Eloisa · Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Letter CLVII. Answer.
I shall not pretend to enter with you into any new or profound disquisitions, concerning the order of the universe, and the government of those beings, of which it is composed: it will be sufficient for me to say, that in matters so far above human comprehension there is no other way of rightly judging of things invisible, but by induction from those which are visible; and that all analogy makes for those general laws which you seem to reject. The most rational ideas we can form of the supreme Being confirm this opinion: for, although omnipotence lies under no necessity of adopting methods to abridge his labour, it is nevertheless worthy of supreme wisdom to prefer the most simple modes of action, that there may be nothing useless either in cause or effect. In the formation of man he endowed him with all the necessary faculties to accomplish what should be required of him, and when we ask of him the power to do good, we ask nothing of him, but what he has already given us. He has given us understanding to know what is good, a heart to love [99] and liberty to make choice of it. Therefore, in these sublime gifts consists divine grace; and as we have all received it, we are all accountable for its effects.
I have heard, in my time, a good deal of arguments against the free agency of man, and despise all its sophistry. A casuist may take what pains he will to prove that I am no free agent, my innate sense of freedom constantly destroys his arguments: for whatever choice I make after deliberation, I feel plainly that it depended only on myself to have made the contrary. Indeed all the scholastic subtilties I have heard on this head are futile and frivolous; because they prove too much, are equally used to oppose truth and falsehood; and, whether man be a free agent or not, serve equally to prove one or the other. With these kind of reasoners, the Deity himself is not a free agent, and the word liberty is in fact a term of no meaning. They triumph, not in having solved the difficulty, but in having substituted a chimera in its room. They begin by supposing that every intelligent being is merely passive, and from that supposition deduce consequences to prove its inactivity: a very convenient method of argumentation truly! if they accuse their adversaries of reasoning in this manner, they do us injustice. We do not _suppose_ ourselves free and active beings; we feel that we are so. It belongs to them to shew not only that this sentiment may deceive us, but that it really does so. [100] The bishop of Cloyne has demonstrated that, without any diversity in appearances, body or matter may have no absolute existence; but is this enough to induce us to affirm that it absolutely has no existence? In all this, the mere phenomenon would cost more trouble than the reality; and I will always hold by that which appears the most simple.
I don’t believe therefore, that after having provided in every shape for the wants of man in his formation, God interests himself in an extraordinary manner for one person more than another. Those who abuse the common aids of Providence are unworthy such assistance, and those who made good use of them have no occasion for any other. Such a partiality appears to me injurious to divine justice. You will say, this severe and discouraging doctrine may be deduced from the holy scripture. Be it so. Is it not my first duty to honour my Creator? In whatever veneration then I hold the sacred text, I hold its author in a still greater; and I could sooner be induced to believe the bible corrupted or unintelligible, than that God can be malevolent or unjust. St. Paul would not have the vessel say to the potter who formed it, why hast thou framed me thus? this is very well, if the potter should apply it only to such services as he constructed it to perform but if he should censure this vessel as being inadequate to the purpose for which it was constructed; has it not a right to ask, why hast thou made me thus?
But does it follow from hence that prayer is useless? God forbid that I should deprive myself of that resource. Every act of the understanding which raises us to God carries us above ourselves; in imploring his assistance we learn to experience it. It is not his immediate act that operates on us, it is we that improve ourselves by raising our thoughts in prayer to him. [101] All that we ask aright, he bestows; and, as you observe, we acquire strength in confessing our weakness. But if we abuse this ordinance and turn mystics, instead of raising ourselves to God, we are lost in our own wild imaginations; in seeking grace, we renounce reason; in order to obtain of heaven one blessing, we trample under foot another; and in obstinately persisting, that heaven should enlighten our hearts, we extinguish the light of our understandings. But who are we that should insist on the deity’s performing miracles, when we please, in our favour? You know very well, there is no good thing that may not be carried into a blameable excess; even devotion itself, when it degenerates into the madness of enthusiasm. Yours is too pure ever to arrive at this excess; but you have reason to be on your guard against a less degree of it. I have heard you often censure the ecstasies of the pietists; but do you know from whence they arise? from allotting a longer time to prayer than is consistent with the weakness of human nature. Hence the spirits are exhausted, the imagination takes fire, they see visions, they become inspired and prophetical; nor is it then in the power of the understanding to stop the progress of fanaticism.
Now, you shut yourself frequently in your closet, and are constant in prayer. You do not indeed as yet converse with pietists, [102] but you read their books. Not that I ever censured your taste for the writings of the worthy Fenelon: but what have you to do with those of his disciple? You read Muralt. I indeed read him too: but I make choice of his letters, you of his divine instinct. But remark his end, lament the extravagant errors of that sensible man, and think of yourself. At present a pious, a true Christian, beware Eloisa of becoming a mere devotee. I receive your counsel, my dear friend, with the docility of a child, and give you mine with the zeal of a father. Since virtue, instead of dissolving our attachments, has rendered them indissoluble, the same lessons may be of use to both, as the same interests connect us. Never shall our hearts speak to each other, never shall our eyes meet without presenting to both a respectable object which shall mutually elevate our sentiments, the perfection of the one reciprocally assisting the other.
But though our deliberations may be common to both, the conclusion is not; it is yours alone to decide. Cease not, then, you who have ever been mistress of my destiny, cease not to be so still. Weigh my arguments, and pronounce sentence: whatever you order me to do, I will submit to your direction, and will at least deserve the continuance of it. Should you think it improper for me to see you personally again, you will yet be always present to my mind, and preside over my actions. Should you deprive me of the honour of educating your offspring, you will not deprive me of the virtues which you have inspired. These are the offspring of your mind, which mine adopts as its own, and will never bear to have them torn from it. Speak to me, Eloisa, freely. As I have now been explicit to what I think and feel on this occasion, tell me what I must do. You know how far my destiny is connected with that of my illustrious friend. I have not consulted him on this occasion; I have neither shewn him this letter nor yours. If he should know that you disapprove his project, or rather, that of your husband, he will reject it himself; and I am far from designing to deduce from thence any objection to your scruples; he only ought to be ignorant of them till you have finally determined. In the mean time, I shall find some means or other to delay our departure, in which, though they may surprize him a little, I know he will acquiesce. For my own part, I had rather never see you more, than to see you only just to bid you again adieu: and to live with you as a stranger, would be a state of mortification which I have not deserved.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.