be the fatal train of the annihilation of religious opinions; it is not
a single idea, a single view, that men would lose; it would be, besides,
the interest and the charm of all their desires and ambition. There is
nothing indifferent, when our actions and designs can be in any respect
attached to a duty; there is nothing indifferent, when the exercise and
the improvement of our faculties appear the commencement of an
existence, whose termination is unknown: but, when this period offers
itself on all sides to our view, when we approach it every moment, what
strong illusion would be sufficient to defend us from a sad despondency?
Strictly circumscribed in the space of life, its limits would be in such
a manner present to our mind, to every sentiment and enterprize perhaps,
that we should be tempted to examine, what it is which can merit, on our
part, an assiduous research; what it is which deserves close and painful
application. Indeed, fame itself, which is called immortal, would no
more hurry us on in the same manner, if we had a secret conviction, that
it cannot grow, rise, subsist, but in such portions of space, and such
durations of time, as our imagination cannot conceive. It is necessary,
that the uncertain future be still our country, in order that we should
be able to feel that unquiet love of a long celebrity, and those ardent
impulses towards great things which is the salutary effect of it.
We deceive ourselves then, I think, when we accuse religion of
necessarily rendering the business and the pleasures of the world
uninteresting; its chief pleasures, on the contrary, are derived from
religion, from those ideas of eternity, which it presents to our mind,
which serve to sustain the enchantments of hope, and the sense of those
duties of which our moral nature is ingeniously composed.
Religious opinions are perfectly adapted to our nature, to our
weaknesses and perfections; they come to our succour in our real
difficulties, and in those which the abuse of our foresight creates. But
in what is grand and elevated in our nature, it sympathizes most: for,
if men are animated by noble thoughts; if they respect their
intelligence, their chief ornament; if they are interested about the
dignity of their nature, they will fly, with transport, to bow before
religion, which ennobles their faculties, preserves their strength of
mind, and which, through its sentiments, unites them to Him, whose power
astonishes their understanding. It is then that, considering themselves
as an emanation of the Infinite Being, the commencement of all things,
they will not let themselves be drawn aside by a philosophy, whose sad
lessons tend to persuade us, that reason, liberty, all this immaterial
essence of ourselves, is the mere result of a fortuitous combination,
and an harmony without intelligence.
We have never perhaps observed, with sufficient attention, the different
kinds of happiness which would be destroyed, or at least sensibly
weakened, if this discouraging doctrine was ever propagated.
What would then become of the most sublime of all sentiments, that of
admiration, if, instead of the grand view of the universe, far from
reviving the idea of a Supreme Being, we retraced only a vast existence,
but without design, cause, or destination; and if the astonishment of
our minds was itself but one of the spontaneous accidents of blind
matter?
What would become of the pleasure which we find in the developement,
exercise, and progress of our faculties, if this intelligence, of which
we love to glory, was only the result of chance, and if all our ideas
were but a mere obedience to the eternal law of motion; if our liberty
was but a fiction, and if we had not, if I may say so, any possession of
ourselves?
What would become then of that active spirit of curiosity, whose charm
excites us to observe continually the wonders with which we are
surrounded, and which inspires, at the same time, the desire of
penetrating, in some measure, into the mystery of our existence, and the
secret of our origin? Certainly it would little avail us to study the
course of nature, if this science could only teach us to comprehend the
afflicting particulars of our mechanical slavery: a prisoner cannot be
pleased to draw the form of his fetters, or reckon the links of his
chains.
But how beautiful is the world, when it is represented to us as the
result of a single and grand thought, and when we find every where the
stamp of an eternal intelligence; and how pleasing to live with the
sentiments of astonishment and adoration deeply impressed on our hearts!
But what a subject of glory are the endowments of the mind, when we can
consider them as a participation of a sublime nature, of which God alone
is the perfect model. And how delightful then to yield to the ambition
of elevating ourselves still more, by exercising our thoughts and
improving all our faculties!
In short, how many charms has the observation of nature, when, at every
new discovery, we believe we advance a step towards an acquaintance with
that exalted wisdom which has prescribed laws to the universe, and
maintains it in harmony! It is then, and only then, that the study is
truly interesting, and the progress of knowledge becomes an increase of
happiness. Yes, under the influence of opinions, arising from the
notions of materialists, all is languishing in our curiosity, all is
mere instinct in our admiration, all is fictitious in the sentiments
which we have of ourselves; but with the idea of a God, all is lively,
all is reasonable and true: in short, this happy and prolific idea
appears as necessary to the moral nature of man, as heat is to plants
and to all the vegetable world. You may think, perhaps, that in
examining the influence of religion on happiness, I have dwelt on
several considerations, which are not of equal importance to all men;
there are, indeed, some more particularly adapted to that part of
society, whose minds are improved by education; but I am very far from
wishing to divert a moment my attention from the numerous class of the
inhabitants of the earth, whose happiness and misery arises from a
simple idea, proportioned to the extent of their interests and
reflections.
