Part 8

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._