Voltaire Comments on UU Principles of Reason Freedom Tolerance and Love and Their Importance in History and for Today

 

 

“The first divine was the first rogue who met the first fool.”

 

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.  My name is Voltaire, and I just quoted myself, which, with your kind indulgence, I plan to do extensively during my brief talk this morning.

 

First let me say, thank you for your esteemed invitation to be with you today. I must say that, for someone who always denounced miracles as outlandish superstitions,  the circumstances allowing me to be here leave me a bit perplexed, but I am grateful nonetheless for the opportunity to talk to some real, live Unitarian-Universalists about their beautiful tetrad of: reason, freedom, tolerance and love.

 

As for my respect for Unitarians, you may have noticed in the little handout, an item from my Dictionnaire Philosophique (Philosophical Dictionary)  in which I defend one of your founders, Michael Servetus, in a satirical rendition of the Last Judgment. You will no doubt recall that in 1553 Calvin had had Michael burnt alive at the stake mainly because he wasn’t a Trinitarian.  I wrote my Dictionnaire  more than two hundred years later, but I still wanted to get back at Calvin for this outrage against tolerance.  I also condemn him and his attitude in more philosophical fashion in my extensive Essay on Morals (1756) and again in my Treatise on Tolerance (1763).  I will be quoting from my Philosophical Dictionary somewhat today, and I believe you will find that we are very kindred spirits.  Will Durant, in fact, in his very nice book called  The Age of Voltaire, says that if I had to be pigeonholed, I would fit nicely into the Unitarian box. 

 

On the other hand, should there be any Calvinists (or others) here today who want to give me their contrary views, I invite you most warmly to do so during our discussion period once we have had our coffee.  After all I'm the one who is reputed to have said, "I wholly disagree with what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."[1]

 

One final introductory point: There's  a rumor going around  that when I left this planet in 1778 that my last words were, "Oh God, if there is one, save my soul if I have one."  Well, I never said that.  Though I must admit it does sound like me. What I actually said was, "I die adoring God, loving my friends, not hating my enemies and detesting superstition: Ecrasez l'infâme!" (More about that later.)

 

To make my message today more relevant for those who may not know me well,  I would like to begin with a very brief bio of myself, and straighten out a few things that have been misunderstood while I’m at it. [Before we begin our talk-back, I will circulate some pictures of me and some other historical items that may be of interest to you as well.]

 

I was born in 1694. I was not of noble birth; my father was a Parisian notary. I always loved Paris, but I was constantly having to leave it to save my neck.  What I wrote or said was always getting me into trouble with church and state, an unholy marriage if ever there was one.

 

I entered a Jesuit college when I was ten and left at seventeen.  They gave me a solid foundation and taught me to think and write clearly, for which I am eternally grateful.  The Jesuits however, never seemed too thrilled with the result.  Some early satirical poems got me exiled from Paris several times and finally got me sent to the Bastille when I was 22.

    

During my 11 months there I wrote, among other things, a play, Oedipus, which I presented upon my release.  It was a great success (1718), and people were calling me the successor to Racine, our great classical dramatist.  Next I published a tremendously successful  epic poem, The Henriade¸ in which I glorify Henry IV and his great contribution to religious tolerance. Frederick the Great said it was superior to the Aeneid.  History has shown this to be an exaggeration, but it did make France ashamed of its religious wars, and it openly criticized those theologies responsible.  It was banned, but very popular.

 

Nevertheless, I was eventually appointed court poet and made quite a name for myself as a writer and wit for about eight years.  Then, because one noble[2] was jealous of my success, I ended up back in the “hotel” Bastille.

 

This time, after a couple of weeks they let me out on condition I be exiled to England.  I spent three wonderful years there (1726-1729), after which I returned to France. In England and in my other travels and through letters, and because of innumerable guests over the years,   I had the  pleasure of knowing personally most of the great people of the day: David Hume, Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, Frederick the Great, Adam Smith, Catherine the Great, and many,  many others, experts in all fields of human endeavor. Nonetheless, because of my writings I was constantly pursued by the authorities. I had a couple of hideouts in France, and some just outside; one right next to the Swiss border, one in Geneva.  When things got too hot, I would slip away to another place where I could work in peace.

