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diff --git a/11044-h/11044-h.htm b/11044-h/11044-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..606bec5 --- /dev/null +++ b/11044-h/11044-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4059 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Existence of God</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Existence of God, by Francois de Salignac de La Mothe- Fenelon</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Existence of God, by Francois de Salignac +de La Mothe- Fenelon, Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Existence of God + +Author: Francois de Salignac de La Mothe- Fenelon + +Release Date: February 11, 2004 [eBook #11044] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EXISTENCE OF GOD*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE EXISTENCE OF GOD</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>An ancestor of the French divine who under the name of Fénelon +has made for himself a household name in England as in France, was Bertrand +de Salignac, Marquis de la Mothe Fénelon, who in 1572, as ambassador +for France, was charged to soften as much as he could the resentment +of our Queen Elizabeth when news came of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. +Our Fénelon, claimed in brotherhood by Christians of every denomination, +was born nearly eighty years after that time, at the château of +Fénelon in Perigord, on the 6th of August, 1651. To the +world he is Fénelon; he was François de Salignac de la +Mothe Fénelon to the France of his own time.</p> +<p>Fénelon was taught at home until the age of twelve, then sent +to the University of Cahors, where he began studies that were continued +at Paris in the Collège du Plessis. There he fastened upon +theology, and there he preached, at the age of fifteen, his first sermon. +He entered next into the seminary of Saint Sulpice, where he took holy +orders in the year 1675, at the age of twenty-four. As a priest, +while true to his own Church, he fastened on Faith, Hope, and Charity +as the abiding forces of religion, and for him also the greatest of +these was Charity.</p> +<p>During the next three years of his life Fénelon was among +the young priests who preached and catechised in the church of St. Sulpice +and laboured in the parish. He wrote for St. Sulpice Litanies +of the Infant Jesus, and had thought of going out as missionary to the +Levant. The Archbishop of Paris, however, placed him at the head +of a community of “New Catholics,” whose function was to +confirm new converts in their faith, and help to bring into the fold +those who appeared willing to enter. Fénelon took part +also in some of the Conferences on Scripture that were held at Saint +Germain and Versailles between 1672 and 1685. In 1681 an uncle, +who was Bishop of Sarlat, resigned in Fénelon’s favour +the Deanery of Carenas, which produced an annual income of three or +four thousand livres. It was while he held this office that Fénelon +published a book on the “Education of Girls,” at the request +of the Duchess of Beauvilliers, who asked for guidance in the education +of her children.</p> +<p>Fénelon sought the friendship of Bossuet, who revised for +him his next book, a “Refutation of the System of Malebranche +concerning Nature and Grace.” His next book, written just +before the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, opposed the lawfulness +of the ministrations of the Protestant clergy; and after the Edict, +Fénelon was, on the recommendation of Bossuet, placed at the +head of the Catholic mission to Poitou. He brought to his work +of conversion or re-conversion Charity, and a spirit of concession that +brought on him the attacks of men unlike in temper.</p> +<p>When Louis XIV. placed his grandson, the young Duke of Burgundy, +under the care of the Duke of Beauvilliers, the Duke of Beauvilliers +chose Fénelon for teacher of the pupil who was heir presumptive +to the throne. Fénelon’s “Fables” were +written as part of his educational work. He wrote also for the +young Duke of Burgundy his “Télémaque”—used +only in MS.—and his “Dialogues of the Dead.” +While thus living in high favour at Court, Fénelon sought nothing +for himself or his friends, although at times he was even in want of +money. In 1693—as preceptor of a royal prince rather than +as author—Fénelon was received into the French Academy. +In 1694 Fénelon was made Abbot of Saint-Valery, and at the end +of that year he wrote an anonymous letter to Louis XIV. upon wrongful +wars and other faults committed in his reign. A copy of it has +been found in Fénelon’s handwriting. The king may +not have read it, or may not have identified the author, who was not +stayed by it from promotion in February of the next year (1695) to the +Archbishopric of Cambray. He objected that the holding of this +office was inconsistent with his duties as preceptor of the King’s +grandchildren. Louis replied that he could live at Court only +for three months in the year, and during the other nine direct the studies +of his pupils from Cambray.</p> +<p>Bossuet took part in the consecration of his friend Fénelon +as Archbishop of Cambray; but after a time division of opinion arose. +Jeanne Marie Bouvier de la Mothe Guyon became in 1676 a widow at the +age of twenty-eight, with three children, for whose maintenance she +gave up part of her fortune, and she then devoted herself to the practice +and the preaching of a spiritual separation of the soul from earthly +cares, and rest in God. She said with Galahad, “If I lose +myself, I save myself.” Her enthusiasm for a pure ideal, +joined to her eloquence, affected many minds. It provoked opposition +in the Church and in the Court, which was for the most part gross and +self-seeking. Madame Guyon was attacked, even imprisoned. +Fénelon felt the charm of her spiritual aspiration, and, without +accepting its form, was her defender. Bossuet attacked her views. +Fénelon published “Maxims of the Saints on the Interior +Life.” Bossuet wrote on “The States of Prayer.” +These were the rival books in a controversy about what was called “Quietism.” +Bossuet afterwards wrote a “Relation sur le Quietisme,” +of which Fénelon’s copy, charged with his own marginal +comments, is in the British Museum. In March, 1699, the Pope finally +decided against Fénelon, and condemned his “Maxims of the +Saints.” Fénelon read from his pulpit the brief of +condemnation, accepted the decision of the Pope, and presented to his +church a piece of gold plate, on which the Angel of Truth was represented +trampling many errors under foot, and among them his own “Maxims +of the Saints.” At Court, Fénelon was out of favour. +“Télémaque,” written for the young Duke of +Burgundy, had not been published; but a copy having been obtained through +a servant, it was printed, and its ideal of a true king and a true Court +was so unlike his Majesty Louis XIV. and the Court of France, and the +image of what ought not to be was so like what was, that it was resented +as a libel. “Télémaque” was publicly +condemned; Fénelon was banished from Court, and restrained within +the limits of his diocese. Though separated from his pupil, the +young Duke of Burgundy (who died in 1712), Fénelon retained his +pupil’s warm affection. The last years of his own life Fénelon +gave to his work in Cambray, until his death on the 7th of January, +1715. He wrote many works, of which this is one, and they have +been collected into twenty volumes. The translation here given +was anonymous, and was first published in the year 1713.</p> +<p>H. M.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE EXISTENCE OF GOD</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SECTION I. Metaphysical Proofs of the Existence of God are +not within Everybody’s reach.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I cannot open my eyes without admiring the art that shines throughout +all nature; the least cast suffices to make me perceive the Hand that +makes everything.</p> +<p>Men accustomed to meditate upon metaphysical truths, and to trace +up things to their first principles, may know the Deity by its idea; +and I own that is a sure way to arrive at the source of all truth. +But the more direct and short that way is, the more difficult and unpassable +it is for the generality of mankind who depend on their senses and imagination.</p> +<p>An ideal demonstration is so simple, that through its very simplicity +it escapes those minds that are incapable of operations purely intellectual. +In short, the more perfect is the way to find the First Being, the fewer +men there are that are capable to follow it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. II. Moral Proofs of the Existence of God are fitted +to every man’s capacity.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But there is a less perfect way, level to the meanest capacity. +Men the least exercised in reasoning, and the most tenacious of the +prejudices of the senses, may yet with one look discover Him who has +drawn Himself in all His works. The wisdom and power He has stamped +upon everything He has made are seen, as it were, in a glass by those +that cannot contemplate Him in His own idea. This is a sensible +and popular philosophy, of which any man free from passion and prejudice +is capable. <i>Humana autem anima rationalis est, quæ mortalibus +peccati pœna tenebatur, ad hoc diminutionis redacta ut per conjecturas +rerum visibilium ad intelligenda invisibilia niteretur</i>; that is, +“The human soul is still rational, but in such a manner that, +being by the punishment of sin detained in the bonds of death, it is +so far reduced that it can only endeavour to arrive at the knowledge +of things invisible through the visible.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. III. Why so few Persons are attentive to the Proofs +Nature affords of the Existence of God.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>If a great number of men of subtle and penetrating wit have not discovered +God with one cast of the eye upon nature, it is not matter of wonder; +for either the passions they have been tossed by have still rendered +them incapable of any fixed reflection, or the false prejudices that +result from passions have, like a thick cloud, interposed between their +eyes and that noble spectacle. A man deeply concerned in an affair +of great importance, that should take up all the attention of his mind, +might pass several days in a room treating about his concerns without +taking notice of the proportions of the chamber, the ornaments of the +chimney, and the pictures about him, all which objects would continually +be before his eyes, and yet none of them make any impression upon him. +In this manner it is that men spend their lives; everything offers God +to their sight, and yet they see it nowhere. “He was in +the world, and the world was made by Him, and nevertheless the world +did not know Him”—<i>In mundo erat</i>, <i>et mundus per +ipsum factus est</i>, <i>et mundus eum non cognovit</i>. They +pass away their lives without perceiving that sensible representation +of the Deity. Such is the fascination of worldly trifles that +obscures their eyes! <i>Fascinatio nugacitatis obscurat bona</i>. +Nay, oftentimes they will not so much as open them, but rather affect +to keep them shut, lest they should find Him they do not look for. +In short, what ought to help most to open their eyes serves only to +close them faster; I mean the constant duration and regularity of the +motions which the Supreme Wisdom has put in the universe. St. +Austin tells us those great wonders have been debased by being constantly +renewed; and Tully speaks exactly in the same manner. “By +seeing every day the same things, the mind grows familiar with them +as well as the eyes. It neither admires nor inquires into the +causes of effects that are ever seen to happen in the same manner, as +if it were the novelty, and not the importance of the thing itself, +that should excite us to such an inquiry.” <i>Sed assiduitate +quotidiana et consuetudine oculorum assuescunt animi</i>, <i>neque admirantur +neque requirunt rationes earum rerum</i>, <i>quas semper vident</i>, +<i>perinde quasi novit as nos magis quam magnitudo rerum debeat ad exquirendas +causas excitare.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. IV. All Nature shows the Existence of its Maker.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But, after all, whole nature shows the infinite art of its Maker. +When I speak of an art, I mean a collection of proper means chosen on +purpose to arrive at a certain end; or, if you please, it is an order, +a method, an industry, or a set design. Chance, on the contrary, +is a blind and necessary cause, which neither sets in order nor chooses +anything, and which has neither will nor understanding. Now I +maintain that the universe bears the character and stamp of a cause +infinitely powerful and industrious; and, at the same time, that chance +(that is, the blind and fortuitous concourse of causes necessary and +void of reason) cannot have formed this universe. To this purpose +it is not amiss to call to mind the celebrated comparisons of the ancients.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. V. Noble Comparisons proving that Nature shows +the Existence of its Maker. First Comparison, drawn from Homer’s +“Iliad.”</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Who will believe that so perfect a poem as Homer’s “Iliad” +was not the product of the genius of a great poet, and that the letters +of the alphabet, being confusedly jumbled and mixed, were by chance, +as it were by the cast of a pair of dice, brought together in such an +order as is necessary to describe, in verses full of harmony and variety, +so many great events; to place and connect them so well together; to +paint every object with all its most graceful, most noble, and most +affecting attendants; in short, to make every person speak according +to his character in so natural and so forcible a manner? Let people +argue and subtilise upon the matter as much as they please, yet they +never will persuade a man of sense that the “Iliad” was +the mere result of chance. Cicero said the same in relation to +Ennius’s “Annals;” adding that chance could never +make one single verse, much less a whole poem. How then can a +man of sense be induced to believe, with respect to the universe, a +work beyond contradiction more wonderful than the “Iliad,” +what his reason will never suffer him to believe in relation to that +poem? Let us attend another comparison, which we owe to St. Gregory +Nazianzenus.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. VI. Second Comparison, drawn from the Sound of +Instruments.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>If we heard in a room, from behind a curtain, a soft and harmonious +instrument, should we believe that chance, without the help of any human +hand, could have formed such an instrument? Should we say that +the strings of a violin, for instance, had of their own accord ranged +and extended themselves on a wooden frame, whose several parts had glued +themselves together to form a cavity with regular apertures? Should +we maintain that the bow formed without art should be pushed by the +wind to touch every string so variously, and with such nice justness? +What rational man could seriously entertain a doubt whether a human +hand touched such an instrument with so much harmony? Would he +not cry out, “It is a masterly hand that plays upon it?” +Let us proceed to inculcate the same truth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. VII. Third Comparison, drawn from a Statue.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>If a man should find in a desert island a fine statue of marble, +he would undoubtedly immediately say, “Sure, there have been men +here formerly; I perceive the workmanship of a skilful statuary; I admire +with what niceness he has proportioned all the limbs of this body, in +order to give them so much beauty, gracefulness, majesty, life, tenderness, +motion, and action!”</p> +<p>What would such a man answer if anybody should tell him, “That’s +your mistake; a statuary never carved that figure. It is made, +I confess, with an excellent gusto, and according to the rules of perfection; +but yet it is chance alone made it. Among so many pieces of marble +there was one that formed itself of its own accord in this manner; the +rains and winds have loosened it from the mountains; a violent storm +has thrown it plumb upright on this pedestal, which had prepared itself +to support it in this place. It is a perfect Apollo, like that +of Belvedere; a Venus that equals that of the Medicis; an Hercules, +like that of Farnese. You would think, it is true, that this figure +walks, lives, thinks, and is just going to speak. But, however, +it is not in the least beholden to art; and it is only a blind stroke +of chance that has thus so well finished and placed it.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. VIII. Fourth Comparison, drawn from a Picture.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>If a man had before his eyes a fine picture, representing, for example, +the passage of the Red Sea, with Moses, at whose voice the waters divide +themselves, and rise like two walls to let the Israelites pass dryfoot +through the deep, he would see, on the one side, that innumerable multitude +of people, full of confidence and joy, lifting up their hands to heaven; +and perceive, on the other side, King Pharaoh with the Egyptians frighted +and confounded at the sight of the waves that join again to swallow +them up. Now, in good earnest, who would be so bold as to affirm +that a chambermaid, having by chance daubed that piece of cloth, the +colours had of their own accord ranged themselves in order to produce +that lively colouring, those various attitudes, those looks so well +expressing different passions, that elegant disposition of so many figures +without confusion, that decent plaiting of draperies, that management +of lights, that degradation of colours, that exact perspective—in +short, all that the noblest genius of a painter can invent? If +there were no more in the case than a little foam at the mouth of a +horse, I own, as the story goes, and which I readily allow without examining +into it, that a stroke of a pencil thrown in a pet by a painter might +once in many ages happen to express it well. But, at least, the +painter must beforehand have, with design, chosen the most proper colours +to represent that foam, in order to prepare them at the end of his pencil; +and, therefore, it were only a little chance that had finished what +art had begun. Besides, this work of art and chance together being +only a little foam, a confused object, and so most proper to credit +a stroke of chance—an object without form, that requires only +a little whitish colour dropped from a pencil, without any exact figure +or correction of design. What comparison is there between that +foam with a whole design of a large continued history, in which the +most fertile fancy and the boldest genius, supported by the perfect +knowledge of rules, are scarce sufficient to perform what makes an excellent +picture? I cannot prevail with myself to leave these instances +without desiring the reader to observe that the most rational men are +naturally extreme loath to think that beasts have no manner of understanding, +and are mere machines. Now, whence proceeds such an invincible +averseness to that opinion in so many men of sense? It is because +they suppose, with reason, that motions so exact, and according to the +rules of perfect mechanism, cannot be made without some industry; and +that artless matter alone cannot perform what argues so much knowledge. +Hence it appears that sound reason naturally concludes that matter alone +cannot, either by the simple laws of motion, or by the capricious strokes +of chance, make even animals that are mere machines. Those philosophers +themselves, who will not allow beasts to have any reasoning faculty, +cannot avoid acknowledging that what they suppose to be blind and artless +in these machines is yet full of wisdom and art in the First Mover, +who made their springs and regulated their movements. Thus the +most opposite philosophers perfectly agree in acknowledging that matter +and chance cannot, without the help of art, produce all we observe in +animals.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. IX. A Particular Examination of Nature.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>After these comparisons, about which I only desire the reader to +consult himself, without any argumentation, I think it is high time +to enter into a detail of Nature. I do not pretend to penetrate +through the whole; who is able to do it? Neither do I pretend +to enter into any physical discussion. Such way of reasoning requires +a certain deep knowledge, which abundance of men of wit and sense never +acquired; and, therefore, I will offer nothing to them but the simple +prospect of the face of Nature. I will entertain them with nothing +but what everybody knows, and which requires only a little calm and +serious attention.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. X. Of the General Structure of the Universe.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us, in the first place, stop at the great object that first strikes +our sight, I mean the general structure of the universe. Let us +cast our eyes on this earth that bears us. Let us look on that +vast arch of the skies that covers us; those immense regions of air, +and depths of water that surround us; and those bright stars that light +us. A man who lives without reflecting thinks only on the parts +of matter that are near him, or have any relation to his wants. +He only looks upon the earth as on the floor of his chamber, and on +the sun that lights him in the daytime as on the candle that lights +him in the night. His thoughts are confined within the place he +inhabits. On the contrary, a man who is used to contemplate and +reflect carries his looks further, and curiously considers the almost +infinite abysses that surround him on all sides. A large kingdom +appears then to him but a little corner of the earth; the earth itself +is no more to his eyes than a point in the mass of the universe; and +he admires to see himself placed in it, without knowing which way he +came there.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XI. Of the Earth.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Who is it that hung and poised this motionless globe of the earth? +Who laid its foundation? Nothing seems more vile and contemptible; +for the meanest wretches tread it under foot; but yet it is in order +to possess it that we part with the greatest treasures. If it +were harder than it is, man could not open its bosom to cultivate it; +and if it were less hard it could not bear them, and they would sink +everywhere as they do in sand, or in a bog. It is from the inexhaustible +bosom of the earth we draw what is most precious. That shapeless, +vile, and rude mass assumes the most various forms; and yields alone, +by turns, all the goods we can desire. That dirty soil transforms +itself into a thousand fine objects that charm the eye. In the +compass of one year it turns into branches, twigs, buds, leaves, blossoms, +fruits, and seeds, in order, by those various shapes, to multiply its +liberalities to mankind. Nothing exhausts the earth; the more +we tear her bowels the more she is liberal. After so many ages, +during which she has produced everything, she is not yet worn out. +She feels no decay from old age, and her entrails still contain the +same treasures. A thousand generations have passed away, and returned +into her bosom. Everything grows old, she alone excepted: for +she grows young again every year in the spring. She is never wanting +to men; but foolish men are wanting to themselves in neglecting to cultivate +her. It is through their laziness and extravagance they suffer +brambles and briars to grow instead of grapes and corn. They contend +for a good they let perish. The conquerors leave uncultivated +the ground for the possession of which they have sacrificed the lives +of so many thousand men, and have spent their own in hurry and trouble. +Men have before them vast tracts of land uninhabited and uncultivated; +and they turn mankind topsy-turvy for one nook of that neglected ground +in dispute. The earth, if well cultivated, would feed a hundred +times more men than now she does. Even the unevenness of ground +which at first seems to be a defect turns either into ornament or profit. +The mountains arose and the valleys descended to the place the Lord +had appointed for them. Those different grounds have their particular +advantages, according to the divers aspects of the sun. In those +deep valleys grow fresh and tender grass to feed cattle. Next +to them opens a vast champaign covered with a rich harvest. Here, +hills rise like an amphitheatre, and are crowned with vineyards and +fruit trees. There high mountains carry aloft their frozen brows +to the very clouds, and the torrents that run down from them become +the springs of rivers. The rocks that show their craggy tops bear +up the earth of mountains just as the bones bear up the flesh in human +bodies. That variety yields at once a ravishing prospect to the +eye, and, at the same time, supplies the divers wants of man. +There is no ground so barren but has some profitable property. +Not only black and fertile soil but even clay and gravel recompense +a man’s toil. Drained morasses become fruitful; sand for +the most part only covers the surface of the earth; and when, the husbandman +has the patience to dig deeper he finds a new ground that grows fertile +as fast as it is turned and exposed to the rays of the sun.</p> +<p>There is scarce any spot of ground absolutely barren if a man do +not grow weary of digging, and turning it to the enlivening sun, and +if he require no more from it than it is proper to bear, amidst stones +and rocks there is sometimes excellent pasture; and their cavities have +veins, which, being penetrated by the piercing rays of the sun, furnish +plants with most savoury juices for the feeding of herds and flocks. +Even sea-coasts that seem to be the most sterile and wild yield sometimes +either delicious fruits or most wholesome medicines that are wanting +in the most fertile countries. Besides, it is the effect of a +wise over-ruling providence that no land yields all that is useful to +human life. For want invites men to commerce, in order to supply +one another’s necessities. It is therefore that want that +is the natural tie of society between nations: otherwise all the people +of the earth would be reduced to one sort of food and clothing; and +nothing would invite them to know and visit one another.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XII. Of Plants.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>All that the earth produces being corrupted, returns into her bosom, +and becomes the source of a new production. Thus she resumes all +she has given in order to give it again. Thus the corruption of +plants, and the excrements of the animals she feeds, feed her, and improve +her fertility. Thus, the more she gives the more she resumes; +and she is never exhausted, provided they who cultivate her restore +to her what she has given. Everything comes from her bosom, everything +returns to it, and nothing is lost in it. Nay, all seeds multiply +there. If, for instance, you trust the earth with some grains +of corn, as they corrupt they germinate and spring; and that teeming +parent restores with usury more ears than she had received grains. +Dig into her entrails, you will find in them stone and marble for the +most magnificent buildings. But who is it that has laid up so +many treasures in her bosom, upon condition that they should continually +produce themselves anew? Behold how many precious and useful metals; +how many minerals designed for the conveniency of man!</p> +<p>Admire the plants that spring from the earth: they yield food for +the healthy, and remedies for the sick. Their species and virtues +are innumerable. They deck the earth, yield verdure, fragrant +flowers, and delicious fruits. Do you see those vast forests that +seem as old as the world? Those trees sink into the earth by their +roots, as deep as their branches shoot up to the sky. Their roots +defend them against the winds, and fetch up, as it were by subterranean +pipes, all the juices destined to feed the trunk. The trunk itself +is covered with a tough bark that shelters the tender wood from the +injuries of the air. The branches distribute by several pipes +the sap which the roots had gathered up in the trunk. In summer +the boughs protect us with their shadow against the scorching rays of +the sun. In winter, they feed the fire that preserves in us natural +heat. Nor is burning the only use wood is fit for; it is a soft +though solid and durable matter, to which the hand of man gives, with +ease, all the forms he pleases for the greatest works of architecture +and navigation. Moreover, fruit trees by bending their boughs +towards the earth seem to offer their crop to man. The trees and +plants, by letting their fruit or seed drop down, provide for a numerous +posterity about them. The tenderest plant, the least of herbs +and pulse are, in little, in a small seed, all that is displayed in +the highest plants and largest tree. Earth that never changes +produces all those alterations in her bosom.