# The Works of Monsieur de St. Evremond/Volume 2/To the Mareschal de Crequi

TO THE
MARESCHAL DE CREQUI
* Of Reading, and the Choice of Books
* Of Poetry
* Of some Spanish, Italian, and French Books
* Of Conversation
* Of Literature and the Civil Law
* Of Ingratitude
* Of Religion
​WHEN we are young, the popular Opinion sways us, and we are more solicitous to gain the esteem of others than of our selves. But when arriv'd to old Age, we are apt to have a less value for foreign things; and are most taken up with our selves, when we are ready to be wanting to our selves. It is with Life as with our other Possessions: all is wasted when we think our stock greatest; and we are seldom frugal, but when there remains little to be managed. Hence we see young men squander (as it were) their being, in which they think they have a long term of years to come: but we become more dear to our selves, as we are nearest losing our selves. Heretofore my roving, wandring fancy, rambled after all manner of foreign objects: at present my mind contracts it self to the body, and unites more straitly with it: not, indeed, out of any sense of pleasure from such an alliance, but out of necessity of the mutual succour and assistance, which they endeavour to afford one another.
In this languishing condition, I yet retain some Pleasures; but I have lost all sense of Vice, without knowing whether this change be owing to the in- ​firmity of a decay'd Body, or the moderation of a Mind better improv'd in Wisdom than heretofore. I fear my Age has a greater share in it than my Virtue; and that I have more reason to complain, than brag of the obedience of my Inclinations. And, indeed, it were preposterous for me to ascribe to my Reason the power of subjecting my Desires, if they are too weak to revolt: so that what Wisdom soever men at my years may boast of, it is hard to distinguish whether those Passions, we now no longer feel, be subdued or extinguish'd.
Whatever it be, when our senses are no longer affected by external objects, nor our souls mov'd by their impressions, it is properly no more than a state of Indolence: yet is not this Indolence without its Charms. For to think himself exempt from all uneasiness, is enough to give joy to a reasonable man. The enjoyment of Pleasures is not always required; the privation of Pain well managed, renders our condition sufficiently happy.
When any misfortune befel me, I was naturally little sensible of it, without dashing this happy constitution with any thoughts of Constancy: for Constancy is only dwelling longer upon our miseries. It appears the most amiable Virtue in the world to those who are under no afflictions; but is truly an additional torment to such as suffer. Resistance only frets us; and instead of easing the first Pain, begets a second: without resistance we suffer only the Evils inflicted on us; with it, our own improvements too. For this reason, under my present Misfortunes, I resign all to nature; and reserve my Prudence for such a juncture of time, as I have nothing to suffer. Then by reflecting upon my own Indolence, I am pleas'd with the Pains I endure not; and by this means make happy the most common state of Life.
​Experience is form'd with Age; and Wisdom is commonly the result of Experience. But when this Virtue is ascrib'd to old men, it does not follow that they are always masters of it. This is certain, that they have always the liberty to be wise; and to knock off decently those fetters, which prejudice has put upon the world. They only are allow'd to take things for what they really are. Reason has prevail'd in almost all the first Institutions; but it has been afterwards almost quite over-run by Fancy. Now Age only has the power to drive out the one from what she had usurp'd, and to restore the other to what she had lost.
For my part, I observe religiously all real Duties. The imaginary I decline or admit, as I like or dislike them. For in things to which I am not oblig'd, I think it equal Wisdom to reject what does not please me, or to accept what does. Every day frees me from one link at least of the chain, nor is it less for the advantage of those from whom I disengage my self, than me who regain my Liberty. They are as great gainers in the loss of a useless man, as I should have been a loser, by idly devoting my self any longer to them.
Of all ties, that of Friendship is the only one that is endearing to me; and were it not for the disgrace of having my Affection slighted, I cou'd love merely for the pleasure of loving; even where I should not be belov'd again. In Love ill plac'd, the sentiments of Amity entertain us purely by their own agreeable sweetness: but we ought to divest our selves of a just hatred, for the interest of our own quiet. Happy were that mind which could entirely resist some Passions, and only unbend it self to some others. It would then be void of Fear, Sadness, Hatred, or Jealousy. It wou'd desire, without Violence; hope, without Uneasiness; and enjoy, without Transport.
​The state of Virtue is not a state of Indolence. We suffer in it, a perpetual conflict betwixt Duty and Inclination. Sometimes we admit what's shocking to us, and sometimes oppose what we like; being generally under a Constraint, both in what we do, and in what we forbear. The state of Wisdom is sweet and calm: it reigns peaceably over our movements, being only to govern well as Subjects, what Virtue was to combat as Enemies.
I can say one thing of my self, as extraordinary as true, viz. that I never felt in my self any conflict between Passion and Reason. My Passion never oppos'd what I resolv'd out of Duty; and my Reason readily comply'd with what a sense of Pleasure inclin'd me to. I don't aim at praise on account of this easy agreement; on the contrary, I confess I have often been the more vicious for it. Not out of any perverse disposition to Evil, but because the Vice was entertain'd as a Pleasure, instead of appearing as a Crime.
It is certain, the nature of things is much better discovered by Reflection on them when past, than by their impressions when felt. Besides, the great commerce with the world, hinders all attention in youth. What we see in others, hinders us from examining well our selves. Crouds please us at an age, when we love (as one may say) to diffuse our selves. Multitudes grow troublesom at another, when we naturally return to our selves; or, at most, to a few Friendss who are most strictly united to us.
'Tis this humour, that insensibly withdraws us from Courts. We begin thro' that to seek some medium between assiduous attendance and retirement. We grow afterwards asham'd to shew an old face among young fellows, who, instead of taking our Gravity for Wisdom, laugh at us for appearing in publick Places, where nothing but Gal​lantry and Gaity is to be seen. Let us not flatter our selves with our judgment: a brisk buffoonry will run it down; and the false glittering of a youthful fancy, will turn to ridicule, the most delicate of our Conversations. If we have wit, let us make a better use of it in private Companies; for in a croud the qualities of the mind maintain themselves but ill, against the advantages of the body.
This justice which we are oblig'd to do our selves, ought not to make us unjust to the young men. We ought not superciliously to cry up our own times, or with moroseness perpetually run down the present, which is favourable to them. Let us not rail at Pleasures when we are past them, or censure Diversions, whose only crime is our incapacity to enjoy them.
Our Judgments ought to be always the same. We may live, but must not judge by humour. There is in mine something singular, which makes me attend more the trouble, than the pomp of Magnificence. Shows, Feasts, and great Assemblies, invite me to the sight of them: but the inconveniencies I must suffer deter me. The elegant Harmony of Consorts, engages not me so much, as the difficulty of adjusting them tires me. Plenty disgusts me at meals; and Rarities seem to be an affected curiosity. My fancy cannot recommend any thing to my palate by the scarcity. But I am for the choice of things easily to be had, that I may preserve a Delicacy independent upon Fancy.
