Conversation with the Men

"Oh intelligent atoms, in which the Eternal Being desired to make manifest his skill and his power, you must, no doubt, taste pure joys on your planet; for having so little matter, and appearing to be entirely spirit, you must live out your life thinking and loving, the veritable life of the mind. Nowhere have I seen true bliss, but it is here, without a doubt."

"Oh, intelligent atoms, the Eternal Being chose to show his skill and power in you. You must surely enjoy pure happiness on your planet. For you have so little matter and seem to be entirely spirit. So you must spend your lives thinking and loving, the true life of the mind. I have never seen true bliss anywhere, but it must surely be here."

At this all the philosophers shook their heads, and one of them, more frank than the others, avowed that if one excepts a small number of inhabitants held in poor regard, all the rest are an assembly of mad, vicious, and wretched people. "We have more substance than is necessary," he said, "to do evil, if evil comes from substance; and too much spirit, if evil comes from spirit. Did you know, for example, that as I am speaking with you¹⁷, there are 100,000 madmen of our species wearing hats, killing 100,000 other animals wearing turbans, or being massacred by them, and that we have used almost surface of the Earth for this purpose since time immemorial?"

At these words, all the philosophers shook their heads. One of them, more honest than the others, admitted that a few poorly regarded inhabitants were the only exceptions. All the rest were a bunch of mad, vicious, and miserable people. "We have more substance than we need," he said, "to do evil, if evil comes from substance. And we have too much spirit, if evil comes from spirit. Did you know that even as I speak to you¹⁷, 100,000 madmen of our species are wearing hats and killing 100,000 other animals wearing turbans, or being slaughtered by them? And did you know we have used almost the entire surface of the Earth for this purpose since time immemorial?"

The Sirian shuddered, and asked the reason for these horrible quarrels between such puny animals.

The Sirian shuddered and asked why such puny animals had these horrible fights.

"It is a matter," said the philosopher, "of some piles of mud as big as your heel¹⁸. It is not that any of these millions of men that slit each other's throats care about this pile of mud. It is only a matter of determining if it should belong to a certain man who we call 'Sultan,' or to another who we call, for whatever reason, 'Czar.' Neither one has ever seen nor will ever see the little piece of Earth, and almost none of these animals that mutually kill themselves have ever seen the animal for which they kill."

"The fight," said the philosopher, "is over some piles of mud as big as your heel¹⁸. None of the millions of men slitting each other's throats care about this pile of mud. The only question is whether the mud should belong to a certain man we call 'Sultan' or another man. For whatever reason, we call the other man 'Czar.' Neither man has ever seen or will ever see this little piece of Earth. And almost none of these animals killing each other have ever seen the animal they kill for."

"Oh! Cruel fate!" cried the Sirian with indignation, "who could conceive of this excess of maniacal rage! It makes me want to take three steps and crush this whole anthill of ridiculous assassins."

"Oh! Cruel fate!" cried the Sirian in outrage. "Who could imagine such insane rage! Such madness makes me want to take three steps and crush this whole anthill of ridiculous murderers."

"Do not waste your time," someone responded, "they are working towards ruin quickly enough. Know that after ten years only one hundredth of these scoundrels will be here. Know that even if they have not drawn swords, hunger, fatigue, or intemperance will overtake them. Furthermore, it is not they that should be punished, it is those sedentary barbarians who from the depths of their offices order, while they are digesting their last meal, the massacre of a million men, and who subsequently give solemn thanks to God."

"Don't waste your time," someone replied, "they're heading for ruin quickly enough. In ten years, only one in a hundred of these scoundrels will still be here. Even if they haven't drawn their swords, hunger, exhaustion, or excessive drinking will finish them off. Besides, these men aren't the ones who should be punished. The real culprits are those barbarians sitting in their offices. While digesting their last meal, they order a million men to be massacred. Then they solemnly thank God."

The voyager was moved with pity for the small human race, where he was discovering such surprising contrasts.

The traveler felt pity for the small human race, in which he was discovering such surprising contrasts.

"Since you are amongst the small number of wise men," he told these sirs, "and since apparently you do not kill anyone for money, tell me, I beg of you, what occupies your time."

"You are among the few wise men," he told these gentlemen. "And apparently, you don't kill anyone for money. So please, tell me how you spend your time."

"We dissect flies," said the philosopher, "we measure lines, we gather figures; we agree with each other on two or three points that we do not understand."

"We dissect flies," said the philosopher. "We measure lines and collect figures. We agree with each other on two or three points we don't understand."

It suddenly took the Sirian and the Saturnian's fancy to question these thinking atoms, to learn what it was they agreed on.