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XIII. Of Water.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us now behold what we call water. It is a liquid, clear, +and transparent body. On the one hand it flows, slips, and runs +away; and on the other it assumes all the forms of the bodies that surround +it, having properly none of its own. If water were more rarefied, +or thinner, it would be a kind of air; and so the whole surface of the +earth would be dry and sterile. There would be none but volatiles; +no living creature could swim; no fish could live; nor would there be +any traffic by navigation. What industrious and sagacious hand +has found means to thicken the water, by subtilising the air, and so +well to distinguish those two sorts of fluid bodies? If water +were somewhat more rarefied, it could no longer sustain those prodigious +floating buildings, called ships. Bodies that have the least ponderosity +would presently sink under water. Who is it that took care to +frame so just a configuration of parts, and so exact a degree of motion, +as to make water so fluid, so penetrating, so slippery, so incapable +of any consistency: and yet so strong to bear, and so impetuous to carry +off and waft away, the most unwieldy bodies? It is docile; man +leads it about as a rider does a well-managed horse. He distributes +it as he pleases; he raises it to the top of steep mountains, and makes +use of its weight to let it fall, in order to rise again, as high as +it was at first. But man who leads waters with such absolute command +is in his turn led by them. Water is one of the greatest moving +powers that man can employ to supply his defects in the most necessary +arts, either through the smallness or weakness of his body. But +the waters which, notwithstanding their fluidity, are such ponderous +bodies, do nevertheless rise above our heads, and remain a long while +hanging there. Do you see those clouds that fly, as it were, on +the wings of the winds? If they should fall, on a sudden, in watery +pillars, rapid like a torrent, they would drown and destroy everything +where they should happen to fall, and the other grounds would remain +dry. What hand keeps them in those pendulous reservatories, and +permits them to fall only by drops as if they distilled through a gardener’s +watering-pot? Whence comes it that in some hot countries, where +scarce any rain ever falls, the nightly dews are so plentiful that they +supply the want of rain; and that in other countries, such as the banks +of the Nile and Ganges, the regular inundation of rivers, at certain +seasons of the year, never fails to make up what the inhabitants are +deficient in for the watering of the ground? Can one imagine measures +better concerted to render all countries fertile and fruitful?</p> +<p>Thus water quenches, not only the thirst of men, but likewise of +arid lands: and He who gave us that fluid body has carefully distributed +it throughout the earth, like pipes in a garden. The waters fall +from the tops of mountains where their reservatories are placed. +They gather into rivulets in the bottom of valleys. Rivers run +in winding streams through vast tracts of land, the better to water +them; and, at last, they precipitate themselves into the sea, in order +to make it the centre of commerce for all nations. That ocean, +which seems to be placed in the midst of lands, to make an eternal separation +between them, is, on the contrary, the common rendezvous of all the +people of the earth, who could not go by land from one end of the world +to the other without infinite fatigue, tedious journeys, and numberless +dangers. It is by that trackless road, across the bottomless deep, +that the whole world shakes hands with the new; and that the new supplies +the old with so many conveniences and riches. The waters, distributed +with so much art, circulate in the earth, just as the blood does in +a man’s body. But besides this perpetual circulation of +the water, there is besides the flux and reflux of the sea. Let +us not inquire into the causes of so mysterious an effect. What +is certain is that the tide carries, or brings us back to certain places, +at precise hours. Who is it that makes it withdraw, and then come +back with so much regularity? A little more or less motion in +that fluid mass would disorder all nature; for a little more motion +in a tide or flood would drown whole kingdoms. Who is it that +knew how to take such exact measures in immense bodies? Who is +it that knew so well how to keep a just medium between too much and +too little? What hand has set to the sea the unmovable boundary +it must respect through the series of all ages by telling it: There, +thy proud waves shall come and break? But these waters so fluid +become, on a sudden, during the winter, as hard as rocks. The +summits of high mountains have, even at all times, ice and snow, which +are the springs of rivers, and soaking pasture-grounds render them more +fertile. Here waters are sweet to quench the thirst of man; there +they are briny, and yield a salt that seasons our meat, and makes it +incorruptible. In fine, if I lift up my eyes, I perceive in the +clouds that fly above us a sort of hanging seas that serve to temper +the air, break the fiery rays of the sun, and water the earth when it +is too dry. What hand was able to hang over our heads those great +reservatories of waters? What hand takes care never to let them +fall but in moderate showers?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XIV. Of the Air.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>After having considered the waters, let us now contemplate another +mass yet of far greater extent. Do you see what is called air? +It is a body so pure, so subtle, and so transparent, that the rays of +the stars, seated at a distance almost infinite from us, pierce quite +through it, without difficulty, and in an instant, to light our eyes. +Had this fluid body been a little less subtle, it would either have +intercepted the day from us, or at most would have left us but a duskish +and confused light, just as when the air is filled with thick fogs. +We live plunged in abysses of air, as fishes do in abysses of water. +As the water, if it were subtilised, would become a kind of air, which +would occasion the death of fishes, so the air would deprive us of breath +if it should become more humid and thicker. In such a case we +should drown in the waves of that thickened air, just as a terrestrial +animal drowns in the sea. Who is it that has so nicely purified +that air we breathe? If it were thicker it would stifle us; and +if it were too subtle it would want that softness which continually +feeds the vitals of man. We should be sensible everywhere of what +we experience on the top of the highest mountains, where the air is +so thin that it yields no sufficient moisture and nourishment for the +lungs. But what invisible power raises and lays so suddenly the +storms of that great fluid body, of which those of the sea are only +consequences? From what treasury come forth the winds that purify +the air, cool scorching heats, temper the sharpness of winter, and in +an instant change the whole face of heaven? On the wings of those +winds the clouds fly from one end of the horizon to the other. +It is known that certain winds blow in certain seas, at some stated +seasons. They continue a fixed time, and others succeed them, +as it were on purpose, to render navigation both commodious and regular: +so that if men are but as patient, and as punctual as the winds, they +may, with ease, perform the longest voyages.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XV. Of Fire.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Do you see that fire that seems kindled in the stars, and spreads +its light on all sides? Do you see that flame which certain mountains +vomit up, and which the earth feeds with sulphur within its entrails? +That same fire peaceably lurks in the veins of flints, and expects to +break out, till the collision of another body excites it to shock cities +and mountains. Man has found the way to kindle it, and apply it +to all his uses, both to bend the hardest metals, and to feed with wood, +even in the most frozen climes, a flame that serves him instead of the +sun, when the sun removes from him. That subtle flame glides and +penetrates into all seeds. It is, as it were, the soul of all +living things; it consumes all that is impure, and renews what it has +purified. Fire lends its force and activity to weak men. +It blows up, on a sudden, buildings and rocks. But have we a mind +to confine it to a more moderate use? It warms man, and makes +all sorts of food fit for his eating. The ancients, in admiration +of fire, believed it to be a celestial gift, which man had stolen from +the gods.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XVI. Of Heaven.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It is time to lift up our eyes to heaven. What power has built +over our heads so vast and so magnificent an arch? What a stupendous +variety of admirable objects is here? It is, no doubt, to present +us with a noble spectacle that an Omnipotent Hand has set before our +eyes so great and so bright objects. It is in order to raise our +admiration of heaven, says Tully, that God made man unlike the rest +of animals. He stands upright, and lifts up his head, that he +may be employed about the things that were above him. Sometimes +we see a duskish azure sky, where the purest fires twinkle. Sometimes +we behold, in a temperate heaven, the softest colours mixed with such +variety as it is not in the power of painting to imitate. Sometimes +we see clouds of all shapes and figures, and of all the brightest colours, +which every moment shift that beautiful decoration by the finest accidents +and various effects of light. What does the regular succession +of day and night denote? For so many ages as are past the sun +never failed serving men, who cannot live without it. Many thousand +years are elapsed, and the dawn never once missed proclaiming the approach +of the day. It always begins precisely at a certain moment and +place. The sun, says the holy writ, knows where it shall set every +day. By that means it lights, by turns, the two hemispheres, or +sides of the earth, and visits all those for whom its beams are designed. +The day is the time for society and labour; the night, wrapping up the +earth with its shadow, ends, in its turn, all manner of fatigue and +alleviates the toil of the day. It suspends and quiets all; and +spreads silence and sleep everywhere. By refreshing the bodies +it renews the spirits. Soon after day returns to summon again +man to labour and revive all nature.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XVII. Of the Sun.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But besides the constant course by which the sun forms days and nights +it makes us sensible of another, by which for the space of six months +it approaches one of the poles, and at the end of those six months goes +back with equal speed to visit the other pole. This excellent +order makes one sun sufficient for the whole earth. If it were +of a larger size at the same distance, it would set the whole globe +on fire and the earth would be burnt to ashes; and if, at the same distance, +it were lesser, the earth would be all over frozen and uninhabitable. +Again, if in the same magnitude it were nearer us, it would set us in +flames; and if more remote, we should not be able to live on the terrestrial +globe for want of heat. What pair of compasses, whose circumference +encircles both heaven and earth, has fixed such just dimensions? +That star does no less befriend that part of the earth from which it +removes, in order to temper it, than that it approaches to favour it +with its beams. Its kind, beneficent aspect fertilises all it +shines upon. This change produces that of the seasons, whose variety +is so agreeable. The spring silences bleak frosty winds, brings +forth blossoms and flowers, and promises fruits. The summer yields +rich harvests. The autumn bestows the fruits promised by the spring. +The winter, which is a kind of night wherein man refreshes and rests +himself, lays up all the treasures of the earth in its centre with no +other design but that the next spring may display them with all the +graces of novelty. Thus nature, variously attired, yields so many +fine prospects that she never gives man leisure to be disgusted with +what he possesses.</p> +<p>But how is it possible for the course of the sun to be so regular? +It appears that star is only a globe of most subtle flame. Now, +what is it that keeps that flame, so restless and so impetuous, within +the exact bounds of a perfect globe? What hand leads that flame +in so strait a way and never suffers it to slip one side or other? +That flame is held by nothing, and there is no body that can either +guide it or keep it under; for it would soon consume whatever body it +should be enclosed in. Whither is it going? Who has taught +it incessantly and so regularly to turn in a space where it is free +and unconstrained? Does it not circulate about us on purpose to +serve us? Now if this flame does not turn, and if on the contrary +it is our earth that turns, I would fain know how it comes to be so +well placed in the centre of the universe, as it were the focus or the +heart of all nature. I would fain know also how it comes to pass +that a globe of so subtle matter never slips on any side in that immense +space that surrounds it, and wherein it seems to stand with reason that +all fluid bodies ought to yield to the impetuosity of that flame.</p> +<p>In fine, I would fain know how it comes to pass that the globe of +the earth, which is so very hard, turns so regularly about that planet +in a space where no solid body keeps it fast to regulate its course. +Let men with the help of physics contrive the most ingenious reasons +to explain this phenomenon; all their arguments, supposing them to be +true, will become proofs of the Deity. The more the great spring +that directs the machine of the universe is exact, simple, constant, +certain, and productive of abundance of useful effects, the more it +is plain that a most potent and most artful hand knew how to pitch upon +the spring which is the most perfect of all.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XVIII. Of the Stars.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But let us once more view that immense arched roof where the stars +shine, and which covers our heads like a canopy. If it be a solid +vault, what architect built it? Who is it that has fixed so many +great luminous bodies to certain places of that arch and at certain +distances? Who is it that makes that vault turn so regularly about +us? If on the contrary the skies are only immense spaces full +of fluid bodies, like the air that surrounds us, how comes it to pass +that so many solid bodies float in them without ever sinking or ever +coming nearer one another? For all astronomical observations that +have been made in so many ages not the least disorder or irregular motion +has yet been discovered in the heavens. Will a fluid body range +in such constant and regular order bodies that swim circularly within +its sphere? But what does that almost innumerable multitude of +stars mean? The profusion with which the hand of God has scattered +them through His work shows nothing is difficult to His power. +He has cast them about the skies as a magnificent prince either scatters +money by handfuls or studs his clothes with precious stones. Let +who will say, if he pleases, that the stars are as many worlds like +the earth we inhabit; I grant it for one moment; but then, how potent +and wise must He be who makes worlds as numberless as the grains of +sand that cover the sea-shore, and who, without any trouble, for so +many ages governs all these wandering worlds as a shepherd does a flock +of sheep? If on the contrary they are only, as it were, lighted +torches to shine in our eyes in this small globe called earth, how great +is that power which nothing can fatigue, nothing can exhaust? +What a profuse liberality it is to give man in this little corner of +the universe so marvellous a spectacle!</p> +<p>But among those stars I perceive the moon, which seems to share with +the sun the care and office of lighting us. She appears at set +times with all the other stars, when the sun is obliged to go and carry +back the day to the other hemisphere. Thus night itself, notwithstanding +its darkness, has a light, duskish indeed, but soft and useful. +That light is borrowed from the sun, though absent: and thus everything +is managed with such excellent art in the universe that a globe near +the earth, and as dark as she of itself, serves, nevertheless, to send +back to her, by reflection, the rays it receives from the sun; and that +the sun lights by means of the moon the people that cannot see him while +he must light others.</p> +<p>It may be said that the motion of the stars is settled and regulated +by unchangeable laws. I suppose it is; but this very supposition +proves what I labour to evince. Who is it that has given to all +nature laws at once so constant and so wholesome, laws so very simple, +that one is tempted to believe they establish themselves of their own +accord, and so productive of beneficial and useful effects that one +cannot avoid acknowledging a marvellous art in them? Whence proceeds +the government of that universal machine which incessantly works for +us without so much as our thinking upon it? To whom shall we ascribe +the choice and gathering of so many deep and so well conceited springs, +and of so many bodies, great and small, visible and invisible, which +equally concur to serve us? The least atom of this machine that +should happen to be out of order would unhinge all nature. For +the springs and movements of a watch are not put together with so much +art and niceness as those of the universe. What then must be a +design so extensive, so coherent, so excellent, so beneficial? +The necessity of those laws, instead of deterring me from inquiring +into their author, does but heighten my curiosity and admiration. +Certainly, it required a hand equally artful and powerful to put in +His work an order equally simple and teeming, constant and useful. +Wherefore I will not scruple to say with the Scripture, “Let every +star haste to go whither the Lord sends it; and when He speaks let them +answer with trembling, Here we are,” <i>Ecce adsumus.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XIX. Of Animals, Beasts, Fowl, Birds, Fishes, +Reptiles, and Insects.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But let us turn our eyes towards animals, which still are more worthy +of admiration than either the skies or stars. Their species are +numberless. Some have but two feet, others four, others again +a great many. Some walk; others crawl, or creep; others fly; others +swim; others fly, walk, or swim, by turns. The wings of birds, +and the fins of fishes, are like oars, that cut the waves either of +air or water, and steer the floating body either of the bird, or fish, +whose structure is like that of a ship. But the pinions of birds +have feathers with a down, that swells in the air, and which would grow +unwieldy in the water. And, on the contrary, the fins of fishes +have sharp and dry points, which cut the water, without imbibing it, +and which do not grow heavier by being wet. A sort of fowl that +swim, such as swans, keep their wings and most of their feathers above +water, both lest they should wet them and that they may serve them, +as it were, for sails. They have the art to turn those feathers +against the wind, and, in a manner, to tack, as ships do when the wind +does not serve. Water-fowls, such as ducks, have at their feet +large skins that stretch, somewhat like rackets, to keep them from sinking +on the oozy and miry banks of rivers.</p> +<p>Amongst the animals, wild beasts, such as lions, have their biggest +muscles about the shoulders, thighs, and legs; and therefore these animals +are nimble, brisk, nervous, and ready to rush forward. Their jaw-bones +are prodigiously large, in proportion to the rest of their bodies. +They have teeth and claws, which serve them, as terrible weapons, to +tear in pieces and devour other animals. For the same reason, +birds of prey, such as eagles, have a beak and pounces that pierce everything. +The muscles of their pinions are extreme large and brawny, that their +wings may have a stronger and more rapid motion: and so those creatures, +though somewhat heavy, soar aloft and tower up easily to the very clouds, +from whence they shoot, like a thunderbolt, on the quarry they have +in view. Other animals have horns. The greatest strength +of some lies in their backs and necks; and others can only kick. +Every species, however, has both offensive and defensive arms. +Their hunting is a kind of war, which they wage one against another, +for the necessities of life. They have also laws and a government +among themselves. Some, like tortoises, carry the house wherein +they were born; others build theirs, as birds do, on the highest branches +of trees, to preserve their young from the insult of unwinged creatures, +and they even lay their nests in the thickest boughs to hide them from +their enemies. Another, such as the beaver, builds in the very +bottom of a pond the sanctuary he prepares for himself, and knows how +to cast up dikes around it, to preserve himself by the neighbouring +inundation. Another, like a mole, has so pointed and so sharp +a snout, that in one moment he pierces through the hardest ground in +order to provide for himself a subterranean retreat. The cunning +fox digs a kennel with two holes to go out and come in at, that he may +not be either surprised or trapped by the huntsmen. The reptiles +are of another make. They curl, wind, shrink, and stretch by the +springs of their muscles; they creep, twist about, squeeze, and hold +fast the bodies they meet in their way; and easily slide everywhere. +Their organs are almost independent one on the other; so that they still +live when they are cut into two. The long-legged birds, says Cicero, +are also long-necked in proportion, that they may bring down their bill +to the ground, and take up their food. It is the same with the +camel; but the elephant, whose neck through its bigness would be too +heavy if it were as long as that of the camel, was furnished with a +trunk, which is a contexture of nerves and muscles, which he stretches, +shrinks, winds, and turns every way, to seize on bodies, lift them up, +or throw them off: for which reason the Latins called that trunk a hand.</p> +<p>Certain animals seem to be made on purpose for man. The dog +is born to caress and fawn upon him; to obey and be under command; to +give him an agreeable image of society, friendship, fidelity, and tenderness; +to be true to his trust; eagerly to hunt down, course, and catch several +other creatures, to leave them afterwards to man, without retaining +any part of the quarry. The horse, and such other animals, are +within the reach and power of man; to ease him of his labour, and to +take upon them a thousand burdens. They are born to carry, to +walk, to supply man’s weakness, and to obey all his motions. +Oxen are endowed with strength and patience, in order to draw the plough +and till the ground. Cows yield streams of milk. Sheep have +in their fleeces a superfluity which is not for them, and which still +grows and renews, as it were to invite men to shear them every year. +Even goats furnish man with a long hair, for which they have no use, +and of which he makes stuffs to cover himself. The skins of some +beasts supply men with the finest and best linings, in the countries +that are most remote from the sun.</p> +<p>Thus the Author of nature has clothed beasts according to their necessities; +and their spoils serve afterwards to clothe men, and keep them warm +in those frozen climes. The living creatures that have little +or no hair have a very thick and very hard skin, like scales; others +have even scales that cover one another, as tiles on the top of a house, +and which either open or shut, as it best suits with the living creature, +either to extend itself or shrink. These skins and scales serve +the necessities of men: and thus in nature, not only plants but animals +also are made for our use. Wild beasts themselves either grow +tame or, at least, are afraid of man. If all countries were peopled +and governed as they ought to be, there would not be anywhere beasts +should attack men. For no wild beasts would be found but in remote +forests, and they would be preserved in order to exercise the courage, +strength, and dexterity of mankind, by a sport that should represent +war; so that there never would be any occasion for real wars among nations. +But observe that living creatures that are noxious to man are the least +teeming, and that the most useful multiply most. There are, beyond +comparison, more oxen and sheep killed than bears or wolves; and nevertheless +the number of bears and wolves is infinitely less than that of oxen +and sheep still on earth. Observe likewise, with Cicero, that +the females of every species have a number of teats proportioned to +that of the young ones they generally bring forth. The more young +they bear, with the more milk-springs has nature supplied them, to suckle +them.</p> +<p>While sheep let their wool grow for our use, silk-worms, in emulation +with each other, spin rich stuffs and spend themselves to bestow them +upon us. They make of their cod a kind of tomb, and shutting up +themselves in their own work, they are new-born under another figure, +in order to perpetuate themselves. On the other hand, the bees +carefully suck and gather the juice of odorous and fragrant flowers, +in order to make their honey; and range it in such an order as may serve +for a pattern to men. Several insects are transformed, sometimes +into flies, sometimes into worms, or maggots. If one should think +such insects useless, let him consider that what makes a part of the +great spectacle of the universe, and contributes to its variety, is +not altogether useless to sedate and contemplative men. What can +be more noble, and more magnificent, than that great number of commonwealths +of living creatures so well governed, and every species of which has +a different frame from the other? Everything shows how much the +skill and workmanship of the artificer surpasses the vile matter he +has worked upon. Every living creature, nay even gnats, appear +wonderful to me. If one finds them troublesome, he ought to consider +that it is necessary that some anxiety and pain be mixed with man’s +conveniences: for if nothing should moderate his pleasures, and exercise +his patience, he would either grow soft and effeminate, or forget himself.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XX. Admirable Order in which all the Bodies that +make up the Universe are ranged.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us now consider the wonders that shine equally both in the largest +and the smallest bodies. On the one side, I see the sun so many +thousand times bigger than the earth; I see him circulating in a space, +in comparison of which he is himself but a bright atom. I see +other stars, perhaps still bigger than he, that roll in other regions, +still farther distant from us. Beyond those regions, which escape +all measure, I still confusedly perceive other stars, which can neither +be counted nor distinguished. The earth, on which I stand, is +but one point, in proportion to the whole, in which no bound can ever +be found. The whole is so well put together, that not one single +atom can be put out of its place without unhinging this immense machine; +and it moves in such excellent order that its very motion perpetuates +its variety and perfection. Sure it must be the hand of a being +that does everything without any trouble that still keeps steady, and +governs this great work for so many ages; and whose fingers play with +the universe, to speak with the Scripture.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXI. Wonders of the Infinitely Little.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>On the other hand the work is no less to be admired in little than +in great: for I find as well in little as in great a kind of infinite +that astonishes me. It surpasses my imagination to find in a hand-worm, +as one does in an elephant or whale, limbs perfectly well organised; +a head, a body, legs, and feet, as distinct and as well formed as those +of the biggest animals. There are in every part of those living +atoms, muscles, nerves, veins, arteries, blood; and in that blood ramous +particles and humours; in these humours some drops that are themselves +composed of several particles: nor can one ever stop in the discussion +of this infinite composition of so infinite a whole.