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THE JOURNAL
OF
' SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Vol. £
~
18 6 7.
■
No. 1.
TO THE READER.
For the reason that a journal devoted
exclusively to the interests of Speculative
Philosophy is a rare phenomenon in the
English language, some words may reason
ably be expected from the Editors upon
the scope and design of the present under
taking.
There is no need, it is presumed, to
speak of the immense religious movements
now going on in this country and in Eng
land. The tendency to break with the
traditional, and to accept only what bears
for the soul its own justification, is widely
active, and can end only in the demand
that Reason shall find and establish a phil
osophical basis for all those great ideas
which are taught as religious dogmas. Thus
it is that side by side with the naturalism of
such men as Renan, a school of mystics is
beginning to spring up who prefer to ignore
utterly all historical wrappages, and cleave
only to the speculative kernel itself. The
vortex between the traditional faith and the
intellectual conviction cannot be closed by
renouncing the latter, but only by deepen
ing it to speculative insight.
Likewise it will be acknowledged that
the national consciousness has moved for
ward on to a new platform during the last
few years. The idea underlying our form
of government had hitherto developed
only one of its essential phases—that of
brittle individualism—in which national
unity seemed an external mechanism,
soon to be entirely dispensed with, and
the enterprise of the private man or of the
corporation substituted for it. Now we
have arrived at the consciousness of the
other essential phase, and each individual
recognizes his substantial side to be the
State as such. The freedom of the citizen
does not consist in the mere Arbitrary, but
in the realization of the rational convic
tion tvhich finds expression in established
law. That this new phase of national life
demands to be digested and comprehended,
is a further occasion for the cultivation of
the Speculative.
More ’significant still is the scientific
revolution, working out especially in the
domain of physics. The day of simple
empiricism is past, and with the doctrine
of “ Correlation of forces ” there has arisen
a stage of reflection that deepens rapidly
into the purely speculative. For the fur
ther elucidation of this important point the
two following articles have been prepared.
It is hoped that the first one will answer
more definitely the question now arising in
the mind of the reader, “ What is this
Speculative Knowing of which you speak ?”
and that the second one will show whither
Natural Science is fast hastening.
With regard to the pretensions of this
Journal, its editors know well how much
its literary conduct will deserve censure
and need apology. They hope that the
substance will make up in some degree for
deficiencies in form; and, moreover, they
expect to improve in this respect through
experience and the kind criticisms of
friends.
�2
The Speculative.
THE SPECULATIVE.
“ We need what Genius is unconsciously seeking, and, by some daring generalization of the
universe, shall assuredly discover, a spiritual calculus, a Novum Organon, whereby nature shall
be divined in the soul, the soul in God, matter in spirit, polarity resolved into unity; and that
power which pulsates in all life, animates and builds all organizations, shall manifest itself as
one universal deific energy, present alike at the outskirts and centre of the universe, whose
centre ana circumference are one; omniscient, omnipotent, self-subsisting, uncontained, yet
containing all things in the unbroken synthesis of its being.”—(“Calculus,” one of Alcott’s
“Orphic Sayings.”)
At the end of the sixth book of Plato’s
Republic, after a characterization of the
two grades of sensuous knowing and the
grade of the understanding, (i which is
obliged to set out from hypotheses, for the
reason that it does not deal with principles
but only with results,” we find the specu
lative grade of knowing characterized as
<£ that in which the soul, setting out from
an hypothesis, proceeds to an unhypothetical principle, and makes its way without
the aid of [sensuous] images, but solely
through ideas themselves.” The mathe
matical procedure which begins by hy
pothecating definitions, axioms, postulates,
and the like, which it never examines nor
attempts to deduce or prove, is the exam
ple given by Plato of the method of theUnderstanding, while he makes the specula
tive Reason “ to posit hypotheses by the
Dialectic, not as fixed principles, but only
as starting points, in order that, by remov
ing them, it may arrive at the unhypothetical—the principle of the universe.”
This most admirable description is fully
endorsed by Aristotle, and firmly estab
lished in a two-fold manner :
1. In the Metaphysics (xi. 7) he shows
ontologically, starting with motion as an
hypothesis, that the self-moved is the first
principle ; and this he identifies with the
speculative, and the being of God.
2. In the De Anima (iii. 5-8) he dis
tinguishes psychologically the “ active in
tellect” as the highest form of knowing,
as that which is its own object, (subject
and object,) and hence as containing its
own end and aim in itself—as being infin
ite. He identifies this with the Specula
tive result, which he found ontologically
as the Absolute.
Spinoza in his Ethics (Prop. xl. Scbol.
ii., and Prop, xliv., Cor. ii. of Part II.)
has well described the Speculative, which
he names C{ Scienlia intuiliva,” as the
thinking of things under the form of eter
nity, (De natura rationis est res sub quadam specie ceternitatis percipere.)
Though great diversity is found in re
spect to form and systematic exposition
among the great philosophers, yet there is
the most complete unanimity, not only
with respect to the transcendency of the
Speculative, but also with reference to the
content of its knowing. If the reader of
different systems of Philosophy has in
himself achieved some degree of Specula
tive culture, he will at every step be de
lighted and confirmed at the agreement of
what, to the ordinary reader, seem irrecon
cilable statements.
Not only do speculative writers agree
among themselves as to the nature of
things, and the destiny of man and the
world, but their results furnish us in the
form of pure thought what the artist has
wrought out in the form of beauty.
Whether one tests architecture, sculpture,
painting, music or poetry, it is all the
same. Goethe has said:
“As all Nature’s thousand changes
But one changeless God proclaim ;
So in Art’s wide kingdoms ranges
One sole meaning, still the same:
This is Truth, eternal Reason,
Which from Beautj' takes its dress,
And serene, through time and season,
Stands for aye in loveliness.”
While Art presents this content to the
senses, Religion offers it to the conception
in the form of a dogma to be held by faith ;
the deepest Speculative truth is allegori
cally typified in a historical form, so that
it acts upon the mind partly through fan
tasy and partly through the understand
ing. Thus Religion presents the same
content as Art and Philosophy, but stands
between them, and forms a kind of middle
�The Speculative.
ground upon which the purification takes
place. “ It is the purgatory between the
Inferno of Sense and the Paradise of Rea
son.” Its function is mediation ; a contin
ual degrading of the sensuous and exter
nal, and an elevation to the supersensual
and internal. The transition of Religion
into Speculative Philosophy is found in
the mystics. Filled with the profound
significance of religious symbolism, and
seeing in it the explanation of the uni
verse, they essay to communicate their in
sights. But the form of Science is not
yet attained by them. They express
themselves, not in those universal catego
ries that the Spirit of the Race has formed
in language for its utterance, but they
<have recourse to symbols more or less in
adequate because ambiguous, and of insuf
ficient universality to stand for the arche
types themselves. Thus “ Becoming ” is
the most pure germinal archetype, and be
longs therefore to logic, or the system of
pure thought, and it has correspondences
on concrete planes, as e. g., time, motion,
life, fyc. Now if one o^. these concrete
terms is used for the pure logical category,
we have mysticism. The alchemists, as
shown by a genial writer of our day, use
the technique of their craft to express the
profound mysteries of spirit and its regen
eration. The Eleusinian and other mys
teries do the like.
While it is one of the most inspiring
things connected with Speculative Philo
sophy to discover that the “ Open Secret
of the Universe” has been read by so
many, and to see, under various expres
sions, the same meaning ; yet it is the
highest problem of Speculative Philoso
phy to seize a method that is adequate to
the expression of the “ Secret;” for its
(the content’s) own method of genetic de
velopment must be the only adequate one.
Hence it is that we can classify philosophic
systems by their success in seizing the
content which is common to Art and Re
ligion, as well as to Philosophy, in such a
manner as to allow its free evolution ; to
have as little in the method that is merely
formal or extraneous to the idea itself.
The rigid formalism of Spinoza—though
manipulated by a clear speculative spirit—
3
is inadequate to the unfolding of its con
tent ; for how could the mathematical
method, which is that of quantity or ex
ternal determinations alone, ever suffice to
unfold those first principles which attain
to the quantitative only in their result?
In this, the profoundest of subjects, we
always find in Plato light for the way. Al
though he has not given us complete ex
amples, yet he has pointed out the road of
the true Speculative method in a way not
to be mistaken. Instead of setting out
with first principles presupposed as true,
by which all is to be established, (as math
ematics and 6uch sciences do), he asserts
that the first starting points must be re
moved as inadequate. We begin with the
immediate, which is utterly insufficient,
and exhibits itself as such. We ascend to
a more adequate, by removing the first
hypothesis ; and this process repeats itself
until we come to the first principle, which
of course bears its own evidence in this,
that it is absolutely universal and abso
lutely determined at the same time; in
other words it is the self-determining, the
“self-moved,” as Plato and Aristotle call
it. It is its own other, and hence it is the
true infinite, for it is not limited but con
tinued by its other.
From this peculiarity results the difficul
ty of Speculative Philosophy. The unused
mind, accepting with naivete' the first pro
position as settled, finds itself brought,
into confusion when this is contradicted,
and condemns the whole procedure. The
irony of Socrates, that always begins by
positing the ground of his adversary, and
reducing it through its own inadequateness
to contradict itself, is of this character,
and the unsophisticated might say, and do
say: “ See how illogical is Socrates, for
he sets out to establish something, and ar
rives rather at the destruction of it.” The
reductio ad absardum is a faint imita
tion of the same method. It is not suffi
cient to prove your own system by itself,
for each of the opposing systems can do
that; but you must show that any and all
counter-hypotheses result in your own.
God makes the wrath of men to praise
Him, and all imperfect things must con
tinually demonstrate the perfect, for the
�4
The. Speculative.
reason that they do not exist by reason of
their defects, but through what of truth
there is in them, and the imperfection is
continually manifesting the want of the
perfect. ££ Spirit,” says Hegel, ££ is selfcontained being. But matter, which is
spirit outside of itself, [turned inside out,]
continually manifests this, its inadequacy,
through gravity—attraction to a central
point beyond each particle. (If it could
get at this central point, it would have no
extension, and hence would be anni
hilated.)”
The soul of this method lies in the com
prehension of the negative. In that won
derful expose of the importance of the
negative, which Plato gives in the Par
menides and Sophist, we see how justly
he appreciated its true place in Philoso
phic Method. Spinoza’s “ omnis determinatio est negatio ” is the most famous
of modern statements respecting the nega
tive, and has been very fruitful in re
sults.
One would greatly misunderstand the
Speculative view of the negative should
he take it to mean, as some have done,
ee that the negative is as essential as the
positive.” For if they are two indepen
dent somewhats over against each other,
having equal validity, then all unity of
system is absolutely impossible—we can
have only the Persian Ahriman and Ormuzd ; nay, not even these—for unless
there is a primal unity, a “ Zeruane-Akerene”—the uncreated one, these are im
possible as opposites, for there can be no
tension from which the strife should pro
ceed.
The Speculative has insight into the
constitution of the positive out of the
negative. “ That which has the form of
Being,” says Hegel, £‘ is the self-related ;”
but relation of all kinds is negation, and
hence whatever has the form of being and
is a positive somewhat, is a self-related
negative. Those three stages of culture in
knowing, talked of by Plato and Spinoza,
may be characterized in a new way by
their relation to this concept.
The first stage of consciousness—that of
immediate or sensuous knowing—seizes
objects by themselves—isolatedly—without
their relations ; each seems to have valid
ity in and for itself, and to be wholly pos
itive and real. The negative is the mere
absence of the real thing ; and it utterly
ignores it in its scientific activity.
But the second stage traces relations,
and finds that things do not exist in imme
diate independence, but that each is re
lated to others, and it comes to say that
££ Were a grain of sand to be destroyed,
the universe would collapse.” It is a
necessary consequent to the previous stage,
for the reason that so soon as the first
stage gets over its childish engrossment
with the novelty of variety, and attempts
to seize the individual thing, it finds its
characteristic marks or properties. But
these consist invariably of relations to
other things, and it learns that these prop
erties, without which the thing could
have no distinct existence, are the very
destruction of its independence, since
they are its complications with other
things.
In this stage the negative has entered
and has full sway. For all that was before
firm and fixed, is now seen to be, not
through itself, but through others, and
hence the being of everything is its nega
tion. For if this stone exists only through
its relations to the sun, which is not the
stone but something else, then the being
of this stone is its own negation. But the
second stage only reduces all to depend
ence and finitude, and does net show us
how any real, true, or independent being
can be found to exist. It holds fast to the
stage of mediation alone, just as the first
stage held by the immediate. But the
dialectic of this position forces it over
into the third.
If things exist only in their relations,
and relations are the negatives of things,
then all that appears positive—all being—
must rest upon negation. How is this?
The negative is essentially a relative, but
since it is the only substrate (for all is
relative), it can relate only to itself. But
self-relation is always identity, and here
we have the solution of the previous diffi
culty. All positive forms, all forms of im
mediateness or being, all forms of identity,
are self-relatiops, consisting of a negative
�The Speculative,
or relative, relating to itself. But the
most wonderful side of this, is the fact that
since this relation is that of the negative,
it negates itself in its very relation, and
hence its identity is a producing of non
identity. Identity and distinction are
produced by the self-same process, and
thus self-determination is the origin of all
identity and distinction likewise. This
is the speculative stand-point in its com
pleteness. It not only possesses specula
tive content, but is able to evolve a spec
ulative system likewise. It is not only
conscious of the principles, but of their
method, and thus all is transparent.
To suppose that this may be made so
plain that one shall see it at first sight,
would be the height of absurdity. Doubt
less far clearer expositions can be made
of this than those found in Plato or
Proclus, or even in Fichte and Ilegel; but
any and every exposition must incur the
same difficulty, viz : The one who masters
it must undergo a thorough change in his
innermost. The í( Palingenesia” of the
intellect is as essential as the “ regenera
tion of the heart,” and is at bottom the
same thing, as the mystics teach us.
But this great difference is obvious su
perficially : In religious regeneration it
seems the yielding up of the self to an
alien, though beneficent, power, while in
philosophy it seems the complete identifi
cation of one’s self with it.
He, then, who would ascend into the
thought of the best thinkers the world has
seen, must spare no pains to elevate his
thinking to the plane of pure thought.
•The completest discipline for this may be
found in Hegel’s Logic. Let one not de
spair, though he seem to be baffled seventy
and seven times; his earnest and vigorous
assault is repaid by surprisingly increased
strength of mental acumen which he will
be assured of, if he tries his powers on
lower planes after his attack has failed on
the highest thought.
These desultory remarks on the Specu
lative, may be closed with a few illustra
tions of whSt has been said of the negative.
I. Everything must have limits that
mark it off from other things, and these
limits are its negations, in which it ceases.
5
II. It must likewise have qualities which
distinguish it from others, but these
likewise are negatives in the sense that
they exclude it from them. Its determin
ing by means of qualities is the making
it not this and not that, but exactly what
it is. Thus the affirmation of anything is
at the same time the negation of others.
III. Not only is the negative manifest
in the above general and abstract form,
but its penetration is more specific. Ev
erything has distinctions from others in
general, but also from its other. Sweet is
opposed not only to other properties in
general, as white, round, soft, etc.,s but
to its other, or sour. So, too, white is
opposed to black, soft to hard, heat to
cold, etc., and in general a positive thing
to a negative thing. In this kind of rela
tive, the negative is more essential, for it
seems to constitute the intimate nature of
the opposites, so that each is reflected in
the other.
IV. More remarkable are the appear
ances of the negative in nature. The elementyire is a negative which destroys the
form of the combustible. It reduces or
ganic substances to inorganic elements,
and is that which negates the organic.
Air is another negative element. It acts
upon all terrestrial elements ; upon water,
converting it into invisible vapor; upon
metals, reducing them to earths through
corrosion—eating up iron to form rust,
rotting wood into mould—destructive
or negative alike to the mineral
and vegetable world, like fire, to which
it has a speculative affinity. The grand
type of all negatives in nature, such as
air and fire, is Time, the great devourer, and archetype of all changes and
movements in nature.
Attraction is
another appearance of the negative. It
is a manifestation in some body of an es
sential connection with another which is
not it; or rather it is an embodied selfcontradiction : “that other (the sun)
which is not me (the earth) is my true
being.” Of course its own being is its
own negation, then.
Thus, too, the plant is negative to the
inorganic—it assimilates it; the animal is
negative to the vegetable world.
�6
Herbert Spencer.
As we approach these higher forms of
negation, we see the negative acting
against itself, and this constitutes a pro
cess. The food that life requires, which
it negates in the process of digestion, and
assimilates, is, in the life process, again
negated, eliminated from the organism,
and replaced by new elements. A nega
tion is made, and this is again negated.
But the higher form of negation appears
in the generic ; “ The species lives and the
individual dies.” The generic continually
transcends the individual—going forth to
new individuals and deserting the old—
a process of birth and decay, both nega
HERBERT
CHAPTER I.
THE CRISIS IN NATURAL SCIENCE.
During the past twenty years a revolu
tion has been working in physical science.
Within the last ten it has come to the sur
face, and is now rapidly spreading into
all departments of mental activity.
Although its centre is to be found in the
doctrine of the £-'Correlation of Forces,” it
would be a narrow view that counted only
the expounders of this doctrine, numerous
as they are; the spirit of this movement
inspires a heterogeneous multitude—Car
penter, Grove, Mayer, Faraday, Thompson,
Tyndall and Helmholtz ; Herbert Spencer,
Stuart Mill, Buckle, Draper, Lewes, Lecky,
Max Muller, Marsh, Liebig, Darwin and
Agassiz ; these names, selected at random,
are suggested on account of the extensive
circulation of their books. Every day the
press announces some new name in this
field of research.
What is the character of the old which
is displaced, and of the new which gets
established ?
By way of preliminary, it must be re
marked that there are observable in mod
ern times three general phases of culture,
more or less historic.
The first phase is thoroughly dogmatic:
it accepts as of like validity metaphysical
tive processes. In conscious Spirit both
are united in one movement. The generic
here enters the individual as pure ego—
the undetermined possibility of all deter
minations. Since it is. undetermined,
it is negative to all special deter
minations. But this ego not only exists as
subject, but also as objeet—a process of
self-determination or self-negation. And
this negation or particularization contin
ually proceeds from one object to another,
and remains conscious under the whole,
not dying, as the mere animal does, in the
transition from individual to individual.
This is the aperçu of Immortality.
SPENCER.
abstractions, and empirical observations.
It has not arrived at such a degree of
clearness as to perceive contradictions be
tween form and content. For the most
part, it is characterized by a reverence for
external authority. With the revival of
learning commences the protest of spirit
against this phase. Descartes and Lord
Bacon begin the contest, and are followed
by the many — Locke, Newton, Leibnitz,
Clark, and the rest. All are animated with
the spirit of that time — to come to the
matter in hand without so much mediation.
Thought wishes to rid itself of its fetterB ;
religious sentiment, to get rid of forms.
This reaction against the former stage,
which has been called by Hegel the meta
physical, finds a kind of climax in the in
tellectual movement just preceding the
French revolution. Thought no longer is
contented to say “ Cogito, ergo sum,” ab
stractly, but applies the doctrine in all di
rections, “I think; in that deed, I am.”
“ I am a man only in so far as I think. In
so far as I think, I am an essence. What I
get from others is not mine. What I can
comprehend, or dissolve in my reason, that
is mine.” It looks around and spies insti
tutions—“ clothes of spirit,” as Herr Tcufelsdroeck calls them. “ What are you
doing here, you sniveling priest ?” says
Voltaire: “you are imposing delusions
�Herbert Spencer.
upon society for your own aggrandizement.
I had no part or lot in making the church ;
cogito, ergo sum; I will only have over me
what I put there !”
“ I see that all these complications of
society are artificial,” adds Rousseau;
“man has made them ; they are not good,
and let us tear them down and make
anew.” These utterances echo all over
France and Europe. “ The state is merely
a machine by which the few exploiter the
many”—“ off with crowns !” Thereupon
they snatch off the crown of poor Louis,
and his head follows with it. “Reason”
is enthroned and dethroned. Thirty years
of war satiates at length this negative sec
ond period, and the third phase begins.
Its characteristic is to be constructive, not
to accept the heritage of the past with pas
sivity, noi’ wantonly to destroy, but to
realize itself in the world of objectivity—
the world of laws and institutions.
The first appearance of the second phase
of consciousness is characterized by the
grossest inconsistencies. It says in gene
ral, (see D’Holbach’s “ Systeme de la Na
ture”: “The immediate, only, is true;
what we know by our senses, alone has
reality ; all is matter and force.” But in
this utterance it is unconscious that matter
and force are purely general concepts, and
not objects of immediate consciousness.
What we see and feel is not matter or
force in general, but only some special
form. The self-refutation of this phase
may be exhibited as follows :
I. “What is known is known through
the senses : it is matter and force.”
II. But by the senses, the particular only
is perceived, and this can never be matter,
but merely a form. The general is a medi
ated result, and not an object of the senses.
III. Hence, in positing matter and force
as the content of sensuous knowing, they
unwittingly assert mediation to be the
content of immediateness.
The decline of this period of science re
sults from the perception of the contradic
tion involved. Kant was the first to show
this; his labors in this field may be
summed up thus;
The universal and necessary is not an
empirical result. (General laws cannot be
7
sensuously perceived.) The constitution
of the mind itself, furnishes the ground for
it :—first, we have an a priori basis (time
and space) necessarily presupposed as the
condition of all sensuous perception ; and
then we have categories presupposed as the
basis of every generalization whatever.
Utter any general proposition : for example
the one above quoted—“ all is matter and
force”—and you merely posit two cate
gories— Inherence and Causality — as ob
jectively valid. In all universal and neces
sary propositions we announce only the
subjective conditions of experience, and
not anything in and for itself true (i. e.
applicable to things in themselves).
At once the popular side of this doctrine
began to take effect. il We know only phe
nomena; the true object in itself we do
not know.”
This doctrine of phenomenal knowing
was outgrown in Germany at the com
mencement of the present century. In
1791—ten years after the publication of
the Critique of Pure Reason—the deep
spirit of Fichte began to generalize Kant’s
labors, and soon he announced the legiti
mate results of the doctrine. Schelling
and Hegel completed the work of trans
forming what Kant had left in a negative
state, into an affirmative system of truth.
The following is an outline of the refuta
tion of Kantian scepticism :
I. Kant reduces all objective knowledge
to phenomenal : we furnish the form of
knowing, and hence whatever we announce
in general concerning it—and all that we
call science has, of course, the form of
generality—is merely our subjective forms,
and does not belong to the thing in itself.
II. This granted, say the later philoso
phers, it follows that the subjective swal
lows up all and becomes itself the univer
sal (subject and object of itself), and
hence Reason is the true substance of the
universe. Spinoza’s substance is thus seen
to become subject. We partake of God as
intellectually seeing, and we see only God
as object, which Malebranche and Berkeley
held with other Platonists.
1. The categories (e. g. Unity, Reality,
Causality, Existence, etc.) being merely
subjective, or given by the constitution of
�8
Herbert Spencer.
the mind itself—for such universals are
presupposed by all experience, and hence
not derived from it—it follows :
2. If we abstract what we know to be
subjective, that we abstract all possibility
of a thing in itself, too. For “ existence”
is a category, and hence if subjective, we
may reasonably conclude that nothing ob
jective can have existence.
3. Hence, since one category has no pre
ference over another, and we cannot give
one of them objectivity without granting it
to all others, it follows that there can be
no talk of noumena, or of things in them
selves, existing beyond the reach of the
mind, for such talk merely applies what it
pronounces to be subjective categories,
(existence) while at the same time it de
nies the validity of their application.
III. But since we remove the supposed
“ noumena,” the so-called phenomena are
not opposed any longer to a correlate be
yond the intelligence, and the noumenon
proves to be mind itself.
An obvious corollary from this is, that by
the self-determination of mind in pure
thinking we shall find the fundamental
laws of all phenomena.
Though the Kantian doctrine soon gave
place in Germany to deeper insights, it
found its way slowly to other countries.
Comte and Sir Wm. Hamilton have made
the negative results very widely known—
the former, in natural science ; the latter,
in literature and philosophy. Most of the
writers named at the beginning are more or
less imbued with Comte’s doctrines, while
a few follow Hamilton. For rhetorical
purposes, the Hamiltonian statement is far
superior to all others; for practical pur
poses, the Comtian. The physicist wishing
to give his undivided attention to empiri
cal observation, desires an excuse for neg
lecting pure thinking ; he therefore refers
to the well-known result of philosophy,
that we cannot know anything of ultimate
causes—we are limited to phenomena and
laws. Although it must be conceded that
this consolation is somewhat similar to
that of the ostrich, who cunningly con
ceals his head in the sand when annoyed
by the hunters, yet great benefit has
thereby accrued to science through the
undivided zeal of the investigators thus
consoled.
When, however, a sufficiently large col
lection has been made, and the laws are
sought for in the chaotic mass of observa
tions, then thought must be had. Thought
is the only crucible capable of dissolving
“ the many into the one.” Tycho Brahe
served a good purpose in collecting obser
vations, but a Kepler was required to dis
cern the celestial harmony involved therein.
This discovery of laws and relations, or
of relative unities, proceeds to the final
stage of science, which is that of the abso
lute comprehension.
Thus modern science, commencing with
the close of the metaphysical epoch, has
three stages or phases :
I. The first rests on mere isolated facts
of experience ; accepts the first phase of
things, or that which comes directly before
it, and hence may be termed the Btage of
immediateness.
II. The second relates its thoughts to
one another and compares them ; it developes inequalities; tests one through an
other, and discovers dependencies every
where ; since it learns that the first phase
of objects is phenomenal, and depends up
on somewhat lying beyond it; since it de
nies truth to the immediate, it may be
termed the stage of mediation.
III. A final stage which considers a phe
nomenon in its totality, and thus seizes it
in its noumenon, and is the stage of the
comprehension.
To resume: the first is that of sensuous
knowing; the second, that of reflection (the
understanding); the third, that of the rea
son (or the speculative stage).
In the sensuous knowing, we have crude,
undigested masses all co-ordinated; each
is in and for itself, and perfectly valid
without the others. But as soon as re
flection enters, dissolution is at work.
Each is thought in sharp contrast with the
rest; contradictions arise on every hand.
The third stage finds its way out of these
quarrelsome abstractions, and arrives at a
synthetic unity, at a system, wherein the
antagonisms are seen to form an organism.
The first stage of the development closes
with attempts on all hands to put the re
�9
Herbert Spencer.
suits in an encyclopaediacal form. Hum
boldt’s Cosmos is a good example of this
tendency, manifested so ■widely. Matter,
masses, and functions are the subjects of
investigation.
Reflection investigates functions and
seizes the abstract category of force, and
straightway we are in the second stage.
Matter, as such, loses its interest, and “cor
relation of forces” absorbs all attention.
Force is an arrogant category and will
not be co-ordinated with matter; if ad
mitted, we are led to a pure dynamism.
This will become evident as follows :
I. Force implies confinement (to give it
direction) ; it demands, likewise, an “ oc
casion,” or soliciting force to call it into
activity.
II. But it cannot be confined except by
force; its occasion must be a force like
wise.
III. Thus, since its confinement and “oc
casion” are forces, force can only act upon
forces—upon matter only in so far as that
is a force. Its nature requires confinement
in order to manifest it, and hence it can
not act or exist except in unity with other
forces which likewise have the same de
pendence upon it that it has upon them.
Hence a force has no independent subsist
ence, but is only an element of a combination
of opposed forces, which combination is a
unity existing in an opposed manner (or
composed of forces in a Btate of tension).
This deeper unity which we come upon as
the ground of force is properly named law.
From this, two corollaries are to be
drawn : (I.) That matter is merely a name
for various forces, as resistance, attraction
and repulsion, etc. (2.) That force is no
ultimate category, but, upon reflection, is
seen to rest upon law as a deeper category
(not law as a mere similarity of phe
nomena, but as a true unity underlying
phenomenal multiplicity).
From the nature of the category of force
we see that whoever adopts it as the ulti
mate, embarks on an ocean of dualism, and
instead of “ seeing everywhere the one and
all” as did Xenophanes, he will see every
where the self opposed, the contradictory.
The crisis which science has now reached
is of this nature. The second stage is at
its commencement with the great bulk of
scientific men.
To illustrate the self-nugatory character
ascribed to this stage we shall adduce
some of the most prominent positions of
Herbert Spencer, whom we regard as the
ablest exponent of this movement. These
contradictions are not to be deprecated, as
though they indicated a decline of thought ;
on the contrary, they show an increased ac
tivity, (though in the stage of mere reflec
tion,) and give us good omens for the future.
The era of .stupid mechanical thinkers is
over, and we have entered upon the active,
chemical stage of thought, wherein the
thinker is trained to consciousness con
cerning his abstract categories, which, as
Hegel says, “ drive him around in their
whirling circle.”
Now that the body of scientific men are
turned in this direction, we behold a vast
upheaval towards philosophic thought ; and
this is entirely unlike the isolated pheno
menon (hitherto observed in history) of a
single group of men lifted above the sur
rounding darkness of their age into clear
ness. We do not have such a phenomenon
in our time ; it is the spirit of the nine
teenth century to move by masses.
CHAPTER II.
THE “ FIRST PRINCIPLES5’ OF THE “UNKNOW
ABLE.”
The British Quarterly speaking of Spen
cer, says : “ These i First Principles ’ are
merely the foundation of a system of Phil
osophy, bolder, more elaborate and com
prehensive, perhaps, than any other which
has been hitherto designed in England.”
The persistence and sincerity, so gener
allyprevailing among these correlationists,
we have occasion to admire in Herbert
Spencer. He seems to be always ready to
sacrifice his individual interest for truth,
and is bold and fearless in uttering what
he believes it to be.
For critical consideration no better divi
sion can be found than that adopted in the
“ First Principles” by Mr. Spencer himself,
to wit: 1st, the unknowable, 2nd, the know
�10
Herbert Spencer.
able. Accordingly, let us examine first his
theory of
for the scepticism can only legitimately
conclude that the objective which we do
THE UNKNOWABLE.
know is of a nature kindred with reason:
When Mr. Spencer announces the con and that by an a priori necessity we can
tent of the “ unknowable” to be(e ultimate affirm that not only all knowable must
religious and scientific ideas,” we are re have this nature, but also all possible ex
minded at once of the old adage in juris istence must.
prudence—“ Ornnis definitio in jure civili
In this we discover that the mistake on
est periculosa
the definition is liable to the part of the sceptic consists in taking
prove self-contradictory in practice. So self-conscious intelligence as something
when we have a content assigned to the one-sided or subjective, whereas it must
unknowable we at once inquire, whence be, according to its very definition, subject
come the distinctions in the unknowable? and object in one, and thus universal.
If unknown they are not distinct to us.
The difficulty underlying this stage of
When we are told that Time, Space, Force, consciousness is that the mind has not
Matter, God, Creation, etc., are unknow- been cultivated to a clear separation of
ables, we must regard these words as cor the imagination from the thinking. As
responding to no distinct objects, but Sir Wm. Hamilton remarks, (Metaphysics,
rather as all of the same import to us. It p. 487,) “Vagueness and confusion are
should be always borne in mind that all produced by the confounding of objects so
universal negatives are self-contradictory. different as the images of sense and the
Moreover, since all judgments are made by unpicturable notions of intelligence.”
subjective intelligences, it follows that all
Indeed the great “law of the condition
general assertions concerning the nature ed” so much boasted of by that philoso
of the intellect affect the judgment itself. pher himself and his disciples, vanishes at
The naïveté with which certain writers once when the mentioned confusion is
wield these double-edged weapons is a avoided. Applied to space it results as
source of solicitude to the spectator.
follows :
When one says that he knows that he
I.— Thought, of Space.
knows nothing, he asserts knowledge and
1. Space, if finite, must be limited from
denies it in the same sentence. If one without;
says il all knowledge is relative,” as Spen
2. But such external limitations would
cer does, (p. 68, et seq., of First Principles,) require space to exist in ;
he of course asserts that his knowledge of
3. And hence the supposed limits of
the fact is relative and not absolute. If a space that were to make it finite do in fact
distinct content is asserted of ignorance, continue it.
the same contradiction occurs.
It appears, therefore, that space is of
The perception of this principle by the such a nature that it can only end in, or be
later German philosophers at once led limited by itself, and thus is universally
them out of the Kantian nightmare, into continuous or infinite.
positive truth. The principle may be ap
II.—Imagination of Space.
plied in general to any subjective scepti
cism. The following is a general scheme
If the result attained by pure thought is
that will apply to all particular instances : correct, space is infinite, and if so, it can
I. “We cannot know things in them not be imagined. If, however, it should
selves; all our knowledge is subjective ; it be found possible to compass it by imagi
is confined to our own states and changes.” nation, it must be conceded that there
II. If this is so, then still more is what really is a contradiction in the intelligence.
we name the ‘objective” only a state or That the result of such an attempt coin
change of us as subjective; it is a mere cides with our anticipations we have Ham
fiction of the mind so far as it is regarded ilton’s testimony—“ imagination sinks ex
as a “beyond” or thing in itself.
hausted.”
III. Hence we do know the objective ;
Therefore, instead of this result contra
�Herbert Spencer.
dieting the first, as Hamilton supposes, it
really confirms it.
In fact if the mind is disciplined to
separate pure thinking from mere imagin
ing, the infinite is not difficult to think.
Spinoza saw and expressed this by making
a distinction between “ infinitum actu
(or rationis),” and “infinitum imaginationis,” and his first and second axioms
are the immediate results of thought ele
vated to this clearness. This distinction
and his “ omnis determinatio est negatio,”
together with the development of the third
stage of thinking (according to reason),
(e sub quadam specie ceternitatis,”—these
distinctions are the priceless legacy of the
clearest-minded thinker of modern times;
and it behooves the critic of “human
knowing” to consider well the results that
the “human mind” has produced through
those great masters — Plato and Aristotle,
Spinoza and Hegel.
Herbert Spencer, however, not only be
trays unconsciousness of this distinction,
but employs it in far grosser and self
destructive applications.
On page 25,
(“ First Principles,”) he says : When on
the sea shore we note how the hulls of dis
tant vessels are hidden below the horizon,
and how of still remoter vessels only the
uppermost sails are visible, we realize with
tolerable clearness the slight curvature of
that portion of the sea’s surface which lies
before us. But when we seek in imagina
tion to follow out this curved surface as it
actually exists, slowly bending round until
all its meridians meet in a point eight
thousand miles below our feet, we find
ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot con
ceive in its real form and magnitude even
that small segment of our globe which ex
tends a hundred miles on every side of us,
much less the globe as a whole. The piece
of rock on which we stand can be mentally
represented with something like complete
ness ; we find ourselves able to think of
its top,"its sides, and its under surface at
the same time, or so nearly at the same
time that they seem all present in con
sciousness together; and so we can form
what we call a conception of the rock, but
to do the like with the earth we find im
possible.” “We form of the earth not a
11
conception properly so-called, but only a
symbolic conception.”
Conception here is held to be adequate
when it is formed of an object of a given
size; when the object is above that size the
conception thereof becomes symbolical.
Here we do not have the exact limit stated,
though we have an example given (a rock)
which is conceivable, and another (the
earth) which is not.
“ We must predicate nothing of objects
too great or too multitudinous to be men
tally represented, or we must make our
predications by means of extremely inade
quate representations of such objects, mere
symbols of them.” (27 page.)
But not only is the earth an indefinitely
multiple object, but so is the rock; nay,
even the smallest grain of sand. Suppose
the rock to be a rod in diameter; a micro
scope magnifying two and a half millions
of diameters would make its apparent mag
nitude as large as the earth. It is thus
only a question of relative distance from
the person conceiving, and this reduces it
to the mere sensuous image of the retina.
Remove the earth to the distance of the
moon, and our conception of it would, upon
these principles, become quite adequate.
But if our conception of the moon be held
inadequate, then must that of the rock or
the grain of sand be equally inadequate.
Whatever occupies space is continuous
and discrete ; i. e., may be divided into
parts. It is hence a question of relativity
whether the image or picture of it corre
spond to it.
The legitimate conclusion is that all our
conceptions are symbolic, and if that pro
perty invalidates their reliability, it fol
lows that we have no reliable knowledge
of things perceived, whether great or small.
Mathematical knowledge is conversant
with pure lines, points, and surfaces ; hence
it must rest on inconceivables.
But Mr. Spencer would by no means con
cede that we do not know the shape of the
earth, its size, and many other inconceiv
able things about it. Conception is thus
no criterion of knowledge, and all built
upon this doctrine (i. e. depending upon
the conceivability of a somewhat) falls to
the ground.
�12
Herbert Spencer.
But he applies it to the questions of the says : “ no other result would happen if I
divisibility of matter (page 50): “ If we went on forever.’")
say that matter is infinitely divisible, we
III. Pure thought, however, grasps this
commit ourselves to a supposition not process as a totality, and sees that it only
realizable in thought. We can bisect and arises through a self-relation. The “ pro
rebisect a body, and continually repeating gress ” is nothing but a return to itself,
the act until we reduce its parts to a size the same monotonous round. It would be
no longer physically divisible, may then a similar attempt to seek the end of a cir
mentally continue the process without cle by travelling round it, and one might
limit.”
make the profound remark : “ If mv pow
Setting aside conceivability as indiffer ers were equal to the task, I should doubt
ent to our knowledge or thinking, we have less come to the end.” This difficulty
the following solution of this point:
vanishes as soon as the experience is made
I. That which is extended may be bi that the line returns into itself. “ It is the
sected (i. e. has two halves).
same thing whether said once or repeated
II. Thus two extensions arise, which, in forever,” says Simplicius, treating of this
turn, have the same property of divisibil paradox.
ity that the first one had.
The “Infinite Progress” is the most
III. Since, then, bisection is a process stubborn fortress of Scepticism. By it
entirely indifferent to the nature of exten our negative writers establish the imposion (i. e. does not change an extension tency of Reason for various ulterior pur
into two non-extendeds), it follows that poses. Some wish to use it as a lubrica
body is infinitely divisible.
ting fluid upon certain religious dogmas
We do not have to test this in imagina that cannot otherwise be swallowed. Oth
tion to verify it; and this very truth must ers wish to save themselves the trouble of
be evident to him who says that the pro thinking out the solutions to the Problem
gress must be Ci continued without limit.” of Life. But the Sphinx devours him who
For if we examine the general conditions does not faithfully grapple with, and solve
under which any such “ infinite progress ” her enigmas.
is possible, we find them to rest upon the
Mephistopheles (a good authority on this
presupposition of a real infinite, thus :
subject) says of Faust, whom he finds
grumbling at the littleness of man’s mind:
Infinite Progress.
“ Verachte nur Vernunft und Wissenchaft,
I. Certain attributes are found to be
Des Menschen allerhöchste Kraft!
long to an object, and are not affected by
Und hätt’ er sich auch nicht dem Teufel übergehen,
Er müsste doch zu Grunde gehen.”
a certain process. (For example, divisi
bility as a process in space does not affect
Only prove that there is a large field of
the continuity of space, which makes that the unknowable and one has at once the
process possible. Or again, the process of vade mecum for stupidity. Crude reflec
limiting space does not interfere with its tion can pour in its distinctions into a sub
continuity, for space will not permit any ject, and save itself from the consequences
limit except space itself.)
by pronouncing the basis incomprehensi
II. When the untutored reflection en ble. It also removes all possibility of
deavors to apprehend a relation of this Theology, or of the Piety of the Intellect,
nature, it seizes one side of the dualism and leaves a very narrow margin for re
and is hurled to the other. (It bisects ligious sentiment, or the Piety of the
space, and then finds itself before two ob Heart.
jects identical in nature with the first; it
The stage of Science represented by the
has effected nothing; it repeats the pro French Encyclopaedists was immediately
cess, and, by and by getting exhausted, hostile to each and every form of religion.
wonders whether it could meet a different This second stage, however, has a choice.
result if its powers of endurance were It can, like Hamilton or Mansel, let re
greater. Or else suspecting the true case, ligious belief alone, as pertaining to the
�Herbert Spencer.
unknown and unknowable—which may be
believed in as much as one likes ; or it may
44 strip off,” as Spencer does, u determina
tions from a religion,” by which it is dis
tinguished from other religions, and show
their truth to consist in a common doc
trine held by all, to-wit : 41 The truth of
things is unknowable.”
Thus the scientific man can baffle all at
tacks from the religious standpoint ; nay,
he can even elicit the most unbounded ap
proval, while he saps the entire structure
of Christianity.
Says Spencer (p. 4G) : 44 Science and Re
ligion agree in this, that the power which
the Universe manifests to us is utterly in
scrutable.” He goes on to show that
though this harmony exists, yet it is
broken by the inconsistency of Religion :
44 For every religion, setting out with the
tacit assertion of a mystery, forthwith
proceeds to give some solution of this
mystery, and so asserts that it is not a
mystery passing human comprehension.”
In this confession he admits that all relig
ions agree in professing to reveal the solu
tion of the Mystery of the Universe to man ;
and they agree, moreover, that man, as
simply a being of sense and reflection, can
not comprehend the revelation ; but that
he must first pass through a profound me
diation—be regenerated, not merely in his
heart, but in intellect also. The misty
limitations (4<vagueness and confusion”)
of the imagination must give way to the
purifying dialectic of pure thought before
one can see the Eternal Verities.
These revelations profess to make known
the nature of the Absolute. They call the
Absolute 44 Him,” 44 Infinite,” 44 Self-cre
ated,” 44 Self-existent,” 44 Personal,” and
ascribe to this 44 Him” attributes implying
profound mediation. All definite forms
of religion, all definite theology, must at
once be discarded according to Spencer’s
principle. Self-consciousness, even, is re
garded as impossible by him (p. 65) :
44 Clearly a true cognition of self implies a
state in which the knowing and known are
one, in which subject and object are iden
tified ; and this Mr. Mansel rightly holds
to be the annihilation of both.” He con
siders it a degradation (p. 109) to apply
13
personality to God: 44 Is it not possible
that there is a mode of being as much
transcending intelligence and will as these
transcend mechanical motion ?” And
again (p. 112) he holds that the mere
44 negation of absolute knowing contains
more religion than all dogmatic theology.”
(P. 121,) 4<A11 religions-are envelopes of
truth, which reveal to the lower and con
ceal to the higher.” (P. 66,) 44 Objective
and subjective things are alike inscrutable
in their substance and genesis.” 44 Ulti
mate religious and scientific ideas (p. 68)
alike turn out to be mere symbols of the
actual, and not cognitions of it.” (P. 69,)
44 We come to the negative result that the
reality existing behind all appearances
must ever be unknown.”
In these passages we see a dualism pos
ited in this form : “ Everything immediate
is phenomenal, a manifestation of the hid
den and inscrutable essence.” This es
sence is the unknown and unknowable ;
yet it manifests itself in the immediate or
phenomenal.
The first stage of thought was uncon
scious that it dealt all the time with a
mediated result (a dualism) while it as
sumed an immediate ; that it asserted all
truth to lie in the sensuous object, while it
named at the same time “matter and/orce,”
categories of reflection.
The second stage has got over that dif
ficulty, but has fallen into another. For
if the phenomenon manifested the essence,
it could not be said to be 44 unknowable,
hidden, and inscrutable.” But if the es
sence is not manifested by the phenome
non, then we have the so-called phenome
non as a self-existent, and therefore inde
pendent of the so-called essence, which
stands coordinated to it as another exist
ent, which cannot be known because it
does not manifest itself to us. Hence the
44 phenomenon ” is no phenomenon, or
manifestation of aught but itself, and the
44 essence” is simply a fiction of the phil
osopher.
Hence his talk about essence is purely
gratuitous, for there is not shown the need
of one.
A dialectical consideration of essence
and phenomenon will result as follows :
�14
Herbert Spencer.
Essence and PhenomenonI. If essence is seized as independent
or absolute being, it may be taken in two
senses:
a. As entirely unaffected by “ other
ness” (or limitation) and entirely unde
termined ; and this would be pure nothing,
for it cannot distinguish itself or be dis
tinguished from pure nothing.
b. As relating to itself, and hence
making itself a duality—becoming its own
other; in this case the “other” is a van
ishing one, for it is at the same time iden
tical and non-identical — a process in
which the essence may be said to appear
or become phenomenal. The entire pro
cess is the absolute or self-related (and
hence independent). It is determined, but
by itself, and hence not in a finite man
ner.
II. The Phenomenon is thus seen to
arise through the self-determination of
essence, and has obviously the following
characteristics:
a. It is the “ other ” of the essence, and
yet the own self of the essence existing in
this opposed manner, and thus self-nuga
tory; and this non-abiding character gives
it the name of phenomenon (or that which
merely appears, but is no permanent es
sence).
b. If this were simply another to the
essence, and not the eelf-opposition of the
same, then it would be through itself, and
itself the essence in its first (or immediate)
phase. But this is the essence only as ne
gated, or as returned from the otherness.
c. This self-nugatoriness is seen to arise
from the contradiction involved in its be
ing other to itself, i. e. outside of its true
being. Without this self-nugatoriness it
would be an abiding, an essence itself, and
hence no phenomenon ; with this self-nu
gatoriness the phenomenon simply exhib
its or “ manifests ” the essence ; in fact,
with the appearance and its negation taken
together, we have before us a totality of
essence and phenomenon.
III. Therefore : a. The phenomenal is
such because it is not an abiding some
what. It is dependent upon other or es
sence. b. Whatever it posesses belongs
to that upon which it depends, i. e. be
longs to essence, c. In the self-nugatoriness of the phenomenal we have the entire
essence manifested.
This latter point is the important result,
and may be stated in a less strict and more
popular form thus : The real world (socalled) is said to be in a state of change
origination and decay. Things pass away
and others come in their places. Under
this change, however, there is a permanent
called Essence.
The imaginative thinking finds it impos
sible to realize such an abiding as exists
through the decay of all external form,
and hence pronounces it unknowable. But
pure thought seizes it, and finds it a pure
self-relation or process of return to itself,
which accordingly has duality, thus:
a. The positing or producing of a some
what or an immediate, and, b. The cancel
ling of the same. In this duality of be
ginning and ceasing, this self-relation
completes its circle, and is thus, c. the en
tire movement.
All categories of the understanding
(cause and effect, matter and form, possi
bility, etc.) are found to contain this
movement when dissolved. And hence
they have self-determination for their pre
supposition and explanation. It is un
necessary to add that unless one gives up
trying to imagine truth, that this is all
very absurd reasoning. (At the end of the
sixth book of Plato’s Republic, ch. xxi.,
and in the seventh book, ch.xiii., one may
see how clearly this matter was understood
two thousand, and more, years ago.)
To manifest or reveal is to make known ;
and hence to speak of the “manifestation
of a hidden and inscrutable essence” is to
speak of the making known of an unknow
able.
Mr. Spencer goes on; no hypothesis of
the universe is possible—creation not con
ceivable, for that would be something out
of nothing—self-existence not conceivable,
for that involves unlimited past time.
He holds that “all knowledge is rela
tive,'” for all explanation is the reducing
of a cognition to a more general. He says,
(p. G9,) “ Of necessity, therefore, explana
tion must eventually bring us down to the
inexplicable—the deepest truth which we
�Herbert Spencer.
15
can get at must be unaccountable.” This will prove a confused affair; especially
much valued insight has a positive side as since to the above-mentioned “inscruta
well as the negative one usually developed : bility” of the absolute, he adds the doc
I. (a.) To explain something we sub trine of an “ obscure consciousness of it,”
holding, in fact, that the knowable is only
sume it under a more general.
(6.) The ee summum genus” cannot be a relative, and that it cannot be known
without at the same time possessing a
subsumed, and
knowledge of the unknowable.
(c.) Hence is inexplicable.
(P. 82) he says : “ A thought involves
II. But those who conclude from this
that we base our knowledge ultimately relation, difference and likeness; what
upon faiih (from the supposed fact that we ever does not present each of them does
not admit of cognition. And hence we
cannot prove our premises) forget that—
(a.) If the subsuming process ends in an may say that the unconditioned as present
unknown, then all the subsuming has re ing none of these, is trebly unthinkable.”
sulted in nothing; for to subsume some And yet he says, (p. 96): “ The relative is
thing under an unknown does not explain itself inconceivable except as related to a
it. (Plato’s Republic, Book VII, chap, xiii.) real non-relative.”
We will leave this infinite self-contradic
(&.) The more general, however, is the
more simple, and hence the summum tion thus developed, and turn to the posi
genus” is the purely simple—it is Being. tions established concerning the knowable.
But the simpler the clearer, and the pure They concern the nature of Force, Matter
and Motion, and the predicates set up are
simple is the absolutely clear.
(c.) At the i( summum genus” subsump “persistence,” “indestructibility” and
tion becomes the principle of identity— similar.
THE KNOWABLE.
being is being; and thus stated we have
Although in the first part “ conceivabil
simple self-relation as the origin of all
ity” was shown to be utterly inadequate
clearness and knowing whatsoever.
III. Hence it is seen that it is not the as a test of truth ; that with it we could not
mere fact of subsumption that makes some even establish that the earth is round, or
thing clear, but rather it is the reduction that space is infinitely continuous, yet here
Mr. Spencer finds that inconceivability is
of it to identity.
In pure being as the summum genus, the the most convenient of all positive proofs.
The first example to be noticed is his
mind contemplates the pure form of know
ing—“ a is a,” or “ a subject is a predi proof of the compressibility of matter (p.
cate”—(a is b). The pure “is” is the 51): “It is an established mechanical
empty form of mental affirmation, the pure truth that if a body moving at a given ve
copula; and thus in the summum genus locity, strikes an equal body at rest in
the mind recognizes the pure form of itself. such wise that the two move on together,
All objectivity is at this point dissolved their joint velocity will be but half that of
into the thinking, and hence the subsump the striking body. Now it is a law of
tion becomes identity—(being=e</o, or “co- which the negative is inconceivable, that
gito, ergo sum” the process turns round in passing from any one degree of magni
and becomes synthetic, (“dialectic” or tude to another all intermediate degrees
‘‘genetic,” as called by some). From this must be passed through. Or in the case
it is evident that self-consciousness is the before us, a body moving at velocity 4,
cannot, by collision, be reduced-to velocity
basis of all knowledge.
2, without passing through all velocities
between 4 and 2. But were matter truly
CHAPTER III.
solid — were its units absolutely incom
THE “ FIRST PRINCIPLES” OF THE “ KNOWpressible fand in unbroken contact — this
ABLE.”
“ law of continuity,” as it is called, would
As might be expected from Spencer’s be broken in every case of collision. For
treatment of the unknowable, the knowable when, of two such units, one moving at ve
�16
Herbert Spencer.
locity 4 strikes another at rest, the striking
unit must have its velocity 4 instantane
ously reduced to velocity 2; must pass
from velocity 4 tq velocity 2 without any
lapse of time, and without passing through
intermediate velocities; must be moving
with velocities 4 and 2 at the same instant,
which is impossible.” On page 57 he ac
knowledges that any transition from one
rate of motion to another is inconceivable ;
hence it does not help the matter to “pass
through intermediate velocities.” It is
just as great a contradiction and just as
inconceivable that velocity 4 should be
come velocity 3.9999-f-, as it is that it
should become velocity 2; for no change
whatever of the motion can be thought (as
he cofifesses) without having two motions
in one time. Motion, in fact, is the syn
thesis of place and time, and cannot be
comprehended except as their unity. The
argument here quoted is only adduced by
Mr. S. for the purpose of antithesis to other
arguments on the other side as weak as
itself.
On page 241, Mr. Spencer deals with the
question of the destructibility of matter:
“The annihilation of matter is unthink
able for the same reason that the creation
of matter is unthinkable.” (P. 54): “ Mat
ter in its ultimate nature is as absolutely
incomprehensible as space and time.” The
nature of matter is unthinkable, its crea
tion or destructibility is unthinkable, and
in this style of reasoning we can add that
its indestructibility is likewise unthinkable;
in fact the argument concerning self-exis
tence will apply here. (P. 31) : “ Self
existence necessarily means existence with
out a beginning; and to form a conception
of self-existence is to form a conception of
existence without a beginning. Now by
no mental effort can we do this. To con
ceive existence through infinite past time,
implies the conception of infinite past time,
which is an impossibility.” Thus, too,
we might argue in a strain identical; in
destructibility implies existence through
infinite future time, but by no mental effort
can infinite time be conceived. ^And thus,
too, we prove and disprove the persistence
of force and motion. When occasion re
quires, the cver-convenient argument of
££ inconceivability” enters. It reminds
one of Sir Wm. Hamilton’s “imbecility”
upon which are based “ sundry of the most
important phenomena of intelligence,”
among which he mentions the category of
causality. If causality is founded upon
imbecility, and all experience upon it, it
follows that all empirical knowledge rests
upon imbecility.
On page 247, our author asserts that the
first law of motion “ is in our flay being
merged in the more general one, that mo
tion, like matter, is indestructible.” It is
interesting t<5 observe that this so-called
“ First law of motion” rests on no better
basis than very crude reflection.
“When not influenced by external forces,
a moving body will go on in a straight
line with a uniform velocity,” is Spencer’s
statement of it.
This abstract, supposed law has neces
sitated much scaffolding in Natural Phil
osophy that is otherwise entirely unneces
sary; it contradicts the idea of momen
tum, and is thus refuted :
I. A body set in motion continues in
motion after the impulse’ has ceased from
without, for the reason that it retains mo
mentum.
II. Momentum is the product of weight
by velocity, and weight is the attraction of
the body in question to another body exter
nal to it. If all bodies external to the
moving body were entirely removed, the
latter would have no weight, and hence
the product of weight by velocity would
be zero.
III. The “ external influences” referred
to in the so-called “ law,” mean chiefly
attraction. Since no body could have mo
mentum except through weight, another
name for attraction, it follows that all free
motion has reference to another body, and
hence is curvilinear; thus we are rid of
that embarrassing ££ straight line motion”
which gives so much trouble in mechanics.
It has all to be reduced back again through
various processes to curvilinear movement.
We come, finally, to consider the central
point of this system ;
THE CORRELATION OF FORCES.
Speaking of persistence of force, Mr.
Spencer concedes (p. 252) that this doc
�Herbert Spencer.
trine is not demonstrable from experience.
He says (p. 254): “Clearly the persistence
of force is an ultimate truth of which no
inductive proof is possible.” (P. 255) :
“By the persistence of force we really
mean the persistence of some power which
transcends our knowledge and conception.”
(P. 257): “The indestructibility of matter
and the continuity of motion we saw to be
really .corollaries from the impossibility of
establishing in thought a relation between
something and nothing.” (Thus what
was established as a mental impotence is
now made to have objective validity.)
“Our inability to conceive matter and
motion destroyed is our inability to sup
press consciousness itself.” (P. 258) :
“ Whoever alleges that the inability to con
ceive a beginning or end of the universe
is a negative result of our mental struc
ture, cannot deny that our consciousness
of the universe as persistent is a positive
result of our mental structure. And this
persistence of the universe is the persist
ence of that unknown cause, power, or
force, which is manifested to us through
all phenomena.” This “ positive result of
our mental structure” is said to rest on
our ££ inability to conceive the limitation
of consciousness” which is ££ simply the
obverse of our inability to put an end to
the thinking subject while still continuing
to think.” (P. 257) : “To think of some
thing becoming nothing, would involve
that this substance of consciousness having
just existed under a given form, should
next assume no form, or should cease to
be consciousness.”
It will be observed here that he is en
deavoring te solve the First Antinomy of
Kant, and that his argument in this place
differs from Kant’s proof of the “ Antithe
sis” in this, that while Kant proves that
“The world [or universe] has no begin
ning,” etc., by the impossibility of the
origination of anything in a ££ void time,”
that Mr. Spencer proves the same thing by
asserting it to be a “positive result of our
mental structure,” and then proceeds to
show that this is a sort of “inability”
which has a subjective explanation ; it is,
according to him, merely the “ substance
17
of consciousness” objectified and regarded
as the law of reality.
But how is it with the “Thesis” to that
Antinomy, “The world has a beginning
in time ?” Kant proves this apagogically by showing the absurdity of an “ in
finite series already elapsed.” That our
author did not escape the contradiction
has already been shown in our remarks
upon the “indestructibility of matter.”
While he was treating of the unknowable
it was his special province to prove that
self-existence is unthinkable. (P. 31) : He
says it means ££ existence without a begin
ning,” and “to conceive existence through
infinite past time, implies the conception
of infinite past time, which is an impos
sibility.” Thus we have the Thesis of the
Antinomy supported in his doctrine of the
“ unknowable,” and the antithesis of the
same proved in the doctrine of the know
able.
We shall next find him involved with
Kant’s Third Antinomy.
The doctrine of the correlation is stated
in the following passages :
(P. 280): “ Those modes of the un
knowable, which we call motion, heat,
light, chemical affinity, etc., are alike
transformable into each other, and into
those modes of the unknowable which we
distinguish as sensation, emotion, thought:
these, in their turns, being directly or in
directly re-transformable into the original
shapes. That no idea or feeling arises,
save as a result of some physical force ex
pended in producing it, is fast becoming a
common-place of science; and whoever
duly weighs the evidence, will see that
nothing but an overwhelming bias in favor
of a preconceived theory can explain its
non-acceptance. How this metamorphosis
takes place—how a force existing as mo
tion, heat, or light, can become a mode of
consciousness—how it is possible for aerial
vibrations to generate the sensation we
call sound, or for the forces liberated by
chemical changes in the brain to give rise
to emotion—these are mysteries which it
is impossible to fathom.” (P. 284): “Each
manifestation of force can be interpreted
only as the effect of some antecedent force ;
�18
Herbert Spencer.
no matter whether it be an inorganic ac
tion, an animal movement, a thought, or a
feeling. Either this must be conceded, or
else it must be asserted that our successive
states of consciousness are self-created.”
“ Either mental energies as well as bodily
ones are quantitatively correlated to cer
tain energies expended in their production,
and to certain other energies they initiate ;
or else nothing must become something
and something, nothing. Since persistence
of force, being a datum of consciousness,
cannot be denied, its unavoidable corol
lary must be accepted.”
On p. 294 he supports the doctrine that
“ motion takes the direction of the least
resistance,” mentally as well as physically.
Here are some of the inferences to be
drawn from the passages quoted :
1. Every act is determined from with
out, and hence does not belong to the sub
ject in which it manifests itself. "
2. To change the course of a force, is to
make another direction “ that of the least
resistance,” or to remove or diminish a
resistance.
3. But to change a resistance requires
force, which (in motion) must act in “ the
direction of the least resistance,” and
hence it is entirely determined from with
out, and governed by the disposition of
the forces it meets.
4. Hence, of will, it is an absurdity to
talk; freedom or moral agency is an im
possible phantom.
5. That there is self-determination in
self-consciousness—that it is “self-cre
ated ”—is to Mr. Spencer the absurd al
ternative which at once turns the scale in
favor of the doctrine that mental phenom
ena are the productions of external
forces.
After this, what are we to Bay of the
following ? (P. 501): “ Notwithstanding
all evidence to the contrary, there will
probably have arisen in not a few minds
the conviction that the solutions which
have been given, along with those to be
derived from them, are essentially mate
rialistic. Let none persist in these mis
conceptions.” (P. 502): “Their implica
tions are no more materialistic than they
are spiritualistic, and no more spiritual
istic than they are materialistic.”
If we hold these positions by the side of
Kant’s Third Antinomy, we shall see that
they all belong to the proof of the “ Anti
thesis,” viz : “ There is no freedom, but
everything in the world happens accord
ing to the laws of nature.” The “Thesis,”
viz : “ That a causality of freedom is nec
essary to account fully for the phenomena
of the world,” he has not anywhere sup
ported. We find, in fact, only those
thinkers who have in some measure mas
tered the third phase of culture in thought,
standing upon the basis presented by
Kant in the Thesis. The chief point in
the Thesis maybe stated as follows: 1.
If everything that happens presupposes a
previous condition, (which the law of
causality states,) 2. This previous condi
tion cannot be a permanent (or have been
always in existence); for, if so, its conse
quence, or the effect, would have always
existed. Thus the previous condition must
be a thing which has happened. 3. With
this the whole law of causality collapses';
for (a) since each cause is an effect, (5) its
determining power escapes into a higher
member of the series, and, (c) unless the
law changes, wholly vanishes ; there result
an indefinite series of effects with no
cause ; each member of the series is a de
pendent, has its being in another, which
again has its being in another, and hence
cannot support the subsequent term.
Hence it is evident that this Antinomy
consists, first: in the setting up of the law
of causality as having absolute validity,
which is the antithesis. Secondly, the
experience is made that such absolute law
of causality is a self-nugatory one, and thus
it is to be inferred that causality, to be at
all, presupposes an origination in a “ self
moved.” as Plato calls it. Aristotle (Meta
physics, xi. 6-7, and ix. 8) exhibits this ul
timate as the “ self-active,” and the Schol
astics take the same, under the designation
<( actus purus,” for the definition of God.
The Antinomy thus reduced gives :
I. Thesis : Self-determination must lie
at the basis of all causality, otherwise
causality cannot be at all.
�Herbert Spencer.
II. Antithesis : If there is self-determin
ation, “ the unity of experience (which
leads us to look for a cause) is destroyed,
and hence no such case could arise in ex
perience.”
In comparing the two proofs it is at once
seen that they are of different degrees of
universality. The argument of the Thesis is
based upon the nature of the thing itself,
i. e. a pure thought; while that of the
Antithesis loses sight of the idea of
“ efficient ” cause, and seeks mere contin
uity in the sequence of time, and thus ex
hibits itself as the second stage of thought,
which leans on the staff of fancy, i. e. mere
representative thinking. This “ unity of
experience,” as Kant calls it, is the same
thing, stated in other words, that Spencer
refers to as the “ positive result of our
mental structure.” In one sense those are
true antinomies—those of Kant, Hamilton,
et al.—viz. in this : that the “ representa
tive” stage of thinking finds itself unable
to shake off the sensuouB picture, and think
“ sub quadani specie ceternitatis.” To the
mind disciplined to the third stage of
thought, these are no antinomies; Spinoza,
Leibnitz, Plato and Aristotle are not con
fused by them. The Thesis, properly
stated, is a true universal, and exhibits its
own truth, as that upon which the law of
causality rests; and hence the antithesis
itself—less universal—resting upon the
law of causality, is based upon the Thesis.
Moreover, the Thesis does not deny an in
finite succession in time and space, it only
states that there must be an efficient cause
—-just what the law of causalty states, but
shows, in addition, that this efficient cause
must be a “ self-determined.”
On page 282 we learn that, “The solar
heat is the final source of the force mani
fested by society.” “ It (the force of so
ciety) is based on animal and vegetable
products, and these in turn are dependent
on the light and heat of the sun.”
As an episode in this somewhat abstract
discussion, it may be diverting to notice
the question of priority of discovery,
touched upon in the following note (p.
454): “Until I recently consulted his
‘ Outlines of Astronomy’ on another ques
tion, I was not aware that, so far back as
19
1833, Sir John Herschel had enunciated
the doctrine that ‘ the sun’s rays are the
ultimate source of almost every motion
which takes place on the surface of the
earth.’ He expressly includes all geologic,
meteorologic, and vital actions; as also
those which we produce by the combus
tion of coal. The late George Stephenson
appears to have been wrongly credited
with this last idea.”
In order to add to the thorough discus
sion of this important question, we wish
to suggest the claims of Thomas Carlyle,
who, as far back as 1830, wrote the foling passage in his Sartor Resartus (Am.
ed. pp. 55-6): “ Well sang the Hebrew
Psalmist: ‘If I take the wings of the
morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts
of the Universe, God is there.’ Thou, too,
0 cultivated reader, who too probably art
no psalmist, but a prosaist, knowing God
only by tradition, knowest thou any corner
of the world where at least force is not ?
The drop which thou shakest from thy wet
hand, rests not where it falls, but to-mor
row thou findest it swept away ; already,
on the wings of the north wind, it is near
ing the tropic of Cancer. How it came to
evaporate and not lie motionless ? Thinkest thou there is aught motionless, without
force, and dead ?
“ As I rode through the Schwartzwald,
I said to myself: That little fire which
glows starlike across the dark-growing
(nachtende) moor, where the sooty smith
bends over his anvil, and thou hopest to
replace thy lost horseshoe—is it a detach
ed, separated speck, cut off from the whole
universe, or indissolubly joined to the
whole ? Thou fool, that smithy-fire was
primarily kindled at the sun ; is fed by air
that circulates from beyond Noah’s deluge,
from beyond the Dog star; it is a little
ganglion, or nervous centre in the great
vital system of immensity.”
We have, finally, to consider the correl
ation theory in connection with equilib
rium.
I. Motion results from destroyed equi
librium. The whole totality does not cor
respond to itself, its ideal and real contra
dict each other. The movement is the re
storing of the equilibrium, or the bringing
�20
Herbert Spencer.
into unity of the ideal and real. To illus
trate : a spring (made of steel, rubber, or
any elastic material) has a certain form in
which it may exist without tension ; this
may be called the ideal shape, or simply
the ideal. If the spring is forced to as
sume another shape, its real shape becomes
different from the ideal; its equilibrium
is destroyed, and force is manifested as a
tendency to restore the equilibrium (or
unity of the ideal and real). Generalize
this : all forces have the same nature;
(a) expansive forces arise from the ideal
existing without—a gas, steam, for ex
ample, ideally takes up a more extended
space than it has really; it expands to fill
it. Or (6) contractive forces : the multi
plicity ideally exists within; e. g. attrac
tion of gravitation; matter trying to find
the centre of the earth, its ideal. The will
acts in this way: The ideal is changed
first, and draws the real after it. I first
destroy, in thought and will, the identity
of ideal and real; the tension resulting is
force. Thinking, since it deals with the
universal (or the potential and the actual)
is an original source of force, and, as will
result in the sequel from a reverse analysis
(see below, V. 3, c) the only source of force.
II. Persistence of force requires an unrestorable equilibrium ; in moving to re
store one equilibrium, it must destroy
another—its equivalent.
III. But this contradicts the above de
veloped conception of force as follows :
(a) Since force results from destroyed
equilibrium, it follows (Z>) that it requires
as much force to destroy the equilibrium
as is developed in the restoring of it (and
this notion is the basis of the correlation
theory). But (c) if the first equilibrium
(already destroyed) can only be restored
by the destroying of another equal to the
same, it has already formed an equilibrium
with the second, and the occasion of the
motion is removed.
If two forces are equal and opposed,
which will give way ?
By this dialectic consideration of force,
we learn the insufficiency of the theory of
correlation as the ultimate truth. Instead
of being “ the sole truth, which transcends
experience by underlying it ” (p. 258), we
are obliged to confess that this “ persist
ence of force” rests on the category of
causality; its thin disguise consists in the
substitution of other words for the meta
physical expression, “Every effect must
be equal to its cause.” And this, when
tortured in the crucible, confesses that
the only efficient cause is “ causi sui
hence the effect is equal to its cause, be
cause it is the cause.
And the correlation theory results in
showing that force cannot be, unless self
originated.
That self-determination is the inevitable
result, no matter what hypothesis be as
sumed, is also evident. Taking all counter
hypotheses and generalizing them, we have
this analysis:
I. Any and every being is determined
from without through another. (This theo
rem includes all anti-self-determination
doctrines.)
II. It results from this that any and
every being is dependent upon another and
is a finite one ; it cannot be isolated with
out destroying it. Hence it results that
every being is an element of a whole that
includes it as a subordinate moment.
III. Dependent being, as a subordinate
element, cannot be said to support any
thing attached to it, for its own support is
not in itself but in another, namely, the
whole that includes it. From this it re
sults that no dependent being can depend
upon another dependent being, but rather
upon the including whole.
The including whole is therefore not a
dependent; since it is for itself, and each
element is determined through it, and for
it, it may be called the negative unity (or
the unity which negates the independence
of the elements).
Remark.—A chain of dependent beings
collapses into one dependent being. De
pendence is not converted into independ
ence by simple multiplication. All de
pendence is thus an element of an inde
pendent whole.
IV. What is the character of this inde
pendent w’hole, this negative “unity I “Char
acter” means determination, and we are
prepared to sav that its determination can
not be through another, for then it would
�Herbert Spencer.
be a dependent, and we should be referred
again to the whole, including it. Its de
termination by which the multiplicity of
elements arises is hence its own self-deter
mination. Thus all finitude and depend
ence presupposes as its condition, selfdetermination.
V. Self-determination more closely ex
amined exhibits some remarkable results,
(which -will throw light on the discussion
of “ Essence and Phenomena” above):
(1.) It is “causa sui;” active and pas
sive; existing dually as determining and
determined ; this self-diremption produces
a distinction in itself which is again can
celled.
(2.) As determiner (or active, or cause),
it is the pure universal—the possibility of
any determinations. But as determined
(passive or effect) it is the special, the par
ticular, the one-sided reality that enters
into change.
(3.) But it is “ negative unity” of these
two sides, and hence an individual. The
pure universal w’hose negative relation to
itself as determiner makes the particular,
completes itself to individuality through
this act.
(a.) Since its pure universality is the
substrate of its determination, and at the
same time a self-related activity (or nega
tivity), it at once becomes its own object.
(6.) Its activity (limiting or determin
ing)— a pure negativity — turned to itself
as object, dissolves the particular in the
universal, and thus continually realizes
its subjectivity.
(c.) Hence these two sides of the nega
tive unity are more properly subject and
object, and since they are identical (causa
sui} we may name the result “ self-con
sciousness.”
The absolute truth of all truths, then, is
that self-consciousness is the form of the
Total. God is a Person, or rather the
Person. Through His self-consciousness
(thought of Himself) he makes Himself
an object to Himself (Nature), and in the
same act cancels it again into Ilis own
image (finite spirit), and thus comprehends
Himself in this self-revelation.
Two remarks must be made here: (1.)
This is not “Pantheism;” for it results
21
that God is a Person; and secondly Nature
is a self-cancelling side in the process;
thirdly, the so-called “finite spirit,” or
man, is immortal, since otherwise he would
not be the last link of the chain; but such
he is, because he can develop out of his
sensuous life to pure thought, uncondition
ed by time and space, and hence he can
surpass any fixed “higher intelligence,”
no matter how high created.
(2.) It is the result that all profound
thinkers have arrived at.
Aristotle (Metaphysics XI. 6 & 7) car
ries this whole question of motion back to
its presupposition in a mode of treatment,
“ sub quadam specie aternitatis” He
concludes thus : “ The thinking, however,
of that which is purely for itself, is a think
ing'of that which is most excellent in and
for itself.
“ The thinking thinks itself, however,
through participation in that which is
thought by it; it becomes this object in
its own activity, in such a manner that the
subject and object are identical. For the
apprehending of thought and essence is
what constitutes reason. The activity of
thinking produces that which is perceived ;
so that the activity is rather that which
Beason seems to have of a divine nature;
speculation [pure thinking] is the most ex
cellent employment; if, then, God is al
ways engaged in this, as we are at times,
lie is admirable, and if in a higher degree,
more admirable. But He is in this pure
thinking, and life too belongs to Him; for
the activity of thought is life. He is this
activity. The activity, returning into it
self, is the most excellent and eternal life.
We say, therefore, that God is an eternal
and the best living being. So that life and
duration are uninterrupted and eternal;
for this is God.”
When one gets rid of those “images of
sense” called by Spencer “ conceivables,”
and arrives at the “ unpicturable notions
of intelligence,” he will find it easy to re
duce the vexed antinomies of force, matter,
motion, time, space and causality; arriv
ing at the fundamental principle — selfdetermination—he will be able to make a
science of Biology. The organic realm
will not yield to dualistic Reflection.
�22
Herbert Spencer.
Goethe is the great pioneer of the school of
physicists that will spring out of the pre
sent activity of Reflection when it shall
have arrived at a perception of its method.
Résumé'.—Mr. Spencer’s results, so far
as philosophy is concerned, may be briefly
summed up under four general heads : I.
Psychology. 2. Ontology. 3. Theology.
4. Cosmology.
PSYCHOLOGY.
(1.) Conception is a mere picture in the
mind; therefore what cannot be pictured
cannot be conceived; therefore the Infinite,
the Absolute, God, Essence,Matter, Motion,
Force—anything, in short, that involves
mediation—cannot be conceived ; hence
they are unknowable.
(2.) Consciousness is self-knowing; but
that subject and object are one, is impos
sible. We can neither know ourselves nor
any real being.
(3.) All reasoning or explaining is the
subsuming of a somewhat under a more
general category; hence the highest cate
gory is unsubsumed, and hence inexpli
cable.
(4.) Our intellectual faculties may be
improved to a certain extent, and beyond
this, no amount of training can avail any
thing. (Biology, vol. I, p. 188.)
(5.) The ££ substance of consciousness”
is the basis of our ideas of persistence of
Force, Matter, etc.
(6.) All knowing is relative ; our knowl
edge of this fact, however, is not relative
but absolute.
the hidden and inscrutable essence of the
correlate of our knowledge of phenomena.
We know that it exists.
(3.) Though what is inconceivable is for
that reason unknowable, yet we know that
persistence belongs to force, motion and
matter ; it is a positive result of our “ men
tal structure,” although we cannot con
ceive either destructibility or indestructi
bility.
(4.) Though self-consciousness is an
impossibility, yet it sometimes occurs,since
the ££ substance of consciousness” is the
object of consciousness when it decides
upon the persistence of the Universe, and
of Force, Matter, etc.
THEOLOGY.
ONTOLOGY.
The Supreme Being is unknown and un
knowable ; unrevealed and unrevealable,
either naturally or supernaturally : for to
reveal, requires that some one shall com
prehend what is revealed. The sole doc
trine of Religion of great value is the doc
trine that God transcends the human intel
lect. When Religion professes to reveal
Him to man and declare His attributes,
then it is irreligious. Though God is the
unknown, yet personality, reason, con
sciousness, etc., are degrading when ap
plied to Him. The t£ Thirty-nine Arti
cles” should be condensed into one, thus :
There is an Unknown which I know that I
cannot know.”
££ Religions are envelopes of truth which
reveal to the lower, and conceal to the
higher.” “They are modes of manifesta
tion of the unknowable.”
(1.) All that we know is phenomenal.
The reality passes all understanding. In
the phenomenon the essence is “ manifest
ed,” but still it is not revealed thereby;
it remains hidden behind it, inscrutable to
our perception,
(2.) And yet, since all our knowledge is
relative, we have an obscure knowledge of
“ Evolution is a change from an indefi
nite, incoherent homogeneity, to a definite,
coherent heterogeneity ; through continu
ous differentiations and integrations.”
This is the law of the Universe. All pro
gresses to an equilibration—to a moving
equilibrium.
COSMOLOGY.
�23
Fichtes Science of Knowledge.
INTRODUCTION TO FICHTE’S SCIENCE OF KNOWLEDGE.
TRANSLATED BY A. E. KROEGER.
[Note.—Tn presenting this "Introduction” to the readers of the Journal of Speculative
Philosophy, we believe we afford them the easiest means of gaining an insight into Fichte’s great
work on the Science of Knowledge. The present introduction was written by Fichte in 1797,
three years after the first publication of his full system. It is certainly written in a remarkably
clear and vigorous style, so as to be likely to arrest the attention even of those who have but
little acquaintance with the rudiments of the Science of Philosophy. This led us to give it
the preference over other essays, also written by Fichte, as Introductions to his Science of
Knowledge. A translation of the Science of Knowledge, by Mr. Kroeger, is at present in course
of publication in New York. This article is, moreover, interesting as being a more complete un
folding of the doctrine of Plato upon Method, heretofore announced.—Ed.]
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
Do re, quae agitur, petimus, ut homines, earn non
opinionem, sed opus esse, cogitent ac pro certo habeant,
non sectae nos alicujus, ant placiti, sed utilitatis
et amplitudinis humanae fundamenta moliri. Deinde,
ut, suis commodis aequi, in commune consulant, et ipsi
in partem veniant.—Baco de Verulamio.
The author of the Science of Knowledge
was soon convinced, through a slight ac
quaintance with the philosophical literature
since the appearance of Kant’s Critiques,
that the object of this great man—to ef
fect a total reform in the study of philoso
phy, and hence of all science—had result
ed in a failure, Bince not one of his
numerous successors appeared to under
stand what he had really spoken of. The
author believed that he had understood
the latter; he resolved 'to devote his
life to a representation—totally independ
ent from Kant’s—of that great discovery,
and he will not give up this resolve.
Whether he will succeed better in making
himself understood to his age, time alone
can show. At all events, he knows that
nothing true and useful, which has once
been given to mankind, is lost, though only
remote posterity should learn how to use it.
Determined by my academical vocation,
I wrote, in the first instance, for my hear
ers, with whom it was in my power to ex
plain myself in words until I was under
stood.
This is not the place to testify how
much cause I have to be satisfied with my
efforts, and to entertain, of some of my
students, the best hopes for science. That
book of mine has also become known else
where, and there are various opinions
afloat concerning it amongst the learned.
A judgment, which even pretended to bring
forth arguments, I have neither read nor
heard, except from my students; but I
have both heard and read a vast amount of
derision, denunciation, and the general
assurance that everybody is heartily op
posed to this doctrine, and the confession
that no one can understand it. As far as
the latter is concerned, I will cheerfully
assume all the blame, until others shall rep
resent it so as to make it comprehensible,
when students will doubtless discover that
my representation was not so very bad
after all; or I will assume it altogether
and unconditionally, if the reader thereby
should be encouraged to study the present
representation, in which I shall endeavor
to be as clear as possible. I shall con
tinue these representations so long as I am
convinced that I do not write altogether in
vain. But I write in vain when nobody
examines my argument.
I still owe my readers the following ex
planations : I have always said, and say
again, that my system is the same ag
Kant’s. That is to say, it contains the
same view of the subject, but is totally in
dependent of Kant’s mode of representa
tion. I have said this, not to cover myself
by a great authority, or to support my
doctrine except by itself, but in order to
say the truth and to be just.
Perhaps it may be proven after twenty
years. Kant is as yet a sealed book, and
what he has been understood to teach, is
exactly what he intended to eradicate.
My writings are neither to explain Kant,
nor to be explained by his ; they must
stand by themselves, and Kant must not be
counted in the game at all. My object is—
I
/
�24
Fichtes Science of Knowledge,
let me say it frankly—not to correct or
amplify such philosophical reflections as
may be current, be they called anti
Kant or Kant, but to totally eradicate
them, and to effect a complete revolution
in the mode of thinking regarding these
subjects, so that hereafter the Object will
be posited and determined by Knowledge
(Reason), and not vice versa-, and this
seriously, not merely in words.
Let no one object: “If this system is
true, certain axioms cannot be upheld,”
for I do not intend that anything should
be upheld which this system refutes.
Again : “Ido not understand this book,”
is to me a very uninteresting and insignifi
cant confession. No one can and shall
understand my writings, without having
studied them ; for they do not contain a
lesson heretofore taught, but something—
since Kant has not been understood—alto
gether new to the age.
Censure without argument tells me
simply that my doctrine does not please ;
and this confession is again very unim
portant; for the question is not at all,
whether it pleases you or not, but whether
it has been proven. In the present sketch
I write only for those, in whom there
still dwells an inner sense of love for
truth; who still value science and con
viction, and who are impelled by a lively
zeal to seek truth. With those, who, by
long spiritual slavery, have lost with the
faith in their own conviction their faith
in the conviction of others; who consider
it folly if anybody attempts to seek truth
for himself ; who see nothing in sci
ence but a comfortable mode of subsist
ence ; who are horrified at every proposi
tion to enlarge its boundaries involving as
a new labor, and who consider no means
disgraceful by which they can hope to sup
press him who makes such a proposition,—
with those I have nothing to do.
I should be sorry if they understood me.
Hitherto this wish of mine has been real
ized; and I hope, even now, that these
present lines will so confuse them that they
can perceive nothing more in them than
mere words, while that which represents
their mind is torn hither and thither by
their ill-concealed rage.
INTRODUCTION.
I. Attend to thyself; turn thine eye away
from all that surrounds thee and into thine
own inner self! Such is the first task im
posed upon the student by Philosophy.
We speak of nothing that is without thee,
but merely of thyself.
The slightest self-observation must show
every one a remarkable difference between
the various immediate conditions of his
consciousness, which we may also call
representations. For some of them appear
altogether dependent upon our freedom,
and we cannot possibly believe that there
is without us anything corresponding to
them. Our imagination, our will, appears
to us as free. Others, however, we refer to
a Truth as their model, which is held to be
firmly fixed, independent of us; and in
determining such representations, we find
ourselves conditioned by the necessity of
their harmony with this Truth. In the
knowledge of them we do not consider
ourselves free, as far as their contents are
concerned. In short: while some of our
representations are accompanied by the
feeling of freedom, others are accompanied
by the feeling of necessity.
Reasonably the question cannot arise—
why are the representations dependent
upon our freedom determined in precisely
this manner, and not otherwise? For in
supposing them to be dependent upon our
freedom, all application of the conception
of a ground is rejected; they are thus, be
cause I so fashioned them, and if I had
fashioned them differently, they would be
otherwise.
But it is certainly a question worthy of
reflection—what is the ground of the sys
tem of those representations which are ac
companied by the feeling of necessity and
of that feeling of necessity itself? To
answer this question is the object of phil
osophy ; and, in my opinion, nothing is
philosophy but the Science which solves
this problem. The system of those repre
sentations, which are accompanied by the
feeling of necessity, is also called Experi
ence—internal as well as external experi
ence. Philosophy, therefore, to say the
same thing in other words, has to find the
ground of all Experience.
�Fichte’s Science of Knowledge.
Only three objections can be raised
against this. Somebody might deny that
representations, accompanied by the feel
ing of necessity, and referred to a Truth
determined without any action of ours, do
ever occur in our consciousness. Such a
person would either deny his own know
ledge, or be altogether differently con
structed from other men ; in which latter
case his denial would be of no concern to
us. Or somebody might say : the question
is completely unanswerable, we are in ir
removable ignorance concerning it, and
must remain so. To enter into argument
with such a person is altogether superflu
ous. The best reply he can receive is an
actual answer to the question, and then
all he can do is to examine our answer,
and tell us why and in what matters it does
not appear satisfactory to him. Finally,
somebody might quarrel about the desig
nation, and assert: “Philosophy is some
thing else than what you have stated
above, or at least something else besides.”
It might be easily shown to such a one,
that scholars have at all times designated
exactly what we have just stated to be
Philosophy, and that whatever else he
might assert to be Philosophy, has already
another name, and that if this word signi
fies anything at all, it must mean exactly
this Science. But as we are not inclined
to enter upon any dispute about words,
we, for our part, have already given up
the name of Philosophy, and have called
the Science which has the solution of this
problem for its object, the Science of
Knowledge.
II. Only when speaking of something,
which we’consider accidental, i. e. which
we suppose might also have been other
wise, though it was not determined by free
dom, can we ask for its ground ; and by
this very asking for its ground does it be
come accidental to the questioner. To
find the ground of anything accidental
means, to find something else, from the
determinedness of which it can be seen
why the accidental, amongst the various
conditions it might have assumed, assumed
precisely the one it did. The ground lies
—by the very thinking of a ground—be
yond its Grounded, and both are, in so far
25
as they are Ground and Grounded, opposed
to each other, related to each other, and
thus the latter is explained from the former.
Now Philosophy is to discover the
ground of all experience; hence its object
lies necessarily beyond all Experience.
This sentence applies to all Philosophy,
and has been so applied always heretofore,
if we except these latter days of Kant’s
miconstruers and their facts of conscious
ness, i. e. of inner experience.
No objection can be raised to this para
graph ; for the premise of our conclusion
is a mere analysis of the above-stated con
ception of Philosophy, and from the prem
ise the conclusion is drawn. If some
body should wish to remind us that the
conception of a ground must be differently
explained, we can, to be sure, not prevent
him from forming another conception of
it, if he so chooses ; but we declare, on
the strength of our good right, that we, in
the above description of Philosophy, wish
to have nothing else understood by that
word. Hence, if it is not to be so under
stood, the possibility of Philosophy, as we
have described it, must be altogether de
nied, and such a denial we have replied to
in our first section.
III. The finite intelligence has nothing
beyond experience ; experience contains
the whole substance of its thinking. The
philosopher stands necessarily under thé
same conditions, and hence it seems impos
sible that he can elevate himself beyond
experience.
But he can abstract; i. e. he can separate
by the freedom of thinking what in experi
ence is united. In Experience, the Thing
—that which is to be determined in itself
independent of our freedom, and in ac
cordance with which our knowledge is to
shape itself—and the Intelligence—which
is to obtain a knowledge of it—are in
separably united. The philosopher may
abstract from both, and if he does, he bas
abstracted from Experience and elevated,
himself above it. If he abstracts from the
first, he retains an intelligence in itself,
i. e. abstracted from its relation to experi
ence ; if he abstract from the latter, he re
tains the Thing in itself, i. e. abstracted
from the fact that it occurs in experience;
�26
Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
and thus retains the Intelligence in it
self, or the “Thing in itself,” as the
explanatory ground of Experience. The
former mode of proceeding is called Ideal
ism, the latter Dogmatism.
Only these two philosophical systems—
and of that these remarks should convince
everybody—are possible. According to
the first system the representations, which
are accompanied by the feeling of neces
sity, are productions of the Intelligence,
which must be presupposed in their ex
planation ; according to the latter system
they are the productions of a thing in itself
which must be presupposed to explain
them. If anybody desired to deny this,
he would have to prove that there is still
another way to go beyond experience than
the one by means of abstraction, or that
the consciousness of experience contains
more than the two components just men
tioned.
Now in regard to the first, it will appear
below, it is true, that what we have here
called Intelligence does, indeed, occur in
consciousness under another name, and
hence is not altogether produced by ab
straction ; but it will at the same time be
shown that the consciousness of it is con
ditioned by an abstraction, which, how
ever, occurs naturally to mankind.
We do not at all deny that it is possible
to compose a whole system from fragments
of these incongruous systems, and that
this illogical labor has often been under
taken ; but we do deny that more than
these two systems are possible in a logical
course of proceeding.
IV. Between the object—(we shall call
the explanatory ground of experience,
which a philosophy asserts, the object of
that philosophy, since it appears to be only
through and for such philosophy) — be
tween the object of Idealism and that of
Dogmatism there is a remarkable distinc
tion in regard to their relation to con
sciousness generally. All whereof I am con
scious is called object of consciousness.
There are three ways in which the object
can be related to consciousness. Either
it appears to have been produced by the
representation, or as existing without any
action of ours; and in the latter case, as
either also determined in regard to its
qualitativeness, or as existing merely in
regard to its existence, while determinable
in regard to its qualitativeness by the free
intelligence.
The first relation applies merely to an
imaginary object; the second merely to an
object of Experience; the third applies
only to an object, which we shall at once
proceed to describe.
I can determine myself by freedom to
think, for instance, the Thing in itself of
the Dogmatists. Now if I am to abstract
from the thought and look simply upon
myself, I myself become the object of a
particular representation. That I appear to
myself as determined in precisely this
manner, and none other, e. g. as thinking,
and as thinking of all possible thoughts—
precisely this Thing in itself, is to depend
exclusively upon my own freedom of selfdetermination ; I have made myself such a
particular object out of my own free will.
1 have not made myself; on the contrary, I
am forced to think myself in advance as
determinable through this self-determina
tion. Hence I am myself my own object,
the determinateness of which, under cer
tain conditions, depends altogether upon
the intelligence, but the existence of which
must always be presupposed. Now this
very “I” is the object of Idealism. The
object of this system does not occur actu
ally as something real in consciousness, not
as a Thing in itself—for then Idealism
would cease to be what it is, and become
Dogmatism—but as “Z” in itself-, not as
an object of Experience—for it is not de
termined, but is exclusively determinable
through my freedom, and without this de
termination it would be nothing, and is
really not at all—but as something beyond
all Experience.
The object of Dogmatism, on the con
trary, belongs to the objects of the first
class, which are produced solely by free
Thinking. The Thing in itself is a mere
invention, and has no reality at all. It
does not occur in Experience, for the sys
tem of Experience is nothing else than
Thinking accompanied by the feeling of
necessity, and can not even be said to be
anything else by the dogmatist, who, like
�Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
every philosopher, has to explain its cause.
True, the dogmatist wants to obtain re
ality for it through the necessity of think
ing it as ground of all experience, and
would succeed, if he could prove that ex
perience can be, and can be explained only
by means of it. But this is the very thing
in dispute, and he cannot presuppose what
must first be proven.
Hence the object of Idealism has this
advantage over the object of Dogmatism,
that it is not to be deduced as the explana
tory ground of Experience—which would
be a contradiction, and change this system
itself into a part of Experience—but that
it is, nevertheless, to be pointed out as a
part of consciousness ; whereas, the object
of Dogmatism can pass for nothing but a
mere invention, which obtains validity
only through the success of the system.
This we have said merely to promote a
clearer insight into the distinction between
the two systems, but not to draw from it
conclusions against the latter system.
That the object of every philosophy, as
explanatory ground of Experience, must
lie beyond all experience, is required by
the very nature of Philosophy, and is far
from being derogotary to a system. But
we have as yet discovered no reasons why
that object should also occur in a particu
lar manner within consciousness.
If anybody should not be able to convince
himself of the truth of what we have just
said, this would not make his conviction
of the truth of the whole system an impos
sibility, since what we have just said was
only intended as a passing remark. Still
in conformity to our plan we will also here
take possible objections into consideration.
Somebody might deny the asserted im
mediate self-consciousness in a free act of
the mind. Such a one we should refer to
the conditions stated above. This selfconsciousness does not obtrude itself upon
us, and comes not of its own accord; it is
necessary first to act free, and next to ab
stract from the object, and attend to one’s
self. Nobody can be forced to do this,
and though he may say he has done it, it
is impossible to say whether he has done
it correctly. In one word, this conscious
ness cannot be proven to any one, but
27
everybody must freely produce it within
himself. Against the second assertion,
that the “Thing in itself” is a mere in
vention, an objection could only be raised,
because it were misunderstood.
V. Neither of these two systems can di
rectly refute the other ; for their dispute is
a dispute about the first principle; each
system—if you only admit its first axiom—
proves the other one wrong; each denies
all to the opposite, and these« two systems
have no point in common from which they
might bring about a mutual understanding
and reconciliation. Though they may agree
on the words of a sentence, they will sure
ly attach a different meaning to the words.
(Hence the reason why Kant has not
been understood and why the Science of
Knowledge can find no friends. The sys
tems of Kant and of the Science of Knowl
edge are idealistic—not in the general in
definite, but in the just described definite
sense of the word; but the modern phil
osophers are all of them dogmatists, and
are firmly resolved to remain so. Kant
was merely tolerated, because it was possi
ble to make a dogmatist out of him; but
the Science of Knowledge, which cannot
be thus construed, is insupportable to these
wise men. The rapid extension of Kant’s
philosophy—when it'was thus misunder
stood— is not a proof of the profundity,
but rather of the shallowness of the age.
For in this shape it is the most wonderful
abortion ever created by human imagina
tion, and it does little honor to its defend
ers that they do not perceive this. It
can also be shown that this philosophy was
accepted so greedily only because people
thought it would put a stop to all serious
speculation, and continue the era of shal
low Empiricism.)
First. Idealism cannot refute Dogma
tism. True, the former system has the ad
vantage, as we have already said, of being
enabled to point out its explanatory ground
of all experience—the free acting intelli
gence—as a fact of consciousness. This
fact the dogmatist must also admit, for
otherwise he would render himself incapa
ble of maintaining the argument with his
opponent; but he at the same time, by a cor
rect conclusion from his principle, changes
�2S
Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
this explanatory ground into a deception
and appearance, and thus renders it inca
pable of being the explanatory ground of
anything else, since it cannot maintain its
own existence in its own philosophy. Ac
cording to the Dogmatist, all phenomena
of our consciousness are productions of a
Thing in itself, even our pretended deter
minations by freedom, and the belief that
we are free. This belief is produced by
the effect of the Thing upon ourselves, and
the determinations, which we deduced from
freedom, are also produced by it. The only
difference is, that we are not aware of it in
these cases, and hence ascribe it to no
cause, i. e. to our freed-om. Every logical
dogmatist is necsssarily a Fatalist; he does
not deny the fact of consciousness, that we
consider ourselves free—for this would be
against reason ;—but he proves from his
principle that this is a false view. He de
nies the independence of the Ego, which is
the basis of the Idealist, in toto, makes it
merely a production of the Thing, an acci
dence of the World; and hence the logical
dogmatist is necessarily also materialist.
He can only be refuted from the postulate
of the freedom and independence of the
Ego ; but this is precisely what he denies.
Neither can the dogmatist refute the Ideal
ist.
The principle of the former, the Thing
in itself, is nothing, and has no reality, as
its defenders themselves must admit, ex
cept that which it is to receive from the
fact that experience can only be explained
by it. But this proof the Idealist annihi
lates by explaining experience in another
manner, hence by denying precisely what
dogmatism assumes. Thus the Thing in
itself becomes a complete Chimera; there
is no further reason why it should be as
sumed; and with it the whole edifice of
dogmatism tumbles down.
♦
From what we have just stated, is more
over evident the complete irreconcilability
of both systems; since the results of the
one destroy those of the other. Wherever
their union has been attempted the mem
bers would not fit together, and somewhere
an immense gulf appeared which could not
be spanned.
If any one were to deny this he would
have to prove the possibility of such a
union—of a union which consists in an
everlasting composition of Matter and
Spirit, or, which is the same, of Necessity
and Liberty.
Now since, as far as we can see at pres
ent, both systems appear to have the same
speculative value, but since both cannot
stand together, nor yet either convince the
other, it occurs as a very interesting ques
tion : What can possibly tempt persons who
comprehend this—and to comprehend it is
so very easy a matter—to prefer the one
over the other ; and why skepticism, as the
total renunciation of an answer to this
problem, does not become universal?
The dispute between the Idealist and the
Dogmatist is, in reality, the question,
whether the independence of the Ego is
to be sacrificed to that of the Thing, or vice
versa? What, then, is it, which induces
sensible men to decide in favor of the one
or the other ?
The philosopher discovers from this point
of view—in which he must necessarily place
himself, if he wants to pass for a philos
opher, and which, in the progress of Think
ing, every man necessarily occupies sooner
or later, — nothing farther than that he
is forced to represent to himself both:
that he is free, and that there are de
termined things outside of him. But it
is impossible for man to stop at this
thought; the thought of a representation
is but a half-thought, a broken off frag
ment of a thought; something must be
thought and added to it, as corresponding
with the representation independent of it.
In other words : the representation cannot
exist alone by itself, it is only something
in connection with something else, and in
itself it is nothing. This necessity of think
ing it is, which forces one from that point
of view to the question : What is the ground
of the representations ? or, which is exact
ly the same, What is that which corresponds
with them ?
Now the representation of the independ
ence of the Ego and that of the Thing can
very well exist together; but not the inde
pendence itself of both. Only one can be
the first, the beginning, the independent;
the second, by the very fact of being the
�Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
second, becomes necessarily dependent
upon the first, with which it is to be con
nected—now, which of the two is to be
made the first ? Reason furnishes no ground
for a decision ; since the question concerns
not the connecting of one link with an
other, but the commencement of the first
link, which as an absolute first act is al
together conditional upon the freedom of
Thinking. Hence the decision is arbitra
ry ; and since this arbitrariness is never
theless to have a cause, the decision is de
pendent upon inclination and interest.
The last ground, therefore, of the differ
ence between the Dogmatist and the Ideal
ist is the difference of their interest.
The highest interest, and hence the
ground of all other interest, is that which
we feel for ourselves. Thus with the Phil
osopher. Not to lose his Self in his argu
mentation, but to retain and assert it, this
is the interest which unconsciously guides
all his Thinking. Now, there are two
grades of mankind ; and in the progress
of our race, before the last grade has been
universally attained, two chief kinds of
men. The one kind is composed of those
who have not yet elevated themselves to
the full feeling of their freedom and abso
lute independence, who are merely con
scious of themselves in the representation
of outward things. These men have only
a desultory consciousness, linked together
with the outward objects, and put together
out of their manifoldness. They receive a
picture of their Self only from the Things,
as from a mirror; for their own sake they
cannot renounce their faith in the inde
pendence of those things, since they exist
only together with these things. What
ever they are they have become through
the outer World. Whosoever is only a
production of the Things will never view
himself in any other manner; and he is
perfectly correct, so long as he speaks
merely for himself and for those like him.
The principle of the dogmatist is : Faith
in the things, for their own sake ; hence,
mediated Faith in their own desultory self,
as simply the result of the Things.
But whosoever becomes conscious of his
self-existence and independence from all
outward things—and this men can only be
29
come by making something of themselves,
through their own Self, independently of
all outward things—needs no longer the
Things as supports of his Self, and cannot
use them, because they annihilate his inde
pendence and turn it into an empty appear
ance. The Ego which he possesses, and
which interests him, destroys that Faith in
the Things; he believes in his independ
ence, from inclination, and seizes it with
affection. His Faith in himself is imme
diate.
From this interest the various passions
are explicable, which mix generally with
the defence of these philosophical systems.
The dogmatist is in danger of losing his
Self when his system is attacked ; and yet
he is not armed against this attack, because
there is something within him which takes
part with the aggressor ; hence, he defends
himself with bitterness and heat. The ideal
ist, on the contrary, cannot well refrain
from looking down upon his opponent with
a certain carelessness, since the latter can
tell him nothing which he has not known
long ago and has cast away as useless. The
dogmatist gets angry, misconstrues, and
would persecute, if he had the power; the
idealist is cold and in danger of ridiculing
his antagonist.
Hence, what philosophy a man chooses
depends entirely upon what kind of man
he is; for a philosophical system is not a
piece of dead household furniture, which
you may use or not use, but is animated
by the soul of the man who has it. Men
of a naturally weak-minded character, or
who have become weak-minded and crooked
through intellectual slavery, scholarly lux
ury and vanity, will never elevate them
selves to idealism.
You can show the dogmatist the insuffi
ciency and inconsequence of bis system, of
which we shall speak directly; you can
confuse and terrify him from all sides ; but
you cannot convince him, because he is un
able to listen to and examine with calm
ness what he cannot tolerate. If Idealism
should prove to be the only real Philosophy,
it will also appear that a man must be born
a philosopher, be educated to be one, and
educate himself to be one; but that no
human art (no external force) can make a
�30
Fichte’s Science of Knowledge.
philosopher out of him. Hence, this Sci
ence expects few proselytes from men who
have already formed their character; if
our Philosophy has any hopes at all, it en
tertains them rather from the young gene
ration, the natural vigor of which has not
yet been submerged in the weak-mindednessof the age.
VI. But dogmatism is totally incapable
of explaining what it should explain, and
this is decisive in regard to its insufficien
cy. It is to explain the representation of
things, and proposes to explain them as an
effect of the Things. Now, the dogmatist
cannot deny what immediate conscious
ness asserts of this representation. What,
then, does it assert thereof? It is not my
purpose here to put in a conception what
can only be gathered in immediate contem
plation, nor to exhaust that which forms a
great portion of the Science of Knowledge.
I will merely recall to memory what every
one, who has but firmly looked within him
self, must long since have discovered.
The Intelligence, as such, sees itself, and
this seeing of its self is immediately con
nected with all that appertains to the Intel
ligence ; and in this immediate uniting of
Being and Seeing the nature of the Intel
ligence consists. Whatever is in the In
telligence, whatever the Intelligence is
itself, the Intelligence is for itself, and
only in so far as it is this for itself is it
this, as Intelligence.
I think this or that object! Now what
does this mean, and how do I appear to
myself in this Thinking ? Not otherwise
than thus : I produce certain conditions
within myself, if the object is a mere in
vention ; but if the objects are real and
exist without my invention, I simply con
template, as a spectator, the production of
those conditions within me. They are
within me only in so far as I contemplate
them; my contemplation and their Being
are inseparably united.
A Thing, on the contrary, is to be this
or that; but as soon as the question is put:
For whom is it this? Nobody, who but
comprehends the word, will reply : For
itself! But he will have to add the
thought of an Intelligence, for which the
Thing is to be; while, on the contrary, the
Intelligence is self-sufficient and requires
no additional thought. By thinking it as
the Intelligence you include already that
for which it is to be. Hence, there is in
the Intelligence, to express myself figura
tively, a twofold—Being and Seeing, the
Real and the Ideal; and in the inseparabil
ity of th is twofold the nature of the Intelli
gence consists, while the Thing is simply
a unit—the Real. Hence Intelligence and
Thing are directly opposed to each other;
they move in two worlds, between which
there is no bridge.
The nature of the Intelligence and its
particular determinations Dogmatism en
deavors to explain by the principle of
Causality ; the Intelligence is to be a pro
duction, the second link in a series.
But the principle of causality applies to
a real series, and not to a double one. The
power of the cause goes over into an Other
opposed to it, and produces therein a Be
ing, and nothing further; a Being for a
possible outside Intelligence, but not for
the thing itself. You may give this Other
even a mechanical power, and it will trans
fer the received impression to the next
link, and thus the movement proceeding
from the first may be transferred through
as long a series as you choose to make;
but nowhere will you find a link which re
acts back upon itself. Or give the Other
the highest quality which you can give a
thing—Sensibility—whereby it will follow
the laws of its own inner nature, and not
the law given to it by the cause—and it
will, to be sure, react upon the outward
cause ; but it will, nevertheless, remain a
mere simple Being, a Being for a possible
intelligence outside of it. The Intelligence
you will not get, unless you add it in think
ing as the primary and absolute, the con
nection of which, with this your independ
ent Being, you will find it very difficult to
explain.
The series is and remains a simple one;
and you have not at all explained what was
to be explained. You were to prove the
connection betweeen Being and Represen
tation ; but this you do not, nor can you
do it; for your principle contains merely
the ground of a Being, and not of a Repre ■
sentation, totally opposed to Being. You
�Fichtes Science of Knowledge.
take an immense leap into a world, totally
removed from your principle. This leap
they seek to hide in various ways. Rig
orously— and this is the course of con
sistent dogmatism, which thus becomes
materialism ;—the soul is to them no Thing
at all, and indeed nothing at all, but merely
a production, the result of the reciprocal ac
tion of Things amongst themselves. But
this reciprocal action produces merely a
change in the Things, and by no means
anything apart from the Things, unless you
add an observing intelligence. The similes
which they adduce to make their system
comprehensible, for instance, that of the
harmony resulting from sounds of different
instruments, make its irrationality only
more apparent. For the harmony is not in
the instruments, but merely in the mind of
the hearer, who combines within himself
the manifold into One; and unless you
have such a hearer there is no harmony at
all.
But who can prevent Dogmatism from
assuming the Soul as one of the Things,
per se? The soul would thus belong to
what it has postulated for the solution of
its problem, and, indeed, would thereby
be made the category of cause and effect
applicable to the Soul and the Things—
materialism only permitting a reciprocal
action of the Things amongst themselves—
and thoughts might now be produced. To
make the Unthinkable thinkable, Dogma
tism has, indeed, attempted to presuppose
Thing or the Soul, or both, in such a man
ner, that the effect of the Thing was to
produce a representation. The Thing, as
influencing the Soul, is to be such, as to
make its influences representations; God,
for instance, in Berkley’s system, was such
a thing. (Ilis system is dogmatic, not
idealistic.) But this does not better mat
ters ; we understand only mechanical
effects, and it is impossible for us to under
stand any other kind of effects. Hence,
that presupposition contains merely words,
but there is no sense in it. Or the soul
is to be of such a nature that every effect
upon the Soul turns into a representation.
But this also we find it impossible to
understand.
In this manner Dogmatism proceeds
31
everywhere, whatever phase it may assume.
In the immense gulf, which in that system
remains always open between Things and
Representations, it places a few empty
words instead of an explanation, which
words may certainly be committed to mem
ory, but in saying which nobody has ever
yet thought, nor ever will think, anything.
For whenever one attempts to think the
manner in which is accomplished what
Dogmatism asserts to be accomplished, the
whole idea vanishes into empty foam.
Hence Dogmatism can only repeat its
principle, and repeat it in different forms;
can only assert and re-assert the same
thing; but it cannot proceed from what it
asserts to what is to be explained, nor ever
deduce the one from the other. But in
this deduction Philosophy consists. Hence
Dogmatism, even when viewed from a
speculative stand-point, is no Philosophy
at all, but merely an impotent assertion.
Idealism iB the only possible remaining
Philosophy. What we have here said can
meet with no objection ; but it may -well
meet with incapability of understanding
it. That all influences are of a mechanical
nature, and that no mechanism can pro
duce a representation, nobody will deny,
who but understands the words. But this
is the very difficulty. It requires a certain
degree of independence and freedom of
spirit to comprehend the nature of the in
telligence, which we have described, and
upon which our whole refutation of Dog
matism is founded. Many persons have
not advanced further with their Thinking
than to comprehend the simple chain of na
tural mechanism; and very naturally,there
fore, the Representation, if they choose
to think it at all, belongs, in their eyes, to
the same chain of-which alone they have
any knowledge. The Representation thus
becomes to them a sort of Thing of which
we have divers examples in some of the
most celebrated philosophical writers. For
such persons Dogmatism is sufficient; for
them there is no gulf,since the opposite does
not exist for them at all. Hence you can
not convince the Dogmatist by the proof
just stated, however clear it may be, for you
cannot bring the proof to his knowledge,
since he lacks the power to comprehend it.
�32
Fichte’s Science of Knovdedge.
Moreover, the manner in which Dogma
tism is treated here, is opposed to the mild
way of thinking which characterizes our
age, and which, though it has been exten
sively accepted in all ages, has never been
converted to an express principle except in
ours; i. e. that philosophers must not be
so strict in their logic; in philosophy one
should not be so particular as, for instance,
in Mathematics. If persons of this mode
of thinking see but a few links of the
chain and the rule, according to which
conclusions are drawn, they at once fill up
the remaining part through their imagina
tion, never investigating further of what
they may consist. If, for instance, an
Alexander Von loch tells them: “All
things are determined by natural neces
sity ; now our representations depend
upon the condition of Things, and our
will depends upon our representations :
hence all our will is determined by natural
necessity, and our opinion of a free will is
mere deception !”—then these people think
it mightily comprehensible and clear, al
though there is no sense in it; and they go
away convinced and satisfied at the strin
gency of this his demonstration.
I must call to mind, that the Science of
Knowledge does not proceed from this
mild way of thinking, nor calculate upon
it. If only a single link in the long chain
it has to draw does not fit closely to the
following, this Science does not pretend to
have established anything.
VII. Idealism, as we have said above?
explains the determinations of conscious
ness from the activity of the Intelligence,
which, in its view, is only active and abso
lute, not passive ; since it is postulated
as the first and highest, preceded by noth
ing, which might explain its passivity.
From the same reason actual Existence can
not well be ascribed to the Intelligence,
since such Existence is the result of re
ciprocal causality, but there is nothing
wherewith the Intelligence might be placed
in reciprocal causality. From the view of
Idealism, the Intelligence is a Doing, and
absolutely nothing else; it is even wrong
to call it an Active, since this expression
points to something existing, in which the
activity is inherent.
But to assume anything of this kind is
against the principle of Idealism, which
proposes to deduce all other things from
the Intelligence. Now certain determined
representations—as, for instance, of a
world, of a material world in space, exist
ing without any work of our own—are to
be deduced from the action of the Intelli
gence; but you cannot deduce anything
determined from an undetermined; the
form of all deductions, the category of
ground and sequence, is not applicable
here. Hence the action of the Intelligence,
which is made the ground, must be a de
termined action, and since the action of
the Intelligence itself is the highest ground
of explanation, that action must be so de
termined by the Intelligence itself, and not
by anything foreign to it. Hence the pre
supposition of Idealism will be this : the In
telligence acts, but by its very essence it
can only act in a certain manner. If this
necessary manner of its action is considered
apart from the action, it may properly be
called Laws of Action. Hence, there are
necessary laws of the Intelligence.
This explains also, at the same time, the
feeling of necessity which accompanies
the determined representations ; the Intel
ligence experiences in those cases, not an
impression from without, but feels in its
action the limits of its own Essence. In
so far as Idealism makes this only reason
able and really explanatory presupposition
of necessary laws of the Intelligence, it is
called Critical or Transcendental Idealism.
A transcendent Idealism would be a sys
tem w’hich were to undertake a deduction
of determined representations from the
free and perfectly lawless action of the
Intelligence: an altogether contradictory
presupposition, since, as we have said
above, the category of ground and sequence
is not applicable in that case.
The laws of action of the Intelligence,
as sure as they are to be founded in the
one nature of the Intelligence, constitute
in themselves a system ; that is to say, the
fact that the Intelligence acts in this par
ticular manner under this particular condition is explainable, and explainable be
cause under a condition it has always a
determined mode of action, which again is
�Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
explainable from one highest fundamental
law. In the course of its action the Intel
ligence gives itself its own laws ; and this
legislation itself is done by virtue of a
higher necessary action or Representation.
For instance : the law of Causality is not a
first original law, but only one of the many
modes of combining the manifold, and to
be deduced from the fundamental law of
this combination ; this law of combining
the manifold is again, like the manifold
itself, to be deduced from higher laws.
Hence, even Critical Idealism can pro
ceed in a twofold manner. Either it de
duces this system of necessary modes of
action, and together with it the objective
representations arising therefrom, really
from the fundamental laws of the Intelli
gence, and thus causes gradually to arise
under the very eyes of the reader or hearer
the whole extent of our representations ; or
it gathers these laws—perhaps as they are
already immediately applied to objects ;
Hence, in a lower condition, and then they
are called categories—gathers these laws
somewhere, and now asserts, that the ob
jects are determined and regulated by
them.
