influence in a very confined space, as it is particularly called in to
judge men, whose rank and employments have some splendour in the world;
the opinion of the public is an approbation or censure, exercised in the
name of the general interest; thus it ought only to be applied to
actions and to words, which either directly or indirectly affect this
interest. The private conduct of him who discharges in society the most
important functions, is indeed submitted to the judgment and
superintendance of the public at large; and we ought not to wonder that
it should, since in similar circumstances the principles of an
individual appear an earnest, or presage of his public virtues; but all
those, whose sole occupation is to spend their income, those who are
entirely devoted to dissipation, and have not any connexion with the
grand interests of the community, become independent of the opinion of
the world; or at least they do not experience its severity, till, by
foolish extravagance or inconsiderate pretentions, they draw the
attention of the public on their conduct. In short, a great number of
men, who, by the obscurity of their condition and moderate fortune, find
themselves lost in a crowd, will never dread a power that singles out of
the ranks its heroes and victims: thus people, concealed under humble
roofs scattered in the country, are as indifferent to the opinion of the
world, as are to the rays of the sun, those unhappy tribes who labour at
the bottom of mines, and pass their whole lives in a dark subterraneous
cavern.
We cannot then form any kind of comparison between the peculiar
ascendency of reputation, and the general influence of religious
morality.
Fame only recompenses rare actions; and would have nothing to bestow on
a nation of heroes. Religion tends continually to render virtue common;
but the universal success of its instructions would take away nothing
from the value of its benefits.
In order to receive the rewards which fame bestows, men must appear with
splendour on the stage of life. Religion, on the contrary, extends its
most distinguished favours to those who despise praise, and who do good
in secret.
The world almost always requires, that talents and knowledge should
accompany virtue; and it is thus that the love of praise becomes the
seed and spring of great actions. Religion never imposes this condition;
its recompenses belong to the ignorant as well as the learned, to the
humble spirit as well as to the exalted genius; and it is in animating
equally all men, in exciting universal activity, that it effectually
concurs to the maintenance of civil order.
The world, only judging of actions in their state of maturity, takes not
any account of efforts; and, as men do not seize the palm till the
moment when they approach the goal, it is necessary, at the commencement
of the career, that every one should derive from his own force his
courage and perseverance. Religion, on the contrary, if I may say so,
dwells with us from the moment that we begin to think; it welcomes our
intentions, strengthens our resolutions, and supports us even in the
hour of temptation; it is, at all times, and in all situations, that we
experience its influence, as we are continually reminded of its rewards.
Fame distributing only favours, whose principal value arises from
comparisons and competitions, often draws on its favourites the
envenomed breath of slander, and then sometimes they doubt about their
real value. Religion mingles no bitterness with its reward; it is in
obscurity that it confers content; and as it has treasures for all the
world, what is granted to some never impoverishes others.
The world is often mistaken in its judgment, because in the midst of so
vast a circle it is often difficult to distinguish true merit and the
splendour which follows it, from the false colours of hypocrisy.
Religion extends its influence to the inmost recesses of the heart, and
places there an observer, who has a closer view of men than their
actions afford, and whom they cannot either deceive or surprise.
In short, I will say it, there are moments when the opinion of the world
loses its force, and becomes enervated or governed by a servile spirit,
it searches to find faults in the oppressed, and attributes grand
intentions to powerful men, that it may, without shame, abandon one, and
celebrate the other. Ah! it is in such moments we return with delight to
the precepts of religion, to those independent principles, which, while
they illustrate every thing deserving of esteem or contempt, enable us
to follow the dictates of our heart, and speak according to our
conscience!
Thus, the opinion of the world, whose influence I have seen increase,
which unites so many motives to excite men to distinguished actions, and
to exalt them even to the great virtues, still ought never to be
compared with the universal, invariable influence of religion, and with
those sentiments which its precepts inspire men of all ages, of all
conditions, and every degree of understanding.
Would it be straying from my subject, to remark here the illusion we are
under, if we expect any important utility to arise from those marks of
distinction lately introduced into France, under the name of public
rewards for virtue? Those trivial favours of opinion can never be
decreed but to a few dispersed actions; and it might be apprehended,
that if we rendered such institutions permanent and general, they might
turn the attention of the people at large from the grand recompense,
which ought to be the spring and encouragement of all that is great and
virtuous. Experienced hunters, at the moment when all the pack is still
pursuing the most noble ranger of the forest, would not permit them to
turn, to run after a prey which darted out of a lurking hole or thicket.
