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The Situation of the World at the time
Christi Hopearance - by F Robertson
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Horman elektrotherum, M.M.
by
A Sermon on )
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:-
The Situation of the World at the time of
CHRIST's Appearance, and its Connection
with the Succeſs of his Religion, conſidered.
А.
S E R
R M
O
N.
PR EACHED BEFORE
The Society in ScoTLAND for propaga-
ting CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.
At the Anniverſary Meeting, in the High Church
of Edinburgh, on Monday, January 6. 1755.
Publiſhed at the deſire of the SOCIETY,
By WILLIAM ROBERTSON, D. D.
Principal of the Usirelitz of Edinburgh.
THE FIFTH EDITION.
EDINBURGH:
Printed for JOHN BALFOUR.
FO
M.DCC.LXXV.
1
( 3 )
A
S E R M 0 N
U PON
The Situation of the world at the time of
CHRIST'S
appearance, &c.
***
Colos. i. 26.
Even the Myſtery, which hath been hid from Ages,
and Generations, but now is made manifeſt to his
Saints.
T
HERE is no employment more delightful
to a devout mind, than the contemplation
of the divine wiſdom, in the government of this
world. The civil hiſtory of mankind opens a
wide field for this pious exerciſe. Careful ob-
ſervers may often, by the light of reaſon, form
probable conjectures with regard to the plan of
God's Providence, and can diſcover a ſkilful
hand,
(4
hand, directing the revolutions of human affairs,
and compaſſing the beſt ends, by the moſt effec-
tual and ſurprizing means: But ſacred hiſtory,
by drawing aſide that veil which covers the coun-
ſels of the Almighty, lays open his deſigns to the
view of his creatures; and we can there trace the
ſteps which he taketh towards accompliſhing them
with more certainty, and greater pleaſure. The
facts which inſpired writers relate, are no leſs in-
ſtructive, than the doctrines which they teach.
The latter inform us, that God is powerful, and
wife, and good; the former diſcover thoſe per-
fections brought forth into action, and confirm
ſpeculative opinions, by real and ſtriking exam-
ples.
The publication and eſtabliſhment of Chriſtiani-
ty in the world, is a remarkable event of this kind,
and contributes greatly to illuſtrate as well as to
magnify the divine power and wiſdom. From be-
ginnings the moſt inconſiderable, and by inſtru-
ments, the moſt unlikely, the Almighty, with in-
credible facility, raiſed that glorious fabric of his
Church, which hitherto hath withſtood all the
rage of his enemies, and the gates of hell, we be-
lieve, ſhall not prevail againſt it *. According
to
* Math. xvi. 18.
( 5 )
to our Saviour's beautiful image, The leaſt of all
ſeeds grew up, and waxed a great tree, and ſpread
out its branches, and filled the earth *. The hand
of God ſheltered this feeble plant from the ſtorm,
and by his care it was reared, and cultivated, and
brought to maturity. The wiſdom and power of
men united to oppoſe the doctrine of God: But
it confounded the former and overcame the lat-
ter. Neither the bigotry of the Jews, nor the
ſuperſtition of the heathen, could reſiſt its pro-
greſs; and in vain did Herod and Pontius Pilate,
with the Gentiles aad people of Iſrael, gather them-
ſelves together againſt the Lord and his Anointed t.
Many circumſtances concurred in procuring,
for Chriſtianity, ſuch a favourable reception, and
firm eſtabliſhment in the world. Whoever re-
flects upon the ſituation of mankind at the time
when it was publiſhed, will find abundant reaſon
to admire the divine wiſdom, which diſpoſed theſe
circumſtances with ſo much art, and improved
them with ſuch fkill and ſucceſs. The text natu-
rally leads me to conſider the conduct and ad-
miniſtration of Providence in this particular light.
The word of God, faith the Apoſtle, the myſtery
hid from ages, and from generations, is now made
manifeſt
* Mark. iv. 32.
+ Acts. iv .27.
( 6 )
manifeſt to his ſaints. Why was the goſpel of
Chriſt ſo long concealed from the world? Why
was it publiſhed at that time? What do we find
in that particular juncture to render the diſcovery
of the Chriſtian religion more neceſſary, or the
propagation of it more ſucceſsful ?
In the following diſcourſe, I ſhall endeavour to
account for this part of the divine oeconomy, by
ſelecting ſome remarkable circumſtances in the
ſituation of mankind, which prove that God
manifeſted the myſtery of the Goſpel, at a time when
the world ſtood moſt in need of ſuch a revela..
tion, and was beſt prepared for receiving it.
The appearance of Chriſt in ſo late an age, was
an objection raiſed, by his ancient adverſaries,
againſt the truth of his miſſion; and modern in-
fidels have not failed to revive and to urge it, with
their uſual confidence and triumph. But, if we
can eſtabliſh the truth of our general propoſition,
this cavil falls to the ground, and the divine con-
duct is fully vindicated.
I. About the time of Chriſt's appearance, there
prevailed a general opinion, that the Almighty
would ſend forth fome eminent meſſenger, to
communicate a more perfect diſcovery of his will
to mankind. The ſupreme Being conducts all his
operations
I
A
(7)
operations by general laws. It ſeems to be one
among theſe, that no perfection of any kind can
be attained of a ſudden. The motion by which
his works advance towards their final and com-
pleat ſtate, is gradual and progreſſive. This holds
with regard to all the productions in the natural,
and all the changes in the moral world. The ſame
principle appears to have regulated the diſpenſa-
tions of religion. The light of revelation was not
poured in upon mankind all at once, and with its
full ſplendor. The obſcurity of the dawn went
before the brightneſs of the noon-day. The will
of God was at firſt made known by revelations,
uſeful indeed, but dark and myſterious. To theſe
ſucceeded others more clear and perfect. In
pro-
portion as the ſituation of the world made it necef-
ſary, the Almighty was pleaſed farther to open and
unfold his ſcheme. And men came by degrees to
underſtand this progreſſive plan of Providence, and
to conceive how ſyſtems temporary and incom-
pleat might ſerve to introduce that concluding and
perfect revelation, which would declare the whole
council of God to man *.
The dignity of the perſon employed to publiſh
this revelation, the virtues of his character, the glo-
ry
* Acts XX. 279
(8)
ry of his kingdom, and the ſigns of his coming,
were deſcribed by the antient Prophets with the
utmoſt perſpicuity. Guided by this ſure word of
prophecy, the Jews of that age concluded the
pe-
riod, predetermined by God, to be then completed;
and that the fulneſs of time being come, the promi-
fed Meſſiah would ſuddenly appear. Devout per-
fons among them waited day and night for the
conſolation of Ifrael t; and the whole nation, groan-
ing under the Roman yoke, and ſtimulated by
the deſire of liberty or of vengeance, expected
their deliverer with the moſt anxious impatience.
Nor were theſe expectations peculiar to the
Jews. By their diſperſions among ſo many nati-
ons ; by their converſation with the learned men
among the heathens; and by the tranſlation of
their inſpired writings into a language almoſt uni-
verſal; the principles of their religion were ſpread
all over the Eaſt: And it became the common
belief, that a Prince would ariſe, at that time in
Judea, who ſhould change the face of the world,
and extend his empire from one end of the earth
to the other.
In this due time, did the wiſdom of God ſend
forth his Son, not to aſſume any ſtrange characters
or
+ Luke ii. 25.38.
2
( 9 )
or to claim any new and unknown dignity, but to
fulfil all that had been ſpoken by the mouth of his ho-
ly prophets ſince the world began *. While the eyes
of men were employed in ſearch of the promiſed
Meſſiah ; while they watched every ſign that could
indicate his coining; and obſerved every circum-
ſtance which could lead them to diſcover him;
while the earneſt expectation of all creatures waited
for the revelation of God; at that happy and fa-
vourable juncture, was the myſtery bid from ages
manifeſted to the world. No wonder the Jerus
ſhould receive our Saviour, on his firſt appearance,
not only without prejudice, but even with eager-
neſs and applauſe :
No wonder the Gentiles
ſhould gather together unto him, who had ſo long
been the deſire of all nations t. Had Chriſt been
manifeſted at a more early period, the world
would not have been prepared to meet him with
the ſame fondneſs and zeal: Had his appearance
been poſtponed for any conſiderable time, men's
expectations would have begun to languiſh, and
the warmth of defire, from a delay of gratifica-
tion, might have cooled and died away.
II. But, it is not only from circumſtances pe-
culiar to the Jews and neighbouring nations,
B
that
of Acts iii, 21.
+ Gen. xlix. 18. Hag. ii. 7.
$
( 10 )
!
that we conclude the Chriſtian religion to have
been publiſhed at the moſt proper time: We
propoſe to bring a farther confirmation of this
truth, from a ſurvey of the condition and circum-
ſtances of mankind in general. Let us venture
then into this large field, and take a view of the
political, of the moral, of the religious, and of
the donieſtic ſtate of the world.
We begin, by conſidering the political ſtate of
the world about the time of our Saviour's appear-
ance. The world, in the moſt early ages, was di-
vided into ſmall independent ſtates, differing from
each other in language, manners, laws, and reli,
gion. The ſhock of ſo many oppoſite intereſts,
the interfering of ſo many contrary views, occa
fioned the moſt violent convulſions and diſorders.
Perpetual diſcord ſubſiſted between theſe rival
ſtates ; hoſtility and bloodſhed never ceaſed,
during that turbulent and reſtleſs period. Com-
merce had not hitherto united mankind, and open-
ed the communication of one nation with another.
The world may now be conſidered as one vaſt fo-
cietý, cloſely cemented by mutual wants ; each
part contributing its ſhare towards the ſubſiſtence,
the pleaſure, and improvement of the whole. But,
in thoſe more limple ages, the intercourſe between
nations
( 11 )
r
nations was extremely inconſiderable. Voyages
into remote countries, in queſt either of wealth or
of knowledge, were very rare. Men moved in a
narrow circle, little acquainted with any thing be-
yond the limits of their own ſmall territory, and
utter ſtrangers to the condition and character of
diſtant nations.
At laſt the Roman ambition undertook the ar- .
ar-
duous enterprize of conquering the world, and
conducted it with ſuch refined policy, irreſiſtible
courage, and inimitable perſeverance, as, in the
end, crowned the attempt with ſucceſs. They trode
down the kingdoms, according to Daniels prophetic
deſcription, and by their exceeding ſtrength, they de-
voured the whole earth *. However, by enſlaving the
world, they civilized it ; and while they oppreſſed
mankind, they united them together. The ſame
laws were every where eſtabliſhed, and the ſame
languages underſtood. Men approached nearer to
one another in ſentiments and in manners. The in-
tercourſe between the moſt diſtant corners of the
earth was rendered ſecure and agreeable. Satiated
with victory, the firſt Emperors abandoned all
thoughts of new conqueſts. Peace, an unknown
bleſſing,
# Dan. vii. 7. 230
(12)
blefling, was enjoyed throughout all that vaſt en-
pire; or, if a flight war was waged on an outlying
and barbarous frontier, far from diſturbing the
tranquillity, it ſcarcely drew the attention of
mankind.
Such was the political ſtate of the world, when
Chriſtianity made its firſt appearance ; and, from
this repreſentation of it, many circunítances oc-
cur to juſtify the divine wiſdom, in chuſing that
particular conjuncture, for publiſliing it. During
the period, which I firſt defcribed, the propagation
of any new religion muſt have been extremely
flow and uncertain. How could it have forced its
way, through innumerable difficulties, ariſing from
the unſettled ſtate of the world, from the fierce-
neſs and aniinolity of hoſtile and divided nations?
The power of God, no doubt, could have ſur-
mounted all theſe obſtacles : But it is obſerveable,
that this power is never exerted but on the moſt
neceſſary occaſions. The Almighty ſeldom effects,
by fupernatural means, any thing which could
have been accompliſhed by ſuch as are natural.
And, were we to judge by maxims merely human,
the propagation of Chriſtianity, in thoſe circum-
ſtances, would have proved not only a dangerous,
but an impoſſible enterprize.
BUT,
( 13 )
1
But, favoured by the union and tranquility of
the Roman empire, the diſciples of Chriſt executed
their commiſſion to great advantage. The ſucceſs
and rapidity with which they diffuſed the know-
ledge of his name over the world, are aſtoniſhing.
This epiſtle to the Coloſſians was written about
thirty years after our Saviour's afcenfiun ; and,
even then, the Apoſtle could affert, that the goſpel
had been preached to every creature which is under
heaven *, i.e. through the whole extent of the Ro-
man empire. Nations were then acceſſible, which
formerly had been unknown. Under this ſitua-
tion, into which the Providence of God had
brought the world, the joyful found, in a few years,
reached thoſe remote corners of the earth, into
which it could not, otherwiſe, have penetrated
for many ages.
This view of our ſubject preſents to us an idea
of the Chriſtian religion, equal to the greateſt and
moſt magnificent conception of the human mind.
The nobleſt people, that ever entered upon the
ſtage of the world, appear to have been only in-
ſtruments in the divine hand, for the execution of
wiſe purpoſes concealed from themſelves. The
Roman ambition and bravery paved the way,
and
prepared
!
* Col. i. 33.
( 14 )
prepared the world for the reception of the Chriſ-
tian doctrine: They fought and conquered, that
it might triumph with the greater eaſe. Howbeit,
they meaned not fo, neither did their heart think yo;
but it was in their heart to deſtroy and cut off nati-
ons not a few *. By means of their victories, the
over-ruling wiſdom of God eſtabliſhed an empire,
that really poſſeſſes the perpetuity and eternal
duration, which they vainly arrogated to their
own: He erected a throne which mall continue
for ever t, and of the increaſe of that government
there ſhall be no end f.
III. Let us conſider the ſtate of the world, withi
regard to morals. We cannot expect to find pure
and undefiled virtue among thoſe people who were
deſtitute of the inſtructions, the promiſes and
aſſiſtance of divine revelation. Unenlightened
reaſon often errs : Undirected virtue frequently
deviates from the right path. But, even in thofe
leſs favoured ages, righteouſneſs had not altoge-
ther periſhed from the earth; and the nations which
had not the law, did by nature the things contained
in the law S. Thoſe virtuous but feeble efforts of
the human mind, were encouraged and ſeconded
by
+ Heb. i. 8.
Ifa.ix. 7,
§ Rom. ii. 141
* Jfa, x. 7.
1
( 15 )
by ſeveral happy circumſtances in the ſituation of
the world, owing in appearance to the fagacity of
men, but ordained in reality by the wiſdom of
God. One of theſe was of a ſingular nature, and
well deſerves our particular attention.
We have already mentioned the early diviſion
of the world into ſmall independent ſtates. Theſe
ſtates, unbroken by the refinements of luxury, and
animated with the nobleſt of human paſſions, ſtrug-
gled for liberty, and obtained it. Lawgivers, in-
timately acquainted with human nature, deep po-
liticians, and lovers of mankind, aroſe in different
places, and founded thoſe equal and happy govern-
ments, which have been the admiration and envy
of all ſucceeding ages. Temperance, frugality,
decency, public ſpirit, love to their fellow-citi-
zens, magnanimity, were the virtues which flou-
riſhed under ſuch wife inſtitutions. At the ſame
time, in thoſe ſmall cominonwealths, the conduct
of every citizen was ſubjected to the eye of the
magiſtrate, and the nature of the government
obliged him to inſpect their manners with ſeve-
rity. The ſmalleſt crimes could not eſcape obſer-
vation : Even dangerous virtues were expoſed to
cenſure. On this foundation of public liberty, did
antient virtue reſt; an effect of government little
known in modern times, wherein the views of le.
giflators
( 16 )
giſlators are confined to inferior objects. But
from this ſource were derived all thoſe ſplendid
actions among the heathens, which, on the one
hand, have been ſo invidiouſly diſplayed by inſi-
dels, as a reproach to our lioly religion, and, on
the other, fu juſtly celebrated by Chriſtians, in
order to rouze the zeal and emulation of a dege-
nerate age.
VIRTUE, however, did not long enjoy this tem-
porary and precarious ſupport. Thoſe wiie inſti-
tutions were the works of men, and, like their au-
thors, ſubject to decay. Some of tliesi neriſhıcd by
the malignity of internal diſeaſes : And, if a vie
gorous conſtitution, or more ſkilful mana minent,
prolonged the period of others, they yielded at laſt
to the violence of external injuries. It was impof-
fible either to divert or reſiſt the torrent of Romani
power: It gathered ſtrength from oppoſition, and
bore down all nations before it. But, by fubduing
the world, the Romaiis loſt their own liberty.
Many cauſes, which it is not our prefent buſineſs to
explain, concurred in producing this effect: Many
vices, engendered or nouriſhed by proſperity, deli-
yered them over to the vileſt race of tyrants that
ever afflicted or diſgraced human nature.
The alliance between morals and government
3
was
1
( 17 )
was
now broken ; an influence hitherto lo
friendly to virtue, became altogether malignant,
and was exerted, with moſt fatal effect, to poiſon
and debaſe the human mind. Together with def-
potic power, entered all thoſe odious vices, which
are uſually found in its train : And, in a ſhort time,
they grew to an incredible pitch. The colours
are not too ſtrong, which the Apoſtle employs in
drawing the character of that age: Contemporary
hiſtorians juſtify him, when he deſcribes it to be
alienated from the life of God, walking in vanity
thro' blindneſs of mind; to be paſt feeling, given
up to laſciviouſneſs, and to work all uncleanneſs with
greedineſs *.
In this time of univerſal corruption, did the
wiſdom of God manifeſt the Chriſtian revelation
to the world, not to re-eſtabliſh virtue upon the
fame infecure foundation of civil government,
but to erect it upon the eternal and immoveable
baſis of a religion, which teacheth righteouſneſs by
the authority of God. What the wiſdom of men
could do for the encouragement of virtue in a cor-
rupt world, had been tried during ſeveral ages;
and all human devices were found, by experience,
to be of very ſmall avail : So that no juncture
4
* Ephef.iv. 17, 18, 19.
C
could
1
( 18 )
could be more proper for publiſhing a religion,
which, independent on human laws and inſtitu-
tions, explains the principles of morals with admi-
rable perſpicuity, and enforces the practice of
them by moſt perſuaſive arguments. Had not
Chriſtianity appeared to check and to mitigate the
pernicious effects of deſpotic unlimited empire, it
is hard to ſay how far they might have gone to-
wards extinguiſhing the name and exerciſe of vir-
tue among men. This we know, that, in a moſt
diffolute age, and under the worſt government,
the primitive Chriſtians attained to an eminence in
every virtue, of which there is no example in the
hiſtory of mankind. The ſpirit of their religion,
ſuperior to the corrupt genius of the age, conti-
nued pure and vigorous; and men faw with admi-
ration, that, when every other foundation of virtue
was overthrown, the foundation of God ſtood fure,
immoveable amidſt the floods which came, the rains
that deſcended, and the winds that blew and beat
upon it *.
IV. Let us conſider the world with regard to
its religious ſtate. The national character of the
Jews ſeems to have been deeply tinctured with
ſuperſtition.
* Matth. viii. 25.
( 19 )
ſuperſtition. Their early education in Egypt, the
example of neighbouring nations, the influence of
the climate, but, above all, the perverſeneſs of their
own diſpoſition, rendered this impreſſion indelible.
Obſtinate againſt all the endeavours employed by
the divine Lawgiver to repreſs or to extirpate it, this
fuperſtitious fpirit broke out on every occaſion,
Delighted with the ceremonial preſcriptions of the
law, the Jews utterly neglected the moral: And,
fond of ſuch rites as pleaſe the imagination, they
undervalued thoſe duties which improve the heart.
This unhappy bias was greatly increaſed by the
doctrine of the Phariſees, which reduced the pre-
judices of their countrymen into a regular ſyſtem
of ſuperſtition. By their vain traditions, they add-
ed to the load of ceremonies: By their wretch-
ed interpretations of the law, they abridged the
number of moral precepts. They openly prefer-
red the former before the latter ; and ſubſtituted
obſervances frivolous and inſignificant, in the
place of the weighty matters in the law, judgement,
mercy, and faith *
.
WHILE the Phariſees undermined religion on
one hand, their rivals the Sadducees carried on
a
* Matth xxiii. 23.
( 20 )
á more bold and impious attack againſt it, from
another quarter. By denying the immortality of
the ſoul, they wounded religion in a vital part ;
and overturned the doctrine of future rewards and
puniſhments, which hath been, and muſt ever be,
the chief foundation of virtuous obedience. The
practice of theſe two contending feets, was
perfectly ſuitable to their principles. The fol-
lowers of the one were ſcandalous libertines;
the diſciples of the other, notorious hypocrites :
And, between them, the knowledge as well as pow-
er of true religion were entirely deſtroyed. It was
high time then for the wiſdom of God to vindicate
his injured law, and to revive languiſhing and de-
cayed religion, among his antient people. To
recal the Jews from their former wanderings, the
Almighty had with ſucceſs employed the miniſtry
of his holy Prophets : But the malignant diftem-
pers of that age would not have yielded to any
common remedy: A conceited and perverſe gene-
ration would have liſtened to no inferior meſſen-
ger; and, therefore, the great Prophet was ſent
forth in this due time, to explain, to extend, and
to perfect the law, and to fill Zion with judgement
and righteouſneſs *.
BUT
* Ifa. xxxiii, 5.
( 21 )
1
But the deplorable ſituation of the heathen
world with regard to religion, called ſtill more
loudly for an immediate interpoſition of the divine
hand. I ſhall not mention the characters of the
heathen deities, infamous for the moſt enormous
crimes; nor deſcribe their religious worſhip, con-
fiſting frequently in the vileſt and moſt ſhameful
rites. Certain it is, the more any man honoured
ſuch gods, the worfe he himſelf was ; and the oft-
ner he ſerved them, the more wicked he would
become.
The ſpirit and genius of heatheniſm, ac-
cording to the Apoſtle's obſervation, were in all
things too much fuperftitious f. Stately temples,
expenſive facrifices, pompous ceremonies, magni-
ficent feſtivals, with all the other circumſtances of
ſhew and ſplendor, were the objects which falſe
religion preſented to its votaries: But juſt notions
of God, obedience to his moral laws, purity of
heart, and fanctity of life, were not once men-
tioned as ingredients in religious ſervice. Super-
ftition never prevailed among any people, but at
the expence of morals. The heathen ſuperſtition,
far from giving any aid to virtue, ſeems not to
have
+ Acts xvii. 33
1
( 22 )
a
have had the leaſt connection with it. No re-
pentance of paſt crimes, no future amendment of
conduct, are ever preſcribed by it, as proper means
of appeaſing their offended deities. “ Sacrifice
choſen victim; bow down before an hallowed
image ; be initiated in the ſacred myſteries; and
the wrath of the gods ſhall be, averted, and the
thunder ſhall drop from their hands.” Suitable to
theſe ſentiments, is the behaviour of Balak King
of Moab, deſcribed by the Prophet Micah. That
Prince had provoked the God of Iſrael ; and, in
order to regain his favour, thought of the ſame
means, which ſuperſtition employs to mitigate
the rage of its falſe gods. Wherewith, ſays he,
Shall I come before the Lord, and bow myſelf before
the high God ? Shall I come before him with burnt-
offerings, with calves of a year old? Will the Lord
be pleaſed with thouſands of rams, or with ten
thouſands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firſt-
born for my tranfgreffion, the fruit of my body, for
the fin of my foul * ? To do juſtly, to love mercy, and
to walk humbly with God, were acceptable fervi-
ces, which made no part in the ſyſtem of heathen
religion.
HAPPILY,
* Micah vi, 6. 7. 8.
1
1
( 23 )
A
HAPPILY, the wiſdom and ſimplicity of an-
tient government checked the progreſs of this in-
fectious principle, and corrected, in ſome degree,
its poiſonous and deſtructive qualities. But no
fooner had the tyranny of the Roman Emperors
removed this reſtraint, by ſubverting liberty, than
ſuperſtition made its advances on the world by
ſudden and mighty ſteps, and exerciſed an un-
controlled dominion in every corner of the earth.
Tyranny and ſuperſtition, like thoſe other de-
ſtroyers of mankind, famine and peſtilence, are
nearly allied. Superſtition breaks the ſpirit, and
prepares it for fur:itude. Tyranny, for this rea-
fon, encourages ſuperſtition, and employs it as
an uſeful auxiliary to illegal power. According-
ly, Rome adopted the gods of almoſt every nation
whom ſhe had conquered; and opened her tem-
ples to the grofſeſt ſuperſtitions of the moſt bar-
barous people. Her fooliſh heart being darkened,
ſhe changed the glory of the uncorruptible God, into
an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds
and four-footed beaſts, and creeping things *.
At this time, therefore, did a good God, in
pity to his deluded creatures, publiſh the Chriſ.
tian revelation. By it, the God of truth was
made
Rom. I. 21. 23.
( 24 )
1
12
made known; and the idols of the nations were
moved at his preſence *. Rational and Sublime
in its doctrines, humane and beneficent in its
pre-
cepts, pure and ſimple in its worſhip; Chriſtia-
nity was better calculated than any other religion,
to repreſs the inroads of ſuperſtition, and to eſta-
bliſh an acceptable and manly devotion, conſiſting
in fpirit and in truth t. No period can be men-
tioned, when inſtruction in theſe important arti-
cles would have been more ſeaſonable or necef-
ſary. The abſurd fictions, and abominable
prac-
tices of ſuperſtition, had gone near to extinguiſh
the natural ſentiments of the human mind, con-
cerning the ſupreme Being, and to baniſh his
name and worſhip from the earth. No wonder,
men, under theſe circumſtances, fhould liſten
with joy to the Chriſtian revelation, which de-
livered them from that hateful yoke, and taught
them to ſerve God without fear, in holineſs, and
righteouſneſs before him I.
V. Let us conſider the world with regard to
its domeſtic ſituation ; a view, perhaps leſs ex-
tenſive and magnificent than thoſe which hither-
to have engaged our attention ; but not leſs im-
portant. The private and domeſtic ſituation of
mankind
* Ifa. xix. I. + Jahn iv. 24. Luke i. 74
l ( 25 )
inankind is the chief circumſtance, which forms
their character, and becomes the great fource of
their happineſs or miſery. Any poiſon in this
fountain, communicates itſelf to the manners of
men; any bitterneſs there, infects all the plea-
fures of life. Many circumſtances, of the moſt
fatal influence on domeſtic virtue and happineſs,
occur to attentive obſervers of the period under
review.
DOMESTIC ſociety is founded in the union be-
tween huſband and wife. Among all civilized
nations, this union hath been eſteemed ſacred
and honourable ; and from it are derived thoſe
exquiſite joys or ſorrows, which can imbitter all
the pleaſures, or alleviate all the pains in human
life. In the antient world, there prevailed two
practices equally pernicious to the peace and
happineſs of the married ſtate. From the moſt
early times, polygamy ſeems to have been uni-
verſal among the eaſtern nations; and men
married as many wives as their fancy wiſhed for,
or their fortune could maintain. Now, this
practice not only appears to be contrary to the
intention of the Almighty, who at firſt created
but one perſon of each ſex, and hath ſince pre-
{erved an admirable proportion between the
'D
numbea
( 26 )
number of males and females whom he ſends
into the world; but by it, likewiſe, were baniſh-
ed from domeſtic life all thoſe enjoyments which
ſweeten and endear it. Friendſhip, ſocial inter-
courſe, confidence, and the mutual care of chil.
dren, were in a great meaſure unknown: On
the one hand, rigour, voluptuouſneſs, jealouſy;
on the other, ſubjection without love, fidelity, or
virtue. One half of the human ſpecies became
the property of the other; and the huſband, in-
ſtead of being the friend and protector of a wife,
was no better than the maſter and tyrant over a
ſlave. The envy and diſcord which were intro-
duced into the families of Jacob and Elkanah, by
a plurality of wives, are but imperfect pictures
of the enormities occaſioned by the ſame practice,
under maſters lefs virtuous, and in ages more
diffolute and luxurious. Where-ever the Chrif-
tian religion is eſtabliſhed, an end hath been put
to an inſtitution ſo inconſiſtent with the felicity
of domeſtic life, Marriage, ſuitable to the ordi-
nance of God, is rendered a friendly and indiffo-
luble alliance between two perſons : And tran-
quillity, confidence, and joy, bleſs an union be
gun and cemented by mutual love.
IN
treni
( 27 )
to nature :
In the weſtern parts of the world, the maxims
with regard to marriage were more conforınable
One man was confined to one wo-
man: But, at the ſame time, their laws allowed
a practice, which introduced the moſt fatal dif-
orders into domeſtic life. The Almighty, becauſe
of the hardneſs of their hearts, permitted the
Jews, on certain occaſions, to give a writing of
divorcement to their wives *. According to their
ụſual cuſtom, the Jews ſtretched this indulgence
to moſt extravagant lengths; and, defining the
caſes in which they pretended divorces to be
lawful, with a minute and over-curious nicety,
they altogether perverted the inſtitution of God,
Their Doctors permitted diyorces for cauſes fo
trivial and ridiculous, as cannot be mentioned in
a grave diſcourſe. The utmoſt diffolution of
manners, was the effect of ſuch licentious opini-
And our Saviour found the abuſes to be
grown ſo enormous, as to render the ſtricteſt and
moit preciſe limitations of the Mofaic precept
abſolutely neceſſary,
Nor was this matter on any better footing a.
mong the heathen nations. Divorces, on very
flight pretences, were permitted both by the Greek
and
ons :
* Mark X. 4. 5,
( 28 )
er,
and Roman legiſlators. And, though the pure
manners of thoſe republics reſtrained, for ſome
time, the operation of ſuch a pernicious inſtitu-
tion; though the virtue of private perſons fel-
dom abuſed the indulgence which the laws al-
lowed them: Yet no ſooner had the progreſs
of luxury, and the eſtabliſhment of deſpotic pow-
vitiated the taſte of men, than the law with
regard to divorces was' found to be among
the worſt corruptions which prevailed in that a-
bandoned age. The facility of ſeparation ren-
dered married perſons careleſs of obtaining or
practiſing thoſe virtues which render domeſtic
life tranquil and delightful. The education of
children was neglected by parents, who often
met together with a ſcheme of ſeparation in both
their thoughts. Marriage, inſtead of reſtraining,
added to the violence of irregular deſire; and,
under a legal name, became the vileſt and moſt
ſhameleſs proſtitution. From all theſe caufes,
the married ſtate fell into diſreputation and con-
tempt ; and it became neceſſary to force men,
by penal laws, into a ſociety where they expected
no ſecure or laſting happineſs. Among the
Romans, domeſtic corruption grew, of a ſudden,
to an incredible height ; and perhaps, in the
hiſtory
( 29 )
hiſtory of mankind, we can find no parallel to
the undiſguiſed impurity and licentiouſneſs of
that age *. It was in a good time, therefore,
that our Saviour aboliſhed a practice, which had
been one of the moſt fertile fources of thoſe diſ-
orders. The bonds of the marriage-union were
rendered, by him, almoſt indiſſoluble, and the
cords of love were drawn as cloſe as poſſible.
Political projectors may pleaſe themſelves with i-
maginary advantages, reſulting from the liberty
of divorces; but reaſon, as well as the experi-
cnce of mankind, juſtify the wiſdom of the di-
vine decree concerning them. If the manners
of men be not extremely pure and ſimple, the
leaſt indulgence in this article hath always pro-
ved fatal to the peace and virtue of domeſtic life;
and, whatever remains of theſe we now find in a
diffolute age, muſt be entirely aſcribed to that rea
gulation in the goſpel t, which ſuperficial reaſon-
ers repreſent as a grievance, though it be in truth
the greateſt bleſſing to mankind,
If the lives of thoſe, who are at the head of
domeſtic fociety, needed reformation, the ſuffer-
ings of thoſe who were ſubject to them merited
relief.
So
* Rom. i. 26, &c.
† Mattb. v. 32-
( 30 )
So many are the wants of human ſociety, that
far the greater part of mankind is condemned to
conſtant toil and labour, in order to ſupply them.
In the antient world, the condition of this nu-
merous and uſeful race of men, differed widely
from that wherein they are now placed. They
were not freemen, but ſlaves, who occupied the
inferior, though neceſſary, ſtation in human life.
Their labour was not a voluntary duty to the
ſociety, which entitled them to a reward; it was
an hard talk, impoſed without their confent, and
exacted with the utmoſt rigour. The number of
perſons, reduced to this unhappy condition, was
immenſe. In thoſe parts of the world, whoſe
hiſtory and ſituation are beſt known, above two
thirds of the whole inhabitants are computed to
have been in a ſtate of ſlavery. The perſons, the
goods, the children of theſe flaves were the pro-
perty of their maſters, diſpoſed of at pleaſure,
and transferred, like any other poffeffion, from
one hand to another. No inequality of condi-
tion, no fuperiority in power, no pretext of con-
ſent, can juſtify this ignominious depreſſion of
human nature, or can confer upon one man the
right of dominion over the perſon of another ;
Byt not only doth reaſon condemn this inſtitu,
tion
+
( 31 )
tion as unjuſt; experience proved it to be pet-
nicious both to maſters and ſlaves. The eleva:
tion of the former inſpired them with pride, in-
folence, impatience, cruelty, and voluptuouſneſs :
The dependent and hopeleſs ſtate of the latter
dejected the human mind, and extinguiſhed every
generous and noble principle in the heart. Were
I to mention the laws and regulations of the moſt
civilized ſtates ainong the antients, concerning
thoſe unfortunate ſufferers; were I to relate the
treatment which they met with, from perſons
the moſt renowned for their virtue ; maxims fo
inhumane, and actions ſo barbarous, would ex-
cite the ſtrongeſt pity and indignation, in an age
which never beheld the tyranny of the oppreffor,
nor heard the groans of the captive.
It is true, while men enjoyed thoſe wiſe inſti-
tutions of government, which we formerly de-
fcribed, the ſtate of ſervitude did not become al-
together intolerable ; many expedients were uſed
for mitigating the rigour of command, and light-
ening the yoke of obedience: But, upon eſta-
bliſhing deſpotic government in the Roman Em-
pire, domeſtic tyranny roſe, in a ſhort time, to an
aſtoniſhing height. In that rank foil, every vice,
which power nouriſhes in the great, or oppreſſion
engenders
( 32 )
engenders in the mean, thrived and grew up a-
pace.
Here then is an object worthy the attention
of that merciful God, who delivereth the foul of
the afflicted from violence, who heareth the cry of
the needy, and him who hath no helper *. The
groans of ſuch an innumerable multitude of his
reaſonable creatures, bereaved of the nobleſt pri-
vilege of their nature, liberty and independence,
would not, we may believe, be uttered in vain.
He could not always keep ſilence and be ſtill,
when he beheld their wretched ſituation, ſo de:
ſtructive of happineſs, and ſo fatal to virtue. At
laft, the divine wiſdom interpoſed; and, when
the evil had become intolerable, and ſeemed to
be paſt cure, the promulgation of Chriſtianity
brought an effectual and timely remedy.
It is not the authority of any ſingle detached
precept in the goſpel, but the ſpirit and genius
of Chriſtian religion, more powerful than any
particular command, which hath aboliſhed the
practice of ſlavery through the world. The tem-
per, which Chriſtianity inſpired, was mild and
gentle ; and the doctrines it taught added ſuch
dignity and luſtre to hụman nature, as reſcued
it
* Pfal. lxxii. 12.
( 33 )
it from the diſhonourable ſervitude into which it
was ſunk. All men, of every condition, are
declared to be the offspring of the ſanie God, and
the heirs of the fame heavenly inheritance: One
Saviour redeemed them from iniquity by his
death, and one ſpirit worketh powerfully in their
hearts. Where ever ſuch opinions prevail, no
human creature can be regarded as altogether
inſignificant and vile; even the meaneſt acquire
dignity; exterior diſtinctions diſappear; and men
approach nearer to that, original equality, in
which they were at firſt placed, and are ſtill view-
ed by their impartial Creator.
What a wonderful and bleſſed change hath
Chriſtianity produced in the face of the world!
Together with the knowledge of it, liberty, huma-
nity, and domeſtic happineſs, diffuſed themfelves
over every corner of the earth. It is deemed a
virtue to admire and to praiſe thoſe illuſtrious per-
ſonages, who delivered mankind from the rage of
tyrants, and vindicated the violated laws and con-
ſtitution of their country: And is no adıniration
due to the generous ſpirit of that religion, which
reſtored liberty, not to one nation or ſociety alone,
but reſcued from the worſt fervitude, far the
greater number of the human race, and acquired
E
for
(
( 34 )
for them that happy freedom, which they ſtill en
joy *? When we behold Chriſtianity making its
progreſs through the world, and working, every
where, ſuch an important alteration in the condi-
tion of mankind; we may well apply to a tempo-
ral deliverance, what the Prophet ſpoke concern-
ing a ſpiritual ſalvation : Behold the acceptable year
of the Lord is come! Liberty is proclaimed to the cap-
șive, and the opening of the priſon to them that are
bound; they fall reſt from their forrow, and from
their fear, and from the hard bondage wherein they
were made to ſerve to
The abolition of domeſtic ſlavery was the oc-
cafion of another change in the manners of men,
which is no leſs remarkable. Captives taken in
war were, in all probability, the firſt perſons ſub-
jected
* The permiffion of ſlavery in our American colonies, is
a ſpecious, not a real objection againſt the reaſoning under
this head. The genius and tendency of any religion are
known by the operations of its vigorous, not of its decli-
ning age. And if, in a degenerate world, avarice hath re-
vived an inftitution which Chriſtianity had utterly abolith-
ed; this, like many other vices which prevail among Chris
Stians, muſt be charged upon the corruption of the human
heart, not upon that religion which teſtifies againſt it.
# Ifa. lxi, 1. xiv. 3.
( 35 )
jected to perpetual ſervitude : And, when the ne-
ceſſities or luxury of mankind increaſed the dea
mand for flaves, every new war recruited their
number, by reducing the vanquiſhed to that
wretched condition. Hence proceeded the fierce
and deſperate fpirit, with which wars were carried
on among antient nations. While chains and
Navery were the certain lot of the conquered,
battles were fought and towns defended with
rage and obſtinacy, which nothing but horror at
ſuch a fate could have inſpired : But, by putting
an end to the cruel inſtitution of flavery, Chriſtia-
nity extended its mild influence to the practice of
war; and that barbarous art, ſoftened by its hu-
mane fpirit, ceaſed to be ſo deſtructive. Secure,
in every event, of perſonal liberty, the vanquiſhed
reſiſted with leſs obſtinacy, and the triumph
of the victor became leſs cruel. Thus humanity
was introduced into the exerciſe of war, with
which it appears to be almoſt incompatible; and
it is to the merciful maxims of Chrillianity, much
more than to any other cauſe, that we muſt aſcribe
the little ferocity and bloodfhed which accompany
modern victories. Even where the pailions of men
are fierceſt, and moſt higly inflamed; the power-
ful genius of our religion interpoſes, reftrains the
fury
( 36 )
fury of war, and ſets bounds to its deſtroying rage.
The benevolent ſpirit of the goſpel delivereth the
captive from his fetters, looſeth thoſe who were ap-
pointed to death *, and
faith to the ſword that is rea-
dy to devour, Return to thy ſcabbard and be ſtill t.
IT hatlı become a faſhionable topic among po-
litical reaſoners, to celebrate the mildneſs and hu-
manity of modern manners, and to prefer the cha-
racter of preſent times, in that reſpect, before the
antient: To what cauſe ſhall we aſcribe this im-
portant revolution in the ſentiments and diſpo-
ſitions of mankind ? Not to the influence of better
inſtituted governments; for in legiſlative wiſdom
the antients far excelled us: Not to the effects of
a better.directed education; that duty, ſhamefully
neglected by us, was among them an object of
chief attention : Not to our ſuperior refinements
in elegant and polite arts; there we muit be con-
tent to equal without pretending to ſurpaſs the
antients. The Chriſtian religion, hid from ages,
but now manifeſted to the world, is the only cauſe
capable of producing ſo great an effect. That wif-
dom which is from above, is pure and peaceable, gen-
tle, eaſy to be intreated, full of mercy I. Genuine
Chriſtianity is diſtinguiſhed above all other religi-
ons,
* Pfal, cii. 20. † Jer. xlvii. 7. $ Jam. iii. 17
.
( 37 )
ons, by the mildneſs of its ſpirit: 'Theenemy of even
ry practice which hardens the heart: The encou-
rager of every virtue which renders the charac-
ter humane. Where-ever it hath been eſtabliſhed
in purity, and practiſed with zeal, kindneſs, long-
fuffering, meekneſs, charity *, are the graces which
accompany it. Even the vices and inventions of
men, which have ming!ed themſelves with the
truths of God, have not been able intirely to de-
ſtroy their effects. Under all diſadvantages, the
genius of the goſpel exerts itſelf, civilizing the
fierceſt and moſt barbarous nations, and inſpiring
a gentleneſs of diſpoſition, unknown to any other
religion. Together with the beſt fpiritual bleſſings,
the moſt valuable temporal mercies have been
communicated to the world, by Chriſtianity. It
not only fanctifies our ſouls, but refines our man-
ners; and while it gives the promiſes of the next
life, it improves and adorns the preſent : That
happy change, which the wiſdom of man could not
effect, God in his good time accompliſhed by ma-
nifeſting to the world the myſtery hid from ages
and generations.
These obfervations, which we have made, fug-
geſt many uſeful reflections, with regard to the
future
* Col, iii. 12.
}
( 38 )
future and univerſal propagation of Chriſtian
knowledge. At the time when the diſciples of Chriſt
ſet out, in obedience to their Lord's command,
to teach all nations, no undertaking could appear,
in the judgement of man, more wild and impracti-
cable. But, beſides the bleſſing of God, that ac-
companied them where-ever they went, we have
diſcovered feveral circumſtances in the ſituation of
the world, which contributed powerfully towards
the ſucceſs and facility of their enterprize. Aided
by theſe, the word of God increaſed, and the number
of diſciples multiplied greatly*. The weakneſs of God
became ſtronger than men; and in a ſhort time he en-
abled the fooliſh things of the world to confound the
wiſe, the weak things of the world to confound the
things which are ſtrong, and things that are not,
bring to nought things that are t. That the fame
effectual bleſſing of God ſtill continueth to fecond
every ſincere and vigorous attempt to ſpread the
knowledge of his name, we have good reaſon to
believe. What powerful unknown cauſes may
co-operate with this bleſſing of the Almighty, we
are not permitted yet to diſcover. It cannot, how-
ever, be more improbable, that the influences of
Chriſtianity ſhall reach farther, than it once was,
that
to
* Acts vi. 7.
+ 1 Cor. i 25, 27. 28.
1
( 39 )
that they ſhould reach fo far. And, after we have
ſeen the light of the goſpel penetrate into fo many
dark places of the earth; why doth it ſeem incredi-
ble, that its ſplendor ſhould, at laſt, fill the world,
and ſcatter the remainder of darkneſs which co-
vereth the nations?
It is obvious to obſerve one circumſtance, which
cannot fail of introducing the goſpel into diſtant
nations with great advantage. That part of the
world, wherein Chriſtianity is eſtabliſhed, infinite-
ly ſurpaſſes the reſt in all the ſciences and improve-
ments which raiſe one nation above another in re.
putation or power. Of this ſuperiority the Euro-
peans have availed themſelves to the utmoſt, in
every project for extending their empire or com-
merce; and have brought a great part of the
globe into dependence, either upon their arts or
their arms. Now,the ſame attainments in ſcience or
policy, might be employed to good purpoſe, on
the ſide of religion : And though hitherto ſubſer-
vient to the deſigns of intereſt or ainbịtion, may
we not flatter ourſelves, that, at laſt, they ſhall
become noble inſtruments in the hand of God, for
preparing the world to receive the goſpel ?
This glorious proſpect may be diſtant ; 'but it
is not imaginary. Even in a degenerate age, zea-
lous
( 40 )
+
lous and active ſpirits have riſen, and ſocieties
have been formed, upon the generous plan of pro-
pagating the knowledge of Chriſt to nations far off,
which never heard his fame, nor have ſeen his glo-
ry*. What they have already done, encourages
the moſt fanguine hopes of farther ſucceſs. And,
if it ſhall pleaſe God to increaſe the number, and to
ſtrengthen the hands of ſuch well-diſpoſed perſons ;
if he ſhall fee fit, to haften his time when one ſhall
become a thouſand, and a ſmall one ſtrong t: Then
might we expect that the knowledge of the Lord
would fill the earth, as the waters cover the ſea I ;
that the deſart would bloſſom as the roſe ll, and the
wilderneſs become a fruitful field **: Then might
the ſpirit of Chriſtianity, which languiſhes ſo viſi-
bly in thoſe piaces where it hath long been plant,
ed, revive with new vigour in unknown lands, and
thine with its firſt ſplendor, among the people who
now fit in darkneſs and in the region and ſhadow
of death H Then might the ſolitary places rejoice it.
the barren break forth into ſinging Ilil, and the tongue
of the dumb preife the Lord ***.
But the converſion of diſtant nations, is not the
chief care of the Society for propagating Chris
ſtian
1
***
1
* Iſa. lxvi. 19. Ifa. lx. 2.
Ibid. xi. 2.
|| Ibid. xxxv. I. ** Ibid xxxii, 15. tt Matth. iv. 16,
$$ Ifa. XXXV. I. |||| Ibid. liv. 1.
*** Ibid, XXXV. 64
( 41 )
1
1
ſtiàn Knowledge: An object nearer at hand de..
mands its more immediate attention. The High-
lands and Iſlands of Scotland preſent to us a
ſcene, which we would little expect in a nation
where true religion and poliſhed inanners have
long flouriſhed. There ſociety ſtill appears in a
rude and imperfect form: Strangers to induſtry,
averfe from labour, inured to rapine; the fierce
inhabitants ſcorned all the arts of peace, and
ſtood ready for every bold and deſperate action.
Attached to their own cuſtoms, from ignorance
and habit, they have hitherto continued a ſeparate
people. And though the religion eſtabliſhed among
them be the ſame which we enjoy, its progreſs
hath been imperfe&; and the fixed Paſtors were
never able to furmount the diſadvantages of their
ſituation, or the obſtinacy of their people. In this
neglected field, the enemies of our religion and li-
berty have ſown the feeds of the worſt fuper-
ftition, and the moſt pernicious principles of go-
vernment.
This field the Society has occupied ; and has
endeavoured, by its pious care, to render many
our deluded countrymen good Chriſtians and uſe-
full ſubjects. Happily for them, they do not labour
alone in this noble work. The reformation of the
F
Highlands
of
( 42 )
}
Highlands was never totally neglected by the legiſ-
lature: But, rouzed by a recent danger, it hath
merited of late more particular attention. Suitable
to this view, laws have been enacted with a moſt
humanc fpirit, in order to retrieve that part of the
kingdom from ignorance and barbariſm, and to
introduce the ſame regular government and inde-
pendence which are the bleſſings of other Britiſh
ſubjects. From theſe falutary laws, the Members
of the Society expect great aſſiſtance, in the pro-
ſecution of their deſign.
In the mean time, they adore the divine good-
neſs which hath opened the hearts of many cha-
ritable perſons among ourſelves and neighbours,
whoſe liberality hath put it in their power to carry
on their plan with vigour and ſucceſs ;, enabling
them not only to begin a good work, but in many
places to bring it to great perfection. What a re-
proach will it be to an age, wherein no hand is
backward to ſupply the moſt extravagant demands
of luxury and pleaſure, if this generous underta-
king ſhall languiſh and decay for want of ſupport !
The pleaſures, after which a giddy generation
run, are unworthy to be compared with that fa-
cred joy which fills the heart of a Chriſtian who
hath been inſtrumental in reſcuing an immortal
ſoul
}
( 43 )
!
vo
+
foul from vice, in adorning it with virtue, in
ſeaſoning it with grace, in manifeſting the myſtery
of the goſpel to thoſe from whom it is hid, and in
feeding the hungry with the bread of life. If we
ourſelves have tafled of the heavenly gift, if we
have paſſed from death to life, and have not only
heard the found, but felt the power of the goſpel ;
the greater will be our zeal in communicating the
fame glad tidings to others, that they alſo may be
perſuaded to fly for refuge to the confolations which
are in Chrift: If honour to our bleſſed Redeemer
be the leading principle in our hearts, we will ne-
ver reſt ſatisfied, till his glory fill the earth, and
cvery knee bow to his facred name. By endeavouring
thus to bleſs others, we ſhall draw down the di-
vine bleſſing upon ourſelves. They that bex' wife
Mall.ſhine as the brightneſs of the firmament; and
they that turn many to righteouſneſs, as the ſtars
for ever and ever *.
}
* Dan. xii.
3.
T I N I S.
Habitat
1
full, Pilih
Calling
A
CHARGE
DELIVERED TO THE
CL
R
GY
OF THE
DIOCESE OF LONDON,
A T
THE
PRIMARY VISITATION
OF
THAT
DI 0 C ES E
IN THE YEAR MDCCXC.
By BEILBY LORD BISHOP OF LONDON.
LONDON
PRINTED FOR J. F. AND C. RIVINGTON, N° 62,
ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.
MDCCXC.
TO THE REVEREND
THE CLERGY
OF THE DIOCESE OF LONDON,
THIS CHARGE,
PRINTED AT THEIR REQUEST,
IS WITH GREAT REGARD
INSCRIBED
BY THEIR AFFECTIONATE
FRIEND AND SERVANT,
B. LONDON.
LÅ
FUL HAM,
JUNE 30, 1790.
REVEREND BRETHREN,
IT
T is now upwards of two years ſince I was ap-
pointed to fill this important See; and it may
perhaps have been expected that I ſhould have
taken an earlier opportunity of aſſembling you to-
gether for the purpoſe of obtaining a more intimate
acquaintance with my Dioceſe, and the various
concerns belonging to it. But I conceived that
this end would be more effectually, though not ſo
immediately, anſwered, by waiting till the uſual
period of a Viſitation returned ; and in the mean
while collecting all the information I could from
various quarters; and more particularly from the
anſwers to the ſeveral queries that were ſome
months ago circulated round the Dioceſe.
From theſe, as from the moſt authentic ſources,
I ſhall now ſelect for our mutual conſideration ſuch
topics as appear to me moſt important. But I
cannot do this without firſt ſatisfying your feelings
and
my own, by paying ſome part at leaſt of that
tribute which is juſtly due to the memory of that
great and good man who immediately preceded
B
mej
r
t
( 4 )
Ihanreful and deluſive contracts between the
patron
and the incumbent.
for et
It is with difficulty I reſtrain myſelf from enter-
ing more minutely into the various excellencies of
this diſtinguiſhed prelate, with whoſe friendſhip I
was honoured, and whoſe memory I ſhall always
reverence; but I muſt not detain you any longer
from the buſineſs in which we are all more imme-
diately intereſted.
Now the firſt thing that preſents itſelf in your
Anſwers to the Queries is that moſt important
article, on which my thoughts have long been
anxiouſly engaged, and which indeed muſt be the
foundation of every miniſterial duty, the article of
RESIDENCE. .
1
It is with ſingular pleaſure I obſerve that there
are in this Dioceſe many excellent parochial clergy-
men, who refide conſtantly on their benefices; who
enter with zeal and ardour into all the various du,
ties of their profeſſion, and give up their whole
time and thoughts to the inſtruction, the edification
and the ſalvation of their reſpective flocks. Moſt
honourable is it for them, and moſt happy for their
people, when this is the caſe. But this alas is not
always the caſe ! There is much too large a pro-
portion, (eſpecially in ſome diſtricts) who live at a
diſtance
i
1
( 5 )
diſtance from their cures, and whoſe pariſhioners
muſt of courſe be deprived of thoſe various and
important benefits which reſult, and which can only
reſult from the perſonal care and conſtant attention
of the principal himſelf. To leſſen this evil as
much as poſſible is an object of ſuch unſpeakable
magnitude and importance, and will fo materially
contribute to the credit of our order, to the ſucceſs
of our labours, to the advancement of religion, and
the welfare of the community, that I cannot allow
myſelf to doubt your readineſs to aſſiſt me in re-
moving every difficulty, and every obſtacle to the
attainment of an end which it is our common in-
tereſt, and our common duty to promote.
There are indeed two impediments to conſtant
reſidence which cannot eaſily be ſurmounted; the
firſt is (what unfortunately prevails in ſome parts
of this Dioceſe) unwholeſomeneſs of ſituation ; the
other is the poffeffion of a ſecond benefice. Yet
éven theſe will not always juſtify a total and perpe-
tual abſence from your cures.
The unhealthiners
of many places is of late years by various improve-
ments greatly abated, and there are now few ſo cir-
cumſtanced as not to admit of reſidence there in
ſome parts of the year, without any danger to the
conſtitution.
-
5
In the caſe of two benefices, where the livings
are held by diſpenſation, the very inſtrument of dif-
penſation
( 6 )
penſation requires that the incumbent ſhall, on that
benefice from which we he is moſt abſent, preach
thirteen ſermons in the year, and exerciſe hoſpita-
lity for two months. But though that inſtrument
requires no more than this, yet where it can
be done with any convenience it will he highly
uſeful for the incumbent to divide his time equally
between his two benefices; or rather to diſtribute
it in ſuch proportions as the ſize and magnitude,
and importance of each ſeems to demand. It
was on this ground, I apprehend, that diſpen-
fations to hold two benefices were originally grant,
ed. They were granted as rewards to men of ex.
traordinary talents, learning and piety; and it was
preſumed that clergymen of this deſcription might,
by dividing their care between two pariſhes, ren-
der their abilities, their zeal, their activity more
extenſively uſeful, ţhan if they had been confined
entirely to one.
Whoever then poſſeſſes this privilege, will feel
himſelf bound in conſcience to act up to the ſpirit
and the conditions of it. He will, if poſſible, re-
fide alternately on both his benefices. But if there
ſhould be any real and unavoidable impediment to
this, he will at leaſt fix his abode conſtantly on one,
and will moſt clearly ſee that an entire deſertion
of both his benefices is a violation of duty which
nothing can juſtify, and which cannot be en-
dured.
But
(7)
But the greater part conſiſts of thoſe who have
only one benefice; and as there is then no other
to draw off the incumbent's attention from that
one object, it is evident that nothing but extremne
ill health, or ſome other equally juſt and powerful
impediment, can excuſe him from that reſidence
which is required by the laws of the land both
civil and ecclefiaftical, as well as by every motive
that can bind the conſcience, or influence the con-
duct of an honeſt man. Theſe motives will, if I
augur right, have their full force on minds ſuch
as yours, and will lead you even to anticipate my
wiſhes in this inſtance. You will yourſelves feel
much more forcibly than I can repreſent to you,
the propriety, the decency, the duty of living in
the midſt of your pariſhioners, and of making that
your principal home, where the ſcene of your prin-
cipal buſineſs lies; and you will not, I perſuade
myſelf, allow yourſelves to be prevailed on by any
temptations of eaſe, of pleaſure, or of mere conveni-
ence, to abandon thoſe of whoſe ſalvation you have
moſt folemnly taken the charge, and bound it by
the moſt ſacred ties upon your own ſouls. You
will feel that the care of a pariſh is a moſt ſerious
and important truſt, and that it is not without the
moſt indiſpenſable neceſſity to be devolved on any
other but the incumbent himſelf. You will un-
doubtedly recollect that when you are inſtituted to
a benefice you do not ſay that you will execute the
office by ycurſelves, or by your ſufficient deputy.
No.
1
(8):
No. The biſhop does in the moſt expreſs terms
commit to you, and to you only, the cure of the fouls
of that pariſh, and you muſt in your own perſons
be anſwerable for their ſalvation. STEWARDS,
WATCHMEN, SHEPHERDS, LABOURERS, Theſe, ,
and every other expreſſion that implies perſonal at-
tention, unremitted aſſiduity, vigilance and fidelity,
are applied to you in ſcripture.
" You are com-
manded before God and the Lord Jeſus Chriſt to
be inſtant in ſeaſon, and out of feaſon, to reprove,
rebuke, exhort, with all long-ſuffering and doc-
trine ; to watch in all things; to do the work of an
evangeliſt, and make full proof of your miniſtry.
And the Ordination Office enjoins “ that you never
ceaſe your labour, your care and diligence until you
have done all that lieth in you according to your
bounden duty to bring all ſuch as are, or ſhall be
committed to your charge unto that agreement in
the faith and knowledge of God, and that ripeneſs
and perfectneſs of age in Chriſt, that there be no
place left among you, either for error in religion,
or for viciouſneſs in life.”
Theſe are all of them moft evidently perſonal
duties; and it is to my conception utterly impoſſible
for any man who feriouſly believes that he muſt give
an account of his ſtewardſhip at the laſt day, to
read ſuch injunctions as theſe, and then render
himſelf incapable of fulfilling them, by abſenting
himſelf from his cure, ſeeking amufement or em-
ployment elſewhere, and truſting to another for
5
the
( 9 )
!
the diſcharge of duties, which belong folely and.
entirely to himſelf. Let him be ever ſo careful in
the choice of his ſubſtitute, can he be perfectly
ſure that nothing neceſſary will be omitted, and
that not only all the ſtated offices of the church,
but all the various and no leſs important private,
duties of the paſtoral care will be performed with
the ſame exactneſs and punctuality as if he himſelf
had been preſent? Is he in ſhort prepared to
anſwer, as he muſt, at the tribunal of Chriſt, for
every neglect that has happened, every foul that
has been loft among thoſe committed to his care,
and whom perhaps he has never ſeen cr thought of
for months and years together ? This is a moſt
awful conſideration; and I leave it to the ſerious
attention of every one whom it concerns.
3
Another circumſtance which deferves notice, and
ſeems to require regulation is, The Sunday duty
performed in the churches of this Dioceſe. I
obſerve that in general, throughout the county of
Efiex at leaſt, there is ſervice only once in the day.
I obſerve too that this has in ſeveral pariſhes been
a long eſtabliſhed cuſtom, and therefore I im-
pute no blame to thoſe who have only con-
formed 10 that cuſtom. Yeç ſtill I conceive they
will upon reflexion ſee the neceſſity of making ſome
improven:ent in this article. In moſt other Diocefis
the practice, I believe, is different. In that at
leaft from which I was removed to this, there were
C
through
( 10 )
through a very conſiderable part of it, and that
even in the ſmalleſt pariſhes, not only prayers,
but a ſermon too, both parts of the day. I do not
mean to require this from you; but I do very
earneſtly recommend it to you, in general, to have
a ſermon once, and prayers twice in the day, and
more eſpecially in thoſe places where this was
formerly the practice, and where ſingle duty has
been a late innovation. There I muſt begthat
the ancient cuſtom may be reſtored. In other caſes,
and particularly where the pariſhes are fo near each
other, that the congregations not only may, but
actually do go from one church to the other, there
perhaps ſervice once a day in each may be fuffi-
cient. But where this is not the caſe, it appears
to me highly neceſſary that each pariſh ſhould be
called to public worſhip, as the Canons, the Li-
turgy and the Rubric evidently require, both
morning and evening. Unleſs this is done, the
ſervice is incompleat, there will be one half of the
day totally unoccupied by religious duties; and if
it is not employed in them, it will be employed,
I fear, in a very different manner. It is too large
a portion of time to be truſted entirely in the
hands of the common people. It is too much to
be fpared from that ſacred day, the whole of which,
even when moſt religiouſly obſerved, is hardly fuffi-
cient to counteract the bad impreſlions of the other
fix days of the week. On the due obſervance of
this day, and the appropriation of a large portion
of
( II )
of it to facred purpoſes, depends, I am convinced,
the very exiſtence of religion in this country.
Scarce one ſymptom of it ever appears amongſt
us except on the Lord's-day: and when the ſanctity
of that is gone, every thing is gone with it. We
cannot therefore beſtow too much time and pains
in keeping up to the utmoſt, the ſpirit of that divine
inſtitution, we cannot reſcue too much of it from
the growing encroachments of worldly buſineſs,
and worldly pleaſure.
in
It appears indeed that ſome exertions rather more
than common are neceſſary to awaken in the general
maſs of the people that ſenſe of duty, and ardour
of devotion, which ſeem almoſt extinguiſhed in
their breaſts. It appears that though your efforts
for that purpoſe ſeem not to have been wanting,
yet, many places, ſcarce any of them can be pre-
vailed on to attend the facrament of the Lord's-
fupper, or ſend their children to be inſtructed in
the Catechiſm. The conſequence is, that both
theſe duties are in ſome pariſhes entirely omitted,
and, in ſeveral others, are with great difficulty kept
from ſharing the ſame fate. Yet nothing is more
certain than that they are both of them duties of
the very higheſt importance. What then is to be
done? Shall we entirely give up theſe great points,
or ſhall we not rather redouble our earneſtneſs and
aſſiduity in prelling the indiſpenſable neceſſity of
them on the minds of the people, and even call in
C a
to
( 12 )
to our aid every expedient that ſeems likely to
attract their notice and fix their attention ? Now
there are two things which appear to me to be
extremely well calculated for this purpoſe: the
firſt is A REGULAR COURSE OF LECTURES ON THE
CHURCH-CATECHISM: the other is THE INSTITU-
TION OF SUNDAY-SCHOOLS.
The former may be given in country pariſhes
during the Summer months, in that part of the day
when there is no ſermon. In London it may, for a
part
of the Winter, be ſubſtituted in the room of
the afternoon fermon.
Such a practice will, I know from experience,
be attended with the very beſt effects. The novelty
of it will draw your pariſhioners to church, and
engage their attention. It will give an opportunity
of inſtructing not only the children, but many
grown people in country pariſhes in the principles
of the Chriftian religion, of which they are in
general moſt deplorably ignorant. And this being
done methodically and ſyſtematically, and with a
reference to the Church-Catechiſm which they all
have in their hands, will make a ſtrong and lively
impreſſion on their memories and their minds.
More particularly, in the courſe of it, the Sacra-
ment of the Lord's-ſupper may be more minutely
and familiarły and diſtinctly explained than in any
other way, and the abſolute neceſſity of receiving
it,
P 13 )
raamat
it, may be repeatedly and powerfully enforced.
Tbis, added to ſermons and private exhortation,
svill in the end have the effect of exciting a greater
regard to this ſacred ordinance. And thefe volun-
tary exertions of yours will pleaſe and conciliate
the good-will and affections of your people, will
convince them that you are really intereſted in their
welfare; will awaken the fame ſenſe of duty in
them that they obſerve in you, and will render them
more regular and punctual in their attendance both
on the Lord's-ſupper, and every other part of
divine ſervice.
But on the riſing generation you may make ſtill
deeper and more laſting impreſſions, and that prin-
cipally by the ſecond thing I recommended to you;
the inſtitution of Sunday-Schools. Theſe, I ob-
ſerve, have made their way but very Nowly into
this Dioceſe, and are as yet found but in very few
parts of it; in London and Weſtminſter I believe
not at all. This may be owing partly to the
various objections thaț were at firſt raiſed againſt
them; partly perhaps to an idea that they were
not ſo neceſſary in the ſouthern as in the northern
parts of the kingdom, and that in the metropolis
more eſpecially, on account of the great number
of Charity-Schools, they were altogether needleſs.
But I truſt that neither theſe reaſons nor any others
(for there are none that deſerve the leaſt notice)
will any longer operate on your minds to the ex-
6
cluſion
( 14 )
ز
cluſion of theſe moſt admirable ſeminaries of piecy
and virtue. The objections made to them are
found on trial to be perfectly frivolous and ground-
leſs; and ſo far is it from being true that they are
lefs wanted here than elſewhere, that from what I
already know of the ſtate of this Dioceſe, from
your own reports to me, they are peculiarly and
indiſpenſably neceſſary to reſtore and invigorate the
fpirit of religion among the lower claſſes of the
community
part of the
In London and Weſtminſter, it is true, there are
a multitude of Charity-Schools, which may ſeem
fufficient to anſwer this purpoſe. But upon enquiry,
you will, I believe, find that even theſe, numerous as
they are, comprehend but a very ſmall
children of the poor ; and that there are ſtill in
almoſt every pariſh, eſpecially the larger ones, many
hundreds of ignorant wretched young creatures of
both ſexes totally deſtitute of all education, totally
unacquainted with the very firſt elements of reli-
gion, and who perhaps never once entered within
the walls of a Church. It is from theſe principally
that our ſtreets and highways are filled with mil-
creants of various kinds; and I believe few things
would contribute more to leſſen their number than
the eſtabliſhment of Sunday-Schools in every dif-
trict of the metropolis. This effect has at leaſt,
I know, been experienced from it in ſeveral large
populous provincial towns of this kingdom; and
why
( 15 )
why the ſame effect ſhould not follow from the
fame caufe in this capital it is not eaſy to com-
prehend.
.
But however this may be, certain it is that in
the kingdom at large nothing will more effec-
tually ſerve the cauſe of religion and good mo-
rals than raiſing up a race of young people, who
have been early and carefully and diligently in-
fructed in the rudiments- of Chriſtianity, who
have been trained up from their very infancy in
the habit of attending the houfe of God; who are
Itrongly impreſſed with a reverence for all its
facred ordinances, and have been accuſtomed to
ſpend the greáteſt part of the Lord's-day religiouſly,
fériouſly and devoutly. When once a young ſuca
ceſſion of this kind has been brought up under
your own hands, I will venture, without the leaſt
heſitation, to predict that you will ſee a moſt happy
change in the appearance of your congregations;
and the deportment of your pariſhioners; that you
will ſee your churches crouded with worſhippers,
and your altars with communicants. I could ſay
much more on this very intereſting ſubject of
Sunday-Schools; but having already explained my
ſentiments at large concerning them in a letter to
the Clergy of iny former Dioceſe, of which a few
copies will now be put into your hands, I beg leave
to refer you to that for farther information.
}
There
( 16 )
There is another point, to which I would beg
leave to call your ſerious attention, and that is the
improvement of our Parochial Pſalmody. This
moſt pleaſing and affecting part of divine ſervice is
now (through a large part of the kingdom at leaſt)
rendered almoſt totally uſeleſs to the church of
England, where on the contrary one ſhould expect
to find it, in its higheſt ſtate of perfection. But
from this it is at a great diſtance indeed. In
country pariſhes it is generally engroffed by a ſelect
band of fingers, who have been taught by ſome
itinerant maſter to ſing in the worſt manner, a moſt
wretched ſet of pſalm tụnes in three or four parts,
lo complex, ſo difficult and fo totally void of all
true harmony that it is altogether impoſſible for
any of the congregation to take a part with them,
who therefore fit abſorbed in ſilent admiration, or
total inattention, without conſidering themſelves as
in any degree concerned in what is going forwards.
In London and a part of Weſtminſter this buſineſs
is in a great meaſure confined to the charity-children,
who though, they.exert their little abilities to ſing
their Maker's praiſes in the beſt manner they can,
yet for want of right inſtruction to modulate their
voices .properly, almoſt conſtantly ſtrain them to
fo, high a pitch as to diſguſt and offend the ear,
and repel inftead of raiſing the devout affections
of the hearers. · And it is generally a conteſt be-
tween them and the organ which ſhall be the
loudeſt, and give moſt pain to the ear.
By
( 17 )
By this means the chief end and deſign of pfalm-
ſinging is compleatly defeated. For whatever may
have been advanced to the contrary, it is moſt cer-
tain that Parochial Pſalmody was originally intended
to be a part of divine Worſhip, an offering of praiſe,
adoration and thankſgiving to the Almighty, in
which of courſe the whole congregation, as being
all equally intereſted, were to take an equal ſhare.
And when this is done with propriety and judge
ment, it has a moſt noble and edifying effect; and,
(as a very good judge of muſical compoſition has
well expreſſed it,) - forms one of the grandeſ
ſcenes of unaffected piety that human nature can
afford * "
It would therefore add greatly to the folemnity
and dignity and beauty of our public worſhip if
this part of it was reſtored to its ancient purity and
fimplicity, and general congregational pſalmody
univerſally revived. For this purpoſe in the London
churches it would be ex remely uſeful to ſelect a
few of the charity-children, who have the beſt
voices, and the beſt ear for muſic, from the reſt,
and have them taught to ſing well and in their
natural cone.
And directions ſhould be given to
the organiſt not to drown and overpower the fingers
by the unremitted loudneſs and violent intonations
of the full organ, but merely to conduct and rea
* Dr. Brown's Differtation on Poetry and Muſic.
D
gulate
( 18 )
gulate and ſuſtain their voices in a low and a ſoft
accompaniment on what is called the choir organ.
This would render the pfalm-ſinging ſo pleaſing
and melodious that the greater part of the congre-
gation would ſoon be tempted and by theſe helps
would be enabled to join in it.
In country pariſhes, where there are in general
neither charity-children nor organs, it may be more
difficult perhaps to reſtore the pſalmody to its pri-
mitive ſtate, and baniſh the corruptions of it in-
troduced by the ſeleet village choir. Yet the ob-
Itacles are by no means inſuperable. By a little
management the ſingers may be prevailed on to
admit ſome of the plain pſalm tunes, and more
may gradually find their way into the church, in
which the congregation, when familiarized to them,
will ſoon become perfect, and prefer them to any
other. This will be greatly aided by training up
fome of the moſt promiſing children of the pariſh
in the conſtant practice of plain pſalmody, till by
degrees a large part of the congregation have been
thus inſtructed from their youth, and a ſelect band
will be no longer neceſſary. This, I know, has
been already done in ſeveral pariſhes with great .
ſucceſs, eſpecially in thoſe where Sunday-Schools
have been eſtabliſhed ; in which it is often a part,
and a moſt uſeful part of their education to exerciſe
and improve the ſcholars in pſalm-ſinging, with
which they are in general much delighted, and in
5
more
( 19 )
more reſpects than one greatly benefited. By theſe
means a conſiderable choir of well taught young
people may in a few years be formed in every
church, who will ſerve as guides and inſtructors to
the reſt of the congregation ; and when it is con-
ſidered that there are now near 300,000 funday
ſcholars in various parts of the kingdom, if one
third of them can be taught to perform the beſt
Pſalm tunes tolerably well, theſe uſeful inftitutions
will contribute no leſs to the improvement of our
parochial Pſalmody, than to the reformation of the
lower orders of the people.
To render this a ſtill more rational and edifying
part of our public worſhip, a ſelection ſhould be
made (or ſome of thoſe already made ſhould be
adopted) of proper portions of the Pſalms from the
new verſion, which ſhould be adapted to ſome of
the plaineſt, ſimpleſt and eaſieſt of our moſt ancient
and popular melodies. By the frequent repetition
of theſe, and the expedients above mentioned, and
many others that will naturally ſuggeſt themſelves
to men of judgment, zeal and piety, there can be
no doubt but that this part of divine ſervice would
quickly recover its ancient ſweetneſs and folemnity,
and become a moſt delightful and moſt intereſting
exerciſe of piety. Many of thoſe who ſeparate
from our communion underſtand pertectly well the
uſe and force of this commanding inſtrument of
devotion, and apply it with ſucceſs. With the
D 2
Laine
( 20 )
fame attention, and with perhaps ſtill more ſkilful
management, its ſucceſs in our own churches
would be ſtill greater : and the effects of it in various
points of view would be much more important than
many are perhaps aware of. It would operate as
a very powerful attraction to your people; it would
render your congregations more numerous and more
conitant, it would enliven and animate their dee
votion, it would add one charm more to our ex-
cellent form of worſhip, and whenever you had
occafion to folicit the benevolence of your pa-
riſhioners for your charity-ſchools, you would have
no need to call in the aid of any other muſical
performers; for there is no other kind of muſical
compoficion ſo well calculated to touch and affect
the heart, and melt it into tenderneſs, kindneſs and
compafion towards the whole human race, as
well-conſtructed and well-regulated Pfalmody *.
ز
1
At a time then when every other ſpecies of mu-
fic is cultivated with uncommon ardour, and is
becoine the prevailing taſte and paſſion of the age,
let fomne ſhare of our attention be beſtowed on our
parochial Pſalmody; which, though of a humbler
and more fober cait than the generality of our mu-
fical performances, yet from its connection with
* Whoever wiſhes for further information on this ſubject will
receive great ſatisfaction from two very ſenſible little tracts lately
pubilihed, one by Dr. Vincent called Conſiderations on Parochial
Muſic, the other by Mr. Wharton entitled An Ejay on Pſalmody.,
religion,
!
( 21 )
religion, from its forming an ancient and effential
part of our public ſervice, from its known and
powerful influence on the minds and morals of the
great maſs of the people, is of more real and nen
tional and practical importance, than even thoſe
ſublime and elaborate compolitions of our great
maſters which are fo generally and fo juſtly admired.
And there is one circumſtance which ought for
ever to recommend and endear it to this proteſtant
country, which is; that it was in the higheſt eſti-
mation with thoſe moſt illuſtrious of men, the firſt
REFORMERS, both at home and abroad ; that it was
more particularly one of the principal inſtruments
of the rapid progreſs of the reformation in this
kingdom;, and that it gave confolation and ſupport
to confeſſors and martyrs in that glorious cauſe, un-
der the ſevereſt perſecutions, and even in the midſt
of fames and tortures
* It will not, I hope, be inferred from any thing here faid
that I am an enemy to Choral and Cathedral Muſic. On the
contrary, in its proper place (that is in Cathedrals, - Royal
Chapels, &c.) I am a zealous admirer of it. But I have no
heſitation in ſaying that it would be highly improper to intro-
duce it into Pariſh Churches, and to ſubſtitute it in the room
of the plain, natural, foothing melody of our beſt old Pfalm
Tunes, which ſpeaks more forcibly to the hearts, and gives more
irarmth to the devotions of a Chriſtian congregation than all
the ingenious and learned contrivances of complex counterpoint,
It may be neceſſary to obſerve, that this part of the Charge
(relating to Pſalmody) was not added till towards the concluſion
of the Viſitation,
I have
( 22 )
I have the ſatisfaction to find, that it is ſcarce
neceſſary for me to ſay one word on the ſubject of
rectorial and vicarial houſes, of churches and chan-
cels. From the report you make to me, as well
as from that of the worthy archdeacons who have
formerly made parochial viſitations, I have reaſon
to believe that the ſtate of theſe edifices is, in
ge-
neral, ſuch as does credit to the care of the clergy
and their pariſhioners. In ſome places I perceive
the incumbents have not only repaired, but rebuilt
their houſes, in others have adorned and beautified
both their parſonages, and their glebes, and by
thus rendering them not only comfortable, but even
delightful and elegant retreats, have thrown temp-
tations to reſidence in the way of their ſucceſſors
which it will be impoflible for them to reſiſt.
It is alſo highly to the honour of this Dioceſe
that in general the ſtipends allowed to the curates
are more liberal than in many other parts of the
kingdom. In ſeveral inſtances I find that the ſti-
pend for one church only is 50 1. a year ; for two
601. and the uſe of a parſonage ; and in the un-
wholeſome parts of the Dioceſe 70 l. and even 801.
(that is 401. for each church) with the ſame in-
dulgence of a houſe to reſide in. Finding then
theſe laudable examples ſet by many excellent cler-
gymen, all I have to do is to expreſs my hearty
approbation of them, to make them the guide of
my own conduct, to convert a partial practice into
a general
1
( 23 )
a general rule for the whole Dioceſe, and to deſire
that hereafter all titles for orders, and all appoint-
ments of curates, may be conformable to that rule.
In eſtabliſhing this regulation I think I may venture
to promiſe myſelf that not only you yourſelves, but
every friend to religion will go along with me.
Indeed the public voice as well as the reaſonableneſs
of the thing itſelf, has long called for a little more
indulgence towards the moſt laborious and moſt
indigent claſſes of our order; and it is impoſſible
to reſiſt (even if you were diſpoſed to do it, which
you certainly are not) the general opinion of man-
kind. And where can this liberal ſyſtem more
properly originate than in that Dioceſe, where by
the voluntary kindneſs of many individuals the
foundations of it are already laid ; in that Dioceſe
to which the metropolis gives conſideration and
weight, and to which the world will naturally look
up for the firſt movements in a meaſure of this
Here too every article of ſubſiſtence, and
every neceſſary of life muſt of courſe be more diffi-
cult to procure, and will fall more heavily on our
curates, than in remoter countries, and in ſome
parts of it unwholeſome air, broken health, and
ruined conſtitutions require additional comfort,
aſſiſtance and ſupport.
1
ز
nature.
You are therefore, my brethren, moſt evidently
and moſt peculiarly called upon by every circum-
ſtance of your ſituation, as well as by every ordi-
nary
( 24 )
hary motive of juſtice, humanity, compaſſion, and
chriſtian charity, to extend more widely the kind-
neſs you have already begun to exerciſe; and there
is not, I truſt, a ſingle individual who now hears me,
that can withold his approbation from ſuch a pro-
poſition as this ; that will not feel the equity and
the juſtice of it; that will not even exert himſelf to
the utmoſt in compleating this work of brotherly
beneficence, and in diffuſing it gradually through
out the whole extent of this Dioceſe.
I have now, my brethren, given you my fenti-
ments on ſuch matters as your own Anſwers to my
Queries have ſuggeſted to me; and the regu-
lations I have propoſed are ſuch as appeared to me
highly neceſſary not only to the general intereſts of
religion, the welfare of our people, and the credit of
our order, but (ſome of them at leaſt) to the very ex-
iſtence of our ecclefiaftical conſtitution, and to the
permanency and ſecurity of our religious eſtabliſh-
inent. For let us not flatter ourſelves, my brethren,
that becauſe we have the laws and the government on
our ſide we are therefore perfectly ſafe, are perfectly
ſecure in our privileges and poffeffions, be our cha-
racters and our conduct ever ſo inconſiſtent with our
profeſſion, and our various duties ever ſo much ne-
glected. At preſent it is true we enjoy a profound
calm: we poſſeſs, I truſt, a large ſhare of the
public eſteem ; we have received a recent and ſub-
ftantial proof of it, for which we ought to be
thankful
( 25 )
thankful and grateful. But on what is this favour
and this ſupport of the legiſlature founded ? Un-
queſtionably on this idea, that we are by our mi-
niſterial labours promoting moſt effectually the
peace, the morals, the good order, the welfare,
and the happineſs of the community. While this
conviction prevails, we ſhall never fail to meet
with countenance and protection. But if once we
relinquiſh this ground; if we deſert our proper
ſtations, and ruſh into the world; if we conſider
our preferments merely as life eſtates without any
regard to the perſonal ſervices and perſonal duties
with which they are charged, we ſhall moſt aſſured-
ly forfeit the good opinion, and with that the ſup-
port of the ſtate ; we ſhall be left to combat our
adverfaries as we can; the firm ground we now
ſtand upon will ſink from under our feet, and our
properties and revenues will be ſwept away, like
thoſe of our brethren, in a neighbouring kingdom,
whoſe deſpoliation is ſaid, (on too good grounds
with reſpect to ſome of them I fear) to have been
no leſs owing to their non-reſidence, their love of
pleaſure, their loſs of the public eſteem, than to
the ſubverſion of their civil government *
It is therefore moſt evidently our intereſt as well
as our duty to demonſtrate our gratitude to the
* See the debates of the national aſſembly on this queſtion in
the Mercure National, &c.
E
public
( 26 )
public by redoubling our zeal and activity in our
profeſſional occupations. In our hands are placed
to a great degree the morals and the religion of this
country! A moſt ſacred and important truſt! And
we cannot more effectually ſerve the ſtate than by
executing this truſt with fidelity and care. In this
great cauſe, my brethren, we are all embarked
from the higheſt to the loweſt; and it is a cauſe
worthy of our moſt ſtrenuous exertions. It was
with a view of impreſſing this great truth deeply on
your minds that I have now treſpaſſed ſo long (too
long I fear) upon your patience, and have ſpoken
with a plainneſs and a freedom, which I thought the
occaſion required. In a caſe where the intereſts of
religion, and the ſalvation of mankind were con-
cerned, I conceived it was my indiſpenſable duty
to ſtate to you fairly, fully and diſtinctly, whatever
ſeemed to me neceſſary to promote thoſe great
ends. And ſuch is the confidence I have in your
candour, in your good ſenſe, in your zeal for the
welfare of thoſe committed to your care, that you
will, I doubt not, moſt chearfully co-operate with
me in every meaſure that tends to advance it, even
though ſome of the meaſures propoſed ſhould be
attended with a little perſonal inconvenience to
yourſelves. This is a ſacrifice we muſt all of us
ſometimes make to duty; and the conſciouſneſs of
having done this will afford us the moſt heart-felt
ſatisfaction at a time when all earthly comforts will
vaniſh away. To render thouſands of our fellow-
creatures
( 27 )
ve whfort, eaſe
Creatures virtuous and uſeful here, and to conduct
them through the paths of true religion, to im-
mortal glory and endleſs felicity hereafter, is the
nobleſt employment in which a human being can
be engaged. Moſt fortunately for us, my bre-
thren, that employment is ours; and by a faithful
, diſcharge of it, the very loweſt of our order may
render themſelves more uſeful to ſociety, and more
worthy of veneration and eſteem, than all the ſages
and philoſophers of Pagan antiquity taken together.
Not all their philoſophy, not all their learning, not
all their eloquence were ever able to correct the
morals of a ſingle village, or to introduce into it
that decency, that regularity, that ſanctity of man-
and happineſs which we now ſcarce ever fail to ſee in
every chriſtian village, where there is a reſident, a
diligent, a conſcientious, an exemplary clergyman.
Let us then ſet a due value on the importance and
dignity of our profeſſion, and let it excite in us an
honeſt ambition to raiſe it and ourſelves every day
more and more in the eſtimation of mankind, by
exerting our utmoſt efforts to diffuſe both by our
doctrine and our example a general ſpirit of true
Chriſtian piety, and a general purity of manners
throughout the land. By this we ſhall contribuce
our part, and a moſt eſſential part to the welfare of
the community; we ſhall add the powerful fanctions
of religion to the authority of the laws, the filent
operation of national virtue to the viſible effects
ز
of
( 28 )
of political wiſdom and integrity; and above all,
we ſhall ſecure to our country, and to ourſelves,
the favour and protection of that Almighty Being
who can alone enfure to us the proſperity and tran-
quillity we now enjoy, whilſt a large part of Eu-
rope is convulſed to its very centre; and who
amidſt the diſſolution of kingdoms and the wreck
of empires can alone preſerve our admirable con-
ftitution both civil and eccleſiaſtical uninjured and
unimpaired.
Preached June 1990.
T H E E N D
,
1
i
THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE VICE OF
G A MING,
AS
III E Y AFFECT
THE WELFARE OF INDIVIDUALS,
AN D
THE STABILITY OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT,
CONSIDERED;
A SERMON,
PREACHED
In the CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF WINCHESTER.
By THOMAS RENNELL, D.D.
Prebendary of Winton,
And Rector of St. MAGNUS, LONDON BRIDGE.
CRESCIT ET SERPIT QUOTIDIE MALUM; JAM MAJUS
EST QUAM UT CAPERE ID PRIVATA FORTUNA POSSIT
AD SUMMUM REIPUBLICE SPECTAT.
LIVY.
THE SECOND EDITION.
LONDON:
Printed for RIVINGTONS, ELMSLEY, PAYNE, CADELL,
EGERTONS, DEBRETT, and R. WHITE.
1795
1
TO
THE MOST NOBLE
THE MARQUIS OF BUCKINGHAM,
KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER
OF THE GARTER, &c. &c.
THIS DISCOURSE,
DELIVERED IN HIS PRESENCE,
AND
HONORED BY HIS PARTICULAR APPROBATION,
IS,
WITH THE HIGHEST VENERATION
FOR HIS VIRTUES AND TALENTS,
AND
THE MOST GRATEFUL SENSE
OF HIS KINDNESS AND CONDESCENSION,
INSCRIBED,
BY
HIS MOST HUMBLE AND DEVOTED SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE reception of the firſt Edition of the
following Diſcourſe has greatly exceeded the
expectations of the author. He can however
aſſert with much truth and fincerity, that
though he is far, very far, from being indif-
ferent to the public opinion, yet that a de-
ſire to preſerve thoſe who might be inclined
to peruſe it from a precipice of calamity and
ruin was his leading and predominant motive.
To have been inſtrumental in reſcuing any
one victim from the power and conſequences
of the habits of Gaming, to have awakened
in any one inſtance either conjugal, parental,
or filial affection, in the arreſting the pro-
greſs of this deadly contagion, is of infinitely
greater importance to him than any judgment
which may be paſſed on its merits as a com-
poſition.
Still, however, to the kind and candid
conſtruction of his readers, as well as to
the judgment of ſome excellent and much
eſteemed
[ viii]
eſteemed friends, he owes ſome little expla-
nation upon a point on which ſome objections,
as he underſtands, have been made. He is
ſuppoſed to have involved in one common and
undiſtinguiſhing cenſure thoſe innocent recre-
ations which terminate merely in ſocial amuſe-
ment, and thoſe atrocious practices by which
the formed Gameſter deals havock and ruin
around him.--To this he can only anſwer,
that he has been miſunderſtood that nothing
was farther from his intention. He meant
not to affert that amuſements of this nature
where mere recreation properly regulated, is
the fole object, were to be univerſally pro-
fcribed; but that extreme care was to be
taken leſt thc flenderneſs of the partitions
which peculiarly in the preſent times divide
the amuſement of cards from the vice of
Gaming, might be moſt diſtinctly and awfully
diſcernible. He has advanced ſuch leading
PRINCIPLES upon this ſubject as he is al-
ſured are inconteſtible upon every ground
of Holy Scripture, natural humanity, and
political exigency. With nice and enerveting
diſtinctions he thought it beyond his pro-
yince to deal. If his PRINCIPLES are ad-
mitted,
[ ix ]
mitted, it is for the judgment and conſcience
of his readers to apply them to particular
uſages and pračí ices, as that judgment and
that conſcience, aided by God's grace, may
direct. That they may fo apply them as the
ſecurity and true intereſts of themſelves and
thoſe who are neareſt and deareſt to them de-
mand at their hands, is the author's honeſt,
hearty, and excluſive wiſh! He is far from
putting in any claim, as far forth as he him-
ſelf is concerned to advance religious truths of
extraordinary rigor or ſeverity. But things
and actions muſt be repreſented as they are,
and what was formerly ſaid of virtue by an
illuſtrious heathen, is equally applicable to
chriſtian courage and perfection.
and perfection. “Non ex
aliorum neque ex noftrâ fortaffe mollitie fed
ex ipfâ virtute de virtutis robore exiſtimandum
eft.”
It is however a matter of confiderable ſa-
tisfaction and conſolation to him, that the
views he has taken of ſuch diverſions are,
however inferior in power and elegance of
delineation, ſtill fimilcr to thoſe of one whoſe
authority will be great indeed with all who
have the cauſe of virtue, piety, and huma-
2)
nity
(
[ x
X
nity at heart. “
Ulice inexiina feinper, cenfetur
nobis et erit quæ maxima femper.” I have
ventured to cite the paſſage alluded to at
large from the xivth ſermon of the firſt vo-
lume of Biſhop Porteus's Diſcourſes ; a ſermon
more peculiarly adapted to the ſituation and
circumſtances of a luxurious and refined me-
tropolis, than perhaps any the Engliſh lan-
ز
guage contains.
• Are all thoſe things which go under the
name of amuſements as perfectly innocent
as they are generally repreſented to be ?
• Is there not one diverſion at leaſt (as it is
called) and one fo predominant in the
higher ranks of life, that it has ſwallowed
ир almoſt every other, which is big with
o the moſt fatalmiſchief? A diverſion, which,
• far different from the common run of
I amuſements, has no foundation in our na-
• tural appetites; no charms to captivate the
fancy, or the underſtanding ; nothing to
• make glad the heart of man, to give him
• a chearful countenance, and refreſh him
· after the cares and fatigues of duty; but
runs counter to reaſon, ſenſe, and nature;
• defeats all the purpoſes of amuſement ;
6
6 links
[ xi ]
• finks the ſpirits inſtead of raiſing them ;
• ſours the temper inſtead of improving it:
and, when it is carried to its utmoſt lengths,
"takes ſuch entire and abſolute poſſeſſion of
• the ſoul, as to ſhut out every other con-
cern both for God and man ; extinguiſhes
every generous ſentiment; excites the moſt
malignant paſſions ; provokes to the moſt
profane expreſſions; brings diſtreſs, ſome-
6 times ruin, upon its wretched votaries,
• their families, friends, and dependents;
tempts them to uſe unfair, or mean, or op-
preſſive methods of retrieving their affairs ;
and fometimes to conclude the diſmal ſcene
by the laſt fatal act of deſperation. I do
not ſay that gaming always produces theſe
effects; or that it is to all perſons, in all
circumſtances, and in all its various de-
grees, equally fernicious and unlawful.
But it has always a natural tendency to theſe
effects, it always expoſes ourſelves and
others to great danger, and can never be
ranked among our innocent amuſements.
" Yet as ſuch it is every day more and more
purſued; nay has even appropriated to it-
· felf the name of play; for what reaſon I
know
6
6
[ - xii xii
1
• know not, unleſs to play with our lives and
' fortunes, with happineſs temporal and
eternal, be the moſt delectable of all human
enjoyments.?
1
1
HEBREWS xii. I.
60
THE SIN WHICH DOTH SO EASILY BESET
YOU."
To comprehend in any ſyſtem of reli-
gion or morality every deviation from the
laws or rules which that ſyſtem preſcribes, is
neither poſſible, nor ſhould we upon re-
flection find it even to be expedient. So va,
rious are, not only the natural diſpoſitions of
individuals, but alſo fo diverſified thoſe habits
and practices which the different ſtages of
manners, arts, and refinement produce, that
an attempt to enumerate the vices growing
eventually out of them would be inconſiſtent
with that ſimplicity and conciſeneſs which
ſhould accompany a collection of precepts
adapted to the purpoſes, and directed to the
inſtruction, of all mankind. Although there-
fore in the revealed will of God we do not
find every mode and degree of crimes to
which language has affixed a ſpecific name,
yet a little enquiry will ſoon convince us that
the morality of the Goſpel ſtands beyond all
B
com
( 2 )
compariſon on a broader, ſimpler, and more
practical baſis than that of any other body
of inſtruction, which under any form was
ever propoſed to the acceptance of mankind.
Without the forced and artificial formality
of a ſyſtem, it hath all that coherence and
harmonious concurrence which the ablelt
conſtructors of human ſyſtems of morality
have never reached. Though the Evangelical
precepts appear to light obſervers ſcattered
incidentally and occaſionally, yet have they
all mutual reference to each other, and an
univerſal relation to the whole of that ſtu-
pendous plan of mercy and reconciliation
brought to light in the writings of the New
Teſtament. When in the language of in-
ſpired wiſdom the whole of man is diſplayed
before us, when his corruptions, and their
cauſe, and their remedy, are clearly diſcerned,
when his deſtination in Time and Eternity
diſtinctly appears, then is. he raiſed to an
eminence from whence the proſpect of his
duty is extenſive and commanding indeed.
Referred to ſuch a view, the true nature of
every action, and the minuteft, variation of
it, is ſo clearly diſcerned, that even with re-
gard to thoſe habits and practices of which
ſcarcely the ſlighteſt mention occurs, we are at
no loſs whatever for a ſafe and eaſy determi-
nation. The grand Chriſtian principles are
ſo bold, diſtinct, and prominent, as to render
them.
( 3 )
1
Vice may
them moſt eafy in their conſtruction, moſt
ſafe and extenſive in their application.
Though Chriſtian caſuiſtry lieth within a
ſmall compaſs, yet there is no part of hu-
man conduct which Chriſtian obligation
doth not reach, and where Chriſtian motives
do not operate. Sophiſtry may evade, Care-
leſſneſs may neglect, Obſtinacy may oppoſe,
may ſmother, both the precepts of the
Goſpel, and the grace of God which gives
ſtrength and efficacy to them.
But all miſ-
takes concerning our duty in judging of the
conſequences of our actions are alınoſt in-
variably wilful, and this as much where the
Scriptures are filent concerning particular of-
fences, as where they directly advert to them.
In the relaxation of amuſement, in the hurry
of public and political occupation, a VITAL
CHRISTIAN is as much actuated by the mo-
tives of his religion, as in the proſtrations of
devotion, and in the ſtillneſs of retirement.
To all and every part of human life, a new
direction is given by a genuine converſion
of the Soul to God, nor is there a ſingle
thought of his heart, or action of his life,
concerning which, either in its cauſes, de-
pendencies, or conſequences, the will of God
is not on Scriptural grounds moſt clearly
diſcernible. To the tribunal of our Con-
ſciences, enlightened by his Word, and aided
by his Grace, every action ſhould be ſum-
moned by tlioſe who have effectual con-
B 2
viction
( 4 )
viction that in ſo doing they anticipate the
judgement of that tribunal, from which no
word, thought, or deed can be exempted.
Theſe obſervations, however plain and ob-
vious, I have thought it proper to premiſe,
in entering upon a ſubject of the higheſt, moſt
awful, and moſt inſtant importance, namely,
the nature and conſequences of the prevail-
ing habit of GAMING-becauſe if we may
conclude from daily obſervation, the opera-
tion of the plaineſt Chriſtian principles
ſeem in the controul of this vice to have
been ſuſpended in many inſtances where the
authority of revelation is not openly dif-
avowed, or even fecretly diſcarded. I ain
completely convinced that if very many did
not from the filence of Scripture derive ſome
glimmerings of hope, that their accounta-
bility in this practice did not ſtand upon the
ſame grounds as in other offences which
are expreſsly named therein, they could not
perlift in a courſe of practiſing, cultivating,
and diffuſing a vice which is the parent of
as extended guilt and miſery as perhaps the
moſt flagrant vices againſt which the indig-
nation of God is nominally threatened.--
Any one of thoſe crimes, to which EVERY
gameſter in an advanced ſtage of the vice is
neceſſarily and invariably either an accom-
plice or principal, would it might be ſup-
poſed, either in their proſpect, retroſpect, or
commiffion, ſtrike the moſt obdurate heart
with
( 5 )
with diſmay and confuſion. But here the
callouſneſs of cuſtom, the ſtrength of habit,
and the extended prevalence of example,
ſeem to have made a ſyſtem of the moſt ac-
cumulated miſchief and atrocity conſiſtent
with an aſſumption of character, with an
apparently unruffled recollection, nay a pro-
feffion of moral, and at times even of reli-
gious obligation. With ſuch ſtrong ſelf-
deluſion in fome, and ſuch hardened repro-
bacy in others, it is difficult to contend.
Every circumſtance contributes to increaſe
that difficulty. So indiſtinct is it in its firſt
advances, fo combined by habit with every
part
of ſocial life, that it is hard to mark
the firſt ſtages of its malignity, and ſtill
harder to ſeparate it from thoſe various and
extended cbjects with which it is unfortu-
nately blended.
To convert that which is the object of
your eagereſt purſuit, the employment of all
your hours, the cement of all your ſuppoſed
friendſhips, into your horror and deteſtation,
to eradicate tempers of contraſted depravity,
to foften ferocity and to awaken indolence,
to fix the frivolouſneſs of diffipation, and to
penetrate the gloom of deſpair, to ſubſtitute
deep penitence into the place of the moſt
hardened reprobacy, is an attempt which
thoſe who know not that the “ STRENGTH'
of God is perfected in the “ WEAKNESS” of
his MINISTERS, will perhaps treat with ſcorn
and
B 3
( 6 )
and mockery: it is an attempt which thoſe,
who in defiance of every civil, ſocial, and
ſacred obligation are ſpreading and diffuſing
this vice, will treat with the moſt marked
virulence. But the Miniſters of the Goſpel
have a duty to diſcharge of moſt important
and awful urgency--of an urgency as pref-
ſing, as the ruin of every thing valuable in
this life, and every hope in the next, is in
theſe calamitous times inminent and me-
nacing. In the diſcharge of this duty, not-
withſtanding every obſtruction and diſcou-
ragement, they look for the co-operation of
all good men, and humbly hope for that all-
powerful aſſiſtance which never fails to at-
tend every ſincere effort to leſſen the guilt,
the corruption, and the anguilh of mankind.
In endeavouring to ſuggeſt to my hearers
ſuch reflections as may be effectual to awaken
their caution and excite their abhorrence of
the vice of Gaming, I propoſe to examine
its progreſs and effects, as productive,
iſt, Of the corruption, crimes, and miſery
of individuals, and
2dly, As at all times endangering, and
very frequently ſubverting, the ſtability of
civil order—conſidering it under the FIRST
of theſe heads as completely deſtructive of
every principle of CHRISTIAN piety in in-
DIVIDUALS; and under the ſecond, of the
falutary influence of SOCIAL AND NATIONAL
RELIGION, which ſecures the ſubordina-
tion,
(7)
tion, the peace, and the welfare of Commu-
nities.
Deeply I am convinced will every generous
heart be ſenſible, that the corruption of the
Individual is the Miſery of the Individual ;
and that ſordid and ſelfith habits not only
contract the compaſs, but deſtroy the ſources
of true happineſs. The
The more covertly
theſe habits infinuate themſelves, the greater
is the danger. Now I aſſert, upon ſome
obſervation, that in Gaming, the worſt
affections that can contaminate the heart
of Man, inſinuate themſelves gradually and
(in their early ſtages) imperceptibly, till
the whole moral maſs is irretrievably cor-
rupted. We may fay, that in effecting the
Miſery and Ruin of mankind, the “ Serpent”
retains his Scriptural character of “ Subtlety.”
The
young and unwary have not in general
the fainteſt conception of the vileneſs of
thoſe habits to which their ESTABLISHED
PRECEPTORS in this horrid career are form-
ing and training them. The whole tenor
of a Gameſter's life demonſtrates that to
the blackeſt iniquity he is conducted by the
moſt degrading meanneſs, and what is pe-
culiar to this vice is, that the atrocity of
guilt is rendered leſs ſtriking by the fordid
baſeneſs which accompanies it, and that
Horror is leſſened by Contempt.
When we are capable of calm and moral
reflection, when conſcience can predominato
over
B 4
( 18 )
over cuſtom, what ARE. the diſpoſitions ,
which occur to us in examining the receſſes
of a Gameſter's heart?, Firſt and foremoſt,
an inordinate LOVE OF LUCRE—and that the
most fordid, fixed, and habitual, which, ir-
ritated every moment by renewed acts, in
the end uſurps a ſovereign authority. Though
in fome inſtances thoſe diſorderly and licen-
tious indulgences which are neceſſarily con-
nected with the vice of Gaming, may inter-
rupt or diſguiſe, yet they never overcome
this darling and primary propenſity. Hence,
where Gain ſolicits, not only the remains
of every valuable principle is annihilated,
but the united force of every bad one is ſuf-
pended and ſuperſeded: Let the proſpect,
of money ſtart up to the Gameſter, not only .
SHAME and VIRTUE retreat from the un
equal conteſt; but even PRIDE ftoops, and
AMBITION. dies.
Farther, , to this fordid habit the Game-
ſter joins a diſpoſition to FRAUD; and
that of the meaneſt caſt. To thoſe who
ſoberly and fairly appreciate the real nature
of human actions, nothing appears more in-
conſiſtent than that focieties of men, who
have incorporated themſelves for the expreſs
purpoſe of Gaming, ſhould diſclaim fraud or
indirection, or affect to drive from their af-
ſemblies thoſe among their aſſociates whoſe
crimes would reflect diſgrace on them.
Surely this to a conſiderate mind is as fo-.
lemn
:
( 9 )
lemn and refined a banter as can well be
exhibited: For when we take into view the
vaſt latitude allowed by the moſt; upright
gameſters, when we reflect that according to
their precious cafuiſtry every advantage may
be legitimately taken of the young, the un-
wary, and the inebriated, which ſuperior
coolneſs, ſkill, addreſs, and activity can ſup-
ply, we muſt look upon pretences to honeſty
as a moſt. ſhameleſs aggravation of their
crimes. Even if it were poſſible that in his
own practices a man might be a FAIR GAME-
STER, yet for the reſult of the extended
frauds committed by his fellows he ſtands
deeply accountable to God, his Country, and
his Conſcience. To a fyftem neceſſarily im-
plicated with Fraud, to aſſociations of men
a large majority of whom ſubſiſt by Fraud, to
habits calculated to poiſon the ſource and
principle of all integrity, he gives efficacy,
countenance, and concuțrence. Even his
virtues he ſuffers to be ſubſidiary to the
cauſe of vice. He fees with calmneſs de
predation committed daily and hourly in his
company, perhaps under his very roof. Yet
men of this deſcription declaim (fo deſpe-
rately deceitful is the heart of Man) againſt
the very Knaves they cheriſh and protect,
and whom perhaps with ſome
phiſtical refuge for a worn-out conſcience,
they even imitate. To ſuch let the Scrip-
ture ſpeak with emphatical deciſion-"When
thou
fome poor ſo-
( 10 )
thou ſaweſt a thief, then thou conſentedft with
him.” Away then with the miſchievous dif-
tinction between fair and unfair gameſters; a
diſtinction implying (in my poor opinion) only
a very inſignificant degree of guilt, a diſtinc-
tion invented and framed by the general enemy
of mankind, to protect thoſe who are doing
his work and devoted to his ſervice. In
this inſtance even Heathen wiſdom judged
foundly and ſtrongly. The moſt profound
and ſagacious obſerver of human actions (as
far I mean as the imperfect light of Nature
could carry him) aſſigns to Gameſters their
true place and order in ſociety *. He con-
fiders them without any diſtinction not
only as plunderers, but aſſerts with peculiar
juſtice, that from more generous plunderers
* Ariſtoteles in Ethicis Nicom. The ſentiments of
this illuſtrious fage are worthy of himſelf and of the at-
tention of thoſe who have proſtituted their talents in the
praiſe of Gameſters. Ariſtotle muſt have entertained
very
different opinions of the nature of liberality from
thoſe which are now current, for he utterly excludes all
Gameſters from the ſmalleſt portion of it, even from that
degree of it which other plunderers are not without,
« Tος μεν γαρ τα μεγαλα μη οθεν δει, λαμβανοντας μηδε
α δει, εδε λεγομεν ανελευθερες: οιον τους τυραννάς, πολεις πορ-
βουντας, και ιερα συλωντας, αλλα πονηρές μαλλον και ασεβεις
και αδικες.
Ο μεν τοι ΚΥΒΕΥΤΗΣ και ο λωποδυτης,
και ο ληστης, των ανελευθερων εισιν αισχροκερδεις γαρ. κερδος
γαρ ένεκα αμφοτεροι πραγματεύονται, και ονειδη υπομενουσι·
δι κινδυνές τους μεγιστους ενεκα του λημματος. οι
δε απο των φιλων κερδαινεσιν, οις δει διδοναι. Αμφοτεροι δη
οθεν ου δει κερδαινειν βουλομενοι αισχροκερδεις και πασαι δη
αι τοιαυται ληψεις ανελευθεροι.
they
και
μεν
(
II
they are diſtinguiſhed by the peculiar illibe-
rality of their practices, and their ſelfiſh and
ſordid luſt of gain. This great man had not
learned the feeble and evaſive caſuiſtry which
this age of apoſtacy has adopted, in oppo-
ſition to much ſtronger light, and to much
ſurer principles, than thoſe which Providence
had vouchſafed to him.
But I apprehend that men are not ſo diſ-
intereſtedly miſchievous. When thoſe of
high rank open their doors to men of this
deſcription, when they announce long before
their invitations to ſuch nocturnal aſſocia-
tions, they will not ſeriouſly claim to be
diſtinguiſhed from the worſt of thoſe they ar-
ſemble. Thieves * they are all, all who
harbour, all who cheriſh them, not ſparing
even what the Arabian robber holds ſacred
the tie of profeſſed friendſhip, the confi-
dence of unſuſpecting youth, and the ſacred
rights of hoſpitality. Therefore the unwary
ſhould be well warned, that when Gámeſters
tender their friendſhipt, they offer what they
are radically incapable of. They may be
made firſt the dupes, and then the partners
of their baſeneſs; but ſuch an union utterly
* Define ab iftis tuis, furaciſſimis moribus, -Cyprianus
de Alea.
+ The friendſhip of Gameſters is deſcribed with great
juſtice and animation by Cyprian—" Illic rabioſa.ami-
citia, illic atrociffimi ſceleris fraternitas diſcordans.-
Cyprianus ibidem.
precludes
( 12 )
precludes that noble one formed on the
principles and directed to the practices of
religion, virtue, and benevolence. If theſe
are excluded, as ſurely they are by fraud and
ſelfiſhneſs, there remains neither bond nor
ground of confidence, either to individuals or
focieties. Let the young be aſſured, that
when they plunge into intimacy with Game-
ſters, they take treachery and abjection to
their bofoms IN EVERY INSTANCE: that
whatever profeſſions of generoſity, or inſinu-
ation of addreſs, or appearance of frankneſs,
fuch men may find it convenient to adopt,
theſe artificial appendages are but part of their
deteſtable trade, rendering them in the eye of
reaſon and reflection ten thouſand times more
baſe, dangerous, and deſtructive.
But in addition to fraud and all its train of
crimes, propenſities and habits of a very dif-
ferent complexion enter into the compoſition
of a Gameſter; a moſt ungovernable FERO-
CITY OF DISPOSITION, however for a time
diſguiſed and latent, is invariably the reſult
of his ſyſtem of conduct.. Jealouſy, rage, and
revenge exiſt among gameſters in their worſt
and moſt frantic exceſſes, and end frequently
in conſequences of the moſt atrocious vio-
lence and outrage. By perpetual agitation,
the malignant pafſions ſpurn and overwhelm
every boundary which diſcretion and con-
ſcience can oppoſe. From what ſource are
we to trace a very large number of thoſe
murders,
( 13 )
murders, fanctioned or palliated indeed by
cuſtom, but which ſtand at the tribunal of
God preciſely upon the ſame grounds with
every other ſpecies of murder?-From the
gaming-table, from the nocturnal receptacles
of diſtraction and frenzy, the Duelliſt ruſhes
with his hand lifted up againſt his brother's
life !—Thofe who are as yet on the threſhold
of theſe habits ſhould be warned, that how-
ever calm their natural temperament, how-
ever meek and placable their diſpoſition, yet
that by the events, which every moment ariſe,
they ftand expoſed to the ungovernable fury
of themſelves and others. In the midſt of
fraud, protected by menace on the one hand,
and on the other, of deſpair, irritated by a
recollection of the meanneſs of the artifices
and the baſeneſs of the hands by which utter
and remedileſs ruin has been inflicted, in the
midſt of theſe feelings of horror and diſtrac-
tion, it is that the voice of brethren's blood
“ crieth unto God from the ground”—
now art thou curſed from the earth which
hath opened her mouth to receive thy bro-
ther's blood from thy hand.”—Not only
THOU who actually ſheddeſt that blood,
but THOU who art the artificer of death-
thou who adminiſtereit incentives to theſe
habits - who diſſeminateſt the practice of
them-improveſt the ſkill in them-ſharp-
eneſt the propenſity to them--at the hands
will it be required, ſurely, at the tribunal of
God
" and
( 14 )
God in the next world, and perhaps in moſt
inſtances in his diſtributive and awful dif
penſations towards thee and thine here on
earth.
