was out\nof this Nature: who, always in action herself, obliges all the beings\nshe embraces, to act, and to concur to her general motion; or, as it\nhas been said elsewhere, to conserve her active existence, by the motion\nthat all beings produce in consequence of their particular energies,\nwhich result from their being submitted to fixed, eternal, and immutable\nlaws. In order that man might be a free agent, it were needful that\nall beings should lose their essences; it is equally necessary that\nhe himself should no longer enjoy physical sensibility; that he should\nneither know good nor evil; pleasure nor pain; but if this was the case,\nfrom that moment he would no longer be in a state to conserve himself,\nor render his existence happy; all beings would become indifferent to\nhim; he would no longer have any choice; he would cease to know what he\nought to love; what it was right he should fear; he would not have any\nacquaintance with that which he should seek after; or with that which it\nis requisite he should avoid. In short, man would be an unnatural being;\ntotally incapable of acting in the manner we behold. It is the actual\nessence of man to tend to his well-being; to be desirous to conserve\nhis existence; if all the motion of his machine springs as a necessary\nconsequence from this primitive impulse; if pain warns him of that which\nhe ought to avoid; if pleasure announces to him that which he should\ndesire; if it is in his essence to love that which either excites\ndelight, or, that from which he expects agreeable sensations; to hate\nthat which makes him either fear contrary impressions; or, that which\nafflicts him with uneasiness; it must necessarily be, that he will be\nattracted by that which he deems advantageous; that his will shall be\ndetermined by those objects which he judges useful; that he will be\nrepelled by those beings which he believes prejudicial, either to his\nhabitual, or to his transitory mode of existence; by that which he\nconsiders disadvantageous. It is only by the aid of experience, that man\nacquires the faculty of understanding what he ought to love; of knowing\nwhat he ought to fear. Are his organs sound? his experience will be\ntrue: are they unsound? it will be false: in the first instance he will\nhave reason, prudence, foresight; he will frequently foresee very remote\neffects; he will know, that what he sometimes contemplates as a good,\nmay possibly become an evil, by its necessary or probable consequences:\nthat what must be to him a transient evil, may by its result procure him\na solid and durable good. It is thus experience enables him to foresee\nthat the amputation of a limb will cause him painful sensation, he\nconsequently is obliged to fear this operation, and he endeavours\nto avoid the pain; but if experience has also shewn him, that the\ntransitory pain this amputation will cause him may be the means of\nsaving his life; the preservation, of his existence being of necessity\ndear to him, he is obliged to submit himself to the momentary pain with\na view to procuring a permanent good, by which it will be overbalanced.\n\nThe will, as we have elsewhere said, is a modification of the brain, by\nwhich it is disposed to action or prepared to give play to the organs.\nThis will is necessarily determined by the qualities, good or bad,\nagreeable or painful, of the object or the motive that acts upon his\nsenses; or of which the idea remains with him, and is resuscitated\nby his memory. In consequence, he acts necessarily; his action is the\nresult of the impulse he receives either from the motive, from the\nobject, or from the idea, which has modified his brain, or disposed\nhis will. When he does not act according to this impulse, it is because\nthere comes some new cause, some new motive, some new idea, which\nmodifies his brain in a different manner, gives him a new impulse,\ndetermines his will in another way; by which the action of the former\nimpulse is suspended: thus, the sight of an agreeable object, or its\nidea, determines his will to set him in action to procure it; but if a\nnew object or a new idea more powerfully attracts him, it gives a\nnew direction to his will, annihilates the effect of the former, and\nprevents the action by which it was to be procured. This is the mode in\nwhich reflection, experience, reason, necessarily arrests or suspends\nthe action of man's will; without this, he would, of necessity, have\nfollowed the anterior impulse which carried him towards a then desirable\nobject. In all this he always acts according to necessary laws, from\nwhich he has no means of emancipating himself.\n\nIf, when tormented with violent thirst, he figures to himself an idea,\nor really perceives a fountain, whose limpid streams might cool his\nfeverish habit, is he sufficient master of himself to desire or not\nto desire the object competent to satisfy so lively a want? It will no\ndoubt be conceded, that it is impossible he should not be desirous to\nsatisfy it; but it will be said,--If at this moment it is announced\nto him, the water he so ardently desires is poisoned, he will,\nnotwithstanding his vehement thirst, abstain from drinking it; and it\nhas, therefore, been falsely concluded that he is a free agent. The\nfact, however, is, that the motive in either case is exactly the same:\nhis own conservation. The same necessity that determined him to drink,\nbefore he knew the water was deleterious, upon this new discovery,\nequally determines him not to drink; the desire of conserving himself,\neither annihilates or suspends the former impulse; the second motive\nbecomes stronger than the preceding; that is, the fear of death, or\nthe desire of preserving himself, necessarily prevails over the painful\nsensation caused by his eagerness to drink. But, (it will be said) if\nthe thirst is very parching, an inconsiderate man, without regarding\nthe danger, will risque swallowing the water. Nothing is gained by this\nremark: in this case, the anterior impulse only regains the ascendency;\nhe is persuaded, that life may possibly be longer preserved, or that\nhe shall derive a greater good by drinking the poisoned water, than by\nenduring the torment, which, to his mind, threatens instant dissolution:\nthus, the first becomes the strongest, and necessarily urges him on to\naction. Nevertheless, in either case, whether he partakes of the water,\nor whether he does not, the two actions will be equally necessary; they\nwill be the effect of that motive which finds itself most puissant;\nwhich consequently acts in a most coercive manner upon his will.\n\nThis example will serve to explain the whole phaenomena of the human\nwill. This will, or rather the brain, finds itself in the same situation\nas a bowl, which although it has received an impulse that drives it\nforward in a straight line, is deranged in its course, whenever a force,\nsuperior to the first, obliges it to change its direction. The man who\ndrinks the poisoned water, appears a madman; but the actions of fools\nare as necessary as those of the most prudent individuals. The motives\nthat determine the voluptuary, that actuate the debauchee to risk their\nhealth, are as powerful, their actions are as necessary, as those\nwhich decide the wise man to manage his. But, it will be insisted, the\ndebauchee may be prevailed on to change his conduct; this does not imply\nthat he is a free agent; but, that motives may be found sufficiently\npowerful to annihilate the effect of those that previously acted upon\nhim; then these new motives determine his will to the new mode of\nconduct he may adopt, as necessarily as the former did to the old mode.\n\nMan is said to _deliberate_ when the action of the will is suspended;\nthis happens when two opposite motives act alternately upon him.\nTo deliberate, is to hate and to love in succession; it is to be\nalternately attracted and repelled; it is to be moved sometimes by one\nmotive, sometimes by another. Man only deliberates when he does not\ndistinctly understand the quality of the objects from which he receives\nimpulse, or when experience has not sufficiently apprised him of the\neffects, more or less remote, which his actions will produce. He\nwould take the air, but the weather is uncertain; he deliberates in\nconsequence; he weighs the various motives that urge his will to go out\nor to stay at home; he is at length determined by that motive which is\nmost probable; this removes his indecision, which necessarily settles\nhis will either to remain within or to go abroad: this motive is always\neither the immediate or ultimate advantage he finds or thinks he finds\nin the action to which he is persuaded.\n\nMan's will frequently fluctuates between two objects, of which either\nthe presence or the ideas move him alternately: he waits until he has\ncontemplated the objects or the ideas they have left in his brain; which\nsolicit him to different actions; he then compares these objects or\nideas: but even in the time of deliberation, during the comparison,\npending these alternatives of love and hatred, which succeed each other\nsometimes with the utmost rapidity, he is not a free agent for a single\ninstant; the good or the evil which he believes he finds successively in\nthe objects, are the necessary motives of these momentary wills; of\nthe rapid motion of desire or fear that he experiences as long as his\nuncertainty continues. From this it will be obvious, that deliberation\nis necessary; that uncertainty is necessary; that whatever part he\ntakes, in consequence of this deliberation, it will always necessarily\nbe that which he has judged, whether well or ill, is most probable to\nturn to his advantage.\n\nWhen the soul is assailed by two motives that act alternately upon it,\nor modify it successively, it deliberates; the brain is in a sort of\nequilibrium, accompanied with perpetual oscillations, sometimes towards\none object, sometimes towards the other, until the most forcible carries\nthe point, and thereby extricates it, from this state of suspense,\nin which consists the indecision of his will. But when the brain is\nsimultaneously assailed by causes equally strong, that move it in\nopposite directions; agreeable to the general law of all bodies, when\nthey are struck equally by contrary powers, it stops, it is in _nisu_;\nit is neither capable to will nor to act; it waits until one of the\ntwo causes has obtained sufficient force to overpower the other, to\ndetermine its will, to attract it in such a manner that it may prevail\nover the efforts of the other cause.\n\nThis mechanism, so simple, so natural, suffices to demonstrate, why\nuncertainty is painful; why suspense is always a violent state for\nman. The brain, an organ so delicate, so mobile, experiences such rapid\nmodifications, that it is fatigued; or when it is urged in contrary\ndirections, by causes equally powerful, it suffers a kind of\ncompression, that prevents the activity which is suitable to the\npreservation of the whole, which is necessary to procure what is\nadvantageous to its existence. This mechanism will also explain the\nirregularity, the indecision, the inconstancy of man; and account for\nthat conduct, which frequently appears an inexplicable mystery, which\nindeed it is, under the received systems. In consulting experience, it\nwill be found that the soul is submitted to precisely the same physical\nlaws as the material body. If the will of each individual, during a\ngiven time, was only moved by a single cause or passion, nothing would\nbe more easy than to foresee his actions; but his heart is frequently\nassailed by contrary powers, by adverse motives, which either act on him\nsimultaneously or in succession; then his brain, attracted in opposite\ndirections, is either fatigued, or else tormented by a state of\ncompression, which deprives it of activity. Sometimes it is in a state\nof incommodious inaction; sometimes it is the sport of the alternate\nshocks it undergoes. Such, no doubt, is the state in which man finds\nhimself, when a lively passion solicits him to the commission of crime,\nwhilst fear points out to him the danger by which it is attended: such,\nalso, is the condition of him whom remorse, by the continued labour\nof his distracted soul, prevents from enjoying the objects he has\ncriminally obtained.\n\nIf the powers or causes, whether exterior or interior, acting on the\nmind of man, tend towards opposite points, his soul, is well as all\nother bodies, will take a mean direction between the two; in consequence\nof the violence with which his soul is urged, his condition becomes\nsometimes so painful that his existence is troublesome: he has no longer\na tendency to his own peculiar conservation; he seeks after death, as a\nsanctuary against himself--as the only remedy to his despair: it is\nthus we behold men, miserable and discontented, voluntarily destroy\nthemselves, whenever life becomes insupportable. Man is competent to\ncherish his existence, no longer than life holds out charms to him;\nwhen he is wrought upon by painful sensations, or drawn by contrary\nimpulsions, his natural tendency is deranged, he is under the necessity\nto follow a new route; this conducts him to his end, which it even\ndisplays to him as the most desirable good. In this manner may be\nexplained, the conduct of those melancholy beings, whose vicious\ntemperaments, whose tortured consciences, whose chagrin, whose _ennui_,\nsometimes determine them to renounce life.\n\nThe various powers, frequently very complicated, that act either\nsuccessively or simultaneously upon the brain of man, which modify him\nso diversely in the different periods of his existence, are the true\ncauses of that obscurity in morals, of that difficulty which is found,\nwhen it is desired to unravel the concealed springs of his enigmatical\nconduct. The heart of man is a labyrinth, only because it very rarely\nhappens that we possess the necessary gift of judging it; from whence\nit will appear, that his circumstances, his indecision, his conduct,\nwhether ridiculous, or unexpected, are the necessary consequences of\nthe changes operated in him; are nothing but the effect of motives that\nsuccessively determine his will; which are dependent on the frequent\nvariations experienced by his machine. According to these variations,\nthe same motives have not, always, the same influence over his will,\nthe same objects no longer enjoy the faculty of pleasing him; his\ntemperament has changed, either for the moment, or for ever. It follows\nas a consequence, that his taste, his desires, his passions, will\nchange; there can be no kind of uniformity in his conduct, nor any\ncertitude in the effects to be expected.\n\nChoice by no means proves the free-agency of man; he only deliberates\nwhen he does not yet know which to choose of the many objects that move\nhim, he is then in an embarrassment, which does not terminate, until his\nwill as decided by the greater advantage he believes be shall find in\nthe object he chooses, or the action he undertakes. From whence it may\nbe seen that choice is necessary, because he would not determine for an\nobject, or for an action, if he did not believe that he should find\nin it some direct advantage. That man should have free-agency, it were\nneedful that he should be able to will or choose without motive; or,\nthat he could prevent motives coercing his will. Action always being the\neffect of his will once determined, as his will cannot be determined but\nby a motive, which is not in his own power, it follows that he is\nnever the master of the determination of his own peculiar will; that\nconsequently he never acts as a free agent. It has been believed that\nman was a free agent, because he had a will with the power of choosing;\nbut attention has not been paid to the fact, that even his will is moved\nby causes independent of himself, is owing to that which is inherent\nin his own organization, or which belongs to the nature of the beings\nacting on him. Indeed, man passes a great portion of his life without\neven willing. His will attends the motive by which it is determined. If\nhe was to render an exact account of every thing he does in the course\nof each day, from rising in the morning to lying down at night, he would\nfind, that not one of his actions have been in the least voluntary; that\nthey have been mechanical, habitual, determined by causes he was not\nable to foresee, to which he was either obliged to, yield, or with which\nhe was allured to acquiesce; he would discover, that all the motives of\nhis labours, of his amusements, of his discourses, of his thoughts, have\nbeen necessary; that they have evidently either seduced him or drawn him\nalong. Is he the master of willing, not to withdraw his hand from the\nfire when he fears it will be burnt? Or has he the power to take away\nfrom fire the property which makes him fear it? Is he the master of not\nchoosing a dish of meat which he knows to be agreeable, or analogous\nto his palate; of not preferring it to that which he knows to be\ndisagreeable or dangerous? It is always according to his sensations, to\nhis own peculiar experience, or to his suppositions, that he judges of\nthings either well or ill; but whatever way be his judgment, it depends\nnecessarily on his mode of feeling, whether habitual or accidental,\nand the qualities he finds in the causes that move him, which exist in\ndespite of himself.\n\nAll the causes which by his will is actuated, must act upon him in a\nmanner sufficiently marked, to give him some sensation, some perception,\nsome idea, whether complete or incomplete, true or false; as soon as\nhis will is determined, he must have felt, either strongly or feebly; if\nthis was not the case he would have determined without motive: thus, to\nspeak correctly, there are no causes which are truly indifferent to the\nwill: however faint the impulse he receives, whether on the part of the\nobjects themselves, or on the part of their images or ideas, as soon\nas his will acts, the impulse has been competent to determine him. In\nconsequence of a slight, of a feeble impulse, the will is weak, it is\nthis weakness of the will that is called _indifference_. His brain with\ndifficulty perceives the sensation, it has received; it consequently\nacts with less vigour, either to obtain or remove the object or the idea\nthat has modified it. If the impulse is powerful, the will is strong,\nit makes him act vigorously, to obtain or to remove the object which\nappears to him either very agreeable or very incommodious.\n\nIt has been believed man was a free agent, because it has been imagined\nthat his soul could at will recall ideas, which sometimes suffice\nto check his most unruly desires. Thus, the idea of a remote evil\nfrequently prevents him from enjoying a present and actual good: thus,\nremembrance, which is an almost insensible, a slight modification of his\nbrain, annihilates, at each instant, the real objects that act upon\nhis will. But he is not master of recalling to himself his ideas at\npleasure; their association is independent of him; they are arranged in\nhis brain, in despite of him, without his own knowledge, where they have\nmade an impression more or less profound; his memory itself depends upon\nhis organization; its fidelity depends upon the habitual or momentary\nstate in which he finds himself; when his will is vigorously determined\nto some object or idea that excites a very lively passion in him, those\nobjects or ideas that would be able to arrest his action no longer\npresent themselves to his mind; in those moments his eyes are shut\nto the dangers that menace him, of which the idea ought to make him\nforbear; he marches forward headlong towards the object by whose image\nhe is hurried on; reflection cannot operate upon him in any way; he sees\nnothing but the object of his desires; the salutary ideas which might be\nable to arrest his progress disappear, or else display themselves either\ntoo faintly or too late to prevent his acting. Such is the case with\nall those who, blinded by some strong passion, are not in a condition\nto recal to themselves those motives, of which the idea alone, in cooler\nmoments, would be sufficient to deter them from proceeding; the disorder\nin which they are, prevents their judging soundly; render them incapable\nof foreseeing the consequence of their actions; precludes them from\napplying to their experience; from making use of their reason; natural\noperations, which suppose a justness in the manner of associating\ntheir ideas; but to which their brain is then not more competent, in\nconsequence of the momentary delirium it suffers, than their hand is to\nwrite whilst they are taking violent exercise.\n\nMan's mode of thinking is necessarily determined by his manner of\nbeing; it must, therefore, depend on his natural organization, and the\nmodification his system receives independently of his will. From this we\nare obliged to conclude, that his thoughts, his reflections, his manner\nof viewing things, of feeling, of judging, of combining ideas, is\nneither voluntary nor free. In a word, that his soul is neither mistress\nof the motion excited in it, nor of representing to itself, when wanted,\nthose images or ideas that are capable of counterbalancing the impulse\nit receives. This is the reason why man, when in a passion, ceases to\nreason; at that moment reason is as impossible to be heard, as it is\nduring an extacy, or in a fit of drunkenness. The wicked are never more\nthan men who are either drunk or mad: if they reason, it is not until\ntranquillity is re-established in their machine; then, and not till\nthen, the tardy ideas that present themselves to their mind, enable them\nto see the consequence of their actions, and give birth to ideas,\nthat bring on them that trouble, which is designated _shame, regret,\nremorse_.\n\nThe errors of philosophers on the free-agency of man, have arisen from\ntheir regarding his will as the _primum mobile_, the original motive\nof his actions; for want of recurring back, they have not perceived the\nmultiplied, the complicated causes, which, independently of him, give\nmotion to the will itself, or which dispose and modify his brain, whilst\nhe himself is purely passive in the motion he receives. Is he the master\nof desiring or not desiring an object that appears desirable to him?\nWithout doubt it will be answered, No: but he is the master of resisting\nhis desire, if he reflects on the consequences. But, I ask, is he\ncapable of reflecting on these consequences when his soul is hurried\nalong by a very lively passion, which entirely depends upon his natural\norganization, and the causes by which he is modified? Is it in his power\nto add to these consequences all the weight necessary to counterbalance\nhis desire? Is he the master of preventing the qualities which render an\nobject desirable from residing in it? I shall be told, he ought to have\nlearned to resist his passions; to contract a habit of putting a curb on\nhis desires. I agree to it without any difficulty: but in reply, I again\nask, Is his nature susceptible of this modification? Does his boiling\nblood, his unruly imagination, the igneous fluid that circulates in his\nveins, permit him to make, enable him to apply true experience in the\nmoment when it is wanted? And, even when his temperament has capacitated\nhim, has his education, the examples set before him, the ideas with\nwhich he has been inspired in early life, been suitable to make him\ncontract this habit of repressing his desires? Have not all these things\nrather contributed to induce him to seek with avidity, to make him\nactually desire those objects which you say he ought to resist.\n\nThe _ambitious man_ cries out,--You will have me resist my passion, but\nhave they not unceasingly repeated to me, that rank, honours, power,\nare the most desirable advantages in life? Have I not seen my\nfellow-citizens envy them--the nobles of my country sacrifice every\nthing to obtain them? In the society in which I live, am I not obliged\nto feel, that if I am deprived of these advantages, I must expect to\nlanguish in contempt, to cringe under the rod of oppression?\n\nThe _miser_ says,--You forbid me to love money, to seek after the means\nof acquiring it: alas! does not every thing tell me, that in this world\nmoney is the greatest blessing; that it is amply sufficient to render\nme happy? In the country I inhabit, do I not see all my fellow-citizens\ncovetous of riches? but do I not also witness that they are little\nscrupulous in the means of obtaining wealth? As soon as they are\nenriched by the means which you censure, are they not cherished,\nconsidered, and respected? By what authority, then, do you object to my\namassing treasure? what right have you to prevent my using means,\nwhich although you call them sordid and criminal, I see approved by the\nsovereign? Will you have me renounce my happiness?\n\nThe _voluptuary_ argues,--You pretend that I should resist my desires;\nbut was I the maker of my own temperament, which unceasingly invites me\nto pleasure? You call my pleasures disgraceful; but in the country in\nwhich I live, do I not witness the most dissipated men enjoying the most\ndistinguished rank? Do I not behold, that no one is ashamed of adultery\nbut the husband it has outraged? do not I see men making trophies\nof their debaucheries, boasting of their libertinism, rewarded, with\napplause?\n\nThe _choleric_ man vociferates,--You advise me to put a curb on my\npassions; to resist the desire of avenging myself: but can I conquer my\nnature? Can I alter the received opinions of the world? Shall I not be\nfor ever disgraced, infallibly dishonoured in society, if I do not wash\nout, in the blood of my fellow-creature, the injuries I have received?\n\nThe _zealous enthusiast_ exclaims,--You recommend to me mildness,\nyou advise me to be tolerant, to be indulgent to the opinions of my\nfellow-men; but is not my temperament violent? Do I not ardently love my\nGod? Do they not assure me that zeal is pleasing to him; that sanguinary\ninhuman persecutors have been his friends? That those who do not think\nas I do are his enemies? I wish to render myself acceptable in his\nsight, I therefore adopt the means you reprobate.\n\nIn short, the actions of man are never free; they are always the\nnecessary consequence of his temperament, of the received ideas, of\nthe notions, either true or false, which he has formed to himself\nof happiness: of his opinions, strengthened by example, forfeited\nby education, consolidated by daily experience. So many crimes are\nwitnessed on the earth, only because every thing conspires to render man\nvicious, to make him criminal; very frequently, the superstitions he\nhas adopted, his government, his education, the examples set before him,\nirresistibly drive him on to evil: under these circumstances morality\npreaches virtue to him in vain. In those societies where vice is\nesteemed, where crime is crowned, where venality is constantly\nrecompenced, where the most dreadful disorders are punished, only in\nthose who are too weak to enjoy the privilege of committing them with\nimpunity; the practice of virtue is considered nothing more than a\npainful sacrifice of fancied happiness. Such societies chastise, in the\nlower orders, those excesses which they respect in the higher ranks; and\nfrequently have the injustice to condemn those in penalty of death,\nwhom public prejudices, maintained by constant example, have rendered\ncriminal.\n\nMan, then, is not a free agent in any one instant of his life; he is\nnecessarily guided in each step by those advantages, whether real or\nfictitious, that he attaches to the objects by which his passions\nare roused: these passions themselves are necessary in a being who,\nunceasingly tends towards his own happiness; their energy is necessary,\nsince that depends on his temperament; his temperament is necessary,\nbecause it depends on the physical elements which enter into his\ncomposition; the modification of this temperament is necessary, as it\nis the infallible result, the inevitable consequence of the impulse he\nreceives from the incessant action of moral and physical beings.\n\nIn despite of these proofs of the want of free-agency in man, so clear\nto unprejudiced minds, it will, perhaps, be insisted upon with no small\nfeeling of triumph, that if it be proposed to any one to move or not to\nmove his hand, an action in the number of those called _indifferent_,\nhe evidently appears to be the master of choosing; from which it is\nconcluded, evidence has been offered of his free-agency. The reply is,\nthis example is perfectly simple; man in performing some action which he\nis resolved on doing, does not by any means prove his free-agency: the\nvery desire of displaying this quality, excited by the dispute, becomes\na necessary motive which decides his will either for the one or the\nother of these actions: what deludes him in this instance, or that which\npersuades him he is a free agent at this moment, is, that he does not\ndiscern the true motive which sets him in action; which is neither more\nnor less than the desire of convincing his opponent: if in the heat of\nthe dispute he insists and asks, \"Am I not the master of throwing myself\nout of the window?\" I shall answer him, no; that whilst he preserves his\nreason, there is not even a probability that the desire of proving his\nfree-agency, will become a motive sufficiently powerful, to make him\nsacrifice his life to the attempt; if, notwithstanding this, to prove he\nis a free agent, he should actually precipitate himself from the window,\nit would not be a sufficient warrantry to conclude he acted freely, but\nrather that it was the violence of his temperament which spurred him\non to this folly. Madness is a state that depends upon the heat of\nthe blood, not upon the will. A fanatic or a hero, braves death as\nnecessarily as a more phlegmatic man or a coward flies from it. There\nis, in point of fact, no difference between the man who is cast out of\nthe window by another, and the man who throws himself out of it, except\nthat the impulse in the first instance comes immediately from without,\nwhilst that which determines the fall in the second case, springs from\nwithin his own peculiar machine, having its more remote cause also\nexterior. When Mutius Scaevola held his hand in the fire, he was as much\nacting under the influence of necessity, caused by interior motives,\nthat urged him to this strange action, as if his arm had been held by\nstrong men; pride, despair, the desire of braving his enemy, a wish\nto astonish him, an anxiety to intimidate him, &c. were the invisible\nchains that held his hand bound to the fire. The love of glory,\nenthusiasm for their country, in like manner, caused Codrus and Decius\nto devote themselves for their fellow citizens. The Indian Calanus and\nthe philosopher Peregrinus were equally obliged to burn themselves, by\nthe desire of exciting the astonishment of the Grecian assembly.\n\nIt is said that free-agency is the absence of those obstacles competent\nto oppose themselves to the actions of man, or to the exercise of his\nfaculties: it is pretended that he is a free agent, whenever, making use\nof these faculties, he produces the effect he has proposed to himself.\nIn reply to this reasoning, it is sufficient to consider that it in no\nwise depends upon himself to place or remove the obstacles that either\ndetermine or resist him; the motive that causes his action is no more in\nhis own power than the obstacle that impedes him, whether this obstacle\nor motive be within his own machine or exterior of his person: he is not\nmaster of the thought presented to his mind which determines his will;\nthis thought is excited by some cause independent of himself.\n\nTo be undeceived on the system of his free-agency, man has simply to\nrecur to the motive by which his will is determined, he will always find\nthis motive is out of his own controul. It is said, that in consequence\nof an idea to which the mind gives birth, man acts freely if he\nencounters no obstacle. But the question is, what gives birth to this\nidea in his brain? has he the power either to prevent it from presenting\nitself, or from renewing itself in his brain? Does not this idea\ndepend either upon objects that strike him exteriorly and in despite of\nhimself, or upon causes that without his knowledge act within himself\nand modify his brain? Can he prevent his eyes, cast without design upon\nany object whatever, from giving him an idea of this object, from\nmoving his brain? He is not more master of the obstacles; they are the\nnecessary effects of either interior or exterior causes, which always\nact according to their given properties. A man insults a coward, who is\nnecessarily irritated against his insulter, but his will cannot vanquish\nthe obstacle that cowardice places to the object of his desire, which\nis, to resent the insult; because his natural conformation, which does\nnot depend upon himself, prevents his having courage. In this case\nthe coward is insulted in despite of himself, and against his will is\nobliged patiently to brook the insult he has received.\n\nThe partizans of the system of free-agency appear ever to have\nconfounded constraint with necessity. Man believes he acts as a free\nagent, every time he does not see any thing that places obstacles to his\nactions; he does not perceive that the motive which causes him to will\nis always necessary, is ever independent of himself. A prisoner loaded\nwith chains is compelled to remain in prison, but he is not a free\nagent, he is not able to resist the desire to emancipate himself;\nhis chains prevent him from acting, but they do not prevent him from\nwilling; he would save himself if they would loose his fetters, but he\nwould not save himself as a free agent, fear or the idea of punishment\nwould be sufficient motives for his action.\n\nMan may therefore cease to be restrained, without, for that reason,\nbecoming a free agent: in whatever manner he acts, he will act\nnecessarily; according to motives by which he shall be determined.\nHe may be compared to a heavy body, that finds itself arrested in its\ndescent by any obstacle whatever: take away this obstacle, it will\ngravitate or continue to fall; but who shall say this dense body is\nfree to fall or not? Is not its descent the necessary effect of its own\nspecific gravity? The virtuous Socrates submitted to the laws of his\ncountry, although they were unjust; notwithstanding the doors of his\ngaol were left open to him he would not save himself; but in this he\ndid not act as a free agent; the invisible chains of opinion, the secret\nlove of decorum, the inward respect for the laws, even when they were\niniquitous, the fear of tarnishing his glory, kept him in his prison:\nthey were motives sufficiently powerful, with this enthusiast for\nvirtue, to induce him to wait death with tranquillity; it was not in\nhis power to save himself, because he could find no potential motive to\nbring him to depart, even for an instant, from those principles to which\nhis mind was accustomed.\n\nMan, says he, frequently acts against his inclination, from whence\nhe has falsely concluded he is a free agent; when he appears to act\ncontrary to his inclination, he is determined to it by some motive\nsufficiently efficacious to vanquish this inclination. A sick man, with\na view to his cure, arrives at conquering his repugnance to the most\ndisgusting remedies: the fear of pain, the dread of death, then become\nnecessary and intelligent motives; consequently, this sick man cannot be\nsaid, with truth, by any means, to act freely.\n\nWhen it is said, that man is not a free agent, it is not pretended to\ncompare him to a body moved by a simple impulsive cause: he contains\nwithin himself causes inherent to his existence; he is moved by an\ninterior organ, which has its own peculiar laws; which is itself\nnecessarily determined, in consequence of ideas formed from perceptions,\nresulting from sensations, which it receives from exterior objects. As\nthe mechanism of these sensations, of these perceptions, and the manner\nthey engrave ideas on the brain of man, are not known to him, because he\nis unable to unravel all these motions; because he cannot perceive\nthe chain of operations in his soul, or the motive-principle that\nacts within him, he supposes himself a free agent; which, literally\ntranslated, signifies that he moves himself by himself; that he\ndetermines himself without cause; when he rather ought to say, he is\nignorant how or for why he acts in the manner he does. It is true the\nsoul enjoys an activity peculiar to itself, but it is equally certain\nthat this activity would never be displayed if some motive or some cause\ndid not put it in a condition to exercise itself, at least it will not\nbe pretended that the soul is able either to love or to hate without\nbeing moved, without knowing the objects, without having some idea of\ntheir qualities. Gunpowder has unquestionably a particular activity, but\nthis activity will never display itself, unless fire be applied to it;\nthis, however, immediately sets in motion.\n\nIt is the great complication of motion in man, it is the variety of\nhis action, it is the multiplicity of causes that move him, whether\nsimultaneously or in continual succession, that persuades him he is a\nfree agent: if all his motions were simple, if the causes that move him\ndid not confound themselves with each other, if they were distinct, if\nhis machine was less complicated, he would perceive that all his actions\nwere necessary, because he would be enabled to recur instantly to\nthe cause that made him act. A man who should be always obliged to\ngo towards the west would always go on that side, but he would feel\nextremely well, that in so going he was not a free agent: if he had\nanother sense, as his actions or his motion augmented by a sixth would\nbe still more varied, much more complicated, he would believe himself\nstill more a free agent than he does with his five senses.\n\nIt is, then, for want of recurring to the causes that move him, for\nwant of being able to analyse, from not being competent to decompose\nthe complicated motion of his machine, that man believes himself a free\nagent; it is only upon his own ignorance that he founds the profound\nyet deceitful notion he has of his free-agency, that he builds those\nopinions which he brings forward as a striking proof of his pretended\nfreedom of action. If, for a short time, each man was willing to examine\nhis own peculiar actions, to search out their true motives, to discover\ntheir concatenation, he would remain convinced that the sentiment he has\nof his natural free-agency is a chimera that must speedily be destroyed\nby experience.\n\nNevertheless, it must be acknowledged that the multiplicity, the\ndiversity of the causes which continually act upon man, frequently\nwithout even his knowledge, render it impossible, or at least extremely\ndifficult, for him to recur to the true principles of his own peculiar\nactions, much less the actions of others; they frequently depend\nupon causes so fugitive, so remote from their effects, and which,\nsuperficially examined, appear to have so little analogy, so slender\na relation with them, that it requires singular sagacity to bring them\ninto light. This is what renders the study of the moral man a task of\nsuch difficulty; this is the reason why his heart is an abyss, of which\nit is frequently impossible for him to fathom the depth. He is, then,\nobliged to content himself with a knowledge of the general and necessary\nlaws by which the human heart is regulated; for the individuals of his\nown species these laws are pretty nearly the same, they vary only in\nconsequence of the organization that is peculiar to each, and of the\nmodification it undergoes; this, however, is not, cannot be rigorously\nthe same in any two. It suffices to know that by his essence man tends\nto conserve himself, to render his existence happy: this granted,\nwhatever may be his actions, if he recurs back to this first principle,\nto this general, this necessary tendency of his will, he never can be\ndeceived with regard to his motives. Man, without doubt, for want of\ncultivating reason, being destitute of experience, frequently deceives\nhimself upon the means of arriving at this end; sometimes the means he\nemploys are unpleasant to his fellows, because they are prejudicial\nto their interests; or else those of which he avails himself appear\nirrational, because they remove him from the end to which he would\napproximate: but whatever may be these means, they have always\nnecessarily and invariably for object, either an existing or imaginary\nhappiness; are directed to preserve himself in a state analogous to his\nmode of existence, to his manner of feeling, to his way of thinking;\nwhether durable or transitory. It is from having mistaken this truth,\nthat the greater number of moral philosophers have made rather the\nromance, than the history of the human heart; they have attributed the\nactions of man to fictitious causes; at least they have not sought out\nthe necessary motives of his conduct. Politicians and legislators have\nbeen in the same state of ignorance; or else impostors have found it\nmuch shorter to employ imaginary motive-powers, than those which really\nhave existence: they have rather chosen to make man wander out of his\nway, to make him tremble under incommodious phantoms, than guide him to\nvirtue by the direct road to happiness; notwithstanding the conformity\nof the latter with the natural desires of his heart. So true it is, that\n_error can never possibly be useful, to the human species_.\n\nHowever this may be, man either sees or believes he sees, much more\ndistinctly, the necessary relation of effects with their causes in\nnatural philosophy than in the human heart; at least he sees in the\nformer sensible causes constantly produce sensible effects, ever the\nsame, when the circumstances are alike. After this, he hesitates not\nto look upon physical effects as necessary, whilst he refuses to\nacknowledge necessity in the acts of the human will; these he has,\nwithout any just foundation, attributed to a motive-power that acts\nindependently by its own peculiar energy, that is capable of modifying\nitself without the concurrence of exterior causes, and which is\ndistinguished from all material or physical beings. _Agriculture_ is\nfounded upon the assurance afforded by experience, that the earth,\ncultivated and sown in a certain manner, when it has otherwise the\nrequisite qualities, will furnish grain, fruit, and flowers, either\nnecessary for subsistence or pleasing to the senses. If things were\nconsidered without prejudice, it would be perceived, that in morals\neducation is nothing more than _the agriculture of the mind_; that like\nthe earth, by reason of its natural disposition, of the culture bestowed\nupon it, of the seeds with which it is sown, of the seasons, more or\nless favorable, that conduct it to maturity, we may be assured that\nthe soul will produce either virtue or vice; _moral fruit_ that will be\neither salubrious for man or baneful to society. _Morals_ is the science\nof the relations that subsist between the minds, the wills, and the\nactions of men; in the same manner that _geometry_ is the science of the\nrelations that are found between bodies. Morals would be a chimera,\nit would have no certain principles, if it was not founded upon the\nknowledge of the motives which must necessarily have an influence upon\nthe human will, and which must necessarily determine the actions of\nhuman beings.