_Education, Morals, and the Laws suffice to restrain Man.--Of the desire
of Immortality.--Of Suicide._
It is not then in an ideal world, existing no where perhaps, but in the
imagination of man, that he must seek to collect motives calculated to
make him act properly in this; it is in the visible world that will be
found incitements to divert him from crime; to rouse him to virtue.
It is in Nature,--in experience,--in truth, that he must search out
remedies for the evils of his species; for motives suitable to infuse
into the human heart, propensities truely useful to society; calculated
to promote its advantage; to conduce to the end for which it was
designed.
If attention has been paid to what has been said In the course of this
work, it will be seen that above all it is _education_ that will best
furnish the true means of rectifying the errors, of recalling the
wanderings of mankind. It is this that should scatter the Seeds in
his heart; cultivate the tender shoots; make a profitable use of his
dispositions; turn to account those faculties, which depend on his
organization: which should cherish the fire of his imagination, kindle
it for useful objects; damp it, or extinguish it for others; in short,
it is this which should make sensible souls contract habits which are
advantageous for society and beneficial to the individual. Brought up in
this manner, man would not have occasion for celestial punishments,
to teach him the value of virtue; he would not need to behold burning
gulphs of brimstone under his feet, to induce him to feel horror for
crime; Nature without these fables, would teach much better what he owes
to himself; the law would point out what he owes to the body politic, of
which he is a member. It is thus, that education grounded upon utility,
would form valuable citizens to the state; the depositaries of power
would distinguish those whom education should have thus formed, by
reason of the advantages which they would procure for their country;
they would punish those who should be found injurious to it; it would
make the citizens see, that the promises of reward which education held
forth, the punishments denounced by morals, are by no means vain; that
in a state well constituted, _virtue_ is the true, the only road to
happiness; _talents_ the way to gain respect; that _inutility_ conducts
to misfortune: that _crime_ leads to contempt.
A just, enlightened, virtuous, and vigilant government, who should
honestly propose the public good, would have no occasion either for
fables or for falsehoods, to govern reasonable subjects; it would blush
to make use of imposture, to deceive its citizens; who, instructed in
their duties, would find their interest in submitting to equitable laws;
who would be capable of feeling the benefit these have the power of
conferring on them; it would feel, that habit is sufficient to inspire
them with horror, even for those concealed crimes that escape the eyes
of society; it would understand that the visible punishments of this
world impose much more on the generality of men, than those of an
uncertain and distant futurity: in short, it would ascertain that
the sensible benefits within the compass of the sovereign power to
distribute, touch the imagination of mortals more keenly, than those
vague recompences which are held forth to them in a future existence:
above all, it would discover that those on whom these distant advantages
do operate, would be still more attached to virtue by receiving their
reward both here and hereafter.
Man is almost every where so wicked, so corrupt, so rebellious to
reason, only because he is not governed according to his Nature, nor
properly instructed in her necessary laws: he is almost in every climate
fed with superstitious chimeras; submitted to masters who neglect his
instruction or who seek to deceive him. On the face of this globe, may
be frequently witnessed unjust sovereigns, who, enervated by luxury,
corrupted by flattery, depraved by licentiousness, made wicked by
impunity, devoid of talents, without morals, destitute of virtue, are
incapable of exerting any energy for the benefit of the states they
govern; they are consequently but little occupied with the welfare of
their people; indifferent to their duties; of which indeed they are
often ignorant. Such governors suffer their whole attention to be
absorbed by frivolous amusement; stimulated by the desire of continually
finding means to feed their insatiable ambition they engage in useless
depopulating wars; and never occupy their mind with those objects which
are the most important to the happiness of their nation: yet these weak
men feel interested in maintaining the received prejudices, and visit
with severity those who consider the means of curing them: in short
themselves deprived of that understanding, which teaches man that it is
his interest to be kind, just, and virtuous; they ordinarily reward
only those crimes which their imbecility makes them imagine as useful to
them; they generally punish those virtues which are opposed to their own
imprudent passions, but which reason would point out as truly beneficial
to their interests. Under such masters is it surprising that society
should be ravaged; that weak beings should be willing to imitate them;
that perverse men should emulate each other in oppressing its members;
in sacrificing its dearest interests; in despoiling its happiness?