Of Reading, and the Choice of Books.
I AM as fond of reading as ever, because it depends more particularly on the mind, which decays not like the senses: but, in truth, I seek in Books my Pleasure rather than my Instruction. As I have less time for practice, I have less curiosity to learn. I have more need of a stock of life, than of methods of living; and the little that remains, is better entertain'd and cherish'd by things agreeable, than instructive. The Latin Authors afford me the most, and I read whatever I think fine, a thousand times over without being cloy'd.
A nice choice has confin'd me to a few Books, in which I seek rather sound than fine Wit; and the true Taste (to use a Spanish Expression) is generally found in the writings of considerable men. I am pleas'd to discover in Tully's Epistles, both his own Character, and that of those Persons of Quality that wrote to him. As for Tully himself, he never divests himself of his Rhetorick; and the least recommendation to his most intimate friend, is as artificially insinuated, as if he were to prepossess a stranger in an affair of the greatest consequence in the world. The Letters of the rest have not those turns: but in my mind, they have more good sense than his; and this makes me judge very advantageously of the great and general abilities of the Romans at that time.
Our Authors perpetually cry up the age of Augustus, upon the account of Virgil and Horace; and perhaps more yet upon the score of Mecenas, who encouraged men of Learning, ​than for those men of learning themselves. It is certain, nevertheless, that their Parts, as well as Courages, began at that time to decay. Greatness of soul was converted to circumspect Conduct, and sound Discourse to polite Conversation: and if we consider what remains of Mecenas, I know not whether he had not something effeminate, which was made to pase for delicate. Mecenas was Augustus's great Favourite; the man that pleas'd, and whom all the polite and sprightly wits endeavour'd to please: now is it not likely that his Judgment over-rul'd the rest, that they affected his manner, and aped, as much as they cou'd, his character?
Augustus himself leaves us no great idea of his Latinity. What we see of Terence; what was reported at Rome of the politeness of Scipio and Lelius; the remains of Cesar; and what we have of Tully, with the complaint of this last for the loss of what he calls sales, lepores, venustates, urbanitas, amoenitas, festivitas, jucunditas; all these together, I say, make me believe, upon better consideration, that we must pitch on some other time than that of Augustus, to find the sound and agreeable Wit of the Romans, as well as the pure and natural graces of their tongue.
It maybe said, that Horace had a very nice palate in all these matters; which persuades me that the rest of his Cotemporaries had not. For the nicety of his relish consisted chiefly in finding the ridicule of others. Were it not for the impertinencies, false manners, and affectations which he laugh'd at, his sense wou'd not at this very day appear so very just.
Of Poetry.
I OWN the Augustan age to have been that of excellent Poets; but it follows not, that it was that of sound Judgment. Poetry requires a peculiar Genius, that agrees not overmuch with good sense. It is sometimes the language of Gods, sometimes of Buffoons; rarely that of a Gentleman. It delights in figures and fictions, always beside the reality of things, tho it be that only, that can satisfy a sound Understanding.
Not but that there is something noble in making agreeable Verses; but we must have a great command of our genius, otherwise the mind is possess'd with something foreign, which hinders it from the free management of it self. He's a Blockhead, says the Spaniard, that can't make two Verses, and a Fool that makes four. I own, if this Maxim prevail'd over all the world, we should want a thousand fine works, the reading of which gives us a very delicate pleasure; but this saying respects men of business, rather than profess'd Poets. Besides, those that are capacitated for such great performances, will not resist the force of their Genius, for what I can say; and it is certain, that amongst Authors, those only will write few Verses, who find themselves more cramp'd by their own barrenness, than by my reasons.
Excellent Poets are as requisite for our entertainment, as great Mathematicians for our use: but it is sufficient for us to be acquainted with their works, and not to engage our selves in the solitary Enthusiasm of the one, or to exhaust our spirits in Meditation, like the other.
​Comick Poets are of all most proper for the converse of the world: for they make it their business to draw to the life what passes in it, and to express the sentiments and passions of Men. How new a turn soever may be given to old thoughts, that sort of Poetry is very tedious which is fill'd with similes of the Morning, Sun, Moon, and Stars. Our Descriptions of a calm, and a tempestuous Sea, represent nothing which the Antients have not express'd much better. Now-a-days we have not only the same Ideas, but the very same Expressions, and Rhymes. I never hear of the harmony of Birds, but I prepare my self for purling Streams; the Shepherdesses are always lolling upon Fern, and you may sooner find a Grove without a Shade in its proper seat, than in our Verses. This must necessarily at length be very tedious: which cannot happen in Comedy, where with pleasure we see those things represented, which we may perform, and where we feel motions like those we see express'd.
A Tale of Woods, Rivers, Meadows, Fields, and Gardens, makes but a very languishing impression upon us, unless their beauties be wholly new: but what concerns Humanity, its inclinations, tendernesses, and affections, finds something in the inmost recesses of our souls prepar'd to receive it: the same nature produces and receives 'em, and they are easily transfus'd from the Actors to the Spectators.
Of some Spanish, Italian, and French Books.
THE delicacy of Love sooths me, and its tenderness touches me; and as in Spain they love the best of any Country in the world, I am never weary of reading in their Authors amorous Adventures. I am more affected with the passion of one of their Lovers, than I should be with my own, were I yet capable of any. The very imagination of those Amours raises in me certain motions for the Gallant, which I could never feel for my self. There is, perhaps, as much Wit in the other writings of that Nation, as in ours; but it is a kind of wit that gives no satisfaction, except that of Cervantes in Don Quixot, which I could read all my life, without being disgusted one single moment. Of all the Books I ever read, Don Quixot is that of which I shou'd be most ambitious to have been the Author. Nothing, in my opinion, can contribute more to the forming in us a true taste of every thing. I wonder how Cervantes cou'd, as it were out of the mouth of one of the greatest Fools in the world, shew himself master of all the understanding and knowledge imaginable. I admire the variety of his Characters, which are of the most uncommon stamp in the world, and at the same time the most natural. Quevedo, indeed, appears a very ingenious Author; but I esteem him more for his thought of burning all his own Books when he read Don Quixot, than for having been able to compose 'em.
​I am not acquainted enough with Italian Poetry to taste its delicacy, or admire its graces and beauties: I meet with some Histories in that tongue above all the Moderns; and some Treatises of Politicks, even above what the Antients have written. As for the Morality of the Italians, it is full of Concetti, or pointed Witticisms, which rather shew a fancy that endeavours to glitter, than a solid sense founded on deep reflections.
