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Title: Of the importance of religious opinions,
translated from the French
Author: Jacques Necker
Translator: Mary Wollstonecraft
Release date: August 31, 2025 [eBook #76773]
Language: English
Original publication: London: J. Johnson, 1788
Credits: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OF THE IMPORTANCE OF RELIGIOUS OPINIONS, ***
OF THE
IMPORTANCE
OF
RELIGIOUS OPINIONS.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
OF
MR. NECKER.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, N^o 72, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD.
M.DCC.LXXXVIII.
ADVERTISEMENT.
_In rendering this Work into English some Liberties have been taken by
the Translator, which seemed necessary to preserve the Spirit of the
Original._
CONTENTS.
CHAP. I.
_On the Connection of Religious Principles with public Order_ Page 1
CHAP. II.
_The same Subject continued. A Parallel and of Laws and
Opinions_ 48
CHAP. III.
_An Objection drawn from our natural Dispositions to Goodness_ 98
CHAP. IV.
_An Objection drawn from the good Conduct of many irreligious
Men_ 104
CHAP. V.
_The Influence of Religious Principles on our Happiness_ 118
CHAP. VI.
_The same Subject continued. The Influence of Virtue on
Happiness_ 149
CHAP. VII.
_On Religious Opinions, in their Relation with Sovereigns_ 169
CHAP. VIII.
_An Objection drawn from the Wars and from the Commotions which
Religion has given Rise to_ 189
CHAP. IX.
_Another Objection examined. The Sabbath_ 196
CHAP. X.
_An Observation on a particular Circumstance of public Worship_ 206
CHAP. XI.
_That the single Idea of a God is a sufficient Support of
Morality_ 210
CHAP. XII.
_That there is a God_ 278
CHAP. XIII.
_The same Subject continued_ 296
CHAP. XIV.
_The same Subject continued_ 316
CHAP. XV.
_On the Respect that is due from true Philosophy to Religion_ 382
CHAP. XVI.
_The same Subject continued. Reflections on Intolerance_ 399
CHAP. XVII.
_Reflections on the Morality of the Christian Religion_ 417
CHAP. XVIII.
_Conclusion_ 446
INTRODUCTION.
My thoughts having been detached from the study and disquisition of
those truths which have the political good of the state for their
object; and being no longer obliged to fix any attention on those
particular arrangements of the public interest, which are necessarily
connected with the operations of government; I found myself abandoned,
as it were, by all the important concerns of life. Restless and
wandering in this kind of void, my soul, still active, felt the want of
employment. I sometimes formed the design of tracing my ideas of men and
characters; I imagined that long experience in the midst of those active
scenes which discover the passions, had taught me to know them well; but
elevating my views, my heart was filled with a different ambition, and a
desire to reconcile the sublimest thoughts with those meditations from
which I was constrained to withdraw myself. Guided by this sentiment, I
remarked, with satisfaction, that there existed a natural connection
between the different truths which contribute to the happiness of
mankind. Our prejudices and our passions frequently attempt to disunite
them; but to the eye of an attentive observer, they have all one common
origin. From a similar affinity, the general views of administration,
the spirit of laws, morality, and religious opinions, are closely
connected; and it is by carefully preserving an alliance so beautiful,
that we raise a rampart round those works, which are destined for the
prosperity of states and the tranquillity of nations.
One could not have taken an active part in the administration of public
affairs; or made it the object of stedfast attention; one could not have
compared the several relations of this great whole, with the natural
dispositions of minds and characters; nor indeed observed men in a
perpetual state of rivalry and competition, without perceiving, how much
the wisest governments need support from the influence of that invisible
spring which acts in secret on the consciences of individuals. Thus
whilst I am endeavouring to form some reflections on the importance of
religious opinions, I am not so far removed from my former habit of
thinking as may, at the first glance, be imagined; and as in writing on
the management of finances, I omitted no argument to prove that there is
an intimate connexion between the efficacy of governments, and the
wisdom with which they are conducted; between the virtue of princes, and
the confidence of their subjects, I think I am still proceeding in the
same train of sentiment and reflection, when struck with that spirit of
indifference which is so general, I endeavour to refer the duties of men
to those principles which afford them the most natural support.
After having studied the interests of a great nation, and run over the
circle of our political societies, we approach nearer perhaps to those
sublime ideas which bind the general structure of mankind to that
infinite and Almighty Being, who is the first grand cause of all, and
universal mover of the universe. In the rapid course of an active
administration, indeed one cannot indulge similar reflections; but they
are forming and preparing themselves in the midst of the tumult of
business, and the tranquillity of retirement enables us to strengthen
and extend them.
The calm which succeeds hurry and confusion, seems the reason most
favourable to meditation; and if any remembrance, or retrospective views
of what is past should inspire you with a kind of melancholy, you will
be involuntarily led back to contemplations which border on those ideas
with which you have been long conversant. It is thus the mariner, after
having renounced the dangers of the sea, sometimes seats himself on the
beach, and there, a more tranquil observer, considers attentively the
boundless ocean, the regular succession of the waves, the impression of
the winds, the flux and reflux of the tide, and that magnificent
firmament, where, during the night, among lights innumerable, he
distinguishes the lucid point, which serves as a guide to the
navigators.
It is in vain, in those high stations under government, to interest
yourself about the happiness of mankind in general; it is in vain, that,
penetrated with a just respect for the important duties of office, a
public character shall dare to take in hand the cause of the people, and
incessantly apply himself to the defence of the weak, in opposition to
the attacks of the powerful; he soon perceives how bounded are his
abilities, and how limited are those, even of sovereignty itself. Pity
for the distresses of the individual is checked by the law of civil
rights; benevolence by justice; and liberty by its own abuses: you
perpetually behold merit struggling with patronage, honour with fortune,
and patriotism with the interest of the individual. There is no such
thing as real disinterestedness in the passions, only by fits and
starts; unless great circumstances, or vigorous virtue in an
administration, forcibly renewed the idea of public good, a general
langour would take place in every mind, and society itself would appear
one confused mass of opposite interests, which the supreme authority
keeps within bounds for the maintenance of peace, without any inquietude
about real harmony, or any revolution favourable to the manners or
happiness of the public.
From the midst of these clashings and contradictions, continually
recurring, a minister, possessed of a reflecting mind, is incessantly
called back to the idea of imperfection; he will, undoubtedly, be sorry,
when he sees the great disproportion which exists between his duty and
his powers; and he will sometimes grieve and be discouraged, at
perceiving the obstacles he must surmount, and the difficulties he must
overcome: he raises, with labour and care, banks on the strand, the
waters swell, their course becomes more rapid, and the first precautions
rendered insufficient, oblige him to have recourse to new works, which,
thrown down in their turn, hurry on a continued succession of fruitless
toil and useless attempts. What then would be the consequence, if once
the salutary chain of religious sentiments were broken? What would be
the event, if the action of that powerful spring were ever entirely
destroyed? You would soon see every part of the social structure tremble
from its foundation, and the hand of government unable to sustain the
vast and tottering edifice.
The sovereign, and the laws which are the interpreters of his wisdom,
should have two grand objects, the maintenance of public order, and the
increase of private happiness. But to accomplish both, the aid of
religion is absolutely necessary. The sovereign cannot influence the
happiness of individuals, but by a general solicitude; because the
sentiments which spring from the different characters of men, or merely
from the circumstances of their respective situations, are independent
of him. Neither can he ensure the preservation of public order, but by
rules and institutions, which are only applicable to actions, and to
those actions positively proved. It is necessary also that the laws
should extend their influence to society in a uniform manner; they
should always have a tendency to diminish the number of distinctions,
shades, and modifications, that are to be found in the actions of men;
in short, to prevent those abuses inseparably attendant on arbitrary
decisions.
Such are the bounds of sovereign authority, and such the necessary
developement of its means and powers. Religion, to attain the same ends,
employs other motives essentially different: first, it is not in a vague
and general manner, that she influences the happiness of mankind; it is
by addressing all men individually; by penetrating the heart of every
human being, and pouring into it consolation and hope; by presenting to
the imagination every thing that can insensibly lead it captive; by
taking possession of men’s sentiments; by occupying their thoughts; and
by availing herself of this dominion over them, to sustain their
courage, and to afford them comfort under their afflictions and
disappointments. In this manner religion concurs to maintain good order,
by means absolutely distinct from those of government; for she not only
governs our actions, but even our sentiments: it is with the errors and
inclinations of each man in particular, that she seeks to combat.
Religion, in demonstrating the presence of the Deity, on all occasions,
however secret, exercises an habitual authority over the consciences of
men; she seems to assist them under the perturbations of fear, and yet
attends them in their flight; she equally notices their intentions,
projects, and repentance; and in the method which she takes, seems as
undulating and flexible in all her motions, as the empire of the law
appears immoveable and constrained.
I should not, at present, extend these reflections any further; but, if
religion, in some measure, completes the imperfect work of legislation;
if it ought to supply the insufficiency of those means which government
is under the necessity of adopting, the subject I propose to treat of
seems not foreign to those objects of meditation, which the study of
administration ought to comprehend.
I well know, that it is impossible to explain the importance of
religion, without, at the same time, fixing the attention on the grand
truths on which it depends; and you must also frequently touch on many
subjects that are closely connected with the deepest metaphysics. We
are, at least, obliged to seek for a defence against those arguments
which sap the foundation of the most necessary opinions; by which the
most impassioned sentiments have been discouraged; by which some would
reduce man to a vegetable, make the universe the result of chance, and
morality a state trick.
As soon as I discovered how far my subject was likely to lead me, I felt
myself intimidated; but I could not allow this to be a sufficient reason
for relinquishing my undertaking; and since the greater part of the
philosophers of the present age are united in opposition to those
opinions, which the light of nature seems to have rendered sacred, it is
become indispensably necessary, to admit to the combat all that offer;
nay, even to select a champion from the main body of the army, when all
the strong ones are already gone over to the camp of the enemy.
There is nothing which seems to engross the attention of mankind more
than metaphysical enquiries, for it is by thinking alone they can be
fathomed; the light gained by acquired knowledge is, in some measure,
lost in those obscure depths which it is necessary to sound, and that
immense space which it is necessary to traverse. Thus, it were better,
perhaps, that each should enter by chance into these labyrinths, where
the paths, already traced, lead to no one determined point. I have,
besides, often observed, that, even for those researches, where the
helps of science are most useful, we ought to set a certain value on the
particular excursion of each genius, which seeks out for itself a way,
and which, indebted to nature alone for its peculiar formation,
preserves in its progress a character of its own; it is then, and then
only, that we are not invested with the distinguishing marks of
slavishness of thinking; but when, by devoting ourselves to reflection,
we coincide with the opinions of others, this conformity has nothing of
servility in it, and the marks of imitation are not even recognized.
In vain would man resist the impression of truth; in vain would he
defend himself by a ridiculous indifference for ancient opinions; there
never could be an idea more worthy to occupy our meditations, there
never could be an idea, on which we might be more fully permitted to
expatiate, according to our knowledge and penetration, than that sublime
one of a Supreme Being, and the relation we bear to him: an idea, which
though far removed from us by its immensity, every moment strikes the
soul with admiration, and inspires the heart with hope.
It appears to me, that there are interests which may be considered as
patriotic by intelligent and feeling beings; and while the inhabitants
of the same country, and the subjects of the same prince, employ
themselves diligently in one common plan of defence, the citizens of the
world ought to be incessantly anxious to give every new and possible
support to those exalted opinions on which the true greatness of their
existence is founded, which preserves the imagination from that
frightful spectacle of an existence without origin, of action without
liberty, and futurity without hope. Thus after having, as I think,
proved myself a citizen of France, by my administration, as well as my
writings, I wish to unite myself to a fraternity still more
extended—that of the whole human race: it is thus, without dispersing
our sentiments, we may be able nevertheless to communicate ourselves a
great way off, and enlarge in some measure the limits of our circle:
glory be to our thinking faculties for it! To that spiritual portion of
ourselves which can take in the past, dart into futurity, and intimately
associate itself with the destiny of men of all countries, and of all
ages. Without doubt, a veil is thrown over the greater part of those
truths, to which our curiosity would willingly attain; but those which a
beneficent God has permitted us to see, are amply sufficient for our
guide and instruction; and we cannot, for a continuance divert our
attention without a species of slothful negligence, and a total
indifference to the superior interests of man. How little is every thing
indeed, when put in competition with those meditations, which give to
our existence a new extent, and which, in detaching us from the dust of
the earth, seem to unite our souls to an infinity of space, and our
duration of a day to the eternity of time! Above all, it is for you to
determine, who have sensibility—who feel the want of a Supreme Being,
and who seek to find in him that support so necessary to your weakness,
that defender and that assurance, without which painful inquietude will
be perpetually tormenting you, and troubling those soft, tender
affections which constitute your happiness.
However, I must say, there never perhaps was a period, when it was more
essentially necessary to recal to the minds of men, the importance of
religious sentiments; at present they are but prejudices, if we may
credit the spirit of licentiousness and levity; the laws dictated by
fashion; and more particularly essential since we have had philosophical
instructions, which excite the various deviations of vanity, and rally
the wanderings of the imagination.
There is not any form of religion, undoubtedly, to which ideas more or
less mystical have not been annexed; and of which the evidence has not
been in proportion to the dictatorial language, and authoritative tone,
which has been made use of in teaching and defending it; as such, one
might at any given period have been tempted to dispute about particular
parts of worship, which different nations have adopted; but it is
principally in the present age, that a certain class of men has sprung
up, distinguished for their wit and talents; and who, intoxicated by the
facility with which they have gained a victory, have extended their
ambition, and had the daring courage to attack the reserved body of that
army of which the front ranks had already given way.
This struggle between persons, one of whom would imperiously rule by
faith alone, whilst the other thinks he has a right to reject with
disdain every thing that has not been demonstrated, will always be a
fruitless combat; and only serve to nourish blind aversion and unjust
contempt. Some seek to wound their adversaries, others to humble them;
in the mean time the good of mankind, and the true benefit of society,
are absolutely lost sight of; yes, the real love of useful truths, the
impartial search after them, and the desire of pointing them out, these
sentiments, so amiable and so truly laudable, seem to be entirely
unknown. I see, permit me to say it, I see at the two extremities of the
arena, the savage inquisitor, and the inconsiderate philosopher; but
neither the faggots lighted by the one, nor the derisions of the other,
will ever diffuse any salutary instruction; and in the eyes of a
rational man, the intolerance of monks adds no more to the dominion of
true religious sentiments, than the jests of a few licentious wits have
effected a triumph in favour of philosophy.
It is between these opposite opinions, and in the midst of wanderings
equally dangerous, that we must attempt to mark out our way; but as all
the opinions of men are subject to change; at present, when their minds
are more averse to the maxims of intolerance, it is religion itself that
principally needs support; and such is the daily diminution of it, that
means supplying the deficiency seem to be already publicly preparing.
For some time past we have heard of nothing but the necessity of
composing a moral catechism, in which religious principles should not be
introduced, as resources that are now out of date, and when it is time
they were discarded. Without doubt these principles might be more
effectually attacked, could they ever be represented as totally useless
for the maintenance of public order; and if the cold lessons of a
political philosophy could be substituted for those sublime ideas,
which, by the spiritual tie of religion, binds the heart and mind to the
purest morality. Let us now examine if we should gain any thing by the
exchange; let us see, if the means they propose to employ can be put in
competition with those which ought to be made use of; and, if they are
more solid, and more efficacious; let us see, if this new doctrine,
which is recommended, will produce in the soul the same degree of
consolation; if it is calculated for those hearts which are possessed of
sensibility; and, above all, let us attentively consider, if it can be
suitable to the measure of intelligence, and the social situation of the
greater part of mankind. In short, in considering the various questions,
which in any manner, relate to the important subject we have undertaken
to treat, let us not be afraid to resist, as well as we can, the foolish
ambition of those, who, availing themselves of the superiority of their
understanding, wish to deprive man of his dignity, to place him on a
level with the dust under his feet, and make his foresight a
punishment:—melancholy and deplorable destiny! from which, however, we
are permitted to seek to defend ourselves; cruel and disastrous opinion!
which tears up by the roots every thing which surrounds it, which
relaxes the most necessary bands, and, in an instant, destroys the most
delightful charm of life.
O thou God unknown!——but whose beneficent idea has ever filled my soul,
if thou ever throwest a look on those efforts which man makes to
approach thee, sustain my resolution, enlighten my understanding, raise
my thoughts, and reject not the desire I have to unite still more, if
possible, the order and happiness of society, with the intimate and
perfect conception of thy divinity, and the lively idea of thy sublime
existence.
OF THE
IMPORTANCE
OF
RELIGIOUS OPINIONS.
CHAP. I.
_On the Connection of Religious Principles with public Order._
We know not distinctly the origin of most political societies; but as
soon as history exhibits men united in a national body, we perceive, at
the same time, the establishment of public worship, and the application
of religious sentiments, to the maintenance of good order and
subordination. Religious sentiments, by the sanction of an oath, bind
the people to the magistrates, and the magistrates to their engagements;
they inspire a reverential respect for the obligations contracted
between sovereigns; and these sentiments, still more authoritative than
discipline, attach the soldier to his commander; in short, religious
opinions, by their influence on the manners of individuals, have
produced an infinite number of illustrious actions and instances of
heroical disinterestedness, of which history has transmitted us the
remembrance. But as we have seen a philosophy spring up among nations
the most enlightened, anxiously employed in depriving religion of all
that merited respect, dissertations on times far removed from us, and
the various systems that they would endeavour violently to associate
with religion, would become an endless source of controversy. It is
then, by reasoning alone, by that exercise of the mind, which belongs
equally to all countries and all ages, that we can support the cause
which we have taken in hand to defend. There is, perhaps, something weak
and servile in our wishing to draw assistance from ancient opinions;
reason ought not, like vanity, to adorn herself with old parchments, and
the display of a genealogical tree; more dignified in her proceeding,
and proud of her immortal nature, she ought to derive every thing from
herself; she should disregard past times, and be, if I may use the
phrase, the contemporary of all ages.
It was reserved, particularly for some writers of our age, to attack
even the utility of religion; and to seek to substitute, instead of its
active influence, the inanimate instruction of a political philosophy.
Religion, say they, is a scaffold fallen into ruins, and it is high time
to give to morality a more solid support. But what support will that be?
we must, in order to discover, and form a just idea of it; distinctly
consider the different motives of action on which depend the relations
that subsist between men; and it will be necessary to estimate,
afterwards, the kind and degree of assistance which we may reasonably
expect from a like support.
It appears to me, that in renouncing the efficacious aid of religion, we
may easily form an idea of the means that they will endeavour to make
use of to attach men to the observance of the rules of morality, and to
restrain the dangerous excesses of their passions. They would,
undoubtedly, place a proper value on the connection which subsists
between private and general interest; they would avail themselves of the
authority of laws, and the fear of punishment; and they would confide
still more in the ascendency of public opinion, and the ambition, that
every one ought to have, of gaining the esteem and confidence of his
fellow-creatures.
Let us examine separately these different motives; and first,
attentively considering the union of private with public interest, let
us see if this union is real, and if we can deduce from such a principle
any moral instruction truly efficacious.
Society is very far from being a perfect work; we ought not to consider
as an harmonious composition the different relations of which we are
witnesses, and particularly the habitual contrast of power and weakness,
of slavery and authority, riches and poverty, of luxury and misery; so
much inequality; such a motly piece could not form an edifice
respectable for the justness of its proportions.
Civil and political order is not then excellent by its nature, and we
cannot perceive its agreement, till we have deeply studied, and formed
to ourselves those reflections which legislators had to make, and the
difficulties that they had to surmount. It is then only, with the
assistance of the most attentive meditation, that we discover how those
particular relations, which are established by social laws, form,
nevertheless, that system of equilibrium, which is most proper to bind
together an immense diversity of interests; but a great obstacle to the
influence of political morality is, the necessity of giving, for the
basis of the love of order, an abstract and complicated idea. What
effect on vulgar minds would the scientific harmony of the whole have,
opposed daily to the sentiment of injustice and inequality, which arises
from the aspect of every part of the social constitution, when we
acquire the knowledge of it, in a manner solitary and circumscribed; and
how limited is the number of those, who can continually draw together
all the scattered links of this vast chain!
It could not be avoided, in the best regulated societies, that some
should enjoy, without labour or difficulty, all the conveniencies of
life; and that others, and far the greater number, should be obliged to
earn, by the sweat of their brow, a subsistence the most scanty, and a
recompense the most confined. It is not to be prevented, that some will
find, when oppressed by sickness, all the assistance which officious
tenderness and skill can afford; whilst others are reduced to partake,
in public hospitals, the bare relief that humanity has provided for the
indigent. We cannot prevent some from being in a situation to lavish on
their families all the advantages of a complete education; whilst
others, impatient to free themselves from a charge so heavy, are
constrained to watch eagerly for the first appearance of natural
strength, to make their children apply to some profitable labour. In
short, we cannot avoid perpetually contrasting the splendour of
magnificence with the tatters which misery displays. Such are the
effects, inseparable from the laws, respecting property. These are
truths, the principles of which I have had occasion to discuss in the
work which I composed on administration and political œconomy; but I
ought to repeat them here, since they are found closely connected with
other general views. The eminent power of property is one of the social
institutions, the influence of which has the greatest extent; this
consideration was applicable to the commerce of grain; it ought to be
present to the mind, in disquisitions on the duties of administration;
and it is still more important, when the question is to be examined,
what kind of moral instruction may be proper for mankind?
In effect, if it appertains to the essence of the laws of right,
constantly to introduce and maintain an immense disparity in the
distribution of property; were it an essential part of these laws, to
reduce the most numerous class of citizens, to that which is simply the
most necessary; the inevitable result of such a constitution would be,
to nourish, amongst men, a sentiment of habitual envy and jealousy.
Vainly would you demonstrate, that these laws are the only ones capable
of exciting labour, animating industry, preventing disorder, and
opposing obstacles to arbitrary acts of authority; all these
considerations sufficient, we grant, to fix the opinion and the will of
the legislator, would not strike in the same manner the man thrown on
the earth, without property, without resources, and without hopes; and
he will never render free homage to the beauty of the whole, when there
is nothing for him but deformity, abjectness, and contempt.
Men, in most of their political reasonings, are deceived by resemblances
and analogies: the interest of society is certainly composed of the
interests of all its members; but it does not follow from this
explication, that there is an immediate and constant correspondence
between the general and private interest; such an approximation, could
only be applicable to an imaginary social state; and which we might
represent as divided into many parts, of which the rich would be the
head, and the poor the feet and hands: but political society is not one
and the same body, except under certain relations, whilst, relatively to
other interests, it partakes in as many ramifications of them as there
are individuals.
Those considerations, to which we annex an idea of general interest,
would be very often susceptible of numberless observations; but the
principles, we are accustomed to receive and transmit, in their most
common acceptation; and we discover not the mixt ideas which compose
them, but at the moment when we analyze the principles, in order to draw
consequences from them, in like manner as we perceive not the variety of
colours in a ray of light, till the moment we divide them by means of a
prism.
The formation of social laws, with reason, ought to appear one of our
most admirable conceptions; but this system is not so united in all its
parts, that a striking disorder would always be the necessary effect of
some irregular movement: thus the man, who violates the laws, does not
quickly discover the relation of his actions with the interest of
society; but at the instant enjoys, or thinks to joy, the fruit of his
usurpations.
Should a theatre be on fire, it is certainly the interest of the
assembly that every one go out with order; but if the people, most
distant from the entrance, believed they should be able to escape sooner
from the danger, by forcing their way through the crowd which surrounds
them, they would assuredly determine on this violence, unless a coercive
power prevented them; yet the common utility of restricting ourselves to
order in such circumstances, would appear an idea more simple, and more
distinct, than is the universal importance of maintaining civil order in
society.
The only natural defence of this order, is government; its function
obliges it ever to consider the whole; but the need which it has of
power to carry its decrees into execution, proves evidently, that it is
the adversary of many, even when acting in the name of all.
We are then under a great illusion, if we hope to be able to found
morality on the connection of private interest with that of the public;
and if we imagine, that the empire of social laws can be separated from
the support of religion. The authority of these laws has nothing
decisive for those who have not assisted to establish them; and were we
to give to the hereditary distinctions of property an origin the most
remote, it is no less true, on this account that the poor succeeding
inhabitants of the earth, struck with the unequal division of its rich
domains, and not perceiving the limits and lines of separation traced by
nature, would have some right to say; these compacts, these partitions,
this diversity of lots, which procures to some abundance and repose; to
others, poverty and labour; all this legislation, in short, is only
advantageous to a small number of privileged men; and we will not
subscribe to it, unless compelled by the fear of personal danger. What
are then, they would add, these ideas of right and wrong, with which we
are entertained? What are these dissertations on the necessity of
adopting some order in society, and of observing rules? Our mind bends
not to those principles, which, general in theory, become particular in
practice. We find some satisfaction and compensation, when the idea of
virtue, of submission, and of sacrifice, are united to religious
sentiments; when we believe we shall render an account of our actions to
a Supreme Being, whose laws and will we adore, and from whom we have
received every thing, and whose approbation presents itself to our eyes,
as a motive of emulation, and an object of recompense: but if the
contracted bounds of life limit the narrow circle in which all our
interest ought to confine itself, where all our speculations and our
hopes terminate, what respect owe we then to those whom nature has
formed our equals? To those men sprung from lifeless clay, to return to
it again with us, and to be lost for ever in the same dust? They have
only invented these laws of justice, to be more tranquil usurpers. Let
them descend from their exalted rank, that they may be put on our level,
or, at least, present us with a partition less unequal, and we shall
then be able to conceive, that the observance of the laws of right is of
importance to us; till then, we shall have just motives for being the
enemies of civil order, which we find so disadvantageous; and we do not
comprehend how, in the midst of so many gratifications which excite our
envy, it is, in the name of our own interest, that we ought to renounce
them.
Such is the secret language which men, overwhelmed with the distress of
their situation, would not fail to use; or those who, merely in a state
of habitual inferiority, found themselves continually hurt by the
splendid sight of luxury and magnificence.
It would not be an easy task to combat these sentiments, by endeavouring
to paint forcibly the vanity of pleasure in general, and the illusion of
most of those objects which captivate our ambition, and the apathy which
follows in their train. These reflections, without doubt, have their
weight and efficacy; but if we attentively consider the subject, every
thing that deserves the name of consolation in this world, cannot be
addressed with any advantage; but to minds prepared for mild sentiments,
by an idea of religion and of piety, more or less distinct; we cannot,
in the same manner, relieve the barren and ferocious despondency of an
unhappy and envious man, who has thrown far behind him all hope.
Concentred in the bare interests of a life, which is for him eternity,
and the universe itself; it is the passion of the moment which enslaves
him, and nothing can disengage him from it; he has not the means to
catch any vague idea, nor of being content; and as even reason has need,
every instant, of the aid of the imagination, he cannot be encouraged,
either by the discourse of his friends, or his own reflections.
Besides, if we can maintain, in general, that the allotments of
happiness and misery are more equal than we imagine; if we can
reasonably advance, that labour is preferable to idleness; if we can
say, with truth, that embarrassments and inquietudes often accompany
wealth, and that contentment of mind appears to be the portion of the
middle state of life; we ought to acknowledge, at the same time, that
these axioms are only perfectly just in the eyes of the moralist, who
considers man in a comprehensive point of view, and who makes his
calculation upon a whole life: but, in the recurrence of our daily
desires and hopes, it is impossible to excite to labour by the
expectation of fortune, and detract, at the same time, this fortune, in
decrying the pleasures and conveniences that it procures. These subtle
ideas, without excepting those which may be defended, can never be
applicable to real circumstances; and if we sometimes use with success
such kind of reflections to alleviate unavailing sorrow and regret, it
is when we have only shadows to cope with.
In short, when we have reduced to precept, all the well known
reflections, on the apparent, but delusive advantages of rank and
fortune, we cannot prevent uncultivated minds from being continually
struck with the extreme inequality of the different contracts which the
rich make with the poor; it might be said, in those moments, that one
portion of mankind was formed only for the convenience of another; the
poor man sacrifices his time and his strength to multiply round the rich
gratifications of every kind; and he, when he gives in exchange the most
scanty subsistence, does not deprive himself of any thing; since the
extent of his physical wants is bounded by the laws of nature: equality
then is only re-established by the lassitude and apathy which the
enjoyment even of pleasure produces. But these disgusts compose the back
ground in the picture of life; the people perceive them not; and as they
have only been acquainted with want, they cannot form any idea of the
langour attendant on satiety.
Will any one imprudently say, that if the distinctions of property are
an obstacle to the establishment of a political system of morality, we
ought, therefore, to labour to destroy them? But if in past ages, when
the different degrees of talents and knowledge were not so unequal, men
were not able to preserve a community of possessions, can you imagine,
that these primitive relations could be re-established at a time when
the superiority of rank and power is enforced by the immoveable strength
of disciplined armies?
Besides, when even in the composition of an ideal world, we should have
introduced the most exact division of the various possessions esteemed
by men, it would still be necessary, to preserve a system of real
equality, that every one should execute faithfully the duties imposed on
him by universal morality; since this is incumbent on every individual,
for the sacrifice that all the members of society have made; which
society ought to recompense every citizen in particular, for the
restriction to which he submits himself.
It is essential to observe still further, that it is not only personal
interest, when clearly understood, which ought to be annexed to the idea
of public order; it is the same interest when led astray by the
passions, then a mere guide is no longer sufficient; a yoke must be
imposed; a check always acting, which must be used absolutely. Nothing
can be more chimerical than to pretend to restrain a man, hurried on by
an impetuous imagination, by endeavouring to recal to his remembrance
some principles and instructions, which, in the terms of an academic
thesis[1], ought to be the _result of analysis, of methodizing, of the
art of dividing, of developing, and circumscribing ideas_.
It would be, at present, a hardy enterprize, to attempt to conduct men
by reason alone, since the first thing that reason discovers is its own
weakness; but when we want to rest on maxims which admit of controversy;
when we wish to oppose to the strong motive of personal interest, a
moral consideration which cannot act but with the concurrence of
profound reflection; we recollect the doctrine of the first œconomists,
who, in establishing the extravagant principles respecting an exclusive
right of exporting or monopolizing grain, put off the care of preventing
popular commotions till they should happen.
It appears to me, that false reasoning, on the union of private with
public interest, arises from applying to the present state of society,
the principles which have served as the base for their formation; this
very natural confusion is one grand source of error. Let us try to
render clear a proposition, which, at first, appears difficult to
comprehend; and in this light we will suppose, for a moment the future
generation assembled in idea, in an imaginary world, and ignorant before
they inhabit the earth, who those individuals are that shall be born of
parents loaded with the gifts of fortune, and those who are beset with
misery from their cradle. They are instructed in the principles of civil
rights, and the convenience of the laws of order, has been represented
to them, and a sketch is drawn of the disorder, which would be the
inevitable consequence of a continual variation in the division of
property; then all those who are to compose the new generation, equally
uncertain of the lot that the chance of birth reserves for them,
subscribe unanimously to those events which await them; and at the very
moment in which the relations of society exist only in speculation, it
might be truly said, that the personal interest is lost in the public;
but this identity ceases, when each, arrived on the earth, has taken
possession of his lot; it is then no longer possible, that the various
personal interests should concur to the maintenance of these prodigious
gradations of rank and fortune, which are derived from the chance of
birth; and those to whom cares and wants have fallen, will not be
resigned to the inferiority of their condition, but by a grand religious
principle alone, which can make them perceive an eternal justice, and
place them in imagination before time, and before the laws.
There is nothing so easy, as the establishment of conventions, and
making rules to be observed, till the moment of the drawing of a
lottery; every one then, at the same point of view, finds all good, all
just, and well contrived, and peace reigns by common agreement; but as
soon as the blanks and prizes are known, the mind changes, the temper
grows sour; and without the check of authority, it would become
unmanageable, envious, quarrelsome, and sometimes unjust and violent.
We see, however, the consequence to be drawn from the preceding
reflections; that political societies in contemplation, and in reality,
present to our observation two different periods; and as these periods
are not separated by any apparent limits, they are almost always
confounded in the mind of the political moralist. He who believes in the
union of private interest with that of the public, and who celebrates
this harmony, has only considered society in its general and primitive
plan; he who thinks, on the contrary, that the whole is wrong and
discordant, because there is a great difference of power and fortune,
has considered it only under its actual vicissitudes. Both these
mistakes have received a sanction from celebrated writers. The man
hurried away by a lively imagination, and strongly impressed by present
objects, has been struck by the inequality of conditions; and the
philosopher, who, transported by his abstractions beyond the circle of
human society, has only perceived those relations and principles which
led men to form the first institution of civil laws. Thus, every where
we see, that most disputes relate to mere difference of positions, and
to the various points of view in which the same subject is considered;
there are so many stations in the moral world, that, according to that
which we choose, the picture changes entirely.
Hitherto we have endeavoured to understand the effect which we might
expect from a system of morality, by applying this kind of instruction
only to private interest, when most clearly ascertained. It remains now
to show, that every species of education, which demands time and
reflection, cannot belong, in any manner, to the class of men most
numerous; and to be sensible of this truth, it is sufficient to turn our
attention on the social state of those who are destitute of property,
and talents which might supply its place; obliged to have recourse to
hard labour, where nothing is required but to employ their bodily
strength, their concurrence, and the power of riches reduce the wages of
this numerous class to what is absolutely necessary; they cannot without
difficulty support their children, and they may well be impatient of
qualifying them for useful occupations to relieve themselves; and this
prevents their being sent to public schools, except during their
infancy: thus, ignorance and poverty are in the midst of our societies,
and the hereditary lot of the greater part of the citizens; there is
only to be found an alleviation of this general law, in those countries
where the constitution of the government encourages the high price of
labour, and gives the poor some means of resisting the despotism of
fortune. However, if such is the inevitable effect of our civil and
political legislation, how shall we be able to bind men without
distinction, to the maintenance of public order, by any instruction, I
do not say complicated, but to which the exercise of long reasoning
forms only a necessary introduction? It would not be sufficient to endow
institutions; it would be still more necessary to pay the scholars for
their time; since, for the lower class, time is, even very early in
life, their only means of subsistence.
Nevertheless, morality is not, like other human sciences, a knowledge,
that we may be at liberty to acquire at our leisure; the quickest
instruction is still too slow, since man has a natural power of doing
evil before his mind is in a state to apply to reflection, and connect
the most simple ideas.
It is not then a political catechism which would be proper for the
instruction of the people; it is not a course of precepts founded on the
union of public and private interest, which can suit with the measure of
their understanding; when a doctrine of that kind would appear as just
as it seems to me liable to be disputed, they will never be able to
render the principles of it distinct enough, to apply them to the
purposes of instructing those whose education continues for so short a
time. Morality, founded on religion, by its active influence, is
precisely adapted to the particular situation of the greater number of
men; and this agreement is so perfect, that it seems one of the
remarkable features of universal harmony. Religion alone has power to
persuade with celerity, because it excites passion, whilst it informs
the understanding, because it alone has the means of rendering obvious
what it recommends; because it speaks in the name of God, and it is easy
to inspire respect for him, whose power is every where evident to the
eyes of the simple and skilful, to the eyes of children, and men
advanced to maturity.
In order to attack this truth, let it not be said, that the idea of a
God is of all others the most incomprehensible; and if it is possible to
derive useful instruction from so metaphysical a principle, we ought to
expect more good from precepts which depend on the common relations of
life. Such an objection is a mere subtilty; the distinct knowledge of
the essence of a God, the creator of the world, is, undoubtedly above
the comprehension of men of every age, and all faculties; but it is not
the same with the vague idea of a heavenly power, who punishes and who
rewards; parental authority, and the helplessness of infancy, prepare us
early for ideas of obedience and command; and the world is such a
stupendous wonder, a theatre of such continual prodigies, that it is
easy to annex, at an early period, hope and fear to the idea of a
Supreme Being. Thus, the infinity of a God, creator and director of the
universe, is so far from having power to divert our respect and
adoration, that even the clouds with which he invelopes himself, lend a
new force to religious sentiments. A man often remains uninterested
amidst: the discoveries of his reason; but it is always easy to move
him, whenever we address ourselves to his imagination; for this faculty
of our mind excites us continually to action, by presenting to our eyes
a great space, and by keeping us always at a certain distance from the
object we have in view. Man is so disposed to wonder at a power, of
which he is ignorant of the springs; this sentiment is so natural to
him, that what we ought to guard against the most in his education, is
the inconsiderate insinuation of various terrors, of which he is
susceptible. Thus, not only the true idea of the existence of an
All-powerful God, but mere credulous faith in superstitious opinions,
will always have more power over the common class of men, than abstract
precepts, or general considerations. I know not even, if it might not be
said, with truth, that the future of this short life, when we
contemplate it, is further from us than the distant perspective offered
to the mind by religion; because our imagination is less restrained, and
the minutest description of reason can never equal in power, the lively
and impulsive ardour of the affections of our souls.
I resume the series of my reflections, and set down here an important
observation: which is, that the more the increase of taxes keeps the
people in despondency and misery, the more indispensable is it to give
them a religious education; for it is in the irritation of wretchedness,
that we all have need of a powerful restraint and of daily consolations.
The successive abuse of strength and authority, in overturning all the
relations which originally existed between men, have raised, in the
midst of them, an edifice so artificial, and in which there reigns so
much disproportion, that the idea of a God is become more necessary than
ever, to serve as a leveller of this confused assemblage of disparities;
and if we can ever imagine, that a people should exist, subject only to
the laws of a political morality, we should represent, without doubt, a
rising nation, which would be restrained by the vigour of patriotism in
its prime; a nation which would occupy a country where riches had not
had time to accumulate; where the distance of the habitations from each
other contributed to the maintenance of domestic manners; where
agriculture, that simple and peaceful occupation, would be the favourite
employment; where the work of the hands would obtain a recompense
proportioned to the scarcity of the workmen, and the extensive
usefulness of the labour; we should represent, in short, a nation where
the laws and the form of government would favour, during a long time,
equality of rank and property. But in our ancient kingdoms in Europe,
where the growth of riches continually augments the difference of
fortunes and the distance of conditions;—in our old political bodies,
where we are crowded together, and where misery and magnificence are
ever mingled, it must be a morality, fortified by religion, that shall
restrain these numerous spectators of so many possessions and objects of
envy, and who, placed so near every thing which they call happiness, can
yet never aspire to it.
It may be asked, perhaps, in consequence of these reflections, whether
religion, which strengthens every tie, and fortifies every obligation,
is not favourable to tyranny? Such a conclusion would be unreasonable;
but religion, which affords comfort under every affliction, would
necessarily sooth also the ills which arise from despotism; however, it
is neither the origin, nor the support of it: religion, well understood,
would not lend its support but to order and justice; and the
instructions of political morality proposes to itself the same end.
Thus, in both plans of education, the rights of the sovereign, as well
as those of the citizens, constitute simply one of the elementary parts
of the general system of our duties.
I shall only observe, that the insufficiency of political morality would
appear still more obvious, in a country where the nation, subject to the
authority of an absolute prince, would have no share in the government;
for personal interest no longer having an habitual communication with
the general interest, there would be just ground to fear, that in
wishing to hold out the union of these two interests as the essential
motive of virtue, the greater number would retain only this idea, that
personality was admitted for the first principle; and consequently every
one ought to reserve to himself the right of judging of the times and
circumstances when self-love and patriotism are to be separated, or
united. And how many errors would not this produce? Public good, like
all abstract ideas, has not a precise definition; it is for the greater
part of mankind a sea without bounds, and it requires not much address
or shrewdness to confound all our analogies. We may know how we would
form, according to our taste, the alliance of all the moral ideas, in
considering with what facility men know how to reconcile with one
quality the habitual infirmities of their character; he who wounds
without discretion, prides himself in his frankness and courage; he who
is cowardly and timid in his sentiments and in his words, boasts of his
caution and circumspection; and by a new refinement of which I have seen
singular examples, he who asks of the sovereign pecuniary favours,
endeavours to persuade him that he is impelled to this solicitation,
only by a noble love of honourable distinction; every one is ingenious
in fixing the point of union which connects his passions with some
virtue: would they then be less expert at finding some conformity
between their own interest and that of the public?
I cannot, I avow, without disgust, and even horror, conceive the absurd
notion of a political society, destitute of that governing motive
afforded by religion, and restrained only by a pretended connexion of
their private interest with the general. What circumscribed judges! What
a multiplicity of opinions, sentiments, and wills! All would be in
confusion, if we left to men the liberty of drawing their own
conclusions: they must absolutely have a simple idea to regulate their
conduct, especially when the application of this principle may be
infinitely diversified. God in delivering his laws on Mount Sinai, had
need but to say, _Thou shalt not steal_; and with the awful idea of that
God, whom every thing recals to our minds, whom every thing impresses on
the human heart, this short commandment preserves, at all times, a
sufficient authority; but when political philosophy says, _Thou shalt
not steal_, it would be necessary to add to this precept a train of
reasoning, on the laws of right, on the inequality of conditions, and on
the various social relations; in order to persuade us that it
comprehends every motive, that it answers all objections, and resists
all attacks. It is necessary, further, that by the lessons of this
philosophy the most uncultivated minds should be qualified to follow the
different ramifications which unite, disunite, and reunite afresh the
personal to the public interest: what an enterprize! It is, perhaps,
like wishing to employ a course of anatomy, in order to direct a child
in the choice of such aliments as are proper for it, instead of
beginning to conduct it by the counsels and the authority of its mother.
The same remarks are applicable to all the virtues, of which the
observance is essential to public order: what method would plain
reasoning take to persuade a single man, that he ought not to deprive a
husband of the affections of his wife? Where would you assign him a
distinct recompense for the sacrifice of his passion? What windings
should we not be obliged to run over, to demonstrate to an ambitious
man, that he ought not, in secret, to calumniate his rival; to the
solitary miser, armed with indifference, that he ought not to remove
himself from every occasion of doing good; to a disposition ardent and
revengeful, that he ought not to obey those urgent impulses which hurry
him away; to a man in want, that he ought not to have recourse to
falsehood to procure attention, or to deceive in any other manner? And
how many other positions would offer the same difficulties, and still
greater? Abstract ideas, the best arranged, can never conquer us but by
long arguments, since the peculiar nature of these ideas is to disengage
our reasoning from the feelings, and consequently from striking and
sudden impressions; besides, political morality, like every thing which
the mind only produces, would be always for us merely an opinion; an
opinion from which we should have a right to appeal, at any time, to the
tribunal of our reason. The lessons of men are nothing but
representations of their judgment; and the sentiments of some draw not
the will of others. There is not any principle of morality, which, under
forms absolutely human, would not be susceptible of exceptions, or of
some modification; and there is nothing so compounded as the idea of the
connexion of virtue with happiness: in short, while our understanding
has a difficulty in comprehending and clearly distinguishing that union,
the objects of our passions are every where apparent, and all our senses
are preengaged by them. The miser beholds gold and silver; the ambitious
man, those honours which are conferred on others; the debauchee, the
objects of his luxury; virtue has nothing left but reasoning; and is
then in want of being sustained by religious sentiments, and by the
enlivening hopes which accompany them.
Thus, in a government where you would wish to substitute political
morality for a religious education, it would become, perhaps,
indispensable to guard men from receiving any ideas calculated to exalt
their minds; it would be necessary to divert them from the different
competitions which excite self-love and ambition; they must withdraw
themselves from the habitual society of women; and it would be still
more incumbent on them to abolish the use of money, that attracting and
confused image of all kinds of gratifications: in short, in taking from
men their religious hopes, and depriving them thus of the encouragements
to virtue which the imagination gives birth to, every exertion must be
tried to prevent this unruly imagination from seconding vice, and all
the passions contrary to public order: it was because Telemachus was
accompanied by a Divinity, that he could, without danger, visit the
sumptuous court of Sesostris, and the enchanting abodes of Eucharis and
Calypso.
It is indeed an age the most pleasant, as well as the safest of our
life, which we cannot pass without a guide; we must then, in order to
pass with security through the tempestuous days of youth, have
principles which command us, and not reflections to counsel us; these
have not any power but in proportion to the vigour of the mind, and the
mind is only formed by experience and a long conflict of opinions.