The state of society in such countries, is a state of hostility of the
sovereign against the whole, of each of its members the one against
the other. Man is wicked, not because he is born so, but because he is
rendered so; the great, the powerful, crush with impunity the indigent
and the unhappy; these, at the risk of their lives seek to retaliate, to
render back the evil they have received: they attack either openly or in
secret a country, who to them is a step-mother, who gives all to some of
her children, and deprives the others of every thing: they punish it for
its partiality, and clearly shew that the motives borrowed from a life
hereafter are impotent against the fury of those passions to which
a corrupt administration has given birth; that the terror of the
punishments in this world are too feeble against necessity; against
criminal habits; against dangerous organization uncorrected by
education.
In many countries the morals of the people are neglected; the government
is occupied only with rendering them timid; with making them miserable.
Man is almost every where a slave; it must then follow of necessity,
that he is base, interested, dissimulating, without honour, in a word
that he has the vices of the state of which he is a citizen. Almost
every where he is deceived; encouraged in ignorance; prevented from
cultivating his reason; of course he must be stupid, irrational, and
wicked almost every where he sees vice applauded, and crime honoured;
thence he concludes vice to be a good; virtue, only a useless sacrifice
of himself: almost every where he is miserable, therefore he injures his
fellow-men in a fruitless attempt to relieve his own anguish: it is in
vain to shew him heaven in order to restrain him; his views presently
descend again to earth; he is willing to be happy at any price;
therefore, the laws which have neither provided for his instruction, for
his morals, nor his happiness, menace him uselessly; he plunges on in
his pursuits, and these ultimately punish him, for the unjust negligence
of his legislators. If politics more enlightened, did seriously occupy
itself with the instruction, with the welfare of the people; if laws
were more equitable; if each society, less partial, bestowed on its
members the care, the education, and the assistance which they have a
right to expect; if governments less covetous, and more vigilant, were
sedulous to render their subjects more happy, there would not be seen
such numbers of malefactors, of robbers, of murderers, who every where
infest society; they would not be obliged to destroy life, in order to
punish wickedness; which is commonly ascribable to the vices of their
own institutions: it would be unnecessary to seek in another life for
fanciful chimeras, which always prove abortive against the infuriate
passions; against the real wants of man. In short, if the people were
instructed, they would be more happy; politics would no longer be
reduced to the exigency of deceiving them, in order to restrain them;
nor to destroy so many unfortunates, for having procured necessaries, at
the expence of their hard-hearted fellow-citizens.
When it shall be desired to enlighten man, let him always have truth
laid before him. Instead of kindling his imagination by the idea of
those punishments that a future state has in reserve for him, let him
be solaced--let him be succoured; or, at least, let him be permitted to
enjoy the fruit of his labour--let not his substance be ravished from
him by cruel imposts--let him not be discouraged from work, by finding
all his labour inadequate to support his existence; let him not be
driven into that idleness, that will surely lead him on to crime: let
him consider his present existence, without carrying his views to that
which may attend him after his death; let his industry be excited--let
his talents be rewarded--let him be rendered active, laborious,
beneficent, and virtuous, in the world he inhabits; let it be shewn
to him, that his actions are capable of having an influence over
his fellow-men. Let him not be menaced with the tortures of a future
existence when he shall be no more; let him behold society armed against
those who disturb its repose; let him see the consequence of the hatred
of his associates; let him learn to feel the value of their affection;
let him be taught to esteem himself; let him understand, that to obtain
it, he must have virtue; above all, that the virtuous man in society has
nothing to fear, but every thing to hope.