I ask the critic who follows the l&stmentioned method, and who does not de
duce the assumed laws of the Intelligence
from the Essence of the Intelligence,
where he gets the material knowledge of
these laws, the knowledge that they are
just these very same laws ; for instance,
that of Substantiality or Causality ? For
I do not want to trouble him yet with the
question, how he knows that they are mere
immanent laws of the Intelligence. They
are the laws which are immediately applied
to objects, and he can only have obtained
them by abstraction from these objects,
i. e. from Experience. It is of no avail if
he takes them, by a roundabout way, from
logic, for logic is to him only the result
of abstraction from the objects, and hence
he would do indirectly, what directly might
appear too clearly in its true nature.
Hence he can prove by nothing that his
postulated Laws of Thinking are really
Laws of Thinking, are really nothing but
immanent laws of the Intelligence. The
Dogmatist asserts in opposition, that they
3
33
are not, but that they are general quali
ties of Things, founded on the nature of
Things, and there is no reason why we
should place more faith in the unproved
assertion of the one than in the unproved
assertion of the other. This course of pro
ceeding, indeed, furnishes no understand
ing that and why the Intelligence should act
just in this particular manner. To produce
such an understanding, it would be neces
sary to premise something which can only
appertain to the Intelligence, and from
those premises to deduce before our eyes
the laws of Thinking.
By such a course of proceeding it is
above all incomprehensible how the object
itself is obtained: for although you may
admit the unproved postulates of the critic,
they explain nothing further than the
qualities and relations of the Thing : (that
it is, for instance, in space, manifested in
time, with accidences which must be re
ferred to a substance, &c.) But whence
that which has these relations and quali
ties ? whence then the substance which
is clothed in these forms ? This substance
Dogmatism takes refuge in, and you have
but increased the evil.
We know very well: the Thing arises only
from an act done in accordance with these
laws, and is, indeed, nothing else than
all th°se relations gathered together by the
power of imagination; and all these rela
tions together are the Thing. The Object
is the original Synthesis of all these con
ceptions. Form and Substance are not
separates ; the whole formness is the sub
stance, and only in the analysis do we ar
rive at separate forms.
But this the critic, who follows the above
method, can only assert, and it is even a
secret whence he knows it, if he does know
it. Until you cause the whole Thing to
arise before the eyes of the thinker, you
have not pursued Dogmatism into its last
hiding places. But this is only possible
by letting the Intelligence act in its whole,
and not in its partial, lawfulness.
Hence, an Idealism of this character is
unproven and unprovable. Against Dog
matism it has no other weapon than the
assertion that it is in the right; and against
the more perfected criticism no other wea
�31
Fichte's Science of Knowledge,
pon than impotent anger, and the assu
rance that you can go no further than itself
goes.
Finally a system of this character puts
forth only those laws, according to which
the objects of external experience are de
termined. But these constitute by far the
smallest portion of the laws of the Intelli
gence. Hence, on the field of Practical Rea
son and of Reflective Judgment, this half
criticism, lacking the insight into the
whole procedure of reason, gropes about
as in total darkness.
The method of complete transcendental
Idealism, which the Science of Knowledge
pursues, I have explained once before in
my Essay, On the conception of the Science
of Knowledge. I cannot understand why
that Essay has not been understood; but
suffice it to say, that I am assured it has
not been understood. I am therefore com
pelled to repeat what I have said, and to
recall to mind that everything depends
upon the correct understanding thereof.
This Idealism proceeds from a single
fundamental Law of Reason, which is im
mediately shown as contained in con
sciousness. This is done in the following
manner : The teacher of that Science re
quests his reader or hearer to think freely
a certain conception. If he does so, he will
find himself forced to proceed in a partic
ular manner. Two things are to be distin
guished here : the act of Thinking,which is
required—the realization of which depends
upon each individual’s freedom,—and un
less he realizes it thus, he will not under
stand anything which the Science of
Knowledge teaches; and the necessary
manner in which it alone can be realized,
which manner is grounded in the Essence
of the Intelligence, and does not depend
upon freedom; it is something necessary,
but which is only discovered in and to
gether with a free action; it is something
discovered, but the discovery of which de
pends upon an act of freedom.
So far as this goes, the teacher of Ideal
ism shows his assertion to be contained in
immediate consciousness, But that this
necessary manner is the fundamental law
of all reason, that from it the whole sys
tem of our necessary representations, not
only of a world and the determinedness and
relations of objects, but also of ourselves,
as free and practical beings acting under
laws, can be deduced. All this is a mere
presupposition, which can only be proven
by the actual deduction, which deduction is
therefore the real business of the teacher.
In realizing this deduction, he proceeds
as follows : He shows that the first funda
mental law which was discovered in im
mediate consciousness, is not possible, unless
a second action is combined with it, which
again is not possible without a third action;
and so on, until the conditions of the First
are completely exhausted, and itself is now
made perfectly comprehensible in its possi
bility. The teacher’s method is a contin
ual progression from the conditioned to
the condition. The condition becomes
again conditioned, and its condition is next
to be discovered.
If the presupposition of Idealism is cor
rect, and if no errors have been made in the
deduction, the last result, as containing all
the conditions of the first act, must con
tain the system of all necessary representa
tions, or the total experience;—a compari
son, however, which is not instituted in
Philosophy itself, but only after that sci
ence has finished its work.
For Idealism has not kept this experi
ence in sight, as the preknown object and
result, which it should arrive at; in its
course of proceeding it knows nothing at
all of experience, and does not look upon
it; it proceeds from its starting point ac
cording to its rules, careless as to what the
result of its investigations might turn out
to be. The right angle, from which it has
to draw its straight line, is given to it; is
there any need of another point to which
the line should be drawn ? Surely not; for
all the points of its line arc already given
to it with the angle. A certain number is
given to you. You suppose that it is
the product of certain factors. All you
have to do is to search for the product of
these factors according to the well-known
rules. Whether that product will agree
with the given number, you will find out,
without any difficulty, as soon as you have
obtained it. The given number is the total
experience ; those factors are : the part of
�Fichte’s Science of Knowledge.
immediate consciousness which was dis
covered, and the laws of Thinking; the
multiplication is the Philosophizing. Those
who advise you, while philosophizing,
also to keep an eye upon experience, advise
you to change the factors a little, and to
multiply falsely, so as to obtain by all
means corresponding numbers ; a course of
proceeding as dishonest as it is shallow.
In so far as those final results of Idealism
are viewed as such, as consequences of our
reasoning, they are what is called the a
priori of the human mind ; and in so far
as they are viewed, also—if they should
agree with experience—as given in expe
rience, they are called a posteriori. Hence
the a priori and the a posteriori are, in a
true Philosophy, not two, but one and the
same, only viewed in two different ways,
and distinguished only by the manner in
which they are obtained. Philosophy an
ticipates the whole experience, thinks it
only as necessary ; and, in so far, Philoso
phy is, in comparison with real experience,
a priori. The number is a posteriori, if re
garded as given ; the same number is a
priori, if regarded as product of the fac
tors. Whosoever says otherwise knows
not what he talks about.
If the results of a Philosophy do not
agree with experience, that Philosophy is
surely wrong; for it has not fulfilled its
promise of deducing the whole experience
from the necessary action of the intelli
gence. In that case, either the presuppo
sition of transcendental Idealism is alto
gether incorrect, or it has merely been in
correctly treated in the particular repre
sentation of that science. Now, since the
problem, to explain experience from its
ground, is a problem contained in human
reason, and as no rational man will ad
mit that human reason contains any prob
lem the solution of which is altogether im
possible; and since, moreover, there are
only two ways of solving it, the dogmatic
system (which, as we have shown, cannot
accomplish what it promises) and the Ideal
istic system, every resolute Thinker will
always declare that the latter has been the
case; that the presupposition in itself is
correct enough, and that no failure in at
tempts to represent it should deter men
85
from attempting it again until finally it
must succeed. The course of this Ideal
ism proceeds, as we have seen, from a fact
of consciousness—but which is only obtain
ed by a free act of Thinking—to the total
experience. Its peculiar ground is be
tween these two. It is not a fact of con
sciousness and does not belong within the
sphere of experience; and, indeed, how
could it be called Philosophy if it did, since
Philosophy has to discover the ground of
experience, and since the ground lies, of
course, beyond the sequence. It is the
production of free Thinking, but proceed
ing according to laws. This will be at once
clear, if we look a little closer at the funda
mental assertion of Idealism. It proves
that the Postulated is not possible without
a second, this not without a third, &c., &c.;
hence none of all its conditions is possible
alone and by itself, but each one is only
possible in its union with all the rest.
Hence, according to its own assertion, only
the Whole is found in consciousness, and
this Whole is the experience. You want
to obtain a better knowledge of it; hence
you must analyze it, not by blindly groping
about, but according to the fixed rule of
composition, so that it arises under your
eyes as a Whole. You are enabled to do
this because you have the power of ab
straction ; because in free Thinking you can
certainly take hold of each single condi
tion. For consciousness contains not only
necessity of Representations, but also free
dom thereof ; and this freedom again may
proceed according to rules. The Whole is
given to you from the point of view of ne
cessary consciousness ; you find it just as
you find yourself. But the composition of
this Whole, the order of its arrangement,
is produced by freedom. Whosoever un
dertakes this act of freedom, becomes con
scious of freedom, and thus establishes, as
it were, a new field within his conscious
ness ; whosoever does not undertake it, for
him this new field, dependent thereupon,
does not exist. The chemist composes a
body, a metal for instance, from its ele
ments. The common beholder sees the
metal well known to him ; the chemist be
holds, moreover, the composition thereof
and the elements which it comprises. Do
�36
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
both now see different objects? I should
think not! Both see the same, only in a
different manner. The chemist’s sight is
a priori; he sees the separates ; the ordi
nary beholder’s sight is a posteriori; he
sees the Whole. The only distinction is
this : the chemist must first analyze the
Whole before he can compose it, because
he works upon an object of which he can
not know the rule of composition before
he has analyzed it ; while the philosopher
can compose without a foregoing analysis,
because he knows already the rule of his
object, of reason.
Hence the content of Philosophy can
claim no other reality than that of neces
sary Thinking, on the condition that you
desire to think of the ground of Expe
rience. The Intelligence can only be
thought as active, and can only be thought
active in this particular manner ! Such is
the assertion of Philosophy. And this
reality is perfectly sufficient for Philosophy,
since it is evident from the development of
that science that there is no other reality.
This now described complete critical
Idealism, the Science of Kn owledge intends
to establish. What I have said just now
contains the conception of that science, and
I shall listen to no objections which may
touch this conception, since no one can
know better than myself what I intend to
accomplish, and to demonstrate the impos
sibility of a thing which is already rea
lized, is ridiculous.
Objections, to be legitimate, should only
be raised against the elaboration of that
conception, and should only consider
whether it has fulfilled what it promised to
accomplish or not.
ANALYTICAL AND CRITICAL ESSAY UPON THE ÆSTHETICS
OF HEGEL.
[Translated from the French of M. Ch. Bénard by J. A. Martling.j
of architecture, sculpture, painting, music,
ANALYSIS.
Having undertaken to translate into our and poetry.
language the ./Esthetics of Hegel, we hope
PART I.
to render a new service to our readers, by
OF THE BEAUTIFUL IN ART.
presenting, in an analysis at once cursory
In an extended introduction, Hegel lays
and detailed the outline of the ideas which
form the basis of that vast work. The the foundations of the science of the Beau
thought of the author will appear shorn of tiful : he defines its object, demonstrates
its rich developments ; but it will be more its legitimacy, and indicates its method;
easy to seize the general spirit, the connec he then undertakes to determine the nature
tion of the various parts of the work, and and the end of art. Upon each of these
to appreciate their value. In order not to points let us endeavor to state, in a brief
mar the clearness of our work, we shall manner, his thought, and, if it is neces
abstain from mingling criticism with expo sary, explain it.
Aesthetics is the science of the Beautiful.
sition; but reserve for the conclusion a
general judgment upon this book, which The Beautiful manifests itself in nature and
represents even to-day the state of the in art; but the variety and multiplicity
of forms under which beauty presents
philosophy of art in Germany.
The work is divided into three parts ; itself in the real world, does not permit
the first treats of the beautiful in art in their description and systematic classifi
general; the second, of the general forms of cation. The science of the Beautiful has
art in its historic development; the third then as its principal object, art and its
Contains the system of the arts—the theory works; it is the philosophy oj the fine arts.
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
Is art a proper object of science? No,
undoubtedly, if we consider it only as an
amusement or a frivolous relaxation. But
it has a nobler purpose. It will even be a
misconception of its true aim to regard it
simply as an auxiliary of morals and re
ligion. Although it often serves as inter
preter of moral and religious ideas, it pre
serves its independence. Its proper object
is to reveal truth under sensuous forms.
Nor is it allowable to say that it pro
duces its effects by illusion. Appearance,
here, is truer than reality. The images
which it places under our eyes are more
ideal, more transparent, and also more du
rable than the mobile and fugitive existen
ces of the real world. The world of art is
truer than that of nature and of history.
Can science subject to its formulas the
free creations of the imagination ? Art
and science, it is true, differ in their meth
ods ; but imagination, also, has its laws;
though free, it has not the right to be law
less. In art, nothing is arbitrary.; its
ground is the essence of things', its form is
borrowed from the real world, and the
Beautiful is the accord, the harmony of
the two terms. Philosophy recognizes in
works of art the eternal content of its
meditations, the lofty conceptions of in
telligence, the passions of man, and the
motives of his volition. Philosophy does
not pretend to furnish prescriptions to art,
but is able to give useful advice; it fol
lows it in its procedures, it points out to
it the paths whereon it may go astray; it
alone can furnish to criticism a solid basis
and fixed principles.
As to the method to be followed, two
exclusive and opposite courses present
themselves. The one, empiric and historic,
seeks to draw from the study of the master
pieces of art, the laws of criticism and the
principles of taste. The other, rational
and a priori, rises immediately to the idea
of the beautiful, and deduces from it cer
tain general rules. Aristotle and Plato re
present these two methods. The first
reaches only a narrow theory, incapable of
comprehending art in its universality ; the
other, isolating itself on the heights of
metaphysics, knows not how to descend
therefrom to apply itself to particular arts,
37
and to appreciate their works. The true
method consists in the union of these two
methods, in their reconciliation and simul
taneous employment. To a positive ac
quaintance with works of art, to the dis
crimination and delicacy of taste neces
sary to appreciate them, there should be
joined philosophic reflection, and the ca
pacity of seizing the Beautiful in itself,
and of comprehending its characteristics
and immutable laws.
What is the nature of art? The answer
to this question can only be the philosophy
of art itself ; and, furthermore, this again
can be perfectly understood only in its con
nection with the other philosophic sciences.
One is here compelled to limit himself to
general reflections, and to the discussion
of received opinions.
In the first place, art is a product of hu
man activity, a creation of the mind. What
distinguishes it from science is this, that
it is the fruit of inspiration, not of reflec
tion. On this account it can not be learned
or transmitted; it is a gift of genius.
Nothing can possibly supply a lack of tal
ent in the arts.
Let us guard ourselves meanwhile from
supposing that, like the blind forces of
nature, the artist does not know what he
does, that reflection has no part in his
works. There is, in the first place, in the
arts a technical part which must be learned,
and a skill which is acquired by practice.
Furthermore, the more elevated art be
comes, the more it demands an extended
and varied culture, a study of the objects
of nature, and a profound knowledge of
the human heart. This is eminently true
of the higher spheres of art, especially in
Poetry.
If works of art are creations of the hu
man spirit, they are not on that account
inferior to those of nature. They are, it
is true, living, only in appearance ; but the
aim of art is not to create living beings;
it seeks to offer to the spirit an image of
life clearer than the reality. In this, it
surpasses nature. There is also something
divine in man, and God derives no less
honor from the works of human intelligence
than from the works of nature.
Now what is the cause which incites mai
�38
Hegel’s Philosophy of Jlrt.
to the production of such works ? Is it a
caprice, a freak, or an earnest, fundamen
tal inclination of his nature ?
It is the same principle which causes
him to seek in science food for his mind,
in public life a theatre for his activity. In
science he endeavors to cognize the truth,
pure and unveiled; in art, truth appears
to him not in its pure form, but expressed
by images which strike his sense at the same
time that they speak to his intelligence.
This is the principle in which art originates,
and which assigns to it a rank so high
among the creations of the human mind.
Although art is addressed to the sensi
bility, nevertheless its direct aim is not to
excite sensation, and to give birth to pleas
ure. Sensation is changeful, varied, con
tradictory. It represents only the various
states or modifications of the soul. If then
we consider only the impressions which
art produces upon us, we make abstrac
tion of the truth which it reveals to us. It
becomes even impossible to comprehend
its grand effects ; for the sentiments which
it excites in us, are explicable only through
the ideas which attach to them.
The sensuous element, nevertheless, oc
cupies a large place in art. What part
must be assigned to it? There are two
modes of considering sensuous objects in
their connection with our mind. The first
is that of simple perception of objects by
the senses. The mind then knows only
their individual side, their particular and
concrete form; the essence, the law, the
substance of things escapes it. At the
same time the desire which is awakened
in us, is a desire to appropriate them to our
use, to consume them, to destroy them.
The soul, in the presence of these objects,
feels its dependence; it cannot contem
plate them with a free and disinterested
eye.
Another relation of sensuous objects
with spirit, is that of speculative thought
or science. Here the intelligence is not
content to perceive the object in its con
crete form and its individuality; it dis
cards the individual side in order to ab
stract and disengage from it the law, the
universal, the essence. Reason thus lifts
itself above the individual form perceived
by sense, in order to conceive the pure
idea in its universality.
Art differs both from the one and from
the other of these modes; it holds the
mean between sensuous perception and
rational abstraction. It is distinguished
from the first in that it does not attach
itself to the real but to the appearance, to
the form of the object, and in that it does
not feel any selfish longing to consume it,
to cause it to serve a purpose, to utilize it.
It differs from science in that it is interest
ed in this particular object, and in its sen
suous form. What it loves to see in it, is
neither its materiality, nor the pure idea
in its generality, but an appearance, an
image of the truth, something ideal which
appears in it; it seizes the connective of
the two terms, their accord and their inner
harmony. Thus the want which it feels
is wholly contemplative. In the presence
of this vision the soul feels itself freed
from all selfish desire.
In a word, art purposely creates images,
appearances, designed to represent ideas,
to show to us the truth under sensuous
forms. Thereby it has the power of stir
ring the soul in its profoundest depths, of
causing it to experience the pure delight
springing from the sight and contempla
tion of the Beautiful.
The two principles are found equally
combined in the artist. The sensuous side
is included in the faculty which creates—
the imagination. It is not by mechanical
toil, directed by rules learned by heart
that he executes his works; nor is it by a
process of reflection like that of the philos
opher who is seeking the truth. The mind
has a consciousness of itself, but it cannot
seize in an abstract manner the idea which
it conceives; it can represent it only under
sensuous forms. The image and the idea
coexist in thought, and cannot be separat
ed. Thus the imagination is itself a
gift of nature. Scientific genius is rather
a general capacity than an innate and spe
cial talent. To succeed in the arts, there
is necessary a determinate talent which
reveals itself early under the form of
an active and irresistible longing, and
a certain facility in the manipulation
of the materials of art. It is this which
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt.
makes the painter, th§ sculptor, the musi
cian.
Such is the nature of art. If it be asked,
what is its end, here we encounter the most
diverse opinions. The most common is
that which gives imitation as its object.
This is the foundation of nearly all the
theories upon art. Now of what use to re
produce that which nature already offers
to our view? This puerile talk, unworthy
of spirit to which it is addressed, unworthy
of man who produces it, would only end
in the revelation of its impotency and
the vanity of its efforts ; for the copy will
always remain inferior to the original.
Besides, the more exact the imitation, the
less vivid is the pleasure. That which
pleases us is not imitation, but creation.
The very least invention surpasses all the
masterpieces of imitation.
In vain is it said that art ought to imi
tate beautiful Nature. To select is no
longer to imitate. Perfection in imitation
is exactness ; moreover, choice supposes a
rule; where find the criterion ? What
signifies, in fine, imitation in architecture,
in music, and even in poetry ? At most,
one can thus explain descriptive poetry,
that is to say, the most prosaic kind. We
must conclude, therefore, that if, in its
compositions, art employs the forms of
Nature, and must study them, its aim iB
not to copy and to reproduce them. Its mis
sion is higher—its procedure freer. Ri
val of nature, it represents ideas as well as
she, and even better ; it uses her forms as
symbols to express them ; and it fashions
even these, remodels them upon a type
more perfect and more pure. It is not
without significance that its works are
styled the creations of the genius of man.
A second system substitutes expression
for imitation. Art accordingly has for its
aim, not to represent the external form of
things, but their internal and living prin
ciple, particularly the ideas, sentiments,
passions, and conditions of the soul.
Less gross than the preceding, this
theory is no less false and dangerous.
Let us here distinguish two things: the
idea and the expression—the content and
the form. Now, if Art is designed for ex
pression solely—if expression is its essen
39
tial object—its content is indifferent.
Provided that the picture be faithful, the
expression lively and animated, the good
and the bad, the vicious, the hideous, the
ugly, have the same right to figure here as
the Beautiful. Immoral, licentious, impi
ous, the artist will have fulfilled his obli
gation and reached perfection, when he
has succeeded in faithfully rendering a
situation, a passion, an idea, be it true or
false. It is clear that if in this system
the object of imitation is changed, the
procedure is the same. Art would be only
an echo, a harmonious language; a liv
ing mirror, where all sentiments and all
passions would find themselves reflected,
the base part and the noble part of the soul
contending here for the same place. The
true, here, would be the real, would include
objects the most diverse and the most con
tradictory. Indifferent as to the content,
the artist seeks only to represent it well. He
troubles himself little concerning truth in
itself. Skeptic or enthusiast indifferently,
he makes us partake of the delirium of
the Bacchanals, or the unconcern of the
Sophist. Such is the system which takes
for a motto the maxim, Art is for art; that
is to say, mere expression for its own sake.
Its consequences, and the fatal tendency
which it has at all times pressed upon the
arts, are well known.
A third system sets up moral perfection
as the aim of art. It cannot be denied
that one of the effects of art is to soften
and purify manners (emollit mores'). In
mirroring man to himself, it tempers the
rudeness of his appetites and his passions ;
it disposes him to contemplation and re
flection ; it elevates his thought and sen
timents, by leading them to an ideal which
it suggests,—to ideas of a superior order.
Art has, from all time, been regarded as
a powerful instrument of civilization, as
an auxiliary of religion. It is, together
with religion, the earliest instructor of
nations ; it is besides a means of instruc
tion for minds incapable of comprehending
truth otherwise than under the veil of a
symbol, and by images that address them
selves to the sense as well as to the spirit.
But this theory, although much superior
to the preceding, is no more exact. Its
�40
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
defect consists in confounding the moral
effect of art with its real aim. This con
fusion has inconveniences which do not
appear at the first glance. Let care be
taken, meanwhile, lest, in thus assigning
to aft a foreign aim, it be not robbed of
its liberty, which is its essence, and with
out which it has no inspiration—that
thereby it be not prevented from produ
cing the effects which are to be expected
from it. Between religion, morals and
art, there exists an eternal and intimate
harmony; but they are, none the less, es
sentially diverse forms of truth, and,
while preserving entire the bonds which
unite them, they claim a complete inde
pendence. Art has its peculiar laws,
methods and jurisdiction; though it ought
not to wound the moral sense, yet it is the
sense of the Beautiful to which it is ad
dressed. When its works are pure, its
effect on the soul is salutary, but its direct
and immediate aim is not this result.
Seeking it, it risks losing it, and does lose
its own end. Suppose, indeed, that the
aim of art should be to instruct, under the
veil of allegory; the idea, the abstract
and general thought, must be present in
the spirit of the artist at the very moment
of composition. It seeks, then, a form
which is adapted to that idea, and furn
ishes drapery for it. Who does not see
that this procedure is the very opposite of
inspiration ? There can be born of it only
frigid and lifeless works; its effect will
thus be neither moral nor religious ; it
will produce only ennui.
Another consequence of the opinion
which makes moral perfection the object
of art and its creations, is that this end is
imposed so completely upon art, and con
trols it to such a degree, that it has no
longer even a choice of subjects. The severe
moralist would have it represent moral
subjects alone. Art is then undone. This
system led Plato to banish poets from his
republic. If, then, it is necessary to
maintain the agreement of morality and
art, and the harmony of their laws, their
distinct bases and independence must also
be recognized. In order to understand
thoroughly this distinction between morals
and art, it is necessary to have solved the
moral problem. Morality is the realiza
tion of the. <c ought” by the free will; it
is the conflict between passion and'reason,
inclination and law, the flesh and the
spirit. It hinges upon an opposition.
Antagonism is, indeed, the very law of
the physical and moral universe. But this
opposition ought to be cancelled. This is
the destiny of beings who by their devel
opment and progress continually realize
themselves.
Now, in morals, this harmony of the
powers of our being, which should restore
peace and happiness, does not exist.
Morality proposes it as an end to the free
will. The aim and the realization are dis
tinct. Duty consists in an incessant striv
ing. Thus, in one respect, morals and
art have the same principle and the same
aim; the harmony of rectitude, and hap
piness of actions and law. But that
wherein they differ is, that in morals the
end is never wholly attained. It appears
separated from the means ; the con
sequence is equally separated from the
principle. The harmony of rectitude and
happiness ought to be the result of the
efforts of virtue. In order to conceive
the identity of the two terms, it is neces
sary to elevate one’s self to a superior
point of view, which is not that of morals.
In empirical science equally, the law ap
pears distinct from the phenomenon, the
essence separated from its form. In order
that this distinction may be cancelled,
there is necessary a mode of thinking
which is superior to that of reflection, or
of empirical science.
Art, on the contrary, offers to us in a
visible image, the realized harmony of the
two terms of existence, of the law of be
ings and their manifestation, of essence
and form, of rectitude and happiness.
The beautiful is essence realized, ac
tivity in conformity with its end, and
identified with it; it is the force which iB
harmoniously developed under our eyes,
in the innermost of existences, and
which cancels the contradictions of its
nature : happy, free, full of serenity in
the very midst of suffering and of sorrow.
The problem of art is then distinct from
the moral problem. The good is harmony
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
sought for; beauty is harmony realized.
So must we understand the thought of
Hegel; he here only intimates it, but it
will be fully developed in the sequel.
The true aim of art is then to represent
the Beautiful, to reveal this harmony. This
is its only purpose. Every other aim,
purification, moral amelioration, edifica
tion, are accessories or consequences. The
effect of the contemplation of the Beautiful
is to produce in us a calm and pure joy, in
compatible with the gross pleasures of
sense ; it lifts the soul above the ordinary
sphere of its thoughts ; it disposes to noble
resolutions and generous actions by the
close affinity which exists between the three
sentiments and the three ideas of the Good,
the Beautiful, and the Divine.
Such are the principal ideas which this
remarkable introduction contains. The re
mainder, devoted to the examination of
works which have marked the development
of aesthetic science in Germany since
Kant, is scarcely susceptible of analysis,
and does not so much deserve our atten
tion.
The first part of the science of aesthetics,
which might be called the Metaphysics of
the Beautiful, contains, together with the
analysis of the idea of the Beautiful, the
general principles common to all the arts.
Thus Hegel here treats : First, of the ab
stract idea of the Beautiful; second, of the
Beautiful in nature; third, of the Beautiful
in art, or of the ideal. He concludes with
an examination of the qualities of the art
ist. But before entering upon these ques
tions, he thought it necessary to point out
the place of art in human life, and espe
cially its connections with religion and
philosophy.
The destination of man, the law of his
nature, is to develop himself incessantly,
to stretch unceasingly towards the infinite.
He ought, at the same time, to put an end
to the opposition which he finds in himself
between the elements and powers of his be
ing ; to place them in accord by realizing
and developing them externally. Physical
life is a struggle between opposing forces,
and the living being can sustain itself only
through the conflict and the triumph of the
force which constitutes it. With man, and
41
in the moral sphere, this conflict and pro
gressive enfranchisement are manifested
under the form of freedom, which is the
highest destination of spirit. Freedom
consists in surmounting the obstacles which
it encounters within and without, in re
moving the limits, in effacing all contra
diction, in vanquishing evil and sorrow, in
order to attain to harmony with the world
and with itself. In actual life, man seeks
to destroy that opposition by the satisfac
tion of his physical wants. He calls to his
aid, industry and the useful arts ; but he
obtains thus only limited, relative, and
transient enjoyments. He finds a nobler
pleasure in science, which furnishes food
for his ardent curiosity, and piomises to
reveal to h’m the laws of nature and to
unveil the secrets of the universe. Civil
life opens another channel to his activity;
he burns to realize his conceptions ; he
marches to the conquest of the right, and
pursues the ideal of justice which he bears
within him. He endeavors to realize in
civil society his instinct of sociability,
which is also the law of his being, and one
of the fundamental inclinations of his mor
al nature.
But here, again, he attains an imperfect
felicity ; he encounters limits and obstacles
which he cannot surmount, and against
which, his will is broken. He cannot ob
tain the perfect realization of his ideas,
nor attain the ideal which his spirit con
ceives and toward which it aspires. He
then feels the necessity of elevating him
self to a higher sphere where all contradic
tions are cancelled ; where the idea of the
good and of happiness in their perfect ac
cord and their enduring harmony is real
ized. This profound want of the soul is
satisfied in three ways : in art, in religion,
and in philosophy. The function of art is
to lead us to the contemplation of the true,
the infinite, under sensuous forms ; for the
beautiful is the unity, the realized harmo
ny of two principles of existence, of the
idea and the form, of the infinite and the
finite. This is the principle and the hid
den essence of things, beaming through
their visible form. Art presents us, in its
works, the image of this happy accord
where all opposition ceases, and where all
�42
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
contradiction is Cancelled. Such is the
aim of art: to represent the divine, the in
finite, under sensuous forms. This is its
mission; it has no other and this it alone
can fulfil. By this title it takes its place
by the side of religion, and preserves its
independence. It takes its rank also with
philosophy, whose object is the knowledge
of the true, of absolute truth.
Alike then as to their general ground
and aims, these three spheres are distin
guished by the form under which they be
come revealed to the spirit and conscious
ness of man. Art is addressed to sensuous
perception and to the imagination; reli
gion is addressed to the soul, to the con
science, and to sentiment; philosophy is
addressed to pure thought or to the reason,
which conceives the truth in an abstract
manner.
Art, which offers us truth under sensu
ous forms, does not, however, respond to
the profoundest needs of the soul. The
spirit is possessed of the desire of entering
into itself, of contemplating the truth in
the inner recesses of consciousness. Above
the domain of art, then, religion is placed,
which reveals the infinite, and by medita
tion conveys to the depths of the heart, to
the centre of the soul, that which in art we
contemplate externally. As to philosophy,
its peculiar aim is to conceive and to com
prehend, by the intellect alone, under an
abstract form, that which is given as sen
timent or as sensuous representation.
I. Of the Idea of the Beautiful.
After these preliminaries, Ilegel enters
upon the questions which form the object
of this first part. He treats, in the first
place, of the idea of the beautiful in itself,
in its abstract nature. Freeing his thought
from the metaphysical forms which render
it difficult of comprehension to minds not
familiar with his system, we arrive at this
definition, already contained in the fore
going : the Beautiful is the true, that is to
say, the essence, the inmost substance of
things ; the true, not such as the mind con
ceives it in its abstract and pure nature,
but as manifested to the senses under visi
ble forms. It is the sensuous manifesta
tion of the idea, which is the soul and
principle of things. This definition recalls
that of Plato : the Beautiful is the splendor
of the true.
What are the characteristics of the beau
tiful ? First, it is infinite in this sense,
that it is the divine principle itself which
is revealed and manifested, and that the
form which expresses it, in place of limit
ing it, realizes it and confounds itself with
it; second, it is free, for true freedom is
not the absence of rule and measure, it is
force which develops itself easily and har
moniously. It appears in the bosom of
the existences of the sensuous world, as
their principle of life, of unity, and of
harmony, whether free from all obstacle,
or victorious and triumphant in conflict,
always calm and serene.
The spectator who contemplates beauty
feels himself equally free, and has a con
sciousness of his infinite nature. He tastes
a pure pleasure, resulting from the felt ac
cord of the powers of his being ; a celestial
and divine joy, which has nothing in com
mon with material pleasures, and does not
suffer to exist in the soul a single impure
or gross desire.
The contemplation of the Beautiful
awakens no such craving; it is self-suf
ficing, and is not accompanied by any re
turn of the me upon itself. It suffers the
object to preserve its independence for its
own sake. The soul experiences some
thing analogous to divine felicity; it is
transported into a sphere foreign to the
miseries of life and terrestrial existence.
This theory, it is apparent, would need
only to be developed to return wholly to the
Platonic theory. Hegel limits himself to
referring to it. We recognize here, also,
the results of the Kantian analysis.
II. Of the Beautiful in Nature.
Although science cannot pause to de
scribe the beauties of nature, it ought,
nevertheless, to study, in a general man
ner, the characteristics of the Beautiful,
as it appears to us in the physical world
and in the beings which it contains. This is
the subject of a somewhat extended chap
ter, with the following title : Of the Beau
tiful in Nature. Hegel herein considers
the question from the particular point of
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
view of his philosophy, and he applies his
theory of the Idea. Nevertheless, the re
sults at which he arrives, and the manner
in which he describes the forms of physical
beauty, can be comprehended and accepted
independently of his system, little adapt
ed, it must be confessed, to cast light upon
this subject.
The Beautiful in nature is the first mani
festation of the Idea. The successive de
grees of beauty correspond to the develop
ment of life and organization in beings.
Unity is an essential characteristic of it.
Thus, in the mineral, beauty consists in the
arrangement or disposition of the parts,
in the force which resides in them, and
which reveals itself in this unity. The so
lar system offers us a more perfect unity
and a higher beauty. The bodies in that
system, while preserving entire their indi
vidual existence, co-ordinate themselves
into a whole, the parts of which are inde
pendent, although attached to a common
centre, the sun. Beauty of this order
strikes us by the regularity of the move
ments of the celestial bodies. A unity
more real and true is that which is mani
fested in organized and living beings. The
unity here consists in a relation of re-*
ciprocity and of mutual dependence be
tween the organs, so that each of them
loses its independent existence in order to
give place to a wholly ideal unity which
reveals itself as the principle of life ani
mating them.
Life is beautiful in nature : for it is es
sence, force, the idea realized under its
firs'- form. Nevertheless, beauty in nature
is still wholly external; it has no conscious
ness of itself; it is beautiful solely for an
intelligence which sees and contem
plates it.
How do we perceive beauty in natural
beings? Beauty, with living and animate
beings, is neither accidental and capricious
movements, nor simple conformity of those
movements to an end—the uniform and
mutual connection of parts. This point of
view is that of the naturalist, of the man
of science ; it is not that of the Beautiful.
Beauty is total form in so far as it reveals
the force which animates it; it is this
force itself, manifested by a totality of
43
forms, of independent and free move
ments ; it is the internal harmony which
reveals itself in this secret accord of mem
bers, and which betrays itself outwardly,
without the eye’s pausing to consider the
relation of the parts to the whole, and their
functions or reciprocal connection, as sci
ence does. The unity exhibits itself mere
ly externally as the principle which binds
the members together. It manifests itself
especially through the sensibility. The
point of view of beauty is then that of pure
contemplation, not that of reflection,
which analyzes, compares and seizes the
connection of parts and their destination.
This internal and visible unity, this ac
cord, and this harmony, are not distinct
from the material element; they are its
very form. This is the principle which «
serves to determine beauty in its inferior
grades, the beauty of the crystal with its
regular forms, forms produced by an in
ternal and free force. A similar activity
is developed in a more perfect manner in
the living organism, its outlines, the dispo
sition of its members, the movements, and
the expression of sensibility.
Such is beauty in individual beings. It
is otherwise with it when we consider na
ture in its totality, the beauty of a land
scape, for example. There is no longer
question here about an organic disposition
of parts and of the life which animates
them ; we have under our eyes a rich mul
tiplicity of objects which form a whole,
mountains, trees, rivers, etc. In this di
versity there appears an external unity
which interests us by its agreeable or im
posing character. To this aspect there is
added that property of the objects of na
ture through which they awaken in us,
sympathetically, certain sentiments, by the
secret analogy which exists between them
and the situations of the human soul.
Such is the effect produced by the silence
of the night, the calm of a still valley, the
sublime aspect of a vast sea in tumult,
and the imposing grandeur of the starry
heavens. The significance of these objects
is not in themselves ; they are only sym
bols of the sentiments of the soul which
they excite. It is thus we attribute to an
imals the qualities which belong only to
�44
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
man, courage, fortitude, cunning. Physi consists in a totality of elements essen
cal beauty is a reflex of moral beauty.
tially distinct, but whose opposition is
To recapitulate, physical beauty, viewed destroyed and reduced to unity by a secret
in its ground or essence, consists in the accord, a reciprocal adaptation. Such is
manifestation of the concealed principle, the harmony of forms and colors, that of
of the force which is developed in the bo sounds and movements, Here the unity is
som of matter. This force reveals itself stronger, more prononce, precisely be
in a manner more or less perfect, by unity cause the differences and the oppositions
in inert matter, and in living beings by the are more marked. Harmony, however, is
different modes of organization.
not as yet true unity, spiritual unity,
Hegel then devotes a special examination that of the soul, although the latter pos
to the external side, or to beauty of form sesses within it a principle of harmony.
in natural objects. Physical beauty, con Harmony alone, as yet, reveals neither the
sidered externally, presents itself succes soul nor the spirit, as one may see in music
sively under the aspects of regularity and and dancing.
symmetry, of conformity to law and of har
Beauty exists also in matter itself,
mony ; lastly, of purity and simplicity of abstraction being made of its form; it
matter.
consists, then, in the unity and simplicity
1. Regularity, which is only the repeti which constitutes purity. Such is the
tion of a form equal to itself, is the most purity of the sky and of the atmosphere,
elementary and simple form. In symmetry the purity of colors and of sounds ; that of
there already appears a diversity which certain substances—of precious stones, of
breaks the uniformity. These two forms gold, and of the diamond. Pure and sim
of beauty pertain to quantity, and consti ple colors are also the most agreeable.
tute mathematical beauty ; they are found
After having described the beautiful in
in organic and inorganic bodies, minerals nature, in order that the necessity of a
and crystals. In plants are presented less beauty more exalted and more ideal, shall
regular, and freer forms. In the organiza- be comprehended, Hegel sets forth the im
ation of animals, this regular and sym perfections of real beauty. He begins with
metrical disposition becomes more and animal life, which is the most elevated
more subordinated in proportion as we as point we have reached, and he dwells upon
cend to higher degrees of the animal scale. the characteristics and causes of that im
2. Conformity to a law marks a degree perfection.
still more elevated, and serves as a transi
Thus, first in the animal, although the
tion to freer forms. Here there appears organism is more perfect than that of the
an accord more real and more profound, plant, what we see is not the central point
which begins to transcend mathematical of life; the special seat of the operations
rigor. It is no longer a simple numerical of the force which animates the whole, re
relation, where quantity plays the princi mains concealed from us. We see only
pal role ; we discover a relation of quality the outlines of the external form, covered
between different terms. A law rules with hairs, scales, feathers, skin; second
the whole, but it cannot be calcu ly, the human body, it is true, exhibits
lated; it remains a hidden bond, which more beautiful proportions, and a more
reveals itself to the spectator. Such is perfect form, because in it, life and sensi
the oval line, and above all, the undulating bility are everywhere manifested—in the
line, which Hogarth has given as the line color, the flesh, the freer movements,
of beauty. These lines determine, in fact, nobler attitudes, &c. Yet here, besides
the beautiful forms of organic nature in the imperfections in details, the sensibil
living beings of a high order, and, above ity does not appear equally distributed.
all, the beautiful forms of the human body, Certain parts are appropriated to animal
of man and of woman.
functions, and exhibit their destination in
3. Harmony is a degree still superior’to their form. Further, individuals in nature,
the preceding, and it includes them. It placed as they are under a dependence
�Hegels Philosophy of Jiri.
upon external causes, and under the in
fluence of the elements, are under the
dominion of necessity and want. Under
the continual action of these causes, phy
sical being is exposed to losing the fulness
of its forms and the flower of its beauty;
rarely do these causes permit it to attain
to its complete, free and regular develop
ment. The human body is placed under a
like dependence upon external agents. If
we pass from the physical to the moral
world, that dependence appears still more
clearly.
Everywhere there is manifested diver
sity, and opposition of tendencies and
interests. The individual, in the pleni
tude of his life and beauty, cannot pre
serve the appearance of a free force. Each
individual being is limited and particular
ized in his excellence. His life flows in a
narrow circle of space and time; he be
longs to a determinate species ; his type
is given, his form defined, and the condi
tions of his development fixed. The hu
man body itself offers, in respect to beauty,
a progression of forms dependent on the
diversity of races. Then come hereditary
qualities, the peculiarities which are due
to temperament, profession, age, and sex.
All these causes alter and disfigure the
purest and most perfect primitive type.
All these imperfections are summed up
in a word: the finite. Human life and
animal life realize their idea only imper
fectly. Moreover, spirit—not being able
to find, in the limits of the real, the sight
and the enjoyment of its proper freedom—
seeks to satisfy itself in a region more ele
vated, that of ari, or of the ideal.
III. Of the beautiful in Art or of the Ideal.
Art has as its end and aim the repre
sentation of the ideal. Now what is the
ideal7. It is beauty in a degree of perfec
tion superior to real beauty. It is force,
life, spirit, the essence of things, develop
ing themselves harmoniously in a sensu
ous reality, which is its resplendent image,
its faithful expression ; it is beauty dis
engaged and purified from the accidents
which veil and disfigure it, and which alter
its purity in the real world.
The ideal, in art, is not then the con
45
trary of the real, but the real idealized,
purified, rendered conformable to its
idea, and perfectly expressing it. In a
word, it is the perfect accord of the idea
and the sensuous form.
On the other hand, the true ideal is not
life in its inferior degrees—blind, unde
veloped force—but the soul arrived at the
consciousness of itself, free, and in the
full enjoyment of its faculties; it is life,
but spiritual life—in a word, spirit. The
representation of the spiritual principle, in
the plenitude of its life and freedom, with
its high conceptions, its profound and no
ble sentiments, its joys and its sufferings :
this is the true aim of art, the true ideal.
Finally, the ideal is not a lifeless ab
straction, a frigid generality; it is the
spiritual principle under the form of the
living individual, freed from the bonds of
the finite, and developing itself in its per
fect harmony with its inmost nature and
essence.
We see, thus, what are the characteris
tics of the ideal. It is evident that in all
its degrees it is calmness, serenity, felici
ty, happy existence, freed from the mis
eries and wants of life. This serenity
does not exclude earnestness ; for the ideal
appears in the midst of the conflicts of
life ; but even in the roughest experiences,
in the midst of intense suffering, the soul
preserves an evident calmness as a funda
mental trait. It is felicity in suffering,
the glorification of sorrow, smiling in
tears. The echo of this felicity resounds
in all the spheres of the ideal.
It is important to determine, with still
more precision, the relations of the ideal
and the real.
The opposition of the ideal and the real
has given rise to two conflicting opinions.
Some conceive of the ideal as something
vague, an abstract, lifeless generality,
without individuality. Others extol the
natural, the imitation of the real in the
most minute and prosaic details. Equal
exaggeration I The truth lies between the
two extremes.
In the first place, the ideal may be, in
fact, something external and accidental,
an insignificant form or appearance, a
common existence. But that which con
�4G
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
stitutes the ideal, in this inferior degree,
is the fact that this reality, imitated by
art, is a creation of spirit, and becomes
then something artificial, not real. It is
an image and a metamorphosis. This
image, moreover, is more permanent than
its model, more durable than the real ob
ject. In fixing that which is mobile and
transient, in eternizing that which is mo
mentary and fugitive—a flower, a smile—
art surpasses nature and idealizes it.
But it does not stop here. Instead of
simply reproducing these objects, while
preserving their natural form, it seizeB
their internal and deepest character, it
extends their signification, and gives to
them a more elevated and .more general
significance; for it must manifest the uni
versal in the individual, and render visible
the idea which they represent, their eter
nal and fixed type. It allows this charac
ter of generality to penetrate everywhere,
without reducing it to an abstraction.
Thus the artist does not slavishly repro
duce all the features of the object, and its
accidents, but only the true traits, those
conformable to its idea. If, then, he takes
nature as a model, he still surpasses and
idealizes it. Naturalness, faithfulness,
truth, these are not exact imitation, but
the perfect conformity of the form to the
idea; they are the creation of a more
perfect form, whose essential traits repre
sent the idea more faithfully and more
clearly than it is expressed in nature itself.
To know how to disengage the operative,
energetic, essential and significant ele
ments in objects,—this is the task of the
artist. The ideal, then, is not the real; the
latter contains many elements insignifi
cant, useless, confused and foreign, or op
posed to the idea. The natural here loses
its vulgar significance. By this word must
be understood the more exalted expression
of spirit. The ideal is a transfigured, glo
rified nature.
As to vulgar and common nature, if art
takes it also for its object, it is not for its
own sake, but because of what in it is
true, excellent, interesting, ingenuous or
gay, as in genre painting, in Dutch paint
ing particularly. It occupies, neverthe
less, an inferior rank, and cannot make
pretensions to a place beside the grand
compositions of art.
But there are other subjects—a nature
more elevated and more ideal. Art, at its
culminating stage, represents the develop
ment of the internal powers of the soul,
its grand passions, profound sentiments,
and lofty destinies. Now, it is clear that
the artist does not find in the real world,
forms so pure and ideal that he may safely
confine himself to imitating and copying.
Moreover, if the form itself be given, ex
pression must be added. Besides, he
ought to secure, in a just measure, the
union of the individual and the universal,
of the form and the idea; to create a
living ideal, penetrated with the idea, and
in which it animates the sensuous form
and appearance throughout, so that there
shall be nothing in it empty or insig
nificant, nothing that is not alive with ex
pression itself. Where shall he find in
the real world, this just measure, this
animation, and this exact correspondence
of all the parts and of all the details con
spiring to the same end, to the same effect ?
To say that he will succeed in conceiving
and realizing the ideal, by making a feli
citous selection of ideas and forms, is to
ignore the secret of artistic composition ;
it is to misconceive the entirely sponta
neous method of genius,—inspiration which
creates at a single effort,—to replace it by a
reflective drudgery, which only results in
the production of frigid and lifeless
works.
It does not suffice to define the ideal in
an abstract manner; the ideal is exhibited
to us in the works of art under very va
rious and diverse forms. Thus sculpture
represents it under the motionless features
of its figures. In the other arts it assumes
the form of movement and of action ; in
poetry, particularly, it manifests itself in
the midst of most varied situations and
events, of conflicts between persons ani
mated by diverse passions. IIow, and
under what conditions, is each art in par
ticular’ called upon to represent thus the
ideal ? This will be the object of the
theory of the arts. In the general expo
sition of the principles of art, we may,
nevertheless, attempt to define the degrees
�Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
of this development, to study the princi
pal aspects under which it manifests it
self. Such is the object of those con
siderations, the title of which is, Of
the Determination of the Ideal, and
which the author develops iu this first
part of the work. We can trace only
summarily the principal ideas, devoting
ourselves to marking their order and con
nection.
The gradation which the author estab
lishes between the progressively determ
ined forms of the ideal is as follows :
1. The ideal, under the most elevated
form, is the divine idea, the divine such
as the imagination can represent it under
sensuous forms; such is the Greek ideal
of the divinities of Polytheism ; such the
Christian ideal in its highest purity, under
the form of God the Father, of Christ, of
the Virgin, of the Apostles, etc. It is
given above all to sculpture and painting,
to present us the image of it. Its essen
tial characteristics are calmness, majesty,
serenity.
2. In a degree less elevated, but more
determined, in the circle of human life,
the ideal appears to us, with man, as the
victory of the eternal principles which fill
the human heart, the triumph of the noble
part of the soul over the inferior and
passionate. The noble, the excellent,
the perfect, in the human soul, is the
moral and divine principle which is mani
fested in it, which governs its will, and
causes it to accomplish grand actions;
this is the true source of self-sacrifice and
of heroism.
3. But the idea, when it is manifested
in the real world, can be developed only
under the form of action. Now, action
itself has for its condition a conflict be
tween principles and persons, divided as
to interests, ideas, passions, and charac
ters. It is this especially that is repre
sented by poetry—the art par excellence,
the only art which can reproduce an action
in its successive phases, with its complica
tions, its sudden turns of fortune, its
catastrophe and its denouement.
Action, if one considers it more closely,
includes the following conditions : 1st. A
world which serves it as a basis and thea
47
tre, a form of society which renders it pos
sible, and is favorable to the development
of ideal figures. 2d. A determinate situa
tion, in which the personages are placed
who render necessary the conflict between
opposing interests and passions, whence
a collision may arise. 3d. An action, prop
erly so called, which develops itself in
its essential moments, which has a begin
ning, a middle, and an end. This action,
in order to afford a high interest, should
revolve upon ideas of an elevated order,
which inspire and sustain the personages,
ennobling their passions, and farming the
basis of their character.
Hegel treats, in a general manner, each
of these points, which will appear anew,
under a more special form, in the study of
poetry, and particularly of epic and dra
matic poetry.
1. The state of society most favorable
to the ideal is that which allows the char
acters to act with most freedom, to reveal
a lofty and powerful personality. This
cannot be a social order, where all is fixed
and regulated by laws and a constitution.
Nor can it be the savage state, where all
is subject to caprice and violence, and
where man is dependent upon a thousand
external causes, which render his existence
precarious. Now the state intermediate
between the barbarous state and an ad
vanced civilization, is the heroic age, that
in which the epic poets locate their action,
and from which the tragic poets them
selves have often borrowed their subjects
and their personages. That which char
acterizes heroes in this epoch is, above all,
the independence which is manifested in
their characters and acts. On the other
hand, the hero is all of a piece; he as
sumes not only the responsibility of his
acts and their consequences, but the re
sults of actions he has not perpetrated,
of the faults or crimes of his race; he
bears in his person an entire race.
Another reason why the ideal existences
of art belong to the mythologic ages, and
to remote epochs of history, is that the
artist or the poet, in representing or re
counting events, has a freer scope in his
ideal creations. Art, also, for the same
reason, has a predilection for the higher
�48
Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
conditions of society, those of princes par
ticularly, because of the perfect indepen
dence of will and action which character
izes them. In this respect, our actual
society, with its civil and political organi
zation, its manners, administration,police,
etc., is prosaic. The sphere of activity of
the individual is too restricted ; he en
counters everywhere limits and shackles
to his will. Our monarchs themselves are
subject to these conditions ; their power is
limited by institutions, laws and customs.
War, peace, and treaties are determined
by political relations independent of their
will.
The greatest poets have not been able
to escape these conditions ; and when they
have desired to represent personages
nearer to us, as Charles Moor, or Wallen
stein, they have been obliged to place
them in revolt against society or against
their sovereign. Moreover, these heroes
rush on to an inevitable ruin, or they fall
into the ridiculous situation, of which the
Don Quixote of Cervantes gives us the
most striking example.
2. To represent the ideal in personages
or in an action, there is necessary not only
a favorable world from which the subject
is to be borrowed, but a situation. This
situation can be either indeterminate, like
that of many of the immobile personages
of antique or religious sculpture, or de
terminate, but yet of little earnestness.
Such are also the greater number of the
situations of the personages of antique
sculpture. Finally, it may be earnest, and
furnish material for a veritable action. It
supposes, then, an opposition, an action and
a reaction, a conflict, a collision. The
beauty of the ideal consists in absolute
serenity and perfection. Now, collision
destroys this harmony. The problem of
art consists, then, in so managing that the
harmony reappears in the denouement. Po
etry alone is capable of developing this op
position upon which the interest, particu
larly, of tragic art turns.
Without examining here the nature of
the different collisions, the study of which
belongs to the theory of dramatic art, we
must already have remarked that the collis
ions of the highest order are those in
which the conflict takes place between
moral forces, as in the ancient tragedies.
This is the subject of true classic tragedy,
moral as well as religious, as will be seen
from what follows.
Thus the ideal, in this superior degree,
is the manifestation of moral powers and
of the ideas of spirit, of the grand move
ments of the soul, and of the characters
which appear and are revealed in the de
velopment of the representation.
3. In action, properly so-called, three
things are to be considered which consti
tute its ideal object: 1. The general inter
ests, the ideas, the universal principles,
whose opposition forms the very foundation
of the action ; 2. The personages; 3. Their
character and their passions, or the mo
tives which impel them to act.
In the first place, the eternal principles
of religion, of morality, of the family, of
the state—the grand sentiments of the
soul, love, honor, etc.—these constitute the
basis, the true interest of the action.
These are the grand and true motives of
art, the eternal theme of exalted poetry.
To these legitimate and true powers oth
ers are, without doubt, added ; the powers
of evil; but they ought not to be repre
sented as forming the real foundation and
end of the action. ciIf the idea, the end
and aim, be something false in itself, the
hideousness of the ground will allow still
less beauty of form. The sophistry of the
passions may, indeed, by a true picture,
attempt to represent the false under the
colors of the true, but it places under our
eyes only a whited sepulchre. Cruelty and
the violent employment of force can be en
dured in representation, but only when
they are relieved by the grandeur of the
character and ennobled by the aim which
is pursued by the dramatis personae. Per
versity, envy, cowardice, baseness, are only
repulsive.
“ Evil, in itself, is stripped of real in
terest, because nothing but the false can
spring from what is false ; it produces on
ly misfortune, while art should present to
us order and harmony. The great artists,
the great poets of antiquity, never give us
the spectacle of pure wickedness and per
versity.”
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt.
We cite this passage because it exhibits
the character and high moral tone which
prevails in the entire work, as we shall
have occasion to observe more than once
hereafter.
If the ideas and interests of human life
form the ground of the action, the latter is
accomplished by the characters upon whom
the interest is fastened. General ideas
may, indeed, be personated by beings su
perior to man, by certain divinities like
those which figure in ancient epic poetry
and tragedy. But it is to man that action,
properly so-called, returns; it is he who
occupies the scene. Now, how reconcile
divine action and human action, the will
of the gods and that of man ? Such is the
problem which has made shipwreck of so
many poets and artists. To maintain a
proper equipoise it is necessary that the
gods have supreme direction, and that man
preserve his freedom and his independence
without which he is no more than the pas
sive instrument of the will of the gods; fa
tality weighs upon all his acts. The true
solution consists in maintaining the ident
ity of the two terms, in spite of their dif
ference ; in so acting that what is attributed
to the gods shall appear at the same time
to emanate from the inner nature of the
dramatis personce and from their character.
The talent of the artist must reconcile the
two aspects’. “ The heart of man must be
revealed in his gods, personifications of
the grand motives which allure him and
govern him within.” This is the problem
resolved by the great poets of antiquity,
Homer, .¿Eschylus, and Sophocles.
The general principles, those grand mo
tives which are the basis of the action, by
the fact that they are living in the soul of
the characters, form, also, the very ground
of the passions; this is the essence of true
pathos. Passion, here, in the elevated ideal
sense, is, in fact, not an arbitrary, capri
cious, irregular movement of the soul ; it is
a noble principle, which blends itself with
a great idea, with^ne of the eternal veri
ties of moral or religious order. Such is
the passion of Antigone, the holy love for
her brother ; such, the vengeance of Orestes.
It is an essentially legitimate power of the
soul which contains one of the eternal
4
49
principles of the reason and the will. This
is still the ideal, the true ideal, although it
appears under the form of a passion. It
relieves, ennobles and purifies it; it thus
gives to the action a serious and profound
interest.
It is in this sense that passion consti
tutes the centre and true domain of art ; it
is the principle of emotion, the source of
true pathos.
Now, this moral verity, this eternal
principle which descends into the heart of
man and there takes the form of great and
noble passion, identifying itself with the
will of ^ie dramatis persona., constitutes,
also, their character. Without this high
idea which serves as support and as basis
to passion, there is no true character.
Character is the culminating point of ideal
representation. It is the embodiment of
all that precedes. It is in the creation
of the characters, that the genius of the art
ist or of the poet is displayed.
Three principal elements must be united
to form the ideal character, richness, vital
ity, and stability. Richness consists in not
being limited to a single quality, which
would make of the person an abstraction,
an allegoric being. To a single dominant
quality there should be added all those
which make of the personage or hero
a real and complete man, capable of be
ing developed in diverse situations and
under varying aspects. Such a multiplici
ty alone can give vitality to the character.
This is not sufficient, however; it is neces
sary that the qualities be moulded together
in such a manner as to form not a simple
assemblage and a complex whole, but one
and the same individual, having peculiar
and original physiognomy. This is the
case when a particular sentiment, a ruling
passion, presents the salient trait of the
character of a person, and gives to him a
fixed aim, to which all his resolutions and
his acts, refer. Unity and variety, sim
plicity and completeness of detail, these
are presented to us in the characters of
Sophocles, Shakspeare, and others.
Lastly, what constitutes essentially the
ideal in character is consistency and stabil
ity. An inconsistent, undecided, irresolute
character, is the utter want of character.
�50
Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt.
Contradictions, without doubt, exist in hu
man nature, but unity should be maintain
ed in spite of these fluctuations. Some
thing identical ought to be found through
out, as a fundamental trait. To be self-de
termining, to follow a design, to embrace a
resolution and persist in it, constitute the
very foundation of personality; to suffer
one’s self to be determined by another, to
hesitate, to vacillate, this is to surrender
one’s will, to cease to be one's self, to lack
character; this is, in all cases, the oppo
site of the ideal character.
Hegel on this subject strongly protests
against the characters which figure in mod
ern pieces and romances, and of which
Werthcr is the type.
These pretended characters, says he, rep
resent only unhealthiness of spirit, and
feebleness of soul. Now true and healthy
art does not represent what is false and
sickly, what lacks consistency and de
cision, but that which is true, healthy and
strong. The ideal, in a word, is the idea
realized ; man can realize it only as a free
person, that is to say, by displaying all
the energy and constancy which can make
it triumph.
We shall find more than once, in the
course of the work, the same ideas de
veloped with the same force and precision.
That which constitutes the very ground
of the ideal is the inmost essence of things,
especially the lofty conceptions of the
spirit, and the development of the powers
of the soul. These ideas are manifest in
an action in which are placed upon the
scene the grand interests of life, the pas
sions of the human heart, the will and the
character of actors. But this action is
itself developed in the midst of an external
nature which, moreover, lends to the ideal,
colors and a determinate form. These
external surroundings must also be con
ceived and fashioned in the meaning of the
ideal, according to the laws of regularity,
symmetry, and harmony, of which mention
has been made above. How-ought man to be
represented in his relations with external
nature ? How ought this prose of life to be
idealized? If art, in fact, frees man from
the wants of material life, it cannot, how
ever, elevate him above the conditions of
human existence, and suppress these con
nections.
Hegel devotes a special examination to
this new phase of the question of the ideal,
which he designates by this title—Of the
external determination of the ideal.
In our days we have given an exaggerated
importance to this external side, which
we have made the principal object. We
are too unmindful that art should repre
sent the ideas and sentiments of the hu
man soul, that this is the true ground of
its works. Hence all these minute de
scriptions, this external care given to the
picturesque element or to the local color,
to furniture, to costumes, to all those arti
ficial means employed to disguise the
emptiness and insignificance of the sub
ject, the absence of ideas, the falsity of
the situations, the feebleness of the char
acters, and the improbability of the
action.
Nevertheless, this side has its place in
art, and should not be neglected. It gives
clearness, truthfulness, life, and interest
to its works, by the secret sympathy which
exists between man and nature. It is
Characteristic of the great masters to rep
resent nature with perfect truthfulness.
Homer is an example of this. Without
forgetting the content for the form, pic
ture for the frame, he presents to us a
faultless and precise image of the theatre
of action. The arts differ much in this
respect. Sculpture limits itself to certain
symbolic indications ; painting, which has
at its disposal means more extended, en
riches with these objects the content of its
pictures. Among the varieties of poetry, the
epic is more circumstantial in its descrip
tions than the drama or lyric poetry. But
this external fidelity should not, in any
art, extend to the representation of insig
nificant details, to the making of them an
object of predeliction, and to subordinat
ing to them the developments which the
subject itself claims. The grand point in
these descriptions is that we perceive a
secret harmony between man and nature,
between the action and the theatre on
which it occurs.
Another species of accord is established
between man and the objects of physical
�Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
nature, when, through his free activity, he
impresses upon them his intelligence and
will, and appropriates them to his own
use; the ideal consists in causing misery
and necessity to disappear from the do
main of art, in revealing the freedom
which develops itself without effort under
our eyes, and easily surmounts obstacles.
Such is the ideal considered under this
aspect. Thus the gods of polytheism
themselves have garments and arms ; they
drink nectar and are nourished by ambro
sia. The garment is an ornament designed
to heighten the glory of the features, to
give nobleness to the countenance, to fa
cilitate movement, or to indicate force and
agility. The most brilliant objects, the
metals, precious stones, purple and ivory,
are employed for the same end. All con
cur to produce the effect of grace and
beauty.
In the satisfaction of physical wants the
ideal consists, above all, in the simplicity
of the means. Instead of being artificial,
factitious, complex, the latter emanate
directly from the activity of man, and free
dom. The heroes of Homer themselves
slay the oxen which are to serve for the
feast, and roast them; they forge their
arms, and prepare their couches. This is
not, as one might think, a relic of barbar
ous manners, something prosaic; but we
see, penetrating everywhere the delight of
invention, the pleasure of easy toil and
free activity exercised on material objects.
Everything is peculiar to and inherent in
his character, and a means for the hero
of revealing the force of his arm and the
skill of his hand ; while, in civilized so
ciety, these objects depend on a thousand
foreign causes, on a complex adjustment
in which man is converted into a machine
subordinated to other machines. Things
have lost their freshness and vitality;
they remain inanimate, and are no longer
proper, direct creations of the human per
son, in which the man loves to solace and
contemplate himself.
A final point relative to the external
form of the ideal is that which concerns
the relation of works of art to the public,
that is to say, to the nation and epoch for
which the artist or the poet composes his
51
works. Ought the artist, when he treats a
subject, to consult, above all, the spirit,
taste and manners of the people whom he
addresses, and conform himself to their
ideas ? This is the means of exciting in
terest in fabulous and imaginary or even
historic persons. But then there is a lia
bility to distort history and tradition.
Ought he, on the other hand, to repro
duce with scrupulous exactness the man
ners and customs of another time, to give
to the facts and the characters their proper
coloring and their original and primitive
costume? This is the problem. Hence
arise two schools and two opposite modes
of representation. In the age of Louis
XIV., for example, the Greeks and Romans
are conceived in the likeness of French
men. Since then, by a natural reaction,
the contrary tendency has prevailed. • To
day the poet must have the knowledge of
an archeologist, and possess his scrupu
lous exactness, and pay close attention,
above all, to local color, and historic verity
has become the principal and essential
aim of art.
Truth here, as always, lies between the
two extremes. It is necessary to maintain,
at the same time, the rights of art and
those of the public, to have a proper re
gard for the spirit of the epoch, and to
satisfy the exigencies of the subject
treated. These are the very judicious
rules which the author states upon this
delicate point.
The subject should be intelligible and
interesting to the public to which it is ad
dressed. But this end the poet or the
artist will attain only so far as, by his
general spirit, his work responds to some
one of the essential ideas of the human
spirit and to the general interests of hu
manity. The particularities of an epoch
are not of true and enduring interest
to us.
If, then, the subject is borrowed from re
mote epochs of history, or from some faroff tradition, it is necessary that, by our
general culture, we should be familiarized
with it. It is thus only that we can sym
pathize with an epoch and with manners
that are no more. Hence the two essen
tial conditions ; that the subject present
�52
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
the general human character, then that it
be in relation with our ideas.
Art is not designed for a small number
of scholars and men of science; it is ad
dressed to the entire nation. Its works
should be comprehended and relished of
themselves, and not after a course of diffi
cult research. Thus national subjects are
the most favorable. All great poems are
national poems. The Bible histories have
for us a particular charm, because we are
familiar with them from our infancy. Nev
ertheless, in the measure that relations are
multiplied between peoples, art can bor
row its subjects from all latitudes and from
all epochs. It should, indeed, as to the
principal features, preserve, to the tradi
tions, events, and personages, to manners
and institutions, their historic or tradi
tional character ; but the duty of the artist,
above all, is to place the idea which consti
tutes its content in harmony with the
spirit of his own age, and the peculiar
genius of his nation.
In this necessity lies the reason and ex
cuse for what is called anachronism in art.
When the anachronism bears only upon
external circumstances it is unimportant.
It becomes a matter of more moment if
we attribute to the characters, the ideas,
and sentiments of another epoch. Re
spect must be paid to historic truth, but
regard must also be had to the manners
and intellectual culture of one’s own time.
The heroes of Homer themselves are more
than were the real personages of the epoch
which he presents ; and the characters of
Sophocles are brought still nearer to us.
To violate thus the rules of historic reali
ty, is a necessary anachronism in art. Fi
nally, another form of anachronism, which
the utmost moderation and genius can
alone make pardonable, is that which
transfers the religious or moral ideas of a
more advanced civilization to an anterior
epoch; when one attributes, for example,
to the ancients the ideas of the mod
erns. Some great poets have ventured up
on this intentionally ; few have been suc
cessful in it.
The general conclusion is this: “ The
artist should be required to make himself
the cotemporary of past ages, and become
penetrated himself with their spirit. For if
the substance of those ideas be true, it re
mains clear for all time. But to undertake
to reproduce with a scrupulous exactness
the external element of history, with all its
details and particulars,—in a word, all the
rust of antiquity, is the work of a puerile
erudition, which attaches itself only to a
superficial aim. We should not wrest from
art the right which it has to float between
reality and fiction.”
This first part concludes with an exam
ination of the qualities necessary to an
artist, such as imagination, genius, inspi
ration, originality, etc. The author does
not deem it obligatory to treat at much
length this subject, which appears to him
to allow only a small number of general
rules or psychological observations. The
manner in which he treats of many points,
and particularly of the imagination, causes
us to regret that he has not thought it
worth while to give a larger space to these
questions, which occupy the principal
place in the majority of aesthetical treati
ses; we shall find them again under an
other form in the theory of the arts.
[The next number will continue this trans
lation through the treatment of the Sym
bolic, Classic, and Romantic forms of art.]
�Raphael's Transfiguration.
53
NOTES ON RAPHAEL’S “ TRANSFIGURATION.”
[Bead before the St. Louis Art Society in November, 1866.]
I. THE ENGRAVING.
He who studies the ei Transfiguration ”
of Raphael is fortunate if he has access to
the engraving of it by Raphael Morghen.
This engraver, as one learns from the En
cyclopaedia, was a Florentine, and executed
this—his most elaborate work—in 1795,
from a drawing of Tofanelli, after having
discovered that a copy he had partly fin
ished from another drawing, was very in
adequate when compared with the origi
nal.
Upon comparison with engravings by
other artists, it seems to me that this en
graving has not received all the praise it
deserves ; I refer especially to the seizing of
the “motives” of the picture, which are so
essential in a work of great scope, to give it
the requisite unity. What the engraver has
achieved in the present instance, I hope to
be able to show in some degree. But one
will not be able to verify my results if he
takes up an engraving by a less fortunate
artist; e. g. : one by Pavoni, of recent
origin.
IL HISTORICAL.
It is currently reported that Raphael
painted the “ Transfiguration ” at the in
stance of Cardinal Giulio de Medici, and
that in honor of the latter he introduced
the two saints—Julian and Lawrence—on
the mount; St. Julian suggesting the illfated Giuliano de Medici, the Cardinal’s
father, and St. Lawrence representing his
uncle, “Lorenzo the Magnificent,” the
greatest of the Medici line, and greatest
man of his time in Italy. (( The haughty
Michael Angelo refused to enter the lists
in person against Raphael, but put forward
as a fitting rival Sebastian del Piombo, a
Venetian.” Raphael painted, as his mas
terpiece, the “ Transfiguration,” and Se
bastian, with the help of Michael Angelo,
painted the “ Raising of Lazarus.” In
1520, before the picture was quite finished,
Raphael died. His favorite disciple, Giu
lio Romano, finished the lower part of the
picture (especially the demoniac) in the
spirit of Raphael, who had completed the
upper portion and most of the lower.
III. LEGEND.
The Legend portrayed here—slightly va
rying from the one in the New Testament,
but not contradicting it—is as follows :
Christ goes out with his twelve disciples to
Mount Tabor, (?) and, leaving the nine
others at the foot, ascends with the favor
ed three to the summit, where the scene of
the Transfiguration takes place. While
this transpires, the family group approach
with the demoniac, seeking help from a
miraculous source.
Raphael has added to this legend the
circumstance that two sympathetic strang
ers, passing that way up the mount, carry
to the Beatified One the intelligence of the
event below, and solicit his immediate and
gracious interference.
The Testament account leads us to sup
pose the scene to be Mount Tabor, south
east of Nazareth, at whose base he had
healed many, a few days before, and
where he had held many conversations
with his disciples. “ On the following
day, when they were come down, they met
the family,” says Luke ; but Matthew and
Mark do not fix so precisely the day.
IV. CHARACTERIZATION.
It may be safely affirmed that there is
scarcely a picture in existence in which
the individualities are more strongly mark
ed by internal essential characteristics.
Above, there is no figure to be mistaken :
Christ floats toward the source of light—
the Invisible Father, by whom all is made
visible that is visible. On the right, Moses
appears in strong contrast to Elias on the
left—the former the law-giver, and the
latter the spontaneous, fiery, eagle-eyed
prophet.
On the mountain top—prostrate beneath,
are the three disciples—one recognizes on
the right hand, John, gracefully bending
his face down from the overpowering light,
while on the left James buries his face in
�54
Raphaels Transfiguration.
his humility. But Peter, the bold one, is
fain to gaze directly on the splendor. He
turns his face up in the act, but is, as on
another occasion, mistaken in his estimate
of his own endurance, and is obliged to
cover his eyes, involuntarily, with his hand.
Below the mount, are two opposed groups.
On the right, coming from the hamlet in
the distance, is the family group, of which
a demoniac boy forms the centre. They,
without doubt, saw Christ pass on his way
to this solitude, and, at length, concluded
to follow him and test his might which had
been c£ noised abroad” in that region. It
is easy to see the relationship of the whole
group. First the boy, actually “ possess
ed,” or a maniac ; then his father—a man
evidently predisposed to insanity—support
ing and restraining him. Kneeling at the
right of the boy is his mother, whose fair
Grecian face has become haggard with the
trials she has endured from her son. Just
beyond her is her brother, and in the shade
of the mountain, is her father. In the fore
ground is her sister. Back of the father,
to the right, is seen an uncle (on the fa
ther’s side) of the demoniac boy, whose
features and gestures show him to be a sim
pleton, and near him is seen the face of the
father’s sister, also a weak-minded person.
The parents of the father are not to be
seen, for the obvious reason that old age
is not a characteristic of persons predis
posed to insanity. Again, it is marked
that in a family thus predisposed, some
will be brilliant to a degree resembling ge
nius, and others will be simpletons. The
whole group at the right are supplicating
the nine disciples, in the most earnest
manner, for relief. The disciples, group
ed on the left, are full of sympathy, but
their looks tell plainly that they can do
nothing. One, at the left and near the
front, holds the books of the Law in his
right hand, but the letter needs the spirit
to give life, and the mere Law of Moses
does not help the demoniac, and only ex
cites the sorrowful indignation of the
beautiful sister in the foreground.
The curious student of the New Testa
ment may succeed in identifying the differ
ent disciples : Andrew, holding the books
of the Law, is Peter’s brother, and bears a
family resemblance. Judas, at the extreme
left, cannot be mistaken. Matthew looks
over the shoulder of Bartholomew, who is
pointing to the demoniac ; while Thomas—
distinguished by his youthful appearance—
bends over toward the boy with a look of
intense interest. Simon (?), kneeling be
tween Thomas and Bartholomew, is indi
cating to the mother, by the gesture with
his left hand, the absence of the Master.
Philip, whose face is turned towards Ju
das, is pointing to the scene on the mount,
and apparently suggesting the propriety of
going for the absent one. James, the son
of Alpheus, resembles Christ in features,
and stands behind Jude, his brother, who
points up to the mount while looking at
the father.
V. ORGANIC UNITY.
(а) Doubtless every true work of art
should have what is called an ‘‘organic uni
ty.” That is to say, all the parts of the work
should be related to each other in such a
way that a harmony of design arises. Two
entirely unrelated things brought into the
piece would form two centres of attraction
and hence divide the work into two differ
ent works. It should be so constituted
that the study of one part leads to all the
other parts as being necessarily implied in
it. This common life of the whole work
is the central idea which necessitates all
the parts, and hence makes the work an or
ganism instead of a mare conglomerate or
mechanical aggregate,—a fortuitous con
course of atoms which would make a chaos
only.
(б) This central idea, however, cannot
be represented in a work of art without
contrasts, and hence there must be antithe
ses present.
(c) And these antitheses must be again
reduced to unity by the manifest depend
ence of each side upon the central idea.
What is the central idea of this picture 2
(a) Almost every thoughtful person that
has examined it, has said : “ Here is the
Divine in contrast with the Human, and
the dependence of the latter upon the
former.” This may be stated in a variety
of ways. The Infinite is there above, and
the Finite here below seeking it.
(Z>) The grandest antithesis iB that be
�Raphael's Transfiguration,
tween the two parts of the Picture, the
above and the below. The transfigured
Christ, there,dazzling with light; below, the
shadow of mortal life, only illuminated by
such rays as come from above. There, se
renity ; and here, rending calamity.
Then there are minor antitheses.
(1) Above we have a Twofold. The
three celestial light-seekers who soar rap
turously to the invisible source of light,
and below them, the three disciples swoon
ing beneath the power of the celestial vis
ion. (2) Then below the mountain we
have a similar contrast in the two groups ;
the one broken in spirit by the calamity
that “ pierces their own souls,” and the
other group powerfully affected by sympa
thy, and feeling keenly their impotence
during the absence of their Lord.
Again even, there appear other anti
theses. So completely does the idea pen
etrate the material in this work of art, that
everywhere we see the mirror of the whole.
In the highest and most celestial we have
the antithesis of Christ and the twain ;
Moses the law or letter, Elias the spirit or
the prophet, and Christ the living unity.
Even Christ himself, though comparative
ly the point of repose of the whole picture,
is a contrast of soul striving against the
visible body. So, too, the antitheses of
the three disciples, John, Peter, James,—
grace, strength, and humility. Everywhere
the subject is exhaustively treated; the
family in its different members, the disci
ples with the different shades of sympa
thy and concern. (The maniac boy is a
perfect picture of a being, torn asunder by
violent internal contradiction.)
(c) The unity is no less remarkable.
First, the absolute unity of the piece, is the
transfigured Christ. To it, mediately or
immediately, everything refers. All the
light in the picture streams thence. All the
action in the piece has its motive power in
Him;—first, the two celestials soar to gaze
in his light ; then the three disciples are
expressing, by the posture of every limb,
the intense effect of the same light. On
the left, the mediating strangers stand im
ploring Christ to descend and be merciful
to the miserable of this life. Below, the
disciples are painfully reminded of Him
55
absent, by the present need of his all-heal
ing power, and their gestures refer to his
stay on the mountain top ; while the group
at the right, are frantic in supplications for
his assistance.
Besides the central unity, we find minor
unities that do not contradict the higher
unity, for the reason that they are only re
flections of it, and each one carries us, of
its own accord, to the higher unity, and
loses itself in it. Toillustrate: Below, the
immediate unity of all (centre of interest)
is the maniac boy, and yet he convulsively
points to the miraculous scene above, and
the perfect unrest exhibited in his attitude
repels the soul irresistibly to seek another
unity. The Christ above, gives^us a com
paratively serene point of repose, while
the unity of the Below or finite side of the
picture is an absolute antagonism, hurling
us beyond to the higher unity.
Before the approach of the distressed
family, the others were intently listening
to the grave and elderly disciple, Andrew,
who was reading and expounding the
Scriptures to them. This was a different
unity, and would have clashed with the
organic unity of the piece; the approach of
the boy brings in a new unity, which im
mediately reflects all to the higher unity.
VI.
SENSE AND REASON VS. UNDERSTANDING.
At this point a few reflections are sug
gested to render more obvious, certain
higher phases in the unity of this work of
art, which must now be considered.
A work of art, it will be conceded, must,
first of all, appeal to the senses. Equally,
too, its content must be an idea of the Rea
son, and this is not so readily granted by
every one. But if there were no idea of
the Reason in it, there would be no unity
to the work, and it could not be distin
guished from any other work not a work
of art. Between the Reason and the Senses
there lies a broad realm, called the “ Un
derstanding” by modern speculative wri
ters. It was formerly called the ‘‘discur
sive intellect.” The Understanding applies
the criterion “use.” It does not know
beauty, or, indeed, anything which is
for itself-, it knows only what is good for
something else. In a work of art, after it
�56
Raphael's Transfiguration.
has asked what it is good for, it proceeds
to construe it all into prose, for it is the
prose faculty. It must have the picture
tell us what is the external fact in nature,
and not trouble us with any transcendental
imaginative products. It wants imitation
of nature merely.
But the artist frequently neglects this
faculty, and shocks it to the uttermost by
such things as the abridged mountain in
this picture, or the shadow cast toward the
sun, that Eckermann tells of.
The artist must never violate the sensu
ous harmony, nor fail to have*the deeper
unity of the Idea. It is evident that the
sensuous side is always cared for by Ra
phael.
Here are some of the effects in the pic
ture that are purely sensuous and yet
of such a kind that they immediately call
up the idea. The source of light in the
picture is Christ’s form; below, it is re
flected in the garments of the conspicuous
figure in the foreground. Above, is Christ;
opposite and below, a female that suggests
the Madonna. In the same manner Elias,
or the inspired prophet, is the opposite to
the maniac boy ; the former inspired by the
celestial', the latter, by the demonic. So
Moses, the law-giver, is antithetic to the
old disciple that has the roll of the Law in
his hand. So, too, in the posture, Elias
floats freely, while Moses is brought against
the tree, and mars the impression of free
self-support. The heavy tables of the Law
seem to draw him down, while Elias seems
to have difficulty in descending sufficiently
to place himself in subordination to
Christ.
Even the contradiction that the under
standing finds in the abridgment of the
mountain, is corrected sensuously by the
perspective at the right, and the shade that
the edge of the rock casts which isolates
the above so completely from the below.
We see that Raphael has brought them
to a secluded spot just near the top of the
mountain. The view of the distant vale
tells us as effectually that this is ar moun
tain top as could be done by a full length
painting of it. Hence the criticism rests
upon a misunderstanding of the fact Ra
phael has portrayed.
VII. ROMANTIC VS. CLASSIC.
Finally, we must recur to those distinc
tions so much talked of, in order to intro
duce the consideration of the grandest
strokes of genius which Raphael has dis
played in this work.
The distinction of Classic and Romantic
Art, of Greek Art from Christian : the form
er is characterized by a complete repose, or
equilibrium between the Sense and Rea
son—or between matter and form. The
idea seems completely expressed, and the
expression completely adequate to the idea.
But in Christian Art we do not find this
equilibrium; but everywhere we find an
intimation that the idea is too transcend
ent for the matter to express. Hence, Ro
mantic Art is self contradictory—it ex
presses the inadequacy of expression.
“ I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.”
In Gothic Architecture, all strives up
ward and seems to derive its support from
above (i. e. the Spiritual, light). All Ro
mantic Art points to a beyond. The Ma
donnas seem to say : "'lama beyond which
cannot be represented in a sensuous form;”
“a saintly contempt for the flesh hovers
about their features.” as some one has ex
pressed it.
But in this picture, Christ himself, no
more a child in the Madonna’s arms, but
even in his meridian glory, looks beyond,
and expresses dependence on a Being who
is not and cannot be represented. His face
is serene, beatific ; he is at unity with this
Absolute Being, but the unity is an inter
nal one, and his upraised gaze towards the
source of light is a plain statement that the
True which supports him is not a sensuous
one. <£ God dwelleth not in temples made
with hands; but those who would ap
proach Him must do it in spirit and in
truth.”
This is the idea which belongs to the
method of all modern Art; but Raphael
has not left this as the general spirit of
the picture merely, but has emphasized it
in a way that exhibits the happy temper of
his genius in dealing with refractory sub
jects. And this last point has proved too
much for his critics. Reference is made
�Introduction to Philosophy.
to the two saints painted at the left. How
fine it would be, thought the Cardinal de
Medici, to have St. Lawrence and St. Ju
lian painted in there, to commemorate my
father and uncle! They can represent
mediators, and thereby connect the two
parts of the picture more closely !
Of course, Raphael put them in there !
“Alas 1” say his critics, “ what a fatal mis
take ! What have those two figures to
do there but to mar the work! All for
the gratification of a selfish pride!”
Always trust an Artist to dispose of the
Finite ; he, of all men, knows how to digest
it and subordinate it to the idea.
Raphael wanted just such figures in just
that place. Of course, the most natural
thing in the world that could happen, would
be the ascent of some one to bear the mes
sage to Christ that there was need of him
below. But what is the effect of that upon
the work as a piece of Romantic Art? It
would destroy that characteristic- if per
mitted in certain forms. Raphael, how
ever, seizes upon this incident to show the
entire spiritual character of the upper part
of the picture. The disciples are dazzled
so, that even the firm Peter cannot endure
the light at all. Is this a physical light?
Look at the messengers that have come up
the mountain ! Do their eyes indicate any
thing bright, not to say dazzling? They
stand there with supplicating looks and
gestures, but see no transfiguration. It
must be confessed, Cardinal de Medici,
57
that your uncle and father are not much
complimented, after all; they are merely
natural men, and have no inner sense by
which to see the Eternal Verities that il
lume the mystery of existence! Even if
you are Cardinal, and they were Popes’
counselors, they never saw anything higher
in Religion than what should add comfort
to us here below!
No! The transfiguration, as Raphael
clearly tells us, was a Spiritual one : Christ,
on the mountain with his favored three
disciples, opened up such celestial clear
ness in his exposition of the truth, that
they saw Moses and Elias, as it were, com
bined in one Person, and a new Heaven
and a new Earth arose before them, and
they were lost in that revelation of infinite
splendor.
In closing, a remark forces itself upon
us with reference to the comparative mer
its of Raphael and Michael Angelo.
Raphael is the perfection of Romantic
Art. Michael Angelo is almost a Greek.
His paintings all seem to bei pictures of
statuary. In his grandest—The Last Judg
ment—we have the visible presence as the
highest. Art with him could represent the
Absolute. With Raphael it could only, in
its loftiest flights, express its own impo
tence.
Whether we are to consider Raphael or
Michael Angelo as the higher artist, must
be decided by an investigation of the mer
its of the “Last Judgment.”
INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
The object of this series is to furnish,
in as popular a form as possible, a course
of discipline for those who are beginning
the study of philosophy. Strictly popular,
in the sense the word is used—i. e. sig
nifying that which holds fast to the ordi
nary consciousness of men, and does not
take flights beyond—I am well aware, no
philosophy can be. The nearest approach
to it that can be made, consists in starting
from the common external views, and
1
drawing them into the speculative, stepbv
step. For this purpose the method of defi
nitions and axioms, with deductions there
from, as employed by Spinoza, is more ap
propriate at first, and afterwards a gradual
approach to the Dialectic, or true philoso
phic method. In the mathematical method
(that of Spinoza just alluded to) the con
tent may be speculative, but its form,
never. Hence the student of philosophy
needs only to turn his attention to the
content at first ; when that becomes in a
�58
Introduction to Philosophy.
measure familiar, he can then the more others put into ordinary phrases. He
readily pass over to the true form of the does not seem to think that the concepts
speculative content, and thus achieve com likewise are new. It is just as though an
plete insight. A course of discipline in Indian were to say to the carpenter, “I
the speculative content, though under an could make as good work as you, if I only
inadequate form, would make a grand had the secret of using my finger-nails and
preparation for the study of Hegel or teeth as you do the plane and saw.” Spec
Plato; while a study of these, or, in short, ulative philosophy—it cannot be too early
of any writers who employ speculative inculcated—does not “ conceal under cum
methods in treating speculative content— brous terminology views which men ordin
a study of these without previous ac arily hold.” The ordinary reflection would
quaintance with the content is well nigh say that Being is the ground of thought,
fruitless. One needs only to read the while speculative philosophy would say
comments of translators of Plato upon his that thought is the ground of Being;
speculative passages, or the prevailing whether of other being, or of itself as
verdicts upon Hegel, to be satisfied on this being—for it is causa sui.
point.
Let us now address ourselves to the task
The course that I shall here present will of elaborating our technique—the tools of
embody my own experience, to a great ex thought—and see what new worlds become
tent, in the chronological order of its de accessible through our mental telescopes
velopment. Each lesson will endeavor to and microscopes, our analytical scalpels
present an aperçu derived from some great and psychological plummets.
philosopher. Those coming later will pre
I.---- A PRIORI AND A POSTERIORI.
suppose the earlier ones, and frequently
throw new light upon them.
A priori, as applied to knowledge, signi
As one who undertakes the manufacture fies that which belongs to the nature of' the
of an elegant piece of furniture needs mind itself. Knowledge which is before
carefully elaborated tools for that end, so experience, or not dependent on it, is a
must the thinker who wishes to compre priori.
hend the universe be equipped with the
A posteriori or empirical knowledge is
tools of thought, or else he will come off derived from experience.
as poorly as he who should undertake to
A criterion to be applied in order to test
make a carved mahogany chair with no the application of these categories to any
tools except his teeth and finger nails. knowledge in question, is to be found in
What complicated machinery is required universality and necessity. If the truth ex
to transmute the rough ores into an Ameri pressed has universal and necessary valid
can watch! And yet how common is the ity it must be a priori, for it could not have
delusion that no elaboration of tools of been derived from experience. Of empir
thought is required to enable the common ical knowledge we can only say: “ It is
est mind to manipulate the highest sub true so far as experience has extended.”
jects of investigation. The alchemy that Of a priori knowledge, on the contrary, we
turned base metal into gold is only a sym affirm: “ It is universally and necessarily
bol of that cunning alchemy of thought true and no experience of its opposite can
that by means of the philosopher’s stone possibly occur; from the very nature of
(scientific method) dissolves the base/ac/s things it must be so.”
of experience into universal truths.
II.---- ANALYTICAL AND SYNTHETICAL.
The uninitiated regards the philosophic
treatment of a theme as difficult solely by
A judgment which, in the predicate,
reason of its technical terms. “If I only adds nothing new to the subject, is said to
understood your use of words, I think I be analytical, as e. g. “ Horse is an ani
should find no difficulty in your thought.” mal;”—the concept “animal” is already
He supposes that under those bizarre terms contained in that of “horse.”
there lurks only the meaning that he and
Synthetical judgments, on the contrary,
�59
Introduction to Philosophy.
add in the predicate something new to the
conception of the subject, as e. g. “This
rose is red,” or “ The shortest distance
between two points is a straight line ;”—in
the first judgment we have “red” added
to the general concept “rose;” while in
the second example we have straightness,
which is quality, added to shortest, which
is quantity.
III.—APODEICTICAL.
Omitting the consideration of aposteriori
knowledge for the present, let us investi
gate the a priori in order to learn some
thing of the constitution of the intelligence
which knows—always a proper subject for
philosophy. Since, moreover, the a priori
analytical (“ A horse is an animal ”) adds
nothing to our knowledge, we may con
fine ourselves, as Kant does, to a priori
synthetical knowledge. The axioms of
mathematics are of this character. They
are universal and necessary in their appli
cation, and we know this without milking
a single practical experiment. “Only one
straight line can be drawn between two
points,” or the proposition : “The sum of
the three angles of a triangle is equal to
two right angles,”—these are true in all
possible experiences, and hence transcend
any actual experience. Take any a poste
riori judgment, e. g. “All bodies are
heavy,” and we see at once that it im
plies the restriction, “ So far as we have
experienced,” or else is a mere analytical
judgment. The universal and necessary is
sometimes called the apodeictical. The
conception of the apodeictical lies at the
basis of all true philosophical thinking.
He who does not distinguish between apodeictic and contingent judgments must
pause here until he can do so.
IV. SPACE AND TIME.
In order to give a more exhaustive appli
cation to our technique, let us seek the
universal conditions of experience. The
mathematical truths that we quoted re
late to Space, and similar ones relate to
Time. No experience would be possible
without presupposing Time and Space as
its logical condition. Indeed, we should
never conceive our sensations to have an
origin outside of ourselves and in distinct
objects, unless we had the conception of
Space a priori by which to render it pos
sible. Instead, therefore, of our being
able to generalize particular experiences,
and collect therefrom the idea of Space
and Time in general, we must have added
the idea of Space and Time to our sensa
tion before it could possibly become an
experience at all. This becomes more clear
when we recur to the apodeictic nature of
Space and Time. Time and Space are
thought as infinites, i. e. they can only be
limited by themselves, and hence are uni
versally continuous. But no 6uch concep
tion as infinite can be derived analytically
from an object of experience, for it does
not contain it. All objects of experience
must be within Time and Space, and not
vice versa. All that is limited in extent
and duration presupposes Time and Space
as its logical condition, and this we know,
not from the senses but from the constitu
tion of Reason itself. “ The third side of a
triangle is less than the sum of the two
other sides.” This we never measured, and
yet we are certain that we cannot be mis
taken about it. It is so in all triangles,
present, past, future, actual, or possible.
If this was an inference a posteriori, we
could only say : “ It has been found to be
so in all cases that have been measured
and reported to us.”
v. MIND.
Mind has a certain a priori constitution ;
this is our inference. It must be so, or
else we could never have any experience
whatever. It is the only way in which the
possibility of apodeictic knowledge can be
accounted for. What I do not get from
without I must get from within, if I have
it at all. Mind, it would seem from this,
cannot be, according to its nature, a finite
affair—a thing with properties. Were it
limited in Time or Space, it could never
(without transcending itself) conceive Time
and Space as universally continuous or in
finite. Mind is not within Time and Space,
it is as universal and necessary as the
apodeictic judgments it forms, and hence
it is the substantial essence of all that ex
ists. Time and Space are the logical con
ditions of finite existences, and Mind is
�60
Seed Life.
the logical condition of Time and Space.
Hence it is ridiculous to speak of my mind
and your mind, for mind is rather the uni
versal substrate of all individuality than
owned by any particular individual.
These results are so startling to the one
who first begins to think, that he is tempt
ed to reject the whole. If he does not do
this, but scrutinizes the whole fabric keen
ly, he will discover wThat he supposes to be
fallacies. We cannot anticipate the an
swer to his objections here, for his objec
tions arise from his inability to distinguish
between his imagination and his thinking
and this must be treated of in the next
chapter. Here, we can only interpose an
earnest request to the reader to persevere
and thoroughly refute the whole argument
before he leaves it. But this is only one
and the most elementary position from
which the philosophic traveller sees the
Eternal Verities. Every perfect analysis
—no matter what the subject be—will bring
us to the same result, though the degrees
of concreteness will vary,—some leaving
the solution in an abstract and vague form,
—others again arriving at a complete and
satisfactory view of the matter in detail.
SEED LIFE.
BY E. V.
Ah ! woe for the endless stirring,
The hunger for air and light,
The fire of the blazing noonday
Wrapped round in a chilling night!
The muffled throb of an instinct
That is kin to the mystic To Be ;
Strong muscles, cut with their fetters,
As they writhe with claim to be free.
A voice that cries out in the silence,
And is choked in a stifling air;
Arms full of an endless reaching,
While the “Nay” stands everywhere.
The burning of conscious selfhood,
That fights with pitiless fate !
God grant that deliverance stay not,
Till it come at last too late ;
Till the crushed out instinct waver,
And fainter and fainter grow,
And by suicide, through unusing,
Seek freedom from its woe.
Oh ! despair of constant losing
The life that is clutched in vain!
Is it death or a joyous growing
That shall put an end to pain ?
�Dialogue on Immortality.
61
A DIALOGUE ON IMMORTALITY.
BY ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER.
(Translated from the German, by Chas. L. Bernays.)
Philalethes.—I could tell you that, after
your death, you will be what you were pre
vious to your birth; I could tell you that
we are never born, and that we only seem
to die—that we have always been precisely
the same that we are now, and that we
shall always remain the same—that Time
is the apparatus which prevents us from
being aware of all this; I could tell you
that our consciousness stands always in
the centre of Time — never on one of its
termini; and that any one among us,
therefore, has the immovable centre of
the whole infinite Time in himself. I then
could tell you that those who, by that
knowledge, are assured that the present
time always originates in ourselves, can
never doubt the indestructibility of their
own essence.
Thrasymachus.—All of that is too long
and too ambiguous for me. Tell me,
briefly, what I shall be after death.
Phil.—All and nothing.
Thras.—There we are ! Instead of a so
lution to the problem you give me a con
tradiction ; that is an old trick.
Phil.—To answer transcendental ques
tions in language that is only made for
immanent perceptions, may in fact lead us
into contradictions.
Thras.—What do you mean by “ trans
cendental” and “immanent” perceptions?
Phil.—Well! Transcendental perception
is rather the knowledge, which, by exceed
ing any possibility of experience, tends to
discover the essence of things as they are
by themselves ; immanent perception it is,
if it keeps inside of the limits of experi
ence. In this case, it can only speak of
appearances. You, as an individual, end
with your death. Yet individuality is not
your true and final essence, but only a
mere appearance of it. It is not the thing
in itself, but only its appearance, estab
lished in the form of time, thereby having
a beginning and an end. That which is es
sential in you, knows neither of beginning
nor ending, nor of Time itself; it knows
no limits such as belong to a given indi
viduality, but exists in all and in each. In
the first sense, therefore, you will become
nothing after your death; in the second
sense, you are and remain all. For that
reason I said you would be all and nothing.
You desired a short answer, and I believe
that hardly a more correct answer could be
given briefly. No wonder, too, that it con
tains a contradiction; for your life is in
Time, while your immortality is in Eter
nity.
Thras. — Without the continuation of
my individuality, I would not give a far
thing for all youi- “immortality/’
Phil.—Perhaps you could have it even
cheaper. Suppose that I warrant to you
the continuation of your individuality, but
under the condition that a perfectly un
conscious slumber of death for three
months should precede its resuscitation.
Thras.—Well, I accept the condition.
Phil. — Now, in an absolutely uncon
scious condition, we have no measure of
time; hence it is perfectly indifferent
whether, whilst we lie asleep in death in
the unconscious world, three months or
ten thousand years are passing away. We
do not know either of the one or of the
other, and have to accept some one’s word
with regard to the duration of our sleep,
when we awake. Hence it is indifferent
to you whether your individuality is given
back to you after three months or after
ten thousand years.
Thras.—That I cannot deny.
Phil. — Now, suppose that after ten
thousand years, one had' forgotten to
awake you at all, then I believe that the
long, long state of non-being would be
come so habitual to you that your mis
fortune could hardly be very great. Cer
tain it is, any way, that you would know
nothing of it; nay, you would even console
yourself very easily, if you were aware
that the secret mechanism which now keeps
�62
Dialogue on Immortality.
your actual appearance in motion, had not
ceased during all the ten thousand years
for a single moment to establish and to
move other beings of the same kind.
Thras.—In that manner you mean to
cheat me out of my individuality, do you?
I will not be fooled in that way. I have
bargained for the continuation of my in
dividuality, and none of your motives can
console me for the loss of that; I have it
at heart, and I never will abandon it.
Phil.—It seems that you hold individu
ality to be so noble, so perfect, so incom
parable, that there can be nothing superior
to it; you therefore would not like to ex
change it for another one, though in that,
you could live with greater ease and per
fection.
Thras.—Let my individuality be as it'
may, it is always myself. It is I—I my
self—who want to be. That is the indi
viduality which I insist upon, and not such
a one as needs argument to convince me
that it may be my own or a better one.
Phil. — Only look about you! That
which cries out—{CI, I myself, wish to ex
ist”—that is not yourself alone, but all
that has the least vestige of consciousness.
Hence this desire of yours, is just that
which is not individual, but common
rather to all without exception; it does
not originate in individuality, but in the
very nature of existence itself; it is es
sential to anybody who lives, nay, it is
that through which it is at all; it seems
to belong only to the individual because
it can become conscious only in the indi
vidual. What cries in us so loud for ex
istence, does so only through the media
tion of the individual; immediately and
essentially it is the will to exist or to live,
and this will is one and the same in all of
us. Our existence being only the free
work of the will, existence can never fail
to belong to it, as far, at least, as that
eternally dissatisfied will, can be satisfied.
The individualities are indifferent to the
will; it never speaks of them; though it
seems to the individual, who, in himself is
the immediate percipient of it, as if it
spoke only of his own individuality. The
consequence is, that the individual cares
for his own existence with so great
anxiety, and that he thereby secures the
preservation of his kind. Hence it fol
lows that individuality is no perfection,
but rather a restriction or imperfection ;
to get rid of it is not a loss but a gain.
Hence, if you would not appeal at once
childish and ridiculous, you should aban
don that care for mere individuality; for
childish and ridiculous it will appear
when you perceive your own essence to be
the universal will to live.
Thras.—You yourself and all philoso
phers are childish and ridiculous, and in
fact it is only for a momentary diversion
that a man of good common sense ever
consents to squander away an idle hour
with the like of you. I leave your talk for
weightier matters.
[The reader will perceive by the posi
tions here assumed that Schopenhauer has
a truly speculative stand-point; that he
holds self-determination to be the only
substantial (or abiding) reality. But
while Aristotle and those like him have
seized this more definitely as the selfconscious thinking, it is evident that
Schopenhauer seizes it only from its im
mediate side, i. e. as the will. On this
account he meets with some difficulty in
solving the problem of immortality, and
leaves the question of conscious identity
hereafter, not a little obscure. Ilegel, on
the contrary, for whom Schopenhauer
everywhere evinces a hearty contempt,
does not leave the individual in any doubt
as to his destiny, but shows how individu
ality and universality coincide in self-con
sciousness, so that the desire for eternal
existence is fully satisfied. This is the
legitimate result that Philalethes arrives
at in his last speech, when he makes the
individuality a product of the will; for if
the will is the essential that he holds it to
be, and the product of its activity is indi
viduality, of course individuality belongs
eternally to it. At the close of his Philos
ophy of Nature, (Encyclopaedia, vol. II.,)
Ilegel shows how death which follows life
in the mere animal—and in man as mere
animal—enters consciousness as one of its
necessary elements, and hence does not
stand opposed to it as it does to animal
life. Conscious being (Spirit or Mind as
it may be called,) is therefore immortal
because it contains already, within itself,
its limits or determinations, and thus can
not, like finite things, encounter dissolu
tion through external ones.—Ed.]
�Goethes Theory oj Colors.
63
GOETHE’S THEORY OF COLORS.
Krom an exposition given before the St. Louis Philosophical Society, Nov. 2nd, 1866.
I. —Color arises through the reciprocal
action of light and darkness.
(a.) When a light object is seen through
a medium that dims it, it appears of differ
ent degrees of yellow; if the medium is
dark or dense, the color is orange, or ap
proaches red. Examples : the sun seen in
the morning through a slightly hazy atmos
phere appears yellow, but if the air is
thick with mist or smoke the sun looks red.
(&.) On the other hand a dark object,
seen through a medium slightly illuminat
ed, looks blue. If the medium is very
strongly illuminated, the blue approaches
a light blue; if less so, then indigo; if
still less, the deep violet appears. Ex
amples: a mountain situated at a great
distance, from which very few rays of light
come, looks blue, because we see it through
a light medium, the air illuminated by the
sun. The sky at high altitudes appears of
a deep violet; at still higher ones, almost
perfectly black; at lower ones, of a faint
blue. Smoke—an illuminated medium—
appears blue against a dark ground, but
yellow or fiery against a light ground.
(c.) The process of bluing steel is a
fine illustration of Goethe’s theory. The
steel is polished so that it reflects light
like a mirror. On placing it in the char
coal furnace a film of oxydization begins to
form so that the light is reflected through
this dimming medium; this gives a straw
color. Then, as the film thickens, the
color deepens, passing through red to blue
and indigo.
(d.) The prism is the grand instrument
in the experimental field of research into
light. The current theory that light, when
pure, is composed of seven colors, is de
rived from supposed actual verifications
with this instrument. The Goethean ex
planation is by far the simplest, and, in
the end, it propounds a question which
the Newtonian theory cannot answer with
out admitting the truth of Goethe’s theory.
II. —The phenomenon of refraction is
produced by interposing different trans
parent media between the luminous object
and the illuminated one, in such a manner
that there arises an apparent displacement
of one of the objects as viewed from the
other. By means of a prism the displace
ment is caused to lack uniformity; one
part of the light image is displaced more
than another part; several images, as it
were, being formed with different de
grees of displacement, so that they to
gether make an image whose edges are
blurred in the line of displacement. If
the displacement were perfectly uniform,
no color would arise, as is’demonstrated
by the achromatic prism or lens. The
difference of degrees of refraction causes
the elongation of the image into a spec
trum, and hence a mingling of the edges
of the image with the outlying dark sur
face of the wall, (which dark surface is
essential to the production of the ordinary
spectrum). Its rationale is the following :
(a) The light image refracted by the
prism is extended over the dark on one
side, while the dark on the other side is
extended over it.
(Z>) The bright over the dark produces
the blue in different degrees. The side
nearest the dark being the deepest or vio
let, and the side nearest the light image
being the lightest blue.
(c) On the other side, the dark over light
produces yellow in different degrees; near
est the dark we have the deepest color,
(orange approaching to red) and on the
side nearest the light, the light yellow or
saffron tint.
(d) If the image is large and but little
refracted (as with a water prism) there will
appear between the two opposite colored
edges a colorless image, proving that the
colors arise from the mingling of the light
and dark edges, and not from any peculiar
property of the prism which should “ de
compose the ray of light,” as the current
theory expresses it. If the latter theory
�64
Goethe's Theory of Colors.
were correct the decomposition would be
throughout, and the whole image be col
ored.
fe) If the image is a small one, or it is
very strongly refracted, the colored edges
come together in the middle, and the ming
ling of the light yellow with the light blue
produces green—a new color which did
not appear so long as the light ground
appeared in the middle.
(/) If the refraction is still stronger,
the edges of the opposite colors lap still
more, and the green vanishes. The New
tonian theory cannot explain this, but it is
to be expected according to Goethe’s the
ory.
(<7) According to Goethe’s theory, if the
object were a dark one instead of a light
one, and were refracted on a light surface,
the order of colors would be reversed on
each edge of the image. This is the same
experiment as one makes by looking
through a prism at the bar of a window
appearing against the sky. Where in the
light image we had the yellow colors we
should now expect the blue, for now it is
dark over light where before it was light
over dark. So, also, where we had blue
we should now have yellow. This experi
ment may be so conducted that the cur
rent doctrine that violet is refracted the
most, and red the least, shall be refuted^
(h) This constitutes the experimentum
crucis. If the prism be a large water prism,
and a black strip be pasted across the mid
dle of it, parallel with its axis, so that in
the midst of the image a dark shadow in
tervenes, the spectrum appears inverted in
the middle, so that the red is seen where
the green would otherwise appear, and
those rays supposed to be the least re
frangible are found refracted the most.
(i) When the two colored edges do not
meet in this latter experiment, we have
blue, indigo, violet, as the ordQf on one
side; and on the other, orange, yellow,
saffron ; the deeper colors being next to
the dark image. If the two colored edges
come together the union of the orange with
the violet produces the perfect red (called
by Goethe (f purpur
(J) The best method of making experi
ments is not the one that Newton employ
ed—that of a dark room and a pencil of
light—but it is better to look at dark and
bright stripes on grounds of the opposite
hue, or at the bars of a window, the prism
being held in the hand of the investigator.
In the Newtonian form of the experiment
one is apt to forget the importance of the
dark edge where it meets the light.
[For further information on this inter
esting subject the English reader is refer
red to Eastlake’s translation of Goethe’s
Philosophy of Colors, published in Lon
don.]
�
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The Journal of Speculative Philosophy. Vol. 1, No. 1, 1867
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Place of publication: [St. Louis, Miss.]
Collation: [1]-64 p. ; 25 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Journal edited by William Torrey Harris. Printed in double columns. Complete issue: Contents include an article on Herbert Spencer -- Introduction to Fichte's science of knowledge / trans. A.E. Kroeger -- Analytical and critical essay upon the aesthetics of Hegel / M. Ch. Bebards, trans. J.A. Martling -- Notes on Raphael's 'Transfiguration' -- A dialogue on immortality / Arthur Schopenhauer -- Goethe's theory of colours.
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1867
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[Pennsylvania State University Press]
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Philosophy
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Conway Tracts
Philosophy
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From the “ Pensees Philosophiques ” of Diderot,
TRANSLATED
WILLIAM
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“ Neither do men light a candle, and pnt it under a bushel, but
on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.”
—St. Matthew v., 15.
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1718. The illustrious creator of the “ French Encyclo
pedia” commenced his education at the Jesuits’ College
in his native town, where the sagacity of the priests of that
astute order soon discovered his rare talents, and persuaded
him to leave home without the knowledge of his parents, in order
to qualify in Paris for the priesthood. But, like Voltaire,
Denis Diderot was not destined to render the order of Loyala
illustrious. At Harcourt College he received one of those
solid educations which the reverend fathers knew so well
how to give. In the office of the lawyer, Clement de Ris, he
learned everything of law except its chicanery.
In 1743 he married against the wish of his father, and indeed
of his mother-in-law, who knew him to be without means save a
golden tongue. His married life was not happy. The first
money he earned by literature was the translation of the History
of Greece from the English. Being advanced in years, and
still poor, he resolved to sell his library so that he might assure
the future of his daughter, which was bought, without his solici
tation, by the Empress of Russia, who also supplied him with
the means to live in comfort for the short remainder of his days.
Diderot died on the 30th July, 1784, on the threshold of the
Great Revolution, which he, with Rousseau and Voltaire, helped
so materially to hasten.
�OLD THOUGHTS
FOR
NEW THINKERS.
BEING
Selections from the “ Pensees Philosophiques ” of Diderot.
TRANSLATED AND ARRANGED BY
WILLIAM
HARDAKEK.
---------- »----------
“I
of God; I count on but few readers, and small
approval. If these thoughts find favor with none, they
may possibly be simply crass; but I hold them detest
able if they please everyone.”
write
I know the bigots : they are prompt to take alarm. If for a
moment they judged that this book contained something con
trary to their ideas, I should expect to hear all the calumnies
they have spread abroad against a thousand men of greater worth
than myself. If I am only a Deist; and only a scoundrel, I shall
get off cheaply. They long ago damned Descartes, Montaigne,
Locke, and Bayle, and I hope they will yet damn a great many
others. I, however, declare to them that I do not count myself
to be either a more honest man, or a better Christian, than the
greater part of these philosophers. I was born in the Roman
Catholic Apostolic Church, and I submit, with all my might, to
her decisions. I wish to die in the religion of my fathers, and I
believe in it as much as it is possible for anyone who has never
had direct intercourse with the Divinity, and who has never
been eye-witness to any miracle. This is my profession of faith ;
I am almost certain they will be dissatisfied with it, although
they have not, perhaps, one among them in a condition to make
a better.
You present to an unbeliever a volume of writings which you
profess to demonstrate are of divine origin. But before enter
�4
ing upon an examination of your proofs, he will not fail to ask
you : Has it always been the same ? Why is it at present less
ample than it was some centuries ago? By what authority
have you banished such and such a work, revered by another
sect, and retained such and such another which it has rejected?
On what foundation have you given the preference to this
manuscript? . Who has directed you in the choice you have
made between so many differing copies ? What are the incon
testable proofs that these sacred authors have been transmitted
to you in their pristine purity ? But if the ignorance of copyists,
or the malice of heretics, has corrupted them, as you may
easily imagine is possible, you will be obliged to restore them
to their natural state before proving their divinity; for it is
not from a collection of mutilated writings that proofs will fall
with which to establish my faith; therefore to whom will you
entrust this restorat on ? To the Church. But I am not able
to believe in the infallibility of the Church until the divinity of
the scriptures is proved. You see me, then, in an inevitable
state of scepticism.
There is no answer to this difficulty, except by acknowledging
that the first foundations of the faithare purely human ; that the
choice between the manuscripts^ that the restitution of passages,
in fact, that the collection is made ..by the rules of criticism, and
I do not refuse to allow to the divinity of the sacred books a
degree of faith in proportion to their consonance with the canons
of criticism.
—'
I tell you there is no God; that the creation is a chimera ; that
the eternity of the universe is no more inconceivable than the
eternity of a spirit; that because I do not know how motion has
been able to engender this universe, which it knows so well to con
serve, it is ridiculous to remove this difficulty by the suppositious
existence of a being that I know still less ; thatif the brilliant mar
vels of the physical world discover an intelligence, the disturbances
so rife in the moral world, wipe out providence. I say to you
that if all is the work of a God, all should be the best possible ;
therefore, if all is not the best possible, God is either incapable
or malevolent. This being so, of what good are your revelations ?
Even were it as well demonstrated as it is not, that all evil is
the source of a good ; that it was good that a Britannicus, one of
the best of princes, perish ; that a Nero, the worst of men, reign.