But whatever activity the MALIGNANT
PASSIONS may derive from ſuch habits, the
benevolent affections, on the contrary, are
more impaired by gaming than it is poſſible
to, conceive or calculate. The reaſons are
obvious ; the miſery which an habitual
Gamefter ſuffers, hazards, and occaſions,
muſt render him .completely and ſyſtemati-
cally callous.
callous. Without a ſingle ſentiment
of remorſe or compaſſion, he coolly and
defignedly inflicts utter and irretrievable
miſchief on the greater part of thoſe with
whom he is converſant. What though every
slay he lives he wrings the heart of many
a fond wife, many an helpleſs orphan, many
an aged parent, by effecting the rapid and
inſtantaneous ruin of thoſe to whom they
looked up for ſupport and comfort; what
though the wretched Suicide, unable to bear
the complicated agonies of thoſe whofe affec-
tions nature has wound cloſeſt round his
heart, leaves them to deplore his loſs in this
world, and his DESPERATE STATE in that
into which he precipitated himſelf; what
though of all ſuch horrors He is the witneſs,
the cauſe, and the accomplice ; what though
he is the patron and legiſlator of the ſyſtem
which diffuſes them ; yet, with all this, HE
rек
( 15 )
remains calm, eaſy, and collected. A ſuper-
ficial politeneſs, an acquaintance with the
habits of what is commonly called the World,
and an adroit application to the foibles of
thoſe with whom theſe men confort, may
draw a thin veil over the fixed relentleſſneſs
of a Gameſter's mind.
He may pretend
(for human pretences are indefinite) to feel-
ing, honor, ſentiment, words coined for the
purpoſe either of concealing vice, or dreſſing
it up in virtue's garb. But as I principally
addreſs myſelf to thoſe who may be expoſed
to ſuch men and to ſuch artifices, be aſſured
that to human pangs Gameſters' hearts are
eſſentially impenetrable. They recount, in
all the callous flippancy of faſhionable con-
verſation, the miſerable fates of thoſe whom
they or their aſſociates have conſigned to
mifery; and language itſelf is diſtorted and
depraved in order to invent words to expreſs
their diabolical cant and unfeeling jargon,
and to intercept thoſe emotions of indigna-
tion againſt the patrons, and of pity for
the victims, of this ſyſtem of crimes and
calamities, which would naturally ariſe in
the heart of man upon hearing theſe tales of
woe and wickedneſs told with ſeriouſneſs and
ſimplicity. If therefore you would preſerve
that beſt part of your frame which moſt
diſtinguiſhes you from the beaſts which
periſh, if you would retain even that wreck
of virtue which ſurvives in ſome degree per-
haps
( 16 )
haps almoſt every OTHER courſe of iniquity,
leaving ſtill that kindly diſpoſition of “
weep-
ing with thoſe that weep,” fly the haunts,
dread 'the habits, and abhor the VERÝ LAN-
GUAGE of Gameſters.
But it is not only general Philanthropy,
but even that more powerful principle of
Natural Affection, which this vice ftifles in
many inſtances, and injures in all. To be
without“ natural affection” was one of the
moſt prominent features of thoſe calamitous
times of reprobacy and apoſtacy which the
prophetic ſpirit of the great Apoſtle ſo diſ-
tinātły foreſaw and ſo awfully delineated.
Where gaming is general, this is a conſtant
concomitant; for what pretences can a
Gameſter make to the ſmalleſt degree of
affection and duty to thoſe whom he expoſes
every hour he lives to afflictions worſe than
death itſelf? Were his conſcience for a mo-
ment to awake, how would he be reproached
by the bare fight of thoſe whoſe hopes and
intereſts he embarks upon the fingle caſt of
a die, from whom he ſuffers the vileſt of
mankind to wreſt even the bed upon which
they repoſe, and the morſel of bread which
ſupports their exiſtence! whom he not only
expoſes to ſuch calamity; when it actually
befalls them, but to the unſpeakable agony
of a fearful expectation of it every hour they
live. But even this cruelty of the Gameſter
is ſmall in compariſon to that by which he
9
com-
( 17 )
communicates his guilt. The ſudden ſtroke
of
poverty, bitter as it is, where innocence
accompanies it, may be foftened by the le-
nient diſpenſations of an Almighty Protector.
But what are the hearts of thoſe Gameſters
who train up their progeny in their GUILT,
who accuſtom their innocent, uncorrupted
minds to the daily ſpectacle of fraud and
pillage !
Let thoſe who as yet only ſtand on the
brink of this miſery, thoſe who conſider
theſe meetings as AMUSEMENTS, or who
comply with them merely that they may not
be excluded from faſhionable ſociety, think
to what poor motives they expoſe thoſe in-
nocent pledges which a kind Providence has
entruſted to them. Has entruſted to them
for what?-to be the joy of their youth,
the pride of their maturer years, the com-
fort of their age, and their alleviation even
in the pangs of death. To be trained up
to what ? -to be the benefactors of man-
kind, ſervants of the great and high God,
and partakers with them of a glorious im-
mortality.
To theſe purpoſes I will boldly affert that
all tampering with the vice of Gaming, in
every ſtage of it, is always dangerous, and
moſt frequently deſtructive. You will ſay,
you do not GAMĖ---that you mix only with
ſuch ſociety that you may not appear
ſtrange---that you can always reftrain your-
C
felf
( 18 )
ſelf from házarding more than your circum
ſtances will permit. To grant all theſe
pleas, which would be ſufficiently abſurd,
yet are you ſure that your children will
have all this moderation, that THEY, when
once habituated to ſuch company, and in-
troduced into ſuch receptacles, will not be
corrupted, pillaged, and undone ? Do you
REALLY expect that having early acquired
the reliſh and ſkill, which a repetition of
theſe ſcenes naturally produce, as they ad-
vance in years they will ſtop ſhort of ruin
and guilt? Can you, for the poor ambition
of conſorting with men of faſhion, for the
tinſel gratification of exhibiting your taſte,
prepare your dwellings for the reception and
harbour of that large mixture of privileged
thieves, which I am credibly informed con-
ſtitute a part of ſuch aſſemblies? Do not
think me obtruſive in appealing to that
kindly virtue which is laſt eradicated from
the human heart. Can you CALMLY deſtroy
all the part which you yourſelves have, all
the part which God has, in thoſe whom you
now look on with the eye of parental rap-
ture? Are you reconciled to beholding them
VESSELS FITTED FOR DESTRUCTION ?"
If you cannot, retreat inſtantaneouſly from
the brink of the precipice on which both
you and your beloved children ſtand. Think
that in all theſe ſcenes which every day an-
nounces to us as exhibiting in the políter
part
as
( 19 )
if
part of the Metropolis, when rank and elea
gance combine their powerful and faſcinating
deluſions, when every external decoration
which art and ſplendour can deviſe, is ſub-
ſidiary to them---think that in the midſt of
theſe ſeductive ſcenes; you ſee Ruin; Fraud,
Beggary, and untimely Death---think that
you
ſee the hand of the Suicide lifted againſt
himſelf, and that SUICIDE your own DAR-
LING CHILD! gone forward to the bar of
eternal juſtice as a ſwift witneſs againſt the
AUTHORS OF HIS EXISTENCE; for having
early ſown in him the ſeeds of temporal de-
ſtruction and eternal death--and THEN,
poſſible, think the faithful Miniſters of Chriſt
too importunate when they exhort you to
flee, in the early ſtages of theſe calamities,
as for your lives, when they warn you, even
in thoſe habits which to careleſs and un.
thinking minds appear of an indifferent ten-
dency, not to ſpurn the dictates of nature
and conſcience, and to expoſe thoſe whom
God has .conſigned to your protection and
care to the floodgates of ſuch wickedneſs,
anguiſh, and deſolation !
Shall we farther explore the complicated
baſeneſs of the Gameſter's mind, or does
diſguſt recoil from the examination of that
polluted manſion? If this diſguſt is excited,
1 ſhall by God's grace have diſcharged no
mean part of the arduous and difficult taſk I
have undertaken.
I will
C2
( 20 )
I will mention but one more of thoſe dif-
pofitions which have appeared to me con-
Itantly. to have been aſſociated to the cha-
racter of a Gameſter--a quality which gives
conſiſtence and permanence to all the reſt, that
is a fixed, calm, and temperate IMPUDENCE,
diffuſing itſelf over every part of his con-
duct and deportment. This qualification is
thought of ſo much conſequence by the
preceptors in this vice, as to be a matter of
regular training and inſtitution. And wiſe
are they in their generation, for. Shame is
MORAL VITALITY ; where THÁT ſurvives,
every pollution is delible, and every habit
recoverable. Conſequently with it every
Gameſter is in a regular ſtate of warfare ;
for was he capable of feeling his own de-
gradation, the fight of an honeſt man muſt
overwhelm him with intolerable confuſion.
But to every internal feeling of baſeneſs,
and
every external circumſtance of infamy, he
is completely reconciled *. Though he not
only knows himſelf, but is convinced that
every thinking man knows him likewiſe, yet
under the protection of this peculiar quali-
* It was probably a conviction of the vileneſs and con-
tented infamy of Gamefters, which induced ſome of the
mof eſteemed commentators on the Roman law to aſſert
the inadmiſſibility of their Evidence in a Court of Juſtice.
This epinion is ſupported with great ability and force of
reaſoning by Mafcardus de Probationibus, vol. 2, p. 262.
V
fication
*-
9
( 21 )
fication we ſhall find him occaſionally and
familiarly uſing the words FRIENDSHIP, BE-
NEVOLENCE, Pity, and PHILANTHROPY,
and at times aſſuming a high perfection of
them, and what is ſtill more extraordinary,
we may obſerve the unthinking multitude
with a miſchievous and indolent acquieſcence
admitting ſuch a claim.
But I have hitherto confidered only the
effects which the habit of Gaming uniformly,
and almoſt without exception, produces upon
thoſe principles of moral virtue and natural
conſcience, of which even Heathen wiſdom
was not devoid. But of all the DISTINGUISH-
ING DOCTRINES and all the VITAL ENER-
GIES of the bleſſed Goſpel of Chriſt, the prac-
tice of Gamingis in its moſt diſtant ſtages, and
in every practice which approximates to it, ra-
dically deſtructive. It is poſſible for men
to make ſome cautious and ſkilful advances
in it without ruining their FORTUNES or
REPUTATION, but with their intereſt and
their hopes as CHRISTIANS, and with every
principle of inward piety, it is utterly irre-
concileable.
Firſt of all what is, or ought to be, the
employment of the Time of a Chriſtian, a
creature redeemed from fin and eternal death,
and “ born again after the image of him who
created him”-carrying about him with (in
the awful words of an eloquent Father of
C3
the
( 22 )
the Church) * the ſenſe of mortality and tefti.
mony of guilt---for whom “ the Eternal
Spirit is making interceſſions with groans
which cannot be uttered”---of a creature,
whaſe prayers and penitence, contrition and
charity, are to fill up the ſhort ſpan and
precarious term of an earthly exiſtence ?
Surely he muſt be guilty of a moſt TRE-
MENDOUS MOCKERY of Almighty God and
his Son's Goſpel who can affert, that with
this ſtate, with theſe views and motives, an
employment of nearly the HALF of every
day he lives in CARDS AND DIçe is con-
ſiſtent or compatible. Is it indeed THUS
that we are to paſs through a miſerable and
guilty world! the GUILT of which, and the
MISERY of which, every Chriſtian's time and
exertions are called forth to remedy. Re-
member this S.TRONG AND PREGNANT evan-
gelical prìnciple, that “ ye are not your own,
ye are bought with a price.” Now, with theſe
views, look back upon your paſt life, look
forward to your future. If you have re-
corded your time, examine thoſe records.
What do they exhibit---memorials of
your
alms and prayers, or your dedication and
devotion by night and by day to occupations
which can be in their beſt ſtages but trifling
and unprofitable ? Look at your acts of
benevolence and your labours of love-in
* Homo circumferens mortalitatem fuam circum-
ferens teſtimonium peccati fui !---Auguſtini Confeffiones.
instruct.
( 23 )
inſtructing the ignorant, in relieving the
afflicted, in viſiting the priſoner, in endea-
vouring to leſſen that ſum of corruption and
guilt with which this poor ſhort ſtate is de-
luged. From theſe duties, or rather from
theſe conſolations, * and from thoſe heavenly
tears which conſtitute an earneſt and anticipa-
tion of the bliſs of Heaven, this miſerable
and frivolous employment of your time
completely precludes you. No other plea-
ſure, no other vice ſo entirely ingulphs the
life of a Chriſtian as this--none is fo ac-
ceffible at all times—fo adapted to every va-
riety of age, ſituation, rank, and under-
ſtanding. Let me beſeech you to bear the
word of exhortation and admonition, be
convinced that to the guilt of Gaming they
are clearly obnoxious whoſe hours alone are
facrificed to it. It is not only thoſe who
riſk much of their property that deſerve the
appellation of Gameſters, it is not thoſe
only who defraud their gueſts or companions
--- it is thoſe alfa who cheat God of their
time, their Redeemer of their affections,
Man of their exertions, and riſk their fal-
vation on the iſſue of ſuch a miſerable mif
fpent life.
* In the exquiſite language of Bafil-
« Το δακρυον τοτο οιονει σπερμα και δανεισμα της αιωνια
Xapas." --Bafilii Homilia de Gratiarum Anlione.
C4
But
( 24 )
But it is not merely that Time is waſted,
and Thought withdrawn from Religion, but
habits are acquired by theſe means which
generate an INVETERATE AVERSION to it.
AVERSION to Religion foon follows the
NEGLECT of it in inoſt caſes, but in this
inſtance commences and is co-ordinate with
it. I do not pretend to any very wide ex-
perience in human life, but I ſcarcely ever
knew any ſingle perſon who had made any
confiderable progreſs in games of ſkill, but
that in proportion to the exerciſe of that
ſkill, his diſinclination and diſguſt to Re-
ligion grew with it.
Not only is religious
principle ſupplanted, but a principle of the
higheſt ſtage of contraſt is ſupplied in its
ſtead. Examine (you that have calmneſs
and capacity) yourſelves and your neigh-
bours - look not only at the haunts of
Gameſters, but at thoſe contemptible and
miſchievous meetings, where indolence and
vacancy find their daily refuge in Cards. In
the midſt of theſe, let the ſlighteſt mention
be made of the real religious ſtate of Man,
of his redemption by Chriſt, of his ſtate of
miſery and calamity prior to that redemption,
of the awful looking-for of everlaſting de-
ſtruction to which every irreconciled finner
is expoſed, with what ſcorn and mockery,
what affected banter and real diſguſt would
any
ſuch mention be treated. Miſerable de
luded Beings ! do you think that the ex-
preſſion
( 25 )
preſlion of “ always bearing about in the body
the dying of the Lord Jeſus,” of “ paſſing the
time of your ſojourning here in FEAR,” are pre-
cepts, like thoſe of the Stoicks of old, found-
ed on impracticable paradoxes, or that they
are the commands of God who ſupplieth
Power to all thoſe who have the Will to
practiſe them? But you will ſay, Devotion
and Prayer have their intervals. I grant it,
but not intervals of doing miſchief, not in-
tervals of ſowing the ſeeds of vices, which
in farther ſtages of their progreſs ſcatter de-
ſtruction and miſery, not intervals which
every time they occur render you more and
more indiſpoſed to the Word, to the Wor-
ſhip, and to the Diſpenſations of Almighty
God. But be fair with yourſelves--with
what Pain is it that you who are thus en-
gaged, particularly as you proceed in thoſe
courſes, recur not only to SPIRITUAL, but
even to FORMAL devotion ? The
very
few
ſtated decencies, thoſe poor wrecks of Re-
ligion, which this age of Apoſtacy has left,
are grown intolerable to you. I wiſh to
be underſtood to ſpeak of the employment
of Thought, as I did of the employment of
Time, that this ſhipwreck of our Chriſtian
principles commenceș at a period long before
the generality of men will allow that they
are at all tainted with the vice of Gaming.
The mind of one immerſed in Cards foon
becomes vacant, frivolous, and captious.
The
( 26 )
2
The habits form a ſtrange mixture of mock
gravity and pert flippancy. The underſtand-
ing, by a perpetual attention to a variety of
unmeaning combinations, acquires a kind of
pride in this baſtard employment of the fa-
culty of thought, which is ſo far from having
any analogy to the real exerciſe of reaſon,
that we generally find a miſerable eminence
in it attainable by the dulleſt, moſt ignorant,
and moſt contemptible of mankind. The
Gameſter however frequently miſtakes this
ſkill for general acuteneſs, and from that
conceit either totally rejects the Goſpel evi-
dence, or if political or profeſſional confi--
derations render this indecent or inexpedient,
he harbours all that contemptible chicane, all
that petty fophiftry, all that creeping evaſion,
with which a ſelfiſh heart, and a contracted
underſtanding, meets and embraces the pre-
vailing hereſy of the times in which we
live* ; degrading the dignity, enervating the
motives, and deſtroying the conſolations of
* The Connexion between the artifices of Gameſters,
and the ſhifting depravity of Heretical ſubterfuge, is
ſtrongly marked by the Apoſtle
περιφερομενοι παντ.
KYBEIA TW ay pwww.Ephef. iv. 14.
ανεμα της διδασκαλιας εν τη
This fame Analogy was ſo ſtriking as to attract the
notice of various commentators on this paffage in the
early ages of the Chriſtian Church. Thus Oecumenius
in cap. iv. ad Ephefios-
ΚΥΒΕΥΤΑΙ λογων λεγονται οι μεν ποτε τείο, ποτε δε
εκεινο διδασκοντες και μεταβαινοντες αιει απο τοτε εις τατο
πανεργως. Τοιουτοι οι ΑΙΡΕΤΙΚΟΙ.
the
( 27 )
the Croſs of Chriſt. If therefore a Game-
fter ever makes profeſſion of Religion, it is
with ſuch teachers and with ſuch doctrines
that he finds his mind moſt congenial. To
real Chriſtianity and its Miniſters his en-
mity is laſting and virulent, becauſe theſe are
in ſtrong and direct oppoſition to his fa-
vorite vice. But it is ſeldom that he ſtops
here, As the trimes with which Gaming
is connected are deſtructive of every detached
portion of Chriſtian piety, fo is the general ha-
bit to the whole ſpirit of it.
There is ſcarcely
a poſitive precept of Chriſtianity which is not
violated in the courſe of a Gameſter's career.
Truſt in Providence is expelled by a courſe
of action, in which though he embarks
per-
petually his moſt important intereſt, he
dares not look up in any ſtage to God for
favour or protection. Can hę 66 ſet God
always before him ;” that God whoſe name
and whoſe Goſpel are never mentioned by
him but to give energy to imprecation, or
zeſt to mockery? As contrary, therefore as
Dignity is to Bafeneſs, Pity to Callouſneſs, Calm-
neſs to Diſtraction, Fraud to Integrity, Re-
venge to Placability, Hope to Deſpair, fo con-
trary is Gaming to the ſpirit and tenor of
Religion in ALL its degrees and modifica-
ţions. I am convinced that the juſtice of
theſe obſervations will not be conteſted by
the ADEPTs in this vice, who would receive
with
( 28 )
with a ſmile of apathy any ſuggeſtions of
their guilt as Chriſtians.
But the point I wiſh to labour, and the
effect I principally have in view in this re-
preſentation, is to warn thofe who are in
diſtant stages of the fame progreſs, and who
have not yet calmly acquieſced in a ſur-
render of every hope and confolation of Re-
ligion. To fuch I would ſay in much affection,
and in the face of the unpopularity which
fuch doctrines may occaſion, that all occu-
pations of this kind render man guilty before
God at a time when both faſhion and cuſm
tom pronounce them innocent. That the
very deſign of thoſe flippant miſerable meet-
ings is, to intercept all the awful views
which it is the purpoſe of Religion to dif-
play, and to annihilate the habits which a
Chriſtian ſhould form. I ſhould further
fuggeft, that with the incipient ſtages of this
vice, all the ſubſequent ones are connected.
The ſkill acquired, and the principles fown,
while diverſion only is in view, ſoon expand
themſelves into the adult and vigorous
growth of guilt and profligacy, which defies
both God and Man. Againſt all excefies
you proteft, but for thoſe exceſſes you af-
ſimilate the ſoil, you trench the ground,
you ſcatter the ſeed; and are you not an-
fwerable for the increaſe? Permit me to
affure
you, that if for the ſake of a trifling
and
( 29
*:)
THERE 19 A
1
and degrading amuſement, you are prepared
to diſſeminate this mifchief both temporal
and eternal, you exhibit in your owN PER-
SONs the moſt overbearing inſtance of that
brutal and un feeling texture of mind which
theſe miſerable habits foon produce: Re.
member therefore the ſaying of him who
warns you that between ſuch practices and
every religious obligation
GREAT GULPH FIXED;" that in endeavour-
ing to reconcile a life addicted to them with
the ſmallett portion of religious 'hope, you
are trifling with your conſcience moſt pal-
pably and egregiouſly.
Art thou a: CHRISTIAN then and devoted
to theſe things? *: Be -not-déceived by the
levity of theſe meetings, but eſteem' them to
be moſt awfully and effentially wicked. Look
at the miſeries of the latter end of a Game-
ſter's career, and dread them for Thyſelf
and thy CHILDREN : For I can venture . tp
affure thee, that as no other courſe of crimes
is attended with a more obſtinate and ob-
durate ſcorn and contempt of God's Word,
his. Worſhip and his Providence, ſo there
is none againſt which the vengeance of Hea-
ven is. more. keenly and viſibly exerted, nor
any in which the puniſhment more quickly
and invariably follows the crime.
A day,
* Aleator quicunque es & Chriſtianum te dicis? -
Cyprianus ibidem.
perhaps
( 32 )
quence.
fouleſt abyſs of ſenſuality and riot. Hence
follows the moſt deplorable corruption a-
mongſt Thoſe whoſe bias and determination
to Good or Evil, is the protection or ruin
of a WHOLE COMMUNITY. To the integrity
and independence of men of rank and opu-
lence, a free ſtate looks for whatever is up-
right in conduct, found in determination,
ſafe in practice, and beneficial in conſe-
The greater the number of ſuch
men who fill either the executive depart-
ments of a State, or who partake of the
office of Legiilators, the greater the ſtability
of that country. Should it fall to the lot
of ſuch men to project political meaſures, it
will be done with foreſight and reflection-
ſhould it be their province to examine or
even to oppoſe thoſe planned by others, that
examination and oppoſition will be con-
ducted with firmneſs, devoid of acrimony,
and will be of ſuch a mitigated nature as
never to endanger the ſafety of the whole.
The conſciouſneſs of integrity will ſupply
calmneſs, and the deep intereſt they have
in the welfare of their country, will enſure
caution and diſcretion in all their move-
ments and deſigns. But what is it that
leffens the number of ſuch invaluable mem-
bers of ſociety? What is it that converts
Thoſe deſigned by Providence to be the
GUARDIANS and PROTECTORS, into the
BANE and CURSE of their Country? I will
8
anſwer---
( 33 )
anſwer---the GAMING TABLE. The reverſes
here every moment occurring, unite beggar-
ed fortunes, mortified pride, callous baſe-
neſs, and enflamed appetites, directing their
joint operations to the deſtruction of that
common mother which gave them birth.---
And here I wiſh to be rightly underſtood
that with a frugal, active, dignified poverty,
the diſcharge of public duty is perfectly
compatible. Such a poverty was highly re-
verenced in the beſt ages of Pagan antiquity,
as the nurſe of every great and uſeful exer-
tion : but as diſtant as light from darkneſs
is ſuch a poverty from that degraded, ma-
levolent, abject MENDICITY, the offspring
of vice, the organ of faction, and the parent
of univerſal proſtitution and venality. To
preſerve the moſt venerable council of the
nation from the miſchiefs and diſgrace ac-
cruing from ſuch members, was one of the
moſt important functions of the Cenſorian
Magiſtracy in ancient Rome *. To thoſe
Magiſtrates were committed the power of
* “Every Luſtrum, i. e. at the end of every fifth year,
the Senate was reviewed by one of the Cenſors, and if
any one had rendered himſelf unworthy of that high rank,
or had funk his fortune below that of a Senator, his name
was palled over by the Cenſor in reading the roll of Sena-
tors; and thus he was held to be excluded from the Se-
inate."-Vide Adams's accurate and well digeſted Syſtem of
Roman Antiquities, p. 6.-Vide alſo Æſchines in Timarchum
pafim.
D
removing
( 34 )
removing thoſe Senators who had reduced
themſelves to indigence by profligacy or
extravagance.
Similar inſtances of wife
caution are to be traced in the Athenian
polity, which abundantly provided checks
againſt thoſe whoſe prodigality and beggary
might make their interference in public af-
fairs dangerous or prejudicial. It is difficult
indeed to conceive what intereſt any one
ruined by a courſe of vice can have in the
welfare of his country : It is ſtill more dif-
ficult to conceive that this regard ſhould
exiſt in Gameſters. Any claim to patriot-
iſm. in ſuch men, furniſhes perhaps one of
the moſt stUPENDOUS inſtances of impu-
dence in aſſerting, and of dupery in admit-
ting it, which the records of human folly
and depravity any where exhibit. For not
only do they, by the miſapplication of their
own talents, and the operation of their own
malignant paflions, deeply injure that coun-
try which they fo vehemently and loudly
profeſs to ſerve, but by drying up the vital
ſources of public integrity, and depriving
it of that future harveſt of virtue, to which. -
its fondeſt expectations were directed. For
it is always obſervable, that the Principals in
this vice foon enliſt large troops of accom-
plices in their ſervice, by ſpreading among
the noble and opulent youth their crimes,
miſery, and deſpondency, uniting them in
fimilar views and aſſociations for the ſame
de.
( 35 )
deteſtable ends. In viewing the deſolation
ſpread by ſuch men, in conſidering the baſe
incitements with which they pre-occupy the
ingenuous hearts of the riſing generation,
and reconcile them to their trade and in-
fection, the watchfulneſs with which they
felect their victims and diſciples in the earlieſt
ſtages of manhood, in beholding the riſing
hopes of our country ſo blighted and blaſted,
well may we ſay of our unhappy land---“ In
Rama there was a voice beard, lamentation and
weeping and great mourning ! Rachel weeping
for her children, and would not be comforted be-
cauſe they are not.” More wretched ſtill than
that diſconfolate mourner! Happier they
who weep the death of their departed, than
they who feel the parricidal wounds inflicted
by their degenerate offspring !
It is only in ſuch ſchools that can be
formed that true callouſneſs which can an-
ticipate all the calamities of civil diſcord
with the calmeſt indifference, which having
long dealt in private, can extend its efforts
to national ruin and pillage. This tranſition
**is eaſy and natural : ſuch in all ages have
been thoſe by whom the peace of flouriſhing
and free communities have been diſturbed,
their properties invaded, and their liberties
deſtroyed. Theſe are they who, under the
maſk of patriotiſm, pant for civil convulſion
and proſcription, for which the whole tex-
ture of their habits have previouſly diſpoſed
D2
them.
( 36 )
thein. While therefore men of this deſcrip-
tion abound, it is utterly impoſſible that
any State can be in permanent ſecurity, it is
impoflible that thoſe principles of ſubordi.
nation, which are eſſential to the happineſs
of Mankind, can be maintained while many
in the higher orders are given to this de-
structive habit. Thoſe who wish for anar-
chy and miſery, thoſe to whom public prof-
perity is a ſource of deſpair, and public
confuſion an object of hope and exultation,
act wiſely and conſiſtently enough when they
encourage and promote this horrible con-
tagion. The beggary, the degradation, the
deſpair, the malignancy of thoſe whom they
aſſemble and aſſociate, are their natural
Weapons, and render them fit inſtruments
of their plunging and atrocious projects.
The young men into whoſe intimacy they
infinuate themſelves, cannot be the organs
of their purpoſes, till their habits are de-
baſed, their property pillaged, and their con-
ſciences obliterated. This it is which has
united ſo many among us, in the further-
ance of thoſe abandoned principles of anar-
chy and ſedition, which are the natural
conſequences of that maſs of vices, of which
Gaming is corner ſtone.
This it is which has for many years paſt
been preparing the materials for that tre-
inendous conflagration which threatens every
nation in Europe, and has already over-
whelmed
( 37 )
whelmed the moſt flouriſhing, populous, and
çivilized of its kingdoms. Of ruined Game-
ſters we are told that the crew of Catiline
was principally compoſed * ; and recent ob-
fervation, drawn from the beſt atteſted facts,
will inform us, that amidſt all the unpa-
ralleled crimes which the miſerable Revolu-
tion in France has produced, this has been
in its turn the cauſe, and in its turn the
effect, of them all. To the Gaming Table,
I am told by eye-witneſſes, was regularly
brought the fruits of public confiſcation,
cruelty, and proſcription.
Thoſe therefore who have the ſame views
and deſigns, whom no experience of the
guilt and miſery which ſuch principles have
ſpread in that devoted land which gave them
birth, thoſe who have ſteeled their breaſts
to the groans, the anguiſh, and the deſtruc-
tion of their countrymen, act conformably
to their views and character in practiſing
and encouraging that vicę, which, above all
others, aſſiſts their predatory and fanguinary
projects. BUT it is moſt aſtoniſhing indeed,
* This ſufficiently appears from the invaluable account
which Salluſt has tranſmitted to us of the Catalinarian
conſpiracy, many parts of which unfortunately appear to
be rather a deſcription of preſent than a hiſtory of pajt
« Quicunque impudicus, adulter, ganeo, ALEA
manu, ventre bona patria laceraverat quique alienum æs
grande confaverat-Hi Catalinæ proximi familiareſque
orant." De Bello Catalinario.
events.
D. 3
that
( 38 )
that thoſe who have a remaining intereſt in
the welfare of their Country, who have hu-
manity unextinguiſhed, who have loyalty
to their Prince in their hearts, and love of
order and conſtitutional liberty yet unim-
paired, ſhould not ſee and avow the abſolute
neceffity of immediately withdrawing from
every avenue to this accurſed vice, and from
thoſe affociations which in the full order of
legiſlative and preceptive form teach the
principles and arrange the practice of it.
Such ſhould be well aware, that while this
peſtilence is in its vigour, neither the wifeſt
counſels can long protract, nor the moſt active
exertions finally avert the evils which threaten
Here, therefore, ruin muſt be refifted-
here only it can be reſiſted. Before the
lower ranks of men can be brought back
to that reſpect for their ſuperiors which can
alone enſure peace and happineſs both to
high and low, they muſt ceaſe to render
themſelves vile in the eyes of men by the
degradation, the beggary, and the meanneſs
which the Gaming Table entails upon them.
They muſt abandon their baſe companions
and nocturnal haunts, and return to the
native munificence and generoſity which
in times of old endeared them to the poor
and needy, and were the firmeit barrier of
their property and privileges. Oh that the
Great could but “ in this their day of viſi--
tation” hear the friendly voice of one,
whoſe
US.
I
( 39 )
whoſe life and miniſtry have been uniformly
dedicated to promote thoſe principles of
loyalty and ſubordination which it is the
purpoſe of the enemies of this country to
vilify and ſubvert! Oh that they could be
aware how much, by their indulgencies in this
favorite vice, they further the deſigns of thoſe
whoſe malignant activity is evidently directed
to plunder, confiſcation, and anarchy !
But in none of the effects of Gaming is a
more deadly wound inflicted, than by the ut-
ter deſtruction of that principle of NATIONAL
Religion, without which the whole ſtruc-
ture of ſocial order diffolves and peſiſhes.
I know how fertile this age of innovation
in which we live is of new opinions and
ſentiinents upon the connexion between Re-
ligion and Government: But whatever the
pertneſs of paradox may object, the voice of
the moſt venerable antiquity, both facred
and profane, combines with the awful ex-
perience of recent and ſtriking events in af-
ſuring us, that when the chain which unites
the creature to the Creator is broken and
interrupted, when Law is ſeparated from
the SOURCE OF LEGISLATION, then union is
impoſſible, and diſſolution inevitable. Re-
ligion as it is the perfection of individuals,
fo is it the preſervation of communities.
Whatever therefore counteracts its effects,
and obſtructs its progreſs, ſtrikes at the very
vitals of civil ſociety. But neither the fo-
phiſtry
D A
( 40 )
phiſtry of infidelity, the refinements of
luxury, or the lures of pleaſure, have con-
tributed ſo much to wreſt all awe of God
from the minds of men, as this ſingle vice
of Gaming. I now ſpeak of ſocial Religion,
beginning with families, and extending it-
ſelf through various gradations to more com-
prehenſive aſſociations, till it embraces that
moſt enlarged community, which may be
denominated national or political.
And firſt, what is it which has diſturbed
that beautiful appearance of family piety,
which was of old the ornament of our
Engliſh nation, and conſtituted part of
its public character: when each morning
and evening the maſter of a family aſſembled
with a patriarchal and primeval dignity his
children and domeſtics, to praiſe the Author
of the abundant bleſſings ſhowered down upon
them? How every relation and dependency
derived reciprocal fanctity and force! How
this falutary practice contributed through
the channels of private principle to augment
the ſtock of public happineſs and ſecurity !
But now instruction and admonition are no
more! Theſe pious exerciſes are fupplanted
by the occupation of Cards and Dice; in
this occupation the Night frequently cloſes,
while nuinerous trains of domeſtics are aban-
doned to all the profaneneſs, debauchery, and
corruption, which the ſtreets of a luxurious
and profligate Metropolis exhibits. Thus is
God
( 41 )
God deſerted in the firſt inſtance. But who are
they who break in upon his Sabbath, that
laſt bulwark of decaying religion which ſtill
remains ? I too well
I too well know the looſe and
licentious doctrines which have been dif-
ſeminated with regard to the obſervance of
this ſacred day, which God (by the firſt com-
mand given to Man) conſecrated to his
worſhip and the uninterrupted meditation
on his word. I have heard with infinite
pain, the ſtrict obſervatìon of this day (that
peculiar glory of the PROTESTANT RELI-
GION, that duty in which the Engliſh Churh
has been moſt eminent and exemplary) cen-
ſured as overſtrained and puritanical. I
haver heard all abſtinence from amuſement
repreſented as gloomy and melancholy, and
opinions broached on this ſubject which
would ſoon precipitate this nation into the
ſame depth of Apoſtacy in which a neigh-
bouring country is plunged. With ſuch
an indifference to the miſery of mankind,
and to the judicial diſpenſations of Almighty
God, it is in vain to contend : But to thoſe
who ſtill feel for themſelves and others, I would
with all eagerneſs ſuggeſt, that of all habits
which withdraw Men from the public fur-
therance of Religion on this day, Gaming
is among the foremoſt-I would ſay, that,
as to defert the worſhip of Almighty God
for ſuch diverſions, is a mark of the moſt
fagrant Apoſtacy; ſo any attempt to recon-
cile
( 42 )
+
+
eile an attendance upon the
the one, with a
practice of the other, is a moſt inſulting
mockery of the commands of God. It is
to fap the foundations of all Religion in
thoſe who are within the ſphere of your in-
fluence; it is to devote thoſe who among,
the lower ranks are corrupted by your
example to the pangs and ignominy of an
untimely death, which a violation of the
Sabbath is well known in its conſequences
to draw down upon them. May Almighty
God, by his preventing grace, bring it home
to the hearts of all thoſe in the higher ranks,
who careleſsly or contemptuouſly devote
themſelves to this practice on the Sabbath,
how they will wiſh, when their great account
is to be given in the hour of death and the
day of judgment, that they had been, in-
nocent of the blood of all Men !”
But the greateſt miſchief this accurſed
vice can effect is when any conſiderable por-
tion of thoſe whoſe labours are dedicated to
the ſacred Miniſtry ſhould ever be overcome
by its contagion. With all the dignity, the
power, the energy and efficacy of profeſſional
character, the vice of Gaming is in every
degree and in every mode utterly incompa-
tible. To
To any of its encroachments the Ca-
tholic Church, through the whole current
of pure and primitive antiquity, oppoſed
a moſt dignified reſiſtance: It turned with
an awful and averted front from thoſe of its
degenerate
( 43 )
1
degenerate children upon whom the ſlighteſt
contamination reſted; it prohibited under
the ſevereſt penalties even the preſence of its
Miniſters at ſcenes where their virtue and
fidelity were ſo deeply endangered. Neither
has that found and eminent part of it, our
Engliſh Church, which both in its doc-
trines and diſcipline doth not want a true
Apoſtolical feal, been backward in its cen-
fures. To the large portion of pious and
exemplary Eccleſiaſtics, who really love thoſe
doctrines they teach, and the Maſter whom
they ſerve, I am convinced that God in
his Scriptures, and Chriſt in his Church,
will not, cannot ſpeak in vain. At all
times for Dice and Cards, even were they
of a nature which did not derogate from the
dignity of our high vocation and miniſtry,
we have, or ought to have very few intervals.
We have in the beſt ages much vice to re-
form, much calamity to comfort, much ig-
norance to enlighten, much wilfulneſs to
fubdue—but, O gracious God! in theſe times
how is the arduous taſk increaſed, how are
our beſt exertions called for-to recover from
Atheiſm and Anarchy a periſhing and fink-
ing world, to counteract thoſe ſeeds of revolt
from God, which have fhaken the founda-
tions of civil ſociety, and deluged Europe
with ſeas of human blood-how intenſe
ſhould be our charity, how fervent our af-
pirations, how wakeful our conduct, how
inceſſant
( 44 )
inceſſant our prayers ! But I will leave it
to the conſideration of every reflecting man,
how by a perpetual devotion of our time
to cards and amuſements, we intercept
thoſe awful views of fin and calamity
from ourſelves and others, which alone can
give energy to our labours. It becomes
us to be well aware that our habits ſhould
be formed, our hearts prepared, our views
enlarged; and our reſolution ſtrengthened,
for all that we may be called upon to do, and
all that Providence may deſtine us to ſuffer,
in ſupport of that faith we profeſs, and that
Goſpel which we preach. In particular, let
not THESE SACRED RETREATS, the monu-
ments of ancient piety and munificence, be
degraded by a filly affectation of faſhionable
manners and faſhionable vices, and peculiarly,
of “ that Sin which doth fo eaſily be ſet us.”
Prayer and meditation, ſtudy and retirement,
charity and dignified hoſpitality, are equally
excluded, by a conſtant round of cards and
diſſipation Oh may theſe ORNAMENTAL,
thefe NOBLE, and when applied to their
pro-
per ends theſe useful inſtitutions, never be
brought into diſrepute by the folly and fault
of a few. Let me not ſeem in this “ as one
that mocketh,” for I cannot but think that
every ſerious Miniſter of Chriſt muſt con-
fider this awful paſſage of St. Paul as ex,
hibiting a ſtrong analogy to the preſent cir-
çumſtances of himſelf and his brethren
" for
12
( 45 )
for I think God hath ſet forth the Apoſtles
lajt, as it were appointed to death. For we
are made a ſpectacle unto the World, and to
Angels, and to Men." I muſt ſuggeſt, that
to ſuch a ſituation even the diſtračtion of the
generality of amuſements is ſufficiently un-
congenial and indecorous-much more the
prevalence of one, which I firmly believe
has contributed more in its conſequences and
dependencies to overwhelm the earth with
confuſion and Lloodſhed, than the united force
of all the powers of Hell and DARKNESS.
May the Miniſters of Chriſt, with enlarged
hearts, purified affections, and humble peni-
tence, meet all the high duties which the times
impoſe, and face all thoſe dangers which they
threaten! May we either be thought wor-
thy, as the Levitical Prieſthood, to “ſtand
between the dead and the living, and the plague
be ceaſed;" or if God ſhall, in his inſcrutable
decrees, have thrown us on thoſe times
when “ the elements ſhall melt with fervent heat,
the earth alſo and the works that are thereinz
ſhall be burned up,” may we be able to poſteſs
our ſouls in firm reſignation, and unſhaken
hope, looking according to his promiſe for
“ new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwell-
eth righteouſneſs.”
TO
+
1
( 46 )
TO CONCLUDE.
Happy they who have eſcaped the pol-
lutions of the world by fin in this important
point! Happy they whom the powerful and
controuling GRACE of God (without which
all moral precepts are but a dead letter) has ar-
reſted in theſe coħrſes, convincing them of
• the things appertaining unto their peace before
they are hid from their eyes for ever !”
But thrice happy they whom elevation of
rank, ſplendour of ſtation, and the poſſeſſion
of extended property, have enabled to contri-
bute a powerful and deciſive influence in
checking this wretched career of guilt and
woe! Who, in the ſervice of God and of Man-
kind, have diſcountenanced habits, and ſacri-
ficed amuſements, apparently innocent, to this
great, this glorious, this benevolent purpoſe!
THIS will give them unſpeakable conſolation
and joy at thoſe tremendous moments, when
all earthly diſtinctions ſhall ceaſe, and all
earthly pleaſures are for ever paſſed and
gone.
They Mall ſhine as the brightneſs of the firma-
ment, and they that turn many to righteouſneſs
as the ſtars for ever and ever.
}
Lately publiſhed, by the fame Author,
The Connexion of the Duties of loving the Brotherhood,
fearing God, and honoring the King;
A SERMON,
Preached in the Pariſh Church of St. Magnus the Martyr,
London Bridge.
SECOND EDITION, Price 6 d.
ALSO,
Principles of French Republicaniſm, eſſentially founded on
Violence and Bloodguiltineſs;
A SERMON,
Preached in the Cathedral Church of Wintor; occaſioned by
the Murder of Her Moſt CHRISTIAN MAJESTY.
Second EDITION, Price 6 d.
À DIS S Ë R I À Í ION
ON THE PERNICIOU'S Eftësis og
A
G A MI
NG.
Publihed, by Appointment,
as having gained a Prize (June 1783) in the Univerſity of Cambridge.
« Strenua nos exercer Inertia.".
HOR. EP.
By RICHARD HEY, LL. D.
FELLOW OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE
THE SECOND EDITION.
CAMBRIDGE:
Printed by J. ARCHDBACON Printer to the UNIVERSITY;
For J. & J. MERRILL, in Cambridge; T. CADELL, in
the Strand, B.White, in Fleetſtreet, and G.WILKIR,
in St. Paul's Churchyard, London.
MDCCLXXXIV.
(Price, One Shilling and Sixpence.]
.
!
1
>
!
Entered at Stationers Hall,
Analyſis of the following Differtation.
Page
I. Pernicious Effects.upen the Fortuna
of the Gamefter.
3
20
II. Miſery fúffered by him.
1. From a Variety of Sources:
2. From Agitation by different Par
fions.
1
36
49
----
64
III. Harm derived upon others,
1. Ariſing at large from a Corrup-
tion of Principles in the Game-
fter
2. Diſtrefs brought upon Perſons
privately connected with him,
3. Miſchief to the Public.
IV. Two Points reſerved to be confia
dered apart : viz.
1. Duels.
2. Suicide.
77
90
94
1
1.
Marginal Titles, throughout the Diſſertation:
Page
| Page
I. [tune. 45 Revenge.
3 Effects upon
the For- 46 Grief, &c. [neſs
- Expenſe not limited.
48 Deſpair, Horrour, Mads
5. This is directly charge.
III.
able upon Gaming. 49 Harm to others.
5 Fallacy expoſed.
1. {ples.
7 Diſadvantage in Gam Corruption of Princi-
ing.
[reduced. 50 Firſt, in general
13 Condition of a Perſon 52 Infection of bad Com-
15 Sharpers.
pany.
(gance.
17 The Imprudence of Gam- - Idleneſs and Extravaa
ing, very great.
54 Theſe Vices deſerve not
Incidental Expenſe.
the Lenity they meet
19 Ufury.
with.
II.
55 Selfiſhneſs.
20 Miſery fuffered by the 57 Hardened Feelings, and
Gameſter.
Cruelty.
Different Degrecs of it. Senſe of Shame, loft.
58 Avarice.
i Various Sources.
59 Diſhoneſty.
21 Health impaired. 61 Envy, Revenge, &c.
22 Relaxation not obtained. 62 Danger to a Woman's
23 Enjoyment prevented.
virtue.
25 Love of Play, prevailing
over Love of the Fair 64 Miſchief to private Per-
Sex.
Domeſtic life. [fons.
- Enjoyment loſt thereby. The Wife.
27 Converſation.
67 Children.
29 Domeſtic Enjoyment. 68 Other Relations.
31 Low Company.
70 Orphans, and others.
32 Such Company hurts the 71 Creditors.
Reputation. (red. 125 Friends.
33 Greater Dangers incur-
3.
35 Pleaſure of Gaming, not a 77 Miſchief to the Public.
Compenſation.
Confounding of Ranks.
78 Sudden Changes of fore
36 Agitation by different
Pallions.
8o Commerce, (pied.
Violence of it.
82 Time and Talents occus
37 Complication
of Par. 84 Crimes.
ſions.
86 Political Miſchief.
38 Unwarrantable Hope.
40 Elevation and Depreſ-90 Two Points reſerved.
fion.
[ence.
I.
41 Eagerneſs and Impati-
Duels.
42 Anxiety.
neſs.
44 Suſpicion and Peevith-l 94 Suicide.
2.
11.
1
2.
tune.
IV.
20
4
1
A DISSERTATION
5
3
ON THE PERNICIOUS EFFECTS OF
G
A
M
1
N's... G.
1
1
COULD we for a moment ſuppofe it to be
any man's Duty, by ſome poſitive injunction
divine or human, to make the Gaming Table
his conſtant Occupation ; – if ſo circumſtanced
he ſhould diſcharge that duty with alacrity and
a chearful perſeverance, ſupporting an even tem-
per in all his great and ſudden changes of for-
tune, we could not heſitate in applauding him:
So trying a ſituation, ſo well filled, could not fail
to command our Reſpect and Admiration, as it
would denote a truly philoſophical ſpirit
.
But let us take away the circumſtance of his
being injoined to follow this mode of life, and
the caſe is now altered. Howſoever we may be
ſtruck with his equanimity, we muſt at leaſť"lofe
our reſpect for one who is daily expoſing the
firmneſs of his mind to the levereſt ſhocks, with-
out any laudable End to allege in excuſe of his
temerity. Will he ſay that it is needleſs to urge
any End of his purſuit beſides the Amuſement
А
which
[ 2 ]
of ways.
CS :::.
>
which he finds in the purſuit itſelf ? Surely he
cannot be in earneſt; or elſe he has forgot the
vaſt fund of amuſement provided for Man by
Nature, which has given him ſuch a variety of
powers capable of being exerted in ſuch å variety
To ſee a Being thus furniſhed, who
yet relinquiſhes all his own powers, and flies to
what is mere matter of Chance, which can nei-
the gratify his natural Appetites, pleaſe his
Imagination, nor exerciſe his Ingenuity to any
good purpoſe, is to behold an object truly ri-
diculous.
Our Ridicule howeyer muſt give way to more
ſerious thoughts, when we refleet upon the great
Imprudence of him who ventures his Fortune,
or any conſiderable part of it
, upon the thçow
of a Die. And theſe thoughts, ſerious as they
are will be loft in, yet more ſerious ones, if we
attend to what inore immediately affects the
Gameſter in his own Perſon, if we look into his
Mind and Feelings, haraffed by a ſeries of vio-
leat agitations, and in a manner excluded from
all the common delights of life. Here we might
gelt, in a ſentiment of Pity for a man thus mi-
ferable; were we not led ftill further, to ſee him
as abandoning all trøe principles of Virtue and
Benevolence, and in conſequence bringing Di-
ftreſs and Miſery upon thoſe who are connected
with him by private or public ties ; – cloſing
perhaps the tragedy which he has been acting,
with
I
•
$
[ 3 ]
with an untimely Death, by the hand of ſome
reputed friend, or by his own.
Such are the general ideas ariſing from a view
of the Gameſter's life. But it is neceſſary to de-
fcend to Particulars. In doing which, although
there might be ample room to expoſe the prac-
tice of Gaming'as in itſelf trilling and ridiculous,
for the employment of a Being like Man, yet
it ſeems proper to follow more cloſely the Subject
propoſed, which confines us to the Effeals of
Gaining.
I. Let us take firſt the Effects upon EffeAs upon
the Gamefter's Fortune. And, to limit the Fortune.
ourſelves the more ſtrictly, under this head, to
the charge of Imprudence, let us for the preſent
conceive his Fortune as intended purely for his
own Enjoyment, excluding all the claims which
are commonly allowed to ſpring from ties of
blood or other connexions.
There is ſomething in the particular
Expenſe
nature of this expenſe, which ſtrongly nor limited.
marks its difference from all other kinds of ex-
penſe; which is, that it knows no Limit. Look
at any other ſpecies of prodigalicy; and you
will diſcern a kind of natural boundary, beyond
which the Prodigal, though unreſtrained by prin.
ciple, has no Temptation to go. The man who,
either through Gluttony or Oftentation, adds a
ſecond Courſe to his Table, by no means lies
afterwards under the ſame temptation to add a
A 2
third,
[ 4 ]
3
third. It is not only true, but muſt be clearly
perceived to be ſo, by the verieſt Glutton and the
moſt vainly oftentatious, that their reſpective
enjoyments will: not be increaſed by: a third
courſe added to the two, ſo much as by a ſecond
added to the firſt; -- and not only not ſo much,
but even far leſs than in proportion to the in-
creaſe of expenſe. Or, if a third courſe be ſtill
contended for, and eyen a fourth, yet, without
fixing where the limit is, we may ſafely affirm
that there muſt be one, beyond which all expenſe
would be totally loſt as to the end propoſed by
it, and would make a man ridiculous even in the
eyes of the moſt extravagant. This is applica-
ble to other kinds of expenſe; Houſes, Apparel,
Equipages, and ſo on. And this is true not only
as to the Number, but the Quality alſo. In
every common article of expenſe, there exiſts
either a higheſt Quality and Excellence, which
nothing can exceed, or one which it would anſwer
no 'End to exceed, as nothing would be added
by it to the ſenſual enjoyment or to the reputa-
tion of Shew and Magnificence.--But when the
expenſe comes to be that of Money ſtaked upon
a board, all limits ſeem to vaniſh, and the whole
train of ideas to be changed. If we conceive a
man to play through Avarice, he is naturally led
on by conſidering, that the larger ſum he ſtakes
the larger he will take up in caſe he wins; if to
diſplay his Wealth, he conſtantly feels that the
greater
[ 5 ]
greater number of rouleaus he lays down, the
greater man he appears, and that the figure he
makes is ever in proportion to the number of
them depoſited. Or, if he plays without any
diſtinct motive, through mére habit or blind in-
fatuation, the ſame power which has carried him
one length will carry him another, if he is weak
enough to be carried on by it: there is not a check
in the nature of the thing itfelf, as there is in
other expenſes ; ſo long as he has fupplies of
Caſh or Credit, the number of guineas for which
he may play is unlimited, like the arithmetical
figures that will expreſs them; and the advance
from a ſmaller (take to a larger ſeems as natural
amongſt thouſands of pounds as amongſt hun-
dreds or units.
Invain would the Gameſter contend This is directly
chargeable upon
that all this is nothing to the pur- Gaming.
poſe, by alleging that the prudent man will riſque
no fun the loſs of which can materially affect
his fortune, and that if the imprudent man does
otherwiſe, he is to be blamed as imprudent ra-
ther than as a Gamefter. It is anſwered; we all
know that there are inany perſons in the world
imprudent enough to ſpend their money as far
as there are temptations to draw them on, in
their particular line of expenſe. If then there is
one line of expenſe, as Gaming, which (having
in itſelf no natural cl:eck to its exceſſes) does
perpetually preſent ſucceſſive temptations beyond
A 3
all
[ 6 ]
!
all bounds; this in its own nature is evidently
deſerving of cenſure, and a man’s imprudence
at the Gaming Table is not to be confounded
with any general charge of imprudence againſt
him as a Man. Nor has the Gamefter any rea-
ſon to expect that he ſhall have more felf-com-
mand to ſtop where he pleaſes, than the profuſe
in any other article of expenſe. Indeed it might
appear otherwiſe to one who was coolly conſider-
ing the nature of Play; as there is clearly no en-
couragement to him who plays fair, to hope for
Gain upon the whole: - but confirmed experi-
ence tells us that people are in fact hurried on
by the temptations of the Gaming Table, as
ſtrongly at leaſt as by thoſe of any other ſpecies
of prodigality:
There is a great Fallacy with regard to
expoſed. the playing upon an equality of Chance,
which deſerves to be well conſidered. It may
be thought, that if a man plays upon an equal
chance of loſs and gain, or lays the odds that
are juſtified by mathematical calculation, he runs
no riſque for which he can be blamed on the
ſcore of Prudence. But the contrary may be
fhewn. Not that the Fallacy is of any conſe-
quence in the ſmall ſums which are frequently
played for in a domeſtic game at Cards; but it
is of very great importance when the ſtake is a
large part of a man's fortune. Let us ſuppoſe
á perſon worth fix thouſand guineas to go to the
Hazard
Fallacy
[ 3 ]
Diſadvantage
Hazard Table, and that as ſoon as a Main is
thrown he ſets upon it three thouſand guiñeas :
in ſtrictneſs he has ſome finall odds in his favour,
but for the preſent argument we may very well
ſuppoſe him to play upon an equality of chance;
ſo that his Expectation is worth three thouſand
guineas, being preciſely of the ſame value with
his own ſtake; and, mathematically ſpeaking,
we muſt allow him to play without either advan-
tage or diſadvantage. But if we attend to the
Conſequences of his winning and loſing,reſpect-
ively, we ſhall ſee the thing in a differ-
ent light. If he wins, he raiſes his in Gaming.
fortune to nine thouſand guineas; and therefore
it is increaſed in the proportion of three to two.
If he loſes, he reduces it to three thouſand gui-
neas; and therefore it is diminiſhed in the pro-
portion of two to one. So that he has but the
fame chance for increaſing his fortune in one pro-
portion, which he runs of diminiſhing it in a
much greater. Wherefore, although he is upon
equal terms with the perſon againſt whom he
plays, yet, in reſpect of his own increaſe or
diminution of Happineſs, he certainly plays to
diſadvantage. For it is far from being true that
one and the ſame fum of money, added to a
man's fortune in one cafe, and taken from it in
another, will affect him equally in the two caſes,
--- It may even be maintained further, that if,
inſtead of a certain Sum added to his fortune or
taken
A 4
[ 8 ]
1
taken from it, there be a certain Proportian in
which it is increaſed or diminiſhed, ftill he would
game to diſadvantage. To Thew this, let us re-
ſume the former caſe, ſuppoſing only that, in-
ſtead of ſtaking three thouſand guineas upon the
ſame footing as before, the Gamefter ſhall now
have (what certainly no Adverſary would allow
him) an equal chance for raiſing and for reducing
his fortune in a certain proportion, namely of
three to two, by raiſing it to nine thouſand op
reducing it to four thouſand; — we are to ex-
amine whether even upon this favourable ſuppo-
ſition he does not ſtill in reality game to diſad-
vantage.
The fimpleſt and faireſt way of taking the
matter, is to conceive him as having hitherto liv-
ed upon his former fortune, (I mean its yearly
produce), and after making this one alteration
in it by winning the three thouſand or loſing the
two thoufand, coming then to live upon
creaſed or diminiſhed fortune: that we may
judge whether the winning would add to his en-
joyment as much as the loſing would take from
it. If he loſes, he is reduced immediately to
live upon four thouſand, two thirds of his form,
er fortune. Of conſequence, he muſt retrench
one third of his expenſes. The Habits and Ex-
pectations which he had gradually formed, and
which were become natural to him, muſt meet
with conſtant checks and diſappointments. We
his in-
រ
are
[ 9 ]
are all, creatures of Habit and Cuſtom. The
Food, Apparel, Attendance, the Habitations,
the Conveniences, and even the Ornaments of
Life, ſuch as we have conſtantly enjoyed,
theſe we look for daily as things of Courſe; and
we do not ſo much feel a poſitive happineſs in
the enjoyment of them, as a Poverty, Vacuity,
and even poſitive Miſery, in the want of them.
Andabove all theſe, perhaps, is the being obliged,
either to quit the ſocietyofthoſewithwhomwehave
been accuſtomed to keep company as Equals, or
elſe to remain amongſt them upon a different
footing; and moreover, to admit as our Equals
thoſe whom we have hitherto juſtly looked upon
as our Inferiors. There are indeed who can, and
with chearfulneſs too, fetele themſelves in a ſtation
lower than what they have been uſed to, who
with a certain dignity of contentment can enter
into a new character, and with a good grace ſeem
to forget that they ever had higher claims. But
for ſuch as theſe you muſt look amongſt men re-
duced by their Misfortunes, not their Follies.
The man who has wantonly and unprovokedly
at the Gaming Table reſigned his money into
the hands of Fortune, for her in her caprice ei.
ther to reſtore it to him or give it to another,
has no internal ſupport under his diſtreſs; he has
nothing to allege, to his friends or himſelf, which
may operate to footh and gratify the feelings of
an unfortunate man, or which can fairly ſolicit
1
the
[ro]
the regard of the compaſſionate. Such feeris
to be the conſequence of his : lofing. On the
other hand, if he wins, he has now an additional
fortune of three thouſand guineas: and if this
will produce an addition to his enjoyment, equi-
valent to the diſtreſs ſuffered on the loſing ſide,
we muſt then allow that he plays without diſad-
vantage. But the contrary will appear, upon à
little reflexion. Money is not happineſs. It is
not (generally ſpeaking) the immediate Means
of happineſs: at the beſt, it ſerves only to pro-
cure thoſe means. And here it is to be obſerved,
that the Prices of all the reputed means of hap-
pineſs keep riſing in much higher proportions
ſucceſſively, as you advance into the higher ranks
of life. So that, to enable a perſon of a thou-
fand a year, and one of a hundred a year, to al-
ter their ſeveral ways of life equally, to the
eye
of the world, would require very different addı-
tions to be made to their fortunes. And though
the nature of the thing does not admit of any
ſtrict calculation, yet we may venture to aſſert
that the addition requiſite to be made to the
greater fortune muſt be at leaſt in proportion to
the fortune itſelf. Therefore, in the caſe
pro-
poſed, the winning of three thouſand guineas and
the loſing of two thouſand may be looked upon
as equivalent, in their effects upon the external
and reputed means of happineſs. But the Game-
Iter's diſadvantage will appear ſtill greater, if
wa
[ I ]
We now come to the point of real Enjoyment.
There is always previouſly required a Diſpoſition,
or power of Perception, ſuited to the Object we
are in poffeffion of, and capable of drawing En-
joyment out of it. Here, again, we are the
Creatures of Habit and Cuſtom. You would in
yain ſupply any one with money to purchaſe
Pictures of the beſt kind, if he has not been
uſed to Painting ſufficiently for enjoying them
more than an inferior fort; or, to procure mu-
ſical inſtruments or pay public Performers, if
he can neither play himſelf nor taſte the per-
formances of others; or, to get richer Cloachs
or a more magnificent Houſe than his habitual
feelings will allow him to wear and to live in
with eaſe and comfort to himſelf; or, laſtly, to
gain admittance into Company of ſuch a Rank
or Calt as his former life does not enable him to
reliſh. I would however by no means aſſert that
an increaſe of fortune may not, with proper
management, be made to yield an increaſe of
enjoyment. But it ſeems clearly to operate much
more feebly and uncertainly in producing that
effect, than a diminution of fortune operates
in producing a contrary effect. Therefore, upon
the whole, we may fairly conclude that, in point
of real enjoyment or happineſs, the Gameſter,
in the caſe propoſed, will be a greater Sufferer
if he loſes the two thouſand guineas, than a
Gainer if he wins the three thouſand. And it is
evident
[ 12 ]
evident that he muſt play to much greater dir-
advantage in the caſe as firſt propoſed, where
he ſtaked three thouſand guineas upon an equali-
ty of Chance.
There is the ſame Fallacy in laying the Odds.
For inſtance, at Hazard, if the Main be Seven
and the Cafter's Chance Four, the true mathe-
matical Odds are two to one in favour of the
Setter. Yet it would be highly imprudent to
riſque any conſiderable part of one's fortune up-
on ſuch Odds, for the like reaſons as juſt now
explained. We may juſt remark that, in fuch a
caſe, the laying of four thouſand guineas to two
thouſand ſeems chargeable with a greater degree
of imprudence than the ſtaking of three thouſand
upon an equality of chance; becauſe a greater
part of one's fortune is riſqued: and, by parity
of reaſoning, taking thoſe Odds would be im.
prudent in a leſs degree. Though, certainly, to
lay thoſe Odds, to take them, and to ſtake mo-
ney upon an equality of Chance, are all to be
called, Gaming without any diſadvantage, while
we view the thing in a mere mathematical light.
If, inſtead of ſuppoſing that the Gain or
Lofs ariſes from a ſingle Stake or Wager, we
put the caſe of money won or loſt at different
times, by playing for ſmaller ſums, the Fallacy
that has been here expoſed is ſtill the ſame, pro-
vided what is won or loſt goes to the fame ex-
tent in the whole. And if, by continuing the
Gameſter's
1
( 13 )
Gameſter's life for a length of time, a man 'ex-
ceeds (as it much too frequently happens) the
comparatively moderate bounds in the caſe
above ſtated, the 'reaſoning which ſhews the
imprudence of ſuch a courſe, holds but the
more ſtrongly. It is a melancholy Condition of a
picture, to ſee a perſon who had Perſon reduced.
been born to a high rank, and was once pof-
feffed of an eſtate of ten or twenty thouſand
pounds a year, now reduced to ſome poor pit-
tance which in his days of profperity and pru-
dence he would have conſidered only as running
caſh, to anſwer the trivial demands of every day.
Let us attend a moment to the ſituation into
which he has brought himſelf. He has intirely
loſt the power of living with Independence in the
rank to which he has been accuſtomed. If then
he does at all preſerve the appearance of the
ſame rank, it muſt be either through means at
which Honour and Honeſty would bluſh, or
through ſome great ſtroke of good fortune, (as
by advancement in the State, great bounty of
Friends, or the like,) which in its nature is ex-
traordinary, and not to be truſted to beforehand
as a reſource, without conſummate imprudence
and folly. If, on the contrary, he ſubmits fairly
to the evil which he has brought upon himſelf,
and without evaſion ſettles himſelf in a ſubordi-
nate rank of life; this preſents us with the true
idea of his Loſs, and is to be compared and con-
trafted
[ 14 )
1
trafled with the condition to which he would
have been raiſed, had luck run on his ſide as
much as it did in fact run againſt him. There
is not an article of expenſe, nor an accommoda-
tion, in which he muſt not ſubmit to a total
change. His Habitation, his Apparel, his Food,
will ftrike his eye with a Glare of meanneſs, and
ſhock his habitual feelings, every day or every
hour. If he ſays to himſelf, I have ſtill enough
for Nature, nay I have more than thouſands
whom I ſee following their daily labours with
chéarfulneſs and content ; iftill the acquired
Cravings of Habit will feel a perpetual Void,
and make him miſerable in fpite of all he can
fay. He is in a manner excluded from Society;
- from the company which he has been uſed to
keep, by the inferiority of his preſent rank, and
from the company which he might now keep, by
the total Unſuitableneſs between them and him
felf. His time muſt hang like a heavy load upon
him, for want of employment; unleſs perhaps,
what may be equally grievous, he be driven to
ſome Labour, mental or bodily, for procuring
an addition to his fender ſupport. I will not
trace out this picture more minutely ; but leave
it to every one's own conceptions. It ſeems,
however, material to note the prodigious dif-
advantage of the Gameſter in his Play: he has
nothing to balance the riſque of reducing himſelf
to this abject condition, but the chance (equal to
that
[ 15 ]
that riſque) of riſing into one in which he could
only add ſplendor to ſplendor, and heap on more
where there was already Abundance. If he has
ſucceſs, he doubles indeed an ample fortune; but
if otherwiſe, he finks to what a man of ſuch
fortune may, without much rhetorical figure,
call Nothing
The difference between ſuch Loſs as we have
juſt been conſidering and a reduction to abſolute
Nothing, is ſo trifling in compariſon of the
whole loſs, that it might be tedious to make it
here the ſubject of a ſeparate conſideration. And,
as to the caſe of playing upon Credit beyond
the extent of a man's fortune, this feems ra-
ther to fall under a different Head, and will
on that account te mentioned more properly
in another place : except indeed this one re-
mark, that theſe Debts, like all others, antici-
pate a perſon's future acquiſitions, and under
that idea they exhibit him to us in a lower ſituati-
on, than he appears in as only being ſtripped
of every thing he had.
Further: independent of the Diſad- Sharpers.
vantage thus shewn to be eſſential to the practice
of Gaming in its very nature, there is a great
additional Diſadvantage ariſing from the danger
of falling into the hands of Sharpers. Every
perſon who has much to do with the world, is
expoſed to ſome danger of this fort, occaſionally,
in various occurrences of life: but the Gaming
Table
I
( 16 )
1
Table is the peculiar province of this noted Fra-
ternity.' Hitherto we have ſuppoſed a man en-
gaged only with an Adverſary who would play
upon the Square, as it is called; ſo that Chance
alone has been the Arbiter of his fate : - no
falſe Diċe, nó ſmooth Boxes, no Sleight of hand
to cog a die or_hide a card, no Stamp, Drib-
ble, or' Long Gallery. But let any one re-
collect the amazing rapidity of execution which
the human hand is capable of acquiring: -
there are few who have not ſeen this exemplified
in public exhibitions of tricks by ſleight of hand.
A Knight of the Induſtry, equipped with ſuch
powers as theſe, and gaining admittance into the
fociety of Gentlemen who play fair, will (it is
eaſy to conceive) make great depredations in
whatever caſh they may chuſe to venture upon
the board. And Gentlemen who play fair
would do well to remember, that the Loſs they
ſuffer from Sharpers is not like a run of bad
Luck, which may chance to be made up to
them by a run of good Luck at another time.
The fair Player who ventures incautiouſly among
Strangers, or perſons not ſufficiently known to
him, fuffers (almoſt of neceſſity) when thoſe per-
fons happen to be Sharpers; and when he is for-
tunate enough to fall into better hands, he is ſtill
only upon even terms with his Adverſary, which
is no compenſation for what he ſuffers at ano-
ther time from unfair Play. The Riſque then
which
[ ſ
which on this particular ſcore is run by the fair
Player, being entirely diſtinct from the Difad-
vantage of Play in general, explained above;
we are to combine them together in our minds,
in order to complete our idea of the Impru-
dence of this practice.
And certainly, upon the whole, The Imprudence
of Gaming, very
it is ſuch a degree of Imprudence great.
as muſt aſtoniſh any one who has been at all
uſed to regulate his conduct upon prudential
maxims. In commercial concerns, it is the
ſtudy of the Merchant to avoid every riſque
that is not neceſſary to the end he has in view;
and wherever he can diminiſh his riſque, he does
it by Inſurances and all the methods of Caution
which he can deviſe: - where he expoſes him-
ſelf to any hazard, it is as to a neceffary Evil,
for the ſake of a greater Good connected with it.
But the Gameſter has the appearance of ſeeking
the Riſque for its own fake. With regard to ſo
much as the Balance has been ſhewn to be
againſt him, he acts like the man who ſhould
for mere amuſement truſt a ſhare of his
property
to the mercy of the Waves or Pirates, without
hoping for any return.
So much for the direEt Imprudence Incidental
of Gaming:
but we muſt not paſs Expenſe.
over the incidental expenſe which uſually attends
it. He who has habituated his mind to be fa-
miliar with hundreds and thouſands, and has
B
learned
I
[ 18 ]
learned with ſome ſhare of Stoical indifference to
let a pretty large ftake paſs from him or return
into his poffefſion, may be apt to overlook this
expenſe. He would do better to remember that,
whatever his fate be in other reſpects, this is a
conftant Tax upon him, a clear and certain De-
duction from his Gain, or Addition to his Lols.
Perhaps indeed there are ſome, of ſo ample re-
venues, that they may fairly with prudence
excuſe themſelves from any great attention to
this point: but certainly there is a much greater
number from whom it merits a very ſerious con-
ſideration. Men of narrow fortunes, men who
from inferior ſtations gain admittance into com-
pany of the higheſt, upon the footing of Game-
Iters, lie under the ſtrongeſt temptations to
tranſgreſs in many common articles of expenſe
the bounds which their real ſituation in life has
preſcribed to them. The expenſes of a tavern
or club-houſe may very eaſily fall within the li-
mits of a great man's purſe, at the ſame time
that they are extravagance in the perſons juſt
deſcribed, who reſort to the ſame houſe for the
fake of gaming. And, in other articles alſo,
they are drawn on naturally, by imitation, to
exceed their juſt expenſes in a degree which muſt
lead to ruin or, what is worſe, fome diſhoneſt
way of preventing it. They are accuſtomed to
ſee Dreſs (for inſtance), ſuch as among their
equals would look rich even to magnificence,
made
@
[ 19 ]
made ufe of as neceſſary cloathing; ſo that it
no longer ſolicits the eye as being of any ſupe-
rior quality. The conſequence is, that the Ap-
parel which is properly ſuited to their own rank
ceaſes to ſuggeſt the idea of ornamental or com-
fortable; they ſee it as mean and paltry; and,
forgetting the difference of conditions, they come
to perſuade themſelves that even common decen-
cy requires they ſhould wear, what they obſerve
to make upon their Superiors ſo natural and fim-
ple an appearance. The ſame is applicable to
other particulars of expenſe.
This folly riſes to a ftill greater height in
ſome ; who, not content with equalling their
Superiors, are reſolved to ſurpaſs them in Mag-
nificence and Expenſe. The attempt, by this
Exceſs to make up for Defects in birth, accom-
pliſhments, manners, or merit of whatever kind,
muſt be fruitleſs as well as imprudent.
There is one Expenſe, brought on fre. Uſury.
quently by Gaming, which deſerves to be
par-
ticularly mentioned ; as it cannot ſafely be over-
looked by perſons poffefſed even of a large for-
tune:-I mean that incurred by raiſing money
upon uſurious terms. I need not undertake to
diſplay at large the artifices of Extortion practif-
ed upon the neceſſities of the Gamefter, nor the
ſingular weakneſs of one who ſubmits to raiſe
money upon terms ſo hard, for a purpoſe in it-
ſelf ſo ruinous as the traffic of the Hazard Ta-
ble.
32
[ 20 ]
1
Miſery ſuf-
fered by the
Gameſter.
ble. The dire&t Imprudence of Gaming is ſo
great, that, when we had ſeen a man allowing
himſelf to be guilty of it, we could not be ſur-
priſed at his advancing this ſtep further, to
haften a ſinking Fortune to its deſtined Nothing.
II. I willnow quit the conſiderati-
on of the Effects of Gaming upon
the Fortune of the Gameſter, and proceed to
thoſe which affect immediately his Perſon, his
Mind, and Feelings. And here we ſhall ſee
exhibited before us a copious Miſery, ariſing
from perverſeneſs worſe than childiſh:-a rati-
onal creature neglecting or throwing away the
Goods whicha bounteous hand has placed within
his reach, and diligently picking out for himſelf
the Ills of life from Fortune's miſcellaneous heap.
There are indeed Degrees of this
Degrees of
miſery, as will appear in the Detail of
it: it muſt by no means be affirmed, that the
whole of it is the conſequence of the inferior
degrees of Gaming. No: it follows in a more
equitable and impartial manner the perverſe
choice of him who draws it upon himſelf. Let
no one, who has already had even a large portion
of it, conclude that there is no greater in reſerve
for him, – that he has endured the worſt, and
may now advance as far as he pleaſes, without
fearing an increaſe to his miſery.
1. I am to attempt then a detail of va-
Sourceso rious particulars, which conſtitute fo ma-
ny
Different
ito
Various
[ 21 ]
ny Sources of miſery to the Gameſter.
Firſt, the practice of Gaming bids fair to injure
the Health. This it does, in com- Health impaired.
mon with ſome other Cauſes, by occupying
thoſe hours which would be better given to
ſome manly exerciſe. or thoſe which Nature has
evidently deſigned for refreſhing the bodies and
all the faculties of men by Neep. But it pro-
duces this effect more particularly, by giving
perpetual occaſion to violent paſſions, which
agitate, haraſs, and diſorder the whole human
frame, and which will be mentioned by and by,
as themſelves alſo the immediate cauſe of great
miſery. It is an acknowledged point, that an
undue Agitation of the mind is highly prejudi-
cial to the Health. And experience ſhews,
that Health is a neceſſary ingredient of human
happineſs; as without it we are not able to pre-
ſerve a true reliſh for the enjoyments of life. So
that, beſides what is ſuffered directly, by Pain
and Sickneſs, here is a conſtant diminution of
our daily enjoyments.--Add to this the for-
lorn ſtate, in point of dreſs and external appear-
ançe, in which it is not uncommon to return
from the midnight toils and cares of Gaming,
at an hour when a wiſer part of the world are
riſing from their beds to Cleanlineſs and Action.
This is hurtful to the Health, and is accompa-
nied with feelings ſo languid and diſconfolate as
ſurely no one could eaſily be brought to endure,
who
B 3
[ 22 ]
Relaxation
who has experienced habitually the Alertneſs and
fas I may ſay) Elaſticity of the Mind, when all
its powers after their natural refreſhment wake
to new exertions.
Relaxation is an end which might
not obtained. be ſuppoſed to be aimed at in Gam-
ing. But, in the manner and degree in which
Gaming is purſued, it muſt produce an effect
very different from Relaxation. The profeffed
Gameſter is a man of Buſineſs. And his Bu-
ſineſs contains not the advantages either of thoſe
occupations which relax and pleaſe, or of thoſe
which ſtrengthen and improve: the former fort
muſt be ſuch as exerciſe the Attention much
more gently than Gaming does, and the latter
muſt have ſome uſeful object in view, or call
forth the faculties to ſome ſteady rational exer-
tions, totally unlike the wild and irregular emo-
tions which agitate the Gameſter. The pleaſures
of the Imagination are, with a peculiar proprie-
ty, recommended by Mr. Addiſon for the pur-
poſe of relaxing. And we can ſcarcely conceive
any thing a ſtronger contraſt to theſe, than deep
Play. Not even the ordinary occupations by
which men earn a livelihood, are ſo ſtrongly
contrafted to them: if an employment be ever
ſo dull and mechanical, at leaſt it is uſually mix,
ed with ſome caſual ſtrokes which now and then
light up a momentary brightneſs in the Imagi-
nation. But the rigid Silence required in deep
Play,
[ 23 ]
he may
Play, and the total excluſion of all ideas beſides
thoſe of Main and Chance and the reſt of the
fame claſs, debar the mind from every pleaſing
picture, (except what a vicious taſte has made to
be pleaſing,) and chain it down to a Drudgery
which would be galling to a very Slave
I will go drown thought at the Hazard table,
ſays the Gamefter: but he is miſtaken. This
thought indeed, or that thought, in particular,
drown: but he is ſure ſtill to have his
mind exerciſed by thought, both ſevere in its
degree and hurtful in its kind. So far then is
Play from refreſhing the mind after paſt labours
and preparing it for the renewal of them, that it
is actually a fevere labour, and thus comes to oc-
cupy the place of uſeful purſuits ; requiring
ſome recreation to ſucceed it, inſtead of being
itſelf a recreation.
But it even diſqualifies a man for
Enjoyment
enjoying what the reſt of the world prevented.
make uſe of for Recreations. Experience bears
witneſs, (ſtrange as it may appear to a cool
ſpectator,) that an attachment to Play is often
one of the ſtrongeſt attachments that lay hold
of the human mind. And it is alſo found by
experience that any very ſtrong Attachment is
apt to draw one away from every thing elſe.
To take an inſtance; the ſchemes of the fan-
guine Projector, whether in Politics, Trade, or
other matters, engroſs him in ſuch a manner that
B 4
he
[ 24 ]
he has ſcarcely a reliſh for any enjoyment which
is not in ſome way or other connected with
his favourite object. In the ſame manner, a
paſſion for Play will ſeize upon the whole man
and govern him with the moſt imperious tyran-
ny. You can preſent him with no objects which
can fix him, but his Imagination will ever be
running on the Dice: he can conceive no felici-
ty higher than to nick a Main; nor can any ac-
cident befall him more grievous than to throw
Ames-ace. Should you invite ſuch a one to
feaſt his eyes and delight his ſoul with the beau-
ties exhibited in the face of Nature, or with the
ſublime conceptions of a Raphael or Michael
Angelo, to charm his ears and harmonize all
his feelings by the raviſhing ſounds of Muſic,
or to chaſe away every gloomy thought by the
mild chearfulneſs of eaſy Converſation; you
would be doing ſomething not unlike bidding
a man benumbed in all his ſenſes with the palſy,
to enjoy his food, the air, and every thing
around him, as when in perfect health,
To form an eſtimate of the Loſs of the
Gameſter, by examining all the particulars of
the Enjoyment which his Paſſion for Play thus
excludes him from, both ariſing from Nature
and ſupplied by Art, both what he might pre-
cure as a ſeparate Individual, and what comes
within his reach by his connexions in civilized
Society, would be tedious; and would exceed
al1
[ 25 ]
1
Sex.
all bounds which I conceive to have been in any
way intended by the generous and public-ſpirited
Donor of the Prize. I do not
Love of Play,
recollect any one inſtance, which will prevailing over
better ſhew at the ſame time the
Strength of the Paſſion and the Enjoyment it
prevents, than its overcoming the attractions
of the Female Sex.--When we reflect upon
the great effects which are commonly produced
by an attachment to ſome Individual of that
ſex, and the aſtoniſhing effects which are ſome-
times produced by it, we muſt own a prodigi-
ous Strength in that Paſſion which can deſtroy
the power of it by its own ſuperior force.
But the other point ſeems to fall
Enjoyment
loft thereby.
more fairly under our conſideration at
preſent; namely, the Enjoyment which a paſſi-
on for Play prevents by overcoming ſuch at-
tachments, the moſt natural to man. So natu-
ral indeed, and ſo common, in ſome degree or
other, is an attachment to the fair fex, that a
man perfectly devoid of it, though in the ca-
talogue of men he may be numbered for one,
muſt yet be reckoned as a Monſter of his ſpecies.
But, in this as in other things, there are in-
numerable Degrees of refinement and delicacy,
which diverſify the feelings of different men.
And it is obſervable, that frequently thoſe who
have had a diſpoſition the beſt fitted for taking
delight in the converſation of the Fair, have
become
[ 26 ]
become poffeffed with the ſtrongeſt paſſion for
Play. To account for this fully, might lead
me too wide of my ſubject : but, to prevent
any concluſion (by aſſociation of ideas) in fa-
vour of Gaming, I will refer to a well known
poſition which is applicable to the beſt Minds
as well as to other things the beſt of their
kind, that when abuſed they are apt to be.
come the very worſt. It is a moſt diſguſting
fight, to ſee a young man of good birth and
education, of ſtrong underſtanding and quick
fenfibility, of great accompliſhments both in
perſon and mind, rejecting perverſely the hap-
pinefs which all theſe qualifications reach out to
him,--the happineſs to be found in the ſociety
of young Women; while he reſerves himſelf
wholly for Cards, Dice, or an EO table. We
can ſcarcely deny him dur pity for being drawn
off by ſuch fordid amuſement, even from un-
warrantable connexions with Women. How
much leſs when we ſee him lofing the refined
and approved enjoyment of all that the ſex af.
fords of elegant, graceful, ſprightly, exhilarating,
tender, foothing! But, beſides this intercourſe
with the fex at large, which is loſt to him, he is
ſtill a greater loſer by miſſing thoſe manly
though ſoft Feelings, that elevate and roufe to
action while they humanize and delight, which
attend the honourable and ſucceſsful purſuit of
fome one Individual of that ſex ; - fome one
fuited
[ 27 ]
fuited to him by Nature, Education, and Rank,
and qualified to accompany him through life as
the partner of all his joys and griefs. And
it is not only by actually quitting the ſociety of
Women for that of Gameſters, that a young
man is found thus to deprive himſelf of his na-
tural happineſs; but ſometimes, though fet
down at the ſame card-table with the faireft of
the Fair, if engaged in deep play, he will for-
get all diſtinction of Sex, and give himſelf up
to the hard and chearleſs ideas of Chance and
Calculation, while there ſits before him an object
naturally fitted to call up the fofteſt and moſt
agreeable emotions of the mind.–Thus does
he become blind to the charms which were in-
tended for his delight; and thus does this arti-
ficial appetitę (for ſo we may properly call the
Love of Play) abſorb the natural inclinations and
perceptions which were meant to lead him to his
earthly happineſs.
Of a kindred ſort to the laſt-men- Converſation.
tioned enjoyment, is another which the Game-
fter either entirely deprives himſelf of or greatly
diminiſhes: I mean the pleaſure of Converſation
in general. And the effect is produced in the
fame manner : namely, by fuffering the ruling
Paſſion for Play to occupy the whole man, and
in conſequence to ſtifle thofe emotions and thoſe
powers which create the enjoyment. When a
man's mind is wholly taken up with one train of
ideas,
[ 28 ]
1
ideas, he is but ill qualified to enter into that
variety of topics which of courſe occur in com-
mon converſation. When moreover thoſe ideas
are of ſuch a ſerious fort as thoſe of the Game-
fter muſt be, who is riſquing every day fome
large portion of his property, — who is hoping
perhaps ere long to have the fortune of a
Prince, or fearing in as ſhort a time to find
himfelf a Beggar, and when, by frequent re-
petition, ideas of this fort have taken full pof-
feffion of the mind; it becomes fatal to that
playfulneſs of the Imagination which contributes
fo much to promote an innocent mirth, and
to increaſe the fociable feelings of man to man.
To the rigidly ſerious and buſy mind of the
Gameſter, all this ſport of the fancy muſt ap-
pear impertinently trifling, merely through his
own want of reliſh for it; although to the man
of chearful virtue, who gives himſelf with in-
duſtry to fome uſeful employment, it is at pro-
per times both pleaſing and ſerviceable. As
for the inſtructive part of Converſation, though
no doubt in this alſo much will be loſt by a per-
fon who is wrapt up in one particular ſet of
thoughts, yet fince it does not ſeem quite fo
remote as the more lively part, from the fevere
habit of mind in the Gameſter, I will not en-
Jarge upon it. But it may be obſerved, that
all the advantage and pleaſure (whatever they
be,) of Converſation, are entirely loſt by a Per-
fon
[ 29 ]
Domeſtic
fon during the time that he is actually en-
gaged in deep and ſerious Play : which is dir-
cinct from the inconvenience already conſidered,
namely the effect produced in the mind by habit-
xal Play, diſqualifying it from entering properly
into Converſation even when at leiſure,
Conjugal, parental, and other do-
meſtic Affections, may be conſidered Enjoyment.
as forming together one plentiful and natural
ſource of human felicity. And this the
pro-
feffed Gamefter choaks up, or even converts
into a ſource of Miſery. That miſery which he
brings upon the perſons connected with hiin by
domeſtic ties, will come afterwards to be men-
tioned : at preſent we are engaged in that which
he brings upon himſelf. And ſurely it is no tri-
fe, to give up a fund of perpetual, of daily en-
joyment. This is a circumſtance that deſerves
well to be attended to. We are inclined, I
believe, in general to over-rate both Pains and
Pleaſures which are violent in their degree and
occur but ſeldom, comparing them with thoſe
which are moderate but happen frequently. In
a well-regulated Family, there are numberleſs
Night touches of endearment, paſſing between
the Members of it, even in the ordinary inter-
courſe of every day, beſides the more lively
ſenſations produced by participating in the great-
er events of each other's life. Theſe ſlighter
touches conſtitute, by their frequency, a moſt
ſubſtantial
1
[ 30 ]
1
fubftantial fund of enjoyment, and one which
may
be much better depended upon than more
tranſporting joys: and, by long repetition, they
generate attachments, or ſtrengthen thoſe which
already exiſt, of a moſt pleaſing as well as uſe-
ful kind. And yet all this happineſs is over-
looked or rejected by the man who makes Play
his buſineſs. Beſides abfenting himſelf very
much from the placid ſcenes of domeſtic com-
fort, he unfits himſelf for enjoying them when
preſent. That perpetual hankering after the
Dice, which is ever gaining ſtrength upon him,
will be ſure to unhinge him at home :-it
will prevent his ſpirits from ſettling into that
calm ftate which would invite him to the fa-
tisfactory enjoyment of what lies within his
reach, in preference to the wild purſuit of
Fortune's moſt capricious gifts abroad.
And alſo the Conſciouſneſs of having neglected
thoſe Friends who have the moſt natural claim
to his company, will ſuſpend him from re-
ſigning himſelf to mix perfelly in their ſociety.
If they receive him coolly, he will feel it a de-
ſerved puniſhment; if kindly, he will (provided
he has a ſpark of generoſity left) feel himſelf
ungenerous and ſhabby in his treatment of theme
in return. But if, beſides all this, he has ma-
terially intrenched upon the Income which ought
to be their ſupport, or diminiſhed the Patrimo-
ny which in due time they expect to come to the
poffeflion
[ 31 ]
1
poffeffion of; it is no wonder if, from this time,
the very fight of thoſe who ought to be to him
the deareſt objects in the world, diſguſt and
ſhock him, if he dreads to point his ſteps to
his own threſhold, as a Criminal after an eſcape
to return to his fetters and his jail,
The low and profligate Company Low Company.
which a Gentleman of rank and education will
frequently ſubniit to keep, rather than loſe his
beloved Hazard, is ſuch that, if he had been re-
quired to admit them fimply on the ground of
Companions, he would certainly have looked
upon it as an inſufferable degradation. Thoſe
who are no way diſtinguiſhed in birth, ſtation,
or the like, ſtand in need of perſonal qualifica-
tions, to make them in any degree tolerable
in the ſociety of people of the higheſt ranks.
But if any man's perſonal merit is found to
be wholly comprized in the ſcience of the
Gaming Table, thoſe who are ſo much his ſu-
periors cannot poſſibly ſuffer his company, with-
out inflicting a great puniſhment upon them-
ſelves. Having neither a rank to fill, nor the
credit of a family to ſupport, he is free from
one very powerful kind of reſtraints upon the
indecencies of behaviour: and he may be led
to ſuppoſe, that if he obſerve one or two pro-
feſſional points of honour, any liberties that he
may take, which are not forbidden by theſe,
can contain nothing ungentlemanlike or diſ-
honourable,
[ 32 ]
honourable. It muſt be owned that, if a num.
ber of perſons engage together in Play, the na-
ture of the thing requires them to be upon a
footing of equality in all matters immediately
relative to the Play. But, this opening being
made, men of no great nicety of feeling will
be apt to overlook diſtinctions, and to ufe the
like liberties in other affairs and on other oc-
caſions : which cannot but be grating to their
ſuperiors, notwithſtanding they endure it through
ſuch a blind attachment to theſe Companions,
as prevents their reſcuing themfelves from the
diſgraceful Slavery. May we not with good
reaſon pity the man whoſe Feelings thus con-
ftantly jar with each other; while in his reflect.
ing moments he hates or deſpiſes thoſe whom
again and again he is drawn on to aſſociate
with, as if by ſome power of enchantment in
the rattle of the dice? If we indulge in
purſuing this matter to the extreme, we may
repreſent to ourſelves a man ſtripped of all his
guineas, reduced to his laſt ſhilling, an outcaſt
(for want of money) from White's and Staple-
ton's, yet ſo ſtrongly infatuated with the vice
of his proſperous days, that he will even con.
deſcend to game with the very loweſt populace
in the open ſtreets.
Such Company
But the enduring of Imperti-
nence from Inferiors is not the on-
ly way in which the Gameſter is a ſufferer from
the
hurts the Reputa-
tion.
[ 33 ]
men.
the Company that he mixes with. There are
various other ways: –
one of them is, the
effect
upon his Reputation. On this head per-
haps he may undertake to brave the World ;
and ſay, that what company he chufes to keep
is not the concern of any one, ici therefore that
he ſhall pay no regard to what any one may be
pleaſed to ſay upon it. But can he in ſuch a point
command his own feelings ? Surely not; till by
length of time he has worn off a ſenſibility
common by nature (in ſome degree) to all
To bear up under a bad name, even
among a particular ſet of perſons, or for a
time, till ſome facts of doubtful appearance
can be cleared up, and when ſupported too by
the conſciouſneſs of having done what is right
and praiſe-worthy; - to do even this, is a
proof of no ſmall fortitude. But in the caſe
before us, where a man finds himſelf lighted
by his Equals for demeaning himſelf to keep
company with thoſe who are his Inferiors, not
only in rank, but in every qualification of a
Man and a Gentleman; for a perſon (not
totally abandoned) to boaſt of indifference in
this caſe, is either a downright impoſition up-
on the World, or ac beft a glaring inſtance of
Self-deceit.
There are yet other ways in which Greater
a Gamefter may ſuffer by the Compa- incurred.
ny which he keeps. He may fall into the hands
С
of
[ 34 ]
of men whofe character is deteſtable in a much
greater degree than what has juſt now been
ſuppoſed ; – men devoid of every moral prin-
ciple, and ready to perpetrate whatever villany
may ſerve their turn.
Men of this ſtamp,
either ſingly or affociated in a Gang, will find
many opportunities in the connexions of the
Gaming Table, for injuring one againſt whom
they may have formed their black deſigns. For
inſtance, ſhould a Villain of this claſs entertain
a paſſion for your Wife or Daughter, (ſuch a
paſſion as a Villain's mind can entertain ;) he
will not ſcruple, though againſt every dictate of
real Affection, to ruin her fortune in order to
poſſeſs her perſon; much leſs will he ſcruple, in
order to this, to ruin you who are her ſupport.
Should he think the maik of Friendſhip cori-
ducive to his ends, he can “ ſinile, and ſinile,
" and be a Villain." Under this maſk he will
not heſitate to lead you on to any lengths; if re-
peated loſſes awake not in you a ſuſpicion of his
treachery, he will gradually reduce you to that
ftate which he thinks may enable him to mould
you and yours to his purpoſe. Stripped of your
property, and made acquainted with the end he
has been aiming at, if you offer reſiſtance or
threaten puniſhment, the conſequence may be,
that you pay your Life as the laſt forfeiture to
this pretended friend. Nor will a man ſo com-
plete in villany inſiſt upon riſquing his own
life
19
[ 35 ]
t
life in crder to take yours: you are not to
reckon yourſelf perfectly ſecure from the baſeneſs
of Poiſon or Affaflination.
Theſe are Dangers in the extreme; and are
not meant to be charged upon every inferior
attachment to the practice of Gaming. And,
ſince it can ſcarcely be called the direct Cauſe
of them, but is rather to be looked upon
as affording Opportunities to Villany, I will
not ſtay to point out any other particular In-
ſtances. If any thing elſe can be found, ſo
far ſimilar to Gaming, that it will equally
expoſe one to unwary connexions with Strang-
ers, and will produce the ſame kind of blind
Infatuation in an equal degree, that alſo will
make one liable to ſuffer deeply by Villains.
They may be ſaid to take poſſeſſion of the Men;
and, when they have once got this, they will not
be long in making it ſubſervient to their Purpo-
fes: but it ſeems not to fall within the province
of this Diſſertation, to deſcribe minutely thoſe
different Purpoſes, or the Ways in which they
may be executed.
We have ſeen a large ſtock of
Happineſs which the Gameſter per- Gaming, not
verſely rejects, and plentiful ſources tion.
of Miſery which he opens upon himſelf. Will
it be ſaid that the actual Pleaſure of Gaming is
a Compenſation to him for all this, and that it
is proved to be ſo by the ſtrong Propenſity which
actuates
Pleaſure of
C 2
[ 36 ]
Paffions
actuates him? The Proof is inſufficient. We
ſee perſons who have almoſt loſt their ſenſes
by Intoxication, more ſtrongly attached to the
liquor before them than a perſon with a na-
tural thirſt upon him: and yet it is paſt a
doubt that he has greater pleaſure in taking a
draught than they have. And there are num-
berleſs other inſtances, in which the Pleaſure
of enjoying an object ſeenis by 'no means an-
ſwerable to the ſtrength of the Propenſity to-
wards that object. Therefore the Proof alleged
is a fallacious one.
Agitation
By different
2. Let us now proceed to examine
the manner in which the Gameſter ap-
pears affected, during the time that he is actu-
sally engaged in Play, or afterwards in conſe-
quence of it. — And firſt; independent of the
Violence particular nacures of the different Paf-
fions with which he is agitated, there is
a general harm from the Violence of the agitati-
The enjoyments which are found by ex.
perience to conſtitute the chief happineſs of man
in this world, are of the placid and moderate
fort. We may now and then catch a Rapture
of delight: but he that expects any fuccef-
fion of rapturous feelings in the ordinary courſe
of things, ſhews a great ignorance of human
life. Now the feelings of the Gamefter, as they
depend upon events certainly very intereſting if
he plays pretty deep, will of conſequence be
often
of it.
0115.
( 37 )
often violent in their Degree, whatever be their
Kind: and hence, by mere Analogy, ariſes a
ſtrong Conjecture that they will not be ſuch as
upon the whole produce much happineſs.
But further, all violent emotions, whether of
joy or grief, agreeable or painful, are found to
fatigue and haraſs the mind : which deducts
ſomething from the Good they yield when of
the agreeable fort, and adds to the Evil of them
when painful. Here again therefore is an ar-
gument upon general principles, from the Vio-
lence alone of the Gameſter's feelings, to make
us ſuſpect that they are not very deſirable,
notwithſtanding the attachment he may ſhew to
his own mode of life.
It may be remarked, before I pro- Complication
ceed to mention ſome particular of Paffions.
Paflions which agitate the Gamefter, that he
frequently ſuffers under a Complication of Paſ-
fions; which acting at one and the ſame
time upon the mind, either diſtract and tear
it to pieces by pulling different ways, or, by
urging it the ſame way, drive it to the moſt
outrageous exceſs. So that, although ſeveral
Paſſions will be mentioned ſeparately, it is by
no means to be underſtood as if each of them,
always or even uſually, exerted itſelf ſeparate-
ly, producing thus a ſingle and diſtinct effect.
The Combinations of different feelings, in the
Gameſter as in other men, are infìnitely va-
ried,
C 3
[ 38 ]
Unwarrant-
pied, and therefore cannot be enumerated ; but
we ſhall obtain ſomę idea of them, if we exą.
mine ſeveral of the principal paſſions ſingly, as
the Materials out of which the Compoſitions
are made.
To begin then with one ſonie,
able Hope. what mild in its nature. The Game-
{ter is apt to indulge himſelf in Hope, extrava-
gant in its degree, and totally unwarrantable
becauſe contradicting Demonſtration : -- for it
does in effect contradict the calculations form.
ed upon the certain principles of mathematical
inveſtigation, concerning the probabilities of
events in play. Let him but have ten pie-
ces in his pocket, when he enters a Gaming
Houſe, and you may ſee him big with Hopes
of making a hundred before he comes out of
it. Nay, if he has had ſuch bad luck already
as to have gamed away a good Eſtate, let but
Fortune by any means put him in poſſeſſion of
an inſignificant ſum, and he will be ſaying in his
own mind, “ if the dice do but favour me, this
may reſtore to me all my Lands, my Woods,
“ my Manſion Houſe ;” and under this phraſe,
if the dice favour me, he will couch a Hope
that they will do ſo; whereas in truth ſuch a
Hope is not much ſhort of Madneſs. It will
ſerve little to any other purpoſe than as a foun-
dation for the moſt bitter Diſappointment. In
active life it is otherwiſe; Hope is a ſpring
of
66
[ 39 ]
of Action, and as ſuch, (though it ſhould
happen to be ſtronger than can be juſtified,)
it may enable a perſon to acquire something,
however ſhort of what he had hoped for. Buc
in the toſs of a Die, there is no call for a man to
exert his own powers. He truſts all to Chance,
-watching only to nick Fortune, as he terms
it: except we include the iniquitous myſteries
of the art, which are no more to be reckoned
here, than Forgery or other illicit practices
would deferve to be reckoned if we were
eſtimating the advantages of Trade. Will
it however be maintained that Hope, while it is
Hope, is an agreeable feeling, and therefore,
whatever it may lead to, cannot be conſider-
ed as any immediate Evil in itſelf?
I fancy
that even this will not hold good. The caſe is
ſo clear againſt ſuch Hopes, that the man who
entertains them can ſcarcely do it without a
conſciouſneſs of his folly in ſo doing. So far
as he does really hope, it is a ſtrong inſtance
of Self-deceit : his Hope of Succeſs is a cloak.
under which he hides even from himſelf his
exceſſive Love of Play. And we cannot think,
that wild expectations like theſe will yield him
the fatisfactory pleaſure of a well-grounded
Hope: they muſt rather produce, in his breaſt,
a tumult which agitates inſtead of enlivening;
whilſt, having a confuſed ſuſpicion of his own
folly, he fears to curn his eyes inwards in order
i
C4
to
[ 40 ]
to examine it minutely, and ruſhes on diſſatisfi-
ed with himſelf, though affecting a chearful con-
fidence in his Fortune.
Does he ſucceed far beyond what was proba-
ble? Yet we do not find him attaining the Hap-
pineſs which we naturally ſuppoſe to have been
his ultimate object. One whom he deſpiſes, one
whom he pities as a miſerable wretch groveling
in ſome mechanical employment, will, in mak-
ing an equal acquiſition of fortune, generally
make a much larger acquiſition of happineſs.
Gradual ſucceſs, with the ldea of þeing one's
ſelf the prudent and induſtrious cauſe of it,
will inſpire the mind with vigour and ſpirits,
far above all that can be expected from a few
favourable ſtrokes of mere Chance,
In common life, a man is much
Depreffion,
to be pitied who meets with many
great and ſudden changes of fortune : eſpecially
if he ſhews himſelf ſo weak as to be excel-
ſively elated with a proſperous turn of affairs,
and depreſſed when they take an adverſe turn.
This is one light in which we are to view
the Gamefter. But the greatneſs of the chang.
es far exceeds what uſually happens in life:
infomuch that a reverſe of fortune which in
a Gaming Houſe attracts ļittle notice, will
elſewhere command the attention and ſympa-
thy of thouſands. Indeed the Gamefter makes
Some pretenſions to be a Stoic upon theſe oc-
Elevation and
caſions :
[ 41 ]
caſions:-I believe, without ſufficient ground.
Inſtances there may have been, no doubt; but
too rare probably, to merit a place among theſe
general topics. It is, I fancy, much more com-
monly the caſe, that the Apathy is confined to
the Countenance ; - that while the brow is
kept ſmooth and the muſcles of the face pre-
ſerve their ſituations, the heart anſwers by natu.
ral emotions, if not to every ſingle caſt of the
dice, at leaſt to any conſiderable run of good or
bad ſucceſs. But there are many who leave us
not thus to a conjecture, about what paſſes in
their breaſts: their words, their looks, and gel-
tures are ſufficiently expreſſive; and convince us,
that perſons who thus wantonly bring themſelves
into theſe trying ſituations, are not free from
extravagant exultation in proſperity, and de-
preſſion in adverſity, How miſerable muſt
be the feelings of a man who, after having
once or twice reduced himſelf to poverty and
found himſelf utterly incapable of bearing it
with temper, cannot yet ſuffer himſelf to be
țaughi a leffon of frugality; but on one more
return of ſucceſs, is weak enough to riſque
again his new acquiſitions, rather than reſerve
them for the purpoſes of prudence or honeſty !
In ſpite of the moſt dear-bought Eagerneſs and
experience, you may ſee the Game. Impatience.
fter returning to his dice as keen as if he
had, in former trials, found his moſt extrava-
gant
[ 42 ]
gant hopes juſtified. Such a Keenneſs, with a
tumultuary Impatience attending it, is itſelf a
ſevere but natural and common puniſhment of
our undue appetites. And the farther a man
has departed from reaſon and prudence in
gratifying his appetites, or in creating arti-
ficial ones, the more does he expoſe himſelf
to this puniſhment. The Gamefter, having
deſerted the ample field of enjoyment provided
for him by Nature, and pointed out to him
by Reaſon, for the ungenial regions of Chance
and artificial appetite, has expoſed himfelf in
a peculiar manner to be punifhed inceffantly
in this way. Nay, he is not only hurried on
in general by an Eagerneſs for Play; but,
what is completely abſurd as well as wretched,
when repeated loffes have brought him near
the brink of ruin, he diſcovers an Impatience
even to puſh on to the edge of the precipice,
and plunge himſelf into ruin irretrievable. Mad-
nefs like this, is not only the Cauſe of miſery to
come, but is preſent and grievous Mifery.
Nearly allied to this Impatience, but ne-
Arxiety. vertheleſs diſtinct from it, is the Anxiety
of expectation in which the Gameſter is ſo
often kept ſuſpended. This is an Evil heavi-
ly and univerſally complained of in common
life. How often do we hear, upon various
occaſions, ſuch expreſſions as theſe, “Rid me
but of my Sufpenfe,”—“ Any thing were better
than
!
i
[ 43 ]
than this ſtate of Uncertainty ?" Yet does the
Gameſter wantonly and perpetually throw him-
ſelf into ſituations remarkable for producing
this uneaſy paſſion. The ſituations moſt apt
to produce anxious expectation are thoſe in
which, beſides the Importance of the event de-
pending, a man cannot by any exertions of his
own contribute towards deciding it one way or
another, but is obliged to wait the deciſion in a
ftate of inactivity. Let a man but have room to
exert himſelf, and he may diſpel a number of
gloomy anxious thoughts, even where he cannot
entertain great hopes of final ſucceſs. But if
he ſhould be fixed to a ſpot, within view of
tranſactions which deeply concerned him, and
ſhould be thus compelled, as it were with
his hands tied, to watch the deciſion of ſuch
intereſting events; this would be a torture
deſerving of an Inquiſition. Yet the Game-
{ter is even ſuch a hand-cuffed Spectator of
his own fate: gaping earneſtly after the Dice,
to ſee what faces they will turn up; but in-
capable (by the rules of fair Play) to do any
thing towards bringing up the faces he wiſhes
for. — And it is particularly obſervable of the
paſſion of Anxiety, perhaps above all others,
that a frequent Repetition adds much to its
yehemence. This circumſtance is found in full
perfection at the Gaming Table. No ſooner
is one ſtate of Suſpenſe broughệ to an end
than
LA
[ 44 ]
than another is ſought for, with an avidity that
might fet us upon queſtioning whether to be an-
xious were not to be happy: but as ſoon as the
new ſtate of Suſpenſe is entered upon, the avi.
dity to bring this alſo to an end convinces us of
the contrary.
In matters fo ferious as the bu.
Surfpicion and
Peeviſhneſs. finefs of Gaming, it is no wonder
that a man ſhould ever be awake to Suſpi.
cion. He knows there are Sharpers to be met
with; and he dreads to become a Bubble to
them, not only on account of his money, but
alſo of his reputation. Nor will he think it
impoſſible for a Gentleman, unblemiſhed in his
ordinary character, to be drawn on, as his mind
is ruffled by the events which happen in Play,
to take fome advantages not perfectly fair.
Hence, he will ſometimes be upon the rack of
Sufpicion, where he thinks it ſtill neceſſary to
treat with good manners thoſe whom he can-
not but ſuſpect. And even where he has not
fufficient reaſon to ſuſpect this or that Individu-
al, he may yet ſuffer the torment of a ſuſpici-
ous mind, merely from the general idea of be-
ing liable to unfair Play. In addition to this,
let us only ſuppoſe that he has bad luck at any
particular time; and we ſhall readily conceive
that theſe together may generate in him a mi-
ſerable Peeviſhneſs. This is a quality which
not only makes a man very unpleaſant to himſelf
while
[45]
while the immediate cauſe of it exifts, but is apt
to four the temper, to introduce habitual fret-
fulneſs, and to lay the foundation of numerous
diſagreeable ſenſations in one's daily commerce
with the world.
Stimulated by Peeviſhneſs and Loſſes, Revenge.
the Gameſter is ſometimes weak enough to con-
tinue at the Hazard Table under an idea of
revenging himſelf upon thoſe to whom he has
loſt his money. An idea ridiculous enough to
a cool Spectator ; but, notwithſtanding, a cauſe
of real miſery, as well as a vice, in the breaſt
that harbours it. A proper Refentment, that
is, a due ſenſe of a real injury ſuſtained, is
often attended with ſome feelings of a pleaf-
ing fort, a nicety of moral principle, and an
idea of one's own dignity or perſonal merit.
But Revenge, eſpecially if ariſing without any
real injury committed, will make the ſoul that
is conſcious of it feel mean and deſpicable to
itſelf. This is the caſe of the Gameſter, if it
be for ſums won from him by fair Play, that
he goes to revenge himſelf; ſenſible as he muſt
be that this was no Injury to him. And if he
conceive himſelf to have been preyed upon
by Sharpers, he muſt be aware that the method
he takes is wholly unfit to anſwer even his own
mean purpoſe; ſince, to continue Play with
Sharpers, can only ſerve to plunge him deep.
er: and hence, in addition to chat meanneſs of
Feeling
u
( 46 )
.
Feeling which attends a ſpirit of Revenge in ge-
neral, he feels alſo the Impotence of his own
fooliſh Method to attain his vicious End.
Under the loffes which befall the
Grief, &c.
Gamefter, we find him in want of the
ſupports which other perſons have to lean upon.
