The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

THE KEY OF THE MYSTERIES them; when they are sick with the nostalgia of God—will they not rise up like the prodigal son, and come to throw them- selves at the feet of the successor of Peter, saying: “ Father, we have sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and we are no more worthy to be called thy sons, but count us among the humblest of thy servants” ? We will not speak of the criticism of Voltaire. That great mind was dominated by an ardent love of truth and justice, but he lacked that rectitude of heart which the intelligence ot faith gives. Voltaire could not admit faith, because he did not know how to love. The spirit of charity did not reveal itself to that soul which had no tenderness, and he bitterly criticized the hearth of which he did not feel the warmth, and the lamp of which he did not see the light. If religion were such as he saw it, he would have been a thousand times right to attack it, and one would be obliged to fall on one’s knees before the heroism of his courage. Voltaire would be the Messiah of good sense, the Hercules destructor of fanati- cism. . . . But he laughed too much to understand Him who said: “ Happy are they who weep,” and the philosophy of laughter will never have anything in common with the religion of tears. Voltaire parodied the Bible, dogma and worship; and then he mocked and insulted that parody. Only those who recognize religion in Voltaire’s parody can take offence at it. The Voltaireans are like the frogs in the fable who leap upon the log, and then make fun of royal majesty. They are at liberty to take the log for a king, they are at liberty to make once more that Roman caricature of which Tertullian once made mirth, that which represented the 87