The establishments on which I here fix my attention, have, perhaps, also
the inconvenience of rousing a sentiment of surprise at the appearance
of a good action, and announcing thus too distinctly, that they believe
them rare, and above the common exertions of humanity; and if we
extended still further these institutions, they would only introduce a
spirit of parade, always ready to languish, when applause was distant;
and it would be a great misfortune, if such a spirit ever took place of
simple and modest integrity, which receives from itself its motives and
reward: virtue and vanity make a bad mixture; men are then accustomed
only to act to be seen, and these opportunities, at present not very
numerous, they wish to choose. There is besides a class of men so ill
treated by fortune, that we should commit a great mistake in habituating
them to connect continually calculations of probable rewards from men,
with the practice of their duty; they would too often be deceived.
It is then, we cannot too often repeat it, it is respect for morality,
which it is necessary to maintain, by strengthening religious
principles, its most solid foundation; all other extraordinary helps
derive their force from novelty; and at the period when society would
have the greatest need of their succour, it would, perhaps, have arrived
at its greatest depravity.
Thus far at present, I have considered the influence of opinion, only in
general; but men manifest more in a private manner, the idea that they
have conceived of each other; and this sentiment, which takes then the
simple name of esteem, is connected with a determinate knowledge of the
moral character of those with whom we have an habitual correspondence;
esteem under this view, has not the splendour of reputation; but as
every one can pretend to it in the circle where his birth and
occupations have placed him, the hope of obtaining it ought to be
reckoned among the grand motives which excite us to the observance of
morality. However, if we supposed that this esteem was entirely
separated from religious sentiments, it would be like many other
advantages, which every one would estimate by his own fancy; for
whatever comes solely from men, can only have a price relative to our
connexion with them: thus the esteem of one, or of several persons,
would not indemnify for such a sacrifice; and often also this sentiment,
on their part, would appear inferior to some other objects, of ambition;
in a word, from the moment every preference, every valuation was brought
to a standard, each would insensibly have his own book of rates; and the
justness of them would depend on the degree of judgment and foresight of
every individual. But how can we imagine that perfection in morality
would ever be secure, when it depended on wavering and arbitrary
comparisons, whose foundation would be continually changed by the
various circumstances and situations of life? The motives which religion
presents are absolutely different; it is not by confused contrasts, that
it directs men; it is a predominate interest to which they are recalled;
it is round a beacon, of which the brilliant flames are seen on all
sides, that they are assembled; in short the rules which it prescribes
are not uncertain, and the advantages which it promises do not admit of
an equivalent.
Let us further observe here, that selfishness, after having compared the
enjoyment of esteem with pleasures of a different kind, would not fail
to reckon the chances which afford a hope of imposing on men; and in the
midst of these perplexed calculations, the passion of the moment would
be almost always victorious. Besides, we might ask, what is the esteem
of others, to that numerous class which misery makes solitary? And what
is it but a sentiment, of which the effect is never obvious, to those
whose view is limited to the present day, or the next, because they only
live by instantaneous resources? All the advantages annexed to
reputation are promisory notes, of which it is necessary to be able to
wait the distant expiration; reflection and knowledge only acquaint us
with their value; and the ignorance of the greater part of a nation
would render them unequal to this kind of combination.
If then, after having taken a view of the lowest, I observe those who
compose the superior class, I will venture a reflection of a very
different kind; that in a country where we have the hope of obtaining
the most splendid marks of distinction, and where fame has power to
raise heroes, great ministers, and men of genius in every profession, we
do not find that the duties of private life are best known and the most
respected. Men, uniting to celebrate with ardour great talents and
actions, consider with more indifference the morals and manners of
individuals; they make an ideal beauty, composed of every thing which
contributes to the celebrity of their country and the honour of their
nation; but by accustoming themselves to refer every thing to these
interests, they become extremely negligent with respect to common
virtues, and sometimes they even decide, that the rare qualities of the
mind may absolutely dispense with them. Besides, if fame can serve to
reward the most assiduous labour and painful self-denial, it is far from
being necessary, that moderate sentiments of esteem should indemnify
those who obtain them for the sacrifice of their passions; it does not
follow, that this sentiment should give them strength to resist the
multiplied seductions that the hopes of ambition and the chances of
fortune present to our view; and this consideration acquires more force
in a kingdom, where, among the distinctions of which the favour of the
prince is the origin, there are some which attract so much homage, that
they resemble fame itself.
In short, and what I am going to say comprehends, in a general manner,
the various questions which I have just treated: the esteem of men, even
when this sentiment seems the most foreign to religion, receives,
nevertheless, from it its principal strength, and even origin; it is a
reflection of great importance, and of which I will endeavour to
demonstrate the truth.