I have a great curiosity for every thing that is fine in French; and am very much distasted at a thousand Authors, who seem only to have written for the reputation of being Authors. I read not for the credit of having read abundance; which ties me up to certain Books, where I am assur'd to meet satisfaction.
Montaigne's Essays, Malherbe's Poems, Corneille's Tragedies, and Voiture's Works, have established to themselves, as it were, a title to please me during life. Montaigne has not the same success with others, thro' the whole course of their lives. As he particularly lays open Men, the young and the old are pleas'd to see themselves in him, by the resemblance of their thoughts. The space intermediate to these Ages, takes 'em off from Nature to other Prosessions; and then they find less in Montaigne that fits 'em. The Art Military employs the General; Politicks the Statesman; Divinity the Churchman; and Law the Judge. Montaigne returns upon us, when Nature has brought us back again to our selves; and when an advanc'd age, in which we truly feel what we are, recalls the Prince as well as his meanest Subjects, from a concern for his Dignity, to the more near and sensible concern for his Person.
​I write not this out of any impulse of Vanity, which prompts men to make their fancies publick. I feel my very soul (if I may so speak) in what I say; and understand my self better by expressing the Notion I have form'd of my self, than I could by private thoughts and inward reflections. The idea a man has of himself by a bare attention to internal meditations, is always a little confus'd. The Image which is outwardly express'd, is much more exact, and gives us a much truer judgment of our selves, when it is again submitted to the examination of the mind, after having been laid before our eyes. Besides, the flattering opinion of our own merit, loses half its charms, as soon as it comes into the light; and the complacency of self-love insensibly vanishing, leaves behind it only a disgust of its sweetness, and shame for a vanity as foolishly entertain'd, as judiciously quitted.
To equal Malherbe to the Antients, I require nothing finer than his own Compositions. I wou'd only strike out of his Works what is not worthy of him. It were injustice to make him yield to any one: but it will suffice for the honour of our own Judgments, if we make him give place to himself.
We may say the same of Corneille. He would be above all the Tragedians of Antiquity, if he were not in some of his Pieces much below himself. He is so admirable in what is fine, that he takes away all patience for what is indifferent. What in him is not excellent, methinks is naught; not that it is really so, but because it wants the perfection of the rest. It is not enough for him to please us lightly, he's bound to touch us to the very quick. Some Authors may be allow'd simply to move us: and these emotions are pleasing enough, ​when we have nothing else in view, than to be tenderly affected: but with Corneille our souls are prepar'd for Raptures; and if they be not transported, they are left in a condition more uneasy than languor. It is, I confess, difficult always to charm; very hard at pleasure to raise a mind from its temper, and, as it were, to unhinge a Soul: but Corneille by having done it so often, has laid upon himself an obligation to do it always. Let him expunge what is not noble enough for him, and he will leave us in a full admiration of those Beauties which no one can parallel.
I should not excuse Voiture for a great many of his Letters, which he ought to have suppress'd, had himself been the publisher: but he was like some Fathers, equally kind and prudent, who have a natural affection for their Children, and, in secret, cherish those that want worth, thereby to avoid exposing their judgments to the publick by their indulgence. He might have shew'd all his fondness to some of his Works: for there is something in 'em so ingenious, so polite, so fine, and so agreeable, that it takes away all relish of the Sales Attici, and the Roman Urbanities; eclipses quite thro' the Wit of the Italians and the Gallantry of the Spaniards.
We have in French some particular Pieces of admirable beauty; such are the Funeral Orations of the Queen of England, and that of the Duchess of Orleans by the Bishop of Condom. There is a certain Spirit dissus'd thro' those discourses, which gives us as great an opinion of the Author before he is known, as of his work after 'tis read. His Charaster is impress'd on all that he says; so that altho ​altho I never saw him, I pass easily from the admiration of his Discourse to that of his Person.
Of Conversation.
HOW great soever the pleasure of Reading is to me, yet that of Conversation will ever most sensibly affect me. The acquaintance of the Ladies would afford me the sweetest, if the satisfaction we find in conversing with the lovely, did not put us to the trouble of being upon our guard against their Charms. Yet this is a violence I rarely suffer: as my Age renders me unacceptable, my Experience makes me nice; and if they can't be pleas'd with me, I am, by way of return, as hardly satisfy'd with them. There are some, indeed, whole Merits make a considerable impression on my mind, but their Beauty has little influence on my heart: and if I am at any time surprized by it, I presently reduce my Passion to a pleasing reasonable Friendship, that has none of the uneasiness of Love.
The first merit with the Ladies is to be in love with them; the next, the being the Confident of their inclinations; the third, the ingenious improving and setting off all that is amiable in them: if nothing will win their hearts, we may, at least, gain upon their minds by praise; for next to the Lover, to whom all must yield, he pleases 'em most, who affords 'em means of being better pleas'd with themselves. When you converse with them, take great care never to leave 'em in Indifference; they are, from their souls, averse to such coldness: wherefore, either make your self belov'd, or indulge their Passions, or make 'em find themselves more lovely. For, after all, Love of some sort or ​other they must have; their hearts are never void of that passion. Direct a poor heart how to employ it.
'Tis true, some of 'em can have esteem, and even tenderness without love; and others there are as capable of secrecy as the most trusty of our friends. I know some that have no less Wit and Discretion, than Charms and Beauty: but those are rarities, that nature wantonly bestows on the world, either by design or caprice; and we can draw no consequences in favour of the generality from things so particular, and from qualities so uncommon. Women so extraordinary seem to have borrow'd the merit of Men; and, perhaps, 'tis a kind of revolt from their sex, to shake off the natural conditions of it for the real advantages of ours.
I confess, I have formerly been more difficult in the choice of the Men with whom I convers'd, than at present I am; and I think my self not so much a loser in point of Delicacy, as a gainer in point of Sense. I then sought for men that could please me in every thing, I now seek every thing that may please me in any man. A man in all respects agreeable, is too great a rarity, and it is no wisdom to hunt for what we are hardly ever like to find. That delicacy of Pleasure, which our Imagination paints to us, is what we seldom enjoy; the sickly nice fancy gives us a disrelish of those things which we might possess, during the whole course of our lives. Not that, to say truth, it is impossible to find such Jewels; but it is very rarely that Nature forms 'em, and that Fortune favours us with 'em. My good stars made me know one of this rank in France, and another of equal merit in a foreign Country, who was the whole delight of my life. Death has robb'd me of this treasure, and I can never think on that cruel day on which my Lord d'Aubigny died, but I may say, with a true and sensible regret,
Quem semper acerbum, Semper honoratum, sic Dii voluistis, habebo.