 

It wasn't all bad, I had invested wisely and had all the money I needed. Due to the influence of some friends at Court, for a couple of years during a lull in their pursuit of me, I was the official historiographer to King Louis XV; and I served him on some secret diplomatic missions as well.

 

That's the story of my life first a "great success" ; then I write something else, and  they come after me. I had to have  a lot of stuff published in Holland or Geneva or elsewhere. I even denied writing some things, published them under names like the Archbishop of Canterbury, or dedicated them to myself, or wrote diatribes against my own works; but all to no avail. My style and wit always betrayed me. New orders for my arrest  were  a constant threat. (Did you know that they could and did legally torture prisoners in those days?)

 

I had the pleasure of female company-- mainly two great loves, Mme de Châtelet and Mlle Denis--though after my dearest Mme de Châtelet died, passionate love never quite had the continued, intense attraction of my work, namely: poet, philosopher, tremendous playwright, historian, prolific writer of philosophical tales, lampoons, pamphlets, articles for the new Encyclopédie, and of course, letters:  They've dug up something like 20,000 so far---recently published in a 50-volume set. [Some computer whiz recently calculated that my total recorded output was more than 15,000,000 words!]

 

Through all the danger and turmoil in my life I always managed to keep a sense of humor, albeit sometimes with a satirical bent.  A typical example might be my little ditty about one of my most ardent and persistent critics, M. [Élie-Catérine] Fréron:

 

Down in a valley the other day,

A snake bit Fréron and went away,

“Help me! Help me!” loudly he cried,

But, alas, it was the serpent who died.

 

By 1760’s, when I was in my sixties, I was probably the most popular man in France, respected  even by some of the authorities. I was immensely popular as a defender of freedom and equality and limited government among your Founding Fathers in America too. Ben Franklin had published a thirty-seven volume English translation of my works in 1762.  Many years later I had a long interview with him.  He had brought his grandson for my “blessing,” as you will see later in a political cartoon from the period.  I spoke to him in English.  He was very happy, as the week before he had succeeded in getting a commitment from France to support your revolution. One thing I remember telling him was that if I were forty-four instead of eighty-four I would certainly settle in his happy fatherland.

 

That was in 1778, the year I finally left my hideout openly and returned to Paris.  I was received in triumphant parades, I graciously accepted repeated standing ovations at my play, Irène, and on the 30th of May, at the age of eighty-four, I said adieu.

 

And now, loh and behold here I am again. , Bonjour!  Rebonjour! Let's get to our topic of reason, freedom, tolerance and love.

 

My rallying cry was always, "Ecrasez l’infâme!"  This translates literally, "crush infamy."  What I mean by "infamy" is precisely the opposite of reason, freedom, tolerance, and love; namely: superstition, subjugation, intolerance, and hate, in all their varied degrees and disguises, in all their sullied applications in our political, intellectual, aesthetic, and human endeavors and relationships.  It can range from war to torture, to censorship to governmental or church control of behavior even in the bedroom.  It does not mean to crush religion in general; l'infâme  means tyranny and abuses of any sort and especially religious tyranny and superstition with state support or acquiescence.

 

 

 

 

Reason: (i. e. vs. superstition)

 

As you have certainly heard, my century, the 18th, is often called the Age of Reason.  And indeed it was.  But, only because of people like me, the outsiders, not the “establishment.”  In fact, we were hounded and attacked from every quarter.  We were called the Philosophes.  This can be translated as “philosophers,”  but is usually left untranslated as applying just to those free thinkers of our era. Our enemies, the establishment, called us other things, of course. Like UU’s. we advocated the use of reason. For this, we were denounced as devils.

 

As I said in some early works, "Reason is the most perfect, the most noble, the most beautiful of all our faculties."  Taking my cue from John Locke and others, I accepted the then new idea that knowledge of truth comes from human experience--empiricism--not from "authority" or  "revelation".  To help find and spread such knowledge I dedicated my life. UU’s will certainly identify with this value.

