Voltaire · Complete work
Letter I
Letter I of 24. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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SUR LES QUAKERS.
J’ai cru que la doctrine et l’histoire d’un peuple aussi extraordinaire que les quakers méritaient la curiosité d’un homme raisonnable. Pour m’en instruire, j’allai trouver un des plus célèbres quakers d’Angleterre, qui, après avoir été trente ans dans le commerce, avait su mettre des bornes à sa fortune et à ses désirs, ets’était retiré dans une campagne auprès de Londres. J’allai le chercher dans sa retraite: c’était une maison petite, mais bien bâtie et ornée de sa seule propreté. Le quaker était un vieillard frais qui n’avait jamais eu de maladie parce qu’il n’avait jamais connu les passions ni l’intempérance: je n’ai point vu en ma vie d’air plus noble ni plus engageant que le sien. Il était vêtu, comme tous ceux de sa religion, d’un habit sans plis dans les côtés, et sans boutons sur les poches ni sur les manches, et portait un grand chapeau à bords rabattus comme nos ecclésiastiques. Il me reçut avec son chapeau sur la tête, et s’avança vers moi sans faire la moindre inclination de corps; mais il y avait plus de politesse dans l’air ouvert et humain de son visage qu’il n’y en a dans l’usage de tirer une jambe derrière l’autre, et de porter à la main ce qui est fait pour couvrir la tête. « Ami, me dit-il, je vois que tu es étranger; si je puis t’être de quelque utilité, tu n’as qu’à parler. — Monsieur, lui dis-je, en me courbant le corps et en glissant un pied vers lui, selon notre coutume, je me flatte que ma juste curiosité ne vous déplaira pas, et que vous voudrez bien me faire l’honneur de m’instruire de votre religion. — Les gens de ton pays, me répondit-il, font trop de compliments et de révérences; mais je n’en ai encore vu aucun qui ait eu la même curiosité que toi. Entre, et dînons d’abord ensemble. » Je fis encore quelques mauvais compliments, parce qu’on ne se défait pas de ses habitudes tout d’un coup; et, après un repas sain et frugal, qui commença et qui finit par une prière à Dieu, je me mis à interroger mon homme. Je débutai par la question que de bons catholiques ont faite plus d’une fois aux huguenots. « Mon cher monsieur, dis-je, êtes-vous baptisé? — Non, me répondit le quaker, et mes confrères ne le sont point. — Comment, morbleu, repris-je, vous n’êtes donc pas chrétiens? — Mon ami, repartit-il d’un ton doux, ne jure point, nous sommes chrétiens; mais nous ne pensons pas que le christianisme consiste à jeter de l’eau sur la tête avec un peu de sel. — Eh! bon Dieu! repris-je, outré de cette impiété, vous avez donc oublié que Jésus-Christ fut baptisé par Jean? — Ami, point de jurements encore un coup, dit le bénin quaker. Le Christ reçut le baptême de Jean,mais il ne baptisa jamais personne; nous ne sommes pas les disciples de Jean, mais du Christ. — Ah! comme vous seriez brûlé par la sainte Inquisition, m’écriai-je… Au nom de Dieu, cher homme, que je vous baptise! — S’il ne fallait que cela pour condescendre à ta faiblesse, nous le ferions volontiers, repartit-il gravement; nous ne condamnons personne pour user de la cérémonie du Baptême, mais nous croyons que ceux qui professent une religion toute sainte et toute spirituelle doivent s’abstenir, autant qu’ils le peuvent, des cérémonies judaïques. — En voici bien d’une autre, m’écriai-je; Des cérémonies judaïques! — Oui, mon ami, continua-t-il, et si judaïques que plusieurs juifs encore aujourd’hui usent quelquefois du Baptême de Jean. Consulte l’Antiquité; elle t’apprendra que Jean ne fit que renouveler cette pratique, laquelle était en usage longtemps avant lui parmi les Hébreux, comme le pèlerinage de la Mecque l’était parmi les ismaélites. Jésus voulut bien recevoir le Baptême de Jean, de même qu’il était soumis à la Circoncision; mais, et la Circoncision, et le lavement d’eau doivent être tous deux abolis par le Baptême du Christ, ce Baptême de l’esprit, cette ablution de l’âme qui sauve les hommes. Aussi le précurseur Jean disait: Je vous baptise à la vérité avec de l’eau, mais un autre viendra après moi, plus puissant que moi, et dont je ne suis pas digne de porter les sandales; celui−là vous baptisera avec le feu et le Saint-Esprit. Aussi le grand Apôtre des Gentils, Paul, écrit aux Corinthiens: Le Christ ne m’a pas envoyé pour baptiser, mais pour prêcher l’Évangile; aussi ce même Paul ne baptisa jamais avec de l’eau que deux personnes, encore fut-ce malgré lui; il circoncit son disciple Timothée; les autres Apôtres circoncisaient aussi tous ceux qui voulaient l’être. Es-tu circoncis? ajouta-t-il. Je lui répondis que je n’avais pas cet honneur. « Eh bien, dit−il, ami, tu es chrétien sans être circoncis, et moi, sans être baptisé.
