The Existence of God - Francois de Salignac de La Mothe Fenelon
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
INTRODUCTION
An ancestor of the French divine who under the name of Fenelon has
made for himself a household name in England as in France, was
Bertrand de Salignac, Marquis de la Mothe Fenelon, who in 1572, as
ambassador for France, was charged to soften as much as he could the
resentment of our Queen Elizabeth when news came of the massacre of
St. Bartholomew. Our Fenelon, claimed in brotherhood by Christians
of every denomination, was born nearly eighty years after that time,
at the chateau of Fenelon in Perigord, on the 6th of August, 1651.
To the world he is Fenelon; he was Francois de Salignac de la Mothe
Fenelon to the France of his own time.
Fenelon was taught at home until the age of twelve, then sent to the
University of Cahors, where he began studies that were continued at
Paris in the College du Plessis. There he fastened upon theology,
and there he preached, at the age of fifteen, his first sermon. He
entered next into the seminary of Saint Sulpice, where he took holy
orders in the year 1675, at the age of twenty-four. As a priest,
while true to his own Church, he fastened on Faith, Hope, and
Charity as the abiding forces of religion, and for him also the
greatest of these was Charity.
During the next three years of his life Fenelon was among the young
priests who preached and catechised in the church of St. Sulpice and
laboured in the parish. He wrote for St. Sulpice Litanies of the
Infant Jesus, and had thought of going out as missionary to the
Levant. The Archbishop of Paris, however, placed him at the head of
a community of "New Catholics," whose function was to confirm new
converts in their faith, and help to bring into the fold those who
appeared willing to enter. Fenelon took part also in some of the
Conferences on Scripture that were held at Saint Germain and
Versailles between 1672 and 1685. In 1681 an uncle, who was Bishop
of Sarlat, resigned in Fenelon's favour the Deanery of Carenas,
which produced an annual income of three or four thousand livres.
It was while he held this office that Fenelon published a book on
the "Education of Girls," at the request of the Duchess of
Beauvilliers, who asked for guidance in the education of her
children.
Fenelon sought the friendship of Bossuet, who revised for him his
next book, a "Refutation of the System of Malebranche concerning
Nature and Grace." His next book, written just before the
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, opposed the lawfulness of
the ministrations of the Protestant clergy; and after the Edict,
Fenelon was, on the recommendation of Bossuet, placed at the head of
the Catholic mission to Poitou. He brought to his work of
conversion or re-conversion Charity, and a spirit of concession that
brought on him the attacks of men unlike in temper.
When Louis XIV. placed his grandson, the young Duke of Burgundy,
under the care of the Duke of Beauvilliers, the Duke of Beauvilliers
chose Fenelon for teacher of the pupil who was heir presumptive to
the throne. Fenelon's "Fables" were written as part of his
educational work. He wrote also for the young Duke of Burgundy his
"Telemaque"--used only in MS.--and his "Dialogues of the Dead."
While thus living in high favour at Court, Fenelon sought nothing
for himself or his friends, although at times he was even in want of
money. In 1693--as preceptor of a royal prince rather than as
author--Fenelon was received into the French Academy. In 1694
Fenelon was made Abbot of Saint-Valery, and at the end of that year
he wrote an anonymous letter to Louis XIV. upon wrongful wars and
other faults committed in his reign. A copy of it has been found in
Fenelon's handwriting. The king may not have read it, or may not
have identified the author, who was not stayed by it from promotion
in February of the next year (1695) to the Archbishopric of Cambray.
He objected that the holding of this office was inconsistent with
his duties as preceptor of the King's grandchildren. Louis replied
that he could live at Court only for three months in the year, and
during the other nine direct the studies of his pupils from Cambray.
Bossuet took part in the consecration of his friend Fenelon as
Archbishop of Cambray; but after a time division of opinion arose.
Jeanne Marie Bouvier de la Mothe Guyon became in 1676 a widow at the
age of twenty-eight, with three children, for whose maintenance she
gave up part of her fortune, and she then devoted herself to the
practice and the preaching of a spiritual separation of the soul
from earthly cares, and rest in God. She said with Galahad, "If I
lose myself, I save myself." Her enthusiasm for a pure ideal,
joined to her eloquence, affected many minds. It provoked
opposition in the Church and in the Court, which was for the most
part gross and self-seeking. Madame Guyon was attacked, even
imprisoned. Fenelon felt the charm of her spiritual aspiration,
and, without accepting its form, was her defender. Bossuet attacked
her views. Fenelon published "Maxims of the Saints on the Interior
Life." Bossuet wrote on "The States of Prayer." These were the
rival books in a controversy about what was called "Quietism."
