^, }ij.,on. ^ ■^^"^ ^ SSs-t ©ftwlojTta/ ^ *%: PRINCETON, N. J. % k Presented byV?e'i \j' j YYvS . £)C/^V-t:> OVovA cTVx T]iiL,]Li[^ia iMiiLii^r iDoin): THE WOEKS OF WILLIAM PALEY, D.D. ARCHDEACON OF CARLISLE. OONTAIHINQ HIS LIFE, MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY, EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY, NATURAL THEOLOGY, TRACTS, HOR^ PAULINA CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION, AND SERMONS. PRINTED VERBATIM FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. (TEiEiilrh itt niGJ Ualume. NEW EDITION. PHILADELPHIA : PUBLISHED BY CRISSY & IVIARKLEY, GOLDSMITHS' HALL, LIBRARY STREET. CONTENTS. LIFE OF THE AUTHOR Page MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. Dedication . XXI BOOK L PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS. CHAP. I. Definition and Use of the Science II. The Law of Honour III. The Law of the Land IV. The Scriptures V. The Moral Sense . VI. Human Happiness VII. Virtue .... . 27 . ib. . 28 . ib. . ib. . 30 . 34 BOOK IL MORAL OBLIGATIONS. CHAP. I. The Question. Why am I obliged to keep my word? considered 36 II. What we mean to say when a Man is obliged to do a thing .... 37 III. The Question. IV/ty am /obliged to keep viyword? resumed . . . . ib. W. Tlie WillofGod 38 V. The Divine Benevolence . . . ib. VI. Utility 39 VII. The Necessity of General Rules . it». VIH. The Consideration of General Con- sequences pursued . . . .40 IX. Of Ridit 41 X. The Division of Rights . . . .42 XI. The General Rights of Mankind . . 43 BOOK III. RELATIVE DUTIES. P^HT I. Of Relative Duties which are determinate. CHAP. L Of Property 45 II. Tlie Use of the Institution of Property ib. III. The History of Property ... 46 IV. In what the Right of Property is founded ib. V. Proniisi VI. Contracts VII. Contracts of Sale . . . . VIII. Contracts of Hazard .... IX. Contracts of lending of inconsumable Property X. Contracts concerning the lending of Money . ... ib. CHAP. XI. Contracts of Labour — Service XII. Contracts of Labour — Commissions XIII. Contracts of Labour — Partnership XIV. Contracts of Labour — Otiices . XV. Lies XVI. Oaths XVII. Oath in Evidence . . . . XVIII. Oath of Allegiance XIX. Oath against Bribery in the Election of Members of Parliament . XX. Oath against Simony XXI. Oaths to observe Local Statutes XXII. Subscription to Articles of Religion XXIII. Wills BOOK III. PART 11. Of Relative Duties which are indeterminate. CKAP. I. Charity . . ... II. Charity — The Treatment of our Domes tics and Dependants III. Slavery IV. Charity — Professional Assistance V. Charity — Pecuniary Bounty VI. Resentment VII. Anger . VIII. Revenge IX. Duelling X. Litigation XI. Gratitude XII. Slander Page . 55 56 57 . ib. . 58 BOOK III. PART HI. Of Relative Duties which result from the constitution of the .Scsei. CHAP. I. Of the Public Use of Marriage In tions II. Fornication III. Seduction IV. Adultery V. Incest VI. Polygamy VII. Of Divorce VIII. Marriage IX. Of the Duty of Parents X. The Rights of Parents XL The Duty of Children BOOK IV. DUTIES TO OURSELVES. CHAP. I. The Rishts of Self- Defence II. Drunkunness . III. Suicide . 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 a"? 84 88 ib. CONTENTS. BOOK V. DUTIES TOWARDS GOD. Page U4 3HA^ [. Division of these Duties . II. OftheDiilyandofthe Efficacy of Prayer, so far as the same appear from the Light of Nature III. Of the Duty and Efficacy of Prayer, as represented in Scripture IV. Of Private Prayer, Family Prayer, and Puhlic Worship V. Of Forms of Prayer in Public Worship VI. Of the Use of Sabbatical Institutions VII. Of the Scripture Account of Sabbatical Institutions 102 VIII By what Acts and Omissions the Duties of the Christian Sabbath is violated 105 IX. Of Reverencing the Deity . . 106 BOOK VI. ELEMENTS OF POLITICAL KNOWLEDGE. Page CHAP. I. Of the Origin of Civil Government . 108 II How Subjection to Civil Government is maintained 110 III. The Duty of Submission to Civil Go- vernment explained .... Ill IV. The Duty of Civil Obedience, as stated in the Christian Scriptures . . . 11,5 V. Of Civil Liberty 117 VI. Of different Forms of Government . 119 VII. Of the British Constitution . .122 VIII. Of the Administration of Justice . 129 IX. Of Crimes and Punishments . .130 X. Of religious Establishments and of To- leration 142 XI. Of Population and Provision; and of Asjriculture and Commerce, as subser- vient thereto 150 XII. Of War, and of Military Establish- ments IGO HOR^ PAULINA: OR, THE TRUTH OF THE SCRIPTURE HISTORY OF ST. PAUL EVINCED. Page CHAP. I. Exposition of the Argument . . .166 II. The Epistle to the Romans . . .169 III. The First Epistle to the Corinthians 176 IV. Second Epistle to the Corinthians . 181 V. The Epistle to the Galatians . . 190 VI. The Epistle to the Ephesians . . 198 VII. The Epistle to the Philippians . . 206 VIU. The Epistle to the Colossians . . 209 Page CHAP. IX. The First Epistle to the Thessalonians 211 X. Second Epistle to the Thessalonians . 214 XL The First Epistle to Timnthv . .216 XII. The Second Epistle to Timothy . . 218 XIII. The Epistle to Titus .... 221 XIV. The Epistle to Philemon . . . 223 XV. The Subscriptions of the Epistles . 224 XVI. The Conclusion 226 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION IN VISITING THE SICK. THE MANNER OF VISITING THE SICK. Page SECT. I. The Assistance that is to be given to Sick and Dying Persons by the Ministry of the Cleriy 234 SECT. II. Rules for the Manner of visiting the Sick ib. SECT. III. Of instructing the Sick Man in the Na- ture of Repentance, and Confession of his Sins 235 Arguments and E.xhortations to move the Sick Man to Repentance and Confession of his Sins ib. Arguments and general Heads of Discourse, by way of Consideration, to awaken a stupid Conscience, and the careless Sinner . . 237 SECT. IV. Of applying spiritual Remedies to the unreasonable Fears and Dejections of the Sick 238 Considerations to be offered to Persons under Religious Melancholy 239 An Exercise against Despair .... 240 £ECT. V. Considerations against Presumption . 241 The Order for the Visitation of the Sick . 242 The Communion of the Sick . . . .244 Proiier Collects that may be used with any of the Prayers for the Sick 247 AVERS FOR THE SICK, VIZ. * freneral Prayer for the Acceptance of our Devo- tions for the Sick 848 Particular Prayers for the Sick A larger Form of Prayer for the Sick Proper Psalms for the Sick A Declaration of Forgiveness . . Page . 248 . 249 . ib . 250 OCCASIONAL PRAYERS FOR THE SICK, VIZ A Prayer for a Person in the beginning of his Sick- ness 250 For Thankfulness in Sickness . . . . ib. For a blessing on the Means used for a Sick Per- son's Recovery ib. For a Sick Person, when there appears some Hope of Recovery 251 In behalf of the Sick Person, when he finds any Abatement of his Distemper . . . . ib. For one who is dangerously ill . . . . ib. For a Sick Person when Sickness continues long upon him ib. For the Grace of Patience, and a suitable Behaviour in a Sick Person to Friends and Attendants . 252 For Spiritual Improvement by Sickness . . ib. For a Sick Person who is about to make his Will ib. For a Sick Penitent ib For a Sick Person who intends to receive the blessed Sacrament 25? For a Sick Person that wants Sleep . . . ib CONTENTS. Page To be said when the Sick Person grows light-headed 253 For a Person when Danger is apprehended by exces- sive Sleep 254 For a Person lying insensible on a Sick-bed . . ib. For one who hath been a notoriously wicked Liver ib. For one who is hardened and impenitent . . 255 For a Sick Woman that is with Child . . . ib. For a Woman in the Time of her Travail . . ib. For a Woman who cannot be delivered without Difficulty and Hazard 256 For Grace and Assistance for a Woman after De- livery, but still in Danger ib. For a Sick Child ib. For a Person who, from a state of Health, is sud- denly seized with the Symptoms of Death . . 257 For a Sick Person, when there appeareth small Hope of Recovery ib. A general Prayer for Preparation and Readiness to die ib. A commendatory Prayer for a Sick Person at the point of Departure 258 A Litany for a Sick Person at the time of Departure ib. Form of recommending the Soul to God, in her De- parture from the Body ib. A consolatory Form of Devotion that may be used with the Friends or Relations of the Deceased . 259 0CCASI0N.4L PRAYERS AND DEVOTIONS FOR THE SICK AND UNFORTUNATE IN EXTRAORDINARY CASES. A Prayer for a Person whose Illness is chiefly brought on him by some calamitous Disaster or Loss, as of Estate, Relations, or Friends, &c. . 260 For a Person who, by any calamitous Disaster, hath broken any of his Bones, or is very much bruised and hurt in bis body ib. Pagt For a Person that is afflicted with grievou rains of his Body 260 For one who is troubled with acute Pain* of the Gout, Stone, Cholic, or any other bodily Dis- temper 261 For a Person in the Small-Pox, or any suchlike raging infectious Disease ib For a Person in a Consumption, or any lingering Disease ib. For a Person who is lame in his Sickness . . ib. For one that is Bedridden 2ii-2 For a Person troubled in Mind, or in Conscience . ib. Another for the same, or for one under deep Melan- choly and Dejection of Spirit . ib. For the same . ib. For one under fears and Doubts concerning his spi- ritual Condition, or under perplexing Thoughts and Scruples about his Duty .... 263 For one who is disturbed with wicked and blas- phemous Thoughts ib For one who is afflicted with a profane Mistrust of Divine Truths and blasphemous Thoughts . . ib. For one under the dread of God's Wrath and ever- lasting Damnation ib. For a Lunatic ib. For natural Fools or Madmen 204 Proper Psalms for a Sick Person at Sea . . . ib. A Prayer for a Sick Seaman ib. For a Sick Soldier or Seaman 205 A Prayer to be used by a Person afflicted with a Distemper of long continuance . . . . ib. A Prayer to be used on the Death of a Friend . 266 A Prayer to be used by a Person troubled in Mind ib A Prayer to be used by an Old Person . . . ib For a Person condemned to die . . . . ib. A Prayer of Preparation for Death . . . .26V The Ministration of Public Baptism of Infants, to be used in Churches ib. The Ministration of Private Baptism of Children in Houses 269 A VIEW OF THE EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. Page Preparatory Considerations. — Of the antecedent credibility of miracles 271 PART I. OF THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OF CHRISTIANITY, AND WHEREIN IT IS DISTINGUISHED FROM THE EVIDENCE ALLEGED FOR OTHER MIRACLES. Propositions stated 273 PROPOSITION I. That there is satisfactory evidence that many, pro- fessing to be original witnesses of the Christian miracles, passed their lives in labours, dangers, and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in attesta- tion of the accounts which they delivered, and solely in consequence of their belief of those ac- counts; and that they also submitted, from the same motives, to new rules of conduct . .274 CHAP. I. Evidence of the sufferings of the first propagators of Christianity, from the nature of the case ib. CHAP. II. Evidence of the sufferings of the first propagators of Christianity, from Profane Testi- mony . 277 CHAP. III. Indirect evidence of the sufferings of the first propagators of Christianity, from the Scriptures and other ancient Christian writings . 279 CHAP. IV. Direct evidence of the same , . .280 Page CHAP. V. Observations upon the preceding evi- dence 284 CHAP. VI. That the story, for which the first pro- pagators of Christianity suffered, was miraculous 286 CHAP. VII. That it was, in the main, the story which we have now proved by indirect considera- tions 287 CHAP. VIII. The same proved, from the authority of our historical Scriptures 291 CHAP. IX. Of the authenticity of the historical Scriptures, in eleren Sections .... 295 Sect. I. Quotations of the historical Scriptures by ancient Christian writers .... 297 Sect. II. Of the peculiar respect with which they were quoted 304 Sect. III. The Scriptures were in very early times collected into a distinct volume . . . 306 Sect. IV. And distinguished by appropriate names and titles of respect . . . .307 Sect. V. Were publicly read and expounded in the religious assemblies of the early Christians ib. Sect. VI. Commentaries, &c. were anciently written upon the Scriptures .... 308 Sect. VII. They were received by ancient Chris- tians of different sects and persuasions . .310 Sect. VIII. The four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, thirteen Epistles of St. Paul, the First Epistle of John, and the first of Peter, were re- ceived without doubt by those who doubted concerning the other books of our present canon 312 Sect. IX. Our present Gospels were considered by the adversaries of Christianity, as contain I* CONTENTS. ing the accounts upon which the religion was founded Sect. X. Formal catalogues of authentic Scrip- tures were published, in all which our present Sacred histories were included .... Sect. XI These propositions cannot be predicated of anv of those books which are commonly call- ed apocryphal books of the New Testament . CHAP. X. Recapitulation Page 315 OF THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. PROPOSITION II. CflAP. I. That there is not satisfactory evidence, that persoHs pretending to be original witnesses of any other similar miracles, have acted in the same manner, in attestation of the accounts which tliey delivered, and solBly in consequence of their be- lief of the truth of those accounts . . .318 CHAP. II. Consideration ofsome specific instances 324 PART IT. OF THE AD.XILIARV EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. CHAP. I. Prophecy 326 CHAP. II. The Morality of the Gospel . . .329 CHAP. III. The Candour of the Writers of the New Testament 338 CHAP. IV. Identity of Christ's character CHAP. V. Originality of our Saviour's character CHAP. VI. Conformity of the facts occasionally mentioned or referred to in Scripture, with the state of things in those times, as represented by foreign and independent accounts CHAP. VII. Undesigned Coincidences . CHAP. VIII. Of the History of the Resurrection CHAP. IX. The Propagation of Christianity Sect. II. Reflections upon the preceding Account Sect. III. Of the religion of Mahomet Pag» 'Ml 345 ib. 3.54 355 35t5 301 363 PART III. A BRIEF CONSIDERATION OF SOME POPULAR OBJECTIONS. CHAP. I. The Discrepancies between the several Gospels 367 CHAP. II. Erroneous Opinions imputed to the Apostles , . . . 3G9 CHAP. III. The Connexion of Christianity with the Jewish History .37C CHAP. IV. Rejection of Christianity . . .371 CHAP. V. That the Christian miracles are not re- cited, or appealed to, by early Christian writers themselves, so fully or frequently as might have been expected 375 CHAP. VI. Want of universality in the knowledge and reception of Christianity, and of greater clearness in the evidence 377 CHAP. VII. The supposed Effects of Cliristianity 380 CHAP. VIII. The Conclusion 382 NATURAL THEOLOGY. Pa^e CHAP. I. State of the Argument . . . .367 II. State of the Argument continued . . 389 III. Application of the Argument . . 390 IV. Of the Succession of Plants and Ani- mals 396 V. Application of the Argument continued 397 VI. The Argument cumulative . . . 401 VII. Of the Mechanical and Immechanical Parts and Functions of Animals and Vegetables ib. VIII. Of Mechanical Arrangement in the Human Frame 404 Of the Bones ib. Of the Joints 407 TX. Of the Muscles 410 X. Of the Vessels of .\nimal Bodies . .414 XI. Of the Animal Structure regarded as a Mass 421 CHAP. XII. Comparative Anatomy XIII. Peculiar Organizations XIV. Prospective Contrivances XV. Relations XVI. Compensation Paffe . 426 . 431 . 433 . 435 . 438 XVII. The Relation of animated Bodies to Inanimate Nature 440 . 442 . 446 . 4.50 . 4.55 . 4.56 XVIII. Of Instincts . XIX. Of Insects . XX. Of Plants XXI. The Elements . XXII. Astronomy XXIII. Of the Personality of the Deity . 402 XXIV. Of the Natural Attributes of the Deity 468 XXV. Of the Unity of the Deity . . 469 XXVI. Of the Goodness of the Deity . . 470 XXVII. Conclusion .... 4a5 A DEFENCE OF THE CONSIDERATIONS ON THE PROPRIETY OF REQUIRING A SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES OF FAITH 488 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT, ADDRESSED TO THE LABOURING PART OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC -496 CONTENTS. SERMONS ON PUBLIC OCCASIONS. Page SERMON I. Caution recommended in the Use and Application of Scriptural Language: — A Ser- mon, preached, July 17, 1777, in tlie Catliedral Church of Carlisle, at the Visitation of the Right Reverend Lord Bishop of Carlisle . . . 500 ERMON II. Advice, addressed to the Young Clergy of the Diocese of Carlisle, in a Sermon, preached at a General Ordination, holden at Rose Ca.nle, on Sunday, July 29, 1781 . . . .503 SERMON III. A Distinction of Orders in the Church defended upon Principles of Public Uti- lity, in a Sermon, preached in the Castle-Chapel, Dublin, at the Consecration of John Law, D. D. Lord Bishop of Clonfcrt and Kilmacdaugh, Sep- tcjuber 21, 1782 .507 SERMON rV. The Use and Propriety of local and occasional Preaching: — A Charge, delivered to the Clergy of the Diocese of Carlisle, in the year 1790 Page 511 SERMON V. Dangers incidental to the Clerical Character, stated, in a Sermon, preached before the University of Cambridge, at Great St. Mary's Church, on Sunday, July 5, being Commence- ment Sunday 517 SERMON VI. A Sermon, preached at the Assizes, at Durham, July 29, 1795; and published at the request of the Lord Bishop, the Honourable the Judges of Assize, and the Grand Jury . . . 521 SERMONS ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS. Page SERMON I. Seriousness in Religion indispensable aboce all other Dispositions. — Be ye therefore so- ber, and watch unto praver. 1 Pet. iv. 7. . . 525 SERMON II. Taste for Devotion.— Bat the hour Cometh and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God is a spirit; and they that worship him, must wor- ship him in spirit and in truth. John iv. 23, 24. 530 SERMON in. The Love of Ood.—We\ovehim,be- cause he first loved us. John iv. 19. . . . 534 SERMON IV. Meditating upon Religion. — Have I not remembered thee in my bed ; and thought upon thee when I was waking? Psalm Ixiii. 7. 536 6ERM0N V. Of the State after Death.— Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be ; but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him ; for we .=hall see him as he is. 1 John iii. 2. . . 538 SERMON VI. On Purity of the Heart and .Affec- tions.— Beloved, now are we the sons of God ; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him ; for we shall see him as he is. And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure. 1 John iii. 2, 3. . . . 540 SERMON VII. Of the Doctrine of Conversion.— I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to rept^ntance. Matthew ix. 13 542 SERMON VIII. Prayer in Imitation of Christ— And he withdrew himself into the wilderness, and praved. Luke v. l(i 546 SERMON IX. On Filial Piety.— And Joseph nou- rished his father, and his brethren, and all his fathers household, with bread, according to their families. Genesis xlvii. 12. .... 547 SERMON X. (Part I)— ro think less of our Vir- tues, and more of our Sins. — My sin is ever before me. Psalm li. 3 .549 SERMON XI (PartlL) 552 SERMON XII. Salvation for Penitent Sinners.— Wherefore I say unto thee. Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much. Luke vii. 47 555 SERMON XIII. Sins of the Fathers upon the Chil- dren.— Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them ; for I the Lord thy God am a jea- lous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me. Exodus zx. 5. . .556 Page SERMON XIV. How Virtue produces Belief and Vice Unbelief — If any man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God. John vii. 17 553 SERMON XV. John's Message to Jesus. — Now when John had heard in prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples, and said unto him. Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another? Matt. xi. 2, 3 561 SERMON XVI. On Insensibility to Offences.— Who can tell how oft he ofFendeth ? O cleanse thou me from my secret faults. Keep thy servant also from presumptuous sins, lest they get the do- minion over me. Psalm xix. 12, 13. . . . 562 SERMON XVII. Seriousness of Heart as to Reli- gion.— But that on the good ground are they, who in an honest and good heart, having heaid the word, keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience. Luke viii. 15 : . . . 564 SERMON XVIII. (Part J.)— The Efficacy of the death of Christ. — Now once in the end of the world hath he appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself. Hebrews ix. 26. . . .566 SERMON XIX. (Part Il.)—Jlll staiid in need of a Redeemer 568 SERMON XX. The Efficacy of the Death of Christ consistent with the necessity of a Good Life: the one being the cause, the other the condition, of Salvation. — What shall we say then ? shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound? God forbid. Romans vi. 1 570 SERMON XXI. Pure Religion.— Vare religion Rjid undefiled before God and the Father is this. To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world. James i. 27 572 SERMON XXII. The Agency of Jesus Christ since his Ascension. — Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-dav, and for ever. Hebrews xiii. 8. . . 574 SERMON XXIII. Of Spiritual Influence in gene- ral.— (Part I.) — Know ye not that ye are the tem- ple of God. and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? 1 Cor. iii. 16 578 SERMON XXIV. On the Influence of the Spirit.— (Part II.) 580 SERMON XXV. (Part III.) 582 SERMON XXVI. Sin encountered by Spiritual Aid. — (Part I.) — O, wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death? Ro- mans vii. 24 534 CONTENTS. SERMON XXVII. Evil Propensities encountered by the aiil of the Spirit— {Part II.) . . ■ .586 SERMON XXVIII. The Aid of the Spirit to be sought and preserved by Prayer. — (Part III.) . 588 SERMON XXIX. The Destruction of the Canaan- ites.—^o Joshua smote all the country of the hills, and of the south, and of the vale, and of the springs, and all their kings; he left none remain- ing, but utterly destroyed all that breathed, as the Lord God of Israel commanded. Joshua x. 40. 590 SERMON XXX. J^eglect of IVarnings— Oh, that thpy were wise, that they understood this, that they would consider their latter end! Deut. xxxii.29 . . 592 SERMON XXXI. The Terrors of the Lord.— What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a mail give ill exchange for his soul? Matt, xvi.26. 594 SERMON XXXII. Preservation and Recovery from Page Sin.— For the grace of God, that bringeth salva- tion, hath appeared unto all men, teaching us, that denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world. Titus if. 11, 12. . . .596 SERMON XXXIII. This Life a State of Probation. — It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn thy statutes. Psalm cxix. 71. 590 SERMON XXXIV. The Knowledge of one another in a Future State. — Whom we preach, warn- ing every man, and teaching every man in all wisdom, that we may present every man perfect in Christ Jesus. Col. i. 28 601 SERMON XXXV. The General Resurrection.— The hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come forth ; they that have done good, unto the resur- rection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation. John v. 28, 29. 603 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Of William Paley, whose writings have exerted no inconsiderable influence on Ihe moral and theological opinions of the more enlightened part of the English community, no life has yet appeared that is worthy of the subject, or that gives us a full and satisfactory insight into his character. Though he was known to so many scholars, and had enjoyed a rather enlarged intercourse with the world, but {ew particulars of his conduct, his manners, and habits, have been detailed, and but few of his sayings recorded. Yet there are few men whose conversation was more varied and instructive; and as he always expressed himself with cogency and perspicuity, our regret is increased that we possess such scanty de- tails of his familiar hours, when the internal state of his mind was exhibited with- out disguise, when he spoke what he felt, and felt what he spoke. The best account of Mr. Paley's life, with which we have been hitherto fa- voured, is by Mr. Meadley, who had not known him till late in life ; and who, if he had known him longer and earlier, was hardly capable of analysing his mind, or of estimating his character. Mr. Meadley was a man neither of very enlarged mind, very refined taste, nor very ample information. What he knew, he could relate ; but he did not know enough to enable him to give much vivacity to his narrative, or to exhibit in his memoirs the living identity of the writer to whom we are indebted for some of the best moral and theological productions of the last century. But whatever may be the scantiness of Mr. Meadley's information, his narrative is the most copious which we possess ; and as we are not likely soon to be fur- nished with a richer store, we must be contented with taking his memoirs for our principal guide in the present biographical sketch. We make no boast of novelty. All that we can do is to give a new form to old materials. William Paley was born at Petersborough, in July 1743. His father was a minor canon in that cathedral ; but he relinquished this situation upon being ap- pointed head-master of the grammar school at Giggleswick, in Craven, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. Here the family had long resided on a small patri- monial estate. His mother is described as a woman of strong and active mind. At school young Paley soon surpassed the other boys of his age, by superior dili- gence and abilities. A mind, like his, could not but profit of the opportunities which he possessed for acquiring classical knowledge ; but he appears to have been at all times more ambitious of enriching himself with knowledge of other kinds. He was curious in making inquiries about mechanism, whenever an op- portunity occurred. His mind was naturally contemplative ; and he mingled in- tellectual activity with corporeal indolence. He never excelled in any of those boyish pastimes which require much dexterity of hand or celerity of foot. But B 9 X THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. he appears to have imbibed an early taste for the amusement of fishing ; and this taste remained unimpaired, or rather invigorated, to a late period of his life. In one of his portraits he is represented vi'ith a fishing rod and line. His cheerful- ness and drollery are said to have made him a favourite with his school-fellows. Before he left school he one year attended the assizes at Lancaster, where he is said to have been so much interested by the judicial proceedings he had witness- ed, that he introduced them into his juvenile games, and presided over the trials of the other boys. In November 1758, Paley was admitted a sizer of Christ's College, Cambridge. He proceeded to the University on horseback, in company with his father; end in after-life he thus described the disasters that befell him on the way. " I was never a good horseman," said he, " and when I followed my father on a pony of my own, on my first journey to Cambridge, I fell oft' seven times : I was lighter then than I am now ; and my falls were not likely to be serious : My fa- ther, on hearing a thump, would turn his head half aside, and say — Take care of thy money, lad." Young Paley did not become a resident member in the University till the Oc- tober in the year after his matriculation. His father is said to have anticipated his future eminence, and to have remarked, with parental delight, the force and clearness of his intellectual operations. Mr. Paley took with him to the University such a considerable share of mathe- matical science, that the mathematical tutor, Mr. Shepherd, excused his atten- dance at the college lectures with the students of his own year. But he was re- gularly present at Mr. Backhouse's lectures in logic and metaphysics. Whatever might be his assiduity in those studies which the discipline of the University required, he had little of the appearance, and none of the affectation, of a hard student. His room was the common resort of the juvenile loungers of his time ; but it must be remembered that Mr. Paley possessed the highly desirable power of concentrating his attention in the subject before him; and that he could read or meditate in the midst of noise and tumult with as much facility as if he had been alone. During the first period of his undergraduateship, he was in the habit of remaining in bed till a late hour in the morning, and as he was much in company during the latter part of the day, many wondered how he found leisure for making the requisite accession to his literary stores. But the mind of Paley was so formed that, in reading, he could rapidly select the kernel and throw away the husk. By a certain quick and almost intuitive process, he discriminated between the essential, and the extraneous matter that were presented to his mind in the books that he perused ; and, if he did not read so much as many, he retained more of what he read. The hilarity and drollery, which Mr. Paley had manifested at school, did not desert him when he entered the University. Thus his company was much sought ; and the cumbrousness of his manner, and the general slovenliness of his apparel, perhaps contributed to increase the efl^ect of his jocularity. When he made his first appearance in the schools, he surprised the spectators by a style of dress, very difl^erent from his ordinary habiliments. He exhibited his hair full dressed, with a deep ruffled shirt, and new silk stockings. When Paley kept his first act, one of the theses in support of which he pio- posed to dispute was, that the eternity of punishments is contrary to the Divine Attributes. But finding that this topic would give offence to the master of his THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xi college, (Dr. Thomas,) he went to Dr. Watson, the moderator, to get it changed. Dr. Watson told him that he might put in non before contradicit. Mr. Paley, therefore, defended this position, that " ^ternitas pcEnarum non contradicit Di- vinis Attributis," or that the eternity of punishments is not contrary to the Divine Attributes. As he had first proposed to argue against the eternity of future punishments, we may suppose that that was his undissembled opinion ; and there- fore, it would have been more honourable to his candour, to have taken an en- tirely new question, rather than to have argued in opposition to his real senti- ments. Through the whole course of his life. Dr. Paley seemed too willing to support established doctrines ; and to find plausible reasons for existing institu- tions ; even in cases in which he must have felt those doctrines to be at variance with truth, and those institutions in opposition to the best interests of mankind. His great and vigorous mind ought to have disdained the petty subterfuges of disingenuous subtlety, and interested sophistication. Mr. Paley acquired no small celebrity in the University by the ability which he displayed in keeping his first act; and the schools were afterward uniformly crowded when he was expected to dispute. He took his degree of bachelor of arts, in January 1763 ; and was the senior wrangler of the year. After taking his bachelor's degree, he became second usher in an academy at Greenwich. Here his office was to teach the Latin language. During his lei- sure hours he often visited London, and rambled about the metropolis, Avhich af- fords such numerous opportunities for edifying contemplation to an active and discriminating mind. He pursued knowledge and amusement with equal, or nearly equal, eagerness and avidity. The mind cannot always be kept upon the stretch ; and those minds which are capable of great intensity of exertion, seem most to require proportionate relaxation. One of the characteristics of a great mind, is flexibility of attention to a diversity of objects. Mr. Paley attended the play-houses and the courts of justice with similar delight. Every scene furnish- ed him with intellectual aliment. In 1765, Mr. Paley obtained one of the prizes, which are annually given by the members of the University for the two best dissertations in Latin prose. The subject was, " A Comparison between the Stoic and Epicurean philosophy with respect to the influence of each on the morals of the people." Mr. Paley vindi- cated the Epicurean side of the question. He had afterward to read his disser- tation in the senate-house before the University. His delivery is reported not to have done justice to the merits of the composition. In June 1766, Mr. Paley was elected fellow of Christ's College. This oc- casioned his return to the University, where he soon became one of the tutors of his college. Tuition was a province, in which his clear and vigorous under- standing, the lucid perspicuity with which he could develope his ideas, and the diversified modes in which he could illustrate his positions, combined with no small share of hilarity and good-humour, rendered him peculiarly qualified to excel. Mr. Law, son of the master of Peterhouse, was his coadjutor in the busi- ness of tuition ; and the union of so much ability soon raised the fame of the college to an unusual height. The intimacy which was thus cemented between Mr. Paley and Mr. Law, contributed to promote the interest of our author by the friendship to which it led with Mr. Law's father ; who, on his elevation to the see of Carlisle, in 1769, made Mr. Paley his chaplain. In his province of tutor to Christ's College, Mr. Paley lectured on metaphysics xii THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. morals, the Greek Testament, and, subsequently, on divinity. The whole sub. stance of his moral instructions is contained in his Principles of Moral and Po- litical Philosophy ; and it is well known that hardly a single idea has found its way into his subsequent publications, which he had not previously promulgated in his lectures. In his theological lectures, he very judiciously avoided, as much as possible, all matter of polemical strife or sectarian animosity. He used to consider the thirty-nine articles of religion, as mere articles of peace, of which it was impossi- ble that the framers could expect any one person to believe the whole, as they contain altogether about two hundred and forty distinct, and many of them incon- sistent, propositions. Notwithstanding the great liberality of opinion which Mr. Paley exhibited in his lectures, and constantly inculcated upon his pupils, he refused to sign the clerical petition to the House of Commons in 1772, for a relief from subscription to articles of religion, though he approved the object of the petition, and wished to see it accomplished. — Ought he not then to have given the petition the sanc- tion of his name ? On this occasion he is reported to have said, — " / cannot af- ford to have a conscience /''^ but no serious stress ought to be laid on such effu- sions of jocularity or inconsideration. If all a man's light, humorous, or inad- vertent sayings were to be brought up in judgment against him, the purest virtue, and the brightest wisdom, would hardly be able to endure the ordeal. The best and the wisest men are often remarkable for particular inconsistencies. Though Mr. Paley refused to lend his name to the clerical petition, yet he ap- pears afterward to have vindicated the object which it proposed to obtain, in the defence of a pamphlet written by Bishop Law, entitled, " Considerations on the propriety of requiring a subscription to Articles of Faith." The defence which is just mentioned has been uniformly ascribed to Mr. Paley : and though it must be reckoned among his more juvenile performances, yet it must be allowed, in many instances, to have exhibited a display of ability, and a force of argument, worthy of his more improved judgment, and his more matured abilities. While Paley was engaged in the office of tuition at Christ's College, his cele- brity induced the late Earl Camden to offer him the situation of private tutor to his son. But this was incompatible with his other occupations, and was accord- ingly declined. In 1775, Mr. Paley began to receive solid proofs of Bishop Law's regard. — The ecclesiastical patronage, which is attached to the see of Carlisle, is very scanty and poor; but after providing for his son, Bishop Law conferred upon Paley the best benefices which he had to bestow. He was collated to the rec- tory of Musgrove in Westmoreland, which was at that time worth about £80 a-year. He was soon after presented to the vicarage of Dalston in Cumberland : and on the 5th of September, 1777, he resigned the rectory of Musgrove upon being inducted to the more valuable benefice of Appleby. Whilst he was in possession of this benefice, he published a little work, denominated " The Clergy- man's Companion in Visiting the Sick." Such a book was much wanted ; and as it contains a judicious selection of prayers for different occasions, it has supplied the clergy with a very useful auxiliary in their devotional occupations. In 1780, Paley was preferred by his patron. Bishop Law, to a prebendal stall in the cathedral of Carlisle, which was worth about four hundred pounds a-year. And in August, 1782, he was appointed Archdeacon of Carlisle, a sort of sine- THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. iiii cure, but by which his clerical dignity was increased, and his temporal income enlarged. In 1785, the period arrived when Mr. Paley, who had hitherto published only a pamphlet, or a few occasional sermons, was to appear as an author in a larger and more substantial form. It was in this year that his Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy issued from the press. This work soon experienced a de- gree of success, not indeed greater than its general excellence deserves, but greater than any work of merit, on its first appearance, usually receives. In this most useful production Paley exhibits no dazzling novelties, and makes no parade of new discoveries ; for what that is new, was likely to be said on such a subject, of which the great principles are coeval with the existence of man upon the habitable globe 1 But though the matter, of which this work consists, is so old, and has so often been fabricated into a diversity of forms by other writers, yet the capacious mind of Paley has formed it anew into a system in which there is so much clearness in the arrangement, so much cogency in the reasoning, and so much precision in the language, that there is no moral treatise by which it is sur- passed in the great merit of general usefulness. Mr. Paley did not make his materials ; he found them already made ,* but his own hands raised the fabric ; and of that fabric the merit is all his own. Some few parts of Mr. Paley's moral, and more of his political reasoning are liable to objections ; but with all its defects, his " Moral and Political Philosophy" constitutes a valuable addition to that department of our literature. As it forms one of the lecture books for the students in the University of Cambridge, this circumstance must have tended greatly to augment its circulation, and to extend its usefulness. In addition to his other honours and emoluments in the see of Carlisle, Mr. Paley was, at the end of the year 1785, appointed chancellor of that diocese. In the year 1787, he lost his venerable friend and patron, the Bishop of Carlisle, who died on the 14th of August, at the advanced age of eighty-four. Bishop Law was an honest and intrepid inquirer after truth ; and though he was inferior to his younger friend in intellectual energy, yet it would have made no small addition to Paley's fame, if he had equalled his affectionate and revered patron in the fear- less declaration of all his theological opinions. It is highly honourable to Paley that he Avas among the first of those, Avho ex- pressed a decided opinion against the iniquity of the slave-trade. What he wrote on that subject, and particularly his unreserved reprobation of the abominable traffic, in his Moral Philosophy, contributed very much to accelerate the abolition It was, for a long time, a mere question of interest with a considerable part of the community ; but moral considerations, in unison with the amiable spirit of the gospel, and the tender sympathies of humanity, at length triumphed over the sor- did projects of avarice and cruelty. Mr. Paley, much to his honour, suggested a plan for promoting the civiliza- tion of Africa, and for making some restitution to that outraged continent, for the cruelty, the injustice, and the oppression, which it had so long experienced. He proposed to export from the United States of America several little colonies of free Negroes, and to settle them in different parts of Africa, that they might serve as patterns of more civilized life to the natives in their several vicinities. In the year 1790, Mr. Paley published his Horie Paulinas, in which he ap- pears to have displayed more originality of thought, more sagacity of remark, and 2 xiv THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. more delicacy of discrimination, than in any of his other works. The great ob- ject of this volume is to illustrate and enforce the credibility of the Christian revelation, by showing the numerous coincidences between the Epistles of Paul and the Acts of the Apostles. These coincidences, which are often incorporated or intertwined in references and allusions, in which no art can be discovered, and no contrivance traced, furnish numerous proofs of the truth of both these works, and consequently of that of Christianity. The Epistles of Paul and the Acts of the Apostles mutually strengthen each other's credibility ; and Mr. Paley has shown, in the clearest manner, how one borrows light from the other ; and how both conjunctively reflect the splendour of their united evidence on some of the principal facts and most important truths in the memoirs of the Evan- gelists. Some of the coincidences which Mr. Paley discovers, seem too minute for com- mon observation ; but his remarks show their importance, while they evince the keenness of his intellectual sight. The merit of this performance, though it has been generally acknowledged both at home and abroad, is even yet greater than the celebrity it has acquired, or the praise it has received. In 1790, Mr. Paley delivered an excellent charge to the clergy of the diocese of Carlisle, in which he forcibly recommended them to imitate the example of Christ, in the adaptation of their sermons to local circumstances, to times and seasons, and to the general state of mind in their several congregations. Much of the efficacy of preaching depends upon the observance of this rule. In May 1791, Mr. Paley had the misfortune to be left a widower, with four sons and four daughters. In the following year, the dean and chapter of Carlisle ad- ded the vicarage of Addingham, near Great Salkeld, to his other ecclesiastical preferments. In the same year he published his Reasons for Contentment, which he addressed to the labouring classes of society. This work appeared at a time when the principles of the French revolution had been widely disseminated, and when the richer part of the community, terrified almost into idiocy by the wild alarms of Burke, and the sonorous declamations of Pitt, trembled with a sort of paralytic horror for the security of their property. They fondly imagined, that it was the great object of the poorer class of reformers to divide the possessions of the rich ; and thus to attempt not merely to establish a political equality of rights, but a substantial equality of fortunes. Some iew fanatics might have cherished such a delusion, and might have entertained such a wish, without be- ing aware that it was only one of those frantic chimeras of a distempered brain which could never be accomplished. Inequality in the mental and physical pow- ers of individuals is the order of nature, or rather the appointment of God ; and consequently no equality of circumstances is ever possible to be realised. If it could be established to-day, it would be altered to-morrow. It is hardly to be supposed that Mr. Paley really believed that a large body of the people ever designed to equalize, or had actually conspired to equalize, the whole mass of private property, and thus subvert the foundations of the social scheme by establishing a community of goods. But, whatever might be Mr. Paley's real opinions on the political temper of the times, and on the perils to which rank and property seemed exposed, this pamphlet, which he addressed to the labouring classes, proves, that he had placed himself on the list of the alarm- ists of that stormy period. Was Mr. Paley anxious to rest the permanence of his future fame on his larger works, while he made use of this trivial pamphlet THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. iv to procure an ephemeral applause ? or, did he deliberately labour to accomplish some secular project by seconding the wishes of the court, and promoting the views of the minister ? — If the real object of Mr. Paley, in writing this two-penny political pamphlet, which consists of some common-place truisms, clearly develop- ed and forcibly expressed, were to place a mitre upon his brow, the attempt pro- ved abortive, and the wish vain. Mr. Pitt was, no doubt, pleased in seeing a great mind like that of Paley bending to act in subserviency to his will, and co- operating in augmenting the delusion under which the nation was at that time mistaking its bane for its good, and pursuing its ruin for its interest. But though Mr. Pitt loved and rewarded flexibility of opinion, it is well known that he loved and rewarded it most, where it was accompanied with mediocrity of talent. The haughty premier, in his treatment both of Watson and Paley, showed, that he had no fondness for intellectual superiority ; and he seems to have been particularly studious not to elevate any mind that might wrestle with his own. In 1793, Mr. Paley vacated the benefice of Dalston, and was inducted to that of Stanwix, which was more in the vicinity of Carlisle. He assigned the follow- ing reasons to a clerical friend for assenting to this change : — " First, (said he,) it saved me double housekeeping, as Stanwix was within twenty minutes' walk of my house in Carlisle ; secondly, it was fifty pounds a year more in value ; and, thirdly, I began to find my stock of sermons coming over again too fast." The most popular of Mr. Paley's theological works appeared in the year 1794, under the title of a " View of the Evidences of Christianity." The author show- ed great wisdom in not mingling any controversial ingredients in the body of this work, and in not connecting the facts of the Christian Scriptures with any doctrinal matter of doubtful authority or ambiguous interpretation. He has thus added very much to the usefulness of his labours, and has rendered them accept- able to a greater number of readers. If he has not silenced every gainsayer, or converted every infidel, he has at least established many in the faith, and has in- duced some to study the evidences of revelation, who were previously disposed to reject it without examination. Mr. Paley is less compressed than Grotius, and less difi'use than Lardner ; but he is more convincing than either, and more lumin- ous than both. His reasoning is every where remarkable for its cogency, and his statement for its perspicuity. There are several works which evince more research, but there are none so well calculated for general perusal, and, conse- quently, general utility. Mr. Paley was, in a pecuniary point of view, better rewarded for his Evidences of Christianity than for any of his other works. The minister of the day, indeed, showed no willingness to put a mitre on his head, but three bishops seemed to vie with each other in remunerating him for his labours in vindicating the truth of the Scriptures, and serving the cause of the church. The then bishop of Lon don, Porteus, gave him a prebendal stall in St. Paul's. The bishop of Lincoln made him the subdean of that diocese ; and the bishop of Durham presented him with the valuable living of Bishop Wearmouth. These several pieces of prefer- ment amounted to considerably more than two thousand pounds a-year. It would be well for the church, if the episcopal patronage were always equally well be stowed, or if it were always made equally subservient to the remuneration of learning, to the cause of piety, and the interests of truth. After being installed as subdean of Lincoln, Mr. Paley proceeded to Cambridge to take his degree of Doctor of Divinity. In the Concio ad clerum which he preached on the occasion. xvi THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. he unfortunately pronounced the word profugus, profugvs, which was noticed by one of the University wits in the following epigram : Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit Litora Errat Virgilius, forte profugus erat. Neither Paley nor Watson, both of whom had received their classical instruc- tion at private schools in the country, ever attained to an accurate knowledge of quantity, or to a familiar acquaintance with the rules of prosody. Watson says, that it often cost him more pains to recollect the right quantity of a few Latin words than to solve a difficult problem in mathematics. But both Paley and Watson aspired to higher intellectual excellence than that of classical erudition. Paley was, indeed, by no means deficient in Greek or Roman literature. He had enough for his purpose, but he had no superfluity. Of Mr. Paley's occasional sermons, not the least memorable is that which he preached before the University of Cambridge, when he returned thither for the purpose of completing the exercises for his doctor's degree. In this discourse he expatiates with much force of expression and shrewdness of remark on the dan- gers incidental to the clerical character. He shows how the constant repetition of the same devotional labours is apt to diminish the sensibility to religious im- pressions ; and he notices, with great truth, the moral perils to which even a secluded and contemplative life is exposed. The clergy are earnestly admonish- ed, that it is their duty to make their own devotion contribute to augment that of their congregation, while it is instrumental in improving their own hearts, and saving their own souls. At Bishop Wearmouth, where Dr. Paley fixed his residence in 1795, he found one of the best parsonage houses in the kingdom, and associated with every ac- commodation which he could desire. In order to avoid all dissension with his parishioners, he granted them a lease of the tithes for his life. In his Moral Philosophy he had represented tithes as injurious to cultivation and improve- ment ; and he now acted, as far as circumstances would permit, in conformity to his opinions. As the produce of land was considerably augmented in price soon after this period, and the value of landed property in general experienced an ex- traordinary advance, Dr. Paley's tenants had reason to congratulate themselves on the good bargains they had made, and to extol his forbearance and moderation. The growing prosperity of his parishioners and his tenants was a source of un- feigned satisfaction to Dr. Paley ; and he never regretted the opportunities of gain which he had lost, or by which they had been enriched. It seems to mani- fest a higher degree of virtue cordially to rejoice at the prosperity of others, than to sympathise with their adversities and sufferings. In December 1795, Dr. Paley took for his second wife a Miss Dobinson, of Carlisle, whose friendship he had long enjoyed, and whose worth he had long known. His office of subdean of Lincoln obliged him to reside in that city for three months in the beginning of the year ; and he accordingly now divided his time between Lincoln and Bishop Wearmouth. At both places he maintained the relations of social intercourse with his neighbours without any affectation of superiority; and practised the rights of hospitality without any ostentation. He did not disdain the amusement of the card-table, and was partial to a game at THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xvii whist. When a lady once remarked to him, " that the only excuse for their play- ing was, that it served to kill time :" — " The best defence possible (replied he,) thcugh time will, in the end, kill us." Dr. Paley possessed as much of what the French call " savoir vivre,^^ as most men. He knew how to make the most of life, with all its diversified concomitants ; and there were few even of its less pleasurable accessories from which he knew not how to extract some lesson of usefulness, or some particles of enjoyment. In order to enlarge his sphere of doing good, and to comply with the wishes of the Bishop of Durham, Dr. Paley consented to act in the commission of the peace. Mr. Meadley has informed us, that in discharging these functions, he was blamed for his irascibility and impatience. No ordinary tranquillity of mind is requisite in investigating the wants, ascertaining the claims, or composing the bickerings, of the poor. Dr. Paley enjoyed the singular happiness of having his parents live to witness his celebrity, and to rejoice at his success. His mother did not die till March 1796, at the age of eighty-three ; and his father survived her till September 1799, when he reached the more advanced period of eighty-eight. In 1800, Dr. Paley experienced a violent paroxysm of some nephralgic com- plaint, which returned with increased exacerbations during the next and the fol- lowing year, and by which he was agonised for longer or shorter intervals during the remainder of his life. His last, and, perhaps, greatest work, entitled " Natu- ral Theology," was principally composed during the period in which he was sub- ject to attacks of this terrible malady. These attacks must occasionally have impeded the progress of the work ; but it is probable that he had been long previ- ously revolving the materials in his mind. In this, as well as in his other publica- tions, he has made large use of the labours of others ; but he has illuminated what they left obscure, enriched what was jejune, amplified what was scanty, in- vigorated what was weak, and condensed what was diffuse. The proofs which he adduces of the Divine Attributes, are clear and cogent, and calculated to carry conviction to every capacity. These proofs are not so arranged as to distract by the multiplicity of the parts, or to confound by the enormity of the mass. They consist of a few simple expositions, but of such a nature as to interest every reader, and to edify both the young and the old in the prosecution of the argu- ment. Natural theology can never be dull or uninteresting when it is occupied in illustrating the perfections of the Deity by his works, and does not diverge into the subtleties of metaphysics, or lose itself in the labyrinths of interminable speculation. Dr. Paley was never more at home than in the composition of this work. The materials, with which he was furnished by what he had read, and by what he had observed, were so various and ample, that it was more difficult for him to select than to amplify, to methodise than to vary, and to compress than to dilate Though the proofs of the Divine power and wisdom are so many, so vast, and so luminous, that they hardly need any explanation, yet there is no one who can peruse the demonstrative evidence which Dr. Paley has produced of these attri- butes, without being more deeply impressed with the sentiment of their presence than he was before. The chapter on the Divine Goodness, though it evinces strong marks of the same unclouded and powerful intellect that predominates in other parts of the work, is perhaps upon the whole less copious and satisfactory than the rest. The C 2* xviu THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. evidence in this division of the subject is, in fact, more perplexed by conflicting arguments, and more exposed to contradictory conclusions. Dr. Paley has well remarked, that when we consider the benevolence of the Deity, we can considei it only in relation to sensitive beings. Without this reference the term has no meaning ; for it would otherwise be without any medium through which it could operate, by which its influence could be felt, or its presence ascertained. Gross matter, as long as it remains inanimate and insentient, can never be an object of good or evil, of pleasure or of pain. It is alike unconscious of the one and the other. But, while the arguments for the power and wisdom of the Deity are so completely satisfactory as not to leave a doubt upon the mind, yet there are vari- ous appearances which seem hardly compatible with the idea of unlimited benevo- lence, and which it is difficult to accord with that supposition, except by travel- ling out of this visible diurnal sphere, and connecting the present life with a life beyond the grave. That the plurality and the preponderance of sensations in all the different classes of beings is in favour of happiness, cannot reasonably be denied ; but if pain and misery are the lot of many, or only of a few, for a whole life, or even for short intervals, the argument recurs, how is this partial or tem- porary suffering to be reconciled to the theory of Infinite Benevolence ? If pain and misery exist in instances collectively numerous, or in portions however minute, yet vast in the aggregate, how is this to be reconciled with the attribute of Unbounded Goodness, unless we connect an eternity of existence with the present transient scene? If evil exists, it is hardly a satisfactory solution of the difficulty to say, that it is not an object of contrivance, when the world is so con- stituted that it is more or less one of the ingredients, or accessories, m the con- dition of all sensitive beings. If the evil is not a part of the original intent, it seems an adjunct that cannot be disjoined from the present scheme ; and if it be an adjunct of the present scheme, that scheme cannot be said to be a proof of Infinite Benevolence, unless we consider it only as part of a greater whole, and infer that the present is only the commencement of our sensitive and reflective existence. In the works of human genius or industry, the object of the contrivance may differ from the effect, owing to the imperfection of the human faculties ; but when we consider the operations of the Divine Mind, we cannot separate the ob- ject and the end ; or say that one thing was designed and another produced, with- out impeaching the Supreme Power of weakness, or the Supreme Intellect of in- consistency. If in any particular contrivances in the creation, good was the object while evil is the result, can we reverentially affirm, that God willed one thing, but that a different was produced ? If God is the author of all things, the evil must be regarded as much his contrivance as the good. If God made the teeth, he made them to ache as well as to masticate. The good of mastication is the principal object of the contrivance, but is not the evil of aching the occa- sional effect 1 In considering the sensitive works of the Great Creator in the present world, all that we can truly say is, that good, or pleasure, is the predo.iii- NANT design, the primary object, but that evil, or pain, is one of the concomitant effiscts, or subordinate accessories. There is too much good in the world to ad- mit the supposition of malevolence in the Great Author of the scheme ; and there is too much evil not to lead us to expect a state of future retribution. Those phenomena in the present state of things, which militate against the theity of Infinite Benevolence, appear to be only presages of the good that is to come, [f THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xix the good even here greatly predominates over the evil, it is reasonable to infer, that in some future period the evil will disappear, and the Divine Benevolence be resplendent, without any apparent spot or limitation, in the condition of every individual. In the commencement of the year 1805, while Dr. Paley was resident at Lincoln, he experienced a violent paroxysm of his agonising malady, which could not be appeased by the usual remedies ; and symptoms appeared that his end was approaching. He languished, however, in a state of debility and dis- ease, till the period of his return to Bishop Wearmouth, where he expired on the 25th of May. His mental faculties suffered little, if any, diminution to the last moment of his existence ; but if his intellectual vision underwent no eclipse, his corporeal sight is said to have failed for a (ew days before his death. It cannot be said of Dr. Paley that he lived in vain ! — His was a mind of great powers; and in general he employed it for the noblest ends. He was particular- ly active in diffusing that knowledge which tends most to exalt the dignity of man ; and raise him highest in the scale of virtue and intelligence. His moral and theological works reflect the highest honour on his memory ; and if he be- trayed a little seeming political versatility in smaller and more ephemeral pro- ductions, we may find some apology for his inconsistency in the times in which he lived; in his solicitude for the welfare of a large family; and in circumstances of which few have sufficient energy to control the agency or to resist the influ- ence. In person. Dr. Paley was above the middle size, and latterly inclined to corpu- lence. The best likeness of him is by Romney, in which he is drawn with a fishing-rod in his hand. As in his domestic arrangements, and in his general habits of expense, he practised what may be called an enlightened economy, and observed a due medium between parsimony and profusion, his income was more than adequate to all his wants ; and he left his family in easy if not in affluent circumstances. A volume of sermons was published after the death of Dr. Paley, which he left by his will to be distributed among his parishioners. In clearness of expres- sion, in harmony of style, and in force of moral sentiment, some parts of these sermons are equal if not superior to any of his other works. In the pulpit he was one of those preachers who excelled in bringing the most important truths home to men's interests and bosoms. — Though a few will rejoice, yet the majority of readers will lament, that in these sermons the author has abandoned his usual reserve with respect to certain doctrinal matters, which it is more easy to find in the liturgy and the articles of the church, than in the precepts of Christ, or the writings of the Evangelists. — Those doctrines which tend only to engender strife and to produce vain logomachies, would always be better omitted in the pulpit ; and it is greatly to be deplored that in these sermons Dr. Paley has sanc- tioned their introduction. The great end of the commandment is charity ; but can these doctrines conduce to that end ? If this question had been proposed to Dr. Paley, it is not difficult to conjecture what would have been his reply, if that reply had been in unison with his unsophisticated sentiments. The reader will perhaps not be displeased, if we add to this biographical sketch of Dr. Paley the following interesting anecdote, which he related to a friend at Cambridge, in the year 1795, while they were conversing on the early part of his academical life. XX THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. " I spent the first two years of my undergraduateship," said he, " happily, but unprofitably. I was constantly in society, where we were not immoral, but idle, and rather expensive. At the commencement of my third year, however, after having left the usual party at rather a late hour i*n the evening, I was awakened at five in the morning by one of my companions, who stood at my bed-side, and said, ' Paley, I have been thinking what a d****d fool you are. I could do no- thing, probably, were I to try, and can afford the life I lead : you could do every thing, and cannot afford it. I have had no sleep during the whole night on ac- count of these reflections, and am now come solemnly to inform you, that if you persist in your indolence, I must renounce your society.' I was so struck," Dr. Paley continued, " with the visit and the visitor, that I lay in bed great part of the day and formed my plan. I ordered my bed-maker to prepare my fire every evening, in order that it might be lighted by myself. I arose at five ; read dur- ing the whole of the day, except during such hours as chapel and hall required, alloting to each portion of time its peculiar branch of study ; and just before the closing of gates (nine o'clock) I went to a neighbouring coffee-house, where I constantly regaled upon a mutton chop and a dose of milk punch. And thus, on taking my bachelor's degree, I became senior wrangler." Anecdotes of this kind, which have something of the marvellous, are seldom related with a punctilious adherence to truth : but if here be no erroneous state- ment, or inaccurate representation, Mr. Meadley appears to ascribe too much to the occurrence, when he attributes to it " not only his (Paley^s) successful labours as a college tutor, but the invaluable productions of his pen." A mind like that of Paley could not have been long so indolent as is represented, without some compunctious visitings of remorse. It is more than probable that when he first received this friendly admonition, his bosom was a prey to some lurking pangs of self-condemnation ; and he was consequently predisposed instantly to put in force a plan of more systematic and more vigorous application. Where the mat ter of combustion already exists, a little spark will set it in a blaze. PREFACE. In the treatises that I have met with upon the subject of morals, I appear to myself to have remarked the following imperfections ; — either that the principle was erroneous, or that it was indistinctly explained, or lliat the rules deduced from it were not sufficiently adapted to real life and to actual situations. The writings of Grotius, and the larger work of Puffendorff; are of too forensic a cast, too much mixed up with the civil law and with the jurisprudence of Germany, to answer precisely the design of a system of ethics, — the direction of private consciences in the general conduct of human life. Perhaps, indeed, they are not to be regarded as institutes of morality calculated to instruct an individual in his duty, so much as a species of law books and law authorities, suited to the practice of those courts of justice, whose deci- sions are regulated by general principles of natural equity, m conjunction with the maxims of the Roman code ; of which kind, I understand, there are many upon the Continent. To which may be added, con- cerning both these authors, that they are more occupied in describing the rights and usages of indepen- dent communities, than is necessary in a work which professes not to adjust the correspondence of nations, but to delineate the offices of domestic life. The profusion also of classical quotations with which many of their pages aboimd, seems to me a fault from which it will not be easy to excuse them. If these extracts be intended as decorations of style, tlie composition is overloaded with ornaments of one kind. To any thing more than ornament they can make no claim. To propose them as serious argu- ments, gravely to attempt to establish or fortify a moral duly by the testimony of a Greek or Roman poet, is to trifle with the attention of the reader, or rather to take it off from ail just principles of reasoning in morals. Of our own writers in this branch of philosophy, I find none that I think perfectly free from the three objections which I have stated. There is likewise a fourth property observable almost in all of them, namely, that they divide too much the law of Nature from the precepts of Revelation ; some authors industriously declining the mention of Scripture authorities, as belonging to a different province; and others reserving them for a separate volume ; which appears to me much the same defect, as if a com- mentator on the laws of England should content himself with stating upon each head the common law of the land, without taking any notice of acts of parliament; or should choose to give his readers the common law in one book, and the statute law in another. " When the obligations of morality are taught," says a pious and celebrated writer, " let the sanctions of Christianity never be forgotten : by which it will be shown (hat they give strength and lustre to each other; religion will appear to be the voice of reason, and morality will be the will of God."* The manner also in which modem writers have treated of subjects of morality, is, in my judgment, liable to much exception. It has become of late a fashion to deliver moral institutes in strings or series of detached propositions, without subjoinmg a continued argument or regular dissertation to any of them. The sententious apophthegmatizing style, by crowding propositions and paragraphs too fast upon the mind, and by carrying the eye of the reader from subject to subject in too quick a succession, gains not a suffi- cient hold upon the attention, to leave either the memory furnished, or the understanding satisfied. How- ever useful a syllabus of topics or a series of propositions may be in the hands of a lecturer, oi as a guide to a student, who is supposed to consult other books, or to institute upon each subject researches of his own, the method is by no means convenient for ordinary readers ; because few readers are such thinkers as to want only a hint to set their thoughts at work upon ; or such as will pause and tarry at every pro- position, till they have traced out its dependency, proof, relation, and consequences, before they permit themselves to step on to another. A respectable writer of this classt has comprised his doctrine of slavery in the three following propositions : — " No one is born a slave ; because every one is bom with all his original rights." " No one can become a slave ; because no one from being a person can, in the language of the Roman law, become a thing, or subject of property." "The supposed property of the master in the slave, therefore, is matter of usurpation, not of right." It may be possible to deduce from these few adages, such a theory of the primitive rights of human nature, as will evince the illegality of slavery : but surely an author requires too much of his reader, when he expects him to make these deductions for himself; or to supply, perhaps from some remote chapter of the same treatise, the several proofs and explanations which are necessary \o render the meaning and truth of these assertions intelligible. * Preface to " The Preceptor," by Dr. Johnson. t Dr. Fergusson, author of " Institutes of Moral Philosophy.' 1767. 21 xxii PREFACE. There is a fault, tlie opposite of this, which some morahsts who have adopted a difTcrent, and I think better plan of composition, have not always been careful to avoid ; namely, the dwelling upon verbal and elementary distinctions, with a labom- and prolixity proportioned much more to the subilety of the ques- tion, than to its value and importance in the prosecution of the subject. A writer upon ihe law of na ture,* whose explications in every part of philosophy, though always diffuse, are often very successful, has employed three long sections in endeavouring to prove lliat "permissions are not laws." The dis- cussion of this controversy, however essential it might be to dialectic precision, was cerlainly not neces- sary to the progress of a work designed to describe the duties and obligations of civil life. The reader becomes impatient when he is detained by disquisitions whioli have no other object than the settling of terms and phrases ; and, what is worse, they for whose use such books are chiefly intended, will not be persuaded to read them at all. I am led to propose these strictures, not by any propensity to depreciate the labours of my predecessors, much less Co invite a comparison between the merits of their performances and my own ; but solely by the consideration, that when a writer offers a book to the public upon a subject on which the public are already in possession of many others, he is bound, by a kind of literary justice, to inform liis readers, dis- tinctly and specifically, what it is he professes to supply, and what he expects to improve. The imper- fections above enumerated, are those which I iiave endeavoured to avoid or remedy. Of the execution the reader must judge; but this was the design. Concerning the /jrtncipZe of morals it would be premature to speak; but concerning the manner of unfolding and explaining that principle, I have somewhat which I wish to be remarked. An experience of nuie years in the office of a public tutor in one of the universities, and in that department of education to which these chapters relate, afforded me frequent occasions to observe, that in discoursing to young minds upon topics of morality, it required much more pains to make them perceive the difficulty, than to tinderstand the solution : that, unless the subject was so drawn up to a point, as to exhibit the full force of an objection, or the exact place of a doubt, before any explanation was entered upon, — in other words, unless some curiosity was excited before it was attempted to be satisfied, the labour of the teacher was lost. When information was not desired, it was seldom, I found, retained. I have made this observation my guide in the fJjUowing work : that is, upon each occasion I have endeavoured, before 1 suffered my- self to proceed in the disquisition, to put the reader in complete possession of the question ; and to do it in the way that I thouglit most likely to stir up his own doubts and solicitude about it. In pursuing tlie principle of morals through the detail of cases to which it is applicable, I have had in view to accommodate both the choice of the subjects and the manner of handling them, to the situations which arise in the life of an inhabitant of this country in these times. This is the thing that I think to be principally wanting in former treatises; and perhaps the chief advantage which will be found in mine. I have examined no doubts, I have discussed no oljscurities, I have encountered no errors, I have adverted to no controversies, but what I have seen actually to exist. If some of the questions treated of, appear to a more instructed reader minute or puerile, I desire such reader to be assured that I have found them occasions of difficulty to young minds; and what I have observed in young minds, I should expect to meet with in all who approach these subjects for the first time. Upon each article of human duty, I have combined with the conclusions of reason the declarations of Scripture, when they are to be had, as of co- ordinate authority, and as botli terminating in the same sanctions. • In the manner of the work, I have endeavoured so to attemper the opposite plans above animadverted upon, as that the reader may not accuse me eitlier of too much haste, or too much delay. 1 have be- stowed upon each subject enough of dissertation to give a body and substance to the chapter in which it is treated of, as well as coherence and perspicuity : on the other hand, I have seldom, I hope, exercised the patience of the reader by the length and prolixity of my essays, or disappointed that patience at last by the tenuity and unimportance of tlie conclusion. There are two particulars in the following work, for which it may be thought necessary that I should offer some excuse. The first of which is, that I have scarcely ever referred to any other book ; or men- tioned the name of the author whose thoughts, and sometimes, possibly, whose very expressions I have adopted. My method of writing has constantly been this : to extract what I could from my own stores and my own reflections in the first place ; to put down that, and afterwards to consult upon each subject such readings as fell in my way : w hich order, I am convinced, is the only one whereby any person can keep his thoughts from slidmg into other men's trains. The effect of sucTi a plan upon the production itself will be, that, whilst .some parts in matter or maimer may be new, others will be little else than a repetition of the old. I make no pretensions to perfect originality : I claim to be something more than a mere compiler. Much, no doubt, is borrowed ; but the fact is, that the notes for this work having been prepared for some years, and such things having been from time to time inserted in them as appeared to me worth preserving, and such insertions made commonly without the name of the author from whom they were taken, I should, at this time, have found a difficulty in recovering those names with sufficient exactness to be able to render to every man his own. Nor, to speak the truth, did it appear to me worth while to repeat the search merely for this purpose. When authorities are relied upon, names must be produced ; when a discovery has been made in science, it may be unjust to borrow the invention without acknowledging the author. But in an argumentative treatise, and upon a subject which allows no place for discovery or invention, properly so called ; and in which all that can belong to a writer is his mode of * Dr. Euthcrfoitli, autlior of " Institutes of Natural Law." PREFACE. xxiu reasoning, or his judgment of probabilities ; I shoulil have thought it superfluous, had it been easier to mo than it was, to have interrupted my text, or crowded my margin, with references to every author whose sentiments I have made use of There is, however, one work to which I owe so much, that it would be ungrateful not to confess the obligation: I mean the writings of the late Abraham Tucker, Esq. part of which were published by himself and the remainder since his death, under the title of "The Light of Nature pursued, by Edward Search, Esq." I have Ibund in this writer more original thinking and obser- vation upon the several subjects that he has taken in hand, than in any other, not to say, than in all others put together. His talent also for illustration is unrivalled. But his thoughts are diffused through a long, various, and irregular work. I shall account it no mean praise, if I have been sometimes able to dispose into method, to collect into heads and articles, or to exhibit in more compact and tangible masses, what in that otherwise excellent performance, is spread over too much surface. The next circumstance for which some ajwlogy may be expected, is the joining of moral and political philosophy together, or the addition of a book of politics to a system of ethics. Against this objection, if it be made one, I might defend myself by the example of many approved writers, who have treated de fifficiis hominis et civis, or, as some choose to express it, "of the rights and obligations of man, in his indi- vidual and social capacity," in the same book. I might allege, also, that the part a member of the com- monwealth shall take in political contentions, the vote he shall give, the counsels he shall approve, the support he shall afford, or the opposition he shall make, to any system of public measures, — is as much a question of personal duly, as much concerns the conscience of the individual who deliberates, as the de- termination of any doubt which relates to the conduct of private life; that consequently political philo. sophy is, properly speaking, a continuation of moral philosophy ; or rather indeed a part of it, supposing moral philosophy to have for its aim the information of the human conscience in every deliberation that is likely to come before it, I might avail myself of these excuses, if I wanted them ; but the vindication upon which I rely is the following: — In stating the principle of morals, the reader will observe that I have employed some industry in explaining the theory, and showing the necessity of general rules ; with- out the full and constant consideration of which, I am persuaded that no system of moral philosophy can be satisfactory or consistent This foundation being laid, or rather this habit being formed, the discussion of political subjects, to which, more than to almost any other, general rules are applicable, became clear and easy. Whereas, had these topics been assigned to a distinct work, it would have been necessary to have repeated the same rudiments, to have established over again the same principles, as those which we had already exemplified, and rendered familiar to the reader, in the former parts of this. In a word, if there appear to any one too great a diversity, or too wide a distance, between the subjects treated of in the course of the present volume, let him be reminded, that tlie doctrine of general rules, pervades and connects the whole. It may not be improper, however, to admonish the reader, that, under the name of politics, he is not to look for those occasional controversies, which the occurrences of the present day, or any temporary situa- tion of public affairs, may excite ; and most of which, if not beneath the dignity, it is beside the purpose, of a philosophical institution to advert to. He will perceive that the several disquisitions are framed with a reference to the condition of this country, and of this government ; but it seemed to me to belong to the design of a work like the following, not so much to discuss each altercated point with the particularity of a political pamphlet upon the subject, as to deliver those universal principles, and to exhibit that mode and train of reasoning in politics, by the due application of which every man might be enabled to attain to just conclusions of his own. I am not ignorant of an objection that has been advanced against all abstract speculations concerning the origin, principle, or limitation of civil authority ; namely, that such speculations possess little or no influence upon the conduct either of the state or of the subject, of the governors or the governed; nor are attended with any useful consequences to either: that in times of tranquillity they are not wanted ; in times of confusion they are never heard. This representation, how- ever, in my opinion, is not just. Times of tumult, it is true, are not the times to learn; but the choice which men make of their side and party, in the most critical occa.sions of the commonwealth, may never- theless depend upon the lessons they have received, the books they have read, and the opinions they have imbibed, in seasons of leisure and quietness. Some judicious persons, who were present at Geneva, during the troubles which lately convulsed that city, thought they perceived, in the contentions there carrying on, the operation of that political theory, which the writings of Rosseau, and the unbounded esteem in which these writings are holden by his countrymen, had diffused amongst the people. Through- out the political disputes that have within these few years taken place in Great Britain, in her sister- kingdom, and in her foreign dependencies, it was impossible not to observe, in the language of party, in the resolutions of public meetings, in debate, in conversation, in the general strain of those fugitive and diurnal addresses to the public which such occasions call forth, the prevalency of those ideas of civil authority which are displayed in the works of Mr. Locke. The credit of that great name, the courage and liberality of his principles, the skill and clearness with which his arguments are proposed, no less than the weight of the arguments themselves, have given a reputation and currency to his opinions, of wiiich I am persuaded, in any unsettled state of public affairs, the influence would be felt. As this is not a place for examining the truth or tendency of these doctrines, 1 would not be understood by what I have said, to express any judgment concerning either. I mean only to remark, that such doctrines are not without effect ; and that it is of practical importance to have the principles from which the obligations of social union, and the extent of civil obediency, are derived, rightly explained, and well understood XHV PREFACE. Indeed, as far as I have observed, in political, beyond all other subjects, where men are without some fundamental and scientific principles to resort to, they are liable to have their understandings played upon by cant phrases and unmeaning terms, of which every party in every country possesses a vocabulary. We appear astonished when we see the multitude led away by sounds ; but we sliould remember that, if sounds work miracles, it is always upon ignorance. The influence of names is in exact proportion ti» the want of knowledge. These are the observations with which I have judged it expedient to prepare the attention of my reader. Concerning the personal motives which engaged me in the following attempt, it is not necessary that I say much ; the nature of ray academical situation, a great deal of leisure since my retirement from it, the recommendation of an honoured and excellent friend, the outhority of the venerable prelate to whom these labours are inscribed, the not perceiving in what way I could employ my time or talents better, and my disapprobation, in literary men, of that fastidious indolence which sits still because it disdains to do little, were the considerations that directed my thoughts to this design. Nor have I repented of the undertaking. Whatever be the fate or reception of this work, it owes its author nothing. In sickness and in health I have found in it that which can alone alleviate the one, or give enjoyment to the other,— occupation and engagement. TO THE RIGHT REVEREND EDMUND LAW, D. D. LORD BISHOP OF CARLISLE. My lord, — Had the obligations which I owe to your Lordship's kindness been much less, or mucli fewer, than they are ; had personal gratitude left any place in my mind for deliberation or for inquiry ; in selecting a name which every reader might confess to be prefixed with propriety to a work, that, in many of its parts, bears no obscure relation to the general principles of natural and revealed religion, I should have found myself directed by many considerations, to that of the Bishop of Carlisle. A long life spent in the most inter- esting of all human pursuits — the investigation of moral and religious truth, in constant and unwearied endeavours to advance the discovery, communication, and success of both ; a life so occupied, and arrived at that period which renders every life venerable, commands respect by a title which no virtuous mind will dispute, which no mind sensible of the im- portance of these studies to the supreme concernments of mankind will not rejoice to see acknowledged. Whatever difference, or whatever opposition, some who peruse your Lordsliip's writings may perceive between your conclusions and their own, the good and wise of all persuasions will revere that industry, which has for its object the illustration or defence of our common Christianity. Your Lordship's researches have never lost sight of one purpose, namely, to recover the simplicity of the Gospel from beneath that load of un- authorized additions, which the ignorance of some ages, and the learning of others, tlie superstition of weak, and the craft of designing men, have (unhappily for its interest) heaped upon it. And this purpose, I am convinced, was dictated by the purest motive ; by a firm, and I think a just opinion, that whatever renders religion more rational, renders it more credible ; that he who, by a diligent and faithful examination of the original re- cords, dismisses from the system one article which contradicts the apprehension, the ex- perience, or the reasoning of mankind, does more towards recommending the belief, and, with the belief, the influence of Christianity, to the understandings and consciences of serious inquirers, and through them to universal reception and authority, than can be effected by a thousand contenders for creeds and ordinances of human establishment. When the doctrine of Transubstantiation had taken possession of the Christian world, it was not without the industry of learned men, that it came at length to be discovered, that no such doctrine was contained in the New Testament. But had those excellent persons done nothing more by tlieir discovery, than abolished an innocent superstition, or changed some directions in the ceremonial of public worship, they had merited but little of that veneration with which the gratitude of Protestant Churches remembers their ser- vices. What they did for mankind, was this : they exonerated Christianity of a weiglit which sunk it. If indolence or timidity had checked these exertions, or suppressed the fruit and publication of these inquiries, is it too much to affirm, that infidelity would at this day have been universal 1 I do not mean, my Lord, by the mention of this example to insinuate, that any popular opinion which your Lordship may have encountered, ought to be compared with Transub- stantiation, or that the assurance with which we reject that extravagant absurdity, is attainable in the controversies in which your Lordship has been engaged ; but I mean, by calling to mind those great reformers of the public faith, to observe, or rather to express my own persuasion, that to restore the purity, is most effectually to promote the progress, of Christianity; and that the same virtuous motive which hath sanctified their labours, suggested yours. At a time when some men appear not to perceive any good, and others D 25 3 xxvi DEDICATION. to suspect an evil tcntlency, in tliat spirit of examination and research which is gone forth in Christian countries, tliis testimony is become due, not only to the probity of your Lordship's views, but to the general cause of intellectual and religious liberty. That your Lordship's life may be prolonged in health and honour ; that it may continue to afford an instructive proof, how serene and easy old age can be made by the memory of important and well-intended labours, by the possession of public and deserved esteem, by the presence of many grateful relatives ; above all, by tlie resources of religion, by an un- shaken confidence in the designs of a " faithful Creator," and a settled trust in the truth and in the promises of Christianity ; is the fervent prayer of, my Lord, your Lordsliip's dutiful, most obliged, and most devoted servant, WILLIAM PALEY. Carlisle, Feb. 10, 17S5. MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. BOOK I. PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS. CHAPTER I. Definition and use of the Science. Moral Philosophy, Morality, Ethics, Casviis- try. Natural Law, mean all the same thing; namely, that science which teaches men their duty and the reasons of it. The use of such a study depends upon this, that, without it, the rules of life, by which men are ordinarily governed, oftentimes mislead them, through a defect, either in the rule, or in the ap- plication. These rules are, the Law of Honour, the Law of the Land, and the Scriptures. CHAPTER II. The Law of Honour. Thk Law of Honour is a system of rules con- structed by people of fashion, and calculated to facilitate tiieir intercourse with one another; and for no other purpose. Consequently, nothing is adverted to by the Law of Honour, but what tends to incommode this intercourse. Hence this law only prescribes and regulates the duties betwixt equals; omitting such as relate to the Supreme Being, as well as those wliich we owe to our inferiors. For which reason, profane- ness. neglect of public worship or private devotion, cruelty to servants, rigorous treatment of tenants or other dependants, want of charity to the poor, injuries (lone to tradesmen by msolvency, or delay of payment, with numberless examples of the same kind, are accounted no breaches of honour; be- cause a man is not a less agreeable companion for these ^aces, nor the worse to deal with, in those concerns which are usually transacted between one gentleman and another. Again ; the Law of Honour, being constituted t>y men occupied in the pursuit of pleasure, and for the mutual conveniency of such men, will be found, as might be expected from the character and design of tlie law-makers, to be, in most in- . stances, favourable to the licentious indulgence of the natural passions. Thus it allows of fornica- tion, adultery, drunkenness, prodigahty, duelling, and of revenge in the extreme ; and lays no stress upon the virtues opposite to these. CHAPTER III. The Law of the Land. That part of mankind, who are beneath the Law of Honour, often make the Law of the Land their rule of life ; that is, they are satisfied with themselves, so long as they do or omit nothing, for the doing or omitting of which the law can punish them. Whereas every system of human laws, con- sidered as a rule of life, labours under the two following defects ; I. Human laws omit many duties, as not objects of compulsion ; such as piety to God, bountj' to the poor, forgiveness of injuries, education of children, gratitude to benefactors. The law never sj:)eaks but to command, nor coirmiands but where it can compel : consequently, those duties, which by their nature must be xolun- tary, arc left out of the statute book, as lying be- yond the reach of its operation and authority. II. Human laws permit, or which is the sam^e thing, sutler to go unpunished, many crimes, be- cause they are incapable of being defined by any previous description. Of which nature are luxury, prodigality, partiality in voting at those elections in which the qualifications of the candidate ought to determine the success, caprice in the disposition of men's fortunes at their death, disrespect to parents, and a multitude of similar examples. For, this is the alternative : either the law must define beforehand, and with precision, the offences which it punishes ; or it must be left to the discre- tion of the magistrate, to determine upon each particular accusation, whether it constitute that ofience which the law designed to punish, or not ; which is, in eflect, leaving to the magistrate to punish, or not to punish, at his pleasure, the in- dividual who is brought before him ; which is just so much tyranny. Where, therefore, as in the in- stances above mentioned, the distinction between right and wrong is of too subtile, or of too secret, a nature, to be ascertained by any preconcerted language, the law of most countries, especially of free states, rather than commit the liberty of the subject to the discretion of the magistrates, leaves men in such cases to themselves. 27 28 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. CHAPTER IV. The Scriptures. Whoever expects to find in the Scriptures a specific direction for every moral doubt that arises, looks for more than he will meet with. And to what a magnitude such a detail of particular pre- cepts would have enlarged the sacred volume, may be partly understood from the following con- sideration : — The laws of this country, includinn- the acts of the legislature, and the decisions of our supreme courts of justice, are not contained in a fewer than fifty folio volumes. And yet it is not once in ten attempts that you can lind the case you look lor, in any law book whatever: to say nothing of those numerous points of conduct, con- cerning which the law professes not to prescribe or determine any thing. Had then the same par- ticularity, which obtains in human laws so liir as they go, been attempted in the Scriptures, through- out the whole extent of morality, it is manifest they would have been by much too bulky to be either read or circulated; or rather, as St. John says, "even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written." Morality is taught in Scripture in this wise. — General rules are laid down, of piety, justice, benevolence, and purity : such as worshiping God in spirit and in truth ; doing as we would be done by; loving our neighbour as ourself; forgiving others, as we expect forgiveness from God ; that mercy is better than sacriiice ; that not that wliich entereth into a man, (nor, by parity of reason, any ceremonial pollutions,) but that which pro- ceedeth from the heart, defileth him. These rules are occasionally illustrated, cither hy fictitious ex- amples, as in the parable of the good Samaritan ; and of the cruel servant, who refused to his fellow- servant that indulgence and compassion which his master had shown to him: or in instances which actually presented themselves, as in Christ's reproof of liis disciples at the Samaritan village ; his praise of the poor widow, who cast in her last mite ; his censure of the Pharisees, who chose out the chief rooms, — and of the tradition, whereby they evaded the command to sustain their indigent parents : or, lastly, in the resolution of questions, vjhich those who were about our Saviour proposed to him; as his answer to the young man who asked him, " What lack I yet ?""and to the honest scribe, who had found out, even in that age and country, that " to love God and his neighbour, was more than all whole burnt-ofl'erings and sacri- fice." _ And this is in truth the way in which all prac- tical sciences are taught, as Arithmetic, Grammar, Navigation, and the like. — Rules are laid down, and examples are subjoined : not that these ex- amples are the cases, much less all the cases, which will actually occur; but by way only of explaining the principle of the rule, and as so many specimens of the method of applying it. — The chief difference is, that the examjiles in Scripture are not annexed to the rules with the didactic regularity to which we are now-a-days accustomed, but delivered dispersedly, as particular occasions suggested them; which gave them, however, (especially to those who heard tiiem! and were present to the occasions which produced them,) an energy and persuasion, much beyond what the same or any instances would have ap- jieared with, in their places in a system. Besides this, the Scriptures commonly pre-sup- pose m the person to whom they speak, a know- ledge of the principles of natural justice ; and are employed not so nmch to teach 7iew rules of morality, as to enforce the practice of it by neic sanctions, and hy a. greater certainty ; which last seems to be the proper business of a revelation from God, and what was most wanted. Thus the "unjust, covenant-breakers, and ex- tortioners," are condenmed in Scripture, supposing it known, or leaving it, where it admits of doubt, to moralists to determine, what injustice, extortion, or breach of covenant, are. I'he above considerations are intended to prove that the Scriptures do not supersede the use of the science of which we protess to treat, and at the same time to acquit them of any charge of imper- fection or insufficiency on that account. CHAPTER V. The Moral Sense. " The father of Caius Toranius had been pro- scribed by the triumvirate. Caius Toranius coming over to the interests of that party, dis- covered to the officers, who were in pursuit of his father's life, the place where he concealed himself, and gave them withal a descrijjtion, by which they might distinguish his person, when they found him. The old man, more anxious for the safety and fortunes of his son, than about the little that might remain of his own life, began mmie- diately to inquire of the ol^cers who seized him, whether his son was well, whether he had done his duty to the satisfaction of his generals. ' That son (replied one of the officers,) so dear to thy aflt-ctions, betrayed thee to us ; by his information thou art apprehended, and diest.' The officer with this, struck a poniard to his heart, and the unhappy parent fell, not so much affected by his fate, as by the means to which he owed it."* Now the question is, whether, if this story were related to the wild boy caught, some years ago, in the woods of Hanover, or to a savage without experience, and without instruction, cut off' in his infancy from all intercourse with his species, and, consequently, under no possible influence of ex- ample, authority, education, sympathy or habit ; whether, I say, such a one would feel, upon the relation, any degree of that sentiment of disap- probation of Toranius's conduct which we feel, or not i They who maintain the existence of a moral sense; of innate maxhns; of a natural conscience ; that the love of virtue and hatred of vice are in- stinctive; or the ])erception of right and wrong intuitive ; (all which are only different ways of expressing the same opinion,) affirm that he would. * " Caius Toranius triumvirum partes secutus, pro- scripti patris sui prastorii et ornati viri latebras, aetateiu, notasque corporis, qiiihus acrnosci posset, centurionibiis edidit, qui eirni, Jtefseciiti sunt. Senex de filii magis vita et inoreinentis, quam de reliqno spiritu siio sollicitus, an incoliiniis esset, et an iinpnratoribus satisfaceret, inter- roL'aie ens coepit. E quibus unus: 'Ab illo,' inquit, ' queni tantoppreriilicis, demonstratnsnostroministerio, filii indicio occideris:' protinusque pectus ejus filaiiio trajecit. Collapsus itaque est iutelix, auctore cirdis qiiam ipsa caede, miserior." — VALER. MAX. lib. ix cap. 11. THE MORAL SENSE. 29 They who deny the existence of a moral sense, &c. affirm that he would not. And upon this, issue is joined. As the experiment has never been made, and, from the dithculty of procuring a subject (not to mention the impossibihty of proposing the question to him, if we had one,) is never likely to be made, what would be the event, can only be judged of from probable reasons. They who contend for the affirmative, observe, that we approve examples of generosity, gratitude, IJdelitv, &c. and condemn the contrary, instantly, witliout deliberation, without having any interest of our own concerned in them, oft-times without being conscious of, or able to give any reason for, our approbation : that this approbation is unifonn and universal, the same sorts of conduct being ap- proved and disapproved in all ages and countries of the world; circumstances, say they, wliich strongly indicate the operation of an instinct or moral sense. On the other hand, answers have been given to most of these argmnents, by the patrons of the opposite system : and. First, as to the uniformity above alleged, they controvert the fact. They remark, from authentic accounts of historians and travellers, that there is scarcely a single vice wMch, in some age or coun- try of the world, has not been countenanced by public opinion : that in one country, it is esteemed an office of piety in children to sustain their aged parents ; in another to dispatch them out of the wa}' : that suicide, in one age of the world, has been heroism, is in another felony: that theft, which is punished by most laws, by the laws of Sparta was not unfrequently rewarded : that tJie promiscuous commerce of the sexes, although cou- demned by the regulations and censure of all civilized nations, is practised by the savages of the tropical regions without resers'e, compunction, or disgrace : that crimes, of which it is no longer permitted us even to speak, have had their advo- cates amongst the sages of very renowned times : that, if an inhabitant of the polished nations of Europe be delighted with the appearance, wher- ever he meets with it, of happiness, tranquillity, and comfort, a wild American is no less diverted with the writliings and contortions of a victim at the stalie: that even amongst ourselves, and in the present improved state of moral knowledge, we are liir from a perfect consent in our opin- ions or feelings: that you shall hear duelling altcrnacely reprobated and applauded, according to the sex, age or station, of the person you con- verse with: that the forgiveness of injuries and insults is accounted by one sort of people magna- nimity, by another meanness : that in the above instances, and perhaps m most others, moral ap- probation follows the fasliions and institutions of the country we live in ; which fashions also, and institutions themselves, have grown out of the exigences, the climate, situation, or local circum- stances of the country ; or have been set up by the authority of an arbitrary cliieftain, or the un- accountable caprice of the multitude : all which, they observe, looks very little like the steady hand and indelible characters of Nature. But, Secondly, because, after these exceptions and abatements, it cannot be denied but that some sorts of actions conunand and receive the esteem of mankind more than others ; and that the appro- bation of them is general though not universal : as to this they say, that the general approbation of virtue, even in instances where we have no interest of our own to induce us to it, may be accounted for without the assistance of a moral sense; thus: " Having experienced, in some instances, a par ticular conduct to be benelicial to ourselves, or observed that it would be so, a sentiment of ap- probation rises up in our minds ; which sentiment afterwards accompanies the idea or mention of the same conduct, altliough the pri^•ate advantage which first excited it no longer exist." And this continuance of tiie passion, after the reason of it has ceased, is nothing more, say they, than what happens in other cases ; especially in the love of money, wliich is in no person so etiger, as it is oftentimes found to be in a rich old miser, without family to provide for, or friend to olilige by it, and to whom, consequently, it is no longer (and he may be sensible of it too) of any real use or value ; yet is this man as nmch overjoyed with gain, and mortilied by losses, as he was the first day he opened his shop, and when his very sub- sistence depended upon his success in it. By these means the custom of approving certain actions commenced: and when once sucii a cus- tom hath got footing in the world, it is no diffi- cult thing to explain how it is transmitted and continued; for then the greatest part of those wiio approve of virtue, approve of it from authority, by imitation, and from a habit of approving such and such actions, inculcated in early youth, and re- ceiving, as men grow up, continual accessions of strength and vigour, from censure and encourage- ment,^ from the books they read, the conversations they hear, the current application of epithets, the general turn of language, and the various other causes by which it universally comes to pass, that a society of men, touched in the feeblest degree with the same passion, soon communicate to one another a great degree of it.* This is the case with most of us at present ; and is the cause also, that the process of association, described in the last paragraph but one, is httle now either per- ceived or wanted. Amono-st the causes assigned for the continu- ance and diffusion of the same moral sentiments amongst mankind, we have mentioned imitation. The efficacy of tliis principle is most observable in children : indeed, if there be any thing in them, wliich deserves the name of an instinct, it is their propensity to imitation. Now there is nothing which children imitate or apply more readily than expressions of affection anil aversion, of ajjproba- tion, hatred, resentment, and the like ; and when these passions and expressions are once connected, which they soon will be by the same association which unites words with their ideas, the passion will follow the expression, and attach upon the object to which the child has been accustomed to apply the epithet. In a word, when almost every tiling else is learned by imitation, caA we wonder * " From instances of popular tumults, seditions, fac- tions, panics, and of all passions which are shared with a muititude, we may learn the influence of society, in exciting and supporting any emotion ; while tile most ungovernable disorders are raised, we find, by that means, from the slightest and most frivolous occasions. He must be more or less than man, who kindles not in the common blaze. What wonder then, that moral sentiments are found of such influence in life, though springing from principles, which may appear, at first sight, somewhat small and delicate 7"--//i/«i(;'j: Iixjuinj concernius the Principles of Morals, Sect. ix. p. 320. 3* 30 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. to find the same cause concerned in the generation of our moral sentiments 1 Another considerable objection to the system of moral instincts is this, that there are no maxims in the science which can well be deemed innate, as none perhaps can be assigned, which are abso- lutely and universally true ; in other words, which do not bend to circumstances. Veracity, which seems, if any be, a natural dutj', is excused in many cases towards an enemy, a thief, or a mad- man. The obligation of promises, which is a first principle in morality, depends upon the circum- stances under which they were made ; they may have been unlawful, or become so since, or incon- sistent with former promises, or erroneous, or extorted; under all which cases, instances may be suggested, where the obligation to perform the promise would be very dubious ; and so of most other general rules, when they come to be actually applied. An argument has been also proposed on the same side of the question, of this kind. Together with the instinct, there must have been implanted, it is said, a clear and precise idea of the object upon which it was to attach. The instinct and the idea of the oljject are inseparable even in ima- gination, and as necessarily accompany each other as any correlative ideas whatever: that is, in plainer terms, if we be prompted by nature to the approbation of particular actions, we must have received also from nature a distinct conception of the action we are thus prompted to approve ; which we certainly have not received. But as this argument bears alike against all instincts, and against their existence in brutes as well as in men, it will hardly, I suppose, produce conviction, though it may be ditlicult to find an answer to it. Upon the whole, it seems to me, either that there exist no such instincts as compose what is called the moral sense, or that they are not now to be distinguished from prejudices and habits ; on which account they cannot be depended upon in moral reasoning : I mean that it is not a safe way of arguing, to assume certain principles as so many dictates, impulses, and instincts of nature, and then to draw conclusions from these princi- ples, as to the rectitude or wrongness of actions, independent of the tendency of such actions, or of any other consideration whatever. Aristotle lays down, as a fundamental and self- evident maxim, that nature intended barbarians to be slaves; and proceeds to deduce from this maxim a train of conclusions, calculated to justify the policy which then prevailed. And I question whether the same maxim be not still self-evident to the company of merchants trading to the coast of Africa. Nothing is so soon made, as a maxim ; and it appears from the example of Aristotle, that au- thority and convenience, education, prejudice, and general practice, have no small share in the mak- mg of them; and that the laws of custom are very apt to be mistaken for the order of nature. For which reason, I suspect, that a system of morality, built upon instincts, will only find out reasons and excuses for opinions and practices already established, — will seldom correct or reform either. But further, suppose we admit the existence of these instincts ; what, it may be asked, is their authority 1 No man, you say, can act in delilicr- ate opposition to them, without a secret remorsB of conscience. But this remorse may be borne with: and if the sinner choose to bear with it, for the sake of the pleasure or the profit which he expects from his wickedness ; or finds the plea- sure of sin to exceed the remorse of conscience, of which he alone is the judge, and concerning which, when he feels them both together, he can hardly be mistaken, the moral-instinct man, so far as I can understand, has nothing more to ofTi?r. For if he allege that these instincts are so many indications of the will of God, and consequently presages of what we are to look for hereafter; this, 1 answer, is to resort to a rule and a motive ulterior to the instincts themselves, and at which rule and motive we shall by-and-by arrive by a surer road : — I say surer, so long as there remains a controversy whether there he any instincti\'e maxims at all; or any difficulty in ascertaining what maxims are instinctive. This celebrated question therefore becomes in our system a question of pure curiosity ; and as such, we dismiss it to the determination of those who are more inquisitive, than we are concerned to be, about the natural history and constitution of the human species. CHAPTER VI. Human Happiness. The word happy is a relative term; that is, when we call a man happy, we mean that he is happier than some others, with whom we com- pare him ; than the generality of others ; or than he himself was in some other situation : thus, speaking of one who has just compassed the ob- ject of a long pursuit, — " Now," we say, " he is happy;" and in a hke comparative sense, com- pared, that is, with the general lot of mankind, we call a man happy who possesses health and com- petency. In strictness, any condition maybe denominated happy, in which the amount or aggregate of pica- sure exceeds that of pain ; and the degree of happiness depends upon the quantity of this excess. And the greatest quantity of it ordinarily at- tainable in human life, is what we mean by hap- piness, when we inquire or pronounce what human happiness consists in.* * If any positive sisnification, distinct fiom what we mean by pleasure, can be affixed to tlie term "happi- ness," I should take it to denote a certain state of the nervous system in that part of the human frame in which we feel .joy and g;rief, passions and affections. — Whether this part be the heart, which tf)e turn of most laniruanes would lead us to believe, or the diaiilirnLMii, as Bulfon. or the upper orifice of the stomach, as Van Hehnont thought ; or rather be a kind of fine net-work, lining the whole region of the pra-cordia, asotliers have imagined; it is possible, not only that each painful si'nsation may violently shake and disturb the fibres at the time, but that a series of such may at length so derange the very texture of the system, as to produce a perpetual irritation, which vvill show itself by fretful- ness. impatience, and restlessness. It is possible also, on the oilier hand, that a succession of pleasurable sen- sations may have such an effect upon this subtile orga- nization, as to cause the fibres to relax, and return into their place and order, and thereby to recover, or, if not lost, to preserve, that harmonious conformation which gives to the mind its sense of complacency and satis- faction. This state maybe denominated happiness and is so far distinguishable from pleasure, that it does HUMAN HAPPIJNESS. Jl In which inquiry I v^'ill omit much usual declamation on the dignity and capacity of our nature ; the superiority of the soul to the body, of (he rational to the animal part of our constitution ; upon the worthiness, refinement, and delicacy, of some satisfactions, or the meanness, grossness, and sensuality, of others ; because I hold that pleasures differ in nothing, but in continuance and intensity: from a just computation of which, confirmed by what we obsene of the apparent cheerfulness, tranquillity, and contentment, of men of ditierent tastes, tempers, stations, and pur- suits, every question concerning human happiness must receive its decision. It will be our business to show, if we can, I. What Human Happiness does not consist in: II. What it does consist in. First, then. Happiness does not consist in the pleasures of sense, in whatever profusion or va- riety they be enjoyed. By the pleasures of sense, I mean, as well as the animal gratifications of eating, drinking, and that by which the species is continued, as the more refined pleasures of music, painting, architecture, gardening, splendid shows, theatric exliibitions ; and the pleasures, lastly, of active sports, as of hunting, shooting, fishing, &c. For, 1st, These pleasures continue but a little while at a time. This is true of them all, especially of the grosser sort of them. Laying aside the pre- paration and the expectation, and computing strictly the actual sensation, we shall be surprised to find how inconsiderable a portion of our time they occupy, how few hours in the four-and-twenty they are able to fill up. 2dly, These pleasures, by repetition, lose their relish. It is a property of the machine, for which we know no remedy, that the organs, by which we perceive pleasure, are blunted and benumbed by being frequently exercised in the same way. There is hardly any one who has not found the difference between a gratification, when new, and when familiar ; or any pleasure which does not become indifferent as it grows habitual. 3Jly, The eagerness for high and intense de- lights takes away the relish from all others; and as such delights fall rarely in our way, the greater part of our time becomes, from this cause, empty and uneasy. There is hardly any delusion by which men arc greater sufferers in their happiness, than by their expecting too much from what is called pleasure ; that is, from those intense delights, which vulgarly enjjross the name of pleasure. The very expec- tation spoils them. When they do come, we are often engaged in taking pains to persuade our- selves how much we are pleased, rather than en- joying any pleasure which springs naturally out of the object. And whenever we depend upon being vastly delighted, we always go home secretly grieved at missing our aim. Likewise, as has been observed just now, when this humour of being prodigiously delighted has once taken hold not refer to any particular object of enjoyment, or con- sist, like pleasure, in gratification of one or more of tlie senses, but is rather the secondary etfect which such objects and gratifications produce upon the nervous system, or the state in which they leave it. These con- jectures belong not, however, to our province. The comparative sense, in which we have e.xplained the term Happiness, is more popular, and is sufficient for the purpose of the present chapter. of the imagination, it hinders us from providing for, or acquiescing in, those gently soothing en- gagements, the due variety and succession of which are the only things that supply a vein or continued stream of happiness. What I have been able to observe of that part of mankind, whose professed pursuit is pleasure, and who are withheld in the pursuit by no re- straints of fortune, or scruples of conscience, cor- responds sufficiently with this account. I have commonly remarked in such men, a restless and inextinguishable passion for variety ; a great part of their time to be vacant, and so much of it hk- some; and that, with whatever eagerness and expectation they set out, they become, by de- grees, fastidious in their choice of pleasure, lan- guid in the enjoyment, yet miserable under the want of it. The truth seems to be, that there is a limit at which these pleasures soon arrive, and from which they ever afterwards decline. They are by ne- cessity of short duration, as the organs cannot hold on their emotions beyond a certain length of time ; and if you endeavour to compensate for this imperfection in their nature by the frequency with wliich you repeat them, you sutler more than you gain, by the fatigue of the faculties, and the dimi- nution of sensibility. We have said nothing in this account, of the loss of opportunities, or the decay of faculties, which, whenever they happen, leave the voluptu- ary destitute and desperate ; teased by desires that can never he gratified, and the memory of pleasures which must return no more. It will also be allowed by those who have ex- perienced It, and perhaps by those alone, that pleasure which is purchased by the encumbrance of our fortune, is purchased too dear ; the pleasure never comj)ensating for the perpetual irritation of embarrassed circumstances. These pleasures, after all, have their value : and as the young are always too eager in their pursuit of them, the old are sometimes too remiss, that is, too studious of their ease, to be at the pains lor them which they really deser\e. Secondly, Neither does happiness consist in an exemption from pain, labour, care, business, suspense, molestation, and " those evils which are without ;" such a state being usually attended, not with ease, but with depression of spirits, a taste- lessness in all our ideas, imaginary anxieties, and the whole train of hj-pochondriacal affections. For which reason, the expectations of those, who retire from their shops and counting-houses, to enjoy the remainder of their days in leisure and tranquillity, are seldom answered by the effect; much less of such, as, in a fit of chagrin, shut themselves up in cloisters and hermitages, or quit the world, and their stations in it, for solitude and repose. Where there exists a known external cause of uneasiness, the cause may be removed, and the uneasiness will cease. But those imaginary dis- tresses which men feel for want of real ones (and which are equally tormenting, and so far equally real) as they depend upon no single or assignable subject of uneasiness, admit oftentimes of no ap- plication of relief Hence, a moderate pain, upon which the atten- tion may fasten and spend itself, is to many a refreshment ; as a fit of the gout will sometimes cure the spleen. And the same of any less violent 32 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. agitation of the mind, as a literary controversy, a law-suit, a contested election, and, above all, gam- ing ; the passion lor wliicli, in men of fortune and h'oeral minds, is only to be accounted for on tliis principle. Thirdly: Neither does happiness consist in greatness, rank, or elevated station. Were it true that all superiority afforded plea- sure, it would follow, that by how much we were the greater, that is, the more persons we were superior to, in. the same proportion, so flir as de- pended upon this cause, we should be the happier ; but so it is, that no superiority yields any satisfac- tion, save that which we possess or obtain over those with whom we inmiediately compare our- selves. The shepherd perceives no pleasure in his superiority over his dog; the farmer, in liis superiority over the shepherd; the lord, in his superiority over the farmer ; nor the king, lastly, in his superiority over the lord. Superiority, where there is no competition, is seldom contem- plated ; what most men are quite unconscious of But if the same shepherd can run, light, or wrestle better than the peasants of his village ; if the farmer can show better cattle, if he keep a better horse, or be supposed to have a longer purse, tlian any farmer in the hundred ; if the lord have more interest in an election, greater favour at court, a better house, or a larger estate than any nobleman in the country ; if the king possess a more extensive territory, a more powerful fleet or army, a more splendid establishment, more loyal subjects, or more weight and authority in adjust- ing the afTuirs of nations, than any prince in Europe; in all these cases, the parties feel an actual satisfaction in their superiority. Now the conclusion that follows from hence is this ; that the pleasures of ambition, which are supposed to be peculiar to high stations, are in reality common to all conditions. The farrier who shoes a horse better, and who is in greater request for Iiis sldll, than any man witliin ten miles of him, possesses, for all that I can see, the delight of distinction and of exceOing, as truly and substantially as the statesman, the soldier, and the scholar, who have filled Europe with the reputa- tion of their wisdom, their valour, or their know- ledge. No superiority appears to be of any account, but superiority over a rival. This, it is manifest, may exist wherever rivalships do ; and rivalships fall out amongst men of all ranks and degrees. The object of emulation, the dignity or magnitude of this object, makes no difference ; as it is not what either possesses that constitutes the pleasure, but what one possesses more than the other. Philosophy smiles at the contempt wdth wliich the rich and great speak of the petty strifes .and competitions of the poor; not reflecting that these strifes and competitions are just as reasonable as their own, and the pleasure, which success afibrds, the same. Our position is, that happiness does not consist in greatness. And this position we make out by showing, that even what are supposed to be pecu- liar advantages of greatness, the pleasures of am- bition and superiority, are in reality common to all conditions. But whether the pursuits of am- bition be ever wise, whether they contribute more to the happiness or misery of the pursuers, is a different question; and a question concerning which we may be allowed to entertain great doubt. The pleasure of success is exquisite ; so also is the anxiety of the pursuit, and the pain of disap- pomtnient ; — and what is the worst part of the account, the pleasure is short-Uved. We soon cease to look back upon those whom we have left behind ; new contests are engaged in ; new pros- pects unfold themselves ; a succession of struggles is kept up, wliilst there is a rival left witliin the compass of our views and profession ; and when there is none, the pleasui'e with the pursuit is at an end. II. We have seen what happiness does not consist in. We are next to consider in what it docs consist. In the conduct of life, the great matter is, to know beforehand, what will please us, and wliat pleasure will hold out. So far as we know this, our choice will be justified by the event. And this knowledge is more scarce and difficult than at first sight it may seem to be : for sometimes, pleasures, which are wonderfully alluring and flattering in the prospect, turn out in the possession extremely insipid ; or do not hold out as we ex- pected : at other tunes, pleasures start up wliich never entered into our calculation ; and which we might have missed of by not foreseeing ; — whence we have reason to believe, that we actually do miss of many pleasures from the same cause. I say, to know " beforehand ;" for, after the experunent is tried, it is commonly impracticable to retreat or change ; beside that shifting and changing is apt to generate a habit of restlessness, which is de- structive of the happiness of every condition. By the reason of the original diversity of taste, capacity, and constitution, observable in the human species, and the still greater variely, wliich habit and fasliion have introduced in these particulars, it is impossible to propose, any plan of happiness, which will succeed to all, or any method of life which is universally eligible or practicable. All that can be said is, that there remains a presumption in favour of those conditions of life, in which men generally appear most cheerful and contented. For though the apparent happiness of mankind be not always a true measure of their real happiness, it is the best measure we ha^'e. Taking this for my guide, I am inchned to be- Ueve that happiness consists, I. In the exercise of the social affections. Those persons commonly possess good spirits, who have about them many objects of affection and endearment, as wife, children, khidred, friends. And to the want of these may be imputed the peevishness of monks, and of such as lead a mo- nastic life. Of the same nature with the indulgence of our domestic affections, and equally refreshing to the spirits, is the pleasure which results from acts of bounty and beneficence, exercised either in gi%ing money, or imparting to those who want it, the assistance of our skill and profession. Another main article of human happiness is, II. The exercise of our faculties, either of body or mind, in the pursuit of some engaging end. It seems to be true, that no plenitude of present gratifications can make the possessor happy for a continuance, unless he have something in reserve, — something to hope for, and look forward to. — This I conclude to be the case, from comparing the alacrity and spirits of men who are engaged in any pursuit which interests them, with the de- jection and ennui of almost all, who are cithex HUMAN HAPPINESS. bora to so much that they want nothing more, or who have used up their satisfactiona too soon, and ilrainod the sources of them. It is this intolerable vacuity of mind, which carries the rich and great to the horse-course and the gaming-table ; and often engages them in contests and pursuits, of which the success bears no proportion to the solicitude and expense with which it is sought. An election for a disputed borough shall cost the parties twenty or thirty thousand pounds each, — to say nothing ai the anxiety, humiliation, and fatigue, of the canvass ; when, a seat in the house of commons, of exactly the same value, may be had for a tenth part of the money, and with no trouble. I do not mention this, to blame the rich and great (perhaps they cannot do better,) but in coniirmation of what I have advanced. Hope, which thus appears to be of so much importance to our happiness, is of two kinds ; — where there is something to be done towards at- taining the object of our hope, and where there is nothing to be done. The lirst alone is of any value ; the latter being apt to corrupt into impa- tience, having no power but to sit still and wait, which soon grows tiresome. The doctrine delivered under this head, may be readily admitted; but how to provide ourselves with a succession of pleasurable engagements, is the difficulty. This requires two things : judg- ment in the choice of ends adapted to our op- portunities ; and a command of imagination, so as to be aL)le, when the judgment has made choice of an end, to transfer a pleasure to tlie means: alter which, the end may be forgotten as soon as we will. Hence those pleasures are most valuable, not which are most exquisite in the fruition, but which are most prnductive-of engagement and activity in the pursuit. A man who is in earnest in his endeavours after the happiness of a future state, has, in this respect, an i'lvantage o-/er all the world : for, he has constantly before his eyes an object of supreme importance, productive of perpetual engagement and activity, and of which the pursuit (which can be said of no pursuit besides) lasts him to his life's end. Yet even he must have many ends, besides the far end: but then they will conduct to that, be suljordinate, and in some way or other capable of being referred to that, and derive their satisfac- tion, or an addition of satisfaction, from that. Engagement is everything: the more signifi- cant, however, our engagements are, the better : such as the planning of laws, institutions, manu- factures, charities, improvements, public works; and the endeavouring, by our interest, address, solicitations, and activity, to carry them into eflect ; or, upon a smaller scale, the procuring of a main- tenance and fortune for our families by a course of industry and application to our callings, which forms and gives motion to the common occupations of life ; training up a child ; prosecuting a scheme for his future establishment; making ourselves masters of a language or a science ; unproving or managing an estate ; laboriring after a piece of preferment ; and, lastly, any engagement, which IS innocent, is better than none ; as the writing of a book, the building of a house, the laying out of a garden, the digging of a fish-pond, — even the laising of a cucumber or a tulip. Whilst our minds are taken up vsith the objects E or business before us, we are commonly happy, whatever the object or business be; when the mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering to something else than what is passing in the place in which we are, we are often miserable. III. Happiness depends upon the prudent con- stitution of the habits. The art in which the secret of human happiness in a great measure consists, is to set the habits in such a manner, that every cliange may be a change for the better. The habits themselves are much the same ; for, whatever is made habitual, becomes smooth, and easy, and nearly indili'erent. 'I'lie return to an old habit is likewise easy, v/hatever the habit be. Therefore the advantage is with those habits which allow of an indulgence in the deviation from them. The luxurious receive no greater pleasures from their dainties, than the peasant does from his bread and cheese : but the peasant, whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast ; whereas the epicure must be well entertained, to escape disgust. Those who spend every day at cards, and those who go every day to plough, pass their time much alike: intent upon what they are about, wanting nothing, regretting nothing, they are both for the time in a state of ease : but then, v/hatever suspends the occupation of the card-player, distresses hun ; whereas to the labourer, eveiy interruption is a refreshment : and this appears in the ditierent eflects that Sunday produces upon the two, winch proves a day ol recreation to the one, but a lamentable burthen to the other. The man who has learned to live alone, feels his spirits enlivened whenever he en- ters into company, and takes liis leave without regret ; another, who has long been accustomed to a crowd, or continual successsion of company, experiences in company no elevation of spirits, nor any greater satisfaction, than what the man of a retired life finds in his chiinney-corner. So far their conditions are equal ; but let a change of place, fortune, or situation, separate the companion from his circle, his visitors, his club, common-room, or coffee-house ; and the difference and advantage in the choice and constitution of the two habits will show itself Solitude comes to the one, cloth- ed \V\Xh melancholy ; to the other, it brings Uberty and quiet. You will see the one fretful and rest- less, at a loss how to dispose of his time, till the hour come round when he may forget himself in bed ; the other easy and satisfied, taking up his book or his pipe, as soon as he finds himself alone ; ready to admit any little amusement that casts up, or to turn his hands and attention to the first business that presents itself; or content, wdthout either, to sit still, and let his train of thought glide indolently through his brain, without much use, perhaps, or pleasure, hut without hankering after any thing better, and without irritation. A reader; who has inured himself to books of science and" argumentation, if a novel, a well-written pain.- phlet, an article of news, a narrative of a curious voyage, or a journal of a traveller, fall in his way, sits down to the repast with rehsh; enjoys hi& entertainment while it lasts, and can return, when it is over, to his graver reading, without distaste. Another, with whom nothing will go down but works of humour and pleasantry, or whose -curi- osity must be interested by perpetual novel y, will consume a bookseller's window in half a fc'renoon ; during which time he is rather in search of diver- sion than diverted ; and as books to his taste are 34 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. few, and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is soon exhausted, when he is left without resource from his principal supply of harmless amuse- ment. So far as circumstances of fortune conduce to happiness, it is not the income which any man possesses, but the increase of income, that affords the pleasure. Two persons, of whom one begins with a humlred, and advances his income to a thousand pounds a year, and the other sets off with a thousand and dwindles down to a hundred, may, in the course of their time, have the receipt and sjiending of the same sum of money : yet their satislliction, so far as fortune is concerned in it, Vi'ill be very different ; the series and sum total of tiieir incomes being the same, it makes a wide ditierence at which end they begin. IV. Happiness consists in health. By health I understand, as well freedom from bodily distempers, as that tranquillity, firmness, and alacrity of mind, which wc call good spirits ; and which may properly enough be included in our notion of health, as depending commonly upon the same causes, and yielding to the same management, as our bodily constitution. Health, in this sense, is the one thing needful. Therelbre no pains, expense, self-denial, or re- straint, to which we subject ourselves for the sake of health, is too nmch. Whether it require us to relinquish hierative situations, to abstain from favourite indulgences, to control intemperate pas- sions, or undergo tedious regimens ; whatever diliiculties it lays us under, a man, who pursues his hajipiness rationally and resolutely, will be content to submit. When we are in perfect health and spirits, we feel in ourselves a happiness independent of any (larticular outward gratification whatever, and of which we can give no account. This is an en- joyment which the Deity has annexed to life ; and it probably constitutes, in a great measure, the happiness of infants and brutes, especially of the lower and sedentary orders of animals, as of oysters, periwinkles, and the like; for which I have sometimes been at a loss to find out amuse- ment. The above account of human happiness will justify the two following conclusions, which, al- though found in most books of morality, have seldom, I think, been supported by any sufficient reasons : — First, That happiness is pretty equally dis- tributed amongst the different orders of civil society : Secondly, Tliat vice has no advantage over virtue, even with respect to this world's happi- ness. CHAPTER VII. Virtue. Virtue is " the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiriess." According to which definition, "the good of mankind" is the subject; the " will of God," the rule ; and " everlasting happiness," the motive, of iiuman virtue. Virtue has been divided by some moralists into benevolence, prudence, fortitude, and temperance. Benevolence proposes good ends ; prudence sug- gests the best means of attaining them ; fortitude enables us to encounter the difficulties, dangers, and discouragements, which stand in our way in the pursuit of these ends; temperance repels and overcomes the passions that obstruct it. Bencro- lence, for instance, prompts us to undertake the cause of an oppressed orphan ; prudence suggerts the best means of going about it ; fortitude enables us to confront the danger, and bear up against the loss, disgrace, or repulse, that may attend our undertaking; and temperance keeps under the love of money, of ease, or amusement, wiiich might chvert us from it. Virtue is distinguished by others into two branches only, prudence and benevolence : pru- dence, attention to our own interest; benevuknce, to that of our fellow-creatures : both directed to the same end, the increase of happiness in nature ; and taking equal concern in the future as in tlie present. The four cardinal virtues are, prudence, for- titude, temperance and justice. But the division of virtue, to which we are in modern times most accustomed, is into duties ; — Towards God ; as piety, reverence, resignation, gratitude, &c. Towards other men (or relative duties;) as jus- tice, charity, fidelity, loyalty, &c. Towards ourselves ; as chastity, sobriety, tem- perance, preservation of life, care of health, &c. More of these distinctions have been proposed, which it is not worth while to set down. I shall proceed to state a few observations, which relate to the general regulation of human conduct ; unconnected indeed with each other, but -^ery worthy of attention ; and which fall as projjerly under the title of tliis chapter as of any future one. I. Mankind act more from habit than reflec- tion. It is on few only and great occasions that men deliberate at all ; on fewer still, that they ins;titute any thing like a regular inquiry into the moral rectitude or depravity of what they are about to do ; or wait for the result of it. We are for the most part determined at once; and by an imindse, which is the effect and energy of pre-established habit. And this constitution seems well adajjted to the exigences of human life, and to the imbe- cility of our moral principle. In the current oc- casions and rapid opportunities of life, there is oftentimes little leisure for reflection ; and were there more, a man, who has to reason about his duty, when the temptation to transgress it is upon him, is almost sure to reason himself into an error. If we are in so great a degree passive under our habits ; Where, it is asked, is the exerci.se of virtue, the guilt of vice, or any use of moral and religious knowleiige '? I answer, in tlie forming and contracting of these habits. And hence results a rule of life of considerable importance, viz. that many things are to be done and abstained from, solely for the sake of habit. We will explain ourselves by an example or two: — A beggar, with the appearance of extreme dis- tress, asks our charity. If we come to argue the matter, whether the distress be real, whether it be VIRTUE. 35 not brought upon himself, whether it be of public advantage to admit such application, whether it be not to encourage idleness and vagrancy, wliether it may not invite impostors to oiu' doors, whether the money can be well spared, or might not be better apphed; when these considerations are put together, it may appear very doubtful, whether we ought or ought not to give an}' thing. But when we reflect, that the misery before our eyes excites our pity, whether we will or not ; that it is of the utmost consequence to us to cultivate this tender- ness of mind ; that it is a quality, cherished by indulgence, and soon stifled by opposition ; when this, 1 say, is considered, a wise man will do that tor his own sake, which he would have hesitated to do for the petitioner's ; he will give way to his compassion, rather than oH'er violence to a habit of so much general use. A man of confirmed good habits, wiU act in the same manner without any consideration at all. This may serve for one instance ; another is the following : — A man has been brought up from his infancy with a dread of lying. An occasion pre- sents itself where, at the expense of a little vera- city, he may divert his company, set off his own wit with advantage, attract the notice and engage tlie partiality of all about him. This is nota small temptation. And when he looks at the other side of the question, lie sees no mischief that can ensue from this liberty, no slander of any man's reputation, no prejudice likely to arise to any man's interest. Were there notliing further to be considered, it would be difficult to show why a man under such circumstances might not in- dulge his humour. But when he rellccts that his scruples about lying have hitherto preserved him free from this vice ; that occasions like the present will return, where the inducement may be equally strong, but the mdulgence much less innocent; that his scruples will wear away by a few trans- gressions, and leave him subject to one of the meanest and most pernicious of all bad habits, — a habit of lying, whenever it will serve his turn : when all this, I say, is considered, a wise man will forego the present, or a much greater pleasure, rather than lay the foundation of a character so vicious and contemptible. From what has been said, may be explained also the nature of habitual virtue. Bv the defi- nition of virtue, placed at the beginning of this chapter, it appears, that the good of mankind is the subject, the will of God the rule, and everlast- ing happiness the motive and end, of all virtue. Yet. in fact, a man shall perform many an act of virtue without having either the good of mankind, the will of God, or everlasting happiness in his thought. How is this to be understood ] In the same manner as that a man may be a very good servant, without being conscious, at every turn, of a particular regard to his master's vnll, or of an express attention to his master's interest : indeed, your best old servants are of this sort : but then he nmst have served for a length of time under the actual direction of these motives, to bring it to this: in which service, his merit and virtue consist. There are habits, not only of drinking, swear- ing, and lying, and of some other tilings, which are commonly acknowledged to be habits, and called so : but of every modification of action, speech, and thought. Man is a bundle of habits. There are habits of industry, attention, vigilance, advertency; of a prompt obedience to the judg ment occurring, or of yielding to the first impulse of passion ; of extending our views to the future, or of resting upon the present ; of apprehending, methodising, reasoning ; of indolence and dilatori- ness ; of vanit}', self-conceit, melancholy, partialitv; of fretfulness, suspicion, captiousness ; censorious- ness ; of pride, amlntion, covetousness ; of over- reaching, intriguing, j)rojc>cting ; in a word, there is not a quality or function, either of body or mind, which does not teel the influence of this great law of animated nature. II. The Christian religion hath not ascertained the precise quantity of virtue necessary to salva- tion. This has been made an objection to Christianity; but without reason. For as all revelation, how- ever imparted originally, must be transmitted by the orilinary vehicle of language, it behoves those who make the objection, to show that any form of words could be devised, that might express this quantity; or that it is possible to constitute a standard of moral attainments, accommodated to the almost infinite di\'ersity which subsists in the capacities and opportunities of different men. It seems most agreeable to our conceptions of justice, and is consonant enough to the language of scripture,* to suppose, that there are prepared for us rewards and punishments, of all possible degrees, from the most exalted happiness down to extreme misery; so that "our labour is never in vain ;" whatever advancement we make in virtue, we procure a proportionable accession of future happiness ; as, on the other hand, every acciunu- lation of vice is the " treasuring up so much wTath against the day of wrath." It has been said, that it can never be a just economy of Providence, to admit one part of mankind into heaven, and con- demn the other to hell; since there must be very little to choose, between the worst man who is received into heaven, and the best who is excluded. And how know we, it might be answered, but that there may be as little to choose in the conditions ] Without entering into a detail of Scripture morality, which would anticipate our subject, the following general positions may be advanced, I think, with safety. 