Voilà comme mon saint homme abusait assez spécieusement de trois ou quatre passages de la Sainte Écriture, qui semblaient favoriser sa secte; il oubliait de la meilleure foi du monde une centaine de passages qui l’écrasaient. Je me gardai bien de lui rien contester; il n’y a rien à gagner avec un enthousiaste: il ne faut point s’aviser de dire à un homme les défauts de sa maîtresse, ni à un plaideur le faible de sa cause, ni des raisons à un illuminé; ainsi je passai à d’autres questions.
« À l’égard de la Communion, lui dis−je, comment en usez−vous? − Nous n’en usons point, dit−il. − Quoi! point de Communion? − Non, point d’autre que celle des cœurs. Alors il me cita encore les Écritures. Il me fit un fort beau sermon contre la Communion, et me parla d’un ton inspiré pour me prouver que tous les Sacrements étaient tous d’invention humaine, et que le mot de Sacrement ne se trouvait pas une seule fois dans l’Évangile. « Pardonne, dit−il, à mon ignorance, je ne t’ai pas apporté la centième partie des preuves de ma religion; mais tu peux les voir dans l’Exposition de notre foi par Robert Barclay: c’est un des meilleurs livres qui soient jamais sortis de la main des hommes. Nos ennemis conviennent qu’il est très dangereux, cela prouve combien il est raisonnable. Je lui promis de lire ce livre, et mon quaker me crut déjà converti.
Ensuite il me rendit raison en peu de mots de quelques singularités qui exposent cette secte au mépris des autres. « Avoue, dit−il, que tu as bien eude la peine à t’empêcher de rire quand j’ai répondu à toutes tes civilités avec mon chapeau sur la tête et en te tutoyant; cependant tu me parais trop instruit pour ignorer que du temps du Christ aucune nation ne tombait dans le ridicule de substituer le pluriel au singulier. On disait à César Auguste: je t’aime, je te prie, je te remercie; il ne souffrait pas même qu’on l’appelât monsieur, dominus. Ce ne fut que très longtemps après lui que les hommes s’avisèrent de se faire appeler vous au lieu de tu, comme s’ils étaient doubles, et d’usurper les titres impertinents de Grandeur, d’Éminence, de Sainteté, de divinité même, que des vers de terre donnent à d’autres vers de terre, en les assurant qu’ils sont, avec un profond respect et une fausseté infâme, leurs très humbles et très obéissants serviteurs. C’est pour être plus sur nos gardes contre cet indigne commerce de mensonges et de flatteries que nous tutoyons également les rois et les charbonniers, que nous ne saluons personne, n’ayant pour les hommes que de la charité, et du respect que pour les lois.
« Nous portons aussi un habit un peu différent des autreshommes, afin que ce soit pour nous un avertissement continuelde ne leur pas ressembler. Les autres portent les marques de leursdignités, et nous celles de l’humilité chrétienne; nous fuyons lesassemblées de plaisir, les spectacles, le jeu, car nous serions bienà plaindre de remplir de ces bagatelles des cœurs en qui Dieudoit habiter: nous ne faisons jamais de serments, pas même enjustice; nous pensons que le nom du Très-Haut ne doit pas êtreprostitué dans les débats misérables des hommes. Lorsqu’il fautque nous comparaissions devant les magistrats pour les affairesdes autres (car nous n’avons jamais de procès), nous affirmons lavérité par un oui ou par un non, et les juges nous en croient surnotre simple parole, tandis que tant d’autres chrétiens se parjurentsur l’Évangile. Nous n’allons jamais à la guerre: ce n’est pas quenous craignions la mort: au contraire, nous bénissons le momentqui nous unit à l’Être des êtres; mais c’est que nous ne sommesni loups, ni tigres, ni dogues, mais hommes, mais chrétiens. Notredieu, qui nous a ordonné d’aimer nos ennemis et de souffrir sansmurmure, ne veut pas sans doute que nous passions la mer pouraller égorger nos frères, parce que des meurtriers vêtus de rouge,coiffés d’un bonnet haut de deux pieds, enrôlent des citoyens enfaisant du bruit avec deux petits bâtons sur une peau d’âne bientendue. Et lorsque, après des batailles gagnées, tout Londres brilled’illuminations, que le ciel est enflammé de fusées, que l’air retentitdu bruit des actions de grâces, des cloches, des orgues, des canons,nous gémissons en silence sur ces meurtres qui causent la publiqueallégresse. »
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the French text of all twenty-four letters (Garnier edition, 1879, French Wikisource) for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity.