Religious instructions have the peculiar advantage of seizing the
imagination, and of interesting our sensibility, those two brilliant
faculties of our early years: thus, then even supposing that we could
establish a course of political morality, sufficiently propped by
reasoning, for defending from vice men enlightened by maturity, I should
still say, that a similar philosophy would not be suitable to youth, and
that this armour is too heavy for them.
In short, the lessons of human wisdom, which cannot govern us during the
ardour of our passions, are equally insufficient, when our strength
being broken by disease, we are no longer in a state to comprehend a
variety of relations; instead of which, such is the pleasing emotions
that accompany the language of religion, that in the successive decline
of our faculties, this language still keeps pace with them.
Nevertheless, if we were ever to be persuaded, that there was on earth a
more certain encouragement to virtue than religion, its powers would be
immediately weakened; it would not be half so interesting, nor could
reign when divided; if its sentiments did not overflow, as we may say,
the human heart, all its influence would vanish.
Religious instruction, in assembling all the means proper to excite men
to virtue, neglects not, it is true, to point out the relations, which
exist between the observance of the laws of morality and the happiness
of life; but it is as an accessary motive, that these considerations are
presented; and it is not necessary to support them by the same proofs as
a fundamental principle requires. Also, when people are taught early
that vices and crimes lead to misery on earth, these doctrines make not
a lasting impression on them, but in proportion as we succeed at the
same time, in convincing them of the constant influence of a Providence
over all the events of this world.
One important reason still exempts religious professors, from attaching
themselves to demonstrate, that the principal advantages which excite
the envy of men, are an absolute consequence of the observance of the
laws of order: it is, that sacrifices, supported by an idea of duty, are
changed into real satisfactions; and the sentiments, which the virtuous
enjoy from piety, compose an essential part of their happiness. But what
consolation can a man have by way of return; what secret approbation can
we grant him, when we know not any other authority than that of
political morality, and when virtue is nothing but an opposition between
private and public interest?
Religion certainly proposes to man his own happiness, as an object and
ultimate end; but as this happiness is placed at a distance, religion
conducts us to it by wholesome restrictions and temporary sacrifices; it
regards only the sublimest part of us, that which disunites us from the
present moment, in order to connect us with futurity; it offers us
hopes, which withdraw us from worldly interest, so far as is necessary
to prevent us from being immoderately devoted to the disorderly
impressions of our senses, and the tyranny of our passions. Irreligion,
on the contrary, whose lessons teach us, that we are only masters of the
present moment, concentres us more and more within ourselves, and there
is nothing beautiful or good in this condition; for grandeur, of every
kind, relates to the extent of those relations which we comprehend; and,
in a like acceptation, our sentiments submit to the same laws.
Those who represent the obligations of religion as indifferent, assure
us, that we may repose safely the maintenance of morality on some
general sentiments, which we have adopted; but do not consider that
these sentiments derive their origin, and almost all their force, from
that spirit of religion which they wish to weaken. Yes, even humanity,
this emotion of a noble soul, is animated and fortified by the idea of a
Supreme Being; the alliance between men holds but feebly from the
conformity of their organization; nor can it be attributed to the
similitude of their passions, that continual source of so much hatred;
it depends essentially on our connexion with the same author, the same
superintendant, the same judge; it is founded on the equality of our
right to the same hopes, and on that train of duties inculcated by
education, and rendered respectable by the habitual dominion of
religious opinions. Alas! it is a melancholy avowal, that men have so
many infirmities, so much injustice, selfishness, and ingratitude, at
least, in the eyes of those who have observed them collectively, that we
never can keep them in harmony by the mere lessons of wisdom: it is not
always because they are amiable that we love them; it is sometimes, and
very often indeed, because we ought to love them, that we find them
amiable. Yes, goodness and forbearance, these qualities the most simple,
still require to be compared, from time to time, with an idea general
and predominate, the band of all our virtues. The passions of others
wound us in so many ways, and there is often so much depth and energy in
our self-love, that we have need of some succour to be constantly
generous in our sentiments, and to be really interested for all our
fellow-creatures, in the midst of whom we are placed.
In short, not to dissemble, if a man once came to consider himself as a
being that is the child of chance, or of blind necessity, and tending
only to the dust from whence he sprung, and to which he must return, he
would despise himself; and far from seeking to rise to noble and
virtuous reflections, he would consider this species of ambition as a
fantastic idea, which consumes in a vain and illusory manner, a part of
those fleeting minutes which he has to pass on earth; and all his
attention being fixed on the shortness of life, and on the eternal
silence which must close the scene, he would only think _how to devour
this reign of a moment_.
How dangerous then would it be, on this supposition, to show to men the
extremity of the chain which unites them together! It is in worldly
affairs this knowledge of having received the last favour, which renders
them ungrateful towards those from whom they no longer expect any thing;
and the same sentiment would weaken the power of morality if our lease
was manifestly only for this world. It is then religion which ought to
strengthen those ties, and defend the entire system of our duty against
the stratagems of reasoning and the artifices of our minds; it is
necessary, in order to oblige all men, to consider with respect the laws
of morality, to teach them early that the social virtues are an homage
rendered to the perfections and to the beneficent intentions of the
Sovereign Author of Nature, of that Infinite Being who is pleased with
the preservation of order, and the private sacrifices which the
accomplishment of this grand design requires. And when I see modern
philosophers tracing, with an able hand, the general plan of our duties;
when I see them fix with judgment the reciprocal obligations of
citizens, and giving, at last, for the basis to this legislation,
personal interest and the love of praise: I recollect the system of
those Indian philosophers, who, after having studied the revolutions of
the heavenly bodies, being perplexed to determine the power which
sustained the vaulted firmament, thought they had freed it from
difficulty, by placing the universe on the back of an elephant, and this
elephant on a tortoise. We shall imitate these philosophers, and, like
them, shall never proceed but by degradation, whenever, by endeavouring
to form a chain of duties and moral principles, we do not place the last
link above worldly considerations, and beyond the limits of our social
conventions.
CHAP. II.
_The same Subject continued. A Parallel between the Influence of
Religious Principles, and of Laws and Opinions._
After having examined, as I have just done, in the preceding chapter, if
it were possible to found morality on the connexion of private with
public interest, it remains for me to consider, if the punishments
inflicted by the sovereign, if the sceptre, which public opinion sways,
have sufficient power to restrain men, and bind them to the observance
of their duty.
It is necessary to proceed by common ideas, in order to advance one
degree in the research of truth: thus I ought at first, in this place,
to recollect, that the penal laws cannot be applied but to offences
known and proved; this consideration contracts their power within a very
narrow circle; however, crimes secretly committed, are not the only ones
which are beyond the cognizance of laws; we must place in this rank
every reprehensible action, which, for want of a distinct character, can
never be pointed out; the number of them is prodigious: the rigour of
parents, ingratitude of children, the inhumanity of abandoning their
nurses, treachery in friendship, the violation of domestic comfort,
disunion sown in the bosoms of families, levity of principles in every
social connexion, perfidious counsels, artful and slanderous
insinuations, rigorous exercise of authority, favour and partiality of
judges, their inattention, their idleness and severity, endeavours to
obtain places of importance, with a consciousness of incapacity, corrupt
flatteries addressed to sovereigns or ministers, statesmen indifferent
to public good, their vile and pernicious jealousies, and their
political dissensions, excited in order to render themselves necessary,
wars instigated by ambition, intolerance under the cover of zeal; in
short, many other fatal evils which the laws cannot either follow or
describe, and which often do much mischief, before they give any
opportunity for public censure. We ought not even to desire that this
censure pass certain bounds, because authority, applied to obscure
faults, or those susceptible of various interpretations, easily
degenerates into tyranny; and as there is nothing so transitory as
thought, nothing so secret as our sentiments; none but an invisible
power, whose authority seems to participate of the divine, has a right
to enter into the secrets of our hearts.
It is then only, at the tribunal of his own conscience, that a man can
be interrogated about a number of actions and intentions which escape
the inspection of government. Let us beware of overturning the authority
of a judge so active and enlightened; let us beware of weakening it
voluntarily, and let us not be so imprudent as to repose only on social
discipline. I will even venture to say, that the power of conscience is
perhaps still more necessary in the age we live in, than in any of the
preceding; though society no longer presents us with a view of those
vices and crimes which shock us by their deformity; yet licentiousness
of morals, and refinement of manners, have almost imperceptibly blended
good and evil, vice and decency, falsehood and truth, selfishness and
magnanimity; it is more important then ever, to oppose to this secret
depravity, an interior authority, which pries into the mysterious
windings of disguise, and whose action may be as penetrating as our
dissimulation seems artful and well contrived.
It is, undoubtedly, because a similar authority appears absolutely
necessary to the maintenance of public order, that several philosophic
writers have endeavoured to introduce it as a principle of atheism. In
such a system the whole is fictitious; they speak of our blushing at the
recollection of our follies, of dreading our own secret reproaches, and
of being afraid of the condemnation, which, in the calm of reflection,
we shall pronounce against ourselves; but these sentiments, which have
so much force with the idea of a God, they know not what to unite them
with, when they would give only for a guide the most active personal
interest, and when all the grand communications, established between men
by religious opinions, are absolutely broken; conscience is then an
expression void of meaning, a useless word in the language. We may still
feel remorse, that is to say, regret at being deceived in the pursuits
of ambition, in promoting our interest, in the choice of means which we
employ to obtain the respect and praise of others; in short, in the
various calculations of our worldly advantage: but such remorse is only
an exaltation of our self-love; we deify, in some measure, our judgment
and understanding, and we make at last all our actions appear before
these false idols, to reproach us with our errors and weaknesses; we
thus voluntarily become our own tormentors; but when this perfection is
too importunate, we have it in our power to command our tyrants to use
more indulgence towards us. It is not the same with the reproaches of
conscience; the sentiments which produce them have nothing compounded or
artificial in them, we cannot corrupt our judge, nor enter into a
compromise with him; that which seduces men never deceives him, and
amidst the giddiness of prosperity, in the intoxication of the greatest
success, his looks are inevitably fixed on us; and we cannot but with
terror enjoy the applause and the triumphs which we have not merited.
We read in several modern books, that with good laws we should always
have morality sufficient; but I cannot adopt this opinion. Man is a
being so compounded, and his relations with his species are so various
and so fine, that to regulate his mind, and direct his conduct, he has
need of a multitude of sentiments, on which the commands of the
sovereign have not any hold; they are all simple and declared duties,
which the legislators have reduced to precepts, and this rough building,
termed civil laws, leaves vacancies throughout. The laws require merely
a blind obedience; and as they enjoin and defend only actions, are
absolutely indifferent to the private sentiments of men; the moral
edifice which they raise is in several parts a mere exterior form, and
it is at the roof, if I may say so, that they have begun. Religion
proceeds in a manner diametrically opposite; it is in the heart, it is
in the recesses of conscience, that it lays its first base; it appears
to be acquainted with the grand secrets of nature; it sows in the earth
a grain, and this grain is nourished, and transformed into numerous
branches, which, without any effort, spring up, and extend themselves to
all dimensions and in every kind of form.
I will suppose, nevertheless, that we believed it sufficient for the
maintenance of public order, to reduce morality to the spirit of civil
laws, it would still be out of the power of men to draw from this
assimilation familiar instructions proper to form a code of education;
for these laws, simple in their commands, are not so in their
principles. We perceive not immediately why revenge, the most just, is
prohibited; why we have not the power to do ourselves justice by the
same means a ravisher would use; why we have not a right to resist with
violence the tyrannic oppressor; in short, why certain actions, some
indifferent in themselves, and some hurtful to others, are condemned in
a general and uniform manner: a kind of combination is necessary to
discover, that the legislator himself is wandering from natural ideas,
in order to prevent every person from being a judge in his own cause,
and to avoid that, those exceptions and distinctions, of which every
circumstance is susceptible, might never be determined by the judgment
of individuals. In the same manner, from those indirect motives, the
laws treat with more rigour an offence difficult to define, than a
disorder more reprehensible in itself; but of which the excesses might
be easily perceived: and they observe still the same rule with respect
to crimes which are surrounded by greater allurements, though this
seduction is even a motive for indulgence in the eyes of simple justice;
in short, the laws, in adopting a more determinate method, to constrain
debtors to the discharge of their obligations, prove that they are not
compassionate to unforeseen misfortunes, nor actuated by other motives
of equity which merit an equal interest; all their attention is fixed on
the relation of engagements with the political resources, which arise
from commerce and its transactions. There exists thus a multitude of
prohibitions of punishments, or gradations in the penalties, which have
not any connexion but with the general views of the legislation, and
agree not with the circumscribed good sense, which determines the
judgment of individuals. It is then often, by considerations very
extensive and complicated, that an action is criminal or reprehensible
in the eyes of the law: thus, we know not how to erect, on this base
alone, a system of morality, of which every one can have a clear
perception; and since the legislator carefully avoids submitting any
thing to private examination, because he sacrifices often to this
principle natural justice, how then can he wish, at the same time, to
give us for a rule of conduct a political morality, which is all founded
on reasoning?
It is of consequence still to observe, that to the eyes of the greater
number of men, the sense of the laws, and the decrees formed by those
who interpret them, ought necessarily to be identified and blended, and
form only one point of view; and as the judges are frequently exposed to
error, the true spirit of legislation remains often in obscurity, and we
with difficulty discern it.
It is, perhaps, because laws are the work of our understanding, that we
are disposed to grant them a universal dominion: but I will avow, I am
far from thinking that they can ever be substituted instead of the
salutary influence of religion, and that I believe them insufficient
even to regulate the things immediately under their jurisdiction; thus I
would request you to reflect, if the unfortunate errors with which we
reproach criminal tribunals, have not their source in the faults
committed by sovereign authority; when it has referred all the duties of
the judges to the injunctions of the law, and when it has refused to
confide any longer in the conscience and private sentiments of the
magistrates.
Let us render this observation more clear by a single example chosen
from a number. We demand at present, that the legislator explain himself
afresh on the grand question, what witnesses are necessary? but will he
not always run the risk of being deceived, whether he absolutely rejects
a probable evidence, or whether he makes the fate of a criminal depend
upon it? How will he determine, that the testimony of an honest man,
identifying the person of an assassin, in his own cause, should not be
reckoned any thing by the judge; and how can he pretend also, that a
testimony of this nature is sufficient to determine a condemnation, when
he who gives the evidence appears suspicious, either from the motives,
which we must suppose actuate him, or from the improbability of his
assertion? Reason is then placed between two extremes; but intermediate
ideas not being consonant with the absolute language of law, we ought,
in such circumstances, to leave much to the wisdom and integrity of the
magistrates; and so far from serving innocence by acting otherwise, we
visibly endanger it; because judges habituate themselves to render the
laws responsible for every thing, and respectfully submit to the letter,
instead of obeying the spirit, which is the earnest desire of obtaining
truth. What then, some will say, would you wish that there should be no
positive instructions, neither to serve for a guide in the examination
of crimes, nor to determine the character by which these crimes may be
distinguished? This was never in my mind; but I could wish, that in an
affair of such serious importance, they would unite to the judgment
which proceeded from the prudence of the legislator, that which may be
brought by the wisdom of the judges; I could wish, that the criminal
legislation prescribed to the magistrates, not all that they are obliged
to do, but all from which they are not exempt; not all that is
sufficient to determine their opinion, but all which ought to be the
indispensable condition of a capital punishment. Guided by such a
spirit, the commands given by the law, would be a safeguard against the
ignorance, or possible prevarication of the judges; but as any general
rule, any immutable principle, is not applicable to an infinite
diversity of circumstances, I would give to innocence a new defender,
interesting in a more immediate manner the morality of the judges to
search for and examine the truth, and to recal continually all the
extent of their obligations; I could wish, that previous to their
passing a sentence of condemnation, raising one of their hands towards
heaven, they pronounced with earnestness these words: “I attest, that
the man accused before us, appears to me guilty, according to the law,
and according to my own private judgment.” It is not sufficient, that we
command a judge to examine with probity, if the proofs of an offence,
are conformable to those required by the statute; it is necessary to
inform a magistrate, that he ought to enquire into the truth by all the
means that scrupulous anxiety can suggest; he should know, that, called
to decide on the life and the honour of men, his understanding and his
heart, ought to be enlisted in the cause of humanity, and that there are
not any limits opposed to bound his duty; then, without failing in any
of the enquiries ordained by the laws, he would force himself to go
still further, that no evidence proper to make an impression on a
reasonable man might be rejected, at the same time, that none might have
so decisive a force, that the examination of circumstances would ever
appear useless; the judges then would make use of that sagacity, which
seems to discern instinctively; they would not then disdain to read even
the looks of the accuser and the accused, and they would not believe it
a matter of indifference to observe with attention, all those emotions
of nature, where sometimes truth is painted with so much energy; then,
in short, innocence would be under the protection of something as pure
as itself, the scrupulous conscience of a judge.
We have never, perhaps, sufficiently considered how much a methodical
order, when we confine ourselves too servilely to it, contracts the
bounds of the mind; it becomes then like a foot-path traced between two
banks, which prevents our discovering what is not in a strait line. The
strict observance of method diverts us also from consulting that light,
sometimes so lively, of which the soul only is the focus; for in
subjecting us to a positive course of things always regular, and in
making us find pleasure in a determined path, which offers continual
repose to our thoughts, it incapacitates for thinking that delicate
perception of natural sentiments, which has nothing fixed or
circumscribed, but whose free flight often makes us approach to truth,
as by a kind of instinct or inspiration.
I should stray too far from my subject, if I extended these reflections,
and I hasten to connect them with the subject of this chapter, in
repeating again, that if the laws are insufficient, even in those
decisions submitted to their authority, and if the they have absolute
need of the aid of religion, whenever they impose on their private
expounders duties a little complicated; they would be still less able to
supply the habitual and daily influence of that motive, the most
powerful of all, and the only one at the same time, of which the action
will be sufficiently penetrating to follow us in the mazes of our
conduct, and in the labyrinth of our thoughts.
I ought now to direct your attention towards other considerations. All
that is required by public order, all that is of importance to society,
some will say, is, that criminals may not escape the sword of justice,
and that an attentive superintendance discover them under the cloud
where they seek to conceal themselves. I will not here recal the various
obstacles, which are opposed to the plenitude of this vigilance; every
one may perceive them, or form an idea of them; but I hasten to observe,
that in considering society in its actual state, we ought not to forget,
that religious sentiments have greatly diminished the talk of
government; a scene quite new would open, if we had for our guide only
political morality; it would not then be a few men without principles,
who would trouble the public order, more able actors would mix in the
throng, some conducted by mature reflection, and others, carried away by
seducing appearances, would be incessantly at war with all those, whose
fortune excited their jealousy; and then only we should know how many
opportunities there are of doing evil, and injuring others. It would
also happen, that all these enemies of public order not being
disconcerted by the reproaches of their conscience, would become every
day more expert in the art of avoiding the observation of justice; and
the dangers to which the imprudent exposed themselves, would not
discourage the ingenious.
It is then, if I may be permitted so to express myself, because the laws
find men in a healthy state, prepared by religious instruction, that
they can restrain them; but if a system of education merely political
was ever to prevail, new precautions and new chains would become
absolutely necessary, and after having freed us from the mild ties of
religion, the projectors of such a system would increase our civil
slavery, would bend our necks under the hardest of all yokes, that which
is imposed by our fellow-creatures.
Religion, whose influence they wish us to reject, is better appropriated
than they think, to the mixture of pride and weakness, which constitutes
our nature, and for us, such as we are; its action is far preferable to
that of the penal laws; it is not, before his equals, armed with the rod
of vengeance, that the culprit is made to appear; it is not to their
ignorance, or to their inexorable justice, that he is abandoned; it is
at the tribunal of his own conscience, that religion informs against
him; before a God, sovereign of the world, that it humbles, and in the
name of a tender and merciful Father that it comforts him. Alas! while
you at once take from us both our consolation and our true dignity, you
wish to refer every thing to private interest and public punishment; but
permit me to listen to those commands which come from on high; leave me
to divert my attention from the menacing sceptre which the potentates of
the earth weild in their hand; leave me to account with Him, before whom
they shrink into nothing; leave me, in short, to address myself to him
who pardons, and who, at the moment I have offended, permits me still to
love him, and rely on his grace!—Alas! without the idea of a
God,—without this connexion with a Supreme Being, author of all nature,
we should only listen to the vile counsels of selfish prudence, we
should only have to flatter and adore the rulers of nations, and all
those who in an absolute monarchy, are the numerous representatives of
the authority of the prince; yes, talents, sentiments, ought to bend
before these distributors of so much good and evil, if nothing exists
beyond worldly interest; and when once every one cringes, there is no
more dignity in the character, men become incapable of any great action,
and unequal to any moral excellence.
Religious opinions have the double merit of maintaining us in the
obedience due to the laws and the soveriegn, and of nourishing in our
hearts a sentiment which sustains our courage, and which reminds men of
their true grandeur; teaches submission without meanness, and prevents,
above all, cowardly humiliations before transitory idols, in showing at
a distance the last period, when all must return to an equality before
the Master of the World.
The idea of a God, at the same distance from all men, serves also to
console us for that shocking superiority of rank and fortune under the
oppression of which we live; it is necessary to transport ourselves to
the heights religion discovers, to consider with a kind of calmness and
indifference the frivolous pretentions of some, and the confident
haughtiness of others; and such objects of regret, or of envy, which
appeared a Colossus to our imagination, are changed into a grain of
sand, when we contrast them with the grand prospects which such sublime
meditations display to our view.
They are then blind, or indifferent to our interest, who wish to
substitute, instead of religious instructions, political and worldly
maxims; and in like manner, those are inflexible and unfeeling, who
believe they shall be able to conduct men only by terror; and who, in
contesting the salutary influence of religious opinions, expect less
from them than the axe of the lictors, and the apparatus of execution.
What is then this wretched system? For supposing even that the different
means of securing public tranquillity were equal in their effect, should
we not prefer religious principles, which prevent crimes, to the strict
laws which punish them? I understand not besides, how, with the same
hand that they repel religious sentiments, they wish to raise every
where scaffolds, and multiply, without scruple, those frightful theatres
of severity; for if men, hurried onwards to crimes, were only governed
by blind necessity, alas! what do they deserve? And if we still
determine to destroy them as examples, we should assist at their
execution, as at that of beings devoted for the good of society, as
Iphigenia was sacrificed at Aulis for the salvation of Greece.
Religion is, in another respect, superior to the laws, which are ever
armed for vengeance; instead of that, religion, even when threatening,
nourishes also the hopes of pardon and felicity; and I believe, contrary
to the generally received opinion, that man, by his nature, is more
constantly animated by hope, than restrained by fear; the former of
these sentiments compose the tenor of our life, whilst the latter is the
effect of an extraordinary circumstance, or particular situation; in
short, courage, or want of consideration, turns our attention from
danger, whilst ideas of happiness are perpetually present, and blended,
if I may use the expression, with our whole existence.
I perceive, however, that some may say to me, it is not only of civil
and penal laws that we mean to speak, when we maintain that good public
institutions would be an efficacious substitute for the influence of
religion; it would be necessary to introduce laws of education, proper
to modify, beforehand, the mind and form the character. But they have
not explained, and I am ignorant that there are such laws, which they
wish to distinguish from the general doctrines we are acquainted with;
doctrines susceptible, undoubtedly, of different degrees of perfection,
which, before instructing us not only in the virtues simple and real,
but in all those mixed and conventional, have necessarily a vague
character, and could not separate themselves from the support that they
borrow from the fixed and precise ideas of religion. They may cite the
example of Sparta, where the state undertook the education of the
citizens, and formed by laws the extraordinary manners which history has
delineated; but that government, aided in this enterprize by all the
influence of paternal authority, nevertheless proposed but two great
objects, the encouragement of martial qualities, and the maintenance of
liberty: morality was not made interesting, though among us it requires
so much application; and it was rendered less necessary, as every
institution tended to introduce a perfect equality of rank and fortune,
and opposed all kind of communication with foreigners. In short, it was,
after all, a religious opinion which subjected the Spartans to the
authority of their legislator; and without their confidence in the
oracle of Delphos, Lycurgus had only been a celebrated philosopher.
We are still further, at present, from the disposition and situation
which would allow laws of education to govern us, supported only by a
political spirit; in order to make the trial, we must be divided into
little associations; and by some means, not yet discovered, be able to
oppose invincible obstacles to the enlargement of them, and to preserve
us from the desires and voluptuousness which are the inevitable
consequence of an augmentation of wealth, and the progress of the arts
and sciences: in short, and it is a singular remark, at a period when
man is become a being the most compounded, on account of these social
modifications, he has need, more than ever, of a principle which will
penetrate to the very source of his numerous affections; consequently it
would be necessary suddenly to carry him back to his primitive
simplicity, to make him agree, in some measure, with the limited extent
of an education purely civil. Let me add, that a like education could
not be adapted to the commonalty, as in Sparta; they must be separated
from the citizens, and kept in servitude: an observation which leads me
to a very important reflection; it is, that in a country where slavery
would be introduced, where the most numerous class would be governed by
the continual fear of the severest chastisement, they would be able to
confide more in the mere ascendency of political morality; for this
morality only having to keep in order the part of society represented by
those who have property, the task would not be difficult; but among us,
where happily all men, without any distinction, are subject to the yoke
of the law, an authority so extensive, must necessarily be strengthened
and seconded by the universal influence of religious opinions.
I shall conclude this part of my subject by one reflection more;
supposing, even in the sovereign authority, an exertion sufficiently
general to prevent or repress evil, religion would still have this great
advantage, that it inculcates the beneficent virtues, which the laws
cannot reach; and yet, in the actual state of society, it is become
impossible to omit those virtues. It is not sufficient to be just, when
the laws of property reduce to bare necessaries the most numerous class
of men, whose weak resources the most trivial accident disconcerts; and
I hesitate not to say, that such is the extreme inequality established
by these laws, that we ought at present to consider the spirit of
beneficence and forbearance, as constituting a part of social order; as
in all places and times, it softens by its assistance the excess of
wretchedness, and by an innumerable multitude of springs spreads itself
as the vital juice, through forlorn beings, whom misery had almost
exhausted. But if this spirit, properly intermediate between the rigour
of civil rights, and the original title of humanity, did not exist, or
should ever be extinct, we should see all the subordinate ties relax
imperceptibly; and a man, loaded with the favours of fortune, never
presenting himself to the people under the form of a benefactor; they
would more forcibly feel the great extent of his privileges, and would
accustom themselves to discuss them. Men must then find a way of
moderating the despotism of fortune, or render homage to religion,
which, by the sublime idea of an exchange between the blessings of
heaven and earth, obliges the rich to give what the laws cannot demand.
Religion then comes continually to assist the civil legislation, it
speaks a language unknown to the laws, it warms that sensibility which
ought to advance even before reason; it acts like light and interior
warmth, as it both enlightens and animates; and what we have not
sufficiently observed, is, that in society its moral sentiments are the
imperceptible tie of a number of parts, which seem to be held by their
own agreement, and which would be successively detached, if the chain
which united them was ever to be broken: we shall more clearly perceive
this truth, in the examination we are going to make of the connexion of
opinion with morality.
When we imagine we should be able to subject men to the observance of
public order, and inspire them with the love of virtue, by motives
independent of religion, we propose, undoubtedly, to put in action two
powerful springs; the desire of esteem and praise; and the fear of
contempt and shame. Thus, to follow my subject in all its branches, I
ought necessarily to examine what is the degree of force of these
different motives, and what is also their true application. I have
already spoken, in other works of mine, of the opinion of the world, and
of its salutary effects; but the subject I am now treating obliges me to
consider it under a different point of view, and it is by placing myself
behind the scene, that I shall be able to fulfil this task.
I remark, at first, that the opinion of the world exercises its
influence in a very confined space, as it is particularly called in to
judge men, whose rank and employments have some splendour in the world;
the opinion of the public is an approbation or censure, exercised in the
name of the general interest; thus it ought only to be applied to
actions and to words, which either directly or indirectly affect this
interest. The private conduct of him who discharges in society the most
important functions, is indeed submitted to the judgment and
superintendance of the public at large; and we ought not to wonder that
it should, since in similar circumstances the principles of an
individual appear an earnest, or presage of his public virtues; but all
those, whose sole occupation is to spend their income, those who are
entirely devoted to dissipation, and have not any connexion with the
grand interests of the community, become independent of the opinion of
the world; or at least they do not experience its severity, till, by
foolish extravagance or inconsiderate pretentions, they draw the
attention of the public on their conduct. In short, a great number of
men, who, by the obscurity of their condition and moderate fortune, find
themselves lost in a crowd, will never dread a power that singles out of
the ranks its heroes and victims: thus people, concealed under humble
roofs scattered in the country, are as indifferent to the opinion of the
world, as are to the rays of the sun, those unhappy tribes who labour at
the bottom of mines, and pass their whole lives in a dark subterraneous
cavern.
We cannot then form any kind of comparison between the peculiar
ascendency of reputation, and the general influence of religious
morality.
Fame only recompenses rare actions; and would have nothing to bestow on
a nation of heroes. Religion tends continually to render virtue common;
but the universal success of its instructions would take away nothing
from the value of its benefits.
In order to receive the rewards which fame bestows, men must appear with
splendour on the stage of life. Religion, on the contrary, extends its
most distinguished favours to those who despise praise, and who do good
in secret.
The world almost always requires, that talents and knowledge should
accompany virtue; and it is thus that the love of praise becomes the
seed and spring of great actions. Religion never imposes this condition;
its recompenses belong to the ignorant as well as the learned, to the
humble spirit as well as to the exalted genius; and it is in animating
equally all men, in exciting universal activity, that it effectually
concurs to the maintenance of civil order.
The world, only judging of actions in their state of maturity, takes not
any account of efforts; and, as men do not seize the palm till the
moment when they approach the goal, it is necessary, at the commencement
of the career, that every one should derive from his own force his
courage and perseverance. Religion, on the contrary, if I may say so,
dwells with us from the moment that we begin to think; it welcomes our
intentions, strengthens our resolutions, and supports us even in the
hour of temptation; it is, at all times, and in all situations, that we
experience its influence, as we are continually reminded of its rewards.
Fame distributing only favours, whose principal value arises from
comparisons and competitions, often draws on its favourites the
envenomed breath of slander, and then sometimes they doubt about their
real value. Religion mingles no bitterness with its reward; it is in
obscurity that it confers content; and as it has treasures for all the
world, what is granted to some never impoverishes others.
The world is often mistaken in its judgment, because in the midst of so
vast a circle it is often difficult to distinguish true merit and the
splendour which follows it, from the false colours of hypocrisy.
Religion extends its influence to the inmost recesses of the heart, and
places there an observer, who has a closer view of men than their
actions afford, and whom they cannot either deceive or surprise.
In short, I will say it, there are moments when the opinion of the world
loses its force, and becomes enervated or governed by a servile spirit,
it searches to find faults in the oppressed, and attributes grand
intentions to powerful men, that it may, without shame, abandon one, and
celebrate the other. Ah! it is in such moments we return with delight to
the precepts of religion, to those independent principles, which, while
they illustrate every thing deserving of esteem or contempt, enable us
to follow the dictates of our heart, and speak according to our
conscience!
Thus, the opinion of the world, whose influence I have seen increase,
which unites so many motives to excite men to distinguished actions, and
to exalt them even to the great virtues, still ought never to be
compared with the universal, invariable influence of religion, and with
those sentiments which its precepts inspire men of all ages, of all
conditions, and every degree of understanding.
Would it be straying from my subject, to remark here the illusion we are
under, if we expect any important utility to arise from those marks of
distinction lately introduced into France, under the name of public
rewards for virtue? Those trivial favours of opinion can never be
decreed but to a few dispersed actions; and it might be apprehended,
that if we rendered such institutions permanent and general, they might
turn the attention of the people at large from the grand recompense,
which ought to be the spring and encouragement of all that is great and
virtuous. Experienced hunters, at the moment when all the pack is still
pursuing the most noble ranger of the forest, would not permit them to
turn, to run after a prey which darted out of a lurking hole or thicket.
The establishments on which I here fix my attention, have, perhaps, also
the inconvenience of rousing a sentiment of surprise at the appearance
of a good action, and announcing thus too distinctly, that they believe
them rare, and above the common exertions of humanity; and if we
extended still further these institutions, they would only introduce a
spirit of parade, always ready to languish, when applause was distant;
and it would be a great misfortune, if such a spirit ever took place of
simple and modest integrity, which receives from itself its motives and
reward: virtue and vanity make a bad mixture; men are then accustomed
only to act to be seen, and these opportunities, at present not very
numerous, they wish to choose. There is besides a class of men so ill
treated by fortune, that we should commit a great mistake in habituating
them to connect continually calculations of probable rewards from men,
with the practice of their duty; they would too often be deceived.
It is then, we cannot too often repeat it, it is respect for morality,
which it is necessary to maintain, by strengthening religious
principles, its most solid foundation; all other extraordinary helps
derive their force from novelty; and at the period when society would
have the greatest need of their succour, it would, perhaps, have arrived
at its greatest depravity.
Thus far at present, I have considered the influence of opinion, only in
general; but men manifest more in a private manner, the idea that they
have conceived of each other; and this sentiment, which takes then the
simple name of esteem, is connected with a determinate knowledge of the
moral character of those with whom we have an habitual correspondence;
esteem under this view, has not the splendour of reputation; but as
every one can pretend to it in the circle where his birth and
occupations have placed him, the hope of obtaining it ought to be
reckoned among the grand motives which excite us to the observance of
morality. However, if we supposed that this esteem was entirely
separated from religious sentiments, it would be like many other
advantages, which every one would estimate by his own fancy; for
whatever comes solely from men, can only have a price relative to our
connexion with them: thus the esteem of one, or of several persons,
would not indemnify for such a sacrifice; and often also this sentiment,
on their part, would appear inferior to some other objects, of ambition;
in a word, from the moment every preference, every valuation was brought
to a standard, each would insensibly have his own book of rates; and the
justness of them would depend on the degree of judgment and foresight of
every individual. But how can we imagine that perfection in morality
would ever be secure, when it depended on wavering and arbitrary
comparisons, whose foundation would be continually changed by the
various circumstances and situations of life? The motives which religion
presents are absolutely different; it is not by confused contrasts, that
it directs men; it is a predominate interest to which they are recalled;
it is round a beacon, of which the brilliant flames are seen on all
sides, that they are assembled; in short the rules which it prescribes
are not uncertain, and the advantages which it promises do not admit of
an equivalent.
Let us further observe here, that selfishness, after having compared the
enjoyment of esteem with pleasures of a different kind, would not fail
to reckon the chances which afford a hope of imposing on men; and in the
midst of these perplexed calculations, the passion of the moment would
be almost always victorious. Besides, we might ask, what is the esteem
of others, to that numerous class which misery makes solitary? And what
is it but a sentiment, of which the effect is never obvious, to those
whose view is limited to the present day, or the next, because they only
live by instantaneous resources? All the advantages annexed to
reputation are promisory notes, of which it is necessary to be able to
wait the distant expiration; reflection and knowledge only acquaint us
with their value; and the ignorance of the greater part of a nation
would render them unequal to this kind of combination.
If then, after having taken a view of the lowest, I observe those who
compose the superior class, I will venture a reflection of a very
different kind; that in a country where we have the hope of obtaining
the most splendid marks of distinction, and where fame has power to
raise heroes, great ministers, and men of genius in every profession, we
do not find that the duties of private life are best known and the most
respected. Men, uniting to celebrate with ardour great talents and
actions, consider with more indifference the morals and manners of
individuals; they make an ideal beauty, composed of every thing which
contributes to the celebrity of their country and the honour of their
nation; but by accustoming themselves to refer every thing to these
interests, they become extremely negligent with respect to common
virtues, and sometimes they even decide, that the rare qualities of the
mind may absolutely dispense with them. Besides, if fame can serve to
reward the most assiduous labour and painful self-denial, it is far from
being necessary, that moderate sentiments of esteem should indemnify
those who obtain them for the sacrifice of their passions; it does not
follow, that this sentiment should give them strength to resist the
multiplied seductions that the hopes of ambition and the chances of
fortune present to our view; and this consideration acquires more force
in a kingdom, where, among the distinctions of which the favour of the
prince is the origin, there are some which attract so much homage, that
they resemble fame itself.
In short, and what I am going to say comprehends, in a general manner,
the various questions which I have just treated: the esteem of men, even
when this sentiment seems the most foreign to religion, receives,
nevertheless, from it its principal strength, and even origin; it is a
reflection of great importance, and of which I will endeavour to
demonstrate the truth.
We ought, at first, to ask what is the original principle of society,
which gives weight to the various expressions of the sentiment of
esteem: we shall find, undoubtedly, that it is a distinct idea of the
duties of men, a notion of good morals, as general as firm. Now the
duties of life cannot be fulfilled without the assistance of religion,
since the connexion of private and public interest, the only foundation
of the virtues of our framing, is, as we have demonstrated an imperfect
system, and susceptible of a multitude of exceptions, or arbitrary
interpretations. It is necessary then that our social obligations should
be fixed in an authentic manner, if we wish that our judgment and the
sentiments which we adopt should be a real indication of the relation
the conduct of men has with moral perfection; but, if this perfection
was only determined by human conventions, if it was despoiled of the
majesty which religion invests it with, reputation, and sentiments of
esteem, which are the pledge and stamp of good morals, would insensibly
lose their value; we should then recollect that coin, which some vainly
wished to preserve the current value of in commerce, after having
materially altered either the weight or the standard; and, in effect, to
follow the simile a moment longer, how could we alter the essence of
morality more, and lessen the respect which is due to it, than by
separating it from the sublime motives which religion presents, to unite
it only to political considerations.
One objection I ought to obviate: it may be said, perhaps, that the
influence of honour in the army, seems to be a proof that reputation,
without the aid of any other impulse, would have sufficient influence to
direct the mind to the end which we propose to ourselves. This objection
does not appear to me decisive: honour in armies preserves a great
ascendency, because amongst men thus assembled, it is impossible to
escape shame, and the punishment incurred by cowardice; it is in war
that the power of authority and that of fame unite all their forces,
because that they exercise their influence on men engaged in one action,
actuated by the same spirit, by that singular subordination, termed
discipline. Thus, when in the commencement of the Roman republic, the
army participated more of the air of the city, and was not yet
familiarized to the military yoke, it was then only through the sanction
of an oath, supported by religious sentiments, that the general
contrived to prevent the inconstancy and defection of those who followed
him to the camp. Whatever then may be at present, the power of honour in
armies, whatever at present may be its influence in the field of battle,
where the actors, spectators, and judges, are on the same stage, and
have nothing else to do but to practise, remark, and praise a particular
virtue, we should not be able to draw any deduction from it, applicable
to the social relations, whose extent is immense, and to whose diversity
there is no bound. Besides, military honour is very far from being
foreign to the general principles of morality, and consequently to
religious opinions, the most solid support of those principles; for
sentiments which contain, in some manner, the idea of a noble sacrifice,
would lose great part of their force, if the great basis of our duty was
ever shaken.
A perfect model is necessary to fix the admiration of men; and it is
only by an intercourse more or less constant with that first model, that
several opinions which seem, in appearance, to arise merely from
convenience have consistency.
However, there has resulted from our warlike customs an opinion purely
social, which is very powerful: it is that of the point of honour, when
we consider it in its singular and simple acceptation, when a man is
ready to sacrifice his life to guard himself from the slightest
humiliation. This opinion, it is true, only dictates its rules among
equals, and the exercise of its authority extends to an inconsiderable
part of a nation, which, wholly given up to worldly concerns, are
occupied entirely with comparisons and distinctions; it is one of the
ancient appendages of military honour, and in uniting all its force
towards a single idea it is become a simple principle, which has been
blindly transmitted and as blindly respected.
It is by the effect of a similar habit that savages affix all their
glory to a contempt of bodily pain, and to demonstrations of gaiety, in
the midst of the most cruel torments. Can we doubt, that their
supernatural exultation would not be weakened, at the very instant they
were acquainted with our most common ideas of virtue? likewise our
notions of honour, which, in its exaggerated state, resembles their
death songs, would not resist metaphysical arguments, if ever
metaphysics became our sole guide in morality; for after having analyzed
the motives of our most important obligations, we should analyze also
our fine-spun sentiment, which makes us regardless of danger. Yes, if
respect for religion was absolutely destroyed; if this simple opinion,
which carries with it so many obligations, and serves to defend so many
duties, had no other support, the idea of honour would soon be weakened;
and our personal interest, insensibly disengaged from all the ties of
the imagination, would take a character so rude, and so determined, that
our habitual impressions, and our relation with others, would be
absolutely changed.
Permit me then to make another reflection: it will be always easy to
subject men to a governing opinion, when they themselves, and those who
govern them, unite al their efforts to attain the same end; but, if this
governing opinion is not, like religion, the general principle of our
conduct; if it cannot give us laws in the different situations of life,
it would serve only to throw us out of an equilibrium, or at least its
utility would be partial and momentary· Nevertheless, if, with a design
of remedying this inconvenience, we searched to multiply these opinions,
they would weaken each other; for every time we wish strongly to
restrain the imagination, it is necessary that a single idea, a single
authority, a single object of interest, should engage the attention of
men. Perfection, in this respect, is the choice of a single principle,
whose consequence extends to all; and such is the particular merit of
religious opinions.
We can then, in the name of reason, of policy, and philosophy, demand
some respect for them; and I ought to repeat, since it is time for me to
resume my subject, that esteem or contempt, honour or shame, are so far
from being able to supply the place of the active influence of religion,
that its sentiments confirm the opinion of the world, and, more or less,
obviously direct it. It follows, that we should soon reason shrewdly, on
the value which we ought to set on the esteem of the world, if the
expression of its approbation was not united in our contemplation to
something more noble than the judgment of mankind, and if an awful
respect for virtue was not imbibed by means of a religious education. We
should soon experience that, in wishing to found every thing on the
calculations of worldly wisdom, these same calculations would destroy
all; and morality having at once lost its grand support, we should try
in vain to prop it by a scaffold of laws, and the vain efforts of an
opinion without a guide. Hypocrisy and dissimulation would become
immediately a necessary science, a legitimate defence, which would weary
the attention of every inspector; and testimonies of esteem appearing
only an ingenious encouragement granted to the sacrifices of
selfishness, the applause decreed to a generous mode of conduct would be
insensibly discredited by those who gave and by those who received them,
and would end, perhaps, in becoming a secret object of derision, as mere
play from one to another.
Every thing is replaced and firmly established by religion; it
surrounds, I may say, the whole system of morality, resembling that
universal and mysterious force of physical nature, which retains the
planets in their orbits, and subjects them to a regular revolution; and
which, in the midst of the general order it maintains, escapes the
observation of men, and appears to their feeble sight unconscious of its
own work.
CHAP. III.
_An Objection drawn from our natural Dispositions to Goodness._
Men, according to the opinion of some, have received from nature a
secret tendency towards every thing just, good, and virtuous; and from
this happy inclination, the task of the moralist is confined to prevent
the alteration of our original constitution: an easy task, add they, and
which may be fulfilled without any extraordinary effort, and without
having recourse to religion.
We ought, at first, to observe, that the existence of this excellent
innate goodness has been a long time a subject of debate, as every
assertion always will be, of which we cannot demonstrate the truth,
either by argument or experience. We shall never be able to perceive
distinctly the natural dispositions of men, since, to our view, they are
never separated from the improvement, or the modification, which they
owe to education and habit. One or two examples they produce of children
arrived at maturity found in a forest; but we are ignorant at what
precise age they were abandoned by their parents, and what might have
been their dispositions, if, brought back to society, they had not been
guided by instruction, or restrained by fear and subordination. It is
not very probable, that man derived from his original nature all the
dispositions which lead to goodness; such a thought agrees not with his
pride or dignity, since the intellectual faculties with which he is
endowed, the power he has of gradually tending to perfection, announce
to him that he ought to fulfil his career with the assistance of reason,
and that, very different from those beings governed by an invariable
instinct, he should elevate himself as much above them, by cultivating
the abilities entrusted to him, as by the granduer of the destiny to
which he is permitted to aspire.