Those who seem to have a more pressing and constant need of the
assistance of religion, have been left by the misfortunes of their
parents to the wide world, devoid of property, and deprived also of
those resources which depend on education. This class of men, condemned
to hard labour, are, as it were, confined in a rough and uniformly
barren path, where every day resembles the last, where they have not any
confused expectations, or flattering illusion to divert them: they know
that there is a wall of separation between them and fortune; and if they
carried their views in life forward, they would only discover the
dreadful state any infirmity would reduce them to; and the deplorable
situation to which they might be exposed, by the cruel neglect which
attends old age. With what transport, in this situation, would they not
catch at the comfortable hopes which religion presents! With what
satisfaction would they not learn, that after this probationary state,
where so much disproportion overwhelmed them, there would come a time of
equality! What would be their complaints, if they were to renounce a
sentiment which still conforms itself, for their advantage, to a general
idea, the only one, in short, of which they can make use in all events
and circumstances of life. It is God’s will, they say to themselves, and
this first thought supports their resignation: God will recompense you,
God will return it to you, say they to others, when they receive alms;
and these words remind them, that the God of the rich and powerful is
also theirs; and that far from being indifferent to their fate, He
deigns Himself to discharge their obligations.
How many other popular expressions continually recal the same sentiment
of confidence and consolation. It is this continual relation of the poor
with the Deity which raises them in their own eyes, and which prevents
their sinking under the weight of contempt with which they are
oppressed, and gives them sometimes courage to resist the pride of
earthly greatness. What grander effect could be produced by an idea so
simple? Thus, among the different things which characterise religion, I
remark, above all, what seems more particularly the seal of a divine
hand; it is, that the moral advantages, of which religion is the source,
resembling the grand blessings of nature, belong equally to all men; and
as the sun, in the distribution of its rays, observes neither rank nor
fortune, in the same way those comforting sentiments, which are
connected with the conception of a Supreme Being, and the hopes united
to it, become the property of the poor as well as the rich, of the weak
as well as the powerful, and can be as securely enjoyed under the lowly
roof of a cottage, as in a superb palace. It is civil laws which
increase, or give a sanction to the inequality of possessions; and it is
religion which sweetens the bitterness of this hard disproportion.
We could not avoid feeling a compassion as painful as well founded, if,
in considering attentively the fate of the greater number of men, we
supposed them all at one stroke deprived of the only thought which
supported their courage; they would no more have a God to confide their
sorrows with; they would no more attend his ordinances to search for the
sentiments of resignation and tranquillity; they would have no motive
for raising their looks to heaven; their eyes would be cast down, fixed
for ever on this abode of grief, of death, and eternal silence. Then
despair would even stifle their groans, and all their reflections
preying on themselves, would only serve to corrode their hearts; then
those tears which they have a satisfaction in shedding, and which are
attracted by the tender persuasion, that there exists some where
commiseration and goodness, these consoling tears would no more moisten
their eyes.
Who has not seen, sometimes, those veteran soldiers, who are prostrate
here and there on the pavement of a sanctuary, erected in the midst of
their august retreat? Their hair, which time has whitened; their
forehead marked with honourable scars; that tottering step, which age
only could impress on them, all inspire at first respect; but by what
sentiments are we not affected, when we see them lift up and join with
difficulty their weak hands, to invoke the God of the universe, of their
heart and mind; when we see them forget, in this interesting devotion,
their present pains and past griefs; when we see them rise with a
countenance more serene, and expressive of the tranquillity and hope
devotion has infused through their souls. Complain not in those moments,
you who judge of the happiness of this world only from its enjoyments;
their looks are humbled, their body trembles, and death awaits their
steps; but this inevitable end, whose image only terrifies us, they see
coming without alarm; they, through religion, have approached Him who is
good, who can do every thing, whom none ever loved without receiving
comfort. Come and contemplate this sight, you who despise religion, you
who term yourselves superior; come and see the real value of your
pretended knowledge for promoting happiness. Change the fate of men, and
give them all, if you can, some portion of the enjoyments of life, or
respect a sentiment which serves them to repulse the injuries of
fortune; and since even the policy of tyrants has never dared to destroy
it, since their power would be insufficient to enable them to succeed in
the savage attempt, you, to whom nature has given superior endowments,
be not more cruel, more inexorable than they; or if, by a pitiless
doctrine, you wish to deprive the old, the sick, and the indigent, of
the only idea of happiness which they can apply to, go from prison to
prison, and to those dreary cells, where the wretched prisoners struggle
with their chains, and shut with your own hands, if you have the heart
to do it, the only aperture through which any ray of light can reach
them.
