Without admitting that science is of itself a legitimate object of research, it will be recognized that it is lawful to study it, either in our own interest or for the love of others, or for the love of God. But this is not enough: to see in science nothing but a means to be useful to ourselves (as, for example, to make a living),[114] is a servile and mercenary view, which does not deserve to be discussed. To maintain that science should only be cultivated because of its utility to others, is the same as to say that man has no duties toward himself, and that he is not obliged, letting alone the interest of others, to respect or perfect his own self: a thing we have already refuted. Finally, to say that science should be cultivated as a gift from God, and for the love of God, may be true; but this is not any more applicable to that occupation than to any other; and the same may be said of any other kind of duty without exception. Certainly, science should not make one proud; but pride is only an adventitious and not a necessary consequence, which, in speaking of cultivating science, should not be confounded with the fact itself.
Besides, when Malebranche says that the scientist is not any happier or wiser for his science, he is mistaken: for the greatest happiness is sometimes derived from science alone; and as to the wisdom of it, a taste for elevated thought is already a guarantee against the allurements of the passions; finally, whilst we cultivate science, we are safe from other less innocent inclinations.
To the opinions of Nicole and Malebranche, let us oppose the testimony of two men who possessed in the highest degree the respect and love of science:
“It is unworthy of man,” says Aristotle, “not to possess himself of all the science he can. If the poets are right, when they say that the Divinity is capable of jealousy, this jealousy would especially manifest itself in regard to philosophy, and then, all those who indulged in elevated thought would be unhappy. But it is not possible for the Divinity to be jealous, and the poets, as the proverb says, do not always tell the truth.
Let us now hear Descartes:
“Although in judging myself I find that I am more disposed to incline toward the side of distrust than presumption, and that regarding with a philosopher’s eye the diverse actions and enterprises of men, there be scarcely any that do not seem to me vain and useless, yet does the progress which I think I have already made in the search for truth give me extreme satisfaction, and inspire me with such hopes for the future that if, among the more material occupations of men, there are any substantially good and important, I dare believe that it is the one I have chosen.”[115]
If, from a standpoint of somewhat mystical piety, some minds of the seventeenth century regarded the sciences as useless, a paradoxical stoicism accused them in the eighteenth to be a cause of corruption and decay in society. Such is J. J. Rousseau’s celebrated thesis in his first speech at the Academy of Dijon.
This celebrated paradox, which has created so much excitement in the past century, and which is even an historical event (for it was the first attack against the society of the time), has since been so decried that it is useless to dwell on it. Let us make a brief résumé of J. J. Rousseau’s arguments:
1. Progress in letters and sciences serves for nothing else but to conceal the vices and put hypocrisy in the place of an ill-bred rusticity.
2. All great nations ceased to be invincible as soon as the sciences penetrated among them. Egypt, after the conquest of Cambyses; Greece, after Pericles; Rome, after Augustus. If, on the contrary, we look for examples of healthy, honest, vigorous nations, we find them among the ancient Persians, Scythians, Spartans, the first Romans, the Swiss.