Bossuet afterwards wrote a "Relation sur le Quietisme," of which
Fenelon's copy, charged with his own marginal comments, is in the
British Museum. In March, 1699, the Pope finally decided against
Fenelon, and condemned his "Maxims of the Saints." Fenelon read
from his pulpit the brief of condemnation, accepted the decision of
the Pope, and presented to his church a piece of gold plate, on
which the Angel of Truth was represented trampling many errors under
foot, and among them his own "Maxims of the Saints." At Court,
Fenelon was out of favour. "Telemaque," written for the young Duke
of Burgundy, had not been published; but a copy having been obtained
through a servant, it was printed, and its ideal of a true king and
a true Court was so unlike his Majesty Louis XIV. and the Court of
France, and the image of what ought not to be was so like what was,
that it was resented as a libel. "Telemaque" was publicly
condemned; Fenelon was banished from Court, and restrained within
the limits of his diocese. Though separated from his pupil, the
young Duke of Burgundy (who died in 1712), Fenelon retained his
pupil's warm affection. The last years of his own life Fenelon gave
to his work in Cambray, until his death on the 7th of January, 1715.
He wrote many works, of which this is one, and they have been
collected into twenty volumes. The translation here given was
anonymous, and was first published in the year 1713.
H. M.
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
SECTION I. Metaphysical Proofs of the Existence of God are not
within Everybody's reach.
I cannot open my eyes without admiring the art that shines
throughout all nature; the least cast suffices to make me perceive
the Hand that makes everything.
Men accustomed to meditate upon metaphysical truths, and to trace up
things to their first principles, may know the Deity by its idea;
and I own that is a sure way to arrive at the source of all truth.
But the more direct and short that way is, the more difficult and
unpassable it is for the generality of mankind who depend on their
senses and imagination.
An ideal demonstration is so simple, that through its very
simplicity it escapes those minds that are incapable of operations
purely intellectual. In short, the more perfect is the way to find
the First Being, the fewer men there are that are capable to follow
it.
SECT. II. Moral Proofs of the Existence of God are fitted to every
man's capacity.
But there is a less perfect way, level to the meanest capacity. Men
the least exercised in reasoning, and the most tenacious of the
prejudices of the senses, may yet with one look discover Him who has
drawn Himself in all His works. The wisdom and power He has stamped
upon everything He has made are seen, as it were, in a glass by
those that cannot contemplate Him in His own idea. This is a
sensible and popular philosophy, of which any man free from passion
and prejudice is capable. Humana autem anima rationalis est, quae
mortalibus peccati poena tenebatur, ad hoc diminutionis redacta ut
per conjecturas rerum visibilium ad intelligenda invisibilia
niteretur; that is, "The human soul is still rational, but in such a
manner that, being by the punishment of sin detained in the bonds of
death, it is so far reduced that it can only endeavour to arrive at
the knowledge of things invisible through the visible."
SECT. III. Why so few Persons are attentive to the Proofs Nature
affords of the Existence of God.
If a great number of men of subtle and penetrating wit have not
discovered God with one cast of the eye upon nature, it is not
matter of wonder; for either the passions they have been tossed by
have still rendered them incapable of any fixed reflection, or the
false prejudices that result from passions have, like a thick cloud,
interposed between their eyes and that noble spectacle. A man
deeply concerned in an affair of great importance, that should take
up all the attention of his mind, might pass several days in a room
treating about his concerns without taking notice of the proportions
of the chamber, the ornaments of the chimney, and the pictures about
him, all which objects would continually be before his eyes, and yet
none of them make any impression upon him. In this manner it is
that men spend their lives; everything offers God to their sight,
and yet they see it nowhere. "He was in the world, and the world
was made by Him, and nevertheless the world did not know Him"--In
mundo erat, et mundus per ipsum factus est, et mundus eum non
cognovit. They pass away their lives without perceiving that
sensible representation of the Deity. Such is the fascination of
worldly trifles that obscures their eyes! Fascinatio nugacitatis
obscurat bona. Nay, oftentimes they will not so much as open them,
but rather affect to keep them shut, lest they should find Him they
do not look for. In short, what ought to help most to open their
eyes serves only to close them faster; I mean the constant duration
and regularity of the motions which the Supreme Wisdom has put in
the universe. St. Austin tells us those great wonders have been
debased by being constantly renewed; and Tully speaks exactly in the
same manner. "By seeing every day the same things, the mind grows
familiar with them as well as the eyes. It neither admires nor
inquires into the causes of effects that are ever seen to happen in
the same manner, as if it were the novelty, and not the importance
of the thing itself, that should excite us to such an inquiry." Sed
assiduitate quotidiana et consuetudine oculorum assuescunt animi,
neque admirantur neque requirunt rationes earum rerum, quas semper
vident, perinde quasi novit as nos magis quam magnitudo rerum debeat
ad exquirendas causas excitare.