 

I, and my dear lady, Mme de Châtelet, helped translate Newton into French, and disseminate his wisdom. I was even the one who made public the story of him and the apple. I was writing treatises on ancient China and India, etc., showing that it was not reasonable to think that Christianity or Europe was "chosen by God."  My History of Charles XII and my History of the Century of Louis

XIV[3]  were the first  examples of “integral,” objective history[4]. Indeed, my Essay on the Morals and Spirit of Nations is now considered really the first comprehensive history of civilization. My histories served as models for all serious later historians. My other works converted many thinkers to my liberating ideals; some even took up the banner.  But, the general atmosphere was quite different; let me give you a brief idea: [see if you find some parallels to today]

 

In 1755, over 30,000 people were killed in a great earthquake in Lisbon, known historically as the disaster of Lisbon.  The response of the authorities was very confused, for they were dismayed:  they simply couldn't figure out what those wretched people had done to deserve such a fate!  Especially puzzling was the fact that it had occurred on November 1st, All Saints Day, and thousands of the victims were in the 37 churches of this most Catholic of cities when they crumbled.

 

Well, it was decided by the University of Coimbra[5] (the formal capital of Portugal) that an autodafé would be the best way to make sure there wouldn't be another earthquake; so with great fanfare they burnt some heretics. Imagine! 1755! This attitude was certainly  not restricted to France.  John Wesley, e.g.,  preached a sermon on The Cause and Cure of Earthquakes: “Sin,” he said “is the moral cause of earthquakes, whatever their natural cause may be;. . .”. [History of Modern Culture, 1930,  by P. Smith,  II, p. 540]

 

My reaction to the earthquake was quite different: I expressed my deep sorrow at the Disaster and my outrage at the official reaction to it in a long poem, not bad reading even today I might add, wherein I ask such things as: "What possible wrong could those little dead children have done?  What kind of mind would believe that killing heretics would stave off a natural calamity?  In my view the religious response was absurd and not based in any way on reason.  But what of philosophy?  Well, in the face of this tragedy the apostles of Leibnitz were running around saying "Everything's for the best in the best of all possible worlds." In other words, "grin and bear it."

 

The poem rejects both of these approaches, and it was quite a hit.  Unfortunately, the authorities understood the implications, and they didn't like having someone asking such questions.  They banned the poem and ordered me arrested. I had to hide out for quite a while after that one.

 

Speaking of disasters and reactions to them, I noticed from my perch in eternity a continuing reduction in the tendency to blame the victims of disasters for their fate and I was bout to conclude that my poem and the Philosophes’ idea of using reason had had a long range effect.   Alas, when from above I saw the initial reaction of some Christian Fundamentalists blaming “sin”  for the September 11 tragedy in your country, I realized that superstition had still not been crushed.

 

Returning to the 18th C., as for Leibnitz, I gave him much fuller treatment in my satirical and tragically humorous story, Candide[6] (1758), wherein, you may read my outrage at the attitude towards earthquakes and other irrational absurdities, and at some man-made tragedies as well: slavery, for example.  My Complete Works  are now published in seventy volumes.  If you want to read just one, I recommend Candide.

 

One of my early important works where I speak of reason is  my Letters Philosophiques, (Philosophical Letters  or English Letters) published in 1733. This was called by a noted 20th Century literary historian[7]: “The first bomb thrown against the Old Regime.” In it, in my usual amusing way, I laud the British parliamentary system, where the King is free to do good, but the Parliament can prevent him from doing too much mischief. I make many other points about the role of  government and the church, some of which your Founding Fathers codified into the foundation of your Republic, and which you now no doubt take for granted. The book had tremendous popularity; many great thinkers commended it. So of course--following the usual governmental/church logic--on June 10, 1734 all discoverable copies of it were burned by the public hangman in the courtyard of the Palais de Justice as: "scandalous, contrary to religion, good morals, and the respect due to authority."

 

Those are very vague charges, but they reflect innumerable specific diatribes against that little book—from all quarters.  Let me just mention one case  I advocated that France should start to vaccinate against smallpox, as the English were doing.  This was attacked on two grounds: 1) the Church said not suffering an illness that was in God’s plan, was to go against His will and was the same kind of arrogance of  Adam and Eve, which led to the Fall.  This may seem absurd to you today, but the lesson might well be to be very suspicious of those who say they know “God’s will,”  it may end up killing you  or your children. 

