The Works of Voltaire/Volume 1/On the Nature of Man
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ON THE NATURE OF MAN.
Virtue presides still over thy delights,
To thee she by the charm of verse invites.
Your study's man, that labyrinth you explore,
Your guide the clue of wisdom's sacred lore.
Ashamed of ignorance, to study man
I strive, myself, my being I would scan;
To satire Pascal and Boileau inclined,
Have dipped their pen in gall and lashed mankind,
Leibnitz and Pope, at once both learned and sage,
Observe a medium in their moral page;
Wisely the latent tracts of man explore,
And to the Deity sublimely soar.
But nature's ways they strove to find in vain,
Man is a riddle man cannot explain;
Upon the subject all their wit have shown,
But still the riddle's sense remains unknown.
By prostitutes, I know, and rakes professed,
The disquisition's treated as a jest.
At supper these loose verses read aloud,
Which charm the sprightly, gay, unthinking crowd.
But study pleases when our mirth is past,
Reason succeeds to witty jests at last.
Upon ourselves we turn a curious eye,
And into our own nature strive to pry.
Thought is to those who live in crowds unknown,
We seriously reflect when left alone.
With thee I fain would soar on wisdom's wing
From this vile world to its Eternal King.
That wondrous chain discover, if you can,
Which links the heavens with earth, with angels man:
That world of beings subject to one law,
Which Plato and which Pope in fancy saw.
In vain you press me, such a great design
My genius must in silent awe decline:
Gallic correctness all my flights restrains,
Ours are not free like Greek or British strains.
'Tis Pope's to speak, I am to silence bound,
Bachelors of Bourges may mysteries expound.
I've taken no degree, nor will engage
In fierce debate or war polemic wage.
Hear a recital with instruction fraught,
Which by Fourmont may be a fable thought;
But which I in a Chinese author found
Translated by a Jesuit profound.
A mouse did once thus to another say,
"O'er what a noble empire bear we sway!
This palace's deep foundations erst were laid
For us; for us by God these holes were made.
See you those hams in yon vault closely pent?
By God they thither for our use were sent.
Those hills of bacon, an unfailing store,
Shall last for us till time shall be no more.
A mouse, great God, the sages all declare
Creation's end: A work beyond compare!
Vicious are cats, to eat us much inclined,
But 'tis from error to reclaim our kind."
Not far a multitude of geese are seen,
Drawn up near woods and streams upon the green;
Of pampered turkeys, troops that strut in state,
And flocks that bend beneath their fleeces' weight,
They cried: "The universe is ours alone,
Whatever the Almighty made, we own."
In the clear watery image whilst he grazed,
The ass his beauty saw, and was amazed.
He cries: "For asses God has made the earth,
Man still attends me, he's my slave from birth;
He curries, washes me, and, more, to please,
Builds my seraglio, for my joys purveys;
And happy to procure me soft delight,
Brings a she-ass to crown my bliss at night:
Often I laugh when I behold him pass,
With haughty airs, as if he were an ass."
Man came the next, his plea was much the same,
He cried: "Heaven, earth, and elements, I claim:
To waft me ocean rolls and winds arise;
To give me light, stars glitter in the skies;
Night's argent globe through heaven's clear azure glides,
Increases, wanes, and o'er the stars presides;
O'er all presides my vast, capacious mind,
In the wide universe too close confined:
But though I'm oracle and master here,
I should be raised to a more glorious sphere."
The angels then, who in high heaven control
The wandering orbs, and teach them how to roll,
Exclaimed, whilst at their will they moved each ball:
"God for our pleasure has created all."
Then earth with pity and with scorn they eyed,
And laughed at mortals and at human pride.
Their secret thoughts were all to Fien[1] known,
He summoned them before the eternal throne.
Each varied being, angel, beast, and man,
All that compose the Almighty's wondrous plan,
"You are my creatures, I call you all mine,
You bear," said He, "my character divine;
To me you all, as to your centre, tend;
For me you all were made, on me depend:
I rule at once o'er Nature, Time, and Fate;
By me each being is assigned its state.