1. That a state of happiness is not to be expect- ed by those who are conscious of no moral or religious rule : I mean those who cannot with truth say, that they have been prom.pted to one action, or withholden from one gratification, bv any regard to virtue or religion, either immediate or habitual. There needs no other proof of this, than the consideration, that a brute would be as proper an object of reward as such a man, and that, if the case were so, the penal sanctions of rehgion could *" He which soweth sparingly, shall reap also spar injly ; and he which soweth bountifully, shall reap also bountifully;" 2 Cor. ix. 6. — "Anil that servant which knew his Lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes ; hut he that knew not. shall bf beaten with few stripes.' Luke xii. 47, 48. — " Whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ; verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward;" to wit, intimating that there is in reserve a proportionable reward for even the smallest act of virtue. Markix. 41. — See also the parable of the pounds, Lu.ke .\i.x. 16, fee; where he whose pound had gained ten pounds, was placed over ten cities; and he whose pound had gained five pounds, was placed over nve cities. 36 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. have no place. For, whom would you punish, if you make such a one as this happy 1 — or rather indeed, religion itself, both natural and revealed, would cease to have either use or authority. 2. That a state of happiness is not to be ex- pected by those, who reserve to themselves the habitual practice of any one sin, or neglect of one known duty. Because, no obedience can proceed upon proper motives, which is not universal, that is, which is not directed to every command of God alike, as they all stand upon the same authority. Because such an allowance would, in effect, amount to a toleration of every vice in the world. And because the strain of Scripture language excludes any such hope. When our duties are recited, they are put collectively, that is, as all and every one of them required in the Christian cha- racter. ^'- Add to your faith virtue, and to virtue knowledge, and to knowledge temperance, and to temperance patience, and to patience godhness, and to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness charity."* On the other hand, when vices are enumerated, they are put disjunc- tively, that is, as separately and severally exclud- ing the sinner from heaven. " Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor efieminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor ex- tortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of heaven. 't Those texts of Scripture, which seem to lean a contrary way, as that " charity shall cover ihe multitude of sins;"t that "he which con- verteth a sinner from the error of his way, «hall hide a multitude of sins;"§ cannot, I think, for the reasons above mentioned, be ex- tended to sins dehberately, habitually, and ob- stinately persisted in. 3. That a state of mere unprofitableness will not go unpunished. This is expressly laid down by Christ, in the parable of the talents, which supersedes all further reasoning upon the subject. " Then he which had received one talent, came and said. Lord, I knew thee that thou art an austere man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed ; and I was afraid, and hid thy talent in the earth ; lo, there thou hast that is thine. His lord answered and said unto him, Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou k newest, (or, knewest thou 1) that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not strawed ; thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers, and then at my coming I should have received mine own with usury. Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which hath ten talents ; for unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance ; but from him that hath not, shall be taken away even that wluch he hath : and cast ye the unprofitable ser- vant into outer darkness, there shall be weeping and. gnashing of tecth.'W III. In every question of conduct, where one side is doubtful, and the other safe ; we are bound to take the safe side. This is best explained by an instance ; and I know of none more to our purpo.se than that of suicide. Suppose, for example's sake, that it ap- * 2 Pet. i . 5, 6, 7. t t Cor. vi . 9. 10. } 1 Pet. iv. 8. § James v. 20. II Matt. .1XV. 24, &r.. peared doubtful to a reasoner upon the subject, whether he may lawfully destroy himself He can have no doubt, that it is lawful for him to let it alone. Here therefore is a case, in which one side is doubtful, and the other side safe. By virtue therefore of our rule, he is bound to pursue the safe side, that is, to forbear from olibring violence to himself, wliilst a doubt remains upon his mind concerning the lawfulness of suicide. It is prudent, you allow, to take the safe side. But our observation means something more. We assert that the action concerning which we doubt, whatever it may be in itself, or to another, would, in MS, whilst this doubt remains upon our minds, be certainly sinful. The case is expressly so adjudged by St. Paul, with whose authority we wiU for the present rest contented. " 1 know and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself; but to him, that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclehn. — Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth; and he that doubteth, is damned (condemned) if he eat; for whatsoever is not of faith (t. e. not done with a full persuasion of the lawfulness of it) is sin."* BOOK II. MORAL OBLIGATIONS. CHAPTER I. TTie question ' Why am I obliged to keep my word ?' considered. Why am I obliged to keep my word 1 Because it is right, says one. — Because it is agreeable to the fitness of things, says another. — Because it is conformable to reason and nature, says a third. — Because it is conformable to truth, says a fourth. — Because it promotes the public good, says a fifth. — Because it is required by the will of God, concludes a sixth. Upon which ditierent accounts, two things are observable ; — First, that they all ultimately coincide. The fitness of things, means their fitness to produce happiness : the nature of things, means that actual constitution of the world, by which some things, as such and such actioLs, for ex- ample, produce happiness, and others misery ; reason is the principle by which we discover or judge of this constitution: truth is this judgment, expressed or drawn out into propositions. So that it necessarily comes to pass, that what pro- motes the pulilic happiness, or happiness on the whole, is agreeable to the fitness of things, to nature, to reason, and to truth ; and such (as will appear by and bye,) is the Divine character, that what promotes the general happiness, is required by the will of God ; and what has all the above properties, must needs be right ; for, right means no more than confi)rmity to the rule we go by, whatever that rule be. And this is the reason that moralists, from whatever ditierent principles they set out, com- • Rom. xiv. 14, 22, 23. MORAL OBLIGATIONS. 37 monly meet in their conclusions ; that is, they enjoin the same conduct, prescribe the same rules of duty, and, with a few exceptions, deliver upon dubious cases the same determinations. Sf.coxdlv, it is to be observed, that these an- swers all leave the matter short ; for the inquirer may turn round upon his teacher with a second question, in which he will expect to be satisfied, namely, HTiy am I obliged to do what is right ; to act agreeably to the fitness of things ; to con- form to reason, nature, or truth ; to promote the public good, or to obey the will of God. I'he proper method of conducting the inquiry is, FIRST, to examine what we mean, when we say a man is obliged to do any thing ; and then to show why he is obliged to do the thing which we have proposed as an example, namely, " to keep his word." CHAPTER II. What we mean to sat/ when a man is obUged to do a thing. A MAN is said to be obliged, "when he is ur- ged by a violent motixe resulting from, the com- viand of another ." First, " The motive must be violent." If a person, who has done me so little service, or has a small place in his disposal, ask me upon some occasion for my vote, I may possibly give it him, from a motive of gratitude or expectation : but I should hardly say that I was obliged to give it him ; because the inducement does not rise high enough. Whereas, if a father or a master, an}' great benefactor, or one on whom my fortune de- pends, require my vote, I give it him of course : and my answer to all who asked me why I voted so and so, is, that my father or my master obliged me ; that I had received so many favours from, or had so great a dependence upon, such a one, that I was obliged to vote as he directed me. Skcondly, " It must result from the command of another." Ofibr a man a gratuity for doing any thing, for seizing, for example, an offender, he is not obliged by your offer to do it ; nor would he siy he is ; though he may be induced, per- suaded, -prevailed upon, tempted. If a magistrate or the man's immediate superior command it, he considers himself as obliged to comply, though possibly he would lose less by a refusal in this case, than in the former. I will not undertake to say that the words obligation ar.d obliged are used uniformly in this sense, or always with this distinction : nor is it possible to tic down popular phrases to any con- stant signification: but wherever the motive is \iolent enough, and coupled with the idea of com- mand, authority, law, or the will of a superior, there, I take it, we always reckon ourselves to be obliged. And from this account of obligation, it follows, that we can be obliged to nothing, but what we ourselves are to gain or lose something by ; for nothing else can be a " violent motive" to us. — As wc should not be obliged to obey the laws, or the magistrate, unless rewards or punishments, pleasure, or pain, somehow or other, depended upon our obedience ; so neither should we, without the same reason, be obliged to do what is right, to practise virtue, or to obey the commands of God. CHAPTER III. The question, ' Why am I obliged to keep my word ?' resumed. Let it be remembered, that to be obliged, is " to be urged by a violent motive, resulting from the command of another." And then let it be asked, Why am I obliged to keep my word ? and the answer will he. Because I am " urged to do so by a violent motive" (name- ly, the expectation of being after this life rewarded, if 1 do, or punished for it, if I do not,) " resuUing from the command of another" (namely of God.) Tliis solution goes to the bottom of the subject, as no further question can reasonably be asked. Therefore, private happiness is our motive, and the will of God our rule. When I first turned my thoughts to moral spe- culations, an air of mystery seemed to hang ovcrthe whole subject ; which arose, I believe, from hence, — that I supposed, with many authors whom I had read, that to he obliged to do a thing, was very different from being induced only to do it; and that the obligation to practise virtue, to do what is right, just, &c. was quite another thing, and of another kind, than the obligation which a soldier is under to obey his officer, a servant his master ; or any of the civil and ordinary obliga- tions of human life. Whereas, from what has been said, it appears that moral o- ligation is like all other obligations ; and that obligation is nothing more than an inducement of sufficient strength, and resulting, in some way. from the command of another. There is always understood to be a difference between an act of prudence and an act of duty. Thus, if I distrust a man who owed me a sum of money, I should reckon it an act of prudence to get another person liound with him ; but I should hardly call it an act of duty. On the other hand, it would be thought a very unusual and loose kind of language, to say, that as I had made such a promise, it was prudent to perfonn it ; or that, as my friend, when he went abroad, placed a box of jewels in my hands, it would be prudent in me to preserve it for him till he returned. Now. in what, you will ask, does the difference consist? inasmuch, as, according to our account of the matter, both in the one case and the other, in acts of duty as well as acts of prudence, we consider solely what we ourselves shall gain or lose by the act. The difference, and the only difference, is this ; that in the one case, we consider what we shall gain or lose in the present world; in the other case, we consider also what we shall gain or lose in the world to come. They who would establish a system of morality, independent of a future state, must look out for some different idea of moral oliligation ; unless they can show that ^^^tue conducts the possessor to certain happiness in this life, or to a much greater share of it than he could attain by a dif- ferent beha^iour. To us there are two great questions : I. Will there be after this life any distribution of rewards and punishments at all % II. If there be, what actions will be rewarded, and what will be punished 1 The first question comprises the credibility of the Christian Religion, together with the presump- tive proofs of a future retribution from the light of 4 38 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. nature. The second question comprises the pro- vince of morahtv. Both questions are too much for one work. The affirmative therefore of the (irst, although we confess that it is the foundation upon which' tlie whole tlibric rests, must in this treatise be taken for granted. CHAPTER IV. The will of God. As the will of God is our rule ; to inquire what is our duty, or what we are obliged to do, in any instance, is, in eliect, to inquire what is the will oi God in that instance 1 wliich consequently be- comes the whole business of morality. Now there are two methods of coming at the will of God on any point : I. By his express declarations, when they are to be "had, and which must be sought for in Scripture. II. By what we can discover of his designs and disposition from his works ; or, as we usually call it, the light of nature. And here we may observe tlie absurdity of separating natural and revealed religion from each other. The object' of both is the same, — to dis- cover the will of God, — and, provided we do but discover it, it matters nothing by what means. An ambassador, judging by what he knows of his sovereign's disposition, and arguing from what h-3 has observed of his conduct, or is acquainted with of his designs, may take his measures in many cases with safety, and presume with great probability how his master would have hiin act on most occasions that arise : but if he have his com- mission and instructions in his pocl^et, it would be strange not to look into them. He will be directed by both rules : when his instructions are clear and positive, there is an end to all further dehberation (unless indeed he suspect their authen- ticity:) where his instructions are silent or du- bious, he will endeavour to supply or explain them by what he has been able to collect from other quarters of liis master's general inclination or intentions. Mr. Hume, in his fourth Appendix to his Principles of Morals, has been pleased to complain of the modern scheme of uniting Ethics with the Christian Theology. They who find themselves disposed to join in this complaint, will do well to observe what Mr. Hume himself has been able to make of morality without this union. And for that pvn-pose, let them read the second part of the ninth section of the above Essay; which part contains the prartiral application of the whole treatise, — a treatise which Mr. Hume declares to be " incomparably the best he ever wrote." When they have read it over, let them consider, whether any motives there proposed are likely to he found sufficient to withhold men from the gratification of lust, revenge, envy, ambition, avarice ; or to pre- vent the existence of these passions. Unless they rise up from this celebrated essay with stronger impressions upon their minds than it ever left upon mine, they will acknowledge the necessity of additional sanctions. But the necessity of these sanctions is not now the question. If they be in fact eslablished, if the rewards and punishments held forth in the Gospel will actually come to past they jnust be considered. Sucli as reject the Christian Religion, are to make the best shiil they can to build up a system, and lay the foun- dation of morality mthout it. But it appears to me a great inconsistency in those who receive Christianity, and expect something to come of it, to endeavour to keep all such expectations out of sight in their reasonings concerning human duty. The method of coming at the will of God, con- cerning any action, by the light of nature, is to inquire into "the tendency of the action to pro- mote or diminish the general happiness." I'his rule proceeds upon the presumption, that God Almighty wills and wishes the happiness of liis creatures; and, conseqviently, that those actions, which promote that will and wish, must be agree- able to him ; and the contrary. As this presumption is tlie foundation of our whole system, it becomes necessary to explam the reasons upon which it rests. CHAPTER V. The Divine Benevolence. When God created the human species, either he wished their happiness, or he wished their misery, or he was indifierent and unconcerned about both. If he had wished our misery, he might have made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses to be so many sores and pains to us, as they are now instruments of gratification and enjoyment : or by placing us amidst objects so ill-suited to our perceptions, as to have continually oirendcd us, instead of ministering to our refreshment and delight. He might have made, for example, every thing we tasted, bitter ; every thing we saw, loath- some; every thing we touched, a sting; every smell a stench ; and every sound a discord. If he had been indifierent about our liappiness or misery, we must impute to our good fortune (as all design by this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and the su))ply of external objects fitted to produce it. But either of these (and still more both of them) being too much to be attributed to accident, no- thing remains but the first supposition, that C4od, when he created the human species, wished their happiness; and made for them the provision which he has made, with that view, and for that purpose. The same argument may be proposed in dif- ferent terms, thus: Contrivance proves design: and the predominant tendency of the contrivance indicates the disposition of the designer. The world abounds with contrivances; and all the contrivances which we are acquainted with, are directed to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists ; but is never, that we can perceive, the object of contrivance. Teeth are contrived to eat, not to ache ; their aching now and then, is incidental to the contrivance, perhaps inscjjaralile from it ; or even, if you will, let it be called a defect in the contrivance ; but it is not the object of it. This is a distinction which well deserves to be attended to. In describing implements of husbandry, you would hardly say of the sickle, that it is inade to cut the reaper's fingers, though, from the construction of the instruuicnt, and the NECESSITY OF GENERAL RULES. 39 manner of using it, this miscliief often happens. But if you had occasion to describe mstrunients of torture or execution, Tliis engine, you would say, is to extend the sinews ; this to dislocate the joints; this to break the bones ; this to scorch the soles of the feet. Here, pain and misery are the very objects of the contrivance. Now, nothing of this sort L? to be found in the works of nature. We never discover a train of contrivance to bring about an e%il purpose. No anatomist ever discovered a system of organization calculated to produce pain and disease ; or, in explaining the parts of the human body, ever said ; This is to irritate, this to intlauie; this duct is to convey the gravel to the kidneys ; this gland to secrete the humour which forms the gout : if by chance he come at a jjart of which he knows not the use, the most that he can say is, that it is useless : no one ever suspects that it is put there to incommode, to annoy, or to torment. Since then God hath called forth his consummate wisdom to contrive and provide for our happiness, and the world appears to have been constituted with this design at first; so long as this constitution is upholden by him, we must in reason suppose the same design to continue. The contemplation of universal nature rather bewilders the mind than afiects it. There is always a bright spot in the prospect, upon which the eye rests ; a single example, perhaps, by which each man linds himself more convinced than by all others put together. I seem, for my own part, to sec the benevolence of the Deity more clearly in the pleasures of very young children, than in any thing in the world. The pleasures of grown persons jnay be reckoned partly of their own pro- curing; especially if there has been any industry, or contrivance, or pursuit, to come at them ; or if they are founded, hke music, painting, &c. upon any qualification of their own acquiring. But the pleasures of a healthy infant are so manifestly provided for it by another, and the benevolence of the provision is so unquestionable, that every child I see at its sport, alJbrds to my mind a kind of sensible evidence of the finger of God, and of the disposition which directs it. But the example, which strikes each man most stronglv, is the true example for him : and hardly two nunds hit upon the same ; which shows the abundance of such examples about us. We conclude, therefore, that God wills and vd.-ihes the happiness of his creatures. And this conciusion being once established, we are at liberty to go on with the rule built upon it, namely, "that the method of coming at the will of God, concerning any action, by the light of nature, is to inquire into the tendency of that action to pro- mote or diminish the general happiness." CHAPTER VL Ltility. So then actions are to be estimated by their tendency*. Whatever is expedient, is right. It * Actions in the abstract are right or wrong, accord- ins to their tettdency ; the agent is virtuous or vicious, according to his design. Thus, if the question be, Whe- ther relieving conunon beggars be right or wrong ? we inquire into the tendency of such a conduct to the'public advaiitage or inconvenience. If the question be, Whe- ther a man remarkable for this sort of bounty is to be is the utility of any moral rule alone, which con- stitutes the obligation of it. But to all this there seems a plain objection, viz. that many actions are useful, wliich no man in his senses will allow to be right. There are occasions, in which the hand of tlie assassin would be very useful. The present possessor of some great estate employs his influence and fortune, to annoy, corrupt, or oppress, all about him. His estate would devolve, by his death, to a successor of an opposite character. It is useful, therefore, to despatch such a one preferred. For which opinion, however, there seems to be no reason, but what arises from the terms " perfect" and " imperfect," the impropriety of which has been remarked above. I'lie truth is, of two contradictory obligations, that ought to prevail which is prior in point of time. It is the performance lieing unlawful, and not unlawfulness in the subject or motive of the pro- mise, which destroys its validity : therefore a bribe, after the vote is given ; the wages of prostitution ; 50 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. Uie reward of any crime, after the crime is com- mitted ; ought, if promised, to be paid. For tlie sill and mischief, by this supposition, are over; and will be neither more nor less for the perlbr- mance of the promise. In like manner, a promise does not lose its obligation merely because it proceeded from an unlawful motive. A certain person, in the life- time of his wife, who was then sick, had paid his addresses, and promised marriage, to another woman ; — the wife died ; and the woman demanded performance of the promise. The man, who, it seems, had changed his mind, either felt or pre- tended doubts concerning the obligation of such a promise, and referred his case to Bishop Sander- son, the most eminent, in this kind of knowledge, of his time. Bishop Sanderson, after writing a dissertation upon the question, adjudged the pro- mise to be void. In which, however, upon our principles, he was wrong ; for, however criminal the aflection might be, which induced the promise, the performance, when it was demanded, was lawful ; which is the only lawfulness required. A promise cannot be deemed unlawful, where it produces, when performed, no effect, beyond what woidd have taken place had the promise never been made. And this is the single case, in which the obligation of a promise will justify a conduct, which, unless it had been promised, would be unjust. A captive may lawfully recover his liberty, by a promise of neutrality ; for his conqueror takes nothing by the promise, which he might not have secured by his death or confine- ment ; and neutrality would be innocent in him, although criminal in another. It is manifest, however, that promises which come into the place of coercion, can extend no further than to passive compliance; for coercion itself could compel no more. Upon the same principle, promises of secrecy ought not to be violated, although the public would derive advantage from the discovery. Such promises contain no unlawfulness in them, to destroy their obligation : for, as the information would not have been imparted upon any other condition, the public lose nothing by the promise, which they would have gained without it. 3. Promises are not binding, where they con- tradict a former promise. Because the performance is then unlawful ; which resolves this case into the last. 4. Promises are not binding before acceptance ; that is, before notice given to the promisee ; for, where the promise is beneficial, if notice be given, acceptance may be presumed. Until the promise be communicated to the promisee, it is the same only as a resolution in the mind of the promiser, which may be altered at pleasure. For no ex- pectation has been excited, therefore none can be disappointed. But suppose I declare my intention to a third person, who, without any authority from me, con- veys my declaration to the promisee ; is that such a notice as will lie binding upon me 1 It certainly is not : for I have not done that which constitutes the essence of a promise ; — I have not voluntarily excited expectation. 5. Promises are not binding which are released hy the promisee. This is evident : but it may be sometimes doubted who the promisee is. If I give a promise to A, of a place or vote for B ; as to a father for l>>s son ; to an uncle for his nephew ; to a friend of mine, for a relation or friend of his ; then A is the promisee, whose consent I must obtain, to be released from the engagement. If I promise a place or vote to B hy A, that is, if A be a messenger to convey the promise, as if I should say, " You may tell B that he shall have this place, or may depend upon my vote ;" or if A be employed to introduce B's request, and I answer in any terms which amount to a com- pliance with it : then B is the promisee. Promises to one person, lor the benefit of another, are not released by the death of the pro- misee; for, his death neither makes the perfor- mance impracticable, nor implies any consent to release the promiser from it. 6. Erroneous promises are not binding in cer- tain cases ; as 1. Where the error proceeds from the mistake or misrepresentation of the promisee. Because a promise evidently supposes the truth of the account, which the promisee relates in ordei to obtain it. A beggar sohcits your charity, by a story of the most pitiable distress ; you promise to relieve him, if he will call again : — In the interval you discover his story to be made up of lies ; — this discovery, no doubt, releases you from your pro- mise. One who wants your service, describes the business or office for which he would engage you ; — you promise to undertake it ; — when you come to enter upon it, you iind the profits less, the labour more, or some material circumstance dif- ferent from the account he gave you : — In such case, you are not bound bj' your promise. 2. When the promise is understood by the pro- misee to proceed upon a certain supposition, or when the promiser apprehended it to be so under- stood, and that supposition turns out to be I'alse ; then the promise is not binding. This intricate rule will be best explained by an example. A father receives an account from abroad, of the death of his only son ; — soon after which, he promises his fortune to his nephew. — The account turns out to be false. — The father, we say, is released from his promise ; not merely liecause he never would have made it, had he known the truth of the case, — for that alone will not do; — but because the nephew also liimself understood the promise to proceed upon the sup- position of his cousin's death : or, at least his uncle thought he so understood it ; and could not think otherwise. The promise proceeded upon this supposition in the promiscr's own apprehen- sion, and, as he believed, in the apprehension of both parties ; and this belief of his, is the precise circumstance which sets him free. The founda- tion of the rule is plainly this : a man is bound only to satisfy the expectation which he intended to excite ; whatever condition therefore he intended to subject that expectation to, becomes an essential condition of the promise. Errors, which come not within this description, do not annul the obligation of a promise, i pro- mise a candidate my vote ; — presently another candidate appears, for whom 1 certainly would have reserved it, had I been acquainted with his design. Here therefore, as before, my promise proceeded from an error ; and I never should have given such a promise, had I been aware of the truth of the case, as it has turned out. — But the promisee did not know this ; — he did not receive the promise, subject to any such condition, or as proceeding from any such supposition ; nor did I CONTRACTS. 51 ijit the time imagine he so received it. This error, therefore, of niine, must fall upon my own head, and the promise be observed notwithstanding. A father promises a certain fortune with liis daughter, supposing hiniseh' to be woi-th so much — his cir- cumstances turn out, upon examination, worse than he was aware of. Here again the promise was erroneous, but, for the reason assigned in the last case, will nevertheless be obligatory. The case of erroneous promises, is attended with some difficulty : for, to allow every mistake, or change of circumstances, to dissolve the obliga- tion of a promise, would be to allow a latitude, which might evacuate the force of almost all promises; and on the other hand, to gird the obligation so tight, as to make no allowances for manifest and fundamental errors, w^ould. in many instances, be productive of great hardship and absurdity. It has long been controverted amongst moralists, whether promises be binding, which are extorted by violence or fear. The obligation of all promises results, we have seen, from the necessity or the use of that confidence which mankind repose in them. The question, therefore, whether these promises are binding, will depend upon tliis; whether mankind, upon the whole, are benefited by the confidence placed on such promises ? A highwayman attacks you — and being disappointed of his booty, threatens or prepares to murder you ; — you promise, with many solemn asseverations, that if he will spare your life, he shall find a purse of money left for him, at a place appointed ; — upon the faith of this promise, he forbears from further violence. Now, yom' life was saved by the con- fidence reposed in a promise extorted by fear; and the lives of many others may be saved by the same. This is a good consequence. On the other hand, confidence in promises like these, greatly facilitates the perpetration of robberies: they may be made the instruments of almost un- limited extortion. This is a bad consequence : and in the question between the importance of these opposite consequences, resides the doubt concerning the obligations of such promises. There are other cases which are plainer; as where a magistrate confines a disturber of the public peace hi jail, till he promise to behave better; or a prisoner of war promises, if set at liberty, to return within a certain time. These promises, say moralists, are binding, because the violence or duress is just ; but, the truth is, be- cause there is the same use of confidence in these promises, as of confidence in the promises of a person at perfect liberty. Vows are promises to God. The obligation cannot be made out upon the same principle as that of other promises. The violation of them, nevertheless, implies a want of reverence to the i Supreme Being; which is enough to make it sinful. There appears no command or encouragement in the Christian Scriptures to make vows ; much less any authority to break through them when they are made. The few instances* of vows wliich we read of in the New Testament, were religiously observed. I'he rules we have laid down concerning pro- mises, are applicable to vows. Thus Jcphtha's vow, taken in the sense in which that transaction is commonly understood, was not binding; because the pcrlbnnance, in that contingency, became milawtul. CHAPTER VI. Contracts. A CONTRACT is a mutual promise. The obli- gation therefore of contracts, the sense in which they arc to be interpreted, and the cases where they are not bindmg, will be the same as of promises. From the principle established in the last chap- ter, "that the obligation of promises is to be measured by the expectation which the promiser any how voluntarily and knowingly excites," results a rule, which governs the construction of all contracts, and is capable, from its simplicity, of being applied with great ease and certainty, viz. That Whatever is expected by one side, and known to be so expected by the other, is to be deemed a part or condition, of the contract. The several kinds of contracts, and the order in which we propose to consider them, may be exlubitcd at one view, thus fPale. Hazard. Contracts of-i Lending of ^' Money" Inconsumable Property. ( Service. J Coraniissinns. 1 Partnership. f Olhces. * Acts xviii. 18. xxi. 23. CHAPTER VII. Contracts of Sale. The rule of justice, which wants with most anxiety to be inculcated in the making of bargains, is, that the seUer is bound in consc ience to disclose the faults of what he oflcrs to sale. Amongst other methods of proving tliis, one may be the following : I suppose it will be allowed, that to advance a direct falsehood, in recommendation of our wares, by ascribing to them some quality which we know that they have not, is dishonest. Now compare with this the designed concealment of some fault, which we know that they have. The motives and the effects of actions are the only points of comparison, in which their moral quality can differ ; but the motive in these two cases is the same, viz. to procure a higher price than we expect otherwise to obtain : the eflect, that is, the pre- judice to the bu}-er, is also the same; for he finds himself equally out of pocket by his bargain, whether the commodity, when he gets home with it, turn out worse than he had supposed, by the want of some qualit}' which he expected, or the discovery of some fault which he did not expect. If therefore actions be the same, as to all moral purposes, wliich proceed from the same motives, 52 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. and produce the same effects ; it is making a dis- tinction without a diflerence, to esteem it a cheat to magnify beyond the truth the virtues of what we have to sell, but not to conceal its faults. It adds to the value of this kind of honesty, that the faults of many things are of a nature not to be known by any, but by the persons who have used them ; so that the buyer has no security from im- position, but in the ingenuousness and integrity of the seller. There is one exception, however, to this rule; namely, where the silence of the seller implies some fault in the thing to be sold, and where the buyer has a compensation in the price for the risk which he runs: as where a horse, in a London repository, is sold by public auction, without war- ranty; the want of warranty is notice of some unsoundness, and produces a proportionable abate- ment in the price. To this of concealing the faults of what we want to put ofi', may be referred the practice of passing bad money. This practice we sometimes hear defended by a vulgar excuse, that we have taken the money for good, and must therefore get rid of it. Which excuse is much the same as if one, who had been robbed upon the highway, should allege that he had a right to reimburse liimself out of the pocket of the first traveller he met ; the justice of which reasoning, the traveller possibly may not comprehend. Where there exists no monopoly or combination, the market-price is always a fair price ; because it will always be proportionable to the use and scarcity of the article. Hence, there need be no scruple about demanding or taking the market- price ; and all those expressions, " provisions are extravagantly dear," " corn bears an unreasonable price," and the like, import no unfairness or un- reasonableness in the seller. If your tailor or your draper charge, or even ask of you, more for a suit of clothes, than the market- price, you complain that you are imposed upon ; you pronounce the tradesman who makes such a charge, dishonest; although, as the man's goods were his own, and he had a right to prescribe the terms upon which he would consent to part with them, it may be qviestioned what dishonesty there can be in the case, or wherein the imposition con- sists. Whoever opens a shop, or in any manner exposes goods to public sale, virtually engages to deal with his customers at a market-price ; because it is upon the faith and opinion of such an en- gagement, that any one comes within his shop doors, or oHers to treat with liim. This is ex- pected by the buyer ; is known to be so expected by the seller: which is enough, according to the rule delivered above, to make it a part of the con- tract between them, though not a syllable be said about it. The breach of this implied contract constitutes the fraud inquired after. Hence, if you disclaim any such engagement, you may set what value you please upon your property. If, upon being asked to sell a house, you answer that the house suits your fancy or conveniency, and that you will not turn yourself out of it, under such a price ; the price fixed may be double of what the house cost, or would fetch at a public sale, without any imputation of injus- tice or extortion upon you. If the thing sold, be damaged, or perish, between the sale and the delivery, ought the buyer to bear i'he loss, or the seller % This will depend upon the particular construction of the contract. If the seller, eitlier expressly, or by implication, or by custom, engage to deliver the goods ; as if I buy a set of china, and the china-man ask me to what place he shall bring or send them, and they bo broken in the conveyance, the seller must abide by the loss. If the thing sold, remain with tho seller, at the instance, or for the conveniency of the buyer, then the buyer undertakes the risk ; as if I buy a horse, and mention, that I will send for it on sucli a day (which is in eflect desiring that it may continue with the seller till I do send for it,) then, whatever misfortune befalls the horse in the meantime, must be at my cost. And here, once for all, I would observe, that innumerable questions of this sort are determined solely by custom; not that custom possesses any proper authority to alter or ascertain the nature of right or wrong ; but because the contracting par- ties are presumed to include in their stipulation, all the conditions which custom has annexed to contracts of the same sort : and when the usage is notorious, and no exception made to it, this pre- sumption is generally agreeable to the fact.* If I order a pipe of port from a wine-merchant abroad ; at what period the property passes from the merchant to me ; whether upon delivery of the wine at the merchant's warehouse ; upon its being put on shipboard at Oporto ; upon the ar- rival of the ship in England at its destined port ; or not till the wine be committed to my servants, or deposited in my cellar; are all questions wliich admit of no decision, but what custom points out. Whence, in justice, as well as law, what is called the custom oj" merchants, regulates the construction of mercantile concerns. CHAPTER Vin. Contracts oj" Hazard. By Contracts of Hazard, I mean gaming and insurance. What some say of this kind of contracts, " that one side ought not to have any advantage over the other," is neither practicable nor true. It is not practicable ; for that perfect equality of skill and judgment, which this rule requires, is seldom to be met with. I might not have it in my power, to play with fidrness a game at cards, billiards, or tennis ; lay a wager at a horse-race ; or under- write a policy of insurance, once in a twelvemonth, if I must wait till I meet with a person, whose art, skill, and judgment in these matters, is neither greater nor less than my own. Nor is this equality requisite to the justice of the contract. One party may give to the other the whole of the stake, if he please, and the other party may justly accept it, if it be given him; much more therefore may one give to the other a part of the stake ; or, what is exactly the same thing, an advantage in the chance of winning the whole. *It happens here, as in many cases, that what the parties ought to do, and what a jiulge or arbitrator would award to be done, may be very dilferent. Wh.it the parties ought to do by virtue of their contract, de- pends upon theirconsciousness at the time of making it ; whereas a third person finds it necessary to found his judgment upon pres\imptions, which presumptions may be false, although the most probable that he could pm ceed by. LENDING OF MONEY. 53 The proper restriction is, that neither side have an advantage by means of which the other is not aware; for this is an advantage taken, without being given. Although the event be still an uncertainty, your advantage in the chance has a certain value ; and so much of the st- pensated by the immediate benefit which you propose by the falsehood. It is upon this principle, that, by the laws of war, it is allowed to deceive an enemy by feints, false colours,* spies, false intelligence, and the like ; but by no means in treaties, truces, signals of capitulation, or surrender : and the difl'erence is, that the former suppose hostilities to continue, the latter are calculated to terminate or suspend them. In the conduct of war, and whilst the war continues, there is no use, or rather no place, for confidence betwixt the contending parties ; but in whatever relates to the termination of war, the most religious fidelity is expected, because without it wars could not cease, nor the victims be secure, but by the entire destruction of the vanquished. Many people indulge, in serious discourse, a habit of fiction and exaggeration, in the accounts they give of themselves, of their acquaintance, or of the extraordinary things which they have seen or heard : and so long as tlie facts they relate are indiflerent, and their narratives, though false, are inoflensive, it may seem a superstitious regard to truth to censure them merely for truth's sake. In the fir.st place, it is almost impossible to pro- nounce beforehand, with certainty, concerning any lie, that it is inoflensive. Volat irrevocabile ; and collects sometimes accretions in its flight, which entirely change its nature. It may owe possibly its mischief to the ofliciousness or misrepresenta- tion of those who circulate it ; but the mischief is, nevertheless, in some degree chargeable upon the original editor. In the next place, this liberty in conversation defeats its own end. Much of the pleasure, and all the beneflt, of conversation, depends upon our ojiinion of the speaker's veracity ; for which this rule leaves no foundation. The faith indeed of a hearer must be extremely perjtlexed, who con- siders the speaker, or believes that the s|icaker considers himself as under no obligation to adhere * There have been two or three instances of late, of English ships decoyinc an enemy into their power, by cnunterfeiling signals of distress; an artifice which ought to be reprobated by the common indignation of mankind ! for a few examples of captures crtictid by tliis stratagem, would put an end to that pnuniPtitude in affording assistance to ships in distress, wiiicli is the best virtue in a seafaring character, and by which tlie perils of navigation are diminislied to all. — A. D. 1775 OATHS. to troth, but according to the particular impor- tance of what he relates. But beside and above both these reasons, ithite lies always introduce others of a darker com- plexion. I have seldom known anv one who de- serted truth in trides. that could be trusted in matters of importance. Nice disiinctions are out of the question, upon occasions which, like those of speech, return every hour. The habit, there- fore, of Ivins. when once tbrmed. is easilv ex- tended, to serve the designs of mahce or interest ; — like all habits, it spreads indeed of itself Pious frauds, as thev are improperly enough called, pretended inspirations, forged books, coun- terfeit miracles, are impositions of a more serious natvire. It is possible that they may sometimes, though seldom, have been set up and encouraged, with a design to do good : but the good they aim at. requires that the beUef of them should be per- petual which is hardly possible : and the detec- tion of tlie fraud is sure to disparage the credit of all pretensions of the same nature. Christianity has suffered more injury from this cause, than horn all other causes put tosether. As there may be falsehoods which are not lies, so there may be Ues without Uteral or direct felse- hood. An opening is always left tor this species of prevarication, when the hteral and grammati- cal signification of a sentence is different from the popular and customary meaning. It is the wilful deceit that makes the lie ; and we wiLftilly deceive, when our expressions are not true in the sense in which we believe the hearer to appre- hend them ; besides that it is absurd to contend fen any sense of words, in oppceition to usage : for all senses of all words are founded upon usage, and upon nothing else. Or a man may act a he : as by pointing his fin- | ger in a wrong direction, when a traveller inquires i of him his n^d ; or when a tradesman shuts up I his windows, to induce his creditors to beheve that he is abroad : tor, to all moral purposes, and therefore as to veracity, speech and action are the same : speech being only a mode of action. Or, lastly, there may be hes of omission. A writer of English history, who in his account of the reign of Charles the First, should wilfully suppress any evidence of that prince's despotic measures and designs, might be said to he ; for, by entitling his book a History of England, he engages to relate the whole truth of the history, or. at least, all that he knows of it. CHAPTER XVL Oaths. I. Forms of Oaths. II. Signification. III. Lawfulness. W. Obligation. V. What Oaths do not bind. VI. In uhat sense Oaths are to he interpreted. I. The forms of oaths, like other religious cere- monies, have in all ages been various : consistin? however, for the most part, of some bodily action.* * It i> commonly thousht that oaths are denominated corporal i^aths from the bodily action which accompa- nie? them, of layins the risht hand upon a book con- taining the four Gospels. This opinion, however, ap- and of a prescribed form of words. Amongvt the Jews, the juror held up his right hand towards heaven, which explains a passage in the 144th Psalm ; " Whose nwuth speaketh vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of fialsehcod." The same form is retained in Scotland stiiL Amongst the same Jews, an oath of fidelity was taken, by the servant's putting his hand under the thigh of his lord, as Ehezer did to Abraham, Gen. xxiv. 2. : from whence, with no great varia- tion, is derived perhaps the form of doing homage at this day, by putting the hands between the knees, and within the hands, of the Uege. Amongst the Greeks and Romans, the form varied with the subject and occasion of the oath. In private contracts, the parties took hold of each other's hand, whilst they swore to the perform- ance; or they touched the altar of the god by whose divinity they swore. Upon more solemn occasions, it was the custom to slav a victim : and the beast being struck down with certain ceremo- nies and invocations, gave birth to the expressions rs.u.s.F :;x:», ferire pactum ; and to our English phrase, translated from these, of "• striking a bar- gain.'' The forms of oaths in Christian countries are also very different ; but in no country in the world, I beheve, worse contrived, either to convey the meaning, or impress the obligation of an oath, than in our own. The juror with us. after re- peating the promise or afSrmation which the oath is intended to confirm, adds, " So help me God :'"' or more frequently the substance of the oath is repeated to the juror by the olEcer or magistrate who administers it. adding in the conclusion, " So help you God.'" The energy of the sentence re- sides in the particle so ; so. that is. hoc lege, upon condition of my speaking the truth, or performing this promise, and not otherwise, may God help me. The juror, whilst he hears or repeats the words of the oath, holds his right hand upon a Bible, or other book containing the four Gospels. The conclusion of the oath sometimes runs, "Ita me Deus adjuvet, et hsec sancta evangeUa," or •• So help me God. and the contents of this book :"' which last clause forms a connexion between the words and action of the juror, that before was wanting. The juror then kisses the hook: the kiss, however, seems rather an act of reverence to the contents of the book, (as, in the popish ritual, the priest kisses the Gospel before he reads it.) than any part of the oath. This obscure and elhptical form, together with the levity and frequency with which it is adminis- tered, has brought about a general inadvertency to the obligation of oaths : which, both in a re- ligious and poUtical view, is much to he lamented : and it merits pubhc consideration, whether the requiring of oaths on so many frivolous .Tccasions, especially in the Customs, and in the qualification for petty offices, has any other effect, than to make them cheap in the minds of the people. A pound of tea cannot travel regularly from the ship to the consumer, without costing half a dozen oaths at the least : and the same security for the due discharge of their office, namely, that of an oath, is required from a churchwajden and an pears to be a mistake: for the term is borrowed {rem the ancient usase of toachins. on these occasions, the corporaU, or eloth which covered the consecrated eie- ments. CO MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. arclibishop, from a petty constable and the chief justice of England. Let the law continue its own sanctions, if they he thought requisite ; but let it spare the solemnity of an oath. And where, from the want of something better to depend upon, it is necessary to accept men's own word or own account, let it annex to prevarication penal- ties proportioned to the public mischief of the of- fence. [I. But whatever be the form of an oath, the signijication is the same. It is " the calling upon God to witness, i. e. to take notice of, what we say;" and it is "invoking his vengeance, or re- nouncing his favour, if what we say be false, or what we promise be not performed." III. CLuakers and Moravians refuse to swear upon any occasion ; founding their scruples con- cerning the lawfulness of oaths upon our Sa- viour's prohibition, Matt. v. 34. " I say unto you, Swear not at all." The answer which we give to this objection cannot be understood, without first stating the whole passage ; " Ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time. Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt pertbrm unto the Lord thine oaths. But I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by heaven, for it is God's throne ; nor by the earth, for it is his footstool ; neither by Jeru- salem, for it is the city of the great King. Nei- ther shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. Bui let your communication be. Yea, yea ; Nay, nav : for whatsoever is more than these, cometh of evil." To reconcile with this passage of Scripture the practice of swearing, or of taking oaths, when re- quired by law, the following observations must be attended to : 1. It does not appear that swearing " by hea- ven," " by the earth," " by Jerusalem," or " by their own head," was a form of swearing ever made use of amongst the Jews in judicial oaths : and consequently, it is not probable that they were judicial oaths, which Christ had in his mind when he mentioned those instances. 2. As to the seeming universality of the prohi- bition, " Swear not at all," the emphatic clause " not at all" is to be read in connexion with what follows; "not at all," i. e. neither "by the hea- ven," nor " by the earth," nor " by Jerusalem," nor "by thy head;" "not at all," does not mean upon no occasion, but, by none of these forms. Our Saviour's argument seems to suppose, that the people to whom he spake, made a distinction between swearing directly by the "name of God," and swearing by those inferior objects of venera- tion, " the heavens," "the earth," "Jerusalem," or "their own head." In opposition to which distinction, he tells them, that on account of the relation which these things bore to the Supreme Being, to swear by any of them, was in eflect and substance to swear by him ; " by heaven, for it is his throne : by the earth, for it is his footstoo' ; by Jenisalem, for it is the city of the great King ; by thy head, for it is his workmanship, not thine, — thou canst not make one hair white or black ;" for whi'-h reason he says, " Swear not at all," thitis, neither directly by God, nor indirectly by any thing related to him. This interpretation is greatly con° finned by a passage in the twenty-third chapter of the same Gospel, where a similar distinction, made by the Scribes and Pharisees, is replied to in the same manner. 3. Our Saviour himself being "adjured by the living God," to declare whether he was the Christ the Son of God, or not, condescended to answer the high-priest, without making any objection to the oath (for such it was) upon which he examined him. — " God is my ipitness," says St. Paul to the Romans, " that without ceasing I make mention of you in my prayers :" and to the Corinthians still more strongly. " I call God for a record upon my soul, that to spare you, I came not as 3'et to Corinth." Both these expressions contain the nature of oaths. The Epistle to the Hebrews speaks of the custom of swearing judicially, without any mark of censure or disapprobation ; " Men verily swear by the greater: and an oath, for con- firmation, is to them an end of all strife." Upon the strength of these reasons, we ex])lain our Saviour's words to relate, not to judicial oaths, but to the practice of vain, wanton, and unau- thorised swearing, in common discourse. St. James's words, chap. v. 12. are not so strong as our Saviour's, and therefore admit the same ex- planation with more ease. IV. Oaths are nugatory, that is, carry with them no proper force or obligation, unless we believe that God will punish false swearing with more severity than a simple lie, or breach of pro- mise ; for which belief there are the following reasons : 1. Perjury is a sin of greater deliberation. The juror has the thought of God and of religion upon his mind at the time ; at least there are very few who can shake them off entirely. He offends, therefore, if he do ofll-nd, with a high hand ; in the face, that is, and in defiance of the sanctions of religion. His offence implies a disbelief or contempt of God's knowledge, power, and justice ; which cannot be said of a lie, where there is nothing to carry the mind to any reflection upon the Deity, or the Divine Attributes at all. 2. Perjury violates a superior confidence. — Mankind must trust to one another: and they have nothing better to trust to than one another's oath. Hence legal adjudications, which govern and afl^ect every right and interest on this side of the grave, of necessity proceed and depend upon oaths. Perjury, therefore, in its general consequence strikes at the security of reputation, property, and even of life itself A lie cannot do the same mis- chief, because the same credit is not given to it.* 3. God directed the Israelites to swear by his name;t and was ])leased, "in order to show the immutability of his own counsel,"? to confirm his covenant with that people by an oath : neither of which it is probable he would have done, had he not intended to represent oaths as having some meaning and effect beyond the obligation of a bare promise ; which effect must be owing to the severer punishment with which he will vindicate the authority of oaths. V. Promissory oaths are not binding where the promise itself would not be so : for the several cases of which, see the Cha]5ter of Promises. VI. As oaths are designed for the security of the imposer, it is manifest that they must be in- terpreted and performed in the sense in which tlie imposer intends them ; otherwise, they afford no * Except, inrieefl, where a Quaker's or Moravian's affirmation is acreptcrl in the placs of an oath; in which case, a lie partakes, so far as this reason e.xlends, of tlie nature and guilt of perjury. t Deut. V. n. X. 20. t Heb. vi. 17. OATH OF ALLEGIANCE. 61 srcurity to him. And this is the meaning and '■eason of the rule, " jurare in aninium imponen- tis;" wliich rule the reader is desired to carrj- along with hiui. whilst we proceed to consider certain particular oaths, which are cither of greater importance, or more likely to fall in our way, than others. CHAPTER XVII. Oath in Evidence. The witness swears " to speak the truth, the wliole truth, and nothing but the truth, toucliing the matter in question." Upon which it may be obsers'ed, that the de- signed concealment >vf any truth, whicli relates to the matter in agitation, is as much a Aiolation of the oath, as to testify a positive falsehood; and this, whether the witness be interrogated as to that particular point or not. For when the per- son to be examined is sworn upon a roir dire, that is, in order to inquire whether he ought to be admitted to give evidence in the cause at all, the form rvms thus : " You shall true answer make to all such questions as shall be asked you:" but when he comes to be sworn in chief, he swears " to s])eak the whole truth," without restraining it, as before, to the questions that shall be asked : which difference shows, that the law intends, in this latter case, to require of tlie witness, that he give a complete and unreserved account of what he knows of the subject of the tnil, whether the questions proposed to him reach the extent of his knowledge or not. So that it it be mquired of the witness afterwards, why he did not inform the court so and so, it is not a sulficient, though a very common answer, to say, "because it was never asked me." I know but one exception to this rule ; which is, when a full discovery of the truth tends to accuse the witness himself of some legal crime. — The law of England constrains no man to become his own accuser ; consequently imposes the oath of testimony with this tacit reservation. But the exception must be confined to legal crimes. A point of honour, of delicacy, or of reputation, may make a witness backward to disclose some circum- stance with which he is acquainted ; but will in no wise justify his concealment of the truth, unless it could be shown, that the law which imposes the oath, intended to allow this indulgence to such motives. The exception of which we are speak- ing, is also withdrawn by a compact between the magistrate and the witness, when an accomplice is admitted to give evidence against the partners of his crime. Tenderness to the prisoner, although a specious apology for concealment, is no just excuse : for if this plea be thought sufficient, it takes the ad- ministration of penal justice out of the hands of judges and juries, and makes it depend upon the temper of prosecutors and witnesses. Ciuestions may be asked, which are irrelative to the cause, which affect the witness himself, or some third person ; in which, and in all cases where the witness doubts of the pertinency and , propriety of the question, he ought to refer his doulits to the court. The answer of the court, in relaxation of the oath, is authority enough to the witness ; for the law which imposes the oath, may remit what it will of tlie obligation : and it be- longs to the court to declare what the mind of the law is. Nevertheless, it cannot be said universally, that the answer of the court is conclusive upon tiie conscience of the witness ; for his obligation, de- pends upon what he apprehended, at the time of taking the oath, to be the design of the law in imposing it, and no after-requisition or explana- tion by the court can carry the obligation beyond that. CHAPTER XVIII. Oath of Allegiance. " I DO sincerely promise and swear, that I mil be faithful, and bear true allegiance to his Ma- jesty King George." Formerly the oath of al- legiance ran thus : " I do promise to be true and faithful, to the king and his heirs, and truth and faith to bear, of life, and limb, and terrene honour; and not to know or hear of any ill or damage in- tended him, without defending him therefrom :" and was altered at the Revolution to the present form. So that the present oath is a relaxation of the old one. And as the oath was intended to ascertain, not so much the extent of the subject's obedience, as the person to whom it was due, the legislature seems to have wrapped up its meaning uj.'on the former point, in a word purposely made choice of for its general and indeterminate sig- nification. It will be most convenient to consider, first, what the oath excludes as inconsistent with it; secondly, what it permits. 1. The oath excludes all intention to support the claim or pretensions of any other person or persons to the crown and government, than the reigning sovereign. A Jacobite, who is persuaded of the Pretender's right to the crown, and who moreover designs to join with the adherents to that cause to assert this right, whenever a proper opportunity, with a reasonable prospect of suc- cess, presents itself, cannot take the oath of al- legiance ; or, if he could, the oath of abjuration follows, which contains an express renunciation of all opinions in favour of the claim of the exiled family. 2. The oath excludes all design, at the time, of attempting to depose the reigning prince, for any reason whatever. Let the justice of the Revolution be what it would, no honest man could have taken even the present oath of alle- giance to James the Second, who entertained, at the time of taking it, a design of joining in the measures which were entered into to dethrone him. 3. The oath forbids the taking up of arms against the reigning prince, with views of private advancement, or from motives of personal resent- ment or dislike. It is possible to happen in this, what frequently happens in despotic governments, that an ambitious general, at the head of the mili- tary force of the nation, might, by a conjuncture of fortunate circumstances, and a great ascendency over the minds of the soldiery, depose the prince upon the throne, and make way to it for himself, or for some creature of his own. A person in this situation would be withholden from such an at- tempt by the oath of allegiance, if he paid regard to it. If there were any who engaged in the re- bellion of the year forty-five, with th;? expectation of titles, estates, or preferment ; or because they 6 62 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. y intended to exclude from oiBces in the church, 1. AH abettors of popery : 2. Anabaptists ; who were at that time a pow- erful party on the Continent. 3. Tlie puritans ; who were hostile to an epis- copal constitution: and in general the members of such leading sects or foreign establishments as threatened to overthrow our own. Whoever finds himself comprehended within these descriptions, ought not to subscribe. Nor can a subscriber to the Articles take advantage of any latitude which our rule may seem to allow, who is not first convinced that he is truly and substantially satisfying the intention of the legis- lature. During the present state of ecclesiastical pa- tronage, in winch private individuals are per- mitted to impose teachers upon parishes with wliich they are often little or not at all connected, some limitation of the patron's choice may be ne- cessary to prevent unedifying contentions between neighbouring teachers, or between the teachers, and their respective congregations. But this danger, if it exist, may be provided against with equal cHijct, by converting the articles of faith into articles of peace. CHAPTER XXIII. Wills. Thr fundamental question upon this subject is, whether Wills are of natural or of adventitious right ? that is, whether the right of directing the disposition of property after his death belongs to a man in a state of nature, and by the law of na- ture, or whether it be given him entirely by the positive regulations of the country he lives in 1 The immediate piroduce of each man's personal labour, as the tools, weapons, and utensils, which he manufactures, the tent or hut that he builds, and perhaps the flocks and herds which he breeds and rears, are as much liis own as the labour was which he employed upon them ; that is, are his property naturally and absolutely ; and conse- quently he may give or leave them to whom he pleases, there being nothing to limit the con- tinuance of his right, or to restrain the ahenation of it. But every other species of property, especially property in land, stands upon a difi'erent fomida- tion. We have seen, in the Chapter upon Property, that, in a stale of )iature, a man's right to a par- ticular spot of ground arises from his using it and his wanting it ; consequently ceases with the use and want : so that at his death the estate reverts to the community, without any regard to the last owner's will, or even any preference of liis family, further than as they become the first occupier* after him, and succeed to the same want and use. Moreover, as natural rights caimot, like rights created by act of parliament, expire at the end of a certain number of years ; if the testator have a right, by the law of nature, to dispose of his property one moment after his death, he has the same right to direct the disposition of it for a mil- lion of ages after him ; which is absurd. The ancient apprehensions of mankind upon the subject were conformable to this account of it: for, wills have been introduced into most coun- tries by a positive act of the state ; as by the Laws of Solon into Greece; by the Twelve Tables into Rome ; and that not till after a considerable progress had been made in legislation, and in the economy of civil life. Tacitus relates, that amongst the Germans they were disallowed ; and what is more remarkable, in this country, since the Conquest, lands could not be devised by will, till within little more than two hundred jears ago, when this privilege was restored to the subject, by an act of parliament, in the latter end of the reign of Henry the Eighth. No doubt, many beneficial purposes are at- tained by extending the owner's power over his property beyond his life, and beyond his natural right. It invites to industry ; it encourages mar- riage ; it secures the dutifulness and dependency of children : but a limit must be assigned to the duration of this power. The utmost extent to which, in any case, entails are allowed by the laws of England to operate, is during the lives in existence at the death of the testator, and one-and- twcnty years beyond these ; after which, there are ways and means of setting them aside. From the consideration that wills are the crea- tures of the municipal law which gives them their efficacy, may be deduced a determination of the question, whether the intention of the testator in an informal will, be binding upon the conscience of those, who, by operation of law, succeed to his estate. By an informal will, I mean a will void in law for want of some requisite formality, though no doubt be entertained of its meaning or authen- ticity : as, suppose a man make his will, devising his freehold estate to his sister's so3i, and the wiil be attested by two only, instead of three, sul> scribing witnesses; would the brother's son, who is heir at law to the testator, be bound in con- science to resign his claim to the estate, out of deference to his uncle's intention 1 or, on the con- trary, would not the devisee under the will be bound, upon discovery of this flaw in it, to sur- render the estate, suppose he had gained posses- sion of it, to the heir at law 1 Generally speaking, the heir at law is not bound by the intention of the testator : for the intention can signify nothing, unless the person intending have a right to govern the descent of the estate. That is the first question. Now this right the testator can only derive from the law of the land: but the law confers the right upon certain con- ditions, with which conditions he has not com- plied ; therefore, the testator can lay no claim to the power which he pretends to exercise, as he hath not entitled himself to the benefit of fliat law, by virtue of which' alone the estate ought to attend his disposal. Consequently, the devisee under the will, who, by conceahng this flaw in it, keeps possession of the estate, is in the situation of any other person who avails himself of his WILLS. 65 riC'ighbour's ignorance to detain from him his pro- perty. The will is so much waste paper, from the defect of right in the person who made it. Nor is this catcliing at an expression of law to per\'ert the substantial design of it : for I apprehend it to be the deliberate mind of the legislature, that no will should talve etiect upon real estates, unless au- thenticated in the precise manner which the sta- tute describes. Had testamentary dispositions been founded in any natural right, independent of positive constitutions I should have thought diflerently of this question : for then I should ha\e considered the law rather as refusing its assistance t) enforce the right of the devisee, than as ex- tinguisliing or working any alteration in the right itself And after all, I sliould choose to propose a case, where no consideration of pity to distress, of duty to a parent, or of gratitude to a benefactor, interfered with the general rule of justice. The regard due to kindred in the disposal of our fortune (except the case of lineal kindred, which is different) arises either from the respect we owe to the presumed intention of the ancestor from whom we received our fortunes, or from the expectations which we have encouraged. The intention of the ancestor is presumed with greater certainty, as well as entitled to more respect, the fewer degrees he is removed from us ; which makes the dilference in the diticrent degrees of kindred. For instance, it may be prcsmncd to be a father's intention and desire, that the inheritance which he leaves, after it has served the turn and generation of one son, should remain a provision for the families of his otiier children, equally re- lated and dear to him as the oldest. Whoever, therefore, without cause, gives away his patrimony from his brother's or sister's family, is guilty not so much of an injury to them, as of ingratitude to his parent. The deference due from the pos- sessor of a fortune to the presumed desire of his ancestor, will also vary with this circumstance : whether the ancestor earned the fortune by his personal industry, acquired it by accidental suc- cesses, or only transmitted the inheritance wliich he received. Where a man's fortune is acquired by himself, and he has done nothing to excite expectation, but rather has refrained from those particular attentions which tend to cherish expectation, he is perfectly disengaged from the force of the above reasons, and at liberty to leave his fortune to his friends, to charitable or public purposes, or to whom he will ; the same blood, proximity of blood, and the like, are merely modes of speech, implying nothing real, nor any obligation of them- selves. There is always, however, a reason for pro- viding for our poor relations, in preierence to others who may be equally necessitous, which is, that if we do not, no one else will; mankind, by an established consent, leaving tlie reduced branches of good families to the bounty of their Wealthy alliances. The not making a will, is a very culpable omission, where it is attended with the following effects : where it leaves daughters, or younger children, at the mercy of the oldest son ; where it distributes a personal fortune equally amongst the children, although there be no equality in their exigences or situations ; where it leaves an open- ing for htigation; or lastly, and principally, where it defrauds creditors ; for, by a defect in our laws which has been long and strangely overiool^ed, real estates are not subject to the payment of debts by simple contract, unless made so by will; although credit is, in fact, generally given to the possession of such estates : he, therelbre, who ne- glects to make the necessary appointments for the payment of his debts, as far as his effects extend, sins, as it has been justly said, in his grave; and if he omits this on purpose to defeat the demands of his creditors, he dies with a deliberate fraud in liis heart. Anciently, when any one died without a will, the bishop of the diocese took possession of liis personal fortune, in order to dispose of it for the benefit of liis soul, that is, to pious or charitable uses. It became necessarj', therefore, that the bishop should be satisfied of the authenticity of the will, when there was any, before he resigned the right which he had to take possession of the dead man's fortune in case of intestacy. In tbjs way wills and controversies relating to wills, came within the cognizance of ecclesiastical courts ; un- der the jurisdiction of which, wills of personals (the only wills that were made formerly) still con- tinue, though in truth, no more now-a-days con- nected with religion, than any other instruments of conveyance. Tliis is a peculiarity in the En- glish laws. Succession to intestates must be regulated by positive rules of law, there being no principle of natural justice whereby to ascertain the propor- tion of the ditlerent claimants : not to mention that the claim itself, especially of collateral kin- dred, seems to have little foundation in the laws of nature. These regulations should be guided by the duty and presumed inclination of the deceased, so far as these considerations can be consulted by general rules. The statutes of Charles the Second, com- monly called the Statutes of Distribution, which adopt the rules of the Roman law in the dis- tribution of personals, are sufficiently equitable. They assign one-third to the widow, and two- thirds to the children ; in case of no children, one half to the widow, and the other half to the next of kin ; where neither widow nor lineal descendants survive, the whole to the next of kin, and to be equally divided amongst kindred of equal degree, without distinction of whole blood and half blood, or of consanguinity by the father's or mother's side. The descent of real estates, of houses, that is, and land, having been settled in more remote and in ruder times, is less reasonable. There never can be much to complain of in a rule which e\ery person may avoid, by so easy a provision as that of making his will : otherwise, our Islw in this re- spect is chargeable with some flagrant absurdities; such as, that an estate shall in no wise go to the brother or sister of the half blood, though it came to the deceased from the common parent ; that it shall go to the remotest relation the intestate has in the world, rather than to his own father or mother; or even be forfeited for want of an heir, though both parents survi\e ; that the most dis- tant paternal relation shall be preferred to an un- cle, or own cousin, by the mother's side, notwith- standing the estate was purchased and acquired by the intestate himself Land not being so divisible as money, may be a reason for making a diflcrence in the course of " 6* 6G MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. inheritance : but there ought to be no difference but what is founded upon that reason. The Ro- man law made none. BOOK III. PART II. OF RELATIVE DUTIES WHICH ARE INDETER- MINATE. CHAPTER I. Charity. I USE the term Charity neither in the common sense of bounty to the poor, nor in St. Paul's sense of benevolence to all mankind : but I apply it at present, in a sense more commodious to my purpose, to signify the promoting the happiness of our inferiors. Charity, in this sense, I take to be the princi- pal proviiice of virtue and religion : for, whilst worldly prudence will direct our behaviour to- wards our superiors, and politeness towards our equals, there is little beside the consideration of duty, or an habitual humanity which comes into the place of consideration, to produce a proper conduct towards those who are beneath us, and dependant upon us. There are three principal methods of promoting the happiness of our inferiors. 1. By the treatment of our domestics and de- pendants. 2. By professional assistance. 3. By pecuniary bounty. CHAPTER n. Charity. THE TREATMENT OF OUR DOMESTICS AND DE- PENDANTS. A PARTY of friends setting out together upon a journey, soon find it to be the best tor all sides, that while they are upon the road, one of the com- pany should wait upon the rest ; another ride for- ward to seek out lodging and entertainment ; a third carry the portmanteau ; a fourth take charge of the horses ; a fifth bear the purse, conduct and direct the route ; not forgetting, however, that, as they were equal and independent when they set out, so they are all to return to a level again at their journey's end. The same regard and re- spect ; the same forbearance, lenity, and reserve in using their service ; the same mildness in de- livering commands ; the same study to make their journey comfortable and pleasant, which he whose lot it was to direct the rest, would in common decency think himself bound to observe towards them; ought we to show to those who, in the casting of the parts of human society, happen to be placed within our power, or to depend upon us. Another reflection of a hke tendency with the former is, that our obligation to them is much greater than theirs to us. It is a mistake to sup- pose, that the rich man maintains his servants, tradesmen, tenants, and labourers : the truth is, they maintain him. It is their industry which supplies his table, furnishes his wardrobe, builds his houses, adorns his equipage, provides his amusements. It is not the estate, but the labour employed upon it, that pays his rent. All that he does, is to distribute what others produce ; which is the least part of the business. Nor do I perceive any foundation for an opinion, which is often handed round in genteel company, that good usage is thrown away upon low and ordinary minds ; that they are insensible of kind- ness, and incapable of gratitude. If by "low and ordinary minds" are meant the minds of men in low and ordinary stations, they seem to be aflect- ed by benelits in the same way that all others are, and to be no less ready to requite them : and it would be a very unaccountable law of nature if it were otherwise. Whatever uneasiness we occasion to our domes- tics, which neither promotes our service, nor an- swers the just ends of punishment, is manifestly wrong ; were it only upon the general principle of diminishing the sum of human happiness. By which rule we are forbidden, 1. To enjoin unnecessary labour or confine- ment i'rom the mere love and wantonness of domi- nation. 2. To insult our servants by harsh, scornful, or opprobrious language. 3. To refuse them any harmless pleasures. And, by the same principle, are also forbidden causeless or immoderate anger, habitual peevish- ness, aiid groundless suspicion. CHAPTER in. Slavery. The prohibitions of the last chapter extend to the treatment of slaves, being founded upon a principle independent of the contract between masters and servants. I define slavery to be " an obligation to labour for the benefit of the master, without the contract or consent of the servant." This obligation may arise, consistently with the law of nature, from three causes : 1. From crimes. 2. From captivity. 3. From debt. In the first case, the continuance of the slavery, as of any other punishment, ought to be projior- tioned to the crime ; in the second and third cases, it ought to cease, as soon as the demand of the in- jured nation, or private creditor, is satisfied. The slave-trade upon the coast of Africa is not excused by these principles. When slaves in that country are brought to market, no questions, I believe, are asked about the origin or justice of the vendor's title. It may be presumed, therefore, that this title is not always, if it be ever, founded in any of the causes above assigned. But defect of right in the first jnirchase, is the least crime with which this traffic is chari:;rable. The natives are excited to war and mutual di'pre. dation, for the sake of supplying their contracts, or furnishing the market with slaves. With thii CHARITY. 67 the wickedness begins. The slaves, torn away from parents, wives, children, from their friends and companions, their fields and Hocks, their home and country, are transported to the Eu- ropean settlements in America, with no other ac- commodation on shipboard than what is provided for brutes. This is the second stage of cruelty ; from which the miserable exiles are delivered, only to he placed, and that for lite, in subjection to a dominion and system of laws, the most mer- ciless and tyrannical that ever were tolerated upon the flice of the earth ; and from all that can be learned by the accounts of the people upon the spot, the inordinate authority which the planta- tion-laws confer upon the slave-holder is exercised, by the English slave-holder especially, with rigour and brutality. But necessity is pretended; the name under which every enormity is attempted to be justified. And, after all, what is the necessity '] It has never been proved that the land could not be cultivated there, as it is here, by hired servants. It is said that it could not be cultivated with quite the same conveniency and cheapness, as by the labour of slaves : by which means, a pound of sugar, which the planter now sells for sixpence, could not be afforded under sixpence-halfpenny ; — and this is the necessity. The great revolution which has taken place in the Western world, may probably conduce (and who knows but that it was designed \) to accele- rate the fall of this abominable tyranny : and now that this contest, and the passions which attend it, are no more, there may succeed perhaps a season for reflecting, whether a legislature which had so long lent its assistance to the support of an insti- tution replete with human misery, was fit to be trusted with an empire the most extensive that ever obtained in any age or quarter of the world. Slavery was a part of the civil constitution of most countries, when Christianity appeared ; yet no passage is to be found in the Christian Scrip- tures, by which it is condemned or prohibited. This is true ; for Christianity, soliciting admis- sion into all nations of the world, abstained, as behoved it, from intermeddling with the civil in- stitutions of any. But does it follow, from the silence of Scripture concerning them, that all the ci^■il institutions which then prevailed were right % or that the bad should not be exchanged for bet- ter 1 Besides this, the discharging of slaves from all obligation to obey their masters, which is the con- sequence of pronouncing slavery to be unlawful, wovdd have had no better efl'ect than to let loose one half of mankind upon the other. Slaves would have been tempted to embrace a religion, which asserted their right to freedom ; masters would hardly have been persuaded to consent to claims founded upon such authority ; the most calamitous of all contests, a bellum servile, might probably have ensued, to the reproach, if not the extinction, of the Christian name. The truth is, the emancipation of slaves should be gradual and be carried on by provisions of law, and under the protection of civil government. Christianity can only operate as an alterative. By the mild diffusion of its light and influence, the minds of men are insensibly prepared to perceive and correct the enormities, which folly, or wicked- ness, or accident, have introduced into their public estabUshments. In tliis way the Greek and Ro- man slavery, and since these, the feudal tyranny, has declined before it. And we trust that, as the knowledge and authority of the same religion ad- vance in the world, they will banish what remains of this odious institution. CHAPTER IV. Charity. PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANCE. This kind of beneficence is chiefly to be ex pected from members of the legislature, magisj trates, medical, legal, and sacerdotal proft ssioiis. 1. The care of the poor ought to be the prin- cipal object of all laws ; for this plain reason, that the rich are able to take care of themselves. Much has been, and more might be, done by the laws of this country, towards the relief of the impotent, and the protection and encouragement of the industrious poor. Whoever applies him- self to collect observations upon the state and operation of the poor laws, and to contrive reme- dies for the imperfections and abuses which he observes, and digests these remedies into acts of parliament ; and conducts them, by argument or influence, through the two branches of the legisla- ture, or communicates his ideas to those who are more likely to carry them into effect, deserves well of a class of the community so numerous, that their happiness forms a principal part of the whole. The study and activity thus employed, is charity, in the most meritorious sense of the word. 2. The application of parochial relief is in- trusted, in the first instance, to overseers and con- tractors, who have an interest in opposition to that of the poor, inasmuch as whatever they allow them comes in part out of their own pocket. For this reason, the law has deposited with justices of the peace a power of superintendence and con- trol ; and the judicious interposition of this power is a most useful exertion of charity, and oft-times within the ability of those who have no other way of serving their generation. A country gentle- man of very moderate education, and who has little to spare from his fortune, by learning so much of the poor-law as is to be found in Dr. Burn's .Jus- tice, and by furnishing himself with a knowledge of the prices of labour and provision, so as to be able to estimate the exigencies of a family, and what is to be expected from their industry, may, in this way, place out the one talent committed to him, to great account. 3. Of all private professions, that of medicine puts it in a man's power to do the most good at the least expense. Health, which is precious to all, is to the |ioor invaluable : and their complaints, as agues, rheumatisms, &c. are often such as yield to medicine. And, with respect to the expense, drugs at first hand cost little, and advice costs no- thing, where it is only bestowed upon those who could not afford to pay for it. 4. The rights of the poor are not so important or intricate, as their contentions are violent and ruinous. A lawyer or attorney, of tolerable knowledge in his profession, has commonly judg- ment enough to adjust these disputes, with all the effect, and without the expense, of a law-suit ; and he may be said to give a poor man twenty pounds 68 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. who prtvenls his throwhig it away upon law. A legal man, whether of the profession or not, who, together with a spirit of concihation, possesses the confidence of his neighbourliood, will be much resorted to for this purj)ose, especially since the great increase of costs has produced a general dread of going to law. Nor is this line of beneficence confined to arhi- tration. Seasonable counsel, coming with the weight which the reputation of the adviser gives it, will often keep or extricate the rash and unin- ibrmed out of great diliiculties. Lastly, I know not a more exalted charity than that which presents a shield against the rapacity or persecution of a tyrant. 5. Bc-twixt argument and authority (I mean that authority which flows from voluntary respect, and attends upon sanctity and disinterestedness of character) something may be done, amongst the lower orders of mankind, towards the regulation of their conduct, and the satisfaction of their thoughts. This office belongs to the ministers of religion ; or rather, whoever undertakes it, be- comes a minister of religion. The inferior clergy, who are nearly upon a level with the common sort of their parishioners, and who on that account gain an easier admission to their society and con- fidence, have in this respect more in their power than their superiors : the discreet use of this power con.stitutes one of the most respectable functions of human nature. CHAPTER V. Charity. PECUNIARY BOUNTY. 1. The obligation to bestow relief upon the poor. II. The manner of bestoicing it. III. The pretences by which vien excuse them- selves from it. 1. The obligation to bestow relief upon the poor. They who rank pity amongst the original im- pulses of our nature, rightly contend, that, when this principle prompts us to the relief of human misery, it indicates the Divine intention, and our duty. Indeed, the same conclusion is deducible from the existence of the passion, whatever ac- count be given of its origin. Whether it be an instinct or a habit, it is in fact a property of our nature, which God appointed : and the final cause for which it was appointed, is to afford to the miserable, in the compassion of their fellow-crea- tures, a remedy for those inequalities and distress- es which God foresaw that many must be exposed to, under every general rule for the distribution of property. Beside this, the poor have a claim founded In the law of nature, which maybe thus explained : — All things were originally common. No one be- ing able to produce a charter from Heaven, had any better title to a particular possession than his next neighbour. There were reasons for man- kind's agreeing upon a separation of this common fund ; and God for these reasons is presumed to have ratified it. But this separation was made and Dtmsented to, upon the expectation and condition that every one should liave left a sulHciency for his subsistence, or the means of procuring it : ami as no fixed laws for the regulatioii of property can be so contrived, as to provide for the relief of every case and distress which may arise, these cases and distresses, when their right and share in the common stock were given up or taken from them, were supposed to be left to the voluntary bounty of those who might be acquainted with the exigencies of their situation, and in the way of atlbrding assistance. And, therefore, when the partition of property is rigidly maintained against the claims of indigence and distress, it is main- tained in opposition to the intention of those who made it, and to his, who is the Supreme Proprietor of every thing, and who has filled the world with plenteousness, for the sustentatioii and comfort of all whom he sends into it. The Christian Scriptures are more copious and explicit upon this duty than upon almost any other. The description which Christ hath left us of the proceedings of the last day, establishes the obligation of bounty beyond controversy ; — " When the son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with hun, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory, and before him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall separate them one from another. — Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand. Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world : Por 1 was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : I was a stranger, and ye took me in : naked, and ye clothed me : I was sick, and ye visited me : I was in prison, and ye came unto me. — And inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."* It is not necessary to uniler- stand this passage as a literal account of what will actually pass on that day. Supposing it only a scenical description of the rules and principles, by which the Supreme Arbiter of our destiny will regulate his decisions, it conveys the same lesson to us ; it equally demonstrates of how great value and importance these duties in the sight of God are, and what stress will be laid upon them. The apostles also describe this virtue as propitiating the Divine favour in an eminent degree. And these recommendations have produced their eflect. It does not appear that, before the times of Chris- tianity, an infirmary, hospital, or public charity of any kind, existed in the world ; whereas most countries in Christendom, have long abounded with these institutions. To which may be added, that a spirit of private hberality seems to flourish amidst the decay of many other virtues ; not to mention the legal provision for the poor, which obtains in this country, and which was unknown and unthought of by the most humanised nations of antiquity. St. Paul adds u{)on the subject an excellent direction, and which is practicable by all who have any thing to give: — '• Upon the first day of the week (or any other stated time) let every one of you lay by in store, as God hath prospered him." By which 1 und'^rstand St. Paul to re- connncnd what is the very thing wanting vritb most men, the being charitable upon a plan ; that is, upon a deliberate comparison of our fortunes with the reasonable expenses and expectation of our families, to compute what we can spare, and * Matthew, xxv. 31. PECLiNIARY BOUNTY. 69 to lay by so much for charitable purposes in some mode or other. The mode will be a consideration atterwards. The efiect which Christianity produced upon some of its first converts, was such as might be looked for from a di\ine religion, coming with full force and miraculous evidence upon the con- sciences of mankind. It overwhelmed all worldly considerations in the expectation of a more im- portant existence : — " And the multitude of them that believed, were of one heart and of one soul ; neither said any of them that aught of the things which he possessed was his own ; but they had all things in common. — Neither was there any among them that lacked ; for as many as were possessors of lands or houses, sold them, and brought the prices of the things that were sold, and laid them down at the apostles' feet ; and dis- tribution was made unto every man according as he had need." Acts iv. 3'2. Nevertheless, this community of goods, how- ever it manitestcd the sincere zeal of the primitive Christians, is no precedent for our imitation. It was confined to the church at Jerusalem; con- tinued not long there ; was never enjoined upon any (Acts v. 4. ;) and although it might suit with the particular circumstances of a small and select society, is altogether impracticable in a large and mixed community. The conduct of the apostles upon the occasion, deserves to be noticed. Their followers laid down their fortunes at their feet ; but so far were they from taking advantage of this unlimited confidence, to enrich themselves, or to establish their own au- thority, that they soon afler got rid of this business, as inconsistent with the main object of their mis- sion, and transferred the custody and management of the public fund to deacons elected to that otiice by the people at large. (Acts vi.) II. T'he manner of bestowing bounty ; or the different kinds of charity. Every question between the different kinds of charity, supposes the sum bestowed to be the same. There are three kinds of charity which prefer a claim to attention. The first, and in my judgment one of the best, is to gi\e stated and considerable sums, by way of pension or annuity, to individuals or families, with whose behaviour and distress we ourselves are acquainted. When I speak of considerable sums, 1 mean only that five pounds, oi anj' other sum, given at once, or divided amongst five or fewer families, will do more good than the same sum distributed amongst a greater number in shil- lings or half-crowns ; and that, because it is more likely to be properly applied by the persons who receive it. A poor fellow, who can find no bet- ter use for a shilling than to drink his benefactor's health, and ]mrchase half an hour's recreation for himself, would hardly break into a guinea for any such a purpose, or be so improvident as not to lay it by for an occasion of importance, e. g. for his rent, his clothing, fuel, or stock of winter's pro- vision. It is a still greater recommendation of this kind of charity, that pensions and annuities, which are paid regularly, and can be expected at the time, are the only way by which we can prevent one part of a poor man's sufferings, — the dread of want. 2. But as this kind of charity supposes that pro])er objects of such expensive benefactions fall within our private knowledge and observation, which does not happen to all, a second method of doing good, which is in every one s power who has the money to spare, is by subscription to pub- lic charities. Public charities adniit of this ar- gument in their favour, that your money goes farther towards attaijiing the end for which it is given, than it can do by any private and separate benelicenre. A guinea, for example, contribute d to an inrirmary, becomes the means of providing one patient at least with a physician, surgeon, apothecary, with medicine, diet, lodging, and suit- able attendance ; whirh is not the tenth part of what the same assistance, if it could be procured at all, would cost to a sick person or family in any other situation. 3. The last, and, compared with the former, the lowest exertion of benevolence, is in the re- lief of beggars. Nevertheless, 1 by no means approve the indiscriminate rejection of all who implore our alms in this way. Some may perish by such a conduct. Men are sometimes overtaken by distress, for wliich all other relief would come (\>o late. Beside whiih, resolutions of this kind compel us to oiler such violence to our humanity, as may go near, in a little while, to suffocate the principle itself; which is a ver\- serious considera- tion. A good man, if he do not surrender himself to his feelings without reserve, will at least lend an ear to im[)ortuniti(>s which come accompanied with outward attestations of distress ; and afler a pa- tient audience of the complaint, will direct him- self, not so much by any previous resolution vi-hich he may have formed upon the subject, as by the circumstances and credibility of the account that he receives. There are other species of charity well con- trived to make the money expended go far : such as keeping down the price of fuel or provision, in case of monopoly or temporary scarcity, by pur- chasing the articles at the best market, and retail- ing them at prime cost, or at a small loss ; or the adding of a bounty to particular species of labour, when the price is accidentally depressed. The proprietors of large estates have it in their power to facilitate the maintenance, and thereby to encourage the establishment, of families, (which is one of the noblest ])urposes to which the rich and great can convert their endeavours,) by build- ing cottages, splitting farms, erecting manufacto- ries, cultivating wastes, embanking the sea, drain- ing marshes, and other expedients, which the situation of each estate points out. If the profits of these undertakings do not repay the expense, let the authors of them place the difference to the account of charity. It is true of almost all such projects, that the pubhc is a gainer by them, what- ever the owner be. And where the loss can be spared, this consideration is sufficient. It is become a question of some importance, under what circumstances works of charity ought to be done in private, and when they may be made public without detracting from the merit of the action, if indeed they ever may ; the Author of our religion having delivered a rule upon this sub- ject which seems to enjoin universal secrecy : — " When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth ; that thy alms may be in secret, and thy Father, which seeth in secret, himself shall reward thee openly." (Mat. vi. 3, 4.) From the preamble to this prohibition I tliink it, however, plain, that our Saviour's sole 70 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. design was to forbid ostentation, and all publish- ing of good works wliicli proceeds from that mo- tive. " Take heed that ye do not your alms be- fore men, to be seen of them; otherwise ye have no reward of your 1^'ather which is in heaven ; therefore, when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do, in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glury of men. Verily I say unto you, they have their reward." ver. 1, 2. There are motives for tlie doing our alms in public, beside those of ostentation, with which therefore our Saviour's rule has no concern : such as to testify our ap- probation of some particular species of charity, and to recommend it to others ; to take off the prejudice which the want, or, which is the same thing, the suppression, of our name in the list of contributors might excite against the charity, or against ourselves. And, so long as these motives are free from any mixture of vanity, they are in no danger of invading our Saviour's prohibition; they rather seem to comply with another direction which he has left us: "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." If it be necessary to propose a precise distinction upon the subject, I can think of none better than the following : When our bounty is beyond our fortune and station, that is, when it is more than could be expected from us, our charity should be private, if privacy be practicable: when it is not more than might be expected, it may be public: for we cannot hope to influence others to the imi- tation of extraordinary generosity, and therefore want, in the former case, the only justifiable rea- son for making it public. Having thus described several different exer- tions of charity, it may not be improper to take notice of a species of liberality, which is not charity, in any sense of the word : I mean the giving of entertainments or liquor, for the sake of popularity; or the rewarding, treating, and maintaining, the companions of our diversions, as hunters, shooters, fishers, and the Uke. I do not say that this is criminal ; I only say that it is not charity ; and that we are not to suppose, be- cause we give, and give to the foor, that it will stand in the place, or supersede the obligation, of more meritorious and disinterested bounty. III. The pretences by irhich men excuse them- selves from giving to the poor. 1. " That they have nothing to spare," i. e. nothing for which they have not provided some other use; nothing which their plan or expense, together with the savings they have resolved to lay by, will not exhaust: never reflecting whether it be in their power, or that it is their duty, to retrench their expimses, and contract their plan, " that they may have to give to them that need:" or, rather, that this ought to have been part of their plan originally. 2. " That they have families of their own, and that charity begins at home." The extent of this plea will be considered, when we come to explain the duty of parents. 3. "That charity does not consi-st in giving money, but in benevolence, philanthropy, love to all mankind, goodness of heart," &c. Hear St. James : " If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, depart in peace ; be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things ichich are needful to the body; what doth profit!" r James ii. 15, 16.) 4. " That giving to the poor is not mentioned in St. Paul's description of charity, in the thir- teenth chapter of his First Epistle to the Corin- thians." 1'his is not a description of charity, but of good-nature ; and it is necessary that every duty be mentioned in every place. 5. " That they pay the poor-rates." They might as well allege that they pay their debts : for the poor have the same right to that portion of a man's property which the laws assign to them, that the man himself has to the remainder. 6. " That they employ many poor persons;" — for their own sake, not the poor's — otherwise it is a good plea. 7. " That the poor do not sufl'er so much as we imagine; that education and habit have re- conciled them to the evils of their condition, and make them easy under it." Habit can never reconcile human nature to the extremities of cold, hunger, and thirst, any more than it can reconcile the hand to the touch of a red-hot iron : besides, the question is not, how unhappy any one is, but how much more happy we can make him. 8. " That these people, give them what you will, will never thank you, or think of you for it." In the first place, this is not true: in the second place, it was not for the sake of their thanks that you relieved them. 9. " That we are liable to be imposed upon." If a due inquiry be made, our merit is the same : beside that the distress is generally real, although the cause be untruly stated. 10. " That they should apply to their parishes." This is not always practicable: to which we may add, that there are many re((uisites to a comfort- able subsistence, which parish relief does not sup- ply ; and that there are some, who would suffer almost as much from receiving parish relief as by the want of it ; and, lastly, that there are many modes of charity to which this answer does not relate at all. 11. "That giving money, encourages idleness and vagrancy." This is true only of injudicious and indiscriminate generosity. 12. " That we have too many objects of charity at home, to bestow any thing upon strangers; or, that there are other cliarities, which are more use- ful, or stand in greater need." The value of this excuse depends entirely upon the fact, whether we actually relieve those neighbouring objects, and contribute to those other charities. Beside all these excuses, pride, or prudery, or delicacy, or love of ease, keep one half of the world out of the way of observing what the other half sufier. CHAPTER VI. Resentment. Resentment may be distinguished into angei and revenge. By anger, I mean the pain we suffer upon the receipt of an injury or affront, with the usual ef- fects of that pain upon ourselves. By revenge, the inflicting of pain upon the person who has injured or offended us, farther than the just ends of punislunent or reparation require. REVENGE. 71 Anger prompts to revenge ; but it is possible to suspend the eiiect, when we cannot altogether quell the princi[)le. We are bound also to en- deavour to quality and correct the principle itself. So lliat our duty requires two difl'erent applica- tions of the mind ; and, for that reason, anger and revenge may be considered separately. CHAPTER VII. Anger. " Bf. ye angry, and sin not ;" therefore all anger is not sinful ; 1 suppose, because some degree of it, and upon some occasions, is inevitable. It becomes sinful, or contradicts, however, the rule of Scripture, when it is conceived upon slight and inadequate provocations, and, when it continues long. 1. When it is conceived upon slight provoca- tions : for, " charity suifereth long, is not easily provoked.'' — " Let every man be slow to anger." Peace, long-suffering, gentleness, meekness, are enumerjted among the fruits of the Spirit, Gal. V. 22. and compose the true Christian temper, as to this article of duty. 2. When it continues long: for, "let not the sun go down upon your wrath." These precepts, and all reasoning indeed on the subject, su[)pose the passion of anger to be within our power ; and tliis power consists not so much in any faculty we possess of appeasing our wrath at the time, (for we are passive under the smart which an injury or afi'ront occasions, and all we can then do, is to prevent its breaking out into action,) as in so mollifying our minds by habits of just reflection, as to be less irritated by impressions of injury, and to be sooner pacified. Relicctions proper for this purpose, and which may be called the sedatives of anger, are the fol- lowing : the possibility of mistaking the motives from which the conduct that ofl'ends us proceeded ; how often our offences have been the effect of inadvertency, when they were construed into in- dications of malice ; the inducement which prompt- ed our adversary to act as he did, and how power- fully the same inducement has, at one time or other, operated upon ourselves: that he is suf- fering perhaps under a contrition, which he is ashamed or wants opportunity to confess; and how ungenerous it is to triumph by coldness or insult over a spirit already humbled in secret; that the returns of kindness are sweet, and that there is neither honour, nor virtue, nor use, in re- sisting them: — for, some persons thmk them- selves bound to cherish and keep alive their in- dignation, when they find it dying away of itself We may remember that others have their pas- sions, their prejudices, their favourite aims, their fears, their cautions, their interests, their sudden impulses, their varieties of apprehension, as well as we : we may recollect what hath sometimes passed in our minds, when we have gotten on the wrong side of a quarrel, and imagine the same to be passing in our adversary's mind now ; when we became sensible of our misbehaviour, what palliations we perceived in it, and expected others to ]3erceive ; how we were affected by the kind- ness, and felt the superiority, of a generous re- ception and ready forgiveness ; how persecution revived our spirits with our enmity, and seemed to justify the conduct in ourselves which we be- fore blamed. Add to this, the indecency of ex- travagant anger ; how it renders us, whilst it lasts, the scorn and sport of all about us, of which it leaves us, when it ceases, sensible and ashamed ; the inconveniences and irretrievable misconduct into which our irascibility has sometimes betrayed us ; the friendships it has lost us; the distresses and embarrassments in which we have been involved by it ; and the sore repentance which, on one ac- count or other, it always cost us. But the reflection calculated above all others to allay the haughtiness of temper which is ever finding out provocations, and which renders anger so impetuous, is that which the Gospel proposes ; namely, that we ourselves are, or shortly shall be, supphants for mercy and pardon at the judgment- seat of God. Imagine our secret sins disiiosed and brought to light ; imagine us thus humbled and exposed ; trembling under the liand of God ; cast- ing ourselves on his compassion ; crying out Ibr mercy ; imagine such a creature to talk of satis- faction and revenge ; refusing to be entreated, disdaining to forgive; extreme to mark and to resent what is done amiss ; — imagine, I say, this, and you can hardly frame to yourself an instance of more impious and unnatural arrogance. The point is, to habituate ourselxes to these reflections, till they rise up of their own accord when they are wanted, that is, instantly upon the receipt of an injury or affront, and with such force and colouring, as both to mitigate tlie paroxysms of our anger at the time, and at length to produce an alteration in tlie temper and disposition itself CHAPTER VIII. Revenge. All pain occasioned to another in consequence of an offence or injury received from him, further than what is calculated to procure reparation, or promote the just ends of punislunent, is so much revenge. There can be no difficulty in knowing when we occasion pain to another ; nor much m dis- tinguishing whether we do so, with a view only to the ends of punishment, or from revenge ; for. in the one case we proceed with reluctance, in tlie other with pleasure. It is highly probable, from the light of nature, that a passion, which seeks its gratification im- mediately and expressly in giving pain, is dis- agreeable to the benevolent will and counsels of the Creator. Other passions and pleasures may, and often do, produce pain to some one : but then pain is not, as it is here, the object of the passion, and the direct cause of the pleasure. Tliis pro- bability is converted into certainty, if we give credit to the authority which dictated the several passages of the Christian Scriptures that condemn revenge, or, what is the same tiling, which enjoin forgiveness. We will set down the principal of these pas- sages ; and endeavour to collect from them, what conduct upon the whole is allowed towards an enemy, and what is forbidden. " If ye forgive men their trespasses, your hea- venly Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." — " And his lord was 72 Mural and political philosophy. wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him: so like- wise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses." — ■' Put on bowels of merry, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long-suffering ; forbearing one another, Ibrgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any, even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye." — " Be patient towards all men ; see that none render e\'il for evil to any man." — " Avenge nt)t yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath : for it is written. Vengeance is mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord. Therefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for, in so doing, thou shall heap coals of fire on his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."* I think it evident, from some of these passages taken separately, and still more so from all of them together, that revenge, as described in the beginning of this chapter, is forltidden in every degree, under all forms, and upon every occasion. We are likewise forbidden to refuse to an enemy even the most imperfect right: "if he hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink ;"+ which are examples of imperfect rights. If one who has ofTended us, solicit from u.s a vote to which his qualifications entitle him, we may not refuse it from motives of resentment, or the remembrance of what we h.ave suffered at his hands. His right, and our obligation which follows the right, are not altered by his enmity to us, or by ours to him. On the other hand, I do not conceive that these prohibitions were intended to interfere with the puni;5hment or prosecution of public offenders. In the eighteenth chapter of St. Matthew, our Sa- viour tells his disL-iples, " If thy brother who has trespassed against thee neglect to hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man, and a publican." Immediately after this, when St. Pe- ter asked him, " How oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him 1 till seven times "]" Christ replied, " I say not unto thee until seven times, but until seventy times seven ;" that is, as often as he repeats the ofl'ence. From these two adjoining passages compared together, we are au- thorised to conclude that the forgiveness of an enemy is not inconsistent with the proceedings against him as a public offender ; and that the dis- cipline established in religious or civil societies, for the restraint or punishment of criminals, ought to be upholden. If the magistrate be not tied down with these prohibitions from the execution of his office, nei- ther is the prosecutor ; for the office of the prose- cutor is as necessary as that of the magistrate. Nor, by parity of reason, are private persons withholden from the correction of vice, when it is in their power to exercise it ; provided they be as- sured that it is the guilt which provokes them, and not the injury; and that their motives are pure from all mixture and every particle of that spirit vvliich delights and triumplis in the humiliation of an adversary. * Matt. vi. 14, 1.5: xviii. 34, .^5. Col. iii. 12, 13. 1 Tties. V. 14, 15. Rom. xii. 19, 20, '21. t See also Exodus, xxiii. 4. " If thou meet thine ene- my's ox, or his ass, goin^ astray, thou shall surely bring It back to him again; if thou see the ass of him that hatcth thee, lyinj; under his burden, and wouldst for- bear to hcip him, thou shall surely help with him." I Thus it is no breach of Christian .larity, lo withdraw our company or civility when the same tends to discountenance any vicious practice. This is one branch of that extrajudicial discii)line, which supplies the defects and the remissness of law ; and is ex])ressly authorised by St. Paul ( I <-'ov. V. II.) " But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one, no not to eat." The use of this as- sociation against vice continues to be experienced in one remarkable instance, and might he extend- ed with good eflect to otiiers. The confederacy amongst women of character, to exclude from their society kept-mistresses and prostitutes, contri- butes more perhaps to discourage that condition of life, and prevents greater numb.ers from enter- ing into it, than all the considerations of prudence and religion put together. We are likewise allowed to practise so much caution as not to put ourselves in the way of inju- ry, or invite the rej)etition of it. If a servant or tradesman has cheated us,, we are not bound to trust him again ; for this is to encourage him in his dishonest practices, which is doing him much harm. Where a benefit can be conferred only upon one or few, and the choice of the person upon whom it is conferred is a proper oliject of favour, we are at liberty to prefer those who have not of- fended us to tho.se who have; the contrary being no where required. Christ, who, as hath been well demonstrated,* estimated virtues by their solid utility, and not by their fashion or popularity, prefei-s this of the for- giveness of injuries to every other. He enjoins it oftener ; with more earnestness ; under a great- er variety of forms ; and with this weighty and pe- culiar circumstance, that the forgiveness of others is the condition upon which alone we are to ex- pect, or even ask, from God, forgiveness for our- selves. And this preference is justified by the superior importance of the virtue itself The feuds and animosities in families, and between neighbours, which disturb the intercourse of hu- man life, and collectively compose half the misery of it, have their foundation in the want of a for- giving temper ; and can never cease, but by the exercise of this virtue, on one side, or on both. CHAPTER IX. Duelling. DuELi/iNG as a punishment is absurd ; because it is an equal chance, whether the punishment fall upon tlie ollendcr, or the person offended. Nor is it much better as a reparation: it being difficult to explain in what the satisfaction consists, or how it tends to undo the injury, or to afford a compensation for the damage already sustained. The truth is, it is not considered as either. A law of honour having annexed the imputation of cowardice to patience under an affront, challenges are given and accepted with no other design than to prevent or wipe off this suspicion ; without malice against the adversary, generally without a * See a View of the Internal Evidence of the CliriS' tian Religion. J LITIGATION. wish to Jpstroy him, or any other concern than to preserve the duellist's own reputation and recep- tion in the world. The unreasonableness of this rule of manners is one consideration ; the duty and conduct of in- dividuals, while such a rule exists, is another. As to which, the proper and single question is this, whether a regard for our own rejiutation is, or is not, sufficient to jastify the taking away the life of another I Murder is forbidden; and wherever human life is deliberately taken away, otherwise than by pub- lic authority, there is murder. The value and se- curity of human life make this rule necessary ; for I do not see what other idea or definition of mur- der can be admitted, which will not let in so much private violence, as to render society a scene of peril and bloodshed. If unauthorised laws of honour be allowed to create exceptions to divine prohibitions, there is an end of all morality, as founded in the will of the Deity ; and the obligation of every duty may, at one time or other, be discharged by the caprice and fluctuations of fashion. " But a sense of shame is so much torture ; and no relief presents itself otherwise than by an at- tempt upon the life of our adversary." What then 1 The distress which men sufier by the want of monej' is oftentimes extreme, and no resource can be discovered but that of removing a life which stanils between the distressed person and his in- heritance. The motive in this case is as urgent, and the means much the same, as in the former ; yet this case finds no advocate. Take away the circumsfcmce of the duellist's exposing his own life, and it becomes assassina- tion ; add this circumstance, and what difference does it make '? None but this, that the fewer per- hajis will imitate the example, and human life will be somewhat more safe, when it cannot be attacked without equal danger to the aggressor's own. Experience, however, proves that there is fortitude enough in most men to undertake this hazard; and were it otherwise, tlie defence, at best, would be only that which a highwayman or housebreaker might plead, whose attempt had been so daring and desperate, that few were likely to repeat the same. In expostulating with the duellist, I all along suppose his adversary to fall. Which supposition I am at liberty to make, because, if he have no right to kill his adversary, he has none to attempt it. In return, I forbear from apjjlying to the case of duelling the Christian principle of the forgive- ness of injuries; because it is possible to suppose the injury to be forgiven, and the duellist to act entirely from a concern for his own reputation : where this is not the case, the guilt of duelling is manifest, and is greater. In this view it seems unnecessary to distinguish between him who gives, and him who accej^ts, a challenge: for, on the one hand, they incur an equal hazard of destroying life ; and on the other, both act upon the same persuasion, that what they do is necessary, in order to recover or preserve the good opinion of 1 he world. Public opinion is not easily controlled by civil institutions : for wliich reason I question whether any regulations can be contrived, of sufficient force to suppress or chdnge the rule of honour, which stigmatises all scruples about duelling with the reproach of cowardice. K The insufficiency of the redress which the Uiw of the land afi()rds, for those injuries which chiolly affect a man in his sensibility and reputation, tempts many to redress themselves. Prosecutions for such offences, by tlie trilling damages that are recovered, serve only to make the suffnrer more ridiculous. — This ought to be remedied. For the army, wliere the point of honour is cultivated with exquisite attention and refinement, I would establish a Court of Honour, with a power of awarding those submissions and acknowledg ments, which it is generally the jjuriiose of a challenge to obtain ; and it might grow into a fashion, with persons of rank of all professions, to refer their quarrels to this tribunal. Duelling, as the law now stands, can seldom be overtaken by legal punishment. The challenge, appointment, and otlier previous circumstances, which indicate the intention with which the com- batants met, being suppressed, nothing appears to a court of justice, but the actual rencounter; and if a person be slain when actually fighting with his adversary, the law deems his death no- thing more than manslaughter. CHAPTER X. Litigation. " If it be possible, live peaceably with all men ;'' which precept contains an indirect confession that this is not always possible. The instances * in the fifth chapter of Sain) Matthew are rather to be understood as | rovcrbial methods of describing the general duties of for- giveness and benevolence, and the temper which we ought to aim at acquiring, than as directions to be specifically observed ; or of themselves of any great importance to be observed. The first of these is, " If thine enemy smite th<'e on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also;" yet, when one of the officers struck .Jesus with the palm of his hand, we find Jesus rebuking him for the outrage with becoming indignation; "If I have sjioken evil, bear witness of the evil ; but if well, why smitest thou me?" (John xviii. 43.) It may be observed, likewise, that the several examples are drawn from instances of small and toleralile injuries. A rule which forbade all opposition to injury, or de- fence against it, could have no other etiect, than to put the good in sul>jection to the bad, and de- liver one half of mankind to the depredations of the other half; which must be the case, so long as some considered themselves as bound by such a rule, whilst others despised it. Saint Paul, though no one inculcated forgiveness and forbearance with a deeper sense of the value and obligation of these virtues, did not interpret either of them to require an unresisting submission to every contumely, or a neglect of the means of safety and self-defence. He took refuge in the laws of his country, and in the privileges of a Roman citizen, from the con- spiracy of the Jews (Acts xxv. 11;) and from the clandestine violence of the chief captain (Acts xxii. 25.) And yet this is the same apostle who *" Whosoever pliall smite thee on thy right cheek turn to him the other also: and if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy mat, let liim have tliy cloak also ; and whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with liim twain." 74 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. reproved the litigiousness of his Corinthian con- verts with so nmoh severity. " Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another. Why do ye not rather take wrong 1 why do ye not rather sulier your- selves to be defrauded ? On the one hand, therefore, Christianity ex- cludes all vindictive motives, and all frivolous causes, of prosecution; so that where the injury is small, where no good purpose of public example is answered, where forbearance is not likely to invite a repetition of the injury, or where the ex- pense of an action becomes a punishment too se- vere for the oilence ; there the Christian is with- holden by the authority of his religion Irom going to law. On the other hand, a law-suit is inconsistent with no rule of the Gospel, when it is instituted, 1. For the establishing of some important right. 2. For the procuring a compensation for some considerable damage. 3. For the preventing of future injury. But since it is supposed to be undertaken sim- ply with a view to the ends of justice and safety, the prosecutor of the action is bound to confine hiiiiself to the cheapest process which will ac- complish these ends, as well as to consent to any peaceable expedient for the same purpose ; as to a reference, in which the arbitrators can do, what the law cannot, divide the damage, when the fault is mutual; or to a compounding of the dispute, by accepting a compensation in the gross, without entering into articles and items, which it is often very difficult to adjust separately. As to the rest, the duty of the contending par- ties may be expressed in the following directions : Not by appeals to prolong a suit against your own conviction. Not to undertake or defend a suit against a poor adversary, or render it more dilatory or ex- pensive than necessary, with the hope of intimi- dating or wearing him out by the expense. Not to influence evidence by authority or ex- pectation ; Nor to stifle any in your possession, although it make against you. Hitherto we have treated of civil actions. In criminal prosecutions, the private injury should be forgotten, and the prosecutor proceed with the same temper, and upon the same motives, as the magistrate ; the one being a necessary minister of justice as well as the other, and both bound to di- rect their conduct by a dispassionate care of the public welfare. In whatever degree the punishment of an of- fender is conducive, or his escape dangerous, to the interest of the community, in the same degree is the party against whom the crime was com- mitted bound to prosecute ; because such prosecu- tions must in their nature originate from the suf- ferer. Therefore great public crimes, as robberies, forgeries, and the like, ought not to be spared, from an apprehension of trouble or expense in carrying on the prosecution, from false shame, or misplaced compassion. There are many offences, such as nuisances, neglect of public roads, forestalling, engrossing, smuggling, sabbath-breaking, profaneness, drunk- enness, prostitution, the keeping of lewd or dis- orderly houses, the writing, publishing, or expos- uig to sale, lascivious books or pictures, with some others, the prosecution of which, being of equal concern to the whole neighbourliood, cannot be charged as a peculiar obligation upon any. Nevertheless, there is great merit in the person who undertakes such prosecutions upon proper motives ; which amounts to the same thing. The character of an inforvier is in this country undeservedly odious. But where any public ad- vantage is likely to be attained by information, oj other activity in promoting the execution of the laws, a good man will despise a prejudice founded in no just reason, or will acquit himself of tlie imputation of interested designs by giving away his share of the penalty. On the other hand, prosecutions for the sake of the reward, or for the gratification of private enmity, where the offence produces no public mischief, or where it arises from ignorance or in- advertency, are reprobated under the general de- scription of applying a rule of law to a purpose for which it was not intended. Under which description may be ranked an officious revival of the laws against Popish priests, and dissenting teachers. CHAPTER XL Gratitude. Examples of ingratitude check and discourage voluntary beneficence : and in this, the mischief of ingratitude consists. Nor is the mischief small ; for after all is done that can be done, towards pro- viding for the public happiness, by prescribing rules of justice, and enforcing the observation of them by penalties or compulsion, much must be left to those offices of kindness, which men remain at liberty to exert or withhold. Now not only the choice of the objects, but the quantity and even the existence of this sort of kindness in the world, depends, in a great measure, upon the return which it receives : and this is a consideration of general importance. A second reason for cultivating a grateful tem- per in. ourselves, is the following; The same principle, which is touched with the kindness of a human benefactor, is capable of being affected by the divine goodness, and of becoming, under the influence of that affection, a source of the purest and most exalted virtue. The love of God is the sublimcst gratitude. It is a mistake, there- fore, to imagine, that this virtue is omitted in the Christian Scriptures ; for every precept which commands us "to love God, because he first loved us," presupposes the principle of gratitude, and directs it to its proper object. It is impossible to particularise the several ex- pressions of gratitude, inasmuch as they vary with the character and situation of the benefactor, and with the opportunities of the person obliged-, which variety admits of no bounds. It may be observed, however, that gratitude can never oblige a man to do what is wrong, and what by consequence he is previously obliged not to do. It is no ingratitude to refuse to do, what we cannot reconcile to any apprehensions of our duty ; but it is ingratitude and hypocrisy together, to pretend this reason, when it is not the real one : and the frequency of such pretences has brought this apology for non-compliance with the will of a benefactor into unmerited disgrace PUBLIC USE OF MARRIAGE INSTITUTIONS. It has long been accounted a violation of delica- cy and generosity to upbraid men with the favours they have received : but it argues a total destitu- tion of both these qualities, as well as of moral probity, to take advantage of that ascendency which the conferring of benetits justly creates, to draw or drive those whom we have obliged into mean or dishonest compliances. CHAPTER XII. Slander. Speaking is acting, both in philosophical strict- ness, and as to all moral purposes : tor if the mis- chief and motive of our conduct be the same, the means which we use make no difference. And this is in effect what our Saviour declares. Matt. xii. 37 : — " By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemn- ed:" by thy words, as well, that is, as by thy actions ; the one shall be taken into the account as well as the other, for they both possess the same property of voluntarily producing good or evil. Slander may be distinguished into two kinds : malicious slander, and inconsiderate slander. Malicious slander is the relating of either truth or falsehood, for the purpose of creating misery. I acknowledge that the truth or falsehood of what is related, varies the degree of g>ult consider- ably ; and that slander, in the ordinary accepta- tion of the term, signifies the circulation of mis- chievous/a/sft/iootZ ; but truth may be made instru- mental to the success of malicious designs as well as falsehood ; and if the end be bad, the means cannot be innocent. I think the idea of slander ought to be confined to the production of gratuitous miscliief When we have an end or interest of our own to serve, if we attempt to compass it by falsehood, it is fraud ; if by a publication of the truth, it is not without some additional circumstance of breach of promise, betraying of confidence, or the like, to be deemed criminal. Sometimes the pain is intended for the person to whom we are speaking ; at other times, an en- mity is to be gratified by the prejudice or disquiet of a third person. To infuse suspicions, to kindle or continue disputes, to avert the favour and es- teem of benefactors from their dependents, to ren- der some one whom we dislike contemptible or obnoxious in the public opinion, are all offices of slander ; of which the guilt must be measured by the intensity and extent of the misery produced. The disguises under which slander is conveyed, whether in a whisper, with injunctions of secrecy by way of caution, or with affected reluctance, are ail so many aggravations of the offence, as they indicate more deliberation and design. Inconsiderate slander is a different offence, al- though the same mischief actually follow, and al- though the mischief might have been foreseen. The not being conscious of that design which we have hitherto attributed to the slanderer, makes the difference The guilt here consists in the want of that re- gard to the consequences of our conduct, which a just affection for human happiness, and concern for our duty would not have failed to have pro- duced in us. And it is no answer to this crimina- tion to say, that we entertained no evil design. A servant may be a very bad servant, and yet seldom or never design to act in opposition to liis mas- ter's interest or will : and his master may justly punish such servant for a thoughtlessness and neglect nearly as prejudicial as deliberate disobe- dience. I accuse you not, he may say, of any express intention to hurt me ; but had not the fear of my displeasure, the care of my interest, and indeed all the quahties which constitute the merit of a good servant, been wanting in you, they would not only have excluded every direct purpose of giving me uneasiness, but have been so iar present to your thoughts, as to have checked that unguarded licentiousness by which I have suffered so much, and inspired you in its place with an habitual solicitude about the efl'ects and tendency of what you did or said. — This very much resembles the case of all sins of inconsidera- tion ; and, amongst the foremost of these, that of inconsiderate slander. Information conununicated for the real purpose of warning, or cautioning, is not slander. Indiscriminate praise is the opposite of slander, but it is the opposite extreme ; and, however it may affect to be thought to be excess of candour, is conmionly the effusion of a frivolous under- stiinding, or proceeds from a settled contempt of all moral distinctions. BOOK III. PART III. OF RELATIVE DUTIES WHICH RESULT FROM THE CONSTITUTION OF THE SEXES. The constitution of the sexes is the foundation of marriage. Collateral to the subject of marriage, are for- nication, seduction, adultery, incest, polygamy, divorce. Consequential to marriage, is the relation and reciprocal duty of parent and child. We will treat of these subjects in the following order: first, of the public use of marriage institu- tions ; secondly, of the subjects collateral to mar- riage, in the order in which we have here pro- posed them; thirdly, of marriage itself; and, lastly, of the relation and reciprocal duties of pa- rents and cliildren. CHAPTER I. Of the Public Use of Marriage Institutions. The public use of marriage institutions con- sists in their promoting the following beneficial effects. 1. The private comfort of individuals, especially of the female sex. It may be true, that all are not interested in this reason ; nevertheless, it is a rea- son to all for abstaining from any conduct which tends in its general consequence to obstruct mar- riage : for whatever promotes the happiness of the majority, is binding upon the whole^ 2. The production of the greatest number of 7f> AluRAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. noalthy children, tlicir Ijetter educatim, and the making of due jirovision tor their settlement in life. \i. i'iie peace of human soL-icty, in cutting oft' a principal source of contention, by assigning one or more women to one man, and protecting his exclusive right by sanctions of morality and law, 4. The better government of society, by dis- tributing the community into separate families, and appointing over each the authority of a mas- ter ot a family, which has more actual influence than all civil authority put together. 5. rhe same end, in the additional security which the state receives tor the good behaviour of its citizens, from the solicitude they feel for the welfare of their children, and from their being conlined to permanent habitations. ti. i'he encouragement of industry. Some ancient nations appear to have been more sensible of the importance of marriage institutions than we are. Tlie Spartans obliged their citizens to marry by penalties, and the Romans encouraged tlicirs by the jus triuin liberorum. A man who had no child, was entitled by the Roman law only to one half of any leg icy that should be left him, that is, at the mo.st, could only receive one half of the testator's fortune. CHAPTER II. Furiiication. The first and great mischief, and by conse- quence the guilt, of promisL-uous concubinage, consists in its tendency to diminish marriages, and thereby to deteat the several beneticial pur- poses enumerated in the preceding chapter. Promiscuous concubinage discourages marriage, by abating the cliief temptation to it. The male part of the species will not undertake the en- cumbrance, expense, and restraint of married life, if they can gratity their passions at a cheaper jjfice ; and they will undertake any thing, rather than not gratity them. The reader will learn to comprehend the mag- nitude of this mischief, by attending to the im- portance and variety of the uses to which mar- riage is subservient; and by recollecting withal, that the malignity and moral quality of each crime is not to be estimated Ijy the particular efl'ect of one offence, or of one jjerson's oflending, but by the general tendency and consequence of crimes of the same nature. I'he libertine may not be conscious that these irregularities hinder his own marriage, from which he is deterred, he may al- lege, by different considerations ; much less does he perceive how his indulgences can hinder other men from marrying; ,but what will he say would be the consequence, if the same licentiousness were universal 1 or what should hinder its be- coming universal, if it be innocent or allowable in him 1 2. Fornication supposes prostitution ; and pros- titution brings and leaves the victims of it to al- most certain misery. It is no small quantity of niisery in ths aggregate, which, between want, disease, and insult, is suffered by those outcasts ot human society, who infest populous cities ; the whole oi which is a general consequence of for- nication, and to the increase and continuance of | which, every^act and instance of fornication con tributes. 3. Fornication* produces habits of ungovernable lewdness, which introduces the more aggravated crunes of seduction, adultery, violation, 6:c. Like- wise, however it be accounted lor, the criminal commerce of the sexes corrupts and depraves the uiind and moral character more than any single species of vice whatsoever. I'hat ready percep- tion of guilt, that prompt and decisive resolution against it, which constitutes a virtuous character, is seldom found in persons addicted to these in- dulgences. I'hey j)re|iare an easy admission for every sin that .seeks it ; are, in low life, usually the first stage in men's progress to the most desperate villanies ; and, in high life, to that lamented disso- luteness of principle, which manifests itself in a profligacy of public conduct, and a contempt of the obligations of religion and of moral probity. Add to this, that habits of libertinism incapacitate and indispose the mind lor all intellectual, moral, and religious pleasures ; which is a great loss to any man's happiness. 