 

The second objection, believe it or not, came from the medical establishment itself: namely, injecting an illness into a healthy child went against the Hippocratic Oath of  first “Do no harm.” 

 

My conclusion for these and innumerable other examples is that power corrupts, and can sometimes corrupt the reasoning process itself.  I shall return to that theme later.  As for smallpox vaccinations, in the end, thankfully, reason prevailed.

 

In my own case, my reason always told me that I could do more for myself and my fellow man alive and free than I could in jail or dead.  I found it unreasonable to be a fanatic. I believed in moderation, not revolution.  Indeed, getting back to the English Letters, once the hangman had burnt all the copies he could find, I had to take steps to keep him from then hanging me, so, of course, I repudiated the book.

 

I wrote to the Duchess d'Aiguillon: "They say I must retract.  Very willingly. I will declare that Pascal is always right;. . . That all priests are gentle and disinterested;. . .That monks are neither proud nor given to intrigue nor stinking; that the Holy Inquisition is the triumph of humanity and tolerance."  With that, they rescinded the lettre de cachet (my arrest warrant), and I could sleep peacefully for a while. (A contemporary of mine , the Abbot Galiani, defined eloquence as:  the art of saying something without being sent to the Bastille.)

 

Well, that gives you an idea of the general atmosphere in the so-called "Age of Enlightenment".

 

Moving now to the topic of Freedom

 

Let me return for a moment to the lettre de cachet[8]  (arrest warrant) any noble could get one of these issued to arrest any commoner.  The receiver of these "love letters" was usually not told why he was going to the prison or when he might be released. Needless to say I spoke out against this practice over and over.  You can thank me and the other philosophes, Ben Franklin among them,  for many of your rights of due process now taken for granted.  But, if you should hear of anyone being arrested and incarcerated and held incommunicado without charges, without a lawyer, be on guard, l’infâme may be raising its head again.

 

With respect to freedom, I should point out that my belief in it prompted me to do much more than write. Unlike for many previous thinkers, freedom for me was not something metaphysical, involved with the concept of “free will”  and so forth.  Moving from abstract philosophy, I developed  a attitude of activist humanism for the betterment of the human condition.   My example influenced innumerable subsequent thinkers. [I trust you have read in the handout what Robert Ingersoll, Clarence Darrow have said about me which I am proud to say is typical of free thinkers everywhere.]

 

I championed the cause of many victims of injustice, often providing sanctuary in my home when I could. In some cases the best I could do was to have the dead victim's name rehabilitated

 

The most famous case was of  the Huguenot, Jean Calas (1762).  His son (Marc Antoine) had studied law but because he was a Protestant was refused rights to practice.  Despondent, he committed suicide.  The father  was falsely accused of murdering his son to keep him from becoming a Catholic. The charges were totally unfounded and contradicted by two eye witnesses, both Catholics.  Nevertheless, the authorities persisted. And to  force him to confess he was subjected to unspeakable tortures[9], after many hours of torment, still proclaiming his innocence, and asking God to forgive his tormentors, this sixty-four year old merchant was strangled to death..  After years of work and great expense, I was able to get Calas’ name cleared and his family financially restored. I literally wept with joy at the news.

 

These atrocities could be administered for the smallest offence. For instance, just ten years before America began liberating itself partly on my ideas[10], the Chevalier de la Barre, 18 years old, was accused, without proof, of having mutilated a Crucifix.  They cut off his right hand, then he was decapitated.  They burnt, along with his corpse, a copy of my Dictionnaire Philosophique, which had been found in his room and was used to incriminate him.  I failed to have his name exonerated, but I made this case and many like it ring incessantly in the ears of the world. I was called "the Conscience of Europe". It was by such efforts, I believe, that the justice system was gradually changed.  You and France, permit me to say, were the beneficiaries.

 

The battle for freedom  appears to have been won, but we must be on guard. I gave you these historical examples from my own time because they are instructive and perhaps not well known to you.  They should not be forgotten, for they help underline the frailness of the progress that reason helped make against fanaticism and superstition.