It is not, however, a single class of society which derives an habitual
assistance from religion, it is all those who have to complain of the
abuse of authority, of public injustice, and the different vicissitudes
of their fate; it is the innocent man who is condemned, the virtuous man
who is slandered, the man who has once acted inconsistently, and been
censured with too much rigour; all those, in short, who, convinced of
the purity of their own conscience, seek for, above all, a secret
witness of their intentions, and an enlightened judge of their conduct.
A man of an exalted character, endowed with sensibility of heart,
experiences also the necessity of forming to himself an image of an
unknown Being, to which he can unite all the ideas of perfection which
fill his imagination; it is to Him that he refers those different
sentiments, which are useless amidst the corruptions which surround him;
it is in God alone that he can find an inexhaustible subject of
astonishment and adoration; and with Him alone can he renew and purify
his sentiments, when he is wearied with the sight of the vices of the
world, and the habitual return of the same passions. In short, at every
instant the happy idea of a God softens and embellishes our path through
life, and by it we associate ourselves with delight to all the beauties
of nature; by it every thing animated enters into communication with us;
yes, the noise of the wind, the murmurs of the water, the peaceable
agitation of plants, all serves to support, or melt our souls, provided
that our thoughts can rise to a universal cause, provided we can
discover every where the works of Him whom we love, provided we can
distinguish the vestiges of His footsteps and the traces of His
intentions; and, above all, if we can suppose, that we ourselves
contribute to the display of His power, and the splendour of His
goodness.
But it is principally over the enjoyments of friendship that piety
spreads a new charm; bounds, limits, cannot agree with the sentiment
which is as infinite as thought, it would not subsist, at least would be
troubled with continual anxiety; we should not consider without terror
the revolution of years and the rapid course of time, if those
benevolent opinions, which enlarge for us the future, did not come to
our assistance. Thus, when we find ourselves separated from the objects
of our affection, lonely meditations bring them back to aid the general
idea of happiness, which, more or less, distinctly terminates our view;
then the tender melancholy, in which one is lost, is changed into
pleasing emotions: and you have, above all, need of those precious
opinions, you, who, timid in a bustling world, or discouraged by
disappointments, find yourself a solitary wanderer on the earth, because
you partake not of the passions which agitate the greater part of
mankind! You want a friend, and you only see pecuniary associations; you
want a comforter, and you only see the ambitious, strangers to all those
who have not power or a distinguished reputation; a tender confident is
at least necessary, and the active scenes of society disperses the
affections and diminishes every interest. In short, when you have this
friend, this confident, this comforter; when you have acquired it by the
most tender union; when you live in a son, a husband, or a cherished
wife, what other idea, but that of a God, can come to your relief, when
the frightful image of a separation presents itself to your thoughts? It
is, indeed, in such moments that we embrace with transport all those
opinions which tend to foster the idea of continuity and duration? How
gladly then we lend an ear to those words of comfort which are so
perfectly consonant with the desires and the wants of our soul! What
association of ideas, so frightful as that of the eternal annihilation
of life and love? How can we unite to that soft division of interests
and of sentiments, to that charm of our days; how can we unite to so
much of existence and happiness, the internal persuasion and habitual
image of a death without hope, a destruction without return? How can we
offer only the idea of oblivion to those affectionate minds, who have
centred all their self-love, all their ambition in the object of their
esteem and tenderness; and who, after having renounced themselves, are,
as it were, deposited entirely in the bosom of another, to subsist there
by the same breath of life and the same destiny? In short, near the
tomb, which, perhaps, they will one day bedew with their tears, how can
they pronounce the overwhelming words, forever!—forever!—Oh! horrors of
horrors, both for the mind and feelings! and if it be necessary that the
contemplations of a man of feeling approach a moment to the frightful
confines, let a benevolent cloud at least cover the dark abyss! Tears
and sorrow still afford some comfort, when we give them to a beloved
shade, when we can mix with our griefs the name of a God, and when this
name appears to you the cement of all nature: but if in the universe all
was deaf to our voice; if no echoes were to repeat our plaints; if the
shades of eternal darkness had hid from us the object of our love, and
if they were advancing to drag us into the same night; if he is the most
unhappy being, he who survives, and cannot even hope, that what death
has severed will again be united; if, when his whole soul was filled
with the recollection of a loved object, he could not say, he is in some
place, his heart so affectionate, his soul so pure and heavenly waits
for me, and calls me perhaps to be near that unknown Being, whom we
have, with common consent, adored; and if, instead of a thought so dear,
it was necessary, without any doubt, to consider the earth as a
sepulchre forever shut—my heart dies within me—unable to contend with
the dreadful images, the universe itself seems to dissolve, and
overwhelm us in its downfall. O source of so many hopes, sublime idea of
a God! abandon not the man who has sensibility; Thou art his courage,
Thou art his futurity, Thou art his life; leave him not desolate, and,
above all, defend him from the ascendency of a barren and fatal
philosophy, which would afflict his heart by pretending to comfort it.
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.