How will it prove that it was impossible to attain the same end
by other means ? To permit vice in order that virtue may shine
with greater lustre by contrast, is but a frivolous advantage
to set against so serious an evil. This, says the Atheist, is what
I object; what have you to say ? . . . “ That I am a wretch; and
�i&rf if I had nothing to fear of God, I should not dispute his
existence."
Let us leave this phrase to the bigots; it may be untrue,
politeness proscribes it, and is besides uncharitable. Because
a man is wrong not to believe in God, shall we revile him ?
Invective is resorted to only in default of proofs. Between two
disputants it is a hundred to one that he who is in the wrong
will grow angry.
“Thou layest hold of thy thunder-bolts instead of replying,
said Menippus to Jupiter; “thou art then in the wrong.”
I open the book of a celebrated professor, and I read :
“ Atheists, I grant you that movement is essential to matter;
what can you make of it ? ... . That the world is the outcome
of a fortuitous aggregation of atoms? You may as well tell me
that Homer’s Iliad or la Henriade of Voltaire are the result of
fortuitous combinations of accidents.” I should be very care
ful not to offer such reasoning to an Atheist. The illustration
would give him fine play.
According to the laws of the analysis of chances, he would
say to me, I have no right to be surprised that a thing happens
so long as it is possible, and that the difficulty of the event is
compensated by the quantity of throws. In a certain number
of throws I will wager, with the odds in my favor, that I turn
up a hundred thousand sixes at a time with a hundred thousand
dice. Whatever might be the definite number of characters
with which it might be proposed I should fortuitously engender
the Iliad, there is a possible sum of throws, which renders the
proposition advantageous; my advantage would be infinite even,
if the number of throws granted were infinite. You will, no doubt,
agree with me, he would continue, that matter existed from all
eternity, and that movement is essential to it. In return for
this favor, I shall suppose, with you, that the world is boundless,
that the multitude of atoms are infinite, and the marvellous order
which fills you with astonishment does not belie the supposition.
Then, from these reciprocal concessions, there results nothing
more than that the possibility of engendering the universe by
accident is very small, but that the number of chances is
infinite ; that is to say, that the difficulty of the event is more
than sufficiently compensated by the multitude of throws.
Therefore, if anything should be repugnant to reason, it
should be the supposition that matter being self moved from
all eternity, and that their being perchance, in the infinite
number possible of combinations of forms, an infinite number of
admirable arrangements, there should not be any of these suit
able arrangements encountered in the infinite number of those
�6
she has taken successively. Therefore, the hypothetic duration
of chaos is more astounding than the real birth of the universe.
I divide Atheists into three classes. There are some who
would tell you distinctly that there is no God, and would believe
" what they said; these are true Atheists. Another numerous
class, who do not know what to think, and who would willingly
decide the question by tossing heads or tails; these are sceptics
Atheistic. There are many more who would like very much
that there should not be a God, who seem to persuade themselves
there is not, and who live as if they were so persuaded ; these
are blusterers, humbugs. I detest them ; they are false. I pity
the true Atheists. To me all consolation seems dead for them
and I pray to God for the sceptics that they may be enlightened’.
,
! Scepticism is not possible for everyone: It supposes pro
found and disinterested examination; he who doubts only be
cause he does not understand the reasons for believing is simply
one of the ignorant. The true sceptic has counted and weighed
the reasons; but to weigh reasons is no small affair. Who
among us knows exactly the value of reasoning ? Bring a hun
dred proofs of the same truth, each one will have its partisans ;
each mind looking through its own telescope in its own fashion’
An objection, which to my view appears a colossus, will diminish
to the vanishing point in yours. You find a reason light, which
crushes me under its weight. If we are divided on the question
of intrinsic value, how can we hope to be agreed on the relative
value ? Tell me, how many moral proofs does it take to'counter
balance a metaphysical conclusion? Are they my spectacles
which sin, or yours ? If then, it is so difficult to weigh reasons,
and if there are no questions in which there is not a pro and a con’
and almost always in equal measure why are we so peremptory?
From whence comes this tone of decision? What is more
revolting than a dogmatic self-sufficiency ? “ I am made to hate
the things which appear true,” said the author of the Essais
“when they are forced upon me as infallible.”
I love words which soften and moderate the boldness of our
propositions, such as, “Perhaps it maybe so,” “Let us see,”
“ It is so said,” “ I think,” and others similar; and if I had the
care of children, I would put into their mouths the habit of
replying by questions and not by affirmation; as, “I do not
understand,” “ It may possibly be so,” “ Is it true,” so that they
should rather use the manner of students at sixty than seem to
be professors at sixteen.
___
Men of passionate temperament, of ardent imagination,
cannot reconcile themselves to the indolence of the sceptic. They
�7
will choose at hazard rather than not make a choice at all;
deceive themselves rather than live in uncertainty. Whether it
be that they mistrust their strength, or that they fear the depth
of the flood, we see them for ever hanging to the branches of
which they feel all the frailty, and to which they cling in
preference to abandoning themselves to the torrent. They are
sure in all things although nothing have they examined with care.
They doubt of nothing, because they lack both the patience and
the courage. Deciding by emotion, if by chance they encounter
truth, it is not hesitatingly, but with a shock, and as a revelation.
They are, amongst the dogmatic, such as were in the religious
world styled the Illuminati. I have seen individuals of this
uneasy species who could not conceive it possible to ally tran
quillity of mind with indecision.
To be able to live happy without knowing what we are, from
whence we came, where we go, why we are here!
I pride myself on ignoring all that without being more un
happy, coldly replies the sceptic. It is not my fault if I have
found my reason mute when I have questioned it on these
things.
I shall never make myself unhappy over that which it is
impossible for me to know. Why should I regret the want of
a knowledge I am unable to procure, and which, doubtless, is
not very necessary since I am deprived of it ?
“I would as soon,” said one of the first genuises of our age,
“seriously afflict myself because I have not four eyes, four feet,
and a pair of wings.”
It may be required that I seek for truth, but not that I find it.
May not, possibly, a sophism be to me more forcible than a
solid proof ? I am in the necessity to consent to the false which
I take for truth, and to reject the truth which I take for false ;
but what have I to fear if I deceive myself innocently ? Since
we are not rewarded in the next world for having had a brilliant
intellect in this, should we be punished for our lack of under
standing ? To damn a man for being a bad reasoner, is to forget
that he is a fool in order to punish him for wickedness.
What is a sceptic ? A philosopher who has doubted of all
which he believes, and believes that which a legitimate use of
his reason and his senses have demonstrated true. If you wish
a more precise definition, render the pyrrhonian sincere and you
will have the sceptic.
IA sem2 <'5epticism is the mark of a weak mind; it shows a
�8
pusillanimous reasoner who allows himself to be. afraid of the
consequences ; a superstitions person who fears to unmask to
himself even; for if the truth has nothing to lose by examination,
as the semi-sceptic is convinced, what does he think at the
bottom of his heart of those concealed speculations, which he
is afraid to bring to the light, and which are shrouded in a corner
of his brain as in a sanctuary which he dare not approach ?
That which has never been questioned has not been proved;
that which has never been examined without prejudice has never
been thoroughly examined. Scepticism is then the first step
towards truth. It ought to be general, for it is the touchstone
of truth. If, to assure himself of the existence of God, the
philosopher commences by doubting his existence, is there any
proposition which ought to be withheld from proof ?
We risk as much by believing too much as by believing too
little. There is neither more nor less danger by being polytheist
as Atheist, hence scepticism alone can guarantee equally, in all
times and all places, from those two opposed excesses.
When the religious cry out against scepticism, it seems to me
that they understand their interest badly, or that they contra
dict themselves. If it is certain that a true religion in order to
be embraced, and a false religion in order to be abandoned, has
need only to be well known, it ought to be wished that a
universal doubt should spread over the whole surface of the
earth, and that all the world should earnestly question the
truth of their religions; our missionaries would thus find the
better half of their great labors spared them.
Reasoning which may be used equally by opposite parties
proves nothing; either for the one or the other. If fanaticism
has its martyrs as well as true religion ; and if among those who
have died for the true religion there were fanatics, we must
either believe in proportion to the number of martyrs, or
seek other motives for belief.
Nothing is more calculated to confirm irreligious ideas than
loose reasons for conversion. Sceptics are eternally taunted
with—
“ Who are you, to venture to attack a religion defended so
courageously by a Paul, a Tertullian, an Athanasius, a Chry
�9
sostom, an Augustine, a Cyprian, and so many other illustrious
personages ? You have, no doubt, perceived some difficulty which
had escaped these great men; show us,then, how much you
know more than they, or sacrifice your doubts to their decisions,
if you are agreed that they were wiser than yourself.”
Most frivolous reasoning. The profound learning of ministers
is not a proof of the truth of a religion. What cult could be more
absurd than that of the Egyptians, and what ministers more en
lightened? . . . No, I cannot adore an onion; w’hat merit has
it over other vegetables ? I should be idiotic to prostitute my
homage to things destined for my nourishment. The plant I
water and tend, and which grows and dies in my garden-plot, is
a droll sort of divinity ! “Hold, wretch, thy blasphemies make
me tremble. Wno art thou to set thy reason against the sacred
college ? Who art thou to attack the gods and give lessons to
their ministers ? Art thou more enlightened than those oracles
who were consulted by the entire universe ? Whatsoever thy
reply, I am astounded at thy impertinence and temerity.” . . .
Will Christians never abandon these miserable sophistries?
Moral: Prodigies and dogmatic authority may make dupes or
hypocrites; reason alone can make believers.
It is allowed to be of the last importance not to employ other
than solid reasons in the defence of religion, and yet those who
expose its weaknesses are assailed with virulence. What! is
not enough to be a Christian ?—must one be so illogically ?
It was in the search for -proofs that I found the difficulties.
The books which held the motives for my belief offered at the same
time reasons for being incredulous ; they are a common arsenal.
There I saw the Deist arm against the Atheist; the Deist and
the Atheist contend with the Jew; the Atheist, the Deist, and
the Jew league against the Christian; the Christian, the Jew,
the Deist, and the Atheist take sides against the Mussulman;
the Atheist, the Deist, the Jew, the Mussulman, and the multi
tudinous sects of Christianity come down upon the Christian,
and the sceptic alone against all. I was judge of the blows ; I
held the balance between the combatants ; the beam went up
and dowu according to the weight of their respective argument.
After long oscillations, the balance trembled almost imperceptibly
on the side of the Christian. I will answer for my equity: it
was not my fault if the difference were not greater; I call God
to witness my sincerity.
This diversity of opinion has evolved an argument for the
�10
Deists more singular perhaps than solid.
Cicero, having io
prove the Romans the most bellicose people in the world,
adroitly extracted this avowal from the mouths of their rivals:—
“ Gauls, to whom would you yield in courage if you yielded to
any ?—To the Romans. Parthians, after you, who are the most
courageous?—The Romans. Africans, whom would you fear, if
fear could enter your minds ?—The Romans.” Let us, following
his example, interrogate the rest of the religions, say the Deists:—
“ Chinese, what religion would be the best, if it were not yours?
—Natural religion. Mussulmans, what cult would you embrace
if you abjured Mahomet?—Naturalism. Christians, which is
the true religion, if perchance it is not Christianity?—The
Jewish religion. But, you Jews, what is the true religion, if
Judaism be false ?—Naturalism.” Therefore, continued Cicero,
that which is by unanimous consent accorded the second place,
and which itself concedes the first to none, merits incontestably
to hold that position.
“I had imagined,” said Julian [called the Apostate], “ that the
chiefs of the Galileans would appreciate how greatly my pro
ceedings are different from those of my predecessor, and that they
would therefore bear me good will. Under his reign they suffered
exile and imprisonment, and a multitude of those they deemed
heretics among them were put to the sword. . . . Under mine the
exiles have been recalled, the prisoners set at liberty, and the
proscribed re-established in the possession of their estates. But
such is the restlessness and the fury of this sort of men that,
since they have lost the privilege of devouring each other,
of tormenting both those who are attached to their dogmas,
and those who follow the authorised religion; they spare no
pains, they allow no occasion to escape of exciting revolts; fellows
without regard for true piety, and without respect for our
constitutions. . . . Nevertheless, we do not hear that they are
dragged to the feet of our altars, or that they suffer violence.
. . With respect to the common people, it appears to be their
chiefs who foment among them a seditious spirit, furious at the
limits we have fixed to their powers; for we have banished them
from our tribunals, and they have not now facilities to dispose
of testaments, to supplant the legitimate heirs, and gobble up
the succession. . . . This is why we prohibit this people to
create tumultuous assemblies and cabal at the houses of their
seditious priests. . . . This ordinance is for the security of our
magistrates, whom the rascals have insulted more than once and
put in danger of being stoned. . . . That they go peaceably to
their meetings, to pray, to be instructed, and to satisfy their
desires in the culture of their religion, we permit; but they
�11
must renounce their factious designs. ... If these assemblies
are made an occasion for revolt, it will be at their risk and peril;
I warn them beforehand. . . . Infidel people, live in peace. . . .
And you who have remained faithful to the religion of your
country and to the gods of your fathers, do not persecute your
neighbors, your fellow-citizens, whose ignorance is more to be
pitied than their wickedness is to be blamed. ... It is by
reason, and not by violence, that men should be brought back
to the truth. We enjoin, then, on you all, our faithful subjects,
to leave the Galileans in peace.”
Such were the sentiments of this prince, against whom we
may bring the charge of paganism, but not of apostacy.
I am astonished at one thing, that is, that the works of this
wise emperor have come down to our times. They contain
passages which do no violence to the truth of Christianity, but
which are disadvantageous enough to some Christians of his
time, inasmuch as they show glimpses of the singular care which
the fathers of the Church had taken to suppress the works oftheir enemies. It is from these predecessors apparently that St.
Gregory the Great had inherited the barbarous zeal which ani
mated him against letters and the arts, so that, had it rested with
this pontiff, we should be in the case of the Mohammedans, who
are reduced for all their reading to that of their Koran. For
what had been the fate of these ancient writers in the hands of
a man who ignored critical rules from religious principle ; who
imagined that to observe the rules of grammar was to submit
Jesus Christ to Donat, and who believed himself obliged in con
science to increase the heaped up ruins of antiquity.
The divin ity of the scriptures is not, however, a characteristic
so clearly imprinted on the face of them that the authority of
the sacred historians is absolutely independent of the testimony
of profane authors. Where should we be if it was necessary to
recognise the finger of God in the style of our Bible ? How
wretched is the Latin version! The originals even are not
masterpieces of composition. The prophets, apostles, and
evangelists wrote according to their capacity. Were it permitted
to us to regard the history of the Jews as a simple human pro
ductions, Moses and his successors would not bear away the
palm from Titus Livy, Sallust, Caesar, and Josephus, all of them
writers of whom no one assuredly suspects that they wrote by
inspiration.
“What is God?” is a question asked of children, and to
which philosophers cannot give an answer. The age at
X
�which children should begin to learn to read, to write, to dance,
and to sing is pretty well understood. It is only in religious
matters that the capacity of the child is not considered. Almost
before he can speak he is asked, “ What is God ?” At the same
time, and from the same lips, he learns that there are goblins,
ghosts, vampires, and a God. The most important truths are
inculcated in a manner to render them liable to be discredited
at the tribunal of reason. It cannot be surprising if, finding, on
reaching manhood, the existence of God mixed up in his head
with a crowd of absurd and superstitious ideas, he should treat
God as the magistrate treats an honest man discovered in the
company of rogues.
From the picture which is drawn of the supreme being, from
his liking to be angry, from the rigor of his vengeance, from
certain comparisons which show us the difference in number
between those he leaves to perish and those to whom he deigns
to offer the hand of salvation, the most pious soul would be
tempted to wish that he did not exist. People would be com
fortable enough in this world were they well assured they had
nothing to fear in the other ; the thought that there is no God at
all has never yet affrighted mortal, but that there is such a God
as he is painted has affrighted many.
There are those who desire that God burn the wicked, who
are powerless against him, in an everlasting fire ; and it is not
permitted a father to slay his son, who, perhaps, imperils his
life, his honor, and his fortune !
O Christians! you have, then, two differing ideas of goodness
and of wickedness, of the truth and lies. You are either the
most absurd dogmatists, or the most outrageous pyhrronians.
All the evil of which one is capable is not all the evil possible i
therefore, it is only he who is able to commit all the wickedness
possible who can merit an eternal chastisement. To make Goda
being infinitely vindictive, you transform an earth-worm into
a being infinitely powerful [to suffer].
The word these atrocious Christians have translated by eternal
signifies in Hebrew only durable. It is from ignorance of a
Hebraism! and the ferocious humor of a translator whence comes
the eternity of punishment.
�The time of revelations, of prodigies, and of extraordinary
missions is passed. Christianity has no longer any need of this
kind of scaffolding. A man taking a fancy to play amongst us
the character of Jonah ; to run about the streets crying, “ Yea,
three days, and London will be destroyed; Cockneys, repent of
your sins, cover yourselves with sackcloth and ashes, or in three
days you will perish,” would be incontinently collared by the
first policeman he might fall in with, who would bring him
before the police-magistrate of his district, who, in his turn,
would not fail to have him dispatched to the county lunatic
asylum. He might shout himself hoarse crying, “Are you less
wicked than the men of Nineveh?” No one would trouble to
reply to him ; and to treat him as a madman, would not wait for
the term of his prediction.
Elie may come from the other world whenever he may take
the fancy. Men are so, in these days, that he will be compelled
to .perform stupendous miracles ere he be well received in this.
A person was asked if there were any true Atheists. “Do
you believe,” replied he, “ that there are any true Christians p”
I hear an outcry from all sides against impiety. The Chris
tian is impious in Asia, the Mussulman in Europe, the Papist in
London, and the Calvinist in Paris. Who, then, is impious ?
All the world, or no one ?
When God, of whom we hold our reason, requires its sacrifice,
he is like a mountebank who conjures away the gifts he pretends
to confer.
If my reason comes from on high, it is the voice of heaven
which speaks by it. It is my duty to be guided by its counsels
If reason is a gift of God, and if faith is also a gift of God, he
has endowed us with two gifts, incompatible and contradictory.
Bewildered in an immense forest in the night time, I have
only a feeble lantern to light my path. Comes a stranger, who
says to me: “Blow out thy candle to better find thy way.” This
stranger is the theologian.
It is as sure as that two and two make four that Caesar
existed; it i3 also as sure that Jesus Christ existed as Caesar.
Then, it is also as sure that Jesus Christ was raised ftom the
�14
dead as that he existed. What logic ! The existence of Jesus
Christ and of Csesar is not a miracle.
Man is as God or nature made him, and God or nature make
nothing bad.
Shade of Jenner! Iam compelled to vaccinate my child to
preserve it from the small-pox, and I am not allowed to kill it
in order to save it from eternal hell ? It is monstrous mockery!
The precepts of religion and the law of society, which prohibit
the murder of innocent children, are both absurd and cruel,
when, in killing them, they are assured of an infinite happiness,
and that, in leaving them to live, they are devoted almost
surely to eternal damnation.
The God of the Christians is a father who sets great store by
his apples, but precious little by his children.
No good father would wish to resemble our heavenly father, t'
And why does he get so mad, this God ? Are we not told that
we cannot add to or detract from his glory, do anything for or
against his repose, for or against his serene majesty ?
If it is necessary to believe in order to be saved, why was
Christ crucified?
If there are a hundred thousand damned for one saved, the
devil has always the advantage, notwithstanding the death of
Christ.
A true religion would compel the attention of all men, in all
times, in all conditions ; would be eternal, universal, and evident.
No religion has these three characteristics. All are therefore
thrice demonstrated false.
Facts of which only a few persons were witnesses are insuffi
cient to prove a religion which is required to be believed by all
the world.
\
�15
.The evidence in support of religion is ancient and marvellous;
that is to say, the most suspicious possible; in proof of things
the most incredible.
To prove the gospel by a miracle is to prove an absurdity by
an act contrary to nature.
Why are the miracles of Christ true, and those of Esculapius,
of Appollonius, of Tyanseus and of Mahomet false ?
The Jews living in Jerusalem at the time of Christ were no
doubt converted on seeing his miracles? Not at all. So far
from believing, they crucified him. It must be conceded that
the Jews are a peculiar people ; everywhere may be seen people
carried away by a single false miracle; and yet Jesus Christ
could not convert the Jews with a multitude of real miracles!
“ This God, who crucified God, to appease the wrath of God ” ;
is an antithesis of more force in its pithy ridicule than a hundred
folio volumes of grave controversy.
It is said that he retired to the Mount of Olives to pray. And
to whom prayed he ? To himself!
God the father judges all men worthy of eternal vengeance’*
God the son, worthy of infinite mercy; God the Holy Ghost
remains neutral. How is this to be reconciled with the unity of
the divine will.
The question has been put to the theologians an infinite
number of times—How can the dogma of eternal damnation
be reconciled with the infinite mercy of God ? They are still
struggling with it!
Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petrum cedifioabo ecclesiam meam
Is this the language of a God or of a Cogers’ Hall punster ?
In dolores paries (Genes).—“ Thou shalt engender in sorrow ”
said God to the prevaricating apple-eating woman. And what
fault had the females of other animals committed that they also
bring forth in pain ?
�If we must take literally the words, “Pater major me est,”
Jesus Christ is not God. If we must take literally, “Hoc est
corpus meum,” he gave his body to his apostles with his own.
hands—which is just as absurd as to say that Saint Denis kissed
his head after it was cut from his shoulders.
It is matchless impudence to cite the conformity of the
gospels, while there are in some,.very important statements of
which not one word is said in the others.
In the first centuries there were sixty gospels of almost equal
authority. Fifty-six have been rejected for puerility and
absurdity. Is there nothing of these in the four which have
been retained ?
Pascal said: “If our religion is false, we risk nothing in
believing it to be true; if it be true, we risk all in believing it
false.” A Mohammedan might say the same as Pascal.
That Jesus Christ, who is God, was tempted of the devil, is
a story worthy of the “ Thousand and One Nights.”
A young woman who lived a very secluded life was one day
visited by a young man, who brought a bird. She became
enceinte, and it was asked how it happened ? Ridiculous! It
was the bird.
Why do the stories of Leda and the swan excite a smile, and
the little flames of Castor and Pollux risibility, when we accept
in all seriousness the pigeon and the tongues of fire of the
gospels ?
Printed and Published by W J. Ramsey, at 28 Stonecutter
Street, London.
�
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Victorian Blogging
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Old thoughts for new thinkers : being selections from the "Pensees philosophiques" of Diderot
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Diderot, Denis [1713-1784]
Hardaker, William (tr)
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Place of publication: London
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Notes: Annotations in pencil. Printed and published by W.J. Ramsay, Stonecutter Street, London. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Philosophy
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Denis Diderot
French
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Philosophers-France
Philosophy
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Text
Association for the
Harmonious Development of Faculties.
CONFUCIUS
Ibis 'life anb bis HJoctrine
BY
MARIUS DESHUMBERT
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
CAPTAIN E. M. PERCEVAL, R.A.
WILLIAMS AND NORGATE
14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON
20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, EDINBURGH
and 7, BROAD STREET, OXFORD
1897
PRICE
SIXPENCE
�Association for the
Harmonious Development of Faculties.
COMMON-SENSE ETHICS.
BY
“ THE COMMITTEE ”
Copies of the above Pamphlet will be forwarded by
PROF. DESHUMBERT, Hon. Secretary,
Camberley, Surrey
(on application).
CONFUCIUS:
HIS LIFE AND DOCTRINE.
PRICE SIXPENCE.
To be had from the Publishers,
Messrs. WILLIAMS AND NORGATE,
14, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden,
London,
Or from the Hon. Secretary,
�B 23?21^2-
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
CONFUCIUS.
HIS LIFE.
ONFUCIUS was born in the year 550
or 551 B.c. at Shan-ping, in the province
now known as Shan-tung, the ancient
province of Lu, bathed on the east by
the Yellow Sea, and on the north by the Gulf of
Pechili.
Confucius counted among his ancestors the em
peror Hoang-ti, whose reign is placed by historians
of the Celestial Empire 2637 years before the
Christian era.
The name of his clan was Kung, and missionaries,
in calling him Confucius, have merely latinized his
real name, “ Kung-Fu-tze,” which means “ the
philosopher Kung.”
Confucius was only three
years old when he lost his father, who was Governor
�2
of Tse-u. According to tradition, at the age of six
he showed signs which gave promise of extraordinary
wisdom. He despised games familiar to childhood,
and preferred to offer sacrifices to the gods with his
little comrades, on whom he already exercised a
marked influence.
He would not eat without offering part of his food
to heaven, according to the custom of the ancients.
This custom he practised during the whole of his
life, even though the repast might only consist of rice.
He was married at the age of nineteen, as was
then usual.
At about this time, the fame of his intelligence
and virtues having reached the Prime Minister of
the kingdom of Lu, his native land, the latter en
trusted him first with the superintendence of the
granaries, and later with that of cattle and parks, or
public markets. He accepted these offices on account
of his poverty, but without any thought of becoming
rich.
At the age of twenty-two he commenced to teach.
He wished to revive ancient usages, which, in his
opinion, contained all the moral, social, and political
virtues. He made it his mission to re-establish the
rites, customs, beliefs and institutions which time
had made sacred.
�3
To gain his end, it was not sufficient to teach
only by example; he required disciples, who should
receive from him careful instruction, should go forth
to spread it throughout the empire, and should
succeed him after his death.
The intelligent young men, who wished to learn
to rule justly, soon crowded to him in numbers. He
accepted the honorariums which his disciples offered
him, being, however, always content with what was
given to him, no matter how insignificant the amount
might be. On the other hand, he sent away imme
diately those who did not show sufficient ardour for
study, or such as were not sufficiently intelligent to
understand him.
“ When,” said he, “ I have shown a pupil one
corner of the subject, and he is unable to discover
the other three, I do not repeat my lesson.”
At the age of twenty-four he lost his mother. To
obey the ancient law, he withdrew from the public
life of superintendent in order to mourn the custom
ary period of twenty-seven months, then considered
the equivalent of “ three years.”
We now come to a gap, for we hardly know any
thing of the life of Confucius for several years after
this date. Let us consider here the political state
of China at this time.
�4
China was then but a sixth part of the present
empire.
The population was only ten to fifteen
millions. The nobility was divided into six orders,
which corresponded in many respects to those of
feudal Europe.
The governors of provinces succeeded from father
to son. They are often called by historians “kings,”
and their provinces “kingdoms,” and in fact they
were almost independent. In theory the governors
received from each new emperor a new investiture.
They were bound, in theory, to present themselves
at court, at certain times, to show their submission.
They also paid to the sovereign fixed tributes, and
had to supply him with soldiers when they were
required for the security of the empire.
When, in a feudal state, the sovereign is not
sufficiently energetic or sufficiently powerful to make
his rights respected, the nobles are not slow to show
their independence and to make efforts to extend
the frontiers of their states at the expense of others.
F
At the time of which we speak, the dynasty of
Chow, which lasted from 1122 to 256 B.C., had passed
its zenith. The independence of the sub-kingdoms
was complete. From this it results that the history
of China during the seventh, sixth, and fifth cen
turies B.c. is an unbroken account of great battles,
�5
of hard-fought actions, of heroism, of tried friend
ships, and of atrocious crimes.
This reminds us of the state of England and of
France in the Middle Ages, but China 600 years B.c.
was far more civilized than was Europe during
the time of the Plantagenets, that is to say during
the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
(a.d. 1154-1399). Numerous schools existed then in
China. Each nobleman had collected around him
historians, musicians and other men of learning.
The savants expounded ancient history and com
mented on ancient poems and laws.
Instruction then was carried on brilliantly, but
justice and probity, in a word morality in all its
forms, was trampled under foot. Mencius, the
grandson and continuer of the teaching of Confucius,
tells us that decadence was complete. Justice had
disappeared. One only heard discourse that was
debasing and only saw acts of violence. Ministers
murdered the princes who had called them to power,
and children took the life of those who had given
them birth. Confucius, terrified with what he saw,
resolved to reform the world; a grand ideal to which
he consecrated his whole life.
At the age of thirty-three Confucius visited the
capital of the empire, where he admired the treasures
�6
of the imperial library. He also studied music,
which was held in great honour at Court. He had
also several interviews with Lao-tze, the father of
Taoism. On his return the same year to Lu, the
prince of that State was forced by his ministers to
flee to the neighbouring province of Tse. Confucius
accompanied him, not wishing to appear to support,
by his presence, the rebels who had driven out their
legitimate sovereign. But the king of Tse did not
treat Confucius with the honour his wisdom, virtue
and renown merited. The latter soon returned to
his native land, where during fifteen years he con
tinued his studies. During this period the number
of his disciples increased considerably. It is said
that there were as many as three thousand, and of
these seventy or eighty were distinguished for their
great intelligence. Several became statesmen of
mark. The disciples were young men of all classes,
but the majority were mandarins, public officials, or
governors of towns. All these men of letters showed
the greatest admiration and sincere respect for
Confucius, a fact which goes to prove the moral and
intellectual value of his philosophy.
At the age of fifty-two Confucius was appointed
first magistrate of Chung-too. Immediately, so the
historians assure us, a marvellous change appeared
�7
in the behaviour of the inhabitants. He was ap
pointed Minister of Justice, and crimes disappeared.
He showed his energy and his wisdom in awarding
punishment without distinction of rank, and in start
ing negotiations with the neighbouring State of Tse.
He strengthened the authority of his prince, the
king of Ln, while he weakened that of the nobles.
In order to do this he dismantled the fortified towns
where the chiefs of the principal clans could resist
the king’s authority, as did the barons of feudal
Europe.
Finally he became the idol of the people, whose
welfare was his chief interest. In them he saw the
source of the wealth and prosperity of the State.
He improved their W'ell-being by all means in his
power, especially by putting down the aristocracy,
who were everywhere hostile to those institutions
which he wished to found. He accomplished many
excellent reforms during the two years he was in
power.
The king of Tse, however, saw that if Confucius
were permitted to continue his reforms, the influence
of the king of Lu would soon make itself felt
throughout the whole empire. He determined,
therefore, to deprive this king of his minister. He
�8
showed a profound knowledge of the human heart
by sending to the king of Lu eighty dancing girls of
great beauty, and one hundred and twenty-five mag
nificent horses. These gifts were joyfully accepted
by the prince, who now not only neglected Confucius
completely, but was greatly annoyed at his remon
strances. The philosopher felt that it was not
compatible with his dignity to remain at this Court,
where his counsel was no longer accepted. He
withdrew with slow steps and with regret, hoping
that his sovereign would repent and would send a
messenger to pray him to return. Alas ! no messen
ger appeared, so Confucius sadly continued his way.
The philosopher was then fifty-six.
During thirteen years he went from province to
province, and was everywhere received with great
honour, but no prince would take counsel of him.
He saw that although men have always good
maxims on their lips still they are slow to practise
virtue.
“ Alas,” he cried, “ virtue is not cherished, and
study is not pursued with care. Though one hears
the principles of justice and equity professed, they
are not followed. The wicked and wrong-doers do
not wish to mend their ways. It is this which is
�9
the cause of my sadness.” He knew also what it
was to suffer from ingratitude, but he said, “ What
matters to me the ingratitude of men. It will not
prevent me doing them all the good that may be in
my power. If my teaching remains fruitless, I shall
at least have the consolation of having faithfully
fulfilled my task.”
Thirteen years later he returned for good to his
native land. The king was dead and his son
occupied the throne. The philosopher refused to
accept of him honours and power. He had only a
few years to live, and these he wished to consecrate
to his literary work and to the teaching of his
doctrine in the midst of his numerous disciples.
The year after his return, Confucius was then
seventy, his only son died. This left only one
offspring to perpetuate the race of the philosopher.
But what he felt still more was the loss of his two
favourite disciples, Yen-Hue, who died a year
before this, and Tze-lu, who died some months later.
The end of the philosopher was now approaching
rapidly, hastened no doubt by sorrows.
Early one morning, not being able to sleep, he got
up, and with his hands behind his back he dragged
his stick along as he walked towards the door,
�10
saying, “ The great mountain must crumble away,
the strong pillar must break, the sage must wither
and disappeai’ like a blade of grass.” He then went
back to his bed, and eight days later he died at the
age of seventy-two or seventy-three, in the year
478 b.c.
The funeral rites were performed with great
ceremony by his disciples. A great number of
them built huts close to his tomb and stayed there
twenty-seven months, wearing such mourning as
they would for a father.
His third favourite disciple, Tze-Kung, remained
five years close to the tomb mourning the sage.
The news of the death of the philosopher spread
throughout the empire with marvellous rapidity.
He who, during his lifetime, had been neglected,
became immediately after his death the object of
unbounded admiration; and this admiration has
lasted nearly 2400 years.
The tomb of Confucius is situated on a vast
rectangle outside the town of Kiuh-fow. On
passing through a magnificent gateway, one finds
before one a long avenue of cypress trees which
leads to the enormous tumulus which has been
raised over the tomb. A little in front to the right
�Il
and. left are two smaller hillocks which mark the
tombs of the son and grandson of the philosopher.
Finally to the right of the last one sees a small
house which is said to stand on the ground once
occupied by the hut of Tze-Kung, in which he
passed his five years of mourning. On all sides are
to be seen tablets on which the emperors have had
engraved enthusiastic eulogies of the defunct.
The neighbouring town is still the home of the
Kung family, and it is asserted that from forty to
fifty thousand descendants of the sage inhabit it at
the present time. The chief of the family is the
head of the seventy-fifth generation. He possesses
vast domains, given by the emperor, as well as a
title which corresponds to that of duke.
The dynasty of Chow disappeared 225 years after
the death of the philosopher, and was replaced by
that of Ts’in. The first emperor of the new dynasty
wished to lay the foundations of that despotic
government which still exists. The numerous men
of learning who acknowledged Confucius as their
teacher opposed this innovation. The emperor
was therefore anxious to destroy the posthumous
influence of the sage, and burned all the ancient
books to which Confucius had referred and from
which he had drawn his rules and examples.
�12
Finally he buried alive hundreds of men of
learning who regarded Confucius as their master.
But no persecution could destroy or even diminish
the influence exercised by the philosopher after his
death. All the sovereigns who reigned after the
Ts’in dynasty lost no opportunity of honouring his
memory. At the present time there are tablets
bearing his name in every school and in all
examination halls, and before them the pupils and
candidates bow as they enter.
No prayers are said to Confucius, but great
honour is rendered to him.
�HIS DOCTRINE.
Let us pass now to the study of the philosopher’s
teaching.
His moral and political doctrines are intimately
connected, but, to make our task more simple, we
shall examine them separately.
Confucius collected and placed in order all the
religious, philosophic, moral and political documents
which existed at his time. Of these he and his
disciples formed a set of doctrines under the follow
ing titles :
Yi-King (the sacred book of changes).
Shu-King (the book of historical documents).
Shi-King (the book of verses).
Li-Ki (the book of rites).
Tze-Shu (the four classic books).
Space will not permit of a complete study of all
of these. It will be sufficient for our purpose to
�14
examine briefly the first three of “ the four classic
books.”
The quotations are taken from the excellent
French translation by Pauthier.
*
The sixth phrase of the first classic book gives
the key of the whole philosophy of Confucius. The
sage wrote these words : “ From the man of highest
rank down to the most humble and obscure of men,
each has the same duty to perform : to correct and
better himself. The perfecting of oneself is the
fundamental base of all progress and of all moral
development.”
Confucius returns continually to this great duty
of perfecting oneself. He says, that “he (the sage)
develops to the highest degree the lofty and pure
faculties of his intelligence and makes it a rule to
follow always the principles of right judgment.”
Later on we find, “ Make yourselves complete
masters of that which you have learnt, and always
continue to learn. You then may become a teacher
of men.”
“ The superior man should apply his whole energy
to educate himself, to acquire knowledge.” Lastly :
* Confucius et Mencius : Les quatre livres, &c. Traduit du
chinois par M. G. Pauthier. (Charpentier, Paris.)
�15
“ He who endeavours constantly to perfect himself
is the sage, who knows how to distinguish good
from bad, who chooses the good and holds firmly to
it, never letting it go.”
“He should strive hard to learn all that is good.
He should question others with discernment, seeking
to enlighten himself in all that is good. He should
guard carefully all that is good lest he should lose
it, and should meditate on it in his heart. He
should always try to discern what is good, taking
care to distinguish it from what is bad. He should
then steadfastly and constantly practise that which
is good.” But the perfecting of oneself is not
sufficient, one must also think of the perfecting of
others.
“ The perfect man does not limit himself to his
own perfection, then to rest. He strives to perfect
others also. The perfecting of oneself is undoubtedly
a virtue, but to improve others is a high science.”
Confucius does not forget that the perfect state
must include purity, and so we find this maxim,
“ Be watchful of yourself, even in your own home.
Take care, even in the most secret place, to do
nothing which could make you blush.” Elsewhere
he says : “ The meaning of the three hundred odes
�16
of the book of verses is contained in one of its
phrases :—Do not let your thoughts be wicked.”
His altruism shows itself continually.
The philosopher having said one day, “ My
doctrine is simple and easy to comprehend,” one of
his disciples, Tsen-Tze, replied “ that is certain.”
The philosopher having gone out, the other disciples
asked what the master meant. Tsen-Tze replied,
“ The doctrine of our master consists solely in
having uprightness of heart and in loving one’s
neighbour as oneself.”
Elsewhere Confucius says : “ I would procure for
the aged, quiet rest, for friends and those among
whom one is thrown, constant fidelity, for children
and the weak, motherly care.”
“ The superior man in his dealings with men is
deferential as becomes him. He is polite and kindly
mannered, regarding as brothers all men who live
within the boundaries of the four seas.” By which
he meant the whole universe. “ Reflect carefully
and do not ever tire of doing good nor of being just
in all your actions.”
One day a disciple asked a question in these
�17
words : “ Can one express in a single word all that
one should practise steadfastly throughout one’s
life ? ” The philosopher said: “ There is one word,
‘ Shu,’ the meaning of which is ‘ Do not do unto
others what you would not like them to do unto
you.’ ”
We may perhaps translate this by the single word
reciprocity or altruism.
Confucius returns continually to the importance
of this doctrine of reciprocity, which we wrongly
call “ charity,” for it is not so much charity as
justice.
He persistently 'repeats this doctrine, in order
that all who hear him may become impregnated
with it.
The philosopher often spoke of the “ virtue of
humanity.” One of his disciples having asked what
he meant by this, he replied: “ He who is able to
accomplish five things on earth, is endowed with the
virtue of humanity: respect for himself and for
others, generosity, fidelity or sincerity, diligence in
doing good, and love of all men.” Later on, he adds :
“ Have sufficient self-control, even to judge of others
in comparison with yourself, and to act towards
them as you would wish them to act to you. This
�18
is what one may call “the doctrine of humanity,
and there is nothing beyond this.”
After the perfecting of oneself and of others,
after the love of humanity, that which should be
cultivated is justice.
Here are two maxims on this subject.
“The superior man, in all the circumstances of
life, is exempt from prejudice and stubbornness.
Justice alone is his guide. He employs all his power
to do that which is just and proper and for the good
of mankind.”
His justice extended even to animals. He used
to fish with hooks, but not with nets, he shot birds
with bow and arrow, but would not use a snare.
Practical moral counsels abound in his works, but
it is only necessary to quote some of them.
“ That which you condemn in those who are above
you, do not practise towards those below you. That
which you condemn in your inferiors do not practise
towards your superiors.”
“ If there are people who do not study, or, if they
do study, do not profit by it, let them not be
�19
discouraged, and let them, not desist. If there are
people who do not distinguish good from bad, or, if
they do distinguish it, have not a clear and distinct
perception of it, let them not be discouraged ! If
there are people who do not practise what is right,
or who, if they practise it, cannot devote all their
powers to it, let them not be discouraged ! That
which others may do at the first attempt, they may
do at the tenth. That which others may do at the
hundredth, they may do at the thousandth. He
who will truly follow this rule of perseverance,
however ignorant he may be, he will certainly
become enlightened; however weak he may be, he
will certainly become strong.”
“ When you see a wise man, think whether you
have the same virtues as he. When you see a
wicked man, look to yourself and examine attentively
your own conduct.”
“ If we are three who travel together, I shall
certainly find two teachers (in my companions). I
shall choose the good man to imitate, and use the
wicked man to correct myself.”
“ In your dealings with men, be true and faithful
to your engagements ! Let your words be sincere
and true ! Let your acts be always honourable and
�20
worthy ! Even if you were in the land of barbarians
of the south, or of the north, your conduct should
be faultless.”
“ Be true to yourself and indulgent to others and
so prevent feelings of resentment.”
He did not forget to give children his counsel.
“ Children should have filial piety in their father’s
house and brotherly love outside it. They should
be careful in their actions, sincere and truthful in
their speech to all men, whom they should love
with all their heart, attaching themselves particu
larly to the virtuous. If after having accomplished
their duties they still have energy left, they should
try to improve their minds by study and by acquiring
knowledge and wisdom.”
The advice which Confucius gives to sovereigns
is admirable. “ A prince should select his ministers
according to the promptings of his conscience,
having always the public good in view.
“ He must conform to the great law of duty, and
this great law of duty must be sought for in the
‘virtue of humanity,’ which is the source of love
for all men. This is why even a prince cannot
�21
dispense with the duty of correcting and perfecting
himself.”
“ All who govern empires or kingdoms have nine
invariable rules to know and to follow: to control
or perfect themselves, to revere the wise, to love
their parents, to honour the leading officials or
ministers of the State, to be in perfect harmony
with all other officials and magistrates, to treat and
protect the people as their children, to collect about
them the wise and skilful, to receive kindly those
who come from distant lands, and to treat as friends
all rulers under them.”
Confucius realized the power of doing good which
riches give. He says, however, “ Riches and honour
are the desires of men. Tf one cannot obtain them
by honest and fair means, they must be renounced.
Poverty and humble positions are what men hate
and despise. If one cannot escape these by honest
and fair means, one must submit to them.”
The expressions “the superior man” and “the
common man” occur repeatedly in the four classic
books. The definitions of them which Confucius
gives are clear,
“ The superior man is he who has equal goodwill
�22
towards all, and who is without egotism and
prejudice.
“ The common man is he who has only feelings of
egotism and is without a disposition kindly to all
men.
“ The superior man has equanimity and tranquility
of soul. The common man experiences continually
trouble and anxiety.
“ The superior man raises himself continually in
intelligence and in power of judgment, the man
without merit descends continually into further
ignorance and vice.
“ The superior man is influenced by a sense of
justice ; the common man by the love of gain.
“The superior man places equity and justice
above all else.”
As to the opinion which Confucius had of
himself, this is what he said on the subject. “If
I think of a man who unites saintliness to the
virtue of humanity, how can I dare to compare
myself with him 1 I only know that I strive to
practise these virtues without being disheartened
�23
and to teach, them to others without being dis
couraged or despondent.”
And elsewhere: “ The straight ways or principal
virtues of the superior man are three in number, and
these I have not yet been able to attain completely ;
the virtue of humanity which drives away sadness,
science which clears all doubts from the mind, and
manly courage which drives away fear.”
His disciples affirm that Confucius was completely
exempt from four things. He was without selfconceit, without prejudice, without obstinacy, and
without egotism.
Confucius, in spite of his profound love of
humanity, did not show towards the wicked that
excessive kindness which was taught by Lao-Tze,
his contemporary. The latter recommended the
doing of kindness to the good and to the wicked
without distinction. The good man, he said, should
be always the good man, no matter what the cir
cumstances may be.
Apropos of this, someone, remembering the
doctrine of Lao-Tze, said to Confucius, “What
should one think of a man who returns kindness for
injuries ? ” The philosopher replied, “ If one acts
�24
thus, how can one repay kindness itself ? One must
repay hatred and injuries by equity; and kindness
by kindness.” This reply appeals certainly to our
sense of justice.
Confucius, as a thoroughly practical man, only
occupied himself with what human intelligence is
capable of understanding, and always refused to
discuss metaphysics.
Still, he approved of rendering homage to Heaven,
but, perhaps, only because this was an ancient
custom.
One of his disciples asked one day how one should
serve the spirits and genii.
The philosopher replied, “ When one is not yet in
a fit state to serve men, how should one be able
to serve the spirits and genii ? ”
“ Let me ask you,” continued the disciple, “what
is death ?”
Confucius replied, “When one does not yet know
what life is, how should one know what death is ?”
Let us now make a rapid examination of the
political doctrines of Confucius, of which there is a
�25
form of resume in the Hiao-King (the sacred book
of filial piety), as translated by Leon de Rosny.
In the Hiao-King the predominant idea is the
omnipotence of the father. It requires the emperor
to give to his people an example of submission to
his mother, before whom he kneels publicly on
certain dates fixed by sacred rites.
However low and obscure may be the condition
of the father of a family, the son, even if promoted
to the highest office in the empire, is required to
show to him the respect due to a superior. A
simple peasant should be able without fear of the
slightest reprimand to box the ears of his son, even
if the latter should occupy the highest legal position,
if he should neglect to prostrate himself on meeting
him.
A great mandarin so punished should also suffer
the penalty of being degraded.
At the present time it happens every day that the
son of a peasant fills important offices, for State
employment is to be obtained by examinations in
which everyone may compete.
A son who has deserved well of his country may
obtain honorary titles for his ancestors.
�26
The fulfilment of the duties of filial piety is so
indispensable that in a family where all the sons
have been condemned to death, the youngest is
allowed to live in order that someone may be left to
tend the parents of the criminals.
Confucius said, “ Filial piety is the foundation of
virtue, from which springs all knowledge.” And
elsewhere, “ Do not fail to think of your ancestors,
and strive to copy their virtues.”
The legislation of China has always had as its
foundation the Confucian doctrine of filial pity.
One may add that the whole Chinese social life
since the time of the great moralist has had but this
one pervading sentiment.
To recapitulate, then, according to the political
doctrine of Confucius, the State is one great family,
of which the emperor is the head. The sovereign
claims the same rights from, and performs the same
duties towards the people as a father in regard to
his children.
This conception has given to China a political
stability, the equal of which one would search for in
vain elsewhere. That China has sometimes forgot
ten the words of its great teacher has been the cause
of the greatest part of its troubles.
�27
It happens in China, as elsewhere, that people do
not always conform strictly in practice to the
philosophic teaching or religion they accept. There,
as indeed everywhere, beautiful maxims are more
often on the lips than in the heart. It must be
remembered also that Buddhism and Taoism, both
much degenerated and full of superstitious practices,
unfortunately exercise great influence.
This is
especially the case with the ignorant, and they are
numerous. The pure philosophy of Confucius does
not satisfy them because they are incapable of
understanding all its beauty.
The extent to which the Chinese venerate their
ancestors is generally considered absurd by other
nations. But this sentiment is to be found more or
less developed in all nations, and it is well that this
should be so.
The comforts we enjoy, as well as our most pure and
keen intellectual pleasures, we owe, almost entirely,
to those who have preceded us. It is not we who
have thought of building houses, of making clothes,
of extracting from the hidden depths of the earth
coals and minerals. All, even to the fruits which
we eat, to the flowers which we admire, has been
invented, discovered, or perfected by our ancestors
more or less distant. Without the persistent work
�28
of generations who have preceded, us, we should
still live in a savage state, for our entire covering
we should have but hideous tattooing. If famine
should make itself felt we should offer to fiendish
gods disgusting human sacrifices, if, indeed, we did
not devour open-mouthed the still palpitating flesh
of vanquished enemies.
As regards things purely intellectual, for example,
the eternal principles of truth, of beauty, of good
ness, it is still to the philosophers of antiquity that
we owe the knowledge of them. It is then but
right that we should experience for these bygone
generations respect and gratitude.
Lastly, let us observe the complete difference
which exists between the doctrines of Confucius and
those of Buddha.
The degenerate Buddhism invites us to repose in
an eternal state of unconsciousness.
Confucius tells us to think above all of the
present life, and to minimize its sorrows and misery
by family respect and affection.
The following quotation is from Pauthier:—
“ If one may judge of the quality of a man and of
�29
the power of his doctrines by the influence they
have exercised on humanity, then one may, with the
Chinese, call Confucius the greatest teacher of men
which time has ever produced. In fact, never has
human reason been more worthily represented.
One is truly astonished to find in the writings of
Confucius the expression of such a high and virtuous
intelligence, and at the same time that of a civiliza
tion so advanced.”
We have seen that the political system of
Confucius is very simple. It rests entirely on filial
piety, and the State is but a great family whose
head is the sovereign.
We know also that his moral doctrine consisted
solely in perfecting oneself, in perfecting others, in
uprightness, in treating one’s enemies with justice,
and in loving all men as oneself.
This doctrine he did not expound as new, but as
the traditional opinion of the sages of antiquity,
which he had made it his mission to transmit to
posterity.
This mission he accomplished with
resolution, dignity, and perseverance, but not without
experiencing profound discouragement and sadness
beyond endurance.
“ This mission of teacher of the human race the
�Chinese philosopher accomplished, we say, to its full
extent, and in a manner very different from that of
any other philosopher of classic antiquity. His
philosophy did not consist in speculations more or
less vain, but was a philosophy above all things
practical, which extended to all conditions of life, to
all phases of social existence.
“ There is no doubt that one of the most noble and
gentle impressions of the soul is to be got from the
contemplation of this teaching, so distant in time
and yet so pure, of which humanity, whatever may
be its boasted civilization, may justly be proud.
“One cannot read the works of the two first
Chinese philosophers (Confucius and Mencius) with
out feeling oneself better, or at least strengthened
in the principles of truth and the practice of good,
without having a higher idea of the dignity of our
nature.”
�Association For The Harmonious
Development of Faculties.
The Committee will be pleased to receive
Subscriptions and Donations to help the Association
to carry out the objects for which it was founded,
i.e. to spread (by means of Pamphlets, Reviews,
Lectures, &c.), the principles of Ethics explained in
“ Common-Sense Ethics.”
The Annual Report and Balance Sheet will
be sent to all Subscribers, who are requested to
state whether their full names or initials are to
appear in it.
Cheques and Postal Orders to be made
payable to Prof. M. Deshumbert (Hon. Treasurer
and Secretary), Camberley, Surrey.
Copies of “ Common-Sense Ethics ” will be
forwarded by the Hon. Secretary, on application.
����
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Confucius : his life and doctrine
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Deshumbert, Marius
Perceval, E.M. (tr)
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Text
THE
LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
OF
’ATHEISM.
WYTTS.
BY JOHN
4-e
LONDON :
Austin & Co., 17, Johnson’s Couet, Fleet Street, E.C.
1 865.
PBICE THE EEPENCE.
��e
THE
LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY OF ATHEISM.
BY
JOHN
WATTS.
If any apology be necessary for calling attention to a sub
ject that has been so often previously investigated, it may
be found in the fact that current literature generally receives
more patronage from the multitude than older, and, in many
cases, abler productions. And further, every writer and
every speaker will, as a rule, treat any given subject from
a different point of view, and make especially clear some one
point in connection with the particular question under con
sideration-. And as Theistic advocates are so numerous,
their advocacy so varied, and their expositions so frequent,
no advantage that legitimately belongs to Atheistic propagandism should be lost sight of, and no effort omitted to be
made that is calculated to set forth in all their strength
those truths represented by the term Atheism. It would
be the climax of folly to suppose that because error has
once been exposed, the reign of truth is not far distant.
That “ truth is great and must prevail ” we doubt not; but
its speedy or deferred victory will depend, to a very great
extent at least, upon the wisdom, the valour, and the per
sistency of those who undertake to secure its triumph. In
the present instance nothing more will be attempted than to
give a kind of panoramic view of the Atheist’s position, and
to exhibit the immense advantage he possesses over the or
thodox Christian. Originality we care not to claim, as our
�4
THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
desire is rather to prove useful thanto be considered great.
It is not new truths that mankind requires—it is the under
standing and adoption of those already proclaimed. Our
duty, therefore, is to recapitulate the nature and tendency
of the principles in which we believe, until misunderstand
ing or misrepresentation shall be impossible.
Perhaps*it will be advisable at this preliminary stage to
notice a supposition entertained by Christians as to the
audacity of any man daring to call in question the existence
of their supposed Deity. It is said that every nation, hea
then or otherwise, believes in such a Being, and that it is
only the few corrupt minds in any country who “ make the
wish father to the thought,” and blaspheme that power in
whom they “ live, move, and have their being.’’ In the
first place we frankly say that did this presumed universal
belief in Deity actually exist, it would have not the slighest
weight with us ; neither should Christians desire it to have
any. When they tell us that we are each to be held res
ponsible for our own beliefs and actions, they surely cannot
deny the justice of each investigating for himself, and form
ing his own conclusions, independently of any other person
or all other nations. It is useless to tell an Atheist what
another man believes ; he very properly answers that it is
not another’s faith but his own reason which he accepts as a
guide. With Drummond he declares that “ he who will not
reason is a bigot; he who cannot is a fool; and he. who
dares not is a slave.” But this oft-repeated statement in re
ference to the universality of belief is very far from being true,
and we need not therefore further notice it. Any one who
will take the trouble to read M. Pouchet’s recently published
volume on the “Plurality of the Human Race,” will find
instances cited of nations having no idea whatever of Divi
nity. Speaking of various African and Oceanic tribes, he
describes them as having no notion of anything outside
themselves. “ Ideas, abstract ideas, arise from their own
domain; the past, that which preceded their birth; the
future, that which follows their death, does not occupy their
attention ; the present is their only business in life. They
do not demand ‘ Whence do I come ?’ What am I ?
Where am I going ?’ And they have no idea whatsoever of
�OF ATHEISM.
5
a Divinity !”* These cases, it should be remembered, are
not the only ones; almost all travellers bear the same or
similar testimony. It follows, therefore, that Christians are
neither right as to the truth of a universal belief in God, nor
in the inference they would draw from such belief did it
really exist. Instead of the idea of God being universal, we
should rather say that in no country, nor in any one person
is it to be found. Nothing is more easy or more prevalent
than to pronounce the word God, and to say in him I be
lieve. But in whom or in what ? Ask a thousand persons
to give some definition of God, or to explain their ideas of
what he really is, or what they believe him to be, and you
would have to pause for a reply. Strange as it may appear,
we will venture the statement that the most logical answer
would, we think, come from the Atheist. In the words of
Allen Davenport, he may say:—
“ You ask me what is God ? And I
Am no way puzzled to reply.
My inward lights so clearly shine
That heavenly things I may divine;
And although but a finite creature,
Tell what is God and what is Nature.
Whatever can be seen or felt,
Whatever can be heard or smelt,
Whatever can be tasted, and all the mind can understand,
All that our wisdom can conceive,
All that in which we can believe;
All o’er where Fancy ever trod, is Nature;
All the rest is God ”
And what the “rest” is no Theist ever told us. He that
can form an idea of something more than everything is the
man and the only man that can have any “ idea ” of God.
Locke, who is often quoted as a Christian authority, was
conscious of the confusion that existed in men’s minds as to
what “ God ” is. His words are :—“ How many amongst
us are to be found, upon inquiry, to fancy God in the shape
of a man sitting in heaven, and to have other absurd and
unfit conceptions of him. Christians as well as Turks have
had whole sects owning or contending earnestly for it, that
the Deity was corporeal and of human shape.” To do Locke
Quoted by M, Pouchet, page 29.
�6
THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
justice, however, we are bound to say that he considered
such conceptions of “ Deity ” to be confined to the “ igno
rant and uninstructed.” But that equally absurd notions
have obtained among the most learned philosophers the
history of the world will readily prove. Socrates, for in
stance, defined God as the cause of the universe, a defini
tion as unintelligible as the word God itself is. A selfexistent universe never could have had a cause; and were the
universe not self-existent, its cause must have been the effect
of some previous cause, and so on ad infinitum. To speak
of & first cause is only to indulge in Christian babblement,
Aristotle, too, considered God to be “ a mind immutable and
impassable, an eternal and most perfect animal, perpetually
employed in imparting motion to the universe.” Upon
reading which the late Julian Hibbert justly remarked, “It
must be dull work to be eternally trundling a wheel-barrow,
and perhaps hard work too for an incorporeal Being.”
Synesius, however, would make no compromise with com
mon sense, but resolved (if the expression be allowable) to
“ go the whole hog.” Apostrophising “ Deity,” he says,
“ Thou art a father and a mother, a male and a female ; thou
art voice and silence ; thou art the fruitful nature of natures ;
thou art the father of all fathers; and being without a
father, thou art thine own father and son. 0 source of
sources, principle of principles, root of roots, thou art the
unity of unities, the number of numbers, being both unity
and number. Thou art one and all things, one of all
things, and one before all things.” Now if Synesius
were not right in any one of his many descriptions,
who can hope ever (o successfully guess what the “ Deity ”
really is ? And it is useless for modern Christians to
say that their idea of God is more rational than the des
criptions just given ; for whilst they are less wordy in their
so-called definition, they are equally absurd. To say, as
they do, that God is a spirit, is only to use another word
of which they know nothing, to describe the nature of a
Being in whom they believe, but of whom they have no idea,
nor can they form of him the slightest conception.
If the preceding statements be true, are we not justified
in saying, as Mr. Southwell has often remarked to us, that
�OF ATHEISM.
7
Atheism is man’s normal state, and that Theists are just
like fishes out of water ? The position of the Atheist may
be described in a few words. He believes that something
is, and that something always has been. He believes in the
existence of Nature, by which he means the aggregate of
matter or substance. And as the totality of things is all
that he can form any conception of, together with his un
avoidable belief that something always was, he is forced to
the conclusion that Nature is eternal, without beginning
and without end. Being eternal, he can only view it as
self-existent, and as self-existence is the climax of attributes,
it doubtless, he considers, includes all other attributes.
Here the Atheist, who is generally spoken of as a negation
ist, appears as decidedly a positivist as it is possible to be.
The Theist comes forth as the negationist, and assures the
Atheist that in believing only in everything, he is in error.
To be right he must believe in something more than every
thing, in a Being that existed before anything was, who
occupies some place outside everywhere, and who created
all that exists. The Atheist very properly replies, that it
seems to him impossible that there ever was a time when
nothing was; and if Nature were produced from something
already in existence, whence came that something ? It
could never have been created if it as “ something ” always
existed. The Atheist then inquires what this existence or
something is which the Theist calls God. It cannot, he
conceives, be matter, or it would be part of Nature, and the
part could never be the cause of the whole. If it be not
matter, it can neither be the part nor the whole of anything.
If the universe be boundless and material, nothing imma
terial can possibly exist. If a Being really do exist who
created all things, the obvious question at once is, where
was this Being before anything else existed? “ Was there
a time when the God over all, was God over nothing?
Can we believe that a God over nothing began to be out of
nothing, and to create all things when there was nothing.
Is it, therefore, not easier to believe that this stupendous
and mighty frame of Nature always was, infinite and eter
nal ?” This appears to the Atheist to be the true state of
the case, and although it explains not the why and the
�8
THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
wherefore of existence, it is far more consistent and logical
than the gigantic assumptions of the Theist, who is favoured
with no more light on the subject than the Atheist possesses.
“ What I hold to be the truth,” says a well-known German
writer, “ shall be welcome to me, let it sound as it may;
but I will know, and should this be impossible, thus much
at least I will know—that it is not possible to know.” This
is the spirit underlying the logic and philosophy of Atheism.
We adopt, therefore, without the slightest hesitation, those
forcible words translated by Thomas Carlyle :—“ What went
before and what will follow me I regard as two black impene
trable curtains which hang down at the two extremities of
human life, and which no living man has yet drawn aside.
Many hundreds of generations have already stood before
them, with their torches, guessing anxiously what lies behind.
On the curtain of futurity many see their own shadows,
the forms of their passions enlarged and put in motion; they
shrink in terror at this image of themselves. Poets, philo
sophers, and founders of states have painted this curtain
with their dreams, more smiling or more dark as the sky
above them was cheerful or gloomy; and their pictures
deceive the eye when viewed from a distance. Many jug
glers, too, make profit of this our universal curiosity; by
their strange mummeries they have set the outstretched
fancy in amazement. A deep silence reigns behind this cur
tain; no one once within will answer those he has left
without; all you can hear is a hollow echo of your question,
as if you shouted into a chasm.” Atheists, recognising the
truth of these remarks, are content to leave to Theists the
unenviable presumption of being able to draw back the cur
tain and present a clear view of what has been and of what
is to be. They should remember, however, that even from
their own stand-point:—
“Divines can say but what themselves believe;
Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative;
For were all sure, then all minds would agree,
And faith itself be lost in certainty.
To live uprightly, then, is sure the best;
To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest.”
The Theist comes forward, however, with what he considers
to be a crushing argument. Thomas Cooper has taken it as
�Or ATHEISM.
travelling companion through. England and Scotland for
some years past, and he makes it do duty still. It is said
that things cannot produce what they have not. . Matter
hath not mind, or every atom of matter would contain mind.
A table or a stone would be as intelligent as Thomas
Cooper or Richard Weaver. If matter be not necessarily
intelligent, mind must exist independently of matter, which
cannot therefore be infinite or eternal. First, we would
observe that to our minds it by no means follows that for
intelligence to be a quality of matter it must necessarily
belong to every atom of matter. Brightness is a quality of
matter, but all matter is not bright. Neither is all matter
hard—in fact we find a great quantity, with “ intelligence,”
to be very soft. The same may be said of colours and other
qualities. The position taken by our friend Iconoclast in
his various debates on this question is in reality the only
strong and logical one. One substance—infinite or bound
less—is affirmed; call it matter if you will—numerous
modes of that substance exist. Each mode has its essential
quality, and we should be no more surprised to find some
matter without the quality of intelligence, than we are at
finding some minus the quality of brightness. It is not
true, either, that compound bodies do not possess qualities
and properties not to be found in their elementary consti
tuents. Any chemist could prove the contrary. Our old
friend Robert Taylor used to keep his opponents to this
point. “ How is it that sulphur and oxygen by combination
produce acid ? For neither sulphur nor oxygen have acid.
How is it that cold bodies produce heat (caloric)?” “ How
is it that nitrate of silver is a powerful caustic, when neither
of its elementary constituents has the least causticity ?
These constituents are silver, nitrogen, and oxygen.” When
these questions were recently put to Thomas Cooper, he
replied by saying he did not believe in their truth. Mr.
Taylor naturally smiled at so great a man being ignorant
of these simple truths, and recommended him to publish
“ Chemistry made Easy for Pious Flats,” ignoring all ex
perimental facts in connection with the science. He then
quoted for Mr. Cooper’s enlightenment from Professor
Fownes’s “ Rudiments of Chemistry,” wherein he says—
�10
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“ The various rocks, clays, sands, and soils, which compose
the solid earth : the water of seas and rivers, the materials
of plants and animals, are of a compound nature—that is,
made up of two or more other substances, united or com
bined together in a manner so close and intimate, as not to
be generally separable by any common means, and the com
pound so produced is almost always different in properties
and appearance from the substances of which it is really
composed.” This being true,' why should we deny that
under certain combinations of matter intelligence should be
one of its qualities ? But we are asked if we can conceive
how non-intelligence can in any way produce intelligence.
We, without the least reluctance, answer in the negative.
And in return we may ask the Theist whether he can con
ceive the possibility of an immaterial Being, having neither
“ body, parts, nor passions
having nothing whatever in
common with material substance, working upon, moulding,
and fashioning the entire universe, and all in it that lives,
and moves, and has being ? We, having only partial know
ledge of Nature’s properties, remain suspensive.
The
Theist, with no more knowledge, undertakes to answer au
thoritatively, and to solve the great problem of human ex
istence. Which is the more consistent we need not here
state.
Theists should never accuse Atheists of dogmatism ; for
no one can be more dogmatic than the Theist. He says,
for instance, that matter cannot be eterftal, for whatever is
eternal exists of necessity ; that whatever exists of necessity
must exist everywhere; that matter is not everywhere, or
there could be no locomotion. This is certainly clearly,
although not modestly stated. Why, we ask, is locomotion
impossible if matter be everywhere ? We find locomotion
going on every day in places where matter is certainly not
absent. A cab, for instance, may be driven along the public
thoroughfare, and meet with no impediment to its locomo
tion from the air, which is matter, or from collision with a
dog, or any small object. But if a house were to fall across
the road locomotion would be impeded. The fact is, one
kind, or rather one mode of matter is constantly replacing
another, without the absence of matter in any one known
�OF ATHEISM.
11
place. The argument too about the mind being distinct
from and independent of the body is equally worthless.
Theists say very pompously that we all know our minds
are not our bodies, and our bodies not our minds. Of
course we do ; and we also know that our teeth are not our
toe nails; but both our teeth and toe nails form parts of
our body when it is in a perfect state. But from disease of
some kind we may lose both our nails and our teeth, and
from disease we may also lose our mind. That is, the
normal functional activity of the brain may be arrested,
and that intelligence, which is the result of such activity—
by us called mind—is more or less lost also. If, on the
contrary, the mind were something independent of the
body ; if it were some divine and immaterial principle, ex
isting before the body did, and destined to live when the
body has passed into other modes; surely the temporary
disturbance of its present tenement would not affect its
manifestation or destroy its power. If so, what hope can
be entertained of immortality when the body is entirely
transformed ? If a healthy constitution is now necessary to
the existence of mind, upon what principle of reasoning is
it supposed that when the body ceases altogether to existthe mind will live for ever in that world of w’hich Christians
dream ? '
It is argued, too, that mind must be independent of matter,
from the fact that within an average period of about seven
years every particle of matter constituting the human body
is removed and a new body consequently formed, while
memory, one of the attributes of mind, may continue cog
nisant of all the principal events of a lifetime, showing
therefore thatzi had not changed with the material particles.
But this conclusion falls to the ground immediately in face
of the equally potent fact that the scar of a severe wound
received in infancy by an octogenarian, may accompany him
to the grave, notwithstanding that his body has been a dozen
times renewed. The new particles of matter adapt them
selves to the altered configuration of the injured part, and
the scar therefore remains, and, by parity of reasoning, the
new particles of matter constituting the mental organism
also take to themselves the conditions of existence of those
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THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
which they have replaced. The muscular power of an arm,
or the suppleness of the fingers of a pianist, may be the re
sult of forty years of training, although the actual muscles
themselves are but of seven years’ growth ; the vigour and
clearness of the intellect may be the result of as many years
of educational exercise, although acting through the medium
of tissues equally recent in their formation as the muscular
ones.
Paley admits in the thirty-third chapter of his “ Natural
Theology” the nonsensical idea of Deity. He says, “The
Deity, it is true, is the object of none of our senses.” This
statement exactly coincides with our opinion ; and yet men
undertake to demonstrate his existence. Can it be that
such men have lost their senses, and suppose that their
fellow-men are suffering from the same calamity ? A peru
sal of Gillespie’s “Necessary Existence of God” would
tend to confirm some such theory. Thomas Cooper, although
a disciple, has written of Gillespie as being “ eccentric,” a
very mild term, we imagine, if he be in the same state of
mind as he was when he wrote his book. Iconoclast has
just published “A Plea for Atheism,” which is mostly de
voted to an examination and complete refutation of Gilles
pie’s propositions. We need not, therefore, refer to them
at any great length. The propositions consist of wellselected jargon. The wTord Infinity is so much used that
one would think Mr. Gillespie knew all about its significa
tion, and yet there is no word upon which so much mis
understanding exists. It expresses simply a negation. As
Sir William Hamilton says, “ Infinite directly denotes only
the negation of limits.” The same author gives instances
of the folly of talking about the infinite as though it could
be comprehended. Here is one—“ A quantity, say a foot,
has an infinity of parts. Any part of this quantity, say an
inch, has also an infinity. But one infinity is not larger
than another. Therefore an inch is equal to a foot.” We
will only add in the words of Dr. Thomas Brown, in re
ference to this a priori argument—“ It is a relic of the
mere verbal logic of the schools, as little capable of produc
ing conviction as any of the wildest and most absurd of the
scholastic reasonings on the properties, or supposed pro
�OF ATHEISM.
13
perties, of entity and non-entity.” This we verily believe,
and having not the slightest faith in its efficacy to convince
either one way or the other, we pass on to the considera
tion of an argument more calculated to arrest the attention
and to convince the mind of the inquirer.
The. so-called Design argument is considered by many
Christians—lay and clerical—to be a complete answer to all
Atheistic objections to Theistic theories. Very few of those
who have escaped from the Theistic maze have had the good
fortune to get clear without encountering in more than one
avenue that terrible antagonist—“ Design.’’ He would
point to the heavens, direct your attention to the stars and
various planets, bid you consider their wonderful arrange
ment, and the regularity of their movements, and then
demand to know if it be not true that—
The spangled heavens—their shining frame
Their Great Original proclaim ?
He would then bring you back to earth, and expatiate on.
the marvellous arrangements of terrestrial objects. The eye
and the telescope, the watch and the human frame, are
eagerly compared, preparatory to the final blow to all scep
ticism in this question.. If we cannot believe that the tele
scope and the watch, with their marks of contrivance, were
produced without an intelligent artificer, why should we for
one moment doubt that the human frame, so wonderfully
made,.had not also an intelligent Being for its maker?
Dallacious. as this argument must appear to those wh-o have
properly investigated it, there are, it must be admitted,
thousands who consider it conclusive evidence of Deity’s
existence. Paley is, we know, with many Theists, consi
dered out of date, but with a vast majority of orthodox
Christians his arguments are still considered to be unmis
takably convincing. Thomas Cooper repudiates the idea of
Paley not being conclusive and convincing; and although a
long list of eminent names may be quoted against Paley’s
entire reasoning, Mr. Cooper, in unison with the general
orthodox Christians, maintain that Paley has never vet been
answered. “ Paley Refuted in his Own Words,” by Mr. G.
J. Holyoake, is haughtily pooh-poohed by the peevish
“ Lecturer on Christianity.” To our minds, however, no
�14
THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
thing could be more conclusive than Mr. Holyoake’s little
volume. Paley concludes his chapter “ Of the Personality
of the Deity ” in these words :—“ Upon the whole, after all
the schemes and struggles of a reluctant philosophy, the
necessary resort is to a Deity. The marks of Design are too
strong to be gotten over. Design must have had a designer.
That designer must have been a person. That person is God.”
Now it should be borne in mind why Paley uses the word
“ must.” Design must have had a designer. That designer
must be a person. That person must be God. Why, we
ask, must design prove a designer ? Why must a designer
be a person ? Paley answers, because experience tells us so.
Granted, say we. But then we also add, that experience
also tells us that every “ person ” is an organised being.
And if Deity be the designer of Nature, and if that designer
be a person, then Deity must be an organised being; and as
every organised being, according to Paley, bears marks of
contrivance, Deity himself was' designed. The designer of
him must also have been designed; and go back as far as we
may, we should never reach the “ First Cause ” of the Chris
tian. Mr. Cooper and others say that a person need not
imply an organised being, but an immaterial principle, an
“ unorganised Divine Being.” In reply, we ask on what
authority is such a statement made ? It is certainly not
made on Paley’s authority—experience. Our experience
has never proved any unorganised person ; and Paley’s en
tire argument is based on experience, and whatever that fails >
to prove weakens in the same ratio Paley’s position. Mr.
Holyoake’s words are these:—“We ask why does design
imply a designer ? Paley answers, experience tells us so.
Why does a designer imply a person ? Paley answers, ex
perience tells us so. Why does a person imply organisation ?
Nature gives the same answer, experience tells us so. The
Natural Theologian asserts that the Designer of Nature
must be a person, because, as he observes, we never knew
design proceed except from a person. To which it may be
added, that we never knew a person unassociated with or
ganisation.” If Mr. Thomas Cooper, or any one else, can
refute these statements from Paley’s position of experience,
we will willingly listen to the refutation. Until that is
�OF ATHEISM.
15
done, however, we shall insist that Paley has been refuted
in his own words. But there is another fallacy in connec
tion with this so-called Design argument—a fallacy that has
often been exposed, and one that must be obvious at the
very threshold of thought. Assuming, for a moment, that
man, like a watch, was designed by some person, then the
analogy is by no means complete. The watchmaker is not
a creator of the material out of which the watch is made :
he simply puts into certain order material placed before him.
To make the analogy complete, a watchmaker should be
placed in an empty room with no material allowed him, and
told to produce forthwith a fine gold chronometer, just to
“ oblige Benson.” The Being believed in by Paley had no
thing out of which to make the world. He first had to
create something out of nothing, and then produce every
thing out of this something, of which no one knows any
thing.
Enough, then, of this so-called Design argument. A more
important question is, “ Is there Design in the universe ?”
We are disposed to reply in the negative. Of course in
stances may be cited where there is w’hat appears to us to
be perfect and harmonious arrangements of means to ends.
Man’s eve is adapted for sight, his hands and arms for
various necessary uses, his legs and feet for locomotion.
The air and food are found to be necessary to life. The
rain descends to nourish the earth, and the sun shinfe? to
produce vegetation, and to cheer the heart of man. All
this, and much more, is quite true. But because we find
such admirable adaptation in Nature, are we bound to con
clude that it has been all designed by some external cause ?
May there not be in Nature an inherent adaptative power,
and each mode of its manifestation have its essential cha
racteristic ? Natural occurrences seem to corroborate such
a supposition. Certain modes of life continue only so long
as the conditions continue necessary to their existence.
And they exist, not because they were designed to exist,
but because they cannot help existing. And when any in
terference of the necessary conditions takes place, by the
action of some natural law, life becomes extinct, one species
dies out, and another species takes its place. Humboldt,
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THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
with his giant-intellect, observed what we believe to be
perfectly true, that were man not a designer we should
never hear anything of design. Or as Kant says, “ It is
reflecting reason which brought design into the world, and
which admires a wonder created by itself.” When we see
any given organ suited for the purpose to which it is
assigned, we, or rather some persons, at once say, “ There’s
design ! without such a provision such and such an animal
could not live.” This general exclamation simply amounts
to this. If a bird had not wings he could not fly, any more
than a man could w’alk without legs. But, as Dr. Louis
Buchner says, “ The stag was not endowed with long legs to
enable him to run fast, but he runs fast because his legs are
long. He might have become a very courageous animal
instead of a timid one, had his legs been unfit for running.
The mole has short spatulated feet for digging; had they
been different it would have never occurred to him to dig.
Things are just as they are, and we should not have
found them less full of design, had they been different.”*
In the serpent tribe feet are partly developed, although
perfectly useless. Was this designed ? Rudimentary organs
which answer no purpose appear in various species of animals.
Are they specially designed? Or, shall we not rather look
upon them as forming links in the development of one
species to another. The author just quoted further ob
serves in his chapter on “ Design in Nature ”—“ Is it by
design that a foetus should fix itself and become developed
in any other but its natural place, the uterus?—a case
which frequently occurs, and conduces to the death of the
mother. Or even that in such extra-uterine pregnancies,
after the lapse of the normal time, pains are felt in the
uterus, though nothing is to be expelled? There is a healing
power of nature in its usual sense, as little as there is a
vital power. The organism proceeding in certain definite
directions frequently adjusts morbid disturbances. At other
times the contrary occurs. The existence of certain specifics
against certain diseases, is frequently quoted as a striking
argument in favour of design in nature. But there are no
* Force and Matter.
Page 91.
�OF ATHEISM.
17
remedies which heal definite diseases with certainty and
under all circumstances, and can be looked upon as intended
to heal them. All rational physicians deny the existence of
specific remedies in the above sense, and are of opinion that
the effects of medicines are not the result of a specific neu
tralisation of the disease, but must be ascribed to very
different causes, mostly accidental. Hence we must also
abandon the theory that nature has created various plants
to act as antidotes—a theory which imputes an absurdity to
a creative power, which is to have created an evil with its
antidote, instead of omitting the creation of either. A crea
tive power acting with design could not have been guilty of
so useless an act.” “ One of the most important facts which
speaks againt the theory that nature acts with conscious
design, is the production of monstrosities. The unsophis
ticated human mind could so little reconcile these pheno
mena with the belief in a creator acting with design, that
they were formerly considered as indicative of the wrath of
the gods ; and they are, even at present, not unfrequently
looked upon as punishments from heaven. The author saw
in a veterinary cabinet, a goat fully developed in every part,
but born without a head. Can we imagine anything more
absurd than the development of an animal, the existence of
which is impossible from the beginning ?” “ The existence
of dangerous animals has ever been a thorn in the side of
theologians, and the most comical arguments have been used
to justify their existence; with what little success, is proved
by the assumption of those religious systems which consider
sin as the cause of that abnormity. According to Meyer
and Stilling, dangerous reptiles and insects are the conse
quence of the curse pronounced on the earth and its inha
bitants. Their frequently monstrous form, etc., is made to
represent sin and destruction! The old German heathens
looked upon these animals as evil spirits, from which all
diseases originated. These whimsical explanatory attempts
prove how little was effected in showing the usefulness or
the design in tfeese troublesome and disgusting creatures.
We know, on the other hand, that very innocent, or even
useful, animals have become extinct, without nature taking
any means to preserve their existence. Such, within his-
�18
THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
torical times, was the case with the Irish elk, the rytina
stelleri, the dodo, etc. There are other useful animals which
are constantly diminishing, threatening to become extinct;
whilst very many injurious animals, as field mice, are so
fruitful, that their extinction cannot be thought of. Locusts
and migratory pigeons form swarms which darken the hori
zon, and bring destruction, famine, and death over the spots
they alight upon. ‘ Whoever,’ says Giebel, ‘ expects to find
in nature nothing but wisdom, conformity, and design, let
him exercise his acumen in the study of the natural history
of the tape-worm. The main object of its life consists in
the production of eggs, the development of which can only
be effected by the sufferings of other creatures. Millions
of such eggs perish; some few are developed and trans
formed into a sucking and productive scolex, the progeny
of which again produce eggs which putrify in the excre
ments.
In this process there is, according to human
conception, neither beauty, wisdom, nor design.’ ” “ If
green woodpeckers,” says Darwin, “alone had existed,
and we did not know that there were black and pied
kinds, I dare say that we should have thought that the
green colour was a beautiful adaptation to hide this tree
frequenting bird from its enemies.” The author of the
“ Trial of Theism ” puts the fallacy of this design argument
in a very comic yet forcible manner. “ The Natural Theo
logian praises the divine contrivance which has given man
two eyes. They would have been equally rapturous had he
had four, so that he could have looked east, west, north,
and south at the same time; and successive Paleys would
have celebrated the providential arrangement which enabled
policemen and sentinels to conduct four-fold observations
without turning their heads. Again, if man, like Poly
phemus, had but one eye given him, Dr. Paley would have
proved it impossible that he could ever have seen at all
with two; or if he had, that he would see double. . . .
Had man only one arm no Natural Theologian would have
missed the other ; had he three they would find reason to
praise the Trinitarian arrangement, and no doubt declare it
to be a mystic symbol for the confutation of Unitarians.”
This nassage, although funny, is not devoid of serious truth.
�OF ATHEISM.
19
And we can only now add that whoever relies on the socalled design argument to prove the existence of the Chris
tian’s Deity, relies indeed upon a broken reed.
We come now to the really practical part of the logic and
philosophy of Atheism. To prove that some kind of Deity
exists would not satisfy the Christian. His attributes must
be demonstrated. He must be shown not only to be power
ful, but to be also wise and good ; not only to be our
Creator but also our loving Father. It must be shown that
he not only desired to see us live, but that he also wished us
to live happily. And the happiness enjoyed by one must
be equally attainable by all, for the Christian’s God is no
respector of persons. In combatting such theories the
Atheist really proves himself to be a friend to the human
race. He sees the many organised systems of superstition
that have grown out of a belief in Deity. He knows how
these systems tend to enslave the mind and to tax the mate
rial resources of the great mass of mankind. He knows
how much happier the world in general would be if the
chain of superstition could once be snapped, and if
men could be taught to know the truth, to obey the
truth, and to be guided by the truth. He knows it
to be impossible for the Christian’s Deity to exist, with
all his reputed attributes, simultaneously with such an illgoverned world as that in which we live. And he looks
upon Christian teachers, who are constantly preaching the
contrary doctrine, as the great enemies of human improve
ment. This belief is a sufficient justification for Atheistic
propagandism, and a sufficient answer to those who say
that we are mere hair-splitting negationists, or noisy logic
choppers. If Theism were simply a speculative question,
to be discussed at our leisure or avoided at our pleasure,
having no practical influence over human society, producing
no hatred in families and impeding no progress in states,
then we should care as little about discussing the possibi
lity of Deity’s existence as we should to debate whether or
not the moon is made of green cheese. But when thousands
are every day told that they have a heavenly Father, who
watches over them, and who will see justice done to them,
and when we know how heavily they are taxed and how much
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THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
they are compelled to pay for such a monstrous delusion,
we consider ourselves justified at any risk in exposing such
a disastrous imposition. Paley saw the inequalities of the
arrangements of society, and endeavoured to explain them
away. Speaking to the poor he says, « How much is acti
vity better than attendance ; beauty than dress; appetite,
digestion, and tranquil bowels, than all the studies of
cookery, or than the most costly compilation of forced, or
far-fetched dainties.” And in the same chapter he says,
“ It is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water,
teem with delighted existence. In a spring noon or summer
evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy
beings crowd upon my view. ‘ The insect youth are on the
wing.’ Swarms of new-born flies are trying their pinions
in the air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes,
their gratuitous activity, their continual change of place,
without use or purpose, testify their joy and the exultation
which they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee
amongst the flowers in spring, is one of the most cheerful
objects that can be looked upon.” These extracts are in
tended by Paley to show the goodness of Deity, as well as
his personality. But is it not the veriest special pleading ?
Who doubts that many of the rich become deteriorated for
want of activity ? Who doubts that beauty is better than
dress ? Who doubts that a good appetite is better than
forced niceties ? But who does not also know that thou
sands die from overwork ? Who does not know that there
are thousands with neither beauty nor proper dress ? Who
doe8 not know that there are thousands who have good
appetites, but nothing to satisfy them ? And who will not
admit the immense difficulty of believing in the existence of
an all-powerful, all-good, and perfectly just Being while
such injustice is allowed to continue, and such misery
allowed to exist? Does not the human heart untainted
with superstition revolt against such misgovernment; and
would it not be better to adopt every possible means for its
removal, rather than deceive its victims with promises of an
upper and a better world ?
However impregnable the logical position of the Atheist
may be, there will always exist numbers of persons without
�OF ATHEISM.
21
the courage to look fearlessly at his principles, or to regard
him in any other than a prejudicial light. He will, by
many whose judgments have been warped by priestly teach
ings, be considered either deficient in intellect or depraved
in heart. It is a curious fact in connection with human
nature, that many men who have no regard for morality;
who care little for the welfare of those by whom they are
surrounded; whose duties as parents, neighbours, and
citizens are seldom if ever properly fulfilled—such men, we
say, are pretty firm believers in Deity, and will listen to no
argument from the Atheist, lest he should rob him of his
God. So terrible is the effect of superstitious teaching
when young, that many men remain children all their lives.
We never attempt to take God out of the world, for the
best of all reasons—we have never been able to find him in
the world. Could we be convinced that a God exists, who
may properly be considered the loving and wise parent of
the human family; a Being on whom we could all rely for
help in the time of need, for solace in the hour of sorrow,
and for assistance when in danger and distress, we should
gladly recognise such existence, and be thankful for such
a blessing. But all our knowledge seems to confirm our
belief that, however much we may lament it, the world has
no such superintending Being as the Deity believed in by
Christians^ Science proclaims, with imperial authority,
that we are under the dominion of general laws—laws of
nature. “ That whether there be a Deity independent of
Nature, or whether Nature be God, it is still the God of
the iron foot, that passes on without heeding, without feel
ing, and without resting; that Nature acts with a fearful
uniformity, stern as fate, absolute as tyranny, merciless as
death; too vast to praise, too inexplicable to worship, too
inexorable to propitiate; it has no ear for prayer, no heart
for sympathy, no arm to save. We reap from it neither
special help nor special knowledge ; it protects itself from
our curiosity by giving us only finite powers; its silence
is profound, and when we ask its secret, it points to death.
Yet if we are wise to learn from this great mystery before
which creeds are shattered and dogmas are cancelled, it is
a magnificent monitor. Men fable to us the future with
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THE LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY
fearful presumption; they dazzle us with a world they have
never visited, amaze us with images they have never seen,
alarm us by the ideal and cheat us of the real ; and betray
us, by a false dependence, to our own destruction.” In the
logic and philosophy of Atheism there is no superstition,
no supernatural religion. With us the proper study of
mankind is man, and whatever tends to develop his mental
and moral nature, and increase his comfort and happiness,
comes within the scope of Atheistic philosophy. Every
day facts compel us to reject the Christian teaching con
cerning Deity. With such a faith we could not believe
that thousands would be allowed to awake every morning
not knowing where or how to obtain food during the day,
and when night approaches have to make the bare earth
their resting place, and the canopy their only covering. If
such a Being did exist, we should never witness, as we now
do, the daily agony of some fellow-creatures, shivering with
cold and faint with hunger, lying in some corner of a street
whose inhabitants are securely housed, with wealth at their
command, and ease and plenty for their daily attendants. If
such a Being did exist, that which man laments his inability
to remove, God would surely prevent occurring. We agree
with Bacon that “ it were better to have no opinion of God
at all, than such an opinion as is unworthy him.” And
surely we must form an unworthy opinion of him if we
suppose he allows so much misery to exist when he has the
power to prevent it. Every week our newspapers contain
accounts of starvation and of disease engendered by the
want of the necessaries of life. And the clergy—the special
servants of God—instead of demanding improved dwellings
and proper means of sustenance for those unfortunate vic
tims, solicit money to repair one church, and to build
another. The only consolation they offer to the starving
victims of Christian misrule, is the blood of the Lamb, when
a pound of meat would be far more acceptable. Man’s
“ future life ” is considered, or rather taught by priests to
be all-important, and churches and chapels are deemed
necessary to the realisation of heavenly bliss. Hence the
present misery, disease, and starvation are nothing com
pared with the calamities that would ensue if the spiritual
�OF ATHEISM.
23
wants of the poor were neglected. Theistic philosophy is
that we are simply in this life journeying to our everlast
ing home, and that, therefore, our first consideration should
be to make and to keep our peace with God, no matter
how miserable we are with man. Atheistic philosophy, on
the contrary, is, that our first concern should be to ascertain
what we are and what are our duties, the performance of
which would secure to all, or at least to the majority, health,
wealth, happiness, and peace.
One word as to the usual and oft-repeated statement that
the Atheist’s faith is a cold and barren one, and that the
Atheist cannot be a truly happy man. We reply that a
greater mistake could not be entertained. We are surely
as happy as any Christian can be. If we have not the
consolation spoken of by Christians, arising from the pros
pect or anticipation of heavenly bliss, neither have we the
misgivings, doubts, or fears as to the misery of hell. The
magnificence of the universe; the comparative regularity of
her operations; the grandeur of her seasons; the beauty
of her products, all afford equal joy to the Atheist as to the
Christian. To him—
“ Not the lightest leaf but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams.”
And as in life, so in death. The Atheist, though not
fearing death, certainly loves life.
He loves to see the
lives prolonged of his relatives and his friends. He laments
the loss—when it comes—of those who have shared his
happiness, and participated in his sorrows. He would
even be glad to see reasons to cherish a hope that they
would all meet again in another and a better world, where
they may enjoy an eternity of bliss denied them on this
earth. And when life’s duty is accomplished; when Nature
warns him of approaching decay; when friendship, love,
and life are about to forsake him, he can fearlessly look
back on a life the secrets of which he could never fathom,
but the recognised duties of which he had endeavoured to
fulfil.
And lastly, as the chilling messenger from the
tomb approaches, with Death’s imperial summons, he can
meet the inexorable envoy without fear, without sadness,
and without despair.
�BY THE SAME AUTHOR:
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By Melampus (Dr. Sexton).
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�
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THE
WESTMINSTER
AND
FOREIGN
QUARTERLY
REVIEW.
JANUARY 1, 1873.
Art. I.—Sophokles.
1. Sophokles, erlddrt wnF. W. Schneid ewin. Sechste Avflage,
besorgt von A..HKUGK., Berlin. 1871.
2. The Tragedies of Sophocles, with a Biographical Essay.
By E. H. Plumptre, M.A. London. 1867.
3. Die Religosen und Sittlichen Vorstellungen des Aeschylos
und Sopholdes. Von Gustav Dronke. Leipzig. 1861.
4. Sopholdes und seine Tragodien. Von 0. Ribbeck. Heft
83 in der Sammlung gemeinverstdndlicher wissenschaftlicher Vortrdge. Berlin. 1869.
ENGLISH scholarship has not done much for the better
J’j understanding of Sophokles. He is not a poet who has
taken close hold of the English mind. His works are studied of
course in the general university curriculum ; but he has not become
a poet often read and oftener quoted as have some of the classic
writers. Those who really find in him a source of intellectual
delight read his works in a German edition. But of what classical
writer may not this be said ? It is very seldom that an English
editor has the patience to make a complete presentation of a
classical author—to do for him what Professor Munro has done for
Lucretius—with that loving study and exhaustive research which
characterize the labours of the German editor. So far the case
of Sophokles is not single. But perhaps there is no instance of
an author of such renown as Sophokles, with so general a con
sensus of people willing to admit his claims, who has made so
little impression upon the majority of cultivated minds. The
[Vol. XCIX. No. CXCV.J—New Series, Vol. XLIII. No. I.
B
�2
Sophokles.
reason is that the majority of cultivated people never bring them
selves under his influence. The English scholar is for the
most part satisfied with a textual or critical knowledge: the
whole field of classical literature must be hurried through rather
than any part explored. And the result of this is scholarship
rather than knowledge.
Now with many authors this may be sufficient; it cannot be
so with all. Homer, for instance, will give up his. beauties in
broad and easily taken bands of continuous narrative. . Apart
from the necessities of philological studies, which are beside the
present question, Homer, like Chaucer, is easy reading. Those
that run may read the alto rilievo of the Iliad or Odyssey. But
before a group of statuary you must stand. And the difficulty
is that the intellectual life of the present day does not admit of
long standing. The progress of science and the march of new
ideas are continually urging on the student mind. And to almost
all the doubt must occasionally present itself, Is it worth while
to spend this time before these works of ancient art? . Now,
whatever the answer to this question may be, it is certain that
the. secret of Sophokles cannot be won without loving and
leisurely study. For in his works exists the highest form of one
species of art; and that an art which will yield its essence to no
hurried student. It is a significant circumstance that few English
translations of the works of Sophokles have been attempted.
The version of Mr. Plumptre is the fourth of its kind. Those
that have preceded it are of little importance. It is true that no
author suffers more from translation than Sophokles : but that
is the least element in the unpopularity of his dramas amongst
English readers. The reader unacquainted with the Greek
language may yet be fascinated by the “ tale of Troy divine
in the musical and monotonous lines of Pope, or the inadequate
interpretations of Cowper and Lord Derby : he may even, if.he
be a Keats, find his vision dazzled by the misty prospect which
he catches of the vast Homeric continent; but he is not at all
likely to be charmed with Sophokles. To understand Sophokles
one must place oneself in the intellectual position of ^n average
Athenian of the time of Perikles. Mr. Galton says : “ The
*
average ability of the Athenian race is, on the lowest possible
estimate, very nearly two grades higher than our own—that is,
about as much as our race is above that of the African negro?
The average English reader, therefore, whose knowledge of
Sophokles is derived from Mr. Plumptre’s very creditable version,
will probably lay down the book without any extraordinary
interest in the subject. He will miss the plaintive clink and
Hereditary Genius,” p. 3&2.
�Sophokles.
- 3
jingle of subjective sentimentality which he has been accustomed
to associate with poetry, and he will probably wonder at the
renown of the poet. But the earnest student of Sophokles will
find in the original enough to reward him. His mind will be
strengthened by the contemplation of perfect types of character,
bold, severe, and beautiful. He will pass .into a gallery of
statuary where he will see sights that can never leave his inner
eye. Serene faces, familiar, yet unusual in their lofty humanity,
will look down upon him •, voices, more divine than human,
though rising from the depths of the human heart, will speak to
him, and his ears will be filled with a holy and awful music.
The best guides to the higher knowledge of Sophokles are the
German works whose titles are given at the head of the present
*
paper. Schneidewin’s edition is known to students of Sophokles ;
so ought also to be the essay by G. Dronke, snatched from his
friends and from literature by an all too early death. Dr. Bib
beck’s paper, though short, is a concise estimate of the extant
dramas, and is written in a genial and scholarly style. The
present essay is an attempt to connect the works of Sophokles
with the periods of the poet’s life, and to point out the chief
dramatic characteristics of the several plays.
It was in the year 469 before our era, at the spring festival
of the greater Dionysia, that Athens saw the first trilogy of
Sophokles. The city was then full of new life ; it was the charmed
period when future greatness lay in bud, and not yet in blossom.
The terror of the Persian had been changed into an immortal
memory, and Athens was winning for herself the hegemony of
more than the Grecian race. This spring festival had drawn
many strangers to the city. The islands had not yet learned to
dread her power or doubt her justice, and sent their loyal visitors
to join in her rejoicing.
Two days of the festival had already passed, and a trilogy or
rather tetralogy had been presented each day. One was the
work of Aeschylus, for fourteen years the master of the Athenian
stage. Upon the third day a trilogy by a new poet was presented.
What thi^work really was is uncertain; it has, however, been
inferred from a passage in Pliny, that one drama was the Triptolemus. It was a subject that had never before been chosen for
the stage, but it was well adapted to win favour at Athens at the
present time. Already the city had conceived the design of
* No writer upon the life of Sophokles can forget the obligation which he
is under to Gotthold Ephraim Lessing—Mr. Plumptre most unaccountably
(p. xxii.) calls him Gottfried Lessing—whose splendid fragment of a ‘‘Life ot
Sophokles ” remains to show later writers what the great German critic might
have done in this direction.
B 2
�4
Sophokles.
uniting under a central power the scattered members of the Ionian
race, and the confederacy of Delos was in part a realization of
her desire. In the subject which he chose, Sophokles would
have an opportunity of idealizing the national aspiration.
Triptolemus was the youthful hero of Eleusis, the herald of
agriculture and peace, the friend and host of Demeter. He was
a traveller too, and where he lighted from his winged car, he
left a blessing of corn and wheat behind him. Thus Sophokles
was enabled to depict, as we know from Pliny he did depict, far
lands and foreign places, gladdened by the gifts that came from
Attica.
Whether he fully indicated such a mission for the new Attica
we cannot know; he was certainly too wise to miss the op
portunity altogether. It may well be that this power of repre
senting the national feeling, formed the distinctive characteristic of
the first trilogy of Sophokles; it is at least easier to believe this,
than that he surpassed the veteran JEschylus in technical ex
cellence. There was, however, a large section of the audience,
who preferred the JEschylean trilogy. Never, perhaps, in such
a cause, had party-feeling run so high. JEschylus was himself from
Eleusis; the new writer had won the suffrages of the elder poet’s
own townsmen. But the victory was not to be adjudged by
popular acclamation. The custom was that ten judges should be
elected by lot, one from each tribe. Why the ordinary mode of
decision was not retained, it is not easy to ascertain. At any
rate the presiding archon Aphepsion did not venture, in the
excited state of popular feeling, to follow the ordinary practice,
and this accident inaugurated a change in the method of electing
the tragic judges.
Kimon and his nine colleagues representing the Attic tribes
were at this moment the popular heroes. They had but newly
returned from their victorious contest with the Persians atEurymedon, and they had brought back from Skyros the bones of
Theseus to be laid in Attic soil. Moreover, they had been absent
during the preparation of the competing choruses, and, if any,
they were free from bias and prejudice Whatever their decision
might be, it would be accepted by the Athenians. With happy
tact, Aphepsion chose them as judges, and they were at once
sworn into the office. Their verdict was for Sophokles. Erom the
fact that henceforth only those who had seen service were allowed
to adjudge the tragic prizes, we may infer that the decision was
both memorable and satisfactory. Such at least seems to be the
sentiment with which Plutarch speaks of it : “ eOevto c’ dp
fj.v/]jur]v avrov Kai tt)v to>v rpaywcMv Kpiatv ovopacrrrjv ytvoplvriv.”
Whether it was the subject, the poetical handling, or the grace
and beauty of the principal actor, Sophokles himself, that turned
�Sophokles.
5
the scale in favour of the Triptoleinus, we miss the play with
regret. The result of the decision was that for many years
Sophokles became the favourite actor of the Athenian stage. There
is greater importance to be attached to this fact than at first sight
appears. It means not only that the successful dramatist was able,
to present his views cf art and ethics to the Athenian people ; but
that he was able to mould and perfect the form of presentation.
Nor must we forget the rival interests of the several tribes as an
element of success. The Choragus who had assisted in the pro
duction of a successful trilogy was rewarded even more than the
author. The actors were chosen for the same places in the
representations of the ensuing year, and we know that Sophokles
not only established a society of the best actors, but also wrote
his plays with special reference to their powers and capacities.
One success, therefore, was earnest of farther renown, and a
stepping-stone to it. The Choragus naturally granted to his
successful author more liberty than would be conceded to an
untried competitor, and it was this feeling of confidence in the
poet, which enabled Sophokles, as it had already enabled
.zEschylus, to achieve his ideal of dramatic art upon the stage.
But before we pass on to relate the gradual growth of the drama
in the hands of Sophokles, it will be well to speak of the young
poet in his personal relations to the Athenian people, who had
just crowned him with the ivy-chaplet.
If tradition is to be believed, he was not unknown to them. He
was not born of low or ignoble parents, for in this case the comic
stage would have rung with jesting allusions to his parentage.
His father, Sophillus, was undoubtedly a man of respectable rank,
a knight it may be. Plutarch speaks of Sophokles as a person
of good birth, and other writers attribute to him an excellent and
complete education. Probably with truth, for it is undoubted
that he possessed in a high degree those elegant personal accom
plishments which were deemed necessary accessories to an
Athenian gentleman. As the promising son of a well-known
citizen, he would be a youth who claimed attention ; and the
story of Athenaeus, which speaks of his surpassing beauty, is a'
record of the influence of his boyish grace upon his contem
poraries. It declares that he of all the Athenian youths, was
chosen to lead the choir of boys who danced round the trophies
in Salamis, after the defeat of the Persians. Aftertimes gladly
recalled the happy coincidence which linked the three great
names of Attic tragedy around the memorable victory of Salamis,
for Aeschylus fought in the battle, Sophokles led the paean, and
Euripides was born on the day of victory, within the fortunate
isle. The years which immediately followed the victory formed a
bright era in the history of the Athenians. They feared no more
�Sophokles.
6
for the barbarian invader, nor, by the prudence of Themistokles,
for the treachery of the selfish Spartans. At home there was room
in every sphere for the development of genius, and genius was
not absent. Under the hands of ./Eschylus the drama was
growing towards perfection, and the people built the great stone
theatre of Dionysus. A tradition says that ZEschylus was the
teacher of Sophokles in the dramatic art: it is most likely he
was his teacher only as he was the teacher of every Athenian
who had the right to hear his dramas. In this sense, each one
of his audience was his pupil, and not with regard to art alone.
It was his province to bring the minds of men from the dim
religious darkness of old theogonies into a fuller light, though a
light by no means so full as it was hereafter to be. Great
questions had been asked, and there was none to answer them ;
men’s minds were troubled with the inconsequence of virtue and
sorrow, and the polytheistic heaven of Homer was dark and
silent above them. The leading ideas of the tragedies of Adschylus
were the supremacy of Zeus, and the moral order of the Universe.
By chains, not always of gold, the world is bound about the
throne of Zeus. Vice leads to punishment in this generation,
and the next, and the third. Yet no voluntarily pure man can
come to ruin :
3’ avdyicaQ arep
(Action tiv ovk avoXfioQ
ekmv
carat.
H>vp.
550.
The contest of Destiny and Free-will is a mystery which finds
its solution only in this moral order. ’ wQpoavvir or moderation is
S
a conscious voluntary submission to the moral order. Any trans
gression of the line between Bight and Wrong is vfiptQ, and leads
to ruin. It is a disorder of the mind, a disease, a distemper,
without expiation and without cure. ZEschylus does not repre
sent the gods as leading man into the commission of guilt. In
the choice between good and evil, man is free. A good deed
must be, as an evil one is, dvdyaa^ drtp. No one is punished by
the Divine hand without fault of his own. But sin once com
mitted is followed by a judicial blindness which leads to other
and greater guilt. This dangerous downfall is accelerated by
means of a divine power known simply as “ Daimon,” or as
“ Alastor,” or sometimes “ Ate/’ whose influence may extend to a
whole race. This brings us to the subject of “family guilt,”
which is frequently a motive in the Greek dramas. The idea
that guilt was hereditary sprang from the notion that it was
inexpiable. Hence a house fell from one crime to another,
until the anger of the gods swept it away root and branch. It
is an extension of the primitive “ lex talionis murder brings
murder, rvppa TvppaTL rival, and guilt gives birth to guilt. And
�Sophokles.
7
what Ate or Alastor is to the individual, that Erinnys is to the
family, working it madness and blindness, and involving it
deeper and deeper in the slough of crime.
/3oct yap Xotyog ILpivvv
7rapa tGjv Trporspov (pQtpevwv drrjv
tTEpcw iTrayovaav £7r' dry.—Cho. 402.
Yet the individual is free. If he belongs to a doomed raise,
then it is true there is in him an hereditary tendency which
shall lead him to guilt and ruin, but the decision rests with him
self. He is not given over to Ate until he has himself been
guilty of sin (vj3ptc). In much of this ethical system 2Eschylus
has taken and arranged prevailing popular beliefs. By his
monotheism, which made Zeus supreme, he attained to the idea
of order in the universe. His conception of sin is one which
is not alien from some forms of modern thought, and his belief
in free-will and individual responsibility, exercised considerable
influence upon later philosophy.
Sophokles did not remain unaffected by the teaching of his
contemporary, though his nature was essentially different. His
works are to the works of Aeschylus, as the clear light succeeding
to a thunderstorm. He took the gain and added to it. We
shall see in what way.
Whatever had been the progress made by JEschylus, Sophokles
at once perceived that the mechanical and technical appliances
of the art, of which he now held supreme command, were by no
means perfect. It would be strange if they had been, while the
art itself was so young. The old monologue with the chorus as
interlocutor, gave place to the drama, when the earlier poet
introduced a second actor, and made dialogue possible. But
this, it is clear, left room for farther changes. Sophokles
availed himself of the opportunity. His first change was the
separation of the functions of author and actor. It is said that
he took this course for a personal reason, the weakness of his
own voice, which could not fill the vast space occupied by his
audience. But there was probably another reason also, the feeling
namely, that each character would more readily attain to its ade
quate excellence if separated from the other. He himself did
not take any leading character after the appearance of the
Triptolemus, but the care with which he trained his actors,
testifies to the importance which he attached to this branch of
the art. A more significant change was the introduction of a
third actor upon the stage. That this improvement was made
by Sophokles we have the testimony of Aristotle. It is possible
that even earlier, AEschylus may have used three actors, and it is
difficult to understand how some of the scenes of his earlier plays
�8
Sophokles.
could have been represented by two actors only, but the adoption
of this number as a permanent feature of each play, is due to
Sophokles. Besides these greater changes, no matter of detail
escaped him; we learn from the same source that he carefully
directed the arrangement of the scenery and the stage. The
palace of 2Eschylus, with doors central, right and left, gave place
to a more elaborate stage, and much art must have been required
in fitting the theatre for the scenery of the (Edipus at Kolonus.
Yet the greatest innovation was the mode which Sophokles
adopted in treating a subject itself. 2Eschylus wrote his dramas,
and treated the subject in the form of a trilogy. When Sophokles
abandoned this form of composition, and chose to develop his
subject in a single play, it is certain he risked much. But his
artistic sense could not err. What the poetical material lost in
breadth and depth, it gained in concentration and intensity. It
followed, that in the plays of Sophokles first was seen the real
spirit of Greek dramatic art, the perfect statuesque poise of form
and expression which we have learnt to look upon as the chief
characteristic of the Athenian drama.
We return to the year of the first victory of Sophokles, from
which these improvements have led us. It was a year marked
by an event of more importance for mankind than the supremacy
of Sophokles, the birth of Sokrates. Herodotus was then a boy
of sixteen years, Thukydides an infant of three, and Euripides a
child of twelve. Seven years later Perikles rose to the height
of his power, and Athens of her glory. This is the date of the
appearance of the Oresteian trilogy, a trilogy worthy of JEschylus
and of Athens, and the only one we possess. But it unquestion
ably exhibits marks of the influence of Sophokles. A third actor
appears in every play. Three years later fiEschylus died in Sicily,
and for the next fifteen years we know nothing of the personal
history of Sophokles. History has not much to say even about
the silent growth and development of the city under the govern
ing hands of Perikles, nor is it necessary that much should be
said when the memorials are imperishable. At the end of this
period, by some caprice of popular taste Euripides was allowed to
gain the first prize.
The next year Sophokles exhibited his Antigone.
It is almost as fatal to an author’s reputation to write too
much as it is to write too little. We learn that Sophokles had
written one-and-thirty dramas before he composed the Antigone;
yet if any of these lost dramas approached at all in majesty or
power the thirty-second, which remains to us, we may well
lament the irreparable theft of time. Perhaps they, as well as
the Antigone, aided in securing the election of Sophokles to a
general’s rank. The time at which it was exhibited has not
�Sophokles.
9
been fully illustrated by the luminous pen of Thukydides, but
some rays of historical light allow us to see the internal political
activity of the city. The establishment of a complete democracy
by Perikles and Ephialtes was not accomplished without much
resistance, and it was difficult to keep aloof from party strife.
The conservative or stationary faction, under the leadership of
Kimon, drew around them the wealthy Athenians, who saw
their oligarchical power passing away with the old order of
things. The centre of their union was the Council of the
Areopagus, and any change in that institution appeared to them
as sacrilege and profanity. But the victorious cause was with
their opponents. The Areopagites were stripped of their timehallowed privileges, which were certainly not in Accordance with
the spirit of a pure democracy. 2Eschylus had been a vigorous
partisan of the conservative party, and took occasion in his
Oresteian trilogy to inculcate popular respect for that court and
the other decaying institutions whose power Perikles and
Ephialtes sought to banish or curtail. And the artistic effect of
the poem is lessened by the zeal of the partisan. Muller says
with truth, that JEschylus seems almost to forget Orestes in the
establishment of the Areopagus and the religion of the Erinnys.
Sophokles never forgot that his first duty was to his art. And
so far is the
above the atmosphere of controversy
and dispute which blurred the Eumenides of ^Eschylus, that it
was actually claimed by both parties as a witness to their views,
and was received by both with un mixed applause. We cannot
wonder at it. No play of Sophokles seizes with such over
mastering power the human heart, no play is so full of noble
thought, and in no play is the lyric element so harmoniously
blended with the maich of events, accompanying it as with the
sound of serene and divine music.
The plot is as follows :—Eteokles and Polyneikes have fallen
at the gates of Thebes in contest: Eteokles fighting for the
Thebans, Polyneikes, with seven great princes, against them.
Both brothers perish, and Kreon is made king in the place of
Eteokles. At- once he issues a decree that Eteokles shall be
buried with due honours, and that the body of Polyneikes shall
be left unburied and exposed. When the drama opens, Antigone
has just heard of the proclamation of the decree. She therefore
suggests to her sister, Ismene, that they should bury the body of
their brother. Ismene shrinks from the attempt, and is met by
the full scorn of Antigone, who goes forth, daring “ a holy crime.”
Shortly the news is brought to Kreon that his authority has
been defied, and that rites of sepulture have been performed
upon the body. As yet the offender is unknown. But this is
soon revealed, and Antigone appears, led in by the guard. A
�10
Sophokles.
great scene follows, when Antigone appeals to > the divine
unwritten laws against human ordinances. Kreon pronounces
her doom ; she is to be buried in a living sepulchre—a bloodless
but horrible fate, not unknown of old. The action is, however,
delayed by the entrance of Hremon, Kreon’s son and Antigone’s
affianced husband, who pleads for her. Yet it is not to Kreon’s
paternal affection that he appeals, but to the principle which
the new king has set before himself—the safety and unanimity
of the state. There are already murmurs, indistinct but deep,
heard in the city against the severity of the king’s decree.
Kreon’s passion and blindness grow more intense as he listens to
his son, and before the king’s fiery words Hee mon is driven away,
crying that his father shall see his face no more. From the
depths of this-darkness the audience are lifted by the strains of
the Chorus, who sing, “ Love, ever victor in war and as their
music dies away, Antigone is led across the stage to her lingering
doom. Again the Chorus waken to music, but it is music in the
minor key, and can no longer lighten or delay the growing
terror. Teiresias, the blind but infallible prophet, appears, and
describes the imminence of the divine anger for Kreon’s crime.
His prophetic utterances terrify the king, who hurries to undo
the wrong he has committed. In vain. Upon reaching the tomb
of Antigone, he finds her hanging dead by her girdle to the
vaulted roof, and is in time only to receive the passionate curse
of his son, and to witness his self-inflicted death. When Kreon
reaches home, bearing the corpse of Haemon, he finds that
Rumour, swifter than his laden steps, has already told all to the
ears of his wife, and that she has slain herself in anguish and
despair. So all the fountains of feeling, young love and parental
affection, which can never be long pent up, have broken loose,
and are all the more terrible for the unholy obstructions which
they have swept away.