If it be desired to form honest, courageous, industrious citizens, who
may be useful to their country, let them beware of inspiring man
from his infancy with an ill-founded dread of death; of amusing his
imagination with marvellous fables; of occupying his mind with his
destiny in a future life, quite useless to be known, which has nothing
in common with his real felicity. Let them speak of immortality to
intrepid, noble souls; let them shew it as the price of their labours
to energetic minds, who are solely occupied with virtue; who springing
forward beyond the boundaries of their actual existence--who, little
satisfied with eliciting the admiration, with gaining the love of
their contemporaries, are will also to wrest the homage, to secure
the affection of future races. Indeed, this is an immortality to which
genius, talents, above all virtue, has a just right to pretend; do not
therefore let them censure--do not let them endeavour to stifle so
noble a passion in man; which is founded upon his nature; which is
so calculated to render him happy; from which society gather the most
advantageous fruits.
The idea of being buried in total oblivion, of having nothing in
common after his death with the beings of his species; of losing all
possibility of again having any influence over them, is a thought
extremely painful to man; it is above all afflicting to those who
possess an ardent imagination. The _desire of immortality_, or of living
in the memory of his fellow men, was always the passion of great souls;
it was the motive to the actions of all those who have played a great
part on the earth. _Heroes_ whether virtuous or criminal, _philosophers_
as well as _conquerors, men of genius_ and _men of talents_, those
sublime personages who have done honor to their species, as well as
those illustrious villains who have debased and ravaged it, have had
an eye to posterity in all their enterprises; have flattered themselves
with the hope of acting upon the souls of men, even when they themselves
should no longer exist. If man in general does not carry his views so
far, he is at least sensible to the idea of seeing himself regenerated
in his children; whom he knows are destined to survive him; to transmit
his name; to preserve his memory; to represent him in society; it is
for them that he rebuilds his cottage; it is for them that he plants the
tree which his eyes will never behold in its vigour; it is that they may
be happy that he labours. The sorrow which embitters the life of those
rich men, frequently so useless to the world, when they have lost the
hope of continuing their race, has its source in the fear of being
entirely forgotten: they feel that the useless man dies entirely. The
idea that his name will be in the mouths of men, the thought that it
will be pronounced with tenderness, that it will be recollected with
kindness, that it will excite in their hearts favourable sentiments, is
an illusion that is useful; is a vision suitable to flatter even those
who know that nothing will result from it. Man pleases himself with
dreaming that he shall have power, that he shall pass for something in
the universe, even after the term of his human existence; he partakes
by imagination in the projects, in the actions, in the discussions
of future ages, and would be extremely unhappy if he believed himself
entirely excluded from their society. The laws in all countries have
entered into these views; they have so far been willing to console
their citizens for the necessity of dying, by giving them the means
of exercising their will, even for a long time after their death: this
condescension goes to that length, that the dead frequently regulate the
condition of the living during a long series of years.
Every thing serves to prove the desire in man of surviving himself.
_Pyramids, mausoleums, monuments, epitaphs,_ all shew that he is willing
to prolong his existence even beyond his decease. He, is not insensible
to the judgment of posterity; it is for him the philosopher writes; it
is to astonish him that the monarch erects sumptuous edifices, gorgeous
palaces; it is his praises, it is his commendations, that the great man
already hears echo in his ears; it is to him that the virtuous citizen
appeals from unjust laws; from prejudiced contemporaries--happy chimera!
generous illusion! mild vision! its power is so consoling, so bland,
that it realizes itself to ardent imaginations; it is calculated to give
birth, to sustain, to nurture, to mature enthusiasm of genius, constancy
of courage, grandeur of soul, transcendency of talent; its force is so
gentle, its influence so pleasing, that it is sometimes able to repress
the vices, to restrain the excesses of the most powerful men; who
are, as experience has shewn, frequently very much disquieted for the
judgment of their posterity; from a conviction that this will sooner or
later avenge the living of the foul injustice which they may be inclined
to make them suffer.
