God is of all others the most incomprehensible; and if it is possible to
derive useful instruction from so metaphysical a principle, we ought to
expect more good from precepts which depend on the common relations of
life. Such an objection is a mere subtilty; the distinct knowledge of
the essence of a God, the creator of the world, is, undoubtedly above
the comprehension of men of every age, and all faculties; but it is not
the same with the vague idea of a heavenly power, who punishes and who
rewards; parental authority, and the helplessness of infancy, prepare us
early for ideas of obedience and command; and the world is such a
stupendous wonder, a theatre of such continual prodigies, that it is
easy to annex, at an early period, hope and fear to the idea of a
Supreme Being. Thus, the infinity of a God, creator and director of the
universe, is so far from having power to divert our respect and
adoration, that even the clouds with which he invelopes himself, lend a
new force to religious sentiments. A man often remains uninterested
amidst: the discoveries of his reason; but it is always easy to move
him, whenever we address ourselves to his imagination; for this faculty
of our mind excites us continually to action, by presenting to our eyes
a great space, and by keeping us always at a certain distance from the
object we have in view. Man is so disposed to wonder at a power, of
which he is ignorant of the springs; this sentiment is so natural to
him, that what we ought to guard against the most in his education, is
the inconsiderate insinuation of various terrors, of which he is
susceptible. Thus, not only the true idea of the existence of an
All-powerful God, but mere credulous faith in superstitious opinions,
will always have more power over the common class of men, than abstract
precepts, or general considerations. I know not even, if it might not be
said, with truth, that the future of this short life, when we
contemplate it, is further from us than the distant perspective offered
to the mind by religion; because our imagination is less restrained, and
the minutest description of reason can never equal in power, the lively
and impulsive ardour of the affections of our souls.
I resume the series of my reflections, and set down here an important
observation: which is, that the more the increase of taxes keeps the
people in despondency and misery, the more indispensable is it to give
them a religious education; for it is in the irritation of wretchedness,
that we all have need of a powerful restraint and of daily consolations.
The successive abuse of strength and authority, in overturning all the
relations which originally existed between men, have raised, in the
midst of them, an edifice so artificial, and in which there reigns so
much disproportion, that the idea of a God is become more necessary than
ever, to serve as a leveller of this confused assemblage of disparities;
and if we can ever imagine, that a people should exist, subject only to
the laws of a political morality, we should represent, without doubt, a
rising nation, which would be restrained by the vigour of patriotism in
its prime; a nation which would occupy a country where riches had not
had time to accumulate; where the distance of the habitations from each
other contributed to the maintenance of domestic manners; where
agriculture, that simple and peaceful occupation, would be the favourite
employment; where the work of the hands would obtain a recompense
proportioned to the scarcity of the workmen, and the extensive
usefulness of the labour; we should represent, in short, a nation where
the laws and the form of government would favour, during a long time,
equality of rank and property. But in our ancient kingdoms in Europe,
where the growth of riches continually augments the difference of
fortunes and the distance of conditions;—in our old political bodies,
where we are crowded together, and where misery and magnificence are
ever mingled, it must be a morality, fortified by religion, that shall
restrain these numerous spectators of so many possessions and objects of
envy, and who, placed so near every thing which they call happiness, can
yet never aspire to it.
It may be asked, perhaps, in consequence of these reflections, whether
religion, which strengthens every tie, and fortifies every obligation,
is not favourable to tyranny? Such a conclusion would be unreasonable;
but religion, which affords comfort under every affliction, would
necessarily sooth also the ills which arise from despotism; however, it
is neither the origin, nor the support of it: religion, well understood,
would not lend its support but to order and justice; and the
instructions of political morality proposes to itself the same end.
Thus, in both plans of education, the rights of the sovereign, as well
as those of the citizens, constitute simply one of the elementary parts
of the general system of our duties.