\n\nIf in the moral as well as in the physical world, a cause of which the\naction is not interrupted be necessarily followed by a given effect, it\nflows consecutively that a _reasonable education_, grafted upon truth,\nfounded upon wise laws,--that honest principles instilled during youth,\nvirtuous examples continually held forth, esteem attached solely to\nmerit, recompense awarded to none but good actions, contempt regularly\nvisiting vice, shame following falsehood as its shadow, rigorous\nchastisements applied without distinction to crime, are causes that\nwould necessarily act on the will of man; that would determine the\ngreater number of his species to exhibit virtue, to love it for its own\nsake, to seek after it as the most desirable good, as the surest road\nto the happiness he so ardently desires. But if, on the contrary,\nsuperstition, politics, example, public opinion, all labour to\ncountenance wickedness, to train man viciously; if, instead of fanning\nhis virtues, they stifle good principles; if, instead of directing his\nstudies to his advantage, they render his education either useless or\nunprofitable; if this education itself, instead of grounding him in\nvirtue, only inoculates him with vice; if, instead of inculcating\nreason, it imbues him with prejudice; if, instead of making him\nenamoured of truth, it furnishes him with false notions; if, instead\nof storing his mind with just ideas drawn from experience, it fills\nhim with dangerous opinions; if, instead of fostering mildness and\nforbearance, it kindles in his breast only those passions which are\nincommodious to himself and hurtful to others; it must be of necessity,\nthat the will of the greater number shall determine them to evil; shall\nrender them unworthy, make them baneful to society. Many authors have\nacknowledged the importance of a good education, that youth was the\nseason to feed the human heart with wholesome diet; but they have not\nfelt, that a good education is incompatible, nay, impossible, with the\nsuperstition of man, since this commences with giving his mind a false\nbias: that it is equally inconsistent with arbitrary government, because\nthis always dreads lest he should become enlightened, and is ever\nsedulous to render him servile, mean, contemptible, and cringing; that\nit is incongruous with laws that are not founded in equity, that are\nfrequently bottomed on injustice; that it cannot obtain with those\nreceived customs that are opposed to good sense; that it cannot exist\nwhilst public opinion is unfavourable to virtue; above all, that it is\nabsurd to expect it from incapable instructors, from masters with weak\nminds, who have only the ability to infuse into their scholars those\nfalse ideas with which they are themselves infected. Here, without\ndoubt, is the real source from whence springs that universal corruption,\nthat wide-spreading depravity, of which moralists, with great justice,\nso loudly complain; without, however, pointing out those causes of the\nevil, which are true as they are necessary: instead of this, they search\nfor it in human nature, say it is corrupt, blame man for loving himself,\nand for seeking after his own happiness, insist that he must have\nsupernatural assistance, some marvellous interference, to enable him to\nbecome good: this is a very prejudicial doctrine for him, it is directly\nsubversive of his true happiness; by teaching him to hold himself in\ncontempt, it tends necessarily to discourage him; it either makes him\nsluggish, or drives him to despair whilst waiting for this grace: is it\nnot easy to be perceived, that he would always have it if he was well\neducated; if he was honestly governed? There cannot well exist a\nwilder or a stranger system of morals, than that of the theologians who\nattribute all moral evil to an original sin, and all moral good to the\npardon of it. It ought not to excite surprise if such a system is of no\nefficacy; what can reasonably be the result of such an hypothesis? Yet,\nnotwithstanding the supposed, the boasted free-agency of man, it\nis insisted that nothing less than the Author of Nature himself is\nnecessary to destroy the wicked desires of his heart: but, alas! no\npower whatever is found sufficiently efficacious to resist those unhappy\npropensities, which, under the fatal constitution of things, the most\nvigorous motives, as before observed, are continually infusing into\nthe will of man; no agency seems competent to turn the course of that\nunhappy direction these are perpetually giving to the stream of his\nnatural passions. He is, indeed, incessantly exhorted to resist these\npassions, to stifle them, and to root them out of his heart; but is it\nnot evident they are necessary to his welfare? Can it not be perceived\nthey are inherent in his nature? Does not experience prove them to be\nuseful to his conservation, since they have for object, only to avoid\nthat which may be injurious to him; to procure that which may be\nadvantageous to his mode of existence? In short, is it not easy to\nbe seen, that these passions, well directed, that is to say, carried\ntowards objects that are truly useful, that are really interesting\nto himself, which embrace the happiness of others, would necessarily\ncontribute to the substantial, to the permanent well-being of society?\nTheologians themselves have felt, they have acknowledged the necessity\nof the passions: many of the fathers of the church have broached this\ndoctrine; among the rest Father Senault has written a book expressly on\nthe subject: the passions of man are like fire, at once necessary to\nthe wants of life, suitable to ameliorate the condition of humanity,\nand equally capable of producing the most terrible ravages, the most\nfrightful devastation.\n\nEvery thing becomes an impulse to the will; a single word frequently\nsuffices to modify a man for the whole course of his life, to decide\nfor ever his propensities; an infant who has burned his finger by having\napproached it too near the flame of a lighted taper, is warned from\nthence, that he ought to abstain from indulging a similar temptation; a\nman, once punished and despised for having committed a dishonest\naction, is not often tempted to continue so unfavourable a course. Under\nwhatever point of man is considered, he never acts but after the impulse\ngiven to his will, whether it be by the will of others, or by more\nperceptible physical causes. The particular organization decides\nthe nature of the impulse; souls act upon souls that are analogous;\ninflamed, fiery imaginations, act with facility upon strong passions;\nupon imaginations easy to be inflamed, the surprising progress of\nenthusiasm; the hereditary propagation of superstition; the transmission\nof religious errors from race to race, the excessive ardour with which\nman seizes on the marvellous, are effects as necessary as those which\nresult from the action and re-action of bodies.\n\nIn despite of the gratuitous ideas which man has formed to himself on\nhis pretended free-agency; in defiance of the illusions of this suppose\nintimate sense, which, contrary to his experience, persuades him that\nhe is master of his will,--all his institutions are really founded upon\nnecessity: on this, as on a variety of other occasions, practice throws\naside speculation. Indeed, if it was not believed that certain motives\nembraced the power requisite to determine the will of man, to arrest the\nprogress of his passions, to direct them towards an end, to modify him;\nof what use would be the faculty of speech? What benefit could arise\nfrom education itself? What does education achieve, save give the first\nimpulse to the human will, make man contract habits, oblige him to\npersist in them, furnish him with motives, whether true or false, to\nact after a given manner? When the father either menaces his son with\npunishment, or promises him a reward, is he not convinced these things\nwill act upon his will? What does legislation attempt, except it be\nto present to the citizens of a state those motives which are supposed\nnecessary to determine them to perform some actions that are considered\nworthy; to abstain from committing others that are looked upon as\nunworthy? What is the object of morals, if it be not to shew man that\nhis interest exacts he should suppress the momentary ebullition of\nhis passions, with a view to promote a more certain happiness, a more\nlasting well-being, than can possibly result from the gratification of\nhis transitory desires? Does not the religion of all countries suppose\nthe human race, together with the entire of Nature, submitted to the\nirresistible will of a necessary being, who regulates their condition\nafter the eternal laws of immutable wisdom? Is not God the absolute\nmaster of their destiny? Is it not this divine being who chooses and\nrejects? The anathemas fulminated by religion, the promises it holds\nforth, are they not founded upon the idea of the effects they will\nnecessarily produce upon mankind? Is not man brought into existence\nwithout his own knowledge? Is he not obliged to play a part against his\nwill? Does not either his happiness or his misery depend on the part he\nplays?\n\nAll religion has been evidently founded upon _Fatalism_. Among the\nGreeks they supposed men were punished for their necessary faults,\nas may be seen in Orestes, in Oedipus, &c. who only committed crimes\npredicted by the oracles. It is rather singular that the theological\ndefenders of the doctrine of _free-agency_, which they endeavour\nto oppose to that of _predestination_,--which according to them is\nirreconcileable with _Christianity_, inasmuch as it is a false and\ndangerous system,--should not have been aware that the doctrines of _the\nfall of angels, original sin, the small number of the elect, the system\nof grace, &c._ were most incontestibly supporting, by the most cogent\narguments, a _true system of fatalism_.\n\n_Education_, then, is only necessity shewn to children: _legislation_\nis necessity shewn to the members of the body politic: _morals_ is the\nnecessity of the relations subsisting between men, shewn to reasonable\nbeings: in short, man grants _necessity_ in every thing for which he\nbelieves he has certain, unerring experience: that of which he does\nnot comprehend the necessary connection of causes with their effects\nhe styles _probability_: he would not act as he does, if he was not\nconvinced, or, at least, if he did not presume he was, that certain\neffects will necessarily follow his actions. The _moralist_ preaches\nreason, because he believes it necessary to man: the _philosopher_\nwrites, because he believes truth must, sooner or later, prevail over\nfalsehood: _tyrants_ and _fanatical priests_ necessarily hate truth,\ndespise reason, because they believe them prejudicial to their\ninterests: the _sovereign_, who strives to terrify crime by the\nseverity of his laws, but who nevertheless, from motives of state policy\nsometimes renders it useful and even necessary to his purposes, presumes\nthe motives he employs will be sufficient to keep his subjects within\nbounds. All reckon equally upon the power or upon the necessity of the\nmotives they make use of; each individual flatters himself, either with\nor without reason, that these motives will have an influence on the\nconduct of mankind. The education of man is commonly so defective, so\ninefficacious, so little calculated to promote the end he has in view,\nbecause it is regulated by prejudice: even when this education is good,\nit is but too often speedily counteracted, by almost every thing that\ntakes place in society. Legislation and politics are very frequently\niniquitous, and serve no better purpose than to kindle passions in the\nbosom of man, which once set afloat, they are no longer competent to\nrestrain. The great art of the moralist should be, to point out to man,\nto convince those who are entrusted with the sacred office of regulating\nhis will, that their interests are identified; that their reciprocal\nhappiness depends upon the harmony of their passions; that the safety,\nthe power, the duration of empires, necessarily depend on the good\nsense diffused among the individual members; on the truth of the notions\ninculcated in the mind of the citizens, on the moral goodness that\nis sown in their hearts, on the virtues that are cultivated in their\nbreasts; religion should not be admissible, unless it truly fortified,\nunless it really strengthened these motives. But in the miserable\nstate into which error has plunged a considerable portion of the human\nspecies, man, for the most part, is seduced to be wicked: he injures his\nfellow-creature as a matter of conscience, because the strongest motives\nare held out to him to be persecuting; because his institutions invite\nhim to the commission of evil, under the lure of promoting his own\nimmediate happiness. In most countries superstition renders him a\nuseless being, makes him an abject slave, causes him to tremble under\nits terrors, or else turns him into a furious fanatic, who is at once\ncruel, intolerant, and inhuman: in a great number of states arbitrary\npower crushes him, obliges him to become a cringing sycophant, renders\nhim completely vicious: in those despotic states the law rarely visits\ncrime with punishment, except in those who are too feeble to oppose\nits course? or when it has become incapable of restraining the violent\nexcesses to which a bad government gives birth. In short, rational\neducation is neglected; a prudent culture of the human mind is despised;\nit depends, but too frequently, upon bigotted, superstitious priests,\nwho are interested in deceiving man, and who are sometimes impostors;\nor else upon parents or masters without understanding, who are devoid\nof morals, who impress on the ductile mind of their scholars those vices\nwith which they are themselves tormented; who transmit to them the false\nopinions, which they believe they have an interest in making them adopt.\n\nAll this proves the necessity of falling back to man's original errors,\nand recurring to the primitive source of his wanderings, if it be\nseriously intended to furnish him with suitable remedies for such\nenormous maladies: it is useless to dream of correcting his mistakes,\nof curing him of his depravity, until the true causes that move his will\nare unravelled; until more real, more beneficial, more certain motives\nare substituted for those which are found so inefficacious; which prove\nso dangerous both to society and to himself. It is for those who guide\nthe human will, who regulate the condition of nations, who hold the\nreal happiness of man in their grasp, to seek after these motives,--with\nwhich reason will readily furnish them--which experience will enable\nthem to apply with success: even a good book, by touching the heart of\na great prince, may become a very powerful cause that shall necessarily\nhave an influence over the conduct of a whole people, and decide upon\nthe felicity of a portion of the human race.\n\nFrom all that has been advanced in this chapter, it results, that in no\none moment of his existence man is a free agent: he is not the architect\nof his own conformation; this he holds from Nature, he has no controul\nover his own ideas, or over the modification of his brain; these are\ndue to causes, that, in despite of him, very frequently without his own\nknowledge, unceasingly act upon him; he is not the master of not loving\nthat which he finds amiable; of not coveting that which appears to\nhim desirable; he is not capable of refusing to deliberate, when he\nis uncertain of the effects certain objects will produce upon him; he\ncannot avoid choosing that which he believes will be most advantageous\nto him: in the moment when his will is determined by his choice, he is\nnot competent to act otherwise than he does: in what instance, then, is\nhe the master of his own actions? In what moment is he a free agent?\n\nThat which a man is about to do is always a consequence of that which\nhe has been--of that which he is--of that which he has done up to the\nmoment of the action: his total and actual existence, considered under\nall its possible circumstances, contains the sum of all the motives\nto the action he is about to commit; this is a principle, the truth of\nwhich no thinking, being will be able to refuse accrediting: his life\nis a series of necessary moments; his conduct, whether good or bad,\nvirtuous or vicious, useful or prejudicial, either to himself or to\nothers, is a concatenation of action, a chain of causes and effects, as\nnecessary as all the moments of his existence. To _live_, is to exist in\na necessary mode during the points of its duration, which succeed each\nother necessarily: to _will_, is to acquiesce or not in remaining such\nas he is: to be _free_, is to yield to the necessary motives that he\ncarries within himself.\n\nIf he understood the play of his organs, if he was able to recal to\nhimself all the impulsions they have received, all the modifications\nthey have undergone, all the effects they have produced, he would\nperceive, that all his actions are submitted to that _fatality_ which\nregulates his own particular system, as it does the entire system of the\nuniverse: no one effect in him, any more than in Nature, produce itself\nby _chance_; this, as has been before proved, is a word void of sense.\nAll that passes in him, all that is done by him, as well as all that\nhappens in Nature, or that is attributed to her, is derived from\nnecessary laws, which produce necessary effects; from whence necessarily\nflow others.\n\n_Fatality_ is the eternal, the immutable, the necessary order\nestablished in Nature, or the indispensible connection of causes that\nact with the effects they operate. Conforming to this order, heavy\nbodies fall, light bodies rise; that which is analogous in matter,\nreciprocally attracts; that which is heterogeneous, mutually repels; man\ncongregates himself in society, modifies each his fellow, becomes either\nvirtuous or wicked; either contributes to his mutual happiness, or\nreciprocates his misery; either loves his neighbour, or hates his\ncompanion necessarily; according to the manner in which the one acts\nupon the other. From whence it may be seen, that the same necessity\nwhich regulates the physical, also regulates the moral world: in which\nevery thing is in consequence submitted to fatality. Man, in running\nover, frequently without his own knowledge, often in despite of himself,\nthe route which Nature has marked out for him, resembles a swimmer who\nis obliged to follow the current that carries him along; he believes\nhimself a free agent, because he sometimes consents, sometimes does\nnot consent, to glide with the stream; which, notwithstanding, always\nhurries him forward; he believes himself the master of his condition,\nbecause he is obliged to use his arms under the fear of sinking.\n\nThe false ideas he has formed to himself upon free-agency, are\nin general thus founded: there are certain events which he judges\n_necessary_; either because he sees they are effects that are\nconstantly, are invariably linked to certain causes, which nothing seems\nto prevent; or because he believes he has discovered the chain of causes\nand effects that is put in play to produce those events: whilst he\ncontemplates as _contingent_, other events, of whose causes he is\nignorant; the concatenation of which he does not perceive; with whose\nmode of acting he is unacquainted: but in Nature, where every thing is\nconnected by one common bond, there exists no effect without a cause. In\nthe moral as well as in the physical world, every thing that happens is\na necessary consequence of causes, either visible or concealed; which\nare, of necessity, obliged to act after their peculiar essences.\n_In man, free-agency is nothing more than necessity contained within\nhimself_.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XII.\n\n_An examination of the Opinion which pretends that the System of\nFatalism is dangerous._\n\n\nFor a being whose essence obliges him to have a constant tendency to\nhis own conservation, to continually seek to render himself happy,\nexperience is indispensible: without it he cannot discover truth, which\nis nothing more, as has been already said, than a knowledge of the\nconstant relations which subsist between man, and those objects that\nact upon him; according to his experience he denominates those that\ncontribute to his permanent welfare useful and salutary; those that\nprocure him pleasure, more or less durable, he calls agreeable. Truth\nitself becomes the object of his desires, only when he believes it is\nuseful; he dreads it, whenever he presumes it will injure him. But has\ntruth the power to injure him? Is it possible that evil can result to\nman from a correct understanding of the relations he has with other\nbeings? Can it be true, that he can be harmed by becoming acquainted\nwith those things, of which, for his own happiness, he is interested in\nhaving a knowledge? No: unquestionably not. It is upon its utility that\ntruth founds its worth; upon this that it builds its rights; sometimes\nit may be disagreeable to individuals--it may even appear contrary to\ntheir interests--but it will ever be beneficial to them in the end;\nit will always be useful to the whole human species; it will eternally\nbenefit the great bulk of mankind; whose interests must for ever remain\ndistinct from those of men, who, duped by their own peculiar passions,\nbelieve their advantage consists in plunging others into error.\n\n_Utility_, then, is the touchstone of his systems, the test of his\nopinions, the criterion of the actions of man; it is the standard of the\nesteem, the measure of the love he owes to truth itself: the most useful\ntruths are the most estimable: those truths which are most interesting\nfor his species, he styles _eminent_; those of which the utility limits\nitself to the amusement of some individuals who have not correspondent\nideas, similar modes of feeling, wants analogous to his own, he either\ndisdains, or else calls them _barren_.\n\nIt is according to this standard, that the principles laid down in this\nwork, ought to be judged. Those who are acquainted with the immense\nchain of mischief produced on the earth by erroneous systems of\nsuperstition, will acknowledge the importance of opposing to them\nsystems more accordant with truth, schemes drawn from Nature, sciences\nfounded on experience. Those who are, or believe they are, interested in\nmaintaining the established errors, will contemplate, with horror, the\ntruths here presented to them: in short, those infatuated mortals, who\ndo not feel, or who only feel very faintly, the enormous load of misery\nbrought upon mankind by metaphysical speculation; the heavy yoke of\nslavery under which prejudice makes him groan, will regard all our\nprinciples as useless; or, at most, as sterile truths, calculated to\namuse the idle hours of a few speculators.\n\nNo astonishment, therefore, need be excited at the various judgments\nformed by man: his interests never being the same, any more than his\nnotions of utility, he condemns or disdains every thing that does not\naccord with his own peculiar ideas. This granted, let us examine, if\nin the eyes of the disinterested man, who is not entangled by\nprejudice--who is sensible to the happiness of his species--who delights\nin truth--the _doctrine of fatalism_ be useful or dangerous? Let us\nsee if it is a barren speculation, that his not any influence upon the\nfelicity of the human race? At has been already shewn, that it will\nfurnish morals with efficacious arguments, with real motives to\ndetermine the will, supply politics with the true lever to raise the\nproper activity in the mind of man. It will also be seen that it\nserves to explain in a simple manner the mechanism of man's actions; to\ndevelope in an easy way the arcana of the most striking phenomena of\nthe human heart: on the other hand, if his ideas are only the result of\nunfruitful speculations, they cannot interest the happiness of the\nhuman species. Whether he believes himself a free agent, or whether\nhe acknowledges the necessity of things, he always equally follows the\ndesires imprinted on his soul; which are to preserve his existence and\nrender himself happy. A rational education, honest habits, wise systems,\nequitable laws, rewards uprightly distributed, punishments justly\ninflicted, will conduct man to happiness by making him virtuous; while\nthorny speculations, filled with difficulties, can at most only have an\ninfluence over persons unaccustomed to think.\n\nAfter these reflections, it will be very easy to remove the difficulties\nthat are unceasingly opposed to the system of fatalism, which so many\npersons, blinded by their superstitious prejudices, are desirous to have\nconsidered as dangerous--as deserving of punishment--as calculated\nto disturb public tranquility--as tending to unchain the passions--to\nundermine the opinions man ought to have; and to confound his ideas of\nvice and of virtue.\n\nThe opposers of necessity, say, that if all the actions of man are\nnecessary, no right whatever exists to punish bad ones, or even to he\nangry with those who commit them: that nothing ought to be imputed to\nthem; that the laws would be unjust if they should decree punishment for\nnecessary actions; in short, that under this system man could neither\nhave merit nor demerit. In reply, it may be argued, that, to impute an\naction to any one, is to attribute that action to him; to acknowledge\nhim for the author: thus, when even an action was supposed to be the\neffect of an agent, and that agent _necessity_, the imputation would\nlie: the merit or demerit, that is ascribed to an action are ideas\noriginating in the effects, whether favourable or pernicious, that\nresult to those who experience its operation; when, therefore, it should\nbe conceded, that the agent was necessity, it is not less certain, that\nthe action would be either good or bad; estimable or contemptible, to\nthose who must feel its influence; in short that it would be capable of\neither eliciting their love, or exciting their anger. Love and anger\nare modes of existence, suitable to modify, beings of the human species:\nwhen, therefore, man irritates himself against his fellow, he intends\nto excite his fear, or even to punish him, in order to deter him from\ncommitting that which is displeasing to him. Moreover his anger is\nnecessary; it is the result of his Nature; the consequence of his\ntemperament. The painful sensation produced by a stone that falls on the\narm, does not displease the less, because it comes from a cause deprived\nof will; which acts by the necessity of its Nature. In contemplating\nman as acting necessarily, it is impossible to avoid distinguishing that\nmode of action or being which is agreeable, which elicits approbation,\nfrom that which is afflicting, which irritates, which Nature obliges him\nto blame and to prevent. From this it will be seen, that the system of\nfatalism, does not in any manner change the actual state of things, and\nis by no means calculated to confound man's ideas of virtue and vice.\n\nMan's Nature always revolts against that which opposes it: there are men\nso choleric, that they infuriate themselves even against insensible and\ninanimate objects; reflection on their own impotence to modify these\nobjects ought to conduct them back to reason. Parents are frequently\nvery much to be blamed for correcting their children with anger: they\nshould be contemplated as beings who are not yet modified; or who have,\nperhaps, been very badly modified by themselves: nothing is more common\nin life, than to see men punish faults of which they are themselves the\ncause.\n\nLaws are made with a view to maintain society; to uphold its existence;\nto prevent man associated, from injuring his neighbour; they are\ntherefore competent to punish those who disturb its harmony, or those\nwho commit actions that are injurious to their fellows; whether these\nassociates may be the agents of necessity, or whether they are free\nagents, it suffices to know they are susceptible of modification, and\nare therefore submitted to the operation of the law. Penal laws are,\nor ought to be, those motives which experience has shewn capable of\nrestraining the inordinate passions of man, or of annihilating the\nimpulse these passions give to his will; from whatever necessary cause\nman may derive these passions, the legislator proposes to arrest their\neffect, when he takes suitable means, when he adopts proper methods,\nhe is certain of success. The Judge, in decreeing to crime, gibbets,\ntortures, or any other chastisement whatever, does nothing more than is\ndone by the architect, who in building a house, places gutters to carry\noff the rain, and prevent it from sapping the foundation.\n\nWhatever may be the cause that obliges man to act, society possesses\nthe right to crush the effects, as much as the man whose land would be\nruined by a river, has to restrain its waters by a bank: or even, if he\nis able, to turn its course. It is by virtue of this right that society\nhas the power to intimidate, the faculty to punish, with a view to its\nown conservation, those who may be tempted to injure it; or those who\ncommit actions which are acknowledged really to interrupt its repose; to\nbe inimical to its security; repugnant to its happiness.\n\nIt will, perhaps, be argued, that society does not, usually, punish\nthose faults in which the will has no share; that, in fact, it punishes\nthe will alone; that this it is which decides the nature of the crime,\nand the degree of its atrocity; that if this will be not free, it ought\nnot to be punished. I reply, that society is an assemblage of sensible\nbeings, susceptible of reason, who desire their own welfare; who fear\nevil, and seek after good. These dispositions enable their will to be so\nmodified or determined, that they are capable of holding such a conduct\nas will conduce to the end they have in view. Education, the laws,\npublic opinion, example, habit, fear, are the causes that must modify\nassociated man, influence his will, regulate his passions, restrain the\nactions of him who is capable of injuring the end of his association,\nand thereby make him concur to the general happiness. These causes are\nof a nature to make impressions on every man, whose organization, whose\nessence, whose sanity, places him in a capacity to contract the habits,\nto imbibe the modes of thinking, to adopt the manner of acting, with\nwhich society is willing to inspire him. All the individuals of the\nhuman species are susceptible of fear, from whence it flows as a natural\nconsequence, that the fear of punishment, or the privation of the\nhappiness he desires, are motives that must necessarily more or less\ninfluence his will, and regulate his actions. If the man is to be found\nwho is so badly constituted as to resist, whose organization is so\nvicious as to be insensible to those motives which operate upon all his\nfellows, he is not fit to live in society; he would contradict the very\nend of his association: he would be its enemy; he would place obstacles\nto its natural tendency; his rebellious disposition, his unsociable\nwill, not being susceptible of that modification which is convenient\nto his own true interests and to the interests of his fellow-citizens;\nthese would unite themselves against such an enemy; and the law which\nis, or ought to be the expression of the general will, would visit with\ncondign punishment that refractory individual upon whom the motives\npresented to him by society, had not the effect which it had been\ninduced to expect: in consequence, such an unsociable man would be\nchastised; he would be rendered miserable, and according to the nature\nof his crime he would be excluded from society as a being but little\ncalculated to concur in its views.\n\nIf society has the right to conserve itself, it has also the right\nto take the means: these means are the laws which present or ought to\npresent to the will of man those motives which are most suitable to\ndeter him from committing injurious actions. If these motives fail of\nthe proper effect, if they are unable to influence him, society, for its\nown peculiar good, is obliged to wrest from him the power of doing it\nfurther injury. From whatever source his actions may arise, therefore,\nwhether they are the result of free-agency, or whether they are the\noffspring of necessity, society coerces him if, after having furnished\nhim with motives, sufficiently powerful to act upon reasonable beings,\nit perceives that these motives have not been competent to vanquish his\ndepraved nature. It punishes him with justice, when the actions from\nwhich it dissuades him are truly injurious to society; it has an\nunquestionable right to punish, when it only commands those things\nthat are conformable to the end proposed by man in his association; or\ndefends the commission of those acts, which are contrary to this\nend; which are hostile to the nature of beings associated for their\nreciprocal advantage. But, on the other hand, the law has not acquired\nthe right to punish him: if it has failed to present to him the motives\nnecessary to have an influence over his will, it has not the right to\ncoerce him if the negligence of society has deprived him of the means\nof subsisting; of exercising his talents; of exerting his industry; of\nlabouring for its welfare. It is unjust, when it punishes those to whom\nit has, neither given an education, nor honest principles; whom it has\nnot enabled to contract habits necessary to the maintenance of society:\nit is unjust when it punishes them for faults which the wants of their\nnature, or the constitution of society has rendered necessary to them:\nit is unjust, it is irrational, whenever it chastises them for having\nfollowed those propensities, which example, which public opinion, which\nthe institutions, which society itself conspires to give them. In short,\nthe law is defective when it does not proportion the punishment to the\nreal evil which society has sustained. The last degree of injustice, the\nacme of folly is, when society is so blinded as to inflict punishment on\nthose citizens who have served it usefully.\n\nThe _penal_ laws, in exhibiting terrifying objects to man, who must be\nsupposed susceptible of fear, presents him with motives calculated to\nhave an influence over his will. The idea of pain, the privation of\nliberty, the fear of death, are, to a being well constituted, in the\nfull enjoyment of his faculties, very puissant obstacles, that strongly\noppose themselves to the impulse of his unruly desires: when these do\nnot coerce his will, when they fail to arrest his progress, he is\nan irrational being; a madman; a being badly organized; against whom\nsociety has the right to guarantee itself; against whom it has a right\nto take measures for its own security. Madness is, without doubt, an\ninvoluntary, a necessary state; nevertheless, no one feels it unjust to\ndeprive the insane of their liberty, although their actions can only\nbe imputed to the derangement of their brain. The wicked are men whose\nbrain is either constantly or transitorily disturbed; still they must be\npunished by reason of the evil they commit; they must always be placed\nin the impossibility of injuring society: if no hope remains of bringing\nthem back to a reasonable conduct--if every prospect of recalling them\nto their duty has vanished--if they cannot be made to adopt a mode of\naction conformable to the great end of association--they must be for\never excluded its benefits.\n\nIt will not be requisite to examine here, how far the punishments which\nsociety inflicts upon those who offend against it, may be reasonably\ncarried. Reason should seem to indicate that the law ought to shew to\nthe necessary crimes of man, all the indulgence that is compatible with\nthe conservation of society. The system of fatalism, as we have seen,\ndoes not leave crime unpunished; but it is, at least, calculated to\nmoderate the barbarity with which a number of nations punish the victims\nto their anger. This cruelty becomes still more absurd, when experience\nhas shewn its inutility: the habit of witnessing ferocious punishments\nfamiliarizes criminals with the idea. If it be true that society\npossesses the right of taking away the life of its members--if it be\nreally a fact, that the death of a criminal, thenceforth useless, can\nbe advantageous for society, which it will be necessary to examine,\nhumanity, at least, exacts that this death should not be accompanied\nwith useless tortures; with which laws, perhaps in this instance too\nrigorous, frequently seem to delight in overwhelming their victim. This\ncruelty seems to defeat its own end, it only serves to make the culprit,\nwho is immolated to the public vengeance, suffer without any advantage\nto society; it moves the compassion of the spectator, interests him\nin favor of the miserable offender who groans under its weight; it\nimpresses nothing upon the wicked, but the sight of those cruelties\ndestined for himself; which but too frequently renders him more\nferocious, more cruel, more the enemy of his associates: if the\nexample of death was less frequent, even without being accompanied with\ntortures, it would be more efficacious. If experience was consulted, it\nwould be found that the greater number of criminals only look upon death\nas a _bad quarter of an hour_. It is an unquestionable fact, that a\nthief seeing one of his comrades, display a want of firmness under the\npunishment, said to him: _\"Is not this what I have often told you,\nthat in our business, we have one evil more than the rest of mankind?\"_\nRobberies are daily committed, even at the foot of the scaffolds where\ncriminals are punished. In those nations, where the penalty of death is\nso lightly inflicted, has sufficient attention been paid to the fact,\nthat society is yearly deprived of a great number of individuals who\nwould be able to render it very useful service, if made to work, and\nthus indemnify the community for the injuries they have committed?\nThe facility with which the lives of men are taken away, proves\nthe incapacity of counsellors; is an evidence of the negligence of\nlegislators: they find it a much shorter road, that it gives them less\ntrouble to destroy the citizens than to seek after the means to render\nthem better.\n\nWhat shall be said for the unjust cruelty of some nations, in which\nthe law, that ought to have for its object the advantage of the whole,\nappears to be made only for the security of the most powerful? How shall\nwe account for the inhumanity of those societies, in which punishments\nthe most disproportionate to the crime, unmercifully take away the lives\nof men, whom the most urgent necessity, the dreadful alternative of\nfamishing in a land of plenty, has obliged to become criminal? It\nis thus that in a great number of civilized nations, the life of the\ncitizen is placed in the same scales with money; that the unhappy wretch\nwho is perishing from hunger, who is writhing under the most abject\nmisery, is put to death for having taken a pitiful portion of the\nsuperfluity of another whom he beholds rolling in abundance! It is this\nthat, in many otherwise very enlightened societies, is called _justice_,\nor making the punishment commensurate with the crime.\n\nLet the man of humanity, whose tender feelings are alive to the welfare\nof his species--let the moralist, who preaches virtue, who holds out\nforbearance to man--let the philosopher, who dives into the secrets of\nNature--let the theologian himself say, if this dreadful iniquity, this\nheinous sin, does not become yet more crying, when the laws decree the\nmost cruel tortures for crimes to which the most irrational customs gave\nbirth--which bad institutions engender--which evil examples multiply? Is\nnot this something like building a sorry, inconvenient hovel, and then\npunishing the inhabitant, because he does not find all the conveniences\nof the most complete mansion, of the most finished structure? Man, as\nat cannot be too frequently repeated, is so prone to evil, only because\nevery thing appears to urge him on to the commission of it, by too\nfrequently shewing him vice triumphant: his education is void in a great\nnumber of states, perhaps defective in nearly all; in many places\nhe receives from society no other principles, save those of an\nunintelligible superstition; which make but a feeble barrier against\nthose propensities that are excited by dissolute manners; which are\nencouraged by corrupt examples: in vain the law cries out to him:\n\"abstain from the goods of thy neighbour;\" his wants, more powerful,\nloudly declare to him that he must live: unaccustomed to reason, having\nnever been submitted to a wholesome discipline, he conceives he must\ndo it at the expence of a society who has done nothing for him: who\ncondemns him to groan in misery, to languish in indigence: frequently\ndeprived of the common necessaries requisite to support his existence,\nwhich his essence, of which he is not the master, compels him to\nconserve. He compensates himself by theft, he revenges himself by\nassassination, he becomes a plunderer by profession, a murderer by\ntrade; he plunges into crime, and seeks at the risque of his life, to\nsatisfy those wants, whether real or imaginary, to which every thing\naround him conspires to give birth. Deprived of education, he has\nnot been taught to restrain the fury of his temperament--to guide his\npassions with discretion--to curb his inclinations. Without ideas of\ndecency, destitute of the true principles of honour, he engages in\ncriminal pursuits that injure his country: which at the same time has\nbeen to him nothing more than a step-mother. In the paroxysm of his\nrage, in the exacerbation of his mind, he loses sight of his neighbour's\nrights, he overlooks the gibbet, he forgets the torture; his unruly\ndesires have become too potent--they have completely absorbed his mind;\nby a criminal indulgence they have given an inveteracy to his habits\nwhich preclude him from changing them; laziness has made him torpid:\nremorse has gnawed his peace; despair has rendered him blind; he rushes\non to death; and society is compelled to punish him rigorously, for\nthose fatal, those necessary dispositions, which it has perhaps itself\nengendered in his heart by evil example: or which at least, it has not\ntaken the pains seasonably to root out; which it has neglected to\noppose by suitable motives--by those calculated to give him honest\nprinciples--to excite him to industrious habits, to imbue him with\nvirtuous inclinations. Thus, society frequently punishes those\npropensities of which it is itself the author, or which its negligence\nhas suffered to spring up in the mind of man: it acts like those\nunjust fathers, who chastise their children for vices which they have\nthemselves made them contract.