Grief, Lamentation, Regret; and Melancholy,
have their privilege when they ariſe from the
diſtreſſes of unprovoked bad fortune : the Suf-
ferer then needs not be aſhamed of indulging
them, within certain bounds; he derives even
a degree of importance from his ſufferings, and
claims with a good grace the ſympathy of the
beholders. But the caſe is very different with
the loſing Gamefter ; who with an iniprudent
levity has thrown himſelf into the way of Ca-
lamities, and has in a manner tempted Fortune
to uſe him harſhly. Deſtitute of approbation
from within and from without, he is expoſed
to the full force of his misfortunes : or, if
he meets with ſome pity abroad, the ſenſe he
has of its being unmerited, takes much from
the ſtrength of that ſupport. In his external
appearance indeed he may not always betray
his Sorrows: the dread of meeting with a cold
indifference to his concerns in thoſe around him,
or perhaps drawing upon himſelf their contempt
or ridicule, may ſometimes ſtifle a tear ready
to burſt from the eye, may force a ſmile in-
to a melancholy countenance, or ſuppreſs the
noify
}
[ 47 ]
:
noiſy exelamations of louder Grief : but all
this reſtraint will produce a moſt uneafy con-
tention in the breaſt; which will diſtract and
jade it. And there will alſo be times, indeed
not a few; when theſe natural marks for ex-
preſling the paſſions will break through all
oppoſition and plainly indicate what paffes with-
in. - If repeated loſſes from the Dice have
reduced a man to Poverty, what is the Lan-
guage in which he regrets his paſt aMuence ?
Not that of a manly Fortitude, which, hav-
ing ſuffered through accidents entirely out of its
power, ſubmits with firmneſs to what will only
render it more illuſtrious; not that of the mag-
nanimous Patriot, who, in ſome imminent dang-
er of his country, to ſave it if poſſible from
ruin, has wafted his ſubſtance at the ſame time
that he has expoſed his perſon, and at lait
yields with an unbroken ſpirit to the calami-
ties of the times; not that of the warm Friend,
who, to retrieve the diſtreſſed circumſtances of
ſome one nearly connected with him, has with
an exceſs of generoſity ſtraitened his own. No;
he has nothing laudable to plead as the cauſe
of his misfortunes, nothing of even a miſtaken
virtue or generoſity, to allege to himſelf as
the inotive of his paſt conduct; he has no
public calamity to which he can attribute his
loftes; nor any private ſtroke of adverſe for-
tune, except what is intimately involved with
his
[ 48 ]
his own folly. At one time, his Language is
alternately the expreſſion of idle Lamentation
and bitter Self-reproach : at another time, he
paints to himſelf his former proſperous ſtate,
dwells upon it, contraſts it with his preſent con-
dition, and ſeems as if he took ſome wretched
ſpecies of delight in tormenting himſelf with the
Compariſon. At other times again, he affects
to buoy himſelf up by throwing the blame up-
on his Companions, upon his Stars, upon the
inanimate Dice: but this, at the bottom, is
only a different method of regretting that hap-
pineſs which he has himſelf ſpilt upon the
ground. All is comfortleſs : all is the Lan-
guage of Miſery.
Deſpair, There is, however, ſtill deeper mi-
Madneſs. fery awaiting him, if he ſtop not ſhore
in his career.
Let him now, while he has
ſomething left, while he has ſome reputable
connexions not totally diffolved, and perhaps
a domeſtic eſtabliſhment which may be kept
up though upon a reduced plan, -- let him
eyes, and turn his feet to
ſeek the path of Honour and Felicity. Other-
wiſe, when all is loft, when Hope is gone,
when fortune, reputation, domeſtic comfort,
and peace of mind appear to be filed beyond
recall, ſee what infernal paſſions ſeize upon
the foul as their lawful prey. Deſpair lays
hold of it, attended by keen Remorſe and im-
potent
Horrout,
at laſt
open his
49]
potent Rage, and vexes it with a torture ſuch
as one might have imagined human ftrength
incapable of ſuſtaining; while a confuſed gloom
of Horrour, ſpreading itſelf over the mind,
gives every object of the imagination and of
the ſenſes a terrifying aſpect. Sunk beneath
a load of Shame, he has not courage to look
one of his own ſpecies in the face, but
abandons himſelf to his internal tormentors,
and ſeems to welcome the exquiſite miſery
which they inflict upon him. In a ſituation
like this, even Madneſs may be acceptable ; a
dreadful remedy, 'tis certain, and to the Friends
of the unhappy Sufferer moſt grievous and
ſhocking, but to himſelf probably a degree of
relief.
L.
Hatin
to others.
III. Hitherto we have been contem-
plating, ſcenes which call forth our
Pity for ſo wretched a Being as a Gamefter.
Thoſe which are going to open upon us will
excite ſentiments of a different kind towards
him : - he will now appear before us as ac-
countable for the miſery which he brings upon
others.
1. To begin with the fountain
Corruption
head, let us a little conſider the of Principles.
corruption of his Principles; before we enter into
any detail of the immediate Effects of his con-
duct, upon private Perſons and upon the Public.
Ꭰ
Man,
E 50
Man, by the conſtitution of his na-
*Firſt, in
general. ture and by the circumſtances in which
he is placed, is an active Being. He finds it
impoſſible to fit always ſtill: this object or that
will ever be drawing him on to follow it. If,
for want of firmneſs, wiſdom, or prudence, he
does not uniformly adhere to one grand deſign
or plan, he will at leaſt be purſuing in a more
deſultory manner a variety of purpoſes at differ-
ent times: if objects of Importance do not attach
him, Trifes will be found to do it. Hence it
appears that, to engage in any Purſuit, is not
to do that inſtead of nothing, but inſtead of
ſome other purſuit or purſuits, which would in-
fallibly have engaged more or leſs the attention. .
The Gamefter cannot go after his Dice, with-
out neglecting ſomething, whatever it be that
might otherwiſe have happened to occupy him
during the time that he now gives to Play..
Add to this (what experience teaches,) that a
man, by purſuing an object for a length of
'time, improves gradually or acquires ſuch Ha-
bits and Powers as are adapted to it. Hence,
in purſuing one object, I loſe the opportunity
not only of purſuing ſome other object, but alſo
of attaining thoſe Habits and Powers which
would have ſprung up during the purſuit of it.
For inſtance, if I give my time to the Gaming
Table, I loſe the opportunity not only of purſu-
ing, in that time, any virtuoșis or benevolené
purpoſe
( 51 )
purpoſe which I might have pitched upon, but
alſo of acquiring thoſe Habits of Virtue or Be-
nevolence which the purſuit itſelf would have
cauſed to grow up in me. - --- Again; if we
grant that there are ſtill Opportunities for virtu-
ous Habits to be formed, notwithſtanding a
mán's being addicted to Gaming, and if he does
actually give a portion of his time to ſome laud-
able purſuit, one that has a natural tendency to
improve his moral Feelings, yet here alſo the
Spirit of Gaming ſtands in the way and deſtroys
the hopeful proſpect. This it does by its ſtrong
Poffeffion of the mind; for which, as a fact, we
may appeal to experience. And it is in vain to
hope for a harveſt of ſo delicate a growth as that
of virtuous and benevolent ſentiments, while
the paſſion that rules the ſoul is one of ſuch
ſtrength as the love of Play. This nips every
ftem in its vegetation, as it riſes above the ſur-
face, before it has gained fufficient ſtrength to
ſupport itſelf againſt the many attacks to which
it is expoſed. Yer further; it is certain that
the moral Feelings require to be exerciſed, not
only in order to be improved, but even to be
kept up at that pitch of perfection which they
have already attained. Hence, if a perſon who
has hitherto lived irreproachably, ſhould fall
under the baneful influence of the Dice, we are
not to be ſurpriſed at a ſubſequent Corruption of
his Morals. Let no man, however habitual and
regular
D 2
[52]
Infection of
regular may have been his attachment to every
virtue, facter himſelf with a hope that, after he
begins to indulge himſelf in Gaming as a pro-
feſſion or ſerious occupation, he ſhall be able
long to maintain inviolate his former dignity of
.character. Such are the effects of Gaming,
towards corrupting the Principles in general: but
it will be worth the while to ſee more fully how
it robs a man of ſome particular Virtues, or in-
troduces into his breaſt ſome particular Vices.
It ought however to be previouſly
bad Company. remarked, that the general Corrup-
tion of a man's Principles, which has juſt been
ſhewn to ariſe immediately from the very nature
of Gaming, is greatly forwarded by the con-
tagious Morals of the Company in which the
Gamefter mixes. That he does in fact ſome-
times aſſociate with men of a moſt abandoned
character, and alſo that ſuch Company has a
great influence in weakening every good princi-
ple, are points ſo notorious that it ſeems ſuffici-
ent to have juſt remarked them : eſpecially after
what has been ſaid already (a) concerning the
Company that he keeps; though it was there re-
ferred to a different head.
To proceed then to ſome particu-
Extravagance. lar effects of Gaming, upon the
Morals. And firſt, it tends much to introduce
or promote a ſet of Vices which are often ten-
derly
(a} Page 31, &ce
Idleneſs and
[ 53 ]
53
derly treated in any cenſure paſſed upon them,
ſometimes perhaps wholly excuſed, under an
idea, that they are hurtful to him only who is
guilty of them. Among theſe, the principal
ſeem to be Idleneſs and Extravagance: and,
ſince they are peculiarly connected with Ga.ning,
both as its Cauſe and Effect, I ſhall confine my.
ſelf, under this ſet of vices, to the conſideration
of theſe two.--As the Cauſe of Gaming, they
do not fall within the ſubject of this Diſſerta-
tion; though I do not deny that they ſometimes
are the Cauſe of it. They are alſo frequently
the Effects of it. This is applicable to other
Vices which will be mentioned afterwards : and
indeed it is a very common phenomenon in the
moral world, that where any courſe of action
has ariſen from any particular ſentiments, whe-
ther vicious or virtuous, it will afterwards re-
produce and heighten the ſame ſentiments;
which thus become the Effect of that, of which
they were before the Cauſe.
If
any one
doubts whether Idleneſs can be an Effect of
Gaming, becauſe the Gameſter follows his oc-
cupation with great ſeriouſneſs and intenſeneſs of
thought; let him attend a little to the familiar
acceptation of the word Idleneſs, or its oppoſite,
Induſtry. In the uſe of theſe terms, there is
commonly ſome ſecret reference made to the
End and Purpoſe for which any thing is done.
If a man ſhould work hard fourteen hours a day,
$
D3
in
[ 54 ]
in picking ſtraws, he would ſtill be ſaid to be
idly employed : nor would the greateſt labour
and fatigue, undergone in midnight revels or in
parties of pleaſure, entitle one to the appellation
of induſtrious. The Gameſter is powerfully
urged on, but to no good End or Purpoſe;
and his Motive may well be deſcribed in the
expreſſive words of Horace, “ Strenua nos exer-
cet Inertia." But if he is to be called idle in
the very heat of what to him is Buſineſs, much
more in the Intervals of that buſineſs; when
with jaded faculties, with feelings of diſappoint-
ment and vexation, and without a deſire of do-
ing good to a fellow-creature, he is totally un-
qualified to ſet about any work of Induſtry.
Nor is Extravagance leſs than Idleneſs) the ef-
fect of Gaming. The expenſe to which the
practice of Gaming leads, (excluſive of the ſums
actually loſt in Play) has already been mention-
ed (a): and though it was then viewed in a dif-
ferent light, namely as prejudicial to the Fortune
of the Gameſter, what was ſaid will be ſufficient
alſo for what we are now conſidering, as it
fhews the Vice of Extravagance to be an effect
of Gaming; and therefore it needs not to be
repeated here.
To excufe, or ſo much as to
Lenity they meet palliate, theſe vices, under an idea
that they are hurtful to none but
him
Theſe Vices
deferve not the
with,
(a) Page 17, &C.
[ 55 ]
him who is guilty of them, is an ill-judged
Lenity. And it deſerves the more to be noticed
here, becauſe the ſame Lenity may perhaps by
ſome be extended to Gaming itſelf, as well as
to theſe two Vices which are in the train of
its pernicious Effects. - The plea is falſe : à
man cannot be idle and extravagant, without in-
juring others as well as himſelf. Not to mention
ſingly the ſeveral miſchiefs which ſuch a one
muſt bring upon thoſe with whom he has con-
nexions, (as that would carry me too far from
the inmediate ſubject I am upon;) it may be
obſerved that habitual Idleneſs and Extravagance
unfit a perſon entirely for the diſcharge of his
duty to mankind. It is not enough for a man
to have a few vague feelings of good-will to-
wards his friends, and to have an eaſy fociable
turn in converſation : there is required in the
diſcharge of almoft every duty fome degree of
labour and attention. And it is not to be ex-
pected that he whom his own immediate con-
cerns cannot rouſe to action or reſtrain within
bounds, ſhould exert or reftrain himſelf for the
ſake of others : although certainly, to a well-
diſciplined mind, there is nothing in the dif-
charge of ordinary duties which may not be am-
ply repaid by the pleaſure of Benevolence, or by
the Conſcioufneſs of doing what is right.
I need not fear the ſame indulgence Selfithners
.
to the Vice which comes next to be
mentioned
D4
[ 56 )
mentioned : - it lies univerſally, and very dem
ſervedly, under great odium. I mean a narrow
and contracted ſpirit, which knows not how for
a moment to quit that beloved creature, Self,
that it may enter into the breaſts of others and
ſympathiſe with their joys or ſorrows. This un-
dermines all Benevolence; and, in extent like
to that generous principle, interferes with all the
lower offices of kindneſs, to which every day
gives occaſion, as well as the higher duties which
occur not ſo frequently: Such a ſelfiſh ſpirit is
entirely of a piece with the ſpirit of Gaming,
and receives a great acceſſion of ſtrength from
it. When
When you have thrown a Main at Hazard,
every one who chuſes to ſet any ſum upon it
declares himſelf your Enemy, and you are in
turn the declared Enemy of every one at whoſe
ftake you throw. In the circle of mutual Foes
who ſurround the toard, every thing is hoftile;
at leaſt all that relates to the buſineſs of the
Table, except an agreement upon certain rules
which are their laws of war; and all conſidera-
tions are taught to give way to Self-intereſt.
The mind of every man is ſharpened againſt his
neighbour ; and he learns, with a Selfiſhneſs
ſhocking to humanity, to rejoice in the mil-
fortunes of thoſe whom Benevolence and a
friendly Intercourſe would have inſtructed him
to commiſerate and relieve. The perpetual ex-
erciſe of this Selfiſhnels at the Gaming Table,
will
[ 57 ]
will form it into a Habit, and thereby introduce
it into the common actions of a man's life.
Hence he may come to loſe by Hardened Feelings
degrees all thoſe fentiments of and Cruelty.
Tenderneſs and Compaſſion, which plead with
him in his own breaſt in behalf of his fel-
low-creatures ſuffering under the various Ca-
lamities that befal them. His heart is hardened
with a general Inſenſibility; and becomes a prey
to that monſter, Cruelty. For, in order to be
cruel, it is not neceſſary to have a poſitive deſire
of inflicting miſery. By far the greateſt part of
the Cruelty which is to be found in the world,
ſeems owing to ſuch negative qualities as Inſen-
fibility, Careleſſneſs, and Inattention to the feel-
ings of others, rather than to any diſpoſition
poſitively vicious. Yet ſurely it is repugnant to
our very Nature, that one human Being ſhould
gaze with Indifference on the mifery ſuffered by
another. But after a man is once advanced
thus far, he will be ready, when his own conve-
nience requires it, to infli&f the miſery himſelf:-
and this forms the eſſence of Cruelty.
There is however one more ſenſibi-
lity, which, while it continues with a
man, will preſerve in him ſome re-
mains of moral principle, or at the leaſt will
ferve in a degree as a ſubſtitute for it: and
this is, a ſenſe of Shame. But it is poſſible
even for this to wear off. Let but the Gameſter
perſevere
Senſe of
Shame,
loft.
( 58 )
Avarice.
perfevere in his way of life, which is ſingularly
adapted to harden the heart and contract it with-
in itſelf; and he ſhall at length become callous
to Infamy, or (what is equally bad for the cauſe
of Virtue) ſhall act as if he were fo. Abforbed
wholly in a paſſion for one object, a paſſion
againſt which the world has long exclaimed, and
being reſolved at all events not to give up the
gratification of it, he of courſe bids defiance to
the voice of the world, and reſigns all external
regard to his Reputation.
Avarice feems of all Vices to be the
moft immediately connected with Gam-
ing, both as its Cauſe and Effect. That it is a
principal Cauſe, is very generally allowed: but
this is to be underſtood with ſome diſtinction.
For it is highly probable, from the age and
ufual diſpoſitions of perſons when they begin this
practice, that Avarice is not at the firſt pre-
dominant with them. But afterwards it becomes
evidently fo. – Indeed what is a paſſion for
Play, where the Play is deep, but a greedy and
inordinate purſuit of the money that is depoſited
upon the board? And what is an inordinate pur-
fuit of money, but Avarice? - When it is thus
become predominant, it muſt of neceſſity be
a very powerful Cauſe of Gaming: but the
growth of it from its infancy to its preſent
ftrength, is to be looked upon as the Effect of
Gaming. And it is an effect highly pernicious;
a Vice
[59]
a Vice of a moft odious kind, and one which
every man ſhould be particularly careful not to
encourage in himſelf, ſince it is remarkable for
growing upon a perſon as he advances in age.
It is a hateful fight indeed, to ſee any one, in
his youth or the prime of manhood, who, by
keenly and conſtantly purſuing rouleau after
rouleau for a few years, has already haſtened
this Vice within his breaft to a maturity, which
would diſcredit him even when he ſhould be go-
ing to drop into the grave through old age.
That it is not accompanied with the Penuriouſ.
neſs which in old age commonly attends it, is no
proof that it is not Avarice, The deſcription of
Catiline by his Hiſtorian, “ alieni appetens, ſui
profuſus.” is no paradox in the preſent times :
and, of the two ſpecies of Avarice, this which
is mixed with luxury and extravagance in the
fame perſon, ſeems more pernicious than the
other, of the penurious fort, which is perhaps
more common.
The greedinefs of Avarice will
prove a dangerous trial to Honeſty.
I will not pretend to ſay that Gentlemen, who .
have been educated to real principles of honour,
who have alſo the dignity of a rank and cha-
racter to ſupport, may not for a long time, with
ſome internal ſtruggles, reſiſt all aſſaults from
this quarter; but, at leaſt, they are dangerous
aſſaults, even to the beſt fortified. And the
man,
Diſhon cfty.
[ 60 ]
A
mar, of all the world, proudeſt of the fenti
ments which ſpring from a good Education,
er from an idea of Rank and Character, may
tremble for his fortitude, if he expoſes it volun-
tarily to ſuch powerful attacks. But beſides
that the defence to which he trufts may prove
inſufficient, he may come even to loſe it. To
play upon the ſquare, as he is thus far fuppoſed
to do, is a road, almoſt infallible, to Poverty :
as has been ſhewn at large in a preceding part
of this Differtation. Now, when a man feels
himſelf ſinking by his own folly into Poverty,
with an obftinacy too which prevents all rational
hopes of a better turn to his affairs, he will na-
kurally loſe much of that ſenſe of Rank which
was one part of his ſecurity againſt Diſhoneſty.
In like manner, his ſenſe of Character will be
apt to forſake him, when he becomes conſcious
that his reputation in the world is not what it
has been, and is ſtill ſinking from bad to worſe.
And as for the real internal Honeſty imbibed
from Education, this, deprived of its uſual
auxiliaries, will not be likely to maintain itſelf
alone amidſt that general deſtruction of moral
principles, which has been ſhewn to be the effect
of Gaming. Deſtitute then of his defence, we
fee him moreover attacked by a double tempta-
tion to unfair practices : he ſtands in need of
money not only as a ſupply for his wants at
large, but particularly as the means of indulg-
ing
{ 61 )
ing that predominant paſſion whoſe impulſes are
in him become ſtronger perhaps than any other
motive of action. At length, he demeans
himſelf to a conduct which, if it had been pro-
poſed to him the firſt day that he touched a
dice-box, he would not only have rejected with
the utmoſt indignation, but would have thought
totally impoſſible for him ever to condeſcend to.
He turns Sharper. . He learns to cog a die, to
pack cards, and to ſet a new kind of value upon
himſelf, for his advances in ſuch iniquitous arts.
From this time, it is no wonder if his former
friends withdraw the confidence they had re-
poſed in him,-if they avoid him as a man ca-
pable of every Dilhoneſty, and of ſeeking to ac-
compliſh his ends, whatever they may be, by the
baſeſt means of Treachery and Falſhood.
As for thoſe who had previouſly abandoned
all Honeſty and fair Dealing, and have had re-
courſe to the Dice merely as Inſtruments conve-
nient for committing depredations upon the pur-
ſes of the wealthy; the villanies of ſuch men,
not being the Effects of Gaming, fall not here
within my ſubject. And whai the fair Player
ſuffers from ſuch, has been conſidered before ().
Beſides theſe principal Vices, there
are others which, meeting with their venge, &c.
proper food at the Gaming Table, are nou-
rihed there and gain ſtrength. Envy will
naturally
fa) Page 15, 16.
+
1
Enwy, Re-
[ 62 ]
naturally riſe at the ſight of ſucceſs in others :
nor can it be well reſtrained to any low degree,
when a Competitor is ſeen to ſweep the whole
Ring; when he carries home, for the gains of
a ſingle Night or Morning, what might ſerve
him, (if he could refrain from riſquing it in
future,) as a fortune for Life.- Revenge has
already (1) been mentioned as a Paſſion imme-
diately painful to the breaſt that harbours it.
Here it is mentioned as a Vice. Seen in either
light, it appears amongſt the pernicious effects
of Gaming. But there ſeems no occaſion to en-
ter into it more minutely, than as it was ſpoken
of before. In like manner, with regard to
ſuſpicious, peeviſh, and fretful Habits of the
mind, which were taken notice of before (6) as
conftituting part of the Miſery which the Game-
fter brings upon himſelf, it ſeems ſufficient to
refer to what was ſaid of them there ; although,
as Vices alſo which are the Effects of Gaming,
they could not be entirely omitted here.
I will mention here only one
Danger to a Wo.
more inſtance of the bad effects
to be apprehended from Gaming, with regard
to Virtue or moral Principle. A Woman, who
is ſo imprudent as to engage in deep Play,
may bring herſelf into a ſituation dangerous to
that virtue which is reckoned in her ſex the
great
point of honour. Beſides the very great fami-
liarity
(a) Page 45.
(b) Page 44 or
man's virtue.
• •
[ 63 ]
liarity with the other ſex, which it gives occaſion
to, (as ceremonies muſt be laid aſide when ſuch
important buſineſs is in agitation;) there is a
inore direct danger incurred, when ſhe loſes
money beyond what ſhe is able to pay. If a
man to whom ſhe has loſt her money happens
to be ſomewhat libertine in his principles, he will
be apt to conſider her as capable of diſcharging
the obligation though ſhe has not a ſhilling to
advance. Should ſhe refuſe to fertle the account
in the method which he may ſuggeſt, he can
threaten to expoſe her conduct to a ſet of per-
ſon's whoſe good opinion ſhe probably values
far too highly; thoſe with whom ſhe is con-
nected in parties of Gaming. Wherefore, not-
withſtanding his propoſal, if complied with,
will in reality render her more truly infamous,
ſhe may yet be tenipted to add vice to vice, in
hopes that the whole may remain a ſecret, rather
than endure that degree of infamy which her
miſconduct in Play would ſingly have drawn up-
on her.--Another danger ſometimes occurs;
under the ſame head, but ſomewhat different.
There is ſuch an artifice as a man's contriving to
lofe his money to a Woman, that he may after-
wards have a claim to thoſe favours, which are
ſometimes purchaſed moredirectly by money giv-
en. If the Woman is already ſo abandoned
as to take a part in the contrivance, by encou-
raging a man to loſe his money to her with
this
[ 64 ]
Miſchief to
this view, the caſe is then foreign to our ſub-
ject; ſince the Gaming is uſed merely as a
medium through, which the intrigue is carried
on. But, otherwiſe, her danger proceeds from
the liberties which he may think he is entitled
to take, upon the ſtrength of the money that
he reckons himſelf to have advanced : and if
he finds her reluctant, he may perhaps fancy he
ſhall be juſtified in uſing every art of ſeductions
in order to obtain that for whiclı he has paid a
valuable conſideration.
2. We have ſeen, then, what the
private Perſons.
power of Gaming is, to corrupt
the moral Principles and vitiate the Mind. But
it is neceſſary to obſerve more immediately its
Effects as produced in AElion; -- to ſurvey
the Miſchiefs and Diſtreſſes which it cauſes to
perſons connected with the Gameſter, by pri-
vate or public ties. And firſt, in private con-
nexions.
The principal miſchiefs of this
kind are found in domeſtic life. The evil
too riſes much higher where the Gameſter is a
Huſband and a Father: for which reaſon I ſhall
inſiſt chiefly upon the harm done by him in thoſe
capacities; although unqueſtionably great Dif-
treſs may be brought upon a family by an infe.
rior Member of it.
A young Woman, (we may ſuppoſe,)
of beauty, accompliſhments, ſenſibility,
and
Domeſtic life.
The Wife.
an
[ 65 )
and virtue, whoſe affections have been won by
a man that appears every way deſerving of them,
by marriage reſigns into his hands her Perſon
and Property, and intruſts him with the moſt
extenſive powers over her happineſs, to promote
or diminilh it. In entering upon her married
life, ſhe pleaſes herſelf with the proſpect of hav-
ing always one who ſhall protect her, who ſhall
manage her intereſts, who ſhall be to her a
Friend, a Companion, nay an object to which
moſt of her actions, even thoſe of every day,
ſhall have ſome kind of reference. For a time
the pleaſing idea is continued to her; he ſhews
himſelf yet the man that he was before mar .
riage; and her experience anſwers, (I mean, as
humañ affairs do anſwer,) to the expectation.
After a while, the proſpect ſuffers ſome change:
ſhe no longer finds, though perhaps the knows
not why, the ſame ſatisfactory enjoyment in his
company; there is ſomething of a coolneſs in his
affections, which damps her joy, in ſpite of all
his efforts to keep up the fame external appear-
ance ; the very meaſures taken at his requeſt,
or with a view of giving him pleaſure, do not
produce the deſired effect. Preſently, the diſ-
covers a new attachment which he is forming,
or an old one which he has hitherto been able
to conceal from her, the object of it the
Hazard Table: an object indeed at which ſhe
would have no occaſion to be alarmed, were but
E
its
[ 66 ]
}
its attractions and hers brought into a fair com-
petition, for the free choice of an unvitiated
talte; conſcious as ſhe muſt be, without any
vanity, of the great ſuperiority on her ſide. But
ſhe finds in fact, contrary to all natural conject-
ure, that this attachment hurries him on, with a
force that bids defiance to all the power of her
united charms. In ſhort, the Foundation of
her happineſs is undermined; and the Super-
ſtructure gives way. Had this or that ſingle
misfortune befallen her, reſources might have
been found, in the domeſtic eſtabliſhment which
ſhe has procured for herſelf, to remove or alle-
viate it. But he to whom ſhe had given herſelf
up for life, has proved faithleſs, and withdrawn
himſelf from his engagements : he who was to
have been her comfort in every affliction, is be-
come the conſtant ſource from which daily af-
fliction pours in upon her. He breaks her hours
of natural reſt ; or abſents himſelf from her,
whole nights; then buries himſelf in ſleep, at a
time when ſhe might expect to enjoy his com-
pany at the ſociable meal, or to ſee him actively
and chearfully employed.. When he has
thus far deſerted her happineſs, and his own; fo
that he no longer attends to any enjoyment of
the fociable intercourſe between man and wife;
it is no wonder if he begins to neglect her Inter-
efts, and to grow careleſs of that Property to
which ſhe looks for a ſupport. She can no
le
longer
1
[ 67 ]
longer hope that he will give his time, or exer-
ciſe his talents, to promote her advancement in
the world. She may tremble in expectation of
the Poverty, which his folly is likely to bring
upon them both; and of the concomitant Infa-
my, to him who has been the diſtinguiſhed ob-
ject of her affections. As the dreadful confe-
quences approach, ſhe muſt be agitated with the
moſt violent apprehenſions of what they are
both to ſuffer, and of the ſhare which their
children muſt bear in the calamity. And, if
no happier courſe of events ſhould take place,
than what ſhe has reaſon to expect, we are to
conceive her as condemned to ſpend the remain-
der of her days in a hopeleſs miſery; ſuch in-
deed as nothing in this world can eaſily be
imagined to exceed, unleſs we ſhould add to the
idea the torments of bodily pain, or the ſtings
of a guilty conſcience.
The Diftreſſes which the Gameſter Children.
brings upon his Children, reſemble ſo much
in kind thoſe which he brings upon his Wife,
while they are inferior in degree, that a par-
ticular conſideration of them ſeems unneceſſary.
As the Children have probably a longer time to
live than their Mother, on this account indeed
they are likely to ſuffer more than ſhe will; but
in other reſpects they appear to have greatly the
advantage over her. Their minds, younger and
leſs forcibly attached to him who has been a
common
E 2
[68]
common ſource of miſery to her and them, will
be leſs violently ſhocked with the neglect he has
ſhewn them, and will more eaſily recover from
any ſhock they may have endured. They have
ſome reſources too for repairing their broken
fortunes, from which ſhe is entirely excluded :
there are ways open to them, in which they
may (wholly or in part) make up to themſelves,
by a proper uſe of their own abilities, for the
lofies they have ſuſtained by their father's abuſe
of his. Still their ſufferings are undoubtedly
ſuch, that one cannot regard without abhorrence,
a man whoſe ungenerous foul could not be re-
ſtrained from an abſurd paſſion, by the proſpect
of ſuch complicated calamities, to be brought
upon the moſt natural objects of his tenderneſs
and care.
If now we ſuppoſe it not to be
the Head of a Family, but only an inferior
Member of it, who is addicted to Gaming;
the Diſtreſs which his conduct can bring
upon the Family, will upon the whole be more
limited. Yet are there ſome peculiar circum-
ſtances in it, worth attending to. If we call to
mind the duty and reſpect owing to a Parent,
it ſuggeſts an additional blame, which ap-
pears in the Gamefter as a Son. Here is neg-
lect and deſertion, not only inſtead of affection,
but inſtead of filial reſpect and obedience. And
even thoſe members of the family who are
buc
Other Relations,
( 69 ]
ment.
but his Equals, may demand ſomething of a
greater reſpect than, in the former caſe, the
Children could inſiſt upon from their Father.
Again, the anxious concern of Parents
for their Children, is generally found to be
ſtronger than the reciprocal regard of Children
for their Parents. A Father who has for
years
watched with a ſolicitous eye over the education
of his Son, indulging the fondeſt hopes of his
future accompliſhments and actions, and who
finds at length, for all the fruits of his care,
that the Son has given himſelf over to a Game-
fter's life, muft ſurely feel the keeneſt diſappoint-
. Divided between a deſire of giving him
the
proper ſupplies for every laudable purpoſe,
and a fear that theſe ſupplies may be converted
into the miſerable entertainment of a few days
(perhaps a ſingle day) at the Gaming Table, he
is all perplexity and heſitation; and is obliged
to treat with caution as an Enemy, one whom
he hoped to have ſecured as an affectionate
Friend. The proſpect too of the Poverty, In-
famy, and Miſery, to which the Son is likely to
reduce himſelf, when his fortune comes into his
own management, and of the conſequent Dir-
grace which may in ſome degree fall upon the
whole Family, will be moſt melancholy and af.
flicting to the Father, as he advances into old
age.
This finiſhes our conſideration of
Domeſtic Diſtreſſes, or the Miſery which the
E 3
Gameſter
[ 70 ]
Gameſter brings upon perſons in the ſame Fami-
ly with him.
Orphans
If good principles are ſo weak in
and others. him, if his wants are ſo preſling, and
his paſſion for Play ſo ſtrong, that he will en-
danger the fortune of a Wife or Child; it will
eaſily be underſtood that any other perſon's pro-
perty intruſted to him will find but a nender fe.
curity. The deceaſed Parent of now a helpleſs
Orphan, had before his death pitched upon a
Friend, as he thought, to whom he might in-
truſt the education and fortune of his Child.
This Friend accepts the charge, with ſome ge-
neral intentions of doing what is right. But
ſuch intentions are a poor defence againſt the
temptations and caſuiſtry of the Dice, I have
ruined myſelf, ſays he; I have not fifty pieces
left, beſides this money of the poor Orphan,-
which is not my own. I cannot think of taking
it to ſupply the place of my own, which my ill
ſtars have robbed me of. But Fortune has now
a long while frowned upon me; ſhe cannot con-
tinue to do ſo always: it is time that ſhe ſhould
begin to ſmile, and a little perſeverance in court-
ing her favours may bring her over to my ſide.
I will riſque a Trifle of the Orphan's money at
the Hazard Table, in order to ſecure the whole,
and that I may preſerve myſelf from being any
way tempted to embezzle it to my own uſe. A
Dlight covering truly! But with it he hides, or
ſhades
1
[ 1 ]
ſhades over, this unjuſtifiable deed. He riſques
one trifling fum after another; and when the
property of the Orphan has followed his own,
he then ſees, as in broad day-light, the full vil-
lany of which he has been guilty. - A like
fate might attend the fortune of any Relation or
Friend, depoſited with him; where, beſides the
ſacred nature of the depoſit, he was bound by
immediate and perſonal connexions. We have
already ſeen himn capable of violating connexions
ſtill ſtronger, in order to indulge his fondneſs
for Play; and therefore arguments need not be
uſed, to ſhew it poſſible that he might pày no
regard to theſe.
Nor can we by any means expect Creditors.
to find in him a ſcrupulous attention to the
payment of his Debts. · Debts of Honour, in-
deed, as he calls them, he may be ready to pay,
to the utmoſt of his power : but this forms no
preſumption that he will pay his other Debts.
It is neceſſary to the life he has choſen, to the
gratification of his ruling paſſion, that he ſhould
pay his debts of Honour: if he neglects to do
this, no Gentleman will chuſe to play with him.
But as for the honeſt Tradeſman and Mechanic
who, in reliance on his good faith expreſſed or
implied, have delivered the goods, or beſtowed
the time and labour, which they depend upon
for their fubfiftence; the claims of theſe he ne-
glects with a cold inſenſibility, taking an unmanly
E4
advantage
[ 72 ]
advantage of their ſituation. And if neceſſity
compels them to be loud in their claims, or to
make uſe of the compulſive proceſs of the Law,
to which he would diſdain to have driven them,
had he indeed poffeffed the real Gentleman's nice
ſenſe of Honour; he is often ſeen meanly con-
deſcending to the contemptible arts of evaſion
and delay. The Tradeſman is kept oụt of that
money which he had deſigned for the diſcharge
of his own debts, or for purchaſing a freſh ſtock
of commodities; and the Mechanic is forced to
take up neceſlạries for the ſupport of himſelf
and his family, either upon credit and with ha-
zard to himſelf, or upon the diſadvantageous
terms of purchaſing in very ſmall quantities.
And if at length they recover their debts, they
have ſuffered, in the Delay, an inconvenience
equivalent to the loſs of a conſiderable ſum of
money, beſides the actual expenſe of their
pro-
ceedings at Law: — buț it frequently happens
that in the end they loſe alſo the whole or part
of what is owing to them. Hence ſometimes
the ruin of men in the lower ranks of life. It
muſt be allowed that a perſon in Trade may
commonly ſuſtain a ſingle lofs of this kind with-
out total ruin or bankruptcy; but the contrary
will often be the caſe, when this co-operates
with other unfortunatęcircumſtances: and, what-
cyer be the event, the Gameſter has at leaſt con-
tributed his ſhare towards the ruin of the Tradef-
man;
[ 73 )
man; who, if he ſtands his' ground, does it
by means of better payment from thoſe who
have a nicer ſenſe of juſtice, or by means of
his good fortune in ſome other reſpects. Sure-
ly this man of boaſted honour would do well
to reflect, that he cannot poſſibly beſpeak the
Tradeſman's goods, or engage the Mechanic in
any work, without at the ſame time virtually
Paſſing his word of honour for their payment;
and for ſuch payment too as ſhall not ſuffer dimi:
nution through unreaſonable delays, or through
any incidental expenſe occaſioned by his fault. If
he has any doubt of this, let him confider for
one moment what would be the caſe if, before
they undertook to ſupply his wants, they could
be informed how the event would turn out, Can
he ſuppoſe that in ſuch caſe they would be ready
to ſerve him? Moft clearly, not. It is, in their
ideas and in equity, an abſolute Condition of
what they do, that they ſhould receive an equi-
valent. And, as the general courſe of things
does not allow of their fully ſecuring beforehand
the performance of the Condition; to avail him-
ſelf of this diſadvantage under which they la-
bour, is the diſhonourable conduct of a mean,
contracted, and daftardly ſpirit.--Another kind
of Creditors may ſuffer very deeply, ſhould they
unhappily be entangled with any one who is
under the dominion of the Dice:- thoſe who
by frugality and induſtry have accumulated a
ſum
[ 74 ]
fum of money; and who have happened to place
it in his hands upon Intereſt, believing his fecu-
rity better than they will find it, and truſting as
well to the Intereſt for a conſtant ſupply, as to
the Principal for a reſource upon great occaſions.
That he will make free with ſuch a depoſit as
this, after his Principles have been corrupted
and his Fortune waſted by repeated Gaming, is
not to be doubted. And the conſequent Diſtreſs
which will come upon theſe unhappy Creditors,
is too evident to require a particular deſcription,
There is yet another kind of perſons whom
the Gamefter may injure in their Property, but
who will ſcarcely meet with the ſame compaſſion
as thoſe already mentioned : and theſe are his
Companions in Play. Notwithſtanding his pro-
feſſions of honour, and even his real deſire of
keeping upon reputable terms with theſe Com-
panions ; yet temptations may be ſo ſtrong, or
the agitations of his mind may have ſo deprived
him of ſelf-command, that after he has gone to
the extent of his fortune, he ſhall yet, beyond
this, venture to play upon Credit. If upon
fuch a venture he again loſes, and thus contracts
a debt which he is not able to diſcharge ; here is
certainly a. clear act of Injuſtice, though com-
mitted againſt thoſe who might be apt to do the
fame in the ſame ſituation. And, as the Inſtance
is doubly connected with our Subject, (the one
perſon committing the injury, and the other ſuf-
fering
[ 75 ]
:
Friends.
fering it, each through his own Gaming), there
ſeemed to be a propriety in the mention of it,
although the Diſtreſs produced can by no means
call for our extraordinary commiſeration.
Friendſhip, in its pure ſtate, has ever
been conſidered as the growth of a vir-
tuous foil. Therefore it cannot be expected to
flouriſh in a mind which is conſtantly vitiated
by the exerciſe of the worſt paffions, at the
Gaming Table. The ſingular tendency of the
practice of Gaming, to harden, to contract and
cloſe up the heart, is in direct oppoſition to
the ſoft emotions, the open, generous, and en-
larged ſentiments of Friendſhip. If your Friend
gives himſelf up to a life of Gaming, there is
an end preſently to the reciprocation of thoſe
feelings which, unleſs they be reciprocal, will
begin in your breaſt alſo gradually to wear away.
And thus does his attachment to the Dice ſhut
you out from one of the principal ſources of
more refined pleaſure, to which mankind have
acceſs. But this is not all, If you expect at his
hand any of the groſſer kind of ſervices, which
even a more vulgar friendſhip demands; that
you may not prepare a diſappointment for your-
ſelf, you are to look for them only in ſubordi-
nation to the prior claims of the Dice. Is it a
portion of your Friend's Time that you aſk, or
the Loan of a ſum of Money, or his Attention,
Labour, or Advice? Theſe you can hope for
at
[76]
at the beſt, only if the Time is not wanted for
a Party at Hazard, if there is not occaſion for
the Money to ſtake at the Table, if the fatigues
and bad ſucceſs of Play have not unfitted him
for every exertion, or if the eager expectation of
it, and the impatient hope of better ſucceſs, have
not preoccupied all the powers of the mind.
Your experience of a few inſtances of this kind,
will ſhew you in what light he ſees the duties
of friendſhip: and when the evidence againſt
him becomes ſo ſtrong that he can no longer
keep up appearances, a diffolution of the friend-
fhip follows; from which time you entertain to-
wards him, and he towards you, ſentiments much
more irkſome than towards indifferent perſons,
and the once happy connexion may perhaps end
in the moſt diſpleaſing or even fatal Quarrel.
Let two perſons, who call themſelves
Friends, be ſuppoſed to meet at the Gaming
Table; and let any one judge, (from what has
been ſaid of the Gameſter's character at large,)
whether the intercourſe between them is likely
to be, in any degree, of a friendly nature. Or
let him form his judgement from what he may
ſee but too often in a common game at Cards,
which is meant for mere recreation. Let the
little exceſſes of the paſſions, which he there ob-
ſerves, be magnified in a due proportion; the
difference being conſidered between the ſums
uſually ventured there, and what are known to
be
[ 37 ]
be ſometimes ventured in deep Play. He will
eaſily conceive that, where inſtead of a ſhilling
a ſtake of fifty guinas is placed upon the board,
all the generous ſympathy and regard for each
other's intereſt, uſual between friends, will be
converted into the moſt unfriendly competition ;
and the one will not only ſubmit to accept his
own good fortune through the Ruin of the
other, but will learn even to rejoice at that ruin,
and, like an infernal Being, to ſmile where he
ſhould weep
Miſchief to
3. Our next inquiry is, the Mir-
chief which Gaming occaſions to the the Public.
Public.
One way in which it does harm to
Confoundiag
the Public, is by counteracting that of Ranks.
uſeful diſtinction of men into different orders,
which the common courſe of things introduces,
and which Civil Society finds it expedient to
maintain. The profeffed Gameſter is reputed,
from his profeſſion, a Gentleman ; though his
birth, education, and fortune ſhould not enti-
tle him to the appellation. He is received
amongſt his Superiors upon a footing of equal-
ity, and acquires a habit of mixing with them,
on that equal footing, with eaſe and confidence.
But this confuſion of ranks is prejudicial to the
Community, by its effects both upon the higher
ranks and the lower. There is a turn of thought
ſuited to each rank ſingly, which leads a man to
act
[ 78 ]
.
act.in it habitually with a certain propriety and
decency. And a perſon of high rank can ſcarce-
ly degrade himſelf to thoſe who are greatly his
Inferiors, and admit them to a conſtant fami-
liarity, without at the ſame time degrading his
mind to the level of their ideas, or at leaſt fink-
ing it much below the level proper for his own.
Exceptions, no doubt, there will be; we muſt
not pronounce all men in the inferior ranks, un
fit to be admitted among their Superiors : but
the exceptions will not be ſuch characters as we
have ſeen that of the Gamefter to be ; and we
need not heſitate to affirm, that the ſociety of
fuch is totally improper for thoſe who are to fill
the higheſt orders of the State.----- Again, the
effect upon the Inferiors alſo, in this familiarity
between
very
diftant ranks, deſerves to be watch-
ed by the Public with a jealous eye. By means
of the connexion, they become ſo converſant with
ideas of AMuence and Independence, and ideas
following in the train of theſe, that they begin
to deſpiſe and deſert the humbler notions better
ſuited to their own condition : they receive a
wrong Bias, and are diſqualified from ſerving
the Public in their inferior but neceſſary ftations.
And the Evil is ſtill greater, when,
es of Fortune. by the ſudaer and irregular tranſ-
fer of property occaſioned through the Dice,
men are actually raiſed or depreſſed into a new
rank. Conceive a man placed in an eminent
ſituation,
Sudden Chang-
[79]
ſituation, and poffeffed of ſuitable qualifications
which he has gradually acquired; who wich
theſe powers is able to render the moſt eſſential
ſervices to his Country, either by diſcharging
ſome office of diſtinction and importance, or
by promoting induſtry, peace, and good order
in fome extenſive diſtrict where he refides:
if ſuch a man be deprived of his eſtate and
his independence, he is (comparatively ſpeaking)
loſt to the Public. The Powers which he had
of doing Good, are annihilated ; and he can-
not immediately ſubſtitute others in their place:
to ſay nothing, at preſenf, of the miſchiev.
ous courſes to which he may be driven. Were
his powers of doing Good transferred with his
property the calamity would be only private;
but this is ſo far from being the caſe, that
the acquiſition of the property by others is
often another ſeparate harm to the Communi-
ty. If it is acquired by a perſon of much inferi-
or rank ; though he ſhould, by miracle, after he
has commenced Gameiter, return to a diſcreet
uſe of money, ſtill he is unqualified, by educa-
tion and habit, to fill the ſituation into which he
is raiſed, and the Public is injured by his being
taken out of his proper ſphere. But if this
per-
fon of inferior rank be moreover of the frarer-
nity of Sharpers, or the ſcarcely leſs odious one
of Uſurers, the acquiſition to the Individual
apppears immediately as a Curſe to the Com-
municy,
[80]
Commerce.
NE
munity, it being the acquiſition of ſo much
power to do Miſchief.
Although the Gameſter and the
Trader have the fame object, Gain,
yet the ſpirit of Gaming and that of Trade are
directly oppoſite to each other; and nothing per.
haps could more effectually ruin the Commerce
of a nation, than an univerfal prevalence of
Gaming. It is therefore with the greateſt rea-
fon, that the Legiſlature of this kingdom has
ſhewn itſelf anxiouſly ſolicitous to remove the
ſpirit of Gaming from all commercial tranſac-
tions. Inſurances have been encouraged and
protected by the Law, fo far as they are ſervice-
able for the purpoſes of Trade, and the ſecurity
of Property; but have been prohibited wherever,
ſtepping beyond this line, they have advanced
into the province of Gaming: as, double Inſur- ;
ances, and thoſe where the Party inſured has no
Intereſt in the event on which the Inſurance
is made. ---- Contracts relating to the ſale of
Stock in the public Funds, are regulated by the
ſame leading idea. Where they are made for
the bona fide transfer of property, they are ſup-
ported by Law; but where they degenerate into :
Gaming and Wagering, there they begin to be
unlawful. There is a peculiar propriety in
the puniſhment which the Law inflicts on thoſe
who, while they wiſh to obtain the advantages
provided for Bankrupts, in favour of Trade,
have
( 81 )
A
have been throwing away their money in the
unthrifty ways of Gaming. They are precluded
from all thoſe advantages, if they have loſt at
any one time five pounds, or in the whole a
hundred pounds, within a year before they be-
came Bankrupts, by any manner of gaming or
wagering whatſoever,----The Traffic by which
property is transferred in the way of Lottery,
has been particularly combatted by the Legil-
lature. All Lotteries (not ſpecially authoriſed
by Act of Parliament) are declared to be, what
Gaming Houſes are at Common Law, namely,
public Nuſances.
A number of inventions,
contrived for evading the intent of the Legina-
ture, have been purſued through their windings
and iniquitous ſubtleties, by a variety of Sta.
tutes. In thefe Statutes we find a particular at-
tention paid to the Trade of the kingdom
which is commonly alleged as a principal reaſon
for the proviſions enacted: and the Lotteries are
treared under the notion, and indeed under the
appellation, of Games. Throughout the whole
this very juſt idea prevails, that though men
ſhould be weak enough to truſt the improvement
of their money to ſchemes which depend upon
mere Chance, inſtead of employing it in Trade,
it is for the public good that they ſhould be rę.
ſtrained from doing ſo. And it ſeems worth
remarking, that the line is not ſo drawn as to
exclude all appeal to Chance in the transfer of
F
Property
[82]
1
Property, but only in caſes where it is idle and
unneceffary: which appears both from the
gene-
ral countenance given by the Laws to Com,
merce, where riſque is of courſe to be run;
and particularly from an Act of 12 Geo. 2,
(made expreſsly againſt exceſſive and deceitful
Gaming, which confirms all legal partitions of
property made by the method of Lots.
In the Lotteries ſpecially appointed by Act of
Parliament, the Legiſlature has ftill been very
careful to prevent a ſpirit of Gaming from ſpread-
ing among the people. To this purpoſe are va.
rious regulations reſpecting Lottery Offices; in-
tended to prevent all adventuring with Tickets,
except ſuch as ſhall neceſſarily ariſe from the real
and fair fale of the Tickets.
Let us now conſider what character
Talents oc- the Gameſter (as a member of civil
cupied.
Society) is entitled to, from the uſe
he makes of his Time and Talents. A Society
is upheld by the joint action of the Individuals:
and, if we ſhould conceive a number of Indivi-
duals concerting beforehand a plan for a Society,
to be entered into by formal contract, it is evi-
dent that no perſon would be admitted who
fhould refuſe to contribute his ſhare to the ſup-
port and welfare of the Community. Upon
this principle, the Gameſter's claim to the ben
nefits of Society muſt fall to the ground. He
has neither Time nor Talents at the ſervice of
the
Time and
1
[ 83 ]
the Public; theſe are otherwiſe occupied : there-
fore 'he cannot poſſibly fulfill any ſuch engage-
ments, as would have been made the neceſſary
conditions of his admiſſion into Society upon a
pre-concerted plan. (But this affertion, as ma-
ny others throughout the Differtation, muſt be
underſtood only in the degree in which a man
gives himfelf to the practice of Gaming; and
cannot be taken in its full extent, except where
he makes it his whole or principal buſineſs.) -
It is nowiſe probable that he fhould be a ſteady
and faithful ſervant to the State in any public
capacity, whoſe governing paſſion is ſo ſtrong as
to hurry him beyond all rules of prudence, and
to overcome the influence of all private connex-
ions. We have ſeen that theſe cannot command
his Time and Talents; and therefore there is no
hope that the more general and abſtracted con-
ſideration, of a Country's Good at large, ſhould
have that effect. Nor can we expect from
him the duties, even of a private Citizen. A
conſtant regard to peace and good order, a ge-
neral ſobriety of behaviour, a regular employ,
ment of ſome ſort which may tend to the public
good, (if not immediately, yet through the me-
dium of private intereft;)-- theſe are points in
the character of the good Citizen, which it is
in vain to look for in the Gameſter; toſſed about
in a tumult of reſtleſs paſſions, and having his
F
attention
[ 84 )
ers:
attention ever directed to the one grand object
of the Gaming Table.
Crimes.
Bụt it frequently happens that he does
not ſtop in this degree of blame, the
being merely uſeleſs to the Community. He
may eaſily be led on by the gradual decay of his
fortune, together with the gradual corruption of
hiş principles, to the commiſſion of very heinous
crimes. Let us conceive him to be reduced to
the brink of ruin, by Play repeatedly unſucceff-
ful, or by the fraudulent dexterity of Sharp-
what courſe ſhall he take to retrieve his
finances ? Shall he manfully quit at once all pre-
tenſions to that more affluent ſtate from which
in effect he is fallen, and form hịmſelf to indur-
try, and frugality? This is much more to be with-
ed than expected. This were not the exerciſe of
a moderate virtue; ſuch as is ſufficient to carry a
man' reputably through life, ſo long as he treads
ihę ſmooth ground of ſucceſs and plenty. And
as for a more exalted and heroic kind of virtue,
it would be a folly to look for that in a claſs of.
men ſuch as Gameſters are.
Shall he puſh
forward in the path in which he is at preſent,
play upon Credit as well as live upon Credit, and
run the riſque of entangling himſelf in a multi-
gude of feţiers; in hopes that matters, may turn
out otherwiſe, and that he may recover his mo-
pey in the way in which it has been lon? Per
haps
|
lis
[ 85 )
Haps this is out of his power : perhaps kis fitu-
ation is too well known, for any perſon to ven-
ťure Play with him üpon ſuch terms. Ör he may
poſſibly have a regard for his reputation in the
fociety of Gamefters, which may prevent his
playing upon Credit; though he ſhould have loft
that regard for it elſewhere, which ſhould
pre-
vent his living upon Credit without a proſpect
of diſcharging his debts.m-Shall he then ſeek
ä remedy by commencing Sharper in his turn;
and attempt to repay himſelf out of the pockets
of thoſe who are acting the ſame imprudent part
that he Kas been acting ? Great difficulties may
occur here alſo. He may be hitherto a ſtranger
to the management of the Die, and the nimble
conveyance of a Card, with other arts and ar-
tifices of the Sharper, which he may not be able
to learn in ſo ſhort a time as will anſwer his pur-
poſe: and the dread of a detection in a gaming
circle, inay operate more powerfully upon him
than the dread of the Gallows. He has re-
courſe therefore to thoſe acts of fraud or vio-
lence, which will forfeit his life to the injured
Public. The Merchant, or the Banker, is ex-
poſed to a fraud by Forgery, which may at a
ſingle ſtroke deprive him of a large ſum, eſſen-
tial to the proſperity of his affairs, and (in con-
ſequence) to the welfare of many who are con-
nected with him : or he may ſuffer an equal loſs
by the ſecret plunder of a necellitous Gameſter,
whe
F 3
( 86 )
Political
Miſchief.
who happens to have acceſs to his caſh or paper
money. And every member of the Conmunity
is liable to loſe his property, and this often not
without terrour, and danger to his perſon; to
ſupply the loſſes of a Miſcreant, who now infefts
the public highway or breaks into a Dwelling.
houſe.
Although the Crimes juſt mentioned
are to be conſidered as offences againſt
the Public, there are other offences which in a
more immediate manner have the Public for
their object; and ſuch as deſerve cur notice
more eſpecially on another account alſo, that is,
becauſe the opportunities of committing them
lie more open to the higher ranks, amongſt
whom the practice of Gaming has been more
prevalent than amongſt others, and more perni-
cious. We have reaſon to dread the fate of the
public money, if intruſted to one whoſe rapa-
cious hand is not reſtrained by conſiderations of
Prudence, Reputacion, Friendſhip, natural Af-
fection. Will the mind that breaks through all
theſe reſtraints, be ſwayed by a philoſophical re-
gard for the welfare of an ideal body, the body
pólitic? Even if we ſhould allow ſuch a paradox
as any remains of patriotic fire, in a breaſt in
which every other noble and generous fame is
extinguiſhed; ics ſtrength can be but fmall: and
the accumulation of fordid Pallions which, like
2 load of heterogeneous matter, choak it up,
will
[8ý ]
84
will hinder it from diffuſing any effective heat.
But there is ſomething of a ſhadow of reaſoning,
by which a man not abounding in honeſty, and
yet not totally devoid of it, may argue himſelf
into the commiffion of a public theft. The ſum,
he ſays, lodged in my hands, is very large: the
portion of it which I want, as the means of
turning the tide of my Luck at the Gaming
Table, is very ſmall. If my hopes ſhould even
fail me, the loſs of ſo ſmall a portion will never
be felt by fo large a body as the whole Commu-
nity :- but I will ſuppoſe no ſuch thing. No;
I feel the ſtrongeſt forebodings of my returning
good fortune : I will borrow for a ſingle day
what may be of ſuch eſſential ſervice to me, and
I will honourably return it when it has anſwered
ſo good a purpoſe. With theſe words of ſhallow
honeſty in his mouth, and with ſacrilegious hands,
he ſeizes that ſmall portion. His perſevering ill
fortune, or a Sharper, ſtrips him of that too.
The ſame deceitful reaſoning is repeated ;-
again, and again. It grows more complicated :
a further ſüm muſt now be taken, for the mere
purpoſe of Honeſty, - to repay to the Public
what has already been loft; and a Diſcovery too
is by the ſame means to be prevented. Beſides,
the greater are the ſums already taken, the leſs
proportion will an additional one bear to them;
and therefore the leſs fcrupulous does one need
to be about taking it. Thus, it is eaſy to ſee,
1
F4
the
E 88 ]
the public treaſure may be thrown away upon
the moſt idle of all purpoſes: and ſince the ex-
penſe is of that particular nature which ſcarcely
knows a limit, we cannot by any means flatter
qurſelves, according to the deceitful reaſoning of
the Plunderer himſelf, with an idea that the loſs
to the Public will be inconſiderable. But
there are other ways for immediate, injury to
be done to the Public, ſtill originating in the
pernicious practice of Gaming. It is one requi-
ſite in a Servant of the State, in any high de-
partment, that he be poffeffed of a ſubſtantial
Property : which may, prevent ſuch a rigid at
tention to the minuter profits of the Place he
holds, as would divert him from the Duty of it;
and which may alſo connect. him with the Public
in one common-intereſt, ſo that his private Secu-
rity and Proſperity ſhall be interwoven with thoſe
of the Public, and that every, nacional danger
ihall be ſeen as a danger to him in his individual
capacity. Aceording to this idea, the Gameſter
is a very unfit. perſon to ſerve the State in any
high Office. For, if he is not already re-
duced in his finances, the aſtoniſhing rapidity
with which the Dice, and thoſe who are
dextrous in handling them, make their depreda-
tions, is ſuch, that there is no ſufficient ground
for depending upon the Continuance of his
pro-
perty, howſoever great it may be at preſent.
His Wealth being gone, his Independence fol
lows
*
[ 89 )
lows it: he is no longer, in effects: whatever he
may be in appearance, a direct Servant of the
State, but a Slave to its Servants. It is proba-
bly no ſecret to thoſe who are joined with him in
the Miniſtry, that the profits, ariſing from his
Office are become abſolutely necefſary to him:
And hence, he muſt not dare to act the
part
of a faithful Servant, propofing with boldneſs;
and ſupporting, withị firmneſs, ſuch meaſures
indifferently as appear to him moſt conducive to
the public: Good: he muſt, receive hints from
his Superiors in power, and give a forced.coun-
tenance to ſuch meafures as the Ambition or
bad Policy of thoſe Superiors may happen to
dictate. But why do I ſpeak of his yieldt-
ing a forced, affent to pernicious meaſures? He
himſelf will lead the way, ſhould it be in his
power, and likely to anſwer his private, ends. A
man of deſperate fortune, if he is moreover, a
man of deſperare principles, like the complete
and confirmed Gameſter, will expoſe thouſands
of his Fellow.citizens to impoveriſhment, will
lay a whole Nation open to ruing for the chance
of repleniſhing his own private treaſury. He
will plunge his Country into the, calamities of
war, in hopes of reaping benefit from ſome Con-
tract with Government, or of making ſome Of.
fice which he occupies more lucrative to him;
and will behold, not only with. Inſenſibility, but
with the gay inſulting look of Proſperity, that
Miſchief
[ 90 ]
Miſchief to the Public which has ariſen from his
moſt pernicious courſe of life.
Two Points
reſerved.
IV. Nothing remains now but two
Points, which might indeed have been
introduced ſooner, being ſufficiently connected
with what has gone before, but ſeemed as if they
would with greater propriety be reſerved for a
feparate conſideration. They are, Duels, and
Suicide. Theſe, if taken at large, would fur-
niſh ample matter for diſquiſition; but, as be-
longing to our Subject, they will noi call for a
minute enquiry into them.
1, The Gameſter is apt to pique him.
Duels. ſelf upon his principle of Honour;
certainly with very little reaſon, if the repre-
ſentation we have given of him throughout, is
a. juſt one. The principle of Honour, in its
undepraved ſtate and in its full extent, is a
quality of infinite worth, and an aid to every
Virtue. But unfortunately its operation has, by
a pretty ſtrong party in the world, been confin-
ed to a narrow compaſs; and has been made,
above all, to attend upon one ſingle Virtue,
which is, Courage. And this Virtue, in con-
junction with that very imperfect principle of
Honour, has moreover, by the fame party in
the world, been inliſted in ſome ſervices to which
neither other Virtues, nor the genuine and en-
larged principle of Honour, can give any coun.
tenance
[ 9 ]
"
tenance. Theſe particulars can only be hinted
at here: a diſcuſſion of them would lead us too
far from our Subject. It ſeems rather to be
our buſineſs to examine whether Gaming be
not a fruitful ſource of Quarrels and Duelling,
and to point out the harm it produces by means
of them.
In the firſt place, Gaming has a general ten-
dency to promote a quarrelſome Diſpoſition, by
its effect on the mind and temper. The exer-
ciſe of the Gaming Table excites ſuch paſſions
as put a man off his guard and prepare him for
taking offence at the moſt trivial matters. Ea-
ger and impatient to be ſhaking the box, to lay
down, to take up money, to do he ſcarcely
knows what; anxious for the fate of ſums de-
pending, which, accordingly as the Dice decide,
will make him a rich man or a poor one;
elevat-
ed beyond the bounds of fuber courage by a run
of good luck, or made peeviſh by bad luck;
preyed upon by ſuſpicion of malepractice in thoſe
with whom he has aſſociated himſelf, and ftung
with envy at the prizes carried off by the fortu-
Aate ;
agitated and heated by ſuch paſſions
as theſe, he is ready to catch fire from the ſmall-
eft ſpark; and having loſt his ſelf-command, he
is not in a ſituation to extinguiſh the unmanage-
able flame. The frequency with which theſe
emotions are raiſed, will have a laſting effect up-
on his Temper; which will both add to the im.
mediate
( 92 )
mediate ftrength of the paffions, as excited di-
rectly in Gaming, and will incliñe a man to &
captious and quarrelſome behaviour in the com
mon affairs of life.
In the next płace, Gaming, after it has thus
prepared a Dipoſition for quarrelling, is alfo ve-
ry fertile in Opportunities. The moſt obvious
occaſion it affords, is Money loft in Play, and
the Payinent of it refuſed, evaded; or deferred.
But this is not the whole. At the Gaming Ta-
ble, men meet as the avowedi enemies of each
other. And where concerns of fuch moment
are in hand, a perfon will let no-circuinſtance of
the buſineſs eſcape his atention: all fuperfluous
čeremony' ceafes; the rules of complaiſance,
(which may be called a ſyſtem of artificial vir
tue,) foafefutin ordinary life towards preſerving
the peace of the.world, muſt often: be made to
give way. The leaſt fufpicion of unfair play,
an untoward appearance from ſomething that in
realityrës but accidental, may cauſe a hafty affer-
tions which when made-is-to be fupported by the
point of the ſword: while, in the Adverſary; the
conſciouſnefs of having played fair, or a differ:
ent view of a macter of accident, may produces
as haly a contadiction of the affertion, and cut
of all hopes of accommodation, If on
theſe grounds a man is to expoſe his Perſon and
his Life, it is evident, from the numerous occa.
fions of Quartel ariſirig artrong Gameſters, that
upon
[ 93 ]
1
upon the whole it is no contemptible danget
which is incurred.
But further, if a Gentleman of rank and con
fideration be drawn into play with a low and
worthleſs Gambler, and if, in conſequence, he
hould be reduced to fight with ſuch a perſon,
there is a glaring impropriety in the difference
between the two lives ſtaked upon equal terms.
And if this difference ſhould not be fa readily
allowed with regard to the Individuals them-
ſelyes, with regard to the Public it is ſurely un.
deniable. It is very unwiſe in the Community
to permit, (if the thing be in its power to pre-
yent,) that the life of one or its Members, who
by his ſituation and powers is capable of render-
ing ſervices to it of a ſuperior kind, ſhould be
ſet againſt the life of one who by his abandoned
character is ſunk even below the level of the
populace. Beſides, it is contrary to the
public Good, that any Lives ſhould be riſqued,
except where ſome fufficient cauſe requires it,
But in the preſent caſe, there is not merely no
fufficient cauſe; the practice of Gaming, which
has given occafion to it, is not ſimply indiffer-
ent; it is itſelfon other accounts prejudicial to
the Publiç, and that in a high degree, as has
been ſhewn at large: ſo that we have here an ac.
cumulation of one Miſchief upon another.
And therefore it is with great reaſon that the
Legiſlature has taken particular notice of Quar-
rels
is
[ 94 )
rels derived from this origin. One of the prin-
cipal Acts againſt Gaming (9. Ann. c. 14.), has
provided a ſpecial puniſhment for every Violence
done to the perſon, and for all Challenges giv-
en, on account of any money won by Gaming.
We
may
further conceive a diſtreſs to the
Family and Friends of the Gamefter, ariſing
from a continued Apprehenſion of the dangers
incurred by him. To this muſt be added,
in ſome caſes, an Apprehenſion of a circum-
ſtance which may prove to themſelves a cauſe of
many inconveniencies, and of mutual diſcord,
throughout their lives: I mean the circumſtance
of his leaving his affairs embarraſſed and per-
plexed, by the ſuddenneſs of his death. And
though there are, without doubt, many chances
which give a hope that this calamity may never
befall them; yet it is of ſuch magnitude, that
the Apprehenfion of it is natural, and of itſelf 4
conſiderable Evil ſuffered.
2. We come now to the laſt in the
long train of pernicious Effects, which
that moſt pernicious Cauſe, Gaming, preſents
to our view ; razowathe tragical deed of Self-mur-
der. It is an act which, excluſively of all rea-
ſoning upon it, ſhocks the very firſt principle
implanted in human nature, that of Self-pre-
ſervation. And, when examined into, it ſhews
itſelf, in the Gamefter, to be a mean and cow-
ardly eſcape from the complicated difficulties in
which
A
Suicide.
E 95 ]
which he has involved himſelf; a treacherous
defertion of thoſe perſons to whom he has been
bound by the ſtrongeſt ties of Duty, Intereſt,
and Affection; and a crime of the higheſt order
againſt that Community, which has taken into
its immediate care the Lives of all its Members.
That a man ſtripped of his Fortune and Re.
putation, who has ſtopped up the natural four-
ces of his own Enjoyment, whoſe Mind is ha-
raſſed by the moſt tormenting Pallions, who is
conſcious of having deeply injured thoſe that
might have expected far other treatment from
hin, who cannot look back upon his paſt life
without the ſharpeſt remorſe, and can ſcarcely
diſcern one ray of hope enlightening the prol-
pect of what is to come; that ſuch a one
should be willing to reſign his life and to com-
pound for the quietneſs of a ſilent grave, is not
ſurpriſing. But then it muſt be carefully re-
marked, that his choice is here ſuppoſed to be
made from the conſideration of his own happi.
neſs only, excluding the intereſts of thoſe whom
he baſely deſerts; and alſo without extending his
views to what may befall himſelf after death.
And yet, in this very limited ſuppoſition, the
is room to doubt whether his choice is well made.
The great difficulty would be that of his return-
ing to a virtuous and regular conduct : but, if
he does return to ſuch a conduct, we can by no
means deſpair of his regaining, even in this life,
ſome
( 96 )
1
>
Fome humble degree of felicity. Be this as it
may, it is more to our purpoſe to obſerve that
che frtration of a Gamefter, reduced to extrem-
ities, and abandoned in his principles, is replete
with temptation to the horrible crime of Suicide.
And what is thus probable from the na-
ture of the thing, is confirmed but too ſtrong.
ly by the melancholy experience of the preſent
times, which exhibit to us numerous inſtances
of men who do in fact yield to ſuch temptation,
fhocking as it is, and unnatural.
It may ſeem a vain hope, that any confidera-
tion of the Intereſts of others, any ſenſe of
Duty towards them, ſhould reſtrain him who is
not deterred by the diſmal proſpect of the gulph
into which he is going to plunge. Yet who can
know whether ſome latent reinains of Generoſity
in the Gameſter's ſoul may not be worked upon
by ſuch motives ? And if not, yet let the blame
fall upon the guilty; and let not him who under-
takes to repreſent the pernicious effects of Gam-
ing, omit in deſpair ſuch weighty conſiderations.
Let the Gamefter then, who is meditating
this eſcape from the troubles which oppreſs him,
turn his eye for a moment to the diſtreſſes of
others; the diſtreſies which his unmanly deſertion
may bring upon thoſe who have the misfortune
to be connected with him. He is probably
aware that, by the laws of this country, Suicide
cauſes a forfeiture of all his perſonal property to
the
A
[97]
the ſupreme Power of the State. And although
an exceffive tenderneſs in a Jury may induce
thein to bring in a favourable verdict, ſuch as
fhall prevent the forfeiture from taking place,
yet this is what he can by no means depend up-
on: and, at the beſt, it is to that tenderneſs in
the Jury, not to his prudence or virtue, that his
Relations are indebted for this property after his
death.
But it may be ſaid, that the property of a
Gamefter, in the circumſtances we are ſpeaking
of, is nothing; or too ſmall to deſerve our at-
tention. That indeed may frequently be the
caſe; and let that caſe be now ſuppoſed: there
are left ſtill ſome motives, very powerful over a
generous mind, to keep it from deſerting its
ſtation.--A Widow's condition is uſually
conſidered as forlorn and deſtitute: to become a
Widow by the hand of the Huſband himſelf,
muſt double the miſery of every diſconſolate idea
ariſing out of ſuch a condition. For, in other
inſtances, after time has a little worn down the
edge of that affliction which is cauſed by the
loſs of a beloved friend, we often ſee the ſur-
vivor cheriſh a thought of the deceaſed perſon,
with a degree of Pleaſure mixed with Regret.
But in the inſtance before us, every recollection
of the perfon deceaſed is attended with a ſhock
that ſuppreſſes all agreeable emotions.
Further, when a man has reduced his family to
G
poverty
[98]
1
poverty by the vices of a Gameſter, he cannot
be conſidered as at liberty to ſeparate his own
intereſts from theirs: he lies under an obligation
to exert himſelf to the utmoſt in their behalf,
to give his time, his labour, and all his
faculties, in order to reinſtate them if poſſible
in their former ſituation, or afford them ſuch
relief as he finds to be in his power.
All this
Duty we ſee neglected by him who, in ſuch a
ſituation, cuts ſhort the thread of his own life.
Thus, forgetful or regardleſs of what others ſuf-
fer, and attentive only to his own feelings of
diſtreſs, he betrays, in ſuch a ſtep, a meanneſs
of ſpirit which but ill accords with thoſe high
principles of honour, vainly boaſted by the
Gameſter. Will a man allege that he is ſingle,
that his death will leave no diſconfolate Wi-
dow, no diſtreſſed Children? This may ſomewhat
alleviate, but can by no means juſtify, the act
of Suicide. Perhaps he has ſtaked at the Gam-
ing Table the money of ſome Orphan or Friend,
depoſited with him, or what was in ſtrictneſs the
property of ſome needy Creditor, and by his
death would leave them without hope of recov-
ering their right. The obligation under which
he lies to diſcharge theſe debts, is in effect an ob-
ligation to preſerve his own life, as the neceſ-
fary Means of diſcharging them. - But
ſhould it happen that there exiſts no immedi-
ate claims of this kind upon him, yet ſurely a
man
( 99 )
man of Honour will be ſtrongly influenced by
an idea of the Diſgrace, which a Death pro-
cured by his own hand may bring upon his
family or near relations. It were far better he
ſhould make it the buſineſs of his life, to wipe
off the Diſgrace he has already brought upon
them, than that he ſhould add to it the irre-
trievable one of an infamous death. What
was ſaid under the Head of Duels, concerning
the diſtreſs to a man's Friends, ariſing from the
continued Apprehenſion which they are under,
is ſo applicable to Suicide that it ſeems ſuffici-
ent to refer to it (a): only we may add, char the
Evil ſeems greater in the preſent caſe; both be-
cauſe the dreaded event is perhaps more likely
to happen, and becauſe it is ſomewhat more
ſhocking in its nature.
In this final act of the Gamefter, we ſee him
tranſgreſſing once more againſt the Community,
to which his Life has been ſo highly injurious;
- preſuming to exerciſe a power to which no
Authority upon earth, beſides that Community,
is competent. Whether his crimes are ſuch as
call for a puniſhment by death, is for the Pub-
lic to decide; and to the Public he himſelf has
committed all ſuch queſtions, by putting his
life under the protection of the laws. After
this, he has not a right to take away his own
life, any more than that of another member of
the Society. To take away the life of another,
(a) Page 94.
is
[ 100 ]
is 'unqueſtinably one of the moſt heinous of
fences againſt the Public; and has been com-
monly treated as ſuch by the laws of different
Nations. And if the taking away of one's own
life has this peculiar circumſtance attending it,
that it eludes whatever an offended Public can
inflict as a direct Puniſhment, it will appear to a
great and generous mind, not to be on that ac-
count the leſs culpable. But ſince the mind of
the Gameſter is the reverſe of all that is
and generous, or gradually ſinks into that cha-
racter, he is not the man in whom we are to
look for ſo refined yet ſo juſt a conception.
And if with his Charakter we combine the di-
ſtreſſed Situation to which he is liable to be
reduced, the whole will lead us to expect from
him, more perhaps than from any other perſon;
this cowardly, monſtrous, and deſtructive Crime,
great
1
THE END.
;
A DISSERTATION
ON
DU E L L I N G
G.
Publiſhed, by Appointment,
Rs having gained a Prize (May 1984) in the Univerſity of Cambridge.
By RICHARD HEY, LL.D.
FELLOW OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE.
CAM BRIDGE:
Printed by J. ARCHDEACON Printer to the UNIVERSITY:
For J. & J. MERRILL, in Cambridge; T. CADELL,
in the Strand, B. WHITE, in Fleetſtreet, and
G. WILKIE, in St. Paul's Churchyard,
London,
.
MDCCLXXXIV.
Price, One Shilling and Sixpence.]
Entered at Stationers Hall.
C Ο Ν Τ Ε Ν Τ S.
Page
Introduction.
I
7
9
Part I. Duelling conſidered with reference to
Equity between Individuals.
Sect. 1. Fairneſs in fighting; and, fighting
upon even Terms.
Sect. 2. Doing one's ſelf Juſtice; and giv-
ing Satisfaction to another.
Sect. 3. Proportioning the Puniſhment to
the Offence.
15
22
26
Part. II. Duelling conſidered with reference to
the good Order of Society.
Sect. 1. Duelling being ſuppoſed forbidden
by the Laws.
Sect. 2. Duelling being ſuppoſed not for-
bidden.
Sect. 3. Further Obſervations.
27
29
33
Part III. Duelling conſidered with reference to
@ourage
43
Part IV. To Magnanimity.
53
60
1
60
Part V. To Virtue in general.
Sect. 1. Of a Balance between different
Virtues,
Sect. 2. Change of reputed Virtues
Sect. 3. The Principles of Virtue, under-
mined.
64
68
Part
C Ο Ν Τ Ε Ν Τ S.
Page
Part VI. Duelling confidered with reference to
Honour.
Sect. 1. General Idea of Honour.
Sect. 2. Laws of Honour.
Sect. 3. Diſputes fettled by amicable Ex-
planation between the Parties.
Sect. 4. Diſputes ſettled by Submiſſion to
an Award.
72
72
75
77
.
86
Concluſion,
90
}
!
1
1
.
INTRO
1
INTRODUCTION.
1
D
UELLING has been treated by Writer's
of ſuch Reputation, and ſo numerous, that
the Author of the following pages hopes it will
not be imputed to him as a fault, to have omit-
ted or but fightly touched upon ſome of the
moſt common Topics. On the other hand, al-
though he has endeavoured to think for himſelf,
he has found it indiſpenſibly neceſſary to ſuch a
diſcuſſion of the Subject as may be required of
him, to inſert many things the ſubſtance of which
may be found elſewhere.
The Prevalence of Duels, at preſent, is ſuch
as to render the Subject intereſting to every one,
whoſe ſenſibility can make him lament the Suffer.
ings, the Errors, or the Vices of Mankind. It
would be a melancholy Apprehenſion, and, we
hope, not a juſt one, that the preſent Age is re-
lapſing into that diſordered ſtate, which was ex-
perienced about two centuries ago and for a long
time afterwards. The fury of this barbarous
cuſtom was not at that time ſatiated with bring-
ing diſtreſs upon a few particular Families, but
А
became
1
2
Introduction.
became a public Calamity, and rivalled the Hor-
rours of a Civil War. This was more directly
true of a neighbouring Kingdom; but the Con-
tagion was caught in our own Nation, and ſpread
to an alarming extent.
In the reign of James the firſt, it became an
object of attention to the Government. There
was, in particular, a Proſecution inſtituted againſt
two perſons; againſt the one for ſending a Chal-
lenge, and the other for carrying it. In which
Proſecution, the Lord Chancellor Bacon, then
Attorney General, made a full and methodical
Speech upon the Subject of Duels * One Re-
medy propoſed by him, was Baniſhment from
Court &. What good effect this might have pro-
duced, was probably never tried. A remarkable
inſtance occurs, of its being neglected; that of
Sir Edward Sackville, who afterwards fucceeded
to the Earldom of Dorſet. He had killed the
Lord Bruce in a Duel, attended with the ſtrong-
eft marks of Premeditation. Yet he was not
only permitted to appear at Court, but was ſuc-
ceſſively promoted, in that reign and the follow-
ing, tó a great variety of Honours and public
Offices of importance.
In France, the pernicious example of Francis
the firſt had drawn after it the moſt fatal confe-
quences. Being charged with a breach of faith
State Trials, by Mr. Hargrave; XI. 112, &c.
6 Ibid. p. 113.
by
1
Introdu Etion.
3
by the Emperor Charles the fifth, he gave him
the Lie in form and challenged him to ſingle
combat. The difficulty of providing for two
ſuch Combatants a ſufficient Security of the
Field, and of adjuſting other Circumſtances, pre-
vented the combat:- but the miſchief of the
Example was completed. The uſe of Duels,
which, as part of the judicial proceſs, had been
under the direction of the Magiſtrate, began now
to prevail without the civil authority, and to take
place on the moſt trivial occaſions.
The affair of Francis with Charles, happened
in the year 1528. In the latter part of the ſame
Century, when France was torn with the moſt
violent convulſions, the rage of Duelling mixed
itſelf with the Animoſity of civil and religious
Parties, and contributed largely to depopulate
the country. Nor was its fury abated by the
ceffation of the civil commotions: it ſeems even
to have increaſed, not a little, in the reign of
Henry the fourth. It has been computed * that,
from his acceſſion to the year 1607, (a period of
eighteen years,) no fewer than four thouſand
French Gentlemen were killed in Duels.
In 1578 a Combat was fought by ſix French
Noblemen, three againſt three. Two of them
were killed on the ſpot, two others died of their
wounds, and a fifth was ſeverely wounded. In
1600 a private Combat was fought between
See a Note in Sully's Memoirs; for the year 1608.
twenty
A 2
4
Introdu Elion.
twenty French and as many Flemiſh. Voltaire
informs us, that the Combat of the La Frettes,
four againſt four, in 1663, determined Louis the
fourteenth to pardon Duelling no longer. And
it is eſteemed a ſingular honour to that Monarch,
that his Edicts effected what thoſe of his Prede-
ceſſors had attempted without ſucceſs, in check-
ing this barbarous cuſtom.
England, with other Nations of Europe, had
the wiſdom to imitate the good example of
France in a partial Reformation, which however
was a very conſiderable one. But, till the Prin-
ciples be eradicated, which give authority to the
practice of Duelling, we muſt not hope for the
intire abolition of it: nay, we have the greateſt
reaſon to be apprehenſive of its gaining ground.
The punetilious nicety of that Honour which the
Duelliſt takes for his guide, is apt to refine itſelf
perpetually by framing new Diſtinctions. If it
be. indeed a Virtue, or the Mark of a virtuous
mind, to take Offence at every unjuft Imputa-
tion, at every inſtance of Neglect or Contempt;
a perſon may feel a ſtronger conſciouſneſs of Vir-
tue, in proportion as he finds himſelf more eaſily
offended. Hence every perſon of quick fenfibi.
lity, who does not diſapprove of Duelling, will
be rather inclined to add ſomething to the niceties
of the fathionable Honour; and no one, with
whoſe principles that Honour is conſiſtent, will
dare to shink of retrenching its influence. Upon
the
Introdu Elion.
5
the whole, therefore, we muſt expect that, if left
to itſelf, it will gather ſtrength rather than de-
cline.
The ſcience of quarrelling was ſtudied with
great accuracy, in the ſixteenth century. Lord
Chancellor Bacon (in his Speech above-mention-
ed) takes * notice of ſome French and Italian
pamphlets upon the doctrine of Duels; which,
he gives us to underſtand, contained ſuch regu.
lations as it was neceſſary for thoſe to obſerve,
who profeſſed the Honour then faſhionable.
It is ſaid, that Caſes of Honour were collected
with great minuteneſs, that Lies were diſtin-
guiſhed into thirty two different forts, and that
the preciſe Satisfaction ſuited to each was mark-
ed out.
Compared with this, the Honour at preſent
faſhionable ſhews but a moderate degree of Re-
finement: yet we cannot too ſtrongly guard
againſt its natural tendency to multiply pernici-
ous Subtilties, and to ſpread its influence in the
World. The moſt recent Experience crowds
Inſtances upon us, which afford ſtrong proof of
ſuch a Tendency, and excite an anxious Curio-
ſity after the Conſequences.
Every Attempt to place the Principles, good
or bad, of human actions, in a juſt light, muſt
be favoured by the wiſhes of all who wiſh well
* State Trials, XI. 113,
A 3
to
6
Introduction.
to Mankind. To remove a falſe Glare from a
dazzling Vice, to reſtore to its ancient Luſtre a
ſpecies of Virtue which lies buried in the ruſt of
neglect; theſe are works which, if they could be
accompliſhed, would not fail of approving them-
ſelves to the thinking part of the World, The
Author makes an attempt of this nature with the
greater .confidence, becauſe, if he ſhould come
before the public eye, it would be under ſuch a
fanction as would relieve him from much of that
Doubt, which muſt have attended his ſingle un-
fupported judgment.
1
&
PART
[ 9 ]
PART I.
.
Duelling conſidered with reference to Equity between
Individuals.
W
HAT can be more equitable, than fair
fighting? I deteſt every idea of foul
play: but let the man who has done me an injury
meet me upon even terms, and I am perfectly
ſatisfied with this Reparation ; let the man who
thinks I have injured him call me out on the
fame equal footing, and I attend his call with
the utmoſt readineſs."
To a perſon profeſſing theſe ſentiments, we
need not be afraid of allowing, in the moſt ample
degree, the odiouſneſs of Affaffination, and of
every unfair practice that partakes of the ſame
baſe nature. We do not diſpute the ſuperiority
of his principles over thoſe of the Affaflin. We
give, without ſcruple, a decided preference to the
man who inviolably adheres to a ſyſtem of rules
(however badly conſtructed) which carry any Ap-
pearance of Fairneſs, over the man who, pro-
felling the ſame ſyſtem, is mean enough to take
advantages which thoſe rules pronounce unfair.
But, is it enough that one's Principles are bet-
ter than the very worſt which can be conceived ?
Is a man to be ſatisfied with the Equity of his
proceed-
A 4
8
Equity between Individuals. PART I,
proceedings, becauſe he is indiſputably ſuperiour
to men who know not what it is to decline an
action as inequitable, but indulge themſelves in
every thing which their Paſſion or Intereſt
prompts them to, if they can hope to do it with
Safety? He who can ſatisfy himſelf with fo low
a degree of Excellence, muſt have but little of
the Ambition of Virtue within him. It were
much more laudable to inquire whether his pre-
ſent rule of conduct be not capable of amend.
ment, than to ſit down contented with a mere
comparative merit; eſpecially where the Compa-
riſon is made with a conduct baſe and deſpicable
in the extreme.
We will therefore take the liberty of inquiring,
whether even the greateſt Fairneſs obſerved in
fighting can juſtify the Action itſelf; and how
far the even Terms upon which men are often ſaid
to meet, deſerve to be ſo called; whether, in
propoſing to do yourſelf Juſtice, by calling a per-
ſon out into the field, you take a Method likely
to accompliſh your End; and how far, in obey-
ing a like ſummons from another for the like
purpoſe, you can be ſaid with propriety to give
him Satisfa£tion; and, laſtly, if Duelling ſhould
appear in other reſpects equitable, whether it can
include that particular ſpecies of Equity which
conſiſts in proportioning the Puniſhment to thę
Offence,
SECT.
SECT. I.
9
Fairneſs in fighting
S E C T.
1.
Fairneſs in fighting ; and, fighting upon even Terms.
LET
us imagine one who has
received a mor-
tal wound, addreſſing himſelf to a few perſons
collected about him: with his laſt breath, he
ſays, “My Antagoniſt has killed me fairly; tell
this to my Friends, tell it to the World; bear wit-
neſs to my laſt words, when you are called upon,
that I die by the hands of a man of Honour."
Into what a perplexity of diſtracted feelings do
theſe few dying words throw our minds? We
pity; nay, we admire ; but yet we blame : and,
what may help to convince us that all is not
right in this idea of Fairneſs, we feel — before
we know any thing of the merits of the caſe
We feel our indignation riſe much higher againſt
the Conqueror than againſt the Conquered ; if
indeed every harſh ſentiment towards the dying
man is not intirely ſuppreſſed for the preſent, by
the helpleſs condition to which we ſee him re-
duced. Whereas, in reality, when we have loſt
the image of diſtreſs preſented to us, and re-
turn to cool reflection, we can diſcern no differ-
ence in point of blame between the Victor and
the Vanquiſhed, ſetting aſide the merits of the
particular
10
Equity between Individuals. PARTI.
thing to do with the Right or Wrong, either of
particular caſe ; which may as eaſily happen to
be in favour of one as of the other.
But, to come to the point. The idea of
Fairneſs ſeems to be totally miſapplied, when it
js in ſuch a manner joined with the idea of
fighting upon private quarrels, as to ſuggeſt that
this kind of fighting is juſtifiable. The true
and proper idea of Fairneſs ſeems to have no-
fighting in general, or of fighting upon any par-
ticular cauſe of quarrel : but, the Combat it.
ſelf being already admitted, the Fairneſs takes
place in the obſervance of thoſe Regulations to
which the Combat is ſubject, by expreſs Law,
general Equity, or otherwiſe. Becauſe a man is rea-
dy to conform to certain rules preſcribed, in a Duel,
as conftituting fair Play, it does not follow that
he lies under na reſtraint which may forbid the
Duel itſelf as inequitable. Let a man be called
upon by the Laws of his Country to fight a
ſingle Combat, and let him do it fairly: in
this caſe we commend him both for the fighting,
and the Manner of it. But if, in defiance of
the laws under which he lives, he attempts the
life of any perſon upon a private quarrel,
without other authority than his own, he has loſt
one half of his commendation. Though he
fhould obſerve in the moſt honourable manner
every rule of Fairneſs, we can only commend
the Manner of his fighting, while we utterly re-
probate
SECT. I. Fairneſs in fighting.
11
probate the fighting itſelf. (Why we reprobate
it, we hope to make appear further in the courſe
of our Obſervations on the Subject before us.)
If two maritime Powers are at War, and a
Veſtel of one of the nations atracks a Veffel of
the other, making uſe of no ſtratagems, no
means whatever, but ſuch as are allowed by
the laws of war, the action is in all reſpects
commendable. But if it fights under foreign
Colours, or throws red-hot Balls into the ene-
my's ſhip, this muſt be unfair, though the at-
tack itſelf incurs no blame. On the other hand,
if the two Nations are at Peace, and a Veffel of
one attacks a Vellel of the other, obſerving ever
ſo ſtrictly the rules preſcribed to warlike opera-
tions, this Proceeding, though in one ſenſe it
is to be called fair fighting, is totally unjuſtifi.
able. Whether one may chuſe to denominate
this unfair, or to confine the ideas of fair and un-
fair to the Manner of fighting, ſeems quite im-
material. The diſtinction is real and evident
between theſe two queſtions; one of which is,
whether, in any particular caſe, Fighting be ad-
millible and equitable; and the other, whether,
in any particular Combat, the Means uſed by
the Combatants, on one ſide or the other, are to
be deemed fair or unfair. And therefore the
Inference is intirely precluded, which ſome ſeem
deſirous indirectly to draw; namely, that be-
cauſe the Manner of fighting is fair and honour-
able,
1
}
Equity between Individuals. PART I.
able, the Combat itſelf muſt be juſt and equita-
ble between man and man.
There is an account of a Duel between two
French Gentlemen, of the names of Chelais and
Beguin. Chelais, who gave the challenge, came
to the Combat covered with a defenſive armour,
(concealed, we are to underſtand, under his
dreſs.) Beguin's ſword was broken in the at-
tack; after which he was ſtabbed by Chelais,
who was condemned, for this murder, to be bro-
ken upon the wheel. It cannot be doubted that
Chelais deſerved puniſhment for his Treachery,
independant of the fimple intention to kill, which
he had in common with innumerable others who
have fought Duels : but it does not follow that,
if he had killed his Adverfary fairly, as it is
called, he would have deſerved no puniſhment.
But let us conſider a little, whether, with all
this boafted Fairneſs, the Combatants in a Duel
can properly be faid in general to meet upon
even Terms.
Two Gentlemen meet to decide a controverſy
by the Sword. Both have had the education of
Gentlemen, including the uſe of the Weapon.
Both are men of Courage, of moderate Strength
and Agility; and they differ not materially in
Age. Here are ſeveral circumſtances in which
they approach nearer to an equality, than would
be held quite neceſſary for the purpoſe. But it ſeems
beſt
SECT. I. Fighting upon even Terms.
13
beſt to put the caſe thus ſtrongly, in order to
fhew more clearly how fallacious the pretence is,
of meeting upon even Terms. There is ſtill
abundant room for ſuch Differences between
the two Combatants, as may leave a balance in
favour of the one or the other of them, far too
great to be neglected. We may even allow
them both to excel in the uſe of the Sword : yec
the Degrees of excellence are ſo various, that in
this ſingle article there may ſtill remain Differ-
ence enough to conſtitute a clear Superiority.
This Superiority will be much increaſed, if it
ſhould happen, as it very eaſily may, that the
Perſon on whoſe fide it lies has alſo the advantage
in moſt of the other circumſtances which were
left undetermined. A ſmall advantage in Skill,
added to a ſmall one in Strength, and another
ſmall one in Agility, will eaſily conſtitute toge-
ther a Superiority ſufficient to deſtroy all idea of
Evenneſs in the Terms.
There are alſo
temporary Diſadvantages, which might render a
Perſon clearly inferiour to his Antagoniſt;
though they were ſuch as would not be allowed
in excuſe for declining a challenge. A ſmall de-
gree of Indiſpoſition, not fufficient to hinder him
fr going about any ordinary employment,
might make his arm feeble or unſteady. A
Trepidation, (intirely diſtinct from any defect of
Courage,) ariſing from ſome ſecret doubts about
the Rectitude of the action in which he was
engaged,
If
Equity between Individuals. PARTI.
engaged, might weaken every Guard, and take
ſomething from the vigour of every Puſh.
Piſtols, however, are often uſed : which, it
muſt be owned, bring the Combatants fome-
what nearer to an Equality. But here too there
is room for Skill: there is Advantage in a ſteady
Eye and a ſteady Hand; and in the Coolneſs
ariſing from a long and familiar uſe of fire-arms,
which is diſtinct not only from natural Courage
but from a general habit of acquired Cou-
rage.
Nor ought we to overlook the
different sizes of the human body; which cauſe
one man to preſent a better mark to his Anta-
goniſt than his Antagoniſt does to him*. Tem-
porary Diſadvantages alſo are to be taken into the
account, in the uſe of Piſtols as well as Swords.
A very material one may ariſe from a bad Ha-
bit of Body; which will cauſe the ſame wound
to be much more dangerous, as well as pain-
ful, to One, than it is to his more healthy An-
tagoniſt. We may add, that ſometimes
a valuable and happy life, partaking of the hap-
pineſs of ſurrounding Friends, is ſtaked againſt
the life of a ſolitary Being, to whom no en-
# If One is fix feet high, and his Antagoniſt five feet,
and if they are ſhaped alike, the mathematical Reader
will fee (from ſimilar figures) that the ſurface preſented
by the taller is greater than that preſented by the lower,
in the proportion of 36 to 25, or (nearly) 3 to 2; which
makes no flight Diſadvantage.
dearing
е E
SECT. II.
15
Doing one's ſelf Juſtice.
dearing Connexions have given the true enjoy-
ment of himſelf, and who, if he falls, falls un-
pitied and unlamented.
S E C T.
II.
Doing one's ſelf Juſtice;' and giving Satisfattior
to another
W
E will, however, now ſuppoſe, for the ſake
of
argument, that, in the ordinary practice
of Duelling, men do really meet upon even Terms.
Or, it will amount to the fame, in general rea-
ſonings upon the ſubject, if we ſuppoſe the ad-
vantages to fall indiſcriminately to the ſhare of
the Aggreſſor and the Aggrieved; ſo that it
ſhall happen equally often that they are on the
fide of him who is in the right and of him who
is in the wrong. Take either of theſe fuppofi-
tions; (for indeed they coincide, in abſtract ar-
gumentation, though to each Individual taken
ſingly they are widely different:) and it is evi-
dent that Chance muſt be the 'Arbiter of every
Duel ; unleſs we either underſtand the Deity to
interpoſe in behalf of the injured, or elſe that
the Conſciouſneſs of a good Cauſe will be ſuffi-
cient to inſure ſucceſs.
As to the Interpoſition of the Deity, it was
indeed the doctrine of the barbarous ages, when
judicial
16 Equity between Individuals. PARTI.
judicial Combats were in common uſe. But it
feems now perfectly needleſs to argue that point
at large: ſince it appears to be intirely agreed
between the Advocates for Duelling and the Op-
pofers of that practice, that there is not the
leaſt foundation for an injured man to call out
his Enemy upon the ſtrength of any expect-
ation of this kind.
What ſhall we ſay then to the Conſciouſneſs
of a good Cauſe? Is that ſufficient to inſure
ſucceſs? Such a Conſciouſneſs moſt undoubtedly
will in many caſes inſpire a man with Forti-
tude, and enable him to execute what he would
in vain attempt if he laboured under a Conſci-
ouſnefs of being in the wrong. But this effect
has its limits; and thoſe not very widely ex-
tended. The experience of all ages and coun-
tries puts it beyond a doubt, that Vice has
very
often prevailed over Virtue, the Injurer over the
Injured, the faithleſs Villain over the man of
Veracity and Integrity.
He who would fortify himſelf in the Conſci-
ouſneſs of a good Cauſe, ſhould be conſcious
alſo of a Rectitude in the Means uſed by him to
effect his purpoſe. In which point we apprehend
that this inward ſupport muſt often fail the
per-
fon who has recourſe to a Duel, for the Redreſs
of an Injury. Indeed it has appeared evidently
from a number of inſtances, that a perfor,
carried away by the Tyranny of what he would
call
SECT. II.
Doing one's ſelf Juſtice.
17
1
ca! Honour, has ſuffered himſelf to fight, at the
ſame time that in his own mind he has con
demned the Cuſtom of Duelling. In ſuch a
caſe, though he may know himſelf to be the
injured perſon, yet how can we imagine him
to receive any ſuch internal ſtrength from the
Conſciouſneſs of his Cauſe, as will ſupport him
in the field againſt his Antagoniſt?
Again, let us allow him to be be ever fo
firmly perfuaded of the rectitude both of his
Cauſe and the Means he makes uſe of to redreſs
himſelf; this will avail him nothing, if his An-
tagoniſt has the ſame perſuaſion on the other
ſide: a ſuppoſition which we have no
difficulty in making. The Judgement is ſo ea-
ſily warped where Self is concerned, that it gives
us not any furpriſe to find two perſons, who are
engaged in a Quarrel with one another, per-
ſuaded each of them that himfelf is in the right
and his Adverſary in the wrong. Therefore,
when they come to decide the diſpute by Combat,
though one of them muſt be in the wrong, yet if
each is perſuaded that he is in the right, ſuch a
Perſuaſion, or (if we may ſo term it) ſuch a
Conſciouſneſs of Rectitude, will be of no ſervice
to either, being balanced by a like Perſuaſion or
Conſciouſneſs on the other Side.
Being then arrived at this Concluſion, (which
will certainly hold in general, though it may
admit a few exceptions,) that the Conſciouſneſs
B
of
18
Equity between Individuals. PART I,
of a good Cauſe, in the Subject of the Quar-
rel, will not ſecure Victory; we return to what
was before advanced, that, if men are ſuppoſed
to meet upon even Terms, Chance is the Ar-
biter of the Combat. And, upon this idea, we
are to inquire whether, in propoſing to do yourſelf
Juſtice, by calling a perſon out into the field,
you take a Method likely to accompliſh your
End.
But, while we have been clearing the Way for
the Inquiry, we have finiſhed, in effect, a prin-
cipal part of it. For there ſeems no great need
of words to convince any one, that if he has re-
ceived an injury and is looking out for Redreſs,
to apply to Chance for that Redreſs is ſome-
thing very unlike doing himſelf Juſtice. Even
if the Deciſion happen to be in his favour, he
appears yet very far from having had Juſtice
done to him. Juſtice, in its nature, requires to
be awarded by Deſign: and the Good which
comes to any man by Accident, may be ever fo
valuable, without partaking at all of the nature
of Juſtice done for an Injury received.
All this might be faid, even if Victory could
be conſidered as the Acquiſition of ſomething
beneficial. But when we reflect that it is only
a Harm done to another man, we may affirm
that, though you ſhould effect all you can pro.
poſe to yourſelf in a Duel, you would not be
advanced a ſingle ſtep nearer to the End aimed
at,
SECT. II.
19
Giving Satisfaction.
at, of doing yourſelf Juſtice. You may have
inficted great Miſchief upon your Adverſary ;
which moreover he had perhaps deſerved: but
this has nothing in it of the Nature of doing
yourſelf Juſtice. As far as it was Deſign, it
was only expoſing yourſelf and him to equal
miſchief. The Chance of Harm which each of
you has incurred, may be conceived as equiva-
lent to a determinate Degree of Harm actually
ſuſtained, or a ſpecific Loſs which might be
eſtimated: and the effect is of the ſame nature
as if, in a Law-ſuit, inſtead of Damages awar-
ded to be paid by the Defendant to the plaintiff,
it ſhould be awarded that the Plaintiff and the
Defendant ſhould pay equal ſums into the pub-
lic Treaſury. In ſuch a caſe as this, it would be
very difficult to ſee the Juſtice which had been
done to the Plaintiff. And if, in a proſecution
for a Robbery or other Crime, the Proſecutor
Ihould be condemned to the fame Gibbet with
him who had committed the crime, we ſhould
not eaſily perſuade the World that this Sentence
had been pafled by a Court of Juſtice.
If, in this way of ſeeking Redreſs, you have
no proſpect of doing yourſelf Juſtice, you can
have none of giving what can properly be called
Satisfa£tion, to one whom you have injured.
Theſe are Counterparts to one another; and the
ſame Reaſoning applies to both. Indeed, if a
Gentleman,
B 2
20
Equily between Individuals.
PARTI.
Gentleman, who, upon receiving an Injury, has
lodged the contents of one piſtol in the body
of him who did the injury, and received thoſe
of another in his own,
if he chuſes to de-
clare himſelf ſatisfied, we cannot deny his Affirm-
ation: every man is the proper judge of what
fatisfies himſelf. But this we can ſafely aſſert,
that he has not received any thing which in
its nature contains the effence of a Reparation
or Satisfaction
Put the caſe, that you have reflected too
freely in Converſation upon ſome one's Charac-
ter. He calls upon you to give him Satisfaction.
You attend his fummons: you wound him;
perhaps mortally. He kills or wounds you, or
otherwiſe, as it may happen. He declares: now,
that he is fatisfied. This Declaration, no doubt,
we muſt admit; as expreſſing that he does not
look for any thing further to be done. But he
who ſhould infer, that you have given your Ad-
verſary any true and proper Satisfaction, would
be under an egregious miſtake.
There are two ways in which the Injury may
have operated : one, by the ſimple diminution of
your Adverſary's Character ; the other by ſome
conſequential Harm. An 'Inſtance of the latter
might be this : if your Charge againſt him had
taken fuch effect with a Lady to whom he was
attached; or with her Friends, as to defeat his
hopes of a deſirable Marriage. The proper Sa-
tisfaction
SECT. II. Giving Satisfaction.
21
ܐ
tisfaction in ſuch a caſe, (if we ſuppoſe you to
have exceeded the truth,) would be, immediately
to confeſs to the Lady and her Friends the in-
juſtice of your Charge, and thus to reinftate
him in their Favour: or, if that preciſe Repara-
tion ſhould be gone paſt recovery, your buſineſs
would be, to take every opportunity of promot-
ing his Proſperity; till, if poſſible, you had con-
ferred upon him an equivalent for the Injury be-
fore done to him. And, as to the mere De.
famation, or, as it was called above, the ſimple
diminution of his Character, you ought to aſk
his Pardon for the Offence, and to atone for it
by making your Confeſſion as public as the Ac-
cufation had become.
This behaviour contains in it evidently the
real nature of a Reparation or Satisfaction. But,
what there is in common between this method
and the other, (in which, by way of Satisfaction
to your Adverſary, you attempt his life, with
permiſſion for him to attempt yours,) it is not
eaſy to ſee. And if one who has had his Cha.
ra&ter aſperſed, thinks that, after he has ſilenced
his Accuſer by giving or receiving a wound, he
may reſt ſatisfied, he betrays very defective no.
tions of CharaEter; which, if it be reſtored at
all, muſt be reſtored by expedients of a dif-
ferent kind.
Perhaps he objects, that he has recourſe to a
Duel rather with a view of compelling his Ac-
B 3
cufer
22
Equity between Individuals.
PART I.
cuſer to make that direct Reparation which we
have been ſpeaking of, than becauſe he thinks
there is any poſitive Satisfaction in the Com-
bat itſelf. We might anſwer, that if he ſays
this, he has changed his ground: we were ar-
guing with one who declares himſelf ſatisfied,
merely with having fought. Buc a further An-
fwer occurs; which is, that any Conceſſions
from his Accuſer, made through Compulſion
or Fear, will not be adequate to the End pro-
poſed; Character being of that extremely delicate
nature, that nothing ſhort of a free and uncon-
ſtrained Revocation will be able completely to
wipe away the Stain, and convince the World
that all is as it ſhould be
S E C T.
III.
Proportioning the Puniſhment to the Offence.
HE laſt part of our Inquiry, under the
Head of Equity between Individuals, is
whether Duelling, even if right in other reſpects,
can include that particular ſpecies of Equity
which conífts in proportioning the Puniſhment to
the Offence. This is always looked for in Codes
of Law: and every flagrant defect in it is loudly
complained of. Now, if the practice of Du-
elling could be allowed to take the place of
Laws,
1)
SECT. III. Proportioning the Puniſhment
23
Laws, in the remedy of any particular injuries,
we ſhould at leaſt require this Equity in the
Code of its regulations.
In this Code, what is the puniſhment for ſe-
ducing your Wife from her fidelity? Death. In
the ſame Code, what is the puniſhment for ſome
little unfair artifice, by which you have been de-
frauded of a Partner at an Aſſembly? Death.
It is immaterial whether the offended perſon in
theſe two caſes would be conſidered as under a
Neceſity of fighting : it is enough, for the pre-
ſent, to obſerve that, if he takes this method
of redreſſing himſelf, the Puniſhment inflicted,
or attempted, (which is the ſame thing in the
Puniſher,) is Death in both caſes. Will any
one affirm that theſe two Offences are equal,
that they are nearly equal, or that the leſs of
the two is heinous enough to call for capital
Puniſhment? If not, it follows that the prac-
tice of Duelling is chargeable with the want
of that Equity of which we are ſpeaking. If
it be urged, that neither does the greater of
the two Offences mentioned deſerve capital Pu-
niſhment, this ſerves but to thew the practice
of Duelling ſtill-more inequitable: which not
only makes two very different Offences equal in
the Puniſhment, but inflicts upon the ſmaller of
them a Puniſhment too ſevere for the greater.
It will be ſaid perhaps, that Duels are often
fought with a greater or leſs degree of Obſtinacy,
according
}
B 4
1
2+ Equity between Individuals. PART I.
according to the nature of the Offence; that in
ſome caſes the diſcharge of a ſingle piſtol on each
fide will be ſufficient, whilft in others it is held
neceſſary for one of the Parties to fall; and that
this plainly conſtitutes a difference, and a very
great one, in the Degrees of Puniſhment; ſince.
every greater Chance of Death is to be conſidered
as a heavier Puniſhment, every leſs Chance as a
lighter.
The Anſwer to this, is, that in
every Duel there is ſome chance of Death ; and
therefore that, if it actually enſues, where the
Offence does not deſerve it, the perſon who has
inflicted it is ſtrictly chargeable with the Excels
of Puniſhment : becauſe he knew beforehand
that it might happen, and yet intentionally
brought his Antagoniſt into that ſituation which
expoſed him to the fatal ſtroke.
But
does not Death ſometimes befal the injured and
innocent perſon ? Here the Puniſhment is fevere
beyond all Proportion : for the Sufferer bas de-
ferved no Puniſhment.
It may be argued further againſt us, that it is
trilling to mention Degrees of Puniſhment, where
unavoidably, by the very nature of the thing,
the higheſt Puniſhment is to be ſufiered, or a
Chance of it incurred. No Inſtitution whatſo.
ever is to be blamed for not providing what is
abſolutely impoſſible, what is contradictory to
the original idea and ſuppoſition upon which is
was framed.
Should any one chule to
apologize
SECT. III. Proportioning the Puniſhment. 25
apologize by this argument, for the Diſpropor-
tion between the Offence and the Puniſhment,
in the practice of Duelling, let him obſerve the
force of his Apology. In order to refute one
particular Charge brought againſt that practice,
he makes uſe of an argument which diſcovers
the total abſurdity of the Practice itſelf. He
Shews clearly the abſurdity of introducing Duels,
as a mode of redreſſing Injuries; by ihewing
them incapable, from their Nature, of admitting
what is indiſpenſible in penal Laws, namely, a
juft Proportion between the Puniſhment and the
Offence,
1
PART
[ 26 ]
!
PART
II.
Duelling confidered with reference to the good Order
of Society.
WITHOUT entering minutely into the
original Formation of Societies, we diſ-
cern with eaſe one idea common and effential to
them all: which is this; that the Individuals
compoſing a Society are not, cannot be, at li-
berty to follow their own inclinations, in the ſame
manner and degree as if the Society had not been
formed. There is a public Voice, more or leſs
diſtinctly heard, to which muſt be allowed ſome
Authority in controlling the caprice of private
inclination, checking the ſudden impulſes of Re-
venge and other miſchievous Paſſions, and regu-
lating the actions of Individuals with a reference
to public Good. Unleſs ſomething of this kind
has taken place, there is in fact no Society form-
ed; every one is merely a ſingle and feparate
Being: ---there may be a number of Individuals
collected into one place, but not aſſociated.
