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Ancient and Modern Celebrated Freethinkers

by Charles Bradlaugh · English · Gutenberg #30200 · 659,598 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Ancient and Modern Celebrated Freethinkers

Author: Charles Bradlaugh
        active 19th century Anthony Collins
        John Watts


        
Release date: October 6, 2009 [eBook #30200]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30200

Credits: Produced by David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT AND MODERN CELEBRATED FREETHINKERS ***

ANCIENT AND MODERN

CELEBRATED FREETHINKERS.

REPRINTED FROM AN ENGLISH WORK, ENTITLED

"HALF-HOURS WITH THE FREETHINKERS."

By "Iconoclast.", A. Collins, and J. Watts

("Iconoclast", pseud. of Charles Bradlaugh.)

Edited by "Iconoclast,"


Boston

Published By J. P. Mendum

1877.



CONTENTS:

     EDITORS' PREFACE.

     THOMAS HOBBES.

     LORD BOLINGBROKE.

     CONDORCET.

     SPINOZA.

     ANTHONY COLLINS.

     DES CARTES.

     M. DE VOLTAIRE.

     JOHN TOLAND.

     COMPTE DE VOLNEY.

     CHARLES BLOUNT.

     PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

     CLAUD ARIAN HELVETIUS.

     FRANCES W. D'ARUSMONT.

     EPICURUS

     ZENO, THE STOIC

     MATTHEW TINDAL.

     DAVID HUME

     DR. THOMAS BURNET

     THOMAS PAINE.

     BAPTISTE DE MIRABAUD

     BARON D'HOLBACH.

     ROBERT TAYLOR.

     JOSEPH BARKER.



EDITORS' PREFACE.

In these pages, appearing under the title of "Half-Hours with the
Freethinkers," are collected in a readable form an abstract of the lives
and doctrines of some of those who have stood foremost in the ranks of
Free-thought in all countries and in all ages; and we trust that our
efforts to place in the hands of the poorest of our party a knowledge
of works and workers--some of which and whom would otherwise be out of
their reach--will be received by all in a favorable light. We shall,
in the course of our publication, have to deal with many writers whose
opinions widely differ from our own, and it shall be our care to deal
with them _justly_ and in all cases to allow them to utter in their own
words their essential thinkings.

We lay no claim to originality in the mode of treatment--we will
endeavor to cull the choicest flowers from the garden, and if others
can make a brighter or better bouquet, we shall be glad to have their
assistance. We have only one object in view, and that is, the presenting
of free and manly thoughts to our readers, hoping to induce like
thinking in them, and trust-ing that noble work may follow noble
thoughts. The Freethinkers we intend treating of have also been Free
Workers, endeavoring to raise men's minds from superstition and bigotry,
and place before them a knowledge of the real.

We have been the more inclined to issue the "Half-Hours with the
Freethinkers" in consequence, not only of the difficulty which many have
in obtaining the works of the Old Freethinkers, but also as an effective
answer to some remarks which have lately appeared in certain religious
publications, implying a dearth of thought and thinkers beyond the pale
of the Church. We wish all men to know that great minds and good men
_have_ sought truth apart from faith for many ages, and that it is
because few were prepared to receive them, and many united to _crush_
them, their works are so difficult of access to the general mass at the
present day.




THOMAS HOBBES.

This distinguished Freethinker was born on the 5th of April, 1588, at
Malmesbury; hence his cognomen of "the philosopher of Malmesbury." In
connection with his birth, we are told that his mother, being a loyal
Protestant, was so terrified at the rumored approach of the Spanish
Armada, that the birth of her son was hastened in consequence. The
subsequent timidity of Hobbes is therefore easily accounted for. The
foundation of his education was laid in the grammar school of his native
town, where most probably his father (being a clergyman) would officiate
as tutor. At the age of fifteen he was sent to Oxford. Five years of
assiduous study made him proficient as a tutor; this, combined with his
amiability and profound views of society, gained him the respect of the
Earl of Devonshire, and he was appointed tutor to the Earl's son, Lord
Cavendish. From 1610 to 1628, he was constantly in the society of this
nobleman, in the capacity of secretary. In the interval of this time he
travelled in France, Germany, and Italy; cultivating in each capital
the society of the leading statesmen and philosophers. Lord Herbert, of
Cherbury, the first great English Deist, and Ben Jonson, the dramatist,
were each his boon companions. In the year 1628, Hobbes again made the
tour of the Continent for three years with another pupil, and became
acquainted at Pisa with Galileo. In 1631 he was entrusted with the
education of another youth of the Devonshire family, and for near five
years remained at Paris with his pupil.

Hobbes returned to England in 1636. The troublous politics of this age,
with its strong party prejudices, made England the reverse of a pleasant
retirement, for either Hobbes or his patrons; so, perceiving the
outbreak of the Revolution, he emigrated to Paris. There in the
enjoyment of the company of Gassendi and Descartes, with the _elite_ of
Parisian genius, he was for awhile contented and happy. Here he engaged
in a series of mathematical quarrels, which were prolonged throughout
the whole of his life, on the quadrature of the circle. Seven years
after, he was appointed mathematical tutor to the Prince of Wales,
afterwards Charles II. In 1642, Hobbes published the first of his
principal works, "De Cive, or Philosophical Rudiments Concerning
Government and Society." It was written to curb the spirit of anarchy,
then so rampant in England, by exposing the inevitable results which
must of necessity spring from the want of a coherent government amongst
a people disunited and uneducated. The principles inculcated in this
work were reproduced in the year 1651, in the "Leviathan, or the Matter,
Form, and Power of a Commonwealth, Ecclesiastical and Civil;" this,
along with a "Treatise on Human Nature," and a small work on "The
Body Politic," form the groundwork of the "selfish schools" of moral
philosophy. As soon as they were published, they were attacked by the
clergy of every country in Europe. They were interdicted by the Pontiffs
of the Roman and Greek Church, along with the Protestants scattered over
Europe, and the Episcopal authorities of England. Indeed, to such an
extent did this persecution rise, that even the royalist exiles
received warning that there was no chance for their ostracism being
removed, unless "the unclean thing (Hobbes) was put away from their
midst." The young prince, intimidated by those ebullitions of vengeance
against his tutor? was obliged to withdraw his protection from him, and
the old man, then near seventy years of age, was compelled to escape
from Paris by night, pursued by his enemies, who, according to Lord
Clarendon, tracked his footsteps from France. Fortunately for Hobbes, he
took refuge with his old protectors, the Devonshire family, who were too
powerful to be wantonly insulted. While residing at Chatsworth, he would
no doubt acutely feel the loss of Descartes, the Cardinal de Richelieu,
and Gassendi; in the place of those men he entered into a warm
friendship with Cowley, the poet, Selden, Harvey, the discoverer of
the circulation of the blood, Charles Blount, and the witty Sir Thomas
Brown.

In 1654, he published a "Letter upon Liberty and Necessity;" this
brief tractate is unsurpassed in Free-thought literature for its clear,
concise, subtle, and demonstrative proofs of the self-determining power
of the will, and the truth of philosophical necessity. All subsequent
writers on this question have largely availed themselves of Hobbes's
arguments, particularly the pamphleteers of Socialism. It is a fact no
less true than strange, that Communism is derived from the system of
Hobbes, which has always been classed along with that of Machiavelli, as
an apology for despotism. The grand peculiarity of Hobbes is his method.
Instead of taking speculation and reasoning upon theories, he carried
out the inductive system of Bacon in its entirety, reasoning from
separate generic facts, instead of analogically. By this means he
narrowed the compass of knowledge, and made everything demonstrative
that was capable of proof. Belief was consequently placed upon its
proper basis, and a rigid analysis separated the boundaries of Knowing
and Being. Hobbes looked at the great end of existence and embodied it
in a double axiom. 1st. The desire for self-preservation. 2nd. To render
ourselves happy. From those duplex principles which are inherent in
all animals, a modern politician has perpetrated a platitude which
represents in a sentence the end and aim of all legislation, "the
greatest happiness for the greatest number." This is the _ultimatum_
of Hobbes's philosophy. Its method of accomplishment was by treating
society as one large family, with the educated and skilled as governors,
having under their care the training of the nation. All acting from
one impulse (self-preservation,) and by the conjoint experience of all,
deriving the greatest amount of happiness from this activity. Hobbes
opposed the Revolution, because it degenerated into a faction; and
supported Charles Stuart because there were more elements of cohesion
within his own party, than amongst his enemies. It was here where the
cry of despotism arose; the "Round-heads" seeing they could not detach
the ablest men from the King's party, denounced their literary opponents
as "lovers of Belial, and of tyranny." This was their most effective
answer to the "Leviathan." In after years, when the Episcopal party no
longer stood in need of the services of Hobbes, they heaped upon him the
stigma of heresy, until his _ci-devant_ friends and enemies were united
in the condemnation of the man they most feared. Mr. Owen, in his schema
of Socialism, took his leading idea on non-responsibility from Hobbes's
explanation of necessity, and the freedom of the will. The old divines
had inculcated a doctrine to the effect that the "will" was a separate
entity of the human mind, which swayed the whole disposition, and was of
itself essentially corrupt. Ample testimony from the Bible substantiated
this position. But in the method of Hobbes, he lays down the facts that
we can have no knowledge without experience, and no experience without
sensation. The mind therefore is composed of classified sensations,
united together by the law of an association of ideas. This law was
first discovered by Hobbes, who makes the human will to consist in
the strongest motive which sways the balance on any side. This is the
simplest explanation which can be given on a subject more mystified than
any other in theology.

A long controversy betwixt Bishop Bramhall, of Londonderry, followed the
publication of Hobbes's views on Liberty and Necessity. Charles II. on
his restoration, bestowed an annual pension of £100 on Hobbes, but this
did not prevent the parliament, in 1666, censuring the "De Cive" and
"Leviathan," besides his other works. Hobbes also translated the Greek
historian, Thucydides, Homer's Odyssey, and the Illiad. The last years
of his life were spent in composing "Behemoth; or, a History of the
Civil Wars from 1640 to 1660," which was finished in the year he died,
but not published until after his death. At the close of the year 1679,
he was taken seriously ill. At the urgent request of some Christians,
they were permitted to intrude their opinions upon his dying bed,
telling him gravely that his illness would end in death, and unless he
repented, he would go straight to hell. Hobbes calmly replied, "I shall
be glad then to find a hole to creep out of the world." For seventy
years he had been a persecuted man, but during that time his enemies
had paid him that tribute of respect which genius always extorts from
society. He was a man who was hated and dreaded. He had reached the age
of ninety-two when he died. His words were pregnant with meaning; and
he never used an unnecessary sentence. A collection of moral apothegms
might be gathered from his table-talk. When asked why he did not read
every new book which appeared, he said, "If I had read as much as other
men, I should have been as ignorant." His habits were simple; he
rose early in the morning, took a long walk through the grounds of
Chatsworth, and cultivated healthful recreation. The after part of the
day was devoted to study and composition. Like Sir Walter Raleigh, he
was a devoted admirer of the "fragrant herb." Charles II.'s constant
witticism, styled Hobbes as "a bear against whom the Church played their
young dogs, in order to exercise them."

If there had been a few more similar "bears," the priestly "dogs" would
long since have been exterminated, for none of them escaped unhurt from
their encounters with the "grizzly" of Malmesbury, except it was in the
mathematical disputes with Dr. Wallis.

He was naturally of a timid disposition: this was the result of the
accident which caused his premature birth, and being besides of a
reserved character, he was ill-fitted to meet the physical rebuffs of
the world. It is said that he was so afraid of his personal safety, that
he objected to be left alone in an empty house; this charge is to some
extent true, but we must look to the mitigating circumstances of the
case. He was a feeble man, turned the age of three-score and ten, with
all the clergy of England hounding on their dupes to murder an old
philosopher because he had exposed their dogmas. It was but a few years
before, that Protestants and Papists had complimented each other's
religion by burning those who were the weakest, and long after Hobbes's
death, Protestants murdered, ruined, disgraced, and placed in the
pillory Dissenters and Catholics alike, and Thomas Hobbes had positive
proof that it was the intention of the Church of England to _burn
him alive_, on the stake, a martyr for his opinions. This, then, is a
sufficient justification for Hobbes feeling afraid, and instead of
it being thrown as a taunt at this illustrious Freethinker, it is a
standing stigma on those who would re-enact the tragedy of persecution,
if public opinion would allow it.

Sir James Mackintosh says: * "The style of Hobbes is the very perfection
of didactic language. Short, clear, precise, pithy, his language never
has more than one meaning, which never requires a second thought to
find. By the help of his exact method, it takes so firm a hold on the
mind, that it will not allow attention to slacken. His little tract on
human nature has scarcely an ambiguous or a needless word. He has so
great a power of always choosing the most significant term, that he
never is reduced to the poor expedient of using many in its stead. He
had so thoroughly studied the genius of the language, and knew so well
how to steer between pedantry and vulgarity, that two centuries have not
superannuated probably more than a dozen of his words."

     * Second Dissertation:  Encyclopaedia Brit., p. 318.

Lord Clarendon describes the personal character of Hobbes as "one for
whom he always had a great esteem as a man, who besides his eminent
parts of learning and knowledge, hath been always looked upon as a man
of probity, and a life free from scandal."

We now proceed to make a selection of quotations from the works of this
writer, commencing with those on the "Necessity of the Will," in reply
to Bishop Bramhall.

"The question is not whether a man be a free agent--that is to say,
whether he can write, or forbear, speak, or be silent, according to his
will; but whether the will to write, and the will to forbear, come upon
him according to his will, or according to anything else in his own
power. I acknowledge this liberty, that I can _do_, if I _will_, but to
say, I can _will_ if I _will_, I take to be an absurd speech." Further
replying to Bramhall's argument, that we do not learn the "idea of the
freedom of the will" from our tutors, but we know it intuitively, Hobbes
says, "It is true very few have learned from tutors that a man is not
free to will; nor do they find it much in books. That they and in books
that which the poets chaunt in the theatres, and the shepherds on the
mountains, that which the pastors teach in the churches, and the doctors
in the universities; and that which the common people in the markets,
and all the people do assent unto, is the same that I assent unto;
namely, that a man hath freedom to do if he will; but whether he hath
freedom to will, is a question which it seems neither the Bishop nor
they ever thought of.... A wooden top that is lashed by the boys, and
runs about, sometimes to one wall, sometimes to another, sometimes
spinning, sometimes hitting men on the shins, if it were sensible of its
own motion, would think it proceeded from its own will, unless it felt
what lashed it. And is a man any wiser when he runs to one place for a
benifice, to another for a bargain, and troubles the world with writing
errors, and requiring answers, because he thinks he does it without
other cause than his own will, and seeth not what are the lashings which
cause that will?"

Hobbes casually mentions the subject of "praise or dispraise," in
reference to the will; those who are old enough will remember this was
one of the most frequent subjects of discussion amongst the earlier
Socialists. "These depend not at all in the necessity of the action
praised or dispraised. For what is it else to praise, but to say _a
thing is good?_ Good, I say, for me, or for somebody else, or for the
State and Commonwealth. And what is it to say an action is good, but to
say it is as I would wish, or as another would have it, or according
to the will of the State--that is to say, according to the law! Does
my lord think that no action could please me, or the commonwealth, that
should proceed from necessity! Things may be therefore necessary, and
yet praiseworthy, as also necessary, and yet dispraised, and neither of
them both in vain; because praise and dispraise, and likewise reward and
punishment, do, by example, make and conform the will to good or evil.
It was a very great praise, in my opinion, that Vellerius Paterculus
gives Cato, where he says that he was good by nature, '_et quia aliter
esse non potuit_.''--'And because he could not do otherwise.'" This able
treatise was reprinted, and extensively read about twenty years ago;
but, like many other of our standard works, it is at present out of
print.

The "Leviathan" is still readable, a bold masculine book. It treats
everything in a cool, analytic style. The knife of the Socialist is
sheathed in vain; no rhapsody can overturn its impassioned teachings.
Rhetoric is not needed to embellish the truths he has to portray, for
the wild flowers of genius but too frequently hide the yawning chasms
in the garden of Logic. It is not to be expected that this book will be
read now with the interest with which it was perused two centuries ago;
then every statement was impugned, every argument denied, and the very
tone of the book called forth an interference from parliament to stop
the progress of its heresies. Now the case is widely different, and the
general tenor of the treatise is the rule in which are illustrated alike
the works of the philosophers and the dreams of the sophists (priests.)
We give part of the introduction. "Nature (the art whereby God hath made
and governs the world) is, by the art of man, as in many other things,
so in this also, imitated, that it can make an artificial animal. For
seeing life is but a motion of limbs, the beginning whereof is in some
principal part within; why may we not say that all automata (engines
that move themselves by springs and wheels, as doth a watch) have an
artificial life? For what is the heart but a spring; and the nerves but
so many strings; and the joints but so many wheels, giving motion to the
whole body, such as was intended by the Artificer? Art goes yet further,
imitating that rational and most excellent work of nature, man. For by
art is created that great leviathan, called a Commonwealth, or State,
which is but an artificial man though of greater stature and strength
than the natural, for whose protection and defence it was intended,
and the sovereignty of which is an artificial soul, as giving life and
motion to the whole body. To describe the nature of this artificial man,
I will consider,

"1st. The _matter_ thereof, and the _artificer_, both which is man.

"2nd. _How_, and by what _covenants_ it is made, what are the _rights_
and _just_ power or authority of a sovereign; and what it is that
_preserveth_ and dissolveth it.

"3rd. What is a Christian Commonwealth.

"Lastly, what is the kingdom of darkness.

"The first chapter treats of 'Senses.' Concerning the thoughts of man, I
will consider them first singly, and afterwards in train, or dependence
upon one another. Singly, they are every one a representation, or
appearance, of some quality or accident of a body without us, which is
commonly called an object. Which object worketh on the eyes, ears, and
other parts of a man's body, and by diversity of working, produceth
diversity of appearances. The original of them all is that which we call
sense, for there is no conception in a man's mind, which hath not at
first totally or by parts been begotten upon the organs of sense; the
rest are derived from that original."

Speaking of "Imagination," Hobbes says, "That when a thing lies still,
unless somewhat else stir it, it will lie still forever, is a truth no
one doubts of. But that when a thing is in motion, it will eternally
be in motion, unless somewhat else stay it, though the reason be the
same--namely, that nothing can change itself--is not so easily assented
to. For men measure not only other men, but all other things, by
themselves; and because they find themselves subject after motion to
pain and lassitude, think everything else grows weary of motion, and
seeks repose of its own accord--little considering whether it be not
some other motion, wherein that desire of rest they find in themselves
consisteth.... When a body is once in motion, it moveth (unless
something else hinder it) eternally, and whatsoever hindereth it, cannot
in an instant, but in time, and by degrees, quite extinguish it; and
as we see in the water, though the wind cease, the waves give not over
rolling for a long time after; so also it happeneth in that motion which
is made in the internal parts of man, then, when he sees, dreams, etc.
For after the object is removed, or the eye shut, we still retain an
image of the thing seen, though more obscure than when we see it....
The decay of sense in men waking, is not the decay of the motion made
in sense, but an obscuring of it, in such manner as the light of the sun
obscureth the light of the stars; which stars do no less exercise their
virtue, by which they are visible in the day, than in the night. But
because amongst many strokes which our eyes, ears and other organs
receive from external bodies, the predominant only is sensible;
therefore the light of the sun being only predominant, we are not
affected with the actions of the stars.... This decaying sense, when
we would express the thing itself (I mean fancy itself), we call
imagination, as I said before, but when we would express the Decay, and
signify the sense is fading, old and past, it is called Memory: so
that imagination and memory are but one thing, which, for divers
considerations, hath divers names." *

Such is the commencement of this celebrated book, it is based upon
materialism; every argument must stand this test upon Hobbes's
principles, and characteristically are they elaborated. Hobbes ("De
Cive") says of the immortality of the soul, "It is a belief grounded
upon other men's sayings, that they knew it supernaturally; or that
they knew those who knew them, that knew others, that knew it
supernaturally." A sparkling sneer, and perhaps the truest answer to
so universal an error. Dugald Stewart, in his analysis of the works of
Hobbes, says, ** The fundamental doctrines inculcated in the political
works of Hobbes, are contained in the following propositions:--All men
are by nature equal, and, prior to government, they had all an equal
right to enjoy the good things of this world. Man, too, is by nature, a
solitary and purely selfish animal; the social union being entirely an
interested league, suggested by prudential views of personal advantage.
The necessary consequence is, that a state of nature must be a state of
perpetual warfare, in which no individual has any other means of safety
than his own strength or ingenuity; and in which there is no room
for regular industry, because no secure enjoyment of its fruits. In
confirmation of this view of the origin of society, Hobbes appeals to
facts falling daily within the cycle of our experience. "Does not a
man, (he asks) when taking a journey, arm himself, and seek to go well
accompanied? When going to sleep, does he not lock his doors? Nay, even
in his own house, does he not lock his chests? Does he not there accuse
mankind by his action, as I do by my words?" For the sake of peace and
security, it is necessary that each individual should surrender a part
of his natural right, and be contented with such a share of liberty
as he is willing to allow to others; or, to use Hobbes's own language,
"every man must divest himself of the right he has to all things by
nature; the right of all men to all things, being in effect no better
than if no man had a right to anything." In consequence of this
transference of natural rights to an individual, or to a body of
individuals, the multitude become one person, under the name of a State,
or Republic, by which person the common will and power are exercised for
the common defence. The ruling power cannot be withdrawn from those to
whom it has been committed; nor can they be punished for misgovern-ment.
The interpretation of the laws is to be sought, not from the comments
of philosophers, but from the authority of the ruler; otherwise society
would every moment be in danger of resolving itself into the discordant
elements of which it was at first composed.--The will of the magistrate,
therefore, is to be regarded as the ultimate standard of right and
wrong, and his voice to be listened to by every citizen as the voice of
conscience."