I shall only observe, that the insufficiency of political morality would
appear still more obvious, in a country where the nation, subject to the
authority of an absolute prince, would have no share in the government;
for personal interest no longer having an habitual communication with
the general interest, there would be just ground to fear, that in
wishing to hold out the union of these two interests as the essential
motive of virtue, the greater number would retain only this idea, that
personality was admitted for the first principle; and consequently every
one ought to reserve to himself the right of judging of the times and
circumstances when self-love and patriotism are to be separated, or
united. And how many errors would not this produce? Public good, like
all abstract ideas, has not a precise definition; it is for the greater
part of mankind a sea without bounds, and it requires not much address
or shrewdness to confound all our analogies. We may know how we would
form, according to our taste, the alliance of all the moral ideas, in
considering with what facility men know how to reconcile with one
quality the habitual infirmities of their character; he who wounds
without discretion, prides himself in his frankness and courage; he who
is cowardly and timid in his sentiments and in his words, boasts of his
caution and circumspection; and by a new refinement of which I have seen
singular examples, he who asks of the sovereign pecuniary favours,
endeavours to persuade him that he is impelled to this solicitation,
only by a noble love of honourable distinction; every one is ingenious
in fixing the point of union which connects his passions with some
virtue: would they then be less expert at finding some conformity
between their own interest and that of the public?
I cannot, I avow, without disgust, and even horror, conceive the absurd
notion of a political society, destitute of that governing motive
afforded by religion, and restrained only by a pretended connexion of
their private interest with the general. What circumscribed judges! What
a multiplicity of opinions, sentiments, and wills! All would be in
confusion, if we left to men the liberty of drawing their own
conclusions: they must absolutely have a simple idea to regulate their
conduct, especially when the application of this principle may be
infinitely diversified. God in delivering his laws on Mount Sinai, had
need but to say, _Thou shalt not steal_; and with the awful idea of that
God, whom every thing recals to our minds, whom every thing impresses on
the human heart, this short commandment preserves, at all times, a
sufficient authority; but when political philosophy says, _Thou shalt
not steal_, it would be necessary to add to this precept a train of
reasoning, on the laws of right, on the inequality of conditions, and on
the various social relations; in order to persuade us that it
comprehends every motive, that it answers all objections, and resists
all attacks. It is necessary, further, that by the lessons of this
philosophy the most uncultivated minds should be qualified to follow the
different ramifications which unite, disunite, and reunite afresh the
personal to the public interest: what an enterprize! It is, perhaps,
like wishing to employ a course of anatomy, in order to direct a child
in the choice of such aliments as are proper for it, instead of
beginning to conduct it by the counsels and the authority of its mother.
The same remarks are applicable to all the virtues, of which the
observance is essential to public order: what method would plain
reasoning take to persuade a single man, that he ought not to deprive a
husband of the affections of his wife? Where would you assign him a
distinct recompense for the sacrifice of his passion? What windings
should we not be obliged to run over, to demonstrate to an ambitious
man, that he ought not, in secret, to calumniate his rival; to the
solitary miser, armed with indifference, that he ought not to remove
himself from every occasion of doing good; to a disposition ardent and
revengeful, that he ought not to obey those urgent impulses which hurry
him away; to a man in want, that he ought not to have recourse to
falsehood to procure attention, or to deceive in any other manner? And
how many other positions would offer the same difficulties, and still
greater? Abstract ideas, the best arranged, can never conquer us but by
long arguments, since the peculiar nature of these ideas is to disengage
our reasoning from the feelings, and consequently from striking and
sudden impressions; besides, political morality, like every thing which
the mind only produces, would be always for us merely an opinion; an
opinion from which we should have a right to appeal, at any time, to the
tribunal of our reason. The lessons of men are nothing but
representations of their judgment; and the sentiments of some draw not
the will of others. There is not any principle of morality, which, under
forms absolutely human, would not be susceptible of exceptions, or of
some modification; and there is nothing so compounded as the idea of the
connexion of virtue with happiness: in short, while our understanding
has a difficulty in comprehending and clearly distinguishing that union,
the objects of our passions are every where apparent, and all our senses
are preengaged by them. The miser beholds gold and silver; the ambitious
man, those honours which are conferred on others; the debauchee, the
objects of his luxury; virtue has nothing left but reasoning; and is
then in want of being sustained by religious sentiments, and by the
enlivening hopes which accompany them.