Laws therefore are to be eſtabliſhed: for Laws
are only the particular Reſtraints impoſed upon
Individuals by the Authority of the State. In the
next place, it follows of courſe that Obedience to
the Laws is to be required: for otherwiſe the Laws
were
SECT. I. Duelling ſuppoſed forbidden. .
27
were framed and eſtabliſhed to no purpoſe. Any
one who violates the Laws, counteracts, as far
as his Diſobedience extends, the Regulations by
which the good Order of Society is upheld; and,
in ſo doing, he counteracts, to the fame extent,
the
very
Inſtitution of Society itſelf.
S E C T.
I.
Duelling being ſuppoſed forbidden by the Laws.
UPPOSE then that the Laws of one's Coun-
try forbid the practice of Duelling. This is
the caſe in England: where, not only, if one
man kills another in a Duel, the Law adjudges
it to be Murder ; but, the mere fighting, (at
leaſt if it be in a public place,) is puniſhable by
Fine and Impriſonment, though no miſchief ac-
tually enſue *; and alſo both the Sender and the
Bearer of a Challenge are puniſhable in the ſame
manner 8. Here it is the duty of every good
Citizen to abſtain from this method of redreſſing
any Injuries done to him, even though he ſhould
happen to think it juſtifiable in other reſpects.
Should any one contend that the Law of Eng-
land is not ſo fevere as we have ſtated it to be;
inſiſting that the Law is not to be fought for
* Blackſtone's Commentaries, B.4. Ch. II. (p.145. 8vo.)
Ø Ibid. (p. 150.)
merely
28
The good Order of Society. PART II.
merely in books of Theory, but alſo in the Ver-
dicts of Juries, and that theſe Verdicts have com-
monly reduced the crime to Manſlaughter, if they
have not intirely acquitted the perſon accuſed: it
may at leaſt be maintained, that wherever the
Theory of the Law is clear and expreſs: Juries
exceed their powers, if they do more than deter-
mine to what deſcription, in the Theory, the
Facts brought before them correſpond. The
Law is clear and expreſs in its Theory, that to
kill a perſon in a deliberate Duel is Murder:
and, if at any time the Facts produced and
proved to a Jury ſhew the death of a perſon to
have been cauſed in this manner,
manner, there
appears
not the leaſt foundation for them to ſtep beyond
their line and give a direct contradiction to the
Law,
Men who are deſirous to conduct themſelves
as good Citizens, and are ambitious of deſerving
that protection, from the Laws, which they wilh
to receive and can ſubmit to accept, ought by
no means to ſhelter themſelves, in doing what
the Laws forbid, under the mercy of Juries who,
through miſtake or otherwiſe, exceed the com-
miſſions intruſted to them. Perſons of Rank and
Fortune, who have been found the moſt apt to
offend the Laws in the point under conſideration,
incur a peculiar blame in offending: both be-
cauſe, having a greater ſhare of Property and
Dignity to be protected, they are more deeply
indebted
sect. II. Duelling ſuppoſed not forbidden. 29
indebted than other men, for the Protection
which they receive from the Laws; and again,
becauſe by their Station they are qualified to ſet
an example to others, and, through this example,
rather to teach Juries what their Duty is and
what are the Laws of their country, than to ſeek
a refuge for themſelves in an erroneous Verdict.
And it may not be amiſs for them to reflect whe.
ther, by this encouragement given to the maxims
of illegal violence, eſpecially in Courts of Judi-
cature, they do not run a riſk of making ſuch
lawleſs principles of action deſcend among the
lower orders of men, as may be productive of
the moſt extenſive bad conſequences.
S E C T.
II.
Duelling being ſuppoſed to be not forbidden.
L
ET us now vary the ſuppoſition, and ſee
what will be the part of a good Subject and
Citizen, if Duels be not forbidden by the Laws
of his Country. We hope to prove that, in this
caſe alſo, he will think it his Duty to abſtain
from the uſe of all ſuch Violence. For though
there be no expreſs Prohibition in the Code of
Law, yet there is neceſſarily an implied and vir-
tual Prohibition in the Conſtitution of every
Society.
Το
30
The good Order of Society. PART II.
To Thew this, we muſt recur to what was ſaid
in the firſt paragraph of this Second Part *
from which it appears, that if Individuals make
uſe of Violence at their own pleaſure, they do
what is intirely inconſiſtent with the nature of
Society. The Principle (if it can be called a
Principle) upon which they proceed, is directly
fubverſive of every ſocial Inſtitution: and, if we
do in fact continue to enjoy the benefits of So-
ciety, notwithſtanding the prevalence of Duel.
ling, it is becauſe the Principle is not carried to
its extent, and is adopted only by a ſmall num-
ber of perſons, in every civil Community, com-
pared with the whole Body.
If the Sword or Piſtol is to decide upon one
Right, why not upon another? If it is to depend
upon the Sword's point, between you and me,
which of us has the better Pretenſions to this
Lady, why may not the ſame mode of deciſion
determine to which of us this Field or that
Houſe belongs. Purſue but your Principle and
be confiftent; and you will preſently find your-
felf involved in the moſt extravagant as well as
the moſt pernicious conſequences. Whether, for
inſtance, you are to command at the head of your
Regiment, and I in the ranks am to diſcharge
my piece at your command, or whether we muſt
change places, will depend upon the Superiority
-
• Page 26.
of
secr. 11. Duelling ſuppoſed not forbidden. 31
of one of us in ſingle Combat. And while we
are ſettling the Right in this manner, one of us
may be killed and the other diſabled; by which
means our Country will loſe the ſervice of us
both. Or if you eſcape unhurt by my arm, you
will be equally liable to be called upon by every
Soldier in the Regiment. Your chance therefore
of ſurviving will be extremely ſmall. Probably
many more in ſucceſſion will fall after you: and
before it be finally ſettled, who ſhall command
the Regiment, there will be but a very ſmall
Regiment to command.
You object that, as a Gentleman, you are not
liable by any laws of Honour to be called
upon
in the manner above mentioned, by perſons fo
far your Inferiours.
But your Principle, of
uſing private Violence, if purſued, goes to the
ſubverſion of all Society, deſtroys the Rank of
Gentleman together with all other Ranks, and
levels
you
with the loweſt of the people.
You object again, that we overlook the high
Authority from which your commiſion is imme-
diately derived: you call it a very wild Suppoſi-
tion, to imagine that any perſon ever thought of
queſtioning that Authority, and of requiring one
in your ſituation to defend his Commiſſion by
the teſt of perſonal merit. In return, you muſt
be reminded that we are now tracing the Conſe-
quences of your Principle, which permits the uſe
of private force to Individuals. The Principle,
purſued
32
The good Order of Socieiy. PART II.
purſued to its extent, will lead us on to this moſt
extravagant length, that even the exalted Rank
of Majeſty will not be able to protect itſelf as the
Good of Society requires; but that the very Ex-
erciſe of royal Authority which placed you in
your ſtation, as well as every other Exerciſe of
it, will fall into a precarious dependance on ſuch
qualities as perſonal courage, bodily ſtrength,
agility, and expertneſs in the uſe of weapons.
In ſhort, there is an end of Government;
there is an end of Society: and from no other
Cauſe than the con Giſtent Extenſion of that Prin-
ciple, which is ſupported, within certain arbitrary
limits, by many who would pronounce it inad-
miſſible, if puſhed as far as juſt reaſoning would
extend it. The caſe is different with other Vices.
Gaming, for inſtance, though highly pernicious
in its effects, does not diffolve the bands of So-
ciety. An unreſtrained commerce between the
Sexes, though replete with Inconveniences, and
deſtructive of Happineſs, does not neceſſarily diſ-
qualify perſons from being Members of a civil
Community. Nor is this effect produced even
by the baſe and deteſtable arts of Diſhoneſty :
even the great crimes of Forgery and Perjury,
either by acting under fome Cover of Law, or
by uſing ſome Artifice to evade the Law, confeſs
evidently its Power and authority, and ſeem as
if they could not be carried to ſuch a length as to
annihilate all civil connexions. But the uſe of
private
)
1
SECT. III.
Further Obſervations.
33
private Force by Individuals tends dire&tly to the
diffolution of Society: and would actually pro-
duce this dreadful effect, did not the Paſſions
and Intereſts of men, which take place in the
various ſcenes of life, counteract its operations
and confine it within ſome limits.
But it is time to quit this general argument.
We will ſubjoin a few particular Obſervations,
which may ſhew further how repugnant the
practice of Duelling is to the good Order of So-
ciety,
SECT.
T.
III.
Further Obſervations.
A
N Injury, is either one for which the Law
has aſſigned a Remedy, or not.
If the
Law has afligned a Remedy for it; to reject the
preſcribed mode and ſeek redreſs by private
Force, argues a contempt of the Law and the
Legiſlative Power. It implies that one thinks
the Legiſlature has provided only an inadequate
Remedy; and that one looks upon this as a ſuf-
ficient excuſe for providing a Remedy of one's
own. Or elſe it implies that, from mere Ca-
price, without deigning to pay the leaſt attention
to that legiſlative Authority which gives daily
protection to our Perſons and Property, we chuſe
С
to
34 The good Order of Society. PART II.
i 1
to aſſume (in our own Cauſe) the ſeveral
capa-
cities of Legiſator, Judge, Witneſs, and Exe-
cutioner.
If the Law has not aſſigned a Remedy for the
Injury, it is then natural for the injured perſon
to conſider how he may provide one.
And in
fact this is frequently done by Individuals; who,
in the ſmaller and more private concerns of life,
provide Remedies of various kinds, ſuited to the
occaſions which call for them. But it ought to
be done always with ſubmiſſion to the ſupreme
Power of the State. Now, with regard to Duel-
ling, the queſtion is, whether that fupreme Power
can ever be ſuppoſed to intend a permiſſion, that
Individuals ſhould puniſh capitally an offence for
which it has not itſelf aſſigned any puniſhment
at all. If not, then, to puniſh ſuch an offence
capitally, which is either done or attempted in
every Duel fought on account of ſuch an offence,)
is to infult the Law, as in the former caſe, and
to ſhew a very indecent contempt for the Legil-
lative Power.
A
t
In the next place, it is repugnant to the good
Order of Society, that the offending perſon and
the offended ſhould be equally expoſed to the
puniſhment inflicted for the offence. How ine-
quitable this is in reſpect of the Individuals them-
ſelves, fell under the ſubject of the preceding
Part; but we ought-alfo' to recollect the Intereft
i
which
SECT. III. Further Obſervations.
35
which the Society at large takes in the Lives of
all its Members, and the Protection it holds forth
to every good Citizen: If the Offender prevail
over the Offended, and take away his life, there
is a violation of civil Juſtice; not only in the
Puniſhment inflicted on him to whom a Repara-
tion ought rather to have been awarded, but alſo
in the Eſcape of him who had deſerved a Puniſh-
ment. And every Duel which terminates in this
event, is equivalent to too unjuſt Sentences in a
Court of Judicature; one of which acquits a
guilty perſon, and the other condemns an inno-
cent one.
We need not fear any argument to be drawn
from the uſe which has been made of ſingle Com-
bat in the forms of Juſtice. The Abſurdity of
ſuch a practice, uſed as a Mode of Trial, is now
univerſally confeſſed. It is indeed ſo glaring,
that even the Barbariſm of the Ages in which
this cuſtom prevailed, is not enough to account
for a direct introduction of it. But the Simpli-
city and Inexperience of thoſe Ages render it, in
the firſt place, ſufficiently probable that a perſon,
accuſed of any crime, might be allowed to clear
himſelf of it by a public and folemn Oath; as it
might originally appear incredible that a perſon
in fuch a ſituation durft venture to perjure him-
felf. The contrary of this becoming evident
from repeated experience, it then ſeems not un-
natural
C 2
36
The good Order of Society. PART II.
natural for barbarous Nations, familiar with vio-
lence and private revenge, and governed by ſu-
perſtitious notions, to adopt the judicial Combat
as a Remedy for the repeated and notorious Per-
juries of Criminals. And it appears not at all
improbable that a judicial Combat might fre-
quently be regarded both by the Spectators and
the Combatants, rather as an exhibition of Gla-
diators, a Competition of Strength, of Skill, and
of Courage, than as a mode of deciding a Right
or bringing a Criminal to Puniſhment: an idea
which would tend ſtrongly to conceal the Abſur-
dity of the practice from thoſe who made uſe of
it. It would be trifling with the Reader's pati-
ence, to dwell upon a point fo evident as the Im-
propriety of this antiquated mode of Trial. We
have only to obſerve, that the total and long diſ-
uſe of it in England, where the laws reſpecting
it have never been formally repealed, ſhews how
repugnant it is to the common ſenſe of Mankind.
But however glaring may be the Abſurdity of
the judicial Combats, and whatever plauſible ar-
guments may be produced by ingenious men, to
reconcile us to the common practice of private
Duelling, when thoſe Combats are exploded;
yet at leaſt no one will deny that, in the parti-
cular light in which we are juſt now viewing our
ſubject, they may claim the preference. They
were permitted; the private Duels are forbidden:
thoſe
SECT. III.
Further Obſervations.
37
thoſe were even appointed by Law; theſe are
not only contrary to particular Laws, but tend
to the ſubverſion of all Law whatſoever.
We return then to our Obſervations upon pri-
vate and unauthoriſed Duels, as the
proper
ſub-
ject of our diſquiſition: and ſhall purpoſely avoid
clogging the Obſervations, as they ariſe, with
remarking upon every one of them how far it
might be applied to the judicial Combat.
Beſides the impropriety of expoſing the offend-
ed perſon to the puniſhment which in its original
idea muſt be deſigned for the Offender alone; it
is plainly inconſiſtent with the good Order of
Society, that two Perſons ſhould be expoſed for
one Offence. The Puniſhment, taken in this
view, is exceſſive in Degree. Indeed it has not
often happened that the event has proved fatal
to both Parties; as it did in the caſe of the Duke
of Hamilton and Lord Mohun, in the year 1712;
the latter of whom died on the ſpot, and the for-
mer as he was conveyed to his carriage. It has
been however no very uncommon caſe, that one
of the Parties has been killed and the other
ſeverely wounded. The inſtance, in 1613, of
Lord Bruce and Sir Edward Sackville, is re-
markable in this as well as in other' refpects :
and there are inſtances of later date. But in-
Atances in which both parties have been wound-
C3
ed,
38
The good Order of Society. PART 11.
ed, are very common. In which caſe it may
eaſily happen that the Puniſhment ſhall be excef-
five, and on thạt ſingle account to be rejected in
Society, though it were admiſſible on other ac-
counts.
This Exceſs of puniſhment in ſome inſtances,
will not be corrected by a Defect in others :
which happens (for example) when both parties
eſcape unhurt; unleſs we ſuppoſe neither of them
in any degree culpable. It would be a very
weak juſtification of the Civil Power in any
Country, to ſay, that though it was too rigorous
in its puniſhments in ſome inſtances, it was too
mild, or inflicted no puniſhment at all, in others;
and that, in the whole, it inflicted preciſely ſuch
a quantity of puniſhment upon the Subjects of
the State, as was due to their Guilt in the Ag-
gregate. It is the Duty of the Civil Power, as
it is the Intereſt of the Society at large, that up-
on every ſeparate Offence the proper degree of
Puniſhment ſhould be inflicted. Rigour, or a
too great Lenity, in one Inſtance, (if it be any
argument on either ſide of the queſtion,) would
rather tend to juſtify the like Rigour or Lenity
in other Inſtances.
By the ſame
way
of
reaſoning, we try any Inſtitution or Cuſtom which
ſets itſelf up in the place of the Civil Power ; as,
the practice of Duelling. In which, the prodi-
gious Inequality of Puniſhinents eventually in-
flicted
1
SECT. III. Further Obſervations.
39
flicted for equal Offences, is a manifeſt and
flagrant violation of the good Order of Society.
The next Particular that occurs under this
Head, is the great Difference in perſonal Merit
and other Circumſtances, which ſometimes ap-
pears between the Combatants. The Differences
chat call directly for our notice here, are thoſe
which make a man more or leſs valuable to the
civil Community. You are upon an equal foot-
ing (we muſt ſuppoſe)
muſt ſuppoſe) with your Antagoniſt,
while you are conſidered merely as one Gentle-
man oppoſed to another : but this leaves room
for great Inequalities. You perhaps have a For-
tune which gives you an Influence over the Hap-
pineſs' of hundreds of your Fellow-ſubjects :
whilſt his Income barely enables him to aſſociate
with Gentlemen, and his Death would ſcarcely
find a Dependant to bewail it. You have been
bleſſed by Nature with Abilities which are a
foundation for every ſpecies of merit, and a hap-
py Education has built upon them the moſt uſe-
ful as well as the moſt ſplendid Accompliſhments :
he has received originally a Capacity fuited merely
to ordinary life, and this too has but been culti-
vated with moderate attention. Your Experience
and Virtues, joined to ſuch Accompliſhments,
qualify you moſt eminently to give advice to
your King, to preſide over the Finances of your
Country, or to ſerve the Public in other Depart-
C4
ments
40 The good Order of Society. PART II.
ments of the firſt Importance: his indolent and
unvaried life has left his mind unfurniſhed with
Knowledge, his Faculties for want of exerciſe are
feeble and torpid, and the conſciouſneſs of an
uſeleſs exiſtence has weakened every ſentiment of
Virtue within him. If there be a Law (called a
Law of Honour or by any other name) which
would oblige you to ſtake your life againſt the
life of ſuch a man, under an idea of your being
upon an equal footing with him; is there any
Propriety diſcernible in ſuch a Law? Does it
appear to have been dictated with any regard to
the Peace of Society; to that Order and Har-
mony which are eſſential to its Proſperity ?
We might have made the Inequality much
greater, without tranſgreſſing the bounds of Pro-
bability. For we might have ſuppoſed him aban-
doned in his Principles, and diſgraced with every
Vice which does not exclude a perſon from the
ſociety of Gentlemen. But we have refrained
from making ſuch a ſuppoſition, becauſe it was
by no means neceſſary to our Concluſion,
Force is the laſt Appeal of Sovereign Princes,
who acknowledge no Superiour upon earth. He
who takes upon him to decide his private quar-
rels by private Force, puts himſelf in the place
of an independant Sovereign. To be conſiſtent,
he ought to reſign the privileges which he enjoys
by his dependant ſtate in SocietyIf all ſhould
effećtually
SECT. III. Further Obſervations.
41,
effectually reſign them, who claim the privilege
of ſettling their diſputes by the Sword or Piſtol,
we ſhould have a croud of independant Sove-
reigns, without Subjects indeed, and moreover
in want of what are uſually reckoned the mere
Neceſſaries of life. But where muſt they exiſt?
Having given up all claim to Protection from
the civil Power, and declared themſelves openly
in favour of Force, they could no longer remain
in the civilized parts of the world, with ſafety to
themſelves or others. They muſt retire to the
Woods and uncultivated Mountains: where, as
Sovereigns, they might command their own Ac-
tions; as Gentlemen, they might live free from
the ignominious Tyranny of Laws; and, as Sa-
vages, they might range in the deſerts for their
daily food, till they ſhould die a natural death,
by Famine, by, wild Beaſts, or by the hands of
each other.
If a man wiſhes to be a Member of Society,
let him accept the Advantages of that dependant
ftate: but he muſt conform alſo to its Regula-
tions. If he wiſhes rather to be an independant
unconnected Being, let him renounce at once
the benefits of Society, and boldly reſt his Pro-
tection and his Happineſs on his own ſingle arm.
But let him not imagine that any Community
can be willing to afford him at the ſame time the
privileges of the ſocial ſtate and the independant
one. And, though in practice he ſhould find
them
3
42
The good Order of Society. PART II.
them in ſome degree reconcileable, he is not
thence to conclude that the Community of which
he is a Member gives a tacit approbation to his
conduct. He needs only to reflect that the Vices
of the many, ſeconded by the general Imperfec-
tion of human affairs, are able, in oppoſition to
the Virtues of the few and the beff Laws (hi-
therto formed), to eſtabliſh cuſtoms which can-
not have our approbation, and which in theory
are totally incompatible with the Regulations of
ſocial life.
The queſtion, in ſhort, is this, whether the
advantages (whatever they may be), ariſing from
the practice of Duelling, are greater than thoſe
reſulting from Society. If they are, no objec-
tion remains, from this Topic, to the full eſta-
bliſhment of that practice. Let it deſcend to all
ranks of men, and take place in the deciſion of
all Rights and the Reparation of alt Injuries.
But if not, let it be aboliſhed wholly' and with-
out exception; not merely on account of the
par-
tial' Miſchief experienced from that degree of it
which actually prevails, but alſo as it involves
Principles deſtructive of all good Order and even
of all Society.
+
P A R T
I
[ 43 ]
1
PART III.
Duelling conſidered with reference to Courage.
NOURAGE
MOURAGE is a Power of the Mind
which ſupports'us under a ſenſe of Danger.
When it is ſpoken of as a Virtue, it means that
Power exerted in ſuch a manner as to merit Ap-
probation. But it is frequently ſpoken of more
largely, ſo as to denote that Power exerted in
any manner whatſoever, or even without Exer-
tion, conceived as latent and habitual in the
Mind.
1
It merits Approbation when it enables us to
encounter a ſmaller immediate Danger, in or-
der to avoid a greater which is at fome diſtance:
as in facing a wild Beaſt which there is a greater
probability of terrifying by an undaunted be-
haviour, than of eſcaping by Flight; or, in op-
poſing a body of Pirates in their attempt to land
upon the coaſt, who, if not repelled by a timely
oppoſition, would ſoon render themſelves more
formidable. There are alſo other Cauſes for
meeting danger, beſides the purpoſe of avoid-
ing greater danger in future, which will ſtamp
a Merit upon our Courage. Inſtances of a more
exalted kind, are, when we voluntarily expoſe
ourſelves
44
PART III.
Courage.
ourſelves in order to protect the innocent, to re-
lieve a Friend, to ſerve our Country.
But in many caſes it merits no Approbation, ,
is no Virtue. Whether in theſe caſes it is
properly termed Courage, ſeems to be only a
verbal diſpute ; into which we need not enter.
To encounter danger in mere Frolic, or for a
trifling ſum of money which has been impru-
dently or cruelly propoſed to draw in the un-
wary, is no virtuous exertion of Courage. He
who ſhould advance with the firmeſt Intrepidity
towards a Bomb ready to burſt, in order to ex-
tinguiſh it, in a caſe where no harm could fol-
low from the Exploſion, would ſhew a blame-
able and ridiculous Courage : though the man
who ſhould attempt it with any proſpect of
ſucceſs, in order to ſave the lives of numbers
placed within reach of the deſtruction, would
claim and extort our higheſt applauſe.
The Courage of the Highwayman finds no ad-
vocates; unleſs it be under cover of this di-
ſtinction, that the Courage taken in the moſt
abſtracted way of conceiving it muſt be com-
mendable, though the Robbery which it enables
a man to execute contains a high degree of
guilt. Perhaps we need not be ſolicitous to re-
fute ſuch a poſition; ſo long as we ſee thus
clearly on what Ground the Approbation is
given. Yet it does not appear how any Quality
can clain our Approbation otherwiſe than in its
Exertion
PART III.
Courage.
45
Exertion or its Acquiſition. Setting theſe aſide,
and taking it as a mere Habit or Power, we
have no encomium to paſs upon it but what may
be with equal juſtice beſtowed upon 'a well-
ſhaped leg or a fine ſet of teeth. As for the Ex-
ertion of a Highwayman's Courage, that is
evidently culpable. And as for its Acquiſition,
he has no reaſon to expect from us any favourable
conjectures on that head: ſo much of his Cou-
rage as is not the pure gift of Nature, has pro-
bably been acquired without the exerciſe of much
Virtue.
The expoſing of one's ſelf to Danger, there-
fore, is not always, and of itſelf, laudable. Much
leſs will Courage render the whole of an action
laudable, or even juſtify it as admiſſible, by be-
ing one amongſt a number of motives which
impel a man to it. To fight a Dụel, requires
undoubtedly a degree of Courage, a
ſenſe of the word; and Courage, in another ſenſe
of the word, is certainly a Virtue: but we muſt
not confound theſe two ſenſes. Before the action
of fighting a Duel can be approved or admitted,
the Duelliſt muſt ſhew us that at leaſt there is
nothing wrong or forbidden in it; before we al-
low his Courage to be a Virtue, he muſt con-
vince us that it is employed to a good purpoſe.
< But is there no ſuch thing as an erroneous
Virtue? If ſome Error mixes itſelf with my
Generoſity, my Compaſſion, or the exereiſe of
in one
1
a civil
46
Courage.
PART III.
a civil Authority committed to me, am I there-
fore not generous or compaſſionate? Have I
no merit as a fupporter of Juſtice and public
Peace?" No doubt, you may claim a degree of
praiſe, notwithſtanding the mixture of Error.
But if it is on this ground that you defend the
Courage which is exerted in a Duel, the diſpute
between us quickly comes to an iflue. You aċ-
knowledge your Error: but your Excuſe, how-
ever good for what is paſt, cannot ſtand as a
plea for tranſgreſſing in future.
Nor can it
avail any perſons except thoſe whoſe Judgment,
like your own, has been miſled; and that only
till they have an opportunity of diſcovering their
Miſtake.
1
There are ſome actions of ſuch a nature, that
they require a degree of Courage in the execu-
tion, and conſequently the declining of them
may proceed from Cowardice; but nevertheleſs
it may proceed frem Courage, and that of a higher
kind. A namber of riotous perſons, bent on
fome unlawful purpoſe, meet a couple of Paffen-
gers,
and deſire their aſſiſtance in the execution
of the projected miſchief. One of the Paffen-
gers, aware of no danger beſides that which atá
tends the proſecution of this unlawful deſign,
dares not engage in 'it, but declines through
Cowardice. His Companion is ſenſible of ano-
ther danger, which is immediate and perhaps
greater,
PART III.
47
Courage.
greater, from the fury of the Croud, if he re-
fuſes to comply; and yet, under a ſenſe of his
Duty, he has the Courage to refuſe. They act
alike in the refuſing; but one of them is a Cow-
ard, the other a Hero. The Rioters proceed to
threats and violence : the Coward is ſeized, and,
being now made ſenſible of his immediate dans
ger from the Multitude, is impelled by the
greater Fear;- is impelled by his Cowardice
to the commiſſion of thoſe crimes which he had
not Courage to undertake.
There is another inſtance in Suicide. It re-
quires fome Courage without doubt, at leaſt in
moſt ſituations, for a man to deſtroy himſelf.
It may happen therefore that he is reſtrained
from it by nothing better than Fear and Cow-
ardice. On the contrary it may be thar, al-
though he expects in the remaining part of his
life Miſery worſe than many Deaths, he ſhall
yet
have the Courage to await that Miſery rather
than in ſuch a manner to make his eſcape from
it.
Thus it is in Duelling. One man has no
fcruples, or is ready to ſuppreſs every ſcruple
that riſes, about ſending or accepting a Chal-
lenge: he even withes to do one or the other,
for the ſake of his Reputation and Reception in
the World; but he has not the Courage to fight.
Another has not only the Courage requiſite for
fighting, but, if no other objection appeared
than
1
$8
PART III
Courage.
than the mere Danger to himſelf of loſing his
Life or ſuffering Pain from a Wound, would
prefer it without heſitation to the conſequences
of refuſing a Challenge: and yet, from a full
conviction of the abſurdity and guilt of Duels,
he has the Courage to refufe. He is fully aware
of fome difficulties into which his conduct may
bring him: he may be expoſed to the Inſults of
ſome whom Fear alone uſually reſtrains from of-
fering Inſults, and (what affects him more fenfi-
bly) the Contempt of others whoſe good opi-
nion he values, though he is fatisfied that their
judgment in this point is erroneous. He dreads
as ſtrongly as any man the keen reproach of
Cowardice; but, conſcious that it will be un-
merited, and aware that he cannot avoid it
otherwiſe than by the commiſſion of what he
eſteems a Crime, he derives hence an invincible
Courage; which enables him to encounter even
this Danger, though to his eye it appears more
formidable than the arms of a whole battalion
levelled at his breaft.
If this then is evident, that Courage may be
a man's principle in refuſing a Challenge, it is
plain that Cowardice may be his motive in ſend-
ing or accepting one. Therefore he who con-
cludes that by fighting a Duel he ſhall be certain
to wipe off or prevent an imputation of Cow-
ardice, makes a concluſion which we cannot
him. If we know, or have reaſon to be-
lieve,
grant him.
PART III. Courage:
49
lieve, that he fights without a ſufficient perſua-
fion of being free from blame in what he does,
perhaps under a full conviction of its
guilt, it is natural to inquire what may
be the motive which thus overcomes his fenfe
of right and wrong. If this ſhould be diſco-
vered to be the Fear of Diſgrace, (which is pro-
bably one of the moſt common motives,) he is
ſo far from having evinced his claim to Courage,
by the action in which he has engaged for that
purpoſe, that this very action proves him defi-
cient in Courage : for it proves that he has not
dared to affert his natural right of acting agree-
ably to the perſuaſion of his own mind, but has
ſuffered himſelf to be driven by Fear into the
commiſſion of what he diſapproves.
The Duelliſt may urge, that, to arm a man
againſt Contempt, Inſult, and Deriſion there is
required a degree of paſive Courage, greater
than can be expected in ordinary minds; but
that every man ſhould be expected to poſſeſs
the Courage requiſite for fighting a Duel when
he is called upon. We may allow him to plead
this as an Extenuation of his blame : for ſuch is
every Difficulty attending the practice of Virtue.
But at the ſame time it confirms what has juſt
been advanced ; as it is a confeſſion that his
Courage is only of an inferiour kind, and muſt
yield the palm to that Fortitude which enables a
D
man
50
PART III.
Courage.
1
1
man, fearleſs of all conſequences, to brave the
terrors of unmerited Reproach and Infamy.
This is not a Fortitude merely in Idea.
There have been many inſtances of men who
have put up an Affront or declined a Challenge,
who have yet been men of undoubted Courage.
We need not infiſt upon the common practice
of the Ancients, who found it intirely un-
neceſſary to admit the uſage of private Duels :
much leſs have we occaſion to reft upon a few
particular Inſtances amongſt them ; ſuch as that
of the Roman Emperor Auguftus, who (before
he was Emperor) refuſed to gratify Mark An-
thony in his requeſt of a ſingle Combat. There
have not been wanting Inſtances in modern
times ; which are more to the purpoſe, becauſe
in direct oppoſition to a prevalent Cuſtom. For
theſe, we muſt refer every one to his own
memory and the ordinary channels of inform-
ation.
But it may be worth remarking
that, in the beginning of the laſt century, when
Duelling was at its height in France as well as
England, the Duke de Sully, prime Miniſter of
France, and who, though beſt known in that
capacity, had alſo ſignalized himſelf by his mi-
litary Valour, was not afraid to oppoſe himſelf
in the moſt open manner againſt the prevalence
of that fanguinary practice: which he did both
by
PART III.
51
Courage.
by addreſſing himſelf particularly to Individuals*
and by procuring Edicts from the throne.
The Courage required for fighting a Duel,
when a perſon is prompted by Revenge or ſome,
other motives, is of ſo low a kind, that we are
ſurpriſed to find men anxious about preſerving
the Reputation of it. Perſonal Bravery ſtrikes
the vulgar apprehenſion, and captivates the
judgment of the thoughtleſs ; but, with men of
reflexion and experience, it never gives the idea
of elevated merit to a character in which it is
the leading quality. That it is very common,
is evident from the Dangers ſo frequently en-
countered by men taken from the ordinary occu.
pations of life, and from the loweſt of the peo.
ple; men who cannot be ſuppoſed to act undet
the influence of a nice ſenſe of Honour.
Such
are the private ſoldiers of an army.
There is not the leaſt difficulty in finding
men qualified, in this reſpect, to fill the moſt
eminent and perilous ſituations. But when that
cool, uniform, perſevering Fortitude is required,
the exerciſe of which lies in ſurmounting a ſeries
of ſucceſſive Difficulties; in ſtemming a Tor-
rent of Faction ; in maintaining uſeful Diſcipline
amongſt Inferiours ; in bearing the tacit Sullen-
neſs or open Reproaches of Friends and De-
See his Memoirs ; for the year 1605.
9 Ibid.; for 1602, and 1609.
D 2
pendants,
52
Courage.
PART 111.
pendants, for whoſe Good you are exerting
yourſelf, but who are offended by ſome unfa-
vourable appearance which the preſent circum-
ftances forbid you to explain ; or, laſtly, in fup-
porting an honourable conduct in public life,
under the diſadvantages of miſconception, wil-
ful miſinterpretation, and party oppoſition :
when the Courage for theſe and the like actions
is called for, it may require a long ſearch before
we meet with a perfon poffeffed of ſuch a quali-
fication. Kings have behaved in the moſt un-
daunted manner in the Field, who have ſhewn
themſelves pufillanimous in the Cloſet: abroad
they have expoſed their perſons along with the
meaneſt of their Subjects, though at home they
have not dared to ſuppreſs the inſolence of a fa-
vourite Miniſter, or to bear up againſt the
threats of a Woman.
The Inference is, that men ought not to value
themſelves ſo highly as they are apt to do, upon
that Courage which a Duel can prove them to
be poſſeſſed of; and that there is really a greater
degree of comparative Merit, than is uſually al-
lowed, in the Courage which diſcovers itſelf on
thoſe other more important and more noble
occaſions.
PART
[ 52 ]
PART IV.
Duelling conſidered with reference to Magnanimity.
FR
ROM Courage we riſe a ſtep higher to
Magnanimity. There are many perſons in
the world, who have the Strength of mind to
encounter Danger: there are but few who have
the Greatneſs of mind to deſpiſe it ; to
look down with contempt upon the Terrors of
life as well as its Allurements.
The Diſplay of this Greatneſs is principally
ſeen in thoſe ſituations which are the moſt inter-
eſting; where Life itſelf is hazarded, or the
higheſt Concerns of life are in agitation. Thus,
in a Duel, there is frequently room for the exer-
ciſe of this and other qualities which have an
affinity with it; Generoſity, a punctilious Fair-
neſs in obferving the rules of combat, and a
Tenderneſs over a vanquiſhed and wounded
Enemy. Theſe have been eminently diſplayed,
in ſome inſtances of Duels; and, in the narra-
tion, they carry us back for a moment to the
times of romantic Chivalry, when every good
quality of the human heart was ſuppoſed to be
connected with military Proweſs.
But we muſt not ſuffer ourſelves to be led
away
D 3
3
54
Magnanimity. PART IV.
away by a few enchanting ideas, into any ſuch
concluſions as the following: that what has given
an opportunity to ſome men for exerciſing thoſe
great and noble qualities, will argue the ſame to
exiſt in all who have the ſame opportunity, or
that the very perſons who have ſhewed in a
Duel that they are poſſeſſed of ſuch virtues, are,
by the exertion of them, juſtified in the action
itſelf of fighting; or laſtly, that they are there-
fore to be accounted magnanimous, puncțilious
in every nicety of fair conduct, generous, and
tender-hearted, becauſe they have fought. If
concluſions like theſe be admitted, we ſhall find
no difficulty in juſtifying the lawleſs Invaders of
the moſt facred rights, or in proving the Perpe-
trators of the blackeſt crimes, to be, as ſuch, in
the number of amiable and reſpectable cha-
racters.
The queſtion then of the Right or Wrong
of Duelling is left wholly undecided, while we
allow that great and heroic qualities have ſome-
times been diſplayed by the Combatants, in the
previous circumſtances, in the Combat itſelf, or
in the behaviour immediately ſubſequent. Which
gives us full liberty to inquire a little more par.
ticularly into the nature of Magnanimity; in
order to ſee how far it can be conceived to enter
into the action of fighting a Duel.
Magnanimity is ſeen in overlooking fome
things as Trides, which affect many perſons as
Evils
PART IV: Magnanimity.
55
Evils deſerving their ſerious regard. Whether
they proceed from Accident, from the Inatten-
tion of the careleſs, from the rude Impertinence
of an Inferiour, or the mean Pride of a Supe-
riour, the great Mind looks down upon them
with a cool neglect which diſarms them of all
power to hurt him. We would not be under-
ſtood to recommend a total Inſenſibility under
deſigned Affronts : but there are certainly many
Appearances of this kind, which it is more
manly and noble to paſs by without any notice
at all. Sometimes what has the Appearance of
an intended Affront, is in reality purely accidental;
at other times it is owing to nothing worſe than
Inadvertence; and even when deſigned, it may
have ſome excuſe from the heat of Paſſion, from
Miſapprehenſion, or wrong Information. Nay,
where none of theſe can be urged in excuſe for
it, ſtill there is often ſo low a degree of bad In-
tention, ſo little Virulence, exiſting in the mind
of the perſon offending, that, if the offended
perſon could but look in the other's breaſt with-
out the intervention of any deceitful medium,
he would be ſurpriſed to find how ſmall the ob-
ject was which had formed fo large a picture
upon his imagination. Now it is a property of
this Greatneſs of Soul which we are contem-
plating, that it enables a man to enter ſimply
and with eaſe into the Feelings and Paſſions of
D4
others
56
Magnanimity. PART IV.
!
others, without diſcovering any thing worſe in
thoſe Paſſions when directed againſt himſelf than
when directed againſt an indifferent perſon. By
his enlarged conception he comprehends the
whole of Mankind in one view, and ſees himſelf
only as a ſingle Individual among that vaſt mul-
citude.
How will the captious and quarrelſomr bear
the teſt of a compariſon with this tracker?
Does any one pride himſelf
one pride himſelf upon the Iviaxim, of
never putting up an Afronę? It is not the Maxim
of a great Mind. What is a ſingle perſon, that
he muſt require all others in every ſituation, in
the eagerneſs of Buſineſs, in the career of Plea-
ſure, in the abſent moment of diſtracting Care,
in the dejected ſeaſon of Grief and Melancholy,
to be always ſo guarded and ſo attentive to him,
as to be guilty of nothing which can be conſtrued
into an Affront? A tranſgreffion of Etiquette, a
haughty Look, a particular Emphaſis in pro-
nouncing words otherwiſe harmleſs, are offences
againſt the Majeſty of a ſelf-important Being,
ſuch as cannot be paſſed over unnoticed. They
muft either be immediately expiated with blood;
or, if ſome of the Nighteſt kind are not judged
to require ſo ſevere an atonement, they are at
Jeaſt carefully regiſtred in the memory, that, if
further occaſion offers, they may be brought to
account:
PART IV. Magnanimity.
57
account*. And when a perſon has been ſo un.
happy as to irritate a captious man, by a number
of theſe minute offences which are ſcarcely ca-
pable of being eſtimated or deſcribed; it is fome-
times thought neceſſary by the offended perſon
to put a direct and unequivocal affront upon the
original Offender, for the mere purpoſe of bring.
ing matters to extremities.
Where is the Magnanimity of all this minute-
neſs and preciſion, in exacting whatever a man
thinks to be due to him? Though we ſhould
allow that he does not exact any thing more than
what in ſtrictneſs is his due; yet, to act upon
ſuch a ſyſtem as this, is to forget the univerſal
Imperfection of every thing human, and to ſet
up one's Self as an object to which the World is
required to pay an attention greater than it pays,
or can be expected to pay, to the generality of
Individuals.
But let us now imagine a great and ſubſtantial
Injury offered ; ſuch that no man can be ſuppor.
ed inſenſible of it without a reproach upon his
feelings, and ſuch as both the ſafety of the Indi-
vidual and the good of the Public require to be
• Lord Bacon ſays, “ Nay, I hear there be ſome coun.
fel learned of duels, that tell young men when they are
beforehand, and when they are otherwiſe, and thereby
incenſe and incite them to the duel, and make an art of
it.” State Trials, by Mr. Hargrave; XI. 114.
puniſhed,
58
PART IV.
Magnanimity. -
puniſhed, in order to prevent a Repetition of it.
Thar Duelling is totally improper as the means
of Reparation or Puniſhment, with reſpect both
to the Individual and the Public, we have at-
tempted to ſhew in the firſt and ſecond Parts of
this Differtation. Therefore the only inquiry
here is, how far it is agreeable to true Greatneſs
of Mind, to fight a Duel from the mere impulſe
of Refentment, diſtinct from all rational views
of Reparation or an equitable and uſeful Puniſh:
ment.
Refentment, thus ſeparated from every good
motive, is no other than the mere ſpirit of Re-
venge: which is intirely the vice of a little mind,
and a direct contraſt to that Generoſity of Sym-
pathy which prompts as to rejoice in the Happi-
neſs of others, and to weep over their Diſtreſs.
Revenge may ſuit the confined and abject notions
of a Savage, who lives in a ſtate of perpetual
war with Men and Brutes, and whoſe higheſt
ideas of happineſs and glory riſe not higher than
to Victory over an enemy. But a civilized Edu-
cation teaches men, with the abſurd exception
only of thoſe caſes in which the reputed point of
Honour is concerned, to ſuppreſs every Indica-
tion of this paſſion, to lay aſide all Ferocity of
manners, to fhew a forwardneſs in conferring
Favours and an abhorrence of committing an
Injury, nay even to expreſs a conſtant Attention
tQ
PART IV. Magnanimity.
59
to the Intereſts and the Feelings of others, ftu-
dious at the ſame time to betray no Anxiety
about their own. And it is aſtoniſhing to ſee
men who in their ordinary behaviour demonſtrate
a great and generous turn of mind, recurring
ſuddenly, for a ſingle purpoſe, for a ſingle ac-
tion, to the mean and contemptible principles of
the untutored Barbarian.
1
1
>
3
1
PART
[ 60 ]
PART
V.
Duelling conſidered with reference to Virtue in
general,
SECT. I.
Of a Balance between different Virtues.
IT happens very frequently that different Vir-
tues counteract each other in their operation.
Generoſity to a perſon in diſtreſs, oppoſes itſelf
to the provident care which you owe to your
family. Time employed upon one good pur-
poſe, is taken from another: you cannot, in
moſt inſtances, give yourſelf up, at the ſame
time, to the ſervice of your Friend and your
Country. The Regularity of martial, of pa-
rental, of ſcholaſtic Diſcipline, cannot always be
maintained without ſtilling ſome emotions which
ariſe from the ſocial and natural affections.
In all theſe caſes, the higheſt perfection to
which the moſt virtuous character can reach, is
to make a juft Balance between the contending
Virtues. Or, if the very idea of contending Vir.
tues, the very ſuppoſition of any Virtue being
obliged to give way, ſhould be offenſive; wę
may ſay, that where any two Actions (or Prin.
ciples
SECT. I. Balance between different Virtues.
61
ciples of Action) interfere, each of which is vir-
tuous ſeparately taken, the one which upon the
whole is better omitted, ceaſes to be a Virtue.
Whether we ſpeak of Virtues claſhing with each
other, or of Actions ſeparately virtuous, but one
of them ceaſing to be ſuch by their Interfe-
rence; in which of theſe two ways we ſhall
expreſs ourſelves, ſeems rather a matter of verbal
propriety than the foundation of an eſſential diſ-
tinction; for which reaſon, we ſhall not infift
upon the one or the other of them.
Let it be allowed for the preſent, notwith-
ftanding what has been already advanced, that
the Virtue of Courage ſhines in its full luſtre in
a Duel, and that there is even a degree of Mag-
nanimity implied in it: ſtill there is a regard
due to other Virtues. You ſhall rank, in Cou-
rage, with the greateſt Hero of Antiquity, or
the moſt renowned Knight of Romance: yet if
you indulge this Virtue at the expenſe of Juſtice,
Humanity, Compaſſion, Benevolence, a Regard
for the Peace of Society and the Laws of your
Country; you act like the Prince who overlooks
all his Subjects except a ſingle Favourite, and,
becauſe he knows that Favourite to have ſome
meric, thinks he cannot value or reward his me.
rit too highly, though to the injury of many
worthy Competitors.
Is
62
Virtue in general. PART V.
1
Is it nothing to alledge, to the ardour of that
Courage which impels you into the field, that
the offence you have received is ſo ſlight as can-
not, without an affront to every principle of
Juſtice and Equity, be puniſhed with Death?
Though you ſhould have been more grievouſly
offended, may you not plead with this impetuous
Virtue, that the act to which it prompts you is
forbidden by all Laws divine and human, except
a peculiar Code which has obtained the title of,
the Laws of Honour? Might you not, without
offence to this arrogant Favourite, urge that you
are á Man; and that, as a Mán, you cannot
diveſt yourſelf of the feelings of humanity for an
amiable Woman and a family of tender Infants,
the Wife and Children of your Friend, of whoſe
happineſs within his domeſtic circle but yeſterday
you were both a witneſs and a partaker, and
whom to-morrow (at the inſtigation of this Fa+
vourite) you purpoſe to ſend to his Grave, fol.
lowed by a deſolate Widow and helpleſs Or-
Should this domineering Prin-
ciple ftimulate you to decide by Combat a point
of Rivalſhip in Love, might you not ſuggeſt,
that it would be a higher mark of Reſpect to the
Lady, to reſt the deciſion upon her Choice; and
that by a victory you could demonſtrate only
ſuch qualities, that ſhe who ſhould make her
choice from them alone, to the intire excluſion
of
phans
1
SECT: I. Balance between different Virtues. 63
of all others, would not be an object worthy of
your purſuit
Again; there is a kind of Gradation obferv-
able among the different Virtues. Thoſe which
raiſe us but little above the excellence of Brutes,
or bear a ſtrong reſemblance to qualities of which
they are found to be poffeffed, appear naturally
in a lower rank than thoſe which exalt man into
a compariſon with Beings ſuperiour to him. And
even Virtues which paſs under one and the ſame
name, will yet, as exerted on different objects
and in different ſituations, belong to different
ranks in the ſcale of excellence.
The Generoſity which always gives money to
the firſt object that preſents itſelf, without regard
to proportions or circumſtances, cannot be placed
on- a level with that public virtue which, like a
ſuperintending Providence, (as far as its know-
ledge reaches,) has an eye in every action to the
good of all. Courage, in general, is naturally
inferiour to a humane and benevolent Diſpoſi-
tion: and that Courage, in particular, which is
but juſt fufficient, when aided by Reſentment
and a ſenſe of Reputation, to bear a man up
againſt the danger of a Sword or Piſtol, is, be-
yond compariſon, inferiour to that divine Mag-
nanimity which can forgive an Injury, which keeps
a man cool and collected while his Adverſary is
in a rage of diſappointment with not being able
10
1
}
64
Virtile in general PART V.
to provoke him, and which is ſo free from all
mean Refentment againſt that Adverſary as to be
able to look down upon him with Pity.
S É CT.
II.
Change of reputed Virtues.
IN
N this Section, we will affume, though con-
trary to Fact, that Duels are univerſally, of
commonly, approved in the preſent Age; that,
on certain occaſions, it is accounted not only
allowable, but commendable and neceſſary, to
fight; in ſhort, that Duelling is a reputed Virtue.
Virtue ought always to be honoured and
eſteemed. This is certain. But, that an action
at preſent eſteemed and honoured as virtuous,
muſt be accounted virtuous in future ages, or
that it deſerves to be ſo accounted, is an errone-
ous concluſion. In one Age and Nation an
action has been approved as a Virtue, which in
another Nation or Age has been barely permit-
ted as indifferent, or elſe condemned as a Vice.
And, in whatever country we live, we may be
allowed to preſume that there are ſome actions ap-
proved in it, which do not merit approbation.
The practice of expoſing Infants, an ancient
practice in Europe, "a modern one in China, ap-
pointed by law in Sparta, in ocher ſtates permit-
ted, is, in the very idea, ſhocking to the feel-
ings
SECT. II. Change of reputed Virtues. 65
ings of an European Parent in our own times.
In Athens it was lawful to marry a Siſter (by the
father's ſide): in our own Age and Nation, this
· would be diſapproved, not ſimply, as a thing
forbidden, but in a vehement degree, as unna-
tural. The horrid crime of Suicide was approv-
ed by the ancient Romans: they even exalted
it into a point of Honour.
After the ſame manner, Duelling, in the de-
gree, and in many of the caſes, in which it was
faſhionable, a century and a half or two centu.
ries ago, is now become ridiculous in the eyes
of all. The fictitious character of Colonel Bath
as deſcribed by Mr. Fielding in his Amelia, ap-
pears totally extravagant: yet the principal fea-
tures of it are to be difcerned in a real character,
that of the firſt Lord Herbert of Chirbury*, in
the reign of James the firſt. Lord Herbert was
a man of merit and abilities; he diſcharged with
great credit the office of Ambaſſador to France ;
his reputation as an Author too, has been very
conſiderable. Yet his conduct in every thing
which was judged to affect the point of Honour,
was carried to an exceſs of captious Refinement,
Which ſhews evidently that the Maxims of Duel-
liſts in that Age were much more extravagant
than in the preſent.
The notions of the French, in the fame Age,
• See his Life, written by himſelf,
E
may
$
66
Virtue in general.
PART V,
7
may be gathered from a ſingle expreſſion of Lord
Herbert's, in his own Life; where, ſpeaking of
the French, he ſays, “ there being ſcarce any
man thought worth the looking on, that had not
killed ſome other in duel.” In addition to this,
we may mention the Embaſſy which, in the year
1621, the Duke de Luines, Conſtable of France,
cauſed to be ſent to England, with a train of
Officers, of whom he told King James there was
not one who had not killed his man g. Would
it be thought decent, in the preſent age, to ſend
ſuch an Embaſſy, and to declare thus publicly
the reaſon for which thoſe particular perſons had
been pitched upon to attend an Ambaſſador ?
The preceding obſervations furniſh matter for
Reflexion. If ſome actions which have been for-
merly approved or permitted, are now held to
be both criminal and diſgraceful, the like Change
may take place in other actions, unleſs we are to
ſuppoſe the preſent Age perfect in its Theory of
Morals. The approved Cuſtom of Duelling,
(for in this Section it is aſſumed to be an approved
Cuſtom,) may in a future Age be looked upon
as ſo criminal, that no perſon, appearing to be
guilty of it, ſhall have the leaſt hope of evading
the regular puniſhment preſcribed by Law; and
ſo diſgraceful, that, where a legal puniſhment
fails for want of Proof, a ſtrong Suſpicion of
3
Biographical Dictionary, 8vo; vol. vi. p. 370.
having
SECT. II. Change of reputed Virtues. .
67
7
having fought a Duel ſhall be ſufficient to exo.
clude a man from all reputable Company. If
the Maxims of Duelling, which about the end
of the fixteenth Century met with a ſerious ap-
probation, would make the perſon ridiculous who
fhould adopt them; in the latter end of the
eighteenth Century; there ſeems no abſurdity in
ſuppoGng that in the nineteenth or twentieth
Century the maxims of the eighteenth alſo may
be exploded, and every ſpecies of Murder may
meet with impartial Puniſhment and unfoftened
Infamy.
It is the buſineſs of every man, but particu-
larly of men diſtinguiſhed by Rank, Abilities,
Character, and Accompliſhments, to forward the
Improvement of the world in Morals, by op-
poſing the falſe Virtues which have unjuſtly ob-
tained a fanction from Cuſtom. In the early
periods of the Engliſh Hiſtory, we read of pri-
vate Hoſtilities perpetually carried on between
the Barons, ajded on each ſide by their Vaffals.
Acts of Violence were every day committed, and
with Credit to the Perpetrators, which would
now conſign them unpitied to the ignominy of
a Halter. Among thoſe onçe reputed Virtues in
our INand, Robbery, Murder, Cruelty to the per-
ſon, Violation of Women, Burning of Houſes,
and Wafting of Lands, it is remarkable that the
only one which maintains its credit at this day,
is Murder; and this only according to cer-
tain
7
E 2
1
68
Virtue in general.
PART V.
tain preſcribed rules. It would be a Glory to
the preſent Age, that it ſhould prevent its own
diſgrace in having its murderous Maxims ex-
ploded by Poſterity, that it ſhould immediately
ſtrike out this one more Crime from the liſt of
Virtues falſely ſo reputed, and thus advance us
one ſtep higher towards a Perfection in Morals.
1
SECT.
III.
1
The Principles of Virtue, undermined.
A A
PERSON who thinks it neceffary to fighe
upon ſuch occaſions as are commonly made
the ſubject of a Duel, muſt never intirely loſe
ſight of the poſſibility of being drawn into a ſitu-
ațion, in which he cannot (according to his own
ideas) avoid fighting. There is ſcarcely any In-
tercourſe between man and man, ſo ſimple, or
ſo trifling, as not to be capable, through Acci-
dent or Miſapprehenfion, of laying the founda-
tion of a Quarrel. The unremitting Attention,
which is to be paid on this account to every ar-
ticle of behaviour, will at leaſt be the cauſe of a
ſettled habitual Principle, or Syſtem of Principles,
in the mind.
The queſtion is, whether this Principle, this
Habit, will be uſeful or hurtful; whether it will
have a deſirable or a pernicious Effect upon a
1 man's
SÉCT. III. Principles of Virtue, undermined. 69
man's conduct. Is it not deſirable, you may
fay, that men ſhould pay a conſtant regard to
each other, and avoid every degree of offenſive
behaviour? And what is ſo likely to produce
this effect as the being ſcrupulouſly careful to
give no offence one's ſelf, and being always pres
pared to repreſs every tendency of that kind in
others? This might perhaps be anſwered by ſaya
ing, that if the Principles of the Duelliſt contri-
bute in ſome caſes to the peace and harmony of
the World, by intirely preventing Offence from
being given, yet in other caſes they have a con-
trary effect, by magnifying an Offence already
given, and by teaching a perſon not to recede
from any Pretenſions, for fear of an imputation
upon his Courage. Perhaps this anſwer might
be ſufficient: but we are able to give one upon
more general grounds.
It is not peculiar to the Principles of the Duel.
liſt, to teach men a peaceable behaviour in So.
ciety: the Principles of Virtue teach the fame.
Here then are two Syſtems of Principles, tend-
ing in common to an End confeſſedly good. If
theſe two Syſtems do not coincide, the queſtion
becomes, to which of them we muſt adhere.
For there would be an abſurdity in attempting
to follow the one on this occaſion, the other on
that: which would be, either to act upon no
Principle at all; or to fly to ſome third Syſtem,
in order to know in every particular caſe which
E 3
of
70
Virtue in general. PART V.
of the two we ſhould make uſe of, and thus in
effect to diſcard them both.
That theſe two Syſtems do not coincide
throughout, but on the contrary differ widely in
points of the firſt confequence, has (it is hoped)
"been made fufficiently evident, while we have
examined the Principles of the Duellift, by re-
ferring them ſucceſſively to the Ideas of Equity,
of good Order in Society, of Courage, of Mag-
nanimity. Which then of the two Syſtems will
you take for your Guide? There is but one An-
fwer to be given by the man who has not courage
to renounce all virtuous Principles collectively.
If you have not the courage to do this, you muſt
reject at once the whole Syſtem of Principles
which the Duelliſt has ſubſtituted in the place of
genuine Virtue, and not attempt to reconcile in-
compatible Theories,
Should you reſolutely adhere to the party of
the Duelliſt, we might be tempted, in an obvious
courſe of reaſoning, to pronounce you void of
every Principle truly and purely virtuous. But
our daily experience of human nature will not
Warrant ſuch a ſtrictneſs of concluſion. Man
is full of inconſiſtencies. If he adopts a vir-
tuous Plan of action, we ſee him repeatedly
drawn from it by his Paſſions: and if he receives
an erroneous Plan, he has not ſtrength and con-
ſiſtence to follow always the Errors of his Judg.
ment, but is often biaffed by ſecrèt good Habits,
and
pa
SECT. III. Principles of Virtue, undermined, 71
.
and ſurpriſed into the commiſſion of virtuous
actions which he had reprobated.
But this however we may venture to affirm;
that the Syſtem which you have embraced, '(be-
fides leading you, perhaps, immediately into a
Crime of the greateſt Guilt,) will take off your
attention from the pure maxims of Virtue, will
accuſtom you to ſee in a favourable light a con-
duct which you ought to regard as criminal, and
will thereby undermine in you thoſe Principles
by which you ought to regulate every action of
your life.
?
1
1
1
i
>
:
PART
( 72 )
PART
VI.
Duelling conſidered with reference to Honour.
S E C T. I.
General Idea of Honour.
1
TH
,
HE Foundation of all thë ſenſes in which
the word Honour is uſed, ſeems to be Re-
pucation, or Opinion. In ſome of its accepta-
tions, this is more evident; in others, leſs.
Honour has been diſtinguiſhed *, (and, as it
ſeems, with good reaſon,) into a Motive or
Principle of action, and an End or Reward.
Where it is ſpoken of as a Reward, there is
not, in general, any difficulty in the concep-
tion. The Honour or Fame conferred directly
upon any particular Merit, is an idea ſufficiently
familiar to all. Sometimes however, the Reward
is ſo ſeparated from the Merit which has deſerved
it, that there is a difficulty in tracing the con-
nexion between them. And again, the Motive
is ſometimes ſpoken of in ſo abſtract a nanner,
as feated in the Breait of him whom it incites to
action, that one does not immediately perceive
what reference it has to Reputation or Opinion.
With regard to that caſe in which the Reward
* Adventures, No. 61,
IS
SECT. I. General Idea of Honour. 73
is ſo far ſeparated from the Merit, and which
may be inſtanced in the Honour annexed to
Rank, Family, and Office; though it ſeems ca-
pable of being explained under the idea of a
Reward, as referred to the Merit of the Anceſtor
who acquired the Rank, or elevated the Family,
or as due to the Qualifications which are always
in Theory ſuppoſed, and often in Fact found, in
the perſon who fills an Office; yet ſince it ſeems
not immediately relative to our ſubject, we paſs it
by without being more particular.
But, how it is to be underſtood that Honour
as a Principle is always founded in Reputation
or Opinion, is a point which it ſeems not im-
pertinent to conſider with ſome attention. A
nice ſenſe of Honour is ſometimes mentioned as
ſynonimous to a refined ſenſe of Virtue: and
men are repreſented as performing noble and
worthy actions from this ſenſe of Honour, where
che
eye
of the World cannot obſerve them, and
where not even a ſingle Friend can be admitted
as a Spectator. This is a noble Principle; but
it is to be diſtinguiſhed from a ſenſe of Virtue,
and may be traced up to the Fountain of
Opinion or Reputation.
A nice ſenſe of Virtue is that by which we
make ready and accurate diſtinctions between what
is virtuous and what is vicious: but this is not
to be confounded with the Motive which impels
us to purſue the Virtue or avoid the Vice. This
1
Motive
74
PART VÝ
Honour.
2
Motive is in one perſon the Hope of Reward or
Fear of Puniſhment in this life; in another, it
is the like Hope or Fear reſpecting a future life;
in a third, it is Benevolence joined to a perſua-
fion that what he does will contribute to the
Good of Mankind; and, (not to attempt a com-
plete enumeration,) in a fourth it is a regard to
his Character in the World.
· The Influence of theie Motives does not, in
every ſingle inſtance, proceed from a diſtinct
view of the Reward or Puniſhment, from an
immediate contemplation of the Good which
may be hoped for, or of the effect which a man's
conduct is likely to have upon his Character.
Attention to ſuch points in particular cafes, by
frequent repetition, produces an habitual Prini
ciple, a Senſibility, which becomes a new Fa-
culty in the mind. And ſuch ſeems to be the
Origin of a ſenſe of Honour. A perſon ſees an
action to be virtuous or vicious: from a' regard
to his Reputation, he accordingly determines to
perform or forbear it. As often as it occurs, he
forms the fame determination : till he acquires,
by degrees, an habitual Senſibility; which,
without waiting for the Judgment, and ſome
times without obſerving whether there be any
Spectators to approve or condemn, impels him
immediately to whatever is virtuous, as fome-
thing reputable, and reſtrain's him from what-
ever is vicious, as fomething diſgraceful.
SECT.
[ 75 ]
SECT. II.
Laws of Honour.
;
DID
ID a Senſe of Honour never operate other-
wife than in ſtrict conformity with the ge-
néral idea of it juſt now explained, it would ap-
pear in no other light than as an auxiliary Prin-
ciple, engaged, along with other Powers, in the
cauſe of Virtue. Had it always enforced the
Rules of Virtue, we ſhould never have heard of
the. Laws of Honour. The Expreſſion itſelf
would have had no uſe, if Honour had enacted
nothing new, but only added a Sanction to what
was already preſcribed.
:: But, unhappily, the Approbation of Mankind
is frequently divided : what one perſon approves,
another diſapproves. Hence it is evident that, ,
if you would guide yourſelf by the Opinion of
others, you muſt firſt determine who they ſhall
be whoſe Opinion you will follow:
Voice of the World is nothing, till it is known
who are to be conſidered as conſtituting the
World. If the perſons whom you ſelect under
that title, approve a number of Vices and con-
demn fome Virtues ; by your choice, you pro-
fels obedience to Laws which, not coinciding
with thoſe of any other known Code, require a
i
diſtinct
the
76
PART VI.
Honour.
+
diſtinct Apellation. They may with propriety
be called, Laws of Honour: not becauſe they
preſcribe actions which your Senſe of Honour,
if duly regulated, would prompe you to; but
becauſe the Senſe of Honour, ſuch as it exiſts in
you, does prompt you to the actions which thoſe
Laws preſcribe.
It is eaſy to perceive that the Laws of
Honour, thus conſtituted, may differ widely
from the Rules of Virtue, by the wrong Ap-
probations which muſt ariſe from Error in
Opinion and the Bias of Pallion. But we muſt
alſo take into our conſideration, that ſome per-
ſons will affect to treat contemptuouſly what
they cannot but ſecretly approve, and will be-
ſtow marks of Honour upon what they inwardly
condemn. Their external Approbation, (if we
may be allowed the expreſſion,) goes beyond the
real ſentiments of their hearts, towards the ſide
of Vice; and makes the Laws of Honour to
differ more widely from the Rules of Virtue.
1
If theſe ideas of the Laws of Honour be juſt,
there will be no wonder, that different and con-
tradictory Laws of Honour have prevailed in
different Ages and Countries. What is called
faſhionable, in Cuſtoms and Manners, has found
its way amongſt Opinions; and there are fa-
ſhionable Opinions, (both merely ſpeculative,
and alſo ſuch as have an immediate effect upon
Action)
:
SECT. III. Amicable Explanation.
77
Action,) which ſpring up, Aouriſh, and die
away, like a particular Shape of a Garment, or
the Poſture and Motion made uſe of to denote
Reſpect.
In ancient Rome, a Blow brought no Infamy
upon the perſon ftruck: no Law of Honour
obliged him to revenge it with the Death of the
perſon who had ftruck him. A modern Eu-
ropean Gentleman reſents a Blow, not for the
Pain which it gives him, nor to prevent the
Diſorders in Society which would follow from
fuch violence being ſuffered to go unpuniſhed,
but becauſe a Blow diſhonours him. When the
judicial Combat was in uſe, it was a point of
Honour and the diſtinction of a Gentleman,
to fight on Horſeback and covered with com-
plete Armour : at preſent it is no diſgrace, in
a Duel, to perſons of the higheſt rank, to fight
on Foot; and defenſive Armour is totally fet
: aſide by the Laws of Honour.
SE CT.
III.
1
Diſputes ſettled by amicable Explanation between
the Parties.
T
O ſettle a Diſpute by the Laws of Ho-
nour, is an expreſfion frequently made
uſe of, to ſignify putting an end to a Quarrel
by fighting a Duel: which, in reality, is to paſs
over
78
PART VI.
Honour,
1
1
over the matter in Diſpute, and to purſue an ex-
pedient tending to fhew a degree of Courage in
boch Parties, but leaving the Merits of the
Cauſe undecided. A man of nice feelings, and
whoſe fenfe of Honour is not perverted by a
weak compliance with the errors of the World,
cannot ſatisfy himſelf with this method of ending
a Diſpute. If any part of his conduct has had
an unfavourable appearance, he is anxious to re-
move that appearance; and is fully ſenſible that
his Courage, and his Dexterity in the uſe of a
weapon, cannot evince, to unprejudiced and
thinking men, the rectitude of his conduct.
Though he may have Courage to brave every
dạnger, and even ſo much Ambition of ſhewing
his Courage as to be glad of an honourable op-
portunity of doing it, yet his ſtrong Senfe of
Honour cannot be ſatisñed with offering a proof
of that ſingle Virtue as a proof of his Innocence
in every point in which he may be accuſed
Artifice is beneath him : he cannot ſtoop to ſuch
an Attempt, as that of diverting the attention
of the World, by the oftentatious exhibition of
one popular Virtue, from an inſpection into
other points of his conduct; but is convinced
that, for clearing his Honour, there is no other
poſſible way than that of appealing to the Judg-
ment of thoſe who ſurvey his actions.
An Appeal then to the Judgment of others,
(inſtead of an Appeal to the Sword or Piſtol,:)
is
**
* 3
ŞECT. III.
Amicable Explanation.
79
is far from being, of itſelf, a proof of Cow,
ardice: and nothing can give it the force of
one, but ſuch a known character in the per-
fon who makes the appeal, as may render it
probable that he acts from no better motive.
Therefore we will now take it for a fettled Prin-
ciple, that a perſon may, with perfect ſafety to
his Honour, endeavour to convince his Ad .
verſary before he fights with him ; and even
that this is more honourable than the contrary
mechod of proceeding. It may be done two
ways; by amicable Eclairciffement between the
Parties, and by ſubmitting the Cauſe to the De-
ciſion of ſome third perſon, or a number of
perſons, unprejudiced: We will examine the
advantages of each of theſe ſeparately.
1
You conceive a perſon to have offended you.
We will not ſuppoſe that either of you has the
courage, directly to decline a Duel; but that in
other reſpects both of you are actuated by the
niceſt senſe of true Honour; and that both are
willing to try firſt what can be done towards an
amicable termination of the affair, in the
way
of Eclairciſſement. He gives you the moſt ex-
plicit account of his conduct: he removes, we
may ſuppoſe, the clouds which hung over it,
and fets it before you in full day-light, free
from every ſpot of offence. His Honour of
courſe is perfectly cleared, and your own Senſe
of
80
Honour.
PART VI:
}
of Honour prompts you without delay to make
the moſt open Declaration, that your ſuſpicions
are at an end. If you have erred ſo far as to
publiſh your ſuſpicions before you had candidly
inquired into the foundation of them, the ſame
Principle of Honour teaches you to correct that
error, as far as lies in your power, by publiſhing
alſo the Change in your ſentiments.
It may happen that ſome Fact, neceſſary to
the full explanation of his conduct, is ſuch as
cannot be revealed with propriety, or without
doing an injury to fome Friend. What courſe
is proper in a caſe of this nature? His Senſe of
Honour, it is true, will not permit him to reveal
ſuch a Fact : but on the other hand, neither
will yours permit you to aſk it of him. Let
him explain the matter as far as he is at liberty
to explain it; and, for the reſt, let him give you
his word of Honour that the caſe is ſuch as we
have ſuppoſed it, and that he is convinced, if he
ſhall ever be at liberty to mention this Fact, you
will immediately allow his conduct to have been
without blame. Between two men of real Ho-
nour, can there be any thing degrading in this,
either for the one to affert or for the other to
admit? But we need not dwell upon this par-
ticular Caſe: for, even if it were allowed to be
any real difficulty in our Theory, Inſtances of it
occur not ſo often as to make any ſubſtantial
objection to general reaſonings upon the ſubject.
If
#
SECT. III. Amicable Explanation.
81
1
If the method of amicable Explanation were
but as fully eſtabliſhed by the Laws of faſhion-
able Honour, as it is conſonant to thoſe of true
Honour, theſe Inſtances would not be thought
fufficient to form an Exception to a general
Rule.
But let us now ſuppoſe that the perſon has
been guilty of ſome real Offence againſt you.
In the Explanation which he gives you, he can-
not put a falſe gloſs upon his conduct, and at-
tempt to exculpate himſelf where he is conſcious
of blame: becauſe he is a man of true Honour.
But we have not ſuppoſed him free from the
common frailties of a man: he is blinded
per-
haps by Self-love, or warped by Paſſion, and
does not perceive himſelf to be in the wrong.
This, it muſt be owned, is unfavourable to a
Reconciliation : but he meets you, firſt, on
amicable ground. You ſtate your complaint ;
he repreſents his own idea of the point in dif-
pute; and you diſcuſs the point together with
Candour. What can be fo likely as the method
you take, to ſettle the affair to the Honour of
both ? Here are, in effect, mutual Accuſations :
you directly accuſe him; and he, by denying
the charge, indirectly accuſes you of charging
him unjuſtly. Were you to proceed immedi-
ately to a Duel, the Accuſations would indeed
be laid aſide by agreement; but the force of
them would remain againſt the Honour of both.
F.
Should
82
PART VI.
Honour.
Should you never afterwards come to an Ex-
planation, your Adverſary muſt always appear,
to you and thoſe who eſpouſe your Quarrel, in
the light of an Offender; and you muſt appear
to his Party in that of an unjuft Accuſer. The
only Honour which either of you could have
acquired, would be that which is due to mere
perſonal Courage.
In the uſe of the judicial Combats, the Con.
queror acquired something : his Conduct was
cleared, or the Accuſation which he had brought
was made good, by a ſuppoſed deciſion of Hea-
ven in his favour. But in the preſent uſe of
Duels, it is equally honourable to kill and be
killed : and, as it is impoſſible that both Parties
lhould be proved to be in the right, it follows of
courſe that neither the one nor the other can re-
ceive the leaſt yindication of his Honour, re-
specting the original ground of the Diſpute.
It is ſcarcely to be conceived that two per-
fons, each of whom is led by his Senſe of Ho.
nour to preſuppoſe, as far as Appearances will
permit, an honourable conduct in the other, and
to give to the other every information in his
power ;
it is ſcarcely to be conceived that
two ſuch perſons, conferring openly and amicably
together, ſhould not in the end arrive at ſome
determinate ſtate of the affair between them. In
the preſent ſuppoſition, namely that you have
received a real Offence, the Reſult of the Ex-
planation
2
sect, ir, Amicable Explanation.
83
planation is this; that the other perſon, appearing
now in the light of an Offender, and being actu-
ated by a true Principle of Honour, confeſſes
freely his fault, and aſks Pardon of you whom
he has offended. It is humiliating, no doubt,
to a man of Honour, to find that his conduct
has been in any degreę culpable: but the moſt
natural, the moſt effectual, and the moſt honour-
able way of removing the humiliating ſenſation,
is an ingenous Confeſſion, attended with ſuch a
Behaviour as may demonſtrate the ſincerity of
it. And your Senſe of Honour, in return,
will
accept in the readieſt and moſt ample manner
this liberal ſubmiſſion of the Offender.
· Thus, whether it appears upon inquiry that
the perfon has really offended you, or that you
have unjuſtly ſuſpected him, the affair is ter-
minated, not only without perſonal harm to
either, and with Honour to both, but with much
greater Honour than the Courage diſplayed in a
Duel could poſſibly have .conferred. Duelling
therefore is ſo far from being neceſſary amongſt
men of Honour, that nothing more than a juſt
ſenſe of Honour is required, to prevent it. You
whom we have ſuppoſed to be actuated by that
noble Principle, and engaged in a quarrel with
a perſon like yourſelf, have found no neceſſity of
recurring to ſo indeciſive an Expedient.
i
Had you fought firſt, and afterwards ex-
plained;
F 2
-
1
84
PART VI.
· Honour.
plained; what muſt have been the conſequence ?
If it had then appeared that your Suſpicions of
your Adverſáry were injurious, you had, to one
Injury, added a greater, by an attempt upon his
Life; withi no better apology than that you had
been willing to expoſe your own life, rather than
forego the Opportunity of taking away his. If
this“ apology. be ſufficient to conſtitute a man of
Honour, the Highwayman may, claim the title;
who expoſes his life both to a Piftol- and a
Halter, and that, without intending an equal
Miſchief to the perſon whom he attacks..
What - Honour can be imagined in fori-
diculous a.ſcene, as a Combat folemnly engaged
in, on account of a ſuppoſed Offence, and fol-
lowed by an Explanation which makes it appear
that the Offence "neverí exiſted? Had you both
ruſhed into ſuch a ſcene, blinded for a moment
by the Heat of Reſentment; how muſt...you
have been aſhamed, when your eyes had after-
wards-been opened, to ſee that you had raſhly
deferred your own Principles of Honour, that
the Object of your Diſpute had been merely
imaginary, and that nothing was wanting but
the opening of your eyes. ſooner, to have pre-
vented the Danger which you incurred, and to
have ſaved the Honour which you forfeited ?
In ſuch an Explanation, ſubſequent to a Duel,
had it appeared that you had received a real
Offence; this muſt have placed your Adverſary
in
SECT. III:
Amicable Explanation.
85
in à diſhonourable light. Conſcious of a fault,
he ought to have begged your Pardon with the
Spirit of a Gentleman, who ſcorns every falſe
Appearance: or otherwiſe, if he believed him-
felf to be in the right, his Duty both to you and
himſelf directed him to juſtify - his conduct by
an Explanation. Inſtead of doing either, he
has met you in the field with the fullen Courage
which dares to defend what is wrong, or at
lealt to fight the reputation of true Honour.
1
Whatever has been ſaid here in favour of
amicable Explanations between the Parties, it is
hoped. that nothing will be underſtood as any
Encouragement to one Party, to aſk improper
Queſtions; or as any Apology for the other, if,
through a mere abject Fear, he ſhould ſubmit to
anſwer them. One and the fame Action may
proceed: from different Motives. And though
it is perhaps for the general Good, as well as a
proper Reſpect paid to the Individual, to preſume
his Motive right and honourable, till the con-
trary ſhall appear; yet. Circumſtances may be
ſo ſtrong as to thew that his Honour would per-
mit him to ſacrifice: his Adverſary, if his Fear
would ſuffer him to endanger himſelf. In Cir-
cumſtances like theſe, if a perſon ſubmit to
anſwer whatever is peremptorily demanded of
him, he merits undoubtedly the contempt of
every man of Honour. On the other hand, he
F 3
who
86
PART VI,
Honour?
who aſks an Explanation, if he guide himſelf by
a juft Senſe of Honour, will be very careful to
confine his inquiries within proper Limits: hé
will be ſolicitous for the juſtification of the other
Pärty as well as himſelf; and, in doubtful cafes,
he will think it leſs diſhonourable to accept too
little than to demand too much.
/
SECT.
IV.
Diſputes ſettled by Submiſſion to an Award.
THE
HE queſtion remains yet behind, what is
to be done if the Parties cannot come to
an amicable Concluſion by the method of Ex-
planation between themſelves. We cannot hope
that ſuch a Conclufion will always be the reſult
of an Explanation, if the Parties are taken from
thie Generality of Mankind, or even of thoſe who,
claiming the rank of Gentlemen, claim along
with it the privilege of deciding their differences
by the Sword or Piſtol. Paffion and Prejudice
will ſometimes warp the judgment of the nobleſt
minds; much more of fuch as riſe not above the
;
ordinary level. A Reſource therefore is wanted,
when, after the Parties have endeavoured to con-
vince each other, the one continues to feel him-
ſelf an injured perſon, and the other is not be-
come ſenſible of having committed an Injury.
Many
SECT. Iv. Submiſſion to an Award.
87
Many of the offences which are the common
occaſions of Duels, are ſuch as the Courts of Law
taka ny cognizance of. Others, if brought into
a Court of Law, feldom meet with an adequate
Reparation. The trifling Damages, often award-
ed by a Jury, tend to diſcountenance Proſecu-
tions, by caſting a degree of Ridicule upon the
Complainant. The Courts of Honour in Eng-
land * are fallen into Contempt; and of courſe
could be of no uſe, if a Diſpute Should be refer-
red to them. The Authority which is itſelf de-
ſpiſed, cannot, by any deciſion, repair Injuries
the Eſſence of which is Contempt and Diſgrace.
What might be done, either in the way of Amend-
nient in the Courts of Law, or by re-eſtabliſhing
a Court of Honour, with ſuch circumſtances of
Dignity as might render an Appeal to it reput-
able, we leave intirely to the wiſdom of the Le-
giſlature.
In the mean time, is there any Expedient more
obvious, after a fruitleſs Eclairciſſement between
the Parties, than to refer the Point in Diſpute to
to Tome third perſon, or to a number of perſons,
who are men of Honour, Judgment, and Expe-
rience, not connected with either Party, or
equally connected with both? In a point of Ho-
nour, the Appeal (in Theory) ſeems to be to the
* In France too they are fallen into Contempt; al.
though much greater attention has been paid, to keep up
their Credit, in that kingdom than in England,
F4
World
88
PART VI.
Honour.
--
1
World at large. But as it is impoſible either
to convey the requiſite Information to the World
at large, or to collect their Suffrages, it is proper
to ſelect fome Individuals qualified for the pur-
poſe. It were moſt eligible that theſe ſhould be
appointed by public Authority: but, if this can-
not be done, or cill it be done, it ſeems a natural
wiſh for a man of true Honour, that any Diſpute
in which he may be involved, ſhould be laid
without diſguiſe before ſome perſon or perſons
privately choſen, who ſhould make a Deciſion
and award a Reparation.
A moment's cool reflexion muſt convince any
man that it is more honourable to refer his Quar-
rel to an equitable and well-informed Judge, than
to decide
upon
it himſelf. Even were he ſo ex-
traordinary a perſonage as to be able to judge
impartially in his own Cauſe, the very Appear-
ance ſhould be ſtudiouſly avoided by a man of
Honour. We are alhamer .o reafon with any
perſon as if we thought it poffible he ſhould
really be of opinion, that a Deciſion awarded by
his own voice, and carried into execution by his
own ſword could repair his injured Honour. The
contrary is fo evident, that when we meet with
any one who confeſſes, or boaſts, that he does
not ſee it, we cannot avoid concluding him to be
blinded by Prejudice or Reſentment. If he be
not influenced by Reſentment for ſome particular
Injury ſuffered, we muſt conclude him to be un-
der
sect. iv. Submiſkon 18 en Award. 89
der the power of a Prejudice which, before it
exiſted, muſt have appeared incredible: that Pre-
judice which teaches a man, in order to preſerve
or acquire the Reputation of Courage, to diſre-
gard the Sentiments of Mankind concerning him
j all the other parts of his Character.
If a Diſpute upon a point of Honour be re-
ferred to any particular perſons, their Deciſion
in favour of the injured Party, is, by the nature
of the thing, a Reparation. For the Injury in
queſtion being merely relative to Honour, which
is founded in Opinion; a deciſive Opinion in fa-
vour of one Party, is the very End which he
muſt have aimed at in referring the Diſpute.
The preciſe Mode of Acknowledgment or Con-
ceſſion appointed to be made to him, is inere.
Form and Ceremony; the Eſſence of the Repa-
ration, is in the deciſive Opinion awarded; and
the principal effect is produced, although the
Sentence ſhould never be executed.
Should the Judges of the Cauſe think proper
to award a Combat between the Parties, this
would operate as a Reparation, and would clear
the Honour of the injured Party; noc indeed as
a Combat, but as an Award. In other reſpects,
it has been ſhewn * to be ſo criminal, and to in-
volve ſuch abſurd and pernicious Principles, as
not to merit our further Conſideration.
Throughout Part 1 and 2.
CON-
[ go ]
CONCLUS I O N.
IT
Twould be ſuperfluous to anſwer ſeparately
the Arguments which are brought in favour
of Duelling. A Practice which is repugnant to
all Equity between Individuals, which is forbid-
den by poſitive Laws and tends to ſubvert all
Society, which deſtroys the proper Balance be-
tween different Virtues and undermines the Prin-
ciples of Virtue in general, which is even inade-
quate to that Effect of which it makes its pecu-
liar boaſt, the Reparation of injured Honour;
ſuch a Praetice, although it ſhould be al-
lowed to be productive of ſome few good conſe-
quences, could not on that account be tolerated.
To ſay that it accuſtoms men to the idea of
Danger, and thereby diffuſes a Spirit of Valour
which forms the Strength of a Nation; to ſay
that it prevents fome great Injuries which might
hope, from Circumſtances, to eſcape legal pu-
niſhment, and many ſmaller ones which the Law
overlooks or puniſhes ineffectually; to ſay that it
ſuppreſſes Rudeneſs of manners, that it makes
men reſpectful and attentive to each other in the
common intercourſe of life; to ſay all this, and
much more, in favour of Duelling, would be
saying nothing to the purpoſe, while it ſtands
expoſed
Concluſion.
97
expofed to the Charges which we have brought
againſt it.
Inſtead then of giving ſeparate Anſwers to
the Arguments urged in its favour, we will con-
fine ourſelves to this general Remark; that the
moſt favourable light in which it can be ſeen, is
that of a private Vice producing a public Benefit.
No one will deny that it is in general a Crime,
to take away the Life of a man without the pub-
lic authority: but we may conceive it poſſible to
be argued by fome, that, in particular cireum.
ſtances, ſuch an Act may be vindicated on ac-
count of the Advantages reſulting from it.
The celebrated poſition, that private Vices are
public Benefits, is of fo pernicious a nature, that
it deferves to be refuted wherever it occurs: and
a ſhort refutation of it here will not perhaps be
conftrued as a treſpaſs upon the Reader's pa-
tience,
The principal way in which any Vice can be
a Benefit to the Public, is by removing or coun-
teracting another Vice. The Avarice of ſome,
as well as the commendable Frugality of others,
contributes to repreſs in their Inferiours that
ſpirit of Diſlipation which, if indulged, leads to
every Exceſs; and where unable to curb it, ſtill
diminiſhes its bad Effects. The vicious Luxury
of the rich, co-operates with their virtuous Lux-
ury (if that expreſſion may be allowed for the
ſake of brevity), in removing the barbarous Sloth
which
92
Concluſion.
$
which overſpreads the bulk of mankind when not
immediately ſtimulated to action. The like ob.
tains in other Inſtances.
The praiſe due to Vices thus oppoſing each
other, is preciſely that which we owe to two
Robbers who, happening to meet, attack and
deſtroy each other. Each of them, intending
only miſchief to an Individual, does accidentally
a Good to the Community, by removing out of
it a man whoſe life was already forfeited. But
this accidental Good is no juſtification, either of
their general courſe of life, or of this particular
act of violence which was the immediate Cauſe
of the Good produced, It had been much better
for Society, that neither of them had fallen into
that courſe of life; and, one of them being ſup-
poſed to be already engaged in it, the other is ſo
far from receiving a commendation for attacking
him, that if he himſelf had eſcaped a mortal
wound, he would have been puniſhed for killing
the former, as for Murder.
So, in cwo contending Vices, it were much
better for Society, that neither of them exiſted:
and, if one of them has already taken place, it
is no excuſe for the admiſſion of the other. To
allow ſuch an excuſe, would be to grant a gene-
ral licence to almoſt every Vice which can be
named; as almoſt every one would introduce it-
ſelf under a pretext of deſtroying or counteract.
ing its oppoſite.
Perhaps,
€
Concluſion.
93
Perhaps, however, it will even be urged, that
fome private Vices are directly beneficial to the
Public; that the Vice of Luxury, for inſtance,
promotes every uſeful Art and : a general Civili-
zation of Manners... But, whatever Good. may
in fact ariſe from any Vice, it is enough to fee
that the ſame Good might be produced by other
means, if all Vice were taken out of the World.
Remove the vicious. Pride which exalts fome
above employing themſelves, remove the Idle-
neſs which ſinks others below the deſire of doing
Good, remove all the diſtracting Paſions which
take off men's attention from their Duties and
their Enjoyments :: it will then be found that the
focial Affections, together with the natural and
acquired Taſtes of men whoſe Feelings are un-
corrupted, and wholė, Hearts are free froin every
debaſing Conſciouſneſs, are fufficient, without
the aid of Vice, to create an univerſal Activity.
The Arts will riſe, diſengaged from incumbrance
and interruption, till they reach a height un-
known to the moſt improved ages; and that Re-
finement of Manners which now ſhiņes, as an
external ornament, with ſuch diſtinguiſhed luſtre,
in a few, will ſpring up as the genuine fruit of
the Heart, and will produce effects above our
preſent conceptions, by being common to all.
-- Arguments therefore in favour of Duelling
muſt be intirely nugatory, even if they can prove
that
1
94
Conclufion.
that it counteracts the operations of other Vices,
or is directly productive of ſome good Effects.
This is a kind of reaſoning which gives a coun-
tenance to Vice in general, and muſt retard the
improvement of the World in Morals. The way?
to improve the World, is to remove the Vices
which are in it; not, to add new ones. The way
to remedy the pernicious Effects of the Vices
which have taken poffeffion of it, is to remove
the Cauſes, the Vices themſelves; not to intro-
duce other Vices, which, if they be oppoſite in
their particular Effects, certainly conſpire with
them in the general one of bringing Miſery upon
Mankind. Or, if Legiſlators ever find it necefs
ſary to connive at one Vice in order to ſuppreſs
its oppoſite, yet with private perſons a ſtrict ad-
herence to every Virtue is the only ſafe and ad,
millible rule of conduet.
All the good Effects aſcribed to Duelling
might be produced by other means: and there-
fore it remains ſtrictly chargeable with all the
Evil derived from it, without any allowance to
be made for a caſual mixture of Good. There
is a Selfiſhneſs in it which makes a man rate his
own Importance too high; which makes him
ſee
up his own Reputation above the Intereſts of
his Family and his Country. Theſe have large
claims upon him: and a proper attention to their
claims would not only ſhew him in its true light
the Vanity of riſking a life valuable to them, for
every
Concluſioni
95
i
3
L
every the flighteſt Breath of Diſhonour upon
himſelf; but would produce that manly ſpirit of
national defence, which is ſometimes reckoned
among the good Effects of Duelling. It is not
to be conceived, that the ſelfiſh and exceffive re-
gard, paid by the punctilious Duelliſt to his own
private feelings of Diſgrace, ſhould inſpire him
with a patriotic Valour, comparable to that which
he might derive from domeftic Attachments
united with a generous love of his Country.
In like manner, whatever effect the practice
of Duelling can be ſuppoſed to have in deterring
men from giving Offence where they are not ex-
poſed to a legal puniſhment, or from the com-
miffion of Crimes where Circumſtances might
afford a hope of impunity; whatever its efficacy
may be in polifhing the Manners of the World;
it is enough to ſay, that there are other and
better Means for anſwering the ſame good Pur-
poſes. If the Laws are defective, let them be
improved; and let not their defective ſtate be a
pretext for countenancing a practice which tends
to ſubvert all Law and Society. But whether
any Improvement be made in the Laws or not,
whether they are capable or not of receiving Im-
provement, the Duty of a private Individual lies
clear before him.
Let him carefully cultivate in himſelf the ge.
neral Principles of Virtue and Benevolence. But
let him not imagine that every thing is accom-
pliſhed,
96
Concluſion:
pliſhed, in the firſt moment in which he forms
ſome virtuous Reſolutions for the rule of his
conduct. Let him perſevere in the ſtudy and
practice of the lower as well as the higher Duties
of life. This Diſcipline exerciſed upon himſelf
will ſoon convince him that it is not a fruitleſs
Labour; and continued Cultivation will advance
the Effects of it to a happy Maturity, while
Pleaſure accompanies the growth of every
bene-
volent ſentiment. By Habit, the minuter At-
tentions of ſocial intercourſe will gradually be.
come eaſy and familiar; till at length they will
be the mere Gratification of a Deſire to pleaſe.
Such are the ſteps by which he may arrive at
the Effence of all that is truly refined in Man-
ners; though he may not fall into the particular
Mode of Refinement which prevails in one Age
or Nation.
As far as his Influence extends, let him pro-
mote in others the Cultivation of the ſame fun-
damental Principles. And if he ſtill obſerves a
number of perſons guilty of thoſe Vices to which
he: would apply Dụelling as a Remedy, let him
recollect that he is an Individual, that the cor-
re&tion of thoſe Vices in his own Breaſt is his
proper and immediate buſineſs, and that the
moſt ſincere ardour of Reformation will not
juftify him in the commillion of ſuch a Crime
for the ſake of teaching other men their Duty.
If he has a ſhare in forming the minds of the
riſing
Concluſion.
97
7
riſing Generation, this opens the faireſt proſpect
for the ſucceſs of his endeavours. Let him
check the firſt appearances of a haughty Self-
importance, and in its place inculcate the moſt
humane regard for the intereſts of a Fellow-crea-
ture. Let him inſtruct thoſe whom his Inftruc-
tions reach, to pay Reſpect to the Opinions,
Taſtes, and Feelings of others : and, that he
may give Effect to his Inſtructions, let him ac-
cuſtom thoſe whoſe Conduct he regulates, to act,
in matters of great and ſmall importance, under
the conſtant influence of ſuch Impreſſions. Thus
will he contribute his part to render the practice
of Duelling uſeleſs, and at the ſame time to make
it be held in abhorrence. Thus will he contri-
bute to undermine a ſelfiſh and degenerate Ho-
nours and to lay a ſolid foundation for a ſuper-
ſtructure of comprehenſive Benevolence, virtuous
Honour, refined Manners, and univerſal Hap-
pineſs.
1
THE END.
1
G
i
)
Now publiſhed, by the ſame AUTHOR,
A DISSERTATION
ON THE PERNICIOUS EFFECTS. OF
G
A M
I
N
Which gained a Prize (June 1783) in the Univerſity of Camþridger
THE SECOND EDITION.
[Price One Shilling and Sixpence.)
S. Viner
TWO ÀSSİZE SERMONS,
By R." V ALPY, D. D. F. A. S.
Richard
PUBLISHED AT THE REQUEST OF
!
THE HIGH SHERIFF AND GRAND JURY
OF THE COUNTY OF BERKS.
A
WITH NOTES HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL,
AND AN APPENDIX.
** The reader is requeſted to correct the feto typographicale
errors remaining, chiefly in the accents and panctuation.
1
ADVERTISEMEN T.
THE
HE former of theſe Sermons was printed in March,
1792, at the requeſt of the High Sheriff, and preſented
to the Grand Jury and to a few friends, but was not
publiſhed.
In his excellent Charge * to the Grand Jury at the
Jaſt Spring Aſlizes, Sir Naſh Grofe honored the latter
with a flattering notice, which the author cannot but
conſider as ariſing from the importance of the ſubject
and the goodneſs of the intention. The Grand Jury
deſired that it might be publiſhed, with a police earneſt-
neſs, which rendered ineffectual the author's ſolicitations
that they would not perſevere in their requeſt.
The great outline, ſo flightly ſketched in the firſt
Sermon, appeared to require ſome notes. There led the
author much further than he intended, and although
they were curtailed for the preſs, he fears an apology is
due for their length on ſuch an occaſion. The times
offer ample cauſe for the diſcloſure of political principles,
and for a diſcuſſion of the probable effects of the im-
* That Charge contained an antidote of ſuch ſovereign
efficacy to the poiſon of diſaffection, and ſo forcible an appeal
to the heart and underſtanding in favor of the Conſtitution,
that the Grand Jury but expreſſed the ſenſe of the whole
country when they requeſted his Lordſhip to publiſh it. It was
a ſerious loſs to the public that an accident prevented the
publication.
portant
ADVERTISEMENT.
portant tranſactions, which at preſent engage the awful
attention of mankind. The opinions hazarded in the
two firft Nos. of the Appendix, however they may
be reprehended by party violence, are dictated by å
mind under the influence of no party. For entertaining
thoſe opinions, as he knows the purity of his motives;
the author cannot blame himſelf. Whether he is
blameable for publiſhing them, his readers will judge.
The caufes, which produced the laſt No. of the Ap-
pendix, are well known to the author's friends. To
The public he can only ſay, that his wiſhes will be com-
pletely gratified, if he can be inſtrumental in ſtilling the
rage of party, and in diffuſing a ſpirit of candor and be-
nevolence among his fellow citizens.
The Notes and Appendix were written in the month
of April. Circumſtances have changed ; whether that
change has juſtified, or confuted, the conjectures con-
tained in them, the reader muſt determine,
The firſt Sermon was printed in the Spring. Domeſtic
anxieties and misfortunes have prevented the publication
of the work till this time.
DEC. 14, 1793.
тн Е
PROGRESS OF MORALITY, RELIGION AND LAWS,
IN THE DIFFERENT PERIODS OF THE WORLD,
CONSIDERED
IN
A SE R M O N,
Preached at the ASSIZES at READING,
BEFORE THE HONORABLE
MR. JUSTICE WILSON, AND MR. JUSTICE GROSE,
MARCH 6, 1792.
By RICHARD VALPY, D.D. F. A.S.
Of Pembroke College, Oxford: Rector of Stradiſhall, Suffolk;
and Maſter of Reading School.
REA DING
RE-PRINTED BY SMART AND COWSLADE.
SOLD IN LONDON, BY MESSRS. RICHARDSON, ROYAL EXCHANGL;
ROBINSONS, PATER-NOSTER-ROW ; AND PRIDDEN,
FLEEL STREET ;
DEGK, BUY; AND MEYLER, BATH,
1793•
0
JOHN BLAGRAVĘ, OF CALCOT-PLACE, ESQUIRE,
HIGH SHERIFF ON THE COUNTY or BERKS,
THIS SERMON
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
B Y
HIS
FAITHFUL AND OBLIGED SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
MARCH 19, 17924
1
herbe
HEB. vi, PART OF V. 1.
LET US GO ON UNTO PERFECTION.
IT
T is an arduous, and it appears an invi-
dious, talk, to controvert long eſtabliſhed
opinions. But when thoſe opinions have a
pernicious effect on public morals, and tend
to weaken the efforts to advance in re-
ligious perfection, it becomes the duty of a
good citizen, and particularly of a Miniſter
of the Goſpel, to counteract their influence.
If it was thought criminal, in a poliſhed State
of antiquity, to remain neuter in civil com-
motions, much leſs does it become us to
look with indifference on thoſe prevailing
B
maxims,
( 2 )
1
maxims, which are calculated, in their effects,
to relax our exertions in moral and religious
purſuits.
The ſubject of this remark is the opinion
that the world is in a ſtate of conſtant and
regular degeneracy, and that every age
is
inferior to the preceding in ſentiments of
virtue, and in religious practice. Moraliſts
have eſtabliſhed this as a principle, and re-
ligious enthuſiaſts have thrown a diſpiriting
gloom over the comforts, which beamed in
the pious mind. The error has become
general.* Naturaliſts have pretended to dif-
corer a gradual inferiority in the produc-
tions of the vegetable world, in the ſtature,
and bodily ſtrength, of man, and in the falu-
tary
Encyclopédie Méthodique, Juriſprudence, Tome IX,
article Corruption.
To account for this diſcouraging opinion, it may be ob.
ſerved, that the acts of injuftice and iniquity, of which we are
the witneſſes or the victims, ſtrike us much more forcibly than
thoſe, of which we cnly read the effects, imperfely and par-
tially deſcribed. Historians contract a peculiar fundneſs for the
times.
( 3 )
tary
influence of the ſeaſons. The Hiſtorian
has dwelt with rapture on the ſuperiority
of mankind in former ages in civil and
heroic accompliſhments; and the man of
letters has extolled the peculiar excellence
of the ancients in works of taſte and genius,
as a gift denied to the exertions of modern
tiines.
To believe that the world is in a ſtate of
progreſſive improvement will animate our
efforts in the purſuit of moral and religious
excellence. We ſhall then, in the words of
the
great preacher of godlineſs, abound more
and more, provoking one another unto good
quorks; grow in
go on unto perfec-
grace, and
times and events, of which they draw the portrait. Herois
deeds, brilliant atchievements, and inſtances of generoſity, how-
ever few in number, or of doubtful authority, are filfully
placed in the ſtrongeſt light; while the general manners of the
times are either omitted, or thrown into a diſtant ſhade.
The virtues of our anceſtors never excite our envy. But it
requires great liberality of mind to acknowledge contemporary
merit. Naturaliter audita vifis laudamus libentius; et præfcntia
invidia, præterita veneratione, proliquimur ; et his nos obrui, illis
inftrui credimus,
Vell. Paterc. L, 2, 52,
B 2
tion.
(4)
tion. But if we admit the diſpiriting doc-
trine of degeneracy, we ſhall be ſatisfied if
we are not worſe than the world around us.
And, as nothing here below is ſtationary, we
ſhall ſoon relax in our activity, the deſcent
will be rapid, and our laft ſtate ſhall be worſe
than our firſt.
To prevent this dangerous conſequence,
it is neceſſary to remove
remove the principles,
which tend to produce it. It will therefore
be the object of the preſent diſcourſe to trace
the hiſtory of human morals and religious
practice in every age, not forgetting to ob-
ſerve, in the progreſs, the connection of both
with laws and civil inſtitutions. From this
.
inquiry, if it appears that the different pe-
riods of the world have been marked by
the great Author and Reſtorer of human
nature with new bleſſings, and freſh advances
to perfeétion, we ſhall, I truſt, riſe from the
diſcuſſion with hearts animated by gratitude,
and with endeavours to preſs towards the
mark, for the prize of the high calling of God,
in Chrif Fefus.
ON
( 5 )
ON the firſt inhabitants of the world it
is painful to dwell. The diſobedience of
our firſt parents, and the murder of Abel
by his only brother, ſtain the firſt
page
of
hiſtory. Of the ſtate of mankind before the
deluge, it is only neceſſary to obſerve that
the enormity of their fins even forced the
God of mercy to repent of th: creation of
the world. The forcible deſcription which
Moſes gives of the manners of the firſt ages,
leads us to believe that they were guilty of
excefſes, of which ſucceeding generations
have left us no example upon record. If
the primitive ages have been fondly cele-
brated for their fimplicity, it was becauſe
the imperfection of the mechanic arts had
not afforded them the means of luxurious
enjoyment. The refinements of pleaſure
could not exiſt in an age of ignorance : the
moderation of men was the conſequence of
their neceſſities. * The corruption of their
manners
* This paſſage may introduce a collateral obſervation. Even
in modern times, among the lower claſſes, the inceſſant labor,
required to procure a daily ſubſiſtence, leaves little time for
diflipation,
1
( 6 )
manners frequently ſtaggers the belief of
modern times. Without wounding your
imagination with the crimes, and the fate,
of the flouriſhing cities of Sodom and Go-
morrah, we may obſerve that the hiſtory of
Dinah offers to our view a breach of faith,
of which no community has been guilty in
diſlipation, and ſcanty means of luxurious indulgence. The
rich and the great afford a general topic of ſevere animad-
verſion, becauſe they employ the time, and uſe the means,
which their ſituation gives them, in the enjoyment of the gifts
of fortune and of art. The former are ſhielded from notice
by their obſcurity; the latter are placed on a conſpicuous ele-
vacion, which often produces envy, jealouſy, the ſecret with
of detraction, and the open captiouſneſs of diſguſt, in thoſe
who move in a lower ſphere.
By a ſimilar ſpecies of falfe reaſoning, we are apt to annex
the idea of virtue to frugalicy and auſterity, without reflecting
that in particular ages of all nations they have been impoſed
by neceffity. They can only deſerve the name of virtue,
when they are found in a rich and flouriſhing country. Ageſi-
laus, in his apparent contempt of luxury, only ſubmitted to the
cuftoms of Sparta, when he made the ground his bed. His
greatneſs was diſplayed when he refuſed the offer of large
pofeffions. The character of Phocion rifes far above that of
Curius, when we conſider the difference of the times, and
countries, in which they lived.
latter
( 7 )
latter times.* The trueſt feature, with
which the primitive ages can be delineated,
is--that they diſplayed vice in all its de-
formity.
LED by the hand of the Almighty, and
protected from every danger by the alter-
nate pillars of cloud and fire, which his
gracious preſence raiſed before their ſteps,
the Jews, it might have been ſuppoſed,
ſhould have been a pattern of moral virtue
and religious obedience to ſucceeding gene-
rations. But melancholy is the deſcription,
which Mofes and the Prophets have left us,
of their perfidy and ingratitude. Neither
the ſea, which ſeparated to form a paſ-
{age for the Hebrews; the manna, which
deſcended from heaven; the water, whichi
flowed from the dry rock; nor the Sun him-
ſelf, who food ſtill to be the ſpectator, and
the auxiliary, of their triumph, could ſecure
their obedience to the God, who ſpoke in
thunder from Mount Sinai.
* Genefis, ch. xxxiv.
It
( 8 )
It is not difficult to form a judgment of
the inflexible obſtinacy, and vicious diſpoſi-
tion, of the Jews, by the ſeverity of the
laws, which the wiſdom of Jehovah enacted
for their government. Perhaps indeed a
conjecture may be hazarded that no nation
upon earth ever ſtood in greater need of
the mighty arm of the ſupreme avenger, to
bring them to conviction and reforma-
tion. Violators of the Sabbath,* adulter-
ers,t idolaters, and diſobedient children,
were puniſhed with inſtant death. Inſolvent
debtors were reduced to ſlavery. Death
was inflicted for offences, which, in other
times and circumſtances, would have been
thought venial. Yet theſe ſeverities were
ſtill inſufficient to preſerve their fidelity to
their God When unreſtrained by his viſi-
ble preſence, they corrupted themſelves,
they forſook the Lord, and even made
golden image the object of their adoration.
* Numbers, c. XV, V. 32-37.
I Deuteron. c. xli, v. 6-10.
t Levit. C. XX, V. 10.
§ Levit. C. XX, V.9.
The
(9)
The depravity of their kings, the defec-
tion of the ten tribes, and the total ruiu of
the nation, were the juſt chaſtiſement of
their inconſtancy. Under the kings, the
hiſtory of the Jews preſents the moſt horri-
ble ſpectacles, and the moſt bloody catal-
trophes. Their iniquities at length drew
the vengeance of the God of their fathers
on their heads:
If ſuch was the conduct of the people of
God, the object of a great diſpenſation,
we muſt not expect to find a purer ſyſtem
of morals among the reſt of the world. The
earth indeed was corrupt before God, it was
filled with violence. Inſtances of rude bar-
barity ſhock the imagination of the attentive
obſerver. Such was the ferocity of their
general manners, ſuch their unprincipled
cruelty, that individuals were obliged to be
perpetually in a ſtate of defence.* Strength
of body, and bravery in battle, were the
moſt deſirable accompliſhments of thoſe
С
times.
Thucydides, 1. 1, 6,
( 10 )
times. With ſome it was the height of
luxury to drink in the ſkull of a ſlaughtered
foe.* With others, no woman was per-
mitted to marry, who had not killed an
enemy with her own hand.
gra-
Man, ſenſible of his wants, is naturally
religious. When the God of nature was
removed from his view, the fun and the
ſtars were eaſily ſubſtituted as the objects
of religious homage. Admiration and
titude deified mortals. Animals were after-
wards worſhipped: and ſuperſtitious folly
terminated in the homage paid to inanimate
beings. If an inviſible being was in ſome
countries preſent to the eye of reaſon, fancy
transformed the God of mercy into a tyrant.
He was thought to be honored moſt by
the effuſion of human blood. Thus the
perfection
* Herodotus, 1. iv, 65. + Herodotus, 1. iv, 117.
I Man, created in the image of the Deity, has, by a fingu-
lar return, repreſented the Deity as cainted with the blackeſt
paffions, that diſgrace his own character. Hence human fa-
crifices were ſuppoſed moſt effectually to propitiate the divine
mind,
( 11 )
perfection of holineſs was imagined to con-
fift in the delirious exceſſes of ſuperſtitious
cruelty.
mind. The Babylonians are ſaid to have introduced this un-
natural cuſtom. The Sepharvites, probably a branch of that
people, burnt their children in fire to Aurammelech and Anam-
melech, the Gods of Sepharvaim. 2 Kings xvii, 31.
The idea, that the moſt beloved object was the moſt accep-
table ſacrifice to the Deity, often rent the ties of nature in the
moſt tender part. Among the Phænicians, a father did not
fcruple to immolate his only child, a huſband to plunge a knife
into a heart as dear to himn as his own, to avort fome public
misfortune. Porphyr. I. 2.
In Carthage, the children of the nobility were ſacrificed to
Saturn. The calamities, which Agathocles brought upon that
city, were believed by the inhabitants to be a puniſhment for
the ſubſtitution of ignoble blood; and to appeaſe the wrath of
the God, they immolated two hundred children of noble blood
in one ſacrifice, Plutarch. de Superfiit.--Diod. Sic. 1. xx.
The ancient Germans imagined that they could not honor
their favorite Deity more effectually than by the facrifice of
human victims. Their prieſteſſes opened the veins of the ſuf-
ferers, and drew omens from the rapidity of the ſtream of
blood. Tacit. Germ. ix.-Diod. Sic. 1. v, 20.
It is unneceſſary to relate the inſtances of this inhuman
frenzy, recorded not only in profane, but in facred, hiſtory.
But the facrifice of ſtrangers and priſoners of war ſeems to
have been general even among thoſe nations, which are ſaid to
have poffefied fome regular fyftem of government.
Achilles,
1
( 12 )
cruelty. Their penal laws were ſtamped
with the ſame I loody ſeal. The laws of
the Egyptians and Chineſe exhibited equal
Achilles, in Homer, immolates twelve Trojans to the manas
of Patroclus. liiad. xxiii, 575.
It has been gencrally believed that theſe facrifices were
offered by the ancient Egyptians. Yet Herodotus denies the
fact, l. 2, c. 45. It may be ob'erved that he grounds his
diſbelief on the improbability that Hercules, according to the
Grecian account, ſhould reſcue his life from facrifice by the
flaughter of a whole multitude. The Grecian fible had for
it's object the diſplay of the matchleſs ſtrength of Hercules ;
but it is ſcarcely probable that the Mythologiſts would have
choſen for the ſcene of his proweſs a country, in which it was
not well known that human victims were ſacrificed. Beſides
it is eaſy to obſerve with what pleaſure Herodotus dwells on
the hiſtory of the Egyptians, and with what partiality he ex-
cuſes their ſuperſtitious rites, and dignifies their manners. The
fame partiality may be eaſily traced in Diodorus Siculus, who
extols the character of the Indians, and inſenſibly leads the in-
cautious reader, through a long ſeries of abſurdities, to his
favorite concluſions. l. ii, 23, 31.-Lud. Vives de tradendis
diſciplinis, l. s.
It excites more aſtoniſhment, to find that, even in the 532d
year of Rome, two Greeks and two Gauls ſhould be buried
alive in a public place of the city, to ſatisfy the ſuperſtitious
prejudices of the populace. Liv. l. xxii, c. 57.