 

Tolerance

 

I envy the beasts two things: their ignorance of evils to come, and their ignorance of what is said about them.  I confess I sometimes became a bit vitriolic in responding to my enemies.  Today, however, in talking about tolerance I will try to restrain myself. [We are in August, but I am glad this is not the 24th, the anniversary of the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre[11].  I might not be down with a fever as they said, but I would certainly be too sad and upset to speak in public.

 

The perpetrators of that Massacre were fanatics. Fanaticism prevents men from loving each other as brothers.  Too much enthusiasm leads to fanaticism, which leads to intolerance. Religious fanaticism is particularly strange: Even the Romans, for example, never had religious wars; this abomination was the work of the devout preachers of humility and patience who came after the Pagans.

 

Before my time there had been various efforts made towards toleration from within and without the religious establishment.  To mention a few: 1557  Tolerance Decree at the Diet of Torda, instigated by Francis Davide—which essentially links Unitarians to the idea of toleration; the Edict of Nantes, 1598 giving some toleration to French Huguenots—this was partly a belated response to the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre and it was revoked in 1685 by Louis XIV, prompting Locke’s “Letter(s) on Toleration” 1689; finally the same year the Toleration Act under William and Mary.   The last, by the way, excluded Unitarians, Catholics and Jews. That was the context when I began my efforts.

 

In some of my earlier works I champion the idea of toleration over and over.  In my English Letters, by the way, I give much praise to your William Penn because of his ideas on toleration.  In my Treatise on Toleration where I pleaded and demonstrated the case that all men are brothers. I made a delicious laughing stock of those who held views like the following (and there were plenty):

 

 "There are 900,000,000 little ants like us on Earth, but only our little anthill does God hold dear; all the others will suffer for eternity, and only we will have eternal bliss."  What idiocy!

 

In the same work I wrote: "It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless, of course, they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets."  This is my ironic way of exposing the hypocrisy of those who preach tolerance and love yet espouse war. 

 

It was a new idea for John Locke first and me later to advocate toleration.  For, it had always been considered to be the same as “indifference.”  Christians generally believed that to leave someone in ignorance was a sin.  Thus, when Calvin burnt Michael Servetus at the steak, this was an effort—in Christian charity--to save him from the errors of his thoughts and to encourage others not to have such thoughts. In short for more than a thousand years, intolerance was virtue, toleration was vice.  I was the major cause for that change.

 

What I mean by toleration is included in that famous dictum quoted earlier:  “I disagree wholly with what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” Thus it does not mean “indifference,” nor with respect to religion does it mean put up with, as some ignorant commentators have maintained.  Rather, it means what you will find, e.g., in your American Heritage Dictionary (1992): “Tolerance: the capacity for or the practice of recognizing and respecting the beliefs or practices of others.” Respect, that is the key.  That is what I advocated, even for those with whom I disagreed completely.

 

I believe that there are three main avenues you can travel to enrich  your philosophy: 1) personal experience by interaction with others; 2) study of the physical world through science; 3) and vicarious experience  through art and history. I studied the Holy Roman Empire, and I concluded : it wasn’t holy, it wasn't Roman and it wasn't an empire. Later historians have proven that I was right. History helps us see the full context of actions.   It can make our judgments more comprehensive and fair.

 

In that light, in the time remaining I  would like to present you some brief summaries of just two articles from my Dictionnaire Philosophique, (Philosophical Dictionary 1764) which speak of a much earlier time. In this work I have the Creator Himself make a plea for tolerance:

 

 ". . . Let it be noted by all the inhabitants of the billions and billions of worlds that it has pleased us to create, that we will never judge any of the aforesaid inhabitants on their beliefs or ideas, but solely on their actions. . . ”.

 

Like Candide, my Philosophical Dictionary (1764) is still very readable today. (You have a page from it in your handout.) Some people might say it can give a fresh perspective on old concepts.  You be the judge.  For instance, if you read under “Abraham” you will find that I express some puzzlements about this prophet who is admired in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Quoting from Genesis Chapters 12, 13 and 20, I point out that he once went to Egypt and basically to save his skin told everybody that his wife Sarah was his sister[12].    Indeed, Abraham got rich from the gifts of Pharaoh, and Sarah married him.  Later, Pharaoh finds out the truth and sends Abraham and Sarah away, but allows him to keep the gifts.  Of course, one might say that anyone is entitled to one mistake, but later Abraham goes to the land of Negeb and does the same thing again.  Again he receives gifts and Sara gets married to another man, Abimelech.  This time, however, before the marriage is consummated Abimelech  falls asleep in the nuptial bed and learns the truth from the Lord in a dream.

