LETTER CXXXV. Rica to the Same.

I RETURNED at the appointed hour; and my new acquaintance conducted me to the very place where we parted. “Behold here, said he, the grammarians, the glossary makers, and the commentators.” “My reverend father, said I, have not all these a dispensation from having common sense?” “Yes, answered he, they have, and nobody is ever the wiser: their works are neither the better nor the worse for it; and this is a great privilege they are invested with.” “That is very just, said I, and I know many philosophers who would do wisely to attach themselves to sciences of this nature.” “Here, continued he, you may

see the orators who are endowed with the talent of persuading without ratiocination; and the geometricians who force a man to assent to their arguments whether he will or no, and convince him by downright force. Here you see the metaphysical treatises which turn upon interests so important, and in which infinity every where occurs; and the treatises upon natural philosophy, the authors of which can discover no more of the marvellous in the economy of the vast universe, than in one of the most simple machines made by human art. Books of physic, those monuments of the frailty of human nature, and the power of art; which fill us with terror even in treating of the slightest disorders, they bring death so near our view, but which renders us equally secure when they treat of the virtues of remedies, as if they could confer immortality upon us. Near them are the books of anatomy, which do not so properly contain the description of the parts of the human body, as the barbarous names by which they are called; which can never cure the sick man of his disease, nor the physician of his ignorance. Here are the chymists, who sometimes inhabit hospitals, and sometimes madhouses, which are dwellings equally well suited to them. Here again are the books which treat of the occult science, or rather of occult ignorance; such are those which contain something concerning the magic art: these are execrable in the opinion of many, altogether contemptible in mine. Such likewise are the books of judicial astrology.” “How can you say that, father, the books of judicial astrology, replied I, with vivacity. These are the very books which are most esteemed in Persia, they regulate all the actions of our lives, and determine our will in all our undertakings: the astrologers may properly be called our directors: they do more than direct us, they are concerned in the government of the state.” “If that be the case, said he, you live under a government much more severe than that of reason: this must be the most capricious government imaginable: I greatly pity a family, and much more a nation, that suffers the planets to have such powerful influence over it.” “We use astrology, answered I, just in the same manner as you use algebra. Every nation has a peculiar science, according to which it regulates its politics. All our astrologers put together never committed so many absurdities in our Persia, as a single algebraist has done here. Can you think that the fortuitous meeting of the stars is not as sure a rule of conduct as all the fine reasoning of your builder of systems? If the votes upon that subject were to be reckoned up both in France and Persia, astrology would soon triumph over algebra; you would soon see the calculators greatly humbled, what terrible inferences might be drawn against them from hence?” Our dispute was interrupted, and we were under a necessity of parting.

Paris, the 26th of the moon Rhamazan,
1719.