SECT. IV. All Nature shows the Existence of its Maker.
But, after all, whole nature shows the infinite art of its Maker.
When I speak of an art, I mean a collection of proper means chosen
on purpose to arrive at a certain end; or, if you please, it is an
order, a method, an industry, or a set design. Chance, on the
contrary, is a blind and necessary cause, which neither sets in
order nor chooses anything, and which has neither will nor
understanding. Now I maintain that the universe bears the character
and stamp of a cause infinitely powerful and industrious; and, at
the same time, that chance (that is, the blind and fortuitous
concourse of causes necessary and void of reason) cannot have formed
this universe. To this purpose it is not amiss to call to mind the
celebrated comparisons of the ancients.
SECT. V. Noble Comparisons proving that Nature shows the Existence
of its Maker. First Comparison, drawn from Homer's "Iliad."
Who will believe that so perfect a poem as Homer's "Iliad" was not
the product of the genius of a great poet, and that the letters of
the alphabet, being confusedly jumbled and mixed, were by chance, as
it were by the cast of a pair of dice, brought together in such an
order as is necessary to describe, in verses full of harmony and
variety, so many great events; to place and connect them so well
together; to paint every object with all its most graceful, most
noble, and most affecting attendants; in short, to make every person
speak according to his character in so natural and so forcible a
manner? Let people argue and subtilise upon the matter as much as
they please, yet they never will persuade a man of sense that the
"Iliad" was the mere result of chance. Cicero said the same in
relation to Ennius's "Annals;" adding that chance could never make
one single verse, much less a whole poem. How then can a man of
sense be induced to believe, with respect to the universe, a work
beyond contradiction more wonderful than the "Iliad," what his
reason will never suffer him to believe in relation to that poem?
Let us attend another comparison, which we owe to St. Gregory
Nazianzenus.
SECT. VI. Second Comparison, drawn from the Sound of Instruments.
If we heard in a room, from behind a curtain, a soft and harmonious
instrument, should we believe that chance, without the help of any
human hand, could have formed such an instrument? Should we say
that the strings of a violin, for instance, had of their own accord
ranged and extended themselves on a wooden frame, whose several
parts had glued themselves together to form a cavity with regular
apertures? Should we maintain that the bow formed without art
should be pushed by the wind to touch every string so variously, and
with such nice justness? What rational man could seriously
entertain a doubt whether a human hand touched such an instrument
with so much harmony? Would he not cry out, "It is a masterly hand
that plays upon it?" Let us proceed to inculcate the same truth.
SECT. VII. Third Comparison, drawn from a Statue.
If a man should find in a desert island a fine statue of marble, he
would undoubtedly immediately say, "Sure, there have been men here
formerly; I perceive the workmanship of a skilful statuary; I admire
with what niceness he has proportioned all the limbs of this body,
in order to give them so much beauty, gracefulness, majesty, life,
tenderness, motion, and action!"
What would such a man answer if anybody should tell him, "That's
your mistake; a statuary never carved that figure. It is made, I
confess, with an excellent gusto, and according to the rules of
perfection; but yet it is chance alone made it. Among so many
pieces of marble there was one that formed itself of its own accord
in this manner; the rains and winds have loosened it from the
mountains; a violent storm has thrown it plumb upright on this
pedestal, which had prepared itself to support it in this place. It
is a perfect Apollo, like that of Belvedere; a Venus that equals
that of the Medicis; an Hercules, like that of Farnese. You would
think, it is true, that this figure walks, lives, thinks, and is
just going to speak. But, however, it is not in the least beholden
to art; and it is only a blind stroke of chance that has thus so
well finished and placed it."