4. Fornication perpetuates a disease, which may be accounted one of the sorest maladies of human nature ; and the effects of which are said to visit the constitution of even distant genera- tions. The passion being natural, proves that it was intended to be gratified : but under what restric- tions, or whether without any, must be collected from different considerations. The Christian Scriptures condemn fornication absolutely and peremptorily. " (_)ut of the heart," says our Saviour, " proceed evil thoughts, mur- ders, adulteries, fornication, thefts, false witness, blasphemies ; tliese are the things which defile a man." These are Christ's own words : and one word from him upon the subject, is final. It may be observed with what society fornication is class- ed ; with murders, thefts, false witness, blasphe- mies. I do not mean that these crimes are all equal, because they are all mentioned together; but it proves that tiiey are all crimes. The apos- tles arc more full u|ion this tojiic. One well-known passage in the Eirislle to the Hebrews, may stand in the place of all others ; because, admitting the authority by which the apostles of Christ spake and wrote, it is decisive : " Marriage and the bed undefiled is honourable amongst all men : but whoremongers and adulterers Cod will judge;" which was a great deal to say, at a time when it was not agreed, even amongst philosophers them- selves, that fornication was a crime. The Scriptures give no sanction to those aus- terities, which have been since imposed upon the world under the name of Christ's reJigion ; as the celibacy of the clergy, the praise of perpetual vir- ginity, the prohibitio concubitus cum gravida uxore ; but with a just knowledge of, and regard to, the condition and interest of the human sjie- cies, have provided, in the marriage of one man with one woman, an adequate gratification for the propensities of their nature, and have restricted them to that gratification. The avowed toleration, and in some countries the licensing, taxing, and regulating of public brothels, liasiippeared to the people an authorising of fornication ; and has "ontributed, witii other * Of tliis passion it lias been truly said, that " irregu larity has no limits; that one excess draws on another- that the most easy, therefore, as well as the most e.\ceJ lent way of being virtuous, is to ba so entirely." Ogder, Serin, xvi. J SEDUCTION, 77 causes, so far to vitiate the public opinion, that there is no practice of which the immorahty is so httle thought of or acknowledcred, although there are few in which it can more plainly be made out. The legislators who have patronised receptacles of prostitution, ought to have foreseen this efli?ct, as well as considered, that whatever facilitates for- nication, diminishes marriages. And, as to the usual apology for this relaxed disciphne, the danger of grea*^or enormities, if access to prosti- tutes were too strictly watched and prohibited, it will be time enough to look to that, when the laws and the magistrates have done their utmost. The greatest vigilance of both will do no more, than oppose some bounds and some difficulties to this intercourse. And, alter all, these pretended fears are without foundation in experience. The men are in all respects the most virtuous, in countries where the women are most chaste. There is a species of cohabitation, distinguish- able, no doubt, from vagrant concubinage, and which, by reason of its resemblance to marriage, may be thought to participate of the sanctity and innocence of that estate ; 1 mean the case of kept miiitrcsses, under the favourable circumstance of mutual lidelit3\ This case I have heard defended by some such apology as the following: " That the marriage-rite being ditierent in dif- ferent countries, and in the same country amongst dillerent sects, and with some scarce any thing ; and, moreover, not being prescribed or even men- tioned in Scripture, can be accounted for only as jf a form and ceremony of human invention: that, consequently, if a man and woman betroth and confine themselves to each other, their inter- course must be the same, as to all moral purposes, as if they were legally married ; for the addition or omission of that which is a mere form and cere- mony, can make no difference in the sight of God, or in the actual nature of right and wrong." To all which it may be replied, 1. If the situation of the parties be the same thing as marriage, why do they not marry 1 2. If the man choose to have it in his power to dismiss the woman at his pleasure, or to retain her in a state of humiliation and dependence in- consistent with the rigiits which marriage would confer upon her, it is not the same thing. It is not at any rate the same thing to the children. Again, as to the marriage-rite being a mere form, and- that also variable, the same may be said of signing and sealing of bonds, wills, deeds of conveyance, and the like, which yet make a great ditlerence in the rights and obligations of the parties concerned in them. And with respect to the rite not being appoint- ed in Scripture ; — the Scriptures forbid fornica- tion, that is, cohabitation without marriage, leaving it to the law of each country to pronounce what is, or what makes, a marriage; in like manner as they forbid thefts, that is, the taking away of another's property, leaving it to the municipal law to fix what makes the thing property, or whose it is : which also, as well as marriage, de- pend upon arbitrary and mutable forms. Laying aside the injunctions of Scripture, the plain account of the question seems to be this : It is immoral, because it is pernicious, that men and women should cohabit, without undertaking cer- tain irrevocable obligations, and mutually con- ferring certain civil rights; if, therefore, the law has annexed these rights and obligations to cer- taui forms, so that they cannot be secured or un- dertaken by any other means, which is the case here (for, whatever the parties may promise to each other, nothing but the niarriageccremony can make their promise irrevocable,) it becomes in the same degree immoral, that men and women should cohabit without the interposition of these forms. If fornication be criminal, all those incentives which lead to it are accessaries to the crime; as lascivious conversation, whether expressed in ob- scene, or disguised under modest [)hrases ; also wanton songs, pictures, books ; tlie writing, pub- lishing, and circulating of which, whether out of frolic, or for some pitilul profit, is productive of so extensive a miscliief from so mean a temptation, that lew crimes, within the reach of private wick- edness, have more to answer for, or less to plead in their excuse. Indecent conversation, and by parity of reason all the rest, are forbidden by Saint Paul, Eph. iv. "29. " Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth;" and again, Col. iii. 8. " Put off filthy conmiunication out of" your mouth." The invitation, or voluntary admission, of im- pure thoughts, or the suH'ering them to get pos- session of the imagination, falls within the same description, and is condemned by Christ, Matt. V. 28. " Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath committed adultery with her already in his heart." Christ, by thus enjoining a regulation of the thoughts, strikes at the root of the evil. CHAPTER III. Seduction. The seducer piactises the same stratagems to draw a woman's person into his power, that a swindler does to get possession of your goods, or money ; yet the law of honour, which abhors de- ceit, applauds the address of a successful intrigue ; so much is this capricious rule guided by names, and with such facility does it accommodate itself to the pleasures and conveniency of higher life ! Seduction is seldom accomplished without fraud ; and the fraud is by so much more criminal than other frauds, as the injury effected by it is greater, continues longer, and less admits reparation. This injury is threefold : to the woman, to her family, and to the public. I. The injury to the woman is made up of the pain slie suffers from shame, or the Joss she sustains in her reputation and prospects of marriage, and of the dt'pravation of her moral principle. 1. This ]>ain must be extreme, if wc may judge of it from those barbarous endeavours to conceal their disgrace, to which women, under such cir cumstances, sometimes have recourse ; comparing also this barbarity with their passionate fondness for their offspring in other cases. Nothing but an agony of mind the most insupportable can induce a woman to forget her nature, and the pity which even a stranger would show to a helpless and im- ploring infant. It is true, that all are not urged to this extremity ; but if any are, it affords an in- dication of how much all suffer from the same cause. What shall we say to the authors of such mischief ] _ . 78 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. 2. T he loss which a woman sustains by the ruin of her reputation, ahnost exceeds computation, fivery person's happiness depends in part upon the respect and reception which they meet with in the world ; and it is no inconsiderable mortifi- cation, even to the firmest tempers, to be rejected from the society of their equals, or received there with neglect and disdain. But this is not all, nor the worst. By a rule of life, which it is not easy to blame, and which it is impossible to alter, a woman loses with her chastity the chance of mar- rying at all, or in any manner equal to the hopes she had been accustomed to entertain. Now mar- riage, whatever it be to a man, is that from which every woman expects her chief happiness. And this is still more true in low life, of which con- dition the women are who are most exposed to solicitations of this sort. Add to this, that where a woman's maintenance depends upon her cha- racter (as it does, in a great measure, with those who are to support themselves by service,) little sometimes is left to tlie forsaken suHerer, but to starve for want of employment, or to have re- course to prostitution for food and raiment. 3. As a woman collects her virtue into this point, the loss of her chastity is generally the destruction of her moral principle ; and this con- sequence is to be apprehended, whether the cri- minal intercourse be discovered or not. II. The injury to the family may be understood, by the application of that intiiUible rule, " of do- ing to others, what we would that others should do unto us." — Let a father or a brother say, for what consideration they would suffer this injury to a daughter or a sister ; and whether any, or even a total, loss of fortune, could create equal affliction and distress. And when they reject upon this, let them distinguish, if Ihey can, be- tween a robbery, committed upon their property l)y fraud or forgery, and the ruin of their happiness by the treachery of a seducer. III. The pubhc at large lose the benefit of the woman's service in her proper place and destina- tion, as a wife and parent. This, to the whole community, may be little ; but it is often more than all the good which the seducer does to the community can recompense. Moreover, prostitu- tion is supplied by seduction ; and in proportion to the danger there is of the woman's betaking herself, after her first sacrifice, to a life of public lewdness, the seducer is answerable for the mul- tiplied evils to which his crime gives birth. Upon the whole, if we pursue the effects of se- duction through the complicated misery which it occasions, and if it be right to estimate crimes by the mischief they knowingly produce, it will ap- pear something more than mere invective to as- sert, that not one half of the crimes, for which men suffer death by the laws of England, are so flagitious as this.* CHAPTER IV. Adultery. A NEW sufferer is introduced, — the injured husband, who receives a wound in his sensibility * Yet the law has provided no punishment for this offence beyond a pecuniary satisfaction to the injured family; and this can only be come at, by one of the quaintest fictions in the vi'orld : by the father's bringing his action a-iainst the seducer, for the loss of his daughter's service, during her pregnancy and nurturing. and affections, the most painful and incurablt that human nature knows. In all other respects, adultery on the part of the man who solicits the chastity of a married woman, includes the crime of seduction, and is attended with the same mis- chief The infidelity of the woman is aggravated by cruelty to her children, who are generally in- volved in their parents' shame, and always made unhappy by their quarrel. If it be said that the.se consequences are charge- able not so much upon the crime, as the discox cry, we answer, first, that the crime could not he dis- covered unless it were committed, and that the commission is never secure from discovery ; and secondly, that if we excuse adulterous connexions, whenever they can hope to escape detection, which is the conclusion to which this argument conducts us, we leave the husband no other se- curity for his wife's chastity, than in her want of opportunity or temptation; which would j)robably either deter men from marrying, or render mar- riage a state of such jealousy and alarm to the husband, as must end in the slavery and confine- ment of the wife. The vow, by which married persons mutually engage their fidelity, " is witnessed before God," and accompanied with circumstances of solemnity and religion, which approach to the nature of an oath. The married offender therefore incurs a crime little short of perjury, and the seduction of a married woman is little less than subornation of perjury; — and this guilt is independent of the discovery. All behaviour wliich is designed, or which knowingly tends, to captivate the afl'ection of a married woman, is a barbarous intrusion upon the peace and virtue of a family, though it fall short of adultery. The usual and only apology for adultery is, the prior transgression of the other party. There are degrees, no doubt, in this, as in other crimes; and so far as the bad eflt-cts of adultery are anti- cipated by the conduct of the husband or wife who ollends first, the guilt of the second offender is less. But this falls very far short of a justitica- tion; unless it could be shown that the obligation of the marriage-vow depends upon the comlition of reciprocal fidelity; for which construction there appears no foundation, either in expediency, or in the terms of the promise, or in the design of the legislature which prescribed the marriage-rite. Moreover, the rule contended for by this plea, has a manifest tendency to multiply the offence, but none to reclaim the ofiendcr. The way of considering the offence of one party as a provocation to the other, and the other iis only retaliating the injury by repeating the crime, is a childish trifling with words. "Thou shalt not commit adultery," was an interdict delivered by God hiniself By the Jew- ish law, adultery was capital to both parties in the crime: "Even he that committeth adultery with his neighbour's wife, the adulterer and adul- teress shall surely be put to death." — Levit. xx. 10. Which passages prove, that the Divine Legis- lator placed a great difference between adultery and fornication. And with this agree the Chris- tian Scriptures; for, in almost all the catalogues they have left us of crimes and criminals, they enumerate "fornication, adultery, whoremongers adulterers." (Matthew xv. 19. 1 Cor. vi. 9. Gal INCEST. 79 V. 9. Heb. viii. 4.) by which mention of both, they show that they did not consider them as the same : but tliat the crime of adultery was, in their ap- prehension, distinct from, and accumulated upon that of fornication. The history of the woman taken in adultery, recorded in the eighth chapter of St. J ohn's Gos- |je!, lias b; en thought by some to give countenance to that crime. As Christ told the woman, "Neither do 1 condemn thee," we must believe, it is said, that he deemed her conduct either not criminal, or not a crime, however, of the heinous nature vvhicii we represent it to be. A more attenti\e examination of the case will, I think, convince us, I liat from it nothing can be concluded as to Christ's opinion concerning adultery, either one way or the otlier. The transaction is thus related: "tarly ill the morning Jesus came again into the temple, auil all the people came unto him: and he sat down and taught them. And the Scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery: when they had set her in the midst, they say unto him. Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act : now Moses in the law connnanded that such should be stoned ; but what s.iycst thou % This they said tempting him, that they might have to accuse hiin. But Jesus stoop- ed down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not. So when they continued asking him, he lift up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin amongst you, let him tirst cast a stone at her; and again he stooped down and wrote on the ground : and they which heard it. being convicted by their own con- science, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest even unto the last ; and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. Wlien Jesus had lift up himself and saw none but the woman, he said unto her. Woman, where are tliose thine accusers '! hath no man condemned thee I She said unto him. No man, Lord. And he said unto her. Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more." '■This they said tempting liim, that they might have to accuse liim;" to draw him, that is, into an exercise of judicial authority, that they might have t(j accuse him before the Roman governor, of usurp- ing or intermeddling with the civil government. This was their design; and Christ s behaviour throughout the whole aflair proceeded from a knowleilge of this design, and a determination to defeat it. He gives them at first a cold and sullen reception, well suited to the insidious intention with which they came : "He stooped down, and 'vith his finger wrote on the ground, as though iie heard them not." "When they continued a.sk- iiig liiiii,'' when they teased him to speak, he dis- iiiis.-;ed them with a rebuke, which the impertinent malice of their errand, as well as the sacred cha- racter of many of thein, deserved: "He that is with- out sin (that is, this sin) among you, let him first cast a stone at her." This had its effect. Stung with tlie reproof, and disappointed of their aian, they stole away one by one, and left Jesus and t!ie woman alone. And then follows the con- vers;ition, which is the part of the narrative most material to our present subject. "Jesus said unto hsT, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee 1 She said, No man. Lord. And Jesus said unto her. Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more." Now, when Christ asked the woman, "Hath no man con- demned thee 1" he certainly spoke, and was un- derstood by the woman to speak, of a legal and judicial condemnation ; otherwise, her answer, "No man. Lord," was not true. In every other sense of condemnation, as blame, censure, rejjroof, private judgment, and the like, many had con- demned her; all those indeed who had brought her to Jesus. If then a judicial sentence was what Christ meant by condemning in the question, tlie common use of language requires us to suppose that he meant the same in his reply, "Neither do I condemn thee," i. e. I pretend to no judicial character or authority over thee ; it is no office or business of mine to pronounce or execute the sen- tence of the law. When Christ adds, "Go, and sin no more," he in effect tells her, that she had sinned already : but as to the degree or quality of the sin. or Christ's opinion concerning it, nothing is declared, or can be inferred, either way. Adultery, which was punished with death dur- ing the Usurpation, is now regarded by the law of England only as a civil injury ; for which the imperfect satisfaction that money can afli)rd, may be recovered by the husband. CHAPTER V. Incest. In order to preserve chastity in families, and between persons of different sexes, brought up and living together in. a state of unreserved in- timacy, it is necessary, by every method possible, to inculcate an abhorrence of incestuous conjunc- tions ; which abhorrence can only be upholden hv the absolute reprobation of all commerce of the sexes between near relations. Upon this prin- ciple, the marriage as well as other cohabitations of brothers and sisters, of lineal kindred, and of all who usually live in the same family, may be said to be forbidden by the law of nature. Restrictions which extend to remoter degrees of kindred than what this reason makes it neces- sary to proliibit from intermarriage, are foimdcd in the authority of the positive law which ordains them, and can only be justified by their tendency to diffuse wealth, to connect families, or to pro- mote some political advantage. The Levitical law, which is received in this country, and from which the rule of the Ptoman law differs very little, proliihits* marriage between relations, within three degrees of kindred ; com- puting the generations, not from, but through the common ancestor, and accounting affinity the same as consanguinity. The issue, however, of such marriages, are not bastardised, unless the parents be divorced during their lite-time. The Egyptians are said to have allowed of the marriage of brothers and sisters. Amongst the Athenians, a very singular regulation prevailed ; brothers and sisters of the half-blood, if related by the father's side, might marry ; if by the mother's side, they were prohibited from marrying. The same custom also probably obtained in Chaldea so early as the age in which Abraham left it : for he and Sarah his wife stood in this relation to each * The Roman law continued tfie profiibition to the descendants of brothers and sisters without limits. In the Levitical and English law, there is nothing to hin del" a man from marrying his great-niece. 80 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. other: "And yet, indeed, she is my sister; she is the daughter of uiy lather, but not of my motlier ; and she became my wife." Gen. xx. 12. CHAPTER VI. Polygamy. The equality* in the number of males and fe- males born into the world, intimates the intention of God, that one woman should be assigned to one man : tor if to one man be allowed an exclusive right to live or more women, four or more men must be deprived of the exclusive possession of any : which could never be the order intended. It seems also a significant indication of the di- vine will, that he at lirst created only one woman to one man. Had God intended polygamy for the species, it is probable he would have begun with it ; especially as, by giving to Adam more wives than one, the multiplication of the human race would have proceeded with a quicker j^rogress. Polygamy not only violates the constitution of nature, and the apparent design of the Deity, but produces to the parties themselves, and to the pub- lic, the following bad eflects ; contests and jealou- sies amongst the wives of the same husband ; dis- tracted alfections, or the loss of all affection, in the husband himself: a voluptuousness in the rich, which dissolves the vigour of their intellectual as well as active faculties, producing that indolence and imbecility both of mind and body, which have long characterised the nations of the East ; the abasement of one half of the human species, who, in countries where polygamy obtains, are degraded into mere instroments of physical pleasure to the other half; neglect of children; and the mani- fold, and sometimes unnatural mischiefs, which arise from a scarcity of women. To compensate for these evils, polygamy does not offer a single advantage. In the article of population, which it has been thought to promote, the community gain nothing :t for the question is not, whether one man will have more children by live or more wives than by one ; but whether these five wives would not bear the same or a greater number of children to five separate husbands. And as to the care of the children, when produced, and the sending of them into the world in situations in which they may be likely to form and bring up famihes of * This equality is not exact. The number of male infants exceeds that of females in the proportion of nineteen toeiffhteen, or thereabouts : which excess pro- vides for the greater consumption of males by war, sea- faring, and other dangerous or unhealthy occupations. t Nothing, I moan, compared with a state in which marriage is nearly universal. Where marriages are less general, and many women unfruitful from the want of husbands, polygamy might at first add a little to popula- tion, and but a little ; for, as a variety of wives would be sought chiefly from temptations of voluptuousness, it would rather increase the demand for female beauty, than for the sex at large. And this little would soon be made less by many deductions. For, first, as none but the opulent can maintain a plurality of wives, where polygamy obtains, the rich indulge in it while the rest take up with a vague and barren incontinency. And, secondly, 'vomen would grow less jealous of their vir- tue, when they had nothing for which to reserve it, but a cliainber in the haram; when their chastity was no longer to be rewarded with the rights and happiness of a wifc, as enjoyed under the marriage of one woman to one man. These considerations may be added to what is mentioned in the text, concerning the easy and early nettlement of children in the world. their own, upon which the increase and succes- sion of the human species in a great degree depend ; this is less provided for, and less practi- cable, where twenty or thirty children are to be supported by the attention and fortunes of one father, than if they were divided into five or six families, to each of which were assigned the indus- try and inheritance of two parents. Whether simultaneous polygamy was permit- ted by the law of Moses, seems doubtl'ul ;* but whether permitted or not, it was certainly practised by the Jewish patriarchs, both belbre that law, and under it. I'he permission, if there were any, might be like that of divorce, " for the hardness of their heart," in condescension to their established indulgences, rather than from the general rectitude or propriety of the thing itself. The state of manners in Judea had probably undergone a reformation in this respect before the time of Christ; for in the New Testament we meet with no trace or mention of any such prac- tice being tolerated. For which reason, and because it was likewise forbidden amongst the Greeks and Romans, we canirot expect to find any express law upon the subject in the christian code. The words of Christ t (Matt. xix. 9.) may be construed, by an easy implication, to prohibit polygamy: for, if whoever putteth away his wile, and marricth another, committeth adultery," he who rnarrieth another without puttiirg away the first, is no less guilty of adultery: because the adultery does not consist in the repudiation of the first wife (for. however unjust or cruel that may be, it is not adultery,) but in entering into a second marriage during tlie legal existence and obligation of the first. The several passages in St. Paul's writings, which speak of marriage, always suppose it to signify the union of one man with one woman. Upon this supposition he argues, Rom. vii. 1, 3, 3. " Know ye not, brethren, (for 1 speak to them that know the law,) how that the law hath dominion over a man, as long as he liveth 1 I'or the woman which hath an husband, is bound by the law to her husband so long as he liveth ; but if the husband be dead, she is loosed from the law of her husband ; so then, if while her husband liveth she be married to another man, she shall be called an adulteress." When the same apostle permits marriage to his Corinthian converts, (which, " for the present distress," he judges to be inconvenient,) he restrains the permission to the marriage of one husband with one wife : — '• It is good for a man not to touch a woman ; neverthe- less, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband." The manners of different countries have varied in nothing more than in their domestic constitu- tions. Less polished and more luxurious nations have either not perceived the bad efiects of poly- gamy, or, if they did perceive them, they who in such countries possessed the power of reforming the laws have been unwilling to resign their own gratifications. Polygamy is retained at this day among the Turks, and throughout every part of Asia in whii'h Christianity is not proti^sscd. In Christian countries, it is universally prohibited. * >'ee Deut. xvii. J7; xxi. 15. 1 1 say unto you. Whosoever shall put away his wife, except it be for fornication, and shall marry another, committeth adultery. DIVORCE. 81 In Sweden, it is punished with death. Iii Eng- 1 land, besides the nullity of the second marriage, it subjects the ofT'endcr to transportation, or im- prisonment and branding, for the first oflence, and to capital punishment for the second. And whatever may be said in behalf of polygamy when it is authorised by the law of the land, the mar- riage of a second wife during the life-tune of the first, in countries where such a second marriage is void, must be ranked with the most dangerous and cruel of those frauds, by which a woman is cheated out of her fortune, her person, and her happiness. The ancient Medes compelled their citizens, in one canton, to take seven wives ; in another, each woman to receive five husbands : according as war had made, in one quarter of their country, an extraordinary havoc among the men, or t!ie women had been carried away by an enemy ttoni another. This regulation, so far as it was ad ipted to the proportion wliich subsisted between the number of males and females, was founded in the reason upon which the most approved nations of Europe proceed at present. Caesar found amongst the inhabitants of this island a species of polygamy, if it may be so called, which was perfectly singular. U.vores, says he, habent deni duodenique inter se communes ; et ina.xime fratres cum fratribus, parentesgue cum liberis ; sed si qui siiit ex his naCi, corum haben- tur liberi, quo primum virgo quceqiie deducta est. CHAPTER VII. Of Divorce. By divorce, I mean a dissolution of the mar- riage-contract, by the act, and at the will, of the husband. This power was allowed to the husband, among the Jews, the Greeks, and latter Romans ; and is at tliis day exercised by the Turks and Per- sians. The congruity of such a right with the law of nature, is the question before us. And, in the first place, it is manifestly incon- sistent with the duty which the parents owe to their children: which duty can never be so well fulfilled as by their cohaliitation and united care. It is also incompatible with the right which the mother possesses, as wcU as the father, to the gratitude of her cliildren, and the comfort of their society ; of both which she is almost necessarily- deprived, by her dismission from her husband's family. Where this objection does not interfere, I know of no principle of the law of nature ap[)Iicab]e to the question, beside that of general exj^edioncy. For, if we say that arbitrary divorces are ex- cluded by the terms of the marriage-contract, it may be answered, that the contract might be so framed as to admit of this condition. If we argue, with some moralists, that the obligation of a contract naturally continues, so i long as the purpose, which the contracting parties had in view, requires its continuance ; it will be ditficult to show what purpose of the contract (the care of children excepted,) should confine a man to a woman, from whom he seeks to be loose. If we contend, with others, that a contract can- not, by the law of nature, be dissolved, unless the parties be replaced in the situation which each possessed before the contract was entered into; we shall be called upon to prove this to be an universal or indispensable property of contracts. 1 confess myself unable to assign any circum- stance in the marriage-contract, wnich essentially distinguishes it from other contracts, or which proves that it contains, what many have ascribed to it, a natural incapacity of being dissolved by the consent of the parties, at the option of one of them, or cither of them. But if we trace the efiects of such a rule upon the general happiness of married life, we shall perceive reasons of expe- diency, that abundantly justify the policy of those laws which refuse to the husband the power of divorce, or restrain it to a few extreme and spe- cific provocations : and our piinciples teach us to pronounce that to be contrary to the law of na- ture, which can be proved to be detrimental to the conmion happiness of the human species. A lawgiver, whose counsels are directed by views of general utility, and obstructed by no local impediment, would make the marriage contract indissoluble during the joint lives of the parties, for the sake of the ibllowing advantages : — I. Because tins tends to preserve peace an- pose the husband to have once preferred his wife to all other women, the duration of this preference cannot be trusted to. Possession makes a great dillerence : and there is no other security against the invitations of novelt)^, than the known im{x)s- sibility of obtaining the object. Did the cause winch brings the sexes together, hold them together by the same force with which it first attracted them to each other ; or could the woman 82 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. be restored to her personal integrity, and to all the advautuges of her virgin estate ; tlie power of divorce might be- deposited in the hands of the husband, with less danger of abuse or inconve- niencv. But constituted as mankind are, and injured as the repudiated wife generally must be, it is necessary to add a stability to the condition of mar/led women, more secure than the con- tinuance of their husbands' affection ; and to supply to both sides, by a sense of duty and of obligation, what satiety has impaired of passion and of personal attachment. Upon the whole, the power of divorce is evidently and greatly to the disadvantage of the woman : and the only question appears to be whether the real and permanent happiness of one half of the species should be sur- rendered to the caprice and voluptuousness of the other ] We have considered divorces as depending upon the will of the husband, because that is the way in which they have actually obtained in many parts of the world : but the same objections apply, in a great degree, to divorces by mutual consent; especially when we consider the indeU- cate situation and small prospect of happiness, which rejnains to the party who opposed his or her dissent to the Uberty and desire of the other. The law of nature admits of an exception in favour of the injured party, in cases of adultery, of obstinate desertion, of attempts upon life, of outrageous cruelty, of incurable madness, and perhaps of personal imbecility ; but by no means indulges the same privilege to mere dislike, to op- position of humours and inclination, to contrariety of taste and temper, to complaints of coldness, neglect, severity, peevishness, jealousy : not that these reasons are trivial, but because such objec- tions may always be alleged, and are impossible by testimony to be ascertained ; so that to allow implicit credit to them, and to dissolve marriages whenever either party thought fit to pretend them, would lead in its effect to all the licentious- ness of arbitrary divorces. Milton's story is well known. Upon a quar- rel with his wife, he paid his addresses to another woman, and set forth a public vindication of his conduct, by attempting to prove, that confirmed dislike was as just a foundation for dissolving the marriage-contract, as adultery : to which position, and to all the arguments by which it can be sup- ported, the above consideration affords a sufficient answer. And if a married pair, in actual and ir- reconcileable discord, complain that their hap[)i- ness would be better consulted, by permitting them to determine a connexion which is become odious to both, it may be told them, that the same permission, as a general rule, would produce liber- tinism, dissension, and misery, amongst thousands, who are now virtuous, and quiet, and happy in their condition : and it ought to satisfy them to reflect, that when their happiness is sacrificed to the operation of an unrelenting rule, it is sacri- ficed to the happiness of the community. The Scriptures seem to have drawn the obliga- tion tighter than the law of nature left it. " Who- soever," saith Chri.st, " shall put away his wife, ex- cept it be for fornication, and shall marry another, committeth adultery; and whoso marrieth her which is put away, doth commit adultery." — Matt. xix. i). The law of Moses, for reasons of local expediency, permitted the Jewish husband to put away his wife: but whether for every cause, or for what causes, appears to have beei-. controverted amongst the interpreters of those times. Christ, the precepts of whose religion were calculated for more general use and observa- tion, revokes this permission (as given to the Jews, " tor the hardness of their hearts,") and pronmlges a law which was thenceforward tc confine divorces to the single case of adultery in the wife. And 1 see no sufficient reason to de- part from the plain and strict meaning of Christ's words. The rule was new. It both surprised and offended his disciples; yet Christ added nothing to relax or explain it. Inferior causes may justify the separation of husband and wife, although they will not au- thorise such a dissolution of the marriage con- tract as would leave either party at liberty to marry again ; for it is that liberty, in which the danger and mischief of divorces principally con- sist. If the care of children does not require that they should live together, and it is become, in the serious judgment of both, necessary for their mu- tual happiness that they should separate, let them separate by consent. Nevertheless, this necessity can hardly exist, without guilt and misconduct on one side or both. Moreover, cruelty, ill-usuge, ex- treme violence, or moroseness of temper, or other great and continued provocations, make it lawful for the party aggrieved to withdraw from the so- ciety of the otTender without his or her consent. The law which imposes the marriage-vow, where- by the parties promise to " keep to each other," or in other words, to live together, must be under- stood to impose it with a silent reservation of these cases ; because the same law has constituted a ju- dicial relief from the tyranny of the husband, by the divorce o mensa et toro, and by the provision which it makes for the separate maintenance of the injured wife. St. Paul likewise distinguishes between a wife's merely separating herself from the family of her husband, and her marrying again: — "Let not the wile depart from her hus- band : hut and if she do depart, let her remain unmarried." The law of this country, in conformity to our Saviour's injunction, confines the dissolution of the marriage-contract to the single case of adul- tery in the wife ; and a divorce, even in that case, can only be brought about by the operation of an act of parliament, founded upon a previous sen- tence in the ecclesiastical court, and a verdict against the adulterer at common law : which pro- ceedings taken together, compose as complete an investigation of the complaint as a cause can re- ceive. It has lately been proposed to the legisla- ture to annex a clause to these acts, restraining the offending party from marrying with the com- panion of her crime, who, by the course of pro- ceeding, is always known and convicted: for there is reason to fear, that adulterous connexions are often formed with the prospect of bringing them to this conclusion ; at least, when the seducer has once captivated the affection of a married woman, he may avail himself of this tempting argument to subdue her scruples, and complete nis victory ; and the legislature, as the business is managed at present, assists by its interposition the criminal design of the offenders, and confers a privilege where it ought to inflict a punishment. The pro- posal deserved an experiment : but something more penal will, I apprehend, be found necessary to check the progress of this alarming depravity, MARRIAGE. 83 Wliether a law might not be framed directing the fortune of the adulteress to descend as in case of her natural death; reserving, however, a certain proportion of the produce of it, by way of annuity, for her subsistence (such annuity, in no case, to exceed a fixed sum,) and also so tar suspending the estate in the hands of the heir as to preserve the inheritance to any children she might bear to a second marriage, in case there was none to succeed in the place of their mother by the first ; whether, I say, such a law would not render female virtue in higher life less vincible, as well as the seducers of that virtue less urgent in their suit, we recommend to the deliberation of those who are willing to attempt the reformation of this important, but most incorrigible, class of the community. A passion for splendor, lor ex- pensive amusements and distinction, is commonly found, in that description of women who would become the objects of such a law, not less inordi- nate than their other appetites. A severity of the kind we propose, applies immediately to that pas- sion. And there is no room for any complaint of injustice, since the provisions above stated, with others which might be contrived, confine the punishment, so tar as it is possible, to the person of the ofJender ; suflering the estate to remain to the heir, or within the family, of the ancestor from whom it came, or to attend the appointments of his will. Sentences of the ecclesiastical courts, which release the parties a rinculo matrimonii by rea- son of impuberty, frigidity, consanguinity within the prohibited degrees, prior marriage, or want of the requisite consent of parents and guardians, are not dissolutions of the marriage-contract, but judicial declarations that there never was any marriage ; such impediment subsisting at the time, as rendered the celebration of the marriage-rite a mere nullity. And the rite itself contains an ex- ception of these impediments. The man and wo- man to be married are charged, " if the)^ know any impediment why they may not be lawfully joined together, to confess it;" and assured "that so many as are coupled together, otherwise than God's word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful ;" all which is intended by way of solemn notice to the parties, that the vow they are about to make will bind their consciences and authorise their cohabitation, only upon the supposition that no legal impedi- ment exists. CHAPTER VIII. Marriage. Whethf.r it hath grown out of some tradition of the Divine appointment of marriage in the persons of our first parents, or merely from a de- sign to impress the obligation of the marriage-con- tract with a solemnity suited to its importance, the marriage-rite, in almost all countries of the world, has been made a religious ceremony ;* al- * It was not, however, in Christian countries re- qnireil tliat marriages sliould be celebrated in clmrches, till the thirteenth century of the Christian fera. Mar- riages in Knglavd during tlie Usurpation, were so- lemnized before justices of the peace : but for what pur- piise this novelty was introduced, except to degrade the clergy, does not appear. though marriage, in its own nature, and ati-.fract- ed from the rules and declarations which the Jew- ish and Christian Scriptures deliver concerninif it, be properly a civil contract, and nothing more With respect to one main article in matrimonial alliances, a total alteration has taken place in the fashion of the world ; the wife now brings money to her husband, whereas anciently the husbantl paid money to the finnily of the wife; as was the case among the Jewish patriarchs, the Greeks, and the old inhabitants of Germany* This al- teration has proved of no small advantage to the female sex : tor their importance in point of for- tune procures to them, in modern times, that as- siduity and respect, which are always wanted to compensate for the inferiority of their strength : but which their personal attractions would not always secure. Our business is with marriage, as it is esta- blished in this country. And in treating thereof, it will be necessary to state the terms of the mar- riage vow, in order to discover : — 1. What duties this vow creates. 2. What a situation of mind at the time is in- consistent with it. 3. By what subsequent behaviour it is violated. The husband promises on his part, "to love, comfort, honour, and keep, his wife ;" the wife on hers, " to obey, serve, love, honour, and keep, liei husband;" in every variety of health, fortune, and condition : and both stipulate " to forsake all others, and to keep only unto one another, so long as they both shall live." This promise is called the marriage vow ; is witnessed before God and the congregation ; accompanied with prayers to Almighty God for his blessing upon it ; and at- tended with such circumstances of devotion and solemnity as place the obligation of it, and the guilt of violating it, nearly upon the same foun- dation with that of oaths. The parties by this vow engage their personal fidehty expressly and specifically; they engage likewise to consult and promote each other's hap- piness ; the wife, moreover, promises obedience to her husband. Nature may have made and lefttl;e sexes of the human species nearly equal in their faculties, and perfectly so in their rights ; but to guard against those competitions which equalitv, or a contested superiority, is ahnost sure to produce, the Christian Scriptures enjoin upon the wife that obedience which she here promises, and in terms so peremptory and absolute, that it seems to extend to every thing not criminal, or not en- tirely inconsistent with the woman's happiness. " Let the wife," says St. Paul, " be subject to her husband in every thing." — " The ornament of a meek and quiet spirit," says the same apostle, speaking of the duty of wives, " is, in the sight of God, of great price." No words ever expressed the true merit of the female character so well as these. The condition of human hfe will not pennit us to say, that no one can conscientiously marry, who does not prefer the person at the altar to all other men or women in the world : but we can have no difficulty in pronouncing (whether we respect the end of the institution, or the plain + The ancient .Assyrians sold their beauties by an an- nual auction. The prices were applied by way of por tions to the more homely. By this contrivance, all of both sorts were disposed of in marriage. 84 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. temis in which the contract is conceived,) that whoever is conscious, at tlie time ol' his marriage, of such a dishke to the woman he is about to mar- ry, or of such a subsisting attachment to some other woman, that lie cannot reasonably, nor does in fact, expect ever to entertain an all'ection for Ills future wife, is guilty, when he pronounces the marriage vow, of a direct and deliberate prevarica- tion; and that, too, aggravated by tlie presence of those ideas of rehgion, and of the Supreme Being, which the place, the ritual, and the solenuiity of the occasion, cannot fail of bringing to his thoughts. The same likewise of the woman. This charge must be imputed to all who, from mercenary mo- tives, marry the objects of their aversion and dis- gust ; and likewise to those who desert, from any motive whatever, the object of their aflection, and, without being able to subdue that aiiection, marry another. The crime of falsehood is also incurred by the man who intends, at the time of his marri.ige, to commence, renew, or continue a personal com- merce with any other woman. And the parity of reason, if a wife be capable of so much guilt, ex- tends to her. The marriage-vow is violated, I. By adultery. II. By any behaviour which, knowingly, ren- ders the life of the other miserable ; as desertion, neglect, prodigality, drunkenness, peevishness, penuriousness, jealousy, or any levity of conduct which administers occasion of jealousy. A late regulation in the law of marriages, in this country, has made the consent of the lather, if he be living, of the mother, if she survive the father, and remain unmarried, or of guardians, if both parents be dead, necessary to the marriage of a person under twenty-one years of age. By the Roman law, the consent et avi et pcUris was re- quired so long as they lived. In France, the con- sent of parents is necessary to tlie marriage of sons, until they attain to thirty years of age ; of daughters, until twenty-five. In Holland, for sons till twenty-five; for daughters till twenty. And this distinction between- the sexes appears to be well founded ; for a woman is usually as properly qualified for the domestic and interior duties of a wife or mother at eighteen, as a man is for the business of the world, and the more arduous care of providing for a family, at twenty-one. The constitution also of the human species in- dicates the same distinction.* CHAPTER IX. Of the Duty of Parents. That virtue, which confines its beneficence within the walls of a man's own house, we have been accustomed to consider as little better than a more refined selfishness ; and yet it will be con- fessed, that the subject and matter of this class of duties are inferior to none in utility and im- portance : and where, it may be asked, is virtue, the most valuable, but where it does the most good '? What duty is the most obligatory, but that on which the most depends 1 And where have we * Cum vis prolem procreanfli diutius hiEroat in mare quam in feinina piipulj tiumt^nis nequatjuain minuetur, si serius venerem colore iiiceperiiit viri. happiness and misery so much in our power, or liable to be so aflected by our conduct, as in ouf own families '! It will also be acknowledged that the good order and happiness of the world are bet- ter upholden whilst each man applies himself to Ills own concerns and the care of his own family, to which he is present, than if every man, from an excess of mistaken generosity, should leave his own business, to undertake his neigh- bour's, which he must always manage with less knowledge, conveniency, and success. If there- fore, the low estimation of these virtues be well founded, it must be owing, not to their interior importance, but to some defect or impurity in the motive. And indeed it cannot be denied, that it is in the power of association so to unite our children's interest with our own, as that we shall often pursue both from the same motive, place both in the same object, and with as little sense of duty in one pursuit as in the other. Where this is the case, the judgment above stated is not far from the truth. And so oitcn as we find a so- licitous care of a man's own family, in a total ab- sence or extreme penury of every other virtue, or interfering with other duties, or directing its operation solely to the temporal happiness of the children, placing that happiness in anmsement and indulgence whilst they are young, or in ad- vancement of fortune when they grow up, there is reason to believe that this is the case. In this way, the common opinion concerning these duties may be accounted for and defended. If we look to the subject of them, we perceive them to be in- dispensable. If we regard the motive, we find them often not very meritorious. Wherefore, al- though a man seldom rises high in our esteem who has nothing to recommend him beside the care of his own family, yet we always condenm the ne- glect of this duty with the utmost severity ; both by reason of the manifest and immediate mischief which we see arising from this neglect, and he- cause it argues a want not only of parental af- fection, but of those moral principles which ought to come in aid of that afl(?ction where it is want- ing. And if, on the other hand, our praise and esteem of these duties be not proportioned to the good they produce, or to the indignation with which we resent the absence of them, it is lor this reason, that virtue is the most valuable, not where it produces the most good, but where it is the most wanted: which is not the case liere; be- cause its place is often supplied by instincts, or in- voluntary associations. Nevertheless, the ofiices of a parent may be discharged from a conscious- ness of their obligation, as well as other duties ; and a sense of this obligation is sometimes neces- sary to assist the stimulus of parental aflection ; especially in stations of life in which the wants of a family cannot he supplied without the continual hard labour of the father, and without his re- fraining from many indulgences and recreations which unmarried men of Uke condition are able to purchase. Where the parental aflection is suf- ficiently strong, or has fewer difficulties to sur- mount, a principle of duty may still be wanted to direct and regulate its exertions : for otherwise it is apt to spend and waste itself in a womanish fondness for the person of the child ; an impro- vident attention to his present ease and gratifica- tion ; a pernicious facility and compliance with his humours ; an excessive and superfluous care to provide the externals of happiness, with little DUTY OF PARENTS. 85 or no attention to the internal sources of virtue and satisfaction. Universally, wherever a parent s conilact is prompted or directed by a sense of duty, there is so much virtue. Having premised thus much concerning the place which parental duties hold in the scale of liuinan virtues, we proceed to state and explain tlie duties themselves. When moralists tell us, that parents are bound to do all they can for their children, they tell us more than is true ; for, at that rate, every expense which might have been spared, and every proht omitted which might have been made, would be criminal. The duty of parents has its limits, like other duties ; and admits, if not of perfect precision, at least of rules definite enough for application. These rules may be explained under the several heads oi maintenance, education, and a reasonable •provision for the child's happiness in respect of oatxcard condition. I. Maintenance. The wants of children make it necessary that some person maintain them; and, as no one has a right to burthen others by his act, it follows, that the parents are hound to undertake this charge themselves. Beside this plain inference, the afi'ection of parents to their children, if it be instinctive, and the provision which nature has prepared in the person of the mother for the sus- tentation of the infant, concerning the existence and design of which there can be no doubt, are manifest indications of the Divine will. Hence we learn the guilt of those who run away from their families, or (what is much the same,) in consequence of idleness or drunkenness, throw them upon a parish ; or who leave them destitute at their death, when, by diligence and frugality, they might have laid up a provision for their support : also of those who refuse or neglect the care of their bastard ofl'spring, abandoning them to a condition in which they must either perish or become burthensome to others ; for the dut}' of maintenance, like the reason upon which it is founded, extends to bastards, as well as to legitimate children. The Christian Scriptures, although they con- cern themselves little with maxims of prudence or economy, and much less authorize worldly- mindedness or avarice, have yet declared in ex- plicit terms their judgment of the obligation of this duty : " If any provide not for his own, especially for those of his own household, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel," (1 Tim. v. 8. ;) he hath disgraced the Christian profession, and fallen short in aduty wliicheven infidels acknow- ledge. II. Education. Education, in the most extensive sense of the word, may comprehend every preparation that is made in our youth for the sequel of our lives; and in this sense I use it. Some such preparation is necessary for children of all conditions, becau.se without it they must he miserable, and probably will be vicious, when they grow up, either from want of the means of subsistence, or from want of rational and inoffensive occupation. In civilized life, every thing is effected by art and skill. Whence a person who is provided with neither (and neither can be acquired without exercise and instruction) will he useless , and he that is useless, will generally be at the same tun-^ mischievous to the community. So that to send an unt^ducated child into the world, is injurious to the rest of mankind ; it is little better than to turn out a mad dog or a wild beast into the streets. In the inferior classes of the comnmnity, this principle condemns the neglect of parents, who do not inure their children betimes to labour and restraint, by providing them with apprenticeships, services, or othci regular employment, but who sutler them to waste their youth in idleness and vagrancy, or to betake themselves to some lazy, trilling, and precarious calling : for the conse- quence of having thus tasted the sweets of na- tural liberty, at an age when their passion and relish for it are at the highest, is, that they become iucainible, for the remainder of their lives, of con- titmed industry, or of persevering attention to any thing ; spend their time in a miserable struggle between the importunity of want, and the irk- someness of regular application ; and are pre- pared to embrace every exjiedient, which presents a hope of supplying their necessities without con- fining them to the plough, the loom, the shop, or the counting-house. In the middle orders of society, those parents are most reprehensible, who neither qualify their children for a profession, nor enable them to Uve without one ;* and those in the highest, who, from indolence, indulgence, or avarice, omit to procure their children those liberal attainments which are necessary to make them useful in the stations to which they are destined. A man of fortune, who permits his son to consume the season of educa- tion in hunting, shooting, or in frequenting horse- races, assemblies, or other unetlifying, if not vi- cious, diversions, defrauds the community of a benefactor, and bequeaths them a nuisance. Some, though not the same, preparation for the sequel of their lives, is necessary for youth of every description ; and therefore for bastards, as well as for children of better expectations. Consequently, they who leave the education of their bastards to chance, contenting themselves with making pro- vision for their sul>sistence, desert half their duty. III. A reasonable provision for the happiness of a child, in respect of outward condition, re- quires three things : a situation suited to his ha- bits and reasonable expectations; a competent provision for the exigencies of that situation ; and a probable security for his virtue. The first two articles will vary with the con diticn of the parent. A situation somewhat ap- proaching in rank and condition to the parent's own ; or, where that is not practicable, similar to what other parents of like condition provide for their children ; bounds the reasonable, as well as (generally speaking) the actual, expectations of the child, and therefore contains the extent of the parent's obligation. Hence, a peasant satisfies his duty, who sends out his children, properly instructed for their oc- cupation, to husbandry or to any branch of manu- facture. Clergymen, lawyers, physicians, officers in the army or navy, gentlemen possessing mo- derate fortunes of inheritance, or exercising trade in a large or liberal way, are required by the same rule to provide their sons with learned professions, * Amongst the Athenians, if the parent did not put his child into a way of getting a livelihood, the child was not bound to make provision for the parent when old and necessitous. „ 86 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. commissions in the army or navy, places in public olKces, or reputable branches of merchandise. Providing a child with a situation, includes a competent supply for the expenses of that situa- tion, until the proiits of it enables the child to sup- port iiimscif Noblemen and gentlemen of high rank and fortune may be bound to transmit an inht^ritance to the representatives of their family, sulHcient tor their support without the aid of a trade or profession, to which there is little hope that a youth, who lias been flattered with other expectations, will apply himself with diligence or success. In these parts of the world, public opinion has assorted the members of the community into four or five general classes, each class comprising a great variety of employments and proiessions^ the choice of which must be committed to the private discretion of the parent.* All that can be expected from parents as a duty, and thereibre the only rule which a moralist can deliver upon the subject, is, that they endeavour to preserve their children in the class in which they are born, that is to say, in which others of similar expecta- tions are accustomed to be placed; and that they be careful to coniine their hopes and habits of in- dulgence to objects which will continue to be at- tainable. it is an ill-judged thrift, in some rich parents, to bring up their sons to mean employments, for the sake of saving the charge of a more expensive education : for these sons, when they become mas- ters of their liberty and ibrtune, will hardly con- tinue in occupations by which they think them- selves degraded, and are seldom qualified for any thing better. An attention, in the first place, to the exigen- cies of the children's respective conditions in the world ; and a regard, in the second place, to their reasonable expectations, always postponing the expectations to the exigencies when both cannot be satisiicd, ought to guide parents in the disposal of their fortunes after their death. And these exigencies and expectations must be measured by * Tlie health and virtue of a child's future life are consiilorations so superior to all others, thai whatever is likely to have the smallest influence upon these, de- serves the parent's first attention. In respect of health, agriculture, and all active, rural, and out-of-door em- ployments, are to be preferred to manufactures and se- dentary occupations. In respect of virtue, a course of dealings in which the advantage is mutual, in which the profit on one side is connected with the benefit of the other (which is the case in trade, and all serviceable art or labour,) is more favourable to the moral charac- ter, than callings in which one man's gain is another man's loss; in which what you acquire, is acquired without equivalent, and parted with in distress; as in gaming, and whatever partakes of gaming, and in the predatory profits of war. The following distinctions also deserve notice: A business, like a retail trade, in which the profits are small and frequent, and accruing from the employment, furnishes a moderate and con- stant engagement of the mind, and, so far, suits better with the general disposition of mankind, than profes- sions which are supported by fixed salaries, as stations in the church, army, navy, revenue, public offices, &c. or wherein the profits are made in large sums, by a few great concerns, or fortunate adventures; as in many branches of wholesale and foreign merchandise, in which the occupation is neither so constant, nor the activity so kept alive by immediate encouragement. J'or security, manual arts exceed merchandise, and such as supply the wants of mankind are better than those which minister to their pleasure. Situations which promise an early settlement in marriage, are on many accounts to be chosen before those which require i longer waiting for a larger establistmient. the standard which custom has established : fof tiiere is a certain appearance, attendance, estab- lishment, and mode of living, which custom has annexed to the several ranks and orders of civil life (and which compose what is called decency,) together with a certain society, and particular pleasures, belonging to each class : and a young person who is withheld from sharing in these tor want of fortune, can scarcely be said to have a fair chance for happiness; the intlignity and mor- tification of such a seclusion being what lew tempers can bear, or bear with contentment. And as to the second consideration, of what a child may reasonably expect from his parent, he will expect what he sees all or most others in similar circum- stances receive ; and we can hanlly call expecta- tions unreasonable, which it is impossible to sup- press. By virtue of this rule, a parent is justified in making a difference between his children accord- ing as they stand in greater or less need of the assistance of his fortune, in consequence of the difierence of their age or sex, or of the situations in which they are placed, or the various success which they have met with. On account of the few lucrative employments which are left to the female sex, and by conse- quence the little opportunity they have of adding to their income, daughters ought to be the par- ticular objects of a parent's care and foresight ; and as an option of marriage, from which they can reasonably expect happiness, is not presented to every woman who deserves it, especially in times in which a licentious celibacy is in fashion with the men, a father should endeavour to enable his daughters to lead a single life with independence and decorum, even though he subtract more for that purpose from the portions of his sons than is agreeable to modern usage, or than they expect. But when the exigencies of their several situa- tions are provided for, and not before, a parent ouglit to admit the second consideration, the satis- faction of his children's expectations ; and upon that principle to prefer the eldest son to the rest, and sons to daughters : which constitutes the right, and the whole right, of primogeniture, as well as the only reason for the preference of one sex to the other. The jireference, indeed, of the first- born, has one public good eflect, that if the estate were divided equally amongst the sons, it would probably make them all idle ; whereas, by the present rule of descent, it makes only one so ; which is the less evil of the two. And it must further be observed on the part of the sons, that if the rest of the community make it a rule to pre- fer sons to daughters, an individual of that com- munity ought to guide himself by the same rule, upon principles of mere equality. For, as the son sufli;rs by the rule, in the fortune he may expect in marriage, it is but reasonable that he should receive the advantage of'it in his own inheritance. Indeed, whatever the rule be, as to the preference of one sex to the other, marriage restores the equality. And as money is generally more con- vertible to jirofit, and more likely to promote in- dustry, in the hands of men than of women, the custom of this country may properly be complied with, when it does not interfere with the weiglitier reason explained in the last paragraph. The point of the children's actual expectations, together with the expediency of subjecting the il- licit commerce of the sexes to every discourage- DUTY OF PARENTS. 87 merit which it can receive, makes the iliflercnce between the chiims oi' legitimate children and of bastards. But neither reason will in any case justify the leaving of bastards to the world with- out provision, education, or profession; or, what is more cruel, without the means of continuing in the situation to whic-h the parent has intro- duced them ; v.'liich last is, to leave them to in- evitable misery. Att'T the first requisite, namely, a provision for the exigencies of his situation, is satisfied, a parent may diminish a child's portion, in order to punish any flagrant crime, or to punish contumacy and Want of filial duty in instances not otherwise criminal : for a child who is conscious of bad be- haviour, or of contempt of his parent's will and happiness, cannot reasonably expect the same in- stances of his munificence. A child's vices may be of that sort, and his vicious habits so incorrigiiile, as to afford much the same reason for beheving that he will waste or misemploy the fortune put into his power, as if he were mad or idiotish, in which case a parent may treat him as a madman or an idiot ; that is, may deem it sufficient to provide for his support, by an annuity equal to his wants and innocent enjoyments, and which he may be restrained from alienating. This seems to be the only case in which a disinherison, nearly absolute, is jus- tifiable. Let not a father hope to excuse an inofficious disposition of his fortune, by alleging, that " every man may do what he will with his own." All the truth which this expression contains is, that this discretion is under no control of law; and that his will, however capricious, will be valid. This by no means absolves his conscience from the ob- ligations of a parent, or imports that he may ne- glect, without injustice, the several wants and ex- pectations of his family, in order to gratify a whim or pique, or indulge a preference founded in no reasonable distinction of merit or situation. Although in his intercourse with his family, and in the lesser endearments of domestic life, a pa- rent may not always resist his partiality to a fa- vourite child (which, however, should be both avoided and concealed, as oftentimes productive of lasting jealousies and discontents;) yet, when he sits down to make his will, these tendernesses must give place to more manly deliberations. A father of a family is bound to adjust his economy with a view to these demands upon his fortune; and until a sufficiency for these ends is acquired, or in due time probably will be acquired (for, in human alTairs, probability ought to con- tent us.) frugality and exertions of industry are duties. He is also justified in the declining ex- pensive liberality : for, to take from those who want, in order to give to those who want, adds nothing to the stock of public happiness. Thus far, therefore, and no farther, the plea of "children," of " large families," " charity begins at home," &c. is an excuse for parsimony, and an answer to those who solicit our bounty. Beyond this point, as the use of riches becomes less, the desire of laying up should abate proportionably. The truth is, our children gain not so much as we imagine, in the chance of this world's happiness, or even of its external prosperity, by setting out in it with large capitals. Of those who have died rich, a great part began with little. And in re- spect of enjoyment, there is no comparison between a fortune which a man acquires by well-appliec industry, or by a series of success in his business, and one found in liis possession, or received from another. A principal part of a parent's duty is still be- hind, viz : the using of proper precautions and expedients, in order to form and preserve his children's virtue. To us, who believe that, in one stage or other of our existence, \irtuc will conduct to hajipiness, and vice terminate in misery ; and who observe withal, that men's virtues and vices are, to a cer- tain degree, produced or affi'ctcd by the manage- ment of their youth, and the situations in which they are placed ; to all who attend to the.-ic reasons, the ol)ligation to consult a child s virtue will ap- pear to differ in notlnng from that by which the parent is bound to provide for his maintenance or fortune. The child s interest is concerned in the one means of happiness as well as in tlie other ; and both means are equally, and almost exclu- sively, in the parent's power. For this purpose, the first point to be endeav- oured after is, to impress upon children the ideaol accountableness , that is, to accustom them to look forward to the consecjuences of their actions in another world ; which can only be brought about by the parents visibly acting with a view to these consequences themselves. Parents, to do them justice, are seldom sparing of lessons of virtue and religion: in admonitions which cost little, and which profit less ; whilst their example exhibits a continual contradiction of what they teach. A father, for instance, will, with much solemnity and apparent earnestness, warn his son against itlieness, excess in drinking, debauchery, and ex- travagance, who himself loiters about all day without employment ; comes home every night drunk ; is made infamous in his neighbourhood by some profligate connexion ; and wastes the for- tune which should support, or remain a provision for his family, in riot, or luxury, or ostentation. Or he will discourse gravely before his children of the obligation and miportance of revealed re- ligion, whilst they see the most frivolous and oftentimes feigned excuses detain him from its reasonable and solemn ordinances. Or he will set before them, perhaps, the supreme and tre- mendous authority of Almighty God ; that such a Being ought not to be named, or even thought upon, without sentiments of profound awe and veneration. This may be the lecture he delivers to his family one hour ; when the next, if an occasion arise to excite his anger, his mirth or his surprise, they will hear him treat the name of the Deity with the most irreverent profanation, and sport with the tenns and denunciations of the Christian religion, as if they were the lajiguage of some ridiculous and long exploded superstition. Now, even a child is not to be unposcd upon by such mockery. He sees through the grimace of this counterfeited concern for virtue. He dis- covers that his parent is acting a part ; and re- ceives his admonitions as he would hear the same maxims from the mouth of a player. And when once this opinion has taken possession of the child's mind, it has a fatal eflect upon the parent's influence in all subjects ; even those, in which he himself may be sincere and convinced. Whereas a silent, but observable, regard to the duties of re- ligion, in the parent's own behaviour, will take a sure and gradual hold of the cliild's disposition,. MORAL 4.ND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. much beyond formal reproofs and eludings, which, being generally prompted by some present provo- cation, discover more of anger than of principle, and are always received with a temporary aUen- ation and disgust. A good parent's first care is, to be virtuous himself; a second, to make his virtues as easy and en'Tainnif to those about him as their nature will admit. Virtue itself oHcnds, when coupled with forbidding manners. And some virtues may be urged to such excess, or brought tbrward so un- seasonably, as to discourage and repel those who observe and who are acted upon by them, instead of e.xciting an inclination to imitate and adopt them. Young minds are particularly Hable to these unfortunate impressions. For instance, if a lather's economy degenerate into a minute and teasing parsimony, it is odds but that the son, who has sullered under it, sets out a sworn enemy to all rules of order and frugality. If a father's piety be morose, rigorous, and tinged with melan- choly, perpetually lireakin^ in upon the recreation of his family, and surfeiting them with the lan- guage of religion on all occasions, there is danger lest the son carry from home with him a settled prejudice against seriousness and religion, as in- consistent with every plan of a pleasureable life; and turn out, when he mixes with the world, a character of levity or dissoluteness. Something likewise may be done towards the correcting or improving of those early inchnations which children discover, by disposing them into situations the least dangerous to their particular characters. Thus, I would make choice of a retired life for young persons addicted to licen- tious pleasures ; of private stations for the proud and passionate ; of liberal professions, and a town life, for the mercenary and sottish : and not, according to the general practice of parents, send dissolute youths into the army ; penurious tem- pers to trade ; or make a crafty lad an attorney ; ir Hatter a vain and haughty temper with ele- vated names, or situations, or callings, to which the fashion of the world has annexed precedency and distinction, but in which his dispo.sition, with- out at all promoting his success, will serve both to multiply and exasperate his disappointments. In the same way, that is, with a view to the particu- lar frame and tendency of the pupil's character, I would make choice of a public or private education. The reserved, timid, and indolent, will have their faculties called forth, and their nerves invigorated, by a public education. Youths of strong spirits and passions will be safer in a private education. At our public schools, as far as I have observed, more literature is acquired, and more vice ; quick parts are cultivated, slow ones are neglected. Under private tuition, a moderate proficiency in juvenile learning is seldom exceeded, but with more certainty attained. CHAPTER X. 'The Rights of Parents. The rights of parents result from their duties. If it be the duty of a parent to educate his chil- dren, to form them for a life of usefulness and vir- tue, to provide for them situations needful for their subsistence, and suited to their circumstances, and to prepare them for those situations ; he has a rigiit to such authority, and in support of that authority to exercise such discipline as may be necessary for these purposes. ^J he law of nature acknowledges no other foundation ol' a parent's right over his children, besides his duty towards them. (I speak now of such rights as may be enforced by coercion ) I'his relation confers no property in their persons, or natural donunion over them, as is commonly supposed. Since it is, in general, necessary to determine the destination ol' children, before they are capa- ble of judging of their own happiness, parents have a riglit to elect jjrofessions for them. As the mother her.self owes obedience to the father, her authority must submit to his. In a competition, therefore, of connnands, the father i.'S to be obeyed, in case of the death of either, the authority, as well as duty, of both parents, de- volves upon the surxivor. These rights, always following the duty, be- long likewise to guardians ; and so much ot them as is delegated In' the parents to guardians, be- longs to tutors, school-masters, &c. irom this principle, "that the rights of parents result from their duty," it follows, that parents have no natural right over the fives of their chil- dren, as was absurdly allowed to Roman fathers ; nor any to exercise unprofitable severities ; nor to command the commission of crimes : for these rights can never be wanted for the purpose of a parent's duty. Nor, for the same reason, have parents any right to sell their children into slavery. Upon which, by the way, we niay observe, that the children of slaves, are not, b}- the law of nature, born slaves : for, as the master's right is derived to him through the parent, it can never be greater than the parent's own. Hence also it appears, that parents not only pervert, but exceed their just authority, when they consult their own ambition, interest, or pre- judice, at the manliest expense of their children's happiness. Of which abuse of parental power, the following are instances: the shutting up of daughters and younger sons in nunneries, and monasteries, in order to preserve entire the estate and dignity of the family ; or the using of any arts, either of kindness or unkindness, to induce them to make choice of this way of life themselves ; or, in countries where the clergy are prohibited from marriage, putting sons into the church for the same end, who are never hkely to do or receive any good in it, sufficient to compensate for this sacrifice ; the urging of children to mar- riages from which they are averse, with the view of exalting or enriching the family, or for the sake of connecting estates, parties, or interests ; or the opposing of a marriage, in which the child would probably find his happiness, from a motive of pride or avarice, of family hostility, or j)ersonal pique. CHAPTER XL The Duty of Children. The duty of children may be considered, I. During childhood. II. After they have attained to manhood, but continue in their father's family. III. After they have attained to manhood, and have left their father's family. DUTY OF CHILDREN. 89 T. During childhood. Children must be supposed to have attained to some decrree of discretion before they are capable of any duty. There is an interval of eight or nine years between the dawning and the maturity of reason, in which it is necessary to subject the in- clination of children to many restraints, and di- rect their application to many employments, of the tendency and use of which they cannot judge ; lor which cause, the submission of children during this period must be ready and implicit, with an exception, however, of any manifest crime which may be commanded them. II. After they have attaitied to manhood, but continue in their father s family. If children, when they are grown up, volun- tarily continue members of their father's family, they are bound, beside the general duty of grati- tude to their parents, to observe such regulations of the family as the father shall appoint ; con- tribute their labour to its support, if required ; and confine themselves to such expenses as he shall allow, The obligation would be the same, if they were admitted into an}' other family, or received sujiport from any other hand. III. After they hare attained to -manhood, and hare left their father s family. In this state of the relation, tlie duty to parents is sim])ly the duty of gratitude; not different in kind, from that which we owe to any other benefictor; in degree, just so much exceeding oth">" obligations, by how much a parent has been a greater benefactor than any other friend. The sei /ices and attentions, by which filial gratitude may be testified, can be comprised within no enu- meration. It will show itself in compliances with the will r>f the parents, however contrary to the child's owt taste or judgment, provided it be nei- ther criminal, nor totally inconsistent with his happiness; in a constant endeavour to promote their enjoyments, prevent their wishes, and soften their anxieties, in small matters as well as in great ; in assisting them in their business ; in con- tributing to their support, ease, or better accom- modation, when their circumstances require it; in alfording them our company, in preference to more amusing engagements ; in waiting upon their si -kness or decre])itude ; in bearing with the infirmities of their health or temper, with the peevishness and complaints, the unfashionable, negligent, austere manners, and offensive habits, which often attend upon advanced years : for where must old age find indulgence, if it do not meet with it in the piety and partiality of children % The most serious contentions between parents and their children are those commonly which re- late to marriage, or to the choice of a profession. A parent has, in no case, a right to destroy his child's happiness. If it be true, therefore, that there exist such personal and exclusive attach- ments between individuals of different sexes, that the possession of a particular man or woman in marriage be really necessary for the child's hap- piness; or, if it be true, that an aversion to a par- ticular profession may be involuntary and uncon- querable ; then it will follow, that parents, where this is the case, ouglit not to urge their authority, and that the child is not bound to obey it. The point is, to discover how far, in any par- ticular instance, this is the case. Whether the fondness of lovers ever continues with such in- tensity, and so long, that the success of their de- M sires constitutes, or the disappointment affects any considerable portion of their happiness, com- jiared with that of their whole lite, it is ditlicult to determine ; but there can be no difficulty in i)ro- nouncing, that not one half of tliose attachments, which young people conceive with so much husle and passion, are of this sort. 1 believe it also to be true, that there are few aversions to a profes- sion, which resolution, perseverance, activity in going about the duty of it, and, above all, despair of changing, will not subdue : yet there are some such. Wherefore, a child who respects his jxa- rcnts" julic arbitration the kind, as well as the measure of the satisfaction which he is to obtain. There is one case in which all extremities are justifiable ; namely, when our life is assaulted, and it becomes necessary for our preservation to kill the assailant. This is evident in a state of nature ; unless it can be shown, that we are bound to pre- fer the aggressor's life to our own, that is to say, to love our enemy better than ourselves, which can never be a debt of justice, nor any where ap- pears to be a duty of charity. Nor is the case altered by our living in civil society ; because, by the supposition, the laws of society cannot inter- pose to protect us, nor, by the nature of the case, compel restitution. This liberty is restrained to cases in which no other probable means of pre- serving our life remain, as flight, calling for assist- ance, disarming the adversary, &c. The rule holds, whether the danger proceed from a volun- tary attack, as by an enemy, robber, or assassin ; or from an involuntary one, as by a madman, or person sinking in the water, and dragging us after him; or where two persons are reduced to a situa- tion in which one or both of them must perish : as in a shipwreck, where two seize upon a plank, which will support only one : although, to say the truth, these extreme cases, which happen seldom, and hardly, when they do happen, admit of moral agency, are scarcely worth mentioning, much less discussing at length. The instance which approaches the nearest ♦o the preservation of life, and which seems to ju.stify the same extremities, is the defence of chastity. In all other cases, it appears to me the safest to consider the taking away of life as authorised by the law of the land ; and the person who takes it away, as in the situation of a minister or execu- tioner of the law. In wliich view, homicide, in England, is justi- fiable : 1. To prevent the commission of a crime, which, when committed, would be punishable with death. Thus, it is lawful to shoot a highwayman, or one attempting to break into a house by night ; but i not so if the attempt be made in the day-time ; DRUNKENNESS. 91 which particular distinction, by a consent of le- gislation that is remarkable, obtained also in the Jewish law, as well as in the laws both of Greece and Rome. •2. In necessary endeavours to carry the law into execution, as in suppressing riots, apprehend- ing malefactors, preventing escapes, &c. 1 do not know that the law holds forth its au- thority to any cases besides those which fall within one or other of the above descriptions ; or, that, after the exception of immediate danger to life or chastity, the destruction of a human being can be innocent without an authority. The rights of war are not here taken into the account. CHAPTER II. Drunkenness. Drunkenness is either actual or habitual ; just as it is one thing to be drunk, and another to be a drunkard. What we shall deliver upon the subject must principally be understood of a habit of intemperance ; although part of the guilt and danger described, may be applicable to casual ex- cesses ; and all of it in a certain degree, forasmuch as every habit is only a repetition of single in- stances. The mischief of drunkenness, from which we are to compute the guilt of it, consists in following the bad effects : 1. It betrays most constitutions either to extra- vagances of anger, or sins of lewdness. 2. It disqualifies men for the duties of their station, both by the temporary disorder of their faculties, and at length by a constant incapacity and stupefaction. 3. It is attended with expenses, which can often be ill spared. 4. It is sure to occasion uneasiness to the family of the drunkard. 5. It shortens life. To these consequences of drunkenness must be added the peculiar danger and mischief of the example. Drunkenness is a social festive vice; apt, beyond any vice that can be mentioned, to draw in others by the example. The drinker collects his circle ; the circle naturally spreads ; of those who are drawn within it, many become the corrupters and centres of sets and circles of their own ; every one countenancing, and perhaps emu- lating the rest, till a whole neighbourhood be in- fected from the contagion of a single example. I'his account is confirmed by what we often ob- serve of drunkenness, that it is a.local vice ; found to prevail in certain countries, in certain districts of a country, or in particular towns, without any reason to be given for the fashion, but that it had been introduced by some popular examples. With tliis observation upon the spreading quality of drunkenness, let us connect a remark which be- longs to the several evil effects above recited. The consequences of a vice, like the symptoms of a dis- ease, though they be aU enumerated in the de- scription, seldom all meet in the same subject. In the instance under consideration, the age and temperature of one drunkard may have little to fear from inflammations of lust or anger ; the for- tune of a second may not be injured by the ex- pense ; a tliird may have no family to be disquieted by his irregularities ; and a fourth may possess a constitution fortified against the poison of strong liquors. But if, as we always ought to do, we comprehend within the consequences of our conduct the mischief and tendency of the exam- ple, the above circumstances, however fortunate for the individual, will be found to vary the guilt of his intemperance less, probably, than he sup- poses. The moralist may expostulate with him thus : Although the waste of time and of money be of small importance to you, it may be of the utmost to some one or other whom your society corrupts. Repeated or long-continued excesses, which hurt not your health, may be fatal to your companion. Although you have neither wife or child, nor parent, to lament your absence from home, or expect your return to it with terror : other families, in which husbands and fathers have been invited to share in your ebriety, or encouraged to imitate it, may justly lay their misery or ruin at your door. This will hold good whether the per- son seduced be seduced immediately by you, or the vice be propagated from you to bun through several intermediate examples. All these consid- erations it is necessary to assemble, to judge truly of a vice which usually meets with milder names and more indulgence than it deserves. I omit those outrages upon one another, and upon the peace and safety of the neighbourhood, in which drunken revels often end ; and also those deleterious and maniacal eflects which strong li- quors produce upon particular constitutions : be- cause, in general propositions concerning drunk- enness, no consequences should be included, but what are constant enough to be generally ex- pected. Drunkenness is repeatedly forbidden by St. Paul: " Be not drunk with wine, wherein is ex cess." " Let us walk honestly as in the day, not in rioting and drunkenness." " Be not deceived; neither tbrnicators, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God." Ephes. V. 18; Romans xiii. 13; 1 Cor. vi. 9, 10. The same apostle likewise condemns drunkenness, as peculiarly inconsistent with the Christian pro- fession : — " I'hey that be drunken, are drunken in the night : but let us, who are of the day, be sober." 1 Thess. v. 7, 8. We are not concerned with the argument: the words amount to a pro- hibition of drunkenness, and the authority is con- clusive. It is a question of some importance, how far drunkenness is an excuse for the crimes which the drunken person commits. In the solution of this question, we will first suppose the drunken person to be altogether de- prived of moral agency, that is to say, of all re- flection and foresight. In this condition, it is evi- dent that he is no more capable of guilt than a madman ; although, like him, he may be extreme- ly mischievous. The only guilt with which he is charueable, was incurred at the time when he vo- luntarily brought himself into this situation. And as every man is responsible for the consequences which he foresaw, or might have foreseen, and for no other, this guilt vrill be in proportion to the probability of such consequences ensuing. _ From which principle results the following rule, viz. that the guilt of any action in a drunken man, bears the same proportion to the guilt of the like action in a sober man, that the probability of its being the consequence of drunkenness, bears to absolute 92 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. certainty. By virtue of tliis rule, those vices which are tlie known etiects of drunkenness, either in general or upon particular constitutions, are in all, or in men of such constitutions, nearly as criminal as if committed with all their faculties and senses about tlicm. If tiie privation of reason be only partial, the guilt will be of a mixed nature. For so much of his self government as the drunkard retains, he is as responsible then as at any other time. He is entitled to no abatement beyond the strict propor- tion in which his moral faculties are impaired. Now I call the guilt of the crime, if a sober man had committed it, the whole guilt. A person in the condition we des-ribe, incurs part of this at the instant of perpetration ; and by bringing him- self into such a condition, he incurred that fraction of the remaining part, which the danger of this consequence was of an integral certainty. For the sake of illustration, we are at liberty to sup- pose, that a man loses half his moral faculties by drunkenness ; this leaving him but half his re- sponsibility, he incurs, when he commits the action, half of the whole guilt. We will also suppose that it was known beforehand, that it was an even chance, or half a certainty, that this crime would follow his getting drunk. This makes him charge- able with half of the remainder; so that alto- gether, he is responsible in three-fourths of the guilt which a sober man would have incurred by the same action. I do not mean that any real case can be reduced to numbers, or the calculation be ever made with arithmetical precision ; but these are the princi- ples, and this the rule by which our general ad- measurement of the guilt of such oflences should be regulated. The appetite for intoxicating liquors appears to me to be almost always acquired. One proof of which is, that it is apt to return only at particular times and places : as after dinner, in the evening, on the market-day, at the market-town, in such a company, at such a tavern. And this may be the reason that, if a habit of drunkenness be ever over- come, it is upon some change of place, situation, company, or profession. A man sunk deep in a habit of drunkenness will, upon such occasions as these, when he finds himself loosened from the associations which held him fast, sometimes make a plunge, and get out. In a matter of so great im- portance, it is well worth while, where it is in any degree practicable, to change our habitation and society, for the sake of the experiment. Habits of drunkenness commonly take their rise either from a fondness for, and connexion with, some company, or some companion, already ad- dicted to this practice ; which affords an almost irresistible invitation to take a share in the indul- gences which those about us are enjoying with so much apparent relish and delight ; or from want of regular employment, which is sure to let in ninny superfluous cravings and customs, and often this among the rest ; or, lastly, from grief, or fa- tigue, both which strongly solicit that relief which inebriating liquors administer, and also furnish a spe:-ious excuse foi complying with the incli- nation. But the habit, when once set in, is con- tinued by different motives from those to which it owes its origin. Persons addicted to excessive drinking, s\ifler in the intervals of sobriety, and near the return of their ac -ustomed indulgence, a faititness and oppression circa prcBcordia, which it exceeds the ordinary patience of human nature to endure. This is usually relieved for a short time, by a repetition of the same excess ; and to this relief, as to the removal of every long contin- ued pain, they who have once experienced it, are urged almost beyond the power of resistance. This is not all: as the liquor loses its stimulus, the dose must be increased, to reach the same pitch of elevation or ease ; which increase pro})or- tionably accelerates the progress of all the iiiala- dies that drunkenness brings on. Whoever re- flects upon the violence of the craving in the advanced stages of the habit, and the fatal termi- nation to which the gratification of it leads, will, the moment he perceives in himself the first symptoms of a growing inclination to intcm- fierance, collect his resolution to this point ; or (what perhaps, he will find his best security,) arm himself with some peremptory rule, as to the times and quantity of his indulgences. I own myself a friend to the laying down of rules to ourselves of this sort, and rigidly abiding by them. They may be exclaimed against as stiff, but they are often salutary. Indefinite resolutions of ab- stemiousness are apt to yield to extraordinary occasions; and e:r;l?-aorc/i/!a7-2/ occasions to occur perpetually. Whereas, the stricter the rule is, the more tenacious we grow of it ; and many a man will abstain rather than break his rule, who would not easily be brought to exercise the ssme mortification from higher motives. Not to men- tion, that when our rule is once known, we are providi^d with an answer to every importunity. There is a difference, no doubt, between con- nvial intemperance, and that sohtary sottishness which waits neither for company nor invitation. But the one, I am afraid, commonly ends in the other : and this last, in the basest degradation to which the faculties and dignity of human na- ture can be reduced. CPIAPTER III. Suicide. Therk is no subject in morality in which the consideration of general consequences is more necessary than in this of Suicide. Particular and extreme cases of suicide may be imagined, and may arise, of which it would be difficult to assign the particular mischief, or from that con- sideration alone to demonstrate the guilt; and these cases have been the chief occasion of con- fusion and doubtfulness in the question: albeit, this is no more than what is sometimes true of the most acknowleilged vices. I could propose many possible cases even of murder, which, if they were detached from the general rule, and governed by their own particular consequences alone, it would be no easy undertaking to prove criminal. The true question in this argument is no other than this : May every man who chooses to de- stroy his life, innocently do sol Limit and dis- tinguish the subject as you can, it wiU come at last to this question. For, shall we say, that we are then at liberty to commit suicide when we find our continuance in life become useless to mankind'? Any one who pleases, may make himself useless ; and melan- choly minds are prone to think themselves use- SUICIDE. 93 less, when they really are not so. Supposing a Jaw were promulg;;tod, allowing each private per- son to destroy every man he met, whose longer continuance in the world he judged to be uneles-s ; who would not condemn the latitude of such a rule ] who does not perceive that it amounts to a permission to commit murder at pleasure ] A similar rule, regulating the right over our own lives, would be capalrle of the same extension. Beside which, no one is useless for the purpose of this plea, but he who has lost every capacity and Oj)[)ortunity of being useful, together with the pos- siijiiity of recovering any degree of either; which is a state of such complete destitution and despair, as cannot, I believe, be predicated of any man living. ( 'r rather, shall we say that to depart volunta- rily out of life, is lawful tor those alone who leave none to lament their death 1 If this consideration is to be taken into the account at all, the subject of debate will be, not whether there are any to sorrow for us, but whether their sorrow for our death will exceed that which we should suffer by continuing to live. Now this is a comparison of things so indeterminate in their nature, capable of .so diiit?rent a judgment, and concerning which the judgment will dirler so much according to the state of the spirits, or the pressure of any present anxiety, that it would vary little, in hypochon- driacal constitutions, from an unqualified license to commit suicide, whenever the distresses which men felt, or fancied, rose high enough to over- come the pain and dread of death. Men are never tempted to destroy themselves but when under the oppression of some grievous uneasi- ness : the restrictions of the rule therefore ought to apply to these cases. But what effect can we look lor from a rule which proposes to weigh our pain against that of another; the misery that is i( It, against ihat wliich is only conceived ; and in so corrupt a bal'mce as the party's own distempered imagination 1 in like manner, whatever other rule you assign, it will ultimately bring us to an indiscriminate toleration ot suicide, in all cases in which there is danger of its being conmitted. It remains, there- fore, to inquire what would be the effect of such a toleration : evidently, the loss of many lives to the community, of which some might be useful or important; the affliction of many families, and the consternation of all : for mankind must live in continual alarm for the fate of their friends and dearest relations, when the restraints of religion and morality are withdrawn ; when every disgust which is powerlul enough to tempt men to suicide, shall be deemed sufficient to justify it ; and when tlie follies and vices, as well as the inevitable ca- lamities, of human lite, so often make existence a burthen. A second consideration, and perfectly distinct from the former, is this : by continuing in the world, and in the exercise of those virtues which remain within our power, we retain the oppor- tunity of meliorating our condition in a future state. This argument, it is true, does not in strict- ness prove suicide to be a crime ; but if it supply a motive to dissuade us from committing it, it amounts to much the same thing. Now there is no condition in human life which is not capable of some virtue, active or passive. Even piety and re; ignation under the sufferings to which we are called, testify a trust and acquiescence in the Di- vine counsels, more acceptable perhaps, than the most prostrate devotion; atlord an edifying ex- ample to all who observe them ; and may hope tor a recompense among the most arduous of human virtues. These qualities are always in the power of the miserable ; indeed of none but the niiseralile. The two considerations above stated, belong to all cases of suicide whatever. Beside which general reasons, each case will be aggravated by its own proper and particular consequences ; by the duties that are deserted ; by the claims that are defrauded ; by the loss, affliction, or disgrace, which our death, or the manner of it, causes our family, kindred, or friends ; by the occasion we give to many to suspect the sincerity of our moral and religious professions, and, together with ours, those of all others ; by the reproach we draw upon our order, calling, or sect ; in a word, by a great variety of evil consequences attending upon pe- culiar situations, with some or other of wiiich every actual case of suicide is chargeable. I refrain from the common topics of " deserting our post." "throwing up our trust," "rushing uncalled into the presence of our Maker," with some others of the same sort, not because they are common, (lor that rather affords a presumption in their favour,) but because I do not perceive in them much argument to which an answer may not easily be given. Hitherto we have pursued upon the subject the light of nature alone ; taking however into the account, the expectation of a future existence, without which our reasoning upon this, as indeed all reasoning upon moral questions, is vain: we proceed to inquire, whether any thing is to be met with in Scripture, which may add to the proba- bility of the conclusions we have been endeavour- ing to support. And here I acknowledge, that there is to be found neither any express determi- nation of the question, nor sufficient evidence to prove that the case of suicide was in the contem- plation of the law which prohibited murder. Any inference, therefore, wliich we deduce from Scrip- ture, can be sustained only by construction and implication : that is to say, although they who were authorised to instruct mankind, have not decided a question which never, so far as appears to us, came before them ; yet I think, they have left enough to constitute a presumption how they would have decided it, had it been proposed or thought of. What occurs to this purpose, is contained in the following observations : 1. Human life is spoken of as a term assigned or prescribed to us: "Let us run with patience the race that is set before us." — " I have finished my course." — " That I may finish my course with joy." — " Ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise." — These expressions appear to me in- consistent with the opinion, that we are at liberty to determine the duration of our lives for ourselves. If this were the case, with what propriety could life be called a race that vs set before us; or, wliich is the same thing, " orir course ;" that is, the course set out or appointed to usl The re- maining quotation is equally strong ; — " That af- ter ye have done the will of "God, ye might receive the promise." The most natural meaning that can be gi\'en to the words, " after ye have done the will of God," is, after ye have discharged the duties of life so long as God is pleased to continue 94 MORAL AND POLIT[CAL PHILOSOPHY. you in it. According to which interpretation, the text militates strongly against suicide: and they who reject this paraphrase, will please to propose a lietter. 2. There is not one quality which Clirist and his apostles inculcate upon their tbllowersso often, or so earnestly, as that of patience under affliction. Now this virtue would have heen in a great mea- sure superseded, and the exhortations to it might have heen spared, if the disciples of his religion had heen at liberty to quit the world as soon as they grew weary of the ill usage which they re- ceived in it. — When the evils of life pressed sore, they were to look forward to a " far more exceed- ing and eternal weight of glory ;" they were to receive them, " as cTiastenings of the Lord," as intimations of his care and love : by these and the like rejections they were to support and improve themselves under their sufferings ; but not a hint has any where escaped of seeking relief in a volun- tary death. The following text in particular strongly combats all imj)atience of distress, of which the greatest is that which prompts to acts of suicide: — " Consider Him that endured such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds." I would offer my comment upon this passage, in these two queries: first. Whether a Christian convert, who had been impelled by the continuance and urgency of his sutlerings to destroy his own life, would not have been thought by the author of this text " to have been weary," to have " fainted in his mind," to have fallen off from that example which is here proposed to tlie meditation of (Christians in dis- tress 1 And yet, secondly. Whether such an act would not have been attended with all the circum- stances of mitigation which can excuse or extenu- ate suicide at this day 1 3. The conduct of the apostles, and of the Christains of the apostolic age, affords no obscure indication of their sentiments upon this point. They lived, we are sure, in a confirmed persuasion of the existence, as well as of the happiness, of a future state. They experienced in this world every extremity of external injury and distress. To die, was gain. The change which death brought with it was, in their expectation, infinitely bene- ficial. Yet it never, that we can find, entered into the intention of one of them to hasten this change by an act of suicide ; from which it is difficult to say what motive could have so universally with- held them, except an apprehension of some un- lawfulness in the expedient. Having stated what we have been able to collect in op-position to the lawfulness of suicide, by way of direct jiroof, it seems unnecessary to open a sepa- rate controversy with all the arguments which are made use of to defend it ; which would only lead us into a repetition of what has been offered already. The following argument, however, being somewhat more artificial and imposing than the rest, as well as distinct from the general consider- ation of the subject, cannot so properly be passed over. If we deny to the individual a right over his own life, it seems impossible, it is said, to re- concile with the law of nature that right which the state claims and exercises over the lives of its sub- jects, when it ordains or inflicts capital punish- ments. For this right, like all other just authority in the state, can only be deriveil from the comj)act and virtual consent of the citizens which compose ♦*^ state ; and it seems self-evident, if any prin- ciple in morality be so, that no one, by his consent, can transfer to another a right which he does not possess himself It will be equally difficult to ac- count lor the power of the state to commit its subjects to the dangers of war, and toexpo.se their lives without scruple in the field of battle ; espe- cially in oflcnsive hostilities, in which the privi- leges of self-defence cannot be pleaded with any ajjpearance ol truth : and still more difficult to ex- plain, how in such, or in any circumstances, pro- digality of life can be a virtue, if the preservation of it be a duty of our nature. I'his whole reasoning sets out from one error, namely, that the state acquires its right over the life of the subject from the subject's own consent, as a part of wb.;it originally and personally belong- ed to himself, and which he has made over to his governors. The truth is, the state derives this right neither from the consent of the subject, nor through the medium of that consent ; but, as I may say, immediately from the donation of the Deity. Finding that such a power in the sove- reign of the community is expedient, if not ne cessary, for the community itself, it is justly pre- sumed to be the v/ill of God, that the sovereign should possess and exercise it. It is this presump- tion which constitutes the right ; it is the same indeed which constitutes every other: and if there were the like reasons to authorise the presumjition in the case of private persons, suicide would be as justifiable as war, or capital executions. But un- til it can be shown that the power over human life may be converted to the same advantage in the hands of individuals over their own, as in those of the state over the lives of its subjects, and that it may be entrusted with equal safety to both, there is no room for arguing, from the exist- ence of such a right in the latter, to the toleration of it in the former. BOOK V. DUTIES TOWARDS GOD. CHAPTER I. Division of these Duties. In one sense, every duty is a duty towards God, since it is his will which makes it a duty : but there are some duties of which God is the objii t_ as well as the author; and these are peculiaiiv, and in a more appropriated sense, called duties towards God. That silent piety, which consists in a habit of tracing out the Creator s wisdom and goodness in the objects around us, or in the history of liis dispensations ; of referring the blessings we enjoy to his bounty, and of resorting in our distresses to his succour ; may possibly be more acceptable to the Deity than any visible expressions of devotion whatever. Yet these latter, (which, although they may be excelled, arc not superseded, by the for- mer,) compose the only part of the subject which admits of direction or disquisition from a moralist. Our duty towards God, so far as it is external, is dixided into worship and reverence. God is the inmiediate object of both ; and the difltrence DUTY AND EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 95 between them is, that the one consists in action, the other in forbearance. When we go to church on the Lord's day, led thither by a sense of duty towards God, we perforin an act of worship : when, from the same motive, we rest in a journey upon that day, we discharge a duty of reverence. Divine worship is made up of adoration, thanks- giving, and prayer. — But, as wliat we have to offer concerning the two former may be observed of prayer, we shall make that the title of the fol- lowing chapters, and the direct subject of our consideration. CHAPTER II. Of the Duty and of the Efjicacy of Prayer, so far an the same appear from the Light of Nature. WiiKN" one man desires to obtain any thing of another, lie betakes himself to entreaty ; and this may be observed of mankind in all ages and coun- tries of the world. Now, what is universal, may be called natural ; and it seems probable that God, as our supreme governor, should expect that to- wanls himself, which, by a natural impulse, or by the irresistible order of our constitution, he has prompted us to pay to every other being on whom we dej5end. The same may be said of thanksgiving. Prayer likewise is necessary to keep up in the minds of mankind a sense of God's agency in the universe, and of their own dependency upon him. Yet, after ail, the duty of prayer depends upon its efficacy : for I confess njyself unable to con- ceive, how any man can pray, or be obliged to pray, who expects nothing from his prayers ; but who is persuaded, at the time he utters his request, that it cannot possibly produce the smallest im- pression upon the being to whom it is addressed, or advantage to himself Now, the efficacy of^ prayer imports, that we obtain something in con- sequence of praying, which we should not have recei\'ed without prayer ; against all expectation of which, the following objection has been often and seriously alleged : " If it be most agreeable to perfect wisdom and justice that we should rtceive wliat we desire, God, as perfectly wise and just, will give it to us without asking ; if it be not agreeable to these attributes of his nature, our en- treaties cannot move him to give it us, and it were impious to expect that they should." In fewer words, thus : " If what we request be lit for us, we shall have it without praying; if it be not lit for us, we cannot obtain it by praying." This objection admits but of one answer, namely, that it may be agreeable to perfect wisdom to grant that to our prayers, which it would not have been agreeable to the same wisdom to have given us without praying for. But what virtue, you will ask, is thsre in prayer, which should make a favour con- sistent with wisdom, which would not have been so without it ] To this question, which contains the whole difficulty attcndinlance it bears to what God was pleased to make a solemn part of the law which he delivered to the people of Israel, and by its subserviency to many of the same uses. CHAPTER VIII. 2Jy what Acts and Omissions the Duty of the Christian Sabbath is violated. SixcE the obligation upon Christians to com- ply with the religious observance of Sunday, arises from the public uses of the institution, and the authority of the apostolic practice, the manner of observing it ought to be that which best fulfils these uses, and conforms the nearest to this prac- tice. The uses proposed by the institution are : 1. To facilitate attendance upon public wor- ship. 2. To meliorate the condition of the laborious classes of mankind, by regular and seasonable returns of rest. 3. By a general suspension of business and amusement, to invite and enable persons of every description to apply their time and thoughts to subjects appertaining to their salvation. With the primitive Christians, the peculiar, and probaljly for sometime the only, distinction of the first day of the week, was the holding of re- ligious assemblies upon that day. We learn, however, from the testimony of a very early writer amongst them, that they also reser\ed the day for r.iigious meditations ; — Unusqiiisque nos- trum (saith Ircna?us) sabbafizat spirititaliter. vie- ditatione legis gaudens^ opijiciiim Dei admirans, Whf.rekore the duty of the day is violated, 1st, Bv all such employments or engagements as (though dilferini: from our ordinary occupation) hinder our attendance upon public worship, or take up so much of our time as not to leave a sufRcient part of the day at leisure for religious reflection ; as the going of journeys, the payuigor receiving of visits which engage the whole day, or emplopng the time at home in writing letters, set- tling accounts, or in applying ourselves to studies, or the reading of books, which bear no relation to the business of rehgion. 2dly, By unnecessary encroachments on the rest and liberty which Sunday ouuht to bring to the inferior orders of the community ; as by keeping servants on that day confined and busied in pre- parations for the superfluous elegancies of our table, or dress. odly. By such recreations as are customarily forborne out of respect to the day ; as hunting, shooting, fishing, public diversions, frequenting taverns, plapng at cards or dice. If it be asked, as it often has been, wherein consists the difference between walking out with yom" staff or with your gunl between spending 106 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. the evening at home, or in a tavern 1 between passing the Sunday afternoon at a game of cards, or in conversation not more edifying, not always so inolfonsive ? — to tlicse, and to the same question under a variety of forms, and in a muUitude of similar examples, we return the following an- swer : — That the religious observance of Sunday, ii' it ought to be retained at all, must be upholden by some public and visible distinctions : that, draw the line of distinction where you will, many ac- tions wliich are situated on the conlines of the line, will differ very little, and yet lie on the op- posite sides of it : — that every trespass upon that reserve which public decency has established, bnuiks down the fence by which the day is sepa- rated to the service of rehgion : — that it is unsafe to trific with scruples and habits that have a bi'neiici il tendency, although founded merely in custom : — that these liberties, however intended, will certainly be considered by those who observe them, not only as disrespectful to the day and in- stitution, but as proceeding from a secret contempt of the Christian faith : — that consequently, they diminish a reverence for religion in others, so far as the authority of our opinion, or the efficacy of our example, reaches ; or rather, so far as either will serve for an excuse of negligence to those who are glad of any : that as to cards and dice, which put in their claim to be considered among the harmless occupations of a vacant hour, it may be observed that few find any difficulty in refraining from play on Sunday, except they who sit down to it with the views and eagerness of game- sters : — that gaming is seldom innocent : — that the anxiety and perturbations, however, which it excites, are inconsistent with the tranquillity and frame of temper in which the duties and thoughts of religion should always both tind and leave us : and lastly, we shall remark, that the example of other countries, where the same and greater li- cence is allowed, affords no apology for irregularities in our own ; because a practice which is tolerated by public usage, neither receives the same con- Btruction, nor gives the same offence, as where it is censured and proliibited. CHAPTER IX. Of Reverencing the Deity, In many persons, a seriousness, and sense of awe, overspread the imagination, whenever the idea of the Supreme Being is presented to their thoughts. This effect, which forms a considera- ble security against vice, is the consequence not so much of reflection, as of habit ; which habit being generated by the external expressions of r(!verence which we use ourselves, or observe in others, may be destroyed by causes opposite to these, and especially by that familiar levity with which some learn to speak of the Deity, of his attributes, providence, revelations, or worship. God hath been pleased (no matter for what rea- son, although probably for this) to forbid the vain mention of his name : — " Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain." Now the mention is vain, when it is useless: and it is useless, when it is neither likely nor intended to serve any good purpose ; as when it flows from the lips idle and unmeaning, or is applied, on oc- casions inconsistent with any consideration of re- ligion and devotion, to express our anger, oui earnestness, our courage, or our mirth : or indeed when it is used at all, except in acts of religion, or in serious and seasonable discourse upon religious subjects. The prohibition of the third commandment is recognised by Clirist, in his sermon upon the mount; which sermon adverts to none but the moral parts of the Jewish law : " I say unto you, Swearnot at all; but let your communication be Yea, yea ; Nay, nay : for whatsoever is more than these, Cometh of evil." The Jews probably in- terpreted the prohibition as restrained to the name Jehovah, the name which the Deity had appointed and appropriated to liimsclf ; Exod. vi. 3. The words of Christ extend the prohibition beyond the najne of God, to every thing associated with the idea : — " Swear not, neither by heaven, for it is God's throne ; nor by the earth, for it is his foot- stool ; neither by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King." Matt. v. 35. The offence of profane swearing is aggravated by the consideration, that in it duty and decency are sacrificed to the slenderest of temptations. Suppose the habit, either from affectation, or by negligence and inadvertency, to be already formed, it must always remain within the power of the most ordinary resolution to correct it ; and it can- not, one would think, cost a great deal to relinquish the pleasure and honour which it confers. A concern for duty is in fact never strong, when tlie exertion requisite to vanish a habit founded in no antecedent propensity, is thought too much, or too painful. A contempt of positive duties, or rather cf those duties for which the reason is not so plain as the command, indicates a disposition upon which the authority of Revelation has obtained little inllu- ence. — This remark is applicable to the offence of profane swearing, and describes, perhaps, pretty exactly, the general character of those who are most addicted to it. Mockery and ridicule, when exercised upon the Scriptures, or even upon the places, persons, and forms, set apart for the ministration of religion, fall within the jneaning of the law which forbids the profanation of God's name ; especially as that law is extended by Christ's interpretation. They are. moreover, inconsistent with a religious frame of mind : for, as no one ever feels himself disposed to pleasantry, or capable of being diverted with the pleasantry of others, upon matters in which he is deeply interested ; so a mind intent upon the acquisition of heaven, rejects with indignation every attempt to entertain it with jests, calculated to degrade or deride subjects which it never recol- lects but with seriousness and anxiety. Nothing but stupidity, or the most frivolous dissipation of thought, can make even tlie inconsiderate forget the supreme imj)ortance of every thing which re- lates to the expectation of a future existence. Whilst the infidel mocks at the superstitions of the vulgar, insults over their credulous fears, their childish errors, or fantastic rites, it does not occur to him to observe, that the most preposterous de- vice by which the weakest devotee ever believed he was securing the ha})piness of a future life, is more rational than unconcern about it. Upon this suliject, nothing is so absurd as indifference ; no folly so contemptible as thoughtlessness and levity. Finally ; the knowledge of what is due to the OF REVERENCING THE DEITY. 107 solemnity of those interests, concerning which Revelation professes to inform and direct us, may teach even those who are least inclined to respect the prejudicies of mankind, to observe a decoruni in the style and conduct of rehgious disquisitions, with the neglect of which many adversaries of Christianity are justly chargeable. Serious ar- guments are fair on all sides. Christianity is but ill defended by refusing audience or toleration to the objections of unbelievers. But whilst we would have freedom of inquiry restrained by no laws but those of decency, we are entitled to de- mand, on behalf of a religion which holds forth to mankind assurances of immortality, that its credit be assailed by no other weapons than those of sober discussion and legitimate reasoning : — that the truth or falsehood of Christianity be never made a topic of raillery, a theme for the exercise of wit or eloquence, or a subject of contention for literary fame and victory : — that the cause be tried upon its merits : — that all applications to the fancy, passions, or prejudices of the reader, all attempts to pre-occupy, ensnare, or perplex his judgment, by any art, influence, or impression whatsoever, extrinsic to the proper grounds andendence upon which his assent ought to proceed, be rejected from a question which involves in its determination the hopes, the virtue, and the repose, of millions : — that the controversy be managed on both sides with sincerity ; that is, that nothing be produced, in the writings of either, contrary to, or beyond, the writer's own knowledge and persuasion: — that objections and difficulties be proposed, from no other motive than an honest and serious desire to obtain satisfaction, or to communicate informa- tion which may promote the discovery and pro- gress of truth : — that in conformity with this de- sign, every thing be stated with integrity, with method, precision, and simplicity ; and above all, that whatever is published in opposition to re- ceived and confessedly beneficial persuasions, be set forth under a form wliicli is likely to invite in- quiry and to meet examination. If with these moderate and equitable conditions be compared the manner in which hostilities have been waged against the Christian religion, not only the votaries of the prevailmg faith, but every man who looks forward with anxiety to the destination of his being, will see much to blame and to complain of Byojie unbeliever, all the follies which have adhered, in a long course of dark and superstitious ages, to the popular creed, are assumed as so many doctrines of Christ and his apostles, for the purpose of sub- verting the whole system by the absurdities which it is thus represented to contain. By another, the ignorance and vices of the sacerdotal order, their mutual dissensions and persecutions, their usur- l^ations and encroachments upon the intellectual liberty and civil rights of mankind, have been dis- played with no small triumph and invective ; not so much to guard the Christian laity against a repetition of the same injuries, (which is the only proper use to be made of the most flagrant exam- ples of the past.) as to prepare the way for an in- sinuation, that the religion itself is nothing but a profitable fable, imposed upon the fears and cre- dulitv of the multitude, and upheld by the frauds and influence of an interested and crafty priest- hood. And yet, how remotely is the character of the clergv connected with the truth of Christiani- ty ! What, after all, do the most disgraceful pages of ecclesiastical history prove, but that the passions of our common nature are not altered or excluded by distinctions of name, and that the characters of men are formed much more by the temptations than the duties of their profession 1 A third finds delight in collecting and repeating accounts of wars and massacres, of tumults and insurrections, exci- ted in almost every age of the Christian sera by reh- gious zeal ; as though the vices of Christians were parts of Christianity ; intolerance and extirpation precepts of the Gospel; or as if its spirit could be judged of from the counsels of princes, the in- trigues of statesmen, the pretences of malice and ambition, or the unauthorised cruellies of some gloomy and virulent superstition. By a fourth, the succession and variety of popular religions ; the vicissitudes with wliich sects and tenets have flourished and decayed ; the zeal with which they were once supported, the negligence with which they are now remembered ; the little share which reason and argument appear to have had in fram- ing the creed, or regulating the religious conduct, of the multitude ; the indiflerence and submission with which the reUgion of the state is generally received b)' the common people ; the caprice and vehemence with which it is sometimes opposed ; the phrensy with which men have been brought to contend for opinions and ceremonies, of which they knew neither the proof, the meaning, nor the original : lastly, the equal and imdoubting confi- dence with wliich we hear the doctrines of Christ or of Confucius, the law of Moses or of Mahomet, the Bible, the Koran, or the Shaster, maintained or anathematized, taught or abjured, revered or derided, according as we live on this or on that side of a river ; keep within or step over the boun- daries of a state ; or even in the same country, and by the same people, so often as the event of Ijattle, or the issue of a negociation, delivers them to the dominion of a new master ; — points, I say, of this sort are exhibited to the pubhc attention, as so many arguments against the truth of the Christian religion ; — and with success. For these topics, being brought together, and set ofl' with some ag- gravation of circumstances, and with a \ivacity of style and description familiar enough to the writings and conversation of free-thinkers, insen- sibly lead the unagination into a habit of classing Christianity with the delusions that have taken possession, by turns, of the pubhc behef ; and of regarding it, as what the scoffers of our faith re- present it to be, the superstition of the day. But is this to deal honestly by the subject, or with the world 1 May not the same things be said, may not the same prejudices be excited by these representations, whether Christianity be true or false, or by whatever proofs its truth be attested ] May not truth as well as falsehood be taken upon credit ] May not a religion be founded upon evi- dence accessible and satisfactory to every mind com- petent to the inquiry, wliich yet, by the greatest part of its professors, is received upon authorityl But if the matter of those objections be repre- hensible, as calculated to produce an eflect upon the reader beyond what their real weight and place in the argument dcsene, still more shall we disco- ver of management and disingenuousness in the form under which they are d'spersed emiong the public. InfideUty is served up in every shape that is likely to allure, surprise, or beguile the imagination ; in a fable, a tale, a novel, a poem ; in interspersed and broken hints, remote and ob- hque surmises ; in books of travels, of philosophy, 108 TVIORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. of n;itural history ; in a word, in any form rather than the right one, that of a professed and regular dis(iuisition. And because the coarse builboiiery, and broad laugh, of the old and rude adversaries of the Christian faith, would offend the taste, perhaps, rather than the virtue, of this cultivated a<^re, a o-raver irony, a more skilful and delicate lianter, is substituted in their place. An eloquent historian, beside his more direct, and therefore fairer attacks upon the credibility of Evangelic story, has contrived to weave into his narration one continued sneer upon the cause of Christianity, and upon the writings and characters of its ancient patrons. I'he knowledge which this author pos- sesses of the frame and conduct oi' the human mind, must have led him to observe, that such at- tacks do their execution without inquiry. Who can refute a sneer ? Who can compute the num- ber, much less, one by one, scrutinize the justice, of those disparaging insinuations which crowd the pages of this elaborate history ! What reader sus- pends his curiosity, or calls off his attention from the principal narrative, to examine references, or to search into the foundation, or to weigh the reason, propriety, and force, of every transient sarcasm, and sly allusion, by which the Christian testimony is depreciated and traduced : and by which, nevertheless, he may find his persuasion afterwards unsettled and perplexed 1 But the enemies of Christianity have pursued her with poisoned arrows. Obscurity itself is made the vehicle of infidelity. The awful doc- trines, if we be not permitted to call them the sa- cred truths, of our religion, together with all the adjuncts and appendages of its worship and ex- ternal profession, have been sometimes impudent- ly profaned by an unnatural conjunction with impure and lascivious images. The fondness for ridicule is almost universal : and ridicule, to many minds, is never so irresistible, as when seasoned with obscenity, and employed upon religion. But in proportion as these noxious principles take hold of the imagination, they infatuate the judgment: for trains of ludicrous and unchaste associations adhering to every sentiment and mention of re- ligion, render the mind indisposed to receive either conviction from its evidence, or impressions from its authority. And this effect being exerted ujjon the sensitive part of our frame, is altogether inde- pendent of argument, proof, or reason ; is as for- midable to a true religion, as to a false one ; to a well grounded faith, as to a chimerical mythology, or fabulous tradition. Neither, let it be observed, is the crime or danger less, because impure ideas are exhibited under a veil, in covert and chastised language. Seriousness is not constraint of thought ; nor levity, freedom. Every mind which wishes the advancement of trutli and knowledge, in the most important of all human researches, must abhor this licentiousness, as violating no less the laws of reasoning, than the rights of decency. There is but one description of men, to whose principles it ought tobe toleral>le; I mean tliat class of reason- ers who can see little in Christianity, even sup- posing it to be true. To such adversaries we address this reflection — Had Jesus Christ deliver- ed no other declaration than the following—" Tlie hour is coining, in the which all that are in the grave shall hear his voice, and shall come forth : they that have done good, unto the resurrection cf life ; and the^ that have done evil, unto the re- surrection of damnation:" — he had pronounced a message of inestimable importance, and well wor- thy of that splendid apparatus of prophecy and mira- cles with which his mission was introduced and at- t«sted : a message in which the wisest of mankind would rejoice to find an answer to their doubts, and rest to their inquiries. It is idle to say, that a future state had been discovered already : — it had been discovered as the Copcrnican system was, — it was one guess among many. He alone discovers, who proves ; and no man can prove this point, but the teacher who testifies by miracles that Ids doctrine comes from God. BOOK VI. ELEMENTS OF POLITICAL KNOWLEDGE. CHAPTER L Of the Origin of Civil Government. Government, at first, was either patriarchal or military : that of a parent over his family, or of a commander over his ft How -warriors. I. Paternal authority, and the order of domestic life, supplied the foundation of civil government. Did mankind spring out of the earth mature and independent, it would be found perhaps impossible to introduce subjection and subordination among them : but the condition of human infancy pre- pares men for society, by combining individuals into small communities, and by placing them from the beginning, under direction and control. A family contains the rudiments of an empire. The authority of one over many, and the disposition to govern and to be governed, are in this way inci- dental to the very nature, and coeval no doubt with the existence, of the human species. Moreover, the constitution of families not only assists the formation of ci\il government, by the dispositions which it generates, but also furnishes the first steps of the process by which empires have been actually reai'ed. A parent would retain a considerable part of his authority after his chil- dren were grown up, and had formed families of their own. The obedience of which they remem- bered not the beginning, would be considered as natural ; and would scarcely, during the parent's life, be entirely or abruptly withdrawn. Here then we see the second stage in the progress of dominion. The first was, that of a parent over liis young children ; this, that of an ancestor pre- siding over liis adult descendants. Although the original progenitor was the centre of union to his posterity, yet it is not probable that the association would be immediately or alto- gether dissolved by his death. Connected by ha- bits of intercourse and affection, and by some common rights, necessities, and interests, they would consider themselves as allied to each other in a nearer degree than to the rest of the species. Almost all would be sensible of an inclination to continue in the society in which they had been brought up ; and experiencing, as they soon would do, many inconveniences from the absence of that authority which their common ancestor exercised, especially in deciding their disputes, and directing their operations in matters in wliich it was ne- ORIGIN OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT. lOS cessary to act in conjunction, tliey might be in- duced to supply his place by a formal clioice of a successor ; or rather might willingly, and almost hnpcrceptibly, transfer tiieir obedience to some one of the family, who by liis age or services, or by the part he possessed in the direction of their ailairs during the lifetime of the parent, had al- ready taught them to respect his advice, or to at- tend to his commands ; or lastly, the prospect of these inconveniences might prompt the tirst an- cestor to appoint a successor ; and his posterity, from the same motive, united with an habitual de- ference to the ancestor's authority, might receive the appointment with submission. Here then we ' have a tribe or clan incorporated under one chief Such communities might be increased by consider- able numbers, and fuiiil the purposes of civil union without any other or more regular conven- tion, constitution, or form of government, than what we have described. Every branch which was slipped off from the primitive stock, and re- moved to a distance from it, would in like manner take root, and grow into a separate clan. Tw'o or three of these clans were frequently, we may suppose, united into one. Marriage, concjuest, mutual defence, common distress, or more acci- dental coaUiions, might produce tliis effect. II. A second source of personal authority, and which might easily extend, or sometimes perhaps supersede, the patriarchal, is that wliich results from military arrangement. In wars, either of aggression or defence, manifest necessity would prompt those who fought on the same side to ar- ray themselves under one leader. And although their leader was advanced to this eiidnence for the purpose only, and during the operations, of a single expedition, yet liis authority would not always terminate with the reasons for wliich it was conferred. A warrior who had led forth his tribe against their enemies, with repeated success, would procure to himself, even in the delibera- tions of peace, a powerful and permanent in- fluence. If this advantage were added to the au- thority of the patriarchal chief, or favoured by any previous distinction of ancestry, it would be no difficult undertaking for the person who possessed it, to obtain the almost absolute direction of the alliiirs of the community ; especially if he was carcfid to associate to himself proper auxiliaries, and content to practise the obvious art of gratify- ing or removing those who opposed his preten- sions. But although we may be able to comprehend how by his personal abilities or fortune one man may obtain the rule over many, yet it seems more difficult to explain how empire became hereditary, or m what manner sovereign power, which is never acquired without great merit or manage- ment, learns to descend in a succession which has no depeudance upcm any qualities cither of un- derstanding or activity. The causes which have introduced hereditary dominion into so general a reception in the world, are principally the follow- ing:— the influence of association, which com- municates to the son a portion of the same respect which was wont to be paid to the virtues or sta- tion of the father ; the mutual jealousy of other competitors ; the greater envy with which all be- hold the exaltation of an equal, than the con- tinuance of an acknowledged superiority ; a reign- ing prince leaving behind him many adherents, who can preserve their own importance only by | I supporting the succession of his children : add to these reasons, that elections to the supreme power having, upon trial, produced destructive conten- tions, many states would take a refuge from a re- turn of the same calamities in a rule of succession ; and no rule presents itself so obvious, certain, and intelligible, as consanguinity of birth. The ancient state of society in most countries, and the modern condition of some uncivilized parts of the world, exliibit that appearance whitili this account of the origin of civil government would lead us to expect. The earliest histories of Pa- lestine, Greece, Italy, Gaul, Britain, inform us, that these countries were occupied by many small independent nations, not much perhaps unlike those which are found at present amongst the savage inhabitants of North America, and upon the coast of Africa. These nations I consider as the amplifications of so many single families ; or as derived from the junction of two or three families, whom society in war, or the approach of some common danger, had united. Suppose a country to have been first peopled by shipwreck on its coasts, or by emigrants or exiles from a neighbouring country; the new settlers, having no enemj' to provide against, and occupied with the care of their personal subsistence, would think little of digesting a system of laws, of contriving a form of government, or indeed of any political union whatever ; but each settler would remain at the head of liis own family, and each family would include all of every age and generation who were descended from lum. So many of these families as were lioldcn together after the death of the original ancestor, by the reasons and in the method above recited, would wax, as the indi- viduals were multiplied, into tribes, clans, hordes, or nations, similar to those into which the ancient inhabitants of many countries are known to have been divided, and wliich are still found wherever the state of society and manners is immature and uncultivated. Nor need we be surprised at the early exist- ence in the world of some vast empires, or at the rapidity with which they advanced to their great- ness, from comparatively small and obscure ori- ginals. V/hilst the inhabitants of so many coun- tries were broken into numerous communities, unconnected, and oftentimes contending with each other ; before experience had taught these little states to sife their own danger in their neigh- bour's ruin ; or had instructed tliera in the neces- sity of resisting the aggrandizement of an as- piring power, by alliances, and timely prepara- tions; in this condition of civil policy, a particular tribe, which by any means had gotten the start of the rest in strength or discipline, and happened to fail under the conduct of an ambitious cliief, by directing their first attempts to the part where success was most secure, and by assuming, as they went along, those whom they conquered into a share of their future enterprises, might soon ga- ther a force which would infallibly overbear any opposition that the scattered power and unpro- vided state of such enemies could make to the progress of their victories. Lastly, our theory affords a presumption, that the earliest governments were monarchies ; because the government of families, and of armies, from which, according to our account, civil government derived its institution, and probably its form, is universally monarchical. 