The Sirian and the Saturnian suddenly felt like questioning these thinking atoms to find out what the atoms agreed on.

"What do you measure," said the Saturnian, "from the Dog Star to the great star of the Gemini?"

"What distance do you measure," said the Saturnian, "from the Dog Star to the great star of the Gemini?"

They responded all at once, "thirty-two and a half degrees."

They all answered at once, "thirty-two and a half degrees."

"What do you measure from here to the moon?"

"How far do you measure the distance from here to the moon to be?"

"60 radii of the Earth even."

"Exactly 60 times the Earth's radius."

"How much does your air weigh?"

"How much does your air weigh?"

He thought he had caught them¹⁹, but they all told him that air weighed around 900 times less than an identical volume of the purest water, and 19,000 times less than a gold ducat. The little dwarf from Saturn, surprised at their responses, was tempted to accuse of witchcraft the same people he had refused a soul fifteen minutes earlier.

He thought he had caught them out¹⁹. But they all told him air weighed about 900 times less than the same volume of the purest water. It also weighed 19,000 times less than a gold ducat. The little dwarf from Saturn was surprised by their answers and felt tempted to accuse them of witchcraft. Just fifteen minutes earlier, he had denied that these same people had souls.

Finally Micromegas said to them, "Since you know what is exterior to you so well, you must know what is interior even better. Tell me what your soul is, and how you form ideas." The philosophers spoke all at once as before, but they were of different views. The oldest cited Aristotle, another pronounced the name of Descartes; this one here, Malebranche; another Leibnitz; another Locke. An old peripatetic spoke up with confidence: "The soul is an entelechy, and a reason gives it the power to be what it is." This is what Aristotle expressly declares, page 633 of the Louvre edition. He cited the passage²⁰.

Finally Micromegas said to them, "Since you know so much about what is outside you, you must know even more about what is inside. Tell me what your soul is and how you form ideas." The philosophers all spoke at once, as before, but they disagreed. The oldest cited Aristotle. Another named Descartes, another Malebranche, another Leibnitz, and another Locke. An old peripatetic, a follower of Aristotle, spoke confidently: "The soul is an entelechy, and a reason gives it the power to be what it is." Aristotle states this explicitly on page 633 of the Louvre edition. The old peripatetic quoted the passage²⁰.

This passage of Aristotle, On the Soul, book II, chapter II, is translated thusly by Casaubon: Anima quaedam perfectio et actus ac ratio est quod potentiam habet ut ejusmodi sit. B.

This passage comes from Aristotle’s On the Soul, book II, chapter II. Casaubon translates it as follows: Anima quaedam perfectio et actus ac ratio est quod potentiam habet ut ejusmodi sit. B.

"I do not understand Greek very well," said the giant.

"I don't understand Greek very well," said the giant.

"Neither do I," said the philosophical mite.

"Me neither," said the philosophical mite.

"Why then," the Sirian retorted, "are you citing some man named Aristotle in the Greek?"

"Then why," the Sirian shot back, "are you quoting some man named Aristotle in Greek?"

"Because," replied the savant, "one should always cite what one does not understand at all in the language one understands the least."

"Because," the scholar replied, "you should always quote what you don't understand at all in the language you understand least."

The Cartesian took the floor and said: "The soul is a pure spirit that has received in the belly of its mother all metaphysical ideas, and which, leaving that place, is obliged to go to school, and to learn all over again what it already knew, and will not know again."

The Cartesian spoke up and said: "The soul is a pure spirit that received all metaphysical ideas in its mother's womb. After leaving the womb, the soul must go to school. There it must learn all over again what it already knew and will never know again."

"It is not worth the trouble," responded the animal with the height of eight leagues, "for your soul to be so knowledgeable in its mother's stomach, only to be so ignorant when you have hair on your chin. But what do you understand by the mind?"

"It's not worth the trouble," replied the animal, who stood eight leagues tall. "Why should your soul know so much in your mother's womb, only to know so little once you've grown a beard? But what do you mean by the mind?"

"You are asking me?" said the reasoner. "I have no idea. We say that it is not matter—"

"You're asking me?" said the thinker. "I have no idea. We say it isn't matter..."

"But do you at least know what matter is?"

"But do you at least know what matter is?"

"Certainly," replied the man. "For example this stone is grey, has such and such a form, has three dimensions, is heavy and divisible."

"Certainly," the man replied. "For example, this stone is grey, has a particular shape, and has three dimensions. It is heavy and can be divided into parts."

"Well!" said the Sirian, "this thing that appears to you to be divisible, heavy, and grey, will you tell me what it is? You see some attributes, but behind those, are you familiar with that?