 

Abraham and Sarah are permitted to leave--with the gifts.  [Genesis,  13: 10-20; 20: 1-18]  As a professional historian, I was puzzled how history could so well respect such a man.  To be fair I must point out that many experts on the Bible have written essays explaining and justifying this behavior. If you read them, I am sure you will find as I did that they are absolutely objective and without prejudice.

 

Lest I be accused of concentrating only on the Old Testament, my last example is from the New.  You might find it illuminating to read my article on Saint Peter.  Since, he lied three times in denying he knew Christ, one might have thought he, of all people, would be somewhat understanding of someone who told a lie. Whereas, if we look at Acts of the Apostles, Chapter 5: 1-11, we find that when Ananias had sold all his property and given the proceeds to the Church, he held back a few sous so that he and his wife would not be totally destitute.  Saint Peter calls him in and asks him if he has given all.  Ananias perjures himself.  Saint Peter tells him: “Thou has not lied to men, but to God.” On hearing these words, the Bible tells us, Ananias “fell down and expired. And great fear came upon all who heard of it.”[Acts 5: 5] 

 

About three hours later,  Sapphira, wife of Ananias, enters. Saint Peter does not tell her that her husband lied and was struck dead for so doing, so she tells the same lie.  Whereupon St. Peter says: “Why have you agreed to tempt the Spirit of the Lord?  Behold the feet of those who have buried thy husband are at the door, and they will carry thee out.  And she fell down immediately at his feet and expired.  ... And great fear came upon the whole church and upon all who heard of this” [Acts 5: 9-11]  That, I can well understand. To quote myself, again, “Saint Peter was a very hard man.”[13]

 

Likewise for his followers.  I had quoted the Bible in my Dictionary, but the authorities considered it sacrilegious and used it to condemn an eighteen year old boy to death.

 

So, I ask you keep these examples and many others cited in my Philosophical Dictionary  as an historical backdrop to give perspective that power corrupts, even good and well meaning people.   So we should be on guard. My point was not simply to criticize these historical characters, but the hypocrisy of those who pound on the Bible and preach morality to all of us mere mortals while conveniently[14] forgetting that many of their own heroes also have feet of clay. For those who were saying the Bible should be our guide, I was making the case that Reason and Toleration should be applied before we take any actions based on it or any other “authority”, be it biblical or philosophical.

 

As for metaphysics, as I once told Frederick the Great: “I respect metaphysical ideas; they are rays of light amid deep night.  More, I think, is not to be hoped for from metaphysics.  It does not seem likely that the first principles of things will ever be known.  Nor more than, say, . . . The mice that might be found in some little holes of an immense building know whether it is eternal, or who the architect is, or why he built it.  Such mice are we. . . .” (Letter to Frederick the Great, 26 august, 1736)

 

I also believe this: that human beings are made for action, like fire rises and rocks fall.  To be unoccupied and not to exist is the same thing for us.  This instinct is the first principle and the necessary basis of society. It is the instrument of our happiness, the diminution of our misery.  So, when I have a character in my little book, Candide, pronounce that much misunderstood phrase, “We must cultivate our garden,” I meant we should work, not just sit and “philosophize” For me the garden is the whole planet.  This is a positive position, not one of selfishness. The only antidote to despair is purposeful human labor to satisfy real human needs.

 

And what of love?  Well, tolerance is certainly not enough. I believe that a careful reading of my life and my work will show that for me love and tolerance are very closely related. In a very real sense, all that I did was for love of Humanity.  Love of humanity caused me to want to do something for progress, to stop the abuses, end the torture, the violence, the useless horror of it all.  Love is not the answer, but it is the basis for the answer and ties us and our principles together and gives them life.

 

So, there you have some brief comments on my affinity for your principles of reason, freedom tolerance and love. I hope you will continue to believe and practice them forever. Meantime, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you most sincerely to remember, as I now bid you adieu, I am with you in spirit always.  Ecrasez l’ Infâme!