     * Leviathan.    Ed. 1651.

     ** Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Science, p. 41.

Such are the words of one of Hobbes's most powerful opponents. Dr.
Warburton says, "The philosopher of Malmesbury was the terror of the
last age, as Tin-dal and Collins are of this. The press sweats with
controversy; and every young churchman militant would try his arms in
thundering on Hobbes's steel cap." This is a modest acknowledgment of
the power of Hobbes, from the most turbulent divine of the eighteenth
century.

Victor Comyin gives the following as his view of the philosophy of
Hobbes:--"There is no other certain evidence than that of the senses.
The evidence of the senses attests only the existence of bodies; then
there is no existence save that of bodies, and philosophy is only the
science of bodies.

"There are two sorts of bodies: 1st, Natural bodies, which are the
theatre of a multitude of regular phenomena, because they take place
by virtue of fixed laws, as the bodies with which physics are occupied;
2nd, Moral and political bodies, societies which constantly change and
are subject to variable laws.

"Hobbes's system of physics is that of Democritus, the atomistic and
corpuscular of the Ionic school.

"His metaphysics are its corollary; all the phenomena which pass in
the consciousness have their source in the organization, of which the
consciousness in itself is simply a result. All the ideas come from the
senses. To think, is to calculate; and intelligence is nothing else than
an arithmetic. As we do not calculate with out signs, we do not think
without words; the truth of the thought is in the relation of the words
among themselves, and metaphysics are reduced to a perfect language.
Hobbes is completely a nominalist. With Hobbes there are no other than
contingent ideas; the finite alone can be conceived; the infinite is
only a negation of the finite; beyond that it is a mere word invented to
honor a being whom faith alone can reach. The idea of good and evil
has no other foundation than agreeable or disagreeable sensations; to
agreeable or disagreeable sensation it is impossible to apply any.
other law than escape from the one and search after the other; hence
the morality of Hobbes, which is the foundation of his politics. Man
is capable of enjoying and of suffering; his only law is to suffer as
little, and enjoy as much, as possible. Since such is his only law, he
has all the rights that this law confers upon him; he may do anything
for his preservation and his happiness; he has the right to sacrifice
everything to himself. Behold? then, men upon this earth, where the
objects of desire are not superabundant, all possessing equal rights
to whatever may be agreeable or useful to them, by virtue of the same
capacity for enjoyment and suffering. This is a state of nature, which
is nothing less than a state of war, the anarchy of the passions, a
combat in which every man is arrayed against his neighbor. But this
state being opposed to the happiness of the majority of individuals who
share it, utility, the offspring of egotism itself, demands its
exchange for another, to wit, the social state. The social state is the
institution of a public power, stronger than all individuals, capable
of making peace succeed war, and imposing on all the accomplishment of
whatever it shall have judged to be useful, that is, just."

Before we dismiss the father of Freethought from our notice, there
remains a tribute of respect to be paid to one whom it is our duty
to associate with the author of the "Leviathan," and who has but
just passed away--one man amongst the British aristocracy with the
disposition of a tribune of the people, coupled with thoughts at once
elevated and free, and a position which rendered him of essential
service to struggling opinion. This man saw the greatness, the profound
depth, the attic style, and the immense importance of the works of
Hobbes, along with their systematic depreciation by those whose duty it
should be to explain them, especially at a time when those works were
not reprinted, and the public were obliged to glean their character
from the refutations (so called) by mangled quotations, and a distorted
meaning. Impelled by this thought, and anxious to protect the memory of
a philosopher, his devoted disciple, at a cost of £10,000, translated
the Latin, and edited the English works of Hobbes, in a manner worthy
alike of the genius of the author, and the discernment of his editor.
For this kindness, a seat in Parliament was lost by the organization of
the clergy in Cornwall. The name of this man was Sir William Molesworth.
Let Freethinkers cherish the memory of their benefactor.

We now take our leave of Thomas Hobbes. He had not the chivalry of
Herbert; the vivacity of Raleigh; the cumulative power of Bacon; or the
winning policy of Locke. If his physical deformities prevented him from
being as daring as Vane, he was as bold in thought and expression as
either Descartes, or his young friend Blount. He gave birth to the
brilliant constellation of genius in the time of Queen Anne. He did
not live to see his system extensively promulgated; but his principles
moulded the character of the men who formed the revolution of 1688,
equally as much as Hume established the Scotch and German schools of
philosophy; and Voltaire laid the train by which the French Revolution
was proclaimed. Peace to his memory! It was a stormy struggle during his
life; its frowns cannot hurt him now. Could we believe in the idea of
a future life, we should invoke his blessings on our cause. That cause
which for near two hundred years has successfully struggled into birth,
to youth, and maturity. Striking down in its onward course superstitions
which hath grown with centuries, and where it does not exterminate them,
it supplies a purer atmosphere, and extracts the upas-sting which has
laid low so many, and which must yet be finally exterminated. The day is
rapidly dawning when our only deities will be the works of genius, and
our only prayer the remembrance of our most illustrious chiefs.

A.C.




LORD BOLINGBROKE.

Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, was born in his family seat at
Battersea, on the 1st of October 1672, and died there on November 15th,
1751, in his 79th year. He was educated by a clergyman in an unnatural
manner, and speedily developed himself accordingly. When he left Oxford,
he was one of the handsomest men of the day--his majestic figure,
refined address, dazzling wit, and classic eloquence, made him
irresistibly the "first gentleman in Europe." Until his twenty-fourth
year, he was renowned more for the graces of his person, and the
fascination of his wild exploits, rather than possessing a due regard
to his rank and abilities. His conduct, however, was completely changed
when he became a Member of Parliament. The hopes of his friends were
resuscitated when they discovered the aptitude for business--the ready
eloquence, and the sound reasoning of the once wild St. John. He soon
became the hardest worker and the leader of the House of Commons. The
expectations of the nation rose high when night after night he spoke
with the vivacity of a poet, and the profundity of a veteran statesman
on public affairs. In 1704, he received the seals as Secretary-of-War,
and was mainly instrumental in gaining Marlborough's victories, by the
activity with which he supplied the English General with munitions of
war. On the ascendency of the Whigs, St. John resigned his office, and
retired into privacy for two years, when the Whig administration was
destroyed, and St. John re-appeared as Secretary for Foreign Affairs.
His greatest work now was the negotiation of the treaty of Utrecht. This
treaty was signed by St. John (then Lord Bolingbroke,) he being sent to
Paris as the British Plenipotentiary, and was hailed by the Parisians
as a guardian angel. To such an extent was this feeling manifested, that
when he visited the theatres every one _rose_ to welcome him. So long as
Queen Anne lived, Bolingbroke's influence was paramount, but associated
with him was the Earl of Oxford, in opposition to the Whig party, and
serious differences had arisen between the rivals. Oxford-was dismissed
four days before the Queen's death, and Bolingbroke officiated in his
place, until Oxford's vacancy was filled, which all expected would be
given to himself. A stormy debate in the Privy Council so agitated the
Queen, that it shortened her life, and the Council recommended the Earl
of Shrewsbury as Premier, and with him the Whigs.

With the accession of George, came the impeachment of Bolingbroke by the
victorious Whigs. Knowing that it was their intention to sacrifice
him to party revenge, and that his accusers would likewise act as his
judges, he wisely withdrew himself to France. The Pretender held a
mimic court at Avignon, and a debating society at Lorraine, entitled
a Parliament. He offered Bolingbroke the office of Secretary of State,
which was accepted by him; and it was only at this time that the
emanations of the exiled Stuart's cabinet possessed either a solidity
of aim, or a definite purpose. If Louis XIV. had lived longer, he might
have assisted the Pretender, but with his death expired the hopes of
that ill-fated dynasty. Bolingbroke strove to husband the means which
the Chevalier's friends had collected, but the advice of the Duke of
Ormond was listened to in preference to Bolingbroke's. The results which
Bolingbroke foretold--proceeding rashly and failing ignominiously--both
occurred. The insurrection broke out, and failed--no other end could
have been anticipated. Intrigues were fast coiling themselves around the
secretary; he was openly blamed for the reverses in Scotland--but he was
alike careless of their wrath or its issue. One morning Ormond waited
upon him with two slips of paper from the Pretender, informing him
that his services were no longer required. After his dismissal he was
impeached by the lackeys of the Pretender under seven heads, which were
widely distributed throughout Europe. There is this anomaly in the life
of Bolingbroke, witnessed in no other Englishman: In one year he was the
most powerful man in England--Secretary of State--an exile--and then
in the same year he occupied a similar office to one who aimed at the
English throne, and was impeached by both parties.

For several years he occupied himself in France with philosophical
pursuits--until the year 1723--when he received a pardon, which allowed
him to return to England, but still his sequestered estates were not
returned, and this apology for a pardon was negotiated by a bribe of
£11,000 to the German Duchess of Kendal--one of the king's mistresses.

Alexander Pope was Bolingbroke's constant correspondent. Pope had
won the applause of England by his poems, and was then considered the
arbiter of genius. Voltaire occupied a similar position in France.
Since Pope first laid the copy of his greatest epic at the feet of
Bolingbroke, and begged of him to correct its errors, he had gradually
won himself that renown which prosperity has endorsed. But what a unity
in divergence did those philosophers present! The calm moralism of Pope,
his sweet and polished rhyme, contrasted with the fiery wit and hissing
sarcasm of the Frenchman, more trenchant than Pope's, yet wanting
his sparkling epigrams. The keen discernment of both these men saw in
Bolingbroke a master, and they ranked by his side as twin apostles of
a new and living faith. It was the penetration of true greatness which
discerned in the English peer that sublimity of intellect they possessed
themselves, without the egotism of an imbecile rival. Bolingbroke had
cherished the ethics of one, and restrained the rancor of the other--and
both men yielded to him whose system they worshipped; and this trinity
of Deists affords the noblest example which can be evoked to prove
the Harmony of Reason amidst the most varied accomplishments. Although
Pope's name occurs but seldom in the history of Freethought--while that
of Bolingbroke is emblazoned in all its glory, and Voltaire is enshrined
as its only Deity--yet we must not forget that what is now known as
the only collection of St. John's works (the edition in five volumes
by Mallet,) were written for the instruction of Pope--sent to him in
letters--discussed and agreed to by him--so that the great essayist is
as much implicated in them as the author of the Dictionary. It is
said, "In his society these two illustrious men felt and acknowledged a
superior genius; and if he had no claim to excellence in poetry--the
art in which they were so pre-eminent--he surpassed them both in the
philosophy they so much admired."

For ten years after this period, he devoted himself to various political
writings, which were widely circulated; but we must waive the pleasure
at present of analyzing those, and confine our attention to the alliance
between Pope and Bolingbroke, in the new school of philosophy.

Bolingbroke's principal friends were Pope, Swift, Mallet, Wyndam, and
Atterbury. The first three were most in his confidence in regard
to religion: and although Pope was educated a Roman Catholic, and
occasionally conformed to that hierarchy (and like Voltaire, for peace,
died in it,) yet the philosophical letters which passed between Pope and
St. John, fully established him as a consistent Deist--an honor to which
Swift also attained, although being a dignitary of the Church: but
if doubts arise on the subject, they can easily be dispelled. General
Grimouard, in his "Essai sur Bolingbroke," says that "he was intimate
with the widow of Mallet, the poet, who was a lady of much talent and
learning, and had lived upon terms of friendship with Bolingbroke,
Swift, Pope, and many other distinguished characters of the day, who
frequently met at her house." The General adds, that the lady has been
frequently heard to declare, that these men were all equally deistical
in their sentiments (_que c'était une société de purs déistes_;) that
Swift from his clerical character was a little more reserved than the
others, but he was evidently of the same sentiments at bottom.

There is a remarkable passage in one of Pope's letters to Swift, which
seems rather corroborative of the General's. He is inviting Swift to
come and visit him. "The day is come," he says, "which I have often
wished, but never thought to see, when every mortal I esteem is of the
same sentiments in politics and religion." Dr. Warton remarks upon this
paragraph "At this time therefore (1733) he (Pope and Bolingbroke were
of the same sentiment in religion as well as politics);" * and Pope
writing to Swift is proof sufficient that Bolingbroke, Swift, and
himself, were united in opinions. Wherever Swift's name is known, it is
associated with his spleen on account of his not being elevated to the
Episcopal Bench, when he was promised a vacancy, which was reserved for
him; but Queen Anne absolutely refused to confer such a dignity upon the
author of "Gulliver's Travels"--that profound satire upon society and
religion; and this occurring at a time when his energetic services
were so much needed in defence of the government he so assisted by
pamphleteering, satire, and wholesale lampoons. Mr. Cooke says, "The
Earl of Nottingham, in the debate upon the Dissenters' Bill, chiefly
founded his objection to the provision that the Bishops should have the
only power of licensing tutors, upon the likelihood there was that a
man who was in a fair way for becoming a Bishop, was hardly suspected
of being a Christian." This pointed allusion to Swift passed without
comment or reply in a public assembly, composed in a great measure of
his private friends and associates. This seems to intimate that the
opinion of his contemporaries was not very strong in favor of Swift's
religious principles. This may suffice to prove the unanimity of
sentiment existing among this brilliant coterie--one a political
Churchman--another the greatest poet of his age--the third, the most
accomplished statesman of his country. Although they were united in
religious conviction, it would have been certain ruin to any of the
confederates if the extent of their thoughts had reached the public ear.
The Dean wrote for the present--the poet for his age--and the peer for
the immediate benefit of his friends and a record for the future. But
they were all agreed that some code of ethics should be promulgated,
which should embody the positive speculations of Bolingbroke, with the
easy grace of Pope--the elaborate research of the philosopher with
the rhetoric of the poet. Swift coalesced in this idea, but was, to a
certain extent, ignorant of its subsequent history. It was not thought
prudent to trust Mallet and others with the secret. For this purpose the
"Essay of Man" was designed on the principles elaborated by Bolingbroke
in his private letters to Pope. It was Bolingbroke who drew up the
scheme, mapped out the arguments, and sketched the similes--it was Pope
who embellished its beauties, and turned it into rhyme. Doctor Warton,
the editor of Pope, also proves this:--"Lord Bathurst told the Doctor
that he had read the whole of the 'Essay on Man' in _the handwriting of
Bolingbroke_, and drawn up in a series of propositions which Pope was
to amplify, versify, and to illustrate." If further proofs are required,
that Bolingbroke was not only a co-partner but coadjutor with Pope, it
is found in the opening of the poem, where the poet uses the plural in
speaking of Bolingbroke--

     "Awake, my St. John, leave all meaner things
     To low ambition, and the pride of kings.
     Laugh when we must, be candid when you can,
     And vindicate the ways of God to man."

     * Cook's Life of Bolingbroke, 2nd vol., p. 97..

This is sufficient to prove the partnership in the poem, and from the
generally acknowledged fact of his connection, we have no hesitation in
declaring that this poem is the grand epic of Deism, and is as much the
offspring of Bolingbroke, as his own ideas when enunciated by others.
There is not a single argument in the Essay but what is much more
elaborated in the works of Bolingbroke, while every positive argument
is reduced to a few poetic maxims in the Essay. We may as well look here
for Bolingbroke's creed, rather than amongst his prose works. There
is, however, this difference, that in the Essay there is laid down an
ethical scheme of positivism--_i.e._, of everything in morals which
can be duly tested and nothing more: while in the prose writings of
Bolingbroke, the negative side of theology is discussed with an amount
of erudition which has never been surpassed by any of the great leaders
of Freethought. The first proposition of the Essay is based on a
postulate, upon which the whole reasoning is built. Overthrow this
substratum, and the philosophy of the Essay is overturned--admit it, and
its truth is evident; it is--

"What can we reason but from what we know?"

This is equivalent to saying that we can only reason concerning man as
a finite part of an infinite existence, and we can only predicate
respecting what comes under the _category of positive knowledge _; we
are therefore disabled from speculating in any theories which have for
a basis opposition to the collected experience of mankind. This was a
position laid down by Bolingbroke to escape all the historical arguments
which some men deduce from alleged miraculous agency in the past, or
problematical prophecy in the future. It _likewise_ shows the untenable
nature of all analogy, which presumes to trace an hypothetical first
cause or personal intelligence, to account for a supposed origin of
primeval existence, by which nature was caused, or forms of being first
evolved. Although it may be deemed inconsistent with the philosophy of
Bolingbroke to admit a God in the same argument as the above, we must
not forget that in all speculative reasoning there must be an assumption
of some kind, which ought to be demonstrated by proof, or a suitable
equivalent in the form of universal consent. Yet in the case of the God
of the Essay, we look in vain for the attributes with which Theists love
to clothe their God, and we can but perceive inexorable necessity in the
shape of rigid and unswerving laws, collected in one focus by Pope, and
dignified with the name of God; so that the difference betwixt a
Deist of the old, and an Atheist of the modern school, is one of mere
words--they both commence with an assumption, the Atheist only defining
his terms more strictly, the subject-matter in both instances being
the same. The only difference being, the one deceives himself with a
meaningless word, the other is speechless on what he cannot comprehend.
The Essay shows a scheme of universal gradation, composed of a series of
links, which are one entwined within the other--every rock being placed
in its necessitated position--every plant amidst its growth bearing an
exoteric similitude to itself--every animal, from the lowest quadruped
to the highest race of man, occupying a range of climate adapted to its
requirements. The Essay here is scientifically correct, and agrees with
the ablest writers on necessity. A German philosopher renowned alike
for rigid analysis and transcendent abilities as a successful theorist,
observes, "When I contemplate all things as a whole, I perceive one
_nature_ one _force _: when I regard them as individuals, many forces
which develop themselves according to their inward laws, and pass
through all the forms of which they are capable, and all the objects
in nature are but those forces under certain limitations. Every
manifestation of every individual power of nature is determined partly
by itself, partly by its own preceding manifestations, and partly by the
manifestations of all other powers of nature with which it is connected;
but it is connected with all, for nature is one connected whole. Its
manifestations are, therefore, strictly necessary, and it is absolutely
impossible to be other than as it is. In every moment of her duration
nature is one connected whole, in every moment must every individual be
what it is because all others are what they are, and a single grain of
sand could not be moved from its place, without, however imperceptibly
to us, changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable
whole. Every moment of duration is determined by all past moments, and
will determine all future movements, and even the position of a grain
of sand cannot be conceived other than it is, without supposing other
changes to an indefinite extent. Let us imagine that grain of sand to be
lying some few feet further inland than it actually does; then must the
storm-wind that drove it in from the sea-shore have been stronger than
it actually was; then must the preceding state of the atmosphere,
by which this wind was occasioned, and its degree of strength being
determined, have been different from what it actually was, and the
preceding changes which gave rise to this particular weather, and so
on. We must suppose a different temperature from that which really
existed--a different constitution of bodies which influenced that
temperature. How can we know that in such a state of weather we have
been supposing, in order to carry this grain of sand a few yards
further, some ancestors of yours might not have perished from hunger,
cold, or heat, long before the birth of that son from whom you are
descended, and thus you might never have been at all, and all that you
have done, and all that you ever hope to do, must have been hindered, in
order that a grain of sand might lie in a different place." * The whole
of the first book is devoted to the necessitated condition of man
in relation to the universe. In one portion there is a succession of
beautiful similes, portraying the blissful state we are in, instead of
being gifted with finer sensibilities, or a prescience, which would be a
curse.