"Well!" said the Sirian, "this thing seems to you to be heavy, grey, and capable of being divided. Can you tell me what it is? You see some of its qualities, but do you know what lies behind them?

"No," said the other.

"No," the other replied.

"—So you do not know what matter is."

"So you don't know what matter is."

So Micromegas, addressing another sage that he held on a thumb, asked what his soul was, and what it did.

So Micromegas spoke to another wise man he held on his thumb. He asked what the man's soul was and what it did.

"Nothing at all," said the Malebranchist philosopher²¹. "God does everything for me. I see everything in him, I do everything in him; it is he who does everything that I get mixed up in."

"Nothing at all," said the Malebranchist philosopher²¹. "God does everything for me. I see everything in him. I do everything in him. He does everything I get involved in."

"It would be just as well not to exist," retorted the sage of Sirius. "And you, my friend," he said to a Leibnitzian who was there, "what is your soul?"

"It would be just as well not to exist," shot back the wise man from Sirius. "And you, my friend," he asked a Leibnitzian who was there, "what is your soul?"

"It is," answered the Leibnitzian, "the hand of a clock that tells the time while my body rings out. Or, if you like, it is my soul that rings out while my body tells the time, or my soul is the mirror of the universe, and my body is the border of the mirror. All that is clear."

"It is," replied the Leibnitzian, "a clock hand that tells the time while my body chimes. Or, if you like, my soul chimes while my body tells the time. Or my soul is the mirror of the universe, and my body is the mirror's frame. All of that is clear."

A small partisan of Locke was nearby, and when he was finally given the floor: "I do not know," said he, "how I think, but I know that I have only ever thought through my senses. That there are immaterial and intelligent substances I do not doubt, but that it is impossible for God to communicate thought to matter I doubt very much. I revere the eternal power. It is not my place to limit it. I affirm nothing, and content myself with believing that many more things are possible than one would think."

A small follower of Locke was nearby. When he was finally allowed to speak, he said: "I do not know how I think. But I know I have only ever thought through my senses. I do not doubt that intelligent beings without physical bodies exist. But I very much doubt that God cannot give matter the ability to think. I revere God's eternal power. It is not my place to limit that power. I make no firm claims. I am content to believe that far more things are possible than we might think."

The animal from Sirius smiled. He did not find this the least bit sage, while the dwarf from Saturn would have kissed the sectarian of Locke were it not for the extreme disproportion. But there was, unfortunately, a little animalcule in a square hat who interrupted all the other animalcule philosophers. He said that he knew the secret: that everything would be found in the Summa of Saint Thomas. He looked the two celestial inhabitants up and down. He argued that their people, their worlds, their suns, their stars, had all been made uniquely for mankind. At this speech, our two voyagers nearly fell over with that inextinguishable laughter which, according to Homer²², is shared with the gods. Their shoulders and their stomachs heaved up and down, and in these convulsions the vessel that the Sirian had on his nail fell into one of the Saturnian's trouser pockets. These two good men searched for it a long time, found it finally, and tidied it up neatly. The Sirian resumed his discussion with the little mites. He spoke to them with great kindness, although in the depths of his heart he was a little angry that the infinitely small had an almost infinitely great pride. He promised to make them a beautiful philosophical book²³, written very small for their usage, and said that in this book they would see the point of everything. Indeed, he gave them this book before leaving. It was taken to the academy of science in Paris, but when the ancient²⁴ secretary opened it, he saw nothing but blank pages. "Ah!" he said, "I suspected as much."

The creature from Sirius smiled. He did not find this the least bit wise. But the dwarf from Saturn would have kissed Locke's follower if they had not been so vastly different in size. Unfortunately, a little animalcule in a square hat interrupted all the other animalcule philosophers. He said he knew the secret: all the answers could be found in the Summa of Saint Thomas. He looked the two celestial visitors up and down. He argued that their people, their worlds, their suns, and their stars had all been made solely for mankind. At this speech, our two travelers nearly fell over with the unquenchable laughter that, according to Homer²², the gods share. Their shoulders and stomachs shook. As they shook, the ship on the Sirian's fingernail fell into one of the Saturnian's trouser pockets. These two good men searched for the ship for a long time. They finally found it and put it neatly back in order. The Sirian resumed his discussion with the little mites. He spoke to them very kindly. Deep down, though, he was a little angry that such infinitely small creatures had almost infinitely great pride. He promised to make them a beautiful philosophical book²³, with writing small enough for them to read. He said the book would show them the point of everything. And he did give them the book before leaving. It was taken to the academy of science in Paris. But when the elderly²⁴ secretary opened the book, he found nothing but blank pages. "Ah!" he said, "I suspected as much."