</p> +<p>The microscope discovers to us in every object as it were a thousand +other objects that had escaped our notice. But how many other +objects are there in every object discovered by the microscope which +the microscope itself cannot discover? What should not we see +if we could still subtilise and improve more and more the instruments +that help out weak and dull sight? Let us supply by our imagination +what our eyes are defective in; and let our fancy itself be a kind of +microscope, and represent to us in every atom a thousand new and invisible +worlds: but it will never be able incessantly to paint to us new discoveries +in little bodies; it will be tired, and forced at last to stop, and +sink, leaving in the smallest organ of a body a thousand wonders undiscovered.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXII. Of the Structure or Frame of the Animal.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us confine ourselves within the animal’s machine, which +has three things that never can be too much admired: First, it has in +it wherewithal to defend itself against those that attack it, in order +to destroy it. Secondly, it has a faculty of reviving itself by +food. Thirdly, it has wherewithal to perpetuate its species by +generation. Let us bestow some considerations on these three things.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXIII. Of the Instinct of the Animal.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Animals are endowed with what is called instinct, both to approach +useful and beneficial objects, and to avoid such as may be noxious and +destructive to them. Let us not inquire wherein this instinct +consists, but content ourselves with matter of fact, without reasoning +upon it.</p> +<p>The tender lamb smells his dam afar off, and runs to meet her. +A sheep is seized with horror at the approach of a wolf, and flies away +before he can discern him. The hound is almost infallible in finding +out a stag, a buck, or a hare, only by the scent. There is in +every animal an impetuous spring, which, on a sudden, gathers all the +spirits; distends all the nerves; renders all the joints more supple +and pliant; and increases in an incredible manner, upon sudden dangers, +his strength, agility, speed, and cunning, in order to make him avoid +the object that threatens his destruction. The question in this +place is not to know whether beasts are endowed with reason or understanding; +for I do not pretend to engage in any philosophical inquiry. The +motions I speak of are entirely indeliberate, even in the machine of +man. If, for instance, a man that dances on a rope should, at +that time, reason on the laws and rules of equilibrium, his reasoning +would make him lose that very equilibrium which he preserves admirably +well without arguing upon the matter, and reason would then be of no +other use to him but to throw him on the ground. The same happens +with beasts; nor will it avail anything to object that they reason as +well as men, for this objection does not in the least weaken my proof; +and their reasoning can never serve to account for the motions we admire +most in them. Will any one affirm that they know the nicest rules +of mechanics, which they observe with perfect exactness, whenever they +are to run, leap, swim, hide themselves, double, use shifts to avoid +pursuing hounds, or to make use of the strongest part of their bodies +to defend themselves? Will he say that they naturally understand +the mathematics which men are ignorant of? Will he dare to advance +that they perform with deliberation and knowledge all those impetuous +and yet so exact motions which even men perform without study or premeditation? +Will he allow them to make use of reason in those motions, wherein it +is certain man does not? It is an instinct, will he say, that +beasts are governed by. I grant it: for it is, indeed, an instinct. +But this instinct is an admirable sagacity and dexterity, not in the +beasts, who neither do, nor can then, have time to reason, but in the +superior wisdom that governs them. That instinct, or wisdom, that +thinks and watches for beasts, in indeliberate things, wherein they +could neither watch nor think, even supposing them to be as reasonable +as we, can be no other than the wisdom of the Artificer that made these +machines. Let us therefore talk no more of instinct or nature, +which are but fine empty names in the mouth of the generality that pronounce +them. There is in what they call nature and instinct a superior +art and contrivance, of which human invention is but a shadow. +What is beyond all question is, that there are in beasts a prodigious +number of motions entirely indeliberate, and which yet are performed +according to the nicest rules of mechanics. It is the machine +alone that follows those rules: which is a fact independent from all +philosophy; and matter of fact is ever decisive. What would a +man think of a watch that should fly or slip away, turn, again, or defend +itself, for its own preservation, if he went about to break it? +Would he not admire the skill of the artificer? Could he be induced +to believe that the springs of that watch had formed, proportioned, +ranged, and united themselves, by mere chance? Could he imagine +that he had clearly explained and accounted for such industrious and +skilful operation by talking of the nature and instinct of a watch that +should exactly show the hour to his master, and slip away from such +as should go about to break its springs to pieces?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXIV. Of Food.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>What is more noble than a machine which continually repairs and renews +itself? The animal, stinted to his own strength, is soon tired +and exhausted by labour; but the more he takes pains, the more he finds +himself pressed to make himself amends for his labour, by more plentiful +feeding. Aliments daily restore the strength he had lost. +He puts into his body another substance that becomes his own, by a kind +of metamorphosis. At first it is pounded, and being changed into +a liquor, it purifies, as if it were strained through a sieve, in order +to separate anything that is gross from it; afterwards it arrives at +the centre, or focus of the spirits, where it is subtilised, and becomes +blood. And running at last, and penetrating through numberless +vessels to moisten all the members, it filtrates in the flesh, and becomes +itself flesh. So many aliments, and liquors of various colours, +are then no more than one and the same flesh; and food which was but +an inanimate body preserves the life of the animal, and becomes part +of the animal himself; the other parts of which he was composed being +exhaled by an insensible and continual transpiration. The matter +which, for instance, was four years ago such a horse, is now but air, +or dung. What was then either hay, or oats, is become that same +horse, so fiery and vigorous—at least, he is accounted the same +horse, notwithstanding this insensible change of his substance.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXV. Of Sleep.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The natural attendant of food is sleep; in which the animal forbears +not only all his outward motions, but also all the principal inward +operations which might too much stir and dissipate the spirits. +He only retains respiration, and digestion; so that all motions that +might wear out his strength are suspended, and all such as are proper +to recruit and renew it go on freely of themselves. This repose, +which is a kind of enchantment, returns every night, while darkness +interrupts and hinders labour. Now, who is it that contrived such +a suspension? Who is it that so well chose the operations that +ought to continue; and, with so just discernment, excluded all such +as ought to be interrupted? The next day all past fatigue is gone +and vanished. The animal works on, as if he had never worked before; +and this reviving gives him a vivacity and vigour that invites him to +new labour. Thus the nerves are still full of spirits, the flesh +smooth, the skin whole, though one would think it should waste and tear; +the living body of the animal soon wears out inanimate bodies, even +the most solid that are about it; and yet does not wear out itself. +The skin of a horse, for instance, wears out several saddles; and the +flesh of a child, though very delicate and tender, wears out many clothes, +whilst it daily grows stronger. If this renewing of spirits were +perfect, it would be real immortality, and the gift of eternal youth. +But the same being imperfect, the animal insensibly loses his strength, +decays and grows old, because everything that is created ought to bear +a mark of nothingness from which it was drawn; and have an end.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXVI. Of Generation.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>What is more admirable than the multiplication of animals? +Look upon the individuals: no animal is immortal. Everything grows +old, everything passes away, everything disappears, everything, in short, +is annihilated. Look upon the species: everything subsists, everything +is permanent and immutable, though in a constant vicissitude. +Ever since there have been on earth men that have taken care to preserve +the memory of events, no lions, tigers, wild boars, or bears, were ever +known to form themselves by chance in caves or forests. Neither +do we see any fortuitous productions of dogs or cats. Bulls and +sheep are never born of themselves, either in stables, folds, or on +pasture grounds. Every one of those animals owes his birth to +a certain male and female of his species.</p> +<p>All those different species are preserved much the same in all ages. +We do not find that for three thousand years past any one has perished +or ceased; neither do we find that any one multiplies to such an excess +as to be a nuisance or inconveniency to the rest. If the species +of lions, bears, and tigers multiplied to a certain excessive degree, +they would not only destroy the species of stags, bucks, sheep, goats, +and bulls, but even get the mastery over mankind, and unpeople the earth. +Now who maintains so just a measure as never either to extinguish those +different species, or never to suffer them to multiply too fast?</p> +<p>But this continual propagation of every species is a wonder with +which we are grown too familiar. What would a man think of a watchmaker +who should have the art to make watches, which, of themselves, should +produce others <i>ad infinitum</i> in such a manner that two original +watches should be sufficient to multiply and perpetuate their species +over the whole earth? What would he say of an architect that should +have the skill to build houses, which should build others, to renew +the habitations of men, before the first should decay and be ready to +fall to the ground? It is, however, what we daily see among animals. +They are no more, if you please, than mere machines, as watches are. +But, after all, the Author of these machines has endowed them with a +faculty to reproduce or perpetuate themselves <i>ad infinitum</i> by +the conjunction of both sexes. Affirm, if you please, that this +generation of animals is performed either by moulds or by an express +configuration of every individual; which of these two opinions you think +fit to pitch upon, it comes all to one; nor is the skill of the Artificer +less conspicuous. If you suppose that at every generation the +individual, without being cast into a mould, receives a configuration +made on purpose, I ask, who it is that manages and directs the configuration +of so compounded a machine, and which argues so much art and industry? +If, on the contrary, to avoid acknowledging any art in the case you +suppose that everything is determined by the moulds, I go back to the +moulds themselves, and ask, who is it that prepared them? In my +opinion they are still greater matter of wonder than the very machines +which are pretended to come out of them.</p> +<p>Therefore let who will suppose that there were moulds in the animals +that lived four thousand years ago, and affirm, if he pleases, that +those moulds were so inclosed one within another <i>ad infinitum</i>, +that there was a sufficient number for all the generations of those +four thousand years; and that there is still a sufficient number ready +prepared for the formation of all the animals that shall preserve their +species in all succeeding ages. Now, these moulds, which, as I +have observed, must have all the configuration of the animal, are as +difficult to be explained or accounted for as the animals themselves, +and are besides attended with far more unexplicable wonders. It +is certain that the configuration of every individual animal requires +no more art and power than is necessary to frame all the springs that +make up that machine; but when a man supposes moulds: first, he must +affirm that every mould contains in little, with unconceivable niceness, +all the springs of the machine itself. Now, it is beyond dispute +that there is more art in making so compound a work in little than in +a larger bulk. Secondly, he must suppose that every mould, which +is an individual prepared for a first generation, contains distinctly +within itself other moulds contained within one another <i>ad infinitum</i>, +for all possible generations, in all succeeding ages. Now what +can be more artful and more wonderful in matter of mechanism than such +a preparation of an infinite number of individuals, all formed beforehand +in one from which they are to spring? Therefore the moulds are +of no use to explain the generations of animals without supposing any +art or skill. For, on the contrary, moulds would argue a more +artificial mechanism and more wonderful composition.</p> +<p>What is manifest and indisputable, independently from all the systems +of philosophers, is that the fortuitous concourse of atoms never produces, +without generation, in any part of the earth, any lions, tigers, bears, +elephants, stags, bulls, sheep, cats, dogs, or horses. These and +the like are never produced but by the encounter of two of their kind +of different sex. The two animals that produce a third are not +the true authors of the art that shines in the composition of the animal +engendered by them. They are so far from knowing how to perform +that art, that they do not so much as know the composition or frame +of the work that results from their generation. Nay, they know +not so much as any particular spring of it; having been no more than +blind and unvoluntary instruments, made use of for the performance of +a marvellous art, to which they are absolute strangers, and of which +they are perfectly ignorant. Now I would fain know whence comes +that art, which is none of theirs? What power and wisdom knows +how to employ, for the performance of works of so ingenious and intricate +a design, instruments so uncapable to know what they are doing, or to +have any notion of it? Nor does it avail anything to suppose that +beasts are endowed with reason. Let a man suppose them to be as +rational as he pleases in other things, yet he must own, that in generation +they have no share in the art that is conspicuous in the composition +of the animals they produce.</p> +<p>Let us carry the thing further, and take for granted the most wonderful +instances that are given of the skill and forecast of animals. +Let us admire, as much as you please, the certainty with which a hound +takes a spring into a third way, as soon as he finds by his nose that +the game he pursues has left no scent in the other two. Let us +admire the hind, who, they say, throws a good way off her young fawn, +into some hidden place, that the hounds may not find him out by the +scent of his strain. Let us even admire the spider who with her +cobwebs lays subtle snares to trap flies, and fall unawares upon them +before they can disentangle themselves. Let us also admire the +hern, who, they say, puts his head under his wing, in order to hide +his bill under his feathers, thereby to stick the breast of the bird +of prey that stoops at him. Let us allow the truth of all these +wonderful instances of rationality; for all nature is full of such prodigies. +But what must we infer from them? In good earnest, if we carefully +examine the matter, we shall find that they prove too much. Shall +we say that animals are more rational than we? Their instinct +has undoubtedly more certainty than our conjectures. They have +learnt neither logic nor geometry, neither have they any course or method +of improvement, or any science. Whatever they do is done of a +sudden without study, preparation, or deliberation. We commit +blunders and mistakes every hour of the day after we have a long while +argued and consulted together; whereas animals, without any reasoning +or premeditation, perform every hour what seems to require most discernment, +choice, and exactness. Their instinct is in many things infallible; +but that word instinct is but a fair name void of sense. For what +can an instinct more just, exact, precise, and certain than reason itself +mean but a more perfect reason? We must therefore suppose a wonderful +reason and understanding either in the work or in the artificer; either +in the machine or in him that made it. When, for instance, I find +that a watch shows the hours with such exactness as surpasses my knowledge, +I presently conclude that if the watch itself does not reason, it must +have been made by an artificer who, in that particular, reasoned better +and had more skill than myself. In like manner, when I see animals, +who every moment perform actions that argue a more certain art and industry +than I am master of, I immediately conclude that such marvellous art +must necessarily be either in the machine or in the artificer that framed +it. Is it in the animal himself? But how is it possible +he should be so wise and so infallible in some things? And if +this art is not in him, it must of necessity be in the Supreme Artificer +that made that piece of work, just as all the art of a watch is in the +skill of the watchmaker.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXVII. Though Beasts commit some Mistakes, yet +their Instinct is, in many cases, Infallible.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Do not object to me that the instinct of beasts is in some things +defective, and liable to error. It is no wonder beasts are not +infallible in everything, but it is rather a wonder they are so in many +cases. If they were infallible in everything, they should be endowed +with a reason infinitely perfect; in short, they should be deities. +In the works of an infinite Power there can be but a finite perfection, +otherwise God should make creatures like or equal to Himself, which +is impossible. He therefore cannot place perfection, nor consequently +reason, in his works, without some bounds and restrictions. But +those bounds do not prove that the work is void of order or reason. +Because I mistake sometimes, it does not follow that I have no reason +at all, and that I do everything by mere chance, but only that my reason +is stinted and imperfect. In like manner, because a beast is not +by his instinct infallible in everything, though he be so in many, it +does not follow that there is no manner of reason in that machine, but +only that such a machine has not a boundless reason. But, after +all, it is a constant truth that in the operations of that machine there +is a regular conduct, a marvellous art, and a skill which in many cases +amounts to infallibility. Now, to whom shall we ascribe this infallible +skill? To the work, or its Artificer?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXVIII. It is impossible Beasts should have Souls.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>If you affirm that beasts have souls different from their machines, +I immediately ask you, “Of what nature are those souls entirely +different from and united to bodies? Who is it that knew how to +unite them to natures so vastly different? Who is it that has +such absolute command over so opposite natures, as to put and keep them +in such a regular and constant a society, and wherein mutual agreement +and correspondence are so necessary and so quick?</p> +<p>If, on the contrary, you suppose that the same matter may sometimes +think, and sometimes not think, according to the various wrangling and +configurations it may receive, I will not tell you in this place that +matter cannot think; and that one cannot conceive that the parts of +a stone, without adding anything to it, may ever know themselves, whatever +degree of motion, whatever figure, you may give them. I will only +ask you now wherein that precise ranging and configuration of parts, +which you speak of, consists? According to your opinion there +must be a degree of motion wherein matter does not yet reason, and then +another much like it wherein, on a sudden, it begins to reason and know +itself. Now, who is it that knew how to pitch upon that precise +degree of motion? Who is it that has discovered the line in which +the parts ought to move? Who is it that has measured the dimensions +so nicely as to find out and state the bigness and figure every part +must have to keep all manner of proportions between themselves in the +whole? Who is it that has regulated the outward form by which +all those bodies are to be stinted? In a word, who is it that +has found all the combinations wherein matter thinks, and without the +least of which matter must immediately cease to think? If you +say it is chance, I answer that you make chance rational to such a degree +as to be the source of reason itself. Strange prejudice and intoxication +of some men, not to acknowledge a most intelligent cause, from which +we derive all intelligence; and rather choose to affirm that the purest +reason is but the effect of the blindest of all causes in such a subject +as matter, which of itself is altogether incapable of knowledge! +Certainly there is nothing a man of sense would not admit rather than +so extravagant and absurd an opinion.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXIX. Sentiments of some of the Ancients concerning +the Soul and Knowledge of Beasts.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The philosophy of the ancients, though very lame and imperfect, had +nevertheless a glimpse of this difficulty; and, therefore, in order +to remove it, some of them pretended that the Divine Spirit interspersed +and scattered throughout the universe is a superior Wisdom that continually +operates in all nature, especially in animals, just as souls act in +bodies; and that this continual impression or impulse of the Divine +Spirit, which the vulgar call instinct, without knowing the true signification +of that word, was the life of all living creatures. They added, +“That those sparks of the Divine Spirit were the principle of +all generations; that animals received them in their conception and +at their birth; and that the moment they died those divine particles +disengaged themselves from all terrestrial matter in order to fly up +to heaven, where they shone and rolled among the stars. It is +this philosophy, at once so magnificent and so fabulous, which Virgil +so gracefully expresses in the following verses upon bees:—</p> +<p>“<i>Esse apibus partem</i> <i>divinæ mentis</i>, <i>et +haustus<br />Ætherios dixere: Deum namque ire per omnes<br />Terrasque</i>, +<i>tractusque maris</i>, <i>cælumque profundum</i>.<br /><i>Hinc +pecudes</i>, <i>armenta viros</i>, <i>genus omne ferarum</i>,<br /><i>Quemque +sibi tenues nascentem arcessere vitas.<br />Scilicet huc reddi deinde</i>, +<i>ac resoluta referri<br />Omnia</i>, <i>nec morti esse locum</i>, +<i>sed viva volare<br />Sideris in numerum</i>, <i>atque alto succedere +cælo</i>.”</p> +<p>That is:—</p> +<p>“Induced by such examples, some have taught<br />That bees +have portions of ethereal thought,<br />Endued with particles of heavenly +fires,<br />For God the whole created mass inspires.<br />Through heaven, +and earth, and ocean depth He throws<br />His influence round, and kindles +as He goes.<br />Hence flocks, and herds, and men, and beasts, and fowls,<br />With +breath are quickened, and attract their souls.<br />Hence take the forms +His prescience did ordain,<br />And into Him, at length, resolve again.<br />No +room is left for death: they mount the sky,<br />And to their own congenial +planets fly.”</p> +<p><i>Dryden’s</i> “<i>Virgil</i>.”</p> +<p>That Divine Wisdom that moves all the known parts of the world had +made so deep an impression upon the Stoics, and on Plato before them, +that they believed the whole world to be an animal, but a rational and +wise animal—in short, the Supreme God. This philosophy reduced +Polytheism, or the multitude of gods, to Deism, or one God, and that +one God to Nature, which according to them was eternal, infallible, +intelligent, omnipotent, and divine. Thus philosophers, by striving +to keep from and rectify the notions of poets, dwindled again at last +into poetical fancies, since they assigned, as the inventors of fables +did, a life, an intelligence, an art, and a design to all the parts +of the universe that appear most inanimate. Undoubtedly they were +sensible of the wonderful art that is conspicuous in nature, and their +only mistake lay in ascribing to the work the skill of the Artificer.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXX. Of Man.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us not stop any longer with animals inferior to man. It +is high time to consider and study the nature of man himself, in order +to discover Him whose image he is said to bear. I know but two +sorts of beings in all nature: those that are endowed with knowledge +or reason, and those that are not Now man is a compound of these two +modes of being. He has a body, as the most inanimate corporeal +beings have; and he has a spirit, a mind, or a soul—that is, a +thought whereby he knows himself, and perceives what is about him. +If it be true that there is a First Being who has drawn or created all +the rest from nothing, man is truly His image; for he has, like Him, +in his nature all the real perfection that is to be found in those two +various kinds or modes of being. But an image is but an image +still, and can be but an adumbration or shadow of the true Perfect Being.</p> +<p>Let us begin to study man by the contemplation of his body. +“I know not,” said a mother to her children in the Holy +Writ, “how you were formed in my womb.” Nor is it, +indeed, the wisdom of the parents that forms so compounded and so regular +a work. They have no share in that wonderful art; let us therefore +leave them, and trace it up higher.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXI. Of the Structure of Man’s Body.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The body is made of clay; but let us admire the Hand that framed +and polished it. The Artificer’s Seal is stamped upon His +work. He seems to have delighted in making a masterpiece with +so vile a matter. Let us cast our eyes upon that body, in which +the bones sustain the flesh that covers them. The nerves that +are extended in it make up all its strength; and the muscles with which +the sinews weave themselves, either by swelling or extending themselves, +perform the most exact and regular motions. The bones are divided +at certain distances, but they have joints, whereby they are set one +within another, and are tied by nerves and tendons. Cicero admires, +with reason, the excellent art with which the bones are knit together. +For what is more supple for all various motions? And, on the other +hand, what is more firm and durable? Even after a body is dead, +and its parts are separated by corruption, we find that these joints +and ligaments can hardly be destroyed. Thus this human machine +or frame is either straight or crooked, stiff or supple, as we please. +From the brain, which is the source of all the nerves, spring the spirits, +which are so subtle that they escape the sight; and nevertheless so +real, and of so great activity and force, that they perform all the +motions of the machine, and make up all in strength. These spirits +are in an instant conveyed to the very extremities of the members. +Sometimes they flow gently and regularly, sometimes they move with impetuosity, +as occasion requires; and they vary <i>ad infinitum</i> the postures, +gestures, and other actions of the body.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXII. Of the Skin.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us consider the flesh. It is covered in certain places +with a soft and tender skin, for the ornament of the body. If +that skin, that renders the object so agreeable, and gives it so sweet +a colour, were taken off, the same object would become ghastly, and +create horror. In other places that same skin is harder and thicker, +in order to resist the fatigue of those parts. As, for instance, +how harder is the skin of the feet than that of the face? And +that of the hinder part of the head than that of the forehead? +That skin is all over full of holes like a sieve: but those holes, which +are called pores, are imperceptible. Although sweat and other +transpirations exhale through those pores, the blood never runs out +that way. That skin has all the tenderness necessary to make it +transparent, and give the face a lively, sweet, and graceful colour. +If the skin were less close, and less smooth, the face would look bloody, +and excoriated. Now, who is that knew how to temper and mix those +colours with such nicety as to make a carnation which painters admire, +but never can perfectly imitate?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXIII. Of Veins and Arteries.