     * Fichte's "Destination of Man," pp. 8, 9

Pope, although an ardent disciple of Bolingbroke, did not entirely
forsake the prejudices of childhood; he still indulged in a bare hope of
a future life, which his master, with more consistency, suppressed. So
that when the poet rhymed the propositions of St. John, he pointed them
with "hope" in an eternal future; for that speculation which was still
_probability_ in his day, is now nearly silenced by modern science. But
we must not confound the ideas of futurity, which some of the Deists
expressed, with those of Christianity. They were as different as the
dreams of Christ and Plato were dissimilar. Pope "hoped" for a future
life of intellectual enjoyment devoid of evil, but the heaven of the
gospel is equally as necessary to be counterbalanced by a hell, as
the existence of a God requires the balancing support of a devil. We
therefore can sympathise with the description of a heaven, the poor
Indian looked for:--

     "Some safer world in depths of woods embraced,
     Some happier island in the watery waste;
     Where slaves once more their native land behold,
     Nor fiends torment, nor _Christians thirst for gold.
     To be_--contents his natural desires,
     He asks no angels' wings, no seraphs' fires,
     But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
     His faithful dog should bear him company."

Pope durst not emphatically deny the future-life theory, so he attacked
it by elaborating a physical instead of a spiritual heaven. So heterodox
a notion of the Indian's future sports, is not to be found in theology,
especially as he pictures the Indian's sports with his dog. Here was
a double blow aimed at Christianity by evolving a "positive" idea
of future pleasures, and the promulgation of sentiments
anti-Christian.--Again he attacks them for unwarrantable speculation in
theology, when he says--

     "In pride, in reasoning pride our error lies."

This is a corollary to the first proposition, "What can we reason but
from what we know?" The only predicate we can draw from this is, the
undoubted fact we have no right to profess to hold opinions of that,
upon which we cannot have any positive proof. The last line of the
first book has been generally thought open to attack. It relates to
necessity--"Whatever is, is right"--and is not to be viewed in relation
to society as at present constituted, but to the physical universe.

The second book deals with man in relation to himself as an individual;
the third as a member of society, and the last in respect to happiness.
Throughout the whole Essay the distinctions arising from nature and
instinct are defined and defended with vigor and acuteness. Both are
proved to be equally great in degree, in spite of the hints constantly
thrown out in reference to "God-like Reason _versus_ Blind Instinct." We
confess our inability to discern the vaunted superiority of the powers
of reason over those of its blinder sister. We see in the one matchless
wisdom--profound decision--unfailing resource--a happy contentment as
unfeigned as it is natural. On the other hand, we see temerity allied
with cowardice--a man seeking wisdom on a watery plank, when every
footmark may serve him for a funeral effigy; political duplicity arising
from his confined generalization of facts; a desire to do right, but
checked by accident and cunning--everywhere uneasy--always fatal. If
the Christians' fables were true, we might say that Adam and Eve were
originally in possession of Instinct and Reason, and fell by listening
to the promptings of volition, instead of the unswerving powers of the
brutes, and for a hereditary punishment was cursed with a superabundance
of reason. For with all our intellectual prerogatives, we have yet
failed to arrive at a definite course of action which should influence
our conduct. The Essay, speaking of Government by Christianity, says:--

     "Force first made conquest, and that conquest law,
     Till superstition taught the tyrant awe.

 .....

     She taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray,
     To power unseen, and mightier far than they:
     She, from the rending earth and bursting skies,
     Saw Gods descend and fiends infernal rise.
     Here _fixed_ the dreadful, there the blessed abodes,
     Here _made her_ devils, and weak hope her Gods.
     Gods partial, changeful, passionate, _unjust_,
     Whose _attributes were rage, revenge, or lust_.
     Such as the souls of cowards might conceive,
     And formed like tyrants; tyrants would believe.
     Zeal then, not charity, became the guide,
     And Hell was _built in spite_, and Heaven in pride."

And again--

     "For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight,
     His can't be wrong whose life is in the right."

The Essay concludes with an invocation to Bolingbroke--whom Pope styles,
"my guide, philosopher, and friend." Such is the conclusion of the most
remarkable ethical poem in any language. It is the Iliad of English
Deism. Not a single allusion to Christ--a future state of existence
given only as a faint probability--the whole artificial state of society
satirized--prayer ridiculed, and government of every kind denounced
which does not bring happiness to the people. The first principle laid
down is the corner-stone of materialism--"What can we reason but
from what we know?"--which is stated, explained, and defended with an
axiomatic brevity rarely equalled, never surpassed--with a number
of illustrations comprising the _chef d'oeuvre_ of poetic grace, and
synthical melody combined with arguments as cogent as the examples are
perfect.

It stands alone in its impregnability--a pile of literary architecture
like the "Novum Organan" of Bacon, the "Principia" of Newton, or the
Essay of Locke. The facades of its noble colonnades are seen extending
their wings through the whole sweep of history, constituting a pantheon
of morals, where every nation sends its devotees to admire and worship.

Let us now turn to the philosophical works of Bolingbroke. By the will
of Bolingbroke he devised this portion of his manuscripts to David
Mallet, the poet, for publication. The noble Lord's choice is open to
censure here. He knew the character of Mallet, and could expect little
justice from him who should have been his biographer. The MSS. were all
prepared for the press long before Bolingbroke died. In this original
state, they were addressed to Pope. When published they appeared as
"Letters or Essays addressed to Alexander Pope, Esq." The political
friends of St. John wished their suppression, fearing that they would
injure his reputation by being anti-Christian. A large bribe was
offered by Lord Cornbur if Mallet would destroy the works. He, no doubt,
thinking more money could be made by their publication, issued them to
the world in 1754, but without giving a biography or notes to the books,
his work being simply correcting the errors of the press. True, there
existed no stipulation that he should write the Life of Bolingbroke, but
no one can doubt that such was the intention of the statesman, when he
bequeathed to him property which realized £10,000 in value. Every one
knows the huge witticism of Dr. Johnson, who accused Bolingbroke of
cowardice, under the simile of loading a blunderbuss, and then leaving a
Scotchman half-a-crown to fire it when he was out of the way. When those
posthumous works appeared, the grand jury of Westminster presented them
to the judicial authorities as subversive of religion, morality, and
government. They were burnt by the common hangman.

With difficulty we give a quotation from Boling-broke's ideas of a
Future Life. In vol. IV., p. 348, he says, "I do not say, that to
believe in a future state is to believe in a vulgar error; but this I
say, it cannot be demonstrated by reason: it is not in the nature of it
capable of demonstration, and no one ever returned that irremediable way
to give us an assurance of the fact."

Again, he speaks personally in reference to himself, Pope, and
Wollaston, whom he had been opposing:--

     "He alone is happy, and he 'is truly so, who can say,
     Welcome life whatever it brings!
     Welcome death whatever it is!
     If the former,--we change our state.

                 .....

That you, or I, or even Wollaston himself, should return to the earth
from whence we came, to the dirt under our feet, or be mingled with the
ashes of those herbs and plants from which we drew nutrition whilst we
lived, does not seem any indignity offered to our nature, since it is
common to all the animal kind: and he who complains of it as such, does
not seem to have been set, by his reasoning faculties, so far above them
in life; as to deserve not to be levelled with them at death. We were
like them before our birth, that is nothing. So we shall be on this
hypothesis, like them too after our death, that is nothing. What
hardship is done us? Unless it be a hardship, that we are not immortal
because we wish to be so, and flatter ourselves with that expectation.

"If this hypothesis were true, which I am far from assuming, I should
have no reason to complain, though having tasted existence, I might
abhor non-entity. Since, then, the first cannot be demonstrated by
reason, nor the second be reconciled to my inward sentiment, let me take
refuge in resignation at the last, as in every other act of my life: let
others be solicitous about their future state, and frighten or flatter
themselves as prejudice, imaginative bad health--nay, a lowering day,
or a clear sunshine shall inspire them to do: let the tranquillity of my
mind rest on this immovable rock, that my future, as well as my present
state, are ordered by an Almighty Creator, and that they are equally
foolish, and presumptuous, who make imaginary excursions into futurity,
and who complain of the present."

Lord Bolingbroke died in the year 1751, after a long and painful
illness, occasioned by the ignorance of a quack. While lying on his
death-bed he composed a discourse, entitled "Considerations on the State
of the Nation." He died in peace--in the knowledge of the truth of the
principles he had advocated, and with that calm serenity of mind, which
no one can more fully experience than the honest Freethinker. He was
buried in the church at Battersea. He was a man of the highest rank of
genius, far from being immaculate in his youth, brave, sincere, a true
friend, possessed of rich learning, a clear and sparkling style, a great
wit, and the most powerful Freethinker of his age.

A. C.




CONDORCET.

In the history of the French Revolution, we read of a multitude of
sections, each ruled by a man, and each man representing a philosophy.
Not that each man was the contriver of a system, but the effervescence
of one. As true as Robespierre was the advocate of Rousseau, as Marat
was the Wilkes of Paris, as Danton was the Paine, and Mirabeau the
expediency-politician of reflex England, so true is it that Condorcet
was the type of the philosophic Girondists, the offspring of Voltaire.

The two great schools of metaphysics fought out the battle on
the theatre of the Constituent Assembly, in a spirit as bitterly
uncompromising as when under different phraseological terms, they met in
the arguments of the School-men, or further in the womb of history, on
the forum of Athens. It is a fact no less true than singular, that after
each mental excitement amongst the _savons_, whether in ancient or in
modern times, after the literary shock has passed away, the people are
innoculated with the strife, and, destitute of the moderation of their
leaders, fight for that doctrine which they conceive oppresses their
rights. The French Revolution was one of those struggles. It gave rise
to epoch-men. Not men who originated a doctrine, but those who attempted
to carry it out. Condorcet was one of those men. He was the successor
of Voltaire in the Encyclopædic warfare. The philosopher amongst the
orators. Destitute of the amazing versatility of the sage of Ferney, he
imbibed the prophet's antipathy to superstition, and after a brilliant
career, fell in the wild onslaught of passion. The Revolution was the
arena on which was fought the battle involving the question whether
Europe was to be ruled for a century by Christianity or Infidelity. The
irresolution of Robespierre lost to us the victory of the first passage
of arms, equally as decisive as Lafayette in 1830, and Lamartine in
1848, being Liberals, lost in each case the social Republic by
their vacillating policy. The true Freethinkers of that age were the
Girondists. With their heroic death, the last barrier to despotism
disappeared; the Consulate became the only logical path for gilded
chains and empire. With the ostracism of the Republicans by Napoleon the
Little, a Parallel is completed between the two eras of French history.

The family name of Condorcet was Caritat. His father was a scion of an
aristocratic family, and an officer in the army. The son who gave honor
to the family, was born in the year 1743, at Ribemont, in Picardy. His
father dying early, left his son to be educated with his wife, under the
guardianship of his brother, the Bishop of Lisieux, a celebrated Jesuit.
The mother of Condorcet was extremely superstitious, and in one of her
fanatic ecstasies, offered up her son at the shrine of the Virgin Mary.
How this act was performed we cannot relate; but it is a notorious
fact that until his twelfth year, the embryo philosopher was clothed
in female attire, and had young ladies for companions, which, M.
Arago says, "accounts for many peculiarities in the _physique_ and the
_morale_ of his manhood." The abstinence from all rude, boyish sports,
checked the proper muscular development of his limbs; the head and trunk
were on a large scale, but the legs were so meagre that they seemed
unfit to carry what was above them; and, in fact, he never could partake
in any strong exercises, or undergo the bodily fatigues to which healthy
men willingly expose themselves. On the other hand, he had imbibed the
tenderness of a delicate damsel, retaining to the last a deep horror for
affliction pain on the inferior animals.

In 1775, he entered the Jesuit Academy at Rheiras. Three years
afterwards, he was transferred to the College of Navarre, in Paris,
and soon made himself the most distinguished scholar there. His friends
wished him to enter the priesthood, not knowing that even in his
seventeenth year he had embraced the Deism of the age.

At the age of nineteen he left college, and immediate-ly published a
series of mathematical works, which established his fame. Shortly
after this, the Academy of Sciences chose Condorcet for their assistant
secretary. In the year 1770 he accompanied D'Alembert in a tour through
Italy, making a call for some weeks at Ferney, where he was delighted
with the company of Voltaire, and was duly recognised as one of the
Encylopædists; and, on his return to Paris, became the literary agent of
his great leader.

A Quarterly Reviewer, writing on Voltaire and Condercet, says of the
former, "When he himself, in these latter days, was resolved to issue
anything that he knew and felt to be pregnant with combustion, he
never dreamt of Paris--he had agents enough in other quarters: and the
anonymous or pseudonymous mischief was printed at London, Amsterdam, or
Hamburgh, from a fifth or sixth copy in the handwriting of some Dutch
or English clerk--thence, by cautious steps, smuggled into France--and
then, disavowed and denounced by himself, and, for him, by his
numberless agents, with an intrepid assurance which, down to the last,
confounded and baffled all official inquisitors, until, in each separate
case, the scent had got cold. Therefore, he sympathized not at all with
any of these, his subalterns, when they, in their own proper matters,
allowed themselves a less guarded style of movement."

On one occasion, Condorcet's imprudence extorts a whole series of
passionate remonstrants from him and his probable complaints--but the
burden is always the same--"Tolerate the whispers of age! How often
shall I have to tell you all that no one but a fool will publish such
things unless he has 200,000 bayonets at his back? Each Encyclopædist
was apt to forget that, though he corresponded familiarly with
Frederick, he was not a King of Prussia; and, by-and-by, not one of them
more frequently made this mistake than Condorcet--for that gentleman's
saintlike tranquillity of demeanor, though it might indicate a naturally
languid pulse, covered copious elements of vital passion. The slow wheel
could not resist the long attrition of controversy; and when it once
blazed, the flame was all the fiercer for its unseen nursing. 'You
mistake Condorcet,' said D'Alembert, 'he is a volcano covered with
snow.'"

When Turgot became Minister of Marine, he gave Condorcet a post as
Inspector of Canals; from this he was subsequently promoted to the
Inspector of the Mint. When Turgot was replaced by Necker, Condorcet
resigned his office.

In 1782 he was elected one of the forty of the Academy of Sciences,
beating the Astronomer, Bailly, by _one_ vote. In the next year,
D'Alembert, his faithful friend, died, leaving him the whole of his
wealth; his uncle, the bishop, likewise died in the same year, from
whom he would receive a fresh accession of property. Shortly after this,
time, Condorcet married Madame de Grouchy--also celebrated as a lady of
great beauty, good fortune, and an educated Atheist. The marriage was
a happy one. The only offspring was a girl, who married General Arthur
O'Connor, uncle to the late Feargus O'Connor, an Irish refugee who was
connected with Emmett's rebellion.

During the excitement of the American War of Independence, Condorcet
took an active part in urging the French Government to bestow assistance
in arms and money, upon the United States; after the war was concluded,
he corresponded with Thomas Paine, who gradually converted him to the
extreme Republican views the "illustrious needleman" himself possessed,
which, in this case, rapidly led to the _denouement_ of 1791, when he
was elected a member of the Legislative Assembly by the department of
Paris. In the next year he was raised to the rank of President by a
majority of near one hundred votes. While in the Assembly, he brought
forward and supported the economical doctrines of Adam Smith, proposed
the abolition of indirect taxation, and levying a national revenue upon
derivable wealth in amount according to the individual, passing over all
who gained a livelihood by manual labor. He made a motion for the public
burning of all documents relating to nobility--himself being a Marquis.
He took a conspicuous place in the trial of the king; he voted him
guilty, but refused to vote for his death, as the punishment of death
was against his principles. The speech he made on this occasion is fully
equal to that of Paine's on the same occasion.

When the divergence took place between the Jacobins and Girondists,
Condorcet strove to unite them; but every day brought fresh troubles,
and the position of the Seneca of the Revolution was too prominent to
escape the opposition of the more violent taction.

Robespierre triumphed; and in his success could be traced the doom
of his enemies. An intercepted letter was the means of Condorcet's
impeachment. Deprived of the support of Isnard, Brissot, and Vergniaud,
the Jacobins proscribed without difficulty the hero whose writings had
mainly assisted in producing the Revolution. His friends provided means
for his escape. They applied to a lodging-house keeper, a Madame
Vernet, if she would conceal him for a time; she asked was he a virtuous
man--yes, replied his friend, he is the---- stay, you say he is a good
man, I do not wish to pry into his secrets or his name. Once safe in
this asylum, he was unvisited by either wife or friends; morover, such
was the hurry of his flight, that he was without money, and nearly
without books.

While in this forced confinement, he wrote the "_Esquisse d'un
Tableau Historique des Progrès de l'Esprit Humain_," and several other
fragmentary essays. In this work he lays down a scheme of society
similar to the "New Moral World," of Robert Owen. Opposing the idea of
a God, he shows the dominion of science in education, political economy,
chemistry, and applies mathematical principles to a series of moral
problems. Along with the progress of man he combined the progress of
arts--estimating the sanatory arrangements of our time, he prophecied on
the gradual extension of longevity, amongst the human race; and with it,
enjoyments increased by better discipline in gustatorial duties. He
has similar views on the softer sex to M. Proudhomme (his immediate
disciple,) and, in the close of the work, Condorcet announced the
possibility of an universal language, which is daily becoming more
assimilated to modern ideas.

The guillotine had not been idle during the few weeks of Condorcet's
retreat. Fancying that (if discovered) he might be the means of injuring
his benefactress, he resolved to escape from the house of Madame Vernet.
Previous to doing this, he made his will. M. Arago, describing this
epoch in his closing days, says:--

"When he at last paused, and the feverish excitement of authorship was
at an end, our colleague rested all his thoughts anew on the danger
incurred by his hostess. He resolved then (I employ his own words) to
quit the retreat which the boundless devotion of his tutelar angel had
transformed into a paradise. He so little deceived himself as to the
probable consequences of the step he meditated--the chances of safety
after his evasion appeared so feeble--that before he put his plan into
execution he made his last dispositions. In the pages then written, I
behold everywhere the lively reflection of an elevated mind, a feeling
heart, and a beautiful soul. I will venture to say, that there exists
in no language anything better thought, more tender, more touching,
more sweetly expressed, than the '_Avis d'un Proscrit a sa Fill_.' Those
lines, so limpid, so full of unaffected delicacy, were written on that
very day when he was about to encounter voluntarily an immense danger.
The presentiment of a violent end almost inevitably did not disturb
him--his hand traced those terrible words, _Ma mort, ma mort prochaîne!_
with a firmness which the Stoics of antiquity might have envied.
Sensibility, on the contrary, obtained the mastery when the illustrious
proscribed was drawn into the anticipation that Madame de Condorcet also
might be involved in the bloody catastrophe that threatened him. _Should
my daughter be destined to lose all_--this is the most explicit allusion
that the husband can insert in his last writing."

"The Testament is short. It was written on the fly-leaf of a 'History of
Spain.' In it Condorcet directs that his daughter, in case of his wife's
death, shall be brought up by Madame Vernet, whom she is to call her
second mother, and who is to see her so educated as to have means of
independent support either from painting or engraving. 'Should it be
necessary for my child to quit France, she may count on protection in
England from my Lord Stanhope and my Lord Daer. In America, reliance
may be placed on Jefferson and Bache, the grandson of Franklin. She is,
therefore, to make the English language her first study.'"

