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Title: The golden verses of Pythagoras

Author: Antoine Fabre d'Olivet
        Pythagoras

Translator: Nayán Louise Redfield

Release date: October 17, 2022 [eBook #69174]
                Most recently updated: October 19, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: G. P. Putnam's sons

Credits: Carol Brown, Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS ***

_By Fabre d’Olivet_


Hermeneutic Interpretation

The Golden Verses of Pythagoras




[Illustration: FABRE D’OLIVET

After a miniature by Augustin

1799]




The Golden Verses of

Pythagoras


Explained and Translated into French and

Preceded by a Discourse upon the

Essence and Form of Poetry

Among the Principal

Peoples of the Earth


By

Fabre d’Olivet


Done into English by

Nayán Louise Redfield


Μηδὲν ἄγαν kαὶ γνῶθι σεαυτόν


G. P. Putnam’s Sons

New York and London

The Knickerbocker Press

1917




COPYRIGHT, 1917

BY

NAYÁN LOUISE REDFIELD




_To the Travellers who have turned their Faces to the Dawn and their
Steps toward the Eternal Hills is offered this rich Fruit of Wisdom,
that, through it, they may achieve the Understanding of Knowledge._




TRANSLATOR’S FOREWORD


In this twentieth century, the sacred books of the ancients are
undoubtedly better understood than they were even by their
contemporaries, for their authors, by the greatness of their genius,
are as much nearer to us, as they were distant from them. At the close
of the eighteenth century, the light which came from the illimitable
mind of Fabre d’Olivet shone with solitary splendour and was destined
to be seen by only a few devoted followers. But history shows that a
great inspirer always appears at the beginning of every great epoch,
and however small the number of his disciples, these disciples with
their pupils form the magnetic chain which, according to Plato,
carries his thought out into the world.

Fabre d’Olivet, born at Ganges, Bas-Languedoc, Dec. 8, 1768, was
distinguished even in his own day not only for the extent of his
learning but for the rectitude of his judgment and the sublimity of
his conceptions. If one can infer from the all too scarce records
available since the calamitous fire which destroyed so many of his
valued manuscripts, he evidently suffered keenly from the fetters of
mortality, and sought with unfailing fervour what Porphyry so aptly
called the “Olympia of the Soul.”

Saint Yves d’Alveydre, writing of him in _La France vraie_, says, that
it was in 1790, while in Germany, he received his Pythagorean
initiation, the profound imprint of which marked all his later
productions. After returning to Paris he applied himself to
philological and philosophical studies undisturbed by the terrible
revolutionary storm. In obscure seclusion he amassed, to quote Sédir,
“a disconcerting erudition.” He became familiar with all the Semitic
tongues and dialects, the Aryan languages, and even penetrated the
secrets of the Chinese hieroglyphics.

It was during these ten years of retirement that he wrote his
_Examinations of the Golden Verses_ which were not published until
1813, with its dedication to the Section of Literature of the Imperial
Institute of France. It is known that the _Golden Verses of
Pythagoras_ were originally transcribed by Lysis and that it is to
Hierocles we owe the version which has come down to us. Fabre d’Olivet
has translated them into French verse, the style of which he calls
_eumolpique_, that is, subject to measure and harmonious cadence but
free from rhyme, with alternate masculine and feminine terminations.
In the _Essence and Form of Poetry_ which precedes the Golden Verses,
he illustrates this melodious style, in applying it to the opening
lines of some of the well-known classics, and to others not so
well-known.

These Golden Verses, so remarkable for their moral elevation, present
the most beautiful monument of antiquity raised in honour of Wisdom.
They formed the _credo_ of the adepts and initiates. In his recondite
Examinations, Fabre d’Olivet has drawn the metaphysical correlation of
Providence, Destiny, and the Will of Man, in which combined action
Destiny reigns over the past, the Will of Man over the future, and
Providence over the present, which, always existing, may be called
Eternal. One will find this given at greater length in his
_Hermeneutic Interpretation of the Origin of the Social State of Man
and the Destiny of the Adamic Race_: admirable work of this little
known theosophist, “to give him the name he loved best to hold,” says
Pierre Leroux in _De l’Humanité_.

The inequality of human conditions, upon which depend the social and
political questions, forms one of the vital subjects of these esoteric
teachings. He has also endeavoured to explain the true opinion of
Pythagoras concerning metempsychosis which was his sacred dogma, and
said that the dogma of transmigration of souls, received by all
peoples and revealed in the ancient mysteries, has been absolutely
disfigured in what the moderns have called metempsychosis.

His strange death, which occurred March 25, 1825, is mentioned by des
Essarts in _Les Hiérophantes_, and other authorities including Pierre
Leroux, have asserted that he died at the foot of his altar.

                                          NAYÁN LOUISE REDFIELD.

HARTFORD, CONN., October, 1916.




The Golden Verses of Pythagoras




DISCOURSE UPON THE ESSENCE AND FORM OF POETRY




DISCOURSE UPON THE ESSENCE AND FORM OF POETRY[1]


_Messieurs_:

Before publishing the translation of the _Golden Verses of
Pythagoras_, such as I have made it, in French verse which I have
designated by the expression _eumolpique_,[2] I would have liked to be
able to submit it to you and thus be enlightened by your counsels or
sustained by your approbation; but academic laws and usages, whose
justice I have felt, have prevented my enjoying this advantage. The
innovation, however, which I have endeavoured to make in French poetry
and the new explanation which I have tried to give of one of the most
celebrated pieces of Greek poetry, have seemed to me to hold too
closely to your labours and to enter too deeply into your literary
provinces, for me to believe myself able to dispense with calling your
attention to them. I crave your indulgence, if in the demonstration of
a just deference to your judgment I involuntarily neglect certain
formalities; and I beg you to judge the purity of my intentions.

I claim not to be a poet; I had even long ago renounced the art of
verse, but notwithstanding that, I am now presenting myself in the
poetic career to solicit the hazardous success of an innovation! Is it
the love of glory which inspires in me this temerity, which dazzles me
today as my autumn advances, whereas it was unable to move me when the
effervescence of my springtime ought to have doubled its strength? No:
however flattering the wreaths that you award to talent, they would
not concern me; and if an interest, as new as powerful, had not
induced me to address you, I would keep silent. This interest,
_Messieurs_, is that which science itself inspires in me, and the
desire, perhaps inconsiderate but commendable, of co-operating with my
limited ability for the development of a language whose literary and
moral influence, emerging from the bourns of Europe and the present
century, ought to invade the world and become universal like the
renown of the hero who extends his conquests with those of the empire
whose foundations he has laid.

I feel, _Messieurs_, that I should explain my thought. My assertion,
well founded as it may be, appears none the less extraordinary, and I
am bound to admit this. The disfavour which is attached to all new
ideas, to all innovations, the just defiance that they inspire, the
element of ridicule that springs from their downfall, would have
arrested my audacity, if I had had audacity alone, and if the worthy
ambition of effecting a general good had not raised me above a
particular evil which might have resulted for me. Besides I have
counted upon the judicious good-will of the two illustrious Academies
to which I am addressing myself: I have thought that they would
distinguish in the verse which I am presenting for their examination,
both as a means of execution in French poetry and as a means of
translation in ancient and foreign poetry, the real utility that they
can offer, of the fortuitous beauty which they lack, and which a more
capable hand would have been able to give them; I flatter myself, at
length, that they would grant to the end, without prejudice, the
attention which is necessary, and that if they refused an entire
approbation to my efforts, they would at least render justice to my
zeal and commend the motives which have made me attempt them.


§ I

When, after the revival of letters in Europe, Chancellor Bacon,
legislator of thought, sketched with bold strokes the tree of human
knowledge, and brought back each branch of science to that of the
moral faculties upon which it depends, he did not fail to observe
sagaciously that it was necessary to distinguish in poetry two things,
its essence and its form[3]: its essence as pertaining wholly to the
imagination, and composing by itself alone one of the principal
branches of science[4]; its form, as making part of the grammar, and
entering thus into the domain of philosophy and into the rational
faculty of the understanding.[5] This celebrated man had borrowed this
idea from a man much older and more celebrated than himself, Plato.
According to this admirable philosopher, poetry is either a simple
talent, an art which one uses to give to his own ideas a particular
form, or it is a divine inspiration by means of which one clothes in
the human language and transmits to men the ideas of the gods.[6] It
is because, never having felt sufficiently this important distinction
and having confused two ideas that ought to be separated, the essence
and the form of poetry, which are as the soul and body of this
science, that so many men among the modern nations proclaimed
themselves poets, whereas they were, in strict truth, only clever
versifiers. For it does not suffice, as Plato again said, to have
poetic talent, it does not suffice to make verse and even good verse,
to be called a poet[7]; it is necessary to possess that divine
enthusiasm, that inspiration which elevates the soul, enlightens it,
transports it, as it were, to intellectual regions and causes it to
draw from its source the very essence of this science.

How they delude themselves, those who, habitually deceived, foolishly
imagine that the lofty fame of Orpheus, Homer, Pindar, Æschylus, or
Sophocles and the immortality which they enjoy, belongs only to the
plan of their works, to the harmony of their verse, and to the happy
use of their talent! These flattering appearances which constitute the
form of their poetry would have disappeared long ago, they would have
become broken, like fragile vases, upon the torrent of centuries, if
the intelligence which animated them had not eternalized their
duration. But this secret intelligence does not reside, as certain
other superficial readers persuade themselves, being still deceived,
in the simple interest that the characters _mise en scène_ inspire;
this interest, which results from their contrast and from the shock of
the passions, is another sort of form, more hidden, and less frail,
than the former, it is true, but as variable generally and subject to
the great revolution of customs, laws, and usages. True poetry does
not depend upon that; it depends upon the primordial ideas which the
genius of the poet in his exaltation has seized in the intellectual
nature, and which his talent has shown afterwards in the elementary
nature, thus adapting the simulacra of physical things to the movement
inspired by the soul, instead of adapting this movement to those same
simulacra, as those who write history. This is what Bacon, the modern
philosopher whom I have already cited, has felt so perfectly.[8] He
says:

     As the sentient world is inferior to the human soul, it is
     for poetry to give to this nature what reality has refused
     it, lending to it the faculties of the intellectual world;
     and as the acts and events which make the subject of true
     history have not that grandeur and that sublimity for which
     the human soul seeks, it is necessary that poetry create
     acts and events greater and more heroic. All must be
     increased and embellished by its voice and receive from it a
     new existence; it is necessary even that virtue shine with
     an _éclat_ more pure; that the veil which covers truth be
     lifted from its eyes and that the course of Providence,
     better discerned, be allowed to penetrate into the most
     secret causes of events.

The philosopher who expressed thus his thought regarding the essence
of poetry, was far from believing, as the vulgar have always believed,
and as certain modern writers have wished to convince the savants,[9]
that, of the two parts of poetry, the positive form might be the only
genuine; that is to say, that they do not by any means consider that
the human characters put upon the stage by the poets whom I have just
named, were historic characters. Bacon understood well that Achilles,
Agamemnon, Ulysses, Castor and Pollux, Helen, Iphigenia, Œdipus,
Phædra, etc., are somewhat more than they appear to be, and that their
virtues or their vices, their heroic actions, even their crimes,
celebrated by poetry, contain a profound meaning wherein lie buried
the mysteries of religion and the secrets of philosophy.[10]

It belongs only to the men to whom poetry is known by its exterior
forms alone and who have never penetrated as far as its essence, to
imagine that a small city of Asia, unknown to all Asia, around which
the King of kings of Greece waited in vain for ten years to avenge the
honour of his brother betrayed by his wife, should be able during
three thousand years to occupy the greatest minds of Europe, on
account of a quarrel which was raised in the tenth year of the siege,
between this King of kings and a petty prince of his army, angry and
sulky, named Achilles. It is only permitted to the phlegmatic
chronologists, whom the muses have never visited in their studies, to
seek seriously to fix the year and the day when this quarrel took
place. A man, strongly imbued with the spirit of Homer or of
Sophocles, would never see in Ulysses a real man, a king who,
returning to his isle after long wanderings, kills in cold blood a
crowd of lovers of his wife and rests confident of the conjugal
fidelity of that spouse abandoned for twenty years, and whom he had
won in the course,[11] although, according to the most common reports,
she was delivered of a son in his absence[12]; nor in Œdipus, another
king, who, without knowing it, without wishing it, always innocent,
kills his father, espouses his mother and, driven to parricide and
incest by an irresistible destiny, tears out his eyes and condemns
himself to wander over the earth, to be a frightful example of
celestial wrath. The platitudes and ridicule of the deed related by
Homer, and the horror which resulted from that presented on the stage
by Sophocles, are sufficient evidence against their reality. If the
poem of the one and the tragedy of the other do not conceal, under the
coarse exterior which covers them, a secret fire which acts unknown to
the reader, never would a sane man tolerate a presentation, on the one
side, of vice changed into virtue, and on the other, virtue changed
into vice, and the gods operating this strange metamorphosis against
all the laws of natural justice. He would throw aside the book with
disgust, or, agreeing with the judicious reflection of an ancient
Greek writer, exclaim with him[13]:

     If Homer had merely thought with respect to the gods what he
     said, he would have been an impious, sacrilegious man, a
     veritable Salmoneus, a second Tantalus; but let us guard
     against doing him this wrong, or taking for guides those
     who, misunderstanding the allegorical genius of this great
     poet, and hesitating before the outer court of his
     mysterious poetry, have never succeeded in understanding the
     sublime philosophy which is enclosed therein.


You are not, _Messieurs_, of those designated by Heraclides in the
words I have just quoted. Members of these celebrated Academies where
Homer and Sophocles have found so many admirers, defenders, and
illustrious disciples, you can easily admit that I see in these great
men more than ordinary poets, that I place their glory elsewhere than
in their talent, and that I say, particularly of Homer, that his most
just claims to immortality are less in the form than in the essence of
his poetry, because a form, however admirable it may be, passes and
yields to time which destroys it, whereas the essence or the spirit
which animates it, immutable as the Divinity from which it emanates by
inspiration, resists all vicissitudes and seems to increase in vigour
and _éclat_, in proportion as the centuries passing away reveal its
force and serve as evidence of its celestial origin. I flatter myself
that my sentiments in this regard are not foreign to yours and that
the successors of Corneille, Racine, and Boileau hear with pleasure
these eulogies given to the creator of epopœia, to the founders of
dramatic art, and agree with me in regarding them as particular organs
of the Divinity, the instruments chosen for the instruction and
civilization of men.

If you deign, _Messieurs_, to follow the development of my ideas with
as much attention as indulgence, you already know that what I call the
essence or spirit of poetry, and which, following upon the steps of
the founder of the Academy and of the regenerator of the sciences of
Europe, I distinguish from its form, is no other thing than the
allegorical genius, immediate production of the inspiration; you also
understand that I mean by inspiration, the infusion of this same
genius into the soul which, having power only in the intellectual
nature, is manifested in action by passing into the elementary nature
by means of the inner labour of the poet who invests it with a
sentient form according to his talent; you perceive finally, how,
following this simple theory, I explain the words of Plato, and how I
conceive that the inspired poet transmits to men the ideas of the
gods. I have no need I think of telling you that I make an enormous
difference between this divine inspiration which exalts the soul and
fills it with a real enthusiasm, and that sort of inner movement or
disorder which the vulgar also call inspiration, which in its greatest
perfection is only passion excited by the love of glory, united with a
habit of verse making, which constitutes the talent, and in its
imperfection is only a disordered passion called by Boileau, an ardour
for rhyming. These two kinds of inspiration in no wise resemble each
other; their effects are as different as their causes, their
productions as different as their sources. The one, issuing from the
intellectual nature, has its immutability: it is the same in all time,
among all peoples, and in the heart of all men who receive it; it
alone produces genius: its first manifestation is very rare, but its
second manifestation is less so, as I will show later on. The other
inspiration, inherent in sentient nature, born of passion, varies with
the whim of men and things, and takes on the hue of the customs and
the times; it can bring forth talent or at least modify it, and when
it is seconded by a great facility, can go to the extent of feigning
genius but never farther: its real domain is the mind. Its possession
is not very rare even in its perfection. One can sometimes find it
united with the true inspiration, first as in Homer, or second as in
Vergil; and then the form which it unceasingly works over, joining its
sentient beauties to the intellectual beauties of genius, creates the
monuments of science.

It may be that the development which I have just given of my ideas on
the essence of poetry will appear new, although I must acknowledge
that in reality they are not. I am addressing men who are too
enlightened to ignore what the ancients have said in this respect.
Heraclides, whom I have already cited, is not the only one who has
given this impression. Strabo assures positively that ancient poetry
was only the language of allegory,[14] and he refutes Eratosthenes who
pretended that the aim of Homer was only to amuse and please. In this
he is in accord with Denys of Halicarnassus who avows that the
mysteries of nature and the most sublime conceptions of morals have
been covered with the veil of allegory.[15] Phurnutus goes farther: he
declares that the allegories used by Hesiod and by Homer do not differ
from those which other foreign poets have used before them.[16]
Damascius said as much of the poems of Orpheus,[17] and Plutarch
confirms it in a passage which has been preserved to us by
Eusebius.[18]

In the first ages of Greece, poetry, consecrated to the service of the
altars, left the enclosures of the temples only for the instruction of
the people: it was as a sacred language in which the priests,
entrusted with presiding at the mysteries of religion, interpreted the
will of the gods. The oracles, dogmas, moral precepts, religious and
civil laws, teachings of all sorts concerning the labours of the body,
the operations of the mind, in fact all that which was regarded as an
emanation, an order, or a favour from the Divinity, all was written in
verse. To this sacred language was given the name _Poetry_, that is to
say, the Language of the Gods: a symbolic name which accords with it
perfectly, since it expressed at the same time its origin and its
usage.[19] It was said to have come from Thrace,[20] and the one who
had invented it and caused its first accents to be heard was called
Olen.[21] Now these are again two symbolic names perfectly adapted to
the idea that one had of this divine science: it was descended from
_Thrace_, that is to say, from the Ethereal Space; it was _Olen_ who
had invented it, that is to say, the Universal Being.[22] To
understand these three etymologies which can be regarded as the
fundamental points of the history of poetry, it is necessary to
remember, first, that the Phœnicians, at the epoch when they covered
not only Greece but the coasts of the rest of Europe with their
colonies, brought there their language, and gave their names to the
countries of which they had taken possession; secondly, that these
names drawn almost always from objects symbolic of their cult,
constituted for these countries a sort of sacred geography, which
Greece above all others, was faithful in preserving.[23] It was thus
(for there is nothing under the sun which cannot find either its model
or its copy) when the Europeans took possession of America and
colonized it, and carried to those regions their diverse dialects and
covered it with names drawn from the mysteries of Christianity. One
ought therefore, when one wishes to understand the ancient names of
the countries of Greece, those of their heroic personages, those of
the mysterious subjects of their cult, to have recourse to the
Phœnician dialect which although lost to us can easily be restored
with the aid of Hebrew, Aramaic, Chaldean, Syriac, Arabic, and Coptic.

I do not intend, _Messieurs_, to fatigue you with proofs of these
etymologies which are not in reality the subject of my discourse. I am
content to place them on the margin for the satisfaction of the
curious. Thus I shall make use of them later, when occasion demands.
But to return to Thrace, this country was always considered by the
Greeks as the place peculiar to their gods and the centre of their
cult; the divine country, _par excellence_. All the names that it has
borne in different dialects and which in the course of time have
become concentrated in particular regions, have been synonyms of
theirs. Thus, Getæ, Mœsia, Dacia, all signify the country of the
gods.[24] Strabo, in speaking of the Getæ, said that these peoples
recognized a sovereign pontiff to whom they gave the title of God, the
dignity of which existed still in his time.[25] This sovereign pontiff
resided upon a mountain that d’Anville believes he has recognized,
between Moldavia and Transylvania. The Thracians had also a sovereign
pontiff instituted in the same manner as that of the Getæ, and
residing likewise upon a sacred mountain.[26] It was, no doubt, from
the heights of these mountains that the divine oracles, the laws and
teachings which the great pontiffs had composed in verse, were at
first spread throughout Greece; so that it might be said, literally as
well as figuratively, that poetry, revered as the language of the
gods, production of an Eternal Being, descended from the ethereal
abode and was propagated upon earth for the instruction and delight of
mortals. It appears to me very certain that the temple of Delphi,
erected upon the famous mountain of Parnassus, differed not
essentially at first from those of Thrace; and what confirms me in
this idea is that, according to an ancient tradition, it was Olen who,
coming out from Lycia, that is to say from the light, caused all
Greece to recognize the cult of Apollo and Diana; composed the hymns
which were chanted at Delos in honour of these two divinities and
established the temple of Delphi of which he was the first
pontiff.[27] Thus the temple of Delphi rivalled those of Thrace. Its
foundation, doubtless due to some innovator priest, was attributed by
a poetic metaphor to the divinity which had inspired it. At that time
a schism arose and two cults were formed, that of the Thracians
consecrated to Bacchus and Ceres, or Dionysus the divine spirit, and
Demeter the earth-mother[28]; and that of the Greeks, properly
speaking, consecrated to the sun and the moon, adored under the names
of Apollo and Diana. It is to this schism that one should ascribe the
famous dispute which was raised, it is said, between Bacchus and
Apollo concerning the possession of the tripod of Delphi.[29] The
poetic fable woven from this subject was made to preserve the
remembrance of the moral incident and not of the physical event; for
at this remote epoch, when verse only was written, history, ever
allegorical, treated only of moral and providential matters,
disdaining all physical details deemed little worthy of occupying the
memory of men.

However that may be, it appears certain, notwithstanding this schism,
that the cult of the Thracians dominated Greece for a long time. The
new source of poetry opened at Delphi and on Mount Parnassus, destined
in time to become so celebrated, remained at first somewhat unknown.
It is worthy of observation that Hesiod, born in the village of Ascra,
a short distance from Delphi, makes no mention either of the oracle or
of the temple of Apollo. All that he said of this city, which he named
Pytho, has reference to the stone which Saturn had swallowed,
believing to devour his son.[30] Homer does not mention this Pytho in
the _Iliad_; he mentions in the _Odyssey_ an oracle delivered by
Apollo upon Parnassus. For a long time, the peoples of Greece,
accustomed to receive from the ancient mountains of Thrace both their
oracles and their instructions, turned toward that country and
neglected the new sacred mount. This is why the most ancient
traditions place in Thrace, with the supremacy of cult and
sacerdotalism, the cradle of the most famous poets and that of the
Muses who had inspired them: Orpheus, Musæus, Thamyris, and Eumolpus
were Thracians. Pieria, where the Muses were born, was a mountain of
Thrace; and when, at length, it was a question of rendering to the
gods a severe and orthodox cult, it was said that it was necessary
to imitate the Thracians, or, as one would say in French,
_thraciser_.[31]

Besides it must be observed, that at the epoch when the temple of
Delphi was founded, the new cult, presented to the Greeks under the
name of the universal Olen, tended to unite Apollo and Diana, or the
sun and the moon, under the same symbolic figure, and to make of it
only one and the same object of adoration, under the name of
_Œtolinos_, that is to say, _Sun-moon_.[32] It was proclaimed that the
middle of the earth, its paternal and maternal umbilicus, was found
placed exactly on the spot where the new sacred city was built, which
was called for this mystical reason Delphi.[33] But it seems that the
universality of this Œtolinos was never well understood by the Greeks,
who, in their minds, united only with difficulty that which custom and
their senses had taught them to separate. Moreover one can well
conjecture that, as in all religious schisms, a host of difficulties
and contradictory opinions were raised. If I can believe the
sacerdotal traditions of India, that I encounter, the greatest
difficulty was, not knowing which sex dominated in this mysterious
being whose essence was composed of the sun and moon and whose
hermaphroditic umbilicus was possessed in Delphi. This insoluble
question had more than once divided mankind and stained the earth with
blood. But here is not the place to touch upon one of the most
important and most singular facts of the history of man. I have
already deviated too much from my subject, and I return to it asking
pardon of my judges for this necessary digression.


§ II

Poetry, transported with the seat of religion from the mountains of
Thrace to those of Phocis, lost there, as did religion, its primitive
unity. Not only did each sovereign pontiff use it to spread his
dogmas, but the opposed sects born of the rending of the cult, vying
with each other, took possession of it. These sects, quite numerous,
personified by the allegorical genius which presided over poetry, and
which, as I have said, constituted its essence, were confused with the
mind which animated them and were considered as a particular being.
Thence, so many of the demi-gods, and the celebrated heroes, from whom
the Greek tribes pretended to have descended; thence, so many of the
famous poets to whom were attributed a mass of works that emanated
from the same sanctuary, or were composed for the support of the same
doctrine. For it is well to remember that the allegorical history of
these remote times, written in a different spirit from the positive
history which has succeeded it, resembled it in no way, and that it is
in having confused them that so many grave errors have arisen. It is a
very important observation that I again make here. This history,
confided to the memory of men or preserved among the sacerdotal
archives of the temples in detached fragments of poetry, considered
things only from the moral side, was never occupied with individuals,
but saw only the masses; that is to say, peoples, corporations, sects,
doctrines, even arts and sciences, as so many particular beings that
it designated by a generic name. It is not that these masses were
unable to have a chief to direct their movements, but this chief,
regarded as the instrument of a certain mind, was neglected by history
which attached itself to the mind only. One chief succeeded another
without allegorical history making the least mention of it. The
adventures of all were accumulated upon the head of one alone. It was
the moral thing whose course was examined, whose birth, progress, or
downfall was described. The succession of things replaced that of
individuals. Positive history, which ours has become, follows a method
entirely different. The individuals are everything for it: it notes
with scrupulous exactitude dates and facts which the other scorns. I
do not pronounce upon their common merit. The moderns would mock that
allegorical manner of the ancients, if they could believe it possible,
as I am persuaded the ancients would have mocked the method of the
moderns, had they been able to foresee its possibility in the future.
How approve of what is unknown? Man approves of only what he likes; he
always believes he knows all that he ought to like.

I can say, after having repeated this observation, that the poet
Linus, who is regarded as the author of all the melancholy chants of
the ancient world, represents nothing less than lunar poetry detached
from the doctrine of Œtolinos, of which I have spoken, and considered
as schismatic by the Thracians; I can also say, that the poet Amphion,
whose chants were, on the contrary, so powerful and so virile,
typifies the orthodox solar poetry, opposed by these same Thracians;
whereas the prophet Thamyris, who, it is said, celebrated in such
stately verse the creation of the world and the war of the Titans,[34]
represents quite plainly the universal doctrine of Olen,
re-established by his followers. The name of Amphion signifies the
orthodox or national voice of Greece; that of Thamyris, the twin
lights of the gods.[35] One feels, accordingly, that the evils which
came to Linus and to Thamyris, one of whom was killed by Hercules,[36]
and the other deprived of sight by the Muses,[37] are, in reality,
only some sort of criticism or unfortunate incident sustained by the
doctrines which they represented, on account of the opposition of the
Thracians. What I have said concerning Linus, Amphion, and Thamyris,
can be applied to the greater part of the poets who preceded Homer,
and Fabricius names seventy of these[38]; one could also extend it to
Orpheus, but only on a certain side; for although it may be very true,
that no positive detail is possessed regarding the character of the
celebrated man, founder or propagator of the doctrine which has borne
this name; although it may be very true, that all that concerns his
birth, his life, and his death is completely unknown, it is none the
less certain that this man has existed, that he has been actually the
head of a very extended sect, and that the allegorical fables which
remain to us on this subject depict, more particularly than they have
done with any other, the course of his thoughts and the success of his
institutions.

Orpheus belongs, on the one side, to anterior times, and on the other,
to times merely ancient. The epoch when he appeared is the line of
demarcation between pure allegory and mixed allegory, the intelligible
and the sentient. He taught how to ally the rational faculty with the
imaginative faculty. The science which was a long time after called
_philosophy_, originated with him. He laid its first basis.

One should guard against believing, following in the footsteps of
certain historians deceived by the meaning of allegorical fables, that
when Orpheus appeared, Greece, still barbarous, offered only the
traces of a civilization hardly outlined, or that the ferocious
animals, tamed by the charm of his poetry, should represent, in
effect, the inhabitants of this beautiful country. Men capable of
receiving a cult so brilliant as that of Orpheus, a doctrine so pure,
and mysteries so profound; men who possessed a language so formed, so
noble, so harmonious as that which served that inspired man to compose
his hymns, were far from being ignorant and savage to this degree. It
is not true, as has been said and repeated without examination, that
poetry had its birth in the forests, in regions rough and wild, nor
above all, that it may be the concomitant of the infancy of the
nations and the first stammerings of the human mind. Poetry, on the
contrary, having attained its perfection, indicates always a long
existence among the peoples, a civilization very advanced and all the
splendour of a virile age. The sanctuary of the temple is its true
cradle. Glance over the savage world and see if the Iroquois or the
Samoyeds have a poetry. Have the peoples who were found in their
infancy in the isles of the Pacific shown you hymns like those of
Orpheus, epic monuments like the poems of Homer? Is it not known that
the Tartars who have subjugated Asia, those proud Manchus who today
reign over China, have never been able to derive from their language,
rebellious to all kinds of melody and rhythm, a single verse,[39]
although since their conquests they have felt and appreciated the
charms of this art?[40]

Bears and lions, tamed and brought nearer together by Orphic poetry,
have no reference to men, but to things: they are the symbols of rival
sects which, imbibing their hatred at the very foot of the altars,
diffused it over all that surrounded them and filled Greece with
troubles.

For a long time this country was a prey to the double scourge of
religious and political anarchy. In detaching herself from the cult of
the metropolis, she also detached herself from its government. Once a
colony of the Phœnicians, she had thrown off their yoke, not however
spontaneously and _en masse_, but gradually, over and over again; so
that there were twenty rival temples, twenty rival cities, twenty
petty peoples divided by rite, by civil interest, and by the ambition
of the priests and princes who governed them. The Thracians, remaining
faithful to the ancient laws, were styled superstitious or enslaved,
whereas the innovators and the insurgents were considered, by the
Thracians and often by themselves, schismatics and rebels. Phœnicia
had vainly wished to oppose this general desertion. Asia came to
experience the most terrible shocks. India, which had long held the
sceptre there, was buried for fifteen hundred years in her
_Kali-youg_, or her age of darkness, and offered only the shadow of
her ancient splendour.[41] For fifteen centuries she had lost her
unity by the extinction of her imperial dynasties. Many rival kingdoms
were formed,[42] whose constant quarrels had left them neither the
leisure nor the possibility of watching over and supporting their
colonies from afar. The gradual lowering of the Mediterranean, and the
alluvial deposit of the shores of Egypt raising the Isthmus of
Suez,[43] had cut off all communication between this sea and the Red
Sea, and, by barriers difficult to surmount, separated the primitive
Phœnicians, established upon the shores of the Indian Ocean, from
those of Palestine.[44] The meridional Arabs were separated from the
septentrional, and both had broken with the Indians to whom they had
formerly belonged.[45] Tibet had adopted a particular cult and form of
government.[46] Persia had been subject to the empire of the
Assyrians.[47] At last the political ties which united all these
states, and which once formed only a vast group under the domination
of the Indian monarchs, had become relaxed or broken on all sides.
Egypt, long subject to the Philistines, known under the name of
Shepherds, came at length to drive them out, and emerging from her
lethargy prepared herself to seize the influence which Asia had
allowed to escape.[48] Already the most warlike of her kings, Sethos,
had extended his empire over both Libya and Arabia; Phœnicia and
Assyria had been subjugated; he had entered triumphant into Babylon
and was seated upon the throne of Belus.[49] He would not have
hesitated to attempt the conquest of Greece, if he had been able as
easily to lead his army there; but it was difficult for him to create
a marine force, and above all to overcome the invincible repugnance
that the Egyptians had for the sea.[50] Obliged to employ the
Phœnicians, his ancient enemies, he was able to draw from them only
mediocre service. In spite of these obstacles and the stubborn
resistance of the Greeks, he succeeded nevertheless in making some
conquests and forming some partial settlements. Athens, so celebrated
later, was one of the principal ones.[51]

These events, these revolutions, calamitous in appearance, were in
reality to produce great benefits. Greece, already impregnated with
the learning of the Phœnicians, which she had obtained and elaborated,
afterward received that of the Egyptians and elaborated it still
further. A man born in the heart of Thrace, but carried in his
childhood into Egypt through the desire for knowledge,[52] returned to
his country with one of the Egyptian colonies, to kindle there the new
light. He was initiated into all the mysteries of religion and
science: he surpassed, said Pausanias, all those who had preceded him,
by the beauty of his verse, the sublimity of his chants, and the
profoundness of his knowledge in the art of healing and of appeasing
the gods.[53] This was Orpheus: he took this name from that of his
doctrine[54] which aimed to cure and to save by knowledge.

I should greatly overstep the limits that I have prescribed for this
discourse if I should recall in detail all that Greece owed to this
celebrated man. The mythological tradition has consecrated in a
brilliant allegory the efforts which he made to restore to men the
truth which they had lost. His love for Eurydice, so much sung by the
poets, is but the symbol of the divine science for which he
longed.[55] The name of this mysterious spouse, whom he vainly wished
to return to the light, signified only the doctrine of the true
science, the teaching of what is beautiful and veritable, by which he
tried to enrich the earth. But man cannot look upon the face of truth
before attaining the intellectual light, without losing it; if he dare
to contemplate it in the darkness of his reason, it vanishes. This is
what the fable, which everyone knows, of Eurydice, found and lost,
signifies.

Orpheus, who felt by his own experience, perhaps, the great
disadvantage that he had here, of presenting the truth to men before
they might be in condition to receive it, instituted the divine
mysteries; an admirable school where the initiate, conducted from one
degree to another, slowly prepared and tried, received the share of
light in proportion to the strength of his intelligence, and gently
enlightened, without risk of being dazzled, attained to virtue,
wisdom, and truth. There has been but one opinion in antiquity
concerning the utility of the mysteries, before dissolution had
stained its precincts and corrupted its aim. All the sages, even
Socrates, have praised this institution,[56] the honour of which has
been constantly attributed to Orpheus.[57] It is not improbable that
this sage had found the model in Egypt and that he himself had been
initiated, as Moses[58] and Pythagoras[59] had been before and after
him; but in this case an imitation was equivalent to a creation.

I have said that after the appearance of Orpheus, poetry had lost its
unity: as divided as the cult, it had sustained its vicissitudes.
Entirely theosophical in its principle, and calm as the Divinity which
inspired it, it had taken in the midst of the opposed sects a
passionate character which it had not had previously. The priests, who
used it to uphold their opinions, had found, instead of the real
inspiration, that sort of physical exaltation which results from the
fire of passions, whose movement and fleeting splendour entrance the
vulgar. Vying with each other they had brought forth a mass of
theological systems, had multiplied the allegorical fables concerning
the universe, and had drowned, as it were, the unity of the Divinity
in the vain and minute distinction of its infinite faculties; and as
each composed in his own dialect and in pursuance of his own caprice,
each devised unceasingly new names for the same beings, according as
they believed they caught a glimpse of a certain new virtue in these
beings that another had not expressed, it came to pass that not only
were the gods multiplied by the distinction of their faculties, but
still more by the diversity of names employed in expressing them. Very
soon there was not a city nor a town in Greece, that did not have, or
at least believed that it had, its own particular god. If one had
carefully examined this prodigious number of divinities, one would
have clearly seen that they could be reduced, by elimination, to a
small number and would finally end by being mingled in a sole
Universal Being; but that was very difficult for people, flattered,
moreover, by a system which compared the condition of the gods with
theirs, and offered them thus, protectors and patrons so much the more
accessible as they were less occupied and less powerful.[60] Vainly,
therefore, the Egyptian colony established at Athens presented to the
adoration of this people imbued with the prejudice of polytheism, the
sovereign of the gods under the title of the Most-High[61]; the
veneration of this people was turned wholly towards Minerva, who
became its patron under the name of Athena,[62] as Juno was that of
Argos,[63] Ceres, that of Eleusis, Phigalia, Methydrium,[64] etc.

Orpheus, instructed as was Moses, in the sanctuaries of Egypt, had the
same ideas as the legislator of the Hebrews upon the unity of God, but
the different circumstances in which he found himself placed did not
permit him to divulge this dogma; he reserved this for making it the
basis of his mysteries, and continued, in the meantime, to personify
in his poetry the attributes of the Divinity. His institutions, drawn
from the same source, founded upon the same truths, received the
imprint of his character and that of the people to whom he had
destined them. As those of Moses were severe and, if one must admit,
harsh in form, enemies of the sciences and arts, so those of Orpheus
were brilliant, fitted to seduce the minds, favourable to all the
developments of the imagination. It was beneath the allurements of
pleasure, of joy, and of _fêtes_, that he concealed the utility of his
lessons and the depth of his doctrine. Nothing was more full of pomp
than the celebration of its mysteries. Whatever majesty, force, and
grace, poetry, music, and painting had, was used to excite the
enthusiasm of the initiate.[65] He found no pretext advantageous
enough, no form beautiful enough, no charm powerful enough to interest
the hearts and attract them toward the sublime truths which he
proclaimed. These truths, whose force the early Christians have
recognized,[66] went much further than those of which Moses had been
the interpreter; they seemed to anticipate the times. Not only did he
teach of the unity of God,[67] and give the most sublime ideas of this
unfathomable Being[68]; not only did he explain the birth of the
Universe and the origin of things[69]; but he represented this unique
God under the emblem of a mysterious Trinity endowed with three
names[70]; he spoke of the dogma which Plato announced a long time
after concerning the Logos, or the Divine Word; and, according to
Macrobius, taught even its incarnation or its union with matter, its
death or its division in the world of sense, its resurrection or its
transfiguration, and finally its return to the original Unity.[71]

This inspired man, by exalting in Man the imagination, that admirable
faculty which makes the charm of life, fettered the passions which
trouble its serenity. Through him his disciples enjoyed the enthusiasm
of the fine arts and he insisted that their customs should be pure and
simple.[72] The _régime_ that he prescribed for them was that which
Pythagoras introduced later[73]. One of the most pleasing rewards
which he offered to their endeavours, the very aim of their initiation
into his mysteries, was, putting themselves in communion with the
gods[74]; freeing themselves from the cycle of generations, purifying
their soul, and rendering it worthy of projecting itself, after the
downfall of its corporal covering toward its primal abode, to the
realms of light and happiness.[75]

Despite my resolution to be brief, I cannot resist the pleasure of
speaking at greater length of Orpheus, and of recalling, as is my
custom, things which, appearing today wholly foreign to my subject,
nevertheless, when examined from my viewpoint, belong to it. Poetry
was not at all in its origin what it became later, a simple
accomplishment, regarded by those who profess to be savants as even
rather frivolous[76]; it was the language of the gods, _par
excellence_, that of the prophets, the ministers of the altars, the
preceptors and the legislators of the world. I rejoice to repeat this
truth, after rendering homage to Orpheus, to this admirable man, to
whom Europe owes the _éclat_ with which she has shone and with which
she will shine a long time. Orpheus has been the real creator of
poetry and of music,[77] the father of mythology, of morals, and of
philosophy: it is he who has served as model for Hesiod and Homer, who
has illumined the footsteps of Pythagoras and Plato.

After having wisely accommodated the outward ceremonies to the minds
of the people whom he wished to instruct, Orpheus divided his doctrine
into two parts, the one vulgar, and the other mysterious and secret,
following in this the method of the Egyptians, whose disciple he had
been[78]; then, turning his attention to poetry, and seeing into what
chaos this science had fallen and the confusion that had been made of
divine and profane things, he judiciously separated it into two
principal branches, which he assigned, the one to theology, the other
to natural philosophy. It can be said that he gave in each the precept
and the example. As sublime a theosophist as he was profound as a
philosopher, he composed an immense quantity of theosophical and
philosophical verses upon all sorts of subjects. Time has destroyed
nearly all of them; but their memory has been perpetuated. Among the
works of Orpheus that were cited by the ancients and whose loss must
be deplored, were found, on the subject of theosophy, _The Holy Word_
or _The Sacred Logos_,[79] by which Pythagoras and Plato profited
much; the _Theogony_, which preceded that of Hesiod more than five
centuries; _The Initiations to the Mysteries of the Mother of the
Gods_,[80] and _The Ritual of the Sacrifices_, wherein he had
recorded, undoubtedly, the divers parts of his doctrine[81]: on the
subject of philosophy, a celebrated cosmogony was found,[82] in which
an astronomical system was developed that would be an honour to our
century, touching the plurality of the worlds, the station of the sun
at the centre of the universe, and the habitation of the stars.[83]
These extraordinary works emanated from the same genius who had
written in verse upon grammar, music, natural history, upon the
antiquities of the many isles of Greece, upon the interpretation of
signs and prodigies, and a mass of other subjects, the details of
which one can see in the commencement of the Argonautica of
Onomacritus, which is attributed to him.

But at the same time that Orpheus opened thus to his successor two
very distinct careers, theosophical and philosophical, he did not
entirely neglect the other parts of this science: his hymns and his
odes assigned him to a distinguished rank among the lyric poets; his
_Démétréïde_ presaged the beauties of Epopœia, and the representations
full of pomp, that he introduced into his mysteries, gave birth to
Greek Melopœia whence sprang dramatic art. He can therefore be
regarded, not only as the precursor of Hesiod and Epimenides, but even
as that of Homer, Æschylus, and Pindar. I do not pretend, in saying
this, to take away anything from the glory of these celebrated men:
the one who indicates a course, yields to the one who executes it: now
this, especially, is what Homer did.


§ III

Homer was not the first epic poet in the order of time, but in the
order of things. Before him many poets were skilled in Epopœia; but no
one had known the nature of this kind of poetry[84]; no one had united
the opposed qualities which were necessary. There existed at this
epoch a multitude of allegorical fables which had emanated at divers
times from different sanctuaries. These fables, committed at first to
memory, had been collected in several sets of works which were called
cycles.[85] There were allegorical, mythological, and epic cycles.[86]
We know from certain precious texts of the ancients, that these sorts
of collections opened generally with the description of Chaos, with
the marriage of Heaven and Earth; contained the genealogy of the Gods
and the combats of the Giants; included the expedition of the
Argonauts, the famous wars of Thebes and of Troy; extended as far as
the arrival of Ulysses at Ithaca, and terminated with the death of
this hero, caused by his son Telegonus.[87] The poets who, before
Homer, had drawn from these cycles the subject of their works, not
having penetrated as far as the allegorical sense, lacking
inspiration, or being found incapable of rendering it, lacking talent,
had produced only cold inanimate copies, deprived of movement and
grace. They had not, however, omitted any of the exploits of Hercules
or of Theseus, nor any of the incidents of the sieges of Thebes or
Troy; and their muse, quite lifeless, fatigued the readers without
interesting or instructing them.[88] Homer came. He, in his turn,
glanced over this pile of sacerdotal traditions, and raising himself
by the force of his genius alone to the intellectual principle which
had conceived them, he grasped the _ensemble_, and felt all its
possibilities. The faculties of his soul and the precious gifts which
he had received from nature had made him one of those rare men who
present themselves, at long intervals, upon the scene of the world to
enlighten it, shining in the depths of centuries and serving as
torches for mankind. In whatever clime, in whatever career destiny had
placed him, he would have been the foremost. Ever the same, whether
under the thatched roof or upon the throne, as great in Egypt as in
Greece, in the Occident as in the Orient of Asia, everywhere he had
commanded admiration. Some centuries earlier this same attribute might
have been seen in Krishna or in Orpheus, some centuries later, in
Pythagoras or in Cyrus. Great men are always great by their own
greatness. Incidents which depend upon chance can only modify. Homer
was destined to poetry by favourable circumstances. Born upon the
borders of the river Meles, of an indigent mother, without shelter and
without kindred, he owed, to a schoolmaster of Smyrna who adopted him,
his early existence and his early instructions. He was at first called
Melesigenes, from the place of his birth.[89] Pupil of Phemius, he
received from his benevolent preceptor, simple but pure ideas, which
the activity of his soul developed, which his genius increased,
universalized, and brought to their perfection. His education, begun
with an assiduous and sedentary study, was perfected through
observation. He undertook long journeys for the sole purpose of
instructing himself. The political conditions, contrary to every other
project, favoured him.

Greece, after having shaken off the yoke of the Phœnicians and having
become the friend of Egypt rather than her subject, commenced to reap
the fruits of the beautiful institutions that she had received from
Orpheus. Powerful metropolises arose in the heart of this country,
long regarded as a simple colony of Asia, and her native strength
being progressively augmented by the habit of liberty, she had need of
extending herself abroad.[90] Rich with the increase of population,
she had reacted upon her ancient metropolis, had taken possession of a
great number of cities on the opposite shores of Asia, and had
colonized them.[91] Phœnicia humiliated, torn by internal
dissensions,[92] tossed between the power of the Assyrians and that of
the Egyptians,[93] saw this same Greece that she had civilized and to
whom she had given her gods, her laws, and even the letters of her
alphabet, ignore, deny her benefits,[94] take up arms against her,
carry away her colonies from the shores of Italy and of Sicily, and
becoming mistress of the islands of the Archipelago, tear from her her
sole remaining hope, the empire of the sea.[95] The people of Rhodes
were overpowered.

Homer, of Greek nationality although born in Asia, profited by these
advantages. He set sail in a vessel, whose patron, Mentes of Leucas,
was his friend, wandered over all the possessions of Greece, visited
Egypt,[96] and came to settle at Tyre. This was the ancient metropolis
of Greece, the source and sacred repository of her mythological
traditions. It was there, in this same temple of the Master of the
Universe,[97] where twelve centuries before Sanchoniathon had come to
study the antiquities of the world,[98] that Homer was able to go back
to the origin of Greek cult and fathom the most hidden meanings of its
mysteries[99]; it was there that he chose the first and noblest
subject of his chants, that which constitutes the fable of the
_Iliad_.[100] If one must believe in the very singular accounts which
time has preserved to us, thanks to the blind zeal of certain
Christians who have treated them as heresies, this Helen, whose name
applied to the moon signifies the resplendent, this woman whom Paris
carried away from her spouse Menelaus, is nothing else than the symbol
of the human soul,[101] torn by the principle of generation from that
of thought, on account of which the moral and physical passions
declare war. But it would be taking me too far away from my subject,
examining in detail what might be the meaning of the allegories of
Homer. My plan has not been to investigate this meaning in particular,
but to show that it exists in general. Upon this point I have not only
the rational proof which results from the concatenation of my ideas,
but also proof of the fact, which is furnished to me by the
testimonials of the ancients. These testimonials are recognized at
every step, in the works of the philosophers and chiefly in those of
the Stoics. Only a very superficial erudition is necessary to be
convinced of this.[102] But I ought to make an observation, and this
observation will be somewhat novel: it is that, the poetic inspiration
being once received by the poet and his soul finding itself
transported into the intelligible world, all the ideas which then come
to him are universal and in consequence allegorical. So that nothing
true may exist outside of unity, and as everything that is true is one
and homogeneous, it is found that, although the poet gives to his
ideas a form determined in the sentient world, this form agrees with a
multitude of things which, being distinct in their species, are not so
in their genus. This is why Homer has been the man of all men, the
type of all types, the faithful mirror,[103] wherein all ideas
becoming reflected have appeared to be created. Lycurgus read his
works, and saw there a model of his legislation.[104] Pericles and
Alcibiades had need of his counsels; they had recourse to him as a
model of statesmen.[105] He was for Plato the first of the
philosophers, and for Alexander the greatest of kings; and what is
more extraordinary still, even the sectarians, divided among
themselves, were united in him. The Stoics spoke only of this great
poet as a rigid follower of the Porch[106]; at the Academy he was
considered as the creator of dialectics; at the Lyceum, the disciples
of Aristotle cited him as a zealous dogmatist[107]; finally, the
Epicureans saw in him only a man calm and pure, who, satisfied with
that tranquil life where one is wholly possessed by it, seeks nothing
more.[108] The temples, which devout enthusiasm consecrated to him,
were the rendezvous for mankind.[109] Such is the appanage of
universal ideas: they are as the Divinity which inspires them, all in
all, and all in the least parts.

If, at the distance where I am placed, I should dare, traversing the
torrent of ages and opinions, draw near to Homer and read the soul of
this immortal man, I would say, after having grasped in its entirety
the allegorical genius which makes the essence of poetry, in seeking
to give to his universal ideas a particular form, that his intention
was to personify and paint the passions, and that it was from this
that epopœia had birth. I have not sufficient documents to attest
positively that the word by which one characterizes this kind of
poetry after Homer, did not exist before him; but I have sufficient to
repeat that no one had as yet recognized its real nature.[110] The
poems of Corinna, of Dares, or of Dictys, were only simple extracts
from the mythological cycles, rude copies from certain theosophical
fragments denuded of life; Homer was the first who caused the _Voice
of Impulse_, that is to say Epopœia, to be understood[111]: that kind
of poetry which results from intellectual inspiration united to the
enthusiasm of the passions.

In order to attain to the perfection of this kind of poetry, it is
necessary to unite to the imaginative faculty which feeds the genius,
the reason which regulates the impulse, and the enthusiasm which
inflames the mind and supplies the talent. Homer united them in the
most eminent degree. Thus he possessed the first inspiration and the
complete science, as much in its essence as in its form; for the
poetic form is always dependent upon talent.

This form was then highly favourable to genius. The Greek verse,
measured by musical rhythm and filled with a happy blending of long
and short syllables, had long since shaken off the servile yoke of
rhyme. Now, by rhythm was understood the number and respective
duration of the time of which a verse was composed.[112] A long
syllable was equal to a time divided in two instants, and equivalent
to two short syllables. A foot was what we name today a measure. The
foot contained two times, made up of two long, or of one long and two
short syllables. The verse most commonly used was the hexameter, that
is, that in which the extent was measured by six rhythmic feet and of
which the whole duration was twelve times. Thus poetry received only
the laws of rhythm; it was a kind of music whose particular harmony,
free in its course, was subject only to measure.

I have never found any authentic evidence that the Greeks had ever
used the rhyme in their verse. It is stated, however, that they have
not differed from other nations in this respect. Voltaire said so but
without proof.[113] What is most certain is that, taking the word
_epos_,[114] a verse, in its most restricted acceptance, expressing a
turn, a turning around again, the early poets constructed their verse
in form of furrows, going from right to left and returning from left
to right.[115] Happily this _bizarrerie_ did not last long. If the
Greek verses had thus turned one upon another, or if the rhyme had
forced them to proceed in couplets bent beneath a servile yoke, Homer
would not have created the Epopœia, or these frivolous obstacles would
have vanished before him. His genius, incapable of enduring chains,
would have refused to clothe itself in a form capable of stifling it.
But this celebrated man would no doubt have changed it; one can judge
by the energetic manner with which he attacked that which he found in
use. The Greek language, which preserved still in his time something
of the Phœnician stiffness and the Celtic roughness, obliged to adapt
itself to all the movements of his imagination, became the most
flexible and the most harmonious dialect of the earth. One is
astonished, in reading his works, at the boldness of his
composition.[116] One sees him without the least effort, bending words
at his pleasure, lengthening them, shortening them to produce
something new, reviving those no longer in use, uniting them,
separating them, disposing of them in an unaccustomed order, forcing
them to adapt themselves everywhere to the harmony that he wishes to
depict, to sentiments of elevation, of pleasure or terror, that he
wishes to inspire.

Thus genius, dominating form, creates master-pieces; form, on the
contrary, commanding genius, produces only works of the mind. I must
say finally and no longer veil from the attention of my judges, the
aim of this discourse: whenever rhyme exists in the poetic form, it
renders the form inflexible, it brings upon it only the effort of
talent and renders that of intellectual inspiration useless. Never
will the people who rhyme their verses attain to the height of poetic
perfection; never will real epopœia flourish in their breasts. They
will hear neither the accents inspired by Orpheus, nor the stirring
and impassioned harmonies of Homer. Far from drawing the allegorical
genius at its source and receiving the first inspiration, it will not
even recognize the second one. Its poets will polish painfully certain
impassioned or descriptive verses, and will call beautiful the works
which will only be well done. A rapid glance over the poetic condition
of the earth will prove what I have advanced. But I ought to explain
beforehand what I understand by first and second inspiration; the
moment has arrived for holding to the promise that I made at the
beginning of this discourse.


§ IV

You recall, _Messieurs_, that wishing, with Chancellor Bacon, to
distinguish the essence and the form of Poetry, I have taken my text
from the works of Plato. It is again from this man, justly called
divine even by his rivals, from the founder of the Academy, that I
have borrowed the germ of my idea. This philosopher compares the
effect which the real poets have upon those who hear them, with the
magnetic stone which not only attracts rings of iron, but communicates
to them also the virtue of attracting other rings.[117]

In order to appreciate well the force of this thought, and to follow
all the inferences, it is necessary to state a truth _de facto_:
namely, that the men destined by Providence to regenerate the world,
in whatever manner it may be, to open any sort of a career, are
extremely rare. Nature, docile to the impulse which she has received
of bringing all to perfection by means of time, elaborates slowly the
elements of their genius, places them at great distances upon the
earth, and makes them appear at epochs very far removed one from the
other. It is necessary that these events, which determine these men
toward an end, should be brought about in advance; that the physical
conditions in which they are born coincide with the inspiration which
attends them; and therefore everything prepares, everything protects,
everything serves the providential design. These men, thus scattered
over the earth, come among nations to form them, to give them laws, to
enlighten and to instruct them. They are the beacon-lights of mankind;
these are those to whom I attribute the first inspiration. This
inspiration is immediate; it emanates from the first principle of all
intelligence, in the same manner, to use the comparison of Plato, that
the magnetic force which animates the loadstone, emanates from its
cause. It is profoundly hidden from our eyes: it is this which fires
the genius of a theosophist such as Thoth, Orpheus, and Zoroaster; the
genius of a theocrat, such as Krishna, Moses, or Mohammed; the genius
of a philosopher, such as Kong-Tse, Pythagoras, or Socrates; the
genius of a poet, such as Homer or Valmiki; and of a triumphant hero,
such as Cyrus, Alexander, or Napoleon.

Those who follow in the footprints of these primordial men, who allow
themselves to be impressed by their genius, receive what I call the
second inspiration. They can still be great men; for those who assist
them are very great; they can also communicate the inspiration, for it
acts in them with an exuberant force. Let us confine ourselves to the
poetic inspiration and listen to the voice of Plato:

     The Muse inspires the poets directly, and these,
     communicating to others their enthusiasm, form a chain of
     inspired men. It is by means of this chain that the Divinity
     attracts the souls of men, and moves them at his pleasure,
     causing his virtue to pass from link to link, from the first
     inspired poet to the last of his readers or his
     rhapsodists.[118]

It is by means of this magnetic chain that one can, in another sphere
of movement, explain this truth so well known, that great kings make
great men; it is also in this manner that one can understand how a
monarch, called to found a vast empire, makes his will penetrate all
hearts, take possession of all souls, and propagating his valour more
and more, electrify his army and fill it with a multitude of heroes.

Homer received therefore a first inspiration; he was created to become
the poetic motive of Europe, the principle of a magnetized chain
which, appropriating unceasingly new links, was to cover Europe with
its numberless extensions. His first conquests were in Greece. His
verses, carried from city to city by actors known under the name of
rhapsodists,[119] excited the keenest enthusiasm; they passed soon
from mouth to mouth, fixed the attention of legislators, were the
ornament of the most brilliant fêtes,[120] and became everywhere the
basis of public instruction.[121] The secret flame which they
concealed, becoming developed in young souls, warmed there the
particular germ which they possessed, and according to their divers
specie and the fertility of the soil, brought forth many talents.[122]
The poets who were found endowed with a genius vast enough to receive
the second inspiration in its entirety, imitated their model and
raised themselves to epopœia. Antimachus and Dicæogenes are
noticeable, the one for his Thebaïs, and the other for his cyprien
verses.[123] Those to whom nature had given passions more gentle than
violent, more touching than vehement, inclinations more rustic than
bellicose, whose souls contained more sensitiveness than elevation,
were led to copy certain isolated groups of this vast tableau, and
placing them, following their tastes, in the palace or in the thatched
cottage, caused accents of joy or of sorrow, the plaints of heroes or
the sports of shepherds to be heard, and thus created elegy, eclogue,
or idyl.[124] Others, on the contrary, whose too vehement enthusiasm
shortened the duration of it, whose keen fiery passions had left
little empire for reason, who allowed themselves to be drawn easily
toward the object of which they were momentarily captive, created the
ode, dithyramb, or song, according to the nature of their genius and
the object of their passion. These were more numerous than all the
others together, and the women who were here distinguished, rivalled
and even surpassed the men; Corinna and Myrtis did not yield either to
Stesi[`c]horus,[125] or to Pindar; Sappho and Telesilla effaced Alcæus
and Anacreon.[126]

It is said that the art with which Homer had put into action gods and
men, had opposed heaven and earth, and depicted the combats of the
passions; this art, being joined to the manner in which the
rhapsodists declaimed his poems[127] by alternately relieving one
another, and covering themselves with garments of different colours
adapted to the situation, had insensibly given rise to dramatic style
and to theatrical representation.[128] This, true in a sense, has need
of a distinction: it will serve at the same time to throw light upon
what I am about to say.

One should remember that the intellectual and rational poetry, or
theosophical and philosophical, illustrated by Orpheus and which Homer
had united with the enthusiasm of the passions in order to constitute
epopœia, although separated from the latter, existed none the less.
Whereas the disciples of Homer, or the Homeridæ,[129] spread
themselves abroad and took possession of the laic or profane world,
the religious and learned world was always occupied by the disciples
of Orpheus, called Eumolpidæ.[130] The hierophants and philosophers
continued to write as formerly upon theology and natural philosophy.
There appeared from time to time theogonies and cosmological
systems,[131] dionysiacs, heraclides,[132] oracles, treatises on
nature and moral apologues, which bore no relation to epopœia. The
hymns or pæans which had emanated from the sanctuaries in honour of
the Divinity, had in no wise resembled either the odes or the
dithyrambs of the lyric poets[133]: as much as the former were
vehement and passionate, so much the latter affected to be calm and
majestic. There existed therefore, at this epoch, two kinds of poetry,
equally beautiful when they had attained their respective perfection:
Eumolpique Poetry and Epic Poetry: the first, intellectual and
rational; the other, intellectual and passionate.

However, the divine mysteries, hidden from the profane, manifested to
the initiates in the ceremonies and symbolic fables, had not as yet
issued from the sanctuaries: it had been nearly a thousand years since
they had been instituted by Orpheus[134] when suddenly one saw for the
first time certain of these fables and these ceremonies ridiculously
travestied, transpiring among the people and serving them for
amusement. The fêtes of Dionysus, celebrated in the times of vintage,
gave place to this sort of profanation. The grape-gatherers, besmeared
with lees, giving way in the intoxication of wine to an indiscreet
enthusiasm, began to utter aloud from their wagons the allegories that
they had learned in their rural initiations. These allegories, which
neither the actors nor the spectators had comprehended in reality,
appeared, nevertheless, piquant to both through the malicious
interpretations which they gave them.[135] Such were the feeble
beginnings of dramatic art in Greece[136]; there was born the
profanation of the Orphic mysteries, in the same manner that one
see sit reborn among us, by the profanation of the Christian
mysteries.[137] But this art was already old in Asia when it sprang up
in Europe. I have already said that there was in the secret
celebration of the mysteries, veritable dramatic representations.
These mystic ceremonies, copied from those which had taken place in
the celebration of the Egyptian mysteries, had been brought into Egypt
by the Indian priests at a very remote epoch when the empire of
Hindustan had extended over this country. This communication, which
was made from one people to another, has been demonstrated to the
point of evidence by the learned researches of the academicians of
Calcutta, Jones, Wilford, and Wilkin,[138] who have proved what Bacon
had previously said in speaking of the Greek traditions, “that it was
only a very light air which, passing by means of an ancient people
into the flutes of Greece, had been modulated by them into sounds more
sweet, more harmonious, and more conformable to the climate and to
their brilliant imagination.”

A singular coincidence, _Messieurs_, which will not escape your
sagacity, is that dramatic art, whose origin is lost in India in the
night of time, has likewise had its birth in the mysteries of
religion. It is during the _Ram-Jatra_, a fête celebrated annually in
honour of Rama, the same as Dionysus of the Greeks, or Bacchus of the
Latins, that one still sees theatrical representations which have
served as models for the more regular works that have been made in the
course of time.[139] These representations, which run through nearly
all the exploits of Rama and through the victory that this beneficent
god gained over Rawhan, the principle of evil, are mingled with chants
and recitations exactly as were those of the ancient Greeks. You
understand, _Messieurs_, that the first efforts of tragedy were to
celebrate the conquests of Bacchus and his triumph, of which that of
Apollo over the serpent Python, celebrated by the Pythian games, was
the emblem.[140] Those of the Indians who appear to have preserved the
most ancient traditions, since the sacred books were written in the
Pali language, considered as anterior to the Sanskrit by some savants,
the Burmans, have from time immemorial recorded the mysteries of Rama
in scenic dramas which are still performed in public on the fête day
of this god.[141] I do not consider it amiss to mention here that the
name of Rama, which in Sanskrit signifies that which is dazzling and
beautiful, that which is sublime and protective, has had the same
signification in Phœnician,[142] and that it is from this same name to
which is joined a demonstrative article common to Aramaic, Chaldean,
and Syriac, that the word drama[143] is formed, and which being
adopted by the Greek tongue, has passed afterwards into the Latin
tongue and into ours. This word has expressed an action, because, in
truth, it depicts one in the mysteries and besides its primitive root
refers to regular movement in general.

But as my purpose is not to follow at present dramatic art in all its
ramifications and as it suffices me to have indicated clearly the
origin, I return to Greece.