On the Quakers
I thought the doctrine and history of a people as extraordinary as the Quakers deserved the curiosity of a reasonable man. To learn about them, I went to see one of the most celebrated Quakers in England, who, after thirty years in trade, had known how to set limits to his fortune and his desires, and had retired to the country near London. I sought him out in his retreat: it was a small house, but well built and adorned by nothing but its cleanliness. The Quaker was a vigorous old man who had never been ill because he had never known passion or excess: in my life I have never seen an expression more noble or more inviting than his. Like all those of his faith, he wore a coat without pleats at the sides or buttons on the pockets or sleeves, and a broad hat with its brim turned down, like our clergymen. He received me with his hat on his head and came forward without the least bow; yet there was more courtesy in the frank and humane look on his face than in the custom of drawing one leg behind the other and holding in one's hand what was made to cover the head. “Friend,” he said, “I see you are a stranger; if I can be of any use to you, you have only to speak.” “Sir,” I said, bending my body and sliding a foot toward him, as is our custom, “I trust that my legitimate curiosity will not displease you, and that you will do me the honor of instructing me in your religion.” “People from your country,” he answered, “make too many compliments and bows; but I have yet to see one with the same curiosity as yours. Come in, and first let us dine together.” I made a few more poor compliments, for one does not shed one's habits all at once; and after a wholesome, frugal meal that began and ended with a prayer to God, I set about questioning my man. I began with the question that good Catholics have asked Huguenots more than once. “My dear sir,” I said, “have you been baptized?” “No,” the Quaker answered, “and neither have my fellows.” “What, damn it,” I replied, “then you are not Christians?” “My friend,” he answered gently, “do not swear. We are Christians; but we do not think Christianity consists in pouring water on a head with a little salt.” “Good God!” I exclaimed, outraged by this impiety, “have you forgotten that Jesus Christ was baptized by John?” “Friend, no swearing, I say again,” said the kindly Quaker. “Christ received John's baptism, but he never baptized anyone; we are not disciples of John but of Christ.” “Ah! How the Holy Inquisition would burn you,” I cried… “For God's sake, dear man, let me baptize you!” “If that were all it took to indulge your weakness, we would gladly do it,” he replied gravely; “we condemn no one for using the ceremony of Baptism, but we believe that those who profess a wholly holy and spiritual religion should abstain as far as they can from Jewish ceremonies.” “Now that's another thing altogether,” I exclaimed. “Jewish ceremonies!” “Yes, my friend,” he continued, “and so Jewish that several Jews still sometimes practice John's baptism today. Consult antiquity; it will teach you that John merely revived this practice, long in use among the Hebrews before him, just as the pilgrimage to Mecca was among the Ishmaelites. Jesus was willing to receive John's baptism, just as he submitted to Circumcision; but both Circumcision and washing with water must be abolished by Christ's Baptism, that baptism of the spirit, that cleansing of the soul which saves mankind. Thus John the forerunner said: I baptize you indeed with water, but another will come after me, mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry; he will baptize you with fire and the Holy Spirit. Thus also Paul, the great Apostle to the Gentiles, writes to the Corinthians: Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the Gospel; and that same Paul baptized only two people with water, and even that against his will. He circumcised his disciple Timothy; the other Apostles likewise circumcised everyone who wished it. Are you circumcised?” he added. I answered that I did not have that honor. “Well then, friend,” he said, “you are a Christian without being circumcised, and I am one without being baptized.”
That was how my holy man rather plausibly misused three or four passages of Holy Scripture that seemed to favor his sect; in all good faith he forgot a hundred passages that crushed it. I took care not to dispute anything with him. There is nothing to be gained with an enthusiast: one should not presume to tell a man his mistress's faults, or a litigant the weakness of his case, or an inspired visionary one's reasons. So I passed to other questions.