Imperfect creatures! you aspire in vain,
In your own stations satisfied remain."
Man still was discontented with his place,
Still at their lot repined the human race.
A learned Chinese, grown old in fierce dispute,
Who reason could by argument confute,
With logic of Confucius quite possessed,
In form to God presented his request:
"Why is my time a second? Why my space
A point? Why falls so soon the human race?
Why am I not a hundred cubits high?
Why can't I travel swiftly through the sky?
Why can't I teach the erring moon her way?
Why am I not awake both night and day?
Why can't I prove, inflamed by amorous fire,
In one month, of a hundred sons, the sire?
Why, in one day, was all my ardor past?"
"Your questions," said the God, "will always last:
Soon will your doubts and scruples all be o'er,
For truth you must the ideal world explore."
Even then an angel bore him from the place,
Far as the centre of unbounded space;
O'er suns, which circling planets still surround,
Moons, rings and comets, which no limits bound:
A globe he entered, where the hand divine
Of nature's God had traced his great design;
The eye can there each real system scan,
And of each system possible the plan.
Now animating hopes the sage inspire,
He seeks a world made to his heart's desire:
He sought in vain; the angel made him know,
That what he wished could ne'er exist below;
For could man, giant-like, with heaven engage,
Or rather war against right reason wage.
Had God extended in this earthly sphere
His life up to his twenty-thousandth year,
This mass of earth and water ne'er could find
Room for the overgrown, gigantic kind.
Reasons like these the cavillers confound,
He owns, each being has its proper bound;
That 'tis a folly to aspire below,
Since life and pleasure both their limits know;
That man should not of grief or toil complain,
And less of death, which frees him from his chain:
That he should not fatigue the heavenly throne,
Since to the Almighty change was never known.
Convinced, not satisfied, the sage his flight
Bent to the earth, and owned that all is right;
But still he murmured, 'midst the earthly throng,
A doctor never can be in the wrong.
More flexible was Matthew Garo's mind,
To praise for all things God his soul inclined.
Perhaps God erst on men more wealth bestowed,
Perhaps their plains with milk and honey flowed;
The night, perhaps, was lightsome as the day,
And winter bloomed with all the flowers of May;
Whilst man, the king of earth, in peace retired,
Wrapt up in self, himself alone admired.
But let us rest contented with our fate,
Our bliss is suited to our present state:
Against our Maker murmurs must prove vain,
Mortals should not the laws of God arraign:
Let us to serve him all our lives employ,
And gratefully the bliss he gives, enjoy.
If to two days the Almighty had confined
The time allotted to all humankind,
We should to God those two short days consign,
And consecrate the time to love divine.
He who assiduous every call attends,
Never complains that life too quickly ends.
A man in little time may sure live long,
This I could prove by reasons very strong;
But authors should not to instruct aspire,
Who speaks too much is ever sure to tire.
Thus did my muse, in simple, artless strain,
And various tones, strive nature to explain;
Whilst Frenchmen wandered, and, with piercing eyes,
At Quito hoped to see new stars arise;
Whilst Maupertuis and Clairaut Europe praised,
And Lapland at their new meridian gazed;
While rival of the old Prometheus fame,
Vacanson brings to man celestial flame,
Boldly to copy nature's self aspires,
And bodies animates with heavenly fires.
Remote from cities, on Parnassus' shore
I passed my days, intent on learned lore;
And from the sphere, where Milton, unconfined,
At pleasure roved, where pierced great Newton's mind,
I saw them soar, with emulation fired,
Genius sublime and arts my soul admired;
Slanderers in me beheld their foes professed,
Fanatics wild, informers I detest;
I know no envy, or perfidious art,
I worship God with pure and upright heart;
And though my body's with diseases spent,
My active mind on study is intent;
I live convinced that while we here remain,
To hope for perfect happiness is vain.