SECT. VIII. Fourth Comparison, drawn from a Picture.
If a man had before his eyes a fine picture, representing, for
example, the passage of the Red Sea, with Moses, at whose voice the
waters divide themselves, and rise like two walls to let the
Israelites pass dryfoot through the deep, he would see, on the one
side, that innumerable multitude of people, full of confidence and
joy, lifting up their hands to heaven; and perceive, on the other
side, King Pharaoh with the Egyptians frighted and confounded at the
sight of the waves that join again to swallow them up. Now, in good
earnest, who would be so bold as to affirm that a chambermaid,
having by chance daubed that piece of cloth, the colours had of
their own accord ranged themselves in order to produce that lively
colouring, those various attitudes, those looks so well expressing
different passions, that elegant disposition of so many figures
without confusion, that decent plaiting of draperies, that
management of lights, that degradation of colours, that exact
perspective--in short, all that the noblest genius of a painter can
invent? If there were no more in the case than a little foam at the
mouth of a horse, I own, as the story goes, and which I readily
allow without examining into it, that a stroke of a pencil thrown in
a pet by a painter might once in many ages happen to express it
well. But, at least, the painter must beforehand have, with design,
chosen the most proper colours to represent that foam, in order to
prepare them at the end of his pencil; and, therefore, it were only
a little chance that had finished what art had begun. Besides, this
work of art and chance together being only a little foam, a confused
object, and so most proper to credit a stroke of chance--an object
without form, that requires only a little whitish colour dropped
from a pencil, without any exact figure or correction of design.
What comparison is there between that foam with a whole design of a
large continued history, in which the most fertile fancy and the
boldest genius, supported by the perfect knowledge of rules, are
scarce sufficient to perform what makes an excellent picture? I
cannot prevail with myself to leave these instances without desiring
the reader to observe that the most rational men are naturally
extreme loath to think that beasts have no manner of understanding,
and are mere machines. Now, whence proceeds such an invincible
averseness to that opinion in so many men of sense? It is because
they suppose, with reason, that motions so exact, and according to
the rules of perfect mechanism, cannot be made without some
industry; and that artless matter alone cannot perform what argues
so much knowledge. Hence it appears that sound reason naturally
concludes that matter alone cannot, either by the simple laws of
motion, or by the capricious strokes of chance, make even animals
that are mere machines. Those philosophers themselves, who will not
allow beasts to have any reasoning faculty, cannot avoid
acknowledging that what they suppose to be blind and artless in
these machines is yet full of wisdom and art in the First Mover, who
made their springs and regulated their movements. Thus the most
opposite philosophers perfectly agree in acknowledging that matter
and chance cannot, without the help of art, produce all we observe
in animals.
SECT. IX. A Particular Examination of Nature.
After these comparisons, about which I only desire the reader to
consult himself, without any argumentation, I think it is high time
to enter into a detail of Nature. I do not pretend to penetrate
through the whole; who is able to do it? Neither do I pretend to
enter into any physical discussion. Such way of reasoning requires
a certain deep knowledge, which abundance of men of wit and sense
never acquired; and, therefore, I will offer nothing to them but the
simple prospect of the face of Nature. I will entertain them with
nothing but what everybody knows, and which requires only a little
calm and serious attention.
SECT. X. Of the General Structure of the Universe.
Let us, in the first place, stop at the great object that first
strikes our sight, I mean the general structure of the universe.
Let us cast our eyes on this earth that bears us. Let us look on
that vast arch of the skies that covers us; those immense regions of
air, and depths of water that surround us; and those bright stars
that light us. A man who lives without reflecting thinks only on
the parts of matter that are near him, or have any relation to his
wants. He only looks upon the earth as on the floor of his chamber,
and on the sun that lights him in the daytime as on the candle that
lights him in the night. His thoughts are confined within the place
he inhabits. On the contrary, a man who is used to contemplate and
reflect carries his looks further, and curiously considers the
almost infinite abysses that surround him on all sides. A large
kingdom appears then to him but a little corner of the earth; the
earth itself is no more to his eyes than a point in the mass of the
universe; and he admires to see himself placed in it, without
knowing which way he came there.
SECT. XI. Of the Earth.
Who is it that hung and poised this motionless globe of the earth?
