7.
Gibbon paints with pleasure what, conformably with the sentiments of a godless intellectualism, was an historical fulfilment of his own idea of moral perfection; Lord Shaftesbury had already drawn out that idea in a theoretical form, in his celebrated collection of Treatises which he has called “Characteristics of men, manners, opinions, views;” and it will be a further illustration of the subject before us, if you will allow me, Gentlemen, to make some extracts from this work.
One of his first attacks is directed against the doctrine of reward and punishment, as if it introduced a notion into religion inconsistent with the true apprehension of the beauty of virtue, and with the liberality and nobleness of spirit in which it should be pursued. “Men have not been content,” he says, “to show the natural advantages of honesty and virtue. They have rather lessened these, the better, as they thought, to advance another foundation. They have made virtue so mercenary a thing, and have talked so much of its rewards, that one can hardly tell what there is in it, after all, which can be worth rewarding. For to be bribed only or terrified into an honest practice, bespeaks little of real honesty or worth.” “If,” he says elsewhere, insinuating what he dare not speak out, “if through hope merely of reward, or fear of punishment, the creature be inclined to do the good he hates, or restrained from doing the ill to which he is not otherwise in the least degree averse [pg 197] there is in this case no virtue or goodness whatever. There is no more of rectitude, piety, or sanctity, in a creature thus reformed, than there is meekness or gentleness in a tiger strongly chained, or innocence and sobriety in a monkey under the discipline of the whip.… While the will is neither gained, nor the inclination wrought upon, but awe alone prevails and forces obedience, the obedience is servile, and all which is done through it merely servile.” That is, he says that Christianity is the enemy of moral virtue, as influencing the mind by fear of God, not by love of good.
The motives then of hope and fear being, to say the least, put far into the background, and nothing being morally good but what springs simply or mainly from a love of virtue for its own sake, this love-inspiring quality in virtue is its beauty, while a bad conscience is not much more than the sort of feeling which makes us shrink from an instrument out of tune. “Some by mere nature,” he says, “others by art and practice, are masters of an ear in music, an eye in painting, a fancy in the ordinary things of ornament and grace, a judgment in proportions of all kinds, and a general good taste in most of those subjects which make the amusement and delight of the ingenious people of the world. Let such gentlemen as these be as extravagant as they please, or as irregular in their morals, they must at the same time discover their inconsistency, live at variance with themselves, and in contradiction to that principle on which they ground their highest pleasure and entertainment. Of all other beauties which virtuosos pursue, poets celebrate, musicians sing, and architects or artists of whatever kind describe or form, the most delightful, the most engaging and pathetic, is that which is drawn from real life and from the passions. Nothing affects [pg 198] the heart like that which is purely from itself, and of its own nature: such as the beauty of sentiments, the grace of actions, the turn of characters, and the proportions and features of a human mind. This lesson of philosophy, even a romance, a poem, or a play may teach us.… Let poets or the men of harmony deny, if they can, this force of nature, or withstand this moral magic.… Every one is a virtuoso of a higher or lower degree; every one pursues a grace … of one kind or other. The venustum, the honestum, the decorum of things will force its way.… The most natural beauty in the world is honesty and moral truth; for all beauty is truth.”
Accordingly, virtue being only one kind of beauty, the principle which determines what is virtuous is, not conscience, but taste. “Could we once convince ourselves,” he says, “of what is in itself so evident, viz., that in the very nature of things there must of necessity be the foundation of a right and wrong taste, as well in respect of inward character of features as of outward person, behaviour, and action, we should be far more ashamed of ignorance and wrong judgment in the former than in the latter of these subjects.… One who aspires to the character of a man of breeding and politeness is careful to form his judgment of arts and sciences upon right models of perfection.… He takes particular care to turn his eye from every thing which is gaudy, luscious, and of false taste. Nor is he less careful to turn his ear from every sort of music, besides that which is of the best manner and truest harmony. 'Twere to be wished we had the same regard to a right taste in life and manners.… If civility and humanity be a taste; if brutality, insolence, riot, be in the same manner a taste, … who would not endeavour to force nature as well [pg 199] in this respect as in what relates to a taste or judgment in other arts and sciences?”
Sometimes he distinctly contrasts this taste with principle and conscience, and gives it the preference over them. “After all,” he says, “'tis not merely what we call principle, but a taste, which governs men. They may think for certain, ‘This is right,’ or ‘that wrong;’ they may believe ‘this is a virtue,’ or ‘that a sin;’ ‘this is punishable by man,’ or ‘that by God;’ yet if the savour of things lies cross to honesty, if the fancy be florid, and the appetite high towards the subaltern beauties and lower orders of worldly symmetries and proportions, the conduct will infallibly turn this latter way.” Thus, somewhat like a Jansenist, he makes the superior pleasure infallibly conquer, and implies that, neglecting principle, we have but to train the taste to a kind of beauty higher than sensual. He adds: “Even conscience, I fear, such as is owing to religious discipline, will make but a slight figure, when this taste is set amiss.”
And hence the well-known doctrine of this author, that ridicule is the test of truth; for truth and virtue being beauty, and falsehood and vice deformity, and the feeling inspired by deformity being that of derision, as that inspired by beauty is admiration, it follows that vice is not a thing to weep about, but to laugh at. “Nothing is ridiculous,” he says, “but what is deformed; nor is any thing proof against raillery but what is handsome and just. And therefore 'tis the hardest thing in the world to deny fair honesty the use of this weapon, which can never bear an edge against herself, and bears against every thing contrary.”
And hence again, conscience, which intimates a Law-giver, being superseded by a moral taste or sentiment, [pg 200] which has no sanction beyond the constitution of our nature, it follows that our great rule is to contemplate ourselves, if we would gain a standard of life and morals. Thus he has entitled one of his Treatises a “Soliloquy,” with the motto, “Nec te quæsiveris extra;” and he observes, “The chief interest of ambition, avarice, corruption, and every sly insinuating vice, is to prevent this interview and familiarity of discourse, which is consequent upon close retirement and inward recess. 'Tis the grand artifice of villainy and lewdness, as well as of superstition and bigotry, to put us upon terms of greater distance and formality with ourselves, and evade our proving method of soliloquy.… A passionate lover, whatever solitude he may affect, can never be truly by himself.… 'Tis the same reason which keeps the imaginary saint or mystic from being capable of this entertainment. Instead of looking narrowly into his own nature and mind, that he may be no longer a mystery to himself, he is taken up with the contemplation of other mysterious natures, which he never can explain or comprehend.”