“As for Communion,” I said, “what do you do about it?” “We do not practice it,” he said. “What! No Communion?” “No, none but the communion of hearts.” Then he cited Scripture to me again. He delivered a very fine sermon against Communion, and spoke in an inspired tone to prove that all the Sacraments were human inventions, and that the word Sacrament did not appear once in the Gospel. “Forgive my ignorance,” he said; “I have not offered you a hundredth part of the proofs of my religion, but you can find them in Robert Barclay's Exposition of Our Faith: it is one of the best books ever to come from human hands. Our enemies admit that it is very dangerous, which proves how reasonable it is.” I promised to read the book, and my Quaker already thought me converted.
Then in a few words he explained some of the peculiarities that expose this sect to the contempt of others. “Admit,” he said, “that you had quite a struggle not to laugh when I answered all your courtesies with my hat on my head and addressed you with the familiar ‘you’; yet you seem too well informed not to know that in Christ's time no nation fell into the absurdity of substituting the plural for the singular. People said to Caesar Augustus: I love you, I beg you, I thank you; he would not even allow himself to be called lord, dominus. It was only long after his time that men thought of being addressed in the plural rather than the singular, as though they were double, and of arrogating the absurd titles of Greatness, Eminence, Holiness, even Divinity, which worms bestow on other worms while assuring them, with profound respect and infamous dishonesty, that they are their most humble and most obedient servants. To be more on our guard against this shameful commerce in lies and flattery, we address kings and charcoal burners alike in the singular, bow to no one, and reserve charity for men and respect for the laws.
“We also wear clothing a little different from other men's, so that it may be a constant reminder not to resemble them. Others wear the marks of their rank; we wear those of Christian humility. We shun gatherings devoted to pleasure, the theater, and gambling, for we would be pitiable indeed if we filled with such trifles hearts in which God should dwell. We never swear oaths, not even in court; we believe the name of the Most High should not be profaned in the wretched disputes of men. When we must appear before magistrates on other people's business (for we never have lawsuits), we affirm the truth with a yes or a no, and the judges believe us on our word alone, while so many other Christians perjure themselves upon the Gospel. We never go to war: it is not that we fear death; on the contrary, we bless the moment that joins us to the Being of beings. But we are not wolves or tigers or mastiffs: we are men, we are Christians. Our God, who has commanded us to love our enemies and suffer without complaint, surely does not want us to cross the sea to slaughter our brothers because murderers dressed in red, wearing hats two feet high, enlist citizens by making a noise with two little sticks on a tightly stretched donkey skin. And when, after battles won, all London shines with illuminations, the sky blazes with fireworks, and the air rings with thanksgiving, bells, organs, and cannons, we mourn in silence the killings that occasion this public joy.”
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the French text of all twenty-four letters (Garnier edition, 1879, French Wikisource).
On the Quakers
I thought the beliefs and history of such an unusual people as the Quakers would interest a reasonable person. To learn about them, I visited one of England’s best-known Quakers. After thirty years in business, he had learned to limit both his wealth and his wants, and had retired to the countryside near London. His house was small but well built. Cleanliness was its only decoration. He was a healthy old man who had never been sick, because he had never given in to strong passions or excess. I have never seen anyone look more dignified or welcoming. Like everyone in his religion, he wore a coat without pleats at the sides or buttons on the pockets or sleeves. He wore a large hat with its brim turned down, like our clergy. He received me with his hat on and came toward me without the slightest bow. Yet his open, kind face showed more courtesy than the custom of putting one leg behind the other and carrying in your hand something made to cover your head. “Friend,” he said, “I see you’re a stranger. If I can help you, just say so.” “Sir,” I said, bowing and sliding one foot toward him as we do, “I hope my genuine curiosity won’t offend you. I hope you’ll do me the honor of teaching me about your religion.” “People from your country,” he answered, “make too many compliments and bows. But I’ve never seen one as curious as you. Come in, and let’s have dinner first.” I made a few more awkward compliments, because habits do not disappear at once. After a healthy, simple meal that began and ended with a prayer to God, I started questioning him. I began with a question good Catholics have asked Huguenots more than once. “My dear sir,” I said, “have you been baptized?” “No,” answered the Quaker, “and neither have my fellow believers.” “What the devil!” I said. “Then you aren’t Christians?” “My friend,” he replied gently, “don’t swear. We are Christians, but we don’t think Christianity consists of pouring water and a little salt on someone’s head.” “Good God!” I exclaimed, outraged