In the measures you will take for Society, you must reckon not to find good things separately. Expect to meet solidity with prolixity; agreeableness with want of sense; and science with ridicule. You will find these Qualities promiscuously blended, not only among those men whom we may, at pleasure, make choice of, or avoid, but even among those whom our interest, or other ties as obligatory shall bind you to. I have convers'd with a Man of the brightest natural parts in the world, who being sometimes weary of the happy facility of his Genius, engag'd in arguments of Science and Religion, in which he betray'd a ridiculous ignorance. I know one of the most learned men in Europe, of whom one may learn a thousand things, curious or profound; in whom, nevertheless, you will find a foolish credulity in every thing extraordinary, fabulous, or exceeding belief.
That great master of the Stage, to whom the Romans are more behblden for the beauty of their sentiments, than to their own wit or virtue; Corneille, who sufficiently discovers himself without being named, becomes an ordinary man when he speaks for himself. He dares say any thing for a Greek or a Roman: a Frenchman or Spaniard abates his Courage; and when he speaks for him, he is quite dispirited. He racks his Imagination for all that is noble to adorn his old Heroes, and you would say, that he debarr'd himself the advantage of his own wealth, as if he were not worthy the use of it.
​If you know the world perfectly, you will find in it abundance of men valuable for their Talents, and as contemptible for their Failings. Expect not they should always exert their abilities, and discreetly cover their infirmities. You shall see them often slight their Virtues, and fondly indulge their Defects. It rests upon your judgment to make a better choice than themselves, and by your address, to draw from them that worth, which they could not easily communicate.
For these ten years past, which I have spent in foreign Countries, I have found as much Pleasure, and been as happy in the enjoyment of Conversation, as if I had been all the time in France. I have met with persons of as great worth as quality, whose Society has been the greatest comfort of my life. I have known men as witty as any I have ever seen, who have join'd the Pleasure of their Friendship, to that of their Company. I have known some Ambassadors of such bright parts, that they seem'd to me to make a considerable loss, whenever the duty of their Character suspended the exercise of their private excellencies.
I formerly thought that there were no well-bred and polite men but in our Court; that the effeminacy of warmer Climates, and a kind of barbarity in the colder, hinder'd the Natives from being rais'd to this pitch, except very rarely. But experience has, at length, convinc'd me, that there are such every where; and if I have not discover'd it soon enough, it is because it is difficult for a French Man to relish any but those of his own Country. Every Nation has its Excellence, with a certain turn proper and peculiar to its Genius. My Judgment, too much wedded to our own air, rejected as faulty what was foreign to us. Because we see them imitate us in the fashion of things exterior, we wou'd impose upon them the imita​tion of us, even in the dress of Virtue too. In truth, the grounds of any essential Quality, are every where the same: but we endeavour to fit the extrinsicks to our humour; and those among us that pay the greatest deference to Reason, must have with it something to gratisy their fancies. To speak ingenuously, the difference I find between us and others, in the air, or manner that distinguishes Nations, is, that ours is industriously affected, and that of other Nations impress'd by nature, as it were in an indelible Character.
In all my life, I have never known but two persons that were universally taking, and those two differently. The one had agreeable qualities of all sorts; for the ordinary sort of Men, for the Humorists, and even for the Fantastical; and he seem'd to have in his nature wherewith to please every body. The other had so many rare accomplishments, that he might assure himself of esteem where ever Virtue is rever'd. The first was insinuating, and never fail'd to gain the Affections. The second was somewhat proud, but yet commanded Esteem. To complete this difference, a man gave himself up with pleasure to the insinuations of the former, and submitted oftentimes, tho with reluctance, to the worth of the latter. I had a strict Friendihip with them both, and can says that I never saw any thing in the one, but what was agreeable; or in the other, but what deserv'd esteem.
Of Literature and the Civil Law.
WHEN I am deprived of the conversation of the Men of the World, I have recourse to the Learned; and if I meet with men skill'd in ​polite Literature, I think my self no great loser by exchanging the delicacy of the present, for that of past ages. But we rarely meet with persons that have a true Judgment: which, in many Scholars, renders Literature a very tiresome knowledge. Of all the men I ever knew, Antiquity is the most indebted to Mr. Waller: he lends it his beautiful Imagination, and his nice and delicate Judgment; so that he enters into the genius of the Antients, not only to understand rightly what they thought, but still to embellish their thoughts.
I have seen within a few years, abundance of Criticks, and but few good Judges. Now, I don't affect that sort of learned men, who rack their brains to restore a Reading, which is not mended by the restitution. The whole mystery of their Learning lies in what we might as well be ignorant of, and they are absolute strangers to what's really worth knowing. As they are incapable of having nice Sentiments and Thoughts, so 'tis impossible for them to enter into the delicacy of a Sentiment, or the fineness of a Thought. They may succeed well enough in expounding Grammarians, who applied themselves to the same study, and whose genius was the same: but they can never hit that of a polite, well-bred man among the Antients, because theirs is diametrically opposite to it. In History, they neither mind Men nor Affairs: they lay the whole stress on Chronology; and for the date of a Consul's Death, will neglect the knowledge of his Character, and of the transactions during his Consulship. Tully, with them, will never be any more than a declaimer of Orations; or Cesar than a Writer of Commentaries: the Consul and the General escape their notice; the Spirit that animates their Works is unperceiv'd; and the principal matters they treat of, unknown.
​I own I value infinitely a Criticism on the Sense, if the expression may be allow'd. Such is the excellent work of Machiavel upon the Decades of Livy; and such would be the reflections of Monsieur de Rohan upon Cesar's Commentaries, had he penetrated deeper into his Designs, and expos'd to a clearer light the secret springs of his Conduct. I must own nevertheless, that he has equall'd the penetration of Machiavel in his Remarks upon the clemency of Cesar in the Civil Wars. But we may see, that his own experience of such Wars, furnish'd him with abundance of hints for those judicious Observations.
Next to the study of polite Learning (for which I have a more particular affection) I love the science of those great Lawyers and Civilians, who might themselves be Legislators; who re-ascend to that original Justice that settled human Society; who know what Liberty nature allows in establish'd Governments; and how far the natural liberty of private Persons is restrain'd for the publick good by necessary Politicks. These instructions might be found in the conversation of M. Sluse, with as much pleasure as profit. From Hobbes, that great Genius of England, we might also receive these noble lights; tho with less exactness, because he carries some things too far, and is altogether upon extremes in others.