The spectacle of which I have spoken, effect of a Bacchic enthusiasm,
and at first abandoned to the caprice of certain rustic grape-gatherers
whose indiscretions did not appear formidable, struck so forcibly by
its novelty and produced such a marvellous effect upon the people,
that it was not long before certain men of most cultivated minds were
seen desirous of taking part either from liking or from interest.
Thespis and Susarion appeared at the same time and each seized,
according to his character, one the noble and serious side and the
other the ridiculous and amusing side of the mythological fables;
dividing thus from its birth, dramatic art and distinguishing it by
two kinds, tragedy and comedy: that is, the lofty and austere chant,
and the joyous and lascivious chant.[144][145]

In the meantime, the governments, until then quite indifferent to
these rustic amusements, warned that certain liberties permitted by
Thespis were becoming too flagrant, began to see the profanations
which had resulted, and of which the Eumolpidæ had no doubt pointed
out the consequences.[146] They tried to prevent them, and Solon even
made a law regarding this subject[147]; but it was too late: the
people attracted in crowds to these representations, all informal as
they were, rendered useless the foresight of the legislator. It was
necessary to yield to the torrent and, being unable to arrest it, to
strive at least to restrain it within just limits. A clear field was
left open for the good that it was able to do, in fertilizing the new
ideas, and severe rules were opposed to check whatever dangers its
invasions might have for religion and for customs. The dramatic
writers were permitted to draw the subject of their pieces from the
source of the mysteries, but it was forbidden them, under penalty of
death, to divulge the sense. Æschylus, first of the dramatic poets,
having involuntarily violated this law, ran the risk of losing his
life.[148] Discriminating judges were established to pronounce upon
the excellency of the works offered in the competition, and one was
very careful not to abandon oneself at first to the passionate
acclamations of the people, and the approbations or disapprobations of
the maxims which were therein contained.[1] These judges, proficient
in the knowledge of music and of poetry, had to listen in silence
until the end, and maintain all in order and decency. Plato attributes
to the desuetude into which this law fell, and to the absolute
dominion which the people assumed over the theatre, the first
decadence of the art and its entire corruption.

Æschylus, whom I have just named, was the true creator of dramatic
art. Strong with the inspiration which he had received from
Homer,[150] he transported into tragedy the style of epopœia, and
animated it with a music grave and simple.[151] Not content with the
moral beauties with which his genius embellished it, he wished that
music, painting, and dancing might lend their aid and contribute to
the illusion of the senses. He caused a theatre to be built where the
most ingenious devices, the most magnificent decorations displayed
their magic effects.[152] One saw in the tragedy of Prometheus, the
earth trembling, clouds of dust rising in the air; one heard the
whistling of wind, the crash of thunder; one was dazzled by the
lightnings.[153] Old Ocean appeared upon the waves, and Mercury came
from the heights of heaven to announce the commands of Jupiter. In the
tragedy of the Eumenides, these infernal divinities appeared upon the
scene to the number of fifty, clothed in black robes; blood-stained,
the head bristling with serpents, holding in one hand a torch and in
the other a lash.[154] They replied to the shade of Clytemnestra, who
invoked them, by a choir of music so frightful, that a general terror
having struck the assembly, certain of the women experienced premature
pains of confinement.[155]

One feels, after this, that Greek tragedy had in its theatrical forms,
much in common with our modern operas; but what eminently
distinguishes it is that, having come forth complete from the depths
of the sanctuaries, it possessed a moral sense which the initiates
understood. This is what put it above anything that we might be able
to conceive today; what gave it an inestimable price. Whereas the
vulgar, dazzled only by the pomp of the spectacle, allured by the
beauty of the verse and the music, enjoyed merely a fleeting
gratification, the wise tasted a pleasure more pure and more durable,
by receiving the truth in their hearts even from the deceitful
delusions of the senses. This pleasure was as much greater as the
inspiration of the poet had been more perfect, and as he had succeeded
better in making the allegorical spirit felt, without betraying the
veil which covered it.

Æschylus went further in comprehension of the subject than any of his
successors. His plans were of an extreme simplicity. He deviated
little from the mythological tradition.[156] All his efforts tended
only to give light to their teachings, to penetrate into their hidden
beauties. The characters of his heroes, strongly drawn, sustained them
at heights where Homer had placed them. He caused terror to pass
before them that they might be frightened.[157] His aim was to lead
them to virtue by terror, and to inspire the soul with a force capable
of resisting alike the intoxications of prosperity and the
discouragements of poverty.

Sophocles and Euripides followed closely Æschylus and surpassed him in
certain portions of the art; the first, even triumphed over him in the
eyes of the multitude[158]; but the small number of sages, faithful to
the true principles, regarded him always as the father of
tragedy.[159] One can admit that Sophocles was more perfect in the
conduct of his plans, in the regularity of his style[160]; that
Euripides was more natural and more tender, more skilful in arousing
interest, in stirring the passions[161]; but these perfections,
resulting from the form, had not been acquired without the very
essence of drama being altered; that is to say, without the
allegorical genius which had presided at the composition of the fables
that the poets had always drawn from the religious mysteries,
suffering many deviations, which rendered it often unrecognizable
through the foreign adornments with which it was burdened. Sophocles
and above all Euripides, by devoting themselves to perfecting the
form, really harmed therefore the principle of the art and hastened
its corruption. If the laws which had at first been promulgated
against those who in treating of the tragic subjects vilified the
mysterious sense had been executed, Euripides would not have been
allowed to depict so many heroes degraded by adversity, so many
princesses led astray by love, so many scenes of shame, of scandal,
and of crime[162]; but the people, already degraded and bordering upon
corruption, allowed themselves to be drawn along by these dangerous
tableaux and hastened half-way to meet the poisoned cup which was
offered to them.

It must candidly be admitted, that it is to the very charm of these
tableaux, to the talent with which Euripides understood how to colour
them, that the decadence of Athenian manners and the first harm done
to the purity of religion must be attributed. The theatre, having
become the school of the passions, and offering to the soul no
spiritual nourishment, opened a door through which doubt, contempt,
and derision for the mysteries, the most sacrilegious audacity, and
utter forgetfulness of the Divinity, insinuated themselves even unto
the sanctuaries. Æschylus had represented in his heroes, supernatural
personages[163]; Sophocles painted simple heroes, and Euripides,
characters often less than men.[164] Now these personages were, in the
eyes of the people, either children of the gods, or the gods
themselves. What idea could be formed then of their weaknesses, of
their crimes, of their odious or ridiculous conduct, particularly when
these weaknesses or these crimes were no longer represented as
allegories from which it was necessary to seek the meaning, but as
historical events or frivolous plays of the imagination? The people,
according to the degree of their intelligence, became either impious
or superstitious; the savants professed to doubt all, and the
influential men, by feigning to believe all, regarded all parties with
an equal indifference. This is exactly what happened. The mysteries
became corrupt because one was accustomed to regard them as corrupt;
and the people became intolerant and fanatical, each one cringing with
fear, lest he be judged what he really was, namely, impious.

Such was the effect of dramatic art in Greece. This effect, at first
imperceptible, became manifest to the eyes of the sages, when the
people became the dictators of the theatre and ignored the judges
named to pronounce upon the works of the poets; When the poets,
jealous of obtaining the approval of the multitude, consulted its
taste rather than truth, its versatile passions rather than reason,
and sacrificed to its caprices the laws of honesty and excellence.[164]

As soon as tragedy, disparaging the mysteries of the fables had
transformed them into historical facts, it needed only a step to raise
historical facts to the rank of subjects of tragedy. Phrynichus was,
it is said, the first who had this audacity. He produced in the
theatre, the _Conquest of Miletus_.[166] The people of Athens, with a
whimsicality which is characteristic of them, condemned the poet to a
very heavy fine, for having disobeyed the law and crowned him because
of the tears which they shed at the representation of his work. But
this was not enough, confounding thus reality and allegory; soon,
sacred and profane things were mingled by forging without any kind of
moral aim, subjects wholly false and fantastic. The poet Agathon, who
was the author of this new profanation had been the friend of
Euripides.[167] He proved thus that he knew nothing of the essence of
dramatic poetry and makes it doubtful whether Euripides knew it any
better.

Thus, in the space of less than two centuries, tragedy, borne upon the
car of Thespis, elevated by Æschylus to a nobler theatre, carried to
the highest degree of splendour by Sophocles, had already become
weakened in the hands of Euripides, had lost the memory of its
celestial origin with Agathon, and abandoned to the caprices of a
populace as imperious as ignorant, inclined toward a rapid
degeneration.[168] Comedy less reserved did not have a happier
destiny. After having hurled its first darts upon the heroes and
demi-gods of Greece, having taken possession of certain very unguarded
allegories, to turn even the gods to ridicule[169]; after having
derided Prometheus and Triptolemus, Bacchus and the Bacchantes, after
having made sport of heaven and earth, of the golden age and the
seasons[170]; it attacked men in general and in particular, ridiculed
their absurdities, pursued their vices, real or imaginary, and
delivered them both unsparingly, without pity, to derision and
contempt.[171] Epicharmus, who gave certain rules to the indecent
farces of Susarion, was followed by Magnes, Cratinus, Eupolis, and a
crowd of other comic poets, until Aristophanes whose bitter satires no
longer finding sufficient influence in certain obscure ridicules,
applied themselves to disparaging science and virtue, and twenty years
beforehand, prepared and envenomed the hemlock by which Socrates was
poisoned. It is true that some time after, Menander tried to reform
this terrible abuse and gave to comedy a form less revolting; but he
was only able to do so by detaching it completely from its origin,
that is to say, by severing it from all that it had preserved,
intellectually and allegorically, and reducing it to the
representation of certain tableaux and certain events of the social
life.

In going back, as I have just done, to the origin of poetic science in
order to distinguish first, its essence from its form and afterwards,
to follow its diverse developments, in genus and in kind, I have
related many things and cited a great number of subjects with which
you are familiar; but you will no doubt excuse, _Messieurs_, these
numerous reminiscences and citations, in reflecting that although but
little necessary for you, they were infinitely so for me, since
presenting myself in the lists and wishing to give an added form to
this science which belongs to you, I must prove to you that I have at
least studied it profoundly.


§ V

Now, summing up what I have said, it will be found that poetry,
entirely intellectual in its origin and destined only to be the
language of the gods, owed its first developments in Greece to
Orpheus, its second to Homer, and its last to Æschylus. These three
creative men, seizing the different germs of this science still
shrouded in their formless rudiments, warmed them with the fire of
their genius and according to the particular inspiration of each, led
them to the perfection of which they were susceptible. All three of
them were the object of a first inspiration, although influenced one
by the other, and were able to communicate the magnetic power to new
disciples. Orpheus possessor of intellectual and rational poetry,
constituted that which I call _Eumolpœia_, which, being divided into
theosophy and philosophy, produces all the works which treat of the
Divinity, of the Universe, of Nature, and of Man in general.[172]
Homer, in joining to this spiritual poetry the enthusiasm of the
passions, created Epopœia, whose magnificent genus envelops a
multitude of specie, where the intellectual faculty and passion
dominate with more or less energy under the influence of imagination.
Homer rendered sentient that which was intelligible and particularized
that which Orpheus had left universal: Æschylus, trying to bring into
action what these two divine men had left with potentiality, formed
the idea of dramatic or active poetry, in which he claimed to include
whatever Eumolpœia and Epopœia had in common, that was moral,
allegorical, and passionate. He would have succeeded, perhaps, and
then would have produced the most perfect work of thought, passion,
and action possible for men, conceived by genius and executed by
talent; but Greece, exhausted by the abundant harvest obtained by
Orpheus and Homer, lacked the sap to give nourishment to this new
plant. Corrupted in its germ, this plant degenerated rapidly,
deteriorated, and put forth only a vain show of branches without
elevation and without virtue. The heroes of Thermopylæ succumbed under
the burden of their laurels. Given over to a foolish arrogance, they
covered with an unjust contempt their preceptors and their fathers;
they persecuted, they assassinated their defenders and their sages
and, base tyrants of the theatre, they prepared themselves to bow the
head beneath the yoke of the king of Macedonia.

This king, victor at Chæronea, became arbiter of Greece, and his son,
providential instrument of the ascendancy which Europe was to have
over Asia, crossing the Hellespont at the head of an army that his
genius alone rendered formidable, overthrew the empire of Cyrus and
stood for a moment upon its débris: I say for a moment, because it was
not here that the new empire was to be established: Europe had still
obeyed; she was one day to command. Rome was already, in the thought
of the future, the culminating point of the earth. A few centuries
sufficed for this city, then unknown,[173] to attain to the height of
glory. Emerging from her obscurity, conquering Pyrrhus, dominating
Italy, combating and overthrowing Carthage, conquering Greece, and
trampling under foot twenty diadems borne by the successors of
Alexander, was for this ambitious Republic the work of a few
centuries. But it is not true, although certain men whose virtue was
not enlightened by the torch of experience may have been able to say
it; it is not true that a republic, already perplexed in governing
itself, can govern the world. It requires an empire, and this empire
is created.

Cæsar laid its foundation, Augustus strengthened it. The sciences and
arts, brought to Rome from the heart of Greece, came out then from
their lethargy and flourished with a new _éclat_. Poetry, especially,
found numberless admirers. Vergil, strongly attracted by the magnetic
flame of Homer, dared to tread in his light, overthrew all the
obstacles that time had raised, and drawing near to this divine model,
received from him the second inspiration without intermediary and
without rival. Ovid, less determined, hovering between Orpheus and
Homer, succeeded, however, in uniting the second inspiration of the
one to the third inspiration of the other, and left in his book of
_Metamorphoses_ a monument not less brilliant and more inimitable than
the _Æneid_. Horace, little satisfied with succeeding Pindar, sought
and found the means of uniting to the enthusiasm of the passions the
calm of rational poetry, and, establishing himself a legislator of
Parnassus, dictated laws to the poets, or jeered at the absurdities of
men.

This poetry of reason had long since fallen into desuetude. The false
movement that dramatic poetry had taken in Greece, the contempt that
it had come to inspire for gods and men, had reacted upon it. The
philosophers, disdaining a science which, by its own admission, was
founded upon falsehood, had driven it from their writings. As much as
they searched for it, when they believed it an emanation of the
Divinity, so much had they fled from it since they had come to see in
it only the vain production of an insensate delirium. Here is an
observation, _Messieurs_, somewhat new, with which I may engage your
attention: the first comedies appeared five hundred and eighty years
before our era, which was about twenty years after Pherecydes wrote
the first work in prose.[174] This philosopher doubtless, did not
believe that a language prostituted to the burlesque parodies of
Susarion should be useful further to the meditations of the sages. It
is not, however, that at long intervals certain philosophers such as
Empedocles, Parmenides, and many others of their disciples, have not
written in verse[175]; but the remains of the ancient usage soon gave
way, especially when Plato had embellished prose with the charm of his
captivating eloquence. Before this philosopher, Herodotus had read in
the assembly of the Olympic games an history of Greece connected with
that of the greater part of the neighbouring nations.[176] This work,
written in a fluent style, clear and persuasive, had so enchanted the
Greeks, that they had given to the nine books which he composed, the
names of the nine Muses. Nevertheless, an observation which will not
be wholly foreign here, is, that the admission of prose in philosophy,
instead of rational poetry, produced a style of work hitherto unknown,
and of which the moderns made much; I am speaking of positive history.
Before this epoch, history written in verse was, as I have said,
allegorical and figurative, and was occupied only with the masses
without respect to individuals. Thus the evil which resulted on the
one side, from the degradation experienced by poetry in one of its
branches, was balanced by the good which was promised on the other,
from the purification of prose for the advancement of exact knowledge.

But returning to what I said just now on the subject of rational
poetry, joined by the Romans to the passionate part of that science, I
will say that this union created a new style, of which Horace was the
originator: this was the didactic style. This style ought not to be
confused with rational poetry, of which Hesiod has made use in his
poem of _Works and Days_, and which pertains to Eumolpœia; nor with
pure rational poetry, such as one finds in the writings of Parmenides
and Empedocles: it is a sort of poetry which, attaching itself to form
alone, depends much upon dramatic art. The didactic, satirical, or
simply descriptive poet is similar to an actor on the stage declaiming
a long monologue. Rational poetry was welcomed at Rome, and drawn from
the long oblivion into which it had fallen, by Lucretius who, being
inspired by the works of Leucippus and of Epicurus[177] wrote a book
upon the nature of things, which has never been as yet well
comprehended or well translated, the language not being understood.

Comedy, reformed by Menander, was again improved by Plautus and by
Terence who acquired much reputation in this style; as to dramatic art
in itself, it remained in its inertia. The Romans having the same gods
and nearly the same mythology as the Greeks, were neither sufficiently
elevated in intelligence to reinstate this art and make of it the
masterpiece of the human mind; nor sufficiently advanced in exact
knowledge to change wholly its forms and make of it, as we have, a new
art, whence allegory and the moral part of Eumolpœia have been
completely banished. But what the Romans were unable to do for
dramatic art, they unfortunately were able to do for Epopœia. Certain
writers, able versifiers, but absolutely deprived of intellectual
inspiration, incapable of distinguishing in poetry the essence from
the form, following what the degenerated theatre and the inspired
declamations of Euhemerus[178] had taught them, imagined foolishly
that the gods and heroes of antiquity having been only men stronger
and more powerful than the others, mythology was only a crude
collection of historic facts disfigured, and Epopœia only an emphatic
discourse upon these same facts.[179] Thereupon they believed that it
was only a question of taking any historic subject whatever, and
relating it in verse with certain embellishments, to create an epic
poem. Lucan and Silius Italicus, in choosing, the one the misfortunes
of Pompey, and the other the victories of Hannibal, considered
themselves superior to Homer or Vergil, as much as they supposed Rome
or Carthage superior to Ilium. But a just posterity, notwithstanding
the prejudices of their panegyrists, has put them in their place. It
has considered them merely the inventors of a kind of bastard poetry,
which might be called historic poetry. This poetry, entirely separated
from Eumolpœia, whose moral essence it is unable to realize, preserves
only the material and physical forms of true Epopœia. It is a body
without soul, which is moved by a mechanical mainspring applied by a
skilful workman.

As to the poetic form in itself, its only point of variance with the
Greeks and Romans was that of elegance. The verses written in the same
manner, depended likewise upon a fixed number of time or of feet
regulated by musical rhythm. If rhyme had been admitted there in the
first ages, it had been excluded early enough so that there remained
no longer the least trace of it. The Latin tongue, very far from the
Greek in flexibility, variety, and harmony, for a long time treated
with contempt by the Greeks who, regarding it as a barbarous dialect,
only learned it with repugnance[180]; the Latin tongue, I say,
unpleasing, obscure, not even supporting the mediocrity of ordinary
elocution, became, through the laborious efforts of its writers, a
tongue which in the works of Vergil, for example, attained such a
perfection, that it came to be doubted, owing to the grace, the
justice, and the force of its expression, whether the author of the
_Æneid_ did not surpass the author of the _Iliad_. Such is the empire
of forms. They alone make problematical that which, in its essence,
should not be subject to the least discussion.

But at last the Roman Eagle, after having soared some time in the
universe and covered with his extended wings the most beautiful
countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa, fatigued by its own triumphs,
sank down again, allowed its power to be divided, and from the summit
of this same Capitol, whence it had for such a long time hurled its
thunderbolts, saw the vultures of the North divide among them its
spoils. The mythological religion, misunderstood in its principles,
attacked in its forms, given over to the corruption of things and men,
had disappeared to give place to a new religion, which born in
obscurity, was raised imperceptibly from the ranks of the humblest
citizens to the imperial throne. Constantine, who in embracing the
Christian cult had consolidated that religious revolution, believed
himself able to bring about another in politics, by transferring the
seat of his empire to the Bosphorus. Historians have often blamed this
last movement; but they have not seen that Providence, in inspiring
this division of the empire, foresaw that the darkness of ignorance
rolling with the waves of the barbarians was about to extend as far as
Rome, and that it would be necessary to concentrate at one point a
part of the learning, in order to save it from the general ruin.
Whereas the Empire of the Occident, assailed on all sides by the
hordes from the North, was overthrown, torn, divided into numberless
small sovereignties whose extent was often limited to the donjon where
the sovereign resided; the Empire of the Orient sustained the weight
of the hordes from the South, nourished continually in its midst
certain men, guardians of the sacred fire of science, and did not fall
until more than nine centuries later; and learning, commencing its
revival in the Occident, put minds in condition there, to appreciate
the models which were about to be presented to them and rendered them
capable of receiving their inspiration.

It was a very remarkable epoch, _Messieurs_, which saw grouped about
it in the space of less than a half century and coincident with the
downfall of the Empire of the Orient, the use of gunpowder, of the
compass, of the telescope in the Occident; the invention of engraving
upon copper, that of movable characters for printing, the extension of
commerce and navigation by the passage around the cape of Storms, and
finally the discovery of America. It was a very extraordinary century,
in which were born Mohammed II. and Lorenzo de’ Medici, Vasco da Gama
and Christopher Columbus, Theodoros Gaza and Pico della Mirandola,
Leonardo da Vinci and Bojardo, Leo X. and Luther. After the invasion
of the barbarians, Christian Europe had lost its political unity: it
was as a great republic whose divided members, struggling continuously
one against the other, tearing by turn a shadow of supremacy, were the
realms, the pontifical or laic principalities, the republics, the free
and commercial cities. The two chiefs of this gigantic and badly
organized body, the German Emperor and the Pope, bishop of Rome, were
vested only with a grandeur of opinion; their real power was void:
they were nothing more, in fact, than that which they appeared in
form. Since Charlemagne, who, in a century of darkness enlightened
with his own genius, had had the force to grasp the _débris_ of the
empire, uniting them in his hand and giving them a momentary
existence, it had not had an emperor. The vain efforts of Hildebrand
and of Charles V. had served only at different times and under
different conditions to demonstrate their impotence. It was reserved
for a much greater man to dominate Europe regenerated by violent
shocks, and to show to the universe the legitimate successor of
Augustus wreathed with the imperial crown.

But without in any way anticipating time, without even leaving our
subject which is poetry, let us continue to follow the developments of
this science.

The original poets of Greece and Rome, brought into Italy by the
savants whom the taking of Constantinople forced to go back towards
the Occident of Europe, brought there an unexpected brilliancy, which,
with the ancient germs deeply buried in its midst, soon awakened
certain new germs that the peculiar circumstances had also brought
there. In explaining what these germs were, I am giving occasion for
thinkers to make certain reflections, and critics to form certain
singular conjectures upon works hitherto badly judged.

It is necessary at first, that I repeat a truth which I have already
said: that intellectual nature is always one and the same, whereas
physical nature varies, changes unceasingly with time and place, and
is modified in a thousand ways according to circumstances. Now, it is
this latter nature which gives the form, that is to say, which renders
sentient and particular that which the former gives to it as universal
and intelligible; so that its aptitude more or less great, in
receiving and in working upon the intelligence, can make the things
which are more homogeneous in their principle appear more dissimilar
in their effect. I will give a proof. Whilst the most profound
obscurity covered Europe, whilst ignorance spread on all sides its
baleful veils, there were found, however, at long intervals, certain
privileged men, who, raising themselves above these thick vapours,
came to grasp certain faint glimmerings of the light shining always
above them. These men possessors of such rare gifts, would have indeed
wished to communicate them to their contemporaries, but if they
imprudently opened their mouths, the blind and fanatic horde which
surrounded them cried out forthwith against the heretic, the magician,
the sorcerer, and conducted them to torture as the price of their
lessons.[181] After several sorry examples, these men, having become
prudent, assumed the part of silence by retiring into monasteries or
hermitages, studying Nature there in quietude, and profiting alone by
their discoveries. If certain ones still dared to speak, it was by
borrowing the style of religion, or history, diverting from the
ordinary sense certain ideas received, explaining themselves by
enigmas, or by figures, which, when necessary, they were able to
explain as they wished.

Among this number was a man of strong imagination and of a genius
really poetic, who, having grasped certain truths of nature, and
judging it proper not to divulge them, took the expedient of enclosing
them in a book which he entitled: _Les Faits et Gestes de
Charles-Magne_. This extraordinary man who has, in these modern times,
obtained an ascendancy greater than one could ever have imagined,
since he is the vital source whence have come all the orders, all the
institutions of chivalry with which Europe has been inundated; this
man, I say, was a monk of _Saint-André de Vienne_, living from the
tenth to the eleventh century and perhaps a little before.[182] The
book that he composed had a success as much the more prodigious as it
was misunderstood, and such was the ignorance not only of the people,
but even of the clergy, that the most palpable fictions were taken for
realities. There are historians even who pretend that the council of
Rheims, celebrated in 1119, declared this work authentic[183]; and
thence came the habit of attributing it to Archbishop Turpin. However
that may be, it is to the allegorical history of Charlemagne, to that
of his twelve paladins, called peers of France, to that of the four
sons of Aymon and of Chevalier Bayard, to that of Renaud, Roland,
Richard, and the other heroes of the _bibliothèque bleue_, for a long
time our only _bibliotheca_, that we owe a new style of poetry, called
Romanesque, on account of the Romance tongue in which it had
birth.[184] This style is to the _eumolpique_ style, as a wild
offshoot, growing laboriously in an arid and bramble-covered land, is
to a cultivated tree which rises majestically in the heart of a
fertile country.

It was with the chivalrous ideas, inspired by the book of the monk of
Saint André, that the first poetic ideas were brought forth in France.
The Oscan troubadours seizing these first glimmerings of genius, threw
themselves with enthusiasm into a career which offered at the same
time pleasures, glory, and the gifts of fortune.[185] They sang of the
fair, of gallants and of kings; but their verses, monotonous enough
when a real passion did not animate them, hardly reached above eulogy
or satire. But little capable of feeling the moral beauties of poetry,
they stopped at form. The rhyme for them was everything. For them the
supreme talent was only rhyming much and with difficulty. One could
not imagine to what lengths they went in this style. Not content with
restricting themselves to follow the same rhyme throughout the entire
course of the poem, they sometimes doubled it at the end of each
verse, rhyming by echo, or else they made an initial rhyme.[186] These
obstacles becoming multiplied stifled their muse in its cradle. All
that art owed to these first modern poets was limited to a sort of
song, gay and sprightly, ordinarily a parody upon a more serious
subject, and which, because it was quite frequently sung with an air
of the dance accompanied by the _vielle_ or _hurdy-gurdy_, their
favourite instrument, was called _vau-de-vielle_, or as is pronounced
today, vaudeville.[187]

The Italians and Spaniards, who received from the Oscan troubadours
their first impulse toward poetry, would have been perhaps as limited
as they, to composing amorous sonnets, madrigals or, at the most,
certain vehement _sylves_,[188] if the Greeks, driven from their
country by the conquests of Mohammed II., had not brought them the
works of the ancients as I have already said. These works, explained
in the _chaire publique_, due to the munificence of the Medicis,
struck particularly the Italians: not however by exciting their poets
to take them as models; the turn of their mind and the form of their
poetry, similar in everything to that of the troubadours, were opposed
too obviously here; but by giving them that sort of emulation which,
without copying the others, makes one strive to equal them. At this
epoch the book of the monk of St. André, attributed as I have said to
Archbishop Turpin, already more than four centuries old, was known by
all Europe, whether by itself, or whether by the numberless imitations
of which it had been the subject. Not only France, Spain, Italy, but
also England and Germany were inundated with a mass of romances and
ballads, wherein were pictured the knights of the court of Charlemagne
and those of the Round Table.[1189] All these works were written in
verse, and the greater part, particularly those composed by the
troubadours or their disciples, intended to be sung, were cut into
strophes. Those of the imitator poets, who had had the force to go
back to the allegorical sense of their model, had only developed and
enriched it with their own knowledge; the others, following their
various methods of considering it, had chosen subjects real and
historical, or indeed had followed ingenuously without aim or plan,
the impulse of their vagabond imagination. In France could be seen
represented by the side of the stories of Tristan, of Lancelot, of the
Grail, and of Ogier-le-Danois, that of Alexander the Great and of the
Bible, that of the Seven Sages and of Judas Maccabeus, that of the
History of the Normands and the Bretons, and finally that of the Rose,
the most famous of all. A certain Guilhaume had published a
philosophical romance upon the nature of beasts.[190]

Already the Italian poets, after having received from the troubadours
the form of their verses and that of their works, had surpassed their
masters and had caused them to be forgotten. Petrarch in the sonnet
and Dante in the _sirvente_ assumed all the glory of their models, and
left not any for the successors[191]; already even Bojardo and some
others had attempted, with the example of Homer, to bring back to the
unity of epopœia, the incongruous and fantastic scenes of the romance,
when Ariosto appeared. This man, gifted with a keen and brilliant
imagination, and possessor of a matchless talent, executed what no one
else had been able to do before him; he was neither inspired by Homer,
nor by Vergil; he copied no one. He learned from them only to raise
himself to the poetic source, to see it where it was and to draw from
it his genius. Then he received a first inspiration and became the
creator of a particular style of poetry which may be called romantic.
Undoubtedly this style is greatly inferior to epopœia; but after all
it is original: its beauties as well as its faults belong to him.

Almost the same moment when Ariosto enriched Europe with his new
poetry, Camoëns wished to naturalize it in Portugal; but the _mélange_
of Vergil and Lucan that he essayed to make, betrayed his lack of
understanding and he did not succeed. I mention it only that you may
observe, _Messieurs_, that the form adopted by the Portuguese poet is
exactly the same as the one which Ariosto, his predecessors and his
successors, have followed in Italy: it is that of the troubadours. The
poems of each are long ballads, intersected by strophes of eight lines
of alternate rhymes which, succeeding one another with the same
measure, can be sung from one end to the other, with an appropriate
air, and which in fact, as J. J. Rousseau has very well remarked, were
sung frequently. In these poems, the essence is in accord with the
form, and it is this that makes their regularity. It is not the
epopœia of Homer drawn from the Orphic source, it is the romantic
poetry of Ariosto, an issue of the fictions attributed to Archbishop
Turpin, which is associated with the verses of the troubadours. These
verses subjected to rhyme are incapable in any tongue of attaining the
sublime heights of Eumolpœia or of Epopœia.

The French poets soon proved it, when coming to understand the works
of Homer and Vergil, they thought themselves able to imitate them by
making use of the same poetic forms by which the authors of _Perceval_
or _Berthe-au-grand-pied_ had profited. It was all to no purpose that
they worked these forms, striking them upon the anvil, polishing them,
they remained inflexible. Ronsard was the first who made the fatal
experiment; and after him a crowd of careless persons came to run
aground upon the same reef. These forms always called up the spirit
with which they were born; the melancholy and unceasing sound,
sonorous with their rhymes in couplets or alternate, had something
soporific which caused the soul to dream and which allured it in spite
of itself, not into the sublime regions of allegory where the genius
of Eumolpœia was nourished, but into vague spaces of fictions, where,
under a thousand whimsical forms the romantic mind evaporates.
Doubtless one would have been able, in France, to limit the Italian
poets, as had been done in Spain and Portugal; but besides, as it
would have been necessary to confine itself to the second inspiration
in a style already secondary, the spirit of the nation, sufficiently
well represented by that of Ronsard, foreseeing from afar its high
destinies, wished to command the summit of Parnassus, before having
discovered the first paths.

The disasters of the first epic poets did not discourage their
successors; vying with each other they sought to make amends; but
instead of seeing the obstacle where it really was, that is to say, in
the incompatible alliance of the essence of Epopœia with the form of
romance, they imagined that lack of talent alone had been prejudicial
to the success of their predecessors. Consequently they devoted
themselves to work with an indefatigable ardour, polishing and
repolishing the rhyme, tearing to pieces and revising twenty times
their works, and finally bringing the form to the highest perfection
that they were able to attain. The century of Louis XIV., so fertile
in able versifiers, in profound rhymers, saw, however, the dawn of
Epic poems only as a signal of their failure. Chapelain had,
nevertheless, shown talent before his catastrophe; wishing to interest
the French nation, he had chosen in its history the sole epic subject
which he found there. Why had he not succeeded? This point was
considered, and the truth still lacking, they went on to imagine that
the fault was inherent in the French tongue, and that it was no longer
capable of rising to the heights of Epopœia: deplorable error, which
for a long time has been harmful to the development of a tongue
destined to become universal and to carry to future centuries the
discoveries of past ones.

Ronsard had felt the difficulty most. Accustomed as he was to read
Greek and Latin works in the original, he had seen clearly that what
prevented the French tongue from following their poetic movement was
particularly the restraint of the rhyme; he had even sought to free it
from this servitude, endeavouring to make the French verses scan
according to the ancient rhythm; but, in another way he had not
appreciated the genius of that tongue which refused to follow this
rhythm. Jodelle, Baïf, Passerat, Desportes, Henri-Etienne, and certain
other savants, have made at different times the same attempt, and
always without results.[192] Each tongue has its own character which
it is necessary to know; ours has not at all the musical prosody of
the Greek and Latin; its syllables are not determined, long and short,
by the simple duration of time, but by the different accentuation and
inflection of the voice. Among our writers the one who has best
understood the nature of this prosody is certainly the abbé d’Olivet:
he declared firstly that he did not believe it possible to make French
verses measured by rhythm; and secondly, that even in the case where
this might be possible, he did not see how this rhythm could be
conformable to that of the Greeks and Latins.[193]

I am absolutely of his opinion on these two points; I am furthermore,
_en partie_, on what he says of the rhyme. I know as he, that it is
not an invention of the barbarous ages; I know even more, that it is
the luxurious production of a very enlightened age; I must say that it
has brought forth thousands of beautiful verses, that it is often to
the poet like a strange genius which comes to the assistance of his
own.[194] God forbid that I pretend to separate it from French verse
of which it is a charm. Rhyme is necessary, even indispensable, to
romantic poetry and to all that is derived from it; and songs,
ballads, vaudevilles, sylves of whatever sort they may be, whatever
form, whatever length they may have, cannot pass away. It adds an
infinite grace to all that is sung or recited with the chivalrous
sentiment. Even the lyric style receives from it a romantic harmony
which accords with it. All the secondary styles admit of this. It can,
up to a certain point, embellish descriptive verse, soften didactic
verse, add to the melancholy of the elegy, to the grace of the idyl;
it can at last become the ornament of dramatic art such as we
possess――that is to say, chivalrous and impassioned; but as to real
Eumolpœia and Epopœia――that is to say, as to what concerns
intellectual and rational poetry, pure or mingled with the enthusiasm
of the passions; prophetic verses or hymns, emanated from the Divinity
or destined to be raised to it; philosophical verse adapted to the
nature of things and developing the diverse moral and physical
systems; epic verses uniting talent to allegorical genius and joining
together the intelligible world to the sentient world; with all these,
rhyme is incompatible. As much as it delights in works of the mind
just so much is it rejected by genius. Fiction harmonizes with it,
allegory is opposed to it. It is chivalrous and not heroic; agreeable,
brilliant, clever, melancholy, sentimental, but it could never be
either profound or sublime.

Let us clear this up with the light of experience, and now that we can
do it to good purpose, let us make a rapid survey of the poetic
condition of the principal nations of the earth.


§ VI

The Greeks and the Romans, as guilty of ingratitude as of injustice,
have styled Asia barbarous, without thinking that they thus outraged
their Mother, the one from whom both had their origin and their first
instructions. Europe, more impartial today, begins to feel as she
should toward this ancient and noble country, and rendering to her
venerable scars a filial respect, does not judge her according to her
present weakness, but according to the vigour that she possessed in
the age of her strength, and of which her magnificent productions
still bear the imprint. A philosophical observer, academician of
Calcutta, turning an investigating eye upon that part of the
terrestrial continent, has recognized there five principal nations,
among which that of the Indians holds the first rank; the others are
those of the Chinese, Tartars, Persians, and Arabs.[195] According to
this able writer, primitive India should be considered as a sort of
luminous focus which, concentrating at a very remote epoch the
learning acquired by an earlier people, has reflected it, and has
dispersed the rays upon the neighbouring nations.[196] She has been
the source of Egyptian, Greek, and Latin theogony; she has furnished
the philosophical dogmas with which the first poets of Thrace and
Ionia have adorned the beauties of Eumolpœia and Epopœia; it is she
who has polished the Persians, Chaldeans, Arabs, and Ethiopians; and
who by her numerous colonies has entertained relations with the
Chinese, Japanese, Scandinavians, Celts, Etruscans, and even with the
Peruvians of the other hemisphere.[197]

If one listens to the discourse of those who have been much inclined
to study the savant language of the Indians, Sanskrit, he will be
persuaded that it is the most perfect language that man has ever
spoken. Nothing, according to them, can surpass its riches, its
fertility, its admirable structure; it is the source of the most
poetic conceptions and the mother of all the dialects which are in use
from the Persian Gulf to the waters of China.[198] It is certain that
if anything can prove to the eyes of savants the maternal rights that
this tongue claims over all the others, it is the astonishing variety
of its poetry: what other peoples possess in detail, it possesses _in
toto_. It is there that Eumolpœia, Epopœia, and Dramatic Art shine
with native _éclat_: it is there that poetry divine and rational,
poetry allegorical and passionate, poetry stirring and even romantic,
find their cradle. There, all forms are admitted, all kinds of verse
received. The _Vedas_, pre-eminently sacred books, are, like the Koran
of Mohammed, written in cadenced prose.[199] The _Pouranas_, which
contain the theosophy and philosophy of the Brahmans, their system
concerning Nature, their ideas upon morals and upon natural
philosophy, are composed in philosophical verse not rhymed; they are
attributed to Vyasa, the Orpheus of the Indians. Valmiki, who is their
Homer, has displayed in the _Ramayana_ an epopœia magnificent and
sublime to the highest degree; the dramas, which they call Nataks,
are, according to their style, rhymed and not rhymed: Bheret is
considered as their inventor; Kalidasa as their perfecter.[200] The
other kinds of poetry are all rhymed; their number is immense; their
variety infinite. Nothing equals the industry and delicacy of the
Indian rhymers in this style. The Arabs all skilful as they were, the
Oscan troubadours whose rhyme was their sole merit, have never
approached their models.[201] Thus, not only does one find among the
Indians the measured verse of the Greeks and Romans, not only does one
see there rhythms unknown to these two peoples, but one recognizes
also there our rhyme with combinations of which we have no idea.

I ought to make an important observation here: it is, that whereas
India, mistress of Asia, held the sceptre of the earth, she still
recognized only the eumolpœia of the _Vedas_ and the _Pouranas_, only
the epopœia of _Maha-Bharata_ and the _Ramayana_; her poetry was the
language of the gods and she gave herself the name of _Ponya-Rhoumi_,
Land of Virtues. It was only when a long prosperity had enervated her,
that the love for novelty, the caprice of fashion and perhaps, as it
happened in Greece, the deviation of the theatre, caused her to seek
for beauties foreign to veritable poetry. It is not a rare thing to
pass the point of perfection when one has attained it. The astonishing
flexibility of Sanskrit, the abundance of its final consonants opens a
double means for corruption. Poets multiplied words believing to
multiply ideas; they doubled rhymes; they tripled them in the same
verse believing to increase proportionably its harmony. Their
imagination bending before an inspiring genius became vagabond; they
thought to rise to the sublime, and fell into the bombastic. At last,
knowing no longer how to give emphasis and importance to their
extravagant thoughts, they created words of such length that, in order
to contain them, it was necessary to forge verses of four _cæsuras_ of
nineteen syllables each.[202]

It was, therefore, at the epoch of the decadence of the Indian Empire,
that rhyme usurped poetry. It would be difficult today to say whether
it was an innovation or a simple renovation. However it may be, it is
probable that it passed rapidly from the ruling nation to subject
nations where it was diversely welcomed according to the language and
particular mind of each people.

If one can believe the annals of the Indians, China was one of their
colonies for a long time schismatic and rebellious.[203] If one can
lend faith to the most ancient tradition of the Chinese, they form
from time immemorial a body of autochthonous people.[204] The
discussion of this historic difficulty would be out of place here.
Suffice it to say, that the Chinese having commenced by having rhymed
verses, and preserving by character and by religion, with an
inviolable respect, the ancient usages, have never had but a mediocre
poetry, absolutely foreign to epopœia.[205] Their principal sacred
books, called _Kings_, are composed of symbolic or hieroglyphic
characters, forming by groups sorts of tableaux, of profound and often
sublime conception, but bereft of what we would call eloquence of
language. These are mute images, incommunicable by means of the voice,
and which the reader must consider with the eyes and meditate long
upon in order to comprehend them.

The Tartars who reign today in China and who are distinguished from
the others by the epithet of Manchus, although possessors of a formed
tongue whose richness certain authors praise,[206] have not any kind
of poetry as I have already remarked.[207] The other Tartars were
hardly more advanced before being placed by their conquests within
reach of the learning of the vanquished people. The Turks had no
alphabetical characters. The Huns were ignorant even of its existence.
The proud vanquisher of Asia, Genghis Khan did not find, according to
the best historians, a single man among the Mongolians capable of
writing his despatches. The alphabet of fourteen letters that the
Uïgurian Tartars possess, appears to have been given them by the
ancient Persians,[208] from whom they also received the little that
they knew of poetry.

These Persians, today imitators of the Arabs, were in very remote
times disciples of the Indians. Their sacred tongue then called Zend,
in which are written the fragments that remain to us of Zoroaster, was
a dialect of Sanskrit.[209] These fragments that we owe to the
indefatigable zeal of Anquetil Duperron, appear to be written, as the
Vedas, or as all the sacred books of India, in cadenced prose. After
the _Zend-Avesta_, the most famous book among the Parsees is the
_Boun-Dehesh_, written in Pehlevi, and containing the cosmogony of
Zoroaster. Pehlevi, which is derived from Chaldaic Nabatæan, indicates
a translation,[210] and testifies that Persia had already passed from
under the dominion of India to that of Assyria. But when, thanks to
the conquests of Cyrus, Persia had become free and mistress of Asia,
Pehlevi, which recalled its ancient servitude, was banished from the
court by Bahman-Espandiar, whom we call Artaxerxes Longimanus.[211]
The Parsee replaced it; this last dialect, modified by Greek under the
successors of Alexander, mixed with many Tartar words under the
Parthian kings, polished by the Sassanidæ, usurped at last by the
Arabs and subjected to the intolerant influence of Islamism, had no
longer its own character: it has taken, in the modern Persian, all the
movements of the Arabic, notwithstanding its slight analogy with
it[212]; following its example, it has concentrated all the beauties
of poetry in rhyme and since then it has had neither Eumolpœia nor
Epopœia.

As to the Arab, no one is ignorant of the degree to which he is a
slave to rhyme. Already, by a sufficiently happy conjecture, a French
writer had made the first use of rhyme in France coincide with the
irruption of the Moors into Europe at the beginning of the eighth
century.[213] He has said that Provence had been the door by which
this novelty was introduced into France. However difficult it may
appear of proving rigorously this assertion, lacking monuments, it
cannot, however, be denied that it may be very probable, above all
considering what influence the Arabs exercised upon the sciences and
arts in the south of France after they had penetrated through Spain.
Now, there is no country on earth where the poetry that I have called
romantic has been cultivated with more constancy and success than in
Arabia; rhyme, if she has received it from India, was naturalized
there by long usage, in such a way as to appear to have had birth
there. If it must be said, the Arab tongue seems more apt at receiving
it than the Sanskrit. Rhyme seems more requisite to poetry there, on
account of the great quantity and inflexibility of the monosyllables,
which joining together only with much difficulty to form the numerous
and rhythmic combinations, had need of its assistance to soften their
harshness and to supply the harmony which they lacked.

Neverthless, whatever may be the pretension of Arabia to the invention
of rhyme, and even to that of romantic poetry, one cannot be
prevented, when one possesses without prejudice and to a certain
extent the distinguishing character of the Asiatic languages, from
seeing that there are proofs in the Arabic itself which give evidence
in favour of India. Such is, for example, the word _Diwan_,[214] by
which the Arabs designate the collection of their ancient
poetries.[215] This word, which is attached to the Sanskrit expression
_Dewa_ or _Diwa_, designates all that is divine, celestial; all that
emanates from the Universal Intelligence[216]: it is the poetry of the
Greeks, the language of the gods, or the voice of the Universal Being
of the Egyptians and the Phœnicians.

However, the Arabic _Diwan_――that is to say, the poetic collection of
that nation, goes back to most ancient times. One finds in it verses
attributed to the first Hebrew patriarchs and even to Adam[217]; for
since the introduction of Islamism, the cosmogony of Moses has become
that of the Mussulmans, as it has been ours since the establishment of
Christianity. It is there, in this _diwan_, that the most authentic
traditions are preserved: they are all in verse and resemble greatly,
as to form and doubtless as to substance, that which the monk of St.
André has transmitted to us through the court of Charlemagne. It is
the same chivalrous spirit and the same romantic fictions. The Persian
poet Firdausi appears to have followed similar traditions
concerning the ancient kings of Iran, in his famous poem entitled
_Shah-Namah_.[218] The wonders which reign in these traditions have
been transmitted no doubt by the Arabs, with the artifice of rhyme:
both have the same spirit. The protecting fairies of the knights, the
giant persecutors of ladies, the enchanters, the magic, and all those
illusions are the fruits of that brilliant and dreamy imagination
which characterizes the modern Orientals. We have enthusiastically
enjoyed them in the depths of the barbarity where we were plunged; we
have allowed ourselves to be drawn by the charms of rhyme, like
children in the cradle, whom their nurses put to sleep by the
monotonous sound of a lullaby. Escaped from that state of languor, and
struck at last with a gleam of real intelligence, we have compared
Greece and Arabia, the songs of epopœia and those of the ballads; we
have blushed at our choice; we have wished to change it; but owing to
the captivating form always more or less the substance, we have only
succeeded in making mixtures more or less happy, according to the
secondary mode that we follow.

Rhyme, brought into Europe by the Arabs more than a thousand years
ago, spread by degrees among all nations, in such a way that when one
wishes to examine its origin with accuracy, one no longer knows
whether it is indigenous there or exotic. One finds on all sides only
rhymed verses. The Spanish, Portuguese, Italians, French, Germans of
all dialects, Hollanders, Danes, Swedes and Norwegians, all
rhyme.[219] The modern Greeks themselves have forgotten their ancient
rhythm in order to assume our style.[220] If anything could, however,
make one doubt that rhyme may be natural to Europe, it is that ancient
Scandinavian, in which are written the precious fragments which have
come down to us concerning the mythological cult of the Celts, our
ancestors, does not rhyme; also it rises often to the sublimity of
Eumolpœia.[221] This observation, which makes us reject Arabia, will
take us back to India, if we consider that there is plausible
presumption in believing that the Phœnicians and the Egyptians who had
so much intercourse with the Arabs, did not rhyme, since the sacred
book of the Hebrews, the _Sepher_, that we call the _Bible_, and which
appears to have issued from the Egyptian sanctuaries, is written in
cadenced rhyme, as the _Zend-Avesta_ of the Parsees and the _Vedas_ of
the Indians.[222]

The outline that I have just sketched confirms, _Messieurs_, what I
have wished to prove to you and which is the subject of this
discourse, the distinction that should be made between the essence and
the form of poetry, and the reciprocal influence that should be
recognized between these two parts of the science. You have seen that
wherever rhyme has dominated exclusively, as in Asia among the
Chinese, Arabians, Persians; as in Europe among all the modern
peoples, it has excluded epopœia and has replaced allegorical genius
by the spirit of romantic fictions; you have seen that wherever
eumolpique poetry has wished to appear, whether moral or rational,
theosophical or philosophical, it has been obliged to have recourse to
a particular prose, when the form of poetry has resisted it, as has
happened in China for the _Kings_, in Persia for the _Zend-Avesta_, in
Arabia for the _Koran_; you have seen that wherever poetry has been
preserved purely rhythmical, as in Greece and with the Romans, it has
admitted eumolpœia and epopœia without mixture; and finally, that
wherever the two forms meet each other with all their modifications,
as in India, it gives way in turn to all the different kinds,
intellectual and rational, epic, dramatic, and romantic.

Now, what Hindustan was for Asia, France should be for Europe. The
French tongue, as the Sanskrit, should tend towards universality; it
should be enriched with all the learning acquired in the past
centuries, so as to transmit it to future generations. Destined to
float upon the _débris_ of a hundred different dialects, it ought to
be able to save from the shipwreck of time all their beauties and all
their remarkable productions. Nevertheless, how will it be done, if
its poetic forms are not open to the spirit of all the poetries, if
its movement, arrested by obstacles cannot equal that of the tongues
which have preceded it in the same career? By what means, I ask you,
will it succeed to the universal dominion of Sanskrit, if, dragging
always after it the frivolous jingling of Arabic sounds, it cannot
even succeed to the partial domination of Greek or Latin? Must it be
necessary then that it betray its high destinies, and that the
providential decree which founds the European empire, exempt it from
the glory which it promises to the French name?

I have told you, _Messieurs_, in beginning this discourse, that it was
in the interest of science alone, that I entered this career: it is
assuredly not by my poor poetic talent that I have aspired to the
honour of occupying your attention; but by a generous instinct, which,
making me ignore many of the considerations which might have arrested
me, has persuaded me that I could be useful. I have dared to conceive
the possibility of composing, in French, eumolpique verse, which might
neither be measured by musical rhythm foreign to our tongue, nor
enchained by rhyme opposed to all intellectual and rational movement,
and which however might have neither the harshness, nor the discord of
that which has been called, up to this time, blank verse.

Many French writers have tried to make verse deprived of rhyme. Some
have sought to imitate the measures of the ancients, others have
satisfied themselves with copying certain moderns who do not rhyme.
Each of them has misunderstood the essential character of his tongue.
Vossius alone appears to have foreseen the principles without
developing them, when he has said that French verse might be
considered as having only one foot.[223] This is exactly true in
examining rhythm only in itself, and giving to each hemistich the name
of time: but if one considers this one foot, whether hexameter or
pentameter, as formed of two times equal or unequal, it is perceived
that it participates, through its final, in two natures: the one
strong and forceful, that we name masculine; the other soft and
languid, that we call feminine. Therefore, French verse having but one
rhythmic foot, differs, however, in the style of this foot and can be
considered in two relations. Let us take for example the hexameter
verse. The rhythmic foot which constitutes it is composed of two equal
times distinguished by the cæsura, the last of which is masculine or
feminine: Masculine, as in:

  Rome, l’unique objet de mon ressentiment!
  Rome, à qui vient ton bras d’immoler mon amant!

Feminine, as in:

  Rome qui t’a vu naître et que ton cœur adore!
  Rome enfin que je hais parce qu’elle t’honore!

In rhymed verses, such as these I have just cited, two feet of the
same kind are obliged to follow one another on account of the rhyme
which links them; they then form but one whole and, proceeding abreast
without being separated, they injure by their forced mass the rapidity
of expression and flight of thought. If a third foot of the same kind
occur with the other two feet, rhyming together, it would have to
rhyme with them to prevent an insupportable discordance, which is not
tolerated; a fourth or a fifth foot would submit to the same law, so
that, if the poet wished to fill his piece with masculine verses
alone, it would be necessary that he should make them proceed upon a
single rhyme, as the Arabs do today and as our early troubadours did,
following their example. The French poet can vary his rhyme only by
varying the style of his verses and by mingling alternately together
the masculine and feminine finals.

As these two kinds of finals are dissimilar without being opposed,
they may be brought together without the need of rhyming; their
meeting, far from being disagreeable is, on the contrary, only
pleasing; two finals of the same kind, whether masculine or feminine,
can never clash without causing the same sound――that is, without
rhyming; but it is not thus with the finals of different kinds, since
the rhyme is impossible in this case. So that, to make what I call
eumolpique verses, it suffices to avoid the meeting of finals of the
same kind, whose impact necessitates the rhyme, by making one kind
succeed another continually, and opposing alternately the masculine
and feminine, the mingling of which is irrelevant to eumolpœia. Here
is all the mechanism of my verses: they are fluent as to form; as to
the essence which is expedient for them――that is another thing: for it
is rarely encountered.

Those who have made blank verse in French have spoken justly of it
with the greatest contempt; these verses, miserable as to substance,
without poetic fire, written as the flattest prose, lacking movement
and grace, had, furthermore, the insupportable fault of not
recognizing the genius of the French tongue, by making finals of the
same kind clash constantly, and by not distinguishing that which is
called rhyme from that which repels it.

Now that I have made as clear as possible my motives and my means,
there remains only, _Messieurs_, for me to submit to your judgment the
translation that I have made, in eumolpique verse, of the piece of
Greek poetry which comprises the doctrine of Pythagoras in seventy-one
lines called, _par excellence_, Golden Verses. This piece, venerable
by its antiquity and by the celebrated philosopher whose name it
bears, belonging to eumolpœia, without any mixture of passion, is
sufficiently known to savants so that I need not speak about what
concerns its particular merit. This would mean, moreover, a matter of
some explanations. At any rate, I believe it advisable before passing
to this final subject, to give you certain examples of the use of my
verses as applied to epopœia, so that you may judge, since they are in
hands as incapable as mine, what they might become when used by men of
superior genius and talent. I will choose, for this purpose, the
exposition and invocation of the principal epic poems of Europe, in
order to have a fixed subject for comparison. I will translate line by
line, and will imitate, as well as is possible for me, the movement
and harmony of the poet that I may have before me. This labour, which
I hope will not be without some interest for the illustrious
academicians whom I am addressing, will furnish me the occasion of
showing by certain characteristic traits the genius of the language
and poetry of the different modern peoples of Europe; and I will
terminate thus the outline that I have sketched touching the poetic
conditions of the principal nations of the earth.


§ VII

I am beginning with the creator of epopœia, with Homer. It is easy to
see by the manner in which this divine man blends, from the opening
lines of the _Iliad_, the exposition and invocation, that, full of a
celestial inspiration that he was the first to receive, he seeks to
pour forth the superabundant fire which consumes him, and to throw
into the soul of his hearer the impassioned enthusiasm which masters
and controls his own. The following lines will suffice to make known
the subject of a work which fills twenty-four cantos.

  Déesse! viens chanter la colère d’Achille,
  Fatale, et pour les Grecs si fertile en malheurs,
  Qui, d’avance, aux enfers, précipitant en foule
  Les âmes des héros, livra leurs corps sanglants
  Aux dogues affamés: ainsi Jupiter même
  Le voulut, quand la haine eut divisé les cœurs
  Du roi des rois Atride et du divin Achille.
    Lequel des Immortels provoqua ce courroux?
  Apollon irrité, qui, pour punir Atride,
  Ravagea son armée: et les peuples mourraient!


  O Goddess! sing the wrath of Peleus’ son,
  Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that brought
  Woes numberless upon the Greeks, and swept
  To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave
  Their limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air,――
  For so had Jove appointed,――from the time
  When the two chiefs, Atrides, King of men,
  And great Achilles, parted first as foes.
    Which of the gods put strife between the chiefs,
  That they should thus contend? Latona’s son
  And Jove’s. Incensed against the king, he bade
  A deadly pestilence appear among
  The army, and the men were perishing.
                                       BRYANT.


  Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεὰ, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος,
  οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί’ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε’ ἔθηκεν,
  πολλὰς δ’ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν
  ἡρώων, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν
  οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι (Διὸς δ’ ἐτελείετο βουλή),
  ἐξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε
  Ἀτρείδης τε, ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν, καὶ δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς.
    Τίς τ’ ἄρ σφωε θεῶν ἔριδι ξυνέηκε μάχεσθαι;
  Λητοῦς καὶ Διὸς υἱός. Ὁ γὰρ βασιλῆϊ χολωθεὶς
  νοῦσον ἀνὰ στρατὸν ὦρσε κακὴν, ὀλέκοντο δὲ λαοὶ.

I dispense with making any reflection upon the charm of the original
verses and upon the admirable sentiment which terminates them. It
would be a very strange thing not to be impressed by the beauties of
this poetry. Let us pass on to Vergil.

Even though I should not say it, it would suffice now to compare the
Greek poet with the Latin poet, in order to perceive that the latter
received only a second inspiration, transmitted by the inspiring power
of the former. Vergil, less ardent, more tender, more correct, admits
at once the luminous distinction; far from blending the exposition and
invocation, he separates them, affects a tone more simple, promises
little, exposes with timidity the subject of his poem, summons his
Muse, and seems to persuade it, even less than the reader, to be
favourable to him. He employs these lines:

  Je chante les combats, et ce Héros troyen,
  Qui, fuyant Ilion aborda l’Italie
  Le premier: sur la terre errant, et sur les mers,
  En butte aux traits cruels de Junon irritée,
  Il souffrit mille maux; avant qu’il établît
  Ses Dieux chez les Latins, et fondât une ville,
  Berceau d’Albe, de Rome et de ses hauts remparts.
    Muse! rappelle-moi quels motifs de vengeance
  Excitaient la Déesse, et pourquoi son courroux
  S’obstinait à poursuive un Héros magnanime?
  Tant de haine entre-t-elle au cœur des Immortels!


  Arms and the man I sing, who first,
  By fate of Ilium realm amerced,
  To fair Italia onward bore,
  And landed on Lavinium’s shore:――
  Long tossing earth and ocean o’er,
  By violence of heaven, to sate
  Fell Juno’s unforgetting hate:
  Much laboured too in battle-field,
  Striving his city’s walls to build,
    And give his Gods a home:
  Thence come the hardy Latin brood,
  The ancient sires of Alba’s blood,
    And lofty-rampired Rome.
  Say, Muse, for godhead how disdained,
  Or wherefore worth, Heaven’s queen constrained
  That soul of piety so long
  To turn the wheel, to cope with wrong.
  Can heavenly natures nourish hate
  So fierce, so blindly passionate?
                                       CONINGTON.


  Arma virumque cano, Trojæ qui primus ab oris
  Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit
  Litora, multum ille et terris jactatus et alto
  Vi superûm, sævæ memorem Junonis ob iram,
  Multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem
  Inferretque deos Latio: genus unde Latinum,
  Albanique patres atque altæ mœnia Romæ.
    Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine læso,
  Quidve dolens, regina deûm tot volvere casus
  Insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores
  Impulerit. Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?


It can be observed that Vergil, although he places himself foremost
and although he says, _I sing_, begins nevertheless in a manner much
less animated, much less sure than the Greek poet, who, transported
beyond himself, seems to impose upon his Muse the subject of his
songs, interrogates her, and then inspired by her, responds. The Latin
poet finishes, like his model, with a sentence; but it is easy to feel
that this apostrophe,

  Can heavenly natures nourish hate
  So fierce, so blindly passionate?

although very beautiful, contains less depth, less feeling, and holds
less intimately to the subject than this sublime reflection:

  ... and the men were perishing!

Someone has said that Vergil had imitated in his exposition the
commencement of the _Odyssey_ of Homer; this is a mistake. One finds
always in the exposition of the _Odyssey_ the real character of a
first inspiration blended with the invocation, although more calm and
less alluring than in the _Iliad_. Here is the translation:

    Du plus sage Héros, Muse, dis les traverses
  Sans nombre, après qu’il eut triomphé d’Ilion:
  Rapelle les cités, les peuples, les usages,
  Qu’il connut, et les mers où longtemps il erra:
  À quels soins dévorants, à quels maux l’exposèrent
  L’amour de la patrie et noble désir
  D’y mener ses guerriers! Vain désir: ils osèrent,
  Insensés! du Soleil dévorer les troupeaux;
  Et ce Dieu, du retour leur ravit la journée.
  Fais-nous part de ces faits, fille de Jupiter.


  Tell me, O Muse, of that sagacious man
  Who, having overthrown the sacred town
  Of Ilium, wandered far and visited
  The capitals of many nations, learned
  The customs of their dwellers and endured
  Great suffering on the deep; his life was oft
  In peril, as he laboured to bring back
  His comrades to their homes. He saved them not,
  Though earnestly he strove; they perished all,
  Through their own folly; for they banqueted,
  Madmen! upon the oxen of the Sun,――
  The all-o’erlooking Sun, who cut them off
  From their return. O Goddess, virgin-child
  Of Jove, relate some part of this to me.
                                       BRYANT.


  Ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ
  πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσεν,
  πολλῶν δ’ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω·
  πολλὰ δ’ ὅ γ’ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν,
  ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.
  ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ ὧς ἑτάρους ἐρρύσατο ἱέμενός περ·
  αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο,
  νήπιοι, οἳ κατὰ βοῦς Ὑπερίονος Ἠελίοιο
  ἤσθιον· αὐτὰρ ὁ τοῖσιν ἀφείλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ.
  τῶν ἁμόθεν γε, θεὰ θύγατερ Διός, εἰπὲ καὶ ἡμῖν.

The talent of Homer shows itself completely in the _Odyssey_; it
dominates the genius there, so to speak, as much as the genius had
dominated it in the _Iliad_. The fire which animates the _Iliad_ has
been, with reason, compared to that of the sun arrived at the height
of its course, and the splendour which shines in the _Odyssey_ to that
with which the occident is coloured on the evening of a fine day.
Perhaps if we had his _Thebaid_, we would see those brilliant lights
which accompany the aurora, developed there, and then we would possess
in all its shades this immortal genius who depicted all nature.

There are people who, feeling by a sort of intuition that Homer had
been created the poetic incentive of Europe, even as I have said, and
judging on the other hand that Ariosto had made an epic poem, are
convinced that the Italian poet had copied the Greek; but this is not
so. Ariosto, who has made only a romanesque poem, has not received the
inspiration of Homer; he has simply followed the fictions attributed
to Archbishop Turpin and clothing them with forms borrowed from the
Arabs by the troubadours makes himself creator in this secondary
style. The rhyme is as essential to it as it is harmful to veritable
epopœia; this is why the eumolpique verses never conform to it in the
slightest degree. To apply them to it, is to make serious what is by
nature gay, it is to give a character of force and of truth to what is
only light, airy, and fantastic. I am about, however, to translate the
beginning of his poem, in order to furnish, by the shocking disparity
which exists between the romantic essence of his poetry and the epic
form that I here adapt, a new proof of what I have said.

    Je veux chanter les Dames, les Guerriers,
  L’amour, l’honneur, et les jeux et les armes,
  Durant ces temps où les fiers Sarrasins,
  Des mers d’Afrique, abordèrent en France,
  Pour seconder les fureurs d’Agramant,
  Le jeune roi, dont l’orgueilleuse audace
  Pensait venger la mort du vieux Trojan,
  Sur l’empereur des Romains, Charlemagne.

    Je veux aussi raconter de Roland,
  Chose inouïe, autant en vers qu’en prose;
  Dire l’amour qui rendit furieux
  Ce paladin, auparavant si sage;
  Si toutefois celle qui m’a charmé,
  Qui va minant ma raison d’heure en heure,
  M’en laisse assez pour remplir dignement
  Mon entreprise et tenir ma promesse.


    Of Loves and Ladies, Knights and Arms, I sing,
  Of Courtesies, and many a Daring Feat;
  And from those ancient days my story bring,
  When Moors from Afric passed in hostile fleet,
  And ravaged France, with Agramant their King,
  Flushed with his youthful rage and furious heat;
  Who on King Charles’, the Roman emperor’s head
  Had vowed due vengeance for Troyano dead.

    In the same strain of Roland will I tell
  Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,
  On whom strange madness and rank fury fell,
  A man esteemed so wise in former time;
  If she, who to like cruel pass has well
  Nigh brought my feeble wit which fain would climb
  And hourly wastes my sense, concede me skill
  And strength my daring promise to fulfil.
                                       W. R. ROSE.


    Le donne, i cavalier, l’arme, gl’amori
  Le cortesíe, l’audaci imprese io canto,
  Che furo al tempo che passaro i Mori
  D’Africa il mare, e in Francia nocquer tanto,
  Seguendo l’ire e i giovenil furori
  D’Agramante lor re, che si diè vanto
  Di vendicar la morte di Troiano
  Sopra re Carlo imperator romano.

