of opinion, without allowing others to construct the laws on which our
happiness is founded; and of course discord must result, which leaves us
a prey to every kind of emotion. Virtue has not any associates in her
counsels, she judges herself of all that is good; and in this respect a
virtuous man is the most independent of all beings, for it is from
himself alone that he receives commands, and expects approbation. Yes,
the obscure man, who does good in secret, is more master of his destiny,
than the being ever will be who seems loaded with all the favours of
fortune, and has need, that fashion and transient gratifications come to
determine his taste, and give laws to his vanity, to enable him to enjoy
them
The little passions of the world, trying to render us happy, lead us on
from one illusion to another, and the last boundary always appears at a
distance. Virtue, very different, has its recompenses within itself: it
is not in events nor in uncertain success that it places contentment; it
is even in our resolution, in the calmness which accompanies it, and the
secret sentiment which precedes it.
Recollection ever composes the principal happiness of virtue, whilst
worldly vanity is tormented by the remembrance of what is gone for ever;
and with regard to the passions in general, the past is but a gloomy
shadow, out of which proceed, from time to time, sorrow and remorse.
The intervals which occur between the starts of violent passions, are
almost always filled by sadness and apathy; we all know, according to
the laws of nature, that lively and ardent sensations produce languor
the moment the tumult is over. Virtue, in the enjoyment of those
pleasures peculiar to itself, knows nothing of those irregular emotions,
because all its principles are firm, and it acts round its own centre;
besides, it also invites us continually to set a just value on that
happiness which is most proper for us; it dictates its first laws in the
bosom of domestic life, and employs all its strength to sustain, by the
ties of duty, our most rational and simple affections.
Virtue, which is the offspring of religion, is of the greatest use in
delivering men from the tormenting solicitude of doubt, by presenting a
general system of conduct; and above all, by marking fixed points to
direct them, by telling them what to love, choose, and do. Thus, whilst
men, carried away by their imagination, continually allow that they are
deceived by phantoms, and lend the most glowing colours to those which
have just escaped them, virtue sets no value but on what it possesses,
and knows not regret. It would seem, at the first glance, that the
desires and caprices of the imagination cannot agree with any kind of
restraint; however, it is not less true, that these trifling forerunners
of our will have need of a guide, and often of a master; our first
inclinations and sentiments are frequently uncertain, weak, and
wavering; it is of consequence to our happiness, that this trembling
stalk should be fixed and supported; and such is the service virtue
renders to the human mind.
We see not any uniformity in the conduct of those who are not influenced
by motives of duty; they have too many things to regulate, too many to
decide about every instant, when convenience is their only guide: to
simplify the management of ourselves, we should submit to the government
of a principle, which may be easily applied to most of our
deliberations.
In short, virtue has this great advantage, that it finds its happiness
in a kind of respect for the rights and claims of the different members
of the community, and that all its sentiments seem to unite themselves
to the general harmony. The passions, on the contrary, are almost always
hostile; the vain man desires that others should grace his triumphs; the
proud wishes them to feel their inferiority; the ambitious, that they
keep clear of his pursuit; the imperious, that they bend to him. It is
the same of the different competitions, which an excessive love of
praise, high reputation, or fortune, gives birth to; in the path they
choose every one would wish to go alone, or advance before all the rest,
and occupied about their own interest, they clash inconsiderately with
those of others. Virtue, very different in following its course, fears
neither rivals nor competitors; it does not jostle with any one, the
road is spacious, and all may walk at their ease; it is an orderly
alliance, of which morality is the knot, drawing together, by the same
motives and hopes held in common, that chain of duties and sentiments
which unite the virtues of men to the ideal model of all perfection.
Virtue, which guards us from the snares of our senses, and checks our
blind desires, is besides the basis of the most precious wisdom; but it
is not the interest of a day, or the pleasures of a moment, that it
protects, it is the whole of life, that it takes under its
superintendency; it is, to speak metaphorically, the vindicator of
futurity, the representative of duration, and becomes, to the feelings,
what foresight is to the mind. We must then, with respect to private
manners, consider virtue as a prudent friend, taught by the experience
of all ages, who directs our steps, and never lets the flambeau waver,
whose salutary light ought to guide them. Our tumultuous passions
dispute the honour of partaking the government: it is necessary a master
should assign to each its proper limits, one who can keep in peace all
these petty domestic tyrants; which reminds us of the image of Ulysses,
arriving suddenly in the midst of the hundred kings who had taken
possession of his palace.