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>There are in man’s body numberless branches of blood-vessels. +Some of them carry the blood from the centre to the extreme parts, and +are called arteries. Through those various vessels runs the blood, +a liquor soft and oily, and by this oiliness proper to retain the most +subtle spirits, just as the most subtle and spirituous essences are +preserved in gummy bodies. This blood moistens the flesh, as springs +and rivers water the earth; and after it has filtrated in the flesh, +it returns to its source, more slowly, and less full of spirits: but +it renews, and is again subtilised in that source, in order to circulate +without ceasing.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXIV. Of the Bones, and their Jointing.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Do you consider that excellent order and proportion of the limbs? +The legs and thighs are great bones jointed one with another, and knit +together by tendons. They are two sorts of pillars, equal and +regular, erected to support the whole fabric. But those pillars +fold; and the rotula of the knee is a bone of a circular figure, which +is placed on purpose on the joint, in order to fill it up, and preserve +it, when the bones fold, for the bending of the knee. Each column +or pillar has its pedestal, which is composed of various inlaid parts, +so well jointed together, that they can either bend, or keep stiff, +as occasion requires. The pedestal, I mean the foot, turns, at +a man’s pleasure, under the pillar. In this foot we find +nothing but nerves, tendons, and little bones closely knit, that this +part may, at once, be either more supple or more firm, according to +various occasions. Even the toes, with their articles and nails, +serve to feel the ground a man walks on, to lean and stand with more +dexterity and nimbleness, the better to preserve the equilibrium of +the body, to rise, or to stoop. The two feet stretch forward, +to keep the body from falling that way, when it stoops or bends. +The two pillars are jointed together at the top, to bear up the rest +of the body, but are still divided there in such a manner, that that +joint affords man the conveniency of resting himself, by sitting on +the two biggest muscles of the body.</p> +<p>The body of the structure is proportioned to the height of the pillars. +It contains such parts as are necessary for life, and which consequently +ought to be placed in the centre, and shut up in the securest place. +Therefore two rows of ribs pretty close to one another, that come out +of the backbone, as the branches of a tree do from its trunk, form a +kind of hoop, to hide and shelter those noble and tender parts. +But because the ribs could not entirely shut up that centre of the human +body, without hindering the dilatation of the stomach and of the entrails, +they form that hoop but to a certain place, below which they leave an +empty space, that the inside may freely distend and stretch, both for +respiration and feeding.</p> +<p>As for the backbone, all the works of man afford nothing so artfully +and curiously wrought. It would be too stiff, and too frangible +or brittle, if it were made of one single bone: and in such a case man +could never bend or stoop. The author of this machine has prevented +that inconveniency by forming vertebræ, which jointing one with +another make up a whole, consisting of several pieces of bones, more +strong than if it were of a single piece. This compound being +sometimes supple and pliant, and sometimes stiff, stands either upright, +or bends, in a moment, as a man pleases. All these vertebræ +have in the middle a gutter or channel, that serves to convey a continuation +of the substance of the brain to the extremities of the body, and with +speed to send thither spirits through that pipe.</p> +<p>But who can forbear admiring the nature of the bones? They +are very hard; and we see that even the corruption of all the rest of +the body, after death, does not affect them. Nevertheless, they +are full of numberless holes and cavities that make them lighter; and +in the middle they are full of the marrow, or pith, that is to nourish +them. They are bored exactly in those places through which the +ligaments that knit them are to pass. Moreover, their extremities +are bigger than the middle, and form, as it were, two semicircular heads, +to make one bone turn more easily with another, that so the whole may +fold and bend without trouble.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXV. Of the Organs.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Within the enclosure of the ribs are placed in order all the great +organs such as serve to make a man breathe; such as digest the aliments; +and such as make new blood. Respiration, or breathing, is necessary +to temper inward heat, occasioned by the boiling of the blood, and by +the impetuous course of the spirits. The air is a kind of food +that nourishes the animal, and by means of which he renews himself every +moment of his life. Nor is digestion less necessary to prepare +sensible aliments towards their being changed into blood, which is a +liquor apt to penetrate everywhere, and to thicken into flesh in the +extreme parts, in order to repair in all the members what they lose +continually both by transpiration and the waste of spirits. The +lungs are like great covers, which being spongy, easily dilate and contract +themselves, and as they incessantly take in and blow out a great deal +of air, they form a kind of bellows that are in perpetual motion. +The stomach has a dissolvent that causes hunger, and puts man in mind +of his want of food. That dissolvent, which stimulates and pricks +the stomach, does, by that very uneasiness, prepare for it a very lively +pleasure, when its craving is satisfied by the aliments. Then +man, with delight, fills his belly with strange matter, which would +create horror in him if he could see it as soon as it has entered his +stomach, and which even displeases him, when he sees it being already +satisfied. The stomach is made in the figure of a bagpipe. +There the aliments being dissolved by a quick coction, or digestion, +are all confounded, and make up a soft liquor, which afterwards becomes +a kind of milk, called chyle; and which being at last brought into the +heart, receives there, through the plenty of spirits, the form, vivacity, +and colour of blood. But while the purest juice of the aliments +passes from the stomach into the pipes destined for the preparation +of chyle and blood, the gross particles of the same aliments are separated, +just as bran is from flour by a sieve; and they are dejected downwards +to ease the body of them, through the most hidden passages, and the +most remote from the organs of the senses, lest these be offended at +them. Thus the wonders of this machine are so great and numerous, +that we find some unfathomable, even in the most abject and mortifying +functions of the body, which modesty will not allow to be more particularly +explained.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXVI. Of the Inward Parts.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I own that the inward parts are not so agreeable to the sight as +the outward; but then be pleased to observe they are not made to be +seen. Nay, it was necessary according to art and design that they +should not be discovered without horror, and that a man should not without +violent reluctance go about to discover them by cutting open this machine +in another man. It is this very horror that prepares compassion +and humanity in the hearts of men when one sees another wounded or hurt. +Add to this, with St. Austin, that there are in those inward parts a +proportion, order, and mechanism which still please more an attentive, +inquisitive mind than external beauty can please the eyes of the body. +That inside of man—which is at once so ghastly and horrid and +so wonderful and admirable—is exactly as it should be to denote +dirt and clay wrought by a Divine hand, for we find in it both the frailty +of the creature and the art of the Creator.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXVII. Of the Arms and their Use.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From the top of that precious fabric we have described hang the two +arms, which are terminated by the hands, and which bear a perfect symmetry +one with another. The arms are knit with the shoulders in such +a manner that they have a free motion, in that joint. They are +besides divided at the elbow and at the wrist that they may fold, bend, +and turn with quickness. The arms are of a just length to reach +all the parts of the body. They are nervous and full of muscles, +that they may, as well as the back, be often in action and sustain the +greatest fatigue of all the body. The hands are a contexture of +nerves and little bones set one within another in such a manner that +they have all the strength and suppleness necessary to feel the neighbouring +bodies, to seize on them, hold them fast, throw them, draw them to one, +push them off, disentangle them, and untie them one from another.</p> +<p>The fingers, the ends of which are armed with nails, are by the delicacy +and variety of their motions contrived to exercise the most curious +and marvellous arts. The arms and hands serve also, according +as they are either extended, folded, or turned, to poise the body in +such a manner as that it may stoop without any danger of falling. +The whole machine has, besides, independently from all after-thoughts, +a kind of spring that poises it on a sudden and makes it find the equilibrium +in all its different postures and positions.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXVIII. Of the Neck and Head.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Above the body rises the neck, which is either firm or flexible at +pleasure. Must a man bear a heavy burden on his head? This +neck becomes as stiff as if it were made up of one single bone. +Has he a mind to bow or turn his head? The neck bends every way +as if all its bones were disjointed. This neck, a little raised +above the shoulders, bears up with ease the head, which over-rules and +governs the whole body. If it were less big it would bear no proportion +with the rest of the machine; and if it were bigger it would not only +be disproportioned and deformed, but, besides, its weight would both +crush the neck and put man in danger of falling on the side it should +lean a little too much. This head, fortified on all sides by very +thick and very hard bones in order the better to preserve the precious +treasure it encloses, is jointed with the vertebræ of the neck, +and has a very quick communication with all the other parts of the body. +It contains the brain, whose moist, soft, and spongy substance is made +up of tender filaments or threads woven together; this is the centre +of all the wonders we shall speak of afterwards. The skull is +regularly perforated, or bored, with exact proportion, and symmetry, +for, the two eyes, the two ears, the mouth, and the nostrils. +There are nerves destined for sensations, that exercise and play in +most of those pipes. The nose, which has no nerves for its sensation, +has a cribriform, or spongy bone, to let odours pass on to the brain. +Amongst the organs of these sensations the chief are double, to preserve +to one side what the other might happen to be defective in by any accident. +These two organs of the same sensation are symmetrically placed either +on the forepart or on the sides, that man may use them with more ease +to the right or to the left or right against him—that is to say, +towards the places his joints direct his steps and all his actions. +Besides, the flexibility of the neck makes all those organs turn in +an instant which way soever he pleases. All the hinder part of +the head, which is the least able to defend itself, is therefore the +thickest. It is adorned with hair which at the same time serves +to fortify the head against the injuries of the air; and, on the other +hand, the hair likewise adorns the fore part of the head and renders +the face more graceful. The face is the fore part of the head, +wherein the principal sensations meet and centre with an order and proportion +that render it very beautiful unless some accident or other happen to +alter and impair so regular a piece of work. The two eyes are +equal, being placed about the middle, on the two sides of the head, +that they may, without trouble, discover afar off both on the right +and left all strange objects, and that they may commodiously watch for +the safety of all the parts of the body. The exact symmetry with +which they are placed is the ornament of the face; and He that made +them has kindled in them I know not what celestial flame, the like of +which all the rest of nature does not afford. These eyes are a +sort of looking-glasses, wherein all the objects of the whole world +are painted by turns and without confusion in the bottom of the retina +that the thinking part of man may see them in those looking-glasses. +But though we perceive all objects by a double organ, yet we never see +the objects double, because the two nerves that are subservient to sight +in our eyes are but two branches that unite in one pipe, as the two +glasses of a pair of spectacles unite in the upper part that joins them +together. The two eyes are adorned with two equal eyebrows, and, +that they may open and close, they are wrapped up with lids edged with +hair that defend so delicate a part.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XXXIX. Of the Forehead and Other Parts of the +Face.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The forehead gives majesty and gracefulness to all the face, and +serves to heighten all its features. Were it not for the nose, +which is placed in the middle, the whole face would look flat and deformed, +of which they are fully convinced who have happened to see men in whom +that part of the face is mutilated. It is placed just above the +mouth, that it may the more easily discern, by the odours, whatever +is most proper to feed man. The two nostrils serve at once both +for the respiration and smell. Look upon the lips: their lively +colour, freshness, figure, seat, and proportion, with the other features, +render the face most beautiful. The mouth, by the correspondence +of its motions with those of the eyes, animates, gladdens, suddens, +softens, or troubles the face, and by sensible marks expresses every +passion. The lips not only open to receive food, but by their +suppleness and the variety of their motions serve likewise to vary the +sounds that form speech. When they open they discover a double +row of teeth with which the mouth is adorned. These teeth are +little bones set in order in the two jaw-bones, which have a spring +to open and another to shut in such a manner that the teeth grind, like +a mill, the aliments in order to prepare their digestion. But +these aliments thus ground go down into the stomach, through a pipe +different from that through which we breathe, and these two pipes, though +so neighbouring, have nothing common.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XL. Of the Tongue and Teeth.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The tongue is a contexture of small muscles and nerves so very supple, +that it winds and turns like a serpent, with unconceivable mobility +and pliantness. It performs in the mouth the same office which +either the fingers or the bow of a master of music perform on a musical +instrument: for sometimes it strikes the teeth, sometimes the roof of +the mouth. There is a pipe that goes into the inside of the neck, +called throat, from the roof of the mouth to the breast, which is made +up of cartilaginous rings nicely set one within another, and lined within +with a very smooth membrane, in order to render the air that is pushed +from the lungs more sonorous. On the side of the roof of the mouth +the end of that pipe is opened like a flute, by a slit, that either +extends, or contracts itself as is necessary to render the voice either +big or slender, hollow or clear. But lest the aliments, which +have their separate pipe, should slide into the windpipe I have been +describing, there is a kind of valve that lies on the orifice of the +organ of the voice, and playing like a drawbridge, lets the aliments +freely pass through their proper channel, but never suffers the least +particle or drop to fall into the slit of the windpipe. This sort +of valve has a very free motion, and easily turns any way, so that by +shaking on that half-opened orifice, it performs the softest modulations +of the voice. This instance is sufficient to show, by-the-by, +and without entering long-winded details of anatomy, what a marvellous +art there is in the frame of the inward parts. And indeed the +organ I have described is the most perfect of all musical instruments, +nor have these any perfection, but so far as they imitate that.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLI. Of the Smell, Taste, and Hearing.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Who were able to explain the niceness of the organs by which man +discerns the numberless savours and odours of bodies? But how +is it possible for so many different voices to strike at once my ear +without confounding one another, and for those sounds to leave in me, +after they have ceased to be, so lively and so distinct images of what +they have been? How careful was the Artificer who made our bodies +to give our eyes a moist, smooth, and sliding cover to close them; and +why did He leave our ears open? Because, says Cicero, the eyes +must be shut against the light in order to sleep; and, in the meantime, +the ears ought to remain open in order to give us warning, and wake +us by the report of noise, when we are in danger of being surprised. +Who is it that, in an instant, imprints in my eye the heaven, the sea, +and the earth, seated at almost an infinite distance? How can +the faithful images of all the objects of the universe, from the sun +to an atom, range themselves distinctly in so small an organ? +Is not the substance of the brain, which preserves, in order, such lively +representations of all the objects that have made an impression upon +us ever since we were in the world, a most wonderful prodigy? +Men admire with reason the invention of books, wherein the history of +so many events, and the collection of so many thoughts, are preserved. +But what comparison can be made between the best book and the brain +of a learned man? There is no doubt but such a brain is a collection +infinitely more precious, and of a far more excellent contrivance, than +a book. It is in that small repository that a man never misses +finding the images he has occasion for. He calls them, and they +come; he dismisses them, and they sink I know not where, and disappear, +to make room for others. A man shuts or opens his fancy at pleasure, +like a book. He turns, as it were, its leaves; and, in an instant, +goes from one end to the other. There is even in memory a sort +of table, like the index of a book, which shows where certain remote +images are to be found. We do not find that these innumerable +characters, which the mind of man reads inwardly with so much rapidity, +leave any distinct trace or print in the brain, when we open it. +That admirable book is but a soft substance, or a sort of bottom made +up of tender threads, woven one with another. Now what skilful +hand has laid up in that kind of dirt, which appears so shapeless, such +precious images, ranged with such excellent and curious art?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLII. Of the Proportion of Man’s Body.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Such is the body of man in general: for I do not enter into an anatomical +detail, my design being only to discover the art that is conspicuous +in nature, by the simple cast of an eye, without any science. +The body of man might undoubtedly be either much bigger and taller, +or much lesser and smaller. But if, for instance, it were but +one foot high, it would be insulted by most animals, that would tread +and crush it under their feet. If it were as tall as a high steeple, +a small number of men would in a few days consume all the aliments a +whole country affords. They could find neither horses nor any +other beasts of burden either to carry them on their backs or draw them +in a machine with wheels; nor could they find sufficient quantity of +materials to build houses proportioned to their bigness; and as there +could be but a small number of men upon earth, so they should want most +conveniences. Now, who is it that has so well regulated the size +of man to so just a standard? Who is it that has fixed that of +other animals and living creatures, with proportion to that of man? +Of all animals, man only stands upright on his feet, which gives him +a nobleness and majesty that distinguishes him, even as to the outside, +from all that lives upon earth. Not only his figure is the noblest, +but he is also the strongest and most dextrous of all animals, in proportion +to his bigness. Let one nicely examine the bulk and weight of +the most terrible beasts, and he will find, that though they have more +matter than the body of a man, yet a vigorous man has more strength +of body than most wild beasts. Nor are these dreadful to him, +except in their teeth and claws. But man, who has not such natural +arms in his limbs, has yet hands, whose dexterity to make artificial +weapons surpasses all that nature has bestowed upon beasts. Thus +man either pierces with his darts or draws into his snares, masters, +and leads in chains the strongest and fiercest animals. Nay, he +has the skill to tame them in their captivity, and to sport with them +as he pleases. He teaches lions and tigers to caress him: and +gets on the back of elephants.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLIII. Of the Soul, which alone, among all Creatures, +Thinks and Knows.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But the body of man, which appears to be the masterpiece of nature, +is not to be compared to his thought. It is certain that there +are bodies that do not think: man, for instance, ascribes no knowledge +to stone, wood, or metals, which undoubtedly are bodies. Nay, +it is so natural to believe that matter cannot think, that all unprejudiced +men cannot forbear laughing when they hear any one assert that beasts +are but mere machines; because they cannot conceive that mere machines +can have such knowledge as they pretend to perceive in beasts. +They think it to be like children’s playing, and talking to their +puppets, the ascribing any knowledge to mere machines. Hence it +is that the ancients themselves, who knew no real substance but the +body, pretended, however, that the soul of a man was a fifth element, +or a sort of quintessence without name, unknown here below, indivisible, +immutable, and altogether celestial and divine, because they could not +conceive that the terrestrial matter of the four elements could think, +and know itself: <i>Aristoteles quintam quandam naturam censet esse</i>, +<i>è quâ sit mens. Cogitare enim</i>, <i>et providere</i>, +<i>et discere</i>, <i>et docere. . . . in horum quatuor generum nullo +inesse putat</i>; <i>quintum genus adhibet vacans nomine.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLIV. Matter Cannot Think.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But let us suppose whatever you please, for I will not enter the +lists with any sect of philosophers: here is an alternative which no +philosopher can avoid. Either matter can become a thinking substance, +without adding anything to it, or matter cannot think at all, and so +what thinks in us is a substance distinct from matter, and which is +united to it. If matter can acquire the faculty of thinking without +adding anything to it, it must, at least, be owned that all matter does +not think, and that even some matter that now thinks did not think fifty +years ago; as, for instance, the matter of which the body of a young +man is made up did not think ten years before he was born. It +must then be concluded that matter can acquire the faculty of thinking +by a certain configuration, ranging, and motion of its parts. +Let us, for instance, suppose the matter of a stone, or of a heap of +sand. It is agreed this part of matter has no manner of thought; +and therefore to make it begin to think, all its parts must be configurated, +ranged, and moved a certain way and to a certain degree. Now, +who is it that knew how to find, with so much niceness, that proportion, +order, and motion that way, and to such a degree, above and below which +matter would never think? Who is it that has given all those just, +exact, and precise modifications to a vile and shapeless matter, in +order to form the body of a child, and to render it rational by degrees? +If, on the contrary, it be affirmed that matter cannot become a thinking +substance without adding something to it, and that another being must +be united to it, I ask, what will that other thinking being be, whilst +the matter, to which it is united, only moves? Therefore, here +are two natures or substances very unlike and distinct. We know +one by figures and local motions only; as we do the other by perceptions +and reasonings. The one does not imply, or create the idea of +the other, for their respective ideas have nothing in common.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLV. Of the Union of the Soul and Body, of which +God alone can be the Author.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But now, how comes it to pass that beings so unlike are so intimately +united together in man? Whence comes it that certain motions of +the body so suddenly and so infallibly raise certain thoughts in the +soul? Whence comes it that the thoughts of the soul, so suddenly +and so infallibly, occasion certain motions in the body? Whence +proceeds so regular a society, for seventy or fourscore years, without +any interruption? How comes it to pass that this union of two +beings, and two operations, so very different, make up so exact a compound, +that many are tempted to believe it to be a simple and indivisible whole? +What hand had the skill to unite and tie together these two extremes +and opposites? It is certain they did not unite themselves by +mutual consent, for matter having of itself neither thought nor will, +to make terms and conditions, it could not enter into an agreement with +the mind. On the other hand, the mind does not remember that it +ever made an agreement with matter; nor could it be subjected to such +an agreement, if it had quite forgot it. If the mind had freely, +and of its own accord, resolved to submit to the impressions of matter, +it would not, however, subject itself to them but when it should remember +such a resolution, which, besides, it might alter at pleasure. +Nevertheless, it is certain that in spite of itself it is dependent +on the body, and that it cannot free itself from its dependence, unless +it destroy the organs of the body by a violent death. Besides, +although the mind had voluntarily subjected itself to matter, it would +not follow that matter were reciprocally subjected to the mind. +The mind would indeed have certain thoughts when the body should have +certain motions, but the body would not be determined to have, in its +turn, certain motions, as soon as the mind should have certain thoughts. +Now it is most certain that this dependence is reciprocal. Nothing +is more absolute than the command of the mind over the body. The +mind wills, and, instantly, all the members of the body are in motion, +as if they were acted by the most powerful machines. On the other +hand, nothing is more manifest than the power and influence of the body +over the mind. The body is in motion, and, instantly the mind +is forced to think either with pleasure or pain, upon certain objects. +Now, what hand equally powerful over these two divers and distinct natures +has been able to bring them both under the same yoke, and hold them +captive in so exact and inviolable a society? Will any man say +it was chance? If he does, will he be able either to understand +what he means, or to make it understood by others? Has chance, +by a concourse of atoms, hooked together the parts of the body with +the mind? If the mind can be hooked with some parts of the body, +it must have parts itself, and consequently be a perfect body, in which +case, we relapse into the first answer, which I have already confuted. +If, on the contrary, the mind has no parts, nothing can hook it with +those of the body, nor has chance wherewithal to tie them together.</p> +<p>In short, my alternative ever returns, and is peremptory and decisive. +If the mind and body are a whole made up of matter only, how comes it +to pass that this matter, which yesterday did not, has this day begun +to think? Who is it that has bestowed upon it what it had not, +and which is without comparison more noble than thoughtless matter? +What bestows thought upon it, has it not itself, and how can it give +what it has not? Let us even suppose that thought should result +from a certain configuration, ranging, and degree of motion a certain +way, of all the parts of matter: what artificer has had the skill to +find out all those just, nice, and exact combinations, in order to make +a thinking machine? If, on the contrary, the mind and body are +two distinct natures, what power superior to those two natures has been +able to unite and tie together without the mind’s assent, or so +much as its knowing which way that union was made? Who is it that +with such absolute and supreme command over-rules both minds and bodies, +and keeps them in society and correspondence, and under a sort of incomprehensible +policy?