The character of the chief person, Antigone, stands forth
in just and magnificent proportions. All that is beautiful
in womanly nature—nay, rather in human nature—shine
forth from that supreme ideal, a mind that sees the right,
and a soul that dares to do it in the face of death. Never had
love and strength been so combined upon the Athenian stage,
and the Athenian spectators must have experienced the same
feeling in gazing upon that representation as pilgrims did when
they were ushered into the presence of the Olympian Zeus of
Phidias. We have lost the one? we can still be taught by the
other. The heart of man has not ceased to be shaken by the
contest which is waged between temporary expediency and selfish
interests on the one side, and on the other the unchanging
laws of higher duty, for these laws “ are not of to-day, nor of
�Sophokles.
11
yesterday, but they live always, and their footsteps are not
known.”
The secondary characters throw the figure of Antigone into
bolder relief. Ismene, who knows what is right, follows the way
which leads to personal security. The grandeur of Antigone dwarfs
even the natural nobility of her sister when she seeks to share the
death she has not earned. Kreon errs through insolence. He is
wanting in the vision which has made the path of Antigone clear ;
he has forgotten the rights of the gods, and his own way leads
to ruin. Only when this ruin is full in view does he perceive
that he has gone astray, and discover that there is something
higher than love to the state and to his country—loyalty to the
great unwritten laws. Nor does the character of Hsemon, noble as
it is, disturb the unity of the impression which we receive from
Antigone. She stands the central commanding figure of the
group. And as she thus stands alone, so in her the one promi
nent feature is her heroic allegiance to duty. Other traits there
are, but they serve to bring out this one characteristic. She is
no unwomanly person, portrayed in rough masculine lines. Her
language to Ismene, if it seems harsh, is forgotten when she says
to Kreon :
ou rot tnwEyOetv dXXd avp,^>iXAv tcpuv,
for we know that these words come from the depth of her nature.
Then, when the work which she has set herself has been accom
plished, when the expression of her natural feelings can no longer
mar or render equivocal her devotion to the dead, she breaks
into lamentations like those of the Hebrew daughter, which show
how tender and womanly alife is about to be sacrificed. Once only
before has she shown any indication of the mental struggle
through w’hich she has passed, and that is when strung by Kreon’s
unconcern she breathes forth the sighing complaint, “ 0 dearest
Hsemon, how thy sire dishonours thee !”* The delicacy with
which Sophokles has treated the ove of Hsemon and Antigone
secures still farther the predominant effect. It is hard to imagine
such restraint in modern art.
The Chorus, of whose surpassing melody mention has already
been made, had certain peculiarities in this play. It did not, like
most choruses, consist of persons of the same age and sex as the
principal actor, but of Theban elders. Nor did it at once take
part with Antigone. Even here she is left alone. But by its
submission to Kreon it serves to deepen the impression of the
* The MSS. gives this line (572) to Ismene. Schneidewin has rightly,
and for unanswerable reasons, assigned it to Antigone.
Dindorf and
Ribbeck agree with him.
�12
Sophokles.
monarch’s irresistible power : and by not participating at once in
the action, it is enabled to rise to a higher atmosphere of wisdom,
which culminates in the choric song,
7roXXa ra Seiva k.t.X.
So, too, in its last songs, the painful instances of suffering which
are recalled added to the darkness of Antigone’s fate.
The effect of this perfect drama upon the Athenians was great,
and as has been said, universal. Although Sophokles had hitherto
taken only that share in public life which was the duty of
every Athenian citizen, they now elected him as one of the
college of generals, at whose head was Perikles. It happened to
be the time of the war with Samos, which had revolted from
Athens, and the ten generals with sixty triremes sailed for that
island. Sophokles took sixteen of these ships and proceeded to
Chios and Lesbos, to procure a further contingent. At the former
island we hear of him through Athenreus, who records the opinion
of Ion, that he was not able nor energetic in political affairs, but
behaved as any other virtuous Athenian might have done.
(Ath. xiii. 81.) This assertion probably had its origin in the
playful self-depreciation with which Sophokles spoke of his own
strategic power ; and it is quite possible that Perikles treated his
poet-colleague with a good-humoured irony, which he accepted in
the same spirit. This view is borne out by the story which
Atnenseus tells of Sophokles : that, having snatched a kiss from
a fair face at Chios, he exclaimed amidst the laughter of the
company, “ Perikles says that I know how to compose poetry,
but have no strategic power; now, my friends, did not my
stratagem succeed ?” It is certain, however, that, whatever his
power as a general, he did not lose the confidence and affection
of his fellow citizens ; for, five years later, he was treasurer of the
common fund of the Greek Confederacy. Afterwards for nearly
thirty years we do not hear of his taking any part in public life.
But it was no time to him of intellectual inactivity. During this
period he wrote eighty-one plays, which is almost at the rate of a
trilogy a year. If we remember all that this includes—the com
position and the instruction of actors for so many and so fre
quently successfuldramas—we shall cease to wonder that Sophokles
did not seek to meddle with statesmanship. And once more we
shall regret that so little has come down to us of that abundant
intellectual wealth.
The commencement of the Peloponnesian war, and the
death of Perikles, turned one page of Athenian history ; but
Sophokles to the end of his long life continued to live in the
spirit of the Periklean age. Ten year after the appearance of the
Antigone he published the (Edipus Rex. The general outlines
of the story are easily told. Laius, King of Thebes, and J okasta
�Sophokles.
13
his wife, were told by the God at Delphi, that should they have
a son, Laius would be slain by his hand, and Jokasta would
become his wife. Therefore, when their son CEdipus was born,
they determined to destroy him, and gave him to a herdsman
that he might be cast out upon Mount Kithoeron. This herds
man, however, smitten with pity, gave the child to a comrade
shepherd, who carried him to Corinth, where the boy was adopted
as son by the king of that city. Many years afterwards, CEdipus
at Corinth heard the oracle which had been delivered concerning
him ; but he was still in ignorance as to his parentage. Think
ing, however, that he was the son of the king of Corinth, he left
Corinth lest the oracle should come true, and travelled towards
Thebes. Upon his way he met his real father, and a quarrel
having arisen, a contest ensued in which his father fell and all
those who accompanied him save one. (Edipus then arrived at
the kingless city of Thebes, which was ravaged by the murderous
Sphinx. He freed the city from the Sphinx and accepted the prof
fered throne, and with it the hand of the widowed queen, little
dreaming that she was his own mother. For years the city was
prosperous, and four children were born to him. Then a plague
fell upon the people. All this was before the action of the play
begins. An oracle now declares that the pestilence is sent because
Laius has been forgotten. His murderer must be ejected.
(Edipus pronounces a curse upon the unknown assassin, and
sends for Teiresias the blind seer, if peradventure he may be
able to declare the man. Teiresias, enlightened by his art,
scarce dares to tell what he knows, and is evilly treated by
CEdipus. Then Jokasta complicates the confusion. She openly
asserts her disbelief in oracles ; for her own son had been destined
by these lying witnesses to marry her; whereas he was slain, and
she was wedded to GEdipus. Yet out of this security
“ Surgit amari aliquid,”
Laius was slain at a “triple way
terrible words that
set sounding a sullen chord in the breast of (Edipus, for
long ago he slew a man upon a triple way. One witness there
was, and he is now summoned. Meanwhile a messenger
arrives to say that the king of Thebes, the reputed father of
(Edipus, is dead. This is a gleam of light upon the eyes of
CEdipus, for the oracle has been proved false.
The mes
senger has still farther comfort. CEdipus need not dread the
fulfilment of the oracle at all, since he is not the son of the king
and queen of Corinth, a fact dimly hinted before, but now for
the first time clearly told. Then whose son is he ? A new pas
sion seizes the king, and he is determined to unravel the mystery
of his birth. The messenger is able to aid him in this, for he
received the king as a foundling at the hands of a servant of
�14
Sophokles.
Laius. All is now ready for the catastrophe, which Jokasta, more
quickwitted than her son, at once foresees. The witness of his
murder of Laius, who at this moment comes up, is no other than
the herdsman who had given him as an infant to the Corinthians.
The electric circle is completed, the spark shatters the divine
edifice of royal prosperity and the hearts of the audience, and the
oracles of the gods are evidently true. Jokasta has already
ended her existence; and (Edipus. unable to endure the sight of
his own misery and that of his family, puts out his eyes.
There are several reasons why this drama should be assigned
to this period, notwithstanding the absence of authoritative data.
The vivid description of a pestilence was probably written by one
who had witnessed the virulence of the Athenian scourge. Some
commentators have believed the chorus tt poi
k.t.X. to have
reference to the mutilation of the Hermse. If this be true, the play
must necessarily be of later date than that supposed above. It
probably refers to the reckless spirit of licence w’hich exhibiteditself
in Athens as a reaction against the popular superstitions of the
earlier period, and which eventually led to the profanation. The
drama is in fact a protest against the disregard of religion, and a
magnificent exhibition of the vanity of human attempts to cross the
decrees of fate. In this respect it stands alone amongst the plays
of Sophokles. It depicts the contest of an honourable and noble
character with a foregone destiny. To add to the interest of the
picture, the man who is unable to solve the riddle of his own
history, is the one who alone was able to unravel the enigma
of human life proposed by the Sphinx, and it is only when the
eyes of his corporal vision are darkened for ever that the organs
of his spiritual sight are unclosed. At first his house is the only
one spared in the pestilence, and all eyes are directed to him as the
saviour of the state ; yet it is his house which is the cause of the
plague. Then his own blind eagerness to discover the regicide,
the curse which he unwittingly imprecates upon himself, 'the
gradual lifting of the curtain fold by fold till he breaks into the
exclamation,
lov, toil, ra navr av
<ra<p7j,
are terrible instances of the irony which Sophokles is accustomed
to ascribe to destiny, but nowhere so powerfully as in this play.
Surely but slowly the end approaches. Now the progress of
events is delayed by some joyous choric song like the imp tyii>
ptavriQ dpi, k.t.X. ; now there falls upon the play some beam of
hope which makes us believe that the gathering thunderstorm
will be dispersed or break up into sunny tears and the dewy
delight of averted calamity. But the vain hopes and the vanish
ing glory serve only as preludes to the complete darkness of the
catastrophe, which, at last, suddenly envelopes the w'hole heaven.
�Sophokles.
15
It is not only modern admiration which the play has won.
Aristotle has taken it as the model of a drama, and its effect
upon contemporary minds must have been great. It is equally
admirable as a whole and in single passages. The choruses are
generally like the atmosphere of the play, of a lurid and broken
colour, so that we know not whether light or darkness will
prevail. The earlier choruses approach in thought and expression
to the language of Milton, or of modern poetry. Thus the description of the rapid deaths in time of pestilence, so different as
it is from the picture given by Homer (II. 1) has that touch
about it which belonged later to Dante.
aXXor
av aXXp irpoffibote airep
kv7TTEpOV bpvcv,
Kpei&aoy apatpaKerov irupoQ Sp/ievoy
Q.KTCLV WpQQ ECTTTEpOU .&EOIK
“ And one soul after another might be discerned flitting like
strong-winged bird with greater force than invincible fire, to the
shore of the Western God.”
It recalls, too, the half-mediseval, wholly beautiful lines of Mr.
Rossetti in his poem of the “ Blessed Damozel.”
i
“ Heard hardly, some of her new friends
Amid their loving games
Spake evermore among themselves
Their virginal chaste names ;
And the souls mounting up to God,
Went big her like thinflames”
Another passage (lines 476 et seq.) is more Hebrew than
Greek in its description of the Cain-like homicide.
ipoird yap vir aypiciv
vXav, ava r ayrpa Kai
vrerpas are ravpos,
peXeo^ peXeip ~6ct ygripeviav,
ra. petropipaXa yaQ dirovoapiliiav
pavreia' rd 8’ dec
ZUvra irepcrrordrai.
"For sullenly turning his sullen step, he wanders moodily
under the wildwood, or amid caves and rocks, like a bull, and
avoids the divine voices that rise from the central oracle of the
land. But they live, and are whispered around him.”
Yet this incomparable poem won only the second prize; the
first was gained by the work of Philokles. Time, in preserving
this alone, has reversed the decision of the judges. The reason
of that decision may lie in the nature of the play itself. To the
Athenians, who after the taking of Miletus could not endure
�16
Sophokles.
the scenic shadow of their loss, the unsoftened representation of
their sufferings in the Theban plague, and the direct promulgation
of the doctrine of irresistible destiny may have seemed unwelcome
and ill-timed. And the conclusion of the play is less relieved
than that of any other. It is not broken up into those short
cries and natural lamentations, with which many tragedies
close, but solemnly and sadly to the beat of throbbing trochaics
the figures pass from the stage like the muffled pomp of a
funeral procession, and the curtain rises upon a silent- and awe
struck audience.
It is far otherwise with the (Edipus at Kolonus. Like the
Rhiloktetes, it has a plot which depends upon divine interven
tion, and one in which the sequence of the episodes is not
absolutely perfect in connexion, though each episode is perfect in
its own characteristic beauty. After the events depicted in
(Edipus Rex, the blind king with his daughters remained at
Thebes, until he and Antigone were thrust forth by Kreon. For
many long months they wandered through Greece, whilst Eteokles,
the younger son of CEdipus, drove out from Thebes Polyneikes
the elder, who betook himself to Argos and gathered an army to
make him king again. At last CEdipus and Antigone came to
the plain of Kolonus, near Athens. Here, beneath the shade of
an olive-grove, the aged king sits down to rest, and here an inward
confidence tells him that he is approaching the term of his suffer
ings. This olive-grove is sacred to the Furies, and it is sacrilege
for ordinary men to approach it. The news reaches Theseus that
stranger has set foot within the lioly precincts, and he hastens
to the place. Before his arrival Ismene comes in haste to tell
her father of the fratricidal war upon which her brothers have
entered, and that Kreon is hurrying to carry back CEdipus, since
an oracle has declared that his presence will bring victory on
either side. CEdipus pronounces a curse upon his son, and reveals
his intention of blessing Athens by remaining within her territory.
Theseus now arrives, and not ignorant of the responsibility he is
incurring, assures CEdipus of a courteous and secure hospitality.
CEdipus in return acquaints him with the benefits which his
presence will confer upon Athens, and the calamity which will
ensue to Thebes. Theseus accepts with confidence the divine
privilege which CEdipus offers, and once more assures him of his
protection. If ever a situation made a supreme demand upon
an Athenian chorus, it is the present. We have come to the
middle point between the beginning and the end of the action.
The Acropolis of Athens, though as yet unblessed by the works
of Phidias, rises within sight of the beholder. Kephissus draws
her silvery threads through the foreground, and the hero-prince
of Athens, in accepting the charge of CEdipus, unites the new and
�Sophokles.
17
the old, and links historic to heroic times. The music which
shall not mar the harmonious suspense of this situation must be
subtie indeed. But the music of Sophokles is never of a nega
tive kind. It increases and enhances the dramatic feeling.
Accordingly it is here that we find the greatest choric ode of the
Greek drama. The undying chords of the poem which follows
raise the mind of the hearer to a level with the exaltation of
CEdipus himself.
Pahttttov, Rve, raffle ^(ijpag.
“ Guest, thou art come to the noblest spot
Of all this chivalrous land.”
But this lofty tranquillity is broken by the entrance of Kreon,
who endeavours to persuade CEdipus to return to Thebes. Upon
his refusal, Kreon has recourse to violence, and carries off Anti
gone, Ismene having been previously secured. Theseus however
restores his daughters to the blind king. The next scene brings
upon the stage Polyneikes, who seeks reconciliation with his
father. This he does not succeed in obtaining, and he leaves
the stage begging for the kind offices of Antigone in his burial.
The play now draws to a close. The euthanasia of CEdipus is all
that remains. The hour of destiny has come, and the Passing
of CEdipus—no man knows where or whither—completes the
purpose of the gods.
A question so debated as the date of this play can scarcely be
Answered satisfactorily here. Critics both ancient and modern have
connected it with the latest period of the author’s life; but there
are portions of the drama which seem to belong to an earlier date,
and. to have reference to that period of reactionary licence which
was marked by the mutilation of the Hermse. By its subject it is
closely connected with the CEdipus Rex, and there is nothing im
probable in the supposition that even if it were first produced after
the author’s death, it was begun whilst the subject of CEdipus was
fresh in his mind. And if any parallelism is to be drawn
between Sophokles and the great German poet, this work may
well be compared with the “Faust,” from which the summa
manus was so long withheld. The allusions in the poem itself
do not fix it to any definite date. ' All that can be said with
certainty is that it is subsequent to the Antigone; for while
both plays that have CEdipus for their subject contain references
to the Antigone, that drama has not a single allusion to the
action of the other two. Whether, however, we are to credit it
with an earlier or later origin, we sh^ild be doing an injustice to
the spirit of Sophoklean poetry if we were to Suppose that
political allusions brought down the drama into a realistic atmo
sphere.’ It is idle to attempt to connect the Theban and Athenian
[Vol. XCIX. No. CXCV.J—New Series, Vol. XLIII. No. I.
C
�18
Sophokles.
struggle which the poet mentions, with any special date.
*
It is
more profitable to win the freedom of that ideal land in which
are brought together the blind old king and the hero of Athens.
In some respects the (Edipus at Kolonus differs from the
other dramas. There is in it a perplexing mixture of manner
which suggests both a return to the style of Aeschylus and a
concession to the growing influence of Euripides. The self
completion and perfection of outline, which marked the Antigone
and the (Edipus Rex are wanting here. The drama is the
fragment of a trilogy of Aeschylean breadth ; it is rhetorical and
lyric in the style of Euripides. The real Sophoklean charac
teristics are not, however, absent, sweetness and power of
expression, lofty and graceful sentiment, and a perfection of
rhythm and vivid delineation. But it is a series of linked
scenes rather than a drama proper. Of scenes that begin with
the peaceful olive grove, and end in the euthanasia of the
world-worn (Edipus. Nothing could be finer or more effective
than that touch of the pen of Sophokles which paints, not
indeed the death of (Edipus, but Theseus, who alone saw it,
with his face shaded by his hand, as though to shut out some
stupendous revelation. To this history of (Edipus Sophokles
has given the only satisfactory and worthy conclusion which
was possible. In his life he was a contradiction to the laws that
regulate human affairs ; he remained a contradiction in his
death. Others passed by the grove of the Eumenides with
bated breath and averted faces—he found there rest and a
conclusion of his toils. The grove trodden by Bacchus, nymphtraversed and nightingale-haunted, was to him, upon whom all
tempestuous airs had broken, a haven “ windless of all storms.”
And here the troubled life at length ceases, and peace is found
at last. In the choruses of this play the poet’s love of Athens
finds expression. Many poets had spoken with enthusiasm of
the “ violet-crowned city,” but never with such beauty and
exalted passion as does Sophokles in the ode, zviirirov,
k.t.X.
The legends connected with it are probably false, but they bear
witness to the opinion of the ancients concerning'it. Sophokles,
unlike his rivals in the dramatic art, remained true to his native
city. No offer of foreign patronage could tempt him to leave
Athens. Aeschylus died in Sicily, Euripides in Macedonia.
There were many princes who would gladly have welcomed
Sophokles to their courts—indeed, there were many who invited
him thither; but he remained unmoved by their offers, and
never left his city except to do her service and to further
* Schneidewin suggests the i7F7ro/xa^ta rts Bpax/ia ev Qpvpois, mentioned
Thukyd. ii. 22, as a possible occasion.
�Sophokles.
19
aer interests. The anonymous biographer says that he was
^adrivaioTaTOQ, (t most enamoured, of Athens.
And the city
repaid his affection. The same biographer says, “In a word,
such was the grace of his nature that he was beloved by all.
It is unfortunate—it is more than unfortunate—that of the
personal history of the poet we know so little. Few and far
between are the dates that we can assign to the events of his
life. The seventeenth year after the supposed date of the
(Edipus Rex saw the calamitous termination of the Sicilian
expedition. Amongst the names of the ten elderly men elected
Probuli to meet the emergency of the crisis, we find that ot
Sophokles. If this be indeed our poet, we have here another
instance of the confidence and love which the city felt towards
the tragedian, who was now eighty years old. The seventeen
years to which reference has been made are important in the
history of Greek literature. They include the birth of Plato, the
exhibition by Aristophanes of the Knights, the Clouds, and the
Peace, but they cannot definitely be connected with any play of
Sophokles. Possibly the Elektra falls within this period. It is
at any rate marked by the best characteristics of the poet. It
.dispenses with the breadth of treatment which a trilogy allows,
and concentrates the interest upon the action of a single play.
In the trilogy upon the same subject which AEschylus exhibited,
probably thirty years earlier, the death of Klytemnestra forms
an episode of the middle drama, and the ethical problem of
filial duty in antagonism to divinely-directed justice is sketched
only in outlines which leave much to be filled in.
Sophokles treated the subject as follows :—During the absence
of Agamemnon in the Trojan campaign, his wife Klytemnestra
formed an adulterous union with AEgisthus, and upon the return
of Agamemnon, slew her husband and wedded with AEgisthus.
Elektra, daughter of Agamemnon, fearing foul treatment for
her brother Orestes, then a child, sent him out of the country,
whilst she herself remained, together with her sister Chrysothenis,
at Argos, waiting for the manhood and return of Orestes to
claim his hereditary throne. When due time arrives, Orestes,
under the direction of Apollo, comes back to Argos unheralded
and unknown. He is accompanied by his faithful attendant the
Peedagogus, who brings to Klytemnestra an account of the death
of Orestes at the Pythean chariot contest. The play opens with
the arrival of Orestes and his attendant at Argos. Elektra comes
forth to bewail the death of her father and the delay of Orestes,
and is comforted by such consolation Us the chorus can offer her.
Next, Klytemnestra, who has been terrified by a dream, appears,
and
angry altercation takes place between her and Elektra.
When this is concluded, the Psedagogus enters and announces the
c 2
�20
Sophokles.
death of Orestes. The grief of Elektra occupies the attention of
the spectators until the entrance of the disguised Orestes and
Pylades his friend, bearing an urn which contains the pretended
ashes of Orestes. In the interview between Orestes and Elektra
which, follows, a recognition takes place, and nothing remains
to be done but to effect the revenge. Orestes therefore enters
the house and slays his mother, and ffEgisthus, upon his arrival,
shares the same fate.
The work of Sophokles is finer and fuller of artistic power
than the work of 2Eschylus. The character of Elektra is un
borrowed, and forms a contrast to that of the Aeschylean Elektra.
She, and not Orestes, is the centre of the action, and though
not the actual avenger, is really the prompter and promoter of
the deed. In the Choephorce we are perpetually reminded that
the death of Klytemnestra was the work of the gods; Elektra
falls into the background, a weak, suffering woman, whose
strongest trait is love for her brother, and he, a mere tool in the
hands of the deity, after numerous hesitations and delays in
accomplishing the divine purpose, becomes a victim of madness
and terror. The Sophoklean drama is more valuable than the
Aeschylean trilogy. In the Elektra we have, as in the Antigone,
a distinct and noble type of character set in full light and drawn
in clear lines of power. Elektra is the personification of justice
and fidelity, as Antigone is of love and strength. Like justice,
she never wavers from her purpose. When all hope of the
return of Orestes has ceased and his death seems certain, she
herself undertakes the work which should have been his, for
vengeance must be done, and the house of Agamemnon must
be freed from the accursed and abiding crime. And when
Orestes reveals himself as her brother, she does not leave the
central position of the group. One short burst of natural joy,
and she is ready to take any measures which may bring about
the punishment of the murderess. Nay, she stands on guard
while the deed is being done, and to the prayers of Klytemnestra
her answers are stern and inexorable as destiny. With subtle
words of double meaning she leads AEgisthus into the prepared
snare, and then forbids parley or delay—dXX’ wq rax^ra ktzivs,
she says—and the house of Athens is freed from its long and
intolerable servitude.
The character of Elektra, as we see it in its final manifestion, is
as terrible as it is grand. Klytemnestra endeavours to justify her
owm conduct, and to represent it as righteous; but Elektra strikes
the key-note in her long nightingale lament, when she says,
ooXoc r/i' 6 (ppaaac, tpoc o tcrtlvac.
Chrysothenis, weak and vacillating, ready to condone the past
�Sophokles.
21
and enjoy the present, serves as a foil to the stronger character
of her sister. The same may be said of the Chorus,, which
although sympathetic, does not rise to the same heights of
sublimity or lyric sweetness as in the other plays of Sophokles.
Dr. Ribbeck sees here a reason for believing the Elektra to be
an early work. Yet it is not the lyric element which we should
expect to see failing in a younger work, and the conception and
delineation of character in the Elektra is of the highest kind.
The balance of proportion between the brother and sister is
admirably kept. Orestes is not the instrument of the gods,
though under their protection, but of Elektra. By her side he
must not waver, he must proceed at once to vengeance.
That portion of the ethical question which yEschylus has
indicated in the Eumenides does not come into the drama of
Sophokles.
The description of the chariot race has always been regarded
with justice as a masterpiece of art, and there is scarcely any
thing more touching in literature than the scene which describes
the recognition of brother and sister, and the rapid change of
mood, which, in broken iambics, passes from hopeless sorrow into
Overpowering joy.
In the Elektra, Sophokles presents before us a character,
which, as it were, wrestles with destiny, and conquers ; in the
Ajax we have a character ennobled by its very defeat.
Ajax was the most distinguished of the Greek generals in the
Trojan war, next to Achilles, and upon the death of Achilles a
dispute arose for the arms of that hero. The claimants were
Ajax and Ulysses, and the arms were adjudged to the latter. Full
of anger at this decision, Ajax determined to slay both Ulysses
and the Atridse, who had acted as arbitrators; but as he was
going by night to accomplish his revenge, he was inspired with
madness by Athene, whose aid he had previously rejected. In
this madness he fell upon the flocks of cattle around the camp,
and slew some and carried others to his tent, thinking he had
captured in them his rival and his enemies. When day dawns
his right mind returns, and he is overwhelmed with the ignominy
of his position and resolves to put an end to his life. This he
accomplishes by falling upon his sword. The Atridee command
that his body should be left unburied, but Teucer resists
them, and he is honourably buried. This drama is placed
here, not because it certainly belongs to this period, but
because its date is undetermined and undeterminable. Schneidewin and others assign it to an earlier period, make it indeed
nearly contemporary with the Antigone, both on account
of its resemblance in lyric measures to the 2Eschylean dramas,
and on. account of the rarity with which a third actor is brought
�22
Sophokles.
forward. But the Antigone sufficiently shows that Sophokles
had passed this stage. Others see in the speeches which follow
the suicide of Ajax an approximation to the rhetorical style of
Euripides. Those who adopt a middle course, will place it rather
in the long undated period, when the literary activity of
Sophokles was at its height. It is a poem in which the national
feeling of Athens was likely to find especial gratification. Of all the
heroes celebrated in the Iliad, Ajax was the only one that Athens
could claim as connected with herself. Salamis had been in
close union with Athens from immemorial time, and one Athenian
tribe took its name from Ajax. Herodotus tells us (viii. 64), that
before the battle of Salamis, the Athenians prayed to all the
gods, and to Ajax and Telamon. This connexion gives rise to
the beautiful ode
<j) tcXeiva 'SiaXap.tQ k.t.X.
The drama opens with a scene which breathes the frenzy of fierce
hatred and lust for murder that mark Northern poetry rather
than Greek. Yet it serves to set a stamp upon the character of
Ajax, and to indicate his disposition, not without a warning note
of admonition. The degradation into which Ajax has fallen is a
punishment for the excess of that self-reliance which forms a
heroic character, the first sin which he commits is insolence
(w/3pic). When setting out to battle, he rejected the pious prayer
of his father, that he might wish to be victorious by the help of
the gods, and added the vaunt, “With a god’s help, even a
man of nought may win the victory; but I, I trust, without
God’s help shall be victorious.” And in the battle itself, when
Athene proffered aid, he bade her go elsewhere, for he would
none of it. Such is the disposition of the man who finds too late
that he is powerless against the gods. But against disgrace his
unyielding mind still contends. The real interest of the drama
lies in the moral conflict between heroic independence and the
necessity of submission to higher authority. The motives for
submission are forcibly brought out, the agony of disgrace, and
the strength of domestic affection. The turning point is reached
when Ajax says—“ I, once as strong as steel, have now been
softened by the words of this woman as steel is softened by the
bath, and I shrink from leaving amongst my enemies, her a
widow, and my son fatherless.” Yet from the shame there is
now but one escape, and from that he does not shrink—death.
But ere he goes to the baths of ocean and the sea-marge, where
he may appease the wrath of the goddess by his death, he freely
acknowledges his error. Honour and authorrty are worthy of
submission. Snowfooted winter yields to blooming spring, and
dark-tiaraed night gives place to bright-crowned day. Life is full
of change, so he too bends to authority, fears God and honours
�Sophokles.
23
the Atridse. Another scene reveals Ajax about to put an end
to the life he can no longer honourably cherish. His last prayer
is earnest and simple—That Teucer' may first raise his body,
and give it rites of sepulture; that Hermes may grant him
funeral escort; and that Helios may rein in his golden car, and
tell the sad news to his aged father and mother. Then follows
the farewell of the Greek to the bright sun, a long adieu to
Salamis and illustrious Athens, and all the plains and crystal
founts of Troy.
It is perhaps worth pointing out that this drama has severa
Shaksperian peculiarities. As in the works of our own drama
tist, overflowing sorrow finds relief in a play upon words.
aiai, r/c av ~or we0’ wi’ £7rwrvjuor
TOVjJ.OV
OVO/J-Cl TOIQ EpLOLQ KCLKOLQ j
The speech already referred to (line 646), which describes in the
form of a soliloquy a moral crisis, is in the manner of the English
writer, and the final monologue of Ajax recalls the meditation
of Hamlet.
Minuter resemblances might be noted. The cry of the sailors
in their search for their lost chief—ttovoq Trouw ttovov <pep&c—may
almost be translated by the “ Double, double toil and trouble
of the Witches in. Macbeth.
But a more characteristic peculiarity of the drama is the sea
air which blows through it, and the number of nautical allusions
which must have been grateful to a seafaring people. Sophokles
never forgets the mariners of Athens in his eulogies of the city.
In the great choric song of the (Edipus at Kolonus, the crowning
glory of the land is “ the well-used oar fitted to skilful hands,
that leaps through the sea in the train of the hundred-footed
Nereids,” and here from the first we are thrown into sailor
company. It is to the “ shipmates of Ajax, from over the sea/’
that Tecmessa turns in her trouble, and it is they who search
for their lost leader at the last, though Sophokles with poetic
propriety reserves the discovery of his body for Tecmessa herself.
And to the sea the thoughts of Ajax turn in his despair :
“ 0 ye paths of the watery reach,
O ye caves of the sea,
O ye groves of the Ocean beach,
Where my steps were wont to be.”
By the death of the hero atonement for all his sins is made,
and his body is honourably buried by' the sea he loved.
It is a real satisfaction to arrive at a period when we can
attach a date to a play of Sophokles. In B. C. 409 appeared the
Philoktetes. Before this time Athens had passed through
�24
Sophokles.
the conspiracy of the Four Hundred, and had seen the recall
of Alkibiades. In the measures of the oligarchical body we are
told Sophokles concurred, not because they were good, but
because they were expedient. “ ov yap vjv aXXa /BeXn'w/’ are
the words attributed to him. The anecdote, however, may
possibly refer to another Sophokles. It is possible also that
Sophokles had little sympathy with the later democracy, which
may have alienated amongst others the mind of the poet. But
his poetry retained the astonishing energy and freshness of his
younger days. The Philoktetes shows no sign of the, decay of in
tellectual power. It is worthy of the first prize which it received.
The subject was not a new one upon the Attic stage. kEschylus
and Euripides had handled it before, and other tragedians
had aided in making it familiar to an Athenian audience.
Sophokles, while adopting the well' known mythical outlines
as the groundwork, succeeded in lending the drama a new
and powerful motive. These outlines are to be found in
Homer. (II. 2. 716). Philoktetes, carrying the arrows of Her
cules, joined the expedition against Troy, but being wounded
in the foot by a serpent, he was left in the island of Lemnos.
In the tenth year of the war it was predicted by a Trojan
prophet that Troy could only be taken by the arrows of
Hercules, then in the possession of Philoktetes. Accordingly
Ulysses and Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, were sent to Lemnos
to bring Philoktetes with his arrows to Troy. The play opens
with the landing of these messengers upon the island of Lemnos.
Ulysses tutors Neoptolemus in deceit, and urges him to gain
possession of the arrows by falsehood. Neoptolemus obeys, and
having persuaded the suffering Philoktetes that he is about to
take him home is entrusted with the arrows. When Philoktetes
discovers the treachery that has been practised upon him, he
endeavours to commit suicide, but is prevented. Feelings of pity
and compassion now come upon Neoptolemus, and he restores
the arrows in spite of the angry remonstrances of Ulysses. The
mission has thus nearly failed of its object, when Hercules de
scends from heaven, and bids Philoktetes proceed to Troy, where
he shall win renown and be healed of his sore disease. The
interest of the play does not centre in the person whose name
it bears, but in the person of Neoptolemus. It is his character
that Sophokles has brought out from the massive block of
tradition in proportions of exceeding beauty. Between Philok
tetes hardened by suffering, and Ulysses wily and wise, the openhearted son of Achilles stands forth a contrast to both. This
contrast of character, together with the dramatic development of
natural nobility in the person of Neoptolemus, is the work of
Sophokles alone, and bears his stamp. The minor characters
�Sophokles.
25
are powerfully drawn. Philoktetes is immovable in his love to
his friends and in his hatred to his enemies. The extreme
agonies of physical suffering which wring from him cries and
groans, leave him still tears for the misfortunes of his friends
and imprecations for his foes. He is, in the words of Lessing,
a rock of a man,”* a hero still, though life has lost all that is
worth living for, except constancy and submission to the gods.
The Ulysses of this drama is differently portrayed from the
Ulysses of the Ajax, and the Ulysses of Homer. He is brought
forward in an ungracious part, and one more in accordance
with the role he takes in the plays of Euripides. He counsels
deceit and is willing to attain his end by means honourable or
dishonourable. We must not however forget that this end is
the well-being of the Greeks, and that the means are poetically
justified by his knowledge that neither persuasion nor violence
will avail to shake the firmness of Philoktetes. The psycholo
gical interest lies then in the struggle through which the mind
of Neoptolemus has to pass. On the one hand, with the bow of
Philoktetes he may win undying renown by the taking of Troy,
but he must desert and deceive his father’s friend, leaving him
doubly desolate and deprived of the means of supporting his
piteous existence. On the other hand he must bear the bitter
reproaches of Ulysses, the loss of the promised glory, and the
failure of the Achaean arms, but he will have respected the
rights of a suppliant and his plighted word. How will the
struggle end ? The sincerity of a noble nature prevails. Already
the treachery inspired by Ulysses has been successful; the bow
of Philoktetes is in his hand, but he can no longer endure the
part he has been compelled to play: he leaves the path of deceit
into which he has been misled, and assumes the character which
he has already shown to be his. The intervention of the “ deus
ex xnachina ” serves only to j ustify what has happened, it neither
diminishes the interest nor interferes with the action of the play.
The psychological question has been already answered.
The Trachinice is to be considered a later work than the
Philoktetes. Otherwise it is probable that Sophokles would
have used the connexion that lies in their subjects. For the bow
of Philoktetes was none other than that bequeathed him by
Hercules at his death. The Trachinice tells the story how
the death of Hercules was unwittingly brought about by his wife
Deianeira. Many years before the opening of the play, Hercules
had slain the Centaur Nessus by means of his unerring and
poisoned arrows. As he was dying, the Centaur bade Deianeira
take of the blood of his wound and the poison of the arrow, and
* “Laokoon,” ch. iv. p. 34.
�26
Sophokles.
preserve it, for it would prove an unfailing philtre to recover her
husband’s affection if he ever forsook her for another woman.
When the play opens, Hercules has been long absent, but is now
returning with captives, the reward of his victorious arms.
Amongst these captives, who arrive at Trachis before Hercules,
is the beautiful Iole, and Deianeira is not long in learning that
she it is who now possesses the affections of her husband. There
fore she imbues a garment with the philtre she had received
from Nessus, and sends it to Hercules, bidding him wear it whilst
transacting the sacred rites of Zeus. The venom of the mixture
does not fail in its efficacy. It seizes at once upon the body of
Hercules, who is consumed with intolerable burnings. In the
agony of death he orders himself to be borne home, but the news
flies before, and Deianeira ends her life with her own hand. Upon
his arrival, Hercules bids his son Hyllus erect a funeral pile for
him on Mount Oeta, and after his father’s death marry Iole.
The drama concludes with the promise of Hyllus to obey his
father.
The opinions as to the value of the drama have been
various. A. W. Schlegel deemed it of far inferior merit to that
of the other plays, and many modern readers have agreed with
him. Schneidewin, a critic of weightier authority, places it ex
ceedingly high amongst the works of ancient art. In looking at
it, however, we must regard it as a diptych rather than a single
picture. From this circumstance it suffers perhaps when compared
with the other works by the same author. Nevertheless each
part has its own merit. In the first part the figure of Deianeira
forms the centre; in the second, the half-divine half-savage cha
racter of Hercules exercises a strange imperious fascination upon
the spectator. Nothing can be more delicately and finely
represented than the amiable character of Deianeira, the faithful
and forgiving wife. It is in the true colour of Sophoklean irony
that the sympathy of a tender nature which leads her to express
pity for the captive woman, draws her most closely to Iole, who
is the cause of her misfortune. And it is the very strength of her
love for Hercules which brings about his ruin and her own. The
first part of the Trachinice may indeed be ranked with the best
dramatic exhibitions of character. Nor is it deficient in those
cross lights and special excellences in which the best abound. The
self-devotion and feminine dignity of Deianeira reaches its climax
when she implores Lichas to tell her the whole truth :—
ph 'ttvQegQu.i tovto p aXyovsiEV av‘
c’ EtSevat tI Seivov ; ov^l ^ciTEpas
teXelcetciq dv^p eiq HpaKXrjg EyypE c)/;;
kovttii) tlq avT(Sv ek y Epov Xoyov KOKOV
TJVEyKa.T' ovZ' ovelZoq.
to
to
�27
Sophokles.
This is in the very spirit of mediaeval devotion, and almost
in the words of the “ Nut-browne Mayde
“ Though in the wode I understode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought
But that I will be your.
And she shall find me soft and kynde,
And courteys every hour.”
*
For vigorous word-painting, the passage which describes the
virulent corruption of the poisoned wool rotting away into nothing
ness, is unsurpassed. (Lines 695 et seq.)
The second portion of the diptych is less agreeable to modern
feeling, since the character of Hercules seems little fitted for the
tragic stage. By his semi-divinity he is above humanity, by his
semi-brutality he is below it. Hercules suffering is most likely
to gain our sympathy ; for the picture of excessive suffering is
redeemed from the peril of awaking horror or disgust by the
consistency and firmness of Hercules. He meets death with his
spiritual strength still unbroken, and his self-possession when he
recognises his real position changes the grief of the spectator into
admiration of his undaunted fortitude.
The marriage which he is represented as proposing between
Hyllus and Iole, however repugnant to modern, feeling, was too
firmly an article of popular belief rooted in popular tradition to
be neglected in the drama.
Nor does Herodotus (vi. 52) deem the tradition unworthy of
notice, since it was from Hyllus that he traced the descent of the
Dorian invaders of the Peloponnese.
The link which binds together the two portions of the drama
and preserves the unity of the action is the magic poison of the
Centaur. In the first part we have the motives which lead up
to its use; in the second we see its effects. The same protagonist
took the parts both of Deianeira and of Hercules.
The long and illustrious life of Sophokles was now drawing to
a close—a life more enviable, perhaps, than that of any man
who has lived so long. He had seen the growth of the Athenian
state ; he was spared the sight of her last declining days. He
was the contemporary of all the great men who had made Athens
glorious ; and he was the personal friend of many of them. Ten
years older than Euripides, he yet survived him, and lived to see
his own son Iophon wearing the ivy crown. One pleasing anec
dote is told of the last year of the poet’s life. When the news of
the death of Euripides in Macedonia reached Athens, Sophokles
was preparing a tragedy for exhibition. As a last tribute of
respect to the memory of his rival, he himself appeared in
mourning at the head of his chorus, and the choral company
�28
Sophokles.
were without the wreaths which they were accustomed to
wear. The wife of Sophokles was a native of Athens and was named
Nikostrate. By her he had one son, Iophon, already mentioned.
By Theoria of Sikyon he was the father of Ariston, whose son,
Sophokles, reproduced the (Edipus ad Kolonus two years after
the death of his grandfather. A story related by Cicero, and
often repeated, asserts that Iophon brought his father before the
Phratores on the ground of mental incapacity to manage his own
affairs. There is much improbability in the story and we may
well discredit any tradition of dissension in the family of
Sophokles. Hardly, if the story be true, could the comic writer
Phrynikus have written, as he did, a few months after the poet’s
death, a lament with the concluding words—
KaXwg
eteXeudjct’
inrop-EivaQ micov.
The immediate occasion of his death is unknown, and various
accounts are extant. One tradition asserts that it was joyous
excitement at again winning the tragic prize. Beit so. kuXwq
S’ EreXEurr/crEv. In the year B.C. 406, the year of the battle of
Arginusse, Athens lost her two great tragic writers, Sophokles
and Euripides.
Our consideration of the plays will be more than imperfect
unless we examine briefly the religious views with which they
are interpenetrated and coloured. What was the religious
position of the mind that conceived and brought them forth?
Art and religion have often been combined, but never more
intimately than in the dramas of Sophokles. rsyovs Ss koI
Oeo([>lXt)G o
wc
ovk. aXXoq,
says the anonymous
biographer: “ Sophokles was beloved of the gods as no other.”
And the attitude of the poet’s mind was one of reverent, almost
superstitious, adoration of the gods. ZEschylus, no less than
Sophokles, believed in the nothingness of human nature and the
omnipotence of Zeus. For man he marked out a narrow path
beyond which he could not go without offending those unsleeping
powers which punish the insolence of men to the third and fourth
generation of them that transgress. This narrow path he named
crw^poo-vvz/; Sophokles called it tvKpjtta, reverence.
In the Elektra the chorus says to Elektra (1093)
“ Thus have I found thee not in prosperous case
Advancing, but of all the highest laws
Wearing the crown by reverence (suth/SEta) of Zeus.”
And in the same play, commending her language, the chorus
says (464)
“ The maiden speaks with reverence.”
�Sopholdes.
29
In the chorus of the (Edipus Rex (863) the doctrine of
tvatflua is laid down at length. And in the praise which CEdipus
gives to Athens ((Ed. Koi. 1125) the highest is that she is the city
where Reverence dwells:—
E7TEI TO y EVffefjEC
povotQ irap vpiv -qvpov avOpuiruv Eya>.
How comes it then, if this be a chief article in the religion of
Sophokles, that so many of his characters are found speaking
against the gods ? The number of characters who so speak is
not very great. Tecmessa accuses Pallas of working the bane of
Ajax (Ag. 652). Philoktetes doubts the justice of the gods
(Phil. 447), and again (1035). Hyllus (Trach. 1266) speaks
Still more harshly of their unkindness, and reproaches (1272)
Zeus himself. But it is to be remembered that Sophokles him
self does not always speak by the mouth of his characters. Their
verisimilitude lends a force and warmth to the personification
which is absent from the poems of ZEschylus. It is quite in keep
ing with the Sophoklean stage that his dramatispersonce should
not be without a tinge of popular superstition. Instances may be
selected. Thus, Teucer is persuaded that the sword of Hector
was fabricated by the Erinnys ; Hercules calls the fatal robe
which takes away his life a web of the Erinnys ; Deianeira is
the victim of a popular superstition when she sets her hopes upon
a love-charm ; and the guardians of the corpse of Polyneikes are
instances of a similar delusion, when they believe that the unseen
burial was supernatural.
But Sophokles, as he bad received from the hands of ZEschylus
the drama already formed, so, too, he accepted from him a body
of religious doctrines already in advance of popular belief. Nor
was the progress which he inaugurated in this line of thought
less striking than his development of the dramatic art—as far
as the liberation of human thought is concerned it was more
important. ZEschylus, as we have seen, attributed the misfortunes
of mortals to a judicial blindness, the consequence of previous
guilt whereby a man falls into greater sin and supreme destruc
tion. His teaching is the teaching of Eliphaz the Temanite ;
* Remember, I pray thee, who ever perished being innocent ? or
when were the righteous cut off?” (Job iv. 7.) Sophokles dis
tinguished between the guilty blindness and involuntary crime.
With regard to the former he held the same position as did
ZEschylus. When a mortal willingly, and with full intent, com
mits a crime, the Deity punishes him with moral madness ; he
is delivered over to Alastor. Yet for all the actions committed
in this madness, he, and none other, is responsible. It is so with
Ajax. He deliberately rejects the aid of Athene, and falls into
a madness from which there is no escape. It is so with Kreon.
�Sophokles.
30
He designedly neglects the honour due to the gods below, and
pursues a course which is the result of madness. The chorus
recognise the chastisement of a divine hand when -ne.y speak
Kreon as—
ayfjp ettiirppov c/,a ytipoc
<■ idspiQ enrEiv, ovic aXXoTplav
li-ry aXX avrOQ anaorcov.
and he himse acknowledges it (1272),
paQibv cdXacoc. ev 3’ ejjm
Kapa
Oeoq tot apa tote piya fodpoc p
£7raicrEr.
But from this frenzy, involuntary guilt is separated by a wide
interval. As Ajax is a striking instance of the one condition, so
CEdipus is of the other. The contrast between the two is sharp
and complete. CEdipus is presented to us as a righteous prince,
wise above the common standard of humanity, for he alone could
solve the riddle of the Sphinx—as god-fearing, for he never doubts
the oracles of the gods. When he hears of the death of his sup
posed father, Polybus, there is mingled with his first cry of
wonder a note of distress for the credit of the oracle.
(pEu' (p£i>, ri cfjT ay w yvvat., <tkotto~it6 tiq
Trjv HvdopayTtv EGTiav ((Ed. R. 966.)
The sins which he committed were all involuntary, and he
repeatedly asserts it.
TTEirovdor
egti
ra y spya pov
paXXoy 7/ CECpaKOTa.
Yet upon him descend the heaviest misfortunes. What is the
conception which Sophokles designs to express by this ? There
is n'o answer in the CEdipus Rex ; it is found in the CEdipus at
Kolonus. It is this answer withheld that so closely unites the
former and the latter dramas. In the latter, CEdipus comes
before us under the guidance and protection of the gods. They
have used him for their purpose, a divine one, an unknown and
mysterious one, but a just one ; and now, having drunk the cup
of sorrow to the dregs, he is their sacred and especial care. He
himself says (287)
77/cw yap tpoc ev'teI'ji'iq te Kai (bepivv
OV'fjO’lV aOTOlQ TO~l(TC)E.
And therefore his passage from life is gentle and kindly. He
is not, for God takes him. As his life has been beyond all others
wretched though morally guiltless, so his death has beyond all
others a fuller promise of happiness.
If we gather up the teaching of Sophokles upon this point, we
find —That the gods have a great progressive plan of the
�Sophokles.
31
Universe, which they carry out in spite of, or sometimes by
means of individual suffering. That every man who seeks to do
right is, notwithstanding his misfortunes, under their protection,
and will finally be rewarded according to his merit. That volun
tary guilt tends to worse, and lastly to ruin. This advance from
the religious position of JUschylus is great, but it leads to results
no less important. It leads, firstly, to the possibility of making
a consciousness of right and justice an acting moral power. Thus
CEdipus sets before his daughters (Gild. K. 1613) as a recompense
for their laboursand sufferings on his behalf, the consciousness
that they had done their duty and won his love. Elektra and
Antigone are penetrated with this feeling. Elektra says (352)
“ Be it my only reward that 1 am conscious of doing my hard
duty?’ The sentiment of Antigone is the same (460) :
“ That I shall die I know without thy words,
And if before my time ’tis gain to me.”
This teaching of Sophokles is a herald of the truth declared
by Plato, that the moral consciousness of right in a man’s own
heart is the measure of his happiness.
Secondly, and here we must touch upon the mystic side of the
religion of Sophokles, it imbues his dramas with a lofty spiritual
ism. It stands in opposition to the religion of rite and profession.
It calls for the spirit and not the letter. CEdipus (CEd. K. 498)
declares that the sacrifice of one pure soul rightly offered, avails
more than ten thousand which are not so given. It adds a sig
nificance to the sincere unspoken prayer, for the god hears it
before it is said. Klytemnestra will not utter her prayer (El. 637)
for the god knows her desire, though she may not put it into
words. And the voice of the god speaks within the breast of
man to guide and direct him. This inward voice brought
CEdipus to the grove of the Eumenides, as he himself says (CEd.
K. 96) and led him—adtKrov riyprripo^—to his last restingplace.
°
And thirdly, it finds a place in the religion of Sophokles for
the doctrine of the immortality of the soul.
This doctrine was only dimly present to the popular mind ; it
was no active moral power. The motive to justice and righteous
ness lay in the fear of punishment in this life—of punishment at
the hands of the civil magistrate or the offended deity. True, in
Hades the unholy were unholy still, and suffered a shadowy
retribution for their crimes, but the real punishment was in this
life. Sophokles recognised a purer motive for human action, the
love of right for its own sake, and for the sake of the divine
approval. Antigone can look forward to a long and joyous
Existence with the dead (Ant. 73-76), for with them she will
*
�32
Sophokles.
dwell for ever. And so the highest duty is the duty of living
in accordance with the will of the gods, careless of praise or blame,
reward or punishment, from any but Their hands, and with eyes
directed to that other life, where wrongs are righted and where
j ustice is done.
ETTEl TtXeI(i)V XPOVOQ,
ov c?t p apEffKELV toIq Kara tojv oEvdai>E,
ekei yap asi KEi.trop.ai.
The monologue of Ajax sets this point of view rstill farther in
contrast with that of fiEschylus. 2Eschylus has exemplified the
terrors of conscience with appalling power in the persons of
Klytemnestra and Orestes, but the passion which he represents
is rather that of remorse than that of penitence. The fear of
punishment is the moving cause of terror. In the ethics of
Sophokles, conscience leads to a penitent recognition of personal
guilt and a desire of amendment—
ypsle ce irait; ov yvcvaopsaOa triotppovsiv;
is the cry of Ajax when he seeks to atone for his crimes by a
voluntary death. And the same moral revolution is exhibited
in the case of Kreon. (Ant. 1319.)
Thus in the hands of Sophokles, religion passed from a nega
tive to a positive phase. It was no longer sufficient as in the
time of AEschylus to live a quiet life with no overweening self
exaltation or insolent rivalry of the gods, but heart and hand
must be alike pure, and both devoted to the service of the gods.
Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, in his essay upon the “ Education
of Humanity,” has traced the process by which a single nation
rose stage by stage to fuller knowledge. The nation which he
selected was the Hebrew nation, but it is not the only one which
submitted to the divine education. In the works of Sophokles
we see the Greek mind passing to a higher stage. It is not a
final stage ; that can never be reached as long as humanity
endures, but it is one that could give strength and confidence to
minds that loved the truth. That it did so to the mind of
Sophokles himself we may learn from his works. The per
fection of restraint and repose which reigns like a summer
atmosphere in his compositions, is the result not only of a mastery
of diction and a supreme command of art. The knowledge of
the sorrows of humanity and a co-existing capacity of beholding
above alia ruling order, which recompenses and atones for all,
are the characteristics which give an immortal interest to the
dramas of Sophokles.
They reveal to us a man who was
indeed OeoQiXpq “ beloved of God.”
And however dimly his contemporaries may have understood
the humane theology which pervaded his works, they understood
�Sophokles.
33
time of his death the Lacedaemonians were threatening Athens
from Deceleia. The family burial-place of Sophokles lay eleven
stades from Athens, upon the road to Deceleia. When Lysander
the Spartan heard that Sophokles was dead, he granted a free
pass to the funeral procession, and the body of the great
tragedian was laid to rest under the protection of the Lacedae
monians. Nor were there wanting due tokens of respect at the
hands of his fellow-citizens. As a hero they honoured him with
a' yearly sacrifice. A siren was sculptured upon his tomb, to
indicate the entrancing sweetness of his strains, and Simmias the
pupil of Sokrates wrote his epitaph. Forty years after his
death, his bust was placed in the Athenian theatre, and the state
took in charge the text of his works.
And yet against the life of Sophokles there are those who
bring the charge of impurity and immorality. Such a charge
we can but dismiss with indignation. A few anecdotes retailed
*
by that prurient collector of slander, Atheneeus, form the body
of the charge. They are not worth the time that would be spent
in contradicting them. There is nothing in Plato, there is nothing
in Plutarch that can sully the pure lustre of the name of
Sophokles. Plutarch indeed relates (Perikles, viii.) that upon
one occasion Perikles bade Sophokles remember that a man
must not only keep his hands pure, but his eyes from beholding
evil. If there is in this anything more than a commonplace
application of a moral maxim, it is a testimony that at least the
hands of the poet were pure. Of his thoughts as mirrored in
his writings we can ourselves judge. Aristophanes amidst all
his baseless attacks upon his contemporaries, never brought this
charge against Sophokles; modern writers with less knowledge,
have had greater audacity. This, however, matters but little to
him or to us.
In looking back upon the life of Sophokles as a whole, perfect
and radiant, it is difficult to find in the range of literature another
like it. From his boyhood to his death, there seems to be
nothing to mar the beauty of his career. Germans find an
analogous instance in the life of Gothe, but the analogy does not
go far. Both Sophokles and Gothe lived long, and won that
favour from their countrymen which is generally given to the
illustrious dead alone. Each of them possessed the highest
culture of his time, and aided the diffusion of that culture. The
comparison cannot in reality go much farther. The life of Gothe
is open to us in its minutest details : we are compelled to be
satisfied with the merest outline of the life of Sophokles.
Gothe has dissected for us (not without vanity) his own
sentiments, emotions, and passions. Only behind the works of
Sophokles can we discern the calm and majestic figure of the
[Vol. XCIX. No. CXCV.]—New Series, Vol. XLIII. No. I.
D
�34
Sophokles.
Greek poet. Yet the dimmer personality is not the less
impressive. To something of the calm which belongs to the
works of Sophokles, Gotbe could, and did attain ; but it is the
same with a difference. Gothe by a sublime selfishness, and his
progress marked with the sorrows which he caused, rose into a
clear intellectual ether. Sophokles brought down the wisdom of
another sphere to brighten the ways of men. The one was a
child of earth who made a path for himself to the serene heights ;
the other was a son of Olympus, about whom the inextinguish
able glory of his birthplace shone for the delight and instruction
of the world.
P.S.—Two editions of Sophokles, at present only published in
part, will go some way towards familiarizing English students with
the spirit of Sophokles. The one is by Mr. Jebb, Public Orator of
Cambridge, the other is by Professor Campbell of St. Andrews.
As a portion only of each edition is before the public, it has
been deemed better to exclude them from comment in the body
of this paper, but this much may be said, that we can hope every
thing from the complete edition by Professor Campbell. His
essay on “ the Language of Sophokles ” is admirable and
exhaustive, and the notes and introductions to the plays already
published are full of refined and suggestive enthusiasm.
Mr. Jebb has set forth his views upon the genius of Sophokles
in a lecture recently delivered at Dublin, and since published in
Macmillan’s Magazine (Nov. 1872). This lecture is clear,
scholarly, and critical, but both the points selected and the views
expressed seem scarcely adequate to the subject. The four
manifestations of the genius of Sophokles 'which he chooses are :
First, the blending of a divine with a human characteristic in the
heroes of Sophokles. Secondly, the effort to reconcile progress
with tradition. Thirdly, dramatic irony ; and lastly, the por
trayal of character. The first of these manifestations is illustrated
by the cases of Ajax, of GEdipus, and of Herakles. Ajax, we are
told, is human by his natural anguish on his return to sanity; he is
divine by his remorse and the sense that dishonour must be effaced
by death. But surely his remorse and repentance are human
too. His mere cries of distress, apart from the higher feelings, are
ludicrous, and insufficient to link Ajax to human nature. Nor
does his nearness to Athene, as one who had spoken with her
face to face, suffice to give him a divine character. The heroes of
Euripides also speak with the gods face to face. The lecturer has
not here brought out a real manifestation of the genius of
Sophokles; he has united accidents and imagined them to be
the essence. The intense suffering of (Edipus the King, and the
marvellous death of GEdipus at Colonus are two conditions
�Sophokles.
35
through which the character of CEdipus passes, and are not
more especially characteristic than are the sufferings of Medea,
who is finally carried away by the dragon-chariot of the sun.
The genius of Sophokles is certainly not revealed in the union of
the superhuman and the commonplace; it is manifested by its
power of idealizing humanity. The superhuman element which
Sophokles introduces, forms no part of the essence of any
character, it belongs to the cycle of popular beliefs, which as we
have seen, he used for the purpose of verisimilitude.
Secondly.—The idea that Sophokles preserved the balance
between superstition and free thought, that he endeavoured to
graft progress upon tradition is misleading. In religious matters
we have seen that the advance which he made was both definite
and important; in politics he was the disciple, as he was the
colleague, of Perikles. If he shrank from the extreme measures
of a later democracy, it was because he clung to a system which
had raised Athens to her highest political efficiency, and because
he distrusted a variation which exaggerated and distorted the true
democratic principles. Moreover, he was justified by the results.
Thirdly.—The lecturer’s canon upon dramatic irony is only
partially true. “ The practical irony of drama depends on the
principle that the dramatic poet stands aloof from the world
which he has created.” In fact the question of dramatic irony
cannot be so summarily dealt with. The manner of Professor
Campbell in treating of this characteristic (pp. 112-118) is far
more diffident and satisfactory. Irony, as he says, is always
accompanied with the consciousness of superiority. But the
exhibition of this consciousness must be destructive of artistic
effect. It is better to refer the irony to fate than to ascribe it to
the author; it may, perhaps, be best not to use the word at all,
but to refer the effect which every one feels, to an artistic and
legitimate application of dramatic elements such as contrast and
pathos, which reach their highest power only when used by the
most skilful hands. .Mr. Jebb thinks that Sophokles delineates
broadly, and with a “ deliberate avoidance of fine shading,” the
characters of his primary persons, and seeks for the more delicate
touches of portraiture in the subordinate persons. The persons,
however, to whom he refers as illustrations must be spoken of as
secondary with caution. Thus Deianeira is of equal importance
with Hercules in the Trachinice; the same protagonist took
both characters. The real interest of the Philoldetes centres in
Neoptolemus. But perhaps the chief inadequacy of Mr. Jebb’s
view of Sophokles, a view which, as has been said before, is set
forth with the charm of a scholarly and balanced style, results from
his notion of the religion of Sophokles. In his opinion, Sophokles
is the highest type of a votary of Greek polytheism, and no more.
D2
�36
Parliamentary Eloquence.
He does not see in his hand that torch which was to be passed
on to Plato, and through him to other times. His religion had,
he says, shed upon it the greatest strength of intellectual light
which it could bear without fading. His art was indeed the
highest of its kind, and remained his own ; but the impulse which
he gave to a freer and more enlightened reverence may be traced
in the best of Greek literature, the works of Plato. It is
probable, therefore, that the edition by Professor Campbell will
be a truer guide to the appreciation of Sophokles, for the editor
has already acknowledged his obligation to Professor Jowett.
Art. II.—Parliamentary Eloquence.
1. A Book of Parliamentary Anecdote. Compiled from
Authentic Sources. By G. H. Jennings and W. S. John
stone.
Cassell, Petter, and Galpin : London, Paris, and
New York. 1872.
2. The Orator : a Treasury of English Eloquence, containing
Selections from the most Celebrated Speeches of the Past
and Present. Edited, with Short Explanatory Notes and
References, by a Barrister. London : S. 0. Beeton.
3. Select British Eloquence, embracing the best Speeches entire
of the most Eminent Orators of Great Britain for the last
Two Centuries : with Sketches of their Lives, an estimate
of their Genius, and Notes Critical and Explanatory.
By Chauncey A. Goodrich, D.D., Professor in Yale Col
lege, New Haven, Conn., U.S. London : Sampson Low
and Co.
4. Parliamentary Logic : to which are subjoined Two Speeches
delivered in the House of Commons of Ireland, and
other pieces. By the Right Hon. William Gerard
Hamilton. London. 1798.
5. Hansard. New Series.
ANY have been the writers on the theory of Government,
and the framers of model governments and paper constitu
tions. None of these, however, devised Parliamentary Govern
ment as it actually exists amongst us, or foresaw its rise. Yet to
all appearances it is the form of government which will
universally prevail. The English tongue bids fair to become
the speech of the greater part of the globe, and wherever an
English-speaking race is to be found, English parliamentary
M
�
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Sophokles
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Lester, Joseph Dunn [1841/2-1875]
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THE
RUINS:
...
.
*
W -
smw
T"? &
'
OF THE
RESOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
WITH NOTES
^f^torical, fecgragSical, anh ^Explanatory
TO WHICH IS ANNEXED THE
LAW OF NATURE.
BY C. F. VOLNEY
*
* '
S0N00X:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY T. DAVISON,
2Yo, 10, Duke Street, West Smithfield.
1819,
��THE plan of this publication was formed nearly
forty years ago; and allusions to it may be seen in the
Preface to “Travels in Syria and Egypt, as well as at
the end of that work, published in 1787. The per
formance was in some forwardness when the events of
1788 in France interrupted it.
Persuaded that a de-
velopement of the theory of political truth could not
sufficiently acquit a citizen of his debt to society, the
author wished to add practice ; and that particularly
at a time when a single arm Was of consequence in the
defence of the general caùse. The same desire of pub
lic benefit which induced him to suspend his work, has
since engaged him to resume it; and though it may not
possess the same merit as if it had appeared under the
cbcumstances that gave rise to it, yet he imagines that
at a time when new passions are bursting Jorih, pas
sions that must communicate their activity to the relb
pious opinions of me it * of importance to dissemb
*
�IV.
PREFACE,
nate such moral truths as are calculated to operate
as a sort of curb and restraint. It is with this view
he has endeavoured to give to these truths, hitherto
treated as abstract, a form likely to gain them a
reception. It was found impossible not to shock the
violent prejudices of some readers; but the work, so
far from being the fruit of a disorderly and pertur
bed spirit, has been dictated by a sincere love of order
and humanity.
•After reading this performance it will be asked, how
it was possible, in 1784, to have had an idea of what
did not take place till the year 1790? The solution
is simple: in the original plan, the legislator was a
fictitious and hypothetical being: in the present, the
author has substituted an existing legislator ; and the
reality has only made the subject additionally inter
esting.
�CONTENTS.. . .
INVOCATION .. ........... Pas« m
CHAP. I.
The Tour ....*..........
CHAP. II.
Meditations......................
CHAP. ïlîo
The Apparition
.........
CHAP. IV.
The Hemisphere.............
1
3
6
9
CHAP. XII.
^*11*
Lessons taught by Ancient, re
peated in Modern Times ... 32
CHAP. XU I»
Will the Human Race be ever
in a better Condition than
at present
CHAP. XIV.
Grand Obstacle to Improvement 48
CHAP. XV.
CHAP. V.
New Age.......................
CHAP. VI.
A free ar‘^ legislative People.. 54
Condition of Man in the Uni
verse ................................
Original state of Man........
CHAP. VII.
Principles of Society ........
CHAP. VIII.
Source of the evils of Society
51
CHAP. XVI.
17
CHAP. XVII.
18
Universal Basis of all Right and
all Law .........
55
19
CHAP. XVIII.
CHAP. IX.
Consternation and Conspiracy
of Tyrants ........................ . 57
CHAP. X.
General Assembly of the People 59
Origin of Government and Laws 20
General Causes of the Prospe
rity of Ancient States ......
22
CHAP. XI.
General Causes of the Revolu
tions, and Ruins of Ancient
States ..................
CHAP. XIX.
CHAP. XX.
Investigation of Truth...........
CHAP. XXI.
25
Problem of Religious Contra
dictions ...........
70
�eONTE.NTSé
pag«
CHAP. Xtll.
Origin and Genealogy of Reli
gious Ideas...........
91
the vital Principle of the
Universe ........................... 119
SECT. I.
SECT. VIII.
SECT. n.
Religion of Moses, or Worship
of the Soul of the World,
(You-Piter) ....................... 124
Eighth System : The World &
Origin of the Idea of God:
Machine: Worship of the
Worship of the Elements and
Demi-ourgos, or supreme Ar
the physical Powers of Na
tificer ............................... . 121
ture ...............
95
SECT. IX.
Second System: Worship of the
Stars, or Sabeism .............. 97
SECT. III.
SECT. X
*
Third System : Worship of
Symbols, or Idolatry.......... 100
SECT. IV.
Fourth System: Worship of two
Principles, or Dualism .... 108
SECT. V.
Mystical or Moral Worship, or
the System of a Future State 112
SECT. I.
Sixth System: the animated
World, or Worship of the
Universe under different Em
blems ................................ 118
Religion of Zoroaster ......
126
SECT. XI.
Budoism, or Religion of the
Samaneans............................127
SECT. XII.
Braminism, or the Indian Sys
tem ..................
127
SECT. XIII.
Christianity, or the allegorical
Worship of the Sun under
the cabalistical Names of
CHRIS-EN or CHRIST and
YES-US or JESUS .......... 127
c h a p . Xxm.
End of all Religions the same 135
SECT. VII.
Seventh System: Worship of
the SOUL of the WORLD,
that is, the Element of Fire,
CHAP. XXIV.
ERRATA.
In page 70, Note
**
Solution of the Problem of
Contradictions .................. 144
after last line insert “ charged.”
�INVOCATION.
SOLITARY Ruins, sacred Tombs, ye mouldering and silent
Walls, all hail! To you, I address my In v o c a t io n . Whilei the
vulgar shrink from your aspect with secret terror, my h^rt find,
in the contemplation a thSSSmd delicious sentiments, a thousand
admirable recollections. Pregnant, I may truly call you with
useful lessons, with pathetic and irresisUble advice, to the man
who knows how to consult yon. A while ago the whole world
bowed the neck in silence before the tyrants that oppressed it,
and yet in that hopeless moment you already proclaimed the
truths that tyrants hold in abhorrence: mixing the dust of the
»roudest kings with that of the meanest slaves, you called upon
US to contemplate this example of Eq u a l it y . From your ca,
verns, whither the musing and anxious love of Lib e r t y led me,
. I saw escape its venerable shade, and with unexpectedfeli city
direct its flight, and marshal my steps the way to renovate»
France.
Tombs, what virtues and potency do you exhibit! Tyrants
tremble at your aspect; you poison with secret alarm tneir im
pious pleasures; they turn from you with impatience, and, coward
like, endeavour to forget you amid the sumptuousness of their
palaces. It is you that bring home the rod of justice to the pow
erful oppressor; it is you that wrest the ill-gotten gold from tne
merciless extortioner, and avenge the cause of him that has none
�Fïili
WVOCAT1W.
to help|, y6u compensate the narrow enjoyments of the poor, by
dashing with care the goblet of the rich 'to the unfortunate you
ofler a last and inviolable asylum : in fine, you give to the soul
that just equilibrium of strength and tenderness, which consti
tutes the wisdom of the sage and the seience of life. The wise
man looks towards you, and scorns to amass vain granduer and
useless riches with which he soon must part; y^u check his law
less flights without disarming his adventure and his courage • he
feels the necessity of passing through the period assigned him
and be gives employment to his hours, and makes use of thé
goods that fortune has assigned him. Thus do you rein in the
wild sallies of cupidity, calm the fever of tumultuous enjoyment,
free the mind from the anarchy of the passions, and raise it
above those little interests which torment the mass of mankind.
We ascend the eminence you afford us, and, viewing with one
glance the limits of nations and the succession of ages, are inca
pable of any affections but such as are sublime, and entertain
no ideas but those of virtue and glory. Alas! when this un
certain dream of life shall be over, what then will avail all our
busy passions, unless they have left behind them the footsteps
of utility !
.
Ye Rums, I will return once more to attend your lessons!
I will resume my place in the midst of your wide spreading soliu e.
will leave the tragic scene of the passions, will love '
my species rather from recollection than actual survey, will eraP °y
activity in promoting their happiness, and compose my
own appines» of the pleasing remembrance that I haye hastened
theirs.
��Nflrí/t-
>S
"X
fr*
5^
b*
�twj— rum * III«
ili
��(11
THE
RUINS:
OR,
'*
A SURVEY
OF THU
REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES
*
CHAP. I.
Th e
To u r *
TN the eleventh year of the reign of Abd-ul Hamid * son of
I Ahmed, emperor of the Turks ? when the Nogain Tartars
were driven from the Crimea, and a Mussulman prince, of the
blood of Gengis Khan,f became the vassal and guard of a
woman, a Christian, and a queen; I journeyed in the empire
of the Ottomans, and traversed the provinces which formerly
were kingdoms of Egypt and of Syria.
„
Directing all my attention to what concerns the happiness of
mankind in a state of society, ! entered cities, and studied the
' manners of their inhabitants; I gained admission into palaces,
and observed the conduct of those who govern; I wandered over
the country, and examined the condition of the peasants : and
no where perceiving aught but robbery and devastation, tyranny
and wretchedness, my heart was oppressed with sorrow and
W Every day I found in my route fields abandoned by the plough,
villages deserted, and cities in ruins. Frequently I met with
antique monuments ; wrecks of temples, palaces, and fortifica
tions; pillars, aqueducts, sepulchres. By these objects my
* That is, 1784 of the Christian sera, and 1198 of the Hegira* The emigra
tion of the Tartars took place in March, immediately on the manifesto of the
empress declaring the Crimea to be incorporated with Russia.
■f It was Chahin Guerai. Geugis Khan was borne and served by the kinos
-whom he conquered : Chahin, on the contrary, after selling his country for a
pension of eighty thousand roubles, accepted the commission of captain of guards
to Catherine ll/ He afterwards returned home, and, according to custom, was
strangled by the Turks,
H
�2
A SURVEY OF THE
thoughts were directed to past ages, and my mind absorbed in
serious and profound meditatioh.
*
Arrived at Hamsa on the borders of the Orontes, and being
at no great distance from the city of Palmyra, situated in the
desert, I resolved to examine for myself its boasted monuments.
After three days travel in barren solitude, and having passed
through a valley filled with grottoes and tombs, my eyes were
suddenly struck, on leaving this valley and entering a plain,
with a most astonishing scene of ruins. It consisted of a count
less multitude of superb columns standing erect, and which, like
the avenues of our parks, extended in regular files farther than
the eye could reach. Among these columns magnificent edifices
were observeable, some entire, others in a state half demolished.
The ground was covered on all sides with fragments of similar
buildings, cornices, capitals, shafts, entablatures, and pilasters,
all constructed of a marble of admirable whiteness and exquisite
workmanship. After a walk of three quarters of an hour along
these ruins, I entered the inclosure of a vast edifice which had
formerly been a temple dedicated to the sun; and I accepted the
hospitality of some poor Arabian peasants, who had established
their huts in the very area of the temple. Here I resolved for
some days to remain, that I might contemplate, at leisure, the
beauty of so many stupendous works.
. Every day I visited some of the monuments which covered the
plain; and one evening that, my mind lost in reflection,“ I had
advanced as far as the Valley of. Sepulchres, I ascended the
heights that bound it, and from which the eye commands at once
the whole of the ruins and the immensity of the desert.—The
sun had just sunk below the horizon; a streak of red still marked
the place of his descent, behind the distant mountains of Syria;
the full moon, appearing with brightness upon a ground of deep
blue, rose in the east from the smooth bank of the Euphrates :
the sky was unclouded; the air calm and serene ; the expiring
light of day served to soften the horror of approaching darkness;
the refreshing breeze of the night gratefully relieved the intoler
able sultriness of the day that had preceded it; the shepherds
had led the camels to their stalls; the grey firmament bounded
the silent landscape; through the whole desert every thing was
marked with stillness, undisturbed but by the mournful cries of
the brid of night, and of some chacals —The dusk increased,
.
*
and already I could distinguish nothing more than the pale
phantoms of walls and columns.—The solitariness of the situa
tion, the serenity of evening, and the grandeur of the scene,
impressed my mind with religious thoughtfulness. The view
* An animal considerably like the fox, but less cunning, and of a frightful
aspect. It lives upon dead bodies, and rocks and ruins are the places of its
habitation.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
3
nf an illustrious city deserted, the remembrance qf past times,
their comparison with the present state of things, all combine!
o raise my heart to a strain of sublime meditation. I sat down
tn the base of a column; and there, my elbow on my knee, and
niv head restin«- on my hand, sometimes turning my eyes inwards
tte desert, and’sometimes fixing them on the rums, I fell into a
profound reverie.
CHAP. II.
Me d it a t io n s .
i
‘ He r e , said I to myself, an opulent city °"ce /X'e^niwso
was the seat of a powerful empire. Yes,
e p
, active
desert, a living multitude formerly animated, and an activ
crowd circulated in the streets whic!\at.Prese"t„?J‘;gSOIe1noi£
Within those walls, where a mournful silence reigns the noi.
of the arts and the shouts of joy and “VO“Xs ly re
sounded. These heaps of marble formed regular P^ces, the.
prostrate pillars were the majestic ornaments of temples.Y _
ruinous galleries present the outlines of public places. T :tg
a numerous people assembled for the respectab e du, e i ofts
worship, or the anxious cares of its subsistence = there ,nd“st5>>
the fruitful inventor of sources of enjoyment, c<d,“ted »
the riches of every climate aud the purpte of Tyre was: ex
changed for the precious thread of Serica the soft tissuesol
;
*
Cass?mere+ for the sumptuous carpets of Lydia; the‘
Baltic for the pearls and perfumes of Arabia, the o
P +
for the pewter of Thule.
nF this
And now a mournful skeleton is all that subsists of th^
onulent citv and nothing remains of its powerful goveinment
bPut a vain ayAd obscure remembrance! To the tumultuous throng ,
which crowded under these porticos, the solitude
succeeded. The silence of the tomb is substituted foi the hum
of public places. The opulence of a commercial city is changed
• r i •i
m.rxinto hideous poverty. Tlw nalaees of kins's are become IIflrvleIne palaces oi
CQnPt the nf
ceptacle of deer, and unclean reptiles inhabit the sanctuaiy ol
z
* That is, the silk originally derived from the
o^the
x the great wall terminates, and which appears to have been the ciadle
C tThesÉSwhich Ezekiel seems to have described under the appellation
°ftCThisd comdry, which was one of the twelve Arab cantons, and which.has
unsuccessfully been sought for
üæ ant.quanes, has left
however some trace of itself in Ôfoi, in the province
PPi’Phrated bv Strabo
Gulph, neighbouring on one side to the Sabeans who are celeb, ated bj shabo
for their plenty of gold, and on the other to Aula or Hevfi ; ''^es a very
fishery was carned’oiu See the 27th chapter of
<f
^es Vtry
curious and extensive picture of the commeice of s '
p
l
�4
A SURVEY OF THE
the gods,—What glory is here eclipsed, and how many labours
are annihilated !—Thus perish the works of men, and thus do
nations and empires vanish away.
The history of past times strongly presented itself to my
thoughts. I called to mind those distant ages when twenty ce
lebrated nations inhabited the country around me. I pictured
to myself the Assyrian on the banks of the Tygris, the Chaldeean on those of the Euphrates, the Persian w hose power ex
*
tended from the Indus to the Mediterranean. I enumerated the
kingdoms of Damascus and Idumea ; of Jerusalem and Samaria;
and the warlike states of the Philistines ; and the commercial
rupublics of Phenicia. This Syria, said I to myself, now almost
depopulated, then contained a hundred flourishing cities, and
».bounded with towns, villages, and hamlets. Every where one
*
might have seen cultivated fields, frequented roads, and crowded
habitations. Ah ! w hat are become of those ages of abundance
and of life ? What are become of so many productions of the
hand of man ? Where are those ramparts of Nineveh, those
w alls of Babylon, those palaces of Persepolis, and those tem
ples of Balbec and of J erusalem ? Where are those fleets of Tyre,
those dock-yards of Arad, those work-shops of Sidon, and that
multitude of mariners, pilots, merchants, and soldiers ? Where
those husbandmen, those harvests, that picture of animated na
ture of which the earth seemed proud ? Alas ! I have traversed
this desolate country, I have visited the places that "were the
theatre of so much splendour, and I have nothing beheld but
solitude and desertion ! I looked for those ancient people and
their works; and all I could find was a faint trace, like to what
the foot of a passenger leaves on the sand. The temples are
thrown down, the palaces demolished, the ports filled up, the
towns destroyed, and the earth, stript of inhabitants, seems a
dreary burying-place.—Great God ! from whence proceed such
melancholy revolutions ? Eor what cause is the fortune of these
countries so strikingly changed ? Why are so many cities de
stroyed ? Why is not that ancient population reproduced and
perpetuated ?
- Thus absorbed in contemplation, new ideas continually pre
sented themselves to my thoughts. Every thing, continued I,
misleads my judgment and fills my heart with trouble and un
certainty. When these countries enjoyed what constitutes the
glory and felicity of mankind, they w ere an unbelieving people
who inhabited them : It was the Phenician, offering human sa
crifices to Moloch, w ho brought together within his walls the
riches of every climate ; it wras the Chaldaean, prostrating him
self before a serpentf, who subjugated opulent cities, and laid
According to Josephus and Strabo, there were in Syria twelve millions of
so.ulsj and the traces that remain of culture and habitation confirm the calculation.
f The dragon Bel,
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
5
waste the palaces of kings and the temples of the gods : it was
the Persian, the worshipper of fire, who collected the tributes
of a hundred nations; they were the inhabitants of this very
city, adorers of the sun and stars, who erected so many monu
ments of affluence and luxury. Numerous flocks, fertile fields,
abundant harvests, every thing that should have been the re
ward of piety, was in the hands of idolaters : and now that a be
lieving and holy people occupy these countries, nothing is to be
seen but solitude and sterility. The earth under these blessed
hands produces only briars and wormwood. Man sows in an
guish, and reaps vexation and cares; war, famine, and pesti
lence, assault him in turn. Yet, are not these the children of
the prophets ? This Christian, this Mussulman, this Jew, are
they not the elect of Heaven, loaded with gifts and miracles ?
Why then is this race, beloved of the Divinity, deprived of the
favours which were formerly showered upon the Heathen ? Why
do these lands, consecrated by the blood of the martyrs, no
longer boast their former temperature and fertility ? Why have
those favours been banished, as it were, and transferred for so
many ages to other nations and different climes ?
And here, pursuing the course of vicissitudes, which have, in
turn, transmitted the sceptre of the world to people so various
in manners and religion, from those of ancient Asia down to the
more recent ones of Europe, my native country, designated by
this name, was awakened in my mind, and turning my eyes to
wards it, all my thoughts fixed upon the situation in which I had
left it
.
*
I recollected its fields, so richly cultivated |, its roads, so ad
mirably executedits towns inhabited by an immense multi
tude f, its ships scattered over every ocean its ports filled with
the produce of either India and comparing the activity of its
commerce, the extent of its navigation, the magnificence of its
buildings, the arts and industry of its inhabitants, with all that
Egypt and Syria could formerly boast of a similar nature, I
pleased myself with the idea that I had found in modern Europe
the past splendour of Asia : but the charm of my reverie was
presently dissolved by the last step of the comparison. Reflect
ing that if the places before me had once exhibited this animated
picture |( who, said I to myself, can assure me, that their present
desolation will not one day be the lot of our own country ? who
knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sit down
upon the banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder sea
where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes
are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations ; who knows
but he will sit down solitary, amid silent ruins, and weep a people inurned, and their greatness changed into an empty name.
* In the year 1/82, at the close of the American war.
�0.
A SURVEY OF THE
The idea brought tears into ray eyes ; and covering my head
with the flap of my garment, I gave myself up to the most gloomy
meditations on human affair. Unhappy man ! said I m my grief,
a blind fatality plays with thy destiny
!
*
a fatal necessity rules
by- chance the lot of mortals ! But, no : they are the decrees of
celestial justice that are accomplishing A mysterious God ex
ercises his incomprehensible judgments ! He has doubtless pro
nounced a secret malediction against the earth; he has struck
with a curse the present race of men, in revenge of past genera
tions. Oh ! who shall dare to fathom the depths of the Divinity ?
And I remained immoveable, plunged in profound melancholy.
CHAP. III.
Th e Appa r it io n .
In the mean time a noise struck my ear like to the agitation
of a flowing robe, and the slow steps of a foot, upon the dry and
rustling grass. Alarmed, I drew my mantle from my head, and
casting round me a timid glance, suddenly, by the obscure light
of the moon, through the pillars and ruins of a temple, I thought
I saw at my left, a pale apparition, enveloped in an immense
drapery, similar to what spectres are painted when issuing out
of the tombs. I shuddered; and while, in this troubled state, 1
was hesitating whether to fly, or ascertain the reality of the
vision, a hollow voice, in grave and solemn accents, thus ad
dressed me:
-n
• .
How long will man importune the heavens with unjust com
plaint • How long, with vain clamours, will he accuse Fate as
the author of his calamities ? Will he then never open his eyes
to the light, and his heart to the insinuations of truth and reason ?
This truth every where presents itself in radiant brightness, and
he does not see it! The voice of reason strikes his ear, and he
does not hear it I Unjust man ! if you can for a moment suspend
the delusion which fascinates your senses, jf vour heart be capa
ble of comprehending the language of argumentation, interroo-ate these ruins ! read the lessons which they present to you!
And you, sacred temples! venerable tombs! w alls once glorious!
the witnesses of twenty different ages, appear in the cause of
nature herself! come to the tribunal of sound understanding, to
bear testimony against an unjust accusation, to confound the
declamations of false wisdom or hypocritical piety, and avenge
the heavens and the earth of man ; w ho culminates tnem !
What is this blind fatality, that, without order or laws, sports
w ith the lot of mortals ? What this unjust necessity, which con
•
* This is the universal and rooted prejudice of the East. “ It was written,”
is there the answer to every thing, lienee result an unconcern and apathy,
the most powerful impediments to instruction and civilization.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
7
founds the issue of actions, be they those of prudence or those
of folly ? In what consists the maledictions of Heaven denounced
against these countries ? where is the divine curse that perpetu
ates this scene of desolation ? Monuments of past ages 1 say,
have the heavens changed their laws, and the earth its course ?
Has the sun extinguished his fires in the region of space ? Do
the seas no longer send forth clouds ? Are the rain and the dew
fixed in the air ?. Do the mountains retain their springs ? Are
the streams dried up ? and do the plants no more bear fruit and
seed ? Answer, race of falshood and iniquity! has God troubled
the primitive and invariable order which he himself assigned to
nature ? Has heayen denied to the earth, and the earth to its in
habitants, the blessings that were formerly dispensed ? If the
creation has remained the same, if its sources a.nd its instruments
are exactly what they once were, w herefore should not the pre
sent race haye every thing within their reach that their ancestors
'enjoyed ? Falsely do you accuse Fate and the Divinity ; injuri
ously do you refer to God the cause of your evils. Tell me, '
perverse and hypocritical race ! if these places are desolate, if
powerful cities are reduced to solitude, is it he that has occa
sioned the ruin ? Is it his hand that has thrown down these walli,
sapped these temples, mutilated these pillars ? or is it the hand of
man ? Is it the arm of God that has introduced the sword into the
city and set fire to the country, murdered the people, burned the
harvests, rooted up the trees, and ravaged the pastures ? or is it
the arm of man ? And when, after this devastation, famine has
started up, is it the vengeance of God that has sent it, or the
mad fury of mortals ? When, during the famine, the people are
fed with unwholesome provision, and pestilence ensues, is it in
flicted by the anger of Heaven, or brought about by human im
prudence ? When war, famine, and pestilence united, have swept
away the inhabitants, and the land is become a desert, is it God
who has depopulated it ? Is it it his rapacity that plunders the
labourer, ravages the productive fields, and lays waste the coun
try ? or the rapacity of those who govern ? Is it his pride that
creates murderous w ars ? or the pride of kings and their minis
ters ? Is it the venality of his decisions that overthrows the for
tune of families ? or the venality of the organs of the laws ? Are
they his passions that, under a thousand forms, torment indivi
duals and nations ? or the passions of human beings ? And if iji
the anguish of their misfortunes they perceive not the remedies,
is it the ignorance of God that isjn fault ? or their own ignorance ?
Cease, then, to accuse the decrees of Fate or the judgments of
Heaven ! If God is good, will he be the author of your punish
ment ? If he is just, w ill he be the accomplice of your crimes ’
No, no : the caprice of which man complains, is not the caprice
of destiny ; the darkness that misleads his reason, is not the dark
�8
A SURVEY OF THE
ness of God : the source of his calamities is not in the distant
heavens, but near to him upon the earth : it is not concealed in •
the bosom of the Divinity ; it resides in himself, man bears it
in his heart.
You murmur, and say : Why have an unbelieving people en
joyed the blessings of heaven and of the earth ? Why is a holy
and chosen race less fortunate than impious generations ? De
luded man ! where is the contradiction at which you take offence ?
Where the inconsistency in which you suppose the justice of
God to be involved ? Take the balance of blessings and cala
mities, of causes and effects, and tell me,—When those infidels
observed the laws of the earth and the heavens, when they re
gulated their intelligent labours by the order of the seasons and
the course of the stars, ought God to have troubled the equili
brium of the world to defeat their prudence ? When they culti
vated w ith care and toil the face of the country around you,
ought he to have turned aside the rain, to have withheld the fer
tilizing dews, and caused thorns to spring up ? When, to render
this parched and barren soil productive, their industry constructed
aqueducts, dug canals, and brought the distant waters across
the deserts, ought he to have blighted the harvest which art had
created; to have desolated a country that had been peopled in
peace; to have demolished the towns which labour had caused
to flourish ; in fine, to have deranged and confounded the order
established by the wisdom of man ? And what is this infidelity
which fonnded empires by prudence, defended them by courage,
and strengthened them by justice; which raised magnificent
cities, formed vast ports, drained pestilential marshes, covered
the sea with ships, the earth with inhabitants, and, like the
creative spirit, diffused life and motion through the world. If
such is impiety, what is true belief ? Does holiness consist in
destruction ? Is then the God that peoples the air with birds, the
earth with animals, and the waters w ith reptiles ; the God that
animates universal nature, a God that delights in ruins and
sepulchres ? Does he ask devestation for homage, and conflagra
tion for sacrifice ? Would he have groans for hymns, murderers
to worship him, and a desert and ravaged w orld for his temple ?
Yet such, holy and faithful generation, are your works ! These
are the fruits of youi’ piety! You have massacred the people,
reduced cities to ashes, destroyed all traces of cultivation, made
the earth a solitude; and you demand the reward of your la
bours! Miracles are not too much for your advantage ! For you
the peasants that you have murdered should be revived; the walls
you have thrown down should rise again; the harvests you have
ravaged should flourish; the conduits that you have broken
xdown should be renewed ; the laws of heaven and earth, those
laws which God has established for the display of his greatness
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
9
and his Magnificence, those laws anterior to all revelations and
♦ to all prophets, those laWs which passion cannot alter, and
ignorance cannot pervert, should be superseded. Passion knows
them not; ignorance, which observes no cause and predicts no
effect, has said in the foolishness of hei heart: “ Every thing
*
*
• Comes from chance; a blind fatality distributes good and evil
Upon the earth ; success is not to the prudent, nor felicity to the
wise/’ Or else, assuming the language of hypocrisy, she has
said : if Every thing comes from God ; and it is his sovereign
pleasure to deceive the sage, and to confound the judicious.’
And she has contemplated the imaginary scene with complacency.
« Good !” she has exclaimed. “ I then am as well endowed as
the science that despises me ! The Cold prudence which ever
more haunts and torments me, I will render useless by a lucky
intervention of Providence.” Cupidity has joined the chorus.
£i I too will oppress the weak; I will wring from him the fruits of
*
his labour : for such is the decree of Heaven, such the omnipo
tent will of Fate.”—For myself, I swear by all laws human
and divine, by the laws of the human heart, that the hypocrite
and the deceiver shall be themselves deceived ; the unjust man
shall perish in his rapacity, and the tyrant in his usurpation : the
sun shall change its course, before folly shall prevail over wisdom
and science, before stupidity shall surpass prudence in the delicate
art of procuring to man his true enjoyment, and of building his
happiness upon aolid foundation.
s
*
«
CHAP. IV.
Th e He m is ph e r e .
.
• ’ ■’ ’
Astonished at his discourse,
and my heart agitated by a diversity of reflections, I was for
some time silent. At length assuming the courage to speak, I
thus addressed him : O Genius of tombs and ruins ! your sudden
appearance and your severity have thrown my senses into dis
order, but the justness of your reasoning restores confidence to
my soul. Pardon my ignorance. Alas! if man is blind, can
that which constitutes his torment be also his crime ? I was un
able to distinguish the voice of reason ; but the moment it was
known to me, I gave it welcome. Oh! if you can read my
heart, you know how desirous it is df truth, and with what
ardour it seeks it; you know that it is in this pursuit I am now
found in these remote places. Alas ! I have wandered over the
earth, I have visited cities and countries; and perceiving every
where misery and desolation, the sentiment of the evils by which,
my fellow creatures are tormented has deeply afflicted my mind !
1 have said to myself with a sigh : Is man, then, created to be
the victim of pain and anguish ? And I have meditated upon •
human evils, that I might find out their remedy. I have said,
Th u s spoke the Apparition.
�10
A SURVEY OF THE
I will separate myself from corrupt societies ; I will remove far
from palaces where the soul is depraved by satiety, and from
cottages where it is humbled by misery. I will dwell in solitude
amidst the ruins of cities : I will enquire of the monuments of
antiquity what w as the wisdom of former ages f in the very
bosom of sepulchres I will invoke the spirit that formerly in
Asia gave splendour to states and glory to their people : I will
enquire of the ashes of legislators what causes have erected and
overthrown empires; what are the principles of national pros
perity and misfortune ; what the maxims upon which the peace
of society and the happiness of man ought to be founded.
I stopped ; and casting down my eyes, I waited the reply of
the Genius. _ Peace and happiness, said he, descend upon him
who practises justice ! Young man, since your heart searches
after truth with sincerity; since you can distinguish her form
through the midst of prejudices w hich blind the eyes, your in
quiry shall not be vain : I will display to your view this truth
of which you are in pursuit; I will show to your reason the
knowledge which you desire; I will reveal to you the wisdom
of the tombs, and the science of ages.—Then approaching me,
and placing his hand upon my head, Rise, mortal, said he, and
disengage yourself from that corporeal frame with which you
are incumbered.—Instantly, penetrated as with a celestial flame,
the ties that fix us to the earth seemed to be loosened; and
lifted by the wing of the Genius, I felt myself like a light vapour
conveyed in the uppermost region. There, from above the
atmosphere, looking down towards the earth I had quitted, I
beheld a scene entirely new, Under my feet, floating in empty
space, a globe similar to that of the moon, but smaller, and less
luminous, presented to me one of its faces ; and this face had
*
the appearance of a disk variegated with spots, some of them
white and nebulous, others brown, green and grey ; and while
I exerted my powers in discerning and discriminating these
spots—Disciple of truth, said the Genius to me, have you any
recollection of this spectacle ? O Genius, I replied, if I did not
perceive the moon in a different part of the heavens, I should
suppose the orb below me to be that planet; for its appearance
resembles perfectly the moon viewed through a telescope at the
time of an eclipse : one might be apt to think the variegated
spots to ^e seas and continents.
Yes, said he to me, they are the seas and continents of the
yery hemisphere you inhabit.
What, exclaimed I, is that the earth that is inhabited by hu41 man beings?
It is, replied he. That brown space which occupies irregularly
a considerable partion of the disk, and nearly surrounds it on
* See Plate I. representing half the terrestrial globe
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
11
all sides is what you call the main ocean, which, from the
, south pole advancing towards the equator, first forms the great
o-ulf of Africa and India, then stretches to the east across the
Slalay Islands, as far as the confines of Tartary, while at the
west it incloses the continents of Africa and of Europe, reach
ing to the north of Asia.
n
• *,
1
Under our feet, that peninsula of a square figure is the desert
country of Arabia, and on the left you perceive that great conti
nent, scarcely less barren in its interior parts, and only verdant
as it approaches the sea, the inhabitants of which are dis
tinguished by a sable complexion
.
*
To the north, and on the
other side of an irregular and narrow seat, are the tracts of
Europe, rich in fertile meadows and in all the luxuriance of
Cultivation. To the right from the Caspian, extend the rugged
surface and snow-topt hills of Tartary. In bringing back the
eye again to the spot over which we are elevated, you see a
large white space, the melancholy and uniform desert of Gobi,
cutting off the empire of China from the rest of the world. China
itself is that furrowed surface which seems by a sudden obliquity
to escape from the view. Farther on, those vast tongues of
land and scattered points, are the peninsula, and islands of the
Malayans, the unfortunate proprietors of aromatics and per
fumes. Still nearer you observe a triangle which Projects
strono-ly into the sea, and is the too famous peninsula of India.;
You ^see the crooked windings of the Ganges, the ambitious
mountains of Thibet, the unfortunate valley of Cassimere (12),
the discouraging deserts of Persia, the banks of the Euphrates
and the Tigris, the rough bed of Jordan (4), and the mouths of
the solitary Nile. (See the Plate.)
O Genius, said I, interrupting him, the organ of a mortal
would in vain attempt to disinguish objects at so great a dis
tance. Immediately he touched my eyes, and they became
more piercing than those of the eagle ; notwithstanding which,
rivers appeared to me no more than meandering, ribands, ridges,
of mountains, irregular furrows, and great cities a nest of
boxes varied among themselves like the squares in a chess
board.
1 • X .
The Genius proceeded to point out the different objects to me
with his finger, and to develope them as he proceeded. These
heaps of ruins, said he, that you observe in this narrow valley,
laved by the Nile, are all that remains of the opulent cities that
gave lustre to the ancient kingdom of Ethiopia||. Here is the
* Africa.
+ The Mediterranean.
J Of what real good has been the commerce of India to the mass of peo
ple ? On the contrary, how great the evil occasioned by the superstition of this
country having been added to the general superstition
Ü lu the next volume of the Encyelopædia will appear a memoir respecting
�12
A SURVEY OF THE
monument of its splendid metropolis, Thebes with its hundred
,
*
palaces the progenitor of cities, the memento of human frailty,
the chronology of the twelve ages anteriorto the passing of Xerxesinto Greece
in which I conceive myself to have proved, that Upper Egypt formerly pomposed a distinct kingdom, known to the Hebrews by the name of
and to
which the appellation of Ethiopia was specially given. This kingdom pre
served its independence to the time of Psammeticus, at which period, bein' *
United to the Lower Egypt, it Jost its name of Ethiopia, which thenceforth was
bestowed upon the nations of Nubia, and upon the different hordes of Blacks,
including Thebes, their metropolis.
* The idea of a city with a hundred gates, in the common acceptation of the
word, is so absurd, that I am astonished the equivoque has not before been felt.
It has ever been the custom of the East to cal J palaces and houses of the great
by the name of gates, because the principal luxury of these buildings consist^
in the singular gate leading from the street into the court, at the farthest exr
tremity of which the palace is situated. It is under the vestihule of this gate
that conversation is held with passengers, and a sort of audience and hospita
lity given. All this was doubtless known to Homer; but poets made, no com
mentaries, and readers love the marvellous.
This city of Thebes, now Longsor, reduced to the condition of a miserable
village, has left astonishing monuments of its magnificence, Particulars of this
may be seen in the plates of Norden, in Pocock, and in the recent travels of
Bruce. These monuments give credibility to all that Homer has related of its
gplendoui and led us to infer of its political power and external commerce.
Its geographical position was favourable to this twofold object. For, on one
Side, the valley of the Nile, singularly fertile, must have early occasioned a nu
merous population; apd, on the other, the Red Sea giving communication with
Arabia and India, and the Nile with Abyssinia and the Mediterranean, Thebes
was thus naturally allied to the richest countries on the globe ; an alliance that
procured it an activity so much the greater, as Lower Egypt, at first a swamp,
was nearly, if not totally uninhabited. But when at length this country had
been drained by the canals and dikes which Sesostris constructed, population
was introduced there, and wars arose which proved fatal to the power of
1 hebes. Commerce then took another route, and descended to the point of
the Red Sea, to the canals of Sesostris (see Strabo), and wealth and activity
were transferred to Memphis. This is manifestly what Diodorus means, when
he tells us (Lib. I. Sect. 2.) that as soon as Memphis was established and made
a wholesome and delicious abode, kings abandoned Thebes to fix themselves
there. Ihus Thebes continued to decline, and Memphis to flourish, till the
time of Alexander, who, building Alexandria on the border of the sea, caused
Memphis to fall in its turn; so that prosperity and power seem to have desceuded historically step by step along the Nile : whence it results, both phy
sically and historically, that the existence of Thebes was prior to that of the
other cities. The testimony of writers is very positive in this respect. “ The
lhebans, ’ says Diodorus, consider themselves as the most ancient people of
the earth, and assert, that with them originated philosophy and the science of
he stais. Iheir sitpation, it is true, is infinitely favourable to astronomical
observation, and they have a more accurate division pf time into months and
years than other nations,” tec.
What Diodorus says of the Thebans, every author, and himself elsewhere,
repeat of the Ethiopians, which tends more firmly to establish the identity of
place o< vyhich I have spoken. “The Ethiopians conceive themselves (says
Ik I u-1 t0 bf of £reatf“r antiquity than any other nation ; and it is probae that, born under the sun’s path, its warmth may have ripened them earlier
than other men. They suppose themselves also to be the inventors of divine
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
IS
It was there that a people since forgotten, discovered the elements
of science and art, at a time when all other men were barbarous,
and that a race, now regarded as the refuse of society, because
their hair is woolly, and their skin is dark, explored among the
phenomena of nature, those civil and religious systems which
have since held mankind in awe, A little lower the dark spots
that you observe are the pyramids (1) whose names have over
whelmed your imagination. Farther on, the coast (3) that you
behold limited by the sea on one side, and bv a ridge of moun
tains on the other, was the abode of the Phenician nations ;
there stood the powerful cities of Tyre, Sidon, Ascalon, Gaza,
and Berytus. This stream of water, which seems to disembogue
itself into no sea (4), is the Jordan ; and these barren rocks were
formerly the scene of events, whose tale may not be forgotten.
Here you find the desert of Horeb, and the hill of Sinai (5),
where, by artifice which the vulgar were unable to penetrate, a
subtle and daring leader gave birth to institutions of memorable
influence upon the history of mankind. Upon the barren strip
of land which borders upon this desert, you see no longer any
worship, of festivals, of solemn assemblies, of sacrifices, and of every other re
ligious practice. They affirm, that the Egyptians are one of their colonies,
and that the Delta, which was formerly sea, became land by the conglomera
tion of the earth of the higher country, which was washed down by the Nile.
They have, like the Egyptians, two species of letters, hieroglyphics and the
alphabet; but among the Egyptians the first was known only to the priests,
and by them transmitted from father to son, whereas both species are common
among the Ethiopians.”
“ The Ethiopians,” says Lucian, page 985. “ were the first who invented the
science of the stars, and gave names to the planets, not at random and without
meaning, but descriptive of the qualities which they conceived them to pos
sess; and it was from them that this art passed, still in an imperfect state, to
the Egyptians.
It would be easy to multiply citations upon this subject; from all which it
follows, that we have the strongest reason to believe that the country neigh
bouring to the tropic, was the cradle of the sciences, and of consequence that
the first learned nation was a nation of Blacks, for it is incontrovertible, that
by the term Ethiopians, the ancients meant to represent a people of black
complexion, thick lips, and woolly hair. I am therefore inclined to believe
that the inhabitants of Lower Egypt were formerly a foreign colony imported
from Syria and Arabia, a medley of different tribes of Savages, originally shep
herds and fishermen, who by degrees formed themselves into a nation, and
who, by nature and descent, were enemies of the Thebans, by whom they
were no doubt despised and treated as barbarians.
I have suggested the same ideas in my Travels info Syria, founded upon the
' black complexion of the Sphinx. I have since ascertained, that the antique
images of Thebais have the same characteristics ; and Mr. Bruce has offered a
multitude of analogous facts: but this traveller, of whom I beard some men
tion at Cairo, has so interwoven these facts, with certain systematic opinions,
that we should have recourse to his narratives with caution.
If is singular that Africa, situated so near us, should be the country on earth
which is the least known. The English are at this moment making attempts,
the success of which ought to excite our emulation.
�11
A SURVEY OF THE
trace of splendor ; and yet here was formerly the magazine of
the world. Here were the ports of the Idumeans from whence
,
*
the fleets of the Phenicians and the Jews, coasting the peninsula
of Arabia, bent their voyages to the Persian gulf, and imported
from thence the pearls of Havila, the gold of Saba and Ophir.
It was here, on the side of Oman and BSrhain, that existed that
site of magnificent and luxurious commerce, which, as it was
transplanted from country to country, decided upon the fate of
ancient nations. Hither were brought the vegetable aromatics,
and the precious stones of Ceylon, the shawls of Cassimere, the
diamonds of Golconda, the amber of the Maldives, the musk of
* Ailah (Eloth), Atsiom-Gaber (Hesion-Geber). The name of the first of
these towns still subsists in its ruins, at the point of the gulph of the Red Sea,
and in the route which the pilgrims take to Mecca. Hesion has at present no
trace, anv more than Quolsoum and Faran : it was, however, the harbour for
the fleets of Solomon. < The vessels of this prince, conducted by the Tyrians,
sailed along the coast of Arabia to Ophir in the Persian Gulph, thus opening a
communication with the merchants of India and Ceylon. That this naviga*
tion was entirely of Tyrian invention, appears both from the pilots and ship
builders employed by the Jews, and the names that were given to the trading
islands, viz. Tyrus and Aradus, now Barhain. The voyage was performed in
two different inodes, either in canoes of osier and rushes, covered on the out
side with skins done over with pitch: these vessels were unable to quit the
Red Sea, or so much as to leave the shore. The second mode of carrying on
the trade was by means of vessels with decks of the size of our long boats,
which were able to pass the strait and to weather the dangers of the ocean :
but for this purpose it was necessary to bring the wood from Mount Lebanus
and Cilicia, where it is very fine and in great abundance. This wood was first
conveyed in floats from Tarsus to Phenicia, for which reason the vessels were
called ships of Tarsus: from whence it has been ridiculously inferred, that
they went round the promontory of Africa as far as Tortosa in Spain. From
Phenicia it was transported on the backs of camels to the Red Sea, which
practice still continues, because theshores of this sea are absolutely unprovided .
with wood even for fuel. These vessels spent a complete year in their voyage,
that is, sailed one year, sojourned another, and did not return till the third.
This teadiousness was owing, first to their cruizing from port to port, as they
do at present; secondly,to their being detained by the Monsoon currents; aijd
thirdly, because according to the calculation of Pliny and Strabo, it was the
ordinary practice among the ancients to spend three years in a voyage of
twelve hundred leagues. Such a commerce must have been very expensive,
particularly as they were obliged to carry with them their provisions and even
fresh water. For this reason Solomon made himself master of Palmyra, which
was at 1hat time inhabited, and was already the magazine and high road of
merchants by way of the Euphrates. This conquest brought Solomon much
nearer to the country of gold and pearls. This alternative of a route either
by the Red Sea or by the river Euphrates was to the ancients, what in latter
times has been the alternative in a voyage to the Indies, either by crossingthe
Isthmus of Suez or doubling the Cape of Good Hope. It appears that till the
time of Moses this trade was carried on across the desert of Syria and Theais;
that afterwards it fell into the hands of the Phenicians, who fixed its site upon
the Red Sea, and that it was mutual jealousy that induced the kings of Nineveh
and Bab) Ion Io undertake the destruction of Tyre and Jerusalem. 1 insist the
more upon these facts, because I have never seen any thing reasonable upon
the subject.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
15
these commodities, which constituted the opulence oi l heoes
Sidon Memphis, and Jerusalem ; sometimes ascending the course
of the’ TyZ and the Euphrates they awakenedth«, acbvrtof
the Assyrians the Medes, the Chaldeans, and the Persians, ana
according as ¿hey were used or abused, cherished or overturned
the earth of Babylon (10), the ruins of which are trodden under foot of men of Nineveh (11), whose name seems to be
,
*
threatened with the same oblivion that has overtaken
Sre **
ness • of Thansacus, of Anatho, of Gerra, and of the melancholy
and memorable Palmyra. O names, for
fo^Xct“i
*
brated fields! famous countries! how replete is your aspect wiin
sublime instruction ! How many profound truths are written on
he Surface of this earth 1 Ye places that here ~;drt.e bfe
of man, in so many different ages, alll my recollec ton while 1
endeavour to trace the revolutions of his fortune! Say, what
were the motives of his conduct, and what his powers . L avert
the causes of his misfortunes, teach him ^X^Sion and
the experience of past ages become a mirror of insti notion, and
a germ of happiness to present and future generations .
CHAP. V.
Co n d it io n o f Ma n in t h e Un iv e r s e .
Af t e r a short silence, the Genius thus ^nmed Hs jnstau.cti on:
I have already observed to you, O friend of truth, that man
vainly attributes his misfortunes to obscure and imag
and seeks out remote and mysterious causes, from ^‘ch to deduce
his evils. In the general order of the universe, h. cond tmn »
doubtless subjected to inconveniences, and u
...
.. ue
ruled by sunerior powers ; but these powers «re nerther the de
crees ol a blind destiny, nor the .caprices of fantast e be
Man is governed, like the world of which he forms a part,, by
natural laws, regular in their operat.on consequent in them et.
fects, immutable in tharessencejjmd these laws, the commjl
9
“• It append th« Babyfen'oecupied on the Eastern Bank.of thei Euphrates
space of ground six leagues in length. Throng ou
P
. Helle,
fa fes
of Babylon, a
and his veracity.
“powledge ¿fa.tr.nomy
*
M&v ’
�16
4 SURVEY OF TIES
source of good and evil, are neither written in the distant star?,
or concealed in mysterious codes: inherent in the nature of all
errestnal beings, identified with their existence, they are at all
times and In all places present to the human mind’; they act
nnnid nSeS’. inf^m th* inteIlect’ and a™ax
every^actio/Ft"
punishment and its reward. Let man study these laws let him
understand his own nature, and the nature of the beings that
/' surround him, and he will know the springs of his desturv the
/ causes of hI8 evils, and the remedies to b? appM
b
the eart^animate*tbe universe, formed the
& ooe or tiieearth. he stamped on the beings which comnosed it
«on''t'h1tie°K,V tha( l>eC!7C the rude °f their ^dividual achannonv of th. 11r,reclPcocal connections, and the cause of the
of causes and effiJt C'
!ler.<f p established a regular order
“ ts’ of principles and consequences which
under an appearance of chance, governs the universe “ndmain’
tains the equtlibnum of the world. Thus he -ave t o’ftre motion
and activity, to air elasticity, to matter weiHit and density • he
made air lighter than water, metals heaver than earth wood’lesZ
cohesive than steel■ he ordered the flame to assend, the stone to
fall, the plant to vegetate ; to man, whom he decreed to S °
serve^fra“" exist?0 T”7 substances> and Yet wished to preve hls trad existence, he gave the faculty of perception Rv
th s faculty, every action injurious to his life gives£
1•
nd Preserve his existence. Self-love the
° happiness, and an aversion to pain, are tile essential
the8"!'™ “fThe^elements aro°un'd h?m h” ™
°
*
of inevitnhlo / elements around him, he is exposed to a variety
severe on the JthU h“d, 'f- ™
dpCTee Mature appears too
diminishing the other Qi/i?
a^menting the one, and
work of mv hands i
“S 'Wem[n"'y «>id «» him, “ Feeble
The world in whkhT nUWe J°U n°thin^’ and 1 8ive ™u life,
and yet I grant you t ,e us“ it
™ y°"r
Of good and evil Tt IT * \ Y»u will find in it a mixture
the arbitrator of your lot; I place your destiny i„yo“r hands® ’
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
17
—Yes, man is become the artificer of his fate ; it is himself who
has created in turn the vicissitudes of his fortune, his successes
and his disappointments; and if, when he reflects on the sorrows
which he has associated to human life, he has reason to lament
his weakness and his folly, he has perhaps still more right to
presume upon his force, and be confident in his energies, when
he recollects from what point he has set out, and to what height
he has been capable of elevating himself.
CHAP. VI.
Or
ig in a l
St
at e of
Ma n .
In the origin of things, man, formed equally naked both as
to body and mind, found himself thrown by chance upon a land
confused and savage. An orphan, deserted by the unknown
power that had produced him, he saw no supernatural beings at
hand to advertise him of wants that he owed merely to his senses
*
and inform him of duties springing solely from those wants.
Like other animals, without experience of the past, without
knowledge of the future, he wandered in forests, guided and
governed purely by the affections of his nature. By the pain of
hunger he was directed to seek food, and he provided for his
subsistence; by the inclemencies of the weather, the desire was
excited of covering his body, and he made himself cloathing;
by the attraction of a powerful pleasure, he approached a fellow
being, and perpetuated his species.
Thus the impressions he received from external objects,
awakening his faculties, developed by degrees his understand
ing, and began to instruct his profound ignorance; his wants
called forth his industry ; his dangers formed his mind to courage ;
he learned to distinguish useful from pernicious plants, to resist the
elements, to seize upon his prey, to defend his life; and his misery
was alleviated.