Such was the last epistle ever written by Condorcet. Notwithstanding
the precautions taken by his friends, he escaped into the streets--from
thence having appealed in vain to friends for assistance, he visited
some quarries. Here he remained from the 5th to the evening of the 7th
of April, 1794. Hunger drove him to the village of Clamait, when he
applied at an hostelry for refreshment. He described himself as a
carpenter out of employment, and ordered an omelet. This was an age
of suspicion, and the landlord of the house soon discovered that the
wanderer's hands were white and undisfigured with labor, while his
conversation bore no resemblance to that of a common artificer. The
good dame of the house inquired how many eggs he would have in his dish.
Twelve, was the answer. Twelve eggs for a joiner's supper! This was
heresy against the equality of man. They demanded his passport--he had
not got one--the only appearance of anything of the sort was a scrap of
paper, scrawled over with Latin epigrams. This was conclusive evidence
to the village Dogberries that he was a traitor and an aristocrat. The
authorities signed the warrant for his removal to Paris. Ironed to two
officers they started on the march. The first evening they arrived at
Bourg-la-Reine, where they deposited their prisoner in the gaol of
that town. In the morning the gaoler found him a corpse. He had taken a
poison of great force, which he habitually carried in a ring. Thus
ended the life of the great Encyclopædist--a man great by his many
virtues--who reflected honor on France by his science, his literary
triumphs, and his moral heroism. He had not the towering energy
of Marat, nor the gushing eloquence of Danton, neither had he the
superstitious devotion to abstract ideas which characterized the whole
course of Robespierre's life. The oratory of Danton, like that of Marat,
only excited the people to dissatisfaction; they struck down effete
institutions, but they were not the men to inaugurate a new society. It
is seldom we find the pioneers of civilization the best mechanics. They
strike down the forest--they turn the undergrowth--they throw a log over
the stream, but they seldom rear factories, or invent tubular bridges.

Amongst the whole of the heroes of the French Revolution, we must admire
the Girondists, as being the most daring, and, at the same time, the
most constructive of all who met either in the Constituent Assembly or
the Convention. The Jacobin faction dealt simply with politics through
the abstract notions of Rousseau: but of what use are "human rights" if
we have to begin _de novo_ to put into operation?--rather let us unite
the conservative educationalism of Socialism with the wild democracy of
ignorance. Politics never can be successful unless married to Socialism.

It was not long after Condorcet's death, before the Committee of Public
Instruction undertook the charge of publishing the whole of his works.
For this they have been censured on many grounds. We consider that it
was one of the few good things accomplished by that Committee. There is
nothing in the works of this writer which have a distinctive peculiarity
to us; few great writers who direct opinion at the time they write,
appear to posterity in the same light as they did to a public inflamed
by passion, and trembling under reiterated wrongs. When we look at the
works of D'Holbach, we find a standard treatise, which is a land-mark to
the present day; but at the time the "System of Nature" was written, it
had not one tithe the popularity which it now enjoys; it did not produce
an effect superior to a new sarcasm of Voltaire, or an epigram of
Diderot. Condorcet was rather the co-laborer and _literateur_ of the
party, than the prophet of the new school. Voltaire was the Christ,
and Condorcet the St. Paul of the new faith. In political economy, the
doctrines of the English and Scotch schools were elaborated to their
fullest extent. Retrenchment in pensions and salaries, diminution of
armies, equal taxation, the resumption by the State of all the Church
lands, the development of the agricultural and mechanical resources,
the abolition of the monopolies, total free trade, local government, and
national education; such-were the doctrines for which Turgot fought, and
Condorcet popularized. If they had been taken in time, France would
have escaped a revolution, and Europe would have been ruled by peace
and freedom. It may be asked, who brought about the advocacy of those
doctrines, for they were not known before the middle of the eighteenth
century? They were introduced as a novelty, and defended as a paradox.
France had been exhausted by wars, annoyed by _ennui_, brilliant above
all by her genius, she was struck with lassitude for her licentious
crimes. There was an occasion for a new school. Without it, France, like
Carthage, would have bled to death on the hecatomb of her own lust. Her
leading men cast their eyes to England; it was then the most progressive
nation in existence. The leading men of that country were intimate with
the rulers of the French; the books of each land were read with avidity
by their neighbors; a difference was observable between the two: but how
that difference was to be reconciled was past the skill of the wisest to
unravel. England had liberal institutions, and a people with part of the
substance, and many of the forms of Liberalism, along with a degree of
education which kept them in comparative ignorance, yet did not offer
any obstacles to raising themselves in the social sphere. Before France
could compete with England, she had to rid herself of the feudal system,
and obtain a Magna Charta. She was above four centuries behind-hand
here. She had to win her spurs through revolutions, like those of
Cromwell's and that of 1688, and the still greater ones of Parliament.
The Freethinkers of England prepared the Whig revolution of William, by
advocating the only scheme which was at the time practicable, for of the
two--the Protestant and the Catholic religion--the former is far more
conducive to the liberties of a people than the latter, and at the time,
and we may also say, nearer the present, the people were not prepared
for any organic change. This being the case, it is not to be wondered
at that the French Revolution was a failure as a constructive effort;
it was a success as a grand outbreak of power; showing politicians where
(in the future) to rely for success. The men who undertook to bring
about this Revolution are not to be censured for its non-success. They
wished to copy English institutions, and adapt them to those of the
French; for this purpose, the Continental League was formed, each member
of which pledged himself to uproot, as far as lay in his power,
the Catholic Church in France. A secret name was given to
it--_L'Infame_--and an organized attack was speedily commenced. The
men at the head of the movement, besides Voltaire and Frederick, were
D'Alembert, Diderot, Grim, St. Lambert, Condillac, Helvetius, Jordan,
Lalande, Montesquieu, and a host of others of less note. Con-dorcet,
being secretary of the Academy, corresponded with, and directed the
movements of all, in the absence of his chief. Every new book was
criticised--refutations were published to the leading theological works
of the age; but by far the roost effective progress was made by the
means of poems, essays, romances, epigrams, and scientific papers. The
songs of France at this era were written by the philosophers; and this
spirit was diffused among the people. In a country so volatile and
excitable as the French, it is difficult to estimate too highly the
power of a ballad warfare. The morality of Abbots and Nuns were sung in
strains as rhapsodical, and couplets as voluptuous as the vagaries of
the Songs of Solomon.

Much discretion was required, that no separate species of warfare should
be overdone, lest a nausea of sentiment should revert upon the authors,
and thus lead to a reaction more sanguinary than the force of the
philosophers could control. In all those cases Condorcet was the prime
mover and the agent concerned. He communicated with Voltaire on every
new theory, and advised him when and how to strike, and when to _rest_.
In all those matters Condorcet was obeyed. There was a smaller section
of the more serious philosophers who sympathized with, yet did not
labor simultaneously for the common cause--those men, the extreme
Atheists--clever but cautious--men who risked nothing--Mirabeau and
D'Holbach were the types of this class. It is well known that both
Frederick, Voltaire, and Condorcet opposed those sections, as likely to
be aiming at too much for the time.

When it was considered prudent to take a more decided step, the
Encyclopædia was formed. Condorcet had a principal part in this
work, which shook priestcraft on its throne; it spread consternation
where-ever it appeared, and was one of the main causes of the great
outbreak. No one can sufficiently praise a work of such magnitude; nor
can any one predicate when its effects will cease.

In the "Life of Condorcet," by Arago, there is a curious extract copied
from a collection of anecdotes, said to be compiled from his note-books,
and dignified with the title of "Mémoires de Condorcet." It relates to
a conversation between the Abbe Galiana and Diderot, in which it is said
Condorcet acquiesced. The subject is the fair sex:--

Diderot.--How do you define woman?

Galiana.--An animal naturally feeble and sick.

Diderot.--Feeble? Has she not as much courage as man?

Galiana.--Do you know what courage is? It is the effect of terror. You
let your leg be cut off, because you are afraid of dying. Wise people
are never courageous--they are prudent--that is to say, poltroons.

Diderot.--Why call you woman naturally sick!

Galiana.--Like all animals, she is sick until she attains her perfect
growth. Then she has a peculiar symptom which takes up the fifth part
of her time. Then come breeding and nursing, two long and troublesome
complaints. In short, they have only intervals of health, until
they turn a certain corner, and then _elles ne sont plus de malades
peut-être--elles ne sont que des reilles_.

Diderot.--Observe her at a ball, no vigor, then, M. l'Abbe?

Galiana.--Stop the fiddles! put out the lights! she will scarcely crawl
to her coach.

Diderot.--See her in love.

Galiana.--It is painful to see anybody in a fever.

Diderot.--M. l'Abbe, have you no faith in education?

Galiana.--Not so much as in instinct. A woman is habitually ill. She is
affectionate, engaging, irritable, capricious, easily offended, easily
appeased, a trifle amuses her. The imagination is always in play. Fear,
hope, joy, despair, and disgust, follow each other more rapidly, are
manifested more strongly, effaced more quickly, than with us. They like
a plentiful repose, at intervals company; anything for excitement. Ask
the doctor if it is not the same with his patients. But ask yourself,
do we not all treat them as we do sick people, lavish attention, soothe,
flatter, caress, and get tired of them?


Condorcet, in a letter, remarking on the above conversation, says:--"I
do not insist upon it as probable that woman will ever be Euler
or Voltaire; but I am satisfied that she may one day be Pascal or
Rousseau." This very qualification, we consider, is sufficient to
absolve Condorcet from, the charge of being a "woman hater." His
opponents, when driven from every other source, have fallen back on
this, and alleged that he viewed the sexes as unequal, and that the
stronger had a right to lord it over the weaker. But which is the
weaker? Euler and Voltaire were masculine men. A woman to be masculine,
in the true sense of the word, is an anomaly, to be witnessed with pain.
She is not in a normal condition. She is a monster. Women should live in
society fully educated and developed in their physical frame, and then
they would be more feminine in proportion as they approach the character
of Mary Wollstonecraft. They have no right to domineer as tyrants, and
then fall into the most abject of slaves. In each of the characters of
Pascal and Rousseau, was an excess of sensibility, which overbalanced
their other qualities, and rendered their otherwise great talents
wayward, and, to a certain extent, fruitless. The peculiarity of man
is physical power, and intellectual force; that of woman is an acute
sensibility. Condorcet, then, was justified in expressing the opinions
he avowed upon the subject.

In a paper, in the year 1766, read before the "Academy," on "Ought
Popular Errors to be Eradicated!" Condorcet says, "If the people
are often tempted to commit crimes in order that they may obtain the
necessaries of life, it is the fault of the laws; and, as bad laws are
the product of errors, it would be more simple to abolish those errors
than to add others for the correction of their natural effects. Error,
no doubt, may do some good; it may prevent some crimes, but it will
occasion mischiefs greater than these. By putting nonsense into the
heads of the people, you make them stupid; and from stupidity to
ferocity there is but a step. Consider--if the motives you suggest
for being just make but a slight impression on the mind, that will not
direct the conduct--if the impressions be lively, they will produce
enthusiasm, and enthusiasm for error. Now, the ignorant enthusiast is
no longer a man; he is the most terrible of wild beasts. In fact, the
number of criminals among the men with prejudices (Christians) is in
greater proportion to the total number of our population, than the
number of criminals in the class above prejudices (Freethinkers) is to
the total of that class. I am not ignorant that, in the actual state of
Europe, the people are not, perhaps, at all prepared for a true
doctrine of morals; but this degraded obtuseness is the work of social
institutions and of superstitions. Men are not born blockheads; they
become such. By speaking reason to the people, even in the little time
they give to the cultivation of their intellect, we might easily teach
them the little that it is necessary for them to know. Even the idea of
the respect that they should have for the property of the rich, is
only difficult to be insinuated among them--first, because they look
on riches as a sort of usurpation, of theft perpetrated upon them, and
unhappily this opinion is in great part true--secondly, because their
excessive poverty makes them always consider themselves in the case of
absolute necessity--a case in which even very severe moralists have been
of their mind--thirdly, because they are as much despised and maltreated
for being poor, as they would be after they had lowered themselves by
larcenies. It is merely, therefore, because institutions are bad, that
the people are so commonly a little thievish upon principle."

We should have much liked to have given some extended quotations from
the works of Condorcet; but, owing to their general character, we cannot
extract any philosophic formula which would be generally interesting.
His "Lettres d'un Théologien" are well deserving of a reprint; they
created an astounding sensation when they appeared, being taken for the
work of Voltaire--the light, easy, graceful style, with deeply concealed
irony, the crushing retort and the fiery sarcasm. They made even priests
laugh by their Attic wit and incongruous similes. But it was in the
"Academy" where Condorcet's influence was supreme. He immortalized the
heroes as they fell, and pushed the cause on by his professional duties.
He was always awake to the call of duty, and nobly did he work his
battery. He is now in the last grand sleep of man--the flowers of poesy
are woven in amarynth wreaths over his tomb.

A.C.




SPINOZA.

Baruch Spinoza, or Espinoza, better known under the name of Benedict
Spinoza (as rendered by himself in the Latin language,) was born at
Amsterdam, in Holland, on the 24th of November, 1632. There is some
uncertainty as to this date, as there are several dates fixed by
different authors, both for his birth and death, but we have adopted the
biography given by Dr. C. H. Bruder, in the preface to his edition
of Spinoza's works. His parents were Jews of the middle, or, perhaps,
somewhat humbler class. His father was originally a Spanish merchant,
who, to escape persecution, had emigrated to Holland. Although the
life of our great philosopher is one full of interesting incidents,
and deserves to be treated fully, we have but room to give a very brief
sketch, referring our readers, who may wish to learn more of Spinoza's
life, to Lewes's "Biographical History of Philosophy," _Westminster
Review_, No. 77, and "Encyclopædia Brittannica." p. 144. His doctrines
we will let speak for themselves in his own words, trusting thereby to
give the reader an opportunity of knowing who and what Spinoza really
was. One man shrinks with horror from him as an Atheist. Voltaire
says, that he was an Atheist, and taught Atheism. Another calls him "a
God-intoxicated man." We present him a mighty thinker, a master mind,
a noble, fearless utterer of free and noble thoughts, a hard-working,
honest, independent man; as one who, two centuries ago, gave forth to
the world a series of thinkings which have crushed, with resistless
force, the theological shell in the centre of which the priests hide
the kernel "truth."

Spinoza appears in his boyhood to have been an apt scholar, and to have
rapidly mastered the tasks set him by his teachers. Full of rabbinical
lore he won the admiration of the Rabbi Moses Mortira, but the pupil
rose higher than his master, and attempted to solve problems which the
learned rabbis were content to reverence as mysteries not capable
of solution. First they remonstrated, then threatened; still Spinoza
persevered in his studies, and in making known the result to those
around him. He was threatened with excommunication, and withdrew himself
from the synagogue. One more effort was made by the rabbis, who offered
Spinoza a pension of about £100 a-year if he would attend the
synagogue more frequently, and consent to be silent with regard to
his philosophical thinkings. This offer he indignantly refused. Reason
failing, threats proving futile, and gold being treated with scorn,
one was found sufficiently fanatic to try a further experiment, which
resulted in an attempt on Spinoza's life; the knife, however, luckily
missed its aim, and our hero escaped. At last, in the year 1660,
Spinoza, being then twenty-eight years of age, was solemnly
excommunicated from the synagogue. His friends and relations shut their
doors against him. An outcast from the home of his youth, he gained
a humble livelihood by polishing glasses for microscopes, telescopes,
etc., at which he was very expert. While thus acquiring, by his own
handiwork, the means of subsistence, he was studying hard, devoting
every possible hour to philosophical research. Spinoza became master of
the Dutch, Hebrew, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and Latin languages, the
latter of which he acquired in the house of one Francis Van den Ende,
from whom it is more than probable he received as much instruction in
Atheism as in Latin. Spinoza only appears to have once fallen in love,
and this was with Van den Ende's daughter, who was herself a good
linguist, and who gave Spinoza instruction in Latin. She, however,
although willing to be his instructress and companion in a philogical
path, declined to accept his love, and thus Spinoza was left to
philosophy alone. After his excommunication he retired to Rhynsburg,
near the City of Leyden, in Holland, and there studied the works of
Descartes. Three years afterwards he published an abridgment of the
"Meditations" of the great father of philosophy, which created a
profound sensation. In an appendix to this abridgment were contained the
germs of those thinkings in which the pupil outdid the master, and the
student progressed beyond the philosopher. In the month of June, 1664,
Spinoza removed to Woorburg, a small village near the Hague, where he
was visited by persons from different parts, attracted by his fame as a
philosopher; and at last, after many solicitations he came to the
Hague, and resided there altogether. In 1670 he published his "Tractatus
Theologico-Politicus." This raised him a host of opponents; many writers
rushed eager for the fray, to tilt with the poor Dutch Jew. His book was
officially condemned and forbidden, and a host of refutations (?) were
circulated against it. In spite of the condemnation it has outlived the
refutations.

Spinoza died on the 21st or 22nd of February, 1677, in his forty-fifth
year, and was buried on the 25th of February at the Hague. He was frugal
in his habits, subsisting independently on the earnings of his own
hands. Honorable in all things, he refused to accept the chair of
Professor of Philosophy, offered to him by the Elector, and this because
he did not wish to be circumscribed in his thinking, or in the freedom
of utterance of his thoughts. He also refused a pension offered to him
by Louis XIV, saying that he had no intention of dedicating
anything to that monarch. The following is a list of Spinoza's
works:--"Principiorum Philosophise Renati Descartes;" "Tractatus
Theologico-Politicus;" "Ethica;" "Tractatus Politi-cus;" "De Emandatione
Intellectus;" "Epistolæ;" "Grammaticus Hebracæ," etc. There are also
several spurious works ascribed to Spinoza. The "Tractatus Politicus"
has been translated into English by William Maccall, who seems fully to
appreciate the greatness of the philosopher, although he will not admit
the usefulness of Spinoza's logic. Maccall does not see the utility of
that very logic which compelled him to admit Spinoza's truth. We are not
aware of any other translation of Spinoza's works except that of a
small portion of his "Ethica," by Lewes. This work, which was originally
published in 1677, commenced with eight definitions, which, together
with the following axioms and propositions, were reprinted from the
_Westminster Review_ in the _Library of Reason_:--


DEFINITIONS.

I. By cause of itself I understand that, the essence of which involves
existence: or that, the nature of which can only be considered as
existent.

II. A thing finite is that which can be limited (terminari potest)
by another thing of the same nature--_ergo_, body is said to be finite
because it can always be conceived as larger. So thought is limited by
other thoughts. But body does not limit thought, nor thought limit body.

III. By substance I understand that which is in itself, and is conceived
_per se_--that is, the conception of which does not require the
conception of anything else as antecedent to it.

IV. By attribute I understand that which the mind perceives as
constituting the very essence of substance.

V. By modes I understand the accidents (affectiones) of substance; or
that which is in something else, through which also it is conceived.

VI. By God I understand the being absolutely infinite; that is, the
substance consisting of infinite attributes, each of which expresses an
infinite and eternal essence.

_Explication_, I say absolutely infinite, but not in _suo genere_; for
to whatever is infinite, but not in _suo genere_, we can deny infinite
attributes; but that which is absolutely infinite, to its essence
pertains everything which implies essence, and involves no negation.

VII. That thing is said to be free which exists by the sole necessity
of its nature, and by itself alone is determined to action. But that is
necessary, or rather constrained, which owes its existence to another,
and acts according to certain and determinate causes.

VIII. By eternity I understand existence itself, in as far as it is
conceived necessarily to follow from the sole definition of an eternal
thing.


AXIOMS.

I. Everything which is, is in itself, or in some other thing.

II. That which cannot be conceived through another, _per aliud_ must be
conceived, _per se_.

III. From a given determinate cause the effect necessarily follows, and
_vice versa_. If no determinate cause be given, no effect can follow.

IV. The knowledge of an effect depends on the knowledge of the cause,
and includes it.

V. Things that have nothing in common with each other cannot be
understood by means of each other--that is, the conception of one, does
not involve the conception of the other.

VI. A true idea must agree with its original in nature.

VII. Whatever can be clearly conceived as non-existent does not, in its
essence, involve existence.


PROPOSITIONS.