10 no MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. CHAPTER II. Vow Subjection to Civil Government is Main- taintd. Could we view our own species from a dis- tance, or regard mankind with the same sort of observation with which we read the natural history, or remark the manners^ of any ofher animal, there is nothing in the human character which would more surprise us, than the almost universal subjugation of strength to weakness; — than to see many millions of rohust men, in the complete use and exercise of their personal facul- ties, and without any defect of courage, waiting upon the will of a child, a woman, a driveller, or a lunatic. And although, when we suppose avast empiri' in absolute subjection to one person, and that one depressed beneath the level of his spe- cies by inlirinities, or vice, we suppose perhaps an extreme case; yet in all cases, even the most popular forms of civil government, the physical strength resides in the governed. In what man- ner opinion thus prevails over strength, or how power, which naturally belongs to superior force, is maintained in opposition to it ; in other words, by what motives the many are induced to submit to the few, becomes an inquiry whii'h lies at the root of almost every political speculation. It re- moves, indeed, but does not resolve, the difficulty, to say, that civil governments are now-a-days al- most universally upholden by standing armies ; for, the question still returns; How are these ar- mies themselves kept in subjection, or made to obey the commands, and carry on the designs, of the prince or state which employs them ■? Now, although we should look in vain for any single reason which will account for the general submission of mankind to civil government; yet it may not lie difficult to assign for every class and character in the community, considerations powerful enough to dissuade ea<'h from any at- tempts to resist established authority. Every man has his motive, though not the same. In this, as in other instances, the conduct is similar, but the principles which produce it, extremely various. There are three distinctions of character, into which the subjects of a state may be divided : into those who obey from prejudice; those who obey from reason; and those who obey from self-in- terest. 1. They who obey from prejudice, are deter- mined by an opinion of right in their governors ; which opinion is founded upon prescription. In monarchies and aristocracies which are hereditary, the yirescription operates in favour of particular families ; in republics and elective offices, in fa- vour of particular forms of government, or consti- tution. Nor is it to be wondered at, that mankind should reverence authority founded in prescrip- tion, when they observe that it is prescription which confers the title to almost every thing else. The whole course, and all the habits of civil life, favour this prejudice. Upon what other founda- tion stands any man's right to his estate 1 The right of primogeniture, the succession of kindred, the descent of property, the inheritance of honours, the demand of tithes, tolls, rents, or services, from the estates of others, the right of way, the powers of office and magistracy, the privileges of nobility, the immunities of the clergy, upon what are they all founded, in the apprehension at least of the multitude, but upon prescription 1 To wha', else, when the claims are contested, is the appeal made? it is natural to transfer the same principle to the aifairs of government, and to regard those exertions of power which have been long ex- ercised and acquiesced in, as so nvdwy rights m the sovereign ; and to consiiler obedience to his commands, within certain accustomed limits, as enjoined by that rule of conscience, which re- quires us to render to every man his due. in hereditary monarchies, the prescriptive title is corroborated, and its influence considerably augmented by an accession of religious senti- ments, and by that sacredness which men are wont to ascribe to the persons of princes. Princes themselves have not failed to take advantage of this disposition, by claiming a superior dignity, as it were, of nature, or a ])eculiar delegation from the Supreme Being. — P'or this purpose were in- troduced the titles of Sacred Majesty, of God's Anointed, Representative, Vicegerent, together with the ceremonies of investitures and corona- tions, which are calculated not so much to recog- nize the authority of sovereigns, as to consecrate their persons. Where a fabulous religion per- mitted it, the public veneration has been chal- lenged by bolder pretensions. The Roman em- peroi-s usurped the titles and arrogated the wor- ship of gods. The mythology of tlie heroic ages, and of many barbarous nations, was easily converted to this purpose. Some princes, like the heroes of Homer, and the founder of the Roman name, derived their birth from the gods; others, with Numa, pretended a secret communication with some divine being ; and others, again, like the incas of Peru, and the ancient Saxon kings, extracted their descent from the deities of their countries. The Lama of Thibet, at this day, is held forth to his subjects, not as the ofi'spring or successor of a divine race of princes, but as the immortal God himself, the object at once of civil obedience and religious adoration. This instance is singular, and may be accounted the farthest point to which the aliuse of human credulity has ever been carried. But in all these instances the purpose was the same, — to engage the reverence of mankind, by an application to their religious principles. The reader will he careful to observe that, in this article, we denominate every opinion, whe- ther true or false, a prejudice, which is not found- ed upon argument, in the mind of the person who entertains it. II. They who obey from reason, that is to say, from conscience as instructed by reasonings and conclusions of their own, are determined by the consideration of the necessity of some government or other; the certain mischief of civil commotions ; and the danger of re-settling the government of their country better, or at all, if once subverted or disturbed. III. They who obey from self-interest, are kept in order by want of leisure ; by a succession of private cares, pleasures, and engagements; by contentment, or a sense of the ease, plenty, and safety, which they enjoy ; or lastly, and princi- pally, by fear, foreseeing that they would bring themselves by resistance into a worse situation than their present, inasmuch as the strength of government, each discontented subject reflects, is greater than his own, and he knows not that others would join him. SUBMISSION TO CIVIL GOVERNMENT EXPLAINED. Ill This last consideration has often been called opinion of power. Tliis account of the principles by which man- kind are retained in their obedience to civil govern- ment, may suggest the following cautions. 1 Let ci\il governors learn hence to respect their subjects ; let them be admonished, that //le physical strength resides in the governed ; that this strength wants only to be felt and roused, to lav prostrate the most ancient and confirmed do- minion ; that civil authority is founded in opinion ; that general opinion therefore ought always to be treated with deference, and managed with delicacy and circumspection. 2. Opinion of right, always following the cus- tom, being for the most part founded in nothing I'lse, and lending one principal support to govern- ment, every innovation in the constitution, or in other words, in the custom of governing, di- minishes ths stability of government Hence some absurdities are to be retained, and many small inconveniencies endured in every country, rather than that usage should be violated, or the course of public atiiiirs diverted from their old and smooth channel. Even 7ia?nes are not indifferent. — When the multitude are to be dealt with, there is a charm in sounds. It was upon tliis principle, that several statesmen of those times ad\ised Cromwell to assume the title of king, together with the ancient style and insignia of royalty. The minds of many, they contended, wovild be brought to acquiesce in the authority of a king, who suspected the office, and were oiiended with the administration, of a protector. Novelty re- mindcil them of usurpation. The adversaries of this dcsisfn opposed the measure, from the same persuasion of the efficacy of names and forms, jealous lest the veneration paid to these, should add ail influence to the new settlement which mi'jht ensnare the liberty of the commonwealth. 3. Government may be too secure. The great- est tyrants have been those, whose titles were the most unquestioned. Whenever therefore the opinion of right becomes too predominant and superstitious, it is abated by breaking the custom. Thus the Revolution broke the custom of suc- cea.^icn, and thereby moderated, both in the prince and in the people, those lofty notions of hereditary right, which in the one were become a continual imeiitive to tyranny, and disposed the other to invite servitude, by undue comphances and dan- gerous concessions. 4. As ignorance of union, and want of com- munication, appear amongst the principal pre- servatives of civil authority, it behoves every state to keep its sulijects in this want and ignorance, not only by vigilance in guarding against actual confederacies and combinations, but bv' a timely crire to prevent great collections of men of any separate party or religion, or of like 'ccupation or profession, or in any way connectea by a partici- pation of interest or passion, from being assem- bled in the same ^icinity. A protestant esta- blisliment in this country may have little to fear from its popish subjects, scattered as they are througliout the kingdom, and intermixed with the protestant inhabitants, which yet might think them a formidable body, if they were gathered to- gether into one county. The most frequent and desperate riots are those which break out amongst men of the same profession, as weavers, miners, sailors. This circumstance makes a mutiny of soldiers more to be dreaded than any other in- surrection. Hence also one danger of an over- grown metropolis, and of those great cities and crowded districts, into which the inhabitants of trading countries are commonly collected. The worst effect of popular tumults consists in this, that they discover to the insurgents the secret of their own strength, teach them to depend upon it against a future occasion, and both produce and ditl'use sentiments of confidence in one another, and assurances of mutual support. Leagues thus formed and strengthened, may overawe or overset the power of any state ; and the danger is greater, in proportion as, from the propinquity of habita- tion and intercourse of employment, the passions and counsels of a party can be circulated with case and rapidity. It is by these means, and in such situations, that the minds of men are so afiected and prejjared, that the most dreadful uproars often arise from the slightest provocations. — When the train is laid, a spark will produce the explosion. CHAPTER III. The Duty of Submission to Civil Government Explained. The subject of this chapter is sufficiently dis- tinguished from the subject of the last, as the mo- tives which actually produce civil obedience, may be and often are, very dillerent from the reasons which make that obedience a duty. In order to prove ci\il obedience to be a moral duty, and an obligation upon the conscience, it hath been usual with many political writers (at the head of whom we find the venerable name of Locke,) to state a compact between the citizen and the state, as the ground and cause of the re- lation between them : which compact, binding the parties for the same general reason that private contracts do, resolves the duty of submission to civil government into the universal obligation of fidelity in the perfonnance of promises. This compact is twofold : First, an express compact by the primitive founders of the state, who are supposed to have convened for the declared purpose of settling the terms of their political union, and a future con- stitution of government. The whole body is sup- posed, in the first place, to have unanimously consented to be bound by the resolutions of the majority ; that majority, in the next place, to have fixed certain fundamental regulations : and then to have constituted, either in one person, or in an assembly (the rule of succession, or appointment, being at tlie same time determined.) a standing legislature, to whom, under these pre-established restrictions, the government of the state was thence forward committed, and whose laws the several members of the convention were, by their first undertaking, thus personally engaged to obey. — Tliis transaction is sometimes called the social compact, and these supposed original regu- lations compose what are meant by the constitu- tion, the fundamental laics of the constitution ; and form, on one side, the inherent indefeasible prerogative of the crcncn ; and, on the other, the unalienable, imprescriptible birth-right of the subject. Secondly, A tacit or implied compact, by all succeeding members of the state, who by accept- lU MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. ing its protection, consent to be bound by its laws; iu ILlce manner, as whoever voluntarily enters into a private society is understood, without any other or more cxph^it stipulation, to promise a con- formity with the rules, and obedience to the go- vernment of that society, as the known conditions upon which he is admitted to a participation of its . privileges. This account of the subject, although specious, and patronized by names the most respectable, appears to labour under the following objections : that it is founded upon a supposition false in fact, and leading to dangerous conclusions. No social compact, similar to what is here de- scribed, was ever made or entered into iir reality : no such original convention of the people was ever actually holden, or in any country could be holdcn, antecedent to the existence of civil govern- ment in that country. It is to suppose it pos- sible to call savages out of caves and deserts, to de- liberate and vote upon topics, which the expe- rience, and studies, and relinements, of civil life, alone suggest. Therefore no government in the universe began from this original. Some imita- tion of a social compact may have taken place at a revolution. The present age has been witness to a transaction, which bears the nearest resemblance to this political idea, of any of which history has preserved the account or memory : I refer to the establishment of the United States of North America. We saw the people assembled to elect deputies, for the avowed purpose of framing the constitution of a new empire. We saw this deputation of the people deliberating and re- solving upon a form of government, erecting a pcrmaneut legislature, distributing the functions of sovereignty, establishing and promulgating a code of fundamental ordinances, which were to be considered by succeeding generations, not merely as laws and acts of the state, but as the very terms and conditions of the confederation ; as binding not only upon the subjects and magis- trates of the state, but as limitations of power, which were to control and regulate the future legislature. Yet even here much was presupposed. In settling the constitution, many important parts were presumed to be already settled. The quali- fications of the constituents who were admitted to vote in the election of members of congress, as well as the mode of electing the representatives, were taken from the old forms of government. That was wanting, from which every social union should set off, and which alone makes the resolu- tions of the sodety the act of the individual, — the unconstrained consent of all to be bound by the decision of the majority ; and yet without this previous consent, the revolt, and the regulations which followed it, were compulsory upon dis- sentients. But the original compact, we are told, is not proposed as a. fact, but as a fiction, which furnishes a commodious explication of the nmtual rights and duties of sovereigns and subjects. In answer to this representation of the matter, we observe, that the original compact, if it be not a fact, is no- thing; can confer no actual authority upon laws or magistrates ; nor afford any foundation to rights which are supposed to be real and existing. But the truth is, that in the books, and in the appre- hension, of those who deduce our civil rights and obligations a paclis, the original convention is ap- pealed to and treated of as a reaUty, Whenever the disciples of this system speak of the constitu- tion ; of the fundamental articles of the constitu- tion; of laws being constitutional or unconsti- tutional; of inherent, unalienable, mexlinguishable rights, either iu the prince or in the people ; or in- deed of any laws, usages, or civil rights, as trans- cending the authority of the subsisting legislature, or possessing a Ibrce and sanction superior to what belong to tlie modern acts and edicts of the legisla- ture ; they secretly refer us to what passed at the original convention. They would teach us to be- lieve, that certain rules and ordinances were esta- blished by the people, at the same time that they settled the charter of government, and the powers as well as the form of the future legislature ; that this legislature consequently, deriving its conunis- sion and existence from the consent and act of the primitive assembly (of which indeed it is only the standing deputation,) continues subject, in the ex- ercise ot its offices, and as to the extent of its power, to the rules, reservations, and limitations, which the same assembly then made and prescribed to it. " As the first members of the state were boUnd by express stipulation to obey the government which they had erected; so the succeeding in- habitants of the country are understood to promise allegiance to the constitution and government they find established, by accepting its protection, claim- ing its prixilcges, and acquiescing in its laws ; more especially, by the purchase or inheritance of lands to the possession of which, allegiance to the state is annexed, as the very service and condition of the tenure." Smoothly as this train of argument proceeds, little of it will endure examination. The native suljects of modern slates are not conscious of any stipulation with the sovereigns, of ever ex- ercising an election whether they will be bound or not by tlie acts of the legislature, of any alterna- tive being proposed to their choice, of a promise either required or given ; nor do they apprehend that the validity or authority of the law depends at all upon their recognition or consent. In all stipulations, whether they be expressed or implied, private or public, formal or constructive, the par- ties stipulating must both possess the liberty of assent and refusal, and also be conscious of this liberty ; which cannot with truth be affirmed of the subjects of civil government as government is now. or ever was, actually administered. This is a defect, which no arguments can excuse or supply : all presumptions of consent, without this conscious- ness, or in opposition to it, are vain and erroneous. Still less is it possible to reconcile with any idea of stipulation, the practice, in which all European nations agree, of founding allegiance u(>on the cir- cumstance of nativity, that is, of claiming and treating as subjects all those who are liorn within the confines of their dominions, although removed to another country in their youth or infancy. In this instance certainly, the state does not presume a compact. ALso if the subject be bound only liy his own consent, and if the voluntary aliiding in the country be the proof and intimation of that consent, by what arguments should we defend the right, which sovereigns universally assume, of |jro- hibiting, when they please, the departure of their subjects out of the realm 1 Again, when it is contended that the taking and holding possession of land amounts to an acknow- lef all species of domination, this is the most odious : the freedom and satisfaction of private life are more constrained and harassed by it than by the most vexatious law, or even by the lawless will of an arbitrary monarch, from whose knowledge, and from whose injustice, the greatest part of his subjects are removed by their distance, or con- cealed by their obscurity. Europe exhibits more than one modern example, where the people, aggrieved by the exactions, or provoked by the enormities, of their immediate superiors, have joined with the reigning prince in the overthrow of the aristocracy, deliberately ex- changing their condition for the miseries of despot- ism. About the middle of the last century, the commons of Denmark, weary of the oppressions which they had long suffered from the nobles, and exasperated by some recent insults, presented themselves at the foot of the throne with a formal ofler of their consent to establish unlimited do- minion in the king. The revolution in fciweden, still more lately brought about with the acqui- escence, not to say the assistance, of the people, owed its success to the same cause, namely, to the prospect of deliverance that it afforded from the tyranny which their nobles exercised under the old constitution. In England, the people beheld tlie depression of the barons, under the house of Tudor, with satisfaction, although they saw the crown acquiring thereby a power which no limi- tations that the constitution had then provided wore likely to confine. The lesson to be drawn from sucli events, is this : that a mixed govern- ment, which admits a patrician order into its con- stitution, ought to circumscribe the personal pri- vileges of the nobility, especially claims of here- ditary jurisdiction and local authority, with a jealousy equal to the solicitude with which it wishes its own preservation : for nothing so alienates the minds of the people from the govern- ment under wliich they live, by a perpetual sense of annoyance and inconveniency, or so prepares them for the practices of an enterprising prince or a factious demagogue, as the abuse which almost always accompanies the existence of separate immunities. Amongst the inferior, but by no means incon- siderable advantages of a democratic constitu- tion, or of a constitution in which the people par- take of the power of legislation, the following should not be neglected : I. The direction which it gives to the educa- tion, studies, and pursuits, of the superior orders of the coirjnunity. The share which this has in forming the public manners and national charac- ter, is very important. In countries, in which the gentry are excluded from all concern in the government, scarcely any thing is left which leads to advancement, but the profession of arms. They who do not addict themselves to tliis pro- fession (and miserable must that country be, which constantly employs the military service ol a great proportion of any order of its subjects !) are OF DIFFERENT FORMS OF GOVERNMENT. 121 commonly lost by the mere want of ohjcct and des- tination : that is, they either fall, without reserve, into the more sottish habits of animal gratification, or entirely devote themselves to the attainment of those futile arts and decorations which compose the business and recommendations of a court : on the other hand, where the whole, or any eflcctive portion, of civil power is possessed by a popular as- sembly, more serious pursuits will be encouraged ; purer morals, and in a more intellectual character, will engage the public esteem; those i'aculties which qualify men for deliberation and debate, and which ari i,ne fruit of sober habits, of early and long-continued application, will be roused and animated by the reward which, of all others, most readily awakens the ambition of the human mind — political dignity and importance. II. Popular elections procure to the common people courtesy from their superiors. That con- temptuous and overbearing insolence, with which the lower orders of the community are wont to be treated by the higher, is greatly mitigated where the people have something to give. The assi- duity with which their favour is sought upon these occasions, serves to generate settled habits of condescension and respect ; and as human life is more embittered by affronts than injuries, what- ever contributes to procure mildness and civi- lity of manners towards those who are most liable to sutler from a contrary behaviour, corrects, with the pride, in a great measure, the evil of ine- quality, and deserves to be accounted among the most generous institutions of social life. III. The satisfactions which the people in free governments derive from the knowledge and agitation of political subjects ; such as the proceed- ings and debates of the senate ; the conduct and characters of ministers ; the revolutions, intrigues, and contentions of parties; and, in general, from the discussion of public measures, questions, and occurrences. Subjects of this sort excite just enough of interest and emotion to afford a mode- rate engagement to the thoughts, without rising to any painful degree of anxiety, or ever leaving a fixed operation upon the spirits ;^and what is this, Isut the end and aim of all those amusements which compose so much of the business of life and of the value of riches 1 For my part (and I believe it to be the case with most men who are arrived at the middle age, and occupy the middle classes of life,) had I all the money which I pay in taxes to government, at liberty to lay out upon amusement and diversion, I know not whether I could make choice of any in which I could find greater pleasure than what I receive from expect- ing, hearing, and relating public news ; reading parliamentary debates and proceedings ; canvass- ing the political arguments, projects, predictions, and intelligence, which are convej-ed by various channels, to every corner of the kingdom. These topics, exciting universal curiosity, and being- such as almost every man is ready to form and prepared to deliver his opinion about, greatly pro- mote, and, I thinli, improve conversation. They render it more rational and more innocent ; they supply a substitute for drinking, gaming, scandal, and obscenity. Now the secrecy, the jealousy, the solitude, and precipitation, of despotic govern- ments, exclude all this. But the loss, j-ou say, is trifling. I know that it is possible to render even the mention of it ridiculous by representing it as the idle employment of the most insignificant part of the nation, the folly of village-statesmen and coffee-house politicians: but 1 allow nothing to be a trifle wliich ministers to the harmless gratifica- tion of multitudes ; nor any order of men to be in- significant, whose number bears a respectable proportion to the sum of the whole community. We have been accustomed to an opinion, that a REPUBLICAN form of government suits only with the affairs of a small state : which opinion is found- ed in the consideration, that unless the people, in every district of the em{)ire, be admitted to a share in the national representation, the govern- ment is not, as to them, a republic ; that elections, where the constituents are numerous, and dis- persed through a wide extent of country, are con- ducted with difficulty, or rather, indeed, managed Iiy the intrigues and combinations of a few, who are situated near the place of election each voter considering liis single suffrage as too minute a portion of the general interest to deserve his care or attendance, much less to be worth any opposi- tion to influence and application ; that whilst we contract the representation witliin a compass small enough to admit of orderly debate, the in- terest of the constituent becomes too small, of the representative too great. It is difficult also to maintain any connexion between thetn. He who represents two hundred thousand, is neces- sarily a stranger to the greatest part of those who elect him : and when his interest amongst them ceases to depend upon an acquaintance with their persons and character, or a care or know- ledge of their affairs ; when such a rei)rcscntative finds the treasures and honours of a great empire at the disposal of a few, and himself one of the few, there is little reason to hope that he will not prefer to his public duty those temptations of personal aggrandisement which his situation of- fers, and which the price of his vote will always purchase. All appeal to the people Is precluded by the impossibility of "ollccting a sufficient pro- portion of their force and numbers. The factions and the unanimity of the senate are equally danger- ous. Add to these considerations, that in a de- mocratic constitution the mechanism is too compli- cated, and the motions too slow, for the operations of a great empire ; whose defence and govern- ment require execution and despatch, in propor- tion to the magnitude, extent, and variet}^, of its concerns. There is weight, no doubt, in these reasons ; but much of the objection seems to be done away by the contrivance oi' a. federal republic, which, distributing the country into districts of a conunodious extent, and leaving to each district its internal legislation, reserves to a convention of the states the adjustment of their relative claims ; the levying, direction, and government, of the common force of the confederacy; the requisition of subsidies for the supjiort of this force ; the mak- ing of peace and war ; the entering into treaties ; the regulation of foreign commerce ; the e(iuali- zation of duties upon imports, so as to prevent the defrauding the revenue of one province by smuggling articles of taxation from the borders oi another ; and likewise so as to guard against un- due partialities in the encouragement of trade. To what limits such a repulili;- might, without inconveniency, enlarge its dominions, by assuming neighbouring provinces into the confederation ; or how far it is capable of uniting the liberty of a small commonwealth with the safety of a power ful empire ; or whether, amongst co-ordinate 11 ; 122 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. powers, dissensions and jealousies would not be likely to anise, which, for want of a common su- perior, might proceed to fatal extremities ; are questions upon wliich the records of mankind do not authorise us to decide with tolerable certainty. 1'he experiment is about to be tried in America upon a large scale. CHAPTER VII. Of the British Constitution. By the constitution of a country, is meant so much of its law, as relates to the designation and form of the legislature ; the rights and func- tions of the several parts of the legislative body ; the construction, office, and jurisdiction, of courts of justice. The constitution is one principal di- vision, section, or title, of the code of public laws; distinguished from the rest only by the superior importance of the subject of which it treats. Therefore the terms constitutional and unconsti- tutional, mean legal and illegal. The distinclion and the ideas which these terms denote, are found- ed in the same autliority with the law of the land upon any other subject; and to be ascer- tained by the same inquiries. In England, the sys- tem of public jurisprudence is made up of acts of parliament, of decisions oi' courts of law, and of im- memorial usages ; consequently, these are the principles of which the English constitution itself consists, the sources from which all our know- ledge of its nature and Imiitations is to be deduced, and the authorities to which all appeal ought to be made, and by which every constitutional doubt and question can alone be decided. This plain and intelligible definition is the more necessar}^ to be {)rescrved in our thoughts, as some writers upon the subject absurdly confound what is con- stitutional with what is expedient ; pronouncing forthwitli a measure to be unconstitutional, which tliey adjudge in any respect to be detrimental or dangerous : whilst others, again, ascribe a kind of transcendant authority, or mysterious sanctity, to the constitution, as if it were founded in some higher original than that which gives force and obligation to the ordinary laws and statutes of the realm, or were inviolable on any other account than its intrinsic utility. An act of parliament in England can never be unconstitutional, in the strict and proper acceptation of the term; in a lower sense it may, viz. when it militates with the spirit, contradicts the analogy, or defeats the pro- vision, of other laws, made to regulate tlie i'orm of government. Even that flagitious abuse of tlieir trust, by which a parliament of Henry the Eighth conferred U])on the king's proclamation the au- thority of law, was unconstitutional only in this latter sense. Most of those who treat of the British consti- tution, consider it as a scheme of government formally planned and contrived by our ancestors, in some certain era of our national history, and as set up in pursuance of such regular plan and de- sign. Something of this sort is secretly sup- posed, or referred to, in the expressions of those who speak of the " principles of the con.stitution," of bringing back the constitution to its " first principles," of restoring it to its " original pu- rity," or " primitive model." Now this appears to me an erroneous conception of the subject. No such plan was ever formed, consequently no such first principles, original model, or standard, exist : I mean, there never was a date or point of time in our history, when the goveninicnt of England was to be set up anew, and when it was referred to any single person, or assembly, oi committee, to frame a charter ibr the future go- vernment of tJie country ; or when a constitution so prepared and digested, was by common consent received and established In the time of the ci\ LI wars, or rather between the death of Charles the First and the restoration of his son, many such projects were published, but none were carried into execution. The Great Charter, and the Bill of Rights, were wise and strenuous elJijrts to obtain security against certain abuses of regal power, by which the subject had been formerly aggrieved ; but these were, either of them, much too partial modifications of the constitution, to give it a new original. The constitution of Eng- land, hke that of most countries of Europe, hath grown out of occasion and emergency ; from the fluctuating policy of diflerent ages ; from the con- tentions, successes, interests, and opportunitic s, of different orders and parties of men in the com- munity. It resembles one of those old mansions, which, instead of being built all at once, after a regular plan, and according to the rules of architecture at present established, has been reared in different ages of the art, has been altered from time to time, and has been continually re- ceiving additions and repairs suited to the taste, fortune, or conveniency, of its successive pro- prietors. In such a building, we look in vain foi the elegance and proportion, for the just order and correspondence of parts, which we expect in a modern edifice ; and which external symmetry, after all, contributes much more perhaps to the amusement of tlie beholder, than the accommoda- tion of the inhabitant. In the British, and possibly in all other consti- tutions, there exists a wide difference between the actual state of the government and the theory. The one results from the other : but still they ai'e different. When v/e contemplate the theory of the British government, we see tlie king invested witli the most absolute personal impunity ; with a power of rejecting laws, which have been re- solved upon by both houses of parliament ; of con- ferring by his charter, upon any set or succession of men he pleases, the privilege of sending re- presentatives into one house of parliament, as by his immediate appointment lie can place whom he will in the other. What is this, a foreigiicr might ask, but a more circuitous despotism '? Yet. when we turn our attention from the legal extent, to the actual exercise of royal authority in Eng- land, we see these formidable prerogatives dwin- dled into mere ceremonies ; and, in their stead, a sure and commanding influence, of which the constitution, it seems, is totally ignorant, grow- ing out of that enormous patronage whicli the increased territory and opulence of the empire have placed in the disposal of the executive ma- gistrate. Upon questions of reform, the habit of reflec- tion to be encouraged, is a sober comparison of the constitution under which we live, — not with models of speculative perfection, but with the ac- tual chance of obtaining a better. This tuin of thouglit will generate a political disposition, equally removed from that puerile admiration of OF THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION. 123 present establishments, which sees no foult, and can endure no change; and that distempered sensibility, which is alive only to perceptions of inconveniency, and is too impatient to be deliver- ed from the uneasiness which it feels, to compute either the peril or expense of the remedy. Po- litical innovations commonly produce many effects beside those that are intended. The direct con- sequence is often the least important. Incidental, remote, and unthought-of evil or advantages, fre- quently e.xceed the good that is designed, or the mischief that is foreseen. It is from the silent and unobserved operation, from the obscure pro- gress of causes set at work for diflerent purposes, that the greatest revolutions take their rise. When Elizabeth, and her immediate successor, applied themselves to the encouragement and regulation of trade by many wise laws, they knew not, that, to- gether with wealth and industry, they were dif- liising a consciousness of strength an(l independ- ency, which would not long endure, -under the forjns of a mixed government, the dominion of arbitrary princes. When it was debated whether the mutiny act, the law by which the army is governed and maintained, should be temporary or perpetual, little else probably occurred to the ad- vocates of an annual bill, than the expediency of retaining a control over the most dangerous pre- rogative of the crown, — the direction and com- mand of a standing army ; whereas, in its effect, this single reservation has altered the whole frame and quahtyof the British constitution. For since, in consequence of the military system which pre- vails in neighboui'ing and rival nations, as well as on account of the internal exigencies of govern- ment, a standing army has become essential to the safety and administration of the empire, it enables parliament, by discontinuing this neces- sary provision, so to enforce its resolutions upon any other subject, as to render the king's dissent to a law which has received the approbation of both houses, too dangerous an experiment any longer to be advised. A contest between the king and parliament, cannot now be persevered in with- out a dissolution of the government. Lastly, when the constitution conferred upon the crown the nomination to all employinents in the public ser- vice, the authors of this arrangement were led to it, by the obvious projjriety of leaving to a master the choice of his servants; and by the manifest inconveniency of engaging the national council, upon every vacancy, in those personal contests which attend elections to places of honour and emolument. Our ancestors did not observe that this disposition added an influence to the regal ofTice, which, as the number and value of public employments increased, would supersede in a great measure the forms, and change the charac- ter, of the ancient constitution. They knew not, what the experience and reflection of modern ages have discovered, that patronage, universally, is power ; that he who possesses in a suthcient dt^gree the means of gratifying the desires of manEind after wealth and distinction, by whatever checks and forms his authority may be limited or dis- guised, will direct the management of public af- fairs. Whatever be the mechanism of the political engine, he will guide the motion. These instances are adduced in order to illustrate the proposition which we laid down, that, in politics, the most important and permanent effects have, for the most part, been incidental and unforeseen, and this proposition we inculcate, for the sake of the caution which teaches that changes ought not to be adventured upon without a comprehensive dis- cernment of the consequences, — without a know- ledge as well of the remote tendency, as of the immediate design. The courage of a statesman should resemble that of a commander, who, how- ever regardless of personal danger, never forgets, that, with his own, he conmiits the lives and Ibr- tunes of a multitude ; and who docs not consider it as any proof of zeal or valour, to stake the safety of other men upon the success of a perilous or des- perate enterprise. There is one end of civil government peculiar to a good constitution, namely, the happiness of its subjects ; there is another end essential to a good government, but common to it with many bad ones, — its own preservation. Observing that the best form of government would be defective, which did not provide for its own permanency, in our pohtical reasonings we consider all such pro- visions as expedient ; and are content to accept as a sufficient ground for a measure, or law, that it is necessary or conducive to the preservation of the constitution. Yet, in truth, such provisions are absolutely expedient, and such an excuse final, only whilst the constitution is worth preserving ; that is, until it can be exchanged for a better. I premise this distinction, because many things in the English, as in every constitution, are to be vindicated and accounted for solely from their tendency to maintain the government in its pre- sent state, and the several parts of it in possession of the powers which the constitution has assigned to them ; and because I would wish it to be re- marked, that such a consideration is always sub- ordinate to another, — the value and usefulness ol the constitution itself The Government of England, which has been sometimes called a mixed government, sometimes a limited monarchy, is formed by a combination of the three regular species of government : the monarchy residing in the King ; the aristocracy, in the House of Lords ; and the republic, being represented by the House of Commons. The perfection intended by such a scheme of govern- ment is, to unite the advantages of the several simple forms, and to exclude the inconveniencies. To what degree this purpose is attained or attain- able in the British constitution ; wherein it is lost sight of or neglected ; and by what means it may in any part be promoted with better success, the reader will be enabled to judge, by a separate recollection of these advantages and inconve- niencies, as enumerated in the preceding chapter, and a distinct application of each to the political condition of this country. We will present our remarks upon the subject in a brief account of the expedients by which the British conslitution provides, 1st, For the interest of its subjects. 2dly, For its own preservation. The contrivances for the first of their purposes, are the following : In order to promote the establishment of salu- tary public laws, every citizen of the state is ca- pable of becoming a member of the senate : and every senator possesses the right of propounding to the deliberation of the legislature whatever law he pleases. Every district of the empire enjoys the privilege of choosing representatives, informed of the in- 134 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. terests, aivl circumstances, and desires of their constituents, and entitled by their situation to couununincate that information to the national council. The meanest suliject has some one whom he can call upon to bring forward his com- plaints and requests to public attention. By annexing the right of voting for members of the House of Commons to diilereut qualifications ui diiferent places, each order and profession of men in the community become virtually repre- sented ; that is, men of all orders and professions, statesmen, courtiers, country-gentlemen, lawyers, merchants, manufacturers, soldiers, sailors, in- terested in the prosperity, and experienced in the occupation, of their respective professions, obtain seats in parliament. The elections, at the same time, are so con- nected with the influence of landed property, as to afford a certainty that a considerable number of men of great estates will be returned to par- liament ; and are also so modified, that men the most eminent and successful in their respective professions, are the most likely, by their riches, or the weight of their stations, to prevail in these competitions. The number, fortune, and quality, of the mem- bers ; the variety of interests and characters amongst them; above all, the temporary dura- tion of their power, and the change of men which every new election produces ; are so many secu- rities to the public, as well against the sulijection of their judgments to any external dictation, as against the formation of a junto in their own body, sufficiently powerful to govern their de- cisions. The representatives are so intermixed with the constituents, and the constituents with the rest of the people, that they cannot, without a par- tiality too flagrant to "be endured, impose any burthen upon the subject, in which they do not share themselves; nor scarcely can they adopt an advantageous regulation, in which their own interests will not participate of the advantage. The proceedings and debates of parliament, and the parliamentary conduct of each representative, are known by the people at large. The representative is so far dependent upon the constituent, and political importance upon public favour, that a member of parliament cannot more effectually recommend himself to eminence and advancement in the state, than by contriving and patronizing laws of public utility. When intelligence of the condition, wants, and occasions, of the people, is thus collected from every quarter; when such a variety of invention, and so many understandings, are set at work upon the subject ; it may be presumed, that the most eligible expedient, remedy, or improvement, will occur to some one or other : and when a wise counsel, or beneficial regulation, is once suggested, it may be expected, from the disposition of an assembly so constituted as the British House of Commons is, that it cannot fail of receiving the approbation of a majority. To prevent those destructive contentions for the supreme power, which are sure to take place where the members of the state do not live under an acknowledged head, and a known rule of suc- cession ; to preserve the people in tranquillity at home, by a speedy and vigorous execution of the laws ; to protect their interest abioad, by strength and energy in military operations, by those advar^ tages of decision, secrecy, and despatch, which belong to the resolutions of monarchical coun- cils;— for these purjxises, the constitution has committed the executive government to the ad-« ministration and limited authority of an hereditary king. In the defence of the empire; in the main- tenance of its power, dignity, and privileges with foreign nations ; in the advancement of its trade by treaties and conventions ; and in the providing for the general administration of municipal jus- tice, by a proper choice and appointment of ma- gistrates ; the inchnation of the king and of the people usually coincides ; in this part, therefore, of the regal oflice, the constitution entrusts the prerogative with ample powers. The dangers principally to be apprehended from regal government, relate to the two articles taxation and j->unishmcnt. In every form of go- vernment, from which the people are excluded, it is the interest of the governors to get as much, and of the governed to give as little, as they can : the power also of punishment, in the hands of an arbitrary prince, oftentimes becomes an engine of extortion, jealousy, and revenge. Wisely, there- fore, hath the British constitution guarded the safety of the people, in these two points, by the most studious precautions. Upon that of taxation, every law which, by the remotest construction, may be deemed to levy money upon the property of the sub- ject, must originate, that is, must first be pro- posed and assented to, in the House of Com- mons : by which regulation, accompanying the weight which that assembly possesses in all its functions, the levying of taxes is almost ex- clusivelj' reserved to the pojjular part of the con- stitution, who, it is presumed, will not tax them- selves, nor their fellow-subjects, without being first convinced of the necessity of the aids wlrieh they grant. The application also of the public supplies, is watched with the same circumspection as the as- sessment. Many taxes are annual ; the produce of others is mortgaged, or appropriated to specific services : the expenditure of all of them is ac- counted for in the House of Commons ; as com- putations of the charge of the purpose for which they are wanted, are jjreviously submitted to the same tribunal. In the infliction of ■punishment, the power of the crown, and of the magistrate appointed by the crown, is confined by the most precise limitations : the guilt of the offender must be pronounced by twelve men of his own order, indifi'erently chosen out of the county where the oflence was com- mitted : the punishment, or the limits to which the punishment maybe extended, are ascertained, and affixed to the crime, by laws which know not the person of the criminal. And whereas arbitrary or clandestine confine- ment is the injury most to be dreaded from the strong hand of the executive government, because it deprives the prisoner at once of protection and defence, and delivers him into the power, and to the malicious or interested designs, of his enemies ; the constitution has provided against this danger with double solicitude. The ancient writ of ha- beas corpus, the last habeas-corpus act of Charles the Second, and the practice and determinations of our sovereign courts of justice founded uj)on OF THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION. 125 these laws, afford a complete remedy for every conceivable case of illegal imprisonment.* Treason being that charge, under colour of which the destruction of an obnoxious indi\idual is often sought ; and government being at all times more immediately a party in the prosecu- tion ; the law, beside the general care with wliich it watches over the safety of the accused, in this case, sensible of the unequal contest in which the subject is engaged, has assisted liis defence with extraordinary indulgences. By two statutes, enacted since the Revolution, every person in- dicted for high treason shall have a copy of liis indictment, a list of the witnesses to be produced, and of the jury impannelled, delivered to him ten days before the trial ; he is also permitted to make his defence by counsel : — privileges which are not allowed to the prisoner, in a trial for any other crime : and, what is of more importance to the party than all the rest, the testimony of two wit- nesses, at the least, is required to convict a person of treason ; whereas, one positive witness is suf- ficient in almost every other species of accusation. W e proceed, in the second place, to inquire in what manner the constitution has provided for its own preservation ; that is, in what manner each part of the legislature is secured in the exercise of the powers assigned to it, from the encroach- ment? of the other parts. This security is some- times called the balance of the constitution : and the political equilibrium, which this phrase de- notes, consists in two contrivances ; — a balance of power, and a balance of interest. By a balance of power is meant, that there is no power possessed by one part of the legislature, the abuse or excess of which is not checked by some antagonist power, residing in another part. Thus the power of the two houses of parliament to frame laws, is checked by the king's negative : that, if laws subversive of regal government should obtain the consent of parliament, the reigning prince, by interposing his prerogative, may save the necessary rights and authority of his station. On the other hand, the arbitrary apphcation of this negative is checked by the privilege which parliament possesses, of re- fusing supplies of money to the exigencies of the king's administration. The constitutional maxim, "tliat the king can do no wrong," is balanced by * tlpon complaint in writing by, or on behalf of, any person in confinement, to any of the four courts of Westrainster-Hall, in term-time, or to the Lord Chan- cellor, or one of the Judges, in the vacation ; and upon a probable reason being suggested to question the le- gality of the detention ; a writ is issued to the person in whose custody the complainant is alleged to be, commanding him, within a certain limited "and short time, to produce the body of the prisoner, and the au- thority under which he is detained. Upon the return of the writ, strict and instantaneous obedience to which is enforced by very severe penalties, if no lawful cause of imprisonment appear, the court or judge, before whom the prisoner is brought, is authorized and bound to discharge him ; even though he may have been com- mitted by a secretary, or other high officer of state, by the privy-council, or by the king in person : so that no subject of this realm can be held in confinement by any power, or under any pretence whatever, provided he can tind means to convey his complaint to one of the four courts of Westminiter-Hall, or, during their recess, to any of the Judges of the same, unless all these several tribunals agree in determining his imprisonment to be legal. He may make application to them in succession ; and if one out of the number be found, who thinks the prisoner entitled to his liberty, that one possesses au- thority to restore it to him. another maxim, not less constitutional, '' that the illegal conmiands of the king do not justify those who assist, or concur, in carrying them into exe- cution;" and b}^ a secojid rule, subsidiary to this, " that the acts of the crown acquire not a legal force, until authenticated by the subscription of some of its great officers.'" The wisdom of this contrivance is worthy of observation. As tlie king could not be punished, without a civil war, the constitution exempts his person from trial or account ; but, lest this impunity should encourage a licentious exercise of dominion, various obsta- cles are opposed to the private will of the so^■e- reign, when directed to illegal objects. The pleasure of the crown must be announced with certain solemnities, and attested by certain officers of state. In some cases, the royal order must be signified by a secretary of state ; in others it must pass mider the privy seal : and, in many, under the great seal. And when the king's command is regularly published, no mischief can be achieved by it, without the ministry and compliance of those to whom it is directed. Now all who either concur in an illegal order by authenticating its publication with their seal or subsciiption, or who in any manner assist in carrying it into execution, subject themselves to prosecution and punishment, for the part they have taken ; and are not per- mitted to plead or produce the command of the king in justification of their obedience.* But farther: the power of the crown to direct tlie military force of the kingdom, is balanced by the annual necessity of resorting to parliament for the maintenance and government of that force. The power of the king to declare war, is checked by the privilege of the House of Commons, to grant or withhold the supplies by which tht. war must be carried on. The king's choice of his ministers is controlled by the obligation he is under of ap- pointing those men to offices in the state, who are found capable of managing the affairs of his go- verninent, with the two houses of parliament. Wliich consideration imposes such a necessity upon the crown, as hath in a great measure sub- dued the influence of favouritism ; insomuch that it is become no uncommon spectacle in this coun- try, to see men promoted by the king to the high- est offices and richest preferments which he has in his power to bestow, who have been distin- guished by their opposition to his personal in- clinations. By the balance of interest, which accompanies and gives efficacy to the balance of ■power, is meant this ; — that the respective uiterests of the three estates of the empire are so disposed and adjusted, that whichever of the three shall attempt any encroachment, the other two will unite in re- sistinjT it. If the kins should endeavour to extend * Amongst the checks which Parliament holds over the administration of public affairs, I forbear to men- tion the practice of addressing the king, to know by whose advice he resolved upon a particular measure : and of punishing the authors of that advice, for the counsel they had given. Not because I think this me- thod either unconstitutional or improper ; but for this reason, — that it does not so much subject the king to the control of Parliameiu, as it supposes him to be already in subjection. For if the king were so far out of the reach of the resentment of the House of Com- mons, as to be able with safety to refuse the informa- tion requested, or to take upon himself the respon- sibility inquired after, there must be an end of all pro- ceedings founded in this mode of application. 11* 126 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. his authority, by contracting the power and pri- vileges of the Commons, the House of Lords would see their own dignity endangered by every advance wliieli the crown made to independency upon the resolutions of parliament. The admis- sion of arbitrary power is no less formidable to the grandeur of the aristocracy, than it is fatal to the hberty of the republic ; that is, it would reduce the nobility from the hereditary share they possess in the national councils, in which their real great- ness consists, to the being made a part of the empty pageantry of a despotic court. On the other hand, if the House of Commons should in- trench upon the distinct province, or usurp the established prerogative of the crown, the House of Loi'ds would receive an instant alarm from every new stretch of popular povv'er. In every contest in which the king may be engaged with the representative body, in defence of his esta- blished share of authority, he will find a sure ally in the collective power of' the nobility. An attach- ment to the monarchy, from which they derive their own distinction ; the allurements of a court, in the habits and with the sentiments of which they have been brought up; their hatred of equa- lity and of all levelling pretensions, which may ultimately aflect the i^rivileges, or even the ex- istence, of their order ; in short, every principle and every prejudice which are wont to actuate human conduct, will determine their choice to the side and support of the crown. Lastly, if the nobles themselves should attempt to revive the superiorities which their ancestors exercised under the feudal constitution, the king and the people would alike remember, how the one had been in- sulted, and the other enslaved, by that barbarous tyranny. They would forget the natural opposi- tion of their views and inclinations, when they saw themselves threatened with the return of a domination which was odious and intolerable to both. The reader will have observed, that in describing the British constitution, little notice has been taken of the House of Lords. The proper use and de- sign of this part of the constitution, are the follow- ing : First, to enable the king, by his right of be- stowing the peerage, to reward the servants of the public, in a manner most grateful to them, at a small expense to the nation : secondly, to fortify the power and to secure the stability of regal go- vernment, by an order of men naturally allied to its interests: and, thirdly, to answer a purpose, which, though of superior importance to the other two, does not occur so readily to our observation ; namely, to stem the progress of popular fury. Large bodies of men are subject to sudden phren- sies. Opinions are sometimes circulated amongst a multitude without proof or examination, ac- quiring confidence and reputation merely by be- ing repeated from one to another ; and passions founded upon these opinions, diffusing themselves with a rapidity which can neither be accounted for nor resisted, may agitate a country witli the most violent commotions. Now the only waj' to stop the fermentation, is to divide the mass; that is, to erect dlfterent orders in the community, with separate prejudices and interests. And this may occasionally become the use of an hereditary no- bility, invested with a share of legislation. Averse to those prejudices which actuate the minds of the vulgar; accustomed to condemn the clamour of the populace ; disdaining to receive laws and opinions from their inferiors in rank; they will oppose resolutions which are founded in the lolly and violence of the lower part of the conununity. Were the voice of the people always dictated by rellection ; did every man, or even one man, in a hundred, think for liimsclf, or actually consider the measure he was about to approve or censure ; or even were the common people tolerably stead- fast in the judgment which they formed, I should hold the interferences of a superior order not only superfluous, but wrong : for when every thing is allowed to difference of rank and education, which the actual state of these advantages de- serves, that, aiter all, is most likely to be right and expedient, which a})pears to be so to the separate judgment and decision of a great majority of the nation ; at least, that, in general, is right ybr them, which is agreeable to their fixed oi)inions and de- sires. But when we observe what is urged as the public opinion, to be, in truth, the opinion only, or perhaps the feigned profession, of a few crafty leaders ; that the numbers who join in the cry, serve only to swell and multiply the sound, with- out any accession of judgment, or exercise of un- derstanding ; and that oftentimes the wisest coun- sels have been thus overborne by tumult and uproar ; — we may conceive occasions to arise, in which the commonwealth may be saved by the reluctance of the nobility to adopt the caprices, or to yield to the vehemence, of the common people. In expecting this advantage from an order of no- bles, we do not suppose the nobility to be more unprejudiced than others ; we only suppose that their prejudices will be different from, and may occasionally counteract, those of others. If the personal privileges of the peerage, which are usually so many injuries to the rest of the community, be restrained, I see little inconve- niency in the increase of its number ; for it is only dividing the same quantity of power amongst more hands, which is rather favourable to public freedom than otherwise. The admission of a small number of ecclesias- tics into the House of Lords, is but an equitable compensation to the clergy for the exclusion of their order from the House of Commons. I'hey are a set of men considerable by their number and property, as well as by their influence, and the duties of their station ; yet, whilst every other pro- fession has those amongst the national represen- tatives, who, being conversant in the same occu- pation, are able to state, and naturally disposed to support, the rights and interests of the class and calling to which they belong, the clergy alone are deprived of this advantage: which hardship is made up to them by introducing the prelacy into parliament ; and if bishops, from gratitude or ex- pectation, be more obsequious to the will of the crown than those who possess great temporal in- heritances, they are properly inserted into that part of tlie constitution, from which much or fre- quent resistance to the measures of government is not expected. I acknowledge, that I perceive no sufficient reason for exempting the persons of members of either house of parliament from arrest for debt. The counsels or suffrage of a single senator, especially of one who in the management of his own affairs may justly be suspected of a want of prudence or honesty, can seldom be so necessary OF THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION. 127 to those of the public, as to justify a departure from that wholesome policy, by which the laws of a commercial state punish and stigmatize insol- vency. But, whatever reason may be pleaded for tlieir persoml immunity, when this privilege of parliament is extended to domestics and retainers, or when it is permitted to impede or delay the course of judicial proceedings, it becomes an ab- surd sacrilice of equal justice to imaginary dignity. There is nothing in the British constitution so remarkable, as the irregularity of the popular re- presentation. The House of Commons consists of tive hundred and tifty-eight members, of whom two hundred are elected by seven thousand con- stituents; so that a majority of these seven thou- sand, without any reasonable title to superior Wi'ight or influence in the state, may, under cer- tain circumstances, decide a question against the ojiinion of as many millions. Or, to place the same object in another point of view: If my estate be situated in one county of the kingdom, I pos- sess the ten-thousandth part of a single represen- tative; if in another, the thousandth ; ifin a par- ticular district, I maybe one in twenty who choose tw'i representatives; if in a still more favoured spot, I may enjoy the right of ajjpointing two myself If I have been born, or dwell, or have served an apprenticesliip, in one town, I am re- presented in the national assembly by two depu- ties, in the choice of whom I exercise an actual and sensible share of power; if accident has thrown my birth, or habitation, or service, into another town, I have no representative at all, nor more power or concern m the election of those who make the laws by wliich I am governed, than if I was a subject of the Grand Signior : and this partiality subsists without any pretence whatever of merit or of propriety, to justify the preference of one place to another. Or, thirdly, to describe the state of national representation as it exists in reality, it may be atRrmed, I believe, with truth, that about one half of the House of Commons obtain their seats in that assembly by the election of the people, the other half by purchase, or by the nomination of single proprietors of great estates. This is a flagrant incongruity in the constitu- tion ; but it is one of those objections which strike most forcibly at first sight. The elfect of all rea- soning upon the subject is, to diminish the first impression; on which account it deserves the more attentive examination, that we may be as- sured, before we adventure upon a reformation, that the magnitude of the evil justifies the danger of the experiment. In a few remarks that follow, we would be understood, in the first place, to decline all conference with those who wish to al- ter the form of government of these kingdoms. The reformers with whom we have to do, are they who. whilst they change this part of the sys- tem, would retain the rest. If any Englishman expect more happiness to his country under a re- public, he may very consistently recommend a new-modelling of elections to parliament; because, if the King and House of Lords were laid aside, the present disproportionate representation would produce nothing but a confused and ill-digested oligarchy. In like manner we have a controversy with those writers who insist upon representation as a natural right ;* we consider it so far only as * If this rijht be natural, no doubt it must be equal ; and the right, we may add, of one sex, as well as of the a right at all, as it conduces to public utility; that is, as it contributes to the establishment of good laws, or jcctions, judges, when they are numerous, divide the shame ot an unjust determination ; they shel- ter themselves under one another's example ; each man thinks his own character hid in the crowd . for which reason, the judges ought always to be so few, as that the conduct of each may be con- spicuous to public observation ; that each may be responsible in his separate and particular reputa- tion for the decisions in which he concurs. I'he truth of the above remark has been exemplified in this cou!itry, in the ellects of that wise regulation which transferred the trial of parliamentary elec- tions from the House of Commons at large to a select conmiittee of that House, composed of thir- teen members. This alteration, simply by re- ducing the number of the judges, and, in conse- quence of that reduction, exposing tlie judicial conduct of each to public animadversion, has given to a judicature, which had been long swayed by interest and solicitation, the solemnity and virtue of the most upright tribunals. — I should prefer an even to an odd immber of judges, and four to al- most any other number : for in this number, beside that it sufficiently consults the idea of separate re- sponsibility, nothing can be decided but by a ma- jority of three to one: and when we consider that every decision establishes a perpetual precedent, we shall allow that it ought to proceed IVom an au- thority, not less than this. It the court be equally divided, nothing is done ; things remain as they were ; with some inconveniency, indeed, to the par- ties, but without the danger to the public of a hasty precedent. A fourth requisite in the constitution of a court of justice, and equivalent to many checks upon the discretion of judges, is, that its proceedings be car- ried on in public, apertis foribus ; not only before a promiscuous concourse of by-standers, but in the audience of the whole profession of the law. The oj)inion of the bar concerning what pas.ses, will be impartial ; and will commonly guide that of the public; The most corrupt judge will fear to in- dulge his dishonest wishes in the presence of such an assembly : he must encounter, what lew can support, the censure of his equals and companions, together with the indignation and reproaches of his country. Something is also gained to the public by ap- pointing two or three courts of concurrent jurisdic- tion, that it may remain in the option of the suitor to which he will resort. By this means a tribu- nal which may happen to be occupied by ignorant or suspected judges, will be deserted for other? that possess more of the confidence of the nation. But, lastly, if several courts co-ordinate to and independent of each other, subsist together in the country, it seems necessary that the appeals from all of them should meet and terminate in the same judicature ; in order that one supreme tribunal, by whose final sentence all others are bound and concluded, may superintend and preside over the rest. This constitution is necessary for two pur- poses : — to preserve an uniformity in the decisions of inferior courts, and to maintain to each the proper limits of its jurisdiction. Without a common superior, different courts might establish contra- dictory rules of adjudication, and the contradiction be final and without remedy ; the same question might receive opposite determinations, according as it was brought before one court or another, and OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE. 131 the determination in each be ultimate and irreversi- ble. A common appellant jurisdiction, prevents or puts an end to this confusion. For when the judgments upon appeals are consistent (which may be expected, whilst it is the same court which is at last resorted to,) the different courts, from which the appeals are brought, will be re- duced to a Uke consistency with one another. — Moreover, if questions arise between courts inde- pendent of each other, concerning the extent and boundaries of their respective jurisdiction, as each will be desirous of enlarging its own, an authority which both acknowledge can alone adjust the controversy. Such a power, therefore, must re- side somewhere, lest the rights and repose of the country be distracted liy the endless opposition and mutual encroachments of its courts of jus- tice. There are two kinds of ju;licature; the one where the office of the judge is permanent in the same person, and coTi.sequently where the judge is appointed and known long before the trial ; the other, where the judge is determined by lot at the time of the trial, and for that turn only. The one may be called -a. fixed, the other a casual judica- ture. From the former may be expected those qualifications which are preferred and sought for in the choice of judges, and that knowledge and readiness which result from experience in the of- fice. But then, as the judge is known beforehand, he is accessible to the parties ; there exists a pos- sibility of secret managejnent and undue practices ; or, in contests between the crown and the subject, the judge appointed by the crown may tie sus- pected of partiality to his patron, or of entertaining inclinations favourable to the authority from which he derives his own. The advantage attending the second kind of judicature, is indifferency ; the defect, the want of that legal science which pro- duces uniformity and justice in legal decisions. The construction of English courts of law, in which causes are tried by a jury, with the assist- ance of a judge, combines the two species with j)eculiar success. This admirable contrivance unites the wisdom of a fixed with the integrity of a casual judicature ; and avoids, in a great mea- sure, the inconveniences of both. The judge imparts to the jury the benefit of his erudition and experience; the jury, by their disinterestedness, check any corrupt partialities which previous ap- plication may have produced in the judge. If the determination were left to the judge, the party might suffer under the superior interest of his ad- versary : if it were left to an uninstructed jury, his rights would be in still greater danger, from the iirnorance of those who were to decide upon them. The present wise admixture of chance and choice in the constitution of the court in which his cause is tried, guards him equally against the fear of in- jury from either of these causes. In proportion to the acknowledged excellency of this mode of trial, every deviation from it ought to be watched with vigilance, and admitted by the legislature with caution and reluctance. Sum- mary couNictions before justices of the peace, es- pe ciall^v for oflenccs against the game laws ; courts of conscience ; extending the jurisdiction of courts of equity; urging too far the distinction between questions of law and matters of fact ; — are all so many infringements upon this great charter of public safety. Nevertheless, the trial by jury is sometimes found inadequate to the administration of equal justice. This imperfection takes place chiefiy in disputes in which some popular passion or preju- dice intervenes ; as where a particular order of men advance claims upon the rest of the commu- nity, which is the case of the clergy contending for tithes ; or where an order of men are obnox- ious by their professions, as are olficcrs of the revenue, bailifis, baliffs' followers, and other low ministers of the law ; or where one of the parties has an interest in common with the general interest of the jurors, and that of the other is opposed to it, as in contests between landlords and tenants, between lords of manors and the holders of estates under them ; or, lastly, where the minds of men are inflamed by political dis- sensions or religious hatred. These prejudices act most powerfully upon the common people ; of which order juries are made up. The force and danger of them are also increased by the very circumstance of taking juries out of the county in which the subject of dispute arises. In the neighbourhood of the parties, the cause is often prejudged : and these secret decisions of the mind proceed commonly more upon sentiments of fa- vour or hatred,-upon some opinion concerning the sect, family, profession, character, connexions, or circumstances of the parties, — than upon any knowledge or discussion of the proper merits oif the question. More exact justice would, in many instances, be rendered to the suitors, if the deter- mination were left entirely to the judges; provided we could depend upon the same purity of conduct, when the power of these magistrates was enlarged, which they have long manifested in the exercise of a mixed and restrained authority. But this is an experiment too big with public danger to be haz- arded. The effects, however, of some local preju- dices, might be safely obviated by a law empow- ering the court in which the action is brought, to send the cause to trial in a distant county ; the ex- penses attending the change of place always fall- ing upon the party who applied for it. There is a second division of courts of justice, which presents a new alternative of difficulties. Either one, two, or a few sovereign courts ma}^ be erected in the metropolis, for tlie whole kingdom to resort to; or courts of local jurisdiction may be fixed in various provinces and districts of the empire. Great, though opposite, incon\eniences attend each arrangement. If the court be remote and solemn, it becomes, by these very qualities, expensive and dilatory : the expense is unavoid- ably increased when witnesses, parties, and agents, must be brought to attend from distant parts of the country; and, where the whole judicial busi- ness of a large nation is collect ed into a few supe- rior tribunals, it will be found impossible, even if the prolixity of forms which retards the progress of causes were removed, to gi^'e a prompt hearing to every complaint, or an immediate answer to any. On the other hand, if, to remedy these evils, and to render the administration of justice cheap and speedy, domestic and summary tribunals be erected in each neighbourhood, the advantage of such courts will be accompanied with all the dan- gers of ignorance and partiality, and with the certain mischief of confusion and contrariety in their decisions. The law of England, by its cir- cuit, or itinerarj^ courts, contains a provision for the distribution of private justice, in a great measure relieved from both these objections. As 132 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. the presiding magistrate comes into the country a stranger to its prejudices, rivalsliips, and connex- ions, he brings with him none of those attacli- ments and regards vvliich are so apt to pervert the course of justice when the parties and the judges inhabit the same neighbourhood. Again ; as this magistrate is usually one of the judges of the su- Ereme tribunals of the kingdom, and has passed is hfe in the study and administration of the laws, he possesses, it may be presumed, those pro- fessional qualifications which belit the dignity and importance of his station. Lastly, as both he, and the advocates who accompany him in his circuit, are employed in the business of those superior courts (to which also their proceedings are amena- ble,) they will naturally conduct themselves by the rules of adjudication which they have applied or learned there ; and by this means maintain, what constitutes a principal perfection of civil govern- ment, one law of the land in every part and dis- trict of the empire. Next to the constitution of courts of justice, we are naturally led to consider the maxiuis wliich ought to guide their proceedings; and, upon this subject, the chief inquiry will be, how far, and for what reasons, it is expedient to adhere to for- mer determinations ; or whether it be necessary for judges to attend to any other consideration than the apparent and particular equity of the case before them. Now, although to assert that precedents established by one set of judges ought to be incontrovertible by their successors in the same jurisdiction, or by those who exercise a high- er, would be to attribute to the sentence of those judges all the authority we ascribe to the most solemn acts of the legislature : yet tlie general se- curity of private rights, and of civil lile, requires that such precedents, especially if they have been confirmed by repeated adjudications, should not be overthrown, without a detection of manifest error, or without some imputation of dishonesty upon the court by whose judgment the question was first decided. And this deference to prior decisions is founded upon two reasons: first, that the discretion of j udges may be bound down by positive rules ; and secondly, that the subject, up- on every occasion in which his legal interest is concerned, may know beforehand how to act, and what to expect. To set judges free from any ol)li- gation to conform themselves to the decisions of their predecessors, would be to lay open a latitude of judging with which no description of men can safely be intrusted ; it would be to allow space for the exercise of those concealed partialities, which, since they cannot by any human policy be exclud- ed, ought to be confined by boundaries and land- marks. It is in vain to allege, that the superin- tendency of parliament is always at hand to con- trol and punish abuses of judicial discretion. By what rules can parliament proceed '! How shall they pronounce a decision to be wrong, where there exists no acknowledged measure or stan- dard of what is right; which, in a multitude of in- stances, would be the case, if prior determinations were no longer to be appealed to 1 Diminishing the danger of partiality, is one thing gained by adhering to precedents ; but not the principal thing. The subject of every system of laws must expect that decision in his own case, wliich he knows that others have received in cases similar to his. If he expect not this, he ean expect nothing. There exists no other rule or principle of reasoning, by which he can foretell, o/ even conjecture, the event of a judicial contest. To remove therefore the grounds of this expecta- tion, by rejecting the force and authority of pre- cedents, is to entail upon the subject the worst property of slavery, — to have no assurance of liis rights, or knowledge of his duty. The quiet also of the country, as well as the confidence and satis- faction of each man's mind, requires uniformity in judicial proceedings. Nothing quells a spirit of litigation, like despair of success: therefore nothing so completely puts an end to law-suits, as a rigid adherence to known rules of adjudication. Whilst the event is uncertain, which it ever must be whilst it is uncertain whether former determina- tions upon the same subject will be followed or not, law-suits will be endless and innumerable: men will commonly engage in them, either from the hope of prevailing in their claims, which the smallest chance is sufficient to encourage ; or with the design of intimidating their adversary by the terror of a dubious litigation. When justice is rendered to the parties, only half the business of a court of justice is done : the more important part of its office remains ; — to put an end, for the future, to every fear, and quarrel, and expense, upon the same point; and so to regulate its proceedings, that not only a doubt once decided may be stirred no more, but that the whole train of law-suits, which issue from one uncertainty, may die with the parent-question. Now this advantage can be attained only by considering each decision as a di- rection to succeeding judges. And it should be observed, that every departure from former deter- minations, especially if they have been often re- peated or long submitted to, shakes the stability of all legal title. It is not fixing a point anew , it is leaving every thing unfixed. For by the same stretch of power by which the present race of judges take upon them to contradict the judg- ment of their predecessors, those who try the question next may set aside theirs. From an adherence however to precedents, by which so much is gained to the public, two con- ."equcnces arise which are often lamented ; the hardship of particular determinations, and the in- tricacy of the law as a science. To the first of these complaints, we nmst apply this reflection : — ■' That uniformity is of more importance than equity, in proportion as a general uncertainty would be a greater evil than particular injustice.' The second is attended with no greater inconve- niency than that of erecting the practice of the law into a separate profession ; which tliis reason, we allow, makes necessary : for if we attribute so nmch authority to precedents, it is expedient that they be known, in every cause, both to the advo- cates and to the judge : this knowledge cannot be general, since it is tlie fruit oftentimes of laborious research, or demands a memory stored with long- collected erudition. To a mind revolving u})on tlie suliject of hu- man jurisprudence, there frequently occurs this question: — Why, since the maxims of natural justice are few and evident, do there arise so many doubts and controversies in their application 1 Or, in other words, how comes it to pass, that althougli the principles of the law of nature be simple, and for the most part sufficiently obvious, there should OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE. 133 2xist, nevertheless, in every system of municipal laws, and in the actual administration of relative justice, numerous uncertainties and acknowledged difficulty 1 Whence, it may be asked, so much room for litigation, and so many subsisting dis- putes, if the rules of human duty be neither ob- scure nor dubious ? If a system of morality con- taining both the precepts of revelation and the | deductions of reason, may be comprised within the compass of one motlerate volume ; and the moralist be able, as he pretends, to describe the rights and obligations of mankind, in all the dif- ferent relations they may hold to one another ; what need of those codes of positive and particu- lar institutions, of those tomes of statutes and re- ports, which require the employment of a long life even to peruse ? And this question is immedi- ately connected with the argument which has been discussed in the preceding paragraph: for, unless there be found some greater uncertainty in the law of nature, or what may be called natural equity, when it conies to be applied to real cases and to actual adjudication, than what appears in the rules and principles of the science, as delivered in the writings of those who treat of the subject, it were better that the determination of every cause should be left to the conscience of the judge, unfettered by precedents and authorities ; since the very purpose for which these are introduced, is to give a certainty to judicial proceedings, which such proceedings would want without them. Now to account for the existence of so many sources of litigation, notwithstanding the clearness and perfection of natural justice, it should be ob- served, in the first place, that treatises of moraUty always suppose facts to be ascertained ; and not only so, but the intention likewise of the parties to be known and laid bare. For example : when we pronounce that promises ought to be fulfilled in that sense in which the promiser apprehended, at the time of making the promise, the other party received and understood it : the apprehension of one side, and the expectation of the other, must be discovered, before this rule can be reduced to practice, or applied to the determination of any actual dispute. Wherefore the discussion of facts which the moralist sup)50ses to be settled, the discovery of intentions which he presumes to be known, still remain to exercise the inquiry of courts of justice. And as these facts and inten- tions are often to be inferred, orratherconjectured, from obscure indications, from suspicious testimo- ny, or from a comparison of opposite and contend- ing probabilities, they afiTord a never-failing supply of doubt and litigation. For which reason, as hath been observed in a ibrmer part of this work, the science of morality is to be considered rather as a direction to the parties, who are conscious of their own thoughts and motives, and designs, to wliich consciousness the teacher of morality constantly appeals; than as a guide to the judge, or to any tliird person, whose arbitration must proceed upon rules of e\idence, and maxuns of credibihty, with which the moraUst has no concern. Secondly ; there exists a multitude of cases, in whioh the law of nature, that is, the law of public expediency, prescri.)es notliing, except that some certain rule be adhered to, and that the rule ac- tually established, be preserved; it either being indilibrent what rule obtains, or, out of many rules, no one beins so much more advantageous than the rest, as to recompense the inconvenience of an alteration. In all such cases, the law of nature sends us to the law of the land. She di- rects that either some fixed rule be introduced by an act of the legislature, or that the rule which accident, or custom, or common consent, hath al- ready established, be steadily maintained. Thus, in the descent of lands, or the inheritance of per- sonals from intestate proprietors, whether the kindred of the grandmother, or of the great-grand- mother, shall be preferred in the succession; whether the degrees of consanguinity shall be com- puted through the common ancestor, or from him ; whether the widow shall take a third or a moiety of her husband's fortune ; whether sons shall be preferred to daughters, or the elder to the younger ; whether the distinction of age shall be regarded amongst sisters, as well as between brothers ; in these, and in a great variety of questions which the same subject supplies, the law of nature deter- mines nothing. The only answer she returns to our inquiries is, that some certain and gene- ral rule be laid down by public authority ; be obeyed when laid down ; and that the quiet of the country be not disturbed, nor the expectation of heirs frustrated, by capricious innovations. This silence or neutrality of the law of nature, which we have exemplified in the case of intestacy, holdscon- cemincra oreat part of the questions that relate to the right or acquisition of property. Recourse then must necessarily be had to statutes, or precedents, or usage, to fix What the law of nature has left loose. The interpretation of these statutes, the search af\er precedents, the investigation of cus- toms, compose therefore an unavoidable, and at the same time a large and intricate, portion of fo- rensic business. Positive constitutions or judicial authorities are, in like manner, wanted to give precision to many things which are in their nature indeterminafe. The age of legal discretion; at what time of life a person shall be deemed com- petent to the performance of any act which may- bind his property ; whether at twenty, or twenty- one, or earlier or later, or at some point of time between these years : can only be ascertained by a positive rule of the society to which the party he- lono-s. The line has not been drawn by nature ; the human understanding advancing to maturity by insensible degrees, and its progress var3"ing in diflferent individuals. Yet it is necessary, for the sake of mutual security, that a precise age be fixed, and that what is fixed be known to all. It is on these occasions that the intervention of law sup- plies the inconstancy of nature. Again, there are other things which are perfectly arbitrary, and capable of no certainty but what is given to them bv positive regulation. It is fit that a limited time should be assigned to defendants, to plead to the complaints alleged against them ; and also that the default of pleading within a certain time should be taken for a confession of the charge : but to how many days or months that term should be extended, though necessary to be known with certainty, cannot lie known at all by any informa- tion which the law of nature afTords. And the same remark seems applicable to almost all those rules of proceeding, which constitute what is call- ed the practice of the court : as they cannot be traced out by reasoning, they must be settled by authority. Thirdly ; in contracts, whether ex[iress or im- plied, which involve a great nmiiber of conditions- 1^ ^34 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. rfS in those which are entered into between mas- ters and servants, principals and agents ; many also of merchandise, or for works of art ; in some likewise which relate to the negotiation of money or bills, or to the acceptance of credit or security : the original design and expectati(5n of the parties was, that both sides should be guided by the course and custom of the country in transactions of the same sort. Consequently, when these contracts come to be disputed, natural justice can only refer to that custom. But as such customs are not al- ways sufficiently uniform or notorious, but often to be collected from the production and compa- rison of instances and accounts repugnant to one another ; and each custom being only that, after all, which amongst a variety of usages seems to predominate ; we have here also ample room for doubt and contest. Fourthly ; as the law of nature, founded in the very construction of human society, which is form- ed to endure through a series of perishing gene- rations, requires that the just engagements a man enters into should continue in force beyond his own life ; it follows, that the private rights of per- sons frequently depend upon what has been trans- acted, in times remote from the present, by their ancestors or predecessors, by those under whom they claim, or to whose obligations they have suc- ceeded. Thus the questions which usually arise between lords of manors and their tenants, be- tween the king and those who claim royal fran- chises, or between them and the persons afi'ectcd by these franchises, depend upon the terms of the original grant. In like manner, every dispute concerning tithes, in which an exemption or com- position is pleaded, depends upon the agreement which took place between the predecessor of the claimant and the ancient owner of the land. The appeal to these grants and agreements is dictated by natural equity, as well as by tlie municipal law ; but concerning the existence, or the condi- tions, of such old covenants, doubts will perpetu- ally occur, to which the law of nature afibrds no solution. The loss or decay of records, the pe- rishableness of living memory, the corruption and carelessness of tradition, all conspire to multiply uncertainties upon this head; what cannot be produced or proved, must be left to loose and fal- lible presumption. Under the same head may be included another topic of altercation ; — the tracing out of boundaries, which time, or neglect, orunity of possession, or mixture of occupation, has confounded or obliterated. To which should be added, a difficulty which often presents itself in disputes concerning rights of way, both public and private, and of those easements which one man claims in another man's property, namely, that of distinguishing, after a lapse of years, the use of an indulgence from the exercise of a right. Fifthly; the quantity or extent of an injury, even when the cause and author of it are known, is often dubious and undefined. If the injury, consists in the loss of some specific right, the va- lue of the right measures the amount of the in- jury : but what a man may have sufTered in his person, from an assault ; in his reputation, by slander; or in the comfort of his life, by the seduction of a wife or daughter ; or what sum of money shall be deemed a reparation for damages such as these ; cannot be ascertained by any rules which the law of nature supplies. The law of nature commands, that reparation be made ; and adds to her command, that, when the aggressoi and the sufferer disagree, the damage be assessed by authorised and indifferent arbitrators. Here then recourse must be had to courts of law, not only with the permission, but in some measure by the direction, of natural justice. Sixthly; when controversies arise in the inter- pretation of written laws, they for the most part arise upon some contingency which the composer of the law did not foresee or think of In the ad- judication of such cases, this dilennna presents itself; if the laws be permitted to operate only upon the cases which actually were contemplated by the law-makers, they will always be found de- fective : if" they be extended to every case to which the reasoning, and spirit, and expediency, of the provision seem to belong, without any farther evi- dence of the intention of the legislature, we shall allow to the judges a liberty of applying the law, which will liiU very little short of the power of making it. If a literal construction be adhered to, the law will often fail of its end ; if a loose and vague exposition be admitted, the law might as well have never been enacted ; for this license will bring back into the subject all the discretion and uncertainty which it was the design of the le- gislature to take away. Courts of justice are, and always iniust be, embarrassed by these opposite difficulties ; and, as it never can be known before- hand, in what degree either consideration may prevail in the mind of the judge, there remains an unavoidable cause of doubt, and a place for con- tention. Seventhly; the deliberations of courts of jus- tice upon every ne%c question, are encumbered with additional difficulties, in consequence of the authority which the judgment of the court pos- sesses, as a precedent to future j udicatures ; which authority appertains not only to the conclusions the court delivers, but to the principles and arguments upon which they are built. 1 he view of this ef- fect makes it necessary for a judge to look beyond the case before him ; and, beside the attention he owes to the truth and justice of the cause between the parties, to reflect whether the principles, and maxims, and reasoning, which he adopts and au- thorises, can be applied with safety to all cases which admit of a comparison with thepresent. The decision of the cause, were the effects of the de- cision to stop there, might be easy : but the con- sequence of establishing the principle which such a decision assumes, may be difficult, though of the utmost importance, to be foreseen and regu- lated. Finally ; after all the certainty and rest that can be given to points of law, either by the interposi tion of the legislature or the authority of prece- dents, one principal source of disputation, and into which indeed the greater part of legal controversies may be resolved, will remain still, namely, " the competition of o])posite analogies." When a point of law has been once a(Jjudged, neither that question, nor any which completely, and in all its circumstances, corresponds with that, can be brought a second time into dispute : but questions arise which resemble tins only indirectly and in part, in certain views and circumstances, and which may seem to bear an equal or a greater affinity to other adjudged cases; questions which can be brought within any fixed rule only by analogy, and which hold a relation by analogy to d'iil'ereuf OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE. 135 rules. It is by the urging of the different analo- gies that the contention of the bar is carried on : and it is in the comparison, adjustment, and re- conciliation of them with one another; in the discerning of such distinctions ; and in the fram- ing of such a determination, as may either save the various rules alleged in the cause, or if that be impossible, may give up the weaker analogy to rule are not so detrimental, as the rule itself is un- reasonable ; — in criminal prosecutions, it operates considerably in favour of the prisoner: for il a juror find it necessary to surrender to the obsti- nacy of others, he will much more readily resign his opinion on the side of mercy than of condem- nation : in civil suits, it adds weight to the direc- tion of the judge; for when a conference with the stronger; that the sagacity and wisdom of the one another does not seem likely to produce, in court are seen and exercised. Amongst a thou sand instances of this, we may cite one of general notoriety, in the contest that has lately been agi- tated concerning literary property. — The personal industry which an author expends upon the com- position of his work, bears so near a resemblance to tiiat by which every other kind of property is earned, or deserved, or acquired ; or rather there exists such a correspondency between what is created by the study of man's mind, and the pro- duction of his labour in any other way of applying it, that he seems entitled to the same exclusive, assignable, and perpetual, right in both ; and that right to the same protection of law. This was the analogy contended for on one side. On the other hand, a book, as to the authors right in it, appears similar to an invention of art, as a ma- chine, an engine, a medicine : and since the law permits these to be copied, or imitated, except where an exclusive use or sale is reserved to the inventor by patent, the same liberty should be al- lowed in the publication and sale of books. This was the analogy maintained bvthe advocates of an open trade. And the competition of these oppo- site analogies constituted the difficulty of the case, as far as the same was argued, or adjudged, upon principles of common law. — One example may serve to illustrate our meaning: but whoever takes up a volu:ne of Reports, will find most of the ar- guments it contains, capable of the same analysis: although the analogies, it must be confessed, are sometimes so entangled as not to be easily unra- velled, or even perceived. Doubtful anil obscure points of law are not however nearly so numerous as they are appre- hended to be. Out of the multitude of causes which, in the course of each year, are brought to trial in the metropolis, or upon the circuits, there are few in wliich any point is reserved for the judgment of superior courts. Yet these few con- tain all the doubts with which the law is charge- able : for as to the rest, the uncertainty, as hath been shown above, is not in the law, but in the means of human information. There are two peculiarities in the judicial con- stitution of this country, which do not carry with them that evidence of their propriety wliich recom- 'mends almost every other part of the system. The first of these is the rule which requires that juries be unanimous in their verdicts. To expect that twelve men. taken by lot out of a promiscuous multitude, should agree in their opinion upon points confessedly dubious, and upon which of- tentimes the wisest judgments might be holden in suspense; or to' suppose that any real tin^ , _ ,.._ rAmiti/ or change of opinion, in the dissenting ference!|' which the uninformed part of the house the jury, the agreement that is nece.ssary, they will naturally close their disputes by a common submission to the opinion delivered from the bench. However, there seems to be less of the concurrence of separate judgments in the same conclusion, consequently less assurance that the conclusion is founded in reasons of apparent truth and justice, than if the decision were lelt to a plurality, or to some certain majority of voices. The second circumstance in our constitution wTiich, however it may succeed in practice, does not seem to have been suggested by any intelli- gible fitness in the nature of the tiling, is the choice that is made of the Hou^c of Lurch as a court of appeal from every civil court of judicature in the kingdom ; and the last also and highest ap- peal to which the subject can resort. There ap- pears to be nothing in the constitution of that assembly ; in the education, habits, character, or professions, of the members who compose it ; in the mode of their appointment, or the right by which they succeed to their places in it; that should qualify them for tliis arduous office ; ex- cept perhaps, that the elevation of their rank and fortune affords a security against tlie otier and influence of small bribes. Officers of the army and navy, courtiers, ecclesiastics ; young men who have just att;iined the age of twenty-one and who have passed their youth in the dissipation and pursuits which commonly accompany the possession or inheritance of great fortunes ; coun- try-gentlemen, occupied in the management of their estates, or in the care of their domestic con- cerns and family interests ; the greater part of the assembly born to their station, that is, placed in it by chance ; most of the rest advanced to the peer- age for services, and from motives, utterly uncon- nected with legal erudition : — these men compose the tribunal, to which the constitution enl rusts the interpretation of her laws, and the ultimate _ decision of every dispute between her subjects. These are the men assigned to review judgments of law, pronounced by sages of the proft»ssion, who have spent their lives in the study and prac- tice of the jurisprudence of their country. Such is the order which our ancestors have established. The effect only proves the truth of tliis maxim ; — " That when a single institution is extremely dis- sonant from other parts of the system to which it belongs, it will always find some wa}' of rccon- cihng itself to the analogy which governs and per- vades the rest." By constantly placing in the House of Lords some of the most eminent and experienced lawyers in the kingdom; bycalhng to their aid the advice of the judges, when any al>- stract question of law awaits their determina- tion ; by the almost implicit and undisputed de- jurors, could be procured by confining them until they all consented to the same verdict, bespeaks more of the conceit of a barbarous age, than of the policy which could dictate such an institution as find it necessary to pay to the learning of their colleagues ; the appeal to the House of Lords be- comes in fact an appeal to the collected wisdom of our supreme courts of justice ; receiving indeed that of juries. Nevertheless, the effects of this 1 solemnity, but little perhaps of direction, from 136 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. the presence of the assembly in which it is heard and determined. These, however, even if real, are minute imper- fections. A poHtician vi'ho should sit down to dehneate a plan for the dispensation of public jus- tice, guarded against all access to influence and corruption, and bringing together the separate ad- vantacres of knowledge and impartiality, would find, when he had done, that he had been trans- cribing the judicial constitution of England. And it may teach the most discontented amongst us to acquiesce in the government of his country, to reflect, that the pure, and wise, and equal ad- ministration of the laws, forms the first end and blessing of social union ; and that this b!e.s.sing is enjoyed by him in a perfection, which he will seek in vain in any other nation of the world. CHAPTER IX. Of Crimes and Punishments. The proper end of human punishment is not the satisfaction of justice, but the prevention of crimes. By the satisfaction of justice, I mean the retribution of so much pain for so much guilt ; which is tlie dispensation we expect at the hand of God, and which we are accustomed to consider as l!ie order of things that perfect justice dictates and requires. In what sense, or whether with truth in any sense, justice may be said to demand the punishment of ofTenders, I do not now inquire : but I assert, that this demand is not the motive or occasion of human punishment. What would it be to the magistrate, that oflfcnces went altogether unpunished, if the impunity of the ofTeiiders were followed by no danger or prejudice to the common- wealth'? The tear lest the escape of the criminal should encourage him, or others by his example, to repeat the same crime, or to commit different crimes, is the sole consideration which authorises the infliction of punishment by human laws. Now that, whatever it be, which is the cause and end of the punishment, ought undoubtedly to regulate the measure of its severity. But this cause ap- pears to be founded, not in the guilt of the offender, but in the necessity of preventing the repetition of tlie oflience : and hence results the reason, that crimes are not by any government punished in pro- portion to their guilt, nor in all cases ought to be so, but in proportion to the difliculty and the ne- cessity of preventing them. Thus the stealing of goods privately out of a shop may not, in its moral quality, be more criminal than the stealing of them out of a house ; yet being equally necessary and more difficult to be prevented, the law, in certain circumstances, denounces again.st it a severer pun- ishment. The crime must be prevented by some means or other; and consequently, whatever means appear necessary to this end, whether they be proportionable to the guilt of the criminal or not, are adopted rightly, because they are adopted upon the principle which alone justiiies the infliction of punishment at all. From the same consideration it also follows, that punishment ought not to be eui- ployed, much less rendered severe, when the crime can be prevented by any other means. Punishment is an evil to which the magistrate resorts only from its being necessary to the prevention of a greater. This necessity does not exist, when the end may e attained, that is, when the public may be de- fended from the effects of the crime, by any other expedient. The sanguinary laws whicii ha\ e been made against counterJeiting or diaunishing the gold coin of the kingdom might be just until the method of detecting the fraud, by weigliiug the money, was introduced into general usage. Since that precaution was practised, these laws have slept ; and an execution under them at this day would be deemed a measure of unjustifiable se< verity. The same principle accounts ibr a circum- stance which has been oiten censured as an ab- surdity in the penal laws of this, and of most modern nations, namely, that breaches of trust ara either not punished at all, or punished with les» rigour than other frauds. — Wherelbre is it, some have asked, that a violation of confidence, which increases the guilt, should nutigate the penalty ? — This lenity, or rather forbearance, of the laws, is founded in the most reasonable distinction. A due circumspection in the choice of the persons ^^ hom they trust ; caution in limiting the extent of that trust ; or the requiring of sutiicicnt secu- rity for the faithful discharge of it, will commonly guard men from injuries of tliis description ; and the law will not interpose its sanctions to protect negligence and credulity, or to supply the place Oj domestic care and prudence. To be convinced that the law proceeds entirely upon this considera- tion, we have only to observe, that where the con- fidence is unavoidable, — where no practicable vigi- lance could watch the otiender, as in the case of theft conuniUed by a servant in the shop or dwell- ing liouse of his master, or upon property to which he must necessarily have access, — the sentence of tlie law is not less severe, and its execution con» monly more certain and rigorous, than if no trust at all had intervened. It is in pursuance of the same principle, which pervades indeed the whole system of penal juris- prudence, that the facility with which any species of crimes is perpetrated, has been generally deem- ed a reason for aggravating the punishment. Thus, sheep-stealing, horse-stealing, the stealing of cloth from tenters or bleaching grounds, by our laws, subject the offenders to sentence of death : not that these crimes are in their nature more heinous than many simple felonies which are punished by im- prisonment or transportation, but because the pro- perty, being more exposed, requires the terror of capital punishment to protect it. This severity would be absurd and unjust, if the guilt of the of- fender were the immediate cause and measure of the punishment ; but is a consistent and regular consequence of the supposition, that the right of punishment results from the necessity of prevent- ing the crime ; for if this be the end proposed, the severity of the punishment must be increased in proportion to the expediency and the difficulty ol attaining this end ; that is, in a proportion com- poundetfof the mischief of the crime, and of the ease with which it is executed. — The difilcult}- of discovery is a circumstance to be included in the same consideration. It constitutes indeed, with respect to the crime, the facility of which ws speak. By how much therefore the detection of an offender is more rare and uncertain, by so much the more severe must be the punishment when he is detected. Thus the writing of incendiary letters, though in itself a pernicious and alarming injury, calls for a more condign and exemplary punish- ment, by the very obscuritv with which the crime is committed. OF CRIMES AiND PUJN'ISHMENTS. 137 From the justice of God, we are taught to look for a gradation of punishment exactly proportioned to the guilt of the olTender: when therefore, in as- signing the degrees of human punishment, we in- troduce considerations distinct from that guilt, and a proportion so varied by external circumstances, that equal crimes frequently undergo unequal punishments, or the less crime the greater: it is natural to demand the reason why a different mea- sure of punishment should be expected from God, and observed by man ; why that rule, which belits the absolute and perfect justice of the Deity, should not be the rule which ought to be pursued and imi- tated b}' human laws. — The solution of tliis diffi- culty must be sought for in those peculiar attri- butes of the Divine nature, which distinguish the dispensations of Supreme Wisdom from the pro- ceedings of human judicature. A being whose knowledge penetrates ever)' concealment, from the operation of whose will no art or tlight can escape, and in whose hands punishment is sure; such a Being may conduct the moral government of his creation, in the best and wisest manner, by pronouncing a law that every crime shall finally receive a punishment pro]30rtioncd to the guilt which it contains, abstracted from any foreign con- sideration whatever : and may testify his veracit}' to the spectator? of his judgments, b)'^ carrpng this law into strict execution. But when the care of the public safety is intrusted to men, whose au- thority over their fellow-creatures is limited by de- fects of power and knowledge ; from whose utmost vigilance and sagacity the greatest offenders often lie hid ; whose wisest precautions and speediest pursuit may be eluded by artifice or concealment ; a different necessity, a new rule of proceeding, re- sults from the ver}' imperfection of their faculties. In their hands, the unccrtaint)^ of punishment must be compensated by the severity. The ease with wliich crimes are committed or concealed, must be counteracted by additional penalties and increased terrors. The very end for which human government is established, requires that its regu- lations be adapted to the suppression of crimes. Tliis end, whatever it may do in the plans of Infinite Wisdom, does not, in the designation of temporal penalties, always coincide with the proportionate punishment of guilt. There are two methods of administering penal justice. The first method assigns capital punishment to few offences, and inflicts it invariably. The second method assigns capital punishment to many kinds of offences, but inflicts it only upon a few examples of each kind. The latter of which two methods has been long adopted in this country, where, of those who re- ceive sentence of death, scarcely one in ten is exe- cuted. And the preference of this to the foniier method seems to be founded in the consideration, that the selection of proper objects for capital pun- ishment principally depends upon circumstances, which, however easy to perceive in each particular case after the crime is committed, it is impossible to enumerate or define beforehand; or toa.scertain however with that exactness which is requisite in legal descriptions. Hence, although it be necessarv to fix by precise rules of law the boundary on one side, that is, the limit to which the punishment may be extended ; and also that nothing less than the authority of the whole legislature be suffered to determine that boundary, and assign these rules; yet the mitigation of punishment, the exercise of lenity, may without danger be intrusted to the exe- cutive magistrate, whose discretion will operate upon those numerous, unforeseen, mutable, and indefinite circumstances, both of the crime and the criminal, which constitute or qualify the ma- lignity of eachofience. Without the power of re- laxation lodged in a living authority, either some offenders would escape capital punishment, whom the public safety required to suffer ; or some would undergo tliis punishment, where it was neither de- served nor necessary-. For if judgment of death were reserved for one or two species of crimes only (which would probably be the ca.se if that judg- ment was intended to be executed without excep- tion.) crimes might occur of the most dangerous example, and accompanied with circumstances of heinous aggravation, which did not fall within any description of offences that the laws had made capital, and which consequently could not receive the punishment their own malignity and the pub- lic safety required. — AVhat is worse, it would be known before-hand, that such crimes might be committed without danger to the oflender's life. On the other hand, if to reach these possible ca.ses, the whole class of ofl'ences to which they belong be subjected to pains of death, and no power of remitting this severity remain any where, the ex- ecution of the laws will become more sanguinary than the public compassion would endure, or than is necessary to the general security. The law of England is constructed upon a diflerent and a better policy. By the number of statutes creating capital offences, it .sweeps into the net every crime which, under any possilile circumstances, may merit the punishment of death : but when the execution of this sentence comes to be deliberated upon, a small proj'ortion of each class are singled out, the general character, or the peculiar aggravations of whose crimes, render them fit examples of public justice. By this ex- pedient, few actually suffer death, whilst the dread and danger of it hang over the crimes of many. The tenderness of the law cannot be taken ad- vantage of. The life of the subject is spared as far as the necessity of restraint and intimidation permits ; yet no one will adventure upon the com- mission of any enormous crime, from a know- ledge that the laws have not provided for its punishment. The wisdom and humanity of this design furnish a just excuse for the multiplicity of capital offences, which the laws of England are accused of creating beyond those of other coun- tries. The charge of cruelty is answered by ob^ serving, that these laws were never meant to be carried into indiscriminate execution ; that the legislature, when it estabhshes its last and highest sanctions, trusts to the benignity of the crown to relax their severity as often as circumstances appear to palliate the offence, or even as often as those circumstances of aggravation are wanting which rendered this rigorous interposition neces- sary. Upon this plan, it is enough to vindicate the lenitv of the laws, that some instances are to be found in each class of capital crimes, which re- quire the restraint of capital punishment, and that this restraint could not be applicil without subject- ing the whole class to the same condemnation. There is however one species of crimes, the making of wliich capital, can hardly, I think, be defended even upon the comprehensive principle just now stated : — I mean that of privately steal- 12* 138 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. inj; from tlit" person. As every degree of force is excluded by the description of the crime, it will be ditncult to assign an example, wJiere either the amount or circumstances of the theft place it upon a level with those dangerous attempts to which the punishment of death should be confined. It will be still more difficult to show, that, without gross and culpable negligence on the part of the sulferer, such examples can ever become so fre- quent, as to make it necessary to constitute a class ol' capital offences, of very wide and large extent. The prerogative of pardon is properly reserved to the chief magistrate. The power of suspend- ing the laws is a privilege of too high a nature to be committed to many hands, or to those of any inferior officer in the state. The king also can best collect the advice by which liis resolutions should be governed : and is at the same time re- moved at the greatest distance from the influence of private motives. But let this power be de- posited where it will, the exercise of it ought to be regarded, not as a favour to be yielded to so- licitation, granted to friendship, or, least of all, to be made subservient to the conciliating or gratify- ing of ))ohtical attachments, but as a judicial act; as a deliberation to be conducted with the same chara.-tcr of impartiality, with the same exact and diligent attention to the proper merits and cir- cumstances of the case, as that which the judge upon the bench was expected to maintain and show in the trial of the prisoner's guilt. The questions, whether the prisoner be guilty, and whether, being guilty, he ought to be executed, are equally questions of public justice. The adjudication of the latter question is as much a fund ion of magistracy, as the trial of the former. The public welfare is interested in both. The conviction of an offender should depend upon nothing but the proof of his guilt ; nor the execu- tion of the sentence upon any thing beside the quality and circumstances of his crime. It is necessary to the good order of society, and to the reputation and authority of government, that this be known and believed to be the case in each part of the proceeding. Which reflections show, that the ad mission of extrinsic or oblique considerations, in dispensing the power of pardon, is a crime, in the authors and advisers of such unmerited par- tiality, of the same nature with that of corruption in a judge. Aggravations, which ought to guide the ma- gistrate in the selection of objects of condign punishment, are principally these three, — repeti- tion, cruelty, combination. The first two, it is manifest, add to every reason upon which the justice or the necessity of rigorous measures can be founded ; and with respect to the last circum- stance, it may be observed, that when thieves and robbers are once collected into gangs, their violence becomes more formidable, the confederates more desr)erate, and the difficulty of defending the pub- lic against their depredations much greater, than in the case of solitary adventurers. Which se- veral considerations compose a distinction that is properly adverted to, in deciding upon the fate of convicted nialeliictors. In crimes, however, wliich are perpetrated by a jnullitude, or by a gang, it is proper to scjjarate, in the punishment, the ringleader from his fol- lowers, the principal from his accomplices, and even the person who struck the blow, broke the jck, or first entered the house, from those who joined him in the felony ; not so much on account of any distinction in the guilt of the oHenders, as tor the sake of casting an obstac:le in the way of such confederacies, by rendering it difficult for the confederates to settle who shall begin the attack, or to find a man amongst their number williuo- to expose himself to greater danger than his as- sociates. This is another instance in which the punishment which expediency directs, does not pursue the exact proportion of the crime. Injuries eflected by terror and violence, are those which it is the first and chief concern of legal les. Whereas, to impose upon a court of justice a chain of circumstantial evidence in support of a fabricated accusation, requires such a numlier of false witnesses as seldom meet together ; an union also of skill and wickedness which is still more rare; and, after all, this species of proof lies much more open to discussion, and is more likely, if false, to be contradicted, or to betray itself by some unforeseen inconsistency, tlian that direct proof, which, being conlined within the knowledge of a sint'le person, which, appeahng to, or standing connected with, no external or collateral circum- stances, is incapable, by its very simplicity, of being confronted with opposite probabilities. The other maxim, which deserves a similar examination, is this : — " That it is better that ten guilty persons escape, than that one innocent man should suffer." If by saying it is better, be meant that it is more for the public advantage, the proposition, I think, cannot be maintained. The security of civil life, which is essential to the value and the enjoyment of every blessing it contains, and the interruption of which is followed by uni- versal misery and confusion, is protected chiefly by the dread of punishment. The misfortune of an individual (for such may the suflerings, or even the death, of an innocent person be called when they are occasioned by no evil intention,) cannot be placed in competition with this object. I do not contend that the life or safety of the meanest sub- ject ought, in any case, to be knowingly sacrificed : no principle of judicature, no end of punishment, can ever require that. But when certain rules of adjudication must be pursued, when certain degrees of credibility must be accepted, in order to reach the crimes with which the public are infested; courts of jus- tice should not be deterred from the ajjplication of these rules by every suspicion of danger, or by the mere possibility of confounding the innocent with the guilty. — They ought rather to reflect, that he who falls by a mistaken sentence, may be considered as falling for his country ; whilst he suffers under the operation of those rules, by the general effect and tendency of which the welfare of the community is maintained and upholden. CHAPTER X. Of Religious Establishments and of Toleration. " A RELIGIOUS establishment is no part of Christianity : it is only the means of inculcating it." Amongst the Jews, the rights and offices, the order, family, and succession of the priesthood, were marked out by the authority which declaretl the law itself. These, therefore, were parts of the Jewish religion, as well as the means of trans- mitting it. Not so with the new institution. It cannot be proved that any form of church-govern- ment was laid down in the Christian, as it had been in the Jewish Scriptures, with a view of fixing a constitution for succeeding ages; and which constitution, consequently, the disciples of Christianity would every where, and at all times, by the very law of their religion, be obliged to adopt. Certainly, no command for this purpose was delivered by Christ himself; and if it be snown that the apostles ordained bishops and presbyters amongst their first converts, it must be remembered that deacons also and deaconesses were appointed by them, with functions very dissimilar to any which obtain in the church at present. The truth seems to have been, that such offices were at first erected in the Chris- tian church, as the good order, the instruction, and the exigencies of the society at that time re- quired, without any intention, at least without any declared design, of regulating the apjjoint- ment, authorit}', or the distinction, of Chrisiian ministers under future circumstances. I'his re- serve, if we may so call it, in the Christian Legis- lator, is sufficiently accounted for by two consider- ations : — First, that no precise constitution could be framed, which would suit with the condition of (Christianity in its primitive state, and with that which it was to assume when it should be advanced into a national religion : Secondly, that a par- ticular designation of office or authority amongst the ministers of the new religion, might have so interfi?red with the arrangements of civil policj', as to have formed, in some countries, a considerable obstacle to the progress and reception of the reli- gion itself The authority therefore of a church-establish- ment is founded in its utility : and whenever, upon this principle, we deliberate concerning the form, propriety, or comparative excellency osite apprehensions of the Di- vine will. In afiinrs that are properly of a civil na- ture, in " the things that are Ctesar's," this differ- ence seldom happens. The law authori;;es the act which it enjoins ; Revelation being either silent upon the subject, or referring to the laws of' the country, or requiring only that men act by some ffxed rule, and that this rule be established by competent authority. But when human laws in- terpose their direction in matters of religion, by dictating, for example, the object or the mode of divine worship ; by prohibiting the profession of some articles of faith, and by exacting that of others, they are liable to clasli with what private persons believe to be already settled by prece])ts of Reve- lation ; or to contradict what God himself, they think, hath declared to be true. In this case, on whichever side the mistake lies, or whatever plea the state may allege to justify its edict, the sub- ject can have none to excuse his compliance. The same consideration also points out the distinction, as to the authority of the state, between temporals and spirituals. The magistrate is not to be obeyed in temporals more than spirituals, where a repug- nancy is perceived between his connnands and any credited manifestations of the Divine will ; but such repugnancies are umch less likely to arise in one case than the other. When we grant that it is lawful for the ma- gistrate to interfere in religion as often as his in- terference appears to him to conduce, in its general tendency, to the public hajjpiness ; it may be argued, from tins concession, that since salvation is the highest interest of mankind, and since, consequent- ly, to advance that, is to promote the public hap- piness in the best way, and in the greatest degree, in which it can be promoted, it follows, that it is not only the right, but the duty, of every magis- trate invested with supreme power, to enforce uj>on his subjects the reception of that religion which he deems most acceptable to God ; and to enforce it by such methods as may appear most effectual for the end proposed. A popish king, for example, who should believe that salvation is not attainable out of the precincts of the Romish church, would derive a right from our principles (not to say that he would be bound by them) to employ the [lOwer with which the constitution intrusted him, and which power, in absolute monarehies, commands thelivesandfbrtunesof every subject of the cmjiire, in reducing his people within that communion. We confess that this consequence is inferred from the principles we have laid down concerning the foun- dation of civil authority, not without the resem- blance of a regular deduction : we confess also that it is a conclusion which it behoves us to dispose of; because, if it really follow from our theory of go- vernment, the theory itself ought to be given up. Now it will be remembered, that the terms of our proposition are these ; — " That it is lawful for the magistrate to interfere in the affairs of religion, whenever his interference appears to him to con- duce, by its general tendency, to the public hap- piness." The clause of" general tendency," when OF RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS, AND OF TOLERATION. 147 this rule comes to be applied, will be found a very signilieant part of the direction. It obliges the ma- gistrate to reflect, not only whether the religion which he wishes to propagate amongst his sub- jects, be that which will best secure their eternal welfare ; not only, whether the methods he employs lie likely to effectuate the establishment ol' that religion ; but also ujjon this farther question : Whether the kind of interference which he is about to exercise, if it were adopted as a common maxim amongst states and princes, or received as a general rule for the conduct of government in matters of relitrion, would, upon the whole, and in the mass of instances in which his example might be imitated, conduce to the furtherance of human salvation. If the magistrate, for example, should think that, although the application of his power might, in the instance concerning which lie de- liberates, advance the true religion, and together with it, the happiness of his people, yet that the same engine, in other hands, who might assume the right to use it with the like pretensions of rea- son and authority that he himself alleges, would more frequently shut out truth, and olistruct the means of salvation ; he would be bound by this opinion, still admitting public utility to be the su- preme rule of his conduct, to refrain from expe- dients, which, whatever particular effects he may expect from them, are, in their general operation, dangerous or hurtful. If there be any difficulty in the subject, it arises from that which is the cause of every difficulty in morals; — the competi- tion of particular and general consequences ; or, what is the same thing, the sulimission of one ge- neral rule to another rule which is still more general. Bearing then in mind, that it is the general tendency of the measure, or, in other words, the effects which would arise from the measure be- ing generalhj adoyjted, that fixes upon it the cha- By a man who acts with a view to a future judg- ment, the authority of a religion is the first thing inquired after ; a religion which wants authority, with him wants every thing. Since then this au- thority appertains, not to the religion which is most commodious, — to the religion which is most sul)lime and efficacious.— to the religion which soils best with the iiirm, or seems most calculated to uphold the power and stability, of civil govern- ment,— but only to that religion which comes from God; we are justified in pronouncing ihetrue religion, by its very truth, and independently of all considerations of tendencies, aptness, or any other internal qualities whatever, to be universal!}- the best. From the first proposition follows this inference, that when the state enables its subjects to learn some form of Christianity, by distributing teach- ers of a religious system throughout the country, and by providing for the maintenance of these teachers at the public expense ; that is, in fewer terms, when the laws esared for, or introducetl into situations suited to the raising of families of their own. Hence the advantages of marriages. Now nature, in the constitution of the sexes, has pro- vided a stimulus which will infallibly secure the frequency of marriages, with all their beneficial effects upon the state of population, provided the male part of the species be prohibited from ir- regular gratifications. This impulse, which is suf- ficient to surmount almost every impediment to marriage, will operate in proportion to the dif- ficulty, expense, danger, or infamy, the sense of guilt, or the fear of punishment, which attend li- centious indulgences. Wherefore, in countries in OF POPULATION AND PROVISION. 151 which subsistence is become scarce, it behoves the state to watch over the pubhc morals with in- creased solicitude; for nothing but the instinct of nature, under the restraint of chastity, will induce men to undertake the labour, or consent to the sa- crifice of personal hberty and indulgence, which the support of a family, in such circumstances, requires. II. The second requisite which our proposition states as necessary to the success of population, is, " the ease and certainty with which a provision can be procured for that mode of subsistence to which each class of the community is accustomed." It is not enough that men's natural wants be supplied; that a provision adequate to the real exigencies of human life be attainable : habitual superfluities become actual wants; opinion and fiishion convert articles of ornament and luxury into necessaries of life. And it must not be ex- pected from men in general, at least in the present relaxed state of morals and discipline, that they will enter into marriages which degrade their con- dition, reduce their mode of living, deprive them of the accommodations to which they have been accustomed, or even of those ornaments or ap- pendages of rank and station which they have been taught to regard as belonging to their birth, or class, or profession, or place in society. The same consideration, namely, a view to their ac- customcd mode of life, which is so apparent in the superior order of the people, has no less intiucnce upon those ranks which compose the mass of the community. The kind and quality of food and liquor, the species of habitation, furniture, and clothing, to which the common people of each country are habituated, must be attainable with ease and certainty, before marriages will be suf- ficiently early and general to carry the progress of population to its just extent. It is in vain to allege, that a more simple diet, ruder habitations, or coarser apparel, would be sutBcient for the pur- poses of life and health, or even of physical case and pleasure. Men will not marry with this en- couragement. For instance : when the common people of a country are accustomed to eat a large proportion of animal food, to drink wine, spirits, or beer, to wear shoes and stockings, to dwell in stone houses, they will not marr)- to live in clay cottages, upon roots and milk, with no other clothing than skins, or what is necessary to de- fend the trunk of the body from the effects of cold ; although these last may be all that the sus- tentation of lifi? and health requires, or that even contribute much to animal comfort and enjoy- ment The ease, then, and certainty, with which the means can be procured, not barely of sulisistence, but of that mode of subsisting which custom hath in each country established, form the point upon which the state and progress of population chiefiy dej'cnd. Now, there are three causes which evi- dently regulate this point: the mode itself of sub- sisting which prevails in the country; the quan- tity of provision suited to that mode of subsistence, which is either raised in the country or imported into it ; and, lastly, the distribution of that provision. These three causes merit distinct consideration. I. The mode of living which actually obtains in a country. In China, where the inhabitants fre- quent the sea shore, or the banks of large rivers, and subsist in a great measure upon fish, the [Mipulution is described to be excessive. This pe- | culiarity arises, not probably from any civil advan- tages, any care or policy-, any particular consti- tution or superior wisdom of government ; but simply from hence, that the species of food to which custom hath reconciled the desires and in- clinations of the inhabitants, is that which, of all others, is procured in the greatest abundance, with the most ease, and stands in need of the least preparation. The natives of IndostuU being confined, by the laws of their religion, to the use of vegetable food, and requiring little except rice, which the country produces in plentiful crops ; and food, in warm climates, composing the only want of life ; these countries are populous, under all the injuries of a despotic, and the agitations of an unsettled government. If any revolution, or what would be called perhaps refinement of manners, should generate in these people a taste for the flesh of animals, similar to what prevails amongst the Arabian hordes; should introduce flocks and herds into grounds which are now co- vered with corn ; should teach them to account a certain portion of tliis species of food amongst the necessaries of life ; the population, from this sin- gle change, would suffer in a few years a great diminution: and this diminution would fiillow, in spite of every effort of the laws, or even of any improvement that might take place in their civil condition. In Ireland, the simplicity of living alone, maintains a considerable degree of popula- tion, under great defects of police, industry, and commerce. Under this head, and from a view of these con- siderations, may be understood the true evil and proper danger oi luxury. Luxury, as it supplies employment and pro- motes industry, assists population. But, then there is another consequence attending it, which counteracts and often overbalances these advan- tages. When, by introducing more superfluities into general reception, luxury has rendered the usual accommodations of life more expensive, ar- tificial, and elaborate, the difficulty of maintaining a family conformably with the established mode of living, becomes greater, and what each man has to spare from his personal consumption pro- portionably less : the effect of which is, that mar- riages grow less frequent, agreeably to the maxim above laid down, and which must be remembered as the foundation of all our reasoning upon the subject, that men will not marry tj sink their place or condition in society, or to forego those indulgences which their own habits, or what they observe amongst their equals, have rendered ne- cessary to their satisfaction. This principle is ap- plicable to every article of diet and dress, to houses, furniture, attendance; and this effect will be felt in every class of the community. For instance : the custom of wearing broad-cloth and fine linen, repays the shepherd and flax-grower, feeds tire manufacturer, enriches the merchant, gives not only support but existence to multitudes of fami- lies : hitherto, therefore, the effects are beneficial ; and were these the only eflbcts, such elegancies, or, if you please to call them so, such luxuries, could not be too universal. But here follows the mischief: when once fashion hath annexed the use of these articles of dress to any certain class, the middling ranks, for example, of the com- munity, each individual of that rank finds them to be necessaries of life, that is, finds himself obliged to comply with the example of his equals, 152 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. and to maintain t!iat appearance wliich the cus- tom of society requires. This obligation creates such a demand upon his income, and adds so mucli to the cost and burden of a family, as to put it out of liis power to marry, with the pros- jiect of continuing his habits, or of maintaining his place and situation in tlie world. We see, in this description, the cause whicli induces men to waste their hves in a barren cehbacy ; and this cause, which impairs the very source of popula- tion, is justly placed to the account of luxury. It apjjears, then, tliat luxury, considered with a view to population, acts by two opposite effects ; and it seems probable that there exists a point in the scale, to which luxury may ascend, or to which the wants of mankind may be multiphed with ad- vantage to the conununity, and beyond which the pi'e judicial consequences begin to preponderate. The determination of this point, though it as- sume the form of an arithmetical problem, depends upon circumstances too numerous, intricate, and undefined, to admit of a precise solution. How- ever, from what has been observed concerning the tendency of luxury to diminish marriages, in which tendency the evil of it resides, the fol- lowing general conclusions may be established : — 1st, That, of different kinds of luxury, those are the most innocent which aflbrd employment to the greatest number of artists and manufac- turers ; or those, in other words, in which the price of the work bears the greatest proportion to that of the raw material. — Thus, luxury in dress or furniture, is universally preferable to luxury in eating, because the articles which constitute the one, are more the production of human art and indnstrj', than those which supply the other. 2dly, That it is the diffusion, rather than the degree of luxury, which is to be dreaded as a na- tional evil. The mischief of luxury consists, as we have seen, in the obstruction which it forms to marriage. Now it is only a small part of the people that the higher ranks in any country com- pose ; for which reason, the facility or the difficulty of supporting the expense of tkeir station, and the consequent increase or diminution of marriages among them, will influence the state of popula- tion but little. So long as the prevalency of luxury is confined to a few of elevated rank, much of the benefit is felt, and little of the inconveniency. But when the imitation of the same manner de- scends, as it always will do, into the mass of the people ; when it advances the requisites of living, beyond what it adds to men's abilities to purchase them ; then it is that luxury checks the formation of families, in a degree that ought to alarm the public fears. 