Thus self-love, aversion to pain, and desire of happiness, were
the simple and powerful motiyes which drew man from the savage
and barbarous state in which Nature had placed him: and now
that his life is sown with enjoyment, that he can every day count
upon some pleasure, he may applaud himself and say, “ It is I'
who have produced the blessings that encompass me ; Jft am the
fabricator of my own felicity ; a secure habitation, commodious
raiment, an abundance of wholesome provision in rich variety,
smiling valleys, fertile hills, populous empires, these are the
works of my hand: but for me, the earth, given up to disorder,
would have been nothing more than a poisonous swamp, a savage
forest, and a hideous desert!” True, mortal creator! I pay
thee homage ! Thou hast measured the extent of the heavens,
and counted the stars; thou hast drawn the lightning from the
D
�18
A SURVEY OF THE
clouds, conquered the fury of the sea and the tempest, and
subjected all the elements to thy will! But oh ! how many errors
are mixed with these sublime energies !
CHAP. VII.
Pr in c ipl e s o f So c ie t y .
In the mean time, wandering in woods and upon the borders
of rivers, in pursuit of deer and of fish, the first human beings,
hunters and fishermen, beset with dangers, assailed by enemies,
tormented by hunger, by reptiles, and by the animals they
chased, felt their individual weakness; and, impelled by a com
mon want of safety, and a common sentiment of the same evils,
they united their powers and their strength. When one man
was exposed to danger, numbers succoured and defended him ;
when one failed in provision, another shared with him his prey.
Men thus associated for the security of their existence, for the
augmentation of their faculties, for the protection of their enjoy
ment ; and the principle of society was that of self-love.
Afterwards, instructed by the repeated experience of divers
accidents, by the fatigues of a wandering life, by the anxiety
resulting from frequent scarcity, men reasoned with themselves,
and said, “ Why should we consume our days in search of the
scattered fruits which a parsimonious soil affords ? Why weary
ourselves in the pursuit of prey that escape us in the woods or
the waters ? Let us assemble under our hand the animals that
nourish us ; let us apply our cares to the increase and defence
of them. Their produce will afford us a supply of food, with
their spoils we may clothe ourselves, and we shall live exempt
from the fatigues of the day, and solicitude for the morrow.”
And aiding each other, they seized the nimble kid and the timid
sheep ; they tamed the patient camel, the ferocious bull, and
the impetuous horse ; and applauding themselves on the success
of their industry, they sat down in the joy of their hearts, and
began to taste repose and tranquillity: and thus self-love, the prin
ciple of all their reasoning, was the instigator to every art and
every enjoyment.
Now that men could pass their days in leisure, and the com
munication of their ideas, they turned upon the earth, upon the
heavens, and upon themselves an eye of curiosity and reflection.
They observed the course of the seasons, the action of the
elements, the properties of fruits and plants; and they applied
their minds to the multiplication of their enjoyments. Remark
ing in certain countries the nature of seeds, which contain within
themselves the faculty of reproducing the parent plant, they
employed to their own advantage this property of Nature ; they
committed to the earth barley, wheat, and rice, and reaped a
�r e v o l u t io n s OF EMPIRES.
19
nroduce equal to their most sanguine hopes. Thus they found
Of obtaining witbin.a small .
necessity of perpetual wandering, a plentiful and durable s io c k
of provision:and encouraged by this discovery, they prepared
for themselves fixed habitations, they constructed houses, villages,
and towns' they assumed the form of tribes and of nations : and
thusZs^-Le rendered the parent of everything that genius
has effected or human power performed.
By the sole aid then of his faculties, has man been able to raise
himself to the astonishing height of his present fortune,
hapnv would have been his lot, had he, scrupulously observing
the law imprinted on his nature, constantly fulfilled the object o
it ’ But, by a fatal imprudence, sometimes overlooking and some
times transgressing its limits, he plunged in an abysss of errors an
misfortunes, and self-love, now disordered, and now blind, was
converted into a prolific source of calamities.
iili
CHAP. VIII.
So u r c e
of t he
Ev il s o f So c ie t y .
,
In reality, scarcely were the faculties of men expanded, than,
seized by the attraction of objects which flatter the senses, they
gave themselves up to unbridled desires. The s^eet sensations
which nature had annexed to their true wants, to attach them
to life, no longer sufficed. Not satisfied with the fruits which
the earth offered them, or their industry produced they were
desirous of heaping up enjoyments, and they coveted those which
their fellow-creatures possessed. A strong man rose up'
’
weak one to tear from him the profit of his labour; the weak
man solicited the succour of a neighbour weak like himself, to
repel the violence. The strong- man in his turn associated him
self with another strong man, and they said, ‘‘ Why shoul we
fatigue our arms in producing enjoyments which we find m
hands of the feeble, who are unable to defend themselves . Let
us unite and plunder them. They shall toil for us,, andwe
shall enjoy in indolence the fruit of their exertions.
The s1jong
thus associated for the purpose of oppression, and the weak t
resistance, men reciprocally tormented each other, and a fatal
and general discord was established upon the earth, m which
the passions, assuming a thousand new forms, have never cease
to generate a regular train of calamities.
Thus that very principle of self-love, which, when restrained
within the limits of prudence, was a source of improvement and
felicity, became transformed, in its blind and disordered state
into a contagious poison. Cupidity, the daughter and companion
of ignorance, has produced all the mischiefs that have desolat
the globe.
�20
A SURVEY OF THE
Yes, ignorance and the love of accumulation, these are the
two sources of all the plagues that infest the life of man ! Thev
have inspired him with false ideas of his happiness, and promoted
him to misconstrue and infringe the laws of nature, as they re
lated to the connexion between him and exterior objects. Through
them his conduct has been injurious to his own existence, and
he has thus violated the duty he owes to himself; they have for
tified his heart against compassion, and his mind against the
dictates of justice, and he has thus violated the duty he owes to
others By ignorance and inordinate desire, man has armed
himself against man, family against family, tribe against tribe
and the earth is converted into a bloody theatre of discord and
robbery. They have sown the seeds of secret war in the bosom
ot every state, divided the citizens from each other, and the
same society is constituted of oppressors and oppressed, of mas
ters and slaves. They have taught the heads of nations, with
audacious insolence, to turn the arms of the society against itself
and to build upon mercenary avidity the fabric of political despo
tism: or they have taught a more hypocritical and deep-laid
project, that imposed, as the dictate of heaven, lying sanctions
and a sacrilegious yoke; thus rendering avarice the source of
credulity. In fine, they have corrupted every idea of good and
evil, just and unjust, virtue and vice: they have misled nations
m a never ending labyrinth of calamity and mistake. Ignorance
S?dJhe ?V?,0f accumulation!—These are the malevolent beino's
that have laid waste the earth; these are the decrees of fate that
have overturned empires; these are the celestial maledictions
that have struck those walls once so glorious, and converted the
splendour of a populous city into a sad spectacle of ruin!—Since
thenA™ Jr°™ his own bosom a11 the evils proceeded that have
vexed the life of man, it was there also he ought to have sought
the remedies, where only they are to be found.
CHAP. IX.
Th e Or
ig in
of
Go v e r n m e n t a n d La w s .
In truth, the period soon arrived when men, tired of the ills
they occasioned each other, sighed after peace; and reflecting on
the nature and causes of those ills, they said, “ We mutually
injure one another by our passions, and from a desire to grasD
every thing we m reality possess nothing. What one rawshes
to-day, another tears from him to-morrow, and our cupidity renS T °Ur °,Wn heads- Let us es^blish arbitrators, who
shall decide our claims and appease our variances. When the
strong rises up against the weak, the arbitrator shall repel him •
and the life and property of each being under a common guaran
tee and protection, we shall enjoy all the blessings of nature ”
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
21
Conventions, tacit or expressed, were thus introduced into
society, and became the rule of the actions of individuals, the
measure of their claims, and the law of their reciprocal relations.
Chiefs were appointed to enforce the observance of the compact,
and to these the people > entrusted the balance of rights, and the
sword to punish violations.
Then a happy equilibrium of powers and of action was esta
blished, which constituted the public safety. The names of
equity and justice were acknowledged and revered. Every man,
able to enjoy in peace the fruits of his labour, gave himself up
to all the energies of his soul; and activity, awakened and kept
alive by the reality or the hopes of enjoyment, forced art and
nature to display all their treasures. The fields were covered
with harvests, the valleys with flocks, the hills with vines, the
sea with ships, and man was happy and powerful upon the earth.
The disorder his imprudence had caused, his wisdom thus re
medied. But this wisdom was still the effect of the laws of na
ture in the organization of his being. It was to secure his own en
joyments, that he was led to respect those of another, and the de
sire of accumulation found its corrective in enlightened self-love.
Self-love, the eternal spring of action in every individual, was
thus the necessary basis of all associations; and upon the obser
vance of this natural law has the fate of every nation depended.
Have the factitious and conventional laws of any society accorded
with this law, and corresponded to its demands ? In that case
every man, prompted by an overpowering instinct, has exerted
all the faculties of his nature, and the public felicity has been
the result of the various portions of individual felicity. Have
these laws, on the contrary, restrained the effort of man in his
pursuit of happiness ? In that case his heart, deprived of all
its natural motives, has languished in inaction, a»d the oppres
sion of individuals has engendered general weakness.
Self-love, impetuous and rash, renders man the enemy of man,
and of consequence perpetually tends to the dissolution of society.
It is for the art of legislation, and for the virtue of ministers, to
temper the grasping selfishness of individuals, to keep each man’s
desire to possess every thing in a nice equipoise, and thus to ren
der the subjects happy, in order that, in the struggle of this
with any other society, all the members should have an equal
interest in the preservation and defence of the common wealth.
From hence it follows, that the internal splendour and pros
perity of empires, have been in proportion to the. equity of their
governments; and their external power respectively, in propor
tion to the number of persons interested in the maintenance of
the political constitution, and their degree of interest in that
maintenance.
On the other hand, the multiplication of men by complicating
�A SURVEY OF THE
22
their ties, having rendered the demarcation of their rights a
point of difficult decision; the perpetual play of the passions
having given rise to unexpected incidents; the conventions that
were formed having proved vicious, inadequate, or null; the
authors of the laws having either misunderstood the object of
them, or dissembled it, and the persons appointed to execute
them, instead of restraining the inordinate desires of others,
having abandoned themselves to the sway of their own avidity
society has, by these causes united, »been thrown into trouble
and disorder; and defective laws and unjust governments, the
result of cupidity and ignorance, have been the foundatio’n of
the misfortunes of the people, and the subversion of states.
CHAP. X.
Ge n e r
al
Ca u s e s
of t he
Pr
o s pe r it y o f
An c ie n t St
a t es.
Su c h , O man, who enquirest after wisdom, have been the
causes of the revolutions of those ancient states, of which you
contemplate the ruins! Upon whatever spot I fix my view, or to
whatever period my thoughts recur, the same principles of eleva
tion and decline, of prosperity and destruction, present them
selves to the mind. If a people were powerful, if an empire
nourished, it was because the laws of convention were conform
able to those of nature; because the government procured to
every man respectively the free use of his faculties, the equal
security of his person and property. On the contrary, if an em
pire has fallen to ruin or disappeared, it is because the laws were
vicious or imperfect, or a corrupt government has checked their
operation. If laws and government, at first rational and just,
have afterwards become depraved, it is because the alternative
of good and evil derives from the nature of the heart of man, from
the succession of his inclinations, the progress of his knowledge,
the combination of events and circumstances, as the history of
the human species proves.
In the infancy of nations, when men still lived in forests, all
subject to the same wants, and endowed with the same faculties
they were nearly equal in strength; and this equality was a
circumstance highly advantageous to the formation of society.
Each individual finding himself independent of every other,.no
one was the slave, and no one had the idea of being master of
another. Untaught man knew neither servitude nor tyranny.
Supplied with the means of providing sufficiency for his sub
sistence, he thought not of borrowing from strangers. Owing
nothing, and exacting nothing, he judged of the rights of others
y his own. Ignorant also of the art of multiplying enjoyments,
he provided only what was necessary; and superfluity being
unknown to him, the desire to engross of consequence remained
unexcited; or if excited, as it attacked others in those posses-
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES,
23
sions that were wholly indispensable, it was resisted with energy,
and the very foresight of this resistance maintained a salutary
anTh^sm/rtghjaieequah\/,mwithout the aid of convention main
tained personal liberty,' secured individual property, and pro
duced order and good manners. Each man laboured separate y
and for himself; and his heart being occupied, he wandered not
in pursuit of unlawful desires. His enjoyments were few, u
his^wants were satisfied: and, as nature had made these wants
"tensive than his ability, the labourr of his hands soon pro
duced abundance ; abundance population, the arts deveiopea
themselves, cultivation extended, and the earth, covered with
numerous inhabitants, was divided into different domains
The relations of men becoming more complicated, the inter or
order of society was more difficult to maintain. lime and in
dustry having created affluence, cupidity awoke from its slum
ber/and as Equality, easy between individuals, could not sub
sist between families, the natural balance was destroyed
It
was necessary to supply the loss by means of an a^ial * a>
lance • it was necessary to appoint chiefs, and establish laws,
but as these were occasioned by cupidity m the experience of
primitive times they could not but partake of the origin from
which they sprung. Various circumstances, however, concurred
to temper the disorder, and make it indispensable for govern
ments to be just. ,
States being at first weak, and having external enemies to fear,
it was in reality of importance to the chiefs not to oppress the
subiect. By diminishing the interest of the citizens in their
government, they would have diminished their means of resist
ance- they would have facilitated foreign invasion, and thus
endangered their own existence for superfluous enjoyments.
Internally, the character of the people was repellant to
tvranny. Men had too long contracted habits of independence ;
their wants were too limited, and the consciousness of their own
strength too inseparable from their minds.
States being closely knit together, it was difficult to divide
the citizens, in order to oppress some by means of others. lheir
communication with each other was too easy, and their interests
too simple and evident. Besides, every man being at once pro
prietor and cultivator, he had no inducement to sell himseli,
and th© despot would have been unable to find mercenaries.
If dissensions arose, it was between family and family, one
faction with another; and a considerable number had still one
common interest. Disputes, it is true, were in this case more
warm but the fear of foreign invasion appeased the discord, it
the oppression of a party was effected-, the earth being open be
fore it, and men still simple in their manners, finding every
where the same advantages, the party migrated and carried their
independence to another quarter.
�24
A SURVEY OF THE
prosperity and power.” enjOyed “ t’lemselves
-»«ans of
eorat^Te T4t" JT1 h.is(welI-'?‘>i* i" the constitution of his
^
ountry, he felt a lively interest in its preservation • and if a fn
reign power invaded it, having his habitation and his field to
defend, he carried to the combat the ardour of a personal cause
and his patriotic exertions were prompted by self-defence
’
USeM tO the Public “Clted its esieem and
tues were multiplied by^sdf-love.
taIentS and C’ViI vir“
h
£VCry cltlz.en was called upon indiscriminately to contriandt^t pr°P°rtl°nvof property and personal effort,7the armies
a
treasury of the state were inexhaustible.
6 eaPth WSS free’ and its Possession easy and secure
every man was a proprietor, and the division of propertv bv
rendering luxury impossible, preserved the purity of manners
7
A« every man ploughed his own field" cultivation was more
œnXS^
-d “al opulent
abuJdan?e of Provision rendered subsistence easv ponula
ptenitSdIy '~d- “d states « arriveTaHSr’
of Aeommercé°ïarted an/reatHr ‘''“r" the consl™P‘!«b the desire
actrnly, and increased their reciprocal enjoyments
advantage’ of
plaC6S’
Certain eP°chas< combined the
avantage of good government with that of bein«- nlaced in
Xr of lrOadeC,rCand‘nO„n an? ,C°““erce< ‘hey became’rifh mÎgàz.uies or rraae, and powerful seats of dominion T+
•
Z“of ‘{he Nn“
“a^gX
¡S’*
‘he Sp'end0Ur of a ‘housX ’mft ™
tC-eïïs^
I
retsPe<:ting these monuments, my Travels into Syria, vol. ii n 211
rom the town or village of Samaouat the course of the Fnnhrnt«^’ •
compamed with a double bank, which descends as far a? in,
r !'rate.s,is ac‘
Tigris, and from thence to the sea bein°- a length nf »hr. <■ Junction with the
French measure. The height o'f these “arrifio Lm 2f °Ut a hundred lea&ues
creases as y„„ ad™“ fS he sea ■ it
>>«
aheen feet. But for them, the tauda&nhe riverwild btT.ho”1™,’0
around, which is ta, to an extent of twenty or twenty“nd™“?
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
25
those conduits of Medea those fortresses of the Desert, those
,
*
aqueducts of Palmyra, those temples, those Port^^o“^
these immense labours were little oppressive to the nafrons that
completed them, because they were the fruit of the equal and
united effort of individuals free to act and ardent to desìi e
Thus ancient states prospered, because social
were conformable to the true laws of nature, and because the
subjects of those states, enjoying .liberty and the purity of
their persons and their property, could display all the extent of
their faculties, and all the energy of self-love.
CHAP. XI.
Ge n e r a l Ca u s e s o f t h e Re v o l u t io n s a n d Ru in o f An c ie n t
St a t e s .
In the mean time the inordinate desire of accumulation had
excited- a constant and universal struggle among men ; and this
struggle, prompting individuals and societies to reciprocal in
vasions, occasioned perpetual commotions and successive revo-
1U At'first, in the savage and barbarous state of the first human ,
beings, this inordinate desire, daring and ferocious in its natuie,
taught rapine, violence, and murder; and the progress of
civilization, was for a long time at a stand.
,
Afterwards, when societies began to be formed, tne effect, ot
bad habits communicating itself to laws and government, civil
institutions became corrupt, and arbitrary and factitious rights
notwithstanding these banks, there has been ¿n ^oder,\ timeJ
to
which has covered the whole triangle formed by the junction of this l ive
.
the Tigris, being a space of country of 130 square leagues. By the stagnation
of tl'eie Outers 1 epiden.ical disease oftl.e most fatal nature was o=e<
It follows from hence, 1. That all <he flat country border»? upon these tvers
was originally a marsh; 2. That this marsh e°uld not have been luhcib
previously to the construction of the banks m question; 3. That these bank
could not have been the work but of a population prior as to date;.an t
elevation of Babylon therefore must have been posterior to that ot M“en,
*
as I think I have chronologically demonstrated in the memoir above cited.
See Encyclopedia, vol. xiii. of Antiquities.
* The modern Aberbidjan, which was a part of Medea, the mountains of
Kourdestan, and those of Diarbekr, abound with subterranean canals, by
means of which the ancient inhabitants conveyed water to their parched soil
in order to fertilize it. It was regarded as a meritorious act, and a religions
duty prescribed by Zoroaster, who, instead of preaching celibacy, mortifica
tions, and other pretended virtues of the Monkish sort, repeats continually in
the passages that are preserved respecting him in the Sad-der and the Aenciavesta, “ That the action most pleasing to God is to plough and cultivate the
earth, to water it with running streams, to multiply vegetation and living
beings, to have numerous flocks, young and fruitful virgins, a multitude ot
children, &c. &c.”
E
�26
A SURVEY OF THE
were established, which gave the people depraved ideas of
Justice and morality,
Be.cause ®ne nj-aib for example, was stronger than another
this inequality, the result of accident, was takerrfor the law of
;
*
nature
and because the life of the weak was in his power
and he did not take it from him, he arrogated over his person
the absurd right of property, and individual slavery prepared
the way for. the slavery of nations.
1 F
Because^ the chief of a family could exercise an absolute au
thority in his own house, he made his inclinations and affections
the sole rule of his conduct; he conferred and withheld the
conveniences and enjoyments of life without respect to the law
of equality or justice, and paternal tyranny laid the foundation
of political despotism+.
In societies formed upon such bases, time and industry.having
developed riches, inordinate desire, restricted by the laws be
*
came artificial without being less active. Under the mask of
union and civil peace, it engendered in the bosom of every state
an intestine war; in which the citizens, divided into opposite
corps of orders, classes, and families, aimed to appropriate to
PrXTe^thaX a“CiT1 Philos°Phie»s and politicians have Jaknrd^wT^Ta’
ave laid it down as a
inciple, that mtn are born unequal, that nature has created some to be free
and others to
slaves. Expressions of this kind are to be found in Arktotle’
and eyen ln Plato, called the divine, doubtless in the X iías t e
thV CmSlca¡ rev^nes which he promulgated. With all the people of antiquity
Íí/htGof m 6 Roinan!’ lhe ¿^heñíaos, the right of the strongest was the
díordeis ánd°DübHnd p01« the
Pd»^P¡e are derived all the political
Oisorcleis and public national crimes that al present exist.
*
charter0'’ We
u C"'d J e“y '” ite a lo“8 «”<• Important .
*
cnapter. We might prove in it beyond contradictmn, that all the abuses of
that0* 3 g0Veril“ent* 53Ve sPl unSfrom those of domestic government from
!
th« government called patriarch,|, wWd> sup„ficia| mi'ds
"¿„Hed
yitbout having analyzed it. Numberless facts demonstrate, that with every
w Wj i s "» rase
b,carous sts,e’1110
the chi drendhV
")So!ent desP0<- The wife is his slave,
wife and da i! Sfcl vanis’ This king sleeps or smokes his pipe, while his
X and c?Í vWi/erfOr? a,i thedrudge“'y of the house, aXen that of
such5 sXlu
? ’ as far. as occ,’patioiis of this nature are practised in
allowed to beat She
T'‘er iave,th£tb°yS actluired strength, than they are
dff uprni them Idhl^3 Q'ani
w"’" Serve ar,d wait uPon them as they
peasant
In n l
S,mi'a*' 1.tO U1IS is the state of onr own uncivilized
an J tlm co diboT!^LaS CIVll,2at,on sPreads> the manners become milder,
“
me condition of the women improves, till, by a contrary excess thev
�RÉVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
27
themselves, under the name of supreme power, the ability of
grasping and controlling every thing at the will of their passion .
ït is this spirit of rapacity, the disguises of which are rnnumerable, but its operation and end-uniformly the same, that has
been the perpetual scourge of nations.
.
Sometimes opposing social compact, or destroying that whic
already existed, it has abandoned the inhabitants of a coun y
to the tumultuous shock of all their jarring principles ; and the
dissolved states, under the name of anarchy, have been tormented
by the passions of every individual member.
.
.
‘Sometimes a people jealous of its liberty, haying appointed
agents to administer, these agents have assumed to themselves
the powers of which they were only the guardians ; have em
ployed the public funds in corrupting elections, gaming partisans,
and dividing the people against itself. By these means, from
temporary, they have become perpetual, from elective, hereditary
magistrates ; and the state, agitated by the intrigues o
ambitious, by the bribes of the wealthy leaders of factions, by
the venality of the indolent poor, by the empiricism of deciaimers,
has been troubled with all the inconveniences of democracy.
In one country, the chiefs equal in strength, mutually afraid
of each other, have formed vile compacts and coalitions, and
portioning out power, rank, honours, have arrogated to them
selves privileges and immunities ; have erected themselves in o
separate bodies and distinct classes ; have tyrannised in common
over the people, and, under the name of aristocracy the state
has been tormented by the passions of the wealthy and the greaL
In another country, tending to the same end by different
means, sacred impostors have taken advantage of the creduli y
of the ignorant. In the secrecy of temples, and behind the veil
of altars, thy have made the Gods speak and act ; have delivered
oracles, worked pretended miracles, ordered sacrifices, imposed
offerings, prescribed endowments ; and under the name theocracy
and religion, the state has been tormented by the passions oi
priests.
Sometimes, weary of its disorders, or of its tyrants, à nation,
to diminish the sources of its evils, gave itself a single master.
In that case, if the powers of the prince were limited, his only
desire was to extend them ; if indefinite, he abused the trust
that was confided to him; and, under the name of monarchy,
the state was tormented by the passions of kings and princes.
Then the factions, taking advantage of the general discontent,
flattered the people with the hope of a better master ; 5^^
scattered gifts and promises, dethroned the despot to substitut»
themselves in his stead; and disputes for the succession or the
division^of power have tormented the state with the disorder©
' and devastations of cioil war.
�28
A SURVEY OF THE
In fine, among these rivals, one individual more artful or
more fortunate than the rest, gainingthe ascendancy, concentred
the whole power m himself. By a singular phenomenon, one man
obtained the mastery over millions of his fellow creatures, against
their will and without their consent; and thus the art of tyranny
appears also to have been the offspring of inordinate desire.
Observing the spirit of egotism that divided mankind, the ambitious adroitly fomented this spirithe flattered the vanity of
one excited the jealousy of another, favoured the avarice of A
third inflamed the resentment of a fourth, irritated the passions
■ - oPPosjng interests or prejudices, he sowed the seeds
tlLdl.visi°lls and hatred. He promised to the poor the spoil of
the rich, to the rich the subjugation of the poor; threatened this
bv di.trnS h T Tiby an°ther; and isolating the citizens
by distrust, he formed his own strength out of their weakness
and imposed on them the yoke of opinion, the knots of which they
i T r tbeirKowa hands- By means of the army he extorted
conti ibuhons ; by the contributions he disposed of the armyby the corresponding play of money and places, he bound all
whicPh °t£e
a T cnnhat W%S nOt tO be broken’ and ^e states
™ tbJ.y composed fe11 into the slow decay of
the1 fnrmdJdibnie
Same Spnn®’ varyinS its action under all
the forms that have been enumerated, incessantly attack the
continuity of states, and an eternal circle of vicissitudes have
b °m an eternal circle of passions.
enualivXn!tanrSpiriii°f e^otis,m 0Pei ted two principal effects
a
*
equally destructive : the one, that by dividing societies into all
thX dh^T1?’ a StltG °f deblhty was Produced, which facilitated
the ni • °n; the other, that always tending to concentre
t le powei in a single hand, it occasioned a successive absorption
existence?
tO
pe&Ce and to their coram™
nJh8* 8 +n a sblSde state? the nation had been absorbed in a
«
1
Pafty ma family, and that family in an individual,
' and statT
Id
a^SOnPrOn °f a similar kind be^een state
of nation^ Tw l W 5 aU the fllschiefe m the relative situation
divPduX ’
°t iar P?duced in the civil relation of inOf thp
°?e 7 subjected its neighbour city, and the result
and !In? JUe a WaS# prOV1"ce Province swallowed up province:
and thus produced a kingdom; between two kingdoms a con-of societies: beyimnncr 3V^1S has 111 a11 insfances been the constant progress
^great division ofYmw S 7^ a state
anarchy or democracy, that is, with a
monarchy Does iV’nni 1^
BaS3ed to aristocracy, and from aristocracy
the“democratic for• n d°
th7 those who institute states under
between that and nionarchv^and^aÎ tl Uudergo afl the intervening troubles
chief is the most mini-.i y ’ and *lat f ,e suPreWe administration by a single
is the most natuial government, as well as that best calculated for peace ?
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
29
quest took place, and thus furnished an empire of unwieldy bulk.
Did the internal force of these states increase in proportion to
their mass ? On the contrary, it was diminished ; and far front
the condition of the people being happier, it became every day
more oppressive and wretched, by causes inevitably flowing from
the nature of things.
.
Because, as the boundaries of states became extended, their
administration became more complicated and difficult; and to
give motion to the mass, it was necessary to increase the prero
gatives of the sovereign, and all proportion was thus annihilated
between the duty of governors and their power.
Because despots, feeling their weakness, dreaded all those
circumstances that developed, the force of nations, and made it
their study to attenuate it.
Because nations, estranged from each other by the prejudices
of ignorance and the ferocity of hatred, seconded the perversity
of governments, and employing a standing force for reciprocal
offence, aggravated their slavery.
Because, in proportion as the balance between states' was
broken, it became easy for the strong to overwhelm the weak.
Because, in proportion as state became blended with state, the
people were stripped of their laws, their customs, everything
by which they were distinguished from each other, and thus lost
the great mover selfishness, which gave them energy.
And despots, considering empires in the light of domains, and
the people as their property, abandoned themselves to depreda
tions, and the licentiousness of the most arbitrary authority.
And all the force and w ealth of nations were converted into
a supply for individual expence and personal caprice; and kings,
in the wearisomeness of satiety, followed the dictates of every
'factious and depraved taste
.
*
They must have gardens con
structed upon arches, and rivers carried to the summit of moun
tains; for them fertile fields must be changed into parks for deer;
lakes formed where there was no water, and rocks elevated hi
those lakes ; they must have palaces constructed of marble and
* It is equally worthy of remark, that the conduct and manners of princes
and kings of every country and every age, are found to be precisely the same
at similar periods, whether of the formation or dissolution of empires. History
every where presents the same pictures of luxury and folly ; of parks, gardfus,
lakes, rocks, palaces/ pavilions, furniture, excess of the table, wine, women,
concluding with brutality.
The absurd rock in the garden of Versailles has alone cost three millions.
I have sometimes calculated what might have been done with the expence of
the three pyramids of Gizah, and 1 have found that it would easily have con
structed, from the Red Sea to Alexandria, a canal 150 feet wide, and .30 deep,
completely covered with cut stones and a parapet, together with a fortified
and commercial town, Consisting of 400 houses furnished with cisterns. V hat
difference in point of utility between such a canal and these pyramids.
�30
A SURVEY OF THE
porphyry, and the furniture ornamented with gold and diamonds.xttilh°ns of hands were thus employed in sterile labours • and
the luxury of princes being imitated by their parasites, anil de
scending-step by step to the lowest ranks, became a general
source of corruption and empoverishment.
And the ordinary tributes being no longer adequate to the in.
satiable thirst ot enjoyment, they were augmented: the conse
quence of which was, that the cultivator, finding his toil increase
without any indemnity, lost his courage ; the merchant, seeing
himself robbed, took a disgust to industry; the multitude, con
demned to a state of poverty, exerted themselves no farther than
the procurement of necessaries required, and every species of
productive activity was at a stand.
And the surcharge of taxes rendering the possession of lands
burthensome, the humble proprietor abandoned his field, or sold
it to the man of opulence ; and the mass of wealth centered in
a tew individuals. As the laws and institutions favoured this
accumulation, nations were divided into a small body of indolent
rich, and a multitude of mercenary poor.' The people, reduced
to indigence, debased themselves ; the great, cloyed with super
fluity, became depraved ; and the number of citizens interested
in the preservation of the state decreasing, its strength and ex
istence were by so much the more precarious.
In another view, as there -was nothing to excite emulation or
encourage instruction, the minds of men sunk into profound
ignorance.
1
The administration of affairs being secret and mysterious, there
existed no means of reform or hope of better times ; and as the
chiefs ruled only by violence and fraud, the people considered
taem but as a faction of public enemies, and all harmony be,e governed, and the governors was at an end.
1 he states of opulent Asia became enervated by all these vices,
it happened at length that the vagrant and poor inhabitants
ot the deserts and the mountains adjacent, coveted the enjoy
ments of the fertile plains, and, instigated by a common cupidity,
they attacked polished empires, and overturned the thrones of
despots Such revolutions were rapid and easy, because the
policy of tyrants had enfeebled the citizens, raised the fortresses,
destroyed the warlike spirit of resistance, and because the op
pressed subject was without personal interest, and the mercenary
soldier without courage.
Hordes of barbarians having reduced whole nations to a state
Of slavery, it followeu that empires, formed of a conquering and
a v anquished people, united in their bosom two classes of men es
sentially opposite and inimical to each other. All the principles
of society were dissolved. There was no longer either a com
mon interest or public spirit: on the contrary, a distinction of
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
31
easts and conditions was established, that reduced the mainten
ance of disorder to a regular system ; and accordingly as a man
was descended from this or that blood, he was born vassal or
tyrant, live stock or proprietor.
The oppressors being in this case Less numerous than the op
pressed, it became necessary, in order to support this false equi
librium, to bring the science of tyranny to perfection. The art
of governing was now nothing more than that of subjecting the
many to the few. To obtain an obedience so contrary to in
stinct, it was necessary to establish the most severe penalties ;
and the cruelty of the laws rendered the manners atrocious.
The distinction of persons also establishing in the state two codes
ofjustice, two species of rights, the people, placed between the
natural inclinations of their hearts, and the oath they were
obliged to pronounce, had two contradictory consciences; and
their ideas of just and unjust had no longer any foundation in
the understanding.
Under such a system the people fell into a state of depression
and despair ; and, the accidents of nature increasing the prepon
derance of evil, terrified at this groupe of calamities, they re
ferred the causes of them to superior and invisible powers be
cause they had tyrants upon earth, they supposed there to be
tyrants in heaven ; and superstition came in aid to aggravate
the disasters of nations.
Hence originated gloomy and misanthropic systems of reli
gion, which painted the gods malignant and envious like human
despots. To appease them, man offered the sacrifice of all his
enjoyments, punished himself with privations, and overturned
the laws of nature. Considering his pleasures as crimes, his
sufferings as expiations, he endeavoured to cherish a passion for
pain, and to renounce self-love ; he persecuted his senses, de
tested his life, and by a self-denying and unsocial system of
morals, nations were plunged in the sluggishness of death.
But, as provident nature had endowed the heart of man with
inexhaustible hope, perceiving his desires disappointed of hap
piness here, he pursued it elsewhere ; by a sweet illusion, he
formed to himself another country, an asylum, where, out of the
reach of tyrants, he should regain all his rights. Hence a new
disorder arose. Smitten with his imaginary world, man de
spised the world of nature : for chimerical hopes he neglected
the reality. He no longer considered his life but as a fatiguing
journey, a painful dream ; his body as a prison that withheld him
from his felicity ; the earth as a place of exile and pilgrimage,
which he disdained to cultivate. A sacred sloth then established
itself in the world: the fields were deserted, waste lands in
creased, empires were dispeopled, monuments neglected, and
every where ignorance, superstition, and fanaticism, uniting
their baleful effects, multiplied devastations and ruins.
�32'
A SURVEY OF THE
Thus, agitated by their own passions, men, whether in t<heir
individual capacity or as collective bodies, always rapacious
and improvident, passing from tyranny to slavery, from pride to
abjectness, from presumption to despair, have been themselves
the eternal instruments of their misfortunes.
Such was the simplicity of the principles that regulated the
fate of ancient states ; such was the series of causes and effects
consecutive and connected with each other, according to which
they rose or fell in the scale of human welfare, just as the phy
sical causes of the human heart were therein observed or in
fringed. A hundred divers nations, a hundred powerful empires,
in their incessant vicissitudes, have read again and again these
instructive lessons to mankind.—And these lessons are mute and
forgotten ! The diseases of past times have appeared again in
the present I The heads of the different governments have prac
tised again, without restraint, exploded projects of deception
and despotism ! The people have wandered as before in the
labyrinths of superstition and ignorance 1
And what, added the Genius, calling up his energies afresh,
is the consequence of all this? Since experience is useless, since
salutary examples are forgotten, the scenes which were acted
before are now about to be renew ed; revolutions will again
agitate people and empires ; powerful thrones will, as before,
be overturned; and terrible catastrophes remind the human
species, that the laws of nature, and the precepts of wisdom and
truth, cannot be trampled upon in vain.
CHAP. XII.
Le s s o n s
t aught
bv
An c ie n t , r e pe a t e d in Mo d e r n Tim e s .
In this manner did the Genius address me. Struck with the
reasonableness and coherence of his discourse, and a multipli
city of ideas crowding upon my mind, which, while they thwarted
my habits, led my judgment at the same time captive, I remained
absorbed in profound silence. Meanwhile, as in this sombre
and thoughtful disposition 1 kept my eyes fixed upon Asia, clouds
of smoke and of flames at the north, on the shores of the Black
Sea, and in the fields of the Crimea, suddenly attracted my at
tention. They appeared to ascend at once from every part of
the peninsula, and passing by the isthmus to the continent, they1
pursued their course, as if driven by an easterly wind, along the
miry lake of Asoph, and were lost in the verdant plains of the
Coban.' Observing more attentively the course of these clouds,
I perceived that they w ere preceded or followed by swarms of
living beings, which, like ants disturbed by the foot of a passen
ger, were in lively action. Sometimes they seemed to move to
wards and rush against each other, and numbers after the com-
�REVOLUTIOlSrS OF EMPIRES.
S3
cussion remained motionless. Disquieted at this spectacle, I
Was endeavouring to distinguish the objects, when the Genius
said to me : Do you see those fires which spread over the earth,
and are you acquainted with their causes and effects?—O Genius!
I replied, I see columns of flame and smoke, and as it were
insects that accompany them ; but discerning with difficulty, as
I do, the masses of towns and monuments, how can I distinguish
such petty creatures ? I can see nothing more than that these
insects seem to carry oh a sort of mock battles ♦ they advance,
they approach towards each other, they attack, they pursue.—■
It is no mockery, said the Genius, it is the thing itself.—And
what name, replied I, shall we give to these foolish animalculae
that destroy each other ? Do they live only for a day, and is this
shortlife further abridged by violence and murder ?—The Genius
then once more touched my eyes and my ears. Listen, said he
to me, and observe.x Immediately, turning ray eyes.inthe same
direction, alas I said I, transpierced with anguish, these columns
of flame, these insects, 0 Genius ! they are men, and the
ravages of war ! These torrents of flame ascend from towns and
villages set on fire ! I see the horsemen that light them. I see
them sword in hand overrun the country. Old men, women,
and children, in confused multitudes, fly before them. I see
other horsemen, who, with their pikes upon their shoulders,
accompany and direct them : I can even distinguish by their led
horses, by their kalpacks, and by their tufts of hair that they
,
*
are Tartars ; and without doubt those who pursue them in tri
angular hats and green uniforms are Muscovites. I understand
the whole : I perceive that the war has just broken out afresh
between the empire of the Czars and the Sultans.—Not yet,
replied the Genius ; this is only the prelude. These Tartars
have been, and would still be troublesome neighbours ; the
Muscovites are ridding themselves of them. Their country is
an object of convenience to their less uncivilized enemies; it
rounds and makes complete their dominions ; and as the first
step in the project that has been conceived, the throne of the
Guerais is overturned.
In reality I saw the Russian flag hoisted over the Crimea, and
their vessels scattered upon the Euxine.
Meanwhile, at the cries of the fugitive Tartars, the Mussul
man empire was in commotion. “ Our brethren,” exclaimed
• A Tarter horseman has always two horses^ of which he leads orie in hand.
The Kalpak is a bonnet made of the skin of a sheep or other animal. The
part of the head covered by this bonnet is shaved, with the exception of a
tuft about the size of a crown-piece, and which is suffered to grow to the
length of seven or eight inches, precisely where our priests place their tonsure.
It is by this tuff of hair, worn by the majority of Mussulmans, that the a^igel
of the tomb is to take the elect and carry them into Paradise.
�34
A SURVEY OF THE
-the children of Mahomet, ££ are driven from their habitations ;
the people of the prophet are outraged ; infidels are in posses
sion of a consecrated land and profane the temples of Islamism !
,
*
Eet us arm ourselves to,avenge the glory of God and our own
cause.”
A general preparation for war then took place in the two
empires. Armed men, provisions, ammunition, and all the
murderous accoutrements of battle, were every where assembled.
My attention was particularly attracted by the immense crowds
•that in either nation thronged to the temples. On one side the
Mussulmans, assembled before their mosques, washed their
hands and feet, pared their nails, and combed their beard : then
spreading carpets upon the ground, and turning themselves to
wards the south, with their arms sometimes crossed and some
times extended, they performed their genuflections and prostra
tions. Recollecting the disasters they had experienced during
*
the last war, they cried : ££ God of clemency and pity, hast thou
then abandoned thy faithful people ? Why dost thou, who hast
promised to thy prophet the dominion of nations, and signalized
religion by so many triumphs, deliver up true believers to the
sword of infidels ;” And the Imans and the Santons said to the
people : “ It is the chastisement of your sins. You eat pork,
you drink wine, you touch things that are unclean : God has
punished you. Do penance; purify vourselvefe; say your creed ;
*
fast from the rising of the sun to its setting; give the tenth of
your goods to the mosques ; go to Mecca; and God will make
your arms victorious.” Then, assuming courage, the people
gave a general shout. ££ There is but one God,” said they in a
transport of rage, ££ and Mahomet is his prophet! accursed be
every one that believeth not!—Indulgent God ! grant us the
favour to exterminate these Christians: it is for thy glory we
fight, and by our death we are martyrs to thy name.”—And
having offered sacrifices, they prepared themselves for battle.
On the other hand, the Russians on their knees exclaimed :
££ Let us give thanks to God, and celebrate his power : he has
strengthened our arm to humble his enemies. Beneficent God!
incline thine ear to our prayers. To please thee we will for
three days eat neither meat nor eggs. Permit us to exterminate
these impious Mahometans, and overthrow their empire, and
we will give thee the tenth of the spoil, and erect new temples
to thy honour.” The priests then filled the churches with smoke,
* It is not in the power of the sultan to cede to a foreign power a province
inhabited by TRUE BELIEVERS. The people, instigated by the lawyers,
would not fail to,revolt. This is one reason which has led those who know
the Turks, to regard as chimerical the ceding of Candia, Cyprus, and Egypt,
projected by certain European potentates.
f There is but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
ft
35
and said to the people: “ We pray for you, and God accepts
our incense, and blesses your arms. Continue to fast and to
fight; tell us the faults you have secretly committed; bestow
your goods on the church ; we will absolve you of your sins, and
you shan die in a state of grace.” And they sprinkled water on
the people, distributed among them little bones of departed
saints to serve as amulets and talismans; and the people breathed
nothing but war and destruction.
Struck with this contrasting picture of the same passions, and
lamenting to myself their pernicious consequences, I was re
flecting on the difficulty the common Judge would find in com-,
plying with such opposite demands, when the Genius, from an
impulse of angeiq vehemently exclaimed.
What madness is this which strikes my ear ? What blind and
fatal insanity possesses the human mind ? Sacrilegious prayers,
return to the earth from whence you came ! Ye concave heavens,
repel these murderous vows, these impious thanksgivings ! Is
it thus, O man, you worship the Divinity .’ And do you think
that he, whom you call Father of all, can receive with com
placence the homage of free-booters and murderers ? Ye
conquerors, with what sentiments does he behold your arms
reeking with blood that he has created ? Ye conquered, what
hope can you place in useless moans ? Is he a man that he should
change, or the son of man that he should repent ? Is he governed
like you by vengeance and compassion, by rage and by weariness!
Base idea, how much unworthy of the Being of Beings ! Hear
these men, and you would imagine that God is a being capricious
and mutable ; that now he loves, and now he hates ; that he
chastises one and indulges another: that hatred is engendered
and nourished in his bosom ; that Jie spreads snares for men,
and delights in the fatal effects of imprudence ; that he permits
ill, and punishes it; that he foresees guilt, and acquiesces ; that
he is to be bought with gifts like a partial judge ; that he reverses
his edicts like an undiscerning despot; that he gives and revokes
his favours because it is his will, and is to be appeased only by
servility like a savage tyrant. I now completely understand
what is the deceit of mankind, who have pretended that God
made man in his own image, and who have really made God in
theirs ; who have ascribed to him their weakness, their errors,
ánd their vices; and in the conclusion, surprised at the con
tradictory nature of their own assertions, have attempted to cloke
it with hypocritical humility, and the pretended impotence of
human reason, calling the delirium of their own understandings
the sacred mysteries of heaven.
They have said, God is without variableness, and they pray
to him to change. They have said that he is incomprehensible,
and they have undertaken to be interpreters of his will.
�36
A SURVEY OF THE
A race of impostors has made its appearance upon the earth,
who, pretending to be in the confidence of God, and taking
*
upon themselves the office of instructing the people, have opened
the flood-gates of falsehood and iniquity. They have affixed
merit to actions which either are indifferent or absurd. They
have dignified w ith the appellation of virtue the observance of
certain postures, and the repetition of certain words and names.
They have taught the impiety of eating certain meats on certain
days rather than on others. It is thus the Jew would sooner
die than wo.rk on the sabbath. It is thus the Persian would
endure suffocation before he would blow the fire with his breath.
It is thus the Indian places supreme perfection in smearing him
self with cow-dung, and mysteriously pronouncing the word
*
Aum : It is thus the Mussulman believes himself purified from
all his sins by the ablution of his head and his arms ; and dis
putes sabre in hand, whether he ought to begin the ceremony
at the elbowt or the points of his fingers. It is thus the
Christian would believe himself damned, were he to eat the juice
of animal food instead of milk or butter. What sublime and
truly celestial doctrines! What purity of morals, and how
worthy of apostleship and martyrdom ! I will cross the seas to
teach these admirable laws to savage people and distant nations.
I will say to them : i( Children of nature, how long will you
wander in the paths of ignorance ? How long will you be blind
to the true principles of morality and religion ? Visit civilized
nations, and take lessons of pious and learned people. They
will teach you, that to please God, you must in certain months
of the year faint all day with hunger and thirst. They will
teach you how you may shed the blood of your neighbour, and
purify yourselves from the stain, by repeating’ a profession of
faith, and making a methodical ablution : how you may rob him
of his goods, and be absolved from the guilt, by sharing them
with certain persons whose professions it is to live in idleness
upon the labour of others.’’
* This word is in the religion of the Hindoos a sacred emblem of the Divinity.
It is only to be pronounced in secret, without being heard by any one. Jf
is formed of three letters, of which the first, a, signifies the principle of all,
the creator, Brama; the second, u, the conservator, Vichenou ; and the lasr, m,
the destroyer, who puts an end to all, Chiven. It is pronounced like the
monosyllable om, and expresses the unity of those three Gods. The idea is
precisely that of the Alpha and Omega mentioned in the New Testament.
t This is one of the grand points of schism between the partizans of Omar
and those of Ali. Suppose two Mahometans to meet on a journey, and to
accost each other with brotherly affection: the hour of prayer arrives; one be
gins his abolution at his fingers, the other at the elbow, and instantly they
aré mortal enemies. O sublime importance of religious opinions1. O profound
philosophy of the authors of lhepj.
■ '
1
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
37
Sovereign and mysterious Power of the Universe ! secret
Mover of Nature ! Universal Soul of every thing that lives 1
infinite and incomprehensible Being, whom, under so many forms,
mortals have ignorantly worshipped ! God, who in the immen
sity of the heavens dost guide revolving worlds, and people the
abyss of space with millions of suns : say, what appearance do
those human insects, which I can with difficulty distinguish upon
the earth, make in thy eyes ? When thou directest the stars in
their orbits, what to thee are the worms that crawl in the dust ?
Of what importance to thy infinite greatness are their distinctions
of sects and parties ? And how art thou concerned with the sub
tleties engendered by their folly ?
And you, credulous men, shew me the efficacy of your prac
tices ! During the many ages that you have observed or altered
them, what change have yonr prescriplions wrought in the laws
of nature ? Has the sun shone with greater brilliance ? Has the
course of the seasons at all varied? Is the earth more fruitful,
are the people more happy ? If God be good, how can he be
pleased with your penances ? If he be infinite, what can your ho
mage add to his glory ? Inconsistent men, answer these questions!
Ye conquerors, who pretend by your arms to serve God, what
need has he of your aid ? If he wishes to punish, are not earth
quakes, volcanoes, and the thunderbolt in his hand ? And does
a God of clemency know no other way of correcting but by ex
termination ?
Ye Mussulmans, if your misfortunes were the chastisements
of heaven for the violation of the fine precepts, would prosperity
be showered on the Franks who laugh at these things ? If it is
by the laws of the Koran that God judges the earth, what were
the principles by which he governed the nations that existed be
fore the prophet, the numerous people who drank wine, eat pork,
and travelled not to Mecca, yet to whom it was given to raise
powerful empires ? By what laws did he judge the Sabeans of
Nineveh and of Babylon; the Persian, who woi’shipped fire;
the Greek and Roman idolaters ; the ancient kingdoms of the
Nile, and your own progenitors the Arabs and Tartars ? How
does he at present judge the various nations that are ignorant
of your worship, the numerous casts of Indians, the vast em
pire of the Chinese, the swarthy tribes of Africa, the islands of
the Atlantic Ocean, the colonies of America ?
Presumptuous and ignorant men, who arrogate to yourselves
the whole earth, were God to summon at once all past and pre
sent generations, what proportion would those Christian andMussulman sects, calling themselves universal, bear in the vast assem
blage? What would be the judgment of his fair and impartial
justice respecting the actual mass of mankind? It is in estimating
the general system of his government that you wander among
�3S
' A SURVEY OF THE
fiitiliiplied absurdities ; and it is there that, in reality, truth pre*
gents itself in all its evidence. It is there that we trace the simple
But powerful laws of nature and reason ; the laws of the common
mover, the general cause; of a God impartial and just, who,
that he might send his rain upon a country, asks not who is its
prophet; who causes his sun equally to shine on all tribes of
men, whether distinguished by a fair or a sable complexion, on
the Jew as on the Mussulman, on the Christian as on the Hea
then ; who multiplies the inhabitants of every country with whom
Order and industry reign ; who gives prosperity to every empire
where justice is observed, where the powerful is restrained, and
the poor man protected by the laws; where the weak live in
Safety, and where all enjoy the rights which they derive from
nature and an equitable compact.
Such are the principles by which nations are judged ! This is
the true religion by which the fate of empires is regulated, and
which, O Ottomans, has ever decided that of your own empire !
Interrogate your ancestors ; ask them by what means they rose
to greatness, when, idolaters, few in number and poor, they came
from the deserts of Tartary to encamp in these fertile countries ?
Ask them if it was by islamism, at that period unknown to them,
that they conquered the Greeks and Arabs; or by their courage,
prudence, moderation, and unanimity, the true powers of the
social state? Then the Sultan himself administered justice and
maintained order-» then the prevaricating judge and the rapacious
governor were punished, and the multitude lived in ease : the
Cultivator was secure from the rapine of the janizary, and the
fields w ere productive, the public roads were safe, and commerce
flourished. It is true you were a league of robbers, but among
yourselves you wore just. You subjugated nations, but you did
iiot oppress them. Vexed by their own princes they preferred
being your tributaries. “ Of w hat importance is it to me,” said
the Christian, “ whether my master be pleased with images or
breaks them in pieces, provided he is just towards me? God will
judge his doctrine in heaven.” You were temperate and hardy ;
your enemies soft and effeminate : you were skilled in the art of
battle; they had forgotten its principles : you had experienced
chiefs, warlike and disciplined troops; the hope of booty excited
ardour ; bravery was recompensed ; disobedience and cowardice
punished, and all the springs of the human heart were in action.
You thus conquered a hundred nations, and out of the massfounded an immense empire,•
x
|^ut other manners succeeded. The laws of nature, however,
>
*
4tid not less operate in your misfortunes than in your prosperity.
V ou destroyed your enemies, and your grasping ambition, still
in force, preyed upon yourselves. Having become rich, you
commenced an internal contest respecting the division and the
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
gg
enjoyn.ent of yo.ui riches, and disorder was generated throuMi
every class of your society. The Sultan, intoxicated with hi.
g. eatneos, misunderstood the object of his functions ard all the
vices of arbitrary power.presently unfolded themselves Meeting '
with no obstacle to his desires, he became a depraved character
**
Weak, and arrogant at the same time, he spurned the Jeonle’
and would no longer be influenced and directed by their voice’
Tgnoxant, and yet flattered, he neglected all instruction all study'
and sunk into total incapacity. Become himself unified
these hirers ^Xed^Z”“^
^elingsy and
they stimulated and increased his; they multiplied"iXnts’
and Ins enormous luxury devoured every thin? He «W
longer content with the frugal table the modest ifitj
?
simple habitation of his aimestors ’the KTl
a
’ a"‘l ‘,h®
exhausted to satisfy his priX^XX^ tVlSTfrV
Sic
nty , and the munificenceparasites I? imitVo? °J?i LWer%de,
tvered into the hands of and treasures of tho
of empire was swallowed up in the Serai. '
. th UeaIth ■
1° supply this inordinate luxury the slaves Qnrl
sold their influence; and venality inLdSeid a general de'p™V“
Visier srfd thTempite The?VoO KT ‘° ‘Visier> a"‘! the
Cadi sold justict7 The old V ‘u V ‘T” Cadi>and t!“'
*StThe pXVvVpKXsed hi
the cXnd of the treopV
re
"th”
cultivation was degraded T'fX ■ P‘ the hilsl>a:idinan. and
capital, hadTtXrew ii Xw h“S
°f 'W
became due, and he was unable tej^ £;’ XXVS
�40
=
A SURVEY OF THE
with corporal punishment, and driven to the expedient of a Ioan 1
specie, for want of security, was withdrawn from circulation :
the interest of money became enormous, and usury aggravated
the misery of the poor.
Inclement seasons, periods of dearth, had rendered the har
vests abortive, but government would neither forgive nor post
pone its demands. Distress began its career : a part of the in
habitants of the villages took refuge in the cities ; the burthen
upon those that remained became greater ; their ruin was con
summated, and the country depopulated.
Driven to the last extremity by tyranny and insult, certain
villages broke out into open rebellion. The Pacha considered
the event as a subject of rejoicing; he made war upon them,
took their houses by storm, ransacked their goods, and carried
off their cattle. The soil beceme a desert, and he exclaimed,
u What care I: I shall be removed from it to-morrow.’
Yet again, the want of cultivation led one step further. Pe
riodical rains or swelling tides overflowed the banks, and covered
the country with swamps : these swamps exhaled a putrid air,
which spread chronical diseases, pestilence, and sickness of a
thousand forms, and was followed by a still farther decrease of
population, by penury and ruin.
• T
Oh ! who can enumerate all the evils of this tyrannical sys
tem of government!
Sometimes the Pachas made war of themselves, and to avenge
their personal quarrels, provinces are laid waste. Sometimes,
dreading their masters, they aim at independence, and draw upon
their subjects the chastisement of their revolt. Sometimes, tear
in«3' these very subjects, they call to their aid and keep in pay
foreign troops ; and to be sure of them, they indulge them in
every kind of robbery. In one place, they commence an action
against a rich man, and plunder him upon false pretences. In
another, they suborn witnesses, and impose a fine for an lmagi•' nary offence. On all occasions they excite the hatred of sects
against each other, and encourage informations for the sake of
increasing their own corrupt advantages. They extort from men
their property ; they attack their persons ; and when their im
prudent avarice has heaped into one mass the riches of a pro
vince, the supreme government, with execrable perfidy, Pr®“^
tending to avenge the oppressed inhabitants, draws to itself then
spoil in the spoil of the culprit, and wantonly and vainly expiate
in blood the crime of which it was itself the accomplice.
O iniquitous beings, sovereigns or ministers, who sport with
the life and property of the people ! was it you who gave breath
to man, that you take it from him ? Is it you who fertilize the
earth, that you dissipate its fruits ? Do you fatigue your arms
with ploughing the fields ? Do you expose yourselves to the
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRE^.
41
heat of the sun, and endure the torment of thirst in cutting down
the harvest and binding it into sheaves ? Do you watch like!
the shepherd in the nocturnal dew ? Do you traverse deserts
like the indefatigable merchant ? Alas! when I have reflected
on the cruelty and insolence of the powerful, my indignation has
been roused, and I have said in my anger, What! will there
never appear upon the earth a race of men who shall avenge
people and punish tyrants ? A small number of robbers devou
the multitude, and the multitude suffer themselves to be de
voured ! O degraded people, awake to the recognition ot your
rights ! authority proceeds from you; yours is all the power..
Vainly do kings command you in the name of God and by their
lance: soldiers, obey not the summons. Since God supports
the Sultan, your succour is useless; since the sword of heaven:
suffices him, he has no need of yours ; let4us see what he can do
of himself.—The soldiers have laid down their arms; and io,
the masters of the world are as feeble as the meanest of their
subjects! Ye people, know then that those who govern you axe
your chiefs and not your masters; your guardians appointed by
yourselves, and not your proprietors; that your wealth is your
own, and to you they are accountable for the administration ot
it; that kings or subjects, God has made all men equal, and no
human being-has a right to oppress his fellow-creature.
But this nation and its chiefs acknowledge not these sacred
truths.—Be it so ; they will suffer the consequences of their error.
The decree is gone forth; the day approaches when this colossus
of power shall be dashed to pieces, and fall, crushed by its own
weight. Yes, I swear by the ruins of so many demolished em
pires, that the crescent shall undergo the same fate as the states
w hose mode of government it has imitated ! A foreign people
shall drive the Sultans from their metropolis; the throne of
Orkhan shall be subverted; the last shoot of his race shall be
cut off; and the horde of the Oguzians deprived of their chief,
,
*
shall be dispersed like that of the Nogaians. In this dissolution
the subjects of the empire, freed from the yoke that held them
together, will resume their ancient distinctions, anti, a genetat
anarchy will take place, as happened in the empire of the So
phist, till there shall arise among the Arabs, the Armenians, or
* Before the Turks took the name of their chief Othman I. they bore that
of Oguzians: and it was under this appellation that they were driven out ot
Tartary by Gengis, and came from the borders of Gihoun to settle themselves
io Anatolia.
.
,
,.
t In Persia, after the death of. Thamas-Koulikan, each province had its chief,
and for forty years these chiefs were in a constant state of war. In this view the
Turks do not say without reason: “Ten years of a tyrant are less destructive
than a single night of anarchy.”
G
�42
A SURVEY OF THE
the Greeks, legislators who shall form new states. Oh! were a
sagacious and hardy race of men to be found, what materials of
greatness and glory are here !-But the hour of destiny is arlived The cry of war strikes my ear, and the catastrophe is
about to commence. In vain the Sultan draws out his arms • his
ignorant soldiers are beaten and scattered. In vain he calls
upon his subjects : their hearts are callous; his subjects reply r
It is decreed; and what is it to us who is to be our master ?
we cannot lose by the change.” In vain these true believers ini
voke heaven and the prophet, the prophet is dead, and heaven
without pity answers : “ Cease to call upon me. You are the
authors of your calamities, find yourselves their remedy. Na
ture has established laws, it becomes you to practise them. Exa
mine and reflect upon the events that take place, and profit bv
experience It is the folly of man that works his destruction^
it is his wisdom that must save him. The people are ignorant
let them get understanding; their chiefs are depraved, let them
correct their vices and amend their lives, for such is the decree
o nature:
the evils of society flow from ig n o r a n c e and
1 . OEEIXATE DESIRE? men will never cease to be tormented till they
N
shall become intelligent and wise; till they shall practise the art of
i founded °n & knowledge of the various relations in which
they stand and the laws of their own organization ”
*
*
S1"&ular'mor.al phenomenon made its appearance in Europe in the vear
the enemj of hbeity , a nation friendly to the arts for a nation that detests
them; a mild and tolerant nation for a persecuting and fanatic one • asocial
tothe FreVh1'00 wbose chanmterisHes are gloom and misanthropy:
in a woid, the French were smitten with a passion for the Turks : tbev were
desirous of engaging in a war for them, and that at a time when a revolution
n then- own country was just at its commencement. A man who ne.ceived
the true nature of the situation, wrote a book to dissuade them fromtoe war
rLl t 1™™ejl,ate,y Pretended that he was paid by the government, which in
it 2
AnoH31’ aBd Whii\WaS UP°n thp Point
hinTup to a
state piison. Another man wrote to recommend the war: he was applauded
and his word was taken in payment for the science, the politenesss and im
portance of the Turks. It is true that he believed in his own thesis for he had
forbmPani0nn ?em Pe°P e-Wh° CaSt a nativity> and alchemists who wined his
foitune ; as he found Martimsts at Paris, who enabled him to sup with Se«os
tns, and Magnetisers who concluded with destroying his ex stmice Notw th"
pred1cteSd tlm
fH
beate" by
and the Z who Tien
p edicted the fall of their empire, persists in the prediction. The result of this
fall will be a complete change of the political system, as far as it relates to the
coast of the Mediterranean If, however, the French become important in
proportion as they become free, and if they will make use of the advantaoe
iuas^wch^h’ ueir progrfss may easi'y Prove ofthe most honourable sort,
m»™* »Ilhb.hd;,lSreUetC2t°/a,e’
trne in,erfSt
«’«-
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
43
CHAP. XIII.
Wil l t h e Hu m a n Ra c e b e e v e r in a b e t t e r Co n d it io n
THAN AT PRESENT ?
Oppr e s s e d with sorrow at the predictions of the Genius, and
the severity of his reasoning: unhappy nations, cried I, bursting
into tears! Unhappy my own lot! I now despair of the felicity
of man ! since his evils flow from his own heart, since he must
himself apply the remedy, woe for ever to his existence ! For
what can restrain the inordinate desire of the powerful? Who
shall enlighten the ignorance of the weak ? Who instruct the
multitude in the knowledge of its rights, and force the chiefs to
discharge the duties of their station ? Individual will not cease
to oppress individual, one nation to attack another nation, and
never will the day of prosperity and glory again dawn upon these
countries. Alas! conquerors will come; they will drive away
the oppressors, and will establish themselves in their place; but,
succeeding to their power, they will succeed also to their rapa
city, and the earth will have changed its tyrants, without lessen
ing the tyranny.
Then turning towards the Genius : O Genius ! said I, de
spair has taken hold of my heart. While you have instructed
me ifi the nature of man, the depravity of governors, and the
abjectness of those who are governed, have given me a disgust
to life; and since there is no alternative but to be the accomplice
or the victim of oppression, what has the virtuous man to do
but to join his ashes to those of the tombs.
The Genius, fixing upon me a look of severity mixed with
compassion, was silent. After a few minutes he replied: Is it
then in dying that virtue consists ? The wicked man is indefatig
able in the consummation of vice, and the just disheartened at
the first obstacle which stands in the way of doing good!—But
such is the human heart: success intoxicates it to presumption,
disappointment dejects and terrifies it. Always the victim of
the sensation of the moment; it judges not of things by their na
ture but by the impulse of passion.—Mortal, who despairs of
the human race, upon what profound calculation of reasoning
and events is your judgment formed? Have you scrutinized the
organization of sensible beings, to determine with precision
whether the springs that incline them to happiness are weaker
than those which repel ? or rather, viewing at a glance the his
tory of the species, and judging of the future by the example of
the past, have you hence discovered with certainty, that all pro
ficiency is impossible ? Let. me ask : Have societies, since their
origin, made no step towards instruction and a better state of
things ? Are men still in the woods, destitute of every thing,
ignorant, stupid, and ferocious ? Are there no nations advanced
beyond the period, when nothing was to be seen upon the face
�A SURVEY.OF THE
of the globe but savage freebooters or savage slaves ? If indi
viduals have at certain times, and in certain places, become bet
ter, why should not the mass improve ? If particular societies
have attained a considerable degree of perfection, why should
pot the progress of the general society advance ? If first obsta
cles have been overcome, why should succeeding ones be in
surmountable.
But you are of opinion that the human race is degenerating?
Guard yourself against the illusion and paradoxes of misanthrophy. Dissatisfied with the present, man supposes in the past
a perfection which does not exist, and which is merely the dis.coloration of his chagrin, He praises the dead from enmity to
the living, and employs the bones of the fathers as an instrument
of chastisement against the children.
To establish this principle of a retrograde perfection, it is ne
cessary that we should contradict the testimony of facts and rea
son, Nor is this all; the facts of history might indeed be equi
vocal, but it is farther necessary that we should contradict the
living fact of the nature of man; that we should assert that he
is born with a perfect science in the use of his senses; that, pre
vious to experience, he is able to distinguish poison from aliment;
that the sagacity of the infant is greater than that of his bearded
progenitor ; that the blind man can walk with more assurance
than the man endued with sig’ht| that man, the creature of civi
lization, is less favoured by circumstances than the cannibal; in
a word, that there is no truth in the existing gradation of in
struction and experience.
1 oung man, believe the voice of tombs and the testimony of
monuments. There are countries which have doubtless fallen
off from what they were at certain epochas : but if the under
standing were to analyse thoroughly the wisdom and felicity of
their inhabitants at those periods, their glory would be found to
have less of reality than of splendor; it jvould be seen, that even
in the most celebrated states of antiquity, there existed enormous
vices and pruel abuses, the precise pause of their instability ;
that in general the principles of government were atrpejous; that,
from people to people, audacious robbery, barbarous wars, and
implacable animosities were prevalent ; that natural right was
*
unknown; that morality was perverted by senseless fanaticism
and deplorable superstition; that a dream, a vision, an oracle,
iveie the frequent occasion of the most terrible commptiens. Na
tions are not perhaps yet free from the power of these evils; but
their force is at least diminished, and the experience pf past times
. a IV3'** die history pf the wqrs of liome and Carthage, of Sparta and Messina,
pr Athens apd Syracuse, of the Hebrews and the Phenicians : yet these are the
patipns pi whiefi antiquity bo^tf
being" most polished !
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
45
has not been wholly lost. Within the three last centuries espe
cially, the light of knowledge has been increased and dissemi
nated ; civilization, aided by various happy circumstances, has
perceptibly advanced, and even inconveniencies and abuses have
proved advantageous to it: for if conquest have extended king
doms and states beyond due bounds, the people of different coun
tries, uniting under the same yoke, have lost that spirit of es
trangement and division which made them all enemies to one
another. If the hands of power have been strengthened, an ad
ditional degree of system and harmony has at least been intro
duced in its exercise. If wars have become more general in the
mass of their influence and operation, they have been less de
structive in their details. If the people carry to their combat
less personality and less exertion, their struggles are less san
guinary and ferocious. If they are less free, they are less tur
bulent; if they are more effeminate, they are more pacific. Des
potism itself seems not to have been unproductive of advantages:
for if the government has been absolute, it has been less per
turbed and tempestuous; if thrones have been regarded as here
ditary property, they have excited less dissension, and exposed
the people to fewer convulsions : in fine, if despots, with timid
and mysterious jealousy, have interdicted all knowledge of their
administration, all rivalship for the direction of affairs, the pas
sions of mankind, excluded from the political career, have fixed
upon the uarts and the sciences of nature ; the sphere of ideas
has been enlarged on every side ; man, devoted to abstract
studies, has better understood his place in the system of nature,
and his social relations; principles have been more fully dis
cussed, objects more accurately discerned, knowledge more
widely diffused, individuals made more capable, manners more
sociable, life more benevolent and pleasing; the species at large,
particularly in certain countries, have been evidently gainers;
nor can this improvement fail to proceed, since its two principal
obstacles, those which have hitherto rendered it so slow, and
frequently retrograde, the difficulty of transmitting ideas from
age to age, and communicating thdm rapidly from man to man,
have been removed.
With the people of antiquity, every canton and every city,
having a language peculiar to itself, stood aloof from the rest,
and the result was favourable to ignorance and anarchy : they
had no communication of ideas, no participation of discoveries,
no harmony of interests or of will, no unity of action or conduct.
Beside, the only means of diffusing and transmitting ideas being
that of speech, fugitive and limited, and that of writing, slow of
execution, expensive, and acquired by few, there resulted an
extreme difficulty as to instrcution in the first instance, the loss
pf advantages one generation might derive from the experience
�A. SURVEY OF THE
of another, instability, retrogradation of science, and one un
varied scene of chaos and childhood.
'
^le contraOh *n
modern world, and particularly in
Europe, great nations having allied themselves by a sort of uni
versal language, the firm of opinion has been placed upon a broad
basis ; the minds of men have sympathised, their hearts have
enlarged; we have seen agreement in thinking, and concord in
acting : in fine, that sacred art, that memorable gift of celestial
genius, the press, furnished a means of communicating, of diffus
ing at one instance any idea to millions of the species, and of
giving it a permanence which all the power of tyrants has been
able neither to suspend nor suppress. Hence has the vast mass
of instruction perpetually increased; hence has the atmosphere
of truth continually grown brighter, and a strength of mind been
produced that is in no fear of counteraction. And this improve
ment is the necessary effect of the laws of nature; for by the
law of sensation, man as invincibly tends to make himself happy,
as the flame to ascend, the stone to gravitate, the water to gadi
its level. His ignorance is the obstacle which misleads him as
to the means, and deceives him respecting causes and effects.
By force or experience he will become enlightened; by force of
errors he will set nimself right; he will become wise and good,
because it is his interest to be so : and ideas communicating
themselves through a nation, whole classes will be instructed,
science will be universally familiar, and all men will understand
what are the principles of individual happiness, and of public
felicity.. They will understand what are their respective rela
tions, their rights, and their duties, in the social order; they will
no longer be the dupes of inordinate desire ; they will perceive
that morality is a branch of the science of physics, composed, it is
flue, of elements complicated in their operation, but simple and
invariable in their nature, as being no other, than the elements
of human organization itself. They will feel the necessity of
being moderate and just, because therein consists the advantage
and security of each ; that to wish to enjoy at the expence of
another is a false calculation of ignorance, because the result
of such proceeding, are reprisals, enmity, and revenge; and that
dishonesty is invariably the offspring of folly.
Individual^ will feel that private happiness is allied to the
happiness of society.
I he weak, that instead of dividing their interests, they ought
to unite, because equality constitutes their strength.
The rich, that the measure of enjoyment is limited by the con
stitution of the organs, and that lassitude follows satiety.
. The poor, that the highest degree of human felicity consists
in peace of mind and the due employment of time.
Public opinion, reaching' kings on their thrones, will oblige
them to keep tueraseives wiihin-flie bounds of a regular authority.
�<
REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
47
Chance itself, serving the cause of nations, will give them
sometimes incapable chiefs, who, through weakness, will suffer
them to become free ; and sometimes enlightened chiefs, who
will virtuously emancipate them.
Individuality will be a term of greater comprehension, and
nations, free and enlightened, will hereafter become one com
plex individual, as single men are now : the consequences will
be proportioned to the state of things. The communication of
knowledge will extend from society to society, till it compre
hends the whole earth. By the law of imitation the example of
one people will be followed by others, who will adopt its spirit
and its laws. Despots themselves, perceiving that they can no
longer maintain their power without justice and beneficence,
will be induced, both from necessity and rivalship, to soften the
rigour of their government; and civilization will be universal.
—Among nations there will be established an equilibrium of
force, which, confining them within the limits of just respect for
their reciprocal rights, will put an end to the barbarous practice
of war, and induce them to submit to civil arbitration the deci
sion of their disputes ; and the whole species will become one
*
grand society, one individual family governed by the same spirit,,
by common laws, and enjoying all the felicity of which human
nature is capable.
This great work will doubtless be long accomplishing, because
it is necessary that one and the same motion should be commu
nicated to the various parts of an immense body, that the same
leaven should assimilate an enormous mass of heterogeneous
elements : but this motion will effectually operate. Already
sociafat at large, having passed through the same stages as par
ticular societies have done, promises to lead to the same results.
At first, disconnected in its parts, each individual stood alone;
and this intellectual solitude constituted its age of anarchy and
childhood. Divided afterwards into sections of irregulär size,
as chance directed, which have been called states and kingdoms,
it has experienced the fatal effects which result from the ine
quality of wealth and conditions; and the aristocracy by which
great empires have domineered over their dependencies, have
formed its second age. In process of time, these paramount
chiefs of the globe have disputed with each other for superiority,
and then was seen the period of factions and civil broils. And
now the parties, tired of their discords and feeling the want
of laws, sigh for the epocha of order and tranquillity. Let but
t What is a people? An individual of the society at large. What a war?
A duel between two individual people. In what manner ought a society to
act when two of its members fight ? Interfere and reconcile, or repress therm
In the days of the Abbe de Saint Pierre this was treated as a dream, but
happily for the human race it begins to be realized.
�A SURVEY OF THEf
48
a virtuous chief arise, a powerful and just people appear, tfnd
the earth will arrive at supreme power. It waits a legislative
people ; this is the object of its wishes and its prayers, and my
heart hears its voice.—Then turning to the quarter of the West
:
*
Yes, continued he, a hollow noise already strikes my ear • the
cry of liberty, uttered upon the farther shore of the Atlantic,
has reached to the old continent. At this cry a secret murmur
against oppression is excited in a powerful nation J a salutary
,
alarm takes place respecting its situation; it inquires what it is
and what it ought to be ; it examines into its rights, its resources,
and what has been the conduct of its chiefs.—One day, one reflection more—and an immense agitation will arise, a new age
will make its appearance, an age of astonishment to vulgar
minds, of surprise and dread to tyrants, of emancipation to a
great people, and off hope to the whole world,
CHAP. XIV,
Gr
and
Ob s t a c l e t o Im pr o v e m e n t .
Th e Genius stopt. My mind, however, pre-occupied with
gloomy forebodings, yielded not to persuasion ; but fearful of
offending him by opposition, I made no reply. After a short
interval: fixing on me a look that transpierced my soul: You
are silent, said he, and your heart is agitated with thoughts
which it dares not utter!—Confused and terrified : O Genius,
I made answer, pardon my weakness : truth alone has doubt
less proceeded from your lips ; but your celestial intelligence
can distinguish its traits, where to my gross faculties there appear
nothing but clouds. I acknowledge it, conviction has not pene
trated my soul, and I feared that my doubts might give you
offence.
And what is doubt, replied he, that it should be regarded as
a crime ? Has man the power of thinking’ contrary to the im
pressions that are made upon him ? If a truth be palpable, and
its observance important, let us pity the man who does not per
ceive it: his punishment will infallibly spring from his blindness.
If it be uncertain and equivocal, how is he to find in it what does
not exist ? To believe without evidence and demonstration is an
act of ignorance and folly. The credulous man involves himself
in a labyrinth of contradictions ; the man of sense examines and
discusses every question, that he may be consistent in his opi
nions ; he can endure contradiction, because from the collision
evidence arises. Violence is the argument of falsehood; and
to impose a creed authoritatively, is the index and proceeding
of a tyrant.
Emboldened by these sentiments, I replied : O Genius, since
my reason is free, I strive in vain to welcome the flattering hope
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
49
with which you wbuld console me. The sensible and virtuous
soul is prone enough to be hurried away by dreams of fancied
happiness ; but a cruel reality incessantly reeals its attention to
suffering and wretchedness. The more I meditate on the nature
of man, the more I examine the present state of society, the less
possible does it appear to me that a world of wisdom and felicity
should ever be realized. I purvey the face of our whole hemi
sphere, and no where can I perceive the germ of a happy revo
lution. All Asia is buried in the most profound darkness. The
Chinese, subjected to an insolent despotism * dependent for
,
their fortune upon the decision of lots, and held in awe by strokes
of the bamboo, inslaved by the immutability of the codé, and by
the irremediable vice of their language, offer to view an abortive
civilization and a race of automata. The Indian, fettered by
prejudice, and manacled by the inviolable institution of his casts,
vegetates in an incurable apathy. The Tartar, wandering or
fixed, at all times ignorant and ferocious, lives in the barbarity
of his ancestors. The Arab, endowed with a happy genius, loses
its force and the fruit of his labour in the anarchy of his tribes,
and the jealousy of his families. The African, degraded from
the state of man, seems irremediably devoted to servitude. In
the North I see nothing but serfs, reduced to the level of cattle,
the live stock of the estate upon which they livet. Ignorance,
tyranny, and wretchedness, have every where struck the nations
* The emperor of China calls himself the son of heaven, that is, of God ;
for in the opinion of the Chinese, the material heaven, the arbiter of fatality,
is the Deity himself. “The emperor only shows himself once in ten months,
lest the people accustomed to see him, might lose their respect ; for he holds
it as a maxim, that power can only be supported by force, that the people have
no idea of justice, and are not to be governed but by coercion.” Narrative of
two Mahometan Travellers in 851 and 877, translated by the Abbé Renaudot
in 1718.
Notwithstanding what is asserted by the missionaries, this situation has
undergone no change. The bamboo still reigns in China, and the son of
heaven bastinades, for the most trivial fault, the Mandarin, who, in his turn,
bastinades the people. The Jesuits may tell us that this is the best governed
country in the world, and its inhabitants the happiest of men ; but a single
letter from Amyot has convinced me, that China is a Iruly Turkish govern
ment, and the account of Sonnerat confirms it. See Vol. II. of Voudqe aux
Indes, in 4to.
J
As long as the Chinese shall in writing make use of their present characters,
they can be expected to make no progress in civilization. The necessary in
troductory step must be the giving them an alphabet like our own, or the
substituting m the room of their language that of the Tartars; the improve
ment made in the latter by M. de JLengles, is calculated to introduce the
change. See the Mantchou alphabet, the production of a mind truly learned
in the formation of language.
t When this was written the revolution in Poland had not taken place. I
beg leave to apologize to the virtuous nobles and the enfightened »rince by
whom it was effected.
r
}
H
�50
A SURVEY OF THE
with stupor; and vicious habits, depraving the natural senses,
have destroyed the very instinct of happiness and truth. In some
countries of Europe, indeed, reason begins to expand its wings;
but even there, is the knowledge of individual minds common to
the nation ? Has the superiority of the government been turned
to the advantage of the people ? And these people, who call them
selves polished, are they not those who three centuries ago filled
the earth with their injustice ? Are they not those who, under
the pretext of commerce, laid India waste, dispeopled a new con
tinent, and who at present subject Africa to the most inhumane
slavery ? Can liberty spring up out of the bosom of despots, and
justice be administered by the hands of rapacity and avarice ? 0
Genius ! I have beheld civilized countries, and the illusion of
their wisdom has vanished from my sight. I saw riches accu
mulated in the hands of a few individuals, and the multitude
poor and destitute. I saw all right and power concentered in
certain classes, and the mass of the people passive and depend
ent. I saw the palaces of princes, but no incorporation of indi
viduals as such, no common-hall of nations. I perceived the
deep attention that was given to the interests of government;
but no public interest, no sympathetic spirit. I saw that the
w hole science of those who command consisted in prudently op
pressing ; and the refined servitude of polished nations only ap
peared to me the more irremediable.
With one obstacle in particular my mind was sensibly struck.
In surveying the globe, I perceived that it was divided into twenty
different systems of religious worship. Each nation has received,
or formed for itself, opposite opinions, and ascribing to itself ex
clusively the truth, has imagined every other to be in error. But
if, as is the fact, in this discordance the majority deceive them
selves with sincerity, it follows that the human mind as readily
imbibes falsehood as truth ; and in that case how is it to be en
lightened ? How are prejudices to be extirpated that first take
root in the mind ? How is the bandage to be removed from the
eyes, when the first article in every creed, the first dogma of all
religions, is the proscription of doubt, of examination, and of the
right of private judgment ? How is truth to make itself known?
If she resort to the demonstration of argument, pusillanimous
man appeals against evidence to his conscience. If she call in
the aid of divine authority, already prepossessed, he opposes an
authority of a similar kind, and treats all innovation as blas
phemy. Thus, in his blindness, rivetting the chains upon him
self, does he become the sport of his ignorance and passions.
To dissolve these fatal shackles, a miraculous concurrence of
happy circumstances would be necessary. It would be necessary
that a whole nation, cured of the delirium of superstition, should
no longer be liable to the impressions of fanaticism; that, freed
�REVOLUTIONS o f e m pir e s .
51
from the yoke of a false doctrine, it should voluntarily embrace
the genuine system of morality and reason ; that it should be
come at once courageous and prudent, Wise and docile ; t
every individual, acquainted with his rights, should scrupulously
observe their limits; and the poor should know howJo resist
seduction, and the rich the allurements of avarice; that thei e
should be found upright and disinterested chiefs; that its tyrants
should be seized with a spirit of madness and folly; that the
people, recovering their powers, should perceive their inability
to exercise them, and consent to appoint delegates ; that having
first created their magistrates, they should know both how to
respect and how to judge them ; that in the rapid renovation oi
a whole nation pervaded with abuse, each individual, removed
from his former habits, should suffer patiently the pains and self
denials annexed; in fine that the nation should have the courage
to conquer its liberty, the wisdom to secure it, the power to de
fend it, and the generosity to communicate it. Can sober judg
ment expect this combination of circumstances! Should fortune
in the infinite variety of her caprices produce them; is it likely
that I should live to see that day ? Will not this frame long be
fore that have mouldered in the tomb ?
Here, oppressed with sorrow, my heart deprived me of utter
ance. The Genius made no reply,; but in a low tone of voice I
heard him say to himself: “ Let us revive the hope of this man;
for if he who loves his fellow-creatures be suffered to despair,
what is to become of nations ? The past is perhaps but too much
calculated to deject him. Let us then anticipate futurity; let
us unveil the astonishing age that is about to rise, that virtue,
seeing the end of its wishes, animated with new vigour, my re
double its efforts to hasten the accomplishment of it.”
CHAP. XV.
Ne w Ag e .
Sc a r c e l y had the Genius uttered to himself these woids
than an immense noise proceeded from the West; and turning
my eyes to that quarter, I perceived at the extremity of the
Mediterranean, in the country of one ot the European nations,
a prodigious movement, similar to what exists in the bosom of
a large city when, pervaded with sedition, an innumerable
people, like waves, fluctuate in the streets and public places.
My ear, struck with their cries, which ascended to the very
heavens, distinguished at intervals these phrases :
4‘ What is this new prodigy ? What this cruel and mysterious
scourge ? We are a numerous people, and we want strength!
We have an excellent soil, and we are destitute of provision !
We are active and laborious, and we live in indigence ’. We pay
�52
A SURVEY OF THE
Wer“-eUattneac‘eewithn<1 T "d ‘°Id ‘hat they are "ot sufficient!
safe witbi/' WhVtih’1*’ -“la °Ur Peisons and property are not
From he Zrt „m" ” the Secret enemf that devours us!"
plied • “Erert e of.the,c<>nc““rse, some individual voices reL useful labour«
,aru °/ fl,st[nct‘0n> and let all those who,
society «rathe, r’
?t!’‘bute,ta the support and maintenance of
■preys on your vitaT” ’ “ y°“
diSC°TCr the enemy that
divTdedS.-ntndtld
eracted> 11,e na*
ion found itself suddenly
pearance the o„o°d‘eS °f una3ual “agni‘ude and dissimilar appearance . the one innumerable and nearly inteo-ral exhibited
unlurnTS1 P0™r
‘^d-ss,
¡" th’eir'me^re‘anil
a X
’ th m?rks of to11 and wretchedness ; the other
P y grouPe, a valueless faction, presented in their rich
atare, embrotdered with gold and silver, and in their sleek and
“le Sympt°“S °f laisure aad abundance
1
these men more attentively, I perceived that the
anFevS V“?‘ituted of labourers, artisan^, and tradesmen“
grounetheJwerr'0" tseful.‘° socif!ty> a»d that in the lesser
fommande™ of r
Pnests courtiers, public accountants,
Pgen^of government"
*
°r
looked „lit. bodties- ?eing front ‘° front assembled, and bavinlooked with astonishment at each other, I saw the feelings of
panFcTn X
resen‘|ne“‘ spring up in the one, and a sort of
P Whv V d hCr; and ’! large said t0 the small body:
V hy stand you apart? Are you not of our number?
nriv-?’ ?!plbed the g'rouPe; you are the people- we are a
purselvel
’
’
haVC liWSj customs and rites peculiar to
wIlatK}abour do y°u Perform in the society ?
llC aS+i ^i°ne : WG Hre not made to labour.
p
How then have you acquired your wealth ?
B?' taking the pains to g’overn you.
VC +r>;i " n ° govern us • an(l is this what you call governing ?
dotvs 1 o,n"d y°U ?JOy; "ePf°duce. and you dissipate; wealth
tinct frn ?? ? and i°U absorb ^-—Privileged men, class dis
*
solves
t ie pe°ple? form a nation aPart a«d govern your,
to *Terv soeie?^
e
“• thf PeoP’e aild the indolent classes, is applicable
' m Jrt? P
b 5 t.c°'lta,lis the stJeds of all the political vices and d borders
devO th ’T ,hU& ? defìned 5 men Wh° d0
a"d
ridhts and ex In v °f Ot 'ers ’
me,J who arrogatelo themselves particular
ònt-1 of P
h N0b ie ty
*
A?altl^PatriI- P"v'p^s of wealth and eindolence. India? the Emirs of
li‘ Nairs of Compare he Mam-
the Bonze the
R°Ine’
Christia,J ck'gy> the Imans, theBramins,
feature “’Men HvS?’ &m&C’ a“d
wiil find 111 aI1 the same characteristic
ieatme,— Men living m idleness at the expence of those vvho labour."
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
53
Then deliberating on their new situation, some among the
«'roupe said : Let us join the people, and partake their burthens
and cares; for they are men like ourselves. Others replied :
To mix with the herd would be degrading and vile ; they are
born to serve us, who are men of a superior race. The civil
governors said : the people are mild and naturally servile; let
us speak to them in the name of the King and the law, and they
will return to their duty. People; the King decrees, the sove
reign ordains.
People. The King cannot decree any thing which the safety
of the people does not demand; the sovereign cannot ordain
but according to law.
Civil Governors. The law calls upon you for submission.
People. The law is the general will; and we will a new
order.
Civil Governors. You are in that case rebels.
People. A nation cannot be a rebel; tyrants only are rebels.
Civil Governors. The King is on our side, and he enjoins you
to submit.
.
People. Kings cannot be separated from the nation in which
they reign. Our King cannot be on your side ; you have only
the phantom of his countenance.
Then the military governors advanced, and they said : The
people are timorous ; it is proper to threaten them ; they will
yield to the influence of force.—Soldiers, chastise this insolent
multitude.
People. Soldiers, our blood flows in your veins ! will you
strike your brothers ? If the people be destroyed, w7ho will main
tain the army ?
And the soldiers, grounding their arms, said to their chiefs :
We are a part of the people ; we whom you call upon to fight
against them.
Then the ecclesiastical governors said : There is but one re
source left. The people are superstitious ; it is proper to over
awe them with the name of God and religion.
Priests. Our dear brethren, our children, God has com
missioned us to govern you.
People. Produce the patent of his commission.
Priests. You must have faith ; reason leads men into guilt.
People. And would you govern us without reason ?
Priests. God is the God of peace ; religion enjoins you to
obey.
.
■ v
People. No : justice goes before peace , obedience implies a
law, and renders necessary the cognizance of it.
Priests. This world was intended for trial and suffering.
People. Do you then shew us the example of suffering.
Priests. Would you live without Gods or Kings ?
�A SURVEY OF THE
54
People. We abjure tyranny of every kind.
yourbehalfY0“ mUS‘
lnedia,or’’ Persons who
act in
People. Mediators with God, and mediators with the Kin»'
Coiirhers and priests, your services are too expensive • hencei
forth we take our affairs into our own hands.
’
Then the smaller groupe exclaimed : It is over with us • the
multitude are enlightened. And the people replied : You shall
not be hurt; we are enlightened, and we will commit no violence
We desire nothing but our rights : resentment we cannot bui
feel, but we consent to pass it by: we were slaves, we might
now command; but we ask only to be free, and free we are.g
CHAP. XVI.
A
Fr
ee a nd
Le g is l a t iv e Pe o pl e .
IhnY'Z 1? w?“'! With mj9elf thaf Public po«'« was at a stand,
that the habitual government of this people was annihilated
and I shuddered at the idea of their falling into the dissolution
of anarchy. But taking their affairs immediately into their con
sideration, they quickly dispelled my apprehensions.
It is not enough,” said they, “ that we have freed ourselves
from parasites and tyrants we must prevent for ever the revival We.arehuman beings, and we know, by dearought experience, that every human being incessantly grasps
*
Z y’ and Wlshes to enJ°y k atthe expence of others. It
theiefoie necessary to guardourselves beforehand against this
unfortunate propensity, the prolific parent of discord ; it is ne!
ee^aiy to establish rules by which our rights are to be deter
mined and our conduct governed. But in this investigation ab^nse and difficult questions are involved, which demand all the
attention and faculties of the wisest men. Occupied in our re
spective callings, we have neither leisure for these studies, nor
l7t
ofo7sJlves tothe exercise of such functions.
Let us select from our body certain individuals, to whom the emPoyment will be proper. To them let our common powers be
delegated, to frame for us a system of government and lawsivilFGn8tltll ij
t W rePresentatiyes of our interests and
our v ilk, and that t.as representation may be as accurate as
possible and have comprehended in it the whole diversity of our
wihs and interests, let the individuals that comprise it be nu
merous, and citizens like ourselves.”
1
The selection being made, the people thus addressed their
delegates : ‘ We have hitherto lived % a society formed by
chance, without used clauses, without free conventions, without
tipuiation of rights, without reciprocal engagements- and a
multitude of disorders and evils have been the result of this con-
�REVOLUTIONS o f e m pir e s .
55
fused state of things. We would now, with mature deliberation,
frame a regular compact; and we have made choice of you to
draw up the articles of it. Examine with care what ought to be
its basis and principles. Investigate the object and tendency of
every association ; observe what are the rights which every inividual brings into it, the powers he cedes for the! Publ*c
and the powers which he reserves entire to himself
nicate to us equitable laws and rules of conduct. Prepaie for
us a new system of government, for we feel that the pnnc.nles
which to this day have guided us, are corrupt. Our fathers have
wandered in the paths of ignorance, and we from habit have
trod in their steps. Every thing is conducted by vlolei?P®’£r^jI2
or delusion ; and the laws of morality and reason are still buried
in obscuritv. Do you unfold the chaos ; discover the time, 01der and connexion of things; publish your code of laws and
rights ; and we will conform to it.
.
c ,
And the people raised an immense throne in the form of a
pyramid, and seating upon it the men they had chosen, said to
them : 44 We raise you this day above us, that you may take a
more comprehensive view of our relations, and be exalted above
the atmosphere of our passions.
<c But remember that you are citizens like ourselves; that the
power which we confer upon you belongs to us ; that we give it
as a trust for which you are responsible, not as exclusive property,
or hereditary right; that the laws which you make, you will be
the first to submit to ; that to-morrow you will descend trom
your stations, and rank again with us ; and that you will have
acquired no distinguishing right, but the right.to our gratitude
and esteem. And oh ! with what glory will the universe, that
reveres so many apostles of error, honour the first assembly of
enlightened and reasonable men, who shall have declared the
immutable principles of justice to mankind, and consecrated, in
the very face of tyrants, the rights of nations.”
CHAP. XVII.
Un iv e r s a l Ba s is o f a l l Rig h t a n d a l l La w .
Th e s e men, chosen by the people to investigate the true prin
ciples of morality and reason, then proceeded to the object ot
their mission ; and, after a long examination, having discovered
a universal and fundamental principle, they said to their consti
tuents : 44 We have employed our faculties in the investigation
you demand of us, and we conceive the following to be the prim
ordial basis and physical origin of all justice and all right.
« Whatever be 'the active power, the moving cause, that
directs the universe, this power having given to all men the
same organs, the same sensations, and the same wants, has there-
�ès
À SURVEY OÉ THÉ
by sufficierftly declared that it has also Hven them the «ma,
its
anJ
o^cr°?dl inasrnucI1 as this power has given to every man
elearlv foItowsPthaTall”8’ Hnd mainta.lnin§’ his °wn existence, it
othec,^^
~ «r^^““hat aH men arc the u"iimited p^-
te“A»ai?n tIlep,’ty,slcal Properties of inanimate nature.11 lmmU'
S8SS5S S=; - '■•■ - ••'X
th^othm^i^a of equiîyVnd6 justice e^Ua^i^1F^me^ a^iy^^
*
*
‘V
We are bound, however, to observe to von
r
a.^“"±0^0 'rU,t aTfreme S110Ck tâ “red in
contracts must be dissolv^unjust^rgudice^lbolisbed 'im^”3
perty abXatedS.S^r?ndered>and ¡>"9^0,^'descriptions of pK
perty abrogated : m fine, yon must set out once more from the
■K?e- etym°l°gy of the words themselves trace out tn
<j •
eçuîWrzum> equalitas, equitas are al J of
F È Î ? tl,s connex>on ■
equality in the scales of a balance is f he
family, and the physical idea of
t In the declaration of rfJhtX.^"''06
a" the Pt
liberty being placed before pninlik J Ulvfrsi°n of ideas in the first article, .
defect is not to be wondered^!- th/ 0™ whlcb lt,HI reality springs. This
*
science it was invented yesterday bv the’°f
ngl!fS °f man is a ilew
perfecting it, but there vet remain«
.
Amencans, to-day the French are
constitute it there is aY genealogical ^rd^V-0?6 JOne’. I»the ideas that
equality, to the minutest and most re
i W n,c ’’ from ifs basis- physical
proceed in an uninterrupted series of f * brauchea,°.f government, ought to
>n the second part of this work.
’«ferences. This will be demonstrated
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
57
state of nature. Consider whether you are capable of these
mighty sacrifices.”
.
They concluded: and, while I reflected upon the inherent
cupidity of the human heart, I was induced to believe that the
people would reject a melioration presented under such austere
colours. I was mistaken. Instantly a vast crowd of men thronged
towards the throne, and solemnly abjured all riches and all dis
tinctions. “ Unfold to us, (cried they), the laws of equality
and liberty: we disclaim all future possession that is not held
in the sacred name of justice. Equality, liberty, justice^ these
are our inviolable code; these names shall inscribe our standard.
Immediately the people raised a mighty standard, varied with
three colours, and upon which those three words were written.
They unfurled it over the throne of the legislators, and now for
the first time the symbol of universal and equal justice appeared
upon the earth. In front of the throne the people built an
altar, on which they placed golden scales, a sword, and a book
with’this legend: t o e q u a l l a w , t h e pr o t e c t o r , a n d t h e
j u d g e . They then drew round the throne a vast ampitheatre,
and the nation seated itself to hear the publication of the law.
Millions of men, in act of solemn appeal to heaven, lifted up
their hands together, and swore, “ that they would live equal,
free, and just; that they would respect the rights and property
of each other ; that they would yield obedience to the law and
its ministers regularly appointed.
A sight like this, so full of sublimity and energy, so interest
ing by the generous emotions it implied, melted me into tears ;
and addressing myself to the Genius, I said : “ Now may I live 1
for after this there is nothing which I am not daring enough
to hope.”
CHAP. XVIII.
Co n s t e r n a t io n a n d Co n s pir a c y o p Ty r a n t s .
Me a n w h il e , scarcely had the solemn cry of liberty and
equality resounded through the earth, when astonishment and
apprehension were excited in the different nations. In one place,
the multitude, moved by desire, but wavering between hope
and fear, between a sense of their rights and the habitual yoke
of slavery, betrayed symptoms of agitation : in another, kings
suddenly roused from the sleep of indolence and despotism, were
alarmed for the safety of their thrones : every where those
classes of civil and religious tyrants, who deceive princes and
oppress the people, were seized with rage and consternation ;
and, concerting plans of perfidy, they said one to another:
“ Woe be to us, should this fatal cry of liberty reach the ear of
the multitude, and this destructive spirit of justice be dis-
�58
A SURVEY OF THE
seeing the standard waving in the air •
fhZ?2'7™ ?! eviIs’” cried they, “ are included in these
three words . If all men are equal, where is our exclusive right
to honours and power ? If all men are or ought to be free, what
becomes of our slaves, our vassals, our property ? If all are
^ual in a civil capacity, where are our privileges of birth and
succession, and what becomes of nobility ? If all are equal be
fore God, where will be the need of mediators, and what is to
come o the priesthood ? Ah ! let us accomplish, without a
inoment s delay, the destruction of a germ so prolific and contagious. let us employ the whole force of our art against this
Calamity. Let us sound the alarm to kings, that they may ioin
in our cause. Let us divide the people ; let us engage thei in
Si’ and f
aside their attention by conquests and national
j ousj. Let Us excite their apprehensions respecting the
p wei o
is free nation. Let us form a grand league against
the comhion enemy. Let us pull down the sacrilegious standard,
demolish this throne of rebellion, and quench this fire of revolu
tion in its outset,
|Jealit>r the
and religious tyrants of the people
entered into a general combination, and having gained, either
by constraint or seduction, multitudes on thefo side, they adhost,1le1man«er against the free nation. Surround
in the altar ancUhrone of natural law, they demanded, with
loud cries :
What is this new and heretical doctrine ? What
this impious altar, this sacrilegious worship ? True believers
and royal subjects ! Would you not suppose that to-day truth
has been first discovered, and that hitherto you have been in
volved in error! Would you not suppose that these men, more
o tunate than yourselves, have alone the privilege of being
use.
nd you, rebel and guilty nation, do you not feel that
your chiefs mislead you ? that they adulterate the principles of
your faith, and overturn the religion of your fathers ? Tremble
4 Wrali °f heaven !>e lifted against you; and hasten by
speedy repentance to expiate your error.”
, i t.1inaccesSjble \o seduction as to terror, the free nation
p si ence : it maintained an exact discipline in arms, and
continued to exhibit an imposing attitude.
And the legislators said to the chiefs of nations : “If when
we^went on with our eyes hood-winked, our steps did not fail
eenig ened, why now that the bandage is removed, should
We conceive that we are involved in darkness ? If we, who pre6 <1 iPan^ind * exert their faculties, deceive and mislead
°
• ’’
? ca.n
expected from those who desire only to
wa ntam them in blindness ? Ye chiefs of nations, if you possess
truth, communicate it: we shall receive it with gratitude : for
with ardour we pursue it, and with interest shall engage in the
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
59
discovery. We are men and may be deceived ; but you also are
men, and as fallible as ourselves. Assist us in this labyrinth,
in which the human species has wandered fpr so many ages ;
assist us to dissipate the illusion of evil habits and prejudice.
Enter the lists with us in the shock of opinions which dispute
for our acceptance, and engage with us in tracing the pure and
proper character of truth. Let us terminate to-day the long
combat of error; let us establish between it and truth a solemn
contest: let us call in men of every nation to assist us in the
judgment: let us convoke a general assembly of the world; let
them be judges in their own cause ; and in the successive trial
of every system, let no champion and no argument be wanting
to the side of prejudice or of reason. In fine, let a fair exami
nation of the result of the whole give birth to universal harmony
of minds and opinions.”
CHAP. XIX.
Ge n e r
al
As s e m b l y o f t h e Pe o pl e .
Th u » spoke the legislators of this free people; and the multi
tude, seized with the spirit of admiration, which every reasonable
proposition never fails to inspire, shouted their applause, and
the tyrants remained alone, overwhelmed with confusion.
A scene of a new and astonishing nature then presented itself
to my view. All the people and nations of the globle, every
race of men from every climate, advancing on all sides, seemed
to assemble in one inclosure, and form in distinct groupes an
immense congress. The motley appearance of this innumerable
crowd, occasioned by their diversity of dress, of features, and
of complexion, exhibited a most extraordinary and most attrac
tive spectacle.
On one side I could distinguish the European with his short
and close habit, his triangular hat, smooth chin, and powdered
hair; and on the opposite side the Asiatic with a flowing robe,
a long beard, a shaved head, and a circular turban. Here I
observed the inhabitants of Africa, their skin of the colour of
ebony, their hair woolly, their body girt with white and blue
fish-skin, and adorned with bracelets and collars of corals, shells,
and glass-beads ; there the northern tribes, inveloped in bags of
of skin; the Laplander with his piked bonnet and his snow
shoes ; the Saraoiede with glowing limbs and with a strong
odour; the Tongouse with his bonnet shaped like a horn, and
carrying his idols pendant from his neck; the Yakoute with his
freckled skin; the Calmuck with flattened nose and with little
eyes, forced as it were to have ho correspondence with each
other. Farther in the distance were the Chinese, attired in
silk, and with their hair hanging in tresses; the Japanese of
�60
A SURVEY OF THE
mingled race; the Malayans with spreading ears, with a ring
in their nose, and with a vast hat of the leaves of the palm-tree
*
and the Tatoued inhabitants of the islands of the ocean and of
the continent of tl?e Antipodesd. The contemplation of one
species thus infinitely varied, of one understanding thus modified
with extravagance, of one organization assuming so contrary
appearances, gave me a very complicated sensation, and excited
in me a thousand thoughts^. I contemplated with astonishment
this gradation of colour, from a bright carnation to a brown
scarcely less bright, a dark brown, a muddy brown, bronze, olive
leaden, copper, as far as to the black of ebony and jet. I ob
served the Cassimerean, with his rose-coloured cheek, next in
vicinity to the sun-burnt Hindoo; the Georgian standing by
the Tartar; and I reflected upon the effect of climate, hot or cold
of soil mountainous or deep, marshy or dry, wooded or open’
I compared the dwarf of the pole with the giant of the temperate
Zone ; the lank Arab with the pot-bellied Hollander ; the squat
figure of the Samoiede with the tall and slender form of the
Sclavcmian and the Greek; the greasy and woolly head of the
Negro with the shining locks of the Dane ; the flaUfaced
Cal muck, with his eyes angle-wise to each other and his nose
crushed, to the oval and swelling visage, the large blue eyes,
and the aquiline nose, of the Circassian and the Abassin. I
contrasted the painted linens of India with the workmanlike
cloths of Europe ; the rich furs of Silesia : the various clothing
of savage nations, skins of fishes, platting of reeds, interweavin«
*
of leaves and feathers, together with the blue stained figures of
serpents, stars, and flowers, with which their skin is varied.
Sometimes the general appearance of this multitude reminded
me of the enamelled meadows of the Nile and the Euphrates,
when after rains and inundations, millions of flowers unfold them’
selves on all sides ; and sometimes it resembled, in murmuring
*This species oí' the palm-tree is called Latanier. Its leaf, similar to a fan
mount, grows upon a stalk issuing directly from the earth. A specimen may
be seen in the botanic garden,
t The country of the Papons, pr New Guinea.
t A hall of costumas in one of the galleries of the Louvre, would in every
point of view be an interesting establishment ; it would furnish an admirable
treat to the curiosity of a great number of men, excellent models to the artist,
and useful subjects of meditation to the physician, the philosopher, and the
legislator. Picture to yourself a collection of the various faces and figures ¿f
every country and nation, exhibiting accurately colour, features and form ;
what a fieid of investigation and enquiry as to the influence of climate, manners,
aliment, &c 1 It might truly be styled the science, of man 1 Buffon has attempted
a chapter of this nature, but it only serves to exhibit more strikingly our actual
ignorance. Such a collection it is said is begun at Petersburgh, but it is said
at the same time, to be as imperfect as the vocabulary of the 300 languages.
The enterprize would be worthy of the French nation.
■? "■
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
61
sound and busy motion, the innumerable swarms of grasshoppers
which alight in the spring like a cloud upon the plains of Hauran.
At si Hit of so many living and percipient animals, 1 recollected,
on one° side, the immense multitude of thoughts and sensations
which were crowded into this space ; and on the other, reflected
on the contest of so many opinions and prejudices, ana the
struggle of so many capricious passions ; and I was struck with
astonishment, admiration, and apprehension. When the legis
lators, have enjoined silence, presently fixed my attention on
themselves.
« Inhabitants of the earth, (said they), a free and powerful
nation addresses you in the name of justice and of peace, and
offers, as the sure pledge of its sincerity, its conviction and ex
perience. We were for a long time tormented with the same
evils as you ; we have enquired into their origin, and we have
found them to be derived from violence and injustice, which the
inexperience of past ages established into laws, and the pi ejudices
of the present generation have supported and cherished. Then,
abolishing every factious and arbitrary institution, and ascend
ing to thè source of reason and of right, we perceived that there
existed in the order of the universe, and in the physical constitution of man5 eternal and immutable laws^ which waited only his
observance to render him happy. O men of different climes !
look to the heavens that give you light, to the earth that nourishes
you ! Since they present to you all the same gifts ; since the
Power that directs their motions has bestowed on you the same
life, the same organs, the same wants, has it not also given you
the same right to the use of its benefits ? Has it not hereby de
clared you alito be equal and free ? What mortal then shall
dare refuse to his fellow creature that which is granted him by
nature ? O nations ! let us banish all tyranny and discord ; let
us form one society, one vast family ; and, since mankind are all
constituted alike, let there henceforth exist but one law, that of
nature ; one code, that of reason ; one throne, that of justice ;
one altar, that of union.”
They ceased : and the multitude rended the skies with ap
plause and acclamation ; and in their transports made the earth
resound with the words equality, justice, union ! But different
feelings presently succeeded to this first emotion. The doctors
and chiefs of the people exciting in them a spirit of disputation,
there arose a kind of murmur, which, spreading from groupe to
groupe, was converted to uproar, and from uproar into disorder
of the first magnitude. Every nation assumed exclusive preten
sions, and claimed the preference for its own opinions and code.
You are in error,” said the parties, pointing to each other ;
« we alone are in possession of reason and truth : ours is the
true law, the genuine rule of justice and right, the sole means
�A SURVEY OF THE
*
^nd PTrf€ct?on: all other men are either blind or
rebellious
And the agitation became extreme.
1 !he Ieglslators having proclaimed silence : “ People (said
wHWh-y what ImPulse of passion are you agitated .' Where
will this quarrel conduct you ? What advantage do you expect
fi om this dissension? For ages has the earth been a field of
disputation, and torrents of blood have been shed to decide the
controveisy, what profit have you reaped from so many combats
and tears? When the strong has subjected the weakTo his
<’niaS
therTby furthered the cause of evidence and
tiuth. O nations, take counsel of your own wisdom ’ If dis
putes arise between families, or individuals, by what mode do
yqu leconcile them ; do you not appoint arbitrators ?” “ Yes ”
exclaimed the multitude unanimously. “ Treat then the authors
of your present dissensions in a similar manner. Command
ymi^hd^creed tTdelVeS
instructors’ and
™pose oQ
y Ue r creed> to discuss in your presence the arguments on
Stan?’1S1 fo,unded- Since ^ey appeal to your interests, under
stand in what manner your interests are treated by them. And
in fhp HrfS aiid doctoJs of the People, before you involve them
in the discoi dance of your opinions, let the reasons for and
Xmn
T °Pimons be, iahdy discussed. Let us establish a
conhoversy, a public investigation of truth, not before
the tribunal of a frail individual, or a prejudiced pirtv/but in
UPlted lnformation and interests of mankind *
and j1udgl^IlatUral SenSe °f the Wh°le speeies
our arbitrator
In v e s t
CHAP. XX.
ig a t io n
of
Tr u t h .
Th e . people having by shouts expressed their approbation
the legislators sa.d : “ that we may proceed in this grand work
wi ll order and regularity, let a spacious amphitheatre be formed
of reti.d
T r altaruf “mon and peace: let each system
li^ion, and each particular sect, erect its proper and distxngu,shmg standard in points of the circumference; let its
hiets and its doctors place themselves round it and let their
*? " ris!'tline ‘<™™ted by the standard.”
11^ amphitheatre being traced out, and order proclaimed, a
prodigious number of standards were instantly raised, sSar
the’flaaslfVh.111/ CJ>“'1;ercia' P°rt’ wben ™ days of festivity,
si-rlit of this
r-e,-natl^!ls st^eanl prom a barest of masts. At
G"1 ins ■ T spar
‘‘“S d*ve,?“J> 1 addressed myself to the
intn
1 -caieely supposed the earth, said I, to be divided
vnto moie than eight or ten different systems of relio-ion and I
X,dTtt° ,c<)"«iiatio" = !’»"' caa I now'hopeforconcoi’d
when I behold thousands of different parties ’ —These, how-. '
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
63
ever, replied the Genius, are but a part of what exist; and yet
they would be intolerant.
As the groupes advanced to take their stations, the Genius,
pointing out to me the symbols and attributes of each, thus ex
plained to me then- meaning.
That first groupe, said he, with a green standard, on which
you see displayed a cross, a bandage, and a sabre, is formed of
the followers of the Arabian prophet. To believe in a God
(without knowing what he is); to have faith in the words of a man
(without understanding the language in which he speaks); to
travel into a desert in order to pray to the Deity (who is every
where) ; to wash the hands with water (and not abstain from
blood); to fast all day (and practise intemperance at night) ; to
give alms of their own property (and to plunder the property of
their neighbour): such are the means of perfection instituted by
Mahomet, such the signals and characteristics of his true
followers ; and whoever professes not these tenets, is considered
as a reprobate, has the sacred anathema denounced against him,
and he is devoted to the sword. A God of clemency, the author
of life, has, according to them, instituted these laws of oppres
sion and murder; has instituted them for the whole universe,
though he has condescended to reveal them but to one man : has
established them from all eternity, though they were made
known by him but yesterday. These laws are sufficient for all
the purposes of life, and yet a volume is added to them ; this
volume was to diffuse light, to exhibit evidence, to lead to per
fection and happiness, and yet, in the very life-time of its pro
phet, its pages," every where abounding with obscure, ambigu
ous, and contradictory passages, needed explanation and com
mentaries ; and the persons who undertook to interpret them,
varying in opinion, became divided into sects and parties oppo
site and inimical to each other. One maintains that Ali is the
true successor, and another takes the part of Omar and Aboubekre. This denies the eternity of the Koran, that the neces
sity of ablutions and prayers. The Carmite proscribes pilgrim
age, and allows the use of wine ; the Hakemite preaches the
doctrine of transmigration, and thus are there sects to the num
ber of seventy-two, of which you may enumerate the different
.
*
standards
In this discordance, each ascribing the evidence
exclusively to itself, and stigmatising the rest with heresy and
rebellion, has turned against them its sanguinary zeal. And
this religion, which celebrates a beneficent and merciful God,
the common parent of the whole human race, converted into a
* The Mussulmans enumerate in common seventy-two sects ; but I read,
while I resided among them, a work which gave an account of more than
eighty, ail equally wise arid important.
�64
A SURVEY OF THE
torch of discord, and an incentive to Avar, has never ceased for
twelve hundred years to whelm the earth in blood, and spread
ravage and desolation from one extremity of the ancient hemi
sphere to the other
.
