above the slope on which the house lay, and going
through his form of worship. “It did not
consist in a vain moving of the lips, but in a sincere
elevation of heart to the author of the tender nature
whose beauties lay spread out before my eyes.
This act passed rather in wonder and contemplation
than in requests; and I always knew that with the
dispenser of true blessings, the best means of obtaining
those which are needful for us, is less to ask than
to deserve them."[80] These effusions may be taken
for the beginning of the deistical reaction in the
eighteenth century. While the truly scientific
and progressive spirits were occupied in laborious
preparation for adding to human knowledge and systematising
it, Rousseau walked with his head in the clouds among
gods, beneficent authors of nature, wise dispensers
of blessings, and the like. “Ah, madam,”
he once said, “sometimes in the privacy of my
study, with my hands pressed tight over my eyes or
in the darkness of the night, I am of his opinion that
there is no God. But look yonder (pointing with
his hand to the sky, with head erect, and an inspired
glance): the rising of the sun, as it scatters
the mists that cover the earth and lays bare the wondrous
glittering scene of nature, disperses at the same
moment all cloud from my soul. I find my faith
again, and my God, and my belief in him. I admire
and adore him, and I prostrate myself in his presence."[81]
As if that settled the question affirmatively, any
more than the absence of such theistic emotion in
many noble spirits settles it negatively. God
became the highest known formula for sensuous expansion,
the synthesis of all complacent emotions, and Rousseau
filled up the measure of his delight by creating and
invoking a Supreme Being to match with fine scenery
and sunny gardens. We shall have a better occasion
to mark the attributes of this important conception
when we come to Emilius, where it was launched
in a panoply of resounding phrases upon a Europe which
was grown too strong for Christian dogma, and was
not yet grown strong enough to rest in a provisional
ordering of the results of its own positive knowledge.
Walking on the terrace at Les Charmettes, you are at
the very birth-place of that particular Etre Supreme
to whom Robespierre offered the incense of an official
festival.
Sometimes the reading of a Jansenist book would make him unhappy by the prominence into which it brought the displeasing idea of hell, and he used now and then to pass a miserable day in wondering whether this cruel destiny should be his. Madame de Warens, whose softness of heart inspired her with a theology that ought to have satisfied a seraphic doctor, had abolished hell, but she could not dispense with purgatory because she did not know what to do with the souls of the wicked, being unable either to damn them, or to instal them among the good until they had been purified into goodness. In truth it must be confessed, says Rousseau, that alike in this world and the other