\n\nHowever unjust, however unreasonable this conduct may be, or appear to\nbe, it is not the less necessary: society, such as it is, whatever may\nbe its corruption, whatever vices may pervade its institutions, like\nevery thing else in Nature, is willing to subsist; tends to conserve\nitself: in consequence, it is obliged to punish those excesses which\nits own vicious constitution has produced: in despite of its peculiar\nprejudices, notwithstanding its vices, it feels cogently that its own\nimmediate security demands that it should destroy the conspiracies of\nthose who make war against its tranquillity: if these, hurried on by the\nfoul current of their necessary propensities, disturb its repose--if,\nborne on the stream of their ill-directed desires, they injure its\ninterests, this following the natural law, which obliges it to labour\nto its own peculiar conservation, removes them out of its road; punishes\nthem with more or less rigor, according to the objects to which it\nattaches the greatest importance, or which it supposes best suited to\nfurther its own peculiar welfare: without doubt, it deceives itself\nfrequently, both upon these objects and the means; but it deceives\nitself necessarily, for want of the knowledge calculated to enlighten\nit, with regard to its true interests; for want of those, who regulate\nits movements possessing proper vigilance--suitable talents--the\nrequisite virtue. From this it will appear, that the injustice of\na society badly constituted, and blinded by its prejudices, is as\nnecessary, as the crimes of those by whom it is hostilely attacked--by\nwhose vices it is distracted. The body politic, when in a state of\ninsanity, cannot act more consistently with reason, than one of its\nmembers whose brain is disturbed by madness.\n\nIt will still be said that these maxims, by submitting every thing\nto necessity, must confound, or even destroy the notions man forms of\njustice and injustice; of good and evil; of merit and demerit: I deny\nit. Although man, in every thing he does, acts necessarily, his actions\nare good, they are just, they are meritorious, every time they tend\nto the real utility of his fellows; of the society of which he makes a\npart: they are, of necessity, distinguished from those which are really\nprejudicial to the welfare of his associates. Society is just, it is\ngood, it is worthy our reverence, when it procures for all its members,\ntheir physical wants, when it affords them protection, when it secures\ntheir liberty, when it puts them in possession of their natural rights.\nIt is ill this that consists all the happiness of which the social\ncompact is susceptible: society is unjust, it is bad, it is unworthy\nour esteem, when it is partial to a few, when it is cruel to the greater\nnumber: it is then that it multiplies its enemies, obliges them to\nrevenge themselves by criminal actions which it is under the necessity\nto punish. It is not upon the caprices of political society that depend\nthe true notions of justice and injustice--the right ideas of moral\ngood and evil--a just appreciation of merit and demerit; it is upon\n_utility_, upon the necessity of things, which always forces man to feel\nthat there exists a mode of acting on which he implicitly relies, which\nhe is obliged to venerate, which he cannot help approving either in\nhis fellows, in himself, or in society: whilst there is another mode to\nwhich he cannot lend his confidence, which his nature makes him to hate,\nwhich his feelings compel him to condemn. It is upon his own peculiar\nessence that man founds his ideas of pleasure and of pain--of right and\nof wrong--of vice and of virtue: the only difference between these is,\nthat pleasure and pain make them instantaneously felt in his brain;\nhe becomes conscious of their existence upon the spot; in the place of\nwhich, the advantages that accrue to him from justice, the benefit that\nhe derives from virtue, frequently do not display themselves but after\na long train of reflections--after multiplied experience and complicated\nattention; which many, either from a defect in their conformation, or\nfrom the peculiarity of the circumstances under which they are placed,\nare prevented from making, or at least from making correctly.\n\nBy a necessary consequence of this truism, the system of fatalism,\nalthough it has frequently been so accused, does not tend to encourage\nman in crime, to make remorse vanish from his mind. His propensities are\nto be ascribed to his nature; the use he makes of his passions depends\nupon his habits, upon his opinions, upon the ideas he has received in\nhis education; upon the examples held forth by the society in which he\nlives. These things are what necessarily decide his conduct. Thus,\nwhen his temperament renders him susceptible of strong passions, he is\nviolent in his desires, whatever may be his speculations.\n\n_Remorse_ is the painful sentiment excited in him by grief, caused\neither by the immediate or probable future effect of his indulged\npassions: if these effects were always useful to him, he would not\nexperience remorse; but, as soon as he is assured that his actions\nrender him hateful, that his passions make him contemptible; or, as\nsoon as he fears he shall be punished in some mode or other, he becomes\nrestless, discontented with himself--he reproaches himself with his own\nconduct--he feels ashamed--he fears the judgement of those beings whose\naffection he has learned to esteem--in whose good-will he finds his own\ncomfort deeply interested. His experience proves to him that the wicked\nman is odious to all those upon whom his actions have any influence:\nif these actions are concealed at the moment of commission, he knows\nit very rarely happens they remain so for ever. The smallest reflection\nconvinces him that there is no wicked man who is not ashamed of his\nown conduct--who is truly contented with himself--who does not envy the\ncondition of the good man--who is not obliged to acknowledge that he has\npaid very dearly for those advantages he is never able to enjoy, without\nexperiencing the most troublesome sensations, without making the most\nbitter reproaches against himself; then he feels ashamed, despises\nhimself, hates himself, his conscience becomes alarmed, remorse follows\nin it train. To be convinced of the truth of this principle it is only\nrequisite to cast our eyes on the extreme precautions that tyrants\nand villains, who are otherwise sufficiently powerful not to dread the\npunishment of man, take to prevent exposure;--to what lengths they push\ntheir cruelties against some, to what meannesses they stoop to others of\nthose who are able to hold them up to public scorn. Have they not, then,\na consciousness of their own iniquities? Do they not know that they\nare hateful and contemptible? Have they not remorse? Is their condition\nhappy? Persons well brought up acquire these sentiments in their\neducation; which are either strengthened or enfeebled by public opinion,\nby habit, or by the examples set before them. In a depraved society,\nremorse either does not exist, or presently disappears; because, in\nall his actions, it is ever the judgment of his fellow-man that man is\nobliged necessarily to regard. He never feels either shame or remorse\nfor actions he sees approved, that are practised by the world.\nUnder corrupt governments, venal souls, avaricious being, mercenary\nindividuals, do not blush either at meanness, robbery, or rapine, when\nit is authorized by example; in licentious nations, no one blushes\nat adultery except the husband, at whose expence it is committed; in\nsuperstitious countries, man does not blush to assassinate his fellow\nfor his opinions. It will be obvious, therefore, that his remorse, as\nwell as the ideas, whether right or wrong, which man has of decency,\nvirtue, justice, &c. are the necessary consequence of his temperament,\nmodified by the society in which he lives: assassins and thieves, when\nthey live only among themselves, have neither shame nor remorse.\n\nThus, I repeat, all the actions of man are necessary those which are\nalways useful, which constantly contribute to the real, tend to the\npermanent happiness of his species, are called _virtues_, and are\nnecessarily pleasing to all who experience their influence; at least,\nif their passions or false opinions do not oblige them to judge in that\nmanner which is but little accordant with the nature of things: each man\nacts, each individual judges, necessarily, according to his own peculiar\nmode of existence--after the ideas, whether true or false, which he has\nformed with regard to his happiness. There are necessary actions\nwhich man is obliged to approve; there are others, that, in despite of\nhimself, he is compelled to censure; of which the idea generates shame\nwhen his reflection permits him to contemplate them under the same point\nof view that they are regarded by his associates. The virtuous man and\nthe wicked man act from motives equally necessary: they differ simply in\ntheir organization--in the ideas they form to themselves of happiness:\nwe love the one necessarily--we detest the other from the same\nnecessity. The law of his nature, which wills that a sensible being\nshall constantly labour to preserve himself, has not left to man the\npower to choose, or the free-agency to prefer pain to pleasure--vice to\nutility--crime to virtue. It is, then, the essence of man himself that\nobliges him to discriminate those actions which are advantageous to him,\nform those which are prejudicial to his interest, from those which are\nbaneful to his felicity.\n\nThis distinction subsists even in the most corrupt societies, in which\nthe ideas of virtue, although completely effaced from their conduct,\nremain the same in their mind. Let us suppose a matt, who had decidedly\ndetermined for villainy, who should say to himself--\"It is folly to\nbe virtuous in a society that is depraved, in a community that is\ndebauched.\" Let us suppose also, that he has sufficient address, the\nunlooked-for good fortune to escape censure or punishment, during a\nlong series of years; I say, that in despite of all these circumstances,\napparently so advantageous for himself, such a man has neither been\nhappy nor contented with his own conduct, He has been in continual\nagonies--ever at war with his own actions--in a state of constant\nagitation. How much pain, how much anxiety, has he not endured in this\nperpetual conflict with himself? How many precautions, what excessive\nlabour, what endless solicitude, has he not been compelled to employ in\nthis continued struggle; how many embarrassments, how many cares, has\nhe not experienced in this eternal wrestling with his associates, whose\npenetration he dreads, whose scorn he fears will follow a true knowledge\nof his pursuits. Demand of him what he thinks of himself, he will shrink\nfrom the question. Approach the bedside of this villain at the moment\nhe is dying; ask him if he would be willing to recommence, at the same\nprice, a life of similar agitation? If he is ingenuous, he will avow\nthat he has tasted neither repose nor happiness; that each crime filled\nhim with inquietude--that reflection prevented him from sleeping--that\nthe world has been to him only one continued scene of alarm--an\nuninterrupted concatenation of terror--an everlasting, anxiety of\nmind;--that to live peaceably upon bread and water, appears to him to be\na much happier, a more easy condition, than to possess riches, credit,\nreputation, honours, on the same terms that he has himself acquired\nthem. If this villain, notwithstanding all his success, finds his\ncondition so deplorable, what must be thought of the feelings of those\nwho have neither the same resources nor the same advantages to succeed\nin their criminal projects.\n\nThus, the system of necessity is a truth not only founded upon certain\nexperience, but, again, it establishes morals upon an immoveable basis.\nFar from sapping the foundations of virtue, it points out its necessity;\nit clearly shows the invariable sentiments it must excite--sentiments\nso necessary, so strong, so congenial to his existence, that all the\nprejudices of man--all the vices of his institutions--all the effect of\nevil example, have never been able entirely to eradicate them from his\nmind. When he mistakes the advantages of virtue, it ought to be ascribed\nto the errors that are infused into him--to the irrationality of\nhis institutions: all his wanderings are the fatal consequences of\nerror,--the necessary result of prejudices which have identified\nthemselves with his existence. Let it not, therefore, any longer be\nimputed to his nature that he has become wicked, but to those baneful\nopinions which he has imbibed with his mother's milk,--that have\nrendered him ambitious, avaricious, envious, haughty, arrogant,\ndebauched, intolerant, obstinate, prejudiced, incommodious to his\nfellows, mischievous to himself. It is education that carries into his\nsystem the germ of those vices which necessarily torment him during the\nwhole course of his life.\n\n_Fatalism_ is reproached with discouraging man--with damping the ardour\nof his soul--with plunging him into apathy--with destroying the bonds\nthat should connect him with society. Its opponents say, \"If every thing\nis necessary, we must let things go on, and not be disturbed by any\nthing.\" But does it depend on man to be sensible or not? Is he master\nof feeling or not feeling pain? If Nature has endowed him with a humane,\nwith a tender soul, is it possible he should not interest himself in a\nvery lively manner, in the welfare of beings whom he knows are necessary\nto his own peculiar happiness? His feelings are necessary: they depend\non his own peculiar nature, cultivated by education. His imagination,\nprompt to concern itself with the felicity of his race, causes his\nheart to be oppressed at the sight of those evils his fellow-creature is\nobliged to endure,--makes his soul tremble in the contemplation of\nthe misery arising from the despotism that crushes him--from the\nsuperstition that leads him astray--from the passions that distract\nhim in a state of warfare against his neighbour. Although he knows that\ndeath is the fatal, the necessary period to the form of all beings, his\nsoul is not affected in a less lively manner at the loss of a beloved\nwife,--at the demise of a child calculated to console his old age,--at\nthe final separation from an esteemed friend who had become dear to his\nheart. Although he is not ignorant that it is the essence of fire to\nburn, he does not believe he is dispensed from using his utmost efforts\nto arrest the progress of a conflagration. Although he is intimately\nconvinced that the evils to which he is a witness, are the necessary\nconsequence of primitive errors with which his fellow-citizens are\nimbued, he feels he ought to display truth to them, if Nature has given\nhim the necessary courage; under the conviction, that if they listen to\nit, it will, by degrees, become a certain remedy for their sufferings,\nthat it will produce those necessary effects which it is of its essence\nto operate.\n\nIf the speculations of man modify his conduct, if they change his\ntemperament, he ought not to doubt that the system of necessity would\nhave the most advantageous influence over him; not only is it suitable\nto calm the greater part of his inquietude, but it will also contribute\nto inspire him with a useful submission, a rational resignation, to the\ndecrees of a destiny with which his too great sensibility frequently\ncauses him to be overwhelmed. This happy apathy, without doubt, would\nbe, desirable to those whose souls, too tender to brook the inequalities\nof life, frequently render them the deplorable sport of their fate; or\nwhose organs, too weak to make resistance to the buffettings of fortune,\nincessantly expose them to be dashed in pieces under the rude blows of\nadversity.\n\nBut, of all the important advantages the human race would be enabled\nto derive from the doctrine of fatalism, if man was to apply it to\nhis conduct, none would be of greater magnitude, none of more happy\nconsequence, none that would more efficaciously corroborate his\nhappiness, than that general indulgence, that universal toleration, that\nmust necessarily spring from the opinion, that _all is necessary_. In\nconsequence, of the adoption of this principle, the fatalist, if he\nhad a sensible soul, would commisserate the prejudices of his\nfellow-man--would lament over his wanderings--would seek to undeceive\nhim--would try by gentleness to lead him into the right path, without\never irritating himself against his weakness, without ever insulting\nhis misery. Indeed, what right have we to hate or despise man for his\nopinions? His ignorance, his prejudices, his imbecility, his vices,\nhis passions, his weakness, are they not the inevitable consequence of\nvicious institutions? Is he not sufficiently punished by the multitude\nof evils that afflict him on every side? Those despots who crush him\nwith an iron sceptre, are they not continual victims to their own\npeculiar restlessness--mancipated to their perpetual diffidence--eternal\nslaves to their suspicions? Is there one wicked individual who enjoys\na pure, an unmixed, a real happiness? Do not nations unceasingly\nsuffer from their follies? Are they not the incessant dupes to their\nprejudices? Is not the ignorance of chiefs, the ill-will they bear to\nreason, the hatred they have for truth, punished by the imbecility of\ntheir citizens, by the ruin of the states they govern? In short, the\nfatalist would grieve to witness necessity each moment exercising its\nsevere decrees upon mortals who are ignorant of its power, or who feel\nits castigation, without being willing to acknowledge the hand from\nwhence it proceeds; he will perceive that ignorance is necessary, that\ncredulity is the necessary result of ignorance--that slavery and bondage\nare necessary consequences of ignorant credulity--that corruption of\nmanners springs necessarily from slavery--that the miseries of society,\nthe unhappiness of its members, are the necessary offspring of this\ncorruption. The fatalist, in consequence, of these ideas, will neither\nbe a gloomy misanthrope, nor a dangerous citizen; he will pardon in\nhis brethren those wanderings, he will forgive them those errors--which\ntheir vitiated nature, by a thousand causes, has rendered necessary--he\nwill offer them consolation--he will endeavour to inspire them with\ncourage--he will be sedulous to undeceive them in their idle notions,\nin their chimerical ideas; but he will never display against them\nbitterness of soul--he will never show them that rancorous animosity\nwhich is more suitable, to make them revolt from his doctrines, than to\nattract them to reason;--he will not disturb the repose of society--he\nwill not raise the people to insurrection against the sovereign\nauthority; on the contrary, he will feel that the miserable blindness of\nthe great, and the wretched perverseness, the fatal obstinacy of so many\nconductors of the people, are the necessary consequence of that flattery\nthat is administered to them in their infancy--that feeds their hopes\nwith allusive falsehoods--of the depraved malice of those who surround\nthem--who wickedly corrupt them, that they may profit by their\nfolly--that they may take advantage of their weakness: in short, that\nthese things are the inevitable effect of that profound ignorance of\ntheir true interest, in which every thing strives to keep them.\n\nThe fatalist has no right to be vain of his peculiar talents; no\nprivilege to be proud of his virtues; he knows that these qualities\nare only the consequence of his natural organization, modified by\ncircumstances that have in no wise depended upon himself. He will\nneither have hatred nor feel contempt for those whom Nature and\ncircumstances have not favoured in a similar manner. It is the fatalist\nwho ought to be humble, who should be modest from principle: is he\nnot obliged to acknowledge, that he possesses nothing that he has not\npreviously received?\n\nIn fact, will not every thing conduct to indulgence the fatalist whom\nexperience has convinced of the necessity of things? Will he not see\nwith pain, that it is the essence of a society badly constituted,\nunwisely governed, enslaved to prejudice, attached to unreasonable\ncustoms, submitted to irrational laws, degraded under despotism,\ncorrupted by luxury, inebriated by false opinions, to be filled with\ntrifling members; to be composed of vicious citizens; to be made up\nof cringing slaves, who are proud of their chains; of ambitious men,\nwithout idea of true glory; of misers and prodigals; of fanatics and\nlibertines! Convinced of the necessary connection of things, he will\nnot be surprised to see that the supineness of their chiefs carries\ndiscouragement into their country, or that the influence of their\ngovernors stirs up bloody wars by which it is depopulated, and causes\nuseless expenditures that impoverish it; that all these excesses united,\nis the reason why so many nations contain only men wanting happiness,\nwithout understanding to attain it; who are devoid of morals, destitute\nof virtue. In all this he will contemplate nothing more than the\nnecessary action and re-action of physics upon morals, of morals upon\nphysics. In short, all who acknowledge fatality, will remain persuaded\nthat a nation badly governed is a soil very fruitful in venomous\nreptiles--very abundant in poisonous plants; that these have such a\nplentiful growth as to crowd each other and choak themselves. It is in a\ncountry cultivated by the hands of a Lycurgus, that he will witness\nthe production of intrepid citizens, of noble-minded individuals,\nof disinterested men, who are strangers to irregular pleasures. In a\ncountry cultivated by a Tiberius, he will find nothing but villains with\ndepraved hearts, men with mean contemptible souls, despicable informers,\nexecrable traitors. It is the soil, it is the circumstances in which\nman finds himself placed, that renders him either a useful object or\na prejudicial being: the wise man avoids the one, as he would those\ndangerous reptiles whose nature it is to sting and communicate their\ndeadly venom; he attaches himself to the other, esteems him, loves him,\nas he does those delicious fruits with whose rich maturity his palate\nis pleasantly gratified, with whose cooling juices he finds himself\nagreeably refreshed: he sees the wicked without anger--he cherishes the\ngood with pleasure--he delights in the bountiful: he knows full well\nthat the tree which is languishing without culture in the arid, sandy\ndesert, that is stunted for want of attention, leafless for want of\nmoisture, that has grown crooked from neglect, become barren from\nwant of loam, whose tender bark is gnawed by rapacious beasts of prey,\npierced by innumerable insects, would perhaps have expanded far and wide\nits verdant boughs from a straight and stately stem, have brought forth\ndelectable fruit, have afforded from its luxuriant foliage under its\nlambent leaves an umbrageous refreshing retreat from the scorching rays\nof a meridian sun, have offered beneath its swelling branches, under\nits matted tufts a shelter from the pitiless storm, it its seed had\nbeen fortunately sown in a more fertile soil, placed in a more congenial\nclimate, had experienced the fostering cares of a skilful cultivator.\n\nLet it not then be said, that it is degrading man reduce his functions\nto a pure mechanism; that it is shamefully to undervalue him,\nscandalously to abuse him, to compare him to a tree; to an abject\nvegetation. The philosopher devoid of prejudice does not understand this\nlanguage, invented by those who are ignorant of what constitutes the\ntrue dignity of man. A tree is an object which, in its station, joins\nthe useful with the agreeable; it merits our approbation when it\nproduces sweet and pleasant fruit; when it affords a favourable shade.\nAll machines are precious, when they are truly useful, when they\nfaithfully perform the functions for which they are designed. Yes, I\nspeak it with courage, reiterate it with pleasure, the honest man, when\nhe has talents, when he possesses virtue, is, for the beings of his\nspecies, a tree that furnishes them with delicious fruit, that affords\nthem refreshing shelter: the honest man is a machine of which the\nsprings are adapted to fulfil its functions in a manner that must\ngratify the expectation of all his fellows. No, I should not blush, I\nshould not feel degraded, to be a machine of this sort; and my heart\nwould leap with joy, if I could foresee that the fruit of my reflections\nwould one day be useful to my race, consoling to my fellow-man.\n\nIs not Nature herself a vast machine, of which the human species is but\na very feeble spring? I see nothing contemptible either in her or her\nproductions; all the beings who come out of her hands are good, are\nnoble, are sublime, whenever they co-operate to the production of\nanother, to the maintenance of harmony in the sphere where they must\nact. Of whatever nature the soul may be, whether it is made mortal, or\nwhether it be supposed immortal; whether it is regarded as a spirit,\nor whether it be looked upon as a portion of the body; it will be found\nnoble, it will be estimated great, it will be ranked good, it will be\nconsidered sublime, in a Socrates, in an Aristides, in a Cato: it will\nbe thought abject, it will be viewed as despicable, it will be called\ncorrupt, in a Claudius, in a Sejanus, in a Nero: its energies will be\nadmired, we shall be delighted with its manner, fascinated with\nits efforts, in a Shakespeare, in a Corneille, in a Newton, in a\nMontesquieu: its baseness will be lamented, when we behold mean,\ncontemptible men, who flatter tyranny, or who servilely cringe at the\nfoot of superstition.\n\nAll that has been said in the course of this work, proves clearly\nthat every thing is necessary; that every thing is always in order,\nrelatively to Nature; where all beings do nothing more than follow the\nlaws that are imposed on their respective classes. It is part of her\nplan, that certain portions of the earth shall bring forth delicious\nfruits, shall blossom beauteous flowers; whilst others shall only\nfurnish brambles, shall yield nothing but noxious vegetables: she has\nbeen willing that some societies should produce wise men, great heroes;\nthat others should only give birth to abject souls, contemptible\nmen, without energy, destitute of virtue. Passions, winds, tempests,\nhurricanes, volcanoes, wars, plagues, famines, diseases, death, are as\nnecessary to her eternal march as the beneficent heat of the sun, the\nserenity of the atmosphere, the gentle showers of spring, plentiful\nyears, peace, health, harmony, life: vice and virtue, darkness and\nlight, and science are equally necessary; the one are not benefits,\nthe other are not evils, except for those beings whose happiness they\ninfluence by either favouring or deranging their peculiar mode of\nexistence. _The whole cannot be miserable, but it may contain unhappy\nindividuals._\n\nNature, then, distributes with the same hand that which is called\n_order_, and that which is called _disorder_; that which is called\n_pleasure_, and that which is called _pain_: in short, she diffuses by\nthe necessity of her existence, good and evil in the world we inhabit.\nLet not man, therefore, either arraign her bounty, or tax her\nwith malice; let him not imagine that his feeble cries, his weak\nsupplications, can never arrest her colossal power, always acting after\nimmutable laws; let him submit silently to his condition; and when he\nsuffers, let him not seek a remedy by recurring to chimeras that his\nown distempered imagination has created; let him draw from the stores\nof Nature herself, the remedies which she offers for the evil she brings\nupon him: if she sends him diseases, let him search in her bosom for\nthose salutary productions to which she has given birth, which will cure\nthem: if she gives him errors, she also furnishes him with experience to\ncounteract them; in truth, she supplies him with an antidote suitable\nto destroy their fatal effects. If she permits man to groan under the\npressure of his vices, beneath the load of his follies, she also shews\nhim in virtue, a sure remedy for his infirmities: if the evils that\nsome societies experience are necessary, when they shall have become\ntoo incommodious they will be irresistibly obliged to search for those\nremedies which Nature will always point out to them. If this Nature has\nrendered existence insupportable, to some unfortunate beings, whom she\nappears to have selected for her victims, still death, is a door\nthat will surely be opened to them--that will deliver them from their\nmisfortunes, although in their puny, imbecile, wayward judgment, they\nmay be deemed impossible of cure.\n\nLet not man, then, accuse Nature with being inexorable to him, since\nthere does not exist in her whole circle an evil for which she has not\nfurnished the remedy, to those who have the courage to seek it, who have\nthe fortitude to apply it. Nature follows general and necessary laws\nin all her operations; physical calamity and moral evil are not to\nbe ascribed to her want of kindness, but to the necessity of things.\nPhysical calamity is the derangement produced in man's organs by\nphysical causes which he sees act: moral evil is the derangement\nproduced in him by physical causes of which the action is to him a\nsecret. These causes always terminate by producing sensible effects,\nwhich are capable of striking his senses; neither the thoughts nor the\nwill of man ever shew themselves, but by the marked effects they\nproduce either in himself or upon those beings whom Nature has rendered\nsusceptible of feeling their impulse. He suffers, because it is of the\nessence of some beings to derange the economy of his machine; he enjoys,\nbecause the properties of some beings are analogous to his own mode of\nexistence; he is born, because it is of the nature of some matter to\ncombine itself under a determinate form; he lives, he acts, he thinks,\nbecause it is of the essence of certain combinations to maintain\nthemselves in existence by given means for a season; at length he dies,\nbecause a necessary law prescribes that all the combinations which are\nformed, shall either be destroyed or dissolve themselves. From all this\nit results, that Nature is impartial to all its productions; she submits\nman, like all other beings, to those eternal laws from which she has\nnot even exempted herself; if she was to suspend these laws, even for\nan instant, from that moment disorder would reign in her, system; her\nharmony would be disturbed.\n\nThose who wish to study Nature, must take experience for their guide;\nthis, and this only, can enable them to dive into her secrets, to\nunravel by degrees, the frequently imperceptible woof of those slender\ncauses, of which she avails herself to operate the greatest phenomena:\nby the aid of experience, man often discovers in her properties,\nperceives modes of action entirely unknown to the ages which have\npreceded him; those effects which his grandfathers contemplated as\nmarvellous, which they regarded as supernatural efforts, looked upon\nas miracles, have become familiar to him in the present day, and are at\nthis moment contemplated as simple and natural consequences, of which he\ncomprehends the mechanism--of which he understands the cause--of which\nhe can unfold the manner of action. Man, in fathoming Nature, has\narrived at discovering the true causes of earthquakes; of the periodical\nmotion of the sea; of subterraneous conflagrations; of meteors; of the\nelectrical fluid, the whole of which were considered by his ancestors,\nand are still so by the ignorant, by the uninformed, as indubitable\nsigns of heaven's wrath. His posterity, in following up, in rectifying\nthe experience already made, will perhaps go further, and discover those\ncauses which are totally veiled from present eyes. The united efforts of\nthe human species will one day perhaps penetrate even into the sanctuary\nof Nature, and throw into light many of those mysteries which up to the\npresent time she seems to have refused to all his researches.\n\nIn contemplating man under his true aspect; in quitting authority\nto follow experience; in laying aside error to consult reason; in\nsubmitting every thing to physical laws, from which his imagination has\nvainly exerted its utmost power to withdraw them; it will be found that\nthe phenomena of the moral world follow exactly the same general rules\nas those of the physical; that the greater part of those astonishing\neffects, which ignorance, aided by his prejudices, make him consider as\ninexplicable, and regard as wonderful, are natural consequences flowing\nfrom simple causes. He will find that the eruption of a volcano and the\nbirth of a Tamerlane are to Nature the same thing; in recurring to\nthe primitive causes of those striking events which he beholds with\nconsternation, which he contemplates with fearful alarm, in falling\nback to the sources of those terrible revolutions, those frightful\nconvulsions, those dreadful explosions that distract mankind, lay waste\nthe fairest works of Nature, ravage nations, and tear up society by\nthe roots; he will find the wills that compassed the most surprising\nchanges, that operated the most extensive alterations in the state of\nthings, that brought about the most unlooked-for events, were moved\nby physical causes, whose exility made him treat them as contemptible;\nwhose want of consequence in his own purblind eyes led him to believe\nthem utterly incapable to give birth to the phenomena whose magnitude\nstrikes him with such awe, whose stupendous range fills him with such\namazement.\n\nIf man was to judge of causes by their effects, there would be no small\ncauses in the universe. In a Nature where every thing is connected,\nwhere every thing acts and re-acts, moves and changes, composes and\ndecomposes, forms and destroys, there is not an atom which does not play\nan important part--that does not occupy a necessary station; there\nis not an imperceptible particle, however minute, which, placed in\nconvenient circumstances, does not operate the most prodigious effects.\nIf man was in a capacity to follow the eternal chain, to pursue the\nconcatenated links, that connect with their causes all the effects he\nwitnesses, without losing sight of any one of its rings,--if he could\nunravel the ends of those insensible threads that give impulse to the\nthoughts, decision to the will, direction to the passions of those men\nwho are called mighty, according to their actions, he would find, they\nare true atoms which Nature employs to move the moral world; that it is\nthe unexpected but necessary function of these indiscernible particles\nof matter, it is their aggregation, their combination, their proportion,\ntheir fermentation, which modifying the individual by degrees, in\ndespite of himself, frequently without his own knowledge, make him\nthink, will, and act, in a determinate, but necessary mode. If, then,\nthe will and the actions of this individual have an influence over a\ngreat number of other men, here is the moral world in a state of the\ngreatest combustion, and those consequences ensue which man contemplates\nwith fearful wonder. Too much acrimony in the bile of a fanatic--blood\ntoo much inflamed in the heart of a conqueror--a painful indigestion in\nthe stomach of a monarch--a whim that passes in the mind of a woman--are\nsometimes causes sufficient to bring on war--to send millions of men\nto the slaughter--to root out an entire people--to overthrow walls--to\nreduce cities into ashes--to plunge nations into slavery--to put a\nwhole people into mourning--to breed famine in a land--to engender\npestilence--to propagate calamity--to extend misery--to spread\ndesolation far and wide upon the surface of our globe, through a long\nseries of ages.\n\nThe dominant passion of an individual of the human species, when it\ndisposes of the passions of many others, arrives at combining their\nwill, at uniting their efforts, and thus decides the condition of man.\nIt is after this manner that an ambitious, crafty, and voluptuous\nArab, gave to his countrymen an impulse of which the effect was the\nsubjugation and desolation of vast countries in Asia, in Africa, and in\nEurope; whose consequences were sufficiently potential to erect a new,\nextensive, but slavish empire; to give a novel system of religion to\nmillions of human beings; to overturn the altars of their former gods;\nin short, to alter the opinions, to change the customs of a considerable\nportion of the population of the earth. But in examining the primitive\nsources of this strange revolution, what were the concealed causes that\nhad an influence over this man--that excited his peculiar passions, and\nmodified his temperament? What was the matter from the combination of\nwhich resulted a crafty, ambitious, enthusiastic, and eloquent man; in\nshort, a personage competent to impose on his fellow-creatures--capable\nof making them concur in his most extravagant views. They were,\nundoubtedly, the insensible particles of his blood; the imperceptible\ntexture of his fibres; the salts, more or less acrid, that stimulated\nhis nerves; the proportion of igneous fluid that circulated in his\nsystem. From whence came these elements? It was from the womb of his\nmother; from the aliments which nourished him; from the climate in which\nhe had his birth; from the ideas he received; from the air which\nhe respired; without reckoning a thousand inappreciable, a thousand\ntransitory causes, that in the instance given had modified, had\ndetermined the passions of this importent being, who had thereby\nacquired the capacity to change the face of this mundane sphere.\n\nTo causes so weak in their principles, if in the origin the slightest\nobstacle had been opposed, these wonderful events, which have astounded\nman, would never have been produced. The fit of an ague, the consequence\nof bile a little too much inflamed, had sufficed, perhaps, to have\nrendered abortive all the vast projects, of the legislator of the\nMussulmen. Spare diet, a glass of water, a sanguinary evacuation, would\nsometimes have been sufficient to have saved kingdoms.\n\nIt will be seen, then, that the condition of the human species, as well\nas that of each of its individuals, every instant depends on insensible\ncauses, to which circumstances, frequently fugitive, give birth; that\nopportunity developes, that convenience puts in action: man attributes\ntheir effects to chance, whilst these causes operate necessarily, act\naccording to fixed rules: he has frequently neither the sagacity nor\nthe honesty to recur to their true principles; he regards such feeble\nmotives with contempt, because he has been taught to consider them as\nincapable of producing such stupendous events. They are, however, these\nmotives, weak as they may appear to be, these springs, so pitiful in his\neyes, is which according to her necessary laws, suffice in the hands of\nNature to move the universe. The conquests of a Gengis-Khan have nothing\nin them that is more strange to the eye of a philosopher than the\nexplosion of a mine, caused in its principle by a feeble spark, which\ncommences with setting fire to a single grain of powder; this presently\ncommunicates itself to many millions of other contiguous grains, of\nwhich the united force, the multiplied powers, terminate by blowing\nup mountains, overthrowing fortifications, or converting populous,\nwell-built cities, into heaps of ruins.\n\nThus, imperceptible causes, concealed in the bosom of Nature, until the\nmoment their action is displayed, frequently decide the fate of man.\nThe happiness or the wretchedness, the prosperity or the misery of each\nindividual, as well as that of whole nations, are attached to powers\nwhich it is impossible for him to foresee, which he cannot appreciate,\nof which he is incapable to arrest the action. Perhaps at this moment\natoms are amassing, insensible particles are combining, of which the\nassemblage shall form a sovereign, who will be either the scourge or the\nsaviour of a mighty empire. Man cannot answer for his own destiny one\nsingle instant; he has no cognizance of what is passing within himself;\nhe is ignorant of the causes which act in the interior of his machine;\nhe knows nothing of the circumstances that will give them activity:\nhe is unacquainted with what may develope their energy; it is,\nnevertheless, on these causes, impossible to be unravelled by him, that\ndepends his condition in life. Frequently, an unforeseen rencontre\ngives birth to a passion in his soul, of which the consequences shall,\nnecessarily, have an influence over his felicity. It is thus that\nthe most virtuous man, by a whimsical combination of unlooked-for\ncircumstances, may become in an instant the most criminal of his\nspecies.\n\nThis truth, without doubt, will be found frightful--this fact will\nunquestionably appear terrible: but at bottom, what has it more\nrevolting than that which teaches him that an infinity of accidents, as\nirremediable as they are unforeseen, may every instant wrest from him\nthat life to which he is so strongly attached? Fatalism reconciles the\ngood man easily to death: it makes him contemplate it as a certain means\nof withdrawing himself from wickedness; this system shews death, even\nto the happy man himself, as a medium between him and those misfortunes\nwhich frequently terminate by poisoning his happiness; that end with\nembittering the most fortunate existence.\n\nLet man, then, submit to necessity: in despite of himself it will always\nhurry him forward: let him resign himself to Nature, let him accept the\ngood with which she presents him: let him oppose to the necessary evil\nwhich she makes him experience, those necessary remedies which she\nconsents to afford him; let him not disturb his mind with useless\ninquietude; let him enjoy with moderation, because he will find that\npain is the necessary companion of excess: let him follow the paths of\nvirtue, because every thing will prove to him, even in this world of\nperverseness, that it is absolutely necessary to render him estimable in\nthe eyes of others, to make him contented with himself.\n\nFeeble, vain mortal, thou pretendest to be a free agent. Alas! dost thou\nnot see all the threads which enchain thee? Dost thou not perceive that\nthey are atoms which form thee; that they are atoms which move thee;\nthat they are circumstances independent of thyself, that modify\nthy being; that they are circumstances over which thou hast not any\ncontroul, that rule thy destiny? In the puissant Nature that environs\nthee, shalt thou pretend to be the only being who is able to resist her\npower? Dost thou really believe that thy weak prayers will induce her\nto stop in her eternal march; that thy sickly desires can oblige her to\nchange her everlasting course?\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XIII.\n\n_Of the Immortality of the Soul;--of the Doctrine of a future State;--of\nthe Fear of Death._\n\n\nThe reflections presented to the reader in this work, tend to shew what\nought to be thought of the human soul, as well as of its operations and\nfaculties: every thing proves, in the most convincing manner, that it\nacts, that it moves according to laws similar to those prescribed to the\nother beings of Nature; that it cannot be distinguished from the body;\nthat it is born with it; that it grows up with it; that it is modified\nin the same progression; in short, every thing ought to make man\nconclude that it perishes with it. This soul, as well as the body,\npasses through a state of weakness and infancy; it is in this stage of\nits existence, that it is assailed by a multitude of modifications; that\nit is stored with an infinity of ideas, which it receives from exterior\nobjects through the medium of the organs; that it amasses facts, that\nit collects experience, whether true or false, that it forms to itself\na system of conduct, according to which it thinks, in conformity with\nwhich it acts, from whence results either its happiness or its misery,\nits reason or its delirium, its virtues or its vices; arrived with the\nbody at its full powers, having in conjunction with it reached maturity,\nit does not cease for a single instant to partake in common of its\nsensations, whether these are agreeable or disagreeable; it participates\nin all its pleasures; it shares in all its pains; in consequence it\nconjointly approves or disapproves its state; like it, it is either\nsound or diseased; active or languishing; awake or asleep. In old age\nman extinguishes entirely, his fibres become rigid, his nerves loose\ntheir elasticity, his senses are obtunded, his sight grows dim, his ears\nlose their quickness, his ideas become unconnected, his memory fails,\nhis imagination cools: what then becomes of his soul? Alas! it sinks\ndown with the body; it gets benumbed as this loses its feeling; becomes\nsluggish as this decays in activity; like it, when enfeebled by years\nit fulfils its functions with pain; this substance, which is deemed\nspiritual, which is considered immaterial, which it is endeavoured to\ndistinguish from matter, undergoes the same revolutions, experiences the\nsame vicissitudes, submits to the same modifications, as does the body\nitself.