Part 7

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.