 

CLOSING WORDS:

 

Based on Voltaire’s words:  Buddha did not create a system of ethics, he found it deep in the heart of humanity (man); when Zoroaster said, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” he spoke true;  and when Jesus refined this idea by saying, “Love thy neighbor as thyself,”  he shed new light on our species and how we should relate.  When we leave this place, let us keep these ideas close, go fourth and embrace.

                                                                                                                                                               

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DICTIONNAIRE PHILOSOPHIQUE: “Dogmas,” At the Last Judgment (Excerpt)

 

. . . Across from the Cardinal de Lorraine[15] sat Jean Calvin[16], who was bragging.. . . “I’ve written against painting and sculpture,” said he; “I’ve demonstrated conclusively that good works serve no purpose, and I’ve proved that it is diabolical to dance the Minuet: so, . . . let me sit beside Saint Paul.”

 

As he was speaking a flaming pyre appeared beside him; a frightful ghost, wearing around its neck a half-burned, Spanish fraise, emerged from the flames amid horrible screams. “Monster!” it shouted, “abominable monster. Tremble!  Recognize me as Michael Servetus[17] whom you caused to be killed by the cruelest of tortures because he had disputed with you on the manner in which three persons can make one substance.” At  this point all the judges

ordered that  the Cardinal de Lorraine be thrown into the abyss, but that Calvin was to be punished more severely.

                                                                                                (Dictionnaire Philosophique, “Dogmas,” 1765

                                                                                                by Voltaire, 1694-1778)

 

/ESSAYS/VOLTAIRE/VOLT200D (11 Aug 02)


[1] Erroneously attributed to Voltaire, the words are in fact S.G. Tallentyre’s (E. Beatrice Hall) summary of Voltaire’s attitude towards Helvétius following the burning of the latter’s De L’esprit in 1759—in Voltaire in his letters, 1907, p. 199.  In short, the summary is completely accurate as to Voltaire’s attitude, but he never in fact said those very words.

 

[2] He paid six ruffians to attack me.  I challenged (after two week’s sword practice) this coward to a duel, but he had me locked up instead.

[3]  "Voltaire has sent me from Berlin his Histoire du siècle de Louis XIV {History of the Century of Louis XIV}.  It came at a very proper time; lord Bolingbrook had just taught me how history should be read; Voltaire shows me how it should be written. . .It is the history of the human understanding, written by a man of genius for the use of intelligent men.  Free from religious, philosophical, political, and national prejudices beyond any historian I have ever met with. . . ." [Letter from Lord Chesterfield to his son]

[4] Also of note: L’histoire de l’Empire  de Russie sous Pierre le Grand [History of the Russian Empire under Peter the Great](1759-63); the Philosophie de l’histoire[Philosophy of History] (1765); Précis du siècle de Louis XV [Precis on the century of Louis XV](1768).

[5] Located in north central Portugal.  Now capital of Coimbra district, replaced by Lisbon as cap. of Portugal in 1260.

[6] Voltaire always thought his tragedies would assure his immortality, they were extremely popular during his day.  He never dreamed that later generations would find works such as Candide to be of much greater interest.  His plays were in verse, mostly rhymed couplets.  They have not been regularly presented since the early 1800’s. 

[7]  Lanson, Voltaire, 1906.

[8] If you want to see a lettre de cachet, just go to the Paris Museum.  There you can see one written on a playing card by Louis XVI.  You see, his Majesty was playing cards when informed that The Marriage of Figaro had been presented on stage.  The King simply took a playing card, wrote on the back "Lock up Beaumarchais."  [Americans should know the name, Beaumarchais, for besides still performed plays—some turned into operas—he spent a tremendous amount of his personal fortune supplying America with supplies and ships to haul them during the Revolution. He died broke. His grand daughter petitioned the US Congress, which after years of delay, finally granted a repayment of something like ten cents on the dollar.

 

[9] All this is thoroughly documented. To give you an idea:  In the name of God: His arms and legs were pulled completely out of their sockets, then each member was broken in two places with an iron rod; then he was force-fed over 30 pints of water.