\n\nIn despite of this proof of the materiality of the soul, of its identity\nwith the body, so convincing to the unprejudiced, some thinkers have\nsupposed, that although the latter is perishable, the former does\nnot perish: that this portion of man enjoys the especial privilege\nof _immortality_; that it is exempt from dissolution: free from those\nchanges of form all the beings in Nature undergo: in consequence of\nthis, man has persuaded himself, that this privileged soul does not die:\nits immortality, above all, appears indubitable to those who suppose it\nspiritual: after having made it a simple being, without extent, devoid\nof parts, totally different from any thing of which he has a knowledge,\nhe pretended that it was not subjected to the laws of decomposition\ncommon to all beings, of which experience shews him the continual\noperation.\n\nMan, feeling within himself a concealed force, that insensibly produced\naction, that imperceptibly gave direction to the motion of his machine,\nbelieved that the entire of Nature, of whose energies he is ignorant,\nwith whose modes of acting he is unacquainted, owed its motion to an\nagent analogous to his own soul; who acted upon the great macrocosm, in\nthe same manner that this soul acted upon his body. Man, having supposed\nhimself double, made Nature double also: he distinguished her from her\nown peculiar energy; he separated her from her mover, which by degrees\nhe made spiritual. Thus Nature, distinguished from herself, was regarded\nas the soul of the world; and the soul of man was considered as opinions\nemanating from this universal soul. This notion upon the origin of the\nsoul is of very remote antiquity. It was that of the Egyptians, of the\nChaldeans, of the Hebrews, of the greater number of the _wise men of\nthe east._ It should appear that Moses believed with the Egyptians the\ndivine emanation of souls: according to him, _\"God formed man of the\ndust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life;\nand man became a living soul:\"_ nevertheless, the Catholic, at this day,\nrejects this system of _divine emanation,_ seeing that it supposes the\nDivinity divisible: which would have, been inconvenient to the Romish\nidea of purgatory, or to the system of everlasting punishment. Although\nMoses, in the above quotation, seems to indicate that the soul was a\nportion of the Divinity, it does not appear that the doctrine of the\n_immortality of the soul_ was established in any one of the books\nattributed to him. It was during the Babylonish captivity, that the\nJews learned the doctrine of future rewards and punishments, taught\nby Zoroaster to the Persians, but which the Hebrew legislator did not\nunderstand, or, at least, he left his people ignorant on the subject. It\nwas in those schools, that Pherecydes, Pythagoras, and Plato, drew up a\ndoctrine so flattering to the vanity of human nature--so gratifying to\nthe imagination of mortals. Man thus believed himself a portion of\nthe Divinity; immortal, like the Godhead, in one part of himself:\nnevertheless, subsequent religions have renounced these advantages,\nwhich they judged incompatible with the other parts of their systems;\nthey held forth that the Sovereign of Nature, or her contriver was not\nthe soul of man, but, that, in virtue of his omnipotence, he created\nhuman souls, in proportion as he produced the bodies which they must\nanimate; and they taught, that these souls once produced, by an effect\nof the same omnipotence, enjoyed immortality.\n\nHowever it may be with these variations upon the origin of souls, those\nwho supposed them emanating from the Divinity, believed that after the\ndeath of the body, which served them for an envelope, they returned, by\nrefunding to their first source. Those who, without adopting the opinion\nof divine emanation, admired the spirituality, believed the immortality\nof the soul, were under the necessity to suppose a region, to find out\nan abode for these souls, which their imagination painted to them, each\naccording to his fears, his hopes, his desires, and his prejudices.\n\nNothing is more popular than the doctrine of the _immortality of the\nsoul;_ nothing is more universally diffused than the expectation of\nanother life. Nature having inspired man with the most ardent love for\nhis existence, the desire of preserving himself for ever was a necessary\nconsequence; this desire was presently converted into certainty: from\nthat desire of existing eternally which Nature has implanted in him, he\nmade an argument, to prove that man would never cease to exist. Abady\nsays, \"our soul has no useless desires, it naturally desires an eternal\nlife;\" and by a very strange logic, he concludes that this desire\ncould not fail to be fulfilled. Cicero, before Abady, had declared the\nimmortality of the soul to be an innate idea in man; yet, strange\nto tell, in another part of his works he considers Pherecydes as the\ninventor of the doctrine. However this may be, man, thus disposed,\nlistened with avidity to those who announced to him systems so\nconformable to his wishes. Nevertheless, he ought not to regard as\nsupernatural the desire of existing, which always was, and always will\nbe, of the essence man; it ought not to excite surprise, if he received\nwith eagerness an hypothesis that flattered his hopes, by promising\nthat his desire would one day be gratified; but let him beware how he\nconcludes that this desire itself is an indubitable proof of the reality\nof this future life, with which at present he seems to be so much\noccupied. The passion for existence is in man only a natural consequence\nof the tendency of a sensible being, whose essence it is to be willing\nto conserve himself: in the human being it follows the energy of his\nsoul--keeps pace with the force of his imagination--always ready to\nrealize that which he strongly desires. He desires the life of the body,\nnevertheless this desire is frustrated; wherefore should not the desire\nfor the life of the soul be frustrated like the other? The partizans of\nthe doctrine of the immortality of the soul reason thus: \"All men\ndesire to live for ever, therefore they will live for ever.\" Suppose\nthe argument retorted on them; would it be believed? If it was asserted,\n\"All men naturally desire to be rich; therefore all men will one day be\nrich,\" how many partizans would this doctrine find?\n\nThe most simple reflection upon the nature of his soul, ought to\nconvince man that the idea of its immortality is only an illusion of the\nbrain. Indeed what is his soul, save the principle of sensibility? What\nis it, to think, to enjoy, to suffer; is it not to feel? What is life,\nexcept it be the assemblage of modifications, the congregation of\nmotion, peculiar to an organized being? Thus, as soon as the body\nceases to live, its sensibility can no longer exercise itself; when its\nsensibility is no more, it can no longer have ideas, nor in consequence\nthoughts. Ideas, as we have proved, can only reach man through his\nsenses; now, how will they have it, that once deprived of his senses,\nhe is yet capable of receiving sensations, of having perceptions, of\nforming ideas? As they have made the soul of man a being separated\nfrom the animated body, wherefore have they not made life a being\ndistinguished from the living body? Life in a body is the totality of\nthis motion; feeling and thought make a part of this motion: thus it is\nreasonable to suppose, that in the dead man these motions will cease,\nlike all the others.\n\nIndeed, by what reasoning will it be proved, that this soul, which\ncannot feel, think, will, or act, but by aid of man's organs, can suffer\npain, be susceptible of pleasure, or even have a consciousness of its\nown existence, when the organs which should warn it of their presence\nare decomposed or destroyed? Is it not evident, that the soul depends\non the arrangement of the various parts of the body; on the order with\nwhich these parts conspire to perform their functions; on the combined\nmotion of the whole? Thus the organic structure once destroyed, can it\nbe reasonably doubted the soul will be destroyed also? Is it not seen,\nthat during the whole course of human life this soul is stimulated,\nchanged, deranged, disturbed, by all the changes man's organs\nexperience? And yet it will be insisted, that this soul acts, thinks,\nsubsists, when these same organs have entirely disappeared!\n\nAn organized being may be compared to a clock, which once broken, is no\nlonger suitable to the use for which it was designed. To say, that the\nsoul shall feel, shall think, shall enjoy, shall suffer after the\ndeath of the body; is to pretend that a clock, shivered into a thousand\npieces, will continue to strike the hour; shall yet have the faculty\nof marking the progress of time. Those who say, that the soul of man is\nable to subsist, notwithstanding the destruction of the body, evidently\nsupport the position, that the modification of a body will be enabled\nto conserve itself after the subject is destroyed: this on any other\noccasion would be considered as completely absurd.\n\nIt will be said that the conservation of the soul after the death of the\nbody, is an effect of the Divine Omnipotence: but this is supporting an\nabsurdity by a gratuitous hypothesis. It surely is not meant by Divine\nOmnipotence, of whatever nature it may be supposed, that a thing shall\nexist and not exist at the same time: unless this be granted, it will be\nrather difficult to prove, that a soul shall feel and think without the\nintermediates necessary to thought.\n\nLet them then, at least, forbear asserting, that reason is not wounded\nby the doctrine of the immortality of the soul; or by the expectation\nof a future life. These notions, formed to flatter man, to disturb the\nimagination of the uninformed, who do not reason, cannot appear either\nconvincing or probable to enlightened minds. Reason, exempted from the\nillusions of prejudice, is, without doubt, wounded by the supposition of\na soul, that feels, that thinks, that is afflicted, that rejoices, that\nhas ideas, without having organs; that is to say, destitute of the only\nknown medium, wanting all the natural means, by which, according to\nwhat we can understand, it is possible for it to feel sensations, have\nperceptions, or form ideas. If it be replied, other means are able to\nexist, which are _supernatural_ or _unknown_, it may be answered, that\nthese means of transmitting ideas to the soul, separated from the body,\nare not better known to, or more within the reach of, those who suppose\nit, that they are of other men. It is, at least, very certain, it cannot\nadmit even of a controversy, that all those who reject the system of\ninnate ideas, cannot, without contradicting their own principles, admit\nthe doctrine of the immortality of the soul.\n\nIn defiance of the consolation that so many persons pretend to find in\nthe notion of an eternal existence; in despite of that firm persuasion\nwhich such numbers of men assure us they have, that their souls will\nsurvive their bodies, they seem so very much alarmed at the dissolution\nof this body, that they do not contemplate their end, which they ought\nto desire as the period of so many miseries, but with the greatest\ninquietude; so true it is, that the real, the present, even accompanied\nwith pain, has much more influence over mankind, than the most beautiful\nchimeras of the future; which he never views but through the clouds\nof uncertainty. Indeed the most religious men, notwithstanding the\nconviction they express of a blessed eternity, do not find these\nflattering hopes sufficiently consoling to repress their fears; to\nprevent their trembling, when they think on the necessary dissolution of\ntheir bodies. Death was always, for mortals, the most frightful point of\nview; they regard it as a strange phenomenon, contrary to the order\nof things, opposed to Nature; in a word, as an effect of the celestial\nvengeance, as the _wages of sin_. Although every thing proves to man\nthat death is inevitable, he is never able to familiarize himself with\nits idea; he never thinks on it without shuddering; the assurance of\npossessing an immortal soul but feebly indemnifies him for the grief he\nfeels in the deprivation of his perishable body. Two causes contribute\nto strengthen his fears, to nourish his alarm; the one is, that this\ndeath, commonly accompanied with pain, wrests from him an existence that\npleases him--with which he is acquainted--to which he is accustomed;\nthe other is the uncertainty of the state that must succeed his actual\nexistence.\n\nThe illustrious Bacon has said, that \"men fear death for the same reason\nthat children dread being alone in darkness.\" Man naturally challenges\nevery thing with which he is unacquainted; he is desirous to see clearly\nto the end, that he may guarantee himself against those objects which\nmay menace his safety; that he may also be enabled to procure for\nhimself those which may be useful to him; the man who exists cannot form\nto himself any idea of non-existence; as this circumstance disturbs him,\nfor want of experience, his imagination sets to work; this points out to\nhim, either well or ill, this uncertain state: accustomed to think, to\nfeel, to be stimulated into activity, to enjoy society, he contemplates\nas the greatest misfortune, a dissolution that will strip him of these\nobjects, that will deprive him of those sensations which his present\nnature has rendered necessary to him; he views with dismay a situation\nthat will prevent his being warned of his own existence--that shall\nbereave him of his pleasures--to plunge him into nothing. In supposing\nit even exempt from pain, he always looks upon this nothing as an\nafflicting solitude--as an heap of profound darkness; he sees himself in\na state of general desolation; destitute of all assistance; and he\nfeels keenly all the rigour of this frightful situation. But does not\na profound sleep help to give him a true idea of this nothing? Does not\nthat deprive him of every thing? Does it not appear to annihilate the\nuniverse to him, and him to the universe? Is death any thing more than\na profound, a permanent steep? It is for want of being able to form an\nidea of death that man dreads it; if he could figure to himself a true\nimage of this state of annihilation, he would from thence cease to fear\nit; but he is not able to conceive a state in which there is no feeling;\nhe therefore believes, that when he shall no longer exist, he will have\nthe same feelings, the same consciousness of things, which, during his\nexistence, appear so sad to his mind; which his fancy paints in such\ngloomy colours. Imagination pictures to him his funeral pomp--the grave\nthey are digging for him--the lamentations that will accompany him to\nhis last abode-the epicedium that surviving friendship may dictate;\nhe persuades himself that these melancholy objects will affect him as\npainfully even after his decease, as they do in his present condition,\nin which he is in full possession of his senses.\n\nMortal, led astray by fear! after thy death thine eyes will see no more;\nthine ears will hear no longer; in the depth of thy grave thou wilt\nno more be witness to this scene, which thine imagination, at present,\nrepresents to thee under such dismal colours; thou wilt no longer take\npart in what shall be done in the world; thou wilt no more be occupied\nwith what may befal thine inanimate remains, than thou wast able to\nbe the day previous to that which ranked thee among the beings of thy\nspecies. To die is to cease to think; to lack feeling; no longer to\nenjoy; to find a period to suffering; thine ideas will perish with thee;\nthy sorrows will not follow thee to the silent tomb. Think of death,\nnot to feed thy fears--not to nourish thy melancholy--but to accustom\nthyself to look upon it with a peaceable eye; to cheer thee up against\nthose false terrors with which the enemies to thy repose labour to\ninspire thee! The fears of death are vain illusions, that must disappear\nas soon as we learn to contemplate this necessary event under its true\npoint of view. A great man has defined philosophy to be _a meditation on\ndeath;_ he is not desirous by that to have it understood that man ought\nto occupy himself sorrowfully with his end, with a view to nourish his\nfears; on the contrary, he wishes to invite him to familiarize himself\nwith an object that Nature has rendered necessary to him; to accustom\nhimself to expect it with a serene countenance. If life is a benefit, if\nit be necessary to love it, it is no less necessary to quit it; reason\nought to teach him a calm resignation to the decrees of fate: his\nwelfare exacts that he should contract the habit of contemplating with\nplacidity, of viewing without alarm, an event that his essence has\nrendered inevitable: his interest demands that he should not brood\ngloomily over his misfortune; that he should not, by continual dread,\nembitter his life; the charms of which he must inevitably destroy, if\nhe can never view its termination but with trepidation. Reason and his\ninterest then, concur to assure him against those vague terrors with\nwhich his imagination inspires him, in this respect. If he was to call\nthem to his assistance, they would reconcile him to an object that only\nstartles him, because he has no knowledge of it; because it is only\nshewn to him with those hideous accompaniments with which it is clothed\nby superstition. Let him then, endeavour to despoil death of these vain\nillusions, and he will perceive that it is only the sleep of life;\nthat this sleep will not be disturbed with disagreeable dreams; that an\nunpleasant awakening is never likely to follow it. To die is to sleep;\nit is to enter into that state of insensibility in which he was previous\nto his birth; before he had senses; before he was conscious of his\nactual existence. Laws, as necessary as those which gave him birth, will\nmake him return into the bosom of Nature, from whence he was drawn, in\norder to reproduce him afterwards under some new form, which it would be\nuseless for him to know: without consulting him, Nature places him for\na season in the order of organized beings; without his consent, she will\noblige him to quit it, to occupy some other order.\n\nLet him not complain then, that Nature is callous; she only makes him\nundergo a law from which she does not exempt any one being she contains.\nMan complains of the short duration of life--of the rapidity with which\ntime flies away; yet the greater number of men do not know how to employ\neither time or life. If all are born and perish--if every thing is\nchanged and destroyed--if the birth of a being is never more than the\nfirst step towards its end; how is it possible to expect that man, whose\nmachine is so frail, of which the parts are so complicated, the whole\nof which possesses such extreme mobility, should be exempted from the\ncommon law; which decrees, that even the solid earth he inhabits shall\nexperience change--shall undergo alteration--perhaps be destroyed!\nFeeble, frail mortal! Thou pretendest to exist for ever; whit thou,\nthen, that for thee alone eternal Nature shall change her undeviating\ncourse? Dost thou not behold in those eccentric comets with which thine\neyes are sometimes astonished, that the planets themselves are subject\nto death? Live then in peace for the season that Nature permits thee; if\nthy mind be enlightened by reason thou wilt die without terror!\n\nNotwithstanding the simplicity of these reflections; nothing is more\nrare than the sight of men truly fortified against the fears of death:\nthe wise man himself turns pale at its approach; he has occasion to\ncollect the whole force of his mind, to expect it with serenity. It\ncannot then, furnish matter for surprise, if the idea of death is so\nrevolting to the generality of mortals; it terrifies the young--it\nredoubles the chagrin of the middle-aged--it even augments the sorrow\nof the old, who are worn down with infirmity: indeed the aged, although\nenfeebled by time, dread it much more than the young, who are in the\nfull vigour of life; the man of many lustres is more accustomed to live\nyears as they roll over his head, confirm his attachment to existence;\nnevertheless, long unwearied exertions weaken the powers of his mind;\nlabour, sickness, and pain, waste his animal strength; he has less\nenergy; his volition becomes faint, superstitious terrors easily\nappal him; at length disease consumes him; sometimes with excruciating\ntortures: the unhappy wretch, thus plunged into misfortune, has,\nnotwithstanding, scarcely ever dared to contemplate death; which he\nought to consider as the period to all his anguish.\n\nIf the source of this pusillanimity be sought, it will be found in his\nnature, which attaches him to life; in that deficiency of energy in his\nsoul, which hardly any thing tends to corroborate, but which every\nthing strives to enfeeble: which superstition, instead of strengthening,\ncontributes to bruise. Almost all human institutions, nearly all the\nopinions of man, conspire to augment his fears; to render his ideas\nof death more terrible; to make them more revolting to his feelings.\nIndeed, superstition pleases itself with exhibiting death under the\nmost frightful traits: it represents it to man under the most disgusting\ncolours; as a dreadful moment, which not only puts an end to his\npleasures, but gives him up without defence to the strange rigour of\na pitiless decree, which nothing can soften. According to this\nsuperstition, the most virtuous man has reason to tremble for the\nseverity of his fate; is never certain of being happy; the most dreadful\ntorments, endless punishments, await the victim to involuntary weakness;\nto the necessary faults of a short-lived existence; his infirmities,\nhis momentary offences, the propensities that have been planted in his\nheart, the errors of his mind, the opinions he has imbibed, even in the\nsociety in which he was born without his own consent, the ideas he has\nformed, the passions he has indulged above all, his not being able to\ncomprehend all the extravagant dogmas offered to his acceptance, are to\nbe implacably avenged with the most severe and never-ending penalties.\nIxion is for ever fastened to his wheel; Sisyphus must to all eternity\nroll his stone without ever being able to reach the apex of his\nmountain; the vulture must perpetually prey on the liver of the\nunfortunate Prometheus: those who dare to think for themselves--those\nwho have refused to listen to their enthusiastic guides--those who have\nnot reverenced the oracles--those who have had the audacity to consult\ntheir reason--those who have boldly ventured to detect impostors--those\nwho have doubted the divine mission of the Phythonissa--those who\nbelieve that Jupiter violated decency in his visit to Danae--those who\nlook upon Apollo as no better than a strolling musician--those who think\nthat Mahomet was an arch knave--are to smart everlastingly in flaming\noceans of burning sulpher; are to float to all eternity in the most\nexcruciating agonies on seas of liquid brimstone, wailing and gnashing\ntheir teeth: what wonder, then, if man dreads to be cast into these\nhideous gulfs; if his mind loathes the horrific picture; if he wishes\nto defer for a season these dreadful punishments; if he clings to an\nexistence, painful as it may be, rather than encounter such revolting\ncruelties.\n\nSuch, then, are the afflicting objects with which superstition occupies\nits unhappy, its credulous disciples; such are the fears which the\ntyrant of human thoughts points out to them as salutary. In defiance Of\nthe exility of the effect which these notions produce oil the greater\nnumber, even of those who say they are, or who believe themselves\npersuaded, they are held forth as the most powerful rampart that can\nbe opposed to the irregularities of man. Nevertheless, as will be\nseen presently, it will be found that these systems, or rather these\nchimeras, so terrible to behold, operate little or nothing on the larger\nportion of mankind, who dream of them but seldom, never in the moment\nthat passion, interest, pleasure, or example, hurries them along. If\nthese fears act, it is commonly on those, who have but little occasion\nto abstain from evil; they make honest hearts tremble, but fail of\neffect on the perverse. They torment sensible souls, but leave those\nthat are hardened in repose; they disturb tractable, gentle minds, but\ncause no trouble to rebellious spirits: thus they alarm none but those\nwho are already sufficiently alarmed; they coerce only those who are\nalready restrained.\n\nThese notions, then, impress nothing on the wicked; when by accident\nthey do act on them, it is only to redouble the wickedness of their\nnatural character--to justify them in their own eyes--to furnish them\nwith pretexts to exercise it without fear--to follow it without scruple.\nIndeed, the experience of a great number of ages has shewn to what\nexcess of wickedness, to what lengths, the passions of man have carried\nhim, when they have been authorized by the priesthood--when they have\nbeen unchained by superstition--or, at least, when he has been enabled\nto cover himself with its mantle. Man has never been more ambitious,\nnever more covetous, never more crafty, never more cruel, never\nmore seditious, than when he has persuaded himself that superstition\npermitted or commanded him to be so: thus, superstition did nothing more\nthan lend an invincible force to his natural passions, which under\nits sacred auspices he could exercise with impunity, indulge without\nremorse; still more, the greatest villains, in giving free vent to the\ndetestable propensities of their natural wickedness, have under its\ninfluence believed, that, by displaying an over-heated zeal, they\nmerited well of heaven; that they exempted themselves by new crimes,\nfrom that chastisement which they thought their anterior conduct had\nrichly merited.\n\nThese, then, are the effects which what are called the _salutary_\nnotions of superstition, produce on mortals. These reflections will\nfurnish an answer to those who say that, \"If heaven was promised equally\nto the wicked as to the righteous, there would be found none incredulous\nof another life.\" We reply, that, in point of fact, superstition does\naccord heaven to the wicked, since it frequently places in this happy\nabode the most useless, the most depraved of men. Is not Mahomet himself\nenthroned in the empyrean by this superstition? If the calendar of\nthe Romish saints was examined, would it be found to contain none but\nrighteous, none but good men? Does not Mahometanism cut off from all\nchance of future existence, consequently from all hope of reaching\nheaven, the female part of mankind? Have the Jews exalted no one to the\ncelestial regions, save the virtuous? When the Jew is condemned to the\ndevouring flames, do not the men who thus torture an unhappy wretch,\nwhose only crime is adherence to the religion of his forefathers, expect\nto be rewarded for the deed with everlasting happiness? Are they not\npromised eternal salvation for their orthodoxy? Was Constantine, was St.\nCyril, was St. Athanasius, was St. Dominic, worthy beatification? Were\nJupiter, Thor, Mercury, Woden, and a thousand others, deserving of\ncelestial diadems? Is erring, feeble man, with all his imbecilities,\ncompetent to form a judgment of the heavenly deserts of his fellows?\nCan be, with his dim optics, with his limited vision, fathom the human\nheart? Can he sound its depths, trace its meanderings, dive into its\nrecesses, with sufficient precision, to determine who amongst his\nrace is or is not possessed of the requisite merit to enjoy a blessed\neternity? Thus wicked men are held up as models by superstition,\nwhich as we shall see, sharpens the passions of evil-disposed men, by\nlegitimating those crimes, at which, without this sanction, they would\nshudder; which they would fear to commit; or for which, at least, they\nwould feel shame; for which they would experience remorse. In short, the\nministers of superstition furnish to the most profligate men the power\nof indulging their inflamed passions, and then hold forth to them means\nof diverting from their own heads the thunderbolt that should strike\ntheir crimes, by spreading before them fresh incentives to intolerant\npersecution, with the promise of a never-fading happiness.\n\nWith respect to the incredulous, without doubt, there may be amongst\nthem wicked men, as well as amongst the most credulous; but incredulity\nno more supposes wickedness, than credulity supposes righteousness. On\nthe contrary, the man who thinks, who meditates, knows far better the\ntrue motives to goodness, than he who suffers himself to be blindly\nguided by uncertain motives, or by the interest of others. Sensible men\nhave the greatest advantage in examining opinions, which it is pretended\nmust have an influence over their eternal happiness: if these are found\nfalse, if they appear injurious to their present life, they will not\ntherefore conclude, that they have not another life either to fear or to\nhope; that they are permitted to deliver themselves up with impunity to\nvice, which would do an injury to themselves, that would draw upon them\nthe contempt of their neighbour, which would subject them to the anger\nof society: the man who does not expect another life, is only more\ninterested in prolonging his existence in this; in rendering himself\ndear to his fellows, by cultivating virtue; by performing all his duties\nwith more strictness, in the only life of which he has any knowledge:\nhe has made a great stride towards felicity, in disengaging himself\nfrom those terrors which afflict others, which frequently prevent their\nacting. Such a man has nothing to fear, but every thing to hope; if,\ncontrary to what he is able to judge, there should be an hereafter\nexistence, will not his actions have been so regulated by virtue, will\nhe not have so comported himself in his present existence, as to stand\na fair chance of enjoying in their fullest extent those felicities\nprepared for his species?\n\n_Superstition_, in fact, takes a pride in rendering man slothful,\nin moulding him to credulity, in making him pusillanimous. It is its\nprinciple to afflict him without intermission; to redouble in him the\nhorrors of death: ever ingenious in tormenting him, it has extended\nhis inquietudes beyond even his own existence; its ministers, the more\nsecurely to dispose of him in this world, invented, in future regions,\na variety of rewards and punishments, reserving to themselves the\nprivilege of awarding these heavenly recompences to those who yielded\nmost implicitly to their arbitrary laws; of decreeing punishment\nto those refractory beings who rebelled against their power: thus,\naccording to them, Tantalus for divulging their secrets, must eternally\nfear, engulphed in burning sulphur, the stone ready to fall on his\ndevoted head; whilst Romulus was beatified and worshipped as a god\nunder the name of Quirinus. The same system of superstition caused the\nphilosopher Callisthenes to be put to death, for opposing the worship of\nAlexander; and elevated the monk Athanasius to be a saint in heaven. Far\nfrom holding forth consolation to mortals, far from cultivating man's\nreason, far from teaching him to yield under the hands of necessity,\nsuperstition, in a great many countries, strives to render death still\nmore bitter to him; to make its yoke sit heavy; to fill up its retinue\nwith a multitude of hideous phantoms; to paint it in the most frightful\ncolours; to render its approach terrible: by this means it has crowded\nthe world with enthusiasts, whom it seduces by vague promises; with\ncontemptible slaves, whom it coerces with the fear of imaginary evils:\nit has at length persuaded man, that his actual existence is only\na journey, by which he will arrive at a more important life: this\ndoctrine, whether it be rational or irrational, prevents him from\noccupying himself with his true happiness; from even dreaming of\nameliorating his institutions, of improving his laws, of advancing the\nprogress of science, of perfectioning his morals. Vain and gloomy\nideas have absorbed his attention: he consents to groan under fanatical\ntyranny--to writhe under political inflictions--to live in error--to\nlanguish in misfortune--in the hope, when he shall be no more, of being\none day happier; in the firm confidence, that after he has disappeared,\nhis calamities, his patience, will conduct him to a never-ending\nfelicity: he has believed himself submitted to cruel priests, who are\nwilling to make him purchase his future welfare at the expence of every\nthing most dear to his peace, most valuable to his existence here below:\nthey have pictured heaven as irritated against him, as disposed to\nappease itself by punishing him eternally, for any efforts he should\nmake to withdraw himself from, their power. It is thus the doctrine of\na future life has been made fatal to the human species: it plunged whole\nnations into sloth, made them languid, filled them with indifference to\ntheir present welfare, or else precipitated them, into the most furious\nenthusiasm, which hurried them on to such lengths that they tore each\nother in pieces in order to merit the promised heaven.\n\nIt will be asked, perhaps, by what road has man been conducted to form\nto himself these gratuitous ideas of another world? I reply, that it is\na truth man has no idea of a future life, they are the ideas of the past\nand the present that furnish his imagination with the materials of which\nhe constructs the edifice of the regions of futurity. Hobbes says, \"We\nbelieve that, that which is will always be, and that the same causes\nwill have the same effects.\" Man in his actual state, has two modes\nof feeling, one that he approves, another that he disapproves: thus,\npersuaded that these two modes of feeling must accompany him, even\nbeyond his present existence, he placed in the regions of eternity two\ndistinguished abodes, one destined to felicity, the other to misery: the\none must contain those who obey the calls of superstition, who believe\nin its dogmas; the other is a prison, destined to avenge the cause of\nheaven, on all those who shall not faithfully believe the doctrines\npromulgated by the ministers of a vast variety of superstitions. Has\nsufficient attention been paid to the fact that results as a necessary\nconsequence from this reasoning; which on examination will be found\nto have rendered the first place entirely useless, seeing, that by the\nnumber and contradiction of these various systems, let man believe which\never he may, let him follow it in the most faithful manner, still he\nmust be ranked as an infidel, as a rebel to the Divinity, because\nhe cannot believe in all; and those from which he dissents, by a\nconsequence of their own creed, condemn him to the prison-house?\n\nSuch is the origin of the ideas upon a future life, so diffused among\nmankind. Every where may be seen an Elysium and a Tartarus; a Paradise\nand a Hell; in a word, two distinguished abodes, constructed according\nto the imagination of the enthusiasts who have invented them, who have\naccommodated them to their own peculiar prejudices, to the hopes, to the\nfears, of the people who believe in them. The Indian figures the first\nof these abodes as one of in-action, of permanent repose, because, being\nthe inhabitant of a hot climate, he has learned to contemplate rest\nas the extreme of felicity: the Mussulman promises himself corporeal\npleasures, similar to those that actually constitute the object of his\nresearch in this life: each figures to himself, that on which he has\nlearned to set the greatest value.\n\nOf whatever nature these pleasures may be, man apprehended that a\nbody was needful, in order that his soul might be enabled to enjoy the\npleasures, or to experience the pains in reserve for him: from hence the\ndoctrine of the _resurrection_; but as he beheld this body putrify, as\nhe saw it dissolve, as he witnessed its decomposition, after death, he\nwas at a loss how to form anew what he conceived so necessary to his\nsystem he therefore had recourse to the Divine Omnipotence, by whose\ninterposition he now believes it will be effected. This opinion, so\nincomprehensible, is said to have originated in Persia, among the Magi,\nand finds a great number of adherents, who have never given it a serious\nexamination: but the doctrine of the resurrection appears perfectly\nuseless to all those, who believe in the existence of a soul that feels,\nthinks, suffers, and enjoys, after a separation from the body: indeed,\nthere are already sects who begin to maintain, that the body is not\nnecessary; that therefore it will not be resurrected. Like Berkeley,\nthey conceive that \"the soul has need neither of body nor any exterior\nbeing, either to experience sensations, or to have ideas:\" the\nMalebranchists, in particular, must suppose that the rejected souls\nwill see every thing in the Divinity; will feel themselves burn, without\nhaving occasion for bodies for that purpose. Others, incapable of\nelevating themselves to these sublime notions, believed, that under\ndivers forms, man animated successively different animals of various\nspecies; that he never ceased to be an inhabitant of the earth; such was\nthe opinion of those who adopted the doctrine of Metempsychosis.\n\nAs for the miserable abode of souls, the imagination of fanatics, who\nwere desirous of governing the people, strove to assemble the most\nfrightful images, to render it still more terrible: fire is of all\nbeings that which produces in man the most pungent sensation; not\nfinding any thing more cruel, the enemies to the several dogmas were to\nbe everlastingly punished with this torturing element: fire, therefore,\nwas the point at which their imagination was obliged to stop. The\nministers of the various systems agreed pretty generally, that fire\nwould one day avenge their offended divinities: thus they painted the\nvictims to the anger of the gods, or rather those who questioned their\nown creeds, as confined in fiery dungeons, as perpetually rolling in a\nvortex of bituminous flames, as plunged in unfathomable gulphs of\nliquid sulphur, making the infernal caverns resound with their useless\ngroanings, with their unavailing gnashing of teeth.\n\nBut it will, perhaps, be enquired, how could man reconcile himself to\nthe belief of an existence accompanied with eternal torments; above all,\nas many according to their own superstitions had reason to fear it for\nthemselves? Many causes have concurred to make him adopt so revolting\nan opinion: in the first place, very few thinking men have ever believed\nsuch an absurdity, when they have deigned to make use of their reason;\nor, when they have accredited it, this notion was always counterbalanced\nby the idea of the goodness, by a reliance on the mercy, which they\nattributed to their respective divinities: in the second place, those\nwho were blinded by their fears, never rendered to themselves any\naccount of these strange doctrines, which they either received with\nawe from their legislators, or which were transmitted to them by their\nfathers: in the third place, each sees the object of his terrors only at\na favourable distance: moreover, superstition promises him the means of\nescaping the tortures he believes he has merited. At length, like those\nsick people whom we see cling with fondness, even to the most painful\nlife, man preferred the idea of an unhappy, though unknown existence, to\nthat of non-existence, which he looked upon as the most frightful evil\nthat could befal him; either because he could form no idea of it, or\nbecause his imagination painted to him this non-existence this nothing,\nas the confused assemblage of all evils. A known evil, of whatever\nmagnitude, alarmed him less (above all, when there remained the hope\nof being able to avoid it), than an evil of which he knew nothing, upon\nwhich, consequently, his imagination was painfully employed, but to\nwhich he knew not how to oppose a remedy.\n\nIt will be seen, then, that _superstition_, far from consoling man upon\nthe necessity of death, only redoubles his terrors, by the evils with\nwhich it pretends his decease will be followed; these terrors are\nso strong, that the miserable wretches who believe strictly in these\nformidable doctrines, pass their days in affliction, bathed in the\nmost bitter tears. What shall be said of an opinion so destructive to\nsociety, yet adopted by so many nations, which announces to them, that\na severe fate may at each instant take them unprovided; that at each\nmoment they are liable to pass under the most rigorous judgment? What\nidea can be better suited to terrify man--what more likely to discourage\nhim--what more calculated to damp the desire of ameliorating his\ncondition--than the afflicting prospect of a world always on the brink\nof dissolution; of a Divinity seated upon the ruins of Nature, ready to\npass judgment on the human species? Such are, nevertheless, the fatal\nopinions with which the mind of nations has been fed for thousands of\nyears: they are so dangerous, that if by a happy want of just inference,\nhe did not derogate in his conduct from these afflicting ideas, he would\nfall into the most abject stupidity. How could man occupy himself with a\nperishable world, ready every moment to crumble into atoms? How dream\nof rendering himself happy on earth, when it is only the porch to an\neternal kingdom? Is it then, surprising, that the superstitions to which\nsimilar doctrines serve for a basis, have prescribed to their disciples\na total detachment from things below--an entire renunciation of the\nmost innocent pleasures; have given birth to a sluggishness, to a\npusillanimity, to an abjection of soul, to an insociability, that\nrenders him useless to himself, dangerous to others? If necessity\ndid not oblige man to depart in his practice from these irrational\nsystems--if his wants did not bring him back to reason, in despite of\nthese superstitious doctrines--the whole world would presently become a\nvast desert, inhabited by some few isolated savages, who would not even\nhave courage to multiply themselves. What are these, but notions which\nhe must necessarily put aside, in order that human association may\nsubsist?