Reason, however, our faithful guide, would be insufficient to attach us
to sentiments of order, justice, and beneficence, if it was not seconded
by a nature proper to receive the impression of every noble sentiment;
but such reflections, far from favouring any system of independence or
impiety, receive from religious opinions their principal force. What is,
in effect, in this respect the course of our thoughts? We attribute, at
first, to a Supreme and Universal Being all the perfections which seem
to constitute his essence; and from this principle we are led to
presume, that we, his intelligent creatures, and his most noble work,
participate, in some manner, of the Divine spirit, of which we are an
emanation: but, if we could ever be persuaded, that our confidence in
the idea of a God is a deceitful illusion, we should not have any reason
to believe that the mere child of nature, blind and without a guide,
would be disposed to good, rather than evil. We must derive our opinion
of innate goodness from a secret sentiment, and from a perfect
conviction of the existence of a power which keeps every thing in order,
the model of all perfection: but, as we obtain equally from this power,
the faculties which render us capable of acquiring knowledge, of
improving by experience, of extending our views into futurity, and
elevating our thoughts to God; we should not know how to distinguish
these last expedients of ability and virtue from those which belong to
our first instinct; and we have no interest in doing it.
That which we perceive most clearly is, that there is a correspondence,
a harmony between all the parts of our moral nature; and therefore we
cannot deny the existence of our natural inclination towards goodness,
nor consider this inclination as a disposition which has not need of any
religious sentiment to acquire strength, and become a rational conductor
through the rough road of life. The production of salutary fruits
requires, before all things, a favourable soil; but this advantage would
be useless without seed and the labour of the husbandman, and the
fertilizing warmth of the sun: the Author of Nature has thought fit that
a great number of causes should concur continually to renovate the
productions of the earth; and the same intention, the same plan, seems
to have determined the principle and the developement of all the gifts
of the mind: it is necessary, in order to attach intelligent beings to
the love of virtue, and respect for morality, that not only happy
natural dispositions, but still more, a judicious education, good laws,
and, above all, a continual intercourse with the Supreme Being, from
which alone can arise firm resolutions, and every ardent thought, should
concur; but men ambitious of submitting a great number of relations to
their weak comprehension, would wish to confine them to a few causes. We
shall discover, every moment, the truth of this observation; actuated by
a similar motive, many wish to attribute every thing to education;
whilst others pretend, that our natural dispositions are the only source
of our actions and intentions, of our vices and virtues. Perhaps, in
fact, there is, in the universe, but one expedient and spring, one
prolific idea, the root of every other: yet, as it is at the origin of
this idea, and not in its innumerable developements, that its unity can
be perceived, the first grand disposer of nature: only ought to be in
possession of the secret; and we, who see, of the immense mechanism of
the world, but a few wheels, become almost ridiculous, when we make
choice sometimes of one, and sometimes of another, to refer to it
exclusively, the cause of motion, and the simplest properties of the
different parts of the natural or moral world.
CHAP. IV.
_An Objection drawn from the good Conduct of many irreligious Men._
You may think, perhaps, after having read the preceding chapter, that I
have taken little room to treat a question on which so much has been
written; but if it be allowed that I have made some approaches to truth,
I shall not need any excuse. The researches after truth resemble those
circles which we trace sometimes one round another; the furthest from
the centre has necessarily the greatest extent.
I will then endeavour, with the same brevity, to examine the objection
which is to make the subject of this chapter.
Society, some say, is at present filled with persons, who, to borrow the
expression of the times, are absolutely disengaged from every kind of
prejudice, who believe not even the existence of a Supreme Being; and
yet, their conduct appears as regular as that of the most religious men.
Before replying to this objection I ought to make an important
observation. The detractors of a religious spirit habitually confound,
in their discourse, devotion and piety; they attribute besides to
devotion an exaggerated sense, which its natural definition will not
bear; and derive from this misconception a great advantage. Piety,
simple in its sentiments and deportment, commonly escapes the heedless
glance of a man of the world; and the greater part of those who speak of
it, would have some difficulty to delineate it well; devotion, on the
contrary, such as we are accustomed to represent, seems to attach some
value to appearances; it displays itself, it makes a parade of the
austerity of its principles; and often soured by the sacrifices, of the
constraint, which it has imposed on itself as a law, it contracts a
rough and inflexible spirit, which banishes sentiment, amiable and
indulgent: in short, devotion is sometimes mixed with hypocrisy, and
then it is only a despicable assemblage of the most contemptible vices.
It is easy to judge, from these two pictures, that judicious piety,
rational and indulgent, forms the true characteristic of a religious
spirit, considered in its purity. It is then with morality, inspired by
a like spirit, that it is necessary to compare those men, who are guided
only by the principles they frame to themselves; and I believe, that one
of these two systems of morality is far superior to the other; but we
run a risk of deceiving ourselves in our observations, when we do not
extend them beyond the narrow circle, known amongst us by the name of
_society_. Men, in the circumscribed relations which arise from the
communications of idleness and dissipation, require of each other, only
qualities applicable to these kind of relations; their code of laws is
very short, integrity in the commerce of life, constancy in friendship,
or, at least, politeness in our intercourse, a kind of elevation in
their discourse and manner; in short, probity is the grand outline; and
this is all that is required, in order to display ourselves to the best
advantage in the midst of the active scenes which surround us, where we
sometimes form a confederacy proper to serve as a support of the great
virtues; but what they wish for before every thing is, a grant of
indulgence in favour of vices, which do not disturb the order or the
peace of their pleasures, and which only render unhappy parents,
husbands, and creditors, vassals and the commonalty. Far distant,
indeed, from a like tolerance, are those collective obligations which
morality dictates, obligations, of which I made a concise sketch, when I
compared them with those which are imposed by civil laws. It is then
only, after having retraced ourselves the entire system of our duties,
it is only after having compared them with the conventions softened by
fashionable society, that we are in a state to judge, if the conduct of
persons, disengaged from every religious tie, ought to be given as an
example, and if their morality can suffice for all the circumstances of
life.
But in admitting, for a moment, this supposition, we should not have a
right to draw any deduction contrary to the truths, which I have
endeavoured to establish; for all those who free themselves at a certain
age, from the yoke of religion, have been at least prepared by it to
respect virtue. Principles inculcated early in life, have a great
influence on the human heart, a long time even after our understanding
has rejected the reasoning which served as the basis of those
principles: the soul, formed when the reason begins to dawn, to the love
of order, and sustained in this disposition by the force of habit, never
entirely loses this principle. So that, whatever be the opinions adopted
when the judgment is formed, it is slowly, and by degrees, that these
opinions act on the character and direct the conduct. Besides, while
religion maintains amongst the greater number of men, a profound respect
for morality, those who reject these sentiments know, nevertheless, that
probity leads to esteem, and to the various advantages which depend on
it. Of course, a virtuous atheist merely makes us recollect, that he
lives where virtue is respected; and it is not the inefficacy, but, on
the contrary, the indirect influence of religious opinions, which his
conduct demonstrates to me. I think I see, in a beautiful piece of
mechanism, a small part broken off from the chain, and which maintains
its place, by the force still subsisting of general equilibrium.
What! would you have need of religion to be an honest man? Here is an
interrogative, with which they hope to embarrass those who wish to
preserve to morality its best support; and the dread that some have of
not giving an honourable idea of their sentiments, induces them to reply
with quickness, that certainly they should not need the check of
religion, and that the dictates of their heart would always be
sufficient to direct them. This answer is undoubtedly very respectable;
but for my part, I avow, I should merely say, that virtue has so many
charms, when it has been a long time practised, that a truly sensible
man would continue to be just, even when every religious sentiment was
annihilated; but that it is uncertain whether, with a political
education, his principles might have been the same; and I should add
further, that no one, perhaps, could be certain, that he would have
sufficient strength to resist a revolution of ideas similar to those
that we have just supposed, were he to fall at the same time into a
state of misery and dejection, which would make him revolt at the
enjoyments and the triumphs of others. It is always in a like situation,
that it is necessary to place ourselves, to judge properly of certain
questions; for all those who enjoy the favours of fortune, have, in
consequence of this fortunate condition, fewer objects of envy, and are
less subject to temptations; and in the midst of the different comforts,
which peaceably surround them, it is not the principles of others of
which they know the want.
As for philosophical writers, if it were amongst them, that we are to
search for the principal defenders of the new opinions, and if, at the
same time, their moral conduct was cited as an example, we should have
to observe, that a retired life, love of study, and a constant habit of
reflection, ought to spread a kind of calm over their sentiments;
besides, delivered up to abstraction, or preoccupied by general ideas,
they know not all the passions, and they are seldom personally engaged
in those ardent pursuits which stimulate society. They cannot then
determine, with certainty, what would have been the degree of their
resisting force, if without any other defensive arms than their
principles, and no guide but convenience, they had to combat against the
allurements of fortune and ambition, which present themselves in every
step of our worldly career. They have also, like all the inventors and
the propagators of a new system, vanity, which engages them to multiply
the number of their disciples: and how, in fact, could they be able to
flatter themselves with any success, if, in attacking the most
respectable opinions, they had not endeavoured to prove that their
doctrines were not in opposition to morality. Besides, it is very
necessary, after having silently sapped the foundation of our dwelling,
that they support for some time the edifice, were it only while they
have with us a common habitation; were it only during the interval when
we should be able to judge in their presence, of the utility of their
instructions: in short, very often, perhaps, the dupes of their own
heart, they have been induced to believe that, because they were at the
same time irreligious by system, and just by character and habit,
religion and virtue have not a necessary union; and if it is true, that
in the grand interests of life, the slightest doubt has some influence
on our actions, would it be possible, that at the time when they would
seek to shake religious opinions, even when they are ridiculed in
conversation, that they would still endeavour to preserve a secret
connexion with them, by the propriety of their conduct? It is thus that,
in the disputes of princes, or in the quarrels of ministers, the members
of the same family have sometimes the art of dividing themselves, in
order, at all events, that one of their friends should be in each party.
These different reflections ought necessarily to be taken into
consideration, before we give ourselves up to the inferences that they
would wish to draw from the manners of irreligious men; but, to
discredit their arguments, it is sufficient to observe, that we cannot
make any application of them to the most numerous class of men: honest
atheists have never existed among the commonalty, religion comprehends
all their knowledge in morality; and if once they were to lose this
guide, their conduct would be absolutely dependent on chance and
circumstances.
It is still essential to observe, that, according to the motives to
which we can attribute the relaxation of moral principles, there exists
a great difference between the various characters which attend vicious
actions: a depraved man, though religious, does wrong by accident,
through weakness, and according to the successive transports of his
passions; but the wicked atheist has not a fixed time; opportunities do
not surprise him, he searches for them, or waits for them with
impatience; he yields not through the contagion of imitation; but he
takes pleasure in setting an example; he is not a corrupt fruit, he is
himself the tree of evil.
Another objection is raised, but of a very different kind: they point
out the contrast, frequently perceived, between the conduct and the
religious sentiments of the greater part of men; an opposition from
whence they would wish to conclude, that these sentiments are not a
certain safeguard: and they add, to support their argument, that in
examining the belief of all those, whose licentious life is terminated
by an ignomious death, we perceive that the greater number is composed
of people blindly subject to religious opinions.
Undoubtedly, these opinions form not, at all times, a complete
resistance to the different starts of our passions; but it suffices,
that they may be the most efficacious. There has been, and there ever
will be, vicious men in the bosom of society, even where religion has
the greatest influence; for it acts not on us like a mechanical force,
by weights, levers, and springs, of which we can calculate exactly the
power; it is not an arbitrary modification of our nature; but we are
enlightened, guided, and animated, according to our dispositions and
sensibility, and according to the degree of our own efforts in the
numerous conflicts which we have to sustain; it would be then an evident
piece of treachery, to attack religion, by drawing a picture of the
vices and crimes, from which it has not been able to guard society,
instead of fixing our attention on all the disorders which it checks or
prevents.
They would be equally wrong, who represent the general languor of
religion, as a proof that it has, in our time, very little influence on
morality; it would be necessary rather to remark, how great must have
been that power, which even in the decline of its force is still
sufficient to concur to the maintenance of public order; we should be
authorized to say, how valuable is the whole, when we receive so much
advantage from a part?
In short, the consequence that they would wish to draw from the
opinions, and from the faith of wretches sinking under the sword of
justice, in an abuse of reasoning: men termed religious, forming the
major part of the populace, we must among them necessarily meet the
greater number of malefactors; in the same manner that we are sure to
find, in this class, more men of a particular age, stature, or
complexion; but, if they have a right to use such an argument to censure
a religious education, they might, with the same reason, contest the
salubrity of breast milk, alledging, that many sick and dying persons
have received this nourishment. We should never confound a common
circumstance with a general cause; these are two ideas absolutely
distinct.
There are other objections which equally deserve to be discussed; but
they will find a place, with more propriety, after the chapter where, I
shall examine, under different heads, the influence of religious
opinions on our happiness. You have seen, and you will perceive still
more, in the progress of this work, that I do not endeavour to elude
difficulties; for before I determined to defend, according to my
abilities, a cause which I could wish to render dear to mankind, I
carefully studied the means; and after having fortified myself against
the systems opposite to my sentiments, I fear not to examine the motives
which serve to support them.
CHAP. V.
_The Influence of Religious Principles on our Happiness._
As we have shown the close connexion of morality with religious
opinions, we have already pointed out the principal relation of these
opinions with public good, since the repose and interior tranquillity of
society essentially depend on the maintenance of civil order, and the
exact observance of the laws of justice. But a great part of human
happiness does not arise from the community: thus, the benefits religion
imparts would be very imperfect, if they were not extended to our most
intimate sentiments, if they were not useful in those secret conflicts
of different affections which agitate our souls, and which pre-occupy
our thoughts. Religion is very far from deserving this reproach; that
which raises it indeed above every kind of legislation is, that it
influences equally public good and private happiness. We ought to
examine this truth; but to do it philosophically, we must necessarily
contemplate, and pry into our nature, and examine, for a moment, into
the first causes of the enjoyments or the anxieties of our minds.
Men, when they have advanced a few steps in the world, and as soon as
their intellectual faculties begin to open, extend their views, and live
in the future; sensual pleasures and bodily pain only detain them in the
present; but in the long intervals which exist between the renewal of
these sensations, it is by anticipation and memory that they are happy
or miserable; and recollection is only interesting, as it is perceived
to keep up the connexion between the past and future. Undoubtedly, the
influence of the future, on all our moral affections, escapes often our
notice; to cite some examples of this truth, we believe, that only the
present moment produces happiness, when we receive elogiums, obtain some
mark of distinction, or are informed of an unexpected augmentation of
our fortune; and still more, when we are pleased with the sport of our
imagination, or the discoveries of our reason in our closet or in
conversation. These enjoyments, and many others similar, we call present
happiness; though there is not any one of them which does not owe its
value, and even reality, to the single idea of futurity. In fact,
respect, applause, the triumphs of self-love, the forerunners of fame,
and even fame itself, are the acquisitions which education and habit
have rendered precious, in exhibiting always beyond them some other
advantage, of which these first were only the symbols. Often, indeed,
the last object of our ambition is but an enjoyment of opinion, the
confused image of some possession more real. Every where we see vague
hopes hurry away our imagination; we see the expected good, the
immediate end of our meditation, or the obscure motive of the estimation
we annex to the various satisfactions, of which our present happiness is
composed. Thus, indirectly, and almost unknown to ourselves, all is in
perspective in our moral existence; and it is by this reasoning that,
always deluded, we are seldom perfectly deceived. Subjected by long
habit, it is in vain that we would wish to separate the imaginary
advantages of opinion from the delusions of hope which surround them,
and by which we have been seduced all our life.
There is but a small part of the moral system, which we cannot make
agree with this manner of explaining the principal cause of our
pleasures and of our pains. I am very far, however, from wishing to make
the sentiments, which unite men by the charm of friendship, depend on
the same principle; and which have such an essential influence on their
happiness. All is real in these affections, since they are a simple
association of ourselves to others, and them to us; in this view it may
be considered as, in some measure, prolonging our own existence; but
this division, so intimate, of the good and evil of life, does not
destroy their essence. Friendship doubles our pleasures and our
comforts; and it is by the close alliance of two sympathizing souls that
we are fortified against all events; but it is always with the same
passions that it is necessary to combat; thus whether we remain
solitary, or live in others, the future preserves its influence over us.
If such is, however, our moral nature, that the object of our wishes
will always be at some distance; if our thoughts, like the course of the
waves, are ever active, and pressing forward; if our present enjoyments
have a secret tie with the imaginary advantages of opinion, of which the
last term is still a fleeting shadow; in short, if all is future in the
fate of man; with what interest, with what love, with what respect,
ought we not to consider this beautiful system of hope, of which
religious opinions are the majestic foundation! What encouragement they
present! What an end to all other ends! What a grand and precious idea,
by its connexion with the most intimate and general sentiment, the
desire of prolonging our existence! That which men dread most, is the
image of an eternal annihilation; the absolute destruction of all the
faculties which compose their being, is for them the downfall of the
whole universe; and they are anxious to seek for a refuge against this
overwhelming thought.
Undoubtedly, it is according to nature, according to the degree of
strength of their religious opinions, that men seize with more or less
confidence the hopes which they give, and the recompense they promise;
but, doubt and obscurity have a powerful action, while supreme happiness
is the object; for even in the affairs of this life, the grandeur of the
prize offered to our ambition excites still more our ardour, than the
probability of success. But where should we fix, where attach the
slightest hope, if even the idea of a God, this first prop of religion,
was ever destroyed; if, from the infancy of men, we did not present to
their reflection, that worldly considerations are as transient as
themselves; and if, early in life, they were humbled in their own eyes;
if men applied themselves to stifle the internal sentiments, which
inform them of the spirituality of their souls? Discouraged in this
manner, by the first principles of their education, slackened in all the
movements which carry thier reflections into futurity, they would often
take retrospective views: the past recalling an irreparable loss, would
too much captivate their attention; and their minds, in the midst of
time, would no more be in a necessary equilibrium to enjoy the present
moment; in short, this moment, which is not, in reality, but an
imperceptible fraction, would appear almost nothing to our eyes, if it
were not united in our contemplations, to the unknown number of days and
years which are before us. It is then, because that there is nothing
limited in the ideas of happiness and duration, with which religious
sentiments impress us, that our imagination is not forced to recoil on
itself, when it is insensibly lost in the immensity of futurity.
When, in following the course of a noble river, a vast horizon is
presented to our view, we turn not our observation on the sandy banks we
are coasting: but if, changing our situation, or twilight narrowing this
horizon, our attention was turned on the barren flat we are near; then
only we should remark all its dryness and sterility. It is the same in
the career of life: when the grand ideas of infinity elevate our
thoughts and our hopes, we are less affected by the weariness and
difficulties strewed in our path; but, if changing our principles, a
gloomy philosophy were to obscure our perspective, our whole attention
drawn back on the surrounding objects, we should then very distinctly
discover the void and illusion of the satisfactions of which our moral
nature is susceptible.
Let us recollect, then, all the happiness which we owe to religious
sentiments and obvious reflections, which, in attracting us continually
towards the future, seem willing to save from the present moment the
purest part of ourselves; these are, without our perceiving it, the
enchantments of the moral world; if it were possible that, by cold
reasoning, we at length destroyed them, a sad melancholy would ally
itself to most of our reflections; and it would seem as if a
winding-sheet had taken place of that transparent veil, through which
the prospects of life are embellished. Undoubtedly, there would be still
some charm in the days of youth, when the pleasures of the senses press
on us, and fill a considerable time; but when the passions are tempered
by age, when our strength has been broken by years, or prematurely
attacked by sickness; in short, when the time is arrived, when men are
constrained to seek, in the principles of morality, the chief support of
their happiness; what would become of them, if those hopes and opinions
were dissipated, which afford solid comfort and encouragement; and if an
imagination, thus active, were weakened, which enlivens all the objects
that anticipation can reach?
Reflect, then, with attention, on the different consequences which would
be the fatal train of the annihilation of religious opinions; it is not
a single idea, a single view, that men would lose; it would be, besides,
the interest and the charm of all their desires and ambition. There is
nothing indifferent, when our actions and designs can be in any respect
attached to a duty; there is nothing indifferent, when the exercise and
the improvement of our faculties appear the commencement of an
existence, whose termination is unknown: but, when this period offers
itself on all sides to our view, when we approach it every moment, what
strong illusion would be sufficient to defend us from a sad despondency?
Strictly circumscribed in the space of life, its limits would be in such
a manner present to our mind, to every sentiment and enterprize perhaps,
that we should be tempted to examine, what it is which can merit, on our
part, an assiduous research; what it is which deserves close and painful
application. Indeed, fame itself, which is called immortal, would no
more hurry us on in the same manner, if we had a secret conviction, that
it cannot grow, rise, subsist, but in such portions of space, and such
durations of time, as our imagination cannot conceive. It is necessary,
that the uncertain future be still our country, in order that we should
be able to feel that unquiet love of a long celebrity, and those ardent
impulses towards great things which is the salutary effect of it.
We deceive ourselves then, I think, when we accuse religion of
necessarily rendering the business and the pleasures of the world
uninteresting; its chief pleasures, on the contrary, are derived from
religion, from those ideas of eternity, which it presents to our mind,
which serve to sustain the enchantments of hope, and the sense of those
duties of which our moral nature is ingeniously composed.
Religious opinions are perfectly adapted to our nature, to our
weaknesses and perfections; they come to our succour in our real
difficulties, and in those which the abuse of our foresight creates. But
in what is grand and elevated in our nature, it sympathizes most: for,
if men are animated by noble thoughts; if they respect their
intelligence, their chief ornament; if they are interested about the
dignity of their nature, they will fly, with transport, to bow before
religion, which ennobles their faculties, preserves their strength of
mind, and which, through its sentiments, unites them to Him, whose power
astonishes their understanding. It is then that, considering themselves
as an emanation of the Infinite Being, the commencement of all things,
they will not let themselves be drawn aside by a philosophy, whose sad
lessons tend to persuade us, that reason, liberty, all this immaterial
essence of ourselves, is the mere result of a fortuitous combination,
and an harmony without intelligence.
We have never perhaps observed, with sufficient attention, the different
kinds of happiness which would be destroyed, or at least sensibly
weakened, if this discouraging doctrine was ever propagated.
What would then become of the most sublime of all sentiments, that of
admiration, if, instead of the grand view of the universe, far from
reviving the idea of a Supreme Being, we retraced only a vast existence,
but without design, cause, or destination; and if the astonishment of
our minds was itself but one of the spontaneous accidents of blind
matter?
What would become of the pleasure which we find in the developement,
exercise, and progress of our faculties, if this intelligence, of which
we love to glory, was only the result of chance, and if all our ideas
were but a mere obedience to the eternal law of motion; if our liberty
was but a fiction, and if we had not, if I may say so, any possession of
ourselves?
What would become then of that active spirit of curiosity, whose charm
excites us to observe continually the wonders with which we are
surrounded, and which inspires, at the same time, the desire of
penetrating, in some measure, into the mystery of our existence, and the
secret of our origin? Certainly it would little avail us to study the
course of nature, if this science could only teach us to comprehend the
afflicting particulars of our mechanical slavery: a prisoner cannot be
pleased to draw the form of his fetters, or reckon the links of his
chains.
But how beautiful is the world, when it is represented to us as the
result of a single and grand thought, and when we find every where the
stamp of an eternal intelligence; and how pleasing to live with the
sentiments of astonishment and adoration deeply impressed on our hearts!
But what a subject of glory are the endowments of the mind, when we can
consider them as a participation of a sublime nature, of which God alone
is the perfect model. And how delightful then to yield to the ambition
of elevating ourselves still more, by exercising our thoughts and
improving all our faculties!
In short, how many charms has the observation of nature, when, at every
new discovery, we believe we advance a step towards an acquaintance with
that exalted wisdom which has prescribed laws to the universe, and
maintains it in harmony! It is then, and only then, that the study is
truly interesting, and the progress of knowledge becomes an increase of
happiness. Yes, under the influence of opinions, arising from the
notions of materialists, all is languishing in our curiosity, all is
mere instinct in our admiration, all is fictitious in the sentiments
which we have of ourselves; but with the idea of a God, all is lively,
all is reasonable and true: in short, this happy and prolific idea
appears as necessary to the moral nature of man, as heat is to plants
and to all the vegetable world. You may think, perhaps, that in
examining the influence of religion on happiness, I have dwelt on
several considerations, which are not of equal importance to all men;
there are, indeed, some more particularly adapted to that part of
society, whose minds are improved by education; but I am very far from
wishing to divert a moment my attention from the numerous class of the
inhabitants of the earth, whose happiness and misery arises from a
simple idea, proportioned to the extent of their interests and
reflections.
Those who seem to have a more pressing and constant need of the
assistance of religion, have been left by the misfortunes of their
parents to the wide world, devoid of property, and deprived also of
those resources which depend on education. This class of men, condemned
to hard labour, are, as it were, confined in a rough and uniformly
barren path, where every day resembles the last, where they have not any
confused expectations, or flattering illusion to divert them: they know
that there is a wall of separation between them and fortune; and if they
carried their views in life forward, they would only discover the
dreadful state any infirmity would reduce them to; and the deplorable
situation to which they might be exposed, by the cruel neglect which
attends old age. With what transport, in this situation, would they not
catch at the comfortable hopes which religion presents! With what
satisfaction would they not learn, that after this probationary state,
where so much disproportion overwhelmed them, there would come a time of
equality! What would be their complaints, if they were to renounce a
sentiment which still conforms itself, for their advantage, to a general
idea, the only one, in short, of which they can make use in all events
and circumstances of life. It is God’s will, they say to themselves, and
this first thought supports their resignation: God will recompense you,
God will return it to you, say they to others, when they receive alms;
and these words remind them, that the God of the rich and powerful is
also theirs; and that far from being indifferent to their fate, He
deigns Himself to discharge their obligations.
How many other popular expressions continually recal the same sentiment
of confidence and consolation. It is this continual relation of the poor
with the Deity which raises them in their own eyes, and which prevents
their sinking under the weight of contempt with which they are
oppressed, and gives them sometimes courage to resist the pride of
earthly greatness. What grander effect could be produced by an idea so
simple? Thus, among the different things which characterise religion, I
remark, above all, what seems more particularly the seal of a divine
hand; it is, that the moral advantages, of which religion is the source,
resembling the grand blessings of nature, belong equally to all men; and
as the sun, in the distribution of its rays, observes neither rank nor
fortune, in the same way those comforting sentiments, which are
connected with the conception of a Supreme Being, and the hopes united
to it, become the property of the poor as well as the rich, of the weak
as well as the powerful, and can be as securely enjoyed under the lowly
roof of a cottage, as in a superb palace. It is civil laws which
increase, or give a sanction to the inequality of possessions; and it is
religion which sweetens the bitterness of this hard disproportion.
We could not avoid feeling a compassion as painful as well founded, if,
in considering attentively the fate of the greater number of men, we
supposed them all at one stroke deprived of the only thought which
supported their courage; they would no more have a God to confide their
sorrows with; they would no more attend his ordinances to search for the
sentiments of resignation and tranquillity; they would have no motive
for raising their looks to heaven; their eyes would be cast down, fixed
for ever on this abode of grief, of death, and eternal silence. Then
despair would even stifle their groans, and all their reflections
preying on themselves, would only serve to corrode their hearts; then
those tears which they have a satisfaction in shedding, and which are
attracted by the tender persuasion, that there exists some where
commiseration and goodness, these consoling tears would no more moisten
their eyes.
Who has not seen, sometimes, those veteran soldiers, who are prostrate
here and there on the pavement of a sanctuary, erected in the midst of
their august retreat? Their hair, which time has whitened; their
forehead marked with honourable scars; that tottering step, which age
only could impress on them, all inspire at first respect; but by what
sentiments are we not affected, when we see them lift up and join with
difficulty their weak hands, to invoke the God of the universe, of their
heart and mind; when we see them forget, in this interesting devotion,
their present pains and past griefs; when we see them rise with a
countenance more serene, and expressive of the tranquillity and hope
devotion has infused through their souls. Complain not in those moments,
you who judge of the happiness of this world only from its enjoyments;
their looks are humbled, their body trembles, and death awaits their
steps; but this inevitable end, whose image only terrifies us, they see
coming without alarm; they, through religion, have approached Him who is
good, who can do every thing, whom none ever loved without receiving
comfort. Come and contemplate this sight, you who despise religion, you
who term yourselves superior; come and see the real value of your
pretended knowledge for promoting happiness. Change the fate of men, and
give them all, if you can, some portion of the enjoyments of life, or
respect a sentiment which serves them to repulse the injuries of
fortune; and since even the policy of tyrants has never dared to destroy
it, since their power would be insufficient to enable them to succeed in
the savage attempt, you, to whom nature has given superior endowments,
be not more cruel, more inexorable than they; or if, by a pitiless
doctrine, you wish to deprive the old, the sick, and the indigent, of
the only idea of happiness which they can apply to, go from prison to
prison, and to those dreary cells, where the wretched prisoners struggle
with their chains, and shut with your own hands, if you have the heart
to do it, the only aperture through which any ray of light can reach
them.
It is not, however, a single class of society which derives an habitual
assistance from religion, it is all those who have to complain of the
abuse of authority, of public injustice, and the different vicissitudes
of their fate; it is the innocent man who is condemned, the virtuous man
who is slandered, the man who has once acted inconsistently, and been
censured with too much rigour; all those, in short, who, convinced of
the purity of their own conscience, seek for, above all, a secret
witness of their intentions, and an enlightened judge of their conduct.
A man of an exalted character, endowed with sensibility of heart,
experiences also the necessity of forming to himself an image of an
unknown Being, to which he can unite all the ideas of perfection which
fill his imagination; it is to Him that he refers those different
sentiments, which are useless amidst the corruptions which surround him;
it is in God alone that he can find an inexhaustible subject of
astonishment and adoration; and with Him alone can he renew and purify
his sentiments, when he is wearied with the sight of the vices of the
world, and the habitual return of the same passions. In short, at every
instant the happy idea of a God softens and embellishes our path through
life, and by it we associate ourselves with delight to all the beauties
of nature; by it every thing animated enters into communication with us;
yes, the noise of the wind, the murmurs of the water, the peaceable
agitation of plants, all serves to support, or melt our souls, provided
that our thoughts can rise to a universal cause, provided we can
discover every where the works of Him whom we love, provided we can
distinguish the vestiges of His footsteps and the traces of His
intentions; and, above all, if we can suppose, that we ourselves
contribute to the display of His power, and the splendour of His
goodness.
But it is principally over the enjoyments of friendship that piety
spreads a new charm; bounds, limits, cannot agree with the sentiment
which is as infinite as thought, it would not subsist, at least would be
troubled with continual anxiety; we should not consider without terror
the revolution of years and the rapid course of time, if those
benevolent opinions, which enlarge for us the future, did not come to
our assistance. Thus, when we find ourselves separated from the objects
of our affection, lonely meditations bring them back to aid the general
idea of happiness, which, more or less, distinctly terminates our view;
then the tender melancholy, in which one is lost, is changed into
pleasing emotions: and you have, above all, need of those precious
opinions, you, who, timid in a bustling world, or discouraged by
disappointments, find yourself a solitary wanderer on the earth, because
you partake not of the passions which agitate the greater part of
mankind! You want a friend, and you only see pecuniary associations; you
want a comforter, and you only see the ambitious, strangers to all those
who have not power or a distinguished reputation; a tender confident is
at least necessary, and the active scenes of society disperses the
affections and diminishes every interest. In short, when you have this
friend, this confident, this comforter; when you have acquired it by the
most tender union; when you live in a son, a husband, or a cherished
wife, what other idea, but that of a God, can come to your relief, when
the frightful image of a separation presents itself to your thoughts? It
is, indeed, in such moments that we embrace with transport all those
opinions which tend to foster the idea of continuity and duration? How
gladly then we lend an ear to those words of comfort which are so
perfectly consonant with the desires and the wants of our soul! What
association of ideas, so frightful as that of the eternal annihilation
of life and love? How can we unite to that soft division of interests
and of sentiments, to that charm of our days; how can we unite to so
much of existence and happiness, the internal persuasion and habitual
image of a death without hope, a destruction without return? How can we
offer only the idea of oblivion to those affectionate minds, who have
centred all their self-love, all their ambition in the object of their
esteem and tenderness; and who, after having renounced themselves, are,
as it were, deposited entirely in the bosom of another, to subsist there
by the same breath of life and the same destiny? In short, near the
tomb, which, perhaps, they will one day bedew with their tears, how can
they pronounce the overwhelming words, forever!—forever!—Oh! horrors of
horrors, both for the mind and feelings! and if it be necessary that the
contemplations of a man of feeling approach a moment to the frightful
confines, let a benevolent cloud at least cover the dark abyss! Tears
and sorrow still afford some comfort, when we give them to a beloved
shade, when we can mix with our griefs the name of a God, and when this
name appears to you the cement of all nature: but if in the universe all
was deaf to our voice; if no echoes were to repeat our plaints; if the
shades of eternal darkness had hid from us the object of our love, and
if they were advancing to drag us into the same night; if he is the most
unhappy being, he who survives, and cannot even hope, that what death
has severed will again be united; if, when his whole soul was filled
with the recollection of a loved object, he could not say, he is in some
place, his heart so affectionate, his soul so pure and heavenly waits
for me, and calls me perhaps to be near that unknown Being, whom we
have, with common consent, adored; and if, instead of a thought so dear,
it was necessary, without any doubt, to consider the earth as a
sepulchre forever shut—my heart dies within me—unable to contend with
the dreadful images, the universe itself seems to dissolve, and
overwhelm us in its downfall. O source of so many hopes, sublime idea of
a God! abandon not the man who has sensibility; Thou art his courage,
Thou art his futurity, Thou art his life; leave him not desolate, and,
above all, defend him from the ascendency of a barren and fatal
philosophy, which would afflict his heart by pretending to comfort it.
Well, I make another effort, and I address myself to you, who boast of
being enlightened by a fresh ray of wisdom. I am lost in the most
profound grief; a father, a mother, who guided me by their counsels, and
watched over me by their tenderness, these protecting parents have just
been taken from me; a son, a daughter, both my comfort and pride, have
been cut off in the prime of youth; a faithful companion, whose words,
sentiments, and actions, were the support of my life, has vanished from
my arms;—a moment of strength remains with me, I come to you, ye
philosophers; what have you to say?—“Seek for dissipation, turn your
thoughts to some other object, an abyss not to be fathomed separates
thee for ever from the objects of thy tenderness; and these
recollections, which pierce thee through with so many sorrows, they are
only a form of vegetation, the last play of organized matter.” Alas!
have you ever loved, and can you pronounce tranquilly these cruel words!
Banish far from me such consolations, I dread them more than my anguish.
And thou, O daughter of heaven, lovely and mild religion, what wouldst
thou say? Hope, hope; “what God gave thee—He can again restore.” What a
difference between these two languages! One abases, the other exalts us!
It is left to men to choose, amongst their different guides, or rather
to determine, whether they prefer darkness to light, death to life;
whether they prefer blighting winds to refreshing dews; the frost of
winter to the charms of spring; and the insensible stone to the most
brilliant gifts of animated nature.
I will say it: the world, without the idea of a God, would be only a
desert, embellished by a few delusions;—yet man, disenchanted by the
light of reason, would find nothing throughout but subjects of sadness.
I have seen them, the dreams of ambition, the allurements of fame, and
the vain shews of grandeur; and even when the illusion was most
dazzling, my heart always retired into itself, and was attracted to an
idea more grand, to a consolation more substantial; I have experienced,
that the idea of the existence of a Supreme Being threw a charm over
every circumstance of life; I have found, that this sentiment alone was
able to inspire men with true dignity: for every thing which is merely
personal is of little value, all that places some an inch high above
others; it is necessary, in order to have any reason to glory, that, at
the same time we exalt ourselves, we elevate human nature; we must refer
it to that sublime intelligence, which seems to have dignified it with
some of its attributes. We then hardly perceive those trivial
distinctions which are attached to transitory things, on which vanity
exercises her sway; it is then that we leave to this queen of the world
her rattle and toys, and that we search elsewhere another portion; it is
then also that virtue, exalted sentiments, and grand views, appear the
only glory of which man ought to be jealous.
CHAP. VI.
_The same Subject continued. The Influence of Virtue on Happiness._
It is not sufficient to have demonstrated, that religion, so necessary
to feeling minds, agrees perfectly with the moral nature of men; it is
still necessary to observe, that the habitual exercise of virtue,
enjoined as a duty in the name of God, is not in opposition with
happiness; and after having considered a truth so important, I will
prove, that it is not contrary to what has been said in the first
chapter of this work, on the impossibility of making men attentive to
public order, only by the motive of personal interest.
We cannot deny, that virtue often obliges us to conquer our appetites,
and struggle with our passions; but if these conflicts, and the victory
which attends them, lead to more solid and durable satisfactions, than
those which folly and vice portrays the image of, they would misconceive
the restrictions of morality, who perpetually united the idea of
self-denial with that of a sacrifice.
We cannot fix our attention on the various objects of desire which
occupy the thoughts of men, without seeing clearly, that if they
abandoned themselves, unrestrained, to all their wild propensities, they
would often stray far from the state of happiness which forms the object
of their wishes. Any of the blessings, strewed here and there in our
path, cannot fill the void of life. Are they the gratifications of the
senses which captivate us? Their duration is determined by our weakness;
and we cannot break loose from the immutable limits opposed by nature.
Are they the advantages dependent on opinion that we look for, such as
honour and praise; or the exterior splendour, which fortune gives? You
will soon perceive, that quickly after they are obtained the charm is
flown; they resemble Proteus in the fable, who only appeared a God at a
distance. Men then have more need than is supposed of an interest
independent of their senses and imagination; and this interest we find
in the duties morality inculcates and establishes.
In all times, in all circumstances, we have a choice between good and
evil: thus, virtue may be continually in a state of action, and we may
find the application of it even in the most apparently indifferent
relations of life, because virtue only has the privilege of connecting
little things to a great object; and that it can only be encouraged by
conscience, which, in accompanying all our actions and meditations,
seems to augment our existence, and procure those satisfactions which
are not known to the crowd who do not act from principle.
Sensual pleasures, the desires of vanity, the longings of ambition,
would soon extinguish themselves, if they were not fed by the continual
activity of society, which produces new scenes, and displays every
moment some changes of decoration. Virtue, satisfied with its views, has
not need of a succession of similar desires; its paths are varied, but
the end is ever the same.
We cannot search for the enjoyments of life in the imaginary advantages
of opinion, without allowing others to construct the laws on which our
happiness is founded; and of course discord must result, which leaves us
a prey to every kind of emotion. Virtue has not any associates in her
counsels, she judges herself of all that is good; and in this respect a
virtuous man is the most independent of all beings, for it is from
himself alone that he receives commands, and expects approbation. Yes,
the obscure man, who does good in secret, is more master of his destiny,
than the being ever will be who seems loaded with all the favours of
fortune, and has need, that fashion and transient gratifications come to
determine his taste, and give laws to his vanity, to enable him to enjoy
them
The little passions of the world, trying to render us happy, lead us on
from one illusion to another, and the last boundary always appears at a
distance. Virtue, very different, has its recompenses within itself: it
is not in events nor in uncertain success that it places contentment; it
is even in our resolution, in the calmness which accompanies it, and the
secret sentiment which precedes it.
Recollection ever composes the principal happiness of virtue, whilst
worldly vanity is tormented by the remembrance of what is gone for ever;
and with regard to the passions in general, the past is but a gloomy
shadow, out of which proceed, from time to time, sorrow and remorse.
The intervals which occur between the starts of violent passions, are
almost always filled by sadness and apathy; we all know, according to
the laws of nature, that lively and ardent sensations produce languor
the moment the tumult is over. Virtue, in the enjoyment of those
pleasures peculiar to itself, knows nothing of those irregular emotions,
because all its principles are firm, and it acts round its own centre;
besides, it also invites us continually to set a just value on that
happiness which is most proper for us; it dictates its first laws in the
bosom of domestic life, and employs all its strength to sustain, by the
ties of duty, our most rational and simple affections.
Virtue, which is the offspring of religion, is of the greatest use in
delivering men from the tormenting solicitude of doubt, by presenting a
general system of conduct; and above all, by marking fixed points to
direct them, by telling them what to love, choose, and do. Thus, whilst
men, carried away by their imagination, continually allow that they are
deceived by phantoms, and lend the most glowing colours to those which
have just escaped them, virtue sets no value but on what it possesses,
and knows not regret. It would seem, at the first glance, that the
desires and caprices of the imagination cannot agree with any kind of
restraint; however, it is not less true, that these trifling forerunners
of our will have need of a guide, and often of a master; our first
inclinations and sentiments are frequently uncertain, weak, and
wavering; it is of consequence to our happiness, that this trembling
stalk should be fixed and supported; and such is the service virtue
renders to the human mind.
We see not any uniformity in the conduct of those who are not influenced
by motives of duty; they have too many things to regulate, too many to
decide about every instant, when convenience is their only guide: to
simplify the management of ourselves, we should submit to the government
of a principle, which may be easily applied to most of our
deliberations.
In short, virtue has this great advantage, that it finds its happiness
in a kind of respect for the rights and claims of the different members
of the community, and that all its sentiments seem to unite themselves
to the general harmony. The passions, on the contrary, are almost always
hostile; the vain man desires that others should grace his triumphs; the
proud wishes them to feel their inferiority; the ambitious, that they
keep clear of his pursuit; the imperious, that they bend to him. It is
the same of the different competitions, which an excessive love of
praise, high reputation, or fortune, gives birth to; in the path they
choose every one would wish to go alone, or advance before all the rest,
and occupied about their own interest, they clash inconsiderately with
those of others. Virtue, very different in following its course, fears
neither rivals nor competitors; it does not jostle with any one, the
road is spacious, and all may walk at their ease; it is an orderly
alliance, of which morality is the knot, drawing together, by the same
motives and hopes held in common, that chain of duties and sentiments
which unite the virtues of men to the ideal model of all perfection.
Virtue, which guards us from the snares of our senses, and checks our
blind desires, is besides the basis of the most precious wisdom; but it
is not the interest of a day, or the pleasures of a moment, that it
protects, it is the whole of life, that it takes under its
superintendency; it is, to speak metaphorically, the vindicator of
futurity, the representative of duration, and becomes, to the feelings,
what foresight is to the mind. We must then, with respect to private
manners, consider virtue as a prudent friend, taught by the experience
of all ages, who directs our steps, and never lets the flambeau waver,
whose salutary light ought to guide them. Our tumultuous passions
dispute the honour of partaking the government: it is necessary a master
should assign to each its proper limits, one who can keep in peace all
these petty domestic tyrants; which reminds us of the image of Ulysses,
arriving suddenly in the midst of the hundred kings who had taken
possession of his palace.
Virtue, some will say, severe in its judgments, and austere in its
forms, would it not deprive us of the greatest happiness, the pleasure
of being beloved? I reply, that virtue, in its most improved state, has
not this character; I represent it to myself as a just sentiment of
order, far from banishing all other comforts, it leads to them: thus,
benevolence and forbearance, which agree so well with human weakness;
the social spirit so consistent with our nature; urbanity in discourse
and manner; that amiable expression of a heart, which seeks to unite
itself with others; all these qualities, very far from being strangers
to virtue, are its attendants and brightest ornament.
Virtue allies itself to all the ideas which can give extent to our mind,
and early in life accustoms us to discern relations, and to sacrifice
frequently our present affections to distant considerations; it is, of
all our sentiments, that which carries us farthest out of ourselves, and
consequently has the nearest resemblance with abstract thinking. It is
then, through the assistance of virtue, that a man acquires all his
knowledge of his strength and all his grandeur. Vice, on the contrary,
concentres us in a little space; it seems to be conscious of its own
deformity, and fears all that surrounds it; it endeavours to fix on a
single object, on a single moment, and would wish to have power to draw
into a point our whole existence.