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLVI. The Soul has an Absolute Command over the +Body.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Be pleased to observe that the command of my mind over my body is +supreme and absolute in its bounded extent, since my single will, without +any effort or preparation, causes all the members of my body to move +on a sudden and immediately, according to the rules of mechanics. +As the Scripture gives us the character of God, who said after the creation +of the universe, “Let there be light, and there was light”—in +like manner, the inward word of my soul alone, without any effort or +preparation, makes what it says. I say, for instance, within myself, +through that inward, simple, and momentaneous word, “Let my body +move, and it moves.” At the command of that simple and intimate +will, all the parts of my body are at work. Immediately all nerves +are distended, all the springs hasten to concur together, and the whole +machine obeys, just as if every one of the most secret of those organs +heard a supreme and omnipotent voice. This is certainly the most +simple and most effectual power that can be conceived. All the +other beings within our knowledge afford not the like instance of it, +and this is precisely what men that are sensible and persuaded of a +Deity ascribe to it in all the universe.</p> +<p>Shall I ascribe it to my feeble mind, or rather to the power it has +over my body, which is so vastly different from it? Shall I believe +that my will has that supreme command of its own nature, though in itself +so weak and imperfect? But how comes it to pass that, among so +many bodies, it has that power over no more than one? For no other +body moves according to its desires. Now, who is it that gave +over one body the power it had over no other? Will any man be +again so bold as to ascribe this to chance?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLVII. The Power of the Soul over the Body is +not only Supreme or Absolute, but Blind at the same time.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But that power, which is so supreme and absolute, is blind at the +same time. The most simple and ignorant peasant knows how to move +his body as well as a philosopher the most skilled in anatomy. +The mind of a peasant commands his nerves, muscles, and tendons, which +he knows not, and which he never heard of. He finds them without +knowing how to distinguish them, or knowing where they lie; he calls +precisely upon such as he has occasion for, nor does he mistake one +for the other. If a rope-dancer, for instance, does but will, +the spirits instantly run with impetuousness, sometimes to certain nerves, +sometimes to others—all which distend or slacken in due time. +Ask him which of them he set a-going, and which way he begun to move +them? He will not so much as understand what you mean. He +is an absolute stranger to what he has done in all the inward springs +of his machine. The lute-player, who is perfectly well acquainted +with all the strings of his instrument, who sees them with his eyes, +and touches them one after another with his fingers, yet mistakes them +sometimes. But the soul that governs the machine of man’s +body moves all its springs in time, without seeing or discerning them, +without being acquainted with their figure, situation, or strength, +and yet it never mistakes. What prodigy is here! My mind +commands what it knows not, and cannot see; what neither has, nor is +capable of any knowledge. And yet it is infallibly obeyed. +How much blindness and how much power at once is here! The blindness +is man’s; but the power, whose is it? To whom shall we ascribe +it, unless it be to Him who sees what man does not see, and performs +in him what passes his understanding? It is to no purpose my mind +is willing to move the bodies that surround it, and which it knows very +distinctly; for none of them stirs, and it has not power to move the +least atom by its will. There is but one single body, which some +superior Power must have made its property. With respect to this +body, my mind is but willing, and all the springs of that machine, which +are unknown to it, move in time and in concert to obey him. St. +Augustin, who made these reflections, has expressed them excellently +well. “The inward parts of our bodies,” says he, “cannot +be living but by our souls; but our souls animate them far more easily +than they can know them. . . . The soul knows not the body which +is subject to it. . . . It does not know why it does not move +the nerves but when it pleases; and why, on the contrary, the pulsation +of veins goes on without interruption, whether the mind will or no. +It knows not which is the first part of the body it moves immediately, +in order thereby to move all the rest. . . . It does not know +why it feels in spite of itself, and moves the members only when it +pleases. It is the mind does these things in the body. But +how comes it to pass it neither knows what she does, nor in what manner +it performs it? Those who learn, anatomy,” continues that +father, “are taught by others what passes within, and is performed +by themselves. Why,” says he, “do I know, without +being taught, that there is in the sky, at a prodigious distance from +me, a sun and stars; and why have I occasion for a master to learn where +motion begins? . . . When I move my finger, I know not how what +I perform within myself is performed. We are too far above, and +cannot comprehend ourselves.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLVIII. The Sovereignty of the Soul over the Body +principally appears in the Images imprinted in the Brain.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It is certain we cannot sufficiently admire either the absolute power +of the soul over corporeal organs which she knows not, or the continual +use it makes of them without discerning them. That sovereignty +principally appears with respect to the images imprinted in our brain. +I know all the bodies of the universe that have made any impression +on my senses for a great many years past. I have distinct images +of them that represent them to me, insomuch that I believe I see them +even when they exist no more. My brain is like a closet full of +pictures, which should move and set themselves in order at the master’s +pleasure. Painters, with all their art and skill, never attain +but an imperfect likeness; whereas the pictures I have in my head are +so faithful, that it is by consulting them I perceive all the defects +of those made by painters, and correct them within myself. Now, +do these images, more like their original than the masterpieces of the +art of painting, imprint themselves in my head without any art? +Is my brain a book, all the characters of which have ranged themselves +of their own accord? If there be any art in the case, it does +not proceed from me. For I find within me that collection of images +without having ever so much as thought either to imprint them, or set +them in order. Moreover, all these images either appear or retire +as I please, without any confusion. I call them back, and they +return; I dismiss them, and they sink I know not where. They either +assemble or separate, as I please. But I neither know where they +lie, nor what they are. Nevertheless I find them always ready. +The agitation of so many images, old and new, that revive, join, or +separate, never disturbs a certain order that is amongst them. +If some of them do not appear at the first summons, at least I am certain +they are not far off. They may lurk in some deep corner, but I +am not totally ignorant of them as I am of things I never knew; for, +on the contrary, I know confusedly what I look for. If any other +image offers itself in the room of that I called for, I immediately +dismiss it, telling it, “It is not you I have occasion for.” +But, then, where lie objects half-forgotten? They are present +within me, since I look for them there, and find them at last. +Again, in what manner are they there, since I look for them a long while +in vain? What becomes of them? “I am no more,” +says St. Augustin, “what I was when I had the thoughts I cannot +find again. I know not,” continues that father, “either +how it comes to pass that I am thus withdrawn from and deprived of myself, +or how I am afterwards brought back and restored to myself. I +am, as it were, another man, and carried to another place, when I look +for, and do not find, what I had trusted to my memory. In such +a case we cannot reach, and are, in a manner, strangers remote from +ourselves. Nor do we come at us but when we find what we are in +quest of. But where is it we look for but within us? Or +what is it we look for but ourselves? . . . So unfathomable a +difficulty astonishes us!” I distinctly remember I have +known what I do not know at present. I remember my very oblivion. +I call to mind the pictures or images of every person in every period +of life wherein I have seen them formerly, so that the same person passes +several times in my head. At first, I see one a child, then a +young, and afterwards an old, man. I place wrinkles in the same +face in which, on the other side, I see the tender graces of infancy. +I join what subsists no more with what is still, without confounding +these extremes. I preserve I know not what, which, by turns, is +all that I have seen since I came into the world. Out of this +unknown store come all the perfumes, harmonies, tastes, degrees, and +mixtures of colours; in short, all the figures that have passed through +my senses, and which they have trusted to my brain. I revive when +I please the joy I felt thirty years ago. It returns; but sometimes +it is not the same it was formerly, and appears without rejoicing me. +I remember I have been well pleased, and yet am not so while I have +that remembrance. On the other hand, I renew past sorrows and +troubles. They are present; for I distinctly perceive them such +as they were formerly, and not the least part of their bitterness and +lively sense escapes my memory. But yet they are no more the same; +they are dulled, and neither trouble nor disquiet me. I perceive +all their severity without feeling it; or, if I feel it, it is only +by representation, which turns a former smart and racking pain into +a kind of sport and diversion, for the image of past sorrows rejoices +me. It is the same with pleasures: a virtuous mind is afflicted +by the memory of its disorderly unlawful enjoyments. They are +present, for they appear with all their softest and most flattering +attendants; but they are no more themselves, and such joys return only +to make us uneasy.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XLIX. Two Wonders of the Memory and Brain.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Here, therefore, are two wonders equally incomprehensible. +The first, that my brain is a kind of book, that contains a number almost +infinite of images, and characters ranged in an order I did not contrive, +and of which chance could not be the author. For I never had the +least thought either of writing anything in my brain, or to place in +any order the images and characters I imprinted in it. I had no +other thought but only to see the objects that struck my senses. +Neither could chance make so marvellous a book: even all the art of +man is too imperfect ever to reach so high a perfection, therefore what +hand had the skill to compose it?</p> +<p>The second wonder I find in my brain, is to see that my mind reads +with so much ease, whatever it pleases, in that inward book; and read +even characters it does not know. I never saw the traces or figures +imprinted in my brain, and even the substance of my brain itself, which +is like the paper of that book, is altogether unknown to me. All +those numberless characters transpose themselves, and afterwards resume +their rank and place to obey my command. I have, as it were, a +divine power over a work I am unacquainted with, and which is incapable +of knowledge. That which understands nothing, understands my thought +and performs it instantly. The thought of man has no power over +bodies: I am sensible of it by running over all nature. There +is but one single body which my bare will moves, as if it were a deity; +and even moves the most subtle and nicest springs of it, without knowing +them. Now, who is it that united my will to this body, and gave +it so much power over it?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. L. The Mind of Man is mixed with Greatness and +Weakness. Its Greatness consists in two things. First, the +Mind has the Idea of the Infinite.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us conclude these observations by a short reflection on the essence +of our mind; in which I find an incomprehensible mixture of greatness +and weakness. Its greatness is real: for it brings together the +past and the present, without confusion; and by its reasoning penetrates +into futurity. It has the idea both of bodies and spirits. +Nay, it has the idea of the infinite: for it supposes and affirms all +that belongs to it, and rejects and denies all that is not proper to +it. If you say that the infinite is triangular, the mind will +answer without hesitation, that what has no bounds can have no figure. +If you desire it to assign the first of the units that make up an infinite +number, it will readily answer, that there can be no beginning, end, +or number in the infinite; because if one could find either a first +or last unit in it, one might add some other unit to that, and consequently +increase the number. Now a number cannot be infinite, when it +is capable of some addition, and when a limit may be assigned to it, +on the side where it may receive an increase.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LI. The Mind knows the Finite only by the Idea +of the Infinite.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It is even in the infinite that my mind knows the finite. When +we say a man is sick, we mean a man that has no health; and when we +call a man weak, we mean one that has no strength. We know sickness, +which is a privation of health, no other way but by representing to +us health itself as a real good, of which such a man is deprived; and, +in like manner, we only know weakness, by representing to us strength +as a real advantage, which such a man is not master of. We know +darkness, which is nothing real, only by denying, and consequently by +conceiving daylight, which is most real, and most positive. In +like manner we know the finite only by assigning it a bound, which is +a mere negation of a greater extent; and consequently only the privation +of the infinite. Now a man could never represent to himself the +privation of the infinite, unless he conceived the infinite itself: +just as he could not have a notion of sickness, unless he had an idea +of health, of which it is only a privation. Now, whence comes +that idea of the infinite in us?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LII. Secondly, the Ideas of the Mind are Universal, +Eternal, and Immutable.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Oh! how great is the mind of man! He carries within him wherewithal +to astonish, and infinitely to surpass himself: since his ideas are +universal, eternal, and immutable. They are universal: for when +I say it is impossible to be and not to be; the whole is bigger than +a part of it; a line perfectly circular has no straight parts; between +two points given the straight line is the shortest; the centre of a +perfect circle is equally distant from all the points of the circumference; +an equilateral triangle has no obtuse or right angle: all these truths +admit of no exception. There never can be any being, line, circle, +or triangle, but according to these rules. These axioms are of +all times, or to speak more properly, they exist before all time, and +will ever remain after any comprehensible duration. Let the universe +be turned topsy-turvy, destroyed, and annihilated; and even let there +be no mind to reason about beings, lines, circles, and triangles: yet +it will ever be equally true in itself, that the same thing cannot at +once be and not be; that a perfect circle can have no part of a straight +line; that the centre of a perfect circle cannot be nearer one side +of the circumference than the other. Men may, indeed, not think +actually on these truths: and it might even happen that there should +be neither universe nor any mind capable to reflect on these truths: +but nevertheless they are still constant and certain in themselves although +no mind should be acquainted with them; just as the rays of the sun +would not cease being real, although all men should be blind, and no +body have eyes to be sensible of their light. By affirming that +two and two make four, says St. Augustin, man is not only certain that +he speaks truth, but he cannot doubt that such a proposition was ever +equally true, and must be so eternally. These ideas we carry within +ourselves have no bounds, and cannot admit of any. It cannot be +said that what I have affirmed about the centre of perfect circles is +true only in relation to a certain number of circles; for that proposition +is true, through evident necessity, with respect to all circles <i>ad +infinitum</i>. These unbounded ideas can never be changed, altered, +impaired, or defaced in us; for they make up the very essence of our +reason. Whatever effort a man may make in his own mind, yet it +is impossible for him ever to entertain a serious doubt about the truths +which those ideas clearly represent to us. For instance, I never +can seriously call in question, whether the whole is bigger than one +of its parts; or whether the centre of a perfect circle is equally distant +from all the points of the circumference. The idea of the infinite +is in me like that of numbers, lines, circles, a whole, and a part. +The changing our ideas would be, in effect, the annihilating reason +itself. Let us judge and make an estimate of our greatness by +the immutable infinite stamp within us, and which can never be defaced +from our minds. But lest such a real greatness should dazzle and +betray us, by flattering our vanity, let us hasten to cast our eyes +on our weakness.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LIII. Weakness of Man’s Mind.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>That same mind that incessantly sees the infinite, and, through the +rule of the infinite, all finite things, is likewise infinitely ignorant +of all the objects that surround it. It is altogether ignorant +of itself, and gropes about in an abyss of darkness. It neither +knows what it is, nor how it is united with a body; nor which way it +has so much command over all the springs of that body, which it knows +not. It is ignorant of its own thoughts and wills. It knows +not, with certainty, either what it believes or wills. It often +fancies to believe and will, what it neither believes nor wills. +It is liable to mistake, and its greatest excellence is to acknowledge +it. To the error of its thoughts, it adds the disorder and irregularity +of its will and desires; so that it is forced to groan in the consciousness +and experience of its corruption. Such is the mind of man, weak, +uncertain, stinted, full of errors. Now, who is it that put the +idea of the infinite, that is to say of perfection, in a subject so +stinted and so full of imperfection? Did it give itself so sublime, +and so pure an idea, which is itself a kind of infinite in imagery? +What finite being distinct from it was able to give it what bears no +proportion with what is limited within any bounds? Let us suppose +the mind of man to be like a looking-glass, wherein the images of all +the neighbouring bodies imprint themselves. Now what being was +able to stamp within us the image of the infinite, if the infinite never +existed? Who can put in a looking-glass the image of a chimerical +object which is not in being, and which was never placed against the +glass? This image of the infinite is not a confused collection +of finite objects, which the mind may mistake for a true infinite. +It is the true infinite of which we have the thought and idea. +We know it so well, that we exactly distinguish it from whatever it +is not; and that no subtilty can palm upon us any other object in its +room. We are so well acquainted with it, that we reject from it +any propriety that denotes the least bound or limit. In short, +we know it so well, that it is in it alone we know all the rest, just +as we know the night by the day, sickness by health. Now, once +more, whence comes so great an image? Does it proceed from nothing? +Can a stinted limited being imagine and invent the infinite, if there +be no infinite at all? Our weak and short-sighted mind cannot +of itself form that image, which, at this rate, should have no author. +None of the outward objects can give us that image: for they can only +give us the image of what they are, and they are limited and imperfect. +Therefore, from whence shall we derive that distinct image which is +unlike anything within us, and all we know here below, without us? +Whence does it proceed? Where is that infinite we cannot comprehend, +because it is really infinite: and which nevertheless we cannot mistake, +because we distinguish it from anything that is inferior to it? +Sure it must be somewhere, otherwise how could it imprint itself in +our minds?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LIV. The Ideas of Man are the Immutable Rules +of his Judgment.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But besides the idea of the infinite, I have yet universal and immutable +notions, which are the rule and standard of all my judgments; insomuch +that I cannot judge of anything but by consulting them; nor am I free +to judge contrary to what they represent to me. My thoughts are +so far from being able to correct or form that rule, that they are themselves +corrected, in spite of myself, by that superior rule; and invincibly +subjected to its decision. Whatever effort my mind can make, I +can never be brought, as I observed before, to entertain a doubt whether +two and two make four; whether the whole is bigger than one of its parts; +or whether the centre of a perfect circle be equally distant from all +the points of the circumference. I am not free to deny those propositions; +and if I happen to deny those truths, or others much like them, there +is in me something above myself, which forces me to return to the rule. +That fixed and immutable rule is so inward and intimate, that I am tempted +to take it for myself. But it is above me, since it corrects and +rectifies me; gives me a distrust of myself, and makes me sensible of +my impotency. It is something that inspires me every moment, provided +I hearken to it, and I never err or mistake except when I am not attentive +to it. What inspires me would for ever preserve me from error, +if I were docile, and acted without precipitation; for that inward inspiration +would teach me to judge aright of things within my reach, and about +which I have occasion to form a judgment. As for others, it would +teach me not to judge of them at all, which second lesson is no less +important than the first. That inward rule is what I call my reason; +but I speak of my reason without penetrating into the extent of those +words, as I speak of nature and instinct, without knowing what those +expressions mean.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LV. What Man’s Reason is.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It is certain my reason is within me, for I must continually recollect +myself to find it; but the superior reason that corrects me upon occasion, +and which I consult, is none of mine, nor is it part of myself. +That rule is perfect and immutable; whereas I am changeable and imperfect. +When I err, it preserves its rectitude. When I am undeceived, +it is not set right, for it never was otherwise; and still keeping to +truth has the authority to call, and bring me back to it. It is +an inward master that makes me either be silent or speak; believe, or +doubt; acknowledge my errors, or confirm my judgment. I am instructed +by hearkening to it; whereas I err and go astray when I hearken to myself. +That Master is everywhere, and His voice is heard, from one end of the +universe to the other, by all men as well as me. Whilst He corrects +and rectifies me in France, He corrects and sets right other men in +China, Japan, Mexico, and in Peru, by the same principles.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LVI. Reason is the Same in all Men, of all Ages +and Countries.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Two men who never saw or heard of one another, and who never entertained +any correspondence with any other man that could give them common notions, +yet speak at two extremities of the earth, about a certain number of +truths, as if they were in concert. It is infallibly known beforehand +in one hemisphere, what will be answered in the other upon these truths. +Men of all countries and of all ages, whatever their education may have +been, find themselves invincibly subjected and obliged to think and +speak in the same manner. The Master who incessantly teaches us +makes all of us think the same way. Whenever we hastily judge, +without hearkening to His voice, in diffidence of ourselves, we think +and utter dreams full of extravagance. Thus what appears most +to be part of ourselves, and our very essence, I mean our reason, is +least our own, and what, on the contrary, ought to be accounted most +borrowed. We continually receive a reason superior to us, as we +incessantly breathe the air, which is a foreign body; or as we incessantly +see all the objects near us by the light of the sun, whose rays are +bodies foreign to our eyes. That superior reason over-rules and +governs, to a certain degree, with an absolute power all men, even the +least rational, and makes them all ever agree, in spite of themselves, +upon those points. It is she that makes a savage in Canada think +about a great many things, just as the Greek and Roman philosophers +did. It is she that made the Chinese geometricians find out much +of the same truths with the Europeans, whilst those nations so very +remote were unknown one to another. It is she that makes people +in Japan conclude, as in France, that two and two make four; nor is +it apprehended that any nation shall ever change their opinion about +it. It is she that makes men think nowadays about certain points, +just as men thought about the same four thousand years ago. It +is she that gives uniform thoughts to the most jealous and jarring men, +and the most irreconcilable among themselves. It is by her that +men of all ages and countries are, as it were, chained about an immovable +centre, and held in the bonds of amity by certain invariable rules, +called first principles, notwithstanding the infinite variations of +opinions that arise in them from their passion, avocations, and caprices, +which over-rule all their other less-clear judgments. It is through +her that men, as depraved as they are, have not yet presumed openly +to bestow on vice the name of virtue, and that they are reduced to dissemble +being just, sincere, moderate, benevolent, in order to gain one another’s +esteem. The most wicked and abandoned of men cannot be brought +to esteem what they wish they could esteem, or to despise what they +wish they could despise. It is not possible to force the eternal +barrier of truth and justice. The inward master, called reason, +intimately checks the attempt with absolute power, and knows how to +set bounds to the most impudent folly of men. Though vice has +for many ages reigned with unbridled licentiousness, virtue is still +called virtue; and the most brutish and rash of her adversaries cannot +yet deprive her of her name. Hence it is that vice, though triumphant +in the world, is still obliged to disguise itself under the mask of +hypocrisy or sham honesty, to gain the esteem it has not the confidence +to expect, if it should go bare-faced. Thus, notwithstanding its +impudence, it pays a forced homage to virtue, by endeavouring to adorn +itself with her fairest outside in order to receive the honour and respect +she commands from men. It is true virtuous men are exposed to +censure; and they are, indeed, ever reprehensible in this life, through +their natural imperfections; but yet the most vicious cannot totally +efface in themselves the idea of true virtue. There never was +yet any man upon earth that could prevail either with others, or himself, +to allow, as a received maxim, that to be knavish, passionate, and mischievous, +is more honourable than to be honest, moderate, good-natured, and benevolent.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LVII. Reason in Man is Independent of and above +Him.