I. Substance is prior in nature to its accidents. Demonstration. Per
definitions three and five.

II. Two substances, having different attributes, have nothing in common
with each other. Dem. This follows from def. three; for each substance
must be conceived in itself and through itself; in other words, the
conception of one does not involve the conception of the other.

III. Of things which have nothing in common, one cannot be the cause of
the other. Dem. If they have nothing in common, then (per axiom five)
they cannot be conceived by means of each other; _ergo_ (per axiom
four,) one cannot be the cause of the other.--Q. E. D.

IV. Two or more distinct things are distinguished among themselves,
either through the diversity of their attributes, or through that of
their modes. Dem. Everything which is, in itself, or in some other thing
(per ax. one)--that is (per def. three and five,) there is nothing out
of ourselves (_extra intellectum_, outside the intellect) but substance
and its modes. There is nothing out of ourselves whereby things can be
distinguished amongst one another, except substances, or (which is the
same thing, per def. lour) their attributes and modes.

V. It is impossible that there should be two or more substances of the
same nature, or of the same attributes. Dem. If there are many different
substances they must be distinguished by the diversity of their
attributes or of their modes (per prop. 4.) If only by the diversity
of their attributes, it is thereby conceded that there is, nevertheless,
only one substance of the same attribute; but if their diversity of
modes, then, substance being prior in order of time to its modes, it
must be considered independent of them--that is (per def. three and
six,) cannot be conceived as distinguished from another--that is
(per prop, four,) there cannot be many substances, but only one
substance.--Q. E. D.

VI. One substance cannot be created by another substance. Dem. There
cannot be two substances with the same attributes (per prop, five)--that
is (per prop. two,) that hare anything in common with each other; and,
therefore (per prop, three,) one cannot be the cause of the other.

Corollary 1. Hence it follows that substance cannot be created by
anything else. For there is nothing in nature except substance and its
modes (per axiom one, and def. three and five.) Now, this substance, not
being produced by another, is self-caused.

Corollary 2. This proposition is more easily to be demonstrated by the
absurdity of its contradiction; for if substance can be produced by
anything else, the conception of it would depend on the conception of
the cause (per axiom four,) and hence (per def. three,) it would not be
substance.

VII. It pertains to the nature of substance to exist. Dem. Substance
cannot be produced by anything else (per coroli. prop, six,) and is
therefore the cause of itself--that is (per def. one,) its essence
necessarily involves existence; or it pertains to the nature of
substance to exist.--Q. E. D.

VIII. All substance is necessarily infinite. Dem. There exists but one
substance of the same attribute; and it must either exist as infinite or
finite. But not finite, for (per def. two) as finite it must be limited
by another substance of the same nature, and in that case there would be
two substances of the same attributes, which (per prop, five) is absurd.
Substance therefore is infinite.--Q. E. D.

"Scholium I.--I do not doubt but that to all who judge confusedly
of things, and are not wont to inquire into first causes, it will be
difficult to admit the demonstration of prop. 7, because they do not
sufficiently distinguish between the modifications of substances, and
substances themselves, and are ignorant of the manner in which things
are produced. Hence it follows, that the commencement which they see
natural things have, they attribute to substances; for he who knows not
the true cause of things, confounds all things, and feigns that trees
talk like men; that men are formed from stones as well as from seeds,
and that all forms can be changed into all other forms. So, also, those
who confound the divine nature with the human, naturally attribute
human affections to God, especially as they are ignorant of how these
affections are produced in the mind. If men attended to the nature of
substance, they would not, in the least, doubt proposition seven; nay,
this proposition would be an axiom to all, and would be numbered among
common notions. For by substance they would understand that which exists
in itself, and is concerned through itself--_i.e._, the knowledge of
which does not require the knowledge of anything as antecedent to it.
But by modification they would understand that which is in another
thing, the conception of which is formed by the conception of the thing
in which it is, or to which it belongs. We can have, therefore, correct
ideas of non-existent modifications, because, although out of the
understanding they have no reality, yet their essence is so comprehended
in that of another, that they can be conceived through this other.
The truth of substance (out of the understanding) lies nowhere but in
itself, because it is conceived _per se_. If therefore any one says
he has a clear idea of substance, and yet doubt whether such substance
exist, this would be as much as to say that he has a true idea, and
nevertheless doubts whether it be not false (as a little attention
sufficiently manifests;) or if any man affirms substance to be created,
he at the same time affirms that a true idea has become false, than
which nothing can be more absurd. Hence it is necessarily confessed that
the existence of substance, as well as its essence, is an eternal truth.
And hence we must conclude that there is only one substance possessing
the same attribute, which requires here a fuller development. I note
therefore--1. That the correct definition of a thing includes and
expresses nothing but the nature of the thing defined. From which
follows--2. That no definition includes or expresses a distinct number
of individuals, because it expresses nothing but the nature of the thing
defined; _ergo_, the definition of a triangle expresses no more than the
nature of a triangle, and not any fixed number of triangles. 3. There
must necessarily be a distinct cause for the existence of every existing
thing. 4. This cause, by reason of which anything exists, must either be
contained in the nature and definition of the existing thing (viz., that
it pertains to its nature to exist,) or else must be beyond it--must be
something different from it.

"As therefore it pertains to the nature of substance to exist, so must
its definition include a necessary existence, and consequently from
its sole definition we must conclude its existence. But as from its
definition, as already shown in notes two and three, it is not possible
to conclude the existence of many substances--_ergo_, it necessarily
follows that only one substance of the same nature can exist."

It will be necessary for the reader to remember that Spinoza commenced
his philosophical studies at the same point with Descartes. Both
recognized existence as the primal fact, self-evident and indisputable.

But while Descartes had, in some manner, fashioned a quality--God and
God-created substance--Spinoza only found one, substance, the definition
of which included existence. By his fourth proposition ("of things which
have nothing in common, one cannot be the cause of the other, ") he
destroyed the creation theory, because by that theory God is assumed to
be a spirit having nothing in common with matter, yet acting on
matter; and Lewes speaks of the fourth proposition in the following
terms:--"This fallacy has been one of the most influential corrupters
of philosophical speculation. For many years it was undisputed, and most
metaphysicians still adhere to it. The assertion is that only like can
act upon like; but although it is true that _like_ produces (causes)
_like_, it is also true that like produces _unlike_; thus fire produces
pain when applied to our bodies; _explosion_ when applied to gunpowder;
_charcoal_ when applied to wood; all these effects are unlike the
cause." We cannot help thinking that in this instance, the usually
thoughtful Lewes has either confused substance with its modes, or, for
the sake of producing a temporary effect, has descended to mere sophism.
Spinoza's proposition is, that _substances_ having nothing in common,
cannot act on one another. Lewes deals with several modes of the same
substance as though they were different substances. Way, more, to
make his argument the more plausible, he entirely ignores in it that
_noumenon_ of which he speaks as underlying all phenomena, and uses each
phenomenon as a separate existence. In each of the instances mentioned,
however varied may be the modification, the essence is the same. They
are merely examples of one portion of the whole acting upon another
portion, and there is that in each mode which is common to the whole,
and by means of which the action takes place.

Much has been said of Spinoza's "God" and "Divine Substance," and we
must refer the reader to Definition Six, in which God is defined as
being "infinite substance." Now, although we should be content to strike
the word "God" out of our own tablet of philosophical nomenclature, as
being a much misused, misrepresented, and entirely useless word, yet we
must be very careful, when we find another man using the word, to get
his precise definition, and not to use any-other ourselves while in his
company.

Spinoza, when asked "What name do you attach to infinite substance?"
says, "God."--If he had said any other word we could not have quarrelled
with him so long as he defined the word, and adhered strictly to the
terms of his definition, although we might regret that he had not either
coined a word for himself, or used one less maltreated by the mass.
Spinoza said, "I can only take cognizance of one substance (of which
I am part) having infinite attributes of extension and thought. I
take cognizance of substance by its modes, and in my consciousness of
existence. Every thing is a mode of the attribute of extension, every
thought, wish, or feeling, a mode of the attribute of thought. I call
this, substance, with infinite attributes, God." Spinoza, like all other
thinkers, found himself overpowered by the illimitable vastness of the
infinite when attempting to grasp it by his mental powers, but unlike
other men he did not endeavor to relieve himself by separating himself
from that infinite; but, knowing he was a part of the whole, not
divisible from the remainder, he was content to aim at perfecting his
knowledge of existence rather than at dogmatising upon an indefinable
word, which, if it represented anything, professed to represent an
incomprehensible existence far beyond his reach.

We ought not to wonder that in many parts of Spinoza's writings we find
the word "God" treated in a less coherent manner than would be
possible under the definition given in his "Ethics," and for these
reasons:--Spinoza, from his cradle upwards, had been surrounded with
books and traditions sanctified by the past, and impressed on his
willing mind by his family, his tutors, and the heads of his church; a
mind like his gathered all that was given, even more quickly than it was
offered, still craving for more--"more light"--"more light"--and at last
light came bursting on the young thinker like a lightning flash at dark
midnight, revealing his mind in chains, which had been cast round him in
his nursery, his school, his college, his synagogue. By a mighty
effort he burst these chains, and walked forth a free man, despite the
entreaties of his family, the reasonings of the rabbis, the knife of the
fanatic, the curse of his church, and the edict of the state. But should
it be a matter of surprise to us that some of the links of those broken
chains should still hang on the young philosopher, and, seeming to be a
part of himself, almost imperceptibly incline to old ways of thinking,
and to old modes of utterance of those thoughts! Wonder not that a few
links bang about him, but rather that he ever succeeded in breaking
those chains at all. Spinoza, after his secession from his synagogue,
became logically an Atheist; education and early impressions enlarged
this into a less clearly-defined Pantheism; but the logic comes to
us naked, disrobed of all by which it might have been surrounded in
Spinoza's mind. If that logic be correct, then all the theologies of
the world are false. We have presented it to the reader to judge of
for himself. Many men have written against it; of these some have
misunderstood, some have misrepresented, some have failed, and few have
left us a proof that they had endeavored to deal with Spinoza on his own
ground. Maccall says, "In the glorious throng of heroic names, there
are few nobler than Spinoza's. Apart altogether from the estimate we may
form of his philosophy, there is something unspeakably interesting in
the life and the character of the man. In his metaphysical system there
are two things exceedingly distinct. There is, first, the immense
and prodigious, but terrible mathematical skeleton, which his subtle
intellect binds up and throws as calmly into space as we drop a pebble
into the water, and whose bones, striking against the wreck of all that
is sacred in belief, or bold in speculation, rattle a wild response to
our wildest phantasies, and drive us almost to think in despair that
thinking is madness; and there is, secondly, the divinest vision of the
infinite, and the divinest incense which the intuition of the infinite
ever yet poured forth at the altar of creation."

The "Treatise on Politics" is not Spinoza's greatest work; it is, in
all respects, inferior to the "Ethics," and to the "Theologico-Political
Treatise." But there are in politics certain eternal principles, and it
is for setting forth and elucidating these that the Treatise of Spinoza
is so valuable.

In the second chapter of that Treatise, after defining what he means by
nature, etc., he, on the sixth section, proceeds as follows:--"But many
believe that the ignorant disturb more than follow the order of nature,
and conceive of men in nature as a state within the state. For they
assert that the human mind has not been produced by any natural causes,
but created immediately by God, and thereby rendered so independent of
other things as to have absolute power of determining itself, and of
using reason aright. But experience teaches us more than enough, that it
is no more in our power to have a sound mind than a sound body. Since,
moreover, everything, as far as it is able, strives to conserve its
being, we cannot doubt that if it were equally in our power to live
according to the prescripts of reason, as to be led by blind desire,
all would seek the guidance of reason and live wisely, which is not the
case. For every one is the slave of the particular pleasure to which
he is most attached. Nor do theologians remove the difficulty when they
assert that this inability is a vice, or a sin of human nature, which
derives its origin from the fall of the first parent. For if it was in
the power of the first man to stand rather than to fall, and if he was
sound in faculty, and had perfect control over his own mind, how did it
happen that he, the wise and prudent, fell? But they say he was deceived
and tempted by the devil. But who was it that led astray and tempted
the devil himself? Who, I ask, rendered this the most excellent of
intelligent creatures so mad, that he wished to be greater than God?
Could he render himself thus mad--he who had a sane mind, and strove as
much as in him lay to conserve his being? How, moreover, could it happen
that the first man in possession of his entire mental faculties, and
master of his will, should be both open to temptation, and suffer
himself to be robbed of his mind? For if he had the power of using his
reason aright, he could not be deceived; for as far as in him lay, he
necessarily sought to conserve his own being, and the sanity of
his mind. But it is supposed he had this in his power, therefore he
necessarily conserved his sane mind, neither could he be deceived.
Which is evidently false from his history; and, consequently, it must be
granted that it was not in the power of the first person to use reason
aright, but that he, like us, was subject to passions."

Spinoza is scarcely likely to become a great favorite with the "Woman's
Rights Convention." In his ninth chapter of the same Treatise, he says,
"If by nature women were equal to men, and excelled as much as they in
strength of mind and in talent, truly amongst nations, so many and
so different, some would be found where both sexes ruled equally, and
others where the men were ruled by the women, and so educated as to
be inferior to them in talent; but as this has never happened, we are
justified in assuming that women, by nature, have not an equal right
with men, but that they are necessarily obedient to men, and thus it can
never happen that both sexes can equally rule, and still less that men
be ruled by women."

Lewes, in his seventh chapter on Modern Philosophy, thus sums up
Spinoza's teachings and their result. He says:--

"The doctrine of Spinoza was of great importance, if for nothing more
than having brought about the first crisis in modern philosophy. His
doctrine was so clearly stated, and so rigorously deduced from admitted
premises, that he brought philosophy into this dilemma:--

"'Either my premises are correct; and we must admit that every clear
and distinct idea is absolutely true; true not only subjectively, but
objectively.

"'If so, my objection is true;

"'Or my premises are false; the voice of consciousness is not the voice
of truth;

"'And if so, then is my system false, but all philosophy is impossible;
since the only ground of certitude--our consciousness--is pronounced
unstable, our only means of knowing the truth is pronounced
fallacious.'"

"Spinozism or scepticism, choose between them, for you have no other
choice.

"Mankind refused, however, to make a choice. If the principles which
Descartes had established could have no other result than Spinozism, it
was worth while inquiring whether those principles might not themselves
be modified.

"The ground of discussion was shifted, psychology took the place of
ontology. It was Descartes's theory of knowledge which led to Spinozism;
that theory must therefore he examined; that theory becomes the great
subject of discussion. Before deciding upon the merits of any system
which embraced the great questions of creation, the Deity, immortality,
etc., men saw that it was necessary to decide upon the competency of the
human mind to solve such problems. All knowledge must be obtained either
through experience or independent of experience. Knowledge dependent on
experience must necessarily be merely knowledge of _phenomena_. All are
agreed that experience can only be experience of ourselves as modified
by objects. All are agreed that to know things _per se--noumena_--we
must know them through some other channel then experience. Have we or
have we not that other channel? This is the problem."

"Thus, before we can dogmatize upon on to logical subjects, we must
settle this question--Can we transcend the sphere of our consciousness,
and know things _per se_?"

"I."




ANTHONY COLLINS.

Freethought, as developed in the Deistic straggles of the seventeenth
century, had to battle for existence against the Puritanic reaction
which took its second rise from the worn-out licentious age of the last
of the Stuarts, and that of the no less dangerous (though concealed)
libertinism of the Dutch king. A religious rancor also arose which, but
for the influence of a new power, would have re-enacted the tragedy of
religious persecution. But this rancor became somewhat modified, from
the fact that the various parties now were unlike the old schismatics,
who were each balanced at the opposite ends of the same pole--extreme
Papacy on the one hand, and Fifth-monarchists on the other--when
each oscillation from the Protestant centre deranged the balance of
enthusiasm, and drove it to the farthest verge of fanaticism, until all
religious parties were hurled into one chaos of disunion. Such were the
frequent changes of the seventeenth century--but at its close the
power of Deism had evolved a platform on which was to be fought the
hostilities of creeds. Here, then, could not exist that commingling of
sects, which were deducible in all their varied extravagance from the
Bible. Theology had no longer to fight with itself, but with philosophy.
Metaphysics became the Jehu of opinion, and sought to drive its chariot
through the fables of the saints. The old doctrines had to be re-stated
to meet new foes. For the Papists, Nonconformists, and Brownists, were
excluded to make way for the British Illuminati, who spread as much
consternation through England as did the French Encyclopædists across
Europe. The new field of action was only planned, for when Catholicism
first opposed Protestantism, its leaders little thought what a Pandoric
box it was opening--nor did the Divines of the latter sect ever
doubt the finality of their own doctrines. They wished to replace one
infallibility by another. And the same charge can be substantiated
against Deism. When in this Augustan age the Free-thinking leaders,
fresh from the trammels of Christism, first took the name of Moral
Philosophers, they little knew they were paving the way for an Atheism
they so much dreaded--a democracy more unbridled than their most
constitutional wishes--a political economy to be tried for half a
century, and then to be discarded--a revolutionary fervor which should
plough up Europe, and then give place to a Communism, which the
first founders of this national agitation would have gazed upon with
amazement, and shrunk from with despair. Such is the progress of change.
The rise of the Deistic movement may be defined in a sentence. It was
the old struggle of speculative opinion shifting its battle-ground from
theology to philosophy, prior to the one being discarded, and the other
developed into positive science.

Amongst the most distinguished of these reformers, stands the name of
Anthony Collins.

Who and what he was, we have little opportunity of knowing, save from
the scattered notices of contemporaries; but sufficient is left on
record to prove him one of the best of men, and the very Corypheus of
Deism. The twin questions of Necessity and Prophecy have been examined
by him perhaps more ably than by any other liberal author. There are
slight discrepancies in relation to the great events of his life. The
Abbe Lodivicat says he was born June 21st, 1676, of a rich and noble
family, at Heston, in Middlesex, and was appointed treasurer of the
county; but another account says "Hounslow," which we think was the more
likely place. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge. He studied for
the bar for sometime, but (being wealthy) ultimately renounced
jurisprudence, while his youthful studies admirably fitted him for
his subsequent magisterial duties. He was clever, honest, learned, and
esteemed by all who knew his character. The elder D'Israeli says, "that
he was a great lover of literature, and a man of fine genius, while his
morals were immaculate, and his personal character independent."

The friendship of Locke alone is sufficient to stamp the character of
Collins with honor, and he was one of the most valued friends of this
great man. In a volume published by P. Des Maizeaux (a writer we shall
have occasion to notice) in the year 1720, containing a collection of
the posthumous works of Locke, there are several letters addressed to
Collins which fully substantiate our opinion. Locke was then an old man,
residing in the country, and Collins was a young man in London, who took
a pleasure in executing the commissions of his illustrious friend. In
one of them, dated October 29th, 1703, he says--"If I were now setting
out in the world, I should think it my greatest happiness to have such a
companion as you, who had a true relish of truth, would in earnest seek
it with me, from whom I might receive it undisguised, and to whom
I might communicate what I thought true, freely. Believe it my good
friend, to love truth for truth's sake, is the principal part of human
perfection in this world, and the seed-plot of all other virtue; and,
if I mistake not, you have as much of it as ever I met with in anybody.
What, then, is there wanting to make you equal to the best--a friend for
any one to be proud of?"

During the following year the correspondence of Locke appears in a most
interesting light--the affectionate inquiries, the kind advice, and the
most grateful acknowledgments are made to Collins. On Sept. 11th, Locke
writes:--"He that has anything to do with you, must own that friendship
is the natural product of your constitution, and your soul, a noble
soil, is enriched with the two most valuable qualities of human
nature--truth and friendship. What a treasure have I then in such a
friend with whom I can converse, and be enlightened about the highest
speculations!" On the 1st of October he wrote Collins on his rapid
decay, "But this, I believe, he will assure you, that my infirmities
prevail so fast on me, that unless you make haste hither, I may lose the
satisfaction of ever seeing again a man that I value in the first rank
of those I leave behind me." This was written twenty-seven days before
his death. Four days before his decease, he wrote a letter to be given
to Collins after his death. This document is one of the most important
in relation to the life of the great Freethinker--it irrefragably proves
the falsity of everything that may be alleged against the character of
Collins:--

"Oates, August 23, 1704. For Anthony Collins, Esq.