We ought, at first, to ask what is the original principle of society,
which gives weight to the various expressions of the sentiment of
esteem: we shall find, undoubtedly, that it is a distinct idea of the
duties of men, a notion of good morals, as general as firm. Now the
duties of life cannot be fulfilled without the assistance of religion,
since the connexion of private and public interest, the only foundation
of the virtues of our framing, is, as we have demonstrated an imperfect
system, and susceptible of a multitude of exceptions, or arbitrary
interpretations. It is necessary then that our social obligations should
be fixed in an authentic manner, if we wish that our judgment and the
sentiments which we adopt should be a real indication of the relation
the conduct of men has with moral perfection; but, if this perfection
was only determined by human conventions, if it was despoiled of the
majesty which religion invests it with, reputation, and sentiments of
esteem, which are the pledge and stamp of good morals, would insensibly
lose their value; we should then recollect that coin, which some vainly
wished to preserve the current value of in commerce, after having
materially altered either the weight or the standard; and, in effect, to
follow the simile a moment longer, how could we alter the essence of
morality more, and lessen the respect which is due to it, than by
separating it from the sublime motives which religion presents, to unite
it only to political considerations.
One objection I ought to obviate: it may be said, perhaps, that the
influence of honour in the army, seems to be a proof that reputation,
without the aid of any other impulse, would have sufficient influence to
direct the mind to the end which we propose to ourselves. This objection
does not appear to me decisive: honour in armies preserves a great
ascendency, because amongst men thus assembled, it is impossible to
escape shame, and the punishment incurred by cowardice; it is in war
that the power of authority and that of fame unite all their forces,
because that they exercise their influence on men engaged in one action,
actuated by the same spirit, by that singular subordination, termed
discipline. Thus, when in the commencement of the Roman republic, the
army participated more of the air of the city, and was not yet
familiarized to the military yoke, it was then only through the sanction
of an oath, supported by religious sentiments, that the general
contrived to prevent the inconstancy and defection of those who followed
him to the camp. Whatever then may be at present, the power of honour in
armies, whatever at present may be its influence in the field of battle,
where the actors, spectators, and judges, are on the same stage, and
have nothing else to do but to practise, remark, and praise a particular
virtue, we should not be able to draw any deduction from it, applicable
to the social relations, whose extent is immense, and to whose diversity
there is no bound. Besides, military honour is very far from being
foreign to the general principles of morality, and consequently to
religious opinions, the most solid support of those principles; for
sentiments which contain, in some manner, the idea of a noble sacrifice,
would lose great part of their force, if the great basis of our duty was
ever shaken.
A perfect model is necessary to fix the admiration of men; and it is
only by an intercourse more or less constant with that first model, that
several opinions which seem, in appearance, to arise merely from
convenience have consistency.
However, there has resulted from our warlike customs an opinion purely
social, which is very powerful: it is that of the point of honour, when
we consider it in its singular and simple acceptation, when a man is
ready to sacrifice his life to guard himself from the slightest
humiliation. This opinion, it is true, only dictates its rules among
equals, and the exercise of its authority extends to an inconsiderable
part of a nation, which, wholly given up to worldly concerns, are
occupied entirely with comparisons and distinctions; it is one of the
ancient appendages of military honour, and in uniting all its force
towards a single idea it is become a simple principle, which has been
blindly transmitted and as blindly respected.
It is by the effect of a similar habit that savages affix all their
glory to a contempt of bodily pain, and to demonstrations of gaiety, in
the midst of the most cruel torments. Can we doubt, that their
supernatural exultation would not be weakened, at the very instant they
were acquainted with our most common ideas of virtue? likewise our
notions of honour, which, in its exaggerated state, resembles their
death songs, would not resist metaphysical arguments, if ever
metaphysics became our sole guide in morality; for after having analyzed
the motives of our most important obligations, we should analyze also
our fine-spun sentiment, which makes us regardless of danger. Yes, if
respect for religion was absolutely destroyed; if this simple opinion,
which carries with it so many obligations, and serves to defend so many
duties, had no other support, the idea of honour would soon be weakened;
and our personal interest, insensibly disengaged from all the ties of
the imagination, would take a character so rude, and so determined, that
our habitual impressions, and our relation with others, would be
absolutely changed.