I must still add, that virtue, by uniting a motive to all our actions,
and by directing towards an end all our sentiments, habituates our mind
to order, and justness of conception; and prevents our wandering in too
great a space: thus I have often thought, that it was not only by his
vices, that an immoral man is dangerous in the administration of public
affairs; we ought to fear him also as unable to comprehend a whole, and
for his want of capacity to rally all his thoughts and direct them
towards any general principle: every kind of harmony is unknown to him,
every rule is become a burthen; he is busy, but only by starts; and it
is by accident that a man, always versatile, stumbles on what is right.
It may then truly be said, that morality serves as ballast to our
sentiments, its aid enables us to go on without being agitated
continually by the caprices of our imagination, without being obliged to
turn back at the first appearance of an obstacle.
Virtue then enlarges the mind, gives dignity to the character, and
invests it with every thing becoming. Of all the qualities of men, the
most rare, the most apt to create respect, is, that elevation of
thought, sentiment, and manners; that majestic consistency of character
which truth alone can preserve, but which the least exaggeration, the
most trivial affectation, would disconcert or banish. This resembles not
pride, and still less vanity, as one of its ornaments is, that it never
seeks for the homage of others: the man endowed with real dignity, is
placed above even his judges; he accounts not with them, he lives under
the government of his conscience, and, proud of such a noble ruler, he
does not wish for any other dependence: but as this grandeur is entirely
within himself, it ceases to exist, when he dictates to others what he
expects from them; it can only be restrained in its just limits by
virtues which do not pretend to dazzle.
It is to the same principle, that men owe that noble respect for virtue,
the most graceful ornament of a great soul; they owe to it also that
simplicity in thinking and speaking, that happy habit of a conscience
not in want of being on its guard. A man truly honest considers disguise
as a detractor, and desires to appear as he really is; it is not his
interest to conceal his weaknesses, for in a generous heart they are
almost always united to something good; and perhaps frankness would have
become the policy of his mind, if it had not been one of the qualities
of his character.
There is, in every virtue, a kind of beauty which charms us without
reflection: our moral sense, when it is improved by education, is
pleased with that social harmony which the sentiments of justice
preserves. These enjoyments are unknown to men, whose selfishness
renders them insensible to every kind of concord, and they appear to me
to deserve our contempt in one essential point; it is, that they profit
by the respect others have for order, without being willing to subject
themselves to the same rules, and without declaring publicly their
intention; it seems to me, that, in this view, a defect of morality is
indeed a breach of the laws of hospitality.
In short, talents, those faculties of the mind which belong more
immediately to nature, can never be applied to great things without the
aid of morality; there is no other way of uniting the interest of men,
and of attaining their love and respect. Honesty resembles the ancient
idioms, according to which you must know how to speak, when you wish to
be understood by the generality; and a language is never well known, but
by constant practice. The understanding is sometimes sufficient to
acquire an ascendency in circumscribed relations; you there take men one
by one; and you often engage them by proportioning yourself to their
depth: but on a vast theatre, and principally in public administration,
where we have need of captivating men in a body, it is necessary to
search for a band which will embrace all; and it is only by a union of
talents and virtue that this chain can be formed. And when I see the
homage paid by a nation to virtuous characters; when I remark the almost
instinctive judgment which assists in discerning them; when I see that
they praise and love only what they can connect to pure virtue, and
noble intention, I return to my favourite sentiment, and believe I
recognize in these emotions the stamp of a hand divine.
After having tried to give a feeble sketch of the various recompenses
and different satisfactions which seem to appertain to regularity of
principles, and propriety of conduct, you will perhaps ask, if you have
not a right to conclude from these reflections, that we can attach men
to morality by the mere motive of personal interest; I have already
mentioned, that I intended to answer such an objection, and now is the
time to do it.
Virtue, in its most improved state; virtue, such as we have just
represented, is not the work of a moment; it is necessary that it should
be called forth and strengthened by degrees; but it would be nipped when
it first begins to unfold itself, if we destroyed the simple opinions
which serve to educate it, if we overturned the only end which can be
perceived by all minds; and if we weakened the sentiments which connect
it with those who respect the laws of morality, and who promote this
cultivation by their commendations and esteem.
Besides, it is not virtue only, but virtue united to different motives,
which contributes to our happiness. This observation is very important,
and with great facility you may be made to feel the full force of it.
Employment is generally reckoned the surest source of agreeable
impressions of which we are susceptible; but its charm would vanish, if
it did not lead to some recompense, if it did not show, in perspective,
an increase of wealth, an enjoyment for our self-love, a chance for
fame, or some other advantages of which we are desirous. Vainly, say
some, that the exercise of our faculties is of itself a pleasure;
certainly, because that it offers to our view a train of prospects which
succeed each other. But there must always be a strong motive to direct
us to the right road, and make us set off; our bark must be driven by
the wind; in short, every kind of labour requires encouragement,
although this labour, proportioned to our strength, may be more
favourable to happiness then sloth and idleness; and this truth would
strike us still more, if we had ability to analyze a sentiment with
sufficient attention, to distinguish clearly the happiness which is
annexed to action and employment, from that which necessarily relates to
the end and to the motive of that action.
The reflections, which I have just made, may be applied to virtue; we
can easily, in studying its different effects, perceive, that it is an
excellent guide in the course of life; but we discover, at the same
time, that it has need, as well as employment, of a spur, a simple
encouragement on a par with our understanding: it is in religion that
virtue finds this encouragement, and we shall not be able to separate it
from the motives and hopes it presents, without disconcerting every
connexion it has with human happiness.
It will be easy to perceive the great benefit which must arise from
morality; but at the same time it must be remarked, that to follow its
dictates with confidence and firmness, knowledge and strong powers of
reflection are necessarily required in the study of so compounded a
truth: we are then in want of a motive to excite our first effort, which
subjects us to self-denial, and determines us to struggle with courage
against the dominion of the present moment.
In short, even when, by the art of sophistry, some philosophers have, at
length, thrown into confusion the true principles of order and
happiness; when, by the force of address, they have led us to doubt
about the kind and degree of power which it is necessary to assign to
religion, it should not, however, be the legislators of the nation who
ought to lend an ear to their subtle distinctions.
Metaphysical sentiments and ideas are not proper for statesman, but in
their own defence; to assist them to guard themselves from the
ascendency of brilliant errors, and to confirm the respect due to useful
truths: but when they have to guide minds, when they wish to excite
activity, it is always, if they are wise, the most simple idea that they
will make use of; and they will be very careful not to despise those
habitual principles, to which time, still more then knowledge, has given
a sanction. These are so many lessons, which long experience seems to
have gradually disengaged from every thing foreign to natural morality
and the secret sentiments of men.
CHAP. VII.
_On Religious Opinions, in their Relation with Sovereigns._
Many nations, either by choice, or necessity, have deposited their wills
in the hands of an individual; and have thus erected a perpetual
monument to the spirit of discord, and injustice, which has so
frequently reigned amongst men. It is true, that from time to time they
have wished to recollect that they were capable of knowing themselves
their true interest; but monarchs mistrusting their inconstancy, have
taken care to fortify the springs of authority, by surrounding
themselves with standing armies; and they have only left them the power
of being disgusted with slavery: soldiers and taxes have supported each
other; and through the assistance of this corresponding action, they
have become masters and directors of every thing. How much good and evil
depend on them? We then necessarily wish them to possess a vigorous
morality, proportioned to their immense duties; but what force will your
morality have, if they perceive at last, that it is not supported by a
divine sanction; if they consider it as a human institution, which they
have power to break, and which they are in the habit of modifying? At
least they will have the liberty, like other men, to examine if their
private interest agrees with that of the public, and their conduct will
depend on the result of this calculation.
I will acknowledge, that at the point of elevation, where kings find
themselves placed, they ought not to be acquainted with those passions
which proceed from our petty competitions; but how many other sentiments
have they not to repress? And with what celerity it is necessary to do
it; since they do not experience any contradiction, they are not, like
us, obliged to reflect and consider! Besides, though sovereigns are
supposed to be sheltered by their situation, from the irritations of
self-love, and from the desires of fortune and advancement, they are
not, however, disengaged from every passion of this kind; it is towards
other princes that they feel them; and envy, ambition, and revenge,
become often very dangerous, as they associate with these passions those
of the nation they govern, by means of a war. It is then that, freed
from religious ties, and sure of not accounting with any body, they
would find morality a very ingenious invention, to render the
maintenance of public order more easy, and to preserve the subordination
which secures their power; but, would not acknowledge such a master for
themselves, and would dispense with bowing to its dictates.
You will say, undoubtedly, that a virtuous king would be recompensed by
the applause of his subjects: but I have already shown, that the
influence of public opinion would be very weak, if the principles of
morality, which serve to guide this opinion, were not supported by
religion. We should also observe, that elogiums and applause, homage so
encouraging to private men, have not an equal power over princes, who
cannot, like individuals, consider this suffrage as an earnest, or
forerunner of exaltation; it is by the continual view of the advantages
and triumphs of others, that the desire of respect and distinction is
continually kept alive; and it may, perhaps, proceed a little from the
stimulation of envy, or at least from those jarring pretentions, and
from those struggles of self-love, of which society alone is the
theatre. Princes without rivals are not subject to the same impressions;
and the flattery they have so early imbibed, and the praises which are
lavished on them from the simple motive of hope, all serve to render
them less sensible to deserved applause; in short, this exaggerated
praise soon becomes a dull monotony, which extinguishes, by its
uniformity, that emulation which a just homage sometimes inspires. There
would be then great danger in reposing too much on the power of public
opinion, if we were to consider it as a check able to replace with
princes the compressing force of religion.
I must now make an essential remark: those who surround a monarch, often
mislead his judgment by the nature and the application of the elogiums
which they lavish on him. The praise of men, in a monarchy, always has a
taint of slavery: thus, in such countries, a look, a word from the
prince, which seems to efface, for an instant, the distance that
separates him from his subjects, delights them; and their enthusiasm in
those moments serves to persuade the monarch, that it is sufficient for
him to smile, to render his people happy: dangerous illusion, sad effect
of servility: in short, in consequence of the character which is
impressed by an habitual yoke, men are pleased with exalting the power
of him to whom they are obliged to submit; they love to see their
servile companions multiplied; and as the greater part of them have
seldom any access to the prince, vanity persuades them, that in
affecting to partake of the royal grandeur, they contract a kind of
familiarity with it; therefore, without reflecting whether it will be
more in the power of the sovereign to make them happy, when, by
enlarging his dominions, he shall have more subjects, and of course more
duties to fulfil, they celebrate, above all, the conquering warrior, and
thus invite princes to prefer the pursuit of military glory to every
other; and, as the multitude can quickly comprehend this kind of merit;
as the gaining of a battle is a simple idea, easily conceived by men of
every condition and turn of mind, it happens, by this reasoning, that
these triumphs are the most highly extolled; and even that men, on
account of them, can excuse every other failure, broken treaties,
violated oaths, alliances abandoned—In short, such is the mad folly of
our praise, that the tranquillity of the state, the repose of the
people, the mild benefits of peace, appear no more than the last
consequence of the labours and the success of a monarch; and even
history frequently represents this fortunate time, as the days of
obscurity in which heroes of blood and carnage are educated; kings,
discontented with their destiny, are warriors through ambition, and
happy by the victories, to which we annex our first honours, and the
most noble wreaths of fame.
It is thus, however, that the prevailing opinion, and the rumour of
renown, can sometimes deceive princes, though inconsistent with the
instructions of morality and the legislation of yore, which point out
the true interest of the people as the first object of a sovereign’s
anxious solicitude; and instead of a sounding name, and dazzling
qualities, enforce those requisite to form the guardian and protector of
the felicity of the public; duties of a vast extent, and which are
discharged by the secret labours of paternal vigilance, still more than
by the noise of the drum and the instruments of destruction.
Let us consider, however, the influence the opinion of the world will
have on sovereigns, in directing only our views towards the interior
functions of administration. An essential observation presents itself at
first to the mind: it is, that the thirst for glory is especially felt
when a great abuse is to be reformed, and when we can hope to make
regularity succeed to confusion; but when this task is fulfilled, and
that it is only necessary to preserve and support what is good, the love
of renown has not sufficient aliment, and it is then that the virtue of
princes becomes the only faithful guardian of the public interest. A
reign, such as we have formed an idea of, would carry away from the
following ones every subject of dazzling splendour; and it would be
necessary that new troubles and fears re-animated the sentiment of
admiration, to give it its ancient ascendency and original force.
We should be able also, and this picture would be very different, to
figure to ourselves a period, when, by the successive degradation of
character, the opinion of the public would no longer indicate the way to
fame, nor resound to excite ambition; the recompenses it offers would
not be a motive sufficiently powerful to influence men. Thus, in a
country, in a metropolis, where covetousness seemed triumphant, where
every body would appear to pursue that fortune which is only acquired by
intrigue, and the vices of those who bestow it, respect for the real
interest of the people, and attention to lighten their burthens, would
no longer purchase renown. In like manner, in a country where despotism
reigns, and the people are accustomed to prostrate themselves before
power, they would acknowledge no other idol; we should not there be able
to acquire a contemporary fame by elevation of character, by tempering
with wisdom the exercise of authority, and allowing the citizens to
enjoy that degree of freedom, which does not degenerate into
licentiousness. It is then morality, and morality alone, which comes at
all times, and in all circumstances, to resist the revolutions of habit
and opinion, of which history furnishes examples, and of which men are
ever susceptible.
I ought not to neglect another very important consideration: princes, by
the elevation of their rank, and influence on the national manners, find
that they are in that singular situation, where one is more called to
direct the reigning opinion, than to receive instruction and
encouragement from it: thus we are impelled to wish, that a monarch
should have principles which flow from his heart, and which depend on
his reflections, from which he may be able to derive, at all times, a
force properly his own, a natural courage. It is necessary for a prince
to investigate and decide on his own conduct; and a sublime morality
should nourish in his heart an ideal model of perfection, with which he
can continually compare the opinions of the world and the private
judgment of his conscience.
In short, and this last reflection which I have made will apply, in a
general manner, to the preceding remarks; the opinion of the public, the
just complaints of the people, are sometimes a long while in reaching
the prince; they ring in the kingdom before he hears the rumour; they
wander round the palace, but the whispers do not reach him; vanity,
pride, and every vice excludes them; the old courtiers sneer, and the
insignificant pursuers of credit or favour amuse themselves by indulging
their turn for ridicule. The ministers, who are followed by the clamour,
are often importuned by it; and when it reaches their master, find some
method to weaken its impression, attributing these commotions to private
passions, and giving the name of cabal to a just indignation against
vice. Yes, such is the unhappy fate of princes, that the peace of a
state is often tottering, before the opinion of the world reaches them,
and discovers the truth; a new consideration, very proper to convince
us, that the power of opinion can never equal in utility those grand
principles of morality, which, by the aid of religion, are fixed, in the
hearts of men, to give them laws, without distinction of birth, rank, or
dignity.
But if, from sovereigns, we carry our views to those who share their
confidence, we shall perceive still more the absolute necessity of an
active and governing morality. Ministers, without virtue, are more to be
feared than sovereigns indifferent to public good; newly come out of the
crowd they know better than the monarch the selfish use that they can
make of all the passions and vices; and as they are connected with
society, as they have a continual relation with the different orders of
the state, their corruptions are propagated, and their dangerous
influence spreads to a great distance. Attacked, nevertheless, by the
public, they become still more mischievous in their means of warding off
danger, for despairing of disguise before the attentive eyes of a whole
people, they turn their address against the prince; they study, they pry
into his weaknesses, and artfully encourage those which may protect or
cover the defects of their character; they apply themselves, at the same
time, to adorn immorality with every grace which can render it amiable,
and they endeavour to make virtue hateful, by delineating it as austere,
imperious, unsociable, and almost incompatible with our morals and
manners: it is thus that ministers, not restrained by principles,
occasion not only the misery of a country whilst their influence lasts,
but they poison the source of public felicity, by weakening in the
monarch his sentiments of duty, diverting his good dispositions, and
discouraging, if I may say so, his natural virtues.
In short, the picture which I have just drawn will produce another
important observation: the prince, after having wandered out of the path
of true glory, may return, when he pleases, to the love of virtue and
greatness; all the avenues are open to him, all hearts ready to welcome
him, we have an inclination to love him, and desire to esteem him, whom
fate has placed at the head of the nation; and who, invested with the
majesty which he borrows from a long train of ancestors, exhibits
himself surrounded by all the enchantments of a diadem; we adopt with
pleasure any interpretation which can excuse his conduct; we impute to
ill counsels the faults which he has committed; and we are eager to
enter with him into a new contract of esteem and hope. It is not the
same with ministers; a like indulgence is not due to them, because they
cannot throw the blame on others, and all their actions proceed from
themselves; when they have once lost the opinion of the public, their
depravity will increase daily; because, to maintain their post they are
obliged to redouble their intrigues and dissimulation.
I have maturely reflected: the religion of princes, of ministers, of
government in general, is the first source of the happiness of the
people; we despise it, because it is not our invention, and we often
give the preference to those artifices of the mind, which seduce us as
being our own work; and perhaps they are wanted, after having lost sight
of this sure and faithful guide, this companion of true genius, which,
like it, prefers easy and simple means. Yes, this exalted virtue,
resembling superior abilities, rejects equally those weak resources and
inventions, which derive not their origin from an elevated sentiment or
grand thought; and, whilst one obliges a statesman to respect honour,
justice, and truth, the other discovers the union of these principles
with the just means which strengthen authority, and with the true glory
and durable success of politics; in short, whilst one renders him
anxious about the happiness of the people, the other shows how, from the
bosom of this happiness, they would see rise insensibly an agreement of
interests and of wills, of whose extensive use we are still ignorant.
If we wish to dwell a moment on the private happiness of princes, we
shall readily perceive, that they have a real want of the encouragement
religion affords. Their distinguished authority appears, indeed, to
their mind, a singular privilege; they believe this power should extend
to every thing, and they indiscretly endeavour to accelerate the moments
of enjoyment; but as they cannot change the law of nature, it happens,
that in delivering themselves up to every thing which seduces their
imagination, they experience as quickly the sad langour of indifference,
and the oppression of apathy.
Kings, in the exercise of their intellectual faculties are exposed to
the same extremes; providence having placed them on the pinnacle of
fortune, they consequently have not been led from one view to another,
and know not those gradations which actuate their subjects in the name
of vanity, self-love, or fortune.—Alas! we obey so quickly, and their
desires are so soon gratified, that their taste and inclinations cannot
be renewed with the quickness necessary to enable them to fill the
irksome void which so frequently occurs. If the magnificent end which
religion offers were to be obscured, and if, henceforth, we were to
consider it as a fallacious illusion, unworthy of our attention, kings
would soon attain to that term when the future would appear to their
mind a barren uniformity, a space without colour or form.
The numerous duties of princes, undoubtedly, afford a continual source
of satisfaction; but it is necessary that they should be able to connect
all their obligations to a grand idea, the only one which can constantly
animate their actions and thoughts, who have need of neither favour nor
advancement from their fellow-creatures. And how much would it
contribute to their happiness sometimes, to imagine themselves between
this world, in which they are weary of their own power, and that
magnificent future; the sublime contemplation of which would carry them,
with a new charm, to the exercise of their authority! What pleasure then
would flow from this authority, the source of so much good!—What
pleasure would they not find in more closely imitating the divine
beneficence, the most comfortable of all ideas, and what a moment for
him, when particularly conscious of the presence of the exalted friend
of the whole human race, he should be able to reflect, in the morning,
on the people he was going to make happy; and in the evening, on those
he had actually done good to. What a difference between these delicious
moments, whose influence the nation feels, and those insignificant
levees, only known to courtiers, in which the monarch is the spectacle,
and tastes the sad pleasure of seeing so many men cringing before his
own image. What a difference, even between these rapturous sensations,
and those raised by flattery, or the dazzling parade which surrounds
him, in the midst of which he cannot discern himself, whether he is a
great man, or only a king.
In short, we ought to acknowledge, that the more extensive the horizon,
which opens before sovereigns, the greater is the number of duties
presented to their reflections, the more they must feel the want of that
sustaining power so infinitely superior to their own strength: they are
conscious of the disproportion which exists between the extent of their
authority and the means entrusted to human nature; and it is only by
supporting themselves against that mysterious pillar, erected by
religion, that they can be firm, and consider without affright, that
Providence has called them to regulate and direct the destiny of a whole
empire. It was when profoundly meditating on the existence of a God;
reflecting on the influence and various relations of such a grand
thought, that Marcus Aurelius discovered all the extent of his duties,
and felt, at the same time, the courage and the will to fulfil them. The
happy and constant agreement of his actions and principles made his
reign an illustrious example of wisdom and morality.
We must confess, that it is to virtue, supported by every sentiment
which it imprints on the human heart, that we should wish to confide the
sacred deposit of public happiness; this alone is always faithful and
vigilant, surpasses the spur of praise, and, by the ascendency of a
great example, leads men to the knowledge of every thing they ought to
admire.
CHAP. VIII.
_An Objection drawn from the Wars and from the Commotions which Religion
has given Rise to._
I shall present, at first, this objection in all its force, or rather I
will not seek to weaken it; it would be needless to recal to the memory
of men all the evils that have happened during a long series of years,
with which we have reason to reproach the blind and savage zeal of
religious fanaticism. Every one has present to his mind those multiplied
acts of intolerance which have sullied the annals of history; every one
knows the scenes of discord, of war, and fury, which theological
controversies have caused amongst men; they have been informed of the
fatal consequences which these enterprizes have brought in their train,
and which the rare virtues of a great king have not been able to
justify. In short, to maintain, in all ages, a remembrance of the fatal
abuses which have been committed in the name of the God of Peace, it
would be sufficient to describe those direful days, when some different
tenet produced a sentence of proscription, and the frightful signal of
the most cruel frenzies.
It is thus then, that in all times, by an absurd tyranny, or by a
ferocious enthusiasm, triumphs have been contrived for the eager
detractors of religion. Let us examine, however, if the deductions that
they wish to draw from these errors of the human mind, are founded on
reason and justice.
I shall not stop to observe, that religion has oftener been the pretext,
than the true motive, of the unhappy convulsions of which it appears at
present the sole origin; or stop to recal the various political
advantages, which could only arise from such a grand principle of
action; those august testimonies are commemorated in history: I shall
only borrow the support of reason, and shall bound my discussion to a
few simple reflections.
Do you think, that by relating the different abuses of authority we
could prove the advantage of anarchy? Could we decry every species of
jurisprudence, by recounting all the ills which have been produced by
chicane? Should we be able to throw an odium on the sciences, by
recalling all the fatal discoveries which are owing to our researches?
Would it be proper to stifle every kind of self-love and activity, by
reciting the different crimes which covetousness, pride, and ambition
have given rise to? And ought we, then, to desire to annihilate
religion, because fanaticism has made an instrument of it to distress
the human species? All these questions are similar, and all should be
resolved in the same manner: thus we may say with respect to them, that
in all our interests and passions, it is by acquired knowledge, and the
light of reason, that right is separated from wrong; but we ought never
to confound their proximity with a real identity.
Fanaticism and religion have not any connection, though very often these
ideas are found united. It is not the worship of the common Father of
men; it is not the morality of the gospel, whose precepts lead to
goodness and forbearance, which inspires the spirit of persecution; we
should attribute it to a blind madness, resembling all those wild errors
and crimes which dishonour humanity. But since, at present, the excesses
to which men abandon themselves do not induce us to condemn, as a
misfortune, all the sentiments of which the criminal passions are only
the extreme, why do we wish to refuse religion the gratitude which is
its due, because sometimes it has given birth to hatred and unhappy
divisions? It would be necessary rather to remark, that intolerant zeal
is, of all the errors of the human mind, that on which the progress of
our knowledge appears to have had most influence. In fact, whilst
fanaticism, gradually weakened, seems to be now verging to its decline,
the disorders connected with the common passions of ambition, love of
wealth, and thirst of pleasure, remain in all their force. However, what
sentiment, what predominant idea, has a greater claim to pardon for its
mistakes than devotion? By what an infinite number of benefits the pure
spirit of religion makes amends for the abuses which spring from the
false interpretation of its precepts. It is to this spirit, as we have
shown, that men owe the stability of public order and the firm
principles of justice: it procures the indigent the succours of charity,
and virtue its encouragement; oppressed innocence its only refuge, and
sensibility its dearest hopes. Yes, the pure spirit of religion
surrounds us on every side, it makes the charm, of solitude, the band of
society, the invigorater of intimate affections; and can we calumniate
it and wish to destroy it, on recollecting the tyrannic opinions of some
priests and sovereigns, whose principles and conduct we now detest?
I shall further remark, and ask why men denounce a sentence of
reprobation against religion, and give as the motive, the ancient wars
of which it has been the origin; whilst they never contest the
importance of commerce, though rivers of blood have been continually
shed for the smallest advantage on this account? Can they be so mistaken
in their judgment, as to compare a few pecuniary advantages, which one
political state never enjoys, but at the expence of another, with those,
as precious as they are universal, of which religion is the origin and
support?
In short, among the various arguments that are employed to attack these
opinions, the most frivolous, undoubtedly, is that which derives all its
force from the errors and faults of which the present times do not
furnish any example. What should we say if, at the moment when a superb
edifice was firm on its foundation, we should be exhorted to level it
with the ground, by a relation of all the accidents its erection
occasioned?
Throwing then a painful retrospect on the period of history, when
religion was made the pretext of wars and cruelty; let us oppose to the
return of those sanguinary scenes, let us oppose to the spirit of
intolerance all the force of wisdom, and the instructions of that
religion which they pretend to serve by a blind zeal. But far from
freeing us from the respect which we owe to such salutary opinions,
which men have abused, let us take advantage of experience, as a new
defence against the wanderings of our imaginations, and the surprises of
our passions[2].
CHAP. IX.
_Another Objection examined. The Sabbath._
I do not intend to place among the objections I ought to discuss, nor in
the number of arguments, that it is important to examine, the various
opinions on such and such parts of religious worship, nor the
difficulties raised against the adoption of some dogmatic notion,
thought essential by some, and considered with indifference by others:
it is not a treatise of controversial theology which I wish to compose;
and it is still less the doctrines of one particular church, which I
would oppose to that of another; all of them connect morality to the
commands of a Supreme Being; they all of them see in the public worship
the respectful expression of a sentiment of love and gratitude towards
the Author of Nature. Thus, those who might think they perceived some
imperfections in the system, or in the forms of worship, adopted in a
nation, should not use this objection to dispute the utility of
religion, since the reflections, which have been just made on its
importance, may be applied equally to the doctrines of all countries,
and the principles of every sect.
I shall dwell then on the only difficulty which interests, without
distinction, the different religions of Europe.
The establishment of public worship, and the necessity of consecrating
at least one day in every week, occasions, say some, a suspension of
labour too frequent; and this suspension injures the state, and
diminishes the resources of the people.
I may at first observe, that such objections would appear very weak, if
compared with the great advantages which men owe to religion! An
increase of wealth can never outweigh order, morality, and happiness.
But I must go further to prove, that a day of rest, devoted amongst us
to public worship, cannot injure the political strength; and that so far
from being contrary to the interests of the people, it protects and
favours them; and as I invariably prefer such interests to all others, I
shall begin by demonstrating, in a few words, the justness of this
proposition.
We should be mistaken if we thought, that in a given space of time, men
forced, by the inequality of conditions, to live by their labour, would,
by observing the precepts of religion, better their situation, if they
were not obliged to rest from labour one day in every week.
It is necessary, in order to perceive this truth, to examine, first,
what is now the measure of wages; it is not an exact proportion between
labour and its reward. In fact, if we consulted only the light of reason
and equity, no one, I believe, would dare to decide, that the most
scanty necessaries is the just price of fatiguing and painful labour,
which commences at the dawn, and does not finish till the setting of the
sun: we should not be able to maintain, that in the midst of his
enjoyments, and in the bosom of luxurious idleness, the rich ought not
to grant any other retribution to those who sacrifice their time and
strength to increase their revenue and multiply their enjoyments. It is
not then by the principles of common sense or reflection, that the wages
of the generality have been fixed; it is a compact established by power,
a yoke to which the weak must submit. The possessor of a vast domain
would see all his riches vanish, if numerous labourers did not come to
cultivate his estate, and carry into his store-house the fruit of their
toil; but, as the number of men without property is immense, their
concurrence, and the pressing need that they have to labour for a
subsistence, obliges them to receive the law from him who can, in the
bosom of ease, wait quietly for their services; and it results from this
habitual relation between the rich and poor, that the wages for hard
labour are constantly reduced to the most scanty allowance, that is to
say, to what is only sufficient to satisfy their daily and indispensable
wants.
This system once settled, if it were possible, that, by a revolution in
our nature, men could live and preserve their strength without allotting
every day some hours to repose and sleep, it is beyond doubt, that the
work of twenty hours would be required for the same wages now granted
for twelve.
Or, by an assimilation, agreeing with the hypothesis I have just
mentioned, suppose that a moral revolution permitted labourers to work
the seventh day, they would consequently, in a short time, require of
them the extraordinary labour at the former rate; and this levelling
would take place through the gradual diminution of the price of labour.
The class of society, which, in exerting its power, has regulated the
present wages, not according to reason and equity, but according to the
necessities of the labourers, would quickly discern its own interest;
and that when a day more was paid for, the people could bear a
diminution of the seventh part of their wages, and be in their old
state. Thus, though before the change had thoroughly taken place, all
those who live by labour would think that they had acquired a new
resource; yet they would soon be brought to their former condition; for
it is the same with social order as with the law of equilibrium in
nature, which combines ranks and places, every thing according to the
immutable law of the proportion of force.
Men, devoid of property, after having been some time deceived, would
only get an increase of work by the abolition of the Sabbath; and as
this truth does not present itself naturally to the mind, we ought to
consider, as an essential service of religion, its having secured the
greater number of men from a degree of oppression, to which they would
have run blindly, if they had been at liberty to make a choice.
The daily labour of one class of society surpasses the reasonable
measure of its strength, and hastens the days of decripitude; it was
then absolutely necessary that the customary course of these labours
should be, for a time, suspended; but as the people, pressed by wants of
every kind, are exposed to be seduced by the slightest appearance of
advantage, it was further necessary to their happiness, that the
interruption of thier fatigues, fixed by a religious duty, appeared not
to them the voluntary sacrifice of fortune, and did not leave in them
any regret. In short, they are pleased when they think of those days of
rest, which produce a little alteration in their manner of living; and
they require that alteration, not to be depressed by a continual train
and repetition of the same occupations. Thus, were you to assert
artfully, that the people are not as comfortable of a Sunday, as during
the week, it would be at least true, that one is softened by the
expectation of the other; there are people so very wretched, and
probably, on that account, so bounded are their desires, that the most
trifling variety is a substitute for hope. It seems to me, that the
hearts of the common people may be sometimes cheered with the thought of
being once a week dressed like their superiors; when they are absolute
masters of their time, and can say,—and I also—I am free[3].
I must now examine the second proposition which I have mentioned.
You have made obvious, some will say, that an augmentation of the days
of labour would occasion a reduction of the wages allowed for it, we may
then reasonably ask, if this result would not favour commerce, and
contribute, in some respect, to increase the political strength?
Undoubtedly you may consider under this point of view, the diminution of
the reward of industry; but the political strength being always a
relative idea, and derived from comparisons with other states, this
strength can never be augmented or diminished by a circumstance common
to all the countries of Europe. Were a barbarous ambition to abolish in
one state the Sabbath, the abolition would probably procure it a degree
of superiority, if it was the only one that adopted such a change; but
as soon as others followed their example, the advantage would disappear.
However, the same arguments ought to serve to convince us, that those
countries, where the intervals of inaction occur oftener, have
necessarily a political disadvantage, with regard to others, where
Sunday and a few solemn feasts are the only days of rest prescribed by
government.
We may conclude from these observations, that so far from finding fault
with religion for appointing a day of rest, devoted every week to public
worship, we ought to acknowledge with pleasure, that such an institution
is a benevolent act, extended to the most numerous class of the
inhabitants of the earth, the most deserving our consideration and
protection; from which we require so much, and return so little: towards
that unfortunate class, whose youth and maturity the rich profit by, and
abandon them when the hour is come, when they have no more strength left
but to enable them to pray and weep.
CHAP. X.
_An Observation on a particular Circumstance of public Worship._
It is not sufficient, that sovereigns are persuaded of the influence of
religion on the morality and happiness of men; they ought to make use of
proper means to maintain this salutary action; and, of course, every
part of public worship becomes of the greatest importance. Educated in a
religion, thought by some to approach nearer the first ideas of
christianity, yet as it has adopted several principles by no means
consonant with the Catholic faith, it would be unwise in me to discuss
any of the questions which divide the two churches; and I should do it
without any good accruing from it, so much are we disposed to refer to
early prejudices, the ideas which are most intimately blended with the
sentiments and feeling of a man; we like to take a general view, and
this method agrees with our indolence; but it leads us often astray. I
think, however, that the minds of the people are now sufficiently
enlightened, to permit me to advise the superiors of both church and
state, to examine attentively, if it is not full time to make more use
of the vulgar tongue, and if we are not warned, by the present depravity
of morals, to alter the manner of performing divine service in this
respect.
It is only during an interval of the grand mass that the priest
addresses to country people some words of exhortation in their own
language; it was natural to consider this moment as the most proper to
dispose the mind to respect and attention; but perhaps, even the pomp of
an august ceremony, by attracting strongly the imagination, withdraws
the generality from the importance of the other parts of divine worship;
and it frequently happens in country places, that many people go out of
the church during the sermon, and return at the moment of consecration.
I think also, that public prayers should always be in the vulgar tongue,
and they might easily be made interesting and affecting, as there are
not any religious discourses which sympathize more with human weakness;
and as our wants and anxieties may be made use of to raise us towards
the Supreme Being, the best of all bands might be chosen to win the
multitude.
I must observe besides, that part of the country people, especially in
harvest time, and other seasons, when the husbandman is particularly
busy, assist only at early mass, and then they see but a part of the
religious ceremonies[4]. And, if the practice and liberty of working on
a Sunday was more extended, the inhabitants of the country, still more
confined to the first mass, would hear neither prayers nor instructive
discourses in their own language during the whole year.
Certainly there must be something altered in these religious
institutions in order to make them more efficaciously serve to support
morality, and comfort the most numerous class of the human race. Country
people, whose labour produces our wealth, ought to be taken care of with
paternal anxiety; and since they are not exposed to those disorderly
passions which find nourishment in a metropolis; since mild and prudent
means still suffice to maintain them in the habit of duty; both the
superiors in church and state have to answer, in some measure, for the
corruption of their manners and dispositions.
CHAP. XI.
_That the single Idea of a God is a sufficient Support of Morality._
After having shown that morality has need of a supernatural support, you
have reason to expect, that I should explain the intimate and immediate
relation which unites religion to the love of virtue, and the observance
of order. I will endeavour, then, to discuss this important question;
and in order to arrive at the truth, I shall follow first the course of
those simple sentiments and natural thoughts, which guide the mind and
the heart of man, in every climate and country under heaven.
It is easy to unite all the moral legislation, and the entire system of
our duties, by means only of the idea of a God.
The universe, notwithstanding its magnificence and its immensity, would
be a mere nothing, if its Supreme Author had not peopled it with
intelligent beings, capable of contemplating so many wonders, and of
receiving happiness from them; but the faculties with which we are
endowed, consciousness of possessing them, and the liberty to act, all
announce to us that we are united to a grand combination, that we have a
part to take on the vast stage of the world.
The most simple reason, that which resembles instinct, would have been
sufficient to enable us to take care of the body, and to have concentred
us in ourselves; more would not have been necessary for those who have
so little to do. Thus, when I see that the mind is susceptible of
continual improvement, when I see that men enjoy the power of assisting
each other, and of communicating their ideas, in a manner so much
superior to other animals; when I fix my attention on our social
dispositions, and on all the relative qualities which compose our
nature, I cannot avoid thinking, that we have a plan of conduct to
follow towards others, and that in our pilgrimage on earth we must be
circumspect, having obstacles to conquer, sacrifices to make, and
obligations to fulfil.
Men then appear to be led to religion by the most excellent gifts of
nature, and by all that they have in them of the sublime; but we ought
to remark, as a singular resemblance, that their wants also, and their
extreme weakness, lead them to the same object.
Whatever may be my emotions, when I reflect on the present imperious
laws to which I am obliged to submit, and when I recal to mind the
grandeur and magnificence which I have been a witness of, I raise
continually my soul towards the Sovereign Director of events, and am led
by instinct, as well as by a rational sentiment, to address my prayers
to Him. It appears to the unfortunate, when they view so many wonders
which their understanding cannot grasp, that so little is wanting to
guard them from the dangers which threaten them, they implore the
commiseration of Him whose formidable power bursts from all sides. But,
while they admire and adore, they must imitate His perfections, and not
expect mercy when they show none. Purity of heart only can render an
intercourse with the Supreme Being interesting; and prayers are merely a
solemn kind of mockery, when they do not produce virtue and forbearance,
when they do not render us kindly affected to each other; our very state
of dependence, our wants and weaknesses, should bind us to those beings
who equally share the blessings so liberally bestowed, and have the same
evils to endure. Thus discontent, the fear of futurity, the anxiety
caused by misfortunes, all the sentiments, which engage men to disturb
social order, take another character, or are at least sensibly modified;
when, from their first suffering, they can elevate their wishes to God,
but dare not do it, with a heart sullied by criminal intentions.
It is not only prayer which leads us to religion; another communication
with the Supreme Being, gratitude, produces the same effect. A man,
persuaded of the existence of a sovereign power, and who gladly connects
with the divine protection his success and happiness, feels, at the same
time, a desire to express his gratitude; and not being able to do any
thing for him who bestows all, he seeks to form an idea of the
perfections of that Supreme Being, in order to comprehend the system of
conduct most conformable to his attributes. At first, what reflections
possess our mind, what emotions agitate our souls, when we contemplate
the universe? When we respectfully admire that magnificent harmony,
which is the incomprehensible result of an innumerable multitude of
different powers: struck with this vast whole, where we discover an
agreement so perfect, how is it possible for us to avoid considering
order as a distinct mark of the wisdom and of the design of Omnipotence?
And how is it possible for us not to think, that we render him the most
worthy homage, at the time we make use of the free intelligence which he
has endowed us with. Then in the composition of a social structure, a
work which has been entrusted to us, we shall try to penetrate the ideas
of wisdom and order, of which all nature presents such a grand example;
then, in establishing the relations which unite men, we shall carefully
study the laws of moral order, and we shall find them all founded on the
reciprocation of duties, which submit to a regular movement different
jarring personal interests. In short, the idea of a God, Creator,
Regenerator, and Preserver of the Universe, by invariable laws, and by a
train of the same causes and the same effects, seems to call us to the
conception of a universal morality, which, in imitation of the unknown
springs of the natural world, may be as the necessary tie of this
succession of intelligent beings, who always, with the same passions,
come to pass and repass on the earth, to seek, or to fly, to assist, or
to hurt each other, according to the strength or the weakness of the
knot which unites them, and according to the wisdom or inconsistency of
the principles which direct their opinions.
The attentive study of man and of his nature ought to contribute to
confirm in us the idea which we have just pointed out. We cannot, in
fact, consider the prodigious difference which exists between the minds
and characters of men; we cannot fix our attention on the length to
which this difference may be carried, by the perfectibility of which
they are susceptible; we cannot, in short, reflect on a like
constitution, without being induced to think, that the counterpoise of
these extraordinary means of force and usurpation must proceed from
reason, from that singular authority which only can establish, between
men, relations of justice and convenience, proper to maintain an
equilibrium and harmony in the midst of so many disparities: it is thus,
that respect for morality seems evidently to make a part of the general
view and primitive idea of the Supreme Disposer of the universe. And
what pleasure shall we not find in the persuasion, that the cultivation
of virtue, that the observance of order, offers us the means of pleasing
our Divine Benefactor! It is by that alone that we can hope to concur,
however feebly, in the execution of his grand designs; and in the centre
of so many blessings, surrounded by so many signs of a particular
protection, how highly ought we to value this means of communication
with the Author of our existence? Thus, then, the homage of adoration
and gratitude which we render to the Deity, leads us to a sentiment of
respect for the laws of morality; and this sentiment, in its turn,
serves continually to maintain in us the idea of a Supreme Being.
Independent of the reflections which we have just presented, morality,
considered in all its extent, has need of being strengthened by this
disposition of the soul, which makes us interested in the happiness of
others; and it is besides, in one of the most glorious perfections of
the Deity, that we find the first model of this precious sentiment. Yes,
we cannot deny it: either our existence proceeds from no cause, or we
owe it to the goodness of the Supreme Being. Life, some will say,
undoubtedly is a mixture of pains and pleasures: but, if we are candid
we shall confess, that those moments, when it ceases to appear to us a
benefit, do not often occur in life: in youth, existence is thought the
greatest blessing, and the other seasons of life offer pleasures less
animated, certainly, but which agree better with the progress of our
understanding, and the increase of our experience.
It is true, that in order to free ourselves from a sentiment of
gratitude, we often think that we would not accept of a renewal of life,
on condition of our running over a second time our career, and returning
step by step in the same track. But we should consider, that we do not
fix a just value on the benefits which we have received; for when we
take a retrospective view of life, we see it stripped of its two
principal ornaments, curiosity and hope; and it is not in this state
that it was given to us, and that we have enjoyed it.
It is, perhaps, not in our power to replace ourselves, by contemplation,
in the situation where the imagination made our chief pleasure, a slight
breath has easily effaced it from our memory: it is evident that we
enjoy life, because we look forward with affright to the moment when we
shall be forced to renounce it; but, as this happiness is composed of
present pleasures, and those which we anticipate, we cease to be good
judges of the value of life, when this future prospect is not presented
to our eyes, but under the form of the past; for we know not how to
appreciate, with a languishing recollection, that which we have loved in
the moment of hope.
Physical evils are not either the end or the condition of our nature,
they are its accidents: the happiness of infancy, which shows in its
primitive purity the works of the Deity, visibly point out the goodness
of the Supreme Being; and how can we avoid believing, that we owe our
origin to a benevolent design, since it is a desire of happiness, which
has been given to serve as the motive of all our actions? We should
indeed speak well of life, if we had not corrupted its comforts by
artificial sentiments, which we have substituted instead of nature; if
we had not submitted so many realities to pride and vanity; if, instead
of assisting each other to be happy, we had not employed our thoughts to
make others submit to us. Undoubtedly there are some sufferings annexed
to our existence, as in the natural world there are apparent defects.
Let us employ our minds on the most exalted subjects, and we shall no
longer be a prey to envy and discontent.
It is on the consideration of detached events; it is in some particular
circumstances, that we raise doubts about the goodness of God; but we
immediately discern it when we compare particulars which wound us, with
the great whole of which they make a part; we discover then, that the
misfortunes which we are so quickly offended with are a simple appendage
of a general system, where all the characters of a beneficent
intelligence are evidently traced. It is necessary then to view the
whole of life to discover the intention of the author of nature; and in
meditating in this manner, we shall return always to a sentiment of
respect and gratitude. This simple idea is very extensive in its
application; it seems to me, above all, that it serves to console us
under the ills of life; the man who is penetrated by it can say to
himself, the transitory evil to which I am subject, is perhaps one of
the inevitable effects of this universal harmony, the most noble and the
most extensive of all conceptions. Thus, in the moments when I bemoan my
fate, I ought not to think myself forsaken, I ought not to accuse Him,
whose infinite wisdom is present to my view, Him whose general laws have
so often appeared to me a visible expression of real goodness.
It is in vain, some will say, it is in vain that you would wish to make
us attend to these considerations; we only remark, that our earthly
happiness is at least inferior to that which our imagination so readily
forms the picture of; and we do not perceive, in such a disposition, the
union of perfections which ought to be ascribed to the Supreme Being.