Were Grotius yet alive, all things might be learned of that universal Scholar, who is yet more valuable for his Reasonings than for his Learning. Now he is dead, his Writings resolve the most important difficulties; and were Justice only regarded, they might be a standing rule to all Nations in points of War and Peace. His Book, De ​Jure Belli & Pacis, ought to be the chief study of sovereign Princes, their Ministers, and generally of all such as have any share in the Government of the People.
Nay, even the knowledge of that Law which descends to the affairs of private Men, ought not to be slighted. But this is left to the care of the Gentlemen of the Gown, and denied to Princes as a thing below them; tho every moment of their Reign, they give Decrees, or issue out Warrants that extend to the Fortunes, Liberties, and Lives of their Subjects. They are only entertain'd with harangues about Valour, which is only an instrument of Destruction; and Discourses of Liberality, which is but a more regular method of squandering, unless they be bounded by Justice. 'Tis true, the Doctrine of every Virtue ought to be suited to the necessities of every one's temper: to infuse liberality into the Covetous, to excite the Unactive with the thirst of Glory, and curb, as much as is possible, the Ambitious with the reins of Justice. But amongst all the diversity of tempers, Justice is still most requisite; for it keeps up order as well in him that does it, as in them to whom it is done. Nor is this a constraint that limits the Power of a Prince; for in doing it to others, he learns to do it to himself; and so it is in him a voluntary act, tho we necessarily receive it from his Power.
I read not an History of any Prince better educated than Cyrus the Great. They were not contented exactly to inform him what Justice was in all respects, but they made him put their Instructions in practice, as often as occasion offer'd; so that they did, at the same time, imprint the notions of Justice on his mind, and establish an habit of being just in his Soul. The education of Alexander was of somewhat too large an ex​tent: he was taught the knowledge of every thing in nature, but himself. His Ambition went afterwards as far as his Learning; and having endeavour'd to know all, he grew desirous to conquer all. But he had little or no method in his Conquests, and abundance of irregularity in his Life; for want of knowing what he ow'd to the publick, to private men, and to himself.
No men whatsoever can take too effectual a care to be just, for they have naturally too strong a bias the contrary way. Justice is the foundation and the fence of all Society; without it we should still be Savages and Vagabonds; and our impetuosity would soon reduce us to our primitive confusion, out of which we are happily extricated. Yet instead of chearfully acknowledging the benefit, we find some reluctance in submitting to that happy subjection it keeps us in, and still long after that fatal Liberty which would prove the unhappiness of our Lives.
When the Scripture tells us that the Just are few, it means not, in my opinion, that no men are inclin'd to good Works: but it seems to intimate, how little they are inclin'd to act as they should, out of a principle of Justice. And indeed, were men's good actions examin'd, they would most of them be found to have their source from the consideration of some other Virtues. Good Nature, Friendship, and Benevolence, are the ordinary springs from whence they flow: Charity relieves our neighbours wants, Liberality bestows, and Generosity obliges: Justice, which ought to partake in all, is laid aside as burdensome; and necessity alone gives it a share in our actions. Nature endeavours to find a kind of Self-complacency in those first Virtues, where we act upon pleasing motives: but in this she finds a secret violence, where another's right extorts from us what we owe, and ​we rather acquit our selves of our own Obligations, than lay any upon them by our Beneficence.
It is a secret aversion to Justice that makes us fonder of giving than returning, of obliging than acknowledging. Thus we see the most liberal, generous men, are not usually the most just. Justice includes a regularity that lays a constraint upon them, as being founded on a constant order of Reason, opposite to those natural impulses, which are the hinges upon which Liberality almost always moves. There is, I know not what heroical in great Liberality, as well as in great Valour; and there is a great analogy between those two Virtues; the one raising the Soul above the consideration of Wealth, and the other pushing on Courage beyond a concern for Life. But with all these gay and generous Motives, without good Conduct, the one becomes ruinous, and the other fatal.
Those whom cross accidents of Fortune have undone, are pitied by all the world, because it is a misfortune attending the condition of humanity, to which every body is liable: those that are reduc'd to Misery by vain profusion, raise more contempt than commiseration; because it is the effect of a private Folly, from which every man has the good conceit to think himself free. Add to this, that nature always suffers a little by compassion, and to relieve her self of an uneasy thought, she contemplates the folly of the Prodigal, instead of resting upon the prospect of the Beggar. All things consider'd, it is enough for private men to be beneficent; nor ought this to proceed from a facility of nature, that lazily parts with what it has not strength to keep. I despise the weakness which is preposterously call'd Liberality; and hate no less the vanity of those that never do a kindness but for the pleasure of boasting of it.
Of Ingratitude.
THERE are not so many Ungrateful men as ’tis generally thought; because there are not so many generous men as we imagine. He that in silence suppresses a favour receiv’d, is an unthankful man, that deserv’d it not. But he that proclaims one that he has done, turns it to an Injury, shewing to your disgrace the necessity you had of him, and the relief he has given you thro’ ostentation. I would have a man of honour somewhat shy of receiving Obligations, and sensible of them when receiv’d : I would have him that obliges, satisfied with the generosity of the Action, and not think of any acknowledgment from the party oblig’d. When a return is expected, it is no longer Liberality; it is a sort of Trade, which the Spirit of Interest would introduce into Favours.
’Tis true, there are some persons whom nature has made ungrateful : Ingratitude is the main ingredient in their composition; with that their Heart, their Soul, and every part is season’d : they make no returns to Love, not because they are hard and insensible, but because they are ungrateful.
This Ingratitude, which is rooted in one’s Heart or Constitution, is, of all the kinds of it, the most opposite to Humanity : for generous Persons may sometimes make off the remembrance of a benefit, to ease themselves of the trouble that some Obligations are apt to give. But Friendship knits, not fetters us together; and without some extraordinary violence to nature, it is impossible to resist its tender engaging Charms.
​I am inclin'd to believe that Women ought not to resist so generous a sentiment, whatever pretence may be suggested, from a regard for Virtue. And indeed, they think themselves virtuous, and are only ungrateful, when they refuse their affection to passionate Lovers, who sacrifice every thing for them. To be too kind, would be a trespass on the rights of Honour; not to be sensible enough, is to cross the nature of their Hearts, which they ought to keep free from perturbation, if possible, but not from a tender impression.
The Ingratitude of the Soul is a natural propensity, not to acknowledge a Service, even without a regard to lnterest. Avarice may sometimes suppress an acknowledgment, to avoid the expence of a return; but pure Ingratitude is, without farther design in it self, averse to all Requitals.
There is another sort of Ingratitude, founded on a conceit of our own worth, when Self-love represents a favour bestow'd upon us, as a piece of justice done to us.