3dly, That the condition most favourable to population is that of a laborious, frugal people, ministering to the demands of an opulent , luxurious nation ; because this situation, whilst it leaves them every advantage of luxury, exempts them from the evils which naturally accompany its ad- mission into any country. II. Next to the mode of li\'ing, we are to con- sider "the quantity of provision suited to that mode, which is either raised in the country, or imported into it:" for this is the order in which we assigned the causes of population, and under- took to treat of them. Now, if we measure the quantity of provision by the number of human bodies it will sui)port in due health and vigour, this quantity, the extent and quality of the soil from which it is raised being given, will dcpcna greatly upon the kind. For instance : a piece of ground cajjable of supplying animal food suf ficient for the subsistence of ten persons, would sustain, at least, the dou!)!e of that number with grain, roots, and milk. The first resource of savage life is in the Hcsh of wild animals ; hence the num- bers amongst savage nations, compared with the tract of country which they occupy, are univer- sally small ; because this species of provision is, of all others, supplied in the slenderest proportion. The next step was the invention of pasturage, or the rearing of flocks and herds of tame aninjals : this alteration added to the stock of provision much. But the lust and principal imjirovenii'nt was to follow; namely, tillage, or the artificial production of corn, esculent plants, and roots. This discovery, whilst it changed the quality of human food, augmented the quantity in a vast proportion. So far as the state of population is governed and hmited by the quantity of provision, perhaps there is no single cause that affects it so powerfully, as the kind and quality of food which chance or usage hath introduced into a country. In England, notwithstanding the produce of the soil has been, of late, considerably increased, by the enclosure of wastes, and the atloption, in many places, of a more successful husbandry, yet we do not observe a corresponding addition to the number of inhabitants; the reason of which ap- pears to me to be, the more general consumption of animal food amongst us. Many ranks of peo- ple whose ordinary diet was, in the last century, prepared almost entirely from milk, roots, and vegetables, now require every day a considerable portion of the flesh of animals. Hence a great part of the richest lands of the country are con- verted to pasturage. Much also of the bread-corn, which went directly to the nourishment of human bodies, now only contributes to it by fattening the flesh of sheep and oxen. The mass and volume of provisions are hereby diminished ; and what is gained in the melioration of the soil, is lost in the quality of the produce. This consideration teaches us, that tillage, as an object of national care and encouragement, is universally preferable to pas- turage, because the kind of provision which it yields, goes much farther in the sustentation of human life. Tillage is also recommended by this additional advantage, that it affords employment to a much more numerous peasantry. Indeed, pasturage seems to be the art of a nation, either imperfectly civilized, as are many of the tribes which cultivate it in the internal parts of Asia; or of a nation, like Spain, declining from its sum- mit by luxury and inactivity. The kind and quality of provision, together with the extent and capacity of the soil from which it is raised, being the same ; the quantity procured will principally depend upon two circum- stances,— the ahility of the occupier, and the en- couragement which he receives. The greatest misfijrtune of a country is an indigent tenantry Whatever be the native advantages of the soil, or even the skill and industry of the occupier, the want of a sufficient capital confines every plan, as well as cripples and weakens every operation of husbandry. This evil is felt, where agriculture is accounted a servile or mean employment ; where farms are extremely subdivided and badly fur- nished with habitations; where leases are un- known, or are of short or precarious duration. OF POPULATION, AND PROVISION. 153 With respect to the e ncou rage mc nt of husbandry ; in tliis, as in ever}' other employment, the true re- ward of industry is in the price and sale of the produce. — The exclusive right to the produce, is the onl}- incitement which acts constantly and universally; the only spring which keeps hu- man labour in motion. All therefore that the laws can do, is to secure this right to the occupier of the groimd ; that is, to constitute such a system of tenure, tliat the full and entire advantage of every improvement go to the benefit of the im- prover ; that every man work for himself, and not for another ; and that no one share in the profit who does not assist in the production. By the occupier I here mean, not so much the person who performs the work, as him who jjrocures the labour and directs the management : and I con- sider the whole profit as received by the occupier, when the occupier is benefited by the whole value of what is produced, which is the case with the tenant who pays a fixed rent for the use of land, no less than with the proprietor who holds it as his own. The one has the same interest in the produce, and in the advantage of every im- pro\cment, as the other. Likewise the proprietor, though he grant out his estate to farm, may be considered as the occupier, insomuch as he regu- lates the occupation W the choice, superintend- ency, and encouragement, of his tenants, by the disposition of his lands, by erecting buildings, pro- viding accommodations, by prescribing conditions, or supplying implements and materials of improve- ment ; and is entitled, by the rule of public expe- diency above mentioned, to receive, in the ad\ ance of his rent, a share of the benefit which arises from the increased produce of his estate. The violation of this fundamental maxim of agrarian policy constitutes the chief objection to the holding of lands by the state, by the king, by corporate bodies, by private persons in right of their offices or benefices. The inconveniency to the public arises not so much from the unalienable quality of lands thus holden in perpetuity, as from hence ; that proprietors of this description seldom con- tribute much either of attention or expense to the cultivation of their estates, 3et claim, by the rent, a share in the profit of every improvement that is made upon them. TnW complaint can only be obviated by " long leases at a fixed rent." which convey a large portion of the interest to those who actually conduct the cultivation. The same ob- jection is applicable to the holding of lands by foreign proprietors, and in some degree to estates of too great extent being placed in the same hands. III. Beside the production of provision, there remains to be considered the distribution". — It is in vain that provisions abound in the country, unless I be able to obtain a share of them. This reflection belongs to every individual. Tlie plenty of provision produced, the quantity of the public stock afibrds subsistence to individuals, and en- couragement to the formation of families, only in proportion as it is distributed, that is, in projior- tion as these individuals are allowed to draw from it a supply of their own wants. The distribution, therefore, becomes of equal consequence to popu- lation with the production. — Now there is but one principle of distribution that can ever become universal, namely, the principle of "exchange ;" or, in other words, that every man have something to give in return for what he wants. Bounty, U however it may come in aid of another principle, however it may occasionally qualify the rigour, or supply the imperlection, of an established rule of distribution, can never it.«elf become that rule or principle ; because men will not work to give the ])roduce of their labour away. — Morecver, the only equivalents that can be oM'ered in exchange tor provision are power and labour. All property is power. What we call property in land, is the power to use it, and to exclude others from the use. Money is the representative of power, be- cause it is convertible into power: the value of it consists in its faculty of procuring power over things and persons. But poicer which resuhs from civil conventions (and of this kind is what we call a man's fortune or estate,) is necessarily confined to a few, and is v^'ithal soon exhausted : whereas the capacity of labour is every man's natural possession, and composes a constant and renewing fund. The liirr, therefore, or produce of personal industry, is that which the bulk of every community must bring to market, in ex- chantre for the means of subsistence ; in other words, employment must, in every country, be the medium of distribution, and the source of supply to individuals. But when we consider the pro- duction and distributio7i of provision, as distinct from, and independent of, each other: when, sup- posing the same quantity to be produced, we inquire in what way, or according to what rule it may be distributed ; we are led to a conception of the subject not at all agreeable to truth and reality; for, in truth and reality, though pro-. ision must be produced before it be distributed, yet the production depenfln, in a great measure, upon the distribution. The quantity of provision raised out of the ground, so far as the raising of it requires human art or labour, will e\idcntly be regulated by the demand : the demand, or, in other words, the price and sale, being that which alone rewards the care, or excites the dihgence, of the husbandman. But the sale of provision depend? upon the number, not of those who want, but of those who have something to oflcr in return foi what they want ; not of those who would consume, but of those who can buy ; that is, upon the num- lier of those who have the fruits of some other kind of industry to tender in exchange for what they stand in need of from the production of the soil. We see, therefore, the connection between po- pulation and employment. EmjiloTOient alTects population " directly," as it aflbrds the only me- dium of distribution Iw which indi'iduals can ol)tain from the common stock a supijly for the wants of their families : it affects population, "in- directly," as it augments the stock itself of provi- sion, in the only way by which the production of it can be effectually encouraged. — by furnishing purchasers. No man can purchase v^ithout an equivalent ; and that equivalent, by the generality of the people, must in every country be derived from employment. And upon this basis is found- ed the public benefit of trade, that is to say, its subserviency to population, in which its only real utility consists. Of that industry, and of those arts and branches of trade, which are employed in the production, conveyance, and preparation, of any principal species of human food, as of the business of the husbandman, the butcher, baker, brewer, corn merchant, &c. we acknowledge the necessity : lilcewise of those manufactures w liich io4 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. furnish us witli warm clothing, convenient habi- tations, domestic utensils, as of the weaver, tailor, smith, carpenter, &e.. we perceive (in clunates, however, like ours, removed at a distance from the sun,) the conduciveness to population, by their rendering human life more healthy, vigorous, and comfortaL)lc. But not one half the occupations which compose the trade of Europe, fall within either of these descriptions. Perhaps two-thirds of the manufacturers in England are employed upon articles of confessed luxury, ornament, or splendour ; in the supcrlluous embellishment of some articles which are useful in their kind, or upon others which have no conceivable use or value but what is founded in caprice or fashion. What can be less necessary or less connected with the sustentation of human life, than the whole produce of the silk, lace, and plate manufac- tory 1 yet what multitudes labour in the dilltjrent brunches of these arts ! AVhat can be imagined more capricious than the fondness for tobacco and smilf? yet how many various occupations, and how many thousands in each, are set at work in administering to this frivolous gratification ! Con- cerning trades of this kind, (and this kind com- prehends more than half the trades that are exer- cised,) it may fairly be asked, " How, since they add nothing to the stock of provision, do they tend to increase the number of the people 1 " We are taught to say of trade, " that it maintains multi- tudes ; " but by what means does it maintain them, when it produces nothing upon which the support of human life depends ; — In like manner with respect to foreign commerce; of that mer- chandise which brings the necessaries of life into a country, which imports, for example, corn, or cattle, or cloth, or fuel, we allow the tendency to advance population, because it increases the stock of ])rovision by which the people are subsisted. But this etiect of foreign commerce is so little seen in our own country, that I believe, it may be af- lirmed of Great Britain, what Bishop Berkley said of a neighbouring island, that, if it were encom- passed with a wall of brass fifty cubits high, the country might maintain the same number of in- habitants that find subsistence in it at present; and that every necessary, and even every real comfort and accommodation of human life, might be supplied in as great abundance as they now are. Here, therefore, as before, we may fairly ask, by what operation it is, that foreign commerce, which brings into the country no one article of human subsistence, promotes the multiplication of human lili- 1 The answer of this inquiry, will be contained in the discussion of another, viz: Since the soil will maintain many more than it can employ, what must be done, supposing the country to be full, with the remainder of the in- habitants ] They who, by the rules of partition, (and some such must be established in every country,) are entitled to the land ; and they who, by their labour upon the soil, acquire a right in its produce, will not part with their projjerty ibr nothing; or, rather, they will no longer raise from the soil what they can neither use themselves, nor exchange for what they want. Or, lastly, if these were willing to distribute what they could spare of the provision which the ground yielded, to others who had no share or concern in the pro- perty or cultivation of it, yet still the most enor- mous mischiefs would ensue, from great numbers remaining unemployed. The idleness of one hai; of the community would overwhelm the whole with confusion and disorder. One only way jire- sents itself of removing the difficulty wliich this question states, and which is simply this : that they, whose work is not wanted, nor can be em- ployed, in the raising of provision out of the ground, convert their hands and ingenuity to the fabrication of articles which may gratify and re- quite those who are so employed, or who by the division of lands in the country, are entitled to the exclusive possession of certain parts of them. By this contrivance, all things proceed well. "J he occupier of the ground raises from it the utmost that he can procure, because he is repaid for what he can spare by something else which he wants, or with which he is pleased : the artist or manufac- turer, though he have neither any property in the soil, nor any concern in its cultivation, is regularly supplied with the produce, because he gives, iu exchange for what he stands in need of, somethinj^ upon which the receiver places an equal value : and the community is kept quiet, while both sides are engaged in their respective occupa- tions. It appears, then, that the business of one half of mankind is, to set the other half at work; that is, to provide articles which, by tempting the desires, may stimulate the industry, and call forth the activity, of those upon the exertion of whose industry, and the application of whose faculties, the production of human provision depends. A certain portion only of human labour is, or can be productive; the rest is instrumental; — both equal- ly necessary, though the one have no other object than to excite the other. It appears also, that it signifies nothing, as to the main purpose of trade, how superfluous the articles which it furnishes are ; whether the want of them be real or imaginary ; whether it be founded in nature, or in opinion, in fashion, habit, or emulation : it is enough that they be actually desired and sought after. Flourishing cities are raised and supported by trading in to- bacco ; populous towns subsist by the manufac- tory of ribands. A watch may be a very unne- cessary appendage to the dress of a peasant ; yet if the peasant will till the ground in order to ob- tain a watch, the true design of trade is answered : and the watchmaker, while he poUshes the case, or files the wheels of his machine, is contributing to the production of corn as eficctually, though not so directly, as if he handled the spade or held the plough. The use of tobacco has been mentioned already, not only as an acknowledged superfluity, but as aftbrding a remarkable exaiiqjle of the caprice of human appetite : yet if the fisher- man will ply his nets, or the mariner f(?tch rice from foreign countries, in order to procure to himself this indulgence, the market is supplied with two important articles of provision, by the instrumentality of a merchandise which has no other apparent use than the gratification of a vitiated palate. But it may come to pass that the husbandman, land-owner, or whoever he be that is entiled to the produce of the soil, will no longer exchange it for what the manuflicturer has to ofier. He is already supplied to the extent of his desires. For instance, he wants no more cloth ; he will no longer therefore give the weaver corn in return for the produce of his looms : but he would readily give it for tea, or for wine. When the weave* OF POPULATION AND PROVISION. 155 finds this to be the case, he has nothing to do but to send his cloth abroad, in exchange lor tea or for wine, which he may barter for that provision which the offer of his cloth will no longer procure. The circulation is thus revived : and the benefit of the discovery is, that, whereas the number of weavers, who could find subsistence from their employment, was before limited by the consump- tion of cloth in the country, that number is now augmented, in proportion to the demand lor tea and wine. This is the principle oi'fureign com- merce. In the magnitude and complexity of the machine, the princijile of motion is sometimes lost or unobserved ; but it is always simple and the same, to whatever extent it may be diversified and enlarged in its operation. The ert(3ct of trade upon agriculture, the process of which we have been endeavouring to describe, is visible in the neighbourhood of trading towns, and in those districts which carry on a communi- cation with the markets of trading towns. The husbandmen are busy and skilful ; the peasantry laborious ; the land is managed to the best advan- tage ; and double the quantity of corn or herbage (articles which are ultimately converted into hu- man provision) raised from it, of what the same soil yields in remoter and more neglected parts of the country. Wherever a thriving manufactory finds means to establish itself, a new vegetation springs up around it. I believe it is true that agri- culture never arrives at any considerable, much less at its highest, degree of perfection, where it is not connected with trade ; that is, where the de- mand for the produce is not mcreased by the con- sumption of trading cities. Let it be remembered then, that agriculture is the inuuediate source of human provision ; that trade conduces to the production of provision only as it promotes agriculture ; that the whole system of commerce, vast and various as it is, hath no other public importance than its subserviency to this end. We return to the proposition we laid down, that '• employment universally promotes population." From this proposition it follows, that the compa- rative utility of different branches of national com- merce is measured by the number which each branch employs. Upon which pruiciple a scale may easily be constructed, which shall assign to the several kinds and divisions of foreign trade, t'.ieir respective degrees of public importance. In tliis scale, the Jiist place belongs to the exchange of wrought goods for raw materials, as of broad cloth for raw silk ; cutlery for wool ; clocks or watches for iron, flax, or furs ; because this traffic l>rovides a market for the labour that has already been expended, at the same time that it supplies materials for new industry. Population always flourishes where this species of commerce obtains to any considerable degree. It is the cause of employment, or the certain indication. As it takes off the manufactures of the country, it pro- motes employment ; as it brings in raw materials, it supposes the existence of manufactories in the country, and a demand for the article when manu- factured. The second place is due to that com- mm'ce, which barters one species of wrought goods for another, as stuffs for calicoes, fustians for cam- brics, leather for paper, or wrought goods for articles which require no farther preparation, as for wine, oil, tea, sugar, &c. This also assists ■employment ; because, when the country is stock- ed with one kind of manufacture, it rei ews the demand by converting it into another: but it is in- ferior to the former, as it promotes this end by one side only of the bargain, — by what it carries out. — The last, the lowest, and most disadvantageous species of conunerce, is the exportation of raw materials in return lor wrought goods : as when wool is sent aljroad to purchase velvets ; hides or peltry, to procure shoes, hats, or hnen cloth. This trade is unfavourable to population, because it leaves no room or demand lor employment, eitlier in what it takes out of the country, or in what it brings into it. Its operation on both sides is noxious. By its exports, it diminishes the very subject upon which the industry of the inhabit- ants ought to be exercised ; by its imports, it les- sens the encouragement of that industry, in the same proportion that it supplies the consumption of the country with the produce of foreign labour. Of different branches of manvfactory, those arc, in their nature, the most beneficial, in which the price of the wrought article exceeds in the highest proportion that of the raw material : for this excess measures the quantity of employment, or, in other words, the number of manufacturers, wfiich each branch sustains. The produce of the ground ia never the most advantageous article of foreign commerce. Under a perfect state of public econ- omy, the soil of the country should be applied solely to the raising of provisions for the inhabit- ants, and its trade be supplied by their industry. A nation will never reach its proper extent of population, so long as its principal commerce con- sists in the exportation of corn or cattle, or even of wine, oil, tobacco, madder, indigo, timber ; be- cause these last articles take up that surface which ought to be covered with the materials of human subsistence. It must be here however noticed, that we have all along considered the inhabitants of a country as maintained by the produce of the country ; and that what we have said is applicable with strictness to this supposition alone. The reasoning, never- theless, may easily be adapted to a different case : for when provision is not produced, but imported, what has been affirmed concerning provision, will be, in a great measure, true of that article, whe- ther it be money, produce, or labour, which is exchanged for provision. Thus, when the Dutch raise madder, and exchange it for corn ; or when the people of America plant tobacco, and send it to Europe for cloth ; the cultivation of madder and tobacco becomes as necessary to the subsistence of the inhabitants, and by consequence will afltict the state of population in these countries as sensi- bly, as the actual production of food, or the maiui- factory of raiment. In like manner, when the same inhaliitants of Holland earn money by the carriage of the produce of one country to another, and with that money purchase the provision from abroad, which their own land is not extensive enough to supply, the increase or decline of this carrying trade will influence the numbers of the people no less than similar changes would do in the cultivation of the soil. Tlie few principles already established, will enable us to describe the effects upon population which may be expected from the following im- portant articles of national conduct and economy : 1. Emigration". — Emigration may be either the overllowing of a country, or the desertion. As the increase of the species is indefinite ; and 156 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. the number of inhabitants wiiich any given tract or .surface can support, linite ; it is evident tiiat great numbers may be constantly leaving a country, auJ yet the country remain constantly full. Or whatever be the cause which invincibly liaiits the population of a country ; when the number of the people has Arrived at that limit, the progress of generation, beside continuing the sucee.ssion, will supply multitudes for foreign emioT.ition. In these two cases, emigration nei- ther in^licates any political decay, nor in truth diminishes the numlierof the people; nor ought to be prohibited or discouraged. But emigrants may relinquish their country, from a sense of insecurity, oppression, annoyance, and inconveniency. Nei- ther, again, kere is it emigration which wastes the people, but the evils that occasion it. It would be in vain, if it were practicable, to confine the inhabitants at home ; for the same causes which drive them out of the country, would pre- vent tlieir multiplication if they remained in it. Lastly ; men may be tempted to change their sit- uation by the allurement of a better climate, of a more refined or luxurious manner of living ; by the prospect of wealth ; or, sometimes, by the mere nominal advantage of higher wages and prices. This class_ of emigrants, with whom alone the laws can interfere with eilect, will never, I think, be numerous. With the generality of a people, the attachment of mankind to their homes and country, the irksomencss of seeing new habita- tions, and of living amongst strangers, will out- weigh, so long as men possess the necessaries of life in safety, or at least so long as they can ob- tain a provision for that mode of subsistence which the class of citizens to wliit-h they belong are accustomed to enjoy, all the inducements that the advantages of a foreign land can oiFer. There appear, therefore, to be tew cases in which emi- gration can be prohibited, with advantage to the state ; it ajjpears also that emigration is an equi- vocal symptom, which will probably accompany the decline of the political body, but which may likewise attend a condition of perfect health and vigour. II. CoLO.vizATroN. — The only view under which our subject will permit us to consider colonization, is in its tendency to augment the population of the parent state. — Suppose a fertile, but empty island, to lie within the reach of a country in which arts and manufactures are al- ready established ; suppose a colony sent out from su 'h a country, to take possession of the island, and to live tliere under the protection and au- thority of their native government : the new set- tlers will naturally convert their labour to the cul- tivation of the vacant soil, and with the produce of that soil will draw a supply of manuiactures from their countrymen at home. Whilst the in- habitants continue few, and lands cheap and fresh, the colonists will find it easier and more profitalile to raise corn, or rear cattle, and with corn and cat- tle to [mrchase woollen cloth, for instance, or linen, than to spin or weave these articles for themselves. The mother-country, meanwhile, derives from this connexion an increase both of provision and em- ployment. It promotes at once the two great re- quisites upon which the facility of subsistence, and by consecjuence the state of population, depend, — production and distribution ; and this in a man- ner the most direct and brneficial. No situation can be imagined more favourable to population than that of a country which works uj) goods foi others, whilst these others are cultivating new tracts of land for them : for as, in a genial cli- mate, and from a fresh soil, the labour of one mar will raise provision enough for ten, it is manifest that, where all are employed in agriculture, much the greater |)art of the produce will be sjiared from the consumption ; and that three out of lour, at least to those who are maintained by it, will reside in the country which receives the redun- dancy. When the new country does not remit provision to the old one, the advantage is less : but still the exportation of wrought goods, by whatever return they are paid for. advances popu- lation in that secondary way, in whi( h those trades promote it that are not employed in the produc- tion of provision. Whatever prejudice, therefore, some late events have e.\eited against schemes of colonization, the system itself is founded in ap- parent national utihty ; and what is more, ujtou principles favourable to the common interest of human nature; for it does not appear by what other method newly-discovered and unfrequented countries can be peopled, or during the infancy of their establishment be protected or supplied. I'he error which we of this nation at present lament, seems to liave consisted not so much in the ori- ginal formation of colonies, as in the subsequent management; in imposing restrictions too rigor- ous, or in continuing them too long; in not per- ceiving the point of time when the irresistible order and progress of human affairs demand a change of laws and policy. 111. Money. — Where money abounds, the peo- ple are generally numerous : yet gold and sih er neither feed nor clothe mankind ; nor are they in all countries converted into provision by pur- chasing the necessaries of life at foreign markets ; nor do they, in any country, coinpiBe those arti- cles of personal or domestic ornament which cer- tain orders of the conmmnity have learnt to re- gard as necessaries of life, and without the means of procuring wl\ich, they will not enter into family-establishments : — at least, this property of the precious metals obtains in a very small degree. The effect of money upon the number of the peo- ple, though visible to observation, is not explained without some difficulty. To understand this con- nexion properly, we must return to the proposi- tion with which we concluded our reasoning upon the subject; " that population is chiefly promoted by employment." Now of employment, money is partly the indication, and partly the cause. The only way in which money regularly and spon- taneously^ows i/ito a country, is in return for the goods that are sent out of it, or the work that is performed by it ; and the only way in which mo- ney is retained in a country, is by the country's supplying, in a great measure, its own consump- tion of manufactures. Consequently, the quan- tity of money found in a country, denotes the amount of labour and employment ; but still, employment, not money, is the cause of pojnila- tion; the accumulation of money being merely a collateral eflect of the same cause, or a circum- stance which accompanies the existence, and measures the operation, of that cause. And this is true of money, only whilst it is acquired by the industry of the inhabitants. The treasures which belong "to a country by the possession of mines, or by the exactif)n of tribute from foreign dependen- cies, afford no conclusiori concerning the state of OF POPULATION AND PROVISION. population. The influx from these sources may be immense, and yet the country remain poor and ill-peopled ; of which we see an egregious example in the condition of Spain, since the acijuisition of its South-American dominions. Eut, secondly, money may become also a real and an operative cause of population, by acting as a stinmlus to industrj', and bj' facilitating the means of subsistence. The ease of subsistence, and the encouragement of industry, depend nei- ther upon the price of labour, nor upon the price of provision, but upon the proportion w hich one bears to the other. Now the iniiux of money into a country, naturally tends to advance this pro- portion ; that is, every fresh accession of money raises the price of labour before it raises the price of pro\ision. When money is brought from abroad, the persons, be they who they will, into whose hands it first arrives, do not buy up pro- vision with it, but apply it to the purchase and payment of labour. If the state receixes it, the state disjjenses what it receives amongst soldiers, sailors, artificers, engineers, shipwrights, work- men;— if private persons bring home treasures of gold and silver they usually expend them in the building of houses, the improvement of estates, the purchase of furniture, dress, equipage, in ar- ticles of luxury or splendour: — if the merchant be enriched by returns of his foreign commerce, he applies his increased capital to the enlargement of his business at home. The money ere long conies to market for provision ; but it comes thither through the hands of the manufacturer, the artist, the husbandman, and labourer. Its effect, therefore, upon the price of art and labour, v\'ill precede its effect upon the price of provision ; and during the interval between one efit;ct and the other, the means of subsistence will be multiplied and facilitated, as well as industry be excited by new rewards. When the greater plenty of money in circulation has produced an advance in the price of provision, corresponding to the advanced price of labour, its eHect ceases. The labourer no longer gains any thing by the increase of his wages. It is not, thereibre, the quantity of specie collected into a country, but the continual in- crease of that quantity, from which the advantage arises to employment and population. It is only the accexsiun of money which produces the eflect, and it is only by money constantly flowing into a country that the etlifct can be constant. Now whate\er consequence arises to the country from the inliux of money, the contrary may "4)6 ex- pected to follow from the diminution of its quan- tity: and accordingly we find, that whatever cause drains ofi' the specie of a country, faster than the streams which teed it can supply, not only impoverishes the country, but depopulates it. The knowledge and experience of this effect have given occasion to a phrase which oc^-urs in almost every discourse upon commerce or politics. The balance of trade svith any foreign nation is said to be against or in favour of a country, sim- ply as it tends to carry money out, or bring it in : that is, according as the price of the imports ex- ceeds or falls short of the price of the exports : so invariably is the increase or diminution of the specie of a country regarded as a test of the pub- lic advantage or detriment which arises from any branch of its commerce. IV. Taxation". — i\.s taxes take nothing out of a country ; as they do not diminish the pubUc I stock, onl^- vary the distribution of it, they are I not necessarily prejudicial to population, if the state exact money from certain members of the I coumiunity, she dispenses it also amcmgst other members of the same community. They who contribute to the revenue, and they who are sup- I ported or benefited by the expenses of go\er!i- , ment, are to be placed one against the other ; and whilst what the subsistence of one part is profited I by receiving, compensates for what that of the other suflers by paying, the common fund of the society is not lessened. This is true : but it nmst be observed, that although the sum distributed by the state be always equal to the sum collected from the people, yet the gain and loss to the means of subsistence may be verj" unequal; and the balance will remain on the wrong or the right side of the account, according as the money passes by taxation from the industrious to the idle, from the many to the few, from those who want to those who abound, or in a contrary di- rection. For instance : a tax upon coaches, to be laid out in the repair of roads, would probably hn- prove the population of a neighbourhood ; a tax upon cottages, to be ultimately expended in the purchase and support of coaches, would cerUxinly diminish it. In hke manner, a tax upon wine or tea distributed in bounties to fishernien or hus- bandmen, would augment the provision of a coun- try ; a tax upon fisheries and husbandry, how- ever indirect or concealed, to be converted, when raised, to the procuring of wine or tea for the idle and opulent, would naturally unpair the pubUc stock. The eflect, therefore, of taxes, upon the means of subsistence, depends not so much upon the amount of the sum levied, as upon the object of the tax and the application. Taxes likewise may be so adjusted as to conduce to the restraint of luxury, and the correction of vice ; to the encouragement of industry, trade, agricul- ture, and marriage. Taxes thus contrived, become rewards and penalties; not only sources of re- venue, but instruments of police. Vices indeed themselves cannot be taxed, witliout holduig forth such a conditional toleration of them as to destroy men's perception of their guilt ; a tax comes to be considered as a commutation : the materials, how- ever, and incentives of vice, may. Although, for instance, drunkenness would be, on this account, an unfit object of taxation, yet public houses and spirituous liquors are very properly subjected to heavy imposts. Nevertheless, although it may be true that taxes cannot be pronounced to be detrimental to population, by an alisolute necessity in their na- ture ; and though, under some modifications, and when urged only to a certain extent, they may even operate in favour of it ; yet it will be found, in a great plurality of instances, that their ten- dency is noxious. Let it be supposed that nine families inhabit a neighbourhood, each possessing barely the means of subsistence, or of that mode of subsistence wliich custom hath established amongst them ; let a tenth family be quartered upon these, to be supported by a tax raised from the nine ; or rather, let one of the nine have his income augmented by a similar deduction from the incomes of the rest ; in either of these cases, it is evident that the whole district would be broken up : for as the entire income of each is supposed to be barelj' sufficient lor the establish- ment which it maintains, a deduction of any part H 15S MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. ili'stroys tliat establishment. Now it is no answer to t!iis ohjection, it is no apology tor the grievance, to s;n', that nothing is taken out of the neighbour- hood ; tliat the stock is not diminished : the mis- chiel' is done by deranging the distribution. Nor, again, is the kixury of one faniil}', or even the maintenance of an additional family, a recom- pense to the country lor the ruin of nine others. — Nor. lastly, will it alter the eflect though it may conceal the cause, that the contribution, instead of being levied directly upon each day's wages, is mixetl up in the price of some article of con- stant use and consumption, as in a tax upon canilles, malt, leather, or fuel. This example illus- trates the tendency of taxes to ol)struct subsist- ence ; and the minutest degree of this obstruction will be felt in the formation of families. The example, indeed, forms an extreme case; the evil is magnified, in order to render its operation dis- tiiirt and visible. In real life, families may not be broken up, or forced from their habitation, houses be quitted, or countries suddenly deserted, in con- sequence of any new imposition whatever ; but marriages will become gradually less frequent. It seems necessary, however, to distinguish be- tween the operation of a new tax, and the eflijct of taxes which have been long established. In the course of circulation, the money may flow back to t!ie hands from which it was taken. The pro- portion between the sujiply and the expense of subsistence, which had been disturbed by the tax, may at length recover itself again. In the in- stance just now stated, the addition of a tenth family to the neighbourhood, or the enlarged ex- penses of one of the nine, may, in some shape or other, so advance the profits, or increase the em- ployment, of the rest, as to make full restitution for the share of their property of which it deprives them; or, what is more likely to happen, a reduc- tion may take place in their mode of hving, suited to the abridgment of their incomes. Yet still the ultimate and iiermanent eflect of taxation, though distinguishable from the impression of a new tax, is generally adverse to population. The proportion above spoken of, can only be restored by one side or other of the following alternative : by the peo- ple either contracting their wants, which at the same time diminishes consumption and employ- ment : or by raising the price of labour, which ne- cessarily adding to the price of the productions and manufactures of the country, checks their sale at foreign markets. A nation which is bur- thened with taxes, must always be undersold by a nation which is free from them, unless the dif- ference be made up by some singular advantage of climate, soil, skill, or industry. This quality belongs to all taxes which afTect the mass of the community, even when imjjosed upon the proper- est objects, and applied to the fairest purposes. But abuses are inseparable from the disposal of public money. As governments are usually ad- ministered, the produce of public taxes is ex- pended upon a train of gentry, in the maintaining of pomp, or in the purcha.se of influence. The conversion of property which taxes cflectuate, when they are employed in this manner, is at- tended with obvious evils. It takes from the in- dustrious, to give to the idle; it increases the number of the latter; it tends to accumulation; it sacrifices the conveniency of many to the luxury of a few ; it makes no return to the people, from whom the tax is drawn, that is satisfactory or in- telligible ; it encourages no activity which is use- lul or productive. The sum to be raised being settled, a wise statesman will contrive his taxes principally witJi a view to tlieir eflt'ct upon pupulatiun ; that is, he will so adjust them as to give the least possible obstruction to those means of subsistence by which the mass of the community is maintained. "VVe are accustomed to an opinion, that a tax, to be just, ought to be accurately proportioned to the circumstances of the persons who pay it. But upon what, it might be asked, is this opinion founded; unless it could be shown that such a proportion interferes the least with the general conveniency of subsistence ! Whereas I should rather believe, that a tax, constructed with a view to that conveniency, ought to rise upon the ilif- ferent classes of the community, in a niuch higher ratio than tlie simjile proportion of their incomes. The point to be regarded is, not what men have, but what they can spare; and it is evident that a man who possesses a thousand pounds a year, can more easily give up a hundred, than a man with a hundred pounds a year can part with ten; that is, those habits of life which are reasonable and innocent, and upon the ability to continue which the formation of families deiiends, will be much less aflected by the one deduction than the other : it is still more evident, that a man of a hundred pounds a year would not be so much distressed in his subsistence, by a demand trom him of ten pounds, as a man of ten pounds a year would be by the loss of one : to which we must add, that the population of every covmtry being replenished by the marriages of the lowest ranks of the society, their accommodation and re- lief become of more importance to the state, than the conveniency of any higher but less numerous order of its citizens. But whatever be the pro- portion which public expediency directs, whether the simple, the duplicate, or any higher or inter- mediate proportion of men's incomes, it can never be attained by any single tax : as no single object of taxation can be found, which measures the ability of the subject with sufficient generality and exactness. It is only by a system and variety of taxes, mutually balancing and equalising one another, that a due proportion can be preserved. For instance: if a tax upon lands press with greater hardship upon those who live in the country, it may be properly counterpoised by a tax upon the rent of houses, which will afit'ct principally the inhabitants of large towns. Dis- tinctions may also be framed in some taxes, which shall allow abatements or exemptions to married persons; to the parents of a certain number of legitimate children ; to improvers of the soil ; to particular modes of cultivation, as to tillage in preference to pasturage; and in general to that industry which is immediately productive, in pre- ference to that which is only instrumental ; but above all, which may leave the heaviest part of the burthen upon the methods, whatever they be, of acquiring wealth without industry, or even of subsisting in idleness. V. ExpORTATior^ OF BREAD-CORN. — Nothinfi; seems to have a more positive tendency to reduce the number of the people, than the sending abroad part of the provision by which they are maintained , yet this has been the policy of legislators very studious of the improvement of their country. In order to reconcile ourselves to a practice which OF POPULATION AND PROVISION. 159 appears to militate with the chief interest, that is, with the population of the country that adopts it, we must be reminded of a maxim which belongs to the productions both of nature and art, " that it is impossible to have enough without a super- luiity." The point of suthcicncy cannot, in any case, be so exactly hit upon, as to have nothing to sjiare, yet never to want. This is peculiarly true of bread-corn, of which the annual increase is extremely valuable. As it is necessary that the crop be adequate to the consumption in a year of scarcity, it must, of consequence, greatly exceed it in a year of plenty. A redundancy therefore will occasionally arise from the very care that is taken to secure the people against the danger of want; and it is manifest that the exportation of this redundancy subtracts nothing from the num- ber that can regularly be maintained by the pro- duce of the soil. Moreover, as the exportation of corn, under these circumstances, is attended with no direct injury to population, so the benefits which indirectly arise to population from foreign commerce, belongs to this, in common with other s[)ecies of trade ; together with the peculiar advan- tage of presenting a constant incitement to the skill and industry of the husbandman, by the promise of a certain sale and an adequate price, under e^ery contingency of season and produce. There is another situation, in which corn may not only be exported, but in which the people can thrive by no other means; that is, of a newly settled country, with a fertile soil. The exporta- tion of a large proportion of the corn which a coun- try produces, proves, it is true, that the inhabitants have not yet attained to the number which the country is capable of maintaining : but it does not prove but that they may be hastening to this limit with tbe utmost practicable celerity, which is the ])prfection to be sought for in a young establish- ment. In all cases except these two, and in the former of them to any greater degree than what is necessary to take off occasional redundancies, the exportation of corn is either itself noxious to po|)ul:ition, or argues a defect of population arising from some other cause. VI. AURIDGMKNT OF LABOUR. — It has long been made a question, whether those mechanical contrivances which abridge labour, by perform- ing the same work by fewer hands, be detrimental or not to the population of a country. From what has l)een delivered in preceding parts of the jiresent chapter, it will be evident that this ques- tion is equivalent to another, — whether such con- tri\ances diminish or not the quantity of employ- meat. The first and most obvious etiect undoubt- edly is this; because, if one man be made to do what three men did bfffore, two are immediately discharged : but if, by some more general and re- moter consequence, they increase the demand for work, or, what is the same thing, prevent the di- minution of that demand, in a greater proportion than they contract the number of hands by which it is performed, the quantity of employment, upon the whole, will gain an addition. Upon which principle it may be observed, first, that whenever a nieclianical invention succeeds in one place, it is necessary that it be imitated in every other, where the same manufacture is carried on ; for, it is mani- fest, that he who has the benefit of a conciscr ope- ration, will soon outvie and undersell a competitor who continues to use a more circuitous labour. It i.s also true, in the second place, that whoever Jtrs/ discover or adopt a mechanical improvement, will, for some time, draw to themselves an increase of employment ; and that this preference may con- tinue even after the improvement has become general ; for, in every kind of trade, it is not only a great but permanent advantage, to ha\'e once preoccupied the jaiblic reputation. Thirdly, alter every superiority which might be derived from the possession of a secret, has ceased, it may be well questioned whetlier even then any loss can accrue to employment. The same money will be spared to the same article still. Wherefore, in proportion as the article can be afforded at a lower price, by reason of an easier or shorter process in the nianu- fiicture, it will either grow into more general use, or an improvement will take place in the quality and fabric, which w'ill demand a jiroportionable addition of hands. The number of' persons em- l)Io3ed in the manufactory of stockings, has not, I apprehend, decreased since the invention of stock- ing-mills. The amount of what is expended upon the article, after subtracting from it the price of the raw material, and consequently what is j)aid for work in this branch of our manufactories, is not less than it was before. Goods of a finer texture are worn in the place of coarser. This is the change which the invention has produced; and which compensates to the manufactory for every other inconveniency. Add to which, that in the above, and in almost every instance, an im- provement which conduces to the recommenda- tion of a manufactory, either by the cheajaiess or the quality of the goods, draws up alter it many dependent employments, in which no abbreviation has taken place. From the reasoning that has been pursued, and the various considerations suggested in this chap- ter, a judgment may, in some sort, be formed, how far regulations of law are in their nature cajjable of contributing to the support and advancement of population. 1 say how far ; for, as in many sub- jects, so especially in those which relate to com- merce, to plenty, to riches, and to the number of people, more is wont to be expected from laws, than laws can do. Laws can only imperfectly restrain that dissoluteness of manners, which, by diminish- ing the frequency of marriages, impairs the very source of population. Laws cannot regulate the wants of mankind, their mode of living, or their desire of those supcrfiuities which fashion, more irresistible than laws, has once introduced into general usage ; or, in other words, has erected into necessaries of life. Laws cannot induce men to enter into marriages, when the expenses of a family nmst deprive them of that system of ac commodation to which they have habituated their expectations. Laws, by their protection, by as- suring to the labourer the fruit and profit of his labour, may help to make a people industrious; but without industry, the laws cannot provide either subsistence or employment ; laws cannot make corn grow without toil and care, or trade flourish without art and diligence. In spite of all laws, the expert, laborious, honest workman, will be employed, in preference to the lazy, the un- skilful, the fraudulent, and evasive : and this is not more true of two inhabitants of the same village, than it is of the people of two different countries, which communicate either with each other, or with 160 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. the rest of the world. The natural basis of trade is rivalsliip of quality and price ; or, which is the same thing, of skill and industry. Every attempt to force trade by operation of law, that is, by com- pelling persons to buy goods atone market, which they can obtain cheaper and better from another, is sure to be either eluded by the quick-sighted- ness and incessant activity of private interest, or to be frustrated by retaliation. One half of the commercial laws of many states are calculated merely to counteract the restrictions which have been imposed by other states. Perhaps the only way in which the interposition of law is salutary in trade, is in the prevention of frauds. Next to the indispensable requisites of interna! peace and security, the chief advantage which can be derived to population from the interference of law, appears to me to consist in the encourage- ment of agriculture. This, at least, is the direct way of increasing the number of the people : every other mode being effectual only by its influence upon this. Now the principal expedient by which such a purpose can be promoted, is to adjust the laws of property, as nearly as possible, to tlie two following rules: first, " to give to the occupier all the power over the soil, which is necessary lor its perfect cultivation;" — secondly, "to assign the whole profit of every improvement to the persons by whose activity it is carried on." What we call property in land, as hath been observed above, is power over it. Now it is indifferent to the public in whose hands this power resides, if it be rightly used ; it matters not to whom the land belongs, if it be well cultivated. When we lament that great estates are often united in the same hand, or complain that one man possesses what would be sufficient for a thousand, we suffer ourselves to be misled by words. The owner of ten thousand pounds a-year, consumes little more of the produce of the soil than the owner of ten pounds a-year. If the cultivation l>e equal, the estate in the hands of one great lord, affords subsistence and employment to the same number of persons as it would do if it were divided amongst a hundred proprietors. In like manner we ought to judge of the effect upon the public in- terest, which may arise from lands being holden by the king, or by the subject; by private persons, or by corporations ; by laymen, or ecclesiastics ; in fee, or for life; by virtue of office, or in right of in- heritance. I do not mean that these varieties make no difference, but I mean that all the dillerence they do make respects the cultivation of tlie lands which are so holden. There exist in thiscountry, conditions of tenure which condemn tlie land itself to perpetual sterility. Of this kind is the right of common, which pre- cludes each proprietor from the improvement, or even the convenient occupation, of liis estate, with- out (what seldom can be obtained) the consent of many others. This tenure is also usually embar- rassed by the interference of inanorial claims, under which it often happens that the surface be- longs to one owner, and the soil to another ; so that neither owner can stir a clod without the con- currence of his partner in the property. In many manors, the tenant is restrained from granting leases beyond a short term of years ; which renders every plan of solid unprovement impracticable. In these cases, the owner wants, what the first rule of rational policy requires, " sufficient power over the soil for its perfect cultivation." This power ought to be extended to iiini by some easy and general law of enfranchisement, partition, and enclosure ; which, though compulsory upon the lord, or tlie rest of the tenants, whilst it has in view the melioration of the soil, and tenders an equitable co]npens;ition for every right that it takes away, is neither more arbitrary, nor more dangerous to the stalnlity of property, than that which is done in the construction of roads, bridges, embankments, navigable canals, and indeed in almost every pub- lic work, in which private owners of land are obliged to accept that price for their property w hich an indifferent jury may award. It may here, how- ever, be proper to observe, that although the en- closure of wastes and pastures be generally bene- ficial to population, yet the enclosure of lands in tillage, in order to convert them into pastures, is as generally hurtful. But, secondly, agriculture is discouraged by every constitution of landed property which lets in those, who have no concern in the improvement, to a participation of the profit. This objection is ap- plicable to all such customs of manors as subject the proprietor, upon the death of the lord or tenant, or the alienation of the estate, to a fine apportioned to the improved value of the land. But of all in- stitutions which are in this way adverse to culli- valion and improvement, none is so noxious as tliat of tithes. A claimant here enters into the produce, who contributed no as.sistance whatever to the pro- duction. When years, perhaps, of care and toil have matured an improvement; when the hus- bandman sees new crops ripening to his skill and industry ; the moment he is ready to put his sickle to the grain, he finds himself compelled to di- vide his harvest with a stranger. 1'ithes are a tax not only upon industry, but upon that industry which feeds mankind ; upon that species of exer- tion which it is the aim of all wise laws to cherish and promote ; and to uphold and excite which, composes, as we have seen, the main benefit that the community receives from the whole system of trade, and the success of commerce. And, toge- ther witli the more general inconveniency that at- tends the exaction of tithes, there is this additional evil, in the mode at least according to which they are collected at present, that they operate as a bounty upon pasturage. The burthen of the tax falls with its chief, if not with its whole weight, upon tillage ; that is to say, upon that precise mode of cultivation, which, as hath been shown above, it is the business of the state to relieve and remu- nerate, in preference to every other. No mea- sure of such extensive concern appears to me so practicable, nor any single alteration so beneficial, as the conversion of tithes into corn-rents. This comniuJ:ation, I am convinced, might be so adjusted as to secure to the tithe-holder a complete and perpetual equivalent for his interest, and to leave to industry its full operation, and entire reward. ch:apter XII. Of War, and of Military Establishments. Bf.cause the Christian Scriptures describe wars as what they are, — as crimes or judgments, some have been led to believe that it is unlawtid ibr a Christian to bear arms. But it should be remem- bered that it may be necessary for individuals to unite tlieir force, and for this end to resign them- selves to the direction of a common will ; and yot OF WAR, AND OF MILITARY ESTABLISHMENTS. 161 i1 may be true that that will is oflen actuated by criminal motives, and often determined to destruc- tive purposes. Hence, althougli the origin of wars oe ascribed, in Scripture, to the operation of law- less and malignant passion ;* and though war it- self be enumerated among the sorest calamities witli which a land can be visited, the profession of a soldier is nowhere forbidden or condenmed. When the soldiers demanded of John the Baptist wliat they sKoiitd do, he said unto them, " Do vio- lence to no man, neither accuse any falsely, and be content with your wages."t In which answer we do not find that, in order to prepare themselves for tlie reception of the kingdom of God, it was required of soldiers to relinquish their profession, but only that they should beware of the vices of wliicii that profession was -iccused. The precept wliich follows, " Be content with your wages," sup[)osed them to continue in their situation. It was of a Roman centurion that Christ pronounced that memo'raBle eulogy, " I have not found so great fiiilh, no, not in Israel."t The first Gentile con- v.eili who was received into the Christian church, and to whom the Gospel was imparted by the im- mediate and especial direction of Heaven, held the same station : and in the history of this trans- action we discover not the smallest intimation, t^i'it Qoragliyg, upon becoming a Christian, quit- ted the service of the Roman legion ; that his pro- fession was objected to, or his continuance in it con- sidered as in any wise inconsistent with his new charjcter. In ajiplying the principles of morality to the af- fairs of nations, the difficulty which meets us, arises from hence, " that the particular consequence sometimes appears to exceed the value of the gen- eral rule." In this circumstance is founded the only distinction that exists between the case of independent states, and of independent indi- viduals. In the transactions of private persons, no advantage that results from the breach of a general law of justice, can compensate to the public for the violation of the law ; in the concerns of empire, this may sometimes be doubted. Thus, that the faith of promises ought to be maintained, as far as is lawful, and as lar as was intended by the jjarties, whatever inconveniency cither of them may suffer by his fidelity, in the intercourse of priv;ite life, is seldom disputed ; because it is evidi'ut to almost every man who reflects upon the suliject, that tlie common happiness gains more liy the preservation of the rule, than it could do by the removal of the inconveniency. But when the adherence to a public treaty would en- slave a whole people ; would block up seas, rivers, or harbours ; depopulate cities ; condemn fertile regions to eternal desolation ; cut oft' a country from its sources of provision, or deprive it of those commercial advantages to which its climate, pro- duce, or situation naturally entitle it: the magni- tude of the particular evil induces us to call in I question the obligation of the general rule. Moral 1 Philosophy furnishes no precise solution to these doul)ts. She cannot pronounce that any rule of morality is so rigid as to bend to no exceptions ; nor, on the other hand, can she comjnise these exceptions within any previous description. She confesses that the obligation of every law depends * James iv. 1. X Luke vii. 9. X t Luke iii. 14. § Acts. X. 1. upon its ultimate utility ; that this utility, havincr a finite and determinate value, situations may be feigned, and consequently may possibly arise, in which the general tendency is outweighed bj the enormity of the particular mischief: but she re- calls, at the same time, to the consideration of the inquirer, the almost inestimable importance, as of other general rules of relative justice, so especially of national and personal fidelity ; the unseen, if not unbounded, extent of the mischief which must follow from the want of it ; the danger of leaving it to the sufferer to decide upon the comparison of particular and general consequences ; and the still greater danger of such decisions being drawn into future precedents. If treaties, for instance, be no longer binding than whilst they are conve- nient, or until the inconveniency ascend to a certain point, (which point must be fixed by the judgment, or rather by the feelings, of the com- plaining party ;) or if such an opinion, after being authorised by a few examples, come at length to prevail ; one and almost the only method of avert- ing or closing the calamities of war, of either pre- venting or putting a stop to the destruction of mankind, is lost to the world for ever. We do not say that no evil can exceed this, nor any pos- sible advantage compensate it ; but we say that a loss, which affects all, will scarcely be made up to the common stock of human happiness by any benefit that can be procured to a single nation which, however respectable when compared with any other single nation, bears an inconsiderable proportion to the whole. These, however, are the principles upon which the calculation is to bo formed. It is enough, in this place, to remark the cause which produces the hesitation that we sometimes feel, in applying rules of personal pro- bity to the conduct of nations. As between individuals it is found impossible to ascertain every duty by an immediate reference to public utility, not only because such reference is oftentimes too remote for the direction of private consciences, but because a multitude of cases arise in which it is indifferent to the general interest by what rule men act, though it be absolutely neces- sary that they act by some constant and known rule or other : and as, for these reasons, certain positive constitutions are wont to be established in every society, which, when established, become as obligatory as the original principles of natural justicethemselves; so, likewi.se, it is between in- dependent communities. Together with those maxims of universal equity which are common to states and to individuals, and by which the rights and conduct of the one as well as the other, ought to be adjusted, when they fall within the scope and application of such maxims ; there exists 8>lso> amongst sovereigns a system of artificial jurispru- dence, under the name of the law of nations. In this code are found the rules which determine the right to vacant or newly discovered countries; those which relate to the protection of fugitives, the privileges of ambassadors, the condition aii(l duties of neutrality, the immunities of neutral ships, ports, and coasts, the distance from .shoi* to which these immunities extend, the distinction between free and contraband goods, and a varifty of subjects of the same kind. Concerning which examples, and indeed the principal part of what is called the jus gentium, it may be observed, that the rules derive their moral force, (by which I mean the regard that ought to be paid to them by 14* 162 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. the consciences of sovereigns,) not from their in- terwal reusonubleness or Justice, for many of them are perfectly arlntiii'ry, nor yet from the authority by which they were established, for the greater part have grown insensibly into usage, without any public compact, Ibrmal acknowledgment, or even known original ; but simply I'rom the fact of their being established, and the general duty of conforming to established rules upon questions, and between parties, where nothing but positive regulations can prevent disputes, and where dis- putes are Ibljowed by such destructive conse- quences. The first of the instances which we have just now enumerated, may be selected for the illus- tration ol' this remark. The nations of Europe consider the sovereignty of newly-discovered coun- tries as belonging to the prince or state whose subject makes the discovery : and in pursuance of this rule, it is usual for a navigator, who falls upon an unknown shore, to take possession of it, in the name of his sovereign at home, by erecting his standard, or displaying his flag upon a desert coast. Now nothing can be more fanciful, or less substantiated by any considerations of reason or justice, than the right which such discovery, or the transient occupation and idle ceremony that accompany it, confer upon the country of the dis- coverer. Nor can any stipulation be produced, by which the rest of the world have bound them- selves to submit to this pretension. Yet when we reflect that the claims to newly-discovered coun- tries can hardly be settled, between the dillerent nations which frequent them, without some posi- tive rule or other; that such claims, if left un- settled, would prove sources of ruinous and fatal contentions ; that the rule already proposed, how- ever arbitrary, possesses one principal quality of a rule, — determination and certainty : above all, that it is acijuiesced in, and that no one has power to substitute another, however he might con- trive a better, in its place : when we retiect upon these properties of the rule, or rather upon these consequences of rejecting its authority, we are- led to ascribe to it the virtue and obligation of a pre- cept of natural justice, because we perceive in it that which is tlie foundation of justice itself, — public importance and utility. And a prince who should dispute this rule, for the want of regularity in its formation, or of intelligible justice in its principle, and by such disputes should disturb the tranquillity of nations, and at the same time lay the foundation of future disturbances, would be little less criminal than he who breaks the public peace, by a violation of engagements to which he had himself consented, or by an attack upon those national rights which are founded immediately in the law of nature, and in the first perceptions of equity. The same thing may be repeated of the rules which the law of nations prescrilies in the other instances that were mentioned, namely, that the obscurity of their origin, or the arbitrariness of their principle, subtracts nothing from the respect that is due to them, when once established. War may be considered with a view to its r.aiises and its conduct. The justifying causes of war, are, deliberate invasions of right, and the necessity of main- taining such a balance of power amongst neigh- muring nations, as that no single state, or con- federacy of states, be strong enough to overwhelm the rest. The objects of just war, are, precaution, defence, or reparation. In a larger sense, every just war is a defensive war, inasmuch as every just war supposes an injury pej-petrated, at- tempted, or feared. The insufficient causes or unjustifahJe mo- tives of war, are the family alliances, the personal friendships, or the personal quarrels, of princes ; the internal disputes which are carried on in other nations; the justice of other wars; the extension of territory, or of trade ; the misfortunes or acci- dental weakness of a neighbouring or rival nation There are two lessons of rational and suliei policy, which, if it were possible to inculcate them into the councils of princes, would exclude many of the motives of war, and allay that restless am- bition which is constantly stirring up one part of mankind against another. The first of these lessons admonishes princes to " place their glory and their enmlation, not in extent of territory, but in raising the greatest quantity of happiness out of a given territory." I'he enlargement of territory by conquest is not only not a just object of war, but in the greater part of the instances in which it is attempted, not even desirable. It is certainly not desirable where it adds nothing to the numbers, the enjoyments, or the security, of the conquerors. What com- monly is gained to a nation, by the annexing of new dependencies, or the subjugation of other countries to its dominion, but a wider frontier to defend ; more interfiling claims to vindicate ; more quarrels, more enemies, more rebellions, to encounter ; a greater force to keep up by sea and land ; more services to provide for, and more establishments to pay 1 And, in order to draw from these acquisitions something that may make up for the charge of keeping them, a revenue is to be extorted, or a monopoly to be enforced and watched, at an expense which costs half their produce. Thus the provinces are oppressed, in order to pay for being ill-governed ; and the ori- ginal state is exhausted in maintaining a feeble authority over discontented subjects. No assign- able portion of country is benefited by the change ; and if the sovereign appear to himself to be en- riched or strengthened, when every part of his dominion is made poorer and weaker than it was, it is probable that he is decei\ed by apppearances. Or were it true that the grandeur of the prince is magnified by those exploits ; the glory which is purchased, and the ambition which is gratified, by the distress of one country without adding to the happiness of another, which at the same time enslaves the new and impoverishes the ancient part of the empire, by whatever names it may be known or fiattered, ought to be an object of uni- versal execration ; and oftentimes not more so to the vanquished, than to the very people whose armies or whose treasures have achieved the victory. There are, indeed, two cases in which the ex- tension of territory may be of real advantage, and to both parties. The first is, where an empire thereby reaches to the natural boundaries which divide it from the rest of the world. Thus we ac- count the British Channel the natural boundary which separates the nations of England and France ; and if France possessed any countries on this, or England any cities or provinces on that, side of the sea, recovery of such towns and districts OF WAR, AND OF MILITARY ESTABLISHMENTS. 163 to what may be called tlieir natural sovereign, though it may not be a just reason for commencing war, would be a proper use to make of victory. Tlie other case is, where neighbouring states, being severally too small and weak to defend themselves against the dangers that surround them, can only be safe by a strict and constant junction of their strength : here conquest will affect the purposes of confederation and alliance ; and the union which it produces is often more close and permanent than that which results from voluntary association. Thus, if the heptarchy had continued in England, the different kingdoms of it might have separately fallen a prey to foreign invasion : and although the interest and danger of one part of the island were in truthcommontoevery other part, it might have been difficult to have circulated this persua- sion amongst independent nations, or to have united them in any regular or steady opposition to their continental enemies, had not the valour and fortune of an enterprising prince incorporated the whole into a single monarchy. Here, the con- quered gained as much by the revolution, as the conquerors. In like manner, and for the same reason, when the two royal families of Spain were met together in one race of princes, and the several provinces of France had devolved into the possessiou of a single sovereign, it became unsafe for the inhabitants of Great Britain any longer to remain under separate governments. The union of England and Scotland, which transformed two quarrelsome neighbours into one powerful empire, and which was lirst brought aljout by the course of succession, and afterwards completed by amica- ble convention, would have been a fortunate con- clusion of hostilities, had it been effected by the operations of war. — These two cases being ad- mitted, namely, the obtaining of natural bounda- ries and barriers, and the including under the same government those who have a common danger and a common enemy to guard against ; I know not whether a third can be thought of, iu which the extension of empire by conquest is useful even to the conquerors. The second rule of prudence which ought to be recommended to those who conduct the atfairs of nations, is, " never to pursue national honour as distinct from national interest.''^ This rule ac- knowledges that it is often necessary to assert the honour of a nation for the sake of its interest. The spirit and courage of a people are supported by flattering their pride. Concessions which betray too much of fear or weakness, though they relate to points of mere ceremony, invite demands and attacks of more serious importance. Our rule allows all this ; and only directs that, when points of honour become subjects of contention between sovereigns, or are likely to be made the occasion of war, the^' be estimated with a reference to utility, and not hij themselves. " The dignity of his crown, the honour of his dag, the glory of his arms," in the mouth of a prince, are stately and imposing terms ; but the ideas they inspire, are insatiable. It may be always glorious to conquer, whatever be the justice of the war, or the price of the vic- tory. The dignity of a sovereign may not permit him to recede from clainas of homage and respect, at whatever expense of national peace and happi- ness they are to be maintained; however unjust they may have been in their original, or in their continuance however useless to the possessor, or mortifying and vexatious to other states. The pur- suit of honour, when set loose from the admonitions of prudence, becomes in kings a wild and romantic passion : eager to engage, and gathering fury in its progress, it is checked by no ditliculties, repelled by no dangers ; it forgets or despises those considera tions of safety, ease, wealth, and plenty, which, in the eye of true public wisdom, compose the objects to which the renown of arms, the fame of victory, are only instrumental and subordinate. The pur- suit of interest, on the other hand, is a sober princi- ple ; computes costs and consequences ; is cautious of entering into war ; stops in time : when regulated by those universal maxims of relative justice which belong to the aflairs of communities as well as of private persons, it is the right principle for nations to proceed by : even when it trespasses upon these regulations, it is much less dangerous, because much more temperate than the other. II. The conduct of war.— If the cause and end of war be justifiable ; all the means that appear necessary to the end, are justifiable also. This is the principle which defends those extremities to which the violence of war usually proceeds : for since war is a contest hy force between parties who acknowledge no common superior, and since it includes not in its idea the supposition of any con- vention which should place limits to the opera- tions of force, it has naturally no boundary but that in which force terminates, — the destruction of the life against which the force is directed. Let it be observed, however, that the license of war au- thorises no acts of hostility but what are necessary or conducive to the end and object of the war. Gratuitous barbarities borrow no excuse from this plea : of which kind is every cruelty and every in- sult that serves only to exasperate "the sufferings, or to incense the hatred, of an enemy, without weakening his strength, or in any manner tending to procure his submission ; such as the slaughter of captives, the subjecting of them to indignities or torture, the violation of women, the profiination of temples, the demolition of public buildings, libraries, statues, and in general the destruction or defacing of works that conduce nothing to an- noyance or defence. These enormities are pro- hibited not only by the practice of civilized nations, but by the law of nature itself; as having no proper tendency to accelerate the termination, or accom- plish the object of the war ; and as containing that which in peace and war is equally unjustifiable, — ultimate and gratuitous mischief There are other restrictions imposed upon the conduct of war, not by the law of nature prunarily, but by the laws of war, first, and by the law of nature as seconding and ratifying the laws e ^ war. The laws of war are part of the law of nations ; and founded, as to their authority, upon the same principle with the rest of that code, namely, ujjon the fact of their being established, no matter when or by whom ; upon the expectation of their being mutually observed, in consequence of that esta- blishment; and upon the general utility which results from such observance. The binding force of these rules is the greater, because the regard that is paid to them must be universal or none. The breach of the rule can only be punished by the subversion of the rule itself: on which account, the whole mischief that ensues from the laws of thoso salutary restrictions which such rules prescribe, i^• justly chargeable upon the first aggressor. To this consideration may be referred the duty of re- fraining in war from poison and from assassina- 164 MORAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. tion. If tlie law of nature simply be consulted, it may be difficult to distinguish between these and other methods of destruction, which are prac- tised without scruple by nations at war. If it be lavvful to kill an enemy at all, it seems lawful to do so by one mode of death as well as by another ; by a dose of poison, as by the point of a sword ; by the hand of an assassin, as by the attack of an army : for if it be said that one species of assault leaves to an enemy the power of deil'nding itself against it, and that the other two does not ; it may be answered, that we possess at least the same right to cut oft' an enemy's defence, that we have to seek his destruction. In this manner might the ques- tion be debated, if there existed no rule or law of war upon the sulyect. But when we observe that such practices are at present excluded by the usage and opinions of civilized nations; that the first re- course to them would be ibllowed by instant re- taliation ; that the mutual license which such attempts )nust introduce, would fill both sides witli the misery of continual dread and suspicion, with- out adding to the strength or success of either ; that when the example came to be more generally imitated, which it soon would be, after the senti- ment that condemns it had been once broken in upon, it would greatly aggravate tlie horrors and calamities of war, yet procure no superiority to any of the nations engaged in it ; when we view these eficcts, we join in the public reprobation of such fatal expedients, as of the admission amongst mankind of new and enormous evils without ne- cessity or advantage. — The law of nature, we see at length, forbids these innovations, as so many transgressions of a beneficial general rule actually subsisting. The license of war then acknowledges two limi- tations : it authorises no hostilities which have not an apparent tendency to efiectuate the object of the war; it respects those positive laws which the custom of nations hath sanctified, and which whilst they are mutually conformed to, mitigate the calamities of war, without weakening its ope- rations, or diminishing the power or safety of belligerent states. Long and various experience seems to have convinced the nations of Europe, that nothing but a standing army ciin oppose a standing army, where the numbers on each side bear any mode- rate proportion to one another. The first stand- ing army tliat appeared in Europe after the fall of the Roman legion, was that which was erected in France, by Charles VII. about the middle of the fifteenth century : and that the institution hath since become general, can only be attributed to the superiority and success which are everywhere ob- served to attend it. The truth is, the closeness, regularity, and quickness, of their movements; the unreserved, instantaneous, and almost mechanical, obedience to orders ; the sense of personal honour, and the familiarity with danger, which belong to a disciplined, veteran, and embodied soldiery, give such firmness and intrepidity to their approach, such weight and execution to their attack, as are net to be withstood by loose ranks of occasional and nevyly-levicd troops, who are liable by their inex- perience to disorder and confusion, and in whom fear is constantly augmented by novelty and sur- prise. It is possible that a militia, with a great excess of numbers, and a ready supply of recruiis may sustain a defensive or a tiying war agains'^ regular troops : it is also true that any service which keeps soldiers for a while together, and inures them by little and little to the liabits of war and the dangers of action, transforms them in ef- fect into a standing army. But upon this plan it may be necessary for almost a whole nation to go out to war to repel an invader; beside that a peo- ple so unprepared must always have the seat, and with it the miseries, of war at home, being utterly incapable of carrying their operations into a foreign country. Prom the acknowledged superiority of standing armies, it follows, not only that it is unsafe for a nation to disband its regular troops, whilst neigh- bouring kingdoms retain theirs ; but also that regular troops jirovide for the public service at the least possible expense. I suppose a certain quan- tity of military strength to be necessary, and I say that a standing army costs the community less than any other establishment which presents to an enemy the same force. The constant drudgery of" low employments is not only incom- patible with any great degree of ))erfection or cx- pertness in the profession of a soldier, but the pro- fession of a soldier almost always unfits men lor the business of regular occupations. Of three in- habitants of a vil^ge, it is better that one should addict himself entirely to arms, and the other two stay constantly at home to cultivate the ground, than that all three should mix the avocations of a camp, with the business of husbandry. By the former arrangement, the country gains one com- plete soldier, and two industrious husbandmen; from the latter it receives three raw militia-men, who are at the same time three idle anil profligate peasants. It should be considered also, that the emergencies of war wait not for seasons. Where there is no standing army ready for immediate service, it may be necessary to call the reaper from the fields in harvest, or the ploughman in seed time ; and the provision of a whole year may perish by the interruption of one month's labour. A standing army, therefore, is not only a more effectual, but a cheaper, method of providing for the public safety, than any other, because it adds more than any other to the common strength, and takes less from that which comjtoses the wealth ol' a nation, — its stock of productive industry. There is yet another distinction between stand- ing armies and militias, which deserves a more at- tentive consideration than any that has been mentioned. When the state relies, for its defence, u])on a militia, it is necessary that arms be put into the hands of the people at large. The mi- litia itself must he numerous, in proportion to the want or inferiority of its discipline, and the iml)e- cilities or defects of its constitution. Moreover, as such a militia must be sujiplied by rotation, allot- ment, or some mode of succession whereby they who have served a certain time are replaced by fresh drafts from the country ; a much greater number will be instructed in the use of arms, and will have been occasionally embodied together, than are actually emplov'cd, or than are suppo.sed to be wanted, at the same time. Now what ellk'ts upon the civil con join a brief account of the manner of conducting it. I have disposed the several instances of agree- ment under separate numbers : as well to mark more sensibly the divisions of the subject, as for another purpose, viz : that the reader may thereby be reminded that the instances are independent of one another. I have advanced nothing which I did not think probable ; but the degree of probability by which different instances are supported, is un- doubtedly very different. If the reader, therefore, meets with a number which contains an instance that appears to him unsatisfactory, or founded in mistake, he will dismiss that number from the argument, but without prejudice to any other. He will have occasion also to observe that the co- incidences discoverable in some epistles are nuich fewer and weaker than what are supplied by others. But he will add to his observation this important circumstance— that whatever ascertains the original of one epistle, in some measure esta- blishes the authority of the rest. For, whether these epistles be genuine or spurious, every thing about them indicates that they come from the same hand. The diction, which it is extremely difficult to imitate, preserves its resemblance and peculiarity throughout all the epistles. Numer- ous expressions and singularities of style, found in no other part of the New Testament, are repeated in different epistles ; and occur in their respective places, without the smallest appearance of force or art. An involved argumentation, frequent obscu- rities, especially in the order and transition of thought, piety, vehemence, affection, bursts of rapture, and of unparalleled sublimity, are pro- })erties, all or most of them, discernible in every letter of the collection. But although these epis- tles bear strong marks of proceeding from the same hand, I think it is still more certain that they were originally separate pulilications. They form no continued story ; they compose no regular corres- pondence ; they comprise not the transactions of any particular period ; they carry on no connexion of argument ; they depend not upon one another ; except in one or two instances, they refl^r not to one another. I will farther undertake to say, that no study or care has been employed to produce or preserve an appearance of consistency amongst them. All which observations show that they were not i)itended by the person, whoever he was, that wrote them, to come forth or be read together : that they appeared at first separately, and have been collected since. The proper purpose of the following work is tc EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 1C9 bring together, from the Acts of the Apostles, and from the dillcrent epistles, such passages as fur- nish examples of undesigned coincidence ; but I have so far enlarged upon this plan, as to take into it some circumstances found in the epistles, which contributed strength to the conclusion, though not strictly objects of comparison. It appeared also a part of the same plan, to examine the difficulties which presented them- selves in the course of our inquiry. I do not know that the subject has been pro- posed or considered in this view before. Ludovi- cus, Capellus, Bishop Pearson, Dr. Benson, and Dr. Lardner, have each given a continued history of St. Paul's life, made up from the Acts of the Apostles and the Epistles joined together. But this, it is manifest, is a different undertaking from the present, and directed to a difierent pur- pose. If what is here ofTered shall add one thread to that complication of probabilities b}' which the Cliristian history is attested, the reader's atten- lion will be repaid by the supreme importance )f the subject ; and my design will be fully an- swered. CHAPTER II. The Epistle to the Romans. No. I. The first passage I shall produce from this epistle, and upon which a good deal of observation will be founded, is the following : — " But now I go unto Jerusalem, to minister unto the saints ; for it hath pleased them of Macedonia and Achaia, to make a certain contri- bution for the poor saints which are at Jerusa- lem."— -Rom. XV. 25, iQ. In this quotation three distinct circuinstances are stated — a contribution in Macedonia for tlie relief of the Christians of Jerusalem, a contribu- tion in Achaia for the same purpose, and an in- tended journey of St. Paul to Jerusalem. These circumstances are stated as taking place at the same tiiae, and that to be the time when the epis- tle was written. Now let us inquire whether we Ctin find these circumstances elsewhere, and whe- ther, if we do find them, they meet together in respect of date. Turn to the Acts of the Apos- tles, chap. XX. ver. 2, 3, and you read the follow- ing account : " When he had gone over those parts, (viz. Macedonia,) and luid given them much exhortation, he came into Greece, and there abode three months ; and when the Jews laid wait for him, as he was about to sail into Sy- ria, he proposed to return through Macedonia." From this passage, compared with the account of St. Paul's travels given before, and from the se- quel of the chapter, it appears that upon St. Paul's second visit to the peninsula of Greece, his inten- tion was, when he should leave the country, to proceed from Acliaia directly by sea to Syria; but that to avoid the Jews, who were lying in wait to intercept him in his route, he so far changed his purpose as to go back through Mace- donia, embark at Philippi, and pursue his voyage from thence towards Jerusalem. Here, therefore, is a journey to Jerusalem ; but not a syllable of any contribution. And as St. Paul had taken several journeys to Jerusalem before, and one also immediately aftei his^'rs^ visit into the peninsula of Greece, (Acts xviii, 21,) it cannot from hiiice be collected in which of these visits the epistle was written, or with certainty, that it was written in either. The silence of the historian, who pro- fesses to have been with St. Paul at the time, (c. XX. V. 6,) concerning any contribution, might lead us to look out for some different journey, or might induce us, perhaps, to question the con- sistency of the two records, did not 'a very acci- dental reference, in another part of the same history, ailbrd us sufficient ground to believe that this silence was omission. When St. Paul matie liis reply before Felix, to the accusations of Ter- tullus, he alleged, as was natural, that neither the errand which brought him to Jerusalem, nor his conduct whilst he remained there, merited the calumnies with which the Jews had aspersed him. " Now after many years (i. e. of absence,) I came to bring alms to v\y nation, and offer- ings ; whereupon certain Jews from Asia found me purified in the temple, neither with multitude, nor with tumult, who ought to have been heie before thee, and object, if they h;id aught against me." Acts xxiv. 17 — 19. This mention of alms and offerings certainly firings the narrative in the Acts near to an accordancy with the epistle ; yet no one, I am persuaded, will suspect that this clause was put into St. Paul's defence, eitlier to supply the omission in the preceding narrative, or with any view to such accordancy. After all, nothing is yet said or hinted, con- cerning the jjlace of the coiitrihution ; nothing concerning Macedonia and Achaia. Turn there- fore to the First Epistle to the Corinthians, chap. xvi. ver. 1 — 4, and you have St. Paul de- livering the following directions : " Concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given or- ders to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye ; upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I coir.e. And when I come, whomsoever you shall approve by yoiu' letters, them will I send to bring your liberality unto Jerusalem; and if it be meet, that I go also, they shall go with me." In this pas- sage we find a contribution carrying on at Co- rinth, the capital of Achaia, for the Christians of Jerusalem ; we fhid also a hint given of the pos- silnlity of St. Paul going i\\> to Jerusalem him- self, after he had paid his visit into Achaia : but this is spoken of rather as a possil)ility than as any settled intention ; for his first thought was, " Whomsoever you shall approve b}' your letters, them will I send to Innng your liberality to Jeru- salem :" and in the sixth verse he adds, "that ye may bring me on my journey whithersoever I go." This epistle purports to be written affer St. Paul had been at Corinth : for it refers through- out to what he had done and said amongst thorn wiiilst he was there. The expression, therefore, " when I come," must relate to a second \ isit ; against wh.ich visit tlie contribution spoken of was desired to be in readiness. But though the contribution in Achaia be ex- pressly mentioned, nothing is here said concern- ing any contribution in Macedonia. Turn, there- fore, in the third place, to the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, chap. viii. wt. 1 — 4, and you will discover the particular which remams to be sought for: "Moreover, brethren, we do you to 170 HOR-S: PAULINiE. wit of the grace of GoJ bestowed on the ch urches of Macedonia ; liow that, in a great trial of af- iliction, tlie abundance of their joy and their deep poverty ahouudcd unto the riclies of their hbera- iity: fur to tlieir power, 1 bear record, yea and lieyond their power, tliey were willing of them- selves : praying us with much entreaty, tliat we would receive the gift, and take upon us the fel- lowship of the ministering to the saints." To which add, chap. ix. ver. 2 : " 1 know the forward- ness of your mind, for which 1 boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago." In this epistle we find St. Paul ad- vanced as far as Macedonia, upon that second visit to Corinth which he promised in his former epistle ; we find also, in the passages now quoted from it, that a contribution was going on in Ma- cedonia at the same time with, or soon however following, the contribution which was made in Achaia ; but for whom the contribution was made does not appear in this epistle at all: that in- formation must be supplied from the lirst epistle. Here, therefore, at length, but fetched from three dilll'rent writings, we have obtained the several circumstances we inquired after, and which the Epistle to the Romans brings to- gether, viz. a contribution in Achiaia for the Christians of Jerusalem ; a contribution in Ma- cedonia tor the same; and an apj)roaching jour- ney of St. Paul to Jerusalem. We have these circumstances — each by some hint in the pas- sage in which it is mentioned, or by the date of the writing in which the passage occurs — fixed to a particular time; and we have that time turn- ing out upon examination to be in all the same ; namely towards the close of St. Paul's second visit to the peninsula of Greece. This is an in- stance of conlbrmity beyond the possibility, T will venture to say, of random writing to produce. I also assert, that it is in the highest degree im- probable that it should have been the ellcct of contrivance and design. The imputation of de- sign amounts to this: that the forger of the Epis- tle to the Romans inserted in it the passage upon which our observations are founded, for the pur- pose of giving colour to his forgery by the ap- pearance of conformity with other writings which were then extant. I reply, in the lirst place, that, if he did this to countenance his forgery, he did it for the purpose of an argument which would not strike one reader in ten thousand. Coincidences so circuitous as this, answer not the ends of for- gery ; are seldom, I believe, attempted by it. In the second place, I observe, that he must have had the Acts of the Apostles, and the two epis- tles to the Corinthians, before him at the time. In the Acts of the Apostles (I mean that part of the Acts which relate to this period,) he would have found the journey to Jerus.dem ; but nothing about the contribution. In the I'irst Epistle to the Corinthians he would have found a contribution going on in Achaia for the Christians of Jerusa- lem, and a distant hint of the possibility of the journey ; liut nothing concerning a contribution in Macedonia. In the Second Epistle to the Co- rinthians he would have found a contribution in Macedonia accompanying that in Achaia ; but no intimation for whom either was intended, and not a word about the journey. It was only by a close and attentive collation of the three writings, that he could have picked out the circumstances which he has imitcd in his epistle ; and by a still more nice examinatl)n, that he could have determinsc: them to belong to the same period. In the third place, I remark, what diminishes very much the suspicion of fraud, how aptly and connectedly the mention of the circumstances in question, viz. the journey to Jerusalem, and of the occasion of that journey, arises from the context, " Whensoever I take my journey into Spain, I will comctoj'ou; for I trust to see you in my journey, and to lie brought on my way thitherward by you, if first I be somewhat filled with your company. But now I go unto Jerusalem, to minister unto the saints ; for it hath, •pleased them of Macedonia and Achaia to make a certain contribution for the poor saints which are at Jerusalem. It luith pleased them verily, and their debtors they are, , lor if the Gentiles have been made partakers of their spiritual things, their duty is also to minis- ter unto them in carnal things. When therefore I have performed this, and have sealed them to this fruit, I will come by you into Spain." Is the passage in Italics like a passage foisted in for an extraneous purpose! Does it not arise from what goes before, by a junction as easy as any example of writing upon real business can fur- nish J Could any thing be more natural than that St. Paul, in writing to the Romans, should speak of the time when he hoped to visit them; should mention the business which then detained him ; and that he purposed to set forwards upon his journey to them when that business was com- pleted 1 No. II. By means of the quotation which formed the subject of the preceding number, we collect that the Epistle to the Romans was written at the conclusion of St. Paul's second visit to the penin- sula of Greece ; but this we collect, not from the epistle itself, nor from any thing declared con- cerning the time and place in any part of the epistle, but from a comparison of circumstances referred to in the epistle, with the order of e\ cuts recorded in the Acts, and with references to the same circumstances, though for quite difierent purposes, in the two epistles to the Corinthians. Now would the author of a forgery, who sought to gain credit to a spurious letter by congruitics, depending upon the time and place in which the letter was supposed to be written, have lelt that time and place to be made out, in a manner so obscure and indirect as this is '? If therefore coin- cidences of circumstances can be pointed out in this ejristle, depending upon its date, or the place where it was written, whilst that date and place are only ascertained by other circumstances, such coincidences may fairly be stated as undesigned. Under this head I adduce Chap. xvi. 31 — 23: " Timotheus, my work- fellow, and Lucius, and Jason, and Sosipater, my kinsmen, salute you. I, Tertius, who wrote this epistle, salute you in the Lord. Gains, mine host, and of the whole church, saluteth you ; and duartus, a brother." With this pass;ige I com- l)are, Acts xx. 4: " And there accompanieil him into Asia, Sopater of Berea ; and, of the The.ssa- lonians, Aristarchus and Secundus; and Gains of Derbe, and Timotheus; and, of Asia, Tychicus and Trophimus." The Epistle to the Romans, we have seen, was written just before St. Paul's departure from Greece, after his second visit to that peninsula: the persons mentioned in the EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 171 quotation from the Acts are those who accom- paiiied him in that departure. Of seven whose names are joined in the salutation of the cliurch of Rome, three, viz. Sosipater, Gaius, and Timo- thy, are proved, by this passage in the Acts, to have been with St. Paul at the time. And this is perhaps as much coincidence as could be expected, ti-om reality, though less, I am apt to think, than would have been produced by design. Four are mentioned in the Acts who are not joined in the salutation ; and it is in the nature of the case probable that there should be many attending St. Paul in Greece, who knew nothing of the con- verts at Rome, nor were known by them. In like manner, several are joined in the salutation who are not mentioned in the passage referred to in the Acts. This also was to be expected. The occasion of mentioning them in the Acts was their proceeding with St. Paul upon his journey. But we may be sure that there were many eminent Christians with St. Paul in Greece, besides those who accompanied him into Asia.* But if any one shall still contend that a forger of the epistle, with the Acts of the Apostles betbre him, and having settled this scheme of writing a letter as from St. Paul, upon his second visit into Greece, would easily think of the expedient of putting in the names of those persons who ap- peared to be with St. Paul at the time as an ob- vious recommendation of the imposture : I then repeat my observations ; first, that he would have made the catalogue more complete ; and, secondly, that with this contrivance in his thoughts, it was certainly his business, in order to avail himself of the artifice, to have stated in the body of the epis- tle, that Paul was in Greece when he wrote it, and that he was there upon his second visit. Neither of which he has done, either directly, or even so as to be discoverable by any circumstance found in the narrative delivered in the Acts. Under the same head, viz. of coincidences de- pending ujwn date, I cite from the epistle the fol- lowing salutation: "Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my helpers in Jesus Christ, who have for my liie laid down their own necks ; unto whom not only I give thanks, but also all the churches of the Gentiles." — Chap. xvi. 3. It appears, from the Acts of the Apostles, that Priscilla and Aquila had originally been inhabitants of Rome ; for we read, Acts xviii. 2, that " Paul found a certain Jew, named Aquila, lately come from Italy with * Of these Jason is one, whose presence upon this oc- casion is very naturally accounted for. Jason was an inhabitant of Thessalonica in Macedonia, and enter- tained St. Paul in his house upon his tirst visit to that country. — Acts xvii 7. St. Paul, upon this his second visit, passed through Macedonia on his way to Greece, and, from the situation of Thessalonica, most likely through that city. It appears, from various instances in the Acts, to have been the practice of many converts, to attend St. Paul from place to place. It is therefore highly probable, I mean that it is highly consistent with the account in the history, that Jason, according to that account a zealous disciple, the inhabitant of a city at no great distance from Greece, and through which, as it should seem, St. Paul had lately passed, should have accompanied St. Paul into Greece, and have been with him there at this time. Lucius is another name in the epistle. A very slight alteration would convert Aouz.o,- into Aouxa,-, Lucius into Luke, which would produce an additional coincidence: for, if Luke was the author of the history, he was with St. Paul at the time; in- asmuch as, describing the voyage which took place soon after th^> writing of this epistle, the historian uses the first parson—" H'e sailed away from Philippi." Acts xx. (j. his wife Priscilla, because that Claudius had commanded all Jews to depart from Home." They were connected, therefore, with the place to which the salutations are sent. That is one coincidence; another is the following: St. Paul became acquainted with these persons at Corinth during his first return into Greece. They accom- panied him upon his visit into Asia ; were settled for some time at Ephesus, Acts xviii. 19 — '2G, and appear to have been with St. Paul when he wrote from that place his First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1 Cor. xvi. 19. Not long after the writing of which epistle St. Paul went froui Ephesus into Macedonia, and, " after he had gone over those parts," proceeded from thence upon his second visit into Greece ; during which visit, or rather at the conclusion of it, the Epistle to the Romans, as hath been shown, was written. We have therefore the time of St. Paul's residence at Ephesus after he had written to the Corin- thians, the time taken up by his progress through Macedonia, (which is indefinite, and was probably considerable,) and his three months' abode in Greece ; we have the sum of those three periods allowed for Aquila and Priscilla going back to Rome, so as to be there when the epistle before us was written. Now what this quotation leads us to observe is, the danger of scattering names and circumstances in writings like the present, how implicated they often are with dates and places, and that nothing but truth can preserve consistency. Had the notes of time in the Epistle to the Romans fixed the writing of it to any date prior to St. Paul's first residence at Corinth, the salutation of Aquila and Priscilla would have contradicted the history, because it would have been prior to his acquaintance with these persons. If the notes of time had fixed it to any period during that residence at Corinth, during his jour- ney to Jerusalem when he first returned out of Greece, during his stay at Antioch, whither he went down to Jerusalem, or during his second progress through the Lesser Asia, upon which he proceeded from Antioch, an equal contradiction would have been incurred; because from Acts xviii. 2 — 18, 19 — 26, it appears that during all this time Aquila and Priscilla were either along with St. Paul, or were abiding at Ephesus. Lastly, had the notes of time in this epistle, which we have seen to be perfectly incidental, compared with the notes of time in the First Epistle to the Corinthians, which are equally incidental, fixed this epistle to be either contemporary with that, or prior to it, a similar contradiction would have ensued ; because, first, when the Ejustle to the Corinthians was written, Aquila and Priscilla were along with St. Paul, as they joined in the salutation of that church, 1 Cor. xvi. 19; and because, secondly, the history does not allow us to suppose, that between the time of their becoming acquainted with St. Paul and the time of St. Paul's writing to the Corinthians, Aquila and Priscilla could have gone to Rome, so as to have been saluted in an epistle to that city; and then come back to St. Paul at Ejjhesus, so as to be joined with him in saluting the church of Corinth. As it is, all things are consistent. The Epistle to the Romans is posterior even to the Second Epis- tle to the Corinthians; because it speaks of a con- tribution in Achaia being completed, which the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, chap, viii, is only soliciting. It is sufficiently therefore posterio; ^=1^ 172 nORM PAULINA. to tlip First Epistle to the Corinthians, to allow tiiar in the interval for Aquila and Priscilla's re- turn t'roiu Ephesns to Rome. Boi'ore we dismiss these two persons, we may take notice of the terms of commendation in which St. Paul describes them, and of the agreement of that enromium with the history. " My helpers in Christ Jesus, who have for my life laid down their necks ; unto whom not onlj- I give thanks, but also all the churches of the Gentiles." In the eighteenth chapter of the Acts, we are informed that Aquila and Priscilla were Jews ; that St. '^anl first met with them at Corinth; that for «o)iie time he alxxle in the same house with them; ..nat St. Paul's contention at Corinth was with the unbelieving Jews, who at first " opposed and blasj)hemed, and afterwards with one accord raised an insurrection against him ;" that Aquila and Priscilla adhered, we may conclude, to St. Paul throughout this whole contest ; for, when he left the city, they went with him, Acts xviii. 18. Un- der these circumstances, it is highly probable that they should be involved in the dangers and per- secutions which St. Paul underwent from the Jews, being themselves Jews ; and, by adhering to St. Paul in this dispute, deserters, as they would be accounted, of the Jewish cause. Farther, as thev, though Jews, were assisting to St. Paul in preaching to the Gentiles at Corinth, they had in ken a decided part in the great controversy of that day, the admission of the Gentiles to a parity of religious situation with the Jews. For this conduct alone, if there was no other reason, tliey may seem to have been entitled to " thanks from the churches of the Gentiles." They were Jews taking part with Gentiles. Yet is all this so indirectly intimated, or rather so much of it left to inference, in tlie account given in the Acts, that I do not think it probable that a forger either could or would have drawn his representation from thence; and still less probable do I think it, that, without having seen the Acts, he could, by mere accident and without truth for his guide, have delivered a representation so conformable to the circumstances there recorded. The two congruities last adduced, depended upon the time, the two following regard the place, of the epistle. 1. Chap. xvi. 23. "Erastus, the chamberlain of tlie city, saluteth you" — of what city ? We have seen, that is, we have inferred from circumstances found in the epistle, comj^ared with circumstances found in the Acts of the Apostles, and in the two epistles to the Corinthians, that our epistle was written during St. Paul's second visit to the peninsula of Greece. Again, as St. Paul, in his epistle to the church of Corinth, 1 Cor. xvi. 3, speaks of a collection going on in that city, and of his desire that it might be ready against he came thither; and as in this epistle he speaks of that collection being ready, it follows that the epistle was written either whilst he was at Corinth, or after he had been there. Thirdly, since St. Paul speaks in this epistle of his journey to Jerusalem, as about instantly to lake place; and as we learn. Acts XX. 3, that his design and attempt was to sail upon that journey immediately from Greece, properly so call'^d, i. e. as distinguished from Macedonia ; it is probable that he was in this country when he wrote the epistle, in which he speaks of himself as upon the eve of setting out. (f in Greece, he was most likely at Corinth ; for the two Epistles to the Corinthians show that the principal end of his coming into Greece, was to visit that city, where he had founded a church. Certainly we know no place in Greece in which his presence was so probable ; at least, the placing of him at Corinth satisfies every circumstance. Now that Erastus was an inhabitant of Corinth, or had some connexion with Corinth, is rendered a fair subject of presumption, by that which is ac- cidentally said of him in the Second Epistle to Timothy, chap. iii. 20. " Erastus abode at Co- rinth." St. Paul complains of his solitude, and is telling Timothy what was become of his com- panions: "Erastus abode at Corinth; but Tro- phimus have I left at Miletum sick." Erastus was one of tliosc who had attended St. Paul in his travels. Acts xix. 22: and when those travels had, upon some occasion, brouglit our apostle and his train to Corinth, Erastus staid there, for no reason so probable, as that it was his home. I allow that this coincidence, is not so precise as some others, yet I think it too clear to be pro- duced by accident : for, of the many places, which this same epistle has assigned to different persons, and the innumerable others which it might have mentioned, how came it to fix upon Corinth for Erastus 1 And, as far as it is a coincidence, it is certainly undesigned on the part oftlie author of the Epistle to the Romans : because he has not told us of what city Erastus was the chamberlain ; or, which is the same thing, from what city the epistle was written, the setting forth of which was ab- solutely necessary to the display of the coinci- dence, if any such display had been thought of: nor could the author of the Ejjistle to Timothy leave Erastus at Corinth, from any thing he might have read in the Epistle to the Romans, because Corinth is nowhere in that epistle mentioned either by name or description. 2. Chap. xvi. 1 — 3. "I commend unto j^ou Phrebe, our sister, which is a servant of the church which is at Cenchrea, that ye receive her in the Lord, as becometh saints, and that ye as- sist her in whatsoever business she hath need of you; for she hath been a succourer of many, and of myself also." Cenchrea adjoined to Corinth; St. Paul therefore, at the time of vs-riting the let- ter, was in the neighbourhood of the woman whom he thus recommends. But, farther, that St. Paul had before this been at Cenchrea itself, appears from the eighteenth chapter of the Acts ; and appears by a circumstance as incidental, and as unlike design, as any that can be imagined. " Paul after this tarried there (viz. at Cornith,) yet a good while, and then took his leave of his brethren, and sailed thence into Syria, and with him Priscilla and Aquila, having shorn his head r?i Cenchrea, for he had a vow." xviii. 18. The shaving of the head denoted the expiration of the Nazaritic vow. The historian, therefore, by the mention of this circumstance, virtually tells us that St. Paul's vow was expired before he set for- ward upon his voyage, having deterred probably his departure until he should be released from tlie restrictions under which his vow laid him. Shall we say that the author of the Acts of the Apos- tles feigned this anecdote of St. Paul at Cenchrea, because he had read in the Epistle to the Romans that " PhcEbe, aservant of the church of Cenchrea, had lieen a succourer of many, and of him alsoT' or shall we say that the author of the Epistle to the Romans, out of his own imagination, created EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 173 Phcsbe "a servant of the church at Cenchrea,'' because he read in the Acts of the Apostles that Paul had " shorn his head" in that place 1 No. III. Chap. i. 13. " Now I would not have you ig- norant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to come unto you, but was let hitherto, that I might have some fruit among you also, even as among other Gentiles.'' Again, xv. 23, '24 : " But now having no more place in these parts, and having a great desire these many years (joi^kkx^ often- times,) to come unto you, whensoever 1 take my j'ourney into Spain I will come to you ; for I trust o see you in nw journey, and to be brought on my way thitherward by you: but now I go up unto Jerusalem to minister to the saints. When, therefore, I have performed this, and have scal- ed to them this fruit, I will come by you into Spain." With these passages compare Acts six. 21. " After these things were ended, (viz. at Ephe- sus.) Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had Jassed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to crusalem; saying. After I have been there, I must also see Rome." Let it be observed that our epistle purports to have been written at the conclusion of St. Paul's second journey into Greece : that the quotation from the Acts contains words said to have been spoken by St. Paul at Ephesus, some time before he set forwards upon that journey. Now I con- tend that it is impossible that two independent fictions should have attributed to St. Paul the same purpose, especially a purpose so specific and particular as this, which was not merely a general design of visiting Rome after he had pas.sed through Macedonia and Achaia, and after he had performed a voyase from these countries to Jeru- salem. The conformity between the history and the epistle is perftct. \n the first quotation from the epistle, we find that a design of visiting Rome had long dwelt in the apostle's mind : in the quo- tation from the Acts, we find that design ex- pressed a considerable time before the epistle was written. In the history, we find that the plan which St. Paul had fomied was, to pass through Macedonia and Achaia : after that ^o go to Jeru- salem ; and when he had finished his \isit there, to sail for Rome. When the epistle was written, he had executed so much of his plan, as to have passed through Macedonia and Achaia ; and was preparing to pursue the remainder of it, b}- speed- ily setting out towards Jerusalem: and in this point of his travels he tells his friends at Rome, that, when he had completed the business which carried him to Jerusalem, he would come to them. Secondly, I say, that the very insjiection of the passages vvill satisfy us that they were not made up from one another. " Whensoever I take my journey into Spain, I will come to you ; for I trust to see you in my journev, and to he brought on my way thither- ward by you ; but now I go up to Jerusalem to minister to the saints. When, therefore. I have performeti this, and have sealed to them this fruit, 1 will come by you into Spain."' — This from the epistle. " Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had pas,sed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusalem : saying, After I have been there, I must also see Rome." — This firom the Acts. If the passage in the epistle was taken from that in the Acts, why was Spain put in 1 If the passage in the Acts was tuken from that in the epistle, whj- was Spain left out 1 If the two passages were unknown to each other, nothing can account for their conformity but truth. Whe- ther we supjx)se the history and the epistle to be alike fictitious, or the history to be true but the letter spurious, or the letter to be genuine but the history a fable, the meeting with this circum- stance in both, if neither borrowed it from the other, is upon all these suppositions equally in- exphcable. xVo. IV. The following quotation I offer for the purpose of pointing out a geographical coincidence, of so much importance, that Dr. Lardner considered it as a confirmation of the whole history of St. Paul's travels. Chap. XV. 19. ''■ So that fi-om Jerusalem, and round about unto Illyricum, I have iully preached the Gospel of Christ." I do not think that these words necessarily im- port that St. Paul had penetrated into Illvricum, or preached the Gospel in that province : but ra- ther that he had come to the confines of Illyricum, (/i^xei T» uxujisi!,) and that these confines were the external boundary of his travels. St. Paul considers Jerusalem as the centre, and is here viewing the circumference to which his travels extended. The Ibrm of expression in the original conveys this idea — x-a liemrxKv.ii x«i xuxx.™ fixf Ts u>.ue»K8. Illyricum was the part of this cir- cle which he mentions in an ejiistle to the Ro- mans, because it lay in a direction from Jerusa- lem towards that city, and pointed out to the Ro- man readers the nearest place to them, to which his travels from Jerusalem had brought him. The name of Illyricum nowhere occurs in the Acts of the Apostles ; no suspicion, therefore can be received that the mention of it was borrowed from thence. Yet I think it appears, from these same Acts, that St. Paul, before the time when he wrote his Epistle to the Romans, had reached the confines of Illyricum ; or, however, that he might have done so, in perfect consi.stency with the ac- count there delivered. Illyricum adjoins upon ^Macedonia ; measuring from Jerusalem towards Rome, it lies close behind it. If, therefore, St. Paul traversed the whole country of Alacedonia, the route would necessarily bring him to the con- fines of Illyricum, and these confines would be described as the extremity of his journey. Now the account of St. Pauls second visit to the peninsula of Greece, is contained in these words: "He departed for to go into Macedonia; and when he had gone over these parts, and had given them much exhortation, he came into Greece." Acts xx. 2. This account allows, or rather leads us to suppose, that St. Paul, in going over Macedonia (Ji;>.6'jiv t» nig-^, sxsii-x,) had passed so far to the west, as to come into those parts of the country which were contiguous to Illyricum, if he did not enter into Illyricum itself. The his- tory, therefore, and the epistle so far agree, and the agreement is much strengthened by a coin- cidence oi time. At the time the epistle was writ- ten, St. Paul might say, in conformity with the history, that he had " come into Illyricum :" much before that time, he could not have said so ; for, upon liis former journey to Macedonia, his route 15* 174 HOR^ PAULINiE. IS laiiJ JowTi from the time of his landing at Phi- li|ipi to his sailing from Corinth. We trace him from Philippi to Amphipolis and ApoUonia ; Irom thence to 'Pliessalonica ; I'rom Thessalonica to Berea; from Berea to Athens; and from Athens to Corinth : which tract conlines him to the east- ern side of the peninsula, and therefore keeps him all the while at a consideraiile distance from Illy- ricuin. Upon his second visit to Macedonia, the history, we have seen, leaves him at liberty. It must have been, therefore, upon that second visit, il' at all, that he approached illyricum ; and this visit, we know, almost immediately preceded the writing of the epistle. It was natural that the apostle should refer to a journey wliicli was fresh in his thoughts. No. V. Chap. XV. 30. " Now I heseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that ye strive together with me in your prayers to God for me, that I may he de- livered from them that do not believe, in Judaga." — With this compare Acts xx. 22, 23 ; " And now, behold, I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall liefall me there, save that the Holy Ghost witnes- scth in every city, saying that bonds and afflic- tions abide me." Let it be remarked, that it is the same journey to Jerusalem which is spoken of in these two pas- sages ; that the epistle was written immediately before St. Paul set forwards upon this journey from Achaia ; that the words in the Acts were uttered by him when he had proceeded in that journey as far as Miletus, in Lesser Asia. This being remembered, I observe that the two pas- sages, without any resemblance between them that could induce us to suspect that they were borrowed from one another, represent the state of St. Paul's mind, with respect to the event of the journey, in terms of substantial agreement. They both express his sense of danger in the ap- proaching visit to Jerusalem : they both express the doubt which dwelt upon his thoughts con- cerning what might there befall him. When, in his epistle, he entreats the Roman Christians, " for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love of the Sjiirit, to strive together with him in their prayers to God for him, that he might be delivered from them which do not believe, in Judaea," he sufficiently confesses his fears. In the Acts of the A]Jostlcs we see in him the same apprehensions, and the same uncertainty : " I go bound in the spirit to Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall befall me there." The only difference is, that in the history his thoughts are more inclined to des])ondency than in the ejnstle. In the epis- tle he retains his hope "that he should come unto them with joy by the will of God:" in the history, his mind yields to the reflection, " that the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city that bonds and afflictions awaited him." Now that liis fears should be greater, and his hopes less, in this stage of his journey than when he wrote his epis- tle, that is, when he first set out upon it, is no other alteration than might well be expected ; since those prophetic intimations to which he re- fers, when he says, " the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city," had probably been received by him in the course of his journey, and were probably similar to what we know he received in the re- maining part of it at Tyre, xxi. 4 ; and aflerwards from Agabus at Ca^sarea, xxi. II. No. VI. There is another strong remark arising from the same passage in the epistle ; to make which understood, it will be necessary to state the pas- sage over again, and somewhat more at length. " I beseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that ye stri\e together with me in your prayers to God for me, that I may be delivered from them that do not believe, in Judiea — that I may come unto vou with joy by the will of God, and may with you be refreshed." I desire the reader to call to mind that part of St. Paul's history which took place after his ar- rival at Jerusalem, and which employs the seven last chapters of the Acts; and I build upon it this observation — that supposing the Epistle to the Romans to have been a forgery, and the author of the forgery to have had the Acts of the Apos- tles before him, and to have there seen that St. Paul, in fact, " was 7iot delivered from the un- believing Jews," but on the contrary, that he was taken into custody at Jerusalem, and brought to Rome a prisoner — it is next to impossible that he should have made St. Paul express expectations so contrary to what he saw had been the event ; and utter prayers, with apparent hopes of success, which he must have known were frustrated in the issue. This single consideration convinces me, that no concert or confederacy whatever subsisted be- tween the Epistle and the Acts of the Apostles ; and that whatever coincidences have been or can be pointed out between them, are unsophisticated, and are the result of truth and reality. It also convinces me that the epistle was writ- ten not only in St. Paul's life-time, but before he arrived at Jerusalem ; for the important events re- lating to him which took place after his arrival at that city, must have been known to the Chris- tian community soon after they happened: they form the most public part of his history. But had they been known to the author of the ejns- tle — in other words, had they then taken place — the passage which we have quoted from the epis- tle would not have been found there. No. VII. I now proceed to state the conformity which exists between the argument of this epistle and the history of its reputed author. It is enough for this purpose to observe, that the object of the epistle, that is, of the argumentative part of it, was to place the Gentile convert upon a parity of situation with the Jewish, in respect of his re- ligious condition, and his rank in the divine fa- vour. The epistle supports this point by a variety of arguments ; such as, that no man of either de- scription was justified by the works of the law — for this plain reason, that no man had performed them ; that it became therefore necessary to ap- point another medium or condition of justification, in which new medium the Jewish peculiarity was merged and lost; that Abraham's own justifica- tion was anterior to the law, and independent of it : that the Jewish converts were to consider the law as now dead, and themselves as married to another; that what the law in truth could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, God had EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 175 done by sending his Son ; that God had rejected the unbelienng Jews, and had substituted in their place a society of believers in Christ, collected in- differently from Jews and Gentiles. Soon after the writing of this epistle, St. Paul, agreeably to the intention intimated in the epistle itself, took liis journey to Jerusalem. The day after he ar- rived there, he was introduced to the church. What passed at this interview is thus related, Acts xxi. I'J : " When he had saluted them, he de- clared particularly what things God had wrought fmong the Gentiles by his ministry : and when tliey heard it, they glorified the Lord: and said unto him, thou seest, brother, how many thou- siuids of Jews there are which believe ; and they are all zealous of the law ; and they are informed of thee, that thou teachest all the Jews which are aaiong the Gentiles to forsake Moses, saying, that thev ought not to circumcise their children, nei- tlicr to walk after the customs." St. Paul dis- claimed the charge: but there must have been something to have led to it. Now it is only to suj)pose that St. Paul openly professed the prin- ciples which the epistle contains ; that, in the course of his ministry, he had uttered the senti- ments which he is here made to write : and the matter is accounted for. Concerning the accusa- tion which public rumour had brought against him to Jenisalem, I will not say that it was just ; but I will say, that if he was the author of the epistle before us, and if his preaching was con- sistent with his writing, it was extremely natural : for though it be not a necessary, surely it is an easy inference, that if the Gentile convert, who did not observe the law of Moses, held as advan- tageous a situation in his religious interests as the Jewish convert who did, there could be no strong reason for observing that law at all. The re- monstrance therefore of the church of Jerusalem, and the report which occasioned it, were founded in no very violent misconstruction of the apostle's doctrine. His reception at Jerusalem was exactly wlint I should have expected the author of this e-iistle to have met with. I am entitled therefore to argue, that a separate narrative of eftects ex- pi'rienced by St. Paul, similar to what a person mi'.rht be expected to experience who held the doctrines advanced in this epistle, forms a proof that he did hold these doctrines; and that the epi-^tle hearing his name, in which such doctrines are laid down, actually proceeded from him. No. VIII. This number is supplemental to the former. I propose to point out in it two particulars in the conduct of the argument, perfectly adapted to the historical circumstances under which the epistle was written ; which yet are free from all ap- jiearance of contrivance, and which it would not, I think, have entered into the mind of a sophist to contrive. I. The Epistle to the Galatians relates to the same general question as the Epistle to the Ro- mans. vSt. Paul had founded the church of Ga- latia ; at Rome, he had never been. Observe now a diflerence in his manner of treating of the same subject, corresponding with this diB'erence in his situation. In the Epistle to the Galatians he puts the point in a great measure upon au- tho'-ify : "I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him that called you into the grace of Christ, unto another Gospel." — Gal. i. 6. " I certify you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached of me, is not after man ; for I neither received it of man, neither was I taught it but by the revelation of Jesus Christ." — ch. i. 11, 12. "I am afraid, lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain." — iv. 11, 12. " I desire to be present with you now, for I stand in doubt of you." — iv. 20. "Behold. I, Paul, say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing." — v. 2. " This persuasion cometh not of him that called you." — V. 8. This is the style in which he accosts the Galatians. In the epistle to the converts of Rome, where his authority was not established, noi his person known, he puts the same points entirely upon ars:ument. The perusal of the epistle will ])rove this to the satisfaction of every reader : and, as the observation relates to the whole contents of the epistle, I forbear adducing separate extracts. I repeat, therefore, that we have pointed out a .lis- tinction in the two epistles, suited to the relation in which the author stood to his different corres- pondents. Another adaptation, and somewhat of the same kind, is the following : 2. The Jews, we know, were very numerous at Rome, and probably formed a princijial part amongst the new converts; so much so, that the Christians seem to have been known at Rome rather as a denomination of Jews, than as any thing else. In an epistle consequently to the Ro- man believers, the point to be endeavoured after by St. Paul was to reconcile the Jewish converts to the opinion, that the Gentiles were admitted by God to a parity of religious situation with them- selves, and that without their being bound by the law of Moses. The Gentile converts would pro- bably accede to this opinion very readily. In this epistle, therefore, though directed to the Roman church in general, it is in truth a Jew writing to Jews. Accordingly you will take notice, that as often as his argmnent leads him to say any thing derogatory' from the Jewish institution, he con- stantly follows it by a softening clause. Having (ii. 28, 29.) pronounced, not much perhaps to the satisfaction of the native Jews, " that he is not a Jew which is one outwardly, neither that circum- cision which is outward in the flesh :" he adds immediately, "What advantage then hath the Jew, or what profit is there in circumcision ? Much every xray." Having, in the third chapter, ver. 28, brought his argument to this formal con- clusion, " that a man is justified by faith without the deeds of the law," he presently subjoins, ver. 31, " Do we then make void the law through faith 1 God forbid! Yea, we establish the /aw." In the seventh chapter, when in the sixth verse he had advanced the bold assertion, " that now we are delivered from the law, that being dead wherein we were held;" in the very next verse he comes in with this healing question, " What shall we say, then 1 Is the law sin 1 God forbid ! Nay, I had not known sin but by the law. Having in the following words insinuated, or rather more than insinuated, the inefiicacy of the Jewish law, viii. 3, " for what the law could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh :" after a digression indeed, but that sort of a digression which he could never resist, a rapturous contemplation of his Christian hope, and which occupies the latter part of this chapter ; we find liim in the 176 HOR^ PAULINiE. next, as if sensible that he had said somethinir which would give offence, returning to his Jewish brethren in terms of the warmest affection and re- spect : " I sa}' the truth in Christ Jesus ; I he not ; m}' conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and con- tinual sorrow in my heart ; for I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ, for my bre- thren, my kinsmen according to the Jle.sh, who are Israelites, to whom pertairteth the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the giving of the laic, and the service of God, and the pro- mises ; whose are the fathers ; and of whom, as concerning the fesh, Christ came." When, in the thirty-first and thirty-second verses of this ninth chapter, he represented to the Jews the er- ror of even the best of their nation, by telling them that " Israel, which followed after the law of righteousness, had not attained to the law of righteousness, because they sought it not by faith, but as it were by the works of the law, for they stumbled at that stumbling stone," he takes care to annex to this declaration these conciliating expressions: "Brethren, my hearfs desire and prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be saved ; for I bear them record that they have a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge." Lastly, having ch. x. 20, 21, by the application of a pas- sage in Isaiah, insinuated the most ungrateful of a!! propositions to a Jewish ear, the rejection of the Jewish nation, as God's peculiar people ; he hastens, as it were, to qualify the intelhgence of their fall by this interesting expostulation: " I say, then, hath God cast away his people, (i. e. wholly and entirely']") God forbid! for I also am an Is- raelite, of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin. God hath not cast away his people, which he foreknetv ■" and follows this thought, throughout the whole of the eleventh chapter, in a series of reflections calculated to soothe the Jew- ish converts, as v/ell as to procure from their Gen- tile brethren respect to the Jewish institution. Now all this is perfectly natural. In a real St. Paul, writing to real converts, it is what an.xiety to bring them over to his persuasion would na- turally produce; but there is an earnestness and a personality, if I may so call it, in the manner, which a cold forgery, I apprehend, would neither have conceived nor supported. CHAPTER III. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. No. I. Before we proceed to compare this epistle with the history, or with any other epistle, we will employ one number in stating certain re- marks applicable to our argument, which arise from a perusal of the epistle itself By an expression in the first verse of the seventh chapter, " now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto me," it appears, that this letter to the Corinthians was written by St. Paul in answer to one which he had received from them ; and that the seventh, and some of the fol- lowing chapters, are taken up in resolving certain doubts, and regulating certain points of order, joncerning which the Corinthians had in their letter consulted him. This alone is a circum- stance considerably in favour of the authenticity of the epistle ; for it must have been a far-fetched contrivance in a forgery, first to have feigned the receipt of a letter from the Church of Coiinth, which letter does not appear; and then to have drawn uj) a fictitious answer to it, relative to a great variety of doubts and inquiries, purely economical and domestic; and which, though likely enough to have occurred to an infant so- ciety, in a situation and under an institution so novel as that of a Christian Church then was, it must have very much exercised the author's in- vention, and could have answered no imaginable purpose of forgery, to introduce the mention of at all. Particulars of the kind we refer to, are such as the following : the rule of duty and prudence relative to entering into marriage, as applicable to virgins, to widows ; the case of husbands married to unconverted wives ; of wives having uncon- verted husbands ; that case where the unconverted party chooses to separate, where he cljooses to continue (he union; the effect which their conver- sion produced upon their prior state, of circumci- sion, of slavery ; the eating of things ofiered to idols, as it was in itself, as others were afiected by it ; the joining in idolatrous sacrifices ; the deco- rum to he observed in their religious assemblies, the order of speaking, the silence of women, the covering or uncovering of the head, as it became men, as it became women. These subjects, with their several subdivisions, are so particular, minute, and numerous, that though they be exactly agree- alile to the circumstances of the persons to whom the letter was written, nothing, I believe, but the existence and reality of those circumstances could have suggested to the writer's thoughts. But this is not the only nor the principal observa- tion upon the correspondence between the church of Corinth and their apostle, which I wish to point out. It appears, I think, in this correspond- ence, that although the Corinthians had written to St. Paul, requesting his answer and his direc- tions in the several points above enumerated, yet that they had not said one syllable about tho enormities and disorders which had crept in amongst them, and in the blame of which they all shared; but that St. Paul's information concern- ing the irregularities then prevailing at Corinth had come round to him from other quarters. The quarrels and disputes excited by their contentious adherence to their different teachers, and by their placing of them in competition with one another, were not mentioned in their letter, but communi- cated to St. Paul by more private intelligence: " It hath been declared unto me, my brethren, by them which are of the house of Chloe, that there are contentions among you. Now this [ say, that every one of you saith, I am of Paul, and I of Apollos, and I of Cejihas, and I of Christ." (i. 11, 12.) The incestuous marriage "of a man with his father's wife," which St. Paul reprehends with so much severity in the fifth chapter of our epistle, and which was not the crime of an indi- vidual only, but a crime in which the whole church, by tolerating and conniving at it, had rendered themselves partakers, did not come to St, Paul's knowledge by the letter, but by a rumour which had reached his ears : "It is reported commonly that there is fornication among you, and .such fornication as is not so much as named among the Gentiles, that one should have liis father's wife ; and ye are pufled up, and have not FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 177 ratlier mourned that he that hath done this deed might be taken away from among you." (v. 1, 2.) Their going to law before the judicature of the country, ratlier than arbitrate and adjust their disputes among themselves, which St. Paul ani- madverts upon with his usual plainness, was not intimated to him in the letter, because he tells them his opinion of this conduct before he comes to the contents of the letter. , Their htigiousness is cen- sured by St. Paul in the sixth chapter of his epis- tle, and it is only at the beginning of the seventh chapter that he proceeds upon the articles which he found in their letter; and he proceeds upon them with this preface : " Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto me," (vii. 1,) wliich introduction he would not have used if he had been already discussing any of the sulyects con- cerning which they had written. Their irregu- larities in celebrating the Lord's supper, and the utter perversion of the institution which ensued, were not ui the letter, as is evident from the terms in which St. Paul mentions the notice he had re- ceived of it : " Now in tliis that I declare unto you, I praise you not, that ye come together not for the better, but for the worse ; for first of all, when ye come together in the church, / hear that there be divisions among you, and / partly believe it.'" Now that the Corinthians should, in their own letter, exhibit the fair side of their conduct to the apostle, and conceal from him the faults of their behaviour, was extremely natural, and extremely probable : but it was a distinctioii which would not, I think, have easily occurred to the author of a forgery ; and much less likely is it, that it should have entered into his thoughts to make the dis- tinction appear in the way in which it does ap- pear, viz : not by the original letter, not by any express observation upon it in the answer, but distantly by marks perceivable in the manner, or in the order, in wliich St. Paul takes notice of their faults. No. II. Our epistle purports to have been written after St. Paul had already been at Corinth ; " I, bre- thren, when I came unto you, came not with excel- lency of speech or of wisdom," (ii. 1,) and in many other places to the same effect. It purports also to have been written upon the eve of another visit to that church : " I will come to you shortly, if the Lord will," (iv. 19 ;) and again, " I will come to you when I shall pass through Macedonia," (xvi. 5.) Now the history relates that St. Paul did in tact visit Corinth twice : once as recorded at length in the eighteenth, and a second time as mentioned briefly in the twentieth chapter of the Acts. The same history also informs us, (Acts XX. 1,) that it was from Ephesus St. Paul pro- ceeded upon his second journey into Greece. — Therefore, as the epistle purports to have been written a short time preceding that journey ; and as St. Paul, the history tells us, had resided more than two years at Ephesus, before he set out upon it, it follows that it must have been from Ephesus, to be consistent with the history, that the epistle was written ; and every note of place in the epis- tle agrees with this supposition. " If, after the manner of men, I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not 1" (xv. 32.) I allow that the apostle might say this, wnerever he was ; but it was more natural and more to the purpose to say it, if he was at Ephesus at the time, and in the midst of those conflicts to which the expression relates. " The churches of Asia salute you," (xvi. 19.) Asia, throughout the Acts of the Apostles and the epistles of St. Paul, does not mean the whole of Asia Minor or Anatolia, nftr even the whole of the proconsular Asia, but a district hi the ante- rior part of that comitry, called Lydian Asia, di- vided from the rest, much as Portugal is from Spain, and of wliich district Ephesus was the capital. " Aquila and Priscilla salute you," (xvi. 19.) Aquila and Priscilla were at Ephesus during the period within which tliis epistle was written. Acts (xviii. 