This objection is presented under different forms in the writings of all
the enemies to religion; and they have drawn consequences, sometimes
against the goodness of God, his power, his wisdom, and justice. It is
necessary, clearly to explain this difficulty, to be in a state to form
to ourselves an idea of the perfection of an Infinite Being; but in all
our attempts, we only carry to the extreme every quality which we
conceive; instead of that, perfection in the works of the Creator,
probably consists in a kind of gradation and harmony, the secret of
which we cannot either embrace, or penetrate; and we ought still more to
be on our guard, when we form any conception of the essence of the
Deity, as by confining ourselves solely to reconcile his sovereign power
with his perfect goodness, we should never fix the boundary when these
two properties will be in an equilibrium: for after having exhausted
every supposition, we might still ask, why the number of rational beings
is not more extended? We might ask, why every grain of sand is not one
of those beings? why there is not a number equal to that infinite
divisibility of which we form the idea? In short, from extreme to
extreme, and always in arguing on the sovereign power, the least
inanimate atom, the least void in nature, would appear a boundary to the
goodness of the Supreme Being. We see then to what a point we may
wander, when we abandon common sense for the vague excursions of a
metaphysical spirit.
I think, if no other proofs could be found, the power of God would be
sufficient to demonstrate his goodness; for this power informs us every
instant, that if the Supreme Ruler of the World had intended the misery
of rational beings, he would have had, to fulfil this intention, means
as rapid as numerous. He needed not have created worlds; nor have made
them so convenient and beautiful; a terrific gulph, and eternal darkness
might have been sufficient to collect together those unfortunate beings,
and make them feel their misery. Let us not dwell on these gloomy
subjects, let us follow a just emotion of gratitude; we shall be eager
then to render homage to that indelible character of love and goodness
which we see stamped on all nature. An unknown power opens our eyes to
the light, and permits us to view the wonders of the universe: it
awakens in us those enchanting sensations which first point out the
charms of life; it enriches us with that intellectual gift which
re-assembles round us past ages, and the time to come; it confers, in an
early hour, an empire, by endowing us with those two sublime faculties,
will and liberty; in short, it renders us sensible to the real pleasure
of loving and being beloved; and when, by the effect of a general plan,
of which we have but an imperfect conception, it spreads here and there
some difficulties in the road of life; it seems to wish to soften them,
by showing us always the future through the enchanting medium of the
imagination. Could it be then without any interest or goodness, that
this magnificent system was conceived, and preserved by so many superb
demonstrations of wisdom and power? What should we be in the sight of
the Eternal, if he did not love us? We do not adorn his majestic
universe, or lend to the dawn its magnificent colours; neither have we
covered the earth with a verdant carpet, or bid the celestial bodies
revolve in the immense expanse; he asked not counsel of us—we should be
nothing in his eyes, if he was indifferent to our gratitude, and if he
took not any pleasure in the happiness of his creatures.
In short, were we to turn our attention from so many striking proofs of
the goodness of God; were they to be effaced from our memory, we should
still find, in the recesses of our heart, a sufficient evidence of this
comfortable truth, we should perceive that we are good and affectionate,
when not perverted by passion; and we should be led to think, that such
an inclination in beings who have received every thing, must necessarily
be the seal of their Divine Author. In order to exalt this sentiment, we
must refer it continually to the idea of a Supreme Being; for there is,
we doubt not, a correspondence of instinct and reflection between our
virtue and the perfections of him who is the origin of all things; and
provided we do not resist our natural emotions, we shall perceive from
those very perfections all that is sufficient to excite our worship and
adoration; above all, whatever is necessary to serve as an example for
our conduct, and to afford principles of morality.
I ought now to examine some important objections; for why should I fear
to present them? a love for systems and opinions ought not to exist, in
treating a subject on which so many have expatiated, and which belongs
equally to all men. Though we are allowed, when seeking truth eagerly,
to wish to find it united to the sentiments which form our happiness,
and the principles which are the foundation of public order.
We admit, say some, that there are many perfections peculiar to the
Supreme Being, the study and knowledge of which ought to serve to
sustain the laws of morality; but one of the essential properties of the
divine essence oversets the whole structure, it is prescience: for, as
God knows beforehand what we are to do, it follows, that all our actions
are irrevocably determined; and thus man is not free. And, if such is
his condition, he deserves neither praise nor censure; he has no means
of pleasing or displeasing the Supreme Being, and the ideas of good and
evil, of virtue and vice, are absolutely chimerical. I shall, at first,
make a very simple reply to this objection, but a very decisive one: it
is that, if against appearances you should happen to persuade me, that
there now exists an absolute contradiction between the liberty of man
and the prescience of the Deity, it is on the nature and extent of this
prescience that I shall raise my doubts; for, forced to choose, I should
rather mistrust the judgment of my own mind, than that of an internal
persuasion. It is by these same considerations, that it will always be
impossible to prove to men that they are not free: we could only succeed
with the assistance of reasoning, and reasoning being already a
beginning of art, a kind of exterior combination of reflections, this
means, in some measure out of us, would not have power to eradicate a
sentiment which seems the first that we are conscious of.
We soon discover the limits of our faculties, in the efforts which we
make to acquire a just idea of the divine prescience: we can very well
suppose, that God foresees with certainty what we only conjecture about,
and in extending without end the bounds which occur to our mind, we
shall proportion in our imagination, the knowledge of the Creator to the
immensity of space, and to the infinity of time; but beyond these vague
ideas we shall err in all our speculations. How is it possible, that
men, who know not even the nature of their own souls, should be able to
determine the nature of prescience? How is it possible, that they can
know whether this prescience is the effect of a rapid calculation of
him, who embraces at one glance the relation and effects of every moral
and natural cause? how can they discern, whether this prescience, in an
Infinite Being, is distinct from simple knowledge? How can they know
whether that Being, by a property beyond our conception, does not exist
before and after events, whether he is not, in some manner, the
intellectual time, and whether our divisions of years and ages, would
not disappear before his immoveable existence and eternal duration.
It results, however, from these considerations, that on account of our
extreme ignorance we cannot accurately define prescience; but we are
reduced to examine whether this prescience, considered in a general
manner, is incompatible with the liberty of man.
This opinion, I think, should not be adopted. Prescience does not
determine future events, for the mere knowledge of the future makes not
the future. It is not prescience which necessitates the actions of men,
because it does not change the natural order of things; but all future
events are fixed, whether foreseen or not; for constraint and liberty
conduct equally to a positive term: thus, all that will happen is as
immutable as that which is past, since the present was the future of
yesterday, and will be to morrow the past. It is then abstractedly
certain, that an event, either foreseen or not, will take place some
time; but if liberty is not contrary to this inevitable certainty, how
would it be more so, because their exists a Being who is acquainted
previously with the precise nature of events? We may then say, with
truth, that the knowledge of the future is no more an obstacle to
liberty, than the remembrance of the past; and prophecies, like
histories, are only recitals, whose place is not the same in the order
of time; but not having any influence on events, do not constrain the
will, cannot enslave the sentiments, or subject men to the law of
necessity.
We will confess, however, that if prescience was founded on the
possibility of calculating the actions of men, like the movements of an
organized machine, liberty could not exist; but then it would not be
prescience which opposed this liberty, it would be because we are
automatons; for with such a constitution we should be without liberty,
were even the Supreme Being not to have any knowledge of futurity.
It is in vain, in order to convince us we are not free, that some would
represent us as necessarily submitting to the impulse of various
exterior objects; comprehending, among those objects, every thing that
is subtle in moral ideas, and uniting them under the general name of
motives, and giving afterwards to these motives a physical force which
we are bound to obey; but to be free, is it necessary that we act
without motives? then man would be indeed evidently a piece of
mechanism. It is certain, that we are, in all our actions, determined by
reason, taste, or a cause of preference; but it is our mind which
comprehends these various considerations, which weighs, compares, and
modifies; it is our mind which listens to the counsels of virtue, and
which replies to the language of our passions; it is in order to
enlighten itself that it borrows from the memory the succours of
experience; it is then our mind which prepares, composes, and improves
every thing which we term motives, and it is after this intellectual
labour that we act. There is too much order, unity, and harmony in our
thoughts, to allow us to suppose them the mere effect of exterior
objects; which, under the form of ideas, come without order to impress
themselves on our brain; and until we are made acquainted with the works
of chaos, we shall believe with reason that every where there is that
unity, that order; that there is a faculty capable of re-assembling
every thing that is scattered, and uniting to one end all that is mixed
without design.
As soon as we are impelled to believe, that there is a master of all our
perceptions, and that we feel this master act, how is it possible not to
be certain that it is our mind which acts? It is then, in breaking loose
from its operations, that we are stripped of our liberty, and that we at
length suppose that our will is the necessary consequence of all
exterior objects, as if it were the colours, and not the painter, which
produced a picture. However, if we secure our mind from that dependence
to which some wish to reduce it, our actions will not obey these
irresistible emotions; for if they grant that we have liberty of
thought, we have free will.
We ought to consider our senses as messengers, which bring to our mind
new subjects of reflection; but they are in such a manner subordinate to
the sublime part of ourselves, that they act only under direction;
sometimes the ruling principle commands them to bring representations of
the beauties of nature, to examine assiduously the registers of the
human mind, to take the rule and the compass, and render an exact
account of that which it desires to know with precision; sometimes they
are taught to acquire more power, and when the soul wishes to
communicate with men, when it wishes to address posterity, it orders
them to perpetuate in indelible characters all that it has maturely
combined, all that it has discovered, and all it hopes to add to the
treasures of our knowledge. Is it not the master rather than the slave
of our senses, or the blind play of their caprice?
There is besides another observation, which seems to contrast with the
absolute empire, that some are willing to grant to exterior objects over
the powers of our soul; for it is in the silence of meditation that the
action of our mind is not interrupted: we experience that we have the
power of recalling past ideas, and that we can connect those ideas with
the prospect of the future, and to various imaginary circumstances of
which we compose this picture; our reflection is then the result, but
not the work of those exterior objects we are acquainted with. These two
words, work and result, which in some acceptations have a great
resemblance, have here very different meanings; and it is only in
confounding them, that the objection against the existence of our
liberty is favoured. We cannot form any judgment, without previously
discussing every argument proper to throw a light on the subject; and
the result of such enquiries determines our will; but these enquiries
are themselves the work of our mind.
In short, all the degrees which lead to the end of our intellectual
researches, are simple antecedents, and not absolute motives: there is,
in the operations of our mind, as in every thing which is not
immoveable, a train of causes and effects; but this train does not
characterize necessity more than liberty.
In restoring thus to our soul its original dignity, do you not perceive,
that we approach nearer to nature, than in adopting those systems and
explications which assimilate our intellectual faculties to the regular
vibrations of a pendulum? or would you like better still to compare them
to those little balls which go out of their niches to strike our brain,
which by various ramifications, produce that shock which impels our
will? I see, in all this, only childish figures, put in the place of
those names which indicate at least, by their abstraction, the
indefinite extent of the ideas which they represent, and the respect
they merit. It is easy to call a motive a little moving ball; it is easy
to call uncertainty or repentance the combat of two of these balls, till
the arrival of a third forms a determination; and the concurrence of
many to the same point excites, in us, an impetuous passion: but who
sees not that, after having endeavoured to debase the functions of the
mind by these wretched comparisons, the difficulty remains undiminished?
In short, if the meditations and the researches of our minds, on the
existence and the nature of our liberty, presents us only impenetrable
clouds and obscurity, is it not singular, that in the midst of this
darkness we should reject all the information of our instinctive
sentiments, which only can clearly explain every thing that we in vain
search for by other means? What would you say of a man born blind, who
would not be directed by the voice? We are assuredly better instructed
in the constitution of our nature by our feelings, than by metaphysical
arguments! they compose an internal part of the essence of our soul; and
we ought to consider them, in some measure, as a sally of the
incomprehensible formation, whose mysteries we cannot penetrate. Such a
doctrine, which came to us from a divine hand, is more deserving of
confidence than the interpretations of men. There are secrets which
philosophers try in vain to explain, all their efforts are useless to
represent by comparison, that which is alone and without resemblance.
One would think, that nature, guessing the false reasoning which would
mislead us, has purposely bestowed an inward conviction of the existence
of our free will, in composing our natural life of two movements very
distinct: one depends on a necessity, whose laws we are not acquainted
with, and do not govern; whilst the other is entirely submitted to the
government of our reason. Such a comparison would be sufficient to
convince us, if we sought merely for the truth.
When Spinosa desired to throw contempt on our instinctive perceptions,
he said, it is the same as if a weather-cock, at the very moment it was
the plaything of the winds, believed itself to be the cause, and
consequently that it had free will. What signifies such an argument,
unless it is to prove, that it is possible to suppose a fiction so
perfect, that it would apparently be equivalent to a reality? But I
would ask, by what foolish design of an intelligent being, or even by
what fortuitous assemblage of blind nature, is it that man should have
every moment a will precisely conformable to his actions, if there is
not a real correspondence between every part?
We could oppose to the hypothesis of Spinosa another argument, which
would lead to a conclusion absolutely contrary; that is, if the most
apparent liberty may be only a fiction, by a particular concurrence of
our will with an action ordained; it is also incontestible, that were we
to suppose the existence, or simple possibility of a free-will, we could
not have a different idea of it, than that which we have already; and
the liberty of God himself would not appear to our thoughts under any
other form. It is very essential to remark, that when we reflect about
our faculties, we with ease imagine a superior degree of intelligence,
of knowledge, of memory, of foresight, and of every other property of
our understanding; liberty is the only part of ourselves to which our
imagination cannot add any thing.
I shall not pursue other subtle arguments, which have been produced, to
corroborate my opinion; it is not to some men, but to all, that I desire
to speak, because I wish to be universally useful: I shall then always
dwell on the principal reflections, whenever they appear to me
sufficient to influence the opinion of sound minds, and to fix them on
those important truths which are the surest foundation of public
happiness. Self-love might induce many to follow a question as far as it
would go, and vainly glory in spinning it out; but self-love, applied to
profound meditations, is itself a great subtilty.
Let us examine other arguments used to combat principles which we have
established. It is in vain, some will say, to endeavour to prove the
existence of a God, as a real support of the laws of morality; all this
system will fall to pieces, if we are not informed, at the same time, in
what manner this God rewards and punishes.
I shall observe, at first, that such an objection cannot make a very
deep impression, but when it is connected in our minds with some doubt
of the existence of a Supreme Being: a question that I shall not yet
treat; for supposing an internal conviction of this last truth,
supposing, in all its force, the idea of a God present to our thoughts;
I ask, whether in order to please Him, we should not have need of
knowing precisely the period when we could perceive distinct signs of
his approbation and beneficence? I ask, again, whether, to avoid
incurring His displeasure, it would be equally necessary for us to know
how, and in what manner, He would punish us? Undoubtedly not: for in
taking a comprehensive view of the rewards and punishments which may
proceed from a Supreme Being, struck with His grandeur, and astonished
by His power, the vague idea of infinity would obtrude; and this idea,
so awful, would suffice to govern our sentiments, and fix our principles
of conduct. We should be careful not to propose conditions to Him who
has drawn us out of nothing, and we should wait with respect for the
moment, when, in His profound wisdom, He may think proper to make us
better acquainted with His attributes. Men may say to each other, secure
my wages, I want them on such a day, I demand them on such an hour; they
barter things of equal value, and during a short space of time; but in
the intercourse of man with the Deity, what a difference!—The creature
and the Creator—the child of dust and the source of life—a fleeting
moment and eternity—an imperceptible atom and the Infinite Being!—our
understanding is struck by the contrast! How then should we adapt to
such disproportions the rules and notions which we have introduced into
our trivial transactions? You require that in order to feel the desire
of pleasing the Supreme Being, He should every moment bestow gifts on
those, who, by their sentiments and actions, appear worthy of his
goodness; and, to inspire the fear of offending Him, you wish that,
without delay, He would let His vengeance crush the wicked. Certainly
you would be scrupulous observers of His will on such conditions, for
less stable hopes and fears detain you servilely near a monarch; and I
may venture to say, that you would be equally attentive to the Ruler of
the World, if, in order to reward or punish you, he was to alter the
laws of nature.
But do we not, you may add, see that God does not interfere in any
manner to direct things here below: you do not perceive Him; but do you
more clearly discover the power which gives life and motion? It is not
because He does not exist, but because He is above the flight of your
mind. We do not know what to say to a man who rejects the opinion of the
existence of a God; for without that guide all our ideas are wandering,
and have not any other connexion but that of the wildest imagination;
but if you grant that the world had an origin, if you suppose a God,
creator and preserver, what arguments would you use to induce us to
believe that this God has no relation to us; that He does not take any
notice of us, and that He is thus separated from the offspring of His
intelligence and love? You add, vice is every where triumphant, an
honest man often languishes in despondency and obscurity; and you cannot
reconcile this injustice with the idea of a Divine Providence! One may
at first deny the assertion which forms the basis of this reproach, or
dispute at least the consequences that are drawn from it: these ideas of
triumph and abasement, of splendour and obscurity, are sometimes very
foreign to the internal sentiments, which only constitute happiness and
misery; and for my part, I am persuaded, that if we take for a rule of
comparison, not some particular situation, or some, scattered events,
but the whole of life, and the generality of men; we shall then find,
that the most constant satisfactions attend those minds which are filled
with a mild piety, firm and rational, such as the pure idea of the Deity
ought to inspire; and I am equally persuaded, that virtue, united to
this piety, which knows how to soften every sacrifice, is the safest
guide in the path of life. Perhaps, ignorant as we are of our nature and
destination, it is not our interest that uninterrupted rewards should
excite us to virtue; for if this virtue were our title and hope with God
for the present, and the time to come, we ought not to desire that it
should degenerate into an evident calculation, into a sentiment
bordering on selfishness. It would then be very difficult to give a
proper definition of liberty, if, by the effect of rapid justice, a
constant proportion of good and evil, accompanied every determination of
our mind; we should then, morally as well as physically, be impelled by
an imperious instinct, and the merit of our actions would be absolutely
destroyed.
I mean by all this to ask, what would be our merit or demerit, if our
life is only for an instant, and if nothing is to follow? The persuasion
of the existence of a God, without a certainty of the immortality of our
soul, cannot impose any obligation; but the real connexion between these
two ideas is too frequently overlooked.
Undoubtedly, left to our understanding, this word certainty is not made
for us, or at least it is not applicable to our relation with the Deity,
and to the judgment we form of his designs and will. We are too far
removed from the High and lofty One, who inhabiteth eternity, to pretend
to measure His thoughts by our bounded views. They are covered with a
veil, and we always obscurely discern that which is hid in the depths of
His wisdom: but the more this God, whom we adore, escapes by His
immensity from our conceptions, the less have we a right to limit His
perfections, in order to refuse Him the power of transporting our
existence beyond the narrow circle submitted to our view; and I know not
how it would be possible to persuade us, that this action of the Deity
would surpass in grandeur the creation of the world, or the formation of
animated beings: the habit of observing a great wonder may weaken our
astonishment, but should not eradicate our admiration.
We cannot reach, but by reflection, to those events of which the future
is still the depository; but if every thing which surrounds us attests
the grandeur of the Supreme Being; if the mind, in its meditations,
without terror, approaches the confines of infinity, why mistrust that
he can perform in favour of men, a magnificent union of Omnipotence and
perfect goodness? Why reject, as an absurd confidence, the idea of
another existence? We see, without astonishment, the feeble chrysalis
force its way from the tomb it wove for itself, and appear under a new
form. We cannot be anticipated witnesses of the perpetuity of our
intelligence; but its vast extent would appear to us, were we not
familiarized with it, a greater phœnomenon than duration.
In short, why do I resist an idea of a continuation of existence, since
I am forced to give credit to my birth? There is a greater distance from
nothing to life, than from life to its sequel, or renewal under a new
form: I am clearly acquainted with the commencement of existence, I know
death only by conjecture. We now enjoy the light and blessings brought
to us by a beneficent heavenly Teacher; could it be, that he alone would
be a stranger to his own glory and virtues? I cannot say, why this
contrast makes an impression on me; but it is among the number of
superficial ideas which occur to my mind, when I reflect on this
subject.
A comforting thought still strikes me, the natural order of the universe
appears to me a finished system: we perceive a perfect regularity
between the revolution of the heavenly bodies, an invariable succession
in vegetable life, an almost incredible precision in that immense
quantity of volatile particles submitted to the laws of affinity; and
think every thing in its right place, and that all fulfil exactly their
destination in the grand and complete system of nature.
But if we turn afterwards our attention on the multitude of beings
inferior to men, we shall discover also, that their action is as
complete and conformable in every respect to the faculties they are
endowed with, since they are governed by an imperious instinct. Full of
these ideas, struck with astonishment at the appearance of an harmony so
general, have we not just grounds to presume, that man, transported into
infinite space by his intelligence; that man, susceptible of
improvement, and continually combatting obstacles; that man, in short,
this most noble work of nature, only commences in this sublunary world
his race? And, since all which composes the material order of the
universe appears to us in an harmony so admirable, ought we not then to
conclude, that the moral order in which we perceive some things vague
and not determinate; that the moral order is connected with another life
more sublime and more astonishing than the other parts of creation, and
will one day be ultimately developed? This singular disproportion
between the harmony of the physical and apparent confusion of the moral
world, seems to announce a time of equilibrium and completion; a time
when we shall all know its relation with the wisdom of the Creator, as
we already perceive the wisdom of His designs, in the perfect agreement
of the innumerable blessings on sature with the present wants of man,
and every other animated creature.
The grandeur of the human mind is indeed a vast subject of reflection;
this marvellous constitution seems to remind us perpetually of a design
proportioned to such a noble conception; it seems almost unnecessary
that God should have endowed the soul with such noble faculties for such
a short life as ours, to fulfil its limited plans and trivial pursuits:
thus every thing authorizes us to carry our views further; were I to see
such men as Columbus, Vesputius, Vasco de Gama, in a ship, I should not
suppose that they were mere coasters.
Some try to destroy our hopes, by endeavouring to prove, that the soul
is material, and that it ought to be assimilated to every thing which
perishes before us; but the forms only change, the vivifying force does
not perish; perhaps the soul resembles it, but with this difference,
that as it is composed of memory, reflection, and foresight, it exists
only by a series of consequences, which forms the distinct attributes
and particular character of its essence: it follows then, that it cannot
be generalized like the blind force which animates in a universal manner
vegetation; but that every soul is in some measure a world to itself,
and that it ought to preserve separately an identity of interest, and
consciousness of preceding thoughts. Thus, in this system, the corporeal
body, which distinguishes us to the eyes of others, is only the
transitory habitation of that soul which is not to die; of that soul
susceptible of continual improvement, and which, by degrees we can have
no idea of, will probably approach insensibly to that magnificent
period, when it will be thought worthy of knowing more intimately the
Author of Nature.
How can we conceive the action of the soul on our senses, without a
point of contact? and how conceive that contact, without the idea of
matter? For it is only by experience we are acquainted with the
necessity of it to occasion a motion; and without that previous
knowledge, the rapidity with which one body sometimes strikes another,
could only have been represented by the length of time necessary for its
approach to it: however, if we had not any metaphysical knowledge of the
cause of motion, and if experience only guided our judgment in this
respect, why resist an idea that there is within us a faculty which acts
of itself? the intimate feeling which we have of it, is certainly an
argument for its existence. We cannot, besides, maintain, that a like
property may be opposite to the nature of things; since if we adopt the
system of the creation of the world, this property may proceed, like all
others, from the Divine Power; and if we admit, on the contrary, the
irreligious opinion of the eternity of the universe, there must have
been from eternity a general movement without impulsion, without
exterior contact, or any cause out of itself; and the action of our
souls might be subject to the same laws.
The idea of the necessity of a contact, to effect a movement, would
never have occurred, if we had bounded our observations to the influence
of our ideas on our determinations, and the influence of those
determinations on our physical being. In short, the laws of attraction
and repulsion are subject to great exceptions; which exceptions may
serve to support the system of the spirituality of the soul. We may be
allowed to say, that there exists a vacuum in the universe, since,
without this vacuum, there could not have been any motion? It is known
that this motion depends on the laws of attraction but how can
attraction act through a vacuum, unless it is by a spiritual force,
which acts without contact, and notwithstanding the absolute
interruption of matter? It is then this force, or its equivalent, that I
may adopt to define the cause of the impressions of which our souls are
susceptible.
Let others explain, in their turn, by what material communication, the
sight of a few immoveable characters, traced on insensible marble,
disturbs my soul. It is very easy to comprehend by what mechanism the
eye distinguishes these characters; but there ends the physical action,
for we cannot attribute to that action, the general power of producing
sensations in the mind, since, perhaps, many other men may consider the
same characters, without receiving any impression.
It is very possible, that our intellectual preceptions have not any
connection with motion, such as we conceive it. Our interior nature,
which we distinguish by the name of immaterial, is probably subject to
laws very different from those which govern nature in general; but as we
are obliged to apply to the mysteries of our souls, those expressions
which serve to delineate or to interpret the phœnomena submitted to our
inspection; these expressions, and their continual use, have insensibly
habituated us to certain opinions, about the causes and developement of
our intellectual faculties. It is thus that, after having used the words
motion, rest, agitation, and action, to discriminate different
affections of our souls, of which we know very little, we have
afterwards assimilated them, foolishly, to our moral nature, to all the
ideas which were represented by these denominations; and even death
itself, of which we have not any clear knowledge, but by the dissolution
of our physical being; death, an image borrowed from things which are
under the inspection of our senses, has not, perhaps, either relation or
analogy with the nature and essence of our spirit; all these are
incomprehensible secrets, not mixt with any thing we are acquainted
with.
We act, in this respect, like men born deaf, who apply to sounds those
terms which they were accustomed to use, to express the sensations the
other senses produced.
I shall only add another observation to the ideas on which I have just
dwelt: perhaps we should never have thought of applying the words which
express action and motion, to all the operations of our souls, if we had
not at first divided our spiritual being into a great number of
dependencies, such as attention, reflection, thought, judgment,
imagination, memory, and foresight; and if afterwards, in order to
render intelligible the variable relations of these abstract parts of
our mind (these parts of a unit which we have taken to pieces, though it
composed that single being ourself) we had not been obliged to have
recourse to some plain expressions, like those of action, motion,
attraction, and repulsion; but this familiar use of these expressions,
in order to explain the accidents of our intellectual system, very much
resembles the use which we make of X in Algebra, to express unknown
terms.
In short, were we to submit the action of our souls to the laws of a
particular movement, forming one of the dependencies of the great one,
we should still have to explain the cause of the consciousness that we
have of this action, which Atheists refuse to nature itself, at the very
moment they make it the God of the Universe. Were reasoning able to
subject all the operations of our mind to the impressions of external
objects, we could not rank under the same laws, that consciousness which
we have of our existence, and of the different faculties of the soul.
This consciousness is not an effect, or the production of any known
force, since it has been always in us independent of any external
object, consequently we cannot investigate it. The conception of the
existence of our souls, is as incomprehensible to us as that of
eternity; what a profound thought, which even our imagination cannot
embrace!
Let us admit, however, for a moment, that all the operations of our
souls are determined by some impulsion, whatever it may be, we shall
still be struck with the absolute difference which exists, according to
our knowledge between the regular movements of matter, and the almost
infinite and unaccountable emotions of our hearts and minds; so variable
and so differently modified, that the attention is lost in the
examination of them. And after having vainly endeavoured to conceive the
union established between our thoughts and exterior objects, we have
still to form an idea of the actions of these thoughts on themselves,
their progression and connection; our mind led astray, lost in such a
meditation, leaves us only a consciousness of our weakness, and we feel,
that there is an intellectual altitude which the human faculties can
never reach.
We distinguish, in a single character which our judgment can decypher,
an absolute difference between soul and matter: we cannot avoid
representing the latter as infinitely divisible, whilst, on the
contrary, all the efforts of our imagination could never divide that
indivisible unit which composes the soul, and which is the sovereign
over our will, thoughts, and all our faculties[5].
But if we examine again, under another appearance, the properties of
matter, we know not how to assimilate to them the emotions of our soul;
for we distinctly feel those emotions, let their number be ever so
numerous, when even they act together and terminate in the same center,
which is that Indivisible Being before alluded to; whereas matter, by an
essential property, cannot, in the same instant be pressed or struck in
several manners, unless it is in parts which have a tendency to
different centres.
There is not then any resemblance between the impressions that our souls
receive, and the various effects which may be attributed to the action
of all the material substances of which we can form any conception: they
are always connected with the idea of space and extent; but that centre,
where all our perceptions meet, that Judge, who dictates laws in the
internal empire, whose revolutions we only know, that last Director of
our will, this Indivisible Being, at the same time our friend and
master, is not to be found in any compounded idea; and this unity so
simple, ought necessarily to convince us, that nothing which is
submitted to the dominion of our senses, can serve as a type of the idea
which we are to form of the soul.
We discover the traces of this truth, when we fix our attention on the
comparisons with which our spiritual unit, our identical self, is
continually occupied: we imagine it seated on a throne, listening, and
examining the various reasons which ought to determine its action; we
see it, like Nero, yielding sometimes to Narcissus, and sometimes to
Burrhus; but at the same time we distinctly perceive all the
counsellors, all the flatterers, all the enemies which surround it; we
never remark but a single master in the midst of the tumult and the
intrigues of this court.
Whilst our soul then is thrown into motion by contemplation, and by the
imperceptible modification of a fugitive idea, as well as by every thing
which is opposed to material action, why should we not suppose that it
is purely intelligent and spiritual? It must be confessed, that
sometimes our corporeal infirmities influence our minds; but this
relation is not a proof of identity, since our body may be an instrument
entrusted to our soul, one of the organs which it is to make a
transitory use of. The continuity of existence, considered abstractedly,
certainly is in the universe a simple and natural state; and the
temporary existence is perhaps the only one which is heterogeneous and
accidental; the soul seems too noble to be assimilated to the latter
state, it may exist in a different manner when joined to a material
substance, but that connection does not make it lose its original
essence.
It is to be acknowledged, that it is through the medium of our senses we
know all the force of our existence; and that they are those parts of
our mixt being which strike us most during a little while; and it is
perhaps by a law of the same kind that we see men, engrossed by a great
passion, entirely strangers to every other moral affection; but, why
should it be contrary to the nature of things, that the soul, once
stripped of its terrestrial cloathing, should be acquainted with the
nature of its existence, and at the same time perceive those truths
which now are obscured by clouds. An innate fire languishes a long time
unknown in a rough stone, that stone is struck, and we see issue out a
splendid light; this is perhaps a faint picture of the state in which
our soul is when death breaks its fetters.
In short, in a matter so obscure every supposition is admissable, which
assures us that the soul is not on earth in a state of enchantment, or
in a kind of interruption of its ordinary existence. All that we see of
the universe is an assemblage of incomprehensible phœnomena; and when we
wish to discover the conclusion, through the aid of the ideas most on a
level with our intelligence, we wander perhaps from truth; since,
according to appearances, it is in the depths of infinity that it
reposes.
I doubt, whether we can allow the authority of those metaphysical
arguments which are made use of to defend the spirituality of the soul
to be decisive; but they are sufficient to repulse the different attacks
of materialists. The most evident opinion to me is, that we are too weak
to comprehend the secret we search for. We have, according to our petty
knowledge, divided the universe into two parts, spirit and matter; but
this division serves only to distinguish the little we know from that
which we have no knowledge of; there is perhaps an infinite gradation
between the different properties which compose motion and life, instinct
and intelligence; we can only express the ideas conceived by our
understandings, and the general words which we make use of, serve only
to detect the vain ambition of our mind; but with respect to the
universe, in considering its immensity, we shall find, that there is
sufficient space for all the shades and modifications we have no idea
of. We confess, that it is the connection between our physical powers
and intellectual faculties, and the action that they seem to have on
each other, which nourishes our doubts and anxieties; but without this
relation, without the appearance of our fall, all would be distinct in
the fate of man, all would be manifest. It is then, because that there
is a shade in the midst of the picture, which continually catches our
attention, that we have need to collect the light of the mind and the
feelings, in order to see in perspective our destiny; and it is from
this motive that we find it necessary, above all, to be penetrated with
the idea of a God, and to search for, in his power and goodness, the
last explication which we want.
There is, in the judgments of men, a contrast which I have often been
struck with. Those people, who, at the sight of the immensity of the
universe, at the view of the wonders in the midst of which they are
placed, fear not to attribute to our intellectual faculties the power of
interpreting and understanding every thing, and even the capacity of
attaining almost to the hidden secrets of our nature; these same people
are nevertheless most eager to strip the soul of its true dignity, and
the most obstinate in refusing it spirituality and duration, and every
thing else which can exalt it.
But happily, these refusals or concessions fix not our fate: the nature
of the soul will always be as unknown as the essence of the Supreme
Being; and it is one of the proofs of its grandeur, to be wrapped up in
the same mysteries which hide from us the universal spirit. But there
are simple ideas and sentiments, which seem to bring along with them
more comfort and hope than metaphysical arguments.
We cannot profoundly meditate on the marvellous attributes of thought;
we cannot attentively contemplate the vast empire which has been
submitted to it, or reflect on the faculty with which it is endowed, of
fixing the past, approaching the future, and bringing into a small
compass the expanded views of nature, and of containing, if I may use
the phrase, in one point the infinity of space, and the immensity of
time; we cannot consider such a wonder, without continually uniting a
sentiment of admiration to the idea of an end worthy of such a grand
conception, worthy of Him whose wisdom we adore. Shall we, however, be
able to discover this end, in the passing breath, in the fleeting
moments which compose life? Shall we be able to discover it in a
succession of phantoms, which seem destined only to trace the progress
of time? Shall we, above all, perceive it in this general system of
destruction? and ought we to annihilate in the same manner the
insensible plant, which perishes without having known life; and the
intelligent man, who every day explores the charms of existence? Let us
not thus degrade our fate and nature; and let us judge and hope better
of that which is unknown. Life, which is a means of improvement, should
not lead to an eternal death; the mind, that prolific source of
knowledge, should not be lost in the dark shades of forgetfulness;
sensibility and all its mild and pure emotions, which so tenderly unite
us to others, and enliven our days, ought not to be dissipated as if it
were the vapour of a dream; conscience, that severe judge was not
intended to deceive us; and piety and virtue are not vainly to elevate
our views towards that model of affection, the object of our love and
adoration. The Supreme Being, to whom all times belong, seems already to
have sealed our union with futurity by endowing us with foresight, and
placing in the recesses of our heart the passionate desire of a longer
duration, and the confused sentiment which it gives of obtaining it.
There are some relations still obscure, some connections between our
moral nature and futurity; and perhaps our wishes, our hopes, are a
sixth sense, a faint sense, if I may be allowed to express myself so, of
which we shall one day experience the satisfaction. Sometimes also I
imagine, that love, the most noble ornament of our nature, love, sublime
enchantment, is a mysterious pledge of the truth of these hopes; for in
disengaging us from ourselves, transporting us beyond the limits of our
being, it seems the first step towards an immortal nature; and in
presenting to us the idea, in offering to us the example of an existence
out of ourselves, it seems to interpret by our feelings that which our
minds cannot comprehend.
In short, and this reflection is the most awful of all, when I see the
mind of man grasp at the knowledge of a God; when I see him, at least,
draw near to such a grand idea; such a sublime degree of elevation
prepares me, in some manner, for the high destiny of the soul; I search
for a proportion between this immense thought and all the interests of
the world, and I discover none; I search for a proportion between these
boundless meditations and the narrow picture of life, and I perceive
none: there is then, I doubt not, some magnificent secret beyond all
that we can discern; some astonishing wonder behind this curtain still
unfurled; on all sides we discover the commencement of it. How imagine,
how resolve the thought, that all which affects and animates us, all
which guides and captivates us, is a series of enchantments, an
assemblage of illusions? The universe and its majestic pomp would then
have been only destined to serve as the theater of a vain
representation; and such a grand idea, so magnificent a conception would
have had for an object a mere dazzling chimera. What would then have
signified that mixture of real beauties and false appearances? What had
signified that concourse of phantoms, which, without design or end,
would be less admirable than a ray of light, destined to enlighten our
abode? In short, what had signified in men that union of sublime
thoughts and deceitful hopes? Guard us from giving credit to such a
supposition! Is it to Him then, whose power has not any limits, that we
dare to attribute the artifices of weakness? Should we have seen every
where order, design, and exactness, as far as our understanding can
reach, and as soon as we are arrived at the utmost boundary of our
faculties, should we stop the views of the Supreme Intelligence, and
imagine that all is finished, because futurity is unknown? Alas! we
endure but a moment, and we presume to know the past and the future! But
grant us only the idea of a God; do not deprive us of our confidence in
Him; it is in relying on that grand truth, that we shall be able to
guard our hopes against all the metaphysical arguments which we are not
immediately prepared to answer.
Would you object, that hope is not sufficient to determine men to the
observance of morality, and to subject them to the sacrifices which the
practice of virtue seems to impose? What then attracts them, in all the
bustle of life, unless it is hope; what is it that renders them greedy
of honour and of fortune, unless it is expectation? And when they obtain
the object of their wishes, they have frequently only the imaginary
advantages hope created. Why then would you ask for a demonstrated
certainty, in order to devote yourself to all the researches which the
human mind can conceive to be the most grand, the most worthy of an
ardent pursuit? On the contrary, the most trifling degree of expectation
should become a motive of encouragement. And what is it, of all our
interests, which could be put in competition with the most fugitive
idea, with the slightest hope of pleasing the Master of the World, and
maintaining the intercourse which seems to be indicated by our natural
sentiments, and by the first perceptions of our minds?
I would wish to go still further, and I would demand, not of all men,
but of some at least, if, were even this life to be their only heritage,
they would think themselves freed from the desire of pleasing the
Sovereign Author of Nature. The moment that is given us to know and
admire Him, would it not still be a blessing? We celebrate the memory of
those princes who have done good to men; are we not to do the same with
Him to whom we are indebted for our existence; to Him who has contrived,
if I may be allowed to say so, the various enjoyments we are so
unwilling to detach ourselves from? Shall we dare, weak and ignorant as
we are, to measure the wisdom, and calculate the power of our
Benefactor, and rashly reproach him for not having done more for us?
This would be the language of ingratitude. But, as I have shown, our
sentiments have not been put to this test; and it is on more liberal
terms that we have been admitted to treat with the Supreme Being: He has
surrounded us with every thing that can encourage our expectations; He
allows us, by contemplation, to attain almost a knowledge of his
perfections; He lets us read them in that collection of glory and
magnificence which the universe displays; He permits us to perceive his
power and goodness, infinity and happiness; and by that succession of
ideas he has guided our wishes and our hopes. How grand is the
contemplation of the Eternal, they who have sensibility can tell! But
this idea should be very early implanted in the human heart, it is
necessary that it should be connected with our first feelings, that it
should rise by degrees, in order to gain strength before men are thrown
into the midst of that world which boasts of being freed from childish
prejudices; left, hurried along by its levity, they follow every day a
new master, and render themselves the slaves of pleasure and vanity.
And that which is to maintain, amongst men, the principles first
inculcated, is public worship, an idea as beautiful as simple, and the
most proper to vivify all that is vague and abstract in reasoning and
instruction: public worship, in assembling men, and in turning them
without public shame to their weaknesses, and in equalising every
individual before the Master of the world, will be, in this point of
view a grand lesson of morality; but this worship, besides, habitually
reminds some of their duty, and is for others a constant source of
consolation; in short, almost all men, astonished and overwhelmed by the
ideas of grandeur and infinity, which the appearance of the universe,
and the exercise of their own thoughts, present to them, aspire to find
repose in the sentiment of adoration which unites them in a more
intimate manner to God, than the developement of their reason ever will.
We should guard ourselves carefully from despising the emotions of
piety, which cannot be separated from its advantages; and philosophers
themselves know not how far they would go, when they try to reduce the
interests of men to the narrow circle of demonstrated truths: that which
we perceive confusedly, is more precious than all we have a certain
knowledge of; that which we anticipate, is of more value than the
blessings scattered round us. Thus, we should be miserably impoverished,
if they could retrench from the various comforts which we shall never
possess, but through the aid of the imagination. However, if we take
this imagination as a guide and encouragement, when we are engaged in
the pursuits of fortune and ambition, and if the wise themselves find
that to be good which serves to nourish our passions, why would you
reject it, when, simply more grand and more sublime in its object, it
becomes the support of our weaknesses, the safeguard of our principles,
and the source of our most interesting consolations?
It is the part of legislators to study these truths, and to direct
towards them the spirit of laws, and the uncertain course of opinions.
How honourable is it for them to be called to form the august alliance
which is to unite happiness with morality, and morality with the
existence of a God!
CHAP. XII.
_That there is a God._
That there is a God! How is it possible to avoid being penetrated with
an awful respect in uttering these words? How reflect on them without
the deepest humility, and even an emotion of surprise, that man, this
weak creature, this atom dispersed in the immensity of space, undertakes
to add some weight to a truth, of which all nature is the splendid
witness? However, if this truth is our supreme good, if we are nothing
without it, how can we banish it from our minds? Does it not constrain
us to dwell continually on the subject? Compared with it, all other
thoughts are insignificant and uninteresting; it gives birth to, and
sustains all the sentiments on which the happiness of an intelligent
creature depends. I confess I tremblingly discussed the different
objections which are employed to destroy our confidence in the existence
of a Supreme Being; I dreaded the melancholy which those arguments
produced; I was afraid to feel the impression of it myself, and thus to
hazard the opinion most dear to my heart, and most essential to my
happiness; it appeared to me, that a few general ideas, supported by
lively feelings, would have been sufficient for my tranquillity; and
without an interest more extended, without the desire of opposing,
according to my powers, a spirit of indifference and false philosophy,
which is every day gaining ground, I should never have stepped beyond my
circle. But, I am far from regretting the part I have taken: I have ran
over, without much trouble, those books where the most pernicious
doctrines are ingeniously disseminated; and have thought that a person,
endowed with common sense, on whom metaphysical subtleties were
obtruded, would resemble those savages who are brought sometimes amongst
us, and who, from the depraved refinement of our morals and manners,
have often recalled us, by some natural reflections, to those simple
principles which we have abandoned, to those ancient truths whose
vestiges are lost.
The whole structure of religion would be overturned, if, by the strength
or artifices of reasoning, men could destroy our confidence in the
existence of a Supreme Being: morality, being detached from the opinions
which sustain it, would remain a wavering, unsupported notion, only
defended by a policy, whose power time would insensibly weaken. A fatal
languor invading every mind, where would be that universal interest,
that sentiment felt by all men, and proper to form a general alliance
between them? Then those, who, with pure intentions, can only be guided
and sustained by an intimate persuasion, would retire sad, and leave to
others the care of supporting moral order by fictions and falsehoods;
they would pity that dismayed race, called to appear and pass away like
flowers, which bloom but for a day; they would despise those animated
phantoms which only come to make a buz with their vanity and trivial
passions, and fall in a little while into eternal oblivion. All that
appears beautiful in the universe, and excites our enthusiasm, would
soon lose its splendour and enchantment, if we perceived nothing in this
brilliant scene but the play of some atoms, and the uniform walk of
blind necessity; for it is always because a thing may be otherwise, that
it acquires a claim to our admiration: in short, that soul, that spirit,
which vivifies man, that faculty of thought which surprises and
confounds those who reflect, would only appear a vain movement, if
nothing was before, or was to follow, if some unknown breath, or general
intelligence, did not animate nature. But we have dwelt too long on
those gloomy thoughts; reassume your light and life, admirable works of
God; come and confound the pride of some, and comfort others; come and
take possession of our souls, and direct our affections towards Him whom
we ought to love, towards Him who is the eternal model of perfect
wisdom, and unlimitted goodness!
I shall not endeavour to prove that there is a God, by reciting all the
wonders the works of nature display to our eyes; several celebrated
writers have already done it, and have missed their aim. Infinity can
only be represented by astonishment and respect, which overwhelms all
our thoughts: and when we labour to explain the successive and varied
picture of the wonders of nature, this change of objects is more
calculated to relax our admiration than to increase it; for any change
eases our mind, by affording those relaxations which our weakness has
need of; and if we were to investigate only one phœnomenon, we should
soon discover the utmost extent of our faculties. We find the limits of
our understanding in the examination of the organization of the smallest
insect, as well as in observing the faculties of the soul; and the
mysteries of the simplest vegetation is as far above the reach of our
intelligence, as the principal agent of the universe.