Virtue, some will say, severe in its judgments, and austere in its
forms, would it not deprive us of the greatest happiness, the pleasure
of being beloved? I reply, that virtue, in its most improved state, has
not this character; I represent it to myself as a just sentiment of
order, far from banishing all other comforts, it leads to them: thus,
benevolence and forbearance, which agree so well with human weakness;
the social spirit so consistent with our nature; urbanity in discourse
and manner; that amiable expression of a heart, which seeks to unite
itself with others; all these qualities, very far from being strangers
to virtue, are its attendants and brightest ornament.
Virtue allies itself to all the ideas which can give extent to our mind,
and early in life accustoms us to discern relations, and to sacrifice
frequently our present affections to distant considerations; it is, of
all our sentiments, that which carries us farthest out of ourselves, and
consequently has the nearest resemblance with abstract thinking. It is
then, through the assistance of virtue, that a man acquires all his
knowledge of his strength and all his grandeur. Vice, on the contrary,
concentres us in a little space; it seems to be conscious of its own
deformity, and fears all that surrounds it; it endeavours to fix on a
single object, on a single moment, and would wish to have power to draw
into a point our whole existence.
I must still add, that virtue, by uniting a motive to all our actions,
and by directing towards an end all our sentiments, habituates our mind
to order, and justness of conception; and prevents our wandering in too
great a space: thus I have often thought, that it was not only by his
vices, that an immoral man is dangerous in the administration of public
affairs; we ought to fear him also as unable to comprehend a whole, and
for his want of capacity to rally all his thoughts and direct them
towards any general principle: every kind of harmony is unknown to him,
every rule is become a burthen; he is busy, but only by starts; and it
is by accident that a man, always versatile, stumbles on what is right.
It may then truly be said, that morality serves as ballast to our
sentiments, its aid enables us to go on without being agitated
continually by the caprices of our imagination, without being obliged to
turn back at the first appearance of an obstacle.
Virtue then enlarges the mind, gives dignity to the character, and
invests it with every thing becoming. Of all the qualities of men, the
most rare, the most apt to create respect, is, that elevation of
thought, sentiment, and manners; that majestic consistency of character
which truth alone can preserve, but which the least exaggeration, the
most trivial affectation, would disconcert or banish. This resembles not
pride, and still less vanity, as one of its ornaments is, that it never
seeks for the homage of others: the man endowed with real dignity, is
placed above even his judges; he accounts not with them, he lives under
the government of his conscience, and, proud of such a noble ruler, he
does not wish for any other dependence: but as this grandeur is entirely
within himself, it ceases to exist, when he dictates to others what he
expects from them; it can only be restrained in its just limits by
virtues which do not pretend to dazzle.
It is to the same principle, that men owe that noble respect for virtue,
the most graceful ornament of a great soul; they owe to it also that
simplicity in thinking and speaking, that happy habit of a conscience
not in want of being on its guard. A man truly honest considers disguise
as a detractor, and desires to appear as he really is; it is not his
interest to conceal his weaknesses, for in a generous heart they are
almost always united to something good; and perhaps frankness would have
become the policy of his mind, if it had not been one of the qualities
of his character.
There is, in every virtue, a kind of beauty which charms us without
reflection: our moral sense, when it is improved by education, is
pleased with that social harmony which the sentiments of justice
preserves. These enjoyments are unknown to men, whose selfishness
renders them insensible to every kind of concord, and they appear to me
to deserve our contempt in one essential point; it is, that they profit
by the respect others have for order, without being willing to subject
themselves to the same rules, and without declaring publicly their
intention; it seems to me, that, in this view, a defect of morality is
indeed a breach of the laws of hospitality.
In short, talents, those faculties of the mind which belong more
immediately to nature, can never be applied to great things without the
aid of morality; there is no other way of uniting the interest of men,
and of attaining their love and respect. Honesty resembles the ancient
idioms, according to which you must know how to speak, when you wish to
be understood by the generality; and a language is never well known, but
by constant practice. The understanding is sometimes sufficient to
acquire an ascendency in circumscribed relations; you there take men one
by one; and you often engage them by proportioning yourself to their
depth: but on a vast theatre, and principally in public administration,
where we have need of captivating men in a body, it is necessary to
search for a band which will embrace all; and it is only by a union of
talents and virtue that this chain can be formed. And when I see the
homage paid by a nation to virtuous characters; when I remark the almost
instinctive judgment which assists in discerning them; when I see that
they praise and love only what they can connect to pure virtue, and
noble intention, I return to my favourite sentiment, and believe I
recognize in these emotions the stamp of a hand divine.
