Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer

If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him

This statement by Voltaire was so famous that Flaubert included it in his Dictionnaire des idées reçues, and it is still frequently quoted today. But where does it first appear? And what precisely did Voltaire mean when he wrote it? Does it imply, as most of Voltaire's parrots seems to suppose, that God is a fictitious being, created for the comfort of the human race?

In its original form, the statement first appeared in a verse epistle from 1768, addressed to the anonymous author of a controversial work, The Three Impostors. According to Voltaire, this was a virulently atheistic text that denied the existence of a divine being. He found that this was an extremely dangerous work since it put into question a notion that was very useful for society: the idea that criminals would be punished in the afterlife. Thus, even when policing was insufficient, there was a strong deterrent against crime.

In this poem, Voltaire develops in a general way the idea that the existence of God (or the belief therein) helps establish social order. He then goes on to boast of his own role in eliminating prejudice and injustice in the eighteenth century. In its final sections, the poem turns to personal satire, as Voltaire attacks some of his favorite enemies.

As such, the text shows many of Voltaire's complexities, both in his philosophy and in his personality. Although he attacked the abuses of the Catholic Church throughout his life, he also spoke as a defender of religion on many occasions. If he is today often portrayed as a radical opponent of all religious sentiment, this is largely the result of accusations from his opponents and nineteenth-century polemical exchange.

Note: In publishing this text, it is not the wish of the Voltaire Society of America to begin theological or religious debate. We simply hope to shed some light on the origins of Voltaire's statement. If you with to copy the text, you are welcome to do so.

Read the text in French or in English.

Voltaire [1768], Epître à l'auteur du livre des Trois imposteurs
(OEuvres complètes de Voltaire, ed. Louis Moland [Paris: Garnier, 1877-1885], tome 10, pp. 402-405)

Insipide écrivain, qui crois à tes lecteurs
Crayonner les portraits de tes Trois Imposteurs,
D'où vient que, sans esprit, tu fais le quatrième?
Pourquoi, pauvre ennemi de l'essence suprême,
Confonds-tu Mahomet avec le Créateur,
Et les oeuvres de l'homme avec Dieu, son auteur?...
Corrige le valet, mais respecte le maître.
Dieu ne doit point pâtir des sottises du prêtre:
Reconnaissons ce Dieu, quoique très-mal servi.

De lézards et de rats mon logis est rempli;
Mais l' architecte existe, et quiconque le nie
Sous le manteau du sage est atteint de manie.
Consulte Zoroastre, et Minos, et Solon,
Et le martyr Socrate, et le grand Cicéron:
Ils ont adoré tous un maître, un juge, un père.
Ce système sublime à l'homme est nécessaire.
C'est le sacré lien de la société,
Le premier fondement de la sainte équité,
Le frein du scélérat, l'espérance du juste.

Si les cieux, dépouillés de son empreinte auguste,
Pouvaient cesser jamais de le manifester,
Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer.
Que le sage l'annonce, et que les rois le craignent.
Rois, si vous m'opprimez, si vos grandeurs dédaignent
Les pleurs de l'innocent que vous faites couler,
Mon vengeur est au ciel: apprenez à trembler.
Tel est au moins le fruit d'une utile croyance.

Mais toi, raisonneur faux, dont la triste imprudence
Dans le chemin du crime ose les rassurer,
De tes beaux arguments quel fruit peux-tu tirer?
Tes enfants à ta voix seront-ils plus dociles?
Tes amis, au besoin, plus sûrs et plus utiles?
Ta femme plus honnête? et ton nouveau fermier,
Pour ne pas croire en Dieu, va-t-il mieux te payer?...
Ah! laissons aux humains la crainte et l'espérance.