*
The men you see distinguished by their vast white turbans,
their hanging sleeves and long rosaries, are the Imans, the
Mollas, and the Muftis ; and not far from them are the Dervises
with a pointed bonnet, and the Santons with their sacred tonsure. They utter with vehemence their several confessions of
faith ; they dispute with eagerness respecting the more or less
important sources of impurity ; the mode of performing ablu-tions ; the attributes and perfections of God ; the Chaitan and
the good and evil Genii; death; the resurrection ; the interro
gatory which succeeds the tomb ; the passage of the perilous
bridge, and its hair-breadth escapes ; the balance of good and
bad works ; the pains of hell, and the joys of paradise.
By the side of these, that still more numerous groupe, with
standards of a white ground strewed with crosses, consists of
the worshippers of Jesus. Acknowledging the same God as the
Mussulmans, founding their belief on the same books, admitting
like them a first man, who lost the whole human race by eating
an apple, they yet feel towards them a holy horror ; and from
motives of piety, these two sects reciprocally treat each other as
impious men and blasphemers. Their chief point of dissension
is, that the Christian, after admitting the unity and indivisibility
of God, proceeds to divide him into three persons, making of
each an entire and complete God, and yet preserving an identical
whole : he adds, that this Being, who fills the universe, reduced
himself to the stature and form of a man, and assumed material,
perishable, and limited organs, w ithout ceasing to be immaterial,
eternal, and infinite. The Mussulman, on the contrary, not
able to comprehend these mysteries, though he readily conceives
of the eternity of the Koran, and the mission of the prophet,
treats them as absurdities, and rejects them as the visions of a
disordered brain. Hence result the most implacable animosities.
Divided among themselves, the Christian sects are not less
numerous than those of the Mussulman religion ; and the quar
rels that agitate them are by so much the more violent, since the
objects for which they contend being inaccessible to the senses,
and of consequence incapable of demonstration, the opinions of
each sectary can have no other foundation than that of his w ill
* Read the history of Islamism by its own writers, and you will be convinced
that one of the principal causes of the wars which have desolated Asia and
Africa since the days of Mahomet, has been the apostolical fanaticism of itsdoctrine. Caesar has been supposed to have destroyed three millions of men : it
would be interesting to make a similar calculation respecting every founder of
a religious system.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
65
or caprice. Thus agreeing that God is an incomprehensible and
unknown being, they nevertheless dispute respecting his essence,
his mode of acting, and his attributes. Agreeing that his sup
posed transformation into man, is an enigma above the human
understanding, they still dispute respecting the confusion or the
distinction of two wills and two natures, the change of sub
stance, the real or fictitious presence, the mode of incarnation,
&c. &c. Hence innumerable sects, of which two or three hun
dred have already perished, and three or four hundred others
still exist, and are represented by that multitude of colours in
which your sight is bewildered. The first in order, surrounded
by a groupe absurd and discordant in their attire, red, purple,
black, white, and speckled, with heads wholly or partially shaved,
Or with their hair short, with red caps, square caps, here with
mitres, there with beards, is the standard of the Roman pontiff,
who, applying to the priesthood the pre-eminence of his city in
the civil order, has erected his supremacy into a point of religion,
and made of his pride an article of faith.
At the right, you see the Greek Pontiff, who, proud of the
rivalship set up by his metropolis, opposes equal pretensions, and
supports them against the Western churcn, by the superior an
tiquity of that of the East. At the left, are the standards of two
recent chiefs who, throwing off a yoke that was become tyran
,
*
nical, have, in their reform, erected altars against altars, and.
gained half Europe from the Pope. Behind them are the inferior
sects into which these grand parties are again subdivided, the
Nestorians, the Eutycheans, the Jacobites, the Iconoclasts, the
Anabaptists, the Presbyterians, the Wiclifites, the Osiandrins,
the Manicheans, the Pietists, the Adamites, the Enthusiasts, the
Quakers, the Weepers, together with a hundred others +; all of
distinct parties, of a persecuting spirit when strong, tolerant when
weak, hating each other in the name of a God of peace, forming
to themselves an exclusive paradise in a religion of universal
charity, each dooming the rest, in another World, to endless tor
ments, and realizing here the imaginary hell of futurity.
Next to this groupe, observing a single standard of a hyacinth
2yr’ round which were gathered men in all the various dresses
of Europe and Asia: Here, said I to the Genius, we shall at
least find unanimity.—At first sight, replied he, and fr om an
incidental and temporary circumstance this would seem to be the
case: but do you not know what system of worship it is ?—Then
perceiving in Hebrew letters the monogram of God, and branches
* Luther and Calvia.
T Consult upon this subject Dictionnaire des Heresies par I'abbe Pluqnet, in
two voiunies, 8vo.; a work admirably calculated to inspire the mind with
philosophy in the sense that the Lacedemonians taught their children tempe
rance, by shewing to them the drunken Heliotes.
K
�66
A SURVEY OF THE
of the palm-tree in the hands of the Rabbins : Are not these,
said I, the children of Moses, dispersed over the earth, and who,
holding every nation in abhorrence, have been themselves uni
versally despised and persecuted ?—Yes, replied the Genius, and
it is for this very reason that, having neither time nor liberty to
dispute, they have preserved the appearance of unanimity. But
in their re-union, no sooner shall they compare their principles,
and reason upon their opinions, than they will be divided, as for
merly, at least into two principal sects one of which, taking
,
*
advantage of the silence of their legislator, and confining itself
to the literal sense of his books, will deny every dogma not there
in clearly understood, and of consequence will reject, as inven
tions, the immortality of the soul, its transmigration into an
abode of happiness or seat of pain, its resurrection, the la.st
judgment, the existence of angels, the revolt of a fallen spirit,
and the poetical system of a world to come: and this favoured
people, whose perfection consists in the cutting oft a moi sei of
their flesh, this atom of people, that, in the ocean of mankind,
is but as a small wave, and that pretends that the whole was made
for them alone, will farther reduce by one half, in consequence
of their schism, their already trivial weight in balance of the universe.
The Genius then directed my attention to another groupe, the
individuals of which were clothed in white robes, had a veil
covering the mouth, and were ranged round a standard of the
colour of the clouds gilded by the rising sun. On this standaid
was painted a globe, one hemisphere of which was black and the
other white. The fate of these disciples of Zoroaster+, con
tinued he, this obscure remnant of a people once so powerful,
will be similar to that of the Jews. Dispersed as they are at
present among other nations, and persecuted by all, they receive
without discussion the precepts that are taught them : but so soon _
as their Mobed and their Destours | shall be restored to their
full prerogatives, the controversy will be revived respecting the
good and the bad principle, the combats of Ormuz, God of light,
and Abrimanes, God of darkness; the literal or allegorical senses
of these combats; the good and evil Genii; the worship of fire
and the elements ; pollution and purification ; the resurrection
of the body, or the soul, or both ||; the renovation of the pre• The Sadducees and the Pharisees.
t They are the Parses, better known by the opprobrious name of’Gaures or
, Guebros, ^npthep wore} for infidels. The namp oftheip pope or high priest is
Mobed.
J Their Destours; that is to sdy, their priests. See, respecting the rites of
this religion, Henry Lord Hyde, and the Zendavesta. Their costnma is a robe
with a belt of four knots, and a veii over the mouth for fear of polluting the
fire with thgir breath.
[| flip Zoroastrian§ are divided between two opinions, one party believing
�EVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
67
S6rtt world, or the production of a new which is to succeed it.
The Parses will ever divide themselves into sects, by so much
the more numerous as their families shall have contracted dif>
ferent manners or opinions during their dispersion,
Next to these are standards, which exhibit upon a blue ground
monstrous figures of human bodies, double, triple, or quadruple,
with the heads of lions, boars, and elephants, and tails of fishes,
tortoises, &c. These are the standards of the Indian sects,-who
find their Gods amidst the animal creation, and the souls of their
kindred in reptiles and insects. These men anxiously support
hospitals for the reception of hawks, serpents, and rats, and look
with horror upon their brethren of mankind! They purify them
selves with the dung and urine of a cow, and consider themselves
as polluted by the touch of a heretic! They wear a net over
their mouths, lest by accident a fly should get down their throat,
and they should thus interrupt the progress of a purified spirit
in its purgatory; but with all this humanity in unintelligible
cases, they think themselves obliged to let a Paria * perish with
hunger rather than relieve him ! They worship the same Gods,
but inlist themselves under hostile standards.
This first standard, separated from the rest, and on which you
see represented a figure with four heads, is the standard of Brama,
who, though the Creator of the universe, has neither followers
nor temples, and who, reduced to serve as a pedestal to the
Lingam +, receives no other mark of attention than a little water
sprinkled every morning over his shoulder by the Bramin, and a
barren song in his praise.
The second standard, on which you see pai nted a kite, his
body scarlet and his head white, is that of the Vichenou, who;,
though the preserver of the universe, has passed a part of his
life in malevolent actions. Sometimes you see him under the
hideous forms of a boar and lion, tearing the entrails of man
kind ; sometimes under that of a horsej, soon to appear upon
the face of the earth, with a sabre in his hand, to destroy the
present inhabitants of the world, to darken the stars, to drive
the planets from their spheres, to shake the whole earth, and
that both soul ancl body will rise ; the other, thrft it will be the soul only. The
Christians and Mahometans have embraced the most solid of the two.
* According to the system of the Metempsychosis, a soul to undergo purifi
cation, passes into the body of some insect or animal. It is of importance not
to disturb this penance, as the work must, in that case, begin afresh.—Pari#.
This is the name of a cast or tritfe' reputed unclean, because they eat of what
has enjoyed life+ Brama,—reduced to serve as a pedestal to the Lingham. See Sonner&t,
Voyage aux Indes, Vol. 1.
j These are the incarnations of Vichenou, or metamorphoses of the sun. He
is to come at the end of the world, that is, at the expiration of the great
period, in the form of a horse, like the four horses of the apocalypse.
�68
A SURVEY OF THE
to oblige the mighty serpent to vomit a flame which shall con
sume the globe.
The third standard is that of Chiven, the destroyer of all
things, the God of desolation, and who nevertheless has for his
emblem the instrument of production ; he is the most detestable
or the three, and he has the greatest number of followers.
Proud of his attribute and character, his partizans in their devo
*
tions express every sort of contempt for the other Gods, his
equals and his brothers, and imitating the inconsistency that
characterises him, they profess modesty and chastity, and at the
same time publicly crown with flowers' and bathe with milk and
honey, the obscene image of the Lingam.
Behind them came the less magnificent standards of a multi
tude of Gods, male, female, and hermaphrodite, related to and
connected with the three principal, who pass their lives in in
testine war, and are in this respect imitate^ by their worshippers.
1 hese Gods have need of nothing, and receive offerings without
ceasing. Their attributes are omnipotence and ubiquity, and a
Bramin with some petty charm imprisons them in an image, or
in a pitcher, and retails their favours according to his will and
pleasure.
At a still greater distance you will observe a multitude of
other standards, which upon a yellow ground, common to them
all, have different emblems figured, and are the standards of one
God, who, under various names, is acknowledged by the nations
of the East. The Chinese worship him under the name of Fot +;
the Japanese denominate him Budso ; the inhabitants of Ceylon,
Beddhou; the people of Laos, Chekia ; the Peguan, Phta ; the
Siamese, Sommona-Kodom; the people of Thibet, Budd and
La; all of them agree as to most points of his history; they
celebrate his penitence, his sufferings, his fasts, his functions of
mediator and expiator, the enmity of another God his adversary,
the combats of that adversary and his defeat: but they disagree
respecting the means of recommending themselves to his favour,
respecting rites and ceremonies, respecting the dogmas of their
* When a sectary of Chi ven hears the name of Vichenon pronounced, he
stops Jus ears, flies, and purifies himself
,,anie this God is Halts, which in Hebrew signifies an egg,
-lie Arabs pronounce it Baidh, giving to the dh an emphatic sound which
makes it approach to dz. Kempfer, an accurate traveller, writes it Budso,
which must be pronounced Boudso, whence is derived the name of Budsoist
and of Bonze, applied to the priests Clement of Alexandria, in his Stromata
writes it Bedov, as it is pronounced also by the Chingulais; and St. Jerome,
Houdda and Benita. At Thibet they call it Budd ; and hence the name of the
countjy caned Boudtan, and Tibudd: it was iii tins province that this system x
f? religion was first inculcated in Upper Asia ; La is a corruption of A llak,
the name of-God in the Syriac language, from which many of the Eastern
laiects appear to be derived. The Chinese having neither 5 nor d9 have
supplied their place by /and t, and have therefore said JW.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
69
interior and their public doctrine. Thus the Japanese Bonze, in .a
yellow robe, and with his head uncovered, preaches the eternity
of souls and their successive transmigration into different bodies ;
while his rival, the Sintoist, denies that the soul can exist independantlv of the senses and maintains that it is the mere
,
*
result of the organization with which it is connected, and with
which it perishes, as Die sound of a flute is annihilated when
you break it in peaces. Near him the Siamese, with shaved
«ye-brows, and with the Talipat screen in his handf, recommends
alms-giving, purifications and offerings, at the very time that li®
believes in blind necessity and immutable fate. The Chinese
Ho-Chang sacrifices to the souls of his ancestors, while his
neighbour the follower of Confucius, pretends to discover his
future destiny by the tossing of counters and the conjunction of
the stars j;. Observe this infant attended by a numerous crowd
of priests with yellow garments and bonnets : he is the grand
Lama, and the God of Thibet has just become incarnate in his
person)}. He however has a rival on the banks of the Baikal;
nor is the Calmuc Tartar in this respect any way behind the
Tartar of La-sa. They are agreed in this important doctrine^,
that God can become incarnate only in a human body, and
scorn the stupidity of the Indian, who looks down with reverence
upon cow-dung, though they themselves preserye with no less
awe the excrements of their pontiff^.
As these standards passed, an innumerable crowd of others
presented themselves to our eyes, and the Genius exclaimed;
See in Kempfer the doctrine of the Sintoists, which is a mixture of that of
Epicurus and of the Stoics. *
t It is a Leaf of the Latanier, species of the palm-tree. Hence the Bonzes of
*• larn take the appellation of Talapoin. The use of this screen is an pyrlnov«
Bonzes. It is, indeed, the malady of every eastern nation.
H 'Ike Grand Lama. The Delai-La-HIa, or immense high priests of La. is
the same person whom we find mentioned in our old books of travels, by the
name of I rester John, from a corruption of the Persian word Djehan, which
sigmhes the world, to which has been prefixed the French word prestre or
pretre, priest. Thus the priest world and the God world are in the Persian
idiom the same.
§ In a recent expedition, the English have found certain idols of the Lamas
"'æd >n the inside with sacred pastils from the close-stool of the high priest.
Air. Hastings, and Colonel Politer, who is now at Lausanne, are living
witnesses of this fact, and undoubtedly worthy of credit. It will be very
extraordinary to observe, that this disgusting ceremony is connected with a
Piotound philosophical system, to wit, that of the metempsychosis, admitted
ny the Lamas. When the Tartars swallow these sacred relics, which they
are accustomed to do, they imitate the laws of the universe, the parts of which
are incessantly absorbed and pass into the substano of each other. It is upmt
t ie model of the serpent who devours his tail, and this serpent is Budd and
�A SURVEY OF THE
'tO
I should never come to a conclusion, were I to detail to you all
the different systems of belief which divide these nations. Here
the Tartar Hordes adore, under the figure of animals, insects,
and birds, the good and the evil Genii, who, under a principal
but indolent divinity, govern the universe, by their idolatry,
giving us an image of the ancient paganj^m of the western world.
You see the strange dress of their Chamans, a robe of leather
fringed with little bells and rattles, embroidered with idols of
iron, claws of birds, skins of serpents, and heads of owls : they
are agitated with artificial convulsions, and with magical cries
evoke the dead to deceive the living. In this place you behold
the sooty inhabitants of Africa, who, while they worship their
Fetiches, entertain the same opinions. The inhabitant of Juida
adores God under the figure of an enormous serpent, which for
their misfortune the swine reward as a delicious morsel
.
*
The
Telutean dresses the figure of his God in a variety of gaudy
colours, like a Russian soldier; and the Kamchadale, finding
that every thing goes on ill in this world, and under his climate,
represents God to himself under the figure of an ill-natured and
arbitrary old manf, smoking his pipe and sitting in his traineau
employed in the hunting of foxes and martins. In line, there
are a hundred other savage nations, who, entertaining none of
these ideas of civilized countries respecting God, the soul, and
a future state, exercise no species of worship, and yet are no
less favoured with the gifts of nature, in the irreligion to which
nature has destined them.
CHAP. XXI.
Pr
obl em o f
Re l
ig io u s
Co n t r a d ic t io n s .
Th e different groupes having taken their stations, and pro
*
found silence succeeding to the confused uproar of the multitude,
the legislators said : “ Chiefs and doctors of the people! you
perceive how the various nations of mankind, living apart, have
hitherto pursued different paths, each believing its own to be
* It frequently happens, that the swine devour the very species of serpents
which the negroes adore, which is a source of great desolation in the country.
President de Brosses has given us in his history of the Fetiche, a curious
collection of absurdities ot this nature. The Teleutean dresses, fyc. 'I be
Tehiteans, a Tartar nation, paint God as wearing a vesture of all colours,
particularly red and green ; and as these constitute the uniform of the Russian
dragoons, they compare him to this description of soldiers. The Egyptians
also dress the God World in a garment of every colour. Eusebius Prap.
Evang. p. 1 15, I. 3. The Teleuteans call God Bou, which is only an alteration
ofBoudd, the God Egg and World.
t The Kamchadale represents God under the figure of an ill-natured and
arbitrary old man. Consult upon this subject a work entitled, Description des
Peoples soumis a la Russe, and it will be found that the picture is not over
charged.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
n
that of truth. If truth, however, is one, and your opinions are .
opposite, it is manifest that some of you must be in error : and
since so many men deceive themselves, what individual shall
dare say, I am not mistaken ? Begin, then, by being indulgent
respecting your disputes and dissensions. Let us all seek truth,
as if none of us had possession of it The opinions which to
this day have governed the earth, produced by chance, dis
seminated in obscurity, admitted without discussion, credited
from a love of novelty and imitation, have in a manner clandes
tinely usurped their empire. It is time, if they are founded in
reality, to give them the solemn stamp of certainty, and to
legitimate their existence. Let us this day cite them to a com
mon and general examination ; let each make known his creed ;
let the united assembly be the judge^ and let us acknowledge that
to be the only true one, which is proper for the whole human
race.”
Then, in order of position, the first standard at the left being
desired to speak : “ There can be no doubt,” said they, “that
ours is the only true and infallible doctrine. In the first place,
it is revealed by God himself.”
“ So also is ours,” exclaimed all the other standards, “and
there can be no room for doubt.”
“ But it is at least necessary to explain it,” said the legis
lators, “ for it is impossible for us to believe any thing of which
we are ignorant.”
“ Our doctrine,” resumed the first standard, is proved by nu
merous facts, by a crowd of miracles, by resurrections from the
dead, by torrents suddenly dried up, mountains removed from
their situations, &c. &c.”
“ We also,” cried the rest, “are in possession of miracles with
out number;” and each began to recite the most incredible things.
“ Their miracles,” replied the first standard, “are imaginary,
or the prestiges of the evil spirit who has deluded them.”
To this it was answered by the others : “ They are yours, on
the contrary, that are imaginaryand each speaking of himself,
added: “ Ours are the only true ones, all other miracles are
false.”
“ Have you living witnesses of their truth ?” the legislators
asked.'
“ No,” they universally answered : “ they are ancient facts,
of which the witnesses are dead, but these facts are recorded.”
k
“ Be it so,” replied the legislators : “ but as they contradict
each other, who shall reconcile them ?”
“ Just arbiters !” cried one of the standards, “ as a proof that
our witnesses have seen the truth, they died in confirmation of
it; and our creed is sealed with the blood of martyrs.”
So also is ours?” exclaimed the rest; “ we have thousands
�A SURVEY OF THE
©f martyrs, who have died in the most agonizing tortures with*
ttut in a single instance abjuring the truth.” And the Christians
ot every sect, the Mussulmans, the Indians, the Japanese re
counted endless legends of confessors, martyrs, penitents &c
One of these parties having denied the martyrology of the
^hers: “We are ready,” cried they, “ to die ourselves to prove
the infallibility of our creed.”
1
Instantly a crowd of men of every sect and of every religion
pi esented themselves to endure whatever torments might be in
flicted on them ; and numbers of them began to tear their arms
and to beat their head and their breast, without discovering anv
symptom of pain.
& J
But the legislator's putting a stop to this violence: “ O men!’*
said they to them, « hear with composure the words we address
to you. If you die to prove that two and two make four, will
this truth gain additional confirmation by your death ?”
iC No,” was the general answer.
“ If you die to prove they are five, will this make them five
No,” they again replied.
w What, then, does your persuasion prove, since it makes no
alteration in the existence of things. Truth is one ; your opi
nions are various; many of you must therefore be mistaken,
Andjince man, as is evident, can persuade himself of error, how
eon his persuasion be regarded as the demonstration of evidence »
Since error has its martyrs, what is the signet of truth ? Since
the evil spirit works miracles, what is the distinguishing charac
teristic of the Divinity ? Beside, why this uniform resort to in
complete and insufficient miracles ? Why not rather, instead of
v x t l 6 v io b t io n s
nature, change the opinions of rational beings ?
Why murder and terrify men, instead of enlightening; and in
structing them ?
O credulous mortals, and obstinate in your credulity ! as we
are none of us certain of what passed yesterday, of what is pass
ing this very day before our eyes, how can we swear to the truth
ot what happened two thousand years ago ? Weak, and at the
same time proud beings ! the laws of nature are immutable and
profound, our understandings full of illusion and frivolity, and
yet we would decide upon and comprehend every thing. Rut in
reality it is easier for the whole human race to fall into error,
than an atom of the universe to change its nature.”
« Well then,’1 said one of the doctors, M let us leave the evi
dence of facts, since such evidence is equivocal, and let us attend
•to5 the proofs of reason, and the intrinsic merit of the doctrine
itself..”1
An Iman of tli’e law of Mahomet, with a look of confidence,
advanced in the sand, and having turned himself towards
Mecca, and uttered with emphasis his confession of faith : “ Let
�DEVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
God Be praised !” said he, in a grave and authoritative voice •
“ the light shines in all its splendour, and the truth has no need
of examination.” Then exhibiting the Koran: “ Behold the
light and the truth in their genuine colours! In this book every
doubt is removed, it will conduct the blind man safely, who shall
receive without discussion the divine word, given to the prophet
to save the simple and confound the wise. God hath appointed
Mahomet to be his minister upon earth ; he has delivered up the
world to him, that he might subdue by his sword such as refuse
to believe in his law. Infidels dispute his authority, and resist
the truth : their obduracy proceeds from God, who has hardened
their hearts that he might inflict upon them the most dreadful
.
*
chastisements ”
Here a violent murmur from all sides interrupted the Iman.
“ What man is this,” cried every groupe, cc who thus gratuit
ously commits outrage ? By what right does he pretend, as con
queror and tyrant, to impose his creed on mankind ? Has not
God created us as well as him with eyes, understanding, and rea
son ? Have we not an equal right to make use of them in deter
mining what we ought to reject, and what to believe ? If he
have the right to attack, have not we the right to defend our
selves ? If he be content to believe without examination, are we
therefore not to employ our reason in the choice of our creed ?
<£ And what is this splendid doctrine which fears the light ?
What this apostle of a God of clemency who preaches only car
nage and murder ? What this God of justice who punishes a
blindness which himself has caused ? If violence and persecution
are the arguments of truth, mildness and charity must then be
the indices of falsehood ?”
A man advancing from the next grotipe, then said to the Iman :
i£ Admitting that Mahomet is the apostle of the better doctrine,
the prophet of the true religion, condescend to tell us, in^prdctising this doctrine, whom we are to follow, his Son-in-law Ali,
or his vicars Omar and Aboubekref ?”
At the mention of these names a terrible schism arose among
the Mussulmans. The partisans of Omar and of Ali treating
each other as heretics and blasphemers, were equally lavish of
execrations. The dispute even became so violent, that it was
necessary for the neighbouring groupes to interpose to prevent
their coming to blows.
Some degree of tranquillity being at length restored, the legisla* This passage contains the sense and nearly the very words of the first
chapter of the Koran ; and the reader will observe in general, that in the
*
pictures that follow, the writer has endeavoured to give as accurately as possible
the letter and spirit of the opinion of each party.
f t These are the two grand parties info which the Mussulmans are divided
*
The lurks have embraced the second, the Persians the first.
L
�74
A SURVEY OF THE
tors said to the Imans: “You see what are the consequences which
result from your principles! were they carried into practice, you
would by your enmity destroy each other till not an individual
would remain: and is it not the first law of God, that man should
live ?” Then addressingthemselves to the other groupes : “ this
spirit of intolerance and exclusion,” said they, “is doubtless
shocking to every idea of justice, and destroys the whole basis
of morals and society: shall we not, however, before we entirely
reject this code, agree to hear some of its dogmas recited, that
we may not decide from forms only, without having investigated
the religion itself?”
°
The groupes having consented to the proposal, the Iman be
gan to explain to them how God, who before time had spoken to
the nations sunk in idolatry by twenty-four thousand prophets,
had at length sent the last, the extract and perfection of all the
lest, Mahomet, in whom was vested the salvation of peace: he
informed them that to prevent the word of truth from being any
more perverted by infidels, the Divine clemency had written with
its own fingers the chapters of the Koran; and that the Koran,
bj virtue of its character of the word of God, was, like its au
thor, uncreated and eternal. He proceeded to explain to them
the dogmas of Islamism ; that this book had been transmitted
from heaven leaf by leaf in twenty-four thousand miraculous
visions of the angel Gabriel; that the angel announced his ap
proach by a small still knocking, which threw the prophet into a
cold sweat; that Mahomet had in one night traversed ninety
heavens, mounted upon the animal called Borak, one-half woman
and one-half horse; that being endowed with the gift of miracles,
he walked in the sunshine unattended by a shadow, caused with
a single word trees already withered lo resume their verdure,
filled the wells and the cisterns with water, and cut in two equal
pacts the body of the moon; that, authorized by a commission
from heaven, he had propagated, sword in hand, a religion the
most worthy of God for its sublimity, the most suitable to man
for the simplicity of its injunctions, consisting indeed only of
eight or ten principal doctrines, such as the unity of God ; the
authority of Mahomet the only prophet of God; our duty to
pray five times in a day ; to fast one month in the year; to re
pair to Mecca once at least in our lives; to pay the tenth of all
that we possess ; to drink no wine, to eat no pork, and to make
war upon the infidels ; upon which conditions every Mussulman,
*
being himself an apostle and a martyr, should enjoy in this life
a thousand blessings, and in the world to come, after a solemn
Whatever the advocates for the pbilosoph}r and civilization of the Turks
may asseit, to make war upon infidels is considered by them as an obligatory
pracept, and an act of religion. See lieland de Relig. Moham.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
75
aSf dXhts bathed in riven> of milk and honey, embalmed in
the perfumes of India and Arabia, and live an uninterrupted
eommeree with those chaste females the celestai Honr.s who
present a perpetually renewed virginity to the elect, who pre
SS An involuntary smile was visible in the countenance of every
ont ai this relation ; and the various
these articles of be^»---V^aid
PMight one
nTsuppose thft a chapter had just been read to us from the
^<^S^thesa„dthen^:‘‘Thepa^
of Mahomet is in my opinion excellent: but one of the:means
dlin^Tuyn^eMar^to^bstain from meat and drink between
taTrfsimr and setting of the sun, how in our own country is such
1 fast practicable, where the sun continues above the horizon
%S?v”n'ditchaSteOfhehhronour of their prophet the Mussulman
doctors denied the possibility of this; but ahP^^
ing testimony to the fact, the infallibility of Mahomet sustained
d “iTis Singular,” said a European, “ that God should^con
tinually havf revealed what was going on in heaven, without
ever having informed us of what passes upon earth.
« Their pil°rimage,” said an American, “ is to me an insuper
able difficulty. For let us suppose a generation to be twenty five years and the number of males existing on the globe to be
a hundred millions : in this case, each being obliged to travel
to Mecca once during his life, there would be annually engaged
in the pilgrimage four millions of men ; and as it would be 1mnractFcfbl! fm’ them to return in the same year, the number
would be doubled, or, in other words, would ?™ou^ tO
millions. Where are provisions accommodation,
vessels to be found for this universal procession ? What numerous
miracles would it not be necessary to work
of
«The proof,” said a Catholic Divine, “ that the religion oi
Mahomet is not a revealed religion, is, that the majori Y ®
ideas upon which it is founded existed for a long time before t,
and that it is nothing more than a confused mixture formed out
of the truths of our holy religion and that of
ambitious man has made to serve his projects ofdominion an
his worldly views. Turn over the pages of his book . you will
�J6
A SURVEY OF THE
see Jittle else than the histories nf
fibi
i xt
m
travestied into the most absurd (
vague and contradictory declamation
a tissue of
ous precepts. Analyze the snirii
ndlcllIous or dangereo,dSct of their apX 'you'"'.l’L 7 S
'
*
,a"d
character, which to arrive »t ;g . .1 nna subtle and daring
mirable skill upon the passions of riw«’
*s. true>
a4It addresses itself to simple and cradulm^m ’* "'lsbe.s * 8overn.
°
of prodigies : they are ¡inoran t
a?d 11 tells tlle™
vanity by despising science • the jealous, and it flatters their
it exátes^heiS; by Sé hop? rf E a“d faPaC¡°us’ a“d
at first to give them on earth
+ plunder, having nothing
dasta^dly^ thrlte^s wi?h\eTl-^to 8f“Pr^
. Etf ;P‘odXk
“
raentof ¿ senses, and t^td^LXn ^e'^Ss^^6'
and ho J:muclTdFiLüs emp^^^^^^
!
morality attests —““Vom8
inland ’intpo^VTea^"» res "tf'l V™“ “d“'
ríes.” Then « Uh th eRM ve.lnve,’ted s«eh sublime mysteÉvano-elists nferil
S ln one hand’ and the Four
bSiní GodtofcJu ‘doctolJbega"
relate that in the
any- S’) conce ved »
a,n e“raity without doing
motive) of formino- the worfd
fJeS,gjn. ^vithout aPParent
in a deliothtfulhVard™ntoP aTd n® &’St P“’1' °f buman beinSs
yielded tavern fa?; he' n T-h ’ ‘hat these first Parents having
and of tho c
beloved son, engendered without a mother
t " be ,rnt n T aS ’b; ‘° deScend UP°" earth in order
inaioró’’ ?f ?vb ? >’ and th‘S for the «'Ivnlion of mankind, the
SFj'dF
h?Ve «erertheless continued in the roéd to
the son of a^woj '°n '' ‘í® * remedy tbis inconvenience, this God
* °
bavin» died andbéen'F '™S a‘OnC® “ m°ther and a virSin> after
; vto„ cued and risen again, commences a new existence every
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
77
day, and under the form of a morsel of dough is multiplied a
thousand-fold at the pleasure of the basest of mankind. Having
explained these dogmas, he was going on to treat of the doctrine
,, of the Sacraments, of absolution and anathema, of the means
of purifying men from crimes of every sort with a drop of water
and the muttering half a dozen words; but he had no sooner
pronounced the names of indulgence, papal prerogative, suf
ficient grace, and effectual grace, than he was interrupted by a
thousand voices at once. It is a horrid corruption, cried the
Lutherans, to pretend to sell for money the pardon of sin ; it is
.contrary to the sense of the gospel, said the Calvinists, to talk
,of the real presence in the Sacrament. The Pope, exclaimed
the Jansenists, has no power to decide upon any thing without
a council, thirty sects at once mutually accused each other of
heresy and blasphemy, and their voices wese so confused that it
.was no longer possible to distinguish a word they uttered.
After some time, silence being at length restored, the Mussul
mans said to the legislators : “Since you have rejected our
doctrine as containing things incredible, can you possibly admit
. that of the Christians, which is still more contrary to justice and
< common sense ? An immaterial and infinite God to transform
, himself into a man! To have a son as old as himself! This
God-man to become bread, which is eaten and undergoes diges
tion! What absurdities have we equal to these ? Is it to these
men belong the exclusive right of exacting a blind obedience?
And will you accord to them privileges of faith, to our detri
ment.
Some savage tribes then advanced: “What,” said they,3
because a man and a woman ate an apple-six thousand years I
ago, is the whole human race to be involved in damnation ? (
And do you call God just ? What tyrant ever made the children \ p
responsible for the sins of their fathers ? How can one man /
answer for the actions of another ? Would not this be over-/
throwing every principle of equity'and reason ?”
e h
exclaimed others, “ are the witnesses and proofs
pot all these pretended facts? It is impossible to receive them
without evidence. The most trival action in a court of iudica.ture requires two witnesses, <tnd are we to believe all this upon
\ were tradition and hearsay ?”
r
Jewish Rabbin then addressing the assembly, said : “ For
the general facts we are indeed sureties ; but as to the form and
application of those facts, the case is different, and the Christians
are here condemned out of their own mouth. They cannot deny
that we are the stock from which they are descended, the trunk
upon which they have been grafted; from whence it follows, by
dwnT1- b!6 d;lerama> that either our law is from God, and
pen thens is a heresy, since it differs from ours; or our law is-
�78
A SURVEY OF THE
not from God, and then whatever proves its falsehood is destrue
*
tive of theirs.”
“ But there is a proper line of distinction,” said the Christian,
“to which it is necessary to attend. Your law is of God as
typical and preparative, not as final and absolute ; you are but
the image of which we are the reality.”
£i We are not ignorant,” replied the Rabbin, “ that such are
your pretensions; but they are perfectly suppositious and false.
Your system rests entirely on mystical visionary, and allego
,
*
rical interpretations. You pervert the letter of our books, substi
tute continually for the true sense of a passage the most chimeri
cal ideas, and find in them whatever is agreeable to your fancy,
just as a roving imagination discovers figures in the clouds.
You have thus imagined a spiritual Messiah, where our prophets
speak only of a political king. You have interpreted into a
redemption of the human race, what refers solely to the re
establishment of our nation. Your pretended conception of the
virgin is derived from a phrase which you have wrested from its
true meaning. You construe every thing as you please. You even
find in our books your doctrine of the Trinity, though they con
tain not the most indirect allusion to it, and though the idea was
an invention of profane nations, and admitted into your code,
together with a multitude of other opinions of every worship and
sect of which it is composed, during the chaos and anarchy of
the three first ages.”
At these words, transported with indignation, and crying out
sacrilege ! blasphemy 1 the Christian doators were disposed to
lay violent hands upon the Jew : and a motley groupe of monks,
some in black, some in white, advancing with a standard on
which pincers, a gridiron, and a funeral pile, and the words,/«stice, charity, and mercy, were paintedf, exclaimed : “ It is pro
per to make an example of this impious heretic, and to burn him
alive for the glory of God !” And already they had pictured
to their imaginations the scene of torture, when the Mussulmans
in a tone of irony said to them : “ Such is the religion of peace,
*
whose humble and humane spirit you have so loudly vaunted !
Such that evangelical charity which combats incredulity with no
other weapon than mildness, and opposes only patience to in
juries 1 Hypocrites, it is thus you deceive nations 1 It is in this
* When we read the fathers of the church, and see upon what arguments
they have built the edifice of religion, we are inexpressibly astonished with
their credulity, or their knavery; but allegory was the rage of that period:
the Pagans employed it to explain the actions of their Gods, and the Chris
tian acted in the same spirit when they employed it after their fashion.
t Phis description answers exactly to the colours of the Inquisition of Spanish
Jacobins ; and is a proof of what has been before observed, that the writer has
endeavoured to give a just picture of each party.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
79
manner you have propagated your destructive errors 1 When
weak, you have preached liberty, toleration, and peace ; when
power has been in your hands, you have practised violence and
persecution '.’’—And they were begining to recite the wars and
murders of Christianity, when the legislators, demanding silence,
assuaged for a while the discord.
„ m
« It is not, “ replied the monks in a tone of affected mildness
and humility, “ ourselves that we would avenge, we are desirous
only of defending the cause and glory of God.”
« And what right have you,” said the Imans, to constitute
yourselves his representatives more than we ? Have you privi
leges that we are not favoured with ? Are you beings of a dif
ferent nature from us ?”
.
« To take upon ourselves to defend God, is to insult his wis
dom and power,” said another groupe. “ Does, he not know
better than mortals what is becoming his dignity ?”
« Certainly,” rejoined the monks ; “ but his ways are secret.’
“ You, however,” said the Rabbins, “ will always find the
difficulty insuperable of proving that you enjoy the exclusive
privilege of comprehending them.” And the Jews, proud of
finding their cause supported, fondly pleased themselves with
the idea that their books would be triumphant; when the Mobed
*
of the Parses begged leave to speak.
« We have heard,” said he to the legislators, “ the account
of the Jews and Christians respecting the origin of the world,
and though they have introduced various corruptions, they have
related a number of facts which our religion admits ; but we
deny that they are to be attributed to the Hebrew legislator.
It was not he who made known to mankind these sublime
dogmas, these celestial events : it was not to him that God
revealed them, but to our holy prophet Zoroaster; and proofs
of this are to be found in the very books in question. If
you examine with attention the detail of laws, of rights, and
of precepts established by Moses, you will no where find the
most tacit indication of what constitutes at present the basis
of the Jewish and Christian theology. You will perceive no
trace either of the immortality of the soul, or a life to come,
or hell, or paradise, or the revolt of the principal angel, au
thor of all the evils which have afflicted the human race, &c.
These ideas were unknown to Moses, and this appears from
indisputable evidence, since it was not till four hundred years
after him that they were first promulgated by Zoroaster in
Asia +.”
* High Priest.
t See the Chronology of the Twelve Ages, in which I conceive myself to
have clearly proved that Moses lived about 1400 years before Jesus Christ, and
Zoroaster about a thousand.
�80
REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
waTn:Stehde
lhe
these ideas appeared in you^Uf^
calCreTaatLn'rbXeen you^anceTtors^
f “«
thereT§’revv * politi-
of Ninlveh andBab’f"’ C°n<lUered^d d^sed byliFe kinX
of ¿w Wis"nd^heyE^h}XZsP7§7ÌtOr7ìSOrted to the ba”£
trary to their law. When our kin£ Gwith aversion, as confi'om slavery, they felt attached tn ’ C£ U8’ had ,flellvered them
sacred books for your Genesi« in
;
*
Puotication of their
sawssifeaSsSSE?
mons respecting the origin of the world
Chaldean opi-
°PP?,sin8 <°
ssssWBÉsl
t"'?- t
s
mi ’-
conceived Moses to have written neither tìieT w-^? H "T7 °f <he ortllodox'
the work was a compilation made hv ilio «i/i
e
* le Pen^aieuch, but that
Mahoùmt.
See IX SXi
KK«r »'<«>«« <han the ancients, have
turn from the captivity ; but the Drineiml av^V Jeen comPosed °ii Ihe reI meanthatexhibit. m anuh Sr of H>p h P t Pè^fs-S'-S’ *escaPed 1 shali ton
ha VG" wf,ich *These
strale to the tenth analysis
generations of the Man called Noah°"is a°reaH?
tTtS °f tbe preiended
as it was know to the Hebrews at thè enèoh" /?e°g>i>phical picture of the world,
by Greece or Hellas at the West mr>P » 0°^ 'G caPtn'ity, which was bounded
E«- »„.1 Araliai^u X^gyp”;”i'the s'S" "Xn Ì,N<,r,h; “
ages from Adam to Abratóm orhis fathèr rr ’ uAH tbe prete,ided Persou'
»tars, constellations, countries Adam isbRoot^^v3^ m-v’ ,&1,>Sical beings,
Janus, Saturn: that is to sàv CanXL B
5 ,Noab ” Os7ris’ Xisbthrus
the year. The Alexandrian ChrntP i n’ ?J
cekstial Genius that opened
supposed by the Persians to be their first ?’s''-vs e3<pressly, that Nimrod was
hunting, mid that he X transla a I ,"i„ ,
S’ “ ?wi"«
lll<‘ *rt <
*
name of Orion,
0 beaven> where he appears under th-»
'
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
1
E&senians, and through them became the basis of Christianity,
¿lews, Christians, Mahometans, however lofty may be your
pretensions, you are, in your spiritual and immaterial system,
only the blundering followers of Zoroaster !”
Having thus commenced his discourse, the Mobed went on to the
detail of his religion ; and supporting his sentiments by quota
tions from the Zadder and the Zendavesta, he recounted in the
same order as they are found in the book of Genesis, the creation
of the world in six gahans ; the formation of a first man and a
*
first woman in a peculiar and celestial habitation, ujider the reign
of perfect good ; the introduction of evil into the world by the
great lizard, the emblem of Ahrimanes; the revolt and combat
of this magnificent genius of darkness, against Ormuz the bene
volent God of light; the distribution of angels into white and
black, good and ill; their hierarchy consisting of cherubim, sera
phim, thrones, dominions, &c.; the end of the world at the close
of six thousand years ; the coming of the Lamb, the regenerator
of nature : the new world; the life to come in an abode of felicity
or anguish; the- passage of souls over the bridge of the abyss ;
the celebration of the mysteries of Mithra; the unleavened bread
that is set apart for the initiated: the baptism of new-born child
ren ; extreme unction and auricular confessionf; in a word, he
* Creation of the world or in six gahans, or periods, or into six gahan-bars,
that is, six periods of time. These periods are what Zoroaster calls the tAowsands of God or of light, meaning; the six summer months. In the first, say
the Persians, God created (arranged in order)the heavens; in the second the
waters; in the third the earth; in the fourth trees; in the fifth animals; and
in the sixth man : corresponding with the account m Genesis. For particulars,'
see Hyde, ch. 9. and Henry Lord, ch. 2. On the religion of the ancient Persians.'
It is remarkable, that the same tradition is found in the sacred books of the
Etrurians, which relate, “that the Fabricator of all things had comprised the
duration of his work in a period of twelve thousand years, which period was
distributed to the twelve houses of the sun.” In the first thousand, God made
heaven and earth; in the second, the firmament; m the third, the sea and
the waters; in the fourth, the sun, moon, and stars; in the fifth, the soul of
animals, birds, and reptiles; in the sixth, man. See Suidas, at the Tyrrhena;
which shows first, the identity of their theological and astrological opinions ;■
and, secondly, the identity, or rather confusion of ideas, between absolute and*
systematical creation; that is, the periods assigned for renewing the face of
nature, which were at first the period of the year, and afterwards periods of
60, of 600, of 25,000, of 36,000 and of 432,000 years.
t The Modern Parses and the ancient Mithriacs, who are the same sect, ob
serve all the Christian sacraments, even the laying on of hands, in confirm
ation. “ The priest of Mithra,” says Tertullian (de Proescriptione. c. 40.)
promises absolution from sin on confession and baptism ; and, if I rightly re
member, Mithra marks the soldiers in Hie forehead (with the chrism, called in
Egyptian Kou.phi); lie celebrates the sacrifice of bread, whieh'is the resuorection, and presents the crown to his followers, menacing them at the same
time with the sword, &c.”
In these mysteries they tried the courage of the initiated with a thousand
terrors, presenting fire to his face, a sword to hi« breast, &p.; they also offered
M
�82
A SURVEY OF THE
repeated so many articles analogous to those of the three preced
ing religions^ that his discourse seemed to be a commentary or a
continuation of the Koran or the Apocalypse.
But the Jewish, Christian, and Mahometan doctors excepted
to this detail, and treating the Parses as idolatrous worshippers
of fire, charged them with falsehood, invention, and alteration of
fects. A violent dispute then arose respecting the dates of events,
their order and succession, respecting the origin of opinions,
their transmission from one people to another, the authenticity
of the books which establish them, the epocha when these books
were composed, the character of their compilers, the value of
their testimony; and the various parties proving, each against
the rest, contradictions, improbabilities, and the counterfeit na
ture of their books, accused one another of having founded their
creed upon popular rumours, upon vague traditions, upon absurd
fables, invented by folly, and admitted without examination by
unknown, ignorant, or partial writers, at doubtful periods, and
different from those to which their partisans referred them.
A loud rumour was now excited under the standards of the
various Indian sects: and the Bramins, entering their protest
against the claims of the Jew and the Parses, said: “ What ajre
these upstart and almost unknown people who thus arrogantly
consider themselves as the founders of nations, and the deposi
tories of the sacred archieves ? To hear their calculations of five
or six thousand years, one would suppose that the world was but
of yesterday, whereas our monuments prove a duration of many
thousand centuries. And in what respect are their books pre
ferable to ours ? Are then the Vedes, the Chastres, the Pourafls,
inferior to the Bible, the Zendavesta, the Sadder ? Is not the
*
him a crown which he refused, saying, God is my crown : and this crown is to
be seen in the celestial sphere by the side of Bootes. The personages in these
mysteries were distinguished by the names of the animal constellations. The
ceremony of mass is nothing more than an imitation of these mysteries and
those of Eleusis. The benediction the Lord, be with you, is a literal translation
of the formula of admission chon-k, am,p-ak. See Beausob. Hist, du Micnû
dieisme, vol. ii.
v * These are the sacred volumes of thé Hindoos ; they are sometimes written
Vadams, Pouranams, Chastrafis, because the Hindoos, like the Persians, are ac
customed to give a nasal sound to the termination of their words, which we
represent by the affixes on and an, and the Portuguese by the affixes om and
ani. Many of these books have been translated, thanks to the liberal spirit of
Mr. Hastings, who has founded at Calcutta a literary society and a printing
press. At the same time, however, that we express our gratitude to this
society, we must be permitted to complain of its exclusive spirit, the number
of copies printed of each book being such that it is impossible to purchase
them even in England ; they are wholly in the haudsofthe East India pro
prietors. . Scarcely even is the 'Asiatic Miscellany known in Europe, and a
man must be very learned in oriental antiquity before be so much as hears of
the Joneses, the Wilkinses, aad the Hal beds, &c. As to the sacred books of
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
testimony of our progenitors and our Gods, of equal value with
that of the Gods and progenitors of the western world ? Oh I
were we permitted to reveal to profane men the mysteries of our
religion ! Did not a sacred veil justly hide our doctrine from
every eye.”
The Bramins suddenly observing a profound silence: i( How,”
said the legislators, i£ can we admit your doctrine, if you refuse
to make it known ? How could its first authors propagate it, when,
having sole possession of it, they regarded even their own peo
ple as profane ? Has heaven revealed it that it miffht be kept
a secret?”
r
The Bramins however persisted in their silence ; and a Euro
pean at this momnt offering to speak, remarked, that their secrecy
was at present an empty form, that their sacred books were
ivulged and their doctrine explained: he accordingly undertook
to recapitulate its several articles.
Beginning with an abstract of the four Vedes, the twenty
eight Pourans, and the five or six Chastres, he recounted how
an immaterial, infinite, eternal and round Being, after having
passed an unlimited portion of time in self-contemplation, de
sirous at length of manifesting himself, separated the faculties
ot male and female which were in him, and operated an act of
generation of which the Lingam remains the emblem ; how
t 1S
ac^ were born three divine powers, of the names
ot Brama, Bichen or Vichenou, and Chib or Chiven the first
,
*
deputed to create, the second to preserve, the third to destroy
or change the form of the universe. He then detailed the
History of their exploits and adventures, and related how
Brama, proud of having created the world and the eight Bobouns (or spheres) of probation, and of being preferred to his
this pride occasioned between them a combat, in
which the globes or celestial orbits were broken to pieces, as if
ey had been a basket of eggs: how Brama, overcome in this
the Hindoos, all that are yet in our hands are the Bhagvat Geeta, the Ezour.
vedam, the Bagavadam, and certain fragments of the Chastres printed at the
eiid of the Bhagvat Geeta. These books are in Indostan what the Old and
testament are in Christendom, the Koran in Turkey, the Sadder and
e endavesta among tfie Parses, &c. When I have taken an extensive survey
of t leir contents, I have sometimes asked myself, what would be the loss to
the human race if a new Omar condemned them to the flames? and unable to
iscover any mischief that would ensue, I call the imaginary chest that con
tains them, the box of Pandora.
nanl?? are differently pronounced according to the different dialects:
118 hey say Birmah, Bremma, Brouma. Bichenhas been turned into Vichen
ex5' *ange of a B for a V, and into Vichenou by means of a gran>
™ } a i ‘
^ie same manner Chib, which is synonimous with Satan, and
s«n'hes adversary, is frequently written CAii-a and Gkiv-en} he is called also
Bonder and Rouffiien, that is, the destroyer.
�81
A SURVEY OF THE
contest, was reduced to serve as a pedestal to Chib, metamor
phosed into the Lingam : how Vichenou, the preserver of the
universe, had, in the discharge of his function, assumed nine
animal and mortal forms, how under the first, that of a fish, he
saved from the universal deluge a family by whom the earth was
repeopled; afterwards, in the shape of a tortoise!-, drew from
the sea of milk the mountain Mandreguii (the Pole); then, under
that of a boar, tore the entrails of the giant Erenniachessen^ by
whom the earth had beeu sunkin the abyss of Djole, from which
he delivered it; how he became incarnate under the form of the
Black Shepherd, and bearing the name of Chris-en rescued the
world from the venomous serpent Calengam, whose head he
crushed, after having himself received a wound in his heel.
Passing to the history of the secondary Genii, he unfolded to the
assembly how the Eternal, for the display of his glory, had created
divers orders of angels, whose office it was to sing his praise and
direct the universe : that a part of thesfe angels had revolted un
der the conduct of an ambitious chief, who wished to usurp the
power of God, and take the reins of government into his own
hands : that God precipitated them into a world of darkness as
a punishment for their misdeeds : that at last, touched with com
passion, he consented to withdraw them from thence, and to re
ceive them again into favour, after previously subjecting them
to a long state of probation: that for this purpose, having created
fifteen orbits or regions of planets, and bodies to inhabit them,
he obliged these rebellious angels to undergo eighty-seven trans
migrations : that the souls, thus purified, returned to their pri
mitive source, to the ocean of life from which they had emanated:
that as all living beings contained a portion of this universal soul,
it was an act of great criminality tp deprive them of it. He was
proceeding to develope the rights and ceremonies of this religion,
when, speaking of offerings and libations of milk and butter to
Gods of wood and of brass, he was interrupted by a universal
murmur mixed with loud bursts of laughter.
Each of the different groupes reasoned in its own prrticular
manner respecting this system. “ They are idolaters,” said the
Mussulmans, “ it is our duty to exterminate them.”—“ They
are mad,” said the followers of Confucius, it is our duty to cure
them.’—“ What absurd gods,” cried the rest, “ a set of fat
monkeys begrimmed with smoke, whom they wash like children
in clouts, and from whom they drive away the flies, lured by the
taste of honey, who would otherwise defile them with their
excrements.”
f This is the constellation testudo, or the lyre, which was at first a tortoise,
on account of its slow motion round the Pole; then a lyre, because it is the
shell of this reptile on which the strings of the lyre are mounted. See aq
excellent memoir of 211. Dupuis, stir I'Origine des Cptistellaiions, in ito-
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
85
At these words a Bramin, bursting with indignation, exclaimed.
■<i These are inscrutable mysteries, the profound emblems of truth,
which you are not worthy to know.”
u And how comes it,” replied a Lama of Tuibet,
that you
are more worthy than we ? Is it because you pretend to be sprung
from the head of Brama, while the rest of mankind deiive the r.
origin from the less noble parts of his body? If you would sup
port the fable of your origin, and the vain distinctions of your
casts, prove that you are of a nature different from us; prove
at least by historical testimony the allegories you maintain ; nay,
prove that you are really the authors of this system ; foi on our
part we are able to prove, if that were necessary, that you have
only stolen and disfigured it; that you have borrowed the an
cient paganism of the western world, and blended it by an absurd
conceit with the purely spiritual nature of our Gods a nature
,
*
which stoops not to address itself to the senses, and was wholly
unknown to the world till the mission of Beddou. ,
Instantly innumerable voices demanded to be infoimed of this
nature, and to hear of that God w ith w'hose very name the ma
jority of them were unacquainted. In pursuance of this demand,
the Lama resumed :
“ In the beginning,” said he, “there was one God, self exis
tent, who passed through a whole eternity, absorbed in the con
templation of his own reflections, ere he determined to manifest
those perfections to created beings, when he produced the mat
ter of the word. The four elements, at their production, lay in
a state of mingled confusion, till he breathed upon the face of the
waters, and they immediately became an immense bubble, shaped
like an egg, which when complete became the vault or globe of
the heavens in which the world is inclosed!". No sooner was the
earth and the bodies of animals produced, than God, the source
of motion, bestowed upon them as a living soul a portion of his
* All the ancient opinions of the Egyptian and Grecian theologians aie to be
found in India, and they appear to have been introduced, by means of the conjjnerce of Arabia and the vicinity of Persia, time immemorial.
.•
t This cosmogony of the Lamas, the Bonzes, and even the Bramins, as Henry
Lord asserts, is literally that of the ancient Egyptians. “ The Egyptians, says
Porphyry, “ call Kneph, intelligence, or efficient cause of the universe. 1 hey
relate that this God vomited an egg, from which was produced another God
named P/it/rn or Vulcan, (igneous principle, or the sun,) and they add, that
this egg is tbe world.” Euseb. Prcep. Evang. p. 115.
“ They represent,” says the same author in another place, the God Kneph,
or efficient cause, under the form of a man in deep blue (the coloui of the sky),
having in his hand a sceptre, a belt round his body, and a small bonnet royal
of light feathers on his head, to'denote how very subtile and fugacious the idea
of that being is.” Upon which I shall observe, that Kneph in Hebrew signifies
a wing, a feather, and that this colour of 6ky-blue is to be found in the majority
of the Indian Gods, aud is, under the name of Narayan, one of their most
drstinguishiRg epithets.
�86
A SURVEY OF THE
substance. Thus the soul of every living thing bein<r onlv a
fraction or separate part of the universal sSul, nf’percipient be
wg is liable to perish, but merely changes its form and mould as
t passes successively into different bodies. But of all the sub2 ”tlaJ forms’,tbat
man is most pleasing to the Divine Being
h
t reseiPbling his uncreated perfections ; and man when
y withdrawing himself from the commerce of the senses’ he be
*
comes absorbed in the contemplation of his own nature, discovers
DiviSiv1” Thha- r81^8 U1 il’ aind himSelf becomes worthy <>f
JJivinit}. Thus is God incessantly rendering himself incarnate ♦
years'i^6 inethend
incarnation was three thousand
or
’ r n Provmce of Cassimere, under the name of Fot
Pu,rP°se of Caching the doctrine of self-denial
and self-annihilation.
The Lama proceeded to detail the his
tory of Fot, observing, that he had sprung from the right intermntt1
f ithe r°yal blood’ who> when she became a
mother, did not the less continue to be a virgin : that the king
dPiOl’6 C°?ntry’ Jn?.asy at his birth> was desirous to put him to
death, and caused all the males who were born at the same period
to be massacred : that being saved by shepherds, Beddou lived
in the desert to the age of thirty years, at which time he opened
his commission, preaching the doctrine of truth and castino- out
devils : that he performed a multitude of the most astonishing
miracles, spent his life m fasting and the severest mortifications’
,
at.hl? death bequeathed to his disciples the volume in which
^gfn'to’read- hlS rell§1°D are. contained- The Lama then
“ He that forsaketh his father and his mother,” says Fot «to
follow me shall become a perfect Samanean (a heavenly bein-L
keePeth my precepts to the fourth degree of per
fection, shall acquire the power of flying in the air, of moving
rising aa^nheaVeD? °f Protraciin? or shortening his life, and of
£i The Samanean looks with contempt on riches, and makes
Te nn i °f lUjCh thingS aS are strictly necessary. He mortifies
the flesh, subdues his passions, fixes his desires and affections
on nothing terrestrial, meditates without ceasing upon my doerme, enuures injuries with patience, and bears no enmity a°ainst
Ins neighbour.
J °
« Heaven and earth,” says Fot, « shall pass away; despise
there tore your bodies which are composed ofthe four perishable
elements : and think only of your immortal soul.
“ Hearken not to the suggestions of the flesh : fear and sor
row are the produce of the passions : stifle the passions, and fear ’
gnd sorrow wall thus be destroyed.
« Whosoever dies,” says Fot, « without having received my
«loctnoe, becomes again and again an inhabitant of the earth,
tut he shall have embraced it.”
i
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
87
The Lama was going on with his extracts, when the Christians
interrupted him, observing, that this religion was an alteratioii
of theirs ; that F6t was Jesus himself disfigured; and that the
llamas were nothing more than a degenerate sect of the Nes»tori&ns and Manicheans.
But the Lama
,
*
supported by all the Chaihans, Bonzea,
* This is asserted by our missionaries, and among others by Georgi in hi«
unfinished work of the Thibetan alphabet: but if it can be proved that the
Manicheans were but plagiarists, and the ignorant echo of a doctrine that
existed fifteen hundred years before them, what becomes of the declarations of
Georgi ? See upon this subject Beausob. Hist, du Manicheisme.
The eastern writers in general agree in placing the birth of Bedou 1027
years before Jesus Christ, which makes him the contemporary of Zoroaster,
with whom, in my opinion, they confound him. It is certain that his doctrine
notoriously existed at this epoch : it is found entire in that of Orpheus, Pytha.
goras, and the Indian gymtiosophists. But the gymnosophists are cited at the
Ume of Alexander as an ancient sect already divided into Brachmans and
Samancatis. See Bardesanes en Saint Jerome, Epitre d Joviem. Pythagoras
lived in the ninth century before Jesus Christ; see Chronology of the Twelve
Ages; and Orpheus is of still greater antiquity. If, as is the case, the doctrine
of Pythagoras and that of Orpheus are of Egyptian origin, that of Bedou goes
hack to the common source; and in reality the Egyptian priests recite that
Hermes, as he was dying, said: “I have hitherto lived an exile from my
country, to which I now return. Weep not for me, I ascend to the celestial
abode, where each of you will follow in his turn : there God is : this life is only
death.” Clialcidius in Thimaam. Such was the profession of faith of the
Samaneans, the sectaries of Orpheus, and the Pythagoreans. Farther, Hermes
is no other than Bedou himself; for among the Indians, Chinese, Lamas, &o.
the planet Mercury, and the corresponding day of the week (Wednesday), bear
the name of Bedou: and this accounts for his being placed in the rank of my
thological beings, and discovers the illusion of his pretended existence as a
man, since it is evident that Mercury was not a human being, but the Genius
or Decan, who, placed at the summer solstice, opened the Egyptian year:
hence liis attributes taken from the constellation Syrius, and his name of
Anubis, as well as that of Esculapius, having the figure of a man and the head
of a dog : hence his serpent, which is the Hydra, emblem of the Nile (Hydor,
humidity); and from this serpent he seems to have derived his name of Hermes*
as Remes (with a soilin'}, in the oriental languages, signifies serpent Now
Bedou and Hermes being the same names, it is manifest of what antiquity is
the system ascribed to the former. As to the name of Samanean, it is precisely
that of Chaman preserved in Tartary, China, and India. The interpretation
given to it is, man of the woods, a hermit mortifying the flesh, such being the
characteristic of this sect; but its literal meaning is celestial (Sainaoui), and
explains the system of those who are called by it. This system is the same as
that of the sectaries of Orpheus, of the Essenians, of the ancient Anchorets of
Persia, and the whole Eastern country. See Porphyry, de Abstin. Animal.
These celestial and penitent men, carried in India their insanity to such an
extreme, as to wish not to touch the earth, and they accordingly lived in cages
suspended to trees, where the people, whose admiration was not less absurd,
brought them provisions. During the night there were frequent robberies,
rapes, and murders, and it was at length discovered that they were committed
by those meu, who, descending from their cages, thus indemnified themselves
for. their restraint during the day. The B rami ns, their rivals, embraced the
�86
A SURVEY OF THE?
Gonitis, Talapoins of Siam, of Coylon, of Japan, and of Chin#,
demonstrated to the Christians, from their own theologians, that
the doctrine of the Samaneans was known through the East up
wards of a thousand years before Christianity existed ; that their
name was cited previous to the reign of Alexander ; and that of
Boutta or Beddou could be traced to a more remote antiquity
than that of Jesus—“And now,” said they, retorting upon tho
Christians, “ do you prove to us that you are not yourselves
degenerated Samaneans; that the man whom you consider as
the author of your sect is not Fot himself in a different form.
Demonstrate his existence by historical monuments of so remote
a period as those which we have adduced ; for as it appears to
*
be founded on no authentic testimony, rve absolutely deny its
truth; and we maintain, that your gospels are taken from the
books of the Mithriacs of Persia, and the Essenians of Syria,
who were themselves only reformed Samaneansf.”
These words excited a general outcry on the part of the'
Christians, and a new dispute more violent than any precedingone was on the point of taking place, when a groupe of Chinese’
,
Chamans, and Talapoins of Siam came forward, petending that
,
opportunity of exterminating them ; and from that time their name in India
has been synonymous with hypocrite. See Hist, de la Chine, in 5 vols. 4th at
the note page 50 ; Hist, de Hans, 2 vols.; and Preface to the Ezour-Vedam.
* There are absolutely no other monuments of the existence of Jesus Christ
as a human being, than a passage in Josephus, {Antiq. Jud. lib. 18. c. 3,) a
single phrase in Tacitus, {Anna!. lib. 15. c. 44) and the Gospels. But the
passage in Josephus is unanimously acknowledged to be apocryphal, and to
have been interpolated towards the close of the third century, '{See Trad. de.
Josephe, par M. Gillet}; and that of Tacitus is so vague, and so evidently taken
from the deposition of the Christians before the tribunals, that it may be
ranked in the class of evangelical records. It remains to enquire of what au
thority are these records. “All the world knows,” says Faustus, who, though
a Manichean, was one of the most learned men of the third century; “All the
world knows, that the Gospels were neither written bv Jesus Christ, nor his
apostles, but by certain unknown persons, who, rightly judging that tlxty
should not obtain belief respecting things which they had not seen, placed at
the head of their recitals the names of contemporary apostles.” See Beausob.
v<A. i. nnd Hist; des Apologistes de la Relig. Chret. par Burigni, a sagacious
writer, who has demonstrated the absolute uncertainty of those foundations of
the Christian religion; so that the existence of Jesus is no better proved than
that of Osiris and Hercules, or that, of Fot or Bedou, with whom, says M. de
Guignes, the Chinese continually confound him, for they never call Jesus by
any other name than Fot. Hist, de Huns.
+ That is to say, from the pious romances formed out of 1he sacred legends
of the Mysteries of Mithra, Ceres, Isis, &c.; from whence are equally derived
the books of the Hindoos and the Bonzes. Our missionaries have long re
marked a striking resemblance between those books and the Gospels. M. Wil
kins expressly mentions it in a note in the Bbagvat Geeta. Ail agree that Kristia,
Fot, and Jesus, leave the same characteristic features ; but religious prejudice
has stood in the way of drawing from this circumstance t lie proper and »atural
inference. To time and reason nfust it be left to display the truth.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
89
they could easily adjust every difference, and produce in the
assembly an uniformity of opinion ; and one of them speaking
for the rest, said' : “ It is time that we should put an end to all
those frivolous disputes, by drawing aside the veil and exposing
to your view the interior and secret doctrine which Fôt himself,;
on his death-bed, revealed to his disciples * These various
.
theological opinions are mere chimeras ; these accounts of the
attributes, actions and life of the Gods, are nothing more than
allegories, and mysterious symbols, under which moral ideas,and the knowledge of the operations of nature in the action of
the elements and the revolutions of the planets, are ingeniously
depicted.
“The truth is, that there is no reality in any thing; that all
is illusion, appearance, and dream ; that the moral metemsychosis is nothing more than a figurative sense of the physical metemsychosis, of that successive motion by which the elements of
which a body is composed, and which never perish, pass, when
the body itself is dissolved, into a thousand others, and form new
combinations. The soul is merely the vital principle resulting
from the properties of matter, and the action of the elements in
bodies, in which they create a spontaneous movement. To sup
pose that this result of organization, which is born with it,
developed with it, sleeps with it, continues to exist when organi
zation is no more, is a romance that may be pleasing enough,
but that is certainly chimerical. God himself is nothing more than
the principal mover, the occult power diffused through every
thing that has being, the sum of its laws and its properties, the
animating principle : in a word, the soul of the universe ; which,
by reason of the infinite diversity of its connections and opera
tions, considered sometimes as simple and sometimes as multiple,
sometimes as active and sotnetimes as passive, has ever presented
to the human mind an insolvable enigma. What we can com
prehend with great perspicuity is, that matter does not perish ;
that it possesses essential properties, by which the world is
governed in a mode similar to that of a living and organized
being; that, with respect toman, the knowledge of its laws is
what constitutes his wisdom ; that in their observance consist
virtue and merit ; and evil, sin, vice, in the ignorance and viola
tion of them ; that happiness and misfortune are the respective
result of this observance or neglect, by the same necessity that
* The Budsoists have two doctrines, the one public and ostensible, the other
interior and secret, precisely like the Egyptian priests. It may be asked, why
this distinction? It is, that as the public doctrine recommends offerings, expi
ations, endowments, &c. the priests find their profit in teaching it to the peo
ple ; whereas the other, teaching the vanity of worldly things, and attended
with no lucre, it is thought proper to make it known only to adepts. Can the
teachers and followers of this religion bb better classed thanUKder the heads
of knavery and credulity ?
�90
A SURVEY OF THE
occasions light substances to ascend, heavy ones to fall, and by a
fatality of causes and effects, the chain of which extends from the
smallest atom to the stars of greatest magnitude and elevation ”
.
*
A crowd of Theologians of every sect instantly exclaimed that
this doctrine was rank materialism, and those who professed it
impious Atheists, enemies both of God and man, who ought to be
extirpated from the earth. “ Strange reasoning,” replied the Cha
maos. “ Supposing us to be mistaken, which is by no means im
possible, since it is one of the attributes of the human mind to be
subject to illusion, what right have you to deprive beings like
yourselves of the life which God has given them ? If heaven con
siders us as culpable, and looks upon us with horror, why does it
dispense to us the same blessings as to you ? If it treats us with
endurance, what right have you to be less indulgent? Pious men,'
who speak of God with so much certainty and confidence, conde
scend to tell us what be is; explain, so that we may comprehend
them, those abstract and metaphysical beings which you call God
and the soul; substances without matter, existence without body,
life without organs or sensations. If you discover these beings
by means of your senses, render them in like manner perceptible
to us. If you speak of them only upon testimony and tradition,
show us a uniform recital, and give an identical and determinate
basis to your creed.”
There now arose a warm controversy between the Theologians
respecting the nature of God and his mode of acting and mani
festing himself; respecting the soul and its union with the body,
whether it has existence previous to the organs, or from the time
of their formation only; respecting the life to come and another
world : and every sect, every school, every individual, differing
from the re8t as to all these points, and assigning for its dissent
plausible reasons and respectable but opposite authorities, they
were all involved in an inextricable labyrinth of contradictions.
At length, the legislators having restored silence, recalled the
dispute to its true object, and said : “ Leaders and instructors of
the people, you came hither for the purpose of investigating truth ;
and at first every one of you, confident in his own infallibility, de
manded an implicit faith : presently, however, you felt the contra
riety of your opinions, and consented to submit them to a fair
comparison and a common rule of evidence. You proceeded to
expose your proofs : you began with the allegation of facts ; but
it presently appeared that every religión and every sect had its
miracles and its martyrs, and had an equal cloud of witnesses to
* These are the expressions of La Loubere, in his description of the king
dom of Siam and the theology of the Bonzes. Their dogmas, compared with
those of the ancient philosophers of Greece and Italy, give a complete repre?
sentation of the whole system of the Stoics, and Epicureans, mixed with as
trological superstitions, and some traits of Pythágorism.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
91
boast, who were ready to prove the rectitude of their sentiments
by the sacrifice of their lives. Upon this first point therefore the
balance remained equal.
“You next passed to proofs of reasoning: the same arguments
were alternately applied to the support of opposite propositions;
the same assertions, equally gratuitous, were successively ad
vanced and repelled ; every one was found to have an equal reason
for denying his assent to the system of the others. A farther con
sequence that arose from thus confronting your system was, that,
notwithstanding their dissimilitude in some points, their resem
blance in others was not less striking. Each of you claimed the
first deposit and the original discovery ; each of you taxed his
neighbour with adulteration and plagiarism ; and a previous ques
tion to the embracing of any of your doctrines appeared to result
from the history of opinions.
“A still greater embarrassment arose when you entered into the
explication of your doctrines : the more assiduous were your en
deavours, the more confused did they appear; they rested upon
a basis inaccessible to human understanding, of consequence you
had no means to judge of their validity, and you readily admitted
that, in asserting them, you were the echoes of your fathers.
Hence it became important to know how they had come into the
hands of that former generation, who had no means of learning
them different from yourselves. Thus the transmission of theo
logical ideas from country to country, and their first rise in the
human understanding, were equally mysterious, and the question
became every moment more complicated with metaphysical sub
tlety and antiquarian research.
“ But as these opinions, however extraordinary, have some origin;
as all ideas, even the most abstracted and fantastical, have in na
ture some physical model, we must ascend to that origin in order
to discover what this model is, and how the understanding came
by those ideas of Deity, the soul and immaterial beings, that are
so obscure, and which form the foundation of so many religious
systems; we must trace their lineal descent and the alterations
they have undergone in their various successions and ramifications.
If, therefore, there are in this assembly men who have made these
objects their peculiar study, let them come forward and endeavour
to dispel, in the presence of the nations of the earth, the obscurity
of opinions in which for so long a period they have all wandered.”
CHAP. XXII,
Or
ig in
a nd
Ge n e a l o g y o f Re l ig io u s Id e a s .
At these words a new groupe, formed in an instant, of indivi
duals from every standard, but undistinguished by any, advanced
in the sand; and one of the members, speaking in the name of the
general body, said :
�S&
A SURVEY
OF THE
6i Legislators, friends of evidence and of truth!
“ That the subject of which we treat should be involved in so
many clouds, is by no means astonishing, since, beside the
difficulties that are peculiar to it, thought itself has, till this
moment, ever had shackles imposed upon it, and free enquiry
by the intolerance of every religious system, been interdicted.
But now that thought is unrestrained, and may develope all its
powers, we will expose in the face of day, and submit to the
common judgment of assembled nations, such rational truths as
unprejudiced minds have by long and laborious study discovered :
and this, not with the design of imposing them as a creed, but
from a desire of provoking new lights, and obtaining better in
formation.
“ Chiefs and instructors of the people, you are not ignorant
of the profound obscurity in which the nature, origin, and history
of the dogmas you teach are inveloped. Imposed by force and
authority, inculcated by education, maintained by the influence
of example, they were perpetuated from age to age, and habit
and inattention strengthened their empire. But if man, en
lightened by experience and reflection, summoned to the bar of
mature examination the prejudices of his infamy, he presently
discovers a multitude of incongruities and contradictions, which
awaken his sagacity, and call forth the exertion of his reasoning
powers.
°
“ At first, remarking the various and opposite creeds into
which nations are divided, we are led boldly to reject the in
fallibility claimed by each; and arming ourselves alternately
with their reciprocal pretensions, to conceive that the senses
and the understanding emanating directly from God, are a law
not less sacred, and a guide not less sure, than the indirect and
contradictory codes of the prophets.
i£ If we proceed to examine the texture of the codes themselves,
we shall observe that their pretended divine laws, that is to say,
laws immutable and eternal, have risen from the complexion of
times, of places, and of persons; that these codes issue one
from another in a kind of genealogical order, mutually borrow
ing a common and similar fund of ideas, which every institutor
modifies agreeably to his fancy.
If we ascend to the source of those ideas, we shall find that it
is lost in the nig’ht of time, in the infancy of nations, in the very
origin of the world, to which they claim alliance; and there,
immersed in the obscurity of chaos, and the fabulous empire of
tradition, they are attended with so many prodigies as to be
seemingly inaccessible to the human understanding.- But this
prodigious state of things gives birth itself to a ray of reasoning,
that resolves the difficulty; for if the miracles held out in sys
tems of religion have actually existed; if, for instance, meta-
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
93
morphoses, apparitions, and the conversations of one or more
Gods, recorded in the sacred books of the Hindoos, the He
brews, and the Parses, are indeed events in real history, it
follows that nature in those times was perfectly unlike the nature
that we are acquainted with now ; that men of the present age
are totally different from the men that formerly existed; and,
consequently, that we ought not to trouble our heads about thenl.
“ On the contrary, if those miraculous facts have had no real
existence in the physical order of things, they must be regarded
solely as productions of the human intellect : and the nature of
man, at this day, capable of making the most fantastic combina
tions, explains the phenomena of those monsters in history.
The only difficulty is to ascertain how and for what purpose the
imagination invented them. If we examine with attention the
subjects that are exhibited by them, if we analyze the ideas
which they combine and associate, and weigh with accuracy all
their concomitant circumstances, we shall find a solution per
fectly conformable to the laws of nature. Those fabulous storieg
have a figurative sense different from their apparent one, they
are founded on simple and physical facts : but these facts, being
ill conceived and erroneously represented, have been disfigured
and changed from their original nature by accidental causes
dependent on the human mind, by the confusion of signs made
use of in the representation of objects, by the equivocation of
words, the defect of language, and the imperfection of writing.
These Gods, for example, who act such singular parts in every
system, are no other than the physical powers of nature, the ele
ments, the winds, the meteors, the stars, all which have been per
sonified by the necessary mechanism of language, and the manner
in which objects are conceived by the understanding. Their life,
their manners, their actions, are only the operation of the same
powers, and the whole of their pretended history no more than
a description of their various phenomena, traced by the first na
turalist that observed them, but taken in a contrary sense by the
vulgar, who did not understand it, or by succeeding generations,
who forgot it. In a word, all the theological dogmas respecting
the origin of the world, the nature of God, the revelation of his
laws, the manifestation of his person, are but recitals of astro
nomical facts, figurative and emblematical narratives of the mo
tion and influence of the heavenly bodies. The very idea itself
of the Divinity, which is at present so obscure, abstracted, and
metaphysical, was in its origin merely a composite of the powers
of the material universe, considered sometimes analytically, as
they appeal' in their agents and their phenomena, and sometimes
synthetically, as forming one whole, and exhibiting an harmoni
ous relation in all its parts. Thus the name God has been be
stowed sometimes upon the wind, upon fire, water, and the ele
�94
A SURVEY OF THE
ments; sometimes upon the sun, the stars, the planets, and their
influences; sometimes upon the universe at large, and the mat
ter of which the world is composed, sometimes upon abstract and
metaphysical properties, such as space, duration, motion, and in
telligence ; but m every instance, the idea of a deity has not
flowed from the maraculous revelation of an invisible world but
lias been the natural result of human reflection, has followed the
progiess and undergone the change of the successive improve
ment of intellect, and has had for its subject the visible universe
and its different agents.
“ It is then in vain that nations refer the origin of their reli
gion to heavenly inspiration ; it is in vain that they pretend to
describe a supernatural state of things as first in the order of
events : the original barbarous state of mankind, attested by their
own monuments * belies all their assertions. These assertions
,
are still more victoriously refuted by considering this great prin
ciple, that man receives no ideas but through the medium of his
senses + : for from hence it appears, that every system which as
cribes human wisdom to any other source than experience and
sensation, represents the last results of understanding as earliest
in the order of time. If we examine the different religious sys
tems which have been formed respecting the actions of the Gods
and the origin of the world, we shall discover at every turn an
anticipation in the order of narrating things, which could only be
suggested by subsequent reflection. Reason, then, emboldened
by these contradictions, hesitates not to reject whatever does not
accord with the nature of things, and accepts nothing for his
torical truth that is not capable of being established by argument
and ratiocination. Its ideas and suggestions are as follow:
“ Before any nation received from a neighbour nation dogmas
already invented; before one generation inherited the ideas of
another, none of these complicated systems had existence. The
- first men, the children of nature, whose consciousness was ante
rior to experience, and who brought no preconceived knowled°-e
into the world with them, -were born without any idea of those
articles of faith which are the result of learned contention; of
those religious rites which had relation to arts and practices not
yet in existence ; of those precepts which suppose the passions
already developed : of those laws which have reference to a lan
guage and a social order hereafter to be produced; of that God,
I
It is tne unanimous testimony of history, and even of legends, that the
first human beings were every where savages, and that it was to civilize them,
and teach them to make bread, that the Gods manifested themselves.
t 1 he rock on which all the ancients have split, and which has occasioned
all theii eirois, has been their supposing the idea of God to be innate and eoeternal with the soul; and hence al! the reveries developed in Plato and Jamblicus. See the linusus, the Phcdon, and De Myst. ¿Egyptiorum, sect. 1, c. 21,
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
95
whose attributes are abstractions of the knowledge of nature,
and the idea of whose conduct is suggested by the experience of
a despotic government; in fine, of that soul and those spiritual
existences which are said not to be the object of the senses, but
which, however, we must for ever have remained unacquainted
with, if our senses had not introduced them to us. Previously
to arriving at these notions, an immense catalogue of existing
facts must have been observed. Man, originally savage, must
have learned from repeated trials the use of his organs. Succes
sive generations must have invented and refined upon the means
of subsistence ; and the understanding, at liberty to disengage
itself from the wants of nature, must have risen to the compli
cated art of comparing ideas, digesting reasonings, and seizing
upon abstract similitudes.
Se c t .
I. Origin of the idea of God: Worship of the elements,
and the physical powers of nature.
Ci It was not till after having surmounted those obstacles, and
run a long career in the night of history, that man, reflecting on
his state, began to perceive his subjection to forces superior to
his own and independant of his will. The sun gave him light
und warmth ; fire burned, thunder terrified, the winds buffeted,
water overwhelmed him ; all the various natural existences acted
upon him in a manner not to be resisted. For a long time, an
automaton, he remained passive, without enquiring into the
cause of this action ; but the very moment he was desirous of
accounting to himself for it, astonishment seized his mind; and
passing from the surprise of a first thought to the reverie of curi
osity, he formed a chain of reasoning.
“ At first, considering only the action of the elements upon
him, he inferred, relatively to himself, an idea of weakness, of
subjection, and relatively to them, an idea of power, of domina
tion ; and this idea was the primitive and fundamental type of all
his conceptions of the Divinity.
“ The action of the natural existences, in the second place,
excited in him sensations of pleasure or pain, of good or evil ;
by virtue of his organization, he conceived love or aversion for
them, he desired or dreaded their presence; and fear or hope
was the principle of every idea of religion.
“ Afterwards, judging every thing by comparison, and remark
ing in those beings a motion spontaneous like his own, he sup
posed there to be a' will, an intelligence inherent in that motion,
pf a nature similar to what existed in himself; and hence, by
way of inference, he started a fresh argument.—Having experi
enced that certain modes of behaviour towards his fellow-crea
tures wrought a change in their affections and governed their
�96
REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
conduct, he applied those practices to the powerful beings of the?
universe. “ When my fellow creature of superior strength,” said
he to himself, “ is disposed to injure me, I humble myself before
him, and my prayer has the art of appeasing him. I will pray to
the powerful beings that strike me. I will supplicate the faculties
of the winds, the planets, the waters, and they will hear me. I
will conjure them to avert the calamities, and to grant me the
blessings which are at their disposal. My tears will move, my
offerings propitiate them, and I shall enjoy complete felicity.”
“ And, simple in the infancy of his reason, man spoke to the'
sun and the moon, he animated with his understanding and his
passions the great agents of nature; he thought by vain sounds
and useless practices to change their inflexible laws. Fatal error!
He desired that the water should ascend, the mountains be re
moved, the stone mount in the air ; and substituting a fantastic to
a real world, he constituted for himself beings of opinion, to the
terror of his mind and the torment of his race.
, “Thus the ideas of God and religion sprung, like all others,
from physical objects, and were in the understanding of man the
produce of his sensations, his wants, the circumstances of his life,
and the progressive state of his knowledge.
“ As these ideas had natural beings for their first models, it
resulted from hence that the Divinity was originally as various
and manifold as the forms under which he seemed to act : each
being was a Power, a Genius, and the first men found the universe
, crowded with innumerable Gods.
“ In like manner the ideas of the Divinity having had for mo
tors the affections of the human heart, they underwent an order
of division calculated from the sensations of pain and pleasure, of
love and hatred : the powers of nature, the Gods, the Genii, were
classed into benign and maleficent, into good and evil ones : and
this constitutes the universality of these two ideas in every system
of religion.
“ These ideas, analogous to the condition of their inventors,
were for a long time confused and gross. Wandering in woods,
beset with wants, destitute of resources, men in their savage state
had no leisure to make comparisons and draw conclusions. Suffer
ing more ills than they tasted enjoyments, their most habitual
sentiment was fear, their theology terror, their worship confined
to certain modes of salutation, of offerings which they presented to
beings whom they supposed to be ferocious and greedy like them
selves. In their state of equality and independance, no one took
upon him the office of mediator with Gods as insubordinate and
poor as himself. No one having any superfluity to dispose of,
there existed no parasite under the name of priest, nor tribute
under the name of victim, nor empire under the name of altar ;
their dogma and morality, jumbled together, were only self
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
97
preservation; and their religion, an arbitrary idea without influence
on the mutual relations existing’ between men, was but a vain
homage paid to the visible powers of nature.
p/.Suen was th® first and necessary origin of every idea of th©
The orator then addressing the savage nations, said:
W#
appeal to. you, who have received no foreign fictitious ideas,
whether your conceptions have not been formed precisely in this
manner? We ask you also, learned theologians, if such be not
the unanimous record of all the monuments of antiquity ”
?
*
Se c t . II. Second system.; Worship of the Stars, or Sabeism.
Bu t those same monuments offer us a more methodical and
more complicated system, that of the worship of all the stars,
adored at one time under their proper form, at another under
emblems and figurative symbols. This worship was also the
©fiect of the knowledge of man in physics, and derived imme„ lately from the first causes of the social state; that is to say,
wants and arts of the first degree, the elements as it were in
tne formation of society.
bookLnf eib!2^,reSUJ^S’ says1
Prom
verses of Orpheus and the. sacred
Greeks h
T a"d Phr^ails> tha* the ancient theology, not only of the
Xe onerationf nJ ”™
mOre ihan a
P^ics, a picture of
svmhnls in
f nat«re, wrapped up in mysterious allegories and enigmatical
rent than n
h the. lgnOrant multitude attended rather to their appa“ the hT
den m,eaning’ and even in what they understood of the latter,
a S of P/LL 7 SOniet ,niS
deePthaa
they perceived. Fragment of
The mat d
P™P™- Evan. lib. 3. ch. I. p. 83.
fwho livedJ in r
+ • 1 .°i!°
Porphyry, and among others Chaeremon,
been anv other
M AY 6 Af8* age 01 Christianity), imagine there never to have
those re^oJn^pH°h<1thhav’the °ne we,_se(h and acknowledge no other Gods of al! '
'■'itrns of the 7 r y 6 E§yPtlai?s? than such as are commonly called planets,
sitting are
dlaC»aad constellations; whose aspects, that is, rising and
the r gdivl7on« Tth
lndUen? the ^cnes of men;’ to which the/add,
style lordl of
S^nS?nt? decans and dispensers ‘ of time, whom they
pers riiin/LA ascendant, whose names, virtues in the relieving of dist^mnacks (for he J n
apr,lsaget °f future eveats’ are the sub>ts of
counterpart of WnAuSerVfd’ l,hat, tberE^Ptia11 Priests had almanacks the exact
the architect of
Lansber s;) for when the priests affirmed that the sun was
fives respeetin! T • U™e’. Chaeremon presently concludes that all their narrapaA to the Sets th ?S‘nS' l°rther With their °ther sacred fables’ ^ferred in
part to the sL
c X Pa ieS °fJhe m00n’ and the revolution of the sun, and in
word to All X tn 1
*
hendsPbe'cs, and the river Nile; in a
be immaterial and i phySICaI ?ndxn1atu5al eWeiices, and never to such as mifi-ht
our'wffil and h
incorporeal. All these philosophers believe, that the acts"of
they a e
i J d £ °ur bodies’ dePead «P«« those of the stars to which
which therein dl\ nd
r.efer eve,-y tbinS t0 the laws of physical necessity,
binds bv 1 kno S/n\0/ Paium'. suPposing a chain of causes and effects which
to the sunreA
-hat connection, all beings together, from the meanest atom
their temnlL n ?°^r.aad PrlTry influeuce of the Godsi «>
whether in
r«Wr.%n-J.
°"'y S“bi'“ Cf ’’««»»p i. th. power of desnr.y.
k
o
�98
A SURVEY OF THE
« When men began to unite in society, they found it necessary
to enlarge the means of their subsistence, and consequently to
apply themselves to agriculture; and the practice of agriculture
required the observation and knowledge of the heavens
.
*
It
was necessary to know the periodical return of the same opera
tions of nature, the same phenomena of the skies; it was neces
sary to regulate the duration and succession of the seasons,
months, and years. In order to this, it was requisite to become
acquainted with the march of the sun, which in its zodiacal revo
lution showed itself the first and supreme agent of all creation;
then of the moon, which by its changes and returns regulated
and distributed time; finally of the stars, and even of the planets,
which by their appearance and disappearance on the horizon and
the nocturnal hemisphere, formed the minutest divisions. In a
word, it was necessary to establish an entire system of astronomy,
to form an almanac; and from this labour there quickly and
spontaneously resulted a new manner of considering the domi
nant and governing powers. Having observed that the produc
tions of the earth bore a regular and constant connection with the
phenomena of the heavens; that the birth, growth, and decay o'f
each plant, were allied to the appearance, exaltation, and decline
of the same planet, the same group of stars; in short, that the
languor or activity of vegetation seemed to depend on celestial^
influences; men began to infer from this an idea of action, of
power in those bodies, superior to terrestrial beings; and the
stars, dispensing scarcity or abundance, became Powers, Geniif,
Gods, authors of good and evil.
« As the state of society has already introduced a methodical
hierarchy of ranks, employments, and conditions, men, continuino- to reason from comparison, transferred their new acquired”,
notions to their theology, and the result was a complicated system
of gradual Divinities, in which the sun, as the first God, was a
* It continues to be repeated every day, on the indirect authority of the book
of ■Genesis, that astronomy was the invention of the children of Noah. It has
beer, gravely said, that while wandering shepherds in the plains of Shinar, they
employed their leisure in composing a planetary system: as if shepherds had occasion to know more than the Polar star, and if necessity was not the sole motive of
every invention! If the »ancient shepherds were go studious and sagacious, „how
does it happen that the modern on$s are so stupid, ignorant, and inattentive ? -And
it is a fact, that the Arabs of the desert know not so many as six constellations,
and understand not one word of astronomy. .
+ It appears that by the word genius, the ancients denoted a quality, a gene
rative power; for the following words, which are all of one family, convey thisv.
meaning: generury, genos, genesis, genus, gens.
. .
The Sabear.s, ancient and modern* says Maimonides, acknowledge a principal
God, the maker and inhabitant of heaven; but, on account of bis great distance,
they couceive him to be inaccessible; and in imitation of the conduct Oi people
towards their kings, they employ as mediators with him the planets aim tneir angels,
whom they call princes and potentates, and whom they suppose to reside in those
luminous bodies, as in palaces or tabernacles, &c. More-Nebuchin, purs. 3, c. %9.
�DEVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
99
military chief, a political king; the moon, a queen, his consort;
the planets, servants, bearers of commands, messengers; and the
multitude of stars a nation, an army of heroes, of Genii, appointed
to govern the world under the command of their officers; every
Individual had a name, functions, attributes, drawn from its con
nections and influences, and even a sex derived from the gender
of its appellation.
^
*
“ As the state of society had introduced certain usages and
complex practices, worship, leading the van, adopted similar
ones. Ceremonies, simple and private at first, became public
and solemn; offerings were more rich and more numerous ; rites
more methodical; places of assembly, chapels, and temples, were
erected; officers, pontiffs, created to administer; formsand
epochas w'ere settled ; and religion became a civil act, a political
tae. But in this developement it altered not its first principles,
and the idea of God was still that of physical beings, operating
good or ill, that is to say, impressing- sensations of pain or plea
sure : the dogma was the knowledge of their laws or modes of
acting; virtue and sin the observance or infringement of those
laws; and morality, in its native simplicity, a judicious practice
of all that is conducive to the preservation of existence, to the
well being of the individual and of his fellow-creatures^.
, <Cn^ou^ **
asked at what epoch this system took birth, we
shall answ’er, supported by the authority of the monuments of
astronomy itself, that its principles can be traced back with cer
tainty to a period of nearly seventeen thousand yearsj. Should
According as the gender of the object was in the language of the nation mas
culine or feminine, the Divinity who bore its name was male or female. Thus the
Cappadocians called the moon God, and the snn Goddess ; a circumstance which,
, gives to the same beings a perpetual variety in ancient mythology.
f vVe may add, says Plutarch, that these Egyptian priests always regarded the
preservation of health as a point of first importance, and as indispensably neces
sary to the practice of piety and the service of the Gods. See his account of Isis
and Osiris, towards the end.
f The historical orator follows here the opinion of Mr. Dupuis, who, in his learned
memoir concerning the origin of the constellations, has assigned many plausible
•reasons to prove that Libra was formerly the sign of the vernal, and Aries of the
nocturnal equinox ; that is, that since the origin of the actual astronomical system
the equinoxes has carried forward by seven signs the primitive
t
n Zodiac; ^ow estimating the procession at about seventy years and a
in it« f
that \S 2,115 yClirS t0 each sign ’ and obseiving that Aries was
in its fifteenth degree, 1,447 years bt fore Christ, it follows, that the first degree of
i ra could not have coincided with the vernal equinox more lately than 15 104
lTQ«?efOre fhrlst,; to >vhich if JO« add 1790 years since Christ, it appears that
i ¡S yTirSTOaVr P,Sed Siuce the Or5»in the Zodi0c- The vernal pq«inox coin
cided with the first degree of Aries 2.504 years before Christ, had with the first
J-£‘ee of 7auras 4,619 years before Christ. Now it is to be observed, that the
¡snip or .he Bull is the principal article of the theological creed of .the EgyprX’d’ ..trs,ans’ Japanese, &c. from whence it clearly follows, that some genmal
rewiution took place among those nations at that time. The chronology of five
book" of°pSaild. years 111 gnosis is Httle agreeable to this hypothesis; but as the
Ahi .1 f GenCsls
cl:llm ,0 bc considered as a history further back than
that pnTcedvd™ 3t ‘ ><rty tG mUkP Whai ariaIigTmeilts wc l,kasc in the eternity
V.
�100
k
A SURVEY OF THE
we farther be asked to what people or nation it ought to be attri
buted, we shall reply, that those self-same monuments, seconded
by unanimous tradition, attribute it to the first tribes of Egypt.
And when reason finds in that region a concurrence of all the
physical circumstances calculated to give rise to it; when it finds
at once a zone of heaven, in the vicinity of the tropic, equally
free from the rains of the equator and the fogs of the north ;
*
when it finds there the central point of the antique sphere: a sa
lubrious climate; an immense yet manageable river; a land fer
tile without art, without fatigue ; inundated, without pestilential
exhalations; situate between two seas which lave the shores of
the richest countries—it becomes manifest that the inhabitant of
the districts of the Nile, inclined to agriculture from the nature
of his soil; to commerce, from the facility of communication ; to
geometry, from the annual necessity of measuring his possessions;
to astronomy, from the state of his heaven, ever open to obser
vation : must first have passed from the savage to the social state,
and consequently attained that physical and moral knowledge
proper to civilized man.
“ It was thus, upon the distant shores of the Nile, and among
a nation of sable complexion, that the complex system of the
worship of the stars, as connected with the produce of the soil
and the labours of agriculture, was constructed. The worship
of the stars, under their proper forms, or their natural attributes,
was a simple process of the human understanding; but in a
short time the multiplicity of objects, their relations, their action
and re-action, having confounded the ideas and the signs that
represented them, a consequence resulted as absurd in its nature
as pernicious in its tendency.
Se c t . III.
Third system; Worship of Symbols, or Idolatry.
41 Fr o m the instant this agricolar race had turned an eye of
observation on the stars, they found it necessary to distinguish
individuals or groupes, and to assign to each a proper name. A
considerable difficulty here presented itself; for, on the one hand,
the celestial bodies, similar in form, offered no peculiar character
by which to denominate them: and on the other hand, language,
poor and in a state of infancy, had no expressions of so many
new and metayhysical ideas. The usual stimulus for genius, ne
cessity, conquered all obstacles. Having remarked that in the
annual revolution, the renewal and periodical appearance of the
productions of the earth were constantly connected with the
* Mr. Bailli, in placing .the first astronomers at Selingenskoy, near the lake
Baikal, paid no attention to this twofold circumstance: it equally argues against
their being placet! at Axoum on account of the rains, and the Zimb-fly of which
Mr. Bruce speaks.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
101
rising and setting of certain stars, and with their position rela
tively to the sun, the mind, by a natural mechanism, associated in
its thought terrestrial and celestial objects, which had in fact a
certain alliance; and applying to them the same sign, it gave to
the stars, and the groupes it formed of them, the very names of
the terrestrial objects to which they bore affinity
.
*
“ Thus the Ethiopian of Thebes called stars of inundation, or
of Aquarius, those under which the river began to overflow^;
stars of the ox or bull, those under which it was convenient to
plough the earth; stars of the lion, those under which that animal,
driven by thirst from the deserts, made his appearance on the
banks of the Nile; stars of the sheaf, or of the harvest maid, those
under which the harvests were got in; stars of the lambs, stars
of the goat, those under which those valuable animals brought
forth their young; and thus was a first part of the difficulty re
solved.
“ On the other hand, man, having remarked in the beings
that surrounded him certain qualities peculiar to each species,
and having invented a name by which to design them, speedily
discovered an ingenious mode of generalizing his ideas, and
transferring the name already invented to every thing bearing a
similar or analagous property or agency, enriched his language
with a multiplicity of metaphors and tropes.
“ Thus the same Ethiopian, having observed that the return of
the inundation answered constantly to the appearance of a very
beautiful star towards the source of the Nile, which seemed to
warn the husbandmen against being surprised by the waters,
he compared this action with that of the animal, who by barking
gives notice of danger, and called this star the dog, the barker
(Syrw). In the same manner he called stars of the crab, those
which shewed themselves when the sun, having reached the
bounds of the tropic, returned backwards and sideways like the
crab, or Cancer ; stars of the wild goat, those which, the sun
being arrived at its greatest altitude, at the top of the horary
gnomon, imitated the action of that animal, who delights in climb
ing the highest rocks; stars of the balance, these which, the days
and nights being of the same length, seemed to observe an equi
librium like that instrument; stars of the scorpion, those which
were perceptible when certain regular winds brought a burning
vapour like the poison of the scorpion. In the same manner he
called by the names of rings and serpents the figured traces of
the orbits oi the stars and planetsj; and this was the general
♦ “ The ancients” says ftlaimoiiides, “ directing-all their attention to agriculture,
g-ave names to the stars derived from their occupation durin®- the year.” UbrcNeb. pars 3.
”
' ’
t This must have been Jone. See Note * p. 99.
I The ancients had verbs from the substantives crab, ffoat, tortoise as the
French have at present the verbs serpcnter, coqtiet-:er. The history fef’all lan
guage.«« is nearly the same,
'
�102
A SURVEY OF THE
means of appellation of all the heavenly bodies, taken in grouper
or individually, according to their connection with rural and ter
restrial operations, and the analogies which every nation found
tnem to bear to the labours of the fields, and the objects of their
climate and soil,
“ From this proceeding it resulted, that abject and terrestrial
being's entered into association with the superior and powerful
beings of the heavens; and this association became more rivetted.
every day by the very constitution of language and the mechan
ism of the mind. Men would say, by a natural metaphor, “ The
bull spreads upon the earth the germins of fecundity (in spring),
and brings back abundance by the revival of vegetation. The
lamb (or ram) delivers the heavens from the malevolent Genii of
winter; and saves the world from the serpent (emblem of the wet
season). The scorpion pours out his venom upon the earth, and
spreads diseases and death, &c.”
“ This language, understood by every body, was at first at
tended with no inconvenience; but, in process of time, when the
almanac had been regulated, the people who could do without
further observation of the skies, lost sight of the motive which
led to the adoption of these expressions; and the allegory still
remaining in the practices of life, became a fatal stumbling-bjock
to the understanding and reason. Habituated to join to symbols
the ideas of their models, the mind finally confounded them;
then those same animals, which the imagination had raised to
heaven, descended again on the earth; but in this return, decked
in the livery and invested with the attributes of stars, they im
posed upon their own authors. The people, imagining that they
saw their gods before them, found it a more easy task to offer up
their prayers. They demanded of the ram of their flock the in
fluence which they expected from the celestial ram5 they prayed
the scorpion not to pour out its venom upon nature ; they revered
the fish in the river, the crab of the sea, and the scarabeus of the
slime ; and by a series of corrupt but inseparable analogies, they
lost themselves in a, labyrinth of consequent absurdities.
“ Such was the origin of this ancient and sing'ular worship of
animals; such the tram of ideas by which the character of the
Divinity became common to the meanest of the brute creation;
and thus was formed the vast, complicated, and learned theolo
gical system, which, from die banks of the Nile, conveyed fi’ftm
country to country by commerce, war, and conquest, invaded
all the old world; and which, modified by times, by circum
stances, and by prejudices, is still to be found among a hundred
nations, and subsists to this day as the secret and inseparable
basis of the theology of those even who despise and reject it.”
At these words, murmurs being heard in various groupes: c< I
repeat it,” continued the orator. “ People of Africa! hence, for
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
103
example, has arisen among-you the adoration of your Feteches,
plants, animals, pebbles, bits of wood, before which your ances
tors would never have been so absurd as to prostrate themselves,
if they had not seen in them talismans, partaking of the nature of
the stars
.
*
Nations of Tartary! this is equally the origin of your
Aiarmousets, and of the whole train of animals with which your
Chamans ornament their magic robes. This is the origin of those
figures of birds and serpents, which all the savage nations, with
mystic and sacred ceremonies, imprint on their skin. Indians !
it is in vain you cover yourselves with the veil of mysterythe
hawk of your god Vichenou is but one of the thousand emblems,
ot the sun m Egypt, and his incarnations in a fish, boar, lion,
turtle, together with all his monstrous adventures, are nothingmore than the metamorphoses of the same star, which, passin"
successively through the signs of the twelve animalsf, was
supposed to assume their forms, and to act their astronomical
partsf. Japanese! your bull, which breaks the egg of th»
world, is merely that of the heavens, which, in times of vor'e.
opened the age of the creation, the equinox of sprino-. Rab
bins, Jews ! that same bull is the Apis worshipped in Eo-ypt
and which your ancestors adored in the idol of the golden calf’
It is also your bull, children of Zoroaster! that, sacrificed ia
the symbolic mysteries of Mithra, shed a blood fertilizing- to
the world. Lastly, your bull of the Apocalypse, Christians»
with Ins wings, the symbol of the air, has no other originyour lamb of God, immolated, like the bull of Mithra, for the
salvation of the world, is the self-same sun in the sign of the
celestial ram, which, in a subsequent age, opening the equinox in
his turn, was deemed to have rid the world of the reign of evil, that
* The ancient astrologers, says the most learned of the Jews (Maimonides)
havmg sacredly assigned to each planet a colour, an animal, a tree, a meial a fruH
a plant, formed from them all a figure or representation of the star, taking care to
select for the purpose a proper moment, a fortunate day, such as the coinunction
ot the star, or some ot her favourable aspect. They conceived, that by their magic
ceremonies they could introduce into those figures or idols the influences
the superior beings after which they were modelled. These were the idols that th^
Cnaldcan-Sabeans auored; and in tie performance of their worship they weroohged to be dressed in their proper colour. 7 he astrologers, by their practices’
thus introduced ido atry, desirous of being regarded as the dispensers of the fa’
vouis of heaven ; and as agriculture was the sole employment of the ancients thea tiSJlsnoSr Th‘g
rT and °th " ^CSSin* °f the
at tilcir disposal. Thus the whole art of agriculture was exercised by rules of
n’-andclhe P!!CStS niade talismans or charms which were to drive awav
locitsts, flies, &c. Matmonfdes, More-Nebuchim, pars 3, c. 29.
, i 16 Pr?ests
Egypt, Persia, India, &c. pretended to bind the Gods to fhp;r
idols, and to make them come from heaven at their pleasure. They threatened tb<^ebediei^t0 ™ai
secret mvJeri^ w
XIA
i^cep. VUng' P‘ 198j atld iamblicus de ^teriis
t The Zodiac.
t These are the very words of Iamblicus de Svmbolis .Egyptiorum c
The sun was tke grind Proteus, the universal metamorphist.
’
sect 7
’
�104
A SURVEY OF THE
is to say, of the serpent, -of the large snake, the mother of winter
and emblem of the Ahrimanes or ¡Satan of the Persians, your institutors. 1 es, vainly does your imprudent zeal consign idolaters
to the torments of the Tartarus which they have invented: the
whole basis of your system is nothing more than the worship of
the star of day, whose attributes you have heaped upon your
chief personage. It is the sun, which, under the name of Orus,
was born, like your God, in the arms of the celestial virgin, and
passed through an obscure, indigent, and destitute childhood,
answering to the season of cold and frost. It is the sun, which
*
under the name of Osiris persecuted by Typhon and and the
tyrants of the air, was put to death, laid in a dark tomb, the em
blem of the hemisphere of winter, and which, rising afterwards
from the inferior zone to the highest point of the heavens, awoke
triumphant over giants and the destroying angels. Ye priests,
from whom the murmers proceed, you wear yourselves its signs
all over your bodies. Your tonsure is the disk of the sun.; your
stole its Zodiac ; your rosaries the symbols of the stars and
*
planets. Pontiffs and prelates! your mitre, your crosier, your
mantle, are the emblems of Osiris; and that crucifix of which you
boast the mystery, without comprehending it, is the cross of Se->
rapis, traced by the hands of Egyptian priests on the plan of the
figurative world, which, passing- through the equinoxes and die
tropics, became the emblem of future life and resurrection, be
cause it touched the gates of ivory and horn through which the
scul was to pass in its w ay to heaven.”
Here the doctors of the different groups looked with astonish
ment at one another, but none of them breaking silence, the ora
tor continued.
“ Three principal causes concurred to produce this confusion
of ideas. First, the necessity, on account of the infant stage of
language, of making use of fig-urative expressions to depict the
relations of things ; expressions that, passing afterwards from a
proper to a general, from a physical to a moral sense, occasioned,
by their equivocal and synonymous terms, a multiplicity of mis
takes.
“ Thus having at first said, that the sum surmounted and passed
* The Arabs, says Herodotus, shave their heads in a circle and about the tem
ples, in imitation of Bacchus (that is the sun,) who shaves himsell, they say, in this
manner. Jeremiah speaks also of this custom. The tuft of hair which the Maho
metans preserve, is also taken from the sun, who was painted by the Egyptians at
the winter solstice, as having but a single hair on his head. The robes of the god
dess of Syria and Diana of Ephesus, from whence are borrowed the dress of priests,
have the twelve animals of the Zodiac painted on them. Rosaries are found upon
all the Indian idols, constructed more than four thousand years ago: and their use
in the east has been universal from time immemorial. The crosier is precisely the
staff of Bootes or Osiris (See Plate II.) All the Lamas wear the mitre or cap in.
the shape of a cone, which was an emblem of the sun.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
105
ni its course through the twelve animals, they afterwards sup
posed chat it combated, conquered, and killed them, and from this
was composed the historical life of Hercules.
“ Having said that it regulated the period of rural operations
of seed time and of harvest; that it distributed the seasons, ran
through the climates, swayed the earth, &c. it was taken fora
legislative king, a conquering warrior, aud hence they formed
the stories of Osiris, of Bacchus, and other similar Gods.
“ Having said that a planet entered into a sign, the conjunction
was denominated a marriage, adultery, incest : having further
*
said, that it was buried, because it sunk below the horizon, re
turned to light and gained its state of eminence, they gave it the
epithet of dead, risen again, carried into heaven, &c.
“ The second cause of confusion was the material figures
themselves, by which thoughts were originally painted, and
which, under the name of hieroglyphics, or sacred characters,
were the first invention of the mind. Thus to denote an inunda
tion, and the necessity of preserving one’s-self from it, they
painted a boat, the vessel Argo; to express the wind, they painted
a bird’s wing; to specify the season, the month, they delineated
the bird of passage, insect, or animal, which made its appearance
at that epoch ; to express winter they drew' a hog, or a serpent,
which are fond of moist and miry places. The combination of
these figures had also a meaning, and was substituted for words
and phrasest. But as there was nothing fixed or precise in this
* These are. the very words of Plutarch in his account of Isis and Osiris. Tiie
Hebrews say, in speaking of the generations of the Patriarchs, et ingressus est in
earn From this continual equivoque of ancient language, proceeds every mistake.
t See the examples cited in Note f p. 98
The reader will doubtless see, with pleasure, some examples of ancient hiero
glyphics
“ The Egyptians (says Hor-apollo) represent eternity by the figure of the sun
and moon. They designate the world by a blue serpent with yellow scales (stars,
it is the Chinese Dragon). If they were desirous of expressing the year, they drew
a pieture of Isis, who is also in their language called Sothis, or dog-star, one of the
first constellations, by the rising of which the year commences : its inscription at
Sais was, it is I that rise in the constellation of the Dog.
“ They also represent the year by a palm-tree, and the month by one of its
branches; because it is the nature of this tree to produce a branch every month.
They farther represent it by the fourth part of an acre of land.” (The whole acre
divided into four denotes the bissextile period of four years. The abbreviation of
this figure of a field in four divisions, is manifestly the letter ha or het, the seventh
in the Samaritan alphabet; and in general all the letters of the alphabet are merely
astronomical hieroglyphics: and it is for this reason that the mode of writing is
from right to left, fike the march of the stars)—“ They denote a prophet by the,
image of a dog, because the dog-star (Anoubis) by its rising gives notice of the
inundation, No itbi in Hebrew signifies prophet,—-They represent inundation by
a lion, because it takes place under that sign: and hence, says Plutarch, the cus
tom of placing at the gates of temples figures of lions with water issuing from
their mouths—They express the idea of God and Destiny by a star. They also
represent God, says Porphyry, by a black stone, because his nature is dark and ob
scure. All white things express the celestial and luminous Gods: all circular ones
P
�105
A SURVEY OF THE
sort of language, as the number of those figures and their com
binations became excessive and burdensome to the memory,
confusions and false interpretations were the first and obvious re
sult. Genius having afterwards invented the more simple art of
applying signs to sounds, of which the number is limited, and of
painting the word instead of the thought, hieroglyphic pictures
the world, the moon, the sun, the destinies: all semicircular ones, as bowsand
crescents, are also descriptive of the moon. Fire and the Gods of Olympus, they
represent by pyramids and obelisks: (the name of the son Baal is found in th«s
latter word): the sun, -by a cone (the mitre of Osiris): the earth, by a cylinder
(which revolves): the generative power of the air, by the phalus, and that of the
earth, by a triangle, emblem of the female organ. Eseb. Preecep. Erap p. 98.
u Clay, (says Iamblicus de Symbolis, sect. 7. c.2.) denotes- matter, the genera
tive and nutrimental power, every thing which receives the warmth and mriaeatation of life.
M A man sitting upon the Zofws or Nenuphar, represents the moving spirit (the
sun), which, in like manner as the plant move in the water without any commu
nication with clay, exists equally distinct from matter, swimming in empty space,
resting on itself: it is round also in all its parts, like the leaves, the flowers, and
the fruit of the Lotoe. (Brama has the eyes of the Lotos, says Chaster Neadizs«n,
to denote his intelligence: his eyes swim over everv thing: like the flowers of the
Lotos on the waters). A man at the helm of a ship, adds Iamblicus, is descriptive
of the sun which governs all. And Porphyry tells us, that the sun is also repre
sented by the man in a ship resting upon an amphibious crocodile (emblem of air
and water).
“ At Elephantine, they worshipped the figure of a man in a sitting posture,
painted blue, having the head of a ¡ram, and the horns of a goat, which encom
passed a disk ; all which represented the sun and moon’s conjunction at the sign of
the ram ; the blue colour denoting the power of the moon at the period of junc
tion, to raise water into clouds. Euseb. Prcecep. Brang, p. 116.
“ The hawk is an emblem of the sun and of light, on account of his rapid
flight, and his soaring into the highest regions of the air, where light abounds.
“ A fish is the emblem of aversion, and the Hippopotamus of violence, because
it is said to kill its father and ravish its mother. Hence, says Plutarch, the emble
matical Inscription of the temple ofSais, where we see painted on the vestibule, 1.
A child. 2. An old man. 3. A hawk. 4. A fish. 5. A hippopotamus; which signify,
1. Entrance (into life). 2. Departure. 3. Gcd. 4. Hatred. 5. Injustice. (See
Isis and Osiris).
“ The Egyptians, adds he, represents the world by a Scarabens, because thia in
sect pushes, in a direction contrary to that in which it proceeds, a ball containing
its eggs, just as the heaven of the fixed stars causes the revolution of the sun (the
yolk of an egg) in an opposite direction to his own.
“ They represent the world also by the number Jive, being that of the elements,
which, says Diodorus, are earth, water, air, fire, and ether dr spiritus. The Indians
have the same number of elements, and according to Macrobius’s Mystics, they
are the supreme God, or primum mobile, the intelligence, or mens, born of him, tho
soul of the world which proceeds from him, the celestial spheres and all things ter
restrial. Hence, adds Plutarch, the analogy between the Greek pente, five, and
pan, all.