The love of Liberty has likewise its Ingratitude, as well as Self-love. The only subjedtion it allows, is to the Laws; but out of abhorrence of a dependence, it hates the memory of Obligations that shew a superiority in the Benefactor. This makes Republicans ungrateful. They think that a diminution of their Liberty, which is allow'd to Gratitude. Thus Brutus thought it meritorious to sacrifice his Obligations to Liberty. All the kindnesses heap'd on him were converted to injuries, when he began to look upon them as fetters. To sum up all, he cou'd kill a Benefactor that was like to become a Master. An abominable villany amongst the partisans of Gratitude! An admirable virtue with the sticklers of Liberty!
As there are men purely ungrateful, out of a mere sense of Ingratitude, so there are some mere​ly thankful, out of a pure sense of thankfulness. Their Hearts are sensible not only of good turns, but even of good-will too; and have of themselves a propensity to acknowledge all manner of Obligations.
According to the great diversity which is found both in Gratitude and Ingratitude, there are some poor Spirits that think themselves oblig'd by every thing, as well as vain humours, that think themselves oblig'd by nothing.
If Self-conceit has its proud ingrates, Distrust of merit has its weak thankful ones, that take common justice for a particular obligation. This diffidence produces an Inclination to Subjection, and the latter is the distinguishing Character of this kind of thankful men. As they are incumber'd with Liberty, and asham'd of Servitude, they raise up chimerical Obligations, to give an honourable colour to their dependence.
I will not reckon among the Grateful, those poor wretches that think themselves oblig'd, for not being hurt. They are not only Slaves, but Slaves that have not even the courage to hope well. To these wretches, all treatment that is not rigorous is favourable, and every thing that is not an Injury, they think a Benefit.
I have but one word more to say about a certain Gratitude of Courtiers, which has not so much respect to the past, as design upon the future. They acknowledge Obligations to those whom fortune has plac'd in any post to oblige them; and by an affected Gratitude for favours never done, insinuate themselves into those, in whose power it is to do them, and industriously put themselves in the way of them. This artificial acknowledgment, as 'tis undoubtedly no Virtue, so neither is it a Vice, but rather a dexterity, which it is lawful for ​a man either to make use of, or guard himself again it.
The great ones in requital, have a trick as artificial to excuse themselves from doing kindnesses, as the Courtiers can have to engage them to it. They reproach men with Services never done, and complain of Ingratitude, tho they have hardly ever obliged any one, to draw from hence a specious pretence to oblige no body.
But let us dismiss this affected Gratitude, and these mysterious complaints of Ingratitude; and let us see what is to be wish'd for in the pretences to, and the distribution of, Benefits. I could wish in those that claim them, more Merit than Address; and in the Disposers, more Generality than Ostentation.
Justice respects every thing in the distribution of Favours; it regulates the Liberality of the giver, and weighs the Merit of the receiver. Generosity thus circumstantiated is an admirable Virtue: otherwise, it is the motion of a Soul truly noble, but ill-govern'd; of a wild vain-glorious humour, that thinks Reason a clog to it.
There are so many things to be consider'd in the distribution of Benefits, that the safest way is always to observe strict Justice, and consult Reason equally, both as to those we make the objects of them, and about what we are able to give. But even among those that intend strict Justice, how many are misguided by the error of their temper, either in rewarding or punishing? When we give way to insinuation, and yield to complaisance, Self-love represents to us as Justice, a Lavishness to them that flatter us; and we reward them for the artifice they use, to deceive our Judgments, and impose upon the imbecillity of our Wills.
They deceive themselves yet more easily, who mistake a morose severe temper for an inclination to ​Justice. The itch of punishing is ingenious in them to set an ill gloss upon every thing. Pleasure with them is vice, and Error a crime. A man must divest himself of humanity to escape their rigour. Misled by a false notion of Virtue, they think they chastise Criminals, while they delight in tormenting the Miserable.
If Justice appoints a great Punishment, (which is sometimes necessary) it is proportion'd to some great Crime; but is never harsh or rigorous. Severity and Rigour are no part of it, but spring from the humours of those persons that think they practise it. As these sorts of punishments flow from Justice without Rigour, so likewise does Pardon in some cases, rather than from Clemency. To pardon faults of error, is but Justice to the failings of our nature: the indulgence we shew to Women that have intrigues, is likewise rather a Justice to their weakness, than a pardon of their sin.
Of Religion.
I Might descend to several other particulars relating to Justice; but it is now high time to proceed to Religion, which ought to be our principal care. None but madmen can depend upon a Life that must certainly have an end, and which may end every hour.
Mere curiosity will make us inquisitive to know what shall become of us after Death. We are too dear to our selves to consent to our intire loss: Self-love secretly opposes the notion of Annihilation. We are desirous to exist always, and the Mind, which is concern'd in its own preservation, improves this desire, by affording some light into a thing of it self so obscure. On the other hand, the Body find​ing by certain experience that it must die, and being unwilling to die alone, furnishes reasons to involve the Soul in one common ruin; whilst the Soul frames one to believe, it may subsist for ever. I have searched for all the light I could, both from the Antients and Moderns, to assist my reflections in diving into so abstruse a mystery: I have read all that has been written on the Immortality of the Soul, and after I have done so with all possible attention, the clearest proof that I find of the eternity of my Soul, is my own constant desire that it may be so.
I wish I had never read Monsieur Descartes's Meditations: the great Reputation of that excellent man among us, would have given me some belief of the Demonstration he promises us; but there appeared to me more vanity in the assurance he gives us, than solidity in his arguments; and how desirous soever I was to be convinc'd by his Reasons, all that I can do in his favour or my own, is to remain in the uncertainty I was in before.
I left the study of Metaphysicks to make an enquiry into Religions, and returning to that Antiquity which I respect so much, I found among the Greeks and Romans, nothing but a superstitious idolatrous Worship, or politick human Contrivances, establish'd for the Government of Men. It was not difficult for me to see the advantages of the Christian Religion over all the rest; and using all my endeavours to submit my self with reverence to the belief of its Mysteries, I let my Reason taste with pleasure the purest and most perfect Morality in the world.
Amidst the diversity of Beliefs that divide Christianity, the true Catholick engages me as well by my own free election, were I yet to chuse, as by the habitual impression it has long since made upon me. But this adherence to my own, does not ani​mate me against other people's belief; and I never entertain'd that indiscreet zeal which inspires a hatred for some persons, because they do not agree with us in opinion. This false Zeal is the result of Self-love; and a secret deceit represents to us an excess of complacency in our own Sentiments, under the form of Charity towards our Neighbours.