Tu m'objectes en vain l'hypocrite insolence
De ces fiers charlatans aux honneurs élevés,
Nourris de nos travaux, de nos pleurs abreuvés;
Des Césars avilis la grandeur usurpée;
Un prêtre au Capitole où triompha Pompée;
Des faquins en sandale, excrément des humains,
Trempant dans notre sang leurs détestables mains;
Cent villes à leur voix couvertes de ruines,
Et de Paris sanglant les horribles matines:
Je connais mieux que toi ces affreux monuments;
Je les ai sous ma plume exposés cinquante ans.
Mais, de ce fanatisme ennemi formidable,
J'ai fait adorer Dieu quand j'ai vaincu le diable.
Je distinguai toujours de la religion
Les malheurs qu'apporta la superstition.
L'Europe m'en sut gré; vingt têtes couronnées
Daignèrent applaudir mes veilles fortunées,
Tandis que Patouillet m'injuriait en vain.
J'ai fait plus en mon temps que Luther et Calvin.
On les vit opposer, par une erreur fatale,
Les abus aux abus, le scandale au scandale.
Parmi les factions ardents à se jeter,
Ils condamnaient le pape, et voulaient l'imiter.
L'Europe par eux tous fut longtemps désolée;
Ils ont troublé la terre, et je l'ai consolée.
J'ai dit aux disputants l'un sur l'autre acharnés:
"Cessez, impertinents; cessez, infortunés;
Très-sots enfants de Dieu, chérissez-vous en frères,
Et ne vous mordez plus pour d'absurdes chimères."
Les gens de bien m'ont cru: les fripons écrasés
En ont poussé des cris du sage méprisés;
Et dans l'Europe enfin l'heureux tolérantisme
De tout esprit bien fait devient le catéchisme.

Je vois venir de loin ces temps, ces jours sereins,
Où la philosophie, éclairant les humains,
Doit les conduire en paix aux pieds du commun maître;
Le fanatisme affreux tremblera d'y paraître:
On aura moins de dogme avec plus de vertu.

Si quelqu'un d'un emploi veut être revêtu,
Il n' amènera plus deux témoins sa suite [2]
Jurer quelle est sa foi, mais quelle est sa conduite.

A l'attrayante soeur d'un gros bénéficier
Un amant huguenot pourra se marier;
Des trésors de Lorette, amassés pour Marie,
On verra l'indigence habillée et nourrie;
Les enfants de Sara, que nous traitons de chiens,
Mangeront du jambon fumé par des chrétiens.
Le Turc, sans s'informer si l'iman lui pardonne,
Chez l'abbé Tamponet ira boire en Sorbonne.[3]
Mes neveux souperont sans rancune et gaîment
Avec les héritiers des frères Pompignan;
Ils pourront pardonner à ce dur La Blétrie [4]
D' avoir coupé trop tôt la trame de ma vie.
Entre les beaux esprits on verra l'union:
Mais qui pourra jamais souper avec Fréron?

Notes de Voltaire

[1] Ce livre des Trois Imposteurs est un très-mauvais ouvrage, plein d'un athéisme grossier, sans esprit, et sans philosophie.

[2] En France, pour être reçu procureur, notaire, greffier, il faut deux témoins qui déposent de la catholicité du récipiendaire.

[3] Tamponet était en effet docteur de Sorbonne.

[4] La Bletterie, à ce qu'on m'a rapporté, a imprimé que j' avais oublié de me faire enterrer.

Voltaire [1768], "Epistle to the author of the book, The Three Impostors". This rough English translation was done by Jack Iverson. I have tried to give an exact rendering of the content of the text, largely ignoring (alas!) stylistic matters.

Insipid writer, you pretend to draw for your readers
The portraits of your 3 impostors;
How is it that, witlessly, you have become the fourth?
Why, poor enemy of the supreme essence,
Do you confuse Mohammed and the Creator,
And the deeds of man with God, his author?...
Criticize the servant, but respect the master.
God should not suffer for the stupidity of the priest:
Let us recognize this God, although he is poorly served.

