this world is to assure Himself of the love, obedience, and respect of His subjects; who gives them the liberty to act, in order to give them occasion to deserve His favors and to acquire eternal happiness, which He does not owe them in any way.  In what way can we recognize the tenderness of a Father who created the majority of His children but for the purpose of dragging out a life of pain, anxiety, and bitterness upon this earth?  Is there any more fatal boon than this pretended liberty which, it is said, men can abuse, and thereby expose themselves to the risk of eternal misery?

Xcii.—­The life of mortals, all which takes place here below, testifies against man’s liberty and against the justice and goodness of A pretended god.

In calling mortals into life, what a cruel and dangerous game does the Divinity force them to play!  Thrust into the world without their wish, provided with a temperament of which they are not the masters, animated by passions and desires inherent in their nature, exposed to snares which they have not the skill to avoid, led away by events which they could neither foresee nor prevent, the unfortunate beings are obliged to follow a career which conducts them to horrible tortures.

Travelers assert that in some part of Asia reigns a sultan full of phantasies, and very absolute in his will.  By a strange mania this prince spends his time sitting before a table, on which are placed six dice and a dice-box.  One end of the table is covered with a pile of gold, for the purpose of exciting the cupidity of the courtiers and of the people by whom the sultan is surrounded.  He, knowing the weak point of his subjects, speaks to them in this way:  “Slaves!  I wish you well; my aim is to enrich you and render you all happy.  Do you see these treasures?  Well, they are for you! try to win them; let each one in turn take this box and these dice; whoever shall have the good luck to raffle six, will be master of this treasure; but I warn you that he who has not the luck to throw the required number, will be precipitated forever into an obscure cell, where my justice exacts that he shall be burned by a slow fire.”  Upon this threat of the monarch, they regarded each other in consternation; no one willing to take a risk so dangerous.  “What!” said the angry sultan, “no one wants to play?  Oh, this does not suit me!  My glory demands that you play.  You will raffle then; I wish it; obey without replying!” It is well to observe that the despot’s dice are prepared in such a way, that upon a hundred thousand throws there is but one that wins; thus the generous monarch has the pleasure to see his prison well filled, and his treasures seldom carried away.  Mortals! this Sultan is your God; His treasures are heaven; His cell is hell; and you hold the dice!