What we now call RELIGIONS, is indeed but a difference in Religion, and not a different Religion. I rejoice that my Faith is more sound than a Protestant's: yet instead of hating him for this difference of opinion, I love him because he agrees with me in the Fundamentals. The means at length to agree in the whole, is always to communicate in something. A desire of Re-union can never be inspir'd, till the enmity that arises from division be suppress'd. Men may seek one another as sociable, but they never re-unite with their Enemies. Dissimulation and Hypocrisy in Religion, are the only things that ought to be odious: for whoever believes sincerely, altho his Belief should be wrong, deserves Pity, and not Persecution. Blindness in the body bespeaks our Compassion; why then should that of the mind excite our Hatred? Under the severest Tyranny of former ages, the Understanding was allow'd its full liberty; but now a-days there are notions among Christians, wherein the persuasion of what one cannot believe is impos'd as a Law! In my opinion, every body ought to be free in his Belief, provided it does not tend to raise Factions that may endanger the publick Tranquillity. Churches do of right belong to Sovereigns; according to whose will and pleasure they are either open'd or shut up; but our own hearts are a private Church, wherein we are allow'd to worship their Master.
​Besides the difference of Doctrine in some points peculiar to every Sect, I observe, as it were, a sort of particular Spirit that distinguishes them. The Catholick tends particularly to the Love of God, and good Works. We look upon this first Being as an Object sovereignly amiable, and tender Souls are touch'd with the sweet and agreeable Impressions it makes on them. Good Works follow necesiarily from this principle; for Love once receiv'd within, actuates us without, and puts us upon endeavouring all we can to please him we love. All we have to fear in this case is, lest the source of this Love, the Heart, should be corrupted by the mixture of any Passion altogether human. It is likewise to be feared, that instead of obeying the Ordinance of God, we should frame methods of serving him according to our own fancies. But if this Love be real and pure, nothing in the world yields such true sweetness and satisfaction. The inward joy of devout Souls, rises from a secret assurance they have of being agreeable to God; and the true mortifications, and holy austerities are nothing else but affectionate Sacrifices of themselves.
The Reformed Religion divests men of all confidence in their own merit. The opinion of Predestination, which they begin to be disgusted with, but dare not forego, lest they should be thought to recant, leaves the Mind languid, unmov'd, without affection, under pretence of waiting with submission for the will of Heaven. They are content barely to obey, and seek not to please; and in a set common Worship, make God the object rather ​of their Regularity than their Love. To preserve Religion in its Purity, the Calvinists endeavour to reform every thing that appears human; but sometimes to debar man of what is human, they retrench too much of what is address'd to God. Their dislike of our Ceremonies, makes them industrious to refine upon us: yet when they have attain'd to this dry naked Purity, they find not in themselves a sufficient stock of Devotion; and those that are pious amongst them excite in themselves a particular Spirit, which they think supernatural; so much are they disgusted with a Regularity which to them seems too common.
There are in matters of Worship two sorts of humours. The one wou'd be always adding to, and the other always retrenching what is established. In the first, there is a hazard of giving too much out-side to Religion, and covering it with so many exteriors, that the real ground of it cannot be seen thro' them. In the other, the danger is, lest after having retrench'd all that appears supersluous, Religion it self should be cut off. The Catholick might, indeed, spare some Ceremonies; yet that hinders not, but that men of understanding may see well enough thro' them. The Reform'd use too little, and their ordinary Worship is not sufficiently distinguish'd from the common functions of Life. In Places where it is not tolerated, the difficulty prevents their disgust, and the dispute raises a warmth that animates them. Where it rules, it produces only an exact compliance with Duty, such as either the Civil Government, or any other obligation might do.
As for Good Works among the Reformed, they are only the effects of their Faith, and the result of their Belief. We are agreed on both sides, that every Christian is bound to believe, and live aright, but our ways of expressing it differ: they say, ​that good Works without Faith are but dead Works; and we, that Faith without good Works is but dead Faith.
The Minister Morus was wont to say amongst his friends, That his Church had something too hard in its Tenets, and he advised People never to read St. Paul's Epistles, without ending with that of St. James's; for fear, said he, lest St. Paul's heat against the merit of Good Works, should insensibly make us somewhat remiss in the practice of them.
It may, in my opinion, be affirm'd, That St. Peter and St. James, who preach'd to people sunk into such deep Corruption as the Jews were, had reason to enforce the necessity of Good Works, for thereby they prescrib'd to them what they wanted, and of which they might themselves be convinc'd. But these Apostles would have little advanc'd their Ministry by a discourse about Grace, with a Peeple who thought they had more Faith than all the world besides; who had seen the Miracles perform'd in their favour; and who had a thousand times experienc'd the visible assistances of a God.
St. Paul acted no less wisely with the Gentiles; it being certain that he would have converted but few people to Jesus Christ by the argument of Good Works. The Gentiles were just and temperate, upright and innocent, firm and resolute, to such a degree as to die for their Country. Now to preach Good Works to them, was no more than what the Philosophers did, who taught them to live well. I own, Jesus Christ's Morals were purer, but they had nothing that could make a sufficient impression on their minds. It was therefore fitting to preach to them the necessity of Grace, and, as much as was possible, to suppress the confidence they had on their Virtue.
​Methinks, that since the Reformation, of which the Immorality of the Clergy was either the pretence or reason: methinks, I say, that since that time Christianity has been made to consist in the Doctrine of Articles of Belief. Those that set up the Reformation arraign'd our corruption and vice, and now a-days we object against them our Good Works. The very same persons that reproach'd us with ill living, will now take no other advantage of us than that of pretending to a purer Faith. We allow the necesiity of Belief, but Charity was commanded by Jesus Christ, and the Doctrine of Mysteries was not establish'd till a long time after his Death. He did not himself express so dearly what he was, as what he required; from whence we may conclude, that he rather chose to be obey'd, than to make himself known. Our Faith is obscure, but our Law is very clearly expressed. The necessary points of our Faith, are above our apprehension; but those of our Duty are suited to the capacities of all the world. In a word, God has given us light enough to do well; and we would indulge with it our curiosity of knowing too much; and instead of acquiescing in what he is pleased to discover to us, we would pry into what he has conceal'd from us.
I know that the contemplation of heavenly things does sometimes happily disengage us from the world: but it is frequently no more than mere speculation, and the result of a Vice very natural to mankind. The immoderate Ambition of knowledge extends it self beyond nature, even so far as to enquire into what is most mysterious in its Author, not so much out of a design to adore him, as out of a vain curiosity of knowing all things. This vice is close attended by another; Curiosity breeds Presumption; and being as bold in defining, as indiscreet in inquiring, we erect, as it were, an ​infallible Science of those things which are to us altogether inconceivable. So depravedly do we use the will and understanding! we proudly aspire to know every thing, and cannot; we may religiously observe every thing, and will not. Let us be just, charitable, and patient, according to the principles of our Religion, and we shall know and observe at the same time.