    Dirò d’Orlando in un medesmo tratto
  Cosa non detta in prosa mai, nè in rima;
  Che per amor venne in furore e matto,
  D’uom che si saggio era stimato prima:
  Se da colei che tal quasi m’ha fatto
  Che’l poco ingegno ad or ad or mi lima,
  Me ne sarà però tanto concesso,
  Che mi basti a finir quanto ho promesso.


It is very easy to see, in reading these two strophes, that there
exists in the exposition no sort of resemblance either with that of
Homer, or with that of Vergil. It is a third style, wholly foreign to
the other two. Homer mingling the exposition and the invocation,
commands his Muse to sing what she inspires in him; Vergil
distinguishing one from the other, prays his Muse to acquaint him with
what he is about to sing; whereas Ariosto, announcing simply the
subject of his songs, makes no invocation. It is evident that he
relies upon himself, and that in the style that he adopts he
understands very well that he has no other Muse, no other guide than
his imagination. His subject is in accord with his manner of treating
it. If one wishes to reflect upon this decisive point, one will feel
and realize, for the first time perhaps, why in the opinion of all the
world concerning two works from the same hand, _La Pucelle_ and _La
Henriade_, the one is a poem, whereas the other, composed with a far
greater pretension, is not. Voltaire, in imitating Ariosto in a
subject that he has rendered romanesque and frivolous, has received
the second inspiration; but in imitating Lucan in an historic subject
he received nothing, for Lucan, creator of a mixed style, had no
inspiration that he could communicate.

I have said what I thought of Camoens: it is useless to quote the
exposition of his poem that has nothing remarkable, particularly since
Tasso has so far surpassed him.

Tasso was worthy of receiving a veritable inspiration. His lofty
genius, his pure and brilliant imagination brought him nearer to
Vergil than to Ariosto; and if he had been inspired even through the
Latin poet, he would have shown Europe what the magnetic power of
Homer was, although acting only in its third degree. But the
prejudices of education working in him even without his knowledge, and
the influence that chivalresque poetry had attained in Italy, did not
permit him either to forsake entirely the chronicles of Archbishop
Turpin, or above all, to make any changes in the consecrated form. All
that he could do in a most grave and serious historical subject was to
mix a little allegorical genius with a great deal of romanesque
fiction; so that, becoming inspired at the same time with Ariosto,
Lucan, and Vergil, he made a mixed work, which, under the form of a
lengthy song, contained the essence of epopœia, of history, and of
romance. This work is one of the most entertaining poems that one can
read; the only one perhaps which a translation in prose can harm but
little. The inequality of its texture takes away nothing from the
interest that it inspires. It pleases, but it does not instruct. If
the eumolpique lines were applied to it throughout, it would not
sustain them; for it is in substance only a very beautiful ballad;
nevertheless, here and there are found parts which could become
sublime. His exposition, imitating Vergil, reveals them very well.
They are as follows:

    Je chante les combats pieux, et le Guerrier
  Qui délivra du Christ la tombe renommée.
  Combien il déploya de génie et d’ardeur!
  Combien il supporta de maux dans cette guerre!
  Vainement les enfers s’armèrent; vainement
  Les peuples de l’Asie aux Africains s’unirent:
  Favorisé du Ciel, sous ses drapeaux sacrés,
  Vainqueur, il ramena ses compagnons fidèles.

    Divine Muse! ô toi dont le front radieux
  Ne ceint point sur le Pinde un laurier périssable,
  Mais qui, parmi les chœurs des habitants du Ciel,
  Chantes, le front orné d’étoiles immortelles,
  Viens, inspire à mon sein tes célestes ardeurs;
  Fais briller dans mes vers tes clartés, et pardonne
  Si, parant quelquefois l’austère vérité,
  Je mêle à tes attraits des grâces étrangères.


    I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freed
  The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane:
  Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed;
  Much in the glorious enterprise sustain;
  And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vain
  Afric and Asia to the rescue pour’d
  Their mingled tribes;――Heaven recompensed his pain,
  And from all fruitless sallies of the sword,
  True to the Red-Cross flag his wandering friends restored.

    O thou, the Muse, that not with fading palms
  Circlest thy brows on Pindus, but among
  The Angels warbling their celestial psalms,
  Hast for the coronal a golden throng
  Of everlasting stars! make thou my song
  Lucid and pure; breathe thou the flame divine
  Into my bosom; and forgive the wrong,
  If with grave truth light fiction I combine,
  And sometimes grace my page with other flowers than thine!
                                      WIFFEN.


    Canto l’armi pietose, e’l Capitano
  Che’l gran sepolcro liberò di Christo:
  Molto egli oprò col senno e con la mano;
  Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto:
  E invano l’Inferno a lui s’oppose, e invano
  S’armò d’Asia, e dì Libia il popol misto;
  Chè il Ciel diè favore, e sotto ai santi
  Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti.

    O Musa, tu, che di caduchi allori
  Non circondi la fronte in Elicona
  Ma su nel Ciel infra i beati cori,
  Hai di stelle immortali aurea corona,
  Tu spira al petto mio celesti ardori,
  Tu rischiara il mio canto, e tu perdona,
  S’intesso fregi al ver, s’adorno in parte
  D’altri diletti, che de’ tuoi, le carte.

The captivating enthusiasm of Homer, the majestic simplicity of Vergil
are not there; there is a sweetness of expression, a purity of imagery
which please. This might be greater, but then the melancholy of the
romance would exclude it and the reader would demand the full force of
epopœia.

Besides, the Italians have tried, over and over again, to vary the
form of their verses; some have wished to measure them by musical
rhythm; others have contented themselves with making blank verse. They
have neither succeeded completely nor failed completely. Their
language sweet and musical lacks force whether in good or in evil. Its
words might indeed, strictly speaking, be composed of long and short
syllables; but as they terminate, nearly all, in the soft and languid
style that we call feminine, it results, therefore, that in the
measured verses the poets lack the long syllables to constitute the
last foot and to form the spondee; and that in the blank verse they
are obliged to terminate them all in the same style; so that with the
measure they create only lame verses, and without the rhyme they make
them all equally languid.[224]

I recall having sometimes read French writers who, not having
investigated the character of their tongue, have reproached it for its
feminine syllables and have believed that their concurrence was
harmful to its force and its harmony. These writers have scarcely
considered what this language would be, deprived of its feminine
sounds. For with the little force that it would gain on one side, it
would acquire such a harshness on the other, that it would be
impossible to draw from it four consecutive lines that would be
endurable. If all its finals were masculine, and if nothing could
change it otherwise, it would be necessary to renounce poetry, or like
the Arabs, be resolved to compose whole poems in the same rhyme.

We have just seen that the lack of masculine finals takes away all
energy from the Italian tongue; a contrary defect would deprive the
French of this _mélange_ of sweetness and force which makes it the
_première langue_ of Europe. The English language is lacking in
precisely what the writers of whom I have spoken desired eliminated
from the French, without foreseeing the grave disadvantages of their
desire: it has no feminine finals[225]; also it is in everything the
opposite of the Italian. It is true that it possesses great energy,
great boldness of expression, and a grammatical liberty which goes to
the full extent; but deprived of sweetness and softness, it is, if I
may say it, like those brittle metals whose strength is in stiffness,
and which is broken when one would make them flexible. The poverty of
its rhymes, denuded for the most part of accuracy of accent and of
harmony in consonants, has for a long time engaged the English poets
in making blank verse; and it must be admitted that, notwithstanding
the defect inherent in their tongue and which consists, as I have just
said, in the absolute lack of feminine finals, they have succeeded in
this better than any of the poets of other nations. These lines, all
imperfect in their harmony, are however, as to form, the only
eumolpique verse that they could make. Shakespeare felt it and made
use of it in his tragedies.

Shakespeare with the creative genius with which nature had endowed
him, would have borne dramatic art to its perfection in these modern
times, if circumstances had been as favourable to him as they were
adverse. Emulator of Æschylus, he might have equalled and perhaps
surpassed him, if he had had at his disposal a mine so rich, so
brilliant as that of the mysteries of Orpheus; if he had made use of a
language so harmonious, if his taste had been able to be refined at
the school of Pindar or of Homer. At the epoch of his birth, Europe
scarcely emerged from the gloom of barbarism; the theatre, given over
to ridiculous mountebanks, profaned in indecent farces the
incomprehensible mysteries of the Christian religion, and the English
tongue, still crude and unformed, had not succeeded in amalgamating in
one single body the opposed dialects of which it was successively
formed. In spite of these obstacles, Shakespeare stamped upon England
a movement of which Europe felt the influence. Raised by the sole
force of his genius to the essence of dramatic poetry, he dared to
seek for his subjects in the mythology of Odin, and put upon the
stage, in _Hamlet_ and in _Macbeth_, tableaux of the highest
character.[226] Like Æschylus he conducted one to virtue by terror;
but unfortunately the taste of the spectators, upon which he was
forced to model his, led him to degrade his tableaux by grotesque
figures: the English people were not sufficiently advanced to
comprehend the moral end of the tragedy. They must be amused; and
Shakespeare succeeded only at the expense of the beauties of the art.
Historic facts and trivial scenes replaced the mysterious and sublime
subjects.

In London, the dramatic muse was turbulent and licentious; as in
Madrid it had been chivalrous and gallant. Everywhere the theatre had
to accommodate itself to the taste of the people. The first regular
tragedy which Pierre Corneille composed in France was derived from a
Spanish ballad. Madrid at that time gave the tone to Europe. It needed
much of the time and all the prosperity of Louis XIV. to throw off the
unseasonable ascendancy that this proud nation had assumed over public
opinion.[227] Notwithstanding the efforts of Corneille, of Racine, and
of Molière, the Théâtre Français retained always the romanesque tone
that it had originally received. All that these three men could do
was, by lofty sentiments, by purity of forms, by regularity of the
customs and characters, to pass over what was, in reality, defective.
They came thus to give to modern dramatic art all the perfection of
which it was susceptible. Shakespeare had been in London the successor
of Æschylus; Corneille received in France the inspiration of
Sophocles; Racine, that of Euripides; and Molière united as in a sheaf
the spirit of Menander, of Terence, and of Plautus.

When I compare Shakespeare with Æschylus, I want to make it clearly
understood that I regard him as the regenerator of the theatre in
Europe, and superior to Corneille and Racine as to dramatic essence,
although he may be assuredly much inferior to them as to form.
Æschylus, in Greek, was inspired by Homer; while, on the contrary, it
was Shakespeare who inspired Milton. It is known that _Paradise Lost_
was at first conceived as the subject of a tragedy, and that it was
only after reflection that the English poet saw therein the material
for an epic poem. I will tell later on, in speaking of the _Messiah_
of Klopstock, what has prevented these two subjects, which appear
equally epics, from attaining wholly to the majesty of epopœia. As
many of the motives that I have to offer apply to the two works, I
will thus avoid useless repetition. I shall begin by translating the
exposition and invocation of Milton, by imitating its movement and its
harmony, as I have done with the other poets.

    De l’homme, viens chanter la disgrâce, et la fruit
  De cet arbre fatal, dont le goût homicide
  Livra le Monde au crime, à la mort, aux malheurs,
  Et nous ravit Eden, jusqu’au moment qu’un Homme
  Plus grand, par son trépas, racheta le séjour
  Du bonheur: viens, ô Muse! ô toi qui, sur la cime
  Se Sinaï, d’Oreb, en secret inspiras
  La Berger d’Israël, quand d’une voix sacrée
  Il enseignait comment et la terre et des cieux
  Sortirent du Chaos! ou bien, si tu préfères
  Les sommets de Sion, les bords du Siloë,
  Qui, près du Temple saint, roule ses flots, ô Muse!
  Viens protéger de là mes chants audacieux,
  Mes chants qui, surpassant d’un essor non timide,
  Les monts Aoniens, vont raconter des faits
  Que n’ont point encor dits la prose ni la rime.


    Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
  Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
  Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
  With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
  Restore us and regain the blissful seat,
  Sing, heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
  Of Oreb or of Sinai, didst inspire
  That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,
  In the beginning how the heavens and earth
  Rose out of chaos; or if Sion hill
  Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flow’d
  Fast by the oracle of God; I thence
  Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
  That with no middle flight intends to soar
  Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
  Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.


This invocation is manifestly in imitation of Homer, from whom Milton
has received the second inspiration without the intermediary――Vergil.
One can observe in the English poet the same movement and almost as
much force as in the Greek poet, but much less clarity, precision, and
particularly harmony. Nearly all of these defects pertain to his
subject and his tongue. Circumstances were not favourable to Milton.
His lines could not have been better with the elements that he was
forced to employ. All imperfect as they are, they are worth much more
than those of Klopstock; for at least they are in the character of his
tongue, whereas those of the German poet are not. Milton is satisfied
with throwing off the yoke of rhyme, and has made eumolpique lines of
one foot only, measured by ten syllables. Their defect, inherent in
the English idiom, consists, as I have said, in having all the lines
bearing equally the masculine final, jarring continually one with the
other. Klopstock has aspired to make, in German, verses measured by
the musical rhythm of the Greeks; but he has not perceived that he
took as long and short, in his tongue, syllables which were not such
in musical rhythm, but by accent and prosody, which is quite
different. The German tongue, composed of contracted words and
consequently bristling with consonants, bears no resemblance to the
Greek, whose words, abounding in vowels, were, on the contrary, made
clear by their elongation. The rhythmic lines of Klopstock are
materially a third longer than those of Homer, although the German
poet has aspired to build them on an equal measure.[228] Their
rhythmic harmony, if it exists there, is absolutely factitious; it is
a pedantic imitation and nothing more. In order to make the movement
of these lines understood in French, and to copy as closely as
possible their harmony, it is necessary to compose lines of two
cæsuras, or what amounts to the same, to employ constantly a line and
a half to represent a single one. Here are the first fourteen lines
which contain the exposition and invocation of the Messiah:

  Des coupables humains, célèbre, Ame immortelle, l’heureuse
       délivrance,
  Que sur terre envoyé le Messie accomplit dans son humanité:
  Dis comment il rendit les fils du premier homme à leur Auteur
       céleste;
  Souffrant et mis à mort, enfin glorifié. Ainsi s’exécuta
  Le décret éternel. En vain Satan rebelle opposa son audace
  A ce Fils du Très-Haut; et Judas vainement s’éleva contre lui:
  Réconciliateur et Rédempteur suprême, il consomma son œuvre.
  Mais quoi, noble action! que Dieu seul en son cœur miséricordieux,
  Connaît, la Poésie, en son exil terrestre, pourra-t-elle te suivre?
  Non, Esprit créateur, c’est à toi, devant qui je m’incline en
       tremblant,
  A rapprocher de moi cette action divine, à toi-même semblable.
  Viens donc, conduis-la-moi dans l’état immortel de toute sa beauté;
  Remplis-la de ton feu, toi que, sondant l’abîme du Très-Haut, peux
       de l’homme
  Issu de la poussière, et fragile et mortel, te faire un temple saint.


  My Soul, degenerate man’s redemption sing,
  Which the Messiah in his human state
  On earth accomplished, by which, suffering slain
  And glorify’d, unto the Love of God
  The progeny of Adam he restored.
  Such was the everlasting Will divine,
  Th’ infernal Fiend opposed him, Judah stood
  In opposition proud; but vain their rage:
  He did the deed, he wrought out man’s salvation.
    Yet, wondrous Deed, which th’ all-compassionate
  Jehovah alone completely comprehends,
  May Poesy presume from her remote
  Obscurity to venture on thy theme?
  Creative Spirit, in whose presence here
  I humbly’ adore, her efforts consecrate,
  Conduct her steps and lead her, me to meet,
  Of transport full, with glorious charms endow’d
  And power immortal, imitating Thee.
                                       (EGESTORFF.)


  Sing, unserterbliche Seele, der sündigen Menschen Erlösung,
  Die der Messias auf Erden, in seiner Menscheit vollendet;
  Und durch die er Adams Geschlecht zu der Liebe der Gottheit,
  Leidend, getödtet und verherlichet, weider erhöhet hat.
  Also geschah des Ewigen Wille. Vergebens erhub sich
  Satan gegen der göttlichen Sohn; umsonst stand Juda
  Gegen ihn auf; er that’s, und wollbrachte die grosse Versöhnung.
  Aber, o That, die allein der Albarmherzige kennet,
  Darf aus dunckler Ferne sich auch dir nahen die Dichtkunst?
  Weihe sie, Geist, Schöpfer, vor dem ich hier still anbete,
  Führe sie mir, als deine Nachahmerin, voiler Entzückung,
  Voll unsterblicher Kraft, in verklärter Schönheit, entgegen.
  Rüste mit deinem Feuer sie, du, der die Tiefen des Gottheit
  Schaut und den Menschen, aus Staube gemacht, zum Tempel sich heiligt!


It is evident that in this exposition the movement of Homer has been
united by Klopstock to the ideas of Tasso. The German poet claims
nevertheless the originality, and believes that he himself was called
to enjoy the first inspiration. In order that this high aspiration
might have been realized, a mass of learning very difficult to find
would have been necessary. I will explain briefly this idea. I believe
that the one who, disdaining to follow in the footsteps of Homer or of
Vergil, would wish to open another road to epopœia, should be well
acquainted with the ground over which he ventures to trace it, and the
goal toward which he aspires to conduct it; I think he should make
himself master of his subject so that nothing might remain obscure or
unknown to him; so that if he should choose either the downfall of
Man, as Milton, or his rehabilitation, after the example of Klopstock,
he would be able to acquaint himself with the inner meaning of these
mysteries, to explain all the conditions, to comprehend the beginning
and the end, and, raising himself to the intellectual nature where
they had birth, to spread light upon physical nature. This is the
first attainment that I deem indispensable to the epic poet; I say
that he should understand what he would sing. Homer knew what Ilium
was, what Ithaca was; he could explain to himself the nature of
Achilles and Helen, of Penelope and Ulysses; consequently he could
depict them. I do not wish to investigate here whether Milton has
understood in the same manner the beginning of the World and the
nature of Satan; nor whether Klopstock has well understood the mystery
of the incarnation of the Messiah. I only say that if they have not
understood these things, they cannot sing them in a manner really
epic.

A defect which is common to these two poets, and which is even
noticeable in the _Jerusalem Delivered_ of Tasso, is, that everything
which does not pertain to the part of the celebrated hero, is by its
impure, unfaithful, impious nature, governed by the Principle of evil,
and as such consigned to eternal damnation. An insurmountable barrier
separates the personages and makes them not alone enemies, but
opposed, as much as good and evil, light and darkness. However, the
passions act unknown even to the poet; the reader is hurried along, he
forgets the fatal line of demarcation, and is deceived into becoming
interested in Satan, into finding great, beautiful, and terrible, this
enemy of mankind; he trusts in Armida, he is moved by her troubles,
and seconds with his vows those of a notorious magician, instrument of
the Infernal Spirit. Matters go not thus with Homer. The Greeks see in
the Trojans, enemies, and not reprobates. Paris is culpable but not
impious. Hector is a hero in whom one can be interested without shame,
and the interest that one devotes to him reflects upon Achilles and
can even be increased. The gods are divided; but Venus and Juno,
Minerva and Mars, Vulcan and Neptune are of a like nature; and
although divided in the epic action, they are none the less venerated
by both parties, equal among each other and all equally subject to
Jupiter, who excites or checks their resentment. I know not whether
any one has already made this observation; but be that as it may, it
is very important. One can attain to the sublimity of epopœia only if
like Homer one knows how to oppose the Powers which serve the hero
with the Powers which persecute him. For if everything which serves
the hero is good, holy, and sacred, and everything which is harmful to
him wicked, impious, and reprobate, I do not see the glory of his
triumph.

The principal defect in Milton’s poem is that his hero succumbs,
although he has to combat only the evil things within himself, whilst
everything which is good protects him: the poem of Klopstock does not
hold the reader’s interest, because the perils of his hero are
illusory and as soon as he is represented as God, and when he himself
knows his divinity, his downfall is absolutely impossible.

But it is too much to dwell upon points of criticism which do not
belong to my subject. I have touched upon them only slightly so that
you may feel, _Messieurs_, notwithstanding the pretensions of three
rival peoples, that the epic career remains none the less wholly open
to the French nation. Some out-of-the-way paths have been traced here
and there; but no poet since Vergil, has left the imprint of his steps
upon the true path. The moment is perhaps at hand for gathering the
palms that time has ripened. Must this century, great in prodigies,
remain without an impassioned and enchanting voice to sing of them?
Assuredly not. Whoever may be the poet whose genius raises itself to
this noble task, I have wished from afar to lend him my feeble
support; for I have often enough repeated, that talent alone will
aspire to this in vain. Epopœia will only be the portion of the one
who thoroughly understands the essence of poetry and who is able to
apply to it a proper form. I have penetrated this essence as far as
has been possible for me, and I have revealed my ideas, _Messieurs_,
as clearly as the insufficiency of my means has permitted. I trust
that their development may have appeared satisfactory and useful to
you; I trust equally that the new form which I offer you merits your
attention. I have applied it before you, to ideas, to intentions and
to very different harmonies: it adapts itself here, for of itself it
is nothing. Subject wholly to poetic essence, it receives therefrom
all its lustre. If the ideas that it would render have grandeur and
sublimity, it will easily become grand and sublime; but nothing would
be poorer and more void, than that it should serve trivial thoughts or
that it should conceal an absolute want of ideas. Do not imagine,
_Messieurs_, that the absence of rhyme makes easy the French verse; it
is precisely this absence which makes the great difficulty: for there
is not then the means of writing without thinking. One can, with the
aid of talent and practice, compose pleasing rhymed verse, without a
great expenditure of ideas; the enormous quantity that is made today
proves that it is not very difficult. The elegance of form supplies
the sterility of substance. But this form becomes at last worn out;
the rhymes are not inexhaustible; one word attracts another, forces it
to unite with it, making understood the sounds that one has heard a
thousand times, repeating the pictures which are everywhere; one
repeats unceasingly the same things: the enjambment which gives so
much grace to the Greek and Latin verse and without which real epic
impulse cannot exist, is opposed to the rhyme and destroys it. You can
see, _Messieurs_, that it constitutes one of the principal qualities
of eumolpique verse; nothing here constrains the enthusiasm of the
poet.

After some impassioned verses that I have believed necessary for you
to hear, I shall now pass on to verses, philosophical and devoid of
passion, which form the subject of this writing and to which I desire
above all to call your attention.




  THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS




  ΤᾺ Τ῀Ω͂Ν ΠΥΘΑΓΟΤΡΕΊΩΝ ἜΠΗ ΤᾺ ΧΡΥΣΆ


  ΠΑΡΑΣΚΕΥΗ.[229]

  ΑΘΑΝΑΤΟΥΣ μὲν πρῶτα Δεοὺς, νόμῳ ὡς διάκεινται,
  Τίμα· καὶ σέβου ὅρκον. ἔπειθ’ Ἥρωας ἀγαυούς.
  Τοὺς τε καταχθονίους σέβε Δαίμονας, ἔννομα ῥέζων.


  ΚΆΘΑΡΣΙΣ.[230]

  Τούς τε γονεῖς τίμα, τούς τ’ ἄγχιστ’ ἐκγεγαῶτας.
  Τῶν δ’ ἄλλων ἀρετῃ ποιεῦ φίλον ὅστις ἄριστος.
  Πρᾳέσι δ’ εἶκε λόγοις, ἔργοισί τ’ ἐπωφελίμοισι.
  Μὴδ’ ἔχθαιρε φίλον σὸν ἁμαρτάδος εἵνεκα μικρῆς,
  Ὄφρα δύνῃ δύναμις γὰρ ἀνάγκης ἐγγύθι ναίει.
  Ταῦτα μὲν οὕτως ἴσθι. κρατεῖν δ’ εἰθίζεο τῶνδε·
  Γαστρὸς μὲν πρώπιστα, καὶ ὕπνου, λαγνείης τε,
  Καὶ θυμοῦ. Πρήξεις δ’ αἰσχρόν ποτε μήτε μετ’ ἄλλου,
  Μὴτ’ ἰδίῃ. Πάντων δὲ μάλιστα αἰσχύνεο σαυτόν.

    Εἶτα δικαιοσύνην ἀσκεῖν ἔργῳ τε, λόγῳ τε.
  Μὴδ’ ἀλογίστως σαυτὸν ἔχειν περὶ μηδὲν ἔθιζε·
  Ἀλλὰ γνῶθι μὲν ὡς θανέειν πέπρωται ἅπασι.
  Χρήματα δ’ ἄλλοτε μὲν κτᾶσθαι φιλεῖ, ἄλλοτ’ ὀλέσθαι.
  Ὅσσα τε δαιμονίῃσι τύχαις βροτοὶ ἄλγε ἔχουσιν,
  Ὧν ἄν μοῖραν ἔχῃς πρᾴως φέρε, μήδ’ ἀγανάκτει.
  Ἰᾶσθαι δὲ πρέπει καθόσον δυνῄ· Ὥδε δὲ φράζευ.
  Οὐ πάνυ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς τουτῶν πολὺ μοῖρα δίδωσι.

    Πολλοὶ δ’ ἀνθρώποισι λόγοι δειλοί τε, καὶ ἐσθλοὶ
  Προσπίπτουσ’, ὧν μήτ’ ἐκπλήσσεο, μήτ’ ἄρ’ ἐάσῃς
  Εἴργεσθαι σαυτόν. Ψεῦδος δ’ ἤν πέρ τι λέγηται,
  Πρᾴως εἶχ’· Ὃ δέ τοι ἐρέω, ἐπὶ παντὶ τελείσθω.
  Μηδεὶς μήτε λόγῳ σε παρείπῃ, μήτε τι ἔργῳ
  Πρῆξαι, μὴδ’ εἰπεῖν, ὅ, τι τοὶ μὴ βέλτερόν ἐστι.
  Βουλεύου δὲ πρὸ ἔργου, ὅπως μὴ μωρὰ πέληται.
  Δειλοῦ τοι πρήσσειν τε λέγειν τ’ ἀνόητα πρὸς ἀνδρὸς.
  Ἀλλὰ τάδ’ ἐκτελέειν, ἅ σε μὴ μετέπειτ’ ἀνιήσῃ.

    Πρῆσσε δὲ μηδὲν τῶν μὴ πίστασαι· ἀλλὰ διδάσκευ
  Ὅσσα χρεὼν, καὶ τερπνότατον βίον ὧδε διάξεις.

    Ὀυδ’ ὑγιείης τῆς περὶ σῶμ’ ἀμέλειαν ἔχειν χρή.
  Ἀλλὰ ποτοῦ τε μέτρον, καὶ σίτου, γυμνασίων τε
  Ποιεῖσθαι. μέτρον δὲ λέγω τό δ’, ὃ μή σ’ ἀνιήσει.
  Εἰθίζου δὲ δίαιταν ἔχειν καθάρειον, ἄθρυπτον.
  Καὶ πεφύλαξό γε ταῦτα ποιεῖν, ὁπόσα φθόνον ἴσχει
  Μὴ δαπανᾷν παρὰ καιρὸν, ὁποῖα καλῶν ἀδαήμων.
  Μὴ δ’ ἀνελεύθερος ἴσθι· μέτρον δ’ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ἄριστον.
  Πρῆσσε δὲ ταῦθ’, ἅ σε μὴ βλάψῃ· λόγισαι δὲ πρὸ ἔργου.


  ΤΕΛΕΑΌΤΗΣ.[231]

    Μὴδ’ ὕπνον μαλακοῖσιν ἐπ’ ὄμμασι προσδέξασθαι,
  Πρὶν τῶν ἡμερινῶν ἔργων τρὶς ἕκαστον ἐπελθεῖν·
  Πῇ παρέβην; τὶ δ’ ἔρεξα; τὶ μοι δέον οὐκ ἐτελέσθη;
  Ἀρξάμενος δ’ ἀπὸ πρώτου ἐπέξιθι· καὶ μετέπειτα
  Δεινὰ μὲν ἐκπρήξας ἐπιπλήσσεο· χρηστὰ δὲ, τέρπου.
  Ταῦτα πόνει· ταῦτ’ ἐκμελέτα· τούτων χρὴ ἐρᾷν σε.
  Ταῦτά σε τῆς θείης ἀρετῆς εἰς ἴχνια θήσει.

  Ναὶ μὰ τὸν ἡμετέρᾳ ψυχᾷ παραδόντα τετρακτὺν,
  Παγὰν ἀενάου φύσεως. Ἀλλ’ ἔρχευ ἐπ’ ἔργον
  Θεοῖσιν ἐπευξάμενος τελέσαι. Τούτων δὲ κρατήσας,
  Γνώση ἀθανάτων τε θεῶν, θνητῶν τ’ ἀνθρώπων
  Σύστασιν, ᾗ τε ἕκαστα διέρχεται, ᾗ τε κρατεῖται.
  Γνώσῃ δ’, ἣ θέμις ἐστὶ, φύσιν περὶ παντὸς ὁμοίην
  Ὥστε σε μήτ’ ἄελπτ’ ἐλπίζειν, μήτε τι λήθειν.
  Γνώσῃ δ’ ἀνθρώπους αὐθαίρετα πήματ’ ἔχοντας
  Τλήμονας, οἵ τ’ ἀγαθῶν πέλας ὄντων οὔτ’ ἐσορῶσιν.
  Οὔτε κλύουσι· λύσιν δὲ κακῶν παῦροι συνίσασι.
  Τοίη μοίρα βροτῶν βλάπτει φρένας· οἱ δὲ κυλίνδροις
  Ἄλλοτ’ ἐπ’ ἄλλα φέρονται ἀπείρονα πήματ’ ἔχοντες.
  Λυγρὴ γὰρ συνοπαδὸς ἔρις βλάπτουσα λέληθε
  Σύμφυτος· ἣν οὐ δεῖ προσάγειν, εἴκοντα δὲ φεύγειν.

    Ζεῦ πάτερ, ἤ πολλῶν τε κακῶν λύσειας ἅπαντας.
  Ἤ πᾶσιν δείξαις ὁίῳ τῷ δαίμονι χρῶνται.
  Ἀλλὰ σὺ θάρσει· ἐπεὶ θεῖον γένος ἐστὶ βροτοῖσιν
  Οἷς ἱερὰ προφέρουσα φύσις δείκνυσιν ἕκαστα.
  ᾯν εἴ σοί τι μέτεστι, κρατήσεις ὧν σε κελεύω,
  Ἐξακέσας, ψυχὴν δὲ πόνων ἀπὸ τῶν δὲ σαώσεις.
  Ἀλλ’ εἴργου βρωτῶν, ὧν εἴπομεν, ἔν τε καθαρμοῖς,
  Ἔν τε λύσει ψυχῆς κρίνων· καὶ ψράζευ ἕκαστα,
  Ἡνίοχον γνώμην στήσας καθύπερθεν ἀρίστην.
  Ἢν δ’ ἀπολείψας σῶμα ἐς αἰθέρ’ ἐλεύθερον ἔλθῃς,
  Ἔσσεαι ἀθάνατος θεὸς, ἄμβροτος, οὐκ ἔτι θνητός.




  Vers Dorés des Pythagoriciens


  PRÉPARATION

  Rends aux Dieux immortels le cult consacré;
  Garde ensuite ta foi: Révère la mémoire
  Des Héros bienfaiteurs, des Esprits demi-Dieux.


  PURIFICATION

    Sois bon fils, frère juste, époux tendre et bon père.
  Choisis pour ton ami, l’ami de la vertu;
  Cède à ses doux conseils, instruis-toi par sa vie,
  Et pour un tort léger ne le quitter jamais;
  Si tu le peux du moins: car une loi sévère
  Attache la Puissance à la Nécessité.
  Il t’est donné pourtant de combattre et se vaincre
  Tes folles passions: apprends à les dompter.
  Sois sobre, actif et chaste; évite la colère.
  En public, en secret ne te permets jamais
  Rien de mal; surtout respecte-toi toi-même.

    Ne parle et n’agis point sans avoir réfléchi.
  Sois juste. Souviens-toi qu’un pouvoir invincible
  Ordonne de mourir; que les biens, les honneurs
  Facilement acquis, sont faciles à perdre.
  Et quant aux maux qu’entraîne avec soi le Destin,
  Juge-les ce qu’ils sont: supporte-les; et tâche,
  Autant que tu pourras, d’en adoucir les traits:
  Les Dieux, aux plus cruels, n’ont pas livré les sages.

    Comme la Vérité, l’Erreur a ses amants:
  Le philosophe approuve, ou blâme avec prudence;
  Et si Erreur triomphe, il s’éloigne; il attend.
  Ecoute, et grave bien en ton cœur mes paroles:
  Ferme l’œil et l’oreille à la prévention;
  Crains l’exemple d’autrui; pense d’après toi-même;
  Consulte, délibère, et choisis librement.
  Laisse les fous agir et sans but et sans cause.
  Tu dois dans le présent, contempler l’avenir.

    Ce que tu ne sais pas, ne prétends point le faire.
  Instruis-toi: tout s’accorde à la constance, au temps.

  Veille sur ta santé: dispense avec mesure,
  Au corps les aliments, à l’esprit le repos.
  Trop ou trop peu de soins sont à fuir; car l’envie,
  A l’un et l’autre excès, s’attache également.
  Le luxe et l’avarice ont des suites semblables.
  Il faut choisir en tout, un milieu juste et bon.


  PERFECTION

    Que jamais le sommeil ne ferme ta paupière,
  Sans t’être demandé: Qu’ai-je omis? qu’ai-je fait?
  Si c’est mal, abstiens-toi; si c’est bien, persévère.
  Médite mes conseils; aime-les; suis-les tous:
  Aux divines vertus ils sauront te conduire.
  J’en jure par celui qui grava dans nos cœurs,
  La Tétrade sacrée, immense et pur symbole,
  Source de la Nature, et modèle des Dieux.
  Mais qu’avant, ton âme, à son devoir fidèle,
  Invoque avec ferveur ces Dieux, dont les secours
  Peuvent seuls achever tes œuvres commencées.
  Instruit par eux, alors rien ne t’abusera:
  Des êtres différents tu sonderas l’essence;
  Tu connaîtras de Tout le principe et la fin.
  Tu sauras, si le Ciel le veut, que la Nature,
  Semblable en toute chose, est la même en tout lieu:
  En sorte qu’éclairé sur tes droits véritables,
  Ton cœur de vains désirs ne se repaîtra plus.
  Tu verras que les maux qui dévorent les hommes,
  Sont le fruit de leur choix; et que ces malheureux
  Cherchent loin d’eux biens dont ils portent la source.
  Peu savent être heureux: jouets des passions,
  Tour à tour ballotés par des vagues contraires,
  Sur une mer sans rive, ils roulent, aveuglés,
  Sans pouvoir résister ni céder à l’orage.
    Dieu! vous les sauveriez en désillant leurs yeux.…
  Mais non: c’est aux humains, dont la race est divine,
  A discerner l’Erreur, à voir la Vérité.
  La Nature les sert. Toi qui l’as pénétrée,
  Homme sage, homme heureux, respire dans le port.
  Mais observe mes lois, en t’abstenant des choses
  Que ton âme doit craindre, en les distinguant bien;
  En laissant sur le corps régner l’intelligence:
  Afin que, t’élevant dans l’Ether radieux,
  Au sein des Immortels, tu sois un Dieu toi-même!




  EXAMINATIONS OF THE GOLDEN VERSES:
    EXPLANATIONS AND DEVELOPMENTS




  EXAMINATIONS OF THE GOLDEN VERSES:
    EXPLANATIONS AND DEVELOPMENTS


1. THE GOLDEN VERSES OF THE PYTHAGOREANS

The ancients had the habit of comparing with gold all that they deemed
without defects and pre-eminently beautiful: thus, by the _Golden Age_
they understood, the age of virtues and of happiness; and by the
_Golden Verses_, the verses wherein was concealed the most pure
doctrine.[232] They constantly attributed these Verses to Pythagoras,
not that they believed that this philosopher had himself composed
them, but because they knew that his disciple, whose work they were,
had revealed the exact doctrine of his master and had based them all
upon maxims issued from his mouth.[233] This disciple, commendable
through his learning, and especially through his devotion to the
precepts of Pythagoras, was called Lysis.[234] After the death of this
philosopher and while his enemies, momentarily triumphant, had raised
at Crotona and at Metaponte that terrible persecution which cost the
lives of so great a number of Pythagoreans, crushed beneath the
_débris_ of their burned school, or constrained to die of hunger in
the temple of the Muses,[235] Lysis, happily escaped from these
disasters, retired into Greece, where, wishing to spread the sect of
Pythagoras, to whose principles calumnies had been attached, he felt
it necessary to set up a sort of formulary which would contain the
basis of morals and the principal rules of conduct given by this
celebrated man. It is to this generous movement that we owe the
philosophical verses that I have essayed to translate into French.
These verses, called _golden_ for the reason I have given, contain the
sentiments of Pythagoras and are all that remain to us, really
authentic, concerning one of the greatest men of antiquity. Hierocles,
who has transmitted them to us with a long and masterly Commentary,
assures us that they do not contain, as one might believe, the
sentiment of one in particular, but the doctrine of all the sacred
corps of Pythagoreans and the voice of all the assemblies.[236] He
adds that there existed a law which prescribed that each one, every
morning upon rising and every evening upon retiring, should read these
verses as the oracles of the Pythagorean school. One sees, in reality,
by many passages from Cicero, Horace, Seneca, and other writers worthy
of belief, that this law was still vigorously executed in their
time.[237] We know by the testimony of Galen in his treatise on _The
Understanding and the Cure of the Maladies of the Soul_, that he
himself read every day, morning and evening, the Verses of Pythagoras;
and that, after having read them, he recited them by heart. However, I
must not neglect to say that Lysis, who is the author of them,
obtained so much celebrity in Greece that he was honoured as the
master and friend of Epaminondas.[238] If his name has not been
attached to this work, it is because at the epoch when he wrote it,
the ancient custom still existed of considering things and not
individuals: it was with the doctrine of Pythagoras that one was
concerned, and not with the talent of Lysis which had made it known.
The disciples of a great man had no other name than his. All their
works were attributed to him. This is an observation sufficiently
important to make and which explains how Vyasa in India, Hermes in
Egypt, Orpheus in Greece, have been the supposed authors of such a
multitude of books that the lives of many men would not even suffice
to read them.

In my translation, I have followed the Greek text, such as is cited at
the head of the Commentary of Hierocles, commentated on by the son of
Casaubon, and interpreted into Latin by J. Curterius; London edition,
1673. This work, like all those which remain to us of the ancients,
has been the subject of a great many critical and grammatical
discussions: in the first place one must before everything else be
assured of the material part. This part is today as authentic and as
correct as it is possible to be, and although there exists still,
several different readings, they are of too little importance for me
to dwell upon. It is not my affair and besides, _chacun doit faire son
métier_. That of the grammarian has ended where it ought to end. For
how can man ever expect to advance if he never is willing to try some
new thing which is offered. I shall not therefore make any criticizing
remarks concerning the text, for I consider this text sufficiently
examined; neither will I make any notes concerning the Commentaries,
properly so-called, on these seventy-one lines, for I think it is
sufficient having those of Hierocles, of Vitus Amerbachius, Theodore
Marcilius, Henri Brem, Michel Neander, Jean Straselius, Guilhaume
Diezius, Magnus-Daniel Omeis, André Dacier, etc. As I stated, I shall
make examinations rather than commentaries, and I will give, regarding
the inner meaning of the Verses, all the explanations that I believe
useful for their complete development.


  PREPARATION

  2. _Render to the Immortal Gods the consecrated cult;
      Guard then thy faith_:

Pythagoras, of whom a modern savant, otherwise most estimable, has
rather throughtlessly reproached with being a fanatical and
superstitious man,[239] begins his teaching, nevertheless, by laying
down a principle of universal tolerance. He commands his disciples to
follow the cult established by the laws, whatever this cult may be,
and to adore the gods of their country, what ever these gods may be;
enjoining them only, to guard afterwards their faith――that is, to
remain inwardly faithful to his doctrine, and never to divulge the
mysteries. Lysis, in writing these opening lines, adroitly conceals
herein a double meaning. By the first he commended, as I have said,
tolerance and reserve for the Pythagorean, and, following the example
of the Egyptian priests, established two doctrines, the one apparent
and vulgar, conformable to the law; the other mysterious and secret,
analogous to the faith; by the second meaning, he reassures the
suspicious people of Greece, who, according to the slanders which were
in circulation might have feared that the new sect would attack the
sanctity of their gods. This tolerance on the one hand, and this
reserve on the other, were no more than what they would be today. The
Christian Religion, exclusive and severe, has changed all our ideas in
this respect: by admitting only one sole doctrine in one unique
church, this religion has necessarily confused tolerance with
indifference or coldness, and reserve with heresy or hypocrisy; but in
the spirit of polytheism these same things take on another colour. A
Christian philosopher could not, without perjuring himself and
committing a frightful impiety, bend the knee in China before
_Kong-Tse_, nor offer incense to _Chang-Ty_ nor to _Tien_; he could
neither render, in India, homage to _Krishna_, nor present himself at
Benares as a worshipper of _Vishnu_; he could not even, although
recognizing the same God as the Jews and Mussulmans, take part in
their ceremonies, or what is still more, worship this God with the
Arians, the Lutherans, or Calvinists, if he were a Catholic. This
belongs to the very essence of his cult. A Pythagorean philosopher did
not recognize in the least these formidable barriers, which hem in the
nations, as it were, isolate them, and make them worse than enemies.
The gods of the people were in his eyes the same gods, and his
cosmopolitan dogmas condemned no one to eternal damnation. From one
end of the earth to the other he could cause incense to rise from the
altar of the Divinity, under whatever name, under whatever form it
might be worshipped, and render to it the public cult established by
the law. And this is the reason. Polytheism was not in their opinion
what it has become in ours, an impious and gross idolatry, a cult
inspired by the infernal adversary to seduce men and to claim for
itself the honours which are due only to the Divinity; it was a
particularization of the Universal Being, a personification of its
attributes and its faculties. Before Moses, none of the theocratic
legislators had thought it well to present for the adoration of the
people, the Supreme God, unique and uncreated in His unfathomable
universality. The Indian Brahmans, who can be considered as the living
types of all the sages and of all the pontiffs of the world, never
permit themselves, even in this day when their great age has effaced
the traces of their ancient science, to utter the name of God,
principle of All.[240] They are content to meditate upon its essence
in silence and to offer sacrifices to its sublimest emanations. The
Chinese sages act the same with regard to the Primal Cause, that must
be neither named nor defined[241]; the followers of Zoroaster, who
believe that the two universal principles of good and evil, Ormuzd and
Ahriman, emanate from this ineffable Cause, are content to designate
it under the name of Eternity.[242] The Egyptians, so celebrated for
their wisdom, the extent of their learning, and the multitude of their
divine symbols, honoured with silence the God, principle and source of
all things[243]; they never spoke of it, regarding it as inaccessible
to all the researches of man; and Orpheus, their disciple, first
author of the brilliant mythology of the Greeks, Orpheus, who seemed
to announce the soul of the World as creator of this same God from
which it emanated, said plainly:

     “I never see this Being surrounded with a cloud.”[244]

Moses, as I have said, was the first who made a public dogma of the
unity of God, and who divulged what, up to that time had been buried
in the seclusion of the sanctuaries; for the principal tenets of the
mysteries, those upon which reposed all others, were the Unity of God
and the homogeneity of Nature.[245] It is true that Moses, in making
this disclosure, permitted no definition, no reflection, either upon
the essence or upon the nature of this unique Being; this is very
remarkable. Before him, in all the known world, and after him (save in
Judea where more than one cloud still darkened the idea of divine
Unity, until the establishment of Christianity), the Divinity was
considered by the theosophists of all nations, under two relations:
primarily as unique, secondarily as infinite; as unique, preserved
under the seal of silence to the contemplation and meditation of the
sages; as infinite, delivered to the veneration and invocation of the
people. Now the unity of God resides in His essence so that the vulgar
can never in any way either conceive or understand. His infinity
consists in His perfections, His faculties, His attributes, of which
the vulgar can, according to the measure of their understanding, grasp
some feeble emanations, and draw nearer to Him by detaching them from
the universality――that is, by particularizing and personifying them.
This is the particularization and the personification which
constitutes, as I have said, polytheism. The mass of gods which result
from it, is as infinite as the Divinity itself whence it had birth.
Each nation, each people, each city adopts at its liking, those of the
divine faculties which are best suited to its character and its
requirements. These faculties, represented by simulacra, become so
many particular gods whose variety of names augments the number still
further. Nothing can limit this immense theogony, since the Primal
Cause whence it emanates has not done so. The vulgar, lured by the
objects which strike the senses, can become idolatrous, and he does
ordinarily; he can even distinguish these objects of his adoration,
one from another, and believe that there really exist as many gods as
statues; but the sage, the philosopher, the most ordinary man of
letters does not fall into this error. He knows, with Plutarch, that
different places and names do not make different gods; that the Greeks
and Barbarians, the nations of the North and those of the South, adore
the same Divinity[246] he restores easily that infinity of attributes
to the unity of the essence, and as the honoured remnants of the
ancient Sramanas, the priests of the Burmans, still do today, he
worships God, whatever may be the altar, the temple, and the place
where he finds himself.[247]

This is what was done by the disciples of Pythagoras, according to the
commandment of their master; they saw in the gods of the nations, the
attributes of the Ineffable Being which were forbidden them to name;
they augmented ostensibly and without the slightest reluctance, the
number of these attributes of which they recognized the Infinite
Cause; they gave homage to the cult consecrated by the law and brought
them all back secretly to the Unity which was the object of their
faith.


              3. … _Revere the memory
     Of the Illustrious Heroes, of Spirits demi-Gods.…_

Pythagoras considered the Universe as an animated All, whose members
were the divine Intelligences, each ranked according to its
perfections, in its proper sphere.[248] He it was who first designated
this All, by the Greek word _Kosmos_, in order to express the beauty,
order, and regularity which reigned there[249]; the Latins translated
this word by _Mundus_, from which has come the French word _monde_. It
is from Unity considered as principle of the world, that the name
Universe which we give to it is derived. Pythagoras establishes Unity
as the principle of all things and said that from this Unity sprang an
infinite Duality.[250] The essence of this Unity, and the manner in
which the Duality that emanated from it was finally brought back
again, were the most profound mysteries of his doctrine; the subject
sacred to the faith of his disciples and the fundamental points which
were forbidden them to reveal. Their explanation was never made in
writing; those who appeared worthy of learning them were content to be
taught them by word of mouth.[251] When one was forced, by the
concatenation of ideas, to mention them in the books of the sect,
symbols and ciphers were used, and the language of Numbers employed;
and these books, all obscure as they were, were still concealed with
the greatest care; by all manner of means they were guarded against
falling into profane hands.[252] I cannot enter into the discussion of
the famous symbol of Pythagoras, _one_ and _two_, without exceeding
very much the limits that I have set down in these examinations[253];
let it suffice for me to say, that as he designated God by 1, and
Matter by 2, he expressed the Universe by the number 12, which results
in the union of the other two. This number is formed by the
multiplication of 3 by 4: that is to say, that this philosopher
conceived the Universal world as composed of three particular worlds,
which, being linked one with the other by means of the four elementary
modifications, were developed in twelve concentric spheres.[254] The
ineffable Being which filled these twelve spheres without being
understood by any one, was God. Pythagoras gave to It, truth for soul
and light for body.[255] The Intelligence which peopled the three
worlds were, firstly, the immortal gods properly so-called; secondly,
the glorified heroes; thirdly, the terrestial demons. The immortal
gods, direct emanations of the uncreated Being and manifestation of
Its infinite faculties, were thus named because they could not depart
from the divine life――that is, they could never fall away from their
Father into oblivion, wandering in the darkness of ignorance and of
impiety; whereas the souls of men, which produced, according to their
degree of purity, glorified heroes and terrestrial demons, were able
to depart sometimes from the divine life by voluntary drawing away
from God; because the death of the intellectual essence, according to
Pythagoras and imitated in this by Plato, was only ignorance and
impiety.[256] It must be observed that in my translation I have not
rendered the Greek word δαίμονες by the word _demons_, but by that of
_spirits_, on account of the evil meaning that Christianity has
attached to it, as I explained in a preceding note.[257]

This application of the number 12 to the Universe is not at all an
arbitrary invention of Pythagoras; it was common to the Chaldeans, to
the Egyptians from whom he had received it, and to the principal
peoples of the earth[258]: it gave rise to the institution of the
zodiac, whose division into twelve asterisms has been found everywhere
existent from time immemorial.[259] The distinction of the three
worlds and their development into a number, more or less great, of
concentric spheres inhabited by intelligences of different degrees of
purity, were also known before Pythagoras, who in this only spread the
doctrine which he had received at Tyre, at Memphis, and at
Babylon.[260] This doctrine was that of the Indians. One finds still
today among the Burmans, the division of all the created beings
established in three classes, each of which contains a certain number
of species, from the material beings to the spiritual, from the
sentient to the intelligible.[261] The Brahmans, who count fifteen
spheres in the universe,[262] appear to unite the three primordial
worlds with the twelve concentric spheres which result from their
development. Zoroaster, who admitted the dogma of the three worlds,
limited the inferior world to the vortex of the moon. There, according
to him, the empire of evil and of matter comes to an end.[263] This
idea thus conceived has been general; it was that of all the ancient
philosophers[264]; and what is very remarkable, is that it has been
adopted by the Christian theosophists who certainly were not
sufficiently learned to act through imitation.[265] The followers of
Basil, those of Valentine, and all the gnostics have imbibed from this
source the system of emanations which has enjoyed such a great renown
in the school of Alexandria. According to this system, the Absolute
Unity, or God, was conceived as the spiritual Soul of the Universe,
the Principle of existence, the Light of lights; it was believed that
this creative Unity, inaccessible to the understanding even, produced
by emanation a diffusion of light which, proceeding from the centre to
the circumference, losing insensibly its splendour and its purity in
proportion as it receded from its source, ended by being absorbed in
the confines of darkness; so that its divergent rays, becoming less
and less spiritual and, moreover, repulsed by the darkness, were
condensed in commingling with it, and, taking a material shape, formed
all the kinds of beings that the world contains. Thus was admitted,
between the Supreme Being and man, an incalculable chain of
intermediary beings whose perfections decreased proportionably with
their alienation from the Creative Principle. All the philosophers and
all the sectarians who admired this spiritual hierarchy considered,
under the relations peculiar to them, the different beings of which it
was composed. The Persian magians who saw there genii, more or less
perfect, gave them names relative to their perfections, and later made
use of these same names to evoke them: from this came the Persian
magic, which the Jews, having received by tradition during their
captivity in Babylon, called _Kabbala_.[266] This magic became mixed
with astrology among the Chaldeans, who regarded the stars as animated
beings belonging to the universal chain of divine emanations; in
Egypt, it became linked with the mysteries of Nature, and was enclosed
in the sanctuaries, where it was taught by the priests under the
safeguard of symbols and hieroglyphics. Pythagoras, in conceiving this
spiritual hierarchy as a geometrical progression, considered the
beings which compose it under harmonious relations, and based, by
analogy, the laws of the universe upon those of music. He called the
movement of the celestial spheres, harmony, and made use of numbers to
express the faculties of different beings, their relations and their
influences. Hierocles mentions a sacred book attributed to this
philosopher, in which he called the divinity, the Number of
numbers.[267] Plato, who, some centuries later, regarded these same
beings as ideas and types, sought to penetrate their nature and to
subjugate them by dialectics and the force of thought. Synesius, who
united the doctrine of Pythagoras to that of Plato, sometimes called
God, the Number of numbers, and sometimes the Idea of ideas.[268] The
gnostics gave to the intermediary beings the name of Eons.[269] This
name, which signifies, in Egyptian, a principle of the will, being
developed by an inherent, plastic faculty, is applied in Greek to a
term of infinite duration.[270] One finds in Hermes Trismegistus the
origin of this change of meaning. This ancient sage remarks that the
two faculties, the two virtues of God, are the understanding and the
soul, and that the two virtues of the Eon are perpetuity and
immortality. The essence of God, he said again, is the good and the
beautiful, beatitude and wisdom; the essence of Eon, is being always
the same.[271] But, not content with assimilating beings of the
celestial hierarchy to ideas, to numbers, or to the plastic principle
of the will, there were philosophers who preferred to designate them
by the name of Words. Plutarch said on one occasion that words, ideas,
and divine emanations reside in heaven and in the stars.[272] Philo
gives in more than one instance the name of word to angels; and
Clement of Alexandria relates that the Valentinians often called their
Eons thus.[273] According to Beausobre, the philosophers and
theologians, seeking for terms in which to express incorporal
substances, designated them by some one of their attributes or by some
one of their operations, naming them _Spirits_, on account of the
subtlety of their substance; _Intelligences_, on account of the
thought; _Words_, on account of the reason; _Angels_, on account of
their services; _Eons_, on account of their manner of subsisting,
always equal, without change and without alteration.[274] Pythagoras
called them Gods, Heroes, Demons,[275] relative to their respective
elevation and the harmonious position of the three worlds which they
inhabit. This cosmogonic ternary joined with Creative Unity,
constitutes the famous Quaternary, or Sacred Tetrad, the subject of
which will be taken up further on.


PURIFICATION

4. _Be a good son, just brother, spouse tender, and good father._

The aim of the doctrine of Pythagoras was to enlighten men, to purify
them of their vices, to deliver them from their errors, and to restore
them to virtue and to truth; and after having caused them to pass
through all the degrees of the understanding and intelligence, to
render them like unto the immortal gods.

This philosopher had for this purpose divided his doctrine into two
parts: the purgative part and the unitive part. Through the first, man
became purified of his uncleanness, emerged from the darkness of
ignorance, and attained to virtue: through the second, he used his
acquired virtue to become united to the Divinity through whose means
he arrived at perfection. These two parts are found quite distinct in
the Golden Verses. Hierocles, who has clearly grasped them, speaks of
it in the beginning of his _Commentaries_ and designates them by two
words which contain, he said, all the doctrine of Pythagoras,
_Purification_ and _Perfection_.[276] The Magians and the Chaldeans,
all of whose principles Pythagoras had adopted, were agreed on this
point, and in order to express their idea, made use of a parabolical
phrase very celebrated among them. “We consume,” they said, “the
refuse of matter by the fire of divine love.”[277] An anonymous author
who has written an history of Pythagoras, preserved by Photius, said
that the disciples of this great man taught that one perfects oneself
in three ways: in communing with the gods, in doing good in imitation
of the gods, and in departing from this life to rejoin the gods.[278]
The first of these ways is contained in the first three lines of the
Golden Verses which concern the cult rendered, according to the law
and according to the faith, to the Gods, to the glorified Heroes, and
to the Spirits. The second, that is, the Purification, begins at the
fourth line which makes the subject of this Examination. The third,
that is, the union with the Divinity, or Perfection, begins at the
fortieth line of my translation:

     Let not sleep e’er close thy tired eyes.

Thus the division that I have believed ought to be made of this short
poem is not at all arbitrary, as one sees the judicious Bayle had
remarked it before me.[279]

It is worthy of observation, that Pythagoras begins the purgative part
of his doctrine by commending the observance of natural duties, and
that he places in the rank of primary virtues, filial piety, paternal
and conjugal love. Thus this admirable philosopher made it his first
care to strengthen the ties of blood and make them cherished and
sacred; he exhorts respect to children, tenderness to parents, and
union to all the members of the family; he follows thus the profound
sentiment which Nature inspires in all sentient beings, very different
in this from certain legislators, blinded by false politics, who, in
order to conduct men to I know not what power and what imaginary
welfare, have wished, on the contrary, to break those ties, annihilate
those relationships of father, son, and brother, to concentrate, they
said, upon a being of reason called Country the affection that the
soul divides among those objects of its first love.[280] If the
legislators had cared to reflect a moment, they would have seen that
there existed no country for the one who had no father, and that the
respect and love that a man in his virile age feels for the place of
his birth, holds its principle and receives its force from those same
sentiments that he felt in his infancy for his mother. Every effect
proclaims a cause; every edifice rests upon a foundation: the real
cause of love of country is maternal love; the sole foundations of the
social edifice are paternal power and filial respect. From this sole
power issues that of the prince, who, in every well-organized state,
being considered as father of the people, has right to the obedience
and respect of his children.

I am going to make here a singular comparison which I beg the reader
to observe. Moses, instructed in the same school as Pythagoras, after
having announced the Unity of God in the famous Decalogue which
contains the summary of his law, and having commanded its adoration to
his people, announces for the first virtue, filial piety[281];
“Honour,” he said, “thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be
multiplied in this country of Adam, that Jhôah, thy Gods, has given
thee.”[282]

The theocratic legislator of the Hebrews in making this commandment
places recompense by the side of precept: he declares formally that
the exercise of filial piety draws with it a long existence. Now, it
must be remarked that Moses being content with enclosing in his
doctrine the sole purgative part, doubtless judging his people not in
a condition to support the unitive part, spoke to them nowhere of the
immortality which is its consequence; contenting himself with
promising the joys of temporal blessings, among which he carefully
placed in the first rank a long life. Experience has proved, relative
to people in general, that Moses spoke with a profound understanding
of the causes which prolong the duration of empires. Filial piety is
the national virtue of the Chinese, the sacred foundation upon which
reposes the social edifice of the greatest and the most ancient people
of the world.[283] This virtue has been to China, for more than four
thousand years, what love of country was to Sparta or to Rome. Sparta
and Rome have fallen notwithstanding the sort of fanaticism with which
their children were animated, and the Chinese Empire which existed two
thousand years before their foundation, still exists two thousand
years after their downfall. If China has been able to preserve herself
in the midst of the flux and reflux of a thousand revolutions, to save
herself from her own wrecks, to triumph over her own defects, and to
subjugate even her conquerors, she owes it to this virtue which,
raising itself from the humblest citizen to the Son of heaven seated
upon the imperial throne, animates all the hearts with a sacred fire,
of which Nature herself provides the nourishment and eternalizes the
duration. The Emperor is the father of the state; two hundred million
men, who regard themselves as his children, compose his immense
family; what human effort could overthrow this colossus?[284]


     5. _Choose for thy friend, the friend of virtue;
         Yield to his gentle counsels, profit by his life,
         And for a trifling grievance never leave him_;

After the duties which have their source directly in Nature,
Pythagoras commends to his disciples those which proceed from the
social state; friendship follows immediately filial piety, paternal
and fraternal love; but this philosopher makes a distinction full of
meaning: he ordains to honour one’s relations; he says to choose one’s
friends. This is why: it is Nature that presides at our birth, that
gives us a father, a mother, brothers, sisters, relations of kinship,
a position upon the earth, and a place in society; all this depends
not upon us: all this, according to the vulgar, is the work of hazard;
but according to the Pythagorean philosopher these are the
consequences of an anterior order, severe and irresistible, called
Fortune or Necessity. Pythagoras opposed to this restrained nature, a
free Nature, which, acting upon forced things as upon brute matter,
modifies them and draws as it wills, good or bad results. This second
nature was called Power or Will: it is this which rules the life of
man, and which directs his conduct according to the elements furnished
him by the first. Necessity and Power are, according to Pythagoras,
the two opposed motives of the sublunary world where man is relegated.
These two motives draw their force from a superior cause that the
ancients named _Nemesis_, the fundamental decree,[285] that we name
_Providence_. Thus then, Pythagoras recognized, relative to man,
things constrained and things free, according as they depend upon
Necessity or the Will: he ranked filial piety in the first and
friendship in the second. Man not being free to give himself parents
of his choice, must honour them such as they are, and fulfil in regard
to them all the duties of nature, whatever wrong they might do towards
him; but as nothing constrains him from giving his friendship, he need
give it only to the one who shows himself worthy of it by his
attachment to virtue.

Let us observe an important point. In China where filial piety is
regarded as the root of all virtues and the first source of
instruction,[286] the exercise of the duties which it imposes admits
of no exception. As the legislator teaches there that the greatest
crime is to lack in filial piety, he infers that he who has been a
good son will be a good father and that thus nothing will break the
social tie[287]; for he first establishes this virtue which embraces
all, from the emperor to the lowliest of his subjects, and that it is
for the peoples what the regularity of the celestial movements is for
the ethereal space: but in Italy and in Greece where Pythagoras
established his dogmas, it would have been dangerous for him to give
the same extension, since this virtue not being that of the State,
would necessarily involve abuses in the paternal authority, already
excessive among certain peoples. That is the reason the disciples of
this philosopher, in distinguishing between forced and voluntary
actions, judged wisely that it would be necessary to apply here the
distinction: therefore they urged to honour one’s father and mother
and to obey them in all that concerns the body and mundane things, but
without abandoning one’s soul to them[288]; for the divine law
declares free what has not been received from them and delivers it
from their power. Pythagoras furthermore had favoured this opinion by
saying, that after having chosen a friend from among the men most
commended for their virtues, it was necessary to learn by his actions
and to be guided by his discourse: which testified to the lofty idea
that he had of friendship. “Friends,” he said, “are like companions of
travel who reciprocally assist each other to persevere in the path of
the noblest life.[289]” It is to him that we owe that beautiful
expression, so often quoted, so little felt by the generality of men,
and which a victorious king, Alexander the Great, felt so keenly and
expressed so felicitously by the following: “My friend is another
myself.”[290] It is also from him that Aristotle had borrowed that
beautiful definition: “The real friend is one soul that lives in two
bodies.”[291] The founder of the Lyceum, in giving such a definition
of friendship, spoke rather by theory than by practice, he who
reasoning one day upon friendship, cried ingenuously: “Oh, my friends!
there are no friends.”[292]

Yet Pythagoras did not conceive friendship as a simple individual
affection, but as an universal benevolence which should be extended to
all men in general, and to all good people.[293] At that time he gave
to this virtue the name of philanthropy. It is the virtue which, under
the name of charity, serves as foundation for the Christian religion.
Jesus offers it to his disciples immediately after divine love, and as
equal to piety.[294] Zoroaster places it after sincerity[295]; he
wished that man might be pure in thought, speech, and action; that he
might speak the truth, and that he might do good to all men. Kong-Tse
as well as Pythagoras commended it after filial piety.[296] “All
morals,” he said, “can be reduced to the observation of three
fundamental laws, of the relations between sovereigns and subjects,
between parents and children, between husbands and wives; and to the
strict practice of the five capital virtues, of which the first is
humanity, that is to say, that universal charity, that expansion of
the soul which binds man to man without distinction.”