My lodging is filled with lizards and rats;
But the architect exists, and anyone who denies it
Is touched with madness under the guise of wisdom.
Consult Zoroaster, and Minos, and Solon,
And the martyr Socrates, and the great Cicero:
They all adored a master, a judge, a father.
This sublime system is necessary to man.
It is the sacred tie that binds society,
The first foundation of holy equity,
The bridle to the wicked, the hope of the just.

If the heavens, stripped of his noble imprint,
Could ever cease to attest to his being,
If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.
Let the wise man announce him and kings fear him.
Kings, if you oppress me, if your eminencies disdain
The tears of the innocent that you cause to flow,
My avenger is in the heavens: learn to tremble.
Such, at least, is the fruit of a useful creed.

But you, faulty logician, whose sad foolishness
Dares to reassure them in the path of crime,
What fruit do you expect to reap from your fine arguments?
Will your children be more obedient to your voice?
Your friends, at time of need, more useful and reliable?
Your wife more honest? and your new renter,
For not believing in God, will he pay you better?
Alas! let's leave intact human belief in fear and hope.

In vain you raise as an objection to me the hypocritical insolence
Of these proud charlatans promoted to high honors,
Nourished by our work, quenched by our tears;
Of these Caesars tainted by their usurped grandeur;
A priest on the Capitoline hill where Pompea triumphed;
Of these wretches in sandals, the excrement of humanity,
Soaking there detestable hands in our blood;
At the sound of their voice a hundred towns are covered in ruins,
And the horrible matins of bloodied Paris:
I know these awful monuments better than you;
I have unmasked them with my pen for the past fifty years.
But, as the fearsome enemy of this fanaticism,
I have also celebrated God when the devil was vanquished.
I always distinguished between religion
And the misery bred of superstition.
Europe has thanked me; twenty crowned heads
Have deigned to applaud the fortunate labors of my nights,
While Patouillet was insulting me in vain.
I have done more in my time than Luther and Calvin.
They were seen opposing, in a fatal error,
Abuses with abuses, scandal with scandal.
Eager to throw themselves amidst the factions,
They condemned the pope and wanted to imitate him.
Europe was long desolated by them all;
They troubled the earth, and I have consoled it.
I have told the disputants, hounding one another:
"Cease, impertinent ones, cease, unfortunate ones;
Foolish children of God, cherish yourselves in your brothers,
And stop biting one another for absurd chimeras."
Good people have believed me: the evil ones, crushed,
Have hurled cries that are scorned by the wise man;
And in Europe, finally, happy toleration
Has become the catechism of all well made souls.

I see from afar that era coming, those happy days,
When philosophy, enlightening humanity,
Must lead them in peace to the feet of the common master;
Frightful fanaticism will tremble to appear there:
There will be less dogma with more virtue.

If someone wants to assume an official position,
He will no longer bring along two witnesses [2]
To testify to his beliefs; rather they will swear to his good conduct.

A Huguenot lover will be able to marry
The attractive sister of an important cleric;
We will see poverty clothed and nourished
With the treasures of the Loretto, amassed for Mary;
The children of Sarah, whom we treat like dogs,
Will eat ham that has been cured by Christians.
The Turk, without asking whether the imam will pardon him,
Will go drink with the abbé Tamponet at the Sorbonne. [3]
My nephews will dine gaily and with no ill will
With the descendants of the Pompignan brothers;
They will be able to pardon this harsh La Blétrie [4]
For having cut short the course of my life.
We will see a reunion of the finest minds:
But who will ever be able to bear dining with Fréron?

Voltaire's Notes

[1] This book of the Three Imposters is a very dangerous work, full of coarse atheism, without wit and devoid of philosophy.

[2] In France, in order to be accepted as procurer, notary, clerk, one needs two witnesses who confirm the Catholicism of the recipient.

[3] Tamponet was, in fact, a doctor at the Sorbonne.

[4] La Bletterie, as I have been told, has stated in print that I have forgotten to have myself buried.