To thee she by the charm of verse invites.
Your study's man, that labyrinth you explore,
Your guide the clue of wisdom's sacred lore.
Ashamed of ignorance, to study man
I strive, myself, my being I would scan;
To satire Pascal and Boileau inclined,
Have dipped their pen in gall and lashed mankind,
Leibnitz and Pope, at once both learned and sage,
Observe a medium in their moral page;
Wisely the latent tracts of man explore,
And to the Deity sublimely soar.
But nature's ways they strove to find in vain,
Man is a riddle man cannot explain;
Upon the subject all their wit have shown,
But still the riddle's sense remains unknown.
By prostitutes, I know, and rakes professed,
The disquisition's treated as a jest.
At supper these loose verses read aloud,
Which charm the sprightly, gay, unthinking crowd.
But study pleases when our mirth is past,
Reason succeeds to witty jests at last.
Upon ourselves we turn a curious eye,
And into our own nature strive to pry.
Thought is to those who live in crowds unknown,
We seriously reflect when left alone.
With thee I fain would soar on wisdom's wing
From this vile world to its Eternal King.
That wondrous chain discover, if you can,
Which links the heavens with earth, with angels man:
That world of beings subject to one law,
Which Plato and which Pope in fancy saw.
In vain you press me, such a great design
My genius must in silent awe decline:
Gallic correctness all my flights restrains,
Ours are not free like Greek or British strains.
'Tis Pope's to speak, I am to silence bound,
Bachelors of Bourges may mysteries expound.
I've taken no degree, nor will engage
In fierce debate or war polemic wage.
Hear a recital with instruction fraught,
Which by Fourmont may be a fable thought;
But which I in a Chinese author found
Translated by a Jesuit profound.
A mouse did once thus to another say,
"O'er what a noble empire bear we sway!
This palace's deep foundations erst were laid
For us; for us by God these holes were made.
See you those hams in yon vault closely pent?
By God they thither for our use were sent.
Those hills of bacon, an unfailing store,
Shall last for us till time shall be no more.
A mouse, great God, the sages all declare
Creation's end: A work beyond compare!
Vicious are cats, to eat us much inclined,
But 'tis from error to reclaim our kind."
Not far a multitude of geese are seen,
Drawn up near woods and streams upon the green;
Of pampered turkeys, troops that strut in state,
And flocks that bend beneath their fleeces' weight,
They cried: "The universe is ours alone,
Whatever the Almighty made, we own."
In the clear watery image whilst he grazed,
The ass his beauty saw, and was amazed.
He cries: "For asses God has made the earth,
Man still attends me, he's my slave from birth;
He curries, washes me, and, more, to please,
Builds my seraglio, for my joys purveys;
And happy to procure me soft delight,
Brings a she-ass to crown my bliss at night:
Often I laugh when I behold him pass,
With haughty airs, as if he were an ass."
Man came the next, his plea was much the same,
He cried: "Heaven, earth, and elements, I claim:
To waft me ocean rolls and winds arise;
To give me light, stars glitter in the skies;
Night's argent globe through heaven's clear azure glides,
Increases, wanes, and o'er the stars presides;
O'er all presides my vast, capacious mind,
In the wide universe too close confined:
But though I'm oracle and master here,
I should be raised to a more glorious sphere."
The angels then, who in high heaven control
The wandering orbs, and teach them how to roll,
Exclaimed, whilst at their will they moved each ball:
"God for our pleasure has created all."
Then earth with pity and with scorn they eyed,
And laughed at mortals and at human pride.
Their secret thoughts were all to Fien[1] known,
He summoned them before the eternal throne.
Each varied being, angel, beast, and man,
All that compose the Almighty's wondrous plan,
"You are my creatures, I call you all mine,
You bear," said He, "my character divine;
To me you all, as to your centre, tend;
For me you all were made, on me depend:
I rule at once o'er Nature, Time, and Fate;
By me each being is assigned its state.
