When we imagine we should be able to subject men to the observance of public order, and inspire them with the love of virtue, by motives independent of religion, we propose, undoubtedly, to put in action two powerful springs; the desire of esteem and praise; and the fear of contempt and shame. Thus, to follow my subject in all its branches, I ought necessarily to examine what is the degree of force of these different motives, and what is also their true application. I have already spoken, in other works of mine, of the opinion of the world, and of its salutary effects; but the subject I am now treating obliges me to consider it under a different point of view, and it is by placing myself behind the scene, that I shall be able to fulfil this task. I remark, at first, that the opinion of the world exercises its influence in a very confined space, as it is particularly called in to judge men, whose rank and employments have some splendour in the world; the opinion of the public is an approbation or censure, exercised in the name of the general interest; thus it ought only to be applied to actions and to words, which either directly or indirectly affect this interest. The private conduct of him who discharges in society the most important functions, is indeed submitted to the judgment and superintendance of the public at large; and we ought not to wonder that it should, since in similar circumstances the principles of an individual appear an earnest, or presage of his public virtues; but all those, whose sole occupation is to spend their income, those who are entirely devoted to dissipation, and have not any connexion with the grand interests of the community, become independent of the opinion of the world; or at least they do not experience its severity, till, by foolish extravagance or inconsiderate pretentions, they draw the attention of the public on their conduct. In short, a great number of men, who, by the obscurity of their condition and moderate fortune, find themselves lost in a crowd, will never dread a power that singles out of the ranks its heroes and victims: thus people, concealed under humble roofs scattered in the country, are as indifferent to the opinion of the world, as are to the rays of the sun, those unhappy tribes who labour at the bottom of mines, and pass their whole lives in a dark subterraneous cavern. We cannot then form any kind of comparison between the peculiar ascendency of reputation, and the general influence of religious morality. Fame only recompenses rare actions; and would have nothing to bestow on a nation of heroes. Religion tends continually to render virtue common; but the universal success of its instructions would take away nothing from the value of its benefits. In order to receive the rewards which fame bestows, men must appear with splendour on the stage of life. Religion, on the contrary, extends its most distinguished favours to those who despise praise, and who do good in secret.