Permit me then to make another reflection: it will be always easy to
subject men to a governing opinion, when they themselves, and those who
govern them, unite al their efforts to attain the same end; but, if this
governing opinion is not, like religion, the general principle of our
conduct; if it cannot give us laws in the different situations of life,
it would serve only to throw us out of an equilibrium, or at least its
utility would be partial and momentary· Nevertheless, if, with a design
of remedying this inconvenience, we searched to multiply these opinions,
they would weaken each other; for every time we wish strongly to
restrain the imagination, it is necessary that a single idea, a single
authority, a single object of interest, should engage the attention of
men. Perfection, in this respect, is the choice of a single principle,
whose consequence extends to all; and such is the particular merit of
religious opinions.
We can then, in the name of reason, of policy, and philosophy, demand
some respect for them; and I ought to repeat, since it is time for me to
resume my subject, that esteem or contempt, honour or shame, are so far
from being able to supply the place of the active influence of religion,
that its sentiments confirm the opinion of the world, and, more or less,
obviously direct it. It follows, that we should soon reason shrewdly, on
the value which we ought to set on the esteem of the world, if the
expression of its approbation was not united in our contemplation to
something more noble than the judgment of mankind, and if an awful
respect for virtue was not imbibed by means of a religious education. We
should soon experience that, in wishing to found every thing on the
calculations of worldly wisdom, these same calculations would destroy
all; and morality having at once lost its grand support, we should try
in vain to prop it by a scaffold of laws, and the vain efforts of an
opinion without a guide. Hypocrisy and dissimulation would become
immediately a necessary science, a legitimate defence, which would weary
the attention of every inspector; and testimonies of esteem appearing
only an ingenious encouragement granted to the sacrifices of
selfishness, the applause decreed to a generous mode of conduct would be
insensibly discredited by those who gave and by those who received them,
and would end, perhaps, in becoming a secret object of derision, as mere
play from one to another.
Every thing is replaced and firmly established by religion; it
surrounds, I may say, the whole system of morality, resembling that
universal and mysterious force of physical nature, which retains the
planets in their orbits, and subjects them to a regular revolution; and
which, in the midst of the general order it maintains, escapes the
observation of men, and appears to their feeble sight unconscious of its
own work.
CHAP. III.
_An Objection drawn from our natural Dispositions to Goodness._
Men, according to the opinion of some, have received from nature a
secret tendency towards every thing just, good, and virtuous; and from
this happy inclination, the task of the moralist is confined to prevent
the alteration of our original constitution: an easy task, add they, and
which may be fulfilled without any extraordinary effort, and without
having recourse to religion.
We ought, at first, to observe, that the existence of this excellent
innate goodness has been a long time a subject of debate, as every
assertion always will be, of which we cannot demonstrate the truth,
either by argument or experience. We shall never be able to perceive
distinctly the natural dispositions of men, since, to our view, they are
never separated from the improvement, or the modification, which they
owe to education and habit. One or two examples they produce of children
arrived at maturity found in a forest; but we are ignorant at what
precise age they were abandoned by their parents, and what might have
been their dispositions, if, brought back to society, they had not been
guided by instruction, or restrained by fear and subordination. It is
not very probable, that man derived from his original nature all the
dispositions which lead to goodness; such a thought agrees not with his
pride or dignity, since the intellectual faculties with which he is
endowed, the power he has of gradually tending to perfection, announce
to him that he ought to fulfil his career with the assistance of reason,
and that, very different from those beings governed by an invariable
instinct, he should elevate himself as much above them, by cultivating
the abilities entrusted to him, as by the granduer of the destiny to
which he is permitted to aspire.
Reason, however, our faithful guide, would be insufficient to attach us
to sentiments of order, justice, and beneficence, if it was not seconded
by a nature proper to receive the impression of every noble sentiment;
but such reflections, far from favouring any system of independence or
impiety, receive from religious opinions their principal force. What is,
in effect, in this respect the course of our thoughts? We attribute, at
first, to a Supreme and Universal Being all the perfections which seem
to constitute his essence; and from this principle we are led to
presume, that we, his intelligent creatures, and his most noble work,
participate, in some manner, of the Divine spirit, of which we are an
emanation: but, if we could ever be persuaded, that our confidence in
the idea of a God is a deceitful illusion, we should not have any reason
to believe that the mere child of nature, blind and without a guide,
would be disposed to good, rather than evil. We must derive our opinion
of innate goodness from a secret sentiment, and from a perfect
conviction of the existence of a power which keeps every thing in order,
the model of all perfection: but, as we obtain equally from this power,
the faculties which render us capable of acquiring knowledge, of
improving by experience, of extending our views into futurity, and
elevating our thoughts to God; we should not know how to distinguish
these last expedients of ability and virtue from those which belong to
our first instinct; and we have no interest in doing it.