No man, therefore, can consent to be entirely effaced from the
remembrance of his fellows; some men have not the temerity to place
themselves above the judgment of the future human species, to degrade
themselves in his eyes. Where is the being who is insensible to the
pleasure of exciting the tears of those who shall survive him; of again
acting upon their souls; of once more occupying their thoughts; of
exercising upon them his power even from the bottom of his grave? Let
then eternal silence be imposed upon those superstitious beings, upon
those melancholy men, upon those furious bigots, who censure a sentiment
from which society derives so many real advantages; let not mankind
listen to those passionless philosophers who are willing to smother
this great, this noble spring of his soul; let him not be seduced by the
sarcasms of those voluptuaries, who pretend to despise an immortality,
towards which they lack the power to set forward; the desire of pleasing
posterity, of rendering his name agreeable to generations yet to come,
is a respectable, a laudable motive, when it causes him to undertake
those things, of which the utility may be felt, of which the advantages
may have an influence not only over his contemporaries, but also over
nations who have not yet an existence. Let him not treat as irrational,
the enthusiasm of those beneficent beings, of those mighty geniuses, of
those stupendous talents, whose keen, whose penetrating regards, have
foreseen him even in their day; who have occupied themselves for him;
for his welfare; for his happiness; who have desired his suffrage; who
have written for him; who have enriched him by their discoveries; who
have cured him of some of his errors. Let him render them the homage
which they have expected at his hands; let him, at least, reverence
their memory for the benefits he has derived from them; let him treat
their mouldering remains with respect, for the pleasure he receives
from their labours; let him pay to their ashes a tribute of grateful
recollection, for the happiness they have been sedulous to procure
for him. Let him sprinkle with his tears, let him hallow with his
remembrance, let him consecrate with his finest sensibilities, the urns
of Socrates, of Phocion; of Archimedes; of Anaxarchus; let him wash out
the stain that their punishment has made on the human species; let him
expiate by his regret the Athenian ingratitude, the savage barbarity
of Nicocreon; let him learn by their example to dread superstitious
fanaticism; to hold political intolerance in abhorrence; let him fear to
harrass merit; let him be cautious how he insults virtue, in persecuting
those who may happen to differ from him in his prejudices.
Let him strew flowers over the tombs of an Homer--of a Tasso--of a
Shakespeare--of a Milton--of a Goldsmith; let him revere the immortal
shades of those happy geniuses, whose songs yet vibrate on his ears;
whose harmonious lays excite in his soul the most tender sentiments; let
him bless the memory of all those benefactors to the people, who were
the delight of the human race; let him adore the virtues Of a Titus--of
a Trajan--of an Antoninus--of a Julian: let him merit in his sphere, the
eulogies of future ages; let him always remember, that to carry with
him to the grave the regret of his fellow man, he must display talents;
evince integrity; practice virtue. The funeral ceremonies of the most
powerful monarchs, have rarely been wetted with the tears of the people,
they have commonly drained them while living. The names of tyrants
excite the horror of those who bear them pronounced. Tremble then cruel
kings! ye who plunge your subjects into misery; who bathe them with
bitter tears--who ravage nations--who deluge the land with the vital
stream--who change the fruitful earth into a barren cemetery; tremble
for the sanguinary traits under which the future historian will paint
you, to generations yet unborn: neither your splendid monuments--your
imposing victories--your innumerable armies, nor your sycophant
courtiers, can prevent posterity from avenging their grandfathers; from
insulting your odious manes; from treating your execrable memories with
scorn; from showering their contempt on your transcendant crimes.
Not only man sees his dissolution with pain, but again, he wishes his
death may be an interesting event for others. But, as we have already
said, he must have talents--he must have beneficence--he must have
virtue, in order, that those who surround him, may interest themselves
in his condition; that those who survive him, may give regret to his
ashes. Is it, then, surprising if the greater number of men, occupied
entirely with themselves, completely absorbed by their own vanity,
devoted to their own puerile objects, for ever busied with the care of
gratifying their vile passions, at the expence, perhaps, of their family
happiness, unheedful of the wants of a wife, unmindful of the necessity
of their children, careless of the calls of friendship, regardless of
their duty to society, do not by their death excite the sensibilities of
their survivors; or that they should be presently forgotten? There is an
infinity of monarchs of which history does not tell us any thing, save
that they have lived. In despite of the inutility in which men for the
most part pass their existence, maugre the little care they bestow, to
render themselves dear to the beings who environ them; notwithstanding
the numerous actions they commit to displease their associates; the
self love of each individual, persuades him, that his death must be
an interesting occurrence: few men but think themselves an Euryalus in
friendship, all expect to find a Nisus, thus man's over-weening philauty
shews him to say thus the order of things are overturned at his decease.