Thus, in a government where you would wish to substitute political
morality for a religious education, it would become, perhaps,
indispensable to guard men from receiving any ideas calculated to exalt
their minds; it would be necessary to divert them from the different
competitions which excite self-love and ambition; they must withdraw
themselves from the habitual society of women; and it would be still
more incumbent on them to abolish the use of money, that attracting and
confused image of all kinds of gratifications: in short, in taking from
men their religious hopes, and depriving them thus of the encouragements
to virtue which the imagination gives birth to, every exertion must be
tried to prevent this unruly imagination from seconding vice, and all
the passions contrary to public order: it was because Telemachus was
accompanied by a Divinity, that he could, without danger, visit the
sumptuous court of Sesostris, and the enchanting abodes of Eucharis and
Calypso.
It is indeed an age the most pleasant, as well as the safest of our
life, which we cannot pass without a guide; we must then, in order to
pass with security through the tempestuous days of youth, have
principles which command us, and not reflections to counsel us; these
have not any power but in proportion to the vigour of the mind, and the
mind is only formed by experience and a long conflict of opinions.
Religious instructions have the peculiar advantage of seizing the
imagination, and of interesting our sensibility, those two brilliant
faculties of our early years: thus, then even supposing that we could
establish a course of political morality, sufficiently propped by
reasoning, for defending from vice men enlightened by maturity, I should
still say, that a similar philosophy would not be suitable to youth, and
that this armour is too heavy for them.
In short, the lessons of human wisdom, which cannot govern us during the
ardour of our passions, are equally insufficient, when our strength
being broken by disease, we are no longer in a state to comprehend a
variety of relations; instead of which, such is the pleasing emotions
that accompany the language of religion, that in the successive decline
of our faculties, this language still keeps pace with them.
Nevertheless, if we were ever to be persuaded, that there was on earth a
more certain encouragement to virtue than religion, its powers would be
immediately weakened; it would not be half so interesting, nor could
reign when divided; if its sentiments did not overflow, as we may say,
the human heart, all its influence would vanish.
Religious instruction, in assembling all the means proper to excite men
to virtue, neglects not, it is true, to point out the relations, which
exist between the observance of the laws of morality and the happiness
of life; but it is as an accessary motive, that these considerations are
presented; and it is not necessary to support them by the same proofs as
a fundamental principle requires. Also, when people are taught early
that vices and crimes lead to misery on earth, these doctrines make not
a lasting impression on them, but in proportion as we succeed at the
same time, in convincing them of the constant influence of a Providence
over all the events of this world.
One important reason still exempts religious professors, from attaching
themselves to demonstrate, that the principal advantages which excite
the envy of men, are an absolute consequence of the observance of the
laws of order: it is, that sacrifices, supported by an idea of duty, are
changed into real satisfactions; and the sentiments, which the virtuous
enjoy from piety, compose an essential part of their happiness. But what
consolation can a man have by way of return; what secret approbation can
we grant him, when we know not any other authority than that of
political morality, and when virtue is nothing but an opposition between
private and public interest?
Religion certainly proposes to man his own happiness, as an object and
ultimate end; but as this happiness is placed at a distance, religion
conducts us to it by wholesome restrictions and temporary sacrifices; it
regards only the sublimest part of us, that which disunites us from the
present moment, in order to connect us with futurity; it offers us
hopes, which withdraw us from worldly interest, so far as is necessary
to prevent us from being immoderately devoted to the disorderly
impressions of our senses, and the tyranny of our passions. Irreligion,
on the contrary, whose lessons teach us, that we are only masters of the
present moment, concentres us more and more within ourselves, and there
is nothing beautiful or good in this condition; for grandeur, of every
kind, relates to the extent of those relations which we comprehend; and,
in a like acceptation, our sentiments submit to the same laws.