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I have already evinced that the inward and universal master, at all +times, and in all places, speaks the same truths. We are not that +master: though it is true we often speak without, and higher than him. +But then we mistake, stutter, and do not so much as understand ourselves. +We are even afraid of being made sensible of our mistakes, and we shut +up our ears, lest we should be humbled by his corrections. Certainly +the man who is apprehensive of being corrected and reproved by that +uncorruptible reason, and ever goes astray when he does not follow it, +is not that perfect, universal, and immutable reason, that corrects +him, in spite of himself. In all things we find, as it were, two +principles within us. The one gives, the other receives; the one +fails, or is defective; the other makes up; the one mistakes, the other +rectifies; the one goes awry, through his inclination, the other sets +him right. It was the mistaken and ill-understood experience of +this that led the Marcionites and Manicheans into error. Every +man is conscious within himself of a limited and inferior reason, that +goes astray and errs, as soon as it gets loose from an entire subordination, +and which mends its error no other way, but by returning under the yoke +of another superior, universal, and immutable reason. Thus everything +within us argues an inferior, limited, communicated, and borrowed reason, +that wants every moment to be rectified by another. All men are +rational by means of the same reason, that communicates itself to them, +according to various degrees. There is a certain number of wise +men; but the wisdom from which they draw theirs, as from an inexhaustible +source, and which makes them what they are, is but ONE.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LVIII. It is the Primitive Truth, that Lights +all Minds, by communicating itself to them.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Where is that wisdom? Where is that reason, at once both common +and superior to all limited and imperfect reasons of mankind? +Where is that oracle, which is never silent, and against which all the +vain prejudices of men cannot prevail? Where is that reason which +we have ever occasion to consult, and which prevents us to create in +us the desire of hearing its voice? Where is that lively light +which lighteth every man that cometh into the world? Where is +that pure and soft light, which not only lights those eyes that are +open, but which opens eyes that are shut; cures sore eyes; gives eyes +to those that have none to see it; in short, which raises the desire +of being lighted by it, and gains even their love, who were afraid to +see it? Every eye sees it; nor would it see anything, unless it +saw it; since it is by that light and its pure rays that the eye sees +everything. As the sensibler sun in the firmament lights all bodies, +so the sun of intelligence lights all minds. The substance of +a man’s eye is not the light: on the contrary, the eye borrows, +every moment, the light from the rays of the sun. Just in the +same manner, my mind is not the primitive reason, or universal and immutable +truth; but only the organ through which that original light passes, +and which is lighted by it. There is a sun of spirits that lights +them far better than the visible sun lights bodies. This sun of +spirits gives us, at once, both its light, and the love of it, in order +to seek it. That sun of truth leaves no manner of darkness, and +shines at the same time in the two hemispheres. It lights us as +much by night as by day; nor does it spread its rays outwardly; but +inhabits in every one of us. A man can never deprive another man +of its beams. One sees it equally, in whatever corner of the universe +he may lurk. A man never needs say to another, step aside, to +let me see that sun; you rob me of its rays; you take away my share +of it. That sun never sets: nor suffers any cloud, but such as +are raised by our passions. It is a day without shadow. +It lights the savages even in the deepest and darkest caves; none but +sore eyes wink against its light; nor is there indeed any man so distempered +and so blind, but who still walks by the glimpse of some duskish light +he retains from that inward sun of consciences. That universal +light discovers and represents all objects to our minds; nor can we +judge of anything but by it; just as we cannot discern anybody but by +the rays of the sun.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LIX. It is by the Light of Primitive Truth a Man +Judges whether what one says to him be True or False.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Men may speak and discourse to us in order to instruct us: but we +cannot believe them any farther, than we find a certain conformity or +agreement between what they say, and what the inward master says. +After they have exhausted all their arguments, we must still return, +and hearken to him, for a final decision. If a man should tell +us that a part equals the whole of which it is a part, we should not +be able to forbear laughing, and instead of persuading us, he would +make himself ridiculous to us. It is in the very bottom of ourselves, +by consulting the inward master, that we must find the truths that are +taught us, that is, which are outwardly proposed to us. Thus, +properly speaking, there is but one true Master, who teaches all, and +without whom one learns nothing. Other masters always refer and +bring us back to that inward school where he alone speaks. It +is there we receive what we have not; it is there we learn what we were +ignorant of; and find what we had lost by oblivion. It is in the +intimate bottom of ourselves, he keeps in store for us certain truths, +that lie, as it were, buried, but which revive upon occasion; and it +is there, in short, that we reject the falsehood we had embraced. +Far from judging that master, it is by him alone we are judged peremptorily +in all things. He is a judge disinterested, impartial, and superior +to us. We may, indeed, refuse hearing him, and raise a din to +stun our ears: but when we hear him it is not in our power to contradict +him. Nothing is more unlike man than that invisible master that +instructs and judges him with so much severity, uprightness, and perfection. +Thus our limited, uncertain, defective, fallible reason, is but a feeble +and momentaneous inspiration of a primitive, supreme, and immutable +reason, which communicates itself with measure, to all intelligent beings.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LX. The Superior Reason that resides in Man is +God Himself; and whatever has been above discovered to be in Man, are +evident Footsteps of the Deity.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It cannot be said that man gives himself the thoughts he had not +before; much less can it be said that he receives them from other men, +since it is certain he neither does nor can admit anything from without, +unless he finds it in his own bottom, by consulting within him the principles +of reason, in order to examine whether what he is told is agreeable +or repugnant to them. Therefore there is an inward school wherein +man receives what he neither can give himself, nor expect from other +men who live upon trust as well as himself. Here then, are two +reasons I find within me; one of which, is myself, the other is above +me. That which is myself is very imperfect, prejudiced, liable +to error, changeable, headstrong, ignorant, and limited; in short it +possesses nothing but what is borrowed. The other is common to +all men, and superior to them. It is perfect, eternal, immutable, +ever ready to communicate itself in all places, and to rectify all minds +that err and mistake; in short, incapable of ever being either exhausted +or divided, although it communicates itself to all who desire it. +Where is that perfect reason which is so near me, and yet so different +from me? Where is it? Sure it must be something real; for +nothing or nought cannot either be perfect or make perfect imperfect +natures. Where is that supreme reason? Is it not the very +God I look for?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXI. New sensible Notices of the Deity in Man, +drawn from the Knowledge he has of Unity.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I still find other traces or notices of the Deity within me: here +is a very sensible one. I am acquainted with prodigious numbers +with the relations that are between them. Now how come I by that +knowledge? It is so very distinct that I cannot seriously doubt +of it; and so, immediately, without the least hesitation, I rectify +any man that does not follow it in computation. If a man says +seventeen and three make twenty-two, I presently tell him seventeen +and three make but twenty; and he is immediately convinced by his own +light, and acquiesces in my correction. The same Master who speaks +within me to correct him speaks at the same time within him to bid him +acquiesce. These are not two masters that have agreed to make +us agree. It is something indivisible, eternal, immutable, that +speaks at the same time with an invincible persuasion in us both. +Once more, how come I by so just a notion of numbers? All numbers +are but repeated units. Every number is but a compound, or a repetition +of units. The number of two, for instance, is but two units; the +number of four is reducible to one repeated four times. Therefore +we cannot conceive any number without conceiving unity, which is the +essential foundation of any possible number; nor can we conceive any +repetition of units without conceiving unity itself, which is its basis.</p> +<p>But which way can I know any real unit? I never saw, nor so +much as imagined any by the report of my senses. Let me take, +for instance, the most subtle atom; it must have a figure, length, breadth, +and depth, a top and a bottom, a left and a right side; and again the +top is not the bottom, nor one side the other. Therefore this +atom is not truly one, for it consists of parts. Now a compound +is a real number, and a multitude of beings. It is not a real +unit, but a collection of beings, one of which is not the other. +I therefore never learnt by my eyes, my ears, my hands, nor even by +my imagination, that there is in nature any real unity; on the contrary, +neither my senses nor my imagination ever presented to me anything but +what is a compound, a real number or a multitude. All unity continually +escapes me; it flies me as it were by a kind of enchantment. Since +I look for it in so many divisions of an atom, I certainly have a distinct +idea of it; and it is only by its simple and clear idea that I arrive, +by the repetition of it, at the knowledge of so many other numbers. +But since it escapes me in all the divisions of the bodies of nature, +it clearly follows that I never came by the knowledge of it, through +the canal of my senses and imagination. Here therefore is an idea +which is in me independently from the senses, imagination, and impressions +of bodies.</p> +<p>Moreover, although I would not frankly acknowledge that I have a +clear idea of unity, which is the foundation of all numbers, because +they are but repetitions or collections of units: I must at least be +forced to own that I know a great many numbers with their proprieties +and relations. I know, for instance, how much make 900,000,000 +joined with 800,000,000 of another sum. I make no mistake in it; +and I should, with certainty, immediately rectify any man that should. +Nevertheless, neither my senses nor my imagination were ever able to +represent to me distinctly all those millions put together. Nor +would the image they should represent to me be more like seventeen hundred +millions than a far inferior number. Therefore, how came I by +so distinct an idea of numbers, which I never could either feel or imagine? +These ideas, independent upon bodies, can neither be corporeal nor admitted +in a corporeal subject. They discover to me the nature of my soul, +which admits what is incorporeal and receives it within itself in an +incorporeal manner. Now, how came I by so incorporeal an idea +of bodies themselves? I cannot by my own nature carry it within +me, since what in me knows bodies is incorporeal; and since it knows +them, without receiving that knowledge through the canal of corporeal +organs, such as the senses and imagination. What thinks in me +must be, as it were, a nothing of corporeal nature. How was I +able to know beings that have by nature no relation with my thinking +being? Certainly a being superior to those two natures, so very +different, and which comprehends them both in its infinity, must have +joined them in my soul, and given me an idea of a nature entirely different +from that which thinks in me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXII. The Idea of the Unity proves that there +are Immaterial Substances; and that there is a Being Perfectly One, +who is God.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>As for units, some perhaps will say that I do not know them by the +bodies, but only by the spirits; and, therefore, that my mind being +one, and truly known to me, it is by it, and not by the bodies, I have +the idea of unity. But to this I answer.</p> +<p>It will, at least, follow from thence that I know substances that +have no manner of extension or divisibility, and which are present. +Here are already beings purely incorporeal, in the number of which I +ought to place my soul. Now, who is it that has united it to my +body? This soul of mine is not an infinite being; it has not been +always, and it thinks within certain bounds. Now, again, who makes +it know bodies so different from it? Who gives it so great a command +over a certain body; and who gives reciprocally to that body so great +a command over the soul? Moreover, which way do I know whether +this thinking soul is really one, or whether it has parts? I do +not see this soul. Now, will anybody say that it is in so invisible, +and so impenetrable, a thing that I clearly see what unity is? +I am so far from learning by my soul what the being One is, that, on +the contrary, it is by the clear idea I have already of unity that I +examine whether my soul be one or divisible.</p> +<p>Add to this, that I have within me a clear idea of a perfect unity, +which is far above that I may find in my soul. The latter is often +conscious that she is divided between two contrary opinions, inclinations, +and habits. Now, does not this division, which I find within myself, +show and denote a kind of multiplicity and composition of parts? +Besides, the soul has, at least, a successive composition of thoughts, +one of which is most different and distinct from another. I conceive +an unity infinitely more One, if I may so speak. I conceive a +Being who never changes His thoughts, who always thinks all things at +once, and in which no composition, even successive, can be found. +Undoubtedly it is the idea of the perfect and supreme unity that makes +me so inquisitive after some unity in spirits, and even in bodies. +This idea, ever present within me, is innate or inborn with me; it is +the perfect model by which I seek everywhere some imperfect copy of +the unity. This idea of what is one, simple, and indivisible by +excellence can be no other than the idea of God. I, therefore, +know God with such clearness and evidence, that it is by knowing Him +I seek in all creatures, and in myself, some image and likeness of His +unity. The bodies have, as it were, some mark or print of that +unity, which still flies away in the division of its parts; and the +spirits have a greater likeness of it, although they have a successive +composition of thoughts.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXIII. Dependence and Independence of Man. +His Dependence Proves the Existence of his Creator.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But here is another mystery which I carry within me, and which makes +me incomprehensible to my self, viz.: that on the one hand I am free, +and on the other dependent. Let us examine these two things, and +see whether it is possible to reconcile them.</p> +<p>I am a dependent being. Independency is the supreme perfection. +To be by one’s self is to carry within one’s self the source +or spring of one’s own being; or, which is the same, it is to +borrow nothing from any being different from one’s self. +Suppose a being that has all the perfections you can imagine, but which +has a borrowed and dependent being, and you will find him to be less +perfect than another being in which you would suppose but bare independency. +For there is no comparison to be made between a being that exists by +himself and a being who has nothing of his own—nothing but what +is precarious and borrowed—and is in himself, as it were, only +upon trust.</p> +<p>This consideration brings me to acknowledge the imperfection of what +I call my soul. If she existed by herself, it would borrow nothing +from another; she would not want either to be instructed in her ignorances, +or to be rectified in her errors. Nothing could reclaim her from +her vices, or inspire her with virtue; for nothing would be able to +render her will better than it should have been at first. This +soul would ever possess whatever she should be capable to enjoy, nor +could she ever receive any addition from without. On the other +hand, it is no less certain that she could not lose anything, for what +is or exists by itself is always necessarily whatever it is. Therefore +my soul could not fall into ignorance, error, or vice, or suffer any +diminution of good-will; nor could she, on the other hand, instruct +or correct herself, or become better than she is. Now, I experience +the contrary of all these; for I forget, mistake, err, go astray, lose +the sight of truth and the love of virtue, I corrupt, I diminish. +On the other hand, I improve and increase by acquiring wisdom and good-will, +which I never had. This intimate experience convinces me that +my soul is not a being existing by itself and independent; that is necessary, +and immutable in all it possesses and enjoys. Now, whence proceeds +this augmentation and improvement of myself? Who is it that can +enlarge and perfect my being by making me better, and, consequently, +greater than I was?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXIV. Good Will cannot Proceed but from a Superior +Being.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The will or faculty of willing is undoubtedly a degree of being, +and of good, or perfection; but good-will, benevolence, or desire of +good, is another degree of superior good. For one may misuse will +in order to wish ill, cheat, hurt, or do injustice; whereas good-will +is the good or right use of will itself, which cannot but be good. +Good-will is therefore what is most precious in man. It is that +which sets a value upon all the rest. It is, as it were, “The +whole man:” <i>Hoc enim omnis homo.</i></p> +<p>I have already shown that my will is not by itself, since it is liable +to lose and receive degrees of good or perfection; and likewise that +it is a good inferior to good-will, because it is better to will good +than barely to have a will susceptible both of good and evil. +How could I be brought to believe that I, a weak, imperfect, borrowed, +precarious, and dependent being, bestow on myself the highest degree +of perfection, while it is visible and evident that I derive the far +inferior degree of perfection from a First Being? Can I imagine +that God gives me the lesser good, and that I give myself the greater +without Him? How should I come by that high degree of perfection +in order to give it myself! Should I have it from nothing, which +is all my own stock? Shall I say that other spirits, much like +or equal to mine, give it me? But since those limited and dependent +beings like myself cannot give themselves anything no more than I can, +much less can they bestow anything upon another. For as they do +not exist by themselves, so they have not by themselves any true power, +either over me, or over things that are imperfect in me, or over themselves. +Wherefore, without stopping with them, we must go up higher in order +to find out a first, teeming, and most powerful cause, that is able +to bestow on my soul the good will she has not.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXV. As a Superior Being is the Cause of All the +Modifications of Creatures, so it is Impossible for Man’s Will +to Will Good by Itself or of its own Accord.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us still add another reflection. That First Being is the +cause of all the modifications of His creatures. The operation +follows the Being, as the philosophers are used to speak. A being +that is dependent in the essence of his being cannot but be dependent +in all his operations, for the accessory follows the principal. +Therefore, the Author of the essence of the being is also the Author +of all the modifications or modes of being of creatures. Thus +God is the real and immediate cause of all the configurations, combinations, +and motions of all the bodies of the universe. It is by means +or upon occasion of a body He has set in motion that He moves another. +It is He who created everything and who does everything in His creatures +or works. Now, volition is the modification of the will or willing +faculty of the soul, just as motion is the modification of bodies. +Shall we affirm that God is the real, immediate, and total cause of +the motion of all bodies, and that He is not equally the real and immediate +cause of the good-will of men’s wills? Will this modification, +the most excellent of all, be the only one not made by God in His own +work, and which the work bestows on itself independently? Who +can entertain such a thought? Therefore my good-will which I had +not yesterday and which I have to-day is not a thing I bestow upon myself, +but must come from Him who gave me both the will and the being.</p> +<p>As to will is a greater perfection than barely to be, so to will +good is more perfect than to will. The step from power to a virtuous +act is the greatest perfection in man. Power is only a balance +or poise between virtue and vice, or a suspension between good and evil. +The passage or step to the act is a decision or determination for the +good, and consequent by the superior good. The power susceptible +of good and evil comes from God, which we have fully evinced. +Now, shall we affirm that the decisive stroke that determines to the +greater good either is not at all, or is less owing to Him? All +this evidently proves what the Apostle says, viz., that God “works +both to will and to do of His good pleasure.” Here is man’s +dependence; let us look for his liberty.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXVI. Of Man’s Liberty.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I am free, nor can I doubt of it. I am intimately and invincibly +convinced that I can either will or not will, and that there is in me +a choice not only between willing and not willing, but also between +divers wills about the variety of objects that present themselves. +I am sensible, as the Scripture says, that I “am in the hands +of my Council,” which alone suffices to show me that my soul is +not corporeal. All that is body or corporeal does not in the least +determine itself, and is, on the contrary, determined in all things +by laws called physical, which are necessary, invincible, and contrary +to what I call liberty. From thence I infer that my soul is of +a nature entirely different from that of my body. Now who is it +that was able to join by a reciprocal union two such different natures, +and hold them in so just a concert for all their respective operations? +That tie, as we observed before, cannot be formed but by a Superior +Being, who comprehends and unites those two sorts of perfections in +His own infinite perfection.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXVII. Man’s Liberty Consists in that his +Will by determining, Modifies Itself.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It is not the same with the modification of my soul which is called +will, and by some philosophers volition, as with the modifications of +bodies. A body does not in the least modify itself, but is modified +by the sole power of God. It does not move itself, it is moved; +it does not act in anything, it is only acted and actuated. Thus +God is the only real and immediate cause of all the different modifications +of bodies. As for spirits the case is different, for my will determines +itself. Now to determine one’s self to a will is to modify +one’s self, and therefore my will modifies itself. God may +prevent my soul, but He does not give it the will in the same manner +as He gives motion to bodies. If it is God who modifies me, I +modify myself with Him, and am with Him a real cause of my own will. +My will is so much my own that I am only to blame if I do not will what +I ought. When I will a thing it is in my power not to will it, +and when I do not will it it is likewise in my power to will it. +I neither am nor can be compelled in my will; for I cannot will what +I actually will in spite of myself, since the will I mean evidently +excludes all manner of constraint. Besides the exemption from +all compulsion, I am likewise free from necessity. I am conscious +and sensible that I have, as it were, a two-edged will, which at its +own choice may be either for the affirmative or the negative, the yes +or the no, and turn itself either towards an object or towards another. +I know no other reason or determination of my will but my will itself. +I will a thing because I am free to will it; and nothing is so much +in my power as either to will or not to will it. Although my will +should not be constrained, yet if it were necessitated it would be as +strongly and invincibly determined to will as bodies are to move. +An invincible necessity would have as much influence over the will with +respect to spirits as it has over motion with respect to bodies; and, +in such a case, the will would be no more accountable for willing than +a body for moving. It is true the will would will what it would; +but the motion by which a body is moved is the same as the volition +by which the willing faculty wills. If therefore volition be necessitated +as motion it deserves neither more nor less praise or blame. For +though a necessitated will may seem to be a will unconstrained, yet +it is such a will as one cannot forbear having, and for which he that +has it is not accountable. Nor does previous knowledge establish +true liberty, for a will may be preceded by the knowledge of divers +objects, and yet have no real election or choice. Nor is deliberation +or the being in suspense any more than a vain trifle, if I deliberate +between two counsels when I am under an actual impotency to follow the +one and under an actual necessity to pursue the other. In short, +there is no serious and true choice between two objects, unless they +be both actually ready within my reach so that I may either leave or +take which of the two I please.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXVIII. Will may Resist Grace, and Its Liberty +is the Foundation of Merit and Demerit.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>When therefore I say I am free, I mean that my will is fully in my +power, and that even God Himself leaves me at liberty to turn it which +way I please, that I am not determined as other beings, and that I determine +myself. I conceive that if that First Being prevents me, to inspire +me with a good-will, it is still in my power to reject His actual inspiration, +how strong soever it may be, to frustrate its effect, and to refuse +my assent to it. I conceive likewise that when I reject His inspiration +for the good, I have the true and actual power not to reject it; just +as I have the actual and immediate power to rise when I remain sitting, +and to shut my eyes when I have them open. Objects may indeed +solicit me by all their allurements and agreeableness to will or desire +them. The reasons for willing may present themselves to me with +all their most lively and affecting attendants, and the Supreme Being +may also attract me by His most persuasive inspirations. But yet +for all this actual attraction of objects, cogency of reasons, and even +inspiration of a Superior Being, I still remain master of my will, and +am free either to will or not to will.</p> +<p>It is this exemption not only from all manner of constraint or compulsion +but also from all necessity and this command over my own actions that +render me inexcusable when I will evil, and praiseworthy when I will +good; in this lies merit and demerit, praise and blame; it is this that +makes either punishment or reward just; it is upon this consideration +that men exhort, rebuke, threaten, and promise. This is the foundation +of all policy, instruction, and rules of morality. The upshot +of the merit and demerit of human actions rests upon this basis, that +nothing is so much in the power of our will as our will itself, and +that we have this free-will—this, as it were, two-edged faculty—and +this elative power between two counsels which are immediately, as it +were, within our reach. It is what shepherds and husbandmen sing +in the fields, what merchants and artificers suppose in their traffic, +what actors represent in public shows, what magistrates believe in their +councils, what doctors teach in their schools; it is that, in short, +which no man of sense can seriously call in question. That truth +imprinted in the bottom of our hearts, is supposed in the practice, +even by those philosophers who would endeavour to shake it by their +empty speculations. The intimate evidence of that truth is like +that of the first principles, which want no proof, and which serve themselves +as proofs to other truths that are not so clear and self-evident. +But how could the First Being make a creature who is himself the umpire +of his own actions?