O mortal! feeble and vain! Dost thou not know the Sesostris's, the
Alexanders, the Caesars are dead? Yet the course of the universe is not
arrested; the demise of those famous conquerors, afflicting to some few
favoured slaves, was a subject of delight for the whole human race.
Dost thou then foolishly believe that thy talents ought to interest thy
species, that they are of sufficient extent to put it into mourning at
thy decease? Alas! The Corneilles, the Lockes, the Newtons, the Boyles,
the Harveys, the Montesquieus, the Sheridans are no more! Regretted by a
small number of friends, who have presently consoled themselves by their
necessary avocations, their death was indifferent to the greater number
of their fellow citizens. Darest thou then flatter thyself, that
thy reputation, thy titles, thy riches, thy sumptuous repasts, thy
diversified pleasures, will make thy funeral a melancholy event! It will
be spoken of by some few for two days, and do not be at all surprised:
learn that there have died in former ages, in Babylon, in Sardis, in
Carthage, in Athens, in Rome, millions of citizens more illustrious,
more powerful, more opulent, more voluptuous, than thou art; of whom,
however, no one has taken care to transmit to thee even the names. Be
then virtuous, O man! in whatever station thy destiny assigns thee, and
thou shalt be happy in thy life time; do thou good and thou shalt be
cherished; acquire talents and thou shalt be respected; posterity
shall admire thee, if those talents, by becoming beneficial to their
interests, shall bring them acquainted with the name under which they
formerly designated thy annihilated being. But the universe will not be
disturbed by thy loss; and when thou comest to die, whilst thy wife, thy
children, thy friends, fondly leaning over thy sickly couch, shall be
occupied with the melancholy task of closing thine eyes, thy nearest
neighbour shall perhaps be exulting with joy!
Let not then man occupy himself with his condition that may be to come,
but let him sedulously endeavour to make himself useful, to those with
whom he lives; let him for his own peculiar happiness render himself
dutiful to his parents--faithful to his wife--attentive to his
children--kind to his relations---true to his friends--lenient to his
servants; let him strive to become estimable in the eyes of his fellow
citizens; let him faithfully serve a country which assures to him his
welfare; let the desire of pleasing posterity, of meriting its applause,
excite him to those labours that shall elicit their eulogies: let a
legitimate self-love, when he shall be worthy of it, make him taste
in advance those commendations which he is willing to deserve; let him
learn to love himself--to esteem himself; but never let him consent that
concealed vices, that sacred crimes, shall degrade him in his own eyes;
shall oblige him to be ashamed of his own conduct.
Thus disposed, let him contemplate his own decease with the same
indifference, that it will be looked upon by the greater number of his
fellows; let him expect death with constancy; wait for it with calm
resignation; let him learn to shake off those vain terrors with which
superstition, would overwhelm him; let him leave to the enthusiast his
vague hopes; to the fanatic his mad-brained speculations; to the bigot
those fears with which he ministers to his own melancholy; but let his
heart, fortified by reason, corroborated by a love of virtue, no longer
dread a dissolution that will destroy all feeling.