\n\nNevertheless, the doctrine of a future life, accompanied with rewards\nand punishments, has been regarded for a great number of ages as the\nmost powerful, or even as the only motive capable of coercing the\npassions of man; as the sole means that can oblige him to be virtuous:\nby degrees, this doctrine has become the basis of almost all religions\nand political systems, so much so, that at this day it is said, this\nprejudice cannot be attacked without absolutely rending asunder the\nbonds of society. The founders of superstition have made use of it to\nattach their credulous disciples; legislators have looked upon it as\nthe curb best calculated to keep mankind under discipline; religion\nconsiders it necessary to his happiness; many philosophers themselves\nhave believed with sincerity, that this doctrine was requisite\nto terrify man, was the only means to divert him from crime:\nnotwithstanding, when the doctrine of the immortality of the soul first\ncame out of the school of Plato; when it first diffused itself among\nthe Greeks, it caused the greatest ravages; it determined a multitude\nof men, who were discontented with their condition, to terminate their\nexistence: Ptolemy Philadelphus, king of Egypt, seeing the effect\nthis doctrine, which at the present day is looked upon as so salutary,\nproduced on the brains of his subjects, prohibited the teaching of it\nunder the penalty of death.\n\nIt must, indeed, be allowed that this doctrine has been of the greatest\nutility to those who have given superstitions to nations, who at the\nsame time made themselves its ministers; it was the foundation of\ntheir power, the source of their wealth, the permanent cause of that\nblindness, the solid basis of those terrors, which it was their interest\nto nourish in the human race. It was by this doctrine the priest became\nfirst the rival, then the master of kings: it is by this dogma that\nnations are filled with enthusiasts inebriated with superstition, always\nmore disposed to listen to its menaces, than to the counsels of reasons,\nto the orders of the sovereign, to the cries of Nature, or to the laws\nof society. Politics itself was enslaved to the caprice of the priest;\nthe temporal monarch was obliged to bend under the yoke of the monarch\nof superstition; the one only disposed of this perishable world, the\nother extended his power into the world to come; much more important\nfor man than the earth, on which he is only a pilgrim, a mere passenger.\nThus the doctrine of another life placed the government itself in a\nstate of dependance upon the priest; the monarch was nothing more than\nhis first subject; he was never obeyed, but when the two were in accord.\nNature in vain cried out to man, to be careful of his present happiness;\nthe priest ordered him to be unhappy, in the expectation of future\nfelicity; reason in vain exhorted him to be peaceable; the priest\nbreathed forth fanaticism, fulminated fury, obliged him to disturb the\npublic tranquillity, every time there was a question of the supposed\ninterests of the invisible monarch of another life, and the real\ninterests of his ministers in this.\n\nSuch is the fruit that politics has gathered from the doctrine of\na future life; the regions of the world to come have enabled the\npriesthood to conquer the present world. The expectation of celestial\nhappiness, and the dread of future tortures, only served to prevent man\nfrom seeking after the means to render himself happy here below. Thus\nerror, under whatever aspect it is considered, will never be more than a\nsource of evil for mankind. The doctrine of another life, in presenting\nto mortals an ideal happiness, will render them enthusiasts; in\noverwhelming them with fears, it will make useless beings; generate\ncowards; form atrabilarious or furious men; who will lose sight of their\npresent abode, to occupy themselves with the pictured regions of a world\nto come, with those dreadful evils which they must fear after their\ndeath.\n\nIf it be insisted that the doctrine of future rewards and punishments is\nthe most powerful curb to restrain the passions of man, we shall reply\nby calling in daily experience. If we only cast our eyes around, if for\na moment we examine what passes in review before us, we shall see this\nassertion contradicted; we shall find that these marvellous speculations\ndo not in any manner diminish the number of the wicked, because they\nare incapable of changing the temperament of man, of annihilating those\npassions which the vices of society engender in his heart. In those\nnations who appear the most thoroughly convinced of this future\npunishment, may be seen assassins, thieves, crafty knaves, oppressors,\nadulterers, voluptuaries; all these pretend they are firmly persuaded of\nthe reality of an hereafter; yet in the whirlwind of dissipation, in the\nvortex of pleasure, in the fury of their passions, they no longer behold\nthis formidable future existence, which in those moments has no kind of\ninfluence over their earthly conduct.\n\nIn short, in many of those countries where the doctrine of another life\nis so firmly established, that each individual irritates himself against\nwhoever may have the temerity to combat the opinion, or even to doubt\nit, we see that it is utterly incapable of impressing any thing on\nrulers who are unjust, who are negligent of the welfare of their people,\nwho are, debauched, on courtezans who are lewd in their habits, on\ncovetous misers, on flinty extortioners who fatten on the substance of\na nation, on women without modesty, on a vast multitude of drunken,\nintemperate, vicious men, on great numbers even amongst those priests,\nwhose function it is to preach this future state, who are paid to\nannounce the vengeance of heaven, against vices which they themselves\nencourage by their example. If it be enquired of them, how they dare to\ngive themselves up to such scandalous actions, which they ought to know\nare certain to draw upon them eternal punishment? They will reply, that\nthe madness of their passions, the force of their habits, the contagion\nof example, or even the power of circumstances, have hurried them along;\nhave made them forget the dreadful consequences in which their conduct\nis likely to involve them; besides, they will say, that the treasures\nof the divine mercy are infinite; that repentance suffices to efface the\nfoulest transgressions; to cleanse the blackest guilt; to blot out the\nmost enormous crimes: in this multitude of wretched beings, who each\nafter his own manner desolates society with his criminal pursuits, you\nwill find only a small number who are sufficiently intimidated by the\nfears of the miserable hereafter, to resist their evil propensities.\nWhat did I say? These propensities are in themselves too weak to carry\nthem forward without the aid of the doctrine of another life; without\nthis, the law and the fear of censure would have been motives sufficient\nto prevent them from rendering themselves criminal.\n\nIt is indeed, fearful, timorous souls, upon whom the terrors of another\nlife make a profound impression; human beings of this sort come into the\nworld with moderate passions, are of a weakly organization, possess a\ncool imagination; it is not therefore surprising, that in such men, who\nare already restrained by their nature, the fear of future punishment\ncounterbalances the weak efforts of their feeble passions; but it is\nby no means the same with those determined sinners, with those hardened\ncriminals, with those men who are habitually vicious, whose unseemly\nexcesses nothing can arrest, who in their violence shut their eyes to\nthe fear of the laws of this world, despising still more those of the\nother. Nevertheless, how many persons say they are, and even believe\nthemselves, restrained by the fears of the life to come? But, either\nthey deceive us, or they impose upon themselves, by attributing to these\nfears, that which is only the effect of motives much nearer at\nhand; such as the feebleness of their machine, the mildness of their\ntemperament, the slender energy of their souls, their natural timidity,\nthe ideas imbibed in their education, the fear of consequences\nimmediately resulting from criminal actions, the physical evils\nattendant on unbridled irregularities: these are the true motives that\nrestrain them; not the notions of a future life: which men, who say they\nare most firmly persuaded of its existence, forget whenever a powerful\ninterest solicits them to sin. If for a time man would pay attention to\nwhat passes before his eyes, he would perceive that he ascribes to the\nfear of the gods that which is in reality only the effect of peculiar\nweakness, of pusillanimity, of the small interest found to commit evil:\nthese men would not act otherwise than they do, if they had not this\nfear before them; if, therefore he reflected, he would feel that it is\nalways necessity that makes men act as they do.\n\nMan cannot be restrained, when he does not find within himself motives\nsufficiently powerful to conduct him back to reason. There is nothing,\neither in this world or in the other, that can render him virtuous,\nwhen an untoward organization--a mind badly cultivated--a\nviolent imagination--inveterate habits--fatal examples--powerful\ninterests--invite him from every quarter to the commission of crime.\nNo speculations are capable of restraining the man who braves public\nopinion, who despises the law, who is careless of its censure, who turns\na deaf ear to the cries of conscience, whose power in this world places\nhim out of the reach of punishment; in the violence of his transports,\nhe will fear still less a distant futurity, of which the idea always\nrecedes before that which he believes necessary to his immediate\ninterests, consistent with his present happiness. All lively passions\nblind man to every thing that is not its immediate object; the terrors\nof a future life, of which his passions always possess the secret to\ndiminish to him the probability, can effect nothing upon the wicked man,\nwho does not fear even the much nearer punishment of the law; who sets\nat nought the assured hatred of those by whom he is surrounded. Man,\nwhen he delivers himself up to crime, sees nothing certain except the\nsupposed advantage which attends it; the rest always appear to him\neither false or problematical.\n\nIf man would but open his eyes, even for a moment, he would clearly\nperceive, that to effect any thing upon hearts hardened by crime, he\nmust not reckon upon the chastisement of an avenging Divinity, which the\nself-love natural to man always shews him as pacified in the long run.\nHe who has arrived at persuading himself he cannot be happy without\ncrime, will always readily deliver himself up to it, notwithstanding\nthe menaces of religion. Whoever is sufficiently blind not to read his\ninfamy in his own heart, to see his own vileness in the countenances of\nhis associates, his own condemnation in the anger of his fellow-men, his\nown unworthiness in the indignation of the judges established to punish\nthe offences he may commit: such a man, I say, will never feel the\nimpression his crimes shall make on the features of a judge, that is\neither hidden from his view, or that he only contemplates at a distance.\nThe tyrant who with dry eyes can hear the cries of the distressed, who\nwith callous heart can behold the tears of a whole people, of whose\nmisery he is the cause, will not see the angry countenance of a more\npowerful master: like another Menippus, he may indeed destroy himself\nfrom desperation, to avoid reiterated reproach; which only proves,\nthat when a haughty, arrogant despot pretends to be accountable for his\nactions to the Divinity alone, it is because he fears his nation more\nthan he does his God.\n\nOn the other hand, does not superstition itself, does not even religion,\nannihilate the effects of those fears which it announces as salutary?\nDoes it not furnish its disciples with the means of extricating\nthemselves from the punishments with which it has so frequently menaced\nthem? Does it not tell them, that a steril repentance will, even at the\nmoment of death, disarm the celestial wrath; that it will purify the\nfilthy souls of sinners? Do not even the priests, in some superstitions,\narrogate to themselves the right of remitting to the dying the\npunishment due to the crimes committed during the course of a disorderly\nlife? In short, do not the most perverse men, encouraged in iniquity,\ncountenanced in debauchery, upheld in crime, reckon, even to the last\nmoment, either upon the assistance of superstition, or upon the aid\nof religion, that promises them the infallible means of reconciling\nthemselves to the Divinity, whom they have irritated; of avoiding the\nrigorous punishments pronounced against their enormities?\n\nIn consequence of these notions, so favourable to the wicked, so\nsuitable to tranquillize their fears, we see that the hope of an easy\nexpiation, far from correcting man, engages him to persist, until death,\nin the most crying disorders. Indeed, in despite of the numberless\nadvantages which he is assured flows from the doctrine of a life to\ncome, in defiance of its pretended efficacy to repress the passions\nof men, do not the priests themselves, although so interested in the\nmaintenance of this system, every day complain of its insufficiency?\nThey acknowledge, that mortals, who from their infancy they have\nimbued with these ideas, are not less hurried forward by their evil\npropensities--less sunk in the vortex of dissipation--less the slaves to\ntheir pleasures--less captivated by bad habits--less driven along by the\ntorrent of the world--less seduced by their present interest--which\nmake them forget equally the recompense and the chastisement of a future\nexistence. In a word, the interpreters of superstition, the ministers of\nreligion themselves, allow that their disciples, for the greater part,\nconduct themselves in this world as if they had nothing either to hope\nor fear in another.\n\nIn short, let it be supposed for a moment, that the doctrine of eternal\npunishments was of some utility; that it really restrained a small\nnumber of individuals; what are these feeble advantages compared to the\nnumberless evils that flow from it? Against one timid man whom this idea\nrestrains, there are thousands upon whom it operates nothing; there are\nthousands whom it makes irrational; whom it renders savage persecutors;\nwhom it converts into fanatics; there are thousands whose mind it\ndisturbs; whom it diverts from their duties towards society; there\nare an infinity whom it grievously afflicts, whom it troubles without\nproducing any real good for their associates.\n\nNotwithstanding so many are inclined to consider those who do not fall\nin with this doctrine as the enemies of society; it will be found on\nexamination that the wisest the most enlightened men of antiquity, as\nwell as many of the moderns, have believed not only that the soul is\nmaterial and perishes with the body, but also that they have attacked\nwithout subterfuge the opinion of future everlasting punishments; it\nwill also be found that many of the systems, set up to establish the\nimmortality of the soul, are in themselves the best evidence that can be\nadduced of the futility of this doctrine; if for a moment we only follow\nup the natural the just inferences that are to be drawn from them. This\nsentiment was far from being, as some have supposed, peculiar to\nthe Epicureans, it has been adopted by philosophers of all sects, by\nPythagoreans, by Stoics, by Peripatetics, by Academics; in short by the\nmost godly the most virtuous men of Greece and of Rome.\n\nPythagoras, according to Ovid, speaks strongly to the fact. Timaeus\nof Locris, who was a Pythagorean, admits that the doctrine of future\npunishments was fabulous, solely destined for the imbecility of the\nuninformed; but little calculated for those who cultivate their reason.\n\nAristotle expressly says, that \"man has neither good to hope nor evil to\nfear after death.\"\n\nZeno, according to Cicero, supposed the soul to be an igneous substance,\nfrom whence he concluded it destroyed itself.\n\nCicero, the philosophical orator, who was of the sect of Academics,\nalthough he is not on all occasions, in accord with himself, treats\nopenly as fables the torments of Hell; and looks upon death as the end\nof every thing for man.\n\nSeneca, the philosopher, is filled with passages which contemplate death\nas a state of total annihilation, particularly in speaking of it to his\nbrother: and nothing can be more decisive of his holding this opinion,\nthan what he writes to Marcia, to console him.\n\nSeneca, the tragedian, explains himself in the same manner as the\nphilosopher.\n\nThe Platonists, who made the soul immortal, could not have an idea of\nfuture punishments, because the soul according to them was a portion\nof the divinity which after the dissolution of the body it returned to\nrejoin.\n\nEpictetus has the same idea. In a passage reported by Arrian, he says,\n\"but where are you going? It cannot be to a place of suffering: you will\nonly return to the place from whence you came; you are about to be again\npeaceably associated with the elements from which you are derived. That\nwhich in your composition, is of the nature of fire, will return to\nthe element of fire; that which is of the nature of earth, will rejoin\nitself to the earth; that which is air, will re-unite itself with air;\nthat which is water, will resolve itself into water; there is no Hell,\nno Acheron, no Cocytus, no Phlegethon.\"\n\nIn another place he says, \"the hour of death approaches; but do not\naggravate your evil, nor render things worse than they are: represent\nthem to yourself under their true point of view. The time is come when\nthe materials of which you are composed, go to resolve themselves into\nthe elements from whence they were originally borrowed. What is there\nthat is terrible or grievous in that? Is there any thing in the world\nthat perishes totally?\"\n\nThe sage and pious Antoninus says, \"he who fears death, either fears\nto be deprived of all feeling, or dreads to experience different\nsensations. If you lose all feeling, you will no longer be subject\neither to pain or to misery. If you are provided with other senses of\na different nature, you will become a creature of a different species.\"\nThis great emperor further says, \"that we must expect death with\ntranquillity, seeing, that it is only a dissolution of the elements of\nwhich each animal is composed.\"\n\nTo the evidence of so many great men of _Pagan antiquity_, may be\njoined, that of the author of Ecclesiastes, who speaks of death, and of\nthe condition of the human soul, like an _epicurean_; he says, \"for\nthat which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth beasts; even one thing\nbefalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all\none breath: so that a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast; for all is\nvanity. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust\nagain.\" And further, \"wherefore I perceive that there is nothing\nbetter than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his\nportion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him.\"\n\nIn short, how can the utility or the necessity of this doctrine be\nreconciled with the fact, that the great _legislator of the Jews_; who\nis supposed to have been inspired by the Divinity, should have remained\nsilent on a subject, that is said to be of so much importance? In the\nthird chapter of Genesis it, is said, \"In the sweat of thy face shalt\nthou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast\nthou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XIV.\n\n_Education, Morals, and the Laws suffice to restrain Man.--Of the desire\nof Immortality.--Of Suicide._\n\n\nIt is not then in an ideal world, existing no where perhaps, but in the\nimagination of man, that he must seek to collect motives calculated to\nmake him act properly in this; it is in the visible world that will be\nfound incitements to divert him from crime; to rouse him to virtue.\nIt is in Nature,--in experience,--in truth, that he must search out\nremedies for the evils of his species; for motives suitable to infuse\ninto the human heart, propensities truely useful to society; calculated\nto promote its advantage; to conduce to the end for which it was\ndesigned.\n\nIf attention has been paid to what has been said In the course of this\nwork, it will be seen that above all it is _education_ that will best\nfurnish the true means of rectifying the errors, of recalling the\nwanderings of mankind. It is this that should scatter the Seeds in\nhis heart; cultivate the tender shoots; make a profitable use of his\ndispositions; turn to account those faculties, which depend on his\norganization: which should cherish the fire of his imagination, kindle\nit for useful objects; damp it, or extinguish it for others; in short,\nit is this which should make sensible souls contract habits which are\nadvantageous for society and beneficial to the individual. Brought up in\nthis manner, man would not have occasion for celestial punishments,\nto teach him the value of virtue; he would not need to behold burning\ngulphs of brimstone under his feet, to induce him to feel horror for\ncrime; Nature without these fables, would teach much better what he owes\nto himself; the law would point out what he owes to the body politic, of\nwhich he is a member. It is thus, that education grounded upon utility,\nwould form valuable citizens to the state; the depositaries of power\nwould distinguish those whom education should have thus formed, by\nreason of the advantages which they would procure for their country;\nthey would punish those who should be found injurious to it; it would\nmake the citizens see, that the promises of reward which education held\nforth, the punishments denounced by morals, are by no means vain; that\nin a state well constituted, _virtue_ is the true, the only road to\nhappiness; _talents_ the way to gain respect; that _inutility_ conducts\nto misfortune: that _crime_ leads to contempt.\n\nA just, enlightened, virtuous, and vigilant government, who should\nhonestly propose the public good, would have no occasion either for\nfables or for falsehoods, to govern reasonable subjects; it would blush\nto make use of imposture, to deceive its citizens; who, instructed in\ntheir duties, would find their interest in submitting to equitable laws;\nwho would be capable of feeling the benefit these have the power of\nconferring on them; it would feel, that habit is sufficient to inspire\nthem with horror, even for those concealed crimes that escape the eyes\nof society; it would understand that the visible punishments of this\nworld impose much more on the generality of men, than those of an\nuncertain and distant futurity: in short, it would ascertain that\nthe sensible benefits within the compass of the sovereign power to\ndistribute, touch the imagination of mortals more keenly, than those\nvague recompences which are held forth to them in a future existence:\nabove all, it would discover that those on whom these distant advantages\ndo operate, would be still more attached to virtue by receiving their\nreward both here and hereafter.\n\nMan is almost every where so wicked, so corrupt, so rebellious to\nreason, only because he is not governed according to his Nature, nor\nproperly instructed in her necessary laws: he is almost in every climate\nfed with superstitious chimeras; submitted to masters who neglect his\ninstruction or who seek to deceive him. On the face of this globe, may\nbe frequently witnessed unjust sovereigns, who, enervated by luxury,\ncorrupted by flattery, depraved by licentiousness, made wicked by\nimpunity, devoid of talents, without morals, destitute of virtue, are\nincapable of exerting any energy for the benefit of the states they\ngovern; they are consequently but little occupied with the welfare of\ntheir people; indifferent to their duties; of which indeed they are\noften ignorant. Such governors suffer their whole attention to be\nabsorbed by frivolous amusement; stimulated by the desire of continually\nfinding means to feed their insatiable ambition they engage in useless\ndepopulating wars; and never occupy their mind with those objects which\nare the most important to the happiness of their nation: yet these weak\nmen feel interested in maintaining the received prejudices, and visit\nwith severity those who consider the means of curing them: in short\nthemselves deprived of that understanding, which teaches man that it is\nhis interest to be kind, just, and virtuous; they ordinarily reward\nonly those crimes which their imbecility makes them imagine as useful to\nthem; they generally punish those virtues which are opposed to their own\nimprudent passions, but which reason would point out as truly beneficial\nto their interests. Under such masters is it surprising that society\nshould be ravaged; that weak beings should be willing to imitate them;\nthat perverse men should emulate each other in oppressing its members;\nin sacrificing its dearest interests; in despoiling its happiness?\nThe state of society in such countries, is a state of hostility of the\nsovereign against the whole, of each of its members the one against\nthe other. Man is wicked, not because he is born so, but because he is\nrendered so; the great, the powerful, crush with impunity the indigent\nand the unhappy; these, at the risk of their lives seek to retaliate, to\nrender back the evil they have received: they attack either openly or in\nsecret a country, who to them is a step-mother, who gives all to some of\nher children, and deprives the others of every thing: they punish it for\nits partiality, and clearly shew that the motives borrowed from a life\nhereafter are impotent against the fury of those passions to which\na corrupt administration has given birth; that the terror of the\npunishments in this world are too feeble against necessity; against\ncriminal habits; against dangerous organization uncorrected by\neducation.\n\nIn many countries the morals of the people are neglected; the government\nis occupied only with rendering them timid; with making them miserable.\nMan is almost every where a slave; it must then follow of necessity,\nthat he is base, interested, dissimulating, without honour, in a word\nthat he has the vices of the state of which he is a citizen. Almost\nevery where he is deceived; encouraged in ignorance; prevented from\ncultivating his reason; of course he must be stupid, irrational, and\nwicked almost every where he sees vice applauded, and crime honoured;\nthence he concludes vice to be a good; virtue, only a useless sacrifice\nof himself: almost every where he is miserable, therefore he injures his\nfellow-men in a fruitless attempt to relieve his own anguish: it is in\nvain to shew him heaven in order to restrain him; his views presently\ndescend again to earth; he is willing to be happy at any price;\ntherefore, the laws which have neither provided for his instruction, for\nhis morals, nor his happiness, menace him uselessly; he plunges on in\nhis pursuits, and these ultimately punish him, for the unjust negligence\nof his legislators. If politics more enlightened, did seriously occupy\nitself with the instruction, with the welfare of the people; if laws\nwere more equitable; if each society, less partial, bestowed on its\nmembers the care, the education, and the assistance which they have a\nright to expect; if governments less covetous, and more vigilant, were\nsedulous to render their subjects more happy, there would not be seen\nsuch numbers of malefactors, of robbers, of murderers, who every where\ninfest society; they would not be obliged to destroy life, in order to\npunish wickedness; which is commonly ascribable to the vices of their\nown institutions: it would be unnecessary to seek in another life for\nfanciful chimeras, which always prove abortive against the infuriate\npassions; against the real wants of man. In short, if the people were\ninstructed, they would be more happy; politics would no longer be\nreduced to the exigency of deceiving them, in order to restrain them;\nnor to destroy so many unfortunates, for having procured necessaries, at\nthe expence of their hard-hearted fellow-citizens.\n\nWhen it shall be desired to enlighten man, let him always have truth\nlaid before him. Instead of kindling his imagination by the idea of\nthose punishments that a future state has in reserve for him, let him\nbe solaced--let him be succoured; or, at least, let him be permitted to\nenjoy the fruit of his labour--let not his substance be ravished from\nhim by cruel imposts--let him not be discouraged from work, by finding\nall his labour inadequate to support his existence; let him not be\ndriven into that idleness, that will surely lead him on to crime: let\nhim consider his present existence, without carrying his views to that\nwhich may attend him after his death; let his industry be excited--let\nhis talents be rewarded--let him be rendered active, laborious,\nbeneficent, and virtuous, in the world he inhabits; let it be shewn\nto him, that his actions are capable of having an influence over\nhis fellow-men. Let him not be menaced with the tortures of a future\nexistence when he shall be no more; let him behold society armed against\nthose who disturb its repose; let him see the consequence of the hatred\nof his associates; let him learn to feel the value of their affection;\nlet him be taught to esteem himself; let him understand, that to obtain\nit, he must have virtue; above all, that the virtuous man in society has\nnothing to fear, but every thing to hope.\n\nIf it be desired to form honest, courageous, industrious citizens, who\nmay be useful to their country, let them beware of inspiring man\nfrom his infancy with an ill-founded dread of death; of amusing his\nimagination with marvellous fables; of occupying his mind with his\ndestiny in a future life, quite useless to be known, which has nothing\nin common with his real felicity. Let them speak of immortality to\nintrepid, noble souls; let them shew it as the price of their labours\nto energetic minds, who are solely occupied with virtue; who springing\nforward beyond the boundaries of their actual existence--who, little\nsatisfied with eliciting the admiration, with gaining the love of\ntheir contemporaries, are will also to wrest the homage, to secure\nthe affection of future races. Indeed, this is an immortality to which\ngenius, talents, above all virtue, has a just right to pretend; do not\ntherefore let them censure--do not let them endeavour to stifle so\nnoble a passion in man; which is founded upon his nature; which is\nso calculated to render him happy; from which society gather the most\nadvantageous fruits.\n\nThe idea of being buried in total oblivion, of having nothing in\ncommon after his death with the beings of his species; of losing all\npossibility of again having any influence over them, is a thought\nextremely painful to man; it is above all afflicting to those who\npossess an ardent imagination. The _desire of immortality_, or of living\nin the memory of his fellow men, was always the passion of great souls;\nit was the motive to the actions of all those who have played a great\npart on the earth. _Heroes_ whether virtuous or criminal, _philosophers_\nas well as _conquerors, men of genius_ and _men of talents_, those\nsublime personages who have done honor to their species, as well as\nthose illustrious villains who have debased and ravaged it, have had\nan eye to posterity in all their enterprises; have flattered themselves\nwith the hope of acting upon the souls of men, even when they themselves\nshould no longer exist. If man in general does not carry his views so\nfar, he is at least sensible to the idea of seeing himself regenerated\nin his children; whom he knows are destined to survive him; to transmit\nhis name; to preserve his memory; to represent him in society; it is\nfor them that he rebuilds his cottage; it is for them that he plants the\ntree which his eyes will never behold in its vigour; it is that they may\nbe happy that he labours. The sorrow which embitters the life of those\nrich men, frequently so useless to the world, when they have lost the\nhope of continuing their race, has its source in the fear of being\nentirely forgotten: they feel that the useless man dies entirely. The\nidea that his name will be in the mouths of men, the thought that it\nwill be pronounced with tenderness, that it will be recollected with\nkindness, that it will excite in their hearts favourable sentiments, is\nan illusion that is useful; is a vision suitable to flatter even those\nwho know that nothing will result from it. Man pleases himself with\ndreaming that he shall have power, that he shall pass for something in\nthe universe, even after the term of his human existence; he partakes\nby imagination in the projects, in the actions, in the discussions\nof future ages, and would be extremely unhappy if he believed himself\nentirely excluded from their society. The laws in all countries have\nentered into these views; they have so far been willing to console\ntheir citizens for the necessity of dying, by giving them the means\nof exercising their will, even for a long time after their death: this\ncondescension goes to that length, that the dead frequently regulate the\ncondition of the living during a long series of years.\n\nEvery thing serves to prove the desire in man of surviving himself.\n_Pyramids, mausoleums, monuments, epitaphs,_ all shew that he is willing\nto prolong his existence even beyond his decease. He, is not insensible\nto the judgment of posterity; it is for him the philosopher writes; it\nis to astonish him that the monarch erects sumptuous edifices, gorgeous\npalaces; it is his praises, it is his commendations, that the great man\nalready hears echo in his ears; it is to him that the virtuous citizen\nappeals from unjust laws; from prejudiced contemporaries--happy chimera!\ngenerous illusion! mild vision! its power is so consoling, so bland,\nthat it realizes itself to ardent imaginations; it is calculated to give\nbirth, to sustain, to nurture, to mature enthusiasm of genius, constancy\nof courage, grandeur of soul, transcendency of talent; its force is so\ngentle, its influence so pleasing, that it is sometimes able to repress\nthe vices, to restrain the excesses of the most powerful men; who\nare, as experience has shewn, frequently very much disquieted for the\njudgment of their posterity; from a conviction that this will sooner or\nlater avenge the living of the foul injustice which they may be inclined\nto make them suffer.\n\nNo man, therefore, can consent to be entirely effaced from the\nremembrance of his fellows; some men have not the temerity to place\nthemselves above the judgment of the future human species, to degrade\nthemselves in his eyes. Where is the being who is insensible to the\npleasure of exciting the tears of those who shall survive him; of again\nacting upon their souls; of once more occupying their thoughts; of\nexercising upon them his power even from the bottom of his grave? Let\nthen eternal silence be imposed upon those superstitious beings, upon\nthose melancholy men, upon those furious bigots, who censure a sentiment\nfrom which society derives so many real advantages; let not mankind\nlisten to those passionless philosophers who are willing to smother\nthis great, this noble spring of his soul; let him not be seduced by the\nsarcasms of those voluptuaries, who pretend to despise an immortality,\ntowards which they lack the power to set forward; the desire of pleasing\nposterity, of rendering his name agreeable to generations yet to come,\nis a respectable, a laudable motive, when it causes him to undertake\nthose things, of which the utility may be felt, of which the advantages\nmay have an influence not only over his contemporaries, but also over\nnations who have not yet an existence. Let him not treat as irrational,\nthe enthusiasm of those beneficent beings, of those mighty geniuses, of\nthose stupendous talents, whose keen, whose penetrating regards, have\nforeseen him even in their day; who have occupied themselves for him;\nfor his welfare; for his happiness; who have desired his suffrage; who\nhave written for him; who have enriched him by their discoveries; who\nhave cured him of some of his errors. Let him render them the homage\nwhich they have expected at his hands; let him, at least, reverence\ntheir memory for the benefits he has derived from them; let him treat\ntheir mouldering remains with respect, for the pleasure he receives\nfrom their labours; let him pay to their ashes a tribute of grateful\nrecollection, for the happiness they have been sedulous to procure\nfor him. Let him sprinkle with his tears, let him hallow with his\nremembrance, let him consecrate with his finest sensibilities, the urns\nof Socrates, of Phocion; of Archimedes; of Anaxarchus; let him wash out\nthe stain that their punishment has made on the human species; let him\nexpiate by his regret the Athenian ingratitude, the savage barbarity\nof Nicocreon; let him learn by their example to dread superstitious\nfanaticism; to hold political intolerance in abhorrence; let him fear to\nharrass merit; let him be cautious how he insults virtue, in persecuting\nthose who may happen to differ from him in his prejudices.\n\nLet him strew flowers over the tombs of an Homer--of a Tasso--of a\nShakespeare--of a Milton--of a Goldsmith; let him revere the immortal\nshades of those happy geniuses, whose songs yet vibrate on his ears;\nwhose harmonious lays excite in his soul the most tender sentiments; let\nhim bless the memory of all those benefactors to the people, who were\nthe delight of the human race; let him adore the virtues Of a Titus--of\na Trajan--of an Antoninus--of a Julian: let him merit in his sphere, the\neulogies of future ages; let him always remember, that to carry with\nhim to the grave the regret of his fellow man, he must display talents;\nevince integrity; practice virtue. The funeral ceremonies of the most\npowerful monarchs, have rarely been wetted with the tears of the people,\nthey have commonly drained them while living. The names of tyrants\nexcite the horror of those who bear them pronounced. Tremble then cruel\nkings! ye who plunge your subjects into misery; who bathe them with\nbitter tears--who ravage nations--who deluge the land with the vital\nstream--who change the fruitful earth into a barren cemetery; tremble\nfor the sanguinary traits under which the future historian will paint\nyou, to generations yet unborn: neither your splendid monuments--your\nimposing victories--your innumerable armies, nor your sycophant\ncourtiers, can prevent posterity from avenging their grandfathers; from\ninsulting your odious manes; from treating your execrable memories with\nscorn; from showering their contempt on your transcendant crimes.\n\nNot only man sees his dissolution with pain, but again, he wishes his\ndeath may be an interesting event for others. But, as we have already\nsaid, he must have talents--he must have beneficence--he must have\nvirtue, in order, that those who surround him, may interest themselves\nin his condition; that those who survive him, may give regret to his\nashes. Is it, then, surprising if the greater number of men, occupied\nentirely with themselves, completely absorbed by their own vanity,\ndevoted to their own puerile objects, for ever busied with the care of\ngratifying their vile passions, at the expence, perhaps, of their family\nhappiness, unheedful of the wants of a wife, unmindful of the necessity\nof their children, careless of the calls of friendship, regardless of\ntheir duty to society, do not by their death excite the sensibilities of\ntheir survivors; or that they should be presently forgotten? There is an\ninfinity of monarchs of which history does not tell us any thing, save\nthat they have lived. In despite of the inutility in which men for the\nmost part pass their existence, maugre the little care they bestow, to\nrender themselves dear to the beings who environ them; notwithstanding\nthe numerous actions they commit to displease their associates; the\nself love of each individual, persuades him, that his death must be\nan interesting occurrence: few men but think themselves an Euryalus in\nfriendship, all expect to find a Nisus, thus man's over-weening philauty\nshews him to say thus the order of things are overturned at his decease.\nO mortal! feeble and vain! Dost thou not know the Sesostris's, the\nAlexanders, the Caesars are dead? Yet the course of the universe is not\narrested; the demise of those famous conquerors, afflicting to some few\nfavoured slaves, was a subject of delight for the whole human race.\nDost thou then foolishly believe that thy talents ought to interest thy\nspecies, that they are of sufficient extent to put it into mourning at\nthy decease? Alas! The Corneilles, the Lockes, the Newtons, the Boyles,\nthe Harveys, the Montesquieus, the Sheridans are no more! Regretted by a\nsmall number of friends, who have presently consoled themselves by their\nnecessary avocations, their death was indifferent to the greater number\nof their fellow citizens. Darest thou then flatter thyself, that\nthy reputation, thy titles, thy riches, thy sumptuous repasts, thy\ndiversified pleasures, will make thy funeral a melancholy event! It will\nbe spoken of by some few for two days, and do not be at all surprised:\nlearn that there have died in former ages, in Babylon, in Sardis, in\nCarthage, in Athens, in Rome, millions of citizens more illustrious,\nmore powerful, more opulent, more voluptuous, than thou art; of whom,\nhowever, no one has taken care to transmit to thee even the names. Be\nthen virtuous, O man! in whatever station thy destiny assigns thee, and\nthou shalt be happy in thy life time; do thou good and thou shalt be\ncherished; acquire talents and thou shalt be respected; posterity\nshall admire thee, if those talents, by becoming beneficial to their\ninterests, shall bring them acquainted with the name under which they\nformerly designated thy annihilated being. But the universe will not be\ndisturbed by thy loss; and when thou comest to die, whilst thy wife, thy\nchildren, thy friends, fondly leaning over thy sickly couch, shall be\noccupied with the melancholy task of closing thine eyes, thy nearest\nneighbour shall perhaps be exulting with joy!\n\nLet not then man occupy himself with his condition that may be to come,\nbut let him sedulously endeavour to make himself useful, to those with\nwhom he lives; let him for his own peculiar happiness render himself\ndutiful to his parents--faithful to his wife--attentive to his\nchildren--kind to his relations---true to his friends--lenient to his\nservants; let him strive to become estimable in the eyes of his fellow\ncitizens; let him faithfully serve a country which assures to him his\nwelfare; let the desire of pleasing posterity, of meriting its applause,\nexcite him to those labours that shall elicit their eulogies: let a\nlegitimate self-love, when he shall be worthy of it, make him taste\nin advance those commendations which he is willing to deserve; let him\nlearn to love himself--to esteem himself; but never let him consent that\nconcealed vices, that sacred crimes, shall degrade him in his own eyes;\nshall oblige him to be ashamed of his own conduct.\n\nThus disposed, let him contemplate his own decease with the same\nindifference, that it will be looked upon by the greater number of his\nfellows; let him expect death with constancy; wait for it with calm\nresignation; let him learn to shake off those vain terrors with which\nsuperstition, would overwhelm him; let him leave to the enthusiast his\nvague hopes; to the fanatic his mad-brained speculations; to the bigot\nthose fears with which he ministers to his own melancholy; but let his\nheart, fortified by reason, corroborated by a love of virtue, no longer\ndread a dissolution that will destroy all feeling.