After having tried to give a feeble sketch of the various recompenses
and different satisfactions which seem to appertain to regularity of
principles, and propriety of conduct, you will perhaps ask, if you have
not a right to conclude from these reflections, that we can attach men
to morality by the mere motive of personal interest; I have already
mentioned, that I intended to answer such an objection, and now is the
time to do it.
Virtue, in its most improved state; virtue, such as we have just
represented, is not the work of a moment; it is necessary that it should
be called forth and strengthened by degrees; but it would be nipped when
it first begins to unfold itself, if we destroyed the simple opinions
which serve to educate it, if we overturned the only end which can be
perceived by all minds; and if we weakened the sentiments which connect
it with those who respect the laws of morality, and who promote this
cultivation by their commendations and esteem.
Besides, it is not virtue only, but virtue united to different motives,
which contributes to our happiness. This observation is very important,
and with great facility you may be made to feel the full force of it.
Employment is generally reckoned the surest source of agreeable
impressions of which we are susceptible; but its charm would vanish, if
it did not lead to some recompense, if it did not show, in perspective,
an increase of wealth, an enjoyment for our self-love, a chance for
fame, or some other advantages of which we are desirous. Vainly, say
some, that the exercise of our faculties is of itself a pleasure;
certainly, because that it offers to our view a train of prospects which
succeed each other. But there must always be a strong motive to direct
us to the right road, and make us set off; our bark must be driven by
the wind; in short, every kind of labour requires encouragement,
although this labour, proportioned to our strength, may be more
favourable to happiness then sloth and idleness; and this truth would
strike us still more, if we had ability to analyze a sentiment with
sufficient attention, to distinguish clearly the happiness which is
annexed to action and employment, from that which necessarily relates to
the end and to the motive of that action.
The reflections, which I have just made, may be applied to virtue; we
can easily, in studying its different effects, perceive, that it is an
excellent guide in the course of life; but we discover, at the same
time, that it has need, as well as employment, of a spur, a simple
encouragement on a par with our understanding: it is in religion that
virtue finds this encouragement, and we shall not be able to separate it
from the motives and hopes it presents, without disconcerting every
connexion it has with human happiness.
It will be easy to perceive the great benefit which must arise from
morality; but at the same time it must be remarked, that to follow its
dictates with confidence and firmness, knowledge and strong powers of
reflection are necessarily required in the study of so compounded a
truth: we are then in want of a motive to excite our first effort, which
subjects us to self-denial, and determines us to struggle with courage
against the dominion of the present moment.
In short, even when, by the art of sophistry, some philosophers have, at
length, thrown into confusion the true principles of order and
happiness; when, by the force of address, they have led us to doubt
about the kind and degree of power which it is necessary to assign to
religion, it should not, however, be the legislators of the nation who
ought to lend an ear to their subtle distinctions.
Metaphysical sentiments and ideas are not proper for statesman, but in
their own defence; to assist them to guard themselves from the
ascendency of brilliant errors, and to confirm the respect due to useful
truths: but when they have to guide minds, when they wish to excite
activity, it is always, if they are wise, the most simple idea that they
will make use of; and they will be very careful not to despise those
habitual principles, to which time, still more then knowledge, has given
a sanction. These are so many lessons, which long experience seems to
have gradually disengaged from every thing foreign to natural morality
and the secret sentiments of men.
CHAP. VII.
_On Religious Opinions, in their Relation with Sovereigns._
Many nations, either by choice, or necessity, have deposited their wills
in the hands of an individual; and have thus erected a perpetual
monument to the spirit of discord, and injustice, which has so
frequently reigned amongst men. It is true, that from time to time they
have wished to recollect that they were capable of knowing themselves
their true interest; but monarchs mistrusting their inconstancy, have
taken care to fortify the springs of authority, by surrounding
themselves with standing armies; and they have only left them the power
of being disgusted with slavery: soldiers and taxes have supported each
other; and through the assistance of this corresponding action, they
have become masters and directors of every thing. How much good and evil
depend on them? We then necessarily wish them to possess a vigorous
morality, proportioned to their immense duties; but what force will your
morality have, if they perceive at last, that it is not supported by a
divine sanction; if they consider it as a human institution, which they
have power to break, and which they are in the habit of modifying? At
least they will have the liberty, like other men, to examine if their
private interest agrees with that of the public, and their conduct will
depend on the result of this calculation.