Whatever may be the attachment man has to life, whatever may be his
fear of death, it is every day witnessed, that habit, that opinion,
that prejudice, are motives sufficiently powerful to annihilate these
passions in his breast; to make him brave danger; to cause him to hazard
his existence. Ambition, pride, jealousy, love, vanity, avarice, the
desire of glory, that deference of opinion which is decorated with the
sounding title of _a point of honour_, have the efficacy to make him
shut his eyes to danger; to laugh at peril; to push him on to death:
vexation, anxiety of mind, disgrace, want of success, softens to him
its hard features; makes him regard it as a door that will afford him
shelter from the injustice of mankind: indigence, trouble, adversity,
familiarizes him with this death, so terrible to the happy. The poor
man, condemned to labour, inured to privations, deprived of the comforts
of life, views its approach with indifference: the unfortunate, when
he is unhappy, when he is without resource, embraces it in despair; the
wretched accelerates its march as soon as he sees that happiness is no
longer within his grasp.
Man in different ages, in different countries, has formed opinions
extremely various upon the conduct of those, who have had the temerity
to put an end to their own existence. His ideas upon this subject, as
upon all others, have taken their tone from his religion, have been
governed by his superstitious systems, have been modified by his
political institutions. The Greeks, the Romans, and other nations, which
every thing conspired to make intrepid, to render courageous, to lead
to magnanimity, regarded as heroes, contemplated as Gods, those who
voluntarily cut the thread of life. In Hindoostan, the Brahmin yet knows
how to inspire even women with sufficient fortitude to burn themselves
upon the dead bodies of their husbands. The Japanese, upon the most
trifling occasion, takes no kind of difficulty in plunging a dagger into
his bosom.
Among the people of our own country, religion renders man less prodigal
of life; it teaches that it is offensive to the Deity that he should
destroy himself. Some moralists, abstracting the height of religious
ideas, have held that it is never permitted to man to break the
conditions of the covenant that he has made with society. Others
have looked upon suicide as cowardice; they have thought that it was
weakness, that it displayed pusillanimity, to suffer, himself to be
overwhelmed with the shafts of his destiny; and have held that there
would be much more courage, more elevation of soul, in supporting his
afflictions, in resisting the blows of fate.
If nature be consulted upon this point, it will be found that all the
actions of man, that feeble plaything in the hands of necessity, are
indispensable; that they depend on causes which move him in despite of
himself--that without his knowledge, make him accomplish at each moment
of his existence some one of its decrees. If the same power that obliges
all intelligent beings to cherish their existence, renders that of
man so painful, so cruel, that he finds it insupportable he quits his
species; order is destroyed for him, he accomplishes a decree of Nature,
that wills he shall no longer exist. This Nature has laboured during
thousands of years, to form in the bowels of the earth the iron that
must number his days.
If the relation of man with Nature be examined, it will be found that
his engagement was neither voluntary on his part, nor reciprocal on the
part of Nature. The volition of his will had no share in his birth;
it is commonly against his will that he is obliged to finish life; his
actions are, as we have proved, only the necessary effects of unknown
causes which determine his will. He is, in the hands of Nature, that
which a sword is in his own hands; he can fall upon it without its being
able to accuse him with breaking his engagements; or of stamping with
ingratitude the hand that holds it: man can only love his existence on
condition of being happy; as soon as the entire of nature refuses him
this happiness; as soon as all that surrounds him becomes incommodious
to him, as soon as his melancholy ideas offer nothing but afflicting
pictures to his imagination; he already exists no longer; he is
suspended in the void; he quits a rank which no longer suits him; in
which he finds no one interest; which offers him no protection; which
overwhelms him with calamity; in which he can no more be useful either
to himself or to others.
If the covenant which unites man to society be considered, it will be
obvious that every contract is conditional, must be reciprocal; that is
to say, supposes mutual advantages between the contracting parties. The
citizen cannot be bound to his country, to his associates, but by the
bonds of happiness. Are these bonds cut asunder? He is restored to
liberty. Society, or those who represent it, do they use him with
harshness, do they treat him with injustice, do they render his
existence painful? Does disgrace hold him out to the finger of scorn;
does indigence menace him in an obdurate world? Perfidious friends, do
they forsake him in adversity? An unfaithful wife, does she outrage his
heart? Rebellious, ungrateful children, do they afflict his old age?