1
1
terrors.
( 13 )
terrors. In ancient Gaul* and Britaint the
common lot of criminals, or captives, was
to be burnt alive on the altars of the
Gods,
In this ſtate of manners we ſhall ſearch
in vain for a mild ſyſtem of government.
Deſpotiſm was the common form of civil
conſtitution. The Aſſyrians, the Babylo-
nians, the Egyptians, the Elamites, felt the
weight of arbitrary power. I Homer him-
ſelf appears to have no other idea of
go-
vernment. During all its boaſted dynaſties,
China has been governed by abfolute mo-
narchs.|| The ancient republics of Athens
and of Rome had the ſame origin. So de-
* Cæſar de Bello Gall. I. vi, c. 16.-Diod. Sic. I. v, 21.
+ Dio. l. 63.-Camden's Britannia, vol. 1, p. viii, Gough's
edition.
I Omnes antiquæ gentes regibus quondam paruerunt. Cic.
de Legibus III, 2.-See Juſtin. I, 1.-Diod. Sicul. I, 4.
Pauſanias, Bæotica.
$ Homer. Iliad. II, 204, 205.-Corn. Nep. in vita Dion.
c. 6.
ll Martini, Hiſtoire de la Chine, l. i, 15.
graded
( 14 )
graded was the mind of the Jews, that they
demanded a king to rule over them with un-
bounded authority.
It is difficult to riſe ſo far above the
pre-
judices of education as to reprove the man-
ners of ancient Greece and Rome. From our
early youth we have imbibed, in the writers
of thoſe celebrated States, an admiration for
the heroic deeds, which they deſcribe. Our
hearts have glowed with the flame of liberty
at the contemplation of a Brutus or a Leo-
nidas. Our ſenſibilities have been awak-
ened by the characters of an Ariſtides and a
Cato; and we have formed higher concep-
tions of the dignity of human nature from
the virtues of a Titus or an Epaminondas.
But theſe are the coruſcations of meteors,
which only ſerve to diſplay the deep horrors
of the darkneſs. The Grecian States may
be deſcribed as a people imperious, gloomy,
and perfidious, heedleſs of the rights of na-
tions, delighting in civil maſſacre, favage in
their warfare, and treating their ſlaves, and
their priſoners, as victims devoted to cruelty.
Honeſty
X
( 15 )
1
Honeſty, wiſdom, and juſtice, had not even
received a name in the ancient language of
Greece. * Where the tree receives ſo lit-
tle culture, the fruit muſt be four and dif-
guſting. +
The
* See Goguet, Origine des Loix, des Arts, et des Sciences,
Part ii. l. vi, c. 3.
+ If the Greeks are not accared of having offered human
facrifices, their ſuperſtition was perhaps ſtill more bloody iir
its conſequences. The divine vengeance, denounced by the
oracles againſt the profaners of the ſacred territories, lighted
the flames of war. Whole ſtates were reduced to ſlavery, and
their lands confiſcated to pious uſes. The priſoners were not
indeed offered in ſacrifice to the Gods to obtain public bleff-
ings; but they were maſſacred in cold blood to gratify the
rage of private malignity,
Thoſe vices, which, in the ſame countries, in modern times,
hide themſelves from public notice, were openly avowed, and
became the criterion of elegance, and the favorite theme of
poetical panegyric. The ingenious De Pauw, in his Recher-
ches Philoſophiqiles ſur les Grecs, oppoſes to the teſtimony of
Plutarch, and the concluſions of Monteſquieu, the tribute paid
to the power of female charms at the tower of Seftos, and the
rock of Leucadia ; as if it could be fuppoſed that the great
biographer meant to infinuate that nature will not aſſert her
rights, and vindicate her laws, notwithſtanding the occaſional
perverſion of ſentiment, and depravit; of talie.
The conju-
gal
( 16 )
The Roman Empire, that coloſſus, which
had been formed out of the ruins of ſur-
rounding nations, was marked with every
ſpecies of barbarity. Having no foreign
enemy
moon
gal infidelity of the Greeks had become ſo faſhionable, that
in the time of Pericles, almoſt 5000 Athenian citizens were
illegitimate. Plutarch. in Pericle.
The diviſion of Greece into a number of ſtates only multi-
plied the cauſes of war and deſtruction. It was rare to find a
citizen, however meek his difpofition; however quiet his occu-
pation, who lived and died in peace. Revolution ſucceeded
revolution. Argos was the ſcene of one, in which, after a
bloody ſeries of cruelties, the victorious party rioted in the
death of twelve hundred citizens. 'Diod. Sicul. 1. xv.
In the times of Grecian civilization, the government éeaſed
to be founded on military deſpotiſm, and the people acquired
more confideration ; but, inſtead of reſting ſatisfied with the
influence neceſſary to reſiſt oppreſſion and ſecure civil liberty,
they uſurped a power, which had been productive of leſs violence
and tyranny, while it was poffeffed by one individual. The
Republic of Athens, the boaſt of ſome modern philoſophers,
was alternately made the ſcene of the moſt atrocious tyranny,
and unbridled anarchy, by thoſe ſeducing orators and afpiring
demagogues, one of whom, Andocides, had the honeſty to
confefs that “ he had been produced by nature in her angry
mood, to become a prey to the malice of fortune and the fer-
pents of diſcord.” (Andoc. on Myſteries.) It has been generally
believed that the battle of Cheronæa terminated the power of
Athens,
( 17 )
enemy left to ſubjugate, it turned at laſt the
ſword into its own boſom. Civil wars have
been the curſe of every age: but the pro-
ſcriptions of Marius and Sylla are unparal-
lelled
1
Athens. But the vigorous ſyſtem of government adopted in
Macedonia could ſcarcely fail to obtain a decided ſuperiority over
a State without wiſdom or ſecrecy in it's plans, without reſolution
or unanimity in it's operations; a State, which decreed the puniſh-
ment of death againſt him, who ſhould propoſe to apply the
funds deſtined to theatrical amuſements to cbjects of a civil or
military nature; a State, of whoſe overthrow it's greateſt orator
has left us the moſt ſtriking cauſes. Demoſthenes de Corona.
If among the Athenians a man was diſtinguiſhed from the
diſſipated multitude by eminence in virtue, juſtice, or wiſdom,
he was ſentenced, like Miltiades, to impriſonment; like Ariſtides,
to baniſhment; or like Socrates, to death. It has not been
generally obſerved that Socrates, who would not perhaps have
been ſo much celebrated, had he died by the common courſe of
nature, did not really ſuffer for the charges alleged againft him,
which Xenophon has fo admirably refuted, but for the reaſon,
which has lately doomed to a more ſummary death many ex-
cellent characters in France : he was an Ariſtocrate. He had
educated the leaders of the Thirty Tyrants, who were ſuppoſed
to have derived their political tenets from their great maſter.
Such too was the perſecution, which Ariſtotle endured from
that people after the death of Alexander.
This is not the only inſtance, in which the character of the
Athenians, for greatneſs as well as cruelty, as it is delineated
D
by
A
A
1
( 18 )
lelled in the annals of cruelty and revenge.
The very ſports of the Romans were fan-
guinary. The games, which delighted them,
were not the rewards and the foothers of
their labors, but the fruit and the aliment
of their vices. They tended to familiarize
the ſpectators to the blackeſt deeds of vio-
by Plato, bears a ſtriking affinity to that of the French. If, in
a ſmall State like the former, democracy entailed mifery and
ruin on the people, he muſt have paid little regard to hiſtorical
analogy, and poſſeſs little knowledge of human nature, who can
expect to ſee it flouřith in the latter.
Dark as the picture of the Athenians is exhibited, it is fun-
ſhire when compared to that of the Lacedemonians. Les La.
cédémoriens, ſays De Pauw, rentraient dans la claſe des nations
barbares, puiſqu'ils ne cultivaient ni les ſciences, ni les arts : ils
ne ſavaient qu'aiguiſer des javelots & des poignards, pour difou-
iller tous ceux qui étaient plus foibles qu'eux; & ils firent enfin de
la ville de Lacédémone ce que Platon appelle l'antre du lion, où
preſque tout l'oro e l'argent de la Grèce alla l'engloutir.
Cette déprédation, ſoutenue pendant pluſieurs fićcles par des
brigands vraiment inſatiables, forme le plus ſombre tableau de
toute l'Hiſtoire Grecque; on y voit ſans ceſſe la perfidie fuppléer
à la force ouverte, & les notions les plus facrées de la juſtice
céder au moindre appaît d'un interét furdide. Rech. Phil. Part.
iv, 1.
lence,
1
( 19 )
lence, and to leave on their minds impref-
fions of ſavage inhumanity. *
The
* No period of their hiſtory exhibits the Romans as a vir-
tuous nation. Slaves and fugitives in their origin, they always
Tetained ſtrong lines of that character, during the exiſtence of
the Republic. Their ſucceſſes, and what is called their glory,
were a neceſſary conſequence of the defects of their government,
end of the vices of their governors. Subjected at firſt to the
patricians, and afterwards to the richer citizens, the people
groaned under the heavieſt oppreffion. Unlike thé Athenians
in a democratical ſtate, who frequently baniſhed their eminent
chiefs, they were ſometimes forced to ſecede from a city,
where every alteration of fortune and property embittered their
feelings with an acceffion of miſery. If their diftreffes eve
burſt through the preſſure of ariſtocratical tyranny, new wars
were undertaken to divert their attention, and to huſh their
complaints, until they were led, through ſucceſſive conqueſts,
to the ſubjugation of the peopled world.
The progreſs of the Romans is beſt deſcribed by the Roman
Hiitorian : Raptores orbis, poſtquam cuncta vaftantibus defuere ter-
ræ, et mare ſcrutantur : ſi locuples hoftis eft, avari; fi pauper, am-
bitiofi : quos non oriens, non occidens fatiaverit ; Soli omnium opes
atque inopiam pari afcctu concupiſcunt. Auferre, trucidare, ra-
pere falfis nominibus imperium, atque ubi folitudinem faciunt, pacem
appellant. (Tacit. Vit. Agricola, 30.) We need only inſtance the
celebrated atchievements of Julius Cæfar, who boaſted that he
had taken eight hundred towns, vanquiſhed three hundred ſtates,
fought three millions of men, of whom two thirds had been
cither fiaughtered or reduced to ſlavery.
Theſe
( 20 )
The laws of the Twelve Tables, like thoſe
of Mofes, enacted the forfeit of an eye for an
eyè, and a tooth for a tooth ; and, like thoſe
of the Athenian Draco,* might be ſaid to
be written in characters of blood. It is
enough to mention that the unfortunate
debtor might be legally torn limb from
limb to ſatisfy his unrelenting creditor. I
The
Theſe victories entailed miſery and ruin on the provinces,
while they poured immenſe treaſures into the coffers of the
Senators and the Knights. Yet the Plebeians experienced no di.
minution of diſtreſs. Their means of ſubſiſtence were chiefly con-
fined to occaſional diſtributions of corn, wine and oil, except when
the general corruption gave them an opportunity of ſelling their
votes, Public games, and ſpectacles of gladiators, while they
deadened their feelings, and abſorbed all reflection, gave them
a reliſh for cruelty without an object, and for vengeance with-
out a principle. In this ſtate of things, it cannot be thought a
ſubject of wonder, that their government ſhould have termi-
nated in civil wars and profcriptions, and been ſucceeded by
Imperial deſpotiſm, which ſoftened the manners and ſoothed
the diſtreſſes, but increaſed the numbers, of the poor.
*Hence the Epigram of Politianus :
Inventum A&tæi dicuntur jura Draconis :
Nil mirum eft ; certè nil niſi virus habent.
+ Gibbon's Roman Empire, chap. xliv.
1 Such is the conſtruction, which ancient writers have given
to
( 21 )
The moral virtues of thoſe civilized na-
tions were, in general, the effect of oftenta-
tion;
to the words of the third table, reſpecting debts, as it is inter-
preted by A. Gellius, xx, 1. It appears that a creditor could,
at the expiration of thirty days, ſeize an inſolvent debtor, who
could not find bail, and keep him fixty days in chains During
this time he was allowed to expoſe him three market days to
public ſale for the amount of the debt, and at the expiration of
the third to put him to death. If there were many creditors,
they were permitted to tear and divide his body among them.
Such appears to have been the letter of the law. (Hooke's
Roman Hiſtory, 1. ii, chap. 27.-Rofinus, Antiq. Rom. viii, 6.)
But the intereſt, if not the humanity, of the creditors uniformly
induced them rather to ſell the debtor, than avail themſelves
of this cruel right.
Monteſquieu, Bynkerſhoek, Taylor, and other reſpectable,
modern authors on Juriſprudence, have been ſo forcibly itruck
with the barbarity of this regulation, that they have denied
this privilege of the creditor; and aſſerted that the law only
enacted the ſale of the debtor's perſon, and divided the price
among his creditors.
A. Gellius gives no room to ſuppoſe that a doubt had er-
iſted on the interpretation of that paffage. He clearly marks
the difference of the law on that ſubject at the time, in which
he lived : membra et artus inopis debitoris breviffimo laniai! dil-
trahebantur, ficut nunc bona venum diftrabuntur. In the ſequel
of the chapter, he laments, in the character of Sextus Cæcilius,
the effects of the relaxation of law. He aſſerts that, if thoſe
who were convicted of falſe teſtimony were, as formerly, thrown
headlong
1
( 22 )
tion; and their religion only proved the
weakneſs of human reaſon, when it is un.
aſlıfled
}
headlong from the Tarpeian rock, that crime would not be fo
common as he afirmed it to be.
Two diſtinguiſhed Roman Hiſtorians of our own country,
Gibbon and Ferguſon, follow the acceptation of A. Gellius.
" Bynkerſhoek's interpretation,” fays the former, « is one
perpetual harſh metaphor ; nor can he ſurmount the Roman
authorities of Quintillian, Cæcilius, Favonius and Tertullian.”
(Chap. xliv, note 178.) Who this Favonius was, whoſe autho-
sity is here repreſented of ſuch weight by the Hiſtorian, does
not appear. Cicero mentions an active perſon of that name,
(Orat. pro Mil.-Epift. ad Attic. i, 14.) who is not recorded
to have delivered his opinions on the laws of the Twelve Tables.
Perhaps the Hiſtorian means to allude to Favorinus, a Philoſo-
pher, introduced by A. Gellius in the chapter already quoted,
holding a converſation with Sext. Cecilius. See alſo Noct.
Ait, ix, ; x, 12 ; xvii, 10; &c.
The words of the paſſage in queſtion : SI, PLUS. MINUS.
FE. SECUERUNT. SE. FRAUDE. ESTO, if the goods only of
the debtor were underſtood, would militaie againſt a well known
law, which nonfuited thoſe, who took or demanded more than
the exact debt. Torrent. Comment. in Sucton. Claud. 14.-
Gruter. ad Senec. Epift. 48. Thus Plautus, Motell. III,
i, 122.
Daniſta, Tantum eft : nihilo plus peto.
Tranio, Pelim: quidem hercle ut uno nummo plus petas.
To a people ſo ſimple and unpoliſhed as the Romans were at
the tirae of the promulgation of the Twelve Tables, it is not
probable
1
( 23 )
alliſted by revelation. Their very Deities
were repreſented as giving the ſanclion
of
probable that a criminal law would have been addreſied, in
which a word of the moſt important fignification was uſed in a
figurative ſenſe. If any force is allowed to this obfervation,
SECANTO will rather be applied to the literal diſinemberment
of the body, than to a partition of the effects, of the unfortunate
debtor. Nor will the uſe of the words patio and ſector, for the
purchaſe and purchaſer of the effects of the condemned, which
yielded a profit by the ſale in retail, invalidate this conjecture;
for they were introduced at a ſubſequent period, when the pro-
greſs of civilization had given riſe to more abſtract terms.
IC
may be obſerved thai Erneſti in his Index Latinitatis Cicero-
nianæ denominates seco verbum chirurgicum. And Geſner,
ad verb. thus expreffes himſelf: Quid (let in ll. xii. tabule-
rum fecare debitorem, diſputatur. Gell. xx, 1. et Quintill. iii,
6, 84. mihi perfuadent reipſi permiſjum fuifè creditoribus fecare
in partes ipſum corpus debitoris ; fed 124.nquam eo devenium :
qualia etiam in Germanorum legibus veteribus fuiſſe accepimus.
But although the law was never, in execution, carried to this
degree of barbarity, the ſituation of the miſerable debtor was,
in the early ages of the Republic, marked with inhuman feve-
rity. In the year of Rome 259, according to Livy. (ii, 23.)
one of the diſtreſſed nexi appeared in the forum, with all tlie
marks of haggard wretchedneſs, complaining du?um fe ab cre-
ditoribus, non in fervitium, fed in crgaftulum et carnificinam effe.
The early part of the hiſtory of the Roman republic exhibits a
melancholy ſeries of thoſe oppreſſive meaſures towards debtors,
which more than once brought the State to the brink of ruin.
The
( 24 )
of example to all the vices; that degrade the
human mind.
Such
/
The cruelty of theſe laws was ſoon, however, ſoftened; and
in the year of Rome 402, it was found neceſſary to decree a
partial liquidation of debts ; (Liv. vii, 21.) and in 429, the
diſgraceful conduct of L. Papirius to C. Publilius, a youth,
who had been legally forced to ſurrender himſelf as a ſlave for
his father's dcbts, induced the Conſals to propofe a law, en-
acting that in future the property, and not the perſons, of
debtors ſhould be ſeized for payment. (Liv, viii, 28.) Yet
the operation of this humane decree was afterwards eluded, and
the people were driven by arbitrary ſeizures to fecede to the
Janiculum. Even the Porcian law, in the year 452, which
ordered that no Roman citizen ſhould be ſcourged or put to
death, offered but an imperfect protection to the people.
Were the law reſpecting debtors thought of inſufficient force;
or of doubtful authority, to prove the ſeverity of the Twelve
Tables, it would not be difficult to produce other inſtances. By
this ſyſtem a father had the right of life and death over his
children, which only ceaſed after a ſale of their perſons for the
third time. What ſets the cruelty of this inſtitution in the
Atrongeſt light is, that a father was not allowed to diveſt him-
ſelf of this power, to reward filial piety, or to encourage diſin-
tereſted affection. This power ſubſiſted to the time of Juſtinian,
who aboliſhed the ſeverity of theſe laws. Jus poteftatis, quod
habemus in liberos, proprium eft civium Romanorum. Nulli enim
funt homines, qui talem in liberos habeant poteftatem, qualem nos
habemus. Juſtinian. Inffit. i, tit. 9.
A
1
( 25 )
Such was the ſtate of the world. By dif-
obedience all were made finners. All, like
Sheep, had gone aſtray: they had turned every
one to his evil way. All were concluded under
fin, both Jews and Gentiles; and the whole
world was become guilty before God.
But
A woman was ſubject to the fame mortifying dependence.
Her huſband was her only judge, and arbiter of her fate. She
was not allowed to ſue for a divorce, a privilege readily grant-
ed to a man. If ſhe was convicted of committing adultery, or
of drinking wine, her huſband had the right of putting her to
death without the formality of a public trial ; while ſhe was
not permitted, on any provocation, to raiſe her finger againſt
him. In adulterio uxorem tuam fi deprehendiſſes, fine judicio
impune necares ; illa te, fi adulterares, digito non auderet contin-
gere; neque jus eft. (M. Cato, de Dote, apud A. Gellium, x, 23.)
To this degradation, indeed, women have been forced to ſub-
mit in all uncivilized nations.
By the ſame laws capital puniſhment was inflicted on libellers
and ſatirical Poets. Cicero, Philof. Frag. de Rep. iv.
So terrifying indeed was the power, which the law gave to
the Decemvirs, that they were univerſally deteſted in Rome.
The character of individuals, the libidinous barbarity of Appius,
could ſcarcely have driven the people to ſuch extremities againſt
that body, had not their office ſubjected them to the public odi-
It is even probable that, on account of the ſeverity of
ſome of thoſe laws, the original tables were not preſerved with
E
that
um.
( 26 )
But to the Lord our God belonged mercies and
forgiveneſſes, though they had rebelled againſt
him. The Lord ſent not, as in the days of
Sodom and Gomorrah, his angels to de-
ftroy, but his Son to ſave, them. He, of
whom Mofes and the Prophets wrote, the Chriſt
of God, the Worrderful, the Counſellor, the
Mighty God, the Everlaſiing Father, the
Prince of Peace; he, whom the heavens
could ſcarce contain, bore the nature and
the infirmities of men, to redeem them from
the curſe of the law. He was wounded for
the tranſgreſons of mankind, and the Lord
laid upon him the iniquities of all. His
that religious attention, which a laudable prejudice would, in
other circumſtances, have naturally paid to a code of laws,
ſanctioned, on it's introduction, by the general conſent of the
people. It is uncertain at what period they ceaſed to exiſt :
and a conjeture may be hazarded that they were deſtroyed by
the ſecret artifice of thoſe, wiio had felt the weight of their
vindicitive aſperity, rather than by the undiſtirguiſhing fury of
the Gauls, or by the open violence of leditious tumults. When
the ſpirit of theſe laws had been ſoftened by time, and huma.
nized by wiſdom, their fragments were carefully collected and
committed to memory, ut carinen neceffarium, and became the
foundation of that ſyſtem of Juriſprudence, which regulated and
adorned the ſubſequent ages of the Roman empire.
doctrine
( 27 )
1
doctrine and his example unfolded a pure
ſyſtem of religion and morality; his death
and his reſurrection diſcloſed the glories of
a future ſtate,
The effects of this merciful diſpenſation it
is eaſy to conceive. Then was diſcovered
how dim had been the lefſer light of reaſon,
which ruled the night of the heathen world,
compared to the greater light of revelation,
which now aroſe to rule the day of Chriſti-
anity. Then it was that certainty diſpelled
the miſts of error, and virtue triumphed
over the human paſſions, or made them ſub-
ſervient to her intereſt; then an univerſal
charity united inankind in their Saviour and
their God, whoſe boundleſs grace and mercy
were propoſed as the objects of their deſire,
and the pattern of their imitation. The du-
ties of ſociety became eſſential means of ſal-
vation. The religion of Jeſus gave faith it's
object, hope it's certainty, misfortune it's al-
leviation, virtue it's reward, life it's cordial,
and death it's comfort.
Although
( 28 )
Although Cicero, and the other lumina-
ries of the Auguſtan age, had diſplayed
their abilities in illuſtrating, and exerted
their virtues in exemplifying, the beauties
of Roman juriſprudence ; yet it was not un-
til the Chriſtian religion had humanized the
mind, that the Roman laws reached their
brighteſt period. It was by ſearching the
Scriptures for the pureſt principles of juf-
tice, that a connexion was at length effected
between philoſophy and legiſlation, Chriſti-
anity ſhed her benign influence, though yet
in an indirect manner, by the examples of
patience and goodneſs, which her profeſſors
diſplayed, and equally dignified the Portico
and the Forum. Although the laws of the
Romans, which had originally adopted the
genius of thoſe of Solon, were celebrated, in
their progreſs, as the moſt admirable code,
that had ever proved the ingenuity of man;
yet it muſt be acknowledged that from the
ſpirit of Chriſtianity Theodofius and Juſtinian
derived thoſe principles of humanity and
wiſdom, which enriched and improved thoſe
laws, and made them the foundation of all
ſucceeding
( 29 )
fucceeding inſtitutions. It was the effect of
Chriſtianity to aboliſh the barbarous cuſtom,
which permitted a parent to murder and to
expoſe his child.* The influence of Chriſti-
anity annulled that odious law, eſtabliſhed
by the refinement of metaphyſical ſpecula-
tion, by which one of the parties might at
pleaſure diſſolve a connubial connexion, by
which an injured wife might be abandoned
to all the miſeries of nature and of fortune,
and her innocent children left a prey to in-
digence and ruin.ť Influenced by the ſpirit
of the Goſpel, the firſt Chriſtian Emperor,
Conſtantine, who had conquered by the
By the conſiſtent cruelty of the laws of Sparta it was lava
ful for a parent to deſtroy a weak or deformed child. Thus
too in Rome, a father was permitted to expoſe his child until
Valentinian forbad that barbarous cuſtom on pain of death. On
the ſame principles Henry II. of France decreed the ſame pu-
niſhment on a mother, who ſhould abandon her child, and en-
danger it's life.
+ Juſtinian. Novel. 117. Mr. Gibbon allows that “ the
Chriftian Princes were the firſt, who ſpecified the juſt cauſes of
2 private divorce.” Rom. Emp. chap: xliv.
Sign
}
( 30 )
Sign of the Croſs, * ſet bounds to the ſu-
preme authority, and made the laws the
great rule of conduct. † He foftened the
rigors of ſlavery, and moderated the ſeverity
of legal puniſhment. I
The
* Whether the viſion of Conſtantine was a miracle, an un.
common meteor, or a politic ſtratagem, the adoption of the
Labarum contributed eſſentially to his victory over Maxentius,
and to his triumphal entry into Rome.
+ Eufeb. de vità Conſtant.
When it is afzed by the enemies of Chriſtianity whether
that religion has encreaſed the virtue or the happineſs of man-
kind, has lefſened the number of crimes, ſoftened the cruelty of
puniſhment, and eſtabliſhed a wiſer ſyſtem of laws, it is fuffi-
cient to refer them to the effects of the Theodofian and Jufti-
nian codes. From Conſtantine the Roman laws derived an
improved and permanent form. That Emperor, who was
not free from errors, to which he was expoſed by an undiſcri-
minating confidence in his favorites, was fond of meditation,
and indefatigable in ſtudy. Nutrire artes tonas, præcipuè ſtudia
literarum; legere i fe, fcribere, meditari. (Aur. Vi&t. ep. 41.)
This diſpoſition led him to compare the pure fimplicity of the
Religion of the humble Jeſus with the ſplendid abſurdities of
Paganiſm; the compariſon was neceſſarily followed by con-
viction; and his delay to declare his faith openly was di&tated
by political conſiderations, and was finally produ&ive of ſignal
advantages to the cauſe of Chriſtianity. The influence of his
neis
( 31 )
The beneficial effects of Chriſtianity were
extended even to the calamities of war.
From
1
6
new tenets upon his conduct was foon viſible in the mildneſs and
wiſdom of the laws which he enacted or amended.
The arbitrary government of his predeceſſors, whoſe re-
fcripts, decrees, and edits ſhook the foundations of civil liberty,
and ſubjected the people to the deciſions of caprice, or the ir-
regular fallies of unpremeditated judgment, was juſtly confi-
dered by Conſtantine as the principal cauſe of the diſorders,
which aflicted his ſubjects. Moved by the humane deſign of
meliorating their condition, he fixed the immutability of the
laws, and eſtabliſhed the ſuperiority of the ſentence of a jadge
over imperial reſcripts.
He reſtored liberty to all the citizens, whom Maxentius had
condemned to ſlavery. He permitted the affranchiſement of
flaves, whoſe lives he ſecured by the ſame law, which guard-
ed thoſe of freemen. He aboliſhed the punilhment of cruci-
fixion, and the penal combat of gladiators, and required that
the condemnation of a criminal to death ſhould be preceded by
notorious evidence and conviction. In war, he ſpared the
blood of his enemies, and in order to engage his ſeldiers to
adopt his benevolent deſigns, he gave a premium for every
captive, whom they produced alive. When he broke the Pre-
torian guards, who had more than once ſtained their hands with
the blood of his predeceſſors, he conſulted equally the maxims
of private policy, and of univerſal juſtice. Cod. Theod. 1. i,
2 ; 1. ix, 12, 31.-Aurel. Vict. de Cæf. 41.---Zozim. l. ii.
In conſequence of the complaints, which had with difficulty
reached his ears from the provinces, he publicly invited all
perſons
1
( 32 )
From the time that the Goths and Vandals
received the light of revelation, their mo-
rals were purified, their hearts were huma-
nized, and, if they ſtill perſevered in their
conqueſts, and became the inſtruments in the
hands of Providence* to puniſh the Romans
for the calamities, which they had inflicted
on mankind, their victories were leſs ſullied
by cruelty ;t their virtues were excited by
the
perſons, who thought themſelves aggrieved by his præfects, to
make a formal appeal to the juſtice of their country, promiſing
protection and reward to the injured, and legal puniſhment to
the oppreſſors. To teſtify the rectitude of his intentions, he
thus makes the Supreme Being a party to his engagements.
Ita mihi Summa Divinitas ſemper propitia ſit, et me incolumem
præftet, ut cupio feliciſimâ et florentiffimâ Republicâ. Cod.
Theodor. 1. ix, 4.
Such was the influence of Chriſtianity upon a Prince, who,
though he was often a prey to the paſſions, which affailed him on
every fide, was, at his death, univerſally regretted, and dignified
with the title of the Reſtorer of his country. Cujus fanè funus
Populus Romanus ægerrimè tulit ; quippe cujus armis, legibus,
clementi imperio, quaſi novatam urbem Romanam arbitraretur.
Aurel. Viet. de Cæf. 41.
* As at the ſiege of Jeruſalem Titus acknowledged the in-
terpoſition of a ſuperior power ; Attila in his conqueſts over
the Romans called himſelf THE SCOURGE OF GOD.
† From the fierce invaders of the Roman dominions acts of
mildneſs
( 33 )
the idea of a future ſtate; they learnt hu-
mility from the Goſpel, and inercy from
the example of him, who with his dying
breath prayed for his perſecutors, and his
murderers.
The Moſaic laws were impoſed only on
the Jewiſh nation; they were confined to
their climate, and to their excluſive intereft.
The ſame obſervation may be made on the
human inſtitutions of Confucius, Zoroaſter,
mildneſs and benevolence were not expected. The wars, in
which they were the aggreſſors, were marked on each ſide by
circumſtances of unuſual fury. Emigrant nations, which com-
poſed the Northern armies, had, for their only choice, to con
quer or to periſh. Retreat was impracticable; while the fer-
tility and the riches of Italy and the Roman provinces fired
their imagination, and gave to their rough hardineſs an irreſiſti-
ble force. The Romans; on the other hand, truſted to their
diſcipline and bravery for the ſecurity of their property; and
the preſervation of their lives.
But victory was unſtained with cruelty. The new poſſeſſors
of the country retained the eſtabliſhed uſages. They ſuffered
the former owners to ſhare the lands with them, and to preſerve
their ancient laws and cuſtoms. Thus the victors and the van-
quiſhed foon became one people, and the benevolent principles
of Chriſtianity ſmoothed their former animoſities into a frater,
nal contribution of mutual benefits,
F
Mahomet,
1
( 34 )
Mahomet, and the Indian legiſlators on the
banks of the Ganges, which, celebrated as
they are by the enemies of revelation, are
imperfect, intolerant, and nugatory. But
the laws of the Goſpel are preſcribed to all
nations, they are accommodated to all the
climates of the world, and will endure to the
final conſummation of all things. Heaven
and earth will paſs away, but the words of
Chriſt will never paſs away.
But, alas! the moſt perfect ſyſtem of re-
ligion revealed from heaven will, in the
practice of it, take a tincture from human
infirmities. The doctrine will be perverted
by prejudice, and become the inſtrument of
human paſſions. In ſpite of the excellent
models, which the Chriſtian religion offer-
ed to humanity, imperfections crept into
it's temporal conſtitution, and defeated in
ſome meaſure the intent of that univerſal
perfection, which it was calculated to pro-
duce. The divine huſbandman had fown
good feed into his field, it becomes us now
to enquire from whence tares could ſpring.
Ambition
( 35 )
Ambition and fanaticiſm are the enemies,
that have done this.*
Senſible of the excellence and benefits of
Chriſtianity, the people naturally transferred
• Some modern writers, who have diſtinguiſhed themſelves
by paradoxical aſſertions, and by the abuſe of metaphyſical
knowledge, have employed their powers of deſcription on
thoſe ſcenes of diſcord, which they aſcribe to the influence
of Religion. Quantum Religio potuit fuadere malorum is the
conſtant theme of their declamation, and the fruitful ſubject
of their invectives. The unhappy civiſions, occaſioned by
theological diſputes, or by the ambition of individuals among
the clergy, have exhauſted, in their writings, the limits of
seality, and opened the boundleſs field of imagination. They
have not conſidered that a reflecting mind will not be ſatis-
fied with a pompous fhew of words, or with a deluſive parade
of artful fophiftry, but will demand ſenſible proofs. Diſtir-
guiſhing the abuſe, from the proper uſe and intention, of an
inſtitution, a cautious obſerver will eaſily find that, far from
being a neceſſary conſequence of Chriſtianity, theſe calamitous
events have been produced by a ſpirit, oppofed to the principles
of univerfal benevolence, which the Prince of Peace came to
inculcate as the bafis of his religion. Were not the direction
of Providence viſible in this great diſpenſation, it would be a
ſubject of wonder that it had been productive of ſuch ineſtima
ble advantages to mankind, unchecked in it's progreſs by per-
ſecution, univerſal in it's benign influence, like the God, who
is it's author and it's end.
a
a part
( 36 )
1
a part of their admiration to it's miniſters,
The clergy were invited by the emperors to
take a part in the ſecular adminiſtration,
Their fuperior learning produced an impli-
cit deference to their opinions and to their
wiſhes. Their ambition increaſed with their
power, and ſoon graſped the reins of uni-
verſal dominion. The exerciſe of ſpiritual
juriſdiction imbibed the ſpirit of temporal
ſovereignty, The Popes lighted the flames
of civil war, armed ſubjects againſt their
princes, and diſturbed all Europe by the
thunder of their anathemas, forgetting that
the kingdom of him, whom they pretended
to repreſent, was not of this world.
1
Yet this was not the extremity of human
calamities. The favage chieftains of the
North introduced the feudal inſtitution, and
added a new link to the chain of oppreſſion,
The feudal ſyſtem weakened the bonds of
civil union, and multiplied the principles of
anarchy. Every country, a prey to deſo-
lation and continual alarm, was covered
with caſtles, conſtructed to defend the inha-
bitants,
( 37 )
bitants, not againſt foreign powers, but a:
gainſt domeſtic hoſtilities. Public diſorder
baniſhed from ſociety the comfort and ſecu-
rity, which had been the great cauſes of it's
original inititution.
The lower ranks of
people languiſhed in a degrading vaſſallage,
ſubject to the ſame fluctuation of property
as the cattle in the fields. But to ſuch a
depth of moral wretchedneſs were they fall-
en, that they appeared inſenſible of their
condition, and left a melancholy proof that
man loſes with his liberty the generous feel-
ings of virtue, and the exalting energies of
religion.*
The fanaticiſm of this
age
of ignorance
was not armed with leſs violence againſt the
principles of juſtice, than againſt the max-
ims of the Goſpel. The Inquiſition ex-
erciſed an odious tyranny over body and
ſoul. Bearing in one hand the Goſpel, and
in the other the ſword of cruelty, it ſanc-
tioned uſurpations into rights, and errors in-
* Robertſon's Progreſs of Society in Europe, Sect. 1.
to
( 38 )
gave a mortal
to principles. Secure in the public fear and
credulity, it ſucceeded in the attempt to
perpetuate deception and ignorance, by
ſhutting the gates of religious knowledge on
mankind. Diſtruſt and alarm
ſtab to the peace of families. The Inqui-
ſitors uſurped the government of the con-
ſciences of mankind, and committed the ra-
vages of war in the name of the God of
peace. In their eyes, to be an informer was
the height of virtue ; imaginary or ſuſpected
faults were the cauſes of apprehending, of
tormenting, of murdering thouſands of in-
nocent perſons. An almoſt incredible pro-
ceſs fixed the doom of their fortune, their
honor and their life. The accuſed was
never confronted with his accuſer. Caught
in the ſnares of a captious interrogatory, he
condemned himſelf without ſuſpecting his
crime, without a trial, and without an ap-
peal.* If the abject of ſuſpicion diſap-
pointed
* L'inquiſition eft, comme on fait, une invention admirable 85
tout-à-fait Chrétienne, pour rendre le Pape & les Moines plus
puiſſans:
( 39 )
pointed his accuſers by his firmneſs and re-
ſolution, a criminal code, which makes the
heart of ſenſibility ſhudder, called up the in-
ftruments
Voluire,
puiſans, & pour rendre tout un Royaume hypocrite.
Diction, Pbil. Inquif. Sect. 2.
1
It is difficult to refrain from indignation at this unmanly far-
caſm; but it is eaſy to hold the mirror to the deformity of this
celebrated writer. Poffefied of talents, which mighi have in-
creaſed the enjoyment of rational pleaſures to future gene-
rations, Voltaire has diminiſhed the comforts, which were calo
culated to ſmooth the rugged path of life. To the faſcinating
beauties of genius he added the littleneſs of literary envy, to
the richeſt vein of imagination the languid tameneſs of diſguſt-
ing detail, and to deep learning ſhallow ignorance. He was
remarked for ſentiments which dignify, and for paſſions which
degrade, humanity ; for honeſt boldneſs and creeping flattery ;
for independence and pufillanimity; for enthufiaſm in the cauſe
of truth and the tortuoſity of evalive fubterfuge ; for the gene.
rous expreſſion of liberality and the unrelenting violence of
perſecution ; for a virgin regard to modeſty and the unbluſhing
diſplay of the groffeft indecency. His ſenſibility is ſeduction ;
his delicacy is artifice ; his reaſoning is inconſiſtence. If he
thews compaſſion to one order of beings, it is only to pour the
blackeſt invective on another. If he combats a prejudice, it is
only to deſtroy a principle. If he attacks ſuperſtition, it is
only to unſettle the human mind. He has expoſed the ab-
ſurdity of religious fanaticiſm, in order to ſubſtitute the
phrenzy of infidelity. He has raiſed the hundred hands of the
Briareus
( 40 )
Aruments of torture to ſurmount his coña
ftancy by the apparatus of pain and agony:
Stretched on the rack of torment, the hoary
father;
}
Briareus of falſe philofophy againſt heaven to dethrone the
Chriſtian virtues, in order to introduce in their room the hy-
dras of anarchy, and the monſters of libertiniſm. Such is the
man, who turns the faculties, which nature has beſtowed on
him, to the diſgrace of nature herſelf. "Sas em tis åidgeños ür,
ληΐζεθαι μάλλον, ή τρατεύεθαι προαιρεϊαι" και ισχυρός ών, λωπο-
δύτης μάλλον, και συμβουλεύειν και καλός ών, μοιχεύειν ή γαμείν' ούτος
τών από της φύσεως αγαθών υπαρξάντων προδότης εσίν. Lycurg.
The paſſage here quoted from that verſatile writer preſents
one of the gentleſt inſtances of the ridicule, which he in all his
works, directly or obliquely, throws at Chriſtianity. The In-
quiſition was indeed introduced by profeſſors of the Chriſtian
Religion, who, as men, were ſubject to the frailties of hu-
manity
The beginning of the thirteenth century is generally aſſigned
as the epoch of the eſtabliſhment of the Inquiſition, where
Innocent III. determined to extirpate the heretical Albigeois.
But ſo early as 1184, the Council of Verona had commiſſioned
the Biſhops of Lombardy to make a diligent ſearch for all He.
retics, and to deliver them to the civil magiftrates for punish-
ment. This inſtitution received an additional impulſe from the
ambition of Simon of Montfort, who with the arms of fanati-
ciſm, in 1213, vanquiſhed Raimond, Count of Toulouſe, whofe
title and poffeffions were the rewards of his cruel activity.
Italy and Portugal foon gave to the Inquiſition a reception,
which
.
( 41 )
3
father, in the delirium of excruciating pangs,
has delivered his only ſon, the comfort of
his age; a fond huſband his beloved wife,
the
which they thought meritorious. In the former it has diſtin-
guiſhed itſelf more for abſurdities than for cruelty. Under
the reign of Ferdinand and Iſabella, it acquired in Spain a ter-
rific authority, which was rendered ſtill more formidable by the
wanton diſpoſition of Philip II.
The idea that the terror of puniſhment could command pab.
lic ſubmiſſion was the produce of an age of ignorance, in which
the art of conciliating the affection and confidence of the peo-
ple was utterly unknown. The inutility of theſe ſanguinary
meaſures was ſoon demonſtrated. So forcible was the impref-
fion made by the maſſacres of Languedoc, that the various
efforts of the Roman fee could never introduce the Inquiſition
into France. England, Germany and the North of Europe ne-
ver bowed their necks to it's oppreſſive yoke.
But, as a natural part of the ſyſtem, which this diſcourſe is
intended to trace, the Inquiſition has of late been either wholly
aboliſhed, or diveſted of it's terrors : it now remains only as a
monument of the fervid, but cruel and impolitic, zeal of former
ages in the ſervice of religion.
Had Voltaire, and other Philoſophical infidels, tempered
their oppoſition to Religion with a little candor, they would
have acknowledged, what they could not but obſerve, that it
was becauſe theſe ſuperſtitious enormities were oppoſed to the
fpirit of the Chriſtian Religion, that the Reformation was fo
G
eagerly
( 42 )
1
the partner of his cares and the foother of
his forrows; as innocent victims to the cool
eagerly and ſo generally embraced, and gradually produced
that liberality, which has conferred the moſt ſignal ſervices on
the cauſe of Chriſtianity and of humanity.
True Philoſophy, embraced without prejudice, and cultivated
without the defire of indiſcriminate innovation, will only add
new pillars to the edifice of the Chriſtian faith. A Philoſopher
of this age, remarkable for warmth of imagination, for vigor
of intellect, and for inconſiſtence, in one of thoſe moments, in
which his mind was reluctantly open to the conviction of ſimple
truth, ſtrikes us with the following exclamation : La majeſté des
écritures m'étonne ; la ſainteté de l'Evangile parle à mon cæur.
Voyez les livres des Philoſophes avec toute leur pompe : qu'ils font
petits auprès de celui là. Se peut il qu'un livre à la fois fi fub-
limefi fimple, foit l'ouvrage des hommes! Se peut il que celui
dont il fait l'hiſtoire, ne ſoit qu'un homme lui même !
l'homme, où ell le Jage, qui peut agir, ſouffrir & mour ir, Jens
faibleſe & Jans oftentation ! Quand Platon peint fon Jujte imagi-
naire, couvert de tout l'opprobre du crime, & digne de tous les prix
de la vertu, il peint, trait pour trait, Jeſus Chrift.--Oui, fa la
vie & la mort de Socrate font d'un ſage, la vie & la mort de Jeſus
font d'un Dir. Rouſſeau, Profeſſion de foi du Vicaire Savoyard.
It is a macter of ſerious aſtoniſhment and regret to find this
writer, bold where he ought to be reſerved, and timid where
he ought to be reſolute, thus introducing the ſubject of Reve-
lation : Si j'étais meilleur raiſonneur ou mieux inftruit, peut-être
Jentirais-je fa verité, ſon utilité pour ceux qui ont le bonheur de
la reconnaitre.
barbarity
Où eft
( 43 )
mm
barbarity of thoſe unfeeling wretches, who,
to calculate the extremes of human fenfibi-
lity, put nature herſelf to the torture, deaf
to the voice of the God of juſtice, who has
faid: Vengeance is mine : I will repay. *
From ſcenes like theſe the heart of ſym-
pathy ſhrinks with horror and diſguſt. With
alacrity we turn to a brighter proſpect.
Yet, while we bluſh for the failings of our
anceſtors, let us expoſe the artifices of thoſe,
who dare to lay them to the account of our
religion. With their own weapons are the
enemies of Chriſlianity repelled. It was
becauſe mankind were not permitted to
ſearch the ſcriptures, which ſet before them
+
* That ſpecies of torture, called quiftien préparatoire, was
aboliſhed in France by the Déclaration of Lewis XVI, regiſtered
Sept. 5, 1780. This act of beneficence was not ſuggeſted by
his miniſters or counſellors : it was the pure effect of the good-
neſs of his heart, and the humanity of his principles. Yet this
is he, who has been repr-ſented as the tyrant of his country's
and an enemy to public freedom and happineſs !
O judgment, thou art fled to brutiſ beaſts,
And pica have lost their reafon !
the
( 44 )
the way of life, and the way of death, which
taught them what they muſt do to inherit eter-
nal life, that the bright ſunſhine of Religion
ſuffered a temporary gloom. Thoſe tran-
fient ſcenes of tumult, which we deplore,
are only to be compared, in the great ſcale
of Providence, to the ſtorm or the earth-
quake, which in their effects tend to purify
the air, and reſtore the order of nature.
And ſuch was the event. The Reformation
put the book of God into the hands of
mankind. Then was happily reverſed the
prohibition made to our firſt parents. The
tree of knowledge, and the tree of life, were
at once fet, in all the luxuriance of the
bleſſed fruit, before the world, who were
invited and commanded to taſte and eat,
and were aſſured that, in the day that they
eat thereof, they ſhould ſurely live.
.
Then the volcano of fanaticifm, after fo
many deſtructive eruptions, was at length
extinguiſhed. The Roman Pontiffs, who
during ſeveral centuries had oppreſſed the
Chriſtian world, had raiſed and dethroned
kings
( 45 )
kings at pleaſure, became the humble, and
beneficial, adviſers of lenient meaſures, and
the advocates for peace. The clergy in gene-
ral forſook the paths of ambition, and placed
their glory in giving encouragement to the
meek, redreſs to the oppreſſed, inſtruction
to the ignorant, ſupport to the fainting, and,
through the promiſes of faith, pardon and
grace to the finner.*
Yet,
>
• To the Theological diſputes, occafioned by the diviſions,
which took place between the Church of Rome and the Re-
formers, the world is much indebted for the progreſs of know-
ledge. The Proteſtant Divines found it neceſſary to ſtore their
polemical quiver with the arrows of general literature to attack
their adverſaries, and the Catholics had recourſe to the same
armory for weapons of defence. It is as difficult to deny, as
it is eaſy to conceive, the important advantages, which have
accrued from this defire of literary acquiſitions to Philoſophy
and to humanity. From that period we are ſtruck with the
alteration obſervable in the condu&t of the Popes. The hiſtory
of the revolutions of States and of opinions does not preſent.
us with a ſtronger contraſt than that, which we remark between
the characters of the intolerant Innocent III, or the imperious
Leo X, and thoſe of the liberal Clement XIV, or Pius VI;
between that power, which, not ſatisfied with a dominion more
deſpotic and more extenſive than that of Imperial Rome, ario-
gatec
1
( 46 )
Yet, let it be acknowledged, a few paſſing
clouds have ſtill thrown a caſual gloom.
In
gated the diſpenſation of the thunders, and of the mercies, of
Heaven, and the ſubmiſſive and hopeleſs embaſſy of an infirm
and venerable Pontiff to the court of Joſeph II, to deprecate
the total degradation of the Pontifical dignity, and the depri.
vation of all the privileges of the Holy See.
Much has been ſaid of the licentious manners and diffulute
lives of the French clergy. From all bodies of men, from all
individuals, frailties are inſeparable. Inſtances of licentiouſneſs
occur, no doubt, in the annals of the ſecular, and even of the
regular, clergy. A Judas was found in the number of twelve
Apoſtles. The number of French eccleſiaſtics, who may be
mentioned as examples of ſanctity of manners and benevolence
of difpofition, is not, as ſome late writers have repreſented it
ſo inconſiderable, that they
Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vaſto.
But it may be affirmed by thoſe, who can boaſt a longer ac-
quaintance with that body, that no order of men merited more
public veneration and regard, than the beneficed clergy, before
that fatal cataſtrophe, which has baniſhed them from their focks
and from their country. Their exemplary reſidence on their
livings; their unbounded charities, which prevented, or relieved,
indigence, and never ſuffered them to lay up treaſures, except in
Heaven; command our applauſe, and deſerve our imitation.
They have been deprived of t. eir benefices, becauſe the au-
thors of the Revolution dreaded he influence, which their vir-
tues, their diíintereſtedneſs, and the public gratitude, had given
them over the minds of the people ; becauſe they dreaded, in
the
( 47 )
In proportion as the clergy inculcated the
benevolent principles of the Goſpel, a viſi-
onary ſyſtem of metaphyſics, and falſe phi-
loſophy,* inſidiouſly aſſuming the name of
liberality and toleration, have endeavoured
to undermine the foundations of Chriſti-
anity. The effects of this artifice have been
ſorely felt in a neighbouring
a neighbouring kingdom.
From the benevolent reign of their Henry
IV, the people of France enjoyed more
happineſs, unallayed by the feuds of politi-
V
the manners, or exhortations of the clergy, a tacit diſapproba.
tion, or a conſcientious reproof, of their enormities. Our mia
ſerable brethren have made the laſt facrifice to the duties of
their Religion ; they have given the ſeverelt proof of their
fincerity, in expoſing themſelves to the extremity of human
wretchedneſs. And ſurely, while they receive the bleſſings
promiſed in the Goſpel to thoſe who ars perfecuted for righteous
nijs fake, the recordinig angel of the good deeds of mankind
will mark with peculiar complacency, in the volumes of heavenly
retribution, the generous relief, which they receive from this
favored country.
'* Would the philologer, the logician, or the moraliſt, be
offended if the term PHILOSOPHISM were hazarded, to expreſs
the abuſe, or the reverſe, of Philoſophy ?
1
cal
( 48 )
*
cal controverſy, than any nation in Europe.
In ſpite of the imperfections of their
go-
vernment, they were admired for their hu-
manity, and for that gentleneſs of temper,
which gives a double reliſh to the advan-
tages, and leſſens the evils, of life. They
knew comfort; becauſe they were religious. +
But ſhocking is the reverſe in the preſent
day. Of late a race of men has ariſen in
that country, who, proud of their talents and
attainments, forgetting that their boaſted
reaſon derived it's faireft merits from thoſe
Scriptures, which they affected to ridicule,
$
* Heureuſe la nation Françaiſe, en ce que fa tranquillité n'eft
pas fondée ſur un équilibre toujours incertain et ſouvent chimériques
mais ſur un concours général à foutenir toutes les formes modéras
trices, à rendre toute propriété reſpectable, à prévenir toute préci-
pitation dans la confection des loix, à éclairer le légiſlateur lui-
même par la liberté de penſer, de parler & d'écrire.
De la Félicité Publique, Sect. iii, chap. 8.
+ This aſſertion is not ventured on the common principle of
preſſing unauthenticated facts into the ſervice of a favorite
ſyſtem : it is made after a reſidence of ſeveral years in that
country, and an intimate acquaintance with the middle ranks
of life.
bore
(
)
(
( و bore with impatience every ſpecies of au-
thority, and prepared an oppoſition to their
civil and religious eſtabliſhment. In the laſt
reign, ſome of their cliefs, who had formed
a literary connexion with the great Frede-
ric, laid before him a plan for the total
overthrow of Chriſtianity. But that wife
king, though himſelf tainted with infidelity,
Spurned a propoſal, which the experience of
ages taught him would, in the downfal of
the Goſpel, deſtroy the deareſt bonds of ſo-
ciety, and give a looſe to anarchy and uni-
verfal profligacy.*
The
M
* If a politician had ventured, half a century ago, to predict
the troubles, with which France is diſtracted, he would have
experienced the fate of the diſcredited Caſſandra. Yet at that
time were ſown the ſeeds of thoſe pernicious opinions, which
have produced that ſpirit of rebellious inſubordination, whoſe
fatal conſequences will be long deplored.
The world was improving in arts by practice, and in ſcience
by experiment. The human mind was augmenting her ſtores by
knowledge, and improving her powers by contemplation.
Every day prejudices diſappeared, and were ſucceeded by juſt
and rational ideas. The increaſe of c::mmerce enlarged the
intercourſe of nations, and the diſcovery of new countries faci,
H
litated
1
( 50 )
The late revolution has crowned theit
wiſhes with ſucceſs. To augment their in-
fluence;
litated the eſtimate of the various qualities and diſpoſitions of
mankind. The progreſs was flow, yet it was ſenſible. But
human prefumption diſdains to ſubmit to the courſe preſcribed
by nature, and to wait for the unfolding agency of timė.
Hence a ſet of men, who were not ſatisfied with the folid, bué
undazzling, reputation, which a gradual improvement affordedo
determined to diſtinguiſh themſelves by novelty, to ſubſtitute
imagination to reaſoning, and to build their fame on the ruins
of every thing, that had hitherto been held facred. Influenced
by theſe ungenerous motives, Voltaire and D'Alembert formed
the project of aboliſhing the Chriſtian Religion, which they
artfully confounded with ſuperſtition and fanaticiſm. The de-
ſtruction of Chriſtianity was the theme of their correſpondence.
Fe fais comme Caton; je finis toujours ma harangue en diſant :
Deleatur Carthago. Il ne faut que cinq ou fix Philoſophes, qui
l'entendent, pour renverſer le Colale
.--Il ſ'agit d'arracher les
pères de famille à la tyrannie des impoſteurs, & d'inſpirer l'eſprit
de tolérance. Cette grande milion a déja d'heureux ſuccès. La
vigne de la vérité eſt bien cultivée par des D'Alembert, des Dide-
rot, des Bolingbroke, des Hume, &c. Si votre Roi de Prulle avait
voulu ſe borner ad ce faint cuvre, il cút vécu heureux ; et toutes
les Académies de l'Europe l'auraient béni. Voltaire à D'Alem-
bert, 6 Dece, 1757.
The ſame writer, through the whole of his correſpondence
with the King of Pruſſia, works upon every ſpring, which had
the power of moving the mighty genius of his Royal friend,
to effect what was called in their favorite phraſeology : écrafer
l'infame.
V
( 51 )
fluence, and to realize their hopes, they re-
preſented the clergy and the revenues of
l'infame. Had not this politic monarch feen, according to his
own expreſſion, les choses de loin, the project would not have
been adopted by him with coldneſs and reluctance. But his
comprehenſive mind calculated the conſequences of this oppo.
fition to the religious tenets, which, he could not but obſerve,
had been the principal ſource of human comforts. Nous Comu
naiſons, to quote his letter to Voltaire of the 13th of Auguſt,
1766, nous connaiſons, les crimes que le fanatiſme de Religion a
fait commettre. Gardons nous d'introduire le fanatiſme dans la phi-
lofophie : ſon caractère doit être la douceur & la modération.
Socrate n'adorait pas les Deos majores et minores gentium ;
toutefois il affait aux ſacrifices publics. Galèndi allait à la
mefe, & Newton au próne.
La tolérance dans une ſociété doit affarer à chacun la liberté de
croire ce qu'il veut; mais cette tolérance ne doit pas ſ'étendre că
autoriſer l'effronterie & la licence de jeunes étourdis, qui infultene
audacieuſement à ce que le peuple révère. Voilà mes fentimens, gia
font conformes à ce qu' afure la liberté & la fureté publique, prea
mnier objet de toute légiſlation.
Foiled in this attempt, the enemies of Chriſtianity employed.
their arts on weaker minds. They found eaſy profelytes in a
ſwarm of economiſts and philofophifts, who undermined the foun-
dation of the venerable edifice of public order and private hap.
pineſs. Theſe have been the promoters and the leaders of a
Revolution, which they knew could not be brought to the de.
Kred extremity, while Religion was cultivated, and her Mi-
niſters reſpected.
the
( 52 )
the church as the chief cauſes of what they
called the public miſery. They perſuaded
the people that the ſalvation of the ſtate
could only be effected by the ſpoils of the
church. Hence the famous decree on the
civil conſtitution of the clergy, which has
produced a contempt of Religion, and has
loft no doubt of the real deſigns of the
champions of infidelity." They knew that,
iſ
* Religion was repreſented by the democratic leaders as a
temporary ſcaffold to raiſe the edifice of morality in times of
ignorance and ſuperſtition ; bat they ſaid that it was uſeleſs and
decayed fince the building reſted upon the firmer ſupport of
political Philoſophy. Every artifice was adopted to render the
people ſuſceptible of the impreſſions of infidelity.
One of the greateſt ſanctions of Religion is the comfort, that
mankind derive from it’s proſpects and promiſes in the hour of
calamity. It is this, that fortifies the ſoul againſt the aſſaults of
fortune, and can raiſe the ſmiles of hope amidi the 'anxieties of
fear and the agonies of pain. Whatever may be the excellence
of a civil conftitution, the poor muft ſtruggle with a thouſand
difficulties, they will find new obſtacles ariſe between them and
every new proſpect of advancement. Their hopes thus blaſted
frequently in their very ſpring; the ſucceſs of others ſuggeſting
motives of envy, and their own miſcarriages offering tempta-
tions to deſpair, they have one ſource of confolation left, which
is capable of ſuſtaining them under the weight of moral and
political
1
( 53 )
--
if they could remove the reſpectable cha-
racters, who filled the offices of the church
with a dignified beneficence, and raiſe in
their room a ſet of low, unprincipled, men,
their cauſe was triumphant. The con-
tempt
move.
political burdens, under the heavieſt incumbrances of poverty
and diſtreſs. From Religion alone they can derive thoſe af
ſurances of retribution, which will change the motives of dis-
content into the pleaſing reflection that, if they mourr, they
Mall receive the bleſſings of comfort, that their poverty will be
rewarded with the poſſeſſion of the Kingdom of Heaven. Sen.
fible of the difficulty, which the rich experience in their way
to ſalvation, they will conſider them as thoſe victims of old,
which were crowned with fowers and ſprinkled with wine, only
when they were preparing to be ſacrificed,
Theſe ſentiments of reſignation it was found neceſſary to re-
Allured by the glowing deſcription of a returning gol.
den age, which the demagogues afferted to be the natural
conſequence of the revolution, the people acquired a preſump-
tuous felf-ſufficiency, and a fancied ſecurity againſt moral and
political calamities, which made them imagine themſelves ſu-
perior to the influence of heavenly protection. They diſdained
the imputation of ſuperſtitious ignorance, which they were
taught to conſider at once as the cauſe, and the effect, of Re-
ligion. They determined to be free, without a political,
or religious reſtraint.
* Thoſe, who have facrificed principle to imaginary intereſi,
have received, in many inſtances, the juſt reward of their mear-
nels
A
( 54 )
tempt of the clergy is neceſſarily followed
by the contempt of Religion.
Deſtructive of morals and public ſecurity
will be the decrees of thoſe legiſlators, whoſe
laws diſclaim the influence of Religion.*
The
meſs or pufillanimity. A leading member of the Second Affembly
candidly told one of the Conſtitutional Prieſts, who complained
of a diminution both of private ſalary and public reſpect, that
- the authors of the Revolution found it neceſſary to procure
Eccleſiaſtics without principle to ſupport their cauſe and pro-
mote their deſigns ; they had found them, they had availed
themſelves of their ſervices, but they deſpiſed, and would
tread them under their feet."
* Religione fublatâ, perturbatio vitæ fequitur, et magno con-
fufio. Atque haud fcio, an, pietate adverfus Deos fublatâ, fides
stiam et focietas humani generis, et una exccllentiſima virtus,
juftitia, tollatur. Cic. de naturâ Deorum, i, 2.
Some paradoxical writers have aſſerted that, as the rewards
and puniſhments, which Religion holds out, have reſpect only
to another life, no relation can be ſuppoſed to exiſt between
religious principles and the end propoſed by legiſlation. To
this it may be replied that the doctrine and precepts of the
Chriſtian Religion are ſtrictly congruent with thoſe eternal and
immutable laws, which the author of nature himſelf has en-
graved in our hearts. Government has been eſtabliſhed, and
civil laws enacted, only to enforce the obſervance of the law of
mature, which the fway of inclination and the force of paſſion
would
1
( 55 )
The new Conſtitution, deſtitute of the power
to command obedience, is ftrungling for a
permanence, which it can never attain ; and
will be deſtroyed by that violence, to which
it owes it's origin:*
The
would every moment tempt us to infringe. It is neceſſary for
the welfare of ſociety that the principles of Religion and of
poſitive law ſhould be the ſame. The authority of civil law is
confined to our outward actions ; it has indeed the power of
prohibiting crimes, but is unable to incite to active virtue.
Weak and imperfect therefore would be it's influence, did not
Religion ſupply the deficiency with her ſuperior energy.
* Some inſtances of the imperfection and pernicious ten-
dency of the Conſtitution were here inſerted in the firſt Edition
of this diſcourſe. As that Conftitution is no more, it was
thought proper to omit them in this.
Conſidered in a political, or in a civil, view, the French
Conſtitution has been repreſented by many perſons of reſpecta-
ble abilities, and of benevolent intentions, as the moſt conſum-
mate production of human genius. In examining it analyti-
cally, we find, no doubt, much to admire. Many of it's articles,
conſidered abſtractedly, appear ingenious and rational.
Inceptis gravibus plerumque & magna profilis
Purpureus latè qui Splendeat, unus et alter
Afutur pannus.
But when we look for a chain of mutual relations, we are
flocked with the imperfegion.
Infelix
1
1
open their
( 56 )
The time cannot be far diſtant, when that
people will
their eyes to their true in-
terefts, and adopt the ſpirit of that Goſpel,
which proclaimed Glory to God in the higheſt,
on rarth peace, good will towards men ; and
the fruit of which is in all goodneſs, righte-
brifneſs, and truth; love, gentleneſs, and faith.*
Lét
Infelix operis fumma, quia ponere totum
Neſcit.
Ji was ſaid to be perfect in all it's parts : it wanted nothing
to make the French nation as happy as it was free, as virtuous
as it was great, but public obedience. With this defect, it
might be compared to a moſt exquifite model of complicated
mechaniſm, deficient in nothing, except the ſprings to ſet it in
motion. The Executive Power was deprived of the ſubſtance
of energy: it was not even followed by the ſhadow of authó-
rity.---See Necker, du Pouvoir Exécutif dans les grand états,
Chap. 15; a work, in which that Ex-minifler ſhews a rich vein
of ġenius, and a deep knowledge of politics. O fi fic omnia
dixiſſet
See APPENDIX, No. I. On the cauſes, which will prevent
the tabliſhment of a Republic in France.
* It would be eaſy to accumulate the moſt horrible effects
of i'mpiety, anarchy and murder, in the deſcription of the mo-
ral and political ſituation of France. This has been done by
many, with more zcal than knowledge; and it was as happy
for their veracity, as it was dikreſsful to the feeling heart, that
they
( 57 )
Let it not be deemed preſumptuous; if we
direct their views to the civil and religious
conftitution,
1
they mighi overſtep the line of probability, without incurring
the reproach of exaggeration. Bat they had neither information,
to deſcribe the cauſes of events ; nor genius, to draw the pro-
per concluſions from them.
The ſubject is ample for the Philoſopher, who wiſhes to colo
lect the darkeſt ſhades for the moral portraits, which he draws
of mankind. A diligent ſurvey of hiſtory affords the melan-
choly concluſion, that truth has been generally purſued through
the tracks of error; and that a permanent form of government
has ſeldom been attained without the previous experience of
various changes; each preceded by longer or ſhorter periods of
diſorder. In the progreſs of arts and ſciences experiment is
conclufive. Their principles being once aſcertained, and fixed
by the unerring deciſions of nature and of taſte, the civilized world
is united by the chain of knowledge, and can ſcarcely relapſe
into a ſtate of ignorance or error. But in practical politics,
the great concern of all mankind, the ſucceſs or the failure of
conſtitutional inſtitutions in one age or country ſeldom produce
a deſire of imitation; or cautious deliberation, in another. The
politicians of the French Revolution placed themſelves above
the examples of other countries, above the experience of ages.
They diſdained to follow the beaten, though circuitous path,
which had led former legiſlators, by flow circumſpection, to the
eſtabliſhment of order and fecurity; they entangled themſelves
in the wilds of viſionary theory. Like that electrician, who
periſhed by the fire, which he had drawn from the clouds witha
out a cautious attention to it's probable effects, they have ex-
I
cited
( 58 )
conſtitution, which we enjoy, and to that
conſequent proſperity, with which a graci-
Ous
cited the fury of the populace, without poſſeſſing the ſkill to direct
it's operations, or the power to arreſt it's force; and have been
overwhelmed in the conflagration, which they raiſed. Happy
would it be for their country, and for humanity, if the deſtructi-
on were confined to themſelves. The final event excites the anxi.
ous and awful expectation of mankind. All the deductions, which
experience could make from hiſtorical analogy, all the reaſon-
ings of fagacity from cauſes to effects, have been baffled and con-
founded during the whole progreſs of the Revolution. From
the event, however, the Politician and the Philoſopher will de-
rive the moſt falutary leſſon. They will learn the neceſity of
Government and Religion ; they will beware of metaphyſical
abſtraction in a ſcience like that of legiſlation, which is founded
on a combination of relations, ſubject to numberlefs exceptions
and varieties; they will be convinced that political knowledge
can only be the flow and progreſſive reſult of experience.
In this hope, when the French have been effectually driven
from the countries, which they have ſo impolitically invaded, it
may be fuggeſted, whether it is not the general intereſt to re-
Atrain them within the ſtrict limits of their own country, and
ſuffer them to return, by a regular conviction of the madneſs of
their views, and the impracticability of their ſyſtem, to a ſpon-
taneous demand of a ſtrong government.
Should external
force effect a counter-revolution, their ſubmiſſion will only exift
while the danger remains, and the great experiment will remain
untried. External preſſure will only encreaſe the coheſion of
thoſe diſcordant parts, which muſt otherwiſe fly afunder, and
yield
( 59 )
ous Providence has bleſt us. England has
had her days of fanaticiſm and anarchy.
The waves of ſedition have ſwelled and raged
horribly; but the Lord, who dwelleth on high,
hath ſtilled the madneſs of the people. He has
fulfilled our deſire, and given us richly all
things to enjoy.
1
To the excellence of our civil conſtitu-
tion reflecting men of all nations bear the
teſtimony of admiration. To thoſe, whố
have lately raiſed the cry of diſcontent and
jealouſy againſt it's principles, or it's prac-
tice, it might be recommended to ſearch the
yield a ready obedience to the controuling power of a lawful
ſovereign. When once internal diforder has prodaced it's ne-
ceſſary effect, a general concourſe to the re-eſtabliſhment of
legal authority; when the proof becomes evident, that a de-
mocracy is an outrage to wiſdom and experience, that the in-
tereſt of the high and the low, of the rich and the poor, is
equally concerned in the maintenance of tranquillity, in the
preſervation of freedom without licentiouſneſs; then the peace
of ſociety will be ſecured on the ſolid foundation of univerſal
compact ; then the progreſs to perfe&tion in Morality, Religion
and Laws, will, after this temporary impediment, aſſume a ge-
neral acceleration.
2
annals
(60)
1
annals of mankind, and when they have
found a conſtitution with fo few defects, let
them propoſe their amendments. Perhaps
it has not been fufficiently obſerved, that a
free conſtitution, compoſed of ſuch different
intereſts, which, amidſt the violence of fluc-
tuating parties, that have alternately wiſhed
to raiſe or depreſs the executive branch of
government, has ſtood the ſhocks of above
a century, muſt be as free from imperfection,
as a human ſyſtem can be made. *
From a comparative view of all Chriſtian
ſects, it may be affirmed that the Church of
England builds her preſent tenets on" the
everlaſting rock of a Goſpel of charity.
Equally diſtant from the ſuperſtition of the
Church of Rome, and from the fanatic auſte.
rity of Calviniſm, her ways are ways of plea-
Santneſs, and all her paths are peace. It has
been
1
$
1
• See APPENDIX, No. II. On Syſtems of Reform.
+ This obſervation unfortunately gave offence to many Cala
viniſts in this county, ſome of whom gave vent to their fana-
tic auſterity in a pamphlet, illiberal in it's fpirit, and founded
on the common ſophiſm of miſtaking the queſtion, though by
$
no
( 61 )
been obſerved by an eminent foreign writer,
and it is an obſeryation, which at this time
deſerves attention, that in England the union
of the civil and eccleſiaſtical eſtabliſhments
is conſiſtent with freedom and ſecurity. +
Το
{
no means deftitute of merit as a compoſition, entitled : The
Doctrine of Grace Pindicated, &c. This publication would not
have been noticed here, had it not given riſe to a reply by an
invaluable friend, whoſe natural abilities and acquired know-
ledge, whoſe liberality of ſentiment and purity of heart, claim
the higheſt rank in the eſtimation of every lover of genius and
of virtue.
Monteſquieu, de l'eſprit des Loix, l. xix, c. 27.
+ A liberal mind exults in the increaſed participation of
civil privileges. In this view, too much applauſe cannot be
given to Government for the juſtice, that has lately been done
to the principles and conduct of the Roman Catholics in Ireland.
The magnanimity diſplayed on this occafion will, it is hoped,
deſtroy the ſeeds of that fordid jealouſy, which marrs the prof-
perity of both nations, join their hands and their hearts in the
common cauſe, and be the harbinger of ſo complete an Union,
that St. George's Channel will exiſt no longer.
The conduct of the Diflenters, in the late critical conjunc-
tures, proves that they are awakened to a ſenſe of the bleſſings
of the Britiſh Conſtitution, that they have as much ceaſed to be
what they were in the time of Charles I, as the Catholics have
abjured
( 62 )
To the bright luminaries of this country,
who, animated by Chriſtian benevolence,
have directed their ſtudies to the welfare of
their fellow creatures, we may turn our eyes
with gratitude and admiration. The miſeries
of nature have been alleviated, the evils of
poverty have been mitigated, or removed,
by the munificence of charity. By the pious
foundations of ſome exemplary characters
the hungry have been fed, the naked clothed, the
lame have walked, and the blind have received
their hight. By the humanity of one the
priſoners have been viſited, and the enliv-
ening breeze of health has baniſhed ſickneſs
and deſpair. Another has extended the be.
abjured the tenets, which they were encouraged to enforce dur-
ing the reign of James II. Hence we may entertain the pleaſing
bope, that the time is not far diſtant, when it will be found no leſs
conſiſtent with individual ſecurity, than with general policy, to
free them from political reſtraint ; to remove from them the
natural cauſes of Republican tendencies, by a communication
of advantages reſulting from conſtitutionaļ Monarchy; and to
induce them to melt their heterogeneous principles into one
common maſs of exertion to maintain public order, to ſecure in
ternal peace, and to increaſe national proſperity.
nefits
( 63 )
nefits of charity ſchools, and, by reſcuingi
thouſands of neglected objects of diſtreſs
from beggary and ſhame, has ſuffered the
little children to come to their Saviour. The
Philanthropic ſociety, uniting the virtues of
patriotiſm with the practice of a religion of
mercy, has ranſacked the dark abodes of
debauchery and vice, and ſaved numbers
from an ignominious end, and perhaps from
the horrors of eternal death. In the num-
ber of thoſe, by whom the Goſpel has been
preached unto the poor, we muſt not forget
that zealous man,* who defcended into thoſe
ſubterraneous pits, where the light of Reve-
lation had never beamed, and turned the
hearts of the profane and the diſobedient to
the wiſdom of the juſt, and to the knowledge
and practice of religious duties. Nor are
theſe acts of goodneſs confined to our fellow
ſubjects. The oppreſſed multitudes of India,
and the poor untutored Africans,t are em-
braced
1
* John Weſley.
of The powers of declamation have lately been employed
with
( 64 )
braced within the ſphere of our benevo-
lence:
There
with great ſucceſs in deſcribing the atrocities of modern flavery.
The firſt orators in the Britiſh Parliament, and the loweſt and
the moſt ignorant of the idle multitude, have exprefed their
abhorrence, the former by their votes, the latter by their peti-
tions, and both by their ſpeeches, of a practice, by which they
aſſerted that the Engliſh character had been ſtained with a
deeper die of infamy than that, which had blackened any for-
mer age or nation. A curſory examination of the ſtate of ana
cient flavery will perhaps enable the unprejudiced to form a
different concluſion.
The Helots of Sparta were reduced to fo inhuman a fervi-
tude, that ſome late writers have called in queſtion the veracity
of the accounts, which are left of their condition. (Voyage
d'Anacharſis, Chap. xlii, xlvii, notes.) Befides their labors
in huſbandry, in the courſe of which they were treated with a
barbarity unexperienced by the very beaſts of burden, they
were haraſſed with military ſervices. In the levies, their num-
bers were in the proportion of feven, to one citizen. In every
engagement they were placed in the front of the Lacedemonian
troops, and were certain of periſhing by the javelins of the
enemy, if they advanced to meet, or to make, the attack;
or by the fwords of the regular army in the rear, if they re-
treated. If, in ſpite of this conſtant expoſure to deſtruction,
their numbers multiplied, the Spartan youths were permitted
and encouraged at certain periods to iffue forth in military ac-
coutrements,
( 65 )
N
Theſe moral and religious bleſſings are
nobly feconded by the mild character, and
merciful
coutrements, to hunt theſe defenceleis wretches, draw them into
an ambuſcade, and maſſacre them in cold blood.
Even in Athens, where ſlaves were treated with lefs inhu.
manity, they found their condition fo intolerable, that twenty
thouſand of that denomination, who were employed in the ma-
nufactures, deſerted during the Peloponnnefian war. Thucyd.
1. vii.
According to a calculation made by Demetrius Phalereus in
the year 300 before Chriſt, there were in Attica 400,000
Naves. All thoſe, who were occupied in a menial trade, were
ranked under that deſcription.
The Roman flaves were often mutilated in their youth, and
abandoned in their old age. Some, whom age or infirmities
had rendered unfit for labor, were conveyed to a ſmall unin-
habited iſland on the Tiber, where they were left to periſh with
famine.
During the intervals of reſt, which nature required, they
were chained, and ſent, in large numbers, into dark ſubter-
raneous apartments, which are now ſhewn under the denomi-
nation of cento camere in the ruins of rich villas in Italy, and
are ſaid to have been uſed for priſons.
The food of flaves, according to Plautus, was ſalt and gar-
lick, with a little four; and their drink, vinegar and water.
But blows were frequently their food. They were uſually ad-
dreſſed by the appellations of flagritrita, umiir e, verberee,
ftatuæ, ferritribaces, &c. The inſtruments of their puniſhment
K
are
( 66 )
merciful diſpenſation of our laws. Our les
giſlators have not been dazzled by the falſe
glare
are deſcribed to have been ulmi, fimuli, laminæ, cruces, com-
pedés, nervi, catenæ, carceres, numellæ, pedicæ, boiæ, c.
They were frequently hung by the arms during a whole
night, and in this poſture ſuffered all the ſtripes, which caprice
or barbarity could ſuggeit. To prevent the writhing of their
bodies, and even the involuntary motion of their limbs, heavy
weights were tied to their feet. As their fleſh grew hardened
and callous by the blows, which they endured day and night,
invention was exerciſed for new engines of terror, and for
the refinements of pain. The moſt excruciating torments,
that their flesh could ſuffer, were often unſatisfactory to their
perſecutors; by an exceſs of cruelty, which defeated its own
porpuſes, their limbs were ſometimes broken.
Even women, forgetting the delicacy of their ſex, viewed
with a horrible pleaſure, or with careleſs indifference, the exe-
cution of theſe ſeverities.
Hic frangit ferulas, rubet ille flagello,
Ilic feuticâ : funt que tortoribus annua praſtant.
F'erberat ; atque obiter faciem linit, audit amicas,
Aut latum piétæ veftis conſiderat aurum,
Et codens longi repetit tranfa&ta diurni.
Et cedit, donec lallis cædentibus, Exi,
Intonet horrendum, jam cognitione pera&ta.
Juv. Sat. vi. 478.
A domeſtic ſlave, who had broken a glaſs, was ordered to be
thrown into a pond. Another was ſentenced to be crucified
for
( 67 )
!
glare of metaphyſical perfection, but guided
by the experience of truth, and the acknow-
ledged
for having killed a boar of an immenſe ſize, which he brought
to his maſter in expectation of a reward. Some were expoſed
to wild beaſts for inſtances of a want of dexterity, which might
be ſuppoſed only to have excited a ſmile.
Pedanius Secundus having been afraffinated in his houſe,'his
Naves, amounting to four hundred, were condemned to death.
It was enacted by the Sillanian decree of the ſenate that, when
a citizen was killed, all the ſlaves, who were under the ſame
roof, or who were within the poſible reach of his cries, ſhould
without diſtinction be condemned to die ; and that any man,
wboſe compaſſion gave refuge to thoſe, who could find the
means of eſcape, ſhould be included in the ſame puniſhment.
Digeft. 1. xxix, tit. 5.
Even the folace of their toils, and the temporary oblivion of
their miſeries, the endearing ſweets of conjugal affection, were
privileges, which ſome maſters would not permit their ſlaves la
enjoy, unleſs purchaſed at a great price.
Theſe inſtances of wanton cruelty appear too ihocking for
human nature to endure, or for man to inflict; but they are ex-
ceeded in atrocity by many others, which might be collected
from the Roman writers. It is not therefore wonderful that
many of theſe wretches with their own hands put an end to
a life, the prolongation of which could only lengthen their
agonies.
When Chriſtianity had taught mankind that all men were
equally the children of the fame God, the heirs of the ſame pro,
miſes, and the objects of the fame redemption, the ſlaves began
to
(: 68 )
ledged neceſſity of the redreſs of private
and public wrongs. Nor ſhould we paſs
unnoticed
to experience kindneſs and humanity. Pope Gregory the Great
afes theſe benevolent expreſſions in the manumition of his ſlaves:
Cum Redemptor nofter, totius conditor naturæ, ad hoc propitiatus
kumanam carnem voluerit 'allumere, ut divinitatis fuæ gratia,
diremto, quo tenebamur captivi, vinculo, priftina nos reftitueret
libertati ; falubriter agitur, lo homines, quos ab initio liberos.
natura protulit, et jus gentium jugo fubftituit libertatis, in ea',
quâ nati fuerant, manumittentis beneficio, libertate reddantur,
Potgieflerus, iv, 1.
Their condition was gradually meliorated, until at length,
after the removal of feudal oppreffion, civil ſervitude was abo-
lifhed in Europe. This abolition has introduced a general im-
provement in the ſtate of civilization. It has influenced even
architecture. Houſes are not now conſtructed with ſo many
contrivances, as were formerly neceſſary to prevent the licen-
tiouſneſs, or the flight, of laves; or with thoſe marks of fufpi.
cion, which have given to Spaniſh windows the name of zeloſias.
An examination of the ancient ſtate of ſlavery enables us to
judge how far that of negroes in the Weſt India Iſlands dea
ſerves equal reprobation. Yet let it not be imagined that it is
here meant to juſtify oppreſſion or to fanction injuſtice. The
negro demands the offices of humanity in the name of reaſon
and of religion,
Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus eſſes,
The laws lately enacted by the legiſlatures of the Weſt India
Ihands for the protection of ſlaves afford the pleaſing preſage,
that their ſecurity will be eſtabliſhed beyond the power of injuf-
tice,
?
I
1
( 69 )
unnoticed the obligation, which is due to
thoſe, who are charged with the adminiſtra-
tion of juſtice. Their candor, their exalted
!
tice, or the arbitrary demands of avarice. To this melioration
che wiſhes of the feeling heart, and the endeavours of the hu-
mane politician, may be directed with beneficial effects.
But the forcible prevention of a ſupply of ſlaves from the
coaſt of Africa is impracticable; and if it could be effected
immediately, or in a given fort period, the ruin of the iſlands
would probably be the conſequence. This important ſubject
demands a ſerious and impartial deliberation.
Οι γάρ κακοί γνώμαισι, ταγαθόν χερούν
*Εχοντες ουκ ήσασι, πριν τις εκζάλη.
Soph. 4j.xx, 979.
If the flow, but certain, progreſs of commercial revolutions is
fuffered to take it's courſe, the demand for importation will be
gradually diminiſhed. Many planters have at length found
that their humanity was perfectly conſiſtent with their intereſt
in encouraging the increaſe of indigenous negroes. The re-
moval of the ſuperſtition of mothers, and an attention to the
proper treatment of children, have, in ſome inſtances, produced
an adequate fupply; and unleſs a defire of hafty innovation,
and a ſophiſtical zeal of miſtaken humanity, ſhould change by
precipitate meafures the progreſſive good into an immediate
and permanent evil, all the effects, which the pureit wiſhes of
merciful Chriſtianity can anticipate, will be realized, without
a ſudden check to a profitable branch of naval commerce,
Without the violation of public faith and private property.
N
"
merit,
( 70 )
I
merit, it might be thought flattery to praiſe,
but it would be ingratitude not to acknow-
ledge.
SUCH is the progreſs, which we have
endeavoured to trace, in the Religion, the
Morality, and the Laws, of mankind. Such
was the darkneſs and diſorder, which pre-
vailed in the earlier periods of hiſtory.
And ſuch are the advantages, which we en-
joy. It remains to enquire, what reward we
Jhall give unto the Lord for all his benefits ?
The preſent imperfect diſcuſſion is not
meant to encourage a vain preſumption in
our ſuperior merits. We acknowledge that
we are not ſufficient of ourſelves : we know
that our fufficiency is of God, who worketh, in
us boih to will and to do, of his good pleaſure.
But we exhort you, we entſeat you, we
charge you, in the name of God, and in the
words of his Apoſtle, that you would go ont
unto perfeétion.
R
Let each of us endeavour, in his own
character, to forward that univerſal im-
provement
( 71 )
provement in religious perfe£lion, which
ſeems to be the intention of infinite wiſdoin ;
to extend the kingdom of God in the world;
and to emulate each other in the practice
of thoſe virtues, which Chriſt has recom-
mended by his precepts, and ſanctified by
his example. Let us, by a conſcientious
reverence of the laws of the land, and a
zealous wiſh to ſupport their authority, pre-
vent the occaſions of their ſevere exertion.
This difpofition will convert envy into ad-
miration, fraud into liberality, ſuſpicion into
candor, a fpirit of party* into patriotiſm,
reſentment into forgiveneſs, and the paſſions
of men into the virtues of angels. This
aſpiration after religious perficticir will gra-
dually withdraw us from an immoderate at-
tention to our terreſtrial intereſts, and their
conſequent troubles ; and put us in poſlef-
ſion of that ſerenity of temper, that patience
and reſignation, which will enable us to riſe
ſuperior to temptation, to fight the good fight,
* See Appendix, No. III, on the late alarming effects of
party ſpirit in this country,
and
( 72 )
and lay hold on eternal life. So when the
king and the ſlave, the judge and the pri-
foner, the faint and the ſinner, the ſhepherd
and his flock, ſhall ſtand together at the bar
of almighty juſtice, at the laſt great Aſſize,
which awaits all the generations of the
world, we may be united to that Saviour,
whoſe doctrine we have adorned, whoſe ex-
ample we have imitated, and whoſe mercies
we have implored. So ſhall we receive that
bleſſing, which has been the object of our
hopes, and the end of our virtues. So ſhall
we, to complete the climax of perfection, be
glorified in the regions of immortal happi-
neſs, and ſhine as the brightneſs of the firma-
ment, and as the ſtars, for ever and ever.
1
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RECOMMENDED IN
AS E R M O N,
Preached at the ASSIZES at READING,
BEFORE THE HONORABLE
MR. justice wiLSON, AND MR. JUSTICE GROSE,
MARCH 5, 1793.
B RICHARD VALPY, D.D. F.A.S.
of Pembroke College, Oxford: Rector of Stradiſhall, Suffolk;
and Maſter of Reading School.
1
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SUBMIT YOURSELVES TO EVERY ORDINANCE OF MAN
FOR THE LORD'S SAKE; WHETHER IT BE TO THE KING
AS SUPREME;
OR UNTO GOVERNORS, AS UNTO THEM THAT ARE SENT
BY HIM FOR THE PUNISHMENT OF EVIL DOERS.
IN
N the firſt ages of the world, a great
diverſity of diſpoſitions and qualities
was neceſſarily productive of great moral
diſtinctions. The materials of diſcord in-
creaſed with the diſſimilitude: and, however
this variety might be calculated by the
wiſe decrees of Providence to promote the
general good, a ſuperintending power be-
came neceſſary to direct theſe diſcordant
principles to the public welfare, and to en-
gage mankind to the reciprocal diſcharge
of thoſe offices, which render man valuable
to
( 78 )
to man, and form the firſt links in the chain
of ſociety. The frugal, the prudent, and
the induſtrious faw their exertions crowned
with proſperity, wealth, and influence; and
were placed in a ſtate of envied fuperiority
above men of a contrary diſpoſition. The
latter, ſtrangers to the habits of induſtry
and honeſt application, in proportion to the
imperfect, or corrupted ſtate of their in-
tellects, and deſirous of retaining an equa-
lity,* which ſeems to defeat the purpoſes of
nature, adopted the unjuſt methods of ac-
quiring property, from the inſidious mean-
neſs
* Never was a principle fo perverted in it's application, as
that of Equality. The original framers of the Declaration of
the Rights of Man in France only underſtood an equal partici-
pation of civil and political rights, “ that ſweet equality,” fays
the Hillorian of England, chap. xliv," and that happy fecurity,
by which the Engliſh are at preſent diſtinguiſhed above all
nations in the univerſe." But the infufficiency of that Theory,
which is not deduced from univerſal Practice, appears, in this
inſtance, in glaring colors. Abſtract reaſonings come not
within the compaſs of vulgar comprehenſion. It would have
been ſafer in the French Legiſlators to err on the ſide of
Daties: the nature of man is always ſuficiently prone to ſhake
off reftraint and affert independence.
Įt
( 79 )
neſs of a theft to the daring crime of
aſſaſſination. Whatever authority the laws
of nature might claim in the reaſon of any
individual to reſtrain him from acts of in-
juſtice; yet, without a ſtronger ſupport,
they could afford him but little protection
from the machinations of others. Re-
courſe muſt be had to a bulwark of ſuperior
ſtrength for the general ſecurity of life and
property. This bulwark is never obtained,
till the diſcordant intereſts of men are unit-
ed by one common bond of ſociety, and
cemented by a general law, deſtined to pro-
tect the rights and liberties* of individuals,
and to puniſh the commiſſion of injuries.
From
It would perhaps be thought unneceſſary in other circum-
ſtances, to recall to notice the following expreſſions of the Poet,
which have ſo much the appearance of a cruiſm :
Δοκεϊτ' άν οικείν γαίαν, ει πένης άπας
Λαός πολιτεύοιτο πλουσίων άτες και ;
Eurip. Æol.
But we recollect to have heard it frequently ſaid with great
ſeriouſneſs by French Democrates ; Le tems approche, où l'on
dira les ci-devant riches, comme on dit aujourd'hui les ci-devant
nobles.
* It is a maxim, which is generally affumed as the founda.
tion
( 80 )
>
From the earlieſt account of affociated
bodies, mankind have invariably adopted,
under different modifications, this method
of eſtabliſhing the principles, and of ſecur-
ing the welfare, of ſociety. We call Go-
vernment that delegated power, of which
it is a principal office to interpoſe it's autho-
rity between the peaceful citizen and the
daring aggreſſor. It either arrefts the hand
tion of every argument on the nature of Government, that man
lofes a portion of his liberty to ſecure the other, that in order
to acquire the bleſſings of civil, he has renounced the privileges
of natural, liberty.
The exiſtence of abſolute natural liberty ſuppoſes a ſtate fo
ſavage and ſo uncivilized, that no reaſoning can be built upon
it. We may, indeed, in tracing the hiſtory of mankind to it's
remotelt origin, as in the beginning of this diſcourſe, ſuppoſe a
ftate antecedent to any bond of union. But the enjoyment and
exiſtence of liberty ſeem to imply an idea of ſociety. In this
view of it's relative functions, liberty may be faid to conſiſt in
the right of doing every thing that does not injure another per-
fon ;-—a right; which is all that man can enjoy in the firſt ſtages
of ſociety ;-a right, which man ſtill enjoys in it's full extent
in the moſt refined periods of civilization, under the beſt conſti-
tuted, and the beſt adminiſtered, government, in which every
order of men receives an equal protection from the laws. Con:
fidered in this view, therefore, man, in ſubmitting to the civil
power, loſes no part of his liberty.
of
( 81 )
of the robber and the murderer by the fear
of civil puniſhment, more awful and exem-
plary than private vengeance; or it puniſhes
the commiſſion of the act with ſuch public
infamy, that every member of civil ſociety
muſt dread to perpetrate thoſe exceſſes,
which are familiar in a wild ſtate of nature.
If a well conſtituted government leaves no
ſanction for cool revenge,or ſelf-defence un-
neceſſarily cruel, it may be obſerved that
man is thus protected from the danger of
his own paſſions, as well as from thoſe of
his fellow creatures, and has reaſon to re-
joice in the perfect ſecurity, which he de-
rives from civil inſtitutions. It is a beauti-
.*
ful feature in the character of the law, that
it at once humanizes and protects thoſe,
who live under it's influence.
As the ſyſtem of nature proceeds in an
uniform courſe of order and harmony ſince
Αφοβία μεγίση, το φοβείσθαι τους νόμους.
Synæſius, Epift. 2.
M
the
( 82 )
the firſt impulſe given by the hand of the
great Creator, ſo the machine of ſociety, in
it's minuteſt details, will be directed by the
rules of beneficial regularity, if the firſt
{prings of government are ſet in motion by
a body of laws adapted to the nature and
genius of the people. If the laws, then,
are to be conſidered as an expreſſion of
the public mind, a majeſtic repreſentative
of national authority, and the moſt valuable
production of experience ; thoſe, who have
received the folemn truſt of their admi-
niſtration, will execute it with the ſtricteſt
regard to their ſpirit and direction*. So
cloſely connected is the great chain of their
operation, that if they are looſely admi-
}
* It is not the ſeverity, but the certainty, of puniſhment,
that checks the offender. The certainty of a moderate puniſh.
ment will make a ſtronger impreffion than the fear of a ſeverer
ſentence, with the hope of eſcaping the execution of it. Cer-
tain evils, however light, have the power of terrifying the mind;
while hope, which often operates when every other reſource
is in reality soft, removes the idea of the ſevereſt pain, and
encourages offences by inſtances of abſolute, or even partial
impunity.
niſtered
( 83 )
niſtered, the public tranquillity is endan-
gered in it's wideſt extent.* Lawleſs actions
aim a blow at the heart of ſociety, and the
commiſſion of them implies a mind unfit
for the participation of it's advantages.t-
Whenever, therefore, a folemn ſentence con-
ſigns an offender to puniſhment, the diſpen-
fer of the law will remember that mercy to
the individual muſt not infringe that juſtice,
I
* The laws are the foundation of public peace, the ſtrongeſt
ſupport of political authority, and the facred defence of civil
liberty. But the wiſeſt ſyſtems of policy are nugatory, and the
beſt conſtitution mere mockery, if the laws are not faithfully
adminiſtered. C'eſt beaucoup moins à leur conſtitution que les
Anglais doivent l'avantage d'une fureté plus grande dans les pro-
priétés, qu'à la vigueur avec laquelle les loix y font exécutées.
Si les propriétés font moins aſſurées en France, ce n'eſt point parce-
que le gouvernement y eft abfolu ; c'eft parcequ'il n'a pas toujours
veillé avec exactitude au maintien des loix, qu'il ne les a pas de-
fendues toujours avec aſſez de vigueur contre les prétentions ou les
entrepriſes des corps puiſans, qu'il ne s'eſt point afez occupé de
perfectionner les loix. Beaumarchais, note fur Voltaire, Penſées
fur l'adminiſtration publique, Tome xxix de fes Euvres, p. 28.
+ Senſible that the bleſſings of liberty can only be enjoyed
under a ſtrict adminiftation of juſtice, the builders of a public
goal inſcribed over it's portal : LIBERTAS.
which
( 84 )
which is inercy to the multitude. * He will
not fuffer the indulgence of preſent favor
to encourage future offences, leſt miſguided
clemency, in ſhielding the guilty, ſhould
expoſe the innocent. Juſtice is, after all,
but the inſtrument of Mercy ;--of Mercy,
Let it not be imagined, that it is the intention of the au-
thor to adopt the principle of the French conſtitution, which
tore the brighteſt jewel from the crown of the fovereign-the
privilege of MERCY. The philoſophical legiſlators of France
widely d-parted from the idea of their great maſter, Voltaire :
Un code criminel eſt abſolument nécefaire pour les citoyens & pour
les magiſtrats. Les citoyens alors n'auront jamais à ſe plaindre
des jugemens, & les magiſtrats n'auront point à craindre d'encourir
la haine ; car ce ne ſera pas leur volonté qui condamnera, ce ſera
la loi. Il faut une puiſſance pour juger par cette loi ſeule, et une
autre puiſſance pour faire grace. Euvres, Tome xxix, Idées
Republicaines, 41.
Theſe errors indeed, if we may be allowed the uſe of ſo mild
an appellation, pervaded cvery part of a conſtitution, which,
even in this country, has been admired and regretted, ſince
that climax of wickedneſs, obſervable in the progreſs of the
French Revolution, facrificed it at the ſhrine of Republicaniſm.
In the periodical ſucceſſion of legiſlators and of magiſtrates,
that fyftem neglected the leſſons of experience, and oppoſed
the maxims of antiquity. Οι μεν τοίνυν κατ' ενιαυτόν εις τας
αρχάς εισιόντες, πρότερον ιδιώται γίγνονlαι, πρίν αιθέθαι τι των
της πόλεως, και λαβείν εμπειρίαν αυτών. Οι δ' αεί τους αυτούς
πιςατούλες, ήν και την φύσιν καταδεετέραν έχωσιν, αλλ' ούν ταίς
ya umepíans mod tãy muy capotzovoir. Ilocratis Nicocles, II, 4.
in
( 85 )
in her ſublimeſt attitude, when ſhe diſpenſes
the bleſſings of ſecurity to mankind, and
guards the general welfare at the expenſe
of the pangs, that ſhe feels for the miſeries,
which offenders incur by their crimes. Man
muſt ſympathize with man in his diſtreſs;
and what form of diſtreſs can excite more
horror than that of the poor fupplicating
wretch, who ſtands with trembling heart to
hear the ſentence, which dooms him to an
exemplary death. His fault is for a mo-
ment forgotten; we conſider him only in his
relation of humanity, a miſerable prey to
the ſame temptations, from which the grace
of God has yet preſerved us : cold there-
fore and inſenſible would be our hearts, if
they did not feel for him in the hour of
calamity. Freed from the reftraints, which
opinions and principles lay upon our ſenſi-
bility, we diſregard ſocial diſtinctions, in the
warmth of our benevolence, and liſten only
to the voice of nature. As a ſpirit of re-
venge has no place in a court of judicature,
the paſſion of pity may be allowed to take
her courſe reſpecting the man, if it interfere
pot
1
( 86 )
pot with the judgment againſt the criminal.
But when Mercy conſiders him as a public
offender, ſhe forgets the individual; ſhe
takes a wider range of conſideration; ſhe
looks to the miſeries of lawleſs ſtates, and
demands protection in the name of ſociety.
With Truth for her attendant, according to
the beautiful imagery of the Pſalmiſt,* ſhe
folicits the aid of Juſtice for the maintenance
of Peace.
Juſtice diſdains the partialities of friend-
ſhip, reſiſts the force of inclination, and
even ſubdues the riſing ſenſe of pity. The
image, under which the ancients have
repre-
ſented her, intimates that law muſt be dif-
penſed with as much indifference to the
neareſt connexions, and the deareſt friend-
Ships, as if they were annihilated to the un-
derſtanding, and inviſible to the intellectual
eye. This inflexibility of judgment will
preſerve the rectitude of the public mind,
attach it to the protecting power, and pro-
Pfalm 1xxxv, v. 10.
mote
( 87 )
mote external reſpect and internal happi-
neſs, more effectually than the pomp of
camps, or the blaze of arms.
If the preſent times admitted only imagi-
nary horrors, it would perhaps be difficult
to introduce the ſuppoſition of a ſtate, in
which men were left to their natural ſenſe
of juſtice, without the curb of civil inſtitu-
tions to check the luxuriance of their
appe-
tites.* Brutal force and low artifice, inor-
dinate paſſion and all-fufficient vanity, by
turns predominating, would, in this caſe,
fink human life into a ſtate of inſecurity,
oppreſs it with debaſing terrors, and
prevent
the exiſtence of thoſe arts and enjoyments,
which form the prime diſtinction, and the
rational pleaſures, of man. Then would be
proved how little the boaſted light of na-
ture, the ſole object of worſhip to modern
* To give the moſt forcible proof of the beneficial effects
of laws, the Perſians, at the death of a king, ſuffered five days
to elapſe without the adminiſtration of jultice. (Serinus, in
Stobao, xlii.)
Ile diem fine foli ferunt. Ovid. Met. I. ii, 331.
Phila
( 88 )
Philoſophers, could avail to diſperſe the
darkneſs of the wild. Delicacy of fenti-
ment, and gentleneſs of manners; would
only be the mark of envy, and the unreſiſta
ing prey of hatred and perſecution. In tliis
ſtate of general depravity, when the judg-
ment and the heart of the uninſtructed**
multitude were fhut, by the arts of the fac-
tious and turbulent, againſt the admiſſion
of religious principles, virtue and unſuſpect-
ing innocence would only open a path to
the torture of martyrdom. Would to hea-
* One of the cauſes of no ſmall magnitude, which have
broken the links of ſociety in France, is the want of education
in the lower ranks of people. Ignorance encreaſes their natu-
ral ferocity, and becomes the mover of anarchy, violence and
public diſorder. In times of commotion, the people, having
10 principle but that of pride, which had been obtructed by
their moral inferiority, are incapable of diſcovering preſent mi-
fery and future ſlavery in diſobedience to the laws, which they
conſider only as tyrannical reſtraints, impoſed by armed power
upon weak and unarmed obedience. Unable to diſtinguiſh the
imperfection attached to the nature of things, from the diſorders
produced by the faults of human conduct, they take fire at
every breath of oppoſition to their willies; they ravage the
country that nouriſhes, the authority that protects, and the
power that defends, them.
ven
( 89 )
ven that inſtances of theſe bloody deeds ex-
iſed only in imagination, or were confined
to the favage manners of the early periods
of the world! Would to God that the
ſympathy of the feeling heart, and the cha-
rity of the benevolent mind, were not, in
the preſent ſtate of civilization, called forth
to ſooth and to relieve the helpleſs victims
of lawleſs barbarity, -many of whom now
appear before
ſupplicating that pro-
you, *
* Theſe words were introduced in this place by the Preacher,
who obferved ſeveral emigrants in the church. A few days be-
fore the Aſſizes, many of thoſe unfortunate exiles had arrived
in Reading, in conſequence of a Royal Prociamation, which
directed them to retire within fifty miles of the Metropolis.
Symptoms of diſaffection to them having appeared in ſome of
the populace, who did not at firſt diftinguiſh them from the
enemies of this, and of all civilized countries, the Magiſtrates
and principal inhabitants of the town aſſociated for their pro-
tection, and formed a committee to guard them froin injury,
and to ſettle them in the inoit comfortable and aconomical
manner. A hand-bill was iſſued to explain their situation and
the reaſons of their flight from their diltracted coumtry. This
had the deſired effect, and they were treated with reſpect and
attention by all ranks of people.
It ought to be added, to the praiſe of adminiſtration, that
meaſures were on the point of being taken, had the benevolent
intentions of the principal inhabitants been defeated, to afford
an efectual protection to the unhappy fugitives.
N
tection,
(go)
tection, which their own country denies,
and conjuring you in the name of their Sa-
viour and your Saviour, of their God and
your God, that, as they are ſtrangers, you
would take them in.
Far different is the lot of a country like
this, where the laws are adminiſtered under
the influence of the pureſt Religion ; where
the hand of heavenly truth has engraved on
the tables of the national heart the indelible
lines of diſtinction in moral conduct; where
the King is proud to acknowledge his ſub-
miſſion to the laws of the land;* where every
* La première loi du Souverain eſt de les obſerver toutes. IL
a lui-méme deux souverains, Dieu & la Loi. Memoires de Sully.
Si quid injungere inferiori velis, priùs in te, ac tuos recipias
necefle eft, fi ipfe jus ftatueris, quo faciliùs omnes obedientes
babcas. Tit. Liv.
In commune jubes fi quid, cenfeſque tenendum,
Primus juffa fubi, tuus obfervantior æqui
Fit populus, nec ferre negat cùm viderit ipſum
Auctorem parere fibi ; componitur orbis
Regis ad exemplum ; nec fic infle&tere fenfus
Humanos ediéta valent, ut vita regentis :
Mobile mutatur femper cum principe vulgus.
Claudian, de 4. Hon. Conful.
individual
( 91 )
individual has cauſe to thank God, without
the imputation of Phariſaical pride, that in
his civil capacity he is not as other inei are ;
where, under a ſenſe of gratitude, the gene-
rous mind will ſhower the bleſſings of be-
neficence, which a rewarding Providence
will collect at laſt into a never-failing ſtream
of private happineſs.
Thus Society appears to be a fabric el-
ſential to the protection, the comfort, and
the dignity of man; and Law the foun-
dation, that ſupports this glorious edifice.
It remains for the Preacher to endeavour,
as a deduction from theſe principles, to per-
ſuade thoſe, whoſe moral and political tenets
are ſtill wavering, that their deareſt intereſts
demand a ſubmiſſion to the laws of their
country.
IF ever the bulwark of human ſecurity
was ſo conſtructed as to demand the reve-
rence and obedience of thoſe, whom it pro-
tects, this claim has the Britiſh conſtitution.
It has been formed with the moſt deli-
berate
( 92 )
berate and profound wiſdom; it is compre-
henſive in all the particulars of protection,
as the guardian of our lives, liberties and
properties. * It has been ellabliſhed by
genius, and ſecured by virtue. It delcends
endeared to us as the legacy of heroic an-
ceſtors. Erected gradually, it obtained due
time to ſettle itſelf.+ Under improvements
ſtill continued in all it's parts, adapted
to
* Ceux qui, après avoir étudié la nature du gouvernement
d'Angleterre, en examineront les effets, c'eft-à-dire, en viendront
à la meillcure preuve que, dans des choſes de ce genre, on puiſſe
adopter, avoueront qu'il a, par deſus tous les gouvernemens qui
nous font connus, trois avantages eſſentiels : qu'il protége le
plus ſûrement ;--qu'il exige les plus petits facrifices ;-
met
qu'il eſt le plus ſuſceptible de perfeétion.
Encyclopédie Méthodique, Economie Politique, Tome I,
article Angleterre.
It is highly flattering to an Engliſhman to ſee this homage
paid to the conſtitution of his country, in that immenſe
repo-
fitory of human knowledge ; in that aftoniſhing work, which
ſeems to fix the boundary of the powers of man; in that Ency-
clopédie, of which the interruption is not the leaſt evil of the
French Revolution.
* Il n'y a que le tems & une longue expérience, qui puiſſent
remédier à ce qu'il y a de defectueux dans les coutumes d'un état,
dont la forme eſt decidée, & ce doit toujours être ſur le plan de
la première conſtitution. Memoires de Sully, livre vi.
the
( 93 )
!
the ſtill varying nature of circumſtances,
it experiences no neglect, and will ſuffer no
decay. Equally the work of foreſight and
experience, it has acquired ſo firm a con-
ſiſtency, that we may reſt in the aſſurance
that it is alike invulnerable by the feditious
attacks of democratical diſcontent, and by
the flow and ſecret artifices of arbitrary
power. It has derived nothing, for nothing
valuable could be derived, from the chime-
rical reveries of metaphyſical vanity. To
correct the imperfections inſeparable from
every work of man, it has called in to it's
aid the commands and inſtitutes of God
himſelf: that the ſanctions of divine and hu-
man laws being united, the very ſprings of
action might be influenced, and the con-
ſcience, which cannot be controlled by mere
human inſtitutions, be effectually reſtrained;
and thus not only every outward act of dif-
obedience might be repreſſed, but the evil
diſpoſitions of the mind, that check the or-
der and perfection of ſociety. On this union
are founded the laws of our country : from
this they derive a rule of conduct fo favor-
able
( 94 )
able to our intereſts in time and in eternity,
that the annals of mankind do not afford a
more conſummate object of regard and obe-
dience, of admiration and gratitude. Not
to watch this ſacred fire, is a ſordid negli-
gence, which precedes the downfal of our
virtue, our renown, and felicity; a negli-
gence, which buries us in the depth of
anarchy and ruin. If therefore we wiſh to
preſerve the Peace of our Jeruſalem, and
proſper in the love of our country; if we
wiſh to avoid the horrors, of fedition and
diſcord, which have plunged neighbouring
nations in diſtreſs, and will ſtill, it is to be
feared, continue to enlarge the inroads of
violence and deſolation; for our brethren
and companions' Sakes, we will ſeek to do our
country good.* We will oppoſe the ene-
mies of it's proſperity at the clear call of
duty: we will conſult it's beſt intereſts by that
/
Υπέρ αυτών των φίλων δε και εταίρων, εις την πόλιν και
πολίτας μακρά άριςος, ότις τρό τα ολυμπιάσι, και απάντων αγώνων
πολεμικών τε και ειρηνικών, νικάν δέξαιτ' άν δόξη υπηρεσίας των
οικονόμων» Plato de Legibus, lib. v.
ſteady
}
( 95 )
ſteady attention to the public tranquillity,
from which ariſe thoſe harmonious mea-
ſures, thoſe diverſified bleſſings, that nati-
onal wealth and happineſs, which are the
chief ends of well regulated ſociety reſpect-
ing time, and are moſt favorable to the
innocence of man in his probationary paſ-
ſage to eternity.
>
YOUR acquaintance with the Scriptures
will anticipate thoſe arguments of the Apof-
tles, which I might urge to your conſidera-
tion. You will naturally recollect the aſ-
ſurance of St. Paul, that the ſword of the
Magiſtrate is intended as a terror to evil works,
and that the Power is the Miniſter of God for
good. If you think it of importance to con-
ſider what you muſt do in this life, to be ſaved
in the next, you will ſubmit yourſelves to every
ordinance of man, for the Lord's ſake ; if you
think it of importance to fear God, you will
honor the King.* If you wiſh to prove that you
are
* The public character of the King, who is at once the head,
and the repreſentative, of the Conſtitution, claims the regard
and the reverence of thoſe, who regard and revere that Contti-
tution.
( 96 )
are good Chriſtians, you will ſhew the ſinceri-
ty of your profeſſions, by proving, as a neceſſa-
ry conſequence, that you are good Subjects.*
Without
tution. It
It may be curious at this period to obſerve the contraſt
between the affection, which the French entertained for their
King in the times of gallant atchievements, and their proſent
malignant oppoſition to every thing, that bears the epithet of
Royal of this patriotic affection Dominique de Vic may be
remembered as an endearing inſtance.