     6. _If thou canst at least: for a most rigid law
         Binds Power to Necessity._

Here is the proof of what I said just now, that Pythagoras recognized
two motives of human actions, the first, issuing from a constrained
nature, called Necessity; the second emanating from a free nature,
called Power, and both dependent upon an implied primordial law. This
doctrine was that of the ancient Egyptians, among whom Pythagoras had
imbibed it. “Man is mortal with reference to the body,” they said,
“but he is immortal with reference to the soul which constitutes
essential man. As immortal he has authority over all things; but
relative to the material and mortal part of himself, he is subject to
destiny.”[297]

One can see by these few words that the ancient sages did not give to
Destiny the universal influence that certain philosophers and
particularly the Stoics gave to it later on; but they considered it
only as exercising its empire over matter. It is necessary to believe
that since the followers of the Porch had defined it as a chain of
causes, by virtue of which the past has taken place, the present
exists, and the future is to be realized[298]; or still better, as the
rule of the law by which the Universe is governed[299]; one must
believe, I say, that these philosophers confounded Destiny with
Providence, and did not distinguish the effect from its cause, since
these definitions conform only with the fundamental law of which
destiny is but an emanation. This confusion of words had to produce
and in fact did produce, among the Stoics, an inversion of ideas which
was the most unfortunate result[300]; for, as they established,
according to their system, a chain of good and evil that nothing could
either alter or break, one easily inferred that the Universe being
subject to the attraction of a blind fatality, all actions are here
necessarily determined in advance, forced, and thereafter indifferent
in themselves; so that good and evil, virtue and vice, are vain words,
things whose existence is purely ideal and relative.

The Stoics would have evaded these calamitous results if, like
Pythagoras, they had admitted the two motives of which I have spoken,
Necessity and Power; and if, far from instituting Necessity alone as
absolute master of the Universe, under the name of Destiny or
Fatality, they had seen it balanced by the Power of the Will, and
subject to the Providential Cause whence all emanates. The disciples
of Plato would also have evaded many errors, if they had clearly
understood this concatenation of the two opposed principles, from
which results universal equilibrium; but following certain false
interpretations of the doctrine of their master regarding the soul of
matter, they had imagined that this soul was no other than Necessity
by which it is ruled[301]; so that, according to them, this soul being
inherent in matter, and bad in itself, gave to Evil a necessary
existence: a dogma quite formidable, since it makes the world to be
considered as the theatre of a struggle without beginning or end,
between Providence, principle of Good, and the soul of matter,
principle of Evil. The greatest mistake of the Platonists, exactly
contrary to that of the Stoics, was in having confused the free power
of the Will with the divine Providence, in having instituted it for
the principle of good and thus being put in position of maintaining
that there are two souls in the world, a beneficent one, God, and a
malefic one, Matter. This system, approved of by many celebrated men
of antiquity and which Beausobre assures was the most widely
received,[302] offers, as I have observed, the very great disadvantage
of giving to Evil a necessary existence, that is to say, an
independent and eternal existence. Now, Bayle has very well proved, by
attacking this system through that of Manes, that two opposed
Principles cannot exist equally eternal and independent of one
another, because the clearest ideas of order teach us that a Being
which exists by itself, which is necessary, which is eternal, must be
unique, infinite, all-powerful, and endowed with all manner of
perfections.[303]

But it is not at all certain that Plato may have had the idea that his
disciples have attributed to him, since far from considering matter as
an independent and necessary being, animated by a soul essentially
bad, he seems even to doubt its existence, going so far as to regard
it as pure nothingness, and calls the bodies which are formed of it,
equivocal beings holding the medium between what is always existing
and what does not exist at all[304]; he affirms sometimes that matter
has been created and sometimes that it has not been[305]; and thus
falls into contradictions of which his enemies have taken advantage.
Plutarch, who has clearly seen it, excuses them by saying that this
great philosopher has fallen into these contradictions designedly, in
order to conceal some mystery; a mind constructed like his not being
made to affirm two opposites in the same sense.[306] The mystery that
Plato wished to conceal, as he makes it sufficiently understood,[307]
was the origin of Evil. He himself declares that he has never revealed
and that he never will reveal, in writing, his real sentiments in this
respect. Thus what Chalcidius and after him André Dacier have given
concerning the doctrine of Plato are only conjectures or very remote
inferences drawn from certain of his dogmas. One has often made use of
this means, with regard to celebrated men whose writings one comments
upon and particularly when one has certain reasons for presenting
one’s ideas _sous un côté_ which outlines or which favours an opinion
either favourable or unfavourable. It is this which happened more to
Manes than to any other; his doctrine concerning the two Principles
has been greatly calumniated, and without knowing just what he meant
by them, one hastened to condemn him without investigating what he had
said; adopting as axioms that he had laid down, inferences the most
bizarre and most ridiculous that his enemies had drawn from certain
equivocal phrases.[308] What persuades me to make this observation, is
because it has been proved that Manes had indeed admitted two opposed
Principles of Good and Evil, eternal independents, and holding of
themselves their proper and absolute existence, since it is easy to
see that Zoroaster, whose doctrine he had principally imitated, had
not admitted them as such, but as equally issued from a superior
Cause, concerning the essence of which he was silent.[309] I am very
much inclined to believe that the Christian doctors who have
transmitted to us the ideas of this mighty heresiarch, blinded by
their hatred or by their ignorance, have travestied them as I find
that the Platonist philosophers, bewildered by their own opinions,
have entirely disfigured those of the illustrious founder of the
Academy. The errors of both have been, taking for absolute beings,
what Zoroaster and Pythagoras, Plato or Manes, had put down as
emanations, results, forces, or even the simple abstractions of the
understanding. Thus Ormuzd and Ahriman, Power and Necessity, the Same
and the Other, Light and Darkness, are, in reality, only the same
things diversely expressed, diversely sensed, but always drawn from
the same origin and subject to the same fundamental Cause of the
Universe.

It is not true therefore, as Chalcidius has stated, that Pythagoras
may have demonstrated that evil exists necessarily,[310] because
matter is evil in itself. Pythagoras never said that matter might be
an absolute being whose essence might be composed of evil. Hierocles,
who had studied the doctrine of this great man and that of Plato, has
denied that either the one or the other had ever declared matter as a
being existing by itself. He has proved, on the contrary, that Plato
taught, following the steps of Pythagoras, that the World was produced
from Nothing, and that his followers were mistaken when they thought
that he admitted an uncreated matter.[311] Power and Necessity
(mentioned in the lines at the head of this Examination) are not, as
has been believed, the absolute source of good and evil. Necessity is
not more evil in itself than Power is not good; it is from the usage
that man is called to make of them, and from their employment which is
indicated by wisdom or ignorance, virtue or vice, that results Good or
Evil. This has been felt by Homer who has expressed it in an admirable
allegory, by representing the god of gods himself, Jupiter, opening
indifferently the sources of good and evil upon the universe.

     Beside Jove’s threshold stand two casks of gifts for man.
     One cask contains the evil, one the good,...[312]

Those who have rejected this thought of Homer have not reflected
enough upon the prerogatives of poetry, which are to particularize
what is universal and to represent as done what is to be done. Good
and Evil do not emanate from Jupiter in action, but in potentiality,
that is to say, that the same thing represented by Jupiter or the
Universal Principle of the Will and the Intelligence, becomes good or
evil, according as it is determined by the particular operation of
each individual principle of the Will and the Intelligence.[313] Now,
man is to the Being called Jupiter by Homer, as the particular is to
the Universal.[314]


     7. _Still it is given thee to fight and overcome
         Thy foolish passions: learn thou to subdue them._

It seems that Lysis, foreseeing the wrong inductions that would be
drawn from what he had said, and as if he had a presentiment that one
would not fail to generalize the influence of Necessity upon the
actions of men, may have wished beforehand to oppose himself to the
destructive dogma of fatality, by establishing the empire of the Will
over the passions. This is in the doctrine of Pythagoras the real
foundation of the liberty of man: for, according to this philosopher,
no one is free, only he who knows how to master himself,[315] and the
yoke of the passions is much heavier and more difficult to throw off
than that of the most cruel tyrants. Pythagoras, however, did not,
according to Hierocles, prescribe destroying the passions, as the
Stoics taught in late times; but only to watch over them and repress
excess in them, because all excess is vicious.[316] He regarded the
passions as useful to man, and although produced in principle by
Necessity, and given by an irresistible destiny, as nevertheless
submissive in their use to the free power of the Will. Plato had well
realized this truth and had forcibly indicated it in many passages of
his works: one finds it chiefly in the second dialogue of Hippias,
where this philosopher shows, evidently without seeming to have the
design, that man good or bad, virtuous or criminal, truthful or false,
is only such by the power of his will, and that the passion which
carries him to virtue or to vice, to truth or falsehood, is nothing in
itself; so that no man is bad, only by the faculty which he has of
being good; nor good, only by the faculty which he has of being bad.

But has man the faculty of being good or bad at his pleasure, and is
he not irresistibly drawn toward vice or virtue? This is a question
which has tried all the great thinkers of the earth, and which
according to circumstances has caused storms of more or less violence.
It is necessary, however, to give close attention to one thing, which
is, that before the establishment of Christianity and the admission of
original sin as fundamental dogma of religion, no founder of sect, no
celebrated philosopher had positively denied the free will, nor had
taught ostensibly that man may be necessarily determined to Evil or to
Good and predestined from all time to vice or virtue, to wickedness or
eternal happiness. It is indeed true that this cruel fatality seemed
often to follow from their principles as an inevitable consequence,
and that their adversaries reproached them with it; but nearly all
rejected it as an insult, or a false interpretation of their system.
The first who gave place to this accusation, in ancient times, was a
certain Moschus, a Phœnician philosopher, who, according to Strabo,
lived before the epoch in which the war of Troy is said to have taken
place, that is to say, about twelve or thirteen centuries before our
era.[317] This philosopher detaching himself from the theosophical
doctrine, the only one known at that time, and having sought the
reason of things in the things themselves, can be considered as the
real founder of Natural Philosophy: he was the first who made
abstraction from the Divinity, and from the intelligence, and assumed
that the Universe existing by itself was composed of indivisible
particles, which, endowed with figures and diverse movements, produced
by their fortuitous combinations an infinite series of beings,
generating, destroying, and renewing themselves unceasingly. These
particles, which the Greeks named _atoms_,[318] on account of their
indivisibility, constituted the particular system which still bears
this name. Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus adopted it, adding to
it their own ideas; and Lucretius having naturalized it among the
Romans, favoured its passage down to these modern times, when the
greater part of our philosophers have done nothing but renovate it
under other forms.[319] Assuredly there is no system whence the fatal
necessity of all things issues more inevitably than from that of
atoms; also it is certain that Democritus was accused of admitting a
compulsory destiny,[320] although, like Leibnitz, he admitted to each
atom an animated and sentient nature.[321] It is not known if he
replied to this accusation; but there are certain proofs that
Epicurus, who had less right than he to reject it, since he regarded
atoms as absolutely inanimate,[322] rejected it nevertheless, and not
wishing to admit a dogma subversive of all morals, he declared himself
against it, and taught the liberty of man.[323]

A singular thing is, that this fatality which appears attached to the
system of atoms, whence the materialist promoters, true to their
principle, banished the influence of Divine Providence,[324] followed
still more naturally from the opposed system, wherein the spiritualist
philosophers admitted this Providence to the full extent of its power.
According to this last system, a sole and same spiritual substance
filled the Universe, and by its diverse modifications produced there
all the phenomena by which the senses are affected. Parmenides,
Melissus, and Zeno of Elea, who adopted it, sustained it with great
success: they asserted that matter was only pure illusion, that there
is nothing in things, that bodies and all their variations are only
pure appearances, and that therefore nothing really exists outside of
spirit.[325] Zeno of Elea particularly, who denied the existence of
movement, brought against this existence some objections very
difficult to remove.[326] The Stoic philosophers became more or less
strongly attached to this opinion. Chrysippus, one of the firmest
pillars of the Porch, taught that God is the soul of the world, and
the world, the universal extension of that soul. He said that by
Jupiter, should be understood, the eternal law, the fatal necessity,
the immutable truth of all future things.[327] Now, it is evident that
if, in accordance with the energetic expression of Seneca, this unique
principle of the Universe has ordained once to obey always its own
command,[328] the Stoics were not able to escape from the reproach
that was directed toward them, of admitting the most absolute
fatality, since the soul of man being, according to them, only a
portion of the Divinity, its actions could have no other cause than
God Himself who had willed them.[329] Nevertheless Chrysippus rejected
the reproach in the same manner as did Epicurus; he always sustained
the liberty of man, notwithstanding the irresistible force that he
admitted in the unique Cause[330]; and what seemed a manifest
contradiction, he taught that the soul sins only by the impulse of its
own will, and therefore that the blame of its errors should not be put
upon destiny.[331]

But it suffices to reflect a moment upon the nature of the principles
set down by Epicurus, by Chrysippus, and by all those who have
preceded them or followed them in their divergent opinions, to see
that the inferences drawn by their adversaries were just, and that
they could not refute them without contradicting themselves.[332]
Every time that one has claimed to found the Universe upon the
existence of a sole material or spiritual nature, and to make proceed
from this sole nature the explanation of all phenomena, one has become
exposed and always will be, to insurmountable difficulties. It is
always in asking what the origin of Good and Evil is, that all the
systems of this sort have been irresistibly overthrown, from Moschus,
Leucippus, and Epicurus, down to Spinoza and Leibnitz; from
Parmenides, Zeno of Elea, and Chrysippus, down to Berkeley and Kant.
For, let there be no misunderstanding, the solution of the problem
concerning free will depends upon preliminary knowledge of the origin
of evil, so that one cannot reply plainly to this question: Whence
comes Evil? Neither can one reply to this one: Is man free? And that
one be not still further deceived here, the knowledge of the origin of
evil, if it has been acquired, has never been openly divulged: it has
been profoundly buried with that of the Unity of God in the ancient
mysteries and has never emerged except enveloped in a triple veil. The
initiates imposed upon themselves a rigid silence concerning what they
called the _sufferings of God_[333]: his death, his descent into the
infernal regions, and his resurrection.[334] They knew that the
serpent was, in general, the symbol of evil, and that it was under
this form that the Python had fought with and been slain by
Apollo.[335] The theosophists have not made a public dogma of the
Unity of God, precisely on account of the explanation that it would be
necessary to give to the origin of good and evil; for without this
explanation, the dogma in itself would have been incomprehensible.
Moses realized it perfectly, and in the plan which he had conceived of
striking the people whose legislator he was, with a character as
extraordinary as indelible, by founding his cult upon the publicity of
a dogma hidden, until that time in the depths of the sanctuaries and
reserved for the initiates alone, he did not hesitate to divulge what
he knew pertaining to the creation of the world and the origin of
evil. It is true that the manner in which he gave it, under a
simplicity and apparent clarity, concealed a profundity and obscurity
almost unfathomable; but the form which he gave to this formidable
mystery sufficed to support, in the opinion of the vulgar, the Unity
of God and this was all that he wished to do.

Now it is the essence of theosophy to be dogmatic, and that of natural
philosophy to be skeptical; the theosophist speaks by faith, the
physicist speaks by reason; the doctrine of the one excludes the
discussion that the system of the other admits and even necessitates.
Up to that time, theosophy dominating upon the earth had taught the
influence of the will, and the tradition which was preserved in it
among all the nations of the earth during an incalculable succession
of centuries gave it the force of demonstration. Among the Indians,
Krishna; among the Persians, Zoroaster; in China, Kong-Tse; in Egypt,
Thoth; among the Greeks, Orpheus; even Odin, among the Scandinavians;
everywhere the lawgivers of the people had linked the liberty of man
with the consoling dogma of Divine Providence.[336] The peoples
accustomed to worship in polytheism the Divine Infinity and not its
Unity, did not find it strange to be guided, protected, and watched
over on the one side, whereas they remained, on the other, free in
their movements; and they did not trouble themselves to find the
source of good and evil since they saw it in the objects of their
cult, in these same gods, the greater part of whom being neither
essentially good nor essentially bad were reputed to inspire in them
the virtues or the vices which, gathered freely by them, rendered them
worthy of recompense or chastisement.[337] But when Natural Philosophy
appeared, the face of things was changed. The natural philosophers,
substituting the observation of nature and experience for mental
contemplation and the inspiration of theosophists, thought that they
could make sentient what was intelligible, and promised to prove by
fact and reasoning whatever up to that time had had only proofs of
sentiment and analogy. They brought to light the great mystery of
Universal Unity, and transforming this Intellectual Unity into
corporal substance placed it in water,[338] in infinite space,[339] in
the air,[340] in the fire,[341] whence they draw in turn the essential
and formal existence of all things. The one, attached to the school of
Ionia, established as fundamental maxim, that there is but one
principle of all; and the other, attached to that of Elea, started
from this axiom that nothing is made from nothing.[342] The former
sought the _how_, and the latter the _why_ of things; and all were
united in saying that there is no effect without cause. Their
different systems, based upon the principles of reasoning which seemed
incontestable, and supported by a series of imposing conclusions, had,
at first, a prodigious success; but this _éclat_ paled considerably
when soon the disciples of Pythagoras, and a little later those of
Socrates and Plato, having received from their masters the
theosophical tradition, stopped these sophistical physicists in the
midst of their triumphs, and, asking them the cause of physical and of
moral evil, proved to them that they knew nothing of it; and that, in
whatever fashion they might deduce it by their system, they could not
avoid establishing an absolute fatality, destructive to the liberty of
man, which by depriving it of morality of actions, by confounding vice
and virtue, ignorance and wisdom, made of the Universe no more than a
frightful chaos. In vain these had thrust back the reproach and
claimed that the inference was false; their adversaries pursuing them
on their own ground cried out to them: If the principle that you admit
is good, whence comes it that men are wicked and miserable?[343] If
this unique principle is bad, whence emerge goodness and virtue?[344]
If nature is the expression of this sole principle, how is it not
constant and why does its government sow goodness and evil?[345] The
materialists had recourse vainly to a certain deviation in atoms,[346]
and the spiritualists, to a certain adjuvant cause quite similar to
efficacious grace[347]; the theosophists would never have renounced
them if they had not enclosed them in a syllogistic circle, by making
them admit, sometimes that the unique and all-powerful Principle
cannot think of everything,[348] sometimes that vice is useful and
that without it there would be no virtue[349]; paradoxes of which they
had no trouble demonstrating the absurdity and the revolting
inferences.[350]

Take a survey of all the nations of the world, peruse all the books
that you please, and you will find the liberty of man, the free will
of his actions, the influence of his will over his passions, only in
the theosophical tradition. Wherever you see physical or metaphysical
systems, doctrines of whatever kind they may be, founded upon a sole
principle of the material or spiritual Universe, you can conclude
boldly that absolute fatality results from it and that their authors
find themselves in need of making two things one: or of explaining the
origin of good and evil, which is impossible; or of establishing the
free will _a priori_, which is a manifest contradiction of their
reasonings. If you care to penetrate into metaphysical depths, examine
this decisive point upon this matter. Moses founded his cult upon the
Unity of God and he explained the origin of evil; but he found himself
forced by the very nature of this formidable mystery to envelop his
explanation with such a veil, that it remained impenetrable for all
those who had not received the traditional revelation; so that the
liberty of man existed in his cult only by favour of theosophical
tradition, and that it became weaker and disappeared entirely from it
with this same tradition, the two opposed sects of the Pharisees and
Sadducees which divided the cult prove this.[351] The former, attached
to the tradition and allegorizing the text of the _Sepher_,[352]
admitted the free will[353]; the others, on the contrary, rejecting it
and following the literal meaning, established an irresistible destiny
to which all was subjected. The most orthodox Hebrews, and those even
who passed as seers or prophets of the nation, had no difficulty in
attributing to God the cause of Evil.[354] They were obviously
authorized by the history of the downfall of the first man, and by the
dogma of original sin, which they took according to the meaning
attached to it by the vulgar. It also happened, after the
establishment of Christianity and of Islamism, that this dogma,
received by both cults in all its extent and in all its literal
obscurity, has necessarily drawn with it predestination, which is, in
other words, only the fatality of the ancients. Mohammed, more
enthusiast than learned, and stronger in imagination than in
reasoning, has not hesitated a moment, admitting it as an inevitable
result of the Unity of God, which he announced after Moses.[355] It is
true that a few Christian doctors, when they have been capable of
perceiving the inferences in it have denied this predestination, and
have wished, either by allegorizing the dogma of original sin, as
Origen, or rejecting it wholly, as Pelagius, to establish the free
will and the power of the will; but it is easy to see, in reading the
history of the church, that the most rigid Christians, such as Saint
Augustine and the ecclesiastical authority itself, have always upheld
predestination as proceeding necessarily from the divine Prescience
and from the All-Powerful, without which there is no Unity. The length
of this examination forces me to suspend the proofs that I was going
to give regarding this last assertion; but further on I will return to
it.


     8. _Be sober, diligent, and chaste; avoid all wrath.
         In public or in secret ne’er permit thou
         Any evil; and above all else respect thyself._

Pythagoras considered man under three principal modifications, like
the Universe; and this is why he gave to man the name of the microcosm
or the small world.[356] Nothing was more common among the ancient
nations than to compare the Universe to a grand man, and man, to a
small Universe.[357] The Universe, considered as a grand and animated
All, composed of intelligence, soul and body, was called Pan or
Phanes.[358][359] Man, or microcosm, was composed in the same way but
in an inverse manner, of body, soul, and intelligence; and each of
these three parts was, in its turn, considered under three
modifications, so that the ternary ruling in the whole ruled equally
in the least of its subdivisions. Each ternary, from that which
embraced Immensity, to that which constituted the weakest individual
was, according to Pythagoras, included in an absolute or relative
Unity, and formed thus, as I have already said, the Quaternary or
Sacred Tetrad of the Pythagoreans. This Quaternary was universal or
particular. Pythagoras was not, however, the inventor of this
doctrine: it was spread from China to the depths of Scandinavia.[360]
One finds it likewise expressed in the oracles of Zoroaster.[361]

     In the Universe a Ternary shines forth,
     And the Monad is its principle.

Thus, according to this doctrine, Man, considered as a relative unity
contained in the absolute Unity of the Grand All, presents himself as
the universal ternary, under three principal modifications, of body,
soul, and spirit or intelligence. The soul, considered as the seat of
the passions, is presented in its turn, under the three faculties of
the rational, irascible or appetent soul. Now, in the opinion of
Pythagoras, the vice of the appetent faculty of the soul is
intemperance or avarice; that of the irascible faculty is cowardice;
and that of the rational faculty is folly. The vice which reaches
these three faculties is injustice. In order to avoid these vices, the
philosopher commends four principal virtues to his disciples:
temperance for the appetent faculty, courage for the irascible
faculty, prudence for the rational faculty, and for these three
faculties together, justice, which he regards as the most perfect
virtue of the soul.[362] I say the soul, because the body and the
intelligence, being equally developed by means of three faculties
instinctive or spiritual, as well as the soul, were susceptible of the
vices and the virtues which were peculiar to them.


     9. _Speak not nor act before thou hast reflected;
         Be just._

By the preceding lines, Lysis, speaking in the name of Pythagoras, had
commended temperance and diligence; he had prescribed particularly
watching over the irascible faculty, and moderating its excesses; by
these, he indicates the peculiar character of prudence which is
reflection and he imposes the obligation of being just, by binding, as
it were, the most energetic idea of justice with that of death, as may
be seen in the subsequent lines:


     10. … _Remember that a power invincible
         Ordains to die_; …

That is to say, remember thou that the fatal necessity to which thou
art subjected in reference to the material and mortal part of thyself,
according to the sentence of the ancient sages,[363] will strike thee
particularly in the objects of thy cupidity, of thy intemperance, in
the things which will have excited thy folly, or flattered thy
cowardice; remember thou that death will break the frail instruments
of thy wrath, will extinguish the firebrands that it will have
lighted; remember thou finally,


     11. … _That riches and the honours
         Easily acquired, are easy thus to lose._

Be just: injustice has often easy triumphs; but what remains after
death of the riches that it has procured? Nothing but the bitter
remembrance of their loss, and the nakedness of a shameful vice
uncovered and reduced to impotency.

I have proceeded rapidly in the explanation of the foregoing lines,
because the morals which they contain, founded upon the proofs of
sentiment, are not susceptible of receiving others. I do not know if
this simple reflection has already been made, but in any case it ought
to draw with it one more complicated, and serve to find the reason for
the surprising harmony which reigns, and which has always reigned,
among all the peoples of the earth upon the subject of morals. Man has
been allowed to disagree upon subjects of reasoning and opinion, to
differ in a thousand ways in those of taste, to dispute upon the forms
of cult, the dogmas of teachings, the bases of science, to build an
infinity of psychological and physical systems; but Man has never been
able, without belying his own conscience, to deny the truth and
universality of morals. Temperance, prudence, courage, and justice,
have always been considered as virtues, and avarice, folly, cowardice,
and injustice, as vices; and this, without the least discussion. Never
has any legislator said that it was necessary to be a bad son, a bad
friend, a bad citizen, envious, ungrateful, perjured. The men most
beset with these vices have always hated them in others, have
concealed them at home, and their very hypocrisy has been a new homage
rendered to morals.

If certain sectarians, blinded by a false zeal and furthermore
systematically ignorant and intolerant, have circulated that the cults
differing from theirs lacked morals, or received impure ones, it is
because they either misunderstood the true principles of morals, or
they calumniated them; principles are the same everywhere; only their
application is more or less rigid and their consequences are more or
less well applied in accordance with the times, the places, and the
men. The Christians extol, and with reason, the purity and the
sanctity of their morals; but if it must be told them with frankness
they have nothing in their sacred books that cannot be found as
forcibly expressed in the sacred books of other nations, and often
even, in the opinion of impartial travellers, one has seen it much
better practised. For example, the beautiful maxim touching upon the
pardon of offences[364] is found complete in the _Zend-Avesta_. It is
written: “O God! greater than all that which is great! if a man
provoke you by his thoughts, by his speech, or by his actions, if he
humbles himself before you, pardon him; even so, if a man provoke me
by his thoughts by his speech or by his actions may I pardon
him.”[365] One finds in the same book, the precept on charity, such as
is practised among the Mussulmans, and that of agriculture placed in
the rank of virtues, as among the Chinese. “The King whom you love,
what desire you that he shall do, Ormuzd? Do you desire that, like
unto you, he shall nourish the poor?”[366] “The purest point of the
law is to sow the land. He who sows the grain and does it with
purity is as great before me as he who celebrates ten thousand
adorations.…”[367] “Render the earth fertile, cover it with flowers
and with fruits; multiply the springs in the places where there is no
grass.”[368] This same maxim of the pardon of offences and those which
decree to return good for evil, and to do unto others what we would
that they should do unto us, is found in many of the Oriental
writings. One reads in the distichs of Hafiz this beautiful passage:

     Learn of the sea-shell to love thine enemy, and to fill with
     pearls the hand thrust out to harm thee. Be not less
     generous than the hard rock; make resplendent with precious
     stones, the arm which rends thy side. Mark thou yonder tree
     assailed by a shower of stones; upon those who throw them it
     lets fall only delicious fruits or perfumed flowers. The
     voice of all nature calls aloud to us: shall man be the only
     one refusing to heal the hand which is wounded in striking
     him? To bless the one who offends him?[369]

The evangelical precept paraphrased by Hafiz is found in substance in
a discourse of Lysias; it is clearly expressed by Thales and Pittacus;
Kong-Tse taught it in the same words as Jesus; finally one finds in
the _Arya_, written more than three centuries before our era, these
lines which seem made expressly to inculcate the maxim and depict the
death of the righteous man:

     The duty of a good man, even at the moment of his
     destruction, consists not only in forgiving but even in a
     desire of benefiting his destroyer; as the Sandal-tree, in
     the instant of its overthrow sheds perfume on the ax which
     fells; and he would triumph in repeating the verse of Sadi
     who represents a return of good for good as a slight
     reciprocity, but says to the virtuous man, “confer benefits
     on him who has injured thee.”[370]

Interrogate the peoples from the Boreal pole to the extremities of
Asia, and ask them what they think of virtue: they will respond to
you, as Zeno, that it is all that is good and beautiful; the
Scandinavians, disciples of Odin, will show you the _Hâvamâl_[371],
sublime discourse of their ancient legislator, wherein hospitality,
charity, justice, and courage are expressly commended to them: You
will know by tradition that the Celts had the sacred verses of their
Druids, wherein piety, justice, and valour were celebrated as national
virtues[372]; you will see in the books preserved under the name of
Hermes[373] that the Egyptians followed the same idea regarding morals
as the Indians their ancient preceptors; and these ideas, preserved
still in the _Dharma-Shastra_,[374] will strike you in the _Kings_ of
the Chinese. It is there, in those sacred books whose origin is lost
in the night of time,[375] that you will find at their source the most
sublime maxims of Fo-Hi, Krishna, Thoth, Zoroaster, Pythagoras,
Socrates, and Jesus. Morals, I repeat, are everywhere the same;
therefore it is not upon its written principles that one should judge
of the perfection of the cult, as has been done without reflection,
but upon their practical application. This application, whence results
the national spirit, depends upon the purity of the religious dogmas,
upon the sublimity of the mysteries, and upon their more or less great
affinity with the Universal Truth which is the soul, apparent or
hidden, of all religion.


     12. _As to the evils which Destiny involves,
          Judge them what they are; endure them all and strive,
          As much as thou art able, to modify the traits.
          The Gods, to the most cruel, have not exposed the sage._

I have said that Pythagoras acknowledged two motives of human actions,
the power of the Will and the necessity of Destiny, and that he
subjected both to one fundamental law called Providence from which
they emanated alike. The first of these motives was free, and the
second constrained: so that man found himself placed between two
opposed, but not injurious natures, indifferently good or bad,
according as he understood the use of them. The power of the Will was
exercised upon the things to be done, or upon the future; the
necessity of Destiny, upon the things done, or upon the past: and the
one nourished the other unceasingly, by working upon the materials
which they reciprocally furnished each other; for according to this
admirable philosopher, it is of the past that the future is born, of
the future that the past is formed, and of the union of both that is
engendered the always existing present, from which they draw alike
their origin: a most profound idea that the Stoics had adopted.[376]
Thus, following this doctrine, liberty rules in the future, necessity
in the past, and Providence over the present. Nothing that exists
happens by chance but by the union of the fundamental and providential
law with the human will which follows or transgresses it, by operating
upon necessity.[377] The harmony of the Will and Providence
constitutes Good; Evil is born of their opposition. Man has received
three forces adapted to each of the three modifications of his being,
to be guided in the course that he should pursue on earth and all
three enchained to his Will. The first, attached to the body, is
instinct; the second, devoted to the soul, is virtue; the third,
appertaining to intelligence, is science or wisdom. These three
forces, indifferent in themselves, take this name only through the
good usage that the Will makes of it; for, through bad usage they
degenerate into brutishness, vice, and ignorance. Instinct perceives
the physical good or evil resulting from sensation; virtue recognizes
the moral good or evil existing in sentiment; science judges the
intelligible good or evil which springs from assent. In sensation,
good or evil is called pleasure or pain; in sentiment, love or hate;
in assent, truth or error. Sensation, sentiment, and assent, dwelling
in the body, in the soul, and in the spirit, form a ternary, which
becoming developed under favour of a relative unity constitutes the
human quaternary, or Man considered abstractly. The three affections
which compose this ternary act and react upon one another, and become
mutually enlightened or obscured; and the unity which binds them, that
is to say, Man, is perfected or depraved, according as it tends to
become blended with the Universal Unity or to become distinguished
from it. The means that this ternary has of becoming blended with it,
or of becoming distinguished from it, of approaching near or of
drawing away from it, resides wholly in its Will, which, through the
use that it makes of the instruments furnished it by the body, soul,
and mind, becomes instinctive or stupefied; is made virtuous or
vicious, wise or ignorant, and places itself in condition to perceive
with more or less energy, to understand and to judge with more or less
rectitude what there is of goodness, excellence, and justice in
sensation, sentiment, or assent; to distinguish, with more or less
force and knowledge, good and evil; and not to be deceived at last in
what is really pleasure or pain, love or hatred, truth or error.

Indeed one feels that the metaphysical doctrine that I have just
briefly set forth is nowhere found so clearly expressed, and therefore
I do not need to support it with any direct authority. It is only by
adopting the principles set down in the Golden Verses and by
meditating a long time upon what has been written by Pythagoras that
one is able to conceive the _ensemble_. The disciples of this
philosopher having been extremely discreet and often obscure, one can
only well appreciate the opinions of their master by throwing light
upon them with those of the Platonists and Stoics, who have adopted
and spread them without any reserve.[378]

Man, such as I have just depicted him, according to the idea that
Pythagoras had conceived, placed under the dominion of Providence
between the past and the future, endowed with a free will by his
essence, and being carried along toward virtue or vice with its own
movement, Man, I say, should understand the source of the evils that
he necessarily experiences; and far from accusing this same Providence
which dispenses good and evil to each according to his merit and his
anterior actions, can blame only himself if he suffers, through an
inevitable consequence of his past mistakes.[379] For Pythagoras
admitted many successive existences,[380] and maintained that the
present, which strikes us, and the future, which menaces us, are only
the expression of the past which has been our work in anterior times.
He said that the greater part of men lose, in returning to life, the
remembrance of these past existences; but that, concerning himself, he
had, by a particular favour of the gods, preserved the memory of
them.[381] Thus according to his doctrine, this fatal Necessity, of
which man unceasingly complains, has been created by himself through
the use of his will; he traverses, in proportion as he advances in
time, the road that he has already traced for himself; and according
as he has modified it by good or evil, as he sows so to speak, his
virtues or his vices, he will find it again more smooth or laborious,
when the time will come to traverse it anew.

These are the dogmas by means of which Pythagoras established the
necessity of Destiny, without harming the power of the Will, and left
to Providence its universal empire, without being obliged either to
attribute to it the origin of evil, as those who admitted only one
principle of things, or to give to evil an absolute existence, as
those who admitted two principles. In this, he was in accordance with
the ancient doctrine which was followed by the oracles of the
gods.[382] The Pythagoreans, however, did not regard pain, that is to
say, whatever afflicts the body in its mortal life, as veritable
evils; they called veritable evils only sins, vices, and errors into
which one falls voluntarily. In their opinion, the physical and
inevitable evils being illustrated by the presence of virtue, could be
transformed into blessings and become distinguished and enviable.[383]
These last evils, dependent upon necessity, Lysis commended to be
judged for what they were; that is, to consider as an inevitable
consequence of some mistake, as the chastisement or remedy for some
vice; and therefore to endure them, and far from irritating them
further by impatience and anger, on the contrary to modify them by the
resignation and acquiescence of the will to the judgment of
Providence. He does not forbid, as one sees in the lines cited,
assuaging them by lawful means; on the contrary, he desires that the
sage should apply himself to diverting them if possible, and healing
them. Thus this philosopher did not fall into the excess with which
the Stoics have been justly reproached.[384] He considered pain evil,
not that it was of the same nature as vice, but because its nature, a
purgative for vice, makes it a necessary consequence. Plato adopted
this idea, and made all the inferences felt with his customary
eloquence.[385]

As to what Lysis said, always following Pythagoras, that the sage was
never exposed to the crudest evils, this can be understood as
Hierocles has understood it, in a simple and natural manner, or in a
more mysterious manner as I stated. It is evident at once, in
following the inferences of the principles which have been given, that
the sage is not, in reality, subject to the severest evils, since, not
aggravating by his emotions those which the necessity of destiny
inflict upon him, and bearing them with resignation, he alleviates
them; living happy, even in the midst of misfortune, in the firm hope
that these evils will no more trouble his days, and certain that the
divine blessings which are reserved for virtue, await him in another
life.[386] Hierocles, after having revealed this first manner of
explaining the verse in question, touches lightly upon the second, in
saying that the Will of man can have an influence on Providence, when,
acting in a lofty soul, it is assisted by succour from heaven and
operates with it.[387] This was a part of the doctrine taught in the
mysteries, whose divulgence to the profane was forbidden. According to
this doctrine, of which sufficiently strong traces can be recognized
in Plato,[388] the Will, exerting itself by faith, was able to
subjugate Necessity itself, to command Nature, and to work miracles.
It was the principle upon which was founded the magic of the disciples
of Zoroaster.[389] Jesus saying parabolically, that by means of faith
one could remove mountains,[390] only spoke according to the
theosophical traditions known to all the sages. “The uprightness of
the heart and faith triumphs over all obstacles,” said Kong-Tse[391];
“all men can render themselves equal to the sages and to the heroes
whose memory the nations revere,” said Meng-Tse; “it is never the
power which is lacking, it is the will; provided one desire, one
succeeds.”[392] These ideas of the Chinese theosophists are found in
the writings of the Indians,[393] and even in those of some Europeans
who, as I have already observed, had not enough erudition to be
imitators. “The greater the will,” said Boehme, “the greater the being
and the more powerfully inspired.”[394] “Will and liberty are the same
thing.”[395] “It is the source of light, the magic which makes
something from nothing.”[396]

     “The Will which goes resolutely forward is faith; it models
     its own form in spirit and overcomes all things; by it, a
     soul receives the power of carrying its influence in another
     soul, and of penetrating its most intimate essences. When it
     acts with God it can overthrow mountains, break the rocks,
     confound the plots of the impious, and breathe upon them
     disorder and dismay; it can effect all prodigies, command
     the heavens, the sea, and enchain death itself: it
     subjugates all. Nothing can be named that cannot be
     commanded in the name of the Eternal. The soul which
     executes these great things only imitates the prophets and
     the saints, Moses, Jesus, and the apostles. All the elect
     have a similar power. Evil disappears before them. Nothing
     can harm the one in whom God dwells.”[397]

It is in departing from this doctrine, taught as I have said in the
mysteries, that certain gnostics of the Alexandrian school assert that
evils never attended the true sages, if there were found men who might
have been so in reality; for Providence, image of divine justice,
would never allow the innocent to suffer and be punished. Basil, who
was one of those who supported this Platonic opinion,[398] was sharply
reprimanded by the orthodox Christians, who treated him as a heretic,
quoting to him the example of the martyrs. Basil replied that the
martyrs were not entirely innocent, because there is no man exempt
from faults; that God punishes in them, either evil desires, actual
and secret sins, or sins that the soul had committed in a previous
existence; and as they did not fail to oppose him again with the
example of Jesus, who, although fully innocent, had, however, suffered
the torture of the cross, Basil answered without hesitation that God
had been just, in his opinion, and that Jesus, being man, was no more
than another exempt from sin.[399]


     13. _Even as Truth, does Error have its lovers;
          With prudence the Philosopher approves or blames;
          If Error triumph, he departs and waits._

It is sufficiently known that Pythagoras was the first who used the
word Philosopher to designate _a friend of wisdom._[400] Before him,
the word _Sophos_, sage, was used. It is therefore with intention that
I have made it enter into my translation, although it may not be
literally in the text. The portrayal that Lysis gives of the
philosopher represents everything in moderation and in that just mean,
where the celebrated Kong-Tse placed also the perfection of the
sage.[401] He commended to him tolerance for the opinions of others,
instilling in him that, as truth and error have likewise their
followers, one must not be flattered into thinking that one can
enlighten all men, nor bring them to accept the same sentiments and to
profess the same doctrine. Pythagoras had, following his custom,
expressed these same ideas by symbolic phrases: “Exceed not the
balance,” he had said, “stir not the fire with the sword, all
materials are not fitting to make a statue of Mercury.” That is to
say, avoid all excess; depart not from the golden mean which is the
appanage of the philosopher; propagate not your doctrine by violent
means; use not the sword in the cause of God and the truth; confide
not science to a corrupt soul; or as Jesus forcibly said: “Give not
that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before
swine”[402]; for all men are not equally fitted to receive science, to
become models of wisdom, nor to reflect the image of God.

Pythagoras, it must be said, had not always entertained these
sentiments. While he was young and while he still burned unconsciously
with the fire of passions, he abandoned himself to a blind and
vehement zeal. An excess of enthusiasm and of divine love had thrown
him into intolerance and perhaps he would have become persecutor, if,
like Mohammed, he had had the weapons at hand. An incident opened his
eyes. As he had contracted the habit of treating his disciples very
severely, and as he generally censured men for their vices with much
asperity, it happened one day that a youth, whose mistakes he had
publicly exposed and whom he had upbraided with bitterest reproaches,
conceived such despair that he killed himself. The philosopher never
thought of this evil of which he had been the cause without violent
grief; he meditated deeply, and made from this incident reflections
which served him the remainder of his life. He realized, as he
energetically expressed it, that one must not stir the fire with the
sword. One can, in this regard, compare him with Kong-Tse and
Socrates. The other theosophists have not always shown the same
moderation. Krishna, the most tolerant among them had nevertheless
said, abandoning himself to thoughtless enthusiasm: “Wisdom consists
in being wholly for Me … in freedom from love of self … in loosening
all bonds of attachment for one’s children, wife, and home … in
rendering to God alone a steadfast cult … disdaining and fleeing from
the society of men”[403]: words remarkable for the connection that
they have with those of Jesus: “If any man come to me and hate not his
father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters,
yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.”[404] Zoroaster
seemed to authorize persecution, saying in an outburst of indignation:
“He who does evil, destroy him; rise up against all those who are
cruel.… Smite with strength the proud Turanian who afflicts and
torments the just.”[405] One knows to what pitch of wrath Moses was
kindled against the Midianites and the other peoples who resisted
him,[406] notwithstanding that he had announced, in a calmer moment,
the God of Israel as a God merciful and gracious, long-suffering and
abundant in goodness and truth.[407] Mohammed, as passionate as Moses,
and strongly resembling the legislator of the Hebrews by his ability
and firmness, has fallen into the same excess. He has often depicted,
as cruel and inexorable, this same God whom he invokes at the head of
all of his writings, as very good, very just, and very clement.[408]
This proves how rare a thing it is to remain in the golden mean so
commended by Kong-Tse and Pythagoras, how difficult it is for any
pupil to resist the lure of the passions to stifle utterly their
voice, in order to hear only the voice of the divine inspiration.
Reflecting upon the discrepancies of the great men whom I have just
cited, one cannot refrain from thinking with Basil, that, in effect,
there are no men on earth veritably wise and without sin[409]; above
all when one considers that Jesus expressed himself in the same
details as Krishna, Zoroaster, and Moses; and that he who had exhorted
us in one passage to love our enemies, to do good to those who hate
us, and to pray even for those who persecute and calumniate us,[410]
menaces with fire from heaven the cities that recognize him not,[411]
and elsewhere it is written: “Do not think that I came to send peace
upon earth: I came not to send peace, but the sword”[412]; “For there
shall be from henceforth five in one house divided: three against two,
and two against three. The father shall be divided against the son,
and the son against the father, the mother against the daughter, and
the daughter against the mother.”[413] “He that is not with me, is
against me: and he that gathereth not with me, scattereth.”[414]


     14. _Listen, and in thine heart engrave my words;
          Keep closed both eye and ear ’gainst prejudice;
          Of others the example fear; think for thyself._

Lysis continues, in the name of Pythagoras, to trace for the
philosopher the course that he must follow in the first part of his
doctrine, which is the Purification. After having commended to him
moderation and prudence in all things, having exhorted him to be as
slow to censure as to approve, he seeks to put him on guard against
prejudices and the routine of example, which are, in reality, the
greatest obstacles that are encountered by science and truth. This is
what Bacon, the regenerator of philosophy in modern Europe, so keenly
felt, as I have already cited with praise at the opening of this work.
This excellent observer, to whom we owe our freedom from scholastic
leading-strings whose ignorance had stifled for us the name of
Aristotle, having formed the difficult enterprise of disencumbering
and, as it were, clearing the air belonging to the human
understanding, in order to put it in a condition to receive an edifice
less barbarous, remarked, that one would never attain to establishing
there the foundation of true science, if one did not first labour to
set aside prejudices.[415] He displayed all his forces against these
formidable enemies of human perfectibility, and if he did not
overthrow them all, at least he indicated them in such a manner as to
make it easier to recognize and destroy them. The prejudices which
obsess the human understanding and which he calls idols, are,
according to him, of four kinds: these are the idols of the tribe; the
idols of the den; the idols of society; and the idols of theories. The
first are inherent in human nature; the second are those of each
individual; the third result from the equivocal definitions attached
to words; the fourth and the most numerous are those that man receives
from his teachers and from the doctrines which are current.[416] The
last are the most tenacious and the most difficult to conquer. It
seems even impossible wholly to resist them. The man who aspires to
the perilous glory of improving the human mind, finds himself placed
between two formidable dangers, which, like those of Sylla and
Charybdis, threaten alternately to break his frail bark: upon one is
irresistible routine, upon the other proud innovation. There is danger
alike from both sides. He can save himself only by favour of the
golden mean, so commended by all the sages and so rarely followed even
by them.

This golden mean must needs be very difficult to hold in the course of
life, since Kong-Tse himself, who has made it all his study, has
lacked it in the most important part of his doctrine, in that
concerning human perfectibility. Imbued unknowingly with the
prejudices of his nation, he has seen nothing beyond the doctrine of
the ancients and has not believed that anything might be added
thereunto.[417] Instead of pushing the mind of the Chinese forward
toward the goal where nature unceasingly tends, which is the
perfection of all things, he has, on the contrary, thrown it backward
and, inspiring it with a fanatical respect for works of the past, has
prevented it from meditating upon anything great for the future.[418]
Filial piety itself, pushed, to excess changed to a blind imitation,
has also augmented the evil. So that the greatest people of the world,
the richest in principles of all kinds, not daring to draw from these
same principles any development, through fear of profaning them,
continually on their knees before a sterile antiquity, have remained
stationary, whereas all around is progression; and for nearly four
thousand years have really not advanced a step more towards the
civilization and perfection of the arts and sciences.

The side on which Bacon has departed from the _juste milieu_ has been
precisely the opposite from that which prevented Kong-Tse from
remaining there. The Chinese theosophist had been led astray by his
excessive veneration for antiquity and the English philosopher, by his
profound disdain for it. Warned against the doctrine of Aristotle,
Bacon has extended his prejudice to everything that came from the
ancients. Rejecting in a moment the labour of thirty centuries and the
fruit of the meditation of the greatest geniuses, he has wished to
admit nothing beyond what experience could confirm in his eyes.[419]
Logic to him has seemed useless for the invention of the
sciences.[420] He has abandoned the syllogism, as an instrument too
gross to penetrate the depths of nature.[421] He has thought that it
could be of no avail either in expression of words or in the ideas
which flow from it.[422] He has believed the abstract principles
deprived of all foundation; and with the same hand with which he
fights these false ideas he has fought the results of these
principles, in which he has unfortunately found much less
resistance.[423] Filled with contempt for the philosophy of the
Greeks, he has denied that it had produced anything either useful or
good[424]; so that after having banished the natural philosophy of
Aristotle, which he called a jumble of dialectic terms,[425] he has
seen in the metaphysics of Plato only a dangerous and depraved
philosophy, and in the theosophy of Pythagoras only a gross and
shocking superstition.[426] Here indeed is a case of returning again
to the idea of Basil, and of exclaiming with him, that no man is
without sin. Kong-Tse has been unquestionably one of the greatest men
who has honoured the earth, and Bacon one of the most judicious
philosophers of Europe; both have, however, committed grave mistakes
whose effect is more or less felt by posterity: the former, filling
the Chinese _literati_ with an exaggerated respect for antiquity, has
made of it an immobile and almost inert mass, that Providence, in
order to obtain certain necessary movements, has had to strike many
times with the terrible scourge of revolutions; the latter, inspiring,
on the contrary, a thoughtless contempt for everything that came from
the ancients, demanding the proof of their principles, the reason for
their dogmas, subjecting all to the light of experience, has broken
the scientific body, has deprived it of unity, and has transformed the
assemblage of thinkers into a tumultuous anarchy from whose irregular
movement has sprung enough violent storms. If Bacon had been able to
effect in Europe the same influence that Kong-Tse had effected in
China, he would have drawn philosophy into materialism and absolute
empiricism. Happily the remedy is born of the evil itself. The lack of
unity has taken away all force from the anarchical colossus. Each
supposing to be in the right, no one was. A hundred systems raised one
upon the other clashed and were broken in turn. Experience, invoked by
all parties, has taken all colours and its opposed judgments were
self-destructive.

If, after having called attention to the mistakes of these great men,
I dared to hazard my opinion upon the point where both of them have
failed, I would say that they have confused the principles of the
sciences with their developments; it must be so, by drawing the
principles from the past, as Kong-Tse; by allowing the developments to
act throughout the future, as Bacon. Principles hold to the Necessity
of things; they are immutable in themselves; finite, inaccessible to
the senses, they are proved by reason: their developments proceed from
the power of the Will; these developments are free, indefinite; they
affect the senses and are demonstrated by experience. Never is the
development of a principle finished in the past, as Kong-Tse believed;
never is a principle created in the future, as Bacon imagined. The
development of a principle produces another principle, but always in
the past; and as soon as this new principle is laid down, it is
universal and beyond the reach of experience. Man knows that this
principle exists, but he knows not how. If he knew, he would be able
to create it at his pleasure; which does not belong to his nature.

Man develops, perfects, or depraves, but he creates nothing. The
scientific golden mean commended by Pythagoras, consists therefore, in
seizing the principles of the sciences where they are and developing
them freely without being constrained or driven by any false ideas. As
to that which concerns morals, it is forcibly enough expressed by all
that has preceded.

The man who recognizes his dignity, says Hierocles, is incapable of
being prejudiced or seduced by anything.[427] Temperance and force are
the two incorruptible guardians of the soul: they prevent it from
yielding to the allurements of things pleasing and being frightened by
the horrors of things dreadful. Death suffered in a good cause is
illustrious and glorious.


     15. _Consult, deliberate, and freely choose._

In explaining this line from a moral standpoint as Hierocles has done,
one readily feels that to deliberate and choose in that which relates
to moral conduct, consists in seeking for what is good or evil in an
action, and in attaching oneself to it or fleeing from it, without
letting oneself be drawn along by the lure of pleasure or the fear of
pain.[428] But if one penetrates still deeper into the meaning of this
line, it is seen that it proceeds from principles previously laid down
regarding the necessity of Destiny and the power of the Will; and that
Pythagoras neglected no opportunity for making his disciples feel
that, although forced by Destiny to find themselves in such or such a
condition, they remained free to weigh the consequences of their
action, and to decide themselves upon the part that they ought to
take. The following lines are, as it were, the corollary of his
counsel.


     16. _Let fools act aimlessly and without cause,
          Thou shouldst, in the present, contemplate the future._

That is to say, thou shouldst consider what will be the results of
such or such action and think that these results, dependent upon thy
will (while the action remains in suspense and free, while they are
yet to be born), will become the domain of Necessity the very instant
when the action will be executed, and increasing in the past, once
they shall have had birth, will coöperate in forming the plan of a new
future.

I beg the reader, interested in these sorts of comparisons, to reflect
a moment upon the idea of Pythagoras. He will find here the veritable
source of the astrological science of the ancients. Doubtless he is
not ignorant of what an extended influence this science exercised
already upon the face of the globe. The Egyptians, Chaldeans,
Phœnicians, did not separate it from that which regulated the cult of
the gods.[429] Their temples were but an abridged image of the
Universe, and the tower which served as an observatory was raised at
the side of the sacrificial altar. The Peruvians followed, in this
respect, the same usages as the Greeks and Romans.[430] Everywhere the
grand Pontiff united the science of genethlialogy or astrology with
the priesthood, and concealed with care the principles of this science
within the precincts of the sanctuary.[431] It was a Secret of State
among the Etruscans and at Rome,[432] as it still is in China and
Japan.[433] The Brahmans did not confide its elements except to those
whom they deemed worthy to be initiated.[434] For one need only lay
aside an instant the bandage of prejudice to see that an Universal
science, linked throughout to what men recognize as the most holy, can
not be the product of folly and stupidity, as has been reiterated a
hundred times by a host of moralists. All antiquity is certainly
neither foolish nor stupid, and the sciences it cultivated were
supported by principles which, for us today, being wholly unknown,
have none the less existed. Pythagoras, if we give attention here,
revealed to us those of genethlialogy and of all the sciences of
divination which relate thereunto.

Let us observe this closely. The future is composed of the past――that
is to say, that the route that man traverses in time, and that he
modifies by means of the power of his will, he has already traversed
and modified; in the same manner, using a practical illustration, that
the earth describing its annual orbit around the sun, according to the
modern system, traverses the same spaces and sees unfold around it
almost the same aspects: so that, following anew a route that he has
traced for himself, man would be able not only to recognize the
imprints of his steps, but to foresee the objects that he is about to
encounter, since he has already seen them, if his memory preserved the
image, and if this image was not effaced by the necessary consequence
of his nature and the providential laws which rule him. Such is the
doctrine of Pythagoras as I have already revealed.[435] It was that of
the mysteries and of all the sages of antiquity. Origen, who has
opposed it, attributes it to the Egyptians, to the Pythagoreans, and
to the disciples of Plato. It was contained in the sacred books of the
Chaldeans, cited by Syncellus, under the title of _livres
géniques_.[436] Seneca and Synesius have supported it as wholly in
accordance with the spirit of the initiations.[437] What the ancients
called the _great year_, was a consequence of this doctrine; for it
was taught in the mysteries, that the Universe itself traversed, after
a sequence of incalculable centuries, the same revolutions that it had
already traversed, and brought around in the vast unfolding of its
concentric spheres, as much for it as for the worlds which compose it,
the succession of the four ages, the duration of which, relative to
the nature of each being, immense for the Universal Man, is limited in
the individual to what is called infancy, youth, manhood, and old age,
and is represented on the earth by the fleeting seasons of spring,
summer, autumn, and winter. This great year, thus conceived, has been
common to all the peoples of the earth.[438] Cicero has plainly seen
that it constituted the veritable basis of genethlialogy or the
astrological science.[439] Indeed if the future is composed of the
past――that is, a thing already made, upon which the present is
gradually unfolded as upon the circumference of a circle which has
neither beginning nor end, it is evident that one can succeed, up to a
certain point, to recognize it, whether by means of remembrance, by
examining in the past, the picture of the whole revolution; or by
means of prevision carrying the moral sight, more or less far, upon
the route through which the Universe is passing. These two methods
have grave disadvantages. The first appears even impossible. For what
is the duration of the great year? What is the immense period, which,
containing the circle of all possible aspects and of all corresponding
effects, as Cicero supposes, is able, by observations made and set
down in the genethliatic archives, to foresee, at the second
revolution, the return of the events which were already linked there
and which must be reproduced?[440] Plato exacts, for the perfection of
this great year, that the movement of the fixed stars, which
constitutes what we call the precession of the equinoxes, should
coincide with the particular movement of the celestial bodies, so as
to bring back the heavens to the fixed point of its primitive
position.[441] The Brahmans carry the greatest duration of this
immense period, which they name _Kalpa_, to 4,320,000,000 of years,
and its mean duration, which they name _Maha-Youg_, to 4,320,000.[442]
The Chinese appear to restrict it to 432,000 years,[443] and in this
they agree with the Chaldeans; but when one reduces it again to a
twelfth of this number, with the Egyptians, that is, to the sole
revolution of the fixed stars, which they made, according to
Hipparchus, 36,000 years, and which we make no more than 25,867,
according to modern calculations,[444] we feel indeed that we would be
still very far from having a series of observations capable of making
us foresee the return of the same events, and that we could not
conceive even, how men could ever attain to its mastery. As to the
second method, which consists, as I have said, in carrying forward the
moral sight upon the route which one has before him, I have no need to
observe that it can be only very conjectural and very uncertain, since
it depends upon a faculty which man has never possessed except as a
special favour of Providence.

The principle by which it is claimed that the future is only a return
of the past, did not therefore suffice to recognize even the plan of
it; a second principle is necessary, and this principle, openly
announced in the Golden Verses, as we shall see farther on, was that
by which it was established that Nature is everywhere alike, and,
consequently, that its action, being uniform in the smallest sphere as
in the greatest, in the highest as in the lowest, can be inferred from
both, and pronounced by analogy. This principle proceeded from the
ancient dogma concerning the animation of the Universe, as much in
general as in particular: a dogma consecrated among all nations, and
following which it was taught that not only the Great All, but the
innumerable worlds which are like its members, the heavens and the
heaven of heavens, the stars and all the beings who people them even
to the plants and metals, are penetrated by the same Soul and moved by
the same Spirit.[445] Stanley attributes this dogma to the
Chaldeans,[446] Kircher to the Egyptians,[447] and the wise Rabbi
Maimonides traces it back to the Sabæans.[448] Saumaise has attributed
to them the origin of astrological science,[449] and he is correct in
one point. But of what use is it to consider the movement of the
heavens and the respective position of the stars belonging to the same
sphere as the earth, in order to form the genethliatical theme of the
empires of nations, cities, and even of simple individuals, and
conclude from the point of departure in the temporal route of
existence, the aim of this route and the fortunate or unfortunate
events with which they should be sown, if one had not established,
primarily, that this route, being only some portion of an existing
sphere and already traversed, it belonged thus to the domain of
Necessity and could be known; and, secondarily, that the analogical
_rapport_ ruling between the sentient sphere that one examined and the
intelligible sphere that one could not perceive, authorized drawing
inferences from both and even deciding from the general to the
particular? For, believing that the stars have an actual and direct
influence upon the destiny of peoples and of men, and that they even
determine this destiny by their good or evil aspects, is an idea as
false as ridiculous, born of the darkness of modern times, and that is
not found among the ancients, even among the most ignorant masses. The
genethliatical science is supported by principles less absurd. These
principles, drawn from the mysteries, were, as I have explained, that
the future is a return of the past and that nature is everywhere the
same.

It is from the union of these two principles that resulted
genethlialogy, or the science by which the point of departure being
known in any sphere whatever, they believed they had discovered, by
the aspect and direction of the stars, the portion of this sphere
which must immediately follow this point. But this union, outside of
the enormous difficulty that it presented, still involved in its
execution very dangerous consequences. This is why they concealed in
the sanctuaries the science which was its object, and made of religion
a secret and state affair. The prevision of the future, supposing it
possible as the ancients did, is not, in effect, a science that one
should abandon to the vulgar, who, being unable to acquire previously
the learning necessary, and having but rarely the wisdom which
regulates its use, risked debasing it, or making use of it wrongfully.
Furthermore, the pontiffs, who were in sole charge, initiated in the
great mysteries and possessing the _ensemble_ of the doctrine, knew
very well that the future, such even as they could hope to understand
it in the perfection of the science, was never aught but a doubtful
future, a sort of canvas upon which the power of the Will might
exercise itself freely, in such a manner that, although the matter
might be determined beforehand, its form was not, and that such an
imminent event could be suspended, evaded, or changed by a coöperation
of the acts of the will, inaccessible to all prevision. This is what
was said with such profoundness by Tiresias, the most famous
hierophant of Greece and whom Homer called the only sage,[450] these
words so often quoted and so little understood: “Whatever I may see
will come to pass, or it will not come to pass”[451]; that is to say,
The event that I see is in the necessity of Destiny and it will come
to pass, unless it is changed by the power of the Will; in which case
it will not come to pass.


     17. _That which thou dost not know, pretend not that thou dost.
          Instruct thyself: for time and patience favour all._

Lysis has enclosed in these two lines the summary of the doctrine of
Pythagoras regarding science: according to this philosopher, all
science consists of knowing how to distinguish what one does not know
and of desiring to learn that of which one knows nothing.[452]
Socrates had adopted this idea, as simple as profound; and Plato has
consecrated several of his dialogues to its development.[453]

But the distinction between what one does not know and the desire to
learn that of which one is ignorant, is a thing much rarer than one
imagines. It is the golden mean of science, as difficult to possess as
that of virtue, and without which it is, however, impossible to know
oneself. For, without knowledge of oneself, how can one acquire
knowledge of others? How judge them if one cannot be one’s own judge?
Pursue this reasoning. It is evident that one can know only what one
has learned from others, or what one has found from oneself: in order
to have learned from others, one must have wished to receive lessons;
in order to have found, one must have wished to seek; but one cannot
reasonably desire to learn or to seek only for what one believes one
does not know. If one imposes upon oneself this important point, and
if one imagines oneself knowing that of which one is ignorant, one
must judge it wholly useless to learn or to seek, and then ignorance
is incurable: it is madness to style oneself doctor concerning things
that one has neither learned nor sought after, and of which one can
consequently have no knowledge. It is Plato who has made this
irresistible reasoning, and who has drawn this conclusion: that all
the mistakes that man commits come from that sort of ignorance which
makes him believe that he knows what he does not know.[454]

From time immemorial this sort of ignorance has been quite
considerable; but I believe that it will never again show itself to
the extent it did among us some centuries ago. Men hardly free from
the mire of barbarism, without being given the time either to acquire
or to seek after any true knowledge of antiquity, have offered
themselves boldly as its judges and have declared that the great men
who have made it illustrious were either ignorant, imposters,
fanatics, or fools. Here, I see musicians who seriously assure me that
the Greeks were rustics in the way of music; that all that can be said
of the wonders effected by this art is idle talk, and that we have not
a village fiddler who could not produce as much effect as Orpheus,
Terpander, or Timotheus, if he had similar auditors.[455] There, are
the critics who tell me with the same phlegmatic air that the Greeks
of the time of Homer knew neither how to read nor how to write; that
this poet himself, assuming that he really existed, did not know the
letters of the alphabet[456]; but that his existence is a fancy,[457]
and that the works attributed to him are the crude productions of
certain plagiarist rhapsodists.[458] Further on I see, to complete the
singularity, a research worker who finds, doubtless to the support of
all this, that the first editor of the poems of Homer, the virile
legislator of Sparta, Lycurgus in short, was a man ignorant and
unlettered, knowing neither how to read nor write[459]: quite an
original idea and a comparison wholly bizarre, between the author and
the editor of the _Iliad_! But this is nothing. Here is an archbishop
of Thessalonica, who, animated by a righteous indignation, declared
that Homer may have been an instrument of the devil,[460] and that one
may be damned in reading him. That one shrugs the shoulders at the
allegories of this poet, that one finds them not in the least
interesting, that one falls asleep even, let all that pass; but to be
damned! I have said that Bacon, drawn along unfortunately by that
fatal prejudice which makes one judge without understanding, had
calumniated the philosophy of the Greeks; his numerous disciples have
even surpassed him upon this point. Condillac, the _coryphée_ of
modern empiricism, has seen in Plato only delirious metaphysics
unworthy of occupying his time, and in Zeno only logic deprived of
reasoning and principles. I would that Condillac, so great an amateur
of analysis, had endeavoured to analyse the metaphysics of the one and
the logic of the other, to prove to me that he understood at least
what he found so unworthy of taking up his time; but that was the
thing about which he thought the least. Open whatever book you will;
if the authors are theologians, they will say to you that Socrates,
Pythagoras, Zoroaster, Kong-Tse or Confucius, as they call him, are
pagans,[461] whose damnation is, if not certain, at least very
probable; they will treat their theosophy with the most profound
contempt: if they are physicists, they will assure you that Thales,
Leucippus, Heraclitus, Parmenides, Anaxagoras, Empedocles, Aristotle,
and the others are miserable dreamers; they will jeer at their
systems: if they are astronomers, they will laugh at their astronomy:
if they are naturalists, chemists, botanists, they will make jest of
their methods, and will take into consideration their credulity, their
stupidity, their bad faith, the numerous wonders that they no longer
understand in Aristotle and in Pliny. None will take the trouble to
prove their assertions; but, like people blinded by passion and
ignorance, they state as fact what is in question, or putting their
own ideas in place of those that they do not understand they will
create phantoms for the sake of fighting them. Never going back to the
principles of anything, stopping only at forms, adopting without
examination the commonest notions, they will commit on all sides the
same mistake that they have committed with respect to the
genethliatical science, the principles of which I have shown in my
last Examination; and confounding this science of the ancients with
the astrology of the moderns, they will consider in the same light
Tiresias and Nostradamus, and will see no difference between the
oracle of Ammon, or of Delphi, and the lucky chance of the most paltry
fortune-teller.