Has he placed his happiness exclusively on some object which it is
impossible for him to procure? Chagrin, remorse, melancholy, and
despair, have they disfigured to him the spectacle of the universe? In
short, for whatever cause it may be: if he is not able to support
his evils, he quits a world, which from henceforth, is for him only a
frightful desert he removes himself for ever from a country he thinks
no longer willing to reckon him amongst the number of her children--he
quits a house that to his mind is ready to bury him under its ruins--he
renounces a society, to the happiness of which he can no longer
contribute; which his own peculiar felicity alone can render dear to
him: and could the man be blamed, who, finding himself useless; who
being without resources, in the town where destiny gave him birth,
should quit it in chagrin, to plunge himself in solitude? Death appears
to the wretched the only remedy for despair; it is then the sword seems
the only friend, the only comfort that is left to the unhappy: as long
as hope remains the tenant of his bosom--as long as his evils appear to
him at all supportable--as long as he flatters himself with seeing them
brought to a termination--as long as he finds some comfort in existence,
however slender, he will not consent to deprive himself of life: but
when nothing any longer sustains in him the love of this existence, then
to live, is to him the greatest of evils; to die, the only mode by which
he can avoid the excess of despair. This has been the opinion of many
great men: Seneca, the moralist, whom Lactantius calls the divine Pagan,
who has been praised equally by St. Austin and St. Augustine, endeavours
by every kind of argument to make death a matter of indifference to man.
Cato has always been commended, because he would not survive the cause
of liberty; for that he would not live a slave. Curtius, who rode
voluntarily into the gap, to save his country, has always been held
forth as a model of heroic virtue. Is it not evident, that those martyrs
who have delivered themselves up to punishment, have preferred quitting
the world to living in it contrary to their own ideals of happiness?
When Samson wished to be revenged on the Philistines, did he not consent
to die with them as the only means? If our country is attacked, do we
not voluntarily sacrifice our lives in its defence?
That society who has not the ability, or who is not willing to procure
man any one benefit, loses all its rights over him; Nature, when it has
rendered his existence completely miserable, has in fact, ordered him to
quit it: in dying he does no more than fulfil one of her decrees, as
he did when he first drew his breath. To him who is fearless of death,
there is no evil without a remedy; for him who refuses to die, there
yet exists benefits which attach him to the world; in this case let him
rally his powers--let him oppose courage to a destiny that oppresses
him--let him call forth those resources with which Nature yet furnishes
him; she cannot have totally abandoned him, while she yet leaves him the
sensation of pleasure; the hopes of seeing a period to his pains.
Man regulates his judgment on his fellows, only by his own peculiar
mode of feeling; he deems as folly, he calls delirium all those violent
actions which he believes but little commensurate with their causes; or
which appear to him calculated to deprive him of that happiness, towards
which he supposes a being in the enjoyment of his senses, cannot cease
to have a tendency: he treats his associate as a weak creature, when he
sees him affected with that which touches him but lightly; or when he is
incapable of supporting those evils, which his self-love flatters him,
he would himself be able to endure with more fortitude. He accuses with
madness whoever deprives himself of life, for objects that he thinks
unworthy so dear a sacrifice; he taxes him with phrenzy, because he has
himself learned to regard this life as the greatest blessing. It is
thus that he always erects himself into a judge of the happiness of
others--of their mode of seeing--of their manner of feeling: a miser who
destroys himself after the loss of his treasure, appears a fool in
the eyes of him who is less attached to riches; he does not feel, that
without money, life to this miser is only a continued torture; that
nothing in the world is capable of diverting him from his painful
sensations: he will proudly tell you, that in his place he had not done
so much; but to be exactly in the place of another man, it is needful to
have his organization--his temperament--his passions--his ideas; it
is in fact needful to be that other; to be placed exactly in the same
circumstances; to be moved by the same causes; and in this case all men,
like the miser, would sacrifice their life, after being deprived of the
only source of their happiness.