[10] Besides John Locke and others, one must mention Montesquieu’s The Sprit of the Laws (1748) where separation of powers and many other key ideas are systematically presented and many of which were adopted by the American Founders.

[11] August 24, 1572.  Probably 100,000 Protestants (Huguenots) were killed after the massacre began in Paris when Catholics, under orders of the Queen Mother, Catherine de Medicis, began killing thousands unarmed protestants in their beds as the midnight bells tolled in the Holy day.  The Huguenots  had come (unarmed) to celebrate the wedding between protestant Henry of Navarre and catholic Marguerite de Valois, sister of King Charles IX.  The slaughter spread to the provinces and went on for days.  On hearing the good news the  Pope ordered great celebrations and parades, and commissioned Italian artist, Valari, to paint a mural in celebration of the massacre, which still hangs in the Vatican today.    Later, Gregory XIII had a medal struck to commemorate this slaughter of 100,000 French Christians.  Years later, after many brutal battles, Henry of Navarre had Paris under extended siege, but the Catholics would simply not give up.  To avoid further tremendous slaughter on both sides, he uttered the famous words: “Paris vaut bien une messe,” (Paris is well worth a Mass), and he converted to Catholicism—to the consternation of many Huguenots—but ruled equitably, and in 1598 issued the Edict of Toleration (Nantes).  He was assassinated in 1610—a great loss for all toleration-minded people.

 

[12] Of course, apologists will point our correctly that there was a famine and they were actually starving; that if Abraham had not done this, he would very likely have been killed and Sarah taken anyway, etc. This was true for Egypt, but not for Negeb. However, my point is that only Abraham benefited from this lie. Indeed, among  the many gifts were slaves,  by one of  whom Abraham later fathered Ishmael.  This is not admirable behavior, and those who would teach morality based on the book in which it is related had best own up to it if they want any moral credibility themselves. One might ask if  believers in this prophet could logically  become outraged if, say, a President were to lie about having an affair. [My own additional wry comment was that Abraham  more logically should have said Sarah was his daughter: Genesis tells us that Terah fathered Abraham at age seventy and lived to be 205.  Abraham left Haran after Terah’s death, so he was 135 years old when he left Mesopotamia.  In Egypt Sarah was already in her sixties and Abraham was more than seventy years her senior, so the “daughter lie” would perhaps be more plausible.  The argument that the Hebrews added years to honor persons may work in cases like Methuselah, but later, Sara actually laughs at the idea that she could have a child (Isaac) at her advanced age.  Thus the context itself belies any idea that she was not truly of an advanced age.]

[13] In this case, I must point out that this outrageous behavior by St. Peter was also condemned by others, for example in 1650 by the German Scholar, Herman Conring [Coringus] (1606-1681), who lamented that Peter--instead of killing believers-- hadn’t gone out and taken vengeance on those who had killed Jesus. However, from the Church I have heard nothing.  Yet, they maintain that liars must always lose their moral authority.   One might well ask, if  St. Peter can deny Christ thrice and become a Church leader, and Ananias and Saphira get only one chance and are struck dead,  is this a double standard? Is St. Peter above the law? As to the, “What shall we tell the children?” question with respect to biblical stories, Mark Twain gave the answer: “Do not read the Bible aloud when the children might hear.”  My Dictionnaire Philosophique, seemed to violate this rule, so it was condemned.

[14] I am reminded of a comment I used to hear on the airwaves in Space a few years ago, and I wish I had written:  “Isn’t that convenient!” (Church Lady).

[15] Cardinal de Lorraine, 1525-1574.  Grand Inquisitor of  France, persecuted many Huguenots.

[16] Jean Calvin, 1509-1564. Protestant Reformer.  Responsible for burning Michael Servetus at the stake.

[17] Michael Servetus, 1511?-1553.  Physician and theologian.  Burned as a heretic. Usually considered the Father of Unitarianism.  Some might want to point out that this “fathership” is directly through the influence of Laelius Socinus (1525-1562) on his nephew, Faustus Socinus (1539-1604).  So, Unitarianism grew out of Socinianism, which grew in part out of  Laelius’s  reaction to the martyrdom and ideas of Servetus.