It is then as a hymn of praise to the Supreme Being, and not as
necessary instruction that I freely follow the course of my thoughts. I
shall begin by throwing a rapid glance on the principal characters of
wisdom and grandeur, which we are all equally struck with, when we
contemplate the wonder of the universe.
What a sight is that of the world! What a magnificent picture for those
who can be roused out of the state of indifference, in which habit has
thrown them. We know not where to begin, or stop, when we expatiate on
so many wonders; and the most noble of all is, the faculty which has
been bestowed on us of admiring and conceiving them. What an astonishing
and sublime relation is that of the innumerable beauties of nature, with
the intelligence which permits us to enjoy, and to be made happy by
them! What relation so surprising, as that of the order and harmony of
the universe, with the moral intelligence which enables us to anticipate
the enjoyments of wisdom and unclouded knowledge! Nature is immense, and
all that it contains, all that it spreads with so much splendour, seems
within the reach of our sensibility, or the powers of our mind; and
these faculties, invisible and incomprehensible, unite to form, that
wonder of wonders, which we call felicity. Let not these plain words
turn our attention from the magical ideas which they represent. It is
because the grand phœnomena of our existence cannot either be defined or
expressed many ways, that they are so much more wonderful; and those
words, used by common consent, soul, mind, sensation, life, happiness,
and many others besides, which we pronounce so slightly, confound not
less our understanding, when we wish to discuss the essence of the
properties of which they are the sign. It is for this reason, among
several others, that the admiration of particulars, in the works of
nature, is always insufficient for those who have sensibility, as such
admiration is necessarily placed between two ideas susceptible of being
known; ideas which we connect through the aid of our own knowledge; but
the charm of our relation with the wonders which surround us, arises
from experiencing every instant the impression of an infinite grandeur;
and feeling the necessity of flying to that mild refuge of ignorance and
weakness, the sublime idea of a God. We are continually carried towards
this idea by the vain efforts which we make, in order to penetrate the
secrets of our own nature; and when I fix my attention on those
astonishing mysteries, which seem to terminate, in some manner, the
power of our thoughts, I represent them with emotion, as the only
barrier which separates us from the infinite spirit, the source of all
knowledge.
Men endowed with the greatest genius, perceive quickly the bounds of
their faculties when they wish to go very far in the study of abstract
metaphysical truths; but the simplest and least exercised mind, can
distinguish the proofs of that order, which announces with so much
splendour the end and design of sovereign wisdom. It seems, that all the
knowledge proper to interest men has been placed within their reach. The
learned astronomer, observing the course of our globe round the sun,
perceives the cause of that regular succession of repose and vegetation,
which secures the earth its fecundity, and adorns every season with
renewed beauties; but the simple cultivator, who sees the treasurers of
the earth renovated every year, and answer, with singular precision, to
the wants of animated beings, is not less a witness of a phœnomenon
which is sufficient to excite his admiration and gratitude! Newton
analyzed light, and calculated the swiftness with which it runs over the
immensity of space; but the ignorant herdsman, who sees, when he wakes,
his hut enlightened by the same rays which animate all nature, is
equally benefitted by them. The indefatigable anatomist attains a just
idea of our inimitable structure, and the ingenious texture of our
different organs; but the man most devoid of instruction, who reflects
an instant on the pleasures, and the variety of the sensations, which we
find ourselves susceptible of, partakes the blessing equally.
The transcendent knowledge of some people, is a degree of superiority
which disappears when contrasted with the incomprehensible grandeur of
nature; when we contemplate infinity, those talents which exalt one man
above another are no more seen; and probably it is beyond the limits of
our intelligence that the greatest wonders of nature begin. The
knowledge of all ages has not explained what is the imperious authority
of our will over our actions, nor how our thoughts could reach the most
remote ages, how our souls could investigate that innumerable multitude
of present objects, of recollections and anticipations; neither has it
informed us how all those excellencies of the mind, sometimes remain
unknown to itself, nor how they are sometimes at its command, issuing
out of their long obscurity, and succeeding each other with method, or
are profusely poured forth. At the sight of these astonishing phœnomena,
we think man presumptuous, when, puffed up with pride, he mistakes the
measure of his strength and wishes to penetrate into the secrets, whose
confines are shut by an invisible hand. He should be content to know,
that his existence is united to so many wonders; he should be satisfied
with being the principal object of the liberality of nature, and he
should adore with reverential respect that powerful Sovereign, who
bestows so many blessings on him, and who has made him to sympathize
with all the powers of heaven and earth.
The globe on which we live runs over every year a space of two hundred
millions of leagues; and in this immense course, its distance from the
sun, determined by immutable laws, is exactly proportioned to the degree
of the temperature necessary to our feeble nature, and to the successive
return of that precious vegetation, without which no animated being
could subsist.
That celestial body, which fertilizes the seeds of life shut up in the
bosom of the earth, is, at the same time, the source of that light which
opens to our view the glorious sight of the universe. The rays of the
sun run over in eight minutes about thirty millions of leagues: such an
impetuous motion would be sufficient to pulverize the largest masses of
matter; but, by an admirable combination, such is the incomprehensible
tenuity of these rays, that they strike the most tender of our organs,
not only without wounding it; but with a measure so delicate and
precise, that they excite in us those extatic sensations, which are the
origin and the indispensable condition of our greatest enjoyments.
Man, in immensity, is only an imperceptible point; and yet, by his
senses and intelligence, he seems in communication with the whole
universe; but how pleasant and peaceable is this communication! It is
almost that of a prince with his subjects: all is animated round man,
all relates to his desires and wants; the action of the elements, every
thing on earth, like the rays of light, seems to be proportioned to his
faculties and strength; and whilst the celestial bodies move with a
rapidity which terrifies our imagination, and whilst they hurry along in
their course our dwelling, we are tranquil in the bosom of an asylum,
and under the protecting shelter allotted us; we enjoy there in peace a
multitude of blessings, which, by another wonderful affinity, ally
themselves to our taste, and all the sentiments we are endowed with.
In short, and it is another favour, man is permitted to be, in some
things, the contriver of his own happiness, by his will and ingenuity;
he has embellished his habitation, and united several ornaments to the
simple beauties of nature; he has improved, by his care, the salutary
plants; and even in those which seemed the most dangerous he has
discovered some wholesome property, and carefully separated it from the
envenomed parts which surrounded it; he can soften metals, and make them
serve to augment his strength; he obliges the marble to obey him, and
assume what form he desires; he gives laws to the elements, or
circumscribes their empire; he stops the invasion of the sea; he
restrains the rivers in their natural bed, and sometimes obliges them to
take a different course, in order to spread their benign influence; he
erects a shelter against the fury of the winds, and by an ingenious
contrivance, makes use of that impetuous force, which he could not at
first dream of defending himself from; even the fire, whose terrible
action seems to presage destruction, he subjugates, and renders it, if I
may so express myself, the confident of his industry, and the companion
of his labours.
What a source of reflections is this dominion of the mind over the most
dreadful effects of the movement of blind matter. It seems as if the
Supreme Being, in submitting thus to the intelligence of men the most
powerful elements, chose to give us an anticipation of the empire which
His sovereign wisdom has over the universe.
However, it is in the influence of our spiritual faculties on
themselves, that we observe, above all, their admirable nature; we see,
with astonishment, the perfections which they acquire by their own
action. Intelligence, considered in a general manner, undoubtedly is a
great phœnomenon; but it is a still greater wonder, to see the thoughts
of a man reach, by the most ingenious means, the knowledge of others,
and form an alliance between the past and present productions of the
mind. It is by such an alliance that the sciences have been improved,
and that the mind of man has been acquainted with all its strength. The
mighty of the earth cannot break this association, nor subject to their
tyrannic divisions the noble heritage of knowledge; this gift, so
precious, preserves the stamp of a divine hand;—and no one has yet been
able to say it is mine.
The most noble use that has ever been made of the admirable union of so
many talents, and so much knowledge, was to demonstrate how every thing
in nature relates to the idea of a first cause; which forcibly announces
a design full of wisdom, and a beneficent intention; but now, unhappily,
these proofs of the existence of a God are not sufficient; imperious
philosophers have laboured to subvert every thing founded on the
connection and wonderful harmony of the system of nature; it is not
sufficient to oppose to these new opinions the mere authority of final
causes; they do not contest that there is a perfect conformity between
our desires and wants, between our senses and the bounties of nature;
they do not contest, from the cedar to the hyssop, from the insect to
man, that there is a beauty of proportion in the whole, which is to be
found equally in the relation that objects have with each other, as well
as in their different parts; but this admirable harmony, in which the
pious man, the man of feeling, perceives with delight the stamp of an
eternal intelligence; others less fortunate, undoubtedly, obstinately
present it to us as a fortuitous collision, as a play of atoms agitated
by a blind movement, or as nature itself, existing thus from all
eternity. What trouble they take to invent and defend these systems
destructive of our happiness and hopes! I prefer my feelings to all this
philosophy; but, to avoid an encounter would be to favour their
presumption, and give additional strength to their opinions.
Thus I shall treat the most important question that man can consider. I
shall endeavour first to show, that the different conjectures on the
origin of the world all centre in the single opinion of the eternal and
necessary existence of every thing which is; and I shall afterwards
compare the basis of that system with the reason of that happy and
simple belief which unites the idea of a Supreme Being with all we see
and know; in short, to the universe, the most unlimitted of our
conceptions.
CHAP. XIII.
_The same Subject continued._
When we see the authors of the different systems, concerning the
formation of the world, reject the idea of a God, under the pretext,
that this idea is foreign to the nature of our perceptions, should we
not have a right to expect some better substitute for it? But, far from
answering our expectations, they abandon themselves to all the
wanderings of the most fantastic imagination. In fact, whether we refer
the origin of the universe to the effect of hazard, the fortuitous
concourse of atoms, or whether we establish another hypothesis derived
from the same principle, it is necessary at least to suppose the eternal
existence of an innumerable multitude of little particles of matter,
placed without order in the immensity of space; and to suppose,
afterwards, that these atoms, disseminated to infinity, attracted each
other, and corresponded by the inherent properties of their nature; and
that there resulted, from their adhesion, not only organized, but
intelligent faculties; it is necessary, in short, to suppose, that all
those incomprehensible atoms have been settled with admirable order
through the effect of a blind motion, and by the result of some of the
possible chances in the infinity of accidental combinations. Indeed,
after so many suppositions without example or foundation, that of an
Intelligent Being, soul and director of the universe, had been more
analogous and more consonant with our knowledge.
Let us return to the hypothesis we have just mentioned. We shall then
recognize the trifling habit of the mind; it is accustomed to proceed
from simple to compound ideas, every time it meditates, invents, or
executes: thus, by an inverse method, the composers of systems have
thought, that, in order to connect the universe to its origin, it was
sufficient to detach, by the exercise of thinking, all its parts, and to
break and subdivide them afterwards to infinity; but whatever may be the
tenuity of these atoms, their existence, having organized and
intellectual properties, which we should be obliged to grant them, would
be a wonder almost equal to those phœnomena which surround us.
When we see a plant grow, embellished with different colours, we only
think of the period when its vegetation may be perceived by our senses;
but the seed of this plant, or if you like better, the organized atoms,
the first principle of this seed, would have offered also a grand
subject of admiration, if we had been endowed with the faculties
necessary to penetrate into the occult secrets of nature. But perhaps,
in transforming into an imperceptible powder all the parts of matter,
which have been collected to compose the world, we have only before our
eyes a fugitive vapour, to which even our imagination cannot reach; and
those who unfortunately love and defend this admiration, find besides,
in the system of divisible atoms, means to defer, according to their
fancy, the moment of their astonishment.
All these fantastic combinations serve only to lead us astray in our
researches; and I do not think it a matter of indifference to make a
general observation. The study of the first elements, of all the
sciences which we acquire, such as geometry, languages, civil
legislation, and several others, appear to us the simplest parts of our
instruction. It is not the same, when we seek to know the laws of the
physical world; for the works of nature never appear more simple than in
their compounded state; they are then, to our mind, that which harmony
is to the ear; it is the agreement of all parts which forms a union
perfectly proportioned to our intelligence. Thus, man, for example, that
wonderful alliance of so many different faculties, does not astonish our
understanding, but appears to us in one point of view, a simple idea;
but we are troubled, and, as it were, dismayed, when we try to analyze
him, or mount to the elements of his liberty, will, thought, and all the
other properties of his nature.
We only advance towards infinity, and consequently towards the most
profound darkness, when we destroy the world in order to divide it into
atoms, out of the midst of which we make it issue afresh, after having
rallied all we have dispersed.
Let us admit, for a moment, that there exists organized and intelligent
atoms, and that they are such, either by their nature, or by their
adhesion to other atoms. We are now, of all these scattered atoms, to
compose the universe, that master-piece of harmony, and perfect
assemblage of every beauty and variety, that inexhaustible source of
every sentiment of admiration; and in rejecting the idea of a God,
creator and preserver, we must have recourse to the power of chance,
that is to say, to the effects of an unknown continual motion, which,
without any rule, produces, in a limited time, all the combinations
imaginable; but, in order to effect an infinite variety of combinations,
it is not only necessary to admit a continual motion, but besides, to
suppose this continual motion changes its direction in all the parts of
space subject to its influence. The existence of such a change, and a
similar diversity in the laws of motion, is a new supposition which may
be ranked with the other wild ones.
However, after these chimerical systems have been granted, we are not
freed from the difficulties which the notion of the formation of the
world by a fortuitous concourse of atoms produces.
It is difficult to comprehend how particles of matter, agitated in every
manner, and susceptible, as has been supposed, of an infinity of
different adhesions, should not have formed such a mixture, such a
contexture, as would have rendered, the harmonious composition of the
universe in all its parts, impossible.
When we represent to ourselves, abstractedly, the unlimmitted number of
chances that may be attributed to a blind movement, the imagination,
unable to conceive, is left to guess how an infinite number of atoms,
endowed with a property of uniting themselves, under an infinite
diversity of movements, could compose the heavenly bodies; but, as long
before that period, when such an accidental throw would become probable;
these same atoms might have formed an innumerable multitude of partial
combinations; if one of these combinations had been incompatible with
the harmony and composition of a world, that world could not have been
formed.
The same considerations may be applied to animated beings: chance might
have produced men susceptible of life, and the transmission of it, long
before chance gave them all the faculties which they enjoy; and if they
had been formed with only four senses, they could not have acquired a
fifth; for the same reason that we do not see a new one spring up.
Besides, the chance which might have produced living beings, must have
always preceded the chance which afforded those beings every thing
necessary for their subsistence and preservation.
It may indeed be supposed, that atoms assembled in a manner incompatible
with the disposition of the universe, have been separated by the
continuation of the motion introduced into the immensity of space; but
this continual motion, sufficient to sever that which it has joined,
would it not have destroyed that harmony which has been the result of
one of the fortuitous chances to which the formation of the world has
been attributed?
Will some object, that all the parts of matter, once united in the
masses and proportions which constitute the heavenly bodies, have been
maintained by the impression of a predominant force at the same time
invariable? But how is it possible to reconcile the existence and
dominion of such a force with that continual motion, which was requisite
for the composition of the universe?
It may be also demonstrated, that the formation of worlds, by the
chances of a blind motion, and their regular continuity of existence,
are two propositions which disagree. Let us explain this idea. The play
of atoms, necessary in order to produce the unformed masses of the
heavenly bodies, being infinitely less complicated than that which is
necessary to produce them, inhabited as they are with intelligent
beings, must have happened long before the other. Thus, in the system of
the composition of the universe, by the fortuitous concourse of atoms,
it is necessary to suppose, that these atoms, after having been united
to form the heavenly bodies, have been severed, and united again, as
many times as was necessary, to produce a planet inhabited by
intelligent beings. Since beings thus endowed add nothing to the
stability of the world, since they do not contribute to the grand
coalition of all its parts; why the same blind motion which has united,
dissolved, and assembled so often every part of the earth, before it was
composed, such as it is; why does it not produce some alteration now? It
should again reduce to powder our world, or at least, let us perceive
the commencement of some new form.
It is not only to a world inhabited by intelligent beings, that the
arguments, just mentioned, may be applicable; for we perceive around us
an innumerable multitude of beauties and features of harmony, which were
not necessary to the preservation of our world, and which, according to
every rule of probability, would never have existed, unless we supposed,
that the earth has been formed, dissolved, and reproduced, an infinity
of times, before having been composed such as we see it; but then I
would ask, why there are no vestiges of those alterations, and why that
motion has stopped?
It would be possible, however, by the assistance of a new supposition,
to resolve the difficulty I have just mentioned; some may say, that the
union, and the successive dispersion of the universal atoms, are
executed in a space of time, so slow and insensible, that our
observations, and all those which we have from tradition, cannot inform
us whether there will not be a separation of all the parts of the
universe, by the same causes which have occasioned their adhesion.
It is obvious, that transporting us into infinity and admitting such a
series of arbitrary suppositions, they are not indeed exposed to any
rational attacks; but, making equally free with infinity, in order to
oppose nonsense to nonsense, why may I not be allowed to suppose, that
in the infinite combinations arising from perpetual motion, men have
been created, destroyed, and again called into being, with the same
faculties, remembrances, thoughts, relations, and circumstances; and why
each of us separated from our former existence, only by a sleep, whose
duration is imperceptible, should not be in our own eyes immortal
beings? Infinity permits the supposition of this absurd hypothesis, as
it authorises every flight of the imagination in which time is reckoned
for nothing. We see, however, how we risk running into error, when with
our limited faculties we wish to subject the incomprehensible idea of
infinity, and boldly adjust it to the combinations of finite beings.
Let us produce, however, another objection. It may be said, that our
planet is the result of chance; but is not this chance improbable, if we
suppose that there existed in the infinity of space, an infinite number
of other assembled atoms, equally produced by the first throw of the
dice, which represent all the possible forms, and imaginable
proportions? And I would also ask, by what laws, all these irregular
bodies, necessarily subject, by reason of their number and masses, to an
infinity of movements, have not disconcerted the planetary system
formed, at the same time as they were, by chance?
I ought to observe, above all, that the order which we are acquainted
with, is a proof of universal order; for, in immensity, where one part
is nothing compared with the whole, no part, without exception, could be
preserved, unless it was in equilibrium with every other.
Thus, whether _an infinite succession of chances_ be supposed, to which
the entire mass of atoms has been uniformly subject, or whether the
first general throw is thought sufficient, but divided _into an infinity
of different sections_, our reason opposes invincible difficulties to
the result which some want to draw from these various systems.
In short, we must observe, that in order to understand the accidental
formation of a world, such as we are at liberty to suppose, the eternal
existence of every kind of organized and intelligent atoms, must have
preceded the formation of that world. I must again observe, that when
they are obliged to such wonderful first principles, and to admit, in
the beginning, a nature so astonishing, we can scarcely conceive how
they can make it act suddenly a foolish part, in order to finish the
work of the universe: a more exalted supposition, would have prevented
their drawing a conclusion, so absurd.
It seems to me, that notwithstanding the immensity which has given rise
to so many ridiculous notions about the formation of the world, they
have such a resemblance to each other, that we can scarcely discern any
difference; and considering the little circle which the imagination runs
over, when it applies its force to deep conceptions, we think we
discover something supernatural in its singular weakness: the authors of
these systems seem to have a slavish turn of thinking, and the marks of
their chains are very visible; it is always atoms, and atoms that they
make play together, either at different times, or all at once, in
infinite space; but when some want to form ideas of liberty and will, as
they do not know in what manner to analyze these properties, they
suppose them pre-existing in the elementary parts, which they made use
of to create their universe; and they prudently take care not to grant
any action to liberty and will, in order to prevent any resistance to
those notions on which they build their universe.
They would not render either more simple or credible, the blind
production of worlds, by supposing not only innumerable multitude of
organized atoms, but, even an infinite diversity of molds to hold the
atoms, and of which force chemical analogy gives us an idea. Such a
system, which might serve to explain a few secondary causes of our known
nature, is not applicable to the first formation of beings; for with
such an assemblage of molds and atoms, all the great difficulties would
still subsist. In fact, how should the different molds have classed
themselves properly, in order to form the most simple whole, but which
beside required a fixed measure and gradation of ranks? The mold
destined for the organized atoms, of which the crystalline is to be
composed, how is it possible it should have placed itself in the centre
of that mold which is to form the pupil of the eye, and this last on
that one which is to form the whole, and so on, by an exact gradation,
whose divisions and subdivisions are innumerable?
Were they to suppose an infinite succession of molds, of which the
largest attracted the smallest, in the same manner as the molds
attracted the atoms; this supposition, less ridiculous than any other,
is not sufficient to model, even in imagination, the most unimportant
phœnomena of nature; it is necessary, besides, that by the direction of
a wise and powerful force, the molds, and the atoms which belong to
them, set themselves in motion, without confusion; it is necessary that
those destined to compose the exterior fibres should not obstruct the
passage of those molds calculated to form the interior organs; in short,
that every one of those in its course and expansion, should artfully
observe those delicate shades which blend or separate all the parts of
the simplest of nature’s works.
We are already acquainted with a force which acts in all directions,
which disposes every thing in due order, tends towards an end, stops,
begins again, and finishes, every moment, a complicated work; and this
is the intelligent will, and certainly we have reason to be astonished,
that the only faculty we have an intimate consciousness of, is the one
philosopher’s turn from, when they investigate the admirable order of
the universe.
I allow, that they may, at the same time they reject the idea of a God,
admit, as a principle, the eternal existence of a mechanical force,
which, by an incomprehensible necessity, directed, towards a wise end,
every thing that was at first confusedly scattered in the immensity of
space; but this new supposition would form an hypothesis similar to the
system of the eternal existence of the universe; in fact, the eternal
existence of all the elements, of all substances, forces, and properties
which were necessary to produce a certain order of things, would be a
phœnomenon as incomprehensible as the existence of that order itself.
We must add, that these two phœnomena would be separated in our thoughts
only by an indivisible instant, an instant that we can neither describe
nor imagine in the extent of the time represented by eternity; for any
chosen period would be still too late by an infinity of ages. The
necessary effect of an eternal cause has not, like that cause, any
period to which we can fix its commencement.
We thus perceive, under another point of view, how vain and ridiculous
are the fantastic operations, they imagine, before the existence of the
world, and which are attributed sometimes to the disordered movements of
chance, and sometimes to the regular laws of blind necessity.
There is then but one hypothesis to be opposed to the idea of a God: it
is the system of the eternal existence of the universe. Such an
atheistical system will always be more easily defended than any other,
because that being founded on a supposition without bounds, it does not
require to be embraced by reasoning, like all the hypothetical ideas, by
which men make nature act according to an order of their own invention.
We will, in the next chapter, consider this system, and discuss it by
every means in our power.
CHAP. XIV.
_The same Subject continued._
Those who maintain that the world subsists of itself, and that there is
not a God, say, in favour of their opinion, that if the eternal
existence of the universe overwhelms our understanding, the eternal
existence of a God is a still more inconceivable idea; and that such a
supposition is only another difficulty, since, according to a common
mode of judging, a work the most wonderful appears a phœnomenon less
astonishing than the knowledge of which it is the result.
Let us first fix our attention on this argument. It is useless to ask,
what is meant by another difficulty in infinity; those ideas which are
represented by familiar expressions, necessarily derived from
comparison, are only admissable in the narrow circle of our knowledge;
out of it, those ideas have not any application, and we cannot fix any
degrees in the immensity which exceeds the bounds of our views, and in
those unfathomable depths which are out of the reach of our intellectual
powers.
Undoubtedly, our mind is equally lost, both in trying to form a distinct
idea of a God, and in endeavouring to describe the eternal existence of
the world, without any cause out of itself: however, when we try to
glance our thoughts towards the first traces of time; when we try to
rise almost to the beginning of beginnings, we feel distinctly that, far
from considering the eternal existence of an intelligent cause as
increasing the difficulty, we only find repose in that opinion; and
instead of forcing our mind to adopt such an opinion, and thinking we
wander in an imaginary space, we find it, on the contrary, more
congenial with our nature; whilst order unites itself to the idea of a
design, and a multiplicity of combinations to the idea of an
intelligence. Thus we rise from little to great things, and reasoning by
analogy, we shall more easily conceive the existence of a Being endowed
with various unlimitted properties, which we in part partake; we shall,
I say, more easily conceive such an existence, than that of a universe,
where all would be intelligent, except the first mover. The workman,
undoubtedly, is superior to the work: but according to our manner of
feeling and judging, an intelligent combination, formed without
intelligence, will always be the most extraordinary, as well as the most
incomprehensible phœnomenon.
It is not indifferent to observe, that according to the system I combat,
the more the world would appear to us the admirable result of wisdom,
the less power should we have to draw any deduction favourable to the
existence of a God, since the author of a perfect work is not so easily
traced as the feeble re-iterated labours of mediocrity. Thus, all those
who particularized the beauties of nature, would stupidly injure the
cause of religion, and weaken our belief in the existence of a Supreme
Being. It seems to me, that it is easy to perceive what an ill-founded
argument that must be which leads us to a conclusion so absurd.
The attentive view of the universe should make us mistrust the judgment,
which we form, of that which is the most simple in the order of things;
for all the general operations of nature arise from a movement more
noble and complicated than we can easily form an idea of. We should
surely find, contrary to a perfect simplicity of means, that a circuit
of two hundred millions of leagues, which our globe makes every year, is
necessary, in order to produce the successive changes of seasons, and to
assure the reproduction of the necessary fruits; we should find, that
the distance of thirty-four millions of leagues, between the sun and the
earth, was necessary to proportion the rays of light to the delicacy of
our organs. However, if even in the narrow circle we traverse, we do not
discover any constant application of that simple order, of which we form
an idea, how could such a principle serve to guide our opinions, at the
moment when we elevate our meditations to the first link of the vast
chain of beings; when we undertake to examine, whether, throughout the
immensity of the universe, there exists, or not, an intelligent cause?
What would become, in that immensity, of the insignificant phrase, _it
is one difficulty more_? The buzzing fly would be less ridiculous, if
capable of perceiving the order and magnificence of a palace, it
asserted, that the architect never existed.
Every thing indicates, that, according to our different degrees of sense
and knowledge, what is simple, and what is easy, have a very different
application; we may continually observe, that these expressions are not
interpreted in the same manner, by a man of moderate abilities and a man
of genius; however, the distance which separates the various degrees of
intelligence with which we are acquainted, is probably very trifling in
the universal scale of beings. All our reflections would lead us then to
presume, that beyond the limits of the human mind, the simple is
compounded, the easy our wonderful, and the evident our inconceivable.
After having examined the principal arguments of the partisans of
athiestical systems, which we now attack; let us change the scene, and
in the midst of the labyrinth, in which we are placed, try to find a
clue for our meditations.
We are witnesses of the existence of the world, and intimately
acquainted with our own; thus, either God or matter must have been
eternal; and by a natural consequence, an eternal existence, which is an
idea the most incomprehensible, is, however, the most incontestible
truth. Obliged now, in order, to fix our opinion, to chuse between two
eternal existences, the one intelligent and free, the other blind, and
void of all consciousness, why not prefer the first? An eternal
existence is an idea so astonishing, so much above our comprehension,
that we decorate it with every thing sublime and beautiful, and nothing
deserves more those decorations than thought.
Would it not be strange, that in our sysmatic divisions, it was only to
thought, and consequently to all that was most admirable in our nature,
that we refuse eternity, whilst we grant it to matter and its blind
combinations? What a subversion of all proportion! that we should
believe in the eternal existence of matter, because it is present to our
eyes, and yet not admit the eternal existence of an intelligence; whilst
that which we are endowed with becomes the source of our judgment, and
even the guide of our senses!
And by what other singularity we should grant the faculty and the
consciousness of intelligence, only to that small part of the world
which is represented by animated beings? Thus, the whole of nature would
be below a part; and if no spirit animated the universe, man would
appear to have reached his ultimate perfection; though we see in him but
a faint sketch, a weak shadow of something more complete and admirable;
we perceive that he is, to speak thus, at the commencement of thinking;
and all his cares, all his efforts, to extend the empire of that
faculty, only inform him, that he tends continually towards an end, from
which he is always distant; in short, in his greatest exertions he feels
his weakness; he studies, but he cannot know himself; he makes a few
petty discoveries, sees some trifling wheels, whilst the main spring
escapes his search: he is fallen into the world, like a grain of sand
thrown by the winds; he has neither a consciousness of his origin, nor a
foresight of his end; we perceive in him all the timidity and mistrust
of a dependent being; he is constrained, by instinct, to raise to heaven
his wishes and contemplations; and, when he is not led astray by an
intoxicating reason, he fears, seeks to adore a god, and rejects with
disdain the rank which audacious philosophers assign him in the order of
nature.
I must also add, that the sentiment of admiration, which I cannot
stifle, when I turn my attention on the spiritual qualities we are
endowed with, would be insensibly weakened, if I was reduced to consider
man himself as a simple growth of blind matter; for the most astonishing
production would only inspire me with a transitory emotion, unless I can
refer it to an intelligent cause: I must discover a design, a
combination, before I admire; as I have need to perceive feeling and
affection, before I love.
But as soon as I see in the human mind the stamp of Omnipotence; and it
appears to me one of the results of a grand thought; it reasumes its
dignity, and all the faculties of my soul are prostrate before such a
wonderful conception.
It is then united with the idea of a God, that the spiritual faculties
of man attract my homage and captivate my imagination; in reflecting on
these sublime faculties, studying their admirable essence, I am
confirmed in the opinion that there exists a sovereign intelligence,
soul of nature, and that nature itself is subject to its laws: yes, we
find in the mind of man the first evidence, a faint shadow of the
perfection which we must attribute to the Creator of the Universe. What
a wonder indeed is our thinking faculty, capable of so many things yet
ignorant of its own nature! I am equally astonished, by the extent and
limits of thinking; an immense space is open to its researches, and at
the same time it cannot comprehend the secrets which appear most
proximate with it; as the grand motive of action, the principle of
intellectual force, ever remains concealed. Man is then informed, every
instant, of his grandeur and dependence; and these thoughts must
naturally lead to the idea of Omnipotence. There are, in those limits of
our knowledge and ignorance, in that confused and conditional light, all
the evidence of design; and it seems to me, sometimes, that I hear this
command given to the human soul by the God of the universe: go to admire
a portion of my universe, to search for happiness and to learn to love
me; but do not try to raise the veil, with which I have covered the
secret of thy existence; I have composed thy nature of some of the
attributes which constitute my own essence, thou wouldst be too near me,
if I should permit thee to penetrate the mysteries of it; wait for the
moment destined by my wisdom; till then, thou canst only reach me by
reverence and gratitude.
Not only the wonderful faculty of thinking connects us with the
universal intelligence; but all those inconceivable properties, known by
the name of liberty, judgment, will, memory, and foresight; it is, in
short, the august and sublime assemblage of all our intellectual
faculties. Are we, in fact, after the contemplation of such a grand
phœnomenon, far from conceiving a God? No, undoubtedly, we have within
us a feeble image of that infinite power we seek to discover; man is
himself a universe, governed by a sovereign; and we are much nearer the
Supreme Intelligence, by our nature, than by any notion of the primitive
properties of matter; properties, from which some wish to make the
system of the world and its admirable harmony flow.
It seems to me, that our thinking faculty is too slightly treated in the
greater number of philosophic systems; and some have been so afraid of
honouring it, that they will not admit it to be a simple and particular
principle, when the subject of the question is the immortality of the
soul; nor will they consider it as a universal principle, when they
discuss the opinion of the existence of a God.
It is equally singular, that they wish to compose of matter a soul
endowed with the most sublime qualities; and they pretend, at the same
time, that the world, in which we see intelligent beings, had not for a
contriver and principal any being of the same nature: this supposition,
however, would be as reasonable as the other is weak; but it seems to
me, that they like better to attribute order to confusion, than to order
itself.
We seek to penetrate the secret of the existence of the universe; and
when we reflect on the causes of that vast and magnificent disposition,
we can only attribute it to what seems the most marvellous and analogous
to such a composition, thought, intention, and will. Why then should we
retrench from the formation of the world all those sublime properties?
Are we to act sparingly in an hypothesis in which all the wonders of
nature are concentred? It is by the spiritual faculties with which man
is endowed, that he remains master of the earth, that he has subdued the
ferocious animals, conquered the elements, and found a shelter from
their impetuosity: it is by these faculties that man has constructed
society, given laws to his own passions, and that he has improved all
his means of happiness; in short, nothing has ever been done, but by the
aid of his mind; and in his speculations on the formation of the world,
and on the admirable relations of all the parts of the universe, that
which he wishes not to admit, and will dare to reject is the intelligent
powers and action of thinking. It seems like men disputing about the
means which has been made use of to erect a pyramid, who name all the
instruments, except those that they found at the foot of the edifice.
Habit only turns our attention from the union of wonders which compose
the soul; and it is thus, unfortunately, that admiration, lively light
of the mind and feelings, does not afford us any more instruction. We
should be very differently affected, if, for the first time, we
contemplated the meanest part of this admirable whole! But even then, in
a little time, the strong conviction of the existence of a God would be
worn away, and become what it is at present. But, let me be permitted,
in order to render this truth more striking, to have recourse, for a
moment, to fiction. Let us imagine men, as immoveable as plants, but
endowed with some one of our senses, enjoying the faculty of reflection,
and enabled to communicate their thoughts. I hear these animated trees
discourse about the origin of the world, and the first cause of all
things; they advance, like us, different hypothesis on the fortuitous
movement of atoms, the laws of fate and blind necessity; and among the
different arguments, employed by some, to contest the existence of a
God, creator of the universe, that which makes the greatest impression
is, that it is impossible to conceive how an idea should become a
reality; of how the design of disposing the parts should influence the
execution, since the will being a simple wish, a thought without force
has not any means to metamorphose itself into action: but in vain would
these immoveable spectators of the universe wish to change their
situation, to raise a shelter against the impetuosity of the winds, or
the scorching heat of the sun; yet then it would be evidently absurd to
imagine the existence of a faculty essentially contrary to the immutable
nature of things. Let however, in the midst of this conversation, a
supernatural power appear, and say to them, what would you think then,
if this wonder, whose existence you regard as impossible, should be
executed before your eyes; and if the faculty of acting, according to
your own will, was to be suddenly given you? Seized with astonishment,
they would prostrate themselves with fear and respect; and from that
instant, without the slightest doubt, would believe they had discovered
the secret of the system of the world; and they would adore the infinite
power of intelligence, and it is to a like cause we should attribute the
disposition of the universe. However, the same phœnomenon which would
appear above belief, and out of the limits of possibility, to those who
have never been a witness of it, that wonder exists in our world; we see
it, we experience it every instant; though the force of habit weakens
the impression and eradicates our admiration.
The hypothesis I have just mentioned, might even be applied to the
sudden acquisition of all the means proper to communicate ideas; and to
the prompt discoveries of the other properties of our mind; but several
of these properties constitute, in such an essential manner, the essence
of the soul, that we cannot, even in imagination, separate them, any
more than we can detach action from will, and will from thought. There
are some spiritual faculties, and those the most wonderful, which we
cannot define, and which we should not have even supposed to exist had
we not possessed them; and if it had been possible to have known them
before we were endowed with them, the inventors of systems would have
pointed out this astonishing means, as the only one applicable to the
composition of the admirable harmony of the universe.
We shall be led to the same reflections, when ceasing to expatiate on
the greatest wonders of our nature, we bound ourselves to consider the
human mind at the moment when its action may be perceived. To render
this observation clearer, let us follow a man of genius in the course of
his labours, and we shall see him at once embrace a multitude of ideas,
compare them, notwithstanding their distance, and form from such a
mixture a distinct result proper to direct his public or private
conduct; let us consider him extending and multiplying these first
combinations, and connecting them, by an invisible web, to some
scattered points which his imagination has fixed in the vast regions of
futurity; with the assistance of these magic succours we see him
approaching the time which does not yet exist; but we see him, in his
career, aided by accumulated knowledge, more subtle than the rays of the
sun and yet separated, with an admirable order; more fleet and dispersed
than the light vapours of the morning, and still subject to the will of
that inconceivable power, which, under the name of memory, heaps up the
acquisitions of the mind, in order to assist it afterwards in its new
acquirements: but let us examine still further this man of genius, when
he deposits, by means of writing, his different reflections; and let us
ask, how he knows quickly, that an idea is new, and that a style has an
original turn? Let us again enquire, how, in order to form such a
judgment, he makes with celerity a recapitulation of the thoughts and
images employed by others, to illustrate the subjects they have treated,
whilst years and ages were rolling away; in short, let every one,
according to his strength, try to penetrate into these mysterious
beauties of the human understanding; and let him enquire afterwards
about the impression which he receives from a like meditation. There is,
perhaps, as great a difference, if I may be allowed to say so, between
the most perfect vegetable and the human mind, as between it and the
Deity: to extend this idea, we have only to suppose, that in the
immensity which surrounds us, there exists a gradation equal to that we
have perceived in the little space we are permitted to inspect.
The author of a celebrated work accuses men of presumption, because,
when they endeavour to trace the first principle of things, by comparing
their own faculties with it, they seem to think that they approach it.
But, what other part should we be able to take, when we are called to
reason and to judge? It is not sufficient that the idea of the Supreme
Being may be metaphysical; it is necessary further, some will argue,
that we even try to render it abstract, by removing it out of our
imagination, and that we seek for, in our judgment and opinions, a
support which may be in a manner absent from ourselves, and absolutely
foreign to our nature. All this cannot be understood: we confess that we
have not sufficient strength to know the essence and perfection of God,
but giving way to abstraction, we extinguish our natural light, and
deprive ourselves of the few means we have to obtain this knowledge; we
can only be acquainted with unknown things by the help of those we know:
we shall be led astray, if we are obliged to take another road; and
modern philosophers often seek to attack intimate sentiments by
arbitrary ideas, of which an imagination the most capricious is the only
foundation.
It will then always be surprizing, that in our contemplations and habits
of thinking, the wisdom of the design, the harmony of the whole, and the
perfection of parts, are manifest traces of intelligence; and yet that
we should renounce, suddenly, this manner of feeling and judging, in
order to attribute the formation of the universe to the effect of
chance, or the eternal laws of blind necessity; and is it possible, that
we can deduce the same consequences from an admirable order, as from
wild confusion? Facts so different, principles so contrary, should not
lead to the same conclusion; the magnificent system of the universe
ought to have some weight, when we conjecture about its origin; and it
would be difficult to persuade us, that in investigating the most
exalted truths, we ought to consider all the knowledge we acquire by the
view of nature as merely indifferent. Men are carried very far, when
they reject the arguments drawn from final causes; it is not only a
single thought they would destroy, it is the source of all our knowledge
they would dry up.
Men insensibly cease to perceive a connexion between the existence of a
God, and the different miracles with which we are surrounded; but all
would be changed, if God exhibited the numerous acts of his power
successively, instead of displaying them all at once; our imagination,
animated by such a movement, would rise to the idea of a Supreme Being;
it is then, because an accumulation of wonders aggrandizes the universe;
it is because a harmony, not to be equalled, seems to convert an
infinity of parts into an admirable whole; and that profound wisdom
maintains it in an immutable equilibrium; it is, in short, because
insensible gradations and delicate shades render still more perfect the
wonders of nature, that men are less struck with astonishment, or lost
in adoration.
We want, say you, new phœnomena to determine our persuasion: do you
forget, that all which is offered to our view already surpasses our
understanding? If the least miracle was to be effected before you, you
would be ready to bend your proud reason; but because the most grand and
wonderful, which the imagination itself can form an idea of, has
preceded your existence, you receive no impression from it, all appears
simple to you, all necessary. But, the reality of the wonders of the
universe has nothing to do with the instant you are allowed to
contemplate them: your pilgrimage on earth, is it not a period
imperceptible in the midst of eternity? admiration, surprise, and all
the affections of which man is susceptible, do not change the nature of
the phœnomena which surround him; and his intelligence reflects but a
very small part of the wonders of the universe.
We have no need of a revolution in the order of nature, to discover the
power of its author; the fibres of a blade of grass confound our
intelligence, and when we have grown old in study and observation, we
continually discover new objects, which we have not investigated, and
perceive new relations; we are ever in the midst of unknown things and
incomprehensible secrets.
However, supposing, for a moment, the existence of extraordinary
miracles which we should be impressed with; it is easy to conceive, that
these miracles would not have on men the influence we presume; for if
they were frequent, and if they happened only at regular periods, their
first impression, would slowly be weakened, and, at last, men would
range them in the class of the successive movements of eternal matter.
But if, on the contrary, there was a long interval between these
miracles, the generations who succeeded the actual witnesses of them
would accuse their ancestors of credulity, or contest the truth of those
traditions, which transmitted the account of a revolution contrary to
the common course of nature.
Some may still say, that, in order to render manifest the existence of
the Supreme Being, it would be necessary that men were punctually
answered, when they address their prayers; but the influence of our
wishes upon events, if this influence was habitual and general, would it
be sufficient to change the opinion of those who see, with indifference,
that innumerable multitude of actions which are so miraculously subject
to our will? Would they not still find some reason for considering such
an increase of power, as the necessary result of the eternal system of
the universe? Thus, whatever might be the measure of intelligence, added
to that we now enjoy, in short, though a number of new wonders were
accumulated, men could still oppose to that union of miracles the same
objections, and the same doubts they do not now fear to raise against
the wonders we are daily witnesses of. It is difficult, it is
impossible, to make a constant or profound impression on men who are
only susceptible of astonishment in the short transition from the known
to the unknown; they have but a moment to feel this emotion, and it is
from the slowness of their comprehension, or the continual succession of
the phœnomena submitted to their inspection, that the duration of their
admiration depends. And, perhaps, our faculties and powers would excite
more surprise, if, in order to subject our movements to our will, it
were necessary to give our orders, and to pronounce them with a loud
voice, as a captain does to his soldiers; however, such a constitution
would be a degree less wonderful than that we possess.
I will anticipate another objection; we advance gradually, some will
say, in discovering the secrets of nature; the power of attraction, that
grand physical faculty, has only been known about a century, and
observations on the effects of electricity are still more recent; every
age, every year, adds to the treasure of our knowledge, and the time
will arrive, perhaps, when, without having recourse to any mysterious
opinions, we shall have explained all the phœnomena which still astonish
us.
It is not at first conceivable, how our past discoveries, and all those
which may in future enrich the human mind, would ever free us from the
necessity of placing a first cause at the termination of our
reflections; for, the more we perceive of new links in the vast
disposition of the universe, the more we extend the magnificence of the
work, and the power of the Creator. A series of successful exertions may
reveal, perhaps, the secret of some physical properties, superior in
force to those we have experienced: but, even then, all the movements of
nature would be subordinate to a few general laws; and when we should
distinguish these laws, the result of our researches would demonstrate
simply the existence of a greater unity in the system of the world; and
this character of perfection would be impressed, if it was possible,
still more on us; for, in a work, such as the universe, it is the simple
and regular relations which announce, above all, the wisdom and power of
the Disposer; because our admiration could never be excited by an
assemblage of incoherent ideas, whose chain would every instant be
broken. But, I know not by what habit or blindness it is, that when men
have discovered a principle uniform in its action, and have given to
that principle a denomination, they believe that their astonishment
ought to cease: in fact, attraction and electricity are not so much now
subjects of surprise, as a means to free us from the admiration due to
the magnificent result of those singular properties; in short, we are
habituated to consider, with indifference, every general effect, of
which we acquire a conception, as if even this conception was not one of
the most noble of the phœnomena of nature. Some will say, that men, by
degrees, becoming familiarized with their own minds, despise all they
can easily understand; their competitions are then the only origin of
their vanity; for when they examine themselves individually, or when
they judge of men in general, they have such a mean opinion of
themselves, that they do not highly value their discoveries.
We ought to place, amongst the number of ideas the most extensive and
general, that of Buffon on the formation of the earth; but this idea,
supposing it as just as it is beautiful, only explains to us one of the
gradations of this superb work. I see the earth formed by an emanation
of the sun; I see it animated and become fertile, when it has received,
by slow degree, its temperature; and I see, beside, issue out of its lap
all the beauties of nature; and that which surprises me still more, all
the beings endowed with instinct or intelligence; but if the elements of
these incomprehensible productions had been prepared or simply disposed
in the fiery body which animates our system, I transfer to it my
astonishment, and equally have to seek for the author of so many
wonders.
I must now fix my attention, for a few moments, on the most metaphysical
part of this work. We can, perhaps, form an idea of a world existing
without a beginning, and by the laws of blind necessity, provided that
world was immoveable and invariable in all its parts; but how apply the
idea of eternity to a continual succession; as such a nature is
necessarily composed of a beginning and end, we cannot otherwise define
the idea of succession; thus, we are constrained to elevate ourselves to
a first Being existing by himself, when we have before our eyes a
constant revolution of causes and effects, of destruction and life. It
is impossible to have any idea of motion without that of a beginning.
The difficulty would not be removed, by saying, that the whole of the
universe is immutable, and the parts only subject to change; for a whole
of this kind, without any relation whatever, either real or imaginary, a
like whole has only an ideal circumscription, which, in fact, is not
susceptible of an alteration; but such a circumscription only presents
us an assemblage of positive things contained in its circle; and it is
not in studying those, nor in examining the different parts of the
unknown whole, which we call the universe, that we are allowed to draw
consequences, or to form a judgment. Thus, seeing only a succession, we
rationally feel the necessity of a first cause.
But, some will say, you are entangled in the same difficulty, when you
suppose the eternity of a God; for a series of designs in an intelligent
being should lead to the idea of a commencement, as well as the
successions of the physical world.
This proposition, undoubtedly, is not easily cleared up, like all those
whose solution appears to be united to the knowledge of infinity. We
cannot, however, hinder ourselves from perceiving, that the physical
generations lead us, in a manner simple and manifest, to the necessity
of a first principle; and we ought to search for this principle out of
ourselves, since our nature does not furnish any idea of it; whereas,
the successive combinations of the mind may relate to an origin, of
which we have not any conception, and which seems united, in some
manner, to these same combinations. In fact, we can easily form a
distinct idea of a faculty of thought, antecedent to the action of
thinking, and which might even be separated by such intervals as the
imagination could conceive. It is the same with liberty, that
intellectual power of which we have the consciousness, at the same time
that it remains absolutely idle.
I shall add, that, even in the narrow circle of our thoughts, it is
true, the operations of the mind appear to us often dependant on each
other; yet, sometimes their chain is so broken, that our ideas seem
really to issue out of nothing; instead of which, in every other
production, we know, there is always a visible tie between that which
is, and that which was. We must not forget, that at the very time our
ideas appear to us connected, that succession is to be attributed to our
weakness and ignorance, rather than to the mind, considered in a general
manner. Circumscribed in all our means, we are obliged to go continually
from the known to the unknown, from probability to certainty, from
experience of the past, to conjectures about the future; but this
gradation, this course, ought to be absolutely foreign to an
intelligence without bounds, which knows and which sees all at the same
time; and perhaps we are in the way of this truth, when we perceive,
amongst us, the claim of true genius, and the turbulent whirlpool of
folly.
In short, it is not men persuaded of the existence of a God, that we
need require to transport themselves beyond, if I may say so, the domain
of thought, in order to search for proofs of their opinion; atheists
alone want such an effort, since they alone resist the influence of the
simplest sentiments and most natural arguments; since they alone bid us
mistrust that distinct connexion which we perceive between the Supreme
Intelligence and the perfection of order; that train of causes and
effects, between the idea of a God and all the propensities of the soul;
it is these considerations, intelligible to all, which give new force to
our opinions.
Directed by these reflections, and wishing to investigate in a useful
manner the subject I have undertaken, I shall not engage in the
arguments which turn on the creation of the world. It is sufficient for
me to have perceived, that the idea of the creation of the universe is
not more inconceivable than the idea of its eternity; I am not indeed
obliged, with those who adopt the last system, to suppose something
growing out of nothing; but substituting the idea of an eternal
existence, instead of that of nothing, is a thought which equally
terrifies my imagination; for my mind knows not where to place that
eternity and in order to comprehend it still surrounds it with a vacuum.
In the system of a created universe, I see something coming out of
nothing, by the will of a Being whom I can form an idea of; but in the
system of the eternity of matter, my faculties are absorbed in
endeavouring to embrace it; in short, both of these modes of existence
appear to me in the midst of a vague infinity, which no human power can
conceive; and if sometimes the eternal existence of the universe seems
less incomprehensible than its creation, it is only because such an idea
eludes examination and precludes reasoning.
The idea of a Creator is undoubtedly equally above our comprehension,
but we are led to it by all our feelings and thoughts; and if we are
stopped in the efforts which we make to reach the cause we seek, it is
by obstacles which we can even attribute to the will of that power we
are searching to discover; instead of that, contemplating the uniform
and insipid rotation of an eternal existence, we are almost driven to
despair, that is to say, we feel the impossibility of conceiving the
nature of things, and the certainty, nevertheless, that there exists not
any veil designedly placed between that nature and our understandings.
I must still make some further observations; we see a resemblance of
creation in the continual reproduction of all the bounties of the earth;
and our moral system offers a still more striking one, in the formation
of ideas which did not exist antecedently. Our feelings appear another
proof of the same truth; for they have not any evident connexion with
the cause that we assign them: thus, without habit we might see as great
a difference between certain exterior emotions and the various
affections of our souls, as we can conceive between the existence of the
world and the idea of a Creator.
We perceive also, that the universe has all the characters of a
production; characters which consist in the union of a multitude of
parts, whose relations are fixed by a single thought. In short, even the
succession of time announces intelligence; for we know not how to place
that succession in the midst of an eternal existence. We cannot conceive
any different periods in an extent in which there is not a beginning;
for before we arrive at any of these periods, there must have been
always an infinite space; besides, there being no beginning, considered
abstractedly, annihilates the idea of intervals, since they could not
have two fixed points: thus, the introduction of the past, the present,
and the future, into the midst of eternity, seems due to an intelligent
power, who has modelled this immense uniformity, and governs the nature
of things.
I ought not to dwell long on these reflections; to give a basis to
religious opinions, it is not necessary to conceive of creation in its
metaphysical essence; it is sufficient, to believe the existence of a
Supreme Being, creator and preserver of nature, the model of wisdom and
goodness, the protector of rational beings, whose providence governs the
world. We lose all our strength when extending too far our meditations,
we aspire to know and explain the secrets of infinity; we then only
exhibit to the adversaries of religion the faint stretch of our
opinions, and the last struggles of a reason weakened by its own
efforts; it is much better to use those arguments which sense and
feeling are able to defend. We should candidly confess, that our noblest
faculties have immutable limits; one degree more would perhaps diffuse a
sudden light on the questions, whose examination disconcerts us. There
is not perhaps any mind accustomed to meditation, which has not had
several times pre-sentiments of this truth; for the first glimmering of
a new perception seems to out-run thinking, and such is its proximity
that we imagine one step more would enable us to catch it; but our hope
is dissipated, we cannot grasp the fleeting shadow, and fall back again
into the sad conviction of our impotence. Alas! in that infinite space
which our intellectual powers try to run over, there are only immense
deserts, where the mind cannot find repose, or the thoughts meet any
asylum; these are the regions whose entrance seems to have been
desolated, in order that the most unbounded imagination might not obtain
any knowledge of them; but will you dare to say, that there stops all
intelligence, there finishes the mysteries of nature? would you expect
to possess the secrets of time in attributing an eternal existence to
all we know? Certainly, we are too insignificant to promulge such
decrees, we enjoy too small a portion of eternity to determine what
belongs to it.
The most probable thought is, that our reason is insufficient to reach
the explanations we wish to unfold; the chain of beings above us every
instant reminds us of this truth; and it appears singular, that
perceiving so distinctly the bounds of our senses, we should not be
induced to think, that our intelligence, apparently so extended, may
nevertheless run over a very circumscribed space. Our imagination goes
much farther than our knowledge, but its domain is perhaps only a point
in what is yet unexplored; and it is necessary to penetrate those
unknown regions, to discover the truths which illustrate the mysteries
that surround us; but there is a Being who knows them, Omniscience is at
the summit of those gradations of intelligence which we trace. We know
nothing, we do not discover any result but through the assistance of
experience and observation; and we only know the world by the little
front scene which meets our view: is it rational to suppose, that only
this kind of knowledge exists in the universe? Men, in the slow progress
of their judgment, resemble children; but even this condition recals the
idea of a father and a tutor. Every thing however shows us, that the
phœnomena of nature relate to a grand whole; we see that its dispersed
productions are united to some general cause; it is the same with human
knowledge; more admirable than the rays of light spread through
immensity, it is an emanation from the most perfect light. In short, if
space, if time itself, those two existences without bounds, are subject
to division, why should we not be induced to think, that the degrees of
knowledge we experience and conceive, are also only a part of a
universal intelligence?
Of all the objections against the idea of a God, the weakest, in my
opinion, is that drawn from the mixture of troubles and pleasures to
which human life is exposed. A God, some will say, ought to unite every
perfection, and we cannot believe in his existence, when we perceive
limits in his power or goodness.
This is a flimsy argument; for, if men do not admit as a proof of the
existence of a God, all that we discover of wisdom, harmony, and
intelligence in the universe, what right have they to use an apparent
contrast between sovereign power and goodness, in order to attribute the
formation of the world to chance. Would it be just, that the defects of
a work should be brought as a proof against the existence of a workman,
whilst the beauty of the same work was not allowed to support a contrary
opinion? We should reason in a different manner; disorder and
imperfection merely point out to us a negation of certain qualities; we
must, in general terms, throw an odium on the whole, in order to banish
the idea of an intelligent hand; whereas, to strengthen the other
opinion, it is sufficient that particular parts announce art and genius.
Thus, when we enter a palace, if we find there distinct marks of
talents, we attribute its erection to an architect, even though in a
part of the edifice we should not distinguish any traces of invention.
I have already had occasion to show how we are led to these
incomprehensible extremes, when we endeavour exactly to proportion the
wisdom and power of an Infinite Being, and I shall not again dwell on
this argument: or repeat that from any imaginable hypothesis, we might
draw this deduction, that Omnipotence could have produced more
happiness.
There are ideas which appear contrary to reason, only because we cannot
perceive them in one point of view; and we discover this truth, not only
in considering things which are foreign to our nature, but when we turn
our attention on the events which come daily under our inspection. Why
do we then suppose, that we can comprehend the most grand and noble
thoughts? Is it consistent with the idea of an Infinite Power that we
refuse to credit the existence of infinite goodness? Is it consistent
with the idea of Infinite Wisdom that we will not admit the existence of
Omnipotence? Nay more, is it consistent with the idea of infinite
chances that we imagine the absurd systems concerning the formation of
the world? We use infinity for every thing, except to place above us an
intelligence, whose properties and essence our reason cannot determine.
We are lost in a boundless uncertainty, when we try to go beyond the
limits of human powers. Thus, after having collected all the forces of
our souls, to enable us to penetrate the existence of a God, we ought
not to exhaust ourselves in subtleties, vainly endeavouring to conceive
in a just acceptation, and under evident relations, various attributes
of an Infinite Being, who has chosen to make himself known to us in a
certain measure, and under certain forms; and it is too much to require
of the worshippers of God, to defend themselves against those who
contest his existence, and dispute about the nature of his perfections.
I am far from supposing any obstacle to the execution of his will; but I
should be full of the same religious sentiments, if I knew that there
existed order and laws in the nature of things, which the Divine Power
has a faculty of modifying, and that it cannot entirely destroy. I
should not less adore the Supreme Being, if, at the same time, his
various attributes were in constant union, it was nevertheless, by
degrees, that he produced happiness; I should silently respect the
secrets which would escape my penetration, and wait with respectful
submission, till the clouds were dissipated which still surrounded me.
What then! always in ignorance and obscurity? Yes, always: such is the
condition of men, when they wish to go beyond the limits traced by the
immutable laws of nature; but the grand truths which we can easily
perceive are sufficient to regulate our conduct, and afford us comfort.
That there is a God, every thing indicates and loudly announces; but I
cannot discover either the mysteries of his essence, or the intimate
connection of his various perfections. I plainly see in a crowd the
monarch encircled by his guards; I know his laws, I enjoy the order he
has prescribed; but I assist not at his councils, and am a stranger to
his deliberations. I even perceive, that an impenetrable veil separates
me from the designs of the Supreme Being, and I do not undertake to
trace them; I commit myself with confidence to the protection of that
Being whom I believe good and great, as I would rely on the guidance of
a friend during a dark night; and whilst I have my foot in the abyss, I
will depend on Him to snatch me from the danger and calm my terrors.
If we might be allowed the comparison, we should say, that God is like
the sun, which we cannot stedfastly gaze at; but throwing our eyes down,
we perceive its rays and the beauties it spreads around. However, men
who, either through a mistrust of their understanding, or the nature of
it, have only by their reverence an intercourse with God, feel most
forcibly the impression of his grandeur; as it is at the extremity of
the lever that we strongly experience its power.
We consider the general assent of nations and ages, in the opinion of
the existence of a God, as a remarkable presumption in favour of that
opinion; but such a proof would lose part of its force, if we, in time,
regarded as a kind of moral phœnomenon, the relation which all men may
have with an idea so sublime, notwithstanding the visible disparity
which exists between their different degrees of understanding and
knowledge; and this observation should lead to a thought, that in the
midst of the clouds, which obscure the idea of a God, sensibility
becomes our best guide: it seems the most innate part of ourselves, and
in this respect to communicate, in the most intimate manner, with the
Author of our Nature.
The sight advances before our other senses, the imagination goes beyond
it; but as it is obliged to trace its own path, sensibility, which
bounds over all, goes still further.
The reasoner, in his efforts to attain to profound metaphysical truths,
forms a chain whose links rather follow each other, than are joined: the
mind of man not being sufficiently subtle, and extended, cannot always
unite exactly that infinite multitude of ideas which crowd at the
determination of our meditations; sensibility is then the best
calculated to conceive the sublime truth, which not being composed of
parts, is not susceptible of section, and can only be comprehended in
its unity. Thus, whilst the mind often wanders in vain speculations, and
loses itself in metaphysical labyrinths, the idea of a Supreme Being is
impressed, without effort, in a simple heart, which is still under the
influence of nature: thus, the man of feeling, as well as the
intelligent man, announces a Supreme Being, whom we cannot discover
without loving; and this union of all the faculties of the soul towards
the same idea, this emotion, which resembles a kind of instinct, ought
to be connected with a first cause; as there is for every thing a first
model.
It is, perhaps, also the confused sentiment of that first model, which
leads us to religion, when we see a virtuous man. Men, with their fatal
systems, would alter and annihilate every thing, but the comfortable
hopes and thoughts which arise from a profound and rational admiration,
will still resist that destruction. They vainly wish to make us consider
such a sentiment as the simple play of blind matter, whilst all within
us seems to invite us to search for a more noble origin. And how can we
avoid seeing, in these great qualities of men, nobleness of soul,
elevation of genius, expansion of heart, love of order, and interesting
goodness; how avoid seeing, in this rich picture, the reflection of a
celestial light, and concluding from it, that there is somewhere a first
intelligence. Do rays exist without a centre of light? I know not, but
hurried away by these reflections, I sometimes think, innate goodness,
which we admire as the first rank in the scale of intelligent beings, in
a more immediate manner, leads to the knowledge of the Author of nature;
and when this innate morality is found united in some persons with a
presentiment of the Divine Nature, there is, in this agreement, a charm
which impresses us; a kind of unknown character which attracts our
respect: as every tender and sublime thought is roused by the idea which
we form of the souls of Socrates and Fenelon.
At the same time, actuated by similar sentiments we experience a painful
emotion, when we are informed, that there exist men, enemies to all
these ideas; men, who had rather debase themselves and humanity, by
attributing their origin to chance, than resolve to consider the
spiritual faculties which they enjoy as a faint sketch of the sovereign
intelligence. Thus, instead of employing their minds to lend some force
to these comfortable truths, or, at least probabilities so dear, they,
on the contrary, dispute their realty, and seek to embarrass by
sophistry, the doctrines which tend to fortify the first dispositions of
our nature: we see the materialists, rather then elevate themselves,
drag us with them from happiness and hope; they only grant eternity to
the dust, out of which, they say, we sprung. What honour, however, can
they derive from those more enlightened views which they boast of, if
they are only the result of a growth similar to that of plants; and if
our spiritual faculties, so far from being lost, in some measure, in the
infinite intelligence, so far from being united to a grand destiny, are
only associated to this frail structure, which is every day, every hour,
exposed to various dangers. What credit should we derive from these
faculties, if they only enabled us to describe, with precision, the
almost imperceptible circle of time, in which we live and die: if they
only served to raise us above our equals during that short moment of
life, which is hastening to lose itself in endless ages, as a light
vapour in the immensity of air? How can you speak with delight of fame
and promotion, when you voluntarily renounce the grandeur arising from
the most noble origin? You are proud of the celebrity of your country,
the renown of your families, and the only glory you desire not partake,
is that which ennobles the whole human race!
In short, I would ask, by what strange error of the imagination it is,
that in meditating on the existence of a God, men do not go further than
to doubt it; since to support, to guide our judgment, we have only an
understanding whose weakness we continually experience; since it is
capable of gradual improvement, as knowledge is perpetually
accumulating? There exists not any proportion between the measure of our
knowledge and the unbounded extent which is displayed before us; there
is not any between the union of all our powers and the profound
mysteries of nature: how then shall we dare to say, that men are arrived
at the pinnacle of knowledge, and that in the endless ages to come,
there will never break forth a more penetrating faculty than our weak
reason?
However, were men even to lose the hope of advancing one step in
metaphysical researches; and persisted to declare insufficient and
imperfect the various proofs of the existence of a God; it is not to be
contested, that all other systems are surrounded with still greater
obscurity, and they would only have a doubt as the result of their
reasoning. But have they ever reflected on the influence a simple doubt
has, when that doubt is applied to an idea, whose relations are without
bounds? Let us try to represent an equal probability in a circumstance
which only concerns the interests of this transitory life, and we shall
soon see what force the same degree of probability would have in the
immensurable relations of the finite to the infinite. Thus, not only an
uncertainty, but the slightest presumption of the existence of a God,
would, in the estimation of sound reason, be a sufficient foundation for
religion and morality. Yes, we might thus humbly pray, though depressed
by doubt:—O Thou God who art unknown! sovereign goodness whose image is
stamped on our hearts—if Thou existest, if Thou art Lord of this
magnificent universe, deign to accept our love and humble homage.——
Undoubtedly, these thoughts are sufficient to inspire with respect and
fear beings ignorant of their origin, who have so little to sacrifice
and so much to desire, who, on account of their extreme weakness, cannot
relinquish some hopes, and must attach themselves to a fixed and
predominate idea, which may serve as an anchor in the midst of the
inconsistencies and agitations of their minds.
It is, perhaps, because the time when every thing will be explained, is
still far distant, that many exaggerate their doubts, and often confound
them with a decided incredulity. I form to my imagination, a solemn
period, when the inhabitants of the earth will be instructed in the
mysteries of their nature and the secrets of futurity; and that some
signal phœnomenon will mark the awful day proper to fix our attention;
and I am intimately persuaded, that, in such a moment, the men most
indifferent about religion will appear dismayed, and even recognize that
what they took for conviction, was but a wavering opinion, only
supported by self-love and a desire of distinction.
At the same time that I form this judgment of the pretended incredulity
of several persons, I will venture a reflection of a different kind: it
is, that superficial faith in the existence of God, and the opinions
which depend on it, is not equivalent in effect to doubt retained in
proper bounds; and perhaps, if these bounds were determined, the belief
of one class of society would be less wavering.
I anticipate another objection; those doubts, some may say, those doubts
which so many men cannot smother, are they not an argument against the
existence of a God? for a Powerful Being, such as we suppose Him, could
have inspired a general confidence in that noble truth; He needed not to
have recourse to supernatural means; His will was sufficient. I confess,
that we can easily add, in imagination, several degrees to our knowledge
and happiness; but that condition of our nature, of which the cause is
unknown, can never be contrary to the idea of the existence of a God:
all is limited in our physical properties and in our moral faculties;
but within these confines we see the work of a Supreme Intelligence, and
we discover every instant the traces of a divine hand, sufficiently
obvious to direct our opinions. Unstable reasoning, concerning what we
should be, can never weaken the distinct consequences which arise from
what we are.
When the Laplander, in his cave, hears by chance the distant echo of
thunder, he says, that _God still lives on the high mountain_; and, is
it in the very bosom of munificent blessings, with the light of
philosophy, that men would wish to reject the idea of the existence of a
Supreme Being? What an abuse of reason! Infinity ought to overwhelm the
most vigorous and enlightened understanding, make the wise man timid in
his judgment, and inform him what he is; can man do better than give way
to the admiration the view of so many incomprehensible wonders must
necessarily inspire, and with fervour seize that chain of miracles which
seem to promise to lead to the knowledge of the Creator of them? Can he
be more nobly employed, than in tracing an opinion, not only the most
probable, but the most grand and interesting? Alas! if we should ever
lose it—the idea is not to be endured; clouds and thick darkness would,
overwhelm the feelings which seem to dart before our reason, to explore
the unknown country we pant after, and a melancholy and eternal silence
would appear to surround all nature: we should call for a comforter,
implore protection—but where is it to be found? We should search for
hope, but it is for ever fled—Alas! this is not all, a terrific thought
strikes me, I hesitate a moment to communicate it; yet, it seems to me,
that we lend new force to religious opinions, when we demonstrate, by
various ways, that the principles which destroy those opinions lead to a
result contrary to our nature. I will then conclude this chapter by a
reflection of serious importance.
If there is not a God, if this world and the whole universe was only the
production of chance or nature itself, subsisting from all eternity; and
if this nature, void of consciousness, had not any guide or superior; in
short, if all its movements were the necessary effect of a property ever
concealed in its essence, a terrible thought would alarm our
imagination: we should not only renounce the hopes which enliven life,
we should not only see continually advancing towards us the image of
death and annihilation, these dreadful anticipations would not be all—an
uncertain cause of fear would trouble the mind. In fact, the revolutions
of a blind nature being more obscure than the designs of an Intelligent
Being, it would be impossible to discover on what base, in the universe,
reposed the destiny of men; impossible to foresee whether, by some one
of the laws of that imperious nature, intelligent beings are devoted to
perish irrevocably, or revive under some other form; if they are to
stumble on new pleasures, or suffer eternally: life and death, happiness
and misery, may belong indifferently to a nature whose movements are not
directed by any intelligence, are not connected by any moral idea, but
solely dependent on a blind property, which is represented by that word,
terrible and inexplicable _necessity_. A like nature would resemble the
rocks to which Prometheus was bound, that were equally insensible to the
agonizing groans of the wretch, and to the joy of the vultures who
preyed on his vitals.
Thus, in a like system, nothing would be able to fix our opinion with
respect to futurity, and guard the sensible part of ourselves from
yielding to some unknown force: in short, can we reply without
trembling? nothing,—and of course eternal torments might accidentally
become our portion.
The momentary experience of life might, perhaps, inspire us with a kind
of tranquillity; but what is that in immensity, but calculations founded
on the observance of a short interval? What is that hope which only a
fleeting moment gives weight to? It is as if the fluttering insect,
which lives but a day, should consider it as a representation of the
eternal condition of the universe. The mixture of pains and pleasures,
to which men are subject on earth, is not a certain proof of what may
happen in other times and places; for unity, equality, and analogy, all
those sources of probability, and principles to judge from, are
connected with general ideas of order and harmony, but those ideas are
not applicable to a nature subject to necessity.
We have some difficulty to assure ourselves of the designs of a Supreme
Being: however, by a kind of analogy we shall be able to form an idea of
the divine will; and our minds, our feelings, and virtues, all aid us in
the search; but were we sprung from an insensible nature, we should not
have any connection with the different parts of its immense extent, and
the attentive study of our moral constitution would not throw a light on
the various revolutions of which the material world is susceptible. We
should only discover, that there would be much less reason to oppose, in
imagination, limits to the varied movements of a nature without a guide,
than to circumscribe, in some manner, the actions of an Omnipotent
Being, whose other attributes are also infinite; for the ideas of order,
justice, and goodness, which arise from a knowledge of His perfections,
seem to trace a circle in the midst of infinity, which the mind of man
may perceive. Yes, these ideas subject a great space to our
contemplations; but what advantage is there in trying to be acquainted
with the mysteries of an insensible nature, or to penetrate the secret
of the motion impressed by blind necessity?
Let me repeat it then, as a termination to these reflections; all would
be obscure, all mere chance in the fate of man, if we did not attribute
the disposition and preservation of the world to the omnipotent will of
an Intelligent Being, whose perfections our feelings and thoughts
faintly represent.
In short, when even in the system of the eternity of nature, men were
assured that death destroys individuality, and were they even able to
drive away the idea of the continuation or renewal of it, by any
sentiment or remembrance; would it be evident, that we should be
absolutely indifferent about the torments rational beings may endure in
that space which is represented by the idea of infinity and eternity?
The metaphysical idea, which determines us to place our consciousness on
that imperceptible and mysterious point, which unites our present
thoughts to the past, and our actual sentiments to our hopes and fears;
this thought is not sufficient to make us regardless of our fate, or
render us indifferent to the unknown effects which may result from the
revolutions of a nature, which we are not acquainted with: the anxieties
and troubles of the beings who are to live in the ages yet unborn, do
not interest us as belonging to any particular person; however, we have,
for those abstract misfortunes, in this instance, a sympathy which
escapes reasoning.
I agree, that in the system of undirected nature, happiness or misery,
transitory or without end, have the same degree of probability: but what
a terrifying resemblance! Can we undismayed consider such a chance?
How happens it then, that some pretend, that atheism frees us from every
kind of terror about futurity? I cannot perceive, that such a conclusion
flows from this fatal system. A God, such as my heart delineates,
encourages and moderates all my feelings; I say to myself, He is good
and indulgent, He knows our weakness, He loves to produce happiness; and
I see the advances of death without terror, and often with hope. But
every fear would become reasonable, if I lived under the dominion of an
insensible nature, whose laws and revolutions are unknown: I seek for
some means to escape from its power;—but even death cannot afford me a
retreat, or space an asylum. I reflect, if it is possible, to find
compassion and goodness; but here is no prime intelligence, no first
cause, a blind nature surrounds us, and governs imperiously. I in vain
demand, what is to be done with me? it is deaf to my voice. Devoid of
will, thought, and feeling, it is governed by an irresistible force,
whose motion is a mystery never to be unfolded. What a view for the
human mind, to anticipate the destruction of all our primitive ideas of
order, justice, and goodness! Shall I further say, when even, in every
system, the entrance of the future was unknown, I should be less unhappy
and forlorn, if it was to a father, a benefactor, that I committed the
deposit of life which I held from him; this last communication with the
Master of the World would mitigate my pains; my eyes, when closing,
would perceive His power; that I should not lose all, I might still hope
that God remained with those I loved, and find some comfort in the
thought, that my destiny was united to His will, that my existence and
the employments I devoted myself to, formed one of the indelible points
of His eternal remembrance; and that the incomprehensible darkness I was
going to plunge into, is equally a part of His empire. But when a
feeling and elevated soul, which sometimes enjoys a sentiment of its own
grandeur, should certainly know, that dragged by a blind motion, it was
going to be dissipated, to be scattered in that dreary waste, where all
that is most vile on earth is indifferently precipitated; such a thought
would blight the noblest actions, and be a continual source of sadness
and despondency. Save us from these dreadful reflections, sublime and
cherished belief of a God! afford us the courage and comfort we need,
and guard our minds, as from fatal phantoms, from all those vain
suppositions, those errors of reasoning and metaphysical subtleties,
which interpose between man and his Creator! And we, full of confidence
in the first lesson of nature, will take for a guide that interior
sentiment which is not thought, but something more, which neither
reasons nor conjectures; but perhaps forms the closest connexion and
most certain communication with those grand truths which the
understanding alone can never reach.
CHAP. XV.
_On the Respect that is due from true Philosophy to Religion._
The view of the universe, the reflections of our minds, and the
inclinations of our hearts, all concur to strengthen the thought, that
there exists a God; and without power to comprehend this Infinite Being,
to form a just idea of His essence and perfections, the confused
sentiment of his grandeur, and the continual experience of their own
weakness, are so many imperious motives, which, in all ages and
countries, have impelled men to worship a God. Those natural ideas have
acquired new force by the light of revelation; but it is not in a
metaphysical work that the authenticity of the Christian religion ought
to be discussed; nor could we add much to the doctrines contained in
books composed at different periods on this important subject. All
discussions which are allied to truths, whose authenticity depends on
facts, are necessarily confined within certain bounds; and we are
obliged to pursue a beaten track, and run over the same circle, when we
enter on such a well-known subject. I shall then confine myself to some
general reflections, and make choice of those which are best adapted to
the particular genius of the present age, and the modifications which
our sentiments receive from predominate opinions; for our judgments,
like our impressions, vary with the change which happens insensibly in
habits and manners: one age is that of intolerance and bigotry; another
of relaxation and indifference, or a contempt of all ancient customs:
every century, every generation is distinguished by a general character,
a character which we take sometimes for new ideas; whilst it is nothing
but the natural effect of exaggeration in our preceding opinions. Men
are subject to moral laws, similar in several respects to mechanical
rules; and with all their knowledge and pride, they remind us of those
children, who, placed at the extremity of a long balance, rise and fall
successively. They can only be fixed by moderate sentiments, which are
sustained by their own force; any other has a borrowed action, and this
action is never in perfect equilibrium with truth.
It is in the nature of revelation to appear less evident to the mind, in
proportion as the proofs of its authenticity are distant; and if, among
the dogmas united to a religious doctrine, some one contains a mystic
sense; if, among the forms of worship adopted, some one is not consonant
with the simple and majestic idea which we ought to have of the Master
of the World; it would not be extraordinary that this religious
institution, considered in its different parts, should give birth to
controversies; and we should not be exasperated against those, who,
after having faithfully examined, still have some doubts. It is in
proportion to the extent of our understanding that God has thought fit
to manifest Himself to us; thus, the exertion of those faculties of the
mind cannot be displeasing to Him. But reason left to itself, and even
when improved by philosophy, should, by no means, lead men to any kind
of contempt for religious worship in general, or any of the particular
opinions of which Christianity is the support. Any doctrine which leads
to the adoration of the God of the universe is worthy of the respect of
His creatures: thus, persons most disposed to contest the authenticity
of the sacred books, ought still to love precepts which seem to come to
the aid of the human mind, in order to assist men in the last efforts
which they make to know more of God; as the friendly bark, offered to
the forlorn wretch struggling on the surface of the immense waste of
waters, on which his feeble hands have vainly endeavoured to support
him.
We cannot but have discovered, that the sentiments of gratitude and
respect which inspire men, the most capable of reflection, with the idea
of a God, are intimately connected with the Christian doctrines, such as
we find them in the New Testament; and in those moments, when, with the
desire of happiness, and the timidity which belongs to our nature, we
seek to unite our littleness to supreme grandeur, and our extreme
weakness to Omnipotence, the divine perfections which the gospel
delineates encourage our hopes and dissipate our fears; religion shows
us all that we have need of in our miserable condition, a sovereign
goodness, an inexhaustible compassion: thus then, the last link of the
Christian faith, like the termination of the deepest meditations,
reaches the same conclusion; and religion agrees with philosophy, in the
moment when it is most elevated.
However, the Christian and the Deist unite, in some manner, in the
ultimate tendency of their thoughts; they meet when they throw their
attention on civil society, and when they seek to determine the duties
of men; for a wise man must ever pay homage to the morality of the
gospel, and the philosopher could not have imagined a more reasonable
system, or one more conformable to our situation[6]. If it is then true,
that opinions, in appearance opposite, approach, at their extremities;
and if it is true, that the adoration of a God, and respect for
morality, form by uniting, the circle of evangelical doctrines, it very
little concerns the reasonable philosopher, that the Christian faith is
placed between those two grand ideas; if he thinks he can himself
explore the space which separates man from his Creator, for what reason
would he condemn with bitterness the sentiments of those who are
attached to the comfortable system of intercession and redemption, of
which Christianity has laid the foundation?
In short, were they even not to agree in every opinion with the
interpreters of the Christian doctrine, this would not be a sufficient
reason for breaking the religious alliance which ought to subsist
amongst men; an alliance represented and rendered authentic, in every
nation, by the public worship which has been made choice of by the
government. What idea then should we have of the genius or the abilities
of a philosopher, who, at the sight of the ceremonies of the public
worship which disgust him, could not rise above them, so as to consider
them, in some measure, as the atmosphere of religious opinions, which
turning his attention from the importance of those opinions, could not
preserve, at least, some respect for all the dependencies of the most
sublime and salutary thought? It is easy, however, to perceive, that,
for the generality of men, the duties of morality, religion, and all the
exterior homage rendered to the Deity, compose a whole so closely
connected, that the basis is in danger when the outworks are attacked.
The imagination of the vulgar cannot be guided in the same manner as
that of the solitary thinker; and it would be committing a great error,
to try to influence the opinions of the generality by the same
considerations which are sufficient for the man who profoundly reflects:
there is a system proportionate to the different faculties of
intelligent beings, as there is one applicable to the varied forces of
their physical nature.
I know nothing more dangerous, than the inconsiderate censures of those
religious ceremonies received and respected in the country we live in:
some do not think that they are acting wrong when they speak slightingly
of the various symbols of public worship; yet, if they attentively
observed the kind of minds, and the first habits of the greater part of
those to whom they address such discourses, they would know how easy it
is to wound them in the sentiment which is the source of all their
tranquility, and the safeguard of their moral conduct. The deliverer of
Switzerland struck off with one of his arrows an apple placed on the
head of his only son; but every one cannot expect to be so fortunate.
Some would contradict these assertions, by saying, that celebrated men
have occasioned rapid changes in the church of Rome without weakening
religion. The origin, the circumstances, and the result of a revolution
so marked in history, has not any connexion with the present question;
the reformers of the sixteenth century, preaching a new doctrine, openly
professed religious zeal and a fervent piety: thus, at the same time
that they disapproved of a part of the established worship, they more
rigidly recommended all the fundamental opinions of Christianity, and
sought to introduce a severity of manners which even extended to the
proscription of several indulgences that had not been before condemned:
and, in fact, if the new doctrines had not been united to the greatest
respect for the essential principles of the Christian religion, they
never would have had so many followers.
They cannot then establish any kind of comparison between the censures
poured forth by the reformers, and the ridicule or contempt of those who
now insult our most respectable opinions; those men, who at present
abound, are sometimes excited by a libertinism of mind and conduct, by
self-love or the enthusiasm of false philosophy, and some of them are
seduced by an air of superiority, attached to the principles which they
themselves institute. There is a great difference between the grave and
serious course of the reformers, and the various evolutions of the
active opponents of religion: the latter do not take care to stop at
clearing up a point of doctrine, or a disputed interpretation of some
dogma; it is religion itself that they wish to attack, and if they begin
with the outworks, it is in order to undermine it; they take skilfully
their post, and know when to have recourse to a tone of pleasantry;
which is very dangerous, as it gives an air of confidence to those who
employ it, and they obtain a kind of ascendency in avoiding every idea
of an equal combat: one is disposed to think, that it is by disdain that
they glance slightly over the subject; we cowardly submit to the
appearance of their superiority; and that which is in them weakness or
impotence gives consequence.
Men, in order to express their gratitude to the sovereign Master of the
World, must borrow from their imaginations every thing grand and
majestic: thus, when they detach from those reverential signs the ideas
that they represented and preserve, they only display a vain gravity, a
chimerical pomp; and it is easy to make a similar contrast a subject of
ridicule; but in acting thus, far from making us applaud their talents,
they insult, without any sense, the habit most men have acquired of
venerating, on the whole, every system of worship paid the Supreme
Being.
Nevertheless, the bold and frivolous discourses which are permitted
against religion in general, have made such a progress, that at present
the persons who most respect these opinions, without ostentation or
severity, find themselves obliged to conceal or moderate their
sentiments, lest they should be exposed to a kind of contemptuous pity,
or run the risk of being suspected of hypocrisy. We are at liberty to
speak on every subject, except the most grand and interesting which can
occupy men. What strange authority gave rise to this imperious
legislation, which is termed fashionable? What a miserable conspiracy,
that of weakness against Omnipotence! Men are proud of knowing at what
hour the king wakes, goes to the chace, or returns; they are very eager
to be informed of the vile intrigues which successively debase or exalt
his courtiers; they pass, in short, their whole lives in panting after
objects of vanity and badges of slavery; they are continually brought
into conversation; and they proscribe, under the dreadful name of
vulgarity, the most remote expression, which would recal the idea of the
harmonious universe, and the Being who has bestowed on us all the gifts
of the mind; what is most excellent in our nature we overlook, to dwell
only on the inflations of vanity. Ungrateful that we are! Our
intelligence, our will, all our senses, are the seal of an unknown
power; and, is it the name of our Master and Benefactor that we dare not
pronounce? it is from your modern philosophers that this false shame
arises; you, who spread derision over the most respectable sentiments,
and employing in the dispute the frivolous shafts of ridicule, have
given confidence to the most insignificant of men; you have, for your
followers, a numerous race, which is taken promiscuously from every rank
and age.
We now reckon, amongst those who oppose a contemptuous smile to
religious opinions, a multitude of young people, often incapable of
supporting the most trivial arguments, and who, perhaps, could not
connect two or three abstract propositions. These pretended philosophers
artfully, and almost perfidiously, take advantage of the first flight of
self-love, to persuade beginners, that they are able to judge at a
glance, of the serious questions which have eluded the penetration of
the most exercised thinkers: in short, such is in general the decisive
tone of the irreligious men of our age, that in hearing them so boldly
murmur about the disorders of the universe, and the mistakes of
Providence; we are only surprised to see how much they differ in stature
from those rebellious giants mentioned in the heathen mythology.
I believe, however, that if contempt for religious opinions did not
produce a striking contrast, those who profess to feel this contempt
would quickly adopt other sentiments; they only superficially attend to
the pernicious tendency of their maxims, whilst they believe themselves
still in the opposition; but if they ever obtained a majority, not
having then the spur of self-love, they would soon discover the
absurdity of their principles, and hastily throw them aside.
There are, undoubtedly, a great number of estimable persons, who highly
value the truths and precepts of religion, yet are a prey to doubt and
uncertainty, and who become the first victims of the inconsistencies of
their minds; but men of such a character do not aim at dominion, on the
contrary, they rather wish to be confirmed by the example of those whose
confidence is more assured; they would consider with interest the
sentiments that unfortunately have made too slight an impression on
them; and they would endeavour to strengthen their weak hopes, till they
reached the courageous persuasion which inspires the Christian:——yes,
even the enthusiasm of piety excites their envy, as it is more
delightful to yield to the emotions of a lively imagination, than to
struggle with apathy against the opinions calculated to diffuse
happiness. Thus, if amongst the number of persons that I have just
delineated, there were some to whom nature had granted superior talents,
wit or eloquence, they would carefully avoid exerting them to disturb
the repose of those peaceable souls who calmly rely on religion, and
receive all their consolation from that source. A wise man never permits
himself to spread sadness and discouragement, in order to gratify the
ridiculous vanity of exalting himself a little above common opinions, or
to show his abilities by making some ingenious distinctions concerning
particular parts of the established religion; in the same manner, as it
would be the height of folly to stop an army during its march, to
discriminate systematically the perfect justness of the different tones
of the warlike instruments of music. The bold and frivolous opinions of
several philosophers, have appeared to me to be weak, where they most
wish to rise; I mean, in the extent and loftiness of their views.
I need not speak to those who deny even the existence of a God. Alas! if
they are so unhappy as to shut their eyes, and not to admit this
resplendant light; if they have a soul so insensible, as not to be
affected with the comfortable truths which flow from such a noble
thought; if they are become deaf to the interesting voice of nature; if
they trust more to their weak reasoning, than the warnings of conscience
and sensibility; at least, let them not spread their disastrous
doctrine, which, like the head of Medusa, would transform every thing
into stone. Let them remove from us that frightful monster, or let his
hoarse hissing be only heard in the dreary solitude, of which their
heart presents the idea; let them spare the human race, and have pity on
the distress into which they would be plunged, if the mild light, which
serves to guide them, were ever to be obscured: in short, if they really
believe that morality can agree with atheism, let them give the first
proof of it, by remaining silent; but if they cannot abstain from
publishing their opinions, let a remnant of generosity induce them to
inform us of their dangerous tendency, by placing in the frontispiece of
their works this terrible inscription of Dante’s: _Lasciat’ ogni
speranza voi ch’ entrate_.
CHAP. XVI.
_The same Subject continued. Reflections on Intolerance._
The surface of the earth represents to us about the two hundred and
fortieth part of the surperfice of the different opaque bodies which
revolve round the sun.
The fixed stars are so many suns, which, according to all appearance,
serve equally to enlighten and fertilize planets similar to those we are
acquainted with.
A famous astronomer[7] has lately discovered fifty thousand new stars in
a zone fifteen degrees in length and two in breadth, a space which
corresponds with the thirteen hundred and sixty-fourth part of the
celestial sphere.
Thus, supposing that we perceive an equal number of stars in every other
parallel section of the firmament, the quantity we should be acquainted
with would rise to near sixty-nine millions.
And if each of these stars were the centre of a planetary system,
resembling the one we inhabit, we should have an idea of the existence
of a number of habitable globes, whose extent would be sixteen or
seventeen millions of times more considerable than the surface of the
earth[8].
However, the ingenious invention which assists us to explore the vaulted
firmament is susceptible of new improvement; and even at the period when
it may arrive at the greatest perfection, the space which our astronomic
knowledge may have taken possession of, will only be a point in the vast
extent which our imagination can conceive.
This imagination itself, like all our intellectual faculties, is perhaps
only a simple degree of infinite powers; and the images that it presents
are but an imperfect sketch of universal existence.
What then becomes of our earth, in the midst of that immensity which the
human mind vainly tries to grasp? What is it even now, compared with
that number of terrestrial bodies we can calculate or suppose?
Is it then the inhabitants of this grain of sand, is it only a few of
them, that have discovered the true mode of worshipping the Creator of
so many wonders? Their dwelling is a point in infinite space; the life
which they enjoy is but one of the moments which compose eternity; they
pass away like a flash of lightning in that course of ages, in which
generations after generations are lost. How then dare any of them
announce to the present age, and to those to come, that men cannot
escape the vengeance of Heaven if they alter one tittle of the Ritual?
What an idea they give of the relation established between the God of
the universe and the atoms dispersed throughout nature? Let them then
raise one of the extremities of that veil which covers so many
mysteries, let them consider a moment the wonders on every side, the
starry firmament, and the inconceivably dreary immensity which their
imagination cannot embrace; and let them judge, if it is by the exterior
form of their adoration, the vain pomp of their ceremonies, that this
Omnipotent God can distinguish their homage. Is it then, by the pride of
our opinions, that we think to reach the Supreme Being? It is more
comfortable, more reasonable to believe, that all the inhabitants of the
earth have access to His throne, and that we are permitted to raise
ourselves to it by a profound sentiment of love and gratitude, as the
most sure and intimate relation between man and his Creator.
Undoubtedly it is necessary that public worship should be constantly
regulated, and that distinct symbols should be respected, whose
essential character ought not to vary, that the sentiments of the
generality, so promptly affected by exterior objects, may not be exposed
to any alteration; it is necessary that weak minds easily find their
way, and that they are not embarrassed with doubt and uncertainty; in
short, it is to be desired, that the citizens, united by the same laws
and political interests, should be so by the same worship, in order that
the sacred band of religion may take them all in; and that principles of
education should be maintained and fortified by example. But as morality
is the first law of princes, and that always clear and distinct in its
motives and instructions, it ought to precede the uncertain combinations
of the politician. A government is never permitted to aim at any end by
unjust means, let it be ever so desirable; and I believe that this rule
is equally adapted to the opinions of men and their rights. It would be
possible to conceive a system of distribution, with respect to the
fortunes of men, more convenient than any other for the increase of
public wealth and the power of the state; but though this knowledge
should influence the general conduct of government, it receives no right
from its discernment, to arrange according to its will, the situation of
every citizen. The same principle has greater force applied to opinions:
it is reasonable to seek to direct their course by slow and mild means;
but the system of unity, which is certainly most conducive to the
happiness of a state, would cease to be good, if, in order to establish
that system, violence, or merely constraint, was had recourse to:
liberty of thought is the first of rights, and the most respectable
dominion is that of conscience.
Some now talk of the union of civil tolerance and religious intolerance;
the one protects Protestants in Catholic countries, and Catholics in
Protestant countries; and the other would forbid every kind of worship
which is not conformable to the institutions of the predominant
religion: but upon this plan, if the number of Dissenters was to become
considerable, an important part of the nation would be without worship;
and the government should not appear indifferent to this, since it is of
great importance to mankind to maintain carefully every support of
morality.
There is nothing more to be said on intolerance when we consider it in
its excess. We all now know what we ought to think of the severities and
persecutions which history has transmitted an account of, and we know
the opinion we should form of many acts of intolerance and inhumanity
which some have for a long time gloried in; and we cannot stifle our
indignation at the sight of the faggots that are still lighted round
those unhappy wretches scattered over the face of the earth, of whom
Jesus Christ himself said, with so much goodness, in the midst of his
agonies; _Father forgive them, for they know not what they do_. It is
time to abolish for ever those dreadful customs, ignominious remembrance
of our ancient phrensies! O God, are these Thy creatures that they dare
to torment in Thy name! Is it the work of Thy hand that they sacrifice
to Thy glory?—Petty tyrants! ferocious inquisitors! do you expect to
obtain the favour of Heaven, with a heart hardened, after mutilating the
members and tearing the bosoms of those whom you can only draw to you by
a sentiment of pity? whose emotions you are not acquainted with? The God
of goodness rejects such offerings—He cannot away with them. Who then
will pardon errors, if not men who are continually deceived! Alas! if
exactness of judgment, or the perfection of reason, were the only title
to divine benevolence, there is not any one who might not cast down his
eyes devoid of all hope.
Those who proudly flatter themselves, that they alone know the worship
agreeable to the Supreme Being, lose all their claim to our confidence,
when, guided by a spirit of intolerance, they depart so visibly from the
character which ought to inspire the idea of a God, protector of human
weakness. But the absurd attempt to inspire faith by acts of rigour and
severity, has been so often and so ably combated, that I shall not dwell
on a principle, the truth of which common sense will discover. I shall
only make one observation sufficient to intimidate the conscience of
inquisitors, and all those who adopt their maxims. The operations of the
mind can only be influenced by reasoning, all the designs formed to
attain this end by violence are attempts to subvert the belief of the
spirituality of the soul, and indirect associations with materialists;
for we must believe in the identity of matter and thought to have a
right of presuming, that the empire exercised on us by rigorous
treatment can have an influence on our opinions; and then we must
consider man as a being governed by mechanical laws, to be able to
imagine, that with instruments of torture we can excite a sensation,
which, by an unknown conduit, might act instead of judgment and the
sentiment of persuasion.
It is because, the indignant emotions of a worthy heart are more
powerful than the cool arguments of offended reason, that we rise with
warmth against intolerance; for without this motive it would only
deserve our contempt, as indicating a singular littleness of soul. Who
can remember without pity, those dissensions so long maintained, in
which men, both weak and blind, united in the name of devotion, actuated
by self-love, unintelligible decrees, to some important controversy? All
these disputes appear foolish when we coolly examine them; and we have
only to consider, abstractedly, those quarrels, to discover all their
absurdity.
But as it is only by spreading knowledge and diffusing wholesome
precepts that we can hope to cure enthusiasm and intolerance; we ought
to be on our guard against the dangerous spirit of indifference,
otherwise one evil will be removed only to introduce another equally
fatal; when trying to divert men from fanaticism, we destroy the ideas
which served as a foundation for religion. There could not subsist any
sound opinion or estimable principle, if the different errors which
creep round them were torn away by an awkward or violent hand; and is
the evil, which continually mixes with the good, became the subject of
blind proscription.
Let us loudly acknowledge the benefits which we have received from
distinguished writers, who have defended with zeal and energy the cause
of toleration; it is an obligation, added to many others, which it is
just to acknowledge, that we have received from genius and talents
united: but permit us also to observe, that several of those writers
have lost a part of the applause due to them, by seeking to depress
religion, in order to succeed in their attempt; such a proceeding was
unworthy of enlightened philosophers, who more than others ought to
assign limits to reason, and never despair of its influence. What should
we think, if, amongst those who justly attack the tyranny exercised over
conscience, there were some intolerant in the defence of toleration; and
if we had reason to reproach them with despising, and sometimes hating
those who do not concur with them; and by an inconsiderate imputation of
pusillanimity or hypocrisy, make the characters and intentions of those
who do not adopt their sentiments appear suspicious? What a strange
inconsistency, in a different way, do they not exhibit; forgetting,
sometimes, their own opinions, and contradicting, without thinking,
their acknowledged incredulity, they raise a clamour about the miseries
to which mankind are subject, and display the pretended disorders of the
universe, in order, afterwards, to throw an odium on the God whose
existence they contest, to ridicule a Providence they do not rely on!
One would think, that after having overturned the empire of the Deity,
that they might remain the only legislators of the world; they regretted
not having any longer a rival, and wished to rebuild the temple they
have destroyed, to have again a vain idol to insult. Another
inconsistency appears in their asperity against those who resist their
dogmas, whilst, in the system of fate, reason does not preserve its
empire, and the master, as well as the disciple, are equally subject to
the laws of necessity.
To exercise an authority over the mind by the power of eloquence is a
great advantage; for such an authority is not confined to any place or
time; but to have a right to such an extensive reign, we must renounce
fashionable opinions, the counsels of vanity and the instigations of
self-love; and be only actuated by that universal and durable interest,
the happiness of mankind.
I would not wish to prohibit the wise man or philosopher from treating
any subject proper to direct our judgment; for there are abuses and
prejudices every where, which we cannot destroy without making a step
towards reason and truth; but as there is a philosophy for the thoughts,
there is one also for the actions. I indeed wish that men of an enlarged
turn of mind, who perceive at a glance the moral order of things, would
attack with more caution and moderation, and at a proper season, that
which directly relates to the opinions most essential to our happiness;
and that a respect for these opinions should be manifest, even when they
censure fanaticism and superstition.
Such a wish is far from being realized; and I cannot help lamenting,
when I consider the design of the greater part, who have written for
some time past on religious subjects: some seek artfully to destroy, or,
at least, relax the band which unites men to the idea of a Supreme
Being; and others shut up in some mystic idea, as in a dark den, blindly
level their anathemas against every kind of doubt and uncertainty; and
confound, in their rigorous censures, the accessary ideas with the
principal opinions.
However, in taking a course so opposite, they unfortunately have an
equal interest in ranking the essential principles of religion with the
most insignificant symbols: but influenced by very different motives;
the former act with a view of making religious zeal serve to defend
every part of the worship of which they are the ministers; the latter,
guided by a motive of self-love, readily admit confusion, that they may
have an opportunity of undermining religion when they attack its
outworks.
We have need, more than ever, to be directed to religion by wise and
moderate discourses, by a happy mixture of reason and sensibility, the
true characteristic of evangelical morality. It is only by these means
that the authority of salutary truths can be strengthened: we are easily
hurried beyond the just line, when the human mind is not in a state to
mark any limits; but the daily progress of knowledge obliges us to use
more exactness: it is necessary then to rein in the imagination, and to
allow reason to take place of it: yet it is still allowed us to animate
reason, and even useful to do so, but we must absolutely avoid
disguising it. False notions only have need of the assistance of
exaggeration; it seems that some are very fond of extremes, that common
sense may not investigate them.
I will make another observation. Those who, to free us from
superstition, endeavour to relax religious restrictions; and those who,
to strengthen them, have recourse to intolerance, equally miss their
aim. The hatred so naturally excited by every kind of violence and
constraint, in matters of opinion, creates a repugnance in those persons
to religion who are insensibly led to consider this excellent system as
the motive or excuse for a blind spirit of persecution. And the direct
attacks against religious opinions engage well-disposed minds to adhere
more strenuously to every custom which appears a form of respect or
adoration; as we redouble our zeal for a friend in the midst of those
who neglect or slight him.
Let us unite, and it is certainly time, to render to the Supreme Being
sincere worship; and let that worship always be worthy of the dignity of
our Creator: let us banish severity and superstition; but let us equally
dread that culpable indifference, the cause of so many misfortunes; and
when we shall have strengthened the influence of sound reason, let us
adhere more closely to the useful opinions which have been refined from
errors, and with all our force repulse those who wish us to bury our
hopes to free ourselves from the wanderings of the imagination. Yes, a
religion, disengaged from the passions of men, in its native beauty,
ought to dwell with us; public order and private happiness equally claim
it, and all our reflections lead us to elevate our hearts towards an
Omnipotent Being, of whose existence all nature reminds us: religion
well understood, far from being the necessary principle of rigour or
violence, should be the foundation of every social virtue, and of every
mild and indulgent sentiment. We are not called to tyrannize over the
opinions of others, or to give despotic laws to the mind; we must
observe, that a moderate and rational religion only will guide us to the
path of happiness and virtue, by addressing equally our hearts and
minds.
CHAP. XVII.
_Reflections on the Morality of the Christian Religion._
I will venture a few reflections on a subject which has often been
treated; the course of my subject naturally leads to it: but in order to
avoid, as much as possible, what is generally known, I shall confine
myself to consider the morality of the gospel, under a point of view
which seems to me to distinguish its sublime instructions.
The most distinct characteristic of christianity is the spirit of
charity and forbearance which pervades all its precepts. The ancients,
undoubtedly, respected the beneficent virtues; but the precept which
commends the poor and the weak, to the protection of the opulent,
belongs essentially to our religion. With what care, with what love, the
Christian legislator returns continually to the same sentiment and
interest! the tenderest pity lent to his words a persuasive unction; but
I admire, above all, the awful lesson he has given, in explaining the
close union established between our sentiments towards the Supreme Being
and our duties towards men. Thus, after having termed the love of God,
_the first commandment of the law_, the Evangelist adds; _and the
second, which is like unto it, is to love thy neighbour as thyself_. The
second, which is like unto it! what simplicity, what extent in that
expression! Can any thing be more interesting and sublime, than to offer
continually to our mind the idea of a God taking on himself the
gratitude of the unfortunate? Where find any principle of morality, of
which the influence can ever equal such a grand thought? The poor, the
miserable, however abject their state, appear surrounded with the symbol
of glory, when the love of humanity becomes an expression of the
sentiments which elevate us to God; and the mind ceases to be lost in
the immensity of His perfections, when we hope to maintain an habitual
intercourse with the Supreme Being, by the services which we render to
men; it is thus that a single thought spreads a new light on our duty,
and gives to metaphysical ideas a substance conformable to our organs.
Justice, respect for the laws, and duty to ourselves, may be united, in
some manner, to human wisdom; goodness alone, among all the virtues,
presents another character; there is in its essence something vague and
undeterminate which claims our respect; it seems to have a relation with
that intention, that first idea which we must attribute to the Creator
of the world, when we wish to discover the cause of its existence.
Goodness then is the virtue, or to express myself with more propriety,
the primitive beauty, that which has preceded time. Thus the pressing
exhortations to benevolence and charity, which we find running through
the gospel, should elevate our thoughts, and penetrate us with profound
respect; it recals us, it unites us, to a sentiment more ancient than
the world, to a sentiment, by which we have received existence, and the
hopes which compose our present happiness[9].
But if, from these elevated contemplations, we, for a moment, descend to
the political principles which have the greatest extent, we shall find
there the influence of a truth on which I have already had occasion to
dwell; but I shall now treat it in a different manner. The unequal
division of property has introduced amongst men an authority very like
that of a master over his slaves; we may even justly say, that in many
respects the empire of the rich is still more independent; for they are
not bound constantly to protect those from whom they require services:
the taste and caprice of these favourites of fortune fix the terms of
their convention with men, whose only patrimony is their time and
strength; and as soon as this convention is interrupted, the poor man,
absolutely separated from the rich, remains again abandoned to
accidents; he is obliged then to offer his labours with precipitation to
other dispensers of subsistence; and thus he may experience, several
times in the year, all the inquietudes that must necessarily arise from
uncertain recourses. Undoubtedly, in giving the support of the laws to a
similar constitution, it has been reasonably supposed, that in the midst
of the multiplied relations of social life, there would be a kind of
balance and equality between the wants which oblige the poor to solicit
wages, and the desires of the rich which engage them to accept their
services; but this equilibrium, so essentially necessary, can never be
established in an exact and constant manner, since it is the result of a
blind concourse of combinations, and the uncertain effect of an infinite
multitude of movements, not one of which is subject to a positive
direction. However, since to maintain the distinction of property they
were obliged to leave to chance the fate of the greater number of men,
it was indispensably necessary to find some salutary opinion, proper to
temper the abuses inseparable from the free exercise of the rights of
property; and that happy and restoring idea could only have been
discerned in an obligation of benevolence imposed on the will, and a
spirit of general charity recommended to all men: these sentiments and
duties, the last resource offered to the unfortunate, can alone mitigate
a system, in which the fate of the most numerous part of a nation rests,
on the doubtful agreement of the conveniences of rich with the wants of
the poor. Yes, without the aid, without the intervention of the most
estimable of virtues, the generality would have just reason to regret
the social institutions, which, at the price of their independance, left
to the master the care of their subsistence; and it is thus that
charity, respectable under so many different views, becomes still an
intelligent and political idea, which serves to blend personal liberty
and the imperious laws of property.
I know not if ever the christian precepts have been considered under
this point of view; but reflecting a little on this subject, we perceive
more than ever of what importance the salutary institutions are, which
place in the first rank of our duties the beneficent spirit of charity,
and which lends to the most essential virtue all the force and constancy
which religion gives birth to. Thus, at the same time that the doctrines
of the gospel elevate our thoughts, its sublime morality accompanies, in
some measure, our laws and institutions, to sustain those which are
really conformable to reason, and to remedy the inconveniences
inseparable from the imperfections of human wisdom.
It is not, however, only to pecuniary sacrifices, that the gospel
applies its precepts respecting charity; it extends to those generous
acts of self-denial, that religion alone can render supportable; and
which makes some descend with a firm step into the dreary abodes, in
which the culprit is a prey to the remorse that tears his heart; and
when his very relations have abandoned him, he still beholds a
comforter, whom religion conducts to pour consolation into his afflicted
soul. The same motives and thoughts induce some to renounce the world
and its hopes, to consecrate themselves entirely to the service of the
sick, and to fulfil those sad functions with an assiduity and a
constancy, that the most splendid reward could never excite. O rare and
disinterested virtue, perfection of piety! what a tribute of admiration
is due to the sublime sentiment which inspires such painful self-denial!
Men are only stimulated by notions of right and justice; it belongs to
christianity to impose duties, whose base is placed beyond the narrow
circle of our terrestrial interests. I know not, but it seems to me,
that, notwithstanding a diversity of opinions, we cannot help being
affected, when we contemplate the sketch of the last day which the
gospel delineates: it exhibits a terrific and sublime picture of that
day, in which all actions are to be revealed, and the most secret
thoughts have the universe for a witness, and God as a judge; and at the
moment when we wait to see the retinue of virtues and vices which have
rendered men celebrated, it is a single quality, a virtue without
splendour, which is chosen by the Divine Arbiter of our fate, to derive
an immortality of happiness from, and He pronounces these memorable
words, which contain in a small compass our whole duty:—_I was hungry,
and ye gave me meat; thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a prisoner and
ye visited me. Come ye blessed of my father, inherit the kingdom
prepared for you_, &c. Men love to contemplate the triumphs of
goodness—love to exalt it under different forms. We have so many wants,
are so weak, and we are able to do so little for ourselves, that this
interesting virtue appears our safeguard and the mysterious tie of all
nature.
The spirit of charity, so essential in its exact interpretation, may be
applied to the regard and delicate attention that different degrees of
talents, render necessary: society, under this relation, has also its
rich and poor; and we know the extent of charity and the secrets of our
moral nature, when we practice that general benevolence, which preserves
others from feeling a painful sentiment of inferiority, and which makes
it a duty to respect the veil, that a beneficent hand has designedly
placed between the light of truth and those imperfections which we
cannot entirely correct.
It is always about the generality of men that the author of christianity
seems to be interested; the gospel takes cognizance of their private
sentiments, condemning pride, and recommending modesty; and it applies
itself to level those distances which appear to us so important, when we
only view the little points of gradation which compose our scale of
vanity. Religion enables us to discern that haughtiness and contempt,
only display our ignorance and folly: _what hast thou, that thou didst
not receive? now if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory?_—What is
the pride that does not melt away before these awful words? Religion
seems ever to tend towards the same end, and by continually reminding us
of the brevity of life, to prevent strong illusions from engrossing our
thoughts.
The greater part of ancient moral instructions were in general
addressed, either to man considered as an individual occupied with the
care of his destiny, or to the citizen connected by his duties to his
country, and none of them had sufficient extent: it is necessary, when
giving counsel to a solitary individual, only to try to free him from
those passions which would destroy his repose and happiness; and the
obligations that are imposed on the different members of a political
state, necessarily participate of a jealous spirit, which the will of
the government may turn into hatred. The Christian religion, more
universal in its views, turns its attention from the contrariety of
interests which divide men when they belong to different governments; it
considers us indistinctly as citizens of a great society, united by the
same origin, nature, and dependencies, and by the same sentiment of
happiness. Recommending the reciprocal duties of benevolence, the gospel
does not make any difference between the inhabitant of Jerusalem and
Samaria; it takes man in the most simple of his relations, and the most
honourable, those which arise from his intercourse with the Supreme
Being; and under this point of view, all the hostile divisions of
kingdom against kingdom, absolutely disappear; it is the whole human
race which has a right to the protection and the beneficence of the
Author of Nature, and it is in the name of every intelligent being that
we credit the alliance which unites heaven to earth.
The rich and powerful made the first laws, or, at least, directed the
spirit of them; it was especially to defend their possessions and
privileges that they extolled justice: the legislator of our religion,
speaking of this virtue, has shown, that the interests of all men were
equally present to his thoughts; we might even say, that he made an old
obligation a new duty, by the manner in which he prescribed it:
_Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them_,
is a maxim ever remarkable, if we consider the extent of the precept
which it contains: there are so many acts of severity and oppression, so
much tyranny, which escapes the reach of the law, and the
superintendency of opinion, that we cannot too highly value its
importance; Christianity indeed affords a simple guide and measure for
all our actions.
Religion, beside, in order to fix our determinations, strengthens the
authority of conscience: she saw, that every one of us has within
himself a judge, the most severe and clear-sighted, and that it is
sufficient to submit to its laws to be instructed in our duty; for it is
our hidden thoughts that this judge examines, and nothing is excused, no
subterfuge admitted.
It is not the same with those censures which we exercise towards others,
the simple actions only strike us; and the different motives they result
from, the emotions, the conflicts which accompany them, and the regret,
the repentance, which follow them, all these essential characteristics
escape our penetration: thus religion, always wise, always benevolent in
its counsels, forbids our forming hasty and precipitate judgments; and
we cannot read, without emotion, that lesson of indulgence so mildly
addressed to the crowd which surrounded the woman taken in adultery, _he
that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her_. But
how resist being affected by admiration, when we see religion so warmly
employed about the fate of those whom the suspicions or false
accusations of men have dragged before their tribunals? by declaring
that it is better to let a hundred culprits escape punishment, than run
the risk of condemning a single person unjustly. This tender anxiety
corresponds with every sentiment of our hearts. Innocence delivered to
infamy, innocence encompassed with all the horrors of an execution, is
the most dreadful sight that the imagination can present; and we are so
struck by it, that we should be almost disposed to think, that before
the Supreme Being the whole human race is responsible for such a crime:
yes, it is under Thy protection, O my God, that unknown virtue and
injured innocence take shelter; men turn towards Thee for comfort when
pursued by men, and it is not in vain that they trust in that awful day
when all shall be judged before Thee.
I wish only to dwell on the particular character of the Christian
religion, as it proportions the merit of our actions, not to the
grandeur or importance of them; but to the relation that they have with
our abilities, it is an idea absolutely new: this system, which presents
the same motives and rewards to the weak and strong, remarked the
widow’s mite, as well as the generous sacrifices of opulence; this
system, as just as rational, animates, in some measure, our whole moral
nature, and seems to inform us, that a vast circle of good actions and
social virtues are submitted to the same rules, as the immense domain of
physical nature, in which the simplest flower, or the most insignificant
plant, concurs to perfect the designs of the Supreme Being, and composes
one part of the harmonious universe.
The superintendance of the Christian religion extends still further than
I can point out; and guided by a spirit not to be equalled, it estimates
our intentions, obscure dispositions, and internal determinations, often
separated from action by different obstacles: it directs men, in some
measure, from their first sentiments and designs; it continually reminds
them of the presence of God; warns them to watch over themselves, when
their inclinations are but dawning, before they have gained strength; in
short, at an early hour it forms the mind to the exercise of virtue, by
discriminating virtue and vice, and reminding us to cultivate a love of
order and propriety before the active scenes of life force those
sentiments to appear conspicuously displayed in actions.
But the more the methods of meriting the divine approbation are
multiplied, the more essential is it that our confidence should not be
depressed, every instant, by the sentiment which arises from the
experience of our errors; it is necessary, that at the moments, too
frequent, when the chain which unites us to the Supreme Being would
escape from our grasp, the hope of again seizing it should remain with
us: it is then to succour our weak faith, that we see in the gospel that
idea at once so excellent and new, that of repentance and the promises
which are annexed to it. This noble idea, absolutely belonging to
Christianity, prevents our relation with the Deity from being destroyed
as soon as it is perceived; the culprit may still hope for the favour of
God, and after contrition confide in Him. Human nature, that singular
connexion of the spirit with matter, of strength with weakness, of
reason with the imagination, persuasion with doubt, and will with
uncertainty, necessarily requires a legislation appropriated to a
constitution so extraordinary: man, in his most improved state,
resembles an infant, who attempts to walk, and falls, rises and falls
again; and he would soon be lost to morality, if, after his first fault,
he had not any hope of repairing it; under a similar point of view, the
idea of repentance is one of the most philosophical which the gospel
contains.
That pressing recommendation to do good in secret, without ostentation,
is the result of a salutary and profound thought: the legislator of our
religion undoubtedly had perceived that the praises of men was not a
basis sufficiently steady to serve for the support of morality; and he
discerned, that vanity, allowed to enjoy these kind of triumphs, was too
dissipated to be a faithful guide; but the most important part of that
precept is, that morality would be very circumscribed, if men only
adhered to those just actions which all the world might see; there are
not many opportunities to do good in public, and the whole of life may
be filled by unseen virtues: in short, from that continual relation with
our conscience, a relation instituted by religion, there results an
inestimable benefit; for it is easy to perceive, that if we have within
us a clear-sighted and severe judge, this same judge turns consoler and
friend every time that we are unjustly condemned, or when events do not
answer according to the purity of our intentions; and we believe then
that we have almost two souls, one aiding and sustaining the other on
every occasion in which virtue unites them.
The severe censure of superstition, which we find throughout the gospel,
is derived from an idea as reasonable as enlightened; men are too much
disposed to make their religion consist of little exterior practices,
always easier than the conflicts with and triumphs over the passions:
our minds seize with avidity every extraordinary idea; when they are in
part of our own creating, they aid our self-love to subjugate our
imagination; man is not at the age of maturity terrified by those
phantoms which annoy his infancy; but mysteries, occult causes,
extraordinary appearances, continue to make an impression on his mind;
and like the wonders of nature, form too large a circle round his
thoughts; it is by ideas more proportioned to his strength, by mere
superstition, that he permits himself often to be led captive: we love
trivial commands, observances, and scruples, because we are little
ourselves, and that in our weakness we would wish to know every instant
the limits of our obligations.
Sometimes, persons terrified by their imaginations, or by the confused
picture which they form of the duties of religion, attach themselves to
superstitious practices as a safeguard near at hand which may quickly
guard them from the different anxieties of their minds. The precepts of
the gospel are designed to destroy these dispositions; for on one side,
they facilitate the study of morality, by reducing to simple principles
the entire system of our duties; and on the other, they seek to render
our intercourse with the Supreme Being more easy, by teaching us that we
may unite ourselves to Him by the expansion of a pure mind; by informing
us, that it is not either on Mount Sion or Gerizim that we are to raise
an altar; but that every honest heart is a temple, where the eternal is
adored _in spirit and in truth_. The Christian religion is the only one
which, discarding ceremonies and superstitious opinions, leads us to the
worship more consonant to our nature: Christianity indeed, in that grand
thought, has pointed out the dictates of our conscience as most worthy
of respect; benevolence, as the worship most agreeable to the Supreme
Being, and all our moral conduct as the most certain prognostic of our
future state. There reigns a profound philosophy in the doctrines of the
gospel, men have only added a vain pageantry, a more sounding tone.
Let us render homage to Christianity, for that sacred tie which it has
formed, in uniting not for a moment, but for the whole of life, the fate
of two beings, one having need of support, and the other of comfort: it
is religion which refines this alliance by rendering it immutable, and
obliges men not to sacrifice to the caprices of their imaginations the
unity and confidence which secures the repose of families, order in the
disposition of fortunes, the peaceable education of the succeeding
generation, and which, in giving to children, for an example, a union
formed by fidelity and duty, implants in their hearts the seeds of the
most important virtues; religion has taught us, that the friendships of
a world, in which selfishness reigns, have need of being cemented by
that community of interests and honours which marriage only gives us an
idea of; holy union, alliance without equal, which renders still more
valuable all the blessings of life, which seems to augment our hopes,
and fortify in us the comfortable thoughts and mild confidence which
piety gives birth to: the engagements entered into between men, which
being, for the most part, sounded on reciprocal services, a time might
come, when our weakness would be so great, others having no more
interest to associate with us, it might be necessary to find a support
in that friendship which time has matured, and of which a sentiment of
duty repairs the breaches, and which acquires a kind of sanctity from
the habit and the remembrance of a long and happy union: it is religion
in, short, which has ordained, that the delicate virtue, the most
excellent ornament of a weak and timid sex, should only be subject to
the ascendency of the most generous and faithful sentiment.
These principles, indeed, are not formed for corrupt hearts; but the
service which religion renders, the end which it proposes, is to assist
us to combat our depraved dispositions; it is to point out the errors
and the snares of vice; it is to preserve, amongst us, the sacred
deposit of principles, which are the foundation of public order, and
still maintain some light to illuminate the path of wisdom and true
happiness.
Religion recals us continually to those universal duties which we
describe under the name of good morals; duties that men would often
inconsiderately wish to separate from public interest, but which,
however, are bound to it by so many almost imperceptible and secret
ties. Every act of wisdom and virtue is not of immediate importance to
society; but morality must be cultivated by degrees, and fortified by
habit, as it is like those delicate plants which we rear with a kind of
fondness to preserve their beauty; if we make a distinction between
personal, domestic, and public manners, in order to neglect, as we find
convenient, one part of our duty, we shall lose the charm of it, and
every day virtue will appear more difficult.
There is, I think, a connexion, more or less apparent, between every
thing good and worthy of esteem; and it seems to me, that this idea has
something amiable, which confusedly satisfies our most generous
dispositions and most comfortable hopes: and if, to sustain a truth so
important, I was permitted to interrogate the young man, whose virtues
and talents are the most remarkable in Europe, I should ask him, if he
did not experience that his filial tenderness, the regularity of his
domestic life, the purity of his thoughts, and all his rare private
qualities, are not united to the noble sentiments which make him appear
with so much splendour as a statesman? But without dwelling on such
instances, who has not been sometimes struck with the beauty attached to
that simplicity and modesty of manners which we often find in an obscure
situation? We then manifestly discover, that there exists a kind of
agreement and dignity, I could almost say, a kind of grandeur,
independent of refined language, polished manners, and all those
advantages due to birth, to rank, and fortune.
I have only glanced over the benefits arising from the Christian
religion; but I cannot avoid observing, that we owe to it a consoling
idea, that of the felicity reserved for innocent babes; interesting and
precious hope for those tender mothers, who see slip from their embraces
the objects of their love, at an age when they have not acquired any
merit before the Supreme Being, whom they cannot have any relation with,
but through His infinite goodness. I feel that I involuntarily mix with
the elogiums of Christianity a sentiment of gratitude for the mild and
paternal ideas which are disseminated with its instructions; and there
is something remarkable in those instructions, that they are continually
animated by every thing which can captivate our imagination, and
associate with our natural inclinations. Sensibility, happiness, and
hope, are the strongest ties of a heart still pure; and all the emotions
which elevate towards the idea of a God exalt in our minds the doctrine
of morality, which recals us continually to the sublime perfections of
Him who was its author.
In short, we cannot avoid admiring the spirit of moderation, which forms
one of the distinct characteristics of the gospel; we do not always
find, it is true, the same spirit in the interpreters of the Christian
doctrines; several constrained by a false zeal, and more disposed to
speak in the name of a threatening master, than in that of a God, full
of wisdom and goodness, have frequently exaggerated and multiplied the
duties of men; and to support their system, they have often obscured the
natural sense, or the general import of the precepts contained in the
scriptures; and sometimes also, collecting a few scattered words, they
have formed a body of divinity, foreign in several respects to the
intention of the apostles and first Christians. Servants always go
further than their masters; and as the first thought does not belong to
them, they only act by adding something heterogeneous: the spirit of
moderation consists, beside, in a kind of proportion, which mere
imitators have only an imperfect knowledge of; fortitude is even
necessary to impose limits on virtue itself; and to determine the
precise and exact measure of the multiplied duties of men requires a
profound and sublime intelligence. It was by his sublime precepts that
the institutor of a universal morality shewed himself superior to that
age of ignorance in which extremes reigned; when piety was changed into
superstition, justice into rigour, indulgence into weakness; and when,
in the exaggeration of every sentiment, a kind of merit was sought for
incompatible with the immutable laws of wisdom: it was by those sublime
precepts, in short, that a legislator rose above transitory opinions to
command all times and ages, and that he appears to have been desirous to
adapt his instructions, not to the instantaneous humour of a people, but
to the nature of man.
We shall, beside, find easily in the gospel several characteristics
proper, essentially to distinguish it from philosophic doctrines; but in
an examination so serious and important I avoid every observation which
might appear to the greater number a simple research of the
understanding; it is the grand features only which belong to grand
things, and any other manner would not agree with a subject so worthy of
our respect. I must say, however, that when I am left alone to reflect
with attention on the different parts of the gospel, I have experienced,
that, independent of general ideas and particular precepts which lead us
every instant to profound admiration, there reigns, beside, in the whole
of that sublime morality, a spirit of goodness, of truth, and wisdom, of
which all the characters can only be perceived by our sensibility, by
that faculty of our nature which does not separate objects, which does
not wait to define; but which penetrates, as by a kind of instinct,
almost to that love, the origin of every thing, and that indefinite
model from which every generous intention and grand thought has taken
its first form.
CHAP. XVIII.
_Conclusion._
What a time have I chosen to entertain the world with morality and
religion! and what a theatre is this for such an undertaking! Only to
conceive it is a great proof of courage; every one is employed about his
harvest; lives in his affairs; is lost in the present instant, all the
rest appears chimerical. When I was formerly engrossed by cares for the
public welfare, and writing on my favourite subject, I could draw the
attention of men by a series of reflections on their own fortunes and on
the power of their country; it was in the name of their most ardent
passions that I engaged them to listen to me; but in treating the
subject I have now made choice of, it is their natural dispositions, now
almost effaced, that I must address: thus I feel the necessity of
re-animating the sentiments which I wish to direct, and giving birth to
the interest I desire to enlighten. And when I fix my attention on the
actual course of opinions, I fear to have for judges, either men who are
indifferent to the subject, or who are too severe in their censurers;
but the reflections of vanity are trivial to the motives which have
guided me; and provided any of my thoughts have agreed with the
inclinations of feeling minds, and added something to their happiness, I
shall enjoy the sweetest reward. Such a wish I formed, when, with a weak
hand, I ventured to trace some reflections on the importance of
religious opinions.
The more we know of the world, its phantoms, and vain enchantments, the
more do we feel the want of a grand idea to elevate the soul above
discouraging events which continually occur. When we run after honours,
fame, and gratitude, we find every where illusions and mistakes; and it
is our lot to experience those disappointments which proceed from the
infirmities or the passions of men. If we leave our vessel in the
harbour, the success of others dazzles and disturbs us; if we spread our
sails, we are the plaything of the winds: activity in action, ardour,
and indifference, all have their cares and difficulties; no person is
sheltered from the caprices of fortune, and when we have reached the
summit of our wishes, when we have by chance attained the object of our
ambition, sadness and languor are preparing to frustrate our hopes, and
dissipate the enchantment: nothing is perfect except for a moment;
nothing is durable but change; it is necessary then to have interest in
with those immutable ideas which are not the work of man, which do not
depend on a transient opinion: they are offered to all, and are equally
useful in the moment of triumph and the day of defeat; they are, as we
need them, our consolation, our encouragement, and our guide. What
strength, what splendour, those ideas would soon have, if, considered as
the best support of order and morality, men would try to render them
more efficacious, in the same manner as we see the citizens of a
political society concur, in proportion to their faculties, to promote
the welfare of the state. A new scene would open before us; men of
learning, far from following the counsels of vanity, far from searching
to destroy the most salutary belief of men, would, on the contrary,
allot for their defence a portion of their noblest powers; we should see
the penetrating metaphysician eager to refer to the common treasure of
our hopes, the light which he perceives through the continuity of his
meditations, and the perspicacity of his mind: we should see the
attentive observer of nature occupied with the same idea, animated by
the same interest; we should see him, in the midst of his labours, seize
with avidity every thing which could add any support to the first
principle of all religions; we should see him detach from his
discoveries, appropriate, with a kind of love, all that tended to
strengthen the happiest persuasion and most sublime of thoughts. The
profound moralist, the philosophic legislator, would concur in the same
design; and in such a grand enterprize, men, merely endowed with an
ardent imagination, would be like those wanderers, who, when they return
home, talk of some unknown riches. There are ways in the moral, as well
as in the physical world, which lead to unknown secrets; and the harvest
which may be gathered in the vast empire of nature is as extensive as
diversified. How excellent would be the union of every mind towards this
magnificent end! In this view, I represent sometimes to myself, with
respect, a society of men distinguished by their character and genius,
only employed to receive and place in order the ideas proper to augment
our confidence in the most precious opinion. There are thoughts
conceived by solitary men which are lost to mankind, because they have
not had the talent to connect a system; and if those thoughts were to be
united to some other knowledge, if they were to come like a grain of
sand, to strengthen the banks raised on our shore, the following
generations would transmit a richer heritage. We sometimes register with
pomp a new word, introduced into the language, and men of the most
exalted genius of the age are called to be present at that ceremony:
would it not be a more noble enterprize to examine, to choose, and
consecrate the ideas or observations proper to enlighten us in our most
essential researches? One of those researches would better deserve a
wreath, than any work of eloquence or literature.
Let us suppose, for a moment, that in the most ancient empire of the
world there might have been priests, from time immemorial, who guarded
the deposit of all the original ideas which served to support the
opinion of the existence of a God, and the sentiment of the immortality
of the soul; and that, from time to time, every new discovery,
calculated to increase the confidence due to these most necessary
truths, was inscribed in a religious testament, called the book of
happiness and hope; how highly should we value it, and how eagerly
desire to be acquainted with it; and with what respect should we
approach the ancient temple, in which those superb archives were
deposited. But, on the contrary, could we imagine another retreat, where
subtle arguments and artificial discourses were collected, by which some
endeavour to destroy or shake those holy opinions which unite the
universe to an intelligent thought, to a sublime wisdom; and the fate of
men to infinite goodness, who amongst us would wish to enter into that
dark abode? who would wish to explore that fatal register? Let us learn
to know our nature better, and through the delirium of our blind
passions discover its wants: it is a God we feel the want of, a God,
such as religion presents; a God, powerful and good, the first source of
happiness, and who only can secure it to the human race: let us open all
our faculties to that splendid light, that our hearts and minds may
welcome it, and find pleasure in widely diffusing it. Let us be
penetrated in our youth, by the only idea ever necessary to our peace:
let us strengthen it when in our full vigour, that it may support us in
the decline of life. Ravishing beauties of the universe, what would ye
be to us without this thought? Majestic power of the human mind,
astonishing wonders of the thinking faculty, what could it represent if
we separated it from its noble origin? Souls affectionate and
impassioned, what would become of you without hope? Pardon, O Master of
the world, if not sufficiently sensible of my own weakness, and
abandoning myself only to the emotions of my heart, I have undertaken to
speak to men of Thy existence, Thy grandeur, and Thy goodness! Pardon me
if, lately agitated by the tumultuous waves of passion, I dare to raise
my thoughts to the realms of eternal peace, where Thou more particularly
exhibits Thy glory and sovereign power. Ah! I know more than ever that
we must love Thee, we must serve Thee. The powerful of the earth exalt
and depress their favourites capriciously; there is no relying on them;
after profiting by the talents devoted to them, they forsake the victim,
or crush him like a reed. There is in the universe but one immutable
justice, but one perfect goodness and consolatory thought: yet we go
continually towards other coasts, where we call for happiness, but it is
not to be found: there are phantoms accustomed to deceive men, who
answer when they call: we run towards them, and pursue them, and we
leave far behind religious opinions, which only can lead us back to
nature, and elevate us to its author. The blind passions of the world,
and the devouring desires of fame and fortune, only serve to harden us;
every thing is selfish and hostile in them. Ambitious men, who only wish
for a vain name, a childish triumph, acknowledge your features in this
sketch; a single object engrosses you, a single end fixes your views:
the heavens may be obscured; the earth covered with darkness; and the
future annihilated before you; and you are satisfied if a weak taper
still permits you to discern the homage of those who surround you; but
how is it possible to expect thus to pass a whole life? how be able to
retain that homage which appears so necessary to your dream of
happiness? how can you make stationary what so many concur to demand? We
have a more rational certainty of happiness, when a sentiment of piety,
enlightened in its principle and action, softens all our passions, and
bends them, in some measure, to the laws of our destiny. Piety, such as
I form an idea of, may be properly represented as a vigilant friend,
tender and rational. It lets us see the various blessings of life; but
it recals us to the idea of gratitude, in order to augment our
happiness, by referring it to the most generous of all benefactors: it
allows us to exercise our faculties and talents; but recals us to the
idea of morality and virtue, in order to assure our steps, and shield us
from regret: it allows us to run the race of glory or ambition; but
recals us to the idea of inconstancy and instability, to preserve us
from a fatal intoxication: it is always with us, not to disturb our
felicity, not to impose useless privations, but to blend itself with our
thoughts, and to unite to all our projects those mild and peaceable
ideas which attend wisdom and moderation: in short, in the day of
adversity, when our strength is broken, in which we have placed our
confidence, piety comes to succour and console us; it shows us the
nothingness of vanity and worldly illusions; it calms the remorse of our
souls, by reminding us of a particular providence; it softens our
regrets, by presenting more worthy hopes than any earthly object can
afford, in order to engage our interest and fix our attention.
I am not led to these reflections by a temporary melancholy; I should be
afraid of it, if I had not always had the same thoughts, and if the
various circumstances of a life, often perturbed, had not led me to
think of the necessity of attaching myself to some principle independent
of men and events. Almost entirely alone at this instant, and thrown
into solitude by an unforeseen accident, I experience, it is true[10],
more than ever, the want of those rational ideas, the representations of
all that is great, and I approach with renewed interest the truths which
I always loved; grand and sublime truths, which I have recommended to
men at the moment when I see them more than ever inclined to neglect
them. How mistaken are they in their calculations, they trust to-day in
the strength of their minds, to-morrow they will find their weakness;
they imagine, that in turning their views from the termination of life
they remove the fatal boundary; but already the hand trembles on the
dial to give the signal of their last moment. What a dire sacrifice we
should make, if we gave up those consoling truths which still present to
us a future, when all the bustle of life is over! We should again demand
them, search for them with the most diligent anxiety, if ever the traces
of them were unfortunately effaced.
All these ideas, some may say, are vague, and do not agree with the
humour of the age; but at a certain distance from the field of ambition
and vanity, is there any thing to every one of us more vague than the
passions of others? Are men employed about our interest? do they dream
of our happiness? No, they are like ourselves; they seek for precedency;
now and then indeed they pronounce the name of public good; but it is
only a watch word which they have stolen, to be able to run over our
ranks without danger. Where shall we find then a real tie? Where shall
we find a universal rendezvous, if not in those unalterable ideas which
are so consonant to our nature, which should equally interest us all,
being suited to all without distinction; and which are ready to welcome
us when we see the folly of earthly pursuits? They may not, indeed,
gratify the childish wishes of the moment; but they relieve our anxiety
about to-morrow, they are allied to objects of meditation which belong
to our whole life, and above all, they unite us to that spirit which
constitutes our true grandeur, to that sublime spirit, a few of whose
relations only are yet discovered by us, and the full extent of whose
power and goodness can be but faintly guessed at by finite beings.
FINIS.
_I was engrossed by the last Cares which the Publication of this
Book occasioned, when M. de_ CALONNE’S _Second Memorial made its
Appearance. I have read it; and I here publicly engage to answer
this new Attack, and fully to support the Credit which is justly
due to the Account I presented to the King in 1781._
NECKER.
-----
Footnote 1:
Thesis proposed by the French Academy, with a prize, for the best
Catechism of Morals, the instructions of which were to be founded on
the principles of natural right only.
Footnote 2:
I should have enlarged this chapter, if I did not intend to make some
general reflections on intolerance in another part of this work.
Footnote 3:
These various reflections are very necessary in the place where I
live; since, for a short time, labourers have been permitted to work,
at Paris, of a Sunday. We see this publicly done at the new bridge,
which is building over the Seine, as if a work of mere convenience was
in such haste, that the laws should be dispensed with to accelerate
its execution. The labourers, some will say, are glad to gain a day
every week. Undoubtedly, because they see only the present instant,
they have reason to think so; but it is the duty of government to
consider, in a more comprehensive point of view, the interest of the
people, of that part of society, which is so blind, or so limited in
its calculation; and the church should examine also, if the sudden
alteration of a practice so ancient, may not give rise to an idea,
that the spirit of religion is grown feeble. For the nations where
this spirit is best preserved, have the greatest respect for the
Sabbath.
Footnote 4:
This mass is commonly called a low mass.
Footnote 5:
Some say, in order to weaken this argument, that we may attribute to
the indivisible unit all the qualities of matter, that a round body is
really divisible, but that roundness and impenetrability are not. Such
an objection is evidently not just. Roundness and impenetrability are
only qualities, and these qualities, when merely abstract, are
necessarily invariable: thus, it is as impossible to divide it, as it
is to multiply and increase it; but my soul, my thoughts, the
consciousness that I have of my own existence, forms a particular and
personal being; and if it were of the same nature as matter, ought to
be equally divisible.
Footnote 6:
I shall present some reflections on this truth in another Chapter.
Footnote 7:
Dr. Herschel.
Footnote 8:
It may be said, that the fifty thousand new stars perceived by Dr.
Herschel, being the result of observation directed to the milky-way,
we are not to expect to discover as great a number in other parts of
the heavens of a like extent; but independent of these stars which Dr.
H. clearly distinguished, he imagined that there were twice as many
more of which he had only an instantaneous glance. See the
Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, 1774. Dr. H. has
probably, since that time, made new discoveries; but they have not
reached me: I find, in the Transactions of the Royal Society, of which
he is a member, that he considers the new telescope as being still _in
its infancy_; these are his own words.
Footnote 9:
I think I perceive the traces of these philosophical ideas in the
censure Jesus passed upon one of his disciples, who called him _good
master_. _Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one._
Footnote 10:
For I had begun this chapter during my exile.
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