Who laid its foundation? Nothing seems more vile and contemptible;
for the meanest wretches tread it under foot; but yet it is in order
to possess it that we part with the greatest treasures. If it were
harder than it is, man could not open its bosom to cultivate it; and
if it were less hard it could not bear them, and they would sink
everywhere as they do in sand, or in a bog. It is from the
inexhaustible bosom of the earth we draw what is most precious.
That shapeless, vile, and rude mass assumes the most various forms;
and yields alone, by turns, all the goods we can desire. That dirty
soil transforms itself into a thousand fine objects that charm the
eye. In the compass of one year it turns into branches, twigs,
buds, leaves, blossoms, fruits, and seeds, in order, by those
various shapes, to multiply its liberalities to mankind. Nothing
exhausts the earth; the more we tear her bowels the more she is
liberal. After so many ages, during which she has produced
everything, she is not yet worn out. She feels no decay from old
age, and her entrails still contain the same treasures. A thousand
generations have passed away, and returned into her bosom.
Everything grows old, she alone excepted: for she grows young again
every year in the spring. She is never wanting to men; but foolish
men are wanting to themselves in neglecting to cultivate her. It is
through their laziness and extravagance they suffer brambles and
briars to grow instead of grapes and corn. They contend for a good
they let perish. The conquerors leave uncultivated the ground for
the possession of which they have sacrificed the lives of so many
thousand men, and have spent their own in hurry and trouble. Men
have before them vast tracts of land uninhabited and uncultivated;
and they turn mankind topsy-turvy for one nook of that neglected
ground in dispute. The earth, if well cultivated, would feed a
hundred times more men than now she does. Even the unevenness of
ground which at first seems to be a defect turns either into
ornament or profit. The mountains arose and the valleys descended
to the place the Lord had appointed for them. Those different
grounds have their particular advantages, according to the divers
aspects of the sun. In those deep valleys grow fresh and tender
grass to feed cattle. Next to them opens a vast champaign covered
with a rich harvest. Here, hills rise like an amphitheatre, and are
crowned with vineyards and fruit trees. There high mountains carry
aloft their frozen brows to the very clouds, and the torrents that
run down from them become the springs of rivers. The rocks that
show their craggy tops bear up the earth of mountains just as the
bones bear up the flesh in human bodies. That variety yields at
once a ravishing prospect to the eye, and, at the same time,
supplies the divers wants of man. There is no ground so barren but
has some profitable property. Not only black and fertile soil but
even clay and gravel recompense a man's toil. Drained morasses
become fruitful; sand for the most part only covers the surface of
the earth; and when, the husbandman has the patience to dig deeper
he finds a new ground that grows fertile as fast as it is turned and
exposed to the rays of the sun.
There is scarce any spot of ground absolutely barren if a man do not
grow weary of digging, and turning it to the enlivening sun, and if
he require no more from it than it is proper to bear, amidst stones
and rocks there is sometimes excellent pasture; and their cavities
have veins, which, being penetrated by the piercing rays of the sun,
furnish plants with most savoury juices for the feeding of herds and
flocks. Even sea-coasts that seem to be the most sterile and wild
yield sometimes either delicious fruits or most wholesome medicines
that are wanting in the most fertile countries. Besides, it is the
effect of a wise over-ruling providence that no land yields all that
is useful to human life. For want invites men to commerce, in order
to supply one another's necessities. It is therefore that want that
is the natural tie of society between nations: otherwise all the
people of the earth would be reduced to one sort of food and
clothing; and nothing would invite them to know and visit one
another.
SECT. XII. Of Plants.
All that the earth produces being corrupted, returns into her bosom,
and becomes the source of a new production. Thus she resumes all
she has given in order to give it again. Thus the corruption of
plants, and the excrements of the animals she feeds, feed her, and
improve her fertility. Thus, the more she gives the more she
resumes; and she is never exhausted, provided they who cultivate her
restore to her what she has given. Everything comes from her bosom,
everything returns to it, and nothing is lost in it. Nay, all seeds
multiply there. If, for instance, you trust the earth with some
grains of corn, as they corrupt they germinate and spring; and that
teeming parent restores with usury more ears than she had received
grains. Dig into her entrails, you will find in them stone and
marble for the most magnificent buildings. But who is it that has
laid up so many treasures in her bosom, upon condition that they
should continually produce themselves anew? Behold how many
precious and useful metals; how many minerals designed for the
conveniency of man!