The Portable Voltaire (Portable Library)

by Francois Voltaire

  The protection you appear to give, Monseigneur, to this learned man, is a proof of the accuracy of your mind and of the humanity of your sentiments.

  You have the kindness, Monseigneur, to promise that you will send me the Treatise on God, the Soul and the World. What a present, Monseigneur, and what an interchange! The heir of a monarchy deigns to send instruction from the heart of his palace to a solitary! Be graciously pleased to send me this present, Monseigneur; my extreme love of truth is the one thing which makes me worthy of it. Most princes fear to listen to the truth, but you will teach it.

  As to the verses you speak of—you think as wisely of this art as in everything else. Verses which do not teach men new and moving truths do not deserve to be read. You perceive that there is nothing more contemptible than for a man to spend his life in rhyming worn-out commonplaces which do not deserve the name of thoughts. If there is anything viler it is to be nothing but a satirical poet and to write only to decry others. Such poets are to Parnassus what those doctors, who know nothing but words and intrigue against those who write things, are to the schools.

  If La Henriade did not displease your Royal Highness I must thank that love of truth, that horror which my poem inspires for the factious, for persecutors, for the superstitious, for tyrants and for rebels. ’Tis the work of an honest man; and should find grace in the eyes of a philosophic prince.

  You command me to send you my other work; I shall obey you, Monseigneur; you shall be my judge, you shall stand to me in lieu of the public. I will submit to you what I have attempted in philosophy; your instruction shall be my reward: ’tis a prize which few sovereigns can give. I am certain of your secrecy; your virtue must be equal to your knowledge.

  I should consider it a most valuable privilege to wait upon your Royal Highness. We go to Rome to see churches, pictures, ruins, and bas-reliefs. A prince like yourself is far more deserving of a journey; ’tis a more marvelous rarity. But friendship, which holds’ me in my retreat, does not permit me to leave it. Doubtless you think like Julian, that calumniated great man, who said that friends should always be preferred to kings.

  In whatever comer of the world I end my life, be certain, Monseigneur, that I shall constantly wish you well, and in doing so wish the happiness of a nation. My heart will be among your subjects; your fame will ever be dear to me. I shall wish that you may always be like yourself and that other kings may be like you. I am with deep respect, your Royal Highness’s most humble, etc.

  Leiden, January. 1737.

  MONSEIGNEUR,

  I shed tears of joy on reading the letter of the 9th September with which your Royal Highness honored me; in it I recognized a prince who will be certainly beloved by the human race. In every way I am astonished: you think like Trajan, you write like Pliny, and you use French like our best writers. What difference there is between men! Louis XIV was a great king, I respect his memory; but he did not speak so humanely as you, Monseigneur, and did not express himself in the same way. I have seen his letters; he could not spell his own language. Under your auspices Berlin will be the Athens of Germany and perhaps of Europe. I am now in a town where two private persons, M. Boerhaave on one side, and M. s’Gravesande on the other attract four or five hundred foreigners. A prince like yourself will attract many more; and I confess I shall think myself very unfortunate if I die before I have seen the model of princes and the marvel of Germany.

  I would not flatter you, Monseigneur, it would be a crime. It would be throwing a poisoned breath upon a flower; I am incapable of it; it is my very heart which speaks to your Royal Highness.

  On arriving at Amsterdam I found they had begun an edition of my poor works. I shall have the honor to send you the first copy. Meanwhile, I shall be so bold as to send your Royal Highness a manuscript19 which I should only dare to show to one so free from prejudices, so philosophic, so indulgent as you are, and to a prince who among so many homages deserves that of a boundless confidence. Some time will be needed to revise and to copy it and I shall send it by whatever way you desire.

  Indispensable occupations and circumstances beyond my control forbid me to carry myself to your feet that homage I owe you. A time will come perhaps when I shall be more fortunate.

  It seems that your Royal Highness likes every sort of literature. A great prince takes care of all ranks in his dominions; a great genius enjoys every sort of study. In my little sphere I have only saluted from afar the frontiers of each science; my time has been shared among a little metaphysics, a little history, some small amount of physics, and a few verses; though weak in all these matters, I offer you at least what I have.

  Were I not so interested in the happiness of mankind I should be sorry that you are destined to be a king. I could wish you a private man; I could wish that my soul might freely approach yours; but my wish must yield to the public good. Permit me, Monseigneur, to respect you more as a man than as a prince; permit that, among all your grandeurs, your soul should receive my first homage; and permit me to tell you once more what admiration and hope you give me.

  I am, etc.

  17th April, 1737.

  MONSEIGNEUR,

  I do not think there is any demonstration properly so called of the existence of the Supreme Being independent of matter. I remember that in England I did not fail to embarrass the famous Dr. Clarke when I said to him; We cannot call that a demonstration which is only a chain of ideas leaving many difficulties. To say that the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides is a demonstration which, however complicated it may be, leaves no difficulty; but the existence of a Creative Being leaves difficulties insurmountable to the human mind. Therefore this truth cannot be placed among demonstrations properly so called. It is a truth I believe; but I believe it as being the most probable; ’tis a light which strikes me amid a thousand shadows.