I leave it to our Doctors to refute the errors of the Calvinists, 'tis enough for me to be persuaded that our opinions are the sounder. But if rightly apprehended, I dare say the Spirit of both Religions is differently grounded on good Principles; only one extends farther the exercise of Good Works; with the other, the cautions to avoid Evil, are more exact. The Catholick with an active resolution, and loving industry, is perpetually seeking some new way of pleasing God. The Reformed, stinted by circumspection and respect, dares not venture beyond a known precept, for fear by imagin'd novelties, of giving too much sway to his fancy.
To be always disputing points of Doctrine, is not the means to reunite us. Arguments being inexhaustible, the Controversy will last as long as there are men to manage it. But if we would leave these Disputes, that only serve to exasperate us, and return without passion to that particular Spirit which distinguishes us, it will not be impossible to find a general one in which we may agree.
Let us Catholicks bridle the restless Zeal, that makes us act a little too much of our own heads. Let the Reformed make off their unactive regularity, and animate their langour, without departing from their submisiion to Providence. Let us retrench something in condescension to them, and let them admit something more in complaisance to us. Then, without thinking either of Free-will ​or Predestination, we shall frame insensibly a true rule for our actions, which will be follow'd by that of our opinions.
If we come to a reconciliation of wills upon the good conduct of Life, it will soon produce a good understanding in Doctrine. Let us but join in Good Works, and we shall not long be of separate Faiths.
I conclude from this short Discourse, that it is an ill method of converting men, to attack them by affronting their Judgments. A man defends his notions either as true, or as his own; and however it be, he raises a hundred objections against the person that wou'd convince him. Nature has given to every one his proper sense, and seems to have engag'd him to it by a secret fond indulgence. He can submit to the will of another, tho he be free: he can own himself inferiour in Courage and Virtue; but he is asham'd to confess a submission to another man's Sense: his most natural reluctance is to acknowledge a superiority of Reason in any one whomsoever.
Our chief advantage is to be born reasonable: Our greatest jealousy is to find that others pretend to be so, more than our selves. If we consult the Conversions of antient times, we shall find that the Souls were mov'd, but the Understandings very little convinc'd. The first disposition to receive the truths of Christianity is form'd in the Heart. In things purely natural, 'tis the mind's part to conceive, and its knowledge goes before the affection for the objects: in things supernatural, the Soul is taken, it is affected, it adheres, and unites it self, without ever comprehending them.
Heaven has better prepar'd our Hearts for the impressions of God's Grace, than our Understand​ings, for Illumination. His immensity confounds our narrow Intellects: his bounty agrees better with our Love. There is I know not what within us, that secretly pleads for a God, whom we cannot comprehend; and hence it is, that to succeed in the Conversion of men, we must settle a pleasing commerce with them, by means of which we may inipire them with the same movements: for in disputes of Religion, the mind in vain strains it self to make us see what we see not; but in a sweet and pious familiarity, it is easy for the Soul to infuse Sentiments.
To consider well the Christian Religion, wou'd make one think, that God had depriv'd it of the light of our Minds, that it might turn more upon the motions of our Hearts. To love God and our Neighbour includes all, says St. Paul. And what is this, but to require a disposition of Heart as well towards God as Man? It is properly to oblige us to do out of a principle of Love, what the Civil Government enjoins by rigorous Laws, and Morality prescribes by a severe order of Reason.
Charity makes us relieve and succour, while Justice forbids us to do wrong. The latter with difficulty hinders opposition; the other with pleasure, procures relief. Those who have the true sentiments that our Religion inspires, can't be unfaithful to a Friend, or ungrateful to a Benefactor. With these good sentiments, a Heart innocently loves those objects God has made amiable, and the most innocent part of our Loves is the most charming and tender.
Let gross and sensual persons complain of our Religion for the constraint it lays upon them; yet the nice and refined will commend it for sparing them disgusts and repentance. More skilful than voluptuous Philosophy in the science of Pleasures, ​and wiser than severe Philosophy in point of Morality, it refines our taste to Delicacy, and our sentiments to Innocence. Look upon man in a civil Society, if Justice be necessary, yet ’tis a restraint to him. In the pure state of Nature, his Liberty will have something of barbarity in it; and if he govern himself by Morality, his Reason is austere. All other Religions stir up in the mind tempestuous thoughts, and troublesom Passions. They raise against nature superstitious fears, or a furious zeal; sometimes to the sacrificing our Children, like Agamenon; at other times to the devoting our selves, like Decius. Only the Christian Religion composes all our Inquietudes, softens all our Fierceness, sets all our tender Movements a-going, not only for our friends and neighbours, but for the indifferent, and even for our enemies.
This is the end of the Christian Religion, and this was once the practice of it. If it be otherwise now, it is because we have let it lose its influence on our hearts, and given way to the encroachments of our imaginations upon it. Hence springs the division of our minds about Faith, instead of the union of our wills in Good Works; insomuch, that what ought to be a band of Charity betwixt men, is now become the subject of their Quarrels, Jealousies and ill nature.
From this diversity of Opinions has arisen that of Parties; and the adherence to Parties has caus’d Persecutions and Wars. Many thousands have died in disputing about the manner of receiving, what, ’twas agreed on all hands, they did receive in the Sacrament. ’Tis a mischief that still continues, and will last till Religion quits the curiosity of our minds for the tenderness of our hearts; and disgusted with the foolish presumption of our ​Inquiries, returns to the fweet motions of our Love.
* ↑ Peter Corneille.
* ↑ Voiture's Works were publish'd after his death, by his Nephew Pinchéne, assisted by Conrart and Chapelain.
* ↑ James Benigne Bossuet, first Bishop of Condom, and then of Meaux. He died the twelfth of August N. S. 1704.
* ↑ Virgil. Æneid. Lib. V. v. 49, 50.
* ↑ Dr. Isaac Vossius.
* ↑ A Canon of St. Lambert at Liege; and Brother to M. Sluse, Secretary of the briefs to the Pope, and afterwards a Cardinal.
* ↑ The Emperor Constantius Chlorus, tho a Pagan, was tented to pull down the Churches of the Christans, and would permit no other violence againft them. Constantius, ne dissentire a majorum praeceptis videretur, Conventicula, id est parietes qui restitui poterant, dirui passus est; verum autem Dei Templum quod est in hominibus, incolume servavit. Lact. de Mort. Pers. §15.
* ↑ This is one of Montaigne's reflexions.