He was Governor of Amiens, of Calais, and Vice Admiral
of France. He was as remarkable for his own talents and vir-
tues, as for the protection, which he gave to the learned and
the virtuous. In the midſt of a military career, which had
produced ſignal advantages to his country, and laurels to his
King, he received ir. his leg a wound, which was attended with
excruciating and incurable pains, and forced him to retire to
his country feat in Guienne.
In this retirement he received intelligence of the death of
Henry III, and of the embarraſſing fituation of Henry IV, to
whom his ſkill and valor could not but be of fingular advantage
He ordered his leg to be cut off, fold his eſtate for the ſupply of
his Prince's wants, fought by his ſide at the battle of Ivry, wliere
he diſtinguiſhed himſelf in fo ſignal a manner, that the King's
gratitude could only be equalled by his own diſintereſtedneſs.
Soon after the aſſaſſination of this excellent Monarch, Do.
minique de Vic was brought by accident into the ſtreet de la
Féronnerie, to the ſpot, where the crime had been committed.
His ſenſations over powered his faculties. He fell, and expired.
* Tertullian certifies the ſcrupulous attention of the Chriſ-
tians
( 97 )
1
Without this principle, man becomes the
ſlave of paſſion, ſcattering arrows in the
dark, and ſparks of fire on a maſs of in-
flammable materials. Believing this day to
be his all, he wildly makes it a day of
forms. Unawed by the fear of God into
benevolence and juſtice, he loſes himſelf in
the maze of ſelfiſhneſs. He calls the ini:
quitous to his ſtandard, to conſpire againſt
that eſtabliſhed order, and thoſe facred de-
crees, which are the deareſt bequeſts of pre-
ceding ages. When irreligion has opened
it's aſylum; and promiſes a harbour for the
moſt abandoned of mankind, it becomes the
regions of peace to tremble for their fecu-
rity. Iniquity has of late been emboldened
by the ſight of iniquity, and confederation
has ſhewn the wicked their ſtrength. The
advocate of fedition varnilles his bad cauſe
by a plauſible miſapplication of a few un-
controvertible truths, and many ſpecious
?
tians in ſubſcribing to every civil and financial regulation,
while the Pagans exerted all their ingenuity in evading them.
fjologi c. 12.
O
errors,
ܢܝ
( 98 )
1
crrors, to harden the wicked, to dupe the
vain, and allure the ignorant. He well knows
that the envious and indigent will crowd in
ſwarms about him, who holds out the pro-
miſe of plunder to wanton rapacity, and of
elevation to the low by the depreſſion of the
exalted. Appeals made to the ignorant on
the ſubject of government eaſily bribe them
to ſedition by perſuading them that they are
adequate to the taſk of legillation : an office
readily aſſumed by him, whoſe pride is un-
checked by knowledge, who is equally ready
to bring the Heretic to the ſtake, or the
Monarch to the block; to mow down the
nobleſt of men with the ſcythe of death, and
to ſweep away their faireſt works with the be-
Som of deſtruction. The children of ignorance
are the rude inſtruments of theſe tremendous
innovations, which tear empires from their
bafe, and for the gratification of preſent paſ-
ſion perpetuate far and wide to future
ages
that inſecurity of property, which diſquali-
fies man for the enjoyment and cultivation
of life,
If
( 99 )
If ever public ſpirit was a duty, the pre-
ſent awful ſtate of Europe renders it doubly
ſo. Nothing but the deſtroyer of candor, ą
ſpirit of party; nothing but the bane of
manly ſentiment, diſcontented jealouſy; no-
thing but the parent of ſelfiſhneſs, infidelity;
could countenance the levelling efforts of
the day, at a time when our natural and
civil ſtrength, by the bleſſings of our conſtitu-
tion, is the wonder of the earth. Yet if
God be not with us, by the revived effect of
his law upon our hearts, this ſun will be
eclipſed; this temple will, like the fabric of
conſular Rome, be levelled with the ground.
Public reſolutions and aſſociations, however
patriotically intended to remind us of our
danger and of our duty ; laws and civil con-
ſtitutions, though, like ours, the fruit of the
pureſt wiſdom and the wideſt experience;
are mere fhadows, if the imparted laws and
conſtitutions of Heaven are not received,
obeyed, and reverenced, by man.
you infringe the
O SINNERS! whether
laws of your country by the violence of
open
( 100 )
however you
ôpén tranſgreſſion, or ſeditiouſly undermine
the public reverence for eſtabliſhed order;
and
promote thoſe revolutions, which ſhake
ſociety to it's foundation
may evade the laws of man upon earth, re-
member that your exiſtence will not be
cloſed in the grave! The God of love and
benevolence, who has endowed us with the
ſocial ſenſibilities of the heart, will vindicate
his gracious purpoſes by the puniſhment of
offences committed again't the good of ſo-
ciety. The time will come, when the gather-
ed clouds of heavenly juſtice will not be dif-
pelled by the melting rays of mercy; when
the maſk of hypocriſy ſhall fall; when the
proud heart of preſumption ſhall firk; when
what is now ſcarce whiſpered by the unheed-
ed murmurs of conſcience will be founded by
the trump of the archangel to the remoteſt
regions of the earth. Oh, if you now ſhud-
der with horror at the thoughts of receiving,
in a court of juſtice, a ſentence, which dif-
ſolves the endearing ties of life; what ima-
gination can conceive the ſituation of the
daring ſinner, reluctantly recalled into ex'-
iſtence
Love
1
( 101 )
iſtence at the ſecond appearance of the Lord
Jeſus, when he comes, in the glory of his
Father, to judge the quick and the dead, when
puniſhment ſhall unfold itſelf in all the
ſtrength of inſulted Omnipotence !
The goodneſs of Providence is equally
manifeſt in the precepts, that we receive
from the mouth of divine inſpiration, and in
all the things, that happen unto us for enfium-
ples. Human inſtitutions, beſides their pre-
fent utility, may operate for our admonition,
that we may prepare ourſelves for that time;
when the ends of the world ſhall come. It can-
not therefore be too ſeriouſly recommended
to thoſe, who attend on the tranſactions of a
folemn Allize, not to conŲder it as a common
ſubject of idle curioſity ; but, while your
hearts are pathetically intereſted in the ſitu-
ation of the poor priſoners, let your at-
tention be powerfully engaged by the af-
fecling fimilarity of circumſtances with
* The hint of this firnilarity, and of the plan of the begin-
ning of the diſcourſe, was taken from an afſize Sermon preached
many years ago in a diſtant county.
P
the
( 102 )
the awful trial of all the aſſembled nations
of the earth.
A
!
When you behold the priſoner at the bar,
ſhould you ſuppoſe him conſcious of his
guilt, and perceive his terrifying apprehen-
fion of his ſentence; think on the agonies
of an accuſing conſcience, which you will
feel in the day of the Lord, if you
have
diſobeyed the laws of your God, and the
laws of your country. He may ſtill en-
tertain ſome hopes of eſcaping legal convic-
tion from the defect of evidence; nor will he
deſpair of a reprieve 'till the inſtrument of
death bids him hope no more. But how
Shall you eſcape the ſentence of an all-ſeeing
and almighty judge, when “ you are your-
ſelves compelled, even to the teeth and fore-
head of your faults, to give in evidence !"
If he receives from his injured country,
through the mouth of her Magiſtrate, the
irrevocable ſentence of execution, and you
behold him, from the bloom and vigor of
youth, changed in a moment to the paleneſs
of declining age; O think on the ſoul of the
poor
ܐܼ
( 103 )
but more par-
poor ſufferer, when it hovers trembling on
the
verge
of eternal death, ſhould he expire -
in hardened impenitence:
ticularly, reflect on the ſtate of your own, if
your names are not found written in the
book of life in large characters of mercy and
of grace! Induced by preſent admonitions
and examples, let us entreat the aſliſtance of
the Holy Spirit ſo to influence our conduct,
that our names may be written and flouriſh
there long after the reign of time, and the
deſtruction of our ſtormy abode. While we
prudently anticipate the folemnities of the
final judgment, let us behold with the
eyes
of triumphant faith, and with the feelings of
humble gratitude, our gracious advocate,
Jeſus Chriſt, interceding for us, and inter-
poſing his bleeding body between offended
God and repentant ſinners. Taught by the
recorded word and example of this bleſſed
Redeemer, we ſhall form a profitable, though
imperfect image of the temples of the bleſt,
of that harmonious tranquillity, of thoſe
Seraphic enjoyments, which conſtitute and
adorn the Heavens. Thus having fubmitted
ourſelves
f
( 104 )
ourfelves to every ordinance of man for the
Lord's ſake, we may by the communication
of patriotiſm render our country the perfec-
tion of beauty, and the joy of the whole earth,
Having ſubmitted ourſelves to every
orainance
of the Lord, for the ſake of our future hap-
pineſs, for our brethren and companions' ſikes,
be conducted by that merciful Sa-
viour, who with the pureſt ſentiments of
patriotiſm wept over the impending deſola-
tion of his country, to the general aſſembly
and church of the holy patriots, that are
written in heaven, to the Spirits of juſt men
made perfc&t, to a city, which hath everlaſting
foundations, whoſe builder and maker is God?
we may
1
/
}
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
No. 1.
ON THE CAUSES, WHICH WILL PREVENT THE ESTAB-
LISHMENT OF A REPUBLIC IN FRANCE.
Curâ Natura potentior omni. Jur.
1
THE different forms of government, ftated by poli-
preponderating influence of one over the other, into fo
great a variety, that it is doubted whether two countries,
though their civil eſtabliſhment originated in the ſame
model, have both retained the ſame conftitution Some
have aſſerted that this difference was occaſioned by mo-
ral, others by natural, caufes. It has been conſidered
as the effect of climate, of ſoil, of ſituation, of manners,
of religion, of choice, or of chance:
It
3
106
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
It is not always eaſy to diſtinguiſh clearly between
cauſes and effects. This difficulty is perhaps no where
elſe more viſible than in the ſubject under our conſidera-
tion. It would be an arduous undertaking to confute
the miſtakes, and to reconcile the differences, of political
writers and hiſtorians, who have entered this wide field
of inquiry. It will be ſufficient, for the preſent purpoſe,
to make a few general obſervations, which may lead to
the concluſion that France cannot exiſt in a Democratical
form of Government.
Proportioned to the implicit deference, which was for-
merly paid to the deciſions of Monteſquieu, has been, ſince
the time of Voltaire, the oppoſition maintained againſt
them. It muſt indeed be confeffed, that, among the ex-
cellencies of this great writer, the unprejudiced reader
cannot but lament that he ſo frequently draws general
concluſions from facts communicated by travellers of
doubtful authority. Among theſe may be reckoned the
univerſal effects, which he attributes to the influence
of Climate.* But ſubſequent writers have fallen into
the oppoſite error, in their undiſcriminating purſuit of
novelty. The force of Climate has been univerſally
acknowledged. Sicut in frugibus pecudibuſque, non tantùm
* Still more confident is the aſſertion of Rouſſeau. Quand
tout le midi ſerait couvert de Républiques, et tout le nord d'états
deſpotiques, il n'en ferait pas moins vrai que par l'effet du climat
le deſpotiſme convient aux pays chauds, la barbarie aux pays froids,
& la bonne politique aux régions intermédiaires. Contrat Social,
1. jii, c. 7.
Femina
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
107
Jemina ad fervandam indolem valent, quantùm terræ proprietas
cælique, ſub quo aluntur, mutat. Macedones, qui Alexan .
driam in Ægypto, qui Seleuciam ac Babyloniam, quique alias
Sparſas per orbem terrarum colonias habent, in Syros, Parthos,
Ægyptios degenerârunt. * The reſtleſs ambition of the
Aſſyrians, the vi&tories of the Perſians, and the commercial
activity of the Phænicians, which may be referred to pe-
culiar circumſtances, are not ſufficient to invalidate che
facts quoted by Monteſquieu, to prove the weakneſs of
that part of the world, which has been ſucceffively con-
quered by the Scythians, the Medes, the Perſians, the
Greeks, the Arabians, the Turks, and the Tartars.
Equally enervated in the qualities of the body and of
| the mind, the Aſiatics are incapable of great exertions.
They are in general ſo depreſſed by inactivity, that their
laws, cuſtoms and manners experience no ſenſible change
during ſeveral centuries. Theſe being the characteriſtics
of nations oppreſſed by the torrid heat of the ſun,mexcept
in particular caſes, which do not more forcibly militate
againſt the general obſervation, than particular currents
of the ſea oppoſe the general do&rine of the tides,auno
inconſiderable ſtreſs muſt be laid upon the force of cli-
mate. Even Religion is not exempt from this infuence.
The ſouthern parts of Europe, from an exquiſite ſenſi-
bility, abandoned themſelves to ſuperſtition. They affi-
milated their opinions to their paflions. Their morals
became relaxed, and a pompous ceremonial ſuperſeded
the ſentiments of piety. The Northern nations, naturally
* Liy. 1. xxxviü, c. 17.
gloomy
108
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
1
gloomy and fond of meditation, adopted more rigid prin-
ciples. * Religious rites have been often framed in con-
formity to ſome peculiarities of natural ſituation. The
Jewiſh legiſlator would not have forbidden the uſe of
pork in England. Mahomet would have allowed wine
in France. If the temple of Jupiter Amnon had not
been placed amidſt the burning ſands of Africa, it would
have been lawful to enter it with ſhoes and ſandals. The
fun, the object of admiration and homage in Perſia, was
deteſted in Æthiopia as an evil being and a ſcorching
tyrant.
A ftill higher cauſe of the moral difference of men may
be traced to their neceſſities. In this view, the nature
of the ſoil has a manifeſt influence on human induſtry.
A difficulty of procuring the means of ſubſiſtence necef-
farily creates activity; whilft indolence will be the cha-
racter of that people, to whom nature has been laviſh of
her productions. Nations of conquerors have generally
iſſued from countries barren in their ſoil, and difficult in
their culture; they have found an eaſy prey in rich and
fruitful provinces. In purſuance of this progreſs, the
former have gradually funk into that effeminacy, which
had attracted their invaíon, and facilitated their ſucceſs.
Such was the change experienced by the followers of
Cyrus on the fruitful banks of the Euphrates ; by thofe
of Alexander in the rich fields of Aſia ; by the Tartars
of Gengis Khân in China and in Bengal; and by the
* De la Félicité publique, Sect. III, c. iv.
Arabians
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
P N
109
Arabians in Egypt.* Thus the Bæotians, who inhabited
à fertile country, were remarked for their luxury. Poly-
bius repreſents them as indulging their appetites in more
than thirty feaſts every month. The Athenians were fo-
ber and temperate, qualities derived from the ſterility of
Attica.† The difference between the manners of the con-
tiguous nations of Media and of Perſia may be traced to
the ſame principle. The rich plains of the former afforded
the enjoyment of every luxury. The rugged and moun-
tainous foil of the latter precluded the uſe of ſome of the
conveniences of life.f From the ſame caufes it follows
that large countries are ſubject to abſolute monarchs.
Thus in Afia, where large plains and few rivers prevent
natural diviſions, great empires are eaſily formed. It is
indeed impoſſible to fix a boundary to the influence of
natural cauſes. Even the burial of the dead is regulated
by them.
The ancient cuſtom of reducing the bo-
dies to aſhes has been diſcontinued, becauſe population
and manufactures have diminiſhed the foreſts of Europe.
In the fecond century, the Romans ſaw the neceſſity of
changing the funeral piles into burying grounds, and to
abandon the remains of their departed friends to worms
and putrefaction. S
1
* Volney, Voyage en Syrie &* en Egypte, chap. xl.
+ Monteſquieu, de l'eſprit des loix, 1. xviii, chap. I.
| Xenoph. Cyrop 1. 1.
$ De Pauw, Recherches ſur les Américains, vol. 1. p. 166.
Q
Whether
I10
A P P E N D I X.
Whether it is actuated by the preceding cauſes, or
whether it exerts a primary influence, the national cha-
racier has an irreſiſtible claim to the confideration of
politicians. Solcn being aſked whether he had given
the beſt laws to the Athenians, replied that he had given
them thoſe, which were beſt adapted to their fituation.
Different nations ſeem indeed formed for different civil
and political eſtabliſhments. The hiſtory of Africa af-
fords a perpetual ſcene of ſervitude and abaſement, which
may indeed be referred to the awful ſentence pronounced
on the poſterity of Canaan, and which ought to con-
vince the unbeliever, that the Almighty diſpoſer of hu-
nian events has never left himſelf without a witneſs.
Figypt, though celebrated in profane and ſacred records,
has been ſucceſſively conquered by the Perſians, the
Greeks, the Romans, and is now groaning under Turkiſh
deſpotiſm. Carthage, having, for a ſhort time, rivalled
the power of Rome, was at laſt razed to the ground.
The Moors obtained a ſettlement in Europe, but were
finally expelled by the Spaniards, who retained an en-
vied poflemon of the fortreſſes of Ceuta and Oran. It is
not neceſary to awaken the reader's feelings on the ſer-
vitude of the miſerable negroes.
r
beteren
Voltaire * conſiders Government as the cauſe of
cvery variety obſervable in different nations. It is
per-
haps more natuml to conſider Government as an effect
than a cauſe. The changes of government in Athens
* Dict. Philof. article climat,
have
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
III
have not altered the nature of the people. During the
times of the republic, the Athenians are repreſented by
Demofthenes as fond of novelty. Under the Roman
yoke St. Paul characteriſes them by the fame features ;
and modern travellers aflure us that their character is by
no means altered in the preſent times.
Darius is ſaid to have iflued thoſe decrees in vain, by
which fome Indian tribes were forbidden to eat their
dead parents, and to have been unable to efabliſh among
them a different mode of burial.
If Italy is not ſo great, or fo free, as it was in ancient
times, it is owing to accidental cauſes; to the victorious
irruptions of the innumerable hordes of barbarians; and
to it's preſent diviſion into many ſmall and inconſiderable
ſtates. It ſhould be observed that Italy is a ſubject of
perpetual miſrepreſentation : it is repreſented only as
the ſeat of oppreſſion and ſuperſtition; it is not re-
collected that Italy is the reſtorer of literature and
of arts, and that it his loſt little of that intellectual
capacity, which once effected it's fuperiority over other
nations; therefore ſhould it ever be united under one
head, it is as difficult to calculate, as it would be pre-
fumptuous to circumſcribe by thought, it's future great-
nefs. Even now, on many occafions, the former cha-
racteriſtics of mind appear, although they are directed
to new objects. Religious enthuſiaſm is capable of as
great exertions as the enthuſiaſm of liberty. The late
uncontrollable ſpirit of the preſent Romans againſt the
French
112
A P P E N D I X.
French Republicans gave a ſtrong ſymptom of the energy,
which can yet animate the ancient conquerors of the
world.
If the difference of government created a proportionate
difference in nations, every fpecies of variety would be
obſerved in Italy.
But to moral as well as phyſical cauſes muſt be attri-
buted the difference of governments. This problem
has never been properly folved, becauſe this variety of
effects has been referred by ſyſtematical writers to one
particular cauſe alone. The character of a people is
antecedent to laws: hence ariſes the diverſity of civil
and political inſtitutions. It would be a curious
queſtion to decide, what muſt be the government of a
nation, under a given variety of circumſtances; and
what political changes ought to take place in conſe-
quence of certain given changes in a particular country,
The conſtitution of a people cannot wiſely originate
in mere arbitrary choice. A free government can be
eſtabliſhed only in a country prepared by internal cir-
cumitances to receive it. The wretched flaves of Turkey
have often deſtroyed a tyrant, but the annihilation of
tyranny has never occupied their thoughts. The ſame
people, that depoſed a Nero, removed a Galba.
A nation, which is rendered difficult of acceſs by ſeas
or mountains, that has a ſmall tract of country to de-
fend, may aſſume a popular government.
An
A P P E N D I X.
I13
An extenſive country, expoſed in ſeveral parts of it's
frontiers, that muſt perpetually guard itſelf againſt foreign
attacks, that is occaſionally obliged to ſend larse forces
to a great diſtance, and requires fecrecy in deſign and
energy in execution, cannot be ſafe but under a monar-
chical government.
Rome could not long exiſ as a republic after the ex-
tenſion of it's conqueſts beyond Italy. I hc fubmiffion
of the Roman empire to one chief is not to be attributed
to the arlifice of Sylla, or the bravery of Cæſar, but to
circumitances peculiarly a 'apted to admit their reſpe Etive
influence. When a period was ſet to the progreſs of it's
dominion, when it became the chief object of policy to
act on the defenſive, a change of yovernment became
necellary.
If a popular government is admitted cligible in ſome
Situations, à mixed Republic, which gradually becomes
ariſtocratical, is intended to be underſtood. A pure De-
mocracy is as contrary to experience as it is inſulting to
common ſenſe. Solon ſeems to have had in view rather
to dilluade Filiftratus froin perfevering in his deſigns, than
to eſtabliſh a political axiom, when he ſaid that a King
would acquire the bcit title to celebrity, who changed a
Kingdom into a Democracy. Rouſteau bas obſerved
that none but a fociety of Gods can exiſt in a democra-
tical ftatc. This opinion has raiſed him a hoſt of op-
38
* Plutarch. in Sympofio.
ponents;
1
114
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
ponents; but recent facts have given it a high rank among
the maxims of wiſdom fanctioned by experience. It is
fufficient to obſerve that, in a Democracy, the mob pro-
fcribes with a blind fury the innocent and guilty; in-
voives in one common ruin the convicted offender, and
the honeit man, who is ſuſpected ; and in the imperious
courſe of puniſhment takes no compaflionate account of
that indiſcretion, which amounts not to guilt, and of that
ignorance, which cannot incur it. *
A ſtate of equality
is a ſtate of perpetual jealouſy. The people cannot even
fuffer the authority, which they delegate; they deliberate
for the legiſlative, and act for the executive power.
Experience proves that all democratical ſyſtems are
dangerous and fatal, eſpecially when introduced among
nations familiarized by long habit to the forms of a mo-
narchy. The ſovereignty of the people tends to anar-
chy, and the deſtruction of perſonal liberty. Like a body
in motion, popular independence acquires a force, which
in proportion to the quantity of matter it contains, and
to the velocity with which it is moved, is uniformly ac-
celerated, 'till it has reached it's maximum; then de-
ſtroys itſelf with a ſtill more aſtoniſhing celerity.
It is likewiſe worthy of obſervation that the liberty
of enjoying public and perſonal property decreaſes in
proportion to the increaſe of political liberty, of the im-
* Οσις δε είλετο εν δημοκραλουμένη πόλει οικείν μάλλον, και
brayapyoupévn, údoxeñV aaperrevácalo. Xenoph. Rep. Athen.
media te
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
119
mediate exerciſe of the fovereignty of the people. In a
nation ſubjected to this form of government, if it is rich
and populous, arts, perſonal liberty, and laws yield to a
precarious, arbitrary authority, which, whilſt it bears in
it's own nature the ſeeds of it's ultimate deſtruction, uil-
turbs in the mean time the good order, and the peace of
fociety. *
But, as the tranſition is eaſy from exerciſing, to ſuffer-
ing tyranny, the reign of Democracy cannot be of long
duration. A popular deſpotiſm is a rigid enactor of a wild
and brutal police; and as men love to gratify their ſenſes,
an enjoyment which they hope to cbtain under one, ra-
ther than under many, this ſyſtem generally devolves
into Monarchy. That form of civil conſtitution can
not indeed be permanent, in which the governed are
not only equal in theory, but in practice made ſuperior,
to their governors ; where the executive power has been
ſtripped of thoſe venerable trappings of pomp and ma-
jeſty, which have been invariably found neceſſary to rivet
the attention, and to command the reſpect, of the multi-
tude to the magiftrates even of the meareſt ſociety.
Hence it is that Pennſylvania, of which every political
* Encyclopédie, Juriſprudence, Preliminaire. It is remark-
able that this, and ſimilar obſervations, are applied to the pre-
ſent ſtate of France. Strengthened by ſuch authorities, an
Engliſh writer, in his ſevere animadverſion on a democratical
ſyſtem, will not be ſuſpected of national prejudice.
and
1.6
1
Α Ρ P
Ε Ν DI X.
Ρ and religious inſtitution is founded upon the principles of
equality, begins to preſent a change of features. The
Quakcrs in England, protected in their ſpecial ſyſtem of
political inačiivity, may preſerve their primitive inſtitu-
tions; but when their American brethren are raiſed into
a ſovereign ſtate, the new relations and intereſts ariſing
from this new ſituation muſt force their general manners
and particular conduct into the path preſcribed by nature.
The hiſtory of ancient Republics will only increaſe.
our horror of equality and democracy. Among the citi-
zens of Sparta the former exiſted in it's ſtricteſt princi-
ples, and Sparta exhibited the moſt inhuman tyranny,
that ever oppreſſed mankind.* A Republican ſtate is fel-
dom free from a defpotic chief. Athens had her Pericles +
The Carthaginians were leſs afraid of the Romans than
of Hannibal. Camillus, Fabius, Scipio, Metellus, Ma-
rius, Pompey, were the Sovereigns of Rome. I
It remains to inquire, as the chief object of theſe ob-
fervations, what is the character of the French nation,
and whether France can exiſt in a Republican form of
Government.
* Η γαρ άγαν ελευθερία έoικεν ουκ εις άλλο τι, ή εις άγας
δουλείαν μεταβάλλειν και ιδιώτη και πόλει. Plato de Rep. l. viii.
| Bayle, article Pericles.
I A Roberſpierre and a Danton in Paris, and fome of the
Commiſſioners in the armies and principal cities of France, are
inſenſibly riſing to a ſimilar deſpotiſm.
2
The
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
117
The hiſtorical view of France will afford the ſtrongeſt
grounds for a concluſion, that the people are too incon-
ſiſtent in their purſuits to form a popular government
acting with vigor and effect. The repreſentation, which
Cæfar* makes of their difpofition, is ftamped by their
late tranſactions with the moſt melancholy confirmation
and the intervening hiſtory of this people but ferves to
rivet on our minds this tragic conception of their nati-
onal character. They have been compared to thoſe wild
animals, who are tamed by art. They are beheld with
more ſurpriſe than pleaſure ; an impreffion of terror is
felt at the ſight of their moſt innocent games; and the
admiration of their apparent gentleneſs ariſes partly from
the recollection of their natural ferocity. +
Even in their origin, the Franks were more barbarous
than the neighbouring Lombards and Viſigoths. If a
chief arofe, who could curb the rage of the people, it
was a lion, who kept the wolves in awe.
1
Under Charles Martel, the clergy were ſtripped of
their poffeffions, and had Philoſophiſm then exiſted, their
perſons would have fallen a prey to lawleſs barbarity.
The murders of the Conſtable Lacerda, of the Dukes of
1
* 1. iv, 5.
+ De la Félicité publique, Sect. iii, ch. 1.
If ſuch are the ſentiments of a French author reſpecting his
countrymen, we ſhall not wonder to ſee them called by Guicciar-
dini barbari Franccli.
1
R
Burgundy
118
A P P E N D I X.
$
Burgundy and of Orleans; the dreadful executions at
Cabrières and Merindol, are parellelled only in recent
tranſactions. Senſibility ſhudders at the recollection of
the cruelties exerciſed by Simon of Montfort againſt the
Albigeois ; when fixty thouſand men were ſlaughtered at
Beziers; when the inſtruments of this bloody execution,
deſirous of diſtinguiſhing and of ſaving the Catholics,
vjere ordered to make an indiſcriminate maſſacre,
cauſe God could beſt judge who ought to be ſaved !” It
is unneceſſary to recall the tragical ſcenes of St. Barthe-
lemi, or that long ſeries of maſſacres, which enſued; or
the reign of Louis XI, of which the moſt atrocious fca-
ture was not the facking of Dinan, when eight hundred
men, who had been ſaved from the ſword of the cona
queror, fell under the axe of the executioner.
66 be.
Such have been the civil commotions of that unfortu-
nate country, that war was conſidered as an alleviation
of the public miſeries, and that the murderous ſpirit was
diverted into foreign lands, that France itſelf might not
be overwhelmed in a deluge of blood.
The late murders committed by the Marſeillois are
only a repetition of the bloody ſcenes acted on the ſame
theatre in former times by the Bourguignons and the
Armagnacs; when the Pariſian mob of the former fac-
tion maliacred in one day the Chancellor of Marle, the
Archbiſhops of Reims and of Tours, five Biſhops, and
an incredible number of magiſtrates, of prieſts and gen-
tlemen, who were thrown headlong from the roofs of
their own houſes, and received on pikes below. The
cruelties,
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
119
cruelties, which have lately made Europe fhudder, have
been committed by the ſame people, who, after the bat-
tle of Poitiers, ſpread deſolation through the kingdom,
demoliſhed all the feats of the nobility, butchered the
moſt reſpectable of the gentry, and involved their wives
and daughters in the general maſſacre. *
If the fame horrors have not, during the late reigns,
blackened the atmoſphere of France, it was principally
becauſe the deſpotic power of the monarch checked the
natural diſpoſition of the people.
Such is the French character. It requires a ſtrong
controlling power, and compreffing authority. A man,
who is now inſolent and imperious in a club, would,
four years ago, have betrayed his deareft connexions, to
obtain a ſmile from the menial ſervant of a ſtateſinan.t
}
* Voltaire , who has accumulated fimilar inſtances of national
eruelty in his Commentaire ſur l'Eſprit des Loix, combats the
opinions of Monteſquieu on the influence of climate by a con-
traft of the character of the modern French, whom he repre-
ſents as “ equally gentle and valiant, renowned for war and
arts, induſtrious and tractable, learned and amiable, and the
model of every nation.” Had he lived to this day, he would
have had an ample field for recantation. This agreeable pica
ture is not indeed ſtrictly conſiſtent with his deſcription of the
French in a letter to the King of Pruſſia in 1775 : Le peuple le
plus gai eſt le plus barbare.
$ Encyclopédie Méthodique, Juriſprudence, article Société.
i
1
In
1
I 20
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
1
In the hiſtory of England we lament the deſtructive
effects of civil wars. But we behold few inſtances of
that private vengeance, of that cool barbarity, which
diſgrace the annals of France. Whatever may be the
cauſe of ſo remarkable a circumſtance, we are ſtruck
with the diffimilarity of the manners of the two nations.
Charlemagne eſtabliſhed in France principles of legiſla-
tion, not inferior to thoſe of Alfred in England. He
maintained the people's rights, and placed the adminiſ-
tration in the hands of popular aſſemblies. His charac-
ter indeed preſerved his inſtitutions during his life, but
at his death the feudal ſyſtem ſucceeded.* The French
Government has the ſame origin as that of England.
France had her Magna Charta, the baſis of her rights
and liberties. England was ſucceſſively conquered by
different invaders. She has felt the oppreſſion of feudal
tyranny : the has been the theatre of frequent revolu-
tions ; yet the fundamental principles of her liberty have
never been obliterated. There are facts, which ſeem to
lead to a concluſion that there muſt be ſome inherent
difference in the moral diſpoſition, or phyſical peculiari-
ties, of each nation, which have led them to ſuch
oppo-
fite confequences. There, and fimilar obſervations,
which will eaſily occur to the reader, ſeem to indicate,
that nations require different political eſtabliſhments,
according to the variety of manners, of ſituations, and
of intereſts; that it is not in the power of arbitrary will
A
* May not America hereafter have equal cauſe to regret the
death of Waſhington ?
or
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
121
or caprice to change the government of a nation; and
that an attempt to adapt the conſtitution of one country
to another is to revive the abſurd cruelty of Procruſtes,
or that of the Iberians, whoſe criterion of female tem-
perance was a zone of the fame dimenſions.
*
,'
If the laws of France had been contrary to the genius
of the people, they would not have ſubſiſted during thir-
teen centuries among a people remarkable in every pe-
țiod for a Joye ot change. So ſenſible were the com-
ponent parts of the monarchy of the neceſſary variety of
inſtitutions, that when provinces have been annexed to
the crown of France, the firſt article of the treaty has
uniformly ftipulated that the inhabitants ſhould preſerve
their particular laws and cuſtoms. Thus toc, Nobility
appears to be a neceſſary part of the political eſtabliſhment
of France. In the battle of Fontenay between Lothario
and his brothers Lewis and Charles, the greateſt part of
the French nobility having been killed, it was found
neceſſary in Champagne, where the evil was acknow-
ledged and moſt ſenſibly felt, to permit ladies to confer
nobility by marriage.
I
The relative ſituation of France ſeems to point the
neceffity of a ſtrong government, of a monarchy more
abfolute than that of England. Her boundaries are de-
fended on the land ſide by forts and armies : a cira
Stobæus, de Temperantia.
cumſtance,
122
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
cumſtance, which in a great meaſure fixes the nature of
her government.
The preſent affectation of Spartan fimplicity, and Ro-
man aufterity, in the French, cannot destroy thoſe ideas
of luxury, which a long enjoyment has rendered habitual.
To adopt the political inſtitutions of a new.country it
would be neceſſary for them to acquire the ſame morals,
the ſame private virtues, and the ſame religious habits.
The ſame diſpoſition, that induced them non fortuitun
ſpernere cefpitem, ſhould make it an object of ambition
Templa novo decorare faxo.* The authors of the French
Revolution have determined to adopt the Republican
conftitution of America, without reflecting on the im-
menſe difference between the two countries. Separated
by the Atlantic ocean from the intrigues of Europe, the
Americans place their only intereſt in extending the
cultivation of the lands offered to their induſtry, in ſe-
cluding themſelves from the buſtle and vices of great
cities, in the ſecure enjoyment of domeſtic eaſe, and in
the practice of domeſtic virtue. The diſtance between
their habitations creates a ſpirit of hoſpitality, and pre-
cludes the exiſtence of envy and jealouſy. They feel no
apprehenſion for the ſubſiſtence of a large family, they
are therefore free from the paffions of long ſettled coun-
tries, deſtructive of comfort and morality. They have
no fleets or armies to maintain; and their ſituation
* Hor. 1. ii. Od. 15.
ought
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
1-23
ought to preſerve them long from extraordinary taxes.
A country like this may proſper under a mild, and even
under a weak, government.
France diſplays a perpetual ſcene of rivality in purſuits
and intereſts, and a ſovereign contempt of the prin-
ciples, which have been hitherto conſidered as the foun-
dation of ſociety. Large cities, the abodes of ſenſuality
and the ſources of corruption, pervert talents to the
propagation of luxury and vice, diſqualifying the mind
for great exertions, and at every unexpected, but natural
change of fortune, produce thote commotions, which call
for the coercive activity of a ſtrong government.
It is impoſſible to eſtabliſh a ſimilarity of conſtitutions
between America and France ; between a population of
four millions, and twenty-fix millions of inhabitants ;
between the union of fourteen ſmall States, and an im-
menſe Empire, in which all the laws, all the conſtituted
authorities, muſt proceed from one central point; be-
tween a country in the bloom of youth, animated by
* When the habitable part of the United States ſhall have
been fully ſettled, a ſtronger government will become neceſſary,
if they remain in their preſent unity. The conſtitution of
Pennſylvania has already taken a large ſtride towards Aristo-
cracy, in the eſtabliſhment of two houſes. But it is probable
that,, different intereſts ariſing, America will be ſoon or late
divided into that variety of independent States, which Europe
now exhibits.
vigorous
124
P P
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
vigorous purſuits and united intereſis, and a nation ſunk
into the torpidity of age, in which morality is but a
name, Religion openly renounced, all reverence for cha-
racter aboliſhed, where every principle is deſtroyed, ex-
cept that of vanity, which never ceaſes to predominate
in France, and which at this time peculiarly recalls the
idea of the Phoenix, riſing from the ſplendid pile it has
raiſed, to new life, and to a vigor never felt before. *
If France indeed, contrary to every probability, ſhould
continue to add conqueſt to conqueft,t the may preſerve
a Republican form of government. During ſuch a fal-
cinating progreſs, the people are drawn by the dazzling
luſtre of glory from a contemplation of their internal
fituaion. It is beſides more eaſy to conquer than to
govern. With a lever, a ſmall force may move the
world; but to ſuſtain the weight of it requires the
ſtrength of Hercules.
In their late conqueſts, the French have maintained
their former character. Romanis quærentibus quid in
Etruriâ rei Gallis eſſet, illi fe jus in armis ferre, et omnia
fortium virorum ele ferociter dixerunt. $ The ſame diſpo-
* Necker, Du pouvoir exécutif, Vol. II. chap. ü.
+ See this ſubject admirably treated in Pictet's Letter to a
Foreign Nobleman, in which the author diſplays a depth of poli-
tical knowledge, deſerving the approbation, which it has ſo uni-
verſally received.
I Liv. 1. V. c. 36.
fition,
A P P E N D I X.
125
1
ac-
ſition, though nominally directed to different purpoſes,
made the Gauls invade Italy, and che French Belgia
and Savoy But by ſuch conqueſts a natinn
quires the ſhape of a giant at the expence of health
and agility; or like the polypus, loſes the power of
motion in proportion to it's ſize. The late invaſion of
the territories of their neighbours by the French will
create the neceſſity of a ſtrong government to defend
their new acquiſitions, or to prevent the dangerous ef-
fects of an attack upon their own country, which a defire
of retaliation and a ſenſe of exaſperating provocations
may produce in their enemies. *
And though proſcrip-
tion and murder may appear infallible inſtruments in the
* Were leſs danger apprehended from the propagation of
French principles, the author would readily cry Amen to the
energetic addreſs of Dr. Parr to the Supreme Being, deprecat-
ing the fuccefs of the Continental powers, confederated againſt
France. But the ambitious councils of the French have been
fo deſtructive to the peace of Europe under the old government,
and fo inconſiſtent with general order ſince the Revolution, that
he cannot but wiſh, that the power which they retain, of dira
turbing the repofe of inankind, my be reduced by a partial
diſmemberment of that formidable empire.
Of the war, in which this country is now engaged, a good
citizen will wait the event with awful ſolicitude, with fincere
prayers for it's fucceſs, and with a chearful compliance with the
exigences of Government. The extenſion of the power of
France, particularly in the Netherlands, militated againſt the
intereſts of England ; if therefore France perſiſted in the en-
creafe, or the preſervation, of her conqueſts, war was inevitable.
S
hands
i 26
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
hands of a democratical aſſembly, the people will foon
be weary of ſuch multiplied tyranny, of ſuch hopeleſs
miſery, and irreſiſtibly demand a King.
Were every other argument drawn from hiſtorical
analogy found inſufficient to enforce the conviction of
this neceffity, the preſent ſtate of France affords the
ſtrongeſt proof that a total change muſt ſhortly be ad-
mitted. To deſcribe that ſtate would be as diſtreſſing
to the heart of ſenſibility, as it is unneceſſary to the man
of obſervation. Hiſtorians have dwelt with horror on
the Sicilian Petalifm, which expelled from Syracuſe thoſe,
who were moſt diſtinguiſhed for wealth, abilities, or per-
fonal worth, and raiſed to political eminence the moſt
audacious and abandoned of the people. * But this im-
politic cruelty falls infinitely ſhort of the favage proſcrip-
tions of the French, who can only be compared to thoſe
hideous animals, that form an independent Republic in
the ſtreets of the towns of Syria, and owe their exiſtence
to the relaxation, or total want, of a regular police. +
1
The advocates of the French fyftem allege that the
Revolution muſt be permanent, becauſe it was neceſſary,
and took place in conſequence of the inevitable courſe
of events.
But it is more probable that it was facili-
tated, if not abſolutely produced, by the mildneſs of the
* Diod. Sic. 1. XI.
# Volney, Voyage de Syrie, Chap. xxxiü.
King,
A P P E N D I X. 127
1
King, and by the vanity of Necker. Lewis XVI would
have prevented the neceſſity of the Revolution, and the
deſtruction of his country, by a reſolute adherence to the
land tax and the ſtamp duties.* Had the King origi-
nally placed his troops in a camp between the Metropo-
lis and Verſailles, inſtead of ſuffering them to be diſa
perſed in the villages in the neighbourhood of Paris,
where they were ſeduced and corrupted by the dema-
gogues, order and government might have been pre-
ſerved. If the King had not been ſo ſcrupulouſly averſe
to ſhed blood on many occaſions, which will readily oc-
cur to the reader's recollection, he might have retained
an authority, more neceſſary for the welfare of his people,
than for his own gratification. +
Of the calamitous effects of Necker's vanity, his own
defence of himſelf in the Hiſtory of his adminiſtration
will be the ſtrongeſt evidence. He there virtually con-
feſſes that he gave that power to the national affembly,
which involved the monarchy and the public ſafety in
one common ruin. When he hears, in his dir-
graceful retreat in Switzerland, “the groans of roaring
* The repeal of the Stamp act has been aſſigned among the
cauſes of the American revolution.
+ La France a bien plus beſoin de fon Roi, que fon Rci n'a be-
foin d'elle. Necker, Du pouvoir exécutif, Vol. ii, chap. 19.
It would have been fortunate for both, if Necker had been
actuated by thoſe principles in the beginning of his ſecond
adminiſtration.
winds
128
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
winds and rains” iſſuing from the bleak impending
mountains, and the "all-fhaking thunder,” which threat-
ens to “rive the concealing continents of cloſe pent-up
guilts,” well may he exclaim with “ the poor diſtreſſed
Lear :"
"I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindneſs :
“ I never gave You KINGDOM !”
The enormous exertions now made by the Republi.
cans for the acquiſition of their end, this combined effort
of artifice and violence, of the moſt iniquitous fraud and
the moſt bloody force, beſpeak a convulſive reſiſtance of
the good order, to which the neceſſities of the nation are
naturally tending. The prevailing anarchy itſelf is but a
tempeſtuous efferveſcence, which is too violent to laſt,
and muſt ſpeedily terminate in a calm. That calm can
nly be a well regulated and efficient Monarchy, riſing
above the ſubſiding ſediment, in conſequence of the re-
turning influence of Religion, * with a purity, that will
appear more bright, and be more popularly admired from
the remembrance of the recent dregs, and with a force,
which the anguiſh of recent miſeries will beſtow upon
it, to prevent the poſſible recurrence of the ſame
calamities.
* Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens,
Inſanientis dum Sapientiæ
Conſultus erro; nunc retrorfum
Vela dare, atque iterare curſus
Cogor reli&os,
Hor, 1. j. Ode 34,
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
No. II.
ON SYSTEMS OF REFORM.
A threefold card is not quickly broken.
Eccles, iv. 12.
1
IF
the old axiom, that to err is human, be admitted,
prejudices againſt reformation in human works are
irrational; and it is inconſiſtent with candor and good
ſenſe to charge the friends of reform with finiſter deſigns,
when their propoſitions of improvement are introduced
with the temper of moderation. Liberality forbids a
haſty condemnation either of the Reformer, or of the
perſon, who is ſatisfied with the preſent ſyſtem. Both
may have the public order in view; their end may be
the fame, notwithſtanding the different means, which
they
130
A P P E N D I X.
they adopt. If an adherence to old fyftems be ſometimes
a proof of an amiable mind, full of reſpectable partiali-
ties, and reſting on the experience of ages; yet this diſ-
poſition may be hardened into obftinacy: it may ſubſtitute
pride and cowardice to dignity and rectitude, ſelfiſhneſs
and low ſuſpicion to generoſity and candor. A change
of circumſtances requires a change of ſyſtem. An obſti-
nate refuſal of reform, repreſſing the efforts of the mind
of man, which always tends to perfection, forces hu-
man felicity not indeed to be ſtationary, but to become
retrograde. Of this nature is the aſſertion of a great
Hiſtorian, * who on fome occaſions could raiſe his
voice againſt the oppreſſions of a corrupted court : Quæ
in ſuo flatu codemque manent, etfi deteriora fint, tamen utiliora
ſunt Reipublicæ iis, quæ per innovationem vel meliora
inducuntur.
l
When Rome had reached the height of victorious great-
neſs, ſhe experienced a ſenſible alteration in her circum-
ſtances and manners; a change in her government and
laws became neceſſary. The ſame ſyſtem, which had
enabled her to ſtruggle into greatneſs, could not preſerve
her in that elevation. A wiſe adminiſtration ſhould
adopt the conduct of an experienced pilot, who accom-
modates the courſe of his veffel to the changes of the
precarious elements. But a ſervile attachment to it's
ancient forms plunged the Roman Republic into diſor-
der. The new circumſtances were overlooked, and the
* Tacitus.
State
1
A P P E N D I x.
131
State bulged upon rocks and quickſands from the obſti-
nate prejudices of it's pilots.
The Roman hiſtory, however, that illuſtrious and am-
ple ſchool of inſtruction, is but the moſt conſpicuous
page for the obſervation of nations. In every country
and in every age, we are abundantly taught, and awfully
charged, not to procraſtinate that neceſſary reformation,
which implies the continuance or increaſe of national
proſperity.
But political reformers tread on dangerous ground,
As they advance, new fields are continually opening be-
fore them, which equally demand the penetration of
foreſight, and the direction of experience.
was
The evils of this imperfect ſtate tend to excite a ge-
neral diſſatisfaction, which is apt to vent itſelf in a par-
ticular diſcontent with the civil conftitutions, and in con-
fequent propoſitions of reformation. Vanity, a cavilling
temper, and the fraud of ſelfiſh defign, united with this
reſtleſs and gloomy diſpoſition, are juſt grounds for cau-
tion in admitting the ideas of reform. Even if theſe
ideas originated in the pureſt intention, as they form a
moſt important object, they clain the ſevereſt ſcrutiny,
and are to be weighed by that profound and comprehen-
five judgment, which, reaſoning from paſt experience
on the exact view of man and human affairs, can calo
culate future probabilities.
Attentive
332
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
Attentive only to the inconveniences of the ancient,
Reformers overlook the evils of the new, fyftem. Eman-
cipated from a regard to the former plan, they take no
account of the partialities, which linger in other men
towards it ; partialities, which muſt create preju-
dices againſt the new regulations. Ancient laws are
obeyed by habit, in conſequence of an impreſſion inſen.
fibly received with the growth of our reaſon. A new
impulſe is neceſſary to produce a different movement,
and much delicacy of preciſion is required to direct that
impulſe in the unerring line of public utility. Wiſe po-
liticians will imitate nature in the flow and ſeaſonable
production of her works. They will remember that in
political, as well as in natural bodies there are ſecret
cauſes, which often fruſtrate the beſt concerted
operations. *
Modern
* In a violent purſuit of the means, the end is often neg-
lected. Of all the objects of reform in this country, finecures
offer the faireft mark for regulation. It ſeems conſiſtent with
ſtrict juſtice, that none ſhould be retained, but thoſe, which are
given as rewards to men of eminence, who have facrificed their
health, and dedicated the vigor of their prime, to the active ſer-
vice of their country. But the example of France will induce
the Executive power to reſiſt the total abolition, and to be circum-
ſpect in the diminution, of finecure places. The ſyſtem of eco-
nomy adopted by Lewis XVI may be ranked among the cauſes
of his ſubſequent calamities. He not only deprived himſelf of
the ſupport of the numerous penſioners and placemen, who ex-
ifted by the liberality of the Court, and of the innumerable mul.
titude
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
133
Modern Reformers, however qualified to deſtrov the
ancient monuments of error and prejudice; aré deftitute
of the ability to ſubſtitute in their room the folid edifice
of political wiſdom. In the formation of their plans,
they diſdain the laborious ſtudies of the ſcience of go-
vernment; they are ſatisfied with a few minute and eaſy
regulations, and never embrace a comprehenſive ſyſtem,
which makes allowances for imperfections, and provides
for contingencies.
1
Government, the work of man, muſt participate of
human imperfection : it cannot riſe higher than it's
fountain. Reforms may be made :
may be made : new defects and
abuſes will ſucceed to thoſe, which have admitted a tem-
porary remedy. Thus as long as human nature is liable
to error, reformation will be labor ačius in orbem. Bria
bery was become in Rome an evil, which threatened the
total diffolution of the manners of the people A reform
was attempted. But notwithſtanding the ſeverity of the
Calpurnian and Julian laws, the largeſſes of the candi-
titude of candidates for future emanations of Roval bounty ;
but he made both his enemies. So imperceptible is the dif-
tinction between yielding mildneſs, and the weakneſs which is
only apparent. Let the reformer then, who dictates to Kings,
remembering what Lewis deſigned and enacted, how he lived
and how he died, offer his projects with circumſpection, confi-
dent that the unſeaſonable introduction of good is ſometimes the
fource of evil.
T
dates
134
I
Α Ρ P X.
Ρ Ε Ν DI E dates ſtill exceeded the greateſt inſtances of corruption
recorded in our hiſtory.
When reformations are urged on each other, by the
influence of diſcontent and vanity, a nation is over-
whelmed in a ſtorm of confuſion. Reformation admi-
niſtered gradually and temperately is the auſpicious gale,
which ſupplies the motion of progreſſive proſperity. It
is the happy medium between the dead calm and the
rending blaſt.
The fretful activity of man cannot but excite a ſmile,
when it is confidered that two perſons ſcarcely agree in
one ſpecific plan of reform. Of many diſcordant ſchemes,
if one only is adopted, grievous muſt be the diſappoint-
ment of thoſe, whoſe propofitions are rejected. Theſe
will be diſfatisfied with the new regulations; and the
diffatisfaction will be increaſed by the reſentment ariſing
from the rejection, and by the envy reſulting from
the preference given to the plans of others. The ap-
pearance of being flighted will produce a more ani-
mated oppoſition, than the ſenſe of being involved in
the general maſs of unredreſſed citizens. When the
weight of an evil reſts upon the public at large, every
individual bears his ſhare with leſs impatience, than
when it is aggravated by perſonal humiliation.
It is not an uncommon ſophiſm for reformers to expreſs
a ſpecious deſire to reſtore the conſtitution to it's original
principles. Taught by modern improvements to form
an
Α . Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
135
an idea of relative perfection, they throw their thoughts
into paft ages, and fancy that they fee amidſt the rude
documents of antiquity that purer form of repreſentation,
which they would embrace as the archetype of preſent
reformation. But this archetype never exiſted but in
their own fancies. The Saxons were unacquainted with
it; their policies were of as coarſe a texture as their
manners : order and ſyſtem have gradually advanced with
the growth and inſtructions of time, although the ad-
vancement is yet far below that height of perfe&tion,
which meets the imagination, but which judgment will
ſcarcely conceive to be attainable.
It has been often ſaid, that if the repreſentation of
the people had been free and equal, we ſhould never have
lamented the evils of the American war. The ſenſe of
theſe evils has procured a ready aſſent to the aſſertion;
and a propoſition lo confidently maintained is not always
ſtrictly examined. The American war, in it's origin,
was far from being unpopular. It was not the principle
of it that was offenſive; had it concluded ſucceſsfully, it
would never have been reprobated. But it ſhould be
candidly recollected, that when it became unpopular, it
was terminated by the Houſe of Commons.
Men are too apt to wander from the ſpirit, to the let-
ter, of Repreſentation. At the inſtitution of Parlia-
ments, the members were really ſent to repreſent exclu-
fively the place, for which they were elected. Hence
aroſe the phraſe of ſerving a particular borough or
county. At preſent, each member is conſidered as leo
giflatos
136
A P P E N D I X.
giſlator for the whole empire; it is not therefore an
object of primary magnitude that he ſhould be choſen
by a large body of men, ſo long as the Houſe are not
directly or indirectly under the influence of the Crown
or of the Ariſtocracy.
To guard againſt the exceſſive influence of the Crown
has been the great aim of Patriots, who have reaſoned,
acted and fought in the cauſe of freedom in every period of
our Hiſtory, Slow and imperceptible muſt be the increaſe
of that influence, among a people jealous of their liberties.
But it's declenſion is always rapid, and more than pro-
portionate to it's growth. Increaſe of patronage, ariſing
from extent of dominion or taxation, may throw a pre-
ponderating weight in the ſcale of the Crown; but an
unfortunate war, or an unpopular adminiſtration, dim-
ming the rays of Majeſty, will produce a contrary effect. .
If the influence of the Crown was increaſed to an alarm-
ing degree, when the Houſe of Commons paſſed a vote
that it ought to be diminiſhed, it was in danger of being
reduced to a ſtate far inferior to it's conſtitutional level
by the vigorous efforts of aſſociations in 1780, when the
riots in London proved the neceſſity of guarding the
throne, and preſerving the Conſtitution. If elections,
according to a ſtems of reform, were rendered per.
fectly democ hen to preſerve the equality of the
balance, an ideas in the royal prerogatives would be-
come neceffary.
A reform, transferring the right of voting from pro-
perty
i
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
137
perty to population, would tend to anarchy. The ex-
periment has been tried : the example of France* is
a melancholy proof of the aſſertion. Far from ad-
mitting men of no property to the right of voting, a wiſe
reformer would augment the qualification. He would
* See Arthur Young's Example of France a Warning 10
Britain, in which the ſpirited author has painted in the moſt
glowing colors the calamitous effects of making population, and
not property, the ground of repreſentation. It has been affert-
ed with ſome confidence by the violence of party, that Mr.
Young has given, in that work, a complete recantation of his
former opinions. With that excellent writer in the cauſe of
liberality and patriotiſm the author of theſe ſheets is happy to
boaſt a long intimacy. During the courſe of his private con-
verſation and correſpondence, or of his various publications,
Mr. Young has never deviated from his principles. His
change of opinion reſpecting the French has been the conle.
quence of their change of fyſtem. He glowed with a Maury
and a Mounier in the cauſe of liberty, but like them he ſhrunk
with horror at the ſcenes of deſolation, which marked the abuſe
of it.
The diſintereſted exertions of Mr. Young in promoting the
agricultural and political intereſts of this country have been
admired, and unrewarded, by a long ſeries of adminiſtrations.
He was a man of no party ; he was therefore neglected by all
parties. The inſtitution of the Board of Agriculture, were it
productive of no other falutary effects, will have the merit of
expreſſing a ſenſe of national gratitude, however inadequate to
his ſervices, to the author of the ANNALS OF AGRICULTURE.
aboliſh
138
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
1
aboliſh the venal hordes of freemen, who diſturb the
tranquillity, and diſgrace the civil eſtabliſhment, of
ſome elective bodies. He would at the ſame time ex-
tend the privileges of voting to the propriecors of leaſe-
hold eſtates, and to farmers, who cannot be conſidered
as men at liberty to ſhift their country, or in that ſtate of
abject dependence, which beſpeaks an uneducated mind,
and conſequently a greater ſuſceptibility of corruption.
If the right of voting be an advantage, it will be an
object of purſuit. It is therefore found policy to reſtrict
it to men of property, in order to induce thoſe, who
wiſh to poſleſs this privilege, to acquire it by induſtry,
by enlarging the maſs of valuable citizens.
The talents and virtues requiſite in a member of the
Britiſh Parliament are not eaſily underſtood : all men are
not qualified intellectually or morally to judge the qua-
lifications of a fellow-citizen for this high ſtation ; and
theſe judges are not to be expected among the loweſt of
mankind, who have neither knowledge in the diſcrimi-
nation, nor intereſt in the choice, of their legiſlators.
The
* Of this the Conſtituent Aſſembly of France were ſo fenfi.
ble, that they eſtabliſhed an intermediate body, choſen by the
primary aſſemblies from the claſs of men of property, to ele&
the deputies.
It is pleaſing to dwell on the few luminous points, which the
French conſtitution exhibited. Of this nature too was the ar.
ticle,
A P P E N D I X.
139
The right and the ability to vote fould therefore alike
be taken into confideration by a wife reformer.
The methods of bribery baffle the powers of calculati-
on, and are to be reſiſted rather by a change of manners,
than by a multiplicity of laws. It is the buſineſs of law
reform what has been eſtabliſhed by law; and a
change of manners muſt reform the evils produced by
corrupted manners. It is a dangerous policy to attempt
by law that change, which can only be effected by a
change of manners. * All that can be done in this caſe
is to chuſe the moſt independent voters, and not by mul.
tiplying votes ſo encreaſe the price of elections as to throw
the legiſlative government of the country into the hands
of thoſe, whoſe only qualification is money.
1
Much danger is apprehended by ſome perſons from
the weight of the Ariſtocracy. But the Houſe of Lords,
ticle, which defined the qualification of members of primary
aſſemblies. It is with furprize and forrow that we behold an
author poſſeſſed of ſuch elegance of ſtyle, and ſtrength of in-
tellect, as Mr. Mackintoſh, directing the artillery of his argu-
ment againſt theſe regulations.
As unaccountable is his affertion that the Houſe of Commons
is a mere chamber to regiſter the Miniſter's edicts. He forgets
the fate of the American Intercourſe Bill, of the Fortification:
Bill, and of the Ruſſian armaments.
Encyclopédie Méthodique, Econ. pol. article Changemens
politiques.
G
confifting
140
Α. Ρ Ρ Ε Ν Ο Ι Χ.
1
conſiſting of proprietors of the great landed eſtates, is
the natural and permanent repreſentative of the landed
intereſt. Were it not for this circumſtance, the predo-
minance of the monied, over the landed, repreſentation
in the Houſe of Commons would be theoretically dan-
gerous. But, if we except the late wool bill,* _which
has completely failed in it's purpoſes of reducing the
price of that commodity by a perfect monopoly,—we
ſhall with cifficulty find an inſtance, in which the land-
ed, has been ſacrificed to the monied, or manufacturing
intereſt. They are indeed ſo intimately connected,
that the decay of one will infallibly produce the failure
of the other.
ri
/
Property naturally produces influence. The reſpect
paid to ſplendid talents, the admiration of a great cha-
sacter, affection for goodneſs, and gratitude for benef-
cence, unite in conferring public fuffrages. A reform
will invalidate none of theſe qualifications, Were the
ſyſtem of repreſentation altered, the Ariſtocracy would
loſe no influence, it would nominate more members for
counties in proportion as it loſt the patronage of aboliſh-
ed boroughs. The utility of theſe high privileges has
not perhaps been properly eſtimated in their effects of
introducing into Parliament young men of ſplendid abi-
lities, who are not ſufficiently known to claim the con-
fidence of counties or conſiderable towns. Had not this
See A. Young's Annals of Agriculture, Vol. X.
private
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
141
private patronage exiſted, it is probable that the talents
of a Fox and a Pitt would have been unnoticed, and
unemployed in the public ſervice of their country. The
patrons of boroughs have beſides too much at ſtake to in-
troduce into the legiſlature men of dangerous principles,
and too grear a ſenſe of honor and dignity to recom-
mend thoſe, who have neither property nor abilities.
THE ſcience of Government, when it is applied to the
concerns of a great Empire, and reaches to the intereſts
of mighty multitudes and many enerations, is one of
the moſt arduous, that can exerciſe the human mind.
Yet the happineſs of man is fo dependent upon a good
Government, that he may be pardoned for beſtowing
his moſt anxious attention upon it. He cannot think
and feel as a man, without looking towards the moſt
important means of his happineſs. But the intereſting
nature of the ſubject requires that he ſhould ſpeak and
act with that caution, which the difficulty of the ſcience
and the importance of the object demand. The utmoſt
efforts of cultivated intellest are neceſſary to diſcover
the perfect ſtate of a great Empire in it's adminiſtration
as well as conſtitution. This is the bow of Ulyſſes,
which none but an Lly Tes can bend.
Vaft muſt be the
knowledge of the paſt and of the preſent for this pur-
poſe : requiſite too is a ſuperiority to prejudices and par-
ties. Imagination aches at the idea of the difficulty to
unite qualities of ſo different a complexion as thoſe,
which enable a man to take a reſpectable part either
ſpeculatively or practically in the great concern of Go-
U
vernment.
142
Ρ
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
A
vernment. Whether the pen of the writer, or the ſcep-
ter of the prince is to be wielded, ſo powerful are theſe
inſtruments of human felicity, that in the deſpair that
terreſtrial ſtrength will attain theſe momentous objects,
an ingenuous mind feels the neceſſity of ſupplicating the
Divine affiſtance.
From theſe obſervations it may be inferred—that, as the
ultimate cauſes of national confufion are in the ſtrength
of the uninformed multitude, who are eaſily miſled, and
impeiled into dangerous activity, nothing can be more
alarming to the State, than the erroneous ſpeculations,
and gloomy reveries, of men upon the ſubject of Govern-
ment. When vanity takes this turn, and iſſues into
publications adapted to brood difcontent, and to fofter
arrogance, men are diverted from the advantages, which
they might ſee and feel, from the privileges ſhowered
upon them by the Conſtitution, to the contemplation of
imaginary evils, and to a courſe of action deſtructive of
public happineſs. By the prevalence of fuch a conten-
tious diſpoſition, a mighty nation, that ſhould be ce-
mented as a block of marble ſtrong in it's coheſion and
poliſhed with it's humanities, is crumbled into a maſs
of ſand, and expoſed to be ſcattered by the driving ſtorm:
The welfare of a nation depends upon the union of it's
parts; an union, which is only found where virtuous
attachment and liberal confidence are mutual between
the governors and the governed ; where authority nei-
ther aſks for ſervile obedience, nor ſhrinks from fair in-
veſtigation into ſullen pride ; and where ignorance does
nat
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
143
not ſtep into the chair of public inſtruction to confound
by pretending to reform, or by aſſuming the direction of
the State, deſtroy all government. The influence of
theſe oppoſite evils tends to create ſeparate intereſts, and
to introduce either tyranny or anarchy. Power, con-
ſcious of human infirmity, will not intrench itſelf behind
the untenable ramparts of a fallacious ſecurity, or
imperiouſly demand an unlimited confidence. But pow.
er, conſcious of rectitude, will not be wantonly inſulted.
Oppoſed by licentiouſneſs and fretted with groundleſs
ſuſpicion, it may ſtep aſide from that line, which is it's
proper reſting place, and endeavour to arm itſelf with a
coercive authority inconſiſtent with the ſpirit of con-
ftitutional freedom.
What is now paſſing in France ſhould draw the
thoughts of reflecting men towards the ſeveral cauſes of
public confuſion. From the imperfections in the con-
ftitution and conduct of governments they will deduce
no inferences, which will not be free from every tint of
malevolence, which will not force themſelves into the
view in their genuine nature, and receive neither form
nor color from the paſſions of the obſerver. The ge-
nuine Patriot will ſeize the opportunity of profiting by
the great experiment now offered to his view by the
French tranſactions : he will not haftily aſſume the office
of a reformer, but labor to promote that unanimity,
and purity of manners, which may render a political re-
formation needleſs, or produce ſuch only as will be in-
troduced with all the advantages of candor and wiſdom.
If
144
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
If in the calmeſt ſeaſons of human affairs, the theoriſt,
in his views of improvement, has upon the whole exhi-
bited the weakneſs of imagination, or it's tyrannic uſur-
pation over reaſon, can we hope, in this alarming criſis,
that the reformer's eye will ſee more diſtinctly, and at-
tend more ſteadily to his point? Can we ſuppoſe him
now in leſs danger to be warped by paſſion, and biaſſed
by prejudice, to bid defiance to the blandiſhments of
party, and tower above the fears of danger ?
IT is too apparent, O my Countrymen, that this is no
time to ſpeculate, but to act; to meditate novelties, but
to ſupport ancient poſſeſſions. All is now at ſtake: the
fate of ſociety depends upon our conduct. We have
ſeen reformations grow into revolutions; and revolutions
ruſh into the worſt forms of anarchy. We have ſeen
expediency in it's moſt murderous attitudes occupying
the place of virtue ; an atheiſtic allegory elevated on the
altar of God with the oftentation of a national triumph;
and the moſt impious contempt of Divine Providence iſſu-
ing in the laſt atrocious extravagances of human depravity.
If, after the deeds of horror perpetrated at Argos, the
Athenians offered facrifices of expiation to prevent the
comiſion of fimilar enormities by their fellow-citi-
zen:*
: ou fenibilities muſt now be rouſed; our higheſt
duty and our deareſt intereſts call upon us to guard with
the moit watchful attention againſt the introduction of
French principles and French barbarities. The honor
* Plutarch. Eihii,
of
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
145
of human nature, now traduced, is to be recovered.
The moſt valuable poffeffions, comforts, and privileges,
of mankind are now to be preſerved. In the view of
the miſeries ariſing from vanity and ineligion, let us not
forget how rapidly the ſcene of horror, has been opened;
but learn by the awful fpcctacle that, as we are but men,
we cannot ſafely truſt ourſelves with any other guides,
than that ſobriety of wiſdom, that rectitude of principle,
which are the bonds of union between true Philoſophy
and true Religion, under whoſe influence we may ex-
pect the continuance and improvement of national
proſperity.
1
APPEN
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν DI X.
No. III.
ON THE LATE ALARMING EFFECTS OF PARTY SPIRIT
IN THIS COUNTRY.
Cogit excederė formam operis erumpens animo ac pectore
indignatio.
Vell. Paterc. 1. ii.
IT
T has been ſaid of old, that between the good and the
bad there is perpetual war. Candor and kindneſs
are the firſt inſtruments, which the former employ to
obtain the victory over their adverſaries ; they never un-
dermine their private character. The firſt hoſtilities of
the latter are directed againſt the good name of their
opponents. Equivocal imputations, or bold accuſations,
of imaginary crimes, are their common weapons of of
fence.
Party
A P P E N D I X.
147
Party never fails to call Faction to it's aid. The ge-
neral means, which the factious employ, are to renew
animofities, which time and reaſon had healed ; to fow
diviſion, by partial offers or partial excluſion, among
men of talents and influence, whoſe unanimity would
tend to promote the public good ; to employ all the arts
of defamation againſt thoſe, who are placed by the qua-
Jities of the head or of the heart in the road to places of
truſt, and offices of energy; and to miſrepreſent the
opinions, or traduce the characters of others, and to
form of both a phantom to frighten and to inflame the
populace.
The party in oppoſition attack the public meaſures of
their adverſaries; the party in power vilify the private cha-
racter of their rivals. By ſome of the adherenis of the lat-
ter, moderation in politics has lately been regarded with an
eye of jealouſy, and branded with reproach and inve&tive.
He, who could not be induced openly to aſſert, or ta-
.citly to confeſs, the immaculate purity of one par:y, and
the ſyſtematical depravity of the other, was without
mercy ftigmatized with the opprobrious appellations,
which the acrimonious ſpirit of the times invented for
the purpoſes of defamation. A reſpectable numbur of
men of candor and moderation might have mediated be-
tween both parties at the beginning of the Revolution,
and ſaved the French Monarchy. In this country, it
would be fortunate for men of that deſcription, if they
were merely conſigned to the degradation of filent con-
tempt.
We
1
148
DI A P P E
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν X.
DI X.
We feem doomed to ſuffer a retrogradation of princi-
ples. It is not uncommon for party to adopt the ſpirie
of the Code* of the Emperor Gratian, which puniſhed
with exemplary ſeverity thoſe, who doubted the abilities,
or the integrity, of public officers. Sacrilegii inftar eft
dubitare an is dignus fit, quem elegerit Imperator. Men of
the pureſt patriotiſm, and of the moſt unſhaken loyalty,
who have, unfortunately for their intereſt and for their
ſafety, fallen into this predicament, have been cruelly
calumniated. Eaſy and natural is the progreſs from
the impunity, to the private approbation, and to the
open reward, of calumny. This would appear para-
doxical, if Hiſtory did not furniſh other inſtances,
Quo quis diſtinctior accufator, eo magis honores aſequebatur,
ac veluti ſacroſanctus erat.ť
It ſeems to be the wiſh of the triumphant party to
place a beam of “ unapproachable light" around the cha-
racter of their favorite chiefs, who, if this artifice ſucceeds,
ceaſe to be amenable to the bar of private judgment, or
of public cenſure. It is almoſt received as a maxim
among hyper-politicians, that a Stateſman leaves to the
lower herd the neceflity of practiſing virtue and huma-
nity; that in the proſecution of his views he may break
the ties of honor, and give a looſe to the moſt vindi&tive
paſſions; that he may wring the heart of modeſt merit
by daſhing the hopes he has raiſed, depreſs the deſerving
* De crimine facrilegii.
+ Tacit.
to
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
149
to exalt the turbulent, and abandon to the miſeries of dif-
appointment, or to the calamities of poverty, thoſe, who
have no other claim to urge but diſintereſted ſervices,
no other returns to offer, but the ſilent effufions of gra-
titude. According to theſe principles, if the manners
of a nation take their direction from the conduct of the
great, diſmal is the proſpect of the public character.
If we are debarred from giving an opinion on the
conduct of a Miniſter by the threats of defamation, or
the danger of obloquy, the Lettres de cachet of the old
Government of France have been much calumniated.
The iron gates of the Baſtille were ſometimes opened to
releaſe the' victim of jealous tyranny or of private malige
pity ; but
L'honneur eſt comme un Ile eſcarpée & ſans bords,
On n'y peut plus rentrer dès qu'on en eſt dehors. *
The loyalty natural to the heart of an Engliſhman
has been converted by the arts of party into an engine of
perſecution. Hence to doubt the rectitude of a miniſter's
private views or public conduct has been deemed an in-
fringement of the Royal prerogatives, or incurred the
reproach of diſaffection to the principles of the Conſtitu-
tion! He, who has dared to diſapprove a meaſure of
Adminiſtration, has been branded with the names of
DEMOCRATE, and of JACOBIN! O rem, quam homines
* Boileau.
X
Soluti
150
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
ſoluti ridere non deſinant, triſtiores autem fine maximo dolore
audire non poffint.*
Such are the effects of party violence in the preſent
times : effects fo deftructive of public confidence and
private ſecurity, that we are not free from the danger of
ſinking into the circumſtances ſo emphatically deſcribed
by the Roman Hiſtorian : ademto per inquiſitiones et lo-
quendi audiendique commercio. +
Theſe remarks are very unwillingly introduced.
They never would have appeared, had it not been
thought a moral duty to expoſe a policy fo cruel, and fo
inhuman a conduct, as the unfeeling miſrepreſentations,
to which they allude. Would to Heaven it could be
proved that theſe miſrepreſentations had not exiſted !
To a liberal mind it would give more pleaſure to be
convicted of having fornied a wrong judgment in ſuch a
caſe, than to perſiſt in a bad opinion of the public or
private conduct of any individual. But
Indignis fi malè dicitur, maledi&tum id eſſe dico :
Verùm ſi dignis dicitur, benedi&tum ef. I
Perſecution ever defeats it's own purpoſes. In it's
wanton attack on unſuſpecting innocence, the welfare
of ſociety demands that it ſhould be it's own puniſh-
* Cicero, Orat. pro Domo.
+ Tacit. Jul. Agric.
I Plaut. Curcul. A. iv, S. ii, 27.
ment.
1
Α Ρ Ρ Ε Ν D Ι Χ.
151
+
ment. In ſpite of the rancor of calumny, and the mil-
repreſentations of malevolence, the man, who is not
actuated by intereſted motives, who has no object in view
but his country's good, will be of no party
He will
candidly and freely diſcuſs the conduct of ſtateſmen,
whether they are baſking in the ſunſhine of Royal fa-
vor, or freezing in the hopeleſs gloom of Oppoſition.
He will rejoice to ſee, on great occaſions, his repreſenta-
tives yield to the force of conviction, forget their party
connexions, and forſake their political leaders. He will
applaud equally the motives, which diminiſhed the Mi-
niſter's majority in the Ruffian armament*, and thoſe,
which taught another great Stateſman in December laſt,
that his adherents would not always make his opinions
the rule of their conduct.
* It is not here preſumed to decide on the merits of that
tranſaction. Had the Miniſter been more candid ; had he ex-
plained, in the moſt general terms, the nature of his operations,
and his proſpect of ſucceſs, he would probably have met with
the ſame cordial co-operation, which he experienced during the
Dutch and Spaniſh negociations. So true is the ancient al-
fertion : καίτοι τόγε σειράθαι λανθάνειν εφ' οίς πράτλες τις ομο-
Hogovrlos ápaptáveiv ist. Mufonius, in Stobæ, yi.
The Duke of Leeds has not been ſufficiently praiſed for his
firm and conſiſtent conduct on that occafion. His reſignation
is one of the few inſtances, which the hiſtory of adminiſtrations
affords, of independence and diſintereſtedneſs.
FINI S.
Lately Publiſhed, by the ſame Author,
The ELEMENTS
OF THE
LATIN LANGUAGE,
OR, AN
INTRODUCTION to LATIN GRAMMAR,
With NOTES,
For the uſe of thoſe, who have made ſome proficiency
in that Language.
The THIRD EDITION.
D E L E CT US
Sententiarum et Hiſtoriarum,
in ufuin Tironum accommodatus.
Editio altera.
PRINCIPI A
HISTORIÆ NATURALIS,
OFFICIORUM,
REI RUSTICÆ, ET GEOGRAPHICÆ,
Ex Plinio Secundo, Cicerone, Varrone, Columella,
Celſo, Cæfare, Tacito, et Melâ,
Excerpta in uſum Scholarum.
1
The following is the Publication mentioned at page 61:
The Practice of liberal Piety Vindicated,
Being a REPLY to
OBSERVATIONS by a LAYMAN,
Under the Title of the Do&rines of Grace Vindicated)
Upon an ASSIZE SERMON,
Preached at READING, MARCH 6, 1792,
By the Rev. R. VALPY, D. D. F. A.S.
By the Rev. 'G. BUTT, D. D.
Chaplain in Ordinary to his Majeſty.
The FORCE of the
7
ARGUMENT
FOR THE mitten
TRUTH of CHRISTIANITY,
و به
DR A WN FROM A
Collective View of Prophecy,
IN THREE PARTS.
I. A brief State of the Argument.
II. A Defence and further Illuſtration of the
Argument.
III. A brief State of the Queſtion, Whether
Prophecies or Miracles afford a ſtronger Evi-
dence for the Truth of Chriſtianity.
Occaſioned by Dr. Middleton's Examination of
the Lord Biſhop of London's Diſcourſes.
: By JOHN ROTHERAM, M. A.
Rector of Ryton in the County of Durhem, and
Chaplain to the Lord Biſhop of Durham.
A
THE THIRD EDITION.
>
:
O X FORD,
Printed by DANIEL PRINCE, and ſold by 7,
Rivington, in St. Paul's Church-yard, London.
[ Price is 6:1. ]
od
1. A brief State of the Argument for
the Truth of Chriſtianity drawn from
a Collective View of Prophecy.
T
HE learned Biſhop Sherlock, in
his Diſcourſes on the Uſe and Intent
of Prophecy, has obſerved, that
there is a general Dependency a-
mongſt all thoſe Prophecies, that were de-
livered to the World, concerning the Meſſiah
that was to come; that, in applying thoſe
Prophecies to our Saviour, we ſhall often fail
of giving them their juſt Force, if we con-
ſider them only ſeparately and independently;
and that ſuch a partial Conſideration can by no
Means give Us an adequate Idea of the grand
Scheme of Providence in the Redemption of
Mankind.
His Lordſhip has further obſerved, that
theſe Propheſies were intended by Providence
to ſerve Two great Purpoſes. Firſt, to ſupport
the Faith and Religion of the old World. And
Secondly, to give Teſtimony to the Miſſion of
Feſus. He has ſhewn, with a view to the
firſt, how the Revelation of the Meſſiah was
gradually opened, and unfolded by little and
little, according to the different Exigences of
A
the
[ 2 ]
the ſeveral Ages in which it was delivered,
and the Meaſure of Support and Comfort that
was neceſſary to be imparted to them : But
He obſerves, that the ſecond Purpoſe above-
mentioned will be ſtill farther aſſiſted by taking
in one entire View the whole Scheme of Pro-
phecy, aud that they who conſider the Prophe-
cies under the Old Teſtament, as ſo many Pre-
diétions only, independant on each other, can ne-
ver form a right Judgment of the Argument for
the Truth of Chriſtianity drawn from this Topic.
Now an entire View of the Prophecies may
be taken in two different Lights : either fuc-
cefively, as they lie in Order of Time; or col-
lectively, as they All together make up one con-
pleat Set of Predictious relating to the Jame Per-
fon. Theſe Views are manifeſtly diſtinct: The
firſt of them is, I apprehend chiefly to be at-
tended to, when we ſpeak of ſupporting the
Faith of the Old Icrld; as the latter of them
is moft ſubſervient to the Proof of Chriſtianity.
THAT the Prophecies of the Meſſiah re-
corded in the Old Teſtament are diſpoſed in a
regular and dependent Order, cannot be doubt-
ed by any one who ſeriouſly conſiders them :
and that this Order was not fallen upon acci-
dentally, and without Deſign, I think, will
admit of as little Diſpute. The Giving Teſti-
mony to Chriſt's Miſſion could not be the
Deſign
of Providence in diſpoſing them in this Order.
For it will appear that a Set of Prophecies, if
they only contained a full Deſcription of the
Meſſiah, would have given as perfect an Evi-
dence
[3]
dence to the Divine Miſſion of Jeſus, in what-
ever Order they had been delivered, or delivered
even without any Regard to Order, as they do
when ranged in that Regularity in which they
now appear.
No other Conditions could be requiſite for
this End than that the Prophecies ſhould be, 1.
ſo clear as to be eafily applicable to the Meſſiah ;
2. fo. numerous and particular, as to comprehend
a View of the moſt material Alions of his Life,
and the Intention of his Coming; and, as to be
neceſſarily reſtrained to bim, and applicable to no
one elſe. Now theſe Conditions might be ob-
tained, without any Regard to the Order in
which the Prophecies were delivered: and there-
fore the giving a more perfect Teſtimony to the
Miſſion of Jeſus, could not be the Deſign of
Providence in giving that regular Arrangement
to theſe Prophecies in which they are diſpoſed.
But then theſe Conditions could not both be
obtained without a Regard to the ſecond View of
Prophecies which we have pointed out. For
though the Prophecies might have been ſo plain
as to be eaſily applicable to the Meſſiah (as in
Fact all the Prophecies applied to him are) yet
unleſs they did all together make up one com-
pleat Set of Predi&tions relating to the ſame Per-
fon, they could not have been ſo numerous and
particular as to comprehend a View of the
moſt material of our Saviour's Actions, and
the Intention of his Coming, nor as to be re-
ſtrained to him alone, and applicable to no one
elſe.
A 2
THESE
[ 4 ]
These Diſtinctions then, I apprehend, give
a clear and eaſy Account how far Prophecies, di-
ſtinctly and independently conſidered, can go
towards producing a perfect Teſtimony of the
divine Miſſion of Jeſus, and how far they muſt
fail in doing this. We muſt eaſily ſee, that
Prophecies, fingly conſidered, might be ſo plain
as to be applicable to our Saviour : but then
under this View only they could go no farther.
They might ſtill be of ſuch a Nature, and in
Fact many of them are of that Nature) as to
be applicable to many more beſides the Perſon
of our Saviour. Thus that Prediction, which
ſays the Meffiah ſhould make his Grave with
the Rich, is plainly applicable to our Lord, be-
cauſe it undoubtedly happened to him ; but it
happened to many beſides our Saviour, and
therefore, if we conſider it no otherwiſe than
ſingly, the Evidence of this Prophecy is ma-
nifeſtly loft.
It can no more, by its own
ſingle Force, prove Jeſus of Nazareth to be
the Meſſiah, than it can a Thouſand others,
to whoin the ſame Thing happened in com-
mon with him. It only fets his Claim to that
Title upon a Level with that of all thoſe on
whoſe Corpſes, ſince the giving out of the Pro-
phecy, the fame diſtinguiſhed Interment has
been beſtowed. But when we give it a Place a-
mongſt a Collection of Prophecies that were all
given out concerning the ſame Meſſiah, then
we ſee how, under this collected View, it is at
once reſtrained, and affifts in reſtraining others,
to the Perſon of our Saviour ; fince it can
then
]
[ 5 ]
then only be applicable to him in whom all the
other Circumſtances concurred, nor can the reſt
be applied, but where this is alſo due. 'Tis true
there are ſome of the Prophecies by their Nature
more reſtrained. There are perhaps ſome of
them which no one could, in ſtrict Juſtice, pre-
tend to have fulfilled but our Saviour alone.
Theſe are however far the ſmalleſt Number.
Nay there are fcarce any of them, which a cavil-
ling Age would have allowed him a peaceable
and inconteſted Right to: and, in by far the
greateſt Number, He would have had many
Competitors. But if they fail here, much leſs
can ſcattered, disjointed Predictions anſwer the
other part of the ſecond Condition. For it is a
Contradiction, that a Prophecy of a ſingle Event
ſhould comprehend a View of the moſt material
Actions of the Meffiah, and the Intention of his
Coming. We ſee how ſmall a Part of that Evi-
dence for the Truth of our Saviour's Miſſion,
which Reaſon teaches us to expect from Pro-
phecy, is obtainable from Prophecies ſingly and
independently conſidered : and therefore how ne-
ceſſary it is, in Order to draw a concluſive Ar-
gument for the Truth of Chriſtianity from this
Topic, to take an entire View of the Prophecies
of the Old Teſtament in the ſecond Light, as
they all together make up one compleat Set of
Predictions relating to the ſame Perſon.
If we ſhould attend only to one ſingle Ope-
ration of Nature, or to one ſingle Act of God's
Dealings with his Creatures, we might perhaps
be
[6
be tempted to deny a Providence. But if we take
in at one comprehenſive View the whole Syſtem
of Nature, and run through the whole Scheme
of God's Diſpenſations, then the Proofs of Power
and Wiſdom ſhine in ſo ſtrongly upon Us, that
We cannot help acknowledging the great and
good Creator and Governour of the Univerſe.
So here, when we attend only to one ſingle Pro-
phecy, ſo narrow and partial a View will at beſt
leave the Mind clogged with great Uncertainties :
but when We enlarge our View, and admit at
once the whole Syſtem of Prophecies; then the
Evidence for our Saviour's divine Miſſion breaks
in with a Force ſo irreſiſtible as carries all Doubts
before it, and pours ſtrong Conviction and full
Aſſurance over all the Mind.
I do not deny, but that the firſt View of
Prophecy may contribute ſomething towards
ſtrengthening, or at leaſt beautifying, the Argu-
ment drawn from thence for the Truth of Chri-
ſtianity. For: 'tis certain that the Syſtem of Pro-
phecies cannot be ranged in a more beautiful Or-
der than that wherein they ſtand. And beſides ;
having an Eye to the Occaſions for which they
were given, the Place they poſſeſs in the Series
of Prophecies, and the Circumſtances that at-
tended their Delivery, cannot fail of giving Light
to ſeveral particular Prophecies. There is ſome
Reaſon to imagine, that our Saviour and his Dif-
ciples looked upon this as the moſt commodious
Order, in which to draw out theſe Prophecies, to
give their Evidence to the Truth of his Miſſion.
Wherever
[ 7 ]
Wherever they had Occaſion to produce this
Teſtimony, they generally began with Mofes,
and then deſcended in Order to the reſt of the
Prophets. We have a ſtrong Preſumption of
our Saviour's eſpecial Regard to this Method,
joined with a direct Proof, that He thought the
Prophecies of the Old Teſtament gave the beſt
Evidence to his Miſſion when collected, in the
pathetic Account of his Diſcourſe with the Dif-
ciples in the Way to Emmaus. a Fools, and
Now of Heart, ſaid He, to believe all that the Pro-
phets have ſpoken! Ought not Chriſt to have ſuffer-
ed theſe Things, and to enter into his Glory? And
beginning at Mofes and all the Prophets, He ex-
pounded unto them in all the Scriptures the Things
concerning himſelf. From which We can gather
Nothing leſs than this, that, in Order to con-
vince his doubting Diſciples of the Truth of his
Miſſion from the Topic of Prophecy, He both
ſummed
up all the Prophecies contained in the
Scriptures concerning himſelf
, and alſo purſued
that Order in which Providence had thought fit
to diſpoſe and connect them. He began from
Moſes, and expounded what related to his Mif-
fion throughout all the Scriptures.
This Obſervation will be ſtrengthened if we
conſider that this was the firſt Time the Argu-
ment was, and could have been, made Uſe of in
its full Extent. The Prophecies had not till then
received their full and final Completion. The
Scene of our Saviour's Sufferings was now clor-
a Luke 24. 25 &c.
1
ed
,
[ 8 ]
ed, he had drank the bitter Cup, had paid down
our Ranſom, had ſhewn himſelf victorious over
our grand Enemy, and in ſhort had finiſhed the
great
Work of his Miſſion; and now at laſt eve-
ry Character given of the Meſſiah appeared legi-
ble in his Perſon. The Prophecies therefore
could not have been earlier applied to him in a
collected and dependent View. All that could
be done in his Life-Time was to apply particu-
lar Prophecies, and to accommodate them to him-
ſelf, as they one by one received their Comple-
tion in the Courſe of his Actions. But now He
was able to gather them up, and to urge, as one
powerful and irreſiſtible Argument of the Truth
of his Miſſion, the perfect and thorough Corre-
ſpondence between his whole Life and Actions,
and the entire Plan of them made up of the
whole Set of Prophecies laid together and united.
Our Saviour's Uſe of this kind of Argument on
the very firſt Occaſion, after it was capable of be-
ing put in Force, ſeems clearly to point out to
Us the moſt proper Uſe of Prophecy in applying
it to the Proof of his Miſſion; and the Evange-
liſt's apparent Care in deſcribing ſo particularly
this important Occurrence to Us, may juſtly be
looked upon as a deſigned Recommendation of
this our Saviour's Method of treating Prophecy
as a Pattern moſt worthy our Imitation.
The firſt View of Prophecy is chiefly con-
cerned in leading Us to the firſt Uſe of it. For
the greateſt Strength of Teſtimony appears plain-
ly to be deducible from the Second View of it.
From
ز
[ 9 ]
From that ſingly, all the neceſſary Conditions,
requiſite to make Prophecy a compleat Teſtimo-
ny, are to be obtained; and this ſeems to add
more Grace than Strength to the Argument.
Since then there is a manifeſt Order and Subor-
dination obſervable in the Prophecies, and ſince
We cannot ſuppoſe this Order to be the Ef-
fect of Chance, neither is the Uſe it can be of,
in bringing about the ſecond End of Prophecy,
conſiderable enough to be thought the fole Pur-
poſe of it; it remains that it muſt have been plan-
ned in Subſerviency to the firſt End of Prophe-
cy, and with a View of ſupporting the Faith and
Religion of the Old World. That they are fit-
ted to ſerve this great End will eaſily appear.
Man's Innocence was the Condition on which
he held his original Title to Happineſs. Having
loſt his Innocence, he had therefore no longer
any Means of obtaining Happineſs. For if we
ſay that he could, by any natural Abilities of his
own, raiſe himſelf again to forfeited Happineſs,
what is this but deſtroying all eſſential Difference
between Virtue and Vice? taking the Scales of
Juſtice from the Hand of God, and making
Man himſelf Arbiter of the Terms on which he
will be ſaved ? For, on this Suppoſition, when
he had finned, he had nothing more to do than
to exert that Power with which he was endued,
and be reſtored again to all the Priviledges of un-
ſtained Virtue. And what is ſuch a Power, but a
Power of ſetting up an Equality between Virtue
and Vice? It is placing Man beyond all Poſſi-
B
bility
[ 10 ]
bility of forfeiting his Title to Happineſs. For
he could never forfeit his Title to that, which he
had in himſelf a natural Power of obtaining.
The firſt Sinner therefore could have no rea-
ſonable Expectations of Happineſs, except it
ſhould pleaſe the Mercy of God to open for him
a new Way to it. This God vouchſafed to do
out of his great Compaſſion for the helpleſs State
of fallen Man. He provided an Expiation for
thoſe Sins, which Man himſelf was unable to ex-
piate, the Sacrifice of his beloved Son; and
changed the Conditions of Happineſs, on our
Part, from perfect Innocence, which we were
no longer capable of, to Repentance, and Faith
in the Merits and Satisfaction of Chriſt. But
ſtill Man could not attain to the Knowledge of
theſe Conditions, (ſince they depended not on his
own, but on the divine Will,) and therefore could
not lay hold of the Benefits of them, without
fome Revelation made to him of that divine
Will. Hence it appears how excellently the firſt
Prophecy was appointed for ſupporting the Faith
and Religion of the firſt of Men; ſince without
it they muſt have been utterly deſtitute of all
Faith and Principles of Religion. For without
it they could neither have known the Object of
Faith, nor have had Hope in the Object of re-
ligious Worſhip. It conveys juſt ſo much Light
as the Condition of Man at that Time required,
a general Promiſe of a Deliverer. Who he was
to be, at what Diſtance of Time he was to ap-
pear, or what were to be the Characters of his
Perſon,
[ 11 ]
Perfon, it imported them little to know. Theſe
were Diſcoveries reſerved for the Exigences of
ſucceeding Ages. That there ſhould ariſe one
who ſhould finally triumph over their grand E-
nemy, and thereby reſtore them to the Happi-
neſs they had loſt all Title to by their Defection
from Innocence, was enough to raiſe them from
Deſpair to a Hope in God; it was a ſufficient
Foundation for Truſt in his Mercies, and Faith
in a promiſed Redeemer.
This Promiſe was granted to the Father of
the whole Race of Men. They were all alike
to ſhare in the Benefits of it. It was therefore
expreſſed in general Terms, becauſe it was to be
the Baſis of a general Hope. But the Promiſe
made to Abraham was more confined. It limit-
ed the Expectations of giving birth to the
pro-
miſed Meſſiah to his Seed. And who does not
ſee how conducive theſe Expectations were, to-
wards carrying on the Intereſt of Providence, at
that Time? God was then ſelecting a peculiar
People for the better Preſervation of Religion,
and the Foundation of religious Hopes : And
what could ſo effectually engage them heartily
to concur in his Deſigns, as to diffuſe through
them all, from their very Fountain, the Opi-
nion, that they were ſet apart by God, and ſa-
cred to the great Purpoſe of giving a Meſſiah to
the World ? Nothing could ſo ſtrongly cement
and unite them amongſt themſelves, or inſpire
them with ſo warm a Deſire of preſerving them-
ſelves a diſtinct People, unmixed with other
Nations,
B 2
[ 12 ]
-
Nations, and of performing with Alacrity all
thoſe Ceremonies deſigned ſtill further to ſecure
their Diſtinction.
But left this People, conceiving too high an
Opinion of the Excellency of their Conſtitution,
ſhould be deſirous of adhering to it, and of ſup-
porting it, even after the divine Protection was
intended to be withdrawn from it, it was expe-
dient they ſhould know that God had preſcribed
a Period to its Duration, and only intended that
its Obligation ſhould be temporary. And what
could ſo effectually ſerve this Purpoſe, as that
the Declaration of this divine Appointment
ſhould come from the Mouth of the very Per-
fon, who was the Inſtrument of God in giving
their Laws? That thus the great Veneration,
they would conceive for One whom God had
honoured with this high Commiſſion, might be
kept within due Bounds even by its own Force,
and that the ſame Authority, which gave them
Zeal to defend their Law, while it was intended
to laſt, might alſo incline them to give it up
without Reluctance, to that more excellent and
perfect Law, which was to ſucceed it. Here
then lay the Propriety of putting this Prophecy
into the Mouth of Mofes, The Lord thy God will
raiſe up unto Thee a Prophet from the midſt of Thee,
of thy Brethren, like unto me; unto him Ye Mall
hearken. Deut. 18,15.
We ſee how juſtly the Degrees of Light were
proportioned to the Exigences of the Times, in
which they were delivered, and how well adapt-
ed
[ 13 ]
ed to excite in the Minds of Men, ſuch Impreſ-
fions, as might moſt conduce to forward the be-
nevolent Deſigns of Providence. This Specimen
ſufficiently ſhews the Fitneſs of the Prophecies
to the particular Periods, to which they are aſ-
ſigned, and how juſtly the Degrees of Revela-
tion were meaſured out according to the Wants
of thoſe to whom they were vouchſafed. We
might carry on this View of the Prophecies
much farther, and ſhew of moſt of the ſucceed-
ing ones, that they had a manifeſt Tendency to
ſupport, or revive the Faith of thoſe to whom
they were given. a For they were generally be-
ſtowed, as theſe we have already conſidered
plainly were, at Times when the People, under
Difficulties or Diſtreſſes, ſtood moſt in Need of
ſuch Support; or when they wanted Encourage-
ment for undertaking ſome arduous Attempts.
But this is not neceſſary. For We cannot doubt
but that Providence would carry the ſame
cious Deſign throughout the whole Revelation,
that
appears in the Beginning of it.
SHOULD we now ſuppoſe the Order of the
Prophecies to be changed or diſturbed, the Ap-
pearance they would then make, under this dif-
ferent Diſtribution of them, would further illuſ-
trate the great Wiſdom of aſſigning them that
Order they at preſent poſſeſs. Imagine then the
Prophecies we have been conſidering to be in
any Manner tranſpoſed, and you will ſee that it
cannot be ſo contrived, but that great Inconve-
a See Diſcourſes &c. particularly Diſc. 6. Page 148 &c.
niences
gra-
.
[ 14
niences would reſult from the Change. Suppoſe
the Promiſe to Abraham removed back to Adam.
It could not have added the leaſt uſeful Light to
that which the general Promiſe of a Redeemer
conveyed. For what availed it Adam, to know
the Name of One of the remote Anceſtors of
the Meſſiah? and to ſay that Abraham ſhould
be his Father, what was it ſaying more to Adam,
than that one of his Seed ſhould be his Father?
But it would have been worſe than barely ſuper-
fluous here. For it would have laid the Deity,
under a Neceſſity of giving a public Atteſtation,
to the Perſon of this Abraham, either by a Set
of Prophecies deſcribing his Character, and the
Time and Place of his Birth, or by working
ſome great Miracles for this purpoſe, or by ſome
other public Demonſtration, that He was the ve-
ry Abraham from whom it was foretold, that the
Meſſiah ſhould ſpring. For without ſome ſuch
public Proof he might have been overlooked, or
his Claim conteſted; inſtead of adminiſtring E-
vidence it would have ſupplied conſtant Matter
of Exception and Diſpute; For how could we
have anſwered thoſe who ſhould have aſſerted
that the Abraham, from whom the Meſſiah was
to ſpring, was of another Family, another Coun-
try, or Nation? Should we on the contrary
bring it nearer to the Time of our Saviour, it
would, at leaſt for the intervening Time, loſe
all its Influence for determining the Seed of A-
braham, to keep up their Diſtinction from the
Reſt of Mankind; and Abraham himſelf would
be
[ 15 ]
be deprived of ſome part of the great. Motive,
that inſpired him with Reſolution, in maintain-
ing the Honour of God's Name, amidſt an ido-
latrous People, and in encountering all the Diffi-
culties which Providence thought fit to lay up-
on him.
SHOULD we again, reverſing the firſt Expe-
riment, bring down the Promiſe made to Adam
to ſome later Age, how unhappy would be the
Conſequence! Beſides the great Difficulties of
making the Revelation public in the World now
become populous, It would leave the wretched
Part of Mankind, who were deſtined to the dark
Period which went before it, abandoned to Ig-
norance, or, what is ſtill more deplorable, to all
the Horrors of Deſpair, and the certain Appre-
henſions of the divine Diſpleaſure. Thus to
change or diſplace any of the Prophecies, like
removing ſome of the great Bodies of the Uni-
verſe, would lay in Ruins, or at leaſt greatly
disfigure, the whole Syſtem.
The Prophecies were all inſpired by the ſame
Holy Spirit. When therefore ſo noble an End
as the Support of Religion, which has always
been the peculiar Care of Heaven, could be an-
ſwered barely by giving a particular Arrange-
ment to the Prophecies, to imagine that the Ar-
rangement moſt ſuitable to that End was fallen
upon by Chance, or to ſuppoſe that the Prophe-
cies have been wildly ſcattered through different
Ages, without any Regard to Order at all, is
certainly linking the Oeconomy of the divine
Spirit,
[ 16 ]
Spirit, to a Pitch even lower than that to which
human Prudence uſes to attain. For even a pru-
dent Mortal does not neglect to give his Affairs
the moſt commodious Diſpoſition, nor will he
jumble them together in Perplexity and Confu-
ſion, where he is ſenſible that Regularity would
have conduced greatly to his Intereſt. The Pro-
phecies being diſtributed, as they are, through
all the Ages which preceeded our Saviour's Co-
ming, is of itſelf an Argument that Wiſdom and
Benevolence were concerned in appointing them
their Stations, and that they were beſtowed with
a gracious Intention, as the Favours of Provi-
dence, on thoſe who were thought worthy of
them. Had they been all laviſhed upon any one
Age, their Influence muſt have been loſt to o-
thers. Had they all been given out with a pro-
fuſe Hand to the firſt, their Force would have
gradually decayed ; long and unregarded Expec-
tation would have wearied out Faith, and they
would at laſt have vaniſhed like Dreams, and
been loſt in the ſpreading Corruptions of Man-
kind. Or had they all been reſerved to the later
Ages, who could without Commiſeration have
looked back on the total Darkneſs, in which all
Antiquity muſt have been involved! But when
We ſee them diſſeminated with an even Hand
through all Ages, who does not adore the uni-
verſal Goodneſs, and admire the wiſe Oecono-
my of Providence, thus diſpenſing his Mercies as
the Neceſſities of his Creatures called for them,
awakening at every fit Period the languiſhing
Faith
[ 17 ]
Faith of the World, refreſhing the thirſty Souls
of his faithful Servants with a due Share of his
Goodneſs, ever repeating the decayed Impreſ-
ſions of his Promiſes, and keeping alive and in-
vigorating their Hopes, by renewed Aſſurances
of his gracious Intentions! Upon the Whole,
ſince it appears that the Order, in which the
Prophecies are now diſpoſed, is of all others the
fitteſt for producing and ſuſtaining the Faith of
the Old World, and that all other poſſible Dif-
tribution of them, would neceſſarily deſtroy or
greatly weaken this Tendency in them, we may
fairly conclude, that the all-wiſe and bountiful
Author of them, when he placed them in this
beautiful Subordination, was not regardleſs of
the great Benefits which, only under the Form
he had given them, they were moſt capable of
producing. Or in other Words ; that a ſucceſ-
ſive View of the Prophecies leads us to diſcover
that they were deſigned by Providence, to ſup-
port the Faith and Religion of the Old World.
When now, in Purſuance of this great De-
ſign, God had, by ſpeaking, as the Apoſtle ex-
preſſes it, in different Parts and in different Man-
ners to the Fathers by the Prophets, made a com-
pleat Revelation of his Will concerning the Re-
demption of the World; when he had by fre-
quent Additions diſplayed every Character of the
Meſſiah, and thus filled up and finiſhed the
Great Out-Line that was delineated in the firſt
general Prophecy of him: then commenced the
Second Uſe of Prophecy, then was ië fitted to
С
give
[ 18 ]
give a compleat Evidence to the Saviour that
was to come. At that Period the Expectations
of the faithful were raiſed to the greateſt Height.
They contemplated with awful Veneration the
great Plan that was now wholly unfolded, and
waited, with pious Fervour and devout Wiſhes,
for the approaching Salvation. They ſtood wrap-
ped up in tilent Admiration, when they perceiv-
ed the grand Criſis draw near in which the Pro-
miſes of God, now ſhut up, were about to be
made good; and, filled with a deep and ſtill At-
tention, expected when God would open in Rea-
lity that glorious Scene, the Deſcription of which
was now compleated. How their Hopes were
anſwered by the Event, it beſt becomes the ſa-
cred Volumes to tell.
II. A
[ 19 ]
1
II. A Defence and further Illuſtration
of the Argument.
S
INCE the firſt Uſe of Prophecy laid
down above, and all collective Views of
the Prophecies for either of the Purpoſes
to which they have been applied, have
been lately oppoſed with great Severity, and con-
demned by an Author of great Note; to lay
down ſuch a View of them without any Regard
to his Objections might be cenſured as Raſhneſs,
as a Want of proper Deference to an Author of his
Eminence; nay as a Step unſafe for the Scheme
itſelf; ſince it might be looked upon as leaving
a Fortreſs undefended, except by its natural
Strength, when a Battery directed by a great
Maſter was playing againſt it. I ſhall therefore
conſider the Objections he has made to it.
He tells Us that our Saviour himſelf and his
Apoſtles conſidered the Prophecies of the Old Teſta-
ment, in a Light very different from that in which
his Lordſhip would place them. That they always
applied them ſingly and independently on each other
to this or that Occafon, as ſo many different Argu-
ments for the general Truth of the Goſpel.a In fup-
a Examination of the Lord Biſhop of London's Diſcourſes &c.
by Conyers Middleton D.D. Pag, 8.
1
C 2
port
1
[ 20 ]
port of this Declaration he proceeds to fhew,
how Jeſus himſelf conſtantly taught that his Perſon
and Character were particularly foretold, and mark-
ed out by Moſes and all the later Prophets as the
Meſſiah, or that great Prophet who was to come :
and that he came accordingly, as it had been fore-
told to them, not to deſtroy the Law and the Pro-
phets, but to fulfill them. a This he illuſtrates from
bis general Exhortation to the Jews to ſearch the
Scriptures for the Proofs of his Character and Mif-
fion, for they are they which teſtify of Me, ſays our
Saviour. From his aſſerting that a Belief in Mo-
ſes 'ought to produce a Belief in him. Had
ye
be-
lieved Moſes
ye
would have believed Me; for He
wrote of Me. From his Reproof to his Diſciples in
the Way to Emmaus, Luke 24.25&c. From thoſe
particular Prophecies alledged by him as prefigure-
tirse of his Character and Miſſion.b Which Inſtan-
ces of the Uſe of Prophecy, as it was applied by Fe-
fus himſelf, ſufficiently jbew, he thinks, that the
ancient Prophecies were conſidered by him fingly and
independently, as ſo many diſtinct Arguments for
the Truth of bis Miſſion. This Argument he en-
deavours further to ſtrengthen by an Account of
the Practice of the Apoſtles, who refer Us, he ſays,
for the Evidences of our Faith to Mofes and the
Prophets. Saint Matthew was ſo diligent in col-
lecting the prophetic Teſtimonies of Chriſt
, and ap-
plying them ſeverally on all Occaſions as ſo many
diſtinct Proofs of the Miſſion of Feſus, that there is
ſcarce A SINGLE OCCURRENCE WHICH EVER
a Page 9. b See Pag. 12, 13, 14, 15, 16.
HAP .
[ 21 ]
HAPPENED TO CHRIST, but what he declares to
have been before told by ſome Prophet, and FUL-
FILLED BY A CORRESPONDENT EVENT. And
all the other Evangeliſts, he tells Us, purſue the
fame Method.
AFTER having weighed all that is here
drawn out from the Scriptures, to inſtruct Us
in the Method the Apoſtles, and our Saviour
himſelf made Uſe of, in applying the Prophecies
of the Old Teſtament, I muſt confeſs I do not
diſcover the leaſt Appearance of any Thing in it
inconſiſtent with his Lordſhip’s Scheme. Nay it
ſeems to Me to agree entirely with it, and to be
in all Reſpects ſuch an Account as the Biſhop
himſelf might be ſuppoſed to have gathered from
the New Teſtament, had he been called upon to
ſhew that his Notion of a Syſtem of Prophecy
was reconcileable to the Senſe of our Saviour and
his Evangeliſts. For ſuppoſing them all to have
been actually of Opinion, with the Biſhop, that
there was a'Chain of Prophecies reaching from
very diſtant Ages down to a few Centuries be-
fore his Coming, is there any Thing in all their
Conduct or Diſcourſe, as Doctor Middleton re-
preſents it, that betrays a Contradiction of Sen-
timents ? Could not our Saviour, without de-
parting from this Opinion, have exhorted the
Jews to ſearch the Scriptures for the Proofs of
his Character and Miſſion ? or rather, would he
have uſed any other Exhortation, if he had in-
tended to eſtabliſh amongſt them this very Opi-
nion? Could he not preſerve the ſame Conſiſten-
cy,
[ 22 ]
cy, and yet reproach the Jews with a Want of
Belief in Moſes, becauſe they believed not in him?
or his Diſciples with Want of Faith for doubt-
ing his Reſurrection, when he made it apparent
to them from the Scriptures, that He ought to
have ſuffered and to enter into his Glory? And
muft he, ſuppoſing a Chain of Prophecies to run
through the Books of the Old Teſtament, have
forgot himſelf when he aſſerted that he came
not to deſtroy the Law and the Prophets, but to
fulfill them? It may be ſaid, that it is not ſo
much the general Declarations of an Agreement
between our Saviour's Character and the propheti-
cal Account of it, that makes the Biſhop's Devia-
tion from the Opinion of our Saviour and his Apo-
ſtles evident, as the Application of particular Pro-
phecies to the Particulars of our Saviour's Life.
And does this make it out? When any one af-
ſerts that the Prophecies relating to the Meſſiah
lie in a beautiful and connected Order, do We
underſtand him as denying that thoſe Prophecies
ſeparately conſidered bear any Reſemblance to
the Particulars of his Life? nay on the contrary, ,
does not the very Attempt to point out the Ad-
vantages of their lying in ſuch an Order, preſup-
poſe the Agreement between the ſeveral Prophe-
cies and the correſponding Circumſtances in his
Life? It would be abſurd to argue upon any o-
ther Suppoſition : to pretend to rank thoſe Ex-
preſſions in a Chain of Prophecies, which it did
not appear, had
any
Manner of Claim to the Ti-
tle of Prophecies. If therefore his Lordſhip any-
where
[ 23 ]
where denies that ſeparate Prophecies bear any
Reſemblance to the Particulars of our Saviour's
Life or Character ; or in other Words, if he af-
firms, that by being diſtinctly conſidered they
ceaſe to be Prophecies, it is not in Conſequence
of his general Scheme that he does this; For
that obliges him to no ſuch Declaration: neither
in Fact could he make any ſuch without contra-
dicting a main Part of his general Scheme. If
you can bring him to deny that there are any
diſtinct Characteriſtics of our Saviour in the
pro-
phetical Writings, I will venture to affirm, that
he will ever after be ſilent about the beautiful
and commodious Arrangement, in which ſuch
Characteriſtics were delivered. It is abfurd to
talk of forming a Chain, without firſt being pof-
ſeffed of the Links of which it is to be compo-
ſed. Nothing but an accurate Inſpection into
the particular Prophecies, could lead any one to
diſcern that Uniformity of Deſign which runs
through the Whole. In the Study of the Pro-
phecies the ſame Method muſt be purſued, that
has long been approved in treating all other
Branches of Knowledge. That is, to begin by
eſtabliſhing the Particulars. It is from mature
Obſervation in theſe alone, that we can ever
hope to aſcend to the more general Laws. But
theſe once acquired, We can deſcend by the
ſame Steps, and return with double Advantage
to review the particular Caſes, when we ſee the
Dependence they have on their more general
Cauſes. It is then only, when we are able to
take
[ 24 ]
take the whole Syſtem into our View, that we
can ſee the Advantage of the Order they are pla-
ced in, and at once diſcern and account for the
Propriety of aſſigning this particular Part to that
particular Place. Should We be ſhewn a Set of
Pictures, and be taught, without any Regard to
the Order they are placed in, the particular Sto-
ry contained in each, We might, no doubt, be
very well entertained while we turned from one
to another juſt as Chance ſhould lead Us. But
ſhould We then be told that they all repreſented
the different Actions of the ſame Perſon, and
were placed in an hiſtorical Order, this would
open to Us a Set of freſh Beauties that we were
not before attentive to; We ſhould then ſee,
that, as they ſtood, each following one received
Light from thoſe that went before, and that to
conſider them in any other Order would diſturb
and ruin the whole Deſign. Yet this new Light
does not deſtroy the ſeparate Repreſentations.