18. 26.) "I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost," (xvi. 8.) This, I apprehend, is in terms almost asserting that he was at Ephesus at the time of writing the epistle. — " A great and effectual door is opened unto me," (xvi. 9.) How well this declaration corresponded with the state of things at Ephesus, and the pro- gress of the Gospel in these parts, we learn from the reflection with which the historian concludes the account of certain transactions which passed there: " So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed," (Acts xix. 20 ;) as well as from the complaint of Demetrius, " that not only at Ephe- sus, but also throughout all Asia, this Paul hath persuaded, and turned away much people," (xix. 26.) " And there are many adversaries," says the epistle, (xvi. 9.) Look into the liistory of tliis period : " When divers were hui Jtned and believed not, but spake evil of that way before thf ■ multitude, he departed from them, and separattj- 1 the disciples." The conformity, therefore, upc n tliis head of comparison, is circumstantial ai id perfect. If any one think that this is a confer m- ity so obvious, that any forger of tolerable caut ion and sagacity would have taken care to preserv< ; it, I must desire such a one to read the epistk for himself; and, when he has done so, to dci dare whether he has discovered one mark of aTt or design ; whether the notes of time and plac e ap- pear to Irim to be inserted with any referen ce to each other, with any view of their being com pared with each other, or for the purpose of establ ishijig a visible agreement with the history, in reisyect of them. No. III. Chap. iv. 17 — 19. " For this cause I hc;ve sent unto you Timotheus, who is my beloved son and faithful in the Lord, who shall bring you into re- membrance of my ways which be in Christ, as I teach every where in every church. Now some are puffed up, as though I woidd not come unto you; but I will come unto you shortly, if the Lord will." With this I compare Acts xix. 21, 92 : " After these things were ended, Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had passed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusalem; saying, After I have been there, I must also see Rome; so he sent unto Macedonia two of them that ministered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus." Though it be not said, it appears, I think, with ; sufficient certainty, I mean from the history, in- dependently of the epistle, that Timothy was sent upon this occasion into Achaia, of which Corinth was the capital city, as well as into Macedonia : for the sending of Timothy and Erastus is, in the passage where it is mentioned, plainly connected with St. Paul's own journey: he sent them bejbrcr 178 HOR^ PAULINA. him. As he therefore purposed to go into Achaia himself, it is highly probable that they were to go thither also. Nevertheless, they are said only to have been sent into Macedonia, because Mace- donia was in truth the country to which they went immediately from Ephesus ; being directed, as we suppose, to proceed afterwards from thence into Achaia. If this be so, the narrative agrees with the epistle ; and the agreement is attended with very little appearance of design. One thing at least concerning it is certain : that if this pas- sage of St. Paul's history had been taken from his letter, it would have sent Timothy to Corinth by name, or expressly however into Achaia. But there is another circumstance in these two passages much less obvious, in which an agree- ment holds without any room for suspicion that it was produced by design. We have observed that the sending of Timothy into the peninsula of Greece was connected in the narrative with St. Paul's own journey thither ; it is stated as the eliect of the same resolution. Paul purposed to go into Macedonia; "so he sent two of them that ministered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus." Now in the epistle also you remark, that, when the apostle mentions his having sent Timothy unto them, in the very next sentence he speaks of his own visit ; " for this cause have I sent unto you Timotheus who is my beloved son, &c. Now some are puffed up, as though 1 would not come to you; but I will come to you shortly, if God will." Timothy's journey, we see, is mentioned in the history and in the epistle, in close connexion with St. Paul's own. Here is the same order of thought and intention ; yet conveyed under such diversity of circumstance and expression, and the mention of them in the epistle so allied to the oc- casion which introduces it, viz. the insinuation of his adversaries that he would come to Corinth no n'ore, that I am persua)/4«To;. and he drove them away from the judgment-seat; and they all," viz. the crowds of Jews whom the judge had bid begone, " took Sosthenes and beat him before the judgment- seat." It is certain that, as the whole body of the peo- ple were Greeks, the application of all to them wag unusual and hard. If I was describing an insurrection at Paris, I might say all the Jews, all the Protestants, or all the Enslish acted so and so ; but I should scarcely say all the French, when the whole mass of the com- munity were of that description. As what is here of- fered is founded upon a various reading, and that in opposition to the greater part of the manuscripts that are extant I have not given it a place in tlie text. SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIAI^S. 181 Why should they suppose that he would not come ] Turn to the first chapter of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, and you will find that he had already disappointed them : " I was minded to come unto you before, that you might have a second benefit; and to pass by you into Mace- donia, and to come again out of Macedonia unto you, and of you to be brought on my way toward Judea. When I, therefore, was thus minded did I use lightness ? Or the things that I purpose do I purpose according to the fiesh, that with me there should be yea, yea, and nay, nay ] But, as God is true, our word toward you was not yea and nay." It appears from this quotation, that he had not only intended, but that he had promised them a visit before ; for, otherwise, why should he apo- \o'fi7.e for the change of his purpose, or express so much anxiety lest this change should be imputed to any culpable fickleness in his temper; and lest he should thereby seem to them, as one whose word was not, in any sort, to he depended upon 1 Besides which, the terms made use of, plainly re- fer to a promise, " Our word toward you was not yea and nay." St. Paul, therefore, had signified an intention which he had not been able to exe- cute ; and this seeming breach of his word, and tbe delay of his visit, had, with some who were evil affected towards him, given birth to a sugges- tion that he would come no more to Corinth. No. XII. Chap. V. 7, 8. " For even Christ, our passover, is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth." Dr. Benson tells us, that from this passage, compared with chapter xvi. 8, it has been con- jectured that this epistle was written about the time of the Jewish passover; and to me the con- jecture apjiears to be very well founded. The passage to which Dr. Benson refers us is this: " I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost." With this passage he ought to have joined another in the sam» 'ontext: "And it may be that I will abide, yes>, and winter with j'ou;" for from the two passages laid together, it follows that the ejiistle wa« written before Pentecost, yet after winter; which necessarily determines the date to the part of the year within wliich the passover falls. It was written before Pentecost, because he says, " I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost." It was written after winter, because he tells them, " It mav be that I may abide, yea, and winter with you." The winter which the apostle pur- posed to pass at Corinth was undoubtedly the winter next ensuing to the date of the epistle: yet it was a winter suljsequent to the ensuing Pen- tecost, because he did not intend to set forwards upon his journey till after that feast. The words, " let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, nei- ther with the leavcnof malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth," look very like words suggested by the season ; at least they have, upon that supposition, a force and significancy which do not belong to them upon any other ; ami it is not a little remarkable, that the hints casually dropped in the epistle concern- ing particular parts of the year, should coincide with this supposition. CHAPTER IV. Second Epistle to the Corinthian. No.I. I wiLi, not say that it is impossible, having seen the First Epistle to the Corinthians, to construct a second with ostensible allusions to the first; or that it is impossible that both should be fabricated, so as to carry on an order and continuation of story, by successive references to the same events. But I saj^ that this, in cither case, must be the effect of craft and design Whereas, whoever examines the allusions to the former epistle which he finds in this, whilst he will acknowledge them to l)e such as would rise spontaneously to the hand of the writer, from the very subject of the corres- pondence, and the situation of the corresponding parties, supposing these to be real, will see no particle of reason to suspect, either that the clauses containing these allusions were insertioyis for the purpose, or that the several transactions of the Co- rinthian church were feigned, in order to form a train of narrative, or to support the appearance of connexion between the two epistles. 1. In the First Epistle, St. Paul announces his intention of passing through Macedonia, in his way to Corinth : " I will come to you when I shall pass through Macedonia." In the Second Epistle, we find him arrived in Macedonia, and about to pursue his journey to Corinth. But observe the manner in which this is made to appear: " I know the forwardness of your mind, for which I boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago, and your zeal hath provoked very many : yet have I sent the brethren, lest our boasting of you should be in vain in this hehall'; that, as I said, ye may be ready ; lest, hapi^-, if they of INlacedonia come with me, and find you unprepared, we (that we say not you) be asham- ed in this same confident boasting," chap. ix. 2, 3, 4. St. Paul's being in Macedonia at the time of writing the epistle, is, in this passage, in- ferred only from his saying that he had boasted to the Macedonians of the alacrity of his Achaiau converts; and the fear which he expresses, lest, if any of the Macedonian Christians should come with him unto Achaia, they should find his boast- ing unwarranted by the event. The business of the contribution is the sole cause of mentioning Macedonia at all. Will it be insinuated that this passage was framed merely to state that St. Paul was now in Macedonia ; and, by that statement, to produce an apparent agreement with the purpose of visiting Macedonia, notified in the First Epistle"? Or will it be thought probable, that, if a sophist had meant to place St. Paul in Macedonia, for the sake of giving countenance to his forgery, he would have done it in so oblique a manner as through the medium of a contribution] The same thing may be observed of another text in the epis- tle, in which the name of Macedonia occurs: " Furthermore, when I came to Troas to preach the Gospel, and a door was ojiened unto me of the Lord, 1 had no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus, my brotlier; but taking m}^ leave of them, I went from thence into Macedonia." I mean, that it may he observed of this passage also, that there is a reason for mentioning Macedoma 16 [=r-.: 182 HOR^ PAULINiE. entirely distinct from the purpose of showing St. Paul to be there. Indeed, if the passage before us show that point at all, it shows it so obscurely, that Grotius, though he did not doubt that Paul was now in Macedonia, refers this text to a dif- ferent journey. Is this the hand of a forger, me- ditating to establish a false conformity? The text, I however, in whicli it is most strongly implied that St. Paul wrote the present epistle from Mace- donia, is found in the fourth, fifth, and sixth verses ol' the seventh chapter : " I am filled with comfort, I am exceeding joylul in all our tribulation ; for, vviien we were come into Macedonia, our flesh had no rest ; without were fightings, within were fears: nevertheless, God, that comforteth those that are cast down, comforted us by the coming of Titus." Yet even here, I think, no one will contend, that St. Paul's coming to Macedonia, or being in Ma- cedonia, was the principal thing intended to be told ; or that the telling of it, indeed, was any part of the intention with which the text was wntten; or that the mention even of the name of Mace- donia was not purely mcidental, in the description of those tumultuous sorrows with which the writer's mind hath been lately agitated, and from which he was relieved by the coming of Titus. The first five verses of the eighth chapter, which commend the liberality of the Macedonian churches, do not, in my opinion, by themselves, prove St. Paul to have been at Macedonia at the tiiue of writing the epistle. 2. In the t'irst Epistle, St. Paul denounces a severe censure against an incestuous marriage, which had taken place amongst the Corinthian converts, with the connivance, not to say with the approbation, of the church ; and enjoins the church to purge itself of this scandal, by expelling the of- fender from its society: "It is reported conunonly, that there is fornication among you, and such for- nication, as is not so much as named amongst the Gentiles, that one should have his father's wife ; and ye are pufled up, and have not rather mourn- ed, that he that hath done this deed might be taken away from among you; for I, verily, as absent in body, but present in spirit, have judged already, as though I were present, concerning him that hath done this deed: in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, when ye are gathered together, and my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, to deliver such a one unto Satan for the destruc- tion of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord," chap. v. 1 — 5. In the Second Epistle, we find this sentence executed, and the oflender to be so affected with the punish- ment, that St. Paul now intercedes for his resto- ration ; " Sufficient to such a man is tins punish- ment, which was inflicted of many ; so that, con- trariwise, ye ought rather to forgive him and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with over-much sorrow ; wherefore, I beseech you that ye would confirm your love towards him," 2 Cor. chap. ii. 7, 8. Is this whole business feigned for the sake of carrying on a continuation of story through the two epistles'! i The church also, no less than the offender, was brought by St. Paul's reproof to a deep sense of the impropriety of their conduct. Their penitence, and their respect to his authority, were, as might be expected, exceeding crrateful t^ St. Paul : " We were comforted not by Titus' coming only, but by the consolation wherewith he was comfoited in you, when he told us your earnest desire, your mourniiig, your fervent mind towards me, so thai I rejoiced the more; for, though 1 made you sorry with a letter, I do not repent, though I did repent; for I perceive that the same epistle made you sorry, though it were but for a season. IN'ow I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sor- rowed to repentance ; for ye were made sorry, af- ter a godly manner, that ye might receive damage by us in nothing," chap. vii. 7 — 9. That this passage is to be referred to the incestuous mar- riage, is proved by the twelfth verse of the same chapter: " Though 1 wrote unto you, I did it not for his cause that had done the wrong, nor for his cause that suffered wrong ; but that our care for you, in the sight of God, might appear unto you." There were, it is true, various topics of blame noticed in the First Epistle ; but there was none, except this of the incestuous marriage, which could be called a transaction between pri- vate parties, or of whicli it could be said that one particular person had done the " wrong," and an- other particular person had " sufi'ercd it." Could all this be without foundation ? or could it be put into the Second Epistle, merely to furnish an ob- scure sequel to what had been said about an in- cestuous marriage in the first 1 3. In the sixteenth chapter of the First Epistle, a collection for the saints is recommended to be set forwards at Corinth: "Now, concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, so do ye." chap. xvi. 1. In the ninth chapter of the Second Epistle, such a collection is spoken of, as in readiness to be re- ceived : " As touching the ministering to the saints, it is superfluous for me to write to you, for I know the forwardness of your mind, for which I boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago, and your zeal hath pro\'oked very many," chap. ix. I, 2. This is such a con- tinuation of the transaction as might be expect- ed ; or, possibly it will be said, as might easily be counterfeited ; but there is a circumstance of nicety in the agreement between the two epistles, which, I am convinced, the author of a forgery would not have hit upon, or which, if he had hit upon it, he would have set forth with more clearness. The Second Epistle speaks of the Corinthians as hav- ing begun this eleemosynary business a year be- fore : " This is expedient for you who have begun before, not only to do, but also to be forward a year ago," chap. viii. x. " I boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago," chap. ix. 2. From the.se texts it is evident, that something had been done in the business a year before. It appears, however, from other texts in the epistle, that the contribution was not yet collected or paid ; for brethren were sent from St. Paul to Corinth, "to make up their boun- ty," chap. ix. 5. They are urged to "perform the doing of it," chap. viii. II. "And every man was exhorted to give as he purposed in his heart," chap. ix. 7. The contribution, there- fore, as represented in our present epistle, was in readiness, yet not received from the contributors ; was begun, was forward long before, yet not hitherto collected. Now this representation agrees with one, and only with one, supposition, namely, that every man had laid by in store, had already provided the fund, from which he was afterwards tocontribute— the very case which the First Epis- tle authorises us to suppose to have existed ; for in that epistle St. Paul had charged the Corinthians, J SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORENTHIANS. 183 " upon the first day of the week, every one of them, to lay Liy in store as God had prospered him,' * 1 Cor. chap. xvi. 2. No. II. In comparing the Second Epistle to the Corin- thians with the Acts of the Apostles, we are soon brouglit to observe, not only tliat there exists no vestige either of the epistle having been taken from the history, or the history from the epistle ; but also that there appears in the contents of the epistle positive evidence, that neither was borrowed from the other. Titus, who bears a conspicuous part in the epistle, is not mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles at all. St. Paul's sufferings enu- merated, chap. xi. 24. "of the Jews five times re- ceived I forty stripes save one ; thrice was I beaten with rods ; once was I stoned ; thrice I suffered shipwreck ; a night and a day I have been in the deep," cannot be made out from his history as de- livered in the Acts ; nor would tliis account have been given by a writer, who either drew his know- ledge of St. Paul from that history, or who was careful to preser\e a conformity with it. The account in the epistle of St. Paul's escape from Damascus, though agreeing in the main fact with the account of the same transaction in the Acts, is related with such difference of circumstance, as renders it utterly improbable that one should be derived from the other. The two accounts, placed b\' the side of each other, stand as follows : * The following observations will satisfy us concern- ine the purity of our apostle's conduct in the suspicious busine.ss of a pf'cuniaiy contribution. 1. He disclaims the having received any inspired authiuity for the directions which he is giving; '■ I speak not by commandment, but by occasion of the for- wardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of your love," 2 Cor. chap. viii. 8. Who, that had a sinister p irpiise to answer by the recommending of subscrip- tions, would thus distinguish, and thus lower the credit of his own recommendation ? 2. .Although he asserts the general right of Christian ministers to a maintenance from their ministry, yet he protests against the making use of this right in his own person : '■ Even so hath the Lord ordained, that they which preach the Gospel should live of the Gospel ; but I have used none of these things, neither have I written these things that it should be so done unto me ; for it were batter for me to die than that any man should make my glorying, t. e. my professions of disinterested- ness, void," 1 Cor. chap. ix. 14, 15. 3. He repoateilly proposes that there should be asso- ciates with himself in the management of the public bounty; not colleagues of his own appointment, but persons elected for that purpose by the contributors themselves. " And when I come, whomsoever ye shall approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your liberality unto .lerusalem; and if it be meet that I go also, they shall go with me," J Cor. chap. xvi. 3, 4. And in th;- Second Epistle, what is here proposed, we find actually done, and done for the very purpose of guarding his character against any imputation that niisht be brought upon it, in the discharge of a pecu- niary trust : " And we have sent with him the brother, whose praise is in the Gospel throughout all the chiircnes ; and not that only, but who was also chosen of the churches to travel with us with this grace (gift) which is administered by us to the glory of the same Lord, and the declaration of your ready mind: avoid- ing this, that no man should blame us in this abund- ance which is administered by us ; providing for things honest, not only in the sight of the Lord, but also in tl.e sight of men ;" i. e. not resting in the consciousness of oiu- own integrity, but, in such a sul.iect, careful also to approve our integrity to the public idgraent. 2 Cor. cliap. viii. 18—21. 2 Cor. chap. xi. 32, 33. In Damascus, the governor under Aretas the king, kept the city of the Damascenes with a garrison, desirous to apprehend me ; and through a window in a bai^ket was I let down by the wall, and escaped his hands. Acts, chap ix. 23—25. .Vnd after manv davs were fullilled, the Jews to.ik counsel to kill hiin ; but their laying in wait was known of Saul, and tli^y watched the gates day and night to kill iiiin : then the disciples took him by night, and let him down by the wall in a basket. Now if we be satisfied in general concerning these two ancient writings, that the one was not known to the writer of the other, or not consulted by him; then the accordances which may be pointed out between them, will admit of no solu- tion so probable, as the attributing of them to truth and reaUty, as their common foundation. No. III. The opening of this epistle exhibits a connexiot with the history, which alone would satisfy my mind that the epistle was written by St. Paul, and b}' St. Paul in the situation in which the history places him. Let it be remembered, tliat in the nineteenth chapter of the Acts, St. Paul is repre- sented as driven away from Ephesus, or as leaving however Epliesus, in consequence of an uproar in that city, excited by some interested adversaries of the new religion. The account of the tiunult is as follows : " When they heard these sayings," viz. Demetrius's complamt of the danger to be apprehendeci from St. Paul's ministry to the es- tablished worship of the Ephesian goddess, "they were full of wrath, and cried out. saying. Great is Diana of the Ephesians. And the whole city was filled with contusion ; and having caught Gains and Aristarchus, Pauls companions in travel, they rushed with one accord into the tlieatre ; and when Paul would liave entered in unto the people, the disciples suffered him not ; and certaui of the chief of Asia, which were his friends, sent unto him, desiring that he would not adventure him- self into the theatre. Some, therefore, cried one thing, and some another; for the assembly was confused, and the more part knew not wherefore they were come together. And they drew Alex- ander out of the multitude, the Jews putting liiiu forward ; and Alexander beckoned with his hand, and would have made his defence unto the people ; but, when they knew that he was a Jew, all with one voice, about the space of two hours, cried out, Great is Diana of the Ephesians. — And after the uproar was ceased, Paul called unto him the dis- ciples, and embraced them, and departed for to go into Macedonia." When he was arrived in Ma- cedonia, he wrote the Second Epistle to the Co- rinthians which is now before us ; and he begins his epistle in tliis wise: " Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort, who coni- forteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. For, as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ ; and whether we be afflicted, it is for your conso- lation and salvation, which is effectual in the en- during of the same sufferings which we also sutler; or whether we be comforted, it is for your consola- tion and salvation : and our hope of you is stead- fast, knowing that, as ye are partakers of the suf- ferings, so shall ye be also of the consolation. For 184 HOR^ PAULINA. we would not, brethren, have you ignorant of our trouble which came to us in Asia, that we were pressed out of measure, above strength, insomuch that we despaired even of hfe ; but we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that wc should not trust in ourselves, but in God, which raiseth the dead, who delivered us from so great a death, and doth deliver; in whom we trust that he will yet deliver us." jSTothing could be more ex- pressive of the circumstances m which the history' describes St. Paul to have been at the time when the epistle purports to be written; or rather, nothing could be more expressive of the sensa- tions arising from these circumstances, tlian this passage. It is the calm recollection of a mind emerged from the confusion of instant danger. It is that devotion and solemnity of thought, which follows a recent dehverance. There is justenoucrh of particularity in the passage to show that it is to be referred to the tumult at Ephesus: " We would not, brethren, have you ignorant of our trouble which came to us in Asia." And there is nothing more ; no mention of Demetrius, of the seizure of St. Paul's friends, of the interference of the town-clerk, of the occasion or nature of the danger which St. Paul had escaped, or even of the city where it happened ; in a word, no recital from which a suspicion could be conceived, either that the author of the epistle had made use of the narrative in the Acts ; or, on the other hand, that he had sketched the outline, which the narrative in the Acts only filled up. That the forger of an epistle, under the name of St. Paul, should borrow circumstances from a liistory of St. Paul then ex- tant ; or, that the author of a history of St. Paul should gather materials from letters bearing St. Paul's name, may be credited ; but I cannot believe that any forger whatever, should fall upon an ex- pedient so refined, as to exhibit sentiments adapted to a situation, and to leave his readers to seek out that situation from the history ; still less that the author of a history should go about to frame facts and circumstances, fitted to supjily the sentiments which he found in the letter. It may be said, per- haps, that it does not appear from the history, that any danger threatened St. Paul's life in the up- roar at Ephe.-ius, so imminent as tliat from wliich in the epistle he represents himself to have been delivered. This matter, it is true, is not stated by the historian in form ; but the personal danger of the apostle, we cannot doubt, must have been ex- treme, when the " whole city was filled with con- fusion ;" when the populace had " seized his com- panions;" when, in the distraction of his mind, he insisted upon "coming forth amongst them;" when the Christians who were about him "would not suffer him;" when " his friends, certain of the chief of Asia, sent to him, desiring that he would not adventure himself in the tumult;" when, last- ly, he was obliged to quit immediately the place and the country, "and when the tumult was ceased, to depart into Macedonia." All which particulars are found in the narration, and justify St. Paul's own account, " that he was pressed out of measure, above strength, insomuch that he despaired even of life; that he had the sentence of death in himself;" i. e. that he looked upon nimself as a man condemned to die. No. IV. It has already been remarked, that St. Paul's original intention was to have visited Corinth in his way to Macedonia: " I was minded to come unto you before, and to pass by you into Macedo- nia," 2 Cor. chap. i. 15, 16. It has also been re- marked that he changed his intention, and ulti- mately resolved upon going through Macedonia Jirst. Now upon this head there exists a circum- stance of correspondency between our epistle and the history, which is not very obvious to the read- er's observation ; but which, when observed, will be found, I think, close and exact. Which cir- cumstance is this : that though the change of St. Paul's intention be expressly mentioned only in the second epistle, yet it appears, both from the history and from this second epistle, that the change had taken place before the writing of the first epistle ; that it appears however from neither, otherwise than by an inference, unnoticed per- haps by ahiiost every one who does not sit down professedly to the examination. First, then, how does this point appear from the history 1 In the nineteenth chapter of the ^.cts, and the twenty-first verse, we are told, that " Paul purposed in the spirit when he had passed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusa- lem. So he sent into Macedonia two of them that ministered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus ; but he himself stayed in Asia for a season." A short time a/ter this, and evidently in pursuance of the same intention, we find (chap. xx. 1, 3.) that Paul departed from Ephesus for to go into Macedonia: and that when he had gone over those parts, he came into Greece." The resolu- tion therefore of passing first through Macedonia, and from thence into Greece, was formed by St. Paul previously to the sending away of Timothy. The order in which the two countries are men- tioned shows the direction of his intended route, " when he had passed through Macedonia and Achaia." Timothy and Erastus, who were to precede him in his progress, were sent by him from Ephesus into Macedonia. He himself a short time afterwards, and, as hath been ob- served, evidently in continuation and pursuance of the same design, " departed for to go into Ma- cedonia." If he had ever, therefore, entertained a different plan of his journey, which is not hinted in the history, he must have clianged that plan before this time. But, from the 17th verse of the fourth chapter of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, we discover, that Timothy had been sent away from Ephesus before that epistle was written : " For this cause have I sent unto you Timotheus, who is my beloved son." The change, therefore, of St. Paul's resolution, which was prior to the sending away of Timothy, was necessarily prior to the writing of the First Epistle to the Corinthians. Thus stands the order of dates, as collected from the history, compared with the First Epistle. Now let us inquire, secondly, how this matter is repre- sented in the epistle before us. In the sixteenth verse of the first chapter of this epistle, St. Paul speaks of the intention which he had once enter- tained of visiting Achaia, in his way to Macedo- nia: "In this confidence I was minded to come unto you before, that ye might have a second bene- fit: and to pass by you into Macedonia." After protesting, in the seventeenth verse, against any evil construction that might be put upon his lay- ing aside of this intention, in the t\^'enty-third verse he discloses the cause of it : " Moreover 1 call God for a record upon my soul, that, to spare SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 18; you, I came not as yet unto Corinth." And then he proceeds as follows: "But I determined this with myself, that I would not couie again to you in heaviness : for, if I make you sorry, who is he then that makcth me glad, but the sauie which is made sorry by mel A7id I wrote this same unto you, lest when I came 1 should have sorrow from them ol" whom I ought to rejoice ; having conh- dence in you all, that my joy is the joy of you all ; for, out of much affliction and anguish of heart, / wrote unto yon with many tears; not that ye should be grieved, but that ye might know the love which I have more abundantly unto jou: but if any have caused grief, he hath not grieved me but in part, that I may not overcharge you all. Sutficient to such a man is this punishment, which was inflicted of many." In this quotation, let the reader first direct his attention to the clause marked by Italics, " and I wrote this same unto you," and let him consider, whether from the context, and from the structure of the whole passage, it be not e\ ident that this writing was after St. Paul had " determined with himself, that he would not come again to them in heaWness 1" whether, indeed, it was not in consequence of this determination, or at least with this determination upon his mind ? And, in the next place, let him consider whether the sentence, " I determined this with mj'self, that I would not come again to you in heaviness," do not plainly refer to that postponing of his visit, to which he had alluded in the verse but one before, when he said, "I call God for a record upon my soul, that, to spare you, I came not as yet unto Corinth :" and whether this be not the visit of which he speaks in the sixteenth verse, wherein he informs the Corinthians, "that he had been minded to pass by them into Macedonia;" but that, for reasons, which argued no levity or fickleness in his disposition, he had been compelled to change his purpose, [f this be so, then it follows that the writing here mentioned was posterior to the change of his intention. The only question, there- fore, that remains, will be, whether this writing relate to the letter which we now have under the title of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, or to some other letter not extanf? And upon tliis question, I think INIr. Locke's observation decisive ; namelv, that the second clause marked in the quo- tation by Italics, " I wrote unto you with many tears," and the first clause so marked, " I wrote this same unto you," belong to one writing, what- ever that was ; and that the second clause goes on to advert to a circumstance which is found in our present First Epistle to the Corinthians ; namely, the case and punishment of the incestuous person. Upon the whole, then, we see, that it is capable of being inferred from St. Paul's own words, in the long extract which we have quoted, that the First Epistle to the Corinthians was written after St. Paul had determined to postpone his journey to Corinth; in other words, that the change of his pui"pose with respect to the course of his journey, though expressly mentioned only in the Second Epistle, had taken place before the writing of the First; the point which we made out to be implied in the history, by the order of the events there re- corded, and the allusions to those events in the First Epistle. Now this is a species of congruity of all others the most to be relied upon. It is not an agreement between two accounts of the same transaction, or between different statements of the same fact, for the fact is not stated : notliing that 2A can be called an account is given ; but it is the junction of two conclusions, deduced from inde- pendent sources, and deducible only by invtstiga- tion and comparison. This point, viz. the change of the route, beinj; prior to the writing of the First Epistle, also falls in with, and accounts for, the manner in which he speaks in that epistle of his journey. His lir.st intention had been, as he here declares, to "pass by them into Macedonia:" that intention having been previously given up, he writes, in his First Epi-stle, " that he would not see them now by the wav," i. e. as he must have done upon his first plan ; "but that he trusted to tarry awhile with them, and possibly to abide, yea and winter with them," 1 Conn. chap. xvi. 5, G. It also accounts for a singularity in the text referred to, which must strike every reader: " I will come to you when 1 pass through Macedonia ; for I do pass through Macedonia." The supplemental sentence, " for I do pass through Macedonia," imports that there had been some previous conmiunication upon the subject of the journey ; and also that there had been some vacillation and indecisivencss in the apostle's plan : both which we now perceive to have been the case. The sentence is as much as to say, " This is what I at last resolve upon." The expression, " ot«v Mx^sJovi^tv Suko^," is ambi- guous ; it may denote cither " when I pass, or when I shall have passed, through Macedonia:" the con- siderations offered above fix it to the latter sense. Lastly, the point we have endeavoured to make out, confirms, or rather, indeed, is necessary to the support of a conjecture, which forms the subject of a number in our observations upon the First Epistle, that the insinuation of certain of the church of Corinth, thai he would come no more amongst them, was founded on some previous disappoint- ment of their expectations. No. V. But if St. Paul had changed his purpose before the writing of the First Epistle, why did he detei explaining himself to the Corinthians, concerning the reason of that change, until he wrote the Se- cond 1 This is a very fair question ; and we are able, I think, to return to it a satisfactory^ answer. The real cause, and the cause at length assigned by St. Paul for postponing his visit to Corinth, and not travelling by the route which he had at first designed, was the disorderly state of the Co- rinthian church at the time, and the painful severi- ties which he should have found himself obliged to exercise, if he had come amongst them during the existence of these irregularities. He was willing therefore to try, before he came in person, what a letter of authoritative objurgation would do amongst them, and to leave time for the operation of the experiment. That was his scheme in writing the First Epistle. But it was not for him to acquaint them with the scheme. After the epistle had pro- duced its effect (and to the utmost extent, as it should seem, of the apostle's hopes;) when he had wrought in them a deep sense of their fault, and an almost passionate solicitude to restore them- selves to the approbation of their teacher ; when Titus (chap. vii. 6, 7, 11.) had brought him intel- ligence "of their earnest desire, their mourning, their fervent mind towards him, of their sorrow and their penitence ; what carefulness, what clear- ing of themselves, what indignation, what fear, what vehement desire, what zeal, what revenge,"' 16* 186 HOR^ PAULlNiE. his letter, and the general concern occasioned by it, had excilei amongst them ; he then opens him- self fully upon the suhjcct. The atiectionate mind of the apostle is touched hy this return of zeal and duty. He tells them that he did not visit them at the time proposed, lest their meeting should have been attended with nmtual grief; and with grief to him embittered by the reflection, that he was giving pain to those, from whom alone he could receive comfort : " I determined this with myself, that I would not come again to you in heaviness ; for, if 1 make you sorry, who is he that maketh me glad liut the same which is made sorry by me'!" chaj). ii. I, 2 : that he had written his former epistle to warn them beforehand of their fault, " lest when he came he should have sorrow of them of whom he ought to rejoice ;" chap. ii. 3 : that he had the farther view, though perhaps unperccived by them, of making an experiment of their fidelity, " to know the proof of them, whether they are obedi- ent in all things," chap. ii. 9. This full discovery of his motive came very naturally from the apostle, alter he had seen the success of his measures, but would not have been a seasonable communication before. The whole composes a train of senthnent and of conduct resulting from real situation, and irom real circumstance, and as remote as possible from liction or iuipoitui'e. No. VI. Chap. xi. 9. "When I was present with you and wanted, I was chargeable to no man : tor that which was lacking to me, the brethren which came from Macedonia supplied." The principal fact set ibrth in this passage, the arrival at Corinth of brethren from Macedonia during St. Paul's first residence in that city, is explicitly recorded. Acts, chap, xviii. 1, 5. "After these things Paul de- parted from Athens, and came to Corinth. And when Silas and Timothcus were come Irom Mace- donia, Paul was pressed in spirit, and testified to the Jews that Jesus was Christ." No. VII. The above quotation from the Acts proves that Silas and Timotheus were assisting to St. Paul in preaching the Gospel at Corinth. With which correspond the words of the epistle, (chap. i. 19,) " For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us, even by me, and Sil- vanus, and Timotheus, was not yea and nay, but in him was yea." I do admit that the corresjwnd- ency, considered by itself, is too direct and obvious ; and that an impostor with the history before him might, and probably would, produce agreements of the same kind. But let it be remembered, that this reference is found in a writing, which, from many discrepancies, and especially from those noted No. II., we may conclude, was not composed by any one who had consulted, and who pursued the history. Some observation also arises upon the variation of the name. We read Silas in the Acts, Silvanus in the epistle. The similitude of these two names, if they were the names of dlller- ent persons, is greater than could easily have pro- ceeded from accident ; I mean tliat it is not probable, that two persons, placed in situations so much alike, should bear names so nearly resembling each other.* On the other hand, the difierence of the * That Ihpy were tlie same person is fartliRr confirmed by 1 Tiiess. cUap, i. 1. coiiiparud with Acts, chap. xvii. 10. name in the two passages negatives the suppositior, of the passages, or the account contained in them, being transcribed either from the other. No. VIII. Chap. ii. 12, 13. " When 1 came to Troas to preach Christ's Gospel, and a door was opened unto me of the Lord, I had no rest in my sjiirit, because I found not I'itus my brother; but taking my leave of them, I went from thence into Ma- cedonia." To establish a conformity between this passage and the history, not lung more is necessary to be presumed, than that St. Paul proceeded from E])he- sus to Macedonia, upon the same course by which he came back from Macedonia to Ephesus, or rather to Miletus in the neighbourhood of E{)lie- sus ; in other words, that in his journey to the peninsula of Greece, he went and returned the same way. St. Paul is now in Macedonia, where he had lately arrived from Ephesus. Our quota- tion imports that in his journey he had stopped at Troas. Of this, the history says nothuig, leaving us only the short account that " Paul departed from Ephesus, for to go into Macedonia." But the history says, that in his return from Macedo- nia to Ephesus, "Paul sailed from Philippi to Troas; and that, when the disciples came to- gether on the first diiy of the week to break bread, Paul preached unto them all night; that from Troas he went by land to Assos; from Assos, taking ship and coasting along the front of Asia Minor, he came by Mitylene to Miletus." Which account proves, first, that Troas lay in the way by which St. Paul passed between Ejihesus and Macedonia ; secondly, that he had disciples there. In one journey between these two places, the epistle, and in another journey between the same places, the history, makes him stop at this city. Of the first journey he is made to say, " that a door was in that city opened unto me of the Lord ; in the second, we find disciples there collected around him, and the apostle exercising his minis- try, with, what was even in him, more than ordi- nary zeal and labour. The epistle, therefore, is in this instance confirmed, if not by the terms, at least by the probability of the history ; a species of confirmation by no means to be despised, be- cause, as far as it reaches, it is evidently uncon- trived. Grotius, I know, refers the arrival at Troas, to which the epistle alludes, to a difierent period, l)ut I think very improbably; for nothing ap}iears to me more certain, than that the meeting with Ti- tus, which St. Paul expected at Troas, was the same meeting which took place in Macedonia, viz. upon Titus's coming out of Circece. In the quotation before ns, he tells the Corinthians, " When I came to Troas, I had no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus my brother ; but taking my leave of them, I went from thence into Macedonia." Then in the seventh chapter he writes, " When we were come into Macedonia, our flesh had no rest, but we were troubled on every side; without were fightings, within were fears ; nevertheless God, that comforteth them that are cast down, comforted us by the coming of Titus." These two passages plainly relate to the same journey of Titus, in meeting with whom St. Paul had been disappointed at Troas, and rejoiced in Macedonia. And amongst other reasons which fix the former passage to the coming of Titus out SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 187 of Greece, is the consideration, that it was nothing to the Corintinans that St. Paul did not meet with Titus at Troas, were it not that he was to bring iiiteUigence from Corinth. The mention of the disappointment in tliis place, upon any other sup- position, is irrelative. No. IX. 1 Chap. xi. 24, 25. " Of the Jews five times re- ceived 1 forty stripes save one ; thrice was 1 beaten with rods; once was I stoned; thrice I suffered shipwreck ; a night and a day I have been in the deep." These particulars cannot be extracted out of the Acts of the Apostles; which proves, as hath been already observed, that the epistle was not framed from the history : yet they are consistent with it, which, considering how numerically circumstan- tial the account is, is more than could happen to arbitrary and independent fictions. When I say that these particulars are consistent with the his- tory, I mean, first, that there is no article in the enumeration which is contradicted by the history ; secondly, that the history, though silent with re- spect to many of the facts here enumerated, has left space for the existence of these facts, con- sistent with the fidelity of its own narration. First, no contradiction is discoverable between the epistle and the history. When St. Paul says, thrice was I beaten with rods, although the his- tory record only one beating with rods. viz. at Philippi, Acts xvi. 22, yet is there no contradic- tion. It is only the omission in one book of what is related in another. But had the history con- tained accounts of four beatings with rods, at the time of writing this epistle, in which St. Paul says that he had only suffered three, there would have been a contradiction properly so called. The same observation applies generally to the other parts *■ the enumeration, concerning which the history is silent : but there is one clause in the quotation particularly deserving of remark; be- cause, when confronted with the history, it fur- nishes the nearest api)roach to a contradiction, without a contradiction being actually incurred, of any I remember to have met with. " Once," saith St. Paul, " was I stoned." Does the history relate that St. Paul, prior to the writing of this epistle, had been stoned more than oncel The history mentions distinctly one occasion upon which St. Paul was stoned, viz. at Lystra in Ly- caonia. " Then came thither certain Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the peo- ple ; and having stoned Paul, drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead," chap. xiv. 19. Anil it mentions also another occasion in which " an assault was made both of the Gentiles, and also of the Jews, with their rulers, to u.se them despitefully and to stone them; but they were ! aw.ire of it," the history proceeds to tell us, "and \ fled into Lystra and Derbe." This happened at j Iconiuni, prior to the date of the epistle. Now had | tlie assault been completed ; had the history re- lated that a stone was thrown, as it relates that preparations were made both by Jews and Gen- tiles to stone Paul and his companions ; or even had the account of this transaction stojjped, with- out going on to inform u^^ that Paul and his com- panions were " aware of their danger and fled," a contradiction between the history and the epis- tle would have ensued. Truth is necessarily con- sistent : but it is scarcely possible that independent accounts, not having truth to guide them, should thus advance to the very brink of contradiction without falling into it. Secondly, 1 say, that if the Acts of the Apos- tles be silent concerning many of the instances enumerated in the epistle, this silence may be accounted for, from the plan and taliric of the history. The date of the epistle synchronizes with the beginnuig of the twentieth chapter of the Acts. The part, therefore, of the history, which precedes the twentieth chapter, is the only part in which can be found any notice of the per- secutions, to which St. Paul refers. Now it does not appear that the author of the history was with St. Paul until his departure from Troas, on his way to Macedonia, as related, chap. xvi. 10 ; or rather, indeed, the contrary appears. It is in tliis point of the history that the language changes. In the seventh and eighth verses of this chj-ipter the third person is used. " After they were come to Mysia, thei/ essayed to go into Bilhynia, but the Spirit sufiered them not; and they passing by Mysia came to Troas;" and the third person is in like manner constantly used throughout the fore- going part of the history. In the tenth verse of this chapter, the first person comes in : " After Paul had seen the vision, immediately ice en- deavoured to go into Macedonia; assuredly ga- thering that the Lord had called us to preach the Gospel unto them." Now, from this time to the writing of the epistle, the history occujjies four chapters ; yet it is in these, if in any, that a regu- lar or continued account of the apostle's life is to be expected ; for how succinctly his history is de- livered in the preceding part of the book, that is to say, from the time of his conversion to the time when the historian joined him at Troas, except the particulars of his conversion itself, wliich are related circumstantially, may be understood from the following observations : — The history of a period of sixteen years is com- prised in less than three chapters ; and of these, a material part is taken up with discourses. After his conversion, he continued in the neighbourhood of Damascus, according to the history, for a cer- tain considerable, though indefinite, length of time, according to his own words, (Gal. i. 18.) for three years ; of which no other account is given than this short one, that "straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God ; that all that heard him were amazed, and said. Is not this he that destroyed them which called on this name, in Jerusalem] that he in- creased the more in strength, and confounded the Jews which dwelt at Damascus; and that, after many days were fullilled, the Jevss took counsel to kill him." From Damascus he proceeded to Jerusalem : and of his residence there nothing more particular is recorded, than that " he was with the apostles, coming in and jjoing out ; that he spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus, and disputed against the Grecians, who went about to kill him." From Jerusalem, the history sends him to his native city of Tarsus.* It seems probable, from the order and disposition of the his- tory, that St. Paul's stay at Tarsus was of some continuance; for we hear nothing of liim, until, after a long apparent interval, and much inter- jacent narrative, Barnabas desirous of Paul's as- sistance upon the enlargement of the Christian * Acts ii. 30 183 HOR^ PAULINiE. mission, " went to Tarsus for to seek him."* We cannot doubt but that the new apostle had been busied in his ministry ; yet of what he did, or what he sutiercd, during this period, which may include three or four years, the liistory professes not to dehver any information. As Tarsus was situated upon the sea-coast, and as, though Tarsus was his home, yet it is probable he visited from thence many other places, for the purpose of preaching the Gospel, it is not unlikely, that, in the course of three or four years, he might under- take many short voyages to neighbouring coun- tries, in the navigating of which we may be al- lowed to suppose that some of those disasters and shipwrecks befell liim, to which he refers in the quotiition before us, "thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep." This last clause I am inclined to interpret of his being obliged to take to an open boat, upon the loss of the ship, and his continuing out at sea, in that dangerous situation, a night and a day. St. Paul is here recounting his sutlerings, not relating mi- racles. From Tarsus, Barnabas brought Paul to Antioch, and there he remained a year: but of the transactions of that year no other description is given than what is contained in the last four verses of the eleventh chapter. After a more solemn dedication to the ministry, Barnabas and Paul proceeded from Antioch to Cilicia, and from thence they sailed to Cyprus, of which voyage no particulars are mentioned. Upon their return froui Cyprus, they made a progress together through the Lesser Asia; and though two re- markable speeches be preserved, and a few in- cidents in the course of their travels circumstan- tially related, yet is the account of this progress, upon the whole, given professedly with concise- ness ; for instance, at Iconium it is said that they abode a long time;t yet of this long abode, except concerning the manner in which they were driven away, no memoir is inserted in the history. Th«* wliole is wrapped up in one short summary, " They spake boldly in the Lord, which gave tes- timony unto the word of his grace, and granted si^ns and wonders to be done by their hands." Having completed their progress, the two apos- tles returned to Antioch, " and there they abode long time with the disciples." Here we have another lar^e portion of time passed over in si- lence. To this succeeded a journey to Jerusalem, upon a dispute which then much agitated the Christian church, concerning the obligation of the law of Moses. When the object of that journey was completed, Paul proposed to Barnabas to go again and visit their brethren in every city where they had preached the word of the Lord. Th.e execution of this plan carried our apostle tlirough Syria, Cilicia, and many provinces of the Lesser Asia; yet is the account of the whole journey dispatched in four verses of the sixteenth chapter. If the Acts of the Apostles had undertaken to exhibit regular annals of St. Paul's ministry, or, even any continued account of his life, from his conversion at Damascus to his imjirisonment at Rome, I should have thought the omission of the circumstances referred to in our epistle, a matter of reasonable objection. But when it appears, from the history itself, that large portions of St. Paul's life were either passed over in silence, or jnly slightly touched upon, and that nothing more ' Acts xi. 25. t Chap. xiv. 3. tlian certain detached incidents and discourses i^ related ; when we observe also, that the author of the history did not join our apostle's society till a few years before the writing of the epistle, at least that there is no proof in the history that he did so, in comparing the history with the epistle, we shall not be surprised by the discovery of omissions; we shall ascribe it to truth that there is no contra- diction. No. X. Chap. iii. 1. "Do we begin again to commend ourselvesl or need we, as some others, epistles of commendation to you^' " As some others." Turn to Acts xviii. 27, and you will lind that, a short time before the writing of that epistle, Apollos had gone to Corinth with letters of commendation from the Ephesian Christians; "and when Apollos was disposed to pass into Achaia, the brethren wrote, exhorting the disciples to receive him." Here the words of the epistle bear the appearance of alluding to some specific instance, and the history supplies that in- stance ; it supplies at least an instance as apposite as possible to the terms which the apostle uses, and to the date and direction of the epistle, in which they are ibund. The letter which Apollos carried from Ephtsus, was precisely the letter of commendation which St. Paul meant ; and it was to Achaia, of which Corinth was the capital, and indeed to Corinth itself, T Acts, chap. xix. 1,) that Apollos carried it; and it was about two years before the writing of this epistle. If St. Paul's words be rather thought to refer to some general usage, which then obtained among Cliristian churches, the case of Apollos exemplifies that usage; and affords that species of confirmation to the epistle, which arises from seeing the manners of the age, in which it purports to be written, faith- fully preserved. No. XL Chap xiii. I. " This is the tliird time I am coming to you:" t^ .tok tsto tf^o/^ai. Do not these words import that the writer had been at Corinth twice before 1 Yet, if tliey im- port this, they overset e^■ery congruity we have been endeavouring to establish. The Acts of the Apostles record only two journeys of St. Paul to Corinth. We have all along supposed, what every mark of time except this expression indicates, that this epistle was written between the first and se- cond of these journeys. If St. Paul had been already twice at Corinth, this supposition must be given up ; and every argument or observation which depends upon it falls to the ground. Again, the Acts of the Apostles not only record no more than two journeys of St. Paul to Corinth, but do not allow us to suppose that more than two such journeys could be made or intended by him within the period which the history comprises ; for from his first journey into Greece to his first imprison- ment at Rome, with which the history concludes, the apostle's time is acrounted for. If therefore the ejiistle was written after the second journey to Corinth, and upon the view and expectation of a third, it must have been written after his first im- prisonment at Rome. i. e. after the time to whicli the history extends. When I first read over this epistle with the particular view of comparing it with the history, which I chose to do without con- sulting any commentary whatever, I own that I SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIAINS. 189 felt myself confounded by this text. It appeared to contradict the ojjinion, which I had been led by a great variety of circumstances to form, concern- ing the date and occasion of the epistle. At length, however, it occurred to my thoughts to in- quire, whether the passage did necessarily imply that St. Paul had been at Corinth twice ; or, whether, when he says, " this is the third time I am coming to you," he might mean only that this was the third time that he was ready, that he was prepared, that he intended to set out upon his jour- ney to Corinth. I recollected that he had once before this purposed to visit Corinth, and had been disappointed in this purpose; which disappoint- ment forms the subject of much apology and pro- testation, in the first and second chajiters of the epistle. Now, if the journey in wliich he had been disappointed was reckoned by him one of the times in which " he was coming to them," then the present would be the tliird time, i. e. of his being ready and prepared to come ; altliough he had been actually at Corinth only 07ice before. This conjecture being taken up, a farther exami- nation of the passage and the epistle, produced proofs wliich placed it beyond doubt. " This is the third time I am coming to you:" in the verse following these words, he adds, " I told you before, and foretell you, as if I were present the second time ; and being absent, now I write to them which heretofore have sinned, and to all other, that, if I come again, I will not spare." In this verse, the apostle is declaring beforehand what he would do in his intended visit ; his expression therefore, " as if I were present the second time," relates to that visit. But, if his future visit would only make him present among them a second time, it follows that lie had been already there but once. Again, in the fifteenth verse of the first chapter, he tells them, " In this confidence, I was minded to come unto you before, that ye might have a second benefit :" Why a second, and not a third benefit 1 why JsuTSf Ml/, and not r^n^v %«§tv, it the t^ irof 6^%o/4Xi in the fifteenth chapter, meant a tli ird visit 1 for, though the visit in the first chapter be that visit in which he was disappointed, yet, as it is evident from the epistle that he had never been at Corinth from the time of the disappointment to the time of writing the epistle, it follows, that if it was only a second visit in which he was disappomted then, it could only be a second visit which he proposed now. But the text which I think is decisive of the question, if any question remain upon the sub- ject, is the fourteenth verse of the twelfth chapter : " Behold the third time I am ready to come to you;" iSh TjiToi- iTDi/t^g £%<« i\Si,v. It is very clear that the t^itov «Toi^»jf £%«» 6ii.6£ii. of the twelfth chapter, and the t^itov tsto i^x'f^^' of the thir- teenth chapter, are equivalent expressions, were intended to convey the same meaning, and to re- late to the same journey. The comparison of these phrases gives us St. Paul's own explanation of his own words ; and it is that very explanation which •^ we are contending for, viz. that t^ito;/ tsto tgxo/^xi ■ does not mean that he was coming a third time, but that this was the third time he was in readi- ness to come, T^iTov £Toi^»5 ix'^". I do not appre- hend, that after this it can be necessary to call to our aid the reathngof the Alexandrian manuscript, which gives iTtn/xws £x<" ei^iuv in the thirteenth chapter as well as in the twelfth ; or of the Syriac and Coptic versions, which follow that reading, because I allow, that the reading, besides not being sufficiently supported by ancient copies, is prolia- bly paraphrastical, and has been inserted for the purpose of expressing more unequivocally the sense, which the shorter expression t^itovtsto e(X^f^=<-' was supposed to carry. Upon the whole, the matter is sufficiently certain : nor do I propose it as a now interpretation of the text which contains the difficulty, for the same was gi^ en by Grotius long ago : but I thought it the clearest way of ex- plaining the subject, to describe the manner in which the difficulty, the solution and the proofs of that solution, successively presented themselves to my inquiries. Now, in historical researches, a reconciled inconsistency becomes a positive argu- ment. First, because an impostor generally guards against the appearance of inconsistency ; and se- condly, because, when apparent inconsistencies are found, it is seldom that any thing but truth renders them capable of reconciliation. The ex- istence of the difficulty proves the want or absence of that caution, which usually accompanies the consciousness of fraud ; and the solution proves, that it is not the collusion of fortuitous proposi- tions which we have to deal with, but that a thread of truth winds through the whole, which preserves every circumstance in its place. No. XII. Chap. X. 14 — 16. " We are come as far as to you also, in preaching the Gospel of Christ ; not boasting of things without our measure, that is, of other men's labours ; but having hope, when your faith is increased, that we shall be enlarged by you, according to our rule, abundantly to preach the Gospel in the regions beyond you." This quotation affords an indirect, and there- fore unsuspicious, but at the same time a distinct and indubitable recognition of the truth and ex- actness of the history. I consider it to be inq^lied by the words of the quotation, that Corinth was the extremity of St. Paul's travels hitherto. He expresses to the Corinthians his hope, that in some future visit he might "preach the Gospel to the regions beyond them;" which imports that he had not hitherto proceeded "beyond them," but that Corinth was as yet the farthest point or boundary of his travels. Now, how is St. Paid's first jour- ney into Europe, which was the only one he had taken before the writing of the epistle, traced out in the liistory 1 Sailing from Asia, he landed at Fhi- lippi : from Philippi, traversing the eastern coast of the peninsula, he passed through Amphipolis and Apollonia to Thessalonica ; from hence through Be- rea to Athens, and from Athens to Corinth, where he stopped; and from whence, after a residence of a year and a half, he sailed back into Syria. So that Corinth was the last place which he visited in the peninsula ; was the place from which he return- ed into Asia ; and was, as such, the boundary and limit of his progress. He could not have said the same thing, viz. " I hope hereafter to visit the re- gions beyond you," in an epistle to the Philippians, or in an epistle to the Thessalonians, inasmuch as he must be deemed to have already visited the regions beyond theTn, having proceeded from those cities to other parts of Greece. But from Corinth he returned home : every part therefore beyond that city, might properly be said, as it is said in the passage before us, to be unvisited. Yet is tliis propriety the spontaneous effect of truth, and oro- duced without meditation or design. 190 HORiE PAULIJNiE. CHAPTER V. The Epistle lo the Galatimis. No. I. The argument of this epistle in some measure proves its antiquity. It will hardly be doubted, but that it was written whilst the dispute concern- ing the circumcision of Gentile converts was fresh in men's minds : for, even supposing it to have been a forgery, the only credible motive that can be assigned for the forgery, w;is to bring the name and authority of the apostle into this controversy. No design could be so insipid, or so unlikely to enter into the thoughts of any man, as to produce an epistle written earnestly and pointedly upon one side of a controversy, when the controversy itself was dead, and the question no longer inte- resting to any description of readers whatever. Now the controversy concerning the circumcision of the Gentile Christians was of such a nature, that, if it arose at all, it must have arisen in the beginning of Christianity. As Judea was the scene of the Christian history; as the Author and preachers of Christianity were Jews; as the reli- gion itself acknowledged and was founded upon the Jewish religion, in contra-distinction to every other religion then professed amongst mankind; it was not to be wondered at, that some of its teachers should carry it out in the world rather as a sect and modification of Judaism, than as a separate original revelation ; or that they should invite their proselytes to those observances in which they lived themselves. — This was likely to happen : but if it did not hapi>en at first ; if, whilst the religion was in the hands of Jewish teachers, no such claim was advanced, no such condition was attempted to be imposed, it is not probable that the doctrine would be started, much less that it should prevail, in any future period. I likewise think, that those pretensions of Juda- ism were much more likely to be insisted upon, whilst the Jews continued a nation, than after their fall and dispersion; whilst Jerusalem and the temple stood, than after the destruction brought upon them by the Roman arms, the fatal cessation of the sacrifice and the priesthood, the humiliating loss of their country, and, with it, of the great rites and symbols of their institution. It should seem therefore, from the nature of the subject, and the situation of the parties, that this controversy was carried on in the interval between the preaching of Christianity to the Gentiles, and the invasion of Titus ; and that our present epistle, which was undoubtedly intended to bear a part in this controversy, must be referred to the same period. But, again, the epistle supposes that certain designing adherents of the Jewish law had crept into the churches of Galatia; and had been en- deavouring, and but too successfully, to persuade the Galatic converts, that they had been taught the new religion imperfectly and at second hand ; that the founder of their church himself pos- sessed only an inferior and deputed commission, the seat of truth and authority being in the apos- tles ami ciders of Jerusalem ; moreover, that what- ever he might profess amongst them, he had him- self at other times, and in other places, given way to the doctrine of circumcision. The epistle is unintelligible without supposing all this. Refer- ring therefore to this, as to what had actually passed, we find St. Paul treating so unjust an at- tempt, to undermine his credit, and to introduce amongst his converts a doctrine which he had uniformly reprobated, in terms of great asperity and indignation. And in order to refute the sus- picions which had been raised concerning the fidelity of his teaching, as well as to assert tlie in- dependency and divine original of his mission, we find him appealing to the history of his conversion, to his conduct under it, to the manner in whicfi lie had conferred with the apostles when he met with them at Jerusalem : alleging, that so far was his doctrine from being derived from them, or they from exercising any superiority over him, that they had simply assented to what he had already preached amongst the Gentiles, and which preach- ing was communicated not by them to him, but by himself to them ; that he had maintained the liberty of the Gentile church, by opposing, upon one occasion, an apostle to the face, when the timidity of his behaviour seemed to endanger it ; that from the first, that all along, that to that hour, he had constantly resisted the claims of J udaism ; and that the persecutions which he daily under- went, at the hands or by the instigation of the Jews, and of which he bore in his person the marks and scars, might have been avoided by him, if he had consented to employ his labours in bring- ing, through the medium of Chri.jtianity, converts over to the Jewish institution, for then " would the offence of the cross have ceased." Now an impostor who had forged the epistle for the pur- pose of producing St. Paul's authority in the dis- pute, which, as hath been observed, is the only credible motive that can be assigned for the for- gery, might have made the apostle deliver his opinion upon the subject, in strong and decisive terms, or might have put his name to a train of reasoning and argumentation upon that side of the question which the imposture was intended to recommend. I can allow the possibility of such a scheme as that. But for a writer, with this purpose in view, to feign a series of transactions supposed to have passed amongst the Christians of Galatia, and then to counterfeit expressions of anger and resentment excited by these transac- tions ; to make the apostle travel back into his own history, and into a recital of various passages of his life, some indeed directly, but others ob- liquely, and others even obscurely bearing upon the point in question; in a word, to sub.stitute narrative for argument, expostulation and com- plaint for dogmatic positions and controversial reasoning, in a writing properly controversial, and of which the aim and design was to support one side of a much agitated question — is a method so intricate, and so unlike the methods pursued by all other impostors, as to require very flagrant proofs of imposition to induce us to believe it to be one. No. II. In this number I shall endeavour to prove, 1. That the Epistle to the Galatians, and the Acts of the Apostles, were written without any communication with each other. 2. That the Epistle, though written without any communication with the history, by recital, implication, or reference, bears testimony to many of the facts conatined in it. 1. The Epistle and the Acts of the Apostles were written without any communication with each other. EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 191 To judge of this point, we must examine those passages in each, which describe the same trans- action; for, if the author of either writing derived his information from the account which he had seen in the other, when he came to speak of the same transaction, he would follow that account. Tlie history of St. Paul, at Damascus, as read in the Acts, and as referred to by the epistle, forms an instance of this sort. According to the Acts, Paul (after his conversion) was certain days with the " disciples which were at Damascus. And straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God. But all that heard him were amazed, and said, is not this he which des- troyed them which called on this name in Jerusa- lem, and came hither for that intent, that he niieht bring them bound unto the cliief priests 1 But Saul increased the more in strength, confounding the Jews which were at Damascus, proving that this is very Christ. And after that many days were fulfilled, the Jews took counsel to kill him. But their laying await was known of Saul ; and they watched the gates day and night to kill him. Then the disciples took him by night, and let him down by the wall in a basket. And when Saul was come to Jerusalem, he assayed to join him- self to the disciples." Acts, chap. ix. 19 — 26. According to the epistle, " When it pleased God, who separated me from mj' mother's womb, and called me by his grace, to reveal his own Son in me, that I might preach him anwng the hea- then, immediately I conferred not with tlesh and blood, neither went 1 up to Jerusalem to them which were apostles before me ; but I went into Arabia, and returned again to Damascus ; then, after three years, I went up to Jerusalem." Beside the diflerence observable in the terms and general complexion of these two accounts, "the journey into Arabia," mentioned in the epistle, and omitted in the history, affords full proof that there existed no correspondence be- tween these writers. If the narrative in the Acts had been made up from the epistle, it is impossible that this journey should have been passed over in silence ; if the epistle had been composed out of what the author had read of St. Paul's history in the Acts, it is unaccountable that it should have been inserted*. The journey to Jemsalem related in the second chapter of the Epistle (" then, fourteen \'ears after, I went up again to Jerusalem ;") supplies another example of the same kind. Either this was the jour- ney described in the fifteenth chapter of the Acts, when Paul and Barnabas were sent from Antioch to Jerusalem, to consult the apostles and elders upon the question of the Gentile converts ; or it was some journey of which the history does not take notice. If the first opinion be followed, the discrepancy in the two accounts is so considerable, that it is not without difficulty they can be adapt- ed to the same transaction: so that upon this sup- position, there is no place for suspecting that the * N. E. The Acts of the Apostles simply inform us that St. Paul left Damascus in order to go to Jerusalem, " after many days were fulfilled." If any one doubt whether the words " many days" could be intended to express a period which included a term of three years, he will find a complete instance of the same phrase used with the same latitude in the first book of Kings, chap. xi. 38, 30. " And Shimei dwelt at Jerusalem mamj (ffli/.*: and it came to pass at the end o[ three years, that two of the servants of Shimei ran away." writers were guided or assisted by each other. If the latter opinion be preferred, we have then a journey to Jerusalem, and a conference with the principal members of the church there, circum- stantially related in the epistle, and entirely omit- ted in the Acts ; and we are at hberty to repeat the observation, which we before made, that the omission of so material a fact in the history is in- explicable, if the historian had read the epistle ; and that the insertion of it in the epistle, if the writer derived his information from the history, is not less so. St. Peter's visit to Antioch, during which the dispute arose between liim and St. Paul, is not mentioned in the Acts. If we connect, with these instances, the general obsenation, that no scrutiny can discover the smallest trace of transcription or imitation either in things or words, we shall be fully satisfieil in this part of our case ; namely, that the two records, be the facts contained in them true or false, come to our hands from independent sources. Secondly, I say that the epistle, thus proved to have been WTitten without any communication with the liisfory, bears testimony to a great variety of particulars contained in the history. 1. St. Paul, in the early part of his life, had ad- dicted himself to the study of the Jewish religion, and was distinguished by his zeal for the institu- tion and for the traditions which had been incor- porated with it. Upon this part of his character the history makes St. Paul speak thus : " I am verily a man which am a Jew, born in Tarsus, a city of Cilicia, yet brought up in this city at the feet of Gamaliel, and taught according to the per- fect manner of the law of the fathers ; and was zealous towards God, as ye all are tliis day." Acts, chap. xxii. 3. The epistle is as follows : " I profited in the Jews' religion above many my equals in mine own nation, being more exceedingly zealous of the tra- ditions of my fathers.'' Chap. i. 14. 2. St. Paul, before his conversion, had been a fierce persecutor of the new sect. " As for Saul, he made havoc of the church ; entering into every house, and, haling men and women, committed them to prison." Acts, chap. viii. 3. This is the history of St. Paul, as delivered in the Acts : in the recital of his own history in the epistle, " Ye have heard," says he, " of my con- versation in times past in the Jews' religion, how that beyond measure I persecuted the church of God." Chap. i. 13. 3. St. Paul was miraculously converted on his way to Damascus. " And as he journeyed he came near to Damascus: and suddenly there shined round about him a hght from heaven ; and he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saving unto him, Saul. Saul, why persecutest thou me] And he said, Who art thou. Lord 1 And the Lord said, I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest ; it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks. And he, trem- bling and astonished, said. Lord, what wilt thou have me to do 1 Acts, chap. ix. 3 — 6. With these compare the epistle, chap. i. 15 — 17: "When it pleased God, who separated me from my mother's womb, and called me by his grace to reveal his Son in me, that I might preach him among the hea- then ; immediately I conferred not with flesh and blood, neither went I up to Jerusalem, to them that were apostles before me; but I went into Arabia, and returned again unto Damascus." 193 HOR^ PAULINtE. In this quotation from the epistle, I desire it to be remarked how incidentally it appears, that the affair passed at Damascus. In what may he called the direct part of the accoimt, no mention is made of the place of his conversion at all : a casual ex- pression at the end, and an expression brought in for a different purpose, alone fixes it to have been at Damascus; "I returned again to Damascus." Nothing can be more like simpHcity and unde- signedness than this is. It also draws the agree- ment between the two quotations somewhat closer, to observe that they both state St. Paul to have preached the gospel inmiediately upon his call : " And straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God," Acts, chap. ix. 20. " When it pleased God to reveal his Son in me, that I might preach him among the heathen, immediately 1 conferred not with flesh and blood." Gal. chap. i. 15. 4. The course of the apostle's travels afler his conversion was this : he went from Damascus to Jerusalem, and from Jerusalem into Syria and Cilicia. '• At Damascus tlie disciples took hhn by niglit, and let him down by the wall in a bas- ket ; and when Saul was come to Jerusalem, he essayed to join himself to the disciples," Acts, chap. ix. 25. Afterwards, " when the brethren knew the conspiracy formed against liim at Jeru- salem, they brought him down to Cassarea, and sent him forth to Tarsus, a city in Cilicia,'' chap. ix. 30. In the epistle, St. Paul gives the following brief account of his proceedings within the same f)eriod : " After three years I went up to Jerusa- ern to see Peter, and abode with him fifteen daj's ; afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia." The history had told us that Paul passed from CfBsarea to Tarsus : if he took his journey by land, it would carry him through Syria into Cilicia ; and he would come after his visit at Jeru- salem, " into the regions of Syria and Cilicia," in the very order in which he mentions them in the epistle. This supposition of liis going from Cifi- sarea to Tarsus, by land, clears up also another point. It accounts for what St. Paul says in the same place concerning the churches of Judea : " Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia, and was unknown by face unto the churches of Judea, which were in Christ: but they had heard only that he which persecuted us in times past, now preacheth the faith, which once he destroyed ; and they glorified God in me." Upon which passage I observe, first, that what is here said of the churches of Judea, is spoken in connexion with his journey into the regions of Syria and Cilicia. Secondly, that the passage itself has little significancy, and that the connexion is inexplicable, unless St. Paul went through Judea* (though probably by a hasty journey) at the time that he came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia. Suppose him to have passed by land from Caesa- rea to I'arsus, all this, as hath been observed, would be precisely true. 5. Barnabas was with St. Paul at Antioch. " Then departed Barnabas to Tarsus, for to seek Saul ; and when he had found him, he brought * Dr. Doddridge thought that the CiBsarea here men- •knied was not the celebrated city of that name upon the Mediterranean sea, but Cssarea Philippi, near the borders of Syria, which lies in a much more direct line from Jerusalem to Tarsus than the other. The objection to this^Dr. Benson remarks, is, that Caisarea without any addition, usually denotes Caesarea PalcstiniE. him unto Antioch. And it came to pass that a wliole year they assembled themselves with the church," Acts, chap. xi. 25, 26. Again, and upon another occasion, " they (Paul and Barnabas) sailed to Antioch: and there they continued a long time with the disciples." Chap. xiv. 26. Now what says the epistle 1 " When Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, be- cause he was to be blamed ; and the other Jews dissembled likewise with him ; insomuch that Bar- nabas also was carried away with their dissimula- tion." Chap. ii. 11, 13. 6. The stated residence of the apostles was at Jerusalem. " At that time there was a great per- secution against the church which was at Jerusa- lem; and they were all scattered abroad through- out the regions of Judea and Samaria, except the apostles," Acts, chap. viii. 1. " They (the Chris- tians at Antioch) determined that Paul and Bar- nabas should go up to Jerusalem, unto the apos- tles and elders, about this question," Acts, chap. XV. 2. With these accounts agrees the declara- tion in the epistle: "Neither went I up to Jerusa- lem to them which were apostles before me," chap. i. 17: for this declaration implies, or rather as- sumes it to be known, that Jerusalem was the place where the apostles were to be met with. 7. There were at Jerusalem two aposlles, or at least two eminent members of the church, of the name of James. This is directly inferred from the Acts of the Apostles, which in the second verse of the twelfth (chapter relates the death of James, the brother of John ; and yet in the fif- teenth chapter, and in a subsequent part of the history, records a speech delivered by James in the assembly of the apostles and elders. It is also strongly hnplied by the form of expression used in the epistle : " Other apostles saw I none, save James, the Lord's brother;" i. e. to distinguish him from James the brother of John. To us who have been long conversant in the Christian history, as contained in the Acts of the Apostles, these points are obvious and familiar; nor do we readily apprehend any greater difficulty in making them appear in a letter purporting to have been written by St. Paul, than there is in introducing them into a modern sermon. But, to judge correctly of the argument before us, we must discharge this knowledge from our thoughts. We must propose to ourselves the situation of an au- thor who sat down to the writing of the epistle without having seen the history ; and then the concurrences we have deduced will be deemed of importance. They will at least be taken for separate confirmations of the several facts, and not only of these particular facts, but of the general truth of the history. For, what is the rule with respect to corroborative testimony which prevails in courts of justice, and which prevails only because experience has proved that it is a useful guide to truth 1 A principal wit- ness in a cause delivers his account : his narrative, in certain parts of it, is confinned by witnesses who are called afterwards. The credit derived from their testimony belongs not only to the particular cir- cumstances in vvhich the auxiliary witnesses agree with the principal witness, but in some measure to the whole of his evidence ; because it is impro- bable that accident or fiction should draw a line which touched upon truth in so many points. In hke manner, if two records be produced, manifestly independent, that is, manifestly written EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 1^3 without any participation of intelligence, an agree- ment between them, even in few and slight cir- cumstances (especially if from the ditferent nature and design of the writings, few points only of agreement, and those incidental, could be expected to occur,) would add a sensible weight to the au- thority of both, in every part of their contents. The same rule is applicable to history, with at least as much reason as any other species of evi- dence. No. III. But although the references to various particu- lars in the epistle, compared with the direct account of the same particulars in the history, afford a considerable proof of the truth, not only of these particulars but of the narrative which contains them ; yet they do not show, it will be said, that the epistle was written by St. Paul : for admitting, (what seems to have been proved,) that the writer, whoever he was, had no recourse to the Acts of the Apostles, yet many of the facts referred to, such as St. Paul's miraculous conversion, his change from a virulent persecutor to an indefati- gable preacher, his labours amongst the Gentiles, and his zeal for the liberties of the Gentile church, Were so notorious as to occur readily to the mind of an}'' Christian, who should choose to personate his character, and counterfeit his name; it was only to write what every body knew. Now I think that this supposition— viz. that the epistle was composed upon general information, and the general publicity of the facts alluded to, and that the author did no more than weave into his work what the common fame of the Christian church had reported to his ears — is repelled b}' the parti- cularity of the recitals and references. This par- ticularity is observable in the following instances, in perusing which, I desire the reader to reflect, whether they exhibit the language of a man who had nothing but general reputation to proceed upon, or of a man actually speaking of himself and of his own history, and consequently of tilings concerning which he possessed a clear, intimate, and circumstantial knowledge. 1. The history, in giving an account of St. Paul after his conversion, relates, "that, after many days," effecting, by the assistance of the disciples, his escape from Damascus, " he proceeded to Jeru- salem," Acts, chap. ix. 25. The epistle, speaking of the same period, makes St. Paul say, that " he went into Arabia," that he returned again to Da- mascus, that after three years he went up to Jeru- salem. Chap. i. 17, 18. 2. The history relates, that when Saul was come from Damascus, " he was with the disciples coming in and going out," Acts, chap. ix. 28. The epistle, describing the same journey, tells us, " that he went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and abode with him fifteen days," chap. i. 18. 3. The history relates, that when Paul was come to Jerusalem, " Barnabas took him and brought him to the apostles," Acts, chap. ix. 27. The epistle, " that he saw Peter; but other of the apos- tles, saw he none, save James, the Lord's brother," chap. i. 19. Now this is as it should be. The historian de- livers his account in general terms, as of facts to which he was not present. The person who is the subject of that account, when he comes to speak of these facts himself, particularises time, names, and circmnstances. „ 2B 4. The like notation of places, persons, and dates, is met with in the account of St. Paul's journey to Jerusalem, given in the second chap- ter of the epistle. It was fourteen years after his conversion ; it was in company with Barnabas and Titus ; it was then that he met with James, Ce- phas, and John; it was then also that it was agreed amongst them, that they should go to the circumcision, and he unto the Gentiles. 5. The dispute with Peter, wliich occupies the sequel of the second chapter, is marked with the same particularity. It was at Antioch ; it was after certain came from James ; it was wliilst Bar- nabas was there, who was carried away b}' their dissimulation. These examples negative the in- sinuation, that the epistle presents notliing but indefhiite allusions to public facts. No. IV. Chap. IV. 11 — 16. " I am afraid of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain. Brethren, I beseech 3'ou, be as I am, for I am as ye are. Ye have not injured me at all. Ye know how, through infirmity of the flesh, I preached the gospel unto you at the first ; and my temj 'ation, uhich was in the flesh, ye despised not, nor rejected; but re- ceived me as an angel of God, even as Christ Je- sus. Where is then the blessedness you spake of] , for I bear you record, that, if it had been possible, ye would have plucked out your own eyes and have given them unto me. Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth 1" With this passage compare 2 Cor. chap. xii. 1 — 9: "It is not expedient for me, doubtless, to glory; I will come to visions and revelations of the Lord. I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body I cannot tell, or whether out of t^e body, I cannot tell ; God know- eth ;) such a one was caught up to the tliird hea- ven : and I knew such a man, (whether in the body, or out of the body I cannot tell, God know- eth.) how that he was caught up into Paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not law- ful for a man to utter. Of such a one will I glory, yet of myself will I not glory, but in mine infirmi- ties : for, though I would desire to glory, I shall not he a fool ; for I will say the truth. But now I forbear, lest any man should think of me jtbovp that wliich he seeth me to be, or that he heareth of me. And lest I should be exalted above mea- sure, through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to biiffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure. For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it miglit depart from me. And he said unto me. My grace is sufficient for thee ; for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory m my in- firmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." There can he no doubt but that " the tempta- tion which vyas in the fiesh," mentioned in the Epistle to the Galatians, and " the thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet him," men- tioned in the Epistle to the Corinthians, were in- tended to denote the same thing. Either, there- fore, it was what we pretend it to have been, the same person in both, alluding, as the occasion led him, to some bodily infirmity under which he la- boured ; that is, we are reading the real letters of a real apostle ; or, it was that a sophist, who had seen the circumstance in one epistle, contrived, for 17 194 HOR^ PAULINA. the sake of correspondency, to bring it into an- oth<'r ; or, lastly, it was a circumstance in St. Paul's personal condition, supposed to be well known to those into whose hands the epistle was likely to fall; and for that reason, introduced into a writing designed to bear his name. I have extracted the quotations at length, in order to enable the reader to judge accurately of the manner in which the mention of this particular comes in, in each ; be- cause that judgment, I think, will acquit the au- thorof tire epistle of the charge of having studiously inserted it, either with a view of producing an ap- parent agreement between, or for any other pur- pose whatever. The context, by which the circumstance before us is introduced, is in the two places totally ditler- ent, and without any mark of imitation : yet in both places does the circumstance rise aptly and naturally out of the context, and that context from the train of thought carried on in the epistle. The Epistle to the Galatians, from the begin- ning to the end, runs in a strain of angry com- plaint of their defection from the apostle, and from the principles which he had taught them. It was very natural to contrast with this conduct, the zeal with which tliey had once received liim ; and it was not less so to mention, as a proof of their former disposition towards him, the indulgence which, wliilst he was amongst them, they had shown to his infirmity ; " My temptation which was in the flesh, ye despised not, nor rejected, but received me as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus. Where is then the blessedness you spake of," i. e. the benedictions whicli you bestowed upon mel " for I bear you record, that, if it had liecn possible, ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and nave given them to me." In the two epistles to the Corinthians, especially in tlie second, we have the apostle contending with certain teachers in Corinth, who had formed a party in tliat church against him. To vindicate his personal authority, as well as the dignity and credit of his ministry amongst them, he takes oc- casiiin (but not without apologising repeatedly for the folly, that is, for the indecorum of pronouncing fiis own panegyric,*) to meet his adversaries in thiir boastings: "Whereinsoever any is bold, (I s[)eak foolishly,) I am bold also. Are they He- brews 1 so am I. Are they Israelites 1 so am I. Are they the seed of Abraham 1 so am I. Are they the ministers of Christ ^ (I speak as a fool,) I am more; in labours more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft." Being led to the subject, he goes on, as was natural, to recount his trials and dangers, his in- cessant cares and labours in the Christian mission. From the proofs which he had given of his zeal and activity in the service of Christ, he passes (and tliat with the same view of establishing his claim to be considered as " not a whit behind the very chiefe-st of the apostles,") to the visions and reve- lations which from time to time have been vouch- safed to him. And then, by a close and easy connexion, comes in the mention of his infirmity: " Lest 1 should be exalted," says he, " above mea- * " Would to God you would bear with me a little in my folly, and indeed bear with me ! chap. xi. 1. " That which I speak, I spf?ak it not after the Lord, but as it were foolishly, in this confidence of boasting," ihap xi. 17. " I am become a fool in glorying; ye have compelled me," chap. iii. 11. sure, through the abundance of revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messen- ger of Satan to buflet me." 1 hus then, in both epistles, the notice of his infirmity is siiilid to the place in which it is found. In the Epistle to the Corinthians, the train of thought draws up to the circumstance by a regu- lar approximation. In this epistle, it is suggested by the subject and occasion of the epistle itself Which obser\ation we ofi'er as an argument to [irovethat it is not, in either epistle, a circumstance industriously brought forward for tlie sake ot pro- curing credit to an imposture. A reader will be taught to perceive the force of this argument, who shall attempt to introduce a given circumstance into the body of a writing. 'l"o do this without abruptness, or without betray- ing marks of design in the transition, requires, he will find, more art than he expected to be neces- sary, certainly more than any one can believe to have been exercised in the composition of these epistles. No. V. Chap. iv. 29. " But as then he that was born after the flesh persecuted him that was born after the spirit, eveti so it is now." Chap. V. 11. " And I, brethren, if I yet preach circumcision, why do I yet sufier persecution'? Then is the oflence of the cross ceased." Chap. vi. 17. " From henceforth, let no man trouble nie, for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." From these several texts, it is apparent that the persecutions which our apostle had undergone, were from the hands or by the instigation of the Jews ; that it was not for preaching Christianity in opposition to heathenism, but it was for preach- ing it as distinct from Judaism, that he had brought upon himself the sufl'erings which had attended his ministry. And this representation perfectly coincides with that which results from the detail of St. Paul's history, as delivered in the Acts. At Antioch, in Pisidia, the "word of the Lord was published throughout all the region : but the Jews stirred up the devout and honourable women and the chief men of the city, and raised persecution against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them out of their coasts," Acts, chap. xiii. 50. Not long after, at Iconium, " a great multitude of the Jews and also of the Greeks believed ; but the un- beUering Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made their minds evil afl'ected against the brethren," chap. xiv. 1, 2. " At Lystra there came certain Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the people; and having stoned Paul, drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead," chaj). xiv. 19. The same enmity, and from the same quar- ter, our apostle experienced in Greece : " At I'hes- salonica, some of them (the Jews) believed, and consorted with Paul and Silas : and of the devout Greeks a great multitude, and of the chief women not a few: hut the Jews which believed not, moved with envy, took unto them certain lewd fellows of the baser sort, and gathered a company, and set all the city in an uproar, and assaulted the house of Jason, and sought to bring them out to the peo- ple," Acts, chap. xvii. 4, 5. Their persecutcirs follow them to Berea: "When the Jeirs of Thes- salonica had knowledge that the word of Gcyl was preached of Paul at Berea, they came thithf also, and stirred up the people," chap. xxii. 13. And EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 195 lastly at Corinth, when Gallic was deputy of Achaia, " the Jews made insurrection with one accord against Paul, and brought him to the judg- ment-seat." I think it does not appear that our apostle was ever set upon by the Gentiles, unless they were first stirred up by the Jews, except in two instances ; in both which the jjersons who be- gan the assault were immediately interested in his expulsion from the place. Once this happened at Philippi, after the cure of the Pythoness: "When the masters saw the hope of their gains was gone, they caught Paul and Silas, and drew them into the market-place unto the rulers," chap. xvi. 19. And a second time at Ephesus, at the instance of Demetrius, a silversmith which made silver shrines for Diana, " who called together workmen of like occupation, and said. Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth ; moreover ye see and hear, that not only at Ephesus, but alrno-st throughout all Asia, this Paul hath persuaded away much people, saying, that they be no gods which are made with hands ; so that not only this our craft is in danger to be set at nought, but also that the temple of the great goddess Diana should be despised, and her magnificence should be de- stroyed, whom all Asia and the world worshippeth." No. VI. I observe an agreement in a somewhat peculiar rule of Christian conduct, as laid down in this epistle, and as exemplified in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. It is not the repetition of the same general precept, which would have been a coincidence of little value ; but it is the general precept in one place, and the application of that precept to an actual occurrence in the other. In the sixth chapter and first verse of this epistle, our apostle gives the following direction : " Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such a one in the spirit of meek- ness." In 2 Cor. chap. ii. 6 — 8, he writes thus : "Sufficient to such a man" (the incestuous per- son mentioned in the First Epistle,) "is this pu- nishment, which was indicted of many: so that, contrariwise, ye ought rather to forgive him and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with over-nmch sorrow ; wherefore I beseech you. that ye would confirm your love towards him." I have little doubt but that it was the same mind which dictated these two passages. No. VII. Our epistle goes farther than any of St. Paul's epistles ; for it avows, in direct terms, the super- session of the Jewish law, as an instrument of salvation, even to the Jews themselves. Not only were the Gentiles exempt from its authority, but even the Jews were no longer either to place any dependency upon it, or consider themselves as subject to it on a religious account. Before faith came, we were ke])t under the law, shut up unto the faith which should afterwards be revealed ; wh( refore the law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith ; but, after that faith is come, ire are no longer under a schoolmaster," chap. iii. 23 — 25. This was undoubtedly spoken of Jews, and to Jews. In like manner, chap. iv. 1 — b : " Now I say that the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant, thoui^h he be lord of all ; but is under tutors and governors until the time appoint- ed of the lather : even so we, when wo were ciiil- drcn, were in bondage under the elements of the world ; but when the fulness of time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that vcre xinder the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons " These passages are nothing short of a declaration, that the obligation of the Jewish law, I considered as a religious dispensation, the efiects of which were to take place in another life, had ceased, with respect even to the Jews tht'mselves. What then should be the conduct of a Jew, (lor such St. Paul was,) who preached this doctrine 1 To be consistent with himself, either he would no longer comply, in liis own person, with the direc- tions of the law; or, if he did comply, it would be for some other reason than any confidence which he placed in its efficacy, as a religious institutiun. Now so it happens, that whenever St. Paul's com- pliance with the Jewish law is mentioned in the history, it is mentioned in connexion with circum- stances which point out the motive from which it proceeded ; and this motive appears to have been always exoteric, namely, a love of order and tran- quillity, or an unwillingness to give unnecessary offence. Thus, Acts, chap. xvi. 3: "Him (Ti- mothy,) would Paul have to go forth with him, and took and circumcised him, because of the Jews which were in those quarters. Again, Acts, chap. XXI. 2t), when Paul consented to exhibit an exam])le of public compliance with a Jewish rite by purifying himself in the temple, it is plainly intimated that he did this to satisfy " many thou- sands of Jews who believed, and who were all zealous of the law." So far the instances related in one book, correspond with the doctrine deliver- ed in another. No. VIII. Chap. i. 18. "Then, after three years, I went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and abode with him fiileen days." The shortness of St. Paul's stay at Jerusalem is what I desire the reader to remark. The direct account of the same journey in the Acts, chap. ix. 28, determines nothing concerning the time of his continuance there : " And he was with them (the apostles) coming in, and going out, at Jerusalem ; and he spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus, and disputed against the Grecians : but they went about to slay him ; which when the brethren knew, they brought him down to Csesarea." Or rather this account, taken by itself, would lead a reader to suppose that St. Paul's abode at Jerusalem had been longer than fifteen days. But turn to the twenty-second chapter of the Acts, and you will find a reference to this visit to Jerusalem, which plainly indicates that Paul's continuance in that city had been of short duration : " And it came to pass, that when I was come again to Jerusalem, even while I prayed in the temple, I was in a trance, and saw him saying unto me. Make haste, get thee quickly out of Jerusalem, for they will not receive thy testimony concerning me." Here we have the general terms of one text so explained by a distant text in the same book, as to bring an in- determinate expression into a close conformity with a specification delivered in another book : a species of consistency not, I think, usually foinid in fabulous relations. 196 HORjE PAULINA. No. IX. Chap. vi. 11. "Ye see how large a letter I have written unto you with mine own hand." These words imply that he did not alwaj's write with his own hand ; which is consonant to what we find intiraatctl in some other of the epistles. The Epistle to the Romans was written by Ter- tius: "1, Tcrtius, who wrote this epistle, salute you in the Lord," chap. xvi. 23. The First Epis- tle to the Corinthians, the Epistle to the Colos- sians, and the Second to the Thessalonians, have all, near the conclusion, this clause, " The salu- tation of me, Paul, with mine own hand ;" which must be understood, and is universally understood to import, that the rest of the epistle was written by another hand. I do not think it improbable that an unpostor, who had remarked this subscrip- tion in some other epistle, should invent the same in a forgery ; but that is not done here. The author of this epistle does not imitate the manner of giving St. Paul's signature; he only bids the Galatians observe how large a letter hehad writ- ten to them with his own hand. He does not say this was different from his ordinary usage ; that is left to implication. Now to suppose that this was an artifice to procure credit to ah imposture, is to suppose that the author of the forgery, be- cause he knew that others of St. Paul's were not written by himself, therefore made the apostle say that this was : which seems an odd turn to give to the circumstance, and to be given for a purpose which would more naturally and more directly have been answered, by subjoining the salutation or signature in the form in which it is found in other epistles.* No. X. An exact conformity appears in the manner in which a certain apostle or eminent Christian, whose name was James, is spoken of in the epistle and in the history. Both writings refer to a situa- tion of his at Jerusalem, somewhat different from that of the other apostles ; a kind of eminence or presidency in the church there, or at least a more fixed and stationary residence. Chap. ii. 12: " When Peter was at Antioch, before that certain came from James, he did eat with the Gentiles." This text plainly attributes a kind of pre-eminency to James : and, as we hear of him twice in the same epistle dweUing at Jerusalem, chap. i. 19, and ii. 9, we must apply it to the situation which he held in that church. In the Acts of the Apostles divers intimations occur, conveying the same idea of James's situation. When Peter was miraculously delivered from prison, and had surprised his friends by his appearance among them, after declaring unto them how the Lord had brought him out of prison, "Go show," says he, "these things unto James, and to the brethren," Acts, chap. xii. 17. Here James is manifestly spoken of in terms of distinction. He appears again with like distinc- tion in the twenty-first chapter and the seventeenth and eighteenth verses : " And when we (Paul and his company) were come to Jerusalem, the day * The words 3-1,^1x01; yfn^u^sto-n' may probably be meant to describe the character in which he wrote, and not the length of the letter. But this will not alter the truth of our observation. I think, however, that as St. Paul, by the mention of his own hand, designed to ex- press to the Galatians the great concern which he felt for them, the words, whatever thev signify, belong to the whole of the epistle ; and not, as Grotius, after St. .Jeionie, interprets it, to the few verses which follow. following, Paul went in with us unto Jaiues and all the elders were present." In the debate which took place upon the business of the Gentile con- verts, in the council at Jerusalem, this same per- son seems to have taken the lead. It was he who closed the debate, and proposed the resolution in which the council ultimately concurred : " Where- fore my sentence is, that we trouble not them which from among the Gentiles are turned to God." Upon the whole, that there exists a conformity in the expressions used concerning James through- out the history, and in the epistle, is unquestion- able. But admitting tliis conformity, and admit- ting also the undesignedness of it, what does it prove 1 It proves that the circumstance itself is founded in truth ; that is, that James was a real person, who held a situation of eminence in a real society of Christians at Jerusalem. It confirms also those parts of the narrative which are con- nected with this circumstance. Suppose, for in- stance, the truth of the account of Peter's escape from prison was to be tried upon the testimony of a witness who, among other things, made Peter, after his deliverance, say, " Go show these things to James and to the brethren ;" would it not be material, in such a trial, to make out by other in- dependent proofs, or by a comparison of proofs, drawn from independent sources, that there was actually at that time, living at Jerusalem, such a person as James; that this person held such a situation in the society amongst whom these things were transacted, as to render the words which Peter is said to have used concerning him, proper and natural for him to have used % if this would be pertinent in the discussion of oral testimony, it is still more so in appreciating the credit of remote history. It must not be dissembled, that the comparison of our epistle with the history presents some dif- ficulties, or, to say the least, some questions of considerable magnitude. It may be doubted, in the first place, to what journey the words which open the second chapter of the epistle, "then, fourteen years afterwards, I went unto Jerusa- lem," relate. That which best corresponds with the date, and that to which most interpreters ap- ply the passage, is the journey of Paul and Bar- nabas to Jerusalem when they went thither from Antioch upon the business of the Gentile con- verts; and which journey produced the famous council and decree recorded in the fifteenth chap- ter of Acts. To me this opinion appears to be encumbered with strong objections. In the epis- tle Paul tells us that " he went up by revelation," chap. ii. 2. In the Acts, we read that he was sent by the church of Antioch : " after no small dissension and disputation, they determined that Paul and Barnabas, and certain other of them, should go up to the apostles and elders about this question," Acts, chap. xv. 2. This is not very reconcileable. In the epistle, St. Paul writes that, when he came to Jerusalem, "he com- municated that Gospel which he preached among the Gentiles, but privately to them which were of reputation," chap. ii. 2. If by " that Gospel" he meant the immunity of the Gentile Christians from the Jewish law, (and I know not what else it can mean,) it is not easy to conceive how he should communicate that privately, which was the object of his public message. But a yet greater difficulty remains, viz. that in the account wliich the epistle gives of what passed upon this EPISTLE To THE GALATIANS. 197 visit at Jemsalem, no notice is taken of the de- liberation and decree wliich are recorded in the Acts, and which, according to that history, formed the business for the sake of which the journey- was undertaken. The mention of the council and of its determination, whilst the apostle was re- lating his proceedings at Jerusalem, could hardly have been avoided, if in truth the narrative be- long to the same journey. To me it appears more probable that Paul and Barnabas had taken some journey to Jerusalem, the mention of which is omitted in the Acts. Prior to the apostolic de- cree, we read that " Paul and Barnabas abode at Antioch a long time with the disciples," Acts chap. xiv. 28. Is it unlikely that, during this long abode, they might go up to Jerusalem and return to Antioch 1 Or would the omission of such a journey be unsuitable to the general bre- vity with which these memoirs are written, es- pecially of those parts of St. Paul's history which took ])iace before the historian joined his society 1 But, again, the first account we find in the Acts of the Apostles of St. Paul's visiting Ga- latia, is in the sixteenth chapter and the sixth verse : " Now when they had gone through Phry- gia and the region of Galatia, they assayed to go mto Eithynia." The progress here recorded was subsequent to the apostolic decree ; therefore that decree must have been extant when our epistle was written. Now, as the professed design of the epistle was to establish the exemption of the Gen- tile converts from the law of Moses, and as the decree pronounced and confirmed that exemption, it may seem extraordinary that no notice whatever is taken of that detennination, nor any appeal made to itj authority. Much however of the weight of this objection, which applies also to some other of St. Paul's epistles, is removed by the following reflections. . 1. It was not St. Paul's manner, nor agreeable to it, to resort or defer much to the authority of the other apostles, especially whilst he was in- sisting, as he does strenuously throughout this epistle insist, upon his own original inspiration. He who could speak of the very chiefest of the apostles in such terms as the following — "of those who seemed to be somewhat, (whatsoever they were it maketh no matter to me, God accepteth no man's person.) for they who seemed to be somewhat in conference added nothing to me," — he, I say, was not lilvely to support himself by their decision. 2. The epistle argiies the point upon principle : and it is not perhaps more to be wondered at, that in such an argument St. Paul should not cite the apostolic decree, than it would be that, in a dis- course designed to prove the moral and religious duty of observing the Sabbath, the writer should not quote the thirteenth canon. 3. The decree did not go the length of the po- sition maintained in the epistle ; the decree only declares that the apostles and elders at Jerusalem did not impose the observance of the Mosaic law upon the Gentile converts, as a condition of their being admitted into the Christian church. Our epistle argues that the Mosaic institution itself was at an end, as to all effects upon a future state, even with respect to the Jews themselves. 4. They whose error St. Paul combated, were not persons who submitted to the Jewish law, because it was imposed by the authority, or becti'ise it was made part of the law of the Chris- tian church ; but they were persons who, having already become Christians, afterwards voluntarily took upon themselves the observance of the Mo- saic code, under a notion of attaining thereby to a greater perfection. This, I think, is precisely the oj)inion which St. Paul opposes in this epis- tle. Many of his expressions apply exactly to it: " Are ye so foolish 1 having begun in the spirit, are ye now made perfect in the flesh '?" chap, iii. 3. " Tell me, ye that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the lawT' chap. iv. 21. " How turn ye agaui to the weak and beggarly elements, whereunto ye desire again to be in bondage V cha]). iv. 9. It cannot be thought extraordinary that St. Paul should resist tliis opinion with earnestness ; for it both changed the character of the Christian dispensation, and derogated expressly from the completeness of that redemption which Jesus Christ had wrought for them that believed in him. But it was to no purpose to allege to such persons the decision at Jerusa- lem ; for that only showed that they were not bound to these observances by any law of the Christian church ; they did not pretehd to be so bound ; nevertheless they imagined that there was an efficacy in these observances, a merit, a recom- mendation to favour, and a ground of acceptance with God for those who complied with them. This was a situation of thought to which the tenor of the decree did not apply. Accordingly, St. Paul's address to the Galatians, which is throughout adapted to this situation, runs in a strain widely different from the laniruage of the decree : " Christ is become of no efli?ct unto you, whosoever of you are justified by the law;" chap. v. 4; i. e. who- soever places his dependence upon any merit he may apprehend there to be in legal observances. The decree had said nothing like this; therefore it would ha^•e been useless to have produced the decree in an argument of which this was the burden. In hke manner as in contending with an anchorite, who should insist upon the superior holiness of a recluse, ascetic life, and the value of such mortifications in the sight of God, it would be to no purpose to prove that the laws of the church did not require these vows, or even to prove that the laws of the church expressly left every Christian to his liberty. This would avail little towards abating his estimation of their merit, or towards settling the point in controversy.* * Mr. Locke's solution of this difficulty is by no means satisfactory. " St. Paul," he says, " did not remind the Galatians of the apostolic decree, because they already hafl it." In the first place, it does not appear with cer- tainty that thpy had it ; in the second place, if they had it, this was rather a reason, than otherwise, for refer- ring them to it. The passaj^e in tlie Acts, from which Mr. Locke concludes that the Galatic churches were in possession of the decree, is the fourth ver-v: of the six- teenth chapter: "And as they" (Paul and Timothy) "went throuch the cities, they delivered them the de- crees for to keep, that were ordained of the apostles and elders which were at Jerusalem." In my opinion, this delivery of the decree was confined to the churches to which St. Paul came, in pursuance of the plan ujion which he set out, "of visiting the brethren in every city where he had preached the word of the Lord ;" the history of which progress, and (.f all that pertained to it, is closed in the fifth verse, when the history informs that, "so were the churclies established in the faith, and increased in number daily." Then the history pro- ceeds upon a new section of tiie narrative, by telling us that "when they had gone throughout Phrygia and the recion of Galatia, they assayed to go into Bithynia." The decree itself is directed to "the brethren which 17* lyy HOR^ PAULINA. Another difficulty arises from the account of Peter's conduct towards the Gentile converts at Antioch, as given in the epistle, in the latter part of the second chapter ; which conduct, it is said, is consistent neither with the revelation commu- nicated to him upon the conversion of Cornehus, nor'with the part he took in the debate at Jeru- salem. But, in order to understand either the didiculty or the solution, it will be necessary to state and explain the passage itself " When Peter was come to Antioch, 1 withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed ; for, be- fore that certain came from James, he did eat vvitli the Gentiles ; but when they were come, he withdrew and separated himself, fearing them which were of the circumcision ; and the other Jews dissembled likewise with him, insomuch that Barnabas also was carried away with their dissimulation ; but when I saw they walked not uprightly, according to the truth of the Gospel, I said unto Peter, before them all, If thou, being a Jew, livest after the manner of the Gentiles, and not as do the Jews, why compellest thou the Gen- tiles to live as do the Jews ?" Now the question that produced the dispute to which these words relate, was not whether the Gentiles were capable of being admitted into the Christian covenant ; that had been fully settled : nor was it whether it should be accounted essential to the profession of Christianity that they should conform themselves to the law of Moses ; that was the question at Jerusalem: but it was, whether, upon the Gen- tiles becoming Christians, the Jews might hence- forth eat and drink with them, as with their own brethren. Upon this point St. Peter betrayed some inconstancy; and so he might, agreeably enough to his history. — He might consider the vision at Joppa as a direction for the occasion, ra- ther than as universally abolishing the distinction between Jew and Gentile; I do not mean with respect to final acceptance with God. but as to the manner of their living together in society : at least are of the Gentiles in Autiocli, Syria, and (Jilicia, tliat is, to clnirclies already foiuuied, and in wliicli this question had been stirred. And I think the observation of the noble author of the Miscellanea Sacra is not only injrenious but highly probable, viz that there is, in this place adislocation of the text, and that the fourth and fifth verses of the sixteenth chapter ought to follow the last verse of the lifteenth, so as to make the entire pas- sage run thus: " And they went through Syria and Ci- licia," (to the Christians of which country the decree was addressed) " confirming the churches ; and as they went through the cities, they delivered them the decrees for to keep, that were ordained of the apostles and el- ders which were at Jerusalem ; and so were the churches establisheil in the faith, and increased in numberdaily.'" And then the sixteenth chapter takes up a new and un- broken paragraph: "'Then came he toDerbe and Lystra, iStc." When St. Paul came, as he did into Galatia, to preach the Gospel, for the first time, in a new place, it is not probable that he would make mention of the de- cree, or rather letter, of the church of .lerusalem, which presupposed Christianity to be known, and which re- lated to certain doubts that liad arisen in some esta- blished Christian communities. The second reason which Mr. Locke assigns for the omission of the decree, viz. " that St. Pauls sole object in the epistle was to acquit himself of the imputation that had been charged upon him of actually pn;acliing circumcision," does not appear to me to be strictly true. It was not the sole object. The epistle is written in general opposition to the Judaizing inclinations which he found to prevail among his converts. The avowal of his own doctrine, and of his steadfast adherence to that ductriue, formed a necessary part of the design of his letter, but was not the whole of it. he might not have comprehended this point with, such clearness and certainty, as to stand out upon it against the fear of bringing upon himself the censure and complaint of his brethren in the church of Jerusalem, who still adhered to their ancient prejudices. But Peter, it is said, com- pelled the Gentiles isSai^'siv — "Why compellest thou the Gentiles to live as do the Jews ?" How did he do that ] The only way in which Peter appears to have compelled the Gentiles to comply with the Jewish institution, was by withdrawing himself from their society. By which he may be understood to have made this declaration; "We do not deny your right to be considered as Chris- tians; we do not deny your title in the promises of the Gospel, even without compliance with our law: but if you would have us Jews live with you as we do with one another ; that is, if you would in all respects be treated by us as Jews, you must live as such yourselves." This, I think, was the compulsion which St. Peter's conduct imposed upon the Gentiles, and for which St. Paul reproved him. As to the part which the historian ascribes to St. Peter in the debate at Jerusalem, besides that it was a diliiBrent question which was there agita- ted from that which produced the dispute at An- tioch, there is nothing to hinder us from sup- posing that the dispute at Antioch was prior to the consultation at Jerusalem ; or that Peter, in consequence of this rebuke, might have afterwards maintained firmer sentiments. CHAPTER VI. The Epistle to the Ephesians, No. I. This epistle, and the Epistle to the Colossians, appear to have been transmitted to their respect- ive churches by the same messenger : " But that ye also may know my affairs, and how I do, Tychicus, a beloved brother and faithful minister in the Lord, shall make known to you all things ; whom I have sent unto you for the same purpose, that ye might know our affairs, and that he might comfort your hearts," Ephes. chap. vi. 21, 33. This text, if it do not expressly declare, clearly I think intimates, that the letter was sent by Ty- chicus. The words made use of in the Epistle to the Colossians are very similar to these, and af- ford the same implication that Tychicus, in con- junction with Onesimus, was the bearer of the letter to that church ; " All my state shall Ty- chicus declare unto you, who is a beloved brother, and a faithful minister, and fellow servant in the Lord ; whom I have sent unto you for the same pur- pose, that he might know your estate, and comfort your hearts ; with Onesimus, a faithful and be- loved brother, who is one of you. They shall make known unto you all things which are done here," Colos. chap. iv. 7 — 9. Both epistles re- present the writer as under imprisonment for the Gospel ; and both treat of the same general sub- ject. The Epistle therefore to the Ephesians, and the Epistle to the Colossians, import to be two letters written by the same person, at or nearly at the same time, and upon the same sitbject, and to have been sent by the same messenger. Now, every thing in the sentiments, order, and diction EFISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 199 of the two writings, correspond with what miglit be expected from this circumstance of identity or cognation in their original. The leading doctrine of both epistles is the union of Jews and Gentiles under the Christian dispensation ; and that doc- trine in Ijoth is estabhslied by the same arguments or, more properly speaking, illustrated by the same similitudes: * "one head," "one body," "one new man," "one temple," are in both epistles the figures under which the society of believers in Chi'ist, and their common relation to him as such, is represented, t The ancient, and, as had been thought, the indelible distinction lietween Jew and Gentile, in both epistles, is declared to be " now abohshed by Ms cross." Besides this con- sent in the general tenor of the two epistles, and in the run also and warmth of thought with which they are composed, we may naturally expect in letters produced under the circumstances in which these appear to have been written, a closer resem- blance of style and diction, than between other letters of the same person but of distant dates, or between letters adapted to different occasions. In particular, we may look for many of the same expressions, and sometimes lor whole sentences being alike ; since such expressions and sentences would be repeated in the second letter (whichever that was) as yet fresh in the author's mind from the writing of the first. This repetition occurs in the following examples : t Ephes. ch. . i. 7. " In whom we have re- demj)tion through his blood, the forgiveness of siris."§ Colos. ch. i. 14. " In whom we have redemp- tion through his blood, the forgiveness of sins." II Besides the sameness of the words, it is farther remarkable that the sentence is. in both places, preceded by the same introductory idea. In the Epistle to the Ephesians it is the " beloved'' (>,j.^;r>)^£i/(u); in that to the Colossians it is "his dear Son" (yiov t>i; ce> x^r^i; «utou,) " in whom we have redemption." — The sentence appears to have been suggested to the mind of the writer by the idea which had accompanied it before. Ephes. ch. i. 10. " All things both which are * St. Paul, I am apt to believe, has been sometimes accused of inconclusive reasoning, by our mistaking that for reasoning which was only intended for illus- tration. He is not to be read as a man, whose own P'-rsuasion of the truth of what he taught always or solely depended upon the views under which he repre- sents it in his writings. Taking for granted tlie cer- tainty of his doctrine, as resting upon the revelation that had been imparted to him, lie e.thibits it frequently to the conception of his readers under images and alle- gories, in which if an analogy may be perceived, or even sometimes a poetic resemblance be found, it is all per- haps that is required. Ephes. i. 52. T Compare J> iv. 15, ii. 15, with Colos. i. 18. ii. v.). iii. 10, 11. ( Ephes. ii. 14, 15, Iso I ii. It), i ii. 20, with Colos. ii. 14. i. 18- -21 J When 7-C!-&«? comparisons are relied upon, it becomes necessary to state the original; but that the English reader may be interrupted as little as may be, I shall in general do this in the notes. § Ephes. ch. i. 7 S.v m s%o^sv mv aTroKuTcun-tv Six TC-J U,i/^-ATO^ liUTOU, TflV W^SlTtV TWV TTCi^XTTT'M/AXT jjV . II Colos ch. i. 14. Ev a> £'/,0/iiV rviv x-n-oX\ir gMtriv ifJ. TO-J Kl/XXTO,- XUTOU, TUV * 5 < (T 1 V TjJV XUHDT fj^V . HOWBVer It must be observed, that in this latter text many copies .■nave not Six, tou ai^-STo; S4UT0U. in heaven and which are in earth, even in him."* Colos. ch. i. 20. " All things by him, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven." t This quotation is the more observable, because the connecting of things in earth with things in heaven is a very singular sentiment, and lound no where else but in these two epistles. Tlie words also are introduced and followed by a train of thought nearly alike. They are introduced by describing the union which Christ had eliccted, and they are followed by telling the Gentile churches that they were incorporated into it. Ephes. ch. iii. 2. " The dispensation of the grace of God, which is given me to you ward."? Colos. ch. i. 23. " The dispensation of God which is given to me for you." § Of these sentences it may likewise be observed that the accompanying ideas are similar. In both places they are immediately preceded by the men- tion of his present sutierings ; in both places they are immediately followed by the mention of the mystery which was the great subject of liis preaching. Ephes. ch. v. 19. " In psalms and hynms and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.' II Colos. ch. iii. 16. " In psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord." IT Ephes. ch. vi. 22. " Wliom I have sent unto you for the sanre purpose, that ye might know our atiairs, and that he might coniibrt your hearts." * * Colos. ch. iv. 8. " Whom I have sent unto you for the same purpose, that he might know your estate and comfort your hearts." tt In these examples, we do not perceive a cento of phrases gatluered from one compf^sition, and strung together in the other ; but the occasional occurrence of the same expression to a mind a second time revolving the same ideas. 2. Whoever writes two letters, or two dis- courses, nearly upon the same subject, and at no great distance of time, but without any express recollection of what he had written before, will find himself repeating some sentences, in the very order of the words in which he had already used them ; but he will more frequently find himself employing some principal terms, with the order inadvt-rtently changed, or with the order disturbed by the intermixture of other words atid phrases expressive of ideas rising up at the time ; or in many instances repeating not single words, nor yet whole sentences, but parts and fragments of * Ephes ch. i. 10. Tx ts ev toi; ou^avoig xxi T^siri f Colos. ch. i. 20. Al aurOU, £,i/ outoKO/iixv xx^ito? tou e.'ou Tjjf Soitio-*!; ^01 £i; Vfixf. § Colos. ch. i. 25. Tlf oixovo/ii»v tou ©sou, t^v S-.iiia-xv fici £15 vfix;. II Ephes. ch. v. 19. ^rxX/iai; xat vfivm, XXI aiSxt; TViyjfixrixxi; uSovrtg xxi \)/»XXovt£; £n T>; x:i^ijiss \i/j.jit, tu) K-J^tju, IT Colos. ch. iii. 16. f»^,tiOi; x«i u^voi; xai uiJxi;57i£u f£XT l-AXt^^ £V yyXQiTl :6lOl'T55 £ V T JJ XXoSlX \J [X'MV "7 JJ Ku (J i OJ . * * Ephes. ch. vi. 22. Ov iTrtn-^x 57^0; u/»a; £i; auTO ts • TO, 1V34 yVM-Xl T« TTl^i (Ji^wV, XC«i TTX^XXA'Ki^V^ TCif XX^StX-^ 1 1 Colos. ch. 1 V. 8. Ov lyrifi^x ^gzg v/mg itg auTO touto IVX yvji TX TTS^l V/iMV, XXI TT X ^XX Xy i (T '^ TX; XXfSiXi 200 HOR^ PAULINyE. sentences. Of all these varieties the examination of our two epistles will furnish plain examples : and I should rely upon this class of instances more than upon the last ; because, although an impostor might transcribe into a forgery entire sentences and phrases, yet the dislocation of words, the par- tial recollection of phrases and sentences, the in- termixture of new terms and new ideas with terms and ideas before used, which will appear in the examples that follow, and which are the natural properties of writings produced under the circum- stances in which these epistles are represented to have been composed — would not, I think, have occurred to the invention of a forger ; nor, if they had occurred, would they have been so easily ex- ecuted. This studied variation was a refinement in forgery which I believe did not exist ; or if we can suppose it to have been practised in the in- stances adduced below, why, it may be asked, was not the same art exercised upon those wliich we have collected in the preceding class ] Ephes. chap. i. 19;ch. ii. 5. "Towards us who believe according to the working of his might}' power, which he wrought in Christ when he raised him from the dead (anti set him at his own rijjht hand in the heavenly places, far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but in that which is to come. And hath put all things under his feet: and gave him to be the head over all things, to the church, which is his body, the fulness of all things, that fillcth all in all ;) and you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins (wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, ac- cording to the prince of the pov.'er of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobe- dience ; among whom also we all had our conver- sation, in times past, in the lusts of our flesh, ful- filling the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others, But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us,) even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Clirist." * Colos. ch. ii. 12, 13. " Through the faith of the operation of God, who hath raised him from the dead : and you, being dead in your sins and the uncircumcision of the flesh, hath he quickened together with him."+ Out of the long quotation from the Ephesians, take away the parentheses, and you have left a sentence almost in terms the same as the short quotation from the Colossians. The resemblance is more visible in the original than in our transla- tion; for what is rendered in one place, "the working," and in another the "operation," is the same Greek term svs^ysi*; in one place it is, tov,; jTirTEuovxas xKT^Tiii/ £v£(ytia.v ; in the Other, Six Tij; TTia-Ti'^i T>,{ £v£fy£,st;. Hcrc, thcreforc, we have the same sentiment, and nearly in the same words ; but, in the Ephesians, twice broken or interrupted by incidental thoughts, which St. Paul, as his * Ephes. ch. i. ]9, 20; ii. 1, 5. Tou; jrio-Tsuovras xxt» tv T'M\eio-T„,,Eyiiexs auToi/ ill v-EXf^uvxai ixcciia-iviv S'-t"^ auTOu i[/ TOi; i^ongxviCig — xxi \ifxg ovrag i/£Xf ou; xoi; ttx- eXTTTwy-xTi XXI Tiii; UfixgTixii — xxi oi'tk; >i^«s vnxfOvg Toi; ^xgx^TTwy.xm, Tvvt^j,t,?TOiyi(rs -vj, X<"o-Tt«. t Coins, ch. ii. 12, 13. ^ix t>,; :rio-T£u,; t;,, ivteydxg T8 0£iu Tou syuexvroi kutov ex t-jv vixg-^v. K.oi Vfcx; vixgag VTxg £i/TOi; Txgx7ntofixa-i xxi Tij xx^OaMis (tx^xo; manner was, enlarges upon by the way,* and then returns to the thread of his discourse. It is inter rupted the first time by a view which breaks in upon his mind of the exaltation of Christ ; and the second time by a description of heathen de- pravity. I have only to remark that Griesliach, in his very accurate edition, gives the parenthesis very nearly in the same manner in which they are here placed ; and that without any respect to the comparison which we are proposing. Ephes. ch. iv. 2 — i. "With all lowliness and meekness, with long-suiTcring, forbearing one an- other in love ; endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your caning."t Colos. ch. iii. 12 — 15. "Futon therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long- suflering, forbearing one another and forgiving one another ; if any man have a quarrel against any, even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye ; and, above all these things, put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness; and let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye arc called in one body."t In these two quotations the words Txyrnvotf^cic-vuif, TTfx^Ttig, fixxfoSufiix, tcv£-/,ofi£vai,xKKyiKaiv, occur in ex- actly the same order: xyxTrn is also found in both, but in a difiercnt connexion; trwha-z^og -r,,; £(f>ivi)s answers to i9^T£ tv Hit B-MliXTt to if (ra)/K« XaSiu; XXI £!IX>IJ>)T£ £1/ /iiX tXTTiSi; yet is this similitude found in the midst of sen- tences otherwise very dillerent. Ephes. ch. iv. 16 " From whom the whole body fitly joined together, and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the ef- fectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body.'S Colos. ch. ii. 19. " From which all the body, by joints and bands, having nourishment minis- tered and knit together, increaseth with the in- crease of God. "II In these quotations are read sj ou ttxv to o-^u^a c-vy.Ziix'Qciiivtiv in both places: i'n-i%o^n'yiti//.ivav an- swering to £^'%oei1J"='s: ^'« Tcov a^soi; to SiXTrxa-yig «9>is: ctu^si Ti)i/ aujjjTiv to ^oi£>TMi rvtv Kugijo-iv: and yet the sentences are considerably diversified in other parts. Ephes. ch. iv. 32. " And be kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ's sake, hath forgiven you. "IT * Vide Locke in loc. t Ephes. ch. iv. 2 — 4. MiTX Trxtrtig rxTTitvtlfeixrtjviig xxl j7faOTi)TO;, uiTX fiXxgiiiMy-Lxg, x\>iy^t>iitvo> xKKYtki^v £V xyXTTVi' (Tjroii Ja^0VT£5 tv^qhv Ty\v evOTyjrx TOu irrvtujuXTOg =v TO) (TUvJsO-^Ul tij; £lf>ll'>15. Ev G-'x'fiX. xxl BV !7Vi\lliXjXxiMi XXI £XX>j6>)T£ iV I/.IX i'KTTiSl Tl(5 X. ^^I) (Ti CU ? U^tUV. \ Colos. ch. iii. 12 — 15. Ei/Suo-airaE Ouk, «u; £XA.£xtoi -, 0£Ou xyitiixxi ■,fyx77->ifts^oi,iT7rkxy'/,vx '>ixTig/tj:v, xena-vn TJJTa, T»!r£ll/Olf fOO-UV^V, -n-gXHTViTX^ fiXX^aW/ilxV XVi-jCCtfis vol xKXt^Xjiv, XXI Y,x(ii^Sfii\ioi $xuTOig-ixv Tig TTgog itvx £%j) fiQfjL(pv\\i^ xx^wg xxl 0 XpiirTOg exxgiTxro v/^iVjCVT(xi xxi VfJlBig' i'TTl TTXC-l Ss TOVTOig Ti\V XyXTTVjV^ JJTiJ StTTl ITUvSsa-jUOg TVig T£X.£10T>)TOS- XXI 1) £ll'>l TOU fc)£OU figxisVSTl^ £1/ TXig XXgSlXig O^a'V, £i? ilV XXI £xKiibviT£ tV iVl tTMfJLXTl, § Ephes. ch. iv. 16. Es "" "^i" to c;j.-/ix a-uvxe/ucKny ou y«£vov xxl o-u/ibiSw^c.MSVOv Slx TTXo-^g x^-^g T>]5 t-TTiy^r^gv^y ixg xxt' ivigyitxv IV i^irgijs ivog ixxo-tom [>.i^mgiyiv Ku^ijrivTs 11 Colos. ch. ii. 19. EJ ou wav to o-oo^k ^i» Tuiv xt^'j^v xx. ;o-TOi i\jr!-7rKxy%v(,i, Y^xgi'Ct:,iJ.ivoi ekutoi;, xxSiuj xxi o Ksoj sn Xf lO-Tco £Ji»^l(r»TO V/ilV, EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 201 Colos. ch. iii. 13. " Forbearing one another and forgiving one another; if any man have a quarrel against any, even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.'