He who deprives himself of his existence, does not adopt this extremity,
so repugnant to his natural tendency; but when nothing in this world has
the faculty of rejoicing him; when no means are left of diverting his
affliction; when reason no longer acts; his misfortune whatever it may
be, for him is real; his organization, be it strong, or be it weak, is
his own, not that of another: a man who is sick only in imagination,
really suffers considerably; even troublesome dreams place him in a very
uncomfortable situation. Thus when a man kills himself, it ought to be
concluded, that life, in the room of being a benefit, had become a very
great evil to him; that existence had lost all its charms in his eyes;
that the entire of nature was to him destitute of attraction; that it
no longer contained any thing that could seduce him; that after the
comparison which his disturbed imagination had made of existence with
non-existence, the latter appeared to him preferable to the first.
Many will consider these maxims as dangerous; they certainly account why
the unhappy cut the thread of life, in a manner not corresponding with
the received prejudices; but, nevertheless, it is a temperament soured
by chagrin, a bilious constitution, a melancholy habit, a defect in the
organization, a derangement in the mind; it is in fact necessity and
not reasonable speculations, that breed in man the design of destroying
himself. Nothing invites him to this step so long as reason remains
with him; or whilst he yet possesses hope, that sovereign balm for every
evil: as for the unfortunate, who cannot lose sight of his sorrows--who
cannot forget his pains--who has his evils always present to his
mind; he is obliged to take counsel from these alone: besides, what
assistance, what advantage can society promise to himself, from a
miserable wretch reduced to despair; from a misanthrope overwhelmed
with grief; from a wretch tormented with remorse, who has no longer
any motive to render himself useful to others--who has abandoned
himself--who finds no more interest in preserving his life? Frequently,
those who destroy themselves are such, that had they lived, the offended
laws must have ultimately been obliged to remove them from a society
which they disgraced; from a country which they had injured.
As life is commonly the greatest blessing for man, it is to be presumed
that he who deprives himself of it, is compelled to it by an invincible
force. It is the excess of misery, the height of despair, the
derangement of his brain, caused by melancholy, that urges man on to
destroy himself. Agitated by contrary impulsions, he is, as we have
before said, obliged to follow a middle course that conducts him to his
death; if man be not a free-agent, in any one instant of his life, he is
again much less so in the act by which it is terminated.
It will be seen then, that he who kills himself, does not, as it is
pretended, commit an outrage on nature. He follows an impulse which
has deprived him of reason; adopts the only means left him to quit his
anguish; he goes out of a door which she leaves open to him; he cannot
offend in accomplishing a law of necessity: the iron hand of this having
broken the spring that renders life desirable to him; which urged him to
self-conservation, shews him he ought to quit a rank or system where he
finds himself too miserable to have the desire of remaining. His country
or his family have no right to complain of a member, whom it has no
means of rendering happy; from whom consequently they have nothing more
to hope: to be useful to either, it is necessary he should cherish his
own peculiar existence; that he should have an interest in conserving
himself--that he should love the bonds by which he is united to
others--that he should be capable of occupying himself with their
felicity--that he should have a sound mind. That the suicide should
repent of his precipitancy, he should outlive himself, he should carry
with him into his future residence, his organs, his senses, his memory,
his ideas, his actual mode of existing, his determinate manner of
thinking.
In short, nothing is more useful for society, than to inspire man with
a contempt for death; to banish from his mind the false ideas he has of
its consequences. The fear of death can never do more than make
cowards; the fear of its consequences will make nothing but fanatics
or melancholy beings, who are useless to themselves, unprofitable to
others. Death is a resource that ought not by any means to be taken away
from oppressed virtue; which the injustice of man frequently reduces
to despair. If man feared death less, he would neither be a slave nor
superstitious; truth would find defenders more zealous; the rights of
mankind would be more hardily sustained; virtue would be intrepidly
upheld: error would be more powerfully opposed; tyranny would be
banished from nations: cowardice nourishes it, fear perpetuates it. In
fact, _man can neither be contented nor happy whilst his opinions shall
oblige him to tremble_.