They are as ſtrong as they were before, and
more pleaſing when their Relation to the reſt is
taken in, than when they were conceived to be
ſingle and independent Pieces. With Regard to
the Prophecies of the Meſſiah, when We conſi-
der them ſeparately, We eaſily diſcover in them
ſtrong and clear Images of our Saviour. Does
He, who ſees them in a connected State deſtroy
theſe Images ? Or if he ſhould pretend that his
View of them gives new Force and Beauty to
each, which are not to be perceived by him who
conſiders them barely in a broken disjointed State,
is
[ 25 ]
is ſuch a Pretence to be conſtrued, as a Deſign
to blot out the Likeneſs that was before found
to be in each particular Prophecy? The candid
muſt think otherwiſe of ſuch an Attempt. They
will think the Deſign calculated to improve, not
to weaken, theſe particular Reſemblances.
THERE may and muſt be, in a Character ſo
diſtinctly delineated in Prophecy as is that of our
Saviour, ſeveral minuter Circumſtances pointed
at, which are not amongſt the grand Characte-
riſtics, and inſeparable Privileges of the Meſſiah,
and which do not therefore belong to him alone.
Theſe conſidered diſtinctly and ſeparately loſe
much of their Force. A Prophecy ſays that the
Meſſiah was to be a Deſcendant of Judah. This
happened to our Saviour, but it did not happen
to him only. Therefore this Prophecy indepen-
dently conſidered, is of too looſe a Nature to be
of any Affiftance to Us in diſtinguiſhing the
Meſſiah when he ſhould come. 'Tis true it ex-
cludes many from that Title, but it alſo admits
many to it; and if we ſhould liſten to its ſingle
Voice, we ſhould have a whole Tribe of Mef-
fiahs. But conſider this as foretold of the fame
Perſon, who was to be born of a Virgin, who
was to do all kinds of Miracles, who was to be
put to Death, and to be raiſed from the dead,
and in whom ſeveral other ſpecial Circumſtan-
ces were to meet, it then becomes a forcible E-
vidence, and greatly contributes to fix the Cha-
racter of the Meſſiah on the proper Perſon; it
receives Strength from the Reſt of the Prophe-
D
cies,
[ 26 ]
1
cies, and adds Strength to them. There could
ſcarce be one ſingle Circumſtance in our Sa-
viour's Perſon or Actions fixed upon, which
though foretold in the cleareſt and moſt expreſs
Terms, could have been ſtrong enough to give
him, in the Opinion of Men, an unexceptionable
Right to the Title of the Mefliah. Try this up-
on his Power of working Miracles: That many
of the Prophets enjoyed in ſome Degree, and
many of his Diſciples gave aſtoniſhing Proofs of.
He was a Man of Sorrows and acquainted with
Grief, underwent great Sufferings though inno-
cent: Will this point him out to Us to be in-
conteſtably the Man? All Hiſtory can witneſs
that He is not the only innocent Sufferer. Nay
try the Experiment upon thoſe Marks which
were moſt, peculiarly his own, his Miraculous
Conception, or his glorious Reſurrection. If We
could only have traced the Meſſiah, by any One
of theſe fingle Points of him, in the prophetical
Writings, what Objections would not have been
raiſed againſt our Lord's Right to this glorious
Title! How would the Infidel have triumphed
over the Secrecy of his Conception! And what
Acceſſion of Strength would have followed thoſe
weak and malicious Exceptions to the Truth of
his Reſurrection! If then the moſt eminent
Marks common to our Saviour with the Mer-
fiah of the Prophets, be too weak, when they
ſtand alone, to eſtabliſh him beyond Contradic-
tion the ſame, and if they loſe their Force by
being ſeparately applied, every other under-Cir-
cumſtance
[ 27 ]
cumſtance muſt proportionably loſe more of its
Force, as its natural Power to withſtand the Vio-
lence offered it is leſs.
DESCRIPTIVE Definitions are always to be
viewed intire. If
you
diſunite the Parts of them
and yet make uſe of every Circumſtance thus in-
dependent, they will by no Means enable You
to find out the Individual they were intended for,
though they would readily do it when collected.
If we had a Portrait given Us to find out by it
the Perſon it was intended to repreſent, we ſhould
compare it intire with the Perſons that offered
themſelves to our Notice; and when We found
one whoſe Face and Proportions it exactly re-
ſembled, we ſhould conclude him to be the
Man we were in Search of. But if, inſtead of
this Method, we ſhould cut the Piece into as
many Parts as there were Limbs or Features,
and then look upon every ſmall Section as a
compleat Teſt of the Original, into what endleſs
Miſtakes ſhould We be led! And yet in one
Caſe the Reſemblance between the ſeveral dif-
tinct Parts is the ſame as in the other, but We
ſee the Advantage of laying them all together,
For the Correſponding of this one Part is a Proof
that all the reſt are not miſapplied.
How then did our Saviour and his Apoſtles
proceed, in applying to his Perſon the Characters
of it, that were exhibited in the prophetical Wri-
tings? It cannot be Thewn that our Saviour has
ever recommended the Uſe of any one particular
Prophecy, excluſive of others, to the Attention
D 2
of
[ 28 ]
of thoſe whom he was deſirous of leading to a
Faith in him. And till this be ſhewn, I ſee
not how it can be laid down as his Senſe of Pro-
phecy, that
any one particular Prophecy, much
leſs that every particular Prophecy, is of itſelf a
ſeparate and diſtinct Proof of the general Truth
of Chriſtianity. He has indeed applied to him-
ſelf particular Prophecies, and aſſured Us that
they received their Completion in fome Part of
his Life or Sufferings. But he has no where re-
ſtrained the Proof of his Meſſiahſhip to any one
of theſe, nor aſcribed to them a ſeparate Power
of proving him to be the Chriſt. His Conduct
was all along the very Reverſe of this. He did
not think that the fulfilling of any one Prophe-
cy,, or any Set of them, was ſufficient to evince
the Truth of his Miſſion. He thought that no-
thing leſs than a full Completion of all the Pro-
phecies was ſufficient for this great Purpoſe. He
all along Chewed a ſtrong Deſire of bringing a-
bout the Accompliſhment of ſtill more and more
Prophecies; and when any human Endeavours
were exerted that tended to prevent their further
Accompliſhment, He expreſsly oppoſed them.
When his Diſciples attempted to reſcue him
from the Betrayer and the Company that attend-
ed him, He ordered them to deſiſt, aſſuring
them that, if the Recovery of his Liberty had
been agreeable to the Deſign he was carrying
on,
He wanted not the Means to effect it. a But
a Matt. 26,54
bore
[ 29 ]
how then, he adds, Mall the Scriptures be fulfill-
ed, that thus it muſt be ?
And as He fulfilled all the Scriptures, ſo he
never recommended any ſeparate Part of them,
but the whole Volume, as a proper Foundation
of their Faith, to others. When he endeavour-
ed to bring others to a Belief in him, he did not
refer them to this or that Prophecy as a full E-
vidence of his Truth, but bid them ſearch the
Scriptures without Limitation for the Proofs of
his Character and Miſſion, for they are they,
ſays He, which teſtify of Me. When He re-
proved the Incredulity of the Two Diſciples in
the Way to Emmaus, he did not think it fuffi-
cient, for the raiſing and invigorating their Faith,
to recapitulate ſome of the moſt eminent Pro-
phecies concerning himſelf, and to urge them as
ſo many different, independent Arguments for
their believing, but, as one great, full, and pow-
erful Argument, Beginning at Moſes and all the
Prophets, He expounded unto them in all the Scrip-
tures the Things concerning himſelf.
Those whom He pitched upon to be his
Witneſſes to the World, were ſuch as attended
him through all the Scenes of his Miniſtry.
They were not furniſhed with an imperfect
Knowledge of it, nor admitted only to be con-
ſcious of one or two predicted Events, but were
acquainted with his Preaching, his Miracles, his
Perſecution, his Death, Burial, Reſurrection, and
Aſcenſion; For they were to give Evidence, not
of a partial, but of a general Correſpondency be-
tween
[ 30 ]
tween his Life and the prophetical Plan of it.
And Ye alſo fall bear Witneſs of Me, ſays He,
becauſe Ye have been with Me from the Beginning.
John 15. 27
ACCORDINGLY the Evangeliſts are not con-
tented with reciting only ſome of the moſt me-
morable Events in his Life, or with applying to
it ſome of the moſt expreſs and important Pre-
dictions, but they lay before Us the whole
Scheme of his Life and Doctrine, and ſeem care-
ful to inform Us of ſome of the minuteſt Inci-
dents in them, and to apply ſome of the more
indirect Prophecies, which were more likely to
eſcape the Notice of common Enquirers. St.
Matthew eſpecially has been ſo diligent in collecting
the prophetic Teſtimonies of Chriſt, that there is
ſcarce a ſingle Occurrence which ever happened to
him, but what he ſhews to have been foretold by ſome
Prophet. So inſufficient a Foundation of a Chrif-
tian Faith did he think the fulfilling of any fin-
gle and ſeparate Prediction ; fo induſtrious has
he been to diſplay to Us, in its full Force, the
great Argument of the Whole Life of Jeſus, cor-
reſponding to the Whole Picture of it, drawn in
the prophetical Writings. The ſame Deſign is
viſible in the Writings of the other Evangeliſts.
And will any one now object that they forgot
this Deſign, when they ſhewed a Reſemblance
between particular Prophecies and the particular
Acts of our Saviour? How elſe could the
gene-
ral Agreement be made out, without ſhewing
theſe particular Likeneſſes ? To attempt this
would
[ 31 ]
would be like attempting to ſhew the Reſem-
blance between a Face and a Picture, and yet
owning that the ſeveral Features were not at all
alike. To reconcile this Scheme to the Conduct
of the Evangeliſts, one would think a Reaſon
for their not applying more particular Prophecies
would be expected, rather than a Reaſon for
their applying ſo many. For it might be ſaid,
that, if they wanted to ſhew Us this general
Correſpondency, they ſhould have collected and
applied the whole Body of the Prophecies. But
neither was this requiſite. For the prophetical
Writings were ſtill extant. When therefore they
had drawn a compleat Account of the Tranſac-
tions of Chriſt, they might ſafely leave it to Us,
now poſſeſſed of both the correſponding Parts,
to make the Compariſon. We might read in
the Prophets all that the Meſſiah was to do and
ſuffer : We might read in the Evangeliſts all
that our Lord did and ſuffered : and therefore
were not unfurniſhed with every Thing, that
could fatisfy Us in the Reality of the Likeneſs,
which run through the whole. It might never-
theleſs be judged expedient that They themſelves
ſhould point out the Reſemblance in ſome Par-
ticulars : either for the Benefit of thoſe, who
might want Leiſure or Opportunity themſelves,
to examine the Prophets, that ſuch might not be
wholly unfurniſhed with this great Argument
for the Truth of their Profeſſion; or for the
Sake of applying ſome of the more obſcure Pro-
phecies to their proper Events ; or however it
was
[ 32 ]
was neceſſary that they ſhould lay in a Claim in
Behalf of their Maſter, to his being that very
Meſſiah ſpoken of by the Prophets. For other-
wiſe it might poſſibly have been overlooked by
the inadvertent Readers, or diſputed by the ma-
licious, while they had this ſpecious Plea to
back their other Objections, “ If they had been
“conſcious of the Completion of the Prophecies
« in the Perſon of their Maſter, his Diſciples
“could not have been guilty of ſuch Injuſtice to
“his Cauſe as to neglect the Claim.” This
might have infuſed Doubts even into the diligent
and well diſpoſed Enquirer ; and therefore the
Prophecies which ſtand recorded, and applied in
the New Teſtament by the Hands of the Evan-
geliſts and Diſciples of our Lord, at once awak-
en the inattentive, filence the bold Objector, and
adminiſter Confidence to the honeſt Heart. But
ſuppoſing none of theſe Advantages had attended
them, yet it is ſurely a very ſtrange Objection,
to ſay that the general Reſemblance can be hurt,
by a Reſemblance in ſeveral Particulars being al-
ready made out, and to oppoſe the Argument
drawn from this general Reſemblance, by ſhew-
ing that the Evangeliſts have long ago made
great Advances towards proving the Reality of
it. Eſpecially when we can add that they have
in Effect fully proved it. For, as far as they
have gone, they have Thewed the Reſemblance
to be perfect and undeniable, and having left us
a full and true Portrait of our Lord, have ap-
pealed to the Scriptures for the Truth of the
Refem-
[ 33 ]
Reſemblance in thoſe remaining Parts, which
they did not think it neceſſary, that they them-
ſelves ſhould draw into a Compariſon. And in
Truth, to do Dr. M. Juſtice, he ſeems not in-
ſenſible of the Weakneſs of his Argument. For,
after all the Pains he has taken to ſupport it, he
has fairly given it up. He ſays: But whatever
Eaſe it may give to his Lordſbip in this particular
Diſpute, to conſider Prophecy in fo extenſive a View,
yet, with Regard to the Service of Chriſtianity, I
cannot ſee the leaſt Difference or Advantage in this
Scheme, except in the greater Length of his prophe-
tic Chain, than of that, which the Evangeliſts made
Uſe of: For the Prophecies, as they are applied fin-
gly in the Goſpels, are all of them ſubfervient to one
and the ſame Purpoſe of Providence, as well as in
his Hypotheſis, but the Evangelical Chain which be-
gins with Mofes, reaches only through ſeveral hun-
dred Years; Whereas this Chain, which begins with
Adam, reaches through ſeveral Thouſand. And is
this Confeſſion come at laſt, and accompanied
with this Reaſon, that He now ceaſes to oppoſe
his Lordſhip’s Scheme, becauſe he does not ſee
that it carries in it any thing peculiarly ſervice-
able to the Cauſe of Chriſtianity? Why then,
we may aſk him, was all this Profuſion of La-
bour to make it appear inconſiſtent with the
Goſpels ? What, are the Prophecies, as applied
in the Goſpels themſelves, all of them ſubſer-
vient to one and the fame Purpoſe of Provi-
dence, as much as in his Lordſhip’s Hypotheſis,
a Examination, Pag. 23.
E
and
[ 34 ]
and is the Goſpel-Application of theſe Prophe-
cies yet produced to ſhew this very Part of his
Lordſhip’s Hypotheſis to be Chimerical, and
contradictory to the Notion of the Evangeliſts ?
The Man, who could endeavour to ſuſtain an
Argument of this Kind, muſt ſurely attribute e-
very thing to the Power of his Pen.
YET there is ſtill one Part of the Scheme in
Queſtion, which He thinks might be of ſupe-
rior Service to Chriſtianity, I mean the Length
of the Biſhop's prophetic Chain. For, with Re-
gard to the Service of Chriſtianity, He cannot ſee
the leaſt Difference or Advantage in this Scheme,
except in the greater Length of his prophetic Chain.
I will not ſay that He reſolves for that Reaſon to
maintain its Repugnance to the Goſpel Scheme :
However he does maintain it. And that Rea-
ſon will juſtify our Endeavours, to ſhew that He
has
yet produced Nothing from the Scriptures,
to make a Difference acknowledged. He ſays
that the Evangelical Chain begins with Moſes,
and is therefore not ſo long as that for which his
Lordſhip contends by upwards of 2000 Years.
But laying aſide this Metaphor at preſent, as un-
concerned in the Point of Diſpute we are now
entring upon; what does he mean in plain Words
when he ſays the Evangelical Chain reaches no
higher than Moſes? I ſuppoſe, that there are no
Prophecies, cited or referred to in the New Tef-
tament, which were delivered before the Time
of Moſes. What then? does it follow, either that
there were no Prophecies of the Meſſiah before
the
.
[ 35 ]
the Time of Mofes, or that the Evangeliſts did
not know of any ? not unleſs ſome Neceſſity can
be ſhewn for their having cited, or referred to
all the Prophecies that they were acquainted
with. The Proof of this has not yet been made
out, and I am perſwaded will hardly be under-
taken. Yet till it be made out, it muſt be al-
lowed that the Evangeliſts might know and be-
lieve in Prophecies delivered before the Time of
Moſes, though they have not cited them, and,
this being admitted, that the Suppoſition of a
Scheme of Prophecies, taking their Riſe much
higher than the Time of Moſes, is no way con-
trary to the Perſwaſion or Opinion of the Evan-
geliſts. I have before given a Reaſon why it
was not incumbent on thoſe who preached Chriſt,
or were intruſted with the great Care of tranſ-
mitting to Pofterity the Hiſtory of his Life, to
apply all the Prophecies relating to the Meſſiah,
that came within their knowledge, to the ſeve-
ral correſponding Paſſages therein. Namely, be-
cauſe we were ſtill poſſeſſed of the prophetical
Writings, and therefore were Ourſelves capable
of making the Application. I ſhall now further
ſuggeſt a Reaſon, why it might ſeem particular-
not neceſſary that they ſhould expreſsly refer
to the moſt ancient Prophecies of the Meſſiah.
Now theſe Prophecies were only of more gene-
ral Import, the Conditions of the Times not re-
quiring that they ſhould be more particular.
They promiſed at large that a Meffiah ſhould
come, a Deliverer from thoſe great Evils under
which
E 2
[ 36 ]
which Humanity then laboured; but they did
not deliver the Marks by which his Perſon was
to be known, the Condition in which he was to
appear, or the Manner in which he was to effect
that Deliverance. No more was foretold to our
Firſt Parents, than that one ſhould ariſe from
the Seed of the Woman who ſhould triumph
over their grand Enemy, and greatly repair the
Lofles their Race ſuſtained from their Tranſ-
greſſion. To Abraham it was promiſed that the
Deliverer ſhould ariſe from his Seed. But this
was all. Succeeding Prophecies were more par-
ticular. They pointed out all the ſeveral Cha-
racters of thoſe different Offices the Meffiah was
to ſuſtain ; They determined the exact Time of
his appearing in the World, the Place of his
Birth, the Manner of his Life, the Nature of his
Doctrine and Miracles, they painted the black
Scene of his Sufferings and Death, the Circum-
ſtances of his Interment, the Glory of his King-
dom, and, in a Word, they exhibited a View
of all the various Scenes he paſſed through in his
Abode on Earth, deſcribing many of the minu-
teſt Incidents that happened to him. The Na-
ture then of the Prophecies delivered in the ſe-
veral Ages of the World being thus different,
preſents Us with an obvious Reaſon, why the
Evangeliſts in their occaſional Citation of Pro-
phecies ſhould make Uſe of the later, and why
they might forbear making any References at all
to the moſt ancient. When they had, by adapt-
ing them to the Particulars of his Life, Thewn
that
[ 37 ]
that the more circumſtantial Prophecies belong-
ed to him, it followed that the more general
Prophecies could belong to no one elſe. When
it had been ſhewn that he exactly reſembled the
moſt nice and finiſhed Draughts of the Meſſiah,
what Occaſion to add that he alſo reſembled the
more faint Outlines or Sketches? They made it
appear that every minute Circumſtance, that was
to meet in the Character of the Meſſiah, con-
curred in the Perſon of Jeſus : could there there-
fore remain any Doubt whether he were intend-
ed under the more general Denomination of the
promiſed Seed ? Sure there could not. For it be-
ing ſhewn that the Explanation belonged to him,
that of which it was an Explanation muſt of
Courſe alſo belong to him. This may ſerve as
a Reaſon why the Evangeliſts did not expreſsly
cite the moſt ancient of all Prophecies. It might
have accounted for the Omiſſion too, ſuppoſing
it had been proved, that none of the ancient Pro-
phecies were ever referred to in the Books of
the New Teſtament. For though they had both
believed and acknowledged the Force of ſuch
Prophecies, it appears from this View that it
was fuperfluous, at leaſt that it was not requi-
fite, they ſhould refer to them. But, I think,
Dr. M. has by no Means proved, that there are
no Prophecies referred to in the Goſpel, which
were delivered before the Time of Moſes. He
tells Us, that it is affirmed by the Teſtimonies of all
the Evangeliſts, how Jeſus himſelf conſtantly taught,
that his Perſon and Character were particularly
foretold
[ 38
]
foretold and marked out by Moſes and all the later
Prophets, as the Meſſiah, or that great Prophet
who was to come. In his Collections from the E-
vangeliſts for proving this, he has always mark-
ed theſe Expreſſions, Moſes and the Prophets, or
the Law and the Prophets, in different Charac-
ters. I ſuppoſe therefore, by his thus diſtin-
guiſhing them, he intends that theſe Expreſſions
lhould convey an Argument, (for otherwiſe I
find not the leaſt Shadow of an Argument for
this Purpoſe) and would inſinuate that when
the Writers of the New Teſtament refer to Pro-
phecies as recorded in Moſes, or the Law, and
the Prophets, they can only be underſtood to
mean ſuch Prophecies as are not of an earlier
Date than the Time of Moſes. The Enquiry
then muſt be into the Senſe of theſe Exprefſions,
as they were uſed by the Jews and Writers of
the New Teſtament. By Mojes, when they ſpoke
of him as a Writer, they underſtood not the
Perfon or perſonal Speeches, but the Writings of
Mofes. And not only that part of his Writings
whereof Himſelf and his own Acts are the Sub-
ject, but the whole Volume of his Writings.
The Law, in their Uſage ſignified the ſame
Thing, as appears from the well-known Divi-
fion of the Jewiſh Canon into the Law, the Pro-
phets, and the Hagiographa. Therefore Moſes
and the Prophets, or, the Law and the Prophets,
were general Names for the whole Canon of
Scripture. The Five Books of the Law were di-
vided into 54 Sections. This Diviſion many of the
Jews
[ 39 ]
Jews held to be one of the Conſtitutions of Moſes
from Mount Sinai. But others, with more Likeli-
bood of Truth, attribute it to Ezra. It was made
for the Uſe of their Synagogues, and the better in-
ſtructing of the People there in the Law of God.
For every Sabbath-Day, one of theſe Sections was
read in their Synagogues. And this we are aſſured,
in the Acts of the Apoſtles, was done amongſt them
of old Time. Chap.15.21. which may well be intera
preted, from the Time of Ezra. They ended the laſt
Section with the laſt Words of Deuteronomy on the
Sabbath of the Feaſt of Tabernacles, and then be-
gan anew with the firſt Section from the Beginning
of Geneſis the next Sabbath after, and ſo went
round in this Circle every Year. Till the Time
of the Perſecution of Antiochus Epiphanes they
read only the Law: But then, being forbid to read
it any more, in the Rooin of the 54 Seations of the
Law they ſubſtituted 54 Sections out of the Pro-
phets, the Reading of which they ever after conti-
nued. So that when the Reading of the Law was
again reſtored by the Maccabees, the Section which
every Sabbath out of the Law ſerved for
their firſt Leſſon, and the Section out of the Pro-
phets for their ſecond Leſſon ; and ſo it was practi-
ſed in the Time of the Apoſtles. And therefore when
Paul entred into the Synagogue of Antiochia in Pi-
ſidia, it is ſaid that he ſtood up to preach after the
Reading of the Law and the Prophets
, Acts 13.15.
that is, after the Reading of the firſt Leſjön out of
the Law, and the ſecond Leſſon out of the Prophets, a
2 Prid. Con. Part 1. Book 5. Page 478. 10 Ed.
We
was read
[ 40
1
We ſee then that all the Books of Moſes were
read in the Synagogue-Service, and that this
Reading is called, by St. James, the preaching of
Moſes; (For Moſes of old Time bath in every City
them that preach him, being read in the Synagogues
every Sabbath-Day, Acts 15.21.) by St. Luke, the
Reading of the Law. And therefore it is plain
theſe Expreſſions cannot bear that confined Mean-
ing which Dr. M. for the Sake of his Argu-
ment, would give them. Whence it follows
that when our Saviour or his Diſciples appeal
for the Truth of his Miſſion to Moſes, or the
Law, it is not only an Appeal to the Prophe-
cies which Mofes in his own Perſon delivered,
but to all thoſe alſo that are contained in his
Writings, though delivered originally by others,
and in Times much elder than his own, and on-
ly recorded by him. And indeed this Notion of
the Expreſſion is agreeable to the Cuſtom of
Language prevailing amongſt Us at this Day.
We uſe the Name of an Author for the Works
of that Author, and refer to him for any thing
contained in his Works, without any Hazard of
being miſunderſtood. If any one ſhould ſay that
there was a Prediction of the Greatneſs of the
Roman Empire under Auguſtus Cæſar, delivered
even before the Foundation of the City, and
ſhould refer his Hearers for it to Virgil, I am
perſwaded that He would be received with Con-
tempt or Laughter as a low Quibbler on Words,
or one ignorant of the moſt common Forms of
Speech, who ſhould reply, that "it was impof-
« ſible
[ 41 ]
1
(0
vi ſible Virgil ſhould be the Author of ſuch a
Prophecy, for He lived not till the Days of
“ Auguſtus.” But if Dr. M. will not yet conſent
to give this Meaning to Moſes, or, the Law, let
him be reminded, for the further Eaſe of his
Scruples, that our Saviour himſelf uſes Moſes,
and the Writings of Moſes, as ſynonymous Terms:
For had ye believed Moſes, ſays He, ye would have
believed Me : For he wrote of Me. But if ye
be-
lieve not his Writings, how will ye believe my
Words ? a--that He alſo appealed for the Evidence
of his Miſſion to all the Writings of the old Tef-
tament under the more general Name of Scrip-
tures : Search the Scriptures, ſays he to the Jews,
for in them ye think that ye
think that ye have eternal Life, and
they are they which teſtify of Me: b -- that in a full
Account we have of his perſwaſive Diſcourſe to
draw his backward and diſpirited Diſciples to a
Belief in him, he does not confine himſelf, in
his Uſe of Prophecies, to any particular Part of
the Scriptures, but ranges through the whole
Compaſs of them, and gives the Argument com-
pleat and in its full Extent: He expounded un-
to them in all the Scriptures the Things concern-
ing himſelf : that Zacharias, in his Prophe--
cy on the Circumciſion of his Son John, appeals
to all the Prophets that have been ſince the World
began.c As does St. Peter alſo in his Diſcourſe
after having wrought the Miracle of healing the
lame Man: But thoſe Things which God before
had ſhewed by the Mouth of all his Prophets, that
a John 5. 46,47. b John 5.39. c Luke 1.70.
Chrift
F
[ 42 ]
1
Chriſt ſhould ſuffer, he hath ſo fulfilled, a And,
which God hath ſpoken by the Mouth of all his holy
Prophets
, ſince the World began. b If therefore
there were any Prophecies before the Time of
Moſes, it cannot be ſaid that there is no Appeal
to them in the Writings of the New Teſtament.
And there are ſome Prophecies of that Antiqui-
ty
whoſe Truth has not yet been diſputed : Viz.
The Promiſe of God to Abraham, which is thrice
repeated :c And the Prophecy of Jacob determi-
ning the Period in which the Meſſiah was to ap-
pear d&c. Nay, to take away all Poſſibility of
Suſpicion that the Writers of the New Teſta-
ment owned no Prophecies elder than the Times
of Mofes, this very Prophecy to Abraham is ex-
preſsly cited and applied by them. Thus Za-
charias, in the Prophecy above-mentioned, calls
God's Promiſe to ſend the Meſſiah, the Mercy
promiſed to our Fathers, and the Oath which
he fware to our Father Abrabam. And Saint
Peter, in the Concluſion of that Diſcourſe before
referred to, quotes and explains the fame Pro-
phecy. Ve are the Children of the Prophets, ſays
He, and of the Covenant which God made with our
Fathers, ſaying unto Abraham, and in thy Seed
mall all the Kindreds of the Earth be bleſſed. Un-
to you firſt, God, having raiſed up his Son Jeſus,
ſent him to bleſs you, in turning away every one of
you from his Iniquities
. e.
2
a Acts 3.18. b Verſ. 21. c Gen. 12. 3. 18. 18. 22. 18,
d Gen. 49. 10.
e Acts 3. 25, 26.
It
[ 43 ]
It appears then to be a very falſe Account of
the Extent of thoſe Prophecies which were re-
ferred to, or applied by our Saviour and his A-
poſtles, that makes them reach no higher than
the Times of Moſes. And therefore Dr. M. has
not ſhewn that there is ſo great a Difference, be-
tween the Length of the Evangelical Chain and
that laid down by his Lordſhip, as he has af-
ſerted there is; nor, indeed, that there is any
Difference at all. For his whole Streſs being
laid upon an imaginary Limitation, which has
been ſhewn to have no Place in Scripture, that
being removed, his whole Objection vaniſhes,
and there is Nothing to hinder their being e-
qually extended. Of Conſequence, this being, by
his own Confeſſion, the only Difference between
them which there was any Grounds from Scrip-
ture to infiſt upon, when this Difference is taken
away,
it muſt be allowed, that, notwithſtanding
any thing yet alledged to the contrary, the No-
tion of a Scheme of Prophecy beginning from
the Time of Adam, and the Manner of arguing
from one intire View of the whole Body of the
Prophecies, may be eſteemed agreeable to the
Opinion and Practice of our Saviour and his Dif-
ciples, as they appear to Us in the Writings of
the New Teſtament.
But We have not yet done with this formi-
dable Objector. His laſt Appeal was to Scripture
againſt Reaſon, He now appeals to Reaſon a-
gainſt Scripture. He is reſolved it ſeems that the
prophetical Chain ſhall be ſhorter at leaſt by one
F
Link
F 2
[ 44 ]
Link than the Biſhop would have it. The Pro-
phecy he attacks is that very remarkable one de-
livered to our Firſt Parents at the Fall, to be the
Foundation of a religious Hope to them and ma-
ny of their Deſcendants. He is ſenſible that by
overthrowing the Credit of this Prophecy, one
great Deſign of Prophecy for which the Biſhop
is a ſtrenuous Advocate, muſt fall to the Ground
with it. For had Prophecy been intended to
ſupport the Faith and Religion of the old World,
the Delivery of it at no other Time could have
anſwered that End ſo well, as at that Period
when ſuch a Support firſt became neceſſary. As
long as it was deferred, wretched Man, deſtitute
of all Hope towards God, muſt, during that fad
Interval, have been without any Religion at all.
And therefore, this propereſt Occaſion of deli-
vering it for that Purpoſe being neglected, the
Concluſion would be, that Providence, in afford-
ing this Light of Prophecy to Mankind, had no
ſuch View.
Big with the Hopes of ſuch a Concluſion,
He reſolves to ſtrike at once at the Root of Pro-
phecy, and to thew the Hiſtory, out of which
it grows, to be a mere Fable, a Dream or In-
vention of Moſes, without Foundation or even
Poſſibility in Fact. We ſhall give his Reaſons
for this bold Opinion a brief Confideration. He
endeavours the Proof of it then by ſhewing what
great Difficulties attend the Hiſtorical Senſe.
After We have done with theſe, We ſhall then
conſider that Opinion which he thinks moſt
conſiſtent
( 45 )
conſiſtent with Reaſon, and the Deſign of the
Author.
The Difficulties attending the Hiſtorical Senſe
which he produces may be reduced to theſe Two
Heads, Inconſiſtences in the Characters of the
Actors, and Incredibilities in the Facts. Of the
firſt Kind there is only one, but that a very com-
prehenſive, Inſtance. For it contains under it
ſeveral particular Objections. It is this, That
Man is repreſented in this Account as devoid of
Reaſon. He proves it both from their Igno-
rance, and their Knowledge. From their Igno-
rance, of, what he calls, the primary End of
their Creation, to propagate their Species. For
from this Hiſtorical Narration we find, ſays He,
that during their State of Innocence they were ut-
terly ignorant of this End. a Let it be obſerved
upon what his natural Law has taught him to
be the primary End of Man's Creation, that it
makes him principally created neither for his
own Happineſs nor the Happineſs of others, but
merely as an Inſtrument of giving Exiſtence to
another Inſtrument, which was again deſigned
to give Exiſtence to a third, and that to a fourth,
and ſo on in Infinitum, without a Poſſibility of
ever coming at any thing that was made for it-
ſelf. And when ever We ſhould ſuppoſe a Pe-
riod to be put to the human Race by God, He
muſt be the Author of defeating his own De-
figns, by preventing his Works from anſwering
that very End for which he created them : Since
a Page 104.
it
[ 46 ]
it is plain that he takes from the laſt Set of Men
all Opportunity of being the Inſtruments he in-
tended them for. The ſame Charge of vain and
fruitleſs Creation will by this Scheme be thrown
upon God for taking out of the World ſo many
in an Infant or unripe State; and the Imputation
of oppoſing the Purpoſe of their Creator, on all
thoſe who have preſerved themſelves through
Life in an unſpotted Purity. The Neglect of
this then in our Firſt Parents, might not have
been ſo heinous an Inſtance of their Inattention
to the Voice of Reaſon, as he would have it
thought, nor ſo unpardonable a Deviation from
the Path of Nature. And therefore if it ſhould
be ſaid that, for ſome Time after their Creation,
their Thoughts were wholly employed on the
beſt Means of ſecuring their own Happineſs,
without once being turned on the Increaſe of
their Species, it may perhaps be judged but a
weak Argument of the utter Extinction, or ra-
ther Abſence of all natural Law in their Minds.
But how does he know that they were ſo utter-
ly ignorant of this End? becauſe Moſes has not
ſaid that they endeavoured to obtain it? why
might not ſuch Endeavours be ſuſpended ? or
why might not Mofes forbear to intimate their
Senſe of this End as foreign to his purpoſe ? I
am apt to think that they, who object this, are
only ſorry that Mofes has not mentioned their
Senſe of it, becauſe they are deprived of a fairer
Opportunity of ridiculing him. “As a further In-
ſtance of their Want of Reaſon he tells Us, that
they
[ 47
1
they did not know their own Nakedneſs till they
were expelled out of Paradiſe. There is certainly
a ſtrange Oppoſition to the Senſe of Mankind in
this Author, that he is for having every thing
figurative which others underſtand literally, and
is reſolved to ſtick cloſe to the Letter there only
where others agree to depart from it. However
if the Expreſſion, he founds this Objection up-
on, is to be underſtood literally, it proves not
their Want of Reaſon, but of Sight. To ſpeak
freely then : is not the Objector ſomewhat un-
happy in the Two Inſtances of Rationality he
has pitched upon ? Suppofing Moſes had fore-
ſeen the Objection, and, in Order to obviate it,
had expreſſed himſelf as this Doctor would di-
rect him. “And that you may be convinced
“ this Pair were endued with Reaſon in Paradiſe,
they gave Proofs both of a natural Deſire to
propagate their Species, and of their Faculty
“of ſeeing.” Would this Proof have ſilenced
the Objector ? or would he not rather have been
the firſt to cry out, “I could by the
“ Means prove every Individual in the Brute Crea-
« tion a Reaſonable Creature.”
HIS Proofs of their Want of Reaſon from
their knowledge follow next. The natural Law
could not teach them, he ſays, that the Fruit of a
Tree would inſpire Knowledge ; or that the Know-
ledge of Good and Ill could be criminal or hurtful.
I ſuppoſe his Argument is this; theſe were In-
ſtances of Knowledge above the Reach of Rea-
ſon, and therefore they, who had this Know-
ledge,
(C
very fame
[ 48 ]
ledge, wanted Reaſon. We ſhall not ſtand to
diſpute it with him, for neither of theſe are ſuch
Inſtances. They did not know that the Fruit of
a Tree would inſpire Knowledge. Eve indeed
was ſo weak as to believe this on the Credit of
the Tempter : but, if to be impoſed on by the
Devil working in Concert with our Lufts thews
a Want of Reaſon, ſure none of Us will have
the Hardineſs to claim it. And, unhappily for
the Objector as to the next Inſtance, they were
ſo far from knowing that the Knowledge of Good
and Ill would be criminal or hurtful, that before
the Experiment of Eating, they believed the di-
rect contrary. Nothing was painted in the Ima-
gination of Eve but Scenes of Happineſs. For
ſure they would never have fallen, had they
known that Crime and Hurt was all they ſhould
get by it. But this Piece of Knowledge was re-
ferved for their Hours of Reflection and Penitence.
And even then they would not impute their
Crime or Puniſhment to any Enlargement of
Knowledge, in the vain Expectation of which
they were grievouſly diſappointed, but to their
Tranſgreſſion of the divine Command. He adds,
nor was it the Light of Reaſon which directed them
to hide themſelves from the Sight of God among
the
Trees. I agree with him. It was the Darkneſs
of their Reaſon. 'Guilt had introduced Diſorder
and Confuſion into their Minds, and they weak-
ly ſtrove to hide themſelves from the Sight of
that God whom they were afraid to behold. Sin
in many yet ſeeks the Shade. And if ſome of
the
[ 49 ]
the bolder Sinners of our Age have got over this
Weakneſs, and dare oppoſe God in open Day-
Light, it proves not their ſuperior Reaſon but
their more hardened Impiety. He goes on to
obſerve that the ſame Law, which inſtructed A-
dam to give Names to the Beaſts proper to their
ſeveral Natures, would have taught him at the
Same Time, that they were all dumb, and that the
Uſe of Speech was the peculiar Privilege of Man.
And therefore if Eve had had any natural Reaſon,
She muſt have been shocked and ſurprized when one
of the loweſt of thoſe Beaſts began to hold Diſcourſe
with her. As for Adam's Part, after this Proof
of his great Sagacity, in adapting the Names of
the Creatures to their proper Natures, which he
himſelf has produced, who will believe him
when he ſays that Mofes has repreſented him as
devoid of Reaſon? And for Eve, how does he
know that She was not aſtoniſhed at the Dif-
courſe of the Serpent? In ſo ſhort an Account
as Moſes gives of this Tranſaction, an obvious
Reaſon
may be given for his making no Men-
tion of it. For he would chooſe to omit thoſe
Circumſtances of all others, to the Knowledge of
which his Readers muſt naturally be led by the
reſt that he deſcribed. This is the Manner of
the moſt admired Writers. And ſure, if we fup-
poſe that Eve knew the Serpent to be naturally
dumb, the Hiſtorian muſt have written for Rea-
ders of a very dull Apprehenſion, if, after tell-
ing them that the Serpent ſpoke articulately and
rationally to Eve, he had thought it neceſſary to
G
add,
[ 50 )
add, that Eve was ſurprized. But we do not
know in Fact that Eve was well acquainted with
the Nature of all the Beaſts. At leaſt the Ac-
count, he has produced for that Purpoſe, is far
from ſhewing it. For that great Review of the
Brute World was held before she was created, a
And therefore if there be any inconſiſtent Oppo-
ſition in theſe Two Paſſages it depends on this
Foundation, that a Knowledge of the Natures of
all the Beaſts was infuſed into Eve before She exiſt-
ed. He tells us laſtly on this Head, that when
the wonderful Works of the Creator bad convinced
our firſt Parents of his infinite Power and Wiſdom
and Goodneſs
, the natural Law could not inform
them, That there was another inviſible Being in the
World, of an oppoſite Nature, abſolutely wicked,
malicious, and endued likewiſe with great Power ;
which he was perpetually employing, to defeat all
the Good and Happineſs, which God had provided
for his Creatures : If the Account of Moſes does
lead us to believe that our Firſt Parents were
acquainted with theſe two great Points, there
needs no more than this to overthrow all that he
has advanced, or can advance on this Subject.
For almoſt the whole of his Objections againſt
the common Acceptation of this Account are in-
tended to thew, that there is not the leaſt Ground
in the whole Story for our believing that they
had any Notion of either of them. Can He ſay,
that in the whole of this Hiſtorical Narration (as
the Sharpneſs of his Wit prompts him often to
a See Gen. 2.19 &c.
call
ز
7
[51]
call it) we cannot diſcover the leaſt Trace of any
natural Law, nor of any Religion which Reaſon
could tcach? and can He in the very next Page
add, as what the Narration alſo leads him to,
that the wonderful Works of the Creator convinced
our Firſt Parents of bis infinite Power and Wif-
dom and Goodneſs? What can ſhew more fully
our Strength of Reaſon, or what indeed was our
Reaſon chiefly given us for but to lead to this
very Truth? Can he again fay, that there is
Reaſon from the Hiſtory to imagine, that they
had a Knowledge of another inviſible Being oppoſite
to the divine Nature, abſolutely wicked and mali-
cious? and can he afterwards aſſert that to ſuppoſe
the Devil concerned in the Temptation, is not only
void of all Support from the Text, but contradi&io-
ry to the expreſs Senſe of it? When he can Sup-
port theſe oppoſite Points, then I ſhall readily
agree with him that the whole Story is a Fic-
tion, and a grofs Impoſition on the Credulity of
Mankind. If then he will grant that the Hiſto-
ry makes our Firſt Parents pofſeffed of that De-
gree of Knowledge he here objects to, he con-
tradicts himſelf, and the Diſpute is at an End.
But if he be of Opinion that there is no Foun-
dation in the Text hiſtorically underſtood for
admitting this their Strength of Reaſon, or this
their Belief of an evil Spirit, how impertinently
are they then introduced to make the Text, thus
underſtood, ſpeak Inconſiſtences with itſelf?
I will add a general Reflection on this his O-
pinion, which I deſire the Reader to carry along
G 2
in
[ 52 ]
in his Mind. His Affertion that the Text makes
our Firſt Parents devoid of all Reaſon and natu-
ral Law, and that all Things in the Paradiſiacal
State appear to have been ordered miraculouſly
and fupernaturally by the immediate Interpofi-
tion of God, a will make it hard for him to ac-
count for its being a moral Fable. For by this
Account, they could be no moral Agents, nei-
ther therefore could they ſin: or if it be inſiſted
upon, that notwithſtanding this they ſtill might
ſin, then, ſince they were intirely under the Di-
rection of God and Revelation, their Sin will be
chargeable on God alone. And how ſuch an
Example, of Perſons either wholly incapable of
finning, or ſinning only under divine Direction,
could have any Tendency to promote Morality,
I leave every one to judge.
We ſhall paſs on to the next Claſs of Diffi-
culties attending the hiſtorical Senſe, viz. Incre-
dibilities in the Facts.
But it is Time to obſerve, that this Author
has very unſkilfully endeavoured to draw in, as a
Part of the Queſtion whether the Story be Hiſtori-
cal or Fabulous, that which is quite another dif-
tinct Queſtion, what is to be underſtood by the Ser-
pent in the Prophecy ſuppoſing the Story Hiſtorical.
If it can be proved that the Story is Hiſtorical
,
and that we are to believe the Tranſactions re-
lated by Moſes really and truly to have happened
in the Order in which he relates them, then is
the Time to conſider in what Light this will fet
a Page 104.
the
[ 53 ]
the Prophecy, and with what View it could be
given. When we have once ſatisfied ourſelves
that there were really ſuch Perſons as Adam and
Eve once happy in Paradiſe, and that an appa-
rent and actual Serpent was inſtrumental in ſe-
ducing them from their Innocence and thereby
from their Happineſs, then We may proceed to
enquire whether Mofes points out to Us any o-
ther concealed Agent behind the Serpent. For
we muſt be agreed upon this that the whole is
a Relation of real Facts, before we can ever
hope to determine, whether from a View of the
whole as a Relation of real Facts, the Serpent is
to be eſteemed the principal Tempter, or whe-
ther he was only actuated by an inviſible Being
who judged him fit for his Purpoſe. I ſhall
therefore, omitting the latter of theſe Enquiries
as beſides my preſent Argument, confine myſelf
wholly to the firſt. For it is ſaid that there is
here a Prophecy. And it is undeniably true
that, if Moſes deſcribes Realities, there is a Pro-
phecy. This for good Reaſons has been long
believed to be a Prophecy of the Meſſiah. Now
when it is objected to this that Moſes only re-
lates a Fable, what Part of our Opinions are We
thereby challenged to defend ? Surely that alone
which is oppoſite to the Poſition of our Adver-
ſary, that Moſes relates the Truth. If We poſ-
ſeſſed a Town, and the Enemy had raiſed a Bat-
tery againſt it, where would we employ our
Care? Surely we ſhould defend thoſe Parts of
our Fortifications that the Enemy attacked. For
though
[ 54 ]
+
though they aimed to diſpoſſeſs Us of the Town,
yet they attack our Works, knowing that if theſe
can be beaten down, all within them is of Courſe
their own, and we on the contrary defend them,
knowing as well that while they are defended
the Town is fecure. Thus that there is a Pro-
phecy here, and that this Prophecy relates to the
Meſſiah, can only be maintained ſo long as we
can defend the Reality of this Hiſtory. And if
that be given up, it then falls, not as a Part of
this Propoſition, that the Hiſtory is. real, but as
a Conſequence of it. For thus the whole Ar-
gument ſtands.
The Account which Mofes gives of the Fall
is a true Hiſtorical Account,
Therefore theſe Words, it ſhall bruiſe thy
Head, and Thou ſhalt bruiſë bis Heel, con-
tain a real Prophecy.
Then follows.
This Prophecy cannot conſiſtently be under-
ſtood as conveying only the unſerviceable
Proſpect of ſome fortuitous Encounters be-
tween the Race of Men and Serpents,
Therefore it conveyed the general Know-
ledge of a Redeemer, who was to repair
the Loſs human Nature ſuſtained by the
Fall, and to gain at laſt a compleat Victo-
ry over that very Enemy by whom our Pa-
rents had then been overcome.
An
[ 55 ]
An Opponent may perhaps deny the Antece-
dent in each Propoſition, I think he cannot de-
ny the Conſequence in either. But now it is
plain that the Antecedent of the Second cannot
be diſputed upon, with any Reaſon, till we are
agreed about the Antecedent of the Firſt. For
'tis idle to wrangle about what Senſe We ſhall
give the Prophecy, when we are not yet agreed
whether or no it be a Prophecy. But that it is
a Prophecy is you ſee the Conſequence of the firſt
Propoſition, and muſt therefore of Neceſſity ſtand
or fall with it. Whence it is that That alone muſt
be handled and decided e'er We proceed to the
Second. If the firſt be overthrown, the ſecond
falls with it, for it is founded on a Conſequence
from the firſt. But if the firſt be found true We
are then at Liberty to proceed. Our Way lies
over it, if it fails Us we can go no further. But
if it bears, nothing hinders Us then to advance
and try the Solidity of the ſecond.
I have been thus particular in explaining this
Point, left it might be thought that a material
Part in the Defence of the Argument was omit-
ted, by paſſing over without Notice the Objec-
tions which this Author has thrown out oblique-
ly againſt the Senſe his Lordſhip with moſt
learned Men hath given this Prophecy. The
preſent Queſtion is, whether the Account of the
Fall be an Hiſtory or a Fable, Let us therefore
attend to this alone. I know he diſputes againſt
all in a Breath, but this is not for the Advan-
tage of Truth. For it tends only to embarraſs
and
[ 56 ]
and render the Matter more intricate: It entan-
gles us as we go along, and We waſte our
Strength in ſtruggling through the perplexed
Path, without being able to make any propor-
tionable Advances towards Truth.
Let us ſee now what Incredibilities are char-
ged upon the Facts of this Narration. The In-
ſtances which are pronounced to be irreconcile-
able to the Notion of a true Hiſtory are ſummed
up in the following Manner. The Plantation of
à Paradiſe for the Habitation of Man; The Tree
of Life, and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and
Evil, in the Midſt of it; the Expulfion of him out
of it after his Fall; The Cherubim and flaming
Sword placed as a Guard to it; God coming down
to walk in it in the Cool of the Day; Adam hiding
himſelf among the Trees from the Sight of God';
The Diſcourſe of the Serpent; and the Curſe pro-
nounced upon him by God, and upon the Ground al-
ſo itſelf ; muſt all be conſidered as a mere Eaſtern
Fable. a Since the Examiner has not thought fit
to give us any other Reaſon for the Neceſſity of
conſidering them in this Light, than barely ſay-
ing that they muſt be thus conſidered, it might
be ſufficient to oppoſe Affertion to Aſſertion, and
ſay that they muſt be conſidered as Facts. How-
ever, becauſe Dr. M's Authority would be judg-
ed ſuperior, we ſhall take a ſhort Review of the
Circumſtances here thrown together, and endea-
your to Thew, in a more ſatisfactory Manner,
that this Neceſſity is groundleſs. It cannot ap-
a Page 136.
pear
[ 57
)
pear ſtrange if in a Deſcription of the World,
while itſelf and its Inhabitants were ſo very dif-
ferent from what they are at this Day, we meet
with ſome Scenes of which the preſent State of
Things can furniſh us with no Reſemblances.
And if, for this Reaſon, and for the Shortneſs
of the Account given of it, we cannot arrive at
a full Knowledge of the Nature of all Things in
it, nor a clear Conception of the Manner in
which fome Actions were performed, it cannot
be juſtly wondered at. But while we own ſome
Obſcurities in this Hiſtory, it muſt at the ſame
Time be confeſſed, that there is not a ſingle
Circumſtance in it which is abſolutely incredi-
ble, or which could not poſſibly have been.
And if there be a Poffibility of Things having
appeared under that Form, and having happen-
ed in the Manner in which they are repreſented,
all the reſt depends upon the Hiſtorian. That
Poſſibility alone is ſufficient to reſcue it from be-
ing condemned to the Claſs of Apologues or un-
natural Fictions, and it is alſo ſufficient to vindi-
cate its Truth if it be attended with a fufficient
Strength of Authority in the Relater, and if it
ſeems more conſiſtent with his Deſign to eſteem
it a true Hiſtory. The Queſtion of the natural
Credibility or Incredibility of Things is decided,
if it be acknowledged that they might exiſt :
that ſuch Things did exiſt muſt depend, no
longer on their Nature, but folely on the Evi-
dence offered in Proof of their Exiſtence. If
then it appears that every Circumſtance in the
H
Hiſtory
[ 58 ]
Hiſtory of the Creation and Fall might poſſibly
be true, all Objection from the Nature of Things
againſt their being true is anſwered, and the Re-
mainder of the Enquiry muſt turn wholly on
the Authority and Deſign of Mofes. His Autho-
rity has not here been called in Queſtion, and
what has been advanced with Regard to his De-
ſign ſhall ſhortly be conſidered. At preſent the
Nature of the Things demands our Attention.
The Circumſtance he has placed firſt, amongſt
thoſe which he thinks determine this Account to
be fabulous, is the Plantation of a Paradiſe for
the Habitation of Man. We are not to transfer
any unworthy Image to God's Manner of form-
ing this Garden from the Word Plantation here
made uſe of. It ſignifies no more than that ſuch
a Garden was formed by God, without defining
the Manner in which it was done. It is applied
here, becauſe the common Manner of forming
Gardens amongſt Us is by Plantation. Surely
then there can be no Difficulty or Incongruity in
conceiving that a Place of ſuperior Beauty and
Delight was prepared for the firſt Reception of
Man. It will not be ſaid that God wanted Pow-
er to do this. The Vegetable Creation was obe-
dient to his Word, and he could aſſemble the
Parts of it in whatever Manner it ſhould pleaſe
him for the Service of his Will, and the Ac-
commodation of, his yet Favourite Creature,
Man. The Exiſtence of a Tree of Life is as
eaſily conceived as that of a Paradiſe. For the
Production of it alſo depended on the Power of
God.
[ 59 ]
God. And We cannot ſay that its Production
was improper, if we will grant God the Liber-
ty of beſtowing his Favours in what Manner he
ſhall think fit. In like Manner We cannot ob-
ject to the Tree of Knowledge of Good and E-
vil, but by preſcribing to the Creator what Teſt
of Obedience he ſhall require from his Creatures.
If we admit the Plantation of a Paradiſe for the
Habitation of Man during his Innocency, We
cannot find Fault with his Expulfion out of it
when he had render'd himſelf unworthy longer
to enjoy the Pleaſures and Benefits of it. And
having expelled him out of it, God might pre-
vent his Return to it by whatever Guard he
ſhould think proper to appoint. What Quarrel
can any one have with their hearing the Voice of
the Lord God walking in the Garden in the Cool
of the Day, except it be againſt the Expreſſion
The Actions of God cannot be otherwiſe ſpoken
of than in Terms taken from human Actions.
And therefore if his ſenſible approaching be ſig-
nified by the fame Word which expreſſes the
Motion of a Man, it is becauſe human Language
cannot ſupply a better Expreſſion. We have be-
fore ſpoken of Adam's Attempt to hide himſelf
amongſt the Trees from the Sight of God, as the
natural Effect of that Confuſion of Mind which
Sin and the Terror of Puniſhment had thrown
him into. Had he been repreſented as effectual-
ly eluding the all-piercing Eye of his Judge, the
Objection would have been ſtrong; but the vain
Attempt to do this is no more than the fooliſh
Cowar-
H2
[ 60 ]
Cowardice of Guilt'; which belongs to it, and
which, even to ſhort-fighted Man, often be-
trays inſtead of hiding it. A Serpent ſpeaking,
is what we would not give Credit to, no more
than to any of the foregoing Circumſtances, but
upon the beſt Authority. However it cannot be
thought incredible by thoſe who hold the Ex-
iſtence of inferior Spirits good and bad, and
who, believing the Scriptures, acknowledge that
they have a limited Power not only over Beaſts
but even over Men. The Curſe upon the Ser-
pent and upon the Ground, though we could
affign no Reaſon for them, yet would not fur-
niſh any Charge againſt the Juſtice of God, ſince
they are both his Creatures to be diſpoſed of ac-
cording to his Will, except we could ſay, that,
in puniſhing them, he changed their State againſt
the Conditions of ſome Grant he had made them
of continuing in it. But there can be no Room
for Cenſure, when we conſider the latter as a
Part of the Puniſhment of Man, and the former
as a Memorial of his Fall, and a laſting Mark
of God's Hatred of Sin. In a Word, there is
Nothing here that can appear incredible to any
one, who believes that the World was created,
and is governed, by a divine Providence, who
admits the Agency of Spirits, and who does not
hold Nature immediately to be reduced to an em-
pty Name, by allowing that it is not only varia-
ble, but has been often actually varied at the Plea-
fure of its Author. a
a Page 172
LET
[61]
Let us now ſee what Opinion theſe angry
Attacks, upon that which is commonly received,
were intended to make Way for, and what kind
of Scheme was deſigned to be ſet up, when the
Hiſtorical ſhould be depoſed. We are not at all
concerned to take the leaſt Notice of that Rea-
ſoning which has been erected on a chimerical
Suppoſition ſubſtituting Sanchoniatho, inſtead of
Mofes
, for the Author of this Hiſtory. The E-
nemies of the revealed Writings, when they
find themſelves unable to injure them as they
ſtand impregnable in their native Strength, may
find a Pleaſure in fuppoſing them weaker than
they are, and may divert themſelves with thoſe
imaginary Triumphs which ſuch a Suppoſition
gives them an Opportunity of acting over in
Thought. But it is a Suppoſition, which they
can never ſeriouſly hope they will be allowed de-
ciſively to argue upon. For it alone in a great
Meaſure would determine the whole Queſtion in
their Favour. The Facts related in this Account
appear to be all poſſible. The Belief of their
Reality therefore depends not on their Nature
(for Nature's Voice is that they may be real)
but ſolely on the Authority and Intention of the
Writer. If we fee Cauſe to conclude that his
Intention was to deliver this as a Hiſtory of real
Facts, and if his Authority be ſtrong enough to
perſwade Us that He has faithfully executed his
Intention, We muſt then admit the Account to
be a true Hiſtory. But if his Authority is lef-
ſened, its main Support is withdrawn, and the
whole
[ 62 ]
whole Scheme falls to the Ground, we muſt
conclude, either that he never deſigned his Ac-
count ſhould be received for Truth, or, if he
did, that he aimed to deceive Us. Dr. M. is
ſenſible of this, and ſets out with this fancied
Advantage. Let us now take a Review of this
Story, ſays He, as if it had been told us by San-
choniatho. And in this Way of conſidering it, the
firſt Reflection which would occur is, that it was
not poſſible for any Mortal, to give an hiſtorical
Narration of the Events therein repreſented; or to
deſcribe the particular Manner, Order and Time,
in which, or the Materials out of which, this World,
and its principal Inhabitants, were formed. We
should conclude at once, that the Whole, which the
wiſeft of Men could write upon ſuch a Subject, muſt
be the mere Effect of Fancy and Invention. a We
ſee how joyfully he haſtens to his wiſhed for
Conclufion. But ſhould we diſturb his Dream,
and bid him recollect that Moſes was the Author
of the Hiſtory, this his firſt Reflection, with all
the Train that follows it, would vaniſh with his
Viſion.
He endeavours to prepoffefs Us in Favour of
this Suppoſition by introducing it, as one that
muſt be acceptable to all Lovers of Truth, and
under a Notion of doing ſtrict Juſtice to the
Writings of Mofes, by allowing them the ſame can-
did Interpretation which is commonly indulged to o-
ther ancient Writers. What would one now
expect from theſe Profeſſions of Candour? would
a Page 128. b Page 118.
not
[ 63 ]
not one hope to find ſome tender Regard for
thoſe Injuries with which Time equally affects
all Writers ? ſome favourable Allowances for
thoſe Obſcurities, and uncommon Modes of Ex-
preſſion, which Antiquity, and the Change of
Language and Cuſtoms, muſt neceſſarily intro--
duce ? ſure one would hardly ſuſpect that this
Pretence was made Uſe of to cover a Deſign of
giving Mofes a Wound, where Length of Time
has always ſhewn itſelf moſt merciful, in his
Authority. Yet He entirely neglects the Diction,
and that equitable Conſtruction of Language, for
which alone the Plea of Antiquity can be urged,
and goes on, after this ſpecious Preface, to tra-
duce the Credit of Mofes, and to bring his Hiſto-
ry of the Fall and the particular Condenınation of
the Serpent down to the Level of ſome Old Phæni-
cian Story.a Surely this is a Kind of Juſtice en-
tirely new. When Mofes is to be treated with
Candour and Impartiality, then he is diveſted of
his divine Authority, and degraded to the Stan-
dard of ordinary Writers. A Judge, who, un-
der a Pretence of doing ſtrict Juſtice, ſhould con-
ſider the Evidence of a Man of approved Inte-
grity as if it had come from one of ſuſpected Ve-
racity, would only imitate him, who, pretend-
ing to lay aſide all Prejudice and Partiality, ſhould
decide
upon
all Writings alike; and ſhould con-
ſider the Hiſtory of an Author to whom divine
Affiſtances were vouchſafed, as if it had been the
Production of a common unaſliſted Underſtand-
ing.
a Page 119.
WE
[ 64 ]
on.
We will not therefore own Ourſelves indebt-
ed to the Candour or Generoſity of this Author,
for granting that this Account comes from Moſes,
and that Mofes was commiſſioned by God to write
it. Theſe are Points which have long been
proved, and which muſt always be inſiſted up-
For if theſe be given up, We ſhall want
that Authority in the Hiſtorian which is able to
ſupport the Weight that is to be laid
upon
it.
Since then the Facts related in this Story are all
in themſelves naturally credible, and ſince the
Authority of Moſes is of the higheſt Kind and
ſufficient to induce a Belief of them when thus
proved to be credible; in order to arrive at a clear
Determination of the Queſtion, whether this Ac-
count of the Fall is to be eſteemed a Fiction or
a true Hiſtory, the only remaining Enquiry will
be, Which of the two Schemes is moſt conſiſtent
with the Deſign of the Writer. To this, from
which we were diverted by the Alarm given to
the Credit of Moſes, let us now return. That
we may not miſrepreſent Dr. M's Opinion I will
give it in his own Words. He ſays, We cannot
properly call it a Parable; For tho'a Parable be a
mere Fiction, it is defined to be of ſuch a Sort, as
muſt always be probable, or what might poſſibly be
true! nor can it be an Hiſtory, for though it be a
plain Deſcription of Facts, yet they are all appa-
rently fictitious, and impoſible to be performed in
the Manner, in which they are deſcribed. What
then are We to think of it? Why We may give it
a Page 135
either
[ 65 ]
either the general Name of an Allegory, by which
a different Senſe is conveyed, than what is fignified
by Words: or we may call it rather an Apologue or
moral Fable, the peculiar Character of which is, ta
relate Things and Events, impoſible in their Na-
ture : which is evidently the Caſe of the Narrative
in Queſtion. a Again: The Matter of the Story,
whether it be inſpired or not, is abſolutely inconſ-
ſtent with the Character of an hiſtorical Narration,
and muſt ever convince all
, who conſider it without
Prejudice, that it is wholly fabulous or allegorical :
and that Moſes's Commiſſion was accommodated on
this Occaſion, as it is allowed to have been on ma-
ny others, to the prevailing Taſte and Cuſtoms of the
Nations around him; among whom the uſual Me-
thod of inſtructing or inculcating Truths, eſpecially
thoſe of a ſublime and theological Kind, was by Fa-
bles and Allegories
, which conveyed a ſummary No-
tion of the Doctrine propoſed to be taught, by a Way
the moſt ſtriking and entertaining to the Generality
of Mankind.
Thus the Plantation of a Paradiſe for the Ha-
bitation of Man; the Tree &c. muſt all be con-
fidered as a mere Eaſtern Fable, from which no o-
ther Leſſon or Doctrine can be inferred, than what
I have already b intimated; that this World was
a Page 124. b Viz. where he argues upon a Suppoſition of
its coming from an uninſpired Writer. He ſays alſo: I will grant
it to come from Moſes, and i hat Moſes was commiſioned by God to
write it : yet this makes 110 Difference in the Caje, becau;e the Mat-
ter of the Story, whether it be inſpired or not, is abſolutely inconfi-
ſtent with the Character of an hiſtorical Narration. Hence it ap.
pears that he adopts as his ovn Opinion, what he had ſaid of it
under that View. And therefore we may hereafter make ſome
Obſerva.
I
[ 66 ]
created by God; and that Man was happy in it,
as long as be continued innocent, but forfeited bis
Happineſs and became wretched and miſerable
, as
foon as he became a wilful and habitual Sinner:
This, I ſay, is the whole, which we can rationally
colleEt from the Moſaic Account of the Fall.a We
are all agreed therefore about this, that one great
Deſign of the Author was, to inculcate certain
very momentous moral Doctrines, ſuch as, that
the World was created by God, and is governed
by his Providence, that Man was happy during
his Innocency, and was made unhappy by Sin.
Theſe and many others this Hiſtory, admitted
to be true, will teach as fully, and much more
forcibly than when conſidered as an Allegory.
If we are perſwaded of its Truth, we can no
longer doubt of any of thoſe important Doctrines,
which are thus, by divine Commiſſion, expreſſ-
ly and clearly delivered to Us. But a Thouſand
Doubts and Perplexities will crowd into our
Minds as ſoon as we admit it to be allegorical.
We ſhall never know where to fix, or what to
afſent to, on ſuch ſlippery Ground: We ſhall be
loſt amidſt a Variety of Interpretations, unable
to determine whether we have yet penetrated to
the Doctrines wrapped up under the Veil, or
whether it may ſtill conceal ſomething far dif-
ferent from whatever we have yet conceived.
Obſervations upon it as it is profeſſed to be his private Senti-
ments: though it did not appear deſerving of Notice when con-
ſidered as ſpringing from, and being eſtabliſhed upon, that abſurd
Suppoſition. a Pag. 135 &c.
Theſe
( 67 )
Theſe are, as this Author obſeryes, the funda-
mental Points of all Religion, and of neceſſary
Belief for the Reformation of a depraved World. a
And therefore, to render them effectual, and to
give them their proper Weight, they ought to
have been delivered in the moſt clear and undif-
ſembled Manner, free from all Ambiguities and
Equivocations, in all the commanding Force of
ſimple and perſwalive Truth, ſo as to leave the
incredulous without Excuſe, and the honeſt and
well-diſpoſed Mind without diſcouraging Suſpi-
cions and Diſtruſts. An allegorical Shade muſt
certainly throw ſome Degree of Obſcurity upon
the Truths veiled under it. How near foever it
may be made to approach to the Clearneſs of
naked Truth, and how eaſy ſoever to the Ap-
prehenſion, the naked Truth itſelf muſt ſtill be
more clear, and more eaſy; becauſe its Clearneſs
ariſes only from its nearer Approach to Truth.
If any Part of the Diſguiſe remains, the Features
of Truth cannot be ſo readily, or ſo ſurely known,
as when the whole is removed. This muſt be
thought a conſiderable Objection to the Allego-
rical Scheme. For We cannot help wiſhing that
Allegory had had no Place in the Delivery of
thoſe Truths which, of all others, ought to be
made with the greateſt Clearneſs. It will be
hard to aſſign any Advantage attending it to
counterbalance this Objection. To ſay that it
was made Uſe of in Conformity to the Jewiſh
Manner of Writing is but a weak Reaſon for its
2 Page 132
Intro-
1
I 2
( 68 )
Introduction here. It might indeed have carried
ſome Appearance of Strength in it, if this Piece
of Hiſtory had been deſigned for the Uſe of the
Jews alone. But it was deſigned for the Infor-
mation of many People and Nations, where the
Eaſtern Manner of ſpeaking was neither known
nor underſtood. The Doctrines it contains are
the very fundamental Points of all Religion.
Whoſe Obligation was to outlaſt the Genius of
the Eaſtern People, to be extended to all thoſe
to whom Providence ſhould pleaſe to open the
Treaſures of his Revelation. Our Saviour has
not inculcated theſe Doctrines afreſh to Us, and
therefore he intended, no doubt, that we ſhould
draw them from the Moſaic Spring. Since then
the Jews made but a ſmall Part of thoſe, for
whoſe Benefit this Account was given, however
clear theſe Doctrines might have appeared to
them in an allegorical Dreſs, We can hardly ſup-
poſe that their Taſte alone would have been con-
ſulted, and infinitely the more numerous Part
neglected, ſince the ſimple Truth could not have
been leſs clear to them, and muſt have been
much more clear to all others.
THE Jews had in the Body of their Law,
and in the Courſe of their Tranſactions a great
Mixture of Types. But then there is not one of
their moral Doctrines, which were deſigned to
be of eternal Uſe and Obligation, like the Doc-
trines here delivered, that is thus removed from
the Light. They were intended for common
Uſe, and therefore their Light is common to all.
They
}
[ 69 ]
They are always expreſſed in plain and ſimple
Terms, equally intelligible to all thoſe, for whoſe
Inſtruction they were equally intended.
IF, in inculcating Doctrines, the allegorical
Scheme is much inferior to the literal in Point
of Clearneſs, it falls ſtill much more beneath it
in Point of Authority to inforce thoſe Doctrines.
An Allegory may be contrived in an agreeable
Manner to contain a Summary of Doctrines al-
ready known, but there can be very little Ten-
dency in any Fable, eſpecially if it be an Apo-
logue, to create or inforce a Belief of Points un-
known or diſputed. When Things are related as
they are, We cannot diſpute their Truth, with-
out calling in Queſtion the Veracity of the Au-
thor. But we are taught to deny every Propofi-
tion of an Apologue. And indeed the Author of
an Apologue does not affirm any thing directly.
The Doctrines he inculcates are feen only by a
faint Kind of reflected Light. But if thoſe Doc-
trines are to be collected from Facts equally queſ-
tionable, I ſee not how an Apologue can be made
at all to affirm the Exiſtence of Facts. For Ex-
ample in the Hiſtory before Us not only this
Doctrine is to be taught, that God is to be wor-
Shipped as the Author of our Being and all we en-
joy, but alſo the Fact from whence it is drawn,
that God is the Author of our Being. Now if this
Account is made an Apologue, all Authority in
it for our believing that Man was created by
God, is at once undermined. The Words in-
deed affirm the Fact. But the Words do not
contain
[ 70 ]
}
contain the true Mind of the Author. It is a
Collection of Perſons and Actions imaginary and
impoſſible, and we are by no Means tó be-
lieve any one Propoſition as it there ſtands ; nay
on the contrary we are bound to deny them. It
is true the ancient Sages, in laying the Founda-
tions of Religion, and accounting for the Origin
of Things, ſometimes fell into the Apologue.
But this was not the Effect of Choice, but Ig-
norance. They did not give their Accounts this
Form becauſe they thought it the moſt eligible,
or the beſt fitted for teaching unknown Truths,
but becauſe they themſelves wanted the Means
of coming at the Truth. They therefore avoid-
ed the Appearance of it as induſtriouſly as poſſi-
ble, and did not deliver them in ſuch Colours as
muſt at firſt Sight betray them for Fictions and
the Sport of the Imagination ; but they endea-
voured to lay down Syſtems apparently rational, ,
and ſuch as the Minds of Men muſt approve,
and recommended them, not for the Entertain-
ment of Mankind as mere Works of Ingenuity,
but for their ſerious Perſwalion and Belief, as
the Dictates of Reaſon, or the venerable Truths
of Tradition. They ſet them in what they e-
ſteemed the moſt perſwalive Light, and ſupport-
ed them by all the Strength of Authority they
could procure. They always endeavoured to
make them moſt reconcileable either to the com-
mon Opinions, or to the Reaſon, of Mankind,
and therefore never fixed upon them any ſuſpi-
cious Marks of Incredibility. None at leaſt that
they
[ 70 ]
they apprehended would appear ſuch to the Per-
ſons for whom they wrote, and diſcover them
to be manifeſt Fictions to thoſe they deſigned to
inſtruct. For what good Effects could they por-
ſibly produce amongſt a People perſwaded that
they were falſe? Sure no Man would
go
ſeriouſ-
ly about to build a Syſtem of practical Doctrines
on a Foundation, whoſe Weakneſs was not ſo
much as diffembled or concealed. Let us ima-
gine fome ancient Sage, who had at Heart the
Reformation of Mankind, when he was endea-
vouring to eſtabliſh the Fundamentals of Reli-
gion, to have accompanied his Deſcription of the
Origin of Things with ſuch a Declaration as this.
" And now I hope none of You are ſo weak as
“to believe that there is a Syllable of Truth in
" what I have delivered to You. You muſt be
" blind if you do not plainly ſee that it is a wild
groundleſs Invention of my own, which I
s neither believe myſelf nor deſire You to believe.
“All I requeſt of You is to act as if every Thing
“I have ſaid was true.” Could he hope after
this that the People would pay any great Re-
gard to his Authority, or would effectually em-
brace the Belief of thoſe Doctrines he intended
to draw from this Account for the Influence of
their Practice ? Certainly this Inſtance of his
incerity would ruin the whole Deſign. Now
if Mofes has fixed upon his Account of the Crea-
tion and Fall a Brand of Incredibility, if he has
taken Care that it ſhall be attended with indif-
putable Marks of Fiction, and every where car-
ry
" and
[ 72 )
ry along with it its own Confutation, he has
done what amounts exactly to the ſame with
ſuch a Declaration. He does not ſpeak himſelf,
but his Writings ſpeak for him, and call aloud
to Us, “ though I cannot aſſure you that God
"created the World and Man, that Man was
happy in it while innocent, and became miſe-
“rable by Sinning, yet be ye perſwaded to act
" as if all theſe Things were fo.” So great muſt
be the Defect of Authority in an Apologue for
inforcing Doctrines, where Credit is to be given
at once to the Doctrines, and to the Facts from
whence they are deduced.
Though we are all agreed that certain Doc-
trines of moral Uſe were deſigned to be inculca-
ted by this Account, yet we do not agree with
Regard to all the particular Doctrines that are
contained in it. Thoſe who follow the literal
Senſe affert, from the Hiſtory itſelf, that Man
forfeited his Title to Happineſs by a ſingle Act
of Sin, and that He loſt the divine Favour by
the very firſt Violation of God's Commands.
But this Allegoriſt ſays, that Man became
wretched and miſerable not till he was become
a wilful and habitual Sinner. a If this was the
Opinion deſigned to be inculcated by it, allow-
ing it an Allegory, ſure Nothing could be worſe
contrived for the Purpoſe. The Command giv-
en to Man, to abſtain from the Tree of Know-
ledge of Good and Evil, was as follows. Of e-
very Tree of the Garden Thou mayeſt freely eat ;
a Page 137
But
f
[ 73 ]
But of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and E-
vil, Thou ſhalt not eat of it: For in the Day that
thou eateſt thereof thou ſhalt ſurely die.a Here We
ſee Man is threatned to be puniſhed with Death
on the very firſt Breach of the Command, and
accordingly We find in the Third Chapter that
he was no ſooner drawn into Diſobedience, than
God came down to execute the Puniſhment he
had denounced. Man is not queſtioned by his
Judge whether he had been guilty of a Series of
Crimes, but whether he had broken this ſingle
Command. Haft Thou eaten, ſays God, of the
Tree, whereof I commanded Thee, that thou ſhouldſt
not eat? b And upon his Conviction of this ſin-
gle Crime, he is immediately condemned. Let
him tell Us then by what Rules of Interpreta-
tion one ſingle Act of Diſobedience is to be ta-
ken, in an Allegory, for a Series; and how ha-
bitual Sin is figured in once Eating of a forbidden
Fruit. This cannot be thought an unſerviceable
Remark, becauſe if We admit that Man did not
forfeit his Title to Happineſs as ſoon as he be-
came a Sinner, We muſt alſo allow, that He
was of himſelf able, by future Obedience, to at-
tone for paſt Crimes ; and that he had, as this
Author inſinuates in the Perſon of ſome wiſe
and ancient Reformer, after all his Sins and De-
pravity, ſtill in his own Power the Means of re-
covering the divine Favour, and of reſtoring bin-
ſelf to his original Happineſs, by deſerting that bef-
tial Rule of ſenſual Pleaſure, which had beguiled
a Gen. 2. 16,17. b Chap. 3. 11.
К.
bim
A
[ 74 ]
him into a State of Sin and Miſery. a How repug-
nant ſuch an Opinion is to the Foundation of
moſt Chriſtian Virtues, and the whole Scheme
of our Redemption, I need not obſerve.
AGAIN. Thoſe, who believe this Hiſtory to
be true, conclude from it, that there was a
Tempter, diſtinct from the Man and Woman,
concerned in the Fall. But this Allegoriſt ſays,
that the ſubtil Diſcourſe of the Serpent, which be-
guiled Eve, could mean Nothing elſe but the tempt-
ing Suggeſtions of Luſt and ſenſual Appetite, of
which the Serpent was an Emblem; and that their
Expulfion out of Paradiſe pointed out the natural
Effečts of Sin and Guilt
, in depriving Man of his
Happineſs, and plunging him into Miſery, Sorrow
and Death. Which Account of the Matter, he
ſays, is no other than what St. James himſelf gives
of the natural Method, by which Men are uſually
beguiled to debaſe the Purity of their Nature:
where he ſays, but every Man is tempted, when
he is drawn away of his own Luſt, and enticed:
then, when Luſt hath conceived, it bringeth forth
Sin: and Sin, when it is finiſhed, bringeth forth
Death. b James 1. 14, 15. This Paſſage is a ge-
neral Deſcription, of the ordinary Manner and
Effects of Temptations and their Conqueſts over
Us; and it is not written with any particular
Regard to the Sin of our Firſt Parents. But if
it had, nothing could have been more applicable
to the Hiſtorical Account of their Fall, and
therefore it cannot give the leaſt Advantage to
a Page 132. b Page 133.
the
[ 751
the Allegory. For St. James does not exclude
an outward Tempter from having a Share in
our Seduction, neither does Moſes exclude the
Paſſions. On the contrary, the Apoſtle expreſs-
ly deſcribes the Behaviour of different Men un-
der outward Temptations, and the different Con-
ſequences of it. In the 12th Verſe He calls that
Man bleſſed that endureth Temptation : For when
he is tried, he ſhall receive the Crown of Life,
which the Lord hath promiſed to them that love
him. And then he goes on to expoſe the Impie-
ty of thoſe who, having failed under the Trial
of Temptation, charge God, the Author of their
Nature, with their Sin. Let no Man ſay when he
is tempted, I am tempted of God a &c. telling them
in the 14th and 15th Verſes as above, that their
Sin and Miſery is chargeable on their own Folly
alone, and their cowardly and baſe Submiſſion to
the Suggeſtions of their own Luſt. The Hiſto-
rical View of the Fall is exactly agreeable to this.
For it lies in this Order. Firſt the outward
Temptation is mentioned, this communicates the
Fire to the Luſts of Eve within, She weakly
yields to her inflamed Deſires, fins, and incurs
the Penalty of Death. The Allegory therefore,
by taking away the outward Tempter, by no
Means renders the Deſcription of the firſt Sin
more conſiſtent with St. James's general Account
of Temptation. But it certainly lays the Ac-
count itſelf under a very conſiderable Difficulty.
In the ſixth Verſe of the third Chapter there is a
a Verf. 13.
K 2
diſtinct
4
[ 70 ]
diſtinct Picture of the Workings of Eve's irregu-
lar Paffions. And when the Woman ſaw that the
Tree was good for. Food, and that it was pleaſant
to the Eyes, and a Tree to be defred to make one
wiſe; She took of the Fruit thereof &c. Here is
plainly an Indulgence of her rebellious Appetite:
ſhe is pleaſed with the Beauty of the Fruit, her
Mind drinks in the Infection, and raſhly believes
it poffeſfed of every Excellence that is falſely im-
puted to it; the haftens to ſatiate her Senſes, and
obey her Deſires. If then, as Dr. M. would
have it, the fubtil Diſcourſe of the Serpent alſo
means Nothing elſe but the tempting Suggeſtions of
Luſt and Jenſual Appetite, then here is a double
Account of theſe tempting Suggeſtions ; they are
deſcribed both in plain Language, and in an Em-
blem. This is certainly, to ſay the beſt of it, a
very great Deformity in his Apologue. The
ſame Difficulty is again repeated in his Explana-
tion of the Expulſion out of Paradiſe. For that,
He ſays, points out the natural Effects of Sin and
Guilt, in depriving Man of his Happineſs, and
plunging him into Miſery, Sorrow and Death.
Now it is certain that theſe ſame natural Effects
are ſpoken of alſo in plain Language. God
threatneth Adam, that in the Day he finned he
ſhould ſurely die. After their Sin, we ſee Pain
immediately taking Poſſeſſion of their Minds,
and the Conſcience of Guilt filling them with
Shame, Diſtraction, and Fear of Puniſhment.
And then we behold God himſelf dooming them
to Puniſhment, and diſtinctly foretelling their
Miſery,
[ 77 ]
Miſery, Sorrow, Labour, and Death. Here then
will be alſo a double Deſcription of the Effects
of Sin, the plain and emblematical. And, what
is ſtill worſe, in this Circumſtance the plain De-
ſcription goes firſt; for it is not till after the Sen-
tence paſſed upon the Sinners, that their Expul-
fion out of Paradiſe is related. So that when we
have been inſtructed in all the fatal Effects of
this Sin in the cleareſt and ſimpleſt Manner, we
are then preſented with the Emblem of them :
as if the Author, imagining he had been too ex-
plicit, intended to lead us back from Light to
Darkneſs. Sure ſuch Profuſion of Language,
and ſuch alternate Endeavours to ſhew and con-
ceal the ſame Thing, does but ill agree with the
Conciſeneſs and Elegancy of Mofes, or with the
Nature of any one regular Deſign.
But let us now place this Account in ano-
ther Point of View, and conſider it as deſigned
to give Light into a very dark Part of Hiſtory.
That it was written partly with ſuch a Purpoſe
is, I think, plain, from its ſtanding as a very
conſiderable and a very intereſting Part in that
which is generally acknowledged to be an Hiſto-
ry, the Pentateuch. I think it is undeniable that
a true hiſtorical Account of the Creation and
Fall would have anſwered every good Purpoſe
that could be propoſed from the moſt ingenious
Fiction, and would have been free from every
Difficulty with which the latter muſt neceſſarily
be attended. The Doctrines to be inculcated
could not have been treated with equal Clear-
neſs
( 78 )
neſs in an Allegory as in an Hiſtory, nor could
the Belief of the Facts, from whence the Doc-
trines were to be deduced, have been eſtabliſhed
upon an equally firm Authority. What then
could determine the divine Wiſdom, which in-
ſpired this Account, to prefer that Manner of
doing it, by which our Information and Benefit
was leaſt conſulted? Why did he wrap up
thoſe
Doctrines in Obſcurity which were to be of con-
ſtant and common Uſe? And why did he hide
from Us the Knowledge of his having created
the World and its inhabitants, of his juſt Deal-
ings with the Firſt of Mankind, his Bleſſing
their Innocency and puniſhing their Diſobedience;
why did he refuſe to give his Sanction to theſe
Truths, and yet require from Us a firm and ef-
fectual Belief of them? Or, if it be ſaid that He
did not enlighten the Hiſtorian in this part of
his Work, why did He here deſert him, and
abandon him to his own Weakneſs, where alone
his natural Abilities were moſt unſerviceable to
him, where there were no Means of Knowledge
to guide his Reſearches, and where no Force of
human Genius could penetrate ? Was it to try
the Power of his Invention, and did the divine
Spirit vouchſafe its Affiſtance in finiſhing an
Hiſtory, and eſtabliſhing a Syſtem of Doctrines
,
which had no better Foundation than in that?
If the Genius of Moſes had been left to work for
itſelf here, it is moſt likely that He would have
given Us thoſe Opinions which he had early im-
bibed amongſt the Egyptians, and would have
drawn
[ 79 ]
drawn his Account of the Origin of Things from
the ſame Fountain whence all his human Know-
ledge was derived. But certainly he was under
the divine Direction here as well as in other Parts
of his Works. And, if he was, ſince the Truth
was fully known to the Holy Inſpirer, and ſeems
in all Reſpects more fit to have been taught,
what poſſible Reaſon can be aſſigned for prefer-
ring Fiction, or what Cauſe can we have for
imagining that Fiction was preferred? Things
might have been as they are related : How then
can We know that they were not ſo? The Man-
ner, in which the World and all Things in it
were created, can be known to infinite Wiſdom
alone ; and ſince we have, under its Direction,
a Creation deſcribed to Us, it is certainly the
Height of fooliſh Preſumption to ſay that Inſpi-
ration mocks Us, and does not give Us a true
Account. The Account is given in plain de-
ſcriptive Language, and gives us as clear a Con-
ception of the Beginning and Progreſs of the
Creation, and of the Fall of Man, as Words can
give: and the Hiſtory is continued on without
the leaſt Intimation of what goes before being a
Fable, without any Breach in the Connection,
or any Change in the Language but what the
Subject required. Where then, We muſt aſk
thoſe who maintain the Beginning of the Moſaic
Books to be a Fiction, does the Fiction end, and
Truth take Place? For they are wrought up to-
gether with ſuch Care, and inſerted into each o-
ther in ſo nice a Manner, that an ordinary Eye
can-
[ 80 ]
cannot diſtinguiſh between them. The Hiſto-
ries of the remoteſt Ages, amongſt the Greek
and Roman Nations, are but very imperfectly
known. In the Accounts they give of them,
there is apparently a great Mixture of Fiction ;
but then they do not pretend to Certainty in
them, and the moſt ingenuous of their Writers
always ſpeak of them with Diffidence. They
have their Fabulous Ages, and diſtinguiſh them
from their Ages of true Hiſtory. But this is not
the Caſe with Mofes. He does not demand for
himſelf the Venia Antiquitati, but ſpeaks with
as much Confidence, and as clear of all Reſerve,
in the Beginning, as in the End of his Hiſtory.
He aſſerts as poſitively that Adam was, by his
Creator, placed in Paradiſe, and baniſhed out of
it, as that the Children of Iſrael came into Egypt,
and, after a long Reſidence there, were led out
of it under his Conduct. Whence then could
this Confidence ariſe, but from a Conſciouſneſs
that all he reported was Truth? And could this
Conſciouſneſs be acquired, except he had derived
his Knowledge of the Beginning of the World
from the Fountain of all Truth? The Greek
and Latin Hiſtorians, when they are to trace up
their Hiſtory into the obſcurer Periods of it,
tread with great Circumſpection. If any one
ſhould depart from this Method, and, while He
was writing a ſerious Hiſtory of the Roman Af-
fairs, ſhould affert with as little Heſitation, that
Romulus was the Son of Mars, as that Auguſtus
was the Succeſſour of Julius Cæfar, we ſhould
certain-
[ 81]
certainly have his Authority, as far as it would
go, for believing equally both theſe Points. Now
Moſes ſpeaks as diſtinctly and as confidently of
Adam, as of any Perſon that lived the neareſt to
his own Times. Why then ſhould we believe
his Account of Adam to be a Fiction, and the
reſt to be true? He tells us the Time of his
Living, and the Length of his Life, and aſcribes
ſome very important Actions to him. He then
proceeds to give an Account of his Sons, of the
Length of their Lives and the moſt memorable
Events in them. And thus he carries on the
Thread of his Hiſtory regularly, and continues
it down, without Interruption, to his own Times.
The Account is intire, without the leaſt Flaw or
Breach. The Chain of Chronology is particu-
larly preſerved to us in the Lives of the Perſons
he writes of. The ſame Air of Seriouſneſs and
Truth runs through the whole, the Facts of one
Age are not more doubtfully ſpoken of than of
another, nor is there any more Obſcurity thrown
upon one Part of the Hiſtory than upon ano-
ther. Have we not then his Authority as ſtrong
for believing what He records of one Age as of
another? Why ſhall the Story, from which the
Hiſtory takes its Rife, be treated as a Fiction,
when that which ſprings from it is held to be
real? And why do we longer believe, upon the
Authority of Moſes, what he tells us of the Pof-
terity of Adam, when we reſolve all that he re-
lates of Adam himſelf into Imagination? Where
the Account is purſued ſo regularly, and with
L
fuch
[ 82 ]
ſuch apparent Veracity and equal Pretenſions to
Knowledge and Certainty, through all Ages, If
we once begin to believe, I ſee not how we can
ſtop the Progreſs of our Belief till we are arrived
at the very Beginning; for the ſame Authority,
that we ſet out upon, will bear us, without fail-
ing, through every Period of the Hiſtory. If
we believe that Jacob was the Son of Iſaac, and
Iſaac of Abraham, we muſt alſo believe on
through the whole Race, from Abraham to Noah,
to Seth, to Adam. If we give our Aſſent to
what is told of the former, we cannot withhold
it from what is related of the latter. Every ſuc-
ceeding Generation gives Credit to that which
goes before it, nor can We, conſiſtently, hold
the moſt antient to be fabulous, and the lateſt
to be true. For ’tis certainly as abſurd to derive
a Series of true Hiſtory from a Fiction, as a Se-
ries of true Prophecies.
And indeed the Account of this very Author,
however ſtudiouſly he endeavours to avoid it,
may
be made to confeſs that there is ſome De-
gree of Truth in this Relation of Moſes. All the
Leſſon, he ſays, that can be inferred from the eaſt-
ern Fable is this
, that this World was created by
God; and that Man was happy in it as long as he
continued innocent, but forfeited his Happineſs, and
became wretched and miſerable, as ſoon as he became
a wilful (and habitual) Sinner. Now all theſe
very Facts, if we only leave out the Expreſſion
habitual, which I have before conſidered, and
Thewn not to be fairly inferred, are taught, in
the
1
1
[ 83 )
1
the moſt plain and expreſs Manner, in the Hif-
tory of the Creation and Fall. In the Beginning
God created the Heaven and the Earth. a So God
created Man in his own Image, in the Image of
God created be bim: Male and Female created be
them. b But of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good
and Evil
, thou ſhalt not eat of it: For in the Day
that Thou eateſt thereof thou ſhalt ſurely die.c And
when the Woman ſaw that the Tree was good for
Food, and that it was pleaſant to the Eyes, and a
Tree to be deſired to make one wiſe ; She took of the
Fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave alſo unto her
Huſband with her; and He did eat. d Unto the
Woman he ſaid, I will greatly multiply thy Sorrow,
and thy Conception ; In Sorrow thou ſhalt bring
forth Children : And thy Deſire shall be to thy Huf-
band, and he ſhall rule over thee. And unto Adam
he ſaid, Becauſe thou haſt hearkened unto the Voice
of thy Wife, and haſt eaten of the Tree of which I
commanded Thee ſaying, Thou ſhalt not eat of it,
curſed is the Ground
for thy Sake : In Sorrow ſalt
thou eat of it all the Days of thy Life. Thorns al-
ſo and Thiſtles ſhall it bring forth to Thee : And
Thou Malt eat the Herb of the Field. In the Sweat
of thy Face ſalt thou eat Bread, till thou return
unto the Ground : For out of it waſt thou taken :
For Duft thou art and unto Duſt ſhalt thou re-
turn.e Here it is ſaid that God created the Earth,
and made Man in his own Image: that He creat-
ed Man, Male and Female: that He foretold
c Chap. 2. 17.
d Chap. 3.6.
e Verf. 16, 17, 18, 19.
thein
a Gen. 1, 1.
b Verf. 27.
L 2
[ 84
them that, whenever they ſhould venture to tranſ-
greſs his Command, Loſs of Happineſs would be
the Conſequence: That the Woman, led aſide
by her Paſſions, ſinned; She ſaw, deſired, and
eat: The Man alſo, hearkening to her Voice be-
fore that of his Creator, fell with her : And laſt-
ly, that, by Sinning, they incurred the divine
Diſpleaſure, and were by God condemned to
Labour, Sorrow and Death. All theſe Things
are related in the plaineſt and ſimpleſt Language:
They ſtand forth in the cleareſt Light, not lying
hid under any Emblems, nor darkened with ſo
much as one figurative Expreſſion. They are
not in the leaſt diſcoloured, diſſembled, or diſ-
guiſed. Every Thing wears its own proper
Form. It is God himſelf who is the Creator of
all Things, and Avenger of his violated Laws:
It is Man himſelf who is happy in Innocence,
and made miſerable by Diſobedience. It is the
Paſſions themſelves that betray him into Sin:
Sin itſelf which is the Cauſe of his Miſery; and
Death itſelf which is threatned, and, with other
attendant Sufferings, inflicted. Every ſingle Ar-
ticle therefore in the Leſſon, which Dr. M. has
inferred from this Account, The Creation of the
World by God, Man's Happineſs in it as long
as he continued innocent, and his Miſery as ſoon
as he became a wilful Sinner, are ſet forth here
in Terms ſo plain and free from Ambiguity, that
no Comment, no Language can make them ap-
pear plainer. When, that Part of the Account,
which relates theſe Things, being confeſſedly li-
teral,
[ 85 )
reral, muſt be either literally true, or literally
falſe. For Every Thing ſtands under its own
Name and Character, is anſwerable for itſelf and
Nothing elſe. There is no borrowed Form, Sha-
dow, or Emblem, except Things may be called
their own Shadows and Emblems.
Dr. M. finds great Fault with his Lordſhip
for ſaying, in different Parts of his Diſcourſes,
that the Account itſelf is Hiſtorical, but cloath-
ed in Parables and Similitudes, and in ſome Part
metaphorical. Now all this does not Thew any
Inconſiſtency in that excellent Writer. He is all
along clear for the Facts related by Moſes being
all literally true. In his late Appendix, he de-
clares it as his Opinion, that a real Serpent was
concerned in the Temptation. Yet he thinks that
this real Serpent might alſo ſtand as a proper Em-
blem of the Deceiver, a
the Deceiver. a We fee there how the
Account may be hiſtorically true, and yet
cloath-
ed in Parables and Similitudes. And for the re-
maining Part, its being alſo metaphorical, in that
there is no Difficulty. For whoever has read
this excellent Appendix, may learn that Meta-
phors do not belong to the ſubject Matter of
any
Narration, but to the Expreſſion or Language
only. They may therefore indifferently be ap-
plied in any Writing, whether it be Truth or
Fiction, and have accordingly been always uſed
promiſcuouſly by all kinds of Writers. But now
we hear this ſharp Examiner declaring, that the
Facts in this Account are all apparently fietitious,
a Diſc. pag. 57
and
( 86 )
appears, from
and irnpoſible to be performed in the Manner in
which they are deſcribed. a Yet it
what has been ſaid, that he plainly admits the
Truth of certain of the principal Facts contain-
ed in it, and confeſſes that ſome part of it is tru-
ly hiſtorical. Theſe Poſitions cannot poſſibly be
reconciled to Truth or Reaſon. His own Wit
may be turned upon him, barely by inverting
the Sentence; for it will be true of him, that he
holds this Account to be wholly fictitious, to be
made
up
of Parables and Similitudes, and yet to
be, in ſome part, Hiſtorical.
SINCE then the Truth of theſe Capital Facts
cannot poſſibly be controverted, and they appear
undeniably to be related in plain and common
Language, If any one will ſtill maintain that the
Author's Deſign was to inculcate the Belief of
theſe Facts in an allegorical Manner, He muſt
hold it to be a very ſtrange and fingular Kind of
Compoſition. It muſt be wholly a double Ac-
count, in which the fame Things are literally
and emblematically ſet forth, ſometimes clearly
ſpoken of, ſometimes but obliquely pointed at,
now fully diſcovered, and again partly conceal-
ed, at one Time held up to our View in their
own proper and naked Forms, and then at laſt
preſented to Us under a Diſguiſe. But, what is
ſtill worſe, the Subſtance of the Diſcourſe muſt
all be made true, and the allegorical Repreſen-
tation of that Subſtance thrown into the Circum-
ſtances. Thus the Sin, and conſequent Miſery
a Page 1 24.
of
[ 87 ]
of Adam, are literally told, and literally admit-
ted. If therefore they be alſo emblematically
told, the Emblem can lie no where, but in ſome
of thoſe Circumſtances, which are ſaid to have
accompanied his Fall. Thus the Circumſtances
muſt become the Emblems of the Facts which
they attend, and be made to give a reflected I-
mage of them. But to what Purpoſe ? When
we have been ſhewn a Thing fairly, in its ge-
nuine Form, the Author muſt have great Lei-
ſure if he ſtays to entertain us with it alſo in a
Maſk. For it can ſerve no Purpoſe but our En-
tertainment, fince all the Uſes, either for Know-
ledge or Practice, may more eaſily be drawn
from the Reality than from any Image of it.
All the material Facts deſigned to be inculcated
being then confeſſedly true, and undeniably li-
teral, no further good End to be anſwered, no
parallel Authorities from any reputable Author
whatſoever, can be brought to encourage or coun-
tenance Us in making the Circumſtarices, which
only remain to be queſtioned, Allegorical. On
the contrary it is repugnant to the Practice of all
Writers, and to the Genius of all People and
Languages, and utterly irreconcileable to all re-
gular Thinking or Conſiſtency of Deſign. The
Circumſtances cannot then be allegorical, but
they muſt alſo be reputed either literally true, or
literally falſe. If they be falſe, then muſt it be
confeſſed that the Author has debaſed his Truth
by this Mixture of Alloy, and they can deſerve
no better Name, than the Embelliſhments of a
vain
[ 88 ]
vain and ſportive Fancy ſet at Work to diſguiſe
Truths of ever uſeful Importance.
The Circumſtances, when we mark their
Connection with the fundamental Points, receive
a communicated Force, which muſt neceſſarily
draw them after theſe either into the Regions of
Truth or Fiction. But we will venture to con-
ſider them alſo independently of theſe principal
and allowed Facts, and, diveſting them of this
outward Impulſe, to obſerve their own natural
Tendency. And even thus we muſt ſtill ac-
knowledge their Propenſity to the Side of Truth.
They bear ſuch ſtrong Characters and Impreſ-
fions of it as viſibly demonſtrates their inward
Dignity and Alliance to it. The Author in them
all along accounts for the Origin and Nature of
many Things, as they ſtill exiſt, and as they are
afterwards deſcribed in the Sequel of his Hiſto-
ry. Now this he would certainly never have
done, if he had not deſigned that this his Man-
ner of accounting for them ſhould be received
for Truth. For if they be intended to be held
as Fictions, they are ſuch Fictions as never had
any
ſerious and reputable Hiſtory, ſuch
as the Remainder of the Pentateuch, I hope, will
ſtill be allowed. Moſes deſcribes the Origin of
the Sabbath in theſe Words. And God bleſjed the
Seventh Day, and fan&tified it : becauſe that in it
he had reſted from all his Work, which God creat-
ed and made. a We know very well that the
Jews ſtill keep this Sabbath, and for the Reaſon
place in
a Gen. 2.3.
here
[ 89 )
here aſſigned : And Moſes himſelf in the Courſe
of his Hiſtory often mentions their religious Ob-
ſervance of it. Thus Livy deſcribes the Original
of the Ludi Capitolini, which he ſays were inſti-
tuted in Memory of a very remarkable Preſerva-
tion of the Capitol from the Gauls. a Would not
his contemporary Romans, to whom the Cuſtom
was well known, have had a very mean Opinion
of their Hiſtorian, if he had laid the Foundation
of theſe their Solemnities in a Fable? When a-
gain He aſcribes the Building of the Temple to
Jupiter Feretrius and the dedicating of the firſt
opima Spolia therein to Romulus, on his conquer-
ing
and killing with his own Hand Acron King
of the Cæninenfes, b and afterwards tells us that
Corn. Cofus, in Imitation of Romulus, dedicated
them on the like Occaſion, and fixed them in
the ſame Temple, c would not that Commenta-
tor be thought to charge his Author with an In-
conſiſtency, who ſhould allow the latter Account
to be true, but ſhould ſay that the former was a
Fiction of his own ? Shall we then charge Mo-
ſes with this or with ſtill greater Inconſiſtences ?
He not only barely mentions the future Obſer-
vance of the Sabbath, but commands it: He is
zealous for its being kept in the ſtricteſt Manner,
and exerts himſelf
in puniſhing thoſe who pro-
faned it. Can we imagine the People would have
ſubmitted to this inſtitution, with that religious
Reverence of it which many of them actually
a Hift. L. 5. C. 50. Ludi Capitolini ferent &c. b Lib. 1.
c Lib. 4. 20.
M
had,
IO.
( 90 ]
ele
had, if they had known, or but ſuſpected, that
the Grounds and Reaſons, upon which they were
commanded to obſerve it, were all an Invention
of their Lawgiver ? Or can we think ſo baſely
of Moſes himſelf as to believe that he could, with
ſuch Řigour and Shew of Sanctity, have inforced
the Obſervance of it upon Motives which he was
conſcious to himſelf deſerved no Regard? But
more may ſtill be ſaid for the Truth of this
par-
ticular Circumſtance. For God himſelf after-
wards commands the Keeping of the Sabbath
upon
the
very ſame Reaſons on which Moſes had
before eſtabliſhed it, as may be ſeen in the
Fourth Commandment. He alſo wrought a Mi-
racle expreſsly to encourage and promote the
Obſervance of it; For he ſent a double Portion
of Manna on the ſixth Day, that the People
might be enabled to reſt on the Seventh. a We
cannot account for this divine Concurrence in
Support of this Inſtitution, if we hold that the
Foundation of it was a Fiction. For the Perfor-
mance of religious Services from erroneous Mo-
tives is often as diſagreeable to God as even the
Neglect of them. It cannot be, that he ſhould
lay the Foundation of his Service, or ſupport it
when laid, upon ſuch Motives.
This Mark of Truth, which is found beſides
in many more of the Circumſtances, is likewiſe
common to the fundamental Articles of this Nar-
ration. As may be ſeen in the following ſum-
mary View of the moſt material of them. The
a Exod. 16.
Ex-
[ 91 ]
}
Exiſtence of the Earth in its preſent State, with
all the Claſſes of the vegetable and Brute Crea-
tion, are accounted for in the Firſt Chapter. The
Origin of Man is related in theſe Words: And
the Lord God formed Man of the Duſt of the
Ground, and breathed into his Noſtrils the Breath
of Life; and Man became a living Soul. a Of the
Woman, in the ſame Chapter : But for Adam
there was not found an Help meet for him. And
the Lord God cauſed a deep Sleep to fall upon A-
dam, and be ſept : And he took one of his Ribs,
and cloſed up the Fleſh inſtead thereof. And the
Rib, which the Lord God had taken from Man,
made he a Woman, and brought her unto the Man.b
Here is alſo laid the Foundation of the reciprocal
Duty and Affection that ought to ſubſiſt between
Man and Wife: as it is deduced in the follow-
ing Verſes. And Adam ſaid, This is now Bone
of my Bone, and Fleſh of my Fleſs: Sbe shall be
called Woman, becauſe she was taken out of Man.
Therefore mall a Man leave bis Father and Mo-
ther, and ſhall cleave unto his Wife: And they ſhall
be one Fleſh.c The Introduction of Sin into the
World is deſcribed in the Beginning of the next
Chapter. For our Parents are tempted to tranſ-
greſs a Command of God, and to eat of a Fruit
which he had commanded them to abſtain from. d
I have our Author's Word that the abje&t State of
the Serpentine Race e is accounted for, and the
Cauſe and Origin of their preſent odious Nature ex-
a Chap. 2. Verf. 7.
b Verf. 20, 21, 22,
d Chap. 3. to Verf. 7.
e Page I 34:
plained
c Verſ. 23, 24.
M 2
[ 92 )
1
and Duſt
plained in 14, 15 Verf. And the Lord God ſaid
unto the Serpent, Becauſe thou haſt done this, thout
art curſed above all Cattle, and above every Beaſt
of the Field: upon thy Belly shalt thou go,
jhalt thou eat all the Days of thy Life. And I will
put Enmity between Thee and the Woman, and be-
tween thy Seed and her Seed: It ſhall bruiſe thy
Head, and thou ſhalt bruiſe his Heel. But to call
it a fanciful Solution, as that Author does, in
which View it can neither be of Uſe to Morality
nor Hiſtory, is to make Moſes fo injudicious and
trifling a Writer, as muſt ſink his Genius and
Deſign below thoſe of the worſt Fabuliſts or
Compoſers of Metamorphoſes. In the next Verſe
the fingular Pains, that are laid upon Women in
Child-Bearing, are accounted for, and the Foun-
dation of that Submiſſion they owe their Huf-
bands is laid. Unto the Woman He ſaid, I will
greatly multiply thy Sorrow, and thy Conception ;
In Sorrow thou ſhali bring forth Children : And
thy Defire shall be to thy Huſband, and he ſhall
rule over thee. a The Unfruitfulneſs of the Ground,
and the Neceſſity of Man's great Labour in the
Cultivation of it are accounted for in the follow-
ing Words. And unto Adam he ſaid, Becauſe
Thou haſt hearkened unto the Voice of thy Wife, and
halt eaten of the Tree, of which I commanded Thee,
ſaying, Thou ſhalt rot eat of it: Curſed is the
Ground for thy Sake ; In Sorrow ſhalt thou eat of
it all the Days of thy Life. Thorns alſo and Thil-
iles ſhall it bring forth to Thee : And Thou shalt
ز
a Verf. 16.
eat
[ 93 ]
eat the Herb of the Field. a Then follows an Ac-
count of the Frailty and Mortality of our Race.
In the Sweat of thy Face ſhalt thou eat Bread, till
thou return unto the Ground; For out of it waſt
thou taken: For Duſt Thou art, and unto Duſt
Malt thou return.b I carry this View no farther
becauſe hitherto only has the Truth of the Mo-
ſaic Writings been at preſent called in Queſtion.
THESE are the Things whoſe Natures and
preſent Manner of Exiſtence Mofes has accounted
for in this his Relation of the Creation and Fall.
We are Witneſſes that the Things do yet exiſt,
and therefore they muſt have been brought into
this State of Exiſtence by ſome Means or other.
Whether Moſes's Manner of accounting for them
is the true one or not, muſt depend intirely on
his Veracity. Since he has accounted for them,
and ſince his Deſcription of their Origin has a
ſtrong and inſeparable Connection with a Series
of true Hiſtory, I think We cannot behold ſuch
an Attempt in any other Light than as hiſtorical. .
His Writings are manifeſtly a Relation of ſome
of the principal Revolutions both in the moral
and natural World from the Beginning to his
own Time. He writes the Hiſtory of fallen
Man, and he writes the Hiſtory of Man's Fall.
If we can prove, that he has aſcribed any one of
theſe Revolutions to wrong Cauſes, or that, in
any one Period, he has copied only from his I-
magination, what is this but overthrowing his
Veracity? Fabuliſts may convey their Moral in
a Verf. 17, 18. b Verf. 19.
feigned,
[ 94 ]
+
feigned, but probable, Stories, making their Ac-
tors and Characters ſtill conſiſtent with the Na-
ture of Things, which is the Caſe of Allegory :
Or they may form a new Creation of their own,
and then the Production will be an Apologue :
But, when a profeſſed Hiſtorian takes in Hand
to account for the preſent Nature of Things,
and to deliver the Cauſes of their exiſting in the
Manner we now ſee them exiſt, to do this in a
Way different from the Truth can proceed from
Nothing but Ignorance, or a Deſire to miſlead;
and the Author of ſuch a Work, is not to be
called an Allegoriſt, but a Deceiver.
IF, to theſe Arguments for a Belief that the
Story of the Creation and Fall was intended for
an Account of real Facts, we add the ſacred Tef-
timony of ſome Paſſages of later Scriptures con-
curring to induce the ſame Belief, I hope no more
need be added.