* Here we have "Toraiving one another, even as God, for Christ's sake (sv Xf jo-to.) hath forgiven you," in the lirst quotation, substantially repeated in the second. But in the second, the sentence is broken by the interposition of a new clause, " if any man have a quarrel against any," and the latter part is a little varied ; instead of " God in Christ," it is " Christ hath forgiven you." Ephcs. ch. iv. 22 — 24. " That ye put off con- cerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and be renewed in the spirit of your mind ; and that ye put on the new man, which, after God, is created in righteousness and true holiness. "t Colos. ch. hi. 9, 10. " Seeing that ye have put off the old man with his deeds, and have put on the now man, which is renewed in knowledge, af- ter the image of him that created him."t In these quotations, " putting off the old man, and jmtting on the new," appears in both. The idea is further explained by calling it a renewal ; in the one, " renewed in the spirit of your mind ;" in the other, " renewed in knowledge." In both, the new man is said to be formed according to the same model ; in the one he is, " after God, created in righteousness and true holiness;" in the other, " he is renewed after the image of him that created him." In a word, it is the same person writing upon a kindred subject, with the terms and ideas which he had before employed still floating in his memory. § Ephes. ch. v. 6 — 8. " Because of these things Cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience : be not j'e therefore partakers with them ; for ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ve light in the Lord : walk as children of light."ll Colos. ch. iii. 6 — 8. " For which thing^s sake the icraih of God cometh on the children of dis- obedience ; in the which ye also walked some time, when ye lived in them. But now ye also put oft" all these. '"IF These verses aflbrd a specimen of that partial * Colos. ch. iii. 13. Avs%o/i£v5» a\x.iiA.!ov, x»i x»e'i'>- I Ephes. ch. iv. 22 — 24. A^oinrixi vftx; xxtx ry[v sTgn- X.XTX rxi i^iS\jfiixg rug XTrxTvig' xvxvsoua-jxi Ss tm ttvsjj. ^xr( Tsu voo; u/i-jivjxxt svSfjtrxtrixi Toi/x«ivoi' xvjf cottovjTov icxTx Qiov iCTttrssvTX tv Sixxiai oe> 1) ts TO%oi xuTjiv. Hr£ yxcrr'^ti crxo-ro;, vuv St ?ao; iv Kmoui- aij IT Colos. ch. iii. 6 — 8. Ai x igxirxi n oeyA Q^'.-j t^' TOu; utov; Tn; x^ainx;' iv ei; xxi u,«:i? Trig iS7rxTv.^»r' ^0T = , 0T£ £^*JT£ £V XVTOig, N'Jl'i Ss XTTf^^itT^i XXt VfiSi; TX sravTx, 2C resemblance which is only to be met witli when no imitation is designed, when no studied recol- lection is employed, hut when the mind, exercised upon the same subject, is left to the spontaneous return of such terms and phrases, as, having been used before, may happen to present themselves again. The sentiment of both passages is through- out alike: half of that sentiment, the denunciation of Gods wrath, is expressed in identical words; the other half, viz. the admonition to quit their former conversation, in words entirely diftbrent. Ephes. ch. v. 15, 16. " See then that ye walk circumspectly ; not as fools, but as wise, redeem- ing the time.'"* Colos. ch. iv. 5. " Walk in wisdom towards them that are without, redeeming the time.'t This is another example of that mixture, which we remarked of sameness and variety in the lan- guage of one writer. " Redeeming the time" (i^xj. ofx^cu'voi TOV xxifov,) is a literal repetition. " Walk not as fools, but as wise," (jrsenrxrEiTs /;piov,^ answers to "make it manifest" (ax (^xvtpujo-t.- x-jt: ;) " for which I am an ambassador in bonds" ("-=? "<> rrfso-Siuaj .V x?Lu(j-£.,) to " for whicli I am also m bonds" (Ji oxxi Sihpxi.) Ephes. ch. v. 22. " Jl'ircs, submit yourselves to your oirn husbands, as -unto the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church, and he is the saviour of the body. Therefore, as the church is subject * Ephes. ch. v. 15, 16. B^e.tets ouv v^g xzfiba.; 57£fi. — xr£tT£' ^s; xg xtro^Oij xKK^ Mg trOyO*, s^xy-cgxC^^svoi tov ■Axig-.v. t Colos. ch. iv. 5. Er (r:Jix^£f<-xT£iT£ n-^e; touj i^-^, X Eplies. cil. vi. 19, 20. Kx< u^tej £/iOu, ivx liot. Jo:£i^ ^•y-g £v xvoij£< Ta-j o-TOjCiXTOj .kou £v TXff/a-ix, yvx'y£^*2U, tl^5^ OU !Tf£(ro£U(jO SV X>.UT£lj (I'X SV X'JTU) ?7Xppv;0-iX(ra.'.wxi, lug 5"£* /*£ KxXviTXl, § Colos. ch. iv. 3, 4. n^ oir£u;iO^£vo< xftx XXI ^.= 01 Ji.UiU', iVX 0 0:0; XVOi^;i JljW'V ^UQXV TOU \o^ou, Xx'Kv^TXi TO /^'J. TTV^tZV TOV X^ITTOU 5"* 0 XXt SiSi^Xt IVX ^XVi^MtTJi XUTO x-i Js< .u£ i.xKv.iyxi. 202 HOR^ PAULINiE. unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own hus- bands in every thing. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it, that he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word ; that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle, or any such thing ; but that it should be holy and without bicmisli. So ought men to love their v*'ives as their own bodies. Ht! that loveth his wife, loveth himself; for no man ever yet hated his own tlesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church ; for we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. For this cause shall a man leave his fa- ther and his mother and be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one llesh. This is a great mystery ; but 1 speak concerning Christ and the church. Nevertheless, let every one of you in particular, so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband. Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honour thy father and thy mother (which is the first commandment with promise,) that it may be well with thee, and that thou may- est live long on the earth. And ye fathers, pro- voke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Servants, be obedient to them that are your nuis- ters according to the flesh, icith fear and trem- bling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ ; not until eye-service, as men-pleasers, but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart ; with good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men; knowing that whatsoever good thing any vian doeth, the same shall he re- ceive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free. And, ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening : knowing that your mas- ter also is in heaven, neither is there respect of persons with him.*" t Coles, ch. iii. 18. " Wives, submit yourselves unto your own huslwnds, as it is fit in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them. Children, obey your parents in all things, for this is well pleasing unto the Lord. Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged. Servants, obey in all things your masters according to the flesh : not with eye- service as men-pleasers, but in singleness of heart, fearing God ; and whatever ye do, do it heartily * Eplies. ch. v. 22. Ai j-ui/a.xEs, to.j ) £f£3l^£T£ *Tf, TtlLVX V/.iMV. Ephes. Ol SoVKHi, U7r»X0U£T£ T0<; XUpiOi; XXTX ]5 Y-X^^lXg U/tU)l', UJ? Toj Xf icTTu)' /ill x»t' \i^ixKlitiSa\j'KSixv, to; «v5f jj!7ae£0-xo<, aXX' (US Jo-UAOl TOO Xf 10-TOU,;rolOul/T£; TO 3-£/.l)/i« TOU 0£OU ex iu%li;-/*£T' £Ol>01XS 'JoU^-SUOKTE; cog toj Kvpix>,XXl OUX XV- SftlTTOti- ItSon; OTl 0 £»VTI EXSS0-T05 TTOlltO-^ Cl^ K 5 0 1', T 0 UTO X0/it£*T56t TTxpX TOU KupfOU, £*T£ SovKOg, fitTg £^£u3;pOg. Colos. Ol So\JKCI, U7ritX0U£T£ XMTCt TTXVTX TO. 5 XO!T» trxp/.x xupioig, /iV] iv QOjxKft^ShuKsixig, oig «i'Sp-^— xp£(rxot, «/.X' 6V X7:-KlTyiTt XXp^'Xg, eoSoU//;V01 TOV ©£0V X.XI 7TXV 0, Ti £X1/ :7-oiiiT£, £X >J/u;^v|5 tpyaiTsfSs, co; ruj Kupioj, xal oux KvSpjjroi;" f iJoT£5 OTl K-o Kupiou K!roXi)-4'£ir3£ t-^v avTKjro. JotTM' TVJh H\-/ip^VfifJHXg' rw yxp KupiUJ Xp(0-TU> 5ou\£OsT£, • n-xe»ej''v-'^'' lectio noil spernenda. Griesb.vch. as to the Lord, and not unto men, knowing tha; of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the in- heritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ. — But he that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong wjiich he hath done ; and there is no respect of persons. Masters, give unto your servants that which is just and equal, knowing that ye also have a mas- ter in heaven."' The passages marked by Italics in the quota- tion from the E))liesians, bear a strict resemlilance, not only in signiiication but in terms, to the quo- tation from the Colossians. Both the words and the order of the words are in many clauses a du- plicate of one another. In the Epistle to the Co- lossians, these passages are laid together ; in that to the Ephesians, they are divided by intermediate matter, especially by a long digressive allusion to the mysterious union between Christ and his church ; which possessing, as Mr. Locke hath well observed, the mind of the apostle, from being an incidental thought, grows up into the principal subject. The affinity between these two passages in signification, in terms, and in the order of the words, is closer than can be pointed out between any parts of any two epistles in the volume. If the reader would see how the same subject is treated by a dill'erent hand, and how distinguish- able it is from the production of the same pen, let him turn to the second and third chapters of the First Epistle of St. Peter. The duties of servants, of wives, and of husbands, are enlarged upon in that t'pistle, asthe}^ are in the Epistle to the Ephe- sians but the subjects both occur in a-difierent order, and the train of sentiment subjoined to each is totally unlike. 3. In two letters issuing from the same person, nearly at the same time, and upon the same gene- ral occasion, we may expect to trace the influence of association in the order in which the topics fol- low one another. Certain ideas universally or usually suggest others. Here the order is what we call natural, and from such an order nothing can be concluded. But when the order is arbi- trary, yet alike, the concurrence indicates the ef- fect of that princi[)Ie, by which ideas, which have been once joined, commonly revisit the thoughts together. The epistles under consideration fur- nish the two following remarkable instances of this species of agreement. Ephes. ch. iv. 24. " And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteous- ness and true holiness ; wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour, for we are members one of another."* Colos. ch. iii. 9. " Lie not to one another; see- ing that ye have put oil' the old man with his deeds ; and have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge. "+ The vice of " lying," or a correction of that vice, docs not seem to bear any nearer relation to the " putting on the new man," than a leformation in any other article of morals. Yet these two ideas, we see, stand in both epistles in immediate con- nexion. Ephes. ch. v. 20, 21, 22. " Giving thanks al- * Ephes. ch. iv. 24, 25. K«. EvJutrao-Sa. toi/ xa.vov xv. ti Til! ceXviSsix; .>|5£i«i' fiXseiTTOc f^STX TOU ?rK>]o-(Oy auTOu OTt £rf.tsv xXkijK'MV ^sK^. t Colos. ch. iii. 9. Mi) ^t^jSi^h stg x\K)iKc,Mg, at^ixJu- (rx[/.;vai TOV ^xkxtov av^fjiTTOv, a-vv TXig Trfxiitriv xurov, •/.'xt svSvff-Xf^ivOi TOf viov ^T'fV xvxxxlvov^ivov Big imy vj'O-iv, EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 203 ways for all things unto God and the Father, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; submitting yourselves one to another, in the fear of God. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own hus- bands, as unto the Lord.'* Colos. ch. iii. 17. " Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as it is lit, in the Lord."t In both these passages, submission follows giv- ing of thanks, without any similitude in the ideas which should account for the transition. It is not necessary to pursue the comparison be- tween the two epistles farther. The argument which results from it stands thus : Xo two other epistles contain a circumstance which indicates that they were written at the same, or nearly at the same time. No two other epistles exhibit so many marks of correspondency and resemblance, [f the original which we ascribe to these two ejns- tles be the true one, that is, if they were both really written by St. Paul, and both sent to their res[)cctive destination by the same messenger, the similitude is, in all points, what should be expect- ed to take place. If they were forgeries, then the mention of Tychicus in both epistles, and in a manner which shows that he either carried or ac- companied both epistles, was inserted for the pur- pose of accounting for their similitude : or else the structure of the epistles was designedly adapted to the circumstance : or lastly, the conformity between the contents of the forgeries, and what is thus di- rectly intimated concerning their date, was only a happy accident. Not one of these three supposi- tions will gain credit with a reader who peruses the ejjistles with attention, and who reviews the several examples we have pointed out, and the ob- servations with which they were accompanied. No. II. There is such a thing as a peculiar word or phrase cleaving, as it were, to the memory of a writer or speaker, and presenting itself to his utter- ance at every turn. When we observe this, we call it a cant word, or ncant phrase. It is a natu- ral effect of habit : and would appear more fi-e- quently than it does, had not the rules of good writing taught the ear to be olfended with the iter- ati')n of the same sound, and oftentimes caused us to reject, on that account, the word which ofler- ed itself lirst to our recollection. With a writer who, like St. Paul, either knew not these rules, or disregarded thera, such words will not be avoided. The truth is, an example of tliis kind runs through .several of his epistles, and in the epistle before us abounds ; and that is in the word riches, (s-;^outo?) used metaphorically as an argumentative of the idea to which it happens to be subjoined. Thus, " the riches of his glory," " his riches in glory," " riches of the glory of his inheritance," " riches of the glory of this mystery," Rom. ch. ix. 23. Ephes. ch. iii. 16. Ephes. ch. i. 18. Colos. ch. i. 27 : '• riches of his grace," twice in the Ephesians, ch. i. 7, and ch. ii. 7 ; " riches of the full assurance of understanding," Colos. ch. ii. 2: "riches of hia goodness," Rom. ch. ii. 4 ; " riches of the wisdom of God," Rom. ch. xi. 33; "riches of Christ," Ephes. ch. iii. 8. In a like sense the adjective, Rom. ch. X. 12, " rich unto all that call upon him ;" Ephes. ch. ii. 4, " rich in mercy ;" 1 Tim. ch. vi. 18, rich in good works." Also the adverb, Colos. ch. iii. 16, "let the word of Christ dwell in yon richly." This figurative use of the word, though so familiar to St. Paul, does not occur in any jiart of the New Testament, except once in the Epistle of St. James, ch. ii. 5. " Hath not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith ] where it is manifestly suggested by the antithesis. I propose the frequent, yet seemingly unaJiected use of this phrase, in the epistle before us, as one internal mark of its genuineness. No. III. There is another singularity in St. Paul's style, which, wherever it is found, may be deemed a badge of authenticity ; because, if it were noticed, it would not, I think, be imitated, inasmuch as it almost always produces embarrassment and inter- ruption in the reasoning. This singularity is a species of digression which may properly, I think, be denominated going off at a word. It is turn- ing aside from the subject upon the occurrence of some particular word, forsaking the train of thought then in hand, and entering upon a parenthetic sentence in which that word is the prevailing term. I shall lay before the reader some examples of this, collected from the other epistles, and then propose two examples of it which are found in the Epistle to the Ephesians, 2 Cor. ch. ii. 14, at the word savour: "Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to trimnph in Christ, and mak- eth manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place, (for we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish; to the one we are the savour of death unto death, and to the other the savour of life unto life ; and who is sufficient for these things 1) For we are not as many which corrupt the word of God, but as of sincerity, but as of God : in the si'Tht of God, speak we in Christ." Again, 2 Cor. ch. iii. 1, at the word epistle : " Need we, as some others, epistles of commendation to j^ou, or of com- mendation from youl (ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men ; foras- much as ye are manifestly declared to be the epis- tle of Christ, ministered by us, ^vritten not with ink. but with the Spirit of the hving God; not in tables of stone, but in the fleshly tables of the heart.' ) The position of the words in the origi- nal, shows more strongly than in the translation, that it was the occurrence of the word £77,^r:».-^ wliich gave birth to the sentence that follows : 2 Cor. chap. iii. I. £< /t-, %pvi^o^£v, o);Tii'£?,«rT5ui.T!5 b-»vtoti u:r;j tt-xvtjcv, =v ci'C.y.:tT* TOy K-jp»cu v.^t-nv V^fTCv Xp»{rTOu, Tju yu'.'xtzf;, T5«$ »^*Oic xvSpxfrtv v^0TXT1 £'.■ £p7'u, -xvrx £v ov5f(«Ti Kvpiou I'/io-ou, £-j%xpic-TCui'T£; Tvo 0=0 xxt TTXTfi Ji x'JTo'j. Ai yvvxixif MTT ax xtTtTitri i TOt; »JiO»i XV^^XTtV^ J-'i X'jy.KsV EV-XuplaJ. i5/i^vu/i£i; vjitrx::/iS\'>l XXI xvxy Jiftuiv, tyyiyfx/ifiivn oo fiiKxvi, «XX» ,rvj >-fAiou,orxiiiviuvia£i/Ta> iuxyyiXtijs ; but xoiv^jvi* Ji; TO ivxy j-fZ-ioi/. EPISTLE TO THE PHILIPPIANS. 20* them, which necessarily produces embarrassment and suspense. The passage quoted from the be- ginning of the epistle contains an aclcnowledg- ment, on the part of the apostle, of the liberality which the Philii)pians had exercised towards him ; but the allusion is so general and indeter- minate, that had nothing more been said in the sequel of the epistle, it would hardly have been applied to this occasion at all. In the second quotation, Epaphroditus is declared to have "mi- nistered to the apostle's wants," and "to have supplied their lack of service towards him ;" but Iwuy that is, at whose expense, or from what fund he " ministered," or what was " the lack of service" which he supplied, are left very much unexplained, till we arrive at the third quota- tion, where we find that Epaphrotlitus "minis- tered to St. Paul's wants" only by conveying to his bauds the contributions of the Philippians : " I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you :" and thai " the lack of service which he supplied" was a delay or interruption of their accustomed bounty, occasioned by the want of op[)ortunity : " I re- joiced in the Lord greatly, that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again; wherein ye were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity."' The afi'iir at length comes out clear; but it comes out bv piecemeal. The clearness is the result of the reciprocal illustration of divided texts. Should any one choose therefore to insinuate, that this whole story of Epaphroditus. or his journey, his errand, his sickness, or even his existence, might, for what we know, have no other foundation than in the invention of the forger of the epistle ; I an- swer, that a forger would have set forth his story connectedly, and also more fully and more per- spicuously. If the epistle be authentic, and the transaction real, then every thing which is said concerning Epaphroditus, and his commission, would be clear to those into whose hands the epistle was exiiected to come. Considering the Philippians as his readers, a person might na- turally write upon the subject, as the author of the e[)istle has written: but there is no supposition of forgery with which it will suit. No. II. The history of Epaphroditus supplies another observation : " Indeed he was sick, nigh unto death : but God had mercy on him, and not on him only, but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow." In this passage, no intimation is given that Epaphroditus's recovery was miracu- lous. It is plainly, I think, spoken of as a natu- ral event. This instance, together with one in the Second Epistle to Timothy (" Trophimushave I left at Miletum sick,") aflbrds a proof that the power of performing cures, and, by parity of reason, of working other miracles, was a power which onlv visited the ajjostles occasionally, and di I not at all depend upon their own will. Paul undoubtedly would have healed Epaphroditus if he could. Nor. if the power of working cures had awaited his disposal, would he have left his fellow- traveller at Miletum sick. This, I think, is a fair observation upon the instances adduced ; but it is not the observation I am concerned to make. It is more for the purpose of my argument to remark, that forgery, upon such an occasion, would not have spareil a miracle ; much less would it have introduced St. Paul professing the utmost anxiety for the safety of his friend, yet acknowledging himself unable to help him ; which he does, almost expressly, in the case of Trophimus, for he '' left him sick ;" anil virtually in the passage before us, in which he felicitates himself upon the recovery of Epaphroditus, in terms which almost exclude the supposition of any supernatural means being employed to etlect it. This is a reserve which nothing but truth would have imposed. No. III. Chap. iv. 15. 16. "Now, ye Philippians, know also, that in the beginning of the Gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church communicat- ed with me, as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity." It will be necessary to state the Greek of this passage, because our translation does not, I think, give the sense of it accurately. Euxy-ysKtov^ ote t£>iA.30v xtt-o Maxe^oviaj, av^iutx fiot vfitsi^ fjLZvoi' OT* -AXi sv 0t(r(r*\oi/lX(j %xi xttx^ y.xi Si; fij TijV Xe^'XV f" i-^if^i/XTi. The reader will })lease to direct his attention to the corresponding particulars on and on kx<, which connect the words (v x(xi rou ivxyyiKio-j, ot. il-^Kinv XTTO Mkx£^ovix5. with the words cv ©io-o-x^ci ix>i, and denote, as 1 interpret the passage, two distinct donations, or rather donations at two distinct pe- riods, one at Thes.salonica, x^rxi y.xi J.?, the other after his departure from Macedonia, ox. eJ^ixjov xtto UxxiSovLx:.* I would render the passage, .so as to mark these diflerent periods, thus: "Now, ye Philippians, know also, that in the beginning of the. Gospel, when I was departed from Macedonia, no church communicated with me, as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only. And that also in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto mv necessity." Now with this exposition of the pas- sage compare 2 Cor. chap, xi, 8. 9 : "I robbed other churches, taking wages of them to do you service. And when I was present with you and wanted, I was chargeable to no man; lor that which was lacking to me, the brethren which came from Macedonia supplied." It appears from St. Paul's history, as related in the Acts of the Apostles, that upon leaving Ma- cedonia he passed, after a very short stay at Athens, into Achaia. It appears, secondly, from the quo- tation out of the Epistle to the Corinthians, that in Achaia he accepted no pecuniary assistance from the converts of that country ; but that he drew a supply for his wants from the Macedonian Christians. "Agreeably whereunto it ajipears, in the third place, from the text which is the subject of the present number, that the brethren in Phi- lippi, a citv of Macedonia, had followed him with their munificence, ots i^t-.K^ov x^m M^xeJok*;, when he was departed from Macedonia, that is, when he was come into Achaia. The passage under consideration affords another circumstance of agreement deserving of our notice. * Luke, Ch. ii. 15. K»t e^eveto, »; XTry.Kiav xrr' auTiii- Ei; T51' sfxvcv 01 xyysKii, " as the angels were gone away," i. e. n/^er their departure, oi jroi/^Evst e.jxov ^pc; X^A>l\0U,-. Matt. ch. Xii. 43. Ot»V Si to XV.xixfTOV ^1SV|U56 iliKiv, xtt:^ T'.v ■j.vif.i-TT'.M, "when the unclean spirit is ffone," i. e. after his departure, JUpxetki. John, ch. xiii. 30. Ote '.'tr.Kii {l:\jSxi) " when he was gone," i. e. after his departure, >>£j-s" Ijio-ouc, Acts, ch. x. 7, ^s Je x-r;i.i'.v j -, :t>>s>.o? 0 KxK'^v T-j Kofi'>i?vi,', " and when tlie an^el wliich spake unto him was departed," i. e. after his de- j parture, fujv^fo-xj Juo nov oixet.uv, &c. 208 HOR^ PAULIN.E. The gift alluded to in the Epistle to the Philip- pians is stated to have been made "in the begin- ning of the gospel." This phrase is most natu- rally explainetl to signify the lirst preaching of the Gospel in these parts, viz. on that side of the ^gean sea. The succours referred to in the Epistle to the Corinthians, as received from Ma- ceilonia, are stated to have been received by him upon his first visit to the peninsula of Greece. 1'he dates therefore assigned to the donation in the two epistles agree ; yet is the date in one as- certained very incidentally, namely, by the consi- derations which fix the date of the epistle itself; and in the other, by an expression ("the begin- niniT of the Gospel") much too general to have been used if the text had been penned with any view to the correspondency we are remarking. Farther, the phrase, " in the beginning of the Gospel," raises an idea in the reader's mind that the Gospel had been preached there more than once. The writer would hardly have called the visit to which he refers, the "beginning of the Gospel," if he had not also visited them in some other stage of it. The fact corresponds with this idea. If we consult the sixteenth and twentieth chapters of the Acts, we shall find, that St. Paul, before his imprisonment at Rome, during which this epistle purports to have been written, had been tivice in Macedonia, and each tune at Philippi. No. IV. That Timothy had been long with St. Paul at Philippi, is a fact which seems to be implied in this epistle twice. First, he joins in the saluta- tion with which the epistle opens : " Paul and Timotheus, the servants of Jesus Christ, to all the saints in Christ Jesus which are at Philippi." Se- condly, and more directly, the point is inferred from what is said concerning him, chap. ii. 19 : " But I trust in the Lord Jesus to send Timotheus shortly unto you, that I also may be of good com- Tort when I know your state ; for 1 have no man like minded, who will naturally care for your state ; for all seek their own, not the things which are Jesus Christ's; but ye know the proof of him, that as a son with the father, he hath served with me in the Gospel." tiad Timothy's presence with St. Paul at Philippi, when he preached the Gospel there, been expressly remarked in the Acts of the Apostles, this quotation might be thought to con- tain a contrived adaptation to the history ; although, even in that case, the averment, or rather, the allu- sion in the epistle, is too oblique to alTord much room for such suspicion. But the truth is, that in the history of St. Paul's transactions at Phdippi, which occupies the greatest part of the sixteenth chapter of the Acts, no mention is made of Timo- thy at all. What appears concerning Timothy in the history, so far as relates to the present subject, is this: " When Paul came to Derbe and Lystra, iiehold a certain disciple was there named Timo- theus, whom Paul would have to go forth with him." The narrative then proceeds with the ac- count of St. Paul's progress through various pro- vinces of the Lesser Asia, till it brings him down to Troas. At Troas he was warned in a vision to pass over into Macedonia. In obedience to which he crossed the ^gean sea to Samothracia, the next day to Neapolis, and from thence to Phi- lippi. His preaching, miracles, and persecutions at Philippi, follow next ; after which Paul and his company, when they had passed through Amphi- polis and ApoUonia, came to Thessalonica, and from Thessalonica to Berea. From Berea the brethren sent away Paul ; " but Silas and Timotheus abode there still." The itinerary, of which the above is an abstract, is undoubtedly sufficient to support an in- ference that Timothy was along with St. Paul at Philippi. We find them setting out together upon this progress from Derbe, in Lycaonia; v,c laid tlii'in together near the conclusion of it, at Berea in Ma- cedonia. It is highly probable, therefore, that they came together to Philippi, through which their route between these two places lay. If this be thought probable, it is sufficient. For wliat I wish to be observed is, that in comparing, upon this su'oject, the epistle with the history, we do not find a reci- tal in one place of what is related in another ; but that we find, what is much more to be relied upon, an oblique allusion to an implied fact. No. V. Our epistle purports to have been written near the conclusion of St. Paul's imprisonment at Rome, and after a residence in that city of consi- derable duration. These circumstances are made out by dilFerent intimations, and the intimations upon the subject preserve among themselves a just consistency, and a consistency certainly unmedita- ted. First, the apostle had already been a prisoner at Rome so long, as that the reputation of his bonds, and of his constancy under them, had contributed to advance the success of the Gospel : " But 1 would ye should understand, brethren, that the things which happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the Gospel ; so that my bonds in Christ are manifest in all the palace, and in all other places ; and many of the brethren in the Lord waxing confident by my bonds, are much more bold to speak the word without fear." Se- condly, the account given of Epaphroditus imports, that St. Paul, when he wrote the epistle, had been in Rome a considerable time : " He longed after you all, and was full of heaviness, because that ye had heard that he had been sick." Epaphroditus was with St. Paul at Rome. Lie had been sick. The Philippians had heard of his sickness, and he again had received an account how much they had been afiected by the intelligence. The passing and repassing of these advices must necessarily have occupied a large portion of time, and must have all taken place during St. Paul's residence at Rome. Thirdly, after a residence at Rome thus proved to have been of considerable duration, he now regards the decision of his fate as nigh at hand. He contemplates either alternative, that of his deliverance, ch. ii. 23. "Him therefore (Ti- mothy) I hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how it will go with me ; but I trust in the Lord that I also myself shall come shortly :" that of his condemnation, ver. 17. " Yea, and if I be offered* upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy and rejoice with you all." This con- sistency is material, if the consideration of it be confined to the epistle. It is farther material, as it agrees with respect to the duration of St. Paul's first imprisonment at Rome, with the account de- livered in the Acts, which, having brouglit the apostle to Rome, closes the history by telling us " that he dwelt there two whole years in liis own hired house." if my blood be poured out as a libation upon the sacri flee of your faitli. EPISTLE TO THE COLOSSIANS. 209 No. VI. Chap. i. 23. " For I am in a strait betwixt (wo, ha\ing a desire to depart, and to be with < Jhrist ; which is tar better." With this compare 2 Cor. chap. v. 8 : " We are confident and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." The sameness of sentiment in these two quota- tions is obvious. I rely however not so much upon that, as upon the similitude in the train of thought which in each epistle leads up to this sen- timent, and upon the suitableness of that train of thought to the circumstances under which the pjjistles purport to have been written. This, I conceive, bespeaks the production of the same mind, and of a mind operating upon real circum- stances. The sentiment is in both places preced- ed by the contemplation of imminent personal dan- ger. To the Philippians he writes, in the twentieth verse of this chapter, " According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing 1 shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so nmc also, Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life or by death." To the Co- rinthians, " Troubled on every side, yet not dis- tressed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed ; always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus." This train of reflection is continued to the place from whence the words which we compare are taken. The two epistles, though written at different times, from different places, and to different churches, were both written under circumstances which would naturally recall to the author's mind the precarious condition of his life, and the perils which constantly awaited him. When the Epistle to the Philippians was written, the author was a prisoner at Rome, expecting his trial. When the Second Epistle to the Corin- thians was written, he had lately escaped a danger in which he had given himself over for lost. The epistle opens with a recollection of this subject, and the impression accompanied the writer's thoughts throughout. I know that nothing is easier than to transplant into a forged epistle a sentiment or expression which is found in a true one ; or, supposing both epistles to be forged by the same hand, to msert the same sentiment or expression in both. But the difficulty is to introduce it in just and close connexion with a train of thought going before, and with a train of thought apparenth^ generated by the circumstances under which the epistle is written. In two epistles, purporting to be writ- ten on different occasions, and in difierenS periods of the author's history, this propriety would not easily be managed. No. VII. Chap. i. 29, 30 ; ii. 1, 2. " For unto you is given, in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for his sake ; having the same confhct which ye saw in me, and now hear to be in me. If there be, therefore, any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies ; fulfil ye my joy, that ye be like minded, having the .same love, being of one accord, of one mind." With this compare Acts, xvi. 22: " And the multitude (at Philippi) rose up against them ( Paul and Silas n and the magistrates rent off their ^ 2l5 clothes, and commanded to beat them ; and when they- had laid many stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the jailor to keep them safely ; who, having received such a charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks." The passage in the epistle is very remarkable. I know not an example in any writing of a juster pathos, or which more truly represents the work- ings of^a warm and aflectionate mind, than what is exhibited in the quotation before us.* The apostle reminds his Pliilippians of their being joined with himself in the endurance of persecu- tion for the sake of Christ. He conjures them by the ties of their common profession and their com- mon sufferings, ''■ to fulfil his joy ;" to complete, by the unity of their faith, and by their mutual love, that joy with which the instances he had received of their zeal and attachment had inspired his breast. Nowif this was the real effusion of St. Paul's mind, of which it bears the strongest internal character, then we have in the words "the same conflict which ye saw in me," an authentic confirmation of so much of the apostle's historj- in the Acts, as relates to his transactions at Philippi; and, through that, of the mteUigence and general fidelity of the historian. CHAPTER VIII. The Epistle to the Colossians. No.L There is a circumstance of conformity between St. Paul's history and his letters, especially those which were written during his first imprisonment at Rome, and more especially the epistles to the Colossians and Ephesians, which being too close to be accounted for from accident, yet too indirect and latent to be imputed to design, cannot easily be resolved into any other original than truth. Which circumstance is this, that St. Paul in these epistles attributes his imprisonment not to his preaching of Christianity, but to liis asserting the right of the Gentiles to be admitted into it with- out confoniiing themselves to the Jewish law. Tliis was the doctrine to which he considered himself as a martyr. Thus, in the epistle before us, chap. i. 24 : (I Paul) " who now rejoice in my sufferings for you" — ^"for you," i. e. for those whom he had never seen ; for a few verses after- wards he adds, " I would that ye knew what great conflict I have for you and for them in Laodicea, and for as many as have not seen my face in the flesh." His suffering therefore for them was, in their general capacity of Gentile Christians, agree- ably to what he explicitly declares in his Epistle to the Ephesians, iv. 1 : " For this cause, I Paul, the prisoner of Jesus Christ, for you Gentiles." Again, in the epistle now under consideration, iv. 3 : " Withal praying also for us, that God would open unto us a door of utterance to speak the mys- tery of Christ, for which I am also in bonds." What that " mystery of Christ" was, the Epistle to the Ephesians distinctly informs us : " Whereby * The original is very spirited : iv'S.fiiTT'j,, SI Ti 5rKp!(^u9i9v ny :t.7Ty\ 210 HORiE PAULINA. when ye read, ye may understand my knowledge in the mystery of Christ, which in other ages, was not made known unto the sons of men, as it is now revealed unto his holy apostles and pro- phets by the Spirit, that the Gentiles should be Jelluw-'heirs, and of the same body, and partak- ers of hi^ promise in Christ by the Gospel." This, therefore, was the con/essio?i for which he declares himself to be in bonds. Now let us inquire how the occasion of St. Paul's imprisonment is repre- sented in the history. The apostle had not long returned to Jerusalem from his second visit into Greece, when an uproar was excited in that city by the clamour of certain Asiatic Jews, who, "having seen Paul in the temple, stirred up all the people, and laid hands on him." The charge advanced against him was, that "he taught all men every where against the people, and the law, and this place ; and farther brought Greeks also into the temple, and polluted that holy place." The former part of the charge seems to point at the doctrine, which he maintained, of the admis- sion of the Gentiles, under the new dispensation, to an indiscriminate participation of God's favour with the Jews. But what follows makes the mat- ter clear. "When, by the interference of the chief captain, Paul had been rescued out of the hands of the populace, and was permitted to address the multitude who had followed him to the stairs of the castle, he delivered a brief account of his birth, of the early course of his life, of his miraculous conversion; and is proceeding in this narrative, until he comes to describe a vision which was presented to him, as he was praying in the tem- ple ; and which bid him depart out of Jerusalem, " fori will send thee far hence u7ito the Gentiles," Acts, xxii. 21. " They gave him audience," says the historian, " unto this word ; and then lift up their voices, and said, Away with such a fellow from the earth!" Nothing can show more strongly than this account does, what was the offence which drew down upon St. Paul the vengeance of his countrymen. His mission to the Gentiles, and his open avowal of that mission, was the in- tolerable part of the apostle's crime. But although the real motive of the prosecution appears to have been the apostle's conduct towards the Gentiles; yet, when his accusers came before a Roman magistrate, a charge was to be framed of a more legal form. The profanation of the temple was the article they chose to rely upon. This, there- fore, became the immediate subject of Tertullus's oration before Felix, and of Paul's defence. But that he all along considered his ministry amongst the Gentiles as the actual source of the enmity that had been exercised against him, and in par- ticular as the cause of the insurrection in which his person had been seized, is apparent from the conclusion of his discourse before Agrippa: "I have appeared unto thee," says he, describing what p;issed upon his journey to Damascus, " for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness, both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee, delivering thee from the people and from the Gen- tiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to Ught, and from the power of Satan unto God, that tney may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me. Whereupon, O king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision ; but showed first unto them of Damascus, and of Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet tor repentance, i-br these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me." The seizing, there- fore, of St. Paul's person, from which he was never discharged till his final liberation at Rome ; and of which, therefore, his imprisonment at Rome was the continuation and effect, was not in con- sequence of any general persecution set on foot against Christianity ; nor did it befall him simply as professing or teaching Christ's religion, which James and the elders at Jerusalem did as well as he (and yet, for any thing that ajjpears, remained at that time unmolested ;) but it was distinctly and specifically brought upon him by his activity in preaching to the Gentiles, and by his boldly placing them upon a level with the once-favoured and still self-flattered posterity of Abraham. How well St. Paul's letters, purporting to be written during this imprisonment, agree w ith this account of its cause and origin, we have already seen. No. 11. Chap. iv. 10. " Aristarchus my fellow-prisoner saluteth you, and Marcus, sister's son to Barna- bas, (touching whom ye received commandments: If he come unto you, receive him ;) and Jesus, which is called Justus, who are of the circum- cision." We find Aristarchus as a companion of our apostle in the nineteenth chapter of the Acts, and the twenty-ninth verse : " And the whole city of Ephesus was filled with confusion ; and having caught Gains and Aristarchus, men of Macedonia, Paid's companions in travel, they rushed with one accord into the theatre." And we find him upon his journey with St. Paul to Rome, in the twenty-seventh chapter, and the second verse: " And when it was determined that we should sail into Italy, they delivered Paul and certain other prisoners unto one named Julius, a centurion of Augustus's band : and, entering into a ship of Adramyttium, we launched, meaning to sail by the coast of Asia ; one Aristarchus, a Macedo- nian of Thessalonica, being with us." But might not the author of the epistle have consulted the history ; and, observing that the historian had brought Aristarchus along with Paul to Rome, might he not for that reason, and without any other foundation, have put down his name amongst the salutations of an epistle purporting to be written by the ajjostle from that jjlacel 1 allow so much of possibility to this objection, that I should not have proposed this in the number of coincidences clearly undesigned, had Aristarchus stood alone. The observation that strikes me in reading the passage is, that together with Aris- tarchus, whose journey to Rome we trace in the history, are joined Marcus and Justus, of whose coming to Rome the history says nothing. Aris- tarchus alone appears in the history, a]id Aristar- chus alone would have appeared in the epistle, if the author had regulated himself by that con- formity. Or if you take it the other way ; if you suppose the history to have been made out of the epistle, why the journey of Aristarchus to Rome should be recorded, and not that of Marcus and Justus, if the groimd-work of the narrative was the appearance of Aristarchus's name in the epis- tle, seems to be unaccountable. FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSALOMANS. 211 "Marcus, suter's son to Barnabas." Does not this hint account for Barnabas's adherence to Mark in the contest that arose with our apstle concern- ing him] " And some daj's after, Paul said unto Barnabas, Let us go again and visit our brethren in every city where we have preached the word of the Lord, and see how they do; and Barnabas determined to take uith them John, -whose sur- name was Mark ; but Paul thought not good to take him ^ath them, who departed from Pamphy- lia, and went not with them to the work ; and the contention was so sharp between them, that they departed asunder one from the other: and so Bar- nabas took Mark and sailed unto Cyprus." The history which records the dispute has not pre- served the circumstance of Mark's relationship to Barnabas. It is no where noticed but in the text before us. As far, therefore, as it applies, the ap- plication is certainly undesigned. " Sister's son to Barnabas." This woman, the mother of Mark, and the sister of Barnabas, was, as might be expected, a person of some eminence amongst the Christians of Jerusalem. It so hap- pens that we hear of her in the history. " When Peter was delivered from prison, he came to the house of Mary, the mother of John, irhose sur- name was Mark, where many were gathered to- gether praying," Acts, xii. 12. There is some- what of coincidence in this : somewliat bespeaking real transactions amongst real persons. No. III. The following coincidence, though it bear the appearance of great nicety and refinement, ought not, perhaps, to be deemed imaginary. In the salu- tations with which this, like most of St. Paul's epistles, concludes, "we have Aristarchus and Marcus, and Jesus, which is called Justus, tcho are of the circumcision,''' \y. 10, 11. Then follow also, " Epaphras, Luke the beloved physician, and Demas." Now, as this description, " who are of the circumcision," is added after the first three names, it is inferred, not without great appearance of probability, that the rest, amongst whom is Luke, were not of the circumcision. Now, can we discover any expression in the Acts of the Apostles, which ascertains whether the author of the book was a Jew or noti If we can discover that he was not a Jew, we fix a circumstance in his character, which coincides with what is here, indirectly indeed, but not very uncertainly, in- timated concerning Luke: and we so far confinn both the testimony of the primitive church, that the Acts of the Apostles was written by St. Luke, and the genera! reality of the persons and circum- stances brought together in this epistle. The text in the Acts, which has been construed to show that the writer was not a Jew, is the nine- teenth verse of the first chapter, where, in de- scribing the field which had been purchased with the reward of Judas's iniquity, it is said, " That it was known unto all the dwellers at Jerusalem; insomuch as that field is called in their proper tongue, Aceldama, that is to say. The field of blood." These words are by most commentators taken to be the words and observation of the his- torian, and not a part of St. Peter's speech, in the midst of which they are found. If this be admitted, then it is argued that the expression, "in their proper tongue," would not have been used by a Jew, but is suitable to the pen of a Gentile writing concerning Jews.* The reader will judge of the probability of this conclusion, and we urge the coincidence no farther than that proliability ex- tends. The coincidence, if it be one, is so remote from all possibility of design, that nothing need be added to satisfy the reader upon that part of the argument. No. IV. Chap. iv. 9. " Witli Onesimus, a faithful and beloved brother, who is one of you." Observe how it may be made out that Onesi- mus was a Colossian. Turn to the Epistle to Philemon, and you will find that Onesimus was the servant or slave of Philemon. The question therefore will be, to what city Philemon belonged. In the epistle addressed to him this is not dcclareil. It appears only that he was of the same place, whatever that place was, with an eminent Chris- tian named Archippus. " Paul, a prisoner of Je- sus Christ, and Timothy our brother, unto Phile- mon our dearly beloved and fellow-labourer; and to our beloved Apphia, and Archippus our fel- low-soldier, and to the church in thy house." Now turn back to the Ejiistle to the Colossians, and you will find Arcluppus saluted by name amongst the Christians of that church. " Say to Archippus, Take heed to the mini-stry which thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfil it," iv. 17. The necessary result is, that Onesimus also was of the same city, agreeably to what is said of him, "he is one of you." And this result is the effect either of truth which produces con- sistency without the writer's thought or care, or of a contexture of forgeries confirming and fall- ing in with one another by a species of fortuity of which I know no example. The supposition of design, I think, is excluded, not only because the purpose to which the design must have been directed, viz. the verification of the passage in our epistle, in which it is said concerning Onesimus, " he is one of you," is a purpose, which would be lost upon ninety-nine readers out of a hundred ; but because the means made use of are too cir- cuitous to have been the subject of alTectation and contrivance. Would a forger, who had this pur- pose in view, have left his readers to hunt it out, liy going forward and backward from one epistle to another, in order to connect Onesinms with Philemon, Philemon with Archippus, and Ar- chippus with Colosse 1 all which he must do be- fore he arrives at his discovery, that it was truly said of Onesimus, " he is one of you." CHAPTER IX. The First Epistle to the Thessalonians. No. I. It is known to every reader of Scripture, that the First Epistle to the Thessalonians speaks of the coming of Christ in terms which indicate an expectiition of his speedy appearance : " For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord, shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the * Vide Ben,son"s Dissertation, vol. i. p. 318,. of hifl works, ed. 1756. 212 HORiE PAULINA. archangel, and with the trump of God ; and the dead in Christ shall rise first ; then ice which are alive and remain, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds — But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief," chap. iv. 15, IG, 17; ch.v. 4. Whatever other construction these texts may bear, the idea they leave upon the mind of an ordinary reader, is that of the author of the epis- tle looking for the day of judgment to take place in his own tune, or near to it. Now the use whicli I make of this circumstance, is to deduce from it a proof that the epistle itself was not the production of a subsequent age. Would an impostor have given this expectation to St. Paul, after experience had proved it to be erroneous l or would he have put into the apostle's mouth, or which is the same thing, into writings purporting to come from his hand, expressions, if not necessarily conveying, at least easily interpreted to convey, an opinion which was then known to be founded in mistake 'I I state this as an argument to show that the epis- tle was contemporary with St. Paul, which is lit- tle less than to show that it actually proceeded from his pen. For I question whether any an- cient forgeries were executed in the life-time of the person whose name they bear ; nor was tlie primitive situation of the church likely to give birth to such an attempt. No. II. Our epistle concludes with a direction that it should be publicly read in the church to which it was addressed : " 1 charge you by the Lord, that this epistle be read unto all the holy brethren." The existence of this clause in the body of the epistle is an evidence of its authenticity ; because to produce a letter purporting to have been publicly read in the church of Thessalonica, when no such letter in truth had been read or heard of in that church, would be to produce an imposture destruc- tive of itself At least, it seems unlikely that the author of an imposture would voluntarily, and even officiously, afford a handle to so plain an objection. — Either the epistle was publicly read in the church of Thessalonica during St. Paul's hfe-time, or it was not. If it was, no publication could be more authentic, no species of notoriety more un- questionable, no method of preserving the integrity of the copy more secure. If it was not, the clause we produce would remain a standing condemna- tion of the forgery, and one would suppose, an invincible impediment to its success. If we connect this article with the preceding, we shall perceive that they combine into one strong proof of the genuineness of the epistle. The preceding article carries up the date of the epistle to the tmie of St. Paul ; the present article fixes the publication of it to the church of Thes- salonica. Either therefore the church of Thessa- lonica was imposed upon by a false epistle, which in St. Paul's life-time they received and read pub- licly as his, carrying on a communication with him all the while, and the epistle referring to the continuance of that communication ; or other Christian churches, in the same life-time of the aiwstle, received an epistle purporting to have been publicly read in the church of Thessalonica, which nevertheless had not been heard of in that church ; or, lastly, the conclusion remains, that the epistle now m our hands is genuine. No. III. Between our epistle and the liistory the accord- ancy in many points is circumstantial and com- plete. The history relates, that after Paul and Silas had been beaten with many stripes at Phi- lii)pi, shut up in the inner prison, and their leet made fast in the stocks, as soon as they were dis- charged from their confinement they departed from thence, and, when they had passed through Am- phipolis and Apollonia, came to Thessalonica, where Paul opened and alleged that Jesus was the Christ, Acts, xvi. 23, &c. The epistle writ- ten in the name of Paul and Sylvanus (Silas,) and of Timotheus, who also appears to have been along with them at Philippi, (vide Phil. No. iv.) speaks to the church of Thessalonica thus : " Even after that we had suffered before, and were shame- fully entreated, as ye know, at Philippi, we were bold in our God to speak unto you the Gospel of God with much contention," ii. 2. The liistory relates, that after they had been some tune at Thessalonica, " the Jews who be- lieved not, set all the city in an uproar, and as- saulted the house of Jason where Paul and Silas were, and sought to bring them out to the people," Acts, xvii. 5. The epistle declares, " when we were with you, we told you before that we should sufi'er tribulation; even as it came to pass, and ye knoic," iii. 4. The history brings Paul and Silas and Timo- th}' together at Corinth, soon after the preaching of the Gospel at Thessalonica : — " And when Silas and Timotheus were come from Macedonia, (to Corinth,) Paul was pressed in spirit," Acts, xviii. 5. The epistle is written in the name of these three persons, who consequent!}' nmst have been together at the time, and speaks throughout of their ministry at Thessalonica as a recent trans- action : " We, brethren, being taken from you for a short time, in presence, not in heart, endea- voured the more abundantly to see your face, with great desire," ii. 17. The harmony is indubitable; but the points of history in which it consists, are so expressly set Ibrth in the narrative, and so directly referred to in the epistle, that it becomes necessary for us to show that the facts in one writing were not copied from the other. Now, amidst some minuter dis- crepancies, which will be noticed below, there is one circumstance which mixes itself with all the allusions in the epistle, but does not appear in the history any where ; and that is of a visit which St. Paul had intended to pay to the Thessalonians during the time of his residing at Corinth : — " Wherefore we would have come unto you (even I Paul) once and again; but Satan hindered us," u. 18. " Night and day praying exceedingly that we might see your face, and might perlect that which is lacking in your faith. Now God himself and our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, direct our way unto you," iu. 10, 11. Concerning a de- sign which was not executed, although the person liimself, who was conscious of his own purpose, should make mention in his letters, nothing is more probable than that his historian should be silent, if not ignorant. The author of the epistle could not, however, have learnt this circumstance from the history, for it is not there to be met with ; nor, if the historian had drawn his materials from the epistle, is it likely that he would have passed over a urcumstance, which is amongst the most FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSALOMANS. 213 obvious and prominent of the facts to be collected from that source of information. No. IV. Chap. iii. I — 7. " Wherefore when we could no longer forbear, we thought it good to he left at Athens alone, and sent Timotheus, our brother and minister of God, to establish you, and to com- fort you concerning your faith ; — but now when Timotheus came from you unto us, and brought us good tidings of your faith and charity, we were comforted over you in all our affliction and distress by your faith." Tiie history relates, that when Paul came out of JMacedonia to Athens, Silas and Timothy staid behind at Berea : " The brethren sent away Paul to go as it were to the sea ; but Silas and Timo- theus abode there still; and they that conducted Paul brought liim to Athens," Acts, ch. xvii. 11, 15. The history fiirther relates, that after Paul had tarried some time at Athens, and had proceeded from thence to Corinth, whilst he was exercising his ministry in that city, Silas and Timothy came to him from Macedonia, Acts, ch. xvni. 5. But to reconcile the liistory with the clause in the epistle, which makes St. Paul say. " I thought it good to be left at Athens alone, and to send Timothy unto you," it is necessary to sup- pose that Timothy had come up with St. Paul at Athens; a circumstance which the history docs not mention. I remark, therefore, that although t!ie history does not expressly notice this arrival, yet it contains intimations which render it ex- tremely probable that the fact took place. First, as soon as Paul had reached Athens, he sent a message back to Silas and Timothy " for to come to him with all speed," Acts, ch. xvii. 15. Se- condly, his stay at Athens was on purpose that they might join him there: "Now whilst Paul waited for them at Athens, his spirit was stirred in him," Acts, ch. xvii. 16. Thirdly, his departure from Athens does not appear to have been in any sort hastened or abrupt. It is said, " After these things," viz. his disputation with the Jews, his conferences with the philo.sopliers, his discourse at Areopagus, and the gaining of some converts, "he departed from Athens and came to Corinth." It is not liiiited that he quitted Athens before the time th;it he had intended to leave it ; it is not sug- gested that he was driven from thence, as he was from many cities, by tumults or persecutions, or because his life was no longer safe. Observe then the particulars which the history does notice — that Paul had ordered Timothy to follow him with- out delay, that he waited at Athens on purpose that Timotli}' might come up with him, that he staid there as long as his own choice led him to contiime. Laying these circumstances which the liistory does disclose together, it is highly probable tliat Timotliy came to the apostle at Athens, a fact which the epistle, we have seen, virtually as- serts when it makes Paul send Timothy back from Athens to Thessalonica. The sending back of Timothtj into jMacedonia accounts also for his not coming to Corinth till after Paul had been fixed in that city for some considerable time. Paul had found out Aquila and Priscilla, abode witli them and wrought, being of the same craft ; and reasoned in the synasro^ue every SaVibatli dav. and persuaded the .Tews and the Greeks, Ai'ts, ch. xviii. 1 — 5. All this passed at Corinth before Si- las and Timotheus were come from Macedonia, Acts, ch. xviii. 5. If this was the first time of their coming up with him after their separation at Berea, there is nothing to account for a delay so contrary to what appears from the history itself to have been St, Paufs plan and expectation. This is a conformity of a peculiar species. The epistle discloses a fact wlxich is not preserved in the his- tory ; but which makes what is said in the history more significant, probable, and consistent. The history bears marks of an omission ; the epistle by reference furnishes a circumstance which supplies that omission. No. V. Chap. ii. 14. " For ye, brethren, became fol- lowers of the churches of God which in Judea are in Christ Jesus; for ye also have sufl'ered like things of your own countrymen, even as the}' have of the Jews."' To a reader of the Acts of the Apostles, it might seem, at first sight, that the persecutions which the preachers and converts of Christianity underwent, were suffered at the hands of their old adversaries the Jews. But if we attend carefully to the accounts there delivered, we shall observe, that, though the opposition made to the Gospel usually originated from the enmity of the Jews, yet in almost all places the Jews went about to accomplish their purpose, by stirring up the Gen- tile inhabitants against their converted country- men. Out of Judea they had not power to do much mischief in any other way. 1'his was the ca.se at Thessalonica in particular : " The Jews which believed not, moved with envy, set all the city in an uproar," Acts, ch. xvii. ver. 5. It wis the same a short time afterwards at Berea : " When the Jews of Thessalonica had knowledge that the word of God was preached of Paul at Berea, they came thither also, and stirred up the people," Acts, ch. xvii. 13. And before this our apostle had met with a like species of persecution, in his progress through the Lesser Asia : in every city " the unbe- lieving Jews stirred up the CTcntiles, and made their minds evil-affected against the brethren," Acts, ch. xiv. 2. The epistle therefore represents the case accurately as the liistory states it. It was the Jews always who set on foot the persecutions against the apostles and their followers. He speaks truly therefore of them, when he says in this epis- tle, " the}' both killed the Lord Jesus and their own prophets, and have persecuted us — forbidding us to speak unto the Gentiles," ii. 15. 16. But out of Judea it was at the hands of the Gentiles, it was " of their own countrymen," that the inju- ries they underwent were immediately sustained : " Ye have suffered like things of your own coun- trymen, even as they have of the Jews." No. VI. The apparent discrepancies between our epistle and the history, though of magnitude suflicicnt to re]3el the imputation of confederacy or transcrip- tion (in which view they form a part of our argu- ment.) are neither numerous, nor very difficult to reconcile. One of these may be observed in the ninth and tenth verses of the second chapter: " For ye remember, brethren, our labour and travail ; for labouring night and day, because we would not be chargeable unto any of you, we jireached unto you the Gospel of God. Ye are witnesses, and God also, how holily, and justlv, and unblameably we behaved ourselves among •214 HOR^ PAULINA. you that believe." A person who reads this pas- sage is naturally led by it to suppose, that the writer had dwelt at Thessalonica for some con- siderable time : yet of St. Paul's ministry in that city, the history gives no other account than the tbllowing : that he came to Thessalonica, where was a synagogue of the Jews : that, as his man- ner was, he went in unto them, and three Sabbath days reasoned with them out of the scriptures : that some of them believed, and cansorted with Paul and Silas." The history then proceeds to tell us, that the Jews which believed not, set the city in an u})roar, and assaulted the house of Jason, where Paul and his companions lodged ; that the consequence of this outrage was, that " the bre- thren immediately sent away Paul and Silas by night unto Berea," Acts, ch. xvii. 1—10. From the mention of his preaching three Sabbath days in the Jewish synagogue, and from the want of any farther specification of his ministry, it has usuidly been taken for granted that Paul did not continue at Thessalonica more than three weeks. This, however, is inferred without necessity. It appears to have been St. Paul's practice, in al- most every place that he came to, upon his first arrival to repair to the synagogue. He thought himself bound to propose the Gospel to the Jews first, agreeably to what he declared at Antioch in Pisidia ; " it was necessary that the word of God should first have been spoken to you," Acts. ch. xiii. 46. If the Jews rejected his ministry, he quitted the synagogue, and betook himself to a Gentile audience. At Corinth, upon his first coming thither, he reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath ; " but when the Jews opposed themselves, and blasphemed, he departed thence, expressly telling them, " from henceforth I will go unto the Gentiles ; and he remained in that city a year and six months," Acts, ch. xviii. 6 — 11. At Ephe- sus, in like manner, for the space of three months he went into the synagogue; but "when divers were hardened and believed not, but spake evil of that way, he departed from them and separated the disciples, disputing daily in the school of one Tyrannus ; and this continued by the space of two years," Acts, ch. xix. 9, 10. Upon inspecting the history, I see nothing in it which negatives the supposition, that St. Paul pursued the same plan at Thessalonica wliich he adopted in other places ; and that though he resorted to the syna- gogue only three Sabbath days, yet he remained in the city, and in the exercise of his ministry amongst the Gentile citizens, much longer; and until the success of his i)reaching had provoked the Jews to excite the tumult and insurrection by which he was driven away. Another seeming discrepancy is found in the ninth verse of the first chapter of the epistle ; " For they themselves show of us what manner of entering in we had unto you, and how ye turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God." This text contains an assertion, that, by means of St. Paul's ministry at Thessalonica, many idolatrous Gentiles had been brought over to Christianity. Yet the history, in describing the effects of that ministry, only sa3's, that "some of the Jews believed, and of the devout Greeks a great multitude, and of the chief women not a few," ch. xvii. 4. The devout Greeks were those wlio already worshipped the one true God ; and therefore could not be said, by embracing Chris- tianity, " to be turned to God from idols." This is the difficulty. The answer may be assisted by the following observations : The Alexandrian and Cambridge manuscripts read (for Kxi E/:f.y,v,^v jroKu ^;^>i3os- iu which reading they are also confirmed by the Vulgate Latin. And this reading is, in my opinion, strongly supported by the considerations, first, that 01 a-B^oysvoi alone, i. e. without Exxiii's,-, is used in this sense in the same chapter — Paul being come to Athens, SnKiyiTo tr r^ o-uvxyMy^ roig lov^xtoig jcat to*? trsZo/^svoig : secondly, that (nCo/iivm and 'E\/^-^vig no where come together. The expression is redundant. The 01 o-aSo^ioi must be 'E/.x>iv£s. Thirdly, that the XXI is much more likely to have been left out incuria, mantis than to have been put in. t )r after all, if we be not allowed to change the present reading, which is undoubtedly retained by a great plurality of copies, may not the pas- sage in the history be considered as describ- ing only the effects of St. Paul's discourses dur- ing the three Sabbath days in which he preached in the synagogue "? and may it not be true, as we have remarked above, that his application to the Gentiles at large, and his success amongst them, was posterior to this ] CHAPTER X. The Second Epistle to the Thessalonians. No. I. It may seem odd to allege obscurity itself as an argument, or to draw a proof in favour of a writ- ing from that which is naturally considered as the principal defect in its composition. The present epistle, however, furnishes a passage, hitherto unexplained, anol probably inexplicable by us, the existence of which, under the darkness and dif- ficulties that attend it, can be accoimted for only by the supposition of the epistle being genuine ; and upon that supposition is accounted for with great ease. The passage which 1 allude to is ibund in the second chapter: "That day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, tlie son of perdi- tion, who op[)oseth and exalted himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped ; so that he as God, sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God. E,emember ye not tliat WHEN I WAS YET WITH YOU I TOI,D YOU THESE things'? And now ye know what uithholdeth that he might be revealed in his time ; i'ov the mystery of iniquity doth already work, only he that now letteth icill let, until he be taken out of tite way; and then shall that wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming." It were superfluous to prove, because it is in vain to den)', that this passage is involved in great obscurity, more especially the clauses distinguished by Italics. Now the obser- vation I have to offi;r is founded upon this, that the passage expressly refers to a con\ersation which the author had previously holden with the Thessalonians upon the same subject: "Remem- ber ye not, that when I was yet with you / told you these things? And now ye A-now what with- holdeth." If such conversation actually passed ; if, whilst "he was yet with them, he laid them those things," then it follows that the epistle is SECOND EPISTLE THE THESSALONIANS. 21 5 authentic. And of the reality of this conversa- tion it appears to be a proof, that what is said in the epistle might be understood by those who had been present to such conversation, and yet be in- capable of being explained by any other. No man writes unintelligibly on purpose. But it may easily hapi)en, that a part of a letter which relates to a subject, upon wliich the parties had conversed together before, which refers to what had been before said, which is in truth a portion or continu- ation of a former discourse, may be utterly with- out meaning to a stranger who should pick up the letter upon the road, and yet he perfectly clear to the person to whom it is directed, and with whom the previous communication had passed. And if, in a letter which thus accidentally fell into my hands, I found a passage exjjressly refer- ring to a former conversation, and difficult to be explained without knowing that conversation, I should consider this very difficulty as a proof that the conversation had actually passed, and conse- quently that the letter contained the real corres- pondence of real persons. No. II. Chap. iii. 8. "Neither did we eat any man's bread for nought, but wrought with labour night and day, that we might not be chargeable to any of you : not because we have no power, but to make ourselves an ensample unto you to fol- low." In a letter, purporting to have been wiitten to another of the Macedonian churches, we find the following declaration : " Now, ye PhUippians, know also that in the beginning of the Gospel, wlien 1 departed from Macedonia^ no church, communicated with vie as concerning giving and receiving but ye only." The conformity between these two passages is strong and plain. They confine the transaction to the same period. The Epistle to the Philip- pians refers to what passed "in the beginning of the Gospel,"' that is to say, during the first preach- ing of the Gospel on that side of the ^gean sea. The Epistle to the Thessalonians speaks of the apostle's conduct in that city upon "his first entrance in unto them," which the history informs us was in the course of Ills first visit to the penin- sula of Greece. As St. Paul tells the Philippians, " that no church communicated with him, as concerning giving and receiving, but they only," he could not, consistently with the truth of this declaration, have received any thing from the neighbouring church of Thessalonica. What thus appears by general implication in an epistle to another church, when he v.rites to the Thessalonians tliemselves, is noticed expressly and particularly ; " neither did we eat any man's bread for nought, but wrought night and day, that we might not be chargeable to any of you." The texts here cited further also exhibit a mark of couformity with what St. Paul is made to say of hijnself in the Acts of the Apostles. The apostle not only reminds the Thessalonians that he had not been chargeable to any of them, but he states likewise the motive which dictated this reserve : "not because we have not power, but to make ourselves an ensample unto you to follow us," ch. iii. 9. This conduct, and, what is much more precise, the end wliich he had in view by it, was the very same as that which the history at- tributes to St. Paul in a discourse, which it repri - sents him to have addressed to the elders of the church of Ephesus: "Yea, ye yourselves also know that these hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that were with me. I have showed you all things, how, that so labour- ing ye ought to support the iceak,"' Acts, ch. xx. 34. The sentiment in the epistle and in the speech is in both parts of it so much alike, and yet the words which convey it show so little of imitation or even of resenililance, that the agree- ment cannot well be explained without supposing the speech and the letter to have really proceeded from the same person. No. III. Our reader remembers the passage in the Fir^t Epistle to the Thessalonians, in which St. Palil spoke of the coming of Christ: " This we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive, and remain unto the coming of the Lord, shall not prevent them which are asleep : for the Lord himself shall descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ shall rise first; then we which are alive and remain, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, and so shall we be ever with the Lord. But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a tliief," 1 Thess. iv. 15 — 17. and ch. v. 4. It should seem that the Thessalonians, or some however amongst them, had from this passage conceived an opinion (and that not very unnaturally) that the coming of Christ was to take place instantly, ox. svio-T^jtiv ;* and that this persuasion had produced, as it well might, much agitation in the church. The apos- tle therefore now writes, amongst other jiurposes, to quiet this alarm, and to rectify the misconstruc- tion that had been put upon his words: — "Now we beseech you, brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by our gathering together unto him, that ye be not soon shaken in mind, or be troubled, neither by spirit, nor by word, Tior by letter as from us, as that the day of Christ is at hand." If the allusion which we contend for be admitted, namely, if it be admitted, that the pas- sage in the second epistle relates to the passage in the first, it amounts to a considerable proof of the genuineness of both epistles. I have no concep- tion, because I know no example, of such a device in a forgery, as first to frame an ambiguous passage in a letfer, then to represent the persons to whom the letter is addressed as mistaking the meaning of the passage, and lastly, to write a second letter in order to correct tiiis mistake. I have said that this argument arises out of the text, ifthe allusion be admitted ; for I am not ig- norant that many expositors understand the pas- sage in the second epistle, as referrmg to some forged letters, v/hich had been produced in St. Paul's name, and in which the apostle had been made to say that the coming of Christ was then at hand. In defence, however, of the explanation which we propose, the reader is desired to observe, 1. The strong fact, that there exists a passage in the first epistle, to which that in the second is capable of being referred, i. e. which accounts foi the error the writer is solicitous to remove. Had no other epistle than the second been extant, and * On £iEirTw/.!i>, nenipe hoc anno, says Grotius, tvur. T>)z£v his dicitur de re pia'senti, ut Rom. viii. 38. 1 Cor iii. 2-2. Gal. i. 4. Heb. ix.9. 216 HOR^ PAULINiE. had it under these circumstances come to be con- sidered, whether the text before us related to a forged epistle or to some misconstruction of a true one, many conjectures and many probabilities might have been admitted in the inquiry, which can have little weight when an epistle is produced, containing the very sort of passage we were seek- ing, that IS, a passage liable to the misinterpreta- tion which the apostle protests against. 2. That the clause which introduces the pas- sage in the second epistle bears a particular affinity to what is found in the passage cited from the first epistle. The clause is this: " We beseech you, brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by our gathering together unto him." Now, in the first epistle, the description of the coming of Christ is accompanied with the mention of this very circumstance of his saints being collected round him. " The Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first ; then we which are alive and remain, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to vieet the Lord in the air," 1 Thess. chap. iv. 16, 17. This I suppose to be the " gathering together unto him" intended in the second epistle : and that the author, when he used these words, retained in his thoughts what he had written on the subject before. 3. The second epistle is written in the joint name of Paul, Silvanus, and Timotheus, and it cautions the Thessalonians against being misled " by letter as from us" (lu; j< viix.) ra.%i^i o-*- KiV^i\VXi Vf^Xg XTTO TOU VOO;, /Xi^TS ^pO£ 1 (rSc6i , /«>! T£ StX TTVSV- oTi £v£o-T))X£v n >)^£()a Tou XpKTTou. Undcr thc weight of the preceding observations, may not the words ^>)T£ Stx Koyov, juyjTE Si ETTiTToKi^g^ o)? Si Ji^oji', be con- strued to signify quasi nos quid tale aid dixeri- mus aut scripserimus* intimating that their words had been mistaken, and that they had in truth said or written no such thing % CHAPTER XL The First Epistle to Timothy. From the third verse of the first chapter, " as I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus when I * Should a contrary interpretation be preferred, I do not think that it implies the conclusion that a false epistle had then been published in the apostle's name. It will completely satisfy the allusion in the text to allow, that some one or other at Thessalonica had pretended to have been told by St. Paul and his companions, or to have seen a letter from them, in which they had said, that the day of Christ was at hand. In like manner as. Acts, XV. 1, 24, it is recorded that some had pretended to have received instructions from the church at Jerusa- lem, which had been received, " to whom they gave no such commandment." And thus Dr. Benson interpreted the passage A|T£ Sm jt^-u^xto;, ij.y,Ts Six xoyou, ^>iT£ Si f^Tio-To^nf, 005 Si sifi'jiii, "nor be dismayed by any revelation, or discourse, or epistle, which any one shall pretend to have heard or received from us." went into Macedonia," it is evident that this epis tie was written soon after St. Paul had gone to Macedonia from Ephesus. Dr. Benson fixes its date to the time of St. Paul's journey recorded in the beginning of the twentieth chapter of the Acts : " And after the uproar (excited by Demetrius at Ephesus) was ceased, Paul called unto him the disciples, and embraced them, and departed for to go into Macedonia." And m this opinion Dr. Benson is followed by Michaclis, as he was pre- ceded by the greater part of the commentators who have considered the question. There is, however, one objection to the hypothesis, which these learn- ed men appear to me to have overlooked ; and it is no other than this, that the superscription of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians seems to prove, that at the time St. Paul is supposed by them to have written this epistle to Timothy, Timothy in truth was with St. Paul in Macedonia. Paul, as it is related in the Acts, left Ephesus " for to go into Macedonia." When he had got into Mace- donia, he wrote his Second Epistle to the Corin- thians. Concerning this point there exists little variety of opinion. It is plainly indicated by the contents of the epistle. It is also strongly implied that the epistle was written soon after the apostle's arrival in Macedonia ; for he begins his letter by a train of reflection, referring to his persecutions in Asia as to recent transactions, as to dangers from which he had lately been delivered. But in the salutation with which the epistle opens, Timothy was joined with St. Paul, and consequently could not at that time be " left behind at Ephesus." And as to the only solution of the difficulty which can be thought of, viz. that Tnnothy, though he was left behind at Ephesus upon St. Paul's de- parture from Asia, yet might follow him so soon after, as to come up with the apostle in Macedo- nia, before he wrote his Epistle to the Corintlaans ; that supposition is inconsistent with the terms and tenor of the epistle throughout. For the writer speaks uniformly of his intention to return to ■Timothy at Ephesus, and not of his expecting Timothy to come to him in Macedonia : " These things write I unto thee, hoping to come unto thee shortly ; but if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself," ch. iii. 14, 15. " Till I come, give attendance to reading, to exhortation, to doctrine," ch. iv. 13. Since, therefore, the leaving of Timothy behind at Ephesus, when Paul went into Macedonia, suits not with any journey into Macedonia, re- corded in the Acts, 1 concur with Bishop Pearson, in placing the date of this epistle, and the journey referred to in it, at a period subsequent to St. Paul's first imprisonment at Rome, and conse- quently subsequent to the sera up to which the Acts of the Apostles brings his history. The only difficulty which attends our opinion is, that St. Paul must, according to us, have come to Ephe- sus after his liberation at Rome, contrary as it should seem, to what he foretold to the Ephcsian elders, " that they should see his face no more." And it is to save the infallibility of this prediction, and for no other reason of weight, that an earlier date is assigned to this epistle. The prediction itself, however, when considered in connexion with the circumstances under which it was de- livered, does not seem to demand so much anxiety. The words in question are found in the twenty- fifth verse of the twentieth chapter of the Acts: " And now, behold, I know that ye all, among FIRST EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 217 whom I have gone preacHng the kingdom of God, shall see my face no more." In the twenty-second and twenty-third verses of the same chapter, i. e. two verses before, the apostle makes this declara- tion : " And now, behold, I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall befall me there : save that the Holy Ghost witness- etli in every city, saying that bonds and afflictions abide me." This "witnessmg of the Holy Ghost" was undoubtedly prophetic and supernatural. But it went no farther than to foretell that bonds and afflictions awaited him. And I can very well con- ceive, that tliis might be all which was communi- cated to the apostle by extraordinary revelation, and that the rest was the conclusion of his own mind, the desponding inference which he drew from strong and repeated intimations of approach- ing danger. And the expression " I know," which St. Paul here uses, does not, perhaps, when ap- plied to future events affecting liimself, convey an assertion so positive and absolute as we may at first sight apprehend. In the first chapter of the Epistle to the Philippians, and the twenty-fifth verse, " I know," says he, " that I shall abide and continue with you all, for your furtherance and joy of faith." Notwithstanding this strong decla- ration, in the second chapter and twenty-third verse of this same epistle, and speaking also of the very same event, he is content to use a language of some doubt and uncertainty : " Him therefore I hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how it ic'dl go icith vie. But I trust in the Lord that I also myself shall come shortly." And a few verses preceding these, he not only seems to doubt of his safety, but almost to despair ; to contemplate the possibility at least of his condemnation and martyrdom : " Yea. and if I be offered upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy and rejoice with you all." No. I. But can we show that St. Paul visited Ephesus after his liberation at Rome 1 or rather, can we collect any hints from his other letters which make it probable that he did ■? If we can, then we have a coincidence. If we cannot, we have only an unauthorised supposition, to which the exigency of the case compels us to resort. Now, for this purpose, let us examine the Epistle to the Philip- pians and the Epistle to Pliilemon. These two epistles purport to be written whilst St. Paul was yet a prisoner at Rome. To the Philippians he writes as follows: " I trust in the Lord that I also myself shall come shortly." To Philemon, who was a Colossian, he gives this direction : " But withal, prepare me also a lodging, for I trust that through your pra3'ers I shall be given unto you." An inspection of the map will snow us that Co- losse was a city of the Lesser Asia, lying eastward, and at no great distance from Ephesus. Philippi was on the other, i. e. the western side of the -iEgean sea. If the apostle executed his purpose ; if, in pursuance of the intention expressed in his letter to Philemon, he came to Colosse soon after he was set at liberty at Rome, it is very improba- ble that he would omit to visit Ephesus, wliich lay so near to it, and where he had spent three years of his ministry. As he was also under a promise to the church of Philippi to see them " shortly ;" if he passed from Colosse to Philippi, or from Pliilippi to Colosse, he could hardly avoid taking Ephesus in Ms way. 2E No. II. Chap. V. 9. " Let not a widow be taken into the number under threescore years old." This accords with the account delivered in the sixth chapter of the Acts. " And in those days, when the number of the disciples was multiplied, there arose a murmuring of the Grecians against the Hebrews, because their widows uerc neglected in the daily ministration." It appears that, from the first formation of tlie Christian church, provi- sion was made out of the [)ublic funds of tlie socie- ty for the indigent widows who belonged to it. The history, we have seen, distinctly records the existence of such an institution at Jerusalem, a few years after our Lord's ascension ; and is led to the mention of it very incidentally, viz. by a dispute, of which it was the occasion, and which produced important consequences to the Christian community. The epistle, without being suspected of borrowing from the history, refers, brieily in- deed, but decisively, to a similar establishment, subsisting some years afterwards at E|jhesus. This agreement indicates tliat both writings were founded upon real circumstances. But. in this article, the material thing to be no- ticed is the mode of expression : '' Let not a widow be taken into the number." — No previous account or explanation is given, to which these words, "into the number," can refer; but the direction comes concisely and unpreparedly. " Let not a wi5ii9>) x^n"'^' o,«i\i«t X.XX.X.I, Here we have another unaffected instance of the same turn and habit of com|)osition. — Proba- bly there are some hitherto unnoticed ; and more, which the loss of the original authors renders impossible to be now ascertained. No. II. There exists a visible affinity between the Epistle to Titus and the First Epistle to Timo- thy. Both letters were addressed to persons left by the writer to preside in their respective churches during his absence. Both letters are principally occupied in describing the qualifications to be sought for, in those whom they should appoint to offices in the church ; and the ingredients of this description are in both letters nearly the same. Timothy and Titus are likewise cautioned against the same prevailing corruptions, and in particular, against the same misdirection of their cares and studies. This affinity obtains, not only in the subject of the letters, which from the similarity if situation in the persons to whom they were addressed, might be expected to be somewhat alike, but extends, in a great variety of instances, to the phrases and expressions. The writer ac- costs his two friends with the same salutation, and passes on to the business of his letter by the same transition. "Unto Timothy, my oicn son in the faith: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Lord. As I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus, when I went into Ma- cedonia" &.C. 1 Tim. chap. i. 2, 3. "To Titus, vilne own son after the common faith : Grace, mercy, and peace, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ our Saviour. For this cause left I thee in Crete," Tit. chap, i. 4, 5. If Timothy was not to "give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister ques- tions," 1 Tim. chap. i. 4, Titus also was to " avoid foolish questions, and genealogies, and contentions," chap. iii. 9; and was to "rebuke them sharply, not giving heed to Jewish fables," chap. i. 14. If Timothy was to he a pattern, (tujto;,) I Tim. ch. iv. 12, so was Titus, chap. ii. 7. If Timothy was to "let no man despise his youth," 1 Tim. ch. iv. 12, Titus also was to let " no man despise him," chap. ii. 15. This verbal consent is also observable in some very peculiar expressions, which have no relation to the par- ticular character of Timothy or Titu.s. The phrase, " it is a faithful saying" (n-irro; o xoyo;) made use of to preface some sentence upon which the writer lays a more than ordinary stress, occurs three times in the First Epistle to Timothy, once in the Second, and once in the epistle before us, and in no other part of St. Paul's writings ; and it is remarkable that these three epistles were ])robably all written towards the conclusion of his life; and that they are the only epistles which were written after his first imprisonment at Rome The same observation belongs to another singu- larity of expression, and that is in the epithet " sound" (■jj.is^.vogv,} as applied to words or doctrine. It is thus used, twice in the First Epistle to Ti- mothy, twice in the Second, and three times in the Epistle to Titus, besides two cognate expressions, uj-ixivovT«s TV, jrio-Tsi and xoyou vym ; and it is found, in the same sense, in no other part of the New Testament. The phrase, " God our Saviour," stands in nearly the same predicament. It is repeated three times in the First Epistle to Timothy, as many in the Epistle to Titus, and in no other book of the New Testament occurs at all, except once in the Epistle of Jude. Similar terms, intermixed indeed with others, are employed in the two epistles, in enumerating the qualifications required in those who should be advanced to stations of authority in the church. " A bi.shop must be blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behaviour, given to hospitality, apt to teach, 710/ given to wine, no striker, not greedy of filthy lucre ; but patient, not a brawler, not covetous ; one that ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gra\dty," * 1 Tim. chap, iii 2 — 4. " If any be blameless, the husband of one wife, having faithful children, not accused of riot, or unruly. For a bishop must be blameless, as the steward of God ; not self-willed, not soon angr}^, not given to wine, no striker, not given to filthy lucre ; but a lover of hospitality, a lover of good men. sober, just, holy, temperate," t Titus, chap, i. 6—8. The most natural account which can be given of these resemblances, is to suppose that the two ejiistles were written nearly at the same time, and whilst the same ideas and phrases dwelt in the writer's mind. Let us inquire, therefore, whether the notes of time, extant in the two epistles, in any manner favour this supposition. We have seen that it was necessary to refer the First Epistle to Timothy to a date subsequent to St. Paul's first imprisonment at Rome, because there was no journey into Macedonia prior to that event, which accorded with the circumstance of leaving " Timothy behind at Ephcsus." The journey of St. Paul from Crete, alluded to in the epistle before us, and in which "Titus " was left in Crete to set in order the things that were want- ing," must in like manner, be carried to the period which intervened between his first and second imprisonment. For the history, which reaches, we know, to the time of St. Paul's first imprison- ment, contains no account of his going to Crete, except upon his voyage as a prisoner to Rome ; and that this could not be the occasion referred to in our epistle is evident from hence, that when St. Paul wrote this epistle he appears to have been at liberty : whereas after that voyage, he con- ic " Aei oui/ STrikHTTTOV ■■', /"'«? ^'tJV«(X05 av5fC6, V^^KKtOV, (TaJlp^'MVX, KDir/>ttov, _iVQV 7r4>oiirT«^£i/oi>, Texvot exO''T« «" Mirarxyviftcra, 7rxa-y\i o-e/iKOTtiTOj." ■f " El Ti; fO-TlH aV£ynXl|TO{, ;"'«! yuVXlXO; «V>Jf, T£X1'« iX'jiV TTitncA, ixvt ev nxrv^yo^tst xtrwTtxg^ >J xvvTrorxxToi, Ae* yx^ TOv STTKTi^QTrOV XveyiCKtJT Ov Etvxtt t«? ©£0U OiJtOVO- /iOv,fi>f xvixSif, fin o^yiKHv^ /iif TrXfOivov, fitf 7r\lfx.T>tv, yUl| aia-xsOKs^Si)* xWx ^iXc^svov, ifiKxyx^ov, cruj^^ovw, St» xitiov, oo-tov, iyn^xTH." EPISTLE TO PHILEMON. 223 tinned for two years at least in confinement. Agnifi, it is agreed that St. Paul wrote his First Epiotle to Timothy from Macedonia: "As I be- souirht thee to abide still at Ephesus, when I went (or came) into Macedonia." And that he was in these parts, i. e. in this peninsula, when he wrote the Epistle to Titus, is rendered probable by his directing Titus to come to him to Nicopolis: "When I shall send Artemas unto thee, or Tychicus, be diligent (make haste) to come unto me to Nicopolis : for I have detennined there to winter." The most noted city of that name was in Epirus. near to Actium. And 1 think the form of speaking, as well as the nature of the case, renders it probable tliat the writer was at Nicopolis, or in the neighbourhood thereof, when he dictated this direction to Titus. Upon the whole, if we may be allowed to suppose that St. Paul, after his liberation at Rome, sailed into Asia, taking Crete in his way; that from Asia and from Ephesus, the capital of that country, he proceeded into Macedonia, and crossing the peninsula in his progress, came into the neigh- bourhood of Nicopolis ; we have a route which falls in with every thing. It executes the inten- tion expressed by the Apostle of visiting Colosse and Philippi as soon as he should be set at liberty at Rome. It allows him to leave " Titus at Crete," a;id " Timothy at Ephesus, as he went into Mace- donia :" and to write to both not long after from the peninsula of Greece, and probably the neighbour- hood of Nicopolis : thus bringing together the dates of these two letters, and thereby accounting for that affinity between them, both in subject and language, which our remarks have pointed out. I confess that the journey which we have thus traced out for St. Paul, is, in a great measure, hy- pothetic : but it should be observed, that it is a species of consistency, which seldom belongs to falsehood, to admit of an hypothesis, which in- cludes a great number of independent circum- stances without contradiction. CHAPTER XIV. TJie Epistle to Philemon. No. I. The singular correspondency between this epistle and that to the Colossians has been remark- ed already. An assertion in the Epistle to the Colossians, viz. that " Onesimus was one of them," is verified, not by any mention of Colosse, any the most distant intimation concerning the place of Philemon's abode, but singly by stating Onesi- mus to be Philemon's servant, and by joining in tlie salutation Philemon with Archippus ; for tliis Archippus, when we go back to the Epistle to the Colossians, appears to have heen an inhabitant of that city, and, as it should seem, to have held an office of authority in that church. The case stands thus. Take the Epistle to the Colossians alone, and no circumstance is discoverable which makes out the assertion, that Onesimus was "one of them." Take the Epistle to Philemon alone, and nothing at all appears concerning the place to which Philemon or his servant Onesimus belong- ed. For any thing that is said in the epistle, Philemon might have been a Thessalonian, a Philippian, or an Ephesian, as well as a Colos- sian. Put the two epistles together, and the matter is clear. The reader perceives a junction of circumstances, which ascertains the conclusion at once. Now, all that is necessary to be added in this place is, that this correspondency evinces the genuineness of one epistle, as well as of the other, it is like comparing the two parts of a cloven tally. Comcidcnce proves the authenticity of both. No. 11. And this coincidence is perfect ; not only in the main article of showing, by implication, Onesi- mus to be a Colossian, but in many dependent circumstances. 1. "I beseech thee for my son Onesimus, whom I have sent again," ver. 10 — 12. It appears Irom the Epistle to the Colossians, that, in truth, One- simus was sent at that time to Colosse : " All my state shall Tychicus declare, whom I have sent unto you for the same purpose, with Onesimus, a. faithful and beloved brother," Colos. chap. iv. 7 — 9, 2. " I beseech thee for my son Onesimus, vjhom I have begotten in my bonds," ver. 10. It appears from the preceding quotation, that Onesi- mus was with St. Paul when he wrote the Epistle to the Colossians ; and that he wrote that epistle in imprisomnent is evident from his declaration in the fourth chapter and third verse : " Prayuig also for us, that Ood would open unto us a door of utterance, to speak the mystery of ChriNf. for which I am also in bonds. 3. St. Paul bids Philemon prepare for h.im a lodging : " For I trust," says he, " that through your prayers I shall be given unto you." This agrees with the expectation of speedy deliverance, which he expressed in another epistle written during the same imprisonment: "Him" (Timothy) "I hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how it will go with me ; but I trust in tlte Lord that x also myself shall come shortly," Phil. chap. ii. 23, 24. 4. As the letter to Philemon, and that to the Colossians, were written at the same time, and sent by the same messenger, the one to a [larticu- lar inhabitant, the other to the church of Colosse, it may be expected that the same or nearly the same persons would be about St. Paul, and join with him, as was the practice, in the salutations of the epistle. Accordingly we find the names of Aristarchus, Marcus, Epaphras, Luke, and Demas, in both epistles. Timothy, who is joined with St. Paul in the superscription of the Epistle to the Colossians, is joined with him in this. Tychicus did not salute Philemon, because he ac- companied the epistle to Colosse, and would un- doubtedly there see him. Yet the reader of the Epistle to Philemon will remark one considerable diversity in the catalogue of saluting friends, and which shows that the catalogue was not copied from that to the Colossians. In the Epistle to the Colossians, Aristarchus is called by St. Paul his fellow-prisoner, Colos. chap. iv. 10; in the Epistle to Philemon, Aristarchus is mentioned without any addition, and the title of fellow-prisoner is given to Epaphras. * * Dr. Benson observes, and perhaps truly, that the appellation of fellow-prisoner, as applied by St. Paul to Epaphras, did not imply that they were imprisoned together at the time ; any more than your calling a per- 221 HOR^ PAULlNiE. And let it also be observed, that notwithstanding the close and circumstantial agreement between the two epistles, this is not the case of an opening left in a genuine writing, which an impostor is induced to fill up; nor of a reference to some writing not extant, which sets a sophist at work to supply the loss, in like manner as, because St. Paul was supposed, Colos. chap. iv. 16, to allude to an epistle written by him to the Laodiceans, some person has from thence taken the hint of uttering a forgery under that title. The present, I say, is not that case ; for Philemon's name is not mentioned in the Epistle to the Colossians ; Onc- simus' servile condition is no where hinted at, any more than his crime, his flight, or the place or time of his conversion. The story, therefore, of t];e epistle, if it be a fiction, is a fiction to which the author could not have been guided by any thing he had read in St. Paul's genuine writings. No. III. Ver. 4, 5. " I thank my God, making mention of thee always in my prayers, hearing of thy love and faith, which thou hast toward the Lord Je- sus, and toward all saints." " Hearing of thy love and faith.'" This is the form of speech which St. Paul was wont to use towards those churches which he had not seen, or then visited : see Rom. chap. i. 8 ; Ephes. chap. i. 15; Col. chap. i. 3, 4. Toward those churches and persons, with whom he was previously ac- quainted, lie employed a different phrase ; as, " I thank my God always on your behalf," 1 Cor. chap. i. 4; 2 Thess. chap. i. 3; or, "upon every remembrance of you," Phil. chap. i. 3 ; 1 Thess. chap. i. 2, 3; 2 Tim. chap. i. 3; and never speaks of hearing of them. Yet I think it must be con- cluded, from the nineteenth verse of this epistle, that Philemon had been converted by St. Paul himself: " Albeit, I do not say to thee how thou owest unto me even thine own self besides." Here then is a peculiarity. Let us inquire whether the epistle supplies any circumstance which will ac- count for it. We have seen that it may be made out, not from the epistle itself, but from a compa- rison of the epistle with that to the Colossians, that Philemon was an inhabitant of Colosse : and it farther appears, from the Epistle to the Colos- sians, that St. Paul had never been in that city : " I wcidd that ye knew what great conflict I have for you and for them at Laodicea, and for as many as have not seen my face in the flesh," Col. ch. ii. 1. Although, therefore, St. Paul had formerly met with Philemon at some other place, and had been the immediate instrument of his conversion, yet Philemon's fliith and conduct afterwards, in- asmuch as he lived in a city which St. Paul had never visited, could only be known to him by fame and reputation. No. IV. The tenderness and delicacy of this epistle have long been admired : " Though I might be much bold in Christ to enjoin thee that which is conve- nient, yet for love's sake I rather beseech thee, being such an one as Paul the aged, and now also a prisoner of Jesus Christ ; I beseech thee for my «on your fellow-traveller imports that you are then upon your travels. If he had, upon any former occasion, travelled with you, you mi?ht afterwards speak of him under that title. It is just so with the term fellow- prisoner. son Onesimus, whom I have begotten in mv bonds." There is something certainly very melting and persuasive in this, and every part of the epis- tle. Yet, in my opinion, the character of St. Pau prevails in it throughout. The warm, affectionate, authoritative teacher is interceding with an absent friend for a beloved convert. He urges his suit with an earnestness, befitting perhaps not so much the occasion, as the ardour and sensibility of his own mind, tiere also, as every where, he shows himself conscious of the weight and dignity of his mission ; nor does he suffer Philemon for a mo- ment to forget it : "I miglit be much bold in Christ to enjoin thee that which is convenient." He is careful also to recall, though oliliqucly, to Philemon's memory, the sacred obligation under which he had laid him, by bringing to him the knowledge of Jesus Christ: " I do not say to thee how thou owest to me even thine own self be- sides." Without laying aside, therefore, the apos- tolic character, our author softens the imperative style of his address, by mixing with it every sen- timent and consideration that could move the lieart of his correspondent. Aged and in prison, he is content to supplicate and entreat. Onesimus was rendered dear to him by his conversion and his services : the child of his affliction, and " minis- tering unto him in the bonds of the Gospel." This ought to recommend him, whatever had been his fault, to Philemon's forgiveness : " Receive him as myself, as my own bowels." Every thing, however, should be voluntary. St. Paul was de- termined that Philemon's compliance sliould flow from his own bounty : " Without thy mind would I do nothing, that thy benefit should not be as it were of necessity, but willingly;" trusting never- theless to his gratitude and attachment for the perfonnance of all that he requested, and for more : " Having confidence in thy obedience, I wrote unto thee, knowing that thou wilt also do more than I say." St. Paul's discourse at Miletus ; his speech be- fore Agrippa ; his Epistle to the Romans, as hath been remarked, (No. VIII.) that to the Galatians, chap. iv. 1 1 — 20 ; to the Philippians, chap. i. 29- chap. ii. 2; the Second to the Corinthians, chap, vi. 1 — 13; and indeed some part or other of al- most every epistle, exhibit examples of a similar application to the feelings and affections of the persons whom he addresses. And it is observable, that these pathetic effusions, drawn for the most part from his own sufferings and situation, usually precede a command, soften a rebuke, or mitigate the harshness of some disagreeable truth. CHAPTER XV. The Subscriptions of the Epistles. Six of these subscriptions are false or improba- ble ; that is, they are either absolutely contradicted by the contents of the epi.stle, or are difficult to be reconciled with them. I. The subscription of the First Epistle to the Corinthians states that it was written from Phi- lippi, notwithstanding that, in the sixteenth chap- ter and the eighth verse of the epistle, St. Paul informs the Corinthians that he will "tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost ;" and notwithstanding that he begins the salutations in the epistle by SUBSCRIPTIONS OF THE EPISTLES. 225 telling them " the churches of Asia salute you ;" Q pretty evident indication that he himself was m Asia at this time. II. The Epistle to the Galatians is by the sub- scription dated from Rome ; yet, in the epistle itself, St. Paul expresses liis surprise "that they were so soo7i removing from him that called them;" whereas his joiurney to Rome was ten years pos- terior to the conversion of the Galatians. And what, I think, is more conclusive, the author, though speakiiig of himself in this more than any other epistle, does not once mention his bonds, or call himself a prisoner ; which he had not failed to do in every one of the four epistles written from that city, and during that imprisonment. III. The First Epistle to the Thessalonians was written, the subscription teUs us, from Athens ; yet the epistle refers expressly to the coming of Tiiuotheus from Thessalonica, ch. iii. 6, and the liistory informs us. Acts xviii. 5, that Tunothy came out of Macedonia to St. Paul at Corinth. IV. The Second Epistle to the Thessalonians is dated, and without any discoverable reason, from Athens also. If it be truly the second ; if it refer, as it appears to do, ch. ii. 2, to the first, and the first was written from Corinth, the place must be erroneously assigned, for the history does not allow us to suppose that St. Paul, after he had reached Corinth, went back to Athens. V. The First Epistle to Timothy the subscrip- tion asserts to have been sent from Laodicea ; yet, when St. Paul writes, " I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus, :7-i;fiu(3/i£i'os£.; M;txsJovi»v(when I set out for Macedonia,") the reader is naturally led to conclude, that he wrote the letter upon his arrival in that country. VI. The Epistle to Titus is dated from Nico- polis in jNlacedonia, whilst no city of that name is known to have existed in that province. The use, and the only use, which I make of these observations, is to show how easily errors and contradictions steal in where the writer is not guided by original knowledge. There are only eleven distinct assignments of date to St. Paul's Epistles (for the four written from Rome may be considered as plainly contemporary ;) and of these, six seem to be erroneous. I do not attribute any authority to these subscriptions. I believe them lo have been conjectures founded sometimes upon loose traditions, but more generally upon a con- sideration of some particular text, without sufli- ciently comparing it with other parts of the epistle, with dillerent epistles, or with the history. Suppose then that the subscriptions had come down to us as authentic parts of the epistles, there would have been more contrarieties and dithcultics arising out of these final verses, than from all the rest of the volume. Yet, if the epistles had been forged, the whole must have been made up of the same elements as those of wMch the subscriptions are composed, viz. tradition, conjecture, and infer- ence : and it would have remained to be accounted for how, whilst so many errors were crowded into the concluding clauses of the letters, so much con- sistency should be preserved in other parts. The same reflection arises from observing the oversights and mistakes which learned men have committed, when arguing upon allusions which relate to time and place, or when endeavouring to digest scattered circumstances into a continued story. It is indeed the same case ; for these sub- scriptions must be regarded as ancient schoha, and 2F as nothing more. Of tliis liability to error I can present the reader with a notable instance ; and which I bring forward for no other purpose than that to which I apply the erroneous subscriptions. Ludovicus Capellus, in that part of his Historia Apostohca Illustrata, wliich is entitled De Ordine Epist. Paul., writing upon the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, triumphs unmerciful!}' over the want of sagacity in Baronius, who, it seems, makes St. Paul write his Epistle to Titus from Macedonia upon his second visit mto that pro- vince ; whereas it appears from the history, that Titus, instead of being at Crete, where theepi-stje places him, was at that time sent by the apostle from Macedonia to Corinth. — " Animadvertere est," says Capellus, " magnam hominis illius xSK£ii/txv, qui vult Titum a Paulo in Cretam ab- ductum, illicque rehctum, cum inde Nicopolim navigaret, qucm tamen agnoscit a Paulo ex Mace- donia, missum esse Corinthum." Tliis probably will be thought a detection of inconsistency in Ba- ronius. But what is the most remarkable is, that in the same chapter m which he thus indulges his contempt of Baronius's judgment, Capellus liimself falls into an error of the same kind, and more gross and palpable than that which he reproves. For he begins the chapter by stating the Second Epis- tle to the Corinthians and the First Epistle to Ti- mothy to be nearly contemporary : to have been both written during the apostle's second visit into iMacedonia ; and that a doubt subsisted concerning the iimuediate priority of their dates ; " Posterior ad eosdem Corinthios Epistola, et Prior ad Timo- theum certant de prioritate, et sub judice lis est; utraque autem scripta est paulo postquam Paulus Epheso discessisset, adeoque dum Macedoniam peragraret, sed utra tempore praeccdat, nonliquct." Now, in the first place, it is liighly improbable that the two epistles should have been written cither nearl}' together, or during the same journey through jNlacedonia; for, in the Epistle to the Corinthians, Timothy appears to have been icith St. Paul ; in the epistle addressed to him, to have been left behind at Ephesus, and not only left be- hind, but directed to continue there till St. Paul should return to that city. In the second place it is inconceivable, that a question should be proposed concerning the priority of date of the two epistles ; for, when St. Paul, in his Epistle to Timothy, opens his address to him by saying, " as I besought thee to aljide still at Ephesus when I went into Macedonia," no reader can doubt but that he here refers to the last interview which had passed be- tween them ; that he had not seen him since ; whereas if the epistle be posterior to that to the Corinthians, yet written upon the same visit into Macedonia, tliis could not be true ; for as Timothy was along with St. Paul when he wrote to the Co- rinthians, he must, upon this supposition, have passed over to St. Paul in Macedonia after he had been left by him at Ephesus, and must have re- turned to Ephesus again before the epistle was writ- ten. What misled Ludovicus Capellus was simply this, — that he had entirely overlooked Timothy's name in the superscription of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. Which oversight appears not only in the quotation which we have given, hut from his telling us, as he does, that Timothy came from Ephesus to St. Paul at Corinth, whereas the superscription proves that Timothy was already with St. Paul when he wrote to the Corinthians from Macedonia. 226 HORiE PAULINA. CHAPTER XVI. The Conclusion. In the outset of tliis inquiry, the reader was di- rected to consider tlie Acts of tlie Apostles and tlie thirteen epistles of St. Paul as certain ancient manuscripts lately discovered in the closet of some celebrated library. We have adhered to this view af tlie subject. External evidence of every kind has been removed out of sight ; and our endeavours have been employed to collect the indication.s of truth and authenticity, which appeared to exist in the writings themselves, and to result from a com- parison of their different partfe. It is not however necessary to continue this supposition longer. The testimony which other remains of contempo- rary, or the monuments of adjoining ages afford to the reception, notoriety, and public estimation of a book, form, no doubt, the first proof of its genuine- ness. And in no books whatever is this jjroof more complete, than in those at present under our consideration. The inquiries of learned men, and, above all, of the excellent Lardner, who never overstates a point of evidence, and whose fidelity in citing his authorities has in no one instance been impeached, have established, concerning these writings, the following propositions: I. That in tlie age immediately posterior to that in whicli St. Paul lived, his letters were publicly read and acknowledged. Some of them are quoted or alluded to by almost every Christian writer that followed, by Clement of Rome, by Hernias, by Ignatius, by Polycarp, disciples or contemporaries of the apostles ; by Jus- tin Martyr, by the churches of Gaul, by Irenfeus, by Athenagoras, by Theophilus, by Clement of Alexandria, by Hermias, by TertuUian, who oc- cupied the succeeding a^e. Now when we find a book quoted or referretito by an ancient author, we are entitled to conclude, that it was read and received in the age and country in which that au- thor lived. And this conclusion does not, in any degree, rest upon the judgment or character of the author making such reference. Proceeding by this rule, we have, concerning the First Epistle to the Corinthians in particular, within forty years after the epistle was written, evidence, not only of its being extant at Corinth, but of its being known and read at Rome. — Clement, bishop of that city, writing to the church of Corinth, uses these words : " Take into your hands the epistle of the blessed Paul the ajiostle. What did he at first write unto you in the hcfriiinirig of the Gospel 1 Verily he did by the Spirit admonish you concerning him- self, and Cephas, and Apollos, because that even then you did form parties."* This was written at a time when probably some must have been living at Corinth, who remembered St. Paul's ministry there and the receipt of the epistle. The testimony is still more valuable, as it shows that the epistles were preserved in the churches to which they were sent, and that they were spread and propa- gated from them to the rest of the Christian com- munity. Agreeably to which natural mode and order of their publication, TertuUian, a century atterwards, for proof of the integrity and genuine- ness of the apostolic writings, bids "els may have been made up of reports and stories, which were current at the time, we may observe that, with respect to the Epistles, this is impossible. A man cannot write the history of his own life from re[>orts; no; , what is the same thing, be led by reports to refer to passages and transac- tions in which he states himself to have been im- mediately present and active. I do not allow that this insinuation is applied to the historical part of the New Testament with any colour of justice or probability; but I sa}', that to the Epistles it is not applicable at all. III. These letters prove that the converts to Christianity were not drawn from the barbarous, the mean, or the ignorant set of men which the re- presentations of infidelity would sometimes make them. We learn from letters the character not only of the writer, but, in some measure, of the persons to whom they are written. To suppose that these letters were addressed to a rude tribe, incapable of thought or reflection, is just as rea- sonable as to suppose Locke's Essay on the Hu- man Understanding to have been written for the instruction of savages. Whatever may be thought of these letters in other respects, either of diction or argument, they are certainly removed as far as possible from the habits and comprehension of a barbarous people. IV. St. Paul's history, I mean so much of it as may be collected from his letters, is so implicated with that of the other apostles, and with the sub- stance indeed of the Christian history itself, that I apprehend it will be found impossible to admit St. Paul's story (I do not speak of the miraculous part of it) to be true, and yet to reject the rest as fabulous. For instance, can any one believe that there was such a man as Paul, a preacher of Chris- tianity in the age which we assign to him, and not believe that there was also at the same time such a man as Peter and James, and other apos- tles, who had been companions of Christ daring his life, and who after his death published and avowed the same things concerning him which Paul taught"? Judea, and especially Jerusalem, was the scene of Christ's ministry. The witnesses of his miracles lived there. St. Paul, by his own account, as well as that of his historian, appears to have frequently visited that city ; to have car- ried on a communication with the church there ; to have associated with the rulers and elders of that church, who were some of them apostles ; to have acted, as occasions offered, in correspondence, and sometimes in conjunction with them. Can it, after this, be doubted, but that the religion and the general facts relating to it, which St. Paul ap- pears by his letters to have delivered to the seve- ral churches which he established at a distance, were at the same time taught and published at Je- rusalem itself, the place where the business was transacted ; and taught and published by those who had attended the founder of the institution in his miraculous, or pretendedly miraculous, minis- It is ohsen'able, for so it appears both in the Epistles and from the Acts of the Apostles, that Jerusalem, and the society of believers in that city, long continued the centre from which the mission- aries of the religion issued, with which all other churches maintained a correspondence and con- nexion, to which they referred their doubts, and to whose relief, in times of public distress, they remitted their charitable assistance. This obser- vation I think material, because it proves that this was not the case of giving our accounts in one country of what is transacted in another, without affording the hearers an opportunity of knowing whether the things related were credited by any, or even published, in the place where they are re- ported to have passed. 20 ^30 HORiE PAULINA. V. St. Paul's letters furnish evidence (and what better evidence than a man's own letttTs can be desired 1) of the soundness and sobriety of his judgment. His caution in distinguishing between tlie occasional suggestions of inspiration, and the ordinary exercise of his natural understanding, is without example in the history of human enthu- siasm. His morality is every where calm, pure, and rational ; adapted to the condition, the activity, and the business of social life, and of its various relations; free from the overscru{)ulousness and austerities of superstition, and from what was more perhaps to be apprehended, the abstractions of quietism, and the soarings and extravagancies of fanaticism. His judgment concerning a hesi- tating conscience; his opniion of the moral indifib- rency of many actions, yet of the prudence and even the duty of compliance, where non-comj)li- ance would produce evil etfects upon the minds of the persons who observed it, is as correct and just as the most liberal and enlightened moralist could form at this day. The accuracy of modern ethics has found nothing to amend in these determina- tions. What Lord Lyttleton has remarked of the pre- ference ascribed by St. Paul to inward rectitude of principle above every other rehgious accomplish- ment, is very material to our present purpose. "In his First Epistle to the Corinthians, chap, xiii. 1 — 3, St. Paul has these words : Though I speak loith the tongue of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge ; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, lam nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it pro- fitcth me nothing. Is this the language of en- thusiasm 1 Did ever enthusiast ])refi'r that uni- versal benevolence which coiiipnht iiil,/i£.o«s xai rtjao-i x«< iuva- Hi<7i. f) 2 Cor. ch. xii. 12. These words, signs, wonders, and mighty deeds, (c-i^/jLux, XU.I Tifxra, xxi Svvci.f<.'.i(,) are the specific appropriate terms throughout the New Testament, employed when pulilic sensible miracles are in- tended to be expressed. This will appear by con- sulting, amongst other places, the texts referred to in the note ; t and it cannot be known that they are ever employed to express any thing else. Secondly, these words not only denote mira- cles as opposed to natural effects, but they denote visible, and what may be called external, miracles, as distinguished. First, from inspiration. If St. Paul had meant to refer only to secret illuminations of his under- standing, or secret influences upon liis will or affections, he could not, with truth, have repre- sented them as " signs and wonders wrought oy him," or " signs and wonders and mighty deeds wrought amongst them." Secondly, from visions. These woiild not, by any means, satisfy the force of the terms, "signs, wonders, and mighty deeds ;" still less could they be said to be "wrought by hun," or ^^ wrought amongst them :" nor are these terms and expres- sions any where applied to visions. When our author alludes to the supernatural communica- tions which he had received, either by \ision or otherwise, he uses expressions suited to the nature of the subject, but very different from the words which we have quoted. He calls them revelations, but never signs, wonders, or mighty deeds. " I will come," says he, " to visions and revelations of the Lord ;" and then proceeds to describe a particular instance, and afterwards adds, " lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revela- tions, there was given me a thorn in the flesh." * i. e. " I will speak of nothing but what Christ hath wrought by me ," or, as Giotius interprets it, " Christ hath wrought so great things by me, that I will not dare to say what he hath not wrought." t To these may be added the following indirect allu- sions, which, though if they had stood alone, i. e. with- out plainer texts in the same writings, they might have been accounted dubious ; yet, when considered in con- junction with the passages already cited, can hardly re- ceive any other interpretation than that which we give them. " My speech and my preaching was not with enticing words of men's wisdom, but in demonstration of the spirit and of power ; that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God," 1 Cor. ch. ii. 4 — 6. " The Gospel, whereof I was rnade a minister, accord- ing to the gift of the grace of God given unto me by the effectual working of his power," Ephes. ch. iii. 7. " For he that wrought etfectually in Peter to the apostleship of the circumcision, the same was mighty in me towards the Gentiles," Gal. ch. ii. 8. " For our Gospel came not unto you in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance," 1 Thess. ch. i. 5. {Mark .\vi. 20. Luke xxiii. 8. John ii. 11,23; iii. 2 1 iv. 48, 54 ; xi. 49. Acts ii. 22 ; iv. 3 ; v. 12 ; vi. 8 ; vii. 16; xiv. 3; XV. 12. Heb. ii. 4. =^ 232 HCRiE PAULINiE. Upon the whole, the matter admits of no soft- ening qualification, or ambiguity whatever. If St. Paul did not work actual, sensible public miracles, he has knowingly, in these letters, borne his tes- timony to a falsehood. I need not add, that, in two also of the quotations, he has advanced his assertion in the face of those persons amongst whom he declares the miracles to have been wrought. Let it be remembered that the Acts of the Apos- tles described various particular miracles wrought by St. Paul, which in their nature answers to the terms and expressions wliich we have seen to be used by St. Paul himself. Here then we have a man of liberal attain- ments, and in other points of sound judgment, who had addicted his life to the service of the Gospel. We see him, in the prosecution of his purpose, travelling from country to country enduring every species of hardship, encountering every extremity of danger, assaulted by the populace, punished by the magistrates, scourged, beat, stoned, left for dead ; expecting, wherever he came, a renewal of the same treatment, and the same dangers, yet, when driven from one city, preaching in the next ; spending his whole time in the employment, sa- crificing to it his pleasures, his ease, his safety ; persisting in this course to old age, unaltered by the exjicrience of perversencss, ingratitude, preju- dice, desertion ; unsubdued by anxiety, want, labour, jx-rsecutions ; unwearied by long confine- ment, undismayed by the prospect of death. Such was St. Paul. We have his letters in our hands ; we have also a history purporting to be written by one of his fellow-travellers, and appear- ing, by a comparison with these letters, certainly to have been written by some person well ac- quainted with the transactions of his life. From the letters, as well as from the history, we gather not only the account which we have stated of him, but that he was one out of many who acted and sufiered in the same manner ; and that of those who did so, several had been the companions of Christ's ministry, the ocular witnesses, or })re- tending to be such, of his miracles, and of his resurrection. We moreover find this same per- son referring in his letters to his supernatural con- version, the particulars and accompanying circum- stances of which are related in the history, and which accompanying circumstances, if all or any of them be true, render it impossible to have been a delusion. We also find him positively, and in ap- projjriated terms, asserting that he himself worked miracles, strictly and properly so called, in sup- port of the mission which he executed ; the his- tory, meanwhile, recording various passages of his ministry, which come up to the extent of this as- sertion. The question is, whether falsehood was ever attested by evidence like this. Falsehoods, we know, have found their way into reports, into tradition, into books ; but is an example to be met with, of a man voluntarily undertaking a hfe of want and pain, of incessant fatigue, of continual peril ; submitting to the loss of his home and coun- try, to stripes and stoning, to tedious imprison- ment, and the constant expectation of a violent death, for the sake of carrying about a story of what was false, and of what, if false, he must have known to be so ■? THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION IN VISITING THE SICK : CONTAINING, Rules for visiting the sick. — II. The office for the visitation of the sick. III. The communion of the sick. — IV. A great variety of occasional prayers FOR the sick; collected from the writings of some of the most eminent DIVINES OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND : TO WHICH ARE ADDED, THE OFFICES OF public AND PRIVATE BAPTISM, WITH ADDITIONS AND ALTERATIONS. PREFACE. This collection has been so much esteemed, that it has passed through nine editions. Having now become exceedingly scarce, it was thought proper to reprint it. The rules for Visiting the Sick, in five sections, are extracted chiefly from the works of Bishop Taylor. The Occasional Prayers are taken from the devotional tracts of Bishop Patrick, Mr. Ket- tlewell, and other pious and judicious divines. But in this Edition, the antiquated style of those writers is corrected and improved ; at the same time, a spirit of rational piety, and unaffected simpli- city, are carefully preserved. A prayer by Dr. Stonehouse, and four by Mr. Merrick, the celebrated translator of the Psalms, are added to the old collection. The offices of Public and Private Baptism, though no ways relating to the Visitation of the Sick, are retained ; as, in the present form, they will be convenient for the Clergy in the course of their parochial duty. CANON LXVII. MINISTERS TO VISIT THE SICK. When any person is dangerously sick in any parish, the minister or cui'ate, having knowledge there- of, shall resort unto him, or her, (if the disease be not known, or probably suspected to be inlectioua, to instruct and comfort them in their distress, according to the order of Communion, if he be no preacher; or, if he be a preacher, then as he shall think most needful and convenient. It is recommended to the Clergy to write out the prayers, which are to be used by the Sick them- selves, or by the persons whose devotions they wish to assist, and to leave the copies with them. 2 G 233 20* THE MANNER OF VISITING THE SICK; ASSISTANCE THAT IS TO BE GIVEN TO SICK AND DYING PERSONS BY THE MINISTRY OF THE CLERGY. SECTION I. Lv all the days of our spiritual warfere, from pur baptism to our burial, God has appointed his servants the ministers of the church, to supply the necessities of the people, by ecclesiastical duties; and prudently to guide, and carefully to judge concerning, souls committed to their charge. And, therefore, they who all their lifetime de- rive blessings from the Fountain of Grace, by the channels of ecclesiastical ministers, ought then more especially to do it in the time of their sick- ness, when their needs are more prevalent, accord- ing to that known apostolical injunction: "Is any man sick among you, let him send for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him," &c. The sum of the duties and offices, respectively implied in these words, may be collected from the following rules. SECTION II. Rules for the Manner of Visiting the Sick. 1. Lkt the minister be sent to, not when the sick is in the agonies of death, as it is usual to do, hut before his sickness increases too much upon him : for when the soul is confused and disturbed by the violence of the distemper, and death begins to stare the man in the face, there is little reason to hope for any good elfect from the spiritual man's visitation. For how can any regular administra- tion take place, when the man is all over in a dis- order '? how can he be called upon to confess his sins, when his tongue falters, and his memory fails him! how can he receive any benefit by the prayers which are oflered up for him, when he is not able to give attention to them 1 or how can he be comforted upon any sure grounds of reason or religion, when his reason is just expiring, and all his notions of religion together with it 1 or when the man, perhaps, had never any real sentiments of religion before 1 It is, therefore, a matter of sad consideration, that the generality of the world look upon the minister, in the time of their sickness, as the sure forerunner of death; and think his office so much relates to another world, that he is not to be treated with, as long as there is any hope of living in this. Whereas it is higlily requisite the minister be sent for, when the sick person is able to be conversed with and instructed ; and can understand, or be taught to understand, thecase of Ids soul, and the 234 rules of his conscience, and all the several bearings of religion, with respect to God, his neighbour, and himself For to prepare a soul for its change is a work of great difficulty ; and the intercourses of the minister with the sick have so much variety in them, that they are not to be transacted at once. Sometimes there is need of sj)ecial reme- dies against impatience, and the fear of death ; not only to animate, but to make the person desirous and willing to die. Sometimes it is requisite to awaken the conscience by "the terrors of the Lord " to open by degrees all the labyrinths of sin flhose innumerable windings and turnings whicl insensibly lead men into destruction,) which the habitual sensualist can never be able to disco- ver, unless directed by the particular grace of God, and the assistance of a faithful and ju- dicious guide. Sometimes there is need of the balm of comfort, to pour in " oil and wine" (with the good Samaritan) into the bleeding wound, by representing the tender mercies of God, and the love of his Son Jesus Christ, to mankind: and at other times it will be necessary to "reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with all long suffering and doctrine :" so that a clergyman's duty, in the vi- sitation of the sick, is not over at once : but at one time he must pray ; at another, he must assist, advise, and direct ; at another, he must open to hmi the nature of repentance, and exhort him to a confession of his sins, both to God and man, in all those cases which require it : and, at another time, he must give him absolution, and the sacra- ment of the body and blood of our Lord. And, indeed, he that ought to watch all the periods of his life, in the days of his health, lest he should be surprised and overcome, had need, when he is sick, be assisted and called upon, and reminded of the several parts of his duty in every instant of his temptation. The want of this makes the visitations of the clergy fruitless, because they are not suffered to imprint those proper effects upon the sick, which are needful in so important a ministration. 2. When the minister is come, let him discourse concerning the causes of sickness, and by a gene- ral argument move him to a consideration of his condition. Let him call upon liim first, in general terms, " to set his house in order," " to trim and adorn his lamp," and " to prepare himself for an- other world ;" and then let him perform the cus- tomary duties of prayer, and afterwards descend to other particulars, as occasion shall ofler, and circumstances require. 3. According to the condition of the man, and VISITING THE SICK. 235 the nature of his sickness, every act of visitation is to be proportioned. If his condition be full of pain and infirmity, the exhortation ought to be shortened, and the minister more " instant in prayer:" and the little service the sick man can do for himself should be supplied by the charitable care of his guide, who is in such a case to speak more to God for him than to talk to him : " prayer of the righteous," when it is " fervent," hath a promise to " prevail much in behalf of the sick" person: but exiiortations must prevail by their own proper weight, and not by the passion of the speaker; and, therefore, should be olfered when the sick is able to receive them. And even in this assistance of prayer, if the sick man joins with the minister, the prayers should be short, fervent, and ejaculatory, apt rather to comply with his weak condition, than wearisome to his spirits, in tedious and long othces. But in case it appears he hath ButTicient strength to go along with the minister, he is then more at hberty to otTer up long petitions for him. After the minister hath made this preparatory entrance to this work of much time and deli- beration, he may descend to the particulars of his duty, in the following method. SECTION III. Of instructing the sick Man in the nature of Repentance, and Confession of his Sins. The first duty to be rightly stated to the sick man, is that of repentance ; in which the minister cannot be more ser\iceable to him than by laying before him a regular scheme of it, and exhorting him at the same time to a free and ingenuous de- claration of the state of his soul. For unless they know the manner of his life and the several kinds and degrees of those sins vi'hich require his peni- tential sorrow or restitution, either they can do nothincr at all, or nothing of advantage and certain- tv. Wherefore the minister may move liim to this in the following mamier : Arguments and Exhortations to more the sick Man to Repentance, and Confession of his Sins. 1. That repentance is a duty indispensably ne- cessarv to salvation. That to this end, all the preachings and endeavours of the prophets and apostles are directed. That our Saviour '"came down from heaven," on purpose " to call sinners to repentance.' * That as it is a necessary duty at all times, so more especially in the time of sick- ness, when we are commanded in a particular manner to '• set our house in order." That it is a work of great difficulty, consisting in general of a " change of mind," and a '• change of life." Upon which account it is called in Scripture, " a state of regeneration, or new birth;" a "conversion from sin to God;" a '• being renewed in the spirit of our minds;" a •' putting off the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts of the flesh," and a " puttincr on the new man, wliich is created in righteousness and true holiness." That so (Treat a change as this, is not to be etitjcted at * Matt. is. 13. once, but requires the utmost self-denial and reso- lution to put it in execution, consisting in general of the following particulars: — I. A sorrowful sense of our sins : 2. An humble confession of them : 3. An unfeigned abhorrence and forsaking of them, and turning to the Lord our God with all our hearts: 4. A patient continuance in well- doincr to the end of our lives. These are the constituent and essential parts of a true repentance ; which may severally be dis- played from the following motives of reason and Scripture, as opportunity shall serve, and the sick man's condition permit. The first part of a true repentance is a sorrow- ful sense of our sins, which naturally produceth this good effect, as we may learn from St. Paul, (2 Cor. vii. 10,) where he tells us, that " godly sor- row worketh repentance." Without it, to be sure, there can be no such thing ; for how can a man repent of that which he is not sorry fori or, how can any one sincerely ask pardon and for- giveness for what he is not concerned or troubled about 1 A sorrowful sense, then, of our sins, is the first part of a true repentance, the necessity whereof may be seen from the grievous and abominable nature of sin ; as, 1. That it made so wide a se- paration betwxt God and man, that nothing but the blood of his only begotten Son could sutfice to atone for its intolerable guilt : 2. That it carries along with it the basest ingratitude, as being done against our heavenly Father, " in whom we live, and move, and have our being :" 3. That the con- sequence of it is nothing less than eternal ruin, in that "the wrath of God is revealed against all impenitent sinners;" and "the wages of sin is death," — not only temporal but eternal. From these and the like considerations, the penitent may further learn, that to be sorry for our sins is a great and important duty. That it does not consist in a little trivial concern, a super- ficial sigh, or tear, or calling ourselves sinners, &c. but in a real, ingenuous, pungent, and afflicting sorrow : for, can that which cast our parents out of Paradise at first, that brought down the Son of God afterwards from heaven, and put him at last to such a cruel and shameful death, be now thought to be done away by a single tear or a groan 1 Can so base a piece of ingratitude, as re- belhng against the Lord of glory, who gives us all we have, be supposed to be pardcned by a slender submission 1 Or can that which deserves the tor- ment of hell, be sufficiently atoned for by a httle indignation and superficial remorse ? True repentance, therefore, is ever accompanied with a deep and afflicting sorrow ; a sorrow that will make us so irreconcilable to sin, as that we shall choose rather to die than to hve in it. For so the bitterest accents of grief are all ascribed to a true repentance in Scripture; such as a "weep- ing sorely," or " bitterly ;" a " weeping day and night ;" a " repenting in dust and ashes ;" a "putting on sackcloth;" "fasting and prayer," &c. Thus holy David: "lam troubled, I am bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day long, and that by reason of mino iniquities, which are gone over my head, and, as a heavy burden, are too heavy for me to bear:" Ps. xxx\iii. 4, 6. Thus Ephra'im could say : " After that I was instructed, I smote upon my thigh : I was ashamed, yea. even confounded, because I did bear the re- proach of my youth:" Jer. xxxL 19. 23G THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION. And this is the proper satisfaction for sin which God expects, and hath promised to accept; as, Ps. li. 17: " The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not c|^spise." 2. The next thing requisite in a true repent- ance, is confession of sins, which naturally fol- lows the other; for if a man be so deeply afflicted with sorrow for his sins, he will be glad to be rid of them as soon as he can ; and the way for this, is humbly to confess them to God, who hatli pro- mised to forgive us if we do. " I said, I will con- fess my sins unto the Lord," saith the Psalmist ; "and so thou forgavest the wickedness of my sin," Ps. xxxii. 6. So, Prov. xxviii. 13, and 1 John i. 9: "If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." So the re- turning prodigal went to his father with an hum- ble confession of his baseness, and was received into favour again. — Luke xv. 18, 19. And because the number of our sins are like the hairs of our liead, or the sand of the sea, and almost as various too in their kinds as their num- bers ; confession must needs be a very extensive duty, and require the strictest care and examina- tion of ourselves : for " who can tell how oft he offendeth !" saith David ; " O, cleanse thou me from my secret faults!" The penitent, therefore, should be reminded, that his confession be as minute and particular as it can ; since the more particular the confession is, to be sure, the more sincere and safe tlie re- pentance. 3. A third thing requisite in a true repentance, is an unfeigned abhorrence and forsaking of sin, and turning to the Lord our God with all our hearts. For so we find them expressly joined together by St. Paul, when he charges those whom by vision he was sent to convc rt, to change* their mind, and "turn to God, and do works meet for repentance :" Acts xxvi. 20. And a little before, he says, he was sent " to open their eyes, and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive for- giveness of sin :" ver. 18. And we shall always find, when we are connnanded to cease from evil, it is in order to do good. The penitent, therefore, must be reminded, not only to confess and be sorry for his sins, but like- wise io forsake them. For it is he only " who con- fesseth and forsaketh his sins, that shall have mercy:" Prov. xxviii. 