\n\nWhatever may be the attachment man has to life, whatever may be his\nfear of death, it is every day witnessed, that habit, that opinion,\nthat prejudice, are motives sufficiently powerful to annihilate these\npassions in his breast; to make him brave danger; to cause him to hazard\nhis existence. Ambition, pride, jealousy, love, vanity, avarice, the\ndesire of glory, that deference of opinion which is decorated with the\nsounding title of _a point of honour_, have the efficacy to make him\nshut his eyes to danger; to laugh at peril; to push him on to death:\nvexation, anxiety of mind, disgrace, want of success, softens to him\nits hard features; makes him regard it as a door that will afford him\nshelter from the injustice of mankind: indigence, trouble, adversity,\nfamiliarizes him with this death, so terrible to the happy. The poor\nman, condemned to labour, inured to privations, deprived of the comforts\nof life, views its approach with indifference: the unfortunate, when\nhe is unhappy, when he is without resource, embraces it in despair; the\nwretched accelerates its march as soon as he sees that happiness is no\nlonger within his grasp.\n\nMan in different ages, in different countries, has formed opinions\nextremely various upon the conduct of those, who have had the temerity\nto put an end to their own existence. His ideas upon this subject, as\nupon all others, have taken their tone from his religion, have been\ngoverned by his superstitious systems, have been modified by his\npolitical institutions. The Greeks, the Romans, and other nations, which\nevery thing conspired to make intrepid, to render courageous, to lead\nto magnanimity, regarded as heroes, contemplated as Gods, those who\nvoluntarily cut the thread of life. In Hindoostan, the Brahmin yet knows\nhow to inspire even women with sufficient fortitude to burn themselves\nupon the dead bodies of their husbands. The Japanese, upon the most\ntrifling occasion, takes no kind of difficulty in plunging a dagger into\nhis bosom.\n\nAmong the people of our own country, religion renders man less prodigal\nof life; it teaches that it is offensive to the Deity that he should\ndestroy himself. Some moralists, abstracting the height of religious\nideas, have held that it is never permitted to man to break the\nconditions of the covenant that he has made with society. Others\nhave looked upon suicide as cowardice; they have thought that it was\nweakness, that it displayed pusillanimity, to suffer, himself to be\noverwhelmed with the shafts of his destiny; and have held that there\nwould be much more courage, more elevation of soul, in supporting his\nafflictions, in resisting the blows of fate.\n\nIf nature be consulted upon this point, it will be found that all the\nactions of man, that feeble plaything in the hands of necessity, are\nindispensable; that they depend on causes which move him in despite of\nhimself--that without his knowledge, make him accomplish at each moment\nof his existence some one of its decrees. If the same power that obliges\nall intelligent beings to cherish their existence, renders that of\nman so painful, so cruel, that he finds it insupportable he quits his\nspecies; order is destroyed for him, he accomplishes a decree of Nature,\nthat wills he shall no longer exist. This Nature has laboured during\nthousands of years, to form in the bowels of the earth the iron that\nmust number his days.\n\nIf the relation of man with Nature be examined, it will be found that\nhis engagement was neither voluntary on his part, nor reciprocal on the\npart of Nature. The volition of his will had no share in his birth;\nit is commonly against his will that he is obliged to finish life; his\nactions are, as we have proved, only the necessary effects of unknown\ncauses which determine his will. He is, in the hands of Nature, that\nwhich a sword is in his own hands; he can fall upon it without its being\nable to accuse him with breaking his engagements; or of stamping with\ningratitude the hand that holds it: man can only love his existence on\ncondition of being happy; as soon as the entire of nature refuses him\nthis happiness; as soon as all that surrounds him becomes incommodious\nto him, as soon as his melancholy ideas offer nothing but afflicting\npictures to his imagination; he already exists no longer; he is\nsuspended in the void; he quits a rank which no longer suits him; in\nwhich he finds no one interest; which offers him no protection; which\noverwhelms him with calamity; in which he can no more be useful either\nto himself or to others.\n\nIf the covenant which unites man to society be considered, it will be\nobvious that every contract is conditional, must be reciprocal; that is\nto say, supposes mutual advantages between the contracting parties. The\ncitizen cannot be bound to his country, to his associates, but by the\nbonds of happiness. Are these bonds cut asunder? He is restored to\nliberty. Society, or those who represent it, do they use him with\nharshness, do they treat him with injustice, do they render his\nexistence painful? Does disgrace hold him out to the finger of scorn;\ndoes indigence menace him in an obdurate world? Perfidious friends, do\nthey forsake him in adversity? An unfaithful wife, does she outrage his\nheart? Rebellious, ungrateful children, do they afflict his old age?\nHas he placed his happiness exclusively on some object which it is\nimpossible for him to procure? Chagrin, remorse, melancholy, and\ndespair, have they disfigured to him the spectacle of the universe? In\nshort, for whatever cause it may be: if he is not able to support\nhis evils, he quits a world, which from henceforth, is for him only a\nfrightful desert he removes himself for ever from a country he thinks\nno longer willing to reckon him amongst the number of her children--he\nquits a house that to his mind is ready to bury him under its ruins--he\nrenounces a society, to the happiness of which he can no longer\ncontribute; which his own peculiar felicity alone can render dear to\nhim: and could the man be blamed, who, finding himself useless; who\nbeing without resources, in the town where destiny gave him birth,\nshould quit it in chagrin, to plunge himself in solitude? Death appears\nto the wretched the only remedy for despair; it is then the sword seems\nthe only friend, the only comfort that is left to the unhappy: as long\nas hope remains the tenant of his bosom--as long as his evils appear to\nhim at all supportable--as long as he flatters himself with seeing them\nbrought to a termination--as long as he finds some comfort in existence,\nhowever slender, he will not consent to deprive himself of life: but\nwhen nothing any longer sustains in him the love of this existence, then\nto live, is to him the greatest of evils; to die, the only mode by which\nhe can avoid the excess of despair. This has been the opinion of many\ngreat men: Seneca, the moralist, whom Lactantius calls the divine Pagan,\nwho has been praised equally by St. Austin and St. Augustine, endeavours\nby every kind of argument to make death a matter of indifference to man.\nCato has always been commended, because he would not survive the cause\nof liberty; for that he would not live a slave. Curtius, who rode\nvoluntarily into the gap, to save his country, has always been held\nforth as a model of heroic virtue. Is it not evident, that those martyrs\nwho have delivered themselves up to punishment, have preferred quitting\nthe world to living in it contrary to their own ideals of happiness?\nWhen Samson wished to be revenged on the Philistines, did he not consent\nto die with them as the only means? If our country is attacked, do we\nnot voluntarily sacrifice our lives in its defence?\n\nThat society who has not the ability, or who is not willing to procure\nman any one benefit, loses all its rights over him; Nature, when it has\nrendered his existence completely miserable, has in fact, ordered him to\nquit it: in dying he does no more than fulfil one of her decrees, as\nhe did when he first drew his breath. To him who is fearless of death,\nthere is no evil without a remedy; for him who refuses to die, there\nyet exists benefits which attach him to the world; in this case let him\nrally his powers--let him oppose courage to a destiny that oppresses\nhim--let him call forth those resources with which Nature yet furnishes\nhim; she cannot have totally abandoned him, while she yet leaves him the\nsensation of pleasure; the hopes of seeing a period to his pains.\n\nMan regulates his judgment on his fellows, only by his own peculiar\nmode of feeling; he deems as folly, he calls delirium all those violent\nactions which he believes but little commensurate with their causes; or\nwhich appear to him calculated to deprive him of that happiness, towards\nwhich he supposes a being in the enjoyment of his senses, cannot cease\nto have a tendency: he treats his associate as a weak creature, when he\nsees him affected with that which touches him but lightly; or when he is\nincapable of supporting those evils, which his self-love flatters him,\nhe would himself be able to endure with more fortitude. He accuses with\nmadness whoever deprives himself of life, for objects that he thinks\nunworthy so dear a sacrifice; he taxes him with phrenzy, because he has\nhimself learned to regard this life as the greatest blessing. It is\nthus that he always erects himself into a judge of the happiness of\nothers--of their mode of seeing--of their manner of feeling: a miser who\ndestroys himself after the loss of his treasure, appears a fool in\nthe eyes of him who is less attached to riches; he does not feel, that\nwithout money, life to this miser is only a continued torture; that\nnothing in the world is capable of diverting him from his painful\nsensations: he will proudly tell you, that in his place he had not done\nso much; but to be exactly in the place of another man, it is needful to\nhave his organization--his temperament--his passions--his ideas; it\nis in fact needful to be that other; to be placed exactly in the same\ncircumstances; to be moved by the same causes; and in this case all men,\nlike the miser, would sacrifice their life, after being deprived of the\nonly source of their happiness.\n\nHe who deprives himself of his existence, does not adopt this extremity,\nso repugnant to his natural tendency; but when nothing in this world has\nthe faculty of rejoicing him; when no means are left of diverting his\naffliction; when reason no longer acts; his misfortune whatever it may\nbe, for him is real; his organization, be it strong, or be it weak, is\nhis own, not that of another: a man who is sick only in imagination,\nreally suffers considerably; even troublesome dreams place him in a very\nuncomfortable situation. Thus when a man kills himself, it ought to be\nconcluded, that life, in the room of being a benefit, had become a very\ngreat evil to him; that existence had lost all its charms in his eyes;\nthat the entire of nature was to him destitute of attraction; that it\nno longer contained any thing that could seduce him; that after the\ncomparison which his disturbed imagination had made of existence with\nnon-existence, the latter appeared to him preferable to the first.\n\nMany will consider these maxims as dangerous; they certainly account why\nthe unhappy cut the thread of life, in a manner not corresponding with\nthe received prejudices; but, nevertheless, it is a temperament soured\nby chagrin, a bilious constitution, a melancholy habit, a defect in the\norganization, a derangement in the mind; it is in fact necessity and\nnot reasonable speculations, that breed in man the design of destroying\nhimself. Nothing invites him to this step so long as reason remains\nwith him; or whilst he yet possesses hope, that sovereign balm for every\nevil: as for the unfortunate, who cannot lose sight of his sorrows--who\ncannot forget his pains--who has his evils always present to his\nmind; he is obliged to take counsel from these alone: besides, what\nassistance, what advantage can society promise to himself, from a\nmiserable wretch reduced to despair; from a misanthrope overwhelmed\nwith grief; from a wretch tormented with remorse, who has no longer\nany motive to render himself useful to others--who has abandoned\nhimself--who finds no more interest in preserving his life? Frequently,\nthose who destroy themselves are such, that had they lived, the offended\nlaws must have ultimately been obliged to remove them from a society\nwhich they disgraced; from a country which they had injured.\n\nAs life is commonly the greatest blessing for man, it is to be presumed\nthat he who deprives himself of it, is compelled to it by an invincible\nforce. It is the excess of misery, the height of despair, the\nderangement of his brain, caused by melancholy, that urges man on to\ndestroy himself. Agitated by contrary impulsions, he is, as we have\nbefore said, obliged to follow a middle course that conducts him to his\ndeath; if man be not a free-agent, in any one instant of his life, he is\nagain much less so in the act by which it is terminated.\n\nIt will be seen then, that he who kills himself, does not, as it is\npretended, commit an outrage on nature. He follows an impulse which\nhas deprived him of reason; adopts the only means left him to quit his\nanguish; he goes out of a door which she leaves open to him; he cannot\noffend in accomplishing a law of necessity: the iron hand of this having\nbroken the spring that renders life desirable to him; which urged him to\nself-conservation, shews him he ought to quit a rank or system where he\nfinds himself too miserable to have the desire of remaining. His country\nor his family have no right to complain of a member, whom it has no\nmeans of rendering happy; from whom consequently they have nothing more\nto hope: to be useful to either, it is necessary he should cherish his\nown peculiar existence; that he should have an interest in conserving\nhimself--that he should love the bonds by which he is united to\nothers--that he should be capable of occupying himself with their\nfelicity--that he should have a sound mind. That the suicide should\nrepent of his precipitancy, he should outlive himself, he should carry\nwith him into his future residence, his organs, his senses, his memory,\nhis ideas, his actual mode of existing, his determinate manner of\nthinking.\n\nIn short, nothing is more useful for society, than to inspire man with\na contempt for death; to banish from his mind the false ideas he has of\nits consequences. The fear of death can never do more than make\ncowards; the fear of its consequences will make nothing but fanatics\nor melancholy beings, who are useless to themselves, unprofitable to\nothers. Death is a resource that ought not by any means to be taken away\nfrom oppressed virtue; which the injustice of man frequently reduces\nto despair. If man feared death less, he would neither be a slave nor\nsuperstitious; truth would find defenders more zealous; the rights of\nmankind would be more hardily sustained; virtue would be intrepidly\nupheld: error would be more powerfully opposed; tyranny would be\nbanished from nations: cowardice nourishes it, fear perpetuates it. In\nfact, _man can neither be contented nor happy whilst his opinions shall\noblige him to tremble_.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XV.\n\n_Of Man's true Interest, or of the Ideas he forms to himself of\nHappiness.--Man cannot be happy without Virtue._\n\n\nUtility, as has been before observed, ought to be the only standard of\nthe judgment of man. To be useful, is to contribute to the happiness\nof his fellow creatures; to be prejudicial, is to further their\nmisery. This granted, let us examine if the principles we have hitherto\nestablished be prejudicial or advantageous, useful or useless, to the\nhuman race. If man unceasingly seeks after his happiness, he can only\napprove of that which procures for him his object, or furnishes him the\nmeans by which it is to be obtained.\n\nWhat has been already said will serve in fixing our ideas upon what\nconstitutes this happiness: it has been already shewn that it is only\ncontinued pleasure: but in order that an object may please, it is\nnecessary that the impressions it makes, the perceptions it gives,\nthe ideas which it leaves, in short, that the motion it excites in man\nshould be analogous to his organization; conformable to his temperament;\nassimilated to his individual nature:--modified as it is by habit,\ndetermined as it is by an infinity of circumstances, it is necessary\nthat the action of the object by which he is moved, or of which the idea\nremains with him, far from enfeebling him, far from annihilating his\nfeelings, should tend to strengthen him; it is necessary, that without\nfatiguing his mind, exhausting his faculties, or deranging his organs,\nthis object should impart to his machine that degree of activity for\nwhich it continually has occasion. What is the object that unites\nall these qualities? Where is the man whose organs are susceptible\nof continual agitation without being fatigued; without experiencing a\npainful sensation; without sinking? Man is always willing to be warned\nof his existence in the most lively manner, as long as he can be so\nwithout pain. What do I say? He consents frequently to suffer, rather\nthan not feel. He accustoms himself to a thousand things which at first\nmust have affected him in a disagreeable manner; but which frequently\nend either by converting themselves into wants, or by no longer\naffecting him any way: of this truth tobacco, coffee, and above all\nbrandy furnish examples: this is the reason he runs to see tragedies;\nthat he witnesses the execution of criminals. In short, the desire\nof feeling, of being powerfully moved, appears to be the principle of\ncuriosity; of that avidity with which man seizes on the marvellous;\nof that earnestness with which he clings to the supernatural; of the\ndisposition he evinces for the incomprehensible. Where, indeed, can\nhe always find objects in nature capable of continually supplying\nthe stimulus requisite to keep him in activity, that shall be ever\nproportioned to the state of his own organization; which his extreme\nmobility renders subject to perpetual variation? The most lively\npleasures are always the least durable, seeing they are those which\nexhaust him most.\n\nThat man should be uninterruptedly happy, it would be requisite that his\npowers were infinite; it would require that to his mobility he joined\na vigor, attached a solidity, which nothing could change; or else it is\nnecessary that the objects from which he receives impulse, should either\nacquire or lose properties, according to the different states through\nwhich his machine is successively obliged to pass; it would need that\nthe essences of beings should be changed in the same proportion as\nhis dispositions; should be submitted to the continual influence of a\nthousand causes, which modify him without his knowledge, and in despite\nof himself. If, at each moment, his machine undergoes changes more\nor less marked, which are ascribable to the different degrees of\nelasticity, of density, of serenity of the atmosphere; to the portion\nof igneous fluid circulating through his blood; to the harmony of his\norgans; to the order that exists between the various parts of his body;\nif, at every period of his existence, his nerves have not the same\ntensions, his fibres the same elasticity, his mind the same activity,\nhis imagination the same ardour, &c. it is evident that the same causes\nin preserving to him only the same qualities, cannot always affect him\nin the same manner. Here is the reason why those objects that please\nhim in one season displease him in another: these objects have not\nthemselves sensibly changed; but his organs, his dispositions, his\nideas, his mode of seeing, his manner of feeling, have changed:--such is\nthe source of man's inconstancy.\n\nIf the same objects are not constantly in that state competent to form\nthe happiness of the same individual, it is easy to perceive that they\nare yet less in a capacity to please all men; or that the same happiness\ncannot be suitable to all. Beings already various by their temperament,\nunlike in their faculties, diversified in their organization, different\nin their imagination, dissimilar in their ideas, of distinct opinions,\nof contrary habits, which an infinity of circumstances, whether physical\nor moral, have variously modified, must necessarily form very different\nnotions of happiness. Those of a MISER cannot be the same as those of\na PRODIGAL; those of a VOLUPTUARY, the same as those of one who is\nPHLEGMATIC; those of an intemperate, the same as those of a rational\nman, who husbands his health. The happiness of each, is in consequence\ncomposed of his natural organization, and of those circumstances, of\nthose habits, of those ideas, whether true or false, that have modified\nhim: this organization and these circumstances, never being the same\nin any two men, it follows, that what is the object of one man's views,\nmust be indifferent, or even displeasing to another; thus, as we\nhave before said, no one can be capable of judging of that which may\ncontribute to the felicity of his fellow man.\n\n_Interest_ is the object to which each individual according to his\ntemperament and his own peculiar ideas, attaches his welfare; from which\nit will be perceived that this interest is never more than that which\neach contemplates as necessary to his happiness. It must, therefore, be\nconcluded, that no man is totally without interest. That of the miser to\namass wealth; that of the prodigal to dissipate it: the interest of the\nambitious is to obtain power; that of the modest philosopher to enjoy\ntranquillity; the interest of the debauchee is to give himself up,\nwithout reserve, to all sorts of pleasure; that of the prudent man, to\nabstain from those which may injure him: the interest of the wicked is\nto gratify his passions at any price: that of the virtuous to merit\nby his conduct the love, to elicit by his actions the approbation of\nothers; to do nothing that can degrade himself in his own eyes.\n\nThus, when it is said that _Interest is the only motive of human\nactions;_ it is meant to indicate that each man labours after his own\nmanner, to his own peculiar happiness; that he places it in some object\neither visible or concealed; either real or imaginary; that the whole\nsystem of his conduct is directed to its attainment. This granted, no\nman can be called disinterested; this appellation is only applied to\nthose of whose motives we are ignorant; or whose interest we approve.\nThus the man who finds a greater pleasure in assisting his friends in\nmisfortune than preserving in his coffers useless treasure, is called\ngenerous, faithful, and disinterested; in like manner all men are\ndenominated disinterested, who feel their glory far more precious than\ntheir fortune. In short, all men are designated disinterested who place\ntheir happiness in making sacrifices which man considers costly, because\nhe does not attach the same value to the object for which the sacrifice\nis made.\n\nMan frequently judges very erroneously of the interest of others, either\nbecause the motives that animate them are too complicated for him to\nunravel; or because to be enabled to judge of them fairly, it is needful\nto have the same eyes, the same organs the same passions, the same\nopinions: nevertheless, obliged to form his judgment of the actions\nof mankind, by their effect on himself, he approves the interest that\nactuates them whenever the result is advantageous for his species:\nthus, he admires valour, generosity, the love of liberty, great talents,\nvirtue, &c. he then only approves of the objects in which the beings\nhe applauds have placed their happiness; he approves these dispositions\neven when he is not in a capacity to feel their effects; but in this\njudgment he is not himself disinterested; experience, reflection, habit,\nreason, have given him a taste for morals, and he finds as much pleasure\nin being witness to a great and generous action, as the man of _virtu_\nfinds in the sight of a fine picture of which he is not the proprietor.\nHe who has formed to himself a habit of practising virtue, is a man who\nhas unceasingly before his eyes the interest that he has in meriting\nthe affection, in deserving the esteem, in securing the assistance of\nothers, as well as to love and esteem himself: impressed with these\nideas which have become habitual to him, he abstains even from concealed\ncrimes, since these would degrade him in his own eyes: he resembles a\nman who having from his infancy contracted the habit of cleanliness,\nwould be painfully affected at seeing himself dirty, even when no one\nshould witness it. The honest man is he to whom truth has shewn his\ninterest or his happiness in a mode of acting that others are obliged\nto love, are under the necessity to approve for their own peculiar\ninterest.\n\nThese principles, duly developed, are the true basis of morals; nothing\nis more chimerical than those which are founded upon imaginary motives\nplaced out of nature; or upon innate sentiments; which some speculators\nhave regarded as anterior to man's experience; as wholly independant of\nthose advantages which result to him from its use: it is the essence of\nman to love himself; to tend to his own conservation; to seek to render\nhis existence happy: thus interest, or the desire of happiness, is the\nonly real motive of all his actions; this interest depends upon his\nnatural organization, rests itself upon his wants, is bottomed upon his\nacquired ideas, springs from the habits he has contracted: he is without\ndoubt in error, when either a vitiated organization or false opinions\nshew him his welfare in objects either useless or injurious to himself,\nas well as to others; he marches steadily in the paths of virtue when\ntrue ideas have made him rest his happiness on a conduct useful to\nhis species; in that which is approved by others; which renders him an\ninteresting object to his associates. _Morals_ would be a vain science\nif it did not incontestibly prove to man that _his interest consists in\nbeing virtuous._ Obligation of whatever kind, can only be founded upon\nthe probability or the certitude of either obtaining a good or avoiding\nan evil.\n\nIndeed, in no one instant of his duration, can a sensible, an\nintelligent being, either lose sight of his own preservation or forget\nhis own welfare; he owes happiness to himself; but experience quickly\nproves to him, that bereaved of assistance, quite alone, left entirely\nto himself, he cannot procure all those objects which are requisite to\nhis felicity: he lives with sensible, with intelligent beings, occupied\nlike himself with their own peculiar happiness; but capable of assisting\nhim, in obtaining those objects he most desires; he discovers that these\nbeings will not be favorable to his views, but when they find their\ninterest involved; from which he concludes, that his own happiness\ndemands, that his own wants render it necessary he should conduct\nhimself at all times in a manner suitable to conciliate the attachment,\nto obtain the approbation, to elicit the esteem, to secure the\nassistance of those beings who are most capacitated to further his\ndesigns. He perceives, that it is man who is most necessary to the\nwelfare of man: that to induce him to join in his interests, he ought to\nmake him find real advantages in recording his projects: but to procure\nreal advantages to the beings of the human species, is to have virtue;\nthe reasonable man, therefore, is obliged to feel that it is his\ninterest to be virtuous. _Virtue is only the art of rendering\nhimself happy, by the felicity of others_. The virtuous man is he who\ncommunicates happiness to those beings who are capable of rendering his\nown condition happy; who are necessary to his conservation; who have the\nability to procure him a felicitous existence.\n\nSuch, then, is the true foundation of all morals; merit and virtue are\nfounded upon the nature of man; have their dependance upon his wants. It\nis virtue alone that can render him truly happy: without virtue society\ncan neither be useful nor indeed subsist; it can only have real utility\nwhen it assembles beings animated with the desire of pleasing each\nother, and disposed to labour to their reciprocal advantage: there\nexists no comfort in those families whose members are not in the\nhappy disposition to lend each other mutual succours; who have not a\nreciprocity of feeling that stimulates them to assist one another; that\ninduces them to cling to each other, to support the sorrows of life;\nto unite their efforts, to put away those evils to which nature has\nsubjected them; the conjugal bonds, are sweet only in proportion as they\nidentify the interest of two beings, united by the want of legitimate\npleasure; from whence results the maintenance of political society, and\nthe means of furnishing it with citizens. Friendship has charms only\nwhen it more particularly associates two virtuous beings; that is to\nsay, animated with the sincere desire of conspiring to their reciprocal\nhappiness. In short, it is only by displaying virtue, that man can merit\nthe benevolence, can win the confidence, can gain the esteem, of all\nthose with whom he has relation; in a word, no man can be independently\nhappy.\n\nIndeed, the happiness of each human individual depends on those\nsentiments to which he gives birth, on those feelings which he nourishes\nin the beings amongst whom his destiny has placed him; grandeur may\ndazzle them; power may wrest from them an involuntary homage; force may\ncompel an unwilling obedience; opulence may seduce mean, may attract\nvenal souls; but it is humanity, it is benevolence, it is compassion, it\nis equity, that unassisted by these, can without efforts obtain for\nhim, from those by whom he is surrounded, those delicious sentiments of\nattachments, those soothing feelings of tenderness, those sweet ideas of\nesteem, of which all reasonable men feel the necessity. To be virtuous\nthen, is to place his interest in that which accords with the interest\nof others; it is to enjoy those benefits, to partake of that pleasure\nwhich he himself diffuses over his fellows. He whom, his nature, his\neducation, his reflections, his habits, have rendered susceptible of\nthese dispositions, and to whom his circumstances have given him the\nfaculty of gratifying them, becomes an interesting object to all those\nwho approach him: he enjoys every instant, he reads with satisfaction\nthe contentment, he contemplates with pleasure the joy which he has\ndiffused over all countenances: his wife, his children, his friends, his\nservants greet him with gay, serene faces, indicative of that content,\nharbingers of that peace, which he recognizes for his own work: every\nthing that environs him is ready to partake his pleasures; to share\nhis pains; cherished, respected, looked up to by others, every thing\nconducts him to agreeable reflections; he knows the rights he has\nacquired over their hearts; he applauds himself for being the source\nof a felicity that captivates all the world; his own condition, his\nsentiments of self-love, become an hundred times more delicious when he\nsees them participated by all those with whom his destiny has connected\nhim. The habit of virtue creates for him no wants but those which virtue\nitself suffices to satisfy; it is thus that _virtue is always its own\npeculiar reward_, that it remunerates itself with all the advantages\nwhich it incessantly procures for others.\n\nIt will be said, and perhaps even proved, that under the present\nconstitution of things, virtue far from procuring the welfare of those\nwho practice it frequently plunges man into misfortune; often places\ncontinual obstacles to his felicity; that almost every where it is\nwithout recompence. What do I say? A thousand examples could be adduced\nas evidence, that in almost every country it is hated, persecuted,\nobliged to lament the ingratitude of human nature. I reply with avowing,\nthat by a necessary consequence of the errors of his race, virtue\nrarely conducts man to those objects in which the uninformed make their\nhappiness consist. The greater number of societies, too frequently ruled\nby those whose ignorance makes them abuse their power,--whose prejudices\nrender them enemies of virtue,--who flattered by sycophants, secure in\nthe impunity their actions enjoy, commonly lavish their esteem, bestow\ntheir kindness, on none but the most unworthy objects; reward only the\nmost frivolous, recompence none but the most prejudicial qualities; and\nhardly ever accord that justice to merit which is unquestionably its\ndue. But the truly honest man, is neither ambitious of renumeration, nor\nsedulous of the suffrages of a society thus badly constituted: contented\nwith domestic happiness, he seeks not to augment relations, which would\ndo no more than increase his danger; he knows that a vitiated community\nis a whirlwind, with which an honest man cannot co-order himself: he\ntherefore steps aside; quits the beaten path, by continuing in which he\nwould infallibly be crushed. He does all the good of which he is capable\nin his sphere; he leaves the road free to the wicked, who are willing\nto wade through its mire; he laments the heavy strokes they inflict on\nthemselves; he applauds mediocrity that affords him security: he pities\nthose nations made miserable by their errors,--rendered unhappy by those\npassions which are the fatal but necessary consequence; he sees they\ncontain nothing but wretched citizens, who far from cultivating their\ntrue interest, far from labouring to their mutual felicity, far from\nfeeling the real value of virtue, unconscious how dear it ought to be\nto them, do nothing but either openly attack, or secretly injure it;\nin short, who detests a quality which would restrain their disorderly\npropensities.\n\nIn saying that virtue is its own peculiar reward, it is simply meant to\nannounce, that in a society whose views were guided by truth, trained\nby experience, conducted by reason, each individual would be acquainted\nwith his real interests; would understand the true end of association;\nwould have sound motives to perform his duties; find real advantages in\nfulfilling them; in fact, it would be convinced, that to render himself\nsolidly happy, he should occupy his actions with the welfare of his\nfellows; by their utility merit their esteem, elicit their kindness, and\nsecure their assistance. In a well-constituted society, the government,\nthe laws, education, example, would all conspire to prove to the\ncitizen, that the nation of which he forms a part, is a whole that\ncannot be happy, that cannot subsist without virtue; experience would,\nat each step, convince him that the welfare of its parts can only result\nfrom that of the whole body corporate; justice would make him feel, that\nno society, can be advantageous to its members, where the volition of\nwills in those who act, is not so conformable to the interests of the\nwhole, as to produce an advantageous re-action.\n\nBut, alas! by the confusion which the errors of man have carried into\nhis ideas: virtue disgraced, banished, and persecuted, finds not one\nof those advantages it has a right to expect: man is indeed shewn those\nrewards for it in a future life, of which he is almost always deprived\nin his actual existence. It is thought necessary to deceive, considered\nproper to seduce, right to intimidate him, in order to induce him to\nfollow that virtue which every thing renders incommodious to him; he\nis fed with distant hopes, in order to solicit him to practice virtue,\nwhile contemplation of the world makes it hateful to him; he is\nalarmed by remote terrors, to deter him from committing evil, which his\nassociates paint as amiable; which all conspires to render necessary.\nIt is thus that politics, thus that superstition, by the formation of\nchimeras, by the creation of fictitious interests pretend to supply\nthose true, those real motives which nature furnishes,--which\nexperience would point out,--which an enlightened government should\nhold forth,--which the law ought to enforce,--which instruction should\nsanction,--which example should encourage,-which rational opinions would\nrender pleasant. Man, blinded by his passions, not less dangerous than\nnecessary, led away by precedent, authorised by custom, enslaved by\nhabit, pays no attention to these uncertain promises, is regardless of\nthe menaces held out; the actual interests of his immediate pleasures,\nthe force of his passions, the inveteracy of his habits, always rise\nsuperior to the distant interests pointed out in his future welfare,\nor the remote evils with which he is threatened; which always appear\ndoubtful, whenever he compares them with present advantages.\n\nThus _superstition, far from making man virtuous by principle, does\nnothing more than impose upon him a yoke as severe as it is useless_; it\nis borne by none but enthusiasts, or by the pusillanimous; who, without\nbecoming better, tremblingly champ the feeble bit put into their mouth;\nwho are either rendered unhappy by their opinions, or dangerous by their\ntenets; indeed, experience, that faithful monitor, incontestibly\nproves, that superstition is a dyke inadequate to resist the torrent\nof corruption, to which so many accumulated causes give an irresistible\nforce: nay more, does not this superstition itself augment the public\ndisorder, by the dangerous passions which it lets loose, by the conduct\nwhich it sanctions, by the actions which it consecrates? Virtue, in\nalmost every climate, is confined to some few rational souls, who have\nsufficient strength of mind to resist the stream of prejudice; who are\ncontented by remunerating themselves with the benefits they difuse over\nsociety: whose temperate dispositions are gratified with the suffrages\nof a small number of virtuous approvers; in short, who are detached\nfrom those frivolous advantages which the injustice of society but too\ncommonly accords only to baseness, which it rarely bestows, except to\nintrigue, with which in general it rewards nothing but crime.\n\nIn despite of the injustice that reigns in the world, there are,\nhowever, some virtuous men in the bosom even of the most degenerate\nnations; notwithstanding the general depravity, there are some\nbenevolent beings, still enamoured of virtue; who are fully acquainted\nwith its true value; who are sufficiently enlightened to know that\nit exacts homage even from its enemies; who to use the language of\nECCLESIASTES, \"_rejoice in their own works_;\" who are, at least, happy in\npossessing contented minds, who are satisfied with concealed pleasures,\nthose internal recompences of which no earthly power is competent to\ndeprive them. The honest man acquires a right to the esteem, has a just\nclaim to the veneration, wins the confidence, gains the love, even of\nthose whose conduct is exposed by a contrast with his own. In short,\nvice is obliged to cede to virtue; of which it blushingly, though\nunwillingly, acknowledges the superiority. Independent of this\nascendancy so gentle, of this superiority so grand, of this pre-eminence\nso infallible, when even the whole universe should be unjust to him,\nwhen even every tongue should cover him with venom, when even every arm\nshould menace him with hostility, there yet remains to the honest man\nthe sublime advantage of loving his own conduct; the ineffable pleasure\nof esteeming himself; the unalloyed gratification of diving with\nsatisfaction into the recesses of his own heart; the tranquil delight\nof contemplating his own actions with that delicious complacency that\nothers ought to do, if they were not hood-winked, No power is adequate\nto ravish from him the merited esteem of himself; no authority is\nsufficiently potent to give it to him when he deserves it not; the\nmightiest monarch cannot lend stability to this esteem, when it is\nnot well founded; it is then a ridiculous sentiment: it ought to be\nconsidered, it really is \"_vanity and vexation of spirit_,\" it is\nnot wisdom, but folly in the extreme; it ought to be censured when it\ndisplays itself in a mode that is mortifying to its neighbour, in a\nmanner that is troublesome to others; it is then called ARROGANCE; it\nis called VANITY; but when it cannot be condemned, when it is known for\nlegitimate when it is discovered to have a solid foundation, when it\nbottoms itself upon talents, when it rises upon great actions that are\nuseful to the community, when it erects its edifice upon virtue; even\nthough society should not set these merits at their just price, it is\nNOBLE PRIDE, ELEVATION OF MIND, and GRANDEUR OF SOUL.\n\nOf what consequence then, is it to listen to those superstitious beings,\nthose enemies to man's happiness, who have been desirous of destroying\nit, even in the inmost recesses of his heart; who have prescribed to him\nhatred of his follower; who have filled him with contempt for himself;\nwho pretend to wrest from the honest man that self-respect which is\nfrequently the only reward that remains to virtue, in a perverse world.\nTo annihilate in him this sentiment, so full in justice, this love\nof himself, is to break the most powerful spring, to weaken the most\nefficacious stimulus, that urges him to act right; that spurs him on to\ndo good to his fellow mortals. What motive, indeed, except it be this,\nremains for him in the greater part of human societies? Is not\nvirtue discouraged? Is not honesty contemned? Is not audacious crime\nencouraged? Is not subtle intrigue eulogized? Is not cunning vice\nrewarded? Is not love of the public weal taxed as folly; exactitude in\nfulfilling duties looked upon as a bubble? Is not compassion laughed\nto scorn? ARE NOT TRAITORS DISTINGUISHED BY PUBLIC HONORS? Is not\nnegligence of morals applauded,--sensibility derided,--tenderness\nscoffed,--conjugal fidelity jeered,--sincerity despised,--enviolable\nfriendship treated with ridicule: while seduction, adultery,\nhard-heartedness, punic faith, avarice, and fraud, stalk forth\nunabashed, decked in gorgeous array, lauded by the world? Man must have\nmotives for action: he neither acts well nor ill, but with a view to his\nown happiness: that which he judges will conduce to this \"_consummation\nso devoutly to be wished_,\" he thinks his interest; he does nothing\ngratuitously; when reward for useful actions is withheld from him, he is\nreduced either to become as abandoned as others, or else to remunerate\nhimself with his own applause.