WHEREVER it is referr'd to in the ſubſequent
Writings, both of the Old and New Teſtament,
it is conſtantly done as to a Relation literally true,
and literally underſtood. As one powerful In-
ítance of this kind we may again return to the
Fourth Commandment, and thoſe other Paſſages
which eſtabliſh or inforce the Obſervation of the
Sabbath. For they not only reſt the Obligation
to this religious Service upon the Moſaical Ac-
count of the Creation, and therefore neceſſarily
ſuppoſe its Truth: but alſo further, in expreſs
Terms affert it. Thus the Fourth Command-
ment affirms that in Six Days the Lord made
Heaven
1
[ 95 ]
Heaven and Earth, the Sea, and all that in them
is, and reſted the Seventh Day: wherefore the Lord
bleſſed the Sabbath Day, and hallowed it. a Again :
Wherefore the children of Iſrael fall keep the Sab-
bath, to obſerve the Sabbath throughout their Ge-
nerations, for a perpetual Covenant. It is a Sign
between Me and the Children of Iſrael for ever :
For in Six Days the Lord made Heaven and Earth,
and on the Seventh Day be reſted, and was refreſh-
ed. b Here may not improperly be added, what
the Author of the Epiſtle to the Hebrews ſays,
For He ſpake in a certain Place of the Seventh
Day on this wife, and God did reſt the Seventh
Day from all his Works.c If then the Moſaic Ac-
count of the Creation be fictitious, the Founda-
tion on which this Duty is laid is imaginary,
and the Obligation grounded thereon ceaſes. The
Creation of the Firſt Man and Woman, with
the Order and Manner of their Creation and
Tranſgreſſion, are Points whoſe Validity is ſup-
ported in the following Paſſages. For a Man
ought not to cover his Head, for as much as he is
the Image and Glory of God; but the Woman is the
Glory of the Man. For the Man is not of the Wo-
man : but the Woman of the Man. d The Firſt
Man is of the Earth, Earthy. e For Adam was
firſt formed, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived,
but the Woman being deceived was in the Tranſ-
greſſion. But I fear left by any Means as the Ser-
pent beguiled Eve through his Subtilty, ſo your
a Exod. 20. U. b Exod 31.16, 17. c Hebr.4.4.
II. 7,8. ei Cor. 15:47.
e i Cor. 15:47. fi Tim. 2. 14.
Minds
d 1 Cor.
[96]
not
Minds ſhould be corrupted from the Simplicity that
is in Chriſt. a
AGAIN. We may behold our Saviour him-
ſelf eſtabliſhing and ſecuring the Practice of a
moral Duty upon the Credit of this fame Rela-
tion: And making it the Rule and Standard of
that Affection which ought to ſubſiſt between
Man and Wife. The Phariſees alſo came unto him
tempting him, and ſaying unto him, is it lawful
for a Man to put away his Wife for every Cauſe ?
And He anſwered and ſaid unto them, Have ye
read, that He which made them at the Beginning
made them Male and Female ? and ſaid, for this
Cauſe all a Man leave Father and Mother, and
Shall cleave to his Wife: And they twain ſhall be one
Fleſh. Wherefore they are no more twain but one
Fleſh. What therefore God bath joined together, let
not Man put aſunder. b It cannot be thought te-
dious to run over the ſame Diſcourſe in the
Words of another Evangeliſt. And the Phariſees
came to him and aſked him, is it lawful for a Man
to put away his Wife? tempting him. And he an-
fwered and ſaid unto them, what did Moſes com-
mand You? And they ſaid, Moſes ſuffered to write
a Bill of Divorcement, and to put ber away. And
Jeſus anſwered and ſaid unto them, For the Hard-
neſs of your Heart he wrote You this Precept. But
From the Beginning of the Creation, God made them
Male and Female. For this Cauſe ſhall a Man
leave his Father and Mother, and cleave to his Wife;
and they twain ſhall be one Fleſh: ſo then they are
a 2 Cor. 11.3. b Matth. 19. 3. &c.
10
[ 97 ]
a
no more twain, but one Fleſh. What therefore God
bath joined together, let not Man put aſunder.
We ſee how readily and clearly our Saviour folves
this controverted Point on the Authority of this
Account of Moſes. For ſince this was the firſt
human Relation that ever ſubſiſted, and ſince it
was cemented in the cloſeſt Manner imaginable,
and by the Hand of God himſelf, it ought to be
preſerved the laſt, and maintained in Preference
to all other interfering Relations. From the Be-
ginning of the Creation, God made them Male
and Female. For this Cauſe, that it was the firſt
Relation, ſhall a Man leave his Father and Mo-
ther, poſtponing thoſe Relations which are of a
later Commencement, and cleave unto his Wife,
and they twain ſhall be one Fleſh. What there-
fore God hath joined together let not Man put
aſunder. Let no human Authority preſume to
reſcind thoſe Ties which God himſelf hath con-
nected. But had Dr. M. been of Council for
the Phariſees, how ſoon would he have obviated
our Saviour's Argument! “The Principles, ſays
“He, you argue from are imaginary: They were
“ not joined together by God's creating Hand, but
by the Invention of Moſes."
I ſhall produce yet one Claſs more of Scrip-
Quotations in Support of the Authority of this
Hiſtory. Nevertheleſs Death reigned from Adam
to Moſes, even over them that had not finned after
the Similitude of Adam's Tranſgreſion, who is the
Figure of him that was to come. But not as the Of-
a Mark 10.2 &c.
N
fence,
[ 98
]
fence, ſo alſo is the Free Gift. For if through the
Offence of one, many be dead; much more the Grace
of God, and the Gift by Grace, which is by one
Man, Jeſus Chriſt, hath abounded unto many. And
not as it was by one that finned, ſo is the Gift: For
the Judgment was by one to Condemnation.; but the
Free Gift is of many Offences unto Juſtification.
For if by one Man's Offence Death reigned by one,
much more they which receive Abundance of Grace,
and of the Gift of Righteouſneſs, shall reign in Life
by one Jeſus Chriſt. Therefore as by the Offence of
one, Judgment came upon all Men tó Condemnation:
Even ſo by the Righteouſneſs of one, the Free Gift
came upon all Men unto Juſtification of Life. For
as by one Mans Diſobedience many were made Sin-
ners : So by the Obedience of one, ſhall many be
made righteous, a Again. But now is Chriſt riſen
from the dead and become the Firſt-Fruits of them
that ſept. For fince by Man came Death, by Man
came alſo the Reſurrection of the dead. For as in
Adam all die, even fo in Chriſt ſhall all be made
alive. b Here is a large Compariſon made be-
tween the Loſs and Hurt Mankind ſuſtained by
the Fall of Adam, and the Benefits they received
by the voluntary Sacrifice of Chriſt. That both
theſe are viſionary I hope will not be aſſerted.
Shall we then ſay that the Compariſon is made
between a Truth and a Fiction? That cannot
be. Becauſe it is ſaid that as in Adam all die,
even ſo, in the ſame Manner, and no otherwiſe,
Mall all be made alive by Chriſt
. If therefore it be
a Rom. 5. 14 &c. b 1 Cor. 15, 20, 21, 22.
only
1
[ 99 ]
only a Fable which makes Adain the Cauſe of
our Death, in the ſame Manner muſt it be a Fa-
ble that Chriſt ſhall be the Author of our Life.
Or if we have full Aſſurance of the Reality of
our expected living in Chriſt, then we muſt alſo
admit the Reality of our pretended dying in A-
dam. For we may reaſon è Converſo that as in
Chriſt all ſhall be made alive, even fo in Adam did
all die. The aſſign'd Cauſe of the Damage, and
Reparation, of our Nature, are ſpoken of with
the ſame Degree of Certainty: And therefore the
Accounts we have of the Author and Produc-
tion of our promiſed Happineſs, and our expe-
rienced Miſery, (both which the Apoſtle ſuppo-
ſes Us to be acquainted with) muſt demand an
equal Degree of Credit. For the Apoſtles Argu-
ment will not allow Us to hold the one for a Fic-
tion, and the other for a Truth. As then we
value the Foundation of the glorious Hopes of a
Reſurrection and an Immortality, let us not de-
ſtroy the Foundation on which the ſuppoſed De-
pravation of our Nature is maintained." For We
ſhall all be made alive in Chriſt no otherwiſe
than as We all died in Adam.
UPON the Whole. There is Nothing incredi-
ble in the Facts or Matter of this Relation, and
therefore it is no Apologue.
The Authority of the Writer is unqueſtioned,
and is great enough to eſtabliſh a Belief of any
credible Facts: The Deſign of the Author, which
was the Inſtruction of the World in ſeveral mo-
ral and religious Duties, and in the Truth of ſe-
N2
veral
[ 100 ]
veral Facts from whence thoſe Duties are deri-
ved, could not have been anſwered by a Fable:
Through the whole of the Account are inter-
ſperſed ſeveral evident Characteriftics of true Hif-
tory: And laſtly, for its being a true Hiſtory
there are the Suffrages of many ſacred Interpre-
ters, inſpired by the ſame Holy Spirit which pre-
ſided in its Compoſition: And Therefore it is no
Fable.
WHENCE we arrive at the laſt Concluſion, for
the ſake of which chiefly the whole Argument
was undertaken, that the Foundation of the Firſt
Prophecy is yet ſecure: And therefore, notwith-
ſtanding any Thing here objected, that it may
ſtill be eſteemed a Part of that Chain of Prophe-
cies extended through all Antiquity, in which the
Revelation of the promiſed Redeemer was gra-
dually unfolded.
I have all along avoided giving any Explana-
tion of my own of the ſeveral Particulars of this
Hiſtory which have coine under Conſideration,
both becauſe ſeveral good and convenient Expla-
nations of the whole have been already given, by
many eminent Authors, and alſo becauſe
my
preſent Deſign did not carry me any further, than
barely to free it from the Objections that had been
revived againſt it. My Attempt was not to pro-
cure any new Light, but to reſtore the old : and
to recover that which, by the Interpoſition of an
envious Cloud, had been intercepted.
III. A
[ 101 ]
III. A brief State of the Queſtion, whe-
ther Prophecies or Miracles afford
ſtronger Evidence for the Truth of
Chriſtianity.
W
HY is this made a Queſtion by
the Enemies of Chriſtianity? They
who will not allow that it is ſup-
ported by any Strength of Evi-
dence at all, why do they go about to compare
the Strength of two diſtinct Kinds of it's Êvi-
dence, and, denying that there are any Proofs
for its Truth, why do they diſpute by what
Means its Truth may be moſt effectually proved?
Or why, again, is it debated amongſt the Friends
of Chriſtianity? If they are ſatisfied in the whole
of its Evidence, and feel that its united Force is
ſtrong enough to overthrow all Oppoſition, and
to work a full Conviction in every unprejudiced
Mind, this is all that the Service of Chriſtianity
demands; and it can be but an unprofitable Cu-
rioſity at beſt that can engage them to ſpend their
Leiſure in enquiring into the ſeparate and diſ-
tinct Forces of its ſeveral Parts. If ſeveral Wit-
neſſes had given in their Evidence in ſome de-
pending Cauſe, and the Jury were of Opinion
that
[ 102 )
that their concurring Teſtimony decided the
Matter ſo clearly as to leave no Room for fur-
ther Doubts; for them to ſuſpend their Sentence
till they had made a nice Diſquiſition into the
diſtinct Weight of every ſingle Depoſition, would
be thought, at leaſt, a ſuperfluous Exactneſs
, and
a Delay which the Service of the Cauſe did not
demand.
'Tis probable therefore, that this Queſtion owes
its Riſe to a Set of Men not properly taken in
under either of theſe Claſſes. I mean thoſe Ene-
mies of the Chriſtian Cauſe, who wear the Maſk
of Friends. Unable to gain their Ends by open
Force, they craftily endeavour to divide it againſt
itſelf, and thus to deſtroy it by its own Strength.
They endeavour to thew that Prophecy is a
ſtronger Proof of the Truth of Chriſtianity than
Miracles. One would at firſt apprehend no ill
Deſign here. For what would be the Conſe-
quence? Miracles afford a very ſtrong Proof:
Prophecy yields yet a ſtronger: Therefore Chrif-
tianity is impregnable. This would be the Infe-
rence of a common Genius. But theſe ſublime
Reaſoners would give the Argument a contrary
Tendency, making this ſurprizing Inference,
therefore Chriſtianity is overthrown: And hav-
ing with great Induſtry proved the Strength
of Prophecy ſuperior to that of Miracles, would
terminate their Reaſoning here, that there is not
the leaſt Degree of Strength in either of them.
THEY, to whom the Laws of Argument
are known, will eaſily diſcern the Weakneſs of
this
[ 103 )
this Sophiſm. Indeed they conceal their firſt
Term; but force them to produce this, and the
Fallacy appears. They begin by ſaying that Pro-
phecy is ſtronger than Miracles. But it is plain
that, before any Compariſon can be begun be-
tween them, or any Judgment made of the Ex-
ceſs of the Force of one above that of the other,
the Amount of their particular Forces ſhould firſt
be known. Or, if this Diſquiſition be too nice
or laborious, it muſt at leaſt be agreed upon that
they have each of them ſome Quantity of Force,
and that Force muſt be valued in the Groſs; O-
therwiſe no Eſtimate can be made, though ever
ſo inartificial, of their comparative Forces. The
diſtinct Forces then of Prophecy and Miracles,
or at leaſt of one of them, is evidently the firſt
Term, though they endeavour to hide it. Whence
it is plain, that, by returning after the Compari-
ſon to weaken the Forces of either of them, they
are chargeable with an Abſurdity even worſe than
that of Begging the Queſtion: their Reaſoning ma-
anifeſtly terminates in an Attempt to unſettle that
which was firſt of all fettled; to eſtabliſh an El-
timate of the Two Forces contrary to that which
was firſt agreed upon; and therefore to deſtroy
thoſe very Principles from which the Argument
proceeded.
It muſt furely be plain to common Senſe,
that a Compariſon between Two Things does
not affect or alter the real Nature of the Things
themſelves. The Reſult of it can only be a Know-
ledge of the Proportion they bear to each other,
of
[ 104 ]
of their relative Value, not of that which ought
to be known before, their real Worth confidered
fingly and independently on each other. For the
Things compared remain the ſame in every Re-
ſpect after, as they were before, the Compariſon.
However they go on, to the great Surprize of all
the Beholders, to convince them that this Bul-
wark of Prophecy, which they had laboured to
raiſe to ſuch ſeeming Strength and Fairneſs, iš
all a Deception of the Senſes, and therefore by
cauſing this to vaniſh, which was to Appearance
the ſtrongeſt, they imagine all the other pretend-
ed Strength of Evidence muſt ſink and diſappear
with it. Thus they would raiſe one Part of the
Edifice above its natural Height, and then, by
letting it fall upon the reſt, cruſh the whole
Structure under it. Such treacherous Deſigns
lurk underneath ſuch ſpecious Appearances! Like
the faithleſs Delilah, with a ſeemingly affectionate
Anxiety, they enquire where the great Strength
of Chriſtianity lieth, that they may at once lop
it off, and deliver it over, thus deſpoiled and en-
feebled, to the Deriſion and Inſults of its Enemies.
But they are deceived. A Conqueſt over Chriſ-
tianity is not to be acquired by any ſuch Artifices
as theſe. Its Strength is not, like that of the He-
brew Champion, lodged in any Excreſcencies, or
held by Virtue of any ſecret Cuſtoms or Obſer-
vances : but is natural to it, runs through its
Conſtitution, and is diffuſed in juſt Proportions
over all its Parts.
IT
( 105 ]
It has been pretended that our Saviour him-
ſelf has entered into this Diſpute, and has decided
it in the Manner they deſire, who wiſh to make
the worſt Uſe of it againſt his Religion. Though
I really think that this Queſtion howſoever deci-
ded, if fairly conſidered, threatens no great Hurt,
or promiſes no great Advantage, to Chriſtianity;
yet, becauſe deſigning Men may give it ſuch a
Turn as to miſlead the unwary, and make that
an Inſtrument of the greateſt Hurt which is in
itſelf perfectly harmleſs; to prevent this Abuſe of
the Nature of Thitgs, and to deprive the Ene-
mies of Chriſtianity of their laſt faint Hopes of
Succeſs in their fraudulent Attempts againſt it,
is a Proſpect which makes this Queſtion ſeem
more worthy a ſerious Confideration, and the
Endeavour to ſet it in a clear Light appear fruit-
ful of better Effects, than barely the Gratifica-
tion of an indolent Curioſity. We ſhall begin
then by conſidering the Affertion of Dr. Middle-
ton, that all which
bis Lordſhip has been affirming
fo freely concerning the ſuperior Evidence of Mira-
cles to that of Prophecy, ſeems to have been origi-
nally confuted, and the whole Queſtion determined
againſt him by Chriſt himſelf; Who in one of his
Parables declares, that thoſe, who would not beark-
en to Moſes and the Prophets, would not be per-
fuaded, though one roſe from the dead. Luke 16.
31. clearly intimating, that the Word of Prophecy,
as delivered in the Old Teſtament, carried with it
a firmer Proof of the Truth of his Goſpel to the
Fews, than even the greateſt of all Miracles. a It is
a P. 57
O
.
proper
[ 106 ]
proper to begin with this, becauſe if our Savi-
our's Sentiments ſhould really appear to be what
they are here repreſented, all Argument is at an
End: And Nothing will remain for Us to do,
but, ſubmitting to his ſacred Authority, to guard
againſt any ill Application of his Opinion, and
to prevent his own Declaration from being turn-
ed to the Deſtruction of his Cauſe.
Two Circumſtances well underſtood, will
lead Us to a clear Apprehenſion of the Force of
this Paſſage as far as the preſent Queſtion is con-
cerned, viz. what was the Puint, and what were
the Means, of Perſwafion propoſed. Dr. M.
thinks that the Point of Perſwafion was the Truth
of the Goſpel, and the Means, expreſſed by Mo-
ſes and the Prophets, and the Riſing of one from the
dead, Prophecies and Miracles. Now granting
that he is right in this Opinion, ſtill our Savi-
our's declaring that the latter would be ineffectual
where the former had failed, will be far from
amounting to a clear Intimation, that the Word of
Prophecy carried with it a firmer Proof of the
Truth of the Goſpel, than the greateſt of all Mira-
cles: becauſe he does not ſay that Prophecy could
do more than Miracles, but only that Miracles
could not do more than Prophecy; not, that
Prophecy could bring Conviction to the Mind of
an Infidel where Miracles had failed, but that
the latter could not overcome that Degree of In-
fidelity which had been Proof againſt the for-
mer. The Inference then can be carried no far-
ther than that Miracles are not of ſuperior Force
to
[ 107 ]
to Prophecy, which differs widely from a De-
claration in Favour of the Superiority of Prophe-
cy: For ſtill they may ſtand both upon a Level,
and their Powers may remain equal. Allowing
then that He has taken both theſe Points right,
it appears that our Saviour has not decided the
Queſtion as he would have it. But we are not
yet ſure that He has not miſtaken the Deſign of
the Parable. We find that it was ſpoken to the
Phariſees, who it is ſaid were covetous. Accord-
ingly a Rich Man is made the chief Character
in the Parable. The Uſe he made of his Riches
was not, to communicate to others, and to re-
lieve the Wants of the diſtreſſed: For when La-
zarus was laid at his Gate full of Sores, and de-
firing to be fed with the Crumbs which fell from
the Rich Man's Table, we do not read that He
had
except from the Dogs, which
came and licked his Sores: But He applied them
to the Indulgence of his Appetites, and ſpent
them upon himſelf in all the Splendour and Lux-
ury of Life. He was clothed in Purple and fine
Linnen, and fared ſumptuouſly every Day. This
is all that is related of his Life. We find him
next in very different Circumſtances, in the Tor-
ments of Hell. For He died, and was buried, and
in Hell he lift up his Eyes, being in Torments.
Now what do we imagine our Saviour expected
his Hearers ſhould underſtand to be the Cauſe
of his Puniſhment? Surely thoſe Crimes alone
which He had reported of his Life, amongſt
which a Rejection of the Goſpel has no Place.
02
He
any Relief
[ 108 ]
He now, in his Turn, becomes a Supplicant,
and begs firſt for a Relief of his own Miſeries.
But, when this is denied him, he petitions next
for a Prevention of the Miſeries of his Relations,
Then He ſaid, I pray Thee, Father, that Thou
wouldeſt ſend Lazarus to my Father's Houſe : For
I have Five Brethren; that he may teſtify unto them,
left they alſo come into this place of Torment. What
was he deſirous that Lazarus ſhould teſtify to
his Brethren? We can ſuppoſe it to be Nothing
elſe than that which his own Caſe ſuggeſted and
which Lazarus had been a Witneſs to, the Event
of a luxurious and immoral Life, and the Miſe-
ries which attended the wicked in a future State.
He thought that this could not fail of deterring
them from purſuing his Steps in Life, and there-
by would prevent their coming into the fame
Place of Torment with himſelf. Abraham ſaid
that an Attention to Moſes and the Prophets,
which they were already poſſeſſed of, was ſuffi-
cient to effect what he deſired. They have Moſes
and the Prophets ; let them hear them. And be ſaid,
nay, Father Abraham, but if one went unto them
from the dead, they will repent. The ordinary Me-
thods of Admonition, which they have been fo
long accuſtomed to diſregard, will make no Im-
preſſion upon their hardned Minds; but fo aſto-
niſhing a Call as this could not fail of ſtriking
their Attention, and producing their Reforma-
tion. And Abraham ſaid unto him, if they bear
not Moſes and the Prophets, neither will they be
perſwaded though one roſe from the dead.
FROM
( 109 ]
FROM this View of the Parable it does not
ſeem in the leaſt probable, that the Truth of the
Goſpel was what the Rich Man deſired to have
his Friends perſwaded of. There is no Room
to imagine that the Characters of this Parable are
taken from ſuch as were ſuppoſed to have had
the Goſpel preached unto them. And except they
were ſuch, the Reception of the Goſpel cannot
poſſibly be concerned in the Diſcourſe. A Dif-
belief of its Truth was not amongſt the Sins for
which the Rich Man himſelf ſuffered. Nor is
there the leaſt Intimation that he wanted to have
charged Lazarus with any other Commiſſion,
than to teſtify unto them the Truths which a-
roſe from his own ſad Example. But what muſt
entirely clear up the Matter is that he himſelf
expreſsly tells us for what End he wanted to have
fent to his Brethren a Herald from the dead: not,
to perſwade them to embrace the Goſpel, but to
repent: But if one went unto them from the dead,
ſays He, they will repent. It is clear then that the
Point of Perſwafion is not the Truth of the Gof-
pel, but the Neceſſity of Repentance and a vir-
tuous Life in order to future Happineſs. Whence
it will follow as clearly, that the Means of Per-
ſwaſion recommended by Abraham under the
Name of Moſes and the Prophets, could not be
thoſe Predictions of the Meſſiah which were con-
tained in the Old Teſtament, becauſe theſe, of
all the Parts of the Scriptures, could have the
leaſt direct Tendency to bring about the deſired
End. I hope we need not be reminded here that
by
[ 110 ]
by a familiar Cuſtom of ſpeaking, Moſes and the
Prophets was a Term fignifying the whole Vo-
lume of the Jewiſh Scriptures. Whatever Rules
of Life then were diſſeminated through theſe
Scriptures, whatever inſtructive Precepts or Ex-
amples they contained, whatever Deſcriptions and
Monuments were to be found in them of God's
eternal Juſtice and Mercy, whatever they taught
of his Hatred to Vice and Love of Virtue, what-
ever Motives and Encouragement they held up
to Mankind to draw them to the practice of the
latter, or whatever Denunciations of Vengeance
they proclaimed to deter them from the former,
theſe were the Parts in them peculiarly fitted to
impreſs upon the Minds of Men a Senſe of their
Duty, to reclaim them from their Errors, and
to awe or allure them into the Study of Godli-
neſs: And therefore theſe muſt have been the
Parts which Abraham is made to point out to the
Regard of thoſe whom he wanted to bring back
into the Paths of Life. And whoever is ſo hard-
ned as not to be wrought upon by theſe power-
ful Arguments, whoever refuſes to hear the Voice
of Moſes and the Prophets inſtructing him with
the greateſt Clearneſs and Authority, and giving
undoubted Proofs of their divine Commiſſion,
ſuch an one, of ſo ſtubborn and inſenſible an
Heart, would not be moved nor perſwaded though
one roſe from the dead : For even a Meſſenger
from the dead could not bring clearer Diſcove-
ries of the Will of God, nor ſtronger Creden-
tials of his bearing the divine Authority, than
had
[111]
had already been unſucceſsfully applied to them.
It is not then the Prophecies, but the Doctrines
ſupported by the Authority of the ſacred Wri-
tings, that are here ſpoken of as ſufficient to work
a Reformation in any Mind yet open to Convic-
tion. And therefore it is a Miſapplication of this
Parable to produce it as an Argument of our Sa-
viour's Opinion concerning the Efficacy of Pro-
phecy and Miracles in atteſting the Truth of his
Goſpel. And it is ſtill a greater Mifapplication
of it to produce it as an Argument that his Opi-
nion was in Favour of the ſuperior Efficacy of
the former.
SINCE then it may be done without any Tref-
paſs on the ſacred Authority of our Saviour, let
us reaſon of the relative Powers of Prophecy and
Miracles, and endeavour to ſet them in ſo clear
a Light, that it may be eaſy for every one to
compare them together, and to form a clear No-
tion of their mutual Proportions. The plaineſt
and moſt natural Way to this is to gain a diſtinct
Knowledge of the Things to be compared, their
individual and independent Powers. By what
Virtue is it then that Prophecy becomes a divine
Evidence of the Miſſion of him for whoſe Sake
it is given, and whence is its Power derived ?
The Solution of this Queſtion cannot be very
difficult : It requires Nothing more than a little
Attention to the Steps by which we are led to
ſee the Evidence of Prophecy. When we ſee a
Prophecy given out long before the Time of the
Event which it foretells, or clearly foretelling a
Contin-
[ 112 ]
Contingency, in either Caſe we readily diſcern
that it cannot be the Reſult of human Wiſdom.
For the Event, in the former Caſe, is too remote
to be perceived by human Sight, and in the lat-
ter, lies concealed behind ſuch Obſtacles as no
mortal Eye can pierce through. We cannot un-
thread thoſe intricate Avenues that lead to it in
one Caſe, nor ſtretch over the immenſe Diſtance
by which it is divided from Us in the other.
When therefore we ſee ſuch an Event, which is
plainly out of the Reach of human Diſcernment,
as clearly deſcribed in the Prophecy of it, as if
it had gone before the Deſcription, we pero
that it muſt come from that all-wiſe Being before
whom alone all Things and Events are laid open
and naked, whoſe Knowledge paſſes beyond all
conceivable Bounds of Time or Space, and who
ſees the whole Series of future Beings unfolded
before they have Exiſtence. Here now grows
the Teſtimony of a divine Miſſion in Behalf of
him, for whoſe Sake the Prophecy is given. The
Wiſdom of God undeniably witneſſeth his Truth,
and proclaims the Juſtice of his Pretenſions. He
brings a Ray of Light, which could be borrow-
ed from no one elſe but from the Father of
Lights. And therefore the Virtue of Prophecy
lies here, that its Teſtimony is manifeſtly the
Teſtimony of divine Knowledge.
LET Us now in like Manner endeavour to
diſcover where the Virtue of Miracles lies. We
behold an Effect produced, which is manifeſtly
beyond the Power of thoſe ſenſible Means uſed
in
[ 113
in its Production, We muſt readily ſee that it
cannot be the Work of any natural Cauſe, or of
any human Agent. For no Efficacy of Nature
can produce any other Effect than barely that
which is adequate to the Power of thoſe Means
or Cauſes it ſets to Work. Neither can any Art
of Man add to natural Cauſes that Force which
they are naturally deſtitute of, ſo as to enable
them to effect what they are naturally incapable
of effecting. If, for Inſtance, a Piece of Clay
be naturally unable to reſtore Sight to the blind,
no human Power can enrich it with that Virtue
which Nature has denied it. We may indeed,
by changing their Texture, make many Things
Inſtruments of that for which they were unfit
under a different Form. But even this Power is
limited under certain Laws of Nature; And the
utmoſt that our Abilities can pretend to, is ſome-
times to aſſiſt Nature in its Operations, and to
footh it as it were, into Action, by tempting it
to bring forth that Energy it ſtrove to conceal, and
by putting it in a proper Poſture for exerting the
greateſt Force with which it is endowed. When
therefore ſuch Operations appear as far exceed
the Powers of Nature and the Skill of Man uni-
ted, diſcerning the Impotency of all created Be-
ings, We can ſolve them no otherwiſe than by
recurring to that ſupreme Being who hath created
all theſe Things, and bringeth out their Hoft by
Number : Who encreaſeth Strength to them that
bave no Might. Hence ariſeth the Teſtimony of
Miracles for the divine Miſſion of him in whoſe
P
Be-
( 114 )
Behalf they are wrought. The Power of God
undeniably witneſſeth his Truth, and proclaims
the Juſtice of his Pretenſions. And therefore
the Virtue of Miracles lies here, that their Tef-
timony is manifeſtly the Teſtimony of divine
Power.
THIS then is common to both Kinds of Evi-
dence that they are Manifeſtations of the divine
Interpoſition in favour of his Pretenſions to
whom, or for whoſe Sake, they are vouchſafed.
But they differ in the Methods of making this
Interpoſition known. They both lead to the Dif-
covery of the ſame great Firſt-Mover, but by
different Ways. Prophecy ſhews him as the great
Lawgiver of the Univerſe, as He to whom alone
the Volumes of Futurity are expanded, and to
whom alone belongs the Privilege of ſeeing and di-
recting every Movement of Nature, and beholding
every Event with which the Womb of Time is
pregnant. Miracles lay bare the Hand of the
great
Ruler of the Univerſe, and ſhew the awful Ma-
jeſty of him whoſe Fiat is a Law to the obedi-
ent World, who commands all the Springs of
Nature, and bends them to his Will. He, for
whom Prophecy ſpeaks, brings for his Creden-
tials a Secret which could come only from the
Cabinet-Council of Heaven: He, whoſe Claim
is upheld by Miracles, demands Credit from Us
by Virtue of a Power which none but the Al-
mighty could delegate. In a Word, Prophecy
demonſtrates God's Patronage of a Cauſe by Vir-
tue of his Omniſcience, and Miracles by Virtue
of his Omnipotence.
WE
( 115 )
}
We fee now wherein the Force of theſe Two
different kinds of Evidence conſiſts, what they
have in common, and in what they are diſtin-
guiſhed. Whence the Method of comparing
them together in Order to diſcover where the
Superiority lies, is eaſy. For, ſubſtituting that
wherein their Powers conſiſt, the Compariſon
will be betwixt theſe Attributes of God, and the
Queſtion will become, which of the Two is the
more convincing Argument of the Countenance
and Concurrence of that God to whom they both
belong. Let Us aſk Ourſelves then, does a Dif-
play of the infinite Wiſdom make Us acknow-
ledge God's Preſence fooner than the ſtupendous
Operations of his outſtretched Arm? Or are the
Wonders of his Power clearer Demonſtrations
of his attending Favour and Protection, than the
illuſtrious Records of his Wiſdom? In what-
ever Hand We now entruſt the Balance, I am
perſwaded that He, who holds it, will declare
for an Equipollency. For the Attributes of the
Deity are all alike his own, inſeparable, and in-
communicable.
But though in their own Natures the Power
of Prophecy and Miracles is equal, yet they may
not always ſeem ſo to our Apprehenſions. Our
Minds are not all alike affected with the ſame
Things. Whether it be from ſome original and
native Caſt in their Frame, or the Influence of
that bodily Machine to which they are united ;
or whether Commerce with others, Habit, and
Education impreſſes the Biaſs upon them, it is
certain
P2
1
[ 116 ]
certain that howſoever they have contracted it,
there is a peculiar Turn in the Minds of Men by
which ſome are inclined to receive Pleaſure and
Conviction from one Kind of Argument more
readily than from another, and to be moſt eaſily
wrought upon by that, with which others are
leſs moved. The ſame Truths become more at-
tractive and amiable to their Underſtandings
when placed in one Light than in another, as
the ſame Objects do to their Sight. And to all
both are moſt agreeable by being ſhewn in new
and various Lights.
But to Us eſpecially, who live at a Diſtance
from the Times when the Prophecies were com-
pleated, and the Miracles wrought, who feel not
their Efficacy by ſenſible, but by rational Im-
preffions, there may be another Reaſon aſſigned
for ſome Difference in them. For though the
Manifeſtations of the divine Wiſdom, and the
divine Power, when both are clearly felt, might
make us equally ſenſible of God's Interpoſition,
yet the Steps which lead to the clear Apprehen-
ſion of them may not be equally eaſy to all.
When we are once convinced that there were
Prophecies given out and compleated in the Per-
ſon of our Saviour, and that there were Mira-
cles wrought in Vindication of his Doctrine, they
may ſeem to our Underſtandings equipollent
Proofs of his Divine Miſſion; but then the Way
to this Conviction may not be in both Caſes e-
qually obvious. In Order to be convinced that
there were Miracles wrought in Proof of our Sav-
viour's
[ 117 ]
viour's Pretenſions, we have only to ſatisfy our-
ſelves of the Authenticity of the Goſpel Hiſtory,
and to learn from thence that ſuch particular
Works were exhibited, and that ſuch particular
Facts did really happen. But the Truth of Pro-
phecies muſt be introduced to our Aſſent by a
longer Progreſs. For after we are, in the ſame
Manner as before, ſatisfied that ſome particular
Events did happen in the Life of our Saviour,
we are ſtill advanced but a little Way to a full
Perſwaſion that the Prophecies of the Meſſiah
received their Completion in theſe Events. There
remains behind large Matter of Enquiry. The
Authority of the Scriptures of the Old Teſta-
ment muſt firſt be proved: theſe muſt be care-
fully examined for the Prophecies they contain:
And, when they are found, we are to be aſſured
that they belonged to the Character of the pro-
miſed Meſſiah. After all this, a Compariſon is
ſtill to be nicely made between them and the E-
vents, for ſhewing the Fitneſs and Agreement
between them. And when their Correſpondency
is clearly ſeen, and we have no longer any Scru-
ples remaining of the Reality both of the Events
and Predictions ſeparately, or Suſpicion that the
one may not yet belong to the other, then only
are we fully fenfible of the Proof which Prophe-
cies yield of the divine Miſſion of our Saviour.
When both are clearly apprehended, they
may have equal Power over our Minds. But
the Truth of the one is not ſo foon eſtabliſhed
there as of the other. They both lead finally to
the
[ 118 ]
the ſaine End, and if purſued bring us with e-
qual Certainty to it, but not by Ways equally
ſhort or eaſy. While ſome make their Approach-
es to the important Truth to which they lead by
one Path, others may delight to inveſtigate it by
another. But it muſt ſurely be equally agreeable
and ſerviceable to all to know that it is acceſſible
by more Ways than one, and that they are at
Liberty to purſue that to which the Bent of their
Mind, their Studies, or Opportunities ſhall de-
termine them; or with varied and renewed Plea-
ſure, to explore both in their Turns.
What has been ſaid may be illuſtrated by a
familiar Example. Euclid has left us a Series of
Mathematical Truths demonſtrated in a very ele-
gant Manner. His Commentators, endeavour-
ing to render ſuch uſeful Knowledge as eaſily
attainable as poſſible; have adapted different De-
monſtrations to all thoſe Propoſitions which
ſeemed moſt difficult to be underſtood; drawing
thoſe out into a fuller Explanation which He
had delivered in a conciſer Manner, and demon-
ſtrating thoſe by ſenſible Schemes which he had
treated in a more abſtracted Way. We allow
the Deſign its due Praiſe : not that one Demon-
ſtration is truer than another, or gives better E-
vidence to the Propofition, but becauſe various
Geniuſes are better ſuited, pleaſed, or aſſiſted by
theſe different Demonſtrations than they could
have been by one alone. They are all equally
convincing when underſtood, but, it may be,
not equally pleaſing, nor equally clear to all Ca-
pacities.
( 119 )
pacities. However it contributes more to the
Entertainment and Inſtruction of all, that they
can place the Propoſition in that Light which
themſelves ſhall moſt approve of, than if they
had been confined to one View of it, and that,
by trying ſeveral, one Poſition of it may at laſt
be found which ſhall ſtrike every Capacity.
Thus We ſee that any Difference which may
be in the Forces of Prophecy and Miracles for
proving our Saviour's divine Miſſion, is not na-
tural but accidental to them; and ariſes ſolely
from the different Reception they meet with in
the different Natures, or Abilities of thoſe to
whom they are applied. God has graciouſly been
pleaſed, in manifeſting to the World a Truth of
ſuch univerſal Importance, to lead Us to it by
various Ways, that different Natures, thus ac-
commodated with what is moſt ſuitable to them,
might not want the Means of attaining to that
Knowledge which is equally neceſſary for all. If
its Divinity had been atteſted by either of theſe
ſingly, Chriſtianity would in all Ages have want-
ed many Converts, which it now owes to their
joint Efficacy: And both Ways lying open, ma-
ny have conſtantly been brought into the Flock
of Chriſt who might have ſtrayed for ever with-
out the Pale, if only one Entrance had been
afforded them. Let not us then defraud the Gof-
pel of its Rights, by making the Gate which
leads into it ſtraiter than its great Author has
thought fit to make it : Nor allow ſuch poor ri-
diculous Sophiſtry to deceive Us which would
prove
[ 120 ]
prove its Weakneſs from its Strength; which
would make its numerous Forces hurtful to it,
and take an Advantage againſt it from its having
more Proofs, which could not have been found
had it been ſupported by one alone: Which, by
comparing one Argument of its Truth with an-
other, would deſtroy all Arguments; and by
ſhewing that Prophecy is ſtronger than Miracles
make the World believe that it is weaker than if
it had ſtood by the Force either of Prophecy
or Miracles alone. Let us beware of receiving
ſuch Refinements into Reaſoning, as have long
ago been admitted into Life; which ſkilfully cre-
ate Want out of Plenty, and induſtriouſly turn
the Bounties of Heaven into Curſes, by making
that Poiſon which was deſigned for wholeſome
Food. If one of theſe great Proofs of the Divi-
nity of the Goſpel ſhould have more Power over
the Minds of particular Men than the other,
they, who feel it, are the only Judges which
that is. Every Man is ſenſible of the Workings
of his own Mind alone, and therefore we might
as well pretend to be conſcious for others, as to
determine with which of theſe Proofs they ſhall
be moſt affected, or which ſhall draw them moſt
mightily to Conviction. Let not Us quarrel with
Men becauſe they will not be convinced in the
ſame Way with Ourſelves. If they are gained
over to Conviction, by what Road 'they arrived
at it is hardly worth Enquiry; all is done that
any juſt Concern of ours for them can prompt
Us to wiſh, or their own Salvation does demand.
It
[ 121 ]
It is the Buſineſs of the Friends and Affertors of
Chriſtianity to ſet both theſe Proofs in the clear-
eſt Light they are able, and then to leave all
Men to apprehend for Themſelves : To preſs
Home the great Argument for its Truth in its
full Extent, not confining themſelves to any pe-
culiar Branch of it; And, while they now try
one Power and then another till they find out
the prevailing one, not to ſuffer one Soul to fail
of the Kingdom of Chriſt which may by any In-
duſtry of theirs be gained over to it: to light
ſome into it by ſetting up to their View the glo-
rious Effulgency of Gods eternal Wiſdom, and
to draw others by diſplaying before them all the
Wonders of his Power : Like ſkilful Artiſts, ſtill
to encreaſe the Force of their Machine by com-
bining Powers with Powers, as the Greatneſs of
the Work to be done ſhall require it: to add
Prophecy to Prophecy till the whole ſhall grow
up into one grand complicated Prophecy; and
to join Miracle to Miracle, till all ſhall ſtand em-
battled in one invincible Body: And then laſt of
all, to unite both theſe Powers alſo, till that E-
nergy, which was before ſcattered and diſtributed
through various Parts, being now collected into
one, the Goſpel ſhall ſtand forth impregnable,
and all the Forces of Infidelity ſhall ſink before
it.
F I N I S.
1
1
Α Ν
1
E S S A Y
0 N
HUMAN LIBERT Y.
A N
E S S A Y
Ο Ν
HUMAN LIBERTY.
B Y
JOHN ROTHER AM, M. A.
Rector of Houghton-le-Spring, Vicar of Seahani,
and Chaplain to the Right Reverend John
Lord Biſhop of Durhamn.
NÈICASTLE UPON TYNE:
Printed by T. SAINT, for J. ROBSON,
New Bond-ftreet, London.
MDCCLXXXII.
Α Ν
E S S A Y
Ο Ν
HUMAN LIBERT Y.
+
SECTION 1.
Of the Nature of Human Liberty.
HI
MAN liberty confits in
TUMAN liberty conſiſts in a li-
mited
power of ſelf-direction.
That man is an agent will not be
denied.
Is he a neceſſary or a free agent? Does
he act of himſelf, and from a power
A
en-
( 2 )
entruſted to his own direction: or, as
he is impelled by ſome controuling
power out of himſelf?
To prove that he is a neceſſary
agent, it muſt be proved that he is,
at all times, and in every inſtance,
determined and over-ruled by necefli-
ty. To prove him a free agent, it is
fufficient to thew, that, at ſome times,
and in ſome inſtances, he has a power
of determining for himſelf, and of di-
recting his own actions: for this is all
that the proof of his poſſeſſing a li-
mited power of ſelf-direction requires.
No one will contend that he poſſeſſes
an unlimited power of ſelf-direction.
It may not be eaſy to ſhew where the
limits preciſely lie. But a power of di-
recting his own actions muſt be limited
at leaſt by his power of acting.
SEC-
( 3 )
SE C ΤΙ Ο Ν
II.
Of Neceſſity.
T may be proper to begin by en-
quiring how far we are ſubject to
neceſſity.
The mind of man is endued with
ſenſe and feeling, and with a power
which enables it, by reflection, to look
into itſelf, and to diſtinguiſh its own
nature, qualities, and ſituation,
If then it were ſubject to neceſſity,
it ſhould ſeem that it would be conſci-
ous of this neceſſity; and the queſ-
tion would admit of no diſputation or
doubt. If it were forced in all its ac-
tions, it could not but be ſenſible of
the force applied. Driven by an irre-
Giſtible impulſe, or dragged along by
A2
a
( 4 )
a chain that could not be broken, it
could not for a moment be ignorant
of its true ſituation.
But I believe no one will affirm that
we feel ourſelves under this continual
force; or will ground his proof of man's
neceſſary agency,
on our continual
inward feeling of this neceſſity. On
the contrary, the warmeſt advocates for
neceſſity have allowed that we have a
feeling of liberty; which they have pre-
ſumed to call deceitful and fallacious,
or have attempted by artful reaſoning
to diſtinguish away.
1
1
It cannot be pretended that our ig-
norance of the neceſſity we are under,
ariſes from the mind's not being pof-
ſeſſed of a feeling to diſtinguiſh it.
Becauſe, in many caſes, where we act
under neceſſity, the mind has a direct
and
( 5 )
and inſtant feeling of it. It can dif-
tinguiſh the ſeveral kinds and degrees
of power that act upon it, from the
ſoft inclining motive to the moſt ri-
gorous compulfon; from the gentle
influence before which it willingly
bends, to that reſiſtlefs force which
bears it reluctantly along.
Of neceſſity itſelf there can be no
degrees. It does not admit of more
or leſs. There cannot be a ſtronger
and a' weaker neceſſity. Neceſſity is
the higheſt degree of power that can
be applied. What may be refifted,
evaded, or over-come, cannot be ne-
ceflity.
The mind then being capable of dif-
tinguiſhing different degrees of force,
and having experience of the difference
in their frequent application to itſelf,
cannot
(6)
cannot be ſuppoſed to be actuated by
a neceſſary power without a feeling of
the neceſſity. But it is not, at all times,
and in all caſes, ſubject to the feeling;
and therefore it ſeems reaſonable to
conclude that it is not, at all times,
and in all caſes, ſubject to the neceſſity.
1
We have continually before our eyes
examples of a neceſſary agency, in the
acion of bodies upon each other.
And we are convinced by all our ob-
ſervation, that the effect produced by
their natural action is neceſſary. If
our mind were likewiſe ſubject to ne-
ceffity, our conſtant obſervation of
what paſſes without, aided by our in-
timate feelings of what paſſes within
ourſelves, could not fail to convince
us of it.
Ву
(7)
By the union of the mind and body
they are made to act upon each other.
And by this union the mind is ren-
dered in fome degree paſlive. The
firſt impreſſion of matter upon the
ſenſe is neceſſary. We cannot ſee,
feel, or perceive things otherwiſe than
as they are repreſented to us by the
ſenſes. Our inſtincts and appetites,
by which we are impelled to ſeek and
to deſire material objects, may like-
wiſe be conſidered as neceſſary, though
we have in ſome degree a controuling
power over them. But our ſenſe and
feeling of the neceſſity which takes
place in theſe inſtances, tend to con-
vince us that the neceſſity does not
prevail in thoſe inſtances to which the
fenſe and feeling do not extend.
Again, We acquire our idea of ne-
ceſſity from things without us.
The
whole
1
( 8 )
whole material world is conducted by
this inflexible law. As far as our ob-
ſervation, our experience, or our rea-
ſoning guided by analogy, can reach,
it univerſally prevails. To this law
the vegetable and mineral world, the
earth, the air, the ſea, and the heaven-
ly bodies, pay implicit obedience.
The ſame law takes place in the ma-
terial part of the human conſtitution,
and prevails through the whole animal
economy; in the ſeparation and di-
geſtion of aliments; the circulation of
the fluids; the encreaſe of the folids;
the nouriſhment, the growth, and the
decay of the body.
So that we cannot be at a loſs to ac-
count for our idea of neceſſary agency.
But whence ariſes our idea of free
and voluntary agency? If it doth not
ariſe
(9)
ariſe from our perſonal experience of
what paſſes within ourſelves, it will
be no eaſy matter to give a ſatisfac-
tory account of its original. In vain
do we look through all nature for a
prototype of freedom.
If it be not
within ourſelves it is no where.
The exiſtence of the idea then is a
proof of the exiſtence of the original:
and, ſince the original is not to be
found in external nature, a proof of the
exiſtence of that freedom within our-
felves which gave birth to the idea.
Sould it be, inconſiſtently enough,
ſuppoſed, that the mind formed the
idea by ſome native power in itſelf,
without inward feeling, or outward
impreſſion; by what name could ſuch
a power be ſo properly called, as by
that of freedom!
B
From
( 10 )
From what hath been ſaid, two ar-
guments ariſe in favour of liberty,
1. If not free, we muſt be neceſſary
agents. If neceſſary, it ſhould ſeem
that we muſt be conſcious of the ne-
ceflity. For where we are laid under
any conſtraint or force, we have a
ſtrong and inſtant perception and feel-
ing of it. In thoſe caſes then, where
we are not conſcious of our being ſub-
ject to any force or conſtraint, we
muſt be free.
2. We have an idea of liberty,
which ſuppoſes a prototype. That pro-
totype exiſts no where if not within
ourſelves: and hence ariſes another
ſtrong preſumption and argument of
our freedom
SEC-
(11)
SECTION III.
Of Conſciouſneſs.
HE chief and fundamental proof
of human liberty ariſes from our
perſonal experience.
The nchman liberty ariſes from our
To esperience we muſt appeal in
every queſtion concerning the proper-
ties and powers of the human mind,
no leſs than in thoſe which relate to
the material ſyſtem, Experience is
the foundation of all true philoſophy.
Speculations and theories not founded
on experience, are no better than vi-
fions of the night, from which the
world ſpeedily awakes when the light
of experiment is let in upon it.
It would be thought a ſtrange at-
tempt to determine the properties of
bodies
B 22
1
( 12 )
bodies by reaſon without experiment.
The attempt would be no leſs impro-
per to determine and define the powers
of the mind, by reaſon and argument
alone, without referring to experience.
If we enquire after the nature of the
mind, its faculties and original endow-
ments, we muſt appeal to the mind it-
felf, and be determined by its experi-
ence of what paſſes within itſelf.
We are, in many caſes, conſcious
of freedom, and this conſciouſneſs is
not dubious, fluctuating, and uncer-
tain; but ſteady and permanent, and
accompanying the mind in all its ope-
rations.
1
But what is conſciouſneſs? Conſci-
ouſneſs may be defined, an inward
ſenſe and feeling of what we are. By
conſciouſneſs, we know our exiſtence
and
( 13 )
!
and identity: by conſciouſneſs, we
become acquainted with all our inter-
nal faculties and poſſeſſions.
This is the ſtrongeſt of all evidence,
laying its foundations in the very ef-
ſence of the mind. An evidence not
to be invalidated by reaſoning, or by
the ſubſequent operations of any of
the dependent faculties of the mind;
becauſe they cannot deſtroy its foun-
dation without deſtroying their own.
The agreement and diſagreement of
our ideas is diſcovered by conſciouſ-
neſs. Firſt truths, from which all
reaſoning muſt begin, are founded on
a clear perception of theſe relations.
The connection between different truths
is likewiſe perceived by conſciouſneſs
alone. The ſame conſciouſneſs muſt
accompany us through the whole pro-
greſs
( 14 )
greſs of an argument, without which
we cannot perceive that the ſeveral
propoſitions, whereof it is compoſed,
belong to each other, or to the ſame
ſubject.
On conſciouſneſs then the whole
effect of reaſoning muſt depend; fince,
by conſciouſneſs alone, the ſeveral
parts of an argument are drawn toge-
ther and united ; which, without this
union, like unembodied limbs how-
ever ſtrongly nerved, would remain
without force and power.
In vain therefore is reaſon oppoſed
to conſciouſneſs. Conſciouſneſs fur-
niſhes the baſis of reaſoning. Without
conſciouſneſs it would have no place
whereon to ſtand. Reaſoning could
not begin its operations without firſt
principles, which owe their exiſtence
to
( 15 )
of an
argument
to conſciouſneſs alone. Nor could it
advance one ſtep in its progreſs unac-
companied by conſciouſneſs, binding
the ſeveral
parts
together; without which they could
be no more than ſo many ſeparate and
unconnected terms. Reaſoning can-
not deſtroy the concluſions of conſci-
ouſneſs then without overturning its
own foundations,
Reaſon may find objections on this,
as well as on every other ſubject, ma-
thematical quantity alone excepted.
In the vaſt extent of its excurſions, it
muſt frequently meet with objects
which it cannot clearly comprehend.
But it cannot be allowed to bring
home arguments to unſettle firſt prin-
ciples, and to overthrow that where-
on it reſted and obtained a footing,
when it firſt began its operations. Our
liberty
1
( 16 )
liberty is proved in the ſame way as
the exiſtence of every other faculty of
the mind. As well may we doubt
that we have reaſon, as that we have
liberty. Both ſtand on the ſame foun-
dation, our conſciouſneſs of poffefſing
them, and our experience of their ex-
erciſe.
Conſciouſneſs of freedom then, is
the chief and fundamental proof of
human liberty.
SEC-
>
( 17 )
SECTION
IV.,
Of Deliberation and Reflection.
Com
YOnſciouſneſs is ſaid to be the fun-
damental proof of liberty. But
this being a matter of perſonal feeling,
what courſe remains to be taken,
ſhould its exiſtence, in any inſtance,
be' denied? Can any thing more be
done than appealing to each man's
breaſt? And are there any other means
open whereby we may come at con-
viction?
We may enter into particulars, and
try the force of collateral arguments.
Liberty does not belong to one act
of the mind only. It is not exerciſed
about the will alone, but attends the
mind in all its operations. Were it
C
a
( 18 )
a ſingle and inſtantaneous act only
that was in queſtion; which paſſed
with rapidity, and terminated in a
moment; there might be room for
doubt. But it is not fo. The freedom
of the mind is various and extenſive,
often ſlow in its proceedings, and lin-
gering in its determinations. So that
there is an opportunity of examining
it at leiſure, and placing it in different
points of view.
We deliberate. And the mind is
free in its deliberations. It feels no
force hurrying it away from the ſub-
ject, or compelling it to dwell longer
upon it. Amongſt various means pro-
poſed for obtaining the ſame end,
it ſurveys each by turns, examines
their fitneſs, and weighs their proba-
bility.
If
( 19 )
If the mind were ſubject to the law
of neceſſity, its deliberations would
not be in its own power; no more
than the poſition of a body placed a-
midſt different attractions. The ſtrong-
eſt motive, would, in all caſes prevail,
and that inftantly, without our being
able for a moment to ſuſpend our
choice, or to delay its operations.
Where there were different motives of
unequal force, it would be drawn to-
wards the ſtrongeſt in an oblique di-
rection, and by a compounded force,
moving with a velocity exactly propor-
tioned to the ſuperiority of its attrac-
tive power above that of the weaker.
And laſtly, between inotives equally
ballanced, it would remain in per-
petual fufpence.
C 2
Nothing
( 20 )
Nothing reſembling this paſſes in
the mind of man; nothing of this
kind is juſtified by experience. We
turn, at pleaſure, to the different
means and motives; we dwell upon
them, and examine their intrinfic
force, or content ourſelves with an
imperfect and ſuperficial ſurvey: we
delay our choice; remain indifferent
and unmoved; and often yield, even
to the weaker motive.
It is not enough to ſay, that we
follow that motive which appears to
us to be the ſtrongeſt. Bodies are not
determined in their motions by the
apparent, but by the real ſtrength of
the attraction. And if the mind fol-
lowed the ſame law, not the apparent,
but the real and intrinſic ſtrength of
the motive would always prevail. And
herein the caſes manifeſtly differ, The
mind
( 21 )
mind applies itſelf to the motive at
its own pleaſure, which derives new
ſtrength from the mind's attention,
or loſes of its weight from over-ſight
and neglect. So that the motive does
not act upon the 'mind by its real and
intrinſic force, as attraction upon bo-
dies; but by an apparent ſtrength
only, which, in a great meaſure, it
borrows and derives from the mind.
They are, therefore, ſubject to diffe-
rent laws: and, ſince bodies obey the
law of neceſſity, the mind muſt be
free from that law,
Again. We reflect with freedom on
our paſt reſolutions ; dwelling at plea-
ſure more or leſs upon them, content
with the ſlighteſt recolletion, or en-
tering into the deepeſt conſideration.
Our actions paſs in review before us,
and meet with that cenſure or appro-
bation
( 22 )
bation which their nature deſerves.
In ſome calm hour, reaſon is feated
upon the throne; they are brought
before its tribunal; a ſtrict and iin.
partial enquiry is made into all their
motives and circumſtances ; fentence
is paſſed; and immediate execution
takes place: inſtantly the mind feels
the ſting of remorſe, or is rewarded
with the grateful repaſt of moral ap-
probation.
Now nothing of this is capable of
any rational explanation, if the mind
did not believe itſelf to be maſter of
its own determinations. If it were
not conſcious that it had a power of
making a different choice, and of
acting in a different manner, it would
not ſubmit to the ſeverities of ſelf-
reproach; nor could it enjoy the plea-
fure of ſelf-approbation.
It
( 23 )
It appears then, as well from pre-
vious deliberation, as from ſubſequent
reflection, that the mind is conſcious
of freedom.
1
K
SEC-
1
( 24 )
S E C TI ON
V.
Of Motives.
HIS ſubject hath been touched
upon before, but it is neceſſary
to reſume it.
TH
It hath been ſtated, that our being
determined by motives, and always
by that motive which is apparently
the ſtrongeſt, is a proof of our being
neceſſarily determined.
That we are determined by motives
is a proof of nothing but that we are
reaſonable beings. Diveſted of rea-
fon, in vain would motives be applied.
Reaſon freely examines and inveſti-
gates the motives offered to its choice;
and
( 25 )
and in this exerciſe of our reaſon con-
fifts a principal part of our liberty.
.
7
If we were neceſſarily determined
by motives, then ſurely, with all our
obſervation, we might foretel the
event; and might reaſon, as with re-
gard to natural agents, from cauſe to
effect.
If we compare the operation of mo-
tives upon the mind, with the action
of any neceſſary agent, we muſt be
made ſenſible of the difference between
them. Let us conſider the colliſion
of bodies, the effect of gravity, or the
magnetic attraction; and then fay,
whether we are drawn by motives in
the ſame way as motion is communi-
cated by impulſe, as heavy bodies
deſcend, or as ſteel is attracted by the
inagner.
D
Nay
( 26 )
1
}
Nay let us attend to what paſſes
within ourſelves, and conſider the cir-
culation of the blood, the action of
the ſtomach, and the encreaſe of the
body: and then determine whether
the mind is borne forward by motives
in the ſame way as the fluid is pro-
pelled by the action of the heart; as
our food is digeſted and turned to
nutritious chyle; or as, in youth, the
body grows and expands.
In theſe inſtances, and a thouſand
others that might be collected from
our own frame, the operation is car-
ried on by means unknown to us,
without our concurrence or aid, in a
ſecret and myſterious manner; that
we might never be without a proof
within ourſelves of the difference be-
tween free and neceſſary agency.
Farther.
8
( 27 )
Farther How can the mind be
neceſſarily determined by motives,
when the mind itſelf, in ſome caſes,
abſolutely forms the motive; and in
others gives ſtrength, or deſtroys it?
Vain hopes, and groundleſs fears, are
often produced by the mind itſelf,
Where various motives are offered, by
withdrawing its attention, the mind
deprives the ſtrongeſt of its real
ſtrength, or prevents its being appli-
ed: and, by fixing it upon the weaker,
gives it an apparent ſtrength ſuperior
to its native force.
This difference between the appa-
rent and the real ſtrength of motives
does not take place in natural and ne-
ceſſary agents; which always act by
their real force. It is a difference
created by the mind itſelf, and there
fore a proof of its freedom.
The
D 22
( 28 )
The paſſions ſeek their object blind-
ly, and endeavour to lead the mind
headlong after them. Reaſon was
given to hold the reins, to reſtrain the
impetus of paſſion, and to examine
the nature and true tendency of mo-
tives before it gives way to them.
And herein conſiſts the beſt exerciſe
of reaſon, nicely to ſeparate and to
diſtinguiſh the ſeveral motives with
which it is ſurrounded. The paſſions
are perpetually changing the appear-
ance of motives, and tricking out,
and dreſſing to advantage thoſe by
which they themſelves are moſt eaſily
moved.
Reaſon then muſt guard againſt falſe
appearances; a taſk that may be fome-
what difficult to an unexperienced
mind. But, by frequent eſſays, the
judge-
&.
( 29 )
judgement is ſtrengthened, and its dif-
cernment becomes quicker and clearer.
It truſts no longer to the firſt appear-
ance, but acquires an habit of readily
entering into, and appreciating, the
true nature and worth of motives.
To diſcover and to diſtinguiſh the
beſt motives is wiſdom. To purſue
and embrace them is virtue. Wiſdom
and virtue are the perfection of our
nature, and the only foundation of
true liberty.
On the contrary: if reaſon is never
exerciſed; if we truſt to firſt appear-
ances, and follow the paſſions where-
ever they lead; we ſhall be betrayed
into the moſt fatal errors. Our judge-
ment will be blunted, and all our bet-
ter faculties by diſuſe impaired; whilſt
the paſſions, growing ſtronger by in-
dulgence,
( 30 )
dulgence, gain the aſcendency over us.
Enervated and deprived of its native
vigour, the mind will loſe all reliſh for
manly purſuits, all taſte of rational
pleaſures. Vicious habits will encreaſe,
and lay ſtill faſter and faſter hold upon
us, till at length we are abſolutely en-
flaved by them. Thus the diſuſe of
our better judgment in diſtinguiſhing
between the apparent and real ſtrength
of motives, and the conſequent habits
of chooſing the worſt, lead to folly,
and end in the loſs of our liberty,
SEC-
(30)
P
SECTION VI.
The common affairs of life ſuppoſe human
liberty.
MAN
ANKIND act; in all the affairs
of life, upon a ſuppoſition of
human liberty:
If men were neceſſary agents, moved
by ſome outward irreſiſtible impulſe,
one would expect to find a greater
uniformity in their actions. Like Bees
or Beavers, or other animals guided
by invariable inſtinct, they would
never deviate from the ſame track.
world;
There would not then be that vari-
ety of characters that we ſee in the
there would not be oppoſite
effects from the ſame outward impreſ-
ſions; fruits ſo different would not
ſpring
( 32 )
ſpring up from the ſame means and
opportunities of improvement; nor
would there ariſe ſuch a difference of
tempers, habits, and purſuits from
the ſame cultivation.
Theſe are facts not eaſily reconcile-
able to the ſuppoſition, that the mind
of man is neceſſarily put in motion
by the force of outward impreſſions ;
and which can only be accounted for
in a ſatisfactory manner, by allowing
to man himſelf a liberty of turning to
his own uſe, by ſtudy or neglect, by
indolence or application, the oppor-
tunities that may fall in his way; and
a power of forming his own character,
and directing his own conduct.
Why do men approve, and eſteem
as meritorious, the conduct of thoſe
who make a right uſe of their endow-
ments,
( 33 )
ments, but from a perſuaſion that
they might have conducted themſelves
otherwiſe? And why do they cenſure
and condemn thoſe who miſapply and
abuſe their ſuperior talents, but from a
ſenſe that they might have done better.
Inſtruction in art, and in every
branch of knowledge, implies a free-
dom of improvement. Counſel or ad-
vice given or received, ſuppoſes a
liberty of complying with it, or of
rejecting it. Petition, entreaty, per-
ſuaſion, ſolicitation, ſuppoſe the will
may be bent and wrought upon by
equity, by pity, or compaſſion. Anxie-
ty about the events of things, and de-
liberation in doubtful cafes, are things
without a meaning, if we are not free.
In a word, men conduct themſelves, and
addreſs each other, in all the common
and in the moſt important affairs of
life, as if they were poſſeſſed of liberty.
E
SEC-
( 34 )
!
SECTION
VII.
Human laws ſuppoſe the freedom of man.
IF m
1
F man were a neceſſary agent, human
laws ſhould ſeem to be ſuperfluous,
and, indeed, entirely uſeleſs. In that
caſe, the Creator himſelf would
pro-
bably have given him a law, as to
every other neceſſary agent; and would
have impreſſed it upon his very na-
ture; as upon the Sun, Moon, and
Planets: and he would have moved,
in his ſphère, with the ſame order and
regularity that they do.
But it hath been the practice of
every well regulated government, to
frame laws as for the management of
thoſe who were maſters of their own
actions. The Legiſlator hath planned
his laws with the utmoſt circumſpec-
tion.
( 35 )
tion. His chief care hath been to
reſtrain within due bounds the liberty
of the ſubject; and to guard their
peace, their property, and their lives
againſt its exceſs. For this end, he
holds forth to thoſe who obey his laws,
protection, and ſecurity in the enjoy-
ment of all the rights and benefits of
ſociety; and, as far as human efta-
bliſhments can go, the rewards and
honours due to a virtuous conduct.
The diſobedient and licentious he awes
by the fear of puniſhment; multiply.
ing penalties, and employing ſuch
motives of terror and diſgrace, as are
moſt powerful in their operation upon
the human mind. He calls in religion
to his aid; and brings the fear of an
avenging Deity to influence the heart,
and to bind the conſcience, which no
human authority can reach.
E 2
Legif-
( 36 )
Legiſlation is the pobleſt taſk of
human wiſdom. To bring fo great a
work to perfection, experience hath
contributed its obfervation and exam-
ples, and philoſophy hath added its
deepeſt reſearches. But how unprofit-
ably have the wiſeſt men, from age to
age, been thus employed, in contri-
ving to regulate human actions, ſo as
beſt to provide for the peace and wel-
fare of ſociety, if human actions are
as incapable of regulation as the laws
of nature; and if, after all, there is,
amongſt mankind, no ſuch thing as
liberty!
SEC-
( 37 )
SECTION VIII.
Divine laws ſuppoſe the freedom of man.
TH
'HE very idea of man's being a
neceſſary agent, implies his being
fubject to a law inflexible and immu-
table, impreſſed upon his nature, and
working its effect without his concur-
To a being ſo conſtituted, to
give another law leſs binding, and leſs
obligatory, precarious and doubtful in
its operation ; ſhould ſeem to be ſuper-
fluous and uſeleſs.
rence.
But ſuch a law we have in that
written revelation which heaven hath
imparted to man for the direction of
his conduct. As well might a written
law have been given for the work of
digeſtion, and for every operation of
our animal nature; for the guidar.ce
of
( 38 )
of heavy bodies in their deſcent; of
plants in the proceſs of vegetation;
or of the planets in deſcribing their
orbits; as for the direction of man in
the conduct of his actions, if he be a
neceſſary agent.
S
A written law cannot produce its
effect without the uſe of liberty. Rea-
ſon muſt be freely exerciſed in the
underſtanding of it. Whether we will
read it ourſelves, or take it from the
report of others: whether in the ori .
ginal language, or in a verſion: whe-
ther with due attention, or in a careleſs
and curſory manner: are all queſtions
left to our choice, and are ſo many
inſtances of the free exerciſe of our
reaſon. And laſtly, whether we will
obey or diſobey its “precepts, muſt be
determined by the free motion of our
will.
The
1
(39.).
The divine Legiſlator addreſſes us in
his written revelation as beings who
have the free uſe of our underſtand-
ings. He reaſons, entreats, and per-
fuades : he animates and awakens our
emulation and our zeal by good exam-
ples: he places in our view the moſt
awful ſanctions ; deterring us from
diſobedience by a foreſight of unmea-
ſurable woes; and encouraging us to
a perſeverance in virtue by a proſpect
of endleſs and unſpeakable bliſs: in
a word, he ſets before us every motive
that may probably operate upon beings
poſſeſſed of liberty; and may beſt in-
fluence free minds, without compelling
them.
1
It is not neceſſary to deſcend to par-
ticulars. But I muſt confeſs that the
duty of Repentance, ſo much, and ſo
deſervedly, inſiſted on in the Goſpel,
without
( 40 )
without liberty, is to me totally un-
intelligible. For what means that
remorſe which we feel, if it doth not
ariſe from a conviction that we might
have done better, and from a conſci-
ouſneſs of our abuſe of liberty? Can
repentance be a duty in thoſe who are
not maſters of their own actions? Why
doth the Prophet warn, in terms the
moſt pathetic, to turn from their evil
ways, thoſe who cannot turn? And
why doth the Saviour of the World,
call to repentance, thoſe who cannot
obey his call
How gentle, how full of perſuaſion
is his voice! How touching his exam-
ple! What tenderneſs for repenting
ſinners! What goodneſs, what mercy
to all mankind!
How
--
( 41 )
How awful is his view of the laſt
day! Yet when we look up to a Judge
on the Throne who muſt be partial
to our nature; who is touched with a
feeling of our infirmities; who died
on the Croſs as a proof and pledge
of his love to mankind: what hope
ſprings up from hence to the penitent!
What confolation to the afflicted!
What encouragement to a perſeverance
in virtue!
The whole ſyſtem of chriſtian laws
is calculated to work upon free minds,
by all that gentleneſs and perſuaſive
goodneſs can do; aided by the moſt
awakening and alarming fanctions.
In a word, it cannot be, that He,
whoſe noble aim it was to make us
free indeed, ſhould have left us without
liberty.
.
F
SEC-
( 42 )
SECTION IX.
Recapitulation and Conclufion.
I She
Shall now beg leave to collect the
evidence, and to place it in one
point of view, that the dependence
between its ſeveral parts may be more
clearly ſeen, and its united force more
readily eſtimated
Human liberty conſiſts in a limited
power of ſelf-direction.
#
Man is either a neceſſary or a free
agent.
To prove that he is a neceſſary
agent, it muſt be proved that he is,
at all times, and in every inſtance,
over-ruled by neceſſity.
To
( 43 )
To prove that he is a free agent, it
is ſufficient to ſhew, that, at ſome
times, and in ſome inſtances, he hath
a power of determining for himſelf.
If we are ſubject to neceſſity, we
muſt be oppreſſed with a continual
ſenſe and feeling of this neceſſity.
But we have no ſuch continual feel-
ing.
And this doth not ariſe from our
ignorance of the nature of neceſſity,
and our inability to diſtinguiſh it.
We have a clear idea of neceſſity
from the operation of all natural
agents, which are ſubject to this law;
and from our own experience of diffe-
rent degrees of force applied to the
mind.
Being
( 44 )
Being thus enabled to diſtinguiſh
neceſſity, and not labouring at all
times, under the feeling and preſſure
of its force, we muſt conclude that
we are not at all times ſubject to its
power.
1
We are intimately conſcious of free-
dom. And this is a fundamental and
deciſive proof of liberty, which can-
not be done away by reaſoning, nor
ſhewn to be fallacious by any ſubſe-
quent operations of the mind: becauſe
conſciouſneſs is the foundation of all
reaſoning, and furniſhes the firſt prin-
ciples of all our mental operations.
Should this conſciouſneſs be denied;
its exiſtence is proved by ſhewing that
it takes place, not in a ſingle act of
the mind only, but in our free deli-
beration before the determination of
the
( 45 )
the will, and in our ſubſequent reflec-
tions.
That we are determined by motives,
furniſhes no proof or preſumption of
neceſſity. The difference between the
influence of motives, and the irreġiſta-
ble force of neceſſity, is ſhewn by
examples. Our freedom is never more
manifeſt, than in our handling of
motives, and in the free exerciſe of
our reaſon in examining, comparing,
and weighing the force of the ſeveral
motives with which it is ſurrounded.
In all the common affairs of life,
men treat and addreſs each other as if
they were poſſeſſed of liberty.
Human laws are clearly made upon
a ſuppoſition of human liberty.
And
( 46 )
And the divine Lawgiver, bath
adapted his ſyſtem of written laws to
the ſame liberty.
So that, upon the whole, if we are
not free, conſciouſneſs muſt deceive
us, and all mankind muſt labour un-
der one common deluſion.
All this forms a body of evidence
ſufficient to outweigh any difficulties
that may ariſe from the intricacy and
perplexity of reaſoning; or from a
contemplation of the divine preſcience.
In the immenſity of the divine nature
our reaſoning faculties are dazled,
confounded and loſt.
I ſhall only add a few words on the
different nature and tendency of the
two ſyſtems of liberty and neceſſity.
If
( 47 )
If man be a neceſſary agent, then
all the fineſt movements of the ſoul
are no better than a curious contri-
vance of ſprings and levers, playing
upon each other, and put in motion
by the firſt outward impulſe. Man is
then only a part, but ſtill an admi-
rable part, of the grand machine of
nature; whoſe operations are totally
different from every other machine,
and therefore inexplicable by any
known principles of mechanical
powers; as he is enabled to look in-
ward upon himſelf, as well as abroad
upon all outward objects.
1
muſt go,
like every
In this view, he is totally diſabled
from all improvement of himſelf. He
every other machine,
as he is wound up, and as he happens
to be impreſſed and touched by other
contiguous bodies.
Then
( 48 )
Then there is an end of all great
and generous views: all ardour of im-
provement is loſt; and all deſire of
excellence extinguiſhed.
We have nothing to do but to ſit
down and flumber; and to give our-
ſelves up to a Turkiſh life of indolence
and inaction.
But if we are free, then
then how
changed is the ſcene; and what new
motives crowd in upon the mind to
ſtir it up to action. Then do we ſtand
in the midſt of the Almighty's works,
ſurveying their harmony and beauty;
and looking inward upon ourſelves
with a feeling of liberty, are conſcious
of the dignity of our nature, when
comparing with that neceſſary agency
which circulates through all parts of
the
1
I
( 49 )
the univerſe, the native freedom of
our own minds.
This view of things awakens us
from our ſlumber, and rouſes us to a
life of action. Then the importance
of our actions is firſt made known to
the mind. We feel our capacity of
improvement, and are ſtirred up to a
noble emulation in the race of glory.
We ſeek, and perhaps we obtain, the
rewards of an approving mind, of an
applauding world, and of a merciful
and forgiving Deiry.
F 1 N 1 S.
3
}
1
ER R A T U M.
P. 6, 1, 13, for natural action, read mutual
action.
$
į
}
Lately publiſhed, by the fame Author,
Α Ν
E S S A Y
ο Ν Τ Η Ε
DISTINCTION
1
1
-
BETWEEN THE
1
SOUL and BODY of MAN.

Duncan, John, d.o.
THE
INTERESTS OF
TRUTH AND VIRTUE
INVARIABLY PURSUED BY
PROVIDENCE
IN THE PERMISSION OF
ERROR AND VICE.
Γινεται έκαςα ως διέταξεν αυτα και διατάσσων, διέταξε δε,
θερος ειναι και χειμώνα, και φοράν, και αφορίαν, και αρετήν,
και κακίαν, και πάσας τας τοιαύτας έναντιώτητας, υπέρ
oupowvius Tõv onwr. Arr. Epictetus, Lib. I. cap. xii.
BAPTINESS
IR
Jane Jaylor seen
Pettish babe,
Checks not that placid smile thy wayward spleen.
Eſsay on Happineſs.
LONDON:
Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand,
M.DCC.LXXV.
The Intereſts of Truth and Virtue invariably
purſued by Providence in the Permiſſion of
Error and Vice.
A
SERM
o
N,
PREACHED AT BASINGSTOKE,
JUNE 8th, 1775.
AT THE
VI S Ι Τ Α Τ Ι Ο Ν
OF THE
Rev. Dr. BAL GUY,
ARCHDEACON of WINCHESTER.
By JOHN DUNCAN, D. D.
Rector of South Warmborough, Hants.
P R E F A C E.
*
F this humble attempt to vindicate
the conduct of Divine Providence,
with reſpect to the permiſſion of mo-
ral evil, has any chance of obtaining
the leaſt notice of the public, it can
only be from the peculiar ſtreſs it lays
upon a ſingle argument, which will,
however, I believe, upon ſtrict exa-
mination, be found to be only en-
forced with its proper weight. If
upon fair trial it ſhall appear to be
overftrained, it muſt after all ſubmit
to the fate of every argument that
!
proves too much,
The fubftance of it was originally
intended to be introduced in a noté
to the 3d Book of the Eſſay on Hap-
pineſs, ad Edit. (the ſubject of which
is the production of good out of evil.)
But
+
P R E F A CE.
But it was laid aſide for the Fable of
Sextus Tarquin and Theodorus, which
was thought more adapted to a work
of fancy. As it lays but little claim
to the merit, ſo it ſtands clear from
the objection of novelty. Thoſe, who
in all intricate reſearches accept no
other guide but great authorities,
may be aſſured that the main poſition
might ſhelter itſelf under the ſanction
of many venerable names. It has
indeed been common for Theolo-
gical writers, who are pleading the
cauſe of truth and virtue from a
repreſentation of this life as a ſtate of
diſcipline, occaſionally to mention the
moral benefit ariſing from the miſery
attendant upon error and vice. But
the mention, upon theſe occaſions,
being merely incidental, has, I think,
not been ſo well ſuited to engage our
particular attention to the light it cafts
upon
P R E F A CE.
upon the perplexing point in queſ
tion. Even in the beſt-approved trea-
tiſes of moral evil, it has been, as
far as my judgment and memory
can reach), ſo flightly paſſed over, as
to produce but too little effect.
I dare not preſume, within the
modern compaſs of a Sermon, to have
done complete juſtice to an argument,
purpoſing to eſtabliſh a Vindication
of the Conduct of Divine Providence
upon theſe two important, but far
from obvious poſitions---Firſt ---That
the great intent of Providence, in
permitting the perpetration of the
moſt atrocious crimes in this life, is
the inſtruction it conveys to the heirs
of a better life than this.----Secondly,
--That the temporary admiſſion of
the moſt pernicious falfhood is as con-
ſtantly made ſubſervient to the per-
manent intereſts of truth. Much leſs
5
can
P R E F A: CE.
!
can I imagine this argument, founded
upon premiſſes, that may be thought
to wear a queſtionable aſpect at firſt
fight, will appear to every reader,
what (I declare it does to myſelf,) a
ſatisfactory, though not abſolute folu-
tion of a difficulty, generally account-
ed utterly inexplicable. Its evidence,
addreſſed to the underſtanding, through
the experienced feelings of the heart
alone, will be ſlighted of courſe by the
profane railer at the diſpenſations of
Providence; whoſe murmurings are
commonly the voice of dulneſs prompt-
ed by depraved affections. Its uſe and
propriety will however be confeſſed, if
it ſhall prove the means of indicating
an unheeded ſource of conſolation to
one ſincere adorer of the ſupremely
beneficent Creator, and wiſe Diſpoſer
of all things.
MAT-
;
+
( 1 )
getA$9HeBA$9**CHAN BEBASSE
Aca
gloc
estadestraat 241024S2265
M A T T H E w XVIII. 7.
İt müſt needs be that Offences comea
TY**ROM the weakneſs and corrupo
F
tion of mankind, there ſeems to
enſue a ſort of neceſſity that the
RAR
words and actions of one man
ſhould fometimes prove offences to another,
or become the means of perverting him
from truth and virtue. In the preſent con-
ſtitution of this world, it muſt needs be that
Offences come.
A
This declaration of our Divine Law-giver
might give occaſion to ſtart the following
queſtions in caſuiſtical theology, or on points
B
of
( 2 )
of conſcience.Are we under
Are we under any obli-
gation from religion, reaſon, or nature to
maintain all ſuch doctrines as
we think
true, to do all ſuch actions as we think,
right, though we know that theſe doctrines,
or theſe actions, may to other men prove
offences, or inducements to think, or act
amiſs ?--Again, Can it, under any ima-
ginable circumſtances, be lawful to ſupport
or countenance thoſe meaſures, political or
moral, which we ſuſpect may be wrong; to
profeſs our aſſent to thoſe articles of reli-
gion eſtabliſhed, or not eſtabliſhed, which
we ſuſpect may be falſe, that we may
avoid giving offence to thoſe who eſteem
theſe meaſures right, or theſe articles
true?
Theſe diſputable points, however inte-
reſting, ſhall not be directly propoſed to your
preſent attention. To ſuch diſcuſſions, the
true Chriſtian, who keeps his eye ſteadily
fixed upon the prize of his High Calling,
will have little occaſion, and leís inclina-
tion to turn it aſide. Your own judgment
3
will
( 3 )
will đecide how far they may be found coris
nected with what ſhall now be offered upon
á moré perplexing ſubject of inquiry, which
the words of our Saviour naturally ſuggeſt.
Why muſt it needs be, what motive
of ſuperior good can determine God, whom
ſtrict neceſſity cannot reach; to permit men
to maintain ſuch doctrines, or to do ſuch
actions, as may prove offences, otávfano,
ſtumbing-blocks, or occaſions of ſpiritual
injury to other men.
Humbly conſcious, how incompetent is
human reaſon to judge the ways of heaven, ,
duly reſigning all our concerns to the un-
erring wiſdom of the Supreme Diſpoſer, may
we, conſiſtently with the character of pious
Chriſtians, attempt to caſt a ray of light
upon this gloomy diſpenſation ? Doubtleſs
we may
What more delightful, what
more proper employment can there be for
Chriſtian piety than thus to trace the beso
neficent purpoſes of an all-wiſe Providence
in the very extreme diſorder and depravity
of human life?
::
B 2
In
( 4 )
In our cautious reſearches into the pre-
ſent difficulty, we ſhall, firſt, take a gene-
ral view of what may already have been
advanced, in the beſt approved attempts to
ſolve it.
We ſhall then pay a more particular at-
tention to one invariable purpoſe of Provi-
dence, in the permiſſion of ſin and falf-
hood, the confideration of which may per-
haps have never yet been applied, with
ſufficient ſtreſs, to the illuſtration of the
ſubject.
A
The ableſt defenders of the Divine Good
neſs in this diſpenſation ſuppoſe all moral
evil, and pernicious error, to be naturally
conſequent upon the free-agency and limited
intelligence of man. Why then, ſays the ob-
jector, has not God been pleaſed to prevent
theſe evils by creating no free-agents at all ?
This, it is replied, would have left the
world in a worſe condition than it is at pre-
fent. It would have rendered it little bet-
ter than a mere inanimate piece of mecha-
niſm
[ 5 ]
niſm. This ſuppoſition, by denying all
intrinſic goodneſs to his creatures, muſt
have excluded the Deity from all compla-
cency in his works. Theſe paſſive beings
themſelves would have been deprived of a
capacity of becoming perfect or happy, to
that exalted degree, for which they ap-
pear to have been originally deſigned.
The moral world, or the right conduct,
and conſequent happineſs and perfection of
his rational creatures appears to be the prin-
cipal object of Divine Providence. All na-
tural events derive their fole importance
from their influence upon our affections,
underſtanding and will. It is the abuſe of
thefe, our nobleſt faculties, that conſtitutes
all moral evil. · Almighty God, no doubt,
could have fo ordered the courſe of nature,
as conſtantly to control this abuſe. Our
wiſe Creator has not thought fit to control
it. The concluſion is obvious. From ſuch
control a prevention of ſome greater good,
or an introduction of ſome greater evil,
would enſue, than is at preſent conſequent
upon
B 3
[ 6 ]
upon the ſufferance of theſe crimes and
offences.
1
The like may be ſaid with reſpect to the
contagion of error and falfhood. The
judgment of weak imperfect beings, if ex-
erted at all, muſt of courſe be liable to err.
Falſe doctrines muſt naturally follow, un-
leſs God ſhould, at every inſtant, miracu-
louſly change the whole frame of the hu-
man mind, or interțupt his eſtabliſhed laws,
Now, by this frequent change or interrup-
tion of his laws, our Almighty Sovereign
would not only do violence to nature, but
counteract his conſtant method of govern-
ing intelligent beings. This method of go-
yernment confifts in committing their con-
duct to the regulation of reaſon and con-
ſcience, in exciting them by the hope of
natural good, and reſtraining them by the
fear of natural evil. It could no longer
fubfift, if theſe irregular interpoſitions of
Providence ſhould leave nothing certain in
nature, no object for the exerciſe of human
prudence, or foreſight,
The
[
7)
The propoſitions contained in theſe gei
neral anſwers will not eaſily admit of a dif-
pute. But will they be found ſufficient to
clear the difficulty to our entire fatisfaction?
I fear not; except in caſes, where the con-
ſequences of a crime are allowed to be con
ducive to ſome equivalent, or greater good,
Why, ſtill inſiſts the perplexed Inquirer,
does the Providence of God permit the per
-
petration of ſuch atrocious crimes, as de-
stroy, with unrelenting fury, the lives of
inillions of his creatures; or the eſtabliſh-
ment by human authority of doctrines dif-
honourable to himſelf, inſulting to com
mon ſenſe, injurious to the ſacred rights of
nature, and ſubverſive of true morality?
The execution, it is thought, of theſe de-
ſtructive projects, the eſtabliſhment of theſe
pernicious principles might be prevented,
without
any apparent violation of the order
of nature, or infringement of human liberty.
Here again the ſummary anſwer is to the
following purpoſe. In theſe moſt abhor-
red
B 4
[ 8 ]
red or lamented inſtances, it is the wilful
wickedneſs of the heart, or the evil inten-
tion alone that conſtitutes the crime. The
execution only makes it manifeft. In a life
like this, whoſe intereſts are extended to a
future life, God may fee juſt cauſe for
per-
mitting extreme wickedneſs to have it's free
courſe. But of this cauſe the limited un-
derſtanding of man, to whom nothing is
known but his ſtation here, and that im.
perfectly, muſt not preſume to determine
any thing: It becomes him rather, with
piqus acquieſcence, to reſt aſſured that even
this darkeſt diſpenſation of Providence is
wiſely ordained for the beſt.
It
may be prudent with theſe, or the
like general anſwers, to calm the diſquie-
tude of the modeſt Inquirer. But as they
may ſeldom prove effectual to ſatisfy the
more importunate, an humble, yet more
particular proſecution of the inquiry may
not be amiſs.
Let
--
TL
9 ]
Let us then conſider Ildly, whether, in
this permiſſion of atrocious crimes, and
per-
nicious errors, there may not be found ſome
one great purpoſe, of extenſive moral bene-
fit, conſtantly and inyariably purſued by
Providence.
The one great purpoſe in queſtion ap-
pears to be this; that in their preſent
ſtate of diſcipline, the minds of men
might be occaſionally alarmed by an actual
ſight and feeling of the miſchievous conſe-
quences of fin and falfhood, and thus ex-
cited to a more watchful and reſolute pur-
ſuit of truth and virtue. The extenſive
moral benefit of thefe occafional alarms is
an evidence for the divine wiſdom and
goodneſs in this diſpenſation, which, per-
haps, may have never yet been applied to
the ſolution of the difficulty with that
ſtreſs, which, upon examination, it may
be found to deferve,
{
It is plain that a fight, and much more a
participation of the miſeries occaſioned by the
diſorderly paſſions of men, makes a ſtronger
im -
1
[ 101
impreſſion upon our minds than is produced
by any ſimple reflection upon the general
tendency of diſorderly paſſion, to occaſion
ſuch miſeries. When by certain experi-
ence we ſee, we know, we feel the dreadful
effects of intemperance, ambition, avarice,
envy, rage, revengefulneſs, will not the
fight, the knowledge, the feeling of theſe
effects excite in us an abhorrence of ſuch
exceſſes, with an infinitely greater force,
than a mere mental contemplation of the
miſchief we may judge them liable to occa-
fion? The extreme wretchedneſs attendant
upon certain heinous crimes, though by the
bleſſing of God it be no familiar object in
human life, is yet preſented to our minds,
with ſufficient evidence, in all its ſhapes of
horror, to prompt us to keep the ſtricteſt
guard over every ſtrong inclination of our
hearts. If we had no experience of this
wretchedneſs, would it occur to our thoughts
that an evil heart and perverſe diſpoſition,
though not immediately diſplayed in out-
ward acts, may be as odious in the fight of
God, and as detrimental to all our hopes
of happineſs, as if it had actually appeared
in
[II]
in correſpondent actions ? All attention to
the growth of every evil habit would be thus
neglected. No concern for own depravity
would ever enter into our minds. Thus a
man might blindly cheriſh the baſelt affec,
tions, might harbour the moſt dangerous
habits, and yet flatter himſelf that he ſtill
retains a proper ſenſe of virtue and religion, .
If we never ſeriouſly attend to thoſe inſtan,
ces, where men ſuffer their evil diſpoſitions
to break forth into action, we may never
ſuſpect that in the like circumſtances, or
under the ſame temptation, we might pro-
bably ourſelves be hurried into the ſame ex-
tremity of wickedneſę. An utter unconcern
and careleſsneſs would enſue, with reſpect
to a real purity and integrity of heart. We
ſhould become totally remiſs in the very
eſſentials of true piety and virtue. But
when, by the fhock of theſe odious and
frightful extremes of vice, we are ſtruck
with a certain conviction of the dangers
that attend an indulgence of any unlawful
appetite, our minds are ſeized with a falu:
$ary dread. A due miſtruſt of our own
ſtrength
!
[ 12 ]
ſtrength keeps us perpetually upon our
guard. We judge betimes that ſhould we
imprudently permit inordinate affections to
take deep root, or by indulging them in a
careleſs play upon our imagination, ſuffer
them inſenſibly to gain an aſcendancy over
it; we might probably ſoon be added to
the number of thoſe very wretches, from
the ſight of whoſe crimes we now ſhrink
with a juſt abhorrence.
Thus a natural indignation, or a well-
grounded hatred and fear, will forcibly
turn us away from that vice, the deplora-
ble effects of which are before our eyes;
our own propenſity to be betrayed into it,
being at the ſame time preſent to our
minds.
1
It has been juſtly obſerved, that the hei-
nous crimes of King David, a man of ex-
emplary piety at other times, the groſs ido-
latry of King Solomon, a man of fingular
wiſdom in other reſpects, were permitted
by Providence, and recorded in Scripture,
that
[ 13 ]
that they might ſtand as ſtriking monu.
ments in the eyes of the faithful, perpetu-
ally reminding them of human frailty. May
we not venture to extend this obſervation
much farther, and form it into this ge-
neral maxim ?The great intent of Pro-
vidence in permitting the moſt odious extremes
of moral evil in this life, is the inſtruction
they convey to the heirs of a better life than
this.Without that humility, diffidence,
and circumſpection, which they are adapt-
ed to inſpire, little or no proficiency might
be made in real virtue.
A ſtrong objection meets us here, fuffi-
cient, it may be thought, to overthrow
this general aſſertion.Will not bad ex-
amples, by communicating their infection
to ill-diſpoſed minds, over balance all the
good they can do by awakening the moral
ſenſe, and exciting an averfion from the like
offences in the well-diſpoſed ? By counte-
nancing vice, may they not free it from all
reſtraint of ſhame and fear? This evil in,
fluence of bad examples on minds already
3
prone
[ 14 )
prone to vice is confeffed. How great a
preponderance of good they may produce by
the juſt impreſſions of indignation, which
they naturally raiſe in virtuous minds, God
only knows.
But this we all muſt know
and feel, that whatever tends to rouze the
foul from its lethargy, or indolent ſtate,
whatever quickens our moral feelings, muſt
be to us of ineſtimable advantage. The
mind of man is never in a more perilous
ſtate, than when habitual ſecurity throws
it off its guard, and preſumption renders it
inſenſible to the voice of conſcience. Now
the firſt impreſſion made upon our hearts
by every atrocious act of wickedneſs is an
immediate impulſe towards. virtue. Upon
feeling the effects, upon the fight alone, upon
the bare mention, of ſuch an action, the foul
feels inſtantly a ſtrong averſion from
every
temptation to do the like. Any induce-
ment from theſe hateful crimes to incur
the ſame guilt ourſelves, as it is unnatural,
ſo it is indirect, and merely incidental,
ariſing from a ſimilar perverſeneſs of heart;
܆
[ ]
or ſome perſonal circumſtance of character
previouſly exiſting.
The criminal action then, by throwing
an occaſional temptation in the way of other
men, may ſerve to diſcover the iniquity of
thoſe who had art enough to hide it before,
even from themſelves. But the exhibition
of it to public view muſt make a falutary
impreſſion upon all, who yet retain a ſenſe
of right and wrong. Should Providence
interpoſe more frequently, to prevent every
tempting opportunity, or to diſappoint the
perpetration of atrocious crimes, the exter-
nal face of the moral world might wear a
ſhew of greater purity than it does at pre-
ſent. But would the internal, the real cha-
racters of men be the better for it? That
is the queſtion. The general depravity of
- the hearts of men remaining the fame,
would not their caſe, upon the whole, be
infinitely worſe, if, ſecure of all ill conſe-
quences, they ſhould indolently abandon the
care, and lofe all ſenſe of their ſpiritual, or
eternal intereſts?
An
[ 16 ]
error.
An important point yet remains to be
conſidered, the corruption of mankind, oe-
caſioned by the eſtabliſhment of pernicious
The vigilance of human legiſlator's,
the wiſdom, the goodneſs of Providence;
all the powers of earth and heaven are im-
patiently called upon to interpoſe in filenc-
ing theſe falſe teachers, in reſcuing the de-
luded multitude from their groſs impoſia
tions. Let us, however, without catching
the contagion of their over-heated zeal,
diſpaſſionately turn to the more favourable
ſide of this unpromiſing ſubject.
There muſt be herehes among you, fays St.
Paul, that they, which are approved, may
be
made manifeſt : In other words_Ill-tempered
and irrational diviſions, and conſequently
miſtakes on all ſides will ariſe. Theſe the
Providence of God has been pleaſed to per-
mit from the days of the Apoſtles, to the
preſent hour, that the integrity of fincere
Chriſtians might be made manifeſt, and
confirmed by the very errors and perverſe-
neſs of the inſincere. God ſhall ſend them
ſtrong
)
[ 17 ]
ſtrong deluſion, ſays the ſame Apoſtle, that they
Should believe a lie *. A negligent reader of
theſe words, detached from their context
in holy Scripture, may complain that his
faith, his reaſon are a little ſtaggered. But
let him attend to the clear meaning of the
cloſe of the preceding ſentence. It declares
the cauſe, for which God ſhall abandon to
their own wilful blindnefs the followers of
Antichriſt, the ſervants of that deceitful
ſpirit, whoſe religion entirely centers in
ſecular views •
becauſe they received not the
“ love of the truth, that they might be ſaved"
by it. The truth to them was a matter of
extreme indifference, except ſo far as it
ſerved the purpoſes of avarice or ambition.
Theſe paſſages appear to throw ſome light
upon the myſterious diſpenſation we are now
contemplating. For the perfection of in-
telligent beings it is neceſſary they ſhould
be trained up in the love of truth. With-
out perſonal examination, to which this
will excite us, every thinking man well
knows of how little avail is all external pro-
С
feffion.
1
A
[ 18 ]
feffion. To produce a liveły ſenſe of this
neceſſity of loving the truth, with a refo-
lution to free our minds from ſpiritual bon-
dage, the hiſtory of mankind exhibits to
our wonder and compaſſion multitudes of
unthinking men, who tamely ſubmit their
underſtanding and conſcience to the tyran-
ny of impoſtors, intereſted in practiſing
upon their blind credulity, and thus in-
dolently forfeit the nobleſt inherent privi-
lege of their nature. It is thus the God
of truth inflicts a proper penalty upon
theſe felf-deceiving mortals, by permitting
them to believe the lie, to which they pro-
feſs their affent without reflection. Our
diſdain for this groſs deception prompts us
eagerly to receive and cheriſh the love of
truth, to maintain our genuine ſincerity and
freedom of ſpirit. Succeeding generations
without number may, for ought we know,
derive infinite benefit from the hiſtory of
the miſchiefs proceeding from paſt and pre-
ſent errors and abſurdities,
Theſe
[ 19 ]
?
f
Theſe good conſequences are, by the ge-
neral decree of Providence, or its imper-
ceptible interpoſition, ordinarily attendant
upon the detection of pernicious falf-
hood. When thoſe, whom a juſt judga
ment of God has condemned to ſtrong de-
luſion; who have long laboured under its
oppreſſive weight, and felt all its evil ten-
dency, ſhall by his mercy be at length ani-
inated by a ſincere deſire, (and ſo diſpoſed
for the reception) of truth: then it is that
this merciful purpoſe of Providence evi-
dently ſucceeds to the beſt advantage. They
are then inſpired as it were, or forcibly
impelled to the purſuit and advancement of
it's effential intereſts. The generous and
honourable work delights them. Inflamed
with the proſpect of a glorious conqueſt
over long-prevailing and eſtabliſhed falf-
hood, they are encouraged to affert an un-
limited freedom of inquiry, the ſüreſt guard
of reaſon and true religion againſt the per-
petual encroachments of folly and ſuper-
Atition,
1
Ç 2
The
[ 20 ]
[The three following paragraphs were omitted at the delivery
of this diſcourſe. ]
[From this free ſpirit of inquiry ſome
flight offences may reaſonably be expected
to come; and much greater are too ofteri
unreaſonably apprehended. Where opinions
diſagree, it is confeſſed that all, or all but
one, deviate more or leſs from the truth.
The falfhood we coinplain of will of courſe
affume a greater variety of shapes. Yet
without that diſagreement might we not
loſe the beſt incentives to keep the love of
truth alive in our breaſts, a watchful jea-
louſy of every old or new device of impofi-
tion, a contempt of irrational prejudice;
with a vigorous and fixed attention to the
great importance of truth?
But ſtill it is inſiſted that religious contro-
verſy has been pregnant with all the moſt
dreaded kinds of miſchief; confuſion and
ſtrife, inſults and inſurrections againſt the
authority of the civil magiſtrate, a tempo-
rary overthrow in ſhort of all ſocial peace
and order. Upon a ſubject, which might
lead
res
[ 21
lead me far beſide my preſent purpofe, I ſhalſ
only obſerve, that the great moral evil, juſtly
attributed to theological diſputes, is mutual
ụncharitableneſs, and intolerance of all inge-
nuous and fair examination. Now in whom
does controverſy prove an occaſion of ma-
nifeſting ſo perverſe and unchriſtian a tem-
per? Is it not in thoſe alone, who, whats
ever ſhew of religion they may put on,
were previouſly deſtitute of the true Chrif-
tian ſpirit ? A genuine portion of that fpirit
will preſerve us ever free from the infection
of this intemperate zeal. No fiery zealots
were found among the primitive profeſſors
of the religion of Chriſt. Their minds yet
retained an impreſſion of the benevolent
and meek temper of their Lord and Maſter,
Amidſt all their ſufferings no bitter invec-
țives were they ever heard to utteſ againſt
human authority, nothing tending to diſ-
parage the dignity of the men in
power,
who oppoſed the religious ſyſtem, which
they laboured to introduce. Inſtead of at-
tacking them with imputations of an utter
want of all moral principle, or of wilful
malig-
C 3
[ 22 ]
ļ
malignity, and deliberate falſhood, they
ſtrove with diſpaſſionate reaſoning, but fere
vent charity, to overcome their moſt invete-
rate obſtinacy and prejudice. We may at al!
times fairly take it for granted, that a real
regard for truth and religion never aſſociated
in the ſame breaſt with a ſpirit of rancour.
The extreme indignation of an honeſt heart,
is indeed ſometimes excited againſt certain
opinions political, as well as religious,
leading to concluſions dangerous to the
temporal or eternal intereſts of mankind.
All ſuch opinions we are bound to fift
with care, and if we can, diſpaſſionate-
ly confute :" And againſt the dangerous
concluſions drawn from theſe, we may juſt-
ly take offence, or arm our minds with a
due reſentment. But all immoderate anger
againſt the perſons who maintain ſuch opi-
nions, we muſt of courſe condemn, when we
find, as we generally do upon examination,
that they diſclaim theſe horrid concluſions as
reſolutely and ſincerely as we do ourſelves,
and are often as little miſguided by them
in their inclinations or conduct.
From
1
ii
1
[ 23 ]
From this very objection, my preſent ar-
gument appears to have gained additional
ſtrength. It is not from a free ſpirit of in-
quiry that the great and miſchievous offences
come; it is not from a diverſity of opinions
in diſputable points that morality or true
religion receive any conſiderable injury;
but from that malevolent unchriſtian tem-
per, which theſe, in the hands of a merci-
ful Providence are made the powerful in-
ſtruments of diſcovering and expoſing to
our juſt abhorrence.]
IT appears from what has been faid to be
utterly inconſiſtent with reaſon, as well as
religion, from any preſent melancholy aſpect
of things, to complain, or judge too haſtily
of the deſigns of Providence. It becomes
us rather to reſt aſſured that the whole may
in fact be reconciled with univerſal good-
neſs, and infinite wiſdom : ſo that
every
tranfient and partial evil ſhould be con-
ſtantly regarded as preparatory to an event
C
4
of
[ 24 ]
of permanent and impartial tendency to
good.
S
This comfortable truth might eaſily be
illuſtrated by examples drawn from the hiſ-
tory of mankind ancient and modern. Our
own national hiſtory in particular preſents
us with them, in many ä diſmal ſcene of
public infatuation, profligacy, and conſe-
quent wretchedneſs. The blind ungovern-
able paſſions, and jarring intereſts of con-
tending parties, the licentiouſneſs and cor-
ruption of a frantic' multitude, and the
pride and ſelfiſhneſs of their no leſs frantic
rulers, have often appeared on all ſides to
portend inevitable ruin and general confu-
fion. Yet as often have we ſeen the all-
healing hand of the Sovereign Diſpenſer of
good and evil mercifully extended, for the
converſion of momentary ſufferings, and
wrongs imaginary and real, into the enjoy-
ment' of laſting benefits and ſubſtantial
rights. As often has this diſtempered ſtate
of things, this hopeleſs extremity of diſor-
der and madneſs, proved the falutary occa-
fion
i
[ 25 ]
fion of fuggeſting to men of upright in,
tentions, and ſound judgment, the hap-
pieſt regulations in favour of public order,
legal government, and virtuous liberty. And
future hiſtorians will, I truſt, be enabled
to trace the ſame kind intentions of Pro-
vidence in the moſt calamitous or threat-
ning proſpect of human affairs, which may
diſturb our minds at this day. But the in-
ftance I ſhall chuſe, as better adapted to the
preſent occaſion, ſhall be the ſeries of diſaſ-
trous, and ſeemingly deſperate circum-
ſtances, through which Chriſtianity has
been conducted by Providence from its firſt
publication in genuine purity to all people,
through its ſubſequent corruption, down
to the preſent reformed ſtate of it, eſta-
bliſhed in theſe realms.
i
1
The primitive Chriſtians long groaned
under every extremity of wretchedneſs,
were variouſly perſecuted, inſulted, ſlain
with every inhuman art of torture. Why
theſe triumphs of unnatural cruelty, falf-
hood, and impiety over innocence, and true
reli-
[ 26 ]
religion? The anſwer is ready. It pleaſed
Almighty God thus to fix on Chriſtianity
an authentic ſeal, that might remain its per-
petual mark of diſtinction from all falſe in-
ftitutions of religion. This peculiar ſtamp
it inuſt for ever have wanted, had it been
uſhered into the world in a flow of tem-
poral proſperity.
In ſucceeding ages, the conceit of the
vain diſputers of this world, and the craft
of deſigning hypocrites utterly confounded
its native ſimplicity. How deplorable was
this confuſion ? What a complicated ſyſtem
of abſurdity and ſuperſtition did it raiſe
ups
on the plaineſt doctrines of our heavenly
teacher ? Why were bigottry and blind ſub-
miſſion in the multitude, enthuſiaſm, and
ſpiritual oppreſſion in their leaders, per-
mitted to run to theſe aſtoniſhing extremes ?
Behold the bleſſed fruit providentially ſpring-
ing from this enormous maſs of corruption.
It awakens at length from their profound
lethargy all the religious affections and ra-
tional powers of the Chriſtian world. A
5
refors
[ 27 ]
reformation enſues, a reformation truly glo-
rious for the times in which it commenced.
The light of truth indeed, and the ſacred
ardour for improvement în ſpiritual know-
ledge, which firſt revived it, were for a while
induſtriouſly kept low, though not fup-
preſſed by the powers of darkneſs. The firſt
eſtabliſhment of a reformation in this coun-
try was owing to the direction a kind Provi-
dence unexpectedly gave to certain ſecond
cauſes by no means of a religious or fpiri,
gual nature,
:
When again, ſoon after it's commence-
ment, the pious work was interrupted by
the tranſient re-eſtabliſhment of Popery in
the reign of Queen Mary, how were the
ſpirits of rational and ſincere believers de-
jected? Under the preſſure of a cruel perſe-
cution, we may imagine we hear them ex-
poſtulating thus with heaven.--" Has the
“ Lord rejected the cauſe of truth and
“! righteouſneſs? Has he utterly forgotten
► to be gracious to us his faithful fer-
** vants ?”. We know the reply, which an
ac-
f
[ 28 ]
com-
acquaintance with the counſels of Provi-
dence might have ſuggeſted to theſe
plainants. It is this ſhort revival of Po-
pery, with rage, impiety, perfidy and cru.
elty in her train, that excites new life and
vigour in the zeal of the reformers. Falſe
religion, attended with ſuch terrible effects,
providentially raiſes that horror and deteſta-
tion of it, which proves a powerful incen-
tive to a diligent and impartial ſearch after
true Chriſtianity, and a careful ſtudy of the
genuine fcriptural account of its doctrines,
But ſoon, too ſoon there appears to be
gathering a diſaſtrous cloud amidſt the
bright effuſion of this heavenly light. In
the great ſeparation from the impure maſs
of Popery, the different ſects, to which an
ardent eagerneſs of enquiry gave birth, ap-
pear to have fuddenly forgot, in the dif-
graceful acrimony of their diſputes among
themſelves, the ſpirit of their fole-acknow-
tedged Maſter:-Yet ſtill it is even here ob-
ſervable, that this very diſcordancy compels
each particular ſect, thus attacked from every
quarter
(
29. )
1
quarter to explore continually fome new
field of critical knowledge for freſh mate-
rials of defence. To what degree of perfec-
tion reformation has yet been carried, is a
point, upon which Proteſtants of different
denominations, or of the ſame indeed, will
often judge very differently. Yet all agree
that every thing human is of courſe defec-
tive. This, our moſt excellent eſtabliſhment
authentically declares. Upon this poſition
it was originally founded : and as it
ap-
proaches neareſt to perfection, it may with
moſt ſecurity encourage a free and candid
enquiry into all its minuteſt defects. We
may be allowed, conſiſtently with a due
veneration for the firſt Reformers of the
Church of England, who went ſo far in
freeing us from error and ſuperſtition, to
maintain that they left the work imperfect.
In form and profeſſion, it is now with us,
very nearly, where they left it. And who
at this day will venture to deny that con-
ſiderable improvements have been made in a
critical knowledge of the Scriptures. A
total ignorance of theſe, or unconcern about
5
them
30
them will hardly be confeſſed by any judi-
cious well-wiſher to the honour of a church,
fo juſtly renowned for its peculiar ſucceſs
in the laudable purſuit. Her ſagacious
and free-ſpirited fons every Proteſtant ſect
reſpectively allows to be, next to its own,
the moſt eminently diſtinguiſhed for en-
creaſing and extending the facred light of
truth. Let us hope, without murmuring
too haſtily at the delays of our more con-
fiderate fuperiors, that ôur happy eſtabliſh-
ment will not utterly difregard the great
advantage of their pious labours. The ge-
neral difpofition to ſhrink at every ſhadow
of danger attendant upon the very name
of innovation, may gradually wear away.
Caution and prudence, or (as they may
fometimes be improperly called) timidity
and prejudice, may drop their jealous ap-
prehenſions, when it ſhall appear that the zeal
of thoſe, who contend for alteration's, ſhall
be conducted with due moderation, as well as
competent judgment. Let us, in the mean
while, expreſs our thankfulneſs to heaven
for the degree of perfection, to which our
church
[ 31
]
church has been permitted to attain, and reſt
aſſured, that in his own good appointed time
God will infallibly beſtow the bleſſing of
his all-powerful aſſiſtance for the further-
ance and completion of it.
}
Let us even now, with Ifaiah, proclaini
theſe glad tidings to the faithful people :
Thus Mall the Lord make the darkneſs light
so before us, and the crooked ſtraight.” The
day ſhall come, when it ſhall manifeſtly
appear, that through the conſtant control
of an all-wiſe Providence the moſt exe-
crable crimes have proved inſtrumental to
perfect virtue, the moſt abſurd and im-
pious doctrines to rational and conſiſtent
piety. Then ſhall all things, from the
beginning to the end of the world, appear
to have confpired, with conſtant harmony,
to the glory of the Supreme Creator, which
will thus be diſplayed in it own proper light,
in the complete happineſs and perfection of
his creatures.
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