"Dear Sir--By my will, you will see that I had some kindness for * * *
And I knew no better way to take care of him, than to put him, and what
I designed for him, into your hands and management. The knowledge I
have of your virtues of all kinds, secures the trust, which, by your
permission, I have placed in you; and the peculiar esteem and love I
have observed in the young man for you, will dispose him to be ruled and
influenced by you, so of that I need say nothing. May you live long
and happy, in the enjoyment of health, freedom, content, and all those
blessings which Providence has bestowed on, you, and your virtues
entitle you to. I know you loved me living, and will preserve my memory
now I am dead. * * * I leave my best wishes with you.

"John Locke."


Such is the honorable connection which existed between Locke and
Collins. Collins's first publication was a tract, "Several of the London
Cases Considered," in the year 1700. In 1707, he published an "Essay
Concerning the Use of Reason on Propositions, the evidence whereof
depends upon Human Testimony;" "in which," says Dr. Leland, "there are
some good observations, mixed with others of a suspicious nature and
tendency." It principally turned on the Trinitarian controversy then
raging, and is of little interest now. In this year Collins united
with Dodwell in the controversy carried on by Dr. Samuel Clarke. One
of Clarke's biographers alludes to it thus: "Dr. Clarke's arguments
in favor of the immateriality, and consequent immortality of the soul,
called out, however, a far more formidable antagonist than Dodwell,
in the person of Anthony Collins, an English gentleman of singular
intellectual acuteness, but, unhappily, of Infidel principles. The
controversy was continued through several short treatises. On the whole,
though Clarke, in some instances, laid himself open to the keen and
searching dialectics of his gifted antagonist, the victory certainly
remained with the Divine." Of course it is only to be expected that such
will be the opinion of an opponent--but it is further proof of Collins's
ability and character. In 1703 appeared his celebrated "Discourses
of Freethinking," which perhaps created the greatest sensation in the
religious world (with the exception of the "Age of Reason") of any book
published against Christianity. This book is as able a defence of
the freedom of the expression of thought without penalty, as was ever
published. It is divided into four sections. In the 1st, Freethinking
is defined--in five arguments. In the 2nd, That it is our duty to
think freely on those points of which men are denied the right to think
freely: such as of the nature and attributes of God, the truth and
authority of Scriptures, and of the meaning of Scriptures, in seven
arguments and eleven instances. The third section is the consideration
of six objections to Freethinking--from the whole of which he concludes
(1) That Freethinkers must have more understanding, and that they must
necessarily be the most virtuous people. (2) That they have, in fact,
been the most understanding and virtuous people in all ages. Here
follows the names of a great number of men whom Collins classified as
Freethinkers, and of whom we have no reason to be ashamed.

This book was answered by many divines, but none of them emerged
from the contest with such Christian honors as the famous Dr.
Bentley--considered England's greatest classical scholar. In the same
year, the Dr. published his reply under the signature of "Phileleutheros
Lipsiensis." The fame of Bentley was considered equal to Collins's; and
it has always been represented that this reply completely crushed
the Freethinker--nothing could be farther from the truth. Bentley
principally attacked the Greek quotations and denounced Collins for his
ignorance in not putting his (Bentley's) construction on every disputed
word. For this reply, Bentley received the thanks of the University of
Cambridge. In condition with this work, Collins is also charged with
wilful deception--which has been reproduced in our own lives by devines
who perhaps never read a line of Collins. A French edition of the
"Discourse" was translated under the personal inspection of Collins:
and it is said that he altered the construction of several sentences
to evade the charges brought against him by Bentley Dr. Leland is
particularly eloquent upon this; and the Rev. Mr. Lorimer, of Glasgow,
triumphantly plagiarises the complaint of the men whose defects he can
only imitate. There is another charge connected with Bentley and his
friends, which it is desirous should be exposed. The elder D'Israeli
says:--"Anthony Collins wrote several well-known works, without
prefixing his name; but having pushed too far his curious and polemical
points, he incurred the odium of a Freethinker--a term which then began
to be in vogue, and which the French adopted by translating it, in
their way--'a strong thinker,' or _esprit fort_. Whatever tendency
to 'liberalise' the mind from the dogmas and creeds prevails in these
works, the talents and learning of Collins were of the first class. His
morals were immaculate, and his personal character independent; but the
_odium theologicum_ of those days combined every means to stab in the
dark, till the taste became hereditary with some. I may mention a fact
of this cruel bigotry which occurred within my own observation, on one
of the most polished men of the age. The late Mr. Cumberland, in the
romance entitled his 'Life' gave this extraordinary fact. He said that
Dr. Bentley, who so ably replied to Collins's 'Discourse,' when many
years after he discovered him fallen into great distress, conceiving
that by having ruined Collins's character as a writer for ever, he had
been the occasion of his personal misery, he liberally contributed to
his maintenance. In vain I mentioned to that elegant writer, who was
not curious about facts, that this person could never have been Anthony
Collins, who had always a plentiful fortune; and when it was suggested
to him that this 'A. Collins' as he printed it, must have been Arthur
Collins, the historic compiler, who was often in pecuniary difficulties,
still he persisted in sending the lie down to posterity, without
alteration, in his second edition, observing to a friend of mine, that
'the story, while it told well, might serve as a striking instance of
his great relative's generosity; and that it should stand because it
could do no harm to any but to Anthony Collins, whom he considered as
little short of an Atheist.'" Such is a specimen of Christian honor and
justice.

In 1715, appeared his "Philosophical inquiry into Human Liberty." Dr.
Clarke was again his opponent. The publication of this work marked an
epoch in metaphysics. Dugald Stewart, in criticising the discussion on
Moral Liberty between Clarke and Leibnitz, says, "But soon after this
controversy was brought to a conclusion by the death of his antagonist,
he (Clarke) had to renew the same argument, in reply to his countryman,
Anthony Collins, who, following the footsteps of Hobbes, with logical
talents not inferior to his master (and with a weight of personal
character in his favor to which his master had no pretensions,) gave to
the cause which he so warmly espoused, a degree of credit amongst
sober and inquiring politicians, which it had never before possessed
in England." The following are the principal arguments of Collins in
reference to Liberty and Necessity:--

First. Though I deny Liberty in a certain meaning of that word, yet I
contend for Liberty, as it signifies _a power in man to do as he wills
or pleases_.

Secondly. When I affirm _Necessity_ I contend only for _moral
necessity_; meaning thereby that man, who is an intelligent and sensible
being, is determined by his reason and senses; and I deny any man to
be subject to such necessity as is in clocks, watches, and such other
beings, which, for want of intelligence and sensation, are subject to an
absolute, physical or mechanical necessity.

Thirdly, I have undertaken to show, that the notions I advance are so
far from being inconsistent with, that they are the sole foundation of
morality and laws, and of rewards and punishments in society, and that
the notions I explode are subversive of them.

From the above premises, Collins sought to show that man is a necessary
agent. (1) From our experience (through consciousness.) (2) From the
impossibility of liberty. (3) From the consideration of the divine
prescience. (4) From the nature and use of rewards and punishments. (5)
From the nature of morality. Such were the principles on which the great
question of Necessity has ever been advocated--from Hobbes to Collins,
Jonathan Ed wards to Mackintosh and Spencer. In the year 1704 Toland
dedicated to him a new translation of Æsop's Fables. There are many
anecdotes respecting Collins inserted in religious magazines, most of
which are false, and all without proof. One of them, related in a most
circumstantial manner, appears to be the favorite. It depicts Collins
walking out in the country on a Sunday morning, when he meets a
countryman returning from Church.

"Well, Hodge," says Collins, "so you have been enjoying the fresh
breezes of nature, this fine morning."

The clown replied that "he had been worshipping nature's God," and
proved it by repeating the substance of the Athanasian creed. Upon which
Collins questions him as to the residence of his God: and for a reply is
told that his God is so large, that he fills the universe; and so small
that he dwells in his breast. This sublime fact, we are told, had more
effect upon Collins's mind than all the books written against him by the
clergy. When will sensible men reject such charlatanism?

The next great work of Collins was his "Discourse on the Grounds and
Reasons of the Christian Religion," in two parts. The first containing
some considerations on the quotations made from the Old in the New
Testament, and particularly on the prophecies cited from the former, and
said to be fulfilled in the latter. The second containing an examination
of the scheme advanced by Mr. Whiston, in his essay towards restoring
the true text of the Old Testament, and for vindicating the citations
thence made in the New Testament, to which is prefixed an apology for
free debate and liberty of writing. This book took the religious world
by storm; it is even thought it struck more dismay amongst divines
than his former essay on Freethink-ing. The book proceeds to show that
Christianity is not proved by prophecy. That the Apostles relied on the
predictions in the Old Testament, and their fulfilment in Jesus as
the only sure proof of the truth of their religion; if therefore, the
prophecies are not thoroughly literal, and fulfilled distinctly,
there can be no proof in Christianity. He then examines the principal
prophecies, and dismisses them, as allegorical fables too vague to be of
any credit. In less than two years no less than thirty-five books
were published in reply to this work, written by the ablest and most
influential theologians in England. In 1727 Collins published another
large work, "The Scheme of Literal Prophecy Considered," in which he
still further defends his view principally against the sophistical
reasoning of Whiston, and finally vanquished the whole of his opponents.

Perhaps no Freethinker, with the single exception of Hobbes, was so
attacked during his life as Collins. Toland and Woolston were persecuted
and driven into prison and poverty; but Collins, with his profusion of
wealth, could oppose Christianity with applause--mingle in the gaiety of
the Court--occupy a seat on the magisterial bench--be the welcome guest
of the most liberal of the aristocracy, contemporary with others who
even languished in prison for the propagation of similar sentiments.
Since his day the clergy have grown wiser; then the most trivial
pamphlet on the Deistic side created a consternation amongst the saints,
and they strove who should be the first to answer it--indeed, it
was considered a test of honor amongst the clergy to be eager in the
exposure of Deism: but this style of warfare was discontinued after the
lapse of a few years. The most discerning observers discovered that in
proportion to the answers published against liberal works, the influence
of the most powerful side decreased. Force, then, gradually interfered,
and acts of Parliament were considered the only logical refutation of a
philosophical heresy. The anomaly of our laws interfered again. Collins
was rich, and so must escape the fangs of the law. Thomas Woolston was
poor, so his vitals were pierced by laws which Collins escaped--yet both
committed the same offence. In later times Gibbon traced the rise of
Christianity, and about the same time Paine accomplished another portion
of the same risk--and the Government which prosecuted the plebeian,
flattered the patrician. But Collins's time was rapidly drawing nigh. On
the 13th of December, 1729, he expired, aged fifty-three years; and to
show the esteem in which his character was held, the following notice
was inserted in the newspapers of the day--all hostile to his views,
yet striving to make it appear that he was, after all, not so great an
Infidel as his reputation honored him with:--"On Saturday last, died at
his house in Harley Square, Anthony Collins, Esq. He was a remarkably
active, up right, and impartial magistrate, the tender husband the kind
parent, the good master, and the true friend He was a great promoter of
literature in all its branch es; and an immoveable asserter of universal
liberty in all civil and religious matters. Whatever his sentiments
were on certain points, this is what he declared at the time of his
death--viz., that he had always endeavored, to the best of his ability,
to serve God, his king, and his country, so he was persuaded he was
going to that place which God hath prepared for them that serve him, and
presently afterwards he said, the Catholic religion is to serve God and
roan. He was an eminent example of temperance and sobriety, and one that
had the true art of living. His worst enemies could never charge him
with any vice or immorality." With this character the Freethinkers have
no right to be dissatisfied. The Abbe Lodivicat says, "His library was
curious and valuable; always open to the learned, even to his opponents,
whom he furnished with pleasure, both with books and arguments, which
were employed in confuting him." Mr. D'Israeli says he has seen
a catalogue of Collins's library, elaborately drawn up in his own
handwriting, and it must have contained a splendid selection of books.
This is proved by the correspondence with Locke, and the extensive
number of quotations spread throughout his published works.

By the death of Collins, and the defalcation of one who abused the name
of a Deist, the cause of Free-thought was impeded at the time when it
most needed assistance. Collins had written a great number of tracts
and larger works, intending them to be published after his death: one
collection of eight octavo volumes of manuscript containing the attacks
upon Christianity, by which he intended his name to be transmitted to
posterity, were all arranged ready for publication as his posthumous
works. To ensure their credit-able appearance, and to reward a man
whom he had thought worthy of confidence, and one who professed to be a
disciple of Collins, he bequeathed them to Des Maizeaux, then a popular
author and editor. He had edited the correspondence of Locke and
Collins, written the lite of Bayle, and subsequently edited Toland. The
idea of Collins was to give his work to Des Maizeaux for a recompense
for the trouble of publishing them, while he would derive the whole
profits of their sale, which no doubt would be very large. It appears
that the widow of Collins was much younger than himself--in league with
the Church of England; and was in rather a suspicious friendship with
more than one clerical antagonist of her late husband. Des Maizeaux
being worked upon conjointly by Mrs. Collins and a person named
Tomlinson, was induced to accept a present of fifty guineas, and
relinquished the possession of the manuscripts. It was not long,
however, before his conscience accused him of the great wrong done to
the memory of his benefactor, and to the Free-thinking cause. His regret
was turned into the most profound compunction for his crime; and in this
state of mind he wrote a long letter to one who had been a mutual friend
to Collins and himself, acknowledging that he had done "a most wicked
thing," saying--"I am convinced that I have acted contrary to the will
and intention of my dear deceased friend; showed a disregard to the
particular mark of esteem he gave me on that occasion; in short, that
I have forfeited what is dearer to me than my own life--honor and
reputation.... I send you the fifty guineas I received, which I do now
look upon as the wages of iniquity, and I desire you to return them to
Mrs. Collins, who, as I hope it of her justice, equity, and regard to
Mr. Collinses intentions, will be pleased to cancel my paper."

This appeal (which proved that Des Maizeaux, if he was weak-minded, was
not absolutely dishonest) had no effect on Mrs. Collins. The manuscripts
were never returned. What their contents were, no one now can inform us.
We are justified, however, in supposing that as those eight volumes were
the crowning efforts of a mind which in its youth was brilliant in no
common degree, must have been even superior to those books which roused
England from its dreamy lethargy, and brought about a revolution
in controversy. Whether they touched upon miracles, or the external
evidences, or the morals of Christism, is unknown. The curtain was
drawn over the scene of demolition. Seven years after this time the
controversy was reopened by Mrs. Collins, in the year 1737, on account
of a report being current that Mrs. C. had permitted transcripts of
those manuscripts to get abroad. The widow wrote some very sharp letters
to Des Maizeaux, and he replied in a tone which speaks faithfully of the
affection he still bore to Collins's memory. He concludes thus:--"Mr.
Collins loved me and esteemed me for my integrity and sincerity, of
which he had several proofs. How I have been drawn in to injure him,
to forfeit the good opinion he had of me, and which, were he now alive,
would deservedly expose me to his utmost contempt, is a grief which I
shall carry to the grave. It would be a sort of comfort to me if those
who have consented I should be drawn in, were in some measure sensible
of the guilt towards so good, kind, generous a man."

Such is an epitome of the secret history of the MSS. of Anthony Collins.
If we look at the fate of the MSS. of other Deists, we shall have good
reasons for believing that some of the ablest writings, meant to give a
posthumous reputation to their authors, have disappeared into the hands
of either ignorant or designing persons. Five volumes, at least, of
Toland's works, meant for publication, were, by his death, irretrievably
lost. Blount's MSS. never appeared. Two volumes of Tindall's were seized
by the Bishop of London, and destroyed. Woolston's MSS. met with no
better fate. Chubb carefully prepared his works, and published them in
his lifetime. Bolingbroke made Mallet his confidant, as Collins did by
Des Maizeaux. The name of St. John produced £10,000 to Mallet; but those
works were left with the tacit acknowledge ment that the Scotch poet
should write a suitable life of the peer. The letter of Mallet to
Lord Cornbury can only be compared to an invitation for a bid for the
suppression of the "Philosophical Works" of St. John; and if this was
not sufficient, we need only instance the apparent solicitation with
which he stopped a well-known influential dignitary of the church on the
day when the works were to appear, by pulling out his watch, and saying,
"My Lord, Christianity will tremble at a quarter to twelve." We may
be thankful to the pecuniary poverty of our opponents even for the
possession of the first philosophy. Some of Hume's and Gibbon's works
have not yet appeared. The MSS. of most of the minor Freethinkers
disappeared with their authors. There is no doubt but what Robert Taylor
left some valuable writings which cannot be recovered. Such is the
feeble chance of great men's writings being published when they are no
longer alive.

With regard to the literary claims of Collins. His works are logically
composed and explicitly worded. He invariably commences by stating the
groundwork of his opponent's theories, and from them deduces a great
number of facts and axioms of a contrary character, and upon those
builds his whole chain of argument. He is seldom witty--never uses the
flowers of rhetoric, combining a most rigid analysis with a synthetic
scheme, admitting but of one unswerving end. He was characteristically
great in purpose. He avoided carrying forward his arguments beyond
the basis of his facts. Whether in treating the tangled intricacies
of necessity, or the theological quagmires of prophecy, he invariably
explained without confusing, and refuted without involving other
subjects than those legitimately belonging to the controversy. His style
of writing was serious, plain, and without an undue levity, yet withal
perfectly readable. Men studied Collins who shrunk from contact with
the lion-hearted Woolston, whose brusque pen too often shocked those
it failed to convince. There was a timidity in many of the letters of
Blount, and a craving wish to rely more on the witticisms of Brown, than
was to be found in the free and manly spirit of our hero. To the general
public, the abstruse speculations of the persecuted Toland were a
barrier which his many classical allusions only heightened; and the
musical syllables of Shaftesbury, with his style, at once so elevated,
so pompous, and so quaint; or the political economic doctrines of
Mandeville, all tended to exalt the name of Collins above those of his
contemporaries and immediate successors; and posterity cannot fail to
place his bust in that historic niche betwixt Hobbes--his master on one
hand--and Bolingbroke, his successor on the other. From the great
St. John has descended in the true apostolical descent the mantle of
Free-thought upon Hume, Gibbon, Paine, Godwin, Carlile, Taylor, and
Owen. And amongst this brilliant galaxy of genius, no name is more
deserving of respect than that of Anthony Collins.

A. C.




DES CARTES.

Rene des Cartes Duperron, better known as Des Cartes, the father of
modern philosophy, was born at La Haye, in Touraine, of Breton parents,
near the close of the sixteenth century, at a time when Bacon was like
the morning sun, rising to shed new rays of bright light over the then
dark world of philosophy. The mother of Des Cartes died while he was but
a few days old, and himself a sickly child, he began to take part in
the battle of life with but little appearance of ever possessing the
capability for action on the minds of his fellows, which he afterwards
so fully exercised. Debarred, however, by his physical weakness from
many boyish pursuits, he devoted himself to study in his earliest years,
and during his youth gained the title of the young philosopher, from
his eagerness to learn, and from his earnest endeavors by inquiry
and experiment to solve every problem presented to his notice. He was
educated in the Jesuits' College of La Flèche; and the monument erected
to him at Stockholm informs us, "That having mastered all the learning
of the schools, which proved short of his expectations, he betook
himself to the army in Germany and Hungary, and there spent his vacant
winter hours in comparing the mysteries and phenomena of nature with the
laws of mathematics, daring to hope that the one might serve as a key
to the other. Quitting, therefore, all other pursuits, he retired to a
little village near Egmont, in Holland, where spending twenty-five years
in continual reading and meditation, he effected his design."

In his celebrated "Discourse on Method," he says,--"As soon as my age
permitted me to leave my preceptors, I entirely gave up the study of
letters; and, resolving to seek no other science than that which I could
find in myself, or else in the great book of the world, I employed
the remainder of my youth in travel--in seeing courts and camps--in
frequenting people of diverse humors and conditions--in collecting
various experiences; and, above all, in endeavoring to draw some
profitable reflection from what I saw. For it seemed to me that I should
meet with more truth in the reasonings which each man makes in his own
affairs, and which, if wrong, would be speedily punished by failure,
than in those reasonings which the philosopher makes in his study upon
speculations which produce no effect, and which are of no consequence
to him, except perhaps that he will be the more vain of them, the more
remote they are from common sense, because he would then have been
forced to employ more ingenuity and subtlety to render them plausible."