13. And this forsaking must not be only for the present, during his sickness, or for a week, a month, or a year ; but for his whole life, be it never so protracted: which is the 4. Last thing requisite in a true repentance, viz. "a patient continuance in well-doing to the end of our lives." For as the holy Jesus assures us, that " he that endureth unto the end shall be saved ;" so does the Spirit of God profess, that " if any msin draw back, his soul shall have no pleasure in him:" Heb. x. 38. Hence we are said to " be partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning of our confidence steadfast to the end," Heb. iii. 14^ but not else; for it is to "him only that overcometh, and keepeth his works to the end," that our Saviour hath promised a reward : Rev. ii. 26. Hence our religion is said to be e continual warfare, and we must be constantly " pressing forward toward the mark of our high calling," with the apostle, lest we fail of the prize. And this it is which makes a death-bed re- pentance so justly reckoned to be very full of hazard ; such as none who defer it till then, can depend upon with any real security. I'or let a man be never so seemingly penitent in the day of his visitation, yet none but God can tell whether it be sincere or not ; since nothing is more com- mon than for those who expressed the greatest signs of a lasting repentance upon a sick bed, to forget all their vows and promises of amendment, as soon as God had removed the judgment, and restored them to their former health. " It hap- pened to them according to the true jiroverb," as St. Peter says, " The dog is turned to his own vomit again, and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire," 2 Pet. ii. 22. The sick penitent, therefore, should be often reminded of this: — that nothing will be looked upon as true repentance, but what would ter- minate in a holy life : that, therefore, he ought to take great heed, that his repentance be not only the eli'ect of his present danger, but that it be last- ing and sincere, "bringing forth works meet for repentance," should it ])lcase God mercifully to prove him by a longer life. But here it is much to be feared, that after all his endeavours to bring men to a sight of them- selves, and to repent them truly of their sins, the spiritual man will meet with but very httle en- couragement : for if we look round the world, we shall find the generality of men to be of a rude mdiflirence, and a seared conscience, and mightily ignorant of their condition with respect to another world, being abused by evil customs and princi- ples, apt to excuse themselves, and to be content with a certain general and indefinite confession ; so that if you provoke them never so much to acknowledge their faults, you shall hardly ever extort any thing farther from them than this, viz. " That they are shmers, as every man hath his infirmity, and they as well as any; but, God be thanked, they have done no injury to any man, but are in charity with all the world." And, per- haps they will tell you, "they are no swearers, no adulterers, no rebels, &c. but that, God forgive them, they must needs acknowledge themselves to be sinners in the main," &c. And if you can open their breasts so far, it will be looked ujjon as sufficient ; to go any farther, will be to do the office of an accuser, not of a friend. But, which is yet worse, there are a great ninny persons who have been so used to an habitual course of sin, that the crime is made natural and necessary to them, and they have no remorse of conscience for it, but think themselves in a state of security very often when they stand upon the brink of danniation. This happens in the cases of drunkenness and lewd practices, and luxury, and idleness, and misspending of the sabbath, and in lying and vain jesting, and slandering of others ; and particularly in such evils as the laws do not punish, nor public customs shame, but which are countenanced liy potent sinners, or wicked fashions, or good-nature and mistaken civilities. In these and the like cases, the syiiritual man must endeavour to awaken their consciences by such means as follow : IN VISITING THE SICK. 23' Arguments and general Heads of Discourse, by xrny of Consideration, to awaken a stupid Conscience, and the careless Sinner. 1. And here let the minister endeavour to affect liis conscience, by representing to him, — That Christianity is a holy and strict religion ; that the promises of heaven are so great, that it is not reasonable to think a small matter and a little duty will procure it for us : that religious persons are always the most scrupulous ; and that to feel nothing, is not a sign of hfe, but of death: that we live in an age in which that which is called and esteemed a holy life, in the days of the apos- tles and primiti^e Christianity would have been esteemed inditlerent, sometimes scandalous, and always cold: that when we have "done our best, all our righteousness is but as filthy rags ;" and we can never do too much to make our "calling and el''cti()ii sure:" that every good man ought to be suspicious of himself, fearing the worst, that he may provide for the best: that even St. Paul, and several other remarkable saints, had at some times great apprehensions of failing of the " mighty prize of their high calling:" that we are com- manded to " work out our salvation with fear and trembling ;" inasmuch as we shall be called to an account, not only for our sinful words and deeds, but even for our very thoughts : that if we keep all the commandments of God, and "yet offend in one point [i. e. wilfully and habitually,) we are guilty of all,'' James ii. 10 : that no man can tell how oft he ofTendeth, the best of lives being full of innumerable blemishes in the sight of God, how- ever they may appear before men ; that no man ought to judge of the state of his soul by the cha- racter he has in the world ; for a great many per- sons go to hell, who have lived in a foir reputation here ; and a great many, on the other hand, go to heaven, who have been loaded vrith infamy and reproach : that the work of religion is a work of great difficulty, trial, and temptation : that " many are called, but few are chosen ;" that " strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, that leadeth to hfe, and few there he that find it:" and lastly, that, " if the righteous themselves shall scarcely be saved,' there will be no place for the unrighteous and sinner to appear in, but of horror and amazement. By these and such-like motives to consideration, the spiritual man is to awaken the careless sinner, and to bring him to repentance and confession of his sins ; and if either of himself, or by this means, the sick man is brought to a right sense of his condition : then, 2. Let the minister proceed to assist him in un- derstanding the number of his sins, i. e. the seve- ral kinds of them, and the various ways of preva- ricating with the Divine commandments. Let him make him sensible how every sin is aggravated, more or less, according to the different circum- stances of it : as by the greatness or smallness of the temptation, the scandal it gives to others, the dishonour it does to religion, the injury it brings along with it to those whom it more immediately concerns ; the degrees of boldness and impudence, the choice in acting it, the continuance in it, the ex))ense, desires, and habit of it, &c. 3. Let the sick man, in the scrutiny of his con- science and confession of his sins, be carefully re- minded to consider those sins which are no where condemned but in the court of conscience : for there are certain secret places of darkness, artificial 'olinds of the devil, which he uses to hid^ our sins from us, and to incorporate them into our affections, by the general practice of others, and the mistaken notions of the world : as, 1. Many sins before men are accounted honourable ; such as fighting a duel, returning evil for evil, blow for blow, &c. 2 Some things are not forbidden by the law of man, as lying in ordinary discourse, jeering, scoff- ing, intemperate eating, ingratitude, circumvent- ing another in contracts, outwitting and overreach- ing in bargains, extorting and taking advantage of the necessities or ignorance of other people, im- portunate entreaties and temptations of persons to many instances of sin, as intemperance, pride, and ambition, &c.; all which, therefore, do strange- ly blind the understanding and captivate the affec- tions of sinful men, and lead them into a thousand snares of the devil which they are not aware of. 3. Some others do not reckon that they siti against God, if the laws have seized upon the person : and many who are imprisoned for debt, think them- selves disengaged from payment ; and when they pay the penalty, thiidv they owe nothing for the scandal and disobedience. 4. Some sins are thought not considerable, but go under the titles of sins of infirmity, or inseparable accidents of mortality; such as idle thoughts, foolish talking, loose revellings, impatience, anger, and all the events of evil company. 5. Lastly; many things are thought to be no sins : such as mispending of their time, whole days or months of useless or im- pertinent employment, long gaming, winning men's money in great portions, censuring men's actions, curiosity, equi\'ocating in the prices of buy- ing and seUing, rudeness in speech or behaviour, speaking uncharitable truths, and the like. These are some of those artificial veils and co- verings, under the dark shadow of which the ene- jny of mankind makes very many to lie hid from themselves, blinding them with false notions of honour, and the mistaken opinions and practices of the world, with public permission and impunity, or (it may be) a temporal penalty ; or else with prejudice, or ignorance and infirmity, and direct error in judgment. Now, in all these cases, the ministers are to be inquisitive and strictly careful, that such kind of fallacies prevail not over the sick ; but that tliose things, which passed without observation before, may now be brought forth, and pass under the severity of a strict and impartial censure, religious sorrow, and condemnation. 4. To this may be added a general display of the neglect and omission of our duty ; for in them lies the bigger half of our failings: and yet, in many instances, they are undiscerned ; because our consciences have not been made tender and perceptible of them. But whoever will cast up his accounts, even with a superficial eye, will quickly find that he hath left undone, for the generality, as many things which he ought to have done, as he hath committed those he ought not to have done : such as the neglect of public or private prayer, of reading the Scriptures, and instructing his family, or those that are under him, in the principles of religion : the not discountenancing sin to the utmost of his power, especially in the personages of great men: the "not redeeming the time," and " growing in grace," and doing all the good he can in his generation : the frequent omissions of the great duty of charity, in visiting the sick, relieving the needy, and comforting the afflict- ed : the want of obedience, duty, and respect to 238 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION parents : the doing the work of God negligently, or not discharging himself with that fidelity, care, and exactness, which is incumbent upon him, in the station wherein the providence of God hath placed him, &c. 5. With respect to those sins which are com- mitted against man, let the minister represent to the sick man that he can have no assurance of his pardon, unless he is wilUng to make all suitable amends and satisfaction to his oflended and in- jured brethren; as for instance, if he hath lived in enmity with any, that he should labour to be reconciled to them ; if he is in debt, that he should do his utmost to discharge it ; or if he hath injured any one in his substance or credit, that he should endeavour to make restitution in kind for the one, and all possible satisfaction for the other, by hum- bling himself to the offended person, and beseech- ing him to forgive him. G. If the sick person be of evil report, the minis- ter should take care, some way or other, to make him sensible of it, so as to show an eflisctual sor- row and repentance. This will be best done by prudent hints, and insinuations, of recalling those things to his mind whereof he is accused by the voice of f nne, or to which the temptations, perhaps, of his calling, more immediately subject him. Or if he will not understand, when he is secretly prompted, he must be asked in plain terms con- cerning these matters. He must be told of the evil things which are spoken of him in public, and of the usual temptations of his calling. And it concerns the minister to follow this ad- vice, without partiality, or fear, or interest, or re- spect of persons, in much simplicity and prudence, having no other consideration before him, but the conscientious discharge of his duty, and the salva- tion of the person under his care. 7. The sick person is likewise to be instructed concerning his faith, whether he has a reasonable notion of the articles of the Christian religion, as they arc excellently summed up in the Apostle's Creed. 8. With respect to his temporal concerns, the sick is to be advised to set every thing in order, and (if he hath not already) to make his will as soon as he can. For if he recovers, this cannot be detri- mental ; but, if he dies, it will be of great comfort and satisfaction to him. And here it must be re- membered that he distribute every thing according to the exact rules of justice, and with such a due care, as to prevent all law-suits and contentions for the future: and, if he be able, he is to be ad- monished to do something likewise out of charity, and for the sake of his poor brethren. 9. In all the course of his visitation, the minis- ter should frequently be exhorting the sick man to patience and a blessed resignation to the will of God ; and not to look upon his sickness as barely the effect of second causes, but as inflicted on him by Divine Providence for several wise and good ends : As, for the trial of his faith ; the exercise of patience ; the punishment of his sins ; the amend- ment of his life ; or for the example of others, who, seeing his good behaviour in such a day of cala- mity, may glorify their Father which is in heaven : or else, that it is for the increase of his future wel- fare, in order to raise him the higher in glory hereafter, by how much the lower he hath been depressed here. 10. When the spiritual man hath thus dis- charged his duty and the sick hath made himself capable of it, by a religious and holy conformity tc all the forementioned particulars respecting his condition and circumstances, he may then cfive him the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. And it is the minister's office to invite sick and dying persons to this holy sacrament, provided they dis- cover a right sense of their duty. And, Note, I'hat the Holy Sacrament is not to be ad- ministered to dying persons, when they have no use of their reason to join with the minister in his celebration of it. For the sacraments operate not of themselves, but as they are made efficacious by the joint consent and will, and religious acts and devotion of the party that receives them. And therefore all fools, and distracted persons, and chil- dren, and lethargical and apoplectical ]>eople, or that are any ways senseless and incapable of hu- man and reasonable acts, are to be assisted only by prayers. Note also, That in cases of necessity, where the sacrament cannot be so conveniently administered, the sick may be admonished to receive it spiritu- ally, i. c. by representing the symlwls of the body and blood of our Lord to his mind, and f-»jplying them to himself by faith, with the same pre|)ara- tions of faith and repentance, as if they were real- ly present. For no doubt but God, in such a case, who considers all things with exact justice, and chiefly respects the sincerity of our hearts and in- tentions, will excuse the absence of the outward and visible sign, when necessity, and not contempt or neglect, was the occasion of it. SECTION IV. Of applying' spiritual Remedies to the vnreason- able F'ears and Dejections of the Sick. It sometimes happens that good men, especially such as have tender consciences, impatient of the least sin, to which they are arrived by a long habit of grace, and a continual observation of their ways, overact their part, and turn their tenderness into scruples, and are too much dejected and doubtful concerning their future salvation. In such a case, the minister is to represent to them, that the man who is jealous of himself, is always in the safest condition: that if he fears on his death-bed, it is but what happens to most considering men ; and that therefore to fear notliing then, is either a sin- gular felicity, or a dangerous presmnption. But to restrain the extravagance of fear, let him be reminded of the terms of the Gospel: — that it is a covenant of grace and mercy to all: that ^ " Christ Jesus came into the world to save sin- ners :" that he continues our " Advocate in heaven," and daily "intercedes" with his Father for us: that the whole heavenly host rejoices at the con- version of a sinner : that the angels are deputed by God, to be our guardians against violent surprises and temptations : that there are different degrees of glory in heaven ; so that, if we arrive not at the greatest, we may yet hope, by divine mercy, tliat we should not be excluded the less : that God hath promised to hear the " prayers of the righteous" for his servants : that he labours with us by his Spirit, and as it were "beseeches us, in Christ's stead, to be reconciled to him," 2 Cor. v. 20: that, of all his attributes, he glories in none so much as IN VISITING THE SICK. 239 m the titles of mercy and forgiveness : that there- fore we do injustice to the Father of mercies, if we retain sucli hard thougiits and suspicions of him: that God calls upon us to forgive our brother " se- venty times seven;'' and yet all that is but like the forgiving " an hundred pence," for his sake, who forgives us " ten thousand talents :" and therefore if we are ordered to show such an unrestrained temper of forgiveness, it is only to animate us to trust in God's much more unbounded mercy. By these and the like arguments, the spiritual man may raise the drooping spirits of good men, in their causeless dejections. But becau.se there are uriny otlier cases of the hke nature, which the physi.;ian of souls will meet with in \isiting his neighbours, especially such as are of melancholy dispositions, it may not be improper to mark the piineipal of them here, and to prescribe the reme- dies. Considerations to be offered to Persons under Religious ^lelanchohj. I. Some truly 1 jligious persons are under sad appreiiensions of not being in the favour of God, because they find their devotions to be very often cold, their prayers distracted, and their delight in spiritual matters not to be so great and permanent as their pleasure and satisfaction are in the things of the world. Now to such as have made religion the great business of their Uves, who have endeavoured to cure those distracted thoughts they complain of, and to inflame their souls wdth divine love, it may be otlered, that the different degrees of affection with wliich men sene God, do very often depend upon the difference of their tempers and constitu- tions : since some are naturally so dull and heavy, as to be little affected with any thing ; whilst others are of such a tender make, as to be affected ahnost witii everything, so as to be soon exalted with joy, or depressed with sorrow: that sickness, losses, and all afflictions, and even religion itself, in its long and continual exercise of self-denial and thought- fulness, do naturally produce such a tenderness of spirit, that the best of men have never been able at all times to keep their affections at an equal height : that the zeal and warmth with which some are affected, is not always an argument of their giwdness : that a sensible pleasure in religious exercises, wherein the passions are affected, is not so acce])table to God as a reasonable service : that distraction of thought in the service of God is owing, for the most part, to bodily weakness ; and therefore, if we do not give way to it, but do all we can to suppress those wandering thoughts, we may be assured we shall never be blamed for being subject to that which, by reason of the weakness of our nature, we cannot help: that the first mo- tions of our mind, as it is impossible to hinder them, are reckoned by all divines not to be sinful, provided we do not encourage them. •2. Some are extremely dejected, because, upon strict examination of themselves, they find, as they think, all their religion to be owing to their fears ; and fear being a slavish and sordid passion, thev are ai)t to conclude, that all those serwes which are not the result of a more noble principle, will be rejected by God, since, as he is all love, and goodness, and perfection, he will not be pleased, they think, with any sacrifice, but what is offered by love. And to this sad purpose, some have interpreted Rev. xxi. 8, to Ixdong to them, where the fearful are joined together with the most abominable, who shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone. To cure the depraved and unhappy notions of such as these, it may he argued : that it is plain from Scripture, that the first beginnings of, or movements towards, an holy life, are usually owing to the passion of fear : that to this, both our Saviciur and liis apostles do all along address themselves in their earnest entreaties of mankind to turn from the ways of sin to God. — " Fear him," saith our Saviour, '• who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell," Matth. x. 28; so chap. vi. 15; Mark xvi. 16. And to this purpose the apostle says, "Work out your salvation with fear and trembling," Phil. ii. 12, and 2 Cor. v. 11, " Know- ing the terrors of the Lord," saith he, "we per- suade men." And in most of the Scripture proois, we shall find the chief argument of religion to be urged from a fear of punishment for the neglect thereof: so that to be dejected, and render our lives comfortless on this account, were the most unrea- sonable extravagance ; since tliis were to suppose, that God hath implanted the passion of fear in us in vain ; or, what is worse, only to vex and torment us ; and that our Saviour and his apostles, persuad- ing us to be religious from the terrors of the Lord, had deceived and misled us. And as for that text, Rev. xxi. 8—" The fear- ful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and mur- derers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idol- aters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone," &c. it is plain, that by the fearful in this place is meant, either such as refuse to embrace the Christian re- ligion, or who, having embraced it, are afraid to continue steadfast to the end, on account of the cross; and therefore cannot be supposed to ha\e any reference to those who are " working out their salvation with fear and trembling," according to the direction of the Gospel. Not but that we are to intermix with this fear an entire love and affec- tion to God, to the utmost of our powers. 3. Some very pious but unhappy persons, are grievously tormented with wicked and blasphem- ous thoughts, so as to fall under the greatest ago- nies of mind ; and often to be so near distraction, as to choose death rather than life. For the reUef and comfort of these, the minister should suggest to them, that such horrid and fright- ful thoughts are either occasioned through melan- choly prevailing over their spirits, and disordering the frame of their minds ; or else from the malice of the devil, and the spirits of darkness, who do all they can to shake our faith, and tc embitter the Christian life. If to the former we ascribe such horrid thoughts, they may be comforted upon assurance, that they will not be imputed to them as their sin, any more than a fever or any bodily distemper will, which they did not willingly procure, and which they have tried all means to remove. If to the latter, they may be encouraged rather to rejoice ; as nothing is a greater sign of their being high in the favour of God, than when they are under the most violent temptations of the devil. '■ My brethren, count it all joy," saith St. James, " when ye fall into divers temptations ;" chap. i. 2. To that effect, they may be taught to consider, that the way to heaven is justly said to be S40 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION by the gates of hell: that the " same afflictions are aRcomplislicd in their brethren which are in the world," who in various kinds are tempted of the teni])tcr ; 1 Peter v. 9 : that Satan " desired to have St. Peter to sift him as wheat;" Luke xxii. 31 : tliat our Saviour himself was tempted by him, and the best of men have always been most obnoxious to his malice ; and tliat to live in carnal security, witliout any molestations from him, is the most danirerous state : that the being so much concerned and afflicted at such evil thoughts, is a certain ar- gument of a good disposition, since the wicked and profane are rather pleased than tormented with them. Arguments of this kind are the most proper to be offl>red to such unhappy persons : but in case their faith and hope be totally overcome by the devil, and they fall into direct despair, it will be necessary then to endeavour the cure of so great an evil and temptation, by the addition of the fol- lowing exercise : An Exercise against Despair. Let the minister suggest to them, that God is not willing that any should perish, but desirous that all should come to his glory : that for this end we were created : that he is so far from being " ex- treme to mark what is done amiss," that he will not refuse the returning prodigal, nor reject the worst of criminals, upon their sincere repentance : that the thief upon the cross is a demonstrable proof of this, and a standing example to prevent the greatest sinner from despair : that if God is so merciful and condescending to the vilest transgress- ors, much rather may we hope to be pardoned for our weakness and infirmities : for he " knoweth where- of we are made, he remembereth that we are but dust :" nay, he hath assured us, that he " will not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax :" that all sins shall be forgiven the sons of men, except one, which is the sm against the Holy Ghost ; " the sin unto death," as Saint John calls it. But that no man commits a sin against the Holy Ghost, if he be afraid he hath, or desires that he may not; for such penitential passions are against the very nature and definition of that sin : that al- though forgiveness of sins is consigned to us in baptism, and baptism is but once; yet, forgiveness of sins being the special grace of the Gospel, it is secured to us for our life, and ebbs and flows ac- cording as we discompose or renew the perform- ance of our baptismal vow; therefore it is certain, that no man ought to despair of pardon, but he who hath voluntarily renounced his baptism, or wil- lingly estranged himself from that covenant: that if it were not so, then all preaching and prayers were in vain, and all the conditions of the Gospel invalid, and there could be no such thing as repent- ance, nor indeed scarce a possibility of any one's being saved, if all were to be concluded in a state of damnation, who had committed sin after bap- tism. To have any fears, therefore, on this account, were the most extravagant madness : for Christ "died for sinners," and " God hath comprehended all under sin, that" through him " he might have mercy upon all ;" Rom. xi. 33. And it was con- cerning baptized Christians, that Saint John said, " If any man sin we have have an Advocate with the Father, and He is the propitiation for our sins ;" ad concerning lapsed Christians, Saint Paul gave instruction, that " if any man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such a man in the spirit of meekness, considering lest ye also be tempted." The Corinthian Christian committed incest, and was pardoned : and Simon Magus, after he was baptized, offered to conniiit the sin we call simony, and yet Peter bade him pray for pardon ; and Saint James tells us, that " if the sick man send for the elders of the church, and they pray over him, and he confess his sins, they shall be forgiven him ;" chap. v. 14. That even in the case of very great sins, and great judgments inflicted upon sinners, wise and good m«n have declared their sense to be, that God vindicated his justice in that temporal pu- nishment ; and so it was supposed to have been done in the case of Ananias, &c. : that notliing can be more absurd than to think that so great and good a God, who is so desirous of saving all, as appears by his word, by his sending his Son, by his oaths and promises, by his very nature and daily overtures of mercy, should condemn any, without the greatest provocations of his majesty, and perseverance in them. Upon the strength of these arguments, the des- pairing person may be further taught to argue thus with himself: I consider that the ground of my trouble is my sin ; and were it not for that, I should have no reason to be troubled ; but since the " whole world lieth in wickedness," and since there cannot be a greater demonstration of a man's abhorrence of sin, than to be so deeply affected with sorrow for it; I therefore will erect my head with a holy hope, and think that God will also be merciful to me a sinner, as he is to the rest of mankind. I know tliat the mercies of God are infinite ; that he sent his Son into the world on purpose to redeem such as myself; and that he hath repeatedly pro- mised " to give to them that ask, and to be found of them that seek him ;" and therefore I will not dis- trust his goodness, nor look upon the great God of heaven and earth to be worse than his word. Indeed, if from myself I were to derive my title to heaven, then my sins were a just argument of despair : but now that they bring me to Christ, that they drive me to an appeal to God's mercy, they cannot infer a just cause of despair. I am sure it is a stranger thing, that the Son of God should come down from heaven, and take upon him our nature, and hve and die in the most ig- nominious state of it, than that a sinful man, washed by the blood of Christ, and his own tears and humiliation, should be admitted to pardon, and made " partaker of the kingdom of heaven :" and it were stranger yet, that he should do so much for man, and that a man that desires, that labours after it to the utmost of his power, that sends up strong cries and prayers, and is still within the covenant of grace, shoulil inevitably miss that end for which our Saviour did and suffered so much. It is certain, that of all the attributes that be- long to God, there is none more essential to his nature, and which he takes more delight in, than his mercy ; and it is as certain also, there must be proper objects for this boundless and immense at- tribute of God ; and the most proper, if not only, objects of mercy in the creation, are the chilpers, and decays, our weak nature is subject; even such as may make the most acute and judicious quickly be- come as fools ; and the ablest and strongest, weak and insensible ; O look down, we beseech thee, upon thy servant, who now lies in such a weak and insensible condition. The less able he is to assist himself, the more need hath he of our prayers, and of thy tender mercy to him. O thou great Creator of the world, who broughtest light out of darkness, and madest all things out of nothing, and canst restore our dead bodies again after they are mouldered into dust, be pleased to repel the clouds of darkness which now have taken away the hght of our 670- thcr's understanding, and rendered him a com- panion for the dead. GLuicken him again, O Lord, and restore him to his former senses, that his soul may bless and praise thy holy name. Hear our petitions, O Lord, and receive our * Psalm xxxviii. 21, 22. prayers for our brother, that this image of death may not be converted into death itselt, but thatAe may live to proclaim thy power and to celebrate thy praises longer upon earth. But if it be thy will to remove him hence in this insensible condition, O pardon, we beseech thee, all his otiences, and accept of the preparation and repentance that he was able to make before the distemper prevailed upon him in so deadly a man- ner. Receive hi^n, O Lord, into the arms of thy mercy, and accept hirn, for thy well-beloved Son's sake ; that so this short night may quickly lie turned into everlasting day ; and, after these dark shadows are removed, he may tind himself in a heaven of happiness, where, "in thy light he may see light" for ever. Amen. A Prayer for One who hath been a notoriously wicked Liver. O Lord God, of infinite goodness and compas- sion, whose mercies are over all thy works ; who makest the sun to shine, and tlie rain to descend, upon the "unjust" as well as the "just," and art kind even to the most unthankful ; we humbly beseech thee, to look down in mercy upon this tliy unworthy servant, who hath so long "trampled upon the riches of thy goodness, not knowing that it should lead to repentance." Let thy rod, therefore, awaken him now to a sense of his condition, whom thy goodness hath not reclaimed, and let him still find mercy at thy hands, notwithstanding his continual abuse of it. Thou hast promised, O Lord, that, " when the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness which he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive." O make good this thy promise to thy servant here, who stands in so much need of it. " Hide thy face from his sins, and blot out all his iniquities :" though they be " red as scarlet," yet do tliou make them "white as snow," by re- pentance, which we beg of thee to give him, and to accept, though late, through thine inlinite mer- cies. Simon Magus, though in the "gall of bitterness, and the bond of iniquity," was exhorted to repent, and to pray for pardon : and therefore we hope the gate of life is still open for our brother, though he hath so long shut himself out of it, by going on in a course that leadeth to the " chambers of death." Blessed Lord, let thy terrors at length awaken him out of this lethargical condition, before he is overtaken by thy judgments. Afflict him here, that thou mayest spare him hereafter. Soften Iris heart, that he may bewail his ill-spent life, like Mary Magdalen, with tears of contrition. O quicken him to a sense of his duty, and of his danger, before it be too late : and when thou hast brought him to his right mind, receive him, we beseech thee, as the compassionate father did his prodigal son, or the shepherd his lost sheep. Thou, O Lord, whodidst pardon the thief upon the cross, hear our prayers for our brother, in these his great, and, for any thing we know, his last agonies. And as the fore-mentioned instances are lively significations of thine unbounded goodness, and were written for our comfort and instruction, (hat none should despair of pardon ; so with the great- est confidence we now recommend this our dis- tressed brother to thy divine protection, beset ching IN VISITING THE SICK. 255 thee to forgive all that is past, and to receive him at last into tliine " everiasting habitation." Amen. A Prayer for One u-ho is hardenhd and impenitent. Lord God Almighty, who art the " Father of our spirits," and who " turnest the hearts of men as thou pleasest ; who hast mercy on whom thou wilt have mercy, and whom thou wilt thou hard- euest ; let thy merciful ears be open, we pray thee, to the supplications which we now offer to thy Divine Majesty, in the behalf of this thy servant, who appears insensible of his sin and folly, and on whom all means to lead him to repentance ha\e hitherto seemed vain and ineffectual. Take from him, we humbly entreat thee, ail ignorance and hardness of heart: remove from Am all pre- judice against, and contempt of, thy sacred word and ministry : let him no longer " make a mock of sin," but be sensible that the wisdom he has hitherto gloried in, is the greatest and most dan- gerous folly. Open thou his eyes, that he ma}' " see the wonderful things of thy law." Show thy mercy upon /iun, and grant A»)ithy salvation. Convince him of the vanit)' and madness, as well as danger, of his past ways. His understanding, we fear, is now darkened, and his heart hardened through the deceitfulness of sin : O, do thou enlighten his dark mind, and let him at last see the beauties of holiness, which have so long been hidden from his ej^es. Take from him this " stony heart, and give hijn a heart of flesh." Awaken his slumbering and inatten- tive soul, that it may delight in things agreeable to its nature, and be employed in things that make for its everlasting peace. O give him un- derstanding, and he shall yet live. Thou that canst revive souls which are dead in sin and tres- passes, and make even such as he in the grave of corruption to become glorious saints and even mar- tyrs for religion, hear our prayers for our brother, who seems to be on the brink of destruction ; and pity poor sinners that have not pity on themselves. it is the unhappiness of being long accustomed to sin, that we are not soon made sensilile of our en-ors, nor easily made to know them. It is the pride of our nature to be unwilling to acknowledge our iaults, and to confess our sins : but let thy grace, O God, teach us to deny this ungodly lust. Do thou humble in us all high and vain imagina- tions ; suppress all proud thoughts and haughty opinions of ourselves. Give us aU (and particu- larly thy servant, for whom we are now inter- ceding) a sense of our own vileness ; give us un- feigned repentance for all the errors of our life past ; that, being cast down, thou mayest raise us up, and become merciful to us, miserable sinners. Let us all find, by blessed experience, that " we frow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord esus Christ;" and that " his commandments" are not " grievous' to us, but rather the delight and desire of our souls ; that so at last we may be presented to him " holy and unlilameable, and mi- reprovable in his sight." Avien. A Prayer for a sick Woman that is with Child. O God, the help of all that put their trust in thee, the support of the weak, and the relief of the needy ; look with pity upon this woman thy ser- vant, who at best acknowledgeth herself but a weak and helpless creature, but much more so now in her present condition, when thou hast added weakness to weakness, and made her to travail with much sickness, together with the bur- den of child-bearing. O Lord, be thou graciously pleased to propor- tion thy strength to her weiikness, and as pains and sorrow take hold upon her, inspire her with fresh vigour and courage to rely upon tliee, her only sujjport in time of need, and the rock of her salvation. Let her not be disquieted with the fear of any evil, since none can happen unto her without thy permission ; but give her grace patiently to resign herself to thy blessed w3l in all things, who knowest what is best for her, and wilt lay no more upon her, we trust, than thou wilt enable her to bear. Bring strength, O Lord, out of weakness, and health out of sickness ; and make her, in thy good time, a joyful mother of a hopeful child, which may do good in its generation, and be an instru- ment of l;hy glory here, and a blessed inhabitant of thy heavenly kingdom hereafter. Amen. A Prayer for a Woman in the Time of her Travail. [From Bishop Patrick.] O MOST Mighty Lord, who hast given us innu- merable pledges of thy love, and encouraged us to trust in tliee for ever, and to expect with quiet and patient minds the issue of thy wise and good pro- vidence ; we most humbly conunend thy servant, in this her extremity, to thy care and blessuig; beseeching thee to give her a gracious deliverance, and to ease her of the burden wherewith she la- bours. We ourselves are monuments of that mercy which we beg of thee. Thou didst preserse our weak and miperfect frame, before we were born. Thou hast succoured and supported us ever since, many times beyond our hopes, and always beyond our deservings. We commit our- selves, and every thing belonging unto us, most heartily unto thy hands ; remembering that thou hast the same power and goodness still, by which we came into the light of the living. We cannot desire to be better provided for, than as thy mlinite wisdom judgeth most convenient forus;unto that we refer ourselves, beseeching thee, if it be thy good pleasure, that her deliverance may be as speedy as her cries unto thee ; or her patience as great and long as her pains. Thou who ripenest the fruits of the earth, and then givest us the ga- thering of them to our comfort, blast not, we be- seech thee, the fruit of the womb; but bring it to maturity, and deliver it safe into thy servant's hand as a new pledge of thy goodness to her, to be an instriunent of thy glory, and a future com- fort and blessing to thy servant, who travails in so much pain with it now. Or if thou hast other- wise determined. Lord, give her grace to submit to thy holy will, and to rest satisfied in thy wise appointments, and never to distrust thy goodness and care over her. Hear us, O Father of mercies, and pardon hers and all our offences, and pity our infirmities : make us more thankful for what we have received, and more fit for the blessing which we now request ; and prepare us for all thy future mercies, either in this life, or in the next, through thv infinite love and compassion declared to us, in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen. 256 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION A Prayer for a Woman who cannot he delivered without Difficulty and Hazard. O Lord God of all comfort and consolation, who art the refuge of the distressed, and the help of all that depend upon thee; we thy unworthy servants do now offer up our supplications at the throne of thy majesty, in the behalf of this thy servant, who is in great pain and misery. Thou hast been i)leased to bring the child to the birth, but there is not strength to bring forth. On this account, thy servant is in violent agonies, crying out in her pangs, and pouring out her soul to thee in prayer. O grant that "it may be in an accepta- ble time." " Thou art our salvation; thou shalt preserve us from trouble ; thou shalt compass us about with songs of deliverance." O let thy servant feel these blessed effects of thy goodness ; and as thou hast brought to the birth, enable her, we beseech thee, to bring forth, that she may rejoice in the work- manship of thy hands, and tell of all thy wondrous works. Consider the low estate of thine handmaid, and deliver her soul from death, her eyes from tears, and her feet from falling. " Gracious art thou, O Lord, and righteous; thou preservest the simple, and helpost those th.at are in misery." Help tliy servant therefore now, we humlily entreat thee, who stands in so much need of it. Accept her tears, and assuage her pain, as shall seem most expeihent for her. — And forasmuch as she putteth her whole trust in thee, give her strength and pa- tience proportionable to all her pains and agonies. Support her spirits under them, and, if thou pleas- e.st, carry her safely through the same, and "make her to hear of joy and gladness, that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice." " Restore unto her, O Lord, the joy of thy sal- vation, and uphold her with thy free Spirit ; then shall she teach transgressors thy way, and sinners shall be converted unto thee. Deliver her" from this great afHiction, " O God, thou God of her salvation, and her tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness." * Thy mercies and power are still the same, and v/ill be the same for ever. O let them now be shown in this thy servant's delivery, as they have been formerly on the like occasion ; that so, by having fresh instances of thy loving kindness, she may still praise thee more and more. O perfect her repentance, and pardon her sins. Give her patience whilst she lives, and peace when she dies, and after death, the happiness of a blessed eternity, which thou hast promised and prepared for all that love and fear thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. A Prayer for Grace and Assistance for a Wo- man after Delivery, but still in Danger. [Prom Mr. Kettle well.] O Father of mercies, what thanks can we worthily give unto thee for thine unspeakable goodness to this thy servant and her helpless in- lant, and for the wondrous things which thou hast done for her ! The pangs of death com- passed her, and she found trouble and sorrow. The rnouth of the pit was opened, and ready to * This is to be omitted, if it be the first child. shut itself upon her: but thou hast graciously assuaged her pains, and turned her sorrows into Lord, we will ever adore and magnify thy mercy, which has dealt so lovingly with her, and praise thy truth and faithfulness, which have not suflered her hopes to fail. We will never forget how mindful thou hast been of the low estate of thy handmaid ; lor she has been supported by thy power, O blessed God, in her greatest weakness. She has tasted thy goodness in the midst of all her pangs and sorrows. Perfect, O Lord, that deliverance to her which thou hast most graciously begun, and let her not be lost, after the wonders which thou hast already done for her. Continue her patience, and her humble de- pendence on thee, under the pains and accidents to which she is still exposed. Support her spirits, and raise her up again in thy due time. Thy mercy and power are still the same, and will be the same for ever. O let them still be shown for her recovery, as they have been already for her delivery ; let thein be shown upon her, that she may praise thee more and more. But if, in thy paternal providence, whereunto we pray she may willingly commit herself, thou hast determined otherwise concerning her, thy blessed will be done. Dispose her either to life or death, as thou pleasest, only in both to thy mercy : and whether living or dying, let her still please thee, and be thou her portion. O perfect her re- pentance, and give her patience whilst she lives, and peace when she dies, and after that, the hap- piness of a blessed eternity, which thou hast pre- pared for all that truly fear thee ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. If the Child be living, this may be added : Preserve likewise her tender infant, O Father of mercies, and let its own weakness, and our cries, commend it to thy care. Keep it also afterwards in health and safety, and as it increases in years and stature, let it in- crease in wisdom, and in thy fear. We beg not for it wealth or greatness^ but wisdom to know and to serve thee. For, O Lord, we do not desire lite, either for ourselves or it, but that we may live to thee, and grow daily in love and thankful- ness for all thy mercies, and in faith and patience, and all holy obedience, which may fit us for the happiness which thou hast promised; through Jesus Christ our only Saviour and Redeemer. Anicn. Prayers for a Sick Child. [Visitation Office.] O Almighty God and merciful Father, to whom alone belong the issues of life and death ; look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee, with the eyes of mercy upon this child, now lying upon the bed of sickness : visit him, O Lord, with thy salvation; deliver him in thy good appointed time from his bodily pain, and save his soul for thy mercy's sake ; that if it shall be thy good plea- sure to prolong his days here on earth, he may live to thee, and be an instrument of thy glory, by serving thee faithfully, and doing good in his generation; or else receive him into those hea- venly habitations, where the souls of them that sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy perpetual rest and IN VISITING THE SICK. 257 felicity. Grant this, for thy mercy's sake; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. [From Mr. Kettlewell.] Lord, pity the troubles and weakness of this infant, and pity our sorrows, who are afflicted with it. and for it. Ease it of its pains, and strengthen it when it hes struggling for life. Raise it up again, if it shall please thee, to grow in years and stature, in wisdom and virtue; and thereby to comfort us, and glorify thee. We believe, O Almighty Father, that thou knowest best what is tit, both for it and us, and wilt do what is lit for both, and therefore we lea\e it to thee, to dispose of it as thou pleasest. But whether it be to life or death, let it be thine in both, and either preserve it to be thy true and faithful servant here on earth, or take it to the blessedness of thy children in the kingdom of heaven; through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen. A Prayer for a Person who, foom a state oj" Health, is suddenly seized with the Symptoms of Death. O MOST gracious Father, Lord of heaven and earth. Judge of the hving and of the dead, behold thy servants turning to thee for pity and mercy, in behalf of ourselves and this thy servant. It was but lately that we beheld h im in as promising a stale of health and life, as any one of us seems to be in at present, and therefore our concern is so much the greater to behold so sudden a change, and so unlooked for an instance of our mortality. We know, O Lord, thou canst bring back from the brink of the grave, and as suddenly raise thy ser\ant again as thou hast cast him down, and therefore we think it not too late to implore thy .iiercy upon him for his recovery ; at least we beg of thee to spare him a little, that he may recover his strength, and have time to make his peace with thee, " before he go hence, and be no more seen." But if it be thy will to remove him at this time into another world, O let the miracles of thy compassion, and thy wonderful mercy, supply to him the want of the usual measures of time, that he may fit himself for eternity. And let the great- ness of his calamity be a means to procure his pardon for those defects and degrees of unreadi- ness which this sudden stroke hath caused. And teach us all, we beseech thee, from this unexpected fate of our brother, to be continually upon our suard, and to watch and pray, since we know not the hour when the " Master of the house cometh," whether " in the evening, or at midnight, or in the morning." Lord, thou hast now called thy servant before he was aware of it ; O, give him such a great and effectual repentance in this exigence, that in a short time it may be sufficient to do the work of many days. Thou regardest, O Lord, the sin- cerity of our hearts more than the measures of time, in our conversion ; acx-ept therefore, we be- seech thee, the few minutes of thy servant's un- feigned tears and humiliation for his sins, as if they were hours and days of a longer preparation : and let it be thy pleasure to rescue him fi'om all the evils he deserves, and all the evils he fears, that in the songs of eternitv^ which angels and saints shall sing to the glory of thy name, this also may be reckoned amonsst tliine invaluable mer- 2K cies, that thou hast redeemed his soul from death, and made him partaker of eternal life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. A Prayer for a sick Person, when there appeareth small hope of Recovery. [Visitation Office.] O Father of mercies and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need ; we fly unto thee for succour in behalf of this thy servant, here lying under thy hand in great weakness of body. Look graciously upon him, O Lord, and, the more the outward man decayeth, strengthen him, we be- seech thee, so much the more continually v.ith thy grace and Holy Spirit in the inner man. Give hiin unfeigned repentance for all the errors of his life past, and steadfast faith in thy Son Je- sus, that his sins may be forgiven, and his pardon sealed in heaven, before he go hence, and be no more seen. We know, O Lord, that there is no work impossible with thee, and that, if thou wilt, thou canst even yet raise him up, and grant him a longer continuance among us. Yet forasmuch as in all appearance the tin;e of his dissolution draw- eth near, so fit and prepare him, we beseech thee, against the hour of death, that after his departure hence in peace, and in thy favour, his soul may lie received into thine everlasting kingdom; through the mediation of Jesus Christ thy Son, our Saviour. Amen. A general Prayer for Preparation and Readi- ness to die. Lord, " what is our life, but a vapour which appeareth for a Httle time, and then vanisheth awayl" Even at the longest, how short and transitory ! and when we think ourselves most secure, yet we know not what a day may bring forth ; nor how soon thou mayest come, before we are aware, to call us to our last account. Quickly shall we be as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again, (iuickly shall we be snatched away hence, and our place here shall know us no more. Our bodies shall soon lie down in the grave, and our souls be summoned to appear before the tribunal of Christ, to receive oui everlasting doom ; and yet, O Lord, how do the generality of man- kind live in this world, as if they were never to leave it! How unmindful are we all of our depar- ture ! how improvident of our time ! how careless of our souls, and negligent in our preparations foi eternity! so that thou mightest justly cut us off in the midst of our sins, and our unpreparedness to appear before thee. But, O God of all comfort and mercy, remember not our sins against thee, but remember thy own love to us in Jesus Chri.st, and thy tender mercies which have been ever of old. O, remember how short our time is, and " so teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." In the days of our health and prosperity, let us, from the exaiuple of our brother s weakness, re- member our own approaching fote ; and let him, from the sudden change of health to sickness, con- sider how few and evil all his days have been, and that there is no satisfaction in any thing, but in knowing thee, O God. Lord, what have we to do in this world, but to devote ourselves wholly to thy service, and to make ready for the world to 22* 258 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION come 1 O, that we may all of us be mindful of this •' one thing necessary,'" that we may finish our " work," before we linish our course. GLuicken thy servant, O Lord, into a powerful and serious consideration of these things, now thou hnat brought him into more intimate acquaintance with them. Instruct and assist him in this great work of preparation to die. Show him how to do it, and help him with good success to perform it; tliat when the time of his dissolution drawcth near, lie may have nothing else to do, but to re- sign himself willingly and cheerfully into thy hands, as into the hands of a merciful Creator, tliere to remain with thee for ever in that blessed place where sin and sickness and death shall be no more. Amen. A commendatory Prayer for a sick Person at the point of Departure. [Visitation Office.] O Almighty God, with whom do live the spi- rits of just men made perfect; we humbly com- mend tiie soul of this thy servant our dear brother into thy hands, as into the hands of a faithful Creator, and most merciful Saviour; humbly be- seeching thee, that it may be acceptable in thy siglit. And teach us, who survive, by this and other daily instances of mortality, to see how frail and uncertain our own condition is, and so to number our days, that we may seriously ajjjily our hearts to that holy and heavenly wisdom, which may bring us to life everlasting ; through Jesus Christ thy Son, our Lord. Amen. A Litany for a sick Person at the time of Departure. [From Bisliop Andrews.] O God, the Father of heaven, Have mercy upon him ; Keep and defend him. O God the Son, Redeemer of the world, Have mercy upon him : Save and deliver hiin. O God the Holy Gftost, proceeding from the Father and the Son, Have mercy upon him ; Strengthen and comfort him. O, holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity, Have mercy upon him. Remember not. Lord, his offences; call not to mind the offences of his forefathers; but spare him, good Lord, spare thy servant, whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood, and be not angry with him for ever. From thy wrath and indignation ; from the fear of death; from the guilt and burden of his sins, and from the dreadful sentence of the last judg- ment ; Good Lord deliver him. From the sting of conscience : from impatience, distrust, or despair ; and from the extremity of sickness or agony, which may any ways withdraw his mind from thee; Good Lord deliver him . From the powers of darkness ; from the illu- sions and assaults of our ghostly enemy ; and from the bitter pangs of eternal death ; Good Lord deliver him. From all danger and distress ; from all terrors and torments ; from all pains and punishments, both of the body and of the soul ; Good Lord deliver him. By thy manifold and great mercies ; by the ma- nifold and great mercies of Jesus Christ thy Son ; by his agony and bloody sweat; by his strong crying and tears ; by his bitter cross and jjassion ; by his resurrection and ascension; by his inter- cession and mediation ; and by the graces and comforts of the Holy Ghost ; Good Lord deliver Iiim. In this time of extremity ; in his last and great- est need ; in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment ; Gootl Lord deliver him. We sinners do beseech thee to hear us, O Lord God ; that it may please thee to be his defender and keeper; to remember him with the favour tliou bearest unto thy people, and to visit him with thy salvation : We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. That it may jjlease thee to save and deliver hi.s soul from the power of the enemy, to receive it to thy mercy, and to give him a quiet and joyful de- parture : We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. That it may please thee to be merciful, and to forgive all the sins and offences. Which at any time of his life he hath committed against thee : We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord. That it may please thee not to lay to his charge, what in the lust of the flesh, or in the lust of the eye, or in the pride of life, he hath committed against thee : We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. That it may please thee not to lay to his charge, what, in the fierceness of his wrath, or in vain and idle words, he hath committed against thee : We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. That it may please thee to make him partaker of all thy mercies, and promises, in Christ Jesus. We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. That it may please thee to grant his body rest and peace, and a part in the blessed resurrection of life and glory : We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. That it may please thee to vouchsafe his soul the enjoyment of everlasting happiness, with all the blessed saints in thy heavenly kingdom : We beseech thee to hear us. Good Lord. Son of God, we beseech thee to hear us. O Lamb of God, that takes t away the sins of the world ; Grant him thy peace. O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world ; Have mercy upon him. O Saviour of the world, &c. ) „„ ^ i. ,„ ttt TT , lu • p ? as follow, ill. Unto thy gracious, &c. ) ' Form of recommending' the Soul to God, in her Departure from the Body. [From Bishop Cosins.] Into thy merciful hands, O Lord, we commend the soul of this thy servant, now departing from the body. Receive him, we humbly beseech thee, into the nrnxs of thy mercy, into the glorious so- ciety of thy saints in heaven. Amen. God the Father, who hath created thee ; God the Son, who hath redeemed thee ; God the Holy IN VISITING THE SICK. 259 Ghost, who hath infused his grace into thee ; be now and evermore thy defence, assist thee in this thy last trial, and bring thee to everlasting life. Amen. [From Bishop Taylor.] I. 0 Hoi.Y and most gracious Jesus, we humbly recommend the soul of thy servant into thy hands, thy most merciful hands : let thy blessed angels stand in ministry about thy servant, and protect aim in his departure. Amen. II. Lord, receive the soul of this thy servant: enter not into judgment with him; spare him whom thou hast redeemed with thy most precious blood, and deliver him from all evil and mischief, from the crai'ts and assaults of the devil, from the fear of death, and from everlasting condeixmation. Amen. III. Lord, impute not unto him the follies of his youth, nor any of the errors of his life; but strengthen him in /(w agony, and carry him safely through the last distress. Let not his faith waver, nor his hope fail, nor his charity be diminished; let him die in peace, and rest in hope, and rise in glory. Amen. O Saviour of the world, who by thy cross and precious blood hast redeemed us ; save and help this thy departing servant, we humbly beseech thee, O Lord. Amen. Unto thy gracious mercy and protection we commit him. O Lord, bless him, and keep him. Make thy face to shine upon him, and be gracious unto him. Lift up thy countenance upon him, and give him peace, both now and evermore. Amen. A consolatory Form, of Devotion that may he used with the Friends or Relations of the Deceased. " Sorrow not, brethren, for them which are asleep, even as others, who have no hope. ■'For if we believe that Jesus died, and rose asain ; even so them also which sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him." — 1 Thess. iv. 13, 14. " It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth good unto him." — 1 Sam. iii. 18. "The righteous is taken away from the evil to come." — Isaiah Ivii 1. " Though the righteous be prevented with death, yet shall he be in rest. "The honourable age is not that which stand- eth in length of days, nor that which is measured by number of years. " But wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and an unspotted hfe is old age." — Wisd. iv. 7, 8, 9. " Precious in the sight of the Lord, is the death of his saints."— Psalm cxvi. 15. " Yea, blessed are the dead, which die in the Lord ; even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from Lheir labours." — Rev. xiv. 13. Let us pray. Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us. Our Father which art in heaven : hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation ; but deliver us from evil. Amen. " Lord, thou hast been our refuge from one generation to another. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were nrade, thoU art God from everlasting, and world without end. Thou turnest man to destruction ; again thou sayest. Come again, ye children of men. For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday, seeing that is past as a watch in the night. As soon as thou scatterest them, they are even as a sleep, and fade away suddenly like the grass. In the morning it is green, and groweth up ; but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered. For we consume away in thy displeasure, and are afraid of thy wrathful indignation. Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee, and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance. For when thou art angry, all our days are gone ; we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told. So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto vvisdom. Turn thee again at last, and be gracious to thy servants. Comfort them again, now after the time that thou hast afflicted them, and for the present oc- casion, wherein they sutler adversity. O satisfy them with thy mercy, and that soon; so shall they rejoice, and be glad all the days of their life." Most just art thou, O God, in all thy dealings Vv'ith us, " our punishment is less than our ini- quities deserve ;" and therefore we desire to sul> mit with all humility and patience to this dispen- sation of thy divine providence. Be pleased so to sanctify it to this family, that thy grace and mercy may more abundantly flow upon thy servants. Thy property it is to bring good out of evil ; O turn that evil, which is now befallen this house, to the benefit of every one of us, that so we may be able to say, from happy experience, that "the house of mourning is better than the house of feasting," while the death of our brother, through thy blessing, shall conduce and minister to our spiritual advantage. Let the sight of his change make us the more mindful of our own, and the sense of our loss make us cleave more steadfastly to thee, O God. Let the remembrance of his virtues make us fol- low his example, and the hope we have of his being blessed, cause us to " press," with the more earnestness, " towards the mark, for the prize of our high calling in Christ Jesus." Thou knowest, O Lord, the weakness and frailty of our nature, and therefore we beseech thee to give thy servants, who are more nearly conc-erned in this visitation, a constant supply of thy good Spirit, to enable them to bear it with humility, patience, resignation, and submission to thy divine will, as becometh the Gospel of Je- sus Christ. O that no repining thoughts may arise in their hearts to discompose their duty to- wards thee, or towards their neighbour : but help 260 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION. them rather to think wherein they have offended thee, and carefully to amend it : to place their affections more steadfastly on those immoveable things which are above, and freely resign all their thoughts and desires unto thee ; saying, with holy Jol), " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." And let the death of thy servant strike us all with such a lively sense of our mortality, as may cause us so thoroughly to die to sin, and live to grace, that when we die, we may rest in him, as our hope is this our brother doth. We evidently see "that death is the end of all men ;" grant us therefore grace to lay it to heart, to despise the world, " to abhor that which is evil, and cleave to that which is good ; to delight in thy word, to study thy will, to observe thy law, and to take all possible care to promote thy honour, and our own salvation ; that when " we go the way of all earth, we may be comforted by thy pre- sence," and admitted into thy heavenly kingdom. Avien. Assist us mercifully, O Lord, in these our supplications and prayers, and dispose the way of thy servants towards the attainment of ever- lasting salvation ; that, among all the changes and chances of this mortal life, they may ever be defended by thy most gracious and ready help ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. The Lord bless us and keep us, the Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon us, and give us peace, now and for evermore. Amen. OCCASIONAL PRAYERS AND DEVOTIONS FOR THE SICK AND UNFORTUNATE IN EXTRAORDINARY CASES. A Prayer for a Person whose Illness is chiejly brought on him by some calamitous Disaster or loss, as of Estate, Relations, or Friends^ tf-c. [From Bishop Patrick.] O MOST gracious and glorious God, supreme Judge and Governor of the world, " in whom we live, and move, and have our being," and from whom all the blessings we enjoy, and "every good and perfect gift cometh," grant us, we hum- bly beseech thee, such a measure of thy grace, ihat whenever thou art pleased to remove any of {hy blessings from us, we may bear it with a per- fect resignation to thy divine will ; and with all »atience, humility, and contentedness of spirit, consider how unworthy we are of the least of thy aiercies. More particularly, O Lord, we beseech thee to ,rive this peaceableness, and contentedness of nind, to this thy servant, whom thou hast so sen- sibly afHictcd, by taking so near and dear a bless- mg from him. O give him such a portion of thy blessed Spirit, and such a lively sense of his duty, that he may have power to surmount all the dif- ficulties he labours under, and freely to resign all his thoughts and desires unto thee, submitting him~?elf entirely to thy good providence, and re- solving, by thy gracious assistance, to rest con- tented with whatsoever thou in thy wisdom ap- pointest for htm. Thou knowest, O Lord, the weakness and frailty of our nature, and therefore be pleased to comfort him in this bed of sicknes!= establish him with the light of thy countenance and grant that no repining thoughts may increase his illness, or discompose his duty towards thee, oi his neighbour : but enable /n'm to think wherein he hath olit-ndcd thee, and carefully to amend his errors ; to set his affections on things above, an(? not on things below, and to lay up for himself treasures in heaven, even the treasures of a good life, which no disasters or calamities shall ever be able to take from him. Grant this, O heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Aine7i. A Prayer for a Person who by any calamitous Disaster hath broken any of his Bones, or is very much bruised and hurt in his Body. [From Mr. Jenks.] O Lord, the only disposer of all events, thou hast taught us that "affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground :" but that the disasters which befall us are by thy appointment. Thou art just in all thou bringest upon us: and though thy "judg- ments are far above out of our sight," yet we know " that they are right, and that it is in very faithfulness thou causest us to be afflicted." " Why then should a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins ?" Let these considerations prevail with thy servant to submit to thy dispen- sations. Make him resolve to bear the etlt'cts of thy displeasure, and to consider it as the just de- sert of his sins. O Lord, give him patience and strength, and grace, proportionable to this great trial ; and enable him so to conduct /iimsf//under it, that, after the affliction is removed, he may (ind cause to say, " it was good for him. to be afflicted." Thou that hast torn and smitten, thou art able to heal and to comfort. Be pleased to remember hivi in this his low estate. Cause him to "search and try his ways, and turn to thee, and bring forth fruits meet for repentance." We know, O Lord, thou canst raise him up from the deepest affliction : O, let it be thy gra- cious will to glorify thy power and mercy in his recovery ; or, however thou shalt think fit to dis- pose of this "vile body," grant him., O God, a mind entirely resigned to thy will, and satisfied with thy dispensations. O, make this calamity the messenger of thy love to his soul, and the happy means of his conversion ; through Jesus Christ. Amen. A Prayer for a Person that is afflicted with grievous Pains of his Body. [From Mr. Jenks.] O Lord, thou art a merciful God, and dost not willingly afflict the children of men ; but when nccessitv requires, thou chastisest us for our profit, that we' may be partaliers of thy holiness. Re- move, we beseech thee, this affliction from tiiy servant, or enable him to bear what thou art pleased to lay upon him. Lord, all his desire is before thee, and his groaning is not hid from thee. Regard his affliction, when thou hearest his cry. Enter not into judgment with him, nor deal vvith him according to his sins, but according to thy mercy in Jesus Christ. O gracious Father, sanctify to Vn'm what thou hast laid upon him, that his present affliction may work out for hiv. an eternal weight of glory. Support him under IN VISITING THE SICK. 261 his pains, till it shall please thee to grant him ease and comfort. And, however thou shall deal with him, let him not repine at thy correction, nor sin in chargnig thee foolishly. Make hijii sensible, that thou doest nothing but what is wise and just; nothing but what thy servant shall one day have cause to bless and praise thee for doing. And let tliis consideration teach him to glorify thee in the time of /lis visitation, by an humble submission to thy will, and a sincere reformation under thy providential dispensations; that thou mayest visit hivi in mercy and love, show him the joy of thy salvation ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. A Prayer for One who is troubled uith acute Pains of the Gout, Stone, Colic, or any other bodily Distemper. [From Mr. Spinkes.J O BLESSED God, just and hoh', who dost not wilhngly afflict the cliildren of men ; withhold not, we beseech thee, thy assistance from this thy ser- vant in the extremity of his pain. His sorrows are increased, and his soul is full of trouble. He has none to flee unto, for the ease and mitigation of his agonies, but to thee, O Lord. He freely owns that his sufferings are infinitely less than he has deserved ; yet since they pierce deep, and are become almost too heavy for him to bear, we pre- sume to call upon thee for aid ; and to entreat thee, not to punish him according to his deserts. For if thou shouldest he extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who may abide if?" Spare him therefore for thy mercy "s sake; and correct him " not in thine anger, lest thou bring him to nothing." Endue him witli that patience which may enable him cheerfully to submit to thy chastisement; and grant him an unfeigned repentance for all his sms.. Comfort /(is soul, which melteth away for very heaviness, and let thy loving mercy come unto him. Sanctify this thy fatherly correction to him, that it may be for thy glory, and his ad- vantage. And when thy gracious ends in afflict- ing him, shall be accomphshed, which we know are not for " thy pleasure," but for his profit, give him, we beseech thee, a fresh occasion to rejoice in thy saving health ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. A Prayer for a Person in the Small-Pox, or atiy such-like raging infectious Disease. O GRACIOUS and mercifiol Father, the only giver of health, look dovra, we beseech thee, with an eye of compassion, upon thy miserable and disconsolate servant, from whom tliou hast taken this great and valuable blessing; and instead of it, has filled every part of his body with a sore disease. Teach him- O Lord, and teach us all from hence, to consider how soon the beauty of life is blasted like a flower, and oiu- " strength dried up like a potbherd," that we may not put our trust in any of these transitory things, but in thee only, the living God, who art able to save and to destroy, to kill and to make alive. Our brother, whom we now behold a spectacle of misery, was lately, hke one of us, in perfect health. But now "thou makest his beauty to consume away, as it were a moth fretting a gar- ment. Thine arrows stick fast in him, and thy hand presseth him sore; so that there is no sound- ness in his iicsh, because of thine anger ; neither IS there any rest in his bones by reason of his sin. " O reject him not utterly, but take thy plague away from hi7n. Return, O Lord, and that speedily; for his spirit faileth. O leave him not in his distress ; for though the world may forsake him, his sure trust is in thee. To thee, O Lord, does he cry; to thee doth he stretch forth his hands ; his soul thirsteth after thee as a barren and dry land. Lord, all his desire is before thee, and his groaning is not hid from thee. 'Comfort hi)n therefore again now afler the time that tlmu hast afflicted him, and for the days wherein he hath suffered adversity." Put a stop, O Lord, we beseech thee, to this raging infection, and say to the destroying angel, " It is enough." Protect us under the shadow of thy wings, that we mav^ not -'be afraid of any ter- ror by night ; nor for the arrow that flieth by day ; nor for the pestilence that walkcth in darkness ; nor for the sickness that destroyeth in the noon- day ;" but that, with ease in our minds, and health in our bodies, we may serve thee cheerfully all the days of our life ; through Jesus Christ our Lold. Amc7i. A Prayer for a Person in a Consumption, or any lingering Disease. [From Mr. Jenks.] O MERCIFUL God, thou hast long kept thy ser- vant under thy chastening hand ; thou hast made him acquainted with grief; and his sickness is e\en become his familiar companion ; yet, O bless- ed Lord, grant that he may not he impatient un- der thy chastisement, who art pleased to wait so long for the return of a sinner ; hut let him re- member that thou hast kind intentions, even in thy bitterest dispensations ; that thou " chastenest him whom thou lovest, and scourgest every son whom thou receivest." Teach him, O gracious Father, to see love in thy rod, and justice in all thy dealings ; that he may humble himself under thy mighty hand ; that he may think it good for him to have been afflicted, and patiently wait for thy loving kindness. Yet. that his faith may not fail, nor his patience be overcome, give him ease and relaxation from his pain, and a happy conclusion of this long vi- sitation. In the mean time, grant that he may neither despise thy chastening, nor faint under thy rebukes ; but employ the time which thou lendest, and improve the affliction which thon continuest. as a gracious opportunity for his spi- ritual advantage : that under the decays of the body, the inner man may be renewed day by day ; and that whatever appertains to his everlasting salvation may be promoted and perfected througE the riches of thy grace, and the multitude of thy mercies in Jesus Christ. Amen. A Prayer for a Person who is lame in his Sick- 7iess. [From Mr. Lewis.] 0 ALMIGHTY God, who " art eyes to the blind and feet to the lame," have pity, we entreat thee, on thy servant : help hi7n in his distress, and bless, we pray thee, the means made use of for his cure. Make him sensible of thy design in visiting him with this affliction ; cause him to remember, hov» 262 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION in his strength and health, he followed his own devices, and the desire of Afs own heart ; and let hi)n see, that thou hast lifted up thy hand against him, for this very purpose, that he may learn to walk more humbly with thee, and turn his feet to thy testimonies. Deliver him from the painful confinement under which he labours, and grant him acrain the happiness of enjoying the comforts of hfe, and of worshiping thee in tliy sanctuary, with the "voice of joy and praise." But, O Lord, not our will, but thine be done. Thou knowest better what is good for us, than we ourselves ; and it is in wisdom that thou afHictest us. Give thy servant patience, that he may bear his pains with- out murmuring, and wait at the time of his deli- verance from them without uneasiness ; satisfy /!i?n of thy care over him, and thy tender regard to him; and in thy good time restore him to his for- mer strength and vigour, that he may give thanks to thee in the great congregation ; through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen. A Prayer for One that is Bed-ridden. [From Mr. Lewis.] O Lord our God, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort, have compassion, we en- treat thee, on the helpless condition of thy servant: su|)port his spirits which are ready to droop under affliction : refresh his mind which is apt to be un- easy and melancholy at the thought of perpetual confinement. Give sleep to his eyes, and rest to his weary thoughts. Cause him to meditate on thee in the night watches ; to •' commune with his own heart ;" and. in his solitude, "to search and try his ways," that hemay see wherein he hath erred, and may turn unto thee with all his soul and with all his strength. Let this affliction be the means of preparing him for the enjoyment of thy pre- sence, in which is fuhiess of joy ; and let him be the more patient under it for that reason. Make him thankful that thou hast by this expedient preserved him from the company of those whose evil communication might have corrupted his heart, and hast taken him out of a world, bj' the snares and temptations of which he might have been prevailed upon to forsake thee, and turn from the way of thy commandments. Grant, O Lord, that he may not render himself unworthy of thy favour, by murmuring and repining ; but that he may use the leisure and opportunity now given him, to make his peace with thee, and be fitted for the enjoyment of an inheritance among the saints in light ; through thy mercy in Jesus Christ, our Saviour and Redeemer. Amen. A Prayer for a Person troubled in Mind, or in Conscience. [Visitation Office.] O BT.ESSED Lord, the Father of Mercies, and the God of all comforts, we beseech thee, look down in pity and compassion upon this thine afflicted servant. Thou writest bitter things against him, and makest him to possess his for- mer iniquities : thy wrath lieth hard upon him., and his soul is full of trouble. But, O merciful God, who hast given us thy holy word for our learning, that we through patience, and comfort of the Scriptures, might have hope; give him a ■^ght understanding of Aii/jsc/f, and of thy threat- enings and promises; that he may neither cast away his confidence in thee, nor place it any where but in thee. Give him strength against all tem]itations, and heal all/iis infirmities. Break not the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking fiax. Simt not up thy tender mercies in displeasure, but make him hear of joy and gladness, that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice. De- liver hirn from the fear of the enemy; lift up the light of thy countenance upon him, and give hiin peace, through the mediation of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Another for the same, or for One under deep Me- lancholy and Dejection of Spirit. [Prom Mr. Jenks.] O MOST gracious Lord, thou knowest our frame, and art full of compassion to thy servants under their trouble and oppression ; look down upon us, we humbly beseech thee, with thy wonted pity, and remember the work of thy hands, our discon- solate brother. Thy wrath lies hard upon him; and all thy waves are gone over him ; thy terrors oppress his mind, and disturb /lis reason. O thou that speakest the winds and waves into obedience and calmness, settle and quiet his discomposed thoughts ; speak peace and satisfaction to his troubled mind, and give him comfort and sure confidence in the sense of thy pardon and love. Lord, help his unbelief, and increase his faith. Though he walk in the valley and shadow of death, let "thy rod and thy staff support and pro- tect him." In the multitude of the thoughts and sorrows that he hath in his heart, let thy comfort refresh his soul. Let in a beam of thy heavenly liglit, to dispel the clouds and darkness in wliich his mind is involved. O direct to the means most proper for his help, and so bless and prosper them, that they may effectually promote his re- covery out of this deplorable state. Incline his ears to wholesome counsels, and dispose his heart to receive due impressions. 0 gracious Father, pity his frailty, forgive his sin, and rebuke his distemper, that his disquieted soul may return to its rest. O, raise him up, and show thy mercy upon him, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our bless- ed Saviour and Redeemer. Am^en. For the same. [From Bishop Patrick,] Preserve this thy servant, O gracious Father, from dishonouring thee and his religion, by dis- trusting thy power, or thy goodness. Remove all troublesome imaginations from him, and give him a clear understanding of thee, and of himself, that no causeless fears and jealousies may overwhelm him, nor liis heart sink within him from any sadness and dejection of spirit. Compose, we beseech thee, his disturbed thoughts ; quiet his disordered mind, and appease all the tu- mults of his soul, by a sweet sense of thy tender mercies, and of the'love of thy Son Jesus Christ to mankind. Keep him from forming any rash conclusions concerning thy providence ; and give him so much light and judgment amid all the darkness and confusion of his thoughts, that he may not think himself forsaken by thee; but may firmly believe, that if he does the best he can, thou requirest no more. And enable him, O Lord, to look forwards to that region of light and glory, IN VISITING THE SICK. 263 whither our Saviour is gone before, to prepare -a place for all thy faithful servants. Strengthen his weak and feeble endeavours. Support his fainting spirit, and cause it humbly to hope in thee. Confirm and establish every good thought, desire, and purpose, wliich thou hast wrought in him. Make him to grow in wisdom, fliith, love, and walling obedience. Con- duct him hereafter so easily and steadily, peace- ably and quietly, so cheerfully and securely, in thy ways, that he may glorify thee whilst he hves, and when he leaves this troublesome world, may resign h is soul into thy merciful hands, with a pious confidence and a hope of a joyful resurrec- tion ; through the merits of thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. A Praijer for One under Fears and Doubts con- cerninghis spiritual Condition, or under per- ple.ving Thoughts and Scruples about his Duty. [From Mr. Kettlewell.J O Lord our God, we oficr up our humble sup- plication to thee in behalf of this thy servant, whose soul is disquieted within him by his fears and anxiely respecting the safety of his condition. Remove from him, we entreat thee, all frightful apprehensions, all perplexing doubts and scruples about his duty. Make him satisfied and settled in a right understanding of all thy precepts, and careful in the observance of them ; and dispel, by the light of thy countenance, all that darkness which obscures his soul, that he may not be un- necessarily dejected, and distrustful o{ himself, or dishonourably jealous of thee. Deliver him from all those offences which make him so much a stranger to peace and comfort; and cause him to place his chief satisfaction and delight in obeying thy commandments, and in meditating on thy mercy ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. A Prayer for One who is disturbed with wicked and blasphemous Thoughts. [From Mr. Lewis.] O Lord God, the Father of our spirits, to whom all hearts are open, and all desires known ; we humbly entreat thee to succour and relieve this thy servant, who labours under the burden of wicked thoughts. Let thy power and goodness be shown in healing his disordered mind. Cleanse the thoughts of his heart by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit. Suffer them not to be defiled by any profane or blasphemous suggestions, but heal the soul of thy servant, by enabling him to stide and suppress all such thoughts as tend to rob him of his peace, or deprive him of the comforts of re- ligion. Enable him to be of an equal and steady temper, to be mild and gentle in his behaviour, and to keep his hopes and fears within due bounds. Make him sensible of the wise and kind reasons of these afflictions ; that, if they are duly improved, they may be powerful preserva- tives of his soul against the prevailing sins of a licentious age ; may lessen his inclinations to the enjoyments of this life, and deaden his appetite to sensual pleasure, and the perishing goods of this world; that these afflictions may dispose him to compassionate the sulierings of others, and make him more thoroughly feel his own infirmities, and the want of divine assistance. Open his eyes, that he may see and know the wise and gracious dispensations of thy providence ; and, by humbhng himself under them, may at length be lifted up and made a partaker of that peace and joy which thou bestowest on all thy faithful servants. Grant this, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our only Media- tor and Redeemer. A Prayer for One who is afflicted with a profone Mistrust of Divine Truths, and blasphemous Thoughts. [From Mr. Kettle well.] O MOST gracious God, in whose hand is the soul of every living creature; protect this thy servant, we humbly and earnestly entreat thee, against all doubts and mistrusts of thy truth, against all irreligious thoughts and suggestions. Never sutler them, O Lord, to weaken his faith, or to hinder /i/m from performing his duty. Preserve hiin not only from the sin, but if it seem good to thine infinite wisdom, from the tempta- tion and the sorrow, which may attend them. But, if it be thy blessed will to continue these terrifying thoughts for his trial and humiliation, Lord, make hiyn sensible that they will not be imputed to him as sin, if, as soon as he perceives them, he rejects them with horror and indigna- tion. During this trial, let him learn to depend upon thee, that, as often as these profane thoughts arise in his mind, he may find grace to overcome them, and without the least indulgence or delay to cast them out ; and that he may learn to show patience under them, as under every other atfliction and trial of thy appointment, trusting to thy grace to assist Imn, and to thy goodness to deliver A j?(i; through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen. A Prayer for One under the dread of God's Wrath and everlasting Damnation. [From Mr. Lewis.] O ALMIGHTY God, the aid of all that need, and the helper of all that flee to thee for succour, ac- cept, we beseech thee, our humble supplications for this thy servant, labouring under the dismal apprehensions of thy wrath. O Lord, enter not into judgment with him ; make him sensible that, though the wages of sin are death, the gift of God is eternal life ; that thou hate.st the death of a sinner, and art not willing that any should perish ; that thou always punish- est less than we deserve, and in the midst of judg- ment rememberest mercy. Revive his soul with a sense of thy love, and the hopes of obtaining thy pardon, and the joy of thy salvation ; that he may be raised from this dejection, and show with gladness what thou hast done for his soul. All this we hmnbly beg for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen, A Prayer for a Lunatic. [From Mr. Jenks.] O Lord, the only wise God, from whom we have received all the faculties of our souls : thou art holy and righteous in all thy dispensations, though the reason of them is frequently unknown to us. Dispel, we humlily beseech thee, if it be agreeable to thine infinite wisdom, the clouds in which the soul of thy servant is now involved; that he may regain his understanding, and the rio-ht use of his faculties. Heal his disordered mind : settle and quiet his passions ; pacify and compose his imagination. 2R4 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION O prosper the means which are used for his re- covery. Make him tractable in the use of reme- dies, and willing to comply with the advice of his friends. But if no means can efiect his cure, let him possess his soul in peace and composure, and in every interval of reason address his prayer to thee ; that, when his earthly tabernacle shall be dissolved, he may rejoice in his former inability to pursue the pleasures of the world, and be pre- sented unto thee pure and undefiled, through Je- sus Christ our Lord. Amen. A Prayer for natural Fools, or Madmen. [From Mr. Kettlewell.] O ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father, pity, Jve entreat thee, this thy unhappy creature, who knows not his own wants, nor how to ask for thy mercies. Compassionate, O Lord, his iniirmities, and supply his necessities. Let thy wisdom pre- vent those evils which he cannot foresee, or wants understanding to remove ; but especially keep him, from doing any thing that may be hurtful cither to himself or others. Let his mind, on all occasions, be quiet and peaceable ; and as far as his faculties extend, ex- ercised in piety and devout meditations. O hear our cry when we call upon thee : hear us for him, who is not able to pray for himself; grant him thy fatherly care at present, and tliy peace at the last ; throucjh the mediation of thy Son, our Sa- viour Jesus Christ. Amen. PROPER PSALMS FOR A SICK PER- SON AT SEA. I. 1. Save me, O God, for the waters are come in, even unto my soul. 2. I am come into deep waters, so that the floods run over me. — Psalm Ixix. 1, 2. 3. The floods are risen, O Lord, the floods have lift up their voice ; the floods lift up their waves. 4. The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage horribly : but yet the Lord, who dwelleth in hea- ven, is mightier. — Psalm xciii. 4, 5. 5. He maketh the storm to cease, so that the waves thereof are still. 6. Wherefore unto thee, O Lord, do I cry in my trouble : deliver me out of my distress. — Psalm cvii. 28. 7. Thou shalt show us wonderful things in thy righteousness, O God of our salvation : thou that art the hope of all the ends of the earth, and of them that remain in the broad sea. — Psalm Ixv. 5. 8. Through thee have I been holden up ever since I was born ; thou art he that took me out of my mother's womb ; my praise shall always be of thee. — Psalm Ixxi. 5, G. 9. I will cry unto thee. Thou art my father, my God, and the rock of my salvation. — Psalm Ixxxix. 26. 10. Withdraw not thou thy mercy from me, O Lord; let thy loving-kindness and truth always preserve me. 11. For innumerable troubles are come about me: my sins have taken such hold upon me, that 1 ain not able to look up; yea, they are more in number than the hairs of my head, and my heart hath failed me. 12. O Lord, let it be thy pleasure to deliver me, make haste, O Lord, to help me. — Psalm xl. II, 12, 13. II. 1. Out of the deep have I called unto thee, 0 Lord; Lord, hear my voice. 2. O let thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint. — Psalm cxxx. 1, 2. 3. For I am helpless and poor, and my heart is wounded within me. — Psalm cix. 21. 4. My heart is disquieted within me, and the fear of death is fallen upon me. 5. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and an horrible dread hath overwhelmed me. — Psalm Iv. 4, 5. G. I go hence like the shadow that departeth, and am driven away like a grasshopper. — Psalm cix. 22. 7. O God, thou knowest my foolishness, and my sins are not hidden from thee. — Psalm Ixix. 5. 8. Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit; in a place of darkness, and in the deep. 9. Thine indignation lieth hard upon me, and thou hast vexed me with all thy storms. — Psalm Ixxxviii. 5, 6. 10. Thou brcakest me with a tempest, and my roarings are poured out like waters. — Job iii. 24; ix. 17. 11. O reject me not utterly, and be not exceed- ing wroth against thy servant. — Lament, v. 22. 12. For my soul is full of trouble, and my life draweth nigh unto hell. — Psalm Ixxxviii. 2. 13. I am brought into so great trouble and mi- sery, that I go mourning all the day long. 14. For my loins are filled with a sore disease, and there is no whole part in my body. — Psalm xxxviii. 6, 7. 15. My wounds stink and are corrupt, through my foolishness. — Psalm xxxviii. 5. 16. Behold, O Lord, I am in distress ; my bowels are troubled, my heart is turned within me, for I have grievously transgressed. — Lament. i. 20. 17. O remember not the sins and offences of my youth; but according to thy mercy think thou upon me, O Lord, for thy goodness. — Psalm xxv. 6. 18. Cast me not away in the time of age ; for- sake me not, when my strength faileth me. — Psalm Ixxi. 8. 19. Take thy plague away from me: I am even consumed by the means of thy heavy hand. 20. When thou with rebukes dost chasten man for sin, thou makest his beauty to consume away, like as it were a moth fretting a garment: every man therefore is but vanity. 21. Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with thine ears consider my calling ; hold not thy peace at my tears. 22. For I am a stranger with thee, and a so- journer, as all my fathers were. 23. O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen. — Psalm xxxix. 11 — 13. A Prayer for a sick Seaman. O MOST great and glorious Lord, the " salvation of all that dwell on the earth, and of them that re- main in the broad sea ;" under whose powerful pro- tection we are alike secure in every place, and without whose providence over us we can no where be in safety ; look down, we beseech thee, upon us, thy unworthy servants, who are called to " behold thy wonders in the deep," and to perforin our several duties in the great waters. IN VISITING THE SICK. 265 " Thou art our refuge auJ strength, a very pre- sent help in trouble ; and therefore we fly unto thee for succour m all our necessities. Extend thy accustomed goodness to our distressed brother, whom thou hast been pleased to visit with the rod of affliction. " The waves of death encompass him about, and the sorrows of hell take hold upon him." O leave him not to himself, nor let him be given over " to a spirit of slumber" and darkness; but " open his eyes, that he may see the wondrous things of thy law,' ' and the necessity of a speedy and sincere repentance ; so that from the sickness of his body, he may derive health and salvation to his soul, which is the great end of all thy righte- ous judgments, and of all our afflictions. Let him seriously consitler and reflect within himself, from this visitation, " what a dreadful tiling it is to fall into the hands of the living God :" and let him hence learn, if it shall please thee to raise him up again, to preserve a more awful sense of thy divine majesty upon his spirit, " and to hve more soberly, righteously, and piously, in this pre- sent world." We know, O Lord, that " many are the ene- mies of peace," and that " the whole world lietli in wickedness:" but let him not " follow a multi- tude to do evil," nor " give his consent to the en- ticement of sinners ;" but being perfectly " redeemed from all vain conversation, and renewed in the spirit of his mind," let him '' walk before thee with a perfect heart," and spend the residue of his days in thy faith and fear. Or if thou hast determined otherwise concern- xng him, be pleased to give him sufficient grace, and strength, and time, to " make his calling and election sure, before he go hence and be no more seen :" revive his drooping spirits, fortify his heart, and as he decays in the outer, strengthen him in the inner man, by setting before him the hopes of a blessed immortality " as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast." Amen. A Prayer for a sick Soldier or Seaman. O MOST mighty Lord, the fountain of health and life, strength and courage, the aid and support of all that fly unto thee for succour, with whom is no respect of persons, but every one that feareth thee (whether he be rich or poor, learned or un- learned) is accepted by thee; we beseech thee mer- cifully to look down upon our brother, who is now fallen under the rod of thy displeasure. We know, O Lord, that all thy judgments are principally intended for our good in the end, by the rcfonnation of our lives and manners: and therefore we most humbly beseech thee to let thy present judgment have that good eitect upon our brother, that he may lead the rest of his life as a faithful soldier of Jesus Christ, and not continue to harden his heart against all the powerful and re- peated instances of thy mercies and judgments to- wards him. If thou hast designed this sickness shall termi- nate in his death, 0 be pleased to fit and prepare him for it ; or if otherwise in mercy thou hast de- tenuined to spare him, O let him not retiirn to any of his former sinful courses, but let him al- ways keep in mind the promise which he made to thee in baptism, of renouncing the world, the flesh, and the devil ; and which, we hope, he now again heartily renews in this his day of visitation. We know, O Lord, that many temptations 2L will unavoidably assault him in the state of life wherein he is engaged, and therefore we most humbly beseech thee to give him such a portion of thy blessed Spirit, as may enable him to fight with as much resolution and courage against his spiri- tual enemies, as the nature of his post obliges him to do, upon just occasions, against his temporal ; ever remembering, that the greatest of conquests is that which is made upon ourselves ; and that no victory is so truly honourable, as that which is obtained over our vicious inclinations. Wherefore give him grace, we beseech thee, O Lord, " to abhor that which is evil, and to cleave to that which is good." Let him religiously avoid all blasphemy and profaneness, all drunkenness, riot, and lasciviousness ; and let him carefully fol- low the rule our Saviour hath set him, " of doino violence to no man, accusing no man falsely, and being content with his own wages;" so that, hav- ing " put on the whole armour of God, he may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil ; and whenever thou shalt be pleased to put an end to his warfare, (either now or hereafter,) he may cheerfully resign his soul into thy hands, in these comfortable words of the apostle: "I have fought a good tight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give unto all those that love and fear him, and put their trust in his mercy." A 111671. A Prayer to be used by a Person afflicted with a Distemper oj" long Continuance. [By Dr. Stonehouse.] OLoRD God Almighty, I am wonderfully made, and all my powers of body and mind .were pro- duced and are supported by thee. " Thou killest, and makest alive : thou woundest, and makest whole." I own and reverence thine hand in my present affliction. I acknowledge that thou art righteous in all that befalls me ; lor I have sinned ; and thou chastenest me less than my iniquities deserve. In punishment thou showest mercy, continuest to me many comforts, prolongest my opportunities of re- flection and amendment, and givest hope of that pardon which I so much want, and at tliis time earnestly entreat. I desire in this poor condition of my health, to search and try my ways, and turn unto thee, O Lord, by deep humility, sincere repentance, and faith in the great Redeemer : and may the fruit of this and every affliction be to take away sin, and make my heart better. O God, if it be thy merciful will, direct me to, and prosper, some means for the removal of my disorder, that I may yet be capable of glorifying thee in my station, and, by farther endeavours for thy service upon earth, be fitter for immortality. Support me, gracious Lord, that my soul may not be quite cast down, and too much disquictt-d within me. Assist me to cherish penitent, believ- ing, serious thoughts and aflections. Grant me such resignation to thy will, such patience and meekness towards men, as my Divine Master re- quireth, and as he himself manifested while he was a sufferer on earth. Forgive all the harsh- ness and sinfulness of my temper, and keep it from increasing upon me. May I learn from what I now feel to pity all who are sick, in pain, o'» 23 266 THE CLERGYMAN'S COMPANION, &c. otherwise afflicted, and do all in my power to as- sist and relieve them. If b)' this affliction thou intendest to bring me down to the grave, prej)are me, by thy grace, for my removal hence, and entrance on the unseen eternal stale : and may all the sufl(?rings of the present liie work out for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. I am thankful for any degree of ease and com- fort which I have this day enjoyed. Grant me, this night, such refreshing rest, that I may be better able to discharge the duties and bear the burden of another day, if thou art pleased to in- dulge me with it. If my eyes are kept waking, may my meditations be comfortable and useful to me. Pity my wealcness, merciful and heavenly Fa- ther, and hear my imperfect petitions, through our Lord Jesus Christ, who was once a man of sorrow, and is still touched with the feeling of our inlirmities ; to whom, as our merciful High Priest and powerful Intercessor, be glory for evermore. Amen. A Prayer to be tised on the Death of a Friend. [By Mr. Merrick.] O Almighty God, who dost not wilhngly grieve the children of men, but in thy visitations rememberest mercy, teach me by thy grace to bear the loss of that dear person whom thou hast taken from me with patience and resignation, and to make a right use of the affliction which thy fa- therly hand hath laid upon me. Thou hast given, and thou hast taken away : blessed be thy holy name. Make me thankful, O Lord, for the com- forts and blessings which I still enjoy ; and sancti- fy to my soul all the suflerings, which in the course of this mortal life thou shall appoint for me. Let the death of friends and relations help to keep me always mindful of my own mortality. And grant, that by thy grace I may here apply , my heart to wisdom, and may hereafter by thy mercy be received into that everlasting kingdom, where all tears shall be wiped from all faces, and sorrow and sighing shall tlee away. Hear me, O merciful Father, for the sake of thy Son Jesus Christ. Amen. A Prayer to he used by a Person troubled in Mind. ALMrcnTY God, who beholdest with compas- sion and mercy the weaknesses and frailties of us thy sinful creatures ; look down on me, I beseech thee, and deliver me, if it be thy blessed will, from the distress of mind under which I labour. Strengthen my judgment, and inform my under- standing, that I may rightly know my duly; and | grant that I may act on all occasions, and in every ! circumstance of life, in the manner most acceptable ' to thee. Pardon my secret sins and infirmities, and preserve me from all wilful neglects and of- fences. If thou seest it consistent with thy glory, and with the everlasting welfare of my soul, fill me with that fervency of affection towards thee, and with that measure of spiritual comfort and assurance, which may preserve my mind in a frame of cheerfulness and composure. But if trouble and bitterness of mind be more expedient for me, continue to me both this and all other afflictions which thou seest most conducive to my future happiness, and grant that I may bear them with patience and resignation. Let thine Holy Spirit direct and support me under every trial, and en- able me so to walk in thy faith and lear, that I may at last be received into thy heavenly king- dom, through the merits and mediation of ihy Son Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord and Saviour, Amen. A Prayer to be used by an Old Person. O fiRACious Lord, my maker and my preserver, I give thee thanks for the long continuance which thou hast granted me in this world, in order that I may be the belter prepared for another. Enable me by thy grace to make a right use of the time afforded me, and give me a true and deep repent- ance of the sins which I have committed. Sup- port me by thy help under the infirmities of age, keep me from covetousness, and fretfulness, and from all unreasonable fears, and cares. Give me that degree of ease and health which thou seest most convenient for me ; wean my aliections and desires from the things of this lite, and keep me continually prepared for death; through Jesus Christ. Amen. A Prayer for a Person condemned t(f die. [From Dr. Inet.J O MOST just and holy Lord God, who briiigest to light the hidden things of darkness, and bj- thy just and wise providence dost bring sin to shame and punishment ; disappointing the hopes of wick- ed men ; visiting their sins upon them in this pre- sent life, that thou mayest deter others from the evil of their ways, and save their souls in the day of judgment; O Lord, in mercy look down ujion this thy servant, who now is before thee to confess thy justice in making him a sad exam[)le to others. He with sorrow and shame confesseth it would be just with thee, should death eternal be the wages of his sins, and everlasting sorrow the recompense of his iniquity. He has, we confess, O Lord, despised thy mercy, and abused thy goodness, and has therefore no reason to expect any other than to be made an everlasting sacrifice to thy justice. When thou hast, by the ministry of thy word, and the interposition of thy providence, called him to repentance, he has slighted thine admoni- tions. O, how just therefore would it be now in thee to disregard his cry, in this day of trouble, when distress and anguish are come upon him! He confesseth that he hath hardened his. heart, notwithstanding all thy importunities to kim to repent and live ; that he has still gone on from one wickedness to another, eagerly repeating the works of darkness, and even hating to be re- formed; that /ie has notoriously broken A is bap- tismal vows, and given encouragement to others to blaspheme our holy faith, and that on these accounts he has nothing to expect but that thou shouldst deal with him according to his sins, and reward him according to the multitude of his odences. But thou, O God, hast lieen pleased to declare, that with thee is mercy and plenteous redemption; that thou desirest not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should repent and live. Thou hast so loved the world, that thou gavest thy only- begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. O, let not him whom we are now commending to thy mercy, for ever perish and be lost. Have com- passion upon a miserable sinner, who owns he de- serves eternally to die; and let him find mercy in MINISTRATION OF PUBLIC BAPTISM OF INFANTS. 267 his distress. Pardon, we earnestly entreat thee his wilful and his heedless follies, his errors, and his crying and notorious sins ; particularly that for which he is now to die. O Lord, thou God of mercy, who art abundant in goodness, have pity on the work of thine own hands. Bury his sins in his grave, and, however they may rise up in this world to disgrace him, let them never rise up in the next to condemn him : and whatever he suffers here, let him hereafter be in the number of those whose unrighteousness is forgiven, and whose sin is covered. However men, in the exe- cution of justice, and to deter others from being guilty of the like wickedness, may kill his body; let neither his body nor his soul be destroyed in hell, but be delivered from eternal condemnation, for the sake of Jesus Christ, who died to save sin- ners. Amen. A Prayer of Preparation for Death. O Almighty God, Maker and Judge of all men, have mercy upon me, thy weak and sinful creature ; and if by thy most wise and righteous appointment the hour of death be approaching to- I wards me, enable me to meet it with a mind fully prepared for it, and to pass through tliis great and awful trial in the manner most profitable for nie. (J let me not leave any thing undone which may help to make my departure safe and happy, or to qualify me for the highest degree of thy favour that I am capable of attiuning. Pardon the sins which I have committed against thee by thought, word, and deed, and all my neglects of duty. Par- don the sins which I have conmiitted against my neighbour ; and if others have wronged or oflended me, incline my heart freely and fully to forgive them. Cleanse my soul from all its corruptions, and transform it into the likeness of thy Son Je- sus Christ ; that I may behold thy face in glory, and be made partaker of thy heavenly kingdom. And, O merciful Father, give me that supply of spiritual comfort, which thou seest needful for me in my present condition : and grant that, when my change comes, I may die with a quiet con- science, with a well-grounded assurance of thy favour, and a joyful hope of a blessed resurrec- tion ; through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen. THE MINISTRATION OF PUBLIC BAPTISM OF INFANTS. TO BE USED IN CHURCHES, The people are to be admonished, that it is most con- venient that baptism should not be administered but upon Sundays and other holy-days, when the most num- ber of parsons come together ; as well for that the con- preeation there present, may testify the receiving of tliem that be newly baptisi-d into the number of Christ's church; as also because, in the baptism of infants, every man present be put in remembrance of his own profession made to God in his baptism. For which cause also it is expedient that baptism be ministered in the vulgar tongue. Nevertheless (if necessity so re- quire) children may be baptised on any other day. And note, That there shall be for every male child to be baptised, two godfathers and one godmother; and for every female, one godfather and two godmothers. When there are children to be baptised, the parent shall give knowleiige thereof over night, or in the morning, befcue the beginning of morning prayer, to the Curate." And then the godfathers and godmoihers, and the people with the children, must be ready at the font, either immediately after the last lesson at morning prayer, or else immediately after the last le-sson ateven- ingpraj'er, as the Curate by his discretion shall appoint. And the Priest coming to the font (which is then to be filled with pure water,) and standing there, shall say, Q. Hath this child been already baptized, or no 1 [f they answer JVo, then shall tlie Priest proceed as follows: Dearly beloved, forasmuch as all men are con- ceived and bom in sin, and thai our Saviour Christ saith, none can enter into the kingdom of God, except he be regenerated and born anew of water and of the Holy Ghost ; I beseech j'ou to call upon God the Father, through our Lord Je- sus Christ, that of his bounteous mercy he will grant this child that thing which by nature he cannot have, that he may be baptised with water and the Holy Ghost, and received into Christ's holy church, and be made a lively member of the same. Then shall the Priest say. Let us pray. Almighty and everlasting God, who of thy great mercy didst save Noah and his family in the ark from perishing by water, and also didst safely lead the children of Israel thy jieople through tlie Red Sea, figuring thereby thy holy baptism ; and by the baptism of thy well-beloved Son Jesus Christ in the river Jordan, didst sanctify water to the mystical washing away of sin ; we beseech thee for thine infinite mercies, that thou wilt mer- cifully look upon this child ; wash him and sanc- tify flim with the Holy Ghost, that he, being de- livered from thy wrath, may be received into the 268 ■MINISTRATION OF PUBLIC BAPTISM OP INFANTS. ark of Christ's clmrcli ; and being steadfast in faith, joyful througli hope, and rooted in charity, may so pass the waves of tliis troublesome world, that iinally he may come to the land of everlasting hfe, there to reign with thee world without end, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Almiohty and immortal God, the aid of all that need, the helper of all that flee to thee for succour, the life of them that believe, and the re- surrection of the dead ; we call upon thee for this ivfant, that he, coming to thy holy baptism, may receive remission of his sins by spiritual regenera- tiuii. Receive him, O Lord, as thou hast promised by thy well-beloved Son, saying, Ask, and ye siiall have ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock and it shall be opened unto you. So give now unto us that ask ; let us that seek, find ; open the gate unto us that knock ; that this infant may enjoy the everlasting benediction of thy heavenly wash- ing, and may come to the eternal kingdom wliich thou hast promised by Christ our Lord. Amen. Tlien shall the Priest stand up, and shall say, Hear the words of the Gospel written by St. Mark, in the tenth chapter, at the tliirteenth verse : " They brought young children to Christ, that he should touch them ; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them. Suf- fer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you. Whosoever shall not re- ceive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put liis hands upon them, and blessed them." After the Gospel is read, the Minister shall make this brief exhortation upon the words of the Gospel. Beloved, ye hear in this Gospel the words of our Saviour Christ, that he commanded the chil- dren to be brought unto him; how he blamed those that would have kept them from him ; how he exhorted all men to follow their innoccncy. Ye perceive how by his outward gesture and deed he declared his good will towards them ; for he em- braced theiTi ui his arms, he laid his hands upon them, and blessed them. Doubt ye not, therelbre, but earnestly believe, that he will likewise favour- ably receive this present infant ; that he will em- brace him with the arms of his mercy ; that he will give unto him the blessing of eternal life, and make him, partaker of his everlasting kingdom. Wherefore we being thus persuaded of the good will of our heavenly Father towards this infant, declared by his Son Jesus Christ, and nothing doubting but that he favourably alloweth this cha- ritable work of ours, in cringing this infant to his holy baptism, let us faithfully and devoutly give thanks unto him, and say, — Almighty and everlasting God, heavenlyFa- ther, we give thee humble thanks that thou hast vouchsafed to call us to the knowledge of thy grace and faith in thee : increase this knowledge, and confirm this faith in us evermore. Give thy Holy Spirit to this infant, that he may be born again, and be made an heir of everlasting salvation; through our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever. Amen. Then shall the Priest speak unto the godfathers and godmothers in this wise: Dearly beloved, ye have brought this child here to be baptized ; ye have prayed that our Lord Jesus Christ would vouchsafe to receive him, to release him of his sins, to sanctify him with the Holy Ghost, to give him the kingdom of heaven, and everlasting life. You have heard also, that our Lord Jesus Christ hath promised also in his Gospel, to grant all these things that ye have prayed for; which promise he for his part will most surely keep and perform. Wherefore after this promise made by Christ, this infant must also faithfully, for his part, promise by you that are his sureties, (until he come of age to take it upon himself) that he will renounce the devil and all his works, and constantly believe God's holy word, and obediently keep his commandments. I demand therefore, Dost thou, in the name of this child, renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desires of the same, and the carnal desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow nor be led by them ? Answ. I renounce them all. Dost thou believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth 1 And in Jesus Christ his only-begotten Son, our Lord 1 And that he was conceived by the Holy Ghost ; born of the Virgin Mary ; that he sufl'er- ed under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried ; that he went down into hell, and also did rise again the third day ; that he ascended into heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty ; and I'rom thence shall come again, at the end of the world, to judge the quick and the deadi And dost thou believe in the Holy Ghost ; the holy Catholic church ; the communion of saints ; the reinission of sins ; the resurrection of the llesh ; and everlasting life after death '{ Answ. All this I steadfastly believe. Minister. Wilt thou then be baptized in this faith '? Ansic. Tliis is my desire. Minister. Wilt thou then obediently keep God's holy will and commandments, and walk in the same all the days of thy life"? Answ. I will. Then the Priest shall say, O MERCIFUL God, grant that the old Adam in this Child may be so buried, that the new man may be raised up in hiin. Amen. Grant that all carnal afltctions may die in him, and that all things belonging to the Spirit may live and grow in /u??i. Amen. Grant that he may have power and strength to have victory, and to triumph against the devil, the world, and the flesh. Amen. Grant that whosoever is here dedicated to thee by our office and ministry, may also be endued vvith heavenly virtues, and everlastingly rewarded, through thy mercy, O blessed Lord God, who dost live and govern all things, world without ent' Amen. MINISTRATION OF PRIVATE BAPTISM OF CHILDREN. 269 Almighty and everlasting God, whose most dearly beloved Son Jesus Christ, for the forgive- ness of our sins, did shed out of his most precious side both water and blood, and gave command- ment to his disciples, that they should go and teach all nations, and baptize them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost ; regard, we beseech thee, the supplications of thy congregation ; sanctify this water to the mystical washing away of sin ; and grant that this child now to be baptized therein, may receive the fulness of thy grace, and ever remain in the num- ber of thy taithful and elect children ; through Je- sus Christ our Lord. Amen. Tlien the Priest shall take the Child into his hands, and shall say to the godfathers and godmothers, Name this child. And then naming it after them (if they shall certify him that the child may well endure it.) he shall dip it in the water discreetly and warily, saying, N., I baptize thee in the name of the Father, a-nd of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. But if they certify that the Child is weak, it shall suf- fice to pour water upon it, saying the aforesaid words, N., I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son. and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Then shall the Priest say, We receive this child into the congregation of Christ's flock,* and do sign hiin with the sign of the cross, in token that hereafter he shall not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucihed, and manfully to fight under his banner, against sin, the world, and the devil, and to continue Christ's faithful soldier and servant unto his life's end. Amen. Then shall the Priest say, Seeing now, dearly beloved brethren, that this child is regenerate and grafted into the body of Christ's church, let us give thanks unto Almighty God for these benefits, and with one accord make our prayers unto him, that this child may lead the rest of his life according to this beginning. Then shall be said, all kneeling, Our Father wliich art in heaven ; Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our tres- passes, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation ; but dehver us from evil. Amen. Then shall the Priest say, We yield thee hearty thanks, most merciful Father, that it hath pleased thee to regenerate this infant with thy Holy Spirit, to receive ^;';7i for thine own child by adoption, and to incorpo- rate him into thy holy church. And we humbly beseech thee to grant, that he, being dead unto sin. and living unto righteousness, and being bu- ried with Christ in his death, may crucify the old man, and utterly abolish the whole body of sin : and that as he is made partaker of the death of thy Son, he may also be partaker of his resurrec- tion ; so that finally, with the residue of thy holy church, he may he an inheritor of thine everlast- ing kingdom, through Christ our Lord. Amen. Then, all standing up, the Priest shall say to the god- fathers and godmothers this e.\hortation following : Forasmuch as this child hath promised by you his sureties to renoimcc the devil and all his works, to believe in God, and to serve him; ye must remember that it is your parts and duties to see that this infant be taught, so soon as he shall be able to learn, what a solemn vow, promise, and profession, he hath here made by you. And that he may know these things the better, ye shall call upon hiyn to hear sermons; and chiefly ye shall provide that he may learn the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, in the vul- gar "tongue, and all other things which a Christian ought to know and believe to his soul's health ; and that this child may be virtuously brought up to lead a godly and Christian life; remembermg always, that baptism doth represent unto us our profession; which is, to follow the example of our Saviour Christ, and to be made like unto him; that as he died, and rose again, for us ; so should we, who are baptised, die from sin, and rise again unto righteousness, continually mortifying all our evil and corrupt affections, and daily proceeding in all virtue and godliness of living. Then shall he add, and say, Ye are to take care that this child be brought to the bishop, to be confirmed by him. so soon as he can say the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments in the vulgar tongue, and be further instructed in the Church Catechism set forth for that purpose. It is certain, by God's word, that children which are baptised, dying before they commit actual sin, are un- doubtedly saved. To take away all scruple concerning the use of the sign of the cross in baptism ; the true explication there of; and the just reasons for the retaining of it, may bt seen in the XXXth Canon, first published in the yeai MDCIV. * Here the Priest shall make a cross upon the Child's forehead. THE MINISTRATION OP PRIVATE BAPTISM OF CHILDREN IN HOUSES, The Curate of the parish shall often admonish the pef/ pie, that they defer not the baptism of their childrei longer than the first or second Sunday next after then birth, or other holy-ilay falling between, unless upon a great and reasonable cause, to be approved by the C'l rate. And also they shall warn them, that, without like great cause and necessity, they procure not their chil dren to be baptised at home in their houses. But when need shall compel them so to do, then baptism shall be administered on this fashion : First ; let the Minister of the parish Cor, in his ab sence, any ofner lawful Minister that can be procured,) with them that are i)resent, call upon God, and say the Lord's Praver, and so many of the collects appointed to be said before in the form of Public Baptism, as the time and present e.xigence will suffer. And then, the Child being named by some one that is present, ttie 3Iiuister shall pour water upon it, saying these words 23* 270 MINISTRATION OF PRIVATE BAPTISM OF CHILDREN. N., I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Gliost. Amen. Then all kneeling down, the Minister sliall give thanks unto God, saying ; We yield thee hearty thanks, most merciful Father, that it hath pleased thee t« regenerate this infant witli thy Holy Spirit, to receive him for thine own child by adoption, and to incor|«rate him into thy holy church. And we humbly be- seech thee to grant that as he is now made par- taker of the death of thy Son, so he may be also of his resurrection ; and that finally, with the resi- due of thy saints, he may inherit thine everlasting kingdom, through the same, thy Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. And let them not doubt but that the Child, so bap- tized, is lawfully and suthciently baptized, and ought not to be baptized again. Yet, nevertheless, if the Child, which is after this sort baptized, do afterwards live, it is e.xpedient that it be brought into the church, to the in- tent that, if the Minister of the same parish did himself baptize that Child, the cnngi-egatinn may be certified of the true form of baptism by him privately before used. A VIEW OP THE EVIDENCES 0.F CHRISTIANITY. IN THREE PARTS. TO THE HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND JAMES YORK, D.D. LORD BISHOP OF ELY. My Lord, — When, five years ago, an important station in the University of CamhiJge awaited your Lordship's disposal, you were pleased to offer it to me. The circumstances ujtder which this offer was made, demand a public acknowledgment. I had never seen your Lordship ; I possessed no connexion lohich could possibly recommend me to your favour ; I was known to you, only by my endeavours, in common with many others, to discharge my duty as a tutor in the University ; and by some very imperfect, but certainly well-intended, and, as you thought, useful publications since. In an age by no means wanting in examples of honourable patronage, although this deserves not to be mentioned in respect of the object of your Lordship''s choice, it is inferior to none in the purity and disinterestedness of the motives which suggested it. How the following work may be received, I pretend not to foretell. My first prayer concerning it is, that it may do good to any: my second hope, that it may assist, what it hath always been my earn- est icish to promote, the religious part of an academical education. If in this latter view it might seem, in any degree, to excuse your Lordship'' s judgment of its author, I shall be gratified by the reflection, that, to a kindness flowing from public principles, I have made the best public return in my power. In the 7nean time, and in every event, I rejoice in the opportunity here afforded me of testify, in g the sense I entertain of your Lordship''s conduct, and of a notice jchich I regard as the most flattering distinction of my life. I am. My Lord, with sentiments of gratitude and respect, your Lordship^s faithful and most obliged servant, WILLIAM PALEY. PREPARATORY CONSIDERATIONS. I PF.EM it unnecessary to prove that mankind -J;oo(l ill need of a revelation, because I have met with no serious person who thiniis that, even under the Christian revelation, we have too much light, or any degree of assurance which is superfluous. I desire, moreover, that, in judging of Christianity, it may be remembered, that the question lies be- tvieen this religion and none : for, if the Christian religion be not credible, no one, with whom we 'lave to do, will support the pretensions of any jthcr. Suppose, then, the world we live in to have had a Creator; suppose it to appear, from the predomi- liant aim and tendency of the provisions and con- trivances observable in the universe, that the Deity, when he formed it, consulted for the happiness of lis sensitive creation ; suppose the disposition which dictated this counsel to continue ; suppose a a part of the creation to have received faculties from their Maker, by which they are capable of rendering a moral obedience to his will, and of vo- luntarily pursuing any end for which he has de- signed them ; suppose the Creator to intend for these, his rational and accountable agents, a second state of existence, in which their situation will be regulated by their behaviour in the first state, by which sujjposition (and by no other) the objection to the divine government in not putting a difler- ence between the good and the bad, and the incon- sistency of this confusion with the care and bene- volence discoverable in the works of the Deity, is done away ; suppose it to be of the utmost import- ance to the subjects of this dispensation to know what is intended for them ; that is. suppose the 271 272 EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. knowledge of it to he highly conducive to the hap- piness of the species, a purpose which so many provisions of nature are calculated to promote : Suppose, nevertheless, almost the whole race, either by the imperfection of their faculties, the misfortune of their situation, or by the loss of some prior revelation, to want this knowledge, and not to be likely, without the aid of a new revelation, to attain it : Under these circumstances, is it impro- bable that a revelation should be made ] is it incredi- ble that God should interpose for such a purpose] Suppose him to design for mankind a future state ; is it unlikely that he should acquaint him with it? Now in what way can a revelation be made, but by miracles 1 In none which we are able to con- ceive. Consequently, in whatever degree it is probable, or not very improbable, that a revelation should be communicated to mankind at all ; in the same degree is it probable, or not very impro- bable, that miracles should be wrought. There- fore, when miracles are related to have been wrought in the promulgating of a revelation mani- festly wanted, and, if true, of inestimable value, the improbability which arises from the miraculous nature of the things related, is not greater than the original improbability that such a revelation should be imparted by God. I wish it, however, to be correctly understood, m what manner, and to what extent, this argu- ment is alleged. We do not assume the attributes of the Deity, or the existence of a future state, in order to prove the reality of miracles. That re- ality always must be proved by evidence. We assert only, that in miracles adduced in support of revelation, there is not any such antecedent im- prol)ability as no testimony can surmount. And for the purpose of maintaining this assertion, we contend, that the incredibility of miracles related to have been wrought in attestation of a message from God, conveying intelligence of a future state of rewards and punishments, and teaching mankind how to prepare themselves for that state, is not in itself greater than the event, call it either probable or improbable, of the two following propositions being true : namely, first, that a future state of ex- istence should be destined by God for his human creation ; and, secondly, that, being so destined, he should acquaint them with it. It is not necessary for our purpose, that these propositions be capable of proof, or even that, by arguments drawn from the light of nature, they can be made out to be probable ; it is enough that we are able to say con- cerning them, that they are not so violently im- probable, so contradictory to what we already be- lieve of the divine power and character, that either the propositions themselves, or facts strictly con- nected with the propositions (and therefore no further improbable than they are improbable,) ought to be rejected at first sight, and to be reject- ed by whatever strength or complication of evi- dence they be attested. This is the prejudication we would resist. For to- this length does a modern objection to miracles go, viz. that no human testimony can in any case render them credible. I think the reflection above stated, that, if there be a revelation, there must be miracles, and that under the circumstances in which the human species are placed, a revelation IS not improbable, or not improbable in any great degree, to be a fair answer to the whole objection. But since it is an objection which stands in. the very threshold of our argument, and if admitted, is a bar to every proof, and to all future reasoning upon the subject, it may be necessary, before we proceed further, to examine the principle upon which it proti'sses to be founded ; which principle is concisely this. That it is contrar}" to experience that a miracle should be true, but not contrary to experience that testimony should be false. Now there appears a small ambiguity in the term " experience," and in the phrases, " contrary to experience," or " contradicting experience," which it may be necessary to remove in the first place. Strictly speaking, the narrative of a fact is then only contrary to experience, when the fact is related to have existed at a time and place, at which time and place we being present, did not perceive it to exist : as if it should be asserted, that in a particular room, and at a particular hour of a certain day, a man was raised from the dead, in which room, and at the time specified, we being present and looking on, perceived no such event to have taken place. Here the assertion is con- trary to experience properly so called : and this is a contrariety which no evidence can suniiount. It matters nothing, whether the fact be of a miracu- lous nature or not. But although this be the ex- perience, and the contrariety, which Archbishop Tillotson alleged in the quotation with which Mr. Hume 0[)ens his Essay, it is certainly not that experience, nor that contrariety, which Mr. Hume himself intended to object. And, short of this, I know no intelligible signification which can be affixed to the term " contrary to experience," but one, viz. that of not having ourselves expe- rienced any thing similar to the thing related, or such things not being generally experienced by others. I say " not generally :" for to state con- cerning the fact in question, that no such thing was ever experienced, or that universal experience is against it, is to assume the subject of the con- troversy. Now the improbability which arises from the want (for this properly is a want, not a contradic- tion) of experience, is only equal to the probability there is, that, if the thing were true, we should experience things similar to it, or that such things would be generally experienced. Suppose it then to be true that miracles were wrought on the first promulgation of Christianity, when nothing but miracles could decide its authority, is it certain that such miracles would be repeated so often, and in so many places, as to become objects of general experience 1 Is it a probability approaching to certainty 1 is it a probability of any great strength or force 1 is it such as no evidence can encounter"? And yet this probability is the exact converse, and therefore the exact measure, of the improbahility which arises from the want of experience, and which Mr. Hume represents as invincible by hu- man testimony. It is not like alleging a new law of nature, or a new experiment in natural philosophy ; because, when these are related, it is expected that, under the same circumstances, the same effect will fol- low universally ; and in proportion as this expect- ation is justly entertained, the want of a corre- sponding experience negatives the history. Bui to expect concerning a miracle, that it should suc- ceed upon a repetition, is to expect that which would make it cease to be a miracle, which is con- trary to its nature as such, and would totally de- stroy the use and purpose for which it was wrought. The force of experience as an objection to mi- EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. 273 racles, is founded in the presumption, cither that that the course of nature is invariable, or that, if it be ever varied, variations will be frequent and general. Has the necessity of tliis alternative been demonstrated 1 Permit us to call the course of nature the agency of an intelligent Being ; and is there any good reason for judgmg this state of the case to be probable 1 Ought we not rather to expect that such a Being, on occasions of peculiar importance, may interrupt the order which he had appointed ; yet, that such occasions should return seldom; that these interruptions consequently should be confined to the experience of a few ; that the want of it, therefore, in many, should be matter neither of surprise nor objection. But as a continuation of the argument from ex- perience, it is said that, when we advance accounts of miracles, we assign effects without causes, or we attribute eflects to causes inadequate to the purpose, or to causes, of the operation of which we have no experience. Of what causes, we may ask, and of what effects does the objection speak ! If it be answered that, when we ascribe the cure of the palsy to a touch, of blindness to the anoint- ing of the eyes with clay, or the raising of the dead to a word, we lay ourselves open to this im- putation ; we reply, that we ascribe no such effects to such causes. We perceive no virtue or energy in these things more than in other things of the same kind. They are merely si^ns to connect the miracle with its end. The eBect we ascribe simply to the volition of the Deity ; of whose ex- istence and power, not to say of whose presence and agency, we have previous and independent proof We have, therefore, all we seek for in the works of rational agents, — a sufficient power and an adequate motive. In a word, once believe that there is a God, and miracles are not incredible. Mr. Hume states the case of miracles to be a contest of opposite improbabilities, that is to say, a question whether it be more improbable that the miracle should be true, or the testimony false : and this i think a fiir account of the controversy. But herein I remark a want of argumentative justice, that, in describing the improbability of miracles, he suppresses all tho.se circLimstances of extenua- tion, which result from our knowledge of the exist- ence, power, and disposition of (he Deity; his concern in the creation, the end answered by the miracle, the importance of that end, and its sub- serviency to the plan pursued in the work of nature. As Mr. Hume has represented the ques- tion, miracles are alike incredible to him who is previously assured of the constant agency of a Divine Being, and to him who believes that no such Being exists in the universe. They are equally incredible, whether related to have been wrought ujwn occasions the most deserving, and for purposes the most beneficial, or for no assign- able end whatever, or for an end confessedly tri- fling or pernicious. This surely cannot be a cor- rect statement. In adjusting also the other side of the balance, the strength and weight of testi- mony, this author has provided an answer to every possible accumulation of historical proof by telling us, that we are not obliged to explain how the story of the evidence arose. Now I think that we are obliged :' not, perhaps, to show by positive accounts how it did, but by a probable hj^othesis how it might so happen. The existence of the testimony is a phenomenon ; the truth of the fact solves the phenomenon. If we reject this solu- ^ 2M tion, we ought to have some other to rest in ; and none, even by our adversaries, can be admitted, which is not inconsistent with the principles that regulate human affairs and hmnan conduct at present, or which makes men then to have been a different kind of beuigs from what they are now. But the short consideration which, independ- ently of every other, con\inces me that there is no solid foundation in Mr. Hume's conclusion, is the following. When a theorem is proposed to a mathematician, the first thing he does with it is to try it upon a simple case, and if it produce a false result, he is sure that there must be some mistake in the demonstration. Now, to proceed in this way with what m^y be called Mr. Hume's theorem. If twelve men, whose probity and good sense I had long known, should seriously and circumstantially relate to me an account of a mi- racle wrought before their eyes, and in which it was impossible that they should be deceived ; if the governor of the country, hearing a rumour of this account, should call these men into his pre- sence, and offer them a short proposal, either tc confess the imposture, or submit to be tied up to a gibbet ; if they should refuse with one voice to acknowledge that there existed any falsehood or imposture in the case ; if this threat were commu- nicated to them separately, yet with no different effect ; if it was at last executed ; if I myself saw them, one after another, consenting to be racked, burnt, or strangled, rather than give up the ti'uth of their account ; still, if Mr. Hume's rule be my guide, I am not to believe them. Now I under- take to say that there exists not a sceptic in the world who would not believe them, or who would defend sucli incredulity. Instances of spurious miracles supjiorted by strong and apparent testimony, undoubtedly de- mand examination ; Mr. Hume has endeavoured to fortify his argument by some examples of this kind. I hope in a proper place to show that none of them reach the strength or circumstances of the Christian evidence. In these however, consistsi the weight of his objection : in the principle itself^ 1 am persuaded, there is none. PART I, OF THE DIRECT HISTORICAL EVIDENCE OF CHRIS- TIANITY, AND WHEREIN IT IS DISTINGUISHED PROM THE EVIDENCE ALLEGED FOR OTHER MI- RACLES. The two propositions which I shall endeavour to establish are these : I. That there is satisfactory evidence that many, professing to he original witnesses of the Christian Miracles, passed their lives in labours, dangers, and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in attestation of the accounts which they delivered, and solely in consequence of their belief of those accounts ; and that they also submitted, from the same motives, to new rules of conduct. II. That there is not satisfictory evidence, that persons professing to be original witnesses of other miracles, in their nature as certain as these are, have ever acted in the same manner, in at- testation of the accounts wliich they delivered, and 274 EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. properly in consequence of their belief of those accounts. The first of these propositions, as it forms the argument, will stand at the head of the following nine cliapters. CHAPTER I. There is satisfactory evidence that many, pro- fessing to be original m'tnesses of the Chris- *ian miracles, passed their lives in labours, dan- gers, and sufferings, voluntarily undergone in attestation of the accounts which they de- livered, and solely in consequence of their be- lief of those accounts ; and that they also sub- milted, from the same motives, to new rules of conduct. To support this proposition, two points are ne- cessary to be made out : first, that the Founder of the institution, his associates and immediate fol- lowers, acted the part which the proposition im- putes to them : secondly, that they did so in attest- ation of the miraculous history recorded in our Scriptures, and solely in consequence of their be- lief of the truth of this history. Before we produce any particular testimony to the activity and sufierings wliich compose the sub- ject of our first assertion, it will he proper to con- sider the degree of probability which the assertion derives from the nature of the case, that is, by in- ferences from those parts of the case which, in point of fact, are on all hands acknowledged. First, then, the Christian religion exists, ar'd therefore by some means or other was established. Now it either owes the principle of its establish- ment, i. e. its first publication, to the activity of the Person who was the founder of the institution, and of those who were joined with him in the under- taking, or we are driven upon the strange supposi- tion, that, although they might lie by, others would take it up; although they were quiet and silent, other persons busied themselves in the success and propagation of their story. This is perfectly incredible. To me it appears little less than cer- tain, that, if the first announcing of the religion by the Founder had not been followed up by the zeal and industry of his immediate disciples, the attempt must have expired in its birth. Then as to the kind and degree of exertion which was em- ployed, and the mode of life to which these persons submitted, we reasonably suppose it to be like that which we observe in all others who volunta- rily become missionaries of a new faith. Fre- quent, earnest, and laborious preaching, constant- ly conversing with religious persons upon religion, a sequestration from the common pleasures, en- gagements, and varieties of life, and an addic- tion to one serious object, compose the habits of such men. I do not say that this mode of life is without enjoyment, but I say that the enjoyment springs from sincerity. With a consciousness at the bottom, of hollowness and falsehood, the fatigue and restraint would become insupportable. I am apt to believe that very few hypocrites engage in these undertakings ; or, however, persist in them long. Ordinarily speaking, nothing can overcome the mdolence of mankind, the love which is natural to most tempers of cheerful society and cheerful scenes, or the desire, which is common to all, of personal ease and freedom, but conviction. Secondly, it is also highly probable, from the nature of the case, that the propagation of the new religion was attended with difiiculty and dan- ger. As addressed to the Jews, it was a system adverse not only to their habitual opinions, but to those opinions, u[ion which their hopes, their i)ar- tialities, their pride, their consolation, was founded. This jjcople, with or without reason, had worked themselves into a persuasion, that some signal and greatly advantageous change was to be eflected in tiie condition of their country, by the agency of a l