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXIX. A Character of the Deity, both in the Dependence +and Independence of Man.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us now put together these two truths equally certain. I +am dependent upon a First Being even in my own will; and nevertheless +I am free. What then is this dependent liberty? how is it possible +for a man to conceive a free-will, that is given by a First Being? +I am free in my will, as God is in His. It is principally in this +I am His image and likeness. What a greatness that borders upon +infinite is here! This is a ray of the Deity itself: it is a kind +of Divine power I have over my will; but I am but a bare image of that +supreme Being so absolutely free and powerful.</p> +<p>The image of the Divine independence is not the reality of what it +represents; and, therefore, my liberty is but a shadow of that First +Being, by whom I exist and act. On the one hand, the power I have +of willing evil is, indeed, rather a weakness and frailty of my will +than a true power: for it is only a power to fall, to degrade myself, +and to diminish my degree of perfection and being. On the other +hand, the power I have to will good is not an absolute power, since +I have it not of myself. Now liberty being no more than that power, +a precarious and borrowed power can constitute but a precarious, borrowed, +and dependent liberty; and, therefore, so imperfect and so precarious +a being cannot but be dependent. But how is he free? What +profound mystery is here! His liberty, of which I cannot doubt, +shows his perfection; and his dependence argues the nothingness from +which he was drawn.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXX. The Seal and Stamp of the Deity in His Works.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>We have seen the prints of the Deity, or to speak more properly, +the seal and stamp of God Himself, in all that is called the works of +nature. When a man will not enter into philosophical subtleties, +he observes with the first cast of the eye a hand, that was the first +mover, in all the parts of the universe, and set all the wheels of the +great machine a-going. The heavens, the earth, the stars, plants, +animals, our bodies, our minds: everything shows and proclaims an order, +an exact measure, an art, a wisdom, a mind superior to us, which is, +as it were, the soul of the whole world, and which leads and directs +everything to his ends, with a gentle and insensible, though omnipotent, +force. We have seen, as it were, the architecture and frame of +the universe; the just proportion of all its parts; and the bare cast +of the eye has sufficed us to find and discover even in an ant, more +than in the sun, a wisdom and power that delights to exert itself in +the polishing and adorning its vilest works. This is obvious, +without any speculative discussion, to the most ignorant of men; but +what a world of other wonders should we discover, should we penetrate +into the secrets of physics, and dissect the inward parts of animals, +which are framed according to the most perfect mechanics.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXI. Objection of the Epicureans, who Ascribe +Everything to Chance, considered.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I hear certain philosophers who answer me that all this discourse +on the art that shines in the universe is but a continued sophism. +“All nature,” will they say, “is for man’s use, +it is true; but you have no reason to infer from thence, that it was +made with art, and on purpose for the use of man. A man must be +ingenious in deceiving himself who looks for and thinks to find what +never existed.” “It is true,” will they add, +“that man’s industry makes use of an infinite number of +things that nature affords, and are convenient for him; but nature did +not make those things on purpose for his conveniency. As, for +instance, some country fellows climb up daily, by certain craggy and +pointed rocks, to the top of a mountain; but yet it does not follow +that those points of rocks were cut with art, like a staircase, for +the conveniency of men. In like manner, when a man happens to +be in the fields, during a stormy rain, and fortunately meets with a +cave, he uses it, as he would do a house, for shelter; but, however, +it cannot be affirmed that this cave was made on purpose to serve men +for a house. It is the same with the whole world: it was formed +by chance, and without design; but men finding it as it is, had the +art to turn and improve it to their own uses. Thus the art you +admire both in the work and its artificer, is only in men, who know +how to make use of everything that surrounds them.” This +is certainly the strongest objection those philosophers can raise; and +I hope they will have no reason to complain that I have weakened it; +but it will immediately appear how weak it is in itself when closely +examined. The bare repetition of what I said before will be sufficient +to demonstrate it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXII. Answer to the Objection of the Epicureans, +who Ascribe all to Chance.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>What would one say of a man who should set up for a subtle philosopher, +or, to use the modern expression, a free-thinker, and who entering a +house should maintain it was made by chance, and that art had not in +the least contributed to render it commodious to men, because there +are caves somewhat like that house, which yet were never dug by the +art of man? One should show to such a reasoner all the parts of +the house, and tell him for instance:—Do you see this great court-gate? +It is larger than any door, that coaches may enter it. This court +has sufficient space for coaches to turn in it. This staircase +is made up of low steps, that one may ascend it with ease; and turns +according to the apartments and stories it is to serve. The windows, +opened at certain distances, light the whole building. They are +glazed, lest the wind should enter with the light; but they may be opened +at pleasure, in order to breathe a sweet air when the weather is fair. +The roof is contrived to defend the whole house from the injuries of +the air. The timber-work is laid slanting and pointed at the top, +that the rain and snow may easily slide down on both sides. The +tiles bear one upon another, that they may cover the timber-work. +The divers floors serve to make different stories, in order to multiply +lodgings within a small space. The chimneys are contrived to light +fire in winter without setting the house on fire, and to let out the +smoke, lest it should offend those that warm themselves. The apartments +are distributed in such a manner that they be disengaged from one another; +that a numerous family may lodge in the house, and the one not be obliged +to pass through another’s room; and that the master’s apartment +be the principal. There are kitchens, offices, stables, and coach-houses. +The rooms are furnished with beds to lie in, chairs to sit on, and tables +to write and eat on. Sure, should one urge to that philosopher, +this work must have been directed by some skilful architect; for everything +in it is agreeable, pleasant, proportioned, and commodious; and besides, +he must needs have had excellent artists under him. “Not +at all,” would such a philosopher answer; “you are ingenious +in deceiving yourself. It is true this house is pleasant, agreeable, +proportioned, and commodious; but yet it made itself with all its proportions. +Chance put together all the stones in this excellent order; it raised +the walls, jointed and laid the timber-work, cut open the casements, +and placed the staircase: do not believe any human hand had anything +to do with it. Men only made the best of this piece of work when +they found it ready made. They fancy it was made for them, because +they observe things in it which they know how to improve to their own +conveniency; but all they ascribe to the design and contrivance of an +imaginary architect, is but the effect of their preposterous imaginations. +This so regular, and so well-contrived house, was made in just the same +manner as a cave, and men finding it ready made to their hands made +use of it, as they would in a storm, of a cave they should find under +a rock in a desert.”</p> +<p>What thoughts could a man entertain of such a fantastic philosopher, +if he should persist seriously to assert that such a house displays +no art? When we read the fabulous story of Amphion, who by a miraculous +effect of harmony caused the stones to rise, and placed themselves, +with order and symmetry, one on the top of another, in order to form +the walls of Thebes, we laugh and sport with that poetical fiction: +but yet this very fiction is not so incredible as that which the free-thinking +philosopher we contend with would dare to maintain. We might, +at least, imagine that harmony, which consists in a local motion of +certain bodies, might (by some of those secret virtues, which we admire +in nature, without being acquainted with them) shake and move the stones +into a certain order and in a sort of cadence, which might occasion +some regularity in the building. I own this explanation both shocks +and clashes with reason; but yet it is less extravagant than what I +have supposed a philosopher should say. What, indeed, can be more +absurd, than to imagine stones that hew themselves, that go out of the +quarry, that get one on the top of another, without leaving any empty +space; that carry with them mortar to cement one another; that place +themselves in different ranks for the contrivance of apartments; and +who admit on the top of all the timber-roof, with the tiles, in order +to cover the whole work? The very children, that cannot yet speak +plain, would laugh, if they were seriously told such a ridiculous story.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXIII. Comparison of the World with a Regular +House. A Continuation of the Answer to the Objection of the Epicureans.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But why should it appear less ridiculous to hear one say that the +world made itself, as well as that fabulous house? The question +is not to compare the world with a cave without form, which is supposed +to be made by chance: but to compare it with a house in which the most +perfect architecture should be conspicuous. For the structure +and frame of the least living creature is infinitely more artful and +admirable than the finest house that ever was built.</p> +<p>Suppose a traveller entering Saida, the country where the ancient +Thebes, with a hundred gates, stood formerly, and which is now a desert, +should find there columns, pyramids, obelisks, and inscriptions in unknown +characters. Would he presently say: men never inhabited this place; +no human hand had anything to do here; it is chance that formed these +columns, that placed them on their pedestals, and crowned them with +their capitals, with such just proportions; it is chance that so firmly +jointed the pieces that make up these pyramids; it is chance that cut +the obelisks in one single stone, and engraved in them these characters? +Would he not, on the contrary, say, with all the certainty the mind +of man is capable of: these magnificent ruins are the remains of a noble +and majestical architecture that flourished in ancient Egypt? +This is what plain reason suggests, at the first cast of the eye, or +first sight, and without reasoning. It is the same with the bare +prospect of the universe. A man may by vain, long-winded, preposterous +reasonings confound his own reason and obscure the clearest notions: +but the single cast of the eye is decisive. Such a work as the +world is never makes itself of its own accord. There is more art +and proportion in the bones, tendons, veins, arteries, nerves, and muscles, +that compose man’s body, than in all the architecture of the ancient +Greeks and Egyptians. The single eye of the least of living creatures +surpasses the mechanics of all the most skilful artificers. If +a man should find a watch in the sands of Africa, he would never have +the assurance seriously to affirm, that chance formed it in that wild +place; and yet some men do not blush to say that the bodies of animals, +to the artful framing of which no watch can ever be compared, are the +effects of the caprices of chance.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXIV. Another Objection of the Epicureans drawn +from the Eternal Motion of Atoms.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I am not ignorant of a reasoning which the Epicureans may frame into +an objection. “The atoms will, they say, have an eternal +motion; their fortuitous concourse must, in that eternity, have already +produced infinite combinations. Who says infinite, says what comprehends +all without exception. Amongst these infinite combinations of +atoms which have already happened successively, all such as are possible +must necessarily be found: for if there were but one possible combination, +beyond those contained in that infinite, it would cease to be a true +infinite, because something might be added to it; and whatever may be +increased, being limited on the side it may receive an addition, is +not truly infinite. Hence it follows that the combination of atoms, +which makes up the present system of the world, is one of the combinations +which the atoms have had successively: which being laid as a principle, +is it matter of wonder that the world is as it is now? It must +have taken this exact form, somewhat sooner, or somewhat later, for +in some one of these infinite changes it must, at last, have received +that combination that makes it now appear so regular; since it must +have had, by turns, all combinations that can be conceived. All +systems are comprehended in the total of eternity. There is none +but the concourse of atoms, forms, and embraces, sooner or later. +In that infinite variety of new spectacles of nature, the present was +formed in its turn. We find ourselves actually in this system. +The concourse of atoms that made will, in process of time, unmake it, +in order to make others, <i>ad infinitum</i>, of all possible sorts. +This system could not fail having its place, since all others without +exception are to have theirs, each in its turn. It is in vain +one looks for a chimerical art in a work which chance must have made +as it is.</p> +<p>“An example will suffice to illustrate this. I suppose +an infinite number of combinations of the letters of the alphabet, successively +formed by chance. All possible combinations are, undoubtedly, +comprehended in that total, which is truely infinite. Now, it +is certain that Homer’s Iliad is but a combination of letters: +therefore Homer’s Iliad is comprehended in that infinite collection +of combinations of the characters of the alphabet. This being +laid down as a principle, a man who will assign art in the Iliad, will +argue wrong. He may extol the harmony of the verses, the justness +and magnificence of the expressions, the simplicity and liveliness of +images, the due proportion of the parts of the poem, its perfect unity, +and inimitable conduct; he may object that chance can never make anything +so perfect, and that the utmost effort of human wit is hardly capable +to finish so excellent a piece of work: yet all in vain, for all this +specious reasoning is visibly false. It is certain, on the contrary, +that the fortuitous concourse of characters, putting them together by +turns with an infinite variety, the precise combination that composes +the Iliad must have happened in its turn, somewhat sooner or somewhat +later. It has happened at last; and thus the Iliad is perfect, +without the help of any human art.” This is the objection +fairly laid down in its full latitude; I desire the reader’s serious +and continued attention to the answers I am going to make to it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXV. Answers to the Objection of the Epicureans +drawn from the Eternal Motion of Atoms.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Nothing can be more absurd than to speak of successive combinations +of atoms infinite in number; for the infinite can never be either successive +or divisible. Give me, for instance, any number you may pretend +to be infinite, and it will still be in my power to do two things that +shall demonstrate it not to be a true infinite. In the first place, +I can take an unit from it; and in such a case it will become less than +it was, and will certainly be finite; for whatever is less than the +infinite has a boundary or limit on the side where one stops, and beyond +which one might go. Now the number which is finite as soon as +one takes from it one single unit, could not be infinite before that +diminution; for an unit is certainly finite, and a finite joined with +another finite cannot make an infinite. If a single unit added +to a finite number made an infinite, it would follow from thence that +the finite would be almost equal to the infinite; than which nothing +can be more absurd. In the second place, I may add an unit to +that number given, and consequently increase it. Now what may +be increased is not infinite, for the infinite can have no bound; and +what is capable of augmentation is bounded on the side a man stops, +when he might go further and add some units to it. It is plain, +therefore, that no divisible compound can be the true infinite.</p> +<p>This foundation being laid, all the romance of the Epicurean philosophy +disappears and vanishes out of sight in an instant. There never +can be any divisible body truly infinite in extent, nor any number or +any succession that is a true infinite. From hence it follows +that there never can be an infinite successive number of combinations +of atoms. If this chimerical infinite were real, I own all possible +and conceivable combinations of atoms would be found in it; and that +consequently all combinations that seem to require the utmost industry +would likewise be included in them. In such a case, one might +ascribe to mere chance the most marvellous performances of art. +If one should see palaces built according to the most perfect rules +of architecture, curious furniture, watches, clocks, and all sort of +machines the most compounded, in a desert island, he should not be free +reasonably to conclude that there have been men in that island who made +all those exquisite works. On the contrary, he ought to say, “Perhaps +one of the infinite combinations of atoms which chance has successively +made, has formed all these compositions in this desert island without +the help of any man’s art;” for such an assertion is a natural +consequence of the principles of the Epicureans. But the very +absurdity of the consequence serves to expose the extravagance of the +principle they lay down. When men, by the natural rectitude of +their common sense, conclude that such sort of works cannot result from +chance, they visibly suppose, though in a confused manner, that atoms +are not eternal, and that in their fortuitous concourse they had not +an infinite succession of combinations. For if that principle +were admitted, it would no longer be possible ever to distinguish the +works of art from those that should result from those combinations as +fortuitous as a throw at dice.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXVI. The Epicureans confound the Works of Art +with those of Nature.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>All men who naturally suppose a sensible difference between the works +of art and those of chance do consequently, though but implicitly, suppose +that the combinations of atoms were not infinite—which supposition +is very just. This infinite succession of combinations of atoms +is, as I showed before, a more absurd chimera than all the absurdities +some men would explain by that false principle. No number, either +successive or continual, can be infinite; from whence it follows that +the number of atoms cannot be infinite, that the succession of their +various motions and combinations cannot be infinite, that the world +cannot be eternal, and that we must find out a precise and fixed beginning +of these successive combinations. We must recur to a first individual +in the generations of every species. We must likewise find out +the original and primitive form of every particle of matter that makes +a part of the universe. And as the successive changes of that +matter must be limited in number, we must not admit in those different +combinations but such as chance commonly produces; unless we acknowledge +a Superior Being, who with the perfection of art made the wonderful +works which chance could never have made.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXVII. The Epicureans take whatever they please +for granted, without any Proof.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The Epicurean philosophers are so weak in their system that it is +not in their power to form it, or bring it to bear, unless one admits +without proofs their most fabulous postulata and positions. In +the first place they suppose eternal atoms, which is begging the question; +for how can they make out that atoms have ever existed and exist by +themselves? To exist by one’s self is the supreme perfection. +Now, what authority have they to suppose, without proofs, that atoms +have in themselves a perfect, eternal, and immutable being? Do +they find this perfection in the idea they have of every atom in particular? +An atom not being the same with, and being absolutely distinguished +from, another atom, each of them must have in itself eternity and independence +with respect to any other being. Once more, is it in the idea +these philosophers have of each atom that they find this perfection? +But let us grant them all they suppose in this question, and even what +they ought to be ashamed to suppose—viz., that atoms are eternal, +subsisting by themselves, independent from any other being, and consequently +entirely perfect.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXVIII. The Suppositions of the Epicureans are +False and Chimerical.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Must we suppose, besides, that atoms have motion of themselves? +Shall we suppose it out of gaiety to give an air of reality to a system +more chimerical than the tales of the fairies? Let us consult +the idea we have of a body. We conceive it perfectly well without +supposing it to be in motion, and represent it to us at rest; nor is +its idea in this state less clear; nor does it lose its parts, figure, +or dimensions. It is to no purpose to suppose that all bodies +are perpetually in some motion, either sensible or insensible; and that +though some parts of matter have a lesser motion than others, yet the +universal mass of matter has ever the same motion in its totality. +To speak at this rate is building castles in the air, and imposing vain +imaginations on the belief of others; for who has told these philosophers +that the mass of matter has ever the same motion in its totality? +Who has made the experiment of it? Have they the assurance to +bestow the name of philosophy upon a rash fiction which takes for granted +what they never can make out? Is there no more to do than to suppose +whatever one pleases in order to elude the most simple and most constant +truths? What authority have they to suppose that all bodies incessantly +move, either sensibly or insensibly? When I see a stone that appears +motionless, how will they prove to me that there is no atom in that +stone but what is actually in motion? Will they ever impose upon +me bare suppositions, without any semblance of truth, for decisive proofs?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXIX. It is Falsely supposed that Motion is Essential +to Bodies.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>However, let us go a step further, and, out of excessive complaisance, +suppose that all the bodies in Nature are actually in motion. +Does it follow from thence that motion is essential to every particle +of matter? Besides, if all bodies have not an equal degree of +motion; if some move sensibly, and more swiftly than others; if the +same body may move sometimes quicker and sometimes slower; if a body +that moves communicates its motion to the neighbouring body that was +at rest, or in such inferior motion that it was insensible—it +must be confessed that a mode or modification which sometimes increases, +and at other times decreases, in bodies is not essential to them. +What is essential to a being is ever the same in it. Neither the +motion that varies in bodies, and which, after having increased, slackens +and decreases to such a degree as to appear absolutely extinct and annihilated; +nor the motion that is lost, that is communicated, that passes from +one body to another as a foreign thing—can belong to the essence +of bodies. And, therefore, I may conclude that bodies are perfect +in their essence without ascribing to them any motion. If they +have no motion in their essence, they have it only by accident; and +if they have it only by accident, we must trace up that accident to +its true cause. Bodies must either bestow motion on themselves, +or receive it from some other being. It is evident they do not +bestow it on themselves, for no being can give what it has not in itself. +And we are sensible that a body at rest ever remains motionless, unless +some neighbouring body happens to shake it. It is certain, therefore, +that no body moves by itself, and is only moved by some other body that +communicates its motion to it. But how comes it to pass that a +body can move another? What is the reason that a ball which a +man causes to roll on a smooth table (billiards, for the purpose) cannot +touch another without moving it? Why was it not possible that +motion should not ever communicate itself from one body to another? +In such a case a ball in motion would stop near another at their meeting, +and yet never shake it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXX. The Rules of Motion, which the Epicureans +suppose do not render it essential to Bodies.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I may be answered that, according to the rules of motion among bodies, +one ought to shake or move another. But where are those laws of +motion written and recorded? Who both made them and rendered them +so inviolable? They do not belong to the essence of bodies, for +we can conceive bodies at rest; and we even conceive bodies that would +not communicate their motion to others unless these rules, with whose +original we are unacquainted, subjected them to it. Whence comes +this, as it were, arbitrary government of motion over all bodies? +Whence proceed laws so ingenious, so just, so well adapted one to the +other, that the least alteration of or deviation from which would, on +a sudden, overturn and destroy all the excellent order we admire in +the universe? A body being entirely distinct from another, is +in its nature absolutely independent from it in all respects. +Whence it follows that it should not receive anything from it, or be +susceptible of any of its impressions. The modifications of a +body imply no necessary reason to modify in the same manner another +body, whose being is entirely independent from the being of the first. +It is to no purpose to allege that the most solid and most heavy bodies +carry or force away those that are less big and less solid; and that, +according to this rule, a great leaden ball ought to move a great ball +of ivory. We do not speak of the fact; we only inquire into the +cause of it. The fact is certain, and therefore the cause ought +likewise to be certain and precise. Let us look for it without +any manner of prepossession or prejudice. What is the reason that +a great body carries off a little one? The thing might as naturally +happen quite otherwise; for it might as well happen that the most solid +body should never move any other body—that is to say, motion might +be incommunicable. Nothing but custom obliges us to suppose that +Nature ought to act as it does.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXI. To give a satisfactory Account of Motion +we must recur to the First Mover.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Moreover, it has been proved that matter cannot be either infinite +or eternal; and, therefore, there must be supposed both a first atom +(by which motion must have begun at a precise moment), and a first concourse +of atoms (that must have formed the first combination). Now, I +ask what mover gave motion to that first atom, and first set the great +machine of the universe a-going? It is not possible to elude this +home question by an endless circle, for this question, lying within +a finite circumference, must have an end at last; and so we must find +the first atom in motion, and the first moment of that first motion, +together with the first mover, whose hand made that first impression.