However, I do not pretend to say that all the modern savants indulge,
in this same manner, in presumption and false notions with regard to
antiquity; there have been many honourable exceptions among them: even
those have been found who, drawn beyond the golden mean, by the
necessity of effecting a useful reform or of establishing a new
system, have returned there as soon as their passion or their interest
have no longer commanded them. Such for example is Bacon, to whom
philosophy has owed enough great favours to forget certain incidental
prejudices; for I am, furthermore, far from attributing to him the
errors of his disciples. Bacon, at the risk of contradicting himself,
yielding to the sentiment of truth, although he subjected all to the
light of experience, admitted, however, positive and real universals,
which, by his method are wholly inexplicable.[462] Forgetting what he
had said of Plato in one book, he declared in another: that this
philosopher, endowed with a sublime genius, turning his attention upon
all nature and contemplating all things from a lofty elevation, had
seen very clearly, in his doctrine of ideas, what the veritable
objects of science are.[463] Finally recognizing the principles of
physics and the _ensemble_ of things as the foremost to be considered,
he made astrological science, which he likened to astronomy, depend
upon it, in such a manner as to show that he did not confound it with
vulgar astrology. This philosopher found that before his time,
astronomy, well enough founded upon phenomena, utterly lacked
soundness, and that astrology had lost its true principles. To be sure
he agreed with astronomy presenting the exterior of celestial
phenomena, that is to say, the number, situation, movement, and
periods of the stars; but he accused it of lacking in understanding of
the physical reasons of these phenomena. He believed that a single
theory which contents itself with appearances is a very easy thing,
and that one can imagine an infinity of speculations of this sort;
also he wished that the science of astronomy might be further
advanced.

     Instead of revealing the reasons of celestial phenomena [he
     said], one is occupied only with observations and
     mathematical demonstrations; for these observations and
     these demonstrations can indeed furnish certain ingenious
     hypotheses to settle all that in one’s mind, and to make an
     idea of this assemblage, but not to know precisely how and
     why all this is actually in nature: they indicate, at the
     most, the apparent movements, the artificial assemblage, the
     arbitrary combination of all these phenomena, but not the
     veritable causes and the reality of things: and as to this
     subject [he continues], it is with very little judgment that
     astronomy is ranked among the mathematical sciences; this
     classification derogates from its dignity.[464]

Regarding astrological science, Bacon wished that it might be
regenerated completely by bringing it back to its real principles,
that is to say, that one should reject all that the vulgar had added
thereto, both narrow and superstitious, preserving only the grand
revolutions of the ancients. These ideas, as is quite obvious, are not
at all in accord with those that his disciples have adopted since;
also the greater part of them refrain from citing similar passages.


     18. _Neglect not thy health …_

I had at first the intention of making here some allusion to the
manner in which Pythagoras and the ancient sages considered medicine;
and I had wished to reveal their principles, quite different from
those of the moderns; but I have realized that an object so important
requires developments that this work would not allow and I have left
them for a time more opportune, and for a work more suitable. Moreover
the line of Lysis has no need of explanation; it is clear. This
philosopher commends each one to guard his health, to keep it by
temperance and moderation, and if it becomes impaired, to put himself
in condition of not confiding to another the care of its
re-establishment. This precept was sufficiently understood by the
ancients for it to have become a sort of proverb.

The Emperor Tiberius, who made it a rule of conduct, said that a man
of thirty years or more who called or even consulted a physician was
an ignoramus.[465] It is true that Tiberius did not add to the precept
the exercise of the temperance that Lysis did not forget to commend in
the following lines, also he lived only seventy-eight years,
notwithstanding the strength of his constitution promised him a much
longer life. Hippocrates of Cos, the father of medicine in Greece and
strongly attached to the doctrine of Pythagoras, lived one hundred and
four years; Xenophile, Apollonius, Tyanæus, Demonax, and many other
Pythagorean philosophers lived to one hundred and six and one-hundred
and ten years; and Pythagoras himself, although violently persecuted
towards the end of his life, attained to nearly ninety-nine years
according to some and even to the century mark according to
others.[466]


     19. … _Dispense with moderation,
            Food to the body, and to the mind repose_,

The body, being the instrument of the soul, Pythagoras desired that
one should take reasonable and necessary care of it in order to hold
it always in condition to execute the behests of the soul. He regarded
its preservation as a part of the purgative virtue.[467]


    20. _Too much attention or too little shun; for envy
         Thus, to either excess is alike attached._

The philosopher, firm in his principle of _juste milieu_, wished that
his disciples should avoid excess in all things, and that they should
not draw attention to themselves by an unusual way of living. It was a
widespread opinion among the ancients, that envy, shameful for the one
who felt it and dangerous for the one who inspired it, had fatal
consequences for both.[468] For envy is attached to all that tends to
distinguish men too ostensibly. Thus, notwithstanding all that has
been published of the extraordinary rules and severe abstinences that
Pythagoras imposed upon his disciples and that he made them observe,
it appears indubitable that they were only established after his
death, and that his interpreters, being deceived regarding the
mysterious meaning of these symbols, take in the literal sense, what
he had said in the figurative. The philosopher blamed only the excess,
and permitted besides, a moderate usage of all the foods to which men
were accustomed. Even the beans, for which his disciples later
conceived so much abhorrence, were eaten frequently.[469] He did not
forbid absolutely either wine, or meat, or even fish, whatever may
have been asserted at different times[470]; though, indeed, those of
his disciples who aspired to the highest perfection abstained from
them[471]; he represented drunkenness and intemperance only as odious
vices that should be avoided.[472] He had no scruples about drinking a
little wine himself, and of tasting the meats set before him at
table,[473] in order to show that he did not regard them as impure,
notwithstanding he preferred the vegetable _régime_ to all others and
that, for the most part, he restricted himself to it from choice.[474]
Further on I will return to the mystic meaning of the symbols, by
which he had the appearance of forbidding the use of certain foods and
above all beans.


     21. _Luxury and avarice have similar results.
          One must choose in all things a mean just and good._

Lysis terminates the purgative part of the doctrine of Pythagoras with
the trait which characterizes it in general and in particular; he has
shown the golden mean in virtue and in science; he has commended it in
conduct, he states in full and says openly that extremes meet; that
luxury and avarice differ not in their effects, and that philosophy
consists in avoiding excess in everything. Hierocles adds that, to be
happy, one must know how, where, when, and how much to take; and that
he who is ignorant of these just limits is always unhappy and he
proves it as follows:

     Voluptuousness [he said] is necessarily the effect of an
     action: now, if the action is good the voluptuousness
     remains; if it is evil the voluptuousness passes and is
     corrupted. When one does a shameful thing with pleasure, the
     pleasure passes and the shame remains. When one does an
     excellent thing with great trouble and labour the pain
     passes and the excellence alone remains. Whence it follows
     necessarily, that the evil life is also bitter and produces
     as much sorrow and chagrin as the good life is sweet and
     procures joy and contentment.[475]

“As the flame of a torch tends always upward whichever way one turns
it,” said the Indian sages, “thus the man whose heart is afire with
virtue, whatever accident befalls him, directs himself always toward
the end that wisdom indicates.”[476]

“Misfortune follows vice, and happiness virtue,” said the Chinese, “as
the echo follows the voice and the shadow him who moves.”[477]

     O virtue! divine virtue! [exclaims Kong-Tse[478]] a
     celestial power presents thee to us, an interior force
     conducts us toward thee; happy the mortal in whom thou
     dwellest! he strikes the goal without effort, a single
     glance suffices for him to penetrate the truth. His heart
     becomes the sanctuary of peace and his very inclinations
     protect his innocence. It is granted to the sage only, to
     attain to so desirable a state. He who aspires to this must
     resolve upon the good and attach himself strongly to it; he
     must apply himself to the study of himself, interrogate
     nature, examine all things carefully, meditate upon them and
     allow nothing to pass unfathomed. Let him develop the
     faculties of his soul, let him think with force, let him put
     energy and firmness into his actions. Alas! how many men
     there are who seek virtue and science, and who stop in the
     middle of their course, because the goal keeps them waiting!
     My studies, they say, leave me with all my ignorance, all my
     doubts; my efforts, my labours enlarge neither my views nor
     my sagacity; the same clouds hover over my understanding and
     obscure it; I feel my forces abandoning me and my will
     giving way beneath the weight of the obstacle. No matter;
     guard yourself against discouragement; that which others
     have been able to attain at the first attempt, you may be
     able at the hundredth; that which they have done at the
     hundredth, you will do at the thousandth.[479]


PERFECTION

     22. _Let not sleep e’er close thy tired eyes,
          Without thou ask thyself; What have I omitted, and what
            done?_

Lysis, after having indicated the route by which Pythagoras conducted
his disciples to virtue, goes on to teach them the use that this
philosopher wished them to make of this celestial gift, once they had
mastered it. Up to this point it is confined in the purgative part of
the doctrine of his teacher; he now passes to the unitive part, that
is to say, to that which has as object the uniting of man to the
Divinity, by rendering him more and more like unto the model of all
perfection and of all wisdom, which is God. The sole instrument
capable of operating this union has been placed at his disposition by
means of the good usage that he has made of his will: it is virtue
which must serve him at present to attain truth. Now, Truth is the
ultimate goal of perfection: there is nothing beyond it and nothing
this side of it but error; light springs from it; it is the soul of
God, according to Pythagoras,[480] and God himself, according to the
legislator of the Indians.[481]

The first precept that Pythagoras gave to his disciples on entering
the course of perfection tended to turn their thoughts upon
themselves, to bring them to interrogate their actions, their
thoughts, their discourse, to question the motives, to reflect in
short upon their exterior movements and seek thus to know themselves.
Knowledge of self was the most important knowledge of all, that which
must conduct them to all others. I will not weary my readers by adding
anything to what I have already said pertaining to the importance of
this knowledge, and the extreme value set upon it by the ancients.
They know unquestionably that the morals of Socrates and the
philosophy of Plato were only the development of it and that an
inscription in the temple of Greece, that of Delphi, commended it,
after that of the golden mean, as the very teaching of the God whom
they worshipped there[482]: _Nothing in excess, and know Thyself_,
contained in few words the doctrine of the sages, and presented for
their meditation the principles upon which reposed virtue and wisdom
which is its consequence. Nothing further was necessary to electrify
the soul of Heraclitus and to develop the germs of genius, which until
the moment when he read these two sentences were buried in a cold
inertia.

I will not pause therefore to prove the necessity of a knowledge
without which all other is but doubt and presumption. I will only
examine, in a brief digression, if this knowledge is possible. Plato,
as I have said, made the whole edifice of his doctrine rest upon it;
he taught, according to Socrates, that ignorance of one’s self
involves all ignorance, all mistakes, all vices, and all misfortunes;
whereas knowledge of one’s self, on the contrary, draws all virtue and
all goodness[483]: so that it cannot be doubted that this knowledge
might be considered possible, since its impossibility merely
questioned would render its system null and void. However, as Socrates
had said that he knew nothing, in order to distinguish himself from
the sophists of his day who pretended to know everything; as Plato had
constantly used in his teachings that sort of dialectic which,
proceeding toward truth by doubt, consists in defining things for what
they are, knowing their essence, distinguishing those which are real
from those which are only illusory; and above all as the favourite
maxim of these two philosophers had been that it was necessary to
renounce all manner of prejudices, not pretending to know that of
which one is ignorant, and giving assent only to clear and evident
truths; it came to pass that the disciples of these great men, having
lost sight of the real spirit of their doctrine, took the means for
the end; and imagining that the perfection of wisdom was in the doubt
which leads to it, established as fundamental maxim, that the wise man
ought neither to affirm nor deny anything; but to hold his assent
suspended between the _pro_ and _con_ of each thing.[484] Arcesilaus,
who declared himself the chief of this revolution, was a man of vast
intellect, endowed with much physical and moral means, an imposing
presence, and very eloquent,[485] but imbued with that secret terror
which prevents concentrating upon the things that one regards as
sacred and forbidden; audacious and almost impious to all outward
appearance, he was, in reality, timid and superstitious.[486]
Impressed with the inadequacy of his researches to discover the
certainty of certain principles, his vanity had persuaded him that
this certainty was undiscoverable, since he, Arcesilaus, did not find
it; and his superstition acting in accord with his vanity, he finally
believed that the ignorance of man is an effect of the will of God;
and that, according to the meaning of a passage from Hesiod that he
cited unceasingly, the Divinity has spread an impenetrable veil
between it and the human understanding.[487] Also he named the effect
of this ignorance, _Acatalepsy_, that is to say incomprehensibility,
or impossibility to raise the veil.[488] His disciples in great
numbers adopted this incomprehensibility and applied it to all sorts
of subjects; now denying, then affirming the same thing; placing a
principle, and overthrowing it the next moment; becoming entangled
themselves in captious arguments in order to prove that they knew
nothing, and making for themselves the calamitous glory of ignoring
good and evil, and of being unable to distinguish virtue from
vice.[489] Dismal effect of an early error! Arcesilaus became the
convincing proof of what I have repeated touching the golden mean and
the similitude of extremes: once having left the path of truth, he
became through weakness and through superstition the head of a crowd
of audacious atheists, who, after having called in question the
principles upon which logic and morals repose, placed there those of
religion and overthrew them. Vainly he essayed to arrest the movement
of which he had been the cause by establishing two doctrines: the one
public, wherein he taught skepticism; the other secret, wherein he
maintained dogmatism[490]: the time was no longer favourable for this
distinction. All that he gained was to let another usurp the glory and
to give his name to the new sect of doubters. It was Pyrrho who had
this honour. This man, of a character as firm as impassive, to whom
living or dying was a matter of indifference, who preferred nothing to
something, whom a precipice opening beneath his feet would be unable
to swerve from his path, gathered under his colours all those who made
a philosophical profession of doubting everything, of recognizing
nowhere the character of truth, and he gave them a sort of doctrine
wherein wisdom was placed in the most complete uncertainty, felicity
in the most absolute inertia, and genius in the art of stifling all
kinds of genius by the accumulation of contradictory reasonings.[491]
Pyrrho had much contempt for men, as was obvious from the doctrine
which he gave them. He had constantly on his lips this line of Homer:
“Even as are the generations of leaves such are those likewise of
men.”[492]

I pause a moment here, in order that the reader may observe, that
although the thought of Hesiod, concerning the veil that the gods had
spread between them and men, and which gave rise to Arcesilaus
establishing his acatalepsy, had originated in India,[493] it had
never had the same results there; and this, because the Brahmans, in
teaching that this veil existed and that it even bewildered the vulgar
by a series of illusory phenomena, have never said that it was
impossible to raise it; because this might have been an attack on the
power of the will of man and its perfectibility, to which they put no
limit. We shall see further on that such was also the idea of
Pythagoras. Let us return to the Skeptics.

The writer to whom we owe a comparative history of the systems of
philosophy, written with thought and impartiality, has felt keenly
that skepticism ought to be considered under two relations: as
skepticism of criticism and reform, necessary to correct the
presumption of the human mind and to destroy its prejudices; as
skepticism absolute and determined, which confounds in a common
proscription both truth and error.[494] The first, of which Socrates
gave the example, and which Bacon and Descartes have revived, is a
sort of intellectual remedy that Providence prepares for healing one
of the most fatal maladies of the human mind, that kind of
presumptuous ignorance which makes one believe that he knows that
which he does not know: the second, which is only the excess and abuse
of the first, is this same remedy transformed into poison by an
aberration of the human reason which transports it beyond the
circumstances which invoke its action, and employs it to devour itself
and to exhaust in their source all the causes which cooperate in the
progress of human understanding.[495] Arcesilaus was the first to
introduce it into the Academy by exaggerating the maxims of Socrates,
and Pyrrho made a special system of destruction in it, under the name
of _Pyrrhonism_. This system, welcomed in Greece, soon infected it
with its venom, notwithstanding the vigorous resistance of Zeno the
Stoic, whom Providence had raised up to oppose its ravages.[496]
Carried to Rome by Carneades, the head of the third academy, it
alarmed with its maxims subversive of public morals, Cato the Censor,
who confounding it with philosophy conceived for it an implacable
hatred.[497] This rigid republican, hearing Carneades speak against
justice, denying the existence of virtues, attacking the Divine
Providence, and questioning the fundamental verities of religion, held
in contempt a science which could bring forth such arguments.[498] He
urged the return of the Greek philosophy, so that the Roman youth
might not be imbued with its errors; but the evil was done. The
destructive germs that Carneades had left, fermented secretly in the
heart of the State, developed under the first favourable conditions,
increased and produced at last that formidable colossus, which, after
taking possession of the public mind, having obscured the most
enlightened ideas of good and evil, annihilated religion, and
delivered the Republic to disorder, civil wars, and destruction; and
raising itself again with the Roman Empire, withering the principles
of the life it had received, necessitated the institution of a new
cult and thus was exposed to the incursion of foreign errors and the
arms of the barbarians. This colossus, victim of its own fury, after
having torn and devoured itself was buried beneath the shams that it
had heaped up; Ignorance seated upon its _débris_ governed Europe,
until Bacon and Descartes came and resuscitating, as much as was
possible for them the Socratic skepticism, endeavoured by its means to
turn minds toward the research of truth. But they might not have done
so well, had they not also awakened certain remnants of Pyrrhonic
skepticism, which, being sustained with their passions and their
prejudices, soon resulted in bewildering their disciples. This new
skepticism, naïve in Montaigne, dogmatic in Hobbes, disguised in
Locke, masterly in Bayle, paradoxical but seductive in the greater
number of the eighteenth-century writers, hidden now beneath the
surface of what is called Experimental philosophy, lures the mind on
toward a sort of empirical routine, and unceasingly denying the past,
discouraging the future, aims by all kinds of means to retard the
progress of the human mind. It is no more even the character of truth;
and the proof of this character that the modern skeptics demand _ad
infinitum_,[499] is the demonstration of the very possibility of
understanding this character and of proving it: a new subtlety that
they have deduced from the unfruitful efforts that certain thinkers
have made recently in Germany, to give to the possibility of the
knowledge of self, a basis which they have not given.

I will relate in my next Examination, what has hindered these savants
from finding this basis. I must, before terminating this one, show to
my readers how I believe one can distinguish the two kinds of
skepticism of which I have just spoken. A simple question put to a
skeptic philosopher will indicate whether he belongs to the school of
Socrates or Pyrrho. He must before entering into any discussion reply
clearly to this demand: Do you admit of any difference whatever
between that which is and that which is not? If the skeptic belongs to
the school of Socrates, he will necessarily admit a difference and he
will explain it, which will make him recognized at once. If on the
contrary, he belongs to that of Pyrrho, he will respond in one of
three ways: either that he admits a difference, or that he admits
none, or that he does not know whether one exists. If he admits it
without explaining it, he is beaten; if he does not admit it, he falls
into absurdity; if he pretends not to distinguish it, he becomes
foolish and ridiculous.

He is beaten, if he admits a difference between that which is and that
which is not; because that difference, admitted, proves the existence
of being; the existence of being proves that of the skeptic who
replies; and that existence proved, proves all the others, whether one
considers them in him, or outside of him, which is the same thing for
the moment.

He falls into absurdity, if he does not admit any difference between
that which is and that which is not, for then one can prove to him
that 1 is equal to 0, and that the part is as great as the whole.

He becomes foolish and ridiculous, if he dares to say that he does not
know whether a difference really exists between that which is, and
that which is not; for then one asks him what he did at the age of six
months, at one year, two years, two weeks ago, yesterday? Whatever he
replies, he will become the object of ridicule.

Behold the Pyrrhonian beaten, that is to say, the one who professes to
doubt everything; since a single acknowledged difference bringing him
irresistibly to a certainty, and since one certainty militates against
all the others, there is no further doubt; and since, doubting no
further, it is only a question then of knowing what he ought, or ought
not to doubt: this is the true character of the skeptic of the
Socratic School.


     23. _Abstain thou if ’tis evil; persevere if good._

But although one may bring the absolute skeptic to agree that a
difference between good and evil can indeed exist, as he is forced to
agree that one does exist between that which is and that which is not,
just as I have demonstrated in my preceding Examination; would he not
be right in saying, that to know in general, that good and evil can
differ and consequently exist separately, does not prevent confounding
them in particular; and that he can doubt that man may be able to make
the distinction, until one may have proved to him that not alone their
knowledge, but that some sort of knowledge is possible? Assuredly,
this is pushing doubt very far. One could dispense with replying to
this, since the skeptic already interrogated concerning the difference
existing between what is and what is not has been forced to admit it
and to acquire thus some sort of knowledge of being; but let us forget
this, in order to examine why the savants of Germany have inadequately
removed a difficulty which they have imposed upon themselves.

It is Kant, one of the ablest minds that Europe has produced since the
extinction of learning, who, resolved to terminate with a single blow
the struggle springing up unceasingly between dogmatism and
skepticism, has been the first to form the bold project of creating a
science which should determine, _a priori_, the possibility, the
principles, and the limits of all knowledge.[500] This science, which
he named _Critical Philosophy_, or method of judgment,[501] he has
developed in several works of considerable length and very difficult
of comprehension. I do not intend here to make an explanation of this
science; for this labour, out of place in these Examinations, would
carry me too far. My intention is only to show the point wherein it
has given way, and how it has furnished new weapons for the skeptics,
in not holding well to the promise that it had made of determining the
principle of knowledge. Therefore, I will suppose the doctrine of Kant
understood or partially so. Several works, circulated somewhat
extensively in France, have unravelled it sufficiently to the
savants.[502] I will only say what the authors of these works have
been unable to say, and this will be the general result of the
impression that the study of this doctrine has made upon me: it is
that Kant, who pretends to found all his doctrine upon principles, _a
priori_, abstraction being made of all the underlying notions of
experience, and who, rising into an ideal sphere there to consider
reason in an absolute way, independent of its effects so as to deduce
from it a theory transcendental and purely intelligible, concerning
the principle of knowledge, has done precisely the opposite from what
he wished to do; for not finding what he sought, he has found what he
has not sought, that is to say, the essence of matter. Let the
disciples of this philosophy give attention to what I say. I have
known several systems of philosophy and I have put considerable force
into penetrating them; but I can affirm that there exists not a single
one upon the face of the earth, wherein the primitive matter of which
the Universe is composed may be characterized by traits as striking as
in that of Kant. I believe it impossible either to understand it
better or to depict it better. He uses neither figures, nor symbols;
he tells what he sees with a candour which would have been appalling
to Pythagoras and Plato; for what the Koenigsberg professor advances
concerning both the existence and the non-existence of this
matter,[503] and of its intuitive reality, and of its phenomenal
illusion, and of its essential forms, time and space, and of the
labour that the mind exercises upon this equivocal being, which,
always being engendered, never, however, exists; all this, taught in
the mysteries, was only clearly revealed to the initiate. Listen a
moment to what has transpired in India: it is the fundamental axiom of
the _Vedantic_ school, the illustrious disciples of Vyasa and of
Sankarâchârya, an axiom in accordance with the dogmas of the sacred
books.

     Matter exists [say these philosophers], but not of an
     existence such as is imagined by the vulgar; it exists but
     it has no essence independent of intellectual perceptions;
     for existence and perceptibility are, in this case,
     convertible terms. The sage knows that appearances and their
     exterior sensations are purely illusory and that they would
     vanish into nothingness, if the Divine energy which alone
     sustains them was for an instant suspended.[504]

I beg the disciples of Kant to give attention to this passage, and to
remember what Plato has said of the same, that, sometimes matter
exists and sometimes it does not exist[505]; as Justin the martyr, and
Cyril of Alexandria have reproached him for it; and as Plutarch and
Chalcidius have strongly remarked it,[506] in seeking to excuse this
apparent contradiction.

Let us endeavour now to call attention to the point where Kant is led
astray. This point, in the philosophical course that this savant meant
to pursue, seemed at first of very slight importance; but the
deviation that it causes, although small and almost imperceptible at
the first instant, determines none the less a divergent line, which,
turning aside more and more from the right line proportionably as it
is prolonged, is found to strike at an enormous distance from the mark
where Kant hoped it would arrive. This deviating point――who would have
believed it――is found in the misinterpretation and the misapplication
of a word. All the attention of the reader is required here. What I am
about to say, in demonstrating the error of the German philosopher,
will serve to supplement all that I have said pertaining to the
doctrine of Pythagoras.

Kant, whether through imitation of the ancient philosophers or through
the effect of his own learning which had made him desirous of knowing
the truth, has considered man under three principal modifications
which he calls faculties. In my twelfth Examination I have said that
such was the doctrine of Pythagoras. Plato, who followed in everything
the metaphysics of this great genius, distinguished in Man as in the
Universe, the body, soul, and spirit; and placed, in each of the
modifications of the particular or universal unity which constituted
them, the analogous faculties which, becoming developed in their turn,
gave birth to three new modifications whose productive unity they
became[507]; so that each ternary is represented in its development,
under the image of the triple Ternary, and formed by its union with
the Unity, first the Quaternary and afterwards the Decade.[508] Now
the German philosopher, without explaining the principle which led him
to consider man under three principal faculties, states them; without
saying to what particular modification he attributes them, that is,
without foreseeing if these faculties are physical, animistic or
intellectual; if they belong to the body, to the soul, or to the mind:
a first mistake which leads him to a second of which I am about to
speak.

In order to express these three facilities, Kant makes use of three
words taken from his own tongue and concerning the meaning of which it
is well to fix our attention. He has named the first of these
faculties _Empfindlichkeit_, the second, _Verstand_, and the third,
_Vernunft_. These three words are excellent; it is only a question of
clearly understanding and explaining them.

The word _Empfindlichkeit_ expresses that sort of faculty which
consists in collecting from without, feeling from within, and finding
good or bad.[509] It has been very well rendered in French by the word
_sensibilité_.

The word _Verstand_ designates that sort of faculty which consists in
reaching afar, being carried from a central point to all other points
of the circumference to seize them.[510] It has been quite well
rendered in French by the word _entendement_.

The word _Vernunft_ is applied to that sort of faculty, which consists
in choosing at a distance, in wishing, in selecting, in electing that
which is good.[511] It is expressed by the word _raison_; but this
expresses it very poorly, whatever may be the real meaning given it by
Kant.

This philosopher ought to have realized more fully the origin of this
word and he should have made a more just application; then his system
would have taken another direction and he would have attained his
goal. He would have made us see, and he would have seen himself, the
reality, namely, _intelligence_ and not reason.

One can easily see that the faculty which Kant designates by the word
_Empfindlichkeit_, sense perception, belongs to the physical part of
man; and that which he expresses by the word _Verstand_, the
understanding, resides in his animistic part; but one cannot see at
all that what he names _Vernunft_, and which he continually confounds
with reason, may be able in any manner to dominate in his intellectual
part. For this, it would be necessary that he should consider it under
the relation of the intelligence; which he has not done. It is very
true that he has wished to place it constantly in the mind, by
representing the three faculties of which man is composed as a sort of
hierarchy, of which sense perception occupies the base, understanding
the centre, and reason the summit; or as one of his translators said,
imagining this hierarchy under the emblem of an empire, of which sense
perception constitutes the subjects, understanding the agents or
ministers, and reason the sovereign or legislator.[512] I cannot
conceive how Kant, by giving the word _Vernunft_, the meaning of the
Latin word _ratio_, has been able to say that it is the highest degree
of the activity of a mind which has the power of all its liberty, and
the consciousness of all its strength[513]: there is nothing more
false. Reason does not exist in liberty, but on the contrary, in
necessity. Its movement, which is geometric, is always forced: it is
an inference from the point of departure, and nothing more. Let us
examine this carefully. The Latin word _ratio_, whose meaning Kant has
visibly followed, has never translated exactly the Greek word _logos_,
in the sense of _word_; and if the Greek philosophers have substituted
sometimes the _logos_ for _nous_, or the word for the intelligence, by
taking the effect for the cause, it is wrong when the Romans have
tried to imitate them, by using _ratio_, in place of _mens_, or
_intelligentia_. In this they have proved their ignorance and have
disclosed the calamitous ravages that skepticism had already made
among them. The word _ratio_ springs from the root _ra_ or _rat_,
which in all the tongues where it has been received, has carried the
idea of a _ray_, a straight line drawn from one point to another.[514]
Thus reason, far from being free as Kant has pretended, is what is the
most constrained in nature: it is a geometric line, always subject to
the point whence it emanates, and forced to strike the point toward
which it is directed under penalty of ceasing to be itself; that is to
say, of ceasing to be straight. Now, reason not being free in its
course, is neither good nor bad in itself; it is always analogous to
the principle of which it is the inference. Its nature is to go
straight; its perfection is nothing else. One goes straight in every
way, in every direction, high, low, to right, to left; one reasons
correctly in truth as in error, in vice as in virtue: all depends upon
the principle from which one sets out, and upon the manner in which
one looks at things. Reason does not give this principle; it is no
more master of the end which it goes to attain, than the straight line
drawn upon the ground is master of the point toward which it tends.
This end and this point are determined beforehand, by the position of
the reasoner or by geometry.

Reason exists alike in the three great human modifications, although
its principal seat is in the soul, according to Plato.[515] There is a
physical reason acting in the instinct, a moral reason acting in the
soul, and an intellectual reason acting in the mind. When a hungry dog
brings to his master a piece of game without touching it, he obeys an
instinctive reason which makes him sacrifice the pleasure of
gratifying his appetite, to the pain of receiving the blow of a stick.
When a man dies at his post instead of abandoning it, he follows a
moral reason which makes him prefer the glory of dying to the shame of
living. When a philosopher admits the immortality of the soul, he
listens to an intellectual reason which shows him the impossibility of
its annihilation. All this, nevertheless, takes place only so far as
the dog, the man, and the philosopher admit the real principles; for
if they admitted false principles, their reasons, although equally
well deduced, would conduct them to opposed results; and the piece of
game would be eaten, the post would be abandoned, and the immortality
of the soul would be denied.

One ought to feel now the mistake of Kant in all its extent. This
philosopher having confounded one of the principal modifications of
man, his intelligence,[516] whose seat is in the soul, with one of his
secondary faculties, his reason, finds himself, in raising this reason
outside of its place and giving it a dominance that it has not,
ousting entirely the spiritual part; so that meditating constantly in
the median part of his being, which he believed to be the superior,
and descending, he found matter, understood it perfectly, and missed
absolutely the spirit. What he assumed was, it was nothing else than
the understanding, a neuter faculty placed between sense perception
which is purely passive, and the intelligence which is wholly active.
He had the weakness to fix his thought here and thenceforth was lost.
Reason which he invoked to teach him to distinguish, in his ideas, the
part which is furnished by the spirit, from that which is given by
objects, was only able to show him the straight line that it described
in his understanding. This line being buried in matter instead of
rising in intelligible regions, taught him that everything that did
not correspond to a possible experience could not furnish him the
subject of a positive knowledge, and thus all the great questions upon
the existence of God, the immortality of the soul, the origin of the
Universe; all that pertains to theosophy, to cosmology; in short, all
that which is intelligible, cannot take place in the order of his
understanding.[517] This catastrophe, quite inevitable as it was, was
none the less poignant. It was odd to see a man who seemed to promise
to establish the possibility and the principles of all knowledge upon
an incontestable basis, announce coldly that God, the Universe, and
the Soul could not be subjects there, and soon discover, pushed by the
force of his reasoning, that even the reality of physical subjects by
which the senses are affected is only phenomenal, that one can in no
way know what they are, but only what they appear to be[518]; and that
even one’s own Self, considered as a subject, is also for one only a
phenomenon, an appearance, concerning the intimate essence of which
one can learn nothing.[519] Kant felt indeed the terrible
contradiction into which he had fallen; but instead of retracing
courageously his steps, and seeking above reason for the principles of
knowledge that it did not possess, he continued his descending
movement which he called transcendental, and finally discovered
beneath this _pure Reason_, a certain _practical Reason_, to which he
confided the destinies of the greatest subjects with which man can be
occupied: God, nature, and himself. This practical reason, which is no
other than _common sense_, ought, according to him, to bring man to
believe what is not given him to know,[520] and to engage him, through
the need of his own felicity, to follow the paths of virtue, and to
admit the system of recompense which proceeds from the existence of
God and the immortality of the soul. Thus, this common sense, already
invoked to aid the existence of the physical subjects which Berkeley
reduced to nothingness, was called, under another name, to sustain
that of the spiritual beings which Kant admitted baffling the action
of his pure reason; but this faculty, vainly proposed by
Shaftesbury,[521] by Hutcheson,[522] by Reid,[523] by Oswald,[524] by
the celebrated Pascal himself,[525] to give a support to the first
truths, and to furnish the principles of our moral and physical
knowledge; this faculty, I say, whose seat is in the instinct, has
been easily challenged as incompetent to pronounce upon the subjects
which are outside the jurisdiction of its judgments; for it has been
keenly felt that it was abandoning these subjects to the prejudices of
the vulgar, to their erroneous opinions, to their blind passions; and
that practical philosophy or common sense, acting in each man
according to the extent of his views, would only embarrass relative
truths and would create as many principles as individuals. Furthermore
was it not to run counter to common sense itself, to submit
intelligence and reason to it? Was it not subverting Nature, and, as
it were, causing light to spring upward from below, seeking in the
particular, the law which rules the Universal?

The skeptics who saw all these things triumphed, but their triumph
only proved their weakness; for Reason, by which they demonstrated
nothingness, is the sole weapon of which they can make use. This
faculty overthrown in Kant, leaves them powerless, and delivers them
defenceless to the irresistible axioms that the intelligence places _a
priori_ upon the primordial truths and the fundamental principles of
the Universe, even as the sequel of these Examinations will
demonstrate.


     24. _Meditate upon my counsels, love them; follow them:
          To the divine virtues will they know how to lead thee._

I have spoken at considerable length of the skeptics; but I have
believed it necessary in explaining a dogmatic work, whose _esprit_ is
wholly opposed to that of skepticism. When Lysis wrote in Greece,
there had been no one as yet who doubted either the existence of the
gods, or that of the Universe, or made the distinction between good
and evil, virtue and vice. Arcesilaus and Pyrrho were not born, and
the clouds that they raised afterwards concerning these great subjects
of the meditation of the sages were not even suspected. The minds had
inclined rather toward credulity than toward doubt; toward
superstition than toward atheism; it was more necessary to limit their
curiosity than to excite their indifference. At that epoch, the
philosophers enveloped the truth with veils, and rendered the avenues
of science difficult, so that the vulgar might not profane them. They
knew what had been too long forgotten: that all kinds of wood are not
fitting to make a Mercury. Also their writers were obscure and
sententious: in order to dishearten, not those who might be able to
doubt, but those who were not in a condition to comprehend.

Today, as the minds are changed, it is of more importance to attract
those who are able to receive the truth, than to keep at a distance
those who are unable to receive it; the latter, separating themselves,
are persuaded that they either possess it or have no need of it. I
have given the history of skepticism; I have shown its origin and the
sorry effects of its absolute and disordered influence; not in order
to bring back the skeptics of the profession, but to endeavour to
prevent the men who are still drifting in uncertainty from becoming
so. I have essayed to show them by the example of one of the greatest
reasoners of Germany, by the example of Kant, that reason alone, with
whatever talents it may be accompanied, cannot fail to lead them to
nothingness. I have made them see that this faculty so lauded is
nothing of itself. I am content with the example of the Koenigsberg
professor; but had I not feared prolixities, I would have added the
example of Berkeley and that of Spinoza. The varied catastrophes of
these three savants form a striking contrast. Kant, following step by
step his pure Reason, comes to see that the knowledge of intelligible
things is impossible and finds matter; Berkeley, led by the same
reason, proves that the existence of matter is illusory, and that all
is spirit; Spinoza, drawing irresistible arguments from this same
faculty, shows that there exists and can exist only one sole substance
and that therefore spirit and matter are but one. And do not think
that, armed with reason alone, you can combat separately Spinoza,
Berkeley, or Kant: their contradictory systems will clash in vain;
they will triumph over you and will push you into the dark and
bottomless abyss of skepticism.

Now, how can this be done? I have told you: it is because man is not a
simple being. Fix this truth firmly. Man is triple; and it is
according as his volitive unity operates in one or the other of his
modifications that he is led on to see, in such or such a way. Plato
has said it, following Pythagoras, and I say it to you not only
following Pythagoras and Plato, but following all the sages and all
the theosophists of the world. Plato places in the superior and
spiritual modification, composed of the _same_, that is to say of the
indivisible substance of the universe, the _hegemonicon_,[526] or the
intellectual assent; in the inferior and material modification,
composed of the _other_ or the _diverse_, that is to say, of the
divisible substance, the _physicon_,[527] or the physical sense
perception; in the median modification or the soul, properly speaking,
composed of essence, that is to say, of the most subtle parts of
matter elaborated by the spirit, the _logicon_,[528] or the moral,
logical, or reasonable sentiment. One finds in Plutarch the _résumé_
of the doctrine of a philosopher named Sylla, who, admitting, as did
Plato, that man is composed of spirit, soul, and body, said that the
body drew its origin from the earth, the soul from the moon, and the
spirit from the sun.[529] But without disturbing ourselves for the
present, with the origin of these three parts, since assuredly the
earth, the moon, and the sun, which this philosopher has assigned them
for principles, are things very difficult to understand in themselves,
let us be content with knowing, as I have already said, that these
three great modifications which form the human Quaternary manifest
themselves by sensation, sentiment, and assent, and develop the
principal faculties of the instinct, the understanding, and the
intelligence. The instinct is the seat of common sense; the
understanding is that of reason; and the intelligence, that of
sagacity or wisdom. Men can never acquire any science, any real
knowledge, if the assent is not determined by favour of the
intelligence which elects the principle and places it with sagacity;
for one can really know or understand only that to which the
intelligence has given consent. All the results that the
understanding, deprived of intelligence, can procure by means of
reason are only opinions, those of these results which are rigorously
demonstrated in the manner of the geometricians are identities; common
sense transported even into the understanding can give only notions,
the certainty of which, however founded it may be upon experience, can
never surpass that of physical sensation, whose transient and limited
authority is of no weight in the assent of intelligible truths.

Let us venture now to divulge a secret of the mysteries to which
Pythagoras made allusion when he said: that not all kinds of wood are
fitting to make a Mercury; and notwithstanding the vulgar prejudice
which is opposed to this truth, let us affirm that animistic equality
among men is a chimera. I feel that here I am about to clash greatly
with theological ideas and to put myself in opposition to many
brilliant paradoxes that modern philosophers, more virtuous than wise,
have raised and sustained with more talent and reason than sagacity;
but the force of my subject draws me on and since I am explaining the
doctrine of Pythagoras, it is indeed necessary that I should say why
Lysis, after having examined and commended in detail all the human
virtues in the purgative part of his teachings, begins again a new
instruction in the unitive part and promises to lead one to divine
virtues. This important distinction that he makes between these two
kinds of virtues has been made by Plato, Aristotle, Galen, and many
others of the philosophers of antiquity.[530] One of them, Macrobius,
to whom we owe the knowledge and explanation of many of the mystic
secrets, which, notwithstanding the extreme care exercised to conceal
them, were rumoured outside of the sanctuaries, has made a comparison
between the degrees of the initiation and those that one admits in the
exercise of the virtues; and he enumerates four.[531] This number,
which is related to the universal Quaternary, has been the most
constantly followed, although it may have varied, however, from three
to seven. The number _three_ was regarded by the ancients as the
principle of nature, and the number _seven_ as its end.[532] The
principal degrees of initiation were, to the number of three, as the
grades of the apprentice, companion, and master are in Free Masonry
today. From this comes the epithet of Triple, given to the mysterious
Hecate, and even to Mithra, considered as the emblem of mystic
knowledge.[533] Sometimes three secondary degrees were added to the
three principal ones and were terminated by an extraordinary
revelation, which raising the initiate to the rank of _Epopt_, or seer
_par excellence_, gave him the true signification of the degrees
through which he had already passed[534]; showed him nature
unveiled,[535] and admitted him to the contemplation of divine
knowledge.[536] It was for the Epopt alone that the last veil fell,
and the sacred vestment which covered the statue of the Goddess was
removed. This manifestation, called Epiphany, shed the most brilliant
light upon the darkness which until then had surrounded the initiate.
It was prepared, said the historians, by frightful tableaux with
alternatives of both terror and hope.[537] The grade of Elect has
replaced that of Epopt among the Free Masons, without in any sense
offering the same results. The forms are indeed nearly preserved; but
the substance has disappeared. The Epopt of Eleusis, Samothrace, or
Hierapolis was regarded as the foremost of men, the favourite of the
gods, and the possessor of celestial treasures; the sun shone, in his
sight, with a purer brightness; and the sublime virtue that he had
acquired in the tests, more and more difficult, and the lessons more
and more lofty, gave him the faculty of discerning good and evil,
truth and error, and of making a free choice between them.[538]

But if the various grades of initiation expressed symbolically the
different degrees of virtue to which men in general can attain, the
tests that one was made to pass through at each new grade, made known
in particular, whether the man who presented himself to obtain it, was
worthy or unworthy. These tests were at first sufficiently easy; but
they became increasingly difficult to such an extent that the life of
the new member was frequently in danger. One would know in that way to
what sort of man this life belonged, and verify by the crucible of
terror and of suffering, the temper of the soul and the claim of his
right to the truth. It is known that Pythagoras owed to his extreme
patience and to the courage with which he surmounted all the
obstacles, his initiation into the Egyptian mysteries.[5539] Those who
attained as he did the last degree of initiation were very rare; the
greater number went no further than the second grade and very few
attained the third. Lessons proportionate to their strength and to
those of the faculties that had been recognized as dominating in them
were given; for this is the essential point in this Examination, one
learned in the sanctuaries to divide the mass of humanity into three
great classes, dominated by a fourth more elevated, according to the
relations that were established between the faculties of men and the
parts of the Universe to which they corresponded. In the first were
ranged the material or instinctive men; in the second, the animistic,
and in the third, the intellectual men. Thus all men were by no means
considered as equal among them. The pretended equality which was made
on the exterior was mere compliance to the errors of the vulgar, who,
having seized the authority in most of the cities of Greece and Italy,
forced the truth to conceal an exposure which would have injured it.
The Christian cult, raised upon the extinction of all enlightenment,
nourished in the hearts of slaves and lowly citizens, sanctified in
the course of time a precedent favourable to its growth. Those,
however, among the Christians who were called gnostics,[540] on
account of the particular knowledge that they possessed, and
especially the Valentinians who boasted that they had preserved the
knowledge of the initiation, wished to make a public dogma of the
secret of the mysteries in this respect, pretending that the
corruption of men being only the effect of their ignorance and of
their earthly attachment, it was only necessary in order to save them,
to enlighten them regarding their condition and their original
destination[541]; but the orthodox ones, who felt the danger into
which this doctrine was drawing them, condemned the authors as
heretics.

This condemnation, which satisfied the pride of the vulgar, did not
prevent the small number of sages remaining silent, faithful to the
truth. It is only necessary to open one’s eyes, and detaching them a
moment from Judea, to see that the dogma of inequality among men had
served as basis for the civil and religious laws of all the peoples of
the earth, from the orient of Asia to the occidental limits of Africa
and Europe. Everywhere, four great established divisions under the
name of Castes, recalled the four principal degrees of initiation and
retraced upon humanity _en masse_, the Universal Quaternary. Egypt
had, in this respect, in very ancient times, given example to
Greece[542]; for this Greece, so proud of her liberty, or rather of
her turbulent anarchy, had been at first subjected to the common
division, even as it is seen in Aristotle and Strabo.[543] The
Chaldeans were, relative to the peoples of Assyria,[544] only what the
Magi were among the Persians,[545] the Druids among the Gauls,[546]
and the Brahmans among the Indians. It is quite well known that this
last people, the Brahmans, constitute the foremost and highest of the
four castes of which the whole nation is composed. The allegorical
origin that religion gives to these castes proves clearly the analogy
of which I have spoken. The following is what is found relative to
this in one of the Shastras. “At the first creation by Brahma, the
Brahmans sprang from his mouth; the Kshatrys issued from his arms; the
Vaisyas from his thighs, and the Soudras from his feet.” It is said in
another of these books containing the cosmogony of the Banians, that
the first man, called Pourou, having had four sons named Brahma,
Kshetri, Vaisa, and Souderi, God designated them to be chiefs of the
four tribes which he himself instituted.[547] The sacred books of the
Burmans, which appear anterior to those of the other Indian nations,
establish the same division. The Rahans, who fill the sacerdotal
offices among these peoples, teach a doctrine conformable to that of
the mysteries. They say that inequality among men is a necessary
consequence of their past virtues or past vices, and that they are
born in a nation more or less enlightened, in a caste, in a family,
more or less illustrious, according to their previous conduct.[548]
This is very close to the thought of Pythagoras; but no one has
expressed it with greater force and clearness than Kong-Tse. I think I
have no need to say that these two sages did not copy each other. The
assent that they gave to the same idea had its source elsewhere than
in sterile imitation.

The Chinese people, from time immemorial, have been divided into four
great classes, relative to the rank that men occupy in society,
following the functions that they execute therein,[549] very nearly as
do the Indians: but this division, that long custom has rendered
purely political, is looked upon very differently by the philosophers.
Man, according to them, constitutes one of the three productive powers
which compose the median trinity of the Universe; for they consider
the Universe, or the great All, as the expression of a triple Trinity
enveloped and dominated by the primordial Unity: which constitutes for
them a decade instead of a Quaternary. This third power called _Yin_,
that is to say, mankind, is subdivided into three principal classes,
which by means of the intermediary classes admitted by Kong-Tse,
produces the five classes spoken of by this sage.

     The first class, the most numerous, comprises [he said] that
     multitude of men who act only by a sort of imitative
     _instinct_, doing today what they did yesterday, in order to
     recommence tomorrow what they have done today; and who,
     incapable of discerning in the distance the real and
     substantial advantages, the interest of highest importance,
     extract easily a little profit, a base interest in the
     pettiest things, and have enough adroitness to procure them.
     These men have an _understanding_ as the others but this
     understanding goes no further than the _senses_; they see
     and hear only through the eyes and the ears of their bodies.
     Such are the people.

     The second class is composed [according to the same sage] of
     men instructed in the sciences, in letters and in the
     liberal arts. These men have an object in view in whatever
     they undertake, and know the different means by which the
     end can be accomplished; they have not penetrated into the
     essence of things, but they know them well enough to speak
     of them with ease and to give lessons to others; whether
     they speak or whether they act, they can give _reason_ for
     what they say or what they do, comparing subjects among them
     and drawing just inferences concerning what is harmful or
     profitable: these are the artists, the _literati_, who are
     occupied with things wherein _reasoning_ must enter. This
     class can have an influence on customs and even on the
     government.

     The third class [continues Kong-Tse] comprises those who in
     their speech, in their actions, and in the whole of their
     conduct, never deviate from what is prescribed by _right
     reason_; who do good without any pretension whatsoever; but
     only because it is good; who never vary, and show themselves
     the same in adversity as in fortune. These men speak when it
     is necessary to speak, and are silent when it is necessary
     to be silent. They are not satisfied with drawing the
     sciences from the diverse channels destined to transmit
     them, but go back to the source. These are the philosophers.

     Those who never digress from the fixed and immutable rule
     which they have traced out for themselves, who, with utmost
     exactness and a constancy always the same, fulfill to the
     very least, their obligations, who fight their passions,
     observe themselves unceasingly, and prevent vices from
     developing; those finally, who speak no word which is not
     measured and that may not be useful for instruction, and who
     fear neither trouble nor labour in order to make _virtue_
     prosper in themselves and in others, constitute the fourth
     class, which is that of virtuous men.

     The fifth class, finally [adds Kong-Tse], which is the
     loftiest and sublimest, comprises the extraordinary men, who
     unite in their persons the qualities of the spirit and
     heart, perfected by the blessed habit of fulfilling
     voluntarily and joyfully, what nature and morals impose
     jointly upon reasonable beings living in society.
     Imperturbable in their mode of life, like unto the sun and
     the moon, the heavens and the earth, they never cease their
     beneficent operations; they act by _intelligence_ and as
     _spirits_ see without being seen. This class, very few in
     number, can be called that of the Perfect ones, the
     Saints.[550]

I have transcribed what has just been read without changing a single
word. If the reader has given to this extract the attention that it
merits, he will have seen the doctrine of Pythagoras such as I have
revealed and the important distinction between Instinct, Reason, and
Intelligence such as I have established; he will have seen the dogma
of the mysteries concerning the animistic inequality of men, of which
I have spoken, and will have easily recognized, in the right reason
which constitutes the third class according to the Chinese
theosophist, the pure reason which has directed the German philosopher
in the establishment of critical philosophy. This right reason, being
quite near to human virtues, is still very far from Wisdom which alone
leads to Truth. Nevertheless it can reach there, for nothing is
impossible for the Will of man, even as I have quite forcibly
stated[551]; but it would be necessary for that, to make acquisition
of the divine virtues, and in the same manner that one is raised from
instinct to understanding by purification, to pass from understanding
to intelligence by perfection. Lysis offers the means: it is by
knowledge of oneself that he promises to lead one to this desired end;
he assures it, he invokes the name of Pythagoras himself:


     25. _I swear it by the one who in our hearts engraved
          The sacred Tetrad, symbol immense and pure,
          Source of Nature and model of the Gods._

Drawn on by my subject, I have forgotten to say that, according to
Porphyry, there is lacking in the Golden Verses as given by Hierocles,
two lines which ought to be placed immediately before those which open
the unitive part of the doctrine of Pythagoras called _perfection_;
these are[552]:

     Πρῶτα μὲν ἐξ ὕπνοιο μελίφρονος ἐξ ὑπανίτας,
     Εὖ μάλα ποιπνεύειν ὅσ’ ἐν ἤματι ἔργα τελέσσεις.

     On the moment of awakening, consider calmly
     What are thy duties, and what thou shouldst accomplish.

These lines, which express the general outline of this last part, are
remarkable, and one cannot conceive how Hierocles could have
overlooked or neglected them. Although, it is true, they add nothing
in the literal sense, they say much, however, in the figurative sense;
they serve as proof of the division of this poem, which Hierocles
himself has adopted without explanation. Lysis indicates quite
strongly that he is about to pass on to a new teaching: he calls the
attention of the disciple of Pythagoras to the new career which is
opened before him, and to the means of traversing it and of attaining
to the divine virtues which must crown it. This means is the knowledge
of oneself, as I have said. This knowledge, so commended by the
ancient sages, so exalted by them, which must open the avenues of all
the others and deliver to them the key of the mysteries of nature and
the doors of the Universe; this knowledge, I say, could not be exposed
unveiled at the epoch when Pythagoras lived, on account of the secrets
that it would of necessity betray. Likewise this philosopher had the
habit of proclaiming it under the emblem of the sacred Tetrad or of
the Quaternary. This is why Lysis, in invoking the name of his master,
designates it on this occasion with the most striking characteristic
of his doctrine. “I swear,” he said, “by the one who has revealed to
our soul the knowledge of the Tetrad, that source of eternal Nature”:
that is to say, I swear by the one who, teaching our soul to know
itself, has put it in condition to know all nature of which it is the
abridged image.

In many of my preceding Examinations I have already explained what
should be understood by this celebrated Tetrad, and here would perhaps
be the time to reveal its constitutive principles; but this revelation
would lead me too far. It would be necessary in order to do this, to
enter into details of the arithmological doctrine of Pythagoras which,
lacking preliminary data, would become fatiguing and unintelligible.
The language of Numbers of which this philosopher made use, following
the example of the ancient sages, seems today entirely lost. The
fragments which have come down to us serve rather to prove its
existence than to give any light upon its elements; for those who have
composed these fragments wrote in a language that they supposed
understood, in the same manner as our modern writers when they employ
algebraic terms. It would be ridiculous if one wished before having
acquired any notion concerning the value and use of the algebraic
signs, to explain a problem contained in these signs. This is,
however, what has often been done relative to the language of Numbers.
One has pretended, not only to explain it before having learned it,
but even to write of it, and has by so doing rendered it the most
lamentable thing in the world. The savants seeing it thus travestied
have justly scorned it; as their contempt was not unreasonable they
have made it reflect, by the same language upon the ancients who have
employed it. They have acted in this as in many other things; they
themselves creating the stupidity of ancient sciences and saying
afterwards: antiquity was stupid.

One day I shall try, if I find the time and the necessary facilities,
to give the true elements of the arithmological science of Pythagoras
and I will show that this science was for intelligible things what
algebra has become among us for physical things; but I shall only do
so after having revealed what the true principles of music are; for
otherwise I should run the risk of not being understood.

Without perplexing ourselves, therefore, with the constitutive
principles of the Pythagorean Quaternary, let us content ourselves
with knowing that it was the general emblem of anything moving by
itself and manifesting by its facultative modifications; for according
to Pythagoras, 1 and 2 represent the hidden principles of things; 3,
their faculties, and 4, their proper essence. These four numbers
which, united by addition produce the number 10, constituted the
Being, as much universal as particular; so that the Quaternary, which
is as its virtue, could become the emblem of all beings, since there
is none which may not recognize the principles, and which does not
manifest itself by faculties more or less perfect, and which may not
enjoy an existence universal or relative; but the being to which
Pythagoras applied it most commonly was Man. Man, as I have said,
manifests himself as does the Universe, under the three principal
modifications of body, soul, and spirit. The unknown principles of
this first Ternary are what Plato calls the _same_, and the _other_,
the _indivisible_ and the _divisible_. The indivisible principle gives
the spirit; the divisible the body; and the soul has birth from this
last principle elaborated by the first.[553] Such was the doctrine of
Pythagoras which was borrowed by Plato. It had been that of the
Egyptians, as can be seen in the works which remain to us under the
name of Hermes. Synesius, who had been initiated into their mysteries,
said particularly, that human souls emanated from two sources: the one
luminous, which flows from heaven on high; the other tenebrous, which
springs from the earth in the abysmal depths of which it finds its
origin.[554] The early Christians, faithful to theosophical tradition,
followed the same teaching; they established a great difference
between the spirit and the soul. They considered the soul as an issue
of the material principle, and in consequence being neither
enlightened nor virtuous in itself. The spirit, said Basil, is a gift
of God: it is the soul of the soul, as it were; it is united to the
soul; it enlightens it, it rescues it from earth and raises it to
heaven.[555] Beausobre, who relates these words, observes that this
sentiment was common to several Fathers of the primitive church,
particularly to Tatian.[556]

I have spoken often of this first Ternary, and even of the triple
faculties which are attached to each of its modifications; but as I
have done many times, I believe it useful to present here the
_ensemble_, so as to have the opportunity of uniting, under the same
viewpoint, the volitive unity, from which results the human
Quaternary, in general, and in the particular being, which is man.

The three faculties which, as I have said, distinguish each of the
three human modifications are: sense perception for the body,
sentiment for the soul, and assent for the spirit. These three
faculties develop instinct, understanding, and intelligence, which
produce by a common reaction, common sense, reason, and sagacity.

Instinct, placed at the lowest degree of the ontological hierarchy, is
absolutely passive; intelligence, raised to the summit, is entirely
active, and understanding placed in the centre, is neuter. Sense
perception perceives the sensations, sentiment conceives the ideas,
assent elects the thoughts; perception, conception, election are modes
of acting, of the instinct, the understanding, and the intelligence.
The understanding is the seat of all the passions that the instinct
feeds continually, excites, and tends to make unruly; and that the
intelligence purifies, tempers, and seeks always to put in harmony.
The instinct, reacted upon by the understanding, becomes common sense:
it perceives notions more or less clearly, following more or less, the
influence that it accords to the understanding. The understanding,
reacted upon by the intelligence, becomes reason: it conceives of
opinions so much the more just, as its passions are the more calm.
Reason cannot by its own movement attain to wisdom and find truth,
because being placed in the middle of a sphere and forced from there,
it describes, from the centre to the circumference, a ray always
straight and subordinate to the point of departure; it has against it
infinity, that is to say, that truth being one, and residing in a
single point of the circumference, it cannot be the subject of reason,
only as far as it is known beforehand, and as reason is placed in the
direction convenient for its encounter. Intelligence, which can only
put reason in this direction by the assent that it gives at the point
of departure, would never know this point only by wisdom which is the
fruit of inspiration: now, inspiration is the mode of acting of the
will, which joining itself to the triple Ternary, as I have just
described, constitutes the human ontological Quaternary. It is the
will which envelops the primordial Ternary in its unity, and which
determines the action of each of its faculties according to its own
mode without the will it would have no existence. The three faculties
by which the volitive unity is manifested in the triple Ternary, are
memory, judgment, and imagination. These three faculties, acting in a
homogeneous unity, have neither height nor depth and do not affect one
of the modifications of the being, any more than another; they are all
wherever the will is, and the will operates freely in the intelligence
or in the understanding; in the understanding or in the instinct:
where it wills to be there it is; its faculties follow it everywhere.
I say that it is wherever it wills to be when the being is wholly
developed; for following the course of Nature, it is first in the
instinct and only passes into the understanding and into the
intelligence successively and in proportion as the animistic and
spiritual faculties are developed. But in order that this development
may take place, the will must determine it; for without the will there
is no movement. Be assured of this. Without the operation of the will,
the soul is inert and the spirit sterile. This is the origin of that
inequality among men of which I have spoken. When the will does not
disengage itself from matter, it constitutes instinctive men; when it
is concentrated in the understanding, it produces animistic men; when
it acts in the spirit, it creates intellectual men. Its perfect
harmony in the primordial Ternary, and its action more or less
energetic in the uniformity of their faculties, equally developed,
constitute the extraordinary men endowed with sublime genius; but the
men of this fourth class which represents the autopsy of the
mysteries,[557] are extremely rare. Often it suffices for a powerful
will, acting either in the understanding or in the intelligence and
concentrating wholly there, to astonish men by the strength of
reasoning and outbursts of wisdom, which draws the name of genius
without being wholly merited. Recently there has been seen in Germany
the most extraordinary reasoning, in Kant, failing in its aim through
lack of intelligence; one has seen in the same country the most
exalted intelligence, in Boehme, giving way for want of reason. There
have been in all times and among all nations men similar to Boehme and
to Kant. These men have erred through not knowing themselves; they
have erred, through a lack of harmony that they might have been able
to acquire, if they had taken the time to perfect themselves; they
have erred, but their very error attests the force of their will. A
weak will, operating either in the understanding or in the
intelligence, makes only sensible men and men of intellect. This same
will acting in the instinct produces artful men; and if it is strong
and violently concentrated through its original attraction in this
corporal faculty, it constitutes men dangerous to society, miscreants,
and treacherous brigands.

After having applied the Pythagorean Quaternary to Man, and having
shown the intimate composition of this Being, image of the Universe,
according to the doctrine of the ancients, I ought perhaps to use all
the means in my power, in order to demonstrate with what facility the
physical and metaphysical phenomena which result from their combined
action can be deduced; but such an undertaking would necessarily draw
me into details foreign to these examinations. I must again put off
this point as I have put off many others; I will take them up in
another work, if the savants and the thinkers to whom I address myself
approve the motive which has put the pen in my hand.


     26. _But before all, thy soul to its faithful duty,
          Invoke these Gods with fervour, they whose aid,
          Thy work begun, alone can terminate._

All the cults established upon the face of the earth have made a
religious duty of prayer. This alone would prove, if it were
necessary, what I have advanced concerning the theosophical dogma of
the volitive liberty of man; for if man were not free in his actions,
and if an irresistible fatality led him on to misfortune and to crime,
what use would be invoking the gods, imploring their assistance,
begging them to turn aside from him the evils which must inevitably
overwhelm him? If, as Epicurus taught, an impenetrable barrier
separated gods and men; if these gods, absorbed in their beatitude and
their impassive immortality, were such strangers to the evils of
humanity that they neither troubled to alleviate them nor to prevent
them, for what purpose then the incense burning at the foot of their
altars?[558]

It was, he said, on account of the excellence of their nature that he
honoured them thus, and not from any motive of hope or fear, not
expecting any good from them and not dreading any evil.[559] What
miserable sophism! How could Epicurus say such a thing before having
explained clearly and without amphibology, what the origin of good and
evil is, so as to prove that the gods indeed do not cooperate either
for the augmentation of the one, or the diminution of the other? But
Epicurus had never dreamed of giving this explanation. However little
he might have considered it, he would have seen that in whatever
fashion he had given it, it would have overthrown the doctrine of
atoms; for a sole principle, whatever it may be, cannot produce at the
same time good and evil. Nevertheless, if he has not explained this
origin, and if he has not shown in a peremptory way that we are in a
sphere where absolute evil reigns, and that consequently we can have
no sort of communication with that wherein good resides, it will
remain always evident that if we are not in such a sphere, and if we
possess a portion of good, this good must come to us from the sphere
wherein absolute good has its source. Now, this sphere is precisely
that in which Epicurus places the gods.[560] But, perhaps, a defender
of Epicurus will say, the good that we possess comes to us only once
from the divine sphere and thenceforth it comes to us no more. This is
contrary to the most intimate and most general notion that we have of
the Divinity, to that of its immutability upon which Epicurus himself
leans most, and from which it results that the gods could never be
what they have been, nor do what they have done.