Those who represent the obligations of religion as indifferent, assure
us, that we may repose safely the maintenance of morality on some
general sentiments, which we have adopted; but do not consider that
these sentiments derive their origin, and almost all their force, from
that spirit of religion which they wish to weaken. Yes, even humanity,
this emotion of a noble soul, is animated and fortified by the idea of a
Supreme Being; the alliance between men holds but feebly from the
conformity of their organization; nor can it be attributed to the
similitude of their passions, that continual source of so much hatred;
it depends essentially on our connexion with the same author, the same
superintendant, the same judge; it is founded on the equality of our
right to the same hopes, and on that train of duties inculcated by
education, and rendered respectable by the habitual dominion of
religious opinions. Alas! it is a melancholy avowal, that men have so
many infirmities, so much injustice, selfishness, and ingratitude, at
least, in the eyes of those who have observed them collectively, that we
never can keep them in harmony by the mere lessons of wisdom: it is not
always because they are amiable that we love them; it is sometimes, and
very often indeed, because we ought to love them, that we find them
amiable. Yes, goodness and forbearance, these qualities the most simple,
still require to be compared, from time to time, with an idea general
and predominate, the band of all our virtues. The passions of others
wound us in so many ways, and there is often so much depth and energy in
our self-love, that we have need of some succour to be constantly
generous in our sentiments, and to be really interested for all our
fellow-creatures, in the midst of whom we are placed.
In short, not to dissemble, if a man once came to consider himself as a
being that is the child of chance, or of blind necessity, and tending
only to the dust from whence he sprung, and to which he must return, he
would despise himself; and far from seeking to rise to noble and
virtuous reflections, he would consider this species of ambition as a
fantastic idea, which consumes in a vain and illusory manner, a part of
those fleeting minutes which he has to pass on earth; and all his
attention being fixed on the shortness of life, and on the eternal
silence which must close the scene, he would only think _how to devour
this reign of a moment_.
How dangerous then would it be, on this supposition, to show to men the
extremity of the chain which unites them together! It is in worldly
affairs this knowledge of having received the last favour, which renders
them ungrateful towards those from whom they no longer expect any thing;
and the same sentiment would weaken the power of morality if our lease
was manifestly only for this world. It is then religion which ought to
strengthen those ties, and defend the entire system of our duty against
the stratagems of reasoning and the artifices of our minds; it is
necessary, in order to oblige all men, to consider with respect the laws
of morality, to teach them early that the social virtues are an homage
rendered to the perfections and to the beneficent intentions of the
Sovereign Author of Nature, of that Infinite Being who is pleased with
the preservation of order, and the private sacrifices which the
accomplishment of this grand design requires. And when I see modern
philosophers tracing, with an able hand, the general plan of our duties;
when I see them fix with judgment the reciprocal obligations of
citizens, and giving, at last, for the basis to this legislation,
personal interest and the love of praise: I recollect the system of
those Indian philosophers, who, after having studied the revolutions of
the heavenly bodies, being perplexed to determine the power which
sustained the vaulted firmament, thought they had freed it from
difficulty, by placing the universe on the back of an elephant, and this
elephant on a tortoise. We shall imitate these philosophers, and, like
them, shall never proceed but by degradation, whenever, by endeavouring
to form a chain of duties and moral principles, we do not place the last
link above worldly considerations, and beyond the limits of our social
conventions.
CHAP. II.
_The same Subject continued. A Parallel between the Influence of
Religious Principles, and of Laws and Opinions._
After having examined, as I have just done, in the preceding chapter, if
it were possible to found morality on the connexion of private with
public interest, it remains for me to consider, if the punishments
inflicted by the sovereign, if the sceptre, which public opinion sways,
have sufficient power to restrain men, and bind them to the observance
of their duty.
