In the ages of faith the final end of life is placed beyond life. The men of those ages therefore naturally, and in a manner involuntarily, accustom1 themselves to fix their gaze for a long course of years on some immovable object, towards which they are constantly tending; and they learn by insensible degrees to repress a multitude of petty passing desires, in order to be the better able to content that great and lasting2 desire which possesses them. When these same men engage in the affairs of this world, the same habits may be traced in their conduct. They are apt to set up some general and certain aim and end to their actions here below, towards which all their efforts are directed: they do not turn from day to day to chase some novel object of desire, but they have settled designs which they are never weary of pursuing. This explains why religious nations have so often achieved such lasting results: for whilst they were thinking only of the other world, they had found out the great secret of success in this. Religions give men a general habit of conducting themselves with a view to futurity: in this respect they are not less useful to happiness in this life than to felicity hereafter; and this is one of their chief political characteristics.
But in proportion as the light of faith grows dim, the range of man's sight is circumscribed3, as if the end and aim of human actions appeared every day to be more within his reach. When men have once allowed themselves to think no more of what is to befall them after life, they readily lapse4 into that complete and brutal5 indifference6 to futurity, which is but too conformable to some propensities7 of mankind. As soon as they have lost the habit of placing their chief hopes upon remote events, they naturally seek to gratify without delay their smallest desires; and no sooner do they despair of living forever, than they are disposed to act as if they were to exist but for a single day. In sceptical ages it is always therefore to be feared that men may perpetually give way to their daily casual desires; and that, wholly renouncing8 whatever cannot be acquired without protracted9 effort, they may establish nothing great, permanent, and calm.
If the social condition of a people, under these circumstances, becomes democratic, the danger which I here point out is thereby10 increased. When everyone is constantly striving to change his position—when an immense field for competition is thrown open to all—when wealth is amassed11 or dissipated in the shortest possible space of time amidst the turmoil12 of democracy, visions of sudden and easy fortunes—of great possessions easily won and lost—of chance, under all its forms—haunt the mind. The instability of society itself fosters the natural instability of man's desires. In the midst of these perpetual fluctuations13 of his lot, the present grows upon his mind, until it conceals14 futurity from his sight, and his looks go no further than the morrow.
In those countries in which unhappily irreligion and democracy coexist, the most important duty of philosophers and of those in power is to be always striving to place the objects of human actions far beyond man's immediate15 range. Circumscribed by the character of his country and his age, the moralist must learn to vindicate16 his principles in that position. He must constantly endeavor to show his contemporaries, that, even in the midst of the perpetual commotion17 around them, it is easier than they think to conceive and to execute protracted undertakings18. He must teach them that, although the aspect of mankind may have changed, the methods by which men may provide for their prosperity in this world are still the same; and that amongst democratic nations, as well as elsewhere, it is only by resisting a thousand petty selfish passions of the hour that the general and unquenchable passion for happiness can be satisfied.
The task of those in power is not less clearly marked out. At all times it is important that those who govern nations should act with a view to the future: but this is even more necessary in democratic and sceptical ages than in any others. By acting19 thus, the leading men of democracies not only make public affairs prosperous, but they also teach private individuals, by their example, the art of managing private concerns. Above all they must strive as much as possible to banish20 chance from the sphere of politics. The sudden and undeserved promotion21 of a courtier produces only a transient impression in an aristocratic country, because the aggregate22 institutions and opinions of the nation habitually23 compel men to advance slowly in tracks which they cannot get out of. But nothing is more pernicious than similar instances of favor exhibited to the eyes of a democratic people: they give the last impulse to the public mind in a direction where everything hurries it onwards. At times of scepticism and equality more especially, the favor of the people or of the prince, which chance may confer or chance withhold24, ought never to stand in lieu of attainments25 or services. It is desirable that every advancement26 should there appear to be the result of some effort; so that no greatness should be of too easy acquirement, and that ambition should be obliged to fix its gaze long upon an object before it is gratified. Governments must apply themselves to restore to men that love of the future with which religion and the state of society no longer inspire them; and, without saying so, they must practically teach the community day by day that wealth, fame, and power are the rewards of labor—that great success stands at the utmost range of long desires, and that nothing lasting is obtained but what is obtained by toil27. When men have accustomed themselves to foresee from afar what is likely to befall in the world and to feed upon hopes, they can hardly confine their minds within the precise circumference28 of life, and they are ready to break the boundary and cast their looks beyond. I do not doubt that, by training the members of a community to think of their future condition in this world, they would be gradually and unconsciously brought nearer to religious convictions. Thus the means which allow men, up to a certain point, to go without religion, are perhaps after all the only means we still possess for bringing mankind back by a long and roundabout path to a state of faith.
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1 accustom | |
vt.使适应,使习惯 | |
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2 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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3 circumscribed | |
adj.[医]局限的:受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 );划定…范围;限制;限定 | |
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4 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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5 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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6 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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7 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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8 renouncing | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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9 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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10 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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11 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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13 fluctuations | |
波动,涨落,起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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14 conceals | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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16 vindicate | |
v.为…辩护或辩解,辩明;证明…正确 | |
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17 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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18 undertakings | |
企业( undertaking的名词复数 ); 保证; 殡仪业; 任务 | |
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19 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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20 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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21 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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22 aggregate | |
adj.总计的,集合的;n.总数;v.合计;集合 | |
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23 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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24 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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25 attainments | |
成就,造诣; 获得( attainment的名词复数 ); 达到; 造诣; 成就 | |
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26 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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27 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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28 circumference | |
n.圆周,周长,圆周线 | |
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