THE HISTORY OF L —— — CONTINUED IN HIS INTELLECTUAL PURSUITS — HELVETIUS — IIIS FAULTS AND MERITS — THE MATERIALISTS — THE PHILOSOPHY OF FAITH.
“IT was observed by Descartes,” said L — , (as we renewed, a day or two after our last conversation, the theme we had then begun,) “‘that in order to improve the mind, we ought less to learn than to contemplate.’ In this sentence lies the use of retirement. There are certain moments when study is peculiarly grateful to us: but in no season are we so likely to profit by it, as when we have taken a breathing-time from the noise and hubbub of the world when the world has wearied us. Behold me, then, within a long day’s journey from London, in a beautiful country, an old house, and a library collected with great labour by one of my forefathers, and augmented in more modern works at the easy cost of expense, by myself.
“The first branch of letters to which I directed my application was Moral Philosophy; and the first book I seized upon was Helvetius. I know no work so fascinating to a young thinker as the ‘Discours de l’Esprit:’ the variety, the anecdote, the illustration, the graceful criticism, the solemn adjuration, the brilliant point that characterise the work, and render it so attractive, not as a treatise only, but a composition, would alone make that writer delightful to many who mistake the end of his system, and are incapable of judging its wisdom in parts.
“His great metaphysical error is in supposing all men born with the same capacity; in resolving all effects of character and genius to education. For, in the first place, the weight of proof being thrown upon him, he does not prove the fact; and, secondly, if he did prove it, neither we nor his system would be a whit the better for it: for the utmost human and possible care in education cannot make all men alike; and whether a care above humanity could do so, is, I apprehend, of very little consequence in the eyes of practical and sensible beings. Yet even this dogma has been beneficial, if not true: for the dispute it occasioned, obliged men to examine, and to allow the wonders that education can effect, and the general features in common which a common mode of education can bestow upon a people; — grand truths, to which the human race will owe all that is feasible in its progress towards amelioration! But, passing from this point, and steering from the metaphysical to the more plainly moral portion of his school, let us see whether he has given to that most mystical word VIRTUE its true solution. We all know the poetical and indistinct meanings with which the lofty soul of Plato, and the imitative jargon of his followers, clothed the word — a symmetry, a harmony, a beautiful abstraction, invariable, incomprehensible — that is the Platonic virtue. Then comes the hard and shrewd refining away of the worldly school. ‘What is virtue here,’ say they, ‘is vice at our antipodes; the laws of morals are arbitrary and uncertain —
‘Imposteur à la Mecque, et prophète à Médine; there is no permanent and immutable rule of good; virtue is but a dream.’ Helvetius is the first who has not invented, but rendered popular, this great, this useful, this all-satisfying interpretation, ‘Virtue is the habitude of directing’ — Voltaire, Mahomet, Let i. our actions to the public good; the love of virtue is but the desire of the general happiness; virtuous actions are those which contribute to that happiness.’ In this clear and beautiful explanation all contradictions are solved: actions may be approved in one country, condemned in another, yet this interpretation will remain unchanged in its truth. What may be for the public good in China, may not be so in the Hebrides; yet, so long as we consult the public good wheresoever we are thrown, our intentions are virtuous. We have thus, in every clime, one star always before us; and, without recurring to the dreams of Plato, we are not driven, by apparent inconsistencies, to find virtue itself a dream. ‘ The face of Truth is not less fair and beautiful for all the counterfeit visors which have been put upon her.’”
A. And it is from this explanation of the end of virtue that Bentham has deduced his definition of the end of government. Both tend to the public good; or, in yet broader terms, the greatest happiness of the greatest number. It is a matter worthy of much pondering, to think that the end of virtue and the end of good government can only have the same explanation.
L. Yes; and hence a surpassing merit in Helvetius! — more than any reasoner before him, he united public virtues with private. Though so excellent, so exemplary himself, in the minor charities and graces of life, he forbore, like egotistical preachers, to dwell upon them: they are less important to mankind than the great principles of public conduct — principles which rule states and enlighten them. It was a noble truth at that time, the father of how much that is inestimable now, to proclaim, “that, in order to perfectionize our moral state, legislators had two methods: the first, to unite private interests to the general interest; the other, to advance the progress and diffusion of intellect.” This is a maxim the people should wear in their hearts.
A. True; before Helvetius, moralists were in league with the ills that are: they preached to man to amend himself, not to amend his laws, without which all amelioration is partial. To what use would it be to tell the modern Greeks not to lie? Give them a code, in which, to lie would be to sin against self-interest.
L. The form of government gives its tone to popular opinion. It is in proportion as popular opinion honours or neglects a virtue, that that virtue is popularly followed. In commercial countries wealth is respectability; in despotic countries flattery is considered wisdom: the passions lead men to action, and the passions are excited according to the reward proposed to them. These are grave and weighty truths: we are to thank Helvetius if they are now known.
A. But I have diverted you from the thread of your narrative. To what new studies did your regard for Helvetius direct you?
L. It did not immediately lead to new studies, but gave a more solid direction to those I had formerly indulged. I had, as I mentioned, been before addicted to abstract speculation; but it was of a dreamy and wild cast. I now sought to establish philosophy on the basis of common sense. I recommenced, then, a stern and resolute course of metaphysical study, giving, indeed, a slighter attention to the subtleties which usually occupy the student, than to the broader principles on which the spirit of human conduct and our daily actions do secretly depend. Moral philosophy is the grandest of all sciences: metaphysics, abstracted from moral philosophy, is at once the most pedantic and the most frivolous. And that man is indeed delirious “qui verborum minutiis rerum frangit pondéra.”
But I soon grew chilled and dissatisfied with the materialists. Helvetius charmed my fancy — sharpened my intellect — but filled not my soul. Locke, Condillac, alike left me disappointed — and asking solutions to questions which they either dared not answer — or discouragingly evaded. Then came the Scotch, and, (so far as they were open to me,) the German reasoners, with their far more ennobling systems — the wild and starry darkness of the last — the generous ardour — the prodigal and earnest faith that distinguishes the first. But I could not shut my eyes to the hair-splitting and refining — the quackery and fanaticism of the one — the haste, the rashness, the illogical intemperance, of the other. Even Plato, with all his dreams, seemed to me more conclusive, than these, his latest, imitators. Left then by my guides upon this vast and illimitable plain — awe-struck and saddened by my own doubts, I resolved, at least, not to despair, — for suddenly I felt that I was not alone! My books were deaf and sealed, but round me was the Universe, and the life of things became my teacher! — Yes — not from metaphysics, but from analogy I rebuilt up my crumbling faith, — and became a Philosopher to myself. Happy he whose doubts resolve themselves as mine did, into that devout, confiding, immaterial hope, which seems to suit best our limited lore below — to support most our virtue, and exalt our souls. Some men there are of stem minds, of long-practised self-denial, of habits whose austerity has become a pleasure — who may be both good and happy without a belief in an Hereafter. Lowlier than these, I own myself one amongst the herd. And never did I feel assured of the strength of my own heart, and trustful to subdue its human errors and its hourly sorrows, until I saw bright before me the birthright and Eden of Immortality. There is a Philosophy, attempted, it is true, but yet unattained — a Philosophy which this century ought to produce out of the ashes of the Materialism of the last — it is the Philosophy of Faith!”