In one word, just as well as in a thousand, any maker of a system is
obliged to do one of two things, either to declare himself what the
origin is of good and evil, or to admit _a priori_ the theosophical
dogma of the liberty of man. Epicurus knew this, and although this
dogma might ruin his system completely, he preferred to admit it than
expose himself to give an explanation beyond his capability and beyond
that of all men. But if man is free, he can be counselled; if he can
be counselled, it is evident that he can, even that he must, demand
counsel. This is the rational principle of prayer. Now, common sense
is the asking for counsel wiser than its own, and sagacity shows in
the Gods the source of wisdom.

Epicurus, nevertheless, denied the intervention of divine Providence
and pretended that the Gods, absorbed in their supreme felicity, do
not mingle in any affair.[561] A single question, simple and naïve,
would overthrow this assertion destitute of proofs, and besides,
inconsistent with the conduct of Greek philosophy; but I prefer to
leave this question to Bayle, who has expended much logic in
sustaining this point. This French philosopher, under pretext of
making Epicurus dispute with a polytheistic priest, advances against
Providence an argument which he believes irresistible, and which is,
indeed, one of the most subtle that one could possibly advance. “Are
the gods satisfied with their administration or are they dissatisfied?
Be mindful,” he says, “of my dilemma: if they are satisfied with what
comes to pass under their providence, they are pleased with evil; if
they are dissatisfied, they are unhappy.”[562] The manner in which
Bayle throws himself into the midst of the question, without examining
the principles of it, denounces him as a skeptic; it is necessary
therefore to use against him the weapons that I have given against
skepticism; that is, to bring him back abruptly to the principles, by
interrogating him before replying to him. It is necessary to ask him,
if he admits a difference between that which is and that which is not?
He is forced to admit it, as I have said; for in whatever region of
himself his will takes refuge, whether it exercises its judgment in
the instinct, in the understanding or in the intelligence, you will
pursue it in him opposing, in the first case, the axiom of common
sense: nothing is made from nothing; in the second, that of reason:
that which is, is; in the last, that of sagacity: everything has its
opposite and can have only one. Nothing is made from nothing therefore
that which is not, can never produce that which is. That which is, is;
therefore, that which is not, is not that which is. Everything has its
opposite and can have only one; therefore the absolute opposite of
that which is, is that which is not. If the skeptic refuses himself
the evidence of common sense, of reason and of sagacity united, he
lies to his conscience, or he is mad and then one must leave him.

The difference admitted between that which is and that which is not,
proceeds therefore against Bayle, or against those who resemble him;
ask them if man is a prey to absolute evil, whether physical or moral?
They will reply to you, no; for they will feel that if they should
respond otherwise, you would prove to them that not having the faculty
of making a difference between good and evil, nor of comparing them
together, they could never draw from this comparison their strongest
argument against Providence. They will, therefore, reply that man is
not a prey to absolute evil, but to a very great relative evil; as
great as they wish. You, nevertheless continue thus: if man is not a
prey to absolute evil, he might be, since it would suffice for this to
take away the sum of good which mitigates the evil, and which the
difference, previously established between that which is and that
which is not, teaches to distinguish. Now, this sum of good, whence
comes it? Who dispenses it? Who? If the skeptics are silent, affirm
for them that it emanates from the gods themselves and that Providence
is the dispenser. Then reply to their dilemma, and say that the gods
are content with their administration and that they have reason to be,
since by it they procure a sum of good increasing more and more, for
the beings which without Providence would never know it; and that
their Providence, which has mitigated evil from its origin, mitigates
it still and will mitigate it to its end; and if the astonished
skeptics object that Providence takes a great deal of time to make
what should be made in an instant, reply to them that it is not a
question of knowing how nor why it makes things, but only that it
makes them; which is proved by the overthrow of their dilemma; and
which, after all, is saying with more reason in this circumstance than
in any other, that time has nothing to do with the affair, since it is
nothing to Providence, although for us it may be much.

And if, continuing to draw inferences from your reasoning, the
skeptics say to you that, according to the continual effusion of good
which you establish, the sum ought to be daily augmented, whilst that
of evil, diminishing in the same proportion, ought at last to
disappear wholly, which they cannot believe; reply, that the
inferences of a reasoning which confounds theirs are at their
disposal; that they can deduce from them as much as they wish; without
engaging you, for that matter, to discuss the extent of their view,
either in the past, or in the future, because each one has his own;
that, besides, you owe it to truth to teach them that the dogma, by
means of which you have ruined the laborious structure of their logic,
is no other than a theosophical tradition, universally received from
one end of the earth to the other, as it is easy to prove to them.

Open the sacred books of the Chinese, the Burmans, Indians, and
Persians, you will find there the unequivocal traces of this dogma.
Here, it is Providence represented under the traits of a celestial
virgin, who, sent by the Supreme Being, furnished arms to combat and
to subjugate the genius of evil, and to bring to perfection everything
that it had corrupted.[563] There, it is the Universe itself and the
Worlds which compose it, which are signalized as the instrument
employed by this same Providence to attain this end.[564] Such was the
secret doctrine of the mysteries.[565] Good and Evil were represented
in the sanctuaries under the emblems of light and darkness: the
formidable spectacle of the combat between these two opposed
principles was given there to the initiate; and after many scenes of
terror, the most obscure night was insensibly succeeded by the purest
and most brilliant day.[566] It was exactly this that Zoroaster had
publicly taught.

     Ormuzd [said this theosophist] knew by his sovereign science
     that at first he could in no way influence Ahriman; but that
     afterwards he united with him and that at last he finished
     by subjugating him and changing him to such a degree that
     the Universe existed without evil for a duration of
     centuries.[567] When the end of the world comes [he said in
     another place] the wickedest of the infernal spirits will be
     pure, excellent, celestial: yes [he adds], he will become
     celestial, this liar, this evil doer; he will become holy,
     celestial, excellent, this cruel one: vice itself, breathing
     only virtue, will make long offerings of praise to Ormuzd
     before all the world.[568]

These words are the more remarkable when one considers that the dogma
relating to the downfall of the rebellious angel has passed from the
cosmogony of the Parsees into that of the Hebrews, and that it is upon
this dogma alone, imperfectly interpreted by the vulgar, that the
contradictory doctrine of the eternity of evil and the torments that
follow it, have been founded. This doctrine, but little understood,
has been sharply attacked.[569] Simon, very inappropriately surnamed
the _Magician_, forced St. Peter himself, disputing with him, to
acknowledge that the Hebraic writings had said nothing positive on
this subject.[570] This is certain. These writings, interpreted as
they have been by the Hellenic Jews and given out under the name of
_Version of the Septuagint_, shed no light upon this important
point; but it is well to know that these interpreters have designedly
concealed this light, in order not to divulge the meaning of their
sacred book. If one understood thoroughly the language of Moses, one
would see that, far from setting aside the theosophical traditions
which he had received in Egypt, this theocratic legislator remained
constantly faithful to them. The passage in his Sepher where he speaks
of the annihilation of Evil, in the meaning of Zoroaster, is in
chapter iii., v. 15, of the part vulgarly called _Genesis_, as I hope
one day to show.[571] But without entering at this time, into the
discussion where the real translation of this passage would lead me,
let it suffice to say that the early Christians were very far from
admitting the eternity of evil; for without speaking of Manes and his
numerous followers who shared the opinion of Zoroaster,[572] those who
are versed in these sorts of matters know that Origen taught that
torments will not be eternal, and that demons, instructed by
chastisement, will be converted at last and will obtain their
pardon.[573] He was followed in this by a great number of learned men,
by the evidence of Beausobre who quotes, on this subject, the example
of a philosopher of Edessa, who maintained that after the consummation
of the ages, all creatures would become consubstantial with God.[574]

One thing worthy of notice is that Zoroaster, who has made prayer one
of the principal dogmas of his religion, has been imitated in this by
Mohammed, who, unknowingly, perhaps, has borrowed a great number of
things from this ancient legislator of the Parsees. It is presumable
that the followers of Manes, having retired to Arabia, were
responsible for these borrowings, by the opinions that they circulated
there. But, it must be frankly stated, this dogma, quite in its place
in the _Zend-Avesta_, does not appear so consistent in the _Koran_,
for, of what use is it in a cult where the predestination of men,
necessitated by the Prescient and All-Powerful Divine, delivers
irresistibly the greatest part of them to an eternal damnation, on
account of the original stain imprinted upon mankind by the sin of the
first man? One cannot be prevented, in reflecting upon this manifest
contradiction, from believing that the theosophical tradition
pertaining to the free will of man, and the influencing action of
Providence operating the progressive augmentation of good and the
gradual diminution of evil, announced openly by Zoroaster, must have
acted secretly in the mind of the theocratic legislator of Arabia. If
it had not been thus, the prayers that he ordered as one of the first
and most essential duties of the religion, would have been without
object.

According to the doctrine of Pythagoras revealed by Hierocles, two
things agree in the efficacy of prayer: the voluntary movement of our
soul, and aid from heaven. The first of these things is that which
seeks goodness; and the other that which shows it. Prayer is a medium
between our quest and the celestial gift. One seeks, one prays in
vain, if one adds not prayer to research and research to prayer.
Virtue is an emanation from God; it is like a reflected image of the
Divinity, the resemblance of which alone constitutes the good and the
beautiful. The soul which is attached to this admirable type of all
perfection is aroused to prayer by its inclination to virtue, and it
augments this inclination by the effusion of the goodness which it
receives by means of prayer; so that it does precisely what it demands
and demands what it does.[575] Socrates was not far from the doctrine
of Pythagoras in this respect; he added only, that prayer exacted much
precaution and prudence, lest, without perceiving it, one demand of
God great evils, in thinking to ask great blessings.

     The sage [he said] knows what he ought to say or do; the
     fool is ignorant of it; the one implores in prayer, what can
     be really useful to him; the other desires often things
     which, being granted him, become for him the source of
     greatest misfortunes. The prudent man [he adds], however
     little he may doubt himself, ought to resign himself to
     Providence who knows better than he, the consequences that
     things must have.

This is why Socrates cited as a model of sense and reason this prayer
of an ancient poet:

     Grant us good whether prayed for or unsought by us;
     But that which we ask amiss, do thou avert.[576]

The prayer was, as I have said, one of the principal dogmas of the
religion of Zoroaster[577]: the Persians also had the greatest
confidence therein. Like the Chaldeans, they founded all magical power
upon its efficacy. They still possess today certain kinds of prayers
for conjuring maladies and driving away demons. These prayers, which
they name _tavids_, are written upon strips of paper and carried after
the manner of talismans.[578] It is quite well-known that the modern
Jews use them in the same way. In this they imitate, as in innumerable
other things, the ancient Egyptians whose secret doctrine Moses has
transmitted to them.[579] The early Christians were inclined to
theosophical ideas on this subject. Origen explains it clearly in
speaking of the virtue attached to certain names invoked by the
Egyptian sages and the most enlightened of the magians of Persia.[580]
Synesius, the famous Bishop of Ptolemaïs, initiated into the
mysteries, declares that the science, by means of which one linked the
intelligible essences to sentient forms, by the invocation of spirits,
was neither vain nor criminal, but on the contrary quite innocent and
founded upon the nature of things.[581] Pythagoras was accused of
magic. Ignorance and weakness of mind have always charged science with
this banal accusation.[582] This philosopher, rightly placed in the
rank of the ablest physicians of Greece,[583] was, according to his
most devoted disciples, neither of the number of the gods, nor even of
those of the divine heroes; he was a man whom virtue and wisdom had
adorned with a likeness to the gods, by the complete purifying of his
understanding which had been effected through contemplation and
prayer.[584] This is what Lysis expressed by the following lines:


     27. _Instructed by them, naught shall then deceive thee;
          Of diverse beings thou shalt sound the essence;
          And thou shalt know the principle and end of All._

That is to say, that the true disciple of Pythagoras, placed _en
rapport_ with the gods through contemplation, arrived at the highest
degree of perfection, called in the mysteries, autopsy; saw fall
before him the false veil which until then had hidden Truth, and
contemplated Nature in its remotest sources. It is necessary, in order
to attain to this sublime degree, that the intelligence, penetrated by
the divine ray of inspiration, should fill the understanding with a
light intense enough to dissipate all the illusions of the senses, to
exalt the soul and release it wholly from things material. Thus it was
explained by Socrates and Plato.[585] These philosophers and their
numerous disciples put no limit to the advantages of autopsy, or
theophany, as they sometimes named this highest degree of the telestic
science. They believed that the contemplation of God could be carried
so far during this same life, that the soul became not only united to
this Being of beings, but that it was mingled and blended with it.
Plotinus boasted having experienced the joy of this beatific vision
four times, according to Porphyry, who himself claimed to have been
honoured with it at the age of sixty-eight.[586] The great aim of the
mysteries was to teach the initiates the possibility of this union of
man with God, and to indicate to them the means. All initiations, all
mythological doctrines, tended only to alleviate the soul of the
weight of material things, to purify it, so that, desirous of
spiritual welfare, and being projected beyond the circle of
generations, it could rise to the source of its existence.[587] If one
examines carefully the different cults which still dominate upon
earth, one will see that they have not been animated by any other
spirit. The knowledge of the Being of beings has been offered
everywhere as the aim of wisdom; its similitude, as the crown of
perfection; and its enjoyment, as the object of all desires and the
goal of all efforts. The enumeration of its infinite faculties has
varied; but when one has dared fix one’s attention upon the unity of
its essence, one has always defined it as has Pythagoras: the
principle and the end of all things.

     The Spirit whence proceed the created beings [say the
     Brahmans], by which they live after being emanated from it,
     toward which they aspire, and in which they are finally
     absorbed, this Spirit is that, to the knowledge of which
     thou shouldst aspire, the Great Being.[588]――The Universe is
     one of its forms.[589]――It is the Being of beings: without
     form, without quality, without passion; immense,
     incomprehensible, infinite, indivisible, incorporal,
     irresistible: no intelligence can conceive of its operations
     and its will suffices to move all intelligences.[590]――It is
     the Truth and the Science which never perish.[591]――Its
     wisdom, its power, and its plan, are as an immense and
     limitless sea which no being is in condition either to
     traverse or to fathom. There is no other God than it. The
     Universe is filled with its immensity. It is the principle
     of all things without having principles.[592] God is
     one,[593] eternal, like unto a perfect sphere which has
     neither beginning nor end. He rules and governs all that
     exists by a general providence, resultant of fixed and
     determined principles. Man ought not to seek to penetrate
     the nature or the essence of this Ineffable Being: such a
     research is vain and criminal.――

Thus do the Hindu sages express themselves in sundry places. They
commend aspiring to the knowledge of the Being of beings, making
oneself worthy to be absorbed in its bosom; and forbid, at the same
time, seeking to penetrate its nature. I have already said that such
was the doctrine of the mysteries. I am about to add an important
reflection in order to cast some light upon a doctrine which, at first
glance, appears contradictory.

Man, who aspires by the inner movement of his will, to attain to the
highest degree of human perfection, and who, by the purification of
his understanding, and the acquisition of celestial virtues, puts
himself in a state to receive the truth, must observe that the higher
he rises in the intelligible sphere, the nearer he approaches to the
unfathomable Being whose contemplation must make his happiness, the
less he can communicate the knowledge of it to others; for truth,
coming to him under intelligible forms more and more universalized,
can never be contained in the rational or sentient forms that he might
give it. Here is the point where many mystic contemplators have gone
astray. As they had never adequately fathomed the triple modification
of their being, and as they had not known the intimate composition of
the human Quaternary, they were ignorant of the manner in which the
transformation of ideas was made, as much in the ascendant progression
as in the descendant progression; so that, confusing continually
understanding and intelligence, and making no difference between the
products of their will according as it acted in one or the other of
its modifications, they often showed the opposite of what they
intended to show; and instead of the seers that they might, perhaps,
have been, they became visionaries. I could give a great many examples
of these aberrations; but I will limit myself to a single one, because
the man who furnishes it for me, immeasurably great on the side of
intelligence, lacked understanding and felt keenly himself, the
weakness of his reason. This man, whose audacious gaze has penetrated
as far as the divine sanctuary, is a German shoemaker of obscure
birth, called Jacob Boehme. The rusticity of his mind, the roughness
of his character, and more than all that, the force and the number of
his prejudices, render his works almost unintelligible and therefore
repel the savants. But when one has the patience and talent necessary
to separate the pure gold from its dross and from its alloy, one can
find there things which are nowhere else. These things, which present
themselves nearly always under the oddest and most absurd forms, have
taken them by passing from his intelligence to his instinct, without
his reason having had the force to oppose itself. This is how he
artlessly expresses this transformation of ideas: “Now that I have
raised myself so high, I dare not look back for fear that giddiness
may seize me … for as long as I ascend, I am convinced of my impulse;
but it is not the same when I turn my head and when I wish to descend;
then I am troubled, I am bewildered, it seems to me that I shall
fall.”[594] And in truth he fell so rapidly that he did not perceive,
either the terrible disparity between his ideas and his expressions,
nor the manifest contradictions into which his prejudices had drawn
him.

These grave disadvantages, which do not strike the vulgar, were
perfectly understood and appreciated by the sages. The institutors of
the mysteries were not ignorant of them and it is for this that they
had imposed the most absolute silence upon the initiates and
particularly upon the epopts, to whom they gave their highest
teachings. They made them feel readily that intelligible things can
only become sentient by being transformed, and that this
transformation requires a talent and an authority even, which cannot
be the appanage of all men.

I am now at the close of my reflection. The diverse cults established
upon earth are but the transformations of ideas; that is to say,
particular forms of religion, by means of which a theocratic
legislator or theosophic sage renders sentient that which is
intelligible, and puts within reach of all men what, without these
forms, would have been only within reach of a very small number; now,
these transformations can only be effected in three ways, according to
the three faculties of the human Ternary; the fourth, which concerns
its Quaternary or its relative unity, being impossible. I beg the
reader to recall what I have said, touching the intimate composition
and movement of this Quaternary, and grant me a little attention.

The aim of all the cults being to conduct to the knowledge of the
Divinity, they differ only by the route that they travel in its
attainment, and this route depends always upon the manner in which the
Divinity has been considered by the founder of the cult. If this
founder has considered it in his intelligence, he has seen the
Divinity in its universal modifications, and, therefore, triple, as
the Universe; if he has considered it in his understanding, he has
seen it in its creative principles, and, therefore, double as Nature;
if he has considered it in his instinct, he has seen it in its
faculties and its attributes, and, therefore, infinite, as Matter; if
he has considered it, finally, in its proper volitive unity, acting at
once in its three modifications, he has seen this same Divinity
according to the force and movement of his thought, either in its
absolute essence or in its universal essence; that is, One in its
cause, or One in its effects. Examine closely what I have said and see
if there exists a single cult upon the face of the earth that you may
not connect with one of the kinds whose origin I have indicated.

I have said that the Divinity, considered in the human intelligence,
is shown under the emblem of the universal Ternary; hence all the
cults which are dominated by three principal gods as in India,[595] in
Greece and in Italy,[596] three principal modifications in the same
God, as in China,[597] in Japan, in Tibet and among the considerable
followers of Fo-Hi or Buddha.[598] This cult, which has been called
that of the _Tritheists_, is one of the most widespread on earth, and
one which has mingled most easily with the others. It pleases the
imagination and gives to wisdom great power to rise to intelligible
truths.

I have said that the Divinity, considered in the human understanding,
is manifest under the emblem of two natural principles: hence, all the
cults wherein two opposed beings appear, as in the cult of Zoroaster.
This cult, which is rarely encountered as pure as among the ancient
Persians, or among the followers of Manes, mingles readily with
tritheism and even polytheism: it was quite recognizable in Egypt and
among the Scandinavians, and much more involved among the Indians,
Greeks, and Latins. This cult could be considered as a natural
_Diarchy_, and those who follow it, _Diarchists_. Judgment and reason
conform very well in it; one also sees ordinarily, profound reasoners
and skeptics, inclining there _nolens volens_.[599] Its abuse leads to
atheism; but it offers great means, when one knows how to make good
use of it, to penetrate the essence of things and succeed to the
explanation of natural phenomena.

Again I say, that the Divinity considered in the instinct is presented
under the emblem of material infinity: hence, all cults where, by a
contrary movement, the intelligible becomes sentient and the sentient
intelligible; as when the attributes and faculties of the Divinity are
particularized and personified, and as the agents of Nature, the parts
of the Universe and the individual beings themselves, are deified.
This cult, to which I have given the name of _Polytheism_, is
everywhere, under different forms and under different names, the
portion of the vulgar. More or less apparent it insinuates itself in
the midst of the other two, multiplies the images of the intellectual
modifications and the natural principles, and whatever attentions the
theosophists bring to forestall its invasion, end by stifling utterly
the spirit of it beneath the material covering which envelops them.
This cult, the cradle of all religions, with which the other two can
never entirely dispense, which nourishes and lives in their life, is
also the tomb. It pleases singularly that faculty of man which is
developed first, sense perception; it aids the development of instinct
and can, by the sole medium of common sense, lead to the knowledge of
the natural principles. Its abuse precipitates peoples into idolatry
and superstition; its good use arouses the talents and gives birth to
heroic virtues. One becomes artist or hero through the exaltation of
Polytheism; savant or philosopher through that of Diarchy; and sage or
theosophist through that of Tritheism. These three cults, whether pure
or variously mixed, are the only ones in which transformation may be
possible; that is to say, which may be clothed in ostensible forms and
enclosed in any sort of ritual. The fourth cult, which is founded upon
the absolute unity of God, is not transformable. This is the reason.

The Divinity considered in the volitive unity of man, acting at the
same time in its principal faculties, is manifested finally, in its
absolute essence, or in its universal essence; One in its cause, or
One in its effects: thence, not only all public cults, but all secret
mysteries, all doctrines mystic and contemplative; for how can that
which has no likeness to anything be represented? How render sentient
that which is beyond all intelligence? What expressions will be
consistent with that which is inexpressible, with that which is more
ineffable than silence itself? What temples will one raise to that
which is incomprehensible, inaccessible, unfathomable? The
theosophists and sages have realized these difficulties; they have
seen that it was necessary to suppress all discourse, to set aside all
simulacra: to renounce all enclosures, to annihilate finally all
sentient objects or to be exposed to give false ideas of the absolute
essence of a Being that neither time nor space can contain. Many have
dared the undertaking. One knows, in delving into ages long since
past, that the ancient Magians of Persia erected no temple and set up
no statue.[600] The Druids acted in the same manner.[601] The former
invoked the Principle of all things upon the summits of mountains; the
latter, in the depths of the forests. Both deemed it unworthy of the
divine Majesty to enclose it within precincts and to represent it by a
material image.[602] It even appears that the early Romans shared this
opinion.[603] But this cult, entirely intellectual and destitute of
forms, could not subsist long. Perceptible objects were needed by the
people, on which they might place their ideas. These objects, even in
spite of the legislator who sought to proscribe them, insinuated
themselves.[604] Images, statues, temples were multiplied
notwithstanding the laws which prohibited them. At that time if the
cult did not undergo a salutary reform, it was changed, either into a
gross anthropomorphism, or into an absolute materialism: that is to
say, that a man of the people being unable to rise to the divine
Unity, drew it down to his level; and the savant, being unable to
comprehend it and believing nevertheless to grasp it, confused it with
Nature.

It was to evade this inevitable catastrophe that the sages and
theosophists had, as I have said, made a mystery of the Unity of God,
and had concealed it in the inmost recesses of the sanctuaries. It was
only after many trials, and not until the initiate was judged worthy
to be admitted to the sublime degree of autopsy, that the last veil
was lifted to his gaze, and the principle and end of all things, the
Being of beings, in all its unfathomable Unity, was delivered to his
contemplation.[605]


     28. _If Heaven wills it, thou shalt know that Nature,
          Alike in everything, is the same in every place._

I have already said that the homogeneity of Nature was, with the unity
of God, one of the greatest secrets of the mysteries. Pythagoras
founded this homogeneity upon the unity of the spirit by which it is
penetrated and from which, according to him, all our souls draw their
origin.[606] This dogma which he had received from the Chaldeans and
from the priests of Egypt was admitted by all the sages of antiquity,
as is proved at great length by Stanley and the astute Beausobre.[607]
These sages established a harmony, a perfect analogy between heaven
and earth, the intelligible and the sentient, the indivisible
substance and the divisible substance; in such a manner that that
which took place in one of the regions of the Universe or of the
modifications of the primordial Ternary was the exact image of that
which took place in the other. This idea is found very forcibly
revealed by the ancient Thoth, called _Hermes Trismegistus_,[608] by
the Greeks, in the table of Emerald which is attributed to him.

     In truth, and without fiction, in truth, in truth, I say to
     you, that things inferior are like unto the superior; both
     unite their invincible forces to produce one sole thing, the
     most marvellous of all, and as all things are emanated by
     the will of one unique God, thus all things whatsoever must
     be engendered by this sole thing,――by a disposition of
     Universal nature.[609]

I must say, however, that it is upon the homogeneity of Nature that
were founded in the principle all the so-called occult sciences of
which the principal four, relating to the human Quaternary, were
Theurgy, Astrology, Magic, and Chemistry.[610] I have already spoken
of the astrological science, and I have given sufficient evidence of
what I think regarding the ridiculous and petty ideas concerning it
that the modems have conceived. I will refrain from speaking of the
other three, on account of the prolixities into which the discussions
that they would provoke might lure me. In another work I will
endeavour to show that the principles upon which they were supported
differed greatly from those which superstition and blind credulity
have given them in times of ignorance; and that the sciences taught to
the initiates in the ancient sanctuaries, under the names of Theurgy,
Magic, or Chemistry, differed much from what the vulgar have
understood in later times by the same words.


     29. _So that, as to thy true rights enlightened,
          Thine heart shall no more feed on vain desires._

That is to say, that the disciple of Pythagoras, having attained
through knowledge of himself to that of truth, ought to judge sanely
of the possibility or impossibility of things, and to find in wisdom
itself that just mean which he has found in virtue and in science.
Equally distant from that blind credulity which admits and seeks
without reflection the things most incompatible with the laws of
Nature, and from that presumptuous ignorance which rejects and denies
without examination all those things which issue from the narrow
circle of its empirical notions; he should understand with exactness
the limits and the forces of Nature, know instantly what is contained
therein or what exceeds them, and not form any vow, any project, or
any enterprise beyond his power.


     30. _Thou shalt see that the evils which devour men
          Are of their choice the fruit.…_

Undoubtedly one of the most important things for man to understand is
the nearest cause of his evils, so that, ceasing from murmuring
against Providence, he may blame only himself for the misfortunes of
which he is the proper artisan. Ignorance, always weak and
presumptuous, concealing its own mistakes, holds responsible, with
their consequences, the things which are most foreign there: thus the
child which hurts itself, threatens with his voice and strikes with
his hand the wall against which he has stumbled. Of all errors this is
the most common. Likewise he acknowledges with as much difficulty his
own wrongs as he accuses with ease those of others. This baleful habit
of imputing to Providence the evils which afflict humanity has
furnished, as we have seen, the strongest arguments to the skeptics to
attack its influence, and to undermine thus in its foundation the very
existence of the Divinity. All peoples have been guilty of this[611];
but the moderns are, as I believe, the only ones who coldly and
without passion, in order to sustain certain opinions that they have
embraced, have raised systematically their ignorance concerning the
cause of evil, and made an irresistible fatality proceed from the
All-Powerful and divine Prescience, which drawing man on to vice and
misfortune, damns him by force; and by a consequence determined by the
will of God, delivers him to eternal sufferings.[612] Such were those
among the Christians of the fifth century, who were named
Predestinarians on account of their terrible system. Their opinion, it
is true, was condemned by the councils of Arles and Lyon[613]; but
they declared that the church fell into inconsistency, since the
sentiment in this respect, being exactly conformable with that which
Saint Augustine had advanced against the Pelagians, this church could
not condemn the one without condemning the other and therefore,
without deciding in favour of the opposed doctrine which they had
already condemned. It is certain that the Predestinarians were right
on this last point, as well as Gotescalc, Baius, and Jansenius, who,
with the book of Saint Augustine in hand, proved it later on, by
causing in this church, at different times, troubles more or less
violent on the subject.

This is the moment to complete the proofs of what I advanced in my
Seventh Examination, that the liberty of man can be established only
by the sole theosophical tradition, and the assent that all the sages
of the earth have given to it; and that there is no doctrine, which,
becoming separated, does not abandon the Universe to the irresistible
impulse of an absolute fatality. I have shown sufficiently the
emptiness of all the cosmogonical systems, whether their authors have
founded them upon a sole principle or upon two, upon spirit or upon
matter; I have sufficiently indicated the danger that would have
ensued from divulging the secret dogma of divine Unity, since this
disclosure drew with it the necessity of explaining the origin of Good
and Evil, which was impossible; I have cited the example of Moses, and
I have demonstrated as a decisive point in this matter that those of
his followers who rejected the oral tradition of this great man, to
attach themselves to the literal meaning only of his Sepher, fell into
fatalism and were led to make God himself the author of Evil; finally
I have announced that Christianity and Islamism, issuing alike from
the Mosaic doctrine, have not been able to evade the dogma of
predestination: this dogma, although often repulsed by the Christian
and Mussulman doctors, alarmed at its consequences, is shown, none the
less, from the facts. The Koran which teaches it openly exempts me
from other proofs in defence of the Mussulmans. Let us turn to the
Christians.

It is certain that one of the greatest men of the primitive church,
Origen, perceiving to what consequences the explanation of the origin
of Evil led, by the way in which it was vulgarly understood, according
to the literal translation of the Sepher of Moses, undertook to bring
all back to allegory, recalling Christianity being born to the
theosophical tradition pertaining to the free will of man[614]; but
his books, wherein he exposed this tradition according to the doctrine
of Pythagoras and Plato,[615] were burned as heretical, by the order
of Pope Gelasius.[616] The church at that time paid little attention
to the blow dealt by Origen, occupied as it was with examining the
principal dogmas of incarnation, of the divinity of Jesus, of the
consubstantiality of the Word, of the Unity of its person and the
duality of its nature; but when, following the energetic expression of
Plucquet, the flame of conflagration had passed over all these
opinions, and when the waves of blood had drenched the ashes, it was
necessary to offer new food for its activity. An English monk named
Pelagius,[617] born with an ardent and impetuous mind, was the
foremost to attack this thorny question of the liberty of man, and,
wishing to establish it, was led to deny original sin.

     Man [he said] is free to do good or evil: he who tries to
     lay the blame of his vices on the weakness of nature, is
     unjust: for what is sin, in general? Is it a thing that one
     may evade, or not? If one cannot evade it, there is no evil
     in committing it and then it does not exist: if one can
     evade it, it must be evil to commit it and therefore it
     exists: its very existence is born of the free will, and
     proves it.[618] The dogma of original sin [continued
     Pelagius] is absurd and unjust to God; for a creature which
     does not exist would not be an accomplice of a bad action;
     and it outrages divine justice, to say that God punishes him
     as guilty of this action.[619] Man [added Pelagius] has
     therefore a real power of doing good and evil, and he is
     free in these two respects. But the liberty of doing a thing
     supposes necessarily the union of all causes and of all
     conditions requisite for doing that thing; and one is not
     free regarding an effect, every time that one of the causes
     or conditions naturally exigent for producing this effect is
     lacking. Therefore, to have the liberty of seeing the
     subjects, it is necessary not only that the sense of sight
     be well developed, but also that the subjects be
     discriminated, and placed at an equitable distance.[620]

This far, the doctrine of Pelagius was wholly similar to that of
Pythagoras, as explained by Hierocles[621]; but it differs from it
afterwards, in what the English monk asserted, that since man is born
with the liberty of doing good and evil, he receives from nature and
unites in him all the conditions and all the causes naturally
necessary for good and evil; which robs him of his most beautiful
prerogative,――perfectibility; whereas Pythagoras held, on the
contrary, that these causes and these effects were only accorded to
those who, on their part, concurred in acquiring them, and who, by the
work that they have done for themselves in seeking to know themselves,
have succeeded in possessing them more and more perfectly.

However mitigated the doctrine of Pelagius might be, it appeared still
to accord too much with free will and was condemned by the
ecclesiastical authorities, who declared, through the medium of
several councils, that man can do nothing of himself without the aid
of grace. Saint Augustine, who had been the soul of these councils,
pressed by the disciple of Pelagius to explain the nature of this
grace and to say how God accorded it to one man rather than to another
without being induced by the difference of their merits, replied that
man being in the _masse de perdition_, and God having no need of them,
and being furthermore independent and all-powerful, he gave grace to
whom he willed, without the one to whom he did not give it having the
right to complain; everything coming to pass as a result of his will,
which had foreseen all and determined all.[622] Assuredly one could
not establish more forcibly the necessity of all things, nor submit
men to a sterner fatality, since the want of grace deprived them, not
only of virtue in the fleeting course of this life, but delivered them
without hope to the torments of an eternal hell. But Saint Augustine,
who obeyed a severe and consistent reason, felt very well that he
could not speak otherwise, without renouncing the dogma of original
sin and overthrowing the foundation of Christianity. All the rigid
Christians, all those who, at different times, have undertaken to
restore Christianity to its constitutive principles, have thought as
Saint Augustine, and although the church, alarmed at the terrible
inferences that were drawn from the canonical doctrine, may have
essayed to temper it, by condemning, as I have said, the
Predestinarians and by approving of the persecutions directed against
Gotescalc; and, at the time when Luther drew in his reform a great
part of Christendom toward the dogma of predestination, this did not
prevent Baius, who remained faithful to orthodoxy, from preaching the
same dogma; nor Calvin, soon after, from adding new lights to what
Luther had left doubtful, and Jansenius, finally, corroborating what
Baius had only outlined, from raising in the very midst of the church
that formidable faction which all the united efforts of the Pope and
the Jesuits have been unable to convict of erring in the doctrine of
Saint Augustine, which it has sustained with a force worthy of a
better cause.

According to Calvin, who of all of them expresses himself most
clearly, the soul of man, all of whose faculties are infected with
sin, lacks force to resist the temptation which lures him on toward
evil. The liberty of which he prides himself is a chimera; he
confounds the free with the voluntary, and believes that he chooses
freely because there is no constraint, and that he wills to do the
evil that he does.[623] Thus following the doctrine of this reformer,
man, dominated by his vicious passions, can produce of himself only
wicked actions; and it is to draw him from this state of corruption
and impotence that it was necessary that God should send his son upon
earth to redeem him and to atone for him; so that it is from the
absence of liberty in man that Calvin draws his strongest proofs of
the coming of Christ: “For,” he said, “if man had been free, and if he
had been able to save himself, it would not have been needful that God
should offer up his Son in sacrifice.”[624]

This last argument seems irresistible. Besides when the Jesuits had
accused Calvin and his followers of making God the author of sin, and
of destroying thus all idea of the Divinity[625] they knew better than
to say how it can be otherwise accomplished. They would not have been
able, without doing a thing impossible for them――that is, without
giving the origin of evil. The difficulty of this explanation, which
Moses, even as I have said, has enveloped with a triple veil, has in
no wise escaped the fathers of the primitive church. They have well
felt that it was the important point whereon depended the solution of
all other questions. But how can one attempt even the explanation? The
most enlightened among them had agreed that it is an abyss of nature
that one would not know how to fathom.[626]

     31. … _that these unfortunates
            Seek afar the goodness whose source within they bear_.

The source of all goodness is wisdom, and wisdom begins with the
knowledge of oneself. Without this knowledge, one aspires in vain to
real goodness. But how is it obtainable? If you interrogate Plato upon
this important point, he will respond to you, that it is in going back
to the essence of things――that is to say, in considering that which
constitutes man in himself. “A workman, you will say to this
philosopher, is not the same thing as the instrument which he uses;
the one who plays the lyre differs from the lyre upon which he plays.
You will readily agree to this, and the philosopher, pursuing his
reasoning, will add: And the eyes with which this musician reads his
music, and the hands with which he holds his lyre, are they not also
instruments? Can you deny, if the eyes, if the hands are instruments,
that the whole body may likewise be an instrument, different from the
being who makes use of it and who commands?” Unquestionably no, and
you will comprehend sufficiently that this being, by which man is
really man, is the soul, the knowledge of which you ought to seek.
“For,” Plato will also tell you, “he who knows his body, only knows
that it is his, and is not himself. To know his body as a physician or
as a sculptor, is an art, to know his soul, as a sage, is a science
and the greatest of all sciences.”[627]

From the knowledge of himself man passes to that of God; and it is in
fixing this model of all perfection that he succeeds in delivering
himself from the evils which he has attracted by his own choice.[628]
His deliverance depends, according to Pythagoras, upon virtue and upon
truth.[629] The virtue, that he acquires by purification, tempers and
directs the passions; the truth, which he attains by his union with
the Being of beings, dissipates the darkness with which his
intelligence is obsessed; and both of them, acting jointly in him,
give him the divine form, according as he is disposed to receive it,
and guide him to supreme felicity.[630] But how difficult to obtain
this desired goal!


     32. _For few know happiness: playthings of the passions,
          Hither, thither tossed by adverse waves,
          Upon a shoreless sea, they blinded roll,
          Unable to resist or to the tempest yield._

Lysis shows in these lines what are the greatest obstacles to the
happiness of man. They are the passions: not the passions in
themselves, but the evil effects that they produce by the disordered
movement that the understanding allows them to take. It is to this
that the attention must be directed so that one should not fall into
the error of the Stoics. Pythagoras, as I have said, did not command
his disciples to destroy their passions, but to moderate their ardour,
and to guide them well. “The passions,” said this philosopher, “are
given to be aids to reason; it is necessary that they be its servants
and not its masters.” This is a truth that the Platonists and even the
Peripatetics have recognized, by the evidence of Hierocles.[631] Thus
Pythagoras regarded the passions as instruments of which the
understanding makes use in raising the intellectual edifice. A man
utterly deprived of them would resemble a mass inert and immovable in
the course of life; it is true that he might be able not to become
depraved, but then he could not enjoy his noblest advantage, which is
perfectibility. Reason is established in the understanding to hold
sway over the passions; it must command them with absolute
sovereignty, and make them tend towards the end that wisdom indicates.
If it should not recognize the laws that intelligence gives it, and
if, presumptuously, it wishes, instead of acting according to given
principles, to lay down principles itself, it falls into excess, and
makes man superstitious or skeptic, fanatic or atheist; if, on the
contrary, it receives laws from the passions that it ought to rule,
and if weak it allows itself to be subjugated by them, it falls into
error and renders man stupid or mad, brutish in vice, or audacious in
crime. There are no true reasonings except those admitted by wisdom;
the false reasonings must be considered as the cries of an insensate
soul, given over to the movements of an anarchical reason which the
passions confuse and blind.[632]

Pythagoras considered man as holding the mean between things
intellectual and sentient, the lowest of the superior beings and the
highest of the inferior, free to move either toward the heights or the
depths, by means of his passions, which bring into action the
ascending or descending movement that his will possesses with
potentiality; sometimes being united with the immortals and, through
his return to virtue, recovering the lot which is his own, and other
times plunging again into mortal kind and through transgression of the
divine laws finding himself fallen from his dignity.[633] This
opinion, which had been that of all the sages who had preceded
Pythagoras, has been that of all the sages who have followed him, even
of those among the Christian theosophists whose religious prejudices
have removed them farthest from his doctrine. I shall not stop to give
the proofs of its antiquity; they are to be found everywhere, and
would be superfluous. Thomas Burnet, having vainly sought for the
origin without being able to discover it, decided that it was
necessary that it should descend from heaven.[634] It is certain that
one can only with difficulty explain how a man without erudition, like
Boehme, never having received this opinion from anyone, has been able
to explain it so clearly. “When one sees man existing,” says this
theosophist, “one can say: Here all Eternity is manifested in one
image.”[635]

     The abode of this being is an intermediate point between
     heaven and hell, love and anger; that, of the things to
     which he is attached, becomes his kind.… If he inclines
     toward the celestial nature, he assumes a celestial form,
     and the human form becomes infernal if he inclines toward
     hell; for as the mind is, so is the body. In whatever way
     the mind projects itself, it shadows forth its body with a
     similar form and a similar source.[636]

It is upon this principle, which one finds still everywhere diversely
expressed, that the dogma of the transmigration of souls is founded.
This dogma, explained in the ancient mysteries,[637] and received by
all peoples,[638] has been to such an extent disfigured in what the
moderns have called _Metempsychosis_, that it would be necessary to
exceed considerably the limits of these Examinations in order to give
an explanation which could be understood. Later I will endeavour to
expose my sentiment upon this mystery, when I treat of Theurgy and
other occult sciences to which it is allied.


     33. _God! Thou couldst save them by opening their eyes._

Lysis here approaches openly one of the greatest difficulties of
nature, that which in all time has furnished to the skeptics and to
the atheists the weapons that they have believed most formidable.
Hierocles has not concealed it in his Commentaries, and he expresses
it in these terms: “If God is able to bring back all men to virtue and
to happiness, and if he does not will to do so, is God therefore
unjust and wicked? Or if he wills to bring them back and if he is
unable, is God therefore weak and impotent?”[639] Long before
Hierocles, Epicurus seized upon this argument to support his system,
and had extended it without augmenting its force. His design had been
to prove by its means that, according as he had advanced it, God does
not interfere with the things of this world, and that there is,
consequently, no Providence.[640] Lactantius, thinking that he was
answering this, has quoted from Epicurus and has afforded Bayle, the
most learned and the most formidable of modern skeptics, the occasion
for demonstrating that, until now, this terrible argument had remained
unrefuted notwithstanding all the efforts made for its overthrow.

This indefatigable reasoner said:

     The evil exists; man is wicked and unhappy: everything
     proves this sad truth. History is, properly speaking, only a
     miscellany of the crimes and adversities of mankind.
     However, at intervals, there have been seen shining some
     examples of virtue and happiness. There is, therefore, a
     mixture of evils and of moral and physical goodness.… Now,
     if man is the work of a sole principle, sovereignly good,
     sovereignly holy, sovereignly potential, how is he exposed
     to the maladies of cold, heat, hunger, thirst, pain, and
     sorrow? How has he so many wicked inclinations? How does he
     commit so many crimes? Can the sovereign sanctity produce a
     criminal creature? Can the sovereign bounty produce an
     unfortunate creature?[641]

Bayle, content with his anti-providential declaration, believes that
he has triumphed over all the dogmatists of the world; but whilst he
recovers his breath, observe that he admits a mixture of good and
evil, and allow him to continue.

“Origen,” he said, “asserts that evil has come from the wicked use of
the free will. And why has God allowed man to have so pernicious a
free will?” “Because,” Origen answers, “an intelligent creature who
had not enjoyed free will would have been immutable and immortal as
God.” What pitiable reason! Is it that the glorified souls, the
saints, are equal to God, being predestined to good, and deprived of
what is called _free will_, which, according to Saint Augustine, is
only the possibility of evil when the divine grace does not incline
man towards the good?[642]

Bayle, after several outbursts of this sort, finishes by declaring
that the way in which evil is introduced under the rule of a sovereign
being, infinitely good, infinitely potential, infinitely holy, is not
only inexplicable but even incomprehensible.[643] Bayle is right on
this point; also I have always said, in the course of this work, that
the origin of evil, comprehensible or not, could never be divulged.
But the matter of the origin of evil is not the question here. Bayle
was too good a reasoner not to have felt it, not to have seen that the
argument of Epicurus, and all the elocution with which he furnished
it, did not bear upon the cause of evil itself, but upon its effects;
which is quite different. Epicurus did not demand that the origin of
evil be explained to him, but the local existence of its effects――that
is to say, one should state clearly to him, that if God was able and
willing to take away the evil from the world, or to prevent it from
penetrating there, why he did not do so. When any one’s house is the
prey of flames, one is not so insensate as to be concerned with
knowing what the essence of the fire is, and why it burns in general,
but why it burns in particular; and why, being able to extinguish it,
one has not done so. Bayle, I repeat, was too clever a logician not to
have perceived this. This distinction was too simple to have escaped
him; but seeing that its very simplicity had concealed it from the
doctors of the Christian church, he was content to affect an ignorance
of it to his adversaries, to have the pleasure, so precious to a
skeptic such as he, of seeing them one after another exhaust
themselves upon the argument of Epicurus:

     God, whether he wills to take away evil, and can not;
     whether he can and does not will to; whether he does not
     will it nor can; whether he wills it and can. If he wills it
     and can not, he is weak; which does not accord with God. If
     he can and does not will it, he is wicked; which accords
     with him no better. If he does not will it nor can, he is
     wicked and weak, which could not be. If he can and wills it,
     that which alone is worthy of his divinity, whence then come
     the evils? Or why does he not take them away?[644]

Lactantius, to whom Bayle owed his argument, had thought to overthrow
it, by saying that God, being able to take away evil, did not will it;
so as to give to men, by its means, wisdom and virtue.[645] But the
skeptic philosopher had no trouble to prove that this answer was worth
nothing, and that the doctrine that it contained was monstrous; since
it was certain that God was able to give wisdom and virtue without the
means of evil; since he had even given them, following the belief of
Lactantius himself, and that it was because he had renounced them that
man had become subject to evil. Saint Basil was no more fortunate than
Lactantius. Vainly he asserted that the free will, whence results
evil, had been established by God himself in the design that this
All-powerful Being had for being loved and freely served. Bayle,
attacking him in his own faith, asked him, if God is loved and served
by force in Paradise, where the glorified souls do not enjoy the fatal
privilege of being able to sin.[646] And with the same blow with which
he struck him, he brought down Malebranche who had said the same
thing.[647] The downfall of Malebranche, and the desire to avenge him,
bestirred in vain a crowd of audacious metaphysicians. Bayle pierced
them one after another with the weapons of Epicurus, whose steel they
did not know, and died with the glory of their having said the
greatest piece of stupidity which could be said upon a like matter:
namely, that it was possible that God might prescribe another end, in
creating the world, than to make his creatures happy.[648]

The death of Bayle did not extinguish the ardour that his works had
excited. Leibnitz, justly displeased with all that had been said,
thought he could answer the skeptic philosopher better; and raising
himself with a great force of genius to that pristine moment when God
formed the decree of producing the world, he represented the Being of
beings choosing among an infinity of worlds, all possible, all present
at his thought, the actual world, as most conformable to his
attributes, the most worthy of him, the best finally, the most capable
of attaining to the greatest and most excellent end that this
all-perfect Being may have been able to purpose.[649] But what is this
magnificent and worthy end which the Divinity has chosen, this goal
which not alone constitutes the actual world such as it is, but which
also presents it to the mind, according to the system of Leibnitz, as
the best of possible worlds? This philosopher does not know.

     We are not able [he said] to penetrate it, for we are too
     limited for this; we can only infer, by reasoning with the
     insight that God has given us, that his bounty only has been
     able to purpose, by creating the greatest possible number of
     intelligent creatures, by endowing them with as much
     knowledge, happiness, and beauty as the Universe might admit
     without going away from the immutable order established by
     his wisdom.[650]

Up to this point, the system of Leibnitz sustained itself, and was
able even to lead to a relative truth; but its work was not
accomplished. It was necessary to explain, following the demand of
Epicurus so much repeated by Bayle, how in this immutable order
established by the divine Wisdom in this best of worlds, that physical
and moral evil make felt such severe effects. The German philosopher,
instead of stopping at these effects, and stating the primordial
cause, inaccessible to his researches, still scorned it, as had all
the adversaries of Bayle, and asserted that physical and moral evils
were necessary to maintain this immutable order, and entered into the
plan of this best of worlds. Fatal assertion which overthrew his
system instantly: for, how dares one to say that evil is necessary,
and above all necessary not only in what is best, but in what is the
best possible!

Now, whatever may be the primordial cause of Evil, concerning which I
can not nor do I wish to explain myself, until the triple veil,
extended over this formidable mystery by Moses, may have been raised,
I will say, according to the doctrine of Pythagoras and Plato, that
its effects can be neither necessary, nor irresistible since they are
not immutable and I will reply to the much-lauded argument of
Epicurus, that by this very thing they are neither necessary nor
irresistible; God can and will remove them and he does remove them.

And if certain disciples of Bayle, astonished by a reply so bold and
so new, asked me when and how God works so great a benefit, of which
they have perceived no traces, I will say to them: by time and by
means of perfectibility. Time is the instrument of Providence;
perfectibility, the plan of its work; Nature, the object of its
labour; and Good, its result. You know, and Bayle himself agrees, that
there exists a mixture of good and evil: and I repeat to you here what
I have already said[651]; and I maintain that this good emanates from
Providence, and is its work, and replaces in the sphere where it has
been transported, an equivalent amount of evil which it has transmuted
into good; I maintain that this good continues augmenting itself
unceasingly and the evil which corresponds to it, diminishing in an
equal proportion; I maintain finally that, having left absolute evil
and having arrived at the point where you now are, you will arrive by
the same road and by the same means, that is, by favour of time and of
perfectibility, from the point where you are to absolute Good, the
crown of perfection. This is the answer to your question, When and how
does God take away evils? Still if you claim you cannot see any of
this, I will reply that it is not for you, arguing with the weakness
of your view, to deny the progress of Providence, you whose imperfect
senses mistake all the time even the subjects within your range, and
for whom the extremes are touching so forcibly, that it is impossible
for you to distinguish upon the same dial the movement of the needle
which traverses it in a cycle, from the movement of that which
traverses it in less than a second; one of these needles appearing to
you immobile and the other not existing for you.[652]

If you deny what I affirm, bring other proofs of your denial than your
weakness and cease, from the little corner where Nature has placed
you, presuming to judge its immensity. Still if you lack negative
proofs, wait a moment more, and you shall have from me affirmative
proofs. But if, going back, and wishing to sustain the argument of
Epicurus which is giving way, you believe that you will succeed by
saying that this philosopher had not asked, in the case where God was
able and willed to remove evils, how he removed them, but why he did
not remove them; I will reply to you that this question is a pure
sophism; that the how is implicitly contained in the why, to which I
have replied in affirming that God, being able and willing to remove
evils, removes them. And if you recall an objection that I have
already overthrown concerning the manner in which he removes them, and
that bringing you to judge of his ways, you would assume that he ought
to remove them, not in a lapse of time so long that you would be
unconscious of it, but in the twinkling of an eye; I would reply that
this way would be to you quite as imperceptible as the other; and that
furthermore, that which you demand exists, since the lapse of time of
which you complain, however long it may appear to you, is less than
the twinkling of an eye for the Being of beings who employs it, being
absolutely _nihil_ compared to Eternity. And from there I will take
occasion to tell you that evil, in the way in which it is manifest in
the world, being a sort of malady, God, who alone can cure it, knows
also the sole remedy which may be applicable to it and that this sole
remedy is time.

It seems to me that however little attention you may have given to
what I have just said, you ought to be tempted to pass on from the
knowledge of the remedy to that of the malady; but it is in vain that
you would demand of me an explanation concerning its nature. This
explanation is not necessary to overthrow the argument of Epicurus and
that is all that I have wished to do. The rest depends upon you and I
can only repeat with Lysis:

     “God! Thou couldst save them by opening their eyes.”


     34. _But no: ’tis for the humans of a race divine,
          To discern Error, and to see the Truth._

Hierocles who, as I have said, has not concealed the difficulty which
is contained in these lines, has raised it, by making evident that it
depends upon the free will of man, and by putting a limit upon the
evils which he attracts to himself by his own choice. His reasoning
coinciding with mine can be reduced to these few words. The sole
remedy for evil, whatever may be the cause, is time. Providence,
minister of the Most High, employs this remedy; and by means of
perfectibility which results from it, brings back all to good. But the
aptitude of the maladies for receiving it acts in proportion to this
remedy. Time, always the same, and always _nihil_ for the Divinity is,
however, shortened or lengthened for men, according as their will
coincides with the providential action or differs therefrom. They have
only to desire good, and time which fatigues them will be lightened.
But what if they desire evil always, will time therefore not be
finished? Will the evils therefore have no limit? Is it that the will
of man is so inflexible that God may not turn it towards the good? The
will of man is free beyond doubt; and its essence, immutable as the
Divinity whence it emanates, knows not how to be changed, but nothing
is impossible for God. The change which is effected in it, without
which its immutability may in no wise be altered, is the miracle of
the All-Powerful. It is a result of its own liberty, and if I dare to
say it, takes place by the coincidence of two movements, whose impulse
is given by Providence; by the first, it shows to the will, goodness;
by the second, it puts it in a fitting position to meet this same
goodness.


     35. _Nature serves them.…_

Lysis expresses it thus: Nature, by the homogeneity which, as I have
stated, constitutes its essence, teaches men to see beyond the range
of their senses, transports them by analogy from one region to another
and develops their ideas. The perfectibility which is manifested
through the grace of time is called perfection; for the more a thing
is perfected the more perfect it becomes. The man who perceives this
is struck by it, and if he reflect he finds truth, as I have openly
stated, and to which Lysis was content with making allusion, on
account of the secret of the mysteries that he was forced to respect.

It is this perfectibility manifested in Nature, which gives the
affirmative proofs that I have promised, touching the way in which
Providence removes with time the evils which afflict men. These are
the proofs _de facto_. They cannot be challenged without absurdity. I
know well that there have been men who, studying Nature within four
walls, and considering its operations through the extremely narrow
prism of their ideas, have denied that anything might be perfectible,
and have asserted that the Universe was immobile because they have not
seen it move; but there does not exist today a genuine observer, a
naturalist whose learning is founded upon Nature, who does not
invalidate the decision of these pretended savants, and who does not
put perfectibility in the rank of the most rigorously demonstrated
truths.

I shall not quote the ancients on a subject where their authority
would be challenged; I shall even limit myself, to evade prolixities,
to a small number of striking passages among the moderns. Leibnitz,
who ought less than any other to admit perfectibility, since he had
founded his system upon the existence of the best of worlds possible,
has, however, recognized it in Nature, in advancing that all the
changes which are operated there are the consequence of both; that
everything tends toward its improvement, and that therefore the
present is already teeming with the future.[653] Buffon, inclining
strongly toward the system of atoms, ought also to be much opposed,
and yet he has been unable to see that Nature, in general, tends far
more toward life than toward death, and that it seems to be seeking to
organize bodies as much as is possible.[654] The school of Kant has
pushed the system of perfectibility as far as it could go. Schelling,
the disciple of most consequence of this celebrated man, has followed
the development of Nature with a force of thought which has perhaps
passed the mark. The former, has ventured to say that Nature is a sort
of Divinity in germ, which tends to apotheosis, and is prepared for
existence with God, by the reign of Chaos, and by that of
Providence.[655] But those are only speculative opinions. Here are
opinions founded upon facts.

As soon as one considers the Earth observingly, the naturalists say,
one perceives striking traces of the revolutions that it has sustained
in anterior times.[656]

     The continents have not always been what they are today, the
     waters of the globe have not always been distributed in the
     same manner. The ocean changes insensibly its bed,
     undermines the lands, divides them, rushes over some, and
     leaves others dry. The islands have not always been islands.
     The continents have been peopled, with living and vegetating
     beings, before the present disposition of the waters upon
     the globe.[657]

These observations confirm what Pythagoras and the ancient sages
have taught upon this subject[658]:

     Besides [these same naturalists continue], the greater part
     of the fossil bones that have been assembled and compared
     are those of animals different from any of the species
     actually known; has the kingdom of life therefore changed?
     This one cannot refuse to believe.[659] As Nature proceeds
     unceasingly from the simple to the composite, it is probable
     that the most imperfect animals should have been created
     before the tribes, higher in the scale of life. It even
     seems that each of the animal classes indicates a sort of
     suspension in the creative power, an intermission, an era of
     repose, during which Nature prepared in silence the germs of
     life which should come to light in the course of the cycles.
     One might thus enumerate the epochs of living Nature, epochs
     remote in the night of ages and which have been obliged to
     precede the formation of mankind. A time may have been when
     the insect, the shell, the unclean reptile, did not
     recognize the master in the Universe and were placed at the
     head of the organized bodies.[660]

These observers add:

     It is certain that most perfect beings come from less
     perfect, and that they are obliged to be perfected in the
     sequence of generations. All animals tend towards man; all
     vegetables aspire to animality; minerals seek to draw nearer
     to the vegetable.… It is evident that Nature, having created
     a series of plants and animals, and having stopped at man
     who forms the superior extremity, has assembled in him all
     the vital faculties that it had distributed among the
     inferior races.[661]

These are the ideas of Leibnitz. This celebrated man had said: “Men
hold to animals; these to plants, and those to fossils. It is
necessary that all the natural orders form only one sole chain, in
which the different classes hold strictly as if they were its
links.”[662] Several philosophers have adopted them,[663] but none
have expressed them with more order and energy than the author of the
article _Nature_, in _Le Nouveau Dictionnaire d’Histoire naturelle_.

     All animals, all plants are only the modifications of an
     animal, of a vegetable origin.… Man is the knot which unites
     the Divinity to matter, which links heaven and earth. This
     ray of wisdom and intelligence which shines in his thoughts
     is reflected upon all Nature. It is the chain of
     communication between all beings. All the series of animals
     [he adds in another place] present only a long degradation
     from the proper nature of man. The monkey, considered either
     in his exterior form or in his interior organization,
     resembles only a degraded man; and the same suggestion of
     degradation is observed in passing from monkeys to
     quadrupeds; so that the primitive trend of the organization
     is recognized in all, and the principal viscera, the
     principal members are identical there.[664]

     Who knows [observes elsewhere the same writer] who knows if
     in the eternal night of time the sceptre of the world will
     not pass from the hands of man into those of a being more
     worthy of bearing it and more perfect? Perhaps the race of
     negroes, today secondary in the human specie, has already
     been queen of the earth before the white race was created.…
     If Nature has successively accorded the empire to the
     species that it creates more and more perfect, why should
     she cease today.… The negro, already king of animals, has
     fallen beneath the yoke of the European; will the latter bow
     the head in his turn before a race more powerful and more
     intelligent when it enters into the plans of Nature to
     ordain his existence? Where will his creation stop? Who will
     place the limits of his power? God alone raises it and it is
     His all-powerful hand which governs.[665]

These striking passages full of forceful ideas, which appear new, and
which would merit being better known, contain only a small part of the
things taught in the ancient mysteries, as I shall perhaps demonstrate
later.


    36.         … _Thou who fathomed it.
        O wise and happy man, rest in its haven.
        But observe my laws, abstaining from the things
        Which thy soul must fear, distinguishing them well;
        Letting intelligence o’er thy body reign._

Lysis, speaking always in the name of Pythagoras, addressed himself to
those of the disciples of this theosophist, who had reached the
highest degree of perfection, or autopsy, and the felicity of their
welfare. I have said often enough in the course of these Examinations,
what should be understood by this last degree, so that I need not
refer to it here. I shall not even pause upon what has reference to
the symbolic teachings of Pythagoras, the formularies and dietetics
that he gave to his disciples, and the abstinences that he prescribed
for them, my design being to give incidentally a particular
explanation of it, for the purpose of not further prolonging this
volume. It is well known that all of the eminent men, as many among
the ancients as among the moderns, all the savants commendable for
their labours or their learning, are agreed in regarding the precepts
of Pythagoras as symbolical, that is, as containing figuratively, a
very different meaning from that which they would seem to offer
literally.[666] It was the custom of the Egyptian priests from whom he
had imbibed them,[667] to conceal their doctrine beneath an outer
covering of parables and allegories.[668] The world was, in their
eyes, a vast enigma, whose mysteries, clothed in a style equally
enigmatical, ought never to be openly divulged.[669] These priests had
three kinds of characters, and three ways of expressing and depicting
their thoughts. The first manner of writing and of speaking was clear
and simple; the second, figurative; and the third, symbolic. In the
first, they employed characters used by all peoples and took the words
in their literal meaning; in the second, they used hieroglyphic
characters, and took the words in an indirect and metaphorical
meaning; finally in the third, they made use of phrases with double
meaning of historic and astronomical fables, or of simple
allegories.[670] The _chef-d’œuvre_ of the sacerdotal art was uniting
these three ways, and enclosing under the appearance of a clear and
simple style, the vulgar, figurative, and symbolic meaning. Pythagoras
has sought this kind of perfection in his precepts and often he has
succeeded; but the one of all the theosophists instructed in the
sanctuaries of Thebes or of Memphis, who has pushed farthest, this
marvellous art, is beyond doubt Moses. The first part of his Sepher,
vulgarly called _Genesis_, and that should be called by its original
name of _Bereshith_, is in this style, the most admirable work, the
most astounding feat of strength that is possible for a man to
conceive and execute. This book, which contains all the science of the
ancient Egyptians, is still to be translated and will only be
translated when one will put oneself in a condition to understand the
language in which it has primitively been composed.


     37. _So that, ascending into radiant Ether,
          Midst the Immortals, thou shalt be thyself a God._

Here, said Hierocles, in terminating his commentaries, is the blissful
end of all efforts: here, according to Plato, is the hope which
enkindles, which sustains the ardour of him who fights in the career
of virtue: here, the inestimable prize which awaits him.[671] It was
the great object of the mysteries, and so to speak, the great work of
initiation.[672] The initiate, said Sophocles, is not only happy
during his life, but even after his death he can promise himself an
eternal felicity.[673] His soul purified by virtue, said Pindar,
unfolds in those blessed regions where reigns an eternal
springtime.[674] It goes on, said Socrates, attracted by the celestial
element which has the greatest affinity with its nature, to become
united with the immortal Gods and to share their glory and their
immortality.[675] This deification was, according to Pythagoras, the
work of divine love; it was reserved for him who had acquired truth
through his intellectual faculties, virtue through his animistic
faculties, and purity through his instinctive faculties. This purity,
after the end of his material body, shone forth and made itself known
in the form of a luminous body, that the soul had been given during
its confinement in its gloomy body; for as I finish these
Examinations, I am seizing the only occasion which may still be
presented of saying that, this philosopher taught that the soul has a
body which is given according to his good or bad nature, by the inner
labour of his faculties. He called this body the subtle chariot of the
soul, and said that the mortal body is only the gross exterior. He
adds, “The care of the soul and its luminous body is, in practicing
virtue, in embracing truth and abstaining from all impure
things.”[676]

This is the veritable aim of the symbolic abstinences that he
prescribes, even as Lysis insinuates moreover quite clearly in the
lines which make the subject of my preceding Examination, when he said
that it is necessary to abstain from the things which are injurious to
the development of the soul and to distinguish clearly these things.

Furthermore, Pythagoras believed that there existed celestial goodness
proportionate to each degree of virtue, and that there is for the
souls, different ranks according to the luminous body with which they
are clothed. The supreme happiness, according to him, belongs only to
the soul which has learned how to recover itself, by its intimate
union with the intelligence, whose essence, changing its nature, has
become entirely spiritual. It is necessary that this soul be raised to
the knowledge of universal truths, and that it should have found, as
far as it is possible for it, the Principle and the end of all things.
Then having attained to this high degree of perfection, being drawn
into this immutable region whose ethereal element is no more subjected
to the descending movement of generation, it can be united by its
knowledge to the Universal All, and reflect in all its being the
ineffable light with which the Being of beings, God Himself, fills
unceasingly the Immensity.