At the age of thirty-three Des Cartes retired from the world for a
period of eight years, and his seclusion was so effectual during that
time, that his place of residence was unknown to his friends. He there
prepared the "Meditations," and "Discourse on Method," which have since
caused so much pen-and-ink warfare amongst those who have aspired to
be ranked as philosophical thinkers. He became European in fame; and,
invited by Christina of Sweden, he visited her kingdom, but the rudeness
of the climate proved too much for his delicate frame, and he died
at Stockholm in the year 1650, from inflammation of the lungs, being
fifty-four years of age at the time of his death.

Des Cartes was perhaps the most original thinker that France had up
to that date produced; and, contemporary with Bacon, he exercised a
powerful influence or the progress of thought in Europe; but although a
great thinker, he was not a brave man, and the fear of giving offence
to the church and government, has certainly prevented him from making
public some of his writings, and perhaps has toned down some of these
thoughts which, when first uttered, took a higher flight, and struck
full home to the truth itself.

The father and founder of the deductive method, Des Cartes still proudly
reigns to the present day, although some of his conclusions have
been over-turned, and others of his thinkings have been carried to
conclusions which he never dared to dream of. He gave a strong aid to
the tendency of advancing civilization, to separate philosophy from
theology, thereby striking a blow, slow in its effect, and effectual in
its destructive operation, on all priestcraft. In his dedication ol the
"Meditations," he says,--"I have always thought that the two questions
of the existence of God and the nature of the soul, were the chief
of those which ought to be demonstrated rather by philosophy than by
theology; for although it is sufficient for us, the faithful, to believe
in God, and that the soul does not perish with the body, it does not
seem possible ever to persuade the Infidels to any religion, unless we
first prove to them these two things by natural reason."

Having relinquished faith, he found that he must choose an entirely new
faith in which to march with reason; the old ways were so cumbered with
priests and Bibles, that progression would have been impossible. This
gave us his method. He wanted a starting point from which to reason,
some indisputable fact upon which to found future thinkings.

"He has given us the detailed history of his doubts. He has told us how
he found that he could, plausibly enough, doubt of everything except
his own existence. He pushed his scepticism to the verge of
self-annihilation. There he stopped: there in self, there in his
consciousness, he found at last an irresistible fact, an irreversible
certainty. Firm ground was discovered. He could doubt the existence
of the external world, and treat it as a phantasm. He could doubt the
existence of God, and treat the belief as a superstition. But of the
existence of his own thinking, doubting mind, no sort of doubt was
possible. He, the doubter, existed if nothing else existed. The
existence that was revealed to him in his own consciousness, was the
primary fact, the first indubitable certainty. Hence his famous _Cogito
ergo Sum_: I think, therefore I am." (_Lewes's Bio. Hist. Phil._)

Proceeding from the certainty of his existence, Des Cartes endeavors
to rind other equally certain tacts, and for that purpose presents
the following doctrine and rules for our guidance:--The basis of all
certitude is consciousness, consciousness is the sole foundation of
absolute certainty, whatever it distinctly proclaims must be true.
The process is, therefore, rendered clear and simple: examine your
consciousness--each distinct reply will be a fact.

He tells us further that all clear ideas are true--that whatever is
clearly and distinctly conceived is true--and in these lie the vitality
of his system, the cause of the truth or error of his thinkings.

The following are the rules he gave us for the detection and separation
of true ideas from false, (_i.e._, imperfect or complex):--

"1. Never to accept anything as true but what is evidently so; to admit
nothing but what so clearly and distinctly presents itself as true, that
there can be no reason to doubt it.

"2. To divide every question into as many separate parts as possible,
that each part being more easily conceived, the whole may be more
intelligible.

"3. To conduct the examination with order, beginning by that of objects
the most simple, and therefore the easiest to be known, and ascending
little by little up to knowledge of the most complex.

"4. To make such exact calculations, and such circumspections as to be
confident that nothing essential has been omitted. Consciousness being
the basis of all certitude, everything of which you are clearly and
distinctly conscious must be true: everything which you clearly and
distinctly conceive, exists, if the idea of it involve existence."

In these four rules we have the essential part of one half of Des
Cartes's system, the other, which is equally important, is the attempt
to solve metaphysical problems by mathematical aid. To mathematics he
had devoted much of his time. He it was who, at the age of twenty three,
made the grand discovery of the applicability of algebra to geometry.
While deeply engaged in mathematical studies and investigations, he
came to the conclusion that mathematics were capable of a still further
simplification, and of much more extended application. Impressed with
the certainty of the conclusions arrived at by the aid of mathematical
reasoning, he began to apply mathematics to metaphysics.

His ambition was to found a system which should be solid and
convincing. Having searched for certitude, he had found _its basis_ in
consciousness; he next wanted a _method_, and hoped he had found it in
mathematics.

He tells us that "those long chains of reasoning, all simple and
easy, by which geometers used to arrive at their most difficult
demonstrations, suggested to him that all things which came within human
knowledge, must follow each other in a similar chain; and that provided
we abstain from admitting anything as true which is not so, and that
we always preserve in them the order necessary to deduce one from the
other, there can be none so remote to which we cannot finally attain,
nor so obscure but that we may discover them."

Acting out this, he dealt with metaphysics as we should with a problem
from Euclid, and expected by rigorous reasoning to discover the truth.
He, like Archimedes, had wished for a standing place from which to use
the lever, that should overturn the world; but, having a sure standing
place in the indubitable fact of his own existence, he did not possess
sufficient courage to put forth the mighty power--it was left for one
who came after him to fairly attempt the over-throw of the world of error
so long existent.

Cartesianism was sufficiently obnoxious to the divines to provoke
their wrath; and yet, from some of its peculiarities, it has found many
opponents amongst the philosophical party. The Cartesian philosophy
is founded on two great principles, the one metaphysical, the other
physical. The metaphysical is Des Cartes's foundation-stone--the "I
think, therefore I am." This has been warmly attacked as not being
logical. Des Cartes said his existence was a fact--a fact above and
beyond all logic; logic could neither prove nor disprove it. The _Cogito
ergo Sum_ was not new itself, but it was the first stone of a new
building--the first step in a new road: from this fact Des Cartes tried
to reach another, and from that others.

The physical principle is that nothing exists but substance, which
he makes of two kinds--the one a substance that thinks, the other a
substance extended. Actual thought and actual extension are the essence
of substance, so that the thinking substance cannot be without some
actual thought, nor can anything be retrenched from the extension of a
thing, without taking away so much of its actual substance.

In his physical speculations, Des Cartes has allowed his imagination
to run very wild. His famous theory of vortices is an example of
this. Assuming extension to be the essence of substance, he denied the
possibility of a vacuum by that assumption; for if extension be the
essence of substance, wherever extension is, there substance must be.
This substance he assumes to have originally been divided into equal
angular particles, each endowed with an equal degree of motion; several
systems or collections of these particles he holds to have a motion
about certain equidistant points, or centres, and that the particles
moving round these composed so many vortices. These angular particles,
by their intestine motions, he supposes to become, as it were, ground
into a spherical form; the parts rubbed off are called matter of the
first element, while the spherical globules he calls matter of the
second element; and since there would be a large quantity of this
element, he supposes it to be driven towards the centre of each vortex
by the circular motion of the globules, and that there it forms a large
spherical body such as the suu. This sun being thus formed, and
moving about its own axis with the common matter of the vortex, would
necessarily throw out some parts of its matter, through the vacuities
of the globules of the second element constituting the vortex; and this
especially at such places as are farthest from its poles: receiving, at
the same time in, by these poles, as much as it loses in its equatorial
parts. And, by these means, it would be able to carry round with it
those globules that are nearest, with the greater velocity; and the
remoter, with less. And, further: those globules which are nearest the
centre of the sun, must be smallest; because, were they greater,
or equal, they would, by reason of their velocity, have a greater
centrifugal force, and recede from the centre. If it should happen that
any of these sun-like bodies, in the centres of the several vortices,
should be so in-crusted and weakened, as to be carried about in the
vortex of the true sun: if it were of less solidity, or had less motion
than the globules towards the extremity of the solar vortex, it would
descend towards the sun, till it met with globules of the same solidity,
and susceptible of the same degree of motion with itself* and thus,
being fixed there, it would be for ever after carried about by the
motion of the vortex, without either approaching any nearer to, or
receding from the sun, and so become a planet. Supposing, then, all
this, we are next to imagine that our system was at first divided into
several vortices, in the centre of each of which was a lucid spherical
body; and that some of these being gradually incrustated, were swallowed
up by others which were larger, and more powerful, till at last they
were all destroyed and swallowed up by the biggest solar vortex,
except some few which were thrown off in right lines from one vortex to
another, and so became comets. It should also be added, that in addition
to the two elements mentioned above, those particles which may yet
exist, and be only in the course of reduction to their globular form an
it still retain their angular proportions, form a third element.

This theory has found many opponents; but in this state of our work
we conceive our duty to be that of giving a simple narrative of the
philosopher's ideas, rather than a history of the various criticisms
upon those ideas, the more especially as our pages scarcely afford room
for such a mode of treatment.

Having formed his method, Des Cartes proceeded to apply it. The basis
of certitude being consciousness, he interrogated his consciousness, and
found that he had an idea of a substance infinite, eternal, immutable,
independent, omniscient, omnipotent. This he called an idea of God:
he said, "I exist as a miserably imperfect finite being, subject to
change--ignorant, incapable of creating anything--I find by my finitude
that I am not the infinite; by my liability to change that I am not the
immutable; by my ignorance that I am not the omniscient: in short, by
my imperfection, that I am not the perfect. Yet an infinite,
immutable, omniscient, and perfect being must exist, because infinity,
immutability, omniscience, and perfection are applied as correlatives in
my ideas of finitude, change, etc. God therefore exists: his existence
is clearly proclaimed in my consciousness, and therefore ceases to be
a matter of doubt any more than the fact of my own existence. The
conception of an infinite being proved his real existence, for if there
is not really such a being I must have made the conception; but if
I could make it I can also unmake it, which evidently is not true;
therefore there must be externally to myself, an archetype from which
the conception was derived.".... "All that we clearly and distinctly
conceive as contained in anything is true of that thing."

"Now, we conceive clearly and distinctly that the existence of God is
contained in the idea we have of him: ergo--God exists."--(_Lewes's Bio.
Hist. Phil._)

Des Cartes was of opinion that his demonstrations of the existence of
God "equal or even surpass in certitude the demonstrations of geometry."
In this opinion we must confess we cannot share. He has already told
us that the basis of all certitude is consciousness--that whatever
is clearly and distinctly conceived, must be true--that imperfect and
complex conceptions are false ones. The first proposition, all must
admit, is applicable to themselves. I conceive a fact clearly and
distinctly, and, despite all resistance, am compelled to accept that
fact; and if that fact be accepted beyond doubt, no higher degree of
certainty can be attained, That two and two are four--that I exist--are
facts which I never doubt. The _Cogito ergo Sum_ is irresistible,
because indubitable; but _Cogito ergo Deus est_ is a sentence requiring
much consideration, and upon the face of it is no syllogism, but, on the
contrary, is illogical. If Des Cartes meant "I" am conscious that I am
not the whole of existence, he would be indisputable; but if he meant
that "I" can be conscious of an existence entirely distinct, apart from,
and external to, that very consciousness, then his whole reasoning from
that point appears fallacious.

We use the word "I" as given by Des Cartes. Mill, in his "System of
Logic," says, "The ambiguity in this case is in the pronoun I, by which
in one place is to be understood _my will_: in another _the laws of
my nature_. If the conception, existing as it does in my mind, had no
original without, the conclusion would unquestionably follow that '1'
had made it--that is, that the laws of my nature had spontaneously
evolved it; but that my _will_ made it would not follow. Now, when Des
Cartes afterwards adds that I cannot unmake the conception, he means
that I cannot get rid of it by an act of my will, which is true; but is
not the proposition required. That what some of the laws of my nature
have produced, other laws, or those same laws in other circumstances,
might not subsequently efface, he would have found it difficult to
establish."

Treating the existence of God as demonstrated from the _a priori_ idea
of perfection and infinity, and by the clearness of his idea of God's
existence, Des Cartes then proceeds to deal with the distinction between
body and soul. To prove this distinction was to him an easy matter.
The fundamental and essential attribute of substance must be extension,
because we can denude substance of every quality but that of extension;
this we cannot touch without at the same time affecting the substance..
The fundamental attribute of mind is thought; it is in the act of
thinking that the consciousness of existence is revealed; to be without
thought would be to be without consciousness.

Des Cartes has given us, among others, the axiom "That two substances
are really distinct when their ideas are complete, and no way imply each
other. The idea of extension is complete and distinct from the idea of
thought, which latter is also clear and distinct by itself. It follows,
therefore, that substance and mind are distinct in essence."

Des Cartes has, from the vagueness of some of his statements, subjected
himself to the charge of asserting the existence of innate ideas,
and the following quotations will speak for themselves on the
subject:--"When I said that the idea of God is innate in us, I never
meant more than this, that Nature has endowed us with a faculty by which
we may know God; but I have never either said or thought that such ideas
had an actual existence, or even that they were a species distinct from
the faculty of thinking.... Although the idea of God is so imprinted on
our minds, that every person has within him the faculty of knowing him,
it does not follow that there may not have been various individuals who
have passed through life without ever making this idea a distinct object
of apprehension; and, in truth, they who think they have an idea of a
plurality of Gods, have no idea of God whatever." This seems explicit
as negativing the charge of holding the doctrine of innate ideas; but in
the _Edinburgh Review_ several passages are given, amongst which is
the following:--"By the word idea I understand all that can be in our
thoughts; and I distinguish three sorts of ideas--adventitious, like
the common idea of the sun, framed by the mind, such as that which
astronomical reasoning gives of the sun; and innate, as the idea of God,
mind, body, a triangle, and generally all those which represent true,
immutable, and eternal essences." With regard to these rather opposite
statements, Lewes says, "If Des Cartes, when pressed by objections, gave
different explanations, we must only set it down to a want of a steady
conception of the vital importance of innate ideas to his system. The
fact remains that innate ideas form the necessary groundwork of the
Cartesian doctrine.... The radical error of all ontological speculation
lies in the assumption that we have ideas independent of experience;
because experience can only tell us of ourselves or of phenomena; of
noumena it can tell us nothing.... The fundamental question, then, of
modern philosophy is this--Have we any ideas independent of experience?"

Des Cartes's disciples are of two classes, the "mathematical cultivators
of physic," and the "deductive cultivators of philosophy." The first
class of disciples are far in advance of their chief, and can only be
considered as having received an impulse in a true direction. The
second class unhesitatingly accepted his principles, and continued his
thinking, although they developed his system in a different manner, and
arrived at stronger conclusions than Des Cartes's courage would have
supported. Some of the physical speculations of Des Cartes have been
much ridiculed by subsequent writers; but many reasons may be urged, not
only against that ridicule, but also against the more moderate censure
which several able critics have dealt out against the intellectual
character of Des Cartes. It should be remembered that the theories of
all his predecessors were mere conjectural speculations respecting the
places and paths of celestial bodies, etc. Innumerable hypotheses had
been formed and found useless; and we ought rather to look to what Des
Cartes did accomplish under the many difficulties of his position,
in respect to the then, state of scientific knowledge, than to judge
harshly of those speculations, which, though attended with no beneficial
result to humanity at large, were doubtless well intended by their
author. He was the first man who brought optical science under the
command of mathematics, by the discovery of the law of refraction of the
ordinary ray through diaphanous bodies; and probably there is scarcely
a name on record, the bearer of which has given a greater impulse to
mathematical and philosophical inquiry than Des Cartes. Although, as a
mathematician, he published but little, yet in every subject which he
has treated he has opened, not only a new field lor investigation, but
also a new road for the investigators to proceed by. His discovery of
the simple application of the notation of indices to algebraical powers,
has totally remodelled the whole science of algebra. His conception of
expressing the fundamental property of curve lines and curve surfaces
by equations between the co-ordinates has led to an almost total
supersedence of the geometry of the ancients. Contemporary with Galileo,
and with a knowledge of the persecution to which that father of physics
was being subjected by the Church, we are tempted to express our
surprise that Des Cartes did not extend the right hand of fellowship,
help, and sympathy to his brother philosopher; but it is, nevertheless,
the fact, that either jealous of the fame of Galileo (as some have
alleged.) or from a fear of being involved in the same persecutions, Des
Cartes abstained from visiting the astronomer, although travelling for
some time near his place of abode in Italy. Lewes, in his "Life of Des
Cartes," says, "Des Cartes was a great thinker; but having said this
we have almost exhausted the praise we can bestow on him as a man. In
disposition he was timid to servility. While promulgating the proofs
of the existence of the Deity, he was in evident alarm lest the Church
should see something objectionable in them. He had also written an
astronomical treatise; but hearing of the fate of Galileo he refrained
from publishing, and always used some chicanery in speaking of
the world's movement. He was not a brave man; he was also not an
affectionate one. There was in him a deficiency of all finer feelings.
But he was even-tempered, and studious of not giving offence."

We are tempted, after a careful perusal of the life and writings of Des
Cartes and his contemporaries, to be of opinion that he was a man who
wished to be considered the chief thinker of his day, and who shunned
and rejected the offers of friendship from other philosophers, lest
they, by being associated with him, should jointly wear laurels which
he was cultivating solely to form a crown for himself. Despite all, his
brow still bears a crown, and his fame has a freshness that we might all
be justly proud of, if appertaining to ourselves.

We trust that in these few pages we have succeeded in presenting Des
Cartes, to such of our readers who were unacquainted with his writings,
sufficiently well to enable them to appreciate him, and to induce
them to search further; and at the same time we hope that those better
acquainted with him will not blame as for the omission of much which
they may consider more important than the matter which appears in this
little tract. We have endeavored to picture Des Cartes as the founder
of the deductive method, as having the foundation-stone of all his
reasoning in his consciousness.

"I"




M. DE VOLTAIRE.

François Marie Arouet, better known by the name of Voltaire, was born
at Chatenay, on the 20th of February, 1694. By assuming the name of
Voltaire, young Arouet followed the custom, at that time generally
practiced by the rich citizens and younger sons, who, leaving the family
name to the heir, assumed that of a fief, or perhaps of a country house.
The father of M. de Voltaire was treasurer to the Chamber of Accounts,
and his mother, Margaret d'Aumart, was of a noble family of Poitou. The
fortune which the father enjoyed, enabled him to bestow a first-class
education upon the young Arouet, who was sent to the Jesuits' College,
where the sons of the nobility received their education. While at
school, Voltaire began to write poetry, and gave signs of a remarkable
genius. His tutors, Fathers Poree and Jay, from the boldness and
independence of his mind predicted that he would become the apostle of
Deism in France. This prediction he fulfilled. "Voltaire was," says Lord
Brougham, "through his whole life, a sincere believer in the existence
and attributes of the Deity. He was a firm and decided, and an openly
declared unbeliever in Christianity; but he was, without any hesitation
or any intermission, a Theist." His open declaration of disbelief in
the inspiration of the Bible, and his total rejection of the dogmas
of Christianity, laid him open to the malignant attacks and
misrepresentations of the priesthood and the bigots of Europe; and
so strong were they, that his life was continually in danger.
Lord Brougham, in his "Men of Letters of the Time of George III.."
says:--"Voltaire's name is so intimately connected in the minds of all
men with Infidelity, in the minds of most men with irreligion, and, in
the minds of all who are not well-informed, with these qualities alone,
that whoever undertakes to write his life and examine his claims to the
vast reputation which all the hostile feelings excited by him against
himself have never been able to destroy, or even materially to impair,
has to labor under a great load of prejudice, and can hardly expect, by
any detail of particulars, to obtain for his subject even common justice
at the hands of the general reader."

Voltaire was born in a corrupt age, and in a capital where it was
fashionable to be immoral. When he left College, he was introduced by
his own godfather, the Abbe de Chateauneuf, to the notorious Ninon de
l'Enclos, who, at her death, left him by will two thousand livres
to purchase books. In estimating the character of Voltaire, a due
consideration must be had for the period in which he lived, and of the
nature of the society amidst which he was reared. He lived twenty, years
under the reign of Louis XIV., and during the whole of the reign of the
infamous Louis XV., when kings, courtiers, and priests set the example
of the grossest immorality. It was then, as Voltaire said, "that to make
the smallest fortune, it was better to say four words to the mistress of
a king, than to write a hundred volumes."