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXII. No Law of Motion has its Foundation in +the Essence of the Body; and most of those Laws are Arbitrary.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Among the laws of motion we must look upon all those as arbitrary +which we cannot account for by the very essence of bodies. We +have already made out that no motion is essential to any body. +Wherefore all those laws which are supposed to be eternal and immutable +are, on the contrary, arbitrary, accidental, and made without cogent +necessity; for there is none of them that can be accounted for by the +essence of bodies.</p> +<p>If there were any law of motion essential to bodies, it would undoubtedly +be that by which bodies of less bulk and less solid are moved by such +as have more bulk and solidity. And yet we have seen that that +very law is not to be accounted for by the essence of bodies. +There is another which might also seem very natural—that, I mean, +by which bodies ever move rather in a direct than a crooked line, unless +their motion be otherwise determined by the meeting of other bodies. +But even this rule has no foundation in the essence of matter. +Motion is so very accidental, and super-added to the nature of bodies, +that we do not find in this nature of bodies any primitive or immutable +law by which they ought to move at all, much less to move according +to certain rules. In the same manner as bodies might have existed, +and yet have never either been in motion or communicated motion one +to another, so they might never have moved but in a circular line, and +this motion might have been as natural to them as the motion in a direct +line. Now, who is it that pitched upon either of these two laws +equally possible? What is not determined by the essence of bodies +can have been determined by no other but Him who gave bodies the motion +they had not in their own essence. Besides, this motion in a direct +line might have been upwards or downwards, from right to left, or from +left to right, or in a diagonal line. Now, who is it that determined +which way the straight line should go?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXIII. The Epicureans can draw no Consequence +from all their Suppositions, although the same should be granted them.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Let us still attend the Epicureans even in their most fabulous suppositions, +and carry on the fiction to the last degree of complaisance. Let +us admit motion in the essence of bodies, and suppose, as they do, that +motion in a direct line is also essential to all atoms. Let us +bestow upon atoms both a will and an understanding, as poets did on +rocks and rivers. And let us allow them likewise to choose which +way they will begin their straight line. Now, what advantage will +these philosophers draw from all I have granted them, contrary to all +evidence? In the first place, all atoms must have been in motion +from all eternity; secondly, they must all have had an equal motion; +thirdly, they must all have moved in a direct line; fourthly, they must +all have moved by an immutable and essential law.</p> +<p>I am still willing to gratify our adversaries, so far as to suppose +that those atoms are of different figures, for I will allow them to +take for granted what they should be obliged to prove, and for which +they have not so much as the shadow of a proof. One can never +grant too much to men who never can draw any consequence from what is +granted them; for the more absurdities are allowed them, the sooner +they are caught by their own principles.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXIV. Atoms cannot make any Compound by the +Motion the Epicureans assign them.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>These atoms of so many odd figures—some round, some crooked, +others triangular, &c.—are by their essence obliged always +to move in a straight line, without ever deviating or bending to the +right or to the left; wherefore they never can hook one another, or +make together any compound. Put, if you please, the sharpest hooks +near other hooks of the like make; yet if every one of them never moves +otherwise than in a line perfectly straight, they will eternally move +one near another, in parallel lines, without being able to join and +hook one another. The two straight lines which are supposed to +be parallel, though immediate neighbours, will never cross one another, +though carried on <i>ad infinitum</i>; wherefore in all eternity, no +hooking, and consequently no compound, can result from that motion of +atoms in a direct line.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXV. The Clinamen, Declination, or Sending of +Atoms is a Chimerical Notion that throws the Epicureans into a gross +Contradiction.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The Epicureans, not being able to shut their eyes against this glaring +difficulty, that strikes at the very foundation of their whole system, +have, for a last shift, invented what Lucretius calls clinamen—by +which is meant a motion somewhat declining or bending from the straight +line, and which gives atoms the occasion to meet and encounter. +Thus they turn and wind them at pleasure, according as they fancy best +for their purpose. But upon what authority do they suppose this +declination of atoms, which comes so pat to bear up their system? +If motion in a straight line be essential to bodies, nothing can bend, +nor consequently join them, in all eternity; the clinamen destroys the +very essence of matter, and those philosophers contradict themselves +without blushing. If, on the contrary, the motion in a direct +line is not essential to all bodies, why do they so confidently suppose +eternal, necessary, and immutable laws for the motion of atoms without +recurring to a first mover? And why do they build a whole system +of philosophy upon the precarious foundation of a ridiculous fiction? +Without the clinamen the straight line can never produce anything, and +the Epicurean system falls to the ground; with the clinamen, a fabulous +poetical invention, the direct line is violated, and the system falls +into derision and ridicule.</p> +<p>Both the straight line and the clinamen are airy suppositions and +mere dreams; but these two dreams destroy each other, and this is the +upshot of the uncurbed licentiousness some men allow themselves of supposing +as eternal truths whatever their imagination suggests them to support +a fable; while they refuse to acknowledge the artful and powerful hand +that formed and placed all the parts of the universe.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXVI. Strange Absurdity of the Epicureans, who +endeavour to account for the Nature of the Soul by the Declination of +Atoms.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>To reach the highest degree of amazing extravagance, the Epicureans +have had the assurance to explain and account for what we call the soul +of man and his free-will, by the clinamen, which is so unaccountable +and inexplicable itself. Thus they are reduced to affirm that +it is in this motion, wherein atoms are in a kind of equilibrium between +a straight line and a line somewhat circular, that human will consists.</p> +<p>Strange philosophy! If atoms move only in a straight line, +they are inanimate, and incapable of any degree of knowledge, understanding, +or will; but if the very same atoms somewhat deviate from the straight +line, they become, on a sudden, animate, thinking, and rational. +They are themselves intelligent souls, that know themselves, reflect, +deliberate, and are free in their acts and determinations. Was +there ever a more absurd metamorphosis? What opinion would men +have of religion if, in order to assert it, one should lay down principles +and positions so trifling and ridiculous as theirs who dare to attack +it in earnest?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXVII. The Epicureans cast a Mist before their +own Eyes by endeavouring to explain the Liberty of Man by the Declination +of Atoms.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>But let us consider to what degree those philosophers impose upon +their own understandings. What can they find in the clinamen that, +with any colour, can account for the liberty of man? This liberty +is not imaginary; for it is not in our power to doubt of our free-will, +any more than it is to doubt of what we are intimately conscious and +certain. I am conscious I am free to continue sitting when I rise +in order to walk. I am sensible of it with so entire certainty +that it is not in my power ever to doubt of it in earnest; and I should +be inconsistent with myself if I dared to say the contrary. Can +the proof of our religion be more evident and convincing? We cannot +doubt of the existence of God unless we doubt of our own liberty; from +whence I infer that no man can seriously doubt of the being of the Deity, +since no man can entertain a serious doubt about his own liberty. +If, on the contrary, it be frankly acknowledged that men are really +free, nothing is more easy than to demonstrate that the liberty of man’s +will cannot consist of any combination of atoms, if one supposes that +there was no first mover, who gave matter arbitrary laws for its motion. +Motion must be essential to bodies, and all the laws of motion must +also be as necessary as the essences of natures are. Therefore, +according to this system, all the motions of bodies must be performed +by constant, necessary, and immutable laws; the motion in a straight +line must be essential to all atoms, that are not made to deviate from +it by the encounter of other atoms; the straight line must likewise +be essential either upwards or downwards, either from right to left, +or left to right, or some other diagonal way, fixed, precise, and immutable. +Besides, it is evident that no atom can make another atom deviate; for +that other atom carries also in its essence the same invincible and +eternal determination to follow the straight line the same way. +From hence it follows that all the atoms placed at first on different +lines must pursue <i>ad infinitum</i> those parallel lines without ever +coming nearer one another; and that those who are in the same line must +follow one another <i>ad infinitum</i> without ever coming up together, +but keeping still the same distance from one another. The clinamen, +as we have already shown, is manifestly impossible: but, contrary to +evident truth, supposing it to be possible, in such a case it must be +affirmed that the clinamen is no less necessary, immutable, and essential +to atoms than the straight line. Now, will anybody say that an +essential and immutable law of the local motion of atoms explains and +accounts for the true liberty of man? Is it not manifest that +the clinamen can no more account for it than the straight line itself? +The clinamen, supposing it to be true, would be as necessary as the +perpendicular line, by which a stone falls from the top of a tower into +the street. Is that stone free in its fall? However, the +will of man, according to the principle of the clinamen, has no more +freedom than that stone. Is it possible for man to be so extravagant +as to dare to contradict his own conscience about his free-will, lest +he should be forced to acknowledge his God and maker? To affirm, +on the one hand, that the liberty of man is imaginary, we must silence +the voice and stifle the sense of all nature; give ourselves the lie +in the grossest manner; deny what we are most intimately conscious and +certain of; and, in short, be reduced to believe that we have no eligibility +or choice of two courses, or things proposed, about which we fairly +deliberate upon any occasion. Nothing does religion more honour +than to see men necessitated to fall into such gross and monstrous extravagance +as soon as they call in question the truths she teaches. On the +other hand, if we own that man is truly free, we acknowledge in him +a principle that never can be seriously accounted for, either by the +combinations of atoms or the laws of local motion, which must be supposed +to be all equally necessary and essential to matter, if one denies a +first mover. We must therefore go out of the whole compass of +matter, and search far from combined atoms some incorporeal principle +to account for free-will, if we admit it fairly. Whatever is matter +and an atom, moves only by necessary, immutable, and invincible laws: +wherefore liberty cannot be found either in bodies, or in any local +motion; and so we must look for it in some incorporeal being. +Now whose hand tied and subjected to the organs of this corporeal machine +that incorporeal being which must necessarily be in me united to my +body? Where is the artificer that ties and unites natures so vastly +different? Can any but a power superior both to bodies and spirits +keep them together in this union with so absolute a sway? Two +crooked atoms, says an Epicurean, hook one another. Now this is +false, according to his very system; for I have demonstrated that those +two crooked atoms never hook one another, because they never meet. +But, however, after having supposed that two crooked atoms unite by +hooking one another, the Epicurean must be forced to own that the thinking +being, which is free in his operations, and which consequently is not +a collection of atoms, ever moved by necessary laws, is incorporeal, +and could not by its figure be hooked with the body it animates. +Thus which way so ever the Epicurean turns, he overthrows his system +with his own hands. But let us not, by any means, endeavour to +confound men that err and mistake, since we are men as well as they, +and no less subject to error. Let us only pity them, study to +light and inform them with patience, edify them, pray for them, and +conclude with asserting an evident truth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXVIII. We must necessarily acknowledge the +Hand of a First Cause in the Universe without inquiring why that first +Cause has left Defects in it.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Thus everything in the universe—the heavens, the earth, plants, +animals, and, above all, men—bears the stamp of a Deity. +Everything shows and proclaims a set design, and a series and concatenation +of subordinate causes, over-ruled and directed with order by a superior +cause.</p> +<p>It is preposterous and foolish to criticise upon this great work. +The defects that happen to be in it proceed either from the free and +disorderly will of man, which produces them by its disorder, or from +the ever holy and just will of God, who sometimes has a mind to punish +impious men, and at other times by the wicked to exercise and improve +the good. Nay, it happens oftentimes that what appears a defect +to our narrow judgment in a place separate from the work is an ornament +with respect to the general design, which we are not able to consider +with views sufficiently extended and simple to know the perfection of +the whole. Does not daily experience show that we rashly censure +certain parts of men’s works for want of being thoroughly acquainted +with the whole extent of their designs and schemes? This happens, +in particular, every day with respect to the works of painters and architects. +If writing characters were of an immense bigness, each character at +close view would take up a man’s whole sight, so that it would +not be possible for him to see above one at once; and, therefore, he +would not be able to read—that is, put different letters together, +and discover the sense of all those characters put together. It +is the same with the great strokes of Providence in the conduct of the +whole world during a long succession of ages. There is nothing +but the whole that is intelligible; and the whole is too vast and immense +to be seen at close view. Every event is like a particular character +that is too large for our narrow organs, and which signifies nothing +of itself and separate from the rest. When, at the consummation +of ages, we shall see in God—that is, in the true point and centre +of perspective—the total of human events, from the first to the +last day of the universe, together with their proportions with regard +to the designs of God, we shall cry out, “Lord, Thou alone art +just and wise!” We cannot rightly judge of the works of +men but by examining the whole. Every part ought not to have every +perfection, but only such as becomes it according to the order and proportion +of the different parts that compose the whole. In a human body, +for instance, all the members must not be eyes, for there must be hands, +feet, &c. So in the universe, there must be a sun for the +day, but there must be also a moon for the night. <i>Nec tibi +occurrit perfecta universitas</i>, <i>nisi ubi majora sic præsto +sunt</i>, <i>ut minora non desint</i>. This is the judgment we +ought to make of every part with respect to the whole. Any other +view is narrow and deceitful. But what are the weak and puny designs +of men, if compared to that of the creation and government of the universe? +“As much as the heavens are above the earth, as much,” says +God in the Holy Writ, “are My ways and My thoughts above yours.” +Let, therefore, man admire what he understands, and be silent about +what he does not comprehend. But, after all, even the real defects +of this work are only imperfections which God was pleased to leave in +it, to put us in mind that He drew and made it from nothing. There +is not anything in the universe but what does and ought equally to bear +these two opposite characters: on the one side, the seal or stamp of +the artificer upon his work, and, on the other, the mark of its original +nothing, into which it may relapse and dwindle every moment. It +is an incomprehensible mixture of low and great; of frailty in the matter, +and of art in the maker? The hand of God is conspicuous in everything, +even in a worm that crawls on earth. Nothingness, on the other +hand, appears everywhere, even in the most vast and most sublime genius. +Whatever is not God, can have but a stinted perfection; and what has +but a stinted perfection, always remains imperfect on the side where +the boundary is sensible, and denotes that it might be improved. +If the creature wanted nothing, it would be the Creator Himself; for +it would have the fulness of perfection, which is the Deity itself. +Since it cannot be infinite, it must be limited in perfection, that +is, it must be imperfect on one side or other. It may have more +or less imperfection, but still it must be imperfect. We must +ever be able to point out the very place where it is defective, and +to say, upon a critical examination, “This is what it might have +had, what it has not.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. LXXXIX. The Defects of the Universe compared with +those of a Picture.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Do we conclude that a piece of painting is made by chance when we +see in it either shades, or even some careless touches? The painter, +we say, might have better finished those carnations, those draperies, +those prospects. It is true, this picture is not perfect according +to the nicest rules of art. But how extravagant would it be to +say, “This picture is not absolutely perfect; therefore it is +only a collection of colours formed by chance, nor did the hand of any +painter meddle with it!” Now, what a man would blush to +say of an indifferent and almost artless picture he is not ashamed to +affirm of the universe, in which a crowd of incomprehensible wonders, +with excellent order and proportion, are conspicuous. Let a man +study the world as much as he pleases; let him descend into the minutest +details; dissect the vilest of animals; narrowly consider the least +grain of corn sown in the ground, and the manner in which it germinates +and multiplies; attentively observe with what precautions a rose-bud +blows and opens in the sun, and closes again at night; and he will find +in all these more design, conduct, and industry than in all the works +of art. Nay, what is called the art of men is but a faint imitation +of the great art called the laws of Nature, and which the impious did +not blush to call blind chance. Is it therefore a wonder that +poets animated the whole universe, bestowed wings upon the winds, and +arrows on the sun, and described great rivers impetuously running to +precipitate themselves into the sea, and trees shooting up to heaven +to repel the rays of the sun by their thick shades? These images +and figures have also been received in the language of the vulgar, so +natural it is for men to be sensible of the wonderful art that fills +all nature. Poetry did only ascribe to inanimate creatures the +art and design of the Creator, who does everything in them. From +the figurative language of the poets those notions passed into the theology +of the heathens, whose divines were the poets. They supposed an +art, a power, or a wisdom, which they called <i>numen</i>, in creatures +the most destitute of understanding. With them great rivers were +gods; and springs, naiads. Woods and mountains had their particular +deities; flowers had their Flora; and fruits, Pomona. After all, +the more a man contemplates Nature, the more he discovers in it an inexhaustible +stock of wisdom, which is, as it were, the soul of the universe.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XC. We must necessarily conclude that there is +a First Being that created the Universe.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>What must we infer from thence? The consequence flows of itself. + “If so much wisdom and penetration,” says Minutius Felix, +“are required to observe the wonderful order and design of the +structure of the world, how much more were necessary to form it!” +If men so much admire philosophers, because they discover a small part +of the wisdom that made all things, they must be stark blind not to +admire that wisdom itself.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XCI. Reasons why Men do not acknowledge God in +the Universe, wherein He shows Himself to them, as in a faithful glass.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This is the great object of the universe, wherein God, as it were +in a glass, shows Himself to mankind. But some (I mean, the philosophers) +were bewildered in their own thoughts. Everything with them turned +into vanity. By their subtle reasonings some of them overshot +and lost a truth which a man finds naturally and simply in himself without +the help of philosophy.</p> +<p>Others, intoxicated by their passions, live in a perpetual avocation +of thought. To perceive God in His works a man must, at least, +consider them with attention. But passions cast such a mist before +the eyes, not only of wild savages, but even of nations that seem to +be most civilised and polite, that they do not so much as see the light +that lights them. In this respect the Egyptians, Grecians, and +Romans were no less blind or less brutish than the rudest and most ignorant +Americans. Like these, they lay, as it were, buried within sensible +things without going up higher; and they cultivated their wit, only +to tickle themselves with softer sensations, without observing from +what spring they proceeded. In this manner the generality of men +pass away their lives upon earth. Say nothing to them, and they +will think on nothing except what flatters either their brutish passions +or vanity. Their souls grow so heavy and unwieldy that they cannot +raise their thoughts to any incorporeal object. Whatever is not +palpable and cannot be seen, tasted, heard, felt, or told, appears chimerical +to them. This weakness of the soul, turning into unbelief, appears +strength of mind to them; and their vanity glories in opposing what +naturally strikes and affects the rest of mankind, just as if a monster +prided in not being formed according to the common rules of Nature, +or as if one born blind boasted of his unbelief with respect to light +and colours, which other men perceive and discern.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SECT. XCII. A Prayer to God.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>O my God, if so many men do not discover Thee in this great spectacle +Thou givest them of all Nature, it is not because Thou art far from +any of us. Every one of us feels Thee, as it were, with his hand; +but the senses, and the passions they raise, take up all the attention +of our minds. Thus, O Lord, Thy light shines in darkness; but +darkness is so thick and gloomy that it does not admit the beams of +Thy light. Thou appearest everywhere; and everywhere unattentive +mortals neglect to perceive Thee. All Nature speaks of Thee and +resounds with Thy holy name; but she speaks to deaf men, whose deafness +proceeds from the noise and clutter they make to stun themselves. +Thou art near and within them; but they are fugitive, and wandering, +as it were, out of themselves. They would find Thee, O Sweet Light, +O Eternal Beauty, ever old and ever young, O Fountain of Chaste Delights, +O Pure and Happy Life of all who live truly, should they look for Thee +within themselves. But the impious lose Thee only by losing themselves. +Alas! Thy very gifts, which should show them the hand from whence they +flow, amuse them to such a degree as to hinder them from perceiving +it. They live by Thee, and yet they live without thinking on Thee; +or, rather, they die by the Fountain of Life for want of quenching their +drought in that vivifying stream; for what greater death can there be +than not to know Thee, O Lord? They fall asleep in Thy soft and +paternal bosom, and, full of the deceitful dreams by which they are +tossed in their sleep, they are insensible of the powerful hand that +supports them. If Thou wert a barren, impotent, and inanimate +body, like a flower that fades away, a river that runs, a house that +decays and falls to ruin, a picture that is but a collection of colours +to strike the imagination, or a useless metal that glisters—they +would perceive Thee, and fondly ascribe to Thee the power of giving +them some pleasure, although in reality pleasure cannot proceed from +inanimate beings, which are themselves void and incapable of it, but +only from Thee alone, the true spring of all joy. If therefore +Thou wert but a lumpish, frail, and inanimate being, a mass without +any virtue or power, a shadow of a being, Thy vain fantastic nature +would busy their vanity, and be a proper object to entertain their mean +and brutish thoughts. But because Thou art too intimately within +them, and they never at home, Thou art to them an unknown God; for while +they rove and wander abroad, the intimate part of themselves is most +remote from their sight. The order and beauty Thou scatterest +over the face of Thy creatures are like a glaring light that hides Thee +from and dazzles their sore eyes. Thus the very light that should +light them strikes them blind; and the rays of the sun themselves hinder +them to see it. In fine, because Thou art too elevated and too +pure a truth to affect gross senses, men who are become like beasts +cannot conceive Thee, though man has daily convincing instances of wisdom +and virtue without the testimony of any of his senses; for those virtues +have neither sound, colour, odour, taste, figure, nor any sensible quality. +Why then, O my God, do men call Thy existence, wisdom, and power more +in question than they do those other things most real and manifest, +the truth of which they suppose as certain, in all the serious affairs +of life, and which nevertheless, as well as Thou, escape our feeble +senses? O misery! O dismal night that surrounds the children +of Adam! O monstrous stupidity! O confusion of the whole +man! Man has eyes only to see shadows, and truth appears a phantom +to him. What is nothing, is all; and what is all, is nothing to +him. What do I behold in all Nature? God. God everywhere, +and still God alone. When I think, O Lord, that all being is in +Thee, Thou exhaustest and swallowest up, O Abyss of Truth, all my thoughts. +I know not what becomes of me. Whatever is not Thou, disappears; +and scarce so much of myself remains wherewithal to find myself again. +Who sees Thee not, never saw anything; and who is not sensible of Thee, +never was sensible of anything. He is as if he were not. +His whole life is but a dream. Arise, O Lord, arise. Let +Thy enemies melt like wax and vanish like smoke before Thy face. +How unhappy is the impious soul who, far from Thee, is without God, +without hope, without eternal comfort! How happy he who searches, +sighs, and thirsts after Thee! But fully happy he on whom are +reflected the beams of Thy countenance, whose tears Thy hand has wiped +off, and whose desires Thy love has already completed. When will +that time be, O Lord? O Fair Day, without either cloud or end, +of which Thyself shalt be the sun, and wherein Thou shalt run through +my soul like a torrent of delight? Upon this pleasing hope my +bones shiver, and cry out:—“Who is like Thee, O Lord? +My heart melts and my flesh faints, O God of my soul, and my eternal +wealth.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EXISTENCE OF GOD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 11044-h.htm or 11044-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/0/4/11044 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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