It is necessary to proceed by common ideas, in order to advance one
degree in the research of truth: thus I ought at first, in this place,
to recollect, that the penal laws cannot be applied but to offences
known and proved; this consideration contracts their power within a very
narrow circle; however, crimes secretly committed, are not the only ones
which are beyond the cognizance of laws; we must place in this rank
every reprehensible action, which, for want of a distinct character, can
never be pointed out; the number of them is prodigious: the rigour of
parents, ingratitude of children, the inhumanity of abandoning their
nurses, treachery in friendship, the violation of domestic comfort,
disunion sown in the bosoms of families, levity of principles in every
social connexion, perfidious counsels, artful and slanderous
insinuations, rigorous exercise of authority, favour and partiality of
judges, their inattention, their idleness and severity, endeavours to
obtain places of importance, with a consciousness of incapacity, corrupt
flatteries addressed to sovereigns or ministers, statesmen indifferent
to public good, their vile and pernicious jealousies, and their
political dissensions, excited in order to render themselves necessary,
wars instigated by ambition, intolerance under the cover of zeal; in
short, many other fatal evils which the laws cannot either follow or
describe, and which often do much mischief, before they give any
opportunity for public censure. We ought not even to desire that this
censure pass certain bounds, because authority, applied to obscure
faults, or those susceptible of various interpretations, easily
degenerates into tyranny; and as there is nothing so transitory as
thought, nothing so secret as our sentiments; none but an invisible
power, whose authority seems to participate of the divine, has a right
to enter into the secrets of our hearts.
It is then only, at the tribunal of his own conscience, that a man can
be interrogated about a number of actions and intentions which escape
the inspection of government. Let us beware of overturning the authority
of a judge so active and enlightened; let us beware of weakening it
voluntarily, and let us not be so imprudent as to repose only on social
discipline. I will even venture to say, that the power of conscience is
perhaps still more necessary in the age we live in, than in any of the
preceding; though society no longer presents us with a view of those
vices and crimes which shock us by their deformity; yet licentiousness
of morals, and refinement of manners, have almost imperceptibly blended
good and evil, vice and decency, falsehood and truth, selfishness and
magnanimity; it is more important then ever, to oppose to this secret
depravity, an interior authority, which pries into the mysterious
windings of disguise, and whose action may be as penetrating as our
dissimulation seems artful and well contrived.
It is, undoubtedly, because a similar authority appears absolutely
necessary to the maintenance of public order, that several philosophic
writers have endeavoured to introduce it as a principle of atheism. In
such a system the whole is fictitious; they speak of our blushing at the
recollection of our follies, of dreading our own secret reproaches, and
of being afraid of the condemnation, which, in the calm of reflection,
we shall pronounce against ourselves; but these sentiments, which have
so much force with the idea of a God, they know not what to unite them
with, when they would give only for a guide the most active personal
interest, and when all the grand communications, established between men
by religious opinions, are absolutely broken; conscience is then an
expression void of meaning, a useless word in the language. We may still
feel remorse, that is to say, regret at being deceived in the pursuits
of ambition, in promoting our interest, in the choice of means which we
employ to obtain the respect and praise of others; in short, in the
various calculations of our worldly advantage: but such remorse is only
an exaltation of our self-love; we deify, in some measure, our judgment
and understanding, and we make at last all our actions appear before
these false idols, to reproach us with our errors and weaknesses; we
thus voluntarily become our own tormentors; but when this perfection is
too importunate, we have it in our power to command our tyrants to use
more indulgence towards us. It is not the same with the reproaches of
conscience; the sentiments which produce them have nothing compounded or
artificial in them, we cannot corrupt our judge, nor enter into a
compromise with him; that which seduces men never deceives him, and
amidst the giddiness of prosperity, in the intoxication of the greatest
success, his looks are inevitably fixed on us; and we cannot but with
terror enjoy the applause and the triumphs which we have not merited.