Imperfect creatures! you aspire in vain,
In your own stations satisfied remain."
Man still was discontented with his place,
Still at their lot repined the human race.
A learned Chinese, grown old in fierce dispute,
Who reason could by argument confute,
With logic of Confucius quite possessed,
In form to God presented his request:
"Why is my time a second? Why my space
A point? Why falls so soon the human race?
Why am I not a hundred cubits high?
Why can't I travel swiftly through the sky?
Why can't I teach the erring moon her way?
Why am I not awake both night and day?
Why can't I prove, inflamed by amorous fire,
In one month, of a hundred sons, the sire?
Why, in one day, was all my ardor past?"
"Your questions," said the God, "will always last:
Soon will your doubts and scruples all be o'er,
For truth you must the ideal world explore."
Even then an angel bore him from the place,
Far as the centre of unbounded space;
O'er suns, which circling planets still surround,
Moons, rings and comets, which no limits bound:
A globe he entered, where the hand divine
Of nature's God had traced his great design;
The eye can there each real system scan,
And of each system possible the plan.
Now animating hopes the sage inspire,
He seeks a world made to his heart's desire:
He sought in vain; the angel made him know,
That what he wished could ne'er exist below;
For could man, giant-like, with heaven engage,
Or rather war against right reason wage.
Had God extended in this earthly sphere
His life up to his twenty-thousandth year,
This mass of earth and water ne'er could find
Room for the overgrown, gigantic kind.
Reasons like these the cavillers confound,
He owns, each being has its proper bound;
That 'tis a folly to aspire below,
Since life and pleasure both their limits know;
That man should not of grief or toil complain,
And less of death, which frees him from his chain:
That he should not fatigue the heavenly throne,
Since to the Almighty change was never known.
Convinced, not satisfied, the sage his flight
Bent to the earth, and owned that all is right;
But still he murmured, 'midst the earthly throng,
A doctor never can be in the wrong.
More flexible was Matthew Garo's mind,
To praise for all things God his soul inclined.
Perhaps God erst on men more wealth bestowed,
Perhaps their plains with milk and honey flowed;
The night, perhaps, was lightsome as the day,
And winter bloomed with all the flowers of May;
Whilst man, the king of earth, in peace retired,
Wrapt up in self, himself alone admired.
But let us rest contented with our fate,
Our bliss is suited to our present state:
Against our Maker murmurs must prove vain,
Mortals should not the laws of God arraign:
Let us to serve him all our lives employ,
And gratefully the bliss he gives, enjoy.
If to two days the Almighty had confined
The time allotted to all humankind,
We should to God those two short days consign,
And consecrate the time to love divine.
He who assiduous every call attends,
Never complains that life too quickly ends.
A man in little time may sure live long,
This I could prove by reasons very strong;
But authors should not to instruct aspire,
Who speaks too much is ever sure to tire.
Thus did my muse, in simple, artless strain,
And various tones, strive nature to explain;
Whilst Frenchmen wandered, and, with piercing eyes,
At Quito hoped to see new stars arise;
Whilst Maupertuis and Clairaut Europe praised,
And Lapland at their new meridian gazed;
While rival of the old Prometheus fame,
Vacanson brings to man celestial flame,
Boldly to copy nature's self aspires,
And bodies animates with heavenly fires.
Remote from cities, on Parnassus' shore
I passed my days, intent on learned lore;
And from the sphere, where Milton, unconfined,
At pleasure roved, where pierced great Newton's mind,
I saw them soar, with emulation fired,
Genius sublime and arts my soul admired;
Slanderers in me beheld their foes professed,
Fanatics wild, informers I detest;
I know no envy, or perfidious art,
I worship God with pure and upright heart;
And though my body's with diseases spent,
My active mind on study is intent;
I live convinced that while we here remain,
To hope for perfect happiness is vain.
- ↑ God is called by this name in the Chinese language.