  Many things might be said on this topic, but it is carrying gold to Peru to fatigue your Royal Highness with philosophical reflections.

  All metaphysics, in my opinion, contain two things: The first all that men of good sense know; the second what they will never know.

  For example we know what constitutes a simple and a composite idea; we shall never know what the being is which has these ideas. We measure bodies; we shall never know what matter is. We can only judge of this by analogy; ’tis a staff nature has given to the blind and with it we walk and also fall.

  Analogy teaches me that animals, being made as I am, having sentiments like me, ideas like me, may well be what I am. When I try to go beyond I find an abyss and I halt on the edge of the precipice. All I know is, whether matter be eternal (which is quite incomprehensible). whether it was created in time (which is subject to great difficulties), whether our soul perishes with us, or enjoys immortality—in these uncertainties you cannot choose a wiser course or one more worthy of yourself than that you take, which is to give your soul, whether it be perishable or not, all the virtues, all the pleasures, all the instruction of which it is capable, to live as a prince, as a man, as a sage, to be happy and to render others happy. I look upon you as a present sent from Heaven to earth. I am amazed that at your age you are not carried away with a taste for pleasure and I congratulate you infinitely that philosophy leaves you the taste for pleasure. We are not born solely to read Plato and Leibnitz, to measure curves and to arrange facts in our heads; we are born with hearts which must be filled, with passions which must be satisfied without our being dominated by them. Monseigneur, I am charmed with your system of morals! My heart feels it was born only to be a subject of yours.

  One of the greatest benefits you can confer upon mankind is to trample under foot superstition and fanaticism; not to allow a man in a gown to persecute others who do not think as he does. It is quite certain that philosophers never trouble States. Why then trouble philosophers? What did it matter to Holland that Bayle was right? Why must it be that a fanatical minister like Jurieu had the interest to tear Bay
le from his little fortune? Philosophers ask for nothing but tranquillity; they only wish to live in peace under the established government, and there is not a theologian who does not wish to be master of the State. Is it possible that men who have no knowledge save the gift of speaking without understanding themselves or being understood, should have dominated and still do dominate almost everywhere?

  The northern countries have this advantage over the south of Europe, that these tyrants of souls have there less power than elsewhere. The princes of the north, therefore, are generally less superstitious and less malevolent than elsewhere. An Italian prince will deal in poison and then go to confession. Protestant Germany does not produce such fools and such monsters; and in general I should have no difficulty in proving that the least superstitious kings have always been the best princes.

  You see, worthy heir of the spirit of Marcus Aurelius, with what liberty I dare to speak to you. You are almost the only person in the world who deserves to be spoken to thus.

  Cirey, 27th May, 1737.

  MONSEIGNEUR,

  In the little paradise of Círey we await impatiently two things which are very rare in France—the portrait of a prince such as you, and M. de Keyserlingk, whom your Royal Highness honors with the name of your intimate friend.

  Louis XIV said one day to a man who had rendered important services to Charles II, King of Spain, and who had been one of his familiars: “Then the King of Spain loved you?” “Ah! Sire,” replied the poor courtier, “Do kings love anything?”

  You, Monseigneur, would have all the virtues which are so uselessly desired in kings and for which they have always been praised so inopportunely; it is not enough to be superior to men in mind as wall as in rank, you are so in the heart. You, prince and friend! There are two great titles joined together which hitherto have been thought incompatible.

  Yet I have always dared to think that princes could feel pure friendship, for usually private men who pretend to be friends are rivals. We have always something to quarrel about: Fame, position, women, and above all the favors of you masters of the earth, which we struggle for even more than for those of women, who nevertheless are quite as valuable as you are. But it seems to me that a prince, especially a prince like you, has nothing to quarrel over, has no rival to fear, and can feel friendship without embarrassment and at his ease. Happy is he, Monseigneur, who can share the bounties of a heart like yours! Doubtless M. de Keyserlingk has nothing to desire. My only surprise is that he should travel.

  Cirey, Monseigneur, is also a little temple dedicated to Friendship. Madame du Châtelet, who I assure you possesses all the virtues of a great man with the graces of her sex, is not unworthy of his visit and will receive him as the Friend of Prince Frederick.

  I reproach myself for having said nothing in my letters to your Royal Highness of French literature, in which you deign to take an interest; but I live in a profound solitude near the most estimable lady of this age and the books of the last; in my solitude I have received no novelties which deserve to be sent to Mount Remus.

  Our belles-lettres begin to degenerate considerably, either because they lack encouragement or because the French, having found the good in the age of Louis XIV, are always so unfortunate as to seek the best; or because in all countries nature reposes after great efforts, like the fields after an abundant harvest.