\n\nThis granted; the honest man can never be completely unhappy; he can\nnever be entirely deprived of the recompence which is his due; virtue is\ncompetent to repay him for all the benefits he may bestow on others;\ncan amply make up to him all the happiness denied him by public opinion;\n_but nothing can compensate to him the want of virtue_. It does not\nfollow that the honest man will be exempted from afflictions: like, the\nwicked, he is subject to physical evils; he may pine in indigence; he\nmay be deprived of friendship; he may be worn down with disease; he may\nfrequently be the subject of calumny; he may be the victim to injustice;\nhe may be treated with ingratitude; he may be exposed to hatred; but in\nthe midst of all his misfortunes, in the very bosom of his sorrows,\nin the extremity of his vexation, he finds support in himself; he is\ncontented with his own conduct; he respects himself; he feels his own\ndignity; he knows the equity of his rights; he consoles himself with\nthe confidence inspired by the justness of his cause; he cheers himself\namidst the most sullen circumstances. These supports are not calculated\nfor the wicked; they avail him nothing: equally liable with the honest\nman to infirmities, equally submitted to the caprices of his destiny,\nequally the sport of a fluctuating world, he finds the recesses of his\nown heart filled with dreadful alarms; diseased with care; cankered\nwith solitude; corroded with regret; gnawed by remorse; he dies within\nhimself; his conscience sustains him not but loads him with reproach;\nhis mind, overwhelmed, sinks beneath its own turpitude; his reflection\nis the bitter dregs of hemlock; maddening anguish holds him to the\nmirror that shews him his own deformity; that recalls unhallowed deeds;\ngloomy thoughts rush on his too faithful memory; despondence benumbs\nhim; his body, simultaneously assailed on all sides, bends under the\nstorm of--his own unruly passions; at last despair grapples him to her\nfilthy bosom, he flies from himself. The honest man is not an insensible\nStoic; virtue does not procure impassibility; honesty gives no exemption\nfrom misfortune, but it enables him to bear cheerly up against it; to\ncast off despair, to keep his own company: if he is infirm, if he is\nworn with disease, he has less to complain of than the vicious being\nwho is oppressed with sickness, who is enfeebled by years; if he is\nindigent, he is less unhappy in his poverty; if he is in disgrace, he\ncan endure it with fortitude, he is not overwhelmed by its pressure,\nlike the wretched slave to crime.\n\nThus the happiness of each individual depends on the cultivation of his\ntemperament; nature makes both the happy and the unhappy; it is culture\nthat gives value to the soil nature has formed; it is instruction that\nmakes the fruit it produces palatable; It is reflection that makes it\nuseful. For man to be happily born, is to have received from nature a\nsound body, organs that act with precision--a just mind, a heart\nwhose passions are analogous, whose desires are conformable to the\ncircumstances in which his destiny has placed him: nature, then, has\ndone every thing for him, when she has joined to these faculties the\nquantum of vigour, the portion of energy, sufficient to enable him to\nobtain those Proper things, which his station, his mode of thinking,\nhis temperament, have rendered desirable. Nature has made him a fatal\npresent, when she has filled his sanguinary vessels with an over-heated\nfluid; when she has given him an imagination too active; when she has\ninfused into him desires too impetuous; when he has a hankering\nafter objects either impossible or improper to be obtained under\nhis circumstances; or which at least he cannot procure without those\nincredible efforts, that either place his own welfare in danger or\ndisturb the repose of society. The most happy man, is commonly he who\npossesses a peaceful soul; who only desires those things which he can\nprocure by labour, suitable to maintain his activity; which he can\nobtain without causing those shocks, that are either too violent for\nsociety, or troublesome to his associates. A philosopher whose wants are\neasily satisfied, who is a stranger, to ambition, who is contented with\nthe limited circle of a small number of friends, is, without doubt a\nbeing much more happily constituted than an ambitious conqueror, whose\ngreedy imagination is reduced to despair by having only one world to\nravage. He who is happily born, or whom nature has rendered susceptible\nof being conveniently modified, is not a being injurious to society: it\nis generally disturbed by men who are unhappily born, whose organization\nrenders them turbulent; who are discontented with their destiny; who are\ninebriated with their own licentious passions; who are infatuated with\ntheir own vile schemes; who are smitten with difficult enterprises; who\nset the world in combustion, to gather imaginary benefits in order to\nattain which they must inflict he heaviest curses on mankind, but in\nwhich they make their own happiness consist. An ALEXANDER requires the\ndestruction of empires, nations to be deluged with blood, cities to\nbe laid in ashes, its inhabitants to be exterminated, to content that\npassion for glory, of which he has formed to himself a false idea;\nbut which his too ardent imagination, his too vehement mind anxiously\nthirsts after: for a DIOGENES there needs only a tub with the liberty\nof appearing whimsical; a SOCRATES wants nothing but the pleasure of\nforming disciples to virtue.\n\nMan by his organization is a being to whom motion is always necessary;\nhe must therefore always desire it: this is the reason why too much\nfacility In procuring the objects of his search, renders them quickly\ninsipid. To feel happiness, it is necessary to make efforts to obtain\nit; to find charms in its enjoyment, it is necessary that the desire\nshould be whetted by obstacles; he is presently disgusted with those\nbenefits which have cost him but little pains. The expectation of\nhappiness, the labour requisite to procure it, the varied prospects it\nholds forth, the multiplied pictures which his imagination forms to him,\nsupply his brain with that motion for which it has occasion; this gives\nimpulse to his organs, puts his whole machine into activity, exercises\nhis faculties, sets all his springs in play, in a word, puts him\ninto that agreeable activity, for the want of which the enjoyment of\nhappiness itself cannot compensate him. Action is the true element of\nthe human mind; as soon as it ceases to act, it falls into disgust,\nsinks into lassitude. His soul has the same occasion for ideas, his\nstomach has for aliment.\n\nThus the impulse given him by desire, is itself a great benefit; it is\nto the mind what exercise is to the body; without it he would not derive\nany pleasure in the aliments presented to him; it is thirst that renders\nthe pleasure of drinking so agreeable; life is a perpetual circle of\nregenerated desires and wants satisfied: repose is only a pleasure to\nhim who labours; it is a source of weariness, the cause of sorrow,\nthe spring of vice to him who has nothing to do. To enjoy without\ninterruption is not to enjoy any thing: the man who has nothing to\ndesire is certainly more unhappy than he who suffers.\n\nThese reflections, grounded upon experience, drawn from the fountain of\ntruth, ought to prove to man, that good as well as evil depends on the\nessence of things. Happiness to be felt cannot be continued. Labour\nis necessary, to make intervals between his pleasures; his body has\noccasion for exercise, to co-order him with the beings who surround him;\nhis heart must have desires; trouble alone can give him the right\nrelish of his welfare; it is this which puts in the shadows, this which\nfurnishes the true perspective to the picture of human life. By an\nirrevocable law of his destiny, man is obliged to be discontented with\nhis present condition; to make efforts to change it; to reciprocally\nenvy that felicity which no individual enjoys perfectly. Thus the\npoor man envies the opulence of his richer neighbour, although this is\nfrequently more unhappy than his needy maligner; thus the rich man views\nwith pain the advantages of a poverty, which he sees active, healthy,\nand frequently jocund, even in the bosom of penury.\n\nIf man was perfectly contented, there would no longer be any activity in\nthe world; it is necessary that he should desire; it is requisite that\nhe should act; it is incumbent he should labour, in order that he may\nbe happy: such is the course of nature of which the life consists in\naction. Human societies can only subsist, by the continual exchange of\nthose things in which man places his happiness. The poor man is obliged\nto desire, he is necessitated to labour, that he may procure what he\nknows is requisite to the preservation of his existence; the primary\nwants given to him by nature, are to nourish himself, clothe himself,\nlodge himself, and propagate his species; has he satisfied these? He\nis quickly obliged to create others entirely new; or rather, his\nimagination only refines upon the first; he seeks to diversify them; he\nis willing to give them fresh zest; arrived at opulence, when he has run\nover the whole circle of wants, when he has completely exhausted their\ncombinations, he falls into disgust. Dispensed from labour, his body\namasses humours; destitute of desires, his heart feels a languor;\ndeprived of activity, he is obliged to participate his riches, with\nbeings more active, more laborious than himself: these, following their\nown peculiar interests, take upon themselves the task of labouring\nfor his advantage; of procuring for him means to satisfy his want;\nof ministering to his caprices, in order to remove the languor that\noppresses him. It is thus the great, the rich excite the energies, give\nplay to the activity, rouse the faculties, spur on the industry of the\nindigent; these labour to their own peculiar welfare by working for\nothers: thus the desire of ameliorating his condition, renders man\nnecessary to his fellow man; thus wants, always regenerating, never\nsatisfied, are the principles of life,--the soul of activity,--the\nsource of health,--the basis of society. If each individual was\ncompetent to the supply of his own exigencies, there would be no\noccasion for him to congregate in society; but it is his wants, his\ndesires, his whims, that place him in a state of dependence on others:\nthese are the causes that each individual, in order to further his\nown peculiar interest, is obliged to be useful to those, who have the\ncapability of procuring for him the objects which he himself has not. A\nnation is nothing more than the union of a great number of individuals,\nconnected with each other by the reciprocity of their wants; by their\nmutual desire of pleasure. The most happy man is he who has the fewest\nwants, and who has the most numerous means of satisfying them. The\nman who would be truly rich, has no need to increase his fortune, it\nsuffices he should diminish his wants.\n\nIn the individuals of the human species, as well as in political\nsociety, the progression of wants, is a thing absolutely necessary; it\nis founded upon the essence of man, it is requisite that the natural\nwants once satisfied, should be replaced by those which he calls\n_Imaginary, or wants of the Fancy:_ these become as necessary to his\nhappiness as the first. Custom, which permits the native American to go\nquite naked, obliges the more civilized inhabitant of Europe to clothe\nhimself; the poor man contents himself with very simple attire, which\nequally serve him for winter and for summer, for autumn and for spring;\nthe rich man desires to have garments suitable to each mutation of\nthese seasons; he would experience pain if he had not the convenience\nof changing his raiment with every variation of his climate; he would be\nwretched if he was obliged to wear the same habiliments in the heat of\nsummer, which he uses in the winter; in short, he would be unhappy\nif the expence and variety of his costume did not display to the\nsurrounding multitude his opulence, mark his rank, announce his\nsuperiority. It is thus habit multiplies, the wants of the wealthy; it\nis thus that vanity itself becomes a want which sets a thousand hands\nin, motion, a thousand heads to work, who are all eager to gratify its\ncravings; in short, this very vanity procures for the necessitous man,\nthe means of subsisting at the expense of his opulent neighbours He\nwho is accustomed to pomp, who is used to ostentatious splendour, whose\nhabits are luxurious, whenever he is deprived of these insignia of\nopulence, to which he has attached the idea of happiness, finds himself\njust as unhappy as the needy wretch who has not wherewith to cover his\nnakedness. The civilized nations of the present day were in their origin\nsavages composed of erratic tribes,--mere wanderers who were occupied\nwith war; employed in, the chace; painfully obliged to seek precarious\nsubsistence by hunting in those woods which the industry of their\nsuccessors has cleared; which their labour has covered with yellow\nwaving ears of nutritious corn; in time they have become stationary:\nthey first applied themselves to Agriculture, afterwards to commerce:\nby degrees they have refined on their primitive wants, extended their\nsphere of action, given birth to a thousand new wants, imagined a\nthousand new means to satisfy them; this is the natural course, the\nnecessary progression, the regular march of active beings, who cannot\nlive without feeling; who to be happy, must of necessity diversify their\nsensations. In proportion as man's wants multiply the means to satisfy\nthem becomes more difficult, he is obliged to depend on a greater\nnumber of his fellow creatures; his interest obliges him to rouse their\nactivity; to engage them to concur with his views; consequently he is\nobliged to procure for them those objects by which they can be excited;\nhe is under the necessity of contenting their desires, which increase\nlike his own, by the very food that satisfies them. The savage\nneeds only put forth his hand to gather the fruit that offers\nitself spontaneously to his reach: this he finds sufficient for his\nnourishment. The opulent citizen of a flourishing society is obliged to\nset innumerable hands to work to produce the sumptuous repast; the four\nquarters of the globe are ransacked to procure the far-fetched viands\nbecome necessary to revive his languid appetite; the merchant,\nthe sailor, the mechanic, leave nothing unattempted to flatter his\ninordinate vanity. From this it will appear, that in the same proportion\nthe wants of man are multiplied, he is obliged to augment the means to\nsatisfy them. Riches are nothing more than the measure of a convention,\nby the assistance of which man is enabled to make a great number of\nhis fellows concur in the gratification of his desires; by which he\nis capacitated to invite them, for their own peculiar interests, to\ncontribute to his pleasures. What, in fact, does the rich man do,\nexcept announce to the needy, that he can furnish him with the means of\nsubsistence if he consents to lend himself to his will? What does the\nman in power, except shew to others, that he is in a state to supply\nthe requisites to render them happy? Sovereigns, nobles, men of wealth,\nappear to be happy, only because they possess the ability, are masters\nof the motives sufficient to determine a great number of individuals to\noccupy themselves with their respective felicity.\n\nThe more things are considered the more man will be convinced that his\nfalse opinion are the true source of his misery; the clearer it will\nappear to him that happiness is so rare, only because he attaches it\nto objects either indifferent or useless to his welfare; which, when\nenjoyed, convert themselves into real evils; which afflict him; which\nbecome the cause of his misfortune.\n\n_Riches_ are indifferent in themselves, it is only by their application,\nby the purposes they compass, that they either become objects of utility\nto man, or are rendered prejudicial to his welfare.\n\n_Money_, useless to the savage who understands not its value, is amassed\nby the miser, for fear it should be employed uselessly; lest it should\nbe squandered by the prodigal; or dissipated by the voluptuary; who make\nno other use of it than to purchase infirmities; to buy regret.\n\nPleasures are nothing for the man who is incapable of feeling them;\nthey become real evils when they are too freely indulged, when they\nare destructive to his health,--when they derange the economy of\nhis machine,--when they entail diseases on himself and on his\nposterity,--when they make him neglect his duties,--when they render him\ndespicable in the eyes of others.\n\nPower is nothing in itself, it is useless to man if he does not avail\nhimself of it to promote his own peculiar felicity, by augmenting the\nhappiness of his species; it becomes fatal to him as soon as he abuses\nit; it becomes odious whenever he employs it to render others miserable;\nit is always the cause of his own misery whenever he stretches it beyond\nthe due bounds prescribed by nature.\n\nFor want of being enlightened on his true interest, the man who enjoys\nall the means of rendering himself completely happy, scarcely ever\ndiscovers the secret of making those means truly subservient to his own\npeculiar felicity: the art of enjoying, is that which of all others is\nleast understood; man should learn this art before he begins to desire;\nthe earth is covered with individuals who only occupy themselves with\nthe care of procuring the means without ever being acquainted with the\nend. All the world desire fortune, solicit power, seek after pleasure,\nyet very few, indeed, are those whom objects render truly happy.\n\nIt is quite natural in man, it is extremely reasonable, it is absolutely\nnecessary, to desire those things which can contribute to augment the\nsum of his felicity. _Pleasure, riches, power,_ are objects worthy his\nambition, deserving his most strenuous efforts, when he has learned how\nto employ them; when he has acquired the faculty of making them render\nhis existence really more agreeable. It is impossible to censure him who\ndesires them, to despise him who commands them, but when to obtain them\nhe employs odious means; or when after he has obtained them he makes a\npernicious use of them, injurious to himself, prejudicial to others; let\nhim wish for power, let him seek after grandeur, let him be ambitious\nof reputation, when he can shew just pretensions to them; when he can\nobtain them, without making the purchase at the expence of his own\nrepose, or that of the beings with whom he lives: let him desire riches,\nwhen he knows how to make a use of them that is truly advantageous for\nhimself, really beneficial for others; but never let him employ those\nmeans to procure them of which he may be ashamed; with which he may be\nobliged to reproach himself; which may draw upon him the hatred of his\nassociates; or which may render him obnoxious to the castigation of\nsociety: let him always recollect, that his solid happiness should rest\nits foundations upon its own esteem,--upon the advantages he procures\nfor others; above all, never let him for a moment forget, that of all\nthe objects to which his ambition may point, the most impracticable for\na being who lives in society, is that of _attempting to render himself\nexclusively happy_.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XVI\n\n_The Errors of Man,--upon what constitutes Happiness.--the true Source\nof his Evil.--Remedies that may be applied._\n\n\nReason by no means forbids man from forming capacious desires; ambition\nis a passion useful to his species when it has for, its object the\nhappiness of his race. Great minds, elevated souls, are desirous of\nacting on an extended sphere; geniuses who are powerful, beings who are\nenlightened, men who are beneficent, distribute very widely their benign\ninfluence; they must necessarily, in order to promote their own peculiar\nfelicity, render great numbers happy. So many princes fail to enjoy true\nhappiness only, because their feeble, narrow souls, are obliged to act\nin a sphere too extensive for their energies: it is thus that by the\nsupineness, the indolence, the incapacity of their chiefs, nations\nfrequently pine in misery; are often submitted to masters, whose\nexility of mind is as little calculated to promote their own immediate\nhappiness, as it is to further that of their miserable subjects. On\nthe other hand, souls too vehement, too much inflamed, too active, are\nthemselves tormented by the narrow sphere that confines them; their\nardour misplaced, becomes the scourge of the human race. Alexander was\na monarch who was equally injurious to the earth, equally discontented\nwith his condition, as the indolent despot whom he dethroned. The souls\nof neither were by any means commensurate with their sphere of action.\n\nThe happiness of man will never be more than the result of the harmony\nthat subsists between his desires and his circumstances. The sovereign\npower to him who knows not how to apply it to the advantage of his\ncitizens, is as nothing; it cannot even conduce to his own peculiar\nhappiness. If it renders him miserable, it is a real evil; if it\nproduces the misfortune of a portion of the human race, it is a\ndetestable abuse. The most powerful princes are ordinarily such\nstrangers to happiness, their subjects are commonly so unfortunate, only\nbecause the first possess all the means of rendering themselves happy\nwithout ever giving them activity; or because the only knowledge they\nhave of them, is their abuse. A wise man seated on a throne, would be\nthe most happy of mortals. A monarch is a man for whom his power, let\nit be of whatever extent, cannot procure other organs, other modes of\nfeeling, than the meanest of his subjects; if he has an advantage\nover them, it is by the grandeur, the variety, the multiplicity of the\nobjects with which he can occupy himself; which by giving perpetual\nactivity to his mind, can prevent it from decay; from falling into\nsloth. If his soul is virtuous, if his mind is expansive, his ambition\nfinds continual food in the contemplation of the power he possesses,\nto unite by gentleness, to consolidate by kindness, the will of his\nsubjects with his own; to interest them in his own conservation, to\nmerit their affections,--to draw forth the respect of strangers,--to\nrender luminous the page of history--to elicit the eulogies of all\nnations--to clothe the orphan,--to dry the widow's tears. Such are\nthe conquests that reason proposes to all those whose destiny it is to\ngovern the fate of empires; they are sufficiently grand to satisfy the\nmost ardent imagination, of a sublimity to gratify the most capacious\nambition: for a monarch they are paramount duties.--KINGS are the most\nhappy of men, only because they have the power of making others happy;\nbecause they possess the means of multiplying the causes of legitimate\ncontent with themselves.\n\nThe advantages of the sovereign power are participated by all those who\ncontribute to the government of states. Thus grandeur, rank, reputation,\nare desirable, are legitimate objects for all who are acquainted with\nthe means of rendering them subservient to their own peculiar felicity;\nthey are useless, they are illegitimate to those ordinary men who\nhave neither the energy nor the capacity to employ them in a mode\nadvantageous to themselves; they are detestable whenever to obtain them\nman compromises his own happiness, when he implicates the welfare of\nsociety: this society itself is in an error every time it respects men\nwho only employ to its destruction, a power, the exercise of which it\nought never to approve but when it reaps from it substantial benefits.\n\nRiches, useless to the miser, who is no more than their miserable\ngaoler; prejudicial to the debauchee, for whom they only procure\ninfirmities; injurious to the voluptuary, to whom they only bring\ndisgust--whom they oppress with satiety; can in the hands of the honest\nman produce unnumbered means of augmenting the sum of his happiness; but\nbefore man covets wealth it is proper he should know how to employ it;\nmoney is only a token, a representative of happiness; to enjoy it is so\nto use it as to make others happy: this is the great secret, this is the\ntalisman, this is the reality. Money, according to the compact of man,\nprocures for him all those benefits he can desire; there is only one,\nwhich it will not procure, that is, _the knowledge how to apply it\nproperly_. For man to have money, without the true secret how to\nenjoy it, is to possess the key of a commodious palace to which he is\ninterdicted entrance; to lavish it, prodigally, is to throw the key\ninto the river; to make a bad use of it, is only to make it the means of\nwounding himself. Give the most ample treasures to the enlightened man,\nhe will not be overwhelmed with them; if he has a capacious mind, if he\nhas a noble soul, he will only extend more widely his benevolence; he\nwill deserve the affection of a greater number of his fellow men; he\nwill attract the love, he will secure the homage, of all those who\nsurround him; he will restrain himself in his pleasures, in order that\nhe may be enabled truly to enjoy them; he will know that money\ncannot re-establish a soul worn out with enjoyment; cannot give fresh\nelasticity to organs enfeebled by excess; cannot give fresh tension to\nnerves grown flaccid by abuse; cannot invigorate a body enervated\nby debauchery; cannot corroborate a machine, from thenceforth become\nincapable of sustaining him, except by the necessity of privations; he\nwill know that the licentiousness of the voluptuary stifles pleasure in\nits source; that all the treasure in the world cannot renew his senses.\n\nFrom this, it will be obvious, that nothing is more frivolous than the\ndeclamations of a gloomy philosophy against the desire of power;\nnothing more absurd than the rant of superstition against the pursuit\nof grandeur; nothing more inconsistent than homilies against the\nacquisition of riches; nothing more unreasonable than dogmas that forbid\nthe enjoyment of pleasure. These objects are desirable for man, whenever\nhis situation allows him to make pretensions to them; they are useful\nto society, conducive to public happiness, whenever he has acquired the\nknowledge of making them turn to his own real advantage; reason cannot\ncensure him, virtue cannot despise him, when in order to obtain them,\nhe never travels out of the road of truth; when in their acquisition,\nhe wounds no one's interest; when he pursues only legitimate means: his\nassociates will applaud him; his contemporaries will esteem him: he will\nrespect himself, when he only employs their agency to secure his own\nhappiness, and that of his fellows. Pleasure is a benefit, it is of\nthe essence of man to love, it is even rational when it renders his\nexistence really valuable to himself--when it does not injure him in his\nown esteem; when its consequences are not grievous to others. _Riches_\nare the symbols of the great majority of the benefits of this life; they\nbecome a reality in the hands of the man who has the clew to their just\napplication. _Power_ is the most sterling of all benefits, when he who\nis its depositary has received from nature a soul sufficiently noble, a\nmind sufficiently elevated, a heart sufficiently benevolent, faculties\nsufficiently energetic, above all, when he has derived from education a\ntrue regard for virtue, that sacred love for truth which enables him to\nextend his happy influence over whole nations; which by this means\nhe places in, a state of legitimate dependence on his will; _man only\nacquires the right of commanding men, when he renders them happy._\n\nThe right of man over his fellow man can only be founded either upon the\nactual happiness he secures to him, or that which he gives him reason to\nhope he will procure for him; without this, the power he exercises would\nbe violence, usurpation, manifest tyranny; it is only upon the faculty\nof rendering him happy, that legitimate authority builds its structure;\nwithout this it is the \"_baseless fabric of a vision.\" No man derives\nfrom nature the right of commanding another_; but it is voluntarily\naccorded to those, from whom he expects his welfare. _Government_ is the\nright of commanding, conferred on the sovereign only for the advantage\nof those who are governed. Sovereigns are the defenders of the persons,\nthe guardians of the property, the protectors of the liberty of their\nsubjects: this is the price of their obedience; it is only on this\ncondition these consent to obey; government would not be better than\na robbery whenever it availed itself of the powers confided to it,\nto render society unhappy. _The empire of religion_ is founded on the\nopinion man entertains of its having power to render nations happy;\ngovernment and religion are reasonable institutions; but only so,\ninasmuch as they equally contribute to the felicity of man: it would\nbe folly in him to submit himself to a yoke from which there resulted\nnothing but evil. It would be folly to expect that man should bind\nhimself to misery; it would be rank injustice to oblige him to renounce\nhis rights without some corresponding advantage!\n\nThe authority which a father exercises over his family is only founded\non the advantages which he is supposed to procure for it. Rank, in\npolitical society, has only for its basis the real or imaginary utility\nof some citizens for which the others are willing to distinguish\nthem--agree to respect them--consent to obey them. The rich acquire\nrights over the indigent, the wealthy claim the homage of the needy,\nonly by virtue of the welfare they are conditioned to procure\nthem. Genius, talents, science, arts, have rights over man, only\nin consequence of their utility; of the delight they confer; of the\nadvantages they procure for society. In a word, it is happiness, it is\nthe expectation of happiness, it is its image that man cherishes--that\nhe esteems--that he unceasingly adores. Monarchs, the rich, the great,\nmay easily impose on him, may dazzle him, may intimidate him, but they\nwill never be able to obtain the voluntary submission of his heart,\nwhich alone can confer upon them legitimate rights, without they make\nhim experience real benefits--without they display virtue. Utility is\nnothing more than true happiness; to be useful is to be virtuous; to be\nvirtuous is to make others happy.\n\nThe happiness which man derives from them is the invariable, the\nnecessary standard of his sentiments, for the beings of his species; for\nthe objects he desires; for the opinions he embrases; for those actions\non which he decides. He is the dupe of his prejudices every time he\nceases to avail himself of this standard to regulate his judgment. He\nwill never run the risk of deceiving himself, when he shall examine\nstrictly what is the real utility resulting to his species from the\nreligion, from the superstition, from the laws, from the institutions,\nfrom the inventions, from the various actions of all mankind.\n\nA superficial view may sometimes seduce him; but experience, aided\nby reflection, will reconduct him to reason, which is incapable of\ndeceiving him. This teaches him that pleasure is a momentary happiness,\nwhich frequently becomes an evil; that evil is a fleeting trouble that\nfrequently becomes a good: it makes him understand the true nature of\nobjects, enables him to foresee the effects he may expect; it makes\nhim distinguish those desires to which his welfare permits him to lend\nhimself, from those to whose seduction he ought to make resistance. In\nshort, it will always convince him that the true interest of intelligent\nbeings, who love happiness, who desire to render their own existence\nfelicitous, demands that they should root out all those phantoms,\nabolish all those chimerical ideas, destroy all those prejudices, which\nby traducing virtue, obstruct their felicity in this world.\n\nIf he consults experience, he will perceive that it is in illusions, in\nfalse opinions, rendered sacred by time, that he ought to search out the\nsource of that multitude of evils which almost every where overwhelms\nmankind. From ignorance of natural causes, man has created imaginary\ncauses; not knowing to what cause to attribute thunder, he ascribed it\nto an imaginary being whom he called JUPITER; imposture availing itself\nof this disposition, rendered these causes terrible to him; these fatal\nideas haunted him without rendering him better; made him tremble without\neither benefit to himself or to others; filled his mind with chimeras\nthat opposed themselves to the progress of his reason; that prevented\nhim from really seeking after his happiness. His vain fears rendered him\nthe slave of those who deceived him, under pretence of consulting his\nwelfare; he committed evil, because they persuaded him his gods demanded\nsacrifices; he lived in misfortune, because they made him believe these\ngods condemned him to be miserable; the slave of beings, to which his\nown imagination had given birth, he never dared to disentangle himself\nfrom his chains; the artful ministers of these divinities gave him to\nunderstand that stupidity, the renunciation of reason, sloth of mind,\nabjection of soul, were the sure means of obtaining eternal felicity.\n\nPrejudices, not less dangerous, have blinded man upon the true nature of\ngovernment. Nations in general are ignorant of the true foundations\nof authority; they dare not demand happiness from those kings who are\ncharged with the care of procuring it for them: some have believed their\nsovereigns were gods disguised, who received with their birth the right\nof commanding the rest of mankind; that they could at their pleasure\ndispose of the felicity of the people; that they were not accountable\nfor the misery they engendered. By a necessary consequence of these\nerroneous opinions, politics have almost every where degenerated into\nthe fatal art of sacrificing the interests of the many, either to the\ncaprice of an individual, or to some few privileged irrational beings.\nIn despite of the evils which assailed them, nations fell down in\nadoration before the idols they themselves had made: foolishly respected\nthe instruments of their misery; had a stupid veneration for those who\npossessed the sovereign power of injuring them; obeyed their unjust\nwill; lavished their blood; exhausted their treasure; sacrificed their\nlives, to glut the ambition, to feed the cupidity to minister to the\nregenerated phantasms, to gratify the never-ending caprices of these\nmen; they bend the knee to established opinion, bowed to rank, yielded\nto title, to opulence, to pageantry, to ostentation: at length victims\nto their prejudices, they in vain expected their welfare at the hands of\nmen who were themselves unhappy from their own vices; whose neglect of\nvirtue, had rendered them incapable of enjoying true felicity; who are\nbut little disposed to occupy themselves with their prosperity: under\nsuch chiefs their physical and moral happiness were equally neglected or\neven annihilated.\n\nThe same blindness may be perceived in the science of morals.\nSuperstition, which never had any thing but ignorance for its basis,\nwhich never had more than a disordered imagination for its guide, did\nnot found ethics upon man's nature; upon his relations with his fellows;\nupon those duties which necessarily flow from these relations; it\npreferred, as more in unison with itself, founding them upon imaginary\nrelations which it pretended subsisted between him and those invisible\npowers it had so gratuitously imagined; that were delivered by oracles\nwhich their priests had the address to make him believe spoke the will\nof the Divinity: thus, TROPHONIUS, from his cave made affrightened\nmortals tremble; shook the stoutest nerves; made them turn pale with\nfear; his miserable, deluded supplicants, who were obliged to sacrifice\nto him, anointed their bodies with oil, bathed in certain rivers, and\nafter they had offered their cake of honey and received their destiny,\nbecame so dejected, so wretchedly forlorn, that to this day their\ndescendants, when they behold a malencholy man, exclaim, \"_He has\nconsulted the oracle of Trophonius_.\" It was these invisible gods, which\nsuperstition always paints as furious tyrants, who were declared the\narbiters of man's destiny; the models of his conduct: when he was\nwilling to imitate them, when he was willing to conform himself to\nthe lessons of their interpreters, he became wicked, was an unsociable\ncreature, an useless being or else a turbulent maniac--a zealous\nfanatic. It was these alone who profited by superstition, who advantaged\nthemselves by the darkness in which they contrived to involve the human\nmind; nations were ignorant of nature; they knew nothing of reason; they\nunderstood not truth; they had only a gloomy superstition, without one\ncertain idea of either morals or virtue. When man committed evil against\nhis fellow creature, he believed he had offended these gods; but he also\nbelieved himself forgiven, as soon as he had prostrated himself before\nthem; as soon as he had by costly presents gained over the priest to his\ninterest. Thus superstition, far from giving a sure, far from affording\na natural, far from introducing a known basis to morals, only rested it\non an unsteady foundation; made it consist in ideal duties impossible\nto be accurately understood. What did I say? It first corrupted him,\nand his expiations finished by ruining him. Thus when superstition was\ndesirous to combat the unruly passions of man it attempted it in vain;\nalways enthusiastic, ever deprived of experience, it knew nothing of the\ntrue remedies: those which it applied were disgusting, only suitable to\nmake the sick revolt against them; it made them pass for divine, because\nthey were not made of man; they were inefficacious, because chimeras\ncould effectuate nothing against those substantive passions to which\nmotives more real, impulsions more powerful, concurred to give birth,\nwhich every thing conspired, to flourish in his heart. The voice of\nsuperstition or of the gods, could not make itself heard amidst the\ntumult of society--where all was in confusion--where the priest cried\nout to man, that he could not render himself happy without injuring his\nfellow creatures, who happened to differ from him in opinion: these\nvain clamours only made virtue hateful to him, because they always\nrepresented it as the enemy to his happiness; as the bane of human\npleasures: he consequently failed in the observation of his duties,\nbecause real motives were never held forth to induce him to make the\nrequisite sacrifice; the present prevailed over the future; the visible\nover the invisible; the known over the unknown: man became wicked\nbecause every thing informed him he must be so, in order to obtain the\nhappiness after which he sighed.\n\nThus the sum of human misery was never diminished; on the contrary, it\nwas accumulating either by his superstition, by his government, by his\neducation, by his opinions or by the institutions he adopted under\nthe idea of rendering his condition more pleasant: it not unfrequently\nhappened that the whole of these acted upon him simultaneously; he was\nthen completely wretched. It cannot be too often repeated, _it is in\nerror that man will find the true spring of those evils with which the\nhuman race is afflicted;_ it is not nature that renders him miserable;\nit is not nature that makes him unhappy; it is not an irritated\nDivinity who is desirous he should live in tears; it is not hereditary\ndepravation that has caused him to be wicked; it is to error, to\nlong cherished, consecrated error, to error identified with his very\nexistence, that these deplorable effects are to be ascribed.\n\nThe sovereign good, so much sought after by some philosophers, announced\nwith so much emphasis by others, may be considered as a chimera, like\nunto that marvellous panacea which some adepts have been willing to pass\nupon mankind for an universal remedy. All men are diseased; the moment\nof their birth delivers them over to the contagion of error; but\nindividuals are variously affected by it by a consequence of their\nnatural organization; of their peculiar circumstances. If there is a\nsovereign remedy, which can be indiscriminately applied to the diseases\nof man, there is without doubt only ONE, this catholic balsam is TRUTH,\nWhich he must draw from nature.\n\nAt the afflicting sight of those errors which blind the greater number\nof mortals--of those delusions which man is doomed to suck in with his\nmother's milk; viewing with painful sensations those irregular desires,\nthose disgusting propensities, by which he is perpetually agitated;\nseeing the terrible effect of those licentious passions which torment\nhim; of those lasting inquietudes which gnaw his repose; of those\nstupendous evils, as well physical as moral, which assail him on every\nside: the contemplator of humanity would be tempted to believe that\nhappiness was not made for this world; that any effort to cure those\nminds which every thing unites to poison, would be a vain enterprize;\nthat it was an Augean stable, requiring the strength of another\nHercules. When he considers those numerous superstitions by which man\nis kept in a continual state of alarm--that divide him from his\nfellow--that render him vindictive, persecuting, and irrational; when he\nbeholds the many despotic governments that oppress him; when he examines\nthose multitudinous, unintelligible, contradictory laws that torture\nhim; the manifold injustice under which he groans; when he turns his\nmind to the barbarous ignorance in which he is steeped, almost over the\nwhole surface of the earth; when he witnesses those enormous crimes that\ndebase society; when he unmasks those rooted vices that render it so\nhateful to almost every individual; he has great difficulty to prevent\nhis mind from embracing the idea that misfortune is the only appendage\nof the human species; that this world is made solely to assemble the\nunhappy; that human felicity is a chimera, or at least a point so\nfugitive, that it is impossible it can be fixed.\n\nThus superstitious mortals, atrabilious men, beings nourished in\nmelancholy, unceasingly see either nature or its author exasperated\nagainst the human race; they suppose that man is the constant object\nof heaven's wrath; that he irritates it even by his desires: that he\nrenders himself criminal by seeking a felicity which is not made for\nhim: struck with beholding that those objects which he covets in the\nmost lively manner, are never competent to content his heart, they have\ndecried them as abominations, as things prejudicial to his interest, as\nodious to his gods; they prescribe him abstinence from all search after\nthem; that he should entirely shun them; they have endeavoured to put to\nthe rout all his passions, without any distinction even of those which\nare the most useful to himself, the most beneficial to those beings with\nwhom he lives: they have been willing that man should render himself\ninsensible; should become his own enemy; that he should separate himself\nfrom his fellow creatures; that he should renounce all pleasure; that\nhe should refuse happiness; in short, _that he should cease to be a man,\nthat he should become unnatural_. \"Mortals!\" have they said, \"ye were\nborn to be unhappy; the author of your existence has destined ye for\nmisfortune; enter then into his views, and render yourselves miserable.\nCombat those rebellious desires which have felicity for their object;\nrenounce those pleasures which it is your essence to love; attach\nyourselves to nothing in this world; by a society that only serves to\ninflame your imagination, to make you sigh after benefits you ought not\nto enjoy; break up the spring of your souls; repress that activity that\nseeks to put a period to your sufferings; suffer, afflict yourselves,\ngroan, be wretched; such is for you the true road to happiness.