I will acknowledge, that at the point of elevation, where kings find
themselves placed, they ought not to be acquainted with those passions
which proceed from our petty competitions; but how many other sentiments
have they not to repress? And with what celerity it is necessary to do
it; since they do not experience any contradiction, they are not, like
us, obliged to reflect and consider! Besides, though sovereigns are
supposed to be sheltered by their situation, from the irritations of
self-love, and from the desires of fortune and advancement, they are
not, however, disengaged from every passion of this kind; it is towards
other princes that they feel them; and envy, ambition, and revenge,
become often very dangerous, as they associate with these passions those
of the nation they govern, by means of a war. It is then that, freed
from religious ties, and sure of not accounting with any body, they
would find morality a very ingenious invention, to render the
maintenance of public order more easy, and to preserve the subordination
which secures their power; but, would not acknowledge such a master for
themselves, and would dispense with bowing to its dictates.
You will say, undoubtedly, that a virtuous king would be recompensed by
the applause of his subjects: but I have already shown, that the
influence of public opinion would be very weak, if the principles of
morality, which serve to guide this opinion, were not supported by
religion. We should also observe, that elogiums and applause, homage so
encouraging to private men, have not an equal power over princes, who
cannot, like individuals, consider this suffrage as an earnest, or
forerunner of exaltation; it is by the continual view of the advantages
and triumphs of others, that the desire of respect and distinction is
continually kept alive; and it may, perhaps, proceed a little from the
stimulation of envy, or at least from those jarring pretentions, and
from those struggles of self-love, of which society alone is the
theatre. Princes without rivals are not subject to the same impressions;
and the flattery they have so early imbibed, and the praises which are
lavished on them from the simple motive of hope, all serve to render
them less sensible to deserved applause; in short, this exaggerated
praise soon becomes a dull monotony, which extinguishes, by its
uniformity, that emulation which a just homage sometimes inspires. There
would be then great danger in reposing too much on the power of public
opinion, if we were to consider it as a check able to replace with
princes the compressing force of religion.
I must now make an essential remark: those who surround a monarch, often
mislead his judgment by the nature and the application of the elogiums
which they lavish on him. The praise of men, in a monarchy, always has a
taint of slavery: thus, in such countries, a look, a word from the
prince, which seems to efface, for an instant, the distance that
separates him from his subjects, delights them; and their enthusiasm in
those moments serves to persuade the monarch, that it is sufficient for
him to smile, to render his people happy: dangerous illusion, sad effect
of servility: in short, in consequence of the character which is
impressed by an habitual yoke, men are pleased with exalting the power
of him to whom they are obliged to submit; they love to see their
servile companions multiplied; and as the greater part of them have
seldom any access to the prince, vanity persuades them, that in
affecting to partake of the royal grandeur, they contract a kind of
familiarity with it; therefore, without reflecting whether it will be
more in the power of the sovereign to make them happy, when, by
enlarging his dominions, he shall have more subjects, and of course more
duties to fulfil, they celebrate, above all, the conquering warrior, and
thus invite princes to prefer the pursuit of military glory to every
other; and, as the multitude can quickly comprehend this kind of merit;
as the gaining of a battle is a simple idea, easily conceived by men of
every condition and turn of mind, it happens, by this reasoning, that
these triumphs are the most highly extolled; and even that men, on
account of them, can excuse every other failure, broken treaties,
violated oaths, alliances abandoned—In short, such is the mad folly of
our praise, that the tranquillity of the state, the repose of the
people, the mild benefits of peace, appear no more than the last
consequence of the labours and the success of a monarch; and even
history frequently represents this fortunate time, as the days of
obscurity in which heroes of blood and carnage are educated; kings,
discontented with their destiny, are warriors through ambition, and
happy by the victories, to which we annex our first honours, and the
most noble wreaths of fame.
It is thus, however, that the prevailing opinion, and the rumour of
renown, can sometimes deceive princes, though inconsistent with the
instructions of morality and the legislation of yore, which point out
the true interest of the people as the first object of a sovereign’s
anxious solicitude; and instead of a sounding name, and dazzling
qualities, enforce those requisite to form the guardian and protector of
the felicity of the public; duties of a vast extent, and which are
discharged by the secret labours of paternal vigilance, still more than
by the noise of the drum and the instruments of destruction.
Let us consider, however, the influence the opinion of the world will
have on sovereigns, in directing only our views towards the interior
functions of administration. An essential observation presents itself at
first to the mind: it is, that the thirst for glory is especially felt
when a great abuse is to be reformed, and when we can hope to make
regularity succeed to confusion; but when this task is fulfilled, and
that it is only necessary to preserve and support what is good, the love
of renown has not sufficient aliment, and it is then that the virtue of
princes becomes the only faithful guardian of the public interest. A
reign, such as we have formed an idea of, would carry away from the
following ones every subject of dazzling splendour; and it would be
necessary that new troubles and fears re-animated the sentiment of
admiration, to give it its ancient ascendency and original force.