  That part of philosophy which is the most useful to men—that which treats of the soul—will never be of any value among us so long as we cannot think freely. A certain number of superstitious people here do great damage to every truth. Only the Jesuits are permitted to say anything; and if your Royal Highness has read what they say, I doubt whether you will do them the same honor you have done M. Rollin. History can only be well written in a free country; but most of the French refugees in Holland and in England have corrupted the purity of their language.

  Our universities have no merit but their antiquity. The French have no Wolff, no MacLaurin, no Manfredi, no s‘Gravesande, no Muschenbroek. Most of our professors of physics are not worthy to study under those I have just named. The Academy of Sciences well sustains the honor of the nation, but ’tis a light insufficiently diffused; each academician is limited to his own particular views. We have neither good physics nor good principles of astronomy for the education of youth and, for this purpose, we are compelled to rely on foreigners.

  The Opera keeps up its standard, because music is liked; unfortunately, this music cannot please the taste of other nations, like the Italian. Comedy degenerates completely. A propos Comedy, I am greatly mortified that L’Enfant Prodigue should have been sent to your Royal Highness. The copy you have is not my real work; and the true copy is only a sketch I have had neither time nor desire to finish, and is unworthy your attention.

  I speak to your Royal Highness with that naturalness which is perhaps too native to my character; I tell you, Monseigneur, what I think of my country without desiring to disparage or to praise it; I think that the French are living in Europe a little on their credit, like a rich man who is imperceptibly ruining himself. Our nation needs for its encouragement the eye of a master; for my part, Monseigneur, I ask nothing more than that Prince Frederick should continue his supervision. I lack only health; but for that I should work hard to deserve your regard; but feeble genius and ill-health make but a poor man. I am with profound respect, etc.

  Cirey, October, 1737.

  MONSEIGNEUR,

  I have received the last letter with which your Royal Highness honors me, dated the 21st September. I am anxious to know if my last parcel to you and that destined for M. Keyserlingk have reached their address; they were sent off at the beginning of August.

  You command me, Monseigneur, to give you some account of my metaphysical doubts; I am taking the liberty of sending you an extract from a chapter On Liberty. Your Royal Highness will at least find good faith in it though you may find ignorance. Would to God all who are ignorant were at least sincere!

  Perhaps humanity, the principal of all my thoughts, has seduced me in this work; perhaps my idea that there would be neither vice nor virtue, that neither reward nor punishment would be needed, that society especially among philosophers would be an exchange of malignancy and hypocrisy, if man did not possess full and absolute liberty—perhaps, I say, this opinion carries me too far. But if you find errors in my thoughts, forgive them for the sake of the principle which produced them.

  As far as I can I always bring back my metaphysics to morality. I have inquired sincerely and with all the attention of which I am capable whether I can attain any notions of the human soul, and I have seen that the fruit of all my searching is ignorance. I find that this thinking, free, active agent is nearly in the same position as Cod; my reason tells me that God exists, but this very same reason also tells me that I cannot know what He is. Indeed, how can we know what our soul is, we who can form no conception of light when we have the misfortune to be born blind? Therefore I perceive with anguish that everything which has been written about the soul cannot teach us the least truth.

  After groping about this soul to guess its kind, my principal object is to try at least to regulate it; ’tis the works of our clock. All Descartes’s fine ideas about elasticity do not tell me the nature of these works; I do not know what is the cause of elasticity; yet I wind up my clock and somehow or other it goes.

  I examine man. Whatever materials he may be composed of, we must see whether vice and virtue do in fact exist. This is the important point concerning man, I do not mean concerning a given society living under given laws, but the human race. For you, Monseigneur, who are to reign, for the woodcutter in your forest, for the Chinese doctor, and for the American savage. Locke, the wisest metaphysician I know, seems, by combating (with reason) innate ideas, to think that there is no universal principle of morality. On this point I dare to combat or rather to elucidate that great man’s ideas. I agree with him that there is not really any innate idea; it follows obviously that there is no moral
proposition innate in our souls; but because we are not born with beards, does it follow that we inhabitants of this Continent are not born to be bearded at a certain age? We are not born with the strength to walk; but whosoever is born with two feet will one day walk. Thus nobody is born with the idea that he must be just; but God has so arranged men’s organs that all at a certain age agree upon this truth.

  It seems to me obvious that God meant us to live in society, even as He gave bees the instinct and instruments proper to make honey. Since our society could not exist without the’ ideas of justice and injustice, He gave us the means of acquiring them. Our different customs, it is true, will never allow us to attach the same idea of justice to the same notions. What is a crime in Europe will be a virtue in Asia, just as certain German stews will never please the epicures of France; but God has so constructed Germans and Frenchmen that they all enjoy good cheer. All societies therefore will not have the same laws, but no society will be without laws. Here then the good of society is established by all men from Pekin to Ireland as the immutable rule of virtue; what is useful to society is therefore good in all countries. This single idea at once conciliates all the contradictions which appear in the morality of men. Theft was permitted in Sparta; but why? Because property was there held in common and because to steal from a miser who kept for himself alone what the law gave the public was serving society.