at this irreverence. “Have you forgotten that Jesus Christ was baptized by John?” “Friend, no more swearing,” said the kindly Quaker. “Christ accepted John’s baptism, but he never baptized anyone. We follow Christ, not John.” “Ah, the holy Inquisition would burn you!” I cried. “For God’s sake, dear man, let me baptize you!” “If that were all it took to accommodate your weakness, we would gladly do it,” he answered seriously. “We don’t condemn anyone for practicing the ceremony of baptism. But we believe that those who profess a wholly holy and spiritual religion should avoid Jewish ceremonies as far as they can.” “Now that’s something else!” I cried. “Jewish ceremonies?” “Yes, my friend,” he continued. “So Jewish that even today some Jews sometimes practice John’s baptism. Look into ancient history. You’ll find that John merely revived a practice the Hebrews had long used before him, just as the Ishmaelites had long made the pilgrimage to Mecca. Jesus agreed to receive John’s baptism, just as he submitted to circumcision. But both circumcision and washing with water must give way to Christ’s baptism: the baptism of the spirit, the washing of the soul that saves people. John, who came before him, said: ‘I baptize you with water, but someone more powerful than I am will come after me. I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with fire and the Holy Spirit.’ And Paul, the great Apostle to the Gentiles, wrote to the Corinthians: ‘Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the Gospel.’ Paul himself baptized only two people with water, and even then reluctantly. He circumcised his disciple Timothy. The other Apostles also circumcised anyone who wanted it. Are you circumcised?” he added. I answered that I had not had that honor. “Well then, friend,” he said, “you’re a Christian without being circumcised, and I am one without being baptized.”
That is how my holy man made a fairly plausible misuse of three or four passages of Scripture that seemed to support his sect. In perfect good faith, he forgot a hundred passages that demolished it. I was careful not to argue. There is nothing to gain by arguing with a fanatic. Don’t point out a man’s girlfriend’s faults, tell a litigant the weakness of his case, or offer arguments to someone who thinks he has divine insight. So I moved on to other questions.
“What about Communion?” I asked. “What do you do?” “We don’t practice it,” he said. “What? No Communion?” “None but the communion of hearts.” Then he quoted Scripture to me again. He gave me a fine sermon against Communion, speaking as if inspired to prove that all the sacraments were human inventions, and that the word “sacrament” did not appear once in the Gospel. “Forgive my ignorance,” he said. “I haven’t given you even a hundredth of the evidence for my religion. But you can find it in Robert Barclay’s Exposition of Our Faith. It’s one of the best books anyone has ever written. Our enemies agree that it’s very dangerous, which shows how reasonable it is.” I promised to read the book, and my Quaker already thought I was converted.
He then briefly explained some of the odd customs that expose the sect to other people’s ridicule. “Admit it,” he said, “you had a hard time not laughing when I answered all your courtesies with my hat on and addressed you in the familiar singular. But you seem too well educated not to know that in Christ’s time no nation did anything so ridiculous as using the plural for one person. People said to Caesar Augustus, ‘I love you, I ask you, I thank you,’ using the singular form. He wouldn’t even let people call him lord, dominus. Only much later did people decide to address one person in the plural, as if that person were two. They also claimed absurd titles such as Greatness, Eminence, Holiness, and even Divinity. Worms bestow these titles on other worms, assuring them, with deep respect and shameful dishonesty, that they are their most humble and obedient servants. To guard against this disgraceful trade in lies and flattery, we address kings and coalmen alike in the singular. We bow to no one, because we reserve kindness for people and respect for the laws.
“We also dress a little differently from other people, as a constant reminder not to be like them. Others wear the signs of their rank; we wear signs of Christian humility. We stay away from parties, shows, and gambling. It would be a sad thing to fill with such trifles hearts where God should live. We never swear oaths, not even in court. We think the name of the Most High should not be dragged into people’s petty disputes. When we must appear before magistrates on other people’s business (since we never have lawsuits of our own), we state the truth with a yes or no. The judges take us at our word, while so many other Christians swear falsely on the Gospel. We never go to war. It is not because we fear death. On the contrary, we welcome the moment that joins us to the Being above all beings. But we are not wolves, tigers, or attack dogs. We are people and Christians. Our God ordered us to love our enemies and suffer without complaint. Surely he does not want us to cross the sea and slaughter our brothers because murderers dressed in red, wearing hats two feet high, recruit citizens by beating two little sticks on a tightly stretched donkey skin. And when London is lit up after victories, the sky glows with fireworks, and the air rings with thanksgiving, bells, organs, and cannons, we silently mourn the killings that cause all this public joy.”