“‘The ass" says he again, “ is the emblem of Typhon, because, like that anima?,
he is of a reddish colour. Noty Typhon signifies whatever is of a nylrey or clayeynature ; and in Hebrew I find the three words, c/tty, red, and ass, to fie formed from
the same root hamr. lamblicus has farther told us, that clay was: the emblem of
matter; and he elsewhere adds, that all evil and corruption proceeded from matter,
which compared with the phrase of Macrobius, all is perishable, liable to change in
the •'elestial sphere, gives us the theory, first physical, then moral, of the system of
good and evil of the ancients.'”
�r e v o l u t io n s o f e m pir e s .
107
by means of alphabetical writing, brought into disuse ; and
from day to day their forgotten significations made way tor a
variety of illusions, equivoques, and errors.
« Lastly the civil organization of the first states was a third
cause of confusion. Indeed, when the people began to apply
themselves to agriculture, the formation of the rural calendar re
quiring continual astronomical observations, it was necessary to
chuseIndividuals whose province it should be to watch the ap
pearance and setting of certain stars, to giVe notice of the return
of the inundation, of particular winds and rains, and the proper
time for sowing every species of grain. These men, on account
of their office, were exempted from the common occupations, ana
the society provided for their subsistence. In this situation,
solely occupied in making observations, they soon penetrated the
great phenomena of nature, and dived into the secret of various^
of her operations. They became acquainted with the course ot
the stars and planets; the connection which their absence and
return had witn the productions of the earth and the activity of
vegetation: the medicinal or nutritive properties of fruits and
plants • the action of the elements, and their reciprocal affinities.
But as there were no means of communicating this knowledge,
otherwise than by the painful and laborious one of oral instruc
tion, they imparted it only to their friends and kindred; and
hence resulted a concentration of science in certain families, who,
on this account, assumed to themselves exclusive privileges, and
a spirit or corporation and separate distinction fatal to the public
weal. By this continued succession of the same laoours amt
enquiries, the progress of knowledge it is true was hastened, bur,
by the mystery that accompanied it, the people, plunged daily in
the thickest darkness, become more superstitious and more slavish.
Seeing human beings produce certain phenomena, announce, as
it were at will, eclipses and comets, cure diseases, handle noxious
serpents, they supposed them to have intercom se with celestial
powers; and, to obtain the good or have the ills aveited which
they .expected from those powers, they adopted these extraordinary
human beings as mediators and interpieteis. And thus viere
established in the very bosom of states, sacrilegious corporations
of hypocritical and deceitful men, who arrogated to themselves
every kind of power; and priests, being at once astronomers,
divines, naturalists, physicians, necromancers, intei preters oi the
gods, oracles of the people, rivals of kings or then accomplices,
instituted under the name of religion an empire of mystery, whicn
to this very hour has proved ruinous to the nations 01 mankind.
At these words the priests of all the groupes interrupted the
orator; with loud cries, they accused him of impiety, irreligion,
blasphemy, and were unwilling he should proceed : but the legis
lators having observed, that what he related was merely a naira-
�A SURVEY OF THE
five of historical facts ; that if those facts were false or forced, it
would be an easy matter to refute them ; and that if every one
were not allowed the perfect liberty to declare his opinion, it
would be impossible to arrive at truth—he thus went on with his
discourse:
• “ Froma11 th®se causes’ ahd thè perpetual association of di®XTiar ldea8’
followed a strange mass of disorders in
eo ogy, morality, and tradition. And first, because the stars
were represented by animals, the qualities of the animals, their
mungs, their sympathies, their aversions, were transferred to the
<jods and supposed to be their actions. Thus the God Ichneumon
war against thè God crocodile ; the God wolf wanted to eat
he God sheep; the God stork devoured the God serpent; and
tae Deity became a strange, whimsical, ferocious being, whose
idea misled the judgment of man, and corrupted both his morals
and his reason.
“Again, as every family, every nation, in the spirit of its
worship adopted a particular star or constellation for its patron,
the affections and antipathies of the emblematical brute were
1t0 the sectaries of this worship ; and the partisans of
the God dog were enemies to those of the God wolf; the wor
shippers of the God bull abhorred those who fed upon beef, and
religion became the author of combats and animosities, the sense
less cause of frenzy and superstition.
*
“ Farther, the names of the animal stars having, on account of
this same patronage, been conferred on nations, countries, moun
tains, and rivers, those objects were also taken for Gods ; and
hence there arose a medley of geographical, historical, and myhological beings, by which all tradition was involved in con
fusion.
“ In fine, from the analogy of their supposed actions the plane
tary gods having been taken for men, heroes, and kings ; kings
and heroes took in their turn the actions of the Gods for models,
and became, from imitation, warlike, conquering, sanguinary,
proud, lascivious, indolent ; and religion consecrated the crimes
of despots, and perverted the principles of governments.
Se c t . IV.
Fourth system ; Worship of Two Principles, or
Dualism.
“Meanwhile the astronomical priests, enjoying in their temples
peace and abundance, made every day fresh progress in the sci. These are properly the words of. Plutarch, who relates that those various worups weie given by a King o Egypt to the difiereat towns to disunite and enslave
*
em (and these Kings had been takes from the east of nriestsh See />ij nad
ciWk
«
. *
z
i'
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
109
<&Hoes j and the system of the world gradually displaying itself bebefore their eyes, they stated successively various hypotheses as
to its agents and effects, which became so many systems of the
ology.
.
.
z
c
« The navigators of the maritime nations, and the caravans or
Asiatic and African Nomades, having given them a knowledge of
the earth from the Fortunate Islands to Serica, and from the Bal
tic to the sources of the Nile, they discovered, by a comparison of
the different Zones, the rotundity of the globe, which gave rise
to a ne v theory. Observing that all the operations of Nature
*
duriiirr the annual period, were summed up m two principal ones,,
that of producing and that of destroying ; that upon the major
part of the globe, each of these operations was eguaLy accom
plished from one to the other ecjuinox; that is to say, teat during
the six months of summer all was in a state of procreation and in
crease, and during the six months of winter ail in a state of laiii—
guor and nearly dead, they supposed nature to contain two con
trary powers always struggling with and resisting each other;
and considering in the same light the celestial sphere, they di
vided the pictures, by which they represented it, into two halves
or hemispheres, so that those constellations which appeared ip
the summer heaven formed a direct and superior empire, and
those in the winter heaven an opposite and inferior one. Norwas
the summer constellations were accompanied with the season of
long, warm, and unclouded days, together With that of fruits and
harvests, they were deemed to be the powers of light, fecundity,
and creation; and by transition from a physical to a moral sew.
to be Genii, angels of science, beneficence, purity, virtue : in hkw
manner the winter constellations, being attended with long nights
and the polar fogs, were regarded as genii of darkness, destruc
tion, death, and, by similar transition, as angels of wickedness,
ignorance, sm, vice. By this disposal heaven was divided into
two domains, two factions; and the analogy of human ideas
opened already a vast career to the flights of imagination; but a
particular circumstance determined, if it did not occasion, the
mistake and illusion. (Consult Plate II, at the end of -the vo
lume.)
6i In the projection of the celestial sphere drawn by astronomi
cal priests the Zodiac and the constellations disposed in a cir,
*
* The ancient priests had three kinds of spheres, which it may be useful to make
known to the reader.
,
,
« Wc read in Eusebius,” says Porphyry, “ that Zoroaster was the first who, hav
ing fixed upon a cavern pleasantly situated in the mountains adjacent to Persia,
formed the idea of consecrating it to Mithra (the sun), creator and father of »11
things; that is to sav; having made m this cavern several geometrical divisions,
representing the seaEascad the eiemeats, he imitated on a small scale-the oruer
�no
A SURVEY OF THE
oihr order, presented their halves in diametrical opposition • the
Zt nntem7 rre Tas adwrse* contrary, opposite to, bein- She
‘ P CS °f ^at <d summer* By the continued metaphor These
*
andi/-KC°nVeriel \nt° ‘\moral sense’ and the adveise ano-els
nd Genii became rebels and enemies.
*
From that neriod^thp
a,T"omiCa!.
°f tb0 “'«telktion was ^Xd ¿o :
Sdn^r hlistoU'; tne heavens became a human state, where every
in happened as it does on earth. Now as the existing state/
xor the most part despotic, had their monarchs, and as The sun
/em thC
S0^erei3'n of the sk,es» the summer hemisphere
btd
"®hi)’and ‘is constellations (a nation of white anUls)’
had for km<g- an enlightened, intelligent, creative, benign O
and aS every rebellious faction must have its chief, the hemis’
X °f ™f.er’ the subterraneous empire of darkness and woe)
together witn its stars (a nation of black angels, giants, or demons)
hvM Fd Veader a mab»nant Genius’ wbSse P
«
*
-as assumed
by the different people of the earth, to that star which appeared’
and disposition of the universe by Mithra After 7ornn«tP>- Ok,,
consecrate caverns for the celebration of mystenes so thaH
*
to
pies were dedicated to the Gods, rural altars to heroes and terrèstri^ Sie^ &
subterraneous abo.ies to infernal deities, so caverns and
j
II at is, the ancient priests had arinillary spheres like ourseive!us
u,-'d
th^atÌlv’/h7 h'ld
W0^'
ihe Uat"re of Piate IL wi‘h Aia difference, that
-»d subdccau, with*
( yn in-i at, J
»
t? i ’ d r
.«P'1“'™ «" similar pla„s ■ „d if , ¿ic„„i
?ò'.h™p rd “ s ’ " *scr,Plwn S™» by Miger at (he rod if “M.nilius ••
"V
““*
“P1"«'- »f ihdr biK-oglyphics, for every ar.iX
�r e v o l u t io n s o f EMPIRES.
-
Hi
to them the most remarkable. In Egypt it was originally the
Scorpion, the first sign of the Zodiac after the balance, and the
hoarv chief of the wmtry signs: then it was the bear or the polar
ass, called Typhon, that is to say, deluge on account of the yams
,
*
which poured down upon the earth during tne dominion of th a.,
star. In Persia, at a subsequent penodf, it was the serpent,
which, under the name of Abrimanes, formed the basis of the
system of Zoroater; and it is the same, Christians and dews, that
is become your serpent of Eve (the celestial origin), and that o
the cross; ’in both cases the emblem of Satan, the great adversary
of the Ancient of days, sung by Daniel. In Syria it was the hog
or wild boar, enemy of Adonis, because iu that country the oftce
of the Northern bear was made to devolve upon the animal whose
fondness for mire and dirt is emblematical of winter And it is
for this reason that you, children of Moses and Mahomet, hold
this animal in abhorrence, in imitation of the priests of Memphis
and Balbec, who detested him as the murderer of their God the
sun. This is likewise,, O Indians 1 the type of your Chio-en,
which was once the Pluto of your brethren the Greeks and Ro
mans : your Brama also, (God the creator,) is only tne 1 ersian
Ormuzd, and the Osiris of Egypt, whose very name expresses a
creative power, producer of forms. And these Gods were woishipoed in a manner analogous to their real or fictitious attri
butes, and this worship, on account of the difference of its objects,
was divided into two distinct branches. In one, the benign God
received a worship of joy and love, whence are derived all relw
o-ious acts of a sray nature festivals, dances, banquets, offerings
,
*
of flowers, milkT honey, perfumes; in a word, of everything that
delights the senses and the soul. In the other, the malign God,
on the contrary, received a worship of fear and pam ; whence
* It was for this reason the Persians always wrote the name of Ahrimanes inVqViypboX3pv»Ro?«^d Touphan by the Greeks, is precisely the Tmipkw of the
Arabs 'which signifies deluge ; and these deluges in my thology are nothing mo.-e
Sian wSian/the rains, o? thb overflowing of the Nile; aS their pre ended fire
which are to destroy the world, are simply the summer season, ^ditis tor tine
reason that Aristotle (De Meteor lib. i. e. XI^
tha\^V F
’^avs
cyclic year is a deluge; and its summer a conflagration.
The E^Ptia"s’ ,® /
i Porphyry, “ employ every year a talisman in remembrance or the world : at die „um' mersoUice they mirk them houses, flocks, and trees with red, supposing that on .hat
day the whole world had been set on fire. It was also at the same permd tl.aUey
celebrated the pyrric or fire dance.” (And this illustrates the origin of punfie tmVs
by fire and by water: for having denominated the tropic o. Cancer the saU i
heaven, and of genial heat of celestial fire, and that of Capricorn the ^ «f deluge
er of water, it was imagined that the spirits of souls who passed through these
gates in their way to and from heaven, were roasted or bathed : hence the baptism
if Mithra, and the passage through flames, observed throughout the East long bct That is when the ram became the eouinoyial sign, or rather, when the aktra
tion of the skies shewed that it was no longer the Bull. Sc® Note * p. 1-0.
�112
a su r v ey
'Of Th e
enginatea all religious acis of the SOmbre kind . tears ~ii¥r
*
«Troxf\^tniaL
truel kcrifiX’.
intn ™
i •
souree floued íbe Vision of terrestrial behms
into pure and impure, sacred or abominable, accordingas S
Cod
fTnd amon^t3;e respective constellations of the two
God, and made a part of their domains. This produced on one
S t XXTX P°i,UtiOn a"d
and °n ’he
« Yon nn\v
1 d eflicaeious virtues of amulets and talismans.
self m tL l r
e5 nid’ contmued tbe orator addressing himself to the Indians, Persians, Jews, Christians, and Mussulmans
*
rebenionWwhidcTStandnhe Or’S3n of those ideas °f combats and
You n ’ • h Í e<Iuany pervade your respective mythology.
You perceive what is meant by white and black ano-els • by the
dm n 8 anj Se.jaPhs Tth heads of an eaSk, a bon or a bull
*
eq Deus, devils or demons with horns of goats and tails of
ther¿ronfs ñnd dominionsb ranged in seven orders or
gradations, like the seven spheres of the planets; all of them
the Vedaf”heb Ib T Pa£%Jariakiog ob
*
attribuies in
we vedas, the Bibles, or the Zendavasta: whether their chief be
S^íd0rrBra?a,iryPbí)il or Chib-en, Michael or Satan • whe^erpentTorX ofG
g,a”tS
* í¡Undred arms and ’feet of
■ erpenis, or that of Gods metamorphosed into lions, storks bulls
<md cats, as they appear in the sacred tales of the Greeks and’
Egyptians : you perceive the successive genealogy of these ideas
and how in proportion to their remoteness from their source?
n?rifiSdthe 7mÍ °f ?an became refined, their gross forms were
purified and reduced to a state less shocking and repulsive.
... •
ibe/^siein of two oPPosde principles or deities
engmatea in that of symbols ; in the same manner you will fid
a new system spring out of this, to which it served in its turn as
as a foundation and support.1’
Se c t .
V. Mystical or Moral Worship, or the System of a
Future State.
*■
refeiitiy; Wien the vul§ar heard talk of a new heaven and
Xis’ WO-?5 thT7,80011 §'avo a body to these fictions; they
ected on it a solid stage and real scenes ; and their notions of
geography and astronomy served to strengthen, if they did not
give rise to the allusion.
'
* On the one hand, the Phenician navigators, those who passed
«f^dÌccrintion1 Sa,tVe7vCHng ^ht’ retnrn and rxaltati™
sun wee
passate (Pascha') of wTT tb<; hllarta of the Roman calendar at the period of thè
Those o?X ^q"ln<>X- nThC danCCS Wcre Citations of the march
mose of the Dervises still represent it to this day.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
tie pillars of Hercules to fetch the pewter of Thule and the t
amber of the Baltic, related that at the extremity of the world,
the boundaries of the ocean (the Mediterranean), where the
sun sets to the countries of Asia, there were fortunate islands,
the abode of an everlasting- spring-; and at a farther distance,
hyperborean regions, placed under the earth (relatively to the
tropics), where reigned an eternal night.
*
From these stories,
badly understood, and no doubt confusedly related, the imagina
tion of the people composed the Elysian Fields t, delightful
sports in a world below, having- their heaven, their sun, and their
stars: and Tartarus, a place of darkness, humidity, mire, and
chillin«- frost. Now, inasmuch as mankind, inquisitive about all
that of which they are ignorant, and desirous of a protracted
existence, had already exerted their faculties respecting what was
to become of them after death, inasmuch, as they had early
reasoned upon that principle of life which animates the body, and
which quits it without changing the form of the body, and had
conceived to themselves airy substances, phantoms and shades;
they loved to believe that they should resume in the subterranean
world that life which it was so painful to lose; and this abode ap
peared commodious for the reception of those beloved objects
which they could not prevail on themselves to renounce.
« On the other hand, the astrological and phdosophical priests
told such stories of their heavens as perfectly quadrated with
these fictions. Having, in their metaphorical language, deno
minated the equinoxes and solstices the gates of heaven, or the
entrance of the seasons, they explained the terrestrial phenomena
by saying, that through the gate of horn (first the bull, after
wards the ram,) vivifying fires descended, which, in spring, gave
life to vegetation, and aquatic Spirits, which caused, at the sol
stice, the overflowing of the Nile: that through the gate of ivory,
(originally the Bowman, or Sagittarius, then the Balance,) and
through that of Capricorn, or the urn, the emanations or influences
of the^heavens returned to their source and re-ascended to their
origin; and the Milky Way which passed through the doors of the
solstices, seemed to them to have been placed there on purpose to
be their road and vehicle f. The celestial scene farther presented,
according to their Atlas, a river (the Nile, designated by the
windings of the Hydra) ; together with a barge (the vessel Arg-o),
and the dog Sirius, both bearing relation to that river, of which
they foreboded the overflowing, These circumstances, added to
• * Nights of six months duration,f AKz, in the Phoenician or Hebrew language signifies dancing and joyous,
* j-See Jfatrofr. Sow. Scfp. c. 12 5 and Note * p. 120.
Q
�114
A SURVEY OF THE
“ The inhabitants of Egypt having remarked that the putrefac
tion or dead bodies became in their burnino- climate the source of
on.,™«
ot
burning
pestilence and diseases, the custom was introduced in a «rent
number of states, of burying the dead at a distance from the in
habited districts, m the desert which lies at the West. To arrive
there it was necessary to cross the canals of the river in a boat
and to Bay a toll to the ferrvmnn nfhornrica the body, ____ • • *
pay
ferryman, otherwise
remaining
unburied, would have been left a prey to wild beasts. Th£
custom suggested to her civil and religious legislators, a powerful
means ot affecting the manners of her inhabitants ; and addressing
savage and uncultivated men with the motives of filial piety and
reverence for the dead, they introduced, as a necessary condition.,
the undergoing that previous trial, which should decide whether
the deceased deserved to be admitted nnnn tlw.
family honours into the black city. Such an idea too well accoided with the rest of the business not to be incorporated with
? n1lajCOrd^1§’ly eniered for an article into religious creeds, and
feen had its Minos and its Radamanthus, with the wand, the chair
the guards and the uro, after the exact model of this civil transact
lion. The Divinity then, for the first time, became a subject of
inoral and political consideration; a legislator, by so much the
more formidable as, while his judgment was final and his de
crees without appeal, he was unapproachable to his subjects.
This mythological and fabulous creation, composed as it was of
scattered and discordant parts, then became a source of future
punishment and rewards, in which divine justice was supposed to
correct the vices and errors of this transitory state. A spiritual
mystical system, such as I have Mentioned, acquired so much
the more credit as it applied itself to the mind by every argument suited to it. The oppressed looked thither for an indemni
fication, and entertained the consoling hope of vengeance; the
oppressor expected by the costliness of his offerings to secure to
himself impunity, and at the same time employed this principle
to inspire the vulgar with timidity; kings and priests, the heads
ot the people, saw in it a new' source of power, as they reserved
to themselves the privilege of awarding the favours or the censure
. the great Judge of all, according to the opinion they should
inculcate of the odiousness of crimes and the meritoriousness of
virtue.
“ thus,, the», an invisible and imaginary world entered into
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
competition with that which was real. Such, O Persians ! was
the origin of your renovated earth, your city of resurrection.,
placed under the equator, and distinguished from all other cities
by this singular attribute, that the bodies of its inhabitants cast no
*
shade. Such, 0 Jews and Christians ! disciples of the Persians,
was the source of your new Jerusalem, your paradise and your
heaven, modelled upon the astrological heaven of Hermes.
Meanwhile, your hell, O ye Mussulmans! a subterraneous pit
surmounted by a bridge, your balance of souls and good works,
your judgment pronounced by the angels Monkir and Nekir,
derives its attributes from the mysterious ceremonies of the cave
of Mithraf; and your heaven is exactly coincident with that of
Osiris, Ormudz, and Brama.’’
* There is on this subject a passage in Plutarch, so interesting and explanatory’
of the whole of this system, that we shall cite it entire. Having observed that the
theory of good and evil had at all times occupied the attention of philosophers
and theologians, he adds: “ Many suppose ther e to be two Gods of opposite in
clinations, one delighting in good the other in evil; the first of these is called par
ticularly by the name of God, the second by that of Genins Or Demon. Zoroaster
has denominated them Oromaze and Ahrimanes, and has said that, of whatever
falls under the cognizance of our senses, light is the best representation of the one,
anp darkness and ignorance of the other. He adds that Mithra is an intermediate
being, and it is for this reason that the Persians call Mithra the mediator or inter
mediator. Each of these gods has distinct planets and animals consecrated to him;
for example, dogs, birds and hedge-hogs, belonging to the good Genius, and aji
aquatic animals to the evil one.
“ The Persians also say, that Oromaze was born or formed out of the purest
light; Ahrimanes, on the contrary, out of the thickest darkness; that Oroiaaze
made six Gods as good as himself, and Ahrimanes opposed to him six wicked ones »
that Oromaze afterwards multiplied himself threefold (Hermes Tfismegistus), and
removed to a distance as remote from the sun as the sun is remote from the earth ;
that he there formed stars, and among others, Syrius, which he placed in the
heavens as a guard and centinel. He made also twenty-four other Gods, which he
.inclosed in an egg; but Ahrimanes created an equal number on his part, who broke
the egg, and from that moment good and evil were mixed (in the universe). But
Ahrimanes is one day to be conquered, and the earth to be made equal and smooth^
that all men may live happy.
Theopompus adds, from the books of the Magi, that one of these Gods reigns in
turn every three thousand years, during which the other is kept in subjection; that
they afterwards contend with equal weapons during a similar portion of time, but
that in the end the evil Genius will fall (never to rise again). Then men will be
come happy, and their bodies cast no shade. The God who meditates all these
things reclines at present in repose, waiting till he shall be pleased to execute
them.” (See [sis and Osiris').
There is an apparent allegory through the whole of this passage. The egg is the
fixed sphere, the world ; the six Gods of Oromaze are the six sigus of summer, those
of Ahrimanes the six signs of winter. The forty-eight other Gods arc the forty
eight constellations of the ancient sphere, divided equally between Ahrimanes and
Otomaze. The office of Si/riizs, as guard and centinel, tell us that the origin of
these ideas was Egyptian: finally, the expression that the earth is to become equal
and smooth, and that the bodies of happy beinghare to cast no shade, proves that
the equator was considered as their true paradise.
t In the caves which priests every where constructed, they celebrated .mysterifs
�116
A SURVEY OF THE lAX
Se c t . VI. Sixth System: The Animated World, or Worship 'op
the Universe under different Emblems.
<e Vk h il e the nations were losuig themselves in the dark laby
rinth of mythology and fables, the physiological priests, pursuing
their Studies and enquiries about the order and disposition of the
universe, came to fresh results, and set up fresh systems of
powers and moving causes.
*
1
“ Long confined to simple appearances, they had only seen in
the motion of the stars an unknown play of luminous bodies,
which they supposed to roll round the earth, the central point of
all the spheres ; but from the moment they had discovered the
rotundity of our planet, the consequences of this first fact led.
them to other considerations, and from inference to inference they
rose to the highest conceptions of astronomy and physics.
“ In truth, having conceived the enlightened and simple idea,
that the celestial globe is a small circle inscribed in the greater
circle of the heavens, the theory of the concentrai circles na
turally presented itself to their hypothesis, to resolve the un
known circle of the terrestrial globe by known points of the
celestial circle ; and the measure of one or several degrees of the
meridian, gave precisely the total circumference. Then taking
for compass the diameter of the earth, a fortunate genius de
scribed with auspicious boldness the immense orbits of the hea
vens; and, by an unheard of abstraction, man, who scarcely
peoples the grain of sand of which he is the inhabitant, embraced
the infinite distances of the stars, and launched himself into thé
abyss of space and duration. There a new order of the universe
presented itself, of which the petty globe that he inhabited no
longer appeared to him to be the centre : this important part was
transferred to the enormous mass of the sun, which became the
which consisted (says Origen against Celsus) in imitating the motion of the stars,
the planets, and the heavens. The initiated took the name of constellations, and
assumed the figures of animals. One was a lion, another a raven, and a third a
ram. Hence the use of masks in the first representation of the drama. See Ant.
Devoile, vol. ii. p. 244. “ In the mysteries of Ceres, the chief in the procession
called himself the creator; the bearer of the torch was denominated the sun: the
person nearest the altar, the moon : the herald or deacon, Mercury. In Egypt there
was a festival in which the men and women represented the year, the age, the sea
sons, the different parts’of the day, and they walked in procession after Bacchus.
.Aiken, lib. v. c. 7. Jn the eave of JVIithra was a ladder with'severi steps, represent
ing the seven spheres of the planets, by means of which souls ascended and de
scended. This is precisely the ladder in Jacob’s vision, which shows that at that
epocha the whole system was formed. There is in the French’ iune’e library a su
perb volume of pictures of the Indian Gods, in which the ladder is represented with
the souls of men mounting it.”
•< • ■ rtsift .■ »
�DEVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
117
inflamed pivot of eight circumjacent spheres, the movements of
which were henceforward submitted to exact calculation.
*
« The human mind had already done a great deal, by undertakino- to resolve the disposition and order of the great beings of
nature; but not contented with this first effort, it wished also to
resolve its mechanism, and discover its origin and motive princi
ple. And here it is that, involved in the abstract and metaphysi
cal depths of motion and its first cause—of the inherent or com
municated properties of matter, together with its successive
forms and extent, or, in other words, of boundless space and time,
these physiological divines lost themselves in a chaos of subtle
arguments and scholastic controversy.
The action of the sun upon terrestrial bodies, having first
led them to consider its substance as pure and elementary fire,
they made it the focus and reservoir of an ocean of igneous and
luminous fluid, which, under the name of ether, filled the uni
verse, and nourished the beings contained therein. They after
wards discovered, by the analysis of a more accurate philosophy,
ibis fire, or a fire similar to it, entering into the composition of ail
bodies, and perceived that it was the grand agent in that spon
taneous motion, which in animals is denominated life, and in
plants vegetation. From hence they were led to conceive of the
mechanism and action of the universe, as of a homogeneous
w h o l e , a single body, whose parts, however distant in place, had
a reciprocal connection with each otherj-; and of the world as a
living substance, animated by the organical circulation of an
igneous or rather electrical fluidj, which by an analogy borrowed
from men and animals, was supposed to have the sun for its
heart §.
« Meanwhile, among the theological philosophers, one sect be
ginning from these principles, the result of experiment, said: That*
§
* Consult the ancient astronomy of M. Bailly, and you will find our assertions
respecting the knowledge of the priests amply proved.
f These are the very words of Jamblicus. De Myst. ¿Egypt.
t The more I'consider what the ancients understood by ether and spirit, and what
the Indians call aAmcfte; the stronger do I find the analogy between it and electri
cal fluid. A luminous fluid, principle of warmth and motion, pervading the uni
verse, forming the matter of the stars, having small round particles, which insinu
ate themselves into bodies, and fill them by dilating itself, be their extent what it
will, what can more strongly resemble electricity ?
..
§ Natural philosophers, says Macrobius, cal! the sun the heart of the world.
AW Scrp. c. 20. The Egyptians, says Plutarch, calls the East the /ace, the North
trie right side, and the South the left side of the world, because there the heart is
placed. They continually compare the universe to a man; and hence the cele
brated microcosm of the Alchvmists. We observe, by the bye, that the Alchymist«,
Cabaiists, Freemasons, Magnetisers, Martinists, and every other such sort of vi
sionaries, are but the mistaken disciples of this ancient school: we say mistaken,
because in spite of their pretensions, the thread of the O8cult science is broken.
�118
A SURVEY OF THE
nothing- was annihilated in the world: that the dements were
unpeusbable; that they changed their combinations, but not
5•
ihvl,fe and death of bein§s were nothing more
than the vmied modifications of the same atoms; that matter
contained in itself properties, which were the cause of all its
inodes of existing; that the world was eternal
,
*
having no
bounds either of space or duration, ~ Others said: Tha? the
whole universe was God; and, according to them, God was at
once effect and cause, agent and patient, moving principle and
thing moved, having for laws the invariable properties which
constitute fatality; apd they designated their idPea Lmedmlsby
^ emblem Ox Pa n (the g r e a t a l l ) ; or of Jupiter, with a starry
front, a pmnetaiy body, and feet of animals; or by the symbol
of the Orphic eggf, whose yolk suspended in the middle of a
liquid encompassed by a vault, represented the glob© of the sun
swimming m ether in the middle of the vault of heaven or by
;
*
the emblem or a large round serpent, figurative of the heavens,
where they placed the first principle of motion, and for that rea
son of an azure colour, studded with gold spots (the stars), and
devouring hisHail that is, re-entering into Weifs by winding
continually like the revolution of the spheres ; or by the emblem
of a man, with his feet pressed and tied together to denote im
mutable existence, covered with a mantle of all colours, like the
appearance of nature, and wearing on his head a sphere of gold?
figurative of the sphere of the planets; or by that of another
man sometimes seated upon the flower of Lotos, borne upon the
abyss of the waters; at others reclined upon a pile of twelve cush- signifying the twelve celestial s gns. And this, O nations
of India, Japan, Siam, Thibet, aud China! is the theology, which
invented by the Egyptians, has been transmitted down and pre-’
served among yourselves, in the pictures you gave of Brama,
Beddou, Sommanacodom, and Omito. This, 0 ye Jews and
Christians ! is the counterpart of an opinion, of which you have*
§
. ^e.the Pythagorean Ocellus Lucanus.
f Vide CEdip. JEgypt. tom II » 205
* This comparison of the sun with the yolk of an egg refers, 1. To its round and
yellow figure; 2 To its central situation; 3. To the germ or principle of life con
tained in the yolk. May not the oval form of the egg- allude to the ellipsis of tire
orbs ; l am inclined to this opinion. The word Orphic offers a flrthef observa
toon. Macrobius says (Som. Scip. c. 11. and c. 20), that the sun is the brain of the
universe, and that it is from analogy that the skull of a human being is round, like
the planet the seat of intelligence. Now the word Orph (with «in) signifies in He
and'the Rblain 3ad <iS SEat
’ OrPheus’ then, is «he same.as Bedou or Baits;
and the Bonzes are those very Orphics vthich Plutarch represents as quacks, who ate
no meat, vended talismans, and little stones, and deceived individuals, and even go
*
11
™ », Orpki^., Ac'iid.
§ See Porphyry in Eusebuis. Prop. Etun, lib, 3.p. 115,
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
119
retained a certain portion, when you describe God as the breath
of life moving upon the face of the waters, alluding to the wind
*
which at the origin of the world, that is, at the departure of the
spheres from the sign of the Crab, announced the overflowing of
the Nile, and seemed to be tile preliminary of creation.”
Se c t . VII. Seventh System: Worship of the So u l of the Wo r l p ;
that is, the Element of Fire, the Vital Principle
of the Universe.
*
« But a third sect of the theological philosophers, disgusted
with the idea of a being at once effect and cause, agent and pa
tient, and uniting in one and the same nature all contrary attri
butes, distinguished the moving principle from the thing moved;
and laying it down as a datura that matter was in itself inert, they
*
pretended that it received its properties from a distinct agent, of
which it was only the envelope or case. Some made this agent
the igneous principle, the acknowledged author of all motion ;
others made it the fluid called ether, because it was thought to be
more active and subtile: now’, as they denominated the vital and
motive principle in animals, a soul, a spirit; and as they always
reasoned by comparison, and particularly by comparison with
human existence, they gave to the motive principle of the wrhole
universe the name of soul, intelligence, spirit; and God was the
vital spirit, which, diffused through all being, animated the vast
body of the wrorld. This idea was represented sometimes by
Jupiter or You-piter, essence of motion and animation, principle
of existence, or rather existence itself f ; at other times by V ulcan, of Phtha, elementary principle of fire, or by the altar of
Vesta, placed centrally in her temple, like the sun in the spheres ;
and again by Kneph, a human being dressed in deep blue, holding
in his hands a sceptre and a girdle (the Zodiac), wearing on his
head a cap with feathers, to express the fugacity of thought, and
producing from his mouth the great egg
.
*
M As a consequence from this system, every being containing
in itself a portion of the igneous or etherial fluid, the universal
and common mover ; and that fluid, soul of the world, being the
JDeity, it follow ed that the souls of all beings w7ere a part of God
himself, partaking of all his attributes, that is, being an ittdivi* The Northern or F.lisian wind, which commences regularly at the solstice with
the inundation.
_
.
h This is the true pronunciation of the Jupiter of the Latins. This is the sig
nification of the word you. See note in follow ing NWher, commencing “ Sm h
is the true pronunciation of the Jehovahei the lncguinis. ’
J See note , p. 8a.
.
�120
A SURVEY ÔF THÉ
sible simple, and immortal substance: and hence is derived titr
whole system of the immortality of the soul, which at first was
eternity . Hence also its transmigrations known by the name
metempsychosis, that is to say; passage ot the vital principle from
one body to another; an idea which sprung from the real trans
migration of the material elements. Such O Indians, Budsoists,
Christians, Mussulmans, was the origin of all your ideas of the
spintuallity of the soul ! Such was the source of the reveries of
Fythag'oras and Plato, your institutorsj and who were them
selves but the echoes of another, the last sect of visionary phi
losophers that it is necessary to examinefi
■ In the system of the first spiritualists, the soul was not created with, or at the
same tune as the body, in order to be inserted in it: its existence was supposed to be
anterior and from ali eternity. Such, in a few words, is the doctrine of Macrobius
on this head. Som. Scip. Passim.
1 here exists a luminous, igneous, subtle fluid, which, under the name of ether
a , ,s.PlrltJls.’ ”, "lc universe. It is the essential principle and agent of motion
and life; it is the Deity. Vi hen an earthly body is to be animated, a small round
^particle of this fluid gravitates through the miiky way towards the lunar sphere,
where, w hen it arrives, it unites with a grosser air, and becomes fit to associate with
matter: it then enters and entirely fills the body, animates it, suffers, grows, in
creases, and diminishes with it: lastly, when the body dies, and its gross elements
dissolve, this incorruptible particle takes its leave of it, and returns to the grand
ocean of ether, if not retained by its union with the lunar air: it is this air or o-as,
which, retaining- the shape of the body, becomes a phantom or ghost, the perfect
Tepiesentation of the deceased. The Greeks called this phantom the image or idol
of the soul; the Pythagoreans, its chariot, its frame; and the Rabbinical school, its
vessel, or boat. When a man had conducted himself well in this world, his whole
soul, that is, its chariot and ether, ascended to the moon, where a separation took
place: the chariot lived in the lunar Elysium, and the ether returned to the fixed
sphere, that is, to God ; for the fixed heaven, says Macrobius, was by many called
by the uame of God, (c. 14.) If a man had not lived virtuously, the soul remained
cm earth to undergo purification, and was to wander to and fro, like the ghosts of
Homer, to which this doctrine must have been known, since he wrote after the time
of Pherecydes and Pythagoras, who were its promulgators in Greece. Herodotus,
upon tuis occasion, says, that the whole romance of the soul and its transmigra
tions was invented by the Egyptians, and propogated in Greece by men, who pre
tended to be its authors. 1 know their names, adds he, but shall not mention them,
(ho 2.J Cicero, however,has positively informed us, that it wasPherecydes, master
cf Pythagoras. Tescul. lib. I. sect. 16. Now admitting that this system was at
that period a novelty, it accounts for Solomon’s treating it as a fable, who lived 130
years before Pherecydes. “ Who knoweth,” says he. “ the spirit of a man that it
goeth upwards ? 1 said in my heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that
God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts.
For that which befalleth the sons of man, befalleth beasts-; even one thing befalletltthem; as the one dieth so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath, so
that a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast, for all is vanitv ” Eccles, c. i ii.
V. 18.
3
And such had been the opinionofMoses, as a translator of Herodotus, (M. Archer,,
of the Academy of Inscriptions,) justly observes in note 389 of the second book,
where he says also, that the immortality of the soul was not introduced among tine
Hebrews, till their intercourse with the Assyrians. In other respects, the whole
Pythagorean system, properly analysed, appears to be merely a system of physics
badly understood.
+ All the arguments of the spiritualists arc founded on this .See JJacrahiiw, at the
end of the second book, and Plato with the comments of Sfareitfatt FMnyj.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
121
Eighth System: The World a Machine: Worship
of the Demi-ourgos, or Supreme Artificer,
Se c t . VIII.
“ Hit h e r t o the theologians, in exercising their faculties on the
detached and subtile substances of ether and the igneous prin
ciple, had not however ceased to treat of existences palpable and
perceptible to the senses, and their theology had continued to be
the theory of physical powers, placed sometimes exclusively in
the stars, and sometimes disseminated through the universe. But
at the period at which we are arrived, some superficial minds,
lasing the chain of ideas which had directed these profound enSuiries, or ignorant of the facts which served as their basis, renered abortive all the results that had been obtained from them,
by the introduction of a strange and novel chimera. They
pretended that the universe, the heavens, the stars, the sun,
«. differed in no respect from an ordinary machine; and applying
to this hypothesis a comparison drawn from the works of ait,
they erected an edifice of the most whimsical sophisms, “ A
machine,” said they, “ cannot form itself, there must be a work
man to construct it; its very existence implies this:—The world is
a machine : it has therefore an artificer.”*
Hence the Demi-ourgos, or supreme artificer, the autocrator
and sovereign of the universe. It was in vain that the ancient
philosophy objected to the hypothesis, that this artificer did not
stand in less need of parents and an author, and that a scheme,
which added only one link to the chain, by taking the attribute of
eternity from the world and giving it to the creator, was of little
value. These innovators, not contented with a first paradox,
added a second, and applying to their artificer the theory of hu
man understanding-, pretended that the Demi-ourgos fashioned hjs
machine upon an archetype or idea extant in his mind. In a
word, just as their masters, the natural philosophers, had placed
the Primum mobile in the sphere of the fixed stars, under the
appellation of intelligence and reason, so their apes, the spiritual
ists, adopting the same principle, made it an attribute of the
Demi-ourgos, representing this being as a distinct substance,
necessarily existing, to which they applied the term of Mens or
Logos; in other words, understanding and speech. Separately
from this being, they held the existence of a solar principle, or
soul of the world, which, taken with the preceding, made three
gradations of divine personages; first the Demi-ourgos or supreme
artificer; secondly, the Logos, understanding or speech: and
'
* See Nate j- at the bottom of the preceding page.
R
�122
A SURVEY OF THE
thirdly, the spirit or soul of the world * And this, O Christians
,
is the fiction on which you have founded your doctrine of the
Trinity; this is the system, which, born a Heretic in the Egyptian
temples, transmitted a Heathen to the schools of Greece and Italy,
is now Catholic or Orthodox by the conversion of its partisans,
the disciples of Pythagoras and Plato, to Christianity.
“ Thus the Deity, after having been originally considered
as the sensible a'.d various action of meteors and the elements ;
then as the combined power of the stars, considered in their
relation to terrestrial, objects; then as those terrestrial objects
themselves, in consequence of confounding symbols with the
things they represented; then as the complex power of Na
ture, in her two principal operations of production and de
struction ; then as the animated world without distinction of
agent and patient, cause and effect; then as the solar principle
or element of fire acknowledged as the sole cause of motion —
the Deity, I say, considered under all these different views, became
at last a chimerical and abstract being; a scholastic subtlety of’
substance without form, of body without figure; a true delirium
of the mind beyond the power of reason at all to comprehend.
But in this its last transformation, it seeks in vain to conceal
itself from the senses: the seal of its origin is indelibly stamped
upon it. All its attributes, borrowed from the physical attributes
of the universe, as immensity, eternity, indivisibility, incompre
hensibleness ; or from the moral qualities of man, as goodness,
justice, majesty; and its very names f, derived from the physical
♦ These are the real types of the Christian Trinity.
In our last analysis we found all the names of the Deity to be derived from
some material object in which it was supposed to reside. We have given a consi
derable number of instances; let us add one more relative to our word God. This
is known to be the Dens of the Latins, and the Theos of the Greeks. Now, by the
confession of Plato, (in Cratylo,') of Macrobius (Saturn, lib. 1. c. 24.), and of Plu
tarch (Isis and Osyris), its root is thein, which signifies to wander, like planein,
that is to say, it is synonimous with planets; because all our authors, both the
ancient Greeks and barbarians, particularly worshipped the planets. I know that
such inquiries into etymologies have been much decried; but if, as is the case,
words are the representative signs of ideas, the genealogy of the one becomes that of
the other, and a good etymological dictionary would be the most perfect history Of
the human understanding. It would only be necessary, in this inquiry, to observe
certain precautions, which have hitherto been neglected, and particularly to make
an exact comparison of the value of the letters of the different alphabets, but, t»
continue our subject, we shall add, that in the Phoenician language, the word thah,
(with ain) signifies also to wander, and appears to be the derivation of thein. If we
suppose Deus to be derived from the Greek Zeus, a proper name of You-piter having
sate, 1 live, for its root, its sense will be precisely that of you, and will mean soul of
the world, igneous principle. See Note -f, p. 124. Div-us, which only signifies Ge
nius, God of the second order, appears to me to come from the oriental word div
substituted for dib, wolf and chacal, one of the emblems of the sun. At Thebes,
says Macrobius, the sun was painted under the form of a wolf or chacal, for there
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
123
beings tvhich were its types, particularly the sun, the planets, and
the world, present to us continually, in spite of those who would
corrupt and disguise it, infallible marks of its genuine nature.
“ Such is the chain of ideas through which the human mind
had already run at a period anterior to the positive recitals of
history; and since their systematic form proves them to have been
the result of one scene of study and investigation, every thing
inclines us to place the theatre of investigation, where its primi
tive elements were generated, in Egypt. There their progress
was rapid, because the idle curiosity of the theological philoso
phers had, in the retirement of the temples, no other food than
the enigma of the universe, which was ever present to their
minds ; and because, in the political dissensions which long dis
united that country, each state had its college of priests, who,
being in turns auxiliaries or rivals, hastened by their disputes the
progress of science and discovery
.
*
are no wolves in Egypt. The reason of this emblem, doubtless is that the chacal,
like the cock, announces by its cries the sun’s rising; and this reason is confirmed
by the analogy of the words likos, wolf, and tyke, light of the morning, whence
comes lux.
Dius, which is to be understood also of the sun, must be derived from dih, a hawk.
“ lhe Egyptians,” says Porphyry, (Euscb. Prcecep. Evang. p. 92.) “ represent the
sun under the emblem of a hawk, because this bird soars to the highest regions of
air where light abounds. And in reality we continually see at Cairo large flights
of these birds, hovering in the air, from whence they descend not but to stun us
with their shrieks, which are like the monosyllable dih: and here, as in the pre
ceding example, we find an analogy between the words dies, day, light, and Dim,
God, Sun.
* One of the proofs that all these systems were invented in Egypt, is, that this
is the only country where we see a complete body of doctrine formed from the
remotest antiquity.
Clements Alexandrinus has transmitted to us (Stromat. lib. 6.) a curious detail
of the forty-two volumes which were borne in the procession of Isis. “ The priest,”
says he, “ or chanter, carries one of the symbolic instruments of music, and two of
the books of Mercury; one containing hymns of the Gods, the other the list of
kings. Next to him the Horoscope (the regulator of time), carries a palm and a
dial, symbols of astrology ; he must know by heart the four books of Mercury, which
treat of astrology : the first on the order of the planets ; the second on the risings of
the sun and moon, and the two last on the rising and aspect of the stars. Then
comes the sacred author, with feathers on his head, (like Knepli) and a bookin his
hand, together with ink, and a reed to write with (as is still the practice among the
Arabs.) He must be versed in hieroglyphics, must understand the description of
the universe, the course of the sun, moon, stars, aud planets ; be acquainted with
the division of Egypt into 36 nowtei, with the course'of the Nile, with instruments,
measures, sacred ornaments and sacred places. Next comes the stole bearer, who
carries the cubit of justice, or measure of the Nile, and a cup for the libations; he
bears also in the procession ten volumes on the subject of sacrifices, hymns, prayers
offerings, ceremonies, festivals. Lastly arrives the prophet, bearing in his bosom a
«pitcher, so as to be exposed to view: he is followed bv persons carrying bread (as at
the marriage of Cana). This prophet, as president of the mysteries, learns ten other
sac red volumes, which treat of the laws, the Gods, and the discipline of the priests.
Now there are in all forty-two volumes, thirty-six of which are studied, and got by
�124
'
A SURVEY OF THE
“ On the borders of the Nile there happened at that distant
period, what has since been repeated all over the globe. In pro
portion as each system was formed, it excited by its novelty quar
rels and schisms: then gaining credit even by persecution, it
either destroyed anterior ideas, or incorporated itself with and
modified them. But political institutions taking place, all opinions,
by the aggregation of statesand mixture of different people, were
at length confounded; and the chain of ideas being lost, theo
logy, plunged in a chaos, became a mere logogryph of old tradi
tions no longer understood. Religion, losing its object, was now
nothing more than a political expedient by which to rule the cre
dulous vulgar; and was embraced either by men credulous
themselves and the dupes of their own visions, or by bold and
energetic spirits, who formed vast projects of ambition.”
Se c t . IX.
Religion of Mose.% or Worship of the Soul of the
World (You-piter).
“ Of this latter description was the Hebrew legislator, who,
desirous of separating his nation from every other, and of forming
a distinct and exclusive empire, conceived the design of taking
for its basis religious prejudices, and of erecting’ round it a sacred
rampart of rites and opinions. But in vain did he proscribe the
worship of symbols, the reigning religion at that time in Lower
Egypt and Phenecia : his God was not on that account the less
*
an Egyptian God, of the invention of those priests whose disciple
Moses had been, and Yahouh'Y, detected by his very name, which
heart by these personages, and the remaining six are set apart to be consulted by
the pastophores: they treat of medicine, the construction of the human body
(anatomy), diseases, remedies, instruments, &c.” «
We leave the reader to deduce all the consequences of such an Encyclopedia,
It is ascribed to Mercury; but Jamblicus tells us that each book, composed by
priests, was dedicated to that God, who, on account of, his title of Genius, orfcoin
opening the Zodiac, presided over every enterprise. He is the Janus of the Romans
and the Guiunesa of the Indians, and it is remarkable that 1 anus and Guianes are
homonymous. In short, it appears that these books are the source of all that has
been transmitted to us by the Greeks and Latins in every science, even in alcbymy,
necromancy, &c. What is most to be regretted in their loss, is that pait which
related to the principles of medicine and diet, in which the Egyptians appear to have
made a considerable progress, and to have delivered many useful observations.
* “ At a certain period,” says Plutarch (rZe Iside), “ all the Egyptians have their
animal Gods painted. The Thebans are the only people who do not employ pain
ters, because they worship a God whose form comes not under the senses, and can
not be represented.” And this is the God whom Moses, educated at Heliopolis,
adopted; but the idea was not of his invention.
.
•
*
y Such is the true pronunciation of the Jehovah of the moderns, who violate in
this respect every rule of criticism; since it is evident, that the ancients, particu
larly the Eastern Syrians and Phenecians were acquainted neither with the Je nor
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
125
means essence of beings, and by his symbol, the fiery bush, is
i
*
th signification tobe.the
one of the dialects of the common language of
Lo-U, Yahouh is the ’participle of
existing; inotberwords,thepnnciple of l‘^the^fclth°e Greeks an(1 ¿atinS! (.xpiaia
T-lbeX)- ^EevntifnJ” says Diodorus, after Manatho, priest of Mem-
!Sui:0§f^
the vital principle m animals; and tor this reason tneycul*
,
f en
the generator of beings.” For the same reason Homer says, Father, and king oimen
“! <&£££ liVh“ «¿»s - .0 wd« Y.b-pita; as th. sol. bf
”
Hence the woX of Virgil: “Muses, let us begin with You-piter; the world is full
nf Von niter-” /'’Sown. Sc':p. ch. 17 J And in the Saturnalia he says, Jupitei
toe sun himself ” It was this also which made Virgil say: “ The spirit nourishes; to e
life (of beings), and the soul diffused through the vast members kof the umveise,,
ao-itates the whole mass, and forms but one immense body.
_ .
.
Ioupiter ” says the ancient verses of the Orphic sect, which originated in Egvp,
„r,e°“oikct.a by Onom.crit.s i. the toys of Piei.tr.tus, 1 loupurr » repr.su.kd
IS?ihonder in hisb.ud, is the beginning, origin, «1. “d™’ddU “f ‘^'t“ 'te
bod) . U eydare
if sun and moon; he is space and eternity; in fine
the world the universe, that which constitutes the essence and lite of all ba
.
Now ” continues the same author, “ as philosophers differed 111 opinion respectng
toe nature and constituent parts of this God, and as ^ey could imreiff no figure
that should representall his attributes, they painted him in the .j .uj of mat., t
asiting posture, in allusion to his immutabe essence: the upper pan of bis
body is uncovered, because it is in the upper regions of the umvere (the stars), tort
he most conspicuously displays himself He is covered from the waist to, k
because respecting tereestrial things, he is more secret and concealed. He holds a
«eeptrTiiihis left hand, because on the left side is the heart, and the heart, is toe
Ut of the understanding, which (in human beings) regulates every action. Eu-
and
Strabo, amoves
An-iM as to the identity of the ideas of Moses, and those of t.ic heathen tneolo .^ns.
. . “ Moses, who was one of the Egyptian priests, taught his
an e°-gregious error to represent the Deity under the rorm of animals, as toe E p
£ns did or in the shape of man, as was the practice of the Greeks and Ate cans.
That alone, is the Deity, said he, which constitutes heaven, earth, and cveiy Lying
thing- that which we call the world the sum. of all things, nature; and no
abIeSperson will think of representing such a being by the image of any one o. tie
5 ects around us. It is for this reason, that, rejecting every species of images ar
?dols Moses wished the Deity to be worshipped without emblems and according to
Xis proper nature; and he accordingly ordered a temple worthy of him to be erected,
6 The toSJvftcf Mores LVthmi^diffemHn no re
that is to saygfrom the Stoics and Epicureans, who consider toe Deity <.s the .out
* of Xe world5 This philosophy appears to have taken birth, or to have been oisSXS wh.u Ab^han, ?am. into Egypt. (MO.y.ar. bfto M.,«, -j. he
quitted his system of idols for that of tee God Fa.toito; so that we may pia.e its
.
�126
A SURVEY OF THE
nothing more than the soul of the wnrM
,
which Greece shortly after adontod
1’
PnnciP]e °f motion,
in her You-piter, generative nrinei
Sa”?e denomination
existence* • which the Tbok
Principle, and under that of Fi
which Sails
uXr °th
tbe ”ame <>f A
/
*
this inscription, / JK X/L ? embl«m of Isis veiledf
and no mortal
is.’ ^d all that
honoured under the appellation of
^¿7 which Pythagoras
philosophy defined witXrerissmn ,
an(? which the Stoic
&e. ik vain did Moses
to bloyfr“1^ *
PrinciPJe <
*
could bring to remembrance the wnrfl/”1 X [eh£,on whatever
Phcity of traits in spite of hl ixeX^iH
it out: the seven lamps of the orcat
re.™flned to point
stones or signs of the fel oftlmhXk^1
ibe twelve
two equinoxes, each of whiclatth'f P^’?6 feast of the
the ceremony of the laml7orcelelia^X:«
degree; lastly the name of Osiris f>ve>n « ’ ben,a! lts fifteenth
and the ark or coffer an
Pres®rYed m his seng+,
was inclosed; all these remain tn h
u *” wbicil that God
his ideas, and their derivatio^f^
Se c t . X.
Religion of Zoroaster.
step™whoWfive ceutuJL after'm X"'6 T® b?Id a”d energetic
;>vived and moralized ;XngThe
Da’id>
L?ypuan System of Osiris, ’under the
““ T'hole
Anrimanes. He called thl
c
mes of Ormuzd and
the reign of winter, sin and evil’ the ’rOTSon^f’1"1. g°°d !
of ihe’con^inetion^resurrection
*” rr®
]n
secular periods
™ the Tartarus and Elysi^o^
w
,
7
^ncient astrologers and
and 40?« kX
before Christ; which cor
says,
34
counhy was full of foreigners, and that Moses num
°f ^arth> wben t5»e
^í.™"ra^
l¡,is «ppom.nUy of «,w¡£¿
i f A •It. W1 seem Paradoxical to assert that 600 (inn „
7 the rnoun,a">s of
ducted thither ought to he reduced to 6 000 but1 eT 7^ 7™ who,n W conmen whom he
many proofs drawn fro.m the books themselves X it wi?I a "*
aSSCrtion b-v 80
-- .... .,j
errorThis wasPthe nXsyulbi’ v^iS^on th"1^?1 11 Wli* ‘libéis, to correct an ■
which appears to have arican
»6 ?
necessary
■y
*
tarch hrs made it the subject of a dissertaíon.g
°f DclPho) Plu.
>s.
works of Tsourare perke^^o^T^^h^00^ °f Deuterononiy> ch. 32. “The
its proper signkXn isU
Osiris in Plutarch.
8
jormst and this is one of the definitions of
�'
REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
127
geographers; in a word, he only consecrated the already-existmg
reveries of the mystic system.’^
Se c t . XI.
Budoism, or religion of the Samaneans.
« In the same rank must be included the promulgators of the
sepulchral doctrine of the Samaneans; who, on the basis of the
metempsychosis, raised the misanthrophic system of self-renauciation and denial; who, laying it down as a principle, that the
body is only a prison where the soul lives in impure confinement;
that life is but a dream, an illusion, and the world a place of pas
sage to another country, to a life without end; placed virtue ami
perfection in absolute insensibility, in the abnegation of physical
organs, in the annihilation of all being; whence resulted tae^fa&is,
penances, macerations, solitude, contemplations, and all the ueplorable practices of the mad-headed Anchorets.''’
Se c t . XII.
Braminism, or the Indian System.
« Fin a l l y , of the same cast were the founders of the Indian
system; who, refining after Zoroaster upon the two principles of
creation and destruction, introduced an intermediate one, that of
conservation, and upon their trinity in unity, of Brama, Chivcn,
and Bichenou, accumulated a multitude of traditional allego
ries, and the alembicated subtleties of their metaphysics.
4- These are the materials, which, scattered through Asia, existed
there for many ages, when, by a fortuitous course of events and
circumstances, new combinations of them were introduced on the
banks of the Euphrates and on the shores of the Mediterranean. ’
Christianity, or the Allegorical Worship of tire
Sun, under the Cabalistical Names 0/’Ch r is e s
or Ch r is t , and Yesus ar Je s u s .
Se c t . XIII.
« In constituting a separate people, Moses had vainly imagined
that he should guard them from the influence of every foreign
idea: but an invincible inclination, founded on affinity of origin,
continually called back the Hebrews to the worship of the neigh
bouring nations; and the relations of commerce that necessarily
subsisted between them, tended every day to strengthen the pro
pensity. While the Mosaic institution maintained its ground, the
coercion of the government and the laws was a considerable ob
stacle to the inlet of innovations; yet even then the principal
places were full of idols, and God the sun had his chariot and
horses painted in the palaces sof k’mgs, and in the very temple
�128
A SURVEY OF THE
Ya'ioiih : but when the conquest of the kings of Nineveh and
+ f/ OU I* 1* dissolved the bands of public power, the people left
'
to themselves, and solicited by their conquerors,’no longer kept
a restranit ou th ir inc]iuatioHS> and profa^e opinions werf openFy
StnX 7 u ° m AS firSVhe Assyriaa colonies, placed in the
the d D °f
°i( t”bes> fil!ed tbe kingdom of Samaria with
he dogmas of the Magi, which soon penetrated into Judea.
Ahcrwaids Jerusalem having been subjugated, the Eoyptians
Syrians and Arabs, entering this open country, introduced their
tenets, and the religion of Moses thus underwent a second alreiation. In like manner, the priests and great men, removing to
jabylon, and educated in the science of the Chaldeans, imbibed,
a re?idenee
seventy years, every principle of their
Weology, and from that moment the dogmas of the evil Genius
G>atm), of the archangel Michael of the Ancient of Days (Or,
*
inudz), of the rebellious angels, the celestial combats, the immor a ltj of the soul, and the resurrection ; dogmas unknown to
1 oses, oi 1 ejected by him, since he observes a perfect silence
respectmo- them, became naturalized among the Jews.
. ,
ibeir return to their country, the emigrants brought back
with taem these ideas: and at first the innovations occasioned
disputes between their partisans, the Pharisees, and the adherents
to the ancient national worship, the Sadducees: but the former,
seconded by the inclination of the people, and the habits they had
aiready contracted, and supported by the authority of the Persians,
their deliverers, finally gained the ascendancy, and the theology of
Zoroaster was consecrated by the children of Moses f.
A fortuitous analogy between two leading ideas, proved par
ticularly favorable to this coalition and formed the basis of a last
system, not less surprising in its fortune than in the causes of its
formation.
dle thnethat the Assyrians had destroyed the kingdom
of Samaria, some sagacious spirits foresaw, announced, arid pre'icte the same fate to Jerusalem: and all their predictions were
'
K). n Ve names °f the aiJgels and of the months, such as Gabriel, Michael, Yar,
C.UU‘VroiU PabRlon Wlth the JewfY says expressly the Talmud of
Jciusalem. See Beausob. Hut. du Munich. Vol. II. p. 624. where he proves that
tire saints of the Almanac are in imitation of the 365 angels of the Persians, and
.amoiicus in his Egyg’tian Mysteries, sect. 2. c. 3. speaks of angels, archangels, seraphims, kc. like a true Christian.
t “ The whole philosophy of the gymnosophists,” says Diogenes Laertius on the
^7
°Tan an7ellt wylter’ “ is derived from that of the Magi, and many assert
a 0 ne-e'’s to have the same origin.” laZ>. 1. c. 9. Majasthenes, an historian of
repute is the days of Seleucus Nicanor, and who wrote particularly upon India,
™
Phdosophy of the ancients respecting natural things, puts the Brachthe Jews precisely on the same footing
.
*
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
12£t
stamped by this particularity, that they always concluded with
prayers for a happy re-establishment and regeneration, which were
in like manner spoken of in the way of prophecies. The enthu
siasm of the Hierophants had figured a royal deliverer, who was
to re-establish the nation in its ancient glory: the Hebrews were
again to become a powerful and conquering people, and Jerusalem
the capital ®f an empire that was to extend over the whole world.
“ Events having realized the first part of those predictions, the
ruin of Jerusalem, the people clung to the second with a firmness
of belief proportioned to their misfortunes; and the afflicted Jews
waited with the impatience of want and of desire for that victorious
king and deliverer that was to come, in order to save the nation of
Moses, and restore the throne of David.
“ The sacred and mythological traditions of preceding times
bad spread over all Asia a tenet perfectly analagous. A great
mediator, a final judge, a future saviour was spoken of, who, as
king, God, and victorious legislator, was to restore the golden
age upon earth to deliver the world from evil, and regain for
,
*
mankind the reign of good, the kingdom of peace and happiness.
These ideas and expressions were in every mouth, and they con
soled the people under that deplorable state of real suffering into
which they had been plunged by successive conquests and conquei ors, and the barbarous despotism of their g’overnments.__
This resemblance between the oracles of different nations and the
predictions of the prophets, excited the attention of the Jews;
and the prophets had doubtless been careful to infuse into their
pictures, the spirit and style of the sacred books employed in the
Pagan mysteries. The arrival of a great ambassador, of a final
saviour, was therefore the general expectation in Judea, when at
length a singular circumstance was made to determine the precise
period of his coming.
r
was lecoided in the sacred books of the Persians and the
Chaldeans, that the world, composed of a total revolution of
twelve thousand periods, was divided into two partial revolu
tions, of which one, the age and reign of good was to terminate
at the expiration of six thousand, and the other, the age and
reign of evil, at the expiration of another six thousand.
heir fiist authors had meant by these recitals, the annual
revolution of the great celestial orb (a revolution composed of
twelve months or signs, each divided into a thousand parts), and
the<wo systematic periods of winter and summer, each consistin»'
*.ThjS ,is thefeas°n °f the application of the-m&ny Pagan oracles to Jesus, and
particularly the fourth eclogue of Virgil, and the Sybilline verses so celebrated a montne ancients.
®
s
�ISO
A SURVEY OF THE
equally of six thousand. But these equivocal expressions' having?
been erroneously explained, and having- received an absolute and
moral, instead of their astrological and physical sense, the re
sult was, that the annual was taken for a secular’ world, the thou
sand periods for a thousand years ; and judging, from the ap
pearance of things, that the present was the age of misfortune,
they inferred that it would terminate at the the expiration of the
six thousand pretended years.
*
* We have already seen, (p. 81, note *), this tradition current among the Tuscans,
it was disseminated through most nations, and shews us what we ought to think of
all the pretended creations and terminations of the world, which are merely thè
beginnings and ending^ of astronomical periods invented by astrologers. That of
the year or solar revolution being the most simple and perceptible, served as a
model to the rest, and its comparison gave rise to the most whimsical ideas. Of
this description is the idea of the four ages of the world among the Indians. Origi
nally these four ages were merely the four seasons ; and as each season was under
the supposedinfluence of a planet, it bore the name of the metal appiopiiated to
that planet : thus spring was the age of the sun, or of gold: summer the age of
the moon, or of silver; autumn the age of Venus, or of brass; and winter the age of
Mars, or of iron. Afterwards, when astronomers invented the great year of 25 and
36 thousand common years, which had for its object the bringing back all the stars
to one point of departure and a general conjunction, the ambiguity of the terras
introduced a similar ambiguity of ideas ; and the myriads of celestial signs and
periods of duration which were thus measured, were easily converted into so many
revolutions of the sun. Thus the different periods of creation which have been so
great a source of difficulty and misapprehension to curious inquirers, were in reality
nothin«- more than hypothetical calculations of astronomical periods In the same
maniier the creation of the world has been attributed to different seasons of the
year, just as these different seasons have served for the fictitious period of these
conjunctions : and of consequence has been adopted by different nations for tite
commencement of an ordinary year. Among the Egyptians this period fell upon
the summer solstice, which was the commencement of their year ; and the depar
ture of the spheres, according to their conjectures, fell, in like manner, upon the
period when the sun enters Cancer. Among the Persians the year commenced, at
first in the spring, or when the sun enters Aries; and from thence the first Christ
ians were led to suppose that God created the world in the spring: this opinion is
also favoured by the book of Genesis ; and it is further remarkable, that the world
is not there said to be created by the God of Moses (Yahouli), but by the Elohiva
or gods in the plural, that is, by the angels or genii, for so the word constantly means
in the Hebrew books. If we farther observe that the root of the word Elohim
signifies strong or powerful, and that the Egyptians called their decaws strong and
powerful leaders, attributing to them the creation of the world, we shall presently
perceive that the book of Genesis affirms neither more nor less than that the world
was created by the decans, by those very genii whom, according to Sanchonlathon,
Mercury existed against Saturn, and who were called Elohim. It may be further
asked, why the plural substantive Elohim is made to agree with the singular verb
bara (the Elohim creates)? The reason is, that after the Babylonish captivity the
unity of the Supreme Being was the prevailing opinion of th® Jews; it was there
fore thought proper to introduce a pious solecism in language, which it is evident
had no existence before Moses : thus in the names of the children of Jacob many
them are compounded of a plural verb to which Elohim is the nominative case un
derstood, as
(Reuben), they have looked upon me, and Sawmomu (Simeon),
they have granted me my prayer, to wit, the Elohim. The reason of this etymology
is to be found in the religious creeds af the wives of Jacob, whose gods were the
/crrapJttni of Laban, that is, the angels of the Persians and the Egyptian decans.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
131
<« No t t , according to the Jewish computation, six thousand
years had already nearly elapsed since the supposed creation of
the world This coincidence produced considerable fermentation
.
*
in the minds of the people. Nothing was thought of but the ap
proaching termination. The Hierophants were interrogated, and
their sacred books examined. The great Mediator and final Judge
\ was expected, and his advent desired, that an end might be put to
so many calamities. This was so much the subject of conversation,
that some one was said to have seen him, and a rumour of this
kind was all that was wanting to establish a general certainty.
The popular report became a demonstrated fact; the imaginary
being was realized ; and all the circumstances of mythological
tradition being in some manner connected with this phantom, the
-result was an authentic and regular history, which from hence
forth it was blasphemy to doubt.
« In this mythological history the following traditions were
recorded : “ That, in the beginning, a man and a woman had, by
their fall brought sin and evil into the world'’ (Examine
plate II.)
“ By this was denoted the astronomical fact of the celestial Vir
gin, and the herdsman (Bootes) who, setting heliacally at the au
tumnal equinox, resigned the heavens to the wintry constellations,
and seemed, in sinking below the horizon, to introduce into the
world the genius of evil, Ahrimanes, represented by the constel
lation of the serpentf.
That the woman had decoyed and seduced the rrtanf.
And in reallity, the Virgin setting first, appears to draw the
Herdsman (Bootes) after her.
That the woman had tempted him, by offering him fruit plea
sant to the sight and good for food, which gave the knw ledge of
good and evil”
* According to the computation of the Seventy, the period elapsed consisted of
about 5,600 years, and this computation was principally followed. It is well known
how much, in the first ages of the church, this opinion of the end of the world agitated
the minds of men. In the sequel, the general councils, encouraged by finding that
the general conflagration did not come, pronounced the expectation that prevailed
heretical, and its believers were called Millenarians ; a circumstance curious enough,
since .it is evident from the history of the Gospels that Jesus Christ was a Mil leñ
arían, and of consequence a heretic.
f The Persians,” says Chardin, “call the constellation of the serpent Ophiucus,
serpent of Eve; and this serpent Ophiucus or Ophionev.s plays a similar part in the
theology of the Pheuicians for Pherecydes, their disciple, and the master of Py
thagoras, said “that Ophioneus serpentinus had been chief of the rebels against
Jupiter.” See Mars, Ficin. Apol. Socratj.p. m. 797. cel. 2. I shall add, that aiphah
(with ain) signifies in Hebrew serpent.
J In a physical sense to seduce, sednccre, means only to attract, to draw after us,
�132
A SURVEY OF THE
“ Manifestly alluding to the Virgin, who is depicted holding
a bunch of fruit in her hand, which she appears to extend to
wards the Herdsman ; in like manner the branch, emblem of au
tumn, placed in the picture of Mithra on the front of winter and
*
summer, seems to open the door, and to give the knowledge, the
key, of good and evil.
“ That this couple had been driven from the celestial garden,
and that a cherub with a flaming sword had been placed at the
door to guard it.”
“And when the Virgin and the Herdsman sink below the W es
tern horizon, Perseus rises on the opposite sidef, and sword in
hand, this Genius may be said to drive them from the summer
heaven, the garden and reign of fruits and flowers.
“ That from this virgin would be born, would spring up a shoot,
a child, that should crush the serpent’s head, and deliver the
worldfrom sin.”
“ By this was denoted the Sun, which at the period of the
summer solstice, at the precise moment that the Persian Magi
drew the horoscope of the new year, found itself in the bosom of
the Virgin, and which, on this account, was represented in their
astrological pictures, in the form of an infant suckled by a chaste
virgin^, and afterwards became, at the vernal equinox the Ram
* See this picture in Hyde, page 111, edition of 1760.
•f Rather the head of Medusa; that head of a woman, once so beautiful, which
Perseus cut off, and which he holds in his hand, is only that of the virgin, whose
head sinks below the horizon at the very moment that Perseus rises; and the ser
pents which surround it are Ophiucus and the Polar Dragon, who then occupy the
Zenith. This shews us in what manner the ancients composed all their figures and
fables. They took such constellations as they found at the same time on the circle
of the horizon, and collecting the different parts, they formed groupes which served
them as an almanack in hieroglyphic characters. Such is the secret of all their pic
tures, and the solution of all their mythological monsters. The Virgin is also
Andromeda, delivered by Perseus from the whale that pursues her (prosequitor.)
f Such was the picture of the Persian sphere, cited by Aben Ezra in the Cesium,
Foeticum of Blacu, p. 71. “ The picture of the first decan of the Virgin,” says that
writer, u represents a beautiful virgin with flowing hair, sitting in a chair, with two
ears of corn in her hand, and suckling an infant, called Jesus by some nations, and
Christ in Greek.”—In the library of the King of France is a manuscript in Arabic,
marked 1165, in which is a picture of the 12 signs; and that of the Virgin repre
sents a young woman with an infant by her side: the whole scene, indeed, of the
birth of Jesus, is to be found in the adjacent part of the heavens. The stable is
the constellation of the charioteer and the goat, formerly Capricorn ; a constellation
called prasepe Jovis Henioehi, stable of lou ; and the word lou is found in the
name of louseph (Joseph). At no great distance is the ass of Typhon (the great
she-bear) and the ox or bull, the ancient attendants of the manger. Peter the por
ter, is Janus with his keys and bald forehead; the twelve apostles are the genii of
of the twelvemonths, &c. This Virgin has acted very different parts in the various
systems of mythology; she has been the Isis of the Egyptians, who said of her in
©ne of their inscriptions cited by Julian, thefruit I have brought forth is the sun.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
133
or Lamb, conqueror of the constellation of the Serpent, which dis
appeared from the heavens.
That in his infancy, this restorer of the divine or celestial
nature, would lead a mean, humble, obscure, and indigent life’*
“ By which was meant, that the winter sun was humbled, depres- •
sed below the horizon, and that this first period of his four a«-es
or the seasons, was a period of obscurity and indigence, of ^st
ing and privation.
. That being put to death by the wicked, he would gloriously
rise again, ascend from hell into heaven, where he would reian
jo t ever.
J
“ By these expressions was described the life of the same Sun,
Wj
career at the winter solstice, when Typhon
and_ the rebellious angels exercised their sway, seemed to be put
to death by them; but shortly after revived and rose again in
*
the firmament, where he still remains.
These traditions went still farther, specifying his astrological
and mysterious names, maintaining that he was called sometimes
Chris, or Conservatorf; and hence the Hindoo God, Chris-en,
5rai« dr?WU b/ Platarch aPP7 t0
in the same manner as those
of Osins apply to Bootes: also the seven principal stars of the she-bear called
Dayiu s chariot, were called the chariot of Osiris (See Kirher,') and the crown that
is situated behind, formed of ivy, was Called Chen Osiris, the tree of Osiris The
Virgin has likewise been Ceres, whose mysteries were the same with those of Iris and
M thra: she has been the Diana of tlie Ephesians; the great Goddess of Syria, Cy
bele, drawn by lions; Minerva, the mother of Bacchus; Astrea, a chaste virrin taken
up into heaven at the end of the golden age; Thems, at whose feet is the balance
Sw JT'”1! hCr ha“ds’Kthe W of Virgil, who descends into hell, or sinks below the hemisphere with a branch in her hand, &c.
’
* Resurgere to rise a second time, cannot signify to return to life, but in a meta,
phoncal sense; but we see continually mistakes of this kind result from the am
biguous meaning of the words made use of in ancient tradition,
nJ 3^ GTks TJ t0 eXTpreTX’ Or SPanish iota’ the aspirated ha of the
Onenta.s, who saidI hans. In Hebrew heres signifies the sun, but in Arabic the
meaning of the radical word is, to guard, to preserve, and ofguardian, pre
server Hj s the proper epithet of Vichenou, which demonstrates at once the iden
tity ot the Indian and Christian Trinities, and their common origin. It is manifestly
but one system, which, divided into two branches, one extending to the east and thother to the west, assumed two different forms : its principal trunk is the Pythago
rean system of the soul of the world, or Ioupitcr. The epithet pifer, o/fathes',
having been applied to the demi-ourgos of Plato, gave rise to an ambiguity which
caused an inquiry to be made respecting the son of this father. In the opinion of the
taJpherrJh,e S0U
u}1(ierstandin^’ ^ns and Logos, from which the Latins
And huS
Perceive the origin of the eternal father
and of the Verbum his son, proceeding from him (Mens ex Deg nata, says MacrohC ““7 ^»y^™^iwas the Holy Ghost; and it is for this reason
that Manes, Basiledes, Valentimus, and other pretended heretics of the first a^cs
who traced things to their source, said that God the Father was the supreme innaccessible light (that of the heaven, the primum mobile, orthe aplanes); the Son, the
secondary light resident in the sun; and the Holy Ghost the atmosphei- of the earth
�134
A SURVEY OF THE
or Christna and the Christian Chris-tos, the Son of Mary. That
,
*
at other times he was called Yes, by the union of three letters,
which, according to their numerical value, form the number 608,
one of the solar periods. And behold, O Europeans, the name
which, with a Latin termination has become your Yes-us or Jesus ;
the ancient and cabilistical name given to young- Bacchus, the
clandestine son of the virgin Minerva, who in the whole history
of his life, and even in his death, calls to mind the history of the
God of the Christians: that this is, the star of day, of which they
are both of them emblems.”
At these words a violent murmur arose on the part of the Chris
tian groupes; but the Mahometans, the Lamas, and the Hindoos,
having called them to order, the orator thus concluded his dis
course.
“ You are not to be told,” said he, u in what manner the rest
of this system was formed in the chaos qnd anarchy Of the three
first centuries: how a multiplicity of opinions divided the peo
ple, all of which were embraced with equal zeal, and retained
with equal obstinacy, because alike founded on ancient tradi
tion, they were alike sacred. You know how, at the end of three
centuries, government having espoused one of these sects, made
it the orthodox religion; that is to say, the predominated religion,
to the exclusion of the rest, which, on account of their inferiority,
were denominated heresies ; how, and by what means of violence
and seduction this religion was propagated and gained strength,
and afterwards became divided and weakened; how, six centu
ries after the innovation of Christianity, another system was formed
out of its materials and those of the Jews, and a political and the
ological empire was created by Mahomet at the expence of that
of Moses and the vicars of Jesus.
« Now if you take a retrospect of the whole history of the spirit of
religion, you.will find, that in its origin it had no other author than
the sensations and wants of man: that the idea of God had no
other type, no other model, than that of physical powers, material
(See Beausob. Vol. II. p. 586); hence, among the Syrians, the representation of the
Holy Ghost by awlove, the bird of Venus Urania, that is, of the air. The Syrians, (says
Nigidius de Germanieo), assert that a dove sat for a certain number of days on the
fcgg of a fish, and that from this incubation Venus was born; Sextus Empiricus also
observes (/nrf. Fyrrh. lib. 3. c. 23.) that the Syrians abstain from eating doves;
■which intimates to us a period commencing in the sign Pisces, in the winter solstice.
We may farther observe, that if Chris comes from Harisch by a chin it will signify
artificer, an epithet belonging to the sun. These variations which must have em
barrassed the ancients, prove it to be the real type of Jesus, as nad been already
remarked in the time of Tertullian. “ Many,” says this writer, “ suppose with
.greater probability that the sun is our God, and they refer us to the religion of the
Persians.” Apologet. c. 16.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
135
existences, operating good or evil, by impressions of pleasure or
pain on sensible beings. You will find that in the formation of
every system, this spirit of religion pursued the same track, and
was uniform in its proceedings; that in all, the dogma never
failed to represent, under the name of God, the operations of na
ture, and the passions and prejudices of men; that in all, morality
had for its sole end, desire of happiness and aversion to pain;
but that the people and the majority of legislators, ignorant of the
true road that led thereto, invented false, and therefore contrary
ideas of virtue and vice, of good and evil; that is, of what renders
man happy or miserable. You will find, that in all, the means
and causes of propagation and establishment exhibited the same
scenes, the same passions, and the same events, continual disputes
about words, false pretexts for inordinate zeal, for revolutions,
for wars, lighted up by the ambition of chiefs, by the chicanery
of promulgators, by the credulity of proselytes, by the ignorance
of the vulgar, and by the grasping cupidity and the intolerant
pride' of all. In short, you will find that the whole history of the
spirit of religion is, merely that of the fallibility and uncertainty
of the human mind, which, placed in a world that it does not
comprehend, is yet desirous of solving the enigma; and which,
the astonished spectator of this mysterious and visible prodigy,
invents causes, supposes ends, builds systems; then finding one
defective, abandons it for another not less vicious; hates the error
that it has renounced, is ignorant of the new one that it adopts;
rejects the truth of which it is in pursuit, invents chimeras of he
terogeneous and contradictory beings, and; ever dreaming of
*
wisdom and happiness, loses itself in a labyrinth of torments and
illusions.”
CHAP. XXIII.
En d o f Al l Re l ig io n s t h e Sa m e .
THUS spoke the orator, in the name of those who had made the
origin and genealogy of religious ideas their peculiar study.
The theologians of the different systems now expressed their
opinions of this discourse. “ It is an impious representation,^
said some, “ which aims at nothing, less than the subversion of
all belief, the introducing insubordination into the minds of men,
and annihilating our power and ministry.’’—“ It is a romance,”
said others,“ a tissue of conjectures, fabricated with art, but de
stitute of foundation.”—The moderate and prudent said, “ Sup
posing all this to be true, where is the use of revealing these
mysteries I Our opinions are doubtless pervaded with errors,
�136
A SURVEY OF THE
but those errors are a necessary curb on the multitude The
*
world hag gone on thus for two thousand years: why should we
now alter its course?0
J
The murmur of disapprobation, which never fails to rise against
every kind of innovation, already began to increase, when a
numerous groupe of plebians and untaught men of every country
and nation, without prophets, without doctors, without religious
worship, advancing in the sand, attracted the attention of the
whole assembly: and one of them, addressing himself to the le
gislators, spoke as follows;
, “ Mediators and umpires of nations ! The strange recitals that
have been made during the whole of the present debate, we never
till this day heard of; and our understanding, astonished and
bewildered at such a multitude of doctrines, some of them learned,
others absurd, and all unintelligible, remains in doubt and uncer
tainty. One reflection however has struck us: in reviewing
so many prodigious facts, so many contradictory assertions, we
could not avoid asking ourselves, Of what importance to us
are all these discussions ? Where is the necessity of our know
ing what happened five or six thousand years ago, in countries of
which we are ignorant, among men who will ever be unknown to
us ? True or false, of what importance is it to us to know whether
the world has existed six thousand years or twenty thousand;
whether it was made of something' or of nothing; of itself, or by
an artificer, equally in his turn requiring an author? W hat!
uncertain as we are of what is passing around us, shall we pretend
to ascertain what is transacting in the sun, the moon, and
imaginary spaces ? Having forgotten our own infancy, shall we
pretend to know the infancy of the world? Who can attest what
be has never seen ? Who can certify the truth of what no one
comprehends ?
“ Beside, what will it avail as to our existence, whether we
believe or reject these chimeras ? Hitherto neither our fathers nor
ourselves have had any idea of them, and yet we do not perceive
that on that account we have experienced more or less sun, more
or less subsistence, more or less good or evil.
“ If the knowledge of these things be necessary, how is
it that we have lived as happily without it as those whom it
has so much disquieted? If it be superfluous, why should we
now take upon ourselves the burthen ?”•—Then addressing himself
to the doctors and theologians: “ How can it be required of us,
poor and ignorant as we are, whose every moment is scarcely
adequate to the cares of our subsistence and the labours of which
you reap the profit ; how can it be required of us to be versed, in
the numerous histories you have related, to read the variety of
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
137
Looks which you have quoted, and to learn the different languages
in which they are written ? If our lives were protracted to a
thousand years, scarcely would it be sufficient for this purpose.”
“ It is not necessary,” said the doctors, “ that you should
Acquire all this science : we possess it in your stead.”
“ Meanwhile,” replied these children of simplicity., “ with all
'•« your science, do you agree among yourselves? What then is
its utility? Besides, how can you answer for us? If the faith of
one man may be the substitute of the faith of many, what need
was there that you should believe? Your fathers might believe
for you ; and that would have been the more reasonable, since
they were the eye-witnesses upon whose credit you depend.
Lastly, what is this circumstance which you call belief, if it has
no practical tendency ? And what practical tendency can you
discover in this question, whether the world be eternal or no?”
“ To believe Wrong respecting it would be offensive to God,”
said the doctors.
“ How do you know that ?” cried the children of simplicity.
Ci From our scriptures ” replied the doctors.
« We do not understand them,” rejoined the simple men.
« We understand them for you,” said the doctors.
“ There lies the difficulty,” resumed the simple men. “ By
what right have you appointed yourselves mediators betweeu God
and us ?”
“ By the command of God,” said the doctors.
“ Give us the proof of that command,” said the simple men.
« It is in our scriptures,” said the doctors.
“ We do not understand them,” answered the simple men;
u nor can we understand how a just God can place you over our
heads. Why does our common Father require us to believe the
same propositions with a less degree of evidence ? lie has spoken
to you; be it so; he is infallible, he cannot deceive you. But
we are spoken to by you ; and who w ill assure us that you are not
deceived, or that you are incapable of deceiving? If we are mis
taken, how can It consist with the'justice of God, to condemn us
for the neglect of a rule with which We w ere never acquainted ?”
“ He has given you the law of nature,” said the doctors.
“ What is the law of nature?” said the simple men. “ If this
law be sufficient, why does he give us another ? If it be insuffi
cient, why did he give us that ?”
“ The judgements of God,” replied the doctors, “ are mysteri
ous; his justice is not restrained by the rules of human justice.”
Ct If justice with him and with us,” said the simple men, “ mean
a different thing, what criterion can we have to judge' of his justice ?
And once more, to what purpose all these laws?
he propose by them ?”
What end does
�138
A SURVEY OF THE
<c To render you more happy,” replied a doctor, “ by render
*
hig you better and more virtuous. God has manifested himself by
so many oracles and prodigies to teach mankind the proper use of
his benefits, and to dissuade them from injuring each other.” '
“ If that be the case,” said the simple men, “ the studies and
reasonings you told us of are unnecessary: we want nothing but
to have it clearly made out to us, which is the religion that best
fulfils the end that all propose to themselves.”
Instantly, every groupe boastingof the superior excellence of its
morality, there arose among the partisans of the different systems
of worship, a new dispute more violent than any preceding one.
“Ours,” said the Mahometans, “is the purest morality,which teaches
every virtue useful to men and acceptable to God. We profess
justice, disinterestedness, resignation, charity, alms-giving, and
devotion. AVe torment not the soul with superstitious fears; we
live free from alarm, and we die without remorse.”
“ And have you the presumption,” replied the Christian priests,
“ to talk of morality; you, whose chief has practised licentious
ness, and preached doctrines that are a scandal to all purity, and
the leading principle of whose religion is homicide and war? For
the truth of this we appeal to experience. For twelve centuries
past your fanatism has never ceased to spread desolation and car
nage through the nations of the earth ; and that Asia, once so
flourishing, now languishes in insignificance and barbarism, is
ascribable to your doctrine; to that doctrine, the friend of igno
rance, the enemy of all instruction, which, on the one hand, con
secrating the most absolute despotism in him who commands, a!nd
on the other, imposing the most blind and passive obedience on
those who are governed, has benumbed all the faculties of matt,
and plunged nations in a state of brutality.
“ How different is the case with our sublime and celestial mora- •
lity ! It is she that drew the earth from its primitive barbarity,
from the absurd and cruel superstitions of idolatry, from human
,
*
sacrifices and the orgies of Pagan mystery : it is she that
has purified the manners of men, proscribed incest and adultery,
polished savage nations, abolished slavery, introduced new and
unknown virtues to the world, universal charity, the equality of
mankind in the eyes of God, forgiveness and forgetfulness of inuries, extinction of the passions, contempt of worldly greatness.
* Read the cold declaration of Eusebius (Prcep. Evan. lib. 1, p. 11,) who pre
tends that since the coming of Christ, there have been neither wars, nor tyrants,
nor cannibals, nor sodomites, nor persons committing incest, nor savages devour
ing their pareuts, &c. When we read these fathers of the church, w’e are astonished
at their insincerity or infatuation.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
139
and, in short, taught the necessity of a life perfectly holy arid
spiritual.”
.
.
« We admire,” said the Mahometans, « the ease with which you
tan reconcile that evangelical charity and meekness of which you
so much boast, with the injuries and outrages that you are con
tinually exercising towards your neighbour. When you criminate
with so little ceremony the morals of the great characters revered
by us, we have a fair opportunity of retorting upon you in the con
duct of him whom you adore: but we disdain such advantages,
and, confining ourselves to the real object of the question, we
maintain, that your gospel morality is by no means characterised
by the perfection which you ascribe to it. It is not tiue that it
has introduced into the world new and unknown virtues: for ex
ample, the equality of mankind in the eyes of God, and the fra
ternity and benevolence which are the consequence of this equa
lity, were tenets formerly professed by the sect of the Hermetics
and Samaneans from whom you have your descent. As to for
,
*
giveness of injuries it had been taught by the Pagans themselves;
but in the latitude you give it, it ceases to be a virtue, and becomes
an immorality and a crime. Your boasted precept, to him that
strikes thee on thy right cheek, turn the other also, is not only
contrary to the feelings of man, but a flagrant violation of every
principle of justice; it emboldens the wicked by impunity, de
grades the virtuous by the servility to which it subjects them;
delivers up the world to disorder and tyranny, and dissolves the
bands of society: such is the true spirit of your doctrine. The
precepts and parables of your gospel also never represent God
other thanas a despot, acting by no rule of equity; than as a par
tial father, treating a debauched and prodigal son with greater
favor than his obedient and virtuous children; than as a capricious
master, g'iving the same wages to him who has wrought but one
hour, as to those who have borne the burthen and heat of the day;
and preferring1 the last comers to the first. In short, your morali
ty throughout is unfriendly to human intercourse, a code of mis- anthropy, calculated to give men a disgust for life and society,
and attach them to solitude and celibacy.
“ With respect to the manner in whichyou have practiced your
boasted doctrine, we in our turn appeal to the testimony of fact
and ask; Was it your evangelical lqeekness and iorbearance
which excited those endless wars among your sectaries, those atro
cious persecutions of what you call heretics, those crusades against
* The equality of mankind in a state of nature, and in the eyes of.God, was one
-of the principal tenets of the Sainaneans, and they appear tQ he the only ancients
that entertained this opinion.
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A SURVEY OF THE
,
Jh® f" V®i,the ^icheans,. and the Protestants; not to mention
2«nriZSCh W bT C°inmiited aS'ainst us’ nor the sacrilegious
associations still subsisting among you, formed of men who have
sworn to perpetuate them
?
*
Was it the charity of yotir gospel
that led you to exterminate whole nations in America, and to des,
troy the empires of Mexico and Peru; that makes you still desothe?nbab,tanis of which you sell like cattle, notwith®tand“?g‘ tbe abolition of slavery that you pretend your religion
Has effected - that makes you ravage India whose domains vou
usurp; in short, is it charity that has prompted you for three cen
turies past to disturb the peaceable inhabitants of three continents,
the most prudent of whom, those of Japan and China, have been
constrained to banish you from their country, that they might cs,
cape your chains and recover their domestic tranquility?”
«ere the Bramms, the Rabbins, the Bonzes, the Chamans, th<?
Priests of the Molucca Islands, and of the coast of Guinea, over,
whelming the Christian doctors with reproaches, cried, “ Yes
these men are robbers and hypocrites, preaching simplicity to in
*
veigle confidence; humility, the more easy to enslave; poverty,
m order to appropriate all riches to themselves; they promise
another world the better to invade this; and while they preach
toleration and chanty, they commit to the flames, in the name of
God, those who do not worship him exactly as they do.”
pnests,” retorted the missionaries, « it is you who abuse
the credulity of ignorant nations, that you may bend them to your
yoke; your ministry is the art of imposture and deception: you
have made religion a system of avarice iyjd cupidity; you feign
to have correspondence with spirits, and the oracles they issue
are your own wi Is : you pretend to read the stars, and your de
sires only are what destiny decrees: you make idols speak, and
the gods are the mere instruments of your passions; you have in
vented sacrifices and libations for the sake of the profit you would
thus derive from the milk of the flocks, and the flesh and fat of
victims; and under the cloak of piety you devour the offerings
made to Gods, who cannot eat and the substance of the people
*
obtained by industry and toil.”
r r s
« <eiAnd 70U’”
the Bramins> the Bonzes, and the Chamans,
sell to the credulous survivor vain prayers for the souls of his
dead relatives.' With your indulgences and absolutions you have
arrogated to yourselves the power and functions of God himself;
and making a traffic qf his grace, you have put heaven up to
Mah^nit2iV»>?ien by/he .En>hts of the Order of Malta, is to kill, or make the
Manometans pnsoners, for the glory of God^
>
'
’
'
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
141
auction, and have founded, by your system of expiation, a tariff'
©f crimes that has perverted the consciences of men ”
.
*
“ Add to this, ** said the Imans, “ that with tht se men has ori
ginated the most insidious of all wickedness, the absurd and im
pious obligation, of recounting to them the most impenetrabla
Sfecrets of actions, of thoughts of' vellei es, (confession): by means
of Which their insolent curiosity has carried its inquisition even to
the sacred sanctuary of the nuptial bed+, and the inviolable asy
lum of the heart.”
By thus reproaching each other, the chiefs of the different wor
ships revealed all the crimes of their ministry, all the hiddea
vices of their profession, and it appeared that the spirit, the system
of conduct, tne actions and manners of priests, were, among all
nations, uniformly the same; that every where they had formed
secret assosiations, corporations of idividuals, enemies to the rest
of the society
*
-that they had attributed to themselves certain
*
* As long as it shall be possible to obtain purification from crimes, and ex
emption from punishment by means of money or other frivolous practices; as long
as kings and great men shall Suppose that building temples or instituting founda
tions, will absolve them from the guilt of oppression and homicide : as long as in
dividuals shall imagine that they may rob and cheat, provided they observe fast
during Lent, go to confession, and receive extreme unction, it is impossible there
should exist in society any morality or virtue; and it is from a deep conviction of
truth, that a modern philosopher has called the doctrine of expiations la ierole
ties societies.
t The Mussulmans, who suppose women to have no souls, are shocked at the
idea of confession, and say, How can an honest man think of listening to the recital
of the actions or the secret thoughts of a woman ? May we not also ask, on the other
hand, how can an honest woman consent to reveal-them ?
X That we may understand the general feelings of priests respecting the rest of
mankind, whom they always call by thename of the people, let-us heamne-of tire
doctors of the church. « The people,” says Bishop Synnesius, in Calvit. page 315,'
are desirous of being deceived, we cannot act otherwise respecting them. The
case was similar with the ancient priests of Egypt, and for this reason they shut
themselves up pi their temples, and there composed their mysteries out of the
reach of the eye of the people.” And forgetting what he had just before said, he
pdds, “ For had the. people been in the secret, they might have been offended at the
deception played upon them. In the mean time, how is it possible to conduct
one’s self otherwise with the people, so long as they are the people ? For my owij
part, to myself I shall always be a philosopher, but in dealing with the mass of '
mankind I shall be a priest.”
1
“ A little jargon,” says Gregory Nazianzem to St. Jerome, (Hieron. ad Nepk.J
“ is all that is necessary to impose on the people. The less they comprehend, the
more they admire. Our forefathers and doctors of the church have often said, not
W'hat they thought, but what circumstances and necessity dictated to them ”
“ We endeavour,” says Sanconiathan, b to excite admiration by means of the
marvellous.” (Prvp. Erang. lib. 3.)
Such was the conduct of ail the priests of antiquity, and is still that of the Bramins and Lamas, who are the exact counterpart of the Egyptian priests. Such was
the practice of the Jesuits, who marched with hasty strides in th« same career. It
is useless to point out the whole depravity of such a doctrine. In general, every
association which has mystery for its basis, or an oath of secresy, is a league of rob
bers against society, a league divided in its very bosoip into knaves and dupes ; or,
�142
A SURVEY OF THE
Prerogatives and immunities, in order to be exempt from the bur
thens which fell upon the other classesthat they shared neither
the toil of the labourer, nor the perils of the soldier, nor the vicis
situdes of the merchant:—that they led a life of celibacy, to avoid
domestic inconveniences and cares: that under the garb of po
verty, they found the secret of becoming rich, and of procuring
every enjoyment: that under the name of mendicants, they coil
imposts more considerable than those paid to pri nces:
that under the appellation of gifts and offerings, they obtained
a certain revenue unaccompanied with trouble or expence: that
upon the pretext of seclusion and devotion, they lived in indolence,
and licentiousness:—that they had made alms a virtue, that they
might subsist in comfort upon the labour of other menthat they
had invented the ceremonies of worship to attract the reverence of
the people, calling themselves the mediators and interpreters of the
Gods, with the sole view of assuming all his power; and that for this
puipose, according to the knowledge or ignorance of those upon
whom they had to work, they made themselves, by turns, astroogeis, casters of planets, aug’urers, magicians necromancers,
,,
*
quacks, courtiers, confessors of princes, always aiming at in
fluence for their own exclusive advantages .-—that sometimes they
had exalted the prerogative of kings, and held their persons to be
sacred, to obtain their favour or participate in their power:—that
at others they had descried this doctrine and preached the mur
der of tyrants (reserving it to themselves to specify the tyranny),
in order to be revenged of the slights and disobedience they had
experienced from them:—that at all times they had called by the
name of impiety what proved injurious to their interest; had op
m other words, agents and instruments. It is thus we ought to judge of those mo
dern clubs, whicn under the name of Illuminatists, Martinists, Cagliostronists,
Freemasons, and Mesmerites, infest Europe. These societies ape the follies and de
ceptions of the ancient Cabalists, Magicians, Orphics, &c. who, says Plutarch, led
into errors of considerable magnitude not only individuals, but kings and nations.
What is a Magician, in the sense in which the people understand the word ? A
man who by words and gestures pretends to act on supernatural beings, and com
pels them to descend at his call and obey his orders. Such was the conduct of the
ancient priests, and such is still that of all priests, in idolatrous nations, for which
reason we have given them the denomination of Magicians.
And when a Christian priest pretends to make God descend from heaven, to fix
him to a morsel of leaven, and to render, by means of this talisman, souls pure and
in a state of graee, what is all this but a trick of magic? And where is the dif
ference between a Charnan of Tartary, who invokes the genii, or an Indian Bramin
who makes his Vichenou descend in a vessel of water to drive away evil spirits ?
.Yes, the identity of the spirit of priests in every age and country is fully establish!
ed. Every where it is the assumption of an exclusive privilege, the pretended facul
ty of moving at will the powers of nature; and this assumption is so direct a vio
lation of the right ot equality, that whenever the people shall regain their importance,
th'rj' will for ever abolish this sacrilegious kind of nobility, which has been the type
and parent stock of the other species of nobilty.
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
143
posed public instruction, that they might monopolize science;
and in short, had universally found the secret of living in tran
quillity amidst the anarchy they occasioned; secure, under the
despotism they sanctioned ; in indolence, amidst the industry
they recommended; and in abundance, in the very bosom of
scarcity; and all this, by carrying on the singular commerce of
selling words and gestures to the credulous, who paid for them
as for commodities of the greatest value
.
*
Then the people, seized with fury, were upon the point of tear
ing to pieces the men who had deceived them ; but the legislators
arresting this sally of violence, and addressing the chiefs and doc
tors, said ; “ And is it thus, O institutors of the people, that y cm
have misled and abused them
And the terrified priests replied: “ O legislators, we are men,
and the people are so superstitious ! their weakness excited us io
take advantage of itf.”
And the kings said: “ O legislators the people are so servile
and so ignorant! they have prostrated themselves before the yoke
which we scarcely had the boldness to show to themf.”
Then the legislators, turning towards the people, said to them:
« Remember what you have just heard ; it contains two important
truths. Yes, it is yourselves that cause the evils of which you
complain; it is you that encourage tyrants by a base flattery of
their power, by an absurd admiration of their pretended benefi
cence, by converting obedience into servility, and liberty into
licentiousness, and receiving every imposition with credulity. Caa
you think of punishing upon them the errors of your own igno
rance and selfishness ?”
And the people, smitten w ith confusion^ remained in a melan
choly silence.
'
* A curious work would be the comparative history of the Agnuses of the pope
and the pastils of the grand Lama. It would be worth while io extend this idea ta
ieiigious ceremonies in general, and to confront column by column, the analagous
or contrasting points of faith and superstious practices in all nations. There is one
more species of superstition which it would be equally salutary to-cure, blind vene
ration for the great; and for this purpose it would be alone sufficient to write a.
minute detail of the private life of kings and princes. No work /?ould be so philo
sophical as this : and accordingly we have seen what a general outcry was excited
anaoiig kings and the panders of King s, when the Anecdotes of the Court of Berlin firsi
appeared. What would be the alarm were the public put in possession of the sequel
of this work ’ Were the people fairly acquainted with allthe crimes and ali the
absurdities of this species of idol, they would no longer be exposed to covet their
specious pleasures, of which the plausible and hollow appearance disturbs their
peace, and hinders them from enjoying the much more solid happiness of. liteir vwa
condition.
. .
•
..........
f Consider in this view the Brabanters.
| The inhabitants of Vienna, for example, who harfiessed tlienfselvei like cattle
and drew the chariot of Leopold.- •
■ . •■
».A,.
�*
144
A SURVEY OF TUB *
c h a p.
*> ’■5. •/% ■ tj i
*
■ „
So l u t io n
i
•
■
of t he
; '
xxiv.
• ,• >
Pr o b l e m
■
*
.
■
of
■ . i■ ■
Co n t
■■. •
• t■„
r a r d w t Io n s ;
saidAev^ ’
wh ! th Ln ^ s«med ^eir address. « O nations!"
the discord that ,Vi' 1ieard ¿be discussion of your opinions; and
which we bel L idCS y°U haS su §’Sested to us various reflections,
X °Se * y°“ “ q“eS‘iOnS Whkh “ “
P
°
tnrxr Considering, in the first place the numerous and contradict y creeds you have adopted, we would ask on what motive vour
Kv"asi>",!safoun / ed I
il from
ch oicTS3^
‘
unJ e“liSted funder 1 th ® banners of one prophet rather than
V der those of another « Before you adopted this doctrine in
you first coraPare> did you maturely exasu t / S °zih rS kOt y°U1- behef been rather ihe cbance re‘ suit of birth, and of the empire of education and habit« Are
you not born Christians on the banks of the Tiber, Mahometans
on those of the Euphrates, Idolaters on the shores of India, in the
same manner as you are born fair in cold and temperate regions,
and of a sable complexion under the African sun ! And if your
opinions are the effect of your position on the globe, of parentage,
of imitation, are such fortuitous circumstances to be regarded as
grounds of conviction and arguments of truth.
the second place, when we reflect on the proscriptive spirit
and the arbitrary intolerance of your mutual claims, we are ter
rified at the consequences that flow from your principles. Nations»
wiio reciprocally doom each other to the thunderbolts of celestiai
wrath, suppose the universal being whom you revere, were at this
rnoment to descend from heaven among this crowd of people, and,
clothed in all his power, were to sit upon this throne to judge yousuppose him to say—“ Mortals! I consent to adopt your own princi
ples ofjustice into my administration. Of all the different religions
yn U^)r0 i S’ a S’n ^ e religion, shall now be preferred to the rest •
all the others, this vast multitude of standards, of nations, of pro
phets shall be condemned to everlasting destruction. Nor is this
enough : among the different sects of the chosen religion one
only shall experience my favour, and the rest be condemned. I
W ‘ii
* fher than this: of this single sect, of this one religion, I
ai
will reject all the individuals whose conduct has not corresponded
to their speculative precepts. O man ! few indeed will then be
the number of the elect you assign me! Penurious hereafter will
be the stream of beneficence which will succeed to my unbounded
mercy. Rare and solitary will be the ■catalogue of admirers that
you henceforth destine to my greatness and my glory.”
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
145
’ And the legislators arising said: “ It is enough ; you have pro^Qunced your will. Ye nations, behold the urn in which your
names shall be placed ; one single name shall be drawn from the
multitude; approach and conclude this terrible lottery.”—But
the people seized with terror cried: “No, no; we are brethren and
equals, we cannot consent to condemn each other.”—Then the
legislators having resumed their seats continued : “ O men ! who
dispute upon so many subjects, lend an attentive ear to a problem
we submit to you, and ¿ecide it in the exercise of your own
judgments.”—The people accordingly lent the strictest attention;
and the legislators lifting one hand towards heaven, and pointing
to the sun, said : “ O nations ! is the form of this sun, which en
lightens you, triangular or square?”—and they replied with one
voice, “ It is neither, it is round.”
Then taking the golden balance that was upon the altar, “ this
metal,” asked the legislators, “ which you handle every day, is a
mass of it heavier than any other mass of equal dimensions of
brass?”—“ Yes,” the people again unanimously replied ; “gold
is heavier than brass.”
The legislators then took the sword. “ Is this iron less hard
than lead ?”—“ No,” said the nations.
“ Is sugar sweet and gall bitter?”—“ Yes.”
“ Do you love pleasure, and hate pain ?”—“ Yes.”
“ Respecting these objects, and a multiplicity of others of a
similar nature, you have then but one opinion. Now tell us, is
there an abyss in the centre of the earth, and are there inhabitant»
in the moon?”
At this question a general noise was heard, and every nation
gave a different answer. Some replied in the affirmative, others
tn the negative ; some said it was probable, others that it was an
idle and ridiculous question, and others that it was a subject wor
thy of enquiry ; in short, there prevailed among them a total dis
agreement.
After a short interval, the legislators having restored silence;
“Nations,” said they, “ how is this to be accounted for? We
proposed to you certain questions, and you were all of one opi
nion without distinction of race or sect : fair or black, disciples
of Mahomet or of Moses, worshippers of Bedou or of Jesus, you
all gave the same answer. We now propose another question,
and you all differ ! whence this unanimity in one case, and this
discordance in the other?”
And the groupe of simple and untaught men replied : “The
reason is obvious. Respecting the first questions, we see and feel
the objects; We speak of them from sensation : respecting the se
cond, they are above the reach of our senses, and we have aoguid®
but conjecture.”
�A SURVEY OF THS
“You have solved the problem,” said the legislators; “ and
the following truth is thus by your own confession established *
whenever objects are present and can be judged of by your senses,
you invariably agree in opinion ; and you differ in sentiment only
when they are absent ana out of your reach.
“ From this truth flows another equally clear and deserving of
notice. Since you agree respecting what you with certainty know,
it follows, that when you disagree, it is because you do not know,
do not understand, are not sure of the object in question : or in
other words, that you dispute, quarrel and fight among yourselves
for what is uncertain, for that of which you doubt. But is this
wise; is this the part of rational and intelligent beings'?
« And is it not evident, that it is not truth for which you con
tend ; that it is not her cause you are jealous of maintaining, but
the cause of your own passions and prejudices; that it is not the
object as it really exists that you wish to verify, but the object as
it appears to you ; that it is not the evidence of the thing that you
are anxious should prevail, but your personal opinion, your mode
©f seeing and judging? There is a power that you want to exer
cise, an interest that you want to maintain, a prerogative that you
want to assume; in short, the whole is a struggle of vanity. And
as every individual, when he compares himself with every other,
finds himself to be his equal and fellow, he resists by a similar
feeling of right ; and from this right, which you all deny to each
other, and from the inherent consciousness of your equality,
spring you disputes, your combats, and your intolerance.
“ Now, the only way of restoring unanimity is by returning to
nature, and taking the order of things which she has established
for your director and guide: and this farther truth will then ap
pear from your uniformity of sentiment:
44 That real objects have in themselves an identical, constant, and
invariable mode of existence, and that in your organs exists a
similar mode of being affected and impressed by them.
" But at the same time, inasmuch as these organs are liable to
the direction of your will, you may receive different impressions,
and find yourselves under different relations towards the same
objects; so that you are with respect to them, as it were, a sort of
mirror, capable of reflecting them such as they are, and capable
of disfiguring and misrepresenting them.
i( As often as you perceive the objects such as they are, your
feelings are in accord with the objects, and you agree in opinion ;
and it is th is.accord that constitutes truth.
“ On the contrary, as often as you differ in opinion, your dissen
sions prove, that, you do not see the objects such as they are, but
vary them.
“Whence it appears, that the cause of your dissensions is not
�REVOLUTIONS OF EMPIRES.
14T
in the objects themselves, but in your minds, in the manner in
which you perceive and judge.
“ If therefore we would arrive at uniformity of opinion, we
must previously establish certainty, and verify the resemblance
which our ideas have to their models. Now this cannot be obtained»
except so far as the objects of our enquiry can be referred to the
testimony and subjected to the examination of our senses. What
ever cannot be brought to this trial is beyond the limits of our un
derstanding; and we have neither rule to try it by, nor measure
by which to institute a comparison, nor source of demonstration
and knowledge concerning it.
“ Whence it is obvious, that, in order to live in peace and har
mony, we must consent not to pronounce upon such objects, nor
annex to them importance; we must draw a line of demarcatioa
between such as can be verified and such as cannot, and separates
by an inviolable barrier, the world of fantastic beings from the
world of realities: that is to say, all civil effect must be taken
away from theological and religious opinions.
“ This, O nations! is the end that a great people, freed from'
their fetters and prejudices, have proposed to themselves; this is
the work in which, by their command, and under their immediate
auspices, we were engaged, when your kings and your priest
came to interrupt our labours. Kings and priests, you may yet
for a while suspend the solemn publication of the laws of nature;
but it is no longer in your power to annihilate or to subvert them?’
A lond cry was then heard from every quarter of the general
assembly of nations; and the whole of the people, unanimously
testifying their adherence to the sentiments of the legislators, en
couraged. them to resume their sacred and sublime undertaking,
“ Investigate,” said they, “ the laws which nature, for our direc
tion, has implanted in our breasts, and form from thence an au
thentic and immutable code. Nor let this code be calculated for'
one family, or for one nation only, but for the whole without ex
ception. Be the Legislators of the human race, as ye are the in
terpreters of their common nature. Shew us the line that separ
ates the world of chimeras from that of realities; and teach us,
after so many religions of error and delusion, the religion of evi
dence and truth.”
Upon this, the legislators resuming their enquiry into the phy
sical and constituent attributes of man, and the motives and af
fections which govern him in his individual and social capacity,
unfolded in the following terms the laws on which Nature herself
has founded his felicity.
�ATA
Page 110. For note to “ The adverse Genii became rebels and enemies
."
*
see
note * page 111.
,
Pa«: 111. For note to “ Called Typhon, that is to say, deluge see note f,
"
*
in (■same page.
Page 111. For note to “ In Persia, at a subsequent period-^," see note t, in
the same page.
’
+
Page 111. For note to “ Whence are derived all religious acts if a gay natureX," see note * page 112.
1
Page 112. “ Whence originated dll religious acts of a sombre kind
."
*
“ Sacri
fices of blood,” says Porphyry, “ were only offered to Demons and evil Genii, to
avert their wrath. Demons are fond of blood, humidity, stench.” A pud. Euseb.
Proep. Evan, page 173. <! The Egyptians,” says Plutarch, “ only offer bloody
victims to Typhon. They sacrifice to him a red ox, and the animal immolated«
«
*
held in execration, and loaded with all the sins of the people.” (The Goat of
Moses ) See Isis and Osiris.
Page 112. “ From the same souree flowed the divisions of terrestrial beings
Into pure and impure, sacred and abominable." Strabo says, speaking of Moses
and the Jews, “ Circumcision and the prohibition of certain kinds of meat, sprung
from superstition.”—And I observe, respecting the ceremony of circumcision, that
its object was to take from the symbol of Osiris, (Phallus,) the pretended obstacle
to fecundity; an obstacle which bore the seal of Typhon, “ whose nature,” says
Plutarch, “ is made up of all that hinders, opposes, causes obstruction."
�NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
THE
LIU OF NATURE;
OR,
¡PMFWmPILnBS ©W" MI©IB.£ULIIsirT
»EDUCED FROM THE
PHYSICAL CONSTITUTION
OF
MANKIND AND THE UNIVERSE.
©ranglatel) from
jFrmfc of
C. F. VOLNEY.
/
FOR MODES OF FAITH' LET GRACELESS ZEALOTS FIGHT;
HIS CAN’T BE WRONG WHOSE LIFE 18 IN THE RIGHT.”
*
Uo niton:
PRIMED AND PUBLISHED BY I. DAVISON,
Ao. 10, Duke Street, Heit Smithfield
*
*
,
• 1819.
��CONTENTS
*
<
CHAP. I.
Of the Law of Nature
.
,
.
.
.
.
. ' .
Pafft
3
.
.
...
6
CHAP. II,
Characters of the Law of Nature
.
CHAP. Ill,
The Principles of the Law of Nature, as they relate to Man
•
;
8
CHAP. IV.
Of the Basis of Morality—Of Good—Of Evil—Of Siu—Of Crimes
—Of Vice and Virtue....................................................................... 12
CHAP. V.
Of Individual Virtues—Of Knowledge
.....
13
.........
15
CHAP. VI. .
Of Temperance
CHAP. VIL
Of Continence
,
.
.
-
•
. 17
CHAP. VIII.
Of Courage and Activity
.
.
.
.
.
.
,
, 19
CHAP. IX.
Of Cleanliness
..........