\"\n\nBlind physicians! who have mistaken for a disease the natural state\nof man! they have not seen that his desires were necessary; that\nhis passions were essential to him; that to defend him from loving\nlegitimate pleasures; to interdict him from desiring them, is to deprive\nhim of that activity which is the vital principle of society; that to\ntell him to hate, to desire him to despise himself, is to take from him\nthe most substantive motive, that can conduct him to virtue. It is thus,\nby its supernatural remedies, by its wretched panacea, superstition, far\nfrom curing those evils which render man decrepid, which bend him almost\nto the earth, has only increased them; made them more desperate; in the\nroom of calming his passions, it gives them inveteracy; makes them more\ndangerous; renders them more venomous; turns that into a curse which\nnature has given him for his preservation; to be the means of his own\nhappiness. It is not by extinguishing the passions of man that he is\nto be rendered happier; it is by turning them into proper channels, by\ndirecting them towards useful objects, which by being truly advantageous\nto himself, must of necessity be beneficial to others.\n\nIn despite of the errors which blind the human race, in despite of\nthe extravagance of man's superstition, maugre the imbecility of his\npolitical institutions, notwithstanding the complaints, in defiance of\nthe murmurs he is continually breathing forth against his destiny, there\nare yet happy individuals on the earth. Man has sometimes the felicity\nto behold sovereigns animated by the noble passion to render nations\nflourishing; full of the laudable ambition to make their people happy;\nnow and then he encounters an ANTONINUS, a TRAJAN, a JULIAN, an ALFRED,\na WASHINGTON; he meets with elevated minds who place their glory in\nencouraging merit--who rest their happiness in succouring indigence--who\nthink it honourable to lend a helping hand to oppressed virtue: he sees\ngenius occupied with the desire of meriting the eulogies of posterity;\nof eliciting the admiration of his fellow-citizens by serving them\nusefully, satisfied with enjoying that happiness he procures for others.\n\nLet it not be believed that the man of poverty himself is excluded\nfrom happiness: mediocrity and indigence frequently procure for him\nadvantages that opulence and grandeur are obliged to acknowledge; which\ntitle and wealth are constrained to envy: the soul of the needy man,\nalways in action, never ceases to form desires which his activity places\nwithin his reach; whilst the rich, the powerful, are frequently in the\nafflicting embarrassment, of either not knowing what to wish for, or\nelse of desiring those objects which their listlessness renders it\nimpossible for them to obtain. The poor man's body, habituated to\nlabour, knows the sweets of repose; this repose of the body, is the most\ntroublesome fatigue to him who is wearied with his idleness; exercise,\nand frugality, procure for the one vigour, health, and contentment; the\nintemperance and sloth of the other, furnish him only with disgust--load\nhim with infirmities. Indigence sets all the springs of the soul to\nwork; it is the mother of industry; from its bosom arises genius; it is\nthe parent of talents, the hot-bed of that merit to which opulence is\nobliged to pay tribute; to which grandeur bows its homage. In short the\nblows of fate find in the poor man a flexible reed, who bends without\nbreaking, whilst the storms of adversity tear the rich man like the\nsturdy oak in the forest, up by the very roots.\n\nThus Nature is not a step-mother to the greater number of her children.\nHe whom fortune has placed in an obscure station is ignorant of that\nambition which devours the courtier; knows nothing of the inquietude\nwhich deprives the intriguer of his rest; is a stranger to the remorse,\nan alien to the disgust, is unconscious of the weariness of the man,\nwho, enriched with the spoils of a nation, does not know how to turn\nthem to his profit. The more the body labours, the more the imagination\nreposes itself; it is the diversity of the objects man runs over that\nkindles it; it is the satiety of those objects that causes him disgust;\nthe imagination of the indigent is circumscribed by necessity: he\nreceives but few ideas: he is acquainted with but few objects: in\nconsequence, he has but little to desire; he contents himself with that\nlittle: whilst the entire of nature with difficulty suffices to satisfy\nthe insatiable desires, to gratify the imaginary wants of the man,\nplunged in luxury, who has run over and exhausted all common objects.\nThose, whom prejudice contemplates; as the most unhappy of men,\nfrequently enjoy advantages more real, happiness much greater, than\nthose who oppress them--who despise them--but who are nevertheless\noften reduced to the misery of envying them. Limited desires are a real\nbenefit: the man of meaner condition, in his humble fortune, desires\nonly bread: he obtains it by the sweat of his brow; he would eat it with\npleasure if injustice did not sometimes render it bitter to him. By the\ndelirium of some governments, those who roll in abundance, without\nfor that reason being more happy, dispute with the cultivator even the\nfruits which the earth yields to the labour of his hands. _Princes_\nsometimes sacrifice their true happiness, as well as that of their\nstates, to these passions--to those caprices which discourage the\npeople; which plunge their provinces in misery: which make millions\nunhappy, without any advantage to themselves. _Tyrants_ oblige the\nsubjects to curse their existence; to abandon labour; take from them\nthe courage of propagating a progeny who would be as unhappy as their\nfathers: the excess of oppression sometimes obliges them to revolt;\nmakes them avenge themselves by wicked outrages of the injustice it\nhas heaped on their devoted heads: injustice, by reducing indigence to\ndespair, obliges it to seek in crime, resources, against its misery. An\nunjust government, produces discouragement in the soul: its vexations\ndepopulate a country; under its influence, the earth remains without\nculture; from thence is bred frightful famine, which gives birth to\ncontagion and plague. The misery of a people produce revolutions;\nsoured by misfortunes, their minds get into a state of fermentation;\nthe overthrow of an empire, is the necessary effect. It is thus that\n_physics_ and _morals_ are always connected, or rather are the _same\nthing_.\n\nIf the bad morals of chiefs do not always produce such marked effects,\nat least they generate slothfulness, of which their effect is to fill\nsociety with mendicants; to crowd it with malefactors; whose vicious\ncourse neither superstition nor the terror of the laws can arrest; which\nnothing can induce to remain the unhappy spectators of a welfare they\nare not permitted to participate. They seek a fleeting happiness at the\nexpence even of their lives, when injustice has shut up to them the road\nof labour, those paths of industry which would have rendered them both\nuseful and honest.\n\nLet it not then be said that no government can render all its subjects\nhappy; without doubt it cannot flatter itself with contenting the\ncapricious humours of some idle citizens who are obliged to rack their\nimagination, to appease the disgust arising from lassitude: but it can,\nand it ought to occupy itself with ministering to the real wants of the\nmultitude, with giving a useful activity to the whole body politic. A\nsociety enjoys all the happiness of which it is susceptible whenever the\ngreater number of its members are wholesomely fed, decently cloathed,\ncomfortably lodged--in short when they can without an excess of toil\nbeyond their strength, procure wherewith to satisfy those wants which\nnature has made necessary to their existence. Their mind rests contented\nas soon as they are convinced no power can ravish from them the fruits\nof their industry; that they labour for themselves; that the sweat of\ntheir brow is for the immediate comfort of their own families. By a\nconsequence of human folly in some regions, whole nations are obliged to\ntoil incessantly, to waste their strength, to sweat under their burdens\nto undulate the air with their sighs, to drench the earth with their\ntears, in order to maintain the luxury, to gratify the whims, to support\nthe corruption of a small number of irrational beings; of some few\nuseless men to whom happiness has become impossible, because their\nbewildered imaginations no longer know any bounds. It is thus that\nsuperstitious, thus that political errors have changed the fair face of\nnature into a valley of tears.\n\nFor want of consulting reason, for want of knowing the value of virtue,\nfor want of being instructed in their true interest, for want of being\nacquainted with what constitutes solid happiness, in what consists real\nfelicity, the prince and the people, the rich and the poor, the great\nand the little, are unquestionably, frequently very far removed from\ncontent; nevertheless if an impartial eye be glanced over the human\nrace, it will be found to comprise a greater number of benefits than of\nevils. No man is entirely happy, but he is so in detail; those who make\nthe most bitter complaints of the rigour of their fate, are however,\nheld in existence by threads frequently imperceptible; are prevented\nfrom the desire of quitting it by circumstances of which they are not\naware. In short, habit lightens to man the burden of his troubles; grief\nsuspended becomes true enjoyment; every want is a pleasure in the moment\nwhen it is satisfied; freedom from chagrin, the absence of disease, is a\nhappy state which he enjoys secretly, without even perceiving it; hope,\nwhich rarely abandons him entirely, helps him to support the most\ncruel disasters. The PRISONER laughs in his irons. The wearied VILLAGER\nreturns singing to his cottage. In short, the man who calls himself the\nmost unfortunate, never sees death approach without dismay, at least, if\ndespair has not totally disfigured nature in his eyes.\n\nAs long as man desires the continuation of his being, he has no right\nto call himself completely unhappy; whilst hope sustains him, he still\nenjoys a great benefit. If man was more just, in rendering to himself an\naccount of his pleasures, in estimating his pains, he would acknowledge\nthat the sum of the first exceeds by much the amount of the last; he\nwould perceive that he keeps a very exact ledger of the evil, but a very\nunfaithful journal of the good: indeed he would avow, that there are but\nfew days entirely unhappy during the whole course of his existence. His\nperiodical wants procure for him the pleasure of satisfying them; his\nsoul is perpetually moved by a thousand objects, of which, the variety,\nthe multiplicity, the novelty, rejoices him, suspends his sorrows,\ndiverts his chagrin. His physical evils, are they violent? They are not\nof long duration; they conduct him quickly to his end: the sorrows of\nhis mind, when too powerful, conduct him to it equally. At the same time\nnature refuses him every happiness, she opens to him a door by which he\nquits life; does he refuse to enter it? It is that he yet finds pleasure\nin existence. Are nations reduced to despair? Are they completely\nmiserable? They have recourse to arms; at the risque of perishing, they\nmake the most violent efforts to terminate there sufferings.\n\nThus because he sees so many of his fellows cling to life, man ought\nto conclude they are not so unhappy as he thinks. Then let him not\nexaggerate the evils of the human race, but let him impose silence on\nthat gloomy humour that persuades him these evils are without remedy;\nlet him only diminish by degrees the number of his errors, his\ncalamities will vanish in the same proportion; he is not to conclude\nhimself infelicitous because his heart never ceases to form new desires,\nwhich he finds it difficult, sometimes impossible to gratify. Since his\nbody daily requires nourishment, let him infer that it is sound, that it\nfulfils its functions. As long as he has desires, the proper deduction\nought to be, that his mind is kept in the necessary activity; he should\ngather from all this that passions are essential to him, that they\nconstitute the happiness of a being who feels; are indispensable to a\nman who thinks; are requisite to furnish him with ideas; that they are\na vital principle with a creature who must necessarily love that which\nprocures him comfort, who must equally desire that which promises him\na mode of existence analogous to his natural energies. As long as he\nexists, as long as the spring of his soul maintains its elasticity, this\nsoul desires; as long as it desires, he experiences the activity which\nis necessary to him; as long as he acts, so long he lives. Human life\nmay be compared to a river, of which the waters succeed each other,\ndrive each other forward, and flow on without interruption; these\nwaters, obliged to roll over an unequal bed, encounter at intervals\nthose obstacles which prevent their stagnation; they never cease\nto undulate; sometimes they recoil, then again rush forward, thus\ncontinuing to run with more or less velocity, until they are restored to\n_the ocean of nature_.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XVII.\n\n_Those Ideas which are true, or founded upon Nature, are the only\nRemedies for the Evils of Man.--Recapitulation.--Conclusion of the first\nPart._\n\n\nWhenever man ceases to take experience for his guide, he falls into\nerror. His errors become yet more dangerous, assume a more determined\ninveteracy, when they are clothed with the sanction of superstition; it\nis then that he hardly ever consents to return into the paths of truth;\nhe believes himself deeply interested in no longer seeing clearly that\nwhich lies before him; he fancies he has an essential advantage in no\nlonger understanding himself; he supposes his happiness exacts that he\nshould shut his eyes to truth. If the majority of moral philosophers\nhave mistaken the human heart--if they have deceived themselves upon its\ndiseases--if they have miscalculated the remedies that are suitable--if\nthe remedies they have administered have been inefficacious or even\ndangerous--it is because they have abandoned nature--because they have\nresisted experience--because they have not had sufficient steadiness to\nconsult their reason--because they have renounced the evidence of their\nsenses--because they have only followed the caprices of an imagination\neither dazzled by enthusiasm or disturbed by fear; because they have\npreferred the illusions it has held forth to the realities of nature,\n_who never deceives_.\n\nIt is for want of having felt that an intelligent being cannot for an\ninstant lose sight of his own peculiar conservation--of his particular\ninterests, either real or fictitious--of his own welfare, whether\npermanent or transitory; in short, of his happiness, either true or\nfalse. It is for want of having considered that desires are natural,\nthat passions are essential, that both the one and the other are motions\nnecessary to the soul of man,--that the physicians of the, human mind\nhave supposed supernatural causes for his wanderings; have only applied\nto his evils topical remedies, either useless or dangerous. Indeed,\nin desiring him to stifle his desires, to combat his propensities, to\nannihilate his passions, they have done no more than give him sterile\nprecepts, at once vague and impracticable; these vain lessons have\ninfluenced no one; they have at most restrained some few mortals whom a\nquiet imagination but feebly solicited to evil; the terrors with which\nthey have accompanied them have disturbed the tranquillity of those\npersons who were moderate by their nature, without ever arresting the\nungovernable temperament of those who were inebriated by their passions,\nor hurried along; by the torrent of habit. In short, the promises of\nsuperstition, as well as the menaces it holds forth, have only formed\nfanatics, given birth to enthusiasts, who are either dangerous or\nuseless to society, without ever making man truly virtuous; that is to\nsay, useful to his fellow creatures.\n\nThese, empirics guided by a blind routine have, not seen that man as\nlong as he exists, is obliged to feel, to desire, to have passions,\nto satisfy them in proportion to the energy which his organization has\ngiven him; they have not perceived that education planted these desires\nin his heart--that habit rooted them--that his government, frequently\nvicious, corroborated their growth--that public opinion stamped them\nwith its approbation--that--experience render them necessary--that\nto tell men thus constituted to destroy their passions, was either to\nplunge them into despair or else to order them remedies too revolting\nfor their temperament. In the actual state of opulent societies, to say\nto a man who knows by experience that riches procure every pleasure,\nthat he must not desire them; that he must not make any efforts to\nobtain them; that he ought to detach himself from them: is to persuade\nhim to render himself miserable. To tell an ambitious man not to desire\ngrandeur, not to covet power, which every thing conspires to point out\nto him as the height of felicity, is to order him to overturn at one\nblow the habitual system of his ideas; it is to speak, to a deaf man. To\ntell a lover of an impetuous temperament to stifle his passions for the\nobject that enchants him, is to make him understand, that he ought to\nrenounce his happiness. To oppose superstition to such substantive, such\npuissant interests is to combat realities by chimerical speculations.\n\nIndeed, if things were examined without prepossession, it would be found\nthat the greater part of the precepts inculcated by superstition, which\nfanatical dogmas hold forth, which, supernatural mortals give to man,\nare as ridiculous as they are impossible to be put into practice.\nTo interdict passion to man, is to desire of him not to be a human\ncreature; to counsel an individual of a violent imagination to moderate\nhis desires, is to advise him to change his temperament--is to request\nhis blood to flow more sluggishly. To tell a man to renounce his habits,\nis to be willing that a citizen, accustomed to clothe himself, should\nconsent to walk quite naked; it would avail as much, to desire him\nto change the lineament of his face, to destroy his configuration, to\nextinguish his imagination, to alter the course of his fluids, as to\ncommand him not to have passions which excite an activity analogous with\nhis natural energy; or to lay aside those which confirmed habit has made\nhim contract; which his circumstances, by a long succession of causes\nand effects, have converted into wants. Such are, however, the so much\nboasted remedies which the greater number of moral philosophers apply to\nhuman depravity. Is it, then surprising they do not produce the desired\neffect, or that they only reduce man to a state of despair by the\neffervescence that results from the continual conflict which they excite\nbetween the passions of his heart and these fanciful doctrines; between\nhis vices and his virtues; between his habits and those chimerical fears\nwith which superstition is at all times ready to overwhelm him? The\nvices of society, aided by the objects of which it avails itself to what\nthe desires of man, the pleasures, the riches, the grandeur which\nhis government holds forth to him as so many seductive magnets, the\nadvantage which education, the benefits which example, the interests\nwhich public opinion render dear to him, attract him on one side; whilst\na gloomy morality, founded upon superstitious illusions, vainly solicit\nhim on the other; thus, superstition plunges him into misery; holds\na violent struggle with his heart, without scarcely ever gaining the\nvictory; when by accident it does prevail against so many united forces,\nit renders him unhappy; it completely destroys the spring of his soul.\n\nPassions are the true counterpoise to passions; then let him not seek\nto destroy them; but let him endeavour to direct them; let him balance\nthose which are prejudicial, by those which are useful to society.\n_Reason_, the fruit of experience, is only the art of choosing those\npassions to which for his own peculiar happiness he ought to listen.\n_Education_ is the true art of disseminating the proper method of\ncultivating advantageous passions in the heart of man. _Legislation_ is\nthe art of restraining dangerous passions; of exciting those which may\nbe conducive to the public welfare. _Superstition_ is only the miserable\nart of planting the unproductive labour--of nourishing in the soul\nof man those chimeras, those illusions, those impostures, those\nincertitudes from whence spring passions fatal to himself as well as to\nothers: it is only by bearing up with fortitude against these that he\ncan securely place himself on the road to happiness. _True religion_\nis the art of advocating truth--of renouncing error--of contemplating\nreality--of drawing wisdom from experience--of cultivating man's nature\nto his own felicity, by teaching him to contribute to that of his\nassociates; in short it is _reason, education_, and _legislation_,\nunited to further the great end of human existence, by causing the\npassions of man to flow in a current genial to his own happiness.\n\n_Reason_ and _morals_ cannot effect any thing on mankind if they do not\npoint out to each individual that his true interest is attached to a\nconduct that is either useful to others or beneficial to himself; this\nconduct to be useful must conciliate for him the benevolence, gain for\nhim the favor of these beings who are necessary to his happiness: it is\nthen for the interest of mankind, for the happiness of the human race,\nit is for the esteem of himself, for the love of his fellows, for the\nadvantages which ensue, that education in early life should kindle the\nimagination of the citizen; this is the true means of obtaining those\nhappy results with which habit should familiarize him; which public\nopinion should render dear to his heart; for which example ought\ncontinually to rouse his faculties; after which he should be taught to\nsearch with unceasing attention. _Government_ by the aid of recompences,\nought to encourage him to follow this plan; by visiting crime with\npunishment it ought to deter those who are willing to interrupt it.\nThus the hope of a true welfare, the fear of real evil, will be passions\nsuitable to countervail those which by their impetuosity would injure\nsociety; these last will at least become very rare, if instead of\nfeeding man's mind with unintelligible speculations, in lieu of\nvibrating on his ears words void of sense, he is only spoken to of\nrealities, only shewn those interests which are in unison with truth.\n\nMan is frequently so wicked, only, because he almost always feels\nhimself interested in being so; let him be more enlightened, more\nfamiliarized with truth, more accustomed to virtue, he will be made more\nhappy; he will necessarily become better. An equitable government,\na vigilant administration, will presently fill the state with honest\ncitizens; it will hold forth to them present reasons for benevolence;\nreal advantages in truth; palpable motives to be virtuous; it will\ninstruct them in their duties; it will foster them with its cares; it\nwill allure them by the assurance of their own peculiar happiness; its\npromises faithfully fulfilled--its menaces regularly executed,\nwill unquestionably have much more weight than those of a gloomy\nsuperstition, which never exhibits to their view other than illusory\nbenefits, fallacious punishments, which the man hardened in wickedness\nwill doubt every time he finds an interest in questioning them: present\nmotives will tell more home to his heart than those which are distant\nand at best uncertain. The vicious and the wicked are so common upon\nthe earth, so pertinacious in their evil courses, so attached to their\nirregularities, only because there are but few governments that make\nman feel the advantage of being just, the pleasure of being honest, the\nhappiness of being benevolent on the contrary, there is hardly any\nplace where the most powerful interests do not solicit him to crime, by\nfavouring the propensities of a vicious organization; by countenancing\nthose appetencies which nothing has attempted to rectify or lead\ntowards virtue. A savage, who in his horde knows not the value of money,\ncertainly would not commit a crime, if when transplanted into civilized\nsociety, he should presently learn to desire it, should make efforts to\nobtain it, and if he could without danger finish by stealing it; above\nall, if he had not been taught to respect the property of the beings who\nenviron him. The savages and the child are precisely in the same\nstate; it is the negligence of society, of those entrusted with their\neducation, that renders both the one and the other wicked. The son of\na noble, from his infancy learns to desire power, at a riper age he\nbecomes ambitious; if he has the address to insinuate himself into\nfavor, he perhaps becomes wicked, because in some societies he has been\ntaught to know he may be so with impunity when he can command the ear\nof his sovereign. It is not therefore nature that makes man wicked, they\nare his institutions which determine him to vice. The infant brought up\namongst robbers, can generally become nothing but a malefactor; if he\nhad been reared with honest people, the chance is he would have been a\nvirtuous man.\n\nIf the source be traced of that profound ignorance in which man is with\nrespect to his morals, to the motives that can give volition to his\nwill, it will be found in those false ideas which the greater number of\nspeculators have formed to themselves, of human nature. The science of\nmorals has become an enigma which it is impossible to unrevel; because\nman has made himself double; has distinguished his soul from his body;\nsupposed it of a nature different from all known beings, with modes of\naction, with properties distinct from all other bodies, because he\nhas emancipated this soul from physical laws, in order to submit it to\ncapricious laws emanating from men who have pretended they are derived\nfrom imaginary regions, placed at very remote distances: metaphysicians\nseized upon these gratuitous suppositions, and by dint of subtilizing\nthem, have rendered them completely unintelligible. These moralists have\nnot perceived that motion is essential to the soul as well as to the\nliving body; that both the one and the other are never moved but\nby material, by physical objects; that the want of each regenerate\nthemselves unceasingly; that the wants of the soul, as well as those of\nthe body are purely physical; that the most intimate, the most constant\nconnection subsists between the soul and the body; or rather they have\nbeen unwilling to allow that they ate only the same thing considered\nunder different points of view. Obstinate in their supernatural,\nunintelligible opinions, they have refused to open their eyes, which\nwould have convinced them that the body in suffering rendered the soul\nmiserable; that the soul afflicted undermined the body and brought it to\ndecay; that both the pleasures and agonies of the mind have an influence\nover the body, either plunge it into sloth or give it activity: they\nhave rather chosen to believe, that the soul draws its thoughts, whether\npleasant or gloomy, from its own peculiar sources, while the fact is,\nthat it derives its ideas only from material objects that strike on the\nphysical organs; that it is neither determined to gaiety nor led on to\nsorrow, but by the actual state, whether permanent or transitory, in\nwhich the fluids and solids of the body are found. In short, they have\nbeen loath to acknowledge that the soul, purely passive, undergoes\nthe same changes which the body experiences; is only moved by its\nintervention; acts only by its assistance, receives its sensations, its\nperceptions, forms its ideas, derives either its happiness or its misery\nfrom physical objects, through the medium of the organs of which the\nbody is composed; frequently without its own cognizance, often in\ndespite of itself.\n\nBy a consequence of these opinions, connected with marvellous systems,\nor systems invented to justify them, they have supposed the human soul\nto be a free agent; that is to say, that it has the faculty of moving\nitself; that it enjoys the privilege of acting independent of the\nimpulse received from exterior objects, through the organs of the body;\nthat regardless of these impulsions it can even resist them, and follow\nits own directions by its own energies; that it is not only different in\nits nature from all other beings, but has a separate mode of action; in\nother words, that it is an insolated point which is, not submitted to\nthat uninterrupted chain of motion which bodies communicate to each\nother in a nature, whose parts are always in action. Smitten with\ntheir sublime notions, these speculators were not aware that in thus\ndistinguishing the soul from the body and from all known beings, they\nrendered it an impossibility to form any true ideas of it, either to\nthemselves or to others: they were unwilling to perceive the perfect\nanalogy which is found between the manner of the soul's action and that\nby which the body is afflicted; they shut their eyes to the necessary\nand continual correspondence which is found between the soul and the\nbody; they perhaps did not perceive that like the body it is subjected\nto the motion of attraction and repulsion; has an aptitude to be\nattracted, a disposition to repel, which is ascribable to qualities\ninherent in those physical subsistances, which give play to the\norgans of the body; that the volition of its will, the activity of its\npassions, the continual regeneration of its desires, are never more than\nconsequences of that activity which is produced in the body by material\nobjects which are not under its controul; that these objects render\nit either happy or miserable, active or languishing, contented or\ndiscontented, in despite of itself,--in defiance of all the efforts it\nis capable of making to render it otherwise; they have rather chosen to\nseek in the heavens for unknown powers to set it in motion; they have\nheld forth to man distant, imaginary interests: under the pretext of\nprocuring for him future happiness, he has been prevented from labouring\nto his present felicity, which has been studiously withheld from his\nknowledge: his regards have been fixed upon the heavens, that he might\nlose sight of the earth: truth has been concealed from him; and it has\nbeen pretended he would be rendered happy by dint of terrors, always at\nan immense distance; by means of shadows, with whose substances he\ncould never come in contact; of chimeras formed by his own bewildered\nimagination, which changed nearly as often as the governments to which\nhe was submitted. In short, hoodwinked by his fears, blinded by his own\ncredulity, _he was only guided through the flexuous paths of life, by\nmen blind as himself, where both the one and the other were frequently\nlost in the maze_.\n\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nFrom every thing which has been hitherto said, it evidently results that\nall the errors of mankind, of whatever nature they may be, arise from\nman's having renounced reason, quitted experience, and refused\nthe evidence of his senses that he might be guided by imagination,\nfrequently deceitful; by authority, always suspicious. Man will ever\nmistake his true happiness as long as he neglects to study nature, to\ninvestigate her laws, to seek in her alone the remedies for those\nevils which are the consequence of his errors: he will be an enigma to\nhimself, as long as he shall believe himself double; that he is moved by\nan inconceivable spiritual power, of the laws and nature of which he is\nignorant; his intellectual, as well as his moral faculties, will remain\nunintelligible to him if he does not contemplate them with the same\neyes as he does his corporeal qualities; if he does not view them as\nsubmitted in every thing to the same impulse, as governed by the same\nregulations. The system of his pretended free agency is without support;\nexperience contradicts it every instant, and proves that he never ceases\nto be under the influence of necessity in all his actions; this truth,\nfar from being dangerous to man, far from being destructive of his\nmorals, furnishes him with their true basis by making him feel the\nnecessity of those relations which subsists between sensible beings\nunited in society: who have congregated with a view of uniting their\ncommon efforts for their reciprocal felicity. From the necessity of\nthese relations, spring the necessity of his duties; these point out to\nhim the sentiments of love, which he should accord to virtuous conduct;\nthat aversion he should have for what is vicious; the horror he should\nfeel for every thing criminal. From hence the true foundation of _Moral\nObligation_ will be obvious, which is only the necessity of talking\nmeans to obtain the end man proposes to himself by uniting in society;\nin which each individual for his own peculiar interest, his own\nparticular happiness, his own personal security, is obliged to display\ndispositions requisite to conciliate the affections of his associates;\nto hold a conduct suitable to the preservation of the community; to\ncontribute by his actions to the happiness of the whole. In a word, it\nis upon the necessary action and re-action of the human will upon the\nnecessary attraction and repulsion of man's soul, that all his morals\nare bottomed: it is the unison of his will, the concert of his actions,\nthat maintains society; it is rendered miserable by his discordance; it\nis dissolved by his want of union.\n\nFrom what has been said, it may be concluded that the names under which\nman has designated the concealed causes acting in nature, and their\nvarious effects, are never more than _necessity_ considered under\ndifferent points of view, with the original cause of which--the great\n_cause of causes_--he must ever remain ignorant. It will be found that\nwhat he calls _order_, is a necessary consequence of causes and effects,\nof which he sees, or believes he sees, the entire connection, the\ncomplete routine, which pleases him as a whole, when he finds it\nconformable to his existence. In like manner it will be seen that what\nhe calls _confusion_, is a consequence of like necessary causes and\neffects, of which he loses the concatenation, which he therefore thinks\nunfavourable to himself, or but little suitable to his being. That he\nhas designated by the names of--\n\n_Intelligence_, those necessary causes that necessarily operate the\nchain of events which he comprises under the term _order_:\n\n_Divinity_, those necessary but invisible causes which give play to\nnature, in which every thing acts according to immutable and necessary\nlaws:\n\n_Destiny_ or _fatality_, the necessary connection of those unknown\ncauses and, effects which he beholds in the world:\n\n_Chance_, those effects which he is not able to foresee, or of which he\nis ignorant of the necessary connection, with their causes:\n\n_Intellectual_ and _moral faculties_, those effects and those\nmodifications necessary to an organized being, whom he has supposed to\nbe moved by an inconceivable agent; who he has believed distinguished\nfrom his body, of a nature totally different from it, and which he has\ndesignated by the word SOUL. In consequence, he has believed this agent\nimmortal; not dissoluble like the body. It has been shewn that the\nmarvellous doctrine of another life, is founded upon gratuitous\nsuppositions, contradicted by reflections, unsupported by experience,\nthat may or may not be, without man's knowing any thing on the subject.\nIt has been proved, that the hypothesis is not only useless to man's\nmorals, but again, that it is calculated to palsy his exertions; to\ndivert him from actively pursuing the true road to his own happiness;\nto fill him with romantic caprices; to inebriate him with opinions\nprejudicial to his tranquillity; in short, to lull to slumber the\nvigilance of legislators; by dispensing them from giving to education,\nto the institutions, to the laws of society, all that attention, which\nit is the duty and for his interest they should bestow. It must have\nbeen felt, that _politics_ has unaccountably rested itself upon wrong\nopinions; upon ideas little capable of satisfying those passions, which\nevery thing conspires to kindle in the heart of man; who ceases to view\nthe future, while the present seduces and hurries him along. It has been\nshewn, that contempt of death is an advantageous sentiment, calculated\nto inspire man's mind with courage; to render him intrepid; to induce\nhim to undertake that which may be truly useful to society; in short,\nfrom what has preceded, it will be obvious, what is competent to conduct\nman to happiness, and also what are the obstacles that error opposes to\nhis felicity.\n\nLet us not then, be accused of demolishing prejudice, without edifying\nthe mind; with combating error without substituting truth; with\nunderrating the power of the great _cause of causes_; with sapping\nat one and the same time the foundations of superstition and of sound\nmorals. The last is necessary to man; it is founded upon his nature; its\nduties are certain, they must last as long as the human race remains; it\nimposes obligations on him, because, without it, neither individuals\nnor society could be able to subsist, either obtain or enjoy those\nadvantages which nature obliges them to desire.\n\nListen then, O man! to those morals which are established upon,\nexperience; which are grounded upon the necessity of things; do not\nlend thine ear to those superstitions founded upon reveries; rested upon\nimposture; built upon the capricious whims of a disordered imagination.\nFollow the lessons of those humane, those gentle morals, which conduct\nman to virtue, by the voice of happiness: turn a deaf ear to the\ninefficacious cries of superstition, which renders man really unhappy;\nwhich can never make him reverence VIRTUE; which renders truth hateful;\nwhich paints veracity in hideous colours; in short, let him see if\nREASON, without the assistance of a rival, who prohibits its use, will\nnot more surely conduct him towards that great end, which is the object\nof his research, which is the natural tendency of all his views.\n\nIndeed, what benefit has the human race hitherto drawn from those\nsublime, those supernatural notions with which superstition has\nfed mortals during so many ages? All those phantoms conjured--up by\nignorance--brooded by imagination; all those hypothesis, subtile as\nthey are irrational; from which experience is banished, all those\nwords devoid of meaning with which languages are crowded; all those\nfantastical hopes; those panic terrors which have been brought to\noperate on the will of man; what have they done? Has any or the whole of\nthem rendered him better, more enlightened to his duties, more\nfaithful in their performance? Have those marvellous systems, or those\nsophistical inventions, by which they have been supported, carried\nconviction to his mind, reason into his conduct, virtue into his heart?\nHave they led him to the least acquaintance with the great _Cause\nof Causes?_ Alas! it is a lamentable fact, that cannot be too often\nexposed, that all these things have done nothing more than plunge the\nhuman understanding into that darkness from which it is difficult to be\nwithdrawn; sown in man's heart the most dangerous errors; of which it is\nscarcely possible to divest him; given birth to those fatal passions,\nin which may be found the true source of those evils, with which his\nspecies is afflicted: but have never enlightened his mind with truth,\nnor led him to that right healthy worship, which man best pays by a\nrational enjoyment of the faculties with which he is gifted.\n\nCease then, O mortal! to let thyself he disturbed with chimeras, to\nlet thy mind be troubled with phantoms which thine own imagination has\ncreated, or to which arch imposture has given birth. Renounce thy vague\nhopes, disengage thyself from thine overwhelming fears, follow without\ninquietude the necessary routine which nature has marked out for thee;\nstrew the road with flowers if thy destiny permits; remove, if thou art\nable, the thorns scattered over it. Do not attempt to plunge thy views\ninto an impenetrable futurity; its obscurity ought to be sufficient to\nprove to thee, that it is either useless or dangerous to fathom. Think\nof making thyself happy in that existence which is known to thee: if\nthou wouldst preserve thyself, be temperate, be moderate, be reasonable:\nif thou seekest to render thy existence durable, be not prodigal of\npleasure; abstain from every thing that can be hurtful to thyself,\ninjurious to others: be truly intelligent; that is to say, learn to\nesteem thyself, to preserve thy being, to fulfil that end which at each\nmoment thou proposest to thyself. Be virtuous, to the end that thou\nmayest render thyself solidly happy, that thou mayest enjoy the\naffections, secure the esteem, partake of the assistance of those by\nwhom thou art surrounded; of those beings whom nature has made necessary\nto thine own peculiar felicity. Even when they should be unjust, render\nthyself worthy of their applause, of thine own love, and thou shalt\nlive content, thy serenity shall not be disturbed, the end of thy career\nshall not slander thy life; which will be exempted from remorse: death\nwill be to thee the door to a new existence, a new order, in which\nthou wilt be submitted, as thou art at present, to the eternal laws of\nnature, which ordains, that to LIVE HAPPY HERE BELOW, THOU MUST MAKE\nOTHERS HAPPY. Suffer thyself then, to be drawn gently along thy journey,\nuntil thou shalt sleep peaceable on that bosom which has given thee\nbirth: if contrary to thine expectation, there should be another life of\neternal felicity, thou canst not fail being a partaker.\n\nFor thou, wicked unfortunate! who art found in continual contradiction\nwith thyself; thou whose disorderly machine can neither accord with\nthine own peculiar nature, nor with that of thine associates, whatever\nmay be thy crimes, whatever may be thy fears of punishment in another\nlife, thou art at least already cruelly punished in this? Do not thy\nfollies, thy shameful habits, thy debaucheries, damage thine health?\nDost thou not linger out life in disgust, fatigued with thine own\nexcesses? Does not listlessness punish thee for thy satiated passions?\nHas not thy vigour, thy gaiety, thy content, already yielded to\nfeebleness, crouched under infirmities, given place to regret? Do not\nthy vices every day dig thy grave? Every time thou hast stained thyself\nwith crime, hast thou dared without horror to return into thyself, to\nexamine thine own conscience? Hast thou not found remorse, error, shame,\nestablished in thine heart? Hast thou not dreaded the scrutiny of thy\nfellow man? Hast thou not trembled when alone; unceasingly feared, that\ntruth, so terrible for thee, should unveil thy dark transgressions,\nthrow into light thine enormous iniquities? Do not then any longer\nfear to part with thine existence, it will at least put an end to those\nrichly merited torments thou hast inflicted on thyself; _Death, in\ndelivering the earth from an incommodious burthen, will also deliver\nthee from thy most cruel enemy, thyself_.\n\n\nEND OF PART I.","title":"The System of Nature, or, the Laws of the Moral and Physical World. Volume 1","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":120703}