     FOOTNOTES:

     [1] Addressé à la Classe de la Langue et de la Littérature
     françaises, et à celle d’Histoire et de Littérature ancienne
     de l’Institut impérial de France.

     [2] This expression will be explained in the progress of the
     discourse.

     [3] _De Dignit. et Increment. Scient._, l. ii., c. 13.

     [4] _Ibid._, l. ii., c. 1.

     [5] _Ibid._, l. vi., c. 1.

     [6] Plat., _Dial. Ion._ Aristotle, who was often opposed to
     Plato, did not dare to be on this point. He agrees that
     verse alone does not constitute poetry, and that the History
     of Herodotus, put into verse, would never be other than
     history.

     [7] _Ibid._

     [8] _De Dignit. et Increment. Scient._, l. ii., c. 13.

     [9] Leclerc, known by the multitude of his works; l’abbé
     Bannier, Warburton, etc.

     [10] _De Dignit. et Increment. Scient._, l. ii., c. 13.
     Court de Gébelin cites Chancellor Bacon as one of the first
     defenders of allegory. (_Génie allég._)

     [11] Pausanias, l. iii., p. 93.

     [12] Acron, _In Epist. Horat._, i., 2. Certain authors say
     that Penelope had conceived this son when Mercury disguised
     as a goat had forced her virginity. (Lucian, _Dialog.
     Deor._, t. i., p. 176.)

     [13] Héraclides, entre les petits mythologues.

     [14] _Geogr._, l. i.

     [15] _Antiq. rom._, l. ii.

     [16] In his book entitled Περὶ τῆς τῶν θεῶν φύσεως, ch. 17.

     [17] In his book entitled Περὶ θεῶν καὶ κόσμον, ch. 3. Court
     de Gébelin cites these works. (_Génie allég._)

     [18] _Præp. Evang._, l. iii., c. 1.

     [19] Court de Gébelin, _Génie allég._, p. 149.

     [20] Strabo positively assures it. See Bannier, _Mythol._,
     ii., p. 252.

     [21] Bailly, _Essai sur les Fables_, ch. 14. Pausanias, l.
     ix., p. 302.

     [22] _Poetry_, in Greek ποίησις, derived from the Phœnician
     פאה (_phohe_), mouth, voice, language, discourse; and from
     יש (_ish_), a superior being, a principle being, figuratively
     God. This last word, spread throughout Europe, is found with
     certain change of vowels and of aspirates, very common in
     the Oriental dialects; in the Etruscan Æs, _Æsar_, in the
     Gallic Æs, in the Basque _As_, and in the Scandinavian
     _Ase_; the Copts still say _Os_, the lord, and the Greeks
     have preserved it in Αἶσα, the immutable Being, Destiny, and
     in ἄζω, I adore, and ἀξιόω, I revere.

     _Thrace_, in Greek θρᾴκη, derived from the Phœnician רקיע
     (_rakiwha_), which signifies the _ethereal space_, or, as
     one translates the Hebrew word which corresponds to it, the
     _firmament_. This word is preceded in the Dorian θρακιᾴ, by
     the letter θ, _th_, a kind of article which the Oriental
     grammarians range among the _hémantique_ letters placed at
     the beginning of words to modify the sense, or to render it
     more emphatic.

     _Olen_, in Greek ὤλεν, is derived from the Phœnician עולן
     (_whôlon_), and is applied in the greater part of the
     Oriental dialects to all that which is infinite, eternal,
     universal, whether in time or space. I ought to mention as
     an interesting thing and but little known by mythologists,
     that it is from the word אפ (_ab_ or _ap_) joined to that of
     _whôlon_, that one formed _ap-whôlon_, Apollon; namely, the
     Father universal, infinite, eternal. This is why the
     invention of Poetry is attributed to Olen or to Apollo. It
     is the same mythological personage represented by the sun.
     According to an ancient tradition, Olen was native of Lycia,
     that is to say, of the light; for this is the meaning of the
     Greek word λύκη.

     [23] Strabo has judiciously observed that in Greece all the
     technical words were foreign. (_Voyez_ Bailly, _Essai sur
     les Fables_, ch. 14, p. 136.)

     [24] The Getæ, in Greek Γέται, were, according to Ælius
     Spartianus, and according to the author of _le Monde
     primitif_ (t. ix., p. 49), the same peoples as the Goths.
     Their country called Getæ, which should be pronounced
     _Ghœtie_, comes from the word _Goth_, which signifies God in
     most of the idioms of the north of Europe. The name of the
     Dacians is only a softening of that of the Thracians in a
     different dialect.

     Mœsia, in Greek Μοίσια, is, in Phœnician, the interpretation
     of the name given to Thrace. The latter means, as we have
     seen, _ethereal space_, and the former signifies _divine
     abode_, being composed from the word א׳ש (_aïsh_), whose
     rendering I have already given, before which is found placed
     the letter מ (M), one of the _hémantiques_, which according
     to the best grammarians serves to express the proper place,
     the means, the local manifestation of a thing.

     [25] _Voyez_ Court de Gébelin, _Monde primitif_, t. ix., p. 49.

     [26] This mountain was called Kô-Kajôn, according to
     d’Anville. This learned geographer has clearly seen that
     this name was the same as that of Caucasus, a generic name
     given to all the sacred mountains. It is known that
     _Caucasus_ was for the Persians, what Mount Merou had been
     for the Indians and what Mount Parnassus became afterwards
     for the Greeks, the central place of their cult. The
     Tibetans have also their sacred mountain distinct from that
     of the Indians, upon which still resides the God-Priest, or
     immortal Man, similar to that of the Getæ. (_Mém. de l’Acad.
     des Inscript._, t. xxv., p. 45.)

     [27] Bailly, _Essai sur les Fables_, ch. 14. Conférez avec
     Hérodote, l. iv.; et Pausanias, l. ix., p. 302, l. x., p.
     320.

     [28] _Dionysus_, in Greek Διονύσος, comes from the word
     Διός, irregular genitive of Ζεύς, the living God, and of
     Νόος, mind or understanding. The Phœnician roots of these
     words are ש‎, ‎ יש‎, ‎or איש (_ash_, _ish_, or _aïsh_), Unique
     Being, and נו (_nô_) the motive principle, the movement.
     These two roots, contracted, form the word _Nôos_, which
     signifies literally the principle of being, and
     figuratively, the understanding.

     _Demeter_, in Greek Δημήτερ, comes from the ancient Greek
     Δημ, _the earth_, united to the word μήτερ, _mother_. The
     Phœnician roots are דמ (_dam_) and מט (_môt_), the former
     expressing all that which is formed by aggregation of
     similar parts; and the latter, all that which varies the
     form and gives it generative movement.

     [29] Bailly, _Essai sur les Fables_, ch. 15. Court de
     Gébelin expressly says, that the sacred mountain of Thrace
     was consecrated to Bacchus. _Monde prim._, t. ix., p. 49.
     Now, it is generally known that Parnassus of the Greeks was
     consecrated to Apollo.

     [30] _Theog._, v. 500.

     [31] The Greek word Θρᾴκη, Thrace, in passing into the
     Ionian dialect Θρῄξ, has furnished the following
     expressions: θρῆσκος, a devotee, θρησκεία, devotion,
     θρησκηύω, I adore with devotion. These words, diverted from
     their real sense and used ironically after the cult of
     Thrace had yielded to that of Delphi, were applied to ideas
     of superstition and even of fanaticism. The point of
     considering the Thracians as schismatics was even reached,
     and the word ἐθελοθρησκεία composed to express a heresy, a
     cult particular to those who practised it, and separated
     from orthodoxy.

     [32] Œtolinos is composed, by contraction, of two words
     which appear to belong to one of the Thracian dialects.
     _Œto-Kyros_ signifies the ruling sun, among the Scythians,
     according to Herodotus (l. iv., 59). _Helena_ signified the
     moon, among the Dorians. It is from this last word, deprived
     of its article _he_, that the Latins have made _Luna_.

     [33] Court de Gébelin, _Monde primit._, t. viii., p. 190.
     Pausanias, l. x. Conférez avec Æschyl. _In Choephori_, v.
     1036; Eurip., _In Orest._, v. 1330; Plat.,, _De Rep._, l.
     iv., etc.

     [34] Plut., _De Music._ Tzetzes, _Chiliads_, vii.; _Hist._,
     108.

     [35] _Amphion_, in Greek Ἀμφίων, comes from the Phœnician
     words אמ (_am_), a mother-nation, a metropolis, פי (_phi_),
     a mouth, a voice, and יון (_Jôn_), Greece. Thence the Greeks
     have derived Ὀμφή, a _mother-voice_, that is, orthodox,
     legal, upon which all should be regulated.

     _Thamyris_, in Greek Θάμυρις, is composed of the Phœnician
     words תאמ (_tham_), twin, אור (_aur_), light, יש (_ish_), of
     the being.

     [36] Plut., _De Music._

     [37] Diod. Sicul., l. iii., 35. Pausan., _In Bœot._, p. 585.

     [38] _Bibliotheca Græca_, p. 4.

     [39] Duhalde, t. iv., _in-fol._, p. 65. These Tartars had no
     idea of poetry before their conquest of China; also they
     imagined that it was only in China where the rules of this
     science had been formulated, and that the rest of the world
     resembled them.

     [40] Kien-long, one of the descendants of Kang-hi, has made
     good verse in Chinese. This prince has composed an historical
     poem on the conquest of the Eleuth, or _Oloth_ people, who,
     after having been a long time tributary to China, revolted.
     (_Mém. concernant les Chin._, t. i., p. 329.)

     [41] The commencement of the Indian Kali-youg is placed 3101
     or 3102 years before our era. Fréret has fixed it, in his
     chronological researches, at January 16, 3102, a half hour
     before the winter solstice, in the colure of which was then
     found the first star of Aries. The Brahmans say that this
     age of darkness and uncleanness must endure 432,000 years.
     _Kali_ signifies in Sanskrit, all that which is black,
     shadowy, material, bad. From there, the Latin word _caligo_;
     and the French word _galimatias_; the last part of this word
     comes from the Greek word μῦθος, a discourse, which is
     itself derived from the Phœnician מוט (_mot_ or _myt_),
     which expresses all that moves, stirs up; a motion, a word,
     etc.

     [42] _Asiat. Research._, t. ii., p. 140. The Brahmans say
     that their imperial dynasties, pontifical as well as laic,
     or solar and lunar, became extinguished a thousand years
     after the beginning of the _Kali-youg_, about 2000 B.C. It
     was at this epoch that India was divided into many
     independent sovereignties and that a powerful reformer of
     the cult appeared in Magadha, who took the surname of
     _Buddha_.

     [43] Herod., l. ii. This historian said that in the early
     times all Egypt was a morass, with the exception of the
     country of Thebes; that nothing was seen of the land, which
     one saw there at the epoch in which he was writing, beyond
     Lake Mœris; and that going up the river, during a seven
     days’ journey, all seemed a vast sea. This same writer said
     in the beginning of book i., and this is very remarkable,
     that the Phœnicians had entered from the Red Sea into the
     Mediterranean, to establish themselves upon its shores,
     which they would have been unable to do if the Isthmus of
     Suez had existed. See what Aristotle says on this subject,
     _Meteorolog._, l. i., c. 14.

     [44] _Asiat. Research._, t. iii., p. 321. The excerpts that
     Wilford has made from the _Pourana_, entitled _Scanda_, the
     God of War, prove that the _Palis_, called Philistines, on
     account of their same country, _Palis-sthan_, going out from
     India, established themselves upon the Persian Gulf and,
     under the name of Phœnicians, came afterwards along the
     coast of Yemen, on the borders of the Red Sea, whence they
     passed into the Mediterranean Sea, as Herodotus said,
     according to the Persian traditions. This coincidence is of
     great historical interest.

     [45] Niebuhr, _Descript. de l’Arab._, p. 164. Two powerful
     tribes became divided in Arabia at this epoch: that of the
     Himyarites, who possessed the meridional part, or Yemen, and
     that of the Koreishites, who occupied the septentrional
     part, or Hejaz. The capital of the Himyarites was called
     _Dhofar_; their kings took the title of _Tobba_ and enjoyed
     an hereditary power. The Koreishites possessed the sacred
     city of Arabia, Mecca, where was found the ancient temple
     still venerated today by the Mussulmans.

     [46] _Asiat. Research._, t. iii., p. ii.

     [47] Diodorus Siculus, l. ii., 12. Strabo, l. xvi. Suidas,
     art. _Semiramis_.

     [48] Phot., _Cod._, 44. Ex. Diodor., l. xl. Syncell., p. 61.
     Joseph., _Contr. Apion_.

     [49] Hérod., l. ii. Diod. Siculus, l. i., § 2.

     [50] Diodor. Sicul., l. i., § 2. Delille-de-Salles, _Hist.
     des Homm._, Egypte, t. iii., p. 178.

     [51] Plat., in _Tim. Dial._ Theopomp. _apud_ Euseb., _Præp.
     Evan._, l. x., c. 10. Diod. Sicul., l. i., _initio_.

     [52] Diodor. Sicul., l. i., _initio_.

     [53] Pausan., _Bœot._, p. 768.

     [54] This word is Egyptian and Phœnician alike. It is
     composed of the words אור (_aur_), light, and רפא (_rophœ_),
     cure, salvation.

     [55] Eurydice, in Greek Εὐρυδίκη, comes from the Phœnician
     words ראה (_rohe_), vision, clearness, evidence, and דך
     (_dich_), that which demonstrates or teaches: these two
     words are preceded by the Greek adverb εὖ, which expresses
     all that is good, happy, and perfect in its kind.

     [56] Plat., _In Phædon. Ibid._, _In Panegyr._ Aristot.,
     _Rhet._, l. ii., c. 24. Isocr., _Paneg._ Cicero, _De Leg._,
     l. ii. Plutar., _De Isid._ Paus., _In Phoc._, etc.

     [57] Théodoret, _Therapeut._

     [58] Philo, _De Vitâ Mosis_, l. i.

     [59] Jamblic., _De Vitâ Pythag._, c. 2. Apul., _Florid._,
     ii. Diog. Laërt., l. viii.

     [60] _Voyage du jeune Anacharsis_, t. i., _Introd._, p. 7.

     [61] Meurs., _De Relig. Athen._, l. i., c. 9.

     [62] Apollon., l. iii., p. 237.

     [63] Hygin., _Fabl._, 143.

     [64] Pausan., _Arcad._, p. 266, 268, etc.

     [65] Strabo, l. x; Meurs., _Eleus._, c. 21 _et seq._; Paus.,
     _Ath._, c. 28; Fulgent., _Myth._, l. i.; Philostr., _In
     Apollon._, l. ii.; Athen., l. xi.; Procl., _In Tim.
     Comment._, l. v.

     [66] Euseb., _Præp. Evang._, l. xiii., c. 12.

     [67] The unity of God is taught in an Orphic hymn of
     which Justin, Tatian, Clement of Alexandria, Cyril, and
     Theodore have preserved fragments. (_Orphei Hymn. Edente
     Eschenbach._, p. 242.)

     [68] Clem. Alex., _Admon. ad Gent._, p. 48; _ibid._,
     _Strom._, l. v., p. 607.

     [69] Apoll., _Arg._, l. i., v. 496; Clem. Alex., _Strom._,
     l. iv., p. 475.

     [70] Thimothée, cité par Bannier, _Mythol._, i., p. 104.

     [71] Macrobius, _Somm. Scip._, l. i., c. 12.

     [72] Eurip., _Hippol._, v. 948.

     [73] Plat., _De Leg._, l. vi.; Jambl., _De Vitâ Pythag._

     [74] _Acad. des Insc._, t. v., p. 117.

     [75] Procl., _In Tim._, l. v., p. 330; Cicero, _Somm.
     Scip._, c. 2, 3, 4, 6.

     [76] Montesquieu and Buffon have been the greatest
     adversaries of poetry, they were very eloquent in prose; but
     that does not prevent one from applying to them, as did
     Voltaire, the words of Montaigne: “We cannot attain it, let
     us avenge ourselves by slandering it.”

     [77] Horat., _De Arte poét._; Strab., l. x.

     [78] Origen, _Contr. Cels._, l. i., p. 12; Dacier, _Vie de
     Pythagore_.

     [79] Ἱερὸς λόγος.

     [80] Θρονισμοὶ μητρῶοι.

     [81] Fabric., _Bibl. græc._, p. 120, 129.

     [82] Apollon, _Argon._, l. i., v. 496.

     [83] Plutar., _De Placit. philos._, c. 13; Euseb., _Præp.
     Evang._, l. xv., c. 30; Stobeus, _Eclog. phys._, 54. Proclus
     quotes the verses of Orpheus on this subject, _In Tim._, l.
     iv., p. 283. Voyez _La Biblioth. græc._ de Fabricius, p. 132.

     [84] Fabric., _Bibliot. græc._, p. 4, 22, 26, 30, etc.;
     _Voyag. d’Anach._, ch. 80.

     [85] From the Greek word κύκλος: as one would say _circuit_,
     the circular envelopment of a thing.

     [86] Court de Gébelin, _Gén. allég._, p. 119.

     [87] Casaubon, _In Athen._, p. 301; Fabric., _Bibl. græc._
     l. i., c. 17; _Voyag. d’Anach._, ch. 80; Proclus, cité par
     Court de Gébelin, _ibid._

     [88] Arist., _De Poët._, c. 8, 16, 25, etc.

     [89] It is needless for me to observe that the birthplace of
     Homer has been the object of a host of discussions as much
     among the ancients as among the moderns. My plan here is not
     to put down again _en problème_, nor to examine anew the
     things which have been a hundred times discussed and that I
     have sufficiently examined. I have chosen, from the midst of
     all the divergent opinions born of these discussions, that
     which has appeared to me the most probable, which agrees
     best with known facts, and which is connected better with
     the analytical thread of my ideas. I advise my readers to do
     the same. It is neither the birthplace of Homer nor the name
     of his parents that is the important matter: it is his
     genius that must be fathomed. Those who would, however,
     satisfy their curiosity regarding these subjects foreign to
     my researches, will find in _La Bibliothèque grecque de
     Fabricius_, and in the book by Léon Allatius entitled _De
     Patriâ Homeri_, enough material for all the systems they may
     wish to build. They will find there twenty-six different
     locations wherein they can, at their pleasure, place the
     cradle of the poet. The seven most famous places indicated
     in a Greek verse by Aulus Gellius are, Smyrna, Rhodes,
     Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, and Athens. The nineteen
     indicated by divers authors, are Pylos, Chios, Cyprus,
     Clazomenæ, Babylon, Cumæ, Egypt, Italy, Crete, Ithaca,
     Mycenæ, Phrygia, Mæonia, Lucania, Lydia, Syria, Thessaly,
     and finally Troy, and even Rome.

     However, the tradition which I have followed, in considering
     Homer as born not far from Smyrna, upon the borders of the
     river Meles, is not only the most probable but the most
     generally followed; it has in its favour Pindar; the first
     anonymous Life of Homer; the Life of this poet by Proclus;
     Cicero, in his oration for Archias; Eustathius in his
     _Prolégoménes sur l’Iliade_; Aristotle, _Poétique_, l. iii.;
     Aulus Gellius, Martial, and Suidas. It is known that Smyrna,
     jealous of consecrating the glory that it attributed to
     itself, of having given birth to Homer, erected to this
     great genius a temple with quadrangular portico, and showed
     for a long time, near the source of the Meles, a grotto,
     where a contemporaneous tradition supposes that he had
     composed his first works. Voyez _La Vie d’Homère_, par
     Delille-de-Sales, p. 49, et les ouvrages qu’il cite: _Voyage
     de Chandeler_, t. i., p. 162, et _Voyages pittoresques de
     Choiseul-Gouffier_, p. 200.

     [90] Hérod., l. v., 42; Thucyd., l. i., 12.

     [91] _Marbres de Paros_, _Epoq._ 28; Hérod., l. i., 142,
     145, 149; Plat., _De Leg._, l. v.; Strab., l. xiv.; Pausan.,
     l. vii., 2; Ælian., _Var. Histor._, l. viii., c. 5;
     Sainte-Croix, _De l’état des Colon, des anc. Peuples_, p.
     65; Bourgainville, _Dissert. sur les Métrop. et les Colon._,
     p. 18; Spanheim, _Præst._, num. p. 580.

     [92] _Bible_, Chron. ii., ch. 12 _et suiv._

     [93] _Ibid._, Chron. ii., ch. 32 et 36.

     [94] Pausanias, _passim_.

     [95] Strab., l. xiv.; Polyb., l. v.; Aulu-Gell., l. vii., c.
     3; Meurs., _In Rhod._, l. i., c. 18 et 21; _Hist. univ. des
     Anglais_, in-8ᵒ, t. ii., p. 493.

     [96] Diod. Sicul., l. i., 2.

     [97] In Phœnician מלך־אתע (_Melich-ærtz_), in Greek
     Μελικέρτης: a name given to the Divinity whom the Thracians
     called _Hercules_, the Lord of the Universe: from הרר or שרר
     (_harr_ or _shar_), excellence, dominance, sovereignty; and
     כל (_col._), All. Notice that the Teutonic roots are not
     very different from the Phœnician: _Herr_ signifies lord,
     and _alles_, all; so that _Herr-alles_ is, with the
     exception of the guttural inflection which is effaced, the
     same word as that of _Hercules_, used by the Thracians and
     the Etruscans. The Greeks have made a transposition of
     letters in Ἡρακλῆς (_Heracles_) so as to evade the guttural
     harshness without entirely losing it.

     [98] Goguet, _Origine des Lois et des Arts_, t. i., p. 359.

     [99] _Voyez_ Epiphane, _Hæres_, xxvi., _et conférez avec_
     Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., p. 328.

     [100] I have followed the tradition most analogous to the
     development of my ideas; but I am aware that, upon this
     point, as upon many others, I have only to choose. The
     historic fact, in that which relates to the sacerdotal
     archives which Homer consulted in composing his poems, is
     everywhere the same _au fond_; but the accessory details
     vary greatly according to the writers who relate them. For
     example, one reads in a small fragment attributed to
     Antipater of Sidon and preserved in Greece Anthology, that
     Homer, born at Thebes in Egypt, drew his epic subjects from
     the archives of the temple of Isis; from another source,
     Ptolemy _Ephestion_, cited by Photius, that the Greek poet
     had received from a priest of Memphis, named _Thamitès_, the
     original writings of an inspired damsel, named _Phancy_.
     Strabo, without mentioning any place in particular, said in
     general, speaking of the long journeys of Homer, that this
     poet went everywhere to consult the religious archives and
     the oracles preserved in the temples; and Diodorus of Sicily
     gives evidence sometimes that he borrowed many things from a
     sibyl by the name of _Manto_, daughter of Tiresias; and
     sometimes that he appropriated the verse of a pythoness of
     Delphi, named Daphne. All these contradictory details prove,
     in reality, the truth; for whether it be from Thebes,
     Memphis, Tyre, Delphi, or elsewhere that Homer drew the
     subject of his chants, matters not with the subject which
     occupies me: the important point, serving as proof of my
     assertions, is, that they have been, in fact, drawn from a
     sanctuary; and what has determined me to choose Tyre rather
     than Thebes or Memphis, is that Tyre was the first mother
     city of Greece.

     [101] I have said in the above that the name of _Helena_ or
     _Selena_ was that of the moon in Greek. The root of this
     word is alike Celtic and Phœnician. One finds it in Teutonic
     _hell_, which signifies clear, luminous, and in Hebrew הלל
     (_hêll_), which contains the same sense of splendour, glory,
     and elevation. One still says in German _heilig_, holy, and
     _selig_, blessed; also _selle_, soul, and _sellen_, souls.
     And this is worthy of the closest attention, particularly
     when one reflects that, following the doctrine of the
     ancients, the moon _helenê_ or _selenê_ was regarded as the
     reservoir of the souls of those who descend from heaven to
     pass into bodies by means of generation, and, purged by the
     fire of life, escape from earth to ascend to heaven. See,
     concerning this doctrine, Plutarch (_De Facie in Orb.
     Lun._), and confer with Beausobre (_Histoire du Manich._, t,
     ii., p. 311). The name of _Paris_, in Greek Πάρις, comes
     from the Phœnician words בר or פר (_bar_ or _phar_), all
     generation, propagation, extension, and יש (_ish_), the
     Being-principle.

     The name of _Menelaus_, in Greek Μενέλαος, comes from the
     Phœnician words מן (_men_), all that which determines,
     regulates, or defines a thing, properly, the _rational
     faculty_, the reason, the measure, in Latin _mens_,
     _mensura_; and אוש (_aôsh_), the Being-principle acting,
     before which is placed the prefix ל (_l_), to express the
     genitive case, in this manner, מנה־ל־אוש (_meneh-l-aôsh_),
     the rational faculty or regulator of the being in general,
     and man in particular: for אש‏, ‏אוש‏,
     ‏אש‏, ‏איש (_ash_, _aôsh_, _ish_, _aîsh_),
     signifies equally _fire_, _principle_, _being_, and _man_.
     The etymology of these three words can, as one sees, throw
     great light upon the fable of the _Iliad_. Here is another
     remarkable point on this subject. Homer has never used, to
     designate the Greeks, the name of _Hellenes_, that is to
     say, the respondents, or the lunars: it was in his time
     quite a new name, which the confederated Greeks had taken to
     resist foreign attack; it is only in the _Odyssey_, and when
     he is already old, that he employs the name _Hellas_ to
     designate Greece. The name which he gives constantly to this
     country, is that of Achaia (Ἀχαΐα), and he opposes it to
     that of Troy (Τρωία): now, Achaia signifies the strong, the
     igneous, the spiritual; and _Troy_, the terrestrial, the
     gross. The Phœnician roots are הוי (_ehôi_), the exhaling
     force of fire, and טרו (_trô_) the balancing power of the
     earth. Refer, in this regard, to Court de Gébelin (_Mond.
     prim._, t. vi., p. 64). Pomponius Sabinus, in his
     _Commentaires sur l’Enéïde_, said that the name of the city
     of Troy signified a sow, and he adds that the Trojans had
     for an ensign a sow embroidered in gold.

     As to the word _Ilion_, which was the sacred name of Troy,
     it is very easy to recognize the name of the material
     principle, called ὕλη (_ulè_) by the Greeks and _ylis_ by
     the Egyptians. Iamblichus speaks of it at great length in
     his _Book on the Mysteries_ (§ 7), as the principle from
     which all has birth: this was also the opinion of Porphyry
     (Euseb., _Præp. Evang._, l. ix., c. 9 and 11).

     [102] Metrodorus of Lampsacus cited by Tatian (_Adver.
     Gent._, § 37). Plato, _In Alcibiad._, ii., Cronius,
     Porphyry, Phurnutus, Iamblichus, cited by Court de Gébelin,
     _Génie allég._, p. 36, 43; Plato, _In Ion._; Cicero, _De
     Natur. Deor._, l. ii.; Strabo, l. i.; Origen, _Contr. Cels._
     Among the moderns can be counted Bacon, Blackwell, Basnage,
     Bergier, and Court de Gébelin himself, who has given a list
     of eighty writers who have this opinion.

     [103] Dionys. Halic., _De Comp. verb._, t. v., c. 16, 26;
     Quintil., l. x., c. 1; Longin., _De Sublim._, c. 13; Ælian.,
     _Var. Hist._, l. viii., c. 2; Plat., _Alcibiad._, i.

     [104] Plat., _In Vitâ Lycurg._

     [105] Allat., _De Patr. Homer._, c. 5; Meurs., _In Pisist._,
     c. 9 et 12; Plat., _In Hipparc._

     [106] Senec., _Epist._, 117.

     [107] _Ibidem_, 88.

     [108] Dionys. Halic., _In Vitâ Homer._; Eustath., _In
     Iliad_, l. i.

     [109] Strabo, l. xiv., p. 646.

     [110] Arist., _De Poët._, c. 2, cit. par Barth., _Voyag.
     d’Anach._, t. vii., c. 80, p. 44.

     [111] The word _Epopœia_ is taken from the Greek ἐπο-ποιός
     which designates alike a poet and an epic poem. It is
     derived from the Phœnician words אפא (_apho_) an impassioned
     transport, a vortex, an impulse, an enthusiasm; and פאה
     (_phohe_), a mouth, a discourse. One can observe that the
     Latin word _versus_, which is applied also to a thing which
     turns, which is borne along, and to a poetic verse,
     translates exactly the Greek word ἔπος, whose root אוף
     (_aôph_) expresses a _vortex_. The Hebrew אופן (_aôphon_)
     signifies properly a _wheel_.

     [112] See in the collection of Meibomius, Aristides,
     Quintilianus, and _Les Mém. de l’Acad. des Belles-Lettres_,
     t. v., p. 152.

     [113] Voltaire, _Dict. philos._, art. RIME.

     [114] Refer to what I have already said in last footnote p.
     40.

     [115] Fréret said that the verses of the poet Eumelus
     engraven upon the arch of the Cypselidæ were thus
     represented. Voyez sa _Dissert. sur l’Art de l’Equitation_.
     Il cite Pausanias, l. v., p. 419.

     [116] Court de Gébelin, _Mond. primit._, t. ix., p. 222.
     Conférez avec Aristotle, _Poët._, p. 20, 21, 22.

     [117] Plat., _Dial. Ion_.

     [118] Plat., _ut suprà_.

     [119] Ælian., _Var. Hist_., l. xiii., c. 14; Diog. Laërt.,
     _In Solon._, l. i., § 57.

     [120] Plat., _In Hipparc._; Pausan, l. vii., c. 26; Cicer.,
     _De Orat._, l. iii.

     [121] Eustath., _In Iliad._, l. i., p. 145; l. ii., p. 263.

     [122] Dionys. Halic., _De Comp. verb._, t. v., c. 16 et 24;
     Quintil., _Instit._, l. x., c. 1.

     [123] Athen., l. xv., c. 8; Aristot., _De Poët._, c. 16;
     Ælian., _Var. Hist._, c. 15.

     [124] Barthel., _Voyag. d’Anarchar._, t. vii., ch. 80, p.
     46, 52.

     [125] It can be seen that I have placed in the word
     Stesi[`c]horus, an _accent grave_ over the consonant _c_,
     and it will be noticed that I have used it thus with respect
     to many similar words. It is a habit I have contracted in
     writing, so as to distinguish, in this manner, the double
     consonant _ch_, in the foreign words, or in their
     derivatives, when it should take the guttural inflexion, in
     place of the hissing inflexion which we ordinarily give to
     it. Thus I accent the _[`c]_ in _Chio_, _[`c]hœur_,
     _[`c]horus_, _é[`c]ho_, _[`c]hlorose_, _[`c]hiragre_,
     _[`c]hronique_, etc.; to indicate that these words should be
     pronounced _Khio_, _khœur_, _khorus_, _ékho_, _khlorose_,
     _khiragre_, _khronique_, with the aspirate sound of _k_, and
     not with that of the hissing _c_, as in _Chypre_, _chaume_,
     _échope_, _chaire_, etc. This accentuation has appeared to
     me necessary, especially when one is obliged to transcribe
     in modern characters many foreign words which, lacking
     usage, one knows not, at first, how to pronounce. It is,
     after all, a slight innovation in orthography, which I leave
     to the decision of the grammarians. I only say that it will
     be very difficult for them, without this accent, or any
     other sign which might be used, to know how one should
     pronounce with a different inflexion, _A[`c]haïe_ and
     _Achéen_; _Achille_ and _A[`c]hilleïde; Achêron_ and
     _a[`c]hérontique_; _Bac[`c]hus_ and _bachique_, etc.

     [126] Vossius, _De Inst. poët._, l. iii., c. 15; Aristot.,
     _Rhet._, l. ii., 23; Max. Tyr. _Orat._, viii., p. 86.

     [127] Ælian., _Var. Hist._, l. xiii., c. 14, Court de
     Gébelin, _Mond. prim._, t. viii., p. 202.

     [128] Plat., _In Theæt._; _ibid._, _De Republ._, l. x.;
     Arist., _De Poët._, c. 4, etc.

     [129] The name of Homeridæ, given at first to all the
     disciples of Homer, was afterwards usurped by certain
     inhabitants of Chios who called themselves his descendants
     (Strab., l. xiv.; Isocr., _Hellen. encom._). Also I should
     state here that the name of Homer, Ὅμηρος, was never of
     Greek origin and has not signified, as has been said,
     _blind_. The initial letter O is not a negation, but an
     article added to the Phœnician word מרא (_mœra_), which
     signifies, properly speaking, a centre of light, and
     figuratively, a master, a doctor.

     [130] The surname Eumolpidæ, given to the hierophants,
     successors of Orpheus, comes from the word Εὔμολπος, by
     which is designated the style of poetry of this divine man.
     It signifies _the perfect voice_. It is derived from the
     Phœnician words מלא (_mola_), perfected, and פאה (_phoh_),
     mouth, voice, discourse. The adverb ἔυ, which precedes it,
     expresses whatever is beautiful, holy, perfect.

     [131] Fabric., _Bibl. Græc._, p. 36, 105, 240, 469,
     _passim_; Arist., _Probl._, xix., 28; Meurs., _Bibl. Græc._,
     c. i.

     [132] Arist., _De Poët._, c. 8.

     [133] Porphyre, _In Vitâ Pythagor._, p. 21; Clem. Alex., l.
     vi., p. 658; Plato, _De Leg._, l. iii.; Plutar., _De
     Music._, p. 1141; Poll., l. iv., c. 9.

     [134] I have placed the epoch of Orpheus, which coincides
     with that of the arrival of the Egyptian colony conducted
     into Greece by Cecrops, at 1582 B.C., according to the
     marbles of Paros.

     [135] Schol. Aristoph., _In Nub._, v. 295.

     [136] Athen., l. ii., c. 3.

     [137] Voyez _L’Hist. du Théâtre Français_ de Fontenelle.
     Voici les titres des premières pièces représentées dans le
     cours du XIVᵉ siècle: _L’Assomption de la glorieuse Vierge
     Marie_, mystère à 38 personnages; _Le Mystère de la Sainte
     Hostie_, à 26 personn.; _Le Mystère de Monseigneur S. Pierre
     et S. Paul_, à 100 personn.; _Les Mystères de la Conception
     de la Passion, de la Résurrection de Notre Seigneur J. C._;
     etc.

     [138] See _Asiatic Researches_, v. iii., p. 427-431, and
     465-467. Also _Grammar of the Bengal Language_, preface, p. v.

     [139] See _Interesting Historical Events_, by Holwell, ch. 7.

     [140] Aristot., _Probl._, 15, c. 19; Pausan., l. i., c. 7.

     [141] See _Asiatic Researches_, vol. vi., p. 300-308.

     [142] Rama is, in Sanskrit, the name of that which is
     dazzling, elevated, white, sublime, protective, beautiful,
     excellent. This word has exactly the same sense in the
     Phœnician רמ (_ram_). Its primitive root, which is
     universalized by the _hémantique_ letter מ (_m_), is רא
     (_ra_), which has reference to the harmonic movement of
     good, of light, and of sight. The name of the adversary of
     Rama, _Rawhan_, is formed from the root רע (_rawh_) which
     expresses, on the contrary, the disordered movement of evil
     and of fire, and which, becoming united with the
     augmentative syllable ון (_ôn_), depicts whatever ravages
     and ruins; this is the signification which it has in
     Sanskrit.

     [143] From the word רמא (_rama_) is formed in Phœnician the
     word דרמא (_drama_) by the adjunction of the demonstrative
     article ד (_d’_); that is to say, a thing which comes from
     Rama: an action well ordered, beautiful, sublime, etc.
     Notice that the Greek verb δραεῖν, _to act_, whence is drawn
     very inappropriately the word δρᾶμα, is always attached to
     the same root רא (_ra_) which is that of harmonic movement.

     [144] Athen., l. ii., c. 3; Arist., _De Poët._, c. 3, 4, 5.

     [145] _Tragedy_, in Greek τραγῳδία, comes from the words
     τραχίς, austere, severe, lofty, and ὠδή chant.

     _Comedy_, in Greek κωμῳδία, is derived from the words κῶμος,
     joyful, lascivious, and ὠδή, chant.

     It is unnecessary for me to say that the etymologists who
     have seen in _tragedy_ a song of the goat, because τράγος
     signifies a goat in Greek, have misunderstood the simplest
     laws of etymology. Τράγος signifies a goat only by metaphor,
     because of the roughness and heights which this animal loves
     to climb; as _caper_, in Latin, holds to the same root as
     _caput_; and _chèvre_, in French, to the same root as
     _chef_, for a similar reason.

     [146] Diog. Laërt., l. i., § 59.

     [147] Plutar. _In Solon_.

     [148] Arist., _De Mor._, l. iii., c. 2; Ælian., _Var.
     Hist._, l. v., c. 19; Clem. Alex., _Strom._, l. ii., c. 14.

     [149] Plato, _De Legib._,l. iii.

     [150] Athen., l. viii., c. 8.

     [151] Plutar., _De Music_.

     [152] Horat., _De Art. poët_, v. 279; Vitrav., _In Prefac._,
     l. vii., p. 124.

     [153] Æschylus, _In Prometh._, Act I., Sc. 1, et Act. V.,
     Sc. ult.

     [154] Æschylus, _In Eumenid._, Act V., Sc. 3.

     [155] Aristoph. _In Plut._, v. 423; Pausan., l. i., c. 28;
     _Vitâ Æschyl. apud._, Stanley, p. 702.

     [156] Dionys. Chrys., _Orat._, l. ii.

     [157] Aristoph., _In Ran._; Philostr., _In Vitâ Apollon_, l.
     vi., c. ii.

     [158] Plutar., _In Cimon._; Athen., l. viii., c. 8.

     [159] Philostr., _In Vitâ Apoll._, l. vi., c. ii.

     [160] Schol., _In Vitâ Sophocl._; Suidas, _In_ Σοφοκλ.;
     Plutar., _De Profect. Vitæ_.

     [161] Aristot., _De Poët._, c. 25.

     [162] Aristoph., _In Ran._, v. 874 et 1075.

     [163] Philostr., _Vitâ Apoll._, l. ii., c. 2; l. iv., c. 16;
     l. vi., c. 11; _Vitâ Æschyl. apud_, Robort., p. 11.

     [164] Aristoph., _In Ran._; Aristot., _De Poët._, c. 25.

     [165] Plato, _De Legib._, l. ii. et iii.

     [166] Hérodot., l. vi., 21; Corsin., _Fast. attic._, t.
     iii., p. 172; Aristot., _De Poët._, c. 9.

     [167] Aristot., _De Poët._, c. 9.

     [168] Susarion appeared 580 B.C., and Thespis some years
     after. The latter produced his tragedy of Alcestis in 536
     B.C.; and the condemnation of Socrates occurred in 399 B.C.
     So that only 181 years elapsed between the initial
     presentation of comedy and the death of this philosopher.

     [169] Aristot., _De Poët._, c. 3.

     [170] Aristoph, _In Pac._, v. 740; Schol., _ibid._;
     Epicharm., _In Nupt. Heb._ apud Athen., l. iii., p. 85.

     [171] Plat., _In Argum._; Aristoph. p. xi.; Schol., _De
     Comœd._; _ibid._, p.xii.

     [172] Thence arises the epithet of _Eumolpique_ that I give
     to the verses which form the subject of this work.

     [173] The proof that Rome was scarcely known in Greece, at
     the epoch of Alexander, is that the historian Theopompus,
     accused by all critics of too much prolixity, has said only
     a single word concerning this city, to announce that she had
     been taken by the Gauls (Pliny, l. iii., c. 5). Bayle
     observes with much sagacity, that however little Rome had
     been known at that time, she would not have failed to
     furnish the subject of a long digression for this historian,
     who would have delighted much in it. (_Dict. crit._, art.
     THEOPOMPUS, rem. E.)

     [174] Diogen. Laërt., l. i., § 116. Pliny, l. v., c. 29.
     Suidas, _In_ Φερεκύδης.

     [175] Degerando, _Hist. des Systêm. de Phil._, t. i., p.
     128, à la note.

     [176] Dionys. Halic., _De Thucid. Judic._

     [177] The real founder of the Atomic system such as has been
     adopted by Lucretius (_De Rerum Natura_, l. i.), was
     Moschus, Phœnician philosopher whose works threw light upon
     those of Leucippus (Posidonius cité par Strabon, l. xvi.,
     Sext. Empiric., _Adv. mathem._, p. 367). This system well
     understood, does not differ from that of the monads, of
     which Leibnitz was the inventor.

     [178] Fréret, _Mytholog. ou Religion des Grecs_.

     [179] Voltaire, who has adopted this error, has founded it
     upon the signification of the word _Epos_, which he has
     connected with that of Discourse (_Dictionn. philos._ au mot
     EPOPÉE). But he is mistaken. The Greek word ἔπος is
     translated accurately by _versus_. Thence the verb επεῖν, to
     follow in the tracks, to turn, to go, in the same sense.

     [180] The Greeks looked upon the Latin authors and artists
     as paupers enriched by their spoils; also they learned their
     language only when forced to do so. The most celebrated
     writers by whom Rome was glorified, were rarely cited by
     them. Longinus, who took an example of the sublime in Moses,
     did not seek a single one either in Horace or in Vergil; he
     did not even mention their names. It was the same with other
     critics. Plutarch spoke of Cicero as a statesman; he quoted
     many of his clever sayings, but he refrained from comparing
     him with Demosthenes as an orator. He excuses himself on
     account of having so little knowledge of the Latin tongue,
     he who had lived so long in Rome! Emperor Julian, who has
     written only in Greek, cites only Greek authors and not one
     Latin.

     [181] _Voyez_ l’ouvrage de Naudé, intitulé: _Apologie des
     hommes accusés de magie_. Le nombre de ces hommes est
     très-considérable.

     [182] Allard, _Bibl. du Dauphiné_, à la fin.

     [183] Duplessis-Mornai, _Mystère d’iniquité_, p. 279.

     [184] This Ballad tongue, or rather Romance, was a mixture
     of corrupt Latin, Teutonic, and ancient Gallic. It was
     called thus, in order to distinguish it from the pure Latin
     and French. The principal dialects of the Romance tongue
     were the _langue d’oc_, spoken in the south of France, and
     the _longue d’oïl_, spoken in the north. It is from the
     _langue d’oïl_ that the French descend. The _langue d’oc_,
     prevailing with the troubadours who cultivated it,
     disappeared with them in the fourteenth century and was lost
     in numberless obscure provincial dialects. Voyez _Le
     Troubadour_, poésies occitaniques, à la Dissert., vol. i.

     [185] Fontenelle, _Hist. du Théâtre Français_.

     [186] Voyez Sainte-Palaye, _Mém. sur l’ancienne Cheval._;
     Millot, _Hist. des Troubad._ Disc. prélim., on ce que j’ai
     dit moi-même dans le _Troubadour_, comme ci-dessus.

     [187] It is necessary to observe that _vau_ or _val_, _bau_
     or _bal_, according to the dialect, signifies equally a
     dance, a ball, and a folly, a fool. The Phœnician, root רע
     (_whal_) expresses all that is elevated, exalted. The French
     words _bal_, _vol_, _fol_, are here derived.

     [188] The sonnets are of Oscan origin. The word _son_
     signifies a song in the ancient _langue d’oc_. The word
     _sonnet_ is applied to a little song, pleasing and of an
     affected form.

     The madrigals are of Spanish origin as their name
     sufficiently proves. The word _gala_ signifies in Spanish a
     kind of favour, an honour rendered, a gallantry, a present.
     Thus _Madrid-gala_ arises from a gallantry in the Madrid
     fashion.

     The sylves, called _sirves_ or _sirventes_ by the
     troubadours, were kinds of serious poems, ordinarily
     satirical. These words come from the Latin _sylva_ which,
     according to Quintilius, is said of a piece of verse recited
     _ex-tempore_ (l. x., c. 3).

     [189] _Voyez_ Laborde, _Essai sur la Musique_, t. i., p.
     112, et t. ii., p. 168. On trouve, de la page 149 à la page
     232 de ce même volume, un catalogue de tous les anciens
     romanciers français. On peut voir, pour les Italiens,
     Crescembini, _Della Volgar Poësia_.

     [190] See Laborde. It is believed that this Guilhaume,
     bishop of Paris, is the author of the hieroglyphic figures
     which adorn the portal of Notre-Dame, and that they have
     some connection with the hermetic science. (_Biblioth. des
     Phil. Chim._, t. iv. Saint-Foix, Essai _sur Paris_.)

     [191] Perhaps one is astonished to see that I give the name
     of _sirventes_, or sylves, to that which is commonly called
     the poems of Dante; but in order to understand me, it is
     necessary to consider that these poems, composed of stanzas
     of three verses joined in couplets, are properly only long
     songs on a serious subject, which agrees with the _sirvente_.
     The poems of Bojardo, of Ariosto, of Tasso, are, as to form,
     only long ballads. They are poems because of the unity
     which, notwithstanding the innumerable episodes with which
     they are filled, constitutes the principal subject.

     [192] Pasquier, _Hist. et Recherch. des Antiq._, l. vii.,
     ch. 12. Henri-Etienne, _Précellence du Lang. Franç._, p. 12.
     D’Olivet, _Prosod._, art. i., § 2. Delisle-de-Salles, _Hist.
     de la Trag._, t. i., p. 154, à la note.

     [193] D’Olivet, _Prosod._, art. V., § 1.

     [194] _Ibidem._

     [195] William Jones, _Asiatic Researches_, vol. i.

     [196] _Ibid._, vol. i., p. 425.

     [197] William Jones, _Asiatic Researches_, vol. i., p. 430.

     [198] Wilkin’s _Notes on the Hitopadesa_, p. 249. Halled’s
     _Grammar_, in the preface. The same, _Code of the Gentoo-Laws_.
     _Asiat. Research._, vol. i., p. 423.

     [199] _Asiat. Research._, vol. i., p. 346. Also in same
     work, vol. i., p. 430.

     [200] W. Jones has put into English a Natak entitled
     _Sakuntala_ or _The Fatal Ring_, of which the French
     translation has been made by Brugnières. Paris, 1803, chez
     Treuttel et Würtz.

     [201] See _Asiat. Research._, vol. iii., p. 42, 47, 86, 185,
     etc.

     [202] _Asiat. Research._, vol. i., p. 279, 357 et 360.

     [203] _Institut. of Hindus-Laws._ W. Jones, _Works_, t.
     iii., p. 51. _Asiat. Research._, vol. ii., p. 368.

     [204] _Hist. génér. de la Chine_, t. i., p. 19. _Mém.
     concern. les Chinois_, t. i., p. 9, 104, 160. _Chou-King._
     Ch. _Yu-Kong_, etc., Duhalde, t. i., p. 266. _Mém.
     concern._, etc., t. xiii., p. 190.

     [205] The _She-King_, which contains the most ancient poetry
     of the Chinese, is only a collection of odes and songs, of
     sylves, upon different historical and moral subjects. (_Mém.
     concer. les Chinois_, t. i., p. 51, et t. ii., p. 80.)
     Besides, the Chinese had known rhyme for more than four
     thousand years. (_Ibid._, t. viii., p. 133-185.).

     [206] Le P. Parennin says that the language of the Manchus
     has an enormous quantity of words which express, in the most
     concise and most picturesque manner, what ordinary languages
     can do only by aid of numerous epithets or periphrases.
     (Duhalde, _in-fol._, t. iv., p. 65.)

     [207] _Ci-dessus_, p. 31.

     [208] _Voyez_ la traduction française des _Rech. asiatiq._,
     t. ii., p. 49, notes _a_ et _b_.

     [209] _Voyez_ ce que dit de Zend, Anquetil Duperron,
     et l’exemple qu’il donne de cette ancienne langue.
     _Zend-Avesta_, t. i.

     [210] D’Herbelot, _Bibl. orient._, p. 54. _Asiat.
     Research._, t. ii., p. 51.

     [211] Anquetil Duperron, _Zend-Avesta_, t. i.

     [212] _Asiat. Research._, t. ii., p. 51.

     [213] L’abbé Massieu, _Histor. de la Poésie franç._, p. 82.

     [214] In Arabic ديوان (_diwan_). ן‎א‎ו‎י‎ד

     [215] D’Herbelot, _Bibl. orient._, au mot DIVAN. _Asiat.
     Research._, t. ii., p. 13.

     [216] It must be remarked that the word _Diw_, which is also
     Persian, was alike applied in Persia to the Divine
     Intelligence, before Zoroaster had changed the signification
     of it by the establishment of a new doctrine, which,
     replacing the _Diws_ by the _Iseds_, deprived them of the
     dominion of Heaven, and represented them as demons of the
     earth. See Anquetil Duperron, _Vendidad-Sadè_, p. 133,
     _Boun-Dehesh._, p. 355. It is thus that Christianity has
     changed the sense of the Greek word Δαίμων (Demon), and
     rendered it synonymous with the devil; whereas it signified
     in its principle, divine spirit and genius.

     [217] _Asiat. Research._, t. ii., p. 13.

     [218] _Voyez_ Anquetil Duperron, _Zend-Avesta_, t. iii., p.
     527 et suiv. _Voyez_ aussi un ouvrage allemand de Wahl, sur
     l’état de la Perse: _Pragmatische-Geografische und Statische
     Schilderung_ … etc. Leipzig, 1795, t. i., p. 198 à 204.

     [219] Voyez plusieurs de leurs chansons rapportées par
     Laborde, _Essai sur la Musique_, t. ii., p. 398.

     [220] Laborde, _ibid._, t. i., p. 425.

     [221] I will give, later on, a strophe from _Voluspa_, a
     Scandinavian ode of _eumolpique_ style, very beautiful, and
     of which I will, perhaps, one day make an entire
     translation.

     [222] It was said long ago that a great number of rhymed
     verses were found in the Bible, and Voltaire even has cited
     a ridiculous example in his _Dictionnaire philosophique_
     (art. RIME): but it seems to me that before concerning
     oneself so much as one still does, whether the Hebraic text
     of the _Sepher_ is in prose or in verse, whether or not one
     finds there rhymed verses after the manner of the Arabs, or
     measured after the manner of the Greeks, it would be well to
     observe whether one understands this text. The language of
     Moses has been lost entirely for more than two thousand four
     hundred years, and unless it be restored with an aptitude,
     force, and constancy which is nowadays unusual, I doubt
     whether it will be known exactly what the legislator of the
     Hebrews has said regarding the principles of the Universe,
     the origin of the earth, and the birth and vicissitudes of
     the beings who people it. These subjects are, however, worth
     the pains if one would reflect upon them; I cannot prevent
     myself from thinking that it would be more fitting to be
     occupied with the meaning of the words, than their
     arrangements by long and short syllables, by regular or
     alternate rhymes, which is of no importance whatever.

     [223] Vossius, _De Poematum cantu et viribus rhythmi_; cité
     par J. J. Rousseau, _Dictionnaire de Musique_, art. RYTHME.

     [224] Nearly all of the Italian words terminate with one of
     four vowels, _a_, _e_, _i_, _o_, without accent: it is very
     rare that the vowels are accentuated, as the vowel _ù_. When
     this occurs as in _cità_, _perchè_, _dì_, _farò_, etc.,
     then, only, is the final masculine. Now here is what one of
     their best rhythmic poets, named Tolomèo, gives as an
     hexameter verse:

          _Questa, per affeto, tenerissima lettera mando
           A te_ …

     To make this line exact, one feels that the word _mando_,
     which terminates it, should be composed of two longs, that
     is to say, that it should be written _mandò_, which could
     not be without altering the sense entirely. Marchetti has
     translated into blank verse the Latin poem of Lucretius. I
     will quote the opening lines. Here is evident the softness
     to which I take exception and which prevents them from being
     really eumolpique, according to the sense that I have
     attached to this word.

          _Alma figlia di Giove, inclita madre
           Del gran germe d’Enea, Venere bella,
           Degli uomini piacere e degli Dei:
           Tu, che sotto il volubili e lucenti
           Segni del cielo, il mar profundo, e tutta
           D’animai d’ogni specie orni la terra:_
           ... etc.

     [225] One must not believe that the mute _e_ with which many
     English words terminate represents the French feminine
     final, expressed by the same vowel. This mute _e_ is in
     reality mute in English; ordinarily it is only used to give
     a more open sound to the vowel which precedes it, as in
     _tale_, _scene_, _bone_, _pure_, _fire_. Besides it is never
     taken into account, either in the measure or in the prosody
     of the lines. Thus these two lines of Dryden rhyme exactly:

         “Now scarce the Trojan fleet with sails and oars
          Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores.…”
                                        _Æneid_, b. i., v. 50.

     It is the same in these of Addison:

         “Tune ev’ry string and ev’ry tongue,
          Be thou the Muse and subject of our song.…”
                                   _St. Cecilia’s Day_, i., 10.

     or these from Goldsmith:

         “How often have I loiter’d o’er thy green,
          Where humble happiness endeared each scene.”
                                  _The Deserted Village_, i., 7.

     [226] There remains to us of this poetry the very precious
     fragments contained in the _Edda_ and in _Voluspa_. The
     _Edda_, whose name signifies great-grandmother, is a
     collection, fairly ample, of Scandinavian traditions.
     _Voluspa_ is a sort of Sibylline book, or cosmogonic oracle,
     as its name indicates. I am convinced that if the poets of
     the north, the Danes, Swedes, and Germans, had oftener drawn
     their subjects from these indigenous sources, they would
     have succeeded better than by going to Greece to seek them
     upon the summits of Parnassus. The mythology of Odin,
     descended from the Rhipæan mountains, suits them better than
     that of the Greeks, whose tongue furthermore is not
     conformable here. When one makes the moon and the wife (_der
     Mond_, _das Weib_) of masculine and neuter gender; when one
     makes the sun, the air, time, love (_die Sonne_, _die Luft_,
     _die Zeit_, _die Liebe_) of feminine gender, one ought
     wisely to renounce the allegories of Parnassus. It was on
     account of the sex given to the sun and the moon that the
     schism arose, of which I have spoken, in explaining the
     origin of the temple of Delphi.

     The Scandinavian allegories, however, that I consider a
     _débris_ of Thracian allegories, furnishing subjects of a
     very different character from those of the Greeks and
     Latins, might have varied the poetry of Europe and prevented
     the Arabesque fiction from holding there so much ascendancy.
     The Scandinavian verses, being without rhyme, hold moreover,
     to eumolpœia. The following is a strophe from _Voluspa_:

         “Avant que le temps fût, Ymir avait été;
          Ni la mer, ni nes vents n’existaient pas encore;
          Il n’était de terre, il n’était point de ciel:
          Tout n’était qu’un abîme immense, sans verdure.”

         “In the beginning, when naught was, there
          Was neither sand nor sea nor the cold waves,
          Nor was earth to be seen nor heaven above.
          There was a Yawning Chasm [chaos] but grass nowhere.…”

         _Ár vas aida pat-es ekki vas;
          vasa sandr né sær né svalar unnir,
          iœr[x]o fansk æva né upp-himinn;
          Gap vas Ginnunga, enn gras ekki,_ …

     Voyez Mallet, _Monuments celtiques_, p. 135; et pour le
     texte, le poëme même de la Voluspa, _in Edda islandorum_,
     Mallet paraît avoir suivi un texte erroné.

     As to the Gallic poetry of the Scotch bards, that Macpherson
     has made known to us under the name of _Ossian_, much is
     needed that they may have a sufficient degree of
     authenticity for them to be cited as models, and placed
     parallel with those of Homer, as has been done without
     reflection. These poems, although resting for the greater
     part upon a true basis, are very far from being veritable as
     to form. The Scotch bards, like the Oscan troubadours, must
     be restored and often entirely remade, if they are to be
     read. Macpherson, in composing his _Ossian_, has followed
     certain ancient traditions, has put together certain
     scattered fragments; but has taken great liberties with all
     the rest. He was, besides, a man endowed with creative
     genius and he might have been able to attain to epopœia if
     he had been better informed. His lack of knowledge has left
     a void in his work which demonstrates its falsity. There
     is no mythology, no allegory, no cult in _Ossian_. There
     are some historic or romanesque facts joined to long
     descriptions; it is a style more emphatic than figurative,
     more bizarre than original. Macpherson, in neglecting all
     kinds of mythological and religious ideas, in even mocking
     here and there the _stone of power_ of the Scandinavians,
     has shown that he was ignorant of two important things: the
     one, that the allegorical or religious genius constitutes
     the essence of poetry; the other, that Scotland was at a
     very ancient period the hearth of this same genius whose
     interpreters were the druids, bards, and scalds. He should
     have known that, far from being without religion, the
     Caledonians possessed in the heart of their mountains, the
     Gallic Parnassus, the sacred mountain of the Occidental
     isles; and that when the antique cult began to decline in
     Gaul, it was in Albion, reckoned among the holy isles by
     even the Indians, that the druids went to study. Voyez
     _Les Commentaires de César_, iv., 20; _L’Introduction de
     l’histoire de Danemark_, par Mallet; _L’Histoire des
     Celtes_, par Pelloutier; et enfin les _Recherches
     asiatiques_ (_Asiat. Research._), t. vi., p. 490 et 502.

     In order to seize the occasion of applying eumolpique lines
     to a greater number of subjects, I am going to quote a sort
     of exposition of Ossian, the only one I believe, which is
     found in his poems; because Macpherson, for more originality,
     neglected nearly always to announce the subject of his
     songs. I will not give the text, because the English
     translation whence I obtained it does not give it. It
     concerns the battle of Lora. After a kind of exordium
     addressed to the son of the stranger, dweller of the silent
     cavern, Ossian said to him:

            Le chant plaît-il à ton oreille?
          Ecoute le récit du combat de Lora.
          Il est bien ancien, ce combat! Le tumulte
          Des armes, et les cris furieux des guerriers,
            Sont couverts par un long silence;
            Ils sont éteints depuis longtemps:
          Ainsi sur des rochers retentissants, la foudre
            Roule, gronde, éclate et n’est plus;
          Le soleil reparaît, et la cime brillante
          Des coteaux verdoyants, sourit à ses rayons.

          Son of the secret cell! dost thou delight in songs?
          Hear the battle of Lora.
          The sound of its steel is long since past.
          So thunder on the darkened hill roars, and is no more.
          The sun returns with his silent beams,
          The glittering rocks, and green heads of the mountains
            smile.

     This example serves to prove that eumolpique lines might
     easily adapt themselves to the dithyramb.

     [227] The tragedy of the _Cid_, given by Pierre Corneille in
     1626, upon which were based the grandeur and dominant
     character of the Théâtre Français, as well as the renown of
     the author, is taken from a Spanish ballad very celebrated
     in Spain. The Cid, who is the hero of it, lived towards the
     close of the eleventh century. He was a type of the paladins
     and knights errant of the romanesque traditions. He enjoyed
     a wide reputation and attained a high degree of fortune.
     _Voyez_ Monte-Mayor, _Diana_, l. ii.; et Voltaire, _Essai
     sur les Mœurs_, t. iii., stéréotype, p. 86.

     In the course of the sixteenth century, the Spanish held a
     marked superiority over the other peoples: their tongue was
     spoken at Paris, Vienna, Milan, Turin. Their customs, their
     manners of thought and of writing, subjugated the minds of
     the Italians, and from Charles V. to the commencement of the
     reign of Philip III., Spain enjoyed an importance that the
     other peoples never had. _Voyez_ Robertson, _Introduction à
     l’Histoire de Charles-Quint_.

     It would be necessary to overstep considerably the ordinary
     limits of a footnote, if I should explain how it happens
     that Spain has lost this supremacy acquired by her, and why
     her tongue, the only one capable of rivalling and perhaps
     effacing the French, has yielded to it in all ways, and by
     which it was eclipsed. This explanation would demand for
     itself alone a very lengthy work. Among the writers who have
     sought for the cause of the decadence of the Spanish
     monarchy, some have believed to discover it in the increase
     of its wealth, others, in the too great extent of its
     colonies, and the greater part, in the spirit of its
     government and its superstitious cult. They have all thought
     that the tribunal of the Inquisition alone was capable of
     arresting the impulse of genius and of stifling the
     development of learning. In this they have taken effects for
     causes, and consequences for principles. They have not seen
     that the spirit of the government and the cult is always not
     the motive, but the result of the national spirit, and that
     the wealth and the colonies, indifferent in themselves, are
     only instruments that this spirit employs for good or evil,
     according to its character. I can only indicate the first
     cause which has prevented Spain from reaching the
     culminating point which France is very near to attaining.
     This cause is pride. Whilst Europe, enveloped in darkness,
     was, so to speak, in the fermentation of ignorance, Spain,
     conquered by the Arabs, received a germ of science which,
     developing with rapidity, produced a precocious fruit,
     brilliant, but like hot-house fruit lacking internal force
     and generative vigour. This premature production having
     raised Spain abruptly above the other European nations,
     inspired in her that pride, that excessive _amour propre_,
     which, making her treat with contempt all that did not
     belong to her, hindered her from making any change in her
     usual customs, carried her with complacency in her mistakes,
     and when other peoples came to bring forth fruits in their
     season, corrupted hers and stamped her with a stationary
     movement, which becoming necessarily retrogressive, must
     ruin her, and did ruin her.

     [228] In comparing the first lines of Homer with those of
     Klopstock, it is seen that the Greek contains 29 letters, 18
     of which are vowels; and the German 48 letters, 31 of which
     are consonants. It is difficult with such disparity in the
     elements to make the harmony the same.

     [229] GOLDEN VERSES OF THE PYTHAGOREANS (1)

     PREPARATION

     Render to the Immortal Gods the consecrated cult;
     Guard then thy faith (2): Revere the memory
     Of the Illustrious Heroes, of Spirits demi-Gods (3).


     [230] PURIFICATION

       Be a good son, just brother, spouse tender and good
         father (4)
     Choose for thy friend, the friend of virtue;
     Yield to his gentle counsels, profit by his life,
     And for a trifling grievance never leave him (5);
     If thou canst at least: for a most rigid law
     Binds Power to Necessity (6).
     Still it is given thee to fight and overcome
     Thy foolish passions: learn thou to subdue them (7).
     Be sober, diligent, and chaste; avoid all wrath.
     In public or in secret ne’er permit thou
     Any evil; and above all else respect thyself (8).

       Speak not nor act before thou hast reflected.
     Be just (9). Remember that a power invincible
     Ordains to die (10); that riches and the honours
     Easily acquired, are easy thus to lose (11).
     As to the evils which Destiny involves,
     Judge them what they are: endure them all and strive,
     As much as thou art able, to modify the traits:
     The Gods, to the most cruel, have not exposed the Sage (12).