21
CHAP. X.
Of Domestic Virtues
.........
22
CHAP. XI.
Of the Social Virtues, and of Justice
.
.
,
•
;
«
»>
«
25
CHAP. XII.
Developement of the Social Virtues
.
;
.27
�%
V
�TSt
CHAP. L
Ox
t he
La w o f Na t u r e .
Q. W h a t is the Law of Nature ?
A. It is the regular and constant order of events, according
to which God rules the universe; the order which his wisdom pre
sents to the senses and reason of mankind, to serve them as aa
equal and general rule of action, and to conduct them, without
distinction of country or sect, towards happiness and perfection.
Q. Give me a clear definition of the word Law.
A. The word laic, taken in its literal sense, signifies reading
*
because in early times, ordinances and regulations principally
composed the readings delivered to the people; which were made
in order that they might observe them, and not incur the penalties
attached to their infraction: whence it follows, that the original
usage explaining the true idea, a law may be defined to be, “ A
command or a prohibition of an action, with the expressed clause
of a penalty attached to the infraction, or a reward annexed to the
observation of the order.”
Q. Are there such orders in nature ?
A. Yes.
Q. What means the word nature ?
A. The word nature comprehends three different signification®»
' 1. It means the universe, or material world; we say, according
to this signification, the beauties of nature, the riches of nature
:
*
fhat is, of the objects in heaven and on earth presented to our
Contemplation.
2. It means the power which animates and moves the universe,
considering this power as a distinct being, such as the soul is sup
posed to be with respect to the body. In this second sense we sav,
the intentions of nature, the incomprehensible secrets of natuie.
�4
THE LAW OF NATURE,
3. It means the partial operation of this power, as exerted in
each individual being or in any class of beings; and we say,
,
*
in this third sense, the nature of man is an enigma ; every being
acts according to its nature.
Now, since the accounts of each individual, or of each cVss of
beings, are subjected to constant and general rules, which cr n mt
be departed from without changing and disturbing some general
or particular order of things, to these rules of action and motion
is given the name of natural laws, or laws of nature.
Q. Give me examples of these laics.
A. It is a law of nature that the sun enlightens in success:on
every part of the surface of the.terrestrial globe: that his pre
sence excites light and heat: that heat, acting on the waters,
produces vapours: that these vapours, raised in clouds into the
higher regions of the atmosphere, form themselves into rain or
snow, and supply, without ceasing, the water of springs and rivers.
It is a law of nature that water flows from an upper to a lower
situation; that it seeksit level: that it is heavier than air; that
all bodies tend towards the earth; that flame rises towards the
sky; that it destroys the organization of vegetables and animals;
that air is essential to the life of certain animals; that in certain
cases water suffocates and kills them: that certain juices of plants
and certain minerals attack their organs, and destroy their life;
and the same of a variety of facts.
Now, since these facts, and many similar ones, are constant,
regular, and immutable, they become so many real and positive
commands to which man is bound to conform, under the express
penalty of punishment attached to their infraction, or well-being
connected with their observance. So that, if a man were to pre
tend to see clearly in the dark, or is regardless of the progress of
the seasons, or the action of the elements; if he pretends to exist
under water without drowning; to handle fire without burning
himself; to deprive himself of air without suffocation ; or to drink
poison without destroying himself; he receives from each infrac
tion of the law of nature a corporal punishment proportioned to his
transgression. If, on the contrary, he observes these laws, and
founds his practice on the precise and regular relation which they
bear to him, he preserves his existence, and renders it as happy
as it is capable of being rendered ; and since all these laws, con
sidered in relation to the human species, have in. view only one
common end, that of' their preservation and their happiness;
whence it has been agreed to assemble together the different
ideas, and express them by a single word, and call them col
lectively by the name of the law of nature. -
�THE LAW OE NATURE.
CIIAP. IL
Ch a r a c t e r s o f t h e La w o f Na t u r e .
Q. W h a t are the characters of the taw of nature ?
A. We may reckon ten principal ones.
Q. What is the first ?
A. To be inherent in, and essential to, the existence of things ;
consequently to be primitive and anterior to every other law, so
that all those which m<-.a have adopted from time to time, are only
imitations of this ; the perfection of which laws is to be measured
by their resemblance with this primordial model.
Q. What is the setond?
A. It is to emanate immediately from God, and to be by hint
offered to the contemplation of every man, while others are pre
sented to us by men only, who may happen to be either deceivers
or deceived.
Q. W/zat is the third?
A. It is to be common to every time and country ; that is, to
be one and universal.
Q. Is there no other law which is universal ?
A. No ; for no other is suited and applicable to every people
upon earth ; all are local and accidental, sprung from the dif
fering circumstances of places and persons ; so that if a given
man, or a given event, had not existed, a given law would not
have taken place.
Q. W7zai is the fourth character ?
A. That of being uniform and invariable.
Q. Is there no other law which is uniform and invariable?
A. No; for that which according to one is good and virtuous,
is evil and vicious according to another ; and what is at one time
approved, is often condemned at another by the same law.
Q. What is the fifth character ?
A, To be evident and palpable, since it consists wholly of facts
ever present to our senses, and capable of demonstration.
Q. Are there not other laws evident ?
A. No ; for they are founded on past and doubtful facts; on
equivocal and suspicious testimony; and on proofs which can
not be presented to the senses.
Q. What is the sixth character ?
A. To be reasonable; because its precepts, and its whole doc
trine, are conformable to reason, and agreeable to the human
understanding.
Q. Is no other law reasonable ?
A. No ; for they all contradict the reason and understanding
�’$
HIE LAW OF NATURE.
of man, and impose upon him, tyrannically, a blind and impras*
ticable belief.
Q. What is the seventh character ?
A. To be just; because in this law the punishment is propor
tioned to the transgression.
Q, Are there no other lares just ?
.A. No; for they frequently attach to merit or to criminality,
.disproportionate punishment or reward; and impute merit and
criminality to actions which are null or indifferent.
0« W/zai is the eighth character ?
A. To be pacific and tolerant; because, according to the law
of nature, all men being brethren, and equal in rights, it advises
all to peace and toleration, even for their errors.
Q. Are not other lares pacific ?
A. No; for they all breathe dissension, discord, and war, and
divide men among each other by means of exclusive pretensions
to truth and power.
Q. What is the ninth character of this law ?
A. To be equally beneficent to all men, and to teach them all
the true method of being better and happier.
Q. Are not the rest likewise beneficent ?
A. No; for none teaches the true road to happiness; they all
really amount to nothing but pernicious or futile performances;
and this is proved by facts, since, after so many laws, religions,
legislators, and prophets, men remain still as unhappy and as ig
norant as they were five thousand years ago.
Q, What is the last character of the law of nature ?
A. It is its being of itself sufficient to render men happier and
better, because it includes whatever is good and useful in every
other law, civil or religious; that is, it is in its essence the moral
part of them all: so that, were they divested of it, they would be
reduced to the state of chimerical and imaginary opinions, and
'be of no practical utility.
Q. Recapitulate all these characters.
A. I have said that the Law of Nature is,
f J^rimitive;
.
Immediate, or of original emanation ;'
Universal;
c Invariable ;
. Evident;
Reasonable ;
Just ;
Pacific;
Beneficent:
And, of itself sufficient:
And it is because it unites in itself all these attributes of per
fection and of truth, that there has always existed in the human
�THE LAW OK NATURE.
'fa
1
lienrt an involuntary and secret inclination to regard it as, in a
peculiar sense, the true religion: the only one adapted to the
nature of man, and the only one worthy of God, from whom it
*
drictmittjs
Q. //; as you assert, it emanates immediately from God, does
it teach us his existence ?
•v t
A. Yes; very positively ; for every man who observes with at
tention the astonishing scene of the universe, the more he medi
tates on the properties and attributes of each existence, and on
the admirable order and harmony of their motions, the moie will
he be convinced that there is a supreme agent, a universal and
identical mover, designated by the name of-God: and it j s so
true, that the law of nature is sufficient to raise us to the know
ledge of God, that whatever men have pretended to know of
him5by any other means, has been constantly found to be ridicu
lous and absurd; and they have been obliged to return to the
unchangeable notions of natural reason.
Q. It is not true, then, that the followers of the law of nature
are atheists ?
A. No; it is not true. On the contrary they have stronger
and more noble ideas of the Divinity than the greater part of
mankind; for they do not defile it by the addition of the weak
nesses and passions of human nature.
Q. What is the worship which they render him ?
A. A worship which consists entirely in action; in the obser
vation and practice of alt the rules which the Supreme Wisdom
has imposed upon the motions of each being; eternal and unal
terable rules, which maintain the order and harmony of the
universe, and which, considered in relation to man, compose
the law of nature.
Q. Was the law of nature ever known before the present day ?
A. It has been spoken of in every age. The greater part of
lawgivers have pretended to make it the basis of their laws; but
they have brought forward only a few of its precepts, and have
had but vague ideas of it as a whole.
Q. Why has this happened?
A. Because, though it is simple in its basis, it forms, in its developement and its consequences, a complicated aggregate, which
requires the knowledge of a number of facts, and the whole sa
gacity of reason in order to be understood.
Q. Does not instinct alone instruct us in the law of nature?
A. No; for instinct signifies only that blind sentiment which
leads us, without discrimination, towards whatever pleases our
senses.
Q. Why, then, is it said that the law of nature is engraven
031 the hearts of alt men?
�•
t h e l a w o f n a t u r e.
A. It is said for two reasons: 1st, Because it has been re
**
marked that there are actions and sentiments common to all man
kind, arising from their similar organization, 2d, Because it was
an opinion of the ancient philosophers, that men were born into
the world with innate or ready-formed ideas; an opinion which
is now demonstrated to be an error.
Q. Do philosophers then deceive themselves ?
A. Yes; they do.
Q. How happens this ?
A. First, From their nature as men. Secondly, Because igno
rant persons call every man who reasons a philosopher, whether
he reason well or ill. Thirdly, Because those who reason on a
variety of subjects, and are the first to reason on them, are liable
to deceive themselves.
, Q. Since the law of nature is not written, may it not be con-
. sidered as arbitrary and ideal?
A. No; because it consists altogether in facts, whose demon
stration may be at any time recalled before the senses, and form
a science as precise and exact as those of geometry and mathe
matics : and this very circumstance, that the law of nature forms
an exact science, is the reason why men, who are born in igno
rance, and live in carelessness, have, till this day, know n it only
•uperficially.
CHAP. III.
Th e Pr in c ipl e s o f t h e La w o f Na t u r e a s t h e y r e l a t e
t o Ma n .
Q. Un f o l d the principles of the law of nature as they relate
to man.
A. They are simple and reducible to a single fundamental
principal precept.
Q. What is this precept ?
"
A.
Self-preservation.
Q? Is not happiness likewise a precept of the law of nature?
A. Yes; but as happiness is an accidental circumstance, which
takes place only in consequence of the unfolding of the faculties
of man, and the developement of the social system, it is not the
primary and direct end proposed by nature. It is an object of
luxury superadded to the necessary and fundamental object of
self-preservation.
Q. In what manner does nature command self-preservation ?
A. By two powerful and involuntary sensations which she has
attached as two guides or guardian genii to all our actions: one,
�THE LAW OF NATURE.
9
the sensation of pain, by which she informs us of, and turns us
from, whatever tends to our destruction.
.. , ,
,
j
The other, the sensation of pleasure, by which she attracts and
leads us towards every thing that tends to our preservation, and
the unfolding of our faculties.
.
.
,
Q. Pleasure then is not an evil or a sin, as the casuists have
A. No • it is of that class only when it tends to the destruction
of life and health, which, as the casuists themselves confess, are
derived to us from God.
Q. Is pleasure the principle object of our existence, as some
philosophers have asserted ?
A. No; no more than pain is: by pleasure, nature encourages
us to live; by pain, it makes us shrink from death.
Q. How do you prove this assertion ?
A. By two palpable facts; the one, that pleasure, carried too
far, conducts into destruction : for instance, a man who abuses
the pleasure of eating and drinking, attacks his health and injures
his existence. The other, that pain sometimes tends to our pre
servation : for instance, a man who orders his mortified limb to
be amputated, suffers pain, but it is in order that he may not pe
rish altogether.
Q. But does not this prove that our senses may deceive us
with respect to this end of self-preservation?
A. Yes ; they may for a time.
Q. How do our sensations deceive us ?
A. In two ways; through our ignorance and our passions.
Q. When do they deceive us through our ignorance ?
A. When we act without knowing the action and effect of ob
jects on our senses: for instance, when a man handles nettles
without knowing their quality of stinging; or, when he chews
opium in ignorance of its soporific properties.
Q. When do they deceive us through our passions ?
A. W hen, though we are acquainted with the hurtful action
of objects, we, notwithstanding, give way to the violence of our
desires anil our appetites: for instance, when a man, who knows
that wine inebriates, drinks, notwithstanding, to excess.
Q. What results from, these facts?
A. The result is, that the ignorance in which we enter the
world, and the inordinate appetites to which we give ourselves
up, are opposed to our self-preservation; that, in consequence,
the instruction of our minds, and the moderation of our passions,
are two obligations, or two laws, immediately derived from the
first law of preservation.
Q. But if we are born ignorant, is not ignorance a part of
the law ofnature ?
�re
t h e LAW o f NATURE^
state o^nTa^cy^far^rmiH^ b^ ’’ernani in the naked and feeble
an obstacle in the way of all herTaws Tt Fs
,§’noi?nce.is
Q. Whence then has It banned ti !
tue/rue original sm.
Kh°c™sidereditasav^
€XlSted
foundedt^e^^
»4
mXiTo^^rfacukres.1101
/
u^::
UnfoIdinS and propTemplly-
tJlen necess^Uy indispensable for man’s
. A:
SO ’^'spensable, that, without it, he must be everv in
stant struck and wounded by all the beings which surround him"
ofVatei he^T I”6
If, in the sX? It drowned; of op.um, he would be poisoned.
fide h“2e?f whhfoot '”‘1’ Pn“ 'f
arisln"
be
«
*
«arth, nor pro'"S
neeeJm, to
acT"re M
id"»
A S V’„„ ^T“"/ i mpldil>3 »J Id» .faculties ?
livin’
-’i \e- cannot d° 11 ^Ut by the assistance of his fellows
living with him m a state of society.
ieiious
’ A No- it kF
S°Ciety a State unn°Wral to man ?
k- u 1 • f ’
the contrary> a necessity, a law imposed unon
him by his very organization; for, 1st. Nature basso constituted
ex X 7 that hG d°eS 1Wt beh0id bis likeness of anoXr
sex, without expel iencing emotions, and an attraction inducing
2d Tn 1V%!1 ad°™esilc state, which is already a state of society
*
2d. In rendering him sensible, she has so organized him that
the sensations of others are reflected into himself, and excite in
him co-sentiments of pleasure or pain, which become the attrac
tive force and indissoluble bond of social life: 3d. In fine the
«ate of society, established on the wants of man, is nothin- more
lnd"tonsav ?h»f°
hraea?S/- fuIfilIhlg the laW0f Preservation:
and to saj, that such a state is unnatural, because it is more adihSer a0«? wiiF
* t0
which in the ™ods
is bittei and wild, is no longer a production of nature, after bavincuiXT
in the garden in which ifc has beeS
denmina* d
'
savage state
/
�THE LAW OF NATURE.
11
A. Because, as I bave before observed, the vulgar have often
given the appellation of philosophers, to capricious persons, who
'through moroseness, wounded vanity, or disgust with the vices
of social life, have formed a chimerical idea of the savage state,
contradictory to their own system of the perfectability of man,
Q. What is the true meaning of the word philosopher '?
A. Thé word philosopher signifies lover of wisdom : now, since
wisdom consists in the practice of the laws of nature, that man is
a true philosopher who understands these laws in their full extent,
and, with precision, renders his conduct conformable to them.
Q. What is man in a savage state?
A. A brute and ignorant animal ; a mischievous and ferocious
beast, like a bear or an our^ng-outang.
Q. Is he happy in such à slate ?.
A. No ; for he has but the sensations of the moment ; and these
sensations are habitually sentiments of violent and pressing
wants which he cannot gratify ; seeing that he is ignorant by
nature, and feeble by his state of insulation from society.
Q. Is hefree?
A. No; he is the most slavish of beings; his life depends on
all that surrounds him ; he has not the power to eat when he is huno-ry, to rest himself when he is weary, or to warm himself when
he is cold : he is in danger of perishing every instant. Nature,
it is true, has exhibited such beings only, as it were, by chance :
and, it is evident, that the efforts of the human race have, from
the beginning, been employed to extricate it from this state of
violence ; so strong is the desire of preservation.
Q. But does not this desire of self preservation produce in
individuals egoism, that is, the love of self; and is not egoism
abhorrent to the social state ?
A, No ; for, if by egoism is understood an inclination to injure
others, it is no longer the love of self, but the hatred of our
neighbour. The love of self, taken in its true sense, is not only
Consistent with a state of society, but is likewise its firmest support ;
since We are under a necessity of not doing injury to others, lest
they should, in return, do injury to ourselves.
Thus the preservation of man, and the unfolding of his facul
ties ‘which have in view Uie same end, are the true law which
nature has followed in the production of the human species : and
from this simple and fruitful principle, are derived, must be re
ferred, and ultimately measured, all our ideas of good and evil,
vice and virtue, justice and injustice, truth and error, of what is
permitted and what is forbidden ; the foundation of all moral
conduct, whether in the individual man, or the man of social
life.
�ip
THE LAW OF NATURE.
CHAP. IV.
Of t h e Ba 3,s o f Mo r a l ,t y _o p Go o d _o F Ev .l -o f Sir o f Cr im e s —o f Vic e a n d Vir t u e .
\v?Ar is ( ood> ^cording to the law of nature ?
J
preserve aud ameIlorate ““kind,
■ Q. JFa X" «"
human'ract™
W
iest ™ti™ “d deterioration of tie
b,J PHYS,CA1 S<>od and evil, a„d
mo r a l
„A; H y L A W0Id
is meant whatever acts immediately
X" Bv :<ly:,hKl"h “ a physical good; sickness is a ph ysS
eviJ. By morof is understood whatever is effected bv const
*
quences more or less remote: calumny is a moral evZ a fair
reputation is a moral good ; because both of them are !he occasion
of certain dispositions and habits in other men, wk respect to
ourselves which are useful or prejudicial to our well behm and
which attack or contribute to t'he ‘’ eans of existence.
m
8’ "d
JF’
Q. Every thing which tends to bring on death is of consequence
for ,‘his reason, some legislators have extended
the idea of evil and sm to the killing of any animals.
lawqf naZe1er "J “
“ 'rime aCC0rdi^ '» t!“
YeS;i and llle ?reatest ‘hat can be committed ; for all other
evils may be repaired, but murder can never be done away.
;■ ™
tSSln accordinff to the law of nature?
A. Whatever tends to disturb the order established by nature
* the preservation and perfectability of man and of society.
or
V. Cun intention he a merit or a crime ?
"
A. No; for it is only an idea without reality; but it is a begin
ning of sm and evil, by the inclination to act, of which it is the
cause»
Q. What is virtue according to the law of nature ?
A. The practice of actions which are useful to the individual
and to society.
Q. What signifies the word individual ?
ether
S' gmfieS a J erson considered as insulated from every
*
�THE LAW OF NATLRi:.
13
*
0 What is vice according to the law of nature?
A Ai It is the practice of actions prejudicial to the individual and
to society.
Q. Have not virtue and vice an object purely spiritual and ab
stractedfrom sense ?
A. No ; they are always ultimately referable to a physical end;
and this end is invariably the destruction or preservation of the
body.
Q. Have vice and virtue degrees of strength and intensity ?
A. Yes: according to the importance of the faculties which
they attack or favour ; and according to the number of indivi
duals in whom these faculties are thus assisted or injured.
Q. Give me an example ?
A. The action of saving a man ’s life is more virtuous than that
of saving his wealth : the act of saving the lives of ten men is
more so than that of saving the life of a single person : and an
action which is useful to the whole human race, is more virtuous
than an action useful only to a single nation.
*
Q. In what manner does the law of nature prescribe the prac
tice of good and virtue, and forbid that of evil and of vice ?
A. By the advantages resulting from the practice or good and
virtue in the preservation of our bodies, and the injuries which
our very existence receives from the practice of evil and vice.
Q. Its precepts, then are found in andfounded upon action ?
A. Yes; they are action itself, considered in its present effect
and its future consequences.
Q. What division do you make of the virtues ?
A. We divide them into three classes: 1st, Private virtues, or
those which refer to single and insulated persons: 2d. Domestic
virtues, or those which relate to families: 3d. Social virtues, or
those which respect society at large.
CHAP. V.
.■
Of In d iv id u a l o r Pr
iv a t e
Vir t u e s .—Of Kn o w l
ed g e.
Q. W h i c h are the private virtues ?
' A. There are five principal ones: namely, Knowledge; which
comprehends prudence and wisdom.
II. Temperance; which includes sobriety and chastity.
III. Courage; or strength of body and mind.
IV. Activity; that is, the love of labour, and a proper employ
ment of our time.
V. Lastly ; cleanliness, or purity of body, as well in o u f
clothing as in our dwellings.
2C
�14
THE LAW OF NATURE.
Q. How doe» the law of nature prescribe to us the possession
of knowledge?
A. In this way: The man who is acquainted with the causes
and effects of things, provides in a very extensive and certain
manner for his own preservation and the developement of his
faculties. Knowledge is for him, as it were, light acting upon
its appropriate organ, making him discern all the objects which
surround him, and in the midst of which he moves with precision
and clearness. And for this reason we used to say an enlightened
man, to designate a wise and well-informed man. By the help of
knowledge and information, we are never left without resources
and means of subsistence; and whence a philosopher, who had
suffered shipwreck, observed justly to his companions, who were
lamenting tne loss of their fortunes, “ As for me, I carry all my
fortune in myself.”
Q. What is the vice opposed to knowledge ?
A. Ignorance.
Q. How does the law of nature forbid ignorance ?
A. By the great injury which our existence sustains from it :
for the ignorant, who are unacquainted with either causes or
effects, commit every instant mistakes, the most pernicious to
themselves or others: like a blind man, who walks groping his
way, and who at every step stumbles against or is jostled by his
companions.
Q. What difference is there between an ignorant man and a
fool?
A. The same that there is between a blind man who ingeni
ously acknowledges his want of sight, and a blind man who pre
tends to see distinctly. Folly is ignorance, with a superadded
pretension to knowledge.
Q. Are ignorance andfolly common ?
A. Yes; very common: they are the habitual and general
diseases of mankind. Above three thousand years since, the
wisest of men observed, that the number of fools is infinite; and
the world has not changed.
Q, How happens this ?
A. Because to become informed is the work of much time and
labour; and because men, born ignorant, but fearful of trouble,
find it more convenient to remain blind, and pretend to see
clearly.
Q. What difference is there between the man of learning and
the man of ivisdom?
A. The man of learning possesses the theory, and the man of
wisdom the practice,
Q. What is prudence ?
' - A. An anticipated, view, a foresight of effects, and the eonee-
�THE LAW OF NATURE,
fluences of every event: a foresight by which a man avoids the
dangers which threaten him, and seizes and raises up opportu
nities which are favourable: whence it appears, that he provides,
on a large and sure scale, for his present and future conservation ;
while the imprudent man, who neither calculates his progress nor
his conduct —the efforts required, nor the resistances to overcome,
falls every moment into a thousand difficulties and dangers,
which, more or less, slowly destroy his faculties and his being.
Q. When the Gospel declares, « Happy are the poor in spirit,
does it mean the ignorant and imprudent?
t
A. No; for, at the same time that it advises the simplicity ot
doves, it connects with it the prudent cunning of the serpent.
By simpleness of spirit is meant rectitude; and the precept ot
the Gospel is no other than that of nature.
CHAP. VI,
Of Te m pe r a n c e .
Q. W h a t is temperance?
A. A well-regulated employment of our faculties; which pre
vents our ever exceeding in our sensible pleasures the end of
nature, self-conservation, It is the moderation of our passions.
Q. What is the vice opposed to temperance ?
A. The want of government over our passions ; an over great
eagerness to possess enjoyments: in a word, cupidity.
Q. What are the principal branches of temperance ?■
A. Sobriety, and continence or chastity,
Q. In what manner does the law of nature enjoin sobriety ?
A. By its powerful influence over our health. The man of so
briety digests his food with comfort; he is not oppressed by the
weight ot his aliment: his ideas are clear and easily impressed;
he performs every function well ; he attends with diligence to his
business ; he grows old, free from sickness; he does not throw
away his money in remedies for disorders ; he enjoys with gay
good humour the goods which fortune or prudence have pro
cured him. Thus does generous nature make a thousand rewards
flow from a single virtue.
Q, JBy what means does she prohibit gluttony ?
A. By the numerous evils attached to it. The glutton, op
pressed by his aliment, digests with pain and difficulty ; his
head, disturbed by the fumes arising during bad digestion, is
incapable of receiving neat and clear ideas; he gives himself up
with fury to the inordinate movements of luxury and anger,
which destroy his health ; his body becomes fat, heavy, and unfit
�t h e l a w o f n a t u r e,
for labour; he passes through painful and expensive fits of sicE
ness; he rarely lives to old age, and his latter part of life is marked
by infirmity and disgust.
Q. Ought we to look upon abstinence and fasting as virtuous
dCHOnS •
A. Yes; after we have eaten too much; for, in that case, absti
nence and fasting are efficacious and simple remedies; but when
the body has need of nourishment, to refuse it, and let it suffer
through thirst or hunger, is madness, and a real sin against the
law ot nature.
®
what light does this law consider drunkenness?
A. As the vilest and most pernicious of vices. The drunkard,
deprived of the sense and reason given us by God, profanes the
gifts of the Divinity; he lowers himself to the condition of the
brates: incapable of dircting his steps, he totters and falls as in
a fit of epilepsy; he wounds himself, and endangers his own life:
h:s weakness m this state renders him the play-thing and the
scorn of all around him: he contracts during his drunkenness,
ruinous engagements, and loses the management of his affairs:
he suffers violent and outrageous observations to escape him,
which raise him up enemies, and bring him to repentance: he
fids his house with trouble and chagrin; and he concludes by a
premature death, or an old age, comfortless and diseased.
Q. Does the law of nature absolutely forbid the use of wine?
A. No; it only forbids the abuses of it; but as the passage
from the proper to the improper use of it, is, for the vulgar, very
short and easy, perhaps those legislators, who have forbidden the
hse or wme, have, in so doing, rendered a service to mankind.
Q. Does the law of nature forbid the use °f certain meats and
vegetables, on certain days, or during certain seasons?
A. No; it forbids only what is absolutely prejudicial to health:
its precepts on this score vary as men do, and compose a very de
licate anff important science; for the quality, the quantity, and the
combination, of our aliments, have a very great influence, not only
on the momentary affections of the mind, but likewise on its habit«
and dispositions. A man fasting is not the same as after a repast
though of the most sober kind. A glass of wine, a dish of coffee,
*
produce various degrees of vivacity, activity, disposition to anger ’
sadness, or gaiety : one species of food, because it lies heavy on
the stomach, renders a person morose and peevish ; another,
which is easily digested, disposes to cheerfulness and love, and
produces in us an inclination to be obliging. The use of veo-etables, as they afford little nourishment, render the body weak
lndu(;e repose, inactivity, and mildness of character : ‘the use
of flesh meats, as they nourish much, and of spirituous liquors, as
pey. stimulate the nerves, induce liveliness, restlessness, audacity.
�t h e: l a w o f n a t u r e.
17
Now, from these habits of taking different kinds of food, result
constitutional habits, which form in the end various temperaments,
each distinguished by a peculiar character ; and hence it appears,
why in hot countries legislators have promulgated, as laws, rules
of diet. Long experience had taught the ancients, that the diet
etic science composed a considerable portion of that of morals;
among the Egyptians, among the ancient Persians, and even
among the Greeks, in their Areopagus, affairs of consequence
were never debated on, except' the members of the council were
fasting; and it has been remarked, that among every people who
deliberate during the warmth of a repast, or during the fumes of
digestion, the debates are invariably furious and turbulent, and
their results frequently unreasonable and destructive of the pub
lic peace.
CHAP. VII.
Of Co n t in e n c e .
Q. Do e s the law of nature prescribe continence ?
A. Yes; because moderation, in the enjoyment of the most
violent of our sensations, is not only serviceable, but indispensible for the maintenance of our strength and health ; and because
it may be demonstrated by a simple calculation, that, in return
for a few minutes of privation, we are repaid by long days of
vigour of mind and body.
Q. How does it forbid libertinism ?
A. By the innumerable evils which it entails upon our exist
ence, physical and moral. The man who abandons himself to it,
becomes enervated and languid ; he is no longer able to attend
to his studies or his business; he contracts idle and expensive
habits, which diminish his means of livelihood, his reputation
and his credit ; his intrigues occasion him embarrassments, cares,
quarrels, and law-suits, not to take into the account heavy and
grievous diseases; the decrease of his strength by an internal
and slow poison ; the stupefaction of his intellect by the exhaus
tion of the nervous influence; and, lastly, a premature and infirm
old age.
Q. Is that consummate chastity, which is so much inculcated
in monastic institutions, regarded as a virtue by the natural law!
A. No; for such chastity is neither of utility to the society at
large where it is prevalent, nor even to the individuals who are
rigorously observant of it ; hay, it is demonstrably prejudicial to
both. In the first place it is detrimental to society at large, be
cause it checks the progress of its population, which is one of its
great sources of wealth and power ; and because the persons who
�1#
THE LAW OF NATURE.
¿evote themselves to a life of celibacy, by confining their views
and affections within the narrow sphere of their own existence,
for the most part contract a selfish partiality for themselves»
which alienates their minds from the general interests of the
community.
In the second place it is injurious to individuals, because it ex
cludes them from a multiplicity of affections and relations, which
have a considerable share in the formation of the domestic and
social virtues. Again, it frequently happens, from the circum
stances of age, temperament and àiet, that absolute continence
impairs the health, and lays the foundation of serious diseases,
by counteracting those laws by which nature maintains and per
petuates the species. Not to mention, that those who are such
rigid and enthusiastic advocates for unlimited abstinence in this
respect, even w here their sincerity cannot be called in question,
totally militate against their own doctrine, which consecrates the
law of nature by the well known command, Be fruitful and
multiply.
Q. Why is chastity considered as a virtue of greater import
ance to women than to men ?
A. Because the breach of chastity in w omen is attended with
far more alarming- and injurious consequences to themselves and
to society ; for, exclusively of the afflictions and diseases of every
denomination to which they are liable in common with the other
sex, they incur all the various inconveniences that precede, ac
company, and follow a state of motherhood, of which they run
the hazard ; and, if this should chance out of the pale of the law,
they became exposed to the scorn and derision of the world,
which unavoidably embitters the remaining portion of their ex
istence. Again, they are surcharged with the expenses arising
from the maintenance and education of children that are unpro
tected and without relations ; by which means they become im
poverished and distressed both in mind and fortune. In this
state, deprived of that freshness and that health in w hich their ‘
charms chiefly consist, carrying about with them an unusual and
painful burden, they are less sought after by the men ; they find
no solid establishment, they fall into poverty, misery, abasement,
and drag on in wretchedness a life of abject unhappiness,
Q, Does the law of nature descend to scruple our desires or
thoughts ?
A. Yes ; because according to the physical Iaw rs of the human
body, thoughts and desires awaken the senses, and soon stimulate
to action. Moreover, by another law of nature, in the organiza
tion of our body, these actions become a species of mechanical
want, repeated according to the periods of days or w eeks ; so that
at any given epoch the want or desire to perform a given action,
�THE LA# OF NATURE.
W
or to produce
a given secretion, always arises: and if this action
or secretion are prejudicial to health, the habit becomes destruc
tive of life itself Thus desires and thoughts become of real im
portance in nature.
Q. Ought modesty to be considered as a virtue ?
A. Yes; because modesty, considered as a bashful timidity
with regard to certain actions, maintains the mind and body in all
the habits tending to the good order and self-preservation of the
individual. A modest woman is esteemed, sought after, esta
blished in all the advantages of fortune, which assure her exis
tence, and render it agreeable; while the immodest woman and
the prostitute are despised, rejected, and abandoned to misery
and disgrace.
CHAP. VIII.
Of Co u r
age and
Ac t iv it y .
Q. A r e courage, and strength of body and mind, virtues, as- '
cording to the law of nature ?
A. Yes; and very important virtues; for they are efficacious
and indispensible means of our effecting our preservation and
well being. The courageous and strong man repels oppression ;
defends his life his, liberty, his property; by his labour he pro
cures for himself subsistence in abundance, and enjoys it with
tranquility and peace of mind. If any misfortune happens t»
him from which his prudence could not guard him, he supports
it with firmness and resignation ; and, for this reason, the ancient
moralists accounted strength and courage among their four prin
*
cipal of virtues.
Q. Ought weakness and cowardice to be considered as vices ?
A. Yes; since it is true that they are connected with a thou
sand calamities. The weak and cowardly live in the midst uf
eare, and in perpetual agony; their health is undermined by the
terror they are under, often an ill-founded one, of danger and at
tack; and this terror, which is itself an evil; is not the remedy
of any other evil; on the contrary, it renders man a slave to w ho
ever is desirous of oppressing him ; and by the subjection and
abasement of all his faculties, degrades and corrupts his means
of existence, and makes his life depend, as it were, on the will
and caprice of other men.
Q. But, after what you have said of the influence of aliments,
are not eourage and strength, as well as many other virtues, m a
great measure the effect of our temperament, or physical consti> tution.
�&
THE LAW QF NATURE.
A. Yes; this is true, to such a degree, that these qualities ar®
transmitted to us in our birth, and by our blood, with the elements
on which they depend. Repeated and unvarying facts prove,
that, in every race of animals, certain physical and moral quali
ties, attached to the various individuals of each race, are aug
mented or diminished according to the combinations and admix
ture which take place between the several races.
Q. But if our wills and exertions are not sufficient to procure
us these qualities, is it a crime in us to be destitute of them?
A. No; it is not a crime, but a misfortune; it is what the
ancients call a melancholy fatality; but even in this case, it is
still in some measure in our power to acquire them ; for, from
the moment we have learnt on what physical elements depend®
such and such qualities, we are enabled to prepare for their pro
duction, and to excite them to unfold themselves by an able ma
nagement of the elements; and in this consists the science of
education, which, according as it is directed, perfects or ren
ders worse both individuals and entire races, so as to change
altogether their nature and inclinations; and this it is which
renders so important the knowledge of the laws of nature, by which
these operations and changes are- effected with certainty and of
necessity.
Q. Why do you say that activity is a virtue, according to the
law of nature?
A. Because the man who labours and employs his time use
fully, derives, from so doing, innumerable advantages with
respect to his existence. Is he poor ? his labour furnishes him
with subsistence: and if, in addition, he is sober, continent, and
prudent, he soon acquires many conveniences, and enjoys the
sweets of life: his very labour produces in him those virtues;
for as long as he continues to employ his mind and his body, he
is not affected by inordinate desires; he is free from dullness;
he contracts mild and pleasant habits; he augments his strength
and his health ; and arrives to an old age of felicity and peace.
Q. Are idleness and sloth, then, vices in the order of nature ?
A. Yes; and the most pernicious of all vices; for they lead to
every other. In idleness and sloth, man remains ignorant, and
even loses the knowledge which he had before acquired, falling
into all the evils which accompany ignorance and folly. In idle
ness and sloth, man, devoured by listless dullness, gives himself
up to all the lusts of sense, whose empire, as it encreases and ex
tends from day to day, renders him intemperate, gluttonous,
luxurious, enervate, cowardly, base, and despicable. The cer
tain effects of all which vices are, the ruin of his fortune, the
wasting of his health, and the termination of his life in the an
guish of disease and poverty.
�21
THE EAW OF NATURE,
~ Q. If I understand you, it vtould appear that poverty is a
A. No; it is not a vice, but still less is it a virtue : for it is
■much more frequently injurious than useful; it is even common,y
the result of vice, or its first occasion ; for every individual vice
conducts towards indigence, even to the privation of the neces
saries of life; and when a man is in want of the necessaries, lie is
on the point of endeavouring to procure them by vicious methods;
that is, methods hurtful to society. AH the private virtues, on
the contrary, tend to procure for man an abundance of suosistence ;•
and when be has more than he can consume, it becomes more easy
for him to give it to others, and to perform actions useful to society.
Q. Do you look upon riches as a virtue I
. A. No; but still less are they a vice. It is their employment
only which can be denominated virtuous or vicious, accoidmg as
it is useful or hurtful to man and to society. Wealth is an instru
ment, whose use and employment only determine its viciousness
or virtue.
•-
. CHAP. IX.
Of Cl e a n l in e s s .
•
z u:«
** >
Q. W h y do you rank cleanliness in the class of virtues ?
■ A. Because it is really one of the most important, as it has a
powerful influence on the health and preservation of the body.
Cleanliness, as well in our garments as nrour dwellings, proven s
the pernicious effects of dampness, of bad smells, and ot conta
gious vapours arising from substances abandoned to putrify:
cleanliness keeps up a free perspiration, renews ihe air, refreshes
the blood, and even animates and enlivens the mind. Whence
we see thatpersons, attentive to the cleanliness of their persons
and their habitations, are in general more healthy, and less ex
posed to diseases, than those who live in filth and nastiness;
and it may moreover be remarked, that cleanliness brings with
it, throughout every part of domestic discipline, habits of order
and arrangement, which are among the first and best methods
and elements of happiness.
Q. Is uncleanliness, then, or filthiness, a real vice ? .
A. Yes; as real as drunkenness or as sloth, from which, for
the most part, it derives its origin. Uncleanliuess is a secondary,
and often a first cause of a multitude of slight disorders, and
even of dangerous sicknesses. It is well known in medicine, that
it generates the itch, the scald-head, the leprosy, no less cer
tainly than the same disorders are produced by corrupted or acrid
elements: that it contributes to the contagious power of the
2 D
�t he
La w
o f n a t u r e.
plague and of malignant fevers ; that it even gives birth to them
in hospitals and prisons; that it occasions rheumatism, by in
trusting the skin with dirt, and checking perspiration; not to
mention the disgraceful inconvenience of being devoured by in
*
sects, the unclean appendage of abject misery.
J
For this cause, the greater part of the ancient legislators have
constituted cleanliness, under the title of purity, one of the es
*
sential dogmas of their several religions ; hence the reason of
their driving from society, and subjecting even to corporal pu
nishment, those who suffered themselves to be attacked by the
diseases which are engendered by uncleanliness ; why they in
stated and consecrated the ceremonies of ablution, bathing bap
tism, and of purification even by fire, and by the aromatic ef
fluvia of incenses, myrrhs, benzoin, &c. So that the whole sys
tem of impure taints, all those rites, referring to things clean
and unclean, which in after times degenerated into prejudices
and abuses, were, in their origin, derived from the judicious
observations, made by wise and well-informed men, on the great
influence which the cleanliness of the body, both with respect
to its clothing and its habitation, possesses over the health,
and, by an immediate consequence, over the mind and the moral
faculties.
Thus all the individual or private virtues have, for their more
or less direct and more or less proximate end, the preservation
of the man who practices them ; while by the preservation of each
individual, they tend to insure that of the family and of society at
large, which is nothing more than the united sum of those indivi
duals.
CHAP. X.
Of Do m e s t ic Vir t u e s .
Q. W h a t do you mean by domestic virtues ?
A . I mean the practice of those actions which ate useful to a
family, that is, to a number of persons living under one roof.
Q. What are those virtues?
A. Economy, parental affection, conjugal love, filial love, bro
therly love, and the fulfilment of the reciprocal duties of master and
servant.
Q. What is economy ?
A. Taken in its extensive signification, it is the proper admi
nistration of whatever concerns the existence of a family or
household; but, as subsistence holds the first rank among these
circumstances, the word economy has been restricted to the em
ployment of our money in procuring for us the primary grants
of life.
�THE LAW OF NATURE.
23
?• Ei' Zr iXinto no us.1«s,exwnce, always
A. t5ecaus^ i^ i
¿ance which constitutes real wealth, and
possesses a W e? un
k
*
’ “ f himself and his family all
LTTruIvllul a»r —St ; without taking into the
that is truly
account,
ensures to himself resources
bV *ndra^ r esee" "Zes: so that himself
‘s
and h>s family Hve in a tranquil and pleasant state of ease, which
A Yes- for They bring a man at last to the want of the ne
cessaries o’f life; ¿e falls into poverty, misery, and aoject dis«rrnrp. r o that even his acquaintance, fearful of being obliged
fo restore to him what he has squandered with them or upon
Ihem, Ay from him as a debtor from his creditors, and he is left
abandoned by all the world.
A. Th Ae“Lsiduou7careawZh OTa parent takes to bring up his
children in the habit of every action useful to themselves and to
80<Q.tyin what respect is parental tenderness a virtue, with respect
as much as the parents, who bring up their children in
good habits, lay up for the whole course of their lives those en
joyments and aids which are grateful to us at all times, and en
sure against old age those supports and consolations which are
required by the wants and calamities of that period of life.
Q. Is parental affection a common virtue?
, ,
•
A No • notwithstanding ail parents make a parade of it, it is
a rare virtue; they do not love their children ; they caress them,
and they spoil them: what they love in them is, the agency of
their wills, the instruments of their power, the trophies of their
vanity, the play-thing of their leisure hours. It is not so much
the o’ood of their children that they propose, as their submission
and obedience : and if amongst children we find so many examnles of filial ingratitude, it is because amongst parents there are
so many examples of ignorant and despotic kindness.
Q. Why do you say that conjugal love is a vntue.
A. Because the concord and union which are the consequences
of the affection subsisting between married persons, establish in
the bosom of their family a multitude of habits which contribute
to its prosperity and conservation : united by the bonds o, marriage,
thpy love their household and quit it rarely; they superintend
every part of its administration; they attend to the education of
their children; they keep up the respectfulness and fidelity of their
domestics; they prevent all disorder and dissipation ; and, by the
whole of their good conduct, live in ease and reputation ’ while
�24
THE LAV/ OF NATURE.
those married persons, who have no affection for each other fill
cff'dir 'T With ^ua,rrelSiand distress’ excite war a*<»ng their
n
coudien and among their domestics, and lead them both into
every kind of vicious habit; so that each wastes, pillages and
111 t1h?5r sJ7.ral WfyS : their revenues are absorbed without
oih^r ? ibiS f° T debiS; tbe (lisc°ntented parties fly each
other, and recur to law-suits; and the whole family falls into disn rri"y /d s»race’.and tilc want of the necessaries of life,
y. Js adultery a crime according to the law of nature?
A. Y es; for it is followed by a numerous train of habits hurtful
. to die married persons and totheir family. The wife or the hus• an ’.8!Ven ,UP to the love of strangers, neglect their own dwell
ing, uesert it, and divert as much as possible its revenues from
tneir right use, spending them on the object of their affectionsnence quarrels, scandal, law-suits, the contempt of children and
*
servants, the pillage and final ruin of the whole house: not to
mention that the adulterous woman commits the most heinous
of all robberies, giving heirs to her husband of foreign blood
who deprive of their lawful portion his true offspring/
’
Q. What is filial love 1
1»
A. It is on the part of children, the practice of such actions
as are useful to themselves and to their parents.
Q What motives does the law of nature ¿resent to enforce
filial love?
J
A. Three chief motives
1st, Sentiment; for from our earliest
infancy, the affectionate solicitudes of our parents produce in
us the mild habits of attachment.—2d, The sense of justicetor, children owe their parents a return, and, as it were, a repa
ration, for the troubles, and even for the expences, which thev
have occasioned them.—-3d, Personal Interest .♦ for if we act ill
towards our progenitors, we offer our own children examples of
rebellion and ingratitude, which authorise them to render us the
like at any future day.
Q. Ought we to understand by filial love, a passive and blind
submission ?
A. No; but a reasonable submission, founded on an acquaint
ance with the mutual rights and duties of parents and of children •
rights and duties, without whose observance, their conduct to
wards each other can amount to nothing better than disorder.
Q. Why is brotherly love a virtue ?
A. Because the concord and union which result from the mu
tual affection of brethren, establish the power, safety, and pre
servation, of families. Brethren in union mutually defend each
other from all oppression, assist each other in their mutual wants,
support each other under misfortune, and thus secure their com
mon existence; while brethren in a state @r disunion, each being
abandoned to his personal strength, fall into all the incon-ven
*
�U5
THE LAW OF NATURE-
races of insulation from society, and of i"'1''“'1“1 “cvS
Thi« truth was ingeniously expressed by that king ot ftcytnia,
lie on h s deatf-W, having called ¿is children round tarn,
ordered them to break a bundle of arrows ; when the young men
thouoh in full vigour, were notable to accomplish this, lie took
the ¿undle in his turn, and, having untied it, brokei eachsepa
rate arrow with his fingers. “Behold, said be,the effectot
union: united in a body you will be invincible; taken separately
you will be broken like reeds.
Q. What are the reciprocal duties of masters and servants. ■A. The practice of such actions as are respectively and equi
tably useful to each; and here begin the relations of society ; for
the rule and measure of these respective actlons
briam or equality between the service and the reward, between
what the one performs and the other gives, wmch is the funda
mental basis of all society.
.
Thus all the domestic and individual virtues reier more or less
immediately, but always without varying, to the physical object
Of the amelioration and conservation of man; and are, m this
view, precepts resulting from the fundamental law propose
y
nature in his formation.
CHAP. XL
Of
t he
So c ia l Vir t u e s ,
and of
Ju s t ic e .
is society ?
A. Every aggregate re-union of men living together under thé
regulations of a contract, tacit or expressed, for their common
preservation.
Q. Are the social virtues many in number ?
A. Yes; we may count as many as there are actions useful to
society; but they may be all reduced,to one principle.
Q. What is this fundamental principle ¿
A. Justice; which itself alone comprehends all the social
*
Q
Q. Why do you say that justice is the fundamental, and al“
most only virtue of social life ?
A. Because it alone embraces the practice of all those actions
which are useful to society; and that every virtue, under the
name of charity, humanity, probity, love of country, sincerity,
generosity, simplicity of manners, and modesty, are hut vaiied
forms, and diversified applications of this axiom, “ Do unto
another only that which thou would he snould do unto thee;
which is the definition of justice.
Q. How does the law of nature ordain just ice ?
�26
THE LAW OF NATURE.
A. By means of three physical attributes which are inherent
in the organization of man.
Q. What are these attributes?
A. Equality, liberty, property.
Q. In what sense is equality a physical attribute of man?
A. Because all men, having equally eyes, hands, a mouth,
ears, and being alike under the necessity of making use of them
tor their life s sake, are by this very fact equally entitled to life,
and to the use of the elements which contribute to its support.
They are all equal before God.
Q. Do you pretend that all men hear, see, and feel equally
W a ; ^iat ytey. iave e(lual wants, and equal and tike passions?
A. No; for it is a matter of certainty and daily experience
that one man is short and another long-sighted; that one eats
much and another little; that has one moderate and another
violent passions; in a word, that one grown person is weak both
in body and mind, while another is strong in both.
Q. They are in fact, then, really unequal?
A. Yes; in the unfolding of their faculties and powers, but
not in the nature and essence of these powers; it is a stuff of the
same kind, but whose dimensions are not equal, nor its weight
and value the same, with those of some other pieces: our language
has no word calculated to express at the same time, sameness of
nature and diversity of form and employment. It is a relative
equality, and for this reason I said, equal before God, and in
the order of nature.
Q. Why is liberty called a physical attribute cf man ?
A. Because all men possessing senses fitted and sufficient for
their preservation, no one having need of the eye of another man
in order to see, of his ear to hear, of his mouth to eat, or of his
foot to walk; they are all made by this means, naturally indepen
dent and free. Noone is of necessity subjected to another ’s rule,
nor has right of dominion over him.
Q. But if a man is born strong, has he not a natural right to
master and rule over him who is born weak ?
A. No ; for it is neither with respect to himself a matter of ne
cessity, nor a convention between the two ; and in this instance
we make improper use of the word right, which in its true sense
signifies nothing more than justice, or reciprocal faculties and
power.
Q. How is property a physical attribute of man ?
A. Since every man is formed equal and similar to his fellows,
and consequently free and independent, every one is the abso
lute master, the entire proprietor of his body, and the products
of his labour.
Q. How is justice derived from these three attributes ?
A. Fiom tbis circumstance; that men being equal, free, and
�THE LAW OF NATURE.
97
and derivatives.
CHAP. XII.
De v e l
o pe m e n t
of t he
So c ia l Vir t u e s
O Un f o l d to me how the social virtues are derived from
tU law of nature. How is charity, or the lore oj our neighbour,
a
of" ^ality “d «ciprocity ; for when
we do injury to another, we give him the right of doing us in
jury in his turn. Thus, by attacking the existence of another,
we'make an attack upon our own, in consequence of the law
of reciprocity. On the contrary, when we do good to our neigh
bour Je have ground and reason to expect an exchange of good,
nn eouivalent - and such is the character of all the social virtues,
to be^useful to the man who practices them, by the right of reci
procity which they communicate to him over those to whom his
good oiliceshave been of service.
.
. Q. Charity then is nothing more than justice
A Yes it is nothing more than justice, with this single differ
*
ence, that strict justice confines itself to the assertion, “Do not to
others the evil which thou wouldst not they should do unto thee.
and that charity, or the love of our neighbour, goes farthei, even
to say, “Do unto others the good which you wish to receive fiom
them.” Thus the Gospel, when it said that this precept contain
ed all the Law and the Prophets, did no more than announce a
precept of the law of nature.
. . . 9
Q. Doesit command us toforgive injuries'!
A. Yes; in as much as such forgiveness consists with the pre
servation of ourselves.
■
it
Q. Does it contain the precept of turning the one cheek after
beinq smitten on the other 1
. .
• . , -.k
A. No; for, in the first place, it is not consistent with the
«recent which orders us to love our neighbours as ourselves;
since, in that case, we should have more love for him who attacks
our well-being than for ourselves: 2d. Such a command taken
* Equitas, a^ualitas, equilibrium, are all of the same family.
\ »
�28
t h e i .a w o f n a t u r e .
Xv^if0“^6 aniJ rdera!i°-’
ESbut whi?h pmishJ
"XTS
“10 d°^d to
Such ^thefpoXr ‘ofathTXnthnent' rf ,?n
in gTatit “<Ie-
hearts of X, that they d“ not X usXedl'c
f
“!
kindness, if ac—i Jwith indXeti „
ha "bX™
measure—that of justice.
7
Out 0 e
Q. /s alms giving a virtuous action ?A. Yes; when conducted according io the same rule; otherwise
it degenerates into imprudence and vice, in as much asi en
courages indolence, which is hurtful both to the beXr and m
the society. No one has a right to enjoy the good or labour of
an O heDoL1U°7 renderin / an eqwyalent by hifown labour.
Q. Does the law of nature consider as virtues, hove and faith
which are usually conjoined with charity ?
P *
J
>
A. No; for they are ideas not founded'on realities • and if anv
good effects result from them, these are rather to’the profit of
ftose who have not tmbibed such ideas than to those who have ■
are the vi»± of "d perhapS,’ ai,!o"’ab!e to s^ ’
iiiai
■>»<! W e
and ciXs
PeS’
t0 the adrante8“ of
Q. Does the law of nature prescribe probity ?
A. Yes ; for probity is nothing more than a respect paid to our
own rights, through the medium of the rights of others a re
spect derived from a prudent and well made calculation of our
own niterests, compared with those of others
interests and lights of the social state, demand suchdiaht and
°J t,mSS’ - ‘°
4
a mfrkoJ
enlarged and correct mind?
A. Yes; for the man of probity almost always neglects sX
JhTltb
*
the S-ake °f °ne which is f“iure T while, on
for
¿a c G knaV7S Willin ^ t0 iose a
interest to come
for tbe sake of some trifling one which is present.
w /S
’
’ lS a
°ffalse ^dgement and narrow-
sp^uhtors "Aw a FT may b! leHned t0 be ^' norani or Polish
speculators, for they know not their own interests; and though
they affect wariness and cunning, their artifices seldom fail to ex
.
�THE LAW OF NATL RE.
29
pose them and make them known for what they are: to deprive
them of the confidence and esteem of others, and of all the ad
vantages which might thence result to their social and physical
existence. They neither live in peace with themselves nor with
others; and, incessantly alarmed by their conscience and their
enemies, they enjoy no other real happiness than that of escaping
from the executioner.
Q. Does the law of nature forbid theft f
A. Yes; for the man who steals from another, grants him the
liberty to steal in his turn ; hence no security in property, nor
even in the means of self-preservation. Thus, the man who does
injury to another, by a species of re-action is hurt himself.
Q. Does it forbid the inclination io theft.
A. Yes; for this inclination naturally leads to action: hence
the reason of considering- envy as a sin.
Q. How does it forbid murder ?
A. By the most powerful motives addressed to the desire of
self-preservation: for, 1st, The man who attacks another, exposes
himself to the risk of being killed, according to the law of selfdefence: 2d, If he kills his opponent, he gives an equal right,
founded on the same law, to the relations and friends of the de
ceased, and even to the whole community, of killing him, and
his life is no longer in security.
Q. How can a man, according to the law of nature, repair
Iany injury which he has committed ?
A. By conferring a proportionable benefit upon those whom he
has injured.
Q. Does this law allow him to repair it by prayers, vows,
pffevxnys to God, fastings, or mortifications ?
I
F
A, No! for none of these things have any relation to the action
which is meant to be atoned for: they neither restore to him who
baa been robbed what he has lost, whether it be property or re
putation ; nor life to him who has been deprived of it: consequently they fail with regard to justice; they constitute an ille
gitimate contract, by which one man sells to another a good of
which he himself is not possessed: they tend to a deprivation of
morals, as they embolden men to commit every species of cr me,
in the hope of expiationand they have been ’the real sources of
all those evils which have constantly tormented every nation,
whose institution permitted these expiatory practices.
’
Q. Is sincerity enjoined by the law of nature?
A. Yes; for lying-, perfidy, and perjury, excite amonogt men
distrust, dissention, hatred, revenge, and a multitude of evils
which tend to the destruction of society; whilst sincerity mid
good faith establish- confidence, concord, peace, and the other
fnfinrte advantages which are the necessary result
feUch <
happy state of things.
2 E
�THE 1AW OF NATURE.
&
Q, Does it prescribe mildness and modesty ?
..
A Yes: for an assuming and rude deportment, while it alien
ates’ from us the hearts of other men, infuses into them a dispo
sition to do us disservice: ostentation and vanity, by wounding
their self-love and exciting their jealousy, prevent us from at
taining the point of real utility.
-a
' '
Q. Does it prescribe humility as a virtue?
A? No; for there, is a natural propensity m the human heart to
fehl a secret contempt for every thing which conveys to it the
idea of weakness; and, by abasing ourselves,
encourage m
Others pride and oppression : we should hold the balance with an
CVQ1. h yo« have classed among the social virtues, simplicity of
manners’ what do you mean by that expression ?
A. I mean the confining our wants and desires to what is really
useful for the existence of the individual and his fannly: that is
to say, the man of simple manners has few wants, and is content
with little.
.
Q. How is this virtue recommended to us f
h
■ A. By the numerous advantages which i| bestows both upon
the individual and upon society at large; for the man ho has
few wants, liberates himself at once from n crowd of cares,
troubles, and toils ; avoids a number of d»put«
which arise from the eager desire of gam ; is free from .t.e cares
nf -nnhition the inquietudes of possession, and the fears of loss,
meedm»-every wherewith more than sufficient for his wants, he
rich man- always content with what he has, he is
han-v a a small expence; and the world at large, fearing no
*
rSXVp from bim.^ suffer him to enjoy tmnqu.hty, and are db-
““ simplicity were extended to a whole penv
f
pie, it secures abundance to them ; every thing w lcn t ey o
immediately consume becomes to them a source of trade ana com
Xe on very great extent; they labour, they manufacture and
«li their productions to greaterr advantage than others, and nttntn
the summit both of external and internal prospe. y. *
Q. ITW vice is the direct opposite of this virt .
:
Q-
*
i th individual and fx society at
large?
thnt ,t mav be said to include
A. Yes; ana J“ .s,uc7 a“ ,C' f ' (¿e raan wbo^niakes many things
in it the Beed®.oia' 1
‘
’¡^«^5 et the same time upon himself
“¡Tie care“ and submits to all the means of acquiring them, wbe.1
Cr- “ <>r un-usl. -Helms already one enjoyment, be
tXU
“
, in tbe midst-of su^rfluities, be V never
"S .«mmompus hnUtotipa will not satisfy him,-he »e¥ have
?
�TUB LAW OF MATURE.
81
superb hotel; he is
have rare and costly mea s; he ^t bave s
p horseg>
pensive apparel, a^. ftfe lo^fst Ube con&tant Jy at the g-aming table
carnages, and women . he mu
k i W to support these exOTatplaceSOf putae Xowy Requisite, and ¿very mode of
i=
A® ."i i= ai—si £ - i r
Jnmseif ruined.
.
of luxury upon a nation, it
Again, rt we consmer the effects olux y V conseqUeBce
produces the .same ravages upon a large, sc, ,
_
„
If its consuming within itself all its produc ions It . poorm the
midst of abundance ; it has n oth in gproduce at a dear
manufactures at a heavy expenc ,
which it imports:
rate, and becomes a tributary for every thing which it
it loses its respectability, its strength and its meansi
■
e
cxs^^~b::isd£Xd.
XsFor:ty:S
‘,,ju™s
or have the disposition to do so ; and hence' ar ‘se
and habits of usurpation, which compose wh
^ me
corruption, or intestine war between the memhe
*
s
society Luxury produces rapacity, rapacity the invasion of othe
by violence or by Lach of public faith: from luxury are derived
X corruption of the judge, the venality o the
tha “
honesty of the husband, the prostitution o, the w J P n? eita!fCth
’
elty, filial ingratitude, the avarice of the master, the theft °
servant, the robbery of public officers of got era
,
aJj f,j|
ice of the legislator, lying, perfidy, perjury, assassination, end a11
the disorders which destroy .society; so that the aiiv.qn
» .
had an accurate perception of truth, when they declared.Jiat
the social virtues were founded upon a aunplici y of ' a“n ' ‘ ’
a a
limitation of want«, and contentment with a little, and wo m y
take as a certain scale of the virtues or vices of a “a”>,heP™
portion which his expenses bear tohis revenue, and calcu ate from
his demands for money, the extent of his probity, his mugntym
fulfilling his engagements, his devotion to the public cause, a
the sincerity of his attachment to Lis country (patriej.
Q. What do you mean by the word country (patrie) .
A. I understand by that word a community oj citizens, who,
united by fraternal sentiments and reciprocal wants, unite their
individual forces for the purposes of general security, the re-ac
tion of which upon each of them assumes the beneficial and pro
tecting character of paternity (patermte). In society, the mem
bers of it form a bank of interest : m a cormti y (jpatrie,) iey
�32
THE LAW OF NATURE.
constitute a family of tender attachments; by means of which,
charity and the love of our neighbour are extended to a whole
nation. Now, as charity cannot be separated from justice, no
member of this family can pretend to the enjoyment of any ad
vantages, except in proportion to his exertions; if he consume
more than his proportion, he of course encroaches upon another:
and he can only attain the means of being generous or disinter
ested, in proportion as his expences are confined within the limits
of his acquisitions or possessions.
Q. What is your deduction from these principles?
A. I conclude, from these principles, that all the social virtues
consist in the performance of actions useful both to society and
to the individual:
That they may all be traced to the physical object of the pre
servation of man :
That nature, having implanted in our bosom the necessity of
this preservation, imposes all the consequences arising from it as
a law, and prohibits as a crime whatever counteracts the operation
of this principle:
That we have within us the germ of all virtue and of all perfec
tion : that we have only to attend to the means of exciting it into
action :
That we are happy in exact proportion to the obedience we yield
to those laws which nature has established with a view to our
preservation:
That all wisdom, all perfection, all law, all virtue, all philoso
phy, consist in the practice of the following axioms, which are
founded upon our natural organization :
Preserve thyself.
,
Instruct thyself.
Moderate thyself.
Live for thy fellow-creatures, is order that they may live for
thee.
�
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The ruins: or a survey of the revolutions of empires. With notes historical, geographical, and explanatory. To which is annexed The Law of Nature
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de Volney, Constantin Francois
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Place of publication: London
Collation: viii, [4], 32 p. : ill. (astrological chart and map) ; 21 cm.
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Text
A
PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSATION.
TRANSLATED •
FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT.
■ !
*
• By E. N. -
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,'
NO. II THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD, UPPER NORWOOD,
LONDON, S.E.
----1875.
v
Price Sixpence. '
z.
■
'
‘
�LONDON :
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET,
HAYMARKET, W.
�PREFACE.
This dialogue, entitled ‘ Entretien d’un Philosophe avec la Marcchale de * * * ’ was originally
published in Italian and French, professing to be
translated from a posthumous work of the poet
Crudeli. It is written in the most natural style,
and few dialogues in the French language give
such a perfect illusion of two persons conversing.
But, under a style worthy of the best writers of
comedy, the most powerful arguments are to be
seen, and a volume might be written in develop
ment of the points touched upon in these few
pages. Except in a few instances where expla
nation or reference seemed desirable, I have
refrained from adding notes ; the thinking reader
will be able to apprehend the arguments, even
those which, latent in the dialogue, would
develop most brilliantly under dramatic inter
pretation.
Diderot’s writings are too little known in
England; he is hardly ever mentioned; but his
thoughts may be traced in more than one modern
work. Apart from the errors common to all
social philosophy before Malthus wrote, and a
�4
Preface.
style perhaps too much seasoned with Gallic salt
for English taste in the present day, Diderot
stands in the first rank of philosophers and lite
rary men. To none does Humanity owe more.
As a writer, he excelled in lifelike dialogue ; an
admirable specimen of it, 1 Le Neveu de Rameau ’
was recently translated in the Fortnightly
Review; his ‘ Paradoxe sur le Comedien,’ a most
artistic production, will, I hope, soon find a
translator capable of doing justice to it. In the
piece now translated, the nature of the subject
compels rather strict adherence to the letter of
the author, and prevents his spirit from being
conveyed as well as it might be in a purely lite
rary compositiom
�DIDEROT’S
PHILOSOPHICAL
CONVERSATION.
AVING some business with the marechai de
* * * I called on him one morning ; he was
,
out, but I waited for him and was shown in to the
marechale. She is a charming woman, an angel of
beauty and piety; sweet temper is depicted on her
countenance, the tone of her voice and the simplicity
of her conversation agree perfectly with the expres
sion of her features. She was still at her toilet table;
I was asked to sit down, and we began to talk. At
some remark of mine which edified and surprised her
(for she believed that a man who denies the Holy
Trinity is a rogue who will end at the gallows), she
said:—
La Marechale. Are you not Monsieur Crudeli ?
Crudeli.—Yes, Madam.
L. M.—Then you are the man who believes in
nothing ?
Cr.—The same.
L. M.—Nevertheless you profess the same moral
principles as a believer.
Cr.—Why should I not, if I am an honest man ?
L. M.—And do you put these principles in prac
tice ?
Cr.—As well as I can.
L. M.—What! you never steal; you are neither a
murderer nor a robber ?
H
�6
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
Cr.—Very rarely.
L. M.—Then what do you gain by your unbelief ?
• Cr.—Nothing ; is one to believe because of some
thing to be gained thereby ?
L. M.—That I can hardly say ; but the motive of
personal interest is not amiss in the business either
of this world or of the next. I am rather sorry for
the credit of poor humanity; it is not saying much
for us. But, really ! do you never steal ?
Cr.—Never, on my word.
L. M.—If you are neither a murderer nor a thief,
you must own that your conduct is unreasonable and
inconsistent.
Cr.—How so ?
L. M.—Because it seems to me that if I had
nothing to hope or to fear when I am out of this
world, there are many little indulgences which I
should not deprive myself of now that I am in it. I
own to investing my good works in expectation of
repayment with enormous interest.
Cr.—You think you do.
L. M.—I do not merely think so; it is a fact.
Cr.—And might I ask you what things you would
permit yourself if you were an unbeliever ?
L. M.—If you please, no ; I keep that subject for
the confessional.
Cr.—My investment of good works is a poor specu
lation ; I shall never see my capital again.
L. M.—That is an unthrifty investment.
Cr.—Would you rather I should be a usurer ?
L. M.—Well, yes; you may practise usury to any
extent in your dealings with God, you cannot ruin
him. I know that it is a rather shabby proceeding,
but what does that matter ? The point is to get into
heaven by hook or by crook ; we must make the best
of everything and neglect nothing which can bring
us in a return. Alas ! whatever we do, our invest
ment will always be pitifully small in comparison with
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
7
the handsome return we expect for it. And so you
expect no return ?
Cr.—Nothing.
L. M.—How sad! You must own that you are
either very wicked or very foolish ?
Cr.—Indeed I cannot say which.
L. M.—What motive for being good can an unbeliever
have if he is in his right mind ? Please tell me that.
Cr.—I can tell you.
L. M.—I shall be glad to know.
Cr.—Do you not think it possible that one may be
so fortunately born as to find a natural pleasure in
doing good ?
L. M.—I think it is possible.
Cr.—That one may have received an excellent
education which strengthens the natural inclination
towards good deeds ?
L. M.—Certainly.
Cr.—And that in after-life experience may have
convinced us that, taking everything into considera
tion, it is better for one’s happiness in this world to
be an honest man than a rogue ?
L. M.—Yes indeed; but can one be honest sup
posing that bad principles combine with the passions
to lead us towards evil ?
Cr.—One may not act in consequence ; and what
do we more commonly see than actions at variance
with principles ?
L. M.—Alas ! it is unfortunately so ; believers con
stantly act as if they did not believe.
Cr.—And without believing one may act nearly as
well as if one believed.
L. M.—I am glad to hear you say so; but what
inconvenience would there be in having a reason the
more, religion, for doing good, and a reason the less,
unbelief, for doing evil ?
Cr.—None, if religion were a motive for doing
good and unbelief a motive for doing evil.
�8
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
L. M.—Can there be any doubt on that point ?
Does not the spirit of religion incessantly thwart the
promptings of this vile corrupted human nature, and
does not the spirit of unbelief abandon it to its evil
ways by relieving it from all fear ?
Cb.—Madame la marechale, this will lead us into
a long discussion.
L. M.—And what if it does ? The Marshal will
not be back for some time, and we are better em
ployed talking sense than taking away our neigh
bours’ good names.
Cr.—You see that I shall have to take up the
subject rather far back.
. L. M.—As far back as you like, provided I under
stand you.
Cr.—If you do not understand me it will certainly
be my fault.
L. M.—I thank you for the compliment; but you
must know that I have never read anything but my
prayer-book, and that my occupations have been
exclusively confined to putting the gospel in practice
and looking after my children.
Cr.—Two duties that you have well fulfilled.
L. M.—Yes, as regards the children. But begin.
Cr.—Madame la marechale, is there in this world
any good without some drawback ?
L. M.—Kone.
Cr.—What, then, do you call good and evil ?
L. M.—Evil must be that in which the drawbacks
are greater than the advantages, while good must,
on the contrary, be that which has advantages
greater than the drawbacks.
Cr.—Will you please to bear in mind your defini
tion of good and evil ?
L. M.—I will remember it. Do you call that a
definition ?
Cr.—Yes.
L. M.—This is philosophy, then ?
�Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
9
Cr.—Excellent philosophy.
L. M.—The last thing I should have thought
myself capable of.
Cr.—So you are persuaded that religion has more
advantages than drawbacks, and that for this reason
you call it good ?
L. M.—Yes.
Cr.—For my own part I do not doubt that your
steward robs you somewhat less on Good Friday than
on Easter Monday; and that now and then religion
prevents a number of little evils and produces a num
ber of' little benefits.
L. M.—Little by little, the sum mounts up.
Cr.—But do you believe that such wretched little
advantages can sufficiently compensate the terrible
ravages which religion has caused in past times, and
which it will still cause in times to come ? Consider
the violent antipathy which it has created between
nations, and which it still keeps up.
There is
not a Mussulman who would not imagine he was
doing an act agreeable to God and the holy
prophet in exterminating all the Christians, who, on
their side, are hardly more tolerant. Consider the
dissensions which it has created and perpetuated in
the midst of nearly every nation, dissensions which
have rarely been stifled without bloodshed. Our own
history offers us examples which are only too recent
and too disastrous. Consider that it has created, and
still keeps up the most violent and undying hatred
between the members of society, between the indi
viduals of a family. Christ said he had come to
divide the man from his wife, the mother from her
children, the brother from his sister, the friend from
the friend, and his prediction has only been too com
pletely fulfilled.
L. M.—That may be the abuse of the thing without
being the thing itself.
Cr.—It is the thing itself, if the abuses are insepar
able from it.
B
�io
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
L. M.—And how can yon show me that the abuses
of religion are inseparable from religion ?
Cb.—Very easily. Tell me this : supposing a manhater had desired to render the human race as unhappy
as possible, what could he have invented for the pur
pose better than belief in an incomprehensible being
about whom men could never be able to agree, and
whom they should regard as more important than
their own lives ? * And is it possible to form a con
ception of a deity without attaching to it the deepest
incomprehensibility and the highest importance ?
L. M.—No.
Cr.—Then draw your conclusion.
L. M.—I conclude that it is an idea not without
serious consequence in the mind of fools.
Cr.—And add that fools always have been and
always will be the majority of mankind, that the
most dangerous fools are those rendered so by
religion, and that these are the men whom the dis
turbers of society know how to work when they have
need of them.
L. M.—But we must have something to frighten
men from such bad actions as escape the severity of
the law; and, if you destroy religion, what can you
substitute for it ?
Or.—Even if I had nothing to substitute for it,
there would be always a terrible prejudice the less,
without counting that in no age and in no country
have religious opinions formed the basis of national
manners. The gods adored by the old Greeks and
Romans, the finest people on earth,f were a most
dissolute set of rascals; a Jupiter who deserved the
faggot and the stake, a Venus worthy of the House
of Correction, a Mercury whose proper place was
in jail.
L. M.—And so you think that it is quite a matter
* See Appendix, Note I.
t See Note II.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation,
11
of indifference whether we be Christians or Pagans ;
that as Pagans we should be equally good and that as
'Christians we are no better ?
Cb.—Indeed I am convinced of it; excepting that
as Pagans we should be rather merrier.
L. M.—It is impossible.
Cr.—But, Madame la marechale, are there any
Christians ? I have never seen any.
L. M.—That is a nice thing to say to me.
Cr.—I am not saying it to you: I was thinking of
a lady who is a neighbour of mine, good and pious
as you are, and who believed herself in all sincerity
to be a Christian, just as you do.
L. M.—And you showed her that she was mis
taken ?
Cr.—At once.
L. M.—How did you manage that ?
Cr.—I opened a New Testament, a well-read one,
for it was considerably worn. I read her the Sermon
on the Mount, and at each article of it I asked
her:—“ Do you act up to this ? ” I went on
further. She is a beautiful woman, and although
very pious she is not unconscious of her attraction;
she has a most delicate fair complexion, and although
she does not attach much value to this perishable
charm, she is not displeased if it excites admira
tion ; her bust is perfect, and, although very modest,
she is not averse to its beauty being observed.
L. M.—Provided, of course, that she and her
husband should alone be aware of this.
Cr.—I believe that her husband knows it much
better than any one else; but for a woman who
prides herself on high Christian principles that is
not enough. I said to her :—“ Is it not written
in the gospel that he who has coveted his neigh
bour’s wife has committed adultery already in his
heart?”
L. M.— I suppose she answered yes ?
�12
Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
Cr. I said to her:—“And does not adultery
committed in the heart damn as surely as a more
complete adultery ? ”
R- M.—I suppose she answered yes ?
Cb. I said, “ And if the man is damned for
adultery committed in heart, what will be the fate of
the woman who invites all those who come near her
to commit that crime?
This last question rather
embarrassed her.
C. M.—I understand ; she did not cover up that
perfect bust as completely as she might.
Cr.—Not quite. She answered that it was a
custom, as if nothing was more customary than to call
oneself Christian and yet not to be so; that it was
wrong to dress in a ridiculous manner, as if there
could be any comparison between a petty ridiculous
act and the eternal damnation of one’s self and one’s
neighbours ; that she did not interfere with her dress
maker, as if it were not better to change one’s dress
maker than to be false to one’s religion ; that it was
her husband’s fancy, as if a husband could be mad
enough to demand that his wife should push obedi
ence to a wrong-headed husband so far as to disobey
the will of God and to contemn the threats of her
Redeemer I
L. M.—I was well aware of all those childish
reasons; I might even have answered as your neigh
bour did; but both she and I would have been taken
at a disadvantage. However, what conduct did she
adopt, after your remonstrance ?
Cr.—-The day after this conversation was a holy
day ; I was going upstairs to my room, when my
neighbour was coming downstairs on her way to
mass.
L. M.—Dressed as usual ?
Cr.—Dressed as usual. I smiled, she smiled ; and
we passed one another without speaking. This was
a good woman ! a Christian ! a pious woman ! After
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
13
this example and a hundred thousand others of the
same sort, what real influence on conduct can I grant
religion, to have ? Hardly any: and so much the
better.
L. M.—How so much the better ?
Cr.—Yes, I mean it. Supposing that twenty
thousand of the inhabitants of Paris took it into
their heads to conform strictly to the precepts of the
Sermon on the Mount. . . .
L. M.—There would be some ladies’ shoulders
better covered than at present.
Cr.—And so many lunatics that the police would
be at their wits’ end to find room for them all in the
madhouses. In all inspired books there are two kinds
of morality; one general and common to every
nation, to every religion, and which is followed pretty
nearly ; another peculiar to each nation and to each
religion, in which men believe, which they preach in
their churches, which they teach in their homes, and
which they do not follow at all.
*
L. M.—What is the reason of this contradiction ?
Cr.—In the impossibility of subjecting a people to
a rule which only agrees with a few melancholy men
who have diawn it from a model found in their own
character. Religions are like monastic rules; all
become relaxed in time. They are follies which can
not hold ground against the constant efforts of nature
to bring us back to her laws. Let the statesman take
care that the welfare of individuals should be so
bound up with the common weal that a citizen can
hardly harm society without hurting himself; let
virtue be rewarded as certainly as wickedness is
punished; let merit, in whatever position it exist,
and without distinction of sect, be eligible for state
employment, and only count as wicked the small
number of men whom an incorrigible perversity of
* * See Note III.
�14
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
nature has dragged into vice. Temptation is too
near and hell is too far off; it is not worth the while
of a legislator to take in hand a system of crooked
opinions which can only keep children under its yoke,
which encourages crime by the facility of its expia
tion ; which sends the culprit to ask pardon from
*
God for the injuries inflicted on man, and which
degrades the order of natural and moral duties by
making it subordinate to an order of chimerical
duties.
L. M.—I do not understand you.
Cr.—I will explain ; but I think I hear the Mar
shal’s carriage coming, just in time to prevent me
from saying something which you might think
impudent.
L. M.—If what you are about to say is impudent, I
shall not hear it; I have a good habit of only hearing
what I choose.
Cr.—Madame la marecliale, ask the curate of your
parish which is the more atrocious crime : to defile
one of the eucharistic vessels or to blacken the good
name of an honest woman ? He will shudder with
horror at the first, he will cry sacrilege ; and the
civil law which takes hardly any notice of calumny
while it punishes sacrilege by the stake,f will finish the
confusion of moral ideas and the corruption of the
public ’mind.
L. M.—I know more than one woman who would
scruple to eat meat on a Friday, and yet would . . .
I was also going to say my piece of impudence.
Continue.
Cr.-—But, Madam, I must really go and see the
Marshal.
L. M.—Another minute, and then we will go
together and see him. I don’t know how to answer
you, and yet you do not persuade me.
* See Note IV.
t See Note V.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation,
15
Cr.—I had no intention of persuading you. It is
the same with religion as with marriage. Although
marriage has caused misery to so many others, it has
given happiness to you and the Marshal. Religion
which has made, which still makes, and will yet
make so many men wicked, has rendered you better
than before ; you do well in keeping to it. It pleases
you to imagine, above your head, a great and power
ful being, who 'watches your journey through life ;
this idea strengthens your steps. Continue, Madam,
to enjoy the thought of this august keeper of your
mind, at once a spectator and a sublime model of
your actions.
L. M.—I see that you are not possessed by the
mania of proselytism.
Cr.—By no means.
L. M.—And I esteem you the more for it.
Cr.—I permit every one to think in his way, pro
vided he does not interfere with mine ; and, besides,
those who are destined to deliver themselves from
these prejudices have no need of being catechized.
L. M.—Do you think that man can do "without
superstition F
Cr.—No ; not as long as he remains ignorant and
timorous.
L- M.—Well then, superstition for superstition, as
well ours as another.
Cr.—I do not think so.
L. M.—Tell me truly, have you no repugnance for
the idea of being nothing after death F
Cr.—I would prefer to retain my existence'; not
withstanding that I see no reason why a Being who
has already been able to render me unhappy without
any reason, might not amuse himself again in the
same way.
*
L- M.—If, notwithstanding that drawback, the
* See Note VL
�16
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
hope of a life to come appears sweet and consoling,
even to you, why teai’ it from us F
Cr.—I have no such hope, for my desire does not
imply an expectation which I know to be vain; but
I take it away from no one.
*
If any person can
believe that he will see when he has no eyes, that he
will hear when he has no ears, that he will think when
he has no brain, that he will love when he has no heart,
that he will feel when he has no sensation, that he
will exist when he will be nowhere, that he will be
a something without measure or place,—I have no
objection.
L. M.—But this world, who made it ?
Cr.—Perhaps you can inform me.
L. M.—God.
Cr.—And what is God ?
L. M.—A spirit.
Cr.—If a spirit can make matter, why should not
matter make a spirit ?
L. M.—And why should itp
Cr.—Because I see it do so every day. Do you
believe that animals have souls ?
L- M.—Certainly I believe so.
Cr. And could you tell me what becomes, for
instance, of the soul of the Peruvian serpent which
is hung up in a chimney to dry, and remains in the
smoke for one or two years ?
L. M.—Let it go where it pleases ; what does that
matter to me ?
Cr.—You are probably not aware that this serpent,
smoked and dried, revives, and comes to life again.f
L. M.—I don’t believe it.
Cr.—Nevertheless, a clever man, Bouguer, asserts
that it is so.
>
’
, ,
* The terseness of the original deservesnotice. “Je n’ai pas cet
,e,sP°\r> Parceclue le desir ne m’en a point donne la vanite; mais je ne
lote a personne.” Another reading gives “derobe” instead of “ donne
the translation would then be, “for my desire has not deceived me as
to its vanity.”
t See Note VII.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
17
L. M.—Your clever man has told a story.
Cr.—Suppose what he says were true ?
L. M.—Well, I should have to believe that animals
are machines.
Cr.—’Remembering that man is only a rather more
perfect animal than the rest. . . . But I think
the Marshal is . . .
L. M.—One more question; the last. Are you at
ease in your unbelief F
Cr.—-Impossible to be more so.
L. M.—Yet, if it turned out that you were mis
taken ?
Cr.—Well, and if I were mistaken ?
L. M.—All that you believe to be false would come
true, and you would be cast amongst the damned.
Monsieur Crudeli, it is a terrible thing to be con
demned to.hell, to burn there for all eternity I
*
Cr.—La Fontaine believed that we should be as
comfortable there as fish in the water.
L. M.—You may laugh now ; but remember that
La Fontaine became very serious at his last moments ;
and this is the point where I make my stand against
you.
Cr.—I answer for nothing when my head will be
no longer right; but if I die from one of those
diseases which leave the expiring man his whole
reason, I shall not be more disturbed at the moment
you mention than I am at present.
L. M.—I am confounded at your boldness.
Cr.—I think there is much more boldness in the
man who dies believing in a severe judge who weighs
our most secret thoughts and in whose scales the
most upright man would be lost through vanity, did
he not tremble through fear of being found wanting;
if this dying man had then the choice either of anni
hilation or of judgment, his boldness would impress
* See Note VIII.
3
* v
�18
Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
me more should he hesitate to choose the former
alternative; unless he were more insane than the
companion of St. Bruno, or more intoxicated with
his own merits than Bohola.
L. M.—I have read the story of St. Bruno’s com
panion, but I have never heard of Bohola.
Cr.—He was a Jesuit of the college of Pinsk in
Lithuania, who left at his death a coffer full of money,
with a memorandum which he had written and
signed.
L. M.—And what was the memorandum about ?
Cr.—It ran thus : “ I request the dear brother to
whom I have confided this coffer, to open it when I
shall have performed miracles.' The money which it
contains will pay the expenses of my canonization.
I have left some authentic memoirs for the confirma
tion of my virtues and the guidance of those who
undertake to write my life.”
L. M.—What a ridiculous story !
Cr.—It may be so to me, Madam, but in your case
a joke on such a subject may offend God.
L. M.—Indeed, you are right.
Cr.—It is so easy to sin grievously against your
law.
L. M.'—I admit that it is.
Cr.—The justice which will decide your fate is
very rigorous.
L. M.—True.
Cr.—And if you believe the oracles of your religion
on the number of the elect, it will be very small.
L. M.— Oh ! but I am not a Jansenist; I only look
at the consoling side of the question; the blood of
Jesus Christ covers, in my eyes, a multitude of sins ;
and it would seem to me very singular if the Devil
had the best share of mankind, although he did not
give up a son to death.
Cr.-—Do you damn Socrates, Phocion, Aristides,
Cato, Trajan, Marcus Aurelius ?
�Diderofs Philosophical Conversation.
19
L. M.—Certainly not; no one but a wild beast
could think of such a thing. St. Paul says that
every man shall be judged by the law which he has
known, and St. Paul is right.
Cjb.—'And by what law is the unbeliever to be
judged ?
L. M.—Your case is rather different. You are one
of the accursed inhabitants of Chorazin and Bethsaida, who shut their eyes to the light which shone
on them and stopped their ears so as not to hear the
voice of truth speaking to them.
Cr.—The people of Chorazin and Bethsaida were
men such as never existed elsewhere, if they were
free to believe or not to believe.
L. M.—They saw mighty works which would have
made sackcloth and ashes more valuable than gold,
had they been done in Tyre and Sidon,
Cr.—Well, you see, the inhabitants of Tyre and
Sidon were clever people, while those of Chorazin
and Bethsaida were fools. I told you a story just
now, I should like to tell you another. Once upon a
time, a young Mexican . . . But, the Marshal . . .
L. M.—I will send and find out if he is disengaged.
*
Well what about the young Mexican ?
Cr.—Peeling weary of his work, was walking one
day along the sea-shore. He saw a plank, one end
of which was floating while the other was aground.
He sat down on the plank, and then, gazing over the
vast expanse of sea, said to himself:11 My grandmother
must be doting when she tells that story about those
people, who at some long time ago landed here from
somewhere or other beyond the seas. What nonsense I
is it not plain that the sea and the sky join in the
distance ? Can I believe, against the evidence of my
senses, an old story the date of which is unknown,
which every one tells in his own fashion, and which
is nothing but a tissue of absurd traditions about
which people tear their own hearts and one another’s
�20
Diderot's Pkilosophical Conversation.
eyes ?” While he was thus meditating, the rippling
waters were rocking him as he lay on the plank and
he soon fell asleep. The wind rose and the tide
carried the plank out to sea with our young reasoner
still lying asleep on it.
L. M.—Alas1 that is a true image of mankind :
we are each of us floating on a plank, the wind rises
and the tide carries us out to sea.
Cr.—When he awoke he was already far from the
land. Much as he was surprised to find himself out
at sea, he was still more surprised when the land dis
appeared and the sea joined with the sky over the
place where he had not long ago been walking. Then
he began to suspect that he might very possibly have
been mistaken in his incredulity, and that if the wind
continued from the same point, he might perhaps be
carried to the coast inhabited by the people of whom
his grandmother had so often spoken to him.
L. M.—You say nothing about the anxiety he
must have felt.
Cr. He had none. He said to himself:—“ What
does it matter provided I get to land. I have
reasoned rather clumsily, I must own; but I was
sincere, and that is all that can be expected of me.
If cleverness is not a virtue, stupidity cannot be a
crime.” In the meantime the wind continued to
blow, the plank and its freight floated on, the
unknown shore soon began to appear, and before
very long he arrived there and landed.
L. M.—We shall meet on that shore one day,
Monsieur Crudeli.
Cr.—I hope so, Mhdcwne la marechdle; wherever
it be I shall always be delighted at an opportunity of
paying my respects to you. Scarcely had he left the
plank and set foot on shore, when he perceived a
venerable old man standing at his side. He asked
where he was and to whom he had the honour of
speaking. “I am the sovereign of this country,”
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
21
replied the old man. “ You denied my existence ? ”
—“True, I did.”—“And that of my empire ? ”—“ True, I did.”—“ I pardon you, because I am He
who sees to the bottom of hearts, and I have read in
yours that you were in good faith; but all your
thoughts and deeds have not been so innocent.”
Whereupon the old man took him gently by the ear,
recalled to him all the faults of his life, and at each
one the young Mexican bowed down, beat his breast,
and asked forgiveness. How, Madame la marechale,
put yourself for a moment in the place of the old
man and tell me what you would have done ? Would
you have seized this young fool and taken a pleasure
in dragging him round the beach by the hair for all
eternity P
L. M.—Indeed, no.
Cr.—If one of those pretty children of yours had
escaped from the house, and after doing all sorts of
foolish things, came back repentant ?
L. M.—I should rush to meet him, I should take
him in my arms and embrace him with tears. But
his father, the Marshal, would not take things so gently.
Cr.—The Marshal is not exactly a tiger.
L. M.—Not by any means.
Cr.—He would require a little persuasion, but he
would certainly end by forgiving.
L. M.—Certainly.
Cr.—Especially if he came to think that, before
causing the birth of this child, he knew its whole life,
and that the punishment of its faults would be use
less, either for himself, for the culprit, or for the
other children.
L. M.—But the old man and the Marshal are two
very different persons.
Cr.—Do you mean that the Marshal is kinder
than the old man ?
L. M.— God forbid ! I only mean that if my jus
tice is not the same as the Marshal’s, his may not be
the same as the old man’s.
�22
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
Ce.—Ah ! Madam, you do not foresee the conse
quences of that answer. Either the general defini
tion of justice is equally applicable to you, to the
Marshal, to me, to the young Mexican and to the old
man, or else I don’t know what justice is and am
totally in the dark as to the means by which the old
man is pleased or displeased.
At this point of our conversation, we were told
that the Marshal was waiting for us. As I shook
hands with the marechale, she said :—It is enough to
make one giddy, isn’t it ?
Ce.—Why should it, if the head is firm ?
L. M.—After all, the shortest way is to behave as
if the old man existed.
Ce.—Even if one doesn’t believe it.
L. M.—And if you do believe it, not to count on
his goodness.
Oe.—If that is not the politest conduct, at least it
is the safest.
L. M.—By the way, suppose you were taken before
the magistrates to give an account of your religious
principles, would you confess them ?
Ce.—I should do my best to save the authorities
from committing an atrocious act.
*
L. M.—Ah! you are a coward ! And if you were
at the point of death, would you submit to receive
the sacraments of the church ?
Ce.—I would not fail to do so.
L. M.—Eor shame! you wicked hypocrite !
* See Note IN.
�APPENDIX.
Note I., page 10.
Compare the opinions of James Mill, as recorded in his
son’s Autobiography, Chapter II. “His aversion to religion,
in the sense usually attached to the term, was of the same
kind with that of Lucretius ; he regarded it with the feelings
due, not to a mere mental delusion, but to a great moral
evil. He looked upon it as the greatest enemy of morality ;
first, by setting up fictitious excellences—belief in creeds,
■devotional feelings and ceremonies, not connected with the
good of human kind,—and causing these to be accepted as
substitutes for genuine virtues : but above all, by radically
vitiating the standard of morals. . . . He was as well
aware as any one that Christians do not in general undergo
the demoralising consequences which seem inherent in such a
creed, in the manner, or to the extent which might have been
expected from it. The same slovenliness of thought, and
subjection of the reason to fears, wishes, and affections, which
enable them to accept a theory involving a _ contradiction in
terms, prevents them from perceiving the logical consequences
of the theory.”
Note II., page 10.
Exception may possibly be taken to the Greeks and Romans
being called “ les plus honnetes gens de la terre.'’ I apprehend
that°Diderot’s meaning will be understood from the following
remarks of John Stuart Mill. “We greatly doubt if most of
"the positive virtues were not better conceived and more highly
prized by the public opinion of Greece than by that of Great
Britain . . . and it may be questioned, if even private
duties are, on the whole, better understood, while duties to
the public, unless in cases of special trust, have almost
dropped out of the catalogue ; that idea, so powerful in the
free states of Greece, has faded into a mere rhetorical
ornament.”—(Review of Grote's ‘History of Greece.’)
Speaking on the use of the Greek and Roman literatures,
Mill also says, “They exhibit, in the military and agri
cultural commonwealths of antiquity, precisely that order of
virtues in which commercial society is apt to be deficient; and
�24
Appendix.
they altogether show human nature on a grander scale ; with
less benevolence but more patriotism ; less sentiment but more
self-control; if a lower average of virtue, more striking
individual examples of it; fewer small goodnesses, but more
greatness and appreciation of greatness ; more which tends to
exalt the imagination and inspire high conceptions of the
capabilities of human nature.”—(Review of De Tocqueville on
‘ Democracy in America. ’)
It is possible that European society may have become more
honest since the middle of the eighteenth century, but at that
time Diderot might with reason regret the ancient standard
of virtue.
Note III., page 13.
This passage is developed by John Stuart Mill, in his Essay
‘On Liberty’:—“Towhat an extent doctrines intrinsically
fitted to make the deepest impression upon the mind may
remain in it as dead beliefs, without being ever realised in the
imagination, the feelings or the understanding, is exemplified
by the manner in which the majority of believers hold the
doctrines of Christianity. By Christianity, I here mean what
is accounted such by all churches and sects—the maxims and
precepts contained in the New Testament. These are con
sidered sacred, and accepted as laws, by all professing Chris
tians. Yet it is scarcely too much to say that not one Christian
in a thousand guides or tests his individual conduct by
reference to those laws. The standard to which he does refer
it is the custom of his nation, his class, or his religious pro
fession. He has thus, on the one hand, a collection of ethical
maxims, which he believes to have been vouchsafed to him
by infallible wisdom as rules for his government; and on the
other a set of every day judgments and practices, which go a
certain length with some of those maxims, not so great a
length with others, stand in direct opposition to some, and
are, on the whole, a compromise between the Christian creed
and the interests and suggestions of worldly life. To the
first of these standards he gives his homage ; to the other his
real allegiance. All Christians believe that the blessed are
the poor and humble, and those who are ill-used by the
world ; that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of
a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven ;
that they should judge not, lest they be judged: that they
should swear not at all; that they should love their neigh
bour as themselves ; that if one take their cloak, they should
give him their coat also ; that they should take no thought
�15
Appendix:
for the morrow ; that if they would be perfect they should
sell all that they have and give it to the poor. They are not
insincere when they say that they believe these things. They
do believe them, as people believe what they have always
heard lauded, and never discussed. But in the sense of that
living belief which regulates conduct, they believe these doc
trines just up to the point to which it is usual to act upon
them. The doctrines, in their integrity, are serviceable to
pelt adversaries with ; and it is understood that they are to
be put forward (when possible), as the reasons for whatever
people do that they think laudable. But any one who
reminded them that the maxims require an infinity of things
which they never even think of doing, would gain nothing
but to be classed among those very unpopular characters who
affect to be better than other people. The doctrines have no
hold on ordinary believers—are not a power in their minds.
They have an habitual respect for the sound of them, but no
feeling which spreads from the words to the things signified,
and forces the mind to take them in, and make them conform
to the formula. Whenever conduct is concerned they look
round for Mr A. and B., to direct them how far to go in
obeying Christ. ”
Note IV., page 14.
See in Voltaire’s ‘Philosophical Dictionary’ the article
“Kavaillac.” It is in the form of a dialogue between a
doctor in theology and a page of the Duke of Sully. The
dialogue begins thus : ‘ ‘ Thank God, my dear boy, JRavaillac
died in holiness. He made his confession to me ; he repented
of his sin, and made a firm resolve not to fall into it again.
He wished to receive the holy communion, but that is not
allowed here as at Borne; his repentance stood in place of it,
and it is certain that he is now in paradise. . . . He was
most contrite, and contrition, combined with the sacrament of
confession, effects salvation, which leads straight to paradise,
where he is now praying to God for you.”
Note V., page 14.
This dialogue was written within a few years of the con
demnation of La Barre and D’Etallonde for sacrilege. They
were accused of having insulted a crucifix set up in a public
thoroughfare; the alleged offence was committed at night, and
the evidence was far from satisfactory. D’Etallonde fled, and
was provided for by Frederick the Great at Voltaire’s request;
La Barre was condemned by the Parliament of Abbeville ; he
was racked, his tongue was torn out, and he was then be
headed.
C
�26
Appendix.
Note VI., page 15.
The desirability of a future life is well treated in the West
minster Review for April, 1873 (Mr Gladstone’s “Defence of
the Faith.”) I will only quote the following sentence for
comparison with Diderot: “No doubt the prospect of future
non-existence may not be an altogether pleasant element to
mingle with our ideas for a few short years to come ; but by
no ingenuity can non-existence itself be represented as
unpleasant.” Compare also Mill’s ‘Three Essays,’ page 118.
Note VII., page 16.
The serpent was adored in Peru, as it is in other parts of
the world, as an emblem of eternity and of resurrection, as
well as of destruction and of regeneration. This incident in
the dialogue is evidently an allusion to the idea of resurrec
tion; Diderot, without entering into the hopeless labyrinth of
a discussion on the soul, contents himself with leading his
interlocutor into a dilemma and leaving her there.
Metaphysicians have successively given animals souls, de
graded them to machines (as compared with soul-possessing
man), and finally, perceiving the awkwardness of either posi
tion, decided on allowing them a compromise called instinct.
Note VIII., page 17.
The expediency of “hedging,” so frequently urged on
waverers in faith, is apparently an argument not confined to
modern Evangelical Christians.
Note IX., page 22.
It must not be thought that Diderot was himself so cautious
as he represents his philosopher. Although he had. with the
tolerance which was his characteristic, confided the article
Soul in his Encyclopaedia to a theologian of well-known ortho
doxy, he was attacked for the materialistic tendencies of this
very article, and the work was proscribed. His prospects
were looking gloomy ; Voltaire begged him to leave his un
grateful country, and to accept the noble hospitality offered
by Catherine of Russia; he was in vain reminded of the fate
of the Chevalier La Barre. But Diderot scorned to seek safety
in flight, and, with the scaffold before his eyes, answered Vol
taire in the following terms : “I know that when a wild beast
has tasted human blood it can no longer do without it; I know
that this beast, having devoured the Jesuits, is about to spring
on the philosophers ; I know that it has cast eyes on me, and
that I shall perhaps be the first devoured. . . I know that
one of them has had the atrocity to say that nothing will be
done as long as only books are burnt. ... I know that
before the end of the year I may remember your advice, and
�Appendix.
27
cry Solon! Solon! . . . What is existence to me if I can
only preserve it by renouncing all that is dear to me ? And
then, I rise every morning with the hope that the wicked have
repented during the night, that there are no more fanatics. . .
If I meet the fate of Socrates, remember that it is not enough
to die like him in order to merit comparison with him. . .
Illustrious and tender-hearted friend of humanity, I salute
and embrace you. No man with a spark of generosity but
would pardon fanaticism for cutting a few years off his life if
those years could be added to yours. If we do not join in
your efforts to crush the beast, it is because we are within
*
reach of its claws, and if, knowing its ferocity, we yet hesitate
to retreat, it is from considerations of which the supremacy
influences every upright and sensitive nature.”
P08TCRIPTUM.
Since writing these notes I have observed some remarkable
coincidences between the opening of the argument in Diderot’s
‘ Conversation ’ (page 8) with that in Philip Beauchamp’s
‘ Analysis of the Influence of Natural Religion on the Tem
poral Happiness of Mankind.’ The latter, published in 18221
*
under an assumed name, is generally understood to be the
work of George Grote, and it is acknowledged by John Stuart
Mill to have had great influence on his intellectual develop
ment. At pages 1 and 2 are the following passages :—
‘ ‘ The warmest partisan of natural religion cannot deny that
by the influence of it (occasionally at least) bad effects have
been produced; nor can any one, on the other hand, venture to
deny that it has, on other occasions, brought about good effects.
The question, therefore, is throughout only as to the compara
tive magnitude, number, and proportion of each.”
“The injurious effects have avowedly been thrown aside
under the pretence that they are abuses of religion; that the
abuse of a thing cannot be urged against its use, since the
most beneficent preparations may be erroneously or criminally
applied. ”
‘ ‘ By the use of a thing is meant the good which it produces;
by the abuse, the evil which it occasions. To pronounce upon
the merits of the thing under discusssion, previously erasing
from the reckoning all the evil which it occasions, is most
preposterous and unwarrantable. ”
Chapter VI. is a development of Diderot’s argument at
page 14—“Temptation is too near,” &c.
. * The bete was fanaticism, that referred to in Voltaire’s watchword J
“ Ecrasez I'infame."
t It has recently been reprinted by Truelove, 256 High Holborn.
��“ADDITION
TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL
THOUGHTS”
OF
DIDEROT.
A very rare little work has fallen into my hands,
entitled ‘ Various Objections to the Writings of dif
ferent Theologians.’ Curtailed, and written with a
little more vivacity, it would form a very good sequel
to the ‘ Philosophical Thoughts.’ I give here a few
of the best ideas of the anonymous author in ques
tion :—
1.
Doubts, in matters of religion, far from being acts
of impiety, should be looked upon as good works,
when they are those of a man who humbly acknow
ledges his ignorance and when they arise from the
fear of displeasing God by the abuse of reason.
2.
To admit some conformity between the reason of
man and eternal reason, which is God, and to pretend
that God exacts the sacrifice of human reason, is to
lay down that He at once will and will not.
3.
When God, from whom we have our reason, re
quires the sacrifice of it, He becomes a juggler who
artfully takes away what he has given.
4.
If I give up my reason, I have no longer any guide.
�30
a Addition to The Philosophical
I must blindly adopt a secondary principle and suppose
what is in question.
5.
If reason is a gift of heaven, and if we can say
the same thing of faith, heaven has made us two pre
sents which are incompatible and contradictory.
6.
To remove this difficulty, we must say that faith is
a chimerical principle, and that it does not exist in
nature.
7.
Pascal Nicole, and others have said, “ That a God
should punish with eternal torments the fault of a
guilty father in his innocent children, is a proposition
above and not contrary to reason.” But what then
is a proposition contrary to reason if that which evi
dently asserts a blasphemy is not so ?
8.
Wandering about an immense forest during the
night, I have but a feeble light to guide me. A
stranger approaches and says to me, “ Blow out thy
candle, my friend, in order better to find thy way.”
This stranger is a theologian.
9.
If my reason comes from on high, it is the voice of
heaven which speaks to me through it; I am bound
to listen to it.
10.
Merit and demerit cannot apply to the use of
reason, because all the goodwill in the world cannot
avail a blind man to discern colours. I am forced to
perceive evidence where it is, and the want of evi
dence where it is not, unless I be an imbecile,—now
imbecility is a misfortune and not a vice.
11.
The author of nature, who will not reward me for
�thoughts ” of Diderot.
31
having been a man of sense, said M. Diderot, will
not damn me for having been a fool.
12.
And He will not damn thee even for having been
a wicked man, for hast thou not already been suffi
ciently unhappy in having been wicked ?
13.
Every virtuous action is accompanied by inward
satisfaction, every criminal action by remorse ; now
the mind owns without shame and without remorse
its repugnance to such and such propositions; there
is then neither virtue nor guilt either in believing or
in rejecting them.
14.
If we still need grace in order to do well, what
was the use of the death of Jesus Christ ?
15.
If there are a hundred thousand damned for one
saved, the devil has still the advantage without having
abandoned his son to death.
16.
The God of the Christians is a father who sets
great store by his apples and very little by his chil
dren.
17.
Take away from a Christian the fear of Hell and
you will take from him his faith.
18.
A true religion interesting all men in all times and
in all places must have been eternal, universal, and
evident; none has these characteristics ; all then are
thrice demonstrated false.
19.
The facts of which some men only can be witnesses
are insufficient to demonstrate a religion which ought
to be equally believed by the whole world.
�32
“Addition to The Philosophical
20.
The facts by which religions are supported are
ancient and marvellous; that is, the most doubtful
possible to prove the most incredible thing.
21.
To prove the Gospel by a miracle is to prove an
absurdity by a thing against nature.
22.
But what will God do to those who have never
heard speak of His Son ? Will He punish the deaf
for not having heard ?
23.
What will He do to those who, having heard tell
of His religion, have not been able to comprehend
it ? Will he punish pigmies for not having been
able to walk with the steps of a giant ?
24.
Why are the miracles of Jesus Christ true, and
those of Esculapius, of Apollonius and of Mahomet
false ?
25.
But all the Jews who were at Jerusalem were pro
bably converted at the sight of the miracles of Jesus
Christ ? Not at all. Ear from believing in him^
they crucified him. We must agree that these Jews
are unlike all other men; everywhere we have seen
people carried away by a single false miracle and
Jesus Christ was unable to make anything of the
Jewish people with an infinity of true miracles.
26.
It is this miracle of incredulity on the part of the
Jews which should be placed in the strongest light,
and not that of his resurrection.
27.
It is as true as that two and two make four that
Caesar existed ; it is as sure that Jesus Christ existed as
�Thoughts” of Diderot.
33
Csesar. It is then, as sure that Jesus Christ rose again
as that he or Csesar existed. What logic! The
existence of Jesus and of Cassar is not a miracle.
28.
We read in the life of M. de Turenne, that a house
having caught fire, the presence of the Blessed Holy
Sacrament suddenly arrested the flames. Well, but
we read also in history that a monk having poisoned
a consecrated host, an Emperor of Germany had no
sooner swallowed it than he expired.
’29.
There was something more there than the appear
ances of the bread and wine, or we must say that the
poison had incorporated itself with the body and the
blood of Jesus Christ.
30.
This body becomes mouldy, this wine becomes
sour, this God is devoured by mites upon his altar.
Blind people, imbecile Egyptians open your eyes !
31.
The religion of Jesus Christ announced by ignorant
persons made the first Christians. The same religion
preached by the learned and by doctors now only
makes sceptics.
32.
It is objected that submission to a legislative
authority dispenses one from reasoning; but where on
the surface of the earth is the religion without such
an authority?
33.
It js the education of his childhood which pre
vents a Mahometan from being baptized; it is the
education of his childhood which prevents a Chris
tian from being circumcised; it is the reason of the
grown man which equally despises baptism and
circumcision.
�34
“Addition to Phe Philosophical
34.
It is said in Saint Luke, that God the Father is
greater than God the Son. Pater major me est. Yet,
in spite of a passage so express, the Church pro
nounces anathema on any scrupulous believer who
adheres literally to the words of his father’s testament.
35.
If authority has been able to dispose at its pleasure
of the sense of this passage, and as there is not one
in all the Scriptures more precise, neither is there
one that we can flatter oursfelves we understand, and
of which the Church may not make what it pleases
in future.
36.
“ Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram cedificaho ecclesiam mean.” Is that the language of a God, or a
medley worthy of the Seigneur des accords ?
37.
ilIn dolore paries.” “Thou shalt bring forth in
pain ” said God to the prevaricating woman; and
what have the females of animals done to offend
Him which also bring forth in pain ?
38.
If we are to understand literally Pater major me
est, Jesus Christ is not God. If we are to under
stand literally hoc est corpus meum, he gave himself
to his apostles with his own hands, which is as absurd
as to say that Saint Denis kissed his head after it had
been cut off!
39.
It is said that he retired to the Mount of Olives,
and that he.prayed, and to whom did he pray ? He
prayed to himself!
40.
This God who causes God to die in order to
appease God is an excellent saying of Baron de la
�Thoughts’" of Diderot.
11
35
Houtan. Less evidence results from a hundred folio
volumes written for or against Christianity than from
the absurdity of these two lines.
41.
To say that man is a compound of strength and
weakness, of light and blindness, of littleness and of
greatness, is not to state his case, it is to define it.
42.
Man is as God or nature has made him, and God
or nature makes nothing evil.
43.
What we call original sin, Ninon de Lenclos
called Ze pecihe original.
'
*
44.
It is unexampled impudence to cite the conformity
of the Evangelists, since in some of them there are
very important facts of which not a word is said in
the others.
45.
Plato considered the Divinity under three aspects,
goodness, wisdom, and power. One’s eyes must be
closed not to see in this the Trinity of the Christians.
It was nearly three thousand years since the philo
sopher of Athens called Logos what we call the
Word.
46.
The divine persons are either three accidents or
three substances. There is no medium. If they are
three accidents, we are Atheists or Deists; if they
are three substances, we are Pagans.
47.
God the Father judges man worthy of His eternal
vengeance ; God the Son judges them worthy of His
* There is a pun here ; originel is the French for ‘‘ original,” while
original means “ queer.”
�36
“Addition to The Philosophical
infinite mercy; the Holy Ghost remains nenter.
How can this senseless Catholic verbiage be recon
ciled with the unity of the divine will ?
48.
Theologians have long been asked to reconcile the
dogma of eternal torture with the infinite mercy of
God, and they are just where they were.
49.
And why punish a culprit when there is no longer
any good to be derived from his chastisement ?
50.
He who punishes for his own sake alone is very
cruel and very wicked.
51.
There is no good father who would wish to resemble
our heavenly Father.
52.
What proportion is there between the offender and
the offended ? what proportion between the offence
and the punishment ? What a heap of absurdities
and atrocities!
53.
And at what is this God so angry ? Would not
one say that Zcould do something for or against His
glory, for or against His peace, for or against His
happiness ?
54.
It is asserted that God causes the wicked man,
who is powerless against Him, to burn in a fire
which will endure everlastingly, yet scarcely would a
father be permitted to give temporary death to a
son who should compromise his life, his honour, and
his fortune !
55.
0 Christians! you have, then, two different ideas
�Thoughts ” of Diderot.
37
of goodness and of wickedness, of truth and of false
hood. You are, then, the most absurd of dogmatists
or the most outrageous of Pyrrhonists.
56.
All the evil of which one is capable is not all the
evil possible ; no it is only he who could commit all
the evil possible who could also deserve eternal
punishment. To make of God an infinitely vindic
tive being, you transform a worm of the earth into
an infinitely powerful being.
57.
That which these atrocious Christians have trans
lated by eternal, signifies in Hebrew only durable.
It is from the ignorance of a Hebrewism and from
the ferocious disposition of an interpreter that the
dogma of the eternity of torment proceeds.
58.
Pascal has said, “ If your religion is false, you risk
nothing in believing it true; if it is true, you risk
everything in believing it false.” An Imaun can say
just as much as Pascal.
59.
That Jesus Christ, who is God, should have been
tempted by the Devil, is a tale worthy the Thousandand-one Nights.
60.
I should be very glad if a Christian, particularly a
Jansenist, would make me feel the cui bono of the
incarnation. Again, would it not need to swell to
infinity the number of the damned if one desires to
turn this dogma to any advantage.
61.
But why do Leda’s swan and the little flames of
Castor and Pollux make us laugh ? and why do we
not laugh at the dove and the tongues of fire of the
Gospel ?
�38
“Addition to The Philosophical
62.
In the first centuries there were sixty Gospels
almost equally believed. "Fifty-six of them have been
rejected as containing puerilities and folly. Does
there remain nothing of all that in those which have
been preserved F
63.
God gives a first law to men; he then abolishes
this law. Is not such conduct a little like that of a
legislator who has been mistaken and discovers it in
time ? Is it like a perfect Being to change his
mind ?
64.
There are as many kinds of faith as there are
religions in the world.
65.
All the Sectarians in the world are but heretical
deists.
66.
If man is unhappy without having been born guilty,
may it not be that he is destined to enjoy eternal
happiness without being able, by his nature, ever to
make himself worthy of it ?
67.
What I think of the Christian dogma, and saying
but one word of its morality, is this: that for a
Catholic father of a family, convinced that the
maxims of the Gospel must be carried out to the
letter, under pain of what is called Hell, seeing the
extreme difficulty of attaining to that degree of per
fection of which human weakness is incapable, I see
no other expedient than to take his child by the foot
and to dash him to the earth, or to stifle him at birth.
By this act he saves him from the danger of damna
tion, and insures him eternal felicity; and I maintain
that such an act, far from being criminal, should be
esteemed infinitely praiseworthy, since it is founded
�Thoughts ” of Diderot.
j9
on the motive of paternal love, 'which demands that
every good father should do for his children all the
good possible.
68.
I ask whether the precept of religion and the law
of. society, which forbid the murder of the innocent,
are not in reality very absurd and very cruel, when,
by killing them, we insure to them infinite happiness,
whereas, in suffering them to live, we devote them
almost certainly to eternal misery ?
69.
How! Monsieur de la Condamine. Can it be allow
able to inoculate one’s son to save him from the small
pox, and not allowable to kill him in order to save
him from Hell ? You are jesting.
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY-STREET, HAYMARKET.
�
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A philosophical conversation
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Diderot, Denis [1713-1784]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 39 p. ; 18 cm.
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Philosophy