Voltaire's life, from his youth upwards, was a stormy one. After he left
College, his father, finding him persist in writing poetry, and living
at large, forbade him his house. He insisted upon his son binding
himself to an attorney. But his restless disposition quite unfitted him
for regular employment, and he soon quitted the profession. He early made
the acquaintance of the most celebrated men of his time, but his genius,
his wit, and his sarcasm, soon raised up numerous enemies. At the age of
twenty-two, he was accused of having written a satire upon Louis XIV.,
who was just dead, and was thrown into the Bastile. But he was not cast
down. It was here that he sketched his poem of the "League," corrected
his tragedy of "Oedipus," and wrote some merry verses on the
misfortune, of being a prisoner. The Regent, Duke of Orleans, being
informed of his innocence, restored him to freedom, and granted him a
recompense. "I thank your royal highness," said Voltaire, "for having
provided me with food; but I hope you will not hereafter trouble
yourself concerning my lodging."

Voltaire, with his activity of mind, and living to so great an age,
must necessarily produce many works. They are voluminous, consisting of
history, poetry, and philosophy. His dramatic pieces are numerous, many
of which are considered second only to Shakespeare's. "Oedipus," "Zadig,"
"Ingénu," "Zaire," "Henri-ade," "Irene," "Tancred," "Mahomet,"
"Merope," "Saul," "Alzire," "Le Fanatisme," "Mariamne," "Gaston de
Foix," "Enfant Prodigue," "Pucelle d'Orléans," an essay on "Fire," the
"Elements," "History of Charles XII.," "Lectures on Man," "Letters on
England," "Memoirs," "Voyage of Sacramentado," "Micromegas," "Maid of
Orleans," "Brutus," "Adelaide," "Death of Cæsar," "Temple of Taste,"
"Essay on the Manners and Spirit of Nations," "An Examination of the Holy
Scriptures," and the "Philosophical Dictionary," are works that emanated
from the active brain of this wit, poet, satirist, and philosopher.

In 1722, while at Brussels, Voltaire met Jean Baptiste Rousseau, whose
misfortunes he deplored, and whose poetic talents he esteemed. Voltaire
read some of his poems to Rousseau, and he in return read to Voltaire
his "Ode addressed to Posterity," which Voltaire, it is asserted, told
him would never arrive at the place to which it was addressed. The two
poets parted irreconcileable foes.

In 1725, Voltaire was again shut up in the Bastile, through attempting
to revenge an insult inflicted upon him by a courtier. At the end of six
months he was released, but ordered to quit Paris. He sought refuge in
England, in 1726. He was the guest in that country of a Mr. Falconer,
of Wandsworth, whose hospitality he remembered with affection so long as
life lasted. Voltaire was known to most of the wits and Freethinkers of
that day in England. At this early age he was at war with Christianity.
"His visit to England," says Lamartine, "gave assurance and gravity to
his incredulity; for in France he had only known libertines--in
England he knew philosophers." He went to visit Congreve, who had the
affectation to tell him that he (Congreve) valued himself, not on his
authorship, but as a man of the world. To which Voltaire administered
a just rebuke by saying, "I should never have come so far to see a
gentleman!"

Voltaire soon acquired an ample fortune, much of which was expended
in aiding men of letters, and in encouraging such youth as he thought
discovered the seeds of genius. The use he made of riches might prevail
on envy itself to pardon him their acquirement. His pen and his purse
were ever at the service of the oppressed. Calas, an infirm old man,
living at Toulouse, was accused of having hung his son, to prevent his
becoming a Catholic. The Catholic population became inflamed, and the
young man was declared to be a martyr. The father was condemned to the
torture and the wheel, and died protesting his innocence. The family
of Calas was ruined and disgraced. Voltaire, assuring himself of the
innocence of the old man, determined to obtain justice for the family.
To this end he labored incessantly for three years. In all this time, he
said, a smile did not escape him for which he did not reproach himself
as for a crime. His efforts were successful. Nor was this the only cause
in which he was engaged on the side of the weak and the wronged against
the powerful and the persecuting. His whole life, though maligned as an
Infidel and a-scoffer, was one long act of benevolence. On learning that
a young niece of Corneille languished in a condition unworthy of his
name, Voltaire, in the most delicate manner, invited her to his house,
and she there received an education suitable to the rank that her birth
had marked lor her in society. "It is the duty of a soldier," he said,
"to succor the niece of his general."

Voltaire lived for a time at the Court of Frederick the Great of
Prussia, and for many years carried on a correspondence with that
monarch. He quarrelled with the king, and left the court in a passion.
An emissary was despatched to him to request an apology, who said he was
to carry back to the king his answer _verbatim_. Voltaire told him that
"the king might go to the devil!" On being asked if that was the message
he meant to be delivered! "Yes," he answered, "and add to it that I told
you that you might go there with him." In his "Memoirs," he has drawn
a most amusing picture of his Prussian Majesty. He, also says, "Priests
never entered the palace; and, in a word, Frederick lived without
religion, without a council, and without a court."

Wearied with his rambling and unsettled mode of living, Voltaire bought
an estate at Ferney, in the Pays des Gex, where he spent the last twenty
years of his life. He rebuilt the house, laid out gardens, kept a good
table, and had crowds of visitors from all parts, of Europe. Removed
from whatever could excite momentary or personal passion, he yielded to
his zeal for the destruction of prejudice, which was the most powerful
and active of all the sensations he felt. This peaceful life, seldom
disturbed except by the threats of persecution rather than persecution
itself, was adorned by those acts of enlightened and bold benevolence,
which, while they relieve the sufferings of certain individuals, are of
any service to the whole human race. He was known to Europe as the
"Sage of Ferney." After an absence of more than twenty-seven years, he
re-visited Paris in the beginning of 1778. He had just finished his
play of "Irene," and was anxious to see it performed. His visit was an
ovation. He had outlived all his enemies. After having been the object
of unrelenting persecution by the priests and corrupt courtiers of
France for a period of more than fifty years, he yet lived to see the
day when "all that was most eminent in station or most distinguished in
talents--all that most shone in society, or most ruled in court, seemed
to bend before him." At this period he, for the first time, saw Benjamin
Franklin. They embraced each other in the midst of public acclamations,
and it was said to be Solon who embraced Sophocles.

Voltaire did not survive his triumph long. His unwearied activity
induced him, at his great age, to commence a "Dictionary" upon a novel
plan, which he prevailed upon the French Academy to take up. These
labors brought on spitting of blood, followed by sleeplessness, to
obviate which he took opium in considerable quantities. Condorcet says
that the servant mistook one of the doses, which threw him into a state
of lethargy, from which he never rallied. He lingered for some time, but
at length expired on the 30th of May, 1778, in his eighty-fifth year.

It was the custom in those days, and prevails to a considerable extent
even in our own time, for the religious world to fabricate "horrible
death-beds" of all Freethinkers. Voltaire's last moments were distorted
by his enemies after the approved fashion; and notwithstanding the
most unqualified denial on the part of Dr. Burard and others, who were
present at his death, there are many who believe these falsehoods at
this moment. Voltaire died in peace, with the exception of the petty
annoyances to which he was subjected by the priests. The philosophers,
too, who wished that no public stigma should be cast upon him by the
refusal of Christian burial, persuaded him to undergo confession and
absolution. This, to oblige his friends, he submitted to; but when the
cure one day drew him from his lethargy by shouting into his ear, "Do
you believe the divinity of Jesus Christ?" Voltaire exclaimed, "In the
name of God, Sir, speak to me no more of that man, but let me die in
peace!" This put to flight all doubts of the pious, and the certificate
of burial was refused. But the prohibition of the Bishop of Troyes
came too late. Voltaire was buried at the monastery of Scellieres, in
Champagne, of which his nephew was abbot. Afterwards, during the first
French Revolution, the body, at the request of the citizens, was removed
to Paris, and buried in the Pantheon. Lamartine, in his "History of the
Girondists," p. 149, speaking of the ceremony, says:--

"On the 11th of July, the departmental and municipal authorities went
in state to the barrier of Charenton, to receive the mortal remains of
Voltaire, which were placed on the ancient site of the Bastile, like a
conqueror on his trophies; his coffin was exposed to public gaze, and a
pedestal was formed for it of stones torn from the foundations of this
ancient stronghold of tyranny; and thus Voltaire when dead triumphed
over those stones which had triumphed over and confined him when living.
On one of the blocks was the inscription, '_Receive on this spot,
where despotism once fettered thee, the Honors decreed to thee by thy
country_'.... The coffin of Voltaire was deposited between those of
Descartes and Mirabeau--the spot predestined for this intermediary
genius between philosophy and policy, between the design and the
execution."

The aim of Voltaire's life was the destruction of prejudice and the
establishment of Reason. "Deists," said W. J. Fox in 1819, "have done
much for toleration and religious liberty. It may be doubted if there
be a country in Europe, where that cause has not been advanced by the
writings of Voltaire." In the Preface and Conclusion to the "Examination
of the Scriptures," Voltaire says:--

"The ambition of domineering over the mind, is one of the strongest
passions. A theologian, a missionary, or a partisan of any description,
is always for conquering like a prince, and there are many more sects
than there are sovereigns in the world. To whose guidance shall I
submit my mind? Must I be a Christian, be-cause I happened to be born
in London, or in Madrid? Must I be a Mussulman, because I was born in
Turkey? As it is myself alone that I ought to consult, the choice of a
religion is my greatest interest. One man adores God by Mahomet, another
by the Grand Lama, and another by the Pope. Weak and foolish men! adore
God by your own reason.... I have learnt that a French Vicar, of
the name of John Meslier, who died a short time since, prayed on his
death-bed that God would forgive him for having taught Christianity. I
have seen a Vicar in Dorsetshire relinquish a living of £200 a year, and
confess to his parishioners that his conscience would not permit him to
preach the shocking absurdities of the Christians. But neither the will
nor the testament of John Meslier, nor the declaration of this worthy
Vicar, are what I consider decisive proofs. Uriel Acosta, a Jew,
publicly renounced the Old Testament in Amsterdam; however, I pay no
more attention to the Jew Acosta than to Parson Meslier. I will read
the arguments on both sides of the trial, with careful attention, not
suffering the lawyers to tamper with me; but will weigh, before God,
the reasons of both parties, and decide according to my conscience. I
commence by being my-own instructor.... I conclude, that every sensible
man, every honest man, ought to hold Christianity in abhorrence. 'The
great name of Theist, which we can never sufficiently revere,' is the
only name we ought to adopt. The only gospel we should read is the grand
book of nature, written with God's own hand, and stamped with his own
seal. The only religion we ought to profess is, 'to adore God, and act
like honest men.' It would be as impossible for this simple and eternal
religion to produce evil, as it would be impossible for Christian
fanaticism not to produce it.... But what shall we substitute in its
place? say you. What? A ferocious animal has sucked the blood of my
relatives. I tell you to rid yourselves of this beast, and you ask me
what you shall put in its place! Is it you that put this question to me?
Then you are a hundred times more odious than the Pagan Pontiffs, who
permitted themselves to enjoy tranquillity among their ceremonies and
sacrifices, who did not attempt to enslave the mind by dogmas, who never
disputed the powers of the magistrates, and who introduced no discord
among mankind. You have the face to ask what you must substitute in the
place of your fables!"

As will be seen by his exclamation on his death-bed, Voltaire was no
believer in the _divinity_ of Christ. He disbelieved the Bible _in
toto_. The accounts of the doings of the Jewish kings, as represented in
the Old Testament, he has unsparingly ridiculed in the drama of "Saul."
The quiet irony of the following will be easily appreciated:--

Divinity of Jesus.--The Socinians, who are regarded as blasphemers, do
not recognize the divinity of Jesus Christ. They dare to pretend, with
the philosophers of antiquity, with the Jews, the Mahometans, and
most other nations, that the idea of a god-man is monstrous; that the
distance from God to man is infinite; and that it is impossible for
a perishable body to be infinite, immense, or eternal. They have the
confidence to quote Eusebius, Bishop of Cæsarea, in their favor, who,
in his "Ecclesiastical History," book i., chap. 9, declares that it is
absurd to imagine the uncreated and unchangeable nature of Almighty God
taking the form of a man. They cite the fathers of the church, Justin
and Tertullian, who have said the same thing: Justin in his "Dialogue
with Triphonius;" and Tertullian, in his "Discourse against Praxeas."
They quote St. Paul, who never calls Jesus Christ, God, and who calls
him man very often. They carry their audacity so far as to affirm,
that the Christians passed three entire ages in forming by degrees the
apotheosis of Jesus; and that they only raised this astonishing edifice
by the example of the Pagans, who had deified mortals. At first,
according to them, Jesus was only regarded as a man inspired by God,
and then as a creature more perfect than others. They gave him some time
after, a place above the angels, as St. Paul tells us. Every day added
to his greatness. He in time became an emanation, proceeding from God.
This was not enough; he was even born before time. At last he was God
consubstantial with God. Crellius, Voquelsius, Natalis, Alexander,
and Hornbeck, have supported all these blasphemies by arguments, which
astonish the wise and mislead the weak. Above all, Faustus Socinus
spread the seeds of this doctrine in Europe; and at the end of the
sixteenth century, a new species of Christianity was established. There
were already more than three hundred.--[Philosophical Dictionary, vol.
i. p. 405.]

Though a firm and consistent believer in the being of a God, Voltaire
was no bigot. The calm reasoning of the following passage does honor to
its author:--

Faith.--Divine faith, about which so much has been written, is evidently
nothing more than incredulity brought under subjection; for we certainly
have no other faculty than the understanding by which we can believe;
and the objects of faith are not those of the understanding. We can
believe only what appears to be true; and nothing can appear true but in
one of the three following ways--by intuition or feeling, as I exist,
I see the sun; or by an accumulation of probability amounting to
certainty, as there is a city called Constantinople; or by positive
demonstration, as triangles of the same base and height are equal.
Faith, therefore, being nothing at all of this description, can no
more be a belief, a persuasion, than it can be yellow or red. It can be
nothing but the annihilation of reason, a silence of adoration at the
contemplation of things absolutely incomprehensible. Thus, speaking
philosophically, no person believes the Trinity; no person believes that
the same body can be in a thousand places at once; and he who says, I
believe these mysteries, will see, beyond the possibility of a doubt,
if he reflects for a moment on what passes in his mind, that these words
mean no more than, I respect thee, mysteries; I submit myself to those
who announce them. For they agree with me, that my real reason, their
own reason, believe them not; but it is clear if my _reason_ is not
persuaded, I am not persuaded, and my reason cannot possibly be two
different beings. It is an absolute contradiction that I should receive
that as true which my understanding rejects as false. Faith, therefore,
is nothing but submissive or deferential incredulity. But why should
this submission be exercised when my understanding invincibly recoils?
The reason, we well know, is, that my understanding has been persuaded
that the mysteries of my faith are laid down by God himself. All, then,
that I can do, as a reasonable being, is to be silent and adore. That is
what divines call external faith; and this faith neither is, nor can be,
anything more than respect for things incomprehensible, in consequence
of the reliance I place on those who teach them; If God himself were
to say to me, "Thought is of an olive colour;" "the square of a certain
number is bitter;" I should certainly understand nothing at all from
these words. I could not adopt them either as true or false. But I will
repeat them, if he commands me to do it; and I will make others repeat
them at the risk of my life. This is faith; it is nothing more than
obedience. In order to obtain a foundation then for this obedience,
it is merely necessary to examine the books which require it. Our
understanding, therefore, should investigate the books of the Old and
New Testament, just as it would Plutarch or Livy; and if it finds in
them incontestable and decisive evidences--evidences obvious to all
minds, and such as would be admitted by men of all nations--that God
himself is their author, then it is our incumbent duty to subject our
understanding to the yoke of faith.--[Ibid, p. 474.]

Prayer.--We know of no religion without prayers; even the Jews had them,
although there was no public form of prayer among them before the time
when they sang their canticles in their synagogues, which did not take
place until a late period. The people of all nations, whether actuated
by desires or fears, have summoned the assistance of the Divinity.
Philosophers, however, more respectful to the Supreme Being, and rising
more above human weakness, have been habituated to substitute, for
prayer, resignation. This, in fact, is all that appears proper and
suitable between creature and Creator. But philosophy is not adapted
to the great mass of mankind; it soars too highly above the vulgar; it
speaks a language they are unable to comprehend. To propose philosophy
to them, would be just as weak as to propose the study of conic sections
to peasants or fish-women. Among philosophers themselves, I know of
no one besides Maximus Tyrius who has treated of this subject. The
following is the substance of his ideas upon it:--The designs of God
exist from all eternity. If the object prayed for be conformable to his
immutable will, it must be perfectly useless to request of him the very
thing which he has determined to do. If he is prayed to for the reverse
of what he has determined to do, he is prayed to be weak, fickle,
and inconstant; such a prayer implies that this is thought to be his
character, and is nothing better than ridicule or mockery of him. You
either request of him what is just and right, in which case he ought to
do it, and it will be actually done without any solicitation, which in
fact, shows distrust of his rectitude; or what you request is unjust,
and then you insult him. You are either worthy or unworthy of the favour
you implore; if worthy, he knows it better than you do yourself; if
unworthy, you commit an additional crime in requesting that which you
do not merit. In a word, we offer up prayers to God only because we have
made him after our own image. We treat him like a pacha, or a sultan,
who is capable of being exasperated and appeased. In short, all nations
pray to God; the sage is resigned, and obeys him. Let us pray with the
people, and let us be resigned to him with the sage. We have already
spoken of the public prayer of many nations, and of those of the
Jews.--That people have had one from time immemorial, which deserves
all our attention, from its resemblance to the prayer taught us by Jesus
Christ himself. This Jewish prayer is called the Kadish, and begins with
these words:--"Oh! God! let thy name be magnified and sanctified; make
thy kingdom to prevail; let redemption flourish, and the Messiah come
quickly!" As this Radish is recited in Chaldee, it has induced the
belief, that it is as ancient as the captivity, and that it was at
that period that the Jews began to hope for a Messiah, a Liberator,
or Redeemer, whom they have since prayed for in ihe seasons of their
calamities.--[Ibid, vol. ii., p. 350.]

Voltaire's contempt for the Bible led him to use the language of "holy
writ" in the coarsest jokes; though, perhaps, with such material, the
jokes could not well be otherwise than _coarse_. The following letter
he addressed to M. Bâillon, Intendant of Lyons, on account of a poor Jew
taken up for uttering contraband goods. This kind of writing obtained
for Voltaire the title of "scoffer:"--

"Blessings on the Old Testament, which gives me this opportunity of
telling you, that amongst all those who adore the New, there is not one
more devoted to your service than myself, a certain descendant of Jacob,
a pedlar, as all these gentlemen are, whilst he is waiting for the
Messiah, waits also for your protection, which at present he has the
most need of. Some honest men of the first trade of St. Matthew, who
gather together the Jews and Christians at the gates of your city,
have seized something in the breeches pocket of an Israelitish page,
belonging to the poor circumcised, who has the honour to tender you this
billet, with all proper submission and humility. I beg leave to join my
Amen to his at a venture. I but just saw you at Paris as Moses saw the
Deity, and should be very happy in seeing you face to face. If the word
face can any ways be applied to me, preserve some remembrance of your
old eternal humble servant, who loves you with that chaste and tender
affection, which the religious Solomon had for his three hundred
Shuhamites."

Voltaire's prodigious wit and sarcasm were so exuberant, that he
expended them upon all people and all subjects--even _himself_, when
occasion admitted of it, In one of his letters,-addressed to the Elector
Palatine, Sept. 9, 1761, he gives this excuse for not attending at the
court:--

"I should really make an excellent figure amidst the rejoicings of your
electoral highness. It was only, I think, in the Egypt of antiquity
that _skeletons_ were admitted to a place in their festivals. To say the
truth, my lord, it is all over with me. I laugh indeed sometimes; but am
forced to acknowledge that pain is an evil. It is a comfort to me that
your highness is well; but I am fitter for an extreme unction 

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