       Even as Truth, does Error have its lovers:
     With prudence the Philosopher approves or blames;
     If Error triumph, he departs and waits (13).
     Listen and in thine heart engrave my words;
     Keep closed thine eye and ear ’gainst prejudice;
     Of others the example fear; think always for thyself (14):
     Consult, deliberate, and freely choose (15).
     Let fools act aimlessly and without cause.
     Thou shouldst, in the present, contemplate the future (16).

       That which thou dost not know, pretend not that thou dost.
     Instruct thyself: for time and patience favour all (17).
     Neglect not thy health (18): dispense with moderation,
     Food to the body and to the mind repose (19).
     Too much attention or too little shun; for envy
     Thus, to either excess is alike attached (20).
     Luxury and avarice have similar results.
     One must choose in all things a mean just and good (21).

     [231] PERFECTION

       Let not sleep e’er close thy tired eyes
     Without thou ask thyself: What have I omitted and what done? (22).
     Abstain thou if ’tis evil; persevere if good (23).
     Meditate upon my counsels; love them; follow them;
     To the divine virtues will they know how to lead thee (24).
     I swear it by the one who in our hearts engraved
     The sacred Tetrad, symbol immense and pure,
     Source of Nature and model of the Gods (25).
     But before all, thy soul to its faithful duty,
     Invoke these Gods with fervour, they whose aid,
     Thy work begun, alone can terminate (26).
     Instructed by them, naught shall then deceive thee:
     Of diverse beings thou shalt sound the essence;
     And thou shalt know the principle and end of All (27).
     If Heaven wills it, thou shalt know that Nature,
     Alike in everything, is the same in every place (28):
     So that, as to thy true rights enlightened,
     Thine heart shall no more feed on vain desires (29).
     Thou shalt see that the evils which devour men
     Are of their choice the fruit (30); that these unfortunates
     Seek afar the goodness whose source within they bear (31).
     For few know happiness: playthings of the passions,
     Hither, thither tossed by adverse waves,
     Upon a shoreless sea, they blinded roll,
     Unable to resist or to the tempest yield (32).

       God! Thou couldst save them by opening their eyes (33).
     But no: ’tis for the humans of a race divine
     To discern Error and to see the Truth (34).
     Nature serves them (35). Thou who fathomed it,
     O wise and happy man, rest in its haven.
     But observe my laws, abstaining from the things
     Which thy soul must fear, distinguishing them well;
     Letting intelligence o’er thy body reign (36);
     So that, ascending into radiant Ether,
     Midst the Immortals, thou shalt be thyself a God.

     [232] Hiérocl., _Comment. in Aur. Carmin. Proem._

     [233] Fabric., _Bibl. græc._, p. 460; Dacier, _Remarq. sur
     les Comm. d’Hiéroclès_.

     [234] Jamblic., _De Vitâ Pythag._, c. 30 et 33; Plutarch,
     _De Gen. Socrat._

     [235] Plutarch, _De Repug. stoïc._; Diog. Laërt., l. viii.,
     § 39; Polyb., l. ii.; Justin., l. xx., c. 4; Vossius, _De
     Phil. sect._, c. 6.

     [236] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 71.

     [237] _Voyez_ Dacier, _Rem. sur le Comment. d’Hiérocl._

     [238] Plut., _De Gen. Socr._; Ælian., _Var. Hist._, l. ii.,
     c. 7.

     [239] Bacon, _Novum Organum, Aph._, 65 et 71.

     [240] _Asiat. Res._, t. iii., p. 371 à 374.

     [241] _Mém. concern. les Chin._, t. ii., p. 26.

     [242] _Eulma Esclam. Note du Boun-Dehesh_, p. 344.

     [243] Porphyr., _De Antr. Nymph._, p. 126.

     [244] Αὐτὸν δ’ οὐχ ὁράω περὶ γὰρ νέφος ἐστήρικται. _Voyez_
     Dacier, dans ses _Remarques sur les Comment. d’Hiérocl._

     [245] _Vitâ Pythagor._; Phot., _Cod._, 259; Macrob., _Somn.
     Scip._, l. i., c. 6, l. ii., c. 12; August., _De Civit.
     Dei_, l. iv., c. 9 et 11; Euseb., _Præp. Evang._, l. iii.,
     c. 9; Lactant., _De Fals. Relig._, l. i., c. 6 et 7; Plot.,
     _Ennead._, iii., l. ii.

     [246] Plutar., _De Isid. et Osirid._, p. 377.

     [247] The priests of the Burmans, called _Rahans_, but whose
     generic name is that of _Sramana_, whence came to them that
     of Sramaneras, which the ancients gave them, carry the
     spirit of tolerance as far as possible. They visit with the
     same devotion pagodas, mosques, and churches; never does one
     see them being persecuted, nor persecuting others in the
     cause of religion. The Brahmans, Mussulmans, and Christians
     occupy important posts among them without their being
     scandalized. They regard all men as brothers. (_Asiat._
     _Research._, t. vi., pp. 274-279). The Brahmans are of the
     same mind. One reads these wonderful words in the _Bhaghavad
     Gita_: “A great diversity of cults, similar as to substance
     but varying in forms, are manifested by the will of the
     Supreme Being. Some follow one cult, others attach
     themselves to another: all of these worshippers are purified
     from their offences by their particular cult.… God is the
     gift of charity, God is the offering, God is the fire upon
     the altar; it is God even, who makes the sacrifice, and God
     will be obtained by him who makes God the sole object of his
     labours.” (_Lect._ iv.)

     [248] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 1.

     [249] The Greek word κόσμος expresses a thing put in order,
     arranged according to a fixed and regular principle. Its
     primitive root is in the Phœnician אוש (_aôsh_) a principle
     Being, _the fire_. The Latin word _mundus_ renders the Greek
     sense very imperfectly. It signifies exactly, that which is
     made neat and clean by means of water. Its nearest root is
     _unda_, and its remotest root is found in the Phœnician אוד
     (_aôd_), an emanation, a vapour, a source. One can see,
     according to this etymology, that the Greeks drew the idea
     of order and beauty from fire, and the Latins from water.

     [250] Diogen. Laërt., l. viii., § 25; Plutar., _De Decret.
     philos._, ii., c. 6; Sext. Empir., _Adv. Math._, x., § 249;
     Stob., _Eccl. phys._, p. 468.

     [251] Plutar., _In Numa_.

     [252] Jambl., _Vitâ Pythag._, c. 28, 32 et 35.

     [253] Εν, δύο. The symbol of Fo-Hi, so celebrated among the
     Chinese, is the same and is expressed by a whole line ―― 1,
     and a broken line - - 2. I shall make myself better
     understood upon this subject, in speaking as I intend to do
     upon music and upon what the ancients understood by the
     language of Numbers.

     [254] _Vitâ Pythag._; Phot., _Bibl. Codex_, 259.

     [255] _Vie de Pythag._ par Dacier.

     [256] Hiérocl., _Aurea Carmin._, v. 1.

     [257] Ci-devant, p. 81.

     [258] Timée de Locres, ch. 3; _Edit. de Batteux_, § 8; Diod.
     Sicul., l. ii., p. 83; Herod., l. ii., c. 4; Hyde, _De vet.
     Pers. Relig._, c. 19; Plato, _In Tim._, _In Phæd._, _In
     Legib._, etc.

     [259] Bailly, _Hist. de l’Astr. anc._, l. iii., § 10.

     [260] Pythagoras, at an early age, was taken to Tyre by
     Mnesarchus, his father, in order to study there the doctrine
     of the Phœnicians; later he visited Egypt, Arabia, and
     Babylon, in which last city he remained twelve years. It was
     while there that he had frequent conferences concerning the
     principle of things with a very learned magian whom Porphyry
     names Zabratos; Plutarch, Zaratas; and Theodoret, Zaradas.
     (Porphyr., _Vitâ Pythag._) Plutarch is inclined to believe
     that this magian is the same as Zardusht, or Zoroaster, and
     the chronology is not here entirely contrary. (Plutar., _De
     Procreat. anim._; Hyde, _De Relig. vet. Pers._, c. 24, o.
     309 et c. 31, p. 379.)

     [261] _Asiat. Research._, t. vi., p. 174.

     [262] Holwell’s, _Histor. Interest. Events_, ch. iv., § 5.

     [263] Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t. i., p. 164.

     [264] Macrob., _Somn. Scip._, l. i., c. 11.

     [265] Böhme, _Les Six Points_, ch. 2.

     [266] The word קבל signifies, in Hebrew, Arabic, and
     Chaldean, that which is anterior, that which one receives
     from the ancients by tradition.

     [267] _Aurea Carm._, v. 48.

     [268] Synes, _Hymn._, iii., v. 174; _Hymn._, iv., v. 68.

     [269] Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t. i., p. 572.

     [270] The word _Eon_, in Greek Αἰών, is derived from the
     Egyptian or Phœnician אי (_aï_), a principle of will, a
     central point of development, and יון (_ion_), the
     generative faculty. This last word has signified, in a
     restricted sense, a dove, and has been the symbol of Venus.
     It is the famous _Yoni_ of the Indians and even the _Yn_ of
     the Chinese: that is to say, the plastic nature of the
     Universe. From there, the name of _Ionia_, given to Greece.

     [271] Herm. Trismég., c. 11.

     [272] Plutar. cité par le père Petau. _Notes in Synes_, p. 42.

     [273] Clem. Alex., _Eclog. Theod._, § 30.

     [274] _Hist. du Manich._, t. i., p. 572.

     [275] Gods, Heroes, and Demons signify in the Greek words
     Θεός, Ἥρωες, Δαίμων, whence they are derived, the
     Principle-Beings attained to perfection; the ruling
     Principle-Beings; Terrestrial Existences. The word Θεός is
     formed from the word אוש (_aôs_), a Principle-Being,
     preceded by the _hemantique_ letter ת (θ, _th_), which is
     the sign of perfection. The word  Ἥρωες is composed of the
     same word אוש (_aôs_), preceded by the word הרר (_herr_),
     expressing all that rules. The word Δαίμων comes from the
     ancient word Δῆμ, land, united with the word ὤν, existence.

     [276] Κάθαρσις καὶ τελειότης.

     [277] Lil. Greg. Gyral., _Pythag. Symb. Interpret._, p. 92.

     [278] _Apud Phot. Cod._, 249.

     [279] _Dict. Crit._, art. PYTHAGORAS, rem. Q.

     [280] Not long since, a man rather well organized mentally,
     but very slightly enlightened by the true science, brought
     out a book entitled _Ruverabhoni_, in which, heaping up all
     the ancient and modern sophisms pronounced against the
     social organization founded upon the establishment of the
     family, he aspired to change the instinct of nature, in this
     respect, and to found _true happiness_ upon the _débris_ of
     all the ties of blood, of all the affections of the soul,
     and of all the duties of consanguinity.

     [281] As I give the same meaning as did Moses and not that
     of the _Septuagint_ copied by the _Vulgate_, I transcribe
     here the original text, so that those who understand Hebrew
     may see that I have not deviated from it.

     כבד את־אביך ואת־אמך למען יאר כון ימיך על האדמה אשר־יהוה אלהיך נתן לך

     _Exodus_, ch. 20, v. 12.

     [282] _This country of Adam_, in Hebrew האדמה (_ha-adamah_),
     _adaméenne_. This word, which has been vulgarly translated
     by _the Earth_, signifies it only by metaphor. Its proper
     sense, which is very difficult to grasp, depends always on
     that which is attached to the name of Adam, whence it is
     derived. _Jhôah_, in Hebrew יהוה , pronounced very
     improperly _Jehovah_, on account of a defective punctuation
     of the Masoretes, is the proper name of GOD. This name was
     formed by Moses in a manner as ingenious as sublime, by
     means of the contraction of the three tenses of the verb הוה
     (_hôeh_), to be. It signifies exactly _will be-being-been_;
     that which is, was, and shall be. One renders it well enough
     by _Eternal_. It is Eternity, or the Time-without-Limit of
     Zoroaster. This name is quite generally followed, as it is
     here, with the words אלהיך (_Ælohî-cha_), thy Gods, in order
     to express that the Unity contained in Jhôah, comprehends
     the infinity of the gods, and takes the place of it with the
     people of Israel.

     [283] _Mémoires concern. les Chinois_, t. iv., p. 7.

     [284] _Mém. concern. les Chinois_, ibid.

     [285] Nemesis, in Greek Νέμεσις, is derived from the
     Phœnician words נאמ (_nam_ or _næm_), expressing every
     judgment, every order, every decree announced by word of
     mouth; and אשיש (_æshish_), all that serves for principle,
     as foundation. This last word has root אש (_as_, _os_, or
     _æs_).

     [286] _Hiao-King_, ou _Livre de la Piété filiale_.

     [287] Kong-Tzée, dans le _Hiao-King_ qui contient sa
     doctrine.

     [288] Hiérocl., _Comment. Aurea. carmin._, v. 5.

     [289] Hiéroclès, _ibid._, v. 7.

     [290] Porphyr., _in Vitâ Pythag._, p. 37.

     [291] Dacier, _Vie de Pythag._

     [292] Diog. Laërt., l. v., § 21.

     [293] Hiérocl., _Aurea. carm._, v. 8.

     [294] _Evang. de S. Math._, ch. 22.

     [295] _Zend-Avesta_, 30ᵉ _hâ_, p. 164; _ibid._, 34ᵉ _hâ_, p.
     174; _ibid._, 72ᵉ _hâ_, p. 258.

     [296] _Vie de Confucius_, p. 139.

     [297] Herm. Trismeg., _In Pœmand._

     [298] Senac., _De Sen._, vi., 2.

     [299] Aul. Gell., l. vi., c. 2.

     [300] Plutar., _De repugn. Stoïc. de Fato._

     [301] Chalcidius, _in Tim._, not. 295, p. 387.

     [302] _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., l. v., ch. 6, p. 250.

     [303] _Dict. crit._, MANICHEENS, rem. D.

     [304] Cicéron, _Tuscul._, l. i.; Clem. Alex., _Strom._, l.
     v., p. 501.

     [305] Justin., _Cohort ad Gent._, p. 6; Cyrill., _Contr.
     Julien_; Fabric., _Bibl. græc._, t. i., p. 472.

     [306] Plutar., _De Procr. anim._

     [307] Plat., _Epist._, 2 et 7, t. iii., p. 312, 313, 341,
     etc.

     [308] _Voyez_ l’excellent ouvrage de Beausobre à ce sujet,
     _L’Histoire du Manichéisme_.

     [309] When Zoroaster spoke of this Cause, he gave it the
     name of _Time without Limit_, following the translation of
     Anquetil Duperron. This Cause does not still appear absolute
     in the doctrine of this theosophist; because in a passage of
     the _Zend-Avesta_, where in contemplation of the Supreme
     Being, producer of Ormuzd, he calls this Being, _the Being
     absorbed in excellence_, and says that Fire, acting from the
     beginning, is the principle of union between this Being and
     Ormuzd (36ᵉ _hâ du Vendidad Sadé_, p. 180, 19ᵉ _fargard_, p.
     415). One finds in another book, called _Sharistha_, that
     when this Supreme Being organized the matter of the
     Universe, he projected his Will in the form of a resplendent
     light (_Apud_ Hyde, c. 22, p. 298).

     [310] _In Tim._, not. 295.

     [311] _Voyez_ Photius, _Cod._, 251. Plotin, Porphyre,
     Jamblique, Proclus et Symplicius ont été du même sentiment
     qu’ Hiéroclès, ainsi que le dit le savant Fabricius, _Bibl.
     græc._, t. i., p. 472.

     [312] _Iliad, L. ult._, v. 663.

     [313] Cicér., _de Natur. Deor._, l. i., c. 15.

     [314] Cicér., _de Fato_, c. 17.

     [315] _Axiômes de Pythagore conservés par Stobée_, Serm. 6.

     [316] Hiérocl., _Aur. carm._, v. 10 et 11.

     [317] Strab., 1. xvi., p. 512; Sext. Empir., _Adv. Mathem._,
     p. 367.

     [318] _Atom_, in Greek ἄτομος, is formed from the word
     τόμος, _a part_, to which is joined the _a_ privative.

     [319] Huet, _Cens. Phil. Cartesian._, c. 8, p. 213. If one
     carefully examines the systems of Descartes, Leibnitz, and
     Newton, one will see that, after all, they are reduced
     either to atoms, or to inherent forces which move them.

     [320] Cicér., _de Fato_, c. 17.

     [321] August., _Epist._, 56.

     [322] August., _Epist._, 56.

     [323] Cicér., _de Nat. Deor._, l. i., c. 19; _Quæst. Acad._,
     l. iv., c. 13; _de Fato_, c. 9.

     [324] Diog. Laërt., l. x., §123; Cicér., _de Nat. Deor._, l.
     i., c. 30.

     [325] Senec., _Epist._, 88; Sext. Empir., _Adv. Math._, l.
     vii., c. 2; Arist., _Métaphys._, l. iii., c. 4.

     [326] Arist., _Physic._, l. vi., c. 9; _voyez_ Bayle, _Dict.
     crit._, art. ZENON, rem. F.

     [327] Cicér., _de Natur. Deor._, l. i., c. 15.

     [328] _Semel jussit, semper paret_, Seneca has said. “The
     laws which God has prescribed for Himself,” he adds, “He
     will never revoke, because they have been dictated by His
     own perfections; and that the same plan, the same design
     having pleased Him once, pleases Him eternally” (Senec.,
     _Præf. ad Quæst. nat._).

     [329] Cicer., _De Fato_, cap. 17.

     [330] Cicer., _ibid._, c. 9.

     [331] Aul. Gell., l. vi., c. 2.

     [332] Cicer., _De Nat. Deor._, l. i., c. 9; Plutar., _De
     repug. Stoïc._; Diogenian. _Apud._; Euseb., _Præp. Evang._,
     l. vi., c. 8.

     [333] Herodot., _Euterp._, § 171; Julian Firm., _De Error,
     prof._, p. 45.

     [334] Meurs., _Græc. Feriat._, l. i.; Plutar., _In
     Alcibiad._; Porphyr., _De Abst._, l. ii., § 36; Euseb.,
     _Præp. Evang._, l. i., c. 1; Schol. Apoll., l. i., v. 917;
     Pausan., _Corinth_, p. 73.

     [335] Porphyr., _Vitâ Pythag._, p. 10.

     [336] The doctrine of Krishna is found especially recorded
     in the _Bhaghavad Gita_, one of the Pouranas most esteemed
     by the Brahmans; in the _Zend-Avesta_ and in the
     _Boun-Dehesh_, that of Zoroaster. The Chinese have the
     _Tchun-Tsieou_ of Kong-Tse, historic monument raised to the
     glory of Providence; in the _Pœmander_ and _Æsculapius_, the
     ideas of Thoth. The book of Synesius upon Providence
     contains the dogmas of the Mysteries. Finally one can
     consult in the course of the _Edda_, the sublime discourse
     of Odin, entitled _Havamâl_. The basis of all these works is
     the same.

     [337] This, as I observed in my Second Examination, should
     be understood only by the vulgar. The savant and the
     initiate easily restored to Unity this infinity of gods, and
     understood or sought the origin of evil, without the
     knowledge of which, divine Unity is inexplicable.

     [338] Talès, cité par Platon, _De Republ._, l. x.; Aristot.,
     _Metaph._, l. iii.; Cicer., _Acad. Quæst._, iv., c. 37.

     [339] Anaximandre, cité par Aristot., _Phys._, l. i.; Sext.
     Empir., _Pyrr._, iii.

     [340] Anaximène, cité par Arist., _Metaph._, l. i., c. 3;
     Plutar., _De Placit. Phil._, i., 3.

     [341] Héraclite, cité par Platon, _Theætet._; Arist.,
     _Metaph._, l. i., c. 6; Sext. Empir., _Adv. Math._, l. vii.

     [342] De Gérando, _Hist. des Syst. de Phil._, t. iii., p.
     283; Arist., _Metaph._, l. i., c. 6; Diog. Laërt., l. ix.,
     c. 19.

     [343] Cicer., _De Nat. Deor._, l. i., c. 9.

     [344] Boët., _De Consol._, l. i., prosa 4.

     [345] Plutar., _Adv. Stoïc._, p. 1075.

     [346] Cicer., _De Fato_, c. 10; Lucret., l. ii., v. 216,
     251, 284.

     [347] Cicer., _De Fato_, c. 9 et 17; Diogenian., _Apud._;
     Euseb., _Præp. Evan._, l. vi., c. 8.

     [348] Cicer., _De Natur. Deor._, l. iii., c. 38 et 39.

     [349] Aul. Gell., l. vi., c. 1.

     [350] Plutar., _Adv. Stoïc._

     [351] The name given to the sect of the Pharisees signifies,
     in general, that which is enlightened, illumined, glorified,
     illustrious. It is derived from the root אור (_aor_), the
     light, governed by the article פה (_phe_), which expresses
     the emphasis; thence פאר (_phær_), an aureola, a tiara, and
     פרתמים (_pharethmim_), men illustrious, sublime. The name
     given to the sect of the Sadducees is derived from the
     word שד (_shad_) which, expressing all diffusion, all
     propagation, is applied to productive nature in general, and
     in particular to a mammal, its symbol among the Egyptians;
     it signifies properly the Physicists, or the Naturalists.

     [352] The original name of the Book of Moses is ספר
     (_sepher_); the name of the _Bible_, that we attribute to
     it, is derived from the Greek Βίβλος, adopted by the
     so-called translators of the Septuagint.

     [353] Joseph., _Antiq._, l. xii., c. 22; l. xiii., c. 9 et
     23; l. xvii., c. 3; Budd, _Introd. ad Phil. Hebr._; Basnage,
     _Histoire des Juifs_, t. i.

     [354] This is founded upon a great number of passages, of
     which it will suffice to cite the following. One finds in
     Amos, ch. iii., v. 6: “Shall there be evil in a city which
     the Lord hath not done?” And in Ezekiel, ch. xxi., v. 3:
     “And say to the land of Israel, Thus saith the Lord God:
     Behold, I come against thee, and I will draw forth my sword
     out of its sheath, and will cut off in thee the just, and
     the wicked … against all flesh, from the south even to the
     north.… That all flesh may know that I the Lord have drawn
     my sword.”

     [355] Mohammed said of himself, that he possessed no
     heavenly treasures, that he was ignorant of the mysteries,
     that he could say nothing of the essence of the soul
     (_Koran_, ch. 6 and 17); and as he admitted the literal text
     of the _Sepher_, he could not do otherwise than announce
     predestination. “God,” he said, “holds in his hands the keys
     of the future. He alone knows it.… The nations know not how
     to retard or to hasten the moment of their downfall”
     (_Koran_, ch. 6 and 23).

     [356] _Vitâ Pythag._; Photius, _Bibl. Cod._, 259.

     [357] Kircher, _Œdip._, t. i., p. 411; _Edda Island Fabl._;
     Macrob., _Saturn._, l. i., c. 20.

     [358] Plotin, _Ennead._, iii., 1. 2; Euseb., _Prœp. Evan._,
     l. iii., c. 9; Macrob., _Somn. Schip._, l. ii., c. 12; Marc.
     Aurell., l. iv., c. 34.

     [359] Pan, in Greek πᾶν, signifies the All, and Phanes is
     derived from the Phœnician word אנש (_ânesh_), man, preceded
     by the emphatic article פ (_ph_). It must be observed that
     these two names spring from the same root אן (_ân_), which,
     figuratively, expresses the sphere of activity, and
     literally, the limitation of the being, its body, its
     capacity. Hence אני (_âni_), me, and אניו (_aniha_), a
     vessel.

     [360] _Mém. concern. les Chinois_, t. ii., p. 174 et suiv.;
     _Edda Island_; Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., p.
     784; Bœhme, _De la triple Vie de l’Homme_, c. ix., § 35 et
     suiv.

     [361] Παντὶ ἐν Κόσμῳ λάμπει τριὰς· ἧς Μονὰς ἄρχει.
                                              Zoroast. _Oracul._

     [362] Hiérocl., _Aurea Carmin._, v. 14.

     [363] Hermès, _In Pœmander._

     [364] _Evang. St. Math._, ch. 18.

     [365] _Vendidad Sadé_, p. 89.

     [366] 34ᵉ _hâ_, p. 174.

     [367] 3ᵉ _fargard._, p. 284.

     [368] _Jeshts Sadès_, p. 151.

     [369] Hafiz, cité par les auteurs _Des Recherches
           asiatiques_, t. iv., p. 167.

     [370] _L’Arya_, cité comme ci-dessus:

          “L’homme de bien, paisable au moment qu’il expire,
           Tourne sur ses bourreaux un œil religieux,
           Et bénit jusqu’au bras qui cause son martyre:
           Tel l’arbre de Sandal que frappe un furieux,
           Couvre de ses parfums le fer qui le dechire.”

     [371] _Edda Island; Hâvamâl_.

     [372] Diogen. Laërt., _In Prœm._, p. 5.

     [373] _Pœmander_ et _Asclepius_.

     [374] This is the vast collection of Brahmanic morals. One
     finds there many of the lines repeated word for word in the
     Sepher of Moses.

     [375] In them, antiquity goes back three thousand years
     before our era. There is mention of an eclipse of the sun,
     verified for the year 2155 B.C.

     [376] Senec., _De Sen._, l. vi., c. 2.

     [377] Hiérocl., _Aur. carmin._, v. 18.

     [378] Jamblic., _De Vitâ Pythag._; Porphyr., ibid., _et de
     Abstin.; Vitâ Pythag. apud_; Phot., Cod., 259; Diog. Laërt.,
     _In Pythag._, l. viii.; Hierocl., _Comment. in Aur. Carm._;
     ibid., _De Provident._; Philost., _In Vitâ Apollon_;
     Plutar., _De Placit. philos._; ibid., _De Procreat. anim._;
     Apul., _In Florid._; Macrob., _In Saturn._, et _Somn. Scip._;
     Fabric., _Bibl. græc. in Pythag._; Clem. Alex., _Strom._,
     passim., etc.

     [379] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 14; Phot., _Cod._, 242 et
     214.

     [380] Diog. Laërt., _In Pythag._; ibid., _In Emped._

     [381] Hiérocl., Pont. _apud_ Diog. Laërt., l. viii., § 4.

     [382] Maximus Tyrius has made a dissertation upon the origin
     of Evil, in which he asserts that the prophetic oracles,
     having been consulted on this subject, responded by these
     two lines from Homer:

         “We accuse the gods of our evils, while we ourselves
          By our own errors, are responsible for them.”

     [383] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 18.

     [384] Plutar., _De Repugn. Stoïc._

     [385] _In Gorgi._ et _Phileb._

     [386] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carmin._, v., 18.

     [387] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carmin._, v. 18, 49 et 62.

     [388] _In Phédon_; _In Hipp._, ii.; _In Theæt._; _De Rep._,
     l. iv., etc.

     [389] Hyde, _De Relig. Vet. Pers._, p. 298.

     [390] _Evan. S. Math._, ch. xvii., v. 19.

     [391] _Vie de Kong-Tzée_ (_Confucius_), p. 324.

     [392] Meng-Tzée, cité par Duhalde, t. ii., p. 334.

     [393] Krishna, _Bhagavad-Gita_, lect. ii.

     [394] _XL Questions sur l’Ame_ (_Viertzig Fragen von der
     Sellen Orstand, Essentz, Wesen, Natur und Eigenschafft_,
     etc. Amsterdam, 1682). Quest. 1.

     [395] _Ibid._

     [396] _IX Textes_, text. 1 et 2.

     [397] _XL Questions_, quest. 6.

     [398] Plato, _In Theag._

     [399] Clem. Alex., _Strom._, l. iv., p. 506; Beausobre,
     _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., p. 28.

     [400] This is the signification of the Greek word φιλόσοφος.

     [401] Dans le _Tchong-Yong_, ou le Principe central,
     immuable, appelé _Le Livre de la grande Science_.

     [402] _Evan. S. Math._, ch. vii., v. 6.

     [403] _Bhagavad-Gita_, lect. 8 et 13.

     [404] _Evang. S. Luc._, ch. xiv., v. 26.

     [405] 50ᵉ _hâ Zend-Avesta_, p. 217; 45ᵉ _hâ_, _ibid._, p. 197.

     [406] _Nombres_, ch. xxxi.; _Deutéronome_, ch. iii., xx., etc.

     [407] _Exode_, ch. xxxiv., v. 6.

     [408] _Koran_, i., ch. 4, 22, 23, 24, 25, 50, etc.

     [409] _Voyez_ la fin du dernier Examen.

     [410] _S. Math._, ch. v., v. 44.

     [411] _Ibid._, ch. xii., v. 20, etc.

     [412] _Ibid._, ch. x., v. 34.

     [413] _S. Luc_, ch. xii., v. 52, 53.

     [414] _S. Math._, ch. xii., v. 30.

     [415] Bacon, _Novum Organum_.

     [416] _Novum Organ._, _Aphor._, 38 _et seq._

     [417] Voyez _La Vie de Kong-Tzée_ et le _Ta-Hio_, cité dans
     les _Mém. concern. les Chinois_, t. i., p. 432.

     [418] _Mém. concern. les Chin._, t. iv., p. 286.

     [419] _Novum Organum in Præf. et Aph._, 1.

     [420] _Ibid._, _Aph._, 11.

     [421] _Ibid._, _Aph._, 13.

     [422] _Ibid._, _Aph._, 14 et 15.

     [423] _Ibid._, _Aph._, 38 _et seq._

     [424] _Novum Organum in Præf. et Aph._, 73.

     [425] _Ibid._, _Aph._, 63.

     [426] _Ibid._, _Aph._, 65.

     [427] _Aurea Carm._, v. 25.

     [428] _Aurea Carm._, v. 27.

     [429] Hermes, _In Asclepio_; Porphyr., _De Antr. Nymph._, p.
     106; Origen, _Contr. Cels._, 1. vi., p. 298; Hyd., _De Vet.
     Pers. Relig._, p. 16; Jamblic., _De Myster-Egypt._, c. 37.

     [430] _Hist. des Voyag._, t. lii., p. 72; Divd., 1. iv., c.
     79; Plutar., _In Vitâ Num._

     [431] Boulanger, _Antiq. dévoil._, l. iii., ch. 5, § 3.

     [432] _Mém. de l’Acad. des Insc._, t. i., p. 67; Tit.-Liv.,
     _Decad._, I, l. ix.; Aul. Gell., l. vi., c. 9.

     [433] Duhald., t. ii., p. 578; t. iii., p. 336, 342; Const.
     d’Orville, t. i., p. 3.

     [434] Philostr., _In Vitâ Apoll._, l. iii., c. 13.

     [435] Dans mon 21ᵉ Examen, où j’ai cité particulièrement
     Diogène Laërce, l. viii., § 4.

     [436] Syncell., p. 35.

     [437] Senec., _Quæst. Nat._, l. iii., c. 30; Synes., _De
     Provid._, l. ii., _sub fin._

     [438] Plato, _In Tim._; Ovid, _Metam._, l. xv., fab. v.;
     Senec., _Epist._, 35; Macrob., _In Somn. Scip._, l. ii., c.
     2; _Hist. des Voyages_, t. xii., p. 529; Dupuis, _Orig. des
     Cultes_, l. v., _in_ 12, p. 474; Bailly, _Hist. de l’Astr.
     Anc._, l. ix., § 15.

     [439] Ciceron, _De Divin._, l. ii., c. 97.

     [440] Cicer., _De Natur. Deor._, l. ii., c. 20; ibid., _De
     Divin._, l. ii., c. 97.

     [441] Plato, _In Tim._

     [442] _Souryâ-Siddhanta._

     [443] _Asiat. Research._, t. ii., p. 378.

     [444] Biot., _Astr. Phys._, ch. xiv., p. 291.

     [445] _Vitâ Pythag._; Phot., _Bibl. Cod._, 259; Plato, _In
     Tim._; Macrob., _In Somn. Scip._; Virg., _Æneid_, l. vi., v.
     724; Sevius, _Comm._, _ibid._; Cicer., _De Nat. Deor._, l.
     i., c. 5, 11, 14, et 15; Diog. Laërt., _In Zon._; Batteux,
     _Causes premières_, t. ii., p. 116; Beausob., _Hist. du
     Manich._, t. ii., l. vi., c. 6, § 14.

     [446] Stanley, _De Phil. Chald._, p. 1123.

     [447] Kircher, _Ædip._, t. i., p. 172, et t. ii., p. 200.

     [448] Maimon., _More Nevoch._, i., part., c. 70.

     [449] Salmas, _Ann. Climat._, Præf., p. 32.

     [450] Homer, _Odyss._, K. v. 494; Diodor. Sic., l. v., c. 6;
     Plin., l. vii., c. 56; Plutar., _De Oracul. Defect._, p.
     434.

     [451] Horat., _Sat._, v., l. ii., v. 59.

     [452] Hierocl., _In Aurea Carm._, v. 31.

     [453] _Alcibiad._, i. et ii.; _Lachès_, etc.

     [454] _In Alcibiad._, i.

     [455] _Voyez_ Burette, _Mém. de l’Acad. des Belles-Lett._,
     t. v.; Laborde, _Essai sur la Musique_, t. i., introd., p.
     20.

     Our painters have hardly treated Greek painting better; and
     perhaps if the Pythian Apollo and the Chaste Venus had not
     again astonished Europe, but had disappeared as did the
     masterpieces of Polygnotus and of Zeuxis, the modern
     sculptors would have said that the ancients failed as much
     in pattern as in colouring.

     [456] Wood, _Essai sur le Génie orig. d’Homère_, p. 220.

     [457] Bryant, cité par Desalles, _Hist. d’Homère_, p. 18.

     [458] Wolf et Klotz, cités par le même. _Ibid._, p. 36 et 117.

     [459] Paw, _Recherches sur les Grecs_, t. ii., p. 355.

     [460] C’est un certain Grégoire, cité par Leo Allazi, dans
     son Livre _de Patriâ Homeri_.
                         Voltaire, _Dict. philos._, art. EPOPÉE.

     [461] The name of _Pagan_ is an injurious and ignoble term
     derived from the Latin _Paganus_, which signifies a rustic,
     a peasant. When Christianity had entirely triumphed over
     Greek and Roman polytheism, and when by the order of the
     Emperor Theodosius, the last temple dedicated to the gods of
     the nations had been destroyed in the cities, it was
     found that the people in the country still persisted a
     considerable time in the ancient cult, which caused them and
     all their imitators to be called derisively _Pagans_. This
     appellation, which could suit the Greeks and Romans in the
     fifth century who refused to submit to the dominating
     religion in the Empire, is false and ridiculous when one
     extends it to other times, and to other peoples. It cannot
     be said without at once offending chronology and common
     sense, that the Romans or Greeks of the time of Cæsar, of
     Alexander, or of Pericles; the Persians, Arabs, Egyptians,
     Indians, the Chinese, ancient or modern, were _Pagans_; that
     is to say, peasants disobedient to the laws of Theodosius.
     These are polytheists, monotheists, mythologists, whatever
     one wishes, idolaters perhaps, but not _Pagans_.

     [462] _Novum Organ._, aph. 48.

     [463] _De Dign. et Increm. Science_, l. iii., c. 4.

     [464] _Ut supra._

     [465] Bacon, _de la Vie et de la Mort_; Sueton., _in
     Tiber._, § 66.

     [466] Diogen. Laërt., _in Pythag._

     [467] Hierocles, _Aur. Carm._, v. 33.

     [468] Bacon assures, following the ancients, that the
     envious eye is dangerous and that it has been observed that
     after great triumphs, illustrious personages having been the
     object of an envious eye have found themselves ill-disposed
     for some days following (_Sylva Sylvarum_, § 944).

     [469] Aul. Gell., l. iv., c. 11.

     [470] Athen., l. vii., c. 16; Jambl., _Vitâ Pythag._, c. 30.

     [471] Jambl., _ibid._, c. 24.

     [472] Diog. Laërt., l. viii., § 9; Clem. Alex., _Pæd._, l. ii.,
      p. 170.

     [473] Jambl., _ibid._, c. 21; Porphyre, _Vitâ Pythag._, p.
     37; Athen., l. x., p. 418; Aul. Gell., l. iv., c. 11.

     [474] Diog. Laërt., l. viii., § 19.

     [475] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 32.

     [476] _Proverbes du Brahme Barthrovhari._

     [477] _Chou-King_, ch. _Yu-Mo._

     [478] On trouve ce passages dans le _Tchong-Yong_, ou Livre
     du Juste-Milieu; ouvrage très célèbre parmi les Chinois.

     [479] A la persévérance il n’est rien qui résiste:
           Quelques soient ses desseins, si le Sage y persiste,
           Nul obstacle si grand dont il ne vienne à bout:
           La constance et le temps sont les maîtres de tout.

     [480] Porphyr., _Vitâ Pythag._, p. 27.

     [481] _Institutes of Manu_, ch. 1, v. 5.

     [482] Xénophon, _Mém._, l. iv., p. 796; Plat., _in Alcib._,
     i.; _ibid._, _in Charm._; Pausan., l. x.; Plin., l. vii.,
     c. 32.

     [483] _In Alcibiad._, i.

     [484] Cicér., _Acad. Quæst._, l. iv., c. 24; Sext. Empir.,
     _Hypotyp._, l. i., c. 4 et 12.

     [485] Diog. Laërt., l. iv., § 10; Cicer., _Acad. Quæst._, l.
     iv., c. 18.

     [486] Desland, _Hist. Critiq. de la Philosoph._, t. ii.,
     p. 258.

     [487] Euseb., _Præp. Evan._, l. xiv., c. 4.

     [488] The Greek word is derived from the verb καλύπτειν, to
     cover with a veil.

     [489] Bayle, _Dict. crit._, art. ARCÉSILAS.

     [490] Sextus Empiricus, who was not a man to advance
     anything thoughtlessly, alleges that Arcesilaus was only a
     skeptic in semblance and that the doubts which he proposed
     to his listeners had no other aim than that of seeing if
     they had enough genius to understand the dogmas of Plato.
     When he found a disciple who evinced the necessary force of
     mind, he initiated him into the true doctrine of the Academy
     (_Pyrrh. hypotyp._, l. i., c. 33).

     [491] Sext. Empir., _Pyrrh. hypotyp._, l. i., c. 4, 12, 15;
     l. ii., c. 4, etc.

     [492] οἵη περ φύλλων γενεή, τοίη δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν. _Iliad_, l.
     vi., v. 146.

     [493] The Brahmans call the illusion which results from this
     veil _maya_. According to them, there is only the Supreme
     Being who really and absolutely exists; all the rest is
     _maya_, that is to say, phenomenal, even the trinity formed
     by Brahma, Vishnu, and Rudra.

     [494] De Gérando, _Hist. comp. des Systèmes de philos._, t.
     iii., p. 360.

     [495] De Gérando, _Hist. comp. des Systèmes de philos._, t.
     iii., p. 361.

     [496] Zeno having been thrown by a storm into the port of
     Piræus at Athens, all his life regarded this accident as a
     blessing from Providence, which had enabled him to devote
     himself to philosophy and to obey the voice of an oracle
     which had ordered him to assume “the colour of the dead”;
     that is, to devote himself to the study of the ancients and
     to sustain their doctrine.

     [497] Plutarch, _in Catone majore_.

     [498] Plutarch, _ibid._; Cicér., _de Rep._, l. ii.; Apud
     Nonium _voce_ Calumnia. Lactant. l. v., c. 14.

     [499] C’était à quoi se bornaient les sceptiques anciens.
     _Voyez_ Sextus Empiricus, _Pyrrh. hypotyp._, l. i., c. 15,
     et l. ii., c. 4, 12, etc., cité par De Gérando, _Hist. Comp.
     des Syst._, t. iii., p. 395.

     [500] _Kritik der Reinen Vernunft_ (Critique de la Raison
     pure), s. 6.

     [501] Du mot grec κριτικός, _celui qui est apt à juger_.

     [502] _L’Histoire comparée des Systèmes de Philos._, par De
     Gérando, et des _Mélanges de Phil._, par Ancillon de Berlin.
     These two writers, whatever one may say, have analysed very
     well the logical part of Kantism, and have penetrated,
     especially the former, into the rational part, as far as it
     was possible, for men who write upon the system of a
     philosopher without adopting the principles and making
     themselves his followers.

     [503] _Krit. der Reinen Vernunft_; çà et là, en plusieurs
     endroits.

     [504] This is taken from the _Vedanta_, a metaphysical
     treatise attributed to Vyasa and commented upon by
     Sankarâchârya.

     [505] Justin, _Cohort. ad Gent._, p. 6; Cyrill., _Contr.
     Julian_.

     [506] Plutar., _de Procr. anim._; Chalcid., _in Tim._, n.
     293.

     [507] Plato, _in Tim._; ibid., _in Theet._; ibid., _de
     Rep._, l. iv. Conférez avec Proclus, _Comment. in Tim._, l.
     i.; Marc-Aurel., l. iv., l. ix., et l. x.; et Beausobre,
     _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., p. 175, etc.

     [508] The idea of making the quaternary spring from the
     unity, and the decade from the quaternary is expressed
     literally in the following lines of Pythagoras, preserved by
     Proclus:

          … Πρόεισιν ὁ θεῖος ἀριθμὸς
          Μονάδος ἐκ κευθμῶνος ἀκηράτου, ἔς τ’ ἂν ἵκηται
          Τετράδ’ ἑπὶ ζαθέην, ἣ δὴ τέκε μητέρα πάντων,
          Πανδοχέα, πρέσβειραν, ὅρον περὶ πᾶσι τιθεῖσαν,
          Ἄτροπον, ἀκαμάτην, δεκάδα κλείουσί μιν ἁγνήν·

          The Monad, of Number is the sacred source;
          From it Number emanates and holds the virtues
          With which shines the Tetrad, Universal Mother,
          Which produces all things and conceals in its depths
          The immortal Decade, honoured in all places.

     [509] The nearest root of this word is _find_, whence is
     derived _finden_, to find; its remote root is _hand_, the
     seat of touch, whence comes _finger_, that which feels; its
     primitive root is אד or יד (_âd_ or _id_), the hand in
     Phœnician. This last root, becoming nasal at the final and
     aspirate at the initial, has produced _hand_; _fang_, a
     capture, and _find_, a discovery. The syllable _emp_, which
     precedes the root _find_, expresses the movement which lifts
     up from below; _lich_ designates that which disqualifies by
     identity, and _keit_, that which substantiates.

     [510] The root of this word is _stand_, a fixed thing, a
     state; its remote root is _stat_, that which is permanent.
     Its primitive root is שדד (_shdad_), firmness, force,
     constancy. The initial syllable _ver_ expresses the movement
     which carries far away, which transports from the place
     where one is, to that where one is not.

     [511] The nearest root of this word, as well as its remote
     root, has disappeared from the modern German, where one
     finds only its derivatives. Its primitive root is in the
     Latin word _opt_, whence comes _opto_, I choose: and
     _optime_, best. This root is attached to the Phœnician עיף
     (_whôph_), anything which is raised above another thing. It
     becomes nasal in the German word and has changed the _ph_ to
     _ft_. From it is derived the Saxon, English, Belgian, and
     Danish word _up_, which expresses the movement of everything
     which tends above. Also from it, the German word _luft_,
     air, and the English word _aloft_, that which is elevated.
     The preposition _ver_ has taken the final _n_, placing it
     before _unft_, as it carries it constantly in its analogue
     _fern_, that which is distant. Likewise one says
     _fernglass_, a telescope with which one sees at a distance.

     [512] De Gérando, _Hist. des Systèmes de Philos._, t. ii.,
     p. 193.

     [513] _Krit. der Rein. Vernunft_, s. 24.

     [514] In the Oriental languages רו (_rou_) indicates the
     visual ray, and רד (_rad_), all movement which is determined
     upon a straight line. This root, accompanied by a guttural
     inflection, is called _recht_, in German, and _right_ in
     English and Saxon. The Latins made of it _rectum_, that
     which is straight. In French _rature_ and _rateau_. The
     Teutons, taking right in a figurative sense, have drawn from
     this same root, _rath_, a council, and _richter_, a judge.

     [515] _In Tim._, cité par Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t.
     ii., p. 174.

     [516] The word intelligence, in Latin _intelligentia_, is
     formed of two words, _inter eligere_ or _elicere_, to
     choose, to attract to self interiorly, and by sympathy. The
     etymology of the word expresses exactly the use of the
     faculty.

     [517] _Kritik der Reinen Vernunft_, s. 662, 731; De Gérando,
     _Hist. des Systèm._, t. ii., p. 230.

     [518] _Krit. der Reinen Vernunft_, s. 306, 518, 527, etc.

     [519] _Ibid._, s. 135, 137. 399. etc.

     [520] _Kritik der praktischen Vernunft_ (Critique de la
     Raison pratique), s. 5, 22, 219, 233, etc.

     [521] _Characteristics_, London, 1737.

     [522] _A System of Moral Philosophy_, t. i., ch. 4.

     [523] _Enquiry into the Human Mind, on the Principle of
     Common Sense._

     [524] _An Appeal to Common Sense_, etc., Edinburgh, 1765.

     [525] _Pensées_, § 21.

     [526] In Greek τὸ ἡγεμονικόν, that which dominates and
     rules, that which is intelligible.

     [527] In Greek τὸ φυσικόν, that which pertains to generative
     nature, that which is physical, and sentient.

     [528] In Greek τὸ λογικόν, that which pertains to reasonable
     nature, that which is logical, the thing which proves that
     another thing is. _Voyez_ Platon, _in Tim._, et conférez
     avec Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., p. 174.

     [529] Plutar., _de Facie in Orb. lun._, p. 943.

     [530] The first kind of virtue is called ἀνθρωπίνη, human,
     and the second ἡρωικὴ καὶ δία, heroic and divine. Attention
     should be given to these epithets which are related to the
     three principal faculties of man. Aristot., _ad Nicom._, l.
     vii., c. 1; Plato, _in Theætet._; Gallien, _in Cognit et
     Curat. morb. anim._, l. i., c. 3, et 6; Theod. Marcil, _in
     Aur. Carmin._

     [531] _In Somn. Scip._, c. 8.

     [532] Aristot., _de Cælo et Mundo_, l. i.; Philo, _de Mund.
     opific._.

     [533] Pausan., _in Corinth._, p. 72; Tzetz., _in Schol._

     [534] Suidas, _in_ Εποπ; Harpocr., _ibid_.

     [535] Clem. Alex., l. v., p. 582.

     [536] Psellus, _Ad Oracul. Zoroastr._

     [537] Meurs. Eleus., c. 12; Dion. Chrysost., _Orat._ xii.

     [538] Sophocl. _apud_ Plutar., _De Audiend. Poet. Schol._;
     Aristoph., _De Pace._

     [539] Porphyr., _Vitâ Pythag._, p. 5.

     [540] γνῶσις, _savant_.

     [541] Epiph., l. i.; Plucquet, _Dictionn. des Hérésies_, t.
     ii., p. 72.

     [542] Diod. Sicul., l. i.; Herodot., l. ii.

     [543] Aristot., _Polit._, l. ii.; Strab., l. viii.

     [544] _Voyez_ DANIEL, et conférez avec Court de Gébelin,
     _Monde primitif_, t. viii., p. 9.

     [545] _Zend-Avesta_, 14ᵉ _hâ_, p. 127.

     [546] Pomp. Mela, iii., c. 2; César, l. vi., c. 14;
     Pelloutier, _Hist. des Celtes_, l. iv., ch. 1, § 27 et 30.

     [547] The first _Shastra_ is entitled _Djatimala_. I am
     ignorant of the title of the other, that I cite from Henry
     Lord: _Discovery of the Banian Religion_, in Church,
     _Collect._, vol. vi.

     [548] _Asiat. Research._, tom. vi., p. 254.

     [549] _Mémoir. concern. les Chin._, t. ii., p. 174 _et suiv._

     [550] _Vie de Kong-Tzée_, p. 237 et suiv.

     [551] _Voyez_ le 12ᵉ Examen.

     [552] Porphyr., _Vitâ Pythag._

     [553] Plato, _ut suprà._

     [554] Synes., _De Provident._, c. 5.

     [555] Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii., p. 33.

     [556] Tatian, _Orat. contr. Græc._, p. 152.

     [557] Plato, _In Gorgia_; ibid., _In Phæd._; ibid., _De
     Rep._, l. vii.; August., _De Civit. Dei_, l. iii., c. 1, et
     l. x., c. 29.

     [558] Diogen. Laërt., l. x., § 123; Cicero, _De Nat. Deor._,
     l. i., c. 30.

     [559] Cicer., _ibid._, c. 8 _et seq._

     [560] Cicer., _ut suprà._

     [561] Diogen. Laërt., l. x., § 123.

     [562] _Dict. critiq._, art. EPICURE, rem. T.

     [563] _Mém. concern. les Chin._, t. i., p. 102 et 138.

     [564] _Asiat. Research._, vol. vi., p. 215. _Voyez_ les
     Pouranas intitulés, _Bhagavad-Vedam_ et _Bhagavad-Gita_, et
     conférez avec les _Recherches asiatiq._, t. v., p. 350 _et
     suiv._, et avec l’ouvrage de Holwell (_Interest. Hist.
     Events_), ch. 4, § 5, etc.

     [565] Cicer., cité par S. August., _Contr. Pelag._, l. iv.;
     Pindar, _Olymp._, ii., v. 122.

     [566] Meurs., _Eleus._, c. 11; Dion. Chrysost., _Orat._ 12.

     [567] _Boun-Dehesh_, p. 347.

     [568] _Vendidad-Sadé_, 30ᵉ _hâ_.

     [569] _Homil. Clement._, xix., § 4, p. 744.

     [570] _Ibid._, cité par Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t.
     i., p. 38.

     [571] It is necessary before all, to restore the language of
     Moses, lost, as I have said, for more than twenty-four
     centuries; it must be restored with the aid of Greek and
     Latin which chain it to the illusory versions; it is
     necessary to go back to its original source and find its
     true roots: this enormous work that I have undertaken, I
     have accomplished.

     [572] Fortun. _apud_ August., _Disput._, ii.; August.,
     _Contr. Faust._, l. xxi., c. _ult._

     [573] Origène, cité par Beausobre, _Hist. du Manich._, t.
     ii., v., ch. 6.

     [574] Beausobre, _ibid._, t. ii., p. 346.

     [575] Hierocl., _Aur. Carmin._, v. 49 et 50.

     [576] Plat., _In_ II. _Alcibiad._

          “Accordez-moi, grands Dieux, ce qui m’est nécessaire,
           Soit que je pense ou non à vous le demander;
           Et si de mes désirs l’objet m’était contraire,
           Daignez, grands Dieux, daignez ne pas me l’accorder.”

     [577] _Vendidad-Sadê_, 68ᵉ _hâ_, p. 242.

     [578] _Zend-Avesta, Jeshts-Sadés_, p. 113.

     [579] Hermès, _In Asclep._, c. 9.

     [580] Origen., _Contr. Cels._, l. i., p. 19.

     [581] Synes., _De Insomn._, p. 134 _et seq._; Niceph. Greg.,
     _Schol. in Synes._, p. 360 _et seq._

     [582] Voyez Naudé, _Apolog. des grands Hommes accusés de
     Magie._

     [583] Corn. Cels., _De Re Medic._, l. i., _Præf._

     [584] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 48 et 49, et _ibid._, v. 46.

     [585] Plat., _In Georgiâ, In Phæd._; Ibid., _De Rep._, l.
     vii.; August., _De Civit. Dei_, l. iii., c. 1 et l. x.,
     c. 29.

     [586] _Acad. des Inscript._, t. xxxi., p. 319.

     [587] Procl., _In Tim._, l. v., p. 330; Cicer., _Somn.
     Scip._, c. 2, 3, 4, et 6; Hierocl., _In Aur. Carm._, v. 70.

     [588] _Veda_, cité par W. Jones, _Asiat. Resear._, t. iv.,
     p. 173.

     [589] _Premier Pourâna_, intitulé _Matsya_.

     [590] _Boushznda-Ramayan._

     [591] _Institut. of Menou_, ch. 1, v. 1.

     [592] _Shanda-Pourâna._

     [593] _Ekhamesha._

     [594] _Aurore naissante (Morgens röte im Aufgang: durch
     Jacob Böhmen zu_ Amsterdam, 1682), ch. 14, § 41.

     [595] Brahma, Vishnu, and Rudra.

     [596] Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto.

     [597] In the _Tao-te-King_ of Lao-Tse, a work which has held
     a high reputation among the numerous followers of this
     theosophist, one finds that the absolute, universal Being
     which he declares can neither be named, nor defined, is
     triple. “The first,” he said, “has engendered the second;
     the two have produced the third; and the three have made all
     things. That which the mind perceives and the eye cannot see
     is named _Y_, the absolute Unity, the central point; that
     which the heart understands and the ear cannot hear is named
     _Hi_, the universal Existence; that which the soul feels and
     the hand cannot touch is named _Ouei_, the individual
     Existence. Seek not to penetrate the depths of this Trinity;
     its incomprehensibility comes from its Unity. This Unity,”
     adds Lao-Tse, in another passage, “is named _Tao_, the
     Truth; _Tao_ is Life; _Tao_ is to itself both rule and
     model. It is so lofty that it cannot be attained; so
     profound that it cannot be fathomed; so great that it
     contains the Universe; when one looks on high one sees no
     beginning; when one follows it in its productions, one finds
     in it no end.”

     [598] One of the principal dogmas of Fo-Hi is the existence
     of one God in three persons, whose image is man. All his
     doctrine is limited to leading, by meditation and repression
     of the passions, the human ternary to its perfection. This
     ternary is composed, according to him, of _Ki_, _Tsing_, and
     _Chen_, that is to say, of the material, animistic, and
     spiritual principle. It is necessary that, being joined
     together, this ternary should make but One. Then its
     duration will have no limit and its faculties will be
     indestructible. _Voyez_ Duhalde, t. iii., _in fol._, p. 50.

     [599] This is noticeable particularly in Bayle.

     [600] Herod., _In Clio_, § 131; Strab., l. xv.; Boehm.,
     _Mores Gentium._

     [601] Pelloutier, _Hist. des Celtes_, t. v., c. 3.

     [602] Tacit., _De Morib. Germ._, c. 9; Lactant., _Præm._, p.
     5.

     [603] August., _De Civit. Dei_, l. iv., c. 31; Clem. Alex.,
     l. i., p. 304; _Strom._

     [604] Plutar., _In Vitâ Numa_; ibid., _In Mar._; Pelloutier,
     _Hist. des Celt._, l. iv., c. i.; Lucan., _Phars._, l. iii.,
     v. 412; Clem. Alex., _Cohort. ad Gent._, p. 57.

     [605] Euseb., _Prœp. Evang._, l. xiii., c. 12; Henric.
     Steph., _Poes. philosop._, p. 78.

     [606] Porphyr., _Sent._, no. 10, p. 221; Stanl., _In
     Pythag._, p. 775.

     [607] Stanley, _De Phil. chald._, p. 1123; Beausob., _Hist.
     du Manich._, t. ii., l. ix., c. 1, § 10.

     [608] Τρισμέγιστος, thrice greatest.

     [609] It is said that this famous table of Emerald was found
     in the valley of Hebron, in a sepulchre where it was between
     the hands of the cadaver of Thoth himself. Krigsmann, who
     assures us that this table must have read in Phœnician and
     not in Greek, quotes it a little differently from what one
     reads in the ordinary versions. _Voyez Tabula Smaragdina_,
     citée par Fabric., _Bibl. Græc._, p. 68.

     [610] Hermès, _In Asclep._, c. 9; Jambl., _De Myst. Egypt._,
     c. 30; Maimon., _Mor. Nevoch._, part ii., c. 10; Origen,
     _Contr. Cels._, l. i.; Beausob., _Hist. du Manich._, t. ii.,
     p. 49.

     [611] Homère, cité par Maxime de Tyr.; Pline, l. ii., c. 7;
     BIBLE, psalm. 73 et 93; Job, c. 23; Habacuc, c. 1; Malach.,
     c. 3; Balzac, _Socrate chrétien_, p. 237.

     [612] Plucquet, _Dict. des Hérés._, art. PRÉDESTINATIENS.

     [613] Noris., _Hist. pelag._, l. ii., c. 15.

     [614] Origen, _Comment. in Psalm._, p. 38 et 39.

     [615] S. Léon., _Epist. Decret._, ii.; Niceph., l. xvii.,
     c. 27.

     [616] _Conc. Rom._, Gelas., t. iii.

     [617] _Dict. des Hérés._, art. PÉLAGIENS.

     [618] Plucquet, _comme ci-dessus_, t. ii., p. 454.

     [619] Pelag., _apud_ S. August., _De Nat. et Grat._,
     l. iii., c. 9.

     [620] Pelag., _apud_ August., _De Grat. Christ._, c. 4.

     [621] _Comment. in Aur. Carm._, v. 62.

     [622] S. August., _De Grat. Christ._, cité par Plucquet,
     _Dict. des Hérés._, art. PÉLAGIENS.

     [623] Calvin, _Institut._, l. ii., c. 1 et 2.

     [624] _Ibid._, t. ii.

     [625] Maimbourg, _Hist. du Calvinisme_, l. i., p. 73.

     [626] Origen., _Contr. Cels._, l. iv., p. 207.

     [627] Plato, _In Alcibiad._, ii.

     [628] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 56.

     [629] Hiérol., _In Præm._

     [630] _Ibid._

     [631] _Ut suprà_, v. 10 et 11.

     [632] _Ut suprà_, v. 22 et 24.

     [633] _Ut suprà_, v. 54 et 55.

     [634] Burnet, _Archæolog._, l. i., c. 14.

     [635] _De la Triple Vie de l’Homme_, ch. vi., § 53.

     [636] _Ibid._, ch. v., § 56.

     [637] Procl., _In Tim._, l. v., p. 330; Plethon, _Schol. ad.
     Oracl. magic. Zoroast._

     [638] March., _Chron. Can._, p. 258; Beausob., _Hist. du
     Manich._, t. ii., p. 495; Huet. _Origenian_, l. ii., q. 6.

     [639] _Aur. Carm._, v. 62-77.

     [640] Lactant., _De Irâ Dei_, c. 13, p. 548.

     [641] _Dict. crit._, art. MANICHÉENS, rem. D.

     [642] _Dict. crit._ art. MARCIONITES, rem. E et G.

     [643] _Ibid._, art. PAULICIENS, rem. E.

     [644] Bayle, _Dict. crit._, art. PAULICIENS, rem. E.

     [645] _De Irâ Dei_, c. 13, p. 548.

     [646] Basilius, t. i., _In Homil. quod Deus non sit auctor
     mali_, p. 369; Bayle. _Dict. crit._, art. MARCIONITES, rem.
     E et G.

     [647] _Traité de Morale._

     [648] _Réponse à deux object. de M. Bayle_, par
     Delaplacette, _in_-12, 1707.

     [649] _Essai de Théodicée_, part iii., No. 405 _et suiv._

     [650] _Essai de Théodicée_, part. iii., No. 405 _et suiv._

     [651] Ci-dessus, 25ᵉ Examen.

     [652] _Mém. de l’Acad. des Sciences_, ann., 1765, p. 439.

     [653] Cité par De Gérando, _Hist. des Systèmes_, t. ii.,
     p. 100.

     [654] _Hist. des Animaux_, _in_-4, p. 37.

     [655] _System des transcendental Idalimus_, p. 441;
     _Zeitschrift für die speculative Physick._

     [656] Buffon, _Théorie de la Terre_; Linné, _De Telluris
     habitab. Increment_; Burnet, _Archæolog._, etc.

     [657] _Nouv. Dict. d’Hist. nat._, art. QUADRUPÈDE.

     [658] Ovid., _Metamorph._, l. xv.

     [659] _Nouv. Dict. d’Hist. nat._, art. QUADRUPÈDE.

     [660] _Nouv. Dict. d’Hist nat._, art. ANIMAL.

     [661] _Nouv. Dict._, art. NATURE.

     [662] Lettre à Hermann.

     [663] Charles Bonnet, _Contempl. de la Nat._, p. 16; Lecat.,
     _Traité du Mouvement musculaire_, p. 54, art. iii.; Robinet,
     _De la Nature_, t. iv., p. 17, etc.

     [664] _Nouv. Dict._, art. QUADRUPÈDE.

     [665] _Nouv. Dict._, art. ANIMAL.

     [666] Cicer., _De Finib._, l. v., c. 5; Aul. Gell., l. xx.,
     c. 5; Clem. Alex., _Strom._, l. v.; Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._,
     v. 68; Lil. Gregor. Gyrald., _Pythag. Symbol. Interpret._;
     Dacier, _Vie de Pythag._; Barthelemi, _Voyage du Jeune
     Anarch._, t. vi., ch. 75, etc.

     [667] Jambl., _Vitâ Pythag._, c. 29, 34, et 35.

     [668] Porphyr. _apud_ Euseb., _Præp. Evang._, l. iii., c. 7;
     ibid., _De Abstinent._, l. iv., p. 308; Jambl., _De Myst.
     Egypt._, c. 37.

     [669] Clem. Alex., _Stromat._, l. v., p. 556.

     [670] Hérod., l. ii., § 36; Clem. Alex., _ut suprà_; Dacier,
     _Vie de Pythag._

     [671] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 70.

     [672] Procl., _In Tim._, l. v., p. 330.

     [673] _Apud_ Plutar., _De Audiend. Pœtis._

     [674] Pind., _Olymp._, iii.; _Apud_, Plutar., _Consol. ad
     Apoll._

     [675] Plat., _In Phædon._

     [676] Hiérocl., _Aur. Carm._, v. 68.




Transcriber’s Note:

Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent
hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged unless
indicated below.

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the
end of the book. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside
down, or partially printed letters, were corrected. Final stops
missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added.
Duplicate letters at line endings or page breaks were removed. Minor
adjustments to punctuation and diacriticals were made for consistency.

The Golden Verses, midway through the book, were formated in the
original on facing pages, with Greek, verso, and French, recto;
translation in English was presented as footnotes. The text of the
Greek and French was consolidated as units, the English retained as
footnotes. The numbers (1) through (36) in the English footnotes
relate to the numbered sections of the discussion of the Golden Verses
that follow the poem.

In footnote [125], accent grave over the letter c is noted within
brackets, thus: [`c].In Footnote [226], the x above the o in the third
line of the poem verse in Icelandic is indicated as [=x]o. Anchors
were missing to footnotes [371], [539], and [656]; they were added
where they likely belong.

Corrections to Greek:

ἄγχις to ἄγχιστ
 ὅϛις to ὅστις

Corrections to Phoenician/Hebrew:
יוך to יון
Footnote [282]  אשר־יהזה to אשר־יהוה



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS ***


    

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