Part 17

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._