Chapter XI

How the Ingénu develops his gifts.

Reading enlarges the soul, and an enlightened friend consoles it. Our prisoner enjoyed both these blessings, which he had never suspected before. "I am tempted," he said, "to believe in metamorphoses, for I have been changed from a brute into a man." With a portion of his money that he was allowed to use, he assembled a choice library. His friend encouraged him to put his reflections in writing. Here is what he wrote about ancient history:

"I imagine that nations were for a long time as I was, that they acquired knowledge only very late, and that for centuries they concerned themselves solely with the passing moment, very little with the past, and never with the future. I have traveled five or six hundred leagues through Canada and found not a single monument; no one there knows anything of what his great-grandfather did. Might this not be man's natural condition? The human race on this continent seems to me superior to that on the other. For several centuries it has enlarged its existence through the arts and knowledge. Is this because it has beards on its chins, and God has denied beards to the Americans? I do not think so, for I see that the Chinese have scarcely any beard and have cultivated the arts for more than five thousand years. Indeed, if they have more than four thousand years of annals, the nation must have been united and flourishing for more than fifty centuries.

"One thing strikes me above all in this ancient history of China: almost everything in it is plausible and natural. I admire it for containing nothing miraculous.

"Why have all the other nations given themselves fabulous origins? The old chroniclers of French history, who are not very old, derive the French from a Francus, son of Hector; the Romans claimed descent from a Phrygian, though their language contained not a single word with the least connection to the language of Phrygia; the gods had lived in Egypt for ten thousand years, and the devils in Scythia, where they had fathered the Huns. Before Thucydides I see nothing but romances like the Amadis tales, and much less entertaining. Everywhere there are apparitions, oracles, prodigies, spells, metamorphoses, dreams interpreted and determining the fate of the greatest empires and the smallest states: here animals speak, there animals are worshiped, gods are turned into men, and men into gods. Ah! If we must have fables, let them at least be emblems of truth! I love the fables of philosophers, I laugh at those of children, and I hate those of impostors."

One day he came upon a history of the Emperor Justinian. In it he read that certain unlettered men of Constantinople had issued, in very bad Greek, an edict against the greatest commander of the age, because this hero had spoken these words in the heat of conversation: "Truth shines by its own light, and minds are not enlightened by the flames of the stake." The unlettered men declared that this proposition was heretical, savored of heresy, and that the contrary axiom was catholic, universal, and Greek: "Minds are enlightened only by the flames of the stake, and truth cannot shine by its own light." These linen-robed men thus condemned several of the commander's discourses and issued an edict.

"What!" cried the Ingénu. "Edicts issued by such people!" "They are not edicts," replied Gordon, "but counter-edicts, which everyone in Constantinople laughed at, the emperor first of all. He was a wise prince who had managed to restrict the unlettered, linen-robed men to doing good alone. He knew that these gentlemen and several other shrine-bearers had exhausted the patience of his imperial predecessors with counter-edicts on graver matters." "He did very well," said the Ingénu. "Shrine-bearers must be supported and restrained."

He wrote down many other reflections that alarmed old Gordon. "What!" he said to himself. "I have spent fifty years acquiring knowledge, and I fear I cannot attain the natural good sense of this almost savage child! I tremble to think that I have laboriously fortified prejudices; he listens only to simple nature."

The good man had a few of those little books of criticism, those periodical pamphlets in which men incapable of producing anything disparage the works of others, in which the Visés insult the Racines, and the Faydits the Fénelons. The Ingénu looked through a few of them. "I compare them," he said, "to certain little flies that lay their eggs in the backsides of the finest horses: that does not stop the horses from running." The two philosophers scarcely deigned to glance at these excrements of literature.

Soon they read the elements of astronomy together; the Ingénu sent for celestial globes, and this great spectacle enchanted him. "How hard it is," he said, "to begin to know the heavens only when I am robbed of the right to contemplate them! Jupiter and Saturn roll through those immense spaces; millions of suns light billions of worlds; and in the corner of earth where I have been cast, there are beings who deprive me, a seeing, thinking being, of all those worlds my sight could reach, and of the one in which God had me born! The light made for the whole universe is lost to me. It was not hidden from me beneath the northern skies where I spent my childhood and youth. Without you, my dear Gordon, I should be living here in nothingness."

How the Ingénu develops his abilities.

Reading broadens the soul, and a knowledgeable friend comforts it. Our prisoner had both these advantages, which he had never imagined before. "I'm tempted to believe in transformations," he said, "because I've been changed from a beast into a human being." He used some of the money he was allowed to spend to build a carefully chosen library. His friend encouraged him to write down his thoughts. Here is what he wrote about ancient history:

"I imagine nations were like me for a long time. They learned things only very late. For centuries they concerned themselves only with the passing moment, very little with the past, and never with the future. I've traveled five or six hundred leagues through Canada without finding a single monument. Nobody there knows anything about what his great-grandfather did. Could this be humanity's natural condition? The people of this continent seem superior to those of the other. For several centuries, arts and knowledge have enlarged their lives. Is it because they have beards on their chins, while God denied beards to Americans? I don't think so. I see that the Chinese have almost no beards, yet have practiced the arts for over five thousand years. Indeed, if they have over four thousand years of written records, their nation must have been united and flourishing for more than fifty centuries.

"One thing especially strikes me in this ancient Chinese history: almost everything in it is believable and natural. I admire it because it has nothing miraculous in it.

"Why have all the other nations given themselves imaginary origins? The old chroniclers of French history, who aren't very old themselves, trace the French back to Francus, a son of Hector. The Romans claimed descent from a Phrygian, although their language had not a single word with the slightest connection to the language of Phrygia. Gods had lived in Egypt for ten thousand years, and devils lived in Scythia, where they fathered the Huns. Before Thucydides I see only romances like the Amadis stories, but much less entertaining. Everywhere there are apparitions, oracles, miracles, spells, transformations, and interpreted dreams that decide the fate of the greatest empires and smallest states. Here animals speak; there animals are worshiped. Gods turn into men, and men turn into gods. Oh, if we must have fables, at least let them represent truth! I like philosophers' fables, laugh at children's, and hate those of frauds."

One day he came across a history of the emperor Justinian. It said that some uneducated men in Constantinople had issued, in very bad Greek, a decree against the greatest military commander of the age. In the heat of conversation this hero had said, "Truth shines by its own light. You don't enlighten minds with the flames of burning stakes." The uneducated men declared this statement heretical and smelling of heresy. They declared its opposite Catholic, universal, and Greek: "Only the flames of burning stakes enlighten minds, and truth cannot shine by its own light." These linen-robed men condemned several statements by the commander in this way and issued a decree.

"What!" the Ingénu cried. "Those people issued decrees?" "Not decrees," Gordon replied, "counter-decrees. Everyone in Constantinople laughed at them, the emperor most of all. He was a wise prince who had managed to restrict these uneducated, linen-robed men to doing good. He knew that these gentlemen and various other long-robed priests had worn out his predecessors' patience with counter-decrees on more serious subjects." "He did very well," said the Ingénu. "Priests should be supported and kept under control."

He wrote down many more thoughts that alarmed old Gordon. "What!" Gordon said to himself. "I've spent fifty years learning, and I'm afraid I can't reach the natural good sense of this almost uncivilized boy! I tremble to think I may have worked hard at strengthening prejudices. He listens only to nature."

The good man had a few of those little books of criticism, those regular pamphlets where people incapable of producing anything run down other people's work, where Visés insult Racines and Faydits insult Fénelons. The Ingénu looked through some. "I compare them," he said, "to certain little flies that lay their eggs in the backsides of the finest horses. That doesn't stop the horses running." The two philosophers scarcely bothered to glance at this literary excrement.

Soon they read the basics of astronomy together. The Ingénu sent for globes of the heavens. This great sight delighted him. "How hard it is," he said, "to begin learning about the sky only when I'm robbed of the right to look at it! Jupiter and Saturn travel through those immense spaces. Millions of suns light billions of worlds. And in the corner of earth I've been thrown into, there are beings who deprive me, a being who sees and thinks, of all those worlds my eyes could reach, and of the world where God had me born! The light made for the whole universe is lost to me. Nobody